#i was a divergent lover then the series went to shit

[mariaiscrafting]

I don't think I've ever experienced as great an entertainment and media disappointment in my life as with Dream SMP.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of character development paying off. Chapter Title from Ready For It...? by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 22.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Ben, and Butcher meet with Stan Edgar, and everyone adjusts to a new dynamic. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

“What the fuck are you doing in my garden?” 

Ben turned to find MM glaring at him—arms crossed and eyes narrowed—in the doorway of the room. First off, garden was a generous fucking exaggeration. They were in a sad little greenhouse with peppers, tomatoes, and a weird fucking green thing Ben didn’t recognize. There weren’t even flowers. Gardens should have fucking flowers. And this was a goddamn public space, not MM’s. Ben was fucking allowed to be here, and if he wasn’t, they shouldn’t make it so easily accessible.

“Test,” Ben grunted, scowling at MM and not moving from his place at the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Like I said, this is my motherfucking garden. I’m here to check on the cucamelon,” MM pointed to the green thing, still glowering at Ben. “Whatever weird fucking test you’re doing, get the hell out so I can work.”

“No.”

“Soldier Boy, if you don’t get your ass out of my garden-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to fucking stomp on your cuckamelon-“

“Cucamelon-“

“And this isn’t your fucking garden. It’s the BFSI’s, so I’m allowed to be here.”

“It is my fucking garden,” MM sneered. “And until I see any of you assholes stepping up to take care of it, I get the whole monopoly over it. Out.”

Ben scowled, glaring around the plants. “If it’s only you, you’re doing a fucking dogshit job. This looks goddamn pathetic-“

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

“I am not a pussy who gardens,” Ben snapped. “I’m a fucking man, and I’ve got other shit to do beside whine about plants-“

“Like your secret test?” MM looked Ben up and down, taking in his rigid stance at the edge of the room. “What the fuck are you testing in here, if you’re too much of a masculine asshole to garden.”

“That’s none of your goddamn business-“

Ready?

Ben paused, keeping his eyes trained on MM as he answered Her in his head. Ready. Be fucking fast. And for the record, I still think this is stupid-

It is not stupid, it’s important. We need to know the limits of this, Ben, and it’s not like we can just google “what to expect when you’ve planted your brain in someone,” we have to figure it out ourselves-

I’m doing it, Sunshine. But it’s fucking stupid.

Cunt.

Brat. Hurry the fuck up, I’m stuck with-

Shut it, Pretty Boy, the whole point is you don’t give me any hints-

“What the hell is happening with your face.”

Ben blinked as MM cut through Her scolding. “My face looks the exact fucking same-“

“You got all puppy-eyed and just stopped talking.” MM scanned Ben’s face with a frown. “Where the hell is the only likable part of you, why’d she leave you unsupervised-“

“I am not a goddamn child, I’m allowed to walk around by my damn self-“

“But you don’t.” MM muttered. “She went to the bathroom at dinner last night, and you looked like you’d gotten goddamn lost. So I’ll ask one last fucking time, why are you in my garden-“

MM’s words were cut off as the door slammed into his back, and Her eyes widened as he stumbled forward.

“Shit, MM, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be in here except Ben-“

“What the hell is going on-“

“How the fuck did you do that so fast.” Ben grunted, ignoring MM’s glare. “Did you cheat-“

“I didn’t cheat, Benjamin.” She wrinkled Her nose at him. “And you fucking told me to go fast-“

“You barely took a minute, so unless you were running-“

“I was running,” She shrugged. “I wanted to win.”

MM blinked. “Win what-“

“You can’t fucking win this-“ 

“The fuck I can’t,” She grinned. “You took seven minutes, and I took barely forty-five seconds. I win.” 

“I went first, that’s not a even playing field-“ 

“I offered to go first, and you said,” Her voice dropped into that terrible fucking impression of Ben, a smug look still dancing in her pretty eyes. “No. I’m first, or I’m not doing this stupid fucking test. And I asked why, and you said because I’m not a fucking pussy. I’m first. And I told you that those two things have absolutely no correlation-“

“What the fuck are you two doing?” MM’s voice had risen to a shout, and She and Ben frowned at him. “And why does it have to happen in my garden?” 

“Test,” She muttered, looking around the room with a frown. “I didn’t know we had a garden.”

“You don’t-“

“Did you know there’s a fucking pool?” Ben gave MM a glare. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell how huge this place it-“ 

“It’s not a resort.” MM snapped. “And if one of you doesn’t start answering my question right fucking now-“

“We’re trying to see if we’re like pigeons-“

Ben scowled. “I vetoed calling us pigeons-“

“Shut up. They have a homing instinct, this is a homing instinct. And pigeons are cool, Ben, they’re international and both the males and females produce milk-“

“I am not producing fucking milk-“

“Can you idiots stay on topic for just five goddamn minutes?” MM ran a hand over his face, giving Her a flat look. “Why the hell do you think you have a homing instinct?”

“The Ben Thing,” She tapped her chest, sighing when MM gave her a blank stare. “The part of me that’s in Ben. I have a theory that it’s like a beacon, because I can always tell when he’s near me and I think I used it to figure out how to get home after the whole tower thing-“

“And why,” MM grunted. “Does that mean you have to be in my garden.”

“We’re taking turns hiding, to see if we can just follow the instinct to find each other.” She crossed her arms with a shrug. “Ben found me in one of the empty apartments, and I found him here, I guess.” She gave Ben a grin. “In forty five fucking seconds.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben narrowed his eyes and reached out an arm to try and prompt Her over to his side. Her grin grew—spreading across her perfect face and lighting up her eyes—and she took his hand, letting Ben tug her forward and spin her to lean against his chest. “I didn’t know it was a goddamn race, I would’ve walked a whole lot faster-“

She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “Did you forget your cane, old man-“

Ben swallowed Her words with a kiss, squeezing her body in his hold and sitting in the comfortable, easy warmth that spread through him when she sighed into his mouth.

Brat.

Cunt. Old, grumpy, cunt.

You know better than fucking anyone that I am not old-

“Can you not mind-fuck each other in front of me?” MM cut through their conversation, and Ben glared up at him as Her face flushed.

“Sorry, MM-“

“Just get out of my garden,” MM sighed, gesturing to the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the meeting.”

She nodded, twisting out of Ben’s grip and pulling him to the hall—calling another string of apologies to MM over her shoulder as they left—and when the door closed behind them, Ben leaned down to mutter in Her ear.

“What fucking meeting do we have later.”

“Pre-Edgar, at 2.”

“I thought it was just us and Butcher-“

“It is,” She shrugged, falling a pace back to walk at Ben’s side. “But we’re doing a quick briefing about what to expect with everyone. We don’t know what Edgar wants yet, and if it’s something bad-“

“Doesn’t matter what he wants,” Ben grunted, glaring at the walls ahead of them. “I’ll fucking do it, and that will be the end of this shit.” 

She sighed. “What if he tells you to kill Singer, Ben? Or break him out of prison, or traffic something for him? Something illegal-“

“I don’t give a fuck-“

“And that,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is why we’re doing the meeting. So you don’t commit a crime.”

“I’ve committed a fuck ton more crimes being payed by the CIA, don’t know when it got taken over by a bunch of fucking spineless pussies who are all uptight and selective about doing their goddamn jobs-“

She snorted. “I don't think anyone has ever called the CIA uptight. They’re just more subtle about their crimes now. And allowing Soldier Boy to assassinate the president for a former corrupt CEO isn’t exactly going to go under the radar.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

“Uh huh.” She paused her steps, frowning at him. “Ben.”

He grunted, watching Her examine his face, listening to her heart hum in her chest.

“Promise me you won’t just do whatever Edgar asks. I know you made a deal, but it could be dangerous-“

“I can handle some fucking danger-“

“I know you can,” She sighed. “I just, I don’t want to lose you because you’re such a weirdly honorable asshole. If Edgar’s demand is something unconstitutional or illegal or borderline impossible to do, please promise me you won’t do it.”

He couldn’t promise that. Ben had sworn on Her life, on her safety, that he’d come through when Edgar called. But he also wouldn’t lose Her. That option wasn’t even on the fucking table, because not matter what Edgar told him to do, Ben wasn’t going to let himself lose her over it. He’d take care of it, fast and quick and brutal, and find his way back to Her. That’s what this whole goddamn pigeon shit was about. Always fucking finding each other.

But Ben couldn’t lie to Her. It made him feel a little fucking sick, and She always knew he was lying, and that made him more sick. Like the part of Her inside him knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and pushing up his throat until he swallowed it with the truth.

So he settled on a truth.

Ben said Her name, holding her gaze. “You aren’t going to fucking lose me. Swear it on my goddamn life.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Her eyes narrowed, the chew of her mouth turning her lips red, and Ben knew he hadn’t gotten out of this so easy. He wasn’t sure why he’d even fucking bothered. “I’m not fucking losing you to something so stupid, Benjamin, so promise me-“

“No.”

She shoved at his chest. “God fucking dammit, you asshole, just promise me-“

“I am not making you a promise I don’t intend on keeping,” he snapped, catching Her hands. “If Edgar asks me to kill Butcher, right fucking there, I’m doing it. But you will not lose me.”

Why? Her voice was strangled in his head, and Ben felt an ache around his skull. You don’t have to do what Edgar tells you, he’s can’t hurt you-

Ben's jaw clenched, and he forced himself to hold Her sad gaze. He can hurt you. I’m not going to fucking let him hurt you.

He won’t hurt me, Ben. She blinked at him, tilting Her head. He can’t hurt me.

He’ll try-

And he won’t succeed. She gave him a small smile. I’m okay. I’m not losing you either, Pretty Boy.

Ben scowled. It’s a fuck ton more complicated than that-

It’s not. You burn, I burn. She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek and pressing her brow to his. Please don’t be a fucking dummy and promise me you’ll draw a line with Edgar.

He scanned Her gentle face, and loved Her even fucking more. Ben got to draw the line. She never misused words—everything she said was carefully calculated and designed, every word stupid deliberate and impossibly weighted—and she was making sure Ben knew she trusted his judgment. That no matter what the team told them, it would be Ben’s call what to do, and She’d stand with him. It was insufferable, how understanding and kind She was, even as she was being a pain in his goddamn ass.

I’ll draw a line. He kissed the top of Her head, and her heartbeat slowed. Swear it.

Thank you. She sighed. I love you, you huge fucking dumb dumb.

I love you too, brat.

She pulled back, giving Ben a smile that was so fucking happy and comfortable it made the whole goddamn world a little easier. It was a little insane, how Her loving him and smiling at him and linking their arms together—dragging him back to their apartment—made Ben’s whole fucking life better. How over the past four days—biding time until Singer got off his fucking ass to give them some V or Mallory got the meeting with Edgar set up—Ben had never been fucking happier. He didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. This was the type of fucking high he’d been chasing his whole goddamn life, and now it was in him.

He could feel it now. She’d insisted on running test after fucking test of their own, telling Ben—with sharp, pretty eyes and a pout that made him want to eat Her—that they needed to figure out how to use this properly. He’d argued that they’d just fucking work it out through trial and error, because it wasn’t like this was a goddamn emergency. They were immortal, they had all the time in the fucking world to work out how this brain bond shit worked. She’d told him that was fucking dumb, but if he need an incentive, She’d let Ben fuck her right after they finished every test as a reward for good behavior.

She’d have let him do that anyway, and they both fucking knew it. Between how She’d been squirming under him in the mornings, climbing on top of him every night, and had almost tackled him to the floor after he’d finished training with Ryan, Ben was starting to think she was hornier than he was. It was fucking impressive, how She didn’t ever seem satiated. She was satisfied, always smiling at him after with glazed, fucked-out eyes that made Ben almost goddamn explode with pride—he’d done that, she was so beautiful and content and blissful under Ben because Her loved her, so he’d worshipped her and touched her right—but she was never satiated. She watched Ben at the dinner table like she’d been wandering the desert for a thousand fucking year and he was oasis, before dragging him into one of the goddamn dining hall bathrooms, dropping to Her knees, and moaning as she wrapped her lips around his cock.

He fucking loved Her. And he’d never be sure how he’d gotten so goddamn lucky, that She loved him. So Ben had agreed to Her terms, and used them to his best fucking advantage. She’d made them stand on opposite ends of the compound to test if there was a distance limit—there wasn’t—and Ben had fucked Her against the door of their apartment. She’d made them sit across from each other and practice selection of what thoughts they shared—it was purposeful, and Ben wasn’t sure how, but he was able to share and withhold thoughts like lowering or raising his voice—and he’d fucked Her on the table.

And, though he’d never fucking admit it to Her, but the more they tested the connection, the more Ben could feel it. More than just a pure instinct of Her, Her, Her, pounding in his chest and guiding his heartbeat, but something fucking tangible. When they’d started the pigeon test—she also could never fucking know Ben had called it that—there had been a strange feeling of go. Something good is calling you forward, so follow it, in Ben, so he’d done just that. It hadn’t wavered or faded in and out, only grown stronger and stronger the closer he’d gotten, and it had felt like home. It had been a magnet, carving out a path he couldn’t see but still understood, singing a bright, powerful song in his head that had been reduced to a hum when he’d found Her. A natural, steady hum that was in key with Her heart, and ran through Ben’s mind whenever he was awake.

There wasn’t any other fucking way to put it. It was Her, it felt sharp and infinite and alight and Her. It blossomed whenever She touched Ben, and left something sweet that lingered on his tongue all the time.

And there hadn’t been a fucking chance he was going to describe it to the team like that.

She’d explained the connection a few nights over dinner, looking to Frenchie for confirmation on the science shit and letting Ben sit—rigid with Her tucked perfectly against him—in silence while she handled questions.

“What the fuck you mean you planted yourself in Soldier Boy?” MM had snapped, shaking his head like they hadn’t all seen much weirder fucking shit over their lives. “Did you put a parasite in him-“

“She’s not a fucking parasite,” Ben had grunted, and shot MM a glare. “It’s just her brain in me, you dumb cock-head-“

“The fuck did you just call me-“

“Ladies,” Butcher had drawled, looking between MM and Ben with narrowed eyes. “You’re both real fuckin pretty, and your balls are massive, but can we answer some real fuckin questions? Like if we,” he’d gestured around the rest of the table. “Are all in danger of gettin a fuckin Anomaly brain infection. No offense, Love, but I’ll shoot my skull in before I feel you all the bleedin time-“

She’d given Butcher a flat look. “There’s literally no way for me to not take offense to that, but no. You don’t have to worry about that. Frenchie said it was surprising it even happened once.”

“It is fucking bananas,” Frenchie had nodded in agreement. “I would even call it batshit crazy-“

“We get it, Mate, don’t need to worry-“

“I have a question.” Hughie had blurted over Butcher, face red as he made an apologetic flinch. “What does, um, feeling each other mean? Like, is it in your head, or physical-“

“It’s both,” She’d shrugged. “It’s sort of an additional sense, I guess. Like I can hear and taste and smell and Ben. It just is. Sorry, I know that’s not helpful, but-“ 

“And pathetically fuckin sappy-“ 

“Shut it, Butcher.” She’d shot the man a glare, before turning back to Hughie with a shrug. “It’s all I can offer. I mean,” She’d paused, voice resuming in Ben’s head. Do you want to try to describe it?

Fuck no.

Ben had seen Her lips twitch with a laugh, and counted it as a triumph as she’d resumed. “Sorry, yeah. That's all I’ve got.”

There had been other questions. A truly stupid amount of them, for a bunch of people who were in no way actually fucking part of this. It was for Her and Ben, this connection, and not a single other pussy fucker on the planet. This was about how She curled on his lap every night when they watched TV, making mumbled comments and jokes as Ben traced patterns on her skin, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was about how she kept smiling at him, all fucking day, and Ben got to dance her around their kitchen until she was all pretty and flushed in his arms. How they were still showering together, but now it ended with Ben pushing her against the tile, kissing her neck as he seated himself deep in her pretty cunt and her moans mixed with the steam. How there were still tears and screams in the dead of night that woke Ben up, the scorching heat twisting his skin, but She came down quickly and never tried to tell him that it didn’t matter, or made any attempts to fucking apologize to him.

This was about how Ben could feel Her pain as she sobbed in his arms, and it was grueling and fucking horrible—freezing his blood and lungs and mind to a white-hot fever, running through some deep part of Ben’s head and making something snap around in his gut—but when it faded Ben could hear the steady sound of Her heart and kiss the top of Her head, let her fall asleep with a soft sigh. Her perfect face peace, buried against his chest, and her body relaxed into his. It was about how—for all that fucking torture as the cracks he could feel in Her closed—he also got to feel the best parts of Her. Ben got to watch Her grow wrecked under his touch, feel her nails dig into his skin and listen to her pleas and moans and whine, and feel it. Feel the way She loved him, how he was fucking everything to her. Her love made Ben feel eternal and strong and so fucking alive. It made something in him light up, how this was all them. It was all just Her, scratching his back and moaning his name and looking at Ben like he was good.

It was about how Ben fucking believed it. How, when she smiled at him and teased him and loved him, Ben thought he might be good. That he wasn’t just not Homelander, not Butcher, not a complete fucking waste and failure, but good.

“Do you think we have a movie theater as well?” She was looking up at Ben as they walked, and he frowned.

“We fucking might, at the rate these damn things are popping up. Christ, what the fuck do we need a garden for, they feed us.”

“Seems to make MM happy,” She shrugged. “And gardening can just be to like, relax. I wouldn’t have thought gardening would relax MM-“

“Because he’s a fucking man-“

“Because he’s OCD, dumbass.” She slapped his arm, and Ben scowled. “Gardens are mostly dirt, and dirt is full of, well, dirt. It’s not exactly hygienic. And men can garden, Pretty Boy. You can grow some very masculine potatoes.”

“If you’re about to try and talk me into fucking gardening with you-“

“Not a chance in hell,” She wrinkled her nose at the air. “My mom used to try and make me garden, it was awful. You get all sweaty and dirty, and then you have to wait for months just to pull a sad little carrot out of the ground. Pass.”

“Maybe we should try gardening,” Ben winked at Her, tugging her closer into his side. “I like you all sweaty and dirty, and my carrot isn’t sad or little. It’s huge, and all fucking yours.”

“Shut the fuck up,” She mumbled, trying to hide her perfect flush in Ben’s chest, letting him guide their steps. “Horny cunt.”

Ben leaned down to whisper in Her ear, smirking at the shiver of her spine under his hand. “I think you’ve got the horny cunt, Sunshine. I think you’re already fucking hot and wet, just thinking about how I’m going to fuck you when we get home. Want me to tell you what we’re doing, or you want it to be a surprise?”

She made a small sound, muffled against Ben’s body. Highlights, please.

Of course, my love. That got a high whine, and Ben grinned. Every single fucking time he called her that, the reaction got better. A part of him wanted to see if he could say that in the right tone, at the right moment, and make Her cum on the spot. I’m thinking I fuck you fast. Rough and hard, until we break the fucking bed. I’ll eat you out first, have to take care of you, see if we can finally get you to fucking squirt all over my face, but then I’m going to fucking split you open on my cock. Make your pretty eyes roll back in your damn head, see if I can get you so fucked out you forget your own goddamn name.

She swallowed, leaning further into his body. That it?

He snorted. You want more? So desperate for me that my tongue and cock aren’t enough? Need my fucking hands as well?

Yes.

Who’s fucking horny now-

Shut up, you have nice hands.

Ben grinned. What about my hands do you like, Sunshine?

Fuck you.

Tell me about my hands, and I’ll fuck you till you can’t damn walk.

She sighed against him. They’re big. And rough. And strong. And, fuck- Ben had started to trace his finger over Her collarbone, and smirked as she moaned into him. You’re such a fucking asshole-

Finish telling me about my hands, beautiful. You imagining them inside your pussy? In your mouth? Rubbing on your clit until you make that perfect fucking whine when you cum-

Ben-

Want me to make you all sweaty and dirty with just my fucking fingers? Want them to fuck you until you’re squeezing around me-

Fuck, Ben, you dick-

You are inpatient, Ben chuckled as she started to tug at his shirt. Of course you hate fucking gardening, you love me and you’re calling me a cunt for just damn teasing you. Can’t imagine what you’d do to something you hate, like a slow fucking plant that won’t grow- 

I don’t hate plants, Her voice was breathless in Ben’s head, and her heartbeat was so fast it might burst right out of her chest. I like flowers.

Ben made a note—filed in the part of his mind that was completely designated for Her, caring about her and tending to her and loving her—to ask MM to start planting flowers in his pathetic little garden. If MM said no, Ben added some ideas for graphic threats that he—probably—wouldn’t actually follow through on. He’d have to do it later though, because right now She was half slumped against his body, breath heavy and hot on his skin, and they were right in front of their apartment door.

She fumbled with the keycard, and Ben pulled her through the door before it was even half fucking open. She gave a squeal as he hauled her up in his arms, and they were upstairs before the door was even fucking closed behind them.

He’d seen the clock on the stove. They now had an hour until the meeting, and Ben was going to make the fucking most of it. He’d been planning on having them do some training—practicing some punches and working on Her fire until she made a smart fucking comment and he’d pin her under him and fuck her until she was drooling—but now he had to prioritize. They’d been training every goddamn day, and Ben had made himself hard from teasing her, so he made the call that fucking Her was a whole lot more important.

They didn’t make it to the bed. The door slammed behind them, She started squirming in Ben’s arms, and he turned them around to push Her against the wall.

Ben dropped his head to the crook of Her neck, biting and sucking at that spot on her neck, blinding grabbing at her jeans to rip them away.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first?” Ben said Her name, grinning against her as she moaned, starting to grind on his torso. “Use my hands like you’ve fucking fantasized about? Fill you up-”

“I have not fucking fantasized-“

Ben shoved his hand between Her legs, running two fingers over her pussy as he kissed along her collarbone. Liar.

Fuck you-

Tell me all the things you’ve wanted me to do with my hands, beautiful. Tell me how to fuck you.

I, fuck, She took a ragged breath, and Ben’s hand stilled over her, pressing against her warm cunt with no friction. Want you to tease me.

Ben smirked, and resumed his movements. Careful strokes over the wet spot on her underwear, light touches up and down until she was soaked through the fabric. Keep going, Sunshine. I’ve got you.

Ben-

Tell me what you want.

Please-

He stopped moving again. Words, my love.

She whined, throwing her head back as Ben nipped at a pulse point. I, God, I want you to play with my clit until I’m close, then finger fuck me until I scream.

He hummed, gliding his hand over Her clit, flicking it once, then resting his hand at the hem of her panties. That it?

You fucking asshole-

Ben grunted Her name, aloud against her skin, and she moaned.

Fuck, I, good. Call me good, please, Ben, fuck-

He didn’t waste another goddamn second. Ben pushed his hand under Her underwear and pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing slow, large circles. Was that so fucking hard?

You dick, fuck, Ben-

My dick is hard as well, Ben angled his hips up, pressing his erection against Her core and smirking at the whimper that escaped her throat. But you just look so fucking good, all wrecked on my hand. Gets me fucking going, when you say my name-

Ben-

He groaned on her skin, and tore off her panties, slapping her dripping pussy once before running his thumb over her clit, dropping it to trace between her folds, over her slit. Good, beautiful, just like that.

She made a loud, strangled sound and Ben chuckled, rubbing his palm against her, faster and faster until she was panting, clawing at his neck.

So fucking good. Love how fucking wet you get, love how you sound, Christ, I fucking love you-

Please, close-

Ben pushed two fingers in Her at once, and started to pump as fast as he fucking could. Her pussy was contracting around him already, her arms around his neck loose, and when Ben pulled his head up to meet her eyes, She looked fucking ruined. Eyes unfocused and fluttering, pretty lips parted with tiny moans, whole face slack with pleasure. She was so fucking perfect, so fucking beautiful, a goddamn work of art-

Benjamin, Her head dropped forward, nose bumping with his as her lips brushed across his beard. You, need you, need to cum-

Scream, beautiful. You’ll have to fucking scream-

Ben almost came in his fucking pants when—just as his fingers hit the deepest part of Her—She let out a deafening, high and needy scream of his name.

“Good girl,” his voice was hoarse, and Her hands were tugging at his head, trying to move his mouth to hers. “Want to cum?”

“Please-“ Ben slammed Her head back to the wall with a bruising kiss, and she moaned down his throat. God, yes, Ben-

He scissored his fingers in Her pussy, pressing on that button inside her, and groaned as she dribbled down his palm, the most sinfully wet sounds echoing in his head as he fucked her through her release, only drawing away when she gave an airy, happy sigh.

Ben looked down, between their bodies, and examined his hand. “Closer.” 

“That one wasn’t even that small-”

“You can do more,” he grunted, reaching up to press his thumb against Her lips, smirking at soft whine that escaped her. “Taste.”

She opened for him, and Ben felt his jaw clench when her tongue ran over him, sucking long and hard, humming around his fingers in her mouth.

“Fucking Christ,” he shook his head as she pulled off of him with a pop. “You’re perfect. Fucking love you-“

Ben groaned as she leaned forwards, hands curling on his head as she kissed him. Long and rough, and he could fucking taste Her in her own mouth. Proper fucking pussy, the best thing in the goddamn world, all Her, and what Ben fucking did to her.

They pulled apart with quick, uneven breaths, and Ben felt something soft and bright swell through his chest at She smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Hi, Sunshine.”

“That was,” she took a deep, slightly ragged breath, and Ben could hear Her heart, still running in her chest. “Fuck.”

He snorted. “I know. You like me calling you good girl, huh.” Ben winked at Her. “That do it for you more than brat?”

She whacked his arm. “Shut up, Mr. Say My Name and Beg.”

“You like fucking begging-“

“And you like calling me a good girl. And brat.” She ground against him, and Ben hissed as she rubbed right over his cock, straining through his pants. “Want some help with that, Pretty Boy?”

Ben didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t really fucking care for these pants anyways, and certainly wasn’t going to mourn them after he ripped them off his body—boxers gone in the same movement—and angled himself against Her.

She gasped—nails digging into his skin and eyes wide—as Ben ran his cock between her still dripping pussy, holding Her gaze. “Want me to fuck you, beautiful? Want to get my dick all fucking wet in your pretty cunt? Make you fucking scream again?”

Yes, please, fuck yes-

He bite Her lip as he pushed into her, eating her moan and squeezing her perfect fucking ass until she was melted against him. Until Her body was fucking falling forward, letting Ben support her carefully against the wall as he bottomed out. He couldn’t move yet. She kept goddamn squeezing him, and all her moans were rolling down his throat, so if Ben started moving now he wouldn’t fucking last.

Relax, he grunted Her name in his head, and she whimpered. Need you to fucking relax, my love-

She squirmed around him, and Ben groaned, pushing her further against the wall.

Christ, Sunshine, you’re going to fucking kill me-

Ben, please, just move-

He took a long breath, pulling Her tongue between his teeth and smirking at her moan. Not until you fucking behave and stop moving, brat. Be fucking good for me-

It was amazing how fast She listened. Every bit of tension left her body as she relaxed against him, her heart running out of Her chest, and when all her love pushed into Ben’s body it was like he’d been fucking shot. Everything in his body became boundless, and the world felt sharp and safe and warm. Everything was Her, wrapped around him and fucking perfect.

Please, Her voice in Ben's head came in time with a soft, small, needy sound that fell from her lips. Fuck me.

He swallowed, kissing her once, gentle and careful to ground himself in Her body. Want it fast, beautiful? Want to me to fucking break you, make your knees fucking weak, make you fucking dizzy-

God, yes-

Ben couldn’t deny Her if he tried. Not when She was molded against him like she belonged there—which she fucking did—or when she was so fucking beautiful. Not when She loved him like this, and he got to fucking feel it. So he braced an arm against the wall, pushing her further up his body, and started ramming himself into her with a fucking purpose.

He’d known he could die like this for a while. Go fucking insane from how beautiful she was, how She touched him and moaned Benjamin in his ear. He’d been real fucking certain that She’d be the end of him, of his fucking sanity, and that he was more than goddamn okay with it.

He still hadn’t fully anticipated just how correct he’d been. How, when she threw Her head back and whined, when she started to roll Her hips around Ben’s cock and a hazy, golden smoke started to fill the room around them, he felt like he’d found fucking heaven.

“Like that?” He grunted Her name in her ear, emphasizing every word with another rough thrust of his hips into her. “Tell me how it feels, how much you fucking love my cock wrecking your perfect fucking pussy-“

Ben, fuck-

“Aloud,” he sucked on Her low lip, drawing one of those perfect fucking whines from her throat. “Use all your smart fucking words, beautiful, talk to me-“

“Feels good,” Her words were choked, breathed into Ben’s mouth. “Feels so good, you’re so fucking big, feel so full-“

“Like being full of me?” He muttered, giving her ass a gentle slap, and she nodded frantically against him. “Think you can be real fucking good for me, fucking drench my cock, fucking squeeze me-“

She moaned, cunt tightening around him, and Ben almost fucking lost it.

“Good girl,” he growled Her name, smirking at Her whimper. “You’re real fucking closer, aren’t you. Ready to fucking cum, darling?”

“Fuck,” She gasped, and Ben leaned back to see her fucking glowing. Burning and burning without flame, Her love coiling tight in his gut as she watched him with pretty, glossy eyes. “Close, Ben, I’m close, need more-“

“I know, can fucking feel it.” Ben grunted, dropping his head to Her shoulder as he started to lose control, but fuck she was perfect, felt like fucking paradise around him, moaning his name all desperate and fucking loving him, and fuck-

“Please, Ben-“

He groaned, tracing his tongue over her teeth, and felt release slam into him like a goddamn train. She screamed again—fucking screamed, loud and desperate and perfect—and Ben almost fell over as Her own orgasm pushed his further. Everything was blinding, his vision growing blurred as he twitched inside of her, holding her carefully until they both came down.

She hummed softly in his ear. “Darling?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.” Ben pulled back to glower at Her, and found her pouting at him, light dancing in her eyes. “I liked it.”

He nodded slowly—adding darling to growing list of things he, and not a single other fucking person, got to call Her—and looked to where he was still sheathed inside Her. “You didn’t squirt.”

She shrugged. “I don’t always squirt, and it usually requires some clit stimu- Fuck-“

Ben had pressed his thumb over Her, rubbing small circles and examining her perfect features. “That better?”

“We,” Her breath hitched as Ben moved faster, and he chuckled at her glare. “Benjamin, we’ve got the, fuck, we’ve got the meeting-“

“They can wait-“

The door slammed downstairs, and Ben’s body moved faster than his brain. Pulling himself out Her, tossing her—carefully, but quickly—onto the bed, and ducking down to grab his gun from under the mattress.

“Ben, slow down-“

“Stay there,” he snapped, shooting Her a glare as she started to scoot off the bed. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“You are not my boss, you cunt-“

He didn’t have the fucking time to argue. Whoever was in their apartment—heavy steps, even, almost lazy heartbeat—had climbed upstairs, moving closer to their room. Ben drew up, pointed a finger at her, fucking stay, and raised his gun.

Benjamin, you paranoid asshole-

He yanked the door open, clicking the safety off, and slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall.

“Bloody Christ, Gov, where the fuckin hell are you trousers?!”

Ben looked Butcher up and down, and lowered his gun with a scowl. “Why are you in my house.”

Not a house, Pretty Boy. And I fucking told you-

Shut the fuck up. He paused, hearing Her shuffle around in the bedroom. What are you doing.

Getting dressed.

I told you to fucking stay-

It’s just Butcher-

And we don’t know why the hell he’s here-

“Oi,” Butcher gave Ben a sarcastic wave. “I can see your fuckin semi, mate, stop sending each other nudes and bloody pay attention-“

The door opened behind Ben, and She stopped at Ben’s side with her arms crossed, frowning between him and Butcher. “We weren’t sending each other nudes, Butcher. Answer Ben’s question, why are you here.”

Butcher looked Her up and down—her lips still slightly swollen, face still flushed, and her shirt, Ben’s shirt, inside out—and smirked. “I’m sorry Love, was I fuckin interrupting somethin-“

“Yes-“

She stomped on Ben’s foot, Shut up, and glared at Butcher. “Not your business-“

“It’s my business if Soldier Boy’s flashin me his half-hard dick-“

She sighed, side-stepping in front of Ben, blocking him from Buchter’s view. “Tell us what the fuck you’re doing here.” 

Butcher scowled. “We’re takin off now. Need you twats at the elevator in five.”

She blinked. “What about the briefing-“

“Mallory fucked up. Got the wrong time for Edgar’s transport. He’s gettin there at 2, not leavin from the fuckin penitentiary.”

“Oh, shit,” She swallowed, and Ben heard the tapping begin. “We’re supposed to be there before him-“

“So we’re leavin now. Get some bloody pants on your fuckin idiot, and meet me at the elevator.”

She nodded, not bothering to say goodbye to Butcher as she grabbed Ben’s arm and tugged him back into the bedroom.

When the door closed behind them, She marched over to the dresser and fucking chucked Ben’s supe suit at his face.

“What’s wrong with you-“

“Nothing.”

Ben scowled. “You’re lying,” he grunted Her name, watching her take off his shirt and flip it to the right side. “Your going to fucking bite through your mouth, and won’t goddamn look at me-“

“That’s because you’re being an asshole.” She snapped. “You are not my boss, Benjamin, and I am not a child-“

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

She turned to him with a look that almost made Ben flinch. “I love you, and I trust you with my life, but you are not allowed to tell me what and what not to do. I’m fucking serious, Ben, I can take care of myself-”

“But you don’t,” he held Her glare, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t fucking take care of yourself, and I’m not losing you again-“

“I keep telling you’re not going to lose me.” She sighed, and a flash of something sore and sour and rotten ran through Ben’s body. “I just, can you please fucking trust me? I’ve got a handle on my fire, and Homelander doesn’t even know where I am. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

Ben’s fists curled at his sides, and he scanned over Her face. Her gaze was sharp, edged with something hot and pained, but her heart was even. And he didn’t feel sick. He felt a little fucking bitter, that rotten feeling growing, but Ben didn’t feel like something was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. She was fine.

“Fine.” He grunted, picking up his shield from the door and extending his hand for Her to hold. A silent gesture of peace that, fuck him, he goddamn needed Her to take. If she didn’t, he’d probably spend the whole stupid fucking meeting with Edgar trying to figure out how to make this shit up to her.

She tilted Her head at him, examining Ben for the longest fucking minute of his life. I do love you, Benjamin. You’re just an overprotective dick sometimes.

I know. He gave a small nod, and flexed his outstretched hand. I love you too.

Her smile was soft, and something loosened around Ben’s lungs when her fingers folded through his. She was wearing the sunglasses on her brow, so Ben had lean over her slightly to kiss the top of her head and coax a small, easy sigh from her pretty mouth.

Ready? She let Ben loop his arm over her shoulders, and he pulled her—safe and content and perfect—into his side.

I was damn born it. He winked down at Her, and everything got a little better when she grinned back. Let’s feed Edgar his own fucking balls.

Gross, Ben. Her nose wrinkled at him, but a small giggle escaped her throat, and she was letting Ben guide her downstairs, out the door.

His body was relaxed, eased by Her presence at his side, but Ben still felt fucking sore. As She and Butcher exchanged short words about the drive and plan before they stepped into an incredibly fucking awkward elevator ride, Ben’s head was circling around Her words.

You’re not going to lose me.

He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. That wasn’t even in the goddamn cards. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because of his sheer fucking dedication. Because if Homelander came for her again, Ben would beat his fucking face bloody and raw, make him beg for mercy and offer none. He did trust Her, but that wasn’t the issue here. No matter what She said about the tower or the Believe Expo, Ben had still lost Her. Left Her alone. She’d been put in danger because he’d failed, and stayed in danger because nobody was willing to step the fuck up and protect Her.

She’d never be in that godawful fucking position again. Ever. Ben would never let Her break and crack under Homelander’s hands, never make her fight on the front fucking lines alone. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because he’d resolved not to. And now he had to figure out where the line was between protecting Her, caring for Her, never, ever fucking hurting Her and respecting that She was, and always fucking would be, a piece of work.

He loved that She was a piece of work. She was a shattered, marred, clever fucking menace and threat to Ben’s sanity, and every part of Her fit perfectly in with him. He wouldn’t want to love someone who was boring. Who didn’t smack him and yell at him and match his every step without even breaking pace or falling behind. Fuck, sometimes Ben couldn’t keep up with Her. He had the time of his goddamn trying to, and loved Her at every bullet the world shot at them, every hurdle they had to burn through, together.

But Ben wouldn’t let Her stubborn, perfect fucking ass take her away from him. If She walked away, left Ben a million steps behind and took off to where he couldn’t follow, he’d find a way to keep living. He had to keep telling himself that, because he’d technically fucking lived before Her. A hundred goddamn years.

He didn’t want to live without Her, though. Not when he could feel Her like a crown on his head. Something beautiful and perfect that had chosen to stay within him, that he had to keep safe. Wrapped around him, resting within him, curled into his side in the backseat of Butcher’s car as they violated several traffic laws. She was relaxed and warm and happy in his arms, leaning Her head on his chest and turning his fingers over in her hands, and Ben didn’t ever want to live without this again. Ben couldn’t ever really breathe again—not in a way that fucking mattered—if he lost Her because he’d made the part of her that lived in him wither and die. He’d live, but he wouldn’t breathe. 

And if he lost Her because of another fucking failure, the world wouldn’t survive his wrath. Ben wouldn’t survive it.

So he had to find the fucking line. 

The safe house looked the same. Ben wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck he’d been expecting—it wasn’t like the CIA was going to budget a new paint job—but it was still deceptively suburban, generic, and easily ignorable.

“Huh,” She mumbled, looking around the street with a frown as Ben helped her out of the car. “This is weird.”

Ben grunted an agreement, half draping his body over hers. If it’s too weird, we can just fucking go home-

She gave him a flat look. We’re already here, Benjamin. And Butcher won’t let us get away that easily.

I’ll hot wire his stupid fucking car, all you’ll have to do is stand guard and punch him if he gets to close- 

I am not punching Butcher. She stuck her tongue out at him. Head in the game, Pretty Boy. We’ve got an old man to wine and dine.

He snorted, and let Her pull him to the door, where Butcher was waiting with a scowl.

“Takin our sweet fuckin time, ain’t we-“

“Shut up and open the door, Butcher.” She snapped, ignoring Ben’s pointed smirk and not punching Butcher. “We can’t be outside for too long.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, but entered the code—same one as before, which was probably some sort of security risk that Ben couldn’t be fucked to point out—and pushed the door open.

Neuman was waiting for them in the hall with crossed arms and a glare. “You’re late.”

“Blame Mallory, Vicky-“

“Don’t call me that.” Neuman cut Butcher’s sneer off with sharp words, attention turning to Her and Ben. Ben got a short nod and mutter of, “Soldier Boy,” and She got a tight smile, and less venomous greeting of Her name. “I suppose you two are to blame for Zoe and I not having a dining room?”

She flushed. “Sorry. We used to use it for training-“

“And not the living room?”

“Not enough space,” She mumbled with a shrug. “And we’d already broken most of the chairs. It felt like a good idea at the time-“

“It was a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped, shooting Neuman a glare. “She’s a fuck ton stronger now, and it’s not like the CIA pussies can’t just buy more goddamn chairs-“

“Can we try to keep you asshole’s trademark swearing to a minimum?” Neuman snapped. “Zoe’s upstairs-“

Butcher scoffed. “You ain’t able to ask us to stop swearing and call us assholes in the same bloody sentence, and then expect us to listen-“

“Just,” Neuman sighed, shaking her head. “Tone it down. No pussies or cunts or bitches-“

She raised Her hand. “Is shit still on the table?”

“Does it have to be-“

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.“ 

Neuman frowned, looking their group over, and gave a curt nod. “Fine. Shit is allowed, along with minimal assholes and fucks. I would say use your best judgment, but you’re all idiots.”

Butcher frowned. “Oi-“

“Actually, I amend that.” Neuman pointed at Her, still pressed into Ben’s side. “She’s smart. You two,” She glared between Ben and Butcher. “Are dumbasses.”

She leaned back, grinning up at Ben. Take that, Pretty Boy. I’m the smart one.

I could’ve fucking told you that-

“Are we just gonna be fuckin standin here until Edgar comes knockin, or are you gonna let us out of the hall?”

Nueman rolled her eyes—with a mutter under her breath of asshole that only Ben heard—but nodded. “Follow me, I turned the spare bedroom into an office. It has chairs,” Ben and Her received sharp glares, and Ben sent one right fucking back. “So we’ll be meeting Stan there.”

Apparently, Neuman’s spare bedroom wasn’t the same as Her and Ben’s spare bedroom. Their spare bedroom was currently Zoe’s, and Neuman had taken Her room—it had become Ben’s as well, but that wasn’t really important to point out right now—which meant that the office was Ben’s old room.

It looked clean, and he couldn’t smell any lingering cum, so Ben figured he was in the clear as they settled around a small table. Ben squished himself at Her side, Butcher took the head, and Nueman dropped across from them with a frown.

“So.” Neuman watched them carefully, voice clipped. “Is anyone going to tell what’s going on outside of Mallory’s very helpful you’re hosting Stan Edgar for the Boys, non-negotiable?”

She sighed, finger’s tapping against Ben’s knee as she spoke. “We made a deal with Edgar for evidence of what Homelander did to me-“

“I remember,” Neuman’s voice was dry, expression flat. “I thought blasting Zoe and I was the deal with Edgar. What, are you here to finish the job with all three of us?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Ben pulled her a little closer against him. Neuman noticed—eyes flicking with a frown to his arm over Her shoulder—and he felt his jaw clench. “I’m sorry about that, really, but we were backed into a corner-“

Neuman shook her head, gaze moving back to Her. “I know. I’m mostly just being a bitch about it, but I think I’ve earned that.”

“I thought bitch ain’t allowed in the kiddie zone-“

“I can say whatever the fuck I want, Butcher.” Neuman snapped. “You’re a guest in my house, and, from what I understand, you don’t have to be here for the meeting. Be quiet, or wait in the car.”

“You ain’t gonna want to do that, head-popper.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Those two cunts will start fuckin on the table if I ain’t here to stop ‘em.”

“Stop calling me head-popper, I’m not-“ Neuman paused, head snapping the Her and Ben. “What does he mean you two will fuck on the table.”

“We won’t fuck on the table,” She shot Butcher a glare, and the pussy winked back. “We have self-control Butcher, I think we can keep from jumping on each other for a few hours-“

“Tell that to Soldier Boy’s fuckin boner in my face-“

“You were in our apartment, that’s where sex happens-“

“Holy shit,” Neuman shook her head, voice filled with a disbelief that Ben did not fucking appreciate. “Are you two dating?”

“Um, we haven’t-“

“Yes.” Ben snapped, and felt a warm, strong feeling explode across his ribs as She swallowed, but didn’t correct him. “You’ve got a fucking problem with that?”

“I mean,” Neuman gave a sarcastic, incredulous laugh. “Yes? Even if you ignore the whole age thing, you’re Homelander’s dad-“ She paused, looking at Butcher. “How did you let this happen?”

Butcher shrugged. “Ain’t a night gone by where I don’t ask myself that, but you adjust. Better than when they were by their bloody fuckin selves, and once you get over how gross they get, fuckin in the bathroom and makin heart eyes-”

“Can you stop talking about us like we’re not here?” She snapped, leaning out of Ben’s hold just enough to glare between Neuman and Butcher. She looked murderous. Ben loved Her so fucking much. “I am aware, Neuman, of how fucked up it is. But I’m also about to meet with the adoptive father of the woman I blasted with my,” She paused, and Ben caught the split second frown that crossed Her perfect face, before vanishing as she continued. “Ben’s bomb, which was put in him by Russian scientists after he was sold to them by the same man we’re about to have lunch with. Over lunch, we’re going to talk about the favor we owe Edgar for providing evidence of my rape and torture to prove to Ben’s grandson that his dad is a piece of shit. Also, that asshole,” She jerked her head at Butcher, and he shrugged. “Is the step-father of Ben’s grandson. Side-note, Ben did try to kill his grandson once, but everyone is kind of over it. We’ve all tried to kill each other at least once, it keeps life exciting.” She took a heavy breath, holding Nueman’s gaze. “So, with that in perspective, being in love with a hundred year old grump, who loves me back and treats me well, isn’t really that big a deal, right?”

She loved Ben. That warmth spread through his whole body—growing bloody and hot from how he did fucking love Her, he did fucking treat her well—as he gave Neuman a smug grin. She loved him. He’d never get tired of hearing it, but every time She said it again it was like someone was shooting ecstasy right into his fucking body. He wanted to fuck Her. Butcher could suck Ben’s dick, because he loved Her and he needed to fucking prove it, to whisper adoring praise in her ears and hear her whine as he showed her how good she was. How fucking perfect and beautiful, how she was a goddamn force of nature and Ben would always fucking love Her. How, with Her face flushed—twisted in anger and sneering at Nueman—and her hands on his leg were starting to smoke, she was a fucking miracle and deserved the goddamn world-

Someone was knocking downstairs. It was terrible timing for Ben—who had been seconds away from finally fulfilling a handful of fantasies about fucking Her on the wall behind them, or on the bed Neuman had somehow turned into a damn couch—and amazing timing for Neuman, who was still gaping at Her with a dumb fucking look of surprise.

Neuman shot to her feet, giving Her a weary glance and walking in wide steps around Her and Ben’s chairs, muttering something about greeting Edgar, and checking on Zoe.

Butcher coughed. “I ain’t ever seen Neuman speechless before. Bloody good work, Love.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher,” She muttered, face falling to a look that Ben knew meant guilt.

He’d be fucked backwards if he was going to let her sit in it. No apologizing to Neuman, Sunshine. She doesn’t fucking deserve it.

I wasn’t going to. She looked up at Ben with pretty, gentle eyes and a soft smile. I meant everything I said, and I’d probably say it again. I just, I’m tired.

He frowned. If you need to go home, we can take Butcher’s car. I’ll knock him out and we’ll just go-

No. We’ve got to do this. I’ll be okay.

Ben grunted Her name in his head, scanning her features for some sort of fucking clue for how he could fix this. I’m fucking serious-

I know you are. She sighed, leaning back into Ben’s arms. So am I. I’ll be okay, promise.

He didn’t get to push it. She was okay—her heart was steady and Ben didn’t feel that sense of wrong that wracked his body when she was in pain—but Ben needed to know why she was tired. He needed to ask what she needed, why she was being so goddamn vague about it, maybe just remind Her that he loved her and would stay right fucking here until she needed him. He didn’t get the chance to do any of that, though, because footsteps sounded up the stairs, and Ben barely had time to tuck her further against him before Neuman was pushing the door open, and Edgar was following her into the room.

“Victoria,” Egdar hummed, surveying Ben, Her, and Butcher as he sat down. “I thought I was attending lunch with friends, not sitting at a table with William Butcher.”

“I’m part of the fuckin decor,” Butcher leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “Pretend I ain’t even here.”

“Or, you could simply not be here. I am sure Zoe would be absolutely entranced by your adventures-“

“Do not go near my daughter,” Neuman snapped at Butcher, before turning to give Edgar an exasperated look. “Please just make this easy for me, Stan. I’m not exactly thrilled by it either.”

“I can promise I will not be the issue here. As for our company,” Edgar turned to give a snake-like smile to Her and Ben. “I hope we can all remain civil, but they are not known for their manners.”

“You can eat my civil fucking asshole-“

Ben cut himself off with a grunt as Her elbow slammed into his gut, and she shot him a glare before turning to Edgar. “We’ll be civil. Are you going to be a cryptic fucking James Bond villain?”

Edgar made a small huff of amusement. “I will do my best to make my intentions clear, but forgive me if there are gaps you’ll have to fill in for yourself.”

“Awesome,” She mumbled, heartbeat stuttering, and Ben pressed his thigh into hers, keeping his glare trained on Edgar. She took a slow, steady breath, and tilted her head at Edgar, voice bored and even. “So, Edgar, how was your day? Anything fun happen?”

She was playing the game. Ben glanced down at Her—sharp eyes, narrowed on Edgar and paired with a too sweet smile—and knew whatever the fuck She and Edgar were about to do was Her battlefield. If Homelander crashed through the roof, or the Deep crawled out from under the fucking bed somehow, Ben could take care of it. His shield was exactly a half step away, and he could call the drums in three seconds if he needed to. But right now, Edgar’s cold, skin crawling smile was spreading across his face—Neuman and Butcher silent in their seats—and this was Her place to tear Edgar’s still-beating heart out of his evil fucking chest.

Metaphorically. Ben was pretty damn sure it would be metaphorically.

“Well,” Edgar hummed, holding Her gaze. “I did get up earlier than I would have preferred, but there is only so much one can do in prison. However, I was able to get a fairly decent nap on the drive, even with the two brutes Grace sent watching my every move. And you? Any exciting news from the Merry Band of Savage Imbeciles?”

“Nothing I’d write home about, or share with you.” She shrugged. “MM has a garden, he’s growing cucamelons. I made twenty dollars on a bet with Frenchie that he couldn’t get Hughie to say a bad word about Billy Joel, and thirty dollars on a separate bet with Annie that I could switch my food with Frenchie’s while he was focused on Hughie, and nobody would notice. I’m going to buy some new underwear, all of my old ones,” She kicked Ben under the table. “Keep disappearing under suspicious circumstances.”

Ben coughed. I don’t see you fucking complaining-

I’m not. But don’t expect fancy wrapping paper when you’re just going to tear it off.

“And how are things between you and our beloved Benjamin? I called you quite early last week, and despite what he may think,” Edgar nodded at Ben. “I was able to hear your riveting argument and pillow talk.”

Ben was going to break Edgar’s fucking face. Slam it on the table, rip his heart in a way that wasn’t at all a damn metaphor-

“We’re good.” She gave Ben a smile of don’t kill him, it’ll be gross, and said, “He’s an idiot sometimes, but I love him.” She turned back to Edgar with narrowed eyes. “But something tells me you knew that.”

Edgar didn’t spare Ben a glance, giving Her an innocent shrug. “I had suspected for quiet a while that your relationship was no longer just business. I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect better from you, though-“

“You shouldn’t,” She shrugged. “I’m only a woman, Edgar. Look at his face, you’d have come around on him as well.”

Ben scowled as Edgar gave him an overdramatic once over. I am not a piece of fucking meat-

Yes, you are. You’re a very handsome, grumpy piece of meat whom I love very much.

I’m hot as fuck, Sunshine, but I did not come here to be talked about like a common fucking whore-

She kept her eyes on Edgar, but Ben could see her lips twitch up. Objectified, Benjamin. The word you're looking for is objectified.

I don’t give a fuck what word-

“And is it his sparkling, warm personality that makes you share his bed outside of disappearing underwear?”

Her face didn’t lose its amused, casual expression, but Her voice became venomous. “It really is. I have a lot of nightmares, Edgar, and he’s like a Teddy Bear.”

“It may only be the way he’s glaring at me,” Edgar’s voice was fucking bored, and Ben glared harder. More fucking violent, more furious, and maybe Edgar might just explode. “But I would have called him just a regular bear. Although I will acknowledge my bias, we have not been on the best of terms since his return from Russia.”

“Yeah, well.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t call either of us your biggest fans. Forty years off his life, three off mine, overall we’re looking at about a combined 50% decrease in years of our lives where we weren’t being tortured. I’d glare as well, but Ben’s better at it.”

Edgar didn’t even goddamn flinch, just offering them a fake fucking simper. “He was unstable, a liability. I would make the same call again in a heartbeat, and not have a single regret. You, however,” Edgar looked Her over, and Ben heard the table crack under his fist. “I must offer my most sincere apologies. If I could’ve stepped in, I would have, but controlling Homelander is a delicate surgery, and sacrifices must be made. What happened to you was, is, tragic, but, as I have told you before, you are the greatest weapon I have ever seen. And I’d would like to strongly encourage you to take advantage of your gifts, so we can all be out of this circus before the fourth of July.”

Ben could feel the cracks in Her along his skull and twisting in his gut as She swallowed. I can just fucking kill him, and we’ll go home-

I’ve got this. Her voice was measured and smooth in his head, but Ben still felt fucking sick. She was leaning across the table, tilting Her head at Edgar with a glint in her eyes that would’ve made Ben fucking flinch, and her voice was syrupy. Slow, calculated, and fucking furious. “Do you know why I was at that Vought party, Edgar?”

“I am afraid not-“

“I was celebrating. I’d just gotten my PhD, that day, and I’d finished it in record time. I paid for it all myself, and it had been so much work, but I’d done it. I was officially a doctor. I already had offers from Columbia and Sanford, but I’d still scheduled a meeting with a rep from the UN on Monday. I’d been recommended to him by one of my favorite professors, so I was a shoe-in for the job, and I wanted it so bad. I’d get to travel the world and help people. Maybe I’d meet someone, and we’d settle down somewhere peaceful to have a family. My friends were proud of me, and one of them worked for your analytics team. She had an invite, to this real fucking fancy Vought party, and brought me as a plus one. She paid for my dress, and drove me home after I got drunk. She said, even though I’d started flirting with the bartender to try and get extra drinks when I got cut off, that I’d still managed to sing Moon River perfectly. Said I hit every note, and even Homelander looked impressed. I woke up in a cell the next day. Missed the meeting with the UN rep. Missed three years of my life, being locked up in the name of controlling Homelander. So I don’t want your apology, unless it’s that time back. Unless you can make Homelander un-kidnap me, fucking save it.”

The room was silent—even fucking Butcher had gone pale—and something was ringing in Ben’s ears and eating at his lungs. He hadn’t know that. He hadn’t know half that she’d been celebrating, or that she’d literally just gotten the fuckin degree. And it was rattling around inside him like a fucking bomb. This wasn’t Ben’s bomb, driven by drums and wrath and fury. This was Her, screaming in his head with a voice that was starting to grow raw and cracked.

Edgar looked surprised. Like She’d just shot him, but he’d manage to recover without thought. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his cold eyes, but there should be. He should be fucking shaking, because She was forgiving. The part of Her in Ben was wailing and twisting in pain, but she’d kept controlling every breath as her eyes glazed over, and the fabric of Ben’s suit under her hand started to blacken. She was angry, but clever and kind, so she wouldn’t kill Edgar.

Ben would. He’d do it for Her, because there wasn’t a single thing in the world worse than this fucking pain that Homelander had festered inside Her, planting fear in her like a goddamn parasite, and all Edgar had done was stand by and watch.

Now wasn’t the time to kill Edgar. His gaze was still locked with Hers, Ben merely an observer, but the moment the chance was offered he’d take it. Bash Edgar’s brains in on his shield, make him fucking hurt in repentance, then never let a single fucking pussy hurt Her again. All She’d be was loved, and Ben would hold Her against his body until all that fucking pain faded into something that ached, but didn’t burn.

Later. Now, Ben just had to squeeze Her hand, remind her that he’d never fucking lose her again, and stay at her side.

“May I ask,” Edgar’s voice was slow, like she’d exploded if he treated her like anything less than a feral fucking animal. “How you plan to make up for those three years in the infinite amount of time now available to you? I cannot offer the time you’ve lost back, but I imagine immortality will have its perks in the years to come.”

“Save the riddles, Edgar.” She snapped. “Tell me what you want.”

“I simply wish to know your plans for when this is over, should you emerge victorious. If Singer hands over the V, and you can outmaneuver Sister Sage and her gas, will you have a family with Soldier Boy? Travel the world? Perhaps both, or contract with the UN, maybe get a book deal? I’d like to hope peace for you, as a world without Homelander is an exciting prospect, but I don’t doubt there will be quite a mess to clean up after him. Will you be picking up a shovel, or leaving it to people such as myself?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yourself.”

“Indeed. I am well versed in handling the many insecurities and reckless behaviors of the super-abled. If my services to the clean up effort, when it comes, were needed-“

“Is this the favor?” She cut Edgar off with a glare, and Edgar chuckled.

“It is only an offer. I’ve found it is never too early to throw one’s hat in the ring.”

“Keep your hat,” She leaned back against Ben, and her breathing relaxed into a more easy, natural state. “We’ll pass.”

Edgar shrugged. “My hat will remain on the table indefinitely, and it will be there when you realize you need it. I suppose all that remains is business, though I was hoping to discuss official matters over lunch, Victoria.”

Neuman rolled her eyes. “The kitchen is downstairs, Stan. You’re not so old I have to walk with you.”

“When I do reach that age, I expect a nice retirement home.” Edgar gave Neuman a smile, and it might be the only genuine one Ben had ever seen on the man’s callous face. “Nothing with golf, I am afraid I never quite got the appeal.”

“I think prison will do that shit for her, Stanny.” Butcher grinned from across the table. “Government funded retirement. Comin right out of Neuman’s bloody paycheck either way.”

“It’s tax funded, asshat.” Neuman shot Butcher a glare. “And I’m not the Vice President anymore-“

“I ain’t an American, popper, not my fuckin problem-“

“I know you’re a dual citizen, you dick-“

Ben coughed—as loud as he fucking could—and all eyes turned to him. “The fuck do you want from us, Edgar. Now.”

“Well, Benjamin, I never pegged you as someone to be driven by urgency-“

“You ain’t ever pegged ‘im at all, he’d be a lot less fuckin uptight- Fuck!” Butcher’s mocking was cut off by a lick of flame, flying past his ear. “Bloody hell, Love, coulda takin my fuckin head off-“

“But I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Shut up and listen, or I won’t miss next time.”

Edgar sighed, giving Ben an exasperated look like they were fucking buddies. “As I was saying, I understand your urgency. Anticipation can be tantalizing. But I promise, this is nothing that will cause you any grief.”

“Christ, you pussy, just spit it fuck out-“

“There is something I need collected,” Edgar said, attention entirely on Ben. “Some possessions I left in the care of someone I trusted, who will have them should you ask. I would like you to retrieve them.”

Ben frowned. “That's it.”

“It is. Straightforward, and relatively simple. Despite what you think, I am not a total monster-“

“Where are they.” She interrupted Edgar with a glare, her body tensing under Ben’s arms. “The possessions. Where are we going.”

Edgar hummed, giving Her an amused look. “I have said it before-“

“Yeah, nothing gets past me, I know. Where.”

“Red River.”

Neuman’s mouth fell open. “What? Stan, why the fuck are you keeping something at Red River-“

“It is an impressively safe storage space. It is kept almost entirely off the record, most of those at Vought are not made privy to it, and those who are have almost no interest in sparing it a thought. I have always thought that to be a waste, but I would not let my opinion get in the way of an opportunity.”

“What the fuckin hell would you need to be hidin at Red River,” Butcher snapped, leaning forward with a glower. “That you ain’t able to just hide in a villa in the bloody Caribbean.”

“The CIA raided almost all my villas, Butcher.” Edgar’s voice was dry, and his gaze turned back to Ben. “All you’ll need to do is pay Red River a visit, ask for Vanessa, and tell her you are collecting the Cornucopia. She will provide my property, you will return it to me, and our transaction will be complete.” 

She blinked. “Is it a weapon?”

“I’m afraid,” Edgar said Her name with a small, cold smile. “You will have to find that out for yourself.”

“Stan, it’s not a weapon, right?” Neuman’s heart was fast—Ben had never heard her heart move fast, it was a little fucking weird—and her eyes were wide as she watched Edgar. “It can’t be a weapon-“

Edgar patted Neuman on the arm, his smile a little less snake-like than usual. “It is not dangerous to Red River, Victoria, nor its occupants.”

“But everything is dangerous at Red River-“

Ben nudged Her shoulder, keeping a careful eye on Neuman and Edgar. Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck Red River is.

It’s like a supe orphanage. She blinked. Actually, it is a supe orphanage. It’s literally a supe orphanage. Neuman was there, it’s where Edgar adopted her from.

Is that why she looks like she’s about to explode?

Probably.

The fuck happened to her parents.

She killed them. You and I became supes in adulthood, Pretty Boy. We had the luxury of motor control and a developed prefrontal cortex to learn how to control ourselves. She didn’t.

Ben frowned, but didn’t have time to dwell on the image of tiny versions of himself and Her—exploding and burning down buildings before fucking nap time—because She was talking to Edgar again.

“Is there a time limit on this? If we don’t get your shit by the end of the week are you going to explode New York?” 

Edgar chuckled. “New York will remain intact. I would prefer that the package be returned to me as soon as possible, but I also recognize that our lives are quite hectic. Let’s say, before June ends.” 

“Hm,” She examined Edgar, crossing her arms over her chest. “And what about that generosity you mentioned. For our time.”

“That is also something you will have to wait for, I’m afraid. But, this has been a lovely trip, so I give you my word that it will arrive. And be fruitful.” 

Her nose wrinkled. “Gross. Is that it?”

Edgar sighed. “I am afraid so.” He turned to Butcher with a frown. “Though, I was promised the afternoon with my family, for good behavior-“

“That ain’t my fuckin problem,” Butcher snapped, rising to his feet. “Call Mallory. You two,” he pointed a finger at Her and Ben. “Let’s hit the bloody road. I want to be home for dinner, and bein here makes me fuckin itch.”

She hummed in agreement and stood, pulling Ben with her as they followed Butcher out of the room.

Butcher was—thought Ben would never fucking tell him—not entirely wrong about the safe house. It was goddamn weird to be here, to see most of the same furniture they had used, but rearranged or in no danger of being accidentally set on fire. There was still a scorch mark on the wall downstairs, from when she’d almost taken off Butcher’s head, and the kitchen had been clean when they’d passed it, but that felt wrong. Ben had almost never seen that kitchen spotless, and it made him feel all fucking bitter and soft. He didn’t want to come back here—not in a single goddamn universe—but he’d be lying if he didn’t look at the couch and feel something stab at him. He’d kissed Her on that couch for the first time. She’d punched him a lot in that dining room, and it had been fucking hot. She’d cried in almost every single fucking room, and Ben had held her. 

He’d kiss Her on other couches, though. And She’d probably punch him in a lot of different locations. She’d keep crying, and Ben would always fucking hold Her. The house didn’t matter that much, Ben decided, because She was the only reason he was being a pathetic fucking pussy about it. And he still fucking had Her. She was right at his goddamn side, leading him down the stairs, and giving him a small smile over her shoulder as they exited the safe house.

Ben opened the car door for Her—he loved Her, and no matter what she said, he was a goddamn gentleman—and had barely sat down himself when She grabbed his face between her hands.

“What the fuck-“

I need to tell you a secret, Ben.

He blinked. The hell do you mean, a secret.

I mean you can’t tell anyone. Not Butcher, not MM, not Mallory or Annie.

I don’t tell those pussies shit. I love you, not them-

You don’t have to love someone to tell them things-

Good thing you’re also my best fucking friend, and they’re not. He winked at Her, and she relaxed slightly. What’s wrong.

Edgar is playing both sides.

What.

He’s hedging his bets. He’s working with us and Sage.

How do you-

He said Sage has gas. Did you, Annie, or Hughie tell Mallory about the gas?

Ben frowned. They hadn’t. They’d lost Her, and in the chaos nobody had thought to bring it up. It hadn’t seemed that fucking important, when She was in danger. No.

Sage, Homelander, and I are the only other people that know about it. And Edgar didn’t just say gas. He said Sage and her gas. So he defiantly knows about it, and I sure didn’t fucking tell him.

So he’s a cowardly fucking pussy backstabber-

No, he’s a cowardly fucking pussy liar. He said if Singer hands over the V. Nobody knows we’ve asked for that but Singer, his cabinet, Mallory, and the rest of the team. No one in the Boys would trust him enough to tell him, so Singer or Mallory must have. Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers began to tap along Ben’s jaw and beard. She was thinking, her brow drawn in that pretty fucking glare at nothing, and Ben had still his body and wait for her to finish.

Her eyes widened, and Ben frowned. Sunshine-

Or, Her eyes focused on Ben’s. There’s a leak. And someone told Sage. And Sage told Edgar.

Ben glanced at Butcher in the driver's seat, and looked back at Her with a frown. You think one of us-

No. She shook her head, teeth peaking over her lips. Not one of us. We’ve been on lockdown, in close confines, with CIA monitored phones. It would have to be a leak in the CIA. Or within Singer’s cabinet.

Fuck. 

She sighed, slumping on Ben’s chest. Fuck.

—————————

You were starting to equate your life to a hydra. Whenever you solved one horrible problem, two even worse ones would pop up to replace it. 

Ben found a way to knock Homelander down, but now you have to actually get the V, and figure out to bide time and keep the world from erupting as you search. And once you manage to find some V, you’ll have to figure out how to physically get it into Homelander, and how to outmaneuver Sage so the whatever plan you make goes right.

You got Ryan out, but now you have to keep him out. You have to never let Homelander near him again, and come to terms with the fact that Butcher’s probably going to be in your life forever now. You’ll get over it—and it will make for several entertaining thanksgivings—but it’s still weird.

You told Ben you love him, and he loves you, and that’s that. He’s a protective asshole, but he’s trying. Ben’s trying, he’s always trying, and you can feel how all his resolve and rough adoration stems from his love. The hydra isn’t Ben’s love—that within itself is a haven, an oasis within the sandstorm of the world—but how you have to love Ben and keep your head on your shoulders. Have to deal with the fact that, when it really comes down to it, you will burn the world and blow the mission for him, and he’ll do the same for you. And, second head, the fact that you now have to justify your love to everyone. You have to keep yourself together when Nueman or Edgar sneer about your poor decision making, like you’re not a full grown woman who’s well aware of her actions. You’d meant what you told Neuman, every last word of it. It was fucked up to be in love with the biological father of your abuser, who was old enough to be your great-grandfather, didn’t know how emails really worked, and had definitely killed a lot of people. But you’d come to terms with that a long time ago, and in the grand scheme of things it was just another Tuesday. A really fucked up Tuesday, that you loved so much it made you feel high, and that gave you the best orgasms physically possible.

You’d escaped Vought, gotten back to Ben, and now you have to try to fix the parts of you that had broken and deal with all the fallout of your actions. You’re working on the former—it’s slow, but you’re only cold in the dead of night now, and it’s easier to mend the cracks when you’re surrounded by Ben’s warmth, when you can feel safe and loved as the pain starts to leak out of your body—but the latter might take a long time. Edgar had been right about that. Even when you kill Homelander, the world won’t heal. He’s not just a symptom, but he’s also not the virus. You’ll have to burn that bridge when you get to it, though, because right now there are other heads to fight

Like how you’d finally managed to get rid of Neuman as a danger, but Ben had still owed Edgar and there’s a very dangerous vacancy in Singer’s cabinet. Edgar’s called in his favor, and now you have to figure out if it’s just as simple and easy as it sounds—it’s probably not—and keep an eye out for a federal leak.

You and Ben had agreed in the car not to tell Mallory, and to keep it from the rest of the team until there was some more solid evidence. That was another Hydra head. You’d managed to get everyone to trust you, but now you had to figure out how and when to share game-changing news with them and feel the guilt of withholding it.

This had become a pattern, and it was fucking exhausting.

Butcher had barely spoken on the ride home, only grunting that you’d be going straight to a debrief, and that Mallory was finally back from wherever she’d gone off to.

Ten bucks that she was at a fucking orgy.

You blink at Ben as you both follow Butcher into the elevator. There’s literally no way that’s where she was.

Fine. Thirty bucks.

You don’t have thirty dollars, Benjamin.

He scowls. You don’t fucking know that-

Okay. You shrug, leaning against his chest and tugging his arms to rest across your stomach. Where did you get these thirty dollars from? Are you running a side hustle I don’t know about?

What the fuck is a side hustle.

A smaller job to make some extra money. It’s a byproduct of the gig economy-

I don’t need an extra fucking job, this one is already too goddamn complicated-

Well, as you’ve bitched and whined about many times, we don’t get paid. So unless you’re selling feet pics on the internet-

The fuck are-

Pictures of your feet. For masturbation, I assume.

Nobody is jerking it to pictures of my feet, that’s fucking disgusting-

Then where are you getting thirty dollars from?

When you tilt your head back to grin at him, you catch the tail end of his eye roll. Shut the fuck up.

You giggle, leaning up to press a small kiss under his jaw. Grumpy.

Ben’s hand shoots up, angling your chin further back, and begins to leave light kisses everywhere but your mouth. You’re real fucking lucky I love you, Sunshine.

Not luck, you smile at him, and he pulls back to meet your eyes. It’s just my magnetic and irresistible personality. 

He snorts, and you were being sarcastic, but when Ben brings his lips to yours the kiss is tender and sweet. Soft, long, making your knees start to shake as all of Ben’s love slams into your body and he holds you upright, smirking against your mouth as you start to squirm. Not just that, darling. I love your smart fucking mouth, and all those pretty sounds you make, and that adorable little pout you do when you’re being a fucking brat.

Darling. That’s good. You like darling, and maybe a little more than my love. It sounds so right, rumbling around your head in Ben’s deep voice, and it makes something gooey and molten spread through your stomach. Molds you like putty in his hands, clears your head to a breathless song that isn’t just Ben. Ben, I love you, but something deeper. It’s in a harmony with his love, with the fact it’s such an overly-sweet pet name that Ben probably would have scoffed at before—or called a stripper in a condescending tone, if you’re being truly honest with yourself about the man you’ve chosen to love—but he’s using it for you so genuinely. He says darling in such a low, hungry and fond voice, and it makes you want to do something domestic and stupid and easy with him. To forgo the meeting, completely ignore Butcher’s glowers and muttering about no bloody respect for his refined fuckin sensibilities, horny fucking cunts, and drag Ben back to your apartment so he can spin you around until you’re dizzy and you can sing to him while you make dinner together. Then you’ll let him carry you upstairs, and you’ll finally convince him to let you wash his hair in the shower—you’re pretty certain you’ll be able to sneak conditioner in there, and the results might give you a heart attack in the best way possible—and when he carries you to bed you’ll let him fuck you until you’re so blissfully wrung out from pleasure you pass out in his big, warm arms.

You can’t do that. But you will. Right now you’ll wiggle out of Ben’s hold as the elevator doors open, looping your arm through his and following Butcher to the dining room to deal with the many, many problems life has presented for you to fix. And after, when Homelander is buried deep underground in an unmarked grave—a small bullet hole is his horrible fucking brain and his body rotting into a flower that will bloom on the grass and never cause anyone pain—you’ll dance and laugh with Ben, and he’ll call you darling, and it will be everything.

After. You make a promise to yourself, that after this is over, you’ll entertain a world where you’re just happy, and make up for all those lost years. Until then, you have a lot of work to do.

Everyone is waiting for you when you enter the dining hall. There’s no A-Train—he rarely attends these meetings unless Annie or MM make him—but Ryan is here, looking up from a book with wide, hopeful eyes.

“You’re late, William-“

“You’re back!” Ryan’s smile makes your heart ache a little. It’s so weightless and bright, purely the kid he’s supposed to be. Even Mallory doesn’t push her scolding, just sighing and shooting you, Ben, and Butcher a sharp look as you reach the table.

“Keep your head on, lad.” Butcher stops behind Ryan, giving him an impressively awkward shoulder pat as he returns Mallory’s glare. “And Jersey traffic delays ain’t my fuckin fault, Grace. We’re all in one bleedin piece, and we got news.”

Mallory starts to chide Butcher about proper planning, and something wired and shy shoots through your body, causing you to jolt and blink. 

Ryan’s tapping your arms—resting on the table as you lean forward to see past Ben, hale-hunched over you and blocking your view of half the table—and mumbling your name.

You’ve tried to tell him not to touch you, explaining your empathy in the most layman’s terms you could manage—emphasizing how you can’t control it, and aren’t quite sure what it’s fully capable of—and Ryan had told you he didn’t care. He’d looked eerily like Ben in that moment, frowning at you in an almost frustrated confusion and telling you—in a manner much nicer than Ben had—that he didn’t really care what you felt from him. That he wasn’t afraid you’d feel anything you shouldn’t, that as long as you were comfortable with it, he was as well.

You’d put an end to it there. Ryan was allowed to tap your arm, and hug you, and he should never have to deal with feeling unwanted again. So you smile at him, and he gives you a nervous grin in return.

“What’s up?”

Ryan matches your whisper, shooting Butcher and Mallory a weary look as their argument continues. “I finished Frankenstein.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think so,” Ryan frowns. “I, um, I want to talk about it. If you want to, MM says the meeting is important-“

“I’ll still be here after the meeting, we can talk then.” You glance down at the book, turned over on the table. “What’s next?”

“Catcher in the Rye, Aunt Grace says it’s classic-“ Ryan pauses, and you realize you’d started to involuntarily scowl at the book. “Do you not like it?”

You sigh. “I’m not a catchall for literature opinions, but no, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

You glance down to the end of the table—MM and Frenchie have joined the argument, and you’re not even sure what it’s about anymore—before you continue. “It’s a very,” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “Pointless book. It says things that many other works say, loss of childhood is frightening and society is fake, but it offers the reader to believe that it’s okay to be an asshole, because you have issues and nobody cares. Salinger might have intended the book to be a critique of that idea, but it's still a common interpretation, and I think that within art, the artist’s intention becomes irrelevant once it’s in the hands of the public.”

Ryan nods slowly. “Okay, I just, um,” he glances down at the book on the table, then sheepishly back at you. “I don’t have any other books to read. I’ve finished everything in Butcher’s apartment.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been bored-“

“Oi, Ryan.” Butcher snaps, and you realize the fight has concluded. “She’ll be here for fuckin dinner, you can talk all you bloody want then. We got a meetin. ”

Ryan nods, scrambling out of his seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“I ain’t mad, kid.” Butcher sighs, shaking his head. “Just the sooner we finish, the sooner you two can chat about,” he glances at you with a frown. “Whatever the bloody hell you chat about. I’ll drop out and get you when we’ve got all our ducks in a neat fuckin line.”

As Ryan leaves and Butcher takes his vacant seat, you decide you’re going to get Ryan some more books. A few off Mallory’s CIA-approved middle school reading list, some that are just good books that you think he should read, and some that are just entertaining. Ryan should be allowed to read the Hunger Games, a few comics that aren’t about his family members, and Twilight. You could even try and rope Ben into that last one, just for your own entertainment-

You’re a fucking marvel, Sunshine.

You blink, frowning up at Ben. I didn’t do anything-

I was listening to you. You’re real fucking hot when you talk all smart.

That’s how I always talk-

And you’re always fucking hot.

You roll your eyes. Kiss ass.

If you’ll let me. He winks, and you stick your tongue out at him.

Horny cunt.

Smart fucking brat.

Grumpy old man-

You’re into it. He shrugs, pulling you closer to his side. If I get turned on by how goddamn brilliant you are, you get turned on by how fucking grumpy I am.

You don’t manage to suppress the flush of your face. Fuck you.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you, his voice mutters your name in your head, and everything is suddenly very warm. You love it when I fucking toss you over my shoulder and-

“If you two motherfuckers want to come back down to Earth and contribute to the fucking conversation, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

You give MM a mumbled apology, cover Ben’s mouth with a hand to stop any sneers of pussy or suck my hairy fucking balls, and turn to watch Mallory at the head of table.

“Now that we’re all paying attention,” Mallory shoots you a thin-lipped glare, and at this point they’re just starting to bounce right off of you. “The only thing currently on the table is the meeting with Edgar. Soldier Boy, I’d like to speak to you after this, alone, about your jurisdiction and reckless-“

In an act of mercy to Mallory—you can hear the grinding of Ben’s teeth as his jaw clenches, see his fists start to curl on your shoulder—Butcher interrupts. “You ain’t got nothin for us about the V? Been almost a fuckin week-“

“The President,” Mallory’s words are clipped, glower redirecting to Butcher. “Is busy, and still working on our request-“

“He can just take it, non?” Frenchie frowns, looking around the table for affirmation. “There is no need for him to ask for permission, nor forgiveness, he holds the highest office-“

“Not that simple, Frenchie.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “We’re asking for something that’s probably buried in classified documents and locked behind a titanium door. Singer can’t just walk in and take it, and I doubt his Defense Secretary loves the idea of contracting some V out to us, of all fucking people.”

Butcher scowls. “Fuck that cunt then, we’re a bloody delight-“

“You,” Mallory glares around the table. “Are not known within the government for cleaning messes up. You're known primarily for causing them, and costing us millions.”

“That’s not fair, we try really hard.” Hughie frowns. “And it’s not like Vought-“

“Vought lines half of congress’ pockets. Pays for their kids to go to college. All you do is raise their blood pressure, and make them take an early retirement.” Mallory sighs, and her voice becomes the closest thing to sympathetic you’ve heard. “I don’t like it either, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve backed you up to Singer, but if Muller keeps pushing-“

You blink. “Muller?”

“Singer’s defense secretary,“ Mallory’s voice is almost toxic, and you have a sickening feeling you know why. “He’s an eel of a man, no military experience, but he managed to charm his way into the position. And he doesn’t trust your intentions-“

“Todd Muller? Governor Todd Muller?”

“Secretary Todd Muller, he resigned the governor position in favor of Singer’s cabinet.” Mallory narrows her eyes at your gaping expression. “Why.”

“I, um,” you swallow, searching through your pockets with frantic movements. “Fuck, where’s my phone-“

Ben nudges you. You gave it to me in the car, said your pockets were too small. What the fuck-

I’m fine. You reach into Ben’s pants, grab out your phone, and ignore the traded looks of concern over your head as you type.

Annie says your name slowly, and you barely hear it. “Are you okay-“

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You mutter, scanning over the article on your screen before looking up to meet the concerned eyes of your team. “That’s my step-dad.”

The table is dead silent, and if you weren’t about to start crying or breaking things, you’d be proud of yourself. It’s not easy to shut everyone up, let alone for ten, long, painful seconds.

MM breaks the silence. “Your fucking step-dad is Singer’s defense secretary.”

“Evidently, yeah.” You snap, turning the phone around for everyone to see. “Spouse, Monica Muller. That’s my mom.”

Ben’s arm tenses over your shoulders. The bitch?

The bitch.

Hughie coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you, um, are you sure? I mean, I believe you, but the chances are a kind of fucking crazy that-“

“It’s him. Positive.” You mutter, leaning back into Ben and frowning around the table. “Has Muller been briefed on, uh, me? I mean, I bet he watches the news, but does he know I’m here?”

“Do you believe it would matter if he had?” Mallory asks, words tight and cautious. “If you’re implying a bias-“

You sigh. “Not implying it. I’m outright suggesting it. If Muller knows I’m on the team, that the V is my plan, our chances are lower and we’re going to need to adapt.” 

“If he is a professional-“

“He’s not.” Mallory blinks as you cut her off, and you realize you’re half-shouting. “He’s just,” you take a long breath, and feel Ben’s foot press against yours. The world grows sharper, you become a little warmer, and your voice returns to normal. “Muller’s not my biggest fan, and he’s an asshole. I wouldn’t put it past him to block us just because of me.”

MM frowns. “Not your biggest fan how.”

“We haven’t spoken in thirteen years.” You mutter. “And last time we did speak he called me a leech, and told me he was changing all the locks on the house. So, when I realized that independence wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I couldn’t come crawling back.”

“Holy shit,” Hughie mutters, giving you a sympathetic frown. “Sorry, none of us knew-“

You shrug. “I didn’t tell you. I was dead to him and my mom for ten years before Homelander. We don’t have the same last name, I’m not in the will, and they didn’t even release a statement when I ‘died’. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

Ben frowns at your side, but any grunts of didn’t fucking matter, my ass, are stopped by Mallory’s clipped words.

“But you would say it matters now.”

“If Muller knows that I’m involved in this,” You swallow. “Yeah. It does.”

“And you were completely unaware of his position in Singer’s cabinet.”

Your skin starts to itch—smoke rising under your fingers on Ben’s leg—and you give Mallory a sharp glare. “Fucking obviously.”

“How.”

“What do you mean, how. I just didn’t know.”

“You have been out of Homelander’s captivity for over a year,” Mallory holds your glower. “But you have never managed to notice-“

“This is a new cabinet! I’ve had bigger things to worry about since January, sorry I wasn’t googling Robert Singer Defense Secretary pick while I was being fucking kidnapped-“

“Grace,” Butcher grunts, shooting Mallory a glare. “Lay of her. Just a shit fuckin coincidence.”

“William, you of all people know that we don’t deal in coincidences-“

Butcher shrugs. “Once in a blue moon. All we can do now is figure out how to stop the cunt from screwing us and the rest of America over cause of a bloody little family spat.”

Mallory relents with a long, pained sigh, but her eyes on you don’t soften. There are no apologies, or offerings of peace.

She still doesn’t trust you. Mallory is glaring at you, and you know that you’ll never be able to fully prove yourself to her. You can make sacrifice after sacrifice, throw yourself in front of every train and under every tower, but you’ll always be an unstable liability. You’re not weak to her, but you are dangerous. Still a weapon, still barely within her control, now with compromised judgment. You hadn’t missed Mallory’s scowl at Ben—at his arm over your shoulders and the way you’re resting your head back on his chest—or how her lips had curled in disgust.

The feeling is mutual. You don’t trust her. And you think, to a degree, that Butcher doesn’t either. If he did, he’d have told her about the V. Told Malloy you’d lied, the V hadn’t broken, and that you’d given it to him for use.

But he hadn’t. And when you meet his eyes briefly, he gives you a small nod. You don’t know what it means, but you know it’s for you. Butcher’s backing you up. Siding with you over Mallory.

And, strangely, it doesn’t shock you.

“I can speak to Robert about a possible,” Mallory swallows, lip twitching. “Issue with Muller’s judgment. Until then, our hands remain tied. Now,” she looks between you, Butcher, and Ben, crossing her arms. “What did Edgar want.”

You sigh. “Surprisingly little. We need to get a package for him, and that’s all.”

“A package.” Mallory repeats, doubt dripping from her voice. “From what I understand, Soldier Boy’s incredibly ill-conceived deal was that Edgar could request anything, but all he wants is a package.”

Butcher snorts. “That ain’t it. Tell ‘er where the package is, Love.”

You shoot Butcher a glare, before muttering, “Red River.”

“Red,” Hughie swallows. “Red River? What could Edgar need from Red River?”

“Wish I could tell you, Lad, but Old Stan was bein a real fuckin mysterious asstwat. Wouldn’t say anythin but Red River and pick up the package.”

Now you know Butcher doesn’t fully trust Mallory. It’s not just a package, it’s Edgar’s property. Purposefully hidden, away from federal and corporate eyes. You’d said it passively, without thinking, but Butcher’s words were purposeful. You’re picking it up. It’s not there now.

You won’t be correcting him. Mallory might override the favor, raid Red River and just take what Edgar wants. Ben would still owe him, and you don’t think losing whatever the fuck the Cornucopia is will do Edgar’s generosity any favors.

“He said it was being delivered there in a few days, and we just needed to pick it up and bring it to him.” You double down, holding Mallory’s gaze. “That’s it.”

That’s not what he fucking said, Ben grunts in your head, and you can feel his glare peeling you apart. The hell are you up to.

Can’t trust Mallory.

Butcher-

Doesn’t either. Trust me-

“I assume,” Mallory’s glower turns to Ben. “Soldier Boy will have to deliver it himself.”

“Would seem like it,” Ben drawls, giving your shoulder a small squeeze. He’s in. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know why or what he’s in, but he trusts you, so he’s in. “Be a little fucking pointless if I didn’t.”

“Did he say anything else?” Annie cuts in with a frown. “Edgar could just have the package delivered to the prison, why Red River? What if it’s a weapon-“

“Ain’t a weapon, Starlight.” Butcher grunts. “Like I said, we ain’t got a clue about anythin but our instructions.”

Mallory shakes her head at nothing. “And yet you intend to go through with this, William. Despite our lack of intel.”

Butcher shrugs. “What’s the worst that could bloody happen.”

“It could be a large bomb-“

“It ain’t gonna be a bomb, Frenchie, how the fuckin hell would that even work-“

“He’s got a point Butcher, it could easily be a fucking trap-“

“MM, if it’s a trap, it’s a real bloody stupid one-“

“Traps don’t have to be smart, they just have to work-“

“It, uh, it could be a set up? No Homelander, but Edgar’s trying to frame us for something-“

“Petite Hughie, we are already very much criminals, Edgar would not need to frame us-“

“We aren’t all criminals-“

“Oui, just half of us. Myself, Butcher, Kimiko, and Soldier Boy-“

“I am not a fucking criminal you pussy-” 

“You might be the most criminal motherfucker here-“

Even if we ignore all the outright war crimes and murders, I’ve seen you steal a car, Ben. You nudge his shoulder, pulling his attention from MM. That’s not exactly law abiding citizen behavior.

I’ve been fucking pardoned for everything-

Mallory slams a fist on the table, and the arguments die off. “This is not,” she snaps, glaring around at your team. “Winning you any points to make me approve this. Give me one good reason that I shouldn’t just let Soldier Boy deal with the consequences of his horrible, stupid actions.”

“Because we ain’t got another option.” Butcher leans back, hands in his pockets. “I’m not the biggest fuckin fan of this shit either, but we’re in a corner Grace. And we don’t got much else to do, what’s the worst a little bloody field trip could do. Get us some fresh air-“

“This would not be a field trip, William-“

“He’s right, though.” MM mutters. “We’ve got to back each other up on this, and Edgar’s a conniving dickhead, but he’s also not reckless. I don’t think he’s a sick enough motherfucker to put a bunch of kids in danger by sending us there.”

“And he adopted Vicky from there,” Hughie looks around the table with wide eyes. “I mean, they have a super fucked up relationship, but he does care about her. I don’t think she’d forgive him if he put kids like her in danger.” 

Frenchie shakes his head. “It may not be a trap for the Red River, mon amie. Edgar plays a long game, we may think we are out of the woods, and then,” he smacks his hand on the table, and you flinch slightly. “Bomb in our ass.”

Hughie frowns. “How would the bomb have gotten in our ass?”

“I do not know, but Edgar has ways-“ 

“Of putting a bomb in our ass?”

“It is a metaphor-“

Kimiko whacks Frenchie’s arm. We can’t live our lives in the service of metaphorical ass-bomb.

Frenchie shakes his head. Mon Coeur, I am not in service of the ass-bomb, I am working to avoid it so I may continue to live. 

There are ass-bombs everywhere, Kimiko shrugs, turning to you. Do you think it’s a good idea?

I do. You sigh, signing slowly. But I’m probably bias, I just want to help Ben-

But you want to do it?

You nod. I don’t think it’s a trap. I think there might be an ulterior motive, but we’re not marching to the gallows if we go.

“Oi,” Butcher snaps, glaring at you and Kimiko. “We ain’t all fluent in fuckin crazy sign language. Someone translate.”

You glance at Kimiko, and she gives you a small smile, signing, I am on your side. Frenchie too.

Frenchie sighs, but nods, and you turn to Mallory.

“I’ve got five votes pro-Red River-“

Mallory scowls. “I don’t see five-“

“Ben and Myself are givens,” you shrug, and glance up to see Ben’s gaze locked on Mallory with a murderous glare. You okay?

I’ve got your back. Keep talking, Sunshine.

You take a long breath, and return your attention to Mallory. “And Butcher’s already said he’s with us. Frenchie and Kimiko make five.”

“I’m in,” Annie says, shaking her head at nothing. “I don’t trust Edgar, but this could’ve been a lot worse. We should take advantage of the fact that he’s just being suspicious, and not an outright psychopath.”

Hughie nods. “I’m in too. That’s seven-“

“Eight,” MM grunts, and Mallory blinks at him.

“Marvin, you can’t be serious-“

“You’re outvoted, Grace.” MM sighs, saying your names as he frowns at you and Ben. “You’re sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate. “Positive. It’s our best move. If Edgar wants that package, he’ll get it. We might as well let him cash in the favor.”

MM nods. “Then I’m all in. We’ll need a few days to make sure we can go to Red River without Vought noticing, but-“ 

“I still haven’t approved this.” Mallory snaps. “It could still be a trap, and I don’t see any benefit to complying with whatever Edgar really wants.”

“I don’t like it either, but I’d rather we do it with those two idiots,” MM gestures to you and Ben, and when Ben goes rigid, you feel something heavy wrapping around his lungs. “Then let them turn around and do it alone.”

Mallory’s eyes turn to you. “What would you do,” she says your name in a cold voice, and your eyes narrow. “If I vetoed this.”

“You won’t.” You make your voice flat and bored, even as your blood starts to feel cold, moving faster in time with the scratch of flame under your skin. “If it was MM, or Annie, you wouldn’t fucking hesitate, on this. But we’re still a part of this team, whether you like it or not, and Ben being in debt to Edgar isn’t doing anyone any favors.” You raise your chin, holding Mallory’s glare with a sneer. “You are outvoted. Unanimously. We’re doing this.”

“Understand that you’ll be taking the fall, if this blows up in our face-“

Your blood is white hot, pushing around your lungs and wrapping over your heart. “I always do.”

Mallory’s face twitches. “You don’t get the whole team-“

“Don’t need the whole team. It can be Ben, me, and Kimiko.”

“Please,” Mallory scoffs. “I’m not sending you with just Kimiko-“

Hughie raises his hand. “I can, uh, I can go too. I’ve been there before, and I’m kind of responsible. Not that you and Kimiko aren’t responsible,” he gives you an apologetic grimace. “But I think I’ve killed the least people here, besides Annie, and she can’t go because of security-“

“I get it, Hughie,” you offer him a small smile, and he nods as you turn back to Mallory. “I’ll take Hughie as well.”

You feel something jerk in your chest, and look up to find Ben scowling at you. You’re not fucking going.

Ben-

No. You can’t go out in public, Homelander-

Homelander won’t be looking for me at Red River.

You don’t fucking know that-

Benjamin, I’m going. That’s the end of it.

The hell it is-

I’m so fucking serious. Your glare at him, and that broken part of you twisting and curling inside your gut. You are not doing this shit alone.

I can handle my goddamn self-

I fucking can as well! You’re half screaming in silence, the fire mixing with your blood and clawing out of your hands and tongue. I’m going with you! Stop trying to bench me-

Ben grunts your name, and you can’t tell if it’s in your head or not.

I’m not delicate! Why don’t you fucking trust me-

I do trust you, but I’m not putting you in fucking danger for this-

For what?! To help you like you’d help me! Can you honestly fucking tell me, Ben, that if I was in debt you wouldn’t do whatever it fucking took to help me pay it?!

That’s not the same goddamn thing-

It is! It’s the exact same fucking thing. Your eyes are stinging, your whole body is stinging. Aching and stabbing at that flailing piece of you, slamming on the cracks inside of you and splitting them further, aching and stabbing at everything. Everywhere. I want to help you, I need to help you, just let me fucking help, you fucking asshole-

Big, warm hands are cupping your face, and Ben starts to drag everything in you back together. Your fury at him doesn’t lessen, but falls back into your blood. Only your blood, twining with the familiar feeling of Ben. Still a part of you, still loving you, and full of a weighted, almost painful force. Sheer, grounded will, covering over something bitter, taut, and rabid that lived everywhere in his body. Breathe.

You swallow, everything coming back into focus. I’m still fucking mad at you-

I know. He’s watching you. The world is clear, and Ben’s eyes on yours are tearing you open, the sore, bitter thing eating him alive. But you still need to fucking breathe.

It’s quiet, you realize. Dead quiet.

When MM speaks, his voice is hoarse. “What the fuck just happened.”

Your tongue still feels a little numb, but you can’t punch and scream at Ben, or fall forwards into his chest and cry. Your voice is a little too flat when you speak, but you let the words push themselves out. “Sorry, it was, um.” You take a shaky breath. “It was the empathy. I think it’s getting stronger, and I still can’t really control when that happens. I’m working on it, I’m really sorry.”

An apology doesn’t feel like enough. As you scan the faces of your team, everyone is bloodless and frozen, and you know they felt you. Felt the cracks, felt the sting, felt all of that cold, burning fear and anger and pain that always sits somewhere inside you like a sickness.

“What happened to the suppressant.” Mallory hisses, and you flinch. “To avoid this very problem affecting us.” 

“I’m not taking it anymore,” you mumble, staring at the table. “It felt, it felt wrong. I couldn’t do it-“

“This is not about you.” Mallory snaps. “It’s a precaution for everyone’s safety-“

“Mallory,” Ben grunts. “Shove it up your fucking ass and eat my dick. She’s not taking it.”

He’s pulled you a little closer against him and, as furious at him as you are, some instinct in you still goes Ben. Safe. You think it’s because you can still feel that weight on his chest, and how it’s been dropped there by his love. Because you know that none of that fear was fear of Ben. That you’re going to have time to shove his chest and yell at him later, but right now you’re just tired again. You’re cold again—unable to look your team in the eyes, unable to control yourself, weak—and right now Ben is warm. And he’s got your back.

“You do not speak for her, or control her actions-“

“I am well fucking aware of that.” Ben drawls. “But she already said her damn self that we’re working on it. You’re fine, you bitch, so fucking shove it.”

Mallory says your name, and that rabid ache in Ben flares. “I do not care what Soldier Boy has told you, this is a security measure. Do not compromise yourself for whatever this is.”

That makes your head snap up, gaze landing on Mallory as your exhaustion morphs back into fury. When you speak, your voice is careful, venomous. “Whatever what is.”

If Mallory senses the danger in your voice, it doesn’t show on her face. “I recognize that you and he,” she gives a dismissive gesture to Ben, and you see Butcher wince in the corner of your eyes. You have a feeling everyone but Mallory knows where this is headed, and none of them are stepping in to stop it. “Have developed an odd kinship. But you are a smart woman, do not lose sight of the mission or your team for it.”

“This had nothing to do with the mission.” You’re not in danger of losing control again. This isn’t prodding at something broken or cracked in your body, it’s only measured anger. “The suppressants were detrimental to my health-“

“Did he tell you that?” Mallory snaps, giving Ben another jerk of her head. He’s still silent, still there, still letting you handle this. “Did Soldier Boy tell you they were detrimental-”

You’re not entertaining this. “He did. Because we live together, and sleep in the same bed. He was bound to notice that I wasn’t exactly doing well, what with all the nightly mental breakdowns.”

“And you trust his judgment-“

“Always.” You hold Mallory’s glare, leaning across the table. “I always trust him.”

It might not be entirely true, but this isn’t about the truth. Ben is an asshole—a loud, abrasive, infuriating piece of shit—but you’re still going to defend him to the end of the earth. You’ll stand by his side always, even when you’re angry at him. You’ve earned being angry at him. And Ben might not be allowed to tell you what to do, but he’s also earned his own lenience. He still grounds you when you’re spiraling, and loves you all the time. Mallory isn’t a part of your fight with Ben. Mallory isn’t a part of any of this.

“You are not as intelligent as I thought,” Mallory hisses. “If you are willing to forsake everything for Soldier Boy. It would recommend you re-evaluate, if you truly believe that he is worth risking your lack of control.”

Your vision is red. Not your vision. Ben’s vision.

Can I fucking kill her-

No. “Is that it? I should call things off with the only person in my life who loves me, and take the experimental drug?” 

Mallory scoffs. “He does not love you, girl. He may be infatuated, but-“

“He does.” You’re done with dancing around it. It’s been a long day of playing the game, so this has to be plain and brutal. This has to be the last time Mallory questions your judgment, the last time she pretends that she’s in charge of you. That she has any idea what you’ve gone through—from Homelander, from Vought, from her—or any authority over your choices. She doesn’t even fucking pay you. “Ben does love me. You’ve even used it to your advantage, with that fucking stay in line and you’ll put me in danger shit. I also love him, and if you actually viewed us as people, you probably would’ve noticed it. Everyone else certainly did. I am not a child, Mallory, with a school girl crush. I am an adult, who is allowed to make my own medical decisions, and fuck and love whomever I chose. And I chose Ben.”

“I would not endorse that choice-“

“I don’t fucking care. And it is truly insane to me,” you drawl. “How everyone is so incredibly comfortable telling me what to do with my life. I’m getting a little fucking tired of it, but I’m getting tired of a lot of this. Maybe I’ll let Ben steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll just leave. Maybe we’ll go to Canada. Maybe Mexico. But no matter what, we’re going together. And I don’t think you want to lose your two most valuable weapons at the finish line, Mallory. So watch it when you try to tell me how to think, or what to do outside of the mission.”

You don’t wait for her response, standing to your feet, taking Ben up with you, pausing only to glance at MM.

He speaks before you can ask the question. “Three days.”

You nod slowly. “That’s it?”

“Should be. I’ll have a more concrete number by breakfast tomorrow, I’ll tell you then.”

You hear the implication. You’ll be welcome at breakfast. You’d exploded—at Mallory, by pushing your blood into everyone else—but you’re still part of the team. They might be afraid of you, and you understand that, but they don’t hate you. They still trust you, and if you want to come to breakfast tomorrow, you can.

“Thank you,” you give MM a weak smile that’s mostly just a grimace, and when he returns it with a small, curt nod, you leave. Pull Ben behind you—both of you silent, his sore, bitter, rabid weight still in your chest and lungs and gut—not looking back. Your team, somehow, isn’t trading you for Mallory. And you have an odd feeling that after you leave, they’ll back you up. Ben does love you, your judgment isn’t compromised, and they trust you.

When Mallory leaves, you’ll have to share the Edgar news with them. They won’t turn around and tell Mallory—you’re sure of it—and they should know. Maybe this hydra head won’t grow back.

You have a different one to deal with now, anyways. Ben does love you. If you know anything, you know Ben loves you. You’d cut off the head of judgement, and now you have to deal with the fact that you’re going to fucking kill him, and that—in the end—you don’t want to. You don’t want to fight with Ben, you want to fall apart just a little in his arms, but you can’t. You have to fight with him now, so you can crumble into him later and only think about how warm he is. About how much, even in the wrath eating at your muscle and heart, you love him.

You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t. You’d just stomp upstairs when the apartment door closed behind you. Instead, you whirl around, and slam your fists into his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ben doesn’t stumble, glowering down at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses, the words pushed through his teeth. “If you seriously fucking think I’m going to put you in any goddamn danger for something so fucking stupid?”

You scoff. “You’re not putting me in danger, I’m telling you that I’m going, and there’s not a single fucking thing you can do about it.”

“The fuck there isn’t. Christ,” Ben growls your name, holding your glare. “What if it is a goddamn trap? What if Homelander’s waiting for you?”

“I know the risks, Benjamin, and that’s why I’m going. I’m not letting you do this alone-“

“I can fucking take care of myself for an afternoon, you’re not going-“

“You would never let me do this alone-”

“I told you, that’s different-“

“It’s not!” You scream, shoving at his chest again. It’s futile, he’s built like a fucking mountain, and when he catches your hands you almost sob. You don’t want to fight, and you can feel that rabid ache in him, making everything so focused and loud, making something blister in your chest. “Why are you being such a dick about this?!”

“Because I can’t fucking lose you again!” Ben’s roar cuts through your ribs, and suddenly the sore feeling is unbearable. It’s not just eating him, it's spreading through him and taking root like a mold. “It fucking killed me, I failed you and it fucking broke you. I’m never fucking failing you again-“

“You didn’t lose me-“

He doesn’t hear the softening of your voice, and you’ve only felt him like this once. With everything in him wrathful, but inverted to tear apart his guts and nerves. Beating him until everything is his body is in a horrible, sunken agony. His face looks just like it had the first time as well—clouded and heavy, every feature looking like it’s uncertain of how to express the pain you can feel within him—but you can’t lean forwards and take his face in your hands like you had at the Believe Expo. You can only let Ben’s hands hold yours, grip tight but his strength controlled, his thumb running over your knuckles in a way that you’re not sure he’s fully aware of. Like it’s an instinct for him, pushing through the haze of his wrath.

“I did fucking lose you! It doesn’t matter how forgiving you are, I didn’t fucking protect you and you got hurt! Homelander fucking hurt you, because I failed you, and I’m never letting that happen again!”

“Ben-“

“I’ll never lock you up, I’ll fucking throwing myself in front of a goddamn bomb before I do that shit to you, but you’re not allowed to be in danger. And this is fucking dangerous-“

“Ben-“

“I’m never losing you again, I’m never failing you again, and there’s not a goddamn chance in hell I’m letting you get hurt again-“

“Benjamin!” You raise your voice, and heat your hands just enough to make his skin raw, to get his attention. “I’m okay, I’m really okay. Homelander wasn’t your fault-“

“It was,” he’s not shouting anymore. It’s worse, to hear the hopelessness in his voice, and the mold is spreading further and further, over his bones and into his muscles. “I fucking failed you-“

“You didn’t fail me,” you whisper. “You couldn’t fail me. You won’t always be able to protect me-“

“Not if I have a goddamn say-“

“You don’t.” You give him a sad smile, slowly moving your hands out of his grip, up to cup his face. “Our lives are really dangerous, and that’s just the way it is right now. And you won’t always be there to protect me, because there will be things we can’t handle together. But we can do this one together, and if it goes south, I’ll come back. I’ll burn the whole fucking world to get back to you, if I need to.” You run a hand over his beard, feeling the wrath fade, leaving only the ache. “And you’ll be waiting.”

“Of course I’ll fucking wait.” His voice is low, hoarse, and sad. It’s so sad, rotting inside of him and making your heart turn in your chest. “I’ll always wait, I fucking love you-“

“And that’s enough,” you tug him a little closer, keeping his eyes on yours. “It’s more than enough that you love me, and that you’ll wait. I literally live in you, Ben. You’re the safest place in the world to me, and I’ll always come back. But I need you to let me do this with you. To trust that I can take care of myself.”

“I trust you,” he mutters, hands moving up to hold your wrists. “But I can’t fucking help you. I need to fucking help you, to make sure you’re safe-“

You tug his head down, pressing your foreheads together. “I’m safe. If you’re staying here, I’m safe.”

He lets out a ragged breath, but doesn’t keep pushing.

“You’re hurting yourself.” You say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Narrowed on yours, so fucking sad. “You’re really hurting yourself, Ben.”

“I’m fine, I’m not a fucking pussy, this shit isn’t about me-“

“You’re not a pussy,” you trace a hand over his cheekbones, down to the line of his jaw, and he stills. Watching you with wide, reverent eyes as the mold starts to melt, burning away as a pious warmth blooms from his skull, down his spine. “But you’re still allowed to be in pain.”

“I’m fucking invulnerable-“

“Emotional pain, Ben.”

“I’m fine-“

You give him a flat look, and he rolls his eyes, voice still heavy and tired.

“It’s not the fucking same.”

“Because I’m a woman.” You raise your brows at him, and he scowls. 

“No, because you have an actual goddamn reason to be in pain. You-“ 

“I know what happened to me,” you sigh. “And I know you, Ben. You didn’t fail me, but no matter how much I tell you that you’re never going to not blame yourself for what happened.”

“Who fucking cares, I’m more than goddamn capable of feeling a little fucking sad and pushing through it-“

“It’s killing you. I can feel it. Right,” You point to his chest, where the mold has almost overtaken his lungs and heart in a suffocating, lead-like feeling. “There. And I care. I love you, and I hate that you’re doing this to yourself. It’s hurting me.” You swallow the lump in your throat, running your hands through Ben’s hair as the warmth starts to ache as well. It’s a better ache, like rain or sparks landing on bare skin, but it’s being pushed around inside him, as if his body doesn’t know what to do with it. Like it’s been thawed out and is unsure what it’s supposed to do within him. “Even when you’re being an ass, I still love you. And I don’t want you to kill yourself to protect me, Ben. I just want you.” 

His head falls to your shoulder, arms wrapping around your body and pulling you half off of the ground, and the ache washes over your body like a wave.

Ben’s first sob is choked, against your skin and strained. His whole body tenses, the ache tightening around your lungs, and you think he expects you to push him away. 

It’s okay, you hold him against you carefully, gently, and start to hum. You’re not sure it will help Ben, but he always does it for you, so you hum and run your fingers through his hair, letting a hazy, rainbow light fill the room, a warm breeze drifting around the apartment. Everything smells like flowers and honey and chocolate, and Ben’s relaxing against you, so you keep going. It’s okay, Ben. We’re okay.

It’s the same sound again. Pushing itself out of him, muffled in your neck as he tugs you closer, and you let him. You keep humming, let Ben hold you as tight as he needs to, and stay.

You’re not leaving. Nothing can take you away, and you know Ben realizes that when the wave turns into a storm. Crashing from Ben into you, all that aching, caring warmth. He almost falls forward, and his sobs are desperate as he shakes against your body. There’s an occasional, strangled roar, but it’s mostly just tears. Wet against your skin as Ben folds further down over you, like maybe he can pull you into him and keep you safe like that. 

It takes slow, careful steps, but you guide him across the room and onto the couch without ever disturbing him. When you lower your bodies down—Ben’s head now buried in your sternum, half slumping onto and half on his knees—his arms drop to your waist, and he screams. It’s loud, echoing through the room and racking his whole body as he chokes on his tears.

I can’t fucking lose you. He’s still crying, his voice barely a croak in your head. Not again. Not when I could’ve fucking done something to stop it-

You couldn’t have done anything- 

I’m supposed to fucking protect you. Ben’s hold on your body is almost bruising, but you don’t flinch. Nothing he does will ever hurt you, not really. Not permanently. I promised you I’d fucking protect you- 

I don’t need you to protect me, Ben. You sigh, half-petting his head as the tears start to slow, and the storm begins to pass. I just need you. 

You fucking trusted me. You shouldn’t fucking trust me, you shouldn’t keep forgiving me, you shouldn’t love me, I goddamn failed you- 

You didn’t fail me. And I don’t love you because you protect me. 

Ben looks up, and your humming falters. His eyes are red, and his expression is slack, and tired, and sad. Just so, so fucking sad, even as the warmth starts to spread once more. Why. 

You understand what he wants. His love for you is almost cowering in your chest, and for once you know exactly how to feed it. I love you because you’re safe, Ben. Not because you keep me safe, but because you’re safe. I trust you because you don’t lie to me, and you don’t treat me like I’m a problem, and you stay. I’m not easy either, but you stay. You put up with how intense and reckless I can be with myself, and you never stop pushing against my worst decisions with my own life, and you make me feel important. You make me feel valued and heard and cared for in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Even when I didn’t think you loved me, I knew you cared. You always care, and you always stay, and I love you. I’ll alway crawl back to you because I know you’ll pick me up and take care of me, and I won’t be afraid because you’re there. And everything is better when you’re there.

The tears are gone, and his voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, brushing hair away from his brow. “I love you, Benjamin. And I’m not mad.”

He huffs a dry laugh, resting his head onto your stomach as the tension starts to leave his body. “Of course you fucking aren’t,” he mumbles into you. “You should be.”

You smile down at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Ben chuckles, and even though it’s still low and gruff, it’s warm. “Couldn’t if I damn tried. You’re a piece of fucking work, Sunshine,” one of his hands find its way to yours, squeezing it once. “You’re fucking perfect.”

I love you.

Ben smiles against you, and all his care and affection hums in your body. I love you too, darling.

Your heart flutters a little bit, and you decide that, as long as Ben wants to stay molded against you—his chest rising and falling with ease, every part of him only love—you’re going to let him. He’d been right, you probably should be mad at him, but you’re not. He’d apologized. He wouldn’t do that if he hadn’t understood, because Ben didn’t do things he didn’t mean. And he was trying. He was always trying. And you can’t blame him for the fight, because you'd be lying if you said you’d be any better—if Ben went back to sleep, you hadn’t been there to stop it, and all you could do was wait for him to wake up—and it wasn’t like either of you were winning any emotionally stable and well-adjusted awards. All that really matters is he’s here, and he’s trying. You’re both always trying. Loving each other and losing your mind and burning together and trying.

Ben’s love is alive and content in your chest, easy and warm as you hold him, and it’s still so holy. It feels inevitable, loving each other. Not like soulmates, but something bigger. Something that’s made of more teeth and blood, and had been feral and lonely for so long, wanting for something it didn’t know was missing. A deep craving that had been there so long it felt natural, and you'd both learned how to live with it stuck in your bodies, and didn’t really want or need it to be satisfied. 

You’re satisfied now. Both you and Ben have melded yourselves together, against every single odd and force trying to pull you away. And you did it. Nothing made this happen, you love Ben because of him, because of you, and because you don’t want to ever be wanting again.

And when you look at Ben, his face still buried in your stomach, chest rising and falling in a steady pattern, big hands rubbing circles on your skin, you know you won’t be.

Ben is here. He’s safe, he’s everything, and you love him, and you’re never going to be craving for anything again.

End Note: I know it’s far too late to turn back now, but I hope all the OCs and reader lore doesn’t throw you guys off. It’s hard not to do, just for this story, but let me know if it’s hard to track and/or read.

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli

[autisticlancemcclain]

thank u @zenstrike for the tag <333333333 i see ur mic and i'm elated about it

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

185! but i haven't updated in like a week and a half so we're probably closer to 190

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

556,104. i am very excited to watch it jump up when i finally finish my longfic teehee

3. what fandoms do you write for?

literally just voltron lol. well not counting baby me's wattpad lol. i started writing almost two years ago and just went ham basically. i've been intentionally avoiding things that i know i will get hyperfixated on bc i don't want to stop my writing obsession lol

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

ooooou i'm excited to check. i know it's changed quite a bit over time. i usually sort them by hits!

i will grind you to sand (beneath my louboutin heels) [voltron, 2573 words]: bamf lance fic where i give him a revolver and let him go ham basically

mr. snuggles [voltron, 1656 words]: one of my very earliest fics! lance, lover of weirdo animals, finds a demonic cat-sized spider and adopts it despite his friend's freakouts

he might not look like he gets bitches (but honey that dick was eleven inches) [voltron, 1136 words]: this one is so dorky lol but it's just secret relationship klance coming to light in the most embarrassing possible way

does anyone know where the love of god goes (when the waves turn the minutes to hours) [voltron, 4283]: a canon divergence au where lance is a seer and convinces the skeptics on his team of his abilities by ending the war

this is the part of me that you're never gonna ever get away) [voltron, 3262 words]: a lance & shiro hurt/comfort with a small autistic lance character study! i'm very proud of this one

5. do you respond to comments?

i definitely do on tumblr! it's one of the first things i do when i wake up actually. on ao3, though...i'm pretty sure i have about eight hundred unanswered comments sitting in my inbox 💀 it's an ongoing issue

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i'm almost sure it's this post-game show lance leaving fic, because i got comments and asks for weeks begging me to write a happy ending lol. but this fic from the hana universe, from when keith is little and shiro is fighting for custody and they haven't figured things out yet. that one is sad. this dream pov adashi fic is also sad and has no happy ending bc, you know. shiro is in space and adam thinks he's dead and everything. my loneliest series is also still in progress and as such there is no happy ending. and this is my earliest angsty-ending fic with MCD

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh god pretty much everything i write has a happy ending?? if i’m being serious?? frankly i don’t do a lot of linear plot. i just write Scenes that are vaguely connected. BUT my h2o fic had a plot that ended happily, as did my cowboy fic, but truly i’m more of a slice of life kinda gal. all my active wips are plot-driven, though, and i plan for all of them to end happily.

8. do you get hate on fics?

oh god yeah. i get it on brown eyed lance, autistic lance, adhd keith, allura just in general (are you sensing a pattern), my refusal to use readmores, and lately just some demands for me to write differently/more?? most of it is just funny so i post it to goof on it lol, but some of it i just delete and pout about until i forget about it 💀

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

yes and it’s nasty and i will literally never ever post it. although i guess i’ve written some softer stuff that’s more allusion than anything, like in my loneliest series.

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not anymore, but i did when i was a kid?? i think i wrote a pjo/hoo/divergent/the mortal instruments/homestuck/a bunch of other shit fic when i was 13. i’ve successfully blocked that era out of my mind tho so i’m not sure. i do a lot of insane aus, tho. i wrote a fic based off a country song written in the sixties. so.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

i’ve had people write continuations of my wips?? which i didn’t rly like. i just ignored it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

someone has asked me about translating a fic before! haven’t heard anything since tho.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have tried. i’m not very good at it. i have very Specific ideas about things and can be very controlling, so it’s honestly better that i don’t lol.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

klance, easy. been in the trenches of this goddamn fandom since i was 13 years of age. it’s been a Journey.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

god, the butterfly effect. i get people asking me to update all the time and i genuinely feel bad, because i have absolutely no ideas or plans for it. i might try to come up with an ending of some kind?? but i wrote that like two years ago, so i have changed a LOT about my writing since then.

16. what are your writing strengths?

dialogue and humour, i think. and sometimes writing lack of emotional communication (if that makes sense — i like to try and write around an emotion).

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i over explain a lot. and i overuse dialog ur tags sometimes. i have a Very Specific scene playing out in my head and i want everyone else to see it like i’m seeing it, which is my downfall a lot. i’ve been trying to work on implicit stage directions.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i think sometimes it’s necessary? it can be a good tool for humour, like with cussing that can’t be achieved in english. but while i understand and read several languages i have always always struggled to speak or write in them. it’s very frustrating so i often avoid the subject entirely lol.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

i’ve been writing fanfic in my head since before i knew what it was, but i started typing things at around 11 when i used to homestuck roleplay with my friends lol. messy messy times.

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

oh i am my own target audience. i have several.

i need a man (who’s patient and kind): keith-centric post canon (divergence) fic where lance takes him to his family and keith is good with kids and just keith being loved is the whole point. always.

what if i lose it all: an alternate universe where lance, as a baby, loses both his parents, and then is raised by his oldest siblings. in luis’ pov.

when does a ripple become a tidal wave (when does the reason become the flame): brogane fight & angst canon divergence post season 6; covering shiro’s guilt complex and keith’s unwavering loyalty

he’s into superstitions (black cats and voodoo dolls): halloween verse with witch lance and vampire keith! i have barely spoken about this au on here but rest assured i’m thinking about it all the fucking time

the applebee’s universe: modern au with young keith and lance learning how to love each other

ceilings (plaster): non-linear dream-like fic that’s just so trippy and strange i’m obsessed with it

if the sky comes falling down (for you) there’s nothing in this world i wouldn’t do: a keith character study about how the biggest bleeding heart in the universe loves

the hana universe: brogane-centric universe as their family starts rocky and grows

thank u again for the tag zen <33 open offer for anyone else who would like to hop on!!

[flos-ficblog]

flo's masterlist of fics

• Descendants

[W.I.P]

- Descendants: Rise of Red, Rewritten

rewriting the whole movie, glassheart endgame.

[FINISHED]

- "i love you with my body, soul and heart to death."

It's really sad, tw: suicide attempt and selfharm, also includes my three oc's- Astrid, Ashar and AQ. It's CharmingHatterHearts (Chloe x Red x AQ)

- these are the words i held back (I was enchanted to meet you)

glassheart, really cute, basically pure fluff and it's a getting together fic

● Carmen Sandiego

[W.I.P]

- The Story of My Life (i take him home)

florian lafayette-meadows' backstory

- fool me once, fool me twice...

carulia/chasejules au

- Take Me Back To The Night We Met

carulia post-canon meetup, includes my "the devil wears prada" oc and slightly mlb crossover au?

- i wanna walk with you (in the low light)

florence meadowes' backstory

[FINISHED]

N/A

● Encanto

[W.I.P]

- maybe the friends are the enemies we made along the way

Isabela Madrigal x f!oc enemies to lovers, señorita perfecta vs the town sweetheart (the oc was mentioned in the Trauma Chronicles series)

[FINISHED]

- Take Me To The Lakes Where All The Musicians Went To Die (Trauma Chronicles)

post casita falling down, slightly runaway mirabel au? twin sisters mirabel and marabela (oc)

- And Those Encanto Peaks Look Like A Perfect Place To Cry (Trauma Chronicles)

the next day after mirabel disappears but no-one can find her. marabela and carlos confront abuela

- What Should Be Over Burrowed Under My Skin (Trauma Chronicles)

the family makes up, pure fluff continues.

● The Devil Wears Prada

[W.I.P]

N/A

[FINISHED]

- and everyday you surprise me more (why does it always have to be straight women I adore?)

what if Andy 'accidentally' impressed Miranda? canon divergence au, mirandy

● Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Catnoir

[W.I.P]

- The Masquerade Ball

chloenette, inspired by another fic. not gonna post this one cos of copyright 🫤

- Well, this is Miraculous

also chloenette, chloe's redemption basically

- Zoe Sings a Song

part 4 of Karaoke Confessions, might finish this... might not. we'll see. The entire series is shit since a beginners thing and rushed asf and I don't have time for rewrites

[FINISHED]

- The Story of Us (Adrien's a Swiftie?!) (Karaoke Confessions)

chloenette, chloe redemption, basically me forcing my love for taylor swift on these oblivious fools (plot holes on plot holes tho)

- The Way I Loved You (Marinette doesn't have a crush on Adrien?!) (Karaoke Confessions)

part 2 of Karole Confessions, clears someeee stuff up

- Uh oh... I'm falling in love. (Karaoke Confessions)

rushed a bit, the whole entire of KC is shit but read if you want- pretty sure chloenette kiss in this one

● Supergirl

[W.I.P]

- Lena Luthor: Boarding School Stories

basically an au if Netflix did a series on Lena's boarding school life, live action, kindddd of x fem oc? idk it was supposed to be this big ass fic but I forgot abt it

- might share a face and a last name (but we are not the same)

Luthor family angst, kara/supergirl being a good girlfriend

- I can't be your midnight love

Lena and Kara had a fight, supergirl came over and helped Lena. this one's basically finished but I forgot abt it so imma post it soon

[FINISHED]

- i didn't mean to say 'i love you' (i love you, but i don't want to)

supercorp angst, pretty shit like the rest of the fanfics cos it's one of the first ones I've ever written

[firstprince-ao3feed]

Taste Of A Future

Taste Of A Future https://ift.tt/T2u45on by ItsMayBiTheWay “Hold on.” he instructs Nora, covering the speakerphone. And his jaw practically hits the floor when he realizes it is Prince Henry wadding into the kitchen, hair all mussed from possibly tossing and turning, mouth open, yawning. Upon realizing Alex’s presence, Henry’s stance straightens as an arrow, his chin jutting out a little, but even all these tiny pretentious precautions can not hide the bleariness of his eyes. “Sorry. Er, I was just. Cornettos.” he says gesturing to the fridge. Alex expects Henry to take the ice cream cones and leave but Henry looks at him, opens his mouth to say something and a horrible scream is heard, everything goes blurry, Alex can not tell up from down and all of a sudden it all goes black. “Alex.” “Alex?” OR What would happen if Alex got sick the first time he went to the Kensington after Cakegate? Words: 7021, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 1 of RWRB What-If's Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz, Nora Holleran, Percy "Pez" Okonjo, David the Beagle (Red White & Royal Blue) Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: the last two have cameos, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But also, Canon Compliant, Sickfic, Sick Alex Claremont-Diaz, what if, Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz, Gay Disaster Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, but - Freeform, Light Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, but more like, Enemies to Lovers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Italics, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Alex gets his shit together fairly fast, bisexual crisis still happens tho via AO3 works tagged 'Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor' https://ift.tt/10zq5s6 December 13, 2023 at 11:16AM

[lxvxwritings]

Chapter 2: The decision

Pairing: levi x reader

Word count: 2240

Series: Them - Chapter 2: The decision

Themes: afab!reader, canon verse, maybe slightly canon divergence, y/n but not always, nonbinary Hange Zoë, canon-typical violence, enemies to lovers, slow burn

Tw in series: violence, dirty talk, sex in general, vaginal fingering, martubation, I might add more in the future

Tw in this chapter: none

“I wish I had the courage to talk to you.” It was a corny thing to say, to be honest… You sighed looking at the picture some guy drew for you. You didn’t even remember him. Maybe he was dead already, you didn’t care that much. The time you passed in this city was a fever dream. Everything was scary and you didn’t want to die there, but you were feeling alone and the loneliness could make you do absurd things. You blended well, almost looked homeless and that was a bonus, no one looked at you except that little girl that was always smiling. Actually, you missed these days. 

You were scared, almost shitting your pants. You didn’t expect this place to be like this. Homeless people in every corner, people limping, fights and filth. You’ve never seen such a dirty place. 

Slowly but never stopping, you walked through the streets, never looking at anyone with your hoodie on. You were hundred per cent aware of your surroundings, otherwise you could probably die right there. 

“Stop!”

You didn’t stop. A man was running towards you, you moved aside and he passed by you, not even looking at your direction. After that man, another 2 passed by you running like hell. Again, you didn’t care. You had a mission and that was staying alive for at least 30 more minutes. Time was running by and you could get discovered by whoever lived there. Luckily for you, you didn’t look that good. 

Looking at your front you saw a staircase leading to a group of houses. They didn’t look that bad, you thought. Everyone warned the others that this place was a shittyhole filled with rats and with people that shouldn’t have any rights. That was too harsh, the people who lived there didn’t deserve this treatment. They didn’t choose to live there and have this life. However, most of the time there were, indeed, scum. You tried to set aside those thoughts and climbed the stairs. 

It seemed like nobody lived there. If they were inside they didn’t make any noise. At your left there was a door with a little window further away from you. At your right there was another door, you assumed it was another house. You knew you couldn’t stay there any longer because it wasn’t safe. With your hoodie still on, you climbed onto the wall next to you trying to reach higher. When you got there, you sighed. You had a vision of the whole city, almost at least. It was dark but some parts were illuminated with a warm light. People living there surely didn’t give a fuck if it was daytime or nighttime you supposed. The air was trapped there, it was stuffy and warm. You didn’t think you could get used to it. A little voice took you out of your thoughts. It was sweet but cheeky, in a good way. 

“I can’t believe we got him, aniki!”

Your lips curved into a little smile. That was sweet. 

“Ah, Isabel don’t make a fuss here, you know it.” Said a tall blonde guy with a happy voice. At least he looked tall in comparison. 

“Brat.” Said another guy. The word came out as harsh but with affection. He was way smaller than the other guy, that’s for sure. Short, dark hair with a handkerchief cleaning a little knife. You hid a little more and observed them. They climbed up the stairs and headed to their house, you supposed, the left one. 

You left the picture in your bed and headed towards your closet. You picked a jacket, your ODM gear and went to the little forest. 

It was better when you climbed up the wall, if they saw you (you thought it was impossible) it was as if they were looking at someone in the Garrison Regiment, sometimes they also wandered the walls at night. 

At the top of Wall Rose, you started to walk in the direction you were supposed to be heading tonight. The question that Captain Levi asked you yesterday resonated in your mind just a little bit. Were you supposed to say no? This little freak will come get you, you were sure of it. Probably the same as Commander Erwin Smith did with him. Ts, what a weird guy he was. 

The moon was shining and you could see the titans wandering on the other side, the side they stole from all of you. They looked brainless and funny. You didn’t know if it was good or not, but you didn’t fear them. 

“Ah, shit.” You tripped with the railways, luckily enough no one saw you and you didn’t fall. Lucky girl you were. Leaving this little incident aside, you drilled the grapples at the wall and started to descend. When you were on the ground, you walked for less than 5 minutes until you saw your little space again. You needed to admire it, because you would need to say goodbye to it for a while. The trees were tall and the lake seemed even more appealing than other nights. You sighed and again, someone interrupted you, like yesterday. 

“You didn’t leave much of a choice, did you?”

He kept still without taking his eyes off you. Not a single muscle moved. “You could choose not to join us.” And with this brilliant sentence he approached a little. 

“Well, not much of a choice.” You said without emotion in your voice. You didn’t want to stay your whole life inside the walls like a caged bird, therefore what other choice could have you made when he took your freedom like it was nothing? Did he feel this way when he joined the Scouts? You didn’t care that much. 

“I cannot say you made the right choice.”

“I know, no one can, can we?” You turned around to face him. Your face was emotionless, and if someone needed to make a say in it, maybe they could see a little bit of pain and anger.

Captain Levi was emotionless as well, as always. This was another mission he needed to complete. You stared at each other for a minute until he finally broke the silence. “Let’s go, then. Now, don’t regret the choice you’ve made.” You laughed a little, not because it was fun, but because who did he think he was? You let it slide because saying whatever was in your mind would make the matter worse. You resigned and started to follow him. 

—

The headquarters you guessed could be near Wall Maria for an easy escape. Luckily for you, they were. However, you needed to climb up the wall again to enter Karanes District. Wait, was it really Karanes? Whatever it was, you didn’t pay attention to it because it was not important. The old headquarters were in Wall Maria, but for obvious reasons they were compelled to move them. This one also was an old one, a big castle that was in the middle of another forest with nothing around, just trees. 

Captain Levi was ahead of you, guiding. He didn’t look back to see if you were following him, you stared at his back with a grim face, but you kept following him until you arrived at the entrance. 

The castle was kind of massive actually, ancient but it had its charm. You couldn’t complain. You could pretend you were a princess trapped in there, or a Victorian person that died there and wanted to avenge their death by hunting the castle at night. 

“Before entering, there are strict rules here.” Said Captain Levi with, again, no emotion. “Everything must be clean. Make time in your day for deep cleaning.”

What the fuck is this? So is he still a clean freak? This was going to be worse than expected. 

“Timetables are followed very strictly.” Great, jail it is. “For now, clean your shoes and then enter.”

You stared at him again with a grim face and then did what he told you. This was your decision after all, you needed to be obedient, you didn’t like it but… if it weren’t the consequences to your actions… After cleaning your shoes, you entered the castle, or the headquarters, and stayed in the entrance. Captain Levi was walking rather fast, you followed him like before. Actually, it was all pretty clean, and you assumed they didn’t hire cleaning staff, so… yeah, you would need to clean every day for the rest of your stay. It could be worse, right? 

If it wasn’t for the moon, it would be pitched black outside. Inside, they were torches in the wall, if they weren’t there it would be really scary, that’s for sure. The corridor was long and you didn’t know where you were heading. Could it be with Commander Erwin Smith? 

Captain Levi stopped in front of a big wooden door. He knocked twice and before entering he looked at you and said “stay here.” You did what you were told and observed how Captain Levi entered. Before he could close the door, you could peek a little inside. The room was considerable, to say an adjective. It was not an office, you thought. In the middle it was a huge table with chairs around it. Two people were talking and then you couldn’t see anymore because he closed the door. 

You stared at the door for a moment before looking around again. It was built on bricks but they were not an ugly colour. The torches really light up the place. The sound of the opening door scared you a little.

The door opened and you heard Levi’s voice telling you to enter. You obliged and entered the room. The room was well illuminated actually, better than the hallway. Commander Erwin Smith and Section Commander Hange Zoë. You had observed them from very close, fortunately without them knowing. As always, Section Commander had a smile in their face and Commander Erwin looked neutral. 

“Hello, y/n. Please, take a seat.” He was always so formal. You approached the table and sat in the nearest chair, in front of Commander Erwin. Section Commander Hange was on his side doing something, you didn’t know what it was. Captain Levi was behind the Commander, leaning against the wall with one leg against the wall and his arms crossed. He was looking at the ground. 

“I hope your way here was pleasant enough.” Erwin said with a smile on his face. You pursued your lips, because it was not bad at all but it wasn’t by all means pleasant. The Commander continued with his speech. “I want you to understand why we had to make this decision…” He continued telling you all about the government, everything Levi said but with much more kindness and with more detail. You did understand, however that was not your problem, but Captain Levi was crazy, you didn’t want to end up with mutilated hands or something like that. 

"What do you know about titans?" Section Commander Hange asked you, interrupting whatever Commander Erwin Smith was telling you. 

"Hange, don't start." Levi said with a little annoyance in his voice. "We don't have time for that." 

"Actually, I would love it if you could tell me everything you know about them." you said ignoring what Captain Levi just told them. 

Section Commander Hange’s face lit up in a way you thought was impossible. “Will you let me tell you everything I know about them? We’re going to have so much fun!” They said very loudly. 

“Next time, you should just shut up.” Said Captain Levi, “you don’t know what you have done.”

“Aw common Levi, she’s going to learn so much!” Section Commander Hange said in general with a gleam in their eyes. 

“Hange, please. I’ll let you explain everything to her in a minute.” Commander Erwin Smith said to Section Commander Hange, and after that he continued with his monologue. 

—

The moon was shining through your window. You have seen the moon shine uncountable times, but this time it seemed different, you didn’t know why though. This was a good time to reminisce, but you wanted to get out of your room, you were alone now but you always preferred to be outside. So, opening the window you took your head out of it and looked up. Maybe you could get out and climb with the pipes to the roof. Very carefully, without making any noise you put your right leg in the window sill and jumped, catching yourself before you fell. Now, standing in the sill, you climbed up the pipes towards the roof. 

Once up there you were trying to be very still, because you didn't want the others to hear you, and you obviously didn’t want Captain Levi to catch you. You saw a spot that wasn’t illuminated by the moon and sat down admiring the night sky. The breeze was not that cold, that was good. Something about doing that was calming, you could stay like this all night, just observing the calmness of the moment. You appreciated that because in the past, that was unconceivable, you observed but you had to be wary of your surroundings at every second if you didn’t want someone to stab you or kill you directly. The underground was a dark place… 

You heard footsteps and you immediately got your guard up again.

Previous chapter // Next chapter // Masterlist

[jeezidontknow28]

Y’all I need help I have this great book idea and I want to start writing but I’m defo not a writer so I’m looking for ideas😭

This is what I’ve got so far:

Dystopian

In the future (a future very far away, that was so precise (ironic) and maybe not even English, I should really pick a precise date I’m thinking in like a couple thousand years maybe so like 5035 but since new humans don’t know (except for some) about our existence they’re in like year 300-evolution was a lot quicker for them for some reason the earth is still mostly not populated they went everywhere but they decided to regroup the population)

BIG GOVERNMENT (like a lot of people-a big group of assholes)

Humans are gone (us) and nature took over but new humans (not us) are born again (once again such correct grammar lmao English is not my first language)

Might make the new humans a little different idk yet (no super powers though but physically and it has to stay believable)

Shit government (goes with dystopian)

I’m not sure what the government does yet I need to think this through but I think it’s gonna be they know what happened to the old humans (us) and they’re trying to prevent that from happening again but obviously they’re not doing it the right way cause it’s low key (completely) lying to the population and making weird ass experiments for some reason (once again obviously)

Maze runner/hunger games/divergent core

Romantic relationships

Different romantic tropes (friends to lovers/enemies to lovers/leader x leader/ (straight gay and bi)

The characters didn’t know each other (at least not all of them)

Big group, 6 or 7 (I feel like 7 is too much but idk if I like 6 and maybe 5 is not enough) main characters (boys and girls)

Maybe they’ll meet another group so I’ll make them a 5 person group at the beginning idk and then they meet and become allies maybe

Six of crows kinda bond not like in the dystopian series I named above not one main character

Found family trope

cool/badass female character get them out of trouble also baby sitter for grown men

kinda looks like a traitor but becomes an ally, emo kid, daddy issues, probably will get an enemies to lovers, son of the villain (Zuko/Nico di Angelo/regulus black)

hot and well built/sarcastic, dying for a character development

character you want to protect but also becomes more resourceful and clever as well as strong, gender is not defined yet

Father figure

grishaverse character inspo

Government leader/old man or woman that thinks that their way is the way

One that’s getting manipulated of course

Should be a trilogy like every good dystopian story

What the fuck does that government do exactly?

[catdemonkaid]

[Image description: the cover for the book Gearbreakers by Zoe Hana Mikuta, illustration of two punk-looking girls, one standing and with long wavy hair, the other crouching and with short hair. Both have backs turned to the viewer and are looking back over their shoulders. Behind them is the head of a giant mecha shrouded in mist and smoke.]

All right y'all I need to scream about this book for a second. I just binged it in less than 48 hours. That hasn't happened with a book since I discovered The Locked Tomb series.

The narrative style isn't my favorite (1st person present tense, alternating viewpoints) and it's a little slow to start (the internal dialogue of the protagonists rings a bit redundant for a bit until the action really picks up). And yet despite this, I give this book a solid 5/5 stars. Because. Holy fucking hell.

Think similar feel of the YA dystopian worldbuild of Hunger Games. (Maybe a bit of the Divergent series? Also those are really the only YA dystopia novels I even have passing familiarity with, so my pool of comparison is limited.)

But add anime style mech battles. And make it gay. And throw in a pinch of (kind of) enemies to lovers--absolutely my favorite trope. And I had no chance against this book.

Oh and for all it seems like a cheesy concept (i went into it like i would jump into a self-indulgent fanfic)... it's gonna rip your heart out. Guaranteed. Multiple times. Because it's a love story, but it's also a story about war and child soldiers and the innocent bystanders and survivors who get left behind.

It's the first book in a duology and ends with a horrendous cliffhanger so once I emotionally recover I'm reading the sequel ASAP. Because this book packed a punch deep into my psyche in the way only a really good story can.

Please support the author and buy this book.

And I am sincerely hoping the sequel does not make me rescind this review...

(Content warnings for: blood, some nasty descriptions of brutality, murder, torture (usually a deal-breaker for me in any form, but it was done... ok enough and balanced out enough with the good shit so I gave it a pass for this one), child soldiers, and all the messy stuff that comes with stories about children displaced by war.)

[jcs-singular-slut-strand]

Hardcover or paperback?

Paperback definitely. Don't get me wrong I have some absolutely beautiful hardback copies but right next to them I have their completely destroyed paperbacks. Majority of my most re-read books are nearly decimated

Bookshop or library?

I went completely mental like 4 years ago and bought millions of books that I still haven't read and will most likely not ever read, and I mainly just re read the same books I know that I really like. I don't really buy books that often or visit libraries often either, I have no need

Bookmark or receipt?

Dog ear, i dont give a fuck. It's fine, the book doesn't have feelings, and it's convenient. Nail me to a fucking cross

Stand alone or series?

I'm a big fan of quite a few book series but it's just that sometimes I'll find that one of the books in the middle really drags or it diverges off into a plot that doesn't really interest me, so therefore the whole series is a bit iffy afterwards. But with a stand alone you're either gonna blow me away and claim my first born child or I'm gonna burn my copy, I only have two reactions to books tbh

Non-fiction or fiction?

I'm really nosey but fiction is just easier to get into ykwim

Thriller or fantasy?

Fantasy 💗💗💗

Under or over 300 pages?

Lord of the rings my beloved 💗💗 mdzs 💗💗 asoiaf💗💗

Children's or YA?

CHILDREN'S 100% School For Good and Evil (the film was shit), The Faraway Tree, MARY POPPINS❤️❤️❤️

Friends to lovers or enemies to lovers?

Friends to lovers all the way

Read in bed or read on the sofa?

I used to read in bed a lot when I was wee but not anymore, and it doesn't feel good reading on the sofa so I read sitting at a desk chair on wheels 🫶

Read at night or read in the morning?

I'm a morning person but not in that way

Keep pristine or markup?

Highlight the characteristics and quotes that I think will be useful later on (looking at you Jin Ling in volume 2 and Jiang Cheng just in general)

Cracked spine or dogear?

Both, crack that shit open and bend it's pages, to be loved is to change motherfucker

tagged by @thearcaneuniversity (THANK YOU!)

hardcover or paperback? bookstore or library (i also love both and cannot choose i constantly go out on bookstore outings but borrow from the library monthly)? bookmark or receipt? stand alone or series? nonfiction or fiction? thriller or fantasy under 300 pages or over 300 pages? children's or ya? friends to lovers or enemies to lovers? read in bed or read on the couch? read at night or read in the morning? keep pristine or markup? cracked spine or dog ear? (book purists would hate me but I don't annotate everything, but when I do IT'S NOTICEABLE)

as always, under 0 pressure to do this (especially since I feel like I miss a bunch of tag games myself lol): @cyhaino @joanna-lannister @bruceewayne and @fandom-trash-goblin

[hhhecates]

Modern AU! Genshin College Boys HCs pt 2

# — pairings: kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, kazuha

# — summary: second part of our college headcanons, this time featuring kazuha (and some more quick doodles of this pretty boy at the end).  Here you can read part 1 and part 3 if you’d like.^^

# — warnings: none I think, just fluff, teasing cause kazuha is a menace, playful arguing, this came out so long I’m so sorry

# — tags: hc format, whole lot of fluff, strangers to rivals to friends to lovers kinda dynamic, college au, canon divergence

# — notes: And here we are to the next part of this series! I hope you’ll enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it. Next up is probably xiao, though if you’d like to see someone else, feel free to tell me^^

- he's a theater major with a knack for play-writing. If you thought of him as a creative writing major, you'd be partially right. He actually was double majoring in both, but he dropped creative writing because he's way too picky and whimsical with his works. He hates having to mold his writing to fit assignments criteria, even more so since while he's a very dutiful student, he also only ever writes when inspiration strikes. Kazuha knows he can't force himself to, otherwise he will never be satisfied with the product, and he's known to be a perfectionist to a degree, so that simply won't do. So now he just sticks to theater; - fun fact, his major started out as an inside joke of sorts, Tomo would always point out that Kazuha was a super dramatic person, with his impromptu lines of poetry threw here and there and his smooth and calm behavior even in the most frantic circumstances; - it peaked one day, Tomo was so done with his shit, he just went "Archons Kazuha, since when you're so much of a comedian?" raising an annoyed eyebrow at him. Kazuha just looked at him, a concoction of amusement and challenge brewing in the red of his eyes "Since now." he shrugged, clicking a few more keys on the keyboard of his laptop before looking back at Tomo with a self-satisfied smile and turning off his computer; - now, Tomo has known Kazuha only for a few years, but he knows, he knows how Kazuha can be way too well. It didn't help that they were just discussing their options for college a few minutes before; - "Kazuha, what did you do?" but Kazuha didn't answer, he merely glanced back at him with sympathetic eyes, you don't need his voice to add ‘wouldn't you like to know?’ because his gaze speaks loud enough; - if you think that's how Kazuha chose to take up theater in college, you'd be very right. Did he ever regret it? Not one bit. Kazuha is not known for his impulsivity. That, he could never be. He'd rather call it,,, spontaneousness (is it even a word?). Which he quite often indulges, but Kazuha also reckons that those kind of decisions always turn out to be the best ones he's ever taken. So you could say that he is pretty confident of his choice in theater. Looking back now, he never regretted it either, and he's actually quite grateful to that little ‘argument’ he had with Tomo and how it led to his situation now; - not that he'd ever admit it either if he didn't like it, Kazuha is (unexpectedly) petty like that, and he'd probably see it through even if he didn't like it. Out of spite to Tomo who would be just waiting for a "I told you so" moment (since Kazuha is usually the one who chides him)? Yes. - Kazuha is also a literature minor. In particular Japanese and German literature; - it used to be Japanese and French literature, cause he really loves the language, Kazuha thinks it sounds so elegant and suave. But he came to really dislike how pompous and over the top its literature can be. Doesn't help that he wholeheartedly despises Parnassianism, all that ‘l'art pour l'art’ bullshit. Kazuha hates poetry and art generally speaking whose purpose is just to look pretty and show off. Don't even get him started on la Préciosité, because Kazuha could write a whole theater play mocking it just for the hell of it. He actually thought of doing it, thinks of it as his own little revamp of 'Les Préciouses Ridicules' of Molière, he loves the dude. (This is literally canon since when Beidou asked him to perform poetry for the crew he said “only if the mood takes me, of course. Poetry for poetry's sake tends to lack meaning." and since then, mind full of Kazuha getting huffy at the mere mention of Parnasse and Wilde and such); - he now switched to German literature. He didn't think he would have liked the language as much, but he actually finds it really charming. Also German poetry is right up his alley: blunt and straight to the point, but with burning, strong metaphors and oh so prettily crafted lines. He finds law and order that give him balance but also a pawing sense of freedom and desire of understanding woven in it, something he deeply enjoys and that never fails to leave him all giddy and craving for more; - Kazuha is the kind of person that dresses in this super sophisticated light academia aesthetic. Soft neutral colours, and sometimes just a dash of a dignified red hue that could make him stand out in a crowd of thousands. Brown polished shoes always shining, big over-sized blazers he probably got in some thrift store (dragging you along with him), pretty flowy blouses and fluffy scarves that cocoon him and make him look even softer. His long hair unfailingly swept in a casual but somehow still orderly ponytail; - people look at him and they know that he is the embodiment of a humanities/literature student, like come on, he looks like he's straight out of one of those novels he loves so much; - Kazuha is legitimately everyone's crush at university, and how could you blame them? No matter that he's quite the introvert, he would still offer a polite smile and a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement to everyone on campus. He's always so polite and eager to help, lending a hand to the old librarian to sort out all the books in the literature section and so graciously offering to close up for her on the days she needs to get home early to take care of her nephews. Kazuha who stops every time he sees someone struggling to carry a heavy pile of books or bags, immediately sweeps in and carries them in their stead, his effortless kindness always managing to make him late to his own appointments, but who could be mad at him and his sheepish smile? - you. That's who. You refuse to fall for his tricks. Well- let's back track a little, shall we? You don't have anything against Kazuha, no no, absolutely not. Nope. Aside from the fact that half of your friends have an annoyingly obvious crush on him and basically give him heart eyes every time he sits in three rows of vicinity to where you're sitting during lectures. You and Kazuha share your German Lit class, and again, while being quite the introvert, Kazuha never wastes an opportunity to swoop right in and make his opinions everyone's problem known whenever the professor asks if someone would like to add something. And of course, local pretty boy has always something to say; - and today is no different. You usually don't mind too much, you actually enjoy an output that's not only your professor's, helps you see things in a different perspective and more often than not you find yourself nodding along as a bunch of students discuss about a poem or give their different interpretation of a particular metaphor and jottle down some notes for yourself. But it can become really frustrating when the sheer stubbornness of one student can stall the entire lecture until they have it their way. And of course the student in question is Kazuha. You nearly pull your hair put of your scalp as Kazuha refutes yet again one of your poor fellow classmates trying to defend the purpose of ‘die neue Sprache’ of German Symbolism in this one poem you're trying, keyword, trying to analyse;

- you're not the kind of student that brazenly takes the word to rebuke someone else, sure you have your own opinions, stand firmly behind them and would never back down if questioned, but you never felt the need to put yourself under the spotlight, expose your ideas on a silver platter for another say 100 students to turn their heads and listen to you and you only. But you also have really been looking forward to German Symbolism, one of your favourite authors was in program today, but Kazuha is still picking apart at the poem on hand, explaining in the most polite and reverent way how stupid it was for the author to write a poem about a belt buckle and compare it to words and languages (if you know this one poem, know that I love you); - so when your professor heavens a sigh and asks if there's someone else who would like to intervene (and try to shake Kazuha's unyielding opinion), you stand up from your seat, eager to wipe the expectant smirk on his face, and you start your own apologia. Two can play this game; - you end up going back and fort for the rest of the lecture, both of you refusing to back down, to give in to the other. Kazuha's known to be like that, sweet words turning sly and biting whenever he argues, though he would hardly refer to it as such, it's fun to him. And you can tell, it's fun to him to cradle words close to him and also to pry and break them open, to find a contradiction, hesitation in your thoughts. But you don't give him the satisfaction to. Kazuha is a little of the teacher's pet as well. It's not even his fault really, he's just so good that professors can't help but adore him. It's hard to come on par with someone like him. Honestly though, you just want to get your damn lecture over with, and if that's going to entail having to shut Kazuha up, then you'll gladly oblige; - after awhile, that one poem you started with, and whose name you've long forgotten, isn't even a point in your discussion at all, it's just an excuse, you know, hell, everyone knows it, because both of you are ignited in sheer competitiveness. It's a matter of pride and misery, of tattered words and unspoken stubbornness, like the entire class is your stage, for you to take, for the other students to behold, be your audience in this weird and brash dance. Heads are turning from one side to the other bemusedly, probably the students at the far back are snickering and betting on who's going to win this. Even your professor looks beyond amused. But you don't see it, don't see anything of it, you only see Kazuha, still standing from his seat across the room, in the firsts rows; - the sound of the bell, telltale of the end of the lesson, is the only thing that manages to stop you and Kazuha right in your tracks. You hold your breath, see him do the same as you throw one last glance at him before sitting back down and starting to pack up your stuff; - your little stunt isn't forgotten quite easily, next week you see some students exchanging knowing glances as they look at you taking a seat in German lit class. You're starting to regret your actions. Even more so when the professor announces a group project and purposely, because you know she did it on purpose, pairs you and Kazuha together. You groan and bang your head on the desk, so much for keeping a low profile and just following your classes; - on the bright side, the poet you are assigned is your absolute favourite. On the other hand, he's also the greatest symbolist poet in German literature, so you're going to have a field trip with Kazuha and his apparent dislike for Symbolism; - so when lecture is over, you don't waste your time trying to talk it out with Kazuha, and you bolt straight for the library, convinced on getting the project done by yourself; - it's exactly in the library that you meet him, while trying to balance three different volumes about the author of your project while reaching out for for another book of french poetry (that one just out of your own whim) on the highest shelf; - "There you are." you shriek and almost let the book fall straight on your head if it weren't for Kazuha's sharp reflexes. He swipes right in, gently takes the volume in his own hands, though when he turns it around and inspects the title, his brows furrow in obvious distaste; - he tuts disapprovingly, and you swear you're this close to let the other books fall on his feet and leave him there; - "Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse." that does get your attention, you quickly snatch the book right back, cradle it protectively against your chest, so much that Kazuha almost apologizes at the sight of you looking so fondly at a mere collection of words and paper. You could very much stomp away and never talk to him ever again, ask your professor to pair you up with someone else for this stupid project, or just notify her that you'd like to do it on your own altogether. You don't owe Kazuha anything, you could leave him there and he'd probably take the hint and don't bother you again. You could. But you don't. It's too easy, something in the back of your mind says. So you unexpectedly grab his wrist, soon receiving a questioning look from Kazuha himself, your eyes are harsh and challenging, a hint of annoyance that makes Kazuha's skin tingle, but your grip on him instead is gentle and unsure, asking for consent, he subconsciously nods his head at you, and you proceed to dragging him along to one of the tables of the library where he spots your backpack occupying one of the seats; - you don't even give him time to ask questions, and you don't question his apparent dislike for French literature either, as soon as he's sitting down, you slam open the poetry book like you know its contents by heart and present him with a poem by Pierre de Ronsard; - "Mignonne, allons voir si la rose..." he mumbles out half distracted, you can tell even in a few words, his accent is much more fluid than you anticipated, he might not like French literature, but you can tell that he at least gave it a chance, and that makes you respect him a little more; - "How quaint." he chuckles, and he doesn't say it outright, but you know what he means ‘how banal’, "Are roses your favourite flower? Is that why you like this poem so much?" his sonorous voice mocks. Ode structure, octosyllabes (typical for French poetry in that period), four verses of sixteen lines each. Metaphor of beauty through roses. Kazuha wrinkles his nose in distaste. He's seen too much of this, and pristine structures and empty pretty words just aren't his thing; - "No." you say, he looks back at you, one inquisitive brow raised "I quite dislike roses too. But when I read this poem, it makes me wonder if maybe they are my favourite flower after all." that does get his attention, he discards the book in favor for you instead, you almost shy away under his gaze, but you will yourself not to crumble. You don't answer him, again (Kazuha doesn't know if frustration or anticipation that takes over him). Instead, you present him with a new poem, one from the author you were assigned to for your project, and from the crease of his brows he probably already knows it. You try to take no offence in the way he's looking at you favourite poem of all times. 'Ich fürchte mich vor der menschen Wort', 'I am afraid of human words', admittedly, one of the poems Kazuha despites the most, to be expected really, given his affinity towards words themselves. Though he'd never admit that he never bothered reading the thing, the title was enough to keep him away. You don't ask him to read it, you just point at one of the lines in the middle of the whole poem. Kazuha wants to say there's no point in taking few words out of their pretty scheme and try to make sense of them, but he doesn't have the time to think, doesn't have the time to rebut. "Start from here. 'Ihr Garten und Gut grenzt grade an Gott.' " you recite verbatim without even looking at the page. 'You put your own 'God' to stand between 'garden' and 'good' '. Kazuha shivers, and he doesn't know if it's the desperation of your voice when you recite poetry to him, or the poetry itself, he only knows that he's suddenly afraid of the answer; - the project goes surprisingly very well from then, you'd dare say you made Kazuha change his mind from his previous stance on Symbolism, but the thought alone sounds quite preposterous. Really? Kazuha?; - after handing the final project in, you heave a breath of relief, thinking of finally going back to before Kazuha; - but you quickly find that there's no 'before Kazuha' no more. That boy simply won't leave you alone; - Kazuha who slips cheeky poetry lines in your textbooks that make your eyes widen and your cheeks heat up while he brazenly smiles at you from across the hall (how the hell did he even get access to your stuff, to this day this is still beyond you); - he gets you hooked on Japanese literature too, shows you all his favourites, recites Hokushi's haikus to you, Experimenting I hung the moon on various branches of the Pine. And he looks at you, like you are the one who hung the moon for him. Whispers to you dan 69 of the Ise Monogatari like it's you and him who share a tale of forbidden love. If you stare for too long you might just think that he's true; - Kazuha who takes you by the hand, ignoring your half-hearted protests, drags you through narrow streets, shows you the best sights, best bakeries (where he insists on buying you the pastries you have, not so secretly, been eyeing), still holding your hand as he ushers you in his favourite vintage shops, chuckling at the way your mouth gapes at the sight of so many antiques, excitedly brings you to the book section just to see your eyes sparkle at the sight of old french poetry books. He tugs on your fingers "Let's play a game, I'll buy a book that reminds me of you. You buy a book that reminds you of me, then we’ll gift it to each other." and before you can say anything, he has already disappeared behind the many shelves; - Kazuha who invites you at his dorm more often than not, whines and complains if you try to come up with excuses. He's always so much softer in the privacy of his own room, hair more often than not let down from his signature ponytail, he bleats and grumbles about how his scalp hurts from all the tugging. You card your fingers through his hair to offer him some relief, and he quickly melts into your touch, leaning heavily in your hands before completely dropping down you lap and nuzzling into you. He reminds you of the white cat his roommate Tomo is so fond of. He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly, hums when you gently scrape at his nape, his own way of silently telling you not to stop, that still doesn't help how hot your cheeks feel, but he doesn't need to know that; - it's while brushing his hair and tracing your fingers along the many piercings adorning his ears (a couple of low helix, one standard lobe piercing per ear, one of which occasionally sports a fun dangly earring that suits him way too well) that you find the tattoo sitting gracefully at the back of his neck, it's a simple maple leaf in soft hues that remind you of watercolours for the way they blend with his skin, you can't help the strangled noise that escapes your throat; - "You have a tattoo?!" you're not even guilty of the accusatory tone of your voice. Kazuha clicks his tongue, probably displeased of the fact that your fingers stopped their work on his scalp. He looks at you, one inch away from sleep. He's all slurry and cute when he's sleepy (you'd know from the ungodly amount of times he asked you to 'sleep over because it has gotten too late for you to be out') but sleepy Kazuha also happens to lose all his filters and thus be even cheekier than usual (you don't even know how that's possible to begin with); - he chuckles, deeper than his usual tone, his gaze is nothing but teasing as he looks up at you "I didn't know it was something that would find you so interested." you hand still rested in his hair, you give it a little tug for good measure as a response to his taunting, but your chiding action quickly backfires on you when Kazuha gasps breathlessly. Archons, he's going to kill you one day, one very close day if he keeps this up; - "It's just,,, something I didn't know about you." you shrug lamely, he fully laughs at that, you feel his trembling against you. "There are quite a few things that you don't know about me." he croons, hand coming to cup your chin, he had recently took up the habit to brush his thumb over your bottom lip, a gesture meant to pacify you, but really, again, he's going to kill you if he keeps this up; - "Like,,," you take a brief pause for a more dramatic effect "That you play the saxophone?" he looks at you, eyes wide in surprise, now it's your turn to laugh "You have a saxophone case in the corner of your room, and quite the stack of music sheets too. Though those seem to be written for piano." you muse, tapping your chin. The grin he offers you in response is nothing but proud at your keen observation "Good." he praises "I do in fact play both of those instruments. Though the music sheets are only for piano because I'm in a band and therefore tend to prioritize it."; - you let the information sit for awhile before speaking again. "Will you let me hear?" he hums appreciatively, turns his head to bury it in your stomach. "Do you want to?" you just nod at him, unable to conceal your excitement. He chuckles. It sounds like a promise.

Here’s some lil doodles for college kazuha^^ 

I got so carried away writing this-- I’m so sorry. I get like this when literature is involved. I miss taking French and German literature in high school so much ahh. Also excuse my lack of detailing when it came to Japanese literature, I’m quite rusty on that. 

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Unsung Heroes

AKA bookmarked fics that you think deserve more love.

I love this idea so much! Thank you @mostlymaudlin for getting this going!

We Used To Be Friends (AKA Mean-O-Ween) 7K, rated T, by @facewithoutheart

This fandom needs more friends to enemies to lovers and this fic is a great example of this trope done well. Simon and Baz used to be friends, but now in high school Simon hates Baz and the Plastics. Simon is crashing a Halloween party and is trying to get revenge on Baz once and for all. Yes, this is a Mean Girls AU, which supplies some hilarious quotes and references to the movie. But also, when the boys get to the reason for their falling out and where everything went wrong, this fic is going to punch you right in the feels. Truly a funny, sweet, sexy fic I highly recommend.

Center 7K, rated M, by @urban-sith (AKA doodleishere on AO3)

Friends to lovers!!!! Didn’t intend to do another, but this one is so good and sooo different in that this is a canon-divergent story in which Simon was raised by the Mage (who did horrible, fucked up shit to Simon while at Watford) and Baz saves him and then they end up being friends. This is all set up, the story takes place a few years later after the boys kiss one night and Simon has a proper freak out about what he deserves and what he should do about his feelings and their friendship. Y’all. This fic does a great job exploring Simon’s trauma and the tenderness between them as friends and navigating how to move forward after their kiss is so good. Plus it’s part of a series and the whole thing is just :chef’s kiss:

Brazen, 11K, rated M, by @whatevertheweather

Simon has a new hobby and thinks Baz will be a great muse. AKA the one where Simon is a serial killer and Baz is an assassin. This fic is so unhinged and so funny and sexy. (Yes, really!) There’s lots of flirty banter (and also some depraved violence but it’s so good). Go read it and give Elly more motivation to write the sequel <3

Tagging anyone above that hasn’t already played plus @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @moodandmist @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @johnwgrey and anyone else who sees this and wants to play ❤️

[burnt-avocado]

Empty Space 5

Empty Space - Chapter Five

summary: chief hopper investigates a call from the high school. mars and eleven reveal more of their story, and nancy is invited to a party. [4.3k]

series tags: canon divergence, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, memory loss, [REDACTED]

Chapter Four | Masterlist | Chapter Six

Jim

Jim Hopper needs a fucking cigarette. 

He’s tired and he’s goddamned tense. The search party for Will Byers had lasted all night, Jim leading the volunteers through the woods for nigh on eight hours straight until he’d called it off. There’d been no sign of the boy, and he’d have to go back to Joyce without her son.

Despite the woman’s insistence, Jim couldn’t see a route where he didn’t go after Lonnie. The shitstain hadn’t spoken to his children in over a year, moving to Indianapolis and fucking off to do God knows what, but the damned ninety-nine times out of a hundred.

Jim hopes more than anything that this is one of those times. For Will’s sake, for Joyce and Jonathan’s.

He moves a shaky hand to his breast pocket, where a half-empty pack of Marlboros should be. 

Should be.

There’s a distinct lack of them when he goes to pull them out. And Jim’s glad no one’s remotely close enough for him to throttle. 

Powell and Callahan are thirty feet off, taking a report from a dowdy old woman just outside the Hawkins high school. An office lady named Patt, who Flo had known since kindergarten. Jim had met her once or twice, just like everyone else in this town, but admittedly goes out of his way to make sure he doesn’t have to come by the schools. Not if he can’t help it.

But now he’s sitting here in the Hawkins high school parking lot, it’s six in the morning, and he’s out of goddamned cigarettes.

“Chief!” Powell yells from Callahan’s side, waving him over.

Jim’s jaw groans with the way he’s clenching it. His officers stare over at him in his Chevy. They don’t quit their looking even as he throws on his hat and slams closed his car door. He isn’t very gentle with either action.

“What’s goin’ on?” He calls out, stepping heavily toward the group.

“Oh, Hopper,” Patt, small next to the two men, looks expectantly toward Jim, “These two knuckleheads ain’t worth shit for help!”

Powell rolls his eyes from over her head and Callahan scratches at his temple with his pen.

“What’s this I heard about a break in?” Jim asks, now standing before the woman and settling his hands on his hips. 

Her energy is apparent, with the way her tiny, old frame jitters and how the moist corners of her lips wobble. “Yes, sir. Front office tore up nice and good!”

Behind her is what was once a glass door, now shattered and blinds fluttering in the cold morning breeze.

Callahan gestures to the inside with his notepad, “Hadn’t gotten too good a look at it, Chief, but we figured it’s just—”

“It ain’t just kids, officer!” Patt cuts in, with a grandmotherly scold and a pointed finger. “If you’d listen to me, you’d know the youth ain’t interested in what I got.”

Jim reaches out a calming palm. “Now, don’t worry about these guys, eh, Patt? You and I are talking now. Run me through what you’ve seen.”

“I seen what there is to be seen, sheriff! I arrived here promptly at five o’clock, as I have for twenty-four years, even when ole mister Mallop crashed his truck on the main drag back in ‘72—”

"Chief."

The old woman pauses. "What did you say?"

Jim gives a tight smile. "I'm not a sheriff, ma'am. I was elected."

"Hmph," she sounds, wrinkly lips pouting.

“Yes. Well, what was different about this morning, Patt?” Jim redirects.

She scoffs, shaking her head and the loose skin of her neck with it, “As I’d been getting to saying, I walked on up to the door and happened to notice it was busted in. And when I went to see, the office had been ransacked!”

“You didn’t see anyone unusual when you arrived? No other staff members…?” Jim asks. 

“No, sir! I’m first on campus come dawn, except maybe Claude.”

“Claude?” Callahan quirks a brow, scribbling fast on his notepad.

“Yessir, the janitor. Fine man, Claude Mitchell is. After his wife Linda died, he's been mighty busy here. And the principal won’t get in for a bit, so he ain’t seen this yet.”

Jim grunts in acknowledgment. “Officer Callahan will be sure to reach out to Mitchell today, find out if he happened to notice anything unusual.” 

Said officer peeks over Patt’s head at Jim with a begrudging smile.

If he had his cigarette, Jim would be rolling his jaw with it between his teeth.

“Mind if I take a look? In the office?”

More jittery arm movement as Patt waves to usher the men inside. “Go on, chief.”

Jim does, his boots crunching the scattered fragments of glass beneath his heel. What remains of the door is pushed easily open, revealing the scene. 

It would be easier for Jim to note what wasn’t fucked with when he peers into the room. The front desk has been flipped on its side, drawers emptied onto the floor—and, God, the floor is more trash than carpet. The file cabinets along the back wall have been upturned and their contents spilled. A framed photograph of a previous senior class hangs by one corner above the remains of a motivational cat poster torn to shreds. A plant is completely uprooted and depotted, soil flung across the layer of scattered papers littering the floor’s surface. Every inch of the room looks as if it had been the center of a fucking tornado.

Jesus H. Christ.

“And you’re certain it wasn’t some students that did this, Patt?” the chief asks, not looking back as he circles the office.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, a hem!  at Jim’s question. “Sheriff, I’m no stranger to practical jokes and teen tomfoolery. This sort of thing ain’t never happened before, not once!”

Jim pulls his hat from his head, fiddling with the brim as he turns back to face Patt and the two officers standing beside her. “You said kids aren’t interested in what you have here. What, exactly,” he motions to the endless sea of scattered paper, “is here?”

“Well, all this should be student attendance records, along with the home addresses and parent information.”

Powell speaks up, squatting down to read over a document, “No grades or nothin’?”

“A bunch of kids could have come in here looking to remedy their lackluster GPAs, yeah?” Callahan adds, jotting down notes as he does.

Patt looks offended. “I’m a secretary, not a counselor. Lord, y'all are balding and brainless!”

It’s the officers’ turn to be taken aback.

Going to ignore that.

“Do you know if anything has been stolen?” he prods, “Is there anything you keep in this office that someone would find valuable?”

“Nothing that I can recall,” Patt shrugs, pulling her pink, fuzzy cardigan around herself and tapping a kitten-toed flat at a sheet of paper beneath her shoe. “I have no way of knowing what could be missing ‘til I get this mess back and sorted!”

Jim’s brows knit together, and a cold breeze travels over him sending papers flapping up their edges off the ground. 

He goes to speak, “Well, Ms. Shipley—”

“Please,” the old woman interrupts, “Ms. Shipley was my mother. I’m not that old!”

“Right. Patt. I’m gonna have Officer Powell here assist you in cleaning and boarding off your office,” Jim can see the man huff and roll his eyes, “hopefully before you get much school traffic.”

“And he’ll send you and your boss to the station where Officer Callahan,” the officer nods, “will help you file a police report. How’s that sound, Patt?”

She pulls her cardigan tighter to her body, pursing her wrinkly lips and peering up at Jim through the glasses at the tip of her bulby nose. “And what exactly are you going to do about the folk who committed this crime, hm?”

Jim can’t help a rueful smirk coming to his lips, responding, “We find ‘em. That’s what we do, ma’am.”

“Like with that boy?” Jim grinds his teeth. “Byers, was it? His brother goes here, you know.”

Jim really needs that fucking cigarette.

Powell clears his throat noisily. “Ma’am, why don’t we go ahead and start pickin’ up?”

“Yeah,” the man says, lowly, the smirk he’d worn replaced by a tight-lipped smile, forced and barely peaceable. “I’ll be a radio away. I’ve got—” Joyce, scared and desperate, “—another call I have to respond to.”

“As you say, sheriff. Let’s hope this man has it in him to clean with purpose,” Patt says, hardly looking affected by Jim’s annoyed expression. Chief. From at her side, officer Powell claps his hands together and then starts to realign the various knocked over furniture.

Jim takes the opportunity to duck out of the office, Callahan stepping out after him and tucking away his notepad and pen. 

Jim doesn’t hesitate, his fingers twitching around the brim of his hat. “Got any smokes?”

“You out, chief?” Jim wants to wipe the smug expression off the younger officer’s face.

“They really made you a cop with you asking such dumb questions?”

Callahan chuckles to himself. He rummages around his pockets, patting over his pants and then his shirt. Jim avoids letting out an aggravated sigh by instead drilling holes into Callahan’s skull with his eyes while he places his hat back on his head.

There’s subdued victory on the younger officer’s face when he finally holds out a pack of Camels. “Need a light?”

“No, thanks.” Jim pulls one cigarette from the carton, immediately placing it between his lips and heading toward the Chevy.

“You really think the kid called his mom?”

Jim freezes.

“Kinda fucked, if you ask me,” Callahan continues. “Missing kid business.”

A deep breath, a shutting of his eyes, and clenching of his fists. There are many loud thoughts banging around his head, overwhelming and angry.

“Going to check in on Joyce,” Jim lets out gravelly and tight, moving quickly to step into his car. 

He’s fast to put his keys in ignition and peel out of the parking lot, even faster to pour a Valium into his palm. It’s a practiced motion, his hand shaking as the other tightly grasps at the steering wheel, the way he tucks the pill under his tongue and shoves the bottle back into his pocket. His cigarette doesn’t remain unlit long, Jim gulping down an aching cloud of smoke.

It doesn’t do nearly enough—not by any margin. But Jim Hopper does his best to relish in the way that the nicotine flitters in the back of his skull and trickles through his veins. It makes it easier to ignore the ever-present images of smoky skies and tiny hands, to focus on the road in front of him.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Mars

“Dustin,” Mars groans sleepily through her bleary consciousness. There’s an irritating fizz berating her ears, the telltale crackling of static from her cousin’s radio. “Dustin, I’m going to lob my drool at you…”

The sound continues, and Mars sighs out an unhappy moan into the pillow she’s burrowed her face into. 

“Please, just five more—”

More static.

Mars sits up with a tired fervor, ripping herself from the warm blanket she’d been wrapped in, and moves to roll out of her bed and strangle the little asshole who decided to play with his toys at the crack of dawn! 

—But she’s not in her bed.

Cold realization sobers her like a bucket of water, just as well as cracking the top of her head on the table above her. With a pained hiss, she rubs at the ache in her skull. It’s when she opens her eyes that she finds Eleven sitting with a walkie-talkie in her lap, staring back at the older girl bemusedly. 

“Good morning.”

“Shit. Sorry, El,” Mars says, moving to massage the sleep from her eyes, “Forgot where I was.”

A tiny smile pricks at the corner of Eleven’s mouth, quickly returning to fiddling with the device in her hands. Light filters through the sunshine-yellow sheet Mike had used as a wall for their fort, casting a warm glow on the child’s face along with a small night light plugged into the wall. It’s almost peaceful, the two of them tucked close together in the amalgamation of fabrics and bedding. 

Almost.

The events of the night prior slowly creep up again, and Mars can’t help the tears prickling at her lash line, threatening to spill out over her cheeks. 

God, Benny. 

“D-did you sleep okay?” Mars asks, words catching in her throat. Her fingers twist in the quilt between them.

Eleven pauses her toying and unintelligible chattering intermittently breaks through the static, the noise filling the space between this blanketed space beneath a table. “Yes,” she says, after a moment.

“That’s good.” Mars sniffles and moves to wipe away a falling tear with the back of her hand.

A smaller hand meets her cheek before she can. 

Eleven’s palm settles over Mars’ cheek, finger wiping away a droplet falling from her eye. It pulls Mars from her downward gaze. Wide eyes squint beneath furrowed brows, Eleven staring curiously at the older teen.

“Hurt?” El asks.

Mars sucks in a shaky breath, the hot threat of a sob building down her throat. “Um, I-I, no, um—God.”

Something flashes behind Eleven’s eyes, her face twisting into a more concerned expression. Mars finds her mouth pitifully dry, tongue unable to wet her lips when she tries to do anything but weep.

“Just—just sad,” Mars shuts her eyes tight, ushering a new stream of tears down her cheeks. “Yesterday was…”  horrific, nightmarish, unspeakable, traumatizing, “...really scary, El. Those people, the forest.” 

The younger girl is quiet.

“El,” Mars says, still watery but more confident. She opens her eyes, looking directly into Eleven’s stare that has taken on its own teary sheen. “What happened in the diner—with that woman? Those men?”  With Benny. “Won’t happen again, okay? I swear. I won’t let them get you.”

Eleven doesn’t have time to offer a response.

“You are in trouble!”

In a movement that sends light flooding onto El and Mars, Mike Wheeler pulls up the sheet that had enclosed the blanket fort. Eleven yanks her hand back from Mars’ cheek, sitting rigidly under Mike’s attention, the boy having dropped down to his knees.

A lunge of panic hits Mars’ stomach, and she hurriedly scrubs away the moisture on her cheeks.

“What the hell, Mike?”

“Look,” the boy reasons. “I came down to give you guys breakfast, okay?”

“And so you snooped?”  Shit, fuck, ass, shit!

Mike’s freckled cheeks are a little pink. “No! I just happened to overhear; I swear!”

“Mike,” Mars sends the most serious expression she can at the boy, “You can’t tell anyone!”

“You lied, didn’t you?” he says, though not accusatory. “About last night, because El is in trouble! You’re both in trouble, so you made up losing your memory.”

“Yes, I lied! But I’m serious, Mike! We can’t tell anybody, not our parents, not the police, no one!” She’s urgent, near nauseous with unease.

“You don’t want help?” He’s looking at El now, and Mars can see the cogs turning in his head. 

The younger girl shakes her head.

“Because,” Mike’s face slackens with the intensity of his thoughts, “because of ‘those people.’ Who are they? What did they do?”

Mars’ pulse is loud in her head. Fuck. Don’t fucking cry.

The skin between El’s brows creases, her round eyes passing to the floor. 

“Bad.”

It’s all that the small girl gives. Mike’s face twists with concerned confusion.

El turns to Mars then. She searches over her face for a moment, air heavy between them. Then she’s turning back to Mike, raising her hand.

Two fingers brush his forehead, the others folded, and the thumb raised up. A gun. Pointed straight at Mike’s brain. Then Eleven brings it back toward herself, pointing it to the side of her skull. Neither kid breaks eye contact.

Mars feels the promise of bile quirk in her stomach at the sight and hot tears return to her eyes. Fuck.

“Understand?” El asks, with finality. 

A breath escapes from Mike’s parted lips, confusion wiped away and replaced with shock.

The garbled white noise that’s playing from the walkie talkie is once again interrupted by another voice.

“Michael!” reverberates from up the basement stairs. Mike’s mom. 

The boy jumps to his feet, readying to pull the sheet back down. “I’ll be back, alright? Both of you just stay here!”

Mars whips her hand to grasp at the boy’s ankle before he can step away.

“No one, Mike.” The look she sends the boy is desperate, begging, her eyes teary. “Tell no one.”

He nods his head frantically back.

“Oh!” he starts, a light coming over his features like realization. And then he’s tossing the two of them each an Eggo waffle from the depths of his coat pocket. “Breakfast!”

“Mike, where are you? We’re going to be late!” 

“Be back soon!” And he’s gone, dropping down the sheet behind him.

Mars listens as his hurried steps fade, the basement door slamming behind him. She and El are alone again, encased in their tiny hideout, both holding a lukewarm waffle.

When was the last time I ate?

With a shuddering breath and the swallowing down of an anxious sob, Mars lifts up her Eggo. “Bon appétit.”

She allows herself to enjoy the momentary distraction of the reheated frozen treat. It’s a welcome distraction from the barrage of thoughts and emotions and memories that assaulted her senses. When had Mars last eaten? 

Not breakfast, surely. Not that she could remember what she’d had for breakfast yesterday, but who remembers meals? Probably normal people, Mars. Maybe lunch? Something from the cafeteria, since it isn’t cool to bring sack lunches in high school. Yeah, lunch. After fourth period, the designated ‘recover from interacting with Harrington’ class. She’d had a coke and chili dog, sitting alone in the courtyard while rushing to draw up a design for shop class during fifth. There must’ve been a snack once she’d gotten home. Her coming home routine is the same each school day, the way she walks inside and greets the devil cat Mews at the door. She hangs her coat at the front door right after she sets down her bag—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Her bag. Her fucking bag!

It’s a natural movement, built up after months of working for Benny. She’s stepping into the pantry, pulling off her bag and hoodie.

She’d left her fucking bag at Benny’s. Mars had left her bag in that pantry and in it were flash cards with her name on them. And they’d been too busy running for their fucking lives to grab it.

Mars doesn’t know when her hands started to shake, but she registers how her blood runs cold, how she drops the remains of her waffle into her lap.

El’s continued back to skipping through the walkie’s channels and loudly munching on her snack. The noise grates so terribly on Mars’ ears, setting the soundtrack for the absolute terror gripping her body.

I’m gonna fucking hurl—

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Nancy

Nancy Wheeler’s gut is doing cartwheels.

Most likely due to this test coming up in Chem, yes. With it being Kaminsky? Gosh, Nancy thinks she’d have to be lucky to come out with a pass. She can’t exactly afford to think about anything else than, say, how weight is defined as a measure of gravitational pull on matter, but mass is the measure of the amount of matter. Or how during fractional distillation, hydrocarbons are separated according to their boiling point.

Steve had made sure she’d known that.

And that’s exactly what she shouldn’t be thinking about right now, not when her ‘A’ is on the line. She can’t afford to relive the memory of how he’d snuck into her room. Or how he’d kissed her on her own bed, how his fingers came up to unbutton her blouse with his mouth moving against hers, how he’d called her beautiful. Because then she’d have to think about how her little brother came in and interrupted them, blackmailing her to hide a girl in their basement!

No, Nancy would absolutely not think about that.

Gosh, who are you, Nancy Wheeler?

With a deep breath, hoping it will push away those pesky thoughts, Nancy refocuses her attention on the flash cards in her hand. 

‘Mass over volume is the equation for—’

“Density,” Nancy mutters to herself, then flipping to the next card.

‘A “ground state” is—’

“My turn!” Wrong.

Nancy lifts her head. Barb is smiling kindly down at her, acting as the ever-supportive best friend she is. 

“The bell just rang, Nance. Gimme your notes.”

“Oh!” Nancy shakes herself from her fog. Second period English is over, her classmates already filing out of the room. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Barb rolls her eyes, but it’s teasing and unsharp. “Studying for Chem in El Din’s? A little risky, no?”

Nancy smiles a little shakily back at her friend. “I’d gotten the assignment done already. Figured I needed every minute to get this memorized.”

They’ve both tucked their binders into their elbows, walking out of the class and into the bustling hallway.

“On it.” Barb follows alongside Nancy through the crowd. “What does the letter ‘c’ represent in scientific equations?”

“The speed of light.” No-brainer.

“What is Planck’s Equation?”

Easy as pie. “‘E’ equals ‘h’ times ‘v.’”

“When alpha particles go through gold foil, they become…?”

Not as easy, but she gets it quickly. “Unoccupied space.”

“A molecule that can—”

Out of the blue, a certain boy is yanking the flash cards from Barb’s hands.

“Hey!” Nancy can’t help her whine. She was using those.

And now she and Barb are joined by Steve and his friends, Tommy H. and Carol saddling up alongside him as he holds Nancy’s note cards.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, “I think you’ve studied enough, Nance.”

She sighs, “Steve—”

“I’m telling you, you know. You got this!” The smile that he gives her is award-winning, blue ribbon for perfection. But Nancy can’t bring herself to match it as he tucks her flash cards into his back pocket. 

“Don’t worry!” he continues. “Now, onto more important matters—My dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, you know, she doesn’t trust him—”

“Good call,” Tommy adds, smirking widely.

Steve is smirking a little, too. “So, are you in?”

Nancy doesn’t hide her confusion. “In…for what?” 

They’re all looking at her like it should be obvious.

“No parents? Big house?” Carol tries. Her eyes aren’t very kind. 

Oh. “A party?”

Carol’s tone isn’t much kinder, Tommy breathing out a laugh at his girlfriend’s side. “Ding ding ding!”

Nancy’s brows furrow even further. “It’s Tuesday.” 

“‘It’s Tuesday!’” Tommy mocks and Carol lets out a few more laughs. Inadequacy blooms in Nancy’s chest.

Some of that discomfort is eased when Steve bats a hand at his friend. He lightly scolds, “Come on,” and rolls his eyes. “It’ll be lowkey. It’ll just be us. What do you say? Are you in or are you out?”

“Um…” A party? During the school week? She’s not even allowed to leave the house at night, not with—

“Oh, God.” Carol says, a scowl pricking at her features. “Look.”

Nancy turns, following the other girl’s pointed stare.

It’s Jonathan Byers. Hanging up a flier on a bulletin board, printed with pictures of his little brother, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN ME?’ written boldly.

Nancy’s heart drops to her feet.

“Well, that’s depressing,” Steve says under his breath.

There’s a guilt that Nancy feels when she looks at Jonathan. It’s sad and it’s twisting as she recalls how she’d spoken at dinner the night before.

‘This is such bullshit! ...Just because Mike’s friend got lost on his way home—’

“Should we say something?” she asks, looking around the group. 

Barb opens her mouth to say something, but Carol cuts her off.

“I don’t think he speaks,” the girl says, giving a sideways glance at Nancy.

Tommy chuckles darkly. “How much you want to bet he killed him?”

“Shut up,” Steve scoffs, annoyed.

And the guilt twists up Nancy’s insides some more, eyes tracing over Jonathan’s inward posture.

There’s a flash of her memory back to her brother and Mars Henderson standing soggy in her room. They’d gone out to look for Will and she’d snuck in a boy.

Nancy needs to say something. So she does.

“Hey,” she says, softly to Jonathan. She’d broken away from the group to get closer to him.

He’s a little surprised, dark chocolate eyes searching over her. “Oh, hey.”

“I just…” Nancy tries to find the right words, scared to say the wrong thing, “I wanted to say, you know, um… I’m sorry about everything.”

Jonathan’s expression shifts, a little darker, and he looks over to the group she’d left behind her. They’re all staring.

Shit. “E-everyone’s thinking about you,” she tries. Maybe she’s already messed this up.

She didn’t know someone could get so small, with the way that Jonathan seems to curl further into himself under their collective gazes.

“It sucks.” It’s all she can think to say.

Jonathan meets her eyes, dim and blank. Detached. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a smart kid.” She gives the gentlest smile she can muster.

And the bell rings.  Late for Kaminsky.

Nancy smiles some more, trying her best to not look like she’s in a rush. “I have to go.” There’s a small, awkward chuckle she lets out. “Chemistry test.”

Jonathan shows some mercy, the corner of his lips ticking up in his own uncomfortable smile. “Yeah.”

“Good luck.”  I mean it.

“Thanks,” and he’s turning away from her.

Nancy takes that as her cue, returning to Barb. If Carol and Tommy make any snide comments, she doesn’t hear them. She just needs to make it to Chem and ace her quiz.

Over the announcement that’s begun to blare out over the intercom, Steve offers Nancy back her flashcards. “You’re going to do great!”

And through all her stress, Nancy feels the sunshine from Steve’s smile convince her that she will.

[ao3feed-jaytim]

Worry

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/36204634

by Cant_Smoke_Eggs

When Titans Tower goes dark and Tim's not responding, of course Bruce and Dick are going to go into panic mode, after all the last Robin that went radio silent... Well, they don't want that again do they?

Meanwhile, Jason's broken into the tower, confronted his Replacement, relayed his practiced monologue and- oh, maybe the kid isn't too bad after all? How else would he explain how he'd gone from murderous rage to sipping tea with the guy and bitching about Dick's fashion choices?

AKA JayTim first meeting, flirting and lots of coffee.

// Day Four of 365 days of One-word-Prompt Fics (and my eternal suffering)

Words: 2642, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of 365 of One Word Prompts (and my Suffering)

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon

Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Honestly just JayTim flirting nothing further, and it's their first meeting so they're not brothers, Canon Divergence - Jason Todd's Attack on Titans Tower, Lazarus Pit Side Effects (DCU), Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake Has Issues, Coffee Lover Tim Drake, An actual coffee gremlin, I don't like coffee so I project my love of tea onto Jason, Flirting, Resurrected Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Titans Tower au, me pretending i actually read that volume and not just the wiki page, and a shit ton of fanfic under the tag, thanks envy i want my life back lmao, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Sassy Tim Drake, I am lowkey inspired to do Skunk!Jason and Racoon!Tim now?, Crack Treated Seriously, Is this crack idk?, I take it as crack, who knows tho, Tim Drake has the survival Instincts of a Wet Towel, 365 Days of Suffering: The Series, my new favourite tag lmao, this is a mess just like me, Dick Grayson Misses Jason Todd, thats a tag???, i love it shit, Paranoid Bruce Wayne, He's totally more cautious than Dick, Tim Drake Has a Crush, Barbara Gordon is Oracle

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/36204634

[nottonyharrison]

A bullet pointed summary of all my Star Wars fics

*note* this hasn’t been updated in months I might consider it one day but right now nah too many it’s unweildy

Of Duty (Rexsoka, Codex, Codexsoka, Blyla, Queerplatonic Codywan, WIP @ 12/25 68k, E)

Everything is pain

No seriously this is the misery AU

Extremely bad life choices

Dead doves everywhere

The writer did not go into this intending to write poly

Of Duty: Sacrifice (Foxiyo, WIP @ 7/20 15k, M)

Politics, Politics Politics

Fishbowl Fox

Riyo Chuchi and the Horrifying Morality Crisis

Knock Yourself Out (Sev/Fi/Parja, 5.5k, E)

The endless frustration of Sev’s internal monologue

A very specific type of L O N G I N G

Buddy you’re so close to figuring out your sexuality and it’s driving everyone nuts

Kal Skirata and the vaguely hostile  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Idle Tether (Cody/Ahsoka, unrequited Cody/Rex and Rex/Ahsoka, 1.3k, E)

Do not read this if you can’t handle it rough

No seriously

This fic not safe for...

Just trust me on this

At Least Something’s Stayed the Same (Fox/Rex, 3k, T)

Oh no did I write more FoxLives? What a shame

Rex is Not Happy About This

Crying.

Anatomy Study (Ahsoka/Rex, 4k, E)

Old Rex Can Get It™

Age related body dysphoria is absolutely a great premise for a fic don’t @ me

Blink and you’ll miss it repcomm reference

SO MUCH blathering on for such a short fic

Different Toned Flecks (Fox/Vos, 3k, M)

Frenemies to lovers oooh yeah that’s the good stuff

Gratuitous setup gratuitous grime

Fox says my job sucks please and thank you

Off the Books (Besany/Ordo, under 1k, M)

Rated M for Mukdek

Ordo likes to learn new things including sexy things

Besany Wennen is (almost) unflappable

Equilibrium (Howzer/Ahsoka/Rex, ~13k, E)

Overly complicated Howzer backstory that nobody asked for

You didn’t have an OT3? WELL YOU DO NOW

Not really unrequited love I prommy

COINCIDENCES GALORE

Kinky.

Everything Turned Out Fine (Eleni/Cham/Howzer, under 1k, T)

Create OC, kill OC moving on...

Reunions! Yay!

Extremely canon divergent because fuck canon, that’s why

Clones in the Rebellion! Yay!

Five Sentence Ficlets (Multi, Ongoing series now with accompanying art, various ratings)

What it says on the tin

Send me a headcanon or prompt in my askbox to get your heart broken and feelings dismantled quickly and painfully

Stop, Reset (KixRex, 1.5k, T)

Emotional isolation

Rex and his absolutely truly really not a martyr complex honestly it’s just being pragmatic

Kix is the prettiest clone no write ins

Possibly the best kiss I’ve ever written but maybe that’s because it’s still new and shiny

Yeah, I'm fine (Echo, Ahsoka, Rex, eventual OT3, WIP, T + E final chapter)

Five times they comfort one another and one time they fuck

Rex can be a real prick sometimes

Did someone say character development?

Echo my beloved

Ahsoka, Echo, Rex, and the No Good Terrible Very Bad Days

More Than a Maybe (Rexsoka, 3.5k, E)

Xeno tentacles

Snark

Too much emotional weight for a Tuesday night

Hidden in Plain Sight (EchoFives, 1.8k, T)

FiveLives

Implied strap-ons

Please congratulate me for keeping this T rated

Many many ellipsis and em-dashes

Good People (CodyFox, 1.5k, M)

Hatefucking

Roundabout ways to explain why 79s is called 79s without actually saying the bar is 79s

Basically just worldbuilding with some clone romance thrown in the mix don’t @ me about it

Apparently a killer of a closing line but IDK you decide

Debrief at Oh Nine Hundred (Fives/Ahsoka, pre Fives/Rex/Ahsoka OT3, heavily referenced one sided Fives/Rex, 2k, E)

Long promised sequel to Pick Your Moments

No worldbuilding just horny

Fives’ head is a mess don’t come at me about it

Calling out accidental voyeurism is an aphrodisiac k?

Thirty Levels Up, Due East  (Blyla, 5.5k, E)

Bly is a sub no write-ins

Pr0n

Ripping off my own shit

That one time Bly and Aayla went to a strip joint

Discretionary Alternative (Un-fun Codywan, 3k, M)

Oof

10 years of Imperial indoctrination will do things to a guy

Obi-Wan is a kriffing asshole

M Rated but no fucking

Intermediate (Rexsoka, 4.5k, E)

Thirty-Somethings finally getting their shit together

Awkward fucking

That’s phosphorescent and I was not expecting that

Weird-ass metaphors

Pick Your Moments (FIvesoka, 6k, E)

Dipping out after important truth bombs

More plot than required to facilitate zero-G porn

Oops, I had An Emotion

Trying to rip a droid’s head off with your thighs is an aphrodisiac just trust me on this

Hope, Perhaps (Codysoka, 4k, E)

Even more Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

No seriously this is some fucked up self flagellatory identity porn (credit goes to the comments)

Existential MCD

Ugly grieving of the worst kind

Counting the Beat (Codex, 2.5k, E)

Inappropriate boners

That’s it, that’s the fic

It Doesn't Work Like That (Rexsoka, 2.5k, M)

I really need to stop writing DDDNE fics this is a problem

HIGHLY inappropriate fraternization

More ugly grieving

Fuck off, Fives

The Merits of Fleshglue (and Other Flirting Techniques) (Padmaayla, 1k, T)

Make the most of being alone on a spaceship with a hot lady or u dumb

Bly has a nice ass no more questions Your Honour

Commentary on That Dress because what is going on with the state of the women’s clothing industry in this galaxy, honestly

Fuck subtle

REXSOKA WEEK 2021

Gravitational Potential Energy | M For day 1: Boredom/Hurry up and wait

Everyone’s favourite, UST

That very specific form of exhibitionism where you’re trying to get someone’s attention while working out

Rex’s beard is hot no write-ins

Fifteen Hundred by Fifteen Hundred | E For day 2: Some like it hot(t)

Friends with benefits with big stupid feelings

Remember team, if you’re gonna do it in a shower make sure you have something to grab on to

The Twits | T For day 3: Bitter, not so sweet

They’re idiots, your honour

Besany Wennen is hot and will steal your girl (and Ordo can share too, I guess)

Fuck Kal Skirata, he dead

Scratchy Blanket | T For day 4: It happened once in a dream/AU day

Rex dies you’ve been warned

Existential horror mixed with a bunch of force visions is a great way to realise you fucked up

Dead Dove: Do not eat

Playthings | E For day 5: Show me your dark side

Rex is a sub and finally admits it.

Ahsoka’s unconvinced

Pegging with a Side of Power Play™

Seriously read the tags my kinks are showing

Convoluted and Ridiculous | M For day 6: Truth or dare

Repcomm adjacent

Rex in Lingerie, you’re welcome

Apparently I wrote comedy as an apology for Scratchy Blanket

Made You Look | E For day 7: FUBAR

Look away Cody, you horndog

When you’re desperate to escape the empire you’ll sometimes push things a bit too far

Only a bit of semi-consensual voyeurism

Pre-OT3 because I had to chuck a bit of that in this week who the heck do you think I am?

[imaginethathaikyuu]

tis the damn season

atsumu miya x fem reader 

the first fic in a series i like to call “Me Writing Whatever The Hell I Want” (a working title) hope u like it or dont idk im not ur boss!!!!!!!!!!

synopsis: Running away was easy when you were chasing hazy dreams of a big city that was destined to be yours, when your rear-view mirror showed nothing but your hole in the wall hometown. But now it’s all waiting tables and failing auditions. You were still running, but somehow, these winding roads always lead you back to Miya Atsumu - a man you’ve loved and left, until you return home for the holidays. 

tags: friends to lovers, exes to lovers, angst without a happy ending, established pre-relationship, friends with benefits, reader lives in Undisclosed Big City lmao who has celebrity dreams, atsumu is ur good ole southern boy (sort of), canon divergent, not edited, light nsfw, beginnings of sex but isn’t very detailed 

word count: 4220

song inspo  (tis the damn season by taylor swift)

-

i won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay… 

. . . 

The soundtrack of this early morning replayed in your head as you made a hazy drive to the neighborhood’s hardware store, cutting left onto the correct street and forcing the car’s back tire over the curb you couldn’t miss. 

The replay of events looping in your mind? A whirring, then a splashing, then your father’s booming voice shouting curse words at anyone who could hear them. Your name was laced in there somewhere with demands for you to get to the kitchen, and you couldn’t tumble down the stairs fast enough to see what in the hell was going on. 

It was your first day home for the holidays, and already it was a catastrophe. 

Somehow your dad had busted a pipe underneath the kitchen sink and a strong stream of water was spraying halfway across the room because of it - your feet landed in a shallow pool when you finally reached the first floor. You didn’t have time to think of any questions before the man at fault, who was on his knees with his head hidden under the sink relentlessly trying to turn the water off, sent you out the door with more shouts, telling you to go to Miya’s Hardware and buy… something. 

“A connector?” You were talking to yourself, thinking out loud as you finally parked, but it didn’t help you remember. All you could do was walk inside the store and hope someone knew what you needed. 

It’d been years since you had been in this shop, but it looked just the same as when you were following your dad through its isles. You didn’t even bother browsing now, though - you went straight to the back of the store to the counter, expecting to see a familiar, perhaps older, face eager to help you. 

That isn’t what you found. 

“Well, hey stranger.” 

That voice rang in your ears like you’d just heard it through a megaphone pointed directly at you. Something about it was so warm, but it left you with a shiver down your spine and goosebump ridden skin. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up, and you hadn’t even turned in the direction the words came from. 

But you didn’t have to look in order to know just who it was. “Atsumu.” 

“What in the hell are you doing back in town?” His voice rang with excited confusion; it carried the same inflection as anyone who’s happy to see you. Like nearly forgotten family members at a reunion before it all goes to hell, or the way the tone of your father’s voice changes when you tell him you’re doing well and mean it. People don’t speak that way often. 

He pulled you in for a hug and you gladly reciprocated, already forgetting that you were supposed to be in a hurry. 

“Home for the holidays. How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” he replied. “I’ve missed you.” 

His voice felt more like home than your four bedroom walls did, the charming drawl and depth in his words immediately reeling you in. It was familiar. You had spent a long time trying to forget about that familiarity; too long learning how to straighten out your words and lose any hint of the small town you came from. But Atsumu - he sounded like the epitome of this place. 

He didn’t give you time to reply, for one reason or another; instead he decided to push you back by your shoulders and get a good look at you. Up and down and up again, likely noticing every change you had made to your appearance in your time away. 

“Are you still wearing your pajamas, or is this a new… trend?” 

You looked down at yourself, “Shit,” and closed your jacket tight over the old graphic t-shirt you wore, but nothing could cover your pink polka-dotted pants. And you’d have been hit in the face with embarrassment if the image of your dad and the broken sink and a flooded kitchen didn’t smack you first. “Shit, no, um… I need something to fix a broken sink. Are you… do you work here now?” 

“I do - and you’re gonna need to be more specific.” 

“I don’t know, Atsumu,” you laughed, slowly realizing the bizarreness of what you were about to tell him. “I woke up to my dad shouting and water shooting out from under the sink, literally flooding the kitchen. He told me to get a part for the pipe… a connector, or a couple, or something - I don’t know.” 

“...A coupler?” 

“Yes!” 

“...He didn’t happen to tell you what size to get, did he?” 

The look on your face must have been a good enough answer for him, because he took off into a random aisle and left you wondering just how many sizes of couplers there could be. 

“This one will probably do the job,” he said as his path rounded the counter. “If it doesn’t, then, I can ignore the return policy for you. Just this once, though.” 

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu.” You made your payment and he slid your product over the counter as his elbows landed on it, leaning down to make himself comfortable. Like he thought he’d be there awhile. 

“How long are you gonna be in town?” 

“Two weeks. Why do you ask?” You knew why - you just wanted to hear him say it. 

“We should catch up.” 

He was grinning and shrugging and fidgeting with his fingers, just like he always did, and you would never turn down any offer he made you. 

“We should. I’ve got to get home, but are you free tonight?” 

“We close at six,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, meaning every word. You wondered if he knew that. 

“So will I,” he replied, and then you made your way out before you convinced yourself to stay. 

It’d been three years since you last spoke to Atsumu. In that time, you had done a lot that felt like nothing, living in a different city that felt worlds bigger than this town - that city was a place you had once convinced yourself was all yours. You had pulled off running away effortlessly. 

But it didn’t matter how much time goes by between your meetings with Atsumu. There was something there that you could never shake, the hold you had on each other was anchor tight. Ten years could pass and you would speak to each other like it had only been one day. You’d have world ending fights and one of you would always come crawling back, letting the other win as long as it meant things would go back to normal. 

You couldn’t describe it. You never tried, you didn’t need to. The unspoken acts between the two of you didn’t need to be explained. It was something akin to a best friend with all the benefits included and most of the strings attached - confusing and nerve wracking but still so comforting. 

Atsumu was the closest thing to home you had in this town, and somehow every road always leads back to him. With a few detours on your part, of course, because you just couldn’t stay away too long. Even moving across the country didn’t change that - not like you thought it would. 

You just barely missed the turn into your driveway, being so distracted by your thoughts. So much was rushing back, so much that shouldn’t be - it isn’t a big deal, it’s just Atsumu, but it felt grand, like this was some massive reunion. 

But it wasn’t. You were only here to celebrate Christmas with your family. You weren’t even planning on seeing Atsumu, let alone meeting up with him or rekindling any kind of flame that was once there. 

And it was such a rush that you couldn’t even question why he was working at his father’s store - or why he was even in this town at all. What happened to the dreams he was chasing? 

For what felt like the first time in your life, you had questions for him. But you’d have to wait all day to ask them. 

. . .

You were thankful to come home to a dry floor and a calmer father - he finally figured out how to turn the water off and decided to fix the pipe later. You knew he’d inevitably be paying someone more qualified to repair it, but your mind had no space for that problem. 

You were still trying to figure out how you’d meander the night with Atsumu by the time he was picking you up, and when the two of you arrived at his home you still hadn’t found your answer. 

Easing into this would be best, and once alcohol was introduced to the equation it would turn into a slippery slope. 

Nothing was hard with Atsumu. You knew that - that’s why you couldn’t figure out why you were having such a hard time talking to him. 

A lot had changed. Not between the two of you, not exactly. You were right back where you were three years ago: on his couch, sitting too close to him, laughing at something he had said that was only funny because he said it. 

But your lives had changed. Your worlds had changed. His mind had very obviously changed, and because of it all, you couldn’t keep pretending that the two of you were teenagers again. 

You had to bite the bullet and ask the question that was on your mind, completely knowing that he could throw a hard hitting question back at you.

It came out more effortlessly and lighthearted than you expected. “So… what happened to playing volleyball?”

Atsumu scoffed. “You still remember that pipe dream? Nothing happened, it was just childish.” 

You didn’t like his answer, so you pressed him. You worked up the courage to start this conversation, so you were going to get to the bottom of things. “You said you wanted to catch up - I know you, Atsumu. You get what you want and you wanted to play volleyball. You were going to be a pro, you were good.” 

“I know you know me,” he said, and the smirk on his lips didn’t go unnoticed by you. “I wanted to get drunk and chat, not start up a fucking therapy session.” 

You sat patient and waiting, eyes on him, refusing to go without the answer to your question. You were teasing, really, eyeing him up and grinning as you watched him struggle. The problem was: you didn’t expect the answer you’d get. 

“I - I had the chance.” There was a scratch in his throat that wasn’t caused by the whiskey he’d just swallowed. “I was being scouted and playing my ass off and there were talks of being on an Olympic team one day, but… shit happens, and that’s it.” 

“What shit, Atsumu? You didn’t just give up, did you? Were you scared or something?” 

You didn’t realize how close you were to him until his hand came down to rest on your knee, and both of you focused on that touch as his next thoughts became words. “Dad got sick. And ‘Samu had just opened the restaurant, and… there were bills to pay and the store to run. Even though I wasn’t his preference, Dad had no choice and left the legacy of Miya’s Hardware to me, so - that’s where I am.” 

“Oh. I… I had no idea - I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine. You were already long gone by then - don’t say sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you hugged him without thinking, but he hugged you back all the same. “I’m sorry, ‘Tsumu.” 

“It’s okay,” he told you, but you didn’t feel okay. You were sure he didn’t, either. “It’s not your fault.” 

You pulled away from him just enough to look at his face, and you hadn’t noticed the distance in his eyes until just then. As you looked at him, you realized it was only familiar to now. It wasn’t there years ago, when you got to look into those eyes every day. 

“I should’ve been there for you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, but his words were dangling on an edge. He didn’t quite mean them. “You were off in your own dream. I got through it.” 

You only nodded. You weren’t sure what else to say after that. 

As Atsumu sat back against the couch, he brought you with him, tucking you under his arm against his chest. His lips on your forehead made you close your eyes and for a second, it was like you were both nineteen again. You could’ve been, if time would only slow down or freeze or go back - what wouldn’t you give for that? 

“I’m done talking about me,” he mumbled. “I wanna hear about your life now.” 

You laughed, but quiet, “My life’s been fine.”

“Only fine?” 

“You don’t see me on the big screen, do you?” 

He laughed this time. “Not yet. One day, though. Have you gotten used to the city yet?” 

“Oh… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but… it does feel like home now. It’s so different from living here.” 

“I bet.” 

“I try not to romanticize it, but - I don’t know. It feels good, even if it’s not what I thought it’d be. The lights are pretty bright. Blinding compared to here.” 

His response was a nod, and that was it. If he had any questions or comments, he held them back. 

A break in the silence came soon, though. “You know,” he said, quiet, with a small laugh that was humorless, “I’m not as good at getting what I want as you think I am.” 

“That’s not true,” you replied, and you were setting up an argument you weren’t ready to make. “You got me.” 

“Did I?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Silence lingered, and after too long you sat up and looked at him, and that got him to talk. 

“Nothing,” he insisted. He pulled you closer with two fingers holding your chin, and you didn’t resist. “Nothing, baby. Let’s just… just be quiet for a while.” 

There wasn’t time for you to say anything else. His lips were on yours the moment he got his last word out. And even though you expected him to kiss you, it still made you gasp. 

You couldn’t describe how much you missed kissing someone you wanted to, and Astumu’s kiss was like finding home. His lips were like candy, sweeter than sugar; his bite was a freezing shock that always pulled a giggle and a whisper of his name out of you. He knew how to kiss you, slow and deep with a hand on your jaw to keep you there, never leaving you wanting more because he gave everything you could ever need. 

It didn’t take long for his kisses to trail down your neck, or for his shirt to come off, or for your back to land on the couch. You had already reached euphoria just seeing him hovering over you, eyes soft and hair askew; you didn’t need anything but this. You’d never want anything but this. 

You did what you always did - trailed your hand down his torso, over his golden skin, stopping just after every freckle or scar or mark. This time, you were looking for something new. You didn’t find anything. You didn’t stop until your hand landed on his waist, and there, you squeezed - 

“Stop, you little shit,” and he laughed, right along with you. A real and genuine laugh - you hadn’t heard that song in a long time. “Why do you always do that?” 

Finally he moved down to press his chest against yours, his hips locking in place between your legs. A perfect combination. 

“Why do you always give me the chance?” You were still laughing, not able to get over the cute sight. Atsumu was always so ticklish there, right on his waist, and when you made that discovery you swore you’d never forget it. And he sure as hell wished you would have. “You’re so cute. I’ve missed that smile.” 

“I’ve missed you,” he replied. Somehow you just knew that he meant it. 

“Don’t. I’m here.” 

“You’re here,” he repeated. Like he was reassuring himself. 

You took the initiative to unbutton your shirt yourself, so that there was no way for him to think that you wanted this to stop there. It couldn’t, not when you had him this close. And his eyes followed the popping buttons like stalking prey. 

“And you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Fucking hell.” 

You cringed - you couldn’t help the feeling in your gut when he gave you those sweet words. You knew he meant them in some way; you knew Atsumu wouldn’t lie to you. He’s never told you anything just for the sake of it. But how many times, in the last three years, had someone done just that? Told you just what you wanted to hear so they could get inside you? It was vile the first time. The second, it made you ache. But now, you’re used to it. Nobody means what they say. You’re used to it. 

And Atsumu could snatch up any girl he wanted. A girl who’s used to blinding lights and expensive wine and lying - or a girl who would stay with him, who wouldn’t push his buttons, who would be effortless in her charm and wit and beauty. 

You couldn’t put yourself in either category. 

“You haven’t seen many, then.” 

“Why would I even need to when I’ve got you? You’re a fucking dream. All I ever think about.” 

You shook your head, not even noticing you were doing it. Atsumu wouldn’t have it. 

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Not when you know what you do to me. You’ve got my heart beating out of my chest, for fuck’s sake - it has been since you walked into the store.” 

You never knew him to be so open with his feelings, or maybe you had just gotten used to being lied to. You weren’t sure and you didn’t care - all you could think about was kissing him, so you pulled him in, and you were sure he would devour you. You’d have no problem with that. 

It was desperate when you said, “I need you.”

And reassuring when he replied, “I’m right here.” 

He wasn’t close enough. You didn’t think he ever could be. And it was right then, when you were swimming in desperation, that you realized you shouldn’t have been doing this. It would only make leaving even harder. Doing it the first time was hell, letting him watch you leave and be okay with it. You hated yourself for wishing he wasn’t. And you were drowning. 

You hated yourself for leaving. 

You hated yourself more for coming back. 

And you didn’t want to be there, all of a sudden, despite the ache in between your thighs and the addicting warmth he had you trapped in. You didn’t want to be there and you didn’t want to leave, either - you only wanted something easy, but you’d never have it. Not here, and not in the city, and not with Atsumu. 

You felt him freeze, felt things shift. You hadn’t even noticed the way your energy had completely dropped. 

“Something wrong?” He moved up to hold your face. He noticed the tears in your eyes before you did. 

It was hard to look at him but you held his gaze, and his touch hurt more than it healed but you yearned for it. The concern on his face was genuine, the gentle strokes of his thumb on your cheek weren’t forced, and it all was making your stomach turn. 

He cared for you - obviously he did - but not enough to ask you to stay. Not enough to find trouble in letting you leave him. So maybe you shouldn’t have a problem with it, either. 

“No,” you said through a sore throat and a locked jaw. “Sorry, just…” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he told you. “We can just talk - I want to talk. If it’s too much -” 

“It’s okay,” you said. You tried to mean it as much as, “I miss you, Atsumu. I want you - touch me, I miss you.” 

“I know,” and he was wiping the tears off of your cheeks as he kissed your lips, “I’ll take care of you, baby, just let me. Stop thinking so much. Let me take care of you like I always do, yeah? You want me to help you feel good?” 

You always had a problem with that - thinking too much. He never hesitated to call you out on it. You nodded your head, strong and fast, like you were trying to knock the thoughts right out of it. 

“Please, ‘Tsumu.” You were crying for him, pulling him closer. “Need you. Make it better, please.” 

“I’d do anything,” he said. “You gotta quit crying, baby. You’re acting like our first time again.” 

You laughed at that, wiping your own tears and knocking his hands away. “God, that was so embarrassing.” 

“It was cute.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“It was kinda hot, too.” 

“Atsumu!” 

It was his deep grin that made you relax again, and so did another blissful kiss that took your breath in a way that you enjoyed. 

“You can cry, baby,” he said, popping buttons on both of your pants, “as long as it’s because of how good I’m making you feel. That’s what you need, pretty girl. Let me show you how much I’ve been missing you - get these pants off, baby, let me see you.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to cry any more, at least not in an emotional sense. Your mind was stripped with your body, filled with nothing but him, no space between the two of you left for insecurities or questions. 

It wasn’t until he coaxed you into his bedroom that those things had the chance to creep back. 

Atsumu was out cold, cuddled into your chest and holding on tight to your waist, after smothering you in soft kisses and sweet sleepy words. You were comfortable there, warm and safe and content, but the pit in your stomach only grew. You watched him sleep, his mouth slightly open and eyes softly closed, and you wanted to reach down and kiss him but you resisted. 

It was late and you should be asleep but you couldn’t rest. You couldn’t stop loathing yourself long enough to close your eyes, and the more you thought, the harder it got to breathe. Your throat was sore again. Your eyes were watering again. And every word you wanted to say to Atsumu was tumbling out of your mouth and falling onto sleeping ears. 

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

He didn’t stir. It was still rumbling breaths and the whir of the air conditioner filling the silence. 

“Everyone else did. But you. Why… You of all people should know I’m just as worthless there as I am here - I’ll never make it - I’ve changed everything and still…” 

You sucked a hard breath into your lungs to stop a wracking sob, just barely holding it in. 

“I just ended up here again. With you. I’m so alone without you but I can’t - fuck.”

It didn’t even matter what you were trying to say anymore, because you had no clue. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stay with him regardless of his choice to let you go, but something in you made you run. Maybe it was worthless pride or a childish desire to be something more - you didn’t know. 

You didn’t belong in any industry you dreamed of working in. You weren’t born to be a star. You should know by now - should accept your failure and come back home for more than just one night. 

But you couldn’t. 

There was still a chance, wasn’t there? 

A chance to belong somewhere.

A chance to be led home.

A chance to make it. Would you die trying? 

You would leave in the morning. And you wouldn’t ask Atsumu to wait for you as he started getting ready for the day. And Atsumu wouldn’t ask you to ditch your own plotted destiny just to stay with him. 

But this would happen again. Every time you would swear it off and every time, you would travel roads that take you right back to this town, this bed, these arms. 

Running away would never get easier, but this is all it would ever be with him. He would never stop you leaving - and you would never ask him to.  

. . .

...so i’ll go back to LA

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

Fic writer interview

I was tagged by @marauders-groupie - thank you so much love, this was so fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

51

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

287865

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin (17)

The 100 (TV) (13)

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga (11)

Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo (3)

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas (3)

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2)

Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan (1)

Miraculous Ladybug (1)

also, not on ao3, but during Dark FF.Net Ages: Harry Potter, Chronicles of Narnia, Teen Wolf and Mortal Instruments and probably dozens more I can’t remember rn.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All of them are for Gendry x Arya from A Song of Ice and Fire

1. I’ll spend this summer by your side - childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage, canon divergence

 2. your lips, my lips, apocalypse - modern au, smut

3. on and on it spins - modern au, outsider’s POV

4. it was a pretty good bad idea, wasn’t it though? - friends to lovers, smut, modern au

5. our love full of storms - domestic, hurt/comfort, kid fic, modern au

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do - I love interacting with readers in the comments section and it gives me a chance to re-read said comments (which instantly makes my day. every time and without fail)

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

For ASOIAF: somewhere between sorrow and bliss probably. It’s also easily the most controversial thing, fandom-wise, I’ve ever written hahah. for now i am winter and be still, my tongue are pretty damn angsty too

For FMA:B : soon you'll get better cause this fic is high-key me processing my mom’s death and i’ll never get used to it

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

No

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yup, most notably on here's to the mess we make - oh, good old days of bellarke vs clexa fandom war. Miss it now

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yup, both explicit and kinda vague. I think I wrote vanilla a few times too, but I definitely most enjoy writing kinky sex with BDSM elements

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

If I had, I am unaware

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Same as above

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

As you can clearly see in the list of the fandoms I write for, it changes quite often. I would say my all time fav OTPs are probably gendrya, royai, stydia, bellarke, victuuri and kanej, but tbh this list is never-ending and never-closing

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’ve got a few gendrya stories started but I don’t think I’ll come back to writing for this ship 

15. What are your writing strengths?

Tbh, I have no idea. I was praised for my descriptions a lot and I guess I am generally happy with the flow of my fics. 

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots, PLOTS! I cannot construct plots for shit. Also, English is not my native language so I obviously make lots of mistakes which I cannot always detect myself. 

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If it’s done well, it’s a fantastic technique (Murder Ballad comes to my mind especially). But it is not very often done well and it can be very distracting and irritating for the reader. 

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Probably Harry Potter, but it was over 15 years ago so who the hell knows. 

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

it's still you (the 100) - I have a deep, deep fondness for this fic, even for how unpolished it is

our love full of storms (ASOIAF) - probably the best thing I’ve ever written, tbh

somewhere between sorrow and bliss (ASOIAF)  - the one fic where i went with my guts instead of choosing the ending my readers wanted me to choose

i’m tagging @yanak324, @duskandstarlight and @whatanybodygets cause i am VERY curious of their answers