#i messed around with the lighting on this

[savanir]

The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him! 

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps” 

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.

[pathologicalreid]

blue ribbon | s.r.

in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: chemist!reader, misuse of lab equipment i don't care, their daughter is very girly, glitter word count: 1.46k a/n: ending the post margotober drought with the very first margovember request!!! i promise i'm working on masterlists but for some reason they're exhausting.

“Why do I have to walk backward?” You grumble while trying to balance the end of the plywood on your knee, pulling at your badge reel to unlock the lab door.

Spencer nods his head in the direction of the keypad, “That would be why.”

Rolling your eyes, you push the door handle down with your elbow before pushing the door open with your foot, shuffling your feet. “Honey, can you turn the lights on?”

Lifting herself up on her tiptoes, your daughter flips all of the switches on the panel, cringing at the bright fluorescent lights.

Together, you and Spencer hoist the science project onto one of the lab tables, careful not to knock anything over as the papier-mâché volcano rests in your professional lab.

You and Leah had stayed up until eleven last night finishing the last coat of paint, even entertaining a visit from her Aunt Penelope so that the finished project could have a fine dusting of glitter all over it. Your dining room was now permanently sparkly, but the look on your daughter’s face when she saw the finished project made the mess entirely worth it.

Spencer steps to grab your jugs of white vinegar from the car, propping the door open so he can bring the supplies for the baking soda volcano in.

Obviously, you weren’t going to use the full-size volcano now, but Leah had refused to travel without it and Spencer believes that saying no to her is an impossible task. “Mommy?” The little girl pipes up, playing with the stirring rod that you had just set in front of her.

“What’s up?” You ask, leaning your hip against the counter, gently reaching out and adjusting the bows adorning her pigtails that you’d put in her hair that morning.

She looks over at the wall, minding each of the posters that line your laboratory, “What is that?”

You follow her finger to see what she’s pointing at, smiling softly, “It’s the periodic table.”

Humming thoughtfully, Leah sets the stirring rod down and walks over to the poster, “It looks like the one at home.”

Nodding, you get a step stool out for her to stand on, “They’re the same poster, the one we have at home is just a lot smaller than the one I keep at work.” You explain to her, knowing she’s talking about the poster you keep in your home office. “Come on baby, let’s go get you a lab coat.”

Setting a hand on her shoulder, you guide her to the storeroom, “Woah,” she breathes. It’s not a positive reaction, her eyes flitter all around the room, a mess of lab coats and goggles.

“Okay,” you say, shoving your way through the space until you find your locker, pulling out your lab coat, as well as safety glasses for the whole family. Holding a coat up to her and having her pull it on, you put your own lab coat on before looking back to find your five-year-old drowning in polyester. Laughing slightly, you adjust the lapels of her jacket, “How does it feel?”

Leah looks down at herself, “Cool!” She exclaims beaming up at you and giving you two thumbs up. She skips out of the closet and heads back to her volcano, almost tripping over the extra fabric of the lab coat, but Spencer grabs her arm before her knees can hit the linoleum.

He smiles at her, “Are you okay?” Helping her adjust her coat, he kneels down to her.

“Daddy,” she cheers, completely ignoring his question for the sake of being five years old, “Look at my coat!”

Smoothing her hair back, Spencer’s eyes briefly meet yours before he looks back to Leah, “You look like mommy.”

In a fit of giggles, he scoops her up in his arms in an attempt to avoid a tripping hazard, but she just thinks it’s fun. He sets her down feet-first on the step stool you had gotten out for her.

“Here,” you say, handing him a lab coat for him to wear and setting the safety goggles you’d gathered on the countertop.

When your daughter came home in tears because she felt like she had been assigned the ‘most boringest’ project for the science fair, you and Spencer quickly decided that you’d try everything to make her baking soda volcano exciting. At the very least, you’d work together to make sure she has fun.

Leah puts her goggles on and looks up at you for her next instruction, watching you divide the baking soda and white vinegar into separate beakers, “So, what will happen when we add these two together?” Spencer quizzes, watching you make careful portions.

“It’s gonna fizz up!” She responds correctly, bouncing on her feet while you gently push the first two dishes in front of her.

You nod, “You can pour the white vinegar into the baking soda,” You nudge her gently, knowing that you measured just enough to reach the top of the beaker, but not enough to flow onto the counter.

She uses both hands to grip the beaker and pour the liquid out, and the immediate reaction surprises her so much that Spencer holds an arm out to keep her upright. He trains his eyes on her amazement as the foam dissipates and the water and sodium acetate are left in the glass. “Can I drink it?” She asks, frowning up at her dad.

“No,” you both answer immediately, a sort of parental reflex. If you don’t answer quickly enough, odds are she’d pick it up and try anyway.

Disappointed, her frown remains on her face while her eyes return to the countertop, timidly, she tugs on Spencer’s lab coat, prompting him to crouch down to her eye level, “What’s wrong, lovey?”

Her eyes nervously look around the lab, eyeing some of the cabinets before she takes a deep breath, “Can we make it pink?”

“The foam?” Spencer says curiously, eyes flickering up at you while you nod frantically, already thinking up options so that you could further individualize your daughter’s glitter volcano.

She rocks back and forth, “Can we?”

As soon as Spencer says yes, it’s like a hold on you has been released, unlocking some of the cabinets so you can grab more supplies from around the lab, you return to the station with an armful of things to try, and Spencer mutters something to Leah about you being a mad scientist, leading you to maturely stick your tongue out at him.

You set up four options, taking photos as you go so you can paste them onto her presentation board. The first one is just baking soda, but you added a touch of dish soap to the vinegar. The increase in bubbles seems to greatly please Leah, so you decide as a team that the final product should have dish soap in it.

The second one has manganese sulfate mixed into the baking soda, and if the pink salt altered the color of the foam at all, it doesn’t impress your perfectionist daughter.

The third one includes phenolphthalein, which you think has some real potential, based on the way Leah’s eyes widen at the sight of it combined with the vinegar. The liquid was almost a fuchsia color, and she gasps when she pours it in to find that the foam is white, “It’s gone?”

You nod, “The phenolphthalein when it’s in the vinegar is pink because it’s an acid, but as soon as you add the baking soda it becomes a basic solution, so…” Your voice trails off when Spencer starts shaking his head, and you look down to find that you have completely lost Leah’s attention. Instead of listening, she’s trying to pronounce phenolphthalein, tracing the letters on the black countertop.

“What do you have next?” Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dropper bottle in front of you.

Picking it up, you drop some of it into the vinegar and hand it to Leah, “It’s food coloring.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Why do you have food coloring in the lab?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, the expression makes Leah giggle, “Mind your business.”

As a family, you watch the chemical reaction, the white of the foam mixing with the red food coloring to create the desired pink lava. “Oh,” your daughter says softly, “Thank you, mommy!”

Beaming down at her, you place your hands on your hips and sigh, “If you’d like, we can add glitter to the baking soda too.”

Wide eyes look up at you in amazement, brown eyes inherited from her father, “I love science,” she whispers.

Behind her back, you hold your hand out for Spencer, exchanging a silent fist bump—a quiet celebration between two scientists.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

HELLOOO idk if ur requests are on rn so take ur time with this request and get to it at ur own time but i was wondering if u could make a short one shot fic abt reader who is in a relationship with katsuki and is at home while he's out in patrol and she sees his location with life 360 and sees that he's beside some sort of restaurant or supermarket so she texts him smth like

i see ur beside the ramen place i like can u buy dinner tonight 😊

AND THEN KATSUKI IS JUST 🤬🤬🤬 WTF HOW DO U KNOW WHERE I AM ARE U OUTSIDE RN

all lighthearted and funny :))

THANK UUU SO MUCHH 💞💞

LMFAOOOO thjs js so funny😭😭😭 tysm for this ask i hope i did it some justice :33 hope you’re still stickin around to read it anon ! Short lil drabble, much luv xx

“since you’re by that ramen place i like you can get some for dinner 💋💕”

“ ? what the fuck”

“?? where are you.”

“?”

before you can send another text message, your phone lights up with your boyfriend’s caller id, you giggle.

“hi, baby.”

“where the fuck are you at ?”

you snort, readjusting on your sofa “what are you talking about ?” you ask teasingly.

you catch the sound of people talking as you hear katsuki grumbling to himself “i don’t see you.”

you giggle, kicking your legs a little “and why would you need to see me ?”

katsuki groans, already exasperated and growing more and more impatient, you’re surprised he hasn’t started cursing your entire bloodline yet “quit it with that mysterious bullshit, how do you know where i’m at.”

and just to mess with him, you respond “i see you.”

it’s quiet on his end for a moment, aside from the chatter on the street “yn. i’ll fucking kill you.” you throw your head back and laugh “once i find you, you’re done for. your ass is grass.”

“i like it when you talk dirty to me.” you joke, he scoffs hard on the other end “freak.” you hear him mumble, you giggle some more.

“i’m at home, just saw your location and decided to ask you to get me some food.”

“get you some food.” he bites, scoffing in disbelief.

“us, get us some food. pretty please, suki ?” you use your sweetest voice, maybe he might even be able to imagine your puppy dog eyes through the phone.

he laughs sarcastically “right. what makes you think you deserve to get anything after that little stunt you pulled, huh ?”

you pout, whining so he knows you are “i was just kidding, was jus’ a little jokey-joke.” you can’t help but tease him a bit more.

“yeah, my ass.” you snort loudly, laughing and the huff he lets out clearly lets you know he’s not amused, you can see him rolling his eyes at your antics.

“we’ll see.” is the answer he graces you with. you squeal, cus you know that means you won. katsuki is quick to remind you he didn’t say yes, but you already know his mind’s been made.

“i’m surprised you didn’t ask me why i have your location on my phone.” you hum.

katsuki sounds utterly confused by your question when he responds “why would i give a shit about that ? s’not like i get somethin’ to hide. don’t care if you know where i’m at.” he responds simply.

“sides, i know how obsessed you are with me, so—”

“i’m hanging up now, katsuki. get me my ramen. toodles.” your bitter tone makes him laugh, and just to piss you off some more he adds in a honeyed sweet “see you later, babe. love ya.” before he hangs up. you huff shaking your head. a text pings and you swipe up to check it, it’s from katsuki again.

“i’m not getting you shit btw.”

he does indeed come back with ramen.

[siriuslylantsov]

home

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

description: in which spencer gets home and needs you.

tags: MDNI smut! and fluff, established relationship, sleepy sex, pinv, little praise, brief nipple stuff (im a creature of habit), cockwarming, aftercare, this is just sweet and quiet.

a/n: anon who sent in the req, this is for you :) little gilmore girls adjacent line there at the end because i have that show memorised and i think its silly. smut is slowly getting easier for me to right and im really happy about that. happy reading! tell me what you think

wc: 1.3k

you feel the all so familiar lips on your shoulder and you know. you stir awake. with a groggy groan, you open your eyes and turn your head around. the strap of your tank top is peeled down to your arm and a messy mop of curls is tucked into your neck. he's home.

“hey,” you whisper. “you're home.”

spencer lifts his head up, “yeah, baby.”

you scoot back into him, needing him to be closer. chuckling, when you feel an unmistakable hardness against your ass. you nudge your nose against his. 

“you okay?”

“mhm. you're just so pretty,” he responds, lip caught between his teeth, eyes glistening even in the low light. you could see the need in his eyes, and even barely awake, you felt compelled to tease him.

you turn to face him, subtly wedging a leg between his. action ever so slightly causing some friction, just enough that it seemed innocuous. you scrunch your nose up appreciatively, muttering a quiet “thank you”, pressing your thigh more firmly against him. 

he pouts, knowing what you're doing. “please,” he mumbles.

“please, what?” you taunt, playing dumb.

“i need you, please angel,” he whines, hand finding your waist.

you caress his cheek lightly with your knuckles, the gentleness making him shiver, so sensitive. you smile at him and he returns it. “you have me, spence. whenever you want.”

he leans into your touch, eyebrows furrowed in mild exasperation. “why tease me then?” he implores. 

“it's fun,” you offer up uselessly with a shrug. everytime you do, it draws something whiny from him and you find it so endearing. 

he huffs, in disbelief and amusement. “you're impossible.”

“you love me,” you retort, melting into the pillow.

“i do,” he confirms with a nod, leaning in to kiss your lips, lingering for a moment to see if you'll kiss him back.

you do, it's a little sloppy but he's okay taking the lead. his tongue slips into your mouth as he slowly pushes you to lay on your back. finding the waistband of your shorts, he pulls them down along with your underwear. your legs instinctively part as he lifts himself to settle between them. he dips his head down to capture your lips again, the kiss more frenzied this time. his hand trails up to your shoulder pulling the other strap of your tank top too and bunching the fabric at your waist so your tits were out. you weakly paw at his t-shirt and he takes it off, kicking his pants and underwear off in the process, clothes in a tangled mess somewhere under the duvet.

he mouths at your neck, sucking lightly. his hand trails over your breast, kneading the flesh. his thumb grazes your nipple and it stiffens. he rolls the bud between his fingers, making you quiver, causing arousal to pool between your thighs.

“spence,” you whimper.

“i got you,” he responds quickly, dipping his fingers between your folds. groaning when he feels the wetness there. “always so wet for me,” he murmurs. your eyes flutter shut as he gently circles your clit.

“do you need my fingers first? or are you ready?” he inquires.

 “‘m okay. i can take it,” you reassure him, your tone a little petulant because of the lingering sleep. 

you look so unbelievably soft, he's afraid that he might break you. “i know you can, angel, but it's been a week.”

“need you inside me,” you slur.

your gaze meets his, equally clouded in lust. he takes the plunge, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. he pushes in slowly, matching your sigh when he bottoms out. 

he stays there for a moment, relishing in the way you wrap around him. it's warm and soft and wet and overwhelmingly you, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. 

you seem just as content as him when you don't urge him to move immediately, raising your arms to pull him closer. your fingers trace the subtle lines of muscle on his shoulder blades, hallowed paths that you’re well accustomed to. 

your walls flutter around him and he buries his head into the crook of your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, lips pressed firmly against you because he wants you to have it all, to absorb it, to take it. 

“perfect girl, you feel so good. so so good for me,” his words are muffled but heard by you all the same as he draws his hips back, only to somehow push in deeper. 

it goes like this. languid thrusts by him and soothing passes over his spine by you. it’s tranquil, the way that he fucks you–for a lack of a less crude word. it isn't making love either, in the sense that it isn't passionate or intense. but it's sweet, done with ease. practised motions of his hips has him dragging against your sweet spot incessantly. he can hear the hushed ah’s you let out, and god does he love how you sound. 

“i missed you,” he drawls into your neck, lips pressing feathery kisses to your skin.

your hand snakes into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. “i missed you too, sweet boy.”

his pace quickens, ever so slightly, in mollified desperation. you almost feel a little bad that he's doing all the work, but you're too tired to think about it–and he feels fucking incredible inside you–so you happily let him. he lurks his hand between your bodies to rub at your clit again, angling his thrusts higher.

“fuck, baby, like that,” you keen.

“yeah?” he pants.

just like that. your orgasm washes over you in a wave of bliss–high, high and higher. the feel of you squeezing around him, drives him over the edge too. his hips snap as he fucks you through it, once, twice, and then he stills. 

he raises his head from your shoulder, “hi pretty,” he whispers, soft smile gracing his lips.

you hum in acknowledgement, the post orgasmic haze lulling you back to sleep. he chuckles quietly, brushing his lips over your forehead. he cautiously pulls out as to not wake you, corners of his mouth twitching when you make an incoherent noise at the feeling. 

he grabs a damp towel, warily cleaning the mess. he's careful when he redresses you, slipping on a clean pair of underwear and pulling the straps of your top over your shoulders, kissing either joint before lying down next to you. he pulls the covers up, starkly reminded of how cold you keep the room, holding your hand as he falls asleep too. 

your eyes flit open hours later at the feel of his fingers skimming over your face. rays of sunlight peek through the gap in the curtain. you look up at him, already staring down at you.

“creep,” you rasp, though there's no malice behind your words.

“i'm sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologises.

“which time?”

“both,” he lets out sheepishly.

“it’s okay, i'm not,” you counter as you throw an arm over him and tuck yourself into his side.

he wraps his around you in turn, smiling into your hair. you rest your chin on his chest, half-lidded eyes staring into his wide eyed brown ones.

“what time is it?” you inquire, too lazy to check the clock that sat atop your bedside table.

“late,” he says, running his hand down your arm and up again.

“i’m hungry, i want pancakes. can we make pancakes?”

“we can make whatever you want, sweetheart,” he answers, prompting you to grin and spring upright.

you notice the clothes on your body and you stick your bottom lip out, “you’re sweet.” you look at him a moment longer, eyes following the features of his face in awe. you pull him up to hug him tightly.

“oh, i’m so happy you’re home.” you chirp giddily.

he squeezes you, “they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

you let go of him, jumping out of the bed. “yeah, well. sex does that too.”

[ghostlyglimmer]

OHH, this is such a fun idea, I had to whip up something based on this!

It had all gone downhill fast.

The plan had been Dick’s idea—though Tim and Jason definitely could have pointed out the glaring holes in it, and Damian hadn’t exactly offered his usual dose of cynicism. It was supposed to be a quick, in-and-out operation. Minimal risk, maximum payoff.

But things got complicated when that guy showed up. Just some kid, and not even a vigilante or a rogue. It was supposed to be a straightforward job in Gotham’s shadier district—stop the exchange of a highly dangerous chemical, break up the bad guys, be home in time for breakfast. But, no, some civilian had gotten in the way and distracted the gangsters long enough to mess with their timing.

As Jason would tell it later, “It was just bad luck.” As Bruce would say, “It was complete negligence.”

And as for Danny? Well, he didn’t have much of a say in it. Not that he was about to back down from a bunch of armed gangsters, especially with the Batkids swooping in around him, leaving chaos and knocked-out criminals in their wake. Danny had handled a few of them before they even showed up, quietly taking out the last of them when Bruce finally stepped in.

And now they were here, a tense, heated argument in a dark Gotham alley.

“You should have waited for backup!” Bruce snapped, his voice slicing through their squabbles. “I told you it was a risk to go in alone—especially when we didn’t have all the intel! This is about safety, and clearly—”

“Right, clearly we were fine until you stepped in,” Jason shot back, scowling.

“It would have gone smoothly if someone didn’t just happen to be there,” Dick muttered, clearly feeling defensive.

“It was your idea, Grayson!” Tim hissed, his voice laden with frustration. “Don’t turn this around.”

“Maybe if you’d listened—”

Damian scoffed. “I could have handled them on my own.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, and he turned to Danny, who was awkwardly inching his way toward the exit.

“And don’t think you’re getting out of this,” Bruce said, turning his Batglare on him. “You’re grounded too.”

Danny froze, one foot halfway lifted in a tippy-toe pose. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

The Batkids stopped mid-argument and looked at Danny, then back at Bruce, then at each other, as if piecing something together. Dick’s face morphed from irritation to confusion; Jason’s went slack.

“Uh… Mr. Batman, sir, with all due respect, I’m just some guy,” Danny said slowly, staring at Bruce. “Can… Can Batman even do that?”

“Everyone in the Batmobile,” Bruce said firmly, ignoring Danny’s question. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”

Danny, still too stunned to process much beyond “Batman grounded me,” felt himself nodding along. Guess we’re going with it.

The ride was silent and tense. Jason looked broody, arms crossed, staring out the window. Tim rubbed his temples, probably rethinking every tactical choice. Dick was sulking, and Damian, surprisingly, just looked mad at being lumped in with the others. Danny, meanwhile, stayed very still, wedged between Tim and Jason, trying not to breathe too loudly. It was a surreal experience—he was tired, his limbs ached, and his brain was reeling from the absurdity of it all, but it was Batman. The Batmobile wasn’t exactly the place to make his objections.

By the time they reached the Batcave, Danny figured he’d try for some clarity.

“Uh,” he started, looking around at the cavernous space, vast and impressive, filled with tech and lights. “So, do you mind if I, uh, call my family to tell them I won’t be home tonight?”

The entire cave fell silent. Jason froze mid-complaint, Dick and Tim stopped sulking, and Damian’s scowl melted into shock. All four of them stared at Danny, and then slowly, like someone had hit pause, their heads turned to look at Bruce.

He seemed unbothered, glancing at Danny as if this were just standard procedure. But for everyone else, the realization was dawning. Dick was the first to speak, his voice wavering.

“Uh… Bruce?” Dick asked slowly, eyebrows raised. “Did… Did you kidnap a civilian?”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jason burst out laughing, doubling over, his hands clutching his sides. “Oh, this is gold. He’s not even a rogue, B. He’s just some random guy you told to get in the car!”

Danny held up his hands. “In my defense, it was Batman, okay? Who’s going to not get in the Batmobile when Batman tells you you’re grounded?”

Tim covered his face with both hands, muffling his laugh. Damian scowled, crossing his arms.

“This is embarrassing,” he muttered. “Father, you’re losing credibility by the second.”

Bruce’s expression tightened, clearly irked by the fact that his kids’ attention had wandered from the initial issue. They had disobeyed him, endangered a civilian, and now they were laughing because, okay, maybe he had unintentionally forced said civilian to join them in the Batcave.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, clearly rethinking several recent decisions.

“Alright,” Bruce finally said. “My apologies. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you don’t need to be here. We’ll get you a ride back home.”

Danny blinked, a little surprised. “So, wait, I’m not grounded?”

“No, you’re not grounded,” Bruce replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jason snickered. “Damn, you got off easy. We’re grounded for sure.”

Bruce cleared his throat, and the smiles faded from the other Batkids’ faces. “Yes, you’re grounded,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “All of you.”

They groaned in unison, but Danny, relieved beyond measure, was already edging toward the door. He nodded a quick thank you to Batman and managed a small, awkward wave to the others.

As he left, he could hear Dick muttering, “Grounded… from what? We’re grown men!”

Jason groaned. “Grounded as in, no solo missions, genius.”

Danny paused, letting the sounds of the Batfamily’s complaints echo behind him as he took the lift back to ground level. He shook his head, chuckling. Only in Gotham. Only with Batman would you end up “grounded” for just existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But hey—at least he got a free ride in the Batmobile out of it.

Imagine the batkids fuck up major and a batdad had to step in and clean up their mistake

Everyone kinda embarrassed because of their blunder and Jason is lashing out to protect himself from shame

Dick is joining is cause well he feels bad about it being his idea

Now Tim is arguing too

Damian wants to feel involved and u can’t convince me other wise

Bruce is trying ti make a point about safety thats just fully derailed

Anyway Danny as Fenton is just there in the background around all the bad guys he took out before Bruce actually got there like “awkward” but the moment he tries to just tippytoe his way out Bruce turns to point at him “and don’t think you are getting out of this. Your grounded too”

He just freezes. Can batman do that? Is he legally allowed to do that? Wait what does Batman mean by grounded?!!? Whats his move here.

“Everyone in the batmobile we will discuss this more in the morning”

Oh ok thats his move. Ok yea Batman just grounded him. He better go.

So they r having the ride home and everyone is sulking and Danny is just there confused but doesn’t say anything because hes probably tired and it’s batman wtf you gonna do.

So they are at the cave and Danny finally just “so can I call my family to tell them I wont be home tonight?”

You everyone just stops. And slowly turns to face him. “Ah yea dumb question. I guess uhhh no phones huh?” No one moves. Everyone is pretty shocked. Cause one bruce kidnapped some kid. Two theres a civi in the batcave. Three bruce kidnapped some fucking kid. Four some random kid just got in the car with them. Five holy fuck bruce kidnapped some kid.

Breaks over enjoy post

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Okay, so, the ask about yandere platonic dick cheating and how the reader would react has me wondering; what would happen if the reader somehow found out that Dick didn't actually change and decided to go no contact, because they couldn't trust him or maybe because they just don't want to be around someone like that? Would that cause Dick to spiral more? What exactly would be the consequences of going no contact? (Like a complete cut off, although it'd be a bit hard to do that since they live in the same house)

(I was a bit disappointed to read that he probably wouldn't change, but it seemed realistic to me because habits are hard to break and everyone in the batfam is messed up. Although, I imagine after years of therapy or something similar there might be some sort of change. But, I doubt anyone in the batfam is getting therapy... except maybe reader)

Sorry yeah, i don't like to think Dick is actually a cheater or this shitty. I just like to humor different scenarios i get requested. But you cannot deny that this man is a messy whore. THIS IS THE FACE OF EVILLL

context

Look, cheaters are so sloppy. Even the ones who put the most effort into it are always bound to slip up. I imagine batsis isn't a fool. Like Richard...no way did you just go from being a serial cheater to suddenly being completely cleansed. You're an addict baby boy.

Like i said at first he's actually wanting to get clean for his baby sis and to be a good role model. I think it'd be very obvious to you that he's actually trying. He's irritable and really struggling to cope with the fact he has to put the phone down. You can see him obsessively checking his phone for what you'd assume to be a message or notification from one of his hookups. You can tell he's torn up about loosing his partners because he came clean about his unethical practices....

There's no hiding. This is such a deep seeded issue and it is really taking a toll on him. This is something like you said will need YEARS of therapy to fix.

So now Dick is trying to bullshit you a few days later...right in front of your salad! He's just sooo happy and he's proud about this new leaf turned????? Yesterday he looked like he was about to breakdown in tears because he'd been abstinent for just 48 hrs...and now he's glowing???

Dick, your patrol ended at 2 am last night...you came home at 6 am...please don't play with me rn.

not me getting heated. lol

He doesn't explicitly tell you he's back to his old ways. He's willing to keep lying his way into keeping you and this habit but it's undeniable. You know that his gf only forgave him because he lied to her too. It makes you sick when you saw the text of him telling her that he's busy with family and then left out for the rest of the day to go be with someone else.

Maybe you explode on him about it? Last time you were as nice as you could be about it but you cannot deal with the games anymore.

I liked to think in this scenario you're yelling at him and he's just still gas-lighting you, He throws every card to make you feel bad for accusing him. It absolute drives you mad. He's just so calm while you're are trying not to strangle him.

"Baby bat, i love you. I think you're just tired and are imagining things. You're convincing yourself that i'm still the old Dick because you're hurting...i understand and I forgive you. Maybe we should set up therapy sessions to help you let go of the past? Hmm?"

"YOU MOTHER FU-"

Ugh but i love him he's so fucked

The irony of him suggesting you therapy when he's the one riddles with mommy issues and the most insane coping mechanisms...

Dick isn't going to allow you to go no contact. You cannot go no contact with someone you live in the same house with. You are bound to interact and when you are dealing with someone like dick...it just won't work. The bat kids are extremely resilient and are well versed in making someone crack. You wouldn't be the exception.

More realistically you'd probably just be cold towards Dick. That's the best you can do. Not really responding to him and basically stone walling...

But i imagine this version of Dick to be much more forceful. He's done with your self righteousness. How dare you suggest moving out. That isn't an option because he needs to see his baby sister everyday. You are breaking up the family over this. You cannot cut him off because he's flawed...it's not that serious y/n. None of the other siblings are breathing down his neck. Maybe if you weren't so frustrating..he could actually become a better person. You are the one that is preventing him from being better with all your pressure!!

You packed your bags and are fully ready to walk out of this family for good because there's just too many wrong doings swept under the rug and here comes dick who is FUMING... He's trying to rip your bags out of your hands and grab you up..

You are not doing this to him. Stop being so-

Maybe your siblings step in and help you to leave. They help Dick calm down because they respect that it's your choice to live how you'd life.

Dick isn't stopping once you're gone. Especially if you're still in Gotham. There's a shadow that follows you where you go. Tons of messages and calls from unknown numbers. Even scarily enough..a blue toy bird left at your door with a small note that read

"Missed me, my little birdie? We'll be seeing each other again soon."

[hoshifighting]

WARNINGS: jihoon dealing with an extremely horny reader, guided masturbation, smut, fingering, mentions of body fluids (cum/precum), humiliation, crying, overstimulation, lots of dirty talk, mentions of penetrative sex, teasing, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, degrading.

@jihootea ALWAYS planting jihoon brainrot on meeee!! now i cant stop picturing how jihoon would deal with his partner when she's drop-head horny… he would be a MEANIE, like, no mercy. AND he can almost smell the horniness from you. even though he's turned back with his producing chair.

except you know, know, he’s aware. he can probably feel your eyes drilling into him, can hear the way you’re struggling to sit still, thighs rubbing together just enough to keep your sanity hanging by a thread.

and then, without even looking at you, he says, “you good over there? squirming like you’ve got a problem or something.” his tone is so casual it makes you want to throw something. it’s not even a question—it’s pure fucking tease, dripping with this smugness that makes you want to melt and scream at the same time.

“jihoon…” you whisper begging, but he just lets out this tiny scoff, like he’s already bored of you. he leans back in his chair, finally giving you his attention, eyebrow cocked like he’s waiting for you to entertain him.

“what?” he drawls, eyes sliding down to your legs, then back up to your flushed face. “you slut can’t keep that little thing between your legs under control?”

it’s embarrassing, the way he says it, like he’s talking about some little pet that you can’t handle. you bite your lip, trying not to combust as he looks you up and down, arms crossed, manspreading, all arrogant and completely unimpressed.

“if you’re that desperate,” he says, eyes narrowing, “why don’t you show me? right here...”

your mouth goes dry, heart slamming against your ribcage. but you can’t ignore the way his voice gets lower, like he’s waiting, daring you.

your hand’s barely down there inside your shorts, fingers brushing against the clit, when you hear him snap, “who said you could keep those on?” his tone’s rougher than usual. you’re quick to slide them off, hooking your thumbs in the waistband and slipping out of your shorts and panties in one go like they were one piece only. you toss them at him with a grin, watching his eyes light up satisfied as he catches them, raising an eyebrow at you.

he takes the panties from the bundle and brings them up to his face, holding your gaze the whole time. smirking. the way he watches you squirm, vulnerable in a way you never quite do with anyone else. it’s him. “getting all shy now? didn’t think you had it in you.”

you swallow, cheeks burning, but you don’t drop his gaze, even as he tilts his head.

“are you waiting for permission or something?” he snaps, that edge back in his voice. “didn’t i tell you to touch yourself? whats the hold-up? are you just that pathetic that you need me to walk you through it?”

you pout, voice coming out soft and whiny, “aren’t you going to help me?”

“oh, no, sweetheart. if you’re that desperate, you’ll just have to do it yourself. all by yourself, since you’re such a big girl already.”

your hand slides between your legs, finding that slick, that had been bothering you for hours already, you shiver as your fingers spread it over your folds, teasing your clit. his ears twitch up almost like a cat when he hears how wet you are.

“barely even touching yourself and already making a mess. and here i thought you had some self-control.” he drawls.

you whimper, biting your lip as you roll your fingers over your clit, feeling that ache, that need, building up. but he’s just watching, eyes raking over every inch of you with that judgmental gaze, making you feel ten times more exposed than you are.

“is that the best you can do?” he sneers. “pathetic. thought you wanted this, but you’re just playing around, aren’t you? can’t even get yourself off without me telling you what to do.”

you let out a frustrated whine, pressing harder, slipping a finger inside, anything to relieve that pressure, but it’s like his voice is right there, mocking you, judging every little movement.

“keep going,” he says, voice so cold that makes your skin shiver up. “maybe if you try a little harder, you’ll actually be worth watching. spread that pussy f’me.”

your fingers obey trembling as you slide them out to spread yourself for him, he sees the mouthwatering cream being expelled from the tight little hole. “look at that,” he sneers, tilting his head as he takes in the view. “so messy. you’re really that worked up, babe? got yourself all soaked just sitting here like a needy little slut.”

your breath hitches, a moan slipping out despite yourself as you finally push two fingers in, hips bucking, feeling that burn. his eyes gleam, watching the way you struggle to keep quiet, and he smiles, soooo pleased.

“aw, you’re whining already?” he coos, tone mocking, like he’s talking to some helpless, needy thing. “that desperate? thought you could handle yourself, but look at you—just a mess on my couch. tell me… wishing it was my fingers instead?”

you can’t help the whimper that escapes, hips lifting, and he catches it, eyes sparking.

“oh?” he chuckles, leaning in slightly. “or is it my cock you want, huh? that’s it, isn’t it? poor baby, too worked up to even admit it.”

the moan that slips from your lips is helpless, your back arching as you dig your fingers deeper, feeling the heat coil tighter. his smirk widens.

“then show me how bad you want it,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower. “curl those fingers up, just like that… think you can even get yourself close to how good i’d make you feel?”

you nod, whimpering as you obey, curling your fingers up to hit that weak spot, feeling the way it makes your toes curl and your thighs tremble.

your warning slips out in a shaky breath, “ji… wanna cum,” as you meet his gaze, eyes pleading. he watches you, eyes heavy hunger, one hand squeezing his length through his pants, jaw tight as he throws his head back for a second, like he’s savoring the sight of you so worked up.

when he looks at you again. “go on,” he coos, smirking as he tilts his head. “didn’t last long, did you?”

you feel your body tremble, hips jerking as your hand moves faster, fingers slipping inside as you cry out, not caring anymore how loud you are, a mess being created on his studio's sofa. but just as you start to come down, just as you think it’s over, he speaks again.

“who said you could stop?” he sneers, eyes narrowing as he watches you with that amused smirk. “you’re not done yet. keep those fingers moving. keep going for me.”

a whimper escapes your lips as your overstimulated body obeys, fingers shaky but pushing in deeper, pressing against that sensitive spot again. your hips buck up involuntarily, every nerve screaming pleasure giving you a new ache that has you gasping.

“jihoon, but—” you try, voice breaking, but he cuts you off, voice sharp.

“if you don’t keep going, there’s no chance in hell i’ll give you what you want.”

you bite your lip, a desperate moan slipping out as you force yourself to keep moving. your fingers finally slip out, drenched and trembling, but instinct pulls you to the sensitive bud, fingers barely brushing over it as you start drawing slow, shaky circles. the touch is too much, making your eyes squeeze shut as your legs shake on either side, instinctively trying to close, but you keep them open, fighting against every urge to stop.

your face frown and you feel a hot prickle at the corners of your eyes, your voice breaking, choked, as you mutter, “ji… can’t… i can’t take it anymore…” your lower belly clenches, your body spasming at every soft circle you trace, a tear slips down your cheek, face flushed and damp, as you shudder, fingers shaking as they push you to that razor-thin edge again.

he leans forward, catching every broken sound, every little sob, his smirk widening as he coos, “oh, poor thing… already crying?” his words make you shake even harder, your body backstabbing you as you keep going, fingers pressed firmly on that nerve.

your thighs are burning from holding yourself open, your sobs grow louder, broken and dumb, and he’s just sitting back, arms crossed, his forearm muscles popping, veins standing out as he leans forward, eyes fixed on every shaky fingering.

“isn’t this what you wanted, slut?”

a whimper escapes you, eyes blurry with tears as you nod, “j-jihoon… can’t…” your hips buck up, trying to escape your own hand.

“keep going thought you were horny. or were you just pretending?”

another whimper, tears spilling down your cheeks as you press down on that sensitive bundle of nerves, every little touch pushing you higher, closer to that edge you’re not sure you can survive again. “please… too much…,” you cry, voice cracked.

“too much? aww poor baby...” he taunts, shaking his head slowly.

your insides twist, so intense you’re not sure where one ends and the other begins. you curl over yourself. each touch making your vision blur. nerves fried until you’re nothing but a quivering, soaked mess on the couch, every last bit of strength melting out of you. you don’t stop until he finally murmurs,

“good girl. that’s enough.”

you collapse, body going limp, fingers sliding away as you fall back, every limb heavy and useless. your chest heaves, cheeks flushed, face still damp with tears, and hes on you in a second, leaning over, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

“there ya’ go… you did so good, baby...” he whispers, like he’s helping you piece yourself back together. “my good girl, so perfect.”

you close your eyes, he shifts, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest, and you sink into the comfort of him, exhaustion pulling you under as he strokes your hair, fingers gentle, calming.

“get some rest,” he murmurs, pressing a final kiss to your temple. “you’ll need it, sweetheart. when you wake up, i’m going to make sure you really can’t move. gonna fuck you so hard...”

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 3

Adiel had already gone to bed by the time he heard frantic knocking at his door. He stumbled through his apartment hazy with sleep, a hand stretched out to guide him through the dark until he reached his living room. The lights were blinding to his eyes.

“Adiel?” Came the muffled voice through the through the door. “Can…can I come in please?”

Dread washed over him quick and ugly, churning his stomach as his shaking hands unlatched the locks. Had something happen? Was Eddie hurt? Or—

He hesitated to unlock the last latch. Was Eddie drunk? No, he shook his head. Eddie doesn’t… he doesn’t drink, not like that. He doesn’t get…like that. Not like his ex.

“Adiel?” It was softer now, and he finally opened the door.

“Eddie?”

His voice was still rough from his abrupt wakening, but he looked over quickly checking for anything really. When he couldn’t find anything, his shoulders finally loosened.

“Hey,” Eddie smiled a little crooked and forced, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s cool. Come inside, are you okay? It’s,” a brief glance at his digital watch, “it’s two in the morning, Eddie.”

They shuffled inside and Adiel locked the door behind him. Guiding Eddie to the kitchen as he flicked on a couple more lights.

“I know, I know. I’ve just been,” he gestured vaguely and his rings caught the warm tones of the lights, “driving around. For a while. Uh, my heads just been a mess today and I…”

“And?”

Adiel encouraged him softly.

Eddie, always so unapologetically himself and taking up space in any room he’s in, looks unsure. He looks away, eyes a bit hooded from exhaustion, he thinks. Sadness, maybe.

He has to guide Eddie’s hand away from where he’s begun to wear down his thumb nail again. A habit that he sure Eddie’s picked up from him.

“And, I wanted to see you.”

His heart might actually sore inside him.

“Well,” he offers a cheeky grin and spins on his toes until he’s facing him again, “you have me.”

“Yeah, I have you.” The words carry weight to them. Adiel’s cheeks flush with warmth.

“You do. Come, let’s go put you bed. You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

Having Eddie is his bed always feels like the world to him. It’s one of the only moments when his mind is able to still, thoughts silent. All his worries are gone when he has Eddie in his arms.

It not just when they’re being intimate (‘canoodling’, he says because he likes to make Ed groan), it’s about having him in his space and still feeling safe. Safer, even. And it’s unlike anything he’s been able to feel in his past relationships.

Safe. Being open and vulnerable and still falling asleep next to someone. Eddie coming here at night, because he feels safe enough to be vulnerable, too.

Adiel always falls too fast and too hard, but he just feels so much. Too much. And they only had a couple months together now, but he can feel himself falling. Not there yet. But he could, soon. It’s as if he’s bracing for the impact of it all.

“You’re still awake.”

“I need to tell you something. I can’t sleep until I do.”

Adiel hums.

“Earlier today, or, yesterday I guess. I was at Steve’s house and… he kissed me.”

The night is so silent, even in the city.

“Did, did you want to kiss him?”

“He kissed me. He surprised me and…I didn’t kiss him back. I wouldn’t do that to you, Adiel.”

He gathers Eddie in his arms, his chest against Eddie’s back, and burrows deep into the nape of his neck.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry that he kissed you.”

“He’s my friend. An unlikely one, but one of the best that I have. I don’t want to lose that. I can’t. I, I owe him my life.”

“No.”

“I do. I’m only here because of—“

“I know what he did for you and I’m so grateful you’re still here, Eddie. I don’t want to imagine a world with you. But if he’s as good as a friend as you’ve said he is, then he wouldn’t want you to feel like you owe him anything.”

“You’re right. I don’t mean it that way. Just that… he’s important to me. And I don’t want to let it go.”

“Give him time then, and space. He’ll need it right now and you’ll have to respect his boundaries.” Like he didn’t respect ours. He nuzzles deeper and breathes in his scent it’s thick with sandalwood.

“I feel like it’s my fault that he feels this way.”

“Can’t make anyone feel anything they don’t want to.”

“When did you get so wise?” He laughs.

“Hush, baby. We both need some sleep.”

“You’re the best among men, Adiel. Goo’night.”

“Night, Ed.”

He’s burning with jealousy, but he can keep it tucked away. Steve means something to him. And that’s what he’s afraid of right now.

He tightens his arms around Eddie, being selfish with his warmth.

I just found you, he kisses his shoulder, I can’t lose you.

———

Something changes after that night. It’s not noticeable right away, his friends don’t notice, but Adiel does. He notices everything about Eddie, even the finer details.

He doesn’t mention Steve anymore, at least not to him. And Adiel doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

He didn’t notice how much Eddie talked about Steve until he stopped.

He has these moments in between their kisses and conversations where he… gets lost, for a lack of a better word. His eyes carry this far away look and Adiel know he’s not here with him.

He kisses him back to him until his eyes are alight again and smiling enough to show off his one crooked canine.

When will his kisses stop being enough? Will Eddie simply float away from him, like a cherished red balloon escaping the grasp of a small child, only able to watch it go.

He tries to hold onto him tighter. His hand interlocked with his, squeezing and rubbing his thumb on Eddie’s knuckles just to make sure he doesn’t float away.

He doesn’t want to hold too tight that he suffocates him, but he can’t help it.

I can’t lose you, I…

There are many things he loves about Eddie that he can list off, but the one this that makes him different is how he doesn’t care about Adiel’s strangeness.

His timid demeanor that he never grew out of. His constant need to be reassured. His laugh, more of giggle that gets him strange looks. His restless fingers and chewed, painted nails down to a stump.

All things he’s been called effeminate for.

Targeted, pushed aside, excluded…

Eddie takes all these traits and kisses them one by one. Nurturing them. Loving them. Seeking them.

Eddie makes him feel like man, instead of questioning his masculinity. He’s even painted his nails for him and didn’t bat an eye when he asked for baby purple instead of the assumed black.

“Baby, do you mean lavender?”

“Oh my god, shut up! If it’s called baby pink why can’t it be called baby purple. Stop laughing!”

Eddie makes him feel like it’s all okay. That he’s okay.

And everything, everything will be okay, too.

Until it wasn’t.

———

Eddie didn’t stop making him feel loved or cared for, but it felt different than from before that night. Today has feeling to it. Like the end.

He keeps stalling against the inevitable.

“Adiel—“

“Let’s watch movie? You can sleep here again and I’ll make breakfast for dinner,” because Eddie doesn’t like savory foods after dark, “I have a couple new tapes to choose from—“

“Baby.”

Baby purple.

No, no, no. His hands are shaking again.

“You know, don’t you? That it’s the end for us?Adiel, I wish we could’ve been different,” He holds his shaking hands and Adiel focuses on them instead of meeting his eyes. It’s been a long time coming, doesn’t mean he feels prepared.

“Have you been… seeing him?” It’s the first time since that night that they’ve talked about Steve. His hands are squeezed tight.

“No! God, I would never go behind your back. I haven’t talked to him since then, I promise. I’ve been giving him space, trying to let him come around on his own time, but…”

“But you miss him.”

His world is falling apart.

“Have you been in love with him this whole time? That day in the music store, did you like him then too?”

“No. Maybe? I, I really don’t know. I don’t think I ever saw him that way. I didn’t even consider it a possibility until he—“

“Yeah, until he fucking kissed you!” He pulls his hands away and doesn’t miss the fact that Eddie didn’t try to hold onto them.

“Until he kissed me.”

Why must it hurt this much?

It always hurts so much.

His body is shaking but he avoids any attempts of Eddie trying to comfort him. Can’t bear the way he looks at him scared and careful like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.

Everything was perfect.

They could’ve been perfect,

If it hadn’t been for one fucking kiss from some guy that can’t stay out of people’s relationships.

“He’s stealing you away and you’re letting him!”

“He’s not stealing me, Adiel! You can’t steal people away like that, they have to be willing to go.”

“Willing to leave me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Eddie.” It’s a dirty trick to say it here and now, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Adiel needs to say it. Needs Eddie to know.

Some sick part of him enjoys the hurt look that crosses Eddie’s face, but it’s not close to feeling vindicated.

“I fucking love you, Ed.” He whispers it this time.

“I… I loved you, Adiel. Wish I could’ve loved you longer.”

“It’s been months since he kissed you. He might not even like you that way anymore.” Might not love you the way I can. “I don’t understand, how can you throw away everything for a maybe?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for any of us if I stayed. I know I’ve been absent minded, know that you could tell that I didn’t have my all in us anymore. You deserve someone who doesn’t make feel that way. Adiel. I don’t have any right to ask, but can you you try to understand—“

“Then don’t ask! You shouldn’t! I don’t want to hear about what you think that I deserve. Just, just leave. Please.”

“…Will you be okay?”

“No, but I’ll have to be. Go, Eddie, I’m not yours to worry over anymore.”

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the kitchen floor. His head hurts, his heart feels empty. His nose won’t stop running no matter how many times he wipes away the snot with his sleeve.

He must look like a mess. Look unattractive.

Adiel feels unattractive.

He didn’t even notice the sound of someone unlocking the door and step in until familiar arms are around him. He’s engulfed immediately in warmth and the scent of coconut. Vanilla.

A humorless laugh escapes him, Eddie must have called her.

“I love him, Tiff. There’s something wrong with me.”

“Oh babe, no. No. Nothing is wrong with you.” She rocks him in her arms, tucking him into her neck. Her signature afro puffs tickle his nose. The same hairstyle she’s kept since they were kids.

“Just haven’t met the one right?”

“You’ll find them, babe. You still have us. You still have me. Now and until the next life.”

“‘Til the next life, Tiff.” A pinky promise as old as time.

He curls further into her and not for the first time he wishes that they were straight. That they could feel that way about each other.

Life would have been so much easier.

They would have had much less heartbreaks, and maybe, he wouldn’t have been so broken.

Part 2 < 💛 > Part 4

[delilahsturniolo]

singer!reader “arresting” photographer!matt during her concert

read more of this au here!

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first. happy reading! :)

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your affectionate smile beamed through the stadium as you finished performing one of your many songs on the setlist for your tour. the crowd was absolutely electric, making your heart melt.

you laughed into the microphone, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. matt stood in front of the barricade, his camera clicking as he captured the perfect photo of you mid laugh. you were so beautiful to him, as obsessive as he seemed he couldn’t control it. you were just a few feet away from him too, which drove him insane.

you began to speak into the microphone. “hey, ladies..can you come here? i think i see my future husband in the crowd.” your backup dancers came beside you, one of them holding pink fuzzy handcuffs.

matt was taken aback, you were looking at him when you said that. the both of you locked eyes for a few moments before you spoke up again.

“you see him right there ladies? black shirt…camera..” matt felt his heart flutter, looking you up and down. you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

the lights on the stage flashed red and blue as a siren sound played throughout the stadium. the camera panned to matt, showing how flustered he looked.

you giggled into the microphone. “excuse me…you’re under arrest for being too hot.” you teased, crouching on stage and making direct eye contact with matt, who winked at you.

“what’s your name?” you asked him.

“matthew!” he shouted so you could hear. you nodded, smiling.

“matthew..” you repeated in a rather flirty tone, getting up and standing next to your backup dancers.

“i’m thinking so many thoughts about you that i probably shouldn’t be thinking, you’re just so attractive and—oh my gosh my clothes are falling off!” you stepped out of your skirt, your backup dancer helping you. now, you were in your blue shimmery bodysuit, that had a kiss mark just below your boob.

in your peripheral vision, you saw the flash of matt’s camera go off as he took a photo of you stepping out of your “fallen off” skirt.

the instrumental to your song began, you took the fuzzy pink handcuffs and crouched down by where matt was.

“why don’t you take these for me mr. photographer?” you handed the cuffs to the security guard who gave them to matt.

matt was a giddy and blushing mess as he accepted the handcuffs, making eye contact with you again.

“this song’s for you, matthew.” you winked at him, watching as he swung around the cuffs in one hand and held his camera firmly in the other. you began to perform your song.

matt watched you, as fans in the crowd went absolutely ballistic over the short interaction between you two.

matt watched you dance on stage, the camera panning to him every now and then, gauging his reactions.

his camera clicked as he took a few more photos of you, for your social media… and maybe he’d keep a few for himself?

© delilahsturniolo

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join the taglist here! 🤍

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[moonstruckme]

I really enjoy your writing and just read of of your jillyxreader fics. Could I request (if open) jillyxreader where reader has a nightmare and just Overall comfort and sweet fluff that will put me and reader back to sleep 🌙💫✨️

Thank you lovely <3

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 697 words

Lily wakes in an upset without really knowing why. James’ arm is wrapped snugly around her waist, one of her hands clasped over his and the other pillowing your cheek. You’ve curled your fingers loosely around her wrist in your sleep as though to keep her from moving away. It relaxes her some, that you’re both here, but after a moment she realizes what it was that woke her. You’re making soft, distressed little sounds in the back of your throat. Whimpering. 

“Sweetheart,” she murmurs, more on impulse than with any intention. Her thumb strokes once across your cheek, and your fingers tighten around her wrist. But you’re nearly as deep a sleeper as James, and you don’t rouse. 

Lily touches James’ bicep where it lays over her shoulder (as is her prerogative and her absolute pleasure), rubbing at first and then squeezing lightly when that doesn’t work. His shapeless murmur ghosts over her ear as he stirs. 

“Jamie.” She strokes his arm more kindly. “I think she’s having a nightmare.”

James makes a sleepy, concerned sound, his cheek warm where he rests it on Lily’s arm to see you. “Oh,” he coos. “Wake ‘er up, then.��� 

“I don’t…” Lily hesitates. “I don’t want to scare her.” 

Lily isn’t usually a tentative person. Actually, she prides herself on being someone who often knows just what to do. She can think on her feet, she knows her principles, and she’s generally good with people. But Lily never had to work for James’ affection (though she tries every day to deserve it) and though you’ve never been withholding with yours, she sometimes feels insecure in knowing precisely the right thing to do for you. James is inherently loveable, but she still has no clue why either of you have chosen her; she’s afraid to be the one to mess things up. 

Sometimes, she thinks James knows this. He mushes his lips to her arm, stubble tickling, says “s’okay, lovely,” and reaches for you himself. 

You do wake as Lily feared, with a start and a short breath, but you calm quickly under James’ touch, Lily’s hand still underneath your cheek. 

“Shh, you’re okay, angel.” James rubs your shoulder softly as the tension in your body eases. “Everything’s okay.” 

“Oh my god.” You let out a shuddery breath. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Lily strokes a short line under your eye with her thumb. “Bad dream?” 

“Mm.” You look between her and James. Then take another deep breath, letting your face rest more heavily in her palm. “I woke you?” 

“Not really,” she lies. “You sounded upset, though.” 

You frown. “I was making sounds?”

Lily nods, feeling her brows draw together sympathetically. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You think about it for a second, forefinger stroking the inside of her wrist. Warmth seeps through Lily’s skin, settling pleasurably inside her. 

“Thanks,” you say after a few moments, “but I think I’d rather not. It’ll just make it harder for me to get back to sleep.” 

“Will you be able to get back to sleep?” James asks. 

You nod, but your shoulders draw up uncertainly. “I think so.” 

“Mm. Best take measures to ensure it.” He reaches over Lily, who flattens herself to the bed as James takes your waist in his hands. “C’mere, lovie.” 

You smile and apologize to Lily as James hauls you over her, situating you between them. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses the hill of your cheek, drawing back to look you in the eyes. It’s dark enough that she can’t make out much of you, but your eyes glitter faintly in the low light, pupils large and trusting. Lily’s heart feels heavy with fondness. “Is this going to help, sweetheart?” 

You smile faintly. “Yeah,” you say, moving forward to kiss her on the lips. 

“Yeah,” James echoes you. He plants a smacker on your cheek, then leans over you to do the same to Lily, his demeanor playful but the hand he pets down your arm comforting. “Course it’s going to help, babe, don’t be so silly. Have a bit of faith, yeah?” 

“Right.” Lily links your hands, bringing them to her lips. “My mistake.”

[figthoughts]

What do u think Deans main kinks would be?? Tbf though I feel like he’d be into pretty much everything 😭 he’s a slut and we love him for it

you’re so real, that man loves sex and we do love him for it!!!! i personally hc dean as a switch, so i think his kinks would probably be quite general and would depend on his partner, but he’s definitely up for trying new things! 18+

— praise.

that man is heavily neglected when it comes to compliments and gentle touches. his eyes would light up at every little “you feel so good” or “good boy”. it doesn’t even matter if he’s praising you or the one being praised, he just loves seeing you happy and hearing how good he’s making you feel. he definitely sees sex as a way to relax and have fun with you, so he’d be all about wanting to make you feel beautiful and desired through praise and compliments. he shows his love through physical touch and gentle words.

— manhandling.

now hear me out with this. dean wouldn’t be big on being rough with you in the bedroom, considering how harsh the hunter life is. he’d want to be gentle with you, although he wouldn’t be super opposed to some choking or a cheeky little spank here and there. however, he’d love it if you got a little rough with him, like shoving him against a wall or onto the bed, just taking what you want. he’d definitely love when you get a little confident and grab him by the jaw to make him look at you or tug on his hair as he goes down on you. he just likes you touching him, even if it’s in a rougher way, it gets him all giddy and excited.

— teasing.

we all know this man is a brat. dean loves making inappropriate jokes that make you squirm and shoot him disapproving looks in public or touching you in teasing little ways, just to get you riled up. seeing you get all whiny and needy in the bedroom would make him go crazy, though he wouldn’t mind also being teased. in fact, he’d kinda love it. he’d love it if you’d walk around in tight little clothes, taunting him almost, or doing provocative little things just to mess with him. it’d be how you get him back. dean is definitely whining and begging if you tease him, “please, baby. i can’t take it anymore. need you so bad,” that kinda thing. he’d never tell you, but he loves it.

— roleplay.

dean would go crazy for a little roleplay with you. his favourite would definitely be cowboy x damsel in distress, although you playing naughty nurse would be a close second. initially, he’d be nervous about bringing up his lil fantasies with you. he’d wait until he knows you’re both comfortable enough with each other and your sex life. naturally, you wouldn’t be able to wipe the dopey grin off his face as you walk in wearing whatever silly little thing he asked you to. he’d just love it.

— cockwarming.

dean definitely is making you cockwarm him as soon as he gets back to see you after a hunt or something. just sitting in the deancave with his cock up your cunt as you watch some cheesy horror movie, neither of you bothering to move, just completely happy with feeling him inside you. of course, it would eventually lead to him pounding in and out of you, but at least for a while it’d be sweet and innocent.

— sonmo. (both consenting with prior discussion abt it)

this might be another hear me out, but considering dean is a slut, he’s up for sex just about anytime he can get it. he’d be extremely hesitant to try anything with you when you’re half asleep or fully unconscious (he just doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable), but he’d be completely okay with waking up to his cock in your mouth or you using him while he’s half asleep to get yourself off late at night.

— mutual masturbation.

dean loves the idea of you touching yourself to the thought of him, so he’d definitely beg you to let him watch as you play with yourself. it’d start off slow, until his pants are so tight he has no choice but to let himself spring free and jerk himself off in front of you, while you’re busy trying to get off in front of him. he’d melt at that and the way you call his name when you cum. after that one time, dean’d beg you to let him watch again and again and again.

— edging.

this one’s definitely more-so for himself. dean’s definitely jacking it in motel showers when he’s on hunts, just edging himself in there to the thought of you. he’d be so close every time, your name on his lips as he strokes himself, but he’d pause his movements right before cumming, just teasing himself for as long as he can take it.

— public sex.

dean’s no stranger to a quickie in the impala or even perhaps in the alleyway behind a dingy little dive bar. the thrill of getting caught would drive him absolutely wild. he’d be gripping your jaw, whispering in your ear telling you to keep quiet and be good. public sex would probably force out a more dominant side of dean. he’d wanna have fun with you, whilst also making sure he’s in control of the situation just in case you actually do get caught.

— toys.

i’m not sure if i’d consider this a kink, but i’ll list it anyway. dean is definitely the kinda guy to see toys as an aid to better sex, instead of his competition. he’d love to see you writhing underneath him with a vibrator pressed against your pussy or perhaps even some handcuffs thrown into the mix (again, he’s not fussed on who’s being cuffed). he loves the idea of you using toys on your own when he’s away on hunts. he’d definitely be begging you over text to send him videos of you using them.

— other.

none of these are really kinks, but i do wanna mention them.

i fully believe at some point in your relationship, dean would bring up the idea of making a sex tape with you. it would be exclusively for yours and his eyes only, and he would definitely watch it and get off to it during hunts when you’re not there.

i also think dean would be a little cheeky and steal your panties to take away with him on longer hunts. sure, calling you and receiving pictures and videos helps when he’s away, but nothing beats the physicality of holding your panties in his hands, wrapping them around his cock and cumming into them. maybe this is something he does without telling you, but you’d know when a pair would go missing and then return when dean does. it wouldn’t take you long to figure out. and you wouldn’t really mind.

i believe anything to do with him causing you pain or distress would be a hard no for dean. he loves you and wants to make you feel good during sex, not see you all marked up and sore because of him. he wants you to feel safe and comfortable. he’s definitely the kinda guy to check in with you constantly, “does that feel good, baby? you want me to keep going?” or “tell me what you want”.

your comfortability and pleasure is number one priority for dean. always.

A/N: ahhh such a fun request. these are my personal headcanons for dean. idk how popular these opinions are but i see that man as a LOVER if he’s in a relationship!! <3

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 11)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 10, Part 12

summary: You and Miguel spend the day together. You get a surprise visit.

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of microaggressions and racism in the workplace (projecting bc my ass is tired)

a/n: uhhhhh. heyyy.... so i took a cute little break 👉 👈

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

cracks in clay, poured over

Cold. The slow drip of an IV seems to echo in that little room. 

She feels cold; the kind that drapes over her like a second skin - slimy, slick, and it makes him shiver. Pale; her hands barely have enough strength to curl around his anymore. His little girl, and he watches as she takes shuddering breaths. In, out. In, out. The shaky rise and fall of her chest and it’s all he can do to watch, hunched over metal railing with a certain kind of dedication. His eyes creak. His back groans. 

There’s an emptiness to hospital hallways, he thinks. That thought comes with traitorous relief - balled up like chewed gum at the pit of his stomach. He wants her to rest; to take a breath that isn’t heavy with the weight of living. Even in a tangle of wires and tubes, and the steady metronome of a heart monitor to punctuate a mess of thoughts, she still looks like his. When he blinks, he sees her: rosy cheeks and chubby fingers entwined with his. He curls into them now, with rough palms softened by love - which he will dirty just to keep her safe. 

Gabriella is a force of nature. A supernova: bright, bright light at the corner of someone else’s universe - but certainly the centre of his. And when she smiles; oh God, when she smiles; he sees his mama, he sees Gabi… and sometimes, he sees himself.

It’s not a case of roaring thunder in place of quiet sky. A flash-bang in the night felt more like a whimper: hushed tones in a doctor’s office that came with a wringing of hands. And dread - settling amongst the room like a lead balloon - that was what he remembers the most. It's a feeling he'll never quite forget. The doctor; a genteel, younger man with more worry lines than Miguel himself, he had thought. Gabriella was prone to poking at the folds beneath his brow, at the sides of his mouth that curled around the very same nose he had passed on to her; smoothing them out like lines in the sand. 

Like pockmarks and furrows in sand washed away by the sea. El Mar - but Gabriella had trouble rolling her Rs. She would get there, he had always thought. He would not brandish a wooden spoon or chancla as his mama was prone to do. He would be different. Better - provide her with the space to make the mistakes he never could. If it meant a lifetime of forehead kisses and boiled candy stuck to the roof of her mouth, he wouldn’t mind.

The sea. Maybe he should take her to the beach - a proper one, not the murky waters he had grown up with. Her hand is too pale, and Miguel can already hear his mama complain; fussing over his little girl. Has Gabriella been eating properly? Has he? She would pinch his cheeks and squirm, hissing at their sallowess. Too much like your father, Conchata would say. 

He's decided. Yes, that's just what they need. White sand stretching out as far as the eye can see - azure and turquoise and deep, deep blue. 

He blinks. Miguel, ever perceptive, swipes it away from your skin. A sliver of bare flesh against his, your arm across the couch as you lay across the pillows. He woke up to this, to you; a fleeting nap that takes you both to a bright midday. Tangled up in blankets, a mess of his limbs and yours; and yet, you still feel…

Cold.

You stir. Like a lamb woken from fresh grass, he watches as you stretch; shaking away gentle sleep. At least Miguel has the sense to look away, to pretend as if he hasn't been staring at the gentle rise and fall of your chest, nor the stray hair that peeks out from the nape of your neck. He traces it with his thumb, with a tenderness that makes his head hot and heart heavy. A warm blush spreads across his face as you huff, blowing air that makes his curls jump. Despite himself, Miguel smiles, feeling the warmth. It's lop-sided, gentle where his face is sharp and he allows himself to soften - if only for a little bit.

“You okay?” You croak, voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiles, daring to curl his fingers around yours. 

“M'better now.” It's barely a whisper, and so he clears his throat. “You still seem tired, sweetheart.”

When your face scrunches up into that adorable pout, he laughs the kind of laugh that echoes throughout his whole body; deep and sonorous.

“What’s so funny?” You're whining, but your face cracks into a small smile. And like the sun peeking out from the horizon, he feels its warmth spreading from his side; onto everything your light has touched.

“Nothin’” 

His breath hitches as you come closer, placing your head on his chest.

“You're a fat fucking liar.” 

Yep, he thinks. And you don't even know the half of it. 

There's something about domestic bliss that twists his heart into knots. Most of it is you, of course, neatly pressing him out and spreading him on wooden pegs like fresh laundry. A life together, like this…? 

Fuck. Maybe he hasn't had enough sleep.

Miguel hums, quietly turning your palm in his, tracing its lines like a lovelorn sap. He likes your hands, for some reason. They are smaller than his, gentle in their curve and crackle, fitting exceptionally well in his own.

He frowns. 

“I think I'm happy.” 

…and then he's biting his lip like he's said something he shouldn't. What should be an off-hand comment, swept away by the tide, makes you sit up abruptly.

“You think?” There's no malice in your voice, just confusion.

“It just feels…” He can't even look you in the eye, deciding to inspect your hands instead. 

“Different?”

You finish his sentences now, great. Miguel feels like a walking cliche; all butterflies and shaky hands and cotton in his mouth. 

In an attempt to sound indifferent, he hums. If you can see through his paper-mache facade, you don't show it.

“Different.” He rolls it around on his tongue, wanting to know its taste. If it fits, how it fits, and where you come into the equation. Different. Good different? It's a tentative thought, creeping into the back of his mind like a thief in the night. Whilst he wouldn't usually entertain it - as it was a dangerous thought, the kind that leads to others, thoughts of skipping through meadows with his hand in yours, or picnics on the beach, or–

“You think that might be because you had a full 8 hours of sleep?” You snort, stretching out. More thigh peeks out from under the covers.

His throat goes dry. Focus, Miggy. Yes, he wouldn't usually entertain it, but it felt far too good to think about the both of you, together, under different circumstances. 

He would've met you at an overpriced coffee shop on his way to work. Or maybe he would catch your eye on the subway, and you would flash him a smile too beautiful to ignore in return. One to keep, like the expectant one you give him now.

You're waiting, he realises. Waiting for him to say something; something that gets stuck in his throat. He hopes not to spill his guts like this: a tangle of maybes and might'ves. The reality is less exciting. It comes out wrong - flat and pathetic and lifeless.

“7 and a half.” He says, shaky. Sleep, right? You said something about sleep? “The other day, I had 7 and a half.” 

Miguel forces down the person-sized lump in his throat. You are stunning; sleep-rimmed and tangled up between his legs and that worn blanket.

Maybe we could've been more.

~~~

He’s an idiot, you think.

“And what good did that do you?” You retort, still sharp despite a blossoming headache at your temples. 

“And what good did that… you're the last person to talk.”

For all his degrees, his accolades, his middle-school-science-fair-certificates; he could barely manage to take care of himself. It worried you in a way you were sure was common decency, like the pang of sympathy one would regard a puppy too tired to keep its head up. 

“You look like shit, Mig.” And he did. In that frustratingly perfect way he was prone to, of course: rugged and ragged and handsome; messy, but without a hair in place. An oxymoron. A paradox. A fool with 2 degrees pending. A loveable idiot - certified, absolutely.

“You look like shit–”

You put your hands over your eyes like glasses, like a child on the playground. “Only one of has eyebags the size of Mars–”

“ –and only one of us has a hangover the size of Mars,”

“I do not.”

“The 3 tequila shots you took last night say otherwise.”

You descend into a heap of giggles, unable to refute his claims. Goddammit, does he have a point. You hate him for it; his smug tone, wagging a knobbly finger in your face; but you know there's no malice. What might've been turned into an argument oh-so long ago, stays childish and playful and maybe even a little… fun? There is a shine in his eyes that you have so dearly missed, and a hint of a smile you know he is barely clamping down on. It brings a warmth to your chest far greater than any alcoholic buzz - tequila shots or otherwise - ever could.

Wait. How did he know you had—

“Took you long enough.” 

He's chuckling, reaching over for his phone discarded on the rickety coffee table. With a couple quick swipes you're greeted with a plethora of drunk messages sent by Lyla; the majority of which are unintelligible. He hands the phone over, seemingly more interested in satiating his appetite as he heads for the kitchen, leaving you ample time to scroll through. You recognise one or two videos from Lyla's private story, and sure enough, there you are - knocking back shots offered to you like it was your job. Watching it back makes you wince. You were so sure of yourself last night, chock-full of liquid courage, it almost seemed like water in those dainty glasses. There’s more, as you scroll up: including candids of you at the club, some you don't quite remember posing for, others with Lyla's slim arm draped around your shoulders like they belong there.

Unsurprisingly, most of them are of Lyla; drunken selfies sent with a string of messages you were barely able to make out. It all makes you wonder just how well Miguel knows his friend, able to respond accordingly to her nonsense string of characters and emojis. Considering it had taken you this long to be barely conversational in Miguel-ese, Lyla would prove to be something else entirely. 

There's a peek of something as you scan through last night's messages. You don't mean to pry, but one thing leads to another, and you get stuck on a conversation that occurred not too long ago.

[Sent: 15:32]

Are you guys still on for tonight?

[Received: 15:32]

👍👍

[Sent: 15:3]

Okay, cool. I won't be home to drop her off, though. Is that okay?

[Sent: 15:32]

👍👍

“I messaged her this morning,” You start, making space for him on the sofa. “No response. Do you think I should give Lyla a call?”

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Sometimes she falls off the face of the earth and then you find out she’s in Indonesia with a cocktail by the beach.”

You must make a face, because Miguel comes closer. It’s tender, and much more intimate than it should feel; and all you can do is short circuit as he brings his hand to your cheek.

His thumb rest at the cleft of your chin, gently moving your face to look him in the eye.

“I’ll give her a call, if you like.” He presses a gentle kiss to your furrowed brow, and you can barely breathe. “You’re much too pretty to worry. I’ll sort it out.”

When he pulls away, all you can manage is a weak nod. All that pomp and self-rightousness that filled you not even 5 minutes ago dissipates like a limp balloon with just a flash of his smile. 

“You hungry?” He asks.

“Starving.” You say with a grin.

~~~

You hear his voice first, the mellow timbre and its slight twang rumble through the walls. Your door is open in the hope that Miguel will saunter in and… and do something resembling earlier on in the day. Considering the time, it was little more than delusion - you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen Miguel up past 11pm. Whether it was work, or studying, or a popcorn movie on the couch, he could never make it through the night. More and more, you’ve found him passed out on the couch, one arm slung lazily over it’s back - but that was another matter.

Now, your door isn’t too open - you wouldn’t want to seem desperate - but wide enough that you can catch whispers of his conversation. Miguel seems to speak in more grunts and huffs; and you can almost see his scrunched brow and crooked grimace. The other voice is tinny, but clearly male - spouting garbled, frantic words that you can’t quite catch. It’s odd; whilst you were no stranger to late nights, your roommate started fighting sleep at 7pm sharp - so what exactly was going on?

You creep towards the door, snaking your head around its edge. There he is; down the hall and shadowed by the doorway with his phone flat on the dining table, perched on its lip with nothing but a plaid pair of pants on. He looks bedworn and exhausted, sure - but gorgeous in the kind of way only oils on canvas can capture. With his hand scratching at light stubble, you watch as he takes a deep sigh.

“It’s– Pete, it’s–”

More jumbled words from the phone.

“I know, man.” He pauses, hesitant. “Are you… have you guys tried Lyla?”

He says the words like they’re bitter, acrid on the way out, eventually producing a deep frown as he listens. The image sticks with you, for some reason: hunched over, shoulders slack like a ragdoll, and picking at the loose black-and-red threads. There's a flash of something you can taste - like blood  after a sucker punch - and he flattens, roughly swallowing as he rubs his temples. There’s an ache, there - and it wasn’t just a migraine from all that salty junk. His eyes are sallow, without the lustre you had grown so accustomed to. Where did he go? Your Miguel, saccharine and sickly-sweet? 

A trick of the light, you decide; just the morning sun. 

You are too lost in your own thoughts - vivid ones, of takeout noodles and orange chicken - that you barely notice him move. Almost a second too late, it registers, and you scramble to your bed in a flurry of limbs, managing to close the door just in time. You hear heavy footsteps, and there’s a knock at the door. 

“Come in!”

Miguel pops his head through the door, shirking away from the bright light.

“Jesus, you need all these lights on?”

You roll your eyes. Laptop on, a desk lamp, a standing lamp, etc etc. Warm lights, made even cosier by pillows and plush bedding. The very same bedding he fucked you in the first time, and the next, and the next. Clearly, he couldn’t recognise ambience if it whacked him in the face.

“Did you want something?”

When once he would’ve been taken aback by your gall (and you too, you suppose, as Miguel had never been the most tactful), he simply purses his lips.

“I… I'm babysitting for Peter.”

“May's coming over?” You visibly perk up, and it makes him smile.

“I wish you got this excited when I come home. Yeah, she is.” He’s still picking at the loose fibres of his pants. “I'll try to get her to bed as soon as possible, but she's a little hurricane, so be wary of the noise.”

“It’s pretty late, Mig. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah; something came up and their usual sitter isn't available. It's the least I can do.” He gives you a weak smile

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up.” 

Despite this, he lingers for a bit, clearly antsy. “With traffic, I’m not sure when they’ll get here. Pete lives just across the way, but...” 

“But?”

“I’ll probably have to stay up for a bit.”

“I can keep you company.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“Alright, alright!” You throw your hands up, huffing dramatically. “Mig, there’s no need to beg. Give me five minutes.”

He gives you a weary smile, before turning to leave. But he pauses at the doorway, and as if in a trance - tightening grip, clenched jaw - 

“You look nice.” He says, low and slow.

“Thanks.” You manage to squeeze out. Ever so slightly, you squeeze your thighs together too, for good measure.

With one last look he drags that heavy gaze away from you, giving your room a once over. 

“...now I know why the light bill’s so fucking high.”

~~~

The doorbell rings when the two of you have settled in - head on his broad chest and something on the TV. Whilst you don't know how you ended up here, you do know how it ends; he puts a boring documentary on, you proceed to fight sleep before hands wander, the room gets a little heavier, and…

The doorbell, right. He shuffles out of your grip, gently placing your head on the sofa. You feign a yawn as you shift, watching the wide expanse of his back as he answers the door. Unfortunately, he's put a shirt on, but you are still mesmerised by the way that baggy t-shirt clings this way and that. You sigh at the sight - it’s much too late for unabashed yearning - burying your cheek into the pillows.

The door opens. You manage to spot a flash of red peeking over your roommate.

“God, we are so sorry. We don't know what's gonna happen to my Dad and–”

Miguel brings a hand up to stop her. She is clearly exhausted, eyes-red rimmed like she's been crying; with a tight hand around the strap of a sling bag. It's full to bursting, likely haphazardly prepared - stuffed with diapers, snacks, toys and God knows what else. She scratches at the nape of her neck, pulling at choppy hair scraped into a bun. With her bangs pinned back, you can't help but think she looks less like the character she plays on TV and more like a person - experiencing the kind of grief made less glamorous by makeup and bright lights. 

“It's okay, Em.” 

Em. You can't see his face, but you can see MJ's; and you notice the way she softens at the nickname. 

“I haven't heard that one since college. Thank you, Miguel.” She gives him a watery smile.. “I've got some food for her in the bag, extra milk, those peanut cups she likes, my personal and my work phone number, my mom's phone number in case you can't reach me or Pete, diapers, wipes – hypoallergenic, she can be a bit sensitive – a-and we are trying self-soothing with her stuffy because she can get antsy before bed.”

Her eyes are a little bloodshot, but she manages to hand off the bag, before turning to talk to a little mop of red that peeks out from behind her. May's chubby fingers are clamped tight around her leg, but with some gentle coaxing, the little girl steps into your apartment.

“Hi, May.” Miguel smiles, one you imagine is dazzling kryptonite from her favourite uncle, and she puts her small hand in his.

“Bye, honey. Be good for your Uncle.” MJ gives her daughter a gentle hug, brushing back her hair for a kiss. Little chubby fingers try to do the same, and it's a display that makes your heart melt.

“Stay safe, MJ. Say hi to Peter for me?” You call out over the lip of the couch.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She flashes you a smile, and you are windswept by its candour. 

Once she leaves, May is uncharacteristically quiet. She seats herself on the sofa, little legs dangling, unable to reach the floor. Miguel slides off her backpack and jacket - brightly coloured plastic adorned with a kid's TV show - with an ease and gentleness you didn't quite know he was capable of. There's something to be said about a man of his stature - tall and hulking, with hands that could easily palm a basketball - using those very same hands to carefully unbutton the loops on May's jacket. Despite her muted panic; the gradual kind, the kind that wells up like the tide before a storm and comes with a wobbly lip and balled up fists; his voice stays calm and soothing in the walls of your little apartment. It is well-practiced and unfazed, exceedingly gentle in his approach. He'd make a good dad, you think. 

She's restless. You both try your best, coaxing her to eat mushy peas and applesauce, with little to no success. May clearly isn’t pleased - scrunching up her face with disgust.

“I feel you, kid.” You sigh, plopping the dinner spoon into the green mixture. “Not the most appealing.”

“But it’s good for her!” Mig yells from the kitchen, digging around for something in the cupboards.

She makes a face, looking to you for some comfort. All you do is shrug, tugging at your collar in an exaggerated manner. She almost smiles, and so you make your eyes go wide - pulling a peal of laughter from the little girl. It is contagious, and makes you beam from ear to ear.

“That doesn’t sound like dinner.” Miguel breezes past with something in his hand.

“I think they serve prisoner’s better food. Or food that looks less grey, anyways.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He hisses, seating himself on the other side of the little girl. In his hands are a cute little bowl - pink plastic and toddler sized. It comes with a spoon that fits in Mayday’s palms just-right, and he scoops up some of the mixture the bowl. 

You’re a little confused. “Where did you fi-”

“She’s a big girl.” He says simply, facing her and mimes taking a spoonful. You watch as her eyes get a little rounder, shining and intelligent. You can almost hear the gears moving in her tiny little head. “She can feed herself. Can’t you, May?

“Mig, I don’t know if that would work.”

And like a curious little dove, her head cocks this way and that, with a deep frown on her face. Pudgy fingers wrap around the neck of the spoon, and clumsily, she brings it to her lips. It falls with a clatter, and mushy peas splatter everywhere. 

There’s an I told you so on the tip of your tongue, but he tries again; cooing at the little girl, encouraging her to take the spoon once more. He’s gentle, but doesn’t talk down to her - and like she can understand every word, her eyes shine with recognition. Now, you’re not the best with kids - a baby cousin or two notwithstanding - but its hard to believe he hasn’t babysat before. Miguel O’Hara; lab tech, masters student, and clearly, world class Uncle. You’ve got a million and one questions, but you are unable to do anything but watch - all the while, gears turning.

She gets increasingly frustrated. In an adorable, gap-toothed way, but the toddler can’t seem to get a good grip. You watch as the spoon falls: clatter, hollow clang, conk; and every time, Miguel picks it up, wipes it off, and encourages her to try again. 

Clatter.

“One more time, sweetheart,”

Clang. 

“You were so close! You want to try again for me?”

Thunk. You've got an idea.

“She’s not going to eat, Mig.” 

He looks up. You’re handing him her jacket, and pulling on a long-discarded sweater. 

“Let’s go for a walk.”

~~~

It fills you with a certain amount of delight to say something that surprises Miguel.

“I know a place.” You say, somewhat smug.

“What do you mean, you know a place?”

You shrug. After a couple of quick phone calls, you did, in fact, know the perfect place for a late night wander.

“The park on 10th?”

“Nope.”

“If it’s The Rec Centre on Chelsea Ave, it’s closed. I grew up with the guy who runs it, and–”

“Nope.”

“Where are you taking us? May, she’s going to kidnap us and sell our organs on the Black Market.” She’s got her little palm in his, and gives you a look that says ‘Him first’.

“Don’t want your organs. You’re Mexican and lactose intolerant; can’t imagine the damage you’ve done to your gut.” You stop them, crouching down to speak to May directly. “Do you like animals?”

Her face shines with recognition. She nods profusely. Miguel seems somewhat horrified, but it just looks cute, to you.

“That doesn’t reassure me, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You give Miguel a dazzling smile. Somewhat smug turns into very smug, very quickly. “We’ll take the subway!”

~~~ 

The Nueva York Research and Conservation Centre is quite the gem, Miguel quickly realises. It's the kind of thing that predates him, and even his oldest neighbours; immigrants that came to Nueva York in the 60s and 70s. He remembers a handful of school trips in elementary and middle school - traipsing around the old building with a clipboard and stubby pencil in hand. Even when he was a kid, the centre had paled in comparison to the Zoo up in Central; that was shiny and modern, with actual lions (plural) and giraffes. Of course, his school couldn't afford the accompanying exorbitant fees, so they settled for the converted municipal building and grounds; housing less exciting animals.

But he still remembered the first time he had walked through those double doors, and past the little ticket office after being handed the paper stub. 

He liked that there weren't any cages. At the time, there was thin plexiglass separating the people from the animals, but they had space to roam, and were never the flashy sort - meerkats were the highlight of one trip, and an alligator snapping turtle the next. The centre was temperature controlled and meticulously maintained despite the clear understaffing; he always enjoyed the trek on cobbled path, and the insect building and reptile room never failed to disappoint. 

There were always researchers hanging about there. Not in white lab coats and clicky pens like he had once thought; but sturdy trousers and frazzled smiles. They were kind, and easy going; always happy to talk to the little boy in clothes two sizes too big. 

Maybe May was too young to understand, but he felt it immediately. That rush of excitement as you lead them on a long forgotten path, and pull out a key that unlocked those very same double doors. Nostalgia, perhaps, bubbles up from his fingertips.

“Hey, Ernie.” You nod towards a night watchman, perched at the reception desk. With his head buried in a magazine, you are satisfied with a nondescript grunt. Security clearly hasn't changed. 

May gives a little wave, and Miguel can't help but coo. She's squirming, feeding off of his clear excitement and dragging him towards you with a surprising amount of force.

You lead them to the outside park. The Centre is dark, for a while, and after some rattling, and the careful click of a few switches; Miguel feels like a kid.

The lights are on, illuminating an acre or two of land, and he is transported to being 6 and then 7 and then 11 - clipboard and pencil in hand.

May is agape, eyes wide at nothing but fenceposts and plexiglass. The enclosures are empty with the majority of the animals asleep; yet she is fascinated with the landscape, so much so that she paws at Miguel to hoist her up. She's on his shoulders before you can orient yourself.

He hears you laugh first. Bright, gorgeous laughter like morning rain on a warm day. You laugh and clap with wonder, and pinch the little girl's cheek good naturedly. She returns it with her own, pointing at ‘funny trees’, their green tongues lapping at the bright light.

“We'll need to be quick.” You finally say, leading them once again. He catches a sliver of neck, pretty and supple as you turn your head towards them. Fuck. 

“How do you have access to this place?”

“I know a guy.”

“Not a chance.” A guy, sure. It sounds like bullshit, but he can feel the confidence radiating off of you. It makes him wonder… is this another ex? Someone who works here, no doubt, but with so much pull you can walk straight through after closing hours?

“We'll meet ‘em, in a bit.” You trail off towards a plaque, reading out the inscription. “The Giant Armadillo, Priodontes maximus, is a giant insectivore – that means eats insects, May – characterised by its hinged bands and pale head. Found in much of South America, this – oh, look!”

Miguel follows your line of site, to some movement within the enclosure. Between large, grassy mounds, sure enough he spots the pale snout of the animal. May squeals with laughter, pointing toward the movement.

You put a finger to your lips, and ease her out of his grip. You get closer, whispering excitedly in response to the little girl's babbling. He doesn't follow, hands buried deep in the pockets of a brown leather jacket. 

We'll meet him. He plays it over and over and over in his head, letting it rattle and clank before sinking to the pit of his stomach. It tastes familiar: heavy and bitter. He's thinking of a man from a nicer background; kind, maybe, and softer. Walks around in suits and shiny shoes; who owns shit, who doesn't rent. Someone with softer hands than his own. 

“Mig?” 

Your hand is on his cheek. He’s pulled out of that haze, and straight into the warmth of your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.” He croaks.

“You okay?” Your brow is scrunched up adorably, little Mayday hanging off of your arm. He can't make you worried.

“Just fine, sweetheart.”

“Well, come on then. I’d like you to meet someone.”

You pull him towards the Reptile Room; a brick and mortar building with the metallic sheen of a lizard on its face. You pull out more keys, sifting through a whole jumble. Before he can stop himself, he's staring at you; intense and stormy. That sinking feeling deepens. You look up, and give him a smile. Like emerging above troubled water, he takes a deep breath and feels a little lighter.

“Liv?” The door is open in no time. You're calling out into empty space, boots click-clacking on tile. These lights are on, but dim, matching the hot and humid air of the building. “Liv!”

Miguel pulls at his collar, following you deeper inside. A service door; amidst enclosures of leafy green, pebbles, sand, and more; leads to a modest lab. Amongst vials labelled ominously and rows of benches that smell like disinfectant, lies a nest of hair crudely tied back.

Liv pops out from behind a clunky monitor, beaming from ear to ear. They're older, with a sharp jaw and soft features framed by wrinkles and smile lines. 

“Doctor Olivia Octavius,” You smile, “Meet Miguel.”

Hand outstretched, Liv clears a path of pens and junk to reach his hand. It’s firm, he notices; with inked scribbles on the underside and a stack of bracelets at their wrist. They look familiar, but he can't quite place the name.

“How do you two know each other?” It spills out like May's mushy peas, and he hopes his sweaty palms aren't too noticeable.

“She used to work here - night shift.” Liv adjusts octagonal glasses, jewellery clinking.

“I was only a janitor, Mig.”

“The best damn janitor around. And good company during late nights.”

You get a playful nudge in the side for your trouble, and the two of you share a knowing look. 

“And who's this?” Liv crouches, attention turning to May who is engrossed by a tangle of colourful wires. 

“Her name's May.” He grunts.

“Your….” Doctor Octavius looks between you both, choosing their words carefully. “Daughter?”

“No, no.” You laugh - a little too much, for his liking. “We're babysitting - Liv, he's just my roommate.”

Miguel winces. Twice. He chooses to ignore the raised eyebrow and pursed lips, lest it blossom into any awkwardness.

A beat passes. “Does May like lizards?” 

She nods enthusiastically, hissing like un vibora. She’s almost there, he thinks, and Miguel can't help but smile.

“We've got some speckled lizards in tank 3 and 4 - donations from our freshwater contacts in Panama. You want to show her around?”

“Sure, but what about–”

“You guys head off, I've got some paperwork to finish off. 10 minutes? If she's gentle she can touch one or two.”

Satisfied, you nod, looking at him expectantly. Your eyes shine just like May's, and like his once upon a time, with a childlike wonder that makes his heart ache. You look happy. God. He'd do anything to keep you smiling like that.

But he's tired. Finally, the night has caught up with him, and he just doesn't have the energy anymore. 

“I'll stay.” He says gently. “Need to sit down for a bit anyways.”

He must imagine it, but for a second, you falter. Big, round eyes that shimmer in the harsh lab lights; and for a millisecond, he sees it dull. It’s gone in just a moment. And then you give him a warm smile, with a touch on his arm that seems to linger. The two of you beam, and you bound off with the kind of vigour he hasn't felt in years.

The click-clack of keys fills the room. He takes the opportunity to look around, noticing plaques upon plaques in the little corner of the lab. PhD. Masters. Accreditation from organisations with long, winding names. Doctor. Bioengineering. A foray into experimental physics. Pictures of her shaking hands with flashy names - and he recognises one with wide eyes.

“That's Marcus Kirby.” They barely look up.

“I… I know.”

“I worked with him before he headed up Alchemax, and well before the position was passed onto his son.” There's a hiss, and Miguel hears the violent rattle of the keyboard come to a stop. “I remember when he was still a kid, actually.”

He hesitates. “I watched one of your talks in Prague…. the one on metaphy–”

“Metaphysical dimorphism? Or was it the metagenesis of the perpetual plane? I can never remember these things.”

“Something like that.” He grunts.

“You were there? Should've asked for an autograph. Wouldn't be worth much, though.” A little snort catches him off guard, but he shakes his head.

“I was 17 - so, no.”

“Ouch.”

Ouch, indeed. He had loaned that particular talk from the library, a tape played over and over until Gabi had thrown a spoon at his head for the crime of astrophysics at breakfast.

“Do you still work with them?”

“Oh, I've been back there a couple of times; despite the complaints otherwise, mind you; their conference centre is world-class –” They stop themselves. “You meant–”

“I meant Alchemax.”

They snort. “We went our separate ways.” 

Why? He can't help but wonder; considering the equipment and brilliant minds the company has access to. Especially someone with the tenure and experience of Doctor Octavius - he could only dream of that kind of influence. Imagine the good he could do, the lives he could change…

Wonder turns to indignation, which turns to unfair assumptions; he looks around at the dingy workspace and curls up his nose. Disgust. From a well-respected, world-renowned bio-astrophysicist to this. Without the rose-tinted goggles of his youth, Miguel can't help but feel the walls closing in - a future career flashing before his eyes. From a dim rent-controlled apartment to an equally dingy desk in the corner of nowhere. He can't have done all of this for nowhere.

Doctor Octavius squints. The click-clack of keys stops. The air leaves the room, leaving only a cold chill.

“What exactly do you do?”

“Genetics and Bio-engineering department.” He puffs out his chest, but is unable to hide a slight shake to his voice. “I'm a lab assistant at Alchemax.”

Liv gives him a blank expression.

“So you're young.”

“I guess.”

“Unexperienced. You've barely taken your first steps into this world. I bet you still have dreams of saving the world. What are you working on, a cure for cancer?”

His jaw shifts.

“A joke.” They smile stiffly. “Research isn't like that. It's stuffy and bureaucratic and painfully capitalist. Everything requires a thousand yards of red tape until it doesn't; until they ask you to fudge numbers for the sake of shareholder value. Until they axe vital projects that affect the bottom line.” 

They step closer, boots thudding on cheap linoleum.

“It’s hard, to get them to see you. It's even harder when they've already made their mind up. I gave 12 years of my life to that place and you'd be wise to quit whilst you're ahead. Whilst you're young.”

Their eyes are empty. A quiet, cold rage swirling for the last 10, 15 years. He recognises it, of course he does; it's the very same rage that sits at the pit of his stomach - with the dense heat of a white dwarf. In that way, he thinks, he's collapsing in on himself; one that precedes an abcess into the very same perpetual plane Doctor Octavius built their career on. 

“Alchemax is doing things no one could've predicted 10 years ago - our genetics trials are world-class -” He starts a spiel he is well versed with – but it sounds hollow even under these dim lights. 

“Is that what Marcus is going with these days? Plasticky and insincere?”

“I–We are saving the world.”

He's met with a withering look; that echoes the indignant sighs from teachers of his youth.

He remembers small squares of paper, handed out to kids in the Reptile house. Brightly coloured facts pasted along its route; detailing the kind of research undertaken at the conservation centre. For a 7 year old Miguel, he was wholly absorbed with the worksheets - three words at the top of a blank table. Hypothesis. Observation. Analysis.

Hypothesis.

“If this a personal gripe–” 

“Of-fucking-course it's personal.” It was spat out, with more emotion he thought they were capable of. A pause. “Did you know Marcus Kirby commissioned the research for near-unlimited nuclear energy? Did you know we actually built it?”

“You're–” His throat is dry. “You continue to make claims without evidentiary basis. 

Observation.

A slight bobbing of an Adam's apple. The tightening of the invisible string that slowly winds their shoulders back.

“We could have powered hundreds of thousands – millions of homes. For much cheaper and cleaner than what we have now; clogged up by fingers sticky with oil money, most likely. And the proprietary technology is collecting dust, somewhere in that fucking building. Knowing Marcus, he's using it as a paperweight.”

And his head is a blur. Miguel isn't stupid; he sees Alchemax for what it is. A business, at the end of the day. He thought childlike naivete was a distant bygone but for some reason, he's shaken.

Can he believe what he hears? Is it just personal pettiness at the root of all this venom? Sure, he doesn't get invited to after work drinks. Sure, he isn't involved in the office gossip; in signing birthday cards and impromptu lunches out. Sure, just once, he'd like to get more than lab reports and risk assessments dumped on his station. He even finds himself missing stilted small talk; picking his fingernails as his coworkers talk around him, like he isn't even there. No man is an island in his field of work. For every discovery and pseudo-cure-for-cancer there are hundreds of lab techs doing the grunt work. So he knuckles down and does the only thing he knows how to do. He keeps his head down; because he already has a job to do, he doesn't need to be liked.

Analysis.

He sees it now, clear as day. A coffee cup gripped too tightly, a flash of fear when he clears his throat. Little comments, and then big ones: 

Drug tests at your stage are mandatory, O'Hara. 

Ronnie’s been working here a long time. There's no need to be aggressive, O'Hara. 

We want you front and centre in this picture, O'Hara, but don't forget to take out the trash on your way out.  

But what he has always attributed to the status quo, to his prickly personality, to his distinct lack of charm and unwillingness to be loved - could it be something else? When they look at him, who do they see? Is it O'Hara, the underpaid, awkward intern - or Miguel, brutish and brash and scary?

A great crash and in its crescendo is Doctor Octavius, hand outstretched, half bitten fingernails and papercuts all the same. He's different, he knows that. He's intimidating and gruff with a slight propensity for violence. But he's saving the world! He’s making a difference, one meagre test tube at a time.

And then there’s that voice again, hoarse and buried deep deep down at the pit of his stomach. With all that they've asked him to do… what does he have to show for it?

You come to mind. Kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The way you look at him, the way you touch him - like he's delicate, like he's capable of breaking. He thinks of soft nights spent in your arms and between even softer sheets… and not once have you shirked away or asked him to flatten. Acceptance; whole-hearted and unconditional; tastes much too sweet between your thighs.

“Mig!” He hears a squeal from out and down the corridor. Footsteps on the linoleum are followed by a pitter-patter, before you and May arrive at the door giggling uncontrollably. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” He softens like butter under a hot knife, because of course he does. It’s you.

“Come look, come look!”

He throws a glance to Liv, their white hot grip on the desk relaxing. They tuck a strand of loose hair back and sit down, shuffling through papers like nothing had happened. The tension dissipates - that was your doing, he thinks.

“It's a… Mig, God, there's a tank with an oc…”

“Cephalopod, actually.” Doctor Octavius smiles, picking up a battered coffee mug to lead the way. “You would not believe the hoops I had to jump through to get her here, but isn't she a beauty…”

He trails behind, flashing you and May a shaky smile. The frazzled scientist is knee deep in another story - betrayal, heartbreak, a tentacled hero, and more. But when Liv looks back, for a moment, he sees it: the very same look he had given unapologetically just a few minutes ago.

Pity.

_

_

_

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[hearts4werka]

NNN day 6 | Birthday Tears

summary: today was your birthday, the day you’ve never got to actually celebrate because of some family issues. Youve now always avoided your birthday and didn’t want to celebrate it, when you were coming home from the grocery store you were met with a sweet surprise when entering the house…

warnings: FLUFF, brief mentions of family issues but aside from that nothing else!

authors note: day 6 is now complete ! Big thanks to my honey @/strnilolover for the idea and the other ideas, luv u sm💋. And tysm for all of the support throughout this whole thing, I rlly appreciate very single one of you sm. Hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The crisp autumn air hung in the space around me as I clutched the grocery bags and carried them home, each step filled with a heavy amount of memories I wish to forget everyday. Today was my birthday-the day I’ve avoided for many years now, it’s always been a battlefield in my family and it just serves as a reminder of fractured connections and unmet expectations. Each year I have tried to wish it away, for it to vanish and forever be forgotten by everyone on earth, pretending like the specific date held no significance to my well being.

I arrive at my shared apartment with my roommate Madi and set the bags down in the kitchen counter, the delicious scent of fresh basil and ripe tomatoes filling the air as a reminder to the pasta I was planning on making for tonight’s dinner for me and Madi if she wouldn’t be staying at her boyfriends house again. Just praying I won’t burn it, like it happened the previous times. I dismiss the slight sorrow hollowing a hole in my heart at the thought of others celebrating their birthday and looking forward to it, while I was avoiding it at every cost and turn I made.

My hands moved over to the grocery bags, taking each product outside and placing them one by one in the fridge at their designated spots. Just as I turn around, my attention was immediately brought to flickering lights coming from under the door leading to the living room. Did I forget to turn off the lamp before I left? Curiosity piqued as I took a step closer, my ears picking up the soft hum of perhaps my favorite sounds. Laughter but genuine, joyful laughter. Was the TV left turned on too alongside the lamp?

I paused for a moment, my heart slightly racing as trepidation coursed through me. Maybe it was best to retreat my steps back into the comfort of my lonely routine and worry about it later but something, perhaps a whisper of longing and something I lost a long time ago, pulled me towards the room without my consent. Cautiously I creaked open the door, expecting to see the same mess of a variety of items I was going to clean up when I got back home but instead I was met with colorful confetti scattered across the floor of the room along with a chorus of “Surprise!” Which caught me completely off guard.

The confetti danced in the air as I stood at the doorframe, completely surprised but then I scanned the living room. Alongside the festive chaos was standing my boyfriend, Christopher and surprisingly my roommate Madi without the presence of her boyfriend along with some of my other friends who managed to somehow scrunch into the small space of my modest living room. My heart swelled, shocked by their presence as it was unprepared for the flood of overwhelming emotions all coming down at once.

Chris moved to stand next to me, wrapping a loving arm around my waist and pulling me closer to his side as I admire the whole surprise still. “Happy birthday, ma” He celebrated, glancing down and chuckling at how well the surprise worked on me. The warmth of his small embrace scattered across my whole body and enveloped me in a safe space I never knew I needed to feel, urging away every of the shadows that clung to my heart on this day.

“What is all this?” I stammered, continuing to try and process the sight placed in front of me. On the small coffee table landed a homemade birthday cake topped off with several candles, decorations created from paper and a pile of gifts wrapped in pretty shiny wrapping paper. “We figured you finally needed to stop avoiding your birthday, everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday after all.” Madi beamed as she stepped closer to where me and Chris were standing while Chris adds, “We couldn’t let another year go by without making it special, y’know?”

Realization washes over me, the overwhelming kindness in their gesture felt like a balm to all of the years I’ve neglected my own birthday. I didn’t expect anyone to remember, let alone plan a whole celebration surprise party in my honor. “I- thank you guys. I honestly don’t know what to say.” I finally managed to speak, my voice faltering. I suddenly felt vulnerable, emotions catching right in my throat as the memories of family disappointment flooding back. Yet, while standing among my friends, a new warmth takes me into an embrace. This was love but uncomplicated and genuine which makes a soft tear roll down my cheek.

“Well let’s get this party started now, shall we?” Chris grinned, grabbing my hand and leading me to the couch, where they had already set up laughter-filled games and a playlist of my favorite songs. The atmosphere radiated with joy, and those initial bad memories and emotions I felt faded away, replaced with surprise and joy.

As we celebrated, each laugh, each honest word, chipped away at the walls I had put up to protect myself. The clinking of glasses, the sugary taste of cake, and the joy in my friends' eyes began to stitch together the lost fragments of my broken heart. I realized I wasn’t celebrating the absence of what had been, but rather embracing the promise of what could finally be.

When the time comes to blow out the candles, I wish for something different this year. Not for the day to disappear and be forgotten, but for the future where birthdays would mean love and connection. Laughter and joy echoes through the walls of my soul, when I open my eyes I was met with smiling faces, and I knew, despite all that had been, today had changed my perspective on birthdays.

This birthday was the beginning of a newfound respect for the day I had so long tried to erase—a day I could finally acknowledge as my own, filled with sweetness, acceptance, and the warmth of friendship. Today, I felt more than just celebrated; I felt alive.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 26 - I've Loved Everything About You That Hurts

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: They’re insane because I’ll try to write a chapter with no sex and they end up fucking, and then I try to do the sex in less words and now it’s emotional.

Chapter Title from G.I.N.A.S.F.S by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 25k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The team drives to DC for a meeting with Singer. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut and average No Love Lost angst.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Ben was not the brains. And he was fucking fine with that. He was the muscle, and he was goddamn good at it. Because while She was stronger than he was—She was stronger and brighter and more vital than the fucking sun—she shouldn’t have blood on her hands. Her hands weren’t fucking meant to be covered in blood. They were meant to tap in a smooth, unyielding pattern against every surface, and turn the pages of books, and hold Ben’s face as she smiled at him. She was meant to fucking smile, and only be near blood to sit with Ben as he washed it off himself.

She kept letting it stain her skin. She kept taking fucking bullets meant for others and covering herself in the mud that pussies like Homelander pushed her into. And that’s what Ben was here for. He was now certain that he wasn’t here for fame or glory or money, he was here to move in perfect fucking time with the woman he loved. To listen to Her giggle and mumble and snort, and give her the fucking world. To dance with Her in the kitchen, and joke with her about fucking everything, and keep his arm around her during dinner as She gave him a secret look that meant I love you, Benjamin, you grump. He was supposed to watch baseball as She frowned at the screen, turning his hand over in hers as she tried to follow the game. He was meant to hold onto the easier, better things—the warm, well-fueled light that inflated in his chest when Ryan hugged at him after training, or the chuckle he couldn’t stop from escaping his body when She pouted at him about something stupid, or the way She moaned when he fucked her into the mattress—and hack and claw his way through the worse parts.

Ben was meant to be the only person in the fucking world who did the dirty work for Her. She’d done enough, and even though he believed her more and more when she told him I’m okay, Ben would do everything in his fucking power to keep her okay. He knew he couldn’t stop Her from running into traffic, because she was fast and stubborn and still didn’t care if She got hit. But he’d jump in front of the oncoming car, and continue to make her understand that he fucking cared. Ben would never fucking recover if She got hit. And if all he could do was tell Her I fucking love you, stop thinking you’re weak and expendable when I fucking love you and adore you and need you, and then run into traffic with Her, he’d do it. Ben was meant to fucking defend Her from everything that haunted her at night, and he understood that now. That he’d never chase away the ghosts, and She’d never chase away his, but they could really easily fucking kill them together. If they were together, those fucking pussy ghosts didn’t stand a goddamn chance. 

So Ben was the muscle, in order to make sure that She didn’t have to be. It was another thing for him to do for Her, when She’d made everything so much more beautiful just by fucking existing near him, and fixing all his messes, and loving him. Still somehow fucking loving him, because Ben was almost goddamn certain some cosmic entity had made a clerical error and sent him the most perfect woman in history, instead of leaving him alone. Ben thought he was supposed to be, mostly, alone. Making empty promises to women he knew he didn’t really want, and to keep fucking moving until it was enough.

It hadn’t been enough. It had never been fucking enough. 

But he’d rested for one goddamn second—his head held against Her body, the most awful aching fucking pain he’d ever goddamn felt consuming him like a storm—and it had been good. She’d hummed to him like she loved him, and She fucking did, and stayed. He’d rested, and it had been enough. 

And now he knew that the fantasy he’d created—where life was so fucking happy because She was happy—wasn’t something he’d allow to be a fantasy. He couldn’t control anything about Her, but he could keep her happy. And if Her nightmares were of blood, he’d never let her see fucking blood again. He’d hide everything that was blue—if they had a son, the kid would have to just fucking deal with green—and shoot out whatever fucking ceiling fans made her cry. He’d drive her everywhere, half because he was over a hundred and had never seen someone speed like She did, and half because she was afraid of heights, and shouldn’t have to use a single goddamn plane. He’d yell at whoever was in charge of bridges until they built one to Rome, and the rest of their fucking lives would be happy.

That was a life he wanted to live. Where he was resting with Her, and they were both happy. And Ben would fucking choke on blood and dirt and mud until it was a reality. 

Which is why he was losing his fucking mind as they entered that part of this war where it wasn’t about muscle anymore. It was about careful moves and well chosen words, and it was the only goddamn battle Ben couldn’t fight for Her. He wasn’t fucking stupid, but he wasn’t even fucking close to understanding whatever the hell went on in Her perfect, clever, insufferably brilliant brain. He knew how She thought—because he knew Her and loved Her and cared for Her—so when something happened that made her eyes grow glazed and her breathing become mechanical, Ben knew he had to hold her until she stopped thinking the only stupid thoughts she was capable of thinking.

That she was bad, when she was actually the only truly good thing in the world. 

That she was weak, when she fucking wasn’t. 

That she didn’t matter, when she mattered more than fucking anything, and sometimes it stabbed him deep in his arteries that she still didn’t get that. 

Ben knew how to chase those thoughts away. He was smart enough to know how to worship and tend to her, and to know when she just needed him at her side.

But Christ, he wasn’t smart enough for this shit. For the CIA and Singer and Edgar and Sage messes. This was Her territory. And Ben could stand at her side, but that was the only fucking way he could help, and it was driving him out of his goddamn mind.

What was worse, though, was that She was fucking confused. And that’s how Ben knew they were fucked.

Because not a single goddamn person could figure out what the fuck the keys were for. 

As they’d left the safe house, Neuman had stopped them. In reality, Neuman had stopped Her and Ben had simply fucking refused to leave them alone. He’d received several irritated glares from Neuman, but She’d moved her free hand to hold Ben’s forearm—in a silent request to keep his hand in Her’s, to stay at her side all the goddamn time—so Ben had stood tall and proud next to her, keeping her safe. Just by being there, like She’d told him to. Neuman could look fucking pissed at him all she wanted, Ben wasn’t going anywhere.

“You were at Red River,” Neuman had watched them carefully, arms crossed as she blocked their way down the stairs. “Did you get it?” 

There had been a pause as She examined Neuman, before finally nodding, her tone flat and  bored. “Yeah, we did. We’ll get it to Edgar-“ 

“What is it?” 

She’d blinked at Neuman. “Does it matter?” 

“Of course it matters,” Neuman had said Her name with an eye roll, and Ben had felt something bloody and zealous tense in his body. “Edgar raised me to be a lot smarter than just blindly trusting him, so I want to know what it is.” 

“And if I don’t tell you?” 

“Oh, come on.” Neuman’s voice had been vaguely amused, giving Her a flat look. “We both know you’re going to tell me. You trust me enough to bring Ashley here, and whatever it is I bet you’re debating whether or not you should give it to Edgar. I can help you decide.”

Ben hadn’t been debating shit. It was keys. Who gave a fuck about keys. As far as he had known, they’d toss the keys to Edgar, settling the debt, and figure out what the fuck to do with the V.

And that was another fucking reason why She was the brains. She’d studied Neuman—fingers tapping on Ben’s arm with lips pulled between her teeth—and found a conclusion that satisfied her enough to reach into Ben’s pocket and pull out the keys, holding them up for Neuman to see.

“Keys.” She’d jingled them with a shrug. “Got an idea what they’re to?”

Neuman hadn’t. Neuman had just looked fucking confused, and helped with goddamn nothing. Neuman had stared at the keys, bluntly stated that she didn’t know what they could possibly unlock, all of Edgar’s property assets were seized and all of Vought’s buildings used electronic locks, and suggested they figure out what they were for before giving them to Edgar. And—based on Her drawn, too-neutral face and the spark of indigence in her eyes—She’d already known all that, and had no intention of giving Edgar a goddamn thing until they knew what the hell was going on.

And now they were even more goddamn late to get back to the compound, and make the drive to DC. She’d volunteered to drive them back, and Ben, Hughie, and Kimiko had exchanged silent looks of not a fucking chance in hell. 

“I’ll be safe-“ 

Ben had drawled Her name, cutting off her protests as Hughie and Kimiko moved to the front of the car. “You will not be fucking safe. You’re worse than Butcher, and if you wreck his car we’re going to have to deal with his bitching for the rest of our goddamn lives.” 

“But-“ 

He’d tugged Her into the back seat, holding her half on his lap and kissing her pretty, pouting mouth until she relaxed in his arms. We’re going to be fucking fine. If Singer gets all goddamn pissed about us being late, he can shove it in his dick hole. 

A small smile had played on her lips, still pressed against Ben’s. Gross.

Her heartbeat had remained steady under Ben’s hands for the rest of the—perfectly fucking legal and safe—drive, and when they’d stepped off the elevator they’d been greeted by MM’s assessing glare and scowl.

“What the hell took you so long.” 

“Um,” Hughie had glanced back to Her—tucked under Ben’s arm—with a stutter of Her name and pallid face. “Do you want to-“ 

“You know what,” MM had run a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I don’t care. Kimiko, you and Frenchie are holding down the fort with Ryan. You three,” he’d turned his glare to Her, Ben, and Hughie. “Get ten minutes to pack. We’re rolling out in fifteen no matter who the fuck is in the limo.”

She’d blinked. “The limo-“ 

“Van’s still scrapped,” MM had muttered. “And we can’t fit six grown ass adults in a minivan or Butcher’s car. We’re renting a limo.”

Ben had no complaints about that. He didn’t have to wear a damn seatbelt in a limo, and it was a very opportune and appropriate place to hold Her in his lap as they drove without groans and pointed glares from their prude fucking team. If a life of luxury had taught him anything, it was that limos were meant to hold beautiful women, and he’d be fucking damned if he didn’t hold his beautiful woman—the most beautiful, perfect fucking woman who he fucking loved—when he was given the opportunity. So he’d let Her pull them back to their apartment, changing as she stuffed their shit into a suitcase, and taken over when her heartbeat became too fucking fast and her glare at their clothing became almost violent.

“I’ve got it,” Ben had walked up behind Her, wrapping his arms over Her shoulders and kissing Her neck until she let out a breath that didn’t sound fucking mechanical. “Don’t lose your damn mind, Sunshine, I can fucking pack.”

She’d nodded slowly, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t,” he’d muttered, leaning down to kiss under Her jaw, and felt something light and perfectly fucking mind-numbing wrap around his brain like a crown as she made a high, breathy sound. “Go get changed, darling.” 

She’d let Ben guide her to the dresser, and begun to hum under her breath as she’d changed.

“Rainbow Connection.” He’d grunted as she’d returned to his side, hanging off Ben’s arms as She surveyed his packing job.

Her smile had been all content, easy joy, and Ben whole fucking heart had skipped. Then she’d started to actually fucking sing, and he’d genuinely considered just letting the team leave without them. Her voice was like honey and summer rain and something peaceful and strong that Ben hadn’t heard before Her, and never wanted to stop hearing for the rest of his fucking life. The only thing that kept him from staying here, where She was safe and happy and the whole goddamn world was just color and light and her perfect fucking smile, was that she’d kick his fucking ass if they missed this meeting.

They’d had five more minutes, though. And that was more than enough time for Ben to spin Her around until she was dizzy and giggling, swaying in his arms to the instruments that weren’t really there as She sang, looking at him with such infinite and impossibly fucking ceaseless love.

This was the fucking shit worth fighting for. This was where Ben was goddamn supposed to be. And even as he’d kept his arm over Her shoulder—letting Her drag the suitcase behind them and grabbing his shield before they left the apartment—Ben didn’t fucking want to go. He wanted to stay right here, and let this ungrateful world that kept fucking hurting Her crumble.

But She wouldn’t let that happen, and part of why Ben loved Her—there were countless fucking reasons, and the world would probably be swallowed by the Sun before he’d finished naming them all—was because she loved fucking everything. She had a goddamn unfathomable amount of love to hold in Her body, and most of it might be for Ben, but it still spilled into everywhere that Ben could see. Music sounded better, and jokes were funnier, and water quenched his thirst faster when she was around. The only thing Ben remained at her side was hungry. For more of this fucking beauty, and whatever bit of love She’d spare for him. And as long as She kept loving the world, he’d defend it for her. If Ben had a goddamn say in anything, the world wouldn’t fall to ruin until She told him to burn it.

And She wouldn’t. So Ben had to kiss Her head and mutter that he loved Her—just in case she hadn’t heard him the million other times he’d said it—and stay watchful and dependent at her side. Walk with her to the elevator, out to the parking lot, and over to a sleek, black limo that already had the engine fucking running.

“Bout fucking time,” Butcher had grunted, jerking his head to the limo doors as they approached. “We were two bleedin seconds from leavin you twats behind. I’m drivin, which means I’m in fuckin charge, and that means no hanky panky in my bloody limo.”

She’d wrinkled Her nose as Ben opened the door. “Hanky Panky? What are you, a fucking grandmother? You sound older than he does.” 

Butcher had scoffed as She’d bumped Ben’s shoulder. “Shut it, Love, least I know how fuckin wifi works.” 

“I know how wifi works,” Ben had grumbled into Her ear as Butcher turned away. “You put in the numbers and the radio shows you the internet.”

“That’s,” She’d paused, tilting Her head as Ben pulled her into the limo. “Not wrong. Good work, Pretty Boy.”

He’d grunted, shifting them until She was on his lap, not sparing a goddamn glance to the rest of the team. “I didn’t fucking miss the old shit, brat. I’m not-“ 

“Fucking old,” She’d grinned at him, voice dropping into that dog shit impression of Ben that She’d only gotten worse at. “You know better than any damn pussy fucker, Sunshine, that I am not old.” 

He’d rolled his eyes, kissing at the base of Her neck, and MM had let out a very loud cough that almost made Ben bash his brains in, because it caused Her beautiful, perfect face to twist away from him.

“Sorry, MM-“

MM had cut Her off with a heavy, almost pained sigh. “It isn’t that shit. I mean, we’d all really appreciate if you toned it the fuck down for the drive, but I’ve given up on trying to stop you motherfuckers from humping like dogs in heat all the goddamn time.”

She’d flushed, and Ben had taken over. “The fuck do you want then-“

“The Cornucopia.” MM had looked between Ben and Her and Hughie with a raised brow. “What the hell is it.”

She’d reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them across the limo to MM. He’d blinked at Her, she’d explained Red River as Ben added some very fucking helpful nods and Hughie jumped in with small, stupid details that didn’t seem like they mattered, but She’d thanked him for anyways. 

And now, after a whole goddamn hour of sitting in the limo, they’d made no progress in figuring out what the fuck to do with the keys. Everyone had coughed up fifty dollars to Annie for Her bet of any item that’s not a bucket—Annie had forgiven Her debt, and Ben had taken Annie’s dish duty for two fucking months to make up for his own—and they’d passed them around the group for everyone to examine like they’d suddenly fucking have Vought Sex Dungeon engraved on the side.

“Maybe they’re to a storage unit?” Annie looked around the group, fidgeting with the keys in her hands, and MM shook his head.

“No, they’d have a label on them. And then we’d have to worry about-“

“What the fuck is in the storage unit.” She mumbled, leaning Her head back onto Ben’s shoulder. “I mean, no matter what those keys probably lead to the actual Cornucopia. It can’t just be keys.”

“But it’s different, right?” Hughie leaned forwards as he spoke, arms on his knees. “If it’s a storage unit, or a box, or, like, a whole building? And it matters that they’re keys, I mean that sort of, um, narrows it down.”

Ben frowned, opening his mouth to ask Hughie how the fuck that narrowed a goddamn thing down, when She squeeze his arm over her stomach.

A lot of Vought buildings don’t use physical keys, they use keycards. And those keys don’t look old, so it’s not a warehouse that just hasn’t been modernized.

Ben reached his hand up to tilt Her head back, moving her full attention from Hughie to him. What the fuck do you think it is.

I don’t know. She sighed, pulling Ben’s arms around her a little tighter. I mean, I have guesses, but-

What are they.

Ben could see Her teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, her fingers tapping against the back of his hand. They’re just theories, and none of them are concrete-

He grunted Her name in his head. Tell me your fucking theories.

They don’t-

If you say matter, I’ll crash the fucking car.

Grumpy. She gave him a fake pout, and Ben hauled her a little further up his chest, kissing the crook of Her neck.

Tell me. I won’t interrupt you, and you can talk them out. That always fucking helps you. 

Her fingers stilled against him, and when Ben pulled back she was watching him with something so gentle and adoring in her eyes it nearly fucking knocked him out. He could feel the full fucking force of Her love, crashing into his body and making everything so good. There was a soft smile playing on Her face, and Ben didn’t understand it. That was the smile she gave him when he said something supportive to Ryan, or grumbled an agreement with Butcher, or exchanged short, curt nods with MM. It was the smile She gave him when he made her pancakes, or proved he’d been listening to Her rant about nothing, or she caught him humming one of her songs in the shower, and none of his scowling or protests could deter her teasing.

I love you, Benjamin. Her voice was almost whispering in his head, and she reached up to trace the lines of his face. I really love you.

I fucking know that-

No, you don’t. She brushed hair from Ben’s eyes, and let out a small sigh. I love you so, so much. I love you, Ben. I really fucking love you.

Something felt almost fucking radiant in Ben’s body. It wasn’t the nuke, because that felt violent and hateful and still fucking painful, even within Ben’s control. This was comfortable and open and so fucking painfully glorious it might drive him mad. It was so goddamn strange, and easy, and he’d felt it before but not quite like this. This felt like when he’d rested against Her, but without any of the pain or the lump of failure in his throat. So—though he still didn’t fully fucking understand what she meant, Ben did know She loved him and never fucking doubted it—he nodded, and dropped his face back to her neck. I love you too, Sunshine. Talk.

It could be an apartment or house that the feds missed. It’s likely Edgar’s and not Vought’s, because if it’s important enough to hide Vought would’ve already taken it. Sage would’ve taken it. Maybe it’s an incredibly well-kept secret, and Sage is looking for it, and that’s why Edgar wants it now. But if it’s that, it’s probably not a house, because what would Sage need with a house. I don’t think it’s going to be something small, because Cornucopia implies plenty, and Edgar isn’t someone who misuses words. My bet is on a warehouse that Edgar’s keeping a lot of shit in. Vanessa seemed worried about what we’d do with it, which makes me think it’s something dangerous. She turned Her head, resting it against Ben’s. But that’s all I have.

Ben rolled his eyes. Still a fuck ton more than everyone else.

Shut up. She whacked Ben’s arm lightly, and he could feel her smile brushing against his forehead. What’s your bet.

My money is on your fucking money, darling.

That’s very sweet, but not the slightest bit helpful.

Tough shit, I’m not changing my answer. Ben nipped at Her slightly, smirking at the small squeak that left her lips. You’re the smartest one here by a damn mile. Money on you is safe fucking money.

Love has made you stupid, Benjamin.

No. He drew back up, his grin unrestrained as he took in Her perfect, pretty face, and her sharp, amused eyes, and all Her fucking love and adoration for, and knew that all of it was fucking his. Ben got to have this. He loved Her like she deserved, so he got to be the one she looked at with a smile and watched like he was everything. Love has made me smart as fuck. Which is why I know to put money on you, beautiful. Because you’re always fucking right.

They were so fucking close, Ben’s breath passing into her mouth, and Christ, She was going to kill him. Her lips had parted slightly, her hands over Ben’s arms—holding them in their rightful place against Her—gripping him like she was going to fall down, and She wanted him. Her thighs were rubbing for friction against his body, and her heartbeat had picked up, and Ben was going to fuck Her in the back of the limo. Everyone else was just going to have to suck it the fuck up, because She fucking wanted Ben and he wasn’t capable of denying her anything. 

Then MM said Her name, and Ben almost bit through this tongue at the way She squirmed above him and made his cock jump, and the way she was still holding onto him, and the fucking smell and feel of Her above him, and Christ he needed to fuck her-

“Catch,” MM grunted, and Ben grabbed the keys flying through the air before She even had time to react. “That wasn’t mean for you-“ 

“Shove it up your ass, MM.” Ben tucked the keys into Her pocket, holding MM’s glare. “What do you want.”

She pinched Ben’s arm. Rude, Benjamin-

He shouldn’t just fucking throw shit at you-

You throw things at me all the time- 

No, I don’t, you throw shit at me all the damn time, because you’re fucking mean to me- 

You’re invincible, Pretty Boy, I think you’ll survive some paper-

MM let out a loud, overdramatic cough. “If you can listen to me for five minutes, I’ll let you dumbasses brain-fuck each other all you want. Think you can make it five fucking minutes?”

Ben had no interest in making it five minutes, and She didn’t either. He’d shifted against Her, pressing himself into her ass, and her breath had hitched as her heart began to stumble in her chest. But She was too fucking kind and good and perfect, so She nodded, and MM continued. 

“You have to keep those on you,” he said, voice firm and jaw set. “And no making any moves with them until we’re all on board, this could be dangerous. That goes for everyone!” MM raised his voice, glare turning to the front of the limo. “That means you, motherfucker. No stealing the keys and going all vigilante!”

Butcher snorted from the front. “I ain’t the one for you to worry about, Mate. If anyone’s goin fuckin rogue, it’s Bonnie and Clyde over there.” 

“We’re not going to go rogue, Butcher.” She flipped off the divider between them and Butcher, a pretty glower on her face. “And if you try to steal the keys, I’ll burn your face off.”

“Fuckin shame, that’s my money maker-“ 

“Can we please not kill each other when there’s still two hours left of the drive?” Hughie had gone all fucking puppy-dog eyed—looking between Her and Butcher’s back like a whining child—and She gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, Hughie.” She turned back to MM, and She needed to stop wiggling around on Ben’s lap or he’d go fucking insane. “Is that it?” 

When MM nodded, She twisted back around, dropping Her head into Ben’s chest, and sighed. Ben let Her stay there as Hughie, Annie, and MM trailed off into a conversation he wasn’t paying attention to, tangling his fingers in Her hair and kneading at her skin. Her heartbeat was a soft, even hum in Her chest, and he didn’t need to feel Her fingers tapping on his back or hear the chew of her tongue to know She was thinking. He didn’t push it—waiting for Her to speak first—because She fit naturally against him, and nothing in him felt wrong, so She was okay. Just fucking thinking.

Benjamin? 

He hummed Her name back, between their heads, and she exhaled against him. 

We didn’t tell them about the V. The vial of it we found with the keys. 

Ben paused, glancing over at their team. Do you want to.

I don’t know. I, Her arms around him tightened, and She looked up, meeting Ben’s eyes with a frown. I don’t want to give it to Edgar. I don’t trust whatever intentions he has with it. But I don’t want to make more supes. It’s fighting fire with fire, and it’s not- She cut herself off, eyes roaming Ben’s face like she’d find an answer there. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair- 

I know, She sat up a little, hands moving to cup Ben’s jaw. I know this isn’t about fair. But it’s still not fucking fair. I know you asked for this, for the V, but I didn’t. No one else did. And that’s so fucking unfair. It’s so unfair, Ben, and I don’t, I mean. She took a long breath. You remember how much it hurt, I can’t do that to someone. Even for the mission.

He began to trace patterns on Her waist, studying her almost glossy, pleading eyes. She wasn’t spiraling—Her heartbeat was too steady—but she looked lost. Unsure and so fucking tired that it made Ben’s whole head heavy. 

And he needed to help. Ben needed to make this fucking better for Her, whatever it goddamn took.

Do you know why I volunteered for the Vought trials.

She paused, tilting her head at him. To impress your dad, Butcher told me before we woke you up.

Yeah. Ben let out a dry chuckle, holding Her gaze. Did the cockfuck tell you if it worked?

He said it didn’t. Her fingers began to play with the hair of Ben’s beard as She frowned at him. Why?

Because I did this shit to myself, I made myself Soldier Boy, and it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Everyone loved me, and nobody gave a fuck about me-

I give a fuck about you, She gave him a small, sweet, toothless smile, and Ben didn’t even fucking bother to stop himself from returning it. 

If you’d let me talk, brat, Ben drawled between their heads, dropping his brow to Hers. I’m fucking getting there. I missed my own mother’s funeral because my father somehow managed to outlive her, and I didn’t want to see his old, ugly, evil fucking face. My whole goddamn life was about being Soldier Boy, I never had a single pussy fucker I trusted, and I wasn’t aging so I decided to just keep damn waiting until this proved worth something. And you, he squeezed his arms around her, brushing his lips against Hers in a slight, soft motion. Are worth something. I waited a fucking lifetime, and I found it.

She made a small, choked sound, and Her eyes on Ben’s were filled with all that love he could feel everywhere around him. In Her, and traded between their body, and making everything so fucking good.

I love you, Her voice was soft in his head, her hands holding Ben’s head against Hers. But I don’t-

Ben had to spell it out for Her. He’d expected that. The one fucking thing she never seemed to get was that She was the whole fucking world, and Ben would follow her everywhere. I love you. I fucking adore you, and it’s not fair that you’re cleaning up all the goddamn messes I helped make in your name, before I even fucking knew you.

In my-

I was Soldier Boy to make this shit worth something. Everything I did was for whatever the fuck would be worth something, and that’s you. I was just a fucking dumbass who did it wrong. Love has made me smarter, Sunshine, because I’m doing it right now, but I still did it fucking wrong before. And I made messes, and now the woman I love has to clean them up because none of this shit is fucking fair. That V is my V, that they made to make you, and that’s it. Butcher might end up with us, but it’s you and me. We can flush that V down the toilet, or throw it off a fucking building, but that’s it. It’s not fair for you to make that call, so we’re taking it off the goddamn table.

She was silent for a second, and when She spoke she was combing her fingers through Ben’s hair, mouth dropped in a soft frown. You didn’t make these messes, Ben.

Yeah I know, fucking Homelander- 

No. She gave a small shake of her head. Not Homelander either. That's the worst part, I think. That all of this is so fucking unfair, and no one person can pay for it.

What the fuck are you talking about.

She sighed. I’m saying that I can’t blame anyone. That none of this is fair, and I can’t blame Homelander for all of it. Voguelbaum created him, and Stillwell enabled him, and- 

I fucking helped in making him- 

But they didn’t tell you to. And you didn’t make the system that he’s thrived in. You helped build it, to a degree, but not all of it. And I don’t blame you. I’ve told you that. I’ve never blamed you for how unfair this is, or what happened to me.

And I’ve told you that you fucking should- 

But I don’t. She searched his eyes, her own almost pleading. I really don’t. I love you, Benjamin, and I don’t really care for Soldier Boy, but I haven’t ever blamed you for this. Even before you were my Ben, I never blamed you.

He still didn’t fucking understand Her. She should blame him. This shit was unfair, and they both knew that fair didn’t matter, but Ben would still never be properly fucking worthy of Her. He’d never make up for how he’d set in motion things that had goddamn hurt her. But She was still curled in his lap, calling him mine, and looking at him like he was worth something. 

Why.

Do you know the Bhagavad Gita?

Ben gave Her a flat glare. You know goddamn well- 

It’s Hindu scripture. And there’s a really famous passage that says “I am become death, shatterer of worlds.” It means the soldier isn’t responsible for the deaths of the war. You were, sort of, a soldier. And you did benefit, and you were a real fucking asshole, but you were willingly blind. You committed atrocious, and didn’t think twice, because that’s what soldiers are meant to do. You aren’t a victim, but these messes aren’t just yours. A lot of people helped you make them. Vought gave you compound V, and the government signed off on the trials, and your father told you that you were worthless and you wanted a way to prove him wrong. You were an unstable dick, but you didn’t tell them the solution was to make Homelander. And you didn’t raise Homelander, or tell him to hurt me. You’ve been one of the only people who’s tried to stop him from hurting me, and that’s why I don’t blame you. Many, many people contributed to this, and none of them have ever repented. You’re repenting, and this will always be fucking unfair, but it’s you and me. You’re not a soldier anymore. You’re fighting for people you care about instead of power or glory, and you’re trying to help me fix this, and I love you. And that’s what matters.

She was fucking perfect. Ben hadn’t followed half the damn words She passed down their connection, but he understood the gist. She was still too good, too kind, too fucking forgiving, and She loved him. This wasn’t fucking fair, but he was doing everything in his goddamn power to make it easier for Her, and she fucking loved him. Ben bumped Her nose with his, and a smile tugged at her lips.

Lot of smart fucking words to say you love me and don’t blame me.

Well, you weren’t fucking getting it, Pretty Boy. That’s not my fault. She pressed a light kiss to Ben’s check, humming against his beard. Thank you.

Don’t-

Nope. Thank you. I love you, and thank you.

Ben sighed, and let it the fuck go. He had a lifetime to finally get Her to stop fucking thanking him for things he was supposed to be doing. He was meant to love Her, and listen to her, and hold her like this, so she needed to stop fucking pretending it was some sort of labor he needed thanks for. But for now, as Her head dropped down to his shoulder and she buried her face in his neck—warm breath fanning over his skin, a light touch tracing over his bicep—Ben let this be enough. She—all by her goddamn self—was more than fucking enough, and so he dropped it.

I love you too. He muttered in Her head, something relaxing and blooming in his chest as she smiled against him. Whatever the hell you want to do with the V, we’ll do it. And my vote is flushing it down the goddamn toilet. You and I are strong enough to kick Homelander’s pussy dick into his asshole all by our goddamn selves.

Her nose wrinkled. Gross.

Shut up. He moved his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair until she was molded against him. You fucking love it.

I do. There was a moment of silence, Her fingers still tracing over Ben’s skin before resting against his chest. Ben?

He grunted, keeping his hand around her and against Her in steady patterns. Circles on her hips and hair wrapped between his fingers, her skin soft under his touch and heartbeat in an even rhythm Ben knew better than his own.

You’re worth something to me as well. 

I know-

No. Let me finish. She pushed up on him, holding his gaze with an almost anguished intensity. You’re worth everything to me. You are everything to me. I love you and adore you and I give so many fucks about you it’s insane. You’re my whole life, Benjamin, now and after. And you make all of this worth something for me as well.

The radiant warmth was everywhere inside of him now, but it was fed by the ache. The way Her voice in his head was pleading, like she needed Ben to understand, and if he didn’t it might hurt her. The way Her hands were curled in his shirt as she held herself up—like she was forcing herself not to collapse against him—and her words were wrapping over Ben’s body and seeping in his skin, all of it born from Her love for him. And it all made the ache in him slide into his throat, and tug at his tongue to say a million fucking things he didn’t have words for.

Simple was easier. The only words that never failed to make Her smile, and set her heart back to an even rhythm. The only thing he fully knew how to be certain of in the entire goddamn universe.

I love you, Sunshine.

Her face split into a soft, gentle smile. I love you too, Benjamin.

She fucking loved him, and that was rooted so deeply inside of Ben that he’d never stray from it. It made him stronger, holding him in a place he knew and loved and wanted to defend. He pulled Her a little higher up his torso, dropping his head to top of her chest and just fucking living there. Where her heartbeat was the loudest, and everything felt fucking good.

They’d worry about all this shit later. They had a whole fucking day ahead of them to worry about Singer and Her stepfather, and Homelander and Mallory and Edgar. And they’d spent months that felt like lives worrying about all these fucking messes, and Ben had spent lives before that making them without ever resting, or feeling fucking satiated by it.

He was satiated here. Leaning into her, with Her legs wrapped around his body and her head resting over his. Her body was slumped over him, every hitched breath when Ben ran a hand up her thigh or traced down her spine brushing against Ben’s ear, and this felt right. This felt fucking right, and Ben didn’t think he’d felt something this plainly natural in his life. It kept amazing him—over and fucking over—how he’d spent his whole life tearing things apart when all he’d had to do was fucking wait. It had made it easier when She’d been away from him and asked him to just wait for Her, because he had a lifetime of goddamn practice waiting for Her already. Waiting for something that wasn’t fucking salvation—because She hadn’t fixed him or saved him, that was fucking stupid—but better.

She wasn’t a cure. She was too silently wrathful to be a cure, made of too many sharp, spiking parts that she cut off for others to consume for Her to be a cure. She wasn’t for others, she just didn’t know how not to be. She was something that was meant to be worshipped, that had been made into a fucking offering. Turned into something like a cure, but never able to do it right, because it’s not what she was supposed to be.

Cures were made for something deadly and diseased. And Ben wasn’t a fucking saint, but he wasn’t sick. He’d just been angry. He’d been furious and bitter and vigilant, so he’d made himself lonely half by choice and half by how vicious his bite was when he was wronged.

She bit too. She didn’t cower or maul or run. She just bit back, and Her bite was a match to his. Less brute force, but more targeted. Right into Ben’s neck, and feeding something in him he hadn’t known was hungry. So She wasn’t a fucking cure, because cures took things away. She’d made him more. Given him something he’d always wanted, and never known existed. And now Ben would always be hungry, but he’ll be satiated. He found purpose. He’d had waited his whole fucking life for purpose, and it was Her. This was a goddamn purpose, something he was meant to do and be and have and give.

Are you hungry?

Ben leaned back, meeting Her eyes with a frown. What. 

I’m thinking about dinner. We’re staying in a hotel tonight, and the meeting with Singer isn’t until the morning, and I’m hungry. 

She gave him a fake pout, and Ben seriously fucking considered throwing Butcher out of the car to get Her to a fucking McDonalds. She probably liked McDonalds, everyone fucking liked McDonalds, and she always ate Ben’s burgers, so it wasn’t like they’d get fucked by the menu.

Just in case, he asked, What do you want?

She hummed, her fingers tapping against Ben’s jaw. What do hotels usually have? Lobster? Do they have lobster? 

Fancy hotels have lobster. And if this one doesn’t, I’ll find you some- 

Ben. She gave him a flat look, even as Her love swept through him like a wildfire. Where are you going to find me lobster. 

I don’t fucking know, the ocean- 

We’re on a river, those don’t have lobsters. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Fine, smartass, another restaurant- 

They’d make you pay for that, Pretty Boy, and we’re broke. If you keep losing bets at this rate, you’ll be on dish duty until after we kill Homelander.

What the fuck else am I supposed to do, they won’t forgive my debts like they do yours- 

Because you lose all the time. She shrugged, dropping Her brow to Ben’s as she smiled at him. And I cover you, when I have the money. 

We should both have the fucking money. Ben’s hands gripped Her body against him, and she must have read his next thought on his face, because She frowned and shook her head. 

Do not use the meeting with Singer to demand a pay raise, Benjamin. That’s not what it’s for. 

It’s not a pay raise, my love, it’s a fucking union. You and I aren’t going to do more of their shit for them until they give us some goddamn money- 

We both know we’re not going to unionize. She sighed, her breath passing into Ben’s m. We might not be legally dead anymore, but we’re still not CIA employees. 

We should be-

You’d have to do an interview with Mallory. Amusement danced in Her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. And they’d run a background check. You can’t even do a background check, Benjamin, your social security number is negative five. 

Shut up. I am not fucking old, and we still need some goddamn money. I’ll tongue Butcher’s taint before I become these pussies fucking maid-

We’ll make money. She pressed a kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth. If escorts don’t pan out, we can try birthday parties. I know a guy who has a very authentic Soldier Boy costume, and I think he’ll let me borrow it if I give him a blowjob.

Ben snorted. He’d let you borrow it if you asked him real pretty and made him a bagel, Sunshine, but I’m not doing fucking birthday parties- 

You wouldn’t even have to talk. I’d stand behind a curtain, and I can say everything for you. The kids would never know the difference. She grinned as Her voice in Ben’s head dropped to that gravelly impression of him. Hi, I’m Soldier Boy. New York. Eagles. Baseball. Boobs. Don’t do crack, kids, do Benzedrine. Don’t wear blue, it’s a pussy color, wear green. And if you’re ever in a fight, go for the other guy’s dick. I’m a million fucking years old, and I sing Rainbow Connection in the shower when I think nobody can hear, and I know you can fucking hear me Sunshine, but you don’t goddamn count-

Ben buried his head in Her neck, sucking and biting that one spot until her words trailed off into a tiny whimper.

Brat.

Cunt. Her voice was soft and needy, and Ben smirked against Her, kissing a wet trail up her jaw and over her face. Ben-

I love you so fucking much, Sunshine. He kissed around her pretty, already open mouth, trailing his tongue over her lips. And if we didn’t have company, I’d fuck you right here.

Ben felt Her heartbeat pick up under his careful, firm touches, but she didn’t pull away. We get our own room tonight, She let out a small, breathy sigh as Ben deepened the kiss. If you can keep it in your pants for a little while longer, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.

How much longer.

She pulls away from him slightly, reaching between their bodies to grab Her phone. She paused as she swiped at Her screen, looking up at Ben with a frown. We really need to get you another phone-

Later. How much longer until I get to fuck you. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Horny old man- 

Needy fucking brat. Ben shifted Her above him, letting his half-hard cock push between Her thighs, gritting his teeth as her legs tightened around him. How much- 

An hour. She dropped her phone back between their bodies, wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck and lowering her face so their cheeks brushed. Think you can make it? 

Ben scoffed, moving one hand down to squeeze at Her ass and smirking at her soft squeak in his ear. I’ll manage, Sunshine. 

He wasn’t going to manage. They fell into an easy silence, Her body curled over Ben’s and her hands playing thoughtlessly with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the longer they stayed like that the more he needed her. She still smelled like that flower shampoo, but there was grass lingering over it, and a third smell that invaded Ben’s senses and so clearly just fucking Her. It was like the goddamn apples in their apartment, and chocolate, and warm smoke and the fucking sun. Ben didn’t have a better way to put it, because really it was just fucking Her. Like an aphrodisiac or song that tugged on something in his brain and called him home. Back to Her, closer to Her, always with Her.

It probably fucking was Her. That piece of her that was alive inside of him, growing stronger and stronger the longer it stayed. 

Ben had no fucking intention of letting it leave. If holding Her like this—sitting in complete goddamn silence and caring for every perfect piece of her in his arms and mind—was what this part of Her needed to thrive, he’d hold her like this forever. She lived in Ben because he was safe to her. She given this part of her to him—even if She hadn’t actually meant to—and he’d never fail Her and let it feel pain. 

He fucking loved Her, and she was all around him in every fucking way but the one that was starting to strain at his pant, and that sense of her everywhere wasn’t doing him any favors to make it through the hour. He wanted to make that piece of Her light up inside him, watch her perfect, beautiful face grow blissfully relaxed and adoring as he worshiped Her. Prove to Her that he thought she was too fucking kind and good for anyone at all, but he’d never let Her be wrong about him. If She said that Ben was repenting, he’d do whatever trial was laid out before him to prove Her right.

But as much as he wanted to bury himself deep inside of Her and mutter praise he meant and promises he’d always fucking keep, the hum of Her heart was growing slower and softer, and Ben realized she’d fallen asleep. He could feel a small amount of drool on his neck—her hair tickling his nose and her grip on his neck becoming slack—and he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept over his face. She was fucking safe here, where Ben was allowed to touch her in small ways that made her hum in sleep against his skin. Where he could trace patterns on Her hips, keep a steady arm around her waist, and let a hand move slowly up her spine to tangle in her hair until she fell further into him was a content sigh. Ben kept his breathing even and slow, his eyes on the rest of their team in a warning of keep it the fuck down, or I’ll crack your head open, so nothing could disturb her sleep.

She didn’t have a single fucking nightmare. No smoke rose from Her body, and no distressed, strangled sounds escaped her mouth. Everything in Ben felt right and a little high, so he knew she was really, truly, really fucking good. And when the limo finally stopped and Butcher turned to address them from the front, Ben’s respect for their team fucking doubled as a chorus of hissed be quiets filled the limo.

Butcher scoffed. “She’s a big girl, she don’t need a nap-“

“Butcher,” MM whispered, his tone and expression venomous. “If you wake her up, I’m not going to stop Soldier Boy from killing you.” 

“Oh, come off it, Mate-“ 

“She never sleeps well, you asshole,” Annie’s voice was hushed, her eyes turning to Ben’s. “When was the last time she had a real, full night of sleep?” 

Ben couldn’t fucking remember. Even after she’d stopped taking the suppressants, she still woke up screaming and wrapped and fire and sobbing about fucking blood. She fell back asleep easier now, but Ben had received countless fucking burns across his arms and face as he held Her down, trying to bring her back to earth before she flew off the bed and burned right through the fucking roof. She always healed the twisted for him if they weren’t gone by morning, and Ben always fucked Her after to chase off any useless goddamn guilt in her eyes, but it kept happening. He didn’t know how to fix it, other than only staying, just like she’d asked. 

Annie must have seen the clench of his jaw—images of Her perfect face empty and hollow and broken flashing in Ben’s brain, echoes of her screams ringing in his ears—because she turned back to Butcher with a glare. “You just have to lower your voice, Butcher. Don’t be a dick.”

Butcher’s attention darted to Her—still steadily asleep against Ben—and rolled his eyes as he dropped his voice. “We got four rooms, and all the lovey dovey cunts will be sharin.” Butcher threw keycards to MM and Ben, who caught their’s with ease, and Hughie, who made a small yelp as Annie’s arm shot out, catching it for him. “Meetin with Singer is at 8am, and we got to be there at 7. You lot will meet me here at 6, and I don’t want to see your sorry fuckin faces until then.”

Ben could live with that. It was a little past midnight, and six hours of sleep was a fuck ton more than She usually got, so he’d take it and rest at Her side until morning. He shifted Her in his arms—moving her carefully up his chest, looping one arm under her knees—and carried her out of the limo, into the back entrance of the hotel, and up the stairs. MM had grabbed their suitcase, and Ben gave him a silent, firm nod as MM pushed into their room.

A hand shot out before Ben could kick the door closed, and MM’s gaze bore into Ben’s skull, his voice low. “She okay?” 

She would be. As long as Ben could do a goddamn thing about it, She’d be okay for the rest of her fucking life. “She’s good,” Ben grunted, glancing down to Her perfect, peaceful face, half smushed into his shoulder, hair falling over her eyes. So fucking beautiful, and happily where she belonged. “I’m taking care of her.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that. It certainly wasn’t for MM’s fucking approval, because the only person whose approval mattered was Hers. And Ben did take care of Her. He took very fucking good care of Her, because he fucking loved her, and she was the most important person in the world. And he sure as fuck didn’t need to say that he took care of Her, because he proved that he did in his every waking moment. 

Even right fucking now Ben was carrying her to bed, holding Her like she was something holier than life—she was—and planning to stay at Her side all night. Wrap his arms around her and hold her in the dark, then march at her side in the morning to face whatever the hell Singer had ready for them. And then he’d figure out where they kept lobster in DC, and get her some. And that’s what fucking mattered. Showing Her she was good. Only saying he was taking care of her wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if he didn’t keep doing it, over and over and over until they were the last people left in the world, and a long while after that.

But MM gave a short nod, and Ben realized that the man had just believed him. MM might not fully trust Ben—and if he was being completely fucking honest that was still an understandable call, Ben would shoot everyone in the fucking head if they became a threat to Her or Ryan—but he trusted Ben with this. With Her. He trusted that when Ben said she’s good, he was telling the truth. 

And he was. With a muttered reminder from MM not to be late in the morning and the door closing—leaving Ben and Her alone, together with the nightlights of the city casting shadows over her sleeping features—She was happy. Content as Ben laid her down on the bed, keeping one hand on her thigh as he unzipped their suitcase. He found one of his softer shirts and—a little selfishly, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad or give a fuck because She wore his clothing all the goddamn time anyway—changed her into it. She shouldn’t sleep in fucking jeans or her bra, so Ben carefully stripped her down—every movement debilitate and slow and silent so as not to disturb or wake her—and pulled his shirt over her body, kissing her brow before sitting at the edge of their bed and trying to figure out how the fuck to get them food.

This wasn’t the same hotel as last time, but shit had always worked the same at every hotel in history, so Ben figured it out. He read the directory, called room service, and ordered everything.

“And, um,” a nervous, soft-voiced woman was on the other end of the line, listing off more shit for Ben to add to his list. “Would you like dessert, sir?”

“Of course I want fucking dessert-“

Don’t be mean to the hotel staff, Benjamin. Ben cut himself off as Her arms wrapped around his torso, and looked down to see her head in his lap, her face buried in his abdomen. They’re doing their best, and it’s late. 

Ben sighed, letting his free hand wander into her hair, and grunted into the phone, “dessert is good. Add it.” 

“Do you have anything in mind, or would you like, um, all of it too?” 

Sunshine- 

I’d like ice cream. She hummed against him, and Ben felt her soft smile against his body. Whatever flavor you want. 

“Ice cream,” Ben muttered, his eyes locked on Her, tucked and resting against him, so fucking perfect. “Vanilla. Two of them.” 

A small giggle escaped Her. You’re very predictable, Pretty Boy. 

Shut the fuck up. 

“That will come to,” Ben heard the lady on the other end swallow, and there was a moment of static silence on the phone. “$492. Are you sure-“

“Get me the fucking food lady, and I’ll give you a 20% tip.” 

Ben had no idea how much that would be, but the woman seemed happy with it, because she gave him an eager agreement before hanging up the line. 

“Food will be here soon,” Ben muttered Her name, and his heart might’ve stopped fucking working when she rolled over in his lap, a beautiful, sleepy expression on her perfect face. “You’re-“ 

“Don’t say tired, or I’ll punch you.” She grumbled, poking at Ben’s chest with a pout. “You’re not allowed to do that right now.”

“I didn’t do fucking shit-”

“You were going to,” she mumbled, face flushing. “You were going to make me go to sleep.” 

“We both know,” Ben drawled, smirking as he traced his thumb over her lips. “That I can’t make you do anything, darling. You never fucking listen to me.”

She buried her face back into Ben’s body, words muffled against his skin. “Fuck you.”

“I did promise to.” He hummed, glancing at the red numbers on their bedside table, reading 12:49. “But you need fucking sleep. We’re moving real damn early tomorrow, and you-“

“How early?”

“Six.”

She sighed against him, and Ben felt the alarm of wrong. Something is very wrong, because She’s hurting and that’s the worst fucking thing in the universe. 

He grunted Her name, pulling lightly at her hair. “Look at me.” 

When She rolled fully onto her back—Her eyes not hollow, but glossed over and soft—she just watched him. Waited for Ben to speak, one of her hands reaching up to touch his jaw, the whole fucking world just them. Together.

“What’s wrong. And don’t say nothing-“

“I don’t want to go tomorrow.” She whispered, and Ben froze. She sounded so fucking tired, and it was wrapping around his head and dragging his body down. Down to Her, to soothe her, to touch her and fucking fix this. “I know we have to, but I don’t want to, Ben. I’m,” she took a heavy breath. “I don’t want to.” 

“Then we fucking won’t.” He snapped. It was pretty goddamn simple. He’d steal them a car, and they’d drive home. The rest of the team could handle this, and that was fucking that- 

“We need to.” She gave Ben a small, sad smile, and he felt like someone was fucking stabbing him. “You know we need to. I have to be there for this-“ 

“You don’t have to-“ 

“I do.” She sat up, twisting until their legs were tangled and she was leaning against him, holding Ben’s face in her hands. “I have to. I need to see him.” 

Ben's arms wrapped around Her body as he scanned over her face. Only inches from his, so goddamn sad and tired, a so fucking beautiful. “Muller.”

She nodded, and Ben’s was going to break his teeth. For that pussies' own sake, Muller better be too much of a goddamn coward to show face tomorrow, or Ben would damn the consequences and kill him. V or no V, he was still someone that was fucking hurting Her. As She spoke her voice was too quiet, and her eyes looked so goddamn far away, and Ben felt fucking sick.

“He never,” She swallowed, and Ben remained silent. Right now his job was to fucking listen, and he was damn good at it. Rubbing circles on her lower back, holding whatever of her gaze she gave him, and watching her the whole time. “He never acknowledged I was dead. Or alive. Or anything.” She sighed, leaning her brow against Ben’s. “I don’t want to talk to him, Ben. I don’t want to hear what he believes.”

“Believes-“ 

“About me.” She mumbled, Her eyes closed and heartbeat not fast, but uneven. “What Homelander and Sage have said, what Annie’s said, and-“ She shook her head, nose brushing Ben’s. “Everything. All of it. What I’ve done, and what happened to me. Who I might be, if I’m a whore, or bitch, or liar, or traitor-”

Ben muttered Her name, waiting for her to look at him before he spoke. “You’re not any of that. He’s not your fucking family. He’s a worthless pussy, and if he believes the wrong shit it doesn’t change the goddamn truth.”

“I know. I know, it doesn’t, but-“ 

“No.” Ben moved at hand up, pulling one of Hers off his face as kissing her knuckles. “No fucking but-“ 

“Please,” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben’s whole body hurt as he fell silent.“I’m not worried about Muller, Ben. I’m worried about my,” Her hand tangled in Ben’s, her grip like iron as she took a long breath. “I’m worried about my mom. He’s just an extension of her, and whatever he believes-” 

She cut Herself off with a half-sob, and Ben let smoke curl between their fingers, not flinching away as heat started to burn his skin. He’d hold Her through this fall and catch Her at the end. He’d always fucking catch her, but he knew she had to fall first. Ben had to hear everything spiraling through her insane, perfect brain so he could get his words fucking right when it was his turn to speak.

“I,” She took a shaking breath, and there was something tight and curled in her throat that Ben could feel. “I know I shouldn’t care. It’s been years, and I shouldn’t care, and I’ve had worse things-“ She made another strangled noise, her heart bouncing around her ribs. “Worse things happen to me since. But it still hurts, everything hurts. She said I wasn’t strong enough to be alone, Homelander said I’m not strong enough, and I’m not, Ben, I’m not. I’m so tired. And I’m so sick of being tired, but I’m not, I’m not strong enough to just fucking be better-“

That was enough. Ben had all he fucking needed to pull Her back down, and he’d be damned if he let Her think for another fucking second that she wasn’t fucking everything. 

“You don’t need to be fucking better, you are better.” Ben tilted his head up, her words falling into soft tears that made something flail around in his gut, and kissed the space between her eyes as he muttered against her skin. “No matter fucking what, you’re better. You’re not whatever the fuck they think you are. Any of them. They don’t know you, Sunshine, I fucking know you. And you’re smart and good and kind and beautiful and a goddamn powerful fucking problem and you’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect, so stop being stupid.”

She made a choked sound, fully falling against him, and as her arms wrapped around Ben’s neck all Her love bloomed in his body. It hurt, it fucking ripped him apart inside as she sobbed into him, shaking slightly in his hands and clinging to him like he was an anchor. Something holding Her together, that she trusted to keep her safe, and She fucking did. Because Ben folded his body over hers, and touched her right, and waited for this to pass. It always fucking passed, and they both knew it would return, but then they’d just wait it out together once more. Every single fucking thing would pass but them. She’d stay planted in Ben, covering everything in him and the world, and if they burned they’d burn together. And that was where the love in her made this pain worth it by a million fucking fold. Because this hurt—this killed Ben and lined cracks along his skull, twisting and rotting something in his heart—but then it passed, and everything was warm. Turning the rot to smoke, healing every crack, and spreading through Ben’s veins like a fucking drug. Like something sacred, that everyone chased but Ben got to have. That he’d somehow managed to earn, just by loving Her and caring for her and staying.

So when this passed, and Her breathing still ragged but her heart growing even, Her voice in Ben’s head was soft but not weak. She couldn’t be fucking weak if she tried. I’m sorry.

Before Ben could grunt between them for her to never fucking apologize, She looked up at him with a beautiful, full-lipped, toothless smile, her face glistening with evaporated tears. 

What’s- 

I don’t think this is how meeting the parents is supposed to go. I think we’re supposed to have dinner at an Olive Garden and not talk about Homelander at all.

Ben snorted, kissing the top of Her head. I don’t give fuck about Olive Garden- 

That’s not very family-oriented of you, Benjamin- 

And I don’t give a fuck about your parents. I care about you, Sunshine, and I have no fucking interest in impressing idiots pussies who don’t. 

Her love was fucking infinite in Ben’s body, and nobody had ever fucking looked at him like that but Her. Like She believed him, but didn’t believe he was real. Would you, um, I mean I know we’ve been keeping Violet away from this, but after, my dad and my other siblings- 

He grunted Her name between them, and a pretty flush covered her face. Whoever you want me to meet, I will. But if I think they’re being asshole cockheads, I’m not fucking standing for it. I love you, and nobody is allowed to tell you who the fuck you are- 

You tell me who I am all the time, She gave him an amused look. You literally just told me who I was.

Ben rolled his eyes. That’s not the fucking same. I’m not a pussy dumb fuck talking out of my ass, you’re the love of my fucking life and you were being an idiot. You’re not weak, and I’m not going to let people who don’t goddamn know shit tell you that you are- 

She kissed him, soft and sweet, her hands gliding up his chest to hold his jaw. Thanksgivings are going to be really awkward, if you call my family a bunch of fucking pussies the whole time.

Ben smirked against her. Good thing those pussies aren’t invited to our thanksgiving.

Who is-

Nobody. It’s going to be me, you, and a massive fucking sex marathon. 

She giggled, and even though the sound was quiet, it was real. She was fucking happy, here, with Ben. Not even going to pretend we’ll invite our friends? 

No. Ben twisted his face in half-mocked disgust. We’re going to need the entire goddamn turkey to ourselves, to make sure you have enough energy. I will not have you fucking tagging out before we get started. 

All I hear, She pulled back, and that was Her full smile. Her wide, infinite smile that contained the whole universe and was made of something so fucking bright and vital Ben would never find anything like it if he tried. Is that you’re not denying they’re our friends. 

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Impossibly clever, beautiful, perfect fucking woman, backing him into corners and knowing him too fucking well. He didn’t have an argument out of it, because if he said they weren’t she’d push it and win—something starting with our friends care about me, and ending with and you trust them with Ryan and I—and if he just agreed he’d never hear the goddamn end of it, so his only avenue was to roll her onto her back, leaving sloppy, wet kiss all over her face as she laughed and let out blissful sighs, muttering brat and fucking love you, Sunshine against her skin and down her throat right up until someone knocked on the door.

Her eyes grew comically wide as Ben dumped their order of food on the hotel table, her face falling into a plainly adorable gape as she looked up at him. “Did you order thanksgiving? I can’t eat all of this-“

“Then take whatever the fuck you want,” Ben looped his arm around Her waist, kissing the top of her head as she leaned onto his shoulder. “And I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

She smiled at him, tilting her head to kiss his cheek, and hummed against him. “I can’t believe I’m in love with a dog.”

He scowled. “I am not a fucking dog-“

“You are, my love. You’re a massive fucking puppy, and I adore you.” 

Ben is pretty goddamn sure his heart stopped working and then got jumpstarted within the same fucking millisecond. She’d tugged herself away from him—filling up one of the paper plates hotel services had brought up before shuffling back to the bed, waiting for Ben to join her with a patient, expectant gaze—and he had to make his feet move. He’d wanted to stay there for the rest of his fucking life, where She’d called him my love, and he’d understood why her heart always skipped when Ben said it. He was Her’s. Every single fucking part of Ben was Her’s, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about the dog comment, because She was fucking right. He’d follow her everywhere, and snarl at what threatened her, and taking whatever fucking scraps she offered him of her love.

He’d never have enough of Her love. It was better than any drug or drink or high, and it was for Ben. It was all goddamn his, and if that meant he had to be a fucking pathetic dog for Her, then so goddamn be it. Anyone would do that, love Her how she asked, because it made Her fucking smile and chased off the pain faster.

And Ben had learned that, in his life, he’d really only despised two people. He’d hated a lot of people, but that was hatred born of vengeance and a sour, white-hot fury that had festered in his body for most of his life and found an avenue out through the drums. Despising people wasn’t the same. It was born of true, raw, pure disgust and loathing. A channel for that fury that wasn’t about Ben’s own anger, but about twisting and morphing the fury into ardor and zealous protection. Turning the drums and wrath into something better, that targeted the only two pussy fucking idiots who made Her fucking cry. The only two asshole cum-fucks who knew exactly how to hurt Her, and weaponized it, making Her sob against Ben as she broke.

Nobody made Her fucking cry but Homelander and her mother. She made herself cry sometimes, but that wasn’t the fucking same. That was born of how much She cared and loved everything, and how she seemed to remember every goddamn thing anyone ever said and took it as gospel—when it fucking wasn’t—to who she was. When Homelander and her mother made Her cry, it was born of something evil. Something evil and cold and horrid and covered in bile and guts to carve her open. 

Ben would kill Homelander, if not for the world, for Her. And despite the truth that he had no fucking interest in trying to entertain anyone in Her life who made her fucking cry like that, he still wanted to meet her mother. Not to kill her, but just put the fear of God in her. Make the woman understand that her daughter was a goddamn miracle on Earth, and Ben was going to love Her until it was just them in a ruined world, watching the stars and laying in the grass and smiling. He’d love her like the perfect, dangerous, beautiful thing that had crawled to him covered in blood and dirt and grime that she was, wrapped in fire and still seeking warmth. Ben wanted to sneer at Her mother to never try to fucking bother them, because if the woman said one wrong thing to Her, Ben wouldn’t tolerate it. There wasn’t a fucking chance he was letting anyone make her look all fucking sad, when She was meant to be happy. He might not cut out tongues when people misstepped, but he’d stay wrapped around Her, a silent reminder to the world—to Her mother—that Ben loved Her, and she’d always fucking have him. However She wanted Ben, she’d get him. 

Ben would always hate that she never got to meet his mother, because they’d have fucking loved each other. His mother would’ve liked Her, a bit because everyone fucking liked Her, but mostly because She was better than Ben was. She was better thanany other pussy in the universe, and She was smart, and kind, and clever, and the type of beautiful his mother would’ve said made gods jealous. That was what his mother had always said he should find, even after he’d become Soldier Boy,and he’d never fucking gotten what the hell it meant before Her. He’d had countless beautiful women in his bed, and not one would’ve made gods jealous. They were just beautiful. There was so much fucking beauty in the world, and Soldier Boy got all of it, and Ben had decided that the made gods jealous shit was just something a mother told her son. 

He got it now though. She was the type of beauty that made gods fucking jealous. Because she was the type of beautiful they wrote stories about, made art and castles and temples for, and searched through the world to learn more words for beauty just to fucking compare Her to. And all the beauty in the universe lived inside of Her, and she was fucking perfect. So Ben’s mother would’ve loved Her, because she carried Ben’s whole fucking world just by existing. He’d have sat in silence as they talked about whatever the fuck mothers and daughters talked about, and She’d have hit him halfway through the conversation to ask him his opinion, then made a joke about his opinion with joy and love in Her eyes and Ben’s body, and he’d have smiled at Her, and when they stood up to leave his mother would’ve hugged Her and that would’ve been it. It would’ve confirmed something that Ben already fucking knew, but still wanted his mother to know as well. 

And something still sour and angry in Ben wished he could introduce Her to his father. One, quick meeting just to say fuck you, you old pussy. I am worth something, because I’m repenting, and I’m fighting for people I care about, and the most perfect woman in fucking history loves me, and she’s never wrong. Ben wouldn’t let his father speak to Her—he barely deserved to be in Her presence—but he’d brag about her. Tell his father that She was a brilliant fucking woman, and a fucking doctor, and never took any goddamn shortcuts, and She loved Ben. To tell his father that their last name would die with him, and he’d rot in a grave for the rest of time while She and Ben were fucking happy, and Ben gave her the world. 

He’d give this perfect fucking menace—curled at his side, wearing his shirt and eating chicken nuggets like a fucking animal—whatever she wanted or needed and asked for. His lungs and heart and guts out of his body, the sun to hold in her hands, a hundred fucking trees planted in her name. Ben would offer his life on a silver platter for Her to do whatever she pleased with it, which is why he almost snorted when She started stealing looks at his food, chewing on her lips and eyeing his fries like she hadn’t just practically fucking inhaled her own. 

He dumped them onto her plate without a word, and when Her face lit up with joy he didn’t fucking understand how anyone could fucking think to hurt Her. He was a little bias—not everyone was as fucking genius as Ben was to love her, or strong enough to be loved by her—but he still just didn’t goddamn get it. How a single goddamn pussy fucker could look at Her and consider being cruel to her. Even when he thought back to the beginning, Ben had never wanted to hurt her. He’d found Her annoying, and been mad about the whole borderline blackmailing shit, but he’d never wanted to make her cry. Her crying had always set off something primal and feral and confusing in his body, making his every thought this is fucking wrong. Something like Her shouldn’t hurt or be in pain. 

Ben coughed, and her pretty eyes shot up to meet his with a little bit of sauce hanging on her lip. Sauce that Ben got to wipe off with his thumb, eat, and smirk as Her mouth remained parted and her heart kicked into a faster gear.

“Ben-“

“I haven’t had a thanksgiving since the 50s.” Ben grunted, and wasn’t fucking sure where this was coming from. All he did know was that She fell silent to listen, and the words started to fucking vomit out of him, and he needed Her to understand that She was his family. That he’d never allow himself to be someone who made her cry. “And it was fucking shit. Food was fine, drinks were weak, and I went because my mother begged me to. Nobody seemed to get why I was there, my own family didn’t fucking know me because my father didn’t let my mom talk about me, and all I did the whole night was answer fucking Soldier Boy questions.” 

She blinked at him. “What are Soldier Boy questions?” 

“What was the war like,” Ben grunted. “If I shoot you will it hurt. Think you can fucking outdrink me or beat me in a race. Elvis and Sinatra a good time, Garland a good fuck. I wore my fucking supe suit there because I’d be shipping off to film some fucking movie in the morning, and my father didn’t look at me the whole time. I left early, and that was the fucking end of it. But,” Ben swallowed, and suddenly this was impossibly fucking difficult. He had to get this right. “I’d try it again. I could kill a turkey and you could burn it, and if you want the team we could fuck after they leave-“

“Ben.”

He cut himself off, and Her smile was so simply fucking sweet. It wasn’t the syrupy, over exaggerated and slightly crude one she gave when people tried to make her be nice when the situation didn’t fucking call for it. This was all fucking love and affection and want for Ben.

“When we get to November,” she whispered, and Ben’s whole body was frozen in place. As if, should he blink, he’d miss a single word or moment of her love. “I’d love to do thanksgiving with you and the team. I’d love to do anything with you, except killing the turkey.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s gross.”

She’d love to do anything with him. She’d love to do anything with Ben.

“Good,” he muttered, moving their plates off to the side and pulling her with him towards the headboard, moving her to rest between his legs, his arms wrapping over her stomach as he kissed her neck and hummed in her ear. “Whatever the fuck you want, beautiful, as long as you’re not cooking.”

She twisted around in his hold, pushing his chest lightly as he grinned at her. “Fucking rude, Benjamin. I can cook perfectly well now, and I certainly a whole lot better than you are-“

“You’re better at most things than I am,” Ben shrugged. “And fuck me for trying to stop everyone from eating your piss-poor pie and getting fucking poisoned-“ 

“You love my pie. You won’t shut the fuck up about my pie.” There was a smug, proud look in her eyes at her dogshit innuendo, and Ben snorted. 

“That might be the only thing you’re not good at,” Ben said her name, kneading his hands against her skin. “That didn’t even make goddamn sense-“ 

“Fuck you, Ben, you got hard-“ 

“Because you’re fucking sitting on me, darling.” He leaned down, nipping at Her lower lip. “And that will always make me hard.” 

Her heart stumbled in her chest. “Shut up.” 

“No. I love you, and I’m never going to fucking apologize for wanting to fuck my woman.” Ben winked at Her. “And I always want to fuck you.” 

She cleared her throat, and her gaze was suddenly sharp. Her love still lived in Ben—running up and down his spine, eternal and so fucking powerful it might consume him, and he’d let it—but Her fingers were tapping on Ben’s chest, the gears of Her impossibly brilliant mind turning behind her eyes. 

“Ben?” 

He grunted, the grunt she’d said meant he was listening to her, and she let out a long breath. 

“Do you, have you thought about after?”

“After what.” 

“After this.” She made a gesture to the air, eyes still locked onto Ben’s. “All of this. If we kill Homelander-“ 

“When. When we fucking kill Homelander-” 

She gave him a flat look. “When we kill Homelander. What do you, um, what do you want after?” 

Ben knew exactly what he fucking wanted. Her. Whatever way he got to have her, he wanted her. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a fucking dumbass, so he hesitated. One fucking second too long, because something is her eyes looked wounded, and Ben had to talk right fucking now. She deserved to be told with all the fucking poetry and art in the fucking universe, but that wasn’t Ben. He didn’t know how the hell to do that, but she also didn’t want anyone but Ben, so he settled on his way. The blunt, clear as fucking day truth.

He said Her name, moving a hand up to cup her cheek, letting his thumb run over her cheekbone. “Whatever the hell you want, I want as well. That’s fucking that.” 

“But I want to knowwhat you want.” She mumbled, hands fisting in his shirt. “I, I just want to hear about it. Don’t worry about, um,” her tongue peaked out from her lips, her chewing becoming rapid with Her heart. “Anything. What I’ll think, how I’ll react. I just want to know.” 

Ben’s hand on her hips stilled, and he clung to Her—alive inside him—to make sure She was serious. He had the feeling they both knew what Ben wanted, but he’d had no desire to say it aloud. Not when Homelander was still fucking alive, still trying to hurt her, and had been so fucking close to crossing that final, horrible, unspeakable line once more barely a few months ago.

But She was content inside of him. There wasn’t any sickness or cold or sense of wrong, only the pleading look in Her eyes and her hands turning the fabric of Ben’s shirt between them as she waited. 

“Swear that if you start to-“ 

“I’ll stop you,” She whispered, holding Ben’s gaze. “I promise. Please tell me.” 

“I want this.” He muttered, a careful ear on Her heart for the slightest stutter. “I want you and me, for the rest of fucking time.” 

He stopped, and hoped that was enough. And of course, it fucking wasn’t. 

She dropped her face on his shoulder. “And?” 

“That’s it-“ 

“Where do you want us to be?” She mumbled, and Ben could feel her eyes on his as she turned her head. “Rome? A little no name town? New York, LA-“

“No. Not fucking LA-“ 

“Then where-“ 

“Wherever the fuck you are, I’ll be fine-“ 

“Ben.” His eyes moved to watch her without his fucking permission. “I want to know what you want-“ 

“That is what I fucking want.” He grunted. “I just fucking want you and whatever the hell you want I’ll be good with. I don’t give a fuck where we are, because I’ll be there with you, and that’s what I want. If you want a little fucking postcard town, then we’ll go there. I’ll get a job in the woods so I don’t have to see anyone but you, and you can do whatever the fuck you want all day. If you want Rome, we’ll get you there and do the escort plan until we have a fucking mansion, and I’ll fuck you in every corner of it. If you ask I’ll fuck you full of kids, until we can run our own goddamn little league.” Ben had started, and now he couldn’t fucking stop. “If you want to stay in New York, we’ll find a goddamn apartment and have Annie and Hughie over for lunch, and I’ll take you to stupid fucking movies and we’ll dance the kitchen and sit on the roof until I carry you to bed. If you want to travel the world and help people, I’ll be right at your fucking side, and if you just want to go back to Boston I’ll be there as well. We can have a shitty house that’s older than I am, and you’ll do your decorating shit and be nice to all our stupid neighbors. You can do whatever the fuck smart people do, and I can teach our kids to fucking hate all your stupid sports teams, and we’ll drive them down to the fucking Cape for the summer, and when everyone’s asleep I’ll bring you outside and fuck you on the beach. I’ll fuck you anywhere, Sunshine. I’ll be fucking happy anywhere, because I’ll be wherever you are. So I don’t care what you give me, kids or no kids or a house or a fucking dumpster. As long as you’re there, I’ll be good.” 

Before Ben had even fucking finished speaking, She was smiling at him. And it was all raw fucking joy. “Okay,” She whispered, and rose back up Ben’s body, pressing her brow to his and still fucking smiling. “I’d like that.” 

“Which-“ 

“All of it.” She made a small, blissful sound. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t tell Her not to thank him. Ben just allowed one arm wrap around her waist, and his hand moved up to hold the back of Her head. He let their lips brush, but not further, and muttered. “I fucking love you, Sunshine. I’m serious-“ 

“I know you are.” Her hands glided down Ben’s chest, pushing Herself a little higher up, a little closer, on his chest. “You’re a huge, very serious, grumpy old cunt.” She closed the last bit of space between them, her lips fitting so fucking perfectly against Ben’s, her body melting into his like it was fucking meant to. Her words hummed through Ben’s blood, setting him alight. “And I love you too.” 

It was all he needed. Ben rolled the over, caging Her between him and the mattress—safe, fucking safe and goddamn happy—without ever breaking their kiss. Ben let her hands roam over his body, let her tug his shirt up and her hands trace paths over the bare skin of his chest and torso that lit him on fucking fire. 

“Off,” She mumbled into Ben’s mouth, pulling his shirt further up his chest. “Off, Ben, please-“ 

Ben raised himself up—keeping her against the bed, pinned under his weight by his thighs—and half ripped his shirt off his body before immediately returning. Propping himself up on one elbow, diving down to her neck and sucking and biting a path that made Her sigh, a whining and high sound, and grind up into his torso. 

“Want you,” he muttered Her name against her skin, his free hand moving under Her shirt—Ben’s shirt—to play with the waistline of her panties. “Want you all the fucking time, Sunshine. What do you-“ 

“You,” Her answer was breathless, soft and high and ending in a slight whine as Ben’s thumb pressed right over Her clothed clit. “Want you, Ben, please. Need you.“ 

He groaned as one of Her hands slid between their bodies, palming at his cock, tenting against Her thighs. “How do you-“ 

“Don’t care, just want you-“ 

Ben decided to do it slow. Gentle and fucking sweet. Too good, and all Ben’s to praise and tend to and revere. So he pulled his shirt off Her body—carefully this time, because it did fucking things to Ben when she wore his clothing and he never wanted to take that away from himself—and pressed his palm over her soaked panties, kissing a line down between and under her breasts, rising back up to take a nipple in his mouth, smirking at the high squeak that left her mouth as he sucked. 

Her hands had shot into his hair, her chest heaving as Ben continued his work, starting to roll his hand over her clit. “Ben-“

You’re so fucking beautiful, Sunshine. He let his teeth graze over her—forcing himself to keep focus as she bucked her hips up—and switched to the other nipple. Can’t believe you’re all fucking mine. So fucking good for me, darling, so goddamn perfect. 

“Please-“ 

She cut herself off with a whine as Ben flicked his tongue, his palm pushing down against her, halting her movements up into him. 

Want to fucking show you how perfect you are, my love. Let me fucking show you- 

Please, Ben, fuck, please- 

He grinned at the breathless tone of Her voice between their minds, and surged back up, crashing his mouth into Hers and kissing her until she moaned. Long and desperate, half a sound of need and half his name, already fucking wrecked without friction, Ben holding her still under him. 

“Want you to be loud,” he grunted Her name into her mouth. “Talk to me, tell me how fucking good it feels-“ 

She nodded frantically, and Ben chuckled. 

“Words-“ 

“Feels good,” She mumbled, words practically fucking slurred. “Feels so good, Ben, god-“ 

“Have I told you,” he drawled, swallowing Her whimper as he pressed his hand further against her. “How much you consume my every fucking thought. How much I think about you, how it’s a goddamn problem, how much I adore and love you?” 

“You’ve-“ She took a ragged breath as Ben’s head dropped to suck and lick at her neck. “I think you’ve mention it-“ 

“See, I still think you don’t fucking understand.” Ben bit at her skin and she rolled Her hips, pulling at his hair. “You’re my fucking life, Sunshine. And I’ll say it until you get it into your pretty head. You’re perfect, every single goddamn part of you. You’re too fucking clever, darling, so good and kind and brilliant.” Ben trailed back up, tugging at Her ear and kissing over her cheekbone before pressing his brow to hers. 

“Ben-“ 

He chuckled as she tried to chase his mouth, and started to rub large circles against her clit with his palm, tracing his fingers over the slit of her pussy, still covered by her underwear. 

“Fuck-“ 

“I can fucking feel that sharp, insane mind of yours inside me, beautiful.” He dropped his mouth just an inch further down, holding himself where their lips brushed as he spoke, but no further. “And I love you there the most. Love how fucking bright you are, Sunshine. This mouth of yours is so fucking smart,” he traced his lips over Hers, and she whimpered, eyes blown out and wide on his. “And you can be such a fucking brat, darling, but I goddamn love it. You’re my best fucking friend, and the most impossible fucking pain in my ass I could ever ask to love.”

She was fucking coming apart below him. Sighing in Ben’s mouth and letting him push his tongue down her throat, letting him kiss Her until he decided he should probably keep up with the plan he’d come up with, or else he’d just fucking kiss her until he came in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

Ben dragged his lips from Hers, and her sound of protest turned to a soft moan as Ben kissed every fucking inch of her face her could reach, love and want fucking rioting inside of him as she tried to move to offer him better access.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, dragging his hand up from her cunt to hold her face, running his fingers over her lips and cheekbones and jaw. “You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, you’re fucking art.” 

“Benjamin-“ 

Her words were a long, breathy, desperate moan, and he dropped back down to her lips. “I know, my love. I’ll get there-”

“I want you there now, you fucking dick-“ 

“And you get my fucking dick,” Ben hummed Her name, feeling himself twitch in his pants as he glanced down at her body, squirming and grinding and fucking perfect under him. “Patience.” 

“I hate you-“ 

“You fucking love me.” He kissed back down Her neck, over her collarbones. You love how grumpy I am, and how hard I work, and my fucking dick. But I think what you love most, Ben squeezed where he was holding Her waist. Is how I fucking worship you like you deserve. Make you feel fucking good, Sunshine, take real good care of you- 

I, She took a long breath, hands tugging Ben’s face back up, Her eyes on his still lustful, but now soft as well. That’s not what I love most about you. 

He grunted Her name between their heads, but she pushed on. 

I love how much you care, period. You don’t half-ass anything, Benjamin, and that includes caring. I’ve never seen anyone care about anything so aggressively as you care about baseball and stupid war documentaries and ice cream. I’ve never been cared about as much as you care about me. I didn’t think it was possible to care about someone as much as you care about me. She smiled at him, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure his heart fucking exploded. You care about me and Ryan and everything else you love so violently and wrathfully and powerfully, and that’s what I love most about you.

Ben’s voice sounded fucking hoarse in his own head. Sunshine- 

But, She curled up, kissing Ben’s nose. It’s only one reason on a very long list, my love- 

That snapped something deep in Ben's head, and it cleared his brain to Her. Everything in the universe narrowed to Her. 

This kiss was fucking brutal. Ben’s hand fisted Her hair, his teeth and spit and tongue Hers as well, his whole body demanding more. He’d never been more fucking satiated, and he’d never be more fucking hungry.

I love you, he muttered Her name between their heads. I love every single goddamn thing about you. And I’ve got a whole fucking plan to show you, so for once in your goddamn life, let me do the talking, darling. Moan and scream and beg all you fucking want, but I talk.

But you said-

I changed my mind. No talking.

Ben-

Deal? 

She nodded, finger’s curling on Ben’s face as she writhed below him. Deal, fucking deal, just please- 

I’ve meant everything I said about how much I love you. How smart and kind and clever and perfect that mind of yours is. But fucking Christ, Sunshine, you’re a goddamn wet dream. 

She moaned as Ben moved back to Her body, worshiping Her shoulder and neck and chest with his mouth, Her hips and waist and ass with his hands.

Every single fucking thing about you is goddamn perfection, but these, Ben returned his mouth to Her nipple, her moan only spurring him on. Were crafted by some sort of evil god. They’re fucking magic, beautiful, you could fucking win a war with them. He raised his spare hand to knead at Her other breast, and a strangled sound that sounded like his name left her mouth. 

“God, please-“ 

I talk. Ben squeezed Her one last time, flicking her nipple before switching to soothe the hurt with his tongue, and moved his hand back up to Her mouth. Be fucking good for me, darling, and listen.

Ben- 

He pressed his fingers between Her lips, and she didn’t fucking hesitate to start sucking on them. Licking and nipping and fucking moaning around him, and he groaned against Her tit. 

Fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me. He left one last kiss on her nipple, rising up just enough to watch her. You’re so fucking beautiful-

She whined, bucking up into Ben’s fully hard cock, and Her eyes on his were a plea.

Want to cum, Sunshine? 

She only nodded, kicking his abdomen, and he chuckled, pulling his fingers away with a pop.

Just a little longer, darling. Hold on for me.

Ben didn’t wait to see the desperation in Her eyes—he could feel it in his fucking body—before he was dropping back down, kissing between her breasts, over her stomach, and leaving one soft, fucking sweet kiss over her clothed clit before leaning back and ripping off her panties, admiring his handiwork.

She was fucking dripping. Soaking the sheets, so fucking perfect, and all goddamn Ben’s.

You’ve got the best fucking legs I’ve ever seen, he muttered into her head, kissing and biting a loose pattern over her inner thighs. Could fucking die here. But this, Ben parted Her swollen pussy lips, smirking at her small gasp. Is like a fucking drug. You’re always so fucking wet for me, my love, I don’t even need to prep you. But I think I will anyway.

Ben pushed two fingers into Her, pumping slowly and groaning as she squeezed around him. Then, just for his fucking self, Ben pulled Her clit into his mouth and sucked. Going and going without pointless shit like air, scissoring and pushing his fingers in deeper, and only stopping when She screamed, and his whole fucking face got soaked. He felt and smelled and tasted Her fucking everywhere, and it was like fucking water. Earthier and harsher and so fucking Her, but just as goddamn critical to Ben’s life now.

He pushed himself off of Her, rising back up to his knees and groaning at the sight of Her. Fucking glowing, goddamn ruined. Looking at Ben like he was something holy and sacred, and to Her, he was. He could feel it fucking everywhere, and taste it on his tongue as he licked his lips.

He hoped She fucking lingered there for the rest of time. That every night for the rest of his life, Ben could run a hand through his beard, and end up with his fingers fucking covered in Her. 

You fucking squirted.

She nodded, and—despite the fucking choir of Her love around Ben in the world—only moaned, reaching up for him. 

Think you can do it again? 

She whined, and Ben chuckled. 

Words, darling- 

Yes, fuck Ben, please- 

Good girl. 

She practically flew off the fucking bed as her hips jerked up, her heart stuttering with her breath. God, fuck, please- 

Ben grinned, and he could never fucking deny her anything, so he ripped his pants off, stroking himself once, twice—just to how fucking beautiful she was—and pushed himself in with a groan. He fell over Her as he bottomed out, and fuck She was perfect. Fluttering around him, fitting him like they’d been fucking designed to be as close as goddamn possible, gasping in Ben’s ear as Her hands clawed at his back. 

Ready, Sunshine? 

Just move, you ass- 

He kissed Her—bruising and demanding and made of all this fucking love for Her that consumed Ben’s whole goddamn existence—and obeyed. 

Ben didn’t think he’d ever worked harder than to memorize every single fucking part of Her. What every pout and glare and smile meant, how She said his name and every small way she existed around him—in music and movies and shows and books and the flowers in MM’s garden—and how She moved. Ben had learned Her like fucking she was a fucking testament to how he should live, and he took it goddamn seriously. It was what helped him know how to fuck Her right. How to angle himself inside her so he was hitting that spot that always made Her let out a strangled moan, how to kiss her in a fucking rhythm as he pounded himself into her, and that, if he groaned when She squeezed around him, she’d start to try and grind up into him. 

This was better than a fucking drug. This was fucking oxygen, how warm and tight she was around him, how when Ben deepened their kiss she opened up for him and scratched his back, how sensitive She was—leaning into his every touch, moaning at every muttered and growled praise—and how he could fucking feel Her. How fucking perfect She was, finally around him in every single possible way. So fucking bright, a green mist that smelled like pine and vanilla and damn strawberries covering the room as she shinedlike fucking star under Ben, Her eyes watching him like he was something good. 

Ben was something good, for Her. It lived in how he tended and adored and cared for her, and he wanted to be something that was half as fucking perfect as she was, just so she’d let him stay here for the rest of fucking time. Buried deep inside Her, his thrusts becoming stuttered as he began to lose control—no fucking idiot pussy could blame him, though, because She was squirming under him and moaning his name so I was a miracle he lasted this long—and letting every single fucking thought of Her fall out of his mouth, down her throat.

“So fucking good,” he grunted Her name. “Taking me so fucking perfect. You sound like a fucking song, look so fucking beautiful all fucked out, love you, taking me so fucking well-“

He cut himself off with a groan as her head dropped to his jaw, kissing along his beard with sinful fucking whimpers. 

“Christ, you’re a goddamn miracle, fucking made for me.” Ben pushed one hand between their bodies, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of her as he pinched and rubbed over her clit. 

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, Her heart hitting that frantic pace that meant she was close, and when Her hands trying to push Ben further into her he moved faster, crashing his mouth back into her and growling Her name. 

“You’re fucking perfect.” Ben’s words became fast and rough, their brows pressed together so he could see every inch of Her beautiful face, his own orgasm pushing at his restraint. “You so fucking good, darling, good to everyone, so fucking good to me. I fucking love you-“

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper of pure fucking need that almost sent Ben over the edge. “Please-“

He kissed Her again, soft and sweet as his movements become almost feral, splitting her fucking open on his cock. Cum for me, Sunshine, say my name-

She screamed—Ben’s name lost somewhere in many high, wrecked sounds of God and fuck—and Ben let go. Driven on by Her fucking squirting over him, her pussy contracting like she was trying to really fucking kill him, Ben made one last, long thrust as he emptied himself into Her body. He waited for Her breathy, blissful sigh that meant she was happy and high on pleasure before pressing one last, soft kiss to between Her eyes, tucking hair behind her ears, and lowering himself down. Covering her body in his like he could serve as a shield from fucking everything. From the daylight and blue sky, slowing creeping over them and threatening that morning was here, and they couldn’t fucking stay here forever. From the battle they were staged to fight, where Ben would have to just be fucking silent at Her side. From every single factor that neither of them could control, from everything that might hurt Her or make her cry. Every single weak thing that dared to pretend they were worthy sharing the same air that She fucking breathed. 

And She let them stay like that. With Ben’s body likely fucking dead-weight over her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he buried his head between her breasts, her hands even moving to hold his face, tilting it up for Ben to meet her gaze. 

He scanned over her face, perfect and fucking beautiful and all fucking Ben’s. “Hi, Sunshine.” 

“Hi, Benjamin, my love.” 

She couldn’t be allowed to fucking call him that. If Ben ever wanted to be a goddamn productive member of society, She couldn’t keep calling him my love. And, Christ on a fucking cross, Benjamin, my love, was worse. That made him short circuit and practically fucking gape at Her. It repeated over and over in his head, and he probably looked like an idiot fucking pussy, just gaping at Her, but fuck She was so pretty, and happy, and Ben’s and Her Her Her, everything in him kept calling Ben home to Her. 

Ben managed to regain just enough control over his stupid fucking lovestruck body to roll them over, tugging Her down until that bright, drug-like smile was right above him, Her arms holding her a few inches away from him. 

“You’re a fucking thief,” Ben drawled Her name, and was unable to contain a dumb fucking smile from overtaking his face. It was born from Her—hair messy, fucking naked, beautiful mouth still slightly swollen and pretty eyes still so dazed from sex—being so goddamn near him. Her smell that was half wrapped in salt from sweat and Ben’s cum, Her perfect face all fucking happy above him, Her smile and love fucking intoxicating. A high Ben never had to come down from, because even as She gave him a fake pout he just got higher. 

“I am not a thief, that’s mean-“ 

“You’re fucking mean.” He grabbed Her hips, pulling them down to press against his and letting Her sit over him. “And you’re a goddamn thief. I call you my love, you stole my goddamn idea-“

She scoffed, crossing her arms and glaring down at him. “You are not the first dummy to call their person my love, Pretty Boy-“ 

“I said it first with us-“ 

“Well you don’t get a patent over it-“ 

“The fuck I don’t.” 

They were glowering at each other, and Ben knew he’d lost when a soft smile crossed her face, a sharp look glinting in her eyes. “Well then I am a thief,” She crawled back down his body, bumping their noses and kissing along Ben’s jaw. “Because it’s mine now. I call you my love, and that’s that.”

He scowled, but it was getting harder to even keep up the charade of this fake fight when She was squirming above him and his hands were bruising at Her hips. “You don’t get to just fucking take it-“ 

“Yes, I do.” 

Ben hauled Her further up his body, fully moving her to collapse over him, a high yelp leaving her as Ben kissed every single fucking inch of skin he could angle his head to find. “Fucking brat.” He grunted, rutting slightly up into Her thighs and growing harder as he felt her wetness, dripping down her thighs. “Already so goddamn needy for me again, want me to fuck you good, darling? Again?” 

She was fucking perfect. It wasn’t Ben’s own damn bias or love or something fucking pathetic—but entirely goddamn warranted, She was his life and Ben was allowed to be a little bit of a fucking pussy about her—She was just so fucking clearly perfect. She might be the only person alive who was more dirty-minded and horny than Ben, and he pitied any fucker who’d tried to keep up with Her before him. Her head ended up thrown back as she rode him, a beautiful fucking squeak leaving her when Ben took back control, grabbing Her hips and drilling up into Her until her pretty eyes rolled back and she was shaking around him. 

When he found his release with Her own—letting Her grind over his cock and scrape at his abdomen as she made sounds that were fucking music—Ben had to take a long, heavy breath to stop himself from just rolling Her over and going for round three when he saw his cum leaking and coating her thighs. 

She giggled slightly, brushing some of Ben’s hair from his eyes. 

“What-“ 

“We really do fuck like rabbits,” She said, shifting around until their legs were tangled, pulling Ben’s arms over her body. “Hughie asked if it was the supe stamina, but I think it might just be us.” 

“You talked to Hughie about our sex life-“ 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Technically I was talking to Annie, but Hughie was forced to listen. And halfway through the story about the dishes incident, he asked if copious amounts of sex was normal for two supes.” 

It wasn’t. Ben had fucked half the female supe population before Russia, and it might as well have been juvenile dry humping compared to what he did with her. But he was still caught on the talking to Annie shit. “What the fuck else do you tell her about us-“

“Normal friend stuff,” she shrugged, leaving soft kisses along his beard as She spoke. “How much I love you, how you made me pancakes for breakfast again, how good you are with Ryan and how adorably grumpy you get when we talk about books, how I’m going to bribe you to read something with Ryan and I, and Hughie and Annie are welcome read with us-“

“You’re going to fucking bribe me-“

She continued, kissing the bridge of Ben’s nose and holding his gaze. “Usually Hughie clocks out when I start talking about how much I love your dick, though-“

Ben raised his brows at Her. “You talk about my dick with fucking Hughie? What, are you telling Butcher about my balls-“

“I would if he would listen.” She smiled, dropping back down, kissing everywhere but Ben’s fucking lips. “Benjamin, my love, if you were fucking you, you’d never shut up about it either-“ 

His eyes narrowed. “You did it again.” 

She hummed, her smile so perfectly and beautifully mocking innocence. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about.”

Ben snaked one hand up her back, tangling his finger in her hair and moving her back his mouth. Kissing her until she was writhing and moaning above him, a tiny whine leaving her lips when he pulled away. 

“Ben-“ 

“You’re the love of my fucking life, Sunshine, and you should know that-“ 

“I do know that,” She whispered, and Ben could fucking feel it. Spreading between them, how he was just as critical to Her as She was to him. Her piece of him so fucking strong inside of him, twined into something so deep inside of Ben’s body he’d never fucking known about it before. “I know that all the time, Ben. And I need you to know that I love you.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You do so much for me, and I want to give you something back-“ 

“You give me more than fucking enough-“ 

She shook her head. “I want to do more. It’s just a name, Pretty Boy. You have a million of them for me, and I’m sure you’ll come up with more.” 

Ben groaned, because he’d fucking lost this one as well. She was too fucking pretty, half-pouting up at him and loving him and so fucking happy around him, alive inside him, and Ben needed to get his fucking shit together, but he didn’t want to. This was so fucking good, and She was so goddamn perfect, and when he made a grumbling relent, her smile was so fucking bright and sweet and all for him. 

“Thank you, Benjamin, my love.” 

She kissed him one last time, and Ben needed to get better at faking a genuine scowl, because right now he goddamn knew he looked just like the fucking puppy dog She kept accusing him of being. Watching Her and trying to act like he was annoyed by this, when everything in him was just Her. Making his whole fucking life better and loving him and wanting him and being so fucking annoying and he wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. 

“We could both fucking use it-“ 

“No.” She mumbled, burying her face in his neck. “Mine.” 

And Ben couldn’t fucking argue with that. He was Hers. He was holding Her against him as they both made a completely fucking pointless attempt to properly rest in the last hour before they had to get up, watching the light start to dance over her perfect face, and he wanted to be here for the rest of his goddamn life. 

He really fucking wanted to be with Her, forever. He’d always fucking burn with her, but he wanted to just stay here. No burning, just warm and love and good. In whatever goddamn form it took, Ben just really fucking wanted Her. 

She was half-asleep, and there was a chance she wouldn’t even hear him. But Ben muttered Her name anyway, and waited for her small sound of acknowledgement, her hand squeezing his bicep in a silent signal that she was listening. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too-“ 

“I really fucking love you,” Ben grunted. “And we should get married. Now.” 

Her heart hitched slightly, but all she did was smile against Ben’s skin. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, my love.” 

Ben snorted slightly, and knew that he would. He’d have to make it romantic. Something that she deserved, that made every single other fucking gesture in history seem fucking stupid. There would be music and flowers—she fucking loved music and flowers—and chocolate, and maybe a horse. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why he’d need a horse, but those things always seemed involved in romance somehow, so he’d have to figure out where the fuck to get a horse, and how to work it in with everything else. 

But then he looked down at Her—sleeping peacefully above Ben, breath warming his neck and lips brushing over his skin—and knew she wouldn’t give a fuck about a horse. He didn’t need to make it complicated, just do it right. 

Fuck, if he tried right now—more than just a grumbled idea that made Her love spark in his head and bones—Ben could probably get it right. He could roll her over, kiss her neck, cheeks, brow, and lips, and tell Her to fucking marry me. I love you, and I love every single part of you, and I want every single part of you, and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life proving that to you, starting now. If you let me, I’ll pick you up and we can go find a judge and do it right goddamn now. I don’t have a ring, but I’ll find one, I’ll find you whatever the fuck you want, and that will be it. You and me, for the rest of fucking time, together. 

He didn’t, though. She was, somehow, fast asleep, and Ben had no desire to wake Her. Not when her face was so relaxed, and Ben could just lay here and care for her in silence. Hold Her until he saw the clock flash 5:30, and they had to move. 

They were silent getting ready. Ben wore his supe suit, She kept his shirt on—her eyes bleary and gaze slightly unfocused as she shuffled around the room—and Ben didn’t fight her when she grabbed their suitcase. Her grip on it was white-knuckled and smoking, and even though she was probably about to do fucking everything at the meeting for everyone else, she needed to be useful. Ben knew that drawn focus, and mechanical breathing, and rapid tapping of Moon River. It was her I’m doing this, my way, and that means doing it fucking right, face. It was the one that Ben knew he could help with an arm looped through hers and a kiss on the side of Her head, promising that he was fucking there, and not going anywhere.

The rest of the team seemed to know that face by now as well. Enough so for Butcher not to make any mocking comments about how that shirt was very obviously Ben’s, Annie and Hughie not to try and engage her in boring, pointless fucking conversation, and MM to only give her a tight nod as they tossed the suitcase in the back and climbed into the limo. 

The ride was completely silent. Her head was leaned back on Ben's shoulder, her eyes closed but heartbeat fast, and her finger still tapping, faster and faster, on Ben’s arm. 

He muttered Her name between their heads, and her eyes slowly opened, her face turning to look at him.

Ben. 

You’re going to be fucking fine. 

I know- 

I’m serious, he pushed Her a little further up his body, making their eyes level. You’re going to be fucking fine. We’re going to figure this out, no matter what happens, or what the pussies decide. We’ll take care of this, together. 

She swallowed, but gave Ben a soft, reassuring smile that didn’t hit her eyes. Together. I love you. 

I love you too. Ben paused, scanning over her face. If those cumfucks ask- 

We’re dating. Her smile grew a little wider, and her fingers stilled on Ben’s skin. Or fuck-buddy-brain-connected. My vote is- 

Ben kissed Her, squeezing her body once, and Her giggle into his mouth might be the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. 

You’re not allowed to vote on what we call things. 

She fake-pouted against him. This is a democracy, Benjamin- 

No, it’s not. He grinned, nipping on her lower lip. It’s a constitutional monarchy, where you’re the fucking Queen. And the Queen isn’t supposed to vote. 

She pulled back, giving Ben a wide, amused smile he could feel something soften in his stomach. Look who paid attention in civics class. 

I paid attention to you and Ryan, not some boring fucking history teacher. I’ve told you, your boobs have magical fucking powers, Sunshine. They move when you talk and I always fucking listen.

Gross. 

You love it. 

I do. She traced a hand over Ben’s jaw, the sharp smile playing over her features lighting up the whole goddamn world. Because we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Don’t call us that. 

Can I call us that on the Ben’o’phone? 

You can do whatever the fuck you want in here, Ben held Her hand on his face, kissing her palm. But if you tell Singer that we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected, I’m not fucking you for a week.

Her eyes narrowed. That’s a bad bluff, Pretty Boy. 

It was. Ben wouldn’t make it two fucking days before he caved, even if all She did smile and talk to him. But he kept his face set and neutral, shrugging slightly. So fucking call me on it, Sunshine. 

Her tongue peaked between her lips as she chewed, nose twitching, and she sighed. Fuck you. 

Don’t call us that shit, Ben winked. And I will. Hard, this time, until you’re rolling around and can’t feel your fucking legs. Until we finally get you to really, properly squirt, and I can fucking taste it. Ben kissed Her nose, light and teasing. I’ll fuck until we break the goddamn bed, and you’re burning down the whole goddamn building with how good I make you cum. Think you’d like that, darling? He smirked at Her slack expression, pressing his thumb between her lips and feeling his cock twitch when they parted. Think you’d want me to make you cum so fucking hard you scream my name and light up like a fucking star? Think you could be a good girl and let go when I fuck you? 

Her eyes had gone clear of glazed, grinding thought, and clouded with a lust that called Ben like a fucking siren. He was a strong man, but not strong enough for this. Things like will and resolve didn’t matter when She looked at him like that. When Her hands were curled on Ben’s arm, and her breathing was ragged in a way that made things feel right, and there was a little bit of fucking drool lining her lips. The limo was starting to be washed in a golden haze that meant she was turned on and probably fucking soaking her underwear, so nobody would be strong in this situation. Every other single asshole would want to make good on those promises, because they were to Her and she was perfect. 

Ben was either about to try and secretly fuck her in front of everyone, or try the proposal again, so or everyone’s sake, it was good they arrived within the next few seconds. If they did try to fuck the secret thing wouldn’t last a damn minute, and if Ben proposed—the right way—they’d definitely be fucking, loud and hard and wet, after. And even if Hughie and Annie had heard about how good Ben fucked Her, they still weren’t allowed to see it. 

Butcher twisted around from the front, his eyes landing on Her as he said Her name. “You’re gonna need to wear a fuckin disguise, we ain’t able to risk anyone figurin out who you are.” 

She rolled Her eyes, dramatically pulling her sunglasses out of her jacket and placing them on her face. “Good?” 

Butcher frowned, turning to Hughie. “Oi, lad. Give her your fucking cap.” 

“My-“ 

“I’ve got it.” Annie tossed Her a black baseball cap from across the limo, giving Butcher a flat, annoyed look. “Hughie doesn’t have a hat, asshole, it’s mine-“ 

“Don’t matter whose hat it is, long as she,” Butcher jerked his head to Her. “Is the one wearin it. Indoors too, Love, I ain’t lookin for Homelander to drop through the ceiling-“ 

“Keep your tits on, Butcher.” She plopped the cap on her head with another sweeping, sarcastic gesture. “Everyone ready?” 

MM nodded. “Grace is already there, so hopefully we won’t have a wait time. Everyone try to be diplomatic for once in your lives, don’t say something you don’t think over five fucking times in your head, and no weapons.” 

Everyone looked at Ben and Butcher. 

“That cunt is a bloody weapon, I’m takin my gun-“ 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want-“ 

“Both of you,” She glared between Ben and Butcher, voice not as loud as theirs, but with a threat of violence that made even Butcher snap his jaw closed. “Shut the fuck up. No weapons in the White House. Near the president. Ben, you are a weapon, we’ll be fine. Butcher, if you remind the fucking secret service that Ben and I are weapons, they’ll make us wait outside, and you’ll be fucked. You need me for this, I’ve put the whole thing together. Got it?”

Ben made a grumbled agreement, and Butcher scowled, pulling out at least fifty fucking guns and placing them in the passenger’s seat, glaring at Her the whole time. She gave them both a pretty, smug smile, and pulled Ben with her, out of the limo. 

As they walked through the halls of the White House, flanked by many, incredibly fucking useless secret service agents—Her hand over Ben’s, on her shoulder, warmer than usual but not smoking—Ben nudged her shoulder.

You look fucking hot when you order everyone around, Sunshine. 

She huffed a small laugh. You always think I look hot. 

Because you’re always fucking hot- 

I think. She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. That I could eat vomit and roll in shit, and you’d still think I’m hot. 

You would be. 

I would objectively not be- 

Yes, you fucking would be. Ben kissed Her brow. You’re objectively hot all the goddamn time.

And you’re an incredibly biased party, Benjamin, my love. 

Ben almost picked her up and to fuck her on one of these stupid fancy benches in the halls. The only thing that stopped him was a secret service agent, coming to a halt in the hall with no warning. 

“Christ, you pussy-“ 

Her free hand shot up, covering Ben’s mouth. “Is this it?” 

The agent nodded, and started listing off a bunch of fucking rules that Ben didn’t care about. Not when Her eyes had gone glass-like once more, and her heart was stumbling in her chest. 

You’ve fucking got this, Sunshine. We’re going to be fine. 

I know. She let out a long, slow breath, and leaned into Ben slightly. Ready? 

Fucking born it. 

Singer was at the center of the table—in the same spot as last time—with Mallory on one side and a man Ben had never seen before on the other. 

Ben hated him. She was perfect and beautiful, and Todd Muller was a slimy-looking weasel-fuck, wearing a red tie Ben wanted to strangle him with and looking at them with gleaming eyes Ben wanted to stab. The man hadn’t even spoken, and Ben’s fists were already goddamn curling at his side. There was something in him that told Ben wrong. Bad, vile, fucking wrong, and it came from Her. When the man smiled, a crude cold smirk that made Ben feel like he’d been shoved into a fucking swamp, the warning became an alarm, and Her grip on Ben’s hand over her shoulders started to smoke.

Muller—it was fucking Muller, Mallory had made some introductions that Ben barely heard over the blood lining his every thought—wouldn’t stop looking at Her, and Ben had to fight every fucking urge in his body to just step in front of her. 

And when Muller said Her name—said it fucking wrong, with no love and only callous venom—Ben thought his jaw might crack. 

“You’re looking healthy for a dead girl.” 

“Todd.” Her voice was bored and cold, Her heart pounding like a fucking war drum. “You’re looking like a bitch ass cock guzzler.” 

Even with the tension in the air—wired and electric and set to detonate—Ben still had to cough to cover his laugh, and Muller’s eyes shot to his. 

“Soldier Boy,” a hand was extended over the table. Ben forced himself not to break it. “Big fan-“ 

“Don’t be.” Her voice was dry. “He’s a Phillies fan.” 

Brat. 

Cunt. A small smile tugged at Her lips, even as Muller’s attention returned to her. 

“You’ve been busy,” Muller said Her name again, and Ben was going to pull out his tongue. “Learning about baseball, getting your fifteen minutes of fame, never bothering to tell your mother and me that you were alive-“ 

“I’d been dead to you and Mom for years,” She shrugged. “What’s legal death to being locked out and left to fend for myself?” 

“And I see you’re still a little-“ 

“Secretary Muller.” Mallory’s voice was even and cool, and she didn’t even fucking look at Her or Ben. “We agreed to keep personal lives out of this meeting.” 

Muller’s face twitched, but he fell back into his seat, eyes still trained on Her and Ben. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.” Singer nodded to the chairs before them. “Sit, so we can talk like damn adults.” 

MM cleared his throat as they all sat, nodding to a silent, bored-looking Singer. “Thank you for seeing us again, sir.”

“Don’t.” Singer sighed, rubbing at his beard. “If I don’t follow up with you dumbasses, the brit,” he jerked his head to Butcher, who winked. “Will probably start sendin death threats and bombs to my family. But I ain’t here to small talk or do fucking therapy sessions, so I’m just gonna say it.” Singer sighed, looking around the room. “You’re not gettin any V. You’ve been determined to be a liability and are being ordered to explore other avenues to eliminate Homelander.”

The shocked, angry silence only lasted a moment before the room erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about Singer being a bloody fuckin cunt idiot, MM and Annie trying to provide reason, and Hughie trying to make everyone stop yelling. 

But She was silent, watching Muller. No smoke, no screams, only a pure, horrid sense of wrong and sick in Ben’s body. 

Ben. She didn’t look at him, but squeezed his arm. Don’t freak out. 

What- 

She coughed, a tiny amount of fire escaping her mouth, the whole room erupted in clicks of guns. All fucking aimed at Her. The only thing that kept Ben only rigid and alert at Her side, instead of launching himself over her body and bashing in the brains of any pussy that dared to fire, was Her quick, sharp glance in his direction, and smooth words in his head. 

I’ve got this. 

She had this. Ben was right here, killing anyone who fired was still very much an option, and she had this. She was leaning over the table, eyes flicking between Singer, Muller, and Mallory, and she had this. 

“What exactly about us is a liability?” She asked, tilting her head in mock thought. “That would justify you refusing to provide us with the only definitive weapon against Homelander?” 

“Your team has proven reckless,” Singer held Her gaze, which was a little fucking admirable. Ben had seen fucking Butcher stop talking under that glare, and Singer didn’t even seem to have the cocky death-wish Butcher had. “Countless times. Truth-con, both of Firecracker’s rallies, Tek Knight’s club massacre, the Believe Expo, and that’s just off the top of my damn head. We’re past takin gambles that don’t pay off, and this is a massive gamble that we ain’t able to afford.“

“How so?” She blinked at Singer, her face innocent and her fingers tapping on the table. “This is not a gamble. V will incapacitate Homelander.” 

“On your word.” Muller sneered. “All we have is your word, and there’s nothing to stop you from simply taking the V for your own use.” 

She scoffed, giving Muller a bored, amused look. “That can’t possibly be your real excuse. Half of us are already supes, and the other half hate supes-” 

“I don’t hate supes-“ 

Hughie’s mumble was cut off by Mallory’s curt, snapped words. “You have all been known to make questionable moves.” 

This time, Butcher laughed. “Come off it, Grace. Questionable moves is real high and fuckin mighty from you-“ 

“I have always remained within the bounds of the law-“ 

“The law,” She drawled. “Is not the end all be all of morality. We need to kill Homelander. This will help us. There isn’t another way. So please give me one really good reason why you can’t spare one vial of V so we can eliminate the most dangerous man alive.” 

There was a beat of tight, furious silence, and then Singer stood. 

“Grace, Todd,” he flattened his suit, letting out a labored breath. “I got a fuckin country to run, deal with this. You dumbasses,” he nodded across the table to the Boys. “Are real lucky we’re still housing and entertaining you. And you,” Singer said Her name, and the whole world was lined in red. “Consider playing that role you designed for yourself, if you’re so fuckin committed to the safety of our country.” 

Ben felt his fists curl, and Butcher looked like he would’ve stood up and tackled Singer down had it not been for the countless fucking guns still trained on their heads. 

Muller cleared his throat as the door, and their last fucking hope, closed. “We have determined that the pitch comes from a non-lucid party-“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Todd.” She wrinkled Her nose, lip curling. “Just say it’s because of me, so we can all move on.” 

“You are not important enough for this call to be made in your name-“ 

“Try again.” 

“Homelander is a chronic threat of unfathomable proportion. You are not qualified to handle such a delicate situation-“

“Wrong.” She shrugged, and Ben felt like he was watching a sparring match. Muller’s face was growing more and more red, and Her breathing more mechanical, both close to snapping, but she still pushed on. “I am qualified. I have field experience, and I’m literally a doctor. And you used chronic wrong. That’s not what it means-“ 

“I do not care what it means,” Muller hissed. “You are not stable or reliable, and we will not put the most dangerous drug in history into the hands of an over-emotional girl.” 

The table cracked under Ben’s hands, and something fucking dangerous crossed over Her face. 

“Oh, fuck.” MM muttered, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face as the air of the room started to wave in the heat. 

“So,” Her words were slow, wrathful. “You are risking America, risking the fucking world, because you think I’m the same unstable teenager I was thirteen fucking years ago.” 

Muller didn’t waver. “I believe you are the same girl you were because you are spoiled and believe you are owed something from the world. We are not a weapons bank-” 

“I am not owed V, it’s the only weapon to hold down Homelander that we have!” Her voice was growing louder, the room crackling with heat. “I want to kill my fucking abuser, that’s not spoiled-“ 

“And she’s helped us!“ Annie jumped in, glaring at Muller. “She’s not spoiled, she’s made a lot of the hard calls-“ 

“Starlight,” Mallory muttered, shooting Annie a look. “Drop it.” 

“No, Mallory! This is insane, you can’t think this is the best choice-“ 

“This is the president’s call-“ 

Butcher let out a cold, angry laugh. “You ain’t ever been this much of a bureaucratic bitch before, Grace-“

“Times are changing, Butcher-“ 

“And Grace here,” Muller gave Mallory a cold smirk. “Still wants to be in the running for the sweet VP spot. So now isn’t the time to disagree with Mr. President.” 

MM gaped at Mallory. “Are you being serious, Grace-“

“Oh, she is,” Muller turned his grin to the team. “And she’s still trying to make up ground for letting her two most dangerous and unreliable weapons,” his twisted gaze turned to Her and Ben. “Fall in love. What did you drug him with,” Muller sneered Her name. “To get Soldier Boy to follow you like a weak fucking baby?” 

Ben still had to let Her handle it. Even as he felt so fucking cold, physically restraining himself from launching across the table at Muller, he had to let Her handle it. 

“Ben isn’t weak, or a baby.“ She lifted her chin at Muller, and Ben swore he saw something fucking spark in the air. “And I’m not like you, Todd. I don’t need to offer someone something for them to love me.” A cold, hollow smirk played across Her lips. “Tell Mom I say hi, by the way.” 

Muller’s eyes narrowed. “You whoring little bitch-“ 

That was fucking it. Fuck letting Her handle it, that was the fucking line. 

Ben shot to his feet, letting the table crack further under his fist, and Muller’s words faded off. 

“Don’t ever fucking speak to her like that again in your pathetic, pussy life,” Ben growled. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Soldier Boy-“ 

Ben ignored MM’s low warning. “And you should count yourself real fucking lucky, because otherwise I’d break your fucking skull right goddamn now.” 

Muller cleared his throat, and a flash of fear crossed his face. “Careful, Soldier Boy.” Muller said, voice less smug and assured as he straightened his already too-straight tie. “Or we’ll find some Agent Orange and put you back in the box, and she won’t have anyone to do her dirty work.”

Ben could hear the fucking drums. He hadn’t heard the drums like this in months, but they were pounding in his head. Not from Muller—he could throw his against the wall and crack his spine without a thought—but from the thought of leaving Her alone. Failing Her again, leaving Her and Ryan to fight Homelander alone. And the drums beat with the knowledge that She’d burn herself out to wake Ben up, and he could never fucking let that happen- 

“You won’t get near him,” She hissed. “Or I’ll burn your dick off, and your fancy house down. And you,” Her wrath turned to Mallory, her words measured and toxic. “Are fucking pathetic. You know this is the wrong call, and you’re just letting it happen. Actually do something to kill Homelander, or deal with the consequences of him being alive.” 

She stood, looping Her arm through Ben’s. We need to leave, now. 

We’re not going fucking anywhere without the V- 

Ben. Her voice was firm in his head, and Ben realized her heart had slowed. Trust me. 

“Oi, where are you-“ 

“We’re done here,” She announced over Butcher, giving the team sharp, pointed looks. “Thank you,” She gave Mallory and Muller a too sweet, toxic smile. “For absolutely fucking nothing.” 

The rest of their team exchanged confused looks, their mouths opening and closing in protest, but She was on a strange sort of warpath. Pulling Ben behind Her into the hall, barely looking back to see their team scramble up as she turned to face Ben. 

Take my phone.

What the fuck are you- 

We’re not getting the V, Muller is the leak. 

How do you- 

He said Agent Orange. You told me Frenchie used that for his gas, that Sage based Hers on. Nobody except the Boys, Homelander, and Sage know that. It’s him. But we’ll be fine, you just need to play the music-

How the goddamn Christ is music going to help-

Neuman said they had a backup of V, that isn’t under the pentagon's control. I’m going to find it, and I need you to play a song, any song, really fucking loud. Don’t stop until I tell you to. Please. 

Ben nodded, putting Her rapid word in order in his own head. They didn’t have the V. There was more V, that wasn’t under the pentagon’s—Muller’s—control. She needed him to play music. Ben could defiantly fucking play music. 

He took Her phone, and she glanced behind him as their team stumbled into the hall. 

“Love, we ain’t fuckin done here-“ 

“Listen to me, Butcher.” Her voice was controlled and firm, and Ben glanced up from her phone to see that sharp, almost hazardous focus in her eyes. “We need to go now. I need to have my back here, please.”

Butcher blinked, and—by some fucking miracle—nodded. “Let’s bloody get a move on, then.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“Nah, Mate.” Butcher cut off MM with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We ain’t gettin shit out of those cunts. Let’s cut our losses and move.” 

“That’s,” Annie frowned, watching Butcher carefully. “Uncharacteristically forgiving of you-“

“What can I say, I’m a changed fuckin man. Let’s go.” 

MM, Annie, and Hughie exchanged looks, but before they could protest further, Ben felt Her bump his shoulder, her eyes fixed behind him. 

Now. 

He didn’t think about what he was playing, because it didn’t fucking matter. It was fucking loud, and it caused the team to jump slightly and give him odd looks, but She nodded. And that’s what fucking mattered. 

And then She fucking vanished, like she had at Red River. Something rushed through Ben’s body—indescribable and elusive and not wrong but strange—the world practically stuttered, and She was gone. 

Annie’s mouth fell open. “Where-“ 

“Oh, shit.” Hughie looked over at Ben, his voice muffled by the blasting vocals and drums and guitar. “She’s-“ 

Ben didn’t want to talk over the music. He didn’t understand how this weird fucking power of Hers worked—She’d explained it a few times, and he’d still gotten lost in Her pretty eyes and big words—and now wasn’t the time to pull experiments with it. So, he just gave Hughie a sharp nod, and waited. 

Butcher didn’t seem phased by this in the goddamn slightest, looking around the hall and rolling his eyes before starting for the exit. 

A secret service agent blocked his path, and an argument started about turning off the music and where is the sixth member of your party—MM grunted something about the bathroom, and they seemed to buy it—but Ben didn’t fucking hear any of it. She was taking too long, there wasn’t any telling where the fuck She’d gone, and Ben could feel Her tugging him with the Pigeon instinct—he was worried out his damn mind, and She’d never get to know he’d called it that—from deep in the building. 

Then She started drawing closer, back to Ben, and the instinct started to grow electric and feral. She was closer, and something felt sick, and he should just fuck this and go fucking find her- 

She was walking down the hallway, and, without a word, looped Her arms through Ben’s. 

Go. 

Ben didn’t stop playing the music—despite the many people in suits glaring at him—as She half-marched down the hall. Her face was too neutral, almost statue-like, and she still wasn’t speaking. Ben could swear he could hear Her fucking singing, like a ghost or phantom on the wind, but Her mouth was closed. 

They made it out. The rest of their team still looked tense and confused, and She was still being so fucking weird, but they’d made it the fuck out. Ben knew She was with them—he could feel Her humming and taut somewhere in his head—but she still didn’t speak. 

Butcher started driving, and when they crossed the lines out of DC, Ben finally felt a tug of his arm. 

Off. 

When the song stopped and Ben looked back to Her, tucked against his side, her eyes were far away, and he could hear Her fucking brain moving. 

“You gonna bloody explain whatever the fuckin hell you just pulled-“ 

“Drive, Butcher.” She snapped, eyes still glazed over. “Fast.” 

The ride was silent for another ten minutes. The didn’t have the V. They were out of fucking options, and they still had to figure out the Cornucopia, and they were fucked- 

Ben. 

He glanced down at Her, and found her staring at him. What- 

I got it. 

You- 

I followed Mallory and Muller to the oval office, which is like, really small by the way- 

Ben grunted Her name, trying to keep her perfect, too fast mind on one track. What the fuck did you get. 

The location. Of the executive V. It’s in a warehouse in Boston. 

Ben nodded slowly. So let’s go fucking get it. 

We need to deal with Edgar first. She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. No loose ends. We can’t get this wrong. 

She squeezed Ben’s hand—resting on her waist—and cleared her throat. 

Ben frowned. You’re telling them- 

Everything. “Butcher, pull over.” 

“We’re on the fuckin freeway-“ 

“So find a rest stop or take the next exit.” 

Ben could hear Butcher’s sigh, but the ass wasn’t stupid enough to keep arguing—not when Her tone was so flat and forceful, her face painted in a tight, resolved look—so they were parked within two minutes. 

“Can I, uh,” Hughie coughed. “I need to go to the bathroom-“ 

“Hold it, lad.” Butcher twisted in his seat, shooting Her a glare. “The fuck was all that-“

“I’m going to talk, and you’re all going to listen. No talking until I’m done.” She looked around the team, leaning forward. “Got it?” 

They got some nods and mumbled agreements—everyone glancing at Ben’s set, purposefully unreadable face like he had shit to say—and She let out a long, heavy breath. Ben’s hand moved to Her thigh, steadying her heart a little further, and she began. 

“We have a leak. I caught it when we met with Edgar, who’s probably doing some cloak and dagger double-agent bullshit, because he knew stuff only Sage and Homelander would know. And I wasn’t sure, but then Ashley jumped ship and confirmed it-“ 

Annie blinked. “Ashley-“ 

“Jumped ship.” She snapped, fingers tapping on Ben’s hand. “At Red River. Don’t get mad at Hughie, I told him to keep it quiet while we were in DC. Ashley’s staying with Neuman, and they’ve both confirm that there’s a leak in either the government or CIA. It’s the government, because it’s Muller. I don’t,” She sighed, chewing on her lips. “I don’t know what the fuck Muller is doing, or what Sage promised him to flip, but it’s him. It’s probably the real reason why we didn’t get the V, but it’s fine. I,” She reached into her jacket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. “Fixed it. Neuman told me there was an off-site stash of V for the government. Off the books, probably part of a deal for the government to help fund Red River. And I’ve got its location.” She leaned forward, passing the paper over to Annie. “Boston docks warehouse. We’ll need to take care of Edgar first, but that’s it. That’s our shot.” 

The limo was silent as MM and Hughie leaned over Annie’s shoulders, all three of them reading the paper—likely just some fucking evidence—and Butcher scowled at the air. 

“So,” Butcher drawled. “All we gotta do is go to Boston, nab some fuckin V from the federal government, and we’re bloody golden and set?” 

“Unless we fuck up,” She shrugged. “Yeah. And we can clean up Muller and Ashley after, but I think we need to clear Edgar first. He’s actually dangerous, and I’m not sure if he’s playing us or Sage. Muller’s just an idiot, and Ashley’s out of the picture for now.” 

“All she told you was there was a leak?” MM looked up from the paper with a frown. “Nothing else?” 

“She recorded Sage. And if she’s trying to infiltrate us, I burned out her tracker and she doesn’t have her phone. Neuman will keep an eye on her, and she won’t get anywhere close enough to us to get useful information for Sage.” 

“And how do you know Muller is the leak-“ 

“Butcher,” She cut off MM with a sigh. “What did Frenchie use to make the gas, when you met with Homelander and Sage in January?” 

Butcher frowned, something flashing in his eyes. “Agent Orange.” 

She nodded, and turned to Hughie and Annie. “And what did Sage base her gas on?” 

“Oh, God.” Annie shook her head, realization flashing in her eyes. “That’s not good-“ 

“What gas does Sage have?” MM grunted, looking around the limo. “None of you motherfuckers mentioned gas-“ 

“It’s against me,” Ben grunted, and felt Her hand cover his, still on her leg. “Homelander tried to use it during the tower fight. Pussy said Sage designed it after Frenchie’s.” 

“And only we know that,” Hughie mumbled. “Us and Vought. Shit-“ 

“That’s how I know it’s Muller,” She muttered. “And that’s how I know this is it. The V is there,” She nodded to the paper, slightly crumpled in Annie’s hands. “And we’re going to get it.” 

There was another moment of silence, broken by Butcher once more.

“That it, Love?”

 She nodded. “That’s it. We’re fucking finishing this.”

End Note: For such a stoic and emotionally stunted character, all of the Ben centric chapters sure do contain a lot of emotion.

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

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[astronicht]

52 for rosquez please <33

-daisy (@lastlatebraker)

hello!! i love this one lmao: 52. gripping thigh (from this prompt meme)

the swift answer is lol this was vale at home gripping his own thigh angrily while pecco gripped marc's thigh to get the marc marquez taxi service recently. Long answer, vaguely post-reunion:

Marc wakes up softly in the sliding dark, and with a seat-belt biting gently into his neck. For a moment he is too young to be real; a memory rather than a person, expecting Alex small and napping across the backseat of an ancient red Opel Kadett. Expecting, too, daylight, or at least -- as he ages swiftly in his own mind, his life curling back around him -- the bright halogens of an airport arrivals lane. Today, Marc sleeps in cars, but not restfully; he catnaps being ferried from one place to another, maybe. He doesn’t doze off because there is nothing else to do; that’s for planes, now.

Sleeping in this car feels transgressive, and he doesn't recall why until Valentino's hand shifts on Marc's thigh.

He ignores Valentino for now and rolls his head towards the window. The glass is cold; it's December in Italy. Marc wore shorts after he sloughed off his leathers to make Valentino roll his eyes and then watch, and watch, and watch. Sure it's December, but it's nine degrees; he won’t freeze.

There is no sky out the window. Just a wide black gulf and the hum of tyres on the road and the watery whisper of the radio. It’s not a digital radio, so Valentino has managed to set it to slightly between stations. The music is flickering between something Marc doesn’t recognize and a jingle for the neighboring station. He wasn’t even sure this was actually Valentino’s own car until he saw the mess in the backseat. Maybe it could still be someone’s from the ranch, on a long-term, informal loan. People like to give Valentino things.

The wide black gulf out the window isn’t just dark; that’s the sea, Marc realizes. They’ve driven to the coast from Tavullia, which is not so easy to do where Marc is from, but is possible here. He works his mouth. It doesn’t feel like he has to speak. Valentino’s hand shifts just a little on Marc’s thigh; he’s noticed Marc moving, and is holding himself tense. No, alert. Waiting for Marc to do something, or go back to sleep.

It’s very late. Valentino had said, an hour or two ago when it was already late, Let’s go for a drive. Marc had jokingly grabbed a throw pillow off one of the sofas at the ranch and said sure, but he was going to sleep in that car. Someone brave — one of Valentino’s young ranch guys, eating leftovers in the kitchen — had laughed.

Valentino, for his part, had looked delighted, or maybe relieved. He had shuffled Marc quickly into this car, and put his hand on Marc’s thigh, where the shorts were riding up and Marc was still damp from showering off his block of track time. He kept having to remove it to gear shift. Now, Marc saw, Valentino had solved this problem by calmly coasting through roundabouts in fifth.

Out the window, in the wide black, there were a few small lights, far out.

“What’s that, out there?” Marc asked. “An island, or…?” Valentino’s hand twitched again. His thumb stroked Marc once, so high on the thigh it was inexcusable, really. Marc shivered. Felt himself starting to sink into it.

“Ah, no, that’s a cruise ship,” Valentino said.

Marc nodded. “Oh,” he said. His breath fogged on the window.

“You can go back to sleep,” Valentino said.

[gottalovetumbler]

Wrong car Pt.2

Will prob rewrite but wanted to get this out so here you all go!

Info: Fem!Reader, cussing, cliff hanger (there will be a part 3)

——— 🚗 🏠 ———

Simon's left leg starts cramping when the headlights finally appear. Close enough for them to keep the car in sight but far enough that you don't question it. A particularly rough corner shifts Simon over, almost making him hit his head on the window. He's tempted to stretch his cramped leg but freezes when you glance toward the trunk.

There's no way you know he's back here right? Your music is loud enough to mute his shuffling and he's stayed crouched out of the mirror's view. So what the hell?

“I swear it feels like something weighing a thousand pounds is back there.” You mumble to yourself. Ghost was a tough man but those words brought a cold chill down his spine. 

It's been five minutes since Gaz last texted, and the military truck is still not visible. He begins devising a plan. If the team can't trail you both before you get to wherever you are going, he's got to have a few options. 

The first one is to just jump the gun and grab you. He won't even give you the chance to find him. He'll hold you and explain everything while covering your mouth so you can't scream. You might have roommates and he doesn't want to alert them of course. He'll tell you how he's a high military personnel and accidentally got into the wrong car. Mighteven ask you if you know the bastard he's hunting. 

The second plan is the preferred one. For him to stay hidden and let you head into your house none the wiser. Wait for the team to show up and then just leave without so much as a trace. Judging by how deep into the country you're driving there's a good chance you won't lock the car so the alarm won't sound as he climbs out. 

He glances around the car for the hundredth time, looking at the stupid plushes and blankets you have decorating the car. A flash catches his eye, when he turns he spots the truck headlights. The team has finally caught up, must have done at least double the limit to catch you both. 

The car rumbles as it transfers from asphalt to gravel. Slightly fishtailing as it flies down the road. The team stays on your tail as you continue down the road. The glances you shoot at the rearview mirror tell Ghost that you've noticed the truck and will soon question it if they don't back off.

—----------------------------

(000)000-0000

-*Fall back a bit, she's starting to get nervous*

-Copy

—----------------------------

Only when you take a turn and the truck continues straight, not following, do your shoulders relax as you sink back into the seat. One more turn off the small dirt roads brings the car down a long driveway. Finally coming to a stop in front of a small farmhouse. After shifting into park, you sit there for a second before grabbing your bags and climbing out. 

Holding his breath as you round the car, he watches you walk away, and just like he thought, you didn't lock the doors. He waits as you enter the house and the lights one by one shut off. Only then does he send the guys the all-clear to come and grab him. 

The truck slowly pulls up the driveway without headlights on. Soap pops open the trunk and Ghost quite literally falls out, hitting the ground hard. 

‘Ye a'richt LT? She sae bonny she knocked ye aff yer feet huh?’

‘Shut it, Johnny.’ Simon grumbles as he brushes himself off before adjusting his vest. 

‘Lucky she didn’ notice you. Woulda been a headache en a half trying to clean up tha’ mess.’ Price says, slamming his hand on Simon's shoulder. Before turning back to the truck and climbing in the back, giving Simon the front seat to stretch out. 

Gaz gives a nod of greeting as Simon climbs in. The other three begin discussing how they’re gonna catch the still loose target as Kyle shifts into drive. He lets off the break as the car begins to roll and sends one last glance towards the house. The rough stop of the car pulls the other three from their discussion with Soap shooting a ‘Whit th' fuck Gaz!’

When he doesn't reply to them they follow his line of sight. 

‘Shit.’ 

Standing there in the window wide-eyed and watching them, in shorts and a tee-shirt, is you. Stood there frozen, having witnessed everything, locking eyes with each of the men before taking a step back and darting away from their view. 

‘Dammit.’ Price mutters as he unbuckles quickly before running towards the front door and shoves his way in, his soldiers following him.

——— 🚗 🏠 ———