#i woke up and then i had an epiphany about it

[fauxvvounds]

Aro Flag with colors picked from Glass Animals - I Love You So F***ing Much because it just fits 💚

[the-hype-dragon]

ffff I just need to read silly manga and watch soap operas and relax

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 13

I saw these suits and I had an epiphany while thinking about what the bat sis should wear: one and two

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 13 >>next

It always took a while for you to process something, especially this. You thought you’ll be fine- another shitty dad, nothing new, just keep yourself busy- work, college, train Mark, help around the house, repeat… You never realized how much you actually loved the man, how attached you grew to him despite how hard you tried to brush it off. You never realized until you crashed out after a mission while seeing a kid cry for their parents.

You moved behind some buildings, hiding between some industrial trash bins, curled into a ball, and just broke down. Bruce was whatever, he didn’t choose you like he chose the others, but Nolan did. The fucker went out of his way to take you- and yet… And yet neither Debbie, Mark nor you were enough to make him stay, to make him think of you lot as more than pets he can throw away. Those thoughts clouded your mind, and turned on you quickly, not even the shadows could soothe the pain.

The Immortal found you an hour later and gently picked you up. “It’s not your fault.” Was the only thing he said while he carried you home. After that Cecil insisted you take a break, which you found absurd, you were self-employed, worked under your own company, and the taxes you paid proved that, but you didn’t fight it. So, you’ve been rotting in your bed for a bit, simply not finding the energy to do anything but keep yourself clean and occasionally cook, just to help Debbie a bit.

The funeral of the Guardians went and passed, Mark had taken to moving into your room before he went to University, Eve, Amber, Samson, John, and your college friends occasionally visited. You haven’t seen Immortal since he got in a yelling match with Mark, calling you both as dangerous as Nolan. That had set your mental health back a few days.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

John didn’t go back to the Justice League space station, he hung around for a bit, letting you hang onto him for a while, until you fell asleep. He didn’t go even when you were deep into the dream world. Constantine still stayed around, mostly sitting on the edge of the couch you slept on, only moving when Debbie invited him to some wine. He left the next day after you woke up.

So, when the pull of an emergency teleportation triggered and made him almost kiss the ground he wasn’t surprised to see the mug of an angry Batman with photos of your civilian persona from the fight with your dad and a screenshot of your hero persona wearing the “I killed the joker” T-shirt next to a tourist on the big screens. “Explain.” Was the only thing that came out of Bruce.

Constantine just sighed from the depths of his soul while pulling a chair and lighting a cigarette, ignoring Superman and Wonder Woman. “Could explain a lot of stuff, Batsy, be specific.” John didn’t even flinch as Batman slammed his fist on the table. “She killed the Joker.”

“Doesn’t look like I need to explain anything then, mate.” John blows the smoke away from Batman, he wasn’t that ballsy. ”You already know she killed him, what more would you want?”

“We just want to know how you know her. How you know Omni-Man.” Superman was quick to play the good cop, but John just shrugged. Honestly, he had to deal with way too many shades because of the clown, good riddance. “She’s a friend, none of you could kill her. Slow her down? Mm, maybe. Eliminate her? Never.” He knew killing was never Batman’s plan A, but he wasn’t betting on it.

“As for her daddy…” He sighs again, rubbing his temple. “He’s a Viltrumite, they conquer words and ‘better’ them. Why care now? You never did before.” John was referring to both you and the Viltrumites. “She’s a dangerous unknown.” Ah, and this is why Bobo was named the greatest detective and not the Bat. “And if the Viltrumites are as dangerous as you’ve said-“

“You only want to do something about it now because it may affect you.” John got up slowly not looking away as Batman towered over him. “The Viltrumites don’t have a kryptonite, Bruce.” He growled at the man. “We either get another fifty Supermen to beat their heads in until they stop moving or we change their mind. And look how well that option went for The Sorceress and Invincible.” Batman’s frown only deepened.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Black Samson was beyond worried. The Immortal had been off the hinges for a long while, hot and cold, black and white, exploding at anything and everything, the kids were driving him insane, and you were still missing in action. So, he did what any reasonable man his age would do and snuck into a young woman’s room. Yours specifically.

“Alright, I’ve had enough! You’ve been rotting-“ He stopped as soon as he saw you in your hero gear eating a bowl of sliced fruit. “…I was just eating a snack before going out.” You said while munching away. “Oh… Are you-“

“No… But it’ll be quite hypocritical of me to be mopping around when I nagged you every other week to get back outside.” You shrug. “I’ll get better… eventually. But It’ll take time.” Samson seems to relax at that. “And I had a whole speech-“ You snicker at that. “Yeah- my speech.”

“It was a great speech.” He tried defending himself. “It got me outside and everything.” You smiled, unable to argue with such sound logic. “Thank you for checking up on me, Sam.”

“You’re welcome, kid.” The man smiled at you before turning back to the window. “Now if you excuse me, I’ll leave. I do not want to explain to your mom why I am here-“ The devilish amused cackle that left you only urged the man to hurry.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You did get better… kind of. But it was good enough to make you put up with Lex and his blasted party. Granted, seeing your mom, Mark, and your friends enjoying the party, and destroying the free buffet, made you happy. You were hiding out on the balcony anyway.

“If your mother knew you were drinking alcohol without supervision, she’d have my head. Nice suit.” You snorted at Luthor’s words as he joined you, leaning on the railing with you. “You’d make a nice taxidermy trophy. And thanks, wanted to be different from the other girls.” You joked, nudging the man.

You both took in Metropolis’ night sky, enjoying the silence for a few seconds. “Why is the Immortal looking at you with such sad puppy eyes?” You snort. “Why are Wayne and the Kents here?”  Lex just gave a shrug and a shit-eating smirk. “You like the Kents, Bruce Wayne wants to meet The Sorceress on the bat’s behalf, and I forgot to send my secretary the list of guests that was custom-made for the occasion and didn’t have ninety percent of the people here.”

“I like Lois Lane, both Bruce and the Bat can die, and-“ You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “Somehow, I believe that last part. Why are you so attached to my hip, anyway?” Lex gives a sarcastic laugh. “Nice way to avoid my question, but to answer yours, maybe I just want to enjoy the company of my greatest little helper.”

The look that you gave him was a clear expression of how much you thought the man was high on alien weed. “If by helper you’re referring to me calling you stupid for forgetting to check PFAS and Asbestos levels while snapping pictures for the Pulitzer winner herself, Lois Lane- sure. I believe you.”

This is why Luthor enjoyed your madness. The sarcasm, the banter, the mocking with no hard feelings. It made him feel normal. He almost shivered at the thought, perishing it immediately. “There also, might be a mercenary who paid quite a lot to get a seat and have the chance to meet you.”

“Is he mad? Don’t answer that, I don’t think you’re a good judge of that.” You take a sip from your glass. “He’s quite reputable, Slade Willson. He’s-“ You immediately interrupt him. “I know who that is and what he does. Don’t you find it fishy how an apparent assassin with supposed morals just knew you’d host such a thing?”

“Don’t bother- I won’t believe a word that comes out of your smug ass face. I want half of what he gave you.” Lex Luthor just smiled brighter. “I’ll give you the full amount if you come back and tell me everything.” You laugh and accept the deal. You’d never pass on a good gossiping session.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Damn.” Lois said as Clark finished parroting back what he heard from the other side of the room. “I know that she doesn’t like you because she doesn’t know you-“ She said while looking at her husband before turning to Bruce. “But what did you do?”

Bruce’s scowl seemed permanent these past days, his blank look telling Lois that the man was beyond tired, and his silence told her that he didn’t know. “I don’t like how close she is to Luthor.” Clark whispers. “He’s not a good role model for anyone, let alone a young girl who just lost her father. And Slade…”

“She hangs with a lot of rich people and rogues, even talks to some from Gotham.” Bruce frowned at the information Lois provided. “She texts Red Hood and the Sirens quite a lot when she stays around me as I work.” Bruce stopped listening after as his eyes caught you and the bald eagle coming back inside, and he acted.

He quickly passed past the Kents, putting on his Brucie persona and grabbing a full glass of red wine, acting slightly drunk while walking right to the prize. He greeted business people and heroes, walking in a slight zig-zagged pattern to imitate dizziness and when he was close enough, he stumbled. The wine in his glass flew and hit its target.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry-“ His hand was slapped away as you shook with anger, your suit ruined by the wine, and your skin getting sticky. “Don’t you dare touch me-“ You hiss at the man, making his expression shake. “For fucks sake- you two-faced snake, are you just out to ruin everything I have?”

Something in you just snapped as you saw him act like a fool, knowing better than anyone it was all fake, so your hand just moved, grabbing a plate of mini cakes and smashing the sweets right in his face. “Why can’t you just leave me by, asshole?!” You spread the syrupy sweets on the front of his tux and let the plate fall on his feet, dirtying those too.

Lex wasn’t the only one enjoying the show. Slade immediately took the opportunity to join your other side as you tried to dry your neck and shirt. The mercenary politely greeted Luthor, ignored the still in shock Bruce, and introduced himself to you, offering to pay for the cleanup. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Wayne he’s quite the imbecile.”

Bruce couldn’t even fight the allegation, it was well played by Willson, and acting like a drunk didn’t help his case. So, he just watched as the older man led her away. “Honestly, Brucie. What did you expect to happen? You’ve become too sloppy.” Lex mocked him, but his prideful smirk went away as soon as Mark and Immortal appeared in front of him, Invincible asked Bruce why he was here while the other man asked who he was.

Those two got distracted by each other, turning their anger on one another as they hissed insult after insult. “Oh, boy.” With Luthor’s mutter of disappointment, Bruce turned back, walking to the Kents. “It could have been worse. If it were me, I would have killed you for that, especially as the birthday girl.” Lois said while looking at Bruce. The man just grunts, neither noticing the way Clark tensed up at the information he heard by eavesdropping on Invincible and Immortal.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bruce felt beyond exhausted while he dropped in his chair, blankly looking through the Batcomputer, trying to register everything that happened. “Master Bruce!” He didn’t get a moment of peace before Alfred burst through the door, stopping a few feet in front of him while clutching a picture frame.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla

I said it once, I'll say it again, I always feel like I'm forgetting something.

[mywitchyblog]

Why i will Nver take Antis seriously

Okay, let’s talk about why I will NEVER take anti-shifters seriously. 💀 These people seriously think they’re serving some type of intellectual argument, but let’s be real—they’re just pathetic dick riders with no valid point to make. Sweetie, they think they can just hop on some anti-shifting bandwagon, pretend to be “woke,” and act like they know better than us. But we know the truth, and it's so obvious how weak and desperate they are. The only reason they’re even talking is because they can’t handle the fact that the shifting practice is real, and people are out here thriving while they’re stuck in their flop era. 🙄

I usually just scroll right past the negative content, but one day I saw this video that made me roll my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache. This girl is doing a makeup tutorial, all casual and cute, and then she drops the bomb: “Remember when we all used to shift in 2020? Can we admit that it was all a lie?” Like, girl, please. 💅 Immediately, the comment section is filled with people agreeing, “Yeah, it was just lucid dreaming.” “It was maladaptive daydreaming.” Sweetie, no. Just no. You’re out here acting like you have some epiphany, but it’s really just you looking for attention because, let’s face it, you’ve got nothing else going on. 💔

Here’s the thing: If you’re gonna pretend like you’re some kind of expert on shifting, at least do the work. At least try to understand what it actually means to shift, and not just repeat what everyone else says. 🧐 This girl comes out here saying she “shifted” and was “diagnosed with schizophrenia.” Girl. I had to pause and check if I was still watching the same video, because that was a whole mess. You’re throwing around terms like mental health issues just to sound edgy and relatable? Nope. Let’s be clear: schizophrenia is not something you just casually throw around to justify some half-assed clout-chasing narrative. If you really shifted, you wouldn’t be out here trying to “debunk” something you clearly never tried to understand in the first place. You pretended to shift for attention, and now that the hype died down, you decided to flip the script and start bashing shifting because it didn’t give you the clout you wanted. Pathetic. 🤭

And let’s not forget how she conveniently chose to make this video the one that blows up. 5.2 million views, girl? 😱 But the rest of your videos barely make it to 5k? Sis, we see you. We see how this is the only way you can get any traction. Your “I’m exposing shifting” video is your only shot at relevance, and it’s clear as day that you’ve jumped on this anti-shifting bandwagon just to get some views. The flop era is real, and it’s showinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg. You had one moment where you got some attention, but the rest of your content is crickets. 🦗 I mean, honey, if you were actually serving something real, you wouldn’t have to rely on dragging people down to make a name for yourself. 🤦‍♀️

The truth is, she’s out here just riding whatever trend gets her noticed. That’s all she’s doing. When shifting was trending in 2020, she hopped on the wave pretending to be a part of it, and now that it’s not the "in" thing anymore, she’s throwing it under the bus to stay relevant. She’s the definition of a dick rider. Trying to latch onto whatever’s popular and ride the wave for as long as she can. But we see you, and it’s not cute. 🙄 You thought this was your moment to “expose” shifting and act like you’re somehow above it, but you’re just showing how desperate you are for attention. You're chasing views like a lost puppy, and it’s pathetic.

And don’t even get me started on that comment section. Why are these people agreeing with her, parroting the same old tired “shifting is just lucid dreaming” nonsense? Where are the real thinkers in this comment section? Sweetie, if you want to speak on something, at least educate yourself before you start spreading false info. 🙅‍♀️ It’s like y’all are too lazy to actually look into shifting, spiritual hygiene, and the depth of the practice. But instead, you’re just echoing a 2020 “shiftTok” narrative, regurgitating outdated and ignorant opinions like it’s fact. I’m honestly embarrassed for you. Do your research or stop talking. Simple as that. 🧠💡

The truth is, these anti-shifters don’t care about anyone’s mental health. They’re not “protecting” anyone; they’re just mad that they couldn’t get in on the trend or didn’t put in the effort to understand it. They want to act like they’re doing some grand thing by “debunking” shifting, but all they’re really doing is exposing their own ignorance. Like, sweetie, just admit you’re jealous. You couldn’t get the attention shifting gave others, and now you’re bitter about it. 😝 You couldn’t connect with the practice, so you’re going to try and tear it down. But guess what? It’s not working. 😘

Let’s talk about the bigger picture here. The real shifters—the ones who do the work, who research, who respect the practice and the boundaries it requires—we’re still out here, and we’re still shifting. We’re still growing, we’re still thriving, and we’re not letting some random, clout-chasing person get in the way of our personal journeys. The real shift doesn’t come from attention or clout; it comes from within. It comes from dedication, intention, and respect for what we’re trying to achieve. And trust me, anyone who genuinely shifts knows it’s an empowering, transformative experience—not something to be mocked. 💫👑

So to all the fellow shifters out there, don’t let these clowns get to you. Don’t let their negativity and petty arguments distract you from your journey. You are doing something real, something powerful. While they’re stuck in their flop era, we’re out here creating new realities, growing, and elevating ourselves in ways they’ll never understand. Keep going. Stay true to your path. And remember: the truth speaks for itself, and the real ones will always rise above the noise. ✨💖 Keep shifting, keep evolving, and never let anyone who doesn’t understand the practice try to dim your light. You’re not in the same lane as them—and you never will be. 👑💫

[rogueddie]

Steve wakes up to a beeping noise- a heart monitor. He struggles to open his eyes, turning to squint around the hospital room. Something about it feels off, though he can’t tell what.

A woman stumbles in, almost spilling her coffee. She looks familiar.

“Hey,” Steve tries, only to end up coughing. His throat is painfully dry.

“Steve!” She exclaims. She hurries over, swapping the coffee for a plastic cup of water. She carefully holds it to his mouth for him to drink. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake! I know we can’t talk here but… fuck, man, you really had us scared for a minute. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again!”

“I promise?”

“Oh! Eddie finally woke up too! Just the other week. He keeps asking about you, I should go-”

Steve is only more confused. There’s only one Eddie he knows and that Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead worrying about someone like Steve. Not unless...

“Munson?”

“Duh. Oh! Nancy! I was supposed to- you’re ok, right? I’ll just be a minute!”

“Yeah, sure.”

She throws him a thumbs up, darting out the room, calling for Nancy.

His head throbs. He’s not sure what is going on, what happened… maybe that thing in the Byers house did get him after all? Maybe this is just a dream.

"Ah, Mr Harrington," a nurse greets with a warm smile. "It's good to see you awake. I'm just going to check your vitals and all of that stuff, then we'll need to go over some questions. Does that sound alright?"

"Questions?"

"You've been asleep for a few weeks. We need to make sure that everything up there is ok." She lightly raps her knuckles on the side of her head.

Despite how light she's trying to be, Steve feels a sinking in his stomach.

"Is that possible? What- what could be wrong?"

"Nothing too serious. You're speech is clear and legible, you're conscious and cognitive." She lifts the clipboard off the end of the hospital bed. "You remember your name?"

"Yeah," he says. After a moment, he realizes; "oh! Right, sorry. Steve Harrington."

"Date of birth?"

"April 29th, 1967."

"Do you know what todays date is?"

"Um... how long have I been out? You said a few weeks, right?"

"Almost three weeks, yes."

"Three weeks, so that would make today... December 4th?"

She doesn't respond for a moment. The way she keeps her eyes on the clipboard feels too calculated.

"The year?"

"Uh... 1983?"

She only pauses for a moment, before continuing to ask simple questions about current events, how he's feeling, where he feels any pain or discomfort.

He lies when she asks if he remembers what caused him to be hospitalized. He's not sure what the story Nancy and Byers will give. He can't imagine people... involved, would want the truth out. And he's not willing to risk whatever consequences will come with that.

"I'm going to talk with your doctor," she finally says. "I'll be one minute."

"Wait! What- am I ok?"

"Your doctor will explain everything, don't worry."

Amnesia, his doctor explains.

Three years of his life, gone. They try to reassure him, say that it's still early days and he could completely regain his memory, no problem.

But they don't know. Not really. It's all 'possibly's, and 'maybe's. No guarentee. There's still a chance that he may never remember.

The woman who ran in when he woke up, sat by his bedside and holding his hand in a death grip, doesn't look anymore reassured by their optimism than he is.

"We're... close?" He asks her.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a smile. "Platonic soulmates. It's, um... Robin, by the way. Robin Buckley."

"Do we have that... Mrs Click, you sit behind me, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She looks stunned, almost dazed. "I didn't think you remembered, or even noticed me."

"How could I not? You're hilarious!"

"What? We never-"

"Oh, uh, you're muttering. Behind me. It wasn't exactly, um... quiet."

"Oh my god," she slaps a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "You heard me talk about you!"

"Yeah, like I said; you're funny."

Luckily, someone else bursts into the room, interrupting whatever epiphany Robin is having.

"Steve!" He yells.

The guy looks like a kid, barely out of middle school. But he rushes to Steve, eyeing him up like he's Steves babysitter.

"Uh, hi?"

"Oh no," is the kids response. He turns to Robin. "How much does he remember?"

"He is right here, you know."

"I think some time in 83?" Robin replies, ignoring him.

"Before or after the whole... uh..." He glances at Steve with suspicion, then pointedly to the door.

"Jesus," Steve mutters, rubbing at the crease between his brows. "Did Nancy and Jonathan tell you, or what?"

"Tell us about... what?"

He rolls his eyes at them, pointing to the kid. "Whatever has short stack paranoid. The thing with the-" he flops one hand around, raised towards the ceiling, "the lights."

"Do you remember anything that happened after that?" The kid quickly asks. "At the hospital, and Will?"

"You mean the Byers kid? Isn't he, like... dead?"

"So you... don't remember me."

"Sorry?"

"It's fine," he lies.

Steve hates how sad the kid sounds. He glances between the two of them, both seemingly wallowing quietly about the situation.

"Which room is Munson in?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"What?" The kid frowns. "Eddie? Why?"

"Which room?"

"He's two doors down to the left," Robin answers. "Why- woah! Don't get up! You're still-"

"I'm fine," Steve gently pushes her away, ignoring both of them trying to plead for him to get back into bed.

Despite the bandages, bruises and sick look to him, Munson somehow looks better than Steve remembers him looking. The longer hair definitely suits him.

"Steve?" He frowns. He tries to sit up but, grimacing, he soon stops. "What the hell are you doing up? You're gonna freak Dustin out."

"Dustin? That the kid?" He asks, grunting as he sits on the edge of his bed.

"What do-" he pauses, expressions slowly twisting with the horror and realization. "Yeah. Yeah, man, Dustin is the kid."

"Right. So... um... we're friends now?"

Eddie winces. "We haven't exactly had time to talk about... that."

"What? It's been years!"

"It's not that simple."

"Are you saying that because it's true or because you don't-"

"Because it's true," Eddie rolls his eyes. "A lot has happened since then, Steve. You fell in love with Wheeler."

"What?" Steve can't hide his confusion. "Nancy?"

"Yes, Nancy. You made sure everyone fucking knew about that."

Steve snorts, having to grab at his side with a wince. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"So you're still easy to rile up?" He asks, smirking.

"Wh- you-" Eddie gasps. He tries to sit up again, grunting when he flops back down. "You were trying to make me jealous?!"

He's looking at Steve with disbelief, but he's also smiling.

"Are we friends now?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Stevie. We're friends."

"Just friends?"

"I don't... Steve, how bad is your amnesia?"

Steve quickly looks away, wincing. "Not... that bad? I remember that- the first time. This, um... monster shit. Falling out with Tommy. And the doctors are optimistic- they're pretty sure I'm going to remember."

"Alright... maybe it'd be better if we talk then, instead of rushing into it now."

"Jesus," Steve frowns. "I really have missed a lot. When did you get mature?"

"Hey-"

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I think it’s high time I admit I accidentally gave Her a praise kink and both of them size kinks. Oops. That’s my bad y’all. Chapter Title from epiphany by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 30k (so long I had to combine paragraphs...)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone takes steps forward, and a few back. Usual warnings, with extra alerts on the smut. Just so much smut.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Ben hadn’t even been that fucking tired, but his eyes had somehow closed and his brain that had been supposed to stay alert—focused on Her, her safety and every shifting movement she made against him—became glossed over and lulled into a haze by Her. In his arms, tucked into his body, with her breath hot against his skin and her heartbeat slow and steady in his ears. Safe and home, smiling slightly in her sleep and holding onto his shirt in the dark. Ben loved her, and when she’d hooked one leg over Ben’s hips and given a content sigh in her sleep he’d almost exploded. She was perfect, and clinging to him like he might vanish from her hands, and he’d made the mistake of kissing her brow.

She’d leaned into it. In deep sleep, without a single fucking thought about it, she’d pushed herself up Ben’s chest and made a small, happy humming sound that shattered all of Ben’s will and vigilance because it was just Her. So peaceful and calm, sleeping in Ben’s arms like nightmares weren’t even something to fucking consider. It was contagious. She’d used that stupid flower shampoo—it was better on Her than Ben, stronger and more potent—and her hands were still as her heartbeat rolled through him like a drug. Pulling Ben down, down, down without a fight, because she was in his arms and everything was right.

When Ben woke up, it was easy. Eyes pulling themselves open because he was rested, and the pillow against his face had blocked out all the light of morning pushing into the room. He’d rolled over in his sleep, but She wasn’t under him or at his side. There was a weight on his back that felt like Hers, and a soft sound of a piano that they didn’t own surrounding Ben’s head that Her voice floated over, smooth and controlled, brighter and warmer than the sunlight on Ben’s face when he turned his head. The whole room smelled like honey, and Ben could feel a soft wind coming from nowhere. He made a low sound—against his fucking will—and the music stopped.

“Hi,” Her voice was near his ear, and one of her arms was resting on his shoulders. She was on top of Ben, sprawled across his body with her legs half-straddling him and half-tanged in his, her hand fucking petting Ben’s hair. She was trying to fucking kill him. “You’re up.”

“Fucking obviously,” he muttered, and She just laughed into his neck. A light, joyful sound that made Ben’s whole body relax and his mouth twitch up. “Why are you sitting on me.”

Her hand trailed down the back of Ben’s head, resting on his neck. “You’re comfortable.”

“We’re on a goddamn bed-“

She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek with a small hum, and rolled off his body, onto the mattress beside him. Ben’s arms flew out to catch Her, stop her from getting too far away or falling off of the damn bed, and when her perfect, beautiful face landed in his view, she was smiling.

“Grumpy-“

Ben yanked Her forward, back against his body where she fit so fucking well, and kissed the small yelp out of her mouth. Let Her moan into his throat as he sat up against the headboard, pulling her with him until she was in his lap and was falling right onto his chest. Where she was fucking made to be. But, even as he fucking ate Her, Ben kept vigilant attention to her every movement and reaction. Every shift of her hips and small sound that escaped her throat when he squeezed her waist that drew them closer and closer to Ben having to stop, to reaching that unspoken limit of what he could take and take and take and give, and having to pull back so She could make that choice for him. 

She ground down on Ben once with a breathless moan, and froze. Dropped Her head down to his chest and sighed, resting against him with nothing more. She was going to apologize. She was going to try and fucking apologize to Ben for this—he recognized that small, sad sigh that meant she was going to be sorry—and he didn’t want it. He didn’t want Her to keep apologizing for everything, to keep thinking Ben gave a shit what they were doing or not doing when he had Her back. All that fucking mattered was that she was here and safe, and if Ben had to be a celibate fucking monk pussy for the rest of his life so be it. She’d be there, and Ben loved Her, and that was enough. He wished he could just tell Her he loved her, and make her understand that if she said sorry for this again, Ben would lose his fucking mind.

But he couldn’t. Not now, not when She wasn’t ready. When she was ready Ben would make Her whine and moan and do whatever the fuck she asked him to. He might die on his knees for Her, just to try and make her get it. Finally fucking believe that She was the most important thing in the universe, and Ben was lucky she was just sharing oxygen with him. That he fucking loved Her, and she should never apologize to him. He would rather eat a goddamn bullet than have her think she ever needed to apologize to him. So he spoke before She could even try to.

“You were singing.”

She tilted her head up, watching Ben with a frown. “What?” 

“Before I woke up,” he grunted, pulling Her a little higher up his chest. He wanted her closer, as close as she’d fucking allow. “You were singing.” 

“Yeah, I,” She sighed, and her arms moved up to wrap around Ben’s neck. “I just wanted to see what I could do. If I’d regressed.” 

Ben paused, examining Her sad expression, her soft words echoing in his head. “You didn’t sing at Vought.” 

“No,” She shook her head. “They never even mentioned it. I don’t think they forgot, Sage wouldn’t forget. Homelander-“ She made a small, pained sound with the name, and that was enough of that fucking shit. “He-“ 

Ben kissed her, gentle and soft until she sighed and her nails stopped digging into his skin. When he pulled back—She was so fucking perfect, swollen lips parted and pretty eyes watching him—Ben said Her name, firm and slow. “Tell me what you were singing.”

She blinked. “But-“ 

“No.” Ben glared at Her, and she swallowed her own words. “Tell me about your fucking song, or shut the hell up.” 

“Rude.” Her words were mumbled, but lighter. No strain in her voice, the pure fucking sadness in her eyes fading when she looked at Ben. “You’re not the boss of me, Benjamin, you can’t tell me what to do.”

He snorted. “You don’t even listen to your real boss, Sunshine. I don’t think that would change a single goddamn thing.”

“Well-“

“And,” Ben leaned down, bumping his nose with hers. “I don’t need to be your boss to tell you what to do. You like it when I order you around.” 

Her face was flushed, breathing heavy against Ben’s mouth, and she was so fucking perfect. “Fuck you.” 

He winked. “That’s the idea.” 

“Horny old man.”

“It’s all for you, beautiful.” He kissed her nose, and she made a small, high sound that was going to make Ben cum in his pants like a teenager. “Tell me about your music, or admit you get turned on when I tell you what to do.”

“You can’t fucking prove that I-“

“Don’t need to.” Ben pulled back, grinning down at Her. “I know how fucking wet you get when I throw you around, or make you beg.”

“Ben-“

“If it helps,” he grabbed Her chin gently, holding her gaze to his. “I think it’s fucking hot when you tell me what to do.”

She swallowed, chewing on her mouth as she watched Ben with wide eyes. “You do?”

What he wanted to say was don’t be dumb, Sunshine, of course I fucking do. You get all bossy and loud, and it makes me want to throw you against a wall to see just how loud I can get you. It makes me fucking love you more, because you’re not afraid of me and trust that I’ll listen to you. Because you never fucking waver, and I love you, and I think you should keep telling me what to do for the rest of fucking time, because that means you’re with me for the rest of fucking time and I can fuck you and make you so goddamn happy and I love you. I fucking love you, and you’re a brat who thinks she knows everything, but you actually do and it’s so fucking hot. And I love you. But He can’t say that. Not now.

“I do.” Ben smirked at Her, running his thumb over her lower lip. “Just like you it when I tell you how beautiful you are, and tell you to say my name, and how good you are-“

She made a strangled sound, and something flashed through Ben’s body. Some sort of feeling that was consuming and vast and powerful, that rushed through him before being almost yanked away. She’d leaned back, away from Ben, and this was the line he had to walk. He didn’t fucking understand it, why She’d let him say almost every filthy thought he had aloud, why she’d let Ben tell her all the ways he wanted to fuck her, but wouldn’t allow him to just do it. Just fuck Her smart as shit brain empty and blissful, let Ben make her feel good like she deserved. Why when she peeled off of his body she did it like it was impossible, why she kept looking at Ben with a fucking want and adoration but wouldn’t just tell him what to do to help. He wanted to fucking help her, make this better for her, and she wouldn’t tell him how.

All he could do was stay, and wait, and keep finding that exact line between making Her smile and happy and heartbeat steady, and telling her he fucking loved her and having her moan into his throat while he fucked her until she was good. Ben didn’t want Her to be okay or fine, she needed to be goddamn good. Nobody deserved to be fucking good like she did. To feel as desired as Ben desired her, to have someone love them like Ben loved her. He’d do anything for her. The longer she was near him to more certain Ben became that he’d do fucking anything for her. Which was why he had to wait. He had to file away how She’d looked at him when he’d called her good and try to ignore his boner—making a poor attempt to shift it away from Her thigh—and just wait. She wanted him, Ben knew she wanted him, and now all he had to do was wait.

“I’m-“

“Music,” Ben snapped, because she wasn’t fucking apologizing to him. She’d stayed on the bed— leaning into Ben’s side with her head buried in his shoulder—and there wasn’t a single reason she needed to apologize. “Tell me about your music.”

“It’s not interesting,” Her voice was muffled against Ben’s body, breath warm on his skin. “I was just practicing. I don’t even really remember what I was singing-“

Ben knew what she’d been singing. It was one of the songs he’d tried to learn while she was gone, but had been so slow and long and tedious so he’d given the fuck up and moved onto something with a goddamn beat. And when he grunted the answer for Her, she looked up at him with narrow eyes. 

“How did you know?” 

“You’ve sung it before,” he muttered. “I pay attention, Sunshine-” 

“And I’ve never sung that one.” She shuffled up, onto her knees, until her eyes were level with Ben’s. “Truth, Benjamin. Now.”

“That was-“ 

“Nope.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t.” 

Ben scowled. This shouldn’t be so hard to tell Her. He’d missed her, she knew he’d missed her, and it wasn’t a big fucking deal. She might tease him, but she always teased him. And she wouldn’t figure out Ben loved her just from this. He wouldn’t lose his chance to tell Her the right way���holding her perfect face in his hands, when there was nothing to interrupt them or try to separate them, when Ben could fuck her immediately after—because there wasn’t a chance something this stupid would give him away.

“I listened to your music while you were gone.”

“Oh.”

“I missed you.” He grunted, trying to figure out if that was a confused oh, or a turned on oh, or a I’ve figured out you love me, Benjamin oh. “And I was bored as fucking balls. I listened to all your stupid songs, and that was one of them. It’s not-“

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper, and her whole face was soft. Looking at Ben with that adoration in her eyes, tugging on his arm until his words trailed off. “I missed you too.”

“I fucking know that-“

“No,” She shook her head, hands running mindlessly up and down Ben’s skin. “I really, really missed you. And I’m-“

“Don’t say sorry,” Ben glared at her. “If you say sorry, I’ll never kiss you again.” 

She scoffed. “Fuck off, Pretty Boy. We both know that’s not true.” 

It was. Ben would probably die if he never kissed her again. But he wasn’t losing this argument. “You don’t want to take that bet, Sunshine.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Someone’s real fucking sure of herself-“ 

“Well,” She grinned, smug and perfect and Ben fucking loved her. “It’s hard not to be when I just had Soldier Boy say he listened to music because he missed me-“

“I told you not to fucking call me that,” Ben leaned forwards, letting their lips brush, savoring how her words died with the pretty flush of Her face. “And of course I missed you.” I fucking love you. “Nobody else moans my name quite like you do. Brat.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You fucking love it.”

She was silent, watching Ben like he was everything but with something heavy in her eyes. Mouth a small pout Ben couldn’t understand for his goddamn life. She’d looked at him like this before, and Ben never fucking understood what it meant. If it was just lust—her eyes were blown out, and Her heart was fast—or that adoration, or want or need or fucking what-

“I do,” She sighed softy, and Ben was fucking confused. “You’re a cunt, but I do.” 

He grunted Her name, because she needed to stop looking at Ben like that or he’d tell her he loved her. If She kept staring at Ben with her hands warm on his arm and that small smile on her mouth that he couldn’t understand, Ben would damn any consequence or repercussion and say he loved Her. 

“You didn’t have any nightmares.”

Ben blinked at Her, word dying in his throat. “What.”

“You were asleep for hours,” She tilted her head at him. “No nightmares.”

“What the fuck does that matter.” 

“You said they were getting worse. I can start working on your PTSD again-“ 

“No.” Ben’s words were fast, firm, and rough. He hadn’t had a fucking nightmare last night, he’d slept like a goddamn baby, but She was with him, so everything was fine. And even if it wasn’t, Annie’s words kept fucking rattling around in his head. Don’t hurt her. “I’ve got a grip on it.”

“But-“

He said Her name, moving up to kiss her brow and hum words against her skin. “This isn’t your fucking problem. I’ve got it.”

“I want to help-“

“I know,” he sighed, because of course She did. Stupid fucking perfect and kind woman. “But I’ve fucking got it handled.”

She nodded slowly, rising higher on her knees until they were level once more. “Promise?” 

“Swear it.” 

“You’ll keep,” She swallowed. “You’ll keep sleeping in bed with me? Even with the nightmares?”

“Do you want me to.” 

“Yes-“

“Then I will.” Ben shrugged, because it was that fucking simple. She wanted him here, this was where he would be. He still thought it was a dumb as shit idea—she needed to be able to always sleep peacefully, never be worried about Ben’s nightmares of blood waking her up—but he’d still stay. If all he could do was stay, he’d stay. “But you don’t get to waste time on my shell shock.”

“It’s not wasting time,” She frowned. “It helps you.” 

“I’m fine, Sunshine.” 

“But-“ 

“No.” Ben moved a hand into Her hair, stopping the frantic shake of her head. “I keep sleeping in the bed, you don’t work on the shell shock. Deal?” 

She sighed. “Deal.” 

Ben grinned, and kissed her once. It was long, biting her lip and running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, going until she was breathless and slack against his body. They probably had to fucking move, Ben could see the sun higher in the sky, and they both had shit to do. Soon, Butcher would start barging into their bedroom and demanding they attended the team meeting, and Ben was not going to allow that shit. This version of Her—where she molded perfectly against him and smiled at him so easily—was sacred, and Butcher wasn’t allowed to see. Nobody was allowed to see it but Ben, because she only showed it to him and he’d protect that with his goddamn life. So—in a display of restraint and sheer fucking willpower that should earn Ben some sort of medal—he pulled back. Ben gave Her one last tug of her lip between his teeth, sat in the needy sound that left her throat, and grinned down at her perfect, relaxed face. “Hungry?”

She nodded, and made a soft, heady sound that made Ben’s brain a little fucking foggy.

“Up,” he grunted, wrapping his arms around Her hauling her up his chest. “Let’s move.”

“What time-“

“Late.” He muttered. “And we need to eat before the meeting.”

“The meeting?” She frowned, arms tensing where they still rested around Ben’s neck. “What meeting?”

“Team meeting. At noon. It’s-“

“At noon?” She whacked his shoulder, and Ben tried to keep his gaze locked ahead as he stood, feeling Her glare burning into him. “Benjamin, why didn’t you fucking tell me-“

“I forgot,” he snapped. “I got fucking distracted, you’re just as much to blame-“

“Oh, fuck you.” Ben made the mistake of glaring down at Her, finding her sticking her tongue out at him and having to fight the urge to toss her back onto the bed and keep Her there forever. “I didn’t know. You did.”

“Well, if you hadn’t fucking sat on me, I wouldn’t have gotten off track and we’d have been downstairs a goddamn hour ago.”

“If you weren’t such a horny old cunt,” She grinned at him, kissing his neck and trying to fucking kill him. “You’d have been able to remember to do your job.”

“Brat.” He scowled into the air, trying to ignore how her pretty giggle rolled through his body, and she was trailing up to him jaw and driving him fucking insane. “I am doing my goddamn job, and we’re not fucking late to anything yet-”

“Yet,” She hummed. “I think you almost completely forgot. I think your memory is going-“

“My memory,” Ben found a better grip on Her body, using one arm to support her legs wrapped around his body and allowing the other to reach up and tug her face away from him, forcing Her to meet his eyes. “Is goddamn fine. You’re just a fucking needy, beautiful distraction.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching her mouth fall open and smirking at the small whine that escaped her. He wasn’t even fucking touching Her. “But next time, I’ll just ignore you. I won’t suck your pretty face, or make you feel good. Is that what you fucking want?”

He’s won. She’s scoffing and rolling her eyes, squirming out of Ben’s grip, and he’s finally won one of these stupid things with words.

“Shut up.”

“No, you fucking said I should do my job, Sunshine, so next time you climb on me, I’ll throw you off and leave-“

She shoved his chest, pulling away from Ben’s arm trying to steady her feet. “Fuck you.”

“I won’t, not it if you don’t admit-“

She pulled his head down, kissing him like he was water and she’d been lost in the desert for years. Ben understood that, because he’d nearly fucking died of starvation while she’d been gone. He hadn’t even been hungry before her, he’d felt satisfied and been completely fucking satiated, then he’d gotten her and now he’d crave her for the rest of goddamn time. She was fucking perfect, and Ben loved Her, and when she kissed him like this he had to growl against her and dive down to make Her whine so he didn’t say it. He could say it. She was kissing Ben like he was everything and maybe, if he said it now, She’d just keep going. She’d smile at him and say Benjamin, I love you too, and he’d tell Her I love you more, Sunshine. You’re so goddamn perfect, and I love you so fucking much. It’s not possible for you to love me more than I love you, because nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you. You drive me goddamn insane, and I’m going to fuck you until you get that. Got it? 

Ben almost heard her response, breathless in his ear even as she moaned into his mouth. Got it. But I love you more.

The feeling was back. For a split second something flashed like lightning through Ben’s body, setting him on fire before vanishing. She pulled her mouth away and took a small step back, and all Ben could do was stare at her and bite his tongue so he didn’t say it. She’d moved away again, she wasn’t ready, and Ben couldn’t say it.

“We should get ready,” she mumbled, staring intently at Ben’s chest. Not meeting his eyes. “It’s 11:30.”

“You need to eat-“ 

“I’ll go get dressed,” she glanced over her shoulder, frowning at the kitchen. “And you make some food? I don’t know what we have-“

“I can do it,” Ben muttered, taking a careful step toward Her. Another when she looked up at him and didn’t move away. “Sandwich?”

She nodded. “That sounds good. Do you want your phone?”

Ben grunted in agreement, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

She took a small step, standing right before Ben without actually just fucking touching him. His back went straight, his whole body tensing as he waited. She’d tell him what she wanted, and this was fucking killing him but he’d let her. He wouldn’t pick her up and eat her out on the dining room table, or slam her back into the wall and make her cum on his fingers like before. He had to wait, and it was worth it. All she did was smile at him with teeth and pure goddamn joy on her face, reaching up and kissing Ben’s cheek, and Christ on a fucking cross it was worth more than anything in the world. He didn’t breathe until She pulled back, didn’t do anything but watch Her and swallow down a shout of I love you, I fucking love you, do that again because I fucking love you and it’s better than any fucking high or rush as she turned and walked back up the stairs.

Ben made Her a sandwich and coffee—stupid goddamn love was turning him into a pussy and he couldn’t even bring himself to give a fuck—and caught his phone when she reappeared over on the loft strip, leaning over the railing and chucking it at his face.

“Jesus fucking christ, woman-“

She scoffed. “Don’t be a baby, Benjamin, you caught it. You’ve got a text from Butcher.”

Ben frowned down at his phone, where William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible, 3 Messages was displaying in a small banner on his lock screen. When he looked back up She was already gone back into the bedroom—Ben could hear her shuffling around, hear drawers opening and fabrics shifting, and had to actively fight the image of her naked out of his head—so he returned his attention to his phone and read Butcher’s texts.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Mallory said she’s been cleared, so you both better be at the meeting

Ryan will meet you both in the gym after

You two twats need to stop reunion fucking long enough to get to the dining hall

Nobody had told Ben they had a gym. He’d been here for four fucking months, and not once had anyone said they had a gym. He’d have to yell at Butcher about that later though, because she was walking back down the stairs, frowning at him and glancing at the phone in his hand.

“Everything good?”

He gave a tight nod, looking Her up and down. She was dressed—that was Ben’s fucking shirt—and her fingers were tapping at her side. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing-“

Ben said Her name flatly, narrowing his eyes and holding her gaze. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m fine, Ben.” She sighed. “Will Ryan be there? At the meeting?”

“After. We’re meeting him in the gym.” Ben frowned, hearing Her heartbeat stumble. “If you don’t want to-“

“No!” She shook her head, eyes widening. “I want to, I do. I’m just, what if he doesn’t like me? Then what?”

He loved Her. Her eyes on Ben’s were so soft and concerned and Ben fucking loved Her. He took one long step across the room, pulling her up into his chest and holding Her perfect face between his hands, kissing Her until that worried little frown vanished and was replaced by an open mouth for Ben to mutter into.

“Stop being fucking insane.” 

She pushed his chest, but didn’t try to pull away. “Fucking rude-“

“I’ve already told you,” he grunted Her name, and her hands loosened on his shirt. “The Kid likes you.”

“You don’t know that-“

“I do.” Ben moved back, glaring at Her. “I’ve fucking talked to him about it, and he wouldn’t stop asking about you. Asking to meet you. He’s going to like you just fine, because he’s not a goddamn idiot.”

She swallowed. “You’ve really talked to him about me?”

Ben needed to learn when to shut the fuck up. His inability to not just tell Her everything he did and everything he thought didn’t bode well for keeping the fact that he loved her a secret. “I told you I did, and I’m not a fucking-” 

“Liar pussy, I know.” She was grinning again, and her eyes were sharp, so Ben decided however she was about to fucking tease him for this was worth it. “You didn’t say what you told him.” 

“I don’t remember.” That wasn’t a lie. Ben couldn’t fucking remember exactly what he’d told the Kid, because the Kid had asked a fuck ton of questions and Ben had answered all of them. He genuinely didn’t know what he had and hadn’t told the Kid. “But he already likes you. So don’t lose your damn mind worrying about it.”

“Okay.” Her voice was a whisper, and Ben kissed the top of Her head.

“You’re good.”

“I’m good.” She pulled back, tilting her head at Ben. “Did you say gym?”

“Butcher said we’re meeting the Kid there after the meeting.”

“Huh.” She frowned. “I didn’t know we had a gym.”

Ben snorted. Fucking Christ he loved Her. “They don’t tell us fucking shit, Sunshine.” He kissed the space between her eyes, light and soft and because he fucking could, and forced himself to step away. “I’m going to get changed. Eat.”

She wrinkled her perfect nose at him. “I was going to, don’t tell me what to do-“

“You like it.” 

“Fuck you.”

Ben winked, starting to walk past Her to the stairs. “You’d like that as well, wouldn’t you.”

She flipped him off, stalking to the kitchen, and Ben laughed. Really, fully laughed, feeling his goddamn cheeks hurt from grinning at Her. He fucking loved Her, and he’d missed so many goddamn things about Her—Her beautiful face, her pretty smile, her big words and smart fucking mouth, the sounds she made when Ben touched her—but he’d mostly just missed Her. The way that everything was good when she was there. How Ben could laugh and it felt so fucking simple to do so, because She was there and it would be a goddamn crime to keep joy from her. The whole fucking apartment looked better with her in it. It wasn’t big, barely three fucking rooms, but Ben hadn’t even realized how hollow it had felt without her presence filling it up. Her heartbeat echoing around it, her soft cursing when she dropped something, her tapping on the surface of the table as she ate. The light leaking in through the windows was a little brighter, everything smelled like Her again, and when Ben opened the drawers of their dresser Her clothes had moved. Because she was home to move them.

Ben changed fast, and managed to get downstairs right before the clock hit noon. She was waiting for him at the door, arms crossed, glaring at him as he walked to meet her.

“We’re going to be late, Benjamin.”

“What the hell are you talking about, it’s noon right now-“

“The meeting is at noon, dummy.” She linked Her arm through Ben’s, tugging him into the hall. “We’re supposed to be there already.”

“They can’t fucking start without us-“

“Exactly,” she gave him a flat look over her shoulder. “So walk faster, Pretty Boy. And you’re taking all the blame when we get there.”

Ben’s glower and eye roll was a complete fucking performance. She was touching him and talking to him, so he’d do whatever she told him to. He’d take the blame—Mallory could suck his fucking dick if they got shit for being five minutes late—and if She was really upset about being late, Ben would make it up to her later. He’d steal her some chocolate, or watch a movie with her, or tell her about all the shows he’d watched while she’d been gone until she smiled at him. Then he’d eat her face until she moaned. He’d probably do all of that shit anyway, but she never needed to know that.

Everyone was waiting for them, giving them varying levels of dirty looks when they walked into the dining hall. Mallory seemed to be the only one truly pissed, because MM’s glower was probably about respecting people’s motherfucking time and Butcher’s was lined with a smug amusement at Ben being pulled behind Her like a fucking dog. A-Train looked nervous—Ben was a little fucking shocked he was even here—and The French Prick, Kimiko, Annie, and Hughie just looked happy to see Her. Everyone should always be happy to see Her, so Ben wasn’t going to award them any points for that. He would appreciate Kimiko standing up and crossing the room, though, signing shit Ben didn’t understand that made her smile. Point against Kimiko, She had to fucking let go of Ben to respond. Point back to Kimiko, they hugged. Without hesitation, Kimiko hugged Her, and that was what made Ben give the woman a small nod when they pulled apart.

“Look who finally managed to pull his bloody dick out-“

“Butcher,” Annie sighed. “Can you save the sex stuff for after the meeting? Please?”

Butcher looked like he was going to argue, but Mallory snapped over him.

“We’re working, William. Save the personal talk for your own time.”

“We fuckin live here,” Butcher muttered. “Ain’t no difference between our work hours and personal hours.”

“Well this is work,” Mallory’s glare turned to Her and Ben. “And I expect professionalism.”

Ben scowled, slinging his arm over Her shoulders as they walked to the table. “We’re not fucking in front of you, so shove it up your damn ass, lady.”

“You’re late-“

“By five damn minutes,” Ben snapped, dropping on the end of the bench, keeping her at his side. Fighting the instinct to hide Her from Mallory’s tight lips and angry eyes, because she’d want to handle herself and Ben wasn’t interested in her kicking his ass right now. “We’re not delaying fucking shit anymore, that’s all you.”

Mallory looked them up and down, eyes narrowing. “Next time, I expect you both to be five minutes early.”

Ben shrugged. “Make this worth our fucking time.”

“Mallory,” She injected, and Ben looked down to find her leaning forward, elbows on the table. “We’re sorry, but can we please just get started?”

“Fine.” Mallory crossed her arms, shooting Ben one last sneering glare. “We’ll start with new developments. Campbell, updates on the V?”

“Um,” Hughie glanced around the table. “There aren’t any. I’ve been going through all the shell companies, but half of them were dissolved. Two weeks ago, actually.”

“What about the offshore accounts?” A-Train frowned. “I gave a shit ton of them, Hughie, you should’ve been able to find something.”

“No, I shouldn’t have.” Hughie was actually glaring. Ben had never seen him glare. He looked like a damn angry mouse. “All of them were emptied into the shell companies, then the shell companies were dissolved.”

MM ran a hand over his beard, shaking his head. “That money didn’t just fucking vanish, Hughie. They put it somewhere.”

“I know, I just can’t find where-“

“Keep at it, Lad, you’ll come through.” Ben gave Hughie a nod, and Hughie leaned back with a sad look at Annie. “MM, any progress on Sacramento?” 

“I reached out to my contact at the FDA, but they said that the port worked with pasteurized produce, not narcotics.”

“That was the cover,” A-Train muttered. “We were supposed to keep it off the feds radar. There’s V there, I swear-“

Butcher scoffed. “Just like you bloody swore ‘bout Atlanta?”

“Sage must have gotten there first-“

Ben felt a tug at his arm, and looked down to find Her frowning up at him. What’s going on?

We’ve been looking for the V. A-Train gave us a long as fuck list of locations and shit, but none of them worked.

She nodded slowly. What about the FDA? Or Military?

Ben blinked at Her. What.

After everyone found out about V, didn’t the government confiscate like, a shit ton of it?

I don’t fucking know, I was in Russia.

And I was underground. She gave Ben a flat look. I read about it, Pretty Boy. You could’ve as well.

Why would I read when I can just have you tell me everything? He winked, and She stuck her tongue out at him.

Cunt.

Brat. Ben glanced up, and everyone was still fucking talking about Atlanta. Tell them about the FDA. 

She gave a small shake of her head. I don’t think Mallory will like it. 

Mallory can go fuck herself with the stick up her ass. Tell them.

She sighed, and raised Her hand. When nobody noticed, Ben gave an aggressive cough that turned everyone’s eyes to them.

“What the fuck was that, are you sick-“

“I can’t get sick, dumb-fuck.” Ben cut MM off with a glare. “We’ve got an idea.”

“We?” She elbowed Ben’s ribs. “Who’s we, Benjamin?”

Ben scowled, and She just grinned at him. “Fucking Christ, she has a plan.”

“Well will you cunts stop bloody eye-fuckin and tell us?”

“We weren’t eye fucking Butcher. And it’s,” She sighed, fingers tapping on the table. “I’m not sure about it.”

“It’s better than nothing,” MM sighed Her name. “What do you got.”

“When I got out, I read about the V scandal.” She frowned, and Ben knew she was thinking, picking out all the right words to convince them. “I also read that a large amount of V was confiscated by the FDA, and the Department of Defense was granted a warrant by Congress to take some for ‘studies’,” She made small air quotes, looking around the table. “Sage probably has people in the Pentagon, but it would be harder for her to make V that’s under federal control vanish.”

“What, exactly, are you implying?” Mallory’s voice was cold, and She swallowed.

“MM has a contact at the FDA. We could ask if they still have any V.” She sighed. “Or we could meet with Singer? He kind of owes us, after Nueman-“ 

“The President doesn’t owe you anything.” Mallory snapped, and Ben’s vision went a little red as She gave a small nod. “Vought has international locations, it’s unlikely Sage has been able to flush all of them out-“ 

“This isn’t a horrible idea, Grace.” MM was watching Her, brows knit. “It’s a sure fucking bet, and a hell of a lot safer than raiding a Vought warehouse. I can reach out again, see what they’ve got for us.“ 

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask Singer either,” Annie added, nodding slowly. “Worst he says is no, right?”

Mallory’s lips somehow got fucking thinner. “We are not wasting his time-“

“It ain’t wastin’ time if he’s got what we’re fuckin lookin for.” Butcher drawled. “And if he do, we’ll all take turns suckin him off as a thank you.”

Hughie blinked. “I, uh, I don’t want to do that-“

“I’m not sucking anyone off, Butcher, you can shove that right up your ass-“

“Bloody hell,” Butcher rolled his eyes, cutting MM and Hughie off. “Frenchie will, then.”

The French Prick shrugged. “For America, of course.”

“Me and you, Mate, are the only cunts committed to the safety of this bleedin country, and we ain’t even citizens-“

“Butcher,” Annie sighed. “On topic, please.”

“Fuckin party pooper, ain’t you Starlight.” Annie’s scowl deepened as Butcher turned away. “MM, reach out to the FDA again. Grace, it ain’t gonna kill Singer or destroy America for him to meet with us for a bloody hour.”

“William-“

“If you don’t, I will.” Butcher’s eyes narrowed at Mallory. “I’ll even send Soldier Boy ‘ere to drag ‘im by the ear. We’re runnin out of options, now ain’t the time to be picky.”

Ben didn’t even bother to tell Butcher to shove it up his ass and stop giving orders. He would drag Singer by the ear, what the fuck could that pussy do to him anyway? 

Mallory scowled, looking around the table and seeing the determined, set faces all siding with Her plan. Apparently Ben wasn’t surrounded by complete fucking idiots.

“Fine. Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda,” Mallory’s gaze rested on Her, saying Her name in a clipped voice. “Have you checked the news today?”

“No,” She mumbled, fingers tapping faster. “But I don’t have a phone to check it with.”

Mallory frowned, but gave a tight nod. “In that case, I recommend you pay attention. Marvin?”

MM leaned forward. Giving Her an apologetic look that made Ben’s skin crawl.

“Homelander gave an address.”

Her heart picked up, and her hand shot up to Ben’s arm around her shoulders, smoke rising against his skin. “What,” Ben pressed his thigh to hers, and she took a steadying breath. “What did he say?”

“I’m not fucking sure how to-“ MM cut himself off, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the table with a sigh. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself.”

It was a news article. A video playing of Homelander behind a podium with a sad, weak fucking pussy expression as he addressed the camera. Sage was standing behind him, with her face neutral and bored. The audio was off, but Ben didn’t even really fucking notice it. He read the headline above the video, and clenched his jaw so hard his teeth might have shattered. 

Homelander Accuses CIA of Kidnapping Fiancée, Anomaly

Ben read the word once. Twice. A third time just to certain he wasn’t going fucking insane. Fiancée. Homelander’s Fiancée.

“What the fuck is this.” He growled, not addressing anyone in particular. Pulling Her further into his side, running his fingers in small circles on the skin of her shoulder as her heart picked up faster and faster. Her breathing was mechanical, and it was making Ben cold. She looked so fucking afraid and Ben’s whole body was cold. He felt fucking sick, and between Her every breath he could almost hear her voice going no. No, no, no. “Someone better start talking, right goddamn now-“

“It’s Sage’s move,” She whispered, staring at the table and shaking her head. “She’s giving herself jus ad bellum. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming.”

Hughie frowned. “Pretend that some of us don’t know what jus ad bellum is-”

“Right of war,” MM muttered. “Justification for further escalation. But how the hell would you have seen this shit coming?” MM said Her name, nodding at the screen. “It’s an insane gamble, even for Sage-“ 

“No, it’s not.” She looked up slowly, taking a long, unsteady breath that made Ben’s heart move into his throat. “It’s what she’s been planning. She knew I’d escape-” 

“How?” Hughie leaned around Annie to look at Her, titling his head. “Sorry, I mean, how could she have known? Wouldn’t she have tried to stop you-”

“No, that sounds like Sage,” A-Train shook his head with a sigh. “That bitch plays 4-D chess, you won’t understand why she does something until it’s too late and it’s paid off for her.”

She nodded. “She told me a week ago I was going to propose to Homelander on TV, as a surprise. And if I didn’t, She’d-” Her eyes flicked up to Ben, and she swallowed. “Hurt people. She knew I wouldn’t, she knew I’d escape. I think I surprised her by telling Homelander I was going to marry him, though-“

Butcher gaped at Her, voicing Ben’s almost exact thoughts. “You fuckin what-“

“I needed him away from Vought. It worked, and it might be the only thing Sage didn’t anticipate. She probably thought I’d just run, and Homelander would give up on me.”

“No more hang ups,” MM muttered. “No more dealing with his obsession and erratic outbursts about you.” 

“Exactly.” She swallowed. “But I told him I’d marry him, and now he probably just thinks I was taken from him again. So her move is to back us into a corner. We say I left of my own volition, and we’re ignoring the gravity of the situation. We admit I’m here, it’s because you took me.”

“What if we just ignore it?” Annie’s suggestion was hesitant. She didn’t even fucking believe in it herself. “Don’t even respond-“

“We have to respond,” She gave Annie a small, sad smile. “I’m too important to this now. I made myself important, and Sage doubled down on that. If the CIA doesn’t put out some sort of statement, Sage will say silence is complicity.”

“You got any ideas?” MM glanced at Ben, giving him a small nod. “Soldier Boy said you were working on something-“ 

“I was,” She whispered. “But I didn’t plan for this. I don’t-“ 

“We’ll figure it out,” Ben grunted, unable to stand the slightly strangled sound of Her words. “They haven’t fucking won, Sunshine, we’ll figure it out.” 

She nodded, and when she leaned into his side Ben didn’t feel quite as cold anymore. “I know. I mean, I could try to distance myself-“

“That ain’t gonna fuckin work, Love.” Butcher muttered. “You’re America’s bloody Valentine, don’t matter what you say or do.”

“Butcher’s right,” Annie gestured between herself, A-Train, and—after a moment of hesitation—Ben. “We all know, these things get away from you. You’re more of a symbol, whatever people want to hear, they will.”

“What if,” She was chewing on her cheek, frowning ahead at nothing, and Ben knew she was about to say something fucking insane. “Everyone keeping in mind that there are no bad ideas in brainstorming, what if I kill myself?”

Fucking Christ.

“I think,” Hughie swallowed. “I think there might be bad ideas in brainstorming.”

“Just, listen-“

“No,” Ben snapped, trying to ignore the drums sounding far away. “Shut the fuck up, you’re not doing that.”

“I wouldn’t actually kill myself, Ben.” She leaned forwards, starting to talk far too fucking fast for how Ben’s heart was still pounding in his ears. “I mean, I can’t. But I need to be out of the picture, and this way you can say Homelander drove me to it-“ She cut herself off, frowning at nothing. “No. Wait.”

The room was silent, and Ben could fucking hear Her thinking. Hear her brain running through scenarios, her voice in his head going Sage will twist that. Say it’s a CIA cover up. It needs to be something she can twist, but not well. Not a red herring for our intentions or where I might be, but a placeholder. Make it static, make it ready for when we need it. Any attacks need to be easily deniable, implied, unactionable. Any response from Vought has to be suspicious, otherwise we’re just exposed. And I can’t be dead. That was stupid. If I’m dead, I’m too far removed, and it’s permanent. But I still can’t be here, that’s too easy for Sage to say I’m being held hostage. It won’t matter what I say myself, Annie’s right about that, so I need to be-

“I’m missing,” She said, and Ben blinked. That was aloud. “I’m just missing. Nobody knows where I am, and I’m certainly not here. The CIA is working to recover me, but you don’t have any leads. I left New York, and I’m missing, and,” she paused, tilting her head. “You’re praying for my safety.”

Mallory frowned. “Is that all you have? Just push the problem away-”

“No,” She was smiling, and it was manic and feral and a little fucking hot. A lot fucking hot. She had an idea, and it was one Ben could probably get behind, and she was fucking hot. “In the statement, say you’re not sure what happened, that it’s truly just a bipartisan tragedy, and mention that you’re not sure how it all got away from Vought. No matter what, I was in their care. That’s two people who Homelander cares about, Ryan Butcher and I, who have just vanished. You can’t say it’s because Homelander hurt me, but you can allude to it. You can say it’s so heartbreaking that I disappeared right after we got engaged. How odd.”

“It’s a non action,” MM nodded, watching Her carefully. “Walk the line. Keep Homelander going full fucking human genocide, dwindle supporters, bide time.”

She nodded. “Exactly. The CIA can’t be on the record with the rest, people won’t trust it.”

“The rest?” Butcher narrowed his eyes, looking between Her and Ben, as if Ben had a fucking clue what she was talking about. “There ain’t much more-“

“There’s more,” She took a deep breath, smile wavering slightly and falling into a determined, set look. “It’s time to tell the truth.”

“What fuckin’ truth.”

“About me,” She swallowed. “The truth about me. A few hours after the CIA’s statement, Annie’s going to tell the truth about me. And exposé on Vought, out of necessity. That I didn’t want people to know, but now I’m missing and people need to be aware.” 

“How much of the truth?” Hughie rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head at nothing. “Like, what you’ve been doing with us? Or-“

“All of it,” She mumbled. “My real identity. What Homelander did. All my powers, how I broke out, how I’ve been working with you guys, with Ben, how Homelander took me. All of it.”

“Why not have the CIA make these accusations?” The French Prick frowned. “Make them official, or believable.”

“They need to be unofficial. We can’t incite legal action, there’s no telling what Homelander will do.” She sighed. “People will either go all in on the Homelander train, or finally realize what he is. His more powerful supporters, senators and representative and military officials, will want to distance themselves. It will slow him down from government power, and Sage will latch onto this. She’ll point out how there’s not any evidence, because technically it’s just speculation and I’m not here to testify. But it has to be the whole truth. And it has to be Annie.” She gave Annie an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”

“I’m okay with it,” Annie shook her head, giving Her a nervous look. “Are you? It’s going to be a lot-“

“I know. I’m ready.”

She was fucking lying. Ben knew she was fucking lying. Her voice was too steady, she was half on-top of him, and all her movements were mechanical. The picture perfect image of someone who was okay, the one she presented right before she collapsed, screaming in Ben’s arms.

He didn’t get a chance to call Her fucking shit, though, because behind them the dining hall door creaked open and half the table jumped up with their guns pointed at the intruder, Ben taking a large step to block Her from view.

The Kid yelped. “It’s just me! It’s Ryan Butcher! Don’t shoot!”

“Blood hell, Ryan,” Butcher glared at the Kid as everyone’s guns lowered, Ben not missing Mallory’s glower at him as he tucked his own back into his pants. “I told you to fuckin wait-“ 

“It’s 1:30,” the Kid mumbled, glancing at Ben. “They were supposed to meet me at 1:15, I just got nervous-“

Butcher frowned. “I told you they’d be there at 1:45.”

The Kid shook his head. “1:15. It’s okay, I can wait, I just wanted to make sure nobody had, um, forgotten.”

Ben felt bad. He hadn’t fucking done anything, but the Kid looked so fucking sad and now Ben felt like a piece of shit. It didn’t help when She bumped his arm, and he turned to find Her watching him with pretty, hopeful fucking eyes.

Can we go now, Ben? The meeting’s kind of over, and Ryan’s already here. We don’t even know where the gym is, and he can show us.

It was fucking amusing she was phasing it as a question. If she’d said Ben, we’re going now, it would have had the exact same goddamn effect. They were going, now.

“Wait outside, Kid, we’ll be there.” Ben looked up, glaring around the table. “Anyone got a fucking problem with that?”

“This meeting is not over-“

“Yeah, it is.” Ben snapped, holding Mallory’s glare. “You’ve got a plan, we’re done.”

Malloy crossed her arms. “I still have yet to receive a debrief about Vought Tower-”

“I don’t have much to say about it, Mallory,” She mumbled, sounding fucking guilty. “I mean, I was a hostage. You don’t tell hostage’s your evil plans for world domination.”

“Is that her?” The Kid piped up, still at the door, not in the hall like Ben had defiantly fucking ordered him to be. Looking at Ben with a small, nervous expression and wide eyes. “She’s still coming with us, right?”

“Yes,” Ben pointed at the door. “Hall.”

She was moving behind him. Ben could hear the scrape of the bench and the slight pick up of Her heart that meant she was standing up, and when he turned she was glaring up at him, pressed between his body and the table.

“Move, Benjamin.”

He scowled at Her, but couldn’t find a reason to even justify to himself keeping her hidden—The Kid wouldn’t hurt her, and moving himself over her had been more instinct than anything—and stepped to the side.

Ben was certain the Kid was going to like Her. She was perfect, everyone should like her, and people who didn’t were shit-headed dumb fucks. The Kid wasn’t a shit-headed dumb fuck. He was a fucking nerd, and talked all polite, but so did She. The Kid would like Her, and it didn’t really fucking matter if he didn’t because nothing was riding on this. Ben alone loved her enough to power the Eastern Seaboard, one random child not understanding how fucking amazing She was wouldn’t do any harm to anything. But Ben still felt something taut in his throat and around his lungs. It mattered to Her. Ben could feel Her hand warming up on his arm—starting to sear and smoke against his skin—and this felt like it mattered. She’d given her whole fucking life for the Kid, and Ben seemed to have somehow found himself important to the Kid’s life, and this might matter.

They were just fucking staring at each other. Everyone else was staring at them—even Mallory had dropped any protests—and this did matter. These two people needed to like each other. She needed to walk away from this with clear eyes and an easy smile, and the Kid needed to understand that She’d scarified to make him safe and—if Ben knew her, which he fucking did, better than anyone—would probably do it again. Then they’d both stop apologizing for their fucking existence, and whatever was choking Ben and tightening his fists would die a sad, withering death. If they didn’t start fucking moving, Ben was going to pick Her up and carry her over-

“Hi,” Her voice wasn’t a whisper, but it was quiet, gentle, unsteady. That was Her for once I don’t know what to say voice. “It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Ryan, I’m-“

She’d barely said her own name before the Kid was running across the room, slamming her into a tight hug. She froze, face slightly panicked—everyone in the room tensing but not launching forward to pull them apart—but when she looked down at the Kid it shifted. Became almost disbelieving, mouth parting into a small smile, eyes growing soft. 

Whatever she was feeling from the Kid, whatever was making her so relaxed, was good. She hugged the Kid back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding tight, and she squeezed the Kid once in a way that Ben knew meant reassurance. The Kid liked Her—Ben had fucking known it, and now he’d get to rub that in her perfect face later—and she looked like she might cry. If she did start crying, Ben was going to have to push the rest of the team out of the dining hall so she could do it in peace. He wasn’t even sure why they were still fucking here, this was for Her and the Kid.

Butcher coughed, and Ben was going to rip out his throat. “Ryan, try not to crush the lady. She ain’t made of steel.”

“I’m fine,” She mumbled, shooting Butcher a glare over her shoulder. “And I’d live if he did.”

The Kid pulled back, looking up at Her with an admiration that Ben understood. She was admirable, she was fucking amazing.

“I, I won’t hurt you?”

“You can’t,” She shrugged, not peeling herself from the hug. “I have a regenerative healing factor.” She looked up, frowning at the group. “Did nobody tell you that?”

“They did!” The Kid shook his head, still watching Her. “But you’re not invulnerable-“

“No, but I’d live.”

The Kid nodded slowly. “Do you still feel pain?”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “I do. But you can’t control your strength, and I’d be okay.” She gave the Kid a smile, easy and content and real, and Ben fucking loved Her. She was so fucking kind and good. “It’s really nice to meet you, Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Me too,” the Kid was smiling back, because when She smiled you’d have to be fucking insane not to smile back. “I mean, I’ve also heard about you.”

“We all have,” Butcher grumbled, still watching Her and the Kid with careful eyes. “Soldier Boy wouldn’t shut his fuckin’ cake-hole-”

“Butcher,” MM sighed. “Don’t be a bitter motherfucker and ruin the nice moment.” 

Butcher rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth. Smart move, because Ben was about to rip out his fucking tongue.

“What,” the Kid looked nervous, and Ben was starting to worry he might crush Her. “What have you heard about me?”

She huffed a small laugh. “A lot. Butcher over there’s a fucking hypocrite, because the first three months I knew him it was just Ryan’s a good kid. Smart kid. Bloody good kid.”

Ben had to cough to cover a snort, and Butcher scowled.

“That ain’t my fuckin’ voice-“

The Kid leaned around Her. “Did you really call me a good kid?”

Butcher shot Her a glare, and she returned it with a sickly sweet smile. “Yes.”

The Kid pulled away from Her, and walked over to give Butcher a hug. An awkward, tight hug that made Butcher freeze before returning it. “Thank you.”

“You’re like your mother, Ryan.” Butcher grunted. “Course you’re a good kid.”

She was smiling at them, and Ben fucking loved Her. He had to turn the words into walking back to her side and slinging his arm over her shoulder, kissing the top of her head and grinning at her when she smiled up at him. Fucking perfect. The whole world was better when she was here, because the Kid had been with them for months and Ben hadn’t actually seen him and Butcher hug. But she made everything good, because she was a goddamn miracle worker. She was a miracle herself, and Ben fucking loved Her.

“You got some trainin’ to do with Soldier Boy, Ryan.” Butcher was giving the Kid tense pat on the back, but not trying to pull back. “Better get started.”

“William-“

“Stuff it, Grace. It ain’t like they’re all gonna fuckin vanish, like I said we live here. Just go knock on the horny cunt’s doors later.” 

“It’s okay,” the Kid pulled back, frowning. “I can wait if you have work to do-“

“We don’t,” Ben snapped, glaring at Mallory in a silent challenge, pulling Her closer into his side. “We’re fucking done with this shit, let’s go.”

The Kid looked at Butcher, who nodded, then Her. “Are you coming with us?”

“For a little bit, sure,” She glanced at Ben, and he gave a tight nod. Of course She was fucking coming with them, if it was up to Ben she’d go everywhere with him. “I might have to leave early, to help Annie with some stuff, but I can sit in on the start.”

Annie shrugged. “We won’t need you for the, uh,” she glanced at the Kid. “Thing. But if you want-“

“No, I need to be there. It needs to all be accurate, Sage will exploit any fallacies. Just text-“ She cut herself off with a sigh. “Ben, I guess. And I’ll head back here.”

“We’ll get you a new phone,” Hughie said Her name, giving her a reassuring smile. “They’re not that expensive, and you need one. I can work on that.”

Butcher frowned. “You worry about the V, Lad. Frenchie-“

“I will take care of it, petite Hughie. I can even find a discount from my suppliers.”

She blinked at the French Prick. “Frenchie, please don’t get me a crime phone.” 

The French Prick shrugged. “Beggars cannot be choosers-“ Kimiko whacked his arm and signed something that made the French Prick sigh. “Fine. I will not get a crime phone.”

“Thank you.” She glanced around the group, then up at Ben. “Ready?”

Ben nodded, looking at the Kid. “Let’s fucking move, Buddy.”

The Kid started to walk over to them, and Ben felt Her elbow his side. When he frowned down at Her, she was grinning.

Buddy?

Ben rolled his eyes. What the fuck is wrong with calling him buddy.

Call him his name, Benjamin.

Why.

Because you shouldn’t call real people buddy. I call bad drivers buddy. I call my brother buddy. 

Your brother is a real fucking person.

She shrugged. But I also call him by his name. Buddy is what I say when I’m doing an impression of a 1920s Chicago mobsters, not talking to someone.

Ben scoffed. Well your impressions are fucking terrible.

I’m sorry you can’t appreciate my talent, Pretty Boy. 

I can appreciate a lot of shit about you, Sunshine. Ben winked at Her. And you’ve got a fuck ton of talent. Your impressions are still horrible. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Rude.

Yep. Ben kissed the top of Her head, turning as Ryan stopped in front of them, looking him up and down. “You think you can move in jeans?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Then let’s get a fucking move on.”

They gave a few nods to the team before leaving—Mallory still looking like a sour bitch—and Ryan led the way to the gym. This place was a lot fucking bigger than Ben had thought, but exploring hadn’t really been high on his priority list. Later—if the amazed expression on Her face as they walked through the halls was any clue—She’d probably pull them around to see every damn inch of this place, and Ben would gladly follow her. As long as She kept looking so fucking relaxed like she did now, a step ahead of Ben, walking at Ryan’s side.

“Do you like biology?” Ryan had been asking Her question after question, She’d been answering them all in the same genuine, serious tone—no matter how fucking stupid they were—and Ben had been watching, biting his tongue until he drew blood so he didn’t accidentally yell that he loved Her.

“I think it’s interesting,” She shrugged. “But I’m not great at science. I’m passible at it, but it’s never been something I excel at.”

Ben rolled his eyes at nothing, because she was fucking good at science. Her benchmark of passible was just way too damn high, because she was genius.

“You can do biology manipulation, right?” Ryan’s voice was almost goddamn bouncy. “That’s one of your powers?”

“I’m not sure,” Ben could hear the thoughtful frown on Her face. “It’s a working theory, but I’ve never really had my powers fully assessed. I didn’t even really know how to use them properly until a few months ago.”

Ben tried not to be too fucking proud of that. How She gave him a small smile over her shoulder at the words, how she was better at talking about and using her powers because of Ben. He’d done that for her. He’d made Her happy and comfortable, and now that was permanent.

Ryan followed Her gaze at Ben. “Did Soldier Boy teach you too?”

“Teach me as well-“ She stopped in her tracks, and Ben nearly slammed into her back.

“Goddamnit-“ Ben started to grunt out Her name, but she whipped around with a glare at Ben that told him he was in trouble. He hadn’t even fucking done anything-

“Why is he calling you Soldier Boy?”

Ben swallowed, glancing at a wide-eyed Ryan. “I don’t fucking know-“

“Don’t get mad at him, it’s what everyone calls him-“

She raised a hand, and Ryan cut himself off, giving Ben a nervous look.

“Benjamin.” Her eyes were narrowed at him, her voice smooth and firm, and fuck She was hot. Ben probably shouldn’t want to pick her up and fuck her against the wall as much as he did right now, but Christ she was so perfect, even when she looked like she was going to kill him. What did you promise me.

He frowned. I have been fucking nice to him. A name isn’t a big deal.

Yes, it is. She glanced at Ryan, then back at Ben. He doesn’t really have anyone, Ben. He has you and Butcher. Soldier Boy isn’t you, it’s the guy who tried to kill him.

He’s forgiven me for that, Sunshine. And what the hell else is he supposed to call me, because he’s sure as shit not using grandpa.

She gave him a small smile. He could call you your name?

Ben scowled. Smartass.

She’s won, and she knows it, because Her smile grows into a wide grin. Thank you.

Shut the fuck up. Ben turned back to Ryan, who was looking between them with wide eyes. “Fine.”

“Um-“

“You can call me Ben, kid. That’s it.”

Ryan nodded slowly, his facing turning a little brighter as he looked up at Her with nervous smile that she returned—less nervous, more encouraging—and Ben was going to fucking lose his mind.

When they arrived at the gym—a full fucking gym, Ben was going to yell at Butcher and Hughie later about a pamphlet or fucking something to tell people how big this place was—Ryan led them over to a large mat, and She grabbed Ben’s phone from his pocket and dropped near the wall with her legs crossed.

“Are you not,” Ryan glanced between them. “Are you not training with us?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “My powers are a little, um, different. My training is different.”

“But you said-“

“I did train her,” Ben grunted, walking over to Her to hand her the rest of the shit in his pockets. “It’s not the same as what we’re going to do.”

She leaned around Ben’s legs as she talked to Ryan. “I’m not strong like you and Ben. When I punch someone it’s really not that effective.”

“Fuck ton more effective than when we started,” Ben muttered, and she stuck Her tongue out at him.

“It’s your fire, right?” Ryan asked, and Ben could hear him shifting on his feet. “That you use to fight?”

She nodded, tilting her head. “What do you know about my powers?”

“Um, fire?” Ryan mumbled. “You said you can heal, like Kimiko. Right?”

“Kind of like Kimiko,” She hummed. “But Kimiko still ages. I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Ben and I,” She patted Ben’s leg, leaning forward to hang off his body, and Ben had to remind himself job. Job to do. Kid in the room and job to do. “Have the same V. Old V, more unstable, makes you immortal. That’s why he’s an ancient grumpy fuck that looks like that.”

“That?” Ben scowled at Her. “What the fuck is that?”

She grinned at him. “A Pretty Boy.” 

He rolled his eyes. Brat.

Ryan coughed, and Her gaze returned to behind Ben. “You have that V because of my dad, right?”

His voice was so fucking sad. Weak and sad and nervous, and Ben didn’t know how to handle it.

She did. She was fucking perfect, so she did. She was watching Ryan carefully, words gentle. Honest and clear, but gentle. “Yes. I do. But don’t blame yourself. Homelander did it, not you,”

“But he’s my dad-“

“But you didn’t do anything.” She squeezed Ben’s leg, and his hand dropped to run through her hair. Let her handle this, never let her think she’s alone. “You aren’t responsible for his actions.”

“I’m still sorry-“

“It’s not your fault, Ryan.” Her voice was gentle, even as her nails dug into Ben’s calf. “None of this is your fault. Homelander deserves the blame, don’t take it for him.”

Ryan made a small sound, and Ben glanced back to see him looking at his feet. “I still feel bad.”

“I know,” She was smiling that soft, sad smile that meant she was being kind and forgiving and good. “Trust me, I know. But it’s not your fault.”

Ben gently tugged on Her hair, just enough for her attention to turn up to him.

What?

You should take your own fucking advice, Sunshine.

She wrinkled Her nose at him. Fuck you.

Ben grinned, and didn’t even bother to tell Her I would like to. As soon as you say the word, before it’s even out of your pretty fucking mouth, I’m carrying you home and fucking you until you scream. I’m going to fucking worship you, beautiful. Fucking ruin you. You’re going to beg and whine and moan and cum, and I’m going to fuck you until you’re dizzy. You’re going to smile at me, and I’m going to fucking cum from it, and we’re not going to leave the bed for a hundred years. I love you, and you’re going to goddamn get that when I fuck you the way you deserve. All he did—right now, when she wasn’t ready and didn’t know he loved her, when Ryan was still in the room with them—was lean over and pull her up to Her knees and kiss her, sloppy and deep. Going until she made a small sound only Ben could hear, and he drew back up to his full height.

She stared at Ben with a slack expression, and even Her glare of Cunt sounded breathless.

Ben winked. Brat. And turned back to Ryan, walking to meet him on the mat. “Let's get started, Kid. Show me what you’ve got.”

Ryan was fucking strong. It barely took ten minutes for Ben to understand that Ryan was strong. Not quite as strong as Homelander or Ben himself, but with a little practice, he could be. Fuck, with maybe five years of solid, consistent work Ryan would fly past both of them. They started by just trying to find the limit, but ran out of weights and started adding equipment from around the gym. Eventually, at about 85 tons, Ryan looked a little nervous and they moved on. He had to control it, and Ben was sure not to pussyfoot around the fact that Ryan’s strength was dangerous, real dangerous, but controllable.

“Do you think I’ll be able to?” Ryan was fidgeting with his hands, looking nervously between Her and Ben. “I’m not sure-“

“You will.” Ben snapped. “That’s what my fucking job is. You do yours and listen- Fuck!”

She’d thrown a plastic bottle at his head. Ben didn’t even fucking know where She’d gotten a plastic bottle, but while he and Ryan had been testing Ryan’s limit she’d wandered the gym, and Ben wouldn’t put it past certain fucking members of their team not to clean up after themselves.

“It’ll take time,” She didn’t even look at Ben as he glared at her, flipping him off behind Her back where Ryan couldn’t see. “But you will, Ryan. You’ll get there.”

Ben scowled. “That’s exactly what I said-“ 

“I was being encouraging.” She wrinkled her nose at him “You were being a grump.”

Ben just scoffed, and returned his attention to Ryan as she sat back against the wall, fingers tapping on the back of Ben’s phone. It was only a half hour later the screen lit up with a buzz, and She was called away. Ryan gave Her another tight hug, and Ben kissed the space between her eyes, muttering against her skin.

“You don’t fucking have to go. Annie knows everything.”

She sighed. “I do, Ben. This has to be done right. I’ll be okay.”

Ben didn’t believe Her. She didn’t believe her. Her hands were curled against his chest, and her heart was unsteady and stumbling, and Ben knew she was nervous. “Just stay the hell here-“

“No,” She pulled back, reaching up to give Ben one last, light kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, Pretty Boy. Play nice.”

He wanted to tug Her back. There was something hollow forming in her eyes when she pulled away from him, and Ben wanted to just yell I love you. I know you’re going to do this no matter what I tell you, because you never fucking listen go me, so just do it knowing I love you.

But she was gone, and Ben was left alone with Ryan, starting to feel fucking sick. Love was making him a desperate, whining pussy who felt nauseous when She was gone. And he still didn’t fucking care.

“I forgot to say thank you,” Ryan mumbled, and Ben frowned at him. “I meant to tell her thank you for getting me out-“

“She knows,” Ben grunted. “Trust me, she fucking knows.” 

“Do you think she liked me?”

Ben snorted. “Yes. And she’s not fucking gone, she’s still on this same damn floor.” Those words were more for him. Ben trying to convince himself that she was barely a three minute walk away. That he was feeling worse and worse by the second, that something was sitting like a weight on his chest the longer she was gone, but if he was really that fucking pathetic without Her he could just go find her. She wasn’t gone, and she was fine.

They kept training. Ben tested Ryan’s grip strength, trying to see what could and couldn’t be crushed by accident in a hand, and made a note to tell MM they needed metal cups. Kimiko and Annie would sure as fuck appreciate it as well, and it would be a good placeholder until Ryan was better at controlling himself. From there Ben dragged out some mock targets—boxing bags that he drew large X’s on—and they worked on heat vision. Using it at will, trying not make the bags just immediately fucking explode.

And Ben still felt fucking sick. It was still getting worse and worse as the afternoon crept on, until suddenly it was gone. Fully vanished into thin air around dinner time, right when he and Ryan were wrapping up.

“Solid work, kid.” Ben muttered, giving up almost immediately on trying to rearrange and clean up the gym. MM would have a grand fucking time doing it himself later, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being told he’d done it wrong. “Here, next week, same time.”

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled, and Ben nodded, picking his phone up off the floor. “Ben?”

He grunted, frowning up at Ryan’s nervous expression and waiting for him to continue.

“Are you going to dinner?”

“Maybe.” Ben sighed. “We’ve got some shit to deal with, but we’ll try.”

“We?” Ryan said Her name, watching Ben carefully. “Um, she’ll be there too?”

“As well,” Ben muttered, smiling to himself. “And if I’m there, yeah. She will be.”

Ryan nodded, and didn’t push further. They walked in silence back to the dining hall—which was fucking empty—and continued until they reached Butcher’s apartment. Ben knocked, loud in case Butcher tried to fucking ignore it, and the door opened almost immediately. 

“Oi, Gov, ain’t not reason to fuckin break it.”

Ben scowled. “Looks fine to me. We’re done.”

Butcher turned to Ryan. “Good session? Worth bloody houndin me about?”

Ryan nodded, eager and sincere, and Ben felt something warm and prideful flare in his chest. “I hit the target.”

“The target.” Butcher repeated, glancing at Ben. “What target.” 

“We worked on his laser eyes,” Ben grunted. “Can’t have him exploding the fucking building.”

“And I hit the target.” Ryan’s chest was puffed out, and Ben sighed.

“And he hit the damn target.”

“Well then, bloody good work, lad. Let’s get you in a fuckin shower, you smell like ass.” Butcher gesture for Ryan to enter the apartment, but Ryan turned to Ben and pulled him into a fucking hug.

“Thank you, Ben.”

Ben didn’t know what to do. The kid was squeezing his torso, and thanking him, and he was frozen, staring at Butcher. Butcher didn’t seem to know what the fuck to do either, but his glower at Ben a little too shocked for Ben to just push Ryan away. He didn’t want to push Ryan away, it felt fucking wrong to push Ryan away. Her words echoed in Ben’s head—he doesn’t really have anyone, Ben. He has you and Butcher—and Ben hugged Ryan back. It was tense, awkward, and weird, but Ryan didn’t seem to care. He just hugged Ben tighter before stepping back and disappearing into the apartment. Leaving Ben and Butcher staring at each other in the doorway, Butcher’s face looking as confused as Ben fucking felt. 

Butcher spoke first.

“Don’t fuck this up,” his glare on Ben wasn’t hateful, it was weary. “That kid don’t got much. Don’t give him hope then fuckin turn away.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. I know what the hell I’m doing.”

Butcher didn’t waver. “I guess we’ll bloody see if you do. But know that if you drop the fuckin grandpa ball-”

“Call me grandpa again and I’ll fucking twist you like a pretzel and shove your dick in your mouth.”

“I ain’t joking-”

“I won’t fuck him up.” Ben grunted Her name. “She’d kick my damn ass if I did.”

Butcher sighed. “You seen her?” 

Something tugged at Ben’s heart. “No. Why, what’s fucking wrong-“ 

“It’s been a real rough fuckin afternoon, Gov.” Butcher shook his head. “You should go find your woman.”

“Is she-“

“She’s okay. The media is full of cunts, and she’s on the blunt end of it now.” Butcher looked Ben up and down, face twisting into something tired and tight. “I’d just fuckin go. She might well need you.”

Ben didn’t bother with goodbyes, or even wait for the door to fully fucking close before he was tearing down the hall to their apartment. Butcher said she was okay, but everyone kept fucking telling Ben she was okay when she clearly fucking wasn’t. He seemed to be the only pussy in the whole goddamn world who had eyes, who was capable of hearing her say I’m okay and noticing how her smile wasn’t full and her eyes were too fucking empty for it to be true. Nobody seemed fucking worried about Her but Ben. Seemed to even think that maybe the was just a slim goddamn chance that after being kidnapped—fucking again—She wasn’t okay.

He pulled out his phone as he all but ran. The media was full of cunts, full of worthless fucking pussies whose jobs were make everyone’s life fucking hell. Full of idiots saying Annie was a liar, or speculating about Her life. Her real life. Her job and original address. If she’d asked Homelander to make her a supe, gone to that Vought party to stalk him. Why she’d left Her mother’s house so young, if it was really a coincidence that her step-father was a public figure, or if this had been engineered. Everyone had fucking something to say, and all of it was dogshit. Ben was mentioned. For the first time since this started, he could find articles where their names were the main headline. Saying Starlight claims that Soldier Boy and Anomaly are close, but what does that mean? and calling her a whore. A fucking gold-digger or power-chaser, saying she was jumping between powerful, older supes to get her what she wanted. Sinking her claws into Ben—just like she’d done with Homelander—and she was going to leave him the moment she was tired of him.

She was in the hall. Ben had the keycard, she couldn’t have gotten in herself, and she had tucked Herself against the wall outside their door. Staring at nothing, and from Her side-profile, her expression was slack. When Ben dropped to Her side, she didn’t flinch or start or even fucking look at him. He grunted her name, and She just hummed. He said it again, voice low and scraping his throat, and moved in front of Her body. She was flushed, and her eyes were hazy. He wasn’t even fucking sure she could see him for a second, but then her face lit up. It didn’t clear or focus, but a loose, happy smile crossed her face, and hands shot up to grab Ben’s face between Her hands.

“Ben,” She was trying to whisper, but doing a piss-poor job of it, pulling Ben’s face closer to hers. “You’re here. Wait,” She frowned, eyes narrowing at him as one hand started poking his nose. “Say something Ben would say.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” 

Her smile was back. Bigger this time, and she started falling forwards. Ben’s arms moved to catch Her, slumping against him, and she giggled. “You’re Ben. Ben frowns like that,” She traced a finger over his mouth, following the downward turn of his lip. “And he always catches me. And I can feel you.”

“Of course you can feel me,” he grunted Her name. “I’m fucking touching you. What’s-“

“No,” She shook her head, pushing herself up and half crawling up Ben’s body. “No, no. You don’t get it you handsome dumb dumb. I feel you here.” She jabbed a finger at Ben’s chest. “And it’s you. It’s big and strong and loud, and it’s very Benjamin.” 

She looked back up at him, he studied Her face. Relaxed, completely relaxed, parted lips and glossy eyes, words falling out of Her mouth without thought. Her heart was slow, but her face was flushed and her breath was short. 

He said Her name slowly, holding her face so her eyes stayed on his. “Are you fucking drunk?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Christ on a cross, woman.” Ben sighed, tucked stray hair away from Her face, dropping an arm under her thighs and hauling her up his body, standing cautiously. “How the fuck do you even get drunk.”

Her hands grabbed Ben’s face, pulling it to barely an inch from Hers. “Frenchie,” she whispered, staring at Ben with wide, serious eyes. “Is a fucking god. And very bad at hiding his experiments in the kitchen.” 

Ben sighed, carefully prying her hands away so he could open the door. “What happened, Sunshine.”

“Nothing,” Her lips dropped into a pout. “Ben?”

He grunted, and She buried her head in his neck.

“Why do you like me?”

He paused in his tracks, frowning down at Her. “What.”

“Why do you like me?” She mumbled. “I’m the worst.”

“You’re being insane,” he mutters, adjusting his grip so one arm was under Her knees, the other holding her back. “You’re drunk, and tired, and talking fucking nonsense. We’re going to bed.”

“Ben,” Her voice was almost a whine. “I’m not being insane. I don’t have friends, why would you be my friend.” 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be your friend.”

“Because I’m annoying.” She whispered, hands tightening around his neck. “And mean. And a whore.” 

“You’re not a whore.” Ben pushed the door to their room open. “I’m a whore. You’re perfect.”

She wasn’t letting Ben lower her onto the mattress. “I’m not perfect. I’m a liar-“

“You’re not a liar.” Ben made his voice, firm, a little louder than he’d normally be with Her, but she needed to hear. “You just told the world the truth. That’s the opposite of lying, Sunshine. And you are fucking perfect. You’re a genius, and funny as shit, and kind, and powerful, and beautiful-“

She snorted. “I’m not beautiful.”

Ben scowled. “Yes you are. Shut the fuck up and let me talk-“

“No,” She squirmed out of his arms, falling on Her back onto the bed, head hanging off the side, reaching to Ben until he knelt at her side. “You’re beautiful, Ben.” She sighed, rolling onto Her stomach. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ben stood up, dropping at her side on the bed and watching Her scramble into his lap. “You call me Pretty Boy every fucking day.”

She shook Her head, falling onto his chest and placing one hand on each side of his head. “You’re beautiful, Ben. You don’t get it, it’s not normal.” She was staring at him with something burning and desperate in her eyes. “Nobody should get to have your face and be you. It’s mean to me.”

He watched Her carefully. “How the hell is that mean to you.”

“Because,” She was glaring at him. “You don’t get it.”

“Then fucking tell me-“

She’d shifted up onto her knees, guiding Ben’s brow to Hers, eyes burning into his body. “You’re so beautiful,” She whispered, shaking her head. “It’s not fair.” Her eyes were drooping, words growing more and more slurred as she fell further into Ben’s body. “Not fair.”

“None of this is fair,” he sighed Her name, cradling her head against him. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t have a fucking clue what to do to make this better for Her, and all he could do was stay. “But you’ve got me. And I’ve got you.” 

She made a small sound that might be a sob, or a moan, or a plea. Her words were barely a breath. “Please stay.” 

Ben leaned up to kiss her forehead, before pulling back to watch her eyes flutter, almost closed. “I’ll always fucking stay. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. That’s fucking that.”

“That’s that,” she whispered, a small, blissful smile crossing her face. She said something else, but Ben didn’t understand it. It was a noise from Her throat that sounded like words, but Ben didn’t have the foggiest fucking idea what words they could be. Then She was burying herself back into his neck, breathing growing steady, and something started to wash over him. That feeling, the one he’d felt a few times before that wasn’t wrong but fucking strange. It was so big, covering the whole world and circling around his head. Climbing into his every thought until everything was just this illuminated, boundless, earth-shattering feeling. 

It was everywhere. When he looked around the room, trying to figure out if there was some sort of fucking gas leak or if this was an odd, weird dream, everything was washed with it. His shield at the door, the sheets on their bed, their reflections on the dresser mirror and the deep green, fluffy carpet on the floor. The whole word was fueling the feeling until it was sweeping through Ben’s body, making his blood hot and his head light. This was holy and ancient and fucking everything. This was wider than the ocean, and brighter than the goddamn sun. It was some sort of song that called Ben like a siren, morphing his body into something beautiful. It was peaceful and electric and thirsty and safe, and Ben wanted it to go and go forever. He wanted to create it and then devour it, let it care for him and make everything better. It was natural, it felt like something inevitable and fucking sacred. It made him feel stronger. It made his whole body along with something deeper, further down and intangible, fucking eternal and unstoppable. He could fucking destroy and rebuild the universe without faltering, because this would be with him the whole way.

She sighed against Ben’s neck, and the feeling was gone. Dissipated into thin air, slipping between Ben’s fingers before he could figure out what the fuck it even was. He wanted it back. She was fast asleep against him, heartbeat in perfect time with Ben’s, and he wanted that back. It had been some sort of fucking drug, making him high in a way he’d never felt before. He needed it back now, he needed to feel that for the rest of his fucking life, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t even know what it was, where it had come from, let alone how to get it back in him, around him, through him.

She made a soft sound against Ben’s skin, and he couldn’t stop himself looking down at Her and smiling. She was so fucking beautiful. It didn’t matter what the hell she’d said in her odd, drunken state, She was the most beautiful thing Ben had ever fucking seen. She was the fucking night sky in the wild, when it was more stars than actual darkness, and everything was washed the millions of colors of northern lights. Nothing could ever trap Her, not really, because she wasn’t something that could be trapped. Ben could watch Her, though. He could stay near her, and let her keep being beautiful while he destroyed anything that tried to mar that. She could handle herself, Ben knew she could handle herself, but fuck he wanted to help Her. He wanted to hold her like this every time something in Her broke, and keep calling her beautiful and perfect and good until she stopped fucking fighting with him about it.

Ben loved Her. He still couldn’t tell her he loved her, because this wasn’t at fucking all about him. But he could hold Her like this. He could carefully, steadily pull off her clothing and replace it with his own shirt, keeping his eyes trained only where they needed to be. He could pull them both—still pressed together—up to the top of the bed and under the covers, run fingers through Her hair and savor in the feeling of her body clinging to his. Ben could drift in and out of sleep and watch over Her. Take care of Her in this one way that she allowed him to. Love her and whisper it into the dark, where she couldn’t hear. 

He kept eye on his phone on the bed beside him, and dawn was barely breaking when it buzzed, the screen glowing in the low light of their bedroom. 

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt, 2 messages.

Ben sighed. He really needed to change those damn contact names, he knew who fucking Hughie was. He’d ask Her to, because the only reason they’d stuck for so long was because She’d put them there, and Ben had no interest in changing them if she didn’t write out the new ones.

He swiped open the display, angling the light away from her closed eyes and reading Hughie’s texts.

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt

We’re having a meeting in the dining hall in twenty minutes.

I think you’ll want to be there. 

Ben frowned at the words. Hughie never told him there was a meeting. It was always Butcher or Mallory, sometimes MM or Annie, and they’d once sent Kimiko and the French prick right after he’d lost Her, when he rarely looked at his phone except to see Her perfect face in photos. 

He peeled Her off his body in careful, slow, and measured movements to make sure she stayed asleep. Resting Her head off his arm and on a pillow, pulling his legs away from hers and replacing them with blankets. Adding an extra comforter from their closet, because Ben was heavier than a blanket and she seemed to sleep easier when his weight was on top of Her.

It was difficult to get changed and ready for whatever fucking meeting Hughie had been telling him about without waking Her. Clothes off then on one at a time, not bothering to go to the bathroom because he’d have to flush the toilet, and brushing his teeth with one eye on the door for any movement. She shifted mid-spit, and Ben went rigid. He had to wait for Her to settle before walking out, looked at Her beautiful, neutral face one last time, and whispered into the silent room, “I fucking love you, Sunshine. Sleep.”

She made a small hum, but her heart didn’t flutter and breathing did break rhythm, so Ben knew she hadn’t heard him. He left the apartment in silent steps, and the moment the door was cautiously closed behind him he stalked to the dining hall. Everyone was already there, except Mallory, A-Train, Ryan, Ben, and Her. Huddled around the table, speaking in low, tense voices, turning to see Ben push through the doors with wide, surprised expressions. 

“Soldier Boy,” MM frowned at him. “You’re… up early.”

Ben scowled, looking around at their nervous, fucking guilty expressions. “Hughie said there was a meeting.”

A chorus of groans and sighs echoed through the room, and any pretense of silence was apparently thrown out the fucking window as everyone glared at a red-faced Hughie.

“Bloody fuckin hell, lad,” Butcher whacked Hughie upside the head. “You ain’t able to keep your mouth shut about this for one morning?”

Hughie rubbed the back of his neck, frantic words paired with gestures at Ben. “He should know! And he’ll help-“

“Kid,” MM shook his head. “We all fucking agreed he couldn’t be a part of this. He’s biased-“

“I am not fucking biased,” Ben snapped, voice loud enough to silence all the various protests and pussy fucking arguments. “And someone better tell me what’s going on, before I start chopping dicks of and shoving them down throats-“

Hughie said Her name, flinching as everyone’s glares grew sharper. “It’s about her. We’re, um, worried.”

Ben was worried as well. But he didn’t fucking trust that his worry, which was about how She was perfect and beautiful and needed fucking rest, matched their worry.

“Why.”

“As you know,” Annie sighed. “She passed the psych test. But she was really quiet last night,” Annie whispered. “She didn’t talk unless we asked her a question. And it wasn’t getting better, when we wrapped up.“

Ben studied their faces, and it was all concern. Granted, Butcher’s concern made it look like the emotion was physically fucking painful to him, but it was still worry. For Her. Just Her, not how she could help them or if she was a liability. He trusted them. Somehow, at least for this, Ben trusted that they at least fucking meant well for Her. And he could acknowledge that he was a little fucking biased. A lot fucking biased. He loved Her, and she was more important than the whole goddamn world, so he was a lot biased. 

“She got drunk,” Ben muttered, stalking across the dining hall to stand at their table. “Last night, I found her outside our apartment. Fucking hammered.” 

Butcher frowned. “She ain’t able to get drunk-“

“She said he,” Ben glared at the French Prick. “Hides his experiments in the kitchen. Fucking horribly.”

The French Prick’s mouth fell open. “Merde. That would, ah, that would be the V.”

Hughie blinked. “We have V in the kitchen?”

“No,” the French Prick ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I have been attempting to recreate V in the kitchen. But it has been trial and error, and I did not think it would, ah, have narcotic effects. It should not have narcotic, I must have made an error-”

“Frenchie,” MM grunted. “I want that shit out of my kitchen by this afternoon.” 

“Just the V, or would you like everything else gone with it?”

“The fuck you mean everything-“

“MM,” Butcher grunted. “Bigger fish, mate. Frenchie, take care of it, before MM’s fuckin head flies off his body. Soldier Boy,” Butcher turned to Ben, saying Her name with a frown. “Is she alright? Frenchie ain’t killed her on accident?”

Ben gave a tight nod. “She’s sleeping it off.”

“What do you think we should do?” Hughie was looking at Ben with sad fucking eyes. “I mean, she can’t go in public right now, but we also-“ 

“Can’t fucking bench her,” Ben finished for Hughie with a sigh, because they couldn’t. She’d climb the fucking walls and yell at them until they let her do something. “She can work on the V. Help us go through the records. That’s it.”

He’d have to ask Her. Later—even though everyone else seemed willing not to tell her about this—Ben was going to ask her what she wanted. It was a lot fucking easier for them to keep secrets from Her. They didn’t fucking love Her.

Annie frowned at him. “Do you think she’ll be okay with that? I mean, she might try to do something else-“

“She will try to do something else,” Ben snapped. She’d always try to do more, even when it killed her. “But she needs rest. So she can do whatever the fuck she wants, as long as it’s far away from Homelander and Sage. Got it?”

That wasn’t something he’d waver on. She could make all their plans and tell everyone what to do, and she could do it right here. At Ben’s side, where if She cried he could wipe away her tears, and if she fell down he could pick her back up. Everyone was nodding, mumbling agreements, and Ben stayed at the table as the group wandered off. The French Prick and Kimiko into the kitchen with MM glaring after them, Annie and Hughie to the hallway as Hughie whined about meaning well, and calling Ben having worked out, leaving Ben with MM and Butcher, silently watching each other.

“You’re going to tell her about this, aren’t you?” MM muttered, and Ben rolled his eyes.

“Of course I fucking am.” I love Her, you pussy. “And if you try and stop me I’ll rip out your asshole-“

“We ain’t gonna stop you, Gov.” Butcher grunted. “Just checkin.”

“Why.”

Butcher shrugged, giving Ben a look he didn’t understand. “No reason. Call it healthy fuckin curiosity.”

Ben scowled, but moved on. If Butcher wanted to be a weird, cryptic fucking dickhole, Ben wasn’t going to be the one that managed to force him to make fucking sense. “You dickhats seen the news?” 

“Yep.” MM sighed. “They’re saying some fucked up shit. You think it got to her?” 

“She was saying,” Ben paused, figuring out what he wanted to tell them. Not everything. Not how She’d called him beautiful, or passed out in his arms, or that strange fucking feeling. “Fucking weird shit. Things that only an insane fucking pussy would say.”

“Things Homelander would say?” 

Ben nodded at MM, something rolling in his stomach. “Things fucking Homelander would say.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Butcher frowned, hands tucking into his pockets as he stood. “She’s strong, but that shit was bloody hell. Right now it’s about the V, so let all fuckin lock in on that. Get Homelander well and bloody buried, twenty feet under. Agreed?”

Even as Ben grunted an agreement, sitting at the table and combing through more and more worthless fucking records with MM and Butcher—the French Prick and Kimiko filtering in and out—he didn’t fucking mean it. This was about Her, not Homelander. This didn’t get to be about Homelander. He didn’t get to fucking take Ben’s attention and energy from Her, along with how’d he’d taken her life and happiness and fucking peace. Ben was already here—sat in the dining hall with the papers in front of him—so he’d keep working at it, but the moment she called for him he’d be gone. Doing whatever she needed him to do. He fucking loved Her. This was about Her. For Ben, this had to be about Her. Nobody else would make it about Her—the real Her, not the speculation or lies or fucking Vought persona—so that was Ben’s most important fucking job. Love Her. Silently, piously love Her. Watch Her bounce around with Ryan and listen to her make plans and kiss her and nip at her until he was allowed to fuck her stupid. Never do anything that made Her feel annoying or the worst or like a burden. Just fucking love Her. Sit in her light and love Her. 

There were worse fates, Ben decided, than waiting for a perfect woman, sitting in Her light, and loving her forever. All Ben could really ask for now was to prove that he was worthy, really, truly goddamn worthy, of sitting in Her light forever.

——————

When you wake up, someone is banging on the downstairs door and Ben isn’t at your side. He was here. You’d gotten drunk, barely managed to keep the words Ben. Ben, I love you from falling out of your mouth, and he’d pick you up and carried you to bed. It wasn’t an exact memory, more of a clouded over flash of sitting in the hallway, alone. So alone. Everyone knows your name and they all have fucking opinions but you’re alone that turned into Ben. Ben’s here. He’s in front of you and real, and everything is warm now. Then you were on the stairs, then on the bed, then in Ben’s lap, then asleep. Not alone. Ben’s still here so you’ll never be alone. He’s so handsome and doesn’t know you love him, and this isn’t fair. You should be able to tell him you love him and it should be easy. Ben is so easy, so you should tell him you love him.

You hadn’t. You know you hadn’t because this part was clear in your memory. Not fair. This isn’t fair. Why you, why are you the one who has to be here and fix this. Why were you the one Homelander decided to take, why did it have to be you. You don’t want it to be someone else, you wouldn’t wish this for anyone, but it’s still so unfair. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t make this mess, but now you have to clean it up. It’s not fucking fair, but this isn’t about fair. Nothing’s fair, but Ben’s got you and you love him. He’s staying, you’ll burn together, and that’s that. You love him, and it’s not fair, but that’s that.

And then you’d fallen asleep. Deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep, that Ben had been here for. The bed smelled like him, and his Thing in your chest was just a little stronger than it had been yesterday. It was always strong—it was tattooed on a part of you that was far too carefully tended to and protected for it to fade—but when Ben was here it flared. Grew almost painful and loud. Like it was responding to his proximity, revitalized by the fact that Ben had been here. With you. You loved him, and he’d been here, so really nothing was that terrible.

The door bangs again, and you have to move. You were only wearing Ben’s shirt and underwear—it smelled like him, pine and salt and Ben—but whoever’s downstairs won’t let up, so you have to move. 

When the door slides open, Frenchie almost falls onto you with a shout of surprise and a hand flying forward you narrowly manage to dodge.

“Fuck, Frenchie!” You watch him with a frown, regaining steady footing and looking around the apartment with curious expression. “Are you-“

“It is lighter.” Frenchie looks back to you, looking you up and down. “The apartment feels much lighter.” 

You blink. “Lighter than what? What’s-” 

“The last time I was here, it was heavy. Full of Soldier Boy’s pain. It is now light.” 

“Yeah, okay, sure.” You sigh. It’s too early to decipher weird Frenchie sayings. “Can I ask why you’re here now?”

Frenchie nods eagerly, reaching into his pockets. “I come with gifts.” 

“Gifts?” 

“A phone,” he shoves a brand new, practically sparkling phone in your hand before returning to his pockets. “And your request, well and fulfilled.” 

He holds up a small, plastic baggie filled with white pills, and you swallow. “The suppressant?”

“Oui.” Frenchie passes it into your hands. “Take two a day. They will run on a thirteen hour cycle, and grow less effective as the hours pass. If you start to take them with more frequency, I will make more. And do not let anyone else take them. It would not be good.”

You narrow your eyes at the pills, glancing at Frenchie with a frown. “What would happen?” 

“Well, your empathy works as an extension of your limbic system beyond only your one self. It does not end with you, but connects beyond your body into others. Correct?” 

“Sure.” You don’t have a single fucking clue about the scientific aspects of your power outside of V goes in, something happens, but Frenchie’s talking fast and you’re tired. That sounds right, and as long as the pill works, you don’t really care. “So?” 

“This will destroy your limbic system. Bomb it entirely. For you, it will regenerate within the millisecond, fast enough that you will not even notice it was ever fully gone. Within the thirteen hours it will have returned to its previous capacity, and another pill will sever your connection to others emotions once more. Stop taking the pills, the empathy returns in a full force.” 

“And for others?” 

“Death.” Frenchie shrugged. “Immediate death. Their brains would likely leak out of their ears.” 

You grimace. “Gross.” 

“Oui, very much.” 

“So, I guess I just take one?” You look between the bag and Frenchie. “And that’s it?”

“They will not work immediately, Madame,” he says your name with a sigh, glaring at the pills like they’d disappointed him. “Your body will attempt to fight them off. If I have been correct, after one pill they will have more of an instant kick.”

You nod slowly. “Two a day?”

“I would do every twelve hours. Should the thirteen pass, you will be made to start from scratch once more.” 

“Okay,” you sigh. “Thanks, Frenchie. This really means a lot.” 

“Do not worry, I enjoyed making them. Let me know if you die.” 

You snort. “I’ll try not to, but sure.”

The door closes behind him, and you don’t bother to get any water to take the pill. Nothing happens—like Frenchie’d said—and now all you have to do is wait. For it to work, and for Ben to get back. You put the coffee on, hide the pills with the V, and take an inventory of what’s changed in your absence. The fridge is stocked better than you’d thought it would be, and all the dishes are clean. Most everything, actually, is clean and well maintained. You’ll have to tell Ben later that you were proud of him, because this was even more than you’d hoped for. You’re low on toothpaste, but toothpaste is cheap. There was a blanket and pillow still on the floor near the couch, and all that took to fix was carrying them upstairs into the hamper. Everything else was almost exactly as you’d left it.

Another reason to love Ben. He was a surprisingly good housekeeper.

I am not a fucking trophy wife, Sunshine.

You sigh into your empty bedroom, where everything still smells like him. Even when he’s probably just in the dining hall, he won’t stop haunting you, his voice rough and low in your ear. I didn’t call you a Trophy Wife, Benjamin. I called you a housekeeper. 

And? Those are the same goddamn thing-

No. Trophy wife implies wealth, and we technically live on welfare. And a housekeeper is a job. So if escorts don’t pan out, I can start a sexy male maid business.

I am not a fucking maid.

No, you’re a sexy maid. Big difference.

You can hear his chuckles, rolling somewhere near his Thing. You think I’m sexy? Think I’m fucking hot? 

Shut up.

I think you’re fucking hot. If you’d let me, I’d show you just how hot I think you are.

It’s not real Ben. It’s okay to indulge this, because it’s not real Ben, and he can’t feel all this love for him, swirling in with the thirst as something warm spreads through your body. How? 

There’s a pause, and then a grunt. You want me to tell you? 

Yes, please.

Silence again. I love you.

Ben, I told you-

I know what you fucking told me, his voice snaps your name. If you want to know what I’d do, I get to say I love you.

You sigh. You know him too well, love him too much, because even this phantom of Ben is a stubborn asshole. Fine. 

Good. I love you. I’d tell you that first, until you got it. Then I’d kneel at the side of the bed, and pull you right onto my face. You fit real well on my face, Sunshine, like you were fucking made for it. Then I’m going to prep you. I’m not fucking small, beautiful, and I’ve felt how damn tight you are. I’m going to have to tongue-fuck and finger you until I decide you’ll take me easy. If it takes a whole goddamn day, that’s a whole day you get to cum for. A whole day I make you feel fucking good. 

You almost fall over, because his voice is everywhere. Sitting around you and in your body, warm and deep and hungry. He sounds so fucking hungry, and he’s everywhere. Ben’s not even here but he’s everywhere. The whole room smells like him, and his voice is living somewhere in your skull, and every time you touch yourself—squeeze your breast or shove a finger into your cunt—it’s so easy to imagine it’s Ben.

If you get tired or need a break, you can suck my cock until you’re ready again. But once I get you in bed, we’re not leaving until I fuck you right. If you need to stop you’ll tell me, and I’ll take care of you, because I fucking love you, but if you’re just fucking sensitive we’re riding it out. We’re going until you’re ready, and once you are I’m fucking you until the bed breaks. Until you’re screaming so loud the suits downstairs hear you begging for me and saying my name.

Ben- 

Just like that. Over and over again until I’ve fucked you so good you can’t even speak. All you’ll be able to do is make those pretty moans and whines, and I’m going to fucking eat them. The first time it’s going to be fucking romantic, because I’m a gentleman and I love you, and we’re going to do goddamn boring ass missionary so I can watch your face when you cum on my cock and devour all your pretty fucking sounds.

You swallow, and give up on standing. This is your apartment, your bedroom, and you’re allowed to fall backwards onto your bed and imagine your… Ben telling you how he’d want to fuck you. You’re allowed to slide a hand into your underwear and up your shirt—Ben’s shirt—and indulge this. The first time? How, being speechless in just a fantasy does not bode well for when this is real. How else do you want to fuck me?

Every fucking way.

Can you be a little more fucking specific-

After we’re romantic, you’re getting on your stomach and I’m fucking you from behind until you can’t hold yourself up anymore. You’re going to fall forwards, and I’m going to have to hold your perfect fucking ass in the air until you cum again and I finish on your back.

That’s specific. That’s really specific. Is that it?

It’s a taunt, a bait for the phantom to keep going until you manage to cum in real life. He takes it, because he’s a figment of Ben and that idiot doesn’t know how to shut up. You love him so fucking much.

Of course that’s not fucking it, brat. I think I’ll let you ride me, see how long you can keep yourself upright before you need me to take over and fuck up into you. Then you’re going to sit in my lap and I’ll fuck you and finger you until you’re fucking putty in my arms. We’ll try to clean up, but I’ll fuck you in to shower as well. You’ll probably suck my dick after, and then I’ll bend you over the table downstairs when we try to get food. We’re defiantly fucking doing it against the wall, and if Butcher tries to cockblock me again we’re not stopping. He’ll just have to watch me fuck you until you try to bite me again. That was real fucking hot. I want to see if that’s just a wall thing, or if it’s just something you do whenever I throw you around.

You’re so close. He sounds like he’s talking right in your ear, and you hear every wet sound your fingers are making as you go faster. 

I’m going to throw you around, Sunshine. I’m going to get real fucking rough with you, because you like it. I know you fucking like it. And I love you, so every time I leave bruises on you I’ll kiss them away then fuck you slow to make up for it.

You can’t bruise me, Ben. It’ll heal.

Who gives a fuck. I’ll still fuck you until you’re scratching my back and bursting into flame then fuck you until you’re begging and dizzy. The, when this shit is over, we’re going to travel the whole goddamn world together until there’s not a corner of I haven’t fucked you in.

Even as you start to grind into your hand and your eyes start to flutter, you scoff. Romantic.

Only for you, beautiful. By the time I’m done with you, everyone will always be able to fucking smell me on you. Know how fucking good you are, how goddamn addictive and perfect you are, because I won’t be able to stop fucking cumming all over you. Fuck, I’ll never be done with you. The world will go to shit and I’ll just keep fucking you, Sunshine. I fucking love you. 

That’s enough. That’s all the right things to say, said in Ben’s deep, firm voice, and you let out a small whine that he can never know about when you cum. It’s silent for a second, Ben’s Thing is still humming a beat in your body that carries you back down, and you smile into the air. Pull out method guy, huh?

Condoms don’t fucking work on supe jizz, Sunshine. It’s like trying to block a bullet with a damn window. 

Did they not offer sex ed in the 1930s? Pull out method doesn’t work, Pretty Boy.

I don’t give a fuck. I’ll cum in you all I want, until you’re fucking full of me. And I’ve slept around my whole damn life, never knocked anyone up.

As far as you know. 

You can almost see his scowl. That’s not funny.

What, don’t like the idea of a bunch of tiny Benjamin’s, running around telling their stuffed animals to shove it up their fucking ballsacks? 

There’s a long pause, and when Ben speaks again his voice low. Low and careful and rough. 

I like whatever the fuck you like. If you want an army of kids in a white picket fucking house, then you get that. If you never want to look at baby again, I’ll kick all of them into the fucking sun. But that’s a bridge we’ll cross after I fuck you like you deserve. Got it? 

You don’t get to respond to the Phantom—remind it that it’s not real, and can’t really offer you anything—because the door opens downstairs and real Ben is home. He’s not talking or making any real noise except for heavy footsteps, but his Thing in your body flares and you know it’s him. 

When you exit the bedroom he’s outside the door, frowning down at you. You’re about to ask him where the hell he went—your mouth already open and eyes narrowed at his stupid, handsome face—but he moves first. Pulls you against him and kisses you, long and heavy until your knees are weak and you can’t stop the moan escaping your throat. He takes it, mouth curling in a smirk against yours, and your blood is hot. Burning in your body and trying to push out of you, into Ben. Everywhere you’re connected to him you can feel his hunger, and when his arm wraps around your hips and squeezes your whole body almost caves in with an effort to keep all your love for him in you. You’re still a little high from your orgasm, and he’s kneading at your skin and dropping his head to suck on your neck, and it’s almost impossible to just push him away. Take an unsteady step back—keeping your fists in a tight grip on his shirt because you’re not that strong—and watch him carefully.

“Good morning to you too, Benjamin.”

“It’s fucking not,” he grumbles, hands covering yours against his chest, holding you there. “Better now, but still not good.”

You have to focus on the not good part, so that your heart doesn’t pound right through your ribs and out of your chest at the better now part. “What happened?”

Ben sighs, eyes scanning over your face, pulling you apart until he finds whatever it was needed. You let him. It always makes you feel safe, known, and a little more alive because Ben can look at you like that, so you let him. You sit in the concrete resolve wrapping around you, in the rumble of his Thing around your body, and wait.

“You’re hungry.” 

You are hungry. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, unless you count whatever Frenchie had been hiding in the Kitchen that had gotten you drunk and the tiny pill in your system, still not kicked it. But Ben says it and suddenly you’re starving, and your stomach makes a bubbling, rolling sound. Ben hears it—of course he does, stupid asshole with stupid supe ears—and smirks at you.

“Shut up.”

His smirk widens. “I didn’t say shit.” 

“It was a preemptive shut up.” You take a step further down the loft strip, and Ben follows, folding his fingers between yours as you walk down the stairs. “To keep you from saying something fucking dumb.” 

He snorts, and you can feel his shrug jostle your arm. “Preemptive warfare is a crime, Sunshine.” 

“I know that.” You turn with a frown, waiting for him to join you at the bottom of the stairs. “How do you know that?” 

“I’m not a fucking idiot-“ 

“I don’t think you’re a fucking idiot.” You tilt your head at him, feeling that odd glow start to hum inside Ben’s body as his glare softens. “But when I tried to explain Bill Clintion’s impeachment, you started shouting about how fucking should never be a crime. I’m just never sure what you do and don’t know.”

Ben sighs. “I was there when the UN Charter was signed. I remember all the fucking peace-pussies arguing about that shit for three days.” 

You grin at him. “Old-“

“Shut the fuck up and eat.” Ben starts to tug you toward the table, where he’s poured the coffee into your mug and set out a plate with a muffin that definitely hadn’t been in your apartment before. 

“Where-“ 

Ben pulls out your chair, and all but shoves you into it before walking around to his own seat, dropping across from you with a glare. “Dining hall.” 

“Why-“

“You like those muffins. And you need to fucking eat.”

You sigh. “No, I’ve got that. Why were you in the dining hall?”

Ben’s jaw tightens, and he glares between you and the muffin. “Working before I got kicked out. Eat.”

“Kicked-“ 

“Eat, and I’ll fucking tell you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and take an exaggerated bite of the muffin. Ben nods, staring at your chewing as he answers.

“Got a boner. MM saw it. Fucking prude asshole kicked me out.”

“Out of-“ You swallow, covering your mouth with a hand. “Out of what?”

“Work.”

“Why were you working in the dining hall?”

“You’re not allowed to flip your shit.”

You glare at him. “No.”

Ben grunts your name. “You’ve got to swear you won’t fucking lose it-“

“If you don’t want me to lose it, dumb dumb, don’t lead with asking me not to. Why were you working in the dining hall?” 

He sighs. “We had a meeting.”

“About?”

“You.”

He’s still looking at you. Watching you carefully, a foot pressed against yours under the table. There’s something sick in his body, made of that stone protection but wrapped in toxin. Worry. Ben’s worried.

You take a long breath. “What about me.”

“If you’re okay.”

“I’m fine-“ 

“No, you’re fucking not. You got drunk,” He snaps your name, but it’s not angry. It’s strained, and the sickness starts to wrap around his throat. “And you’re still throwing yourself in front of trains when you need to rest.” 

“That’s not for you to decide,” you glare at the muffin on the plate, because you can’t look at Ben. If you look at Ben, you might start crying. “I’m here, Ben. I’m okay, it’s just a lot-“ 

“It doesn’t fucking have to be a lot. This doesn’t have to be your job-“

“Yes, it does.” You sigh, feeling blood draw in your mouth as you bite through your cheek. Blood. So much blood. “I have to fix this.”

He mutters your name, and when you look up he just looks sad. The toxin has settled into something that aches, and Ben’s eyes on yours are just tired and sad. “This is fucking killing you. You’ve done enough, you’ve fucking scarified all your goddamn privacy and peace for this shit, just rest-“ 

“No,” you give him a small, sad smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve bought us time, but we have to finish this soon. I’ll rest when we finish this.”

Ben shakes his head, the ache growing, but sighs. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Is anything I say going to make you, for once in your damn life, listen to me?”

“No,” you mumble, and it’s a half lie. The only thing that would make you listen is the one thing Ben won’t say, so, technically, the answer is no. “It won’t. I have to-“

“You have to fix this.” Ben mutters. “I know. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “No more fighting Homelander and Sage by yourself. No more risky, shit fucking plans that put you in the line of fire or make you afraid.”

“Okay,” you whisper. You don’t really want to fight Homelander and Sage by yourself again. Ever. You don’t want to see blood on your hands for the rest of your life, and agreeing to this makes something loosen around Ben’s throat, so it’s so fucking easy to agree. “Deal.”

Ben’s hand finds yours on the table, squeezing once. “Deal.”

“Ben?”

He repeats your name back to you with a frown, and you smile at him. This one’s real, and born from how he didn’t yell. You didn’t yell. He’s still here, and worried about you, and you love him, so it’s perfectly natural and easy to smile at Ben.

“You smell like shit.”

Ben scowls, but his amusement sparks in your chest and your smile widens. “Shut the fuck up. I didn’t get to shower last night, because someone was climbing all over me and wouldn’t let me fucking move.”

You feel the heat rush to your face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t-

“Apologize.” You sigh, poking at your muffin. “I know. I’m still sorry. I was out of it, I know you’re my friend, but it was, um, weird to see what everyone was saying-”

Ben grunts your name, and his Thing is aching. “You’re my best friend. I was fucking serious when I said you’re my best friend.”

“I know-“

“You clearly don’t,” he glares at you, and you can’t look away from him. His thumb is running over your knuckles, there’s a heat in his eyes that starts to make the fire push under your skin, makes something in your gut ignite. “I fucking adore you. Not some fake, plastic, marketable version of you. Nothing any sort of fucking Hollywood pussies and vultures say about you, nothing Vought says, and nothing fucking Homelander says matters, because I adore you, and know you better than fucking anyone. You’re not a liar, or a whore. You are mean, but I usually deserve it, and you’re also beautiful and kind. Got it?”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done to not launch yourself across the table and kiss Ben, tell him you love him, and that you know that. That any fear or doubt festering in your head is in the form of a cold, cruel voice calling you weak, and what pushes it away is an ardor and love and certainty that Ben will catch you. You manage to stop yourself. Bite your tongue and choking down the words, give Ben a smile that says thank you.

He sighs, scooting back from the table. “Come here.”

The muffin is forgotten as you stand and move around the table, falling into Ben’s lap and just holding him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your head into his shoulder. You can feel his every breath moving his body, and it makes an even harmony with his Thing in your chest.

“The media is full of idiot pussies,” he mutters in your ear, hands drawing circles on your back. “In the 60s, they said I couldn’t really shoot a gun. I can shoot a fucking gun.”

You smile against him. “I know. I’ve seen you do it.” 

“And I hit the mark every goddamn time.” 

“Sure.”

He pulls back, glaring at you. “I fucking do.”

“I believe you, Ben.” You grin at the adorable, frustrated frown and knit of his brow. “What am I supposed to say?”

Ben narrows his eyes at you. “I don’t know, something fucking encouraging. With Ryan you kept telling him he was strong-“

“Ryan is twelve. You’re a grown man.” You pull yourself further up his chest until your lips are brushing against his when you speak. “You know you’re a good shot, Ryan didn’t think he could hold more than three tons. What do you want me to say.” 

He’s glaring at you, and his words are low and tense. “Shut up.”

“I’ll say it,” you mumble, falling further forward as that glow deep in Ben’s body returns, still not fully kissing him. It’s hard to keep teasing him, because his invading all your senses in the best way possible, but you manage. “I’ll tell you you’re stupid fucking handsome, and strong, and my, Benjamin, what nice hands you have-”

His Thing roars inside of you, and suddenly he’s moving. Picking you up and slamming you down onto the table, leaning over you and smirking against your lips without ever just fucking kissing you.

“Brat.” His words are a growl, and you can just watch him. Feel the hunger sweeping through your body, drowning out all the lingering fear and tension until it’s just Ben. Ben, I love you. “You’ve got a smart, pretty fucking mouth, Sunshine. You want me to touch it, all you have to do is damn ask.”

You don’t bother. Your nails are digging into the skin of Ben’s neck, and his grin is so fucking cocky, and the groan he lets out when you tug him down—pull his mouth onto yours—is the best thing you’ve ever heard. He doesn’t push it further—his hips pinning yours to the table so you can’t buck up into him—but it’s still too much. Your love is starting to get away from you. But you can hold it in a little longer, hopefully long enough long enough for Frenchie’s stupid fucking pill to do its job so Ben can just fuck you. He can’t keep looking at you and touching you like this—hungry and reverent and devoted—and expecting you not to fuck him. He needs to feel how much you love him, even if it’s just with hands and teeth and moans instead of soft confessions and whispers of Ben. Ben, I love you. 

It doesn’t kick in though. Your blood is starting to burn in your body, and Ben’s thing is rioting in the spaces between your ribs. So you have to lean your head away and take a heavy long breath as Ben drops his head to your neck, kissing and sucking a wet, heavy trail up to and along your jaw, across your face, and stopping on your lips, pressing his brow to yours. 

“Ben?”

He grunts, and you move your hands to hold his face, pulling him back to meet your eyes. 

“You still smell like shit.” 

He scoffs. “You didn’t seem to fucking mind.” 

“I am capable of being distracted.” You grin up at him, running a hand up, into his hair. “Are you going to distract MM or Annie at dinner by making out with them when they say you smell?” 

“Smartass.”

“You love it.”

Ben sighs, dropping his full weight back onto your body, pressing his head into your neck. “I do.”

That doesn’t mean anything. He means the words—Ben means everything he says, it’s one of the reasons why you love him—but they don’t mean anything. His breath is warm on your skin, and his hands tracing across your body like you’re sacred, but it doesn’t mean anything. His thing in your chest is pounding and roaring and trying to carve something crucial into you, but it doesn’t mean a single thing. Your blood is starting to leak out of your body, and that’s why he’s acting like this. It’s your love, crawling away from you, making you a liar. A weak, horrible liar.

You pray he can’t hear the strain of your voice when you mumble in his ear. “Go shower, Pretty Boy.” 

He nods, hauling himself off your body with a strange expression that you can’t read, kissing you one last time. Slow and gentle, letting your hand curl into his hair before standing up—tugging you upright as he does—with a glare.

“Finish your muffin.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You see his mouth twitch up, and can’t stop your own smile crossing your face as he rolls his eyes, and kisses you one last time before he walks away—up the stairs and into your bedroom—and you love him. You need this stupid pill to kick in now, because you love Ben and the longer you draw this out the harder it is to keep holding your ground. The more you walk right up to the line, the harder it is not to cross it. That had been too close, far too close, but it had still been impossible to stop it.

Because you’re weak. The words are bored, obvious, and crude in your head. You’re a weak, manipulative, lying bitch. Useless. Weak and useless. 

You’re not useless. You can’t be useless. You might be weak—too soft, too kind, too forgiving—but you won’t allow yourself to be useless. Once your empathy is severed, you will be useless. You’ll have your fire—sitting comfortably under your skin—but if you have to face Homelander again it might go dormant, and you still don’t trust your singing enough to work in your favor.

You’d promised not to face Homelander alone again. And you’ll never go looking for it. But there will always be a chance. A single, hollow sliver of a possibility that no matter what you—or Ben—do, Homelander will find you again. You can’t be useless if that happens. You won’t be useless if that happens again.

The phone Frenchie gave you is already half set-up. The benefit of your phone being destroyed last time is that—unlike when Homelander had found it—you could just port in all your old data. Nothing’s been lost, nothing has to be redone. Ben’s contact is still pinned at the top of your messages, and your heart breaks a little when you see the last text he’d sent you.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

If Butcher gives u shit for going off bok, tell me and Ill rip his face of

He texts like a child with two broken thumbs. The longer he’d had a phone, the more his grammar and sentence structure had regressed. You’d made the mistake of turning his autocorrect in the hope it would make him try harder, then the bigger mistake of explaining texting abbreviations, and now every single text he sent looked like that one. He’s an idiot, and you love him so much it might kill you. 

I’m going to Annie and Hughie’s. I love you.

You type it without thinking, and barely catch it the second before you hit send.

I’m going to Annie and Hughie’s. I’ll see you in a few hours.

Ben’s phone lights up on the table next to you when you hit send, and you smile when you see your own photo, still his lock screen.

You can’t lose this again. It’s what carries your feet out the door and down the hall, makes you knock on the door of Annie and Huhgie’s apartment. You can’t lose Ben again, and if you’re useless, you might. I might be wiser to ask Ben to do this for you, but you don’t have the strength to explain to him why you need it. To see his face fall and feel his worry when you tell him that you’re still weak and afraid, that he’s your best friend and you adore and trust him, but you’re still weak and afraid. That his word means more than anyone’s, but it can only do so much to combat Homelander’s cold and the screams of the world that you’re a liar. A weak, useless, liar.

Hughie answers, and says your name in surprise. “Hi, are you-“ 

“I need you to help me.” 

“Me?” Hughie blinks. “Um, with what?” 

You take a deep breath, crossing your arms over your chest. “Teach me how to shoot a gun.” 

Hughie stares at you, mouth slack, shaking his head and stumbling over words. “What? I mean, why? Why are you asking me, and not MM or Butcher or, uh, Soldier Boy-” 

“Because you’re the only one who I trust to not be a dick about it.” That’s true. MM will try to be patient, but you’ll get frustrated with yourself and it will end up making you both tense and angry. Butcher will probably end up shooting you to make a point, and—on top of not wanting to explain to Ben why you need this—he’ll be a cocky fucking showoff about it, and you’ll get horny, and nothing will get done. “Please, Hughie. I don’t need to be an expert sniper, I’m just the last person left on the team who doesn’t know how.”

“But I’m, I’m a terrible shot. Butcher says I might as well be blind-“ 

“You know how to use a gun?” 

“I mean, I guess yeah. I kind of have to, for this shit-“ 

“Then teach me.” You sigh. “Please.” 

“Are you really-“ 

“I’m sure.” 

“Then yeah,” Hughie takes a step back, pausing with a nervous smile. “Okay. Just, give me a sec.” 

He’s only gone for a minute, and when he reappears with shoes on and his phone in his hand, Hughie closes the door and leads you down the hall. 

You walk in silence for a while, before he clears his throat and frowns at you. “You’re really okay?” 

“I’m tired,” you mumble, looking down at the floor. “But I’m okay.” 

“And Soldier Boy-“ 

“He’s good.” You smile to yourself, because you’re a lovesick dummy. “He’s really good. He brought me a muffin.” 

“A muffin?” When you look at Hughie, he’s frowning. “That’s, that’s kind of sweet.” 

You nod, shrugging. “He’s a lot more like a puppy than you’d expect. I mean, I know you met him before I did and he was a dick-“ 

“I don’t judge you,” Hughie interrupts you with almost frantic words, and you blink at him. “I mean, he’s still a dick, and you know that, but, fuck, he’s isn’t calling me cocksucker anymore, and even Annie thinks he’s nicer-“ Hughie shakes his head, and you start to get a little worried he’s going make himself pass out. “Not nicer. But less, um, mean? Like he’s still a dick but more of a soft dick? That’s horrible, I-“ 

“Hughie,” you almost nudge his shoulder, but manage to catch yourself. “I get it. And I don’t think you judge me.” 

“Oh. Good.” As you reach a door labelled Shooting Range—Ben was right, they don’t tell you fucking shit—Hughie stops in the hall, giving you an awkward smile. “Is there, uh, a reason you don’t want him to teach you?” 

You breathe out a small laugh. “Not any you’d want to hear.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, I mean you’re my friend-“ 

“We wouldn’t get through a lesson without being, um, less than PG-13.” 

Hughie’s eyes widen, and his face grows red. “Uh, gross.” 

You shrug. “I told you. Should’ve believed me.” 

Hughie opens the door, and his smile is still embarrassed, but less awkward. “Learned that lesson, I guess.” 

You grin, and follow Hughie inside. 

The shooting “range” is more of a shooting hall. It’s not small—there’s at least five or six booths—but it’s narrow and tight, with the guns being kept in a large gray trunk that Hughie kneels down to unlock. 

“This can’t be safe,” you mutter, watching him shift through the hopefully unloaded firearms. “You’d think a government building would have stricter gun codes.” 

“They do.” Hughie stands back up, handing you a pistol similar to the one Ben had taken from the agent in February. The one you’d shot Sage with. “These are all ours. I don’t think we’re technically supposed to have them here, but nobody seems to really give a shit that we do.” 

You hum an agreement, glancing down at the gun. “Now what?” 

“Uh,” Hughie looks around the hall. “I guess you chose a booth, and I figure out where MM would’ve put the ammo?” 

All the booths look the same. Headphone mufflers you won’t need provided, targets set up behind a steel counter that runs the length of the hall, floor to ceiling dividers between each area. The dividers have full length mirrors for some reason—though it is pretty easy to imagine Frenchie flexing into them to try and show off to Kimiko, or Butcher winking at himself when he makes a shot—and there’s a panel of buttons to adjust the targets. You chose the closest one, and watch Hughie shuffle around the area until he finds a small box at the booth closest to the door, filled with neatly sorted bullets.

He returns to your side, swallowing and giving you one last apprehensive look. “Ready?” 

You nod. “Born it.”

The first thing you learn is how to load the gun. Hughie does it once for himself, then again to walk you through it, and you manage to do it yourself in one try. The moment the bullet is locked in the chamber, Hughie freezes. 

“We probably should’ve done gun safety stuff before the bullet went in.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” you shrug, keeping the barrel pointed at the floor. “No pointing it at anyone, myself included, safety on until I shoot, finger off the trigger, don’t be a dumbass. Right?”

Hughie nods, and from there it’s all about how to shoot the gun. Logistically, it’s simple. In practice less so. Guns are loud. You don’t wear the earmuffs—your eardrums can’t shatter, so you hand them to Hughie—but the bang still echoes through the room and the blast makes you stumble back slightly. Over the hour you figure out how to plant your feet so you don’t fall backwards, Hughie gives you nervous, hesitant tips about aiming and stance and hand positioning, and you get better. You’re not good at it, not by a mile, but you’re hitting the target and stop flinching every time you fire. 

“You want to try and move it back?” Hughie leans forward, frowning at ten foot space between you and the target. “I think you could manage fifteen-“

You feel Ben right before someone knocks on the door. His Thing in your chest spikes up along your spine, and you sigh as Hughie jumps. “Shit.”

He’s shouting your name, and the wall is barely muffling it. “Open the damn door!”

“Do it yourself, drama queen!” You yell back, and the banging on the door stops.

“I can’t, you took the fucking keycard!”

You had done that. It’s sitting on the counter, right in front of you, next to your phone. When you open the door to a glowering Ben—hair still damp, scanning you up and down—you sigh. “I forgot, sorry-“

“Shut up.” He marches past you, glaring around the room, eyes settling on Hughie. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell me we had a gun range.”

“Uh, I don’t-“

“And what the fuck are you,” Ben turns back to you with a scowl. “Doing in it?”

You give him a flat look. “Guess.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt. Why are you here.” 

“I went looking for you, and Annie said you and Hughie went to the gun range that nobody fucking told me we had.”

“We didn’t think-“ 

Hughie’s mumble is cut off by a sharp glare from Ben. “Shut the fuck up. What have you taught her.”

“Ben, I asked him to-“

“Why him?” Ben’s Thing in you is aching and sour, and his face looks almost lost. “Why didn’t you fucking ask me?”

You don’t have a good answer that doesn’t either start or end with Ben. Ben, I love you, so you just give a lame, guilty shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you-“

“You never fucking bother me.” He snaps, and you feel the heat rush into your face. “I’m sure as hell going to be a better fucking teacher than he is.” Ben jerks his head at Hughie, and you frown. 

“Hughie’s been fine, Ben, don’t be an ass.”

Ben scoffs. “I’d be fucking better.”

“I actually agree with Soldier Boy-“

You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you hold Ben’s glare. “I’m not try to join the fucking army, Benjamin, just shoot well enough to get by. And we’re doing fine.”

Ben steps to the side, gesturing back to the booth. “Prove it.”

Hughie all but stumbles back as you march to the counter—shoving past Ben and ignoring the heat rolling off his body into yours—and pick up the gun. You can feel his eyes on you, his Thing starting to scorch your lungs and heart, you pull the trigger. Hughie yelps—you hadn’t given him enough time to put the earmuffs back on, you give him an apologetic look when you turn—but Ben is silent. Stalking over and glaring at where you’d hit the target. A small, smoking hole right over the heart. You’d been aiming for the head. Ben didn’t need to know that.

“Good,” he grunts, leaning past you and picking up the gun. Loading it with rough, careful movements. “Do it again.”

“Do I, uh,” Hughie’s looking between where Ben is standing over you, glaring at the gun, and where you’re staring at Ben’s hands, trying not to drool, clinging to even a fake anger at him. “Do I have be here?”

“No.” Ben snaps, glancing up at you with a smirk flashing across his face. “Fuck off, kid.” 

Hughie doesn’t wait to be told twice. He gives you a small nod, Ben an anxious look, and the door closes behind him.

“That was mean, Ben-“ 

“I don’t give a fuck.” Ben passes the gun back into your hands, taking a large step back. “Again. Knees further apart.”

You frown. “Why?”

“You won’t have to tense as much to stay up.”

“But-“

“Just fucking do it, Sunshine.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and turn back to the target. Knees further apart, raise the gun, shoot.

It’s really annoying when Ben is right. His handsome face gets all smug, and his eyes get all taunting, and the cocky grins that always pulls at his lips never goes away until you kiss it. “You going to admit I was right?”

“Fuck you.”

He snorts. “Do it again, and I might. You look fucking hot.” 

You flip off, but do it again anyway. This time the recoil barely even shakes your body, and Ben’s grin grows.

“Arms higher up.”

“What?” 

“Your arms.” You don’t get to turn to glare at him before you feel Ben behind you, wrapping around your body and moving your arms to level with your shoulders. “There. Again.”

You have to take a shaky breath before you fire, because even after Ben steps back his Thing keeps bellowing in your chest.

It goes like this for another hour. Ben adjusting you, muttering orders and standing behind you as you fire. His Thing in you becomes almost violent—clawing against you, making your blood rush and burn and try to reach Ben—but you push on. You won’t be useless. 

“Even footing,” Ben grunts from behind you as you glance back at him, reloading the gun. “You’re putting more weight on your left. They need to be even.” 

“Can you say please?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You grins at him. “So you can’t say please.”

Ben lets out a long, labored sigh, and his Thing makes a long, feral sound, and pushes at the top of your chest. “Please. Brat.”

“Well,” you hum. “If it’s that’s important to you-“

“Shoot the damn gun, Sunshine.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Asshole.”’ 

When you turn back around and raise the gun, you freeze. 

You can’t feel Ben.

He’s behind you, a foot away and watching you silently, and you can’t feel him. His Thing in your chest is gone. Not dormant, not quiet. Vanished. Frenchie’s pill had worked. You weren’t dead, and you can’t feel Ben.

You lower the gun and turn around, taking a deep breath when you find Ben staring at you, scanning your face with a frown.

“Are you-“

“I’m done,” your words are quick, frantic, and you rush past him. Unloading the gun, shoving it back into the trunk and dropping the bullets in MM’s box, and turning back to Ben. “Let’s go-“

“What's wrong with you.” He cuts you off with a glare, crossing the hall until he’s towering over you. His arms are brushing yours, and you can’t feel if he’s angry or annoyed or worried. You can tell he’s worried—he’s still studying your face, wrapping around you without touching you so he can block you from any possible threats—but you can’t feel it. He grunts your name, low and gruff and Ben, he’s saying your name and looking at you and he’s warm and- Fuck it.

You surge up, crashing your mouth into Ben’s and yanking him down by his shirt to meet you halfway. His hesitation barely lasts a second—a long, painful second of him tensing under your hands—before he makes a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest and spurs into action. Hands grabbing your face, angling it so he can deepen the kiss with his tongue down your throat, biting your lip as he presses his body against yours and walks you back into the wall. Groaning when you start to tug at his hair, dropping his head into your neck and sucking that one spot until you moan. A loud, desperate moan that makes Ben grin as he moves a hand up to support himself against the wall, dropping the other grab your hips. 

He says your name again, and you can hear the hunger. It’s not in you, but Ben’s voice is deep and hoarse—his hand starting to squeeze and rub your skin as he nips near your ear—and you know he’s hungry. “You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay-“ You cut your own words off with a high, breathless sound when Ben starts to leave sloppy, open kisses along your jaw. “Fuck, I’m good. I’m really good, Ben, please-“

“You’re good.” He pulls all the way back, his fist curling on the wall near your head as he watches you with dark eyes. “You want this.”

You nod, not even bothering to pretend that you’re not desperate. That if Ben doesn’t touch you right fucking now you might die, or at least start crying. “Yes, please.”

He nods, but still doesn’t just move. “Say it.” 

“Benjamin, please fuck me-“

You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s back on you. Bruising your mouth with his, growling your name down your throat as you start to try and climb up his chest with desperate hands scraping at his shoulders. Hands Ben grabs and moves around his neck, muttering an order against your lips that rumbles through your body and makes your knees almost buckle. 

“Hold on.”

Ben’s knee pushes between your thighs before you’ve even had a chance to listen, and when you roll your hips onto it his hands hold you down. Stopping any movement, pressing your core right against him as his arms drop to hook under your knees. He pauses, rubbing circles on your thighs as he adjusts his grip and watches at you, still trying to grind down onto him.

“Please-“

“Tell me you want me. Fucking mean it.”

You nod, your nails digging into his neck. “I want you. Now, Ben, I want you now-“

This kiss is heavy. All of Ben’s weight is over you, and he’s eating your words, turning them into breathless, needy whines. You're a little dizzy when he pulls back, trying to chase his mouth and squirm higher up his leg, and almost squealing when your shorts are ripped off your body. He’s grinning at you, watching you with almost an amazement, and his chuckle makes you whimper. “You want me so bad you’ll fuck yourself on my knee, Sunshine?” 

“Ben-“

You yelp when he hauls you up and over his body, your legs wrapping around his chest and your head leaning down to try and connect his mouth back to yours. It doesn’t take much effort, because Ben drops you down his chest just enough that you almost slam back into him. His nose is bumping yours, and he tastes like coffee and strawberries, and his beard is scraping the soft skin of your face as he takes more. His hands are squeezing and pulling at your thighs, and he won’t stop making low, deep sounds that cause his chest to vibrate and make you moan into his mouth. 

“So fucking good,” he mutters your name, and you try to roll your hips against him. Try to do something about your whole body feels like it’s on fire, how every time Ben’s big, rough hands move against you, and every time he groans and sucks your tongue into his mouth, you can feel your heartbeat move down, down and the ache grows painful. “And so needy, beautiful. I haven’t even really fucking touched you, and I bet you’re dripping.” 

“Please, Ben, you asshole-“

He pulls back, and looks up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever. With blown-out eyes, his nostrils flaring and his mouth half-open. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He growls, one hand moving up your thigh, running one, broad finger right over your pussy and sending a shiver through your body. “I’m going fucking ruin you. Fuck your beautiful fucking cunt until you can’t sit down, until you can’t walk for a week. You’re going to fucking soak my cock, I’m going to make you so fucking wet and desperate you’re going to fucking scream.” 

You nod, and if you had any sort of thoughts right now that weren’t Ben. Fuck, Ben, I love you. I love you, please, Ben, I love you, fuck, please- you’d point out that you can’t be fucked enough to get sore, you can’t get sore, but Ben moves to rub your clit in one rough movement and you decided that it doesn’t really fucking matter. If he wants to take up that challenge, who are you to stop him. 

“Words.”

“Do that,” you mumble, your whole body going slack as one of Ben’s fingers runs between your slit over your panties, before rising to flick your clit once. “Fuck, Ben, do that, that’s good-“

Your words turn into a whine when he starts to slide you down his body—an arm moving around your waist to keep you upright and pressed against him—and Ben hisses when you brush against his cock. Hard in his pants, long and thick, pressed against your thigh and so close and big and Ben- 

He’s trying to sit you on one of the booth counters, but you lean your weight forward and keep going down. Ben doesn’t try to stop you, his hand moving up to your face as he watches you drop down onto your knees. Level with his cock, grinning up at his slack face. When he says your name, his voice is rasp. “Are you-”

“Yeah,” you move your hands up his thighs, holding his gaze. He needs to look at you like that forever—like you’re all the stars in the sky and the spaces between them—because combined with the way you can see his cock twitch in his pant and how you his  chest is rising and falling in a heavy, uneven pattern, you might cum without Ben even touching you. “Do you want me to?”

He chuckles, leaning back against the divider and tangling his hand into your hair. “What are you supposed to do if I tell you no.”

“Shoot you,” you start to undo his belt buckle, glancing between your hands and Ben’s face. His jaw is clenched and his free hand has moved to grip the counter, leaving an indent on the metal. “I can do that now. I’m good at it.”

“You’re real goddamn confident for only a day of practice-“

“I have a great teacher,” you smile at him, and Ben swallows, glaring at you. “He’s a cunt, but really hot. I think I might let him fuck my face if he asks nicely.” 

“Brat.”

You hum, pulling down his pants, boxers with them. At this point it’s really not worth fighting the small whine that escapes your throat when you see him, because that cock is yours. And you’re going to suck it, if it's the last fucking thing you do. “That’s not nice, Benjamin-“

He growls your name, and when you look back up his eyes on yours are feral. Pushing right through your body, making you grind mindlessly onto nothing and your nails dig into his skin. “Do you want me to fuck your face.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing back at where he’s only centimeters from your mouth. “I do.”

“Well,” he smirks. “Are you going to ask nicely?”

“You dick-“

“My dick, beautiful,” he keeps glancing over your head, looking between you and something behind you that you can’t see. “Is going to fuck your perfect, pretty fucking mouth. If you can’t take it, squeeze both my knees twice. Got it?”

You nod, and your voice is breathless. “Both knees. Twice.”

“I’m going to start slow,” his hands in your hair curls into a fist, pulling your head back until your eyes meet. “And when I cum-“ 

“Inside.” Your words are a little too fast, because Ben grins.

“You want to fucking swallow, Sunshine?”

“You know I swallow, asshole-“

“I don’t know shit,” Ben winks, and you grind down on to the air again. “But I know you’re going be a goddamn work of art with your lips on my cock. And I know you’re going to fucking prove that you can swallow all of me. Ready?”

“Yes-“

The word has barely left your mouth when he slams forward. His cock pushes into your mouth, the head resting at the top of your throat, and Ben’s hand tightens in your hair as he just sits there. His dick on your tongue and your nose brushing his hips, and a whimper leaving your body when Ben groans and you can feel it.

He pulls you off, keeping the tip right between your lips, and tugs your hair until you look up at him. “Good?”

You squeeze his thigh, hold his gaze, and run your tongue around the head on his cock, grazing it with your teeth. Don’t be a pussy, Benjamin. Fuck my face.

His eyes flash, and you hear the metal of the counter whine under his grip as he takes a deep breath, staring behind you again. When he looks back to you, he looks like an angel again. He’s so handsome, and he looks primal and powerful, and you love him. You can tell him that, in a long, desperate noise when his cock is muffling any real words he could hear. He’s looking at you like you’re the holy one, when he’s everything. He’s the whole world, and when he starts to move, all your thoughts just clear to that. Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s not holding back. Ben’s hand is guiding your head up and down his cock at a brutal, unrelenting pace, and his hips keep bucking when he hits the back of your throat to the point that you give up on trying to do anything productive and just focus on keeping your gag reflex from choking on him. There’s smoke starting to curl from your hands and the whole world is growing blurry, but fuck, you don’t care. He tastes so good, and every hiss and groan that leaves him is like music, and he’s everything. 

“You’re, fuck,” you suck on him once, just trying to contain the drool falling out of your mouth, and Ben’s hips jerk. “You’re so fucking good. So fucking good, Sunshine, you’re beautiful and perfect and I fucking-“ His words turn into a long, deep strained sound, and you start to grind onto the air. You can’t let go of his legs to touch yourself, you’ll fall over, so all you can do is whine and hope a pillow somehow appears for you to ride. “Fucking Christ,” Ben’s words are pushed between his teeth, and he somehow goes faster. “God, fuck, you’re beautiful. Your mouth was fucking made for my cock, so fucking soft and warm and perfect and, fuck-“

Ben’s hand flies off the counters, joining his other on your head, and he’s close. You can feel the head of his cock twitch when your throat squeezes around it, and his words are starting to slur.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you’re fucking beautiful, and perfect, and fuck, Sunshine, you’re beautiful, you don’t have a goddamn fucking clue how beautiful you are, how much I, fuck-“

You’re dizzy and your brain is clouded with lust, but you’d manage to move one hand off of Ben’s thigh to squeeze his balls. It works just like you’d hoped, and Ben’s whole body tenses as cum shoots, fast and hot, down your throat. You swallow—you’re not a pussy, and you love him more than anything—and Ben’s hands splay against your scalp and cheek. When you pull back your lips make a popping sound, and you smile up at Ben as he looks down at you, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and his breathing loud and ragged. 

“Fucking Christ,” Ben mutters your name, and the devotion is back in his eyes. Devotion and heat and something else you don’t understand. “You’re… Christ.”

“I’m Christ?” You shift on your knees, trying to ignore how the ache is starting to become painful so you can just look at him. “Wow. Don’t tell Butcher, he’s a big god-hater-“ 

Ben pulls you upwards, leaning down to meet you halfway, kissing you until your knees start to shake again and you have to lean against him to avoid falling over.

“Brat,” his growl is paired with a long suck of your upper lip and squeeze of your waist, and you make a high, needy sound. “Want me to show you something?” 

You have literally no idea what he might want to show you, but you nod because right now if Ben asked you to figure out time travel you’re pretty sure it would take you an hour.

He spins you around, pressing your back to his chest, and you realize what he’s been staring at. The mirrors. On the booths. You’d totally forgotten about the mirrors on the booths.

“See how fucking beautiful you are?” Ben’s muttered in your ear, the hot air of his breath making you shiver and try to push further back into his body. “You’re the most beautiful woman in goddamn history. Fuck, you might be the most beautiful thing in history. I don’t know how you ever expected this to be a fair fucking fight, for us not to end up here. Where I’m going to make you feel fucking good and you’re going to watch.”

“Ben-“

“I liked watching you suck my cock, Sunshine.” One of his hands has moved up to palm your breast, and the other has started to trail down, tracing patterns on your stomach. “You looked real fucking pretty, taking my cock all good and deep in your throat, letting me fuck your face and swallowing my cum. But you’ve got a little bit of a problem, don’t you.”

Ben’s watching you in the mirror, locking your gaze with his, a thumb rubbing over your nipple as his hand slides a little lower, resting right below your abdomen. All you can do to answer him is nod, and try to grind up so that his hand will drop further. 

“You’re so fucking desperate for me to touch your perfect fucking cunt,” Ben says your name, and it rolls through your body and sets you on fire. There’s no smoke rising through your body, but everything smells like pine and the whole room is starting to dance with a misty, green light. “That’s your problem, isn’t it. You need me, need me so bad you’ve fucking ruined your underwear just from sucking my cock. I can fucking smell you, Sunshine, you smell fucking delicious.”

He hates you. You’ve made a grave miscalculation in how much Ben likes you, because this is torture. He won’t stop teasing you and calling you beautiful and good and not just fucking touching you. He must hate you, because you’re whining sounds that are meant to be pleas of his name and humping the air near his hand, and Ben won’t just touch you. Ben’s smirking at you in the reflection, and he’s such a cunt and he’s so handsome and you love him and if he doesn’t start doing something right now you’re going to punch him square in his stupid, smug, handsome face.

“You want me to fix your problem?”

“Ben-“

“I know, beautiful.” His hand moves out from under your shirt, moving up to your chin until you’re looking back at him and he can kiss you. Soft, gentle, deceptively innocent. “I’m going to take care of you. All you have to do is-“

He needs to stop being so sweet and good or you’ll tell him you love him. He needs to shut the fuck up and touch you. “Ben, please. Please-“ 

“Please, what?”

“Fucking touch me-“

His hand on your chin pulls your head back down, forcing your eyes back to the mirror right as he tears off your underwear. Ben grins at your reflections, thumb brushing against your lip as his hold on your chin loosens slightly, and his hand drops down, resting right between your thighs without just moving.

“God, you’re fucking wet,” he’s still whispering right into your ear, and it’s making you a little lightheaded. “Is this all for me, beautiful? All for me to take care of?”

You start trying to grind down onto his hand, and Ben’s free arm drops back down to pin your hips against him, muscles rippling when your try to squirm away and he’s kissing your neck and hie won’t move- “Ben-“

“No,” he grunts, hand moving back up  your shirt to brush your tits, face buried into your shoulder where you can’t actually see him. “My turn. You’re going to relax, and I’m going to do this for you.”

“Please-“

He says your name, pulling back to meet your eyes in the mirror. “You trust me.”

Not a question. You both know the answer, and it’s more for Ben to hear it. You know that, because when you glare yes, at him through the mirror, he grins. You’re about him to just do something, anything, whatever he wants as long as he’s touching you, when he moves.

Ben’s finger pushes right into you, pumps once, twice, and then is joined by a second one. “Fucking tight,” he growls in your ear, still watching you. Always watching you. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are, squirming on my fucking fingers. I’ve barely even touched you, Sunshine, and you’re already fucking squeezing me.” 

You make a loud, shameless moan as he starts to move faster, playing with your boobs with his hand up your shirt and muttering pure filth into your ear.

“So fucking good. Look at how fucking good you take me, beautiful, and this is just my hand. Just my goddamn hand that’s making you whine, whine like the perfect fucking brat you are, fucking soaking my fingers, covering me in how much you fucking want me. So goddamn perfect, you’re perfect, it’s not even a fucking contest. So fucking good and perfect, going to cum all over my fingers, look at how fucking beautiful you are with your perfect fucking mouth all swollen and your pretty fucking eyes watching me ruin you-“

He groans, because you’ve figured out that you can grind backwards, into him.

“God, fucking Christ, woman, you’re driving me fucking insane-“

Ben rambles start to turn into just low, deep sounds that roll straight through your body and down into your core. He’s still talking, and you know he’s saying words, but you’re high. Ben’s fingers are big and broad and rough inside of you, and they keep brushing against that one spot deep in your body, and he won’t stop scissoring them when they push all the way in. He keeps driving his fingers into your pussy, curling and twisting them with harsh, fast movements, and yanking them out until you can see them in the mirror. See your need for him falling off his hand, see them disappear back inside you, see his palm start to rise up to press against your clit and rub.

“Ben-“

“So fucking good,” He growls against your skin, half-pulling you off the ground. “I fucking adore you, Sunshine, fuck, see how goddamn perfect you are? Look at you, so fucking beautiful, all wrecked on just my hand-“ 

You do look beautiful. Ben is wrapped around you—he looks almost animalistic as you grind back into him with your head pressed into his shoulder—and you’re not sure if it’s the lights dancing through the room or the way that some sort of soft music seems to be playing in the distance, but you’re beautiful. You think, in the haze, that it might be how Ben’s watching you. That his eyes on yours are full of lust and hunger and affection, and you feel like something better than what you are. You’re barely in control of yourself, grinding back into Ben and countless, wanting sounds leaving your body, and you feel like wildfire. Like a star, burning and burning against the infinite way that Ben exists around you. Beautiful. But you look at Ben, watching you like you’re all the stars and planets and everything through and past the universe, and he’s better. You mold perfectly against him, and his dark hair is falling over his eyes as he ruts up into you. If you could think enough to make yourself move, you’d reach up and brush it away. But your hands are clinging to his arm over your stomach—you can see his muscles flex with every movement and it makes you squirm—and all you can do is meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching you whine and moan and writhe against him, and his jaw is slack, and he’s everything. Ben is everything, and he’s looking at you like you’re holy and crucial, so you’re beautiful. Ben doesn’t lie, so you’re beautiful. 

Ben’s palm rubbing circles on your clit start moving in faster, smaller movements right as his fingers press down inside of you and he bucks up into your ass, you almost scream as you cum. He’s still just watching you—eyes blown out and jaw slack—and when your legs give out he scoops you up into his arms, tearing his gaze from the mirror and meeting your eyes. I love you. Ben. Ben, I love you.

“You’re okay.” When you nod, your brain still a little slow, he frowns. “Words-“

“I’m okay, Ben.” You smile at him, reaching a hand up to trace his jawline. “I’m going to have to buy you a thesaurus, but I’m good.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, you clearly fucking liked it-“

“I wasn’t of sound mind, Pretty Boy. Corrupt testimony.” You shrug, leaning further into his body. “You need to learn a few more words.”

Ben grins at you. “Someone’s trying to talk herself out of a proper fucking when we get home.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“See if I give a fuck.” He kisses the top of your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s so warm. You can’t feel him, but Ben’s still so warm. “You want a proper fucking?”

You swallow. “Yes, please.” 

“Then here’s how this is gonna go.” Ben leans back, holding your gaze. “We’re going to put on your shorts, and I’m going to put on my pants. We’re going back home, and cleaning up, then going to dinner because you’re going to need the energy. Then, the moment the door closes behind us, I’m fucking you. In our bed. Deal?”

Your voice is a whisper. “Deal.”

“Good.”

He helps you get dressed. Ben pulls his pants back on—shifting his body to block yours from the door—and let you use his arm as balance while you put your shorts back up your legs.

Your underwear has been effectively destroyed, and when Ben picks it up you think it’s going straight into the trash can, but instead he shoves it into his pockets and winks at you.

“Pervert-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.”

He tries to carry you. Ben bends down, and you have to whack him to stop him from picking you up and carrying you down the hall. He pouts—the grumpy, annoyed pout that means he being a little bitch about something—but settles for slinging his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into his side. He smells good. He’s big and strong and warm and Ben, and you can’t feel him. You’re okay. You can touch him, but not feel him, and you’re okay. 

It’s later than you’d thought it was. Barely twilight—everything cast in a blue-purple glow—and Ben tells you you’re taking the first shower. Demands it, actually. Grumbles about how I fucking showered this morning, and you’re the one covered in cum, Sunshine until you relent, because you’ve lost stupider arguments with him and you are indeed covered in cum. Mostly yours, running a little down your thigh, but some of Ben’s had managed to escape your mouth and dried on your chin and shoulders. Ben walks you upstairs and into the bathroom, drops on the bed with a frown as you start to close the door, and you love him a little too much to leave him looking like a lost puppy dog in the dark. Especially when it’s really not that much effort to cross the room and stand between his legs, to give him one last gentle kiss until his hands relax on your hips and he’s grinning against your mouth. 

Ben. Ben, I love you.

The shower is almost burning. Steam collects on the glass door and your skin is still sensitive from the gun range, the hum of the fan the only sound tangling in with the water.

It’s been coming in waves. It’s important for you to recognize that this is coming in waves. When you tell Ben you’re okay, you really are. You’re okay. Then. In that moment, when you’re smiling and laughing with the people you love and care about, you’re okay. When Ben looks at you—really looks at you, sees you in a way no one else does—you’re okay.

And then you’re not. Then it’s silent, and you’re cold even with the scalding water, and that fan is humming in the same key that ones in Homelander’s apartment did. And you’re so tired.

Something feels wrong in your body. It feels like a limb has been cut off, like something’s been taken out that’s vital to your existence. The longer it’s gone—the longer it’s just you, alone in your body—the worse it gets. The more you can feel that part of you that snapped in Vought tower, and all you can feel it is flailing around in your body, trying to find where it can fit back in. It’s making you sick, it’s making everything cold again. You’re broken, and afraid, and exhausted, and all this fear has to stay in you. All of this pain has to live and fester in your body, and you’re not strong enough to stomp it out. Weak. 

You hate not feeling Ben. He’s not touching you, and you can’t feel that imprint of him in your chest, and you’re alone. You can’t control yourself, keep your shit together and keep your love or panic or pain in your body, so now you’re alone. Ben’s just outside—waiting for you to finish showering—but the fan is humming like you’re back in the tower and they had warm showers there as well. Weak.

Everything is wrong. You’re broken and exhausted and in pain and weak. Ben is staying and you don’t get why, and people aren’t giving up on you but they should. You’re making everything worse for everyone, and you’re so cold, and the whole world can see how weak you are but you’re tricking your friends and lying and you’re weak. Useless, lying, manipulative bitch. Nobody stays, because why would they? Unlovable, better alone, better never being touched or loved because nobody could love you, you’re too weak.

You can’t feel your tears falling, any evidence of them being washed away with the water and the steam, but your eyes hurt and your throat is sore. You can’t breathe, and you’re drowning and alone, and you must have started screaming because the door bangs open and Ben bursts into the room. You think you say his name, but it’s so loud. Your blood is pounding in your ears and it can’t get out, and the fan is suffocating you, and Ben’s here but you can’t feel him. You can’t feel anything but freezing, painful, cold.

He turns off the fan. His fist slams into the wall, the sound stutters off, and you still can’t really breathe but now you can hear him. He’s saying your name, pulling off his shoes and opening the shower door. His hands move to his shirt, but you make a weak, choked sob and he freezes. 

“Fuck it.” 

You hear that. You hear his grunt, and watch as he pushes into the water, let him pull your head against his chest and hold you. You’re shaking and making strangled, weak noises, but he’s holding you up and staying. You don’t know why, but Ben’s really, truly staying. He’s humming in a low, horrible voice that rolls through your body and slowly starts to clear your head, and when he says your name this time you can nod, so he continues.

“What’s wrong.”

“I, I can’t-“

“Breathe,” he mutters, hand running up and down your back. “I’m here, you’re safe, and this is real. We’ve got all the damn time in the world, so fucking breathe.”

It takes another minute, of uneven, heavy inhales and long, sobbing exhales, but you finally manage to whisper the full sentence. “I can’t fight him again.”

You can hear his frown, but he doesn’t ask who. You both know, and Ben doesn’t waste time on clarification. “There’s not a chance in hell-“ 

“There is,” you mumble. “There’s always a chance. And I can’t. If I have to, I won't be strong enough, I can’t fight him again.” Your words are vomiting out of your body, your head shaking against Ben’s chest like you can push the thought—push Homelander’s cruel, callous voice—out of your head forever. “I’ll lose, I can’t lose, I can’t go back-“

Ben snaps your name, and you let out a shaky, weak breath. “Fucking listen to me. You are never fighting that pussy alone again. Ever. That’s fucking it. End of story. You can cry all you goddamn want, as long as you understand that you are never fucking going back there, and as long as I’m fucking alive he will never touch you again.” 

You make another soft sound, and nod. “I’m sorry-“

“No. You’re fucking everything to me, and if you’re burning, it’s not without me. So don’t fucking apologize.”

This time you just let out a breath, and wrap your arms fully around his body. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t push that one. Ben just grunts, and holds you tighter against him, shielding you from the water, still holding you like you’re sacred. Always holding you like you’re sacred. Like you can’t be broken, because the fire in your body will seal the cracks back together, and he’ll be here while it does. Words are coming a little easier, mumbled into his shirt, and you’re still broken but it’s not wrong anymore. “I’m tired, Ben. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” you can feel the heave of his chest as he sighs, and you think you might just fall asleep here. You’re safe, Ben would pick you up, and you’re so tired. “Sleep, Sunshine. I’m here.”

He’s here. Ben’s here, and saying all the right things, so right before you collapse against him, you smile. His heart is right under your head on his chest, and you can’t feel him but he’s real.

“You’re home.” Ben mutters onto the crown of your head. “That’s all that fucking matters.”

This time, when he’s warmer than the water and stronger than all the fear in your body, his heart lulling you to sleep, you believe him.

End Note: Big character centered chapter, I know, but we have to EARN the confession. Who do you guys think is gonna slip up and say I love you first. I know who I’m putting money on, but also that’s insider trading.

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

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[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (5)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: Reader having an epiphany; violence; murder; blood; injuries; Bucky being intense and protective; guilty feelings; mentions of swords, knives and pain

Author’s Note: Struggled with this a little, honestly. Took me longer to write. But I hope you like where this is going. Enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You are back in the forest.

Bucky always chooses the forest. Perhaps he doesn’t like the idea of walking out in the open.

Admittedly though, the new boots Bucky bought for you at the market make it easier to walk the ground.

The aromas of moss and pine have become so recognizable to your senses that you hardly notice them anymore. The twigs and undergrowth snagging at you are ignored.

Your calves still ache and your shoulders droop but you long since learned to swallow your complaints.

And the night at the inn actually alleviated the stiffness in your neck and helped relax your muscles somewhat, owing to the fact that you slept in a bed again for the first time.

And you had it for yourself.

Bucky was sitting in the chair when you dozed off and remained there when you awoke at daybreak.

He was unaware that you woke up. Thus, you took your time to observe him.

His posture was deceptively relaxed, though you saw the tension in the line of his jaw, the way his fingers occasionally flexed as if reaching for his weapon. The smirk you came to know was gone, faded into something more reserved. His gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the window, though you doubted he was actually seeing anything. He almost looked soft for a second. So lost in thought.

As soon as his gaze touched yours though, something in him shifted and he rose from the chair almost urgently, as if sitting in front of you a second longer would render him more vulnerable in your presence.

He reprimanded you for sleeping in, although his tone didn’t suggest that he was upset about it. And he could have woken you up, after all.

It has been two weeks since everything you knew burned to the ground. Two weeks since you walked the tightrope of sorrow and dread, since you’ve stumbled along behind a man who barely spoke to you, dragged forward not by choice but by the cruel momentum of survival. Two weeks of aching muscles and dirt-streaked skin of cold nights and colder silences. Two weeks of walking, stopping, eating sparingly, and sleeping fitfully.

And still, you walk.

Bucky’s steps are purposeful in front of you. He scans the path ahead, the trees around you, and he even slows sometimes to glance at you with an expression that seems almost suppressed.

He never says anything during those moments but the way his gaze lingers makes you wonder if he is checking for signs of weakness, if he is measuring your ability to keep up.

The woods come alive around you, filled with the softest rustle of leaves, the far-off call of birds, the sporadic break of a twig, and the soft buzz of crickets sending their melody your way.

And you’re unsure what to do with the shift in your emotions regarding this noise throughout the journey.

Because it grew familiar.

Maybe you would even call it comforting.

Because for all the difficulties - the sore legs, the persistent hunger, the cold that permeates your bones at night and makes them seemingly shrink - there is an aspect of this ceaseless walking that feels like a release.

You know you should not feel that way.

Not after everything that has happened.

But there is a faint glimmer of light beneath the ash of your ruin.

And it does its best to remain ignited.

There is no curt tonight, no stares lingering too long, no pointed tiara digging against your skull. There are no expectations pinning you in place, no endless corridors of duty stretching out before you like a luxurious prison. You are no one here. Not a Princess, but also not a pawn.

You think about the way nobody at the market paid you a single mind. Eyes skimmed over you and Bucky without interest, moving on to the next transaction, the next distraction.

You expected suspicion, braced yourself for recognition. But it never came.

You were a ghost in this place. Just another face among many. They didn’t know you. They didn’t see you. You were no Princess to them, nobody to be played in political games.

You were just a girl.

Just a girl walking beneath the stars, free from the burden of her title. If only for an instant.

And isn’t that what you wished for? You have dreamed of this for as long as you can remember. Thought of this in the safety of your chambers, seeming so long ago. To escape. To run. To taste the air beyond the walls of the palace, untethered and carefree.

Here, in this wilderness are no watchful eyes, no polished manners to perform, no fake smile to force up, no tiara to wear.

You never imagined it would feel like this. Freedom. Brutal and lonely, but somehow lighter in a way you know you should not feel.

No one is here to whisper in your ear how you ought to behave.

You don’t have to hold yourself like a queen in waiting anymore.

You can slouch if you want to. You can scruff your shoes against the dirt, even though your upbringing screams at you that it is improper. You can walk with your hands swinging at your sides, uncoiled from the forced grace that has been drilled into you since you were old enough to toddle.

But for the first time in your life, no one cares if you trip over a root or stain your hem in the mud. No one cares if your hair is tangled or your hands are full of scratches.

Well, perhaps no one except him.

You glance up at Bucky again, your eyes tracing the broad line of his back visible beneath his pack, the way his shoulders tense as he scans the path ahead. He is so watchful in a way that makes your nerves tingle.

And you have seen the tiniest bit of something else underneath the hardness of him. A care and concern he conceals in small gestures. The way he slows his pace when you lag behind. The way he tosses you his bedroll without a word every night. The way he pressed his hand to your back the other day, guiding you over a steep incline. The way he lets you have the first sip of water every time you fill it up at a river.

It unnerves you how much you notice these things. How much you notice him.

And yet, for all the reprieve you feel, it’s guilt that makes you stumble slightly. How can you even feel the smallest measure of peace when your kingdom is gone, your family lost, your life reduced to ash?

You tell yourself it’s not peace you feel. Only the sense of survival you need.

But this strange life you are leading - this wandering existence - is, in some way, closer to freedom than anything you have ever known.

You don’t have to curtsy or smile until your cheeks ache from how wrong it feels. You don’t have to listen for hours and nod and pretend to understand politics or tolerate the infinite games of appearances.

The gown you wore for the most part of the journey had once been one of the finest things you owned, a masterpiece of silk and embroidery to make you stand out. A statement, not of your own choosing, but of who you were supposed to be.

It was comically out of place in the forest - the delicate stitching snagging on branches, the long skirts dragging through the dirt, the soft lilac dulled to something almost grey.

So when Bucky handed you the blue fabric he picked up at the market for you the morning after the inn, before paying for you to use the restroom, you glanced at the last relic of your old life lying discarded on the ground, its crumpled form like the shed skin of something you no longer recognized.

It didn’t feel like yours anymore.

It didn’t feel like anything anymore.

And when you pulled the blue fabric over your head, it felt like slipping into a new life.

It’s simple, unadorned, and practical. Not meant to dazzle or impress or represent anything. It’s meant to be worn.

The blue is soft. No shimmering silk, no ornate beadwork, no stiff corsetry designed to shape you into something unnatural. Just fabric. And it’s beautiful in its simplicity.

It fits differently. Not perfectly though, because it’s not tailored for you. Everybody could have bought it.

But it feels good on your skin. Less constricting. Less forceful. Less pretense.

It’s simply a garment made for moving, for breathing, for living.

Even Bucky let his eyes sweep up and down your figure when you left the restroom to find him leaning on the wall beside it, guarded emotions in his eyes but with the faintest quirk of his lips.

It’s not a crown or a title that makes you you, after all. It’s not the richness of your clothes or the recognition in strangers' eyes. It is this - this ordinary moment, this glimpse into the freedom you always longed for, stepping into something that is entirely your own.

Here, you are just a girl in the woods. Hungry and cold and tired, sure.

But unimportant.

And it makes you think.

Oh, how it makes you think.

Your throat tightens. A lump rises.

Because the weightlessness of anonymity comes with its own gravity.

For the first time, you saw your life not through the glazed mirrors of the palace, but through the unflinching lens of the world the townsfolk are living in.

These people who have never had the luxury of silk or knew the feeling of heavy crown jewels.

They aren’t worried about alliances sealed with a handshake or whatever duke might be offended at the arrangement of the banquet table.

Their days are shaped by the price of grain, the tightness of worn-out boots, and the pain in tired hands.

Your problems, the ones you have clutched to your chest like they are the heaviest load to carry, now begin to feel fragile. Insubstantial.

You have swaddled yourself in stories of how hard it is to be you. A symbol of power and nothing more.

The court's environment has been stifling, the expectations intolerable, and still-

A crown? A title? What are those compared to hunger? To cold? To wondering whether you could feed your family tomorrow?

But this realization does not feel noble.

It does not feel freeing.

It is bitter. Pungent. It attacks your senses.

It is a piece of rock stuck in your chest, not heavy enough to crush you but sharp enough to scrape against every breath you take.

It is shame for how little you have truly understood about the people you were meant to rule one day.

You thought yourself wise in your suffering, so convinced that your confinement was the most severe of all jails. But now you see the truth and it is uncomfortable. The walls of your life have been gilded - but they were also soft, padded, built to keep out the tougher truths.

It makes you feel unmoored. It causes your skin to prickle, as if it no longer fits your body. Too tight in some places, too loose in others.

You are no longer bound to the strictures of palace life, yet troubled by a strange feeling of loss for the kind of security you didn’t even acknowledge you had.

The air itself seems lighter though the weight of your guilt bears down on you just as firmly as any crown.

Your hands itch - restless and searching for redemption, for something to fix, to erase, to change.

But will you be able to do something with that realization?

Perhaps not as the Princess you were, living in the palace. But maybe as the Princess you are now, living in the woods.

Bucky stops abruptly, his hand rising in silent command for you to halt.

You freeze, breath catching.

Every muscle in his back is coiled, his neck stiffens, and from what you can see his jaw is locked shut. His shoulders rise and stay there. You watch him move his head almost mechanically, darting his narrowed eyes around. One hand is at his blade, the other still in the air, making sure you don’t get the idea to move.

“Stay behind me,” he throws over his shoulder with his head still forward. Low and gravelly.

You nod faintly, heart quickening. Moments like this remind you of how much he carries. Not just your safety but every decision. Every choice that keeps you both alive.

Your body leans instinctively toward him.

You wait a few tense breaths.

“Is something wrong?” you whisper quietly, voice unsure.

He shakes his head, but his hand doesn’t stray from his knife.

You bite down on your lip, observing how his gaze wanders through the trees and the gaps between them. You hate how acutely you observe his breathing, the manner in which his hand clutches the hilt of his sword at his side, and how the muscles in his jaw are moving. And the way you only allow yourself to release your breath again when he does, exhaling sharply and letting his shoulders droop ever so slightly upon spotting a deer further back in the bushes that flees, causing the twigs on the ground to snap.

But most of all, you hate the part of you that doesn’t hate it at all.

****

You wake up to a hand over your mouth.

Or rather, you startle from sleep violently because of a hand tightly pressed over your mouth.

Your breath rips awake with a panicked surge, though it has nowhere to go.

The scream that barrels up your throat dies before it can be born, trapped beneath a rough and large palm that clamps over your lips with a firmness that has your eyes snap open like a whip crack, wide and wild.

Blackness bleeds into the periphery of your sight, and the shadows around you are thick, pooling over the forest.

The sky is only beginning to stir, dawn gently brushing over the horizon.

But it’s not enough to tell who or what has you.

Your body twists out of instinct, trying to thrash free, trying to fight. But the grip only tightens and a face enters your field of vision.

It’s Bucky.

The shadows sculpt his face, carving his features into sharp and harder lines.

The first thought that punches through your terror, so loud and irrational, is him trying to kill you. It slams into you with all the force of your worst fears. Maybe this is the moment he decided you have outlived your usefulness, that you are a liability too large to carry and he puts an end to it now.

You just thought he would rather use his knife on you.

Your pulse is a thunderstorm in your ears and you stare up at him, your chest heaving against his hand.

He is crouched over you, the breadth of him stealing the last scraps of your vision. His hair falls loose, the strands tangled and catching faint light. His jaw is a block of stone, but his eyes are what is pinning you in place.

They are fierce, glowing in the dim light like embers smoldering in ash. The intensity is terrifying and all-consuming and you can’t look away.

The scream inside you is still trying to jump out, but his gaze holds it captive, caging it as effectively as his hand over your mouth.

His pointer finger slowly moves to his lips. A warning clear in his gesture. Be quiet. Now.

Your body locks tight. The panic in your chest swells, but you clamp down on it, forcing yourself still. You think you nod - just barely - but he doesn’t immediately move. His eyes stay on yours, boring into you so piercingly, you forget how to breathe.

It’s only when you stop squirming completely, when he seems convinced that you won’t give you both away with a scream, that he slackens his grip.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his hand pulls back. The sensation of his touch lingers, the illusion of his hand still resting against your skin.

You suck in a shaky breath, and you think for one fractured second that you might cry. But his finger remains at his lips and you swallow the sound before it can rise.

His hand is still stiffly hovering near your face. The line of his shoulders is taut. His breathing is almost mechanical.

He is listening, you realize. Straining for something you can’t hear.

You try to follow his breathing pattern, slowing it, even though your heart is hammering so loudly in your chest it feels like it might give you both away.

Bucky’s face is closer than you’ve seen it. The sharp slope of his nose, the faint stubble lining his jaw, the way his hair clings to the sweat at his temple - it’s all there. So close. Stark and shadowed in the low light. His lips are pressed into a grim line and his eyes constantly shift from you, meticulously surveying the shadows beyond the trees with the kind of precision and control you would only expect on a predatory animal.

But he is on edge, more so than you’ve seen him. Every muscle in his body seems poised for something - a fight maybe, or a chase.

Your thoughts are scattered and tangled, but you realize that something is wrong.

You want to ask. You want to whisper, to demand what has him so wound tight. But his intensity and the sharpness of his movements keep your mouth shut.

And then, just barely above a whisper, he leans in. His breath brushes against your cheek, warm and fleeting.

“Don’t move! Stay down!” His voice is low and rough. And it’s not a suggestion. It’s a command and it roots you to the spot.

You can only stare at him.

“I mean what I say, Y/n. Stay down!”

His words hit you harder than his hand had moments ago.

Or the single word he used.

Your name.

Not princess not your highness not even darlin’ he used before to needle you. No, he said your name. It’s startling in its intimacy.

Your mind trips over it, stumbling, trying to make sense of the sound. He never called you by your name. You didn’t even expect him to know it. But now he took it in his mouth, has taken it, stripped it bare of ceremony and expectation, laid it before you like something unguarded.

It shouldn’t matter. It’s just a name. And hearing it out of Bucky’s mouth of all people should not make your heart pause the way it does. It’s like knowing how it sounds but somehow still hearing it for the first time.

He didn’t lace it with reverence or mockery, didn’t use it to wield it like a weapon to remind you where you stand.

No, the sound of your name rolls from his tongue as if it’s important. And it makes it stick to your ribs, makes it burrow under your skin and settle there.

Your name, stripped of its title, has never sounded so human.

“Do you understand me?”

You are face-to-face at this point. You could count the lines on his forehead. There is a freckle on his nose.

There is something in his voice that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.

Is he afraid? The thought almost doesn’t compute. Bucky never seemed outright nervous, not even walking through the marketplace. But now, with his eyes like steel, his knuckles whitening against the hilt of his blade, the way he can’t help but keep his hand hovering at your side - It really seems like fear stitched into the corners of his expression.

But not for himself. For you.

Your throat bobs as you swallow against the knot rising there.

“I understand,” you whisper back to him, so hushed, he only hears it because of his closeness.

His eyes dart between yours with a swiftness that has you holding your breath. He is searching you, testing the truth of your words.

And when he finally moves away, it is slow, reluctant, as if some part of him still doesn’t trust you to stay put.

The woods abruptly seem overly silent. The type of hush that descends before something terrible happens. This isn't the peaceful, tranquil silence you have become accustomed to, even finding comfort in, during this never-ending journey. Silence from the birds. Silent foliage. Silent everything. Even the wind, typically so turbulent, halted in caution.

A snap of a branch.

Rigid Bucky.

Another snap.

Bucky positions himself in front of you.

Then you see them.

Fife men, all clad in mismatched finery, that seem to lose its luster. Their faces beat marks of wealth - sharp cheekbones, powdered skin - but their eyes are dark and hungry.

The uniforms. You know them. They are remnants of the royal army. Those men belonged to your father.

A shudder is rushing up your spine. Because they don’t carry themselves like that. They have cruel air around them. Arrogance. Greed. Spite.

Your breaths turn sharp, frantic.

There seems to be a leader. A man with hair as black as the shadows around you walks at the front. He’s taller, bulkier than the rest. And he stops a few inches before Bucky. The man oozes with haughtiness, his hand resting casually on the hilt of a jeweled sword.

Bucky is standing still in front of you. Like a stone wall. You watch the grip on Bucky’s blade tighten.

“Well, well,” the first man drawls, his voice slick with mockery. “James Barnes. The mighty soldier.” He lets out an ugly short laugh. “It really is you, eh? Went quite off the map. Imagine my surprise hearin’ you’re still up and breathin’.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. But his rage is silent. Sharpened into something lethal. He looks almost different now. More like a machine.

Boots crunch against leaves as the arrogant man takes another step toward you. His companions hang back. They look eager.

“What’s the matter, Barnes?” The leader tilts his head sardonically. “Nothin’ to say? No loyalty left to that golden crown’a yours?”

Bucky still doesn’t respond. But you notice the slight shift in his weight, the faintest tremor in his hand.

The man circles slowly then. More leaves crunch.

“How’s that little girl doin’ huh?” the man continues, his wicked smirk widening, voice dripping with feigned thoughtfulness. “Rebecca, was it?” He drags it out.

Something changes within Bucky then. Something terrible. It’s not the sharp, visible kind of anger, the kind that burns bright and loud.

It is darker. Ferocious.

Your stomach turns to water, your spine to ice.

Bucky doesn’t snarl or shout. He simply turns his head, fixing the man with a gaze so cold and venomous it sends a chill through your veins.

He holds the knife in his hand low, deceptively casual, the blade tilting forward as though it is leaning into the kill before he even moves.

You try to press yourself further into the shadows. Watching with wide eyes. It’s all you can do. Your hands are curled, knuckles white and nails pouncing on your soft skin.

You don’t know what is going on, but it seems like Bucky knows these men. You don’t like it. At all.

The air grows thicker, cunning, and it prickles on your skin, making you shiver.

“Lookin’ good for a dead man, soldier. Got a lotta nerve showin’ your face after all this time,” the leader hisses, clearly losing patience.

“Likewise,” Bucky says lowly, malice in his tone.

Your mind becomes a crowded room, thoughts bumping into each other, none of them clear, all of them loud.

“We’re just here for the girl, Barnes.” The man’s tone is casual, with a humorless laugh accompanying it. His head jerks toward you and Bucky immediately shifts deliberately to block more of your form. “Hand her over and maybe we’ll let you walk away this time.” His tone suggests that that’s a lie.

A shorter man standing behind his leader with crooked teeth and a twitchy demeanor nods fervently, licking his lips.

You feel a quiver in your throat. It rises too fast, pushing past breaths meant to fill your lungs but only causes them to stumble out of the way. It vibrates so enormously, seemingly coming from beneath your ribs, a sound dredged from the depth of your body, where words were never meant to go.

A dangerous stillness settles over Bucky.

His cheekbones catch the faint glow of the early light, making the hollows beneath them look darker, deeper, like they hold shadows he’s never managed to shake and now try to control him.

The leather strap across his chest strains with every considered breath he takes, each inhale swelling his upper body with a contained kind of violence, each exhale releasing a promise of it.

“Turn around, Rumlow,” Bucky says almost flatly. Though there is a hint of ice. “This ain’t worth it.”

Your heart is trying to run away from you, desperately asking your legs why they are still frozen in place.

“She’s the king's daughter, ain’t she.” It’s not a question. “They’ll pay through the nose for her, dead or alive.” A cruel grin. “Preferably dead. I’d expect you’d want that too, Barnes. What happened?”

Your stomach drops. A freefall into emptiness.

The blue of Bucky’s eyes is glacial, like the frozen water of a lake that will crack and shatter and make you sink to your icy death if you step too close.

“I won’t say this again.” Bucky’s voice is dangerous. Too calm. The tendon along his neck stands out against his skin. “You don’t want to do this. Walk away.” There is a readiness in the way his feet shift slightly against the forest floor.

You realize with a shudder that his eyes assess them, weigh them, calculate the angles and weaknesses of the men he seems to know.

The leader barks a laugh, sharp and hollow. “And you’re just out here wastin’ her, eh?” the leader sneers. He spits on the ground, his face twisted into something ugly. “What, Barnes? You keepin’ her for yourself? Tryn’a ransom her back and cut us out? That your plan, huh?” There is bitterness in his voice. It is startling. Almost making you flinch. Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch.

Rumlow lets his head swing back to you, greedy eyes boring through your skin. You feel like prey caught in a trap. “You gonna be a good little princess and crawl over to us, eh?” His voice is wheedling. Hungry. The insult that is your title lands hard.

“Say one more word to her and I’ll make sure you choke on it,” Bucky growls, voice rumbling like thunder.

The morning mist swirls around his feet, as though it’s afraid to touch him.

“Oh, we’ll happily take her over your dead body.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

The first man, short and younger looking, lunges, but Bucky is already moving.

He sidesteps the attack with the precision of someone who has seen this play out a thousand times in his mind. His blade flashes for a second before slicing through the air to meet the man’s neck. The sickening thud of a body hitting the ground echoes through the clearing, but other than you, Bucky doesn’t flinch.

The second and third men come at him together. And you see the difference between them and him. They are noblemen who pick up their swords with comfort and arrogance, muscles padded with blinding rapacity and movements not entirely thought through.

Bucky is just brutal.

His steps are effective, his stance is strong. There is no hesitation, no wasted motion.

This is not the guarded, sarcastic Bucky you have come to know in the last two weeks.

There is an awareness lighting in you that this fight is about more than just your protection.

His lips curl into a snarl, his teeth bared as if he is more wolf than man. But beneath it all, there are other emotions carrying the blade in his hand, making his actions seem like not quite his own. Something personal.

The next man barely has time to swing his blade before Bucky disarms him with a brutal twist of his wrist. The attacker crumples to the ground with a strangled cry, clutching at his arm, but he is already sidestepping another attack.

He doesn’t fight like someone who enjoys violence, he fights like someone who has lived it. Who has been forged in it. His strikes are not just attacks, they are statements. Declarations of his interest to survive, to ensure no one leaves this clearing alive but him and you.

But there is no recklessness in him. Another strike, another block, another dodge - wanton, as though he has anticipated the outcome of each move before he made it.

He fights like a man who has nothing to lose and everything to prove. Like a man who has faced death before and came out the other side as a new bitter and harder version.

You press yourself closer to the ground, heart hammering so loudly you think it might betray your presence. But your eyes can’t leave him. You can’t look away - not from the fury in his speed, not from the way he keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure you are still there.

Rumlow lunges, blades are clashing, the metallic ring sounding so shrill, it hurts your ears. Bucky grunts as their weapons lock, the veins in his arms straining as he shoves the other guy back.

“Girl’s worth more dead than alive. You know that better than I do, Barnes,” Rumlow shouts, spit flying from his mouth.

“Shut up!” Bucky’s voice shakes with fury and he dives in again.

He meets the man with a force so brutal, it makes you flinch.

Your hands grow restless.

Your chest is constricted.

There is that helplessness again. The worthlessness you despise within yourself, the initial thought for a reason Bucky might have, to grow tired of you and end your life when he clamped his hand over your mouth earlier. The uselessness that grates against your ears and makes you want to cover them with your hands.

You see something glinting.

But it’s none of the weapons currently used only a few feet away. It’s a blade glinting in the dirt not far from you, knocked loose perhaps from the first fool who lunged at Bucky. Who’s now a dead body on the ground. You try not to pay him any mind and rather keep your gaze on the discarded dagger.

The world narrows to that single point - the weapon within reach, the chance to do something.

And you do. Scrambling forward, fingers curling around the hilt.

You stand. Your breath comes in short, panicked gasps as you struggle to find out what to do with it.

But your hesitation was enough time for one of the men to catch your arm, yanking you back with a force that sends you sprawling. The blade slips from your grasp, skidding across the ground, and you barely manage to twist as he leaps on you.

You don’t know what he aimed to hit but due to your squirming, his fist connects with your shoulder, the impact radiating pain through your entire body.

But you don’t cower back.

Fueled by adrenaline and sheer desperation, you lash out, your hands wildly searching the ground for something. And there is something. A snaggy branch is lying in the dirt and your hands fumble to grasp it. You swing with all your strength, the wood splintering as it connects with the side of his head.

Your attacker stumbles and curses and you scramble to your feet, lagging the grace you knew.

Your heart pounds as you turn to search for Bucky and find him engaged with the three others, including the leader.

“Y/n!” He shouts, visibly aggravated. There is blood on your temple, the branch in your hand is trembling. His expression is dark. Almost panicked.

“Stay back,” he roars, not even looking at the man he’s ruthlessly shoving to the ground, a knife embedded between ribs.

Your gaze is drawn to Bucky, not noticing that your earlier assailant charges at you once more, anger fueling his strength.

Bucky yells your name again. He’s furious.

You barely manage to dodge in time, a blade grazing your side. The pain is sharp. One of your hands clutches your side, your fingers instantly slippery with blood, the dark warmth of it a horrifying contrast to the chill in the air.

You gasp at the sting, stumbling slightly, uncoordinated, and in that moment, you let go of the branch. It thuds to the ground and you step back, the soldier before you, only grinning at you. It’s cruel and dark. There is blood on his teeth. He is playing with you. He is enjoying your show of weakness. Making fun of the way he can easily overpower you. Making fun of the way you are scared despite him not doing anything.

But that dagger you dropped still lays and glints on the ground, and you scramble to reach it. Holding it in front of your chest, you grip it with an intensity so strong, your hands are shaking, partly to stabilize yourself and prevent this wound from overpowering your senses and breaking you down. The nerves in your hand are screaming at you to raise it and swing the weapon at your opponent once more, but the shock in your mind is resounding even louder.

Your assailant takes a step toward you, tilting his head in mockery when you take one back, despite the dagger lifting higher.

Your heart is racing, your side is throbbing, your head is swirling, and the man facing you seems poised to leap at you again, done with his taunting antics.

But before there is anything he can do, there is a wall in front of you.

Bucky. His back.

He is moving with a reaction that is instantaneous. Like he couldn’t afford to waste even a second. His knife slashes through the air so fast and fluid, your head is spinning, deflecting the other man’s strikes with a grace that is effortless.

The way Bucky is moving is terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. There is a fury in him, unbridled rage that you’ve only seen glimpses of before, but now it’s fully unleashed. His opponent falters. Just for a second. But it’s enough for Bucky to put an end to this.

He drives his elbow into the man’s gut with a force that makes him groan loudly, then follows it with a swift and clean slice of his knife. Another body slumps down.

Bucky turns before it hits the ground, focus snapping back to you. He quickly, almost urgently, scans your body, taking in every detail. “You okay?” His voice is unnecessarily loud, but not bitingly so. It sounds more like worry.

For a moment, with him standing there before you, blade dripping crimson, shoulders rising and falling with the effort of breathing, stormy eyes so intently fixed on you, he looks almost otherworldly. Like a fallen angel - beautiful in its lethality, terrible in its wrath.

You nod weakly, even though you’re not okay. Not even close.

The ache in your side is like a persistent, pulsing signal, and your sight blurs just slightly at the corners of your periphery. It gives you the feeling of a cruel kiss that burns hotter with every breath you take. But you succeed in standing a bit straighter, gripping the dagger still in your hand more firmly. Shivers move through your fingers around the hilt but you hold on tight. It almost feels grounding.

Bucky’s eyes are wild when he sees the blood.

“He got you,” he grounds out roughly. The cords in his neck tighten, his jaw a stark line against the pale light. Teeth click together, sending out a sharp sound that feels loaded with frustration.

He doesn’t say anything more, but his hand shifts and you let him carefully press against the wound to staunch the flow, and you bite back a cry. His lip twitches, caught between a word unsaid and a growl restrained.

His eyes resemble steel, yet they flicker with chaotic elements that spin and swivel so rapidly and then slip away, leaving you unable to comprehend them and grasp their meaning.

Suddenly, there is a rustling behind Bucky and your heart lurches. It’s the leader. Rumlow. The one Bucky fought before rushing to you. He’s not down yet. He’s battered and bloodied, red streaks lining his face, movements sluggish and uneven. His breaths are labored, but he is still standing.

Bucky’s focus is entirely on you. And Rumlow sees that. He sees the momentary distraction, the second of vulnerability. You watch with fear the way he angles his body, the way his eyes are fixed on Bucky’s unguarded back.

Bucky hasn’t noticed him - he’s too focused on you, his attention divided at the worst possible moment.

Slowly at first, Rumlow moves. Then faster, his sword trembling in his hand, but raised as he closes the distance between himself and Bucky with tottering steps. His face is twisted with hatred.

Panic floods your system, so cold and all-consuming. Your grip tightens on the dagger in your hand, palm clammy with sweat and blood. There is no time to think. There is merely time for instinct, untamed and primal.

You take a breath - a shallow and painful breath - and pull your arm back, the motion pulling slightly at the wound on your other side and it still feels awkward and shaky, but you are driven by the horror of seeing it unfold in slow motion in your mind.

You let the dagger fly. For a heartbeat everything else fades away - the pain, the terror, the sound of your own ragged breathing, the feeling of Bucky’s hand on you. There is only the blade, its trajectory, and the hope - the desperate, fervent hope - that it will hit its mark.

And it does.

The leader staggers, his eyes widening in shock as the dagger buries itself in his side. His body jerks with the force and his momentum falters, his steps stumbling as he plummets to the ground. Slipping from his grasp, his sword lands uselessly in the dirt beside him. His breath hitches in broken gasps until he lies still.

Bucky spins around, his eyes immediately locking onto the man on the ground, then snapping back to you. For someone whose expressions are typically inscrutable, he looks rather shocked right now.

He blinks. And then he just stares. In disbelief. Lips slightly parted. He even loosens his hand at your side for a moment in astonishment. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the strong tension in his shoulder visible beneath his blood-caked armor.

“You-” He starts to say something, but his voice falters, words stuck in his throat. He swallows hard, his gaze darting from your face to the wound in your side, then back to the man on the ground.

“He- he was going to-” You start to defend yourself, but he cuts you off with a rasp.

“I know.” He clears his throat. There is something more translucent in his eyes now, wild elements settling in place. It’s fierce and protective and proud and stunned all at once. His shoulders slump slightly. “I know.” It still sounds hoarse.

Neither of you speaks for a while. The forest is quiet again. But there is a distant chirp of birds that comes with the morning. And more light is shining through. Your hands feel weightless, the trembling so fine it’s almost a vibration.

Bucky’s hand steadies on your wound, his touch firm but not harsh. His gaze stays on you as if he is memorizing every detail of your face in this moment.

Then, with a slight shake of his head, as if remembering himself, he carefully lowers you to the ground, deliberate but brisk, as if afraid even the air might injure you further. He makes you sit on a tree stump.

He’s muttering something under his breath, perhaps a curse at the situation, or maybe just words to fill the silence, but you can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Pain lashes through your side and you hiss.

You don’t register if Bucky’s following words were an apology, or a curse, or something else entirely. Your ears are muting your surroundings, every sound collapsing into a muffled rush that swells in your head. You only see his muscles ticking.

Bucky is kneeling in front of you, his knee pressing into the dirt. Shadows dig deep into the lines of his face, his brows furrowed so deeply, giving the impression they are bearing the full force of the world.

Anger, worry and emotions much more deeper are stretching his mouth into a grim line.

He pulls the cloak he bought for you, the one you had shrugged off before the fight began, and drapes it around your trembling shoulders.

He grinds his teeth while doing so, hands tugging at the edges of the cloak, pulling it snugly against your frame.

His broad form casts a shadow over your shivering body.

He turns for a second and then the gleam of his knife catches your eye. Before your heart can even skip a beat he brings it to your new dress. To the part where your wound is sitting. You gasp. The tearing sound that follows makes your stomach twist and you flinch, but his hands hold you in place.

“What did you do?” you breathe, in shock. Staring at him. Staring at your side. Staring at the torn fabric.

“I need to see the wound,” he answers, not meeting your eyes. His voice appears to aim for indifference, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. Perhaps there's even a slight hint of an apology in his tone.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, softer this time, as though he genuinely regrets acting this impulsive. His fingers brush against your skin, warm and calloused, as he pulls the torn fabric away from the wound.

You take in a sharp breath at the exposure, the chilly air nipping at the tender areas of your wound. His jaw tightens. His hands go stiff.

“Damn it,” he grounds out, and you see a faint slip in his control. His features are taut, pulled into opposite directions. He is angry - there is a flash in his eyes that confirms that much. But the frustrated vibrations in the set of his shoulders sags lightly, and there is a hesitation in his fury. It shimmers underneath the blue. It’s crackling and colliding, crawling and fighting to reach the forefront. Guilt. Bitterness. Desolation.

A sharp exhale leaves him and he drags a hand down his face.

There is a tremor in his hands. And he leaks of tension. But there is something else, too. Something softer. Something deeper.

You saved him, and he knows it. But you can’t tell if that makes things better or worse.

Glancing at you then, his eyes search yours for something you’re not sure you can give. You think he might say something, but then he just releases another profound breath.

Sitting up slightly, he takes your hands and presses them to your wound. “Hold this,” he instructs stiffly, his fingers guiding yours to show you how to keep the pressure firm.

His touch lingers for just a moment before he pulls away to reach for something in his pack. You do as he says, though your hands tremble, and the blood soaking through your fingers makes you want to vomit.

You want to say something. Anything. To apologize for disregarding his orders to stay put, for being reckless, for putting him in this position. But the words don’t come. No words come. Your lips are barriers no word dares to cross. Your tongue is heavy. And you can’t really bring yourself to look at him. Especially his shifting eyes.

Instead, your gaze averts to your boots, then to the forest ground, but only to the sections that lack a corpse, your shocked mind desperately attempting to undo everything that just took place.

Squatting down in front of you again, you take notice of what he retrieved from his pack and your skin grows hot with uncomfortable blisters.

The flask glints in the morning light. Bucky unscrews the cap and the sharp tang of whiskey wafts into the air.

You press your hands more firmly to your wound in hopes of shielding it better. You start to shake your head, but he sighs heavily.

“We need to clean that wound,” he explains, and for a heartbeat, his voice carries an unfamiliar softness. Maybe it’s vulnerability, maybe it’s tenderness. You can’t tell. “It’ll stop infection.”

Your gaze drops to the ground. To the dirt, the blood, and the remnants of the torn blue fabric that litters the space between you. A defeated breath falls from your lips and you build up all your courage to let your hands slide off your wound.

“It’s going to hurt,” he says with the same tone and still only holds the flask up in his hand, waiting for your permission to continue.

Your mouth is still guarding your words. But you manage a nod.

And with that he quickly tears a strip of clean cloth from the hem of his own shirt, soaking it in the alcohol. His hands are steadying themselves, but there is that uncoordinated twitch in his fingers, a quiver, when they linger too long.

“Bite down on this,” he says, handing you another piece of cloth. You hesitate, but the heat in his eyes compels you to take it and press it between your teeth.

With a last glance at you, and another nod from you, he presses the soaked cloth to your wound.

The pain is a searing fire that tears through your side and sends a strangled cry spilling from your lips, muffled by the cloth. Your entire body jerks, but his hands are there to keep you stable.

“Easy,” he says, low and strained, but you keep on hafting to the note of reassurance. “Easy.”

Your breaths are sharp and irregular gasps, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The world compresses to the searing torment in your side and the pressure of his hands on your skin, anchoring you even as the pain risks dragging you under.

“Almost done.” His voice is barely a whisper, as though the words aren’t even meant for you, but himself. His gaze falls over you, your face, lingering longer than necessary, trying to gauge your condition.

Finally, he pulls the cloth away and examines his work. “That’s the worst of it,” he says almost through gritted teeth, voice a little thicker than he surely meant it to be.

You watch him some more when he retrieves a bandage from his pack and wraps it around your side carefully.

When he finishes, he sits back on his heels, exhaling heavily. “That’ll hold for now.” His voice is low. He doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed on the ground. Then it’s fixed on his hands that hold your blood and the ones of the dead men lying around the clearing. The muscles in his face are tight.

You don’t look at him either. You don’t even know where you look.

All you see is this man you killed. His face is there every time you blink, imprinted into the dark of your eyelids like a haunting. His eyes wide and disbelieving, staring at you - not Bucky, the man who shielded you and bought you here - but you.

You, with the dagger in your shaking hand. You, who let it fly. The way his body had jerked, the dagger sinking into flesh, his mouth opening as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t. The way his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground like a heap. The way he didn’t get up. The stillness. Utter stillness.

No amount of air you fill your lungs with feels like enough.

The memory is too much. The knowing that he lies in eyesight on the ground is too much. Too much to hold. Too much to process. Too much too much too much-

You have killed before. In stories, in the sanctuary of your imagination, where brave princesses slayed dragons or vanquished evil knights.

But this is not a story.

This is not a knife thrown at a wooden log, or an idle thought in a quiet moment.

You aimed your throw not at a tree, but at a man. He was flesh and blood. A living, breathing man. And you made his breath stop.

Guilt twists its way up your throat like bile.

You saved Bucky - that much you know. That much you hold onto, even as your chest heaves and your heart races. If you hadn’t thrown that dagger, hadn’t acted, perhaps Bucky would’ve been the corpse on the ground instead. He might have fallen, lying in the dirt, lifeless, blood pooling beneath him.

The thought sends icy shivers up your spine.

But it does not undo what you’ve done. It does not change the fact that a man died at your hands.

This wasn’t just any man. He was a royal soldier. A soldier who should have answered to the crown. To you. He was someone who once swore an oath to the crown, to your family.

He should have presented himself with pride, with the discipline you’ve always imagined in the soldiers who served under your father's banner.

Instead, he had snarled your name like a curse, his words full of malice and predatory hunger.

He wore the insignia, the armor. He belonged to you, and yet he hadn’t acted like it. There was no salute, no respect, no recognition. Just malevolence in his eyes and voice and the gleam of his sword.

And, somehow, Bucky knew him.

There was something in his face, something dark and old and full of personal hatred.

Both their words held venom that spoke of history. Betrayal. Something you don’t understand.

How could this have escalated so quickly? One moment, you are shivering in the forest, trying to decipher Bucky’s moods and the significance of your choices. The next moment there is blood and violence and death and so many questions.

Here you are now, your thoughts shattered and wailing, grasping at fragments of logic and reason that continuously elude you.

You glance at Bucky.

He is pacing now, a few feet away, his movements sharp, almost agitated. But still controlled. He is wiping his blade clean, cloth coming away crimson, and the sight makes you nauseous.

There is a river not too far from where your clearing is. He’s told you, you would make a stop there today when you made camp here the day before. He could have cleaned his blade then. But it seems like he can’t wait to get the blood off right away.

His shoulders stand like armored gates, guarding a pressure that seems to press on him. The muscles in his forearms ripple with every tiny motion.

His features are half obscured by shadows and blood but the look in his eyes is clear, and it makes him seem more like a weapon than a man.

You are hit with the reality that you don’t know anything about him. Who is he? Really? What has he done? What has he endured? The man who carries himself like an unbreakable force, who moves with lethal and deadly precision and a soldier's instinct.

All those things said by the man named Rumlow, those accusations thrown, the ugly words about you. They try to choke you from the inside out.

Who is Rebecca? What happened to her? Who is she to Bucky?

And why did this black-haired man speak to Bucky about his loyalty to the crown? Why did he call him soldier?

Bucky has saved you. Protected you. But he did it because he promised your mother he would.

And those things Rumlow has said, the looks they all gave him - it tells a story you don’t know.

He is a mystery to you. A mystery with ghosts that still haunt him, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

Your eyes return to your hands. Your palms are still sticky, coated with dirt and blood - not all of it yours. You gulp down, feeling nausea knotting in your stomach once more.

Heat rises to your skin, clammy and unpleasant, a fever that clings without flame.

You saved him. That's the reality you continue to grasp at, yet it seems fleeting, hard to catch.

You saved him, but in doing so, you ended someone else’s life.

Layer upon layer of shame tightens like a noose around your neck.

It constricts. And the feeling spreads. It migrates - to your shoulders, your chest, your belly, your hips, pressing and squeezing even tighter around the part where your wound sits.

You threw the dagger at a human being. And you hit him. True enough to kill.

You want to feel relief. You want to feel proud, even. Bucky is alive and walking, and you had a hand in that. But all you feel is the way the world shifts under you, how unsteady it’s become.

You sense the chilling tendrils of guilt, winding around your chest, your throat, your thoughts.

Guilt for what you’ve done. Guilt for feeling guilty.

The cloak slips from your shoulders, and you let it. Your head bows, fingers curling into the fabric of your garment. It was new. It was blue. It was beautiful. Now it’s ruined.

“They were soldiers.” It leaves you in a breath. Maybe it makes it easier to handle that truth when spoken aloud. It doesn’t.

Bucky pauses mid-step, his back to you, his shoulders stiffening even more at your words. “Yeah.” His voice is unreadable.

“They- they served the crown,” you press. To him, to yourself, to the forest, to the corpses on the ground. You have no idea. It doesn’t matter. “They served-”You stop short, swallowing a lump down. Swallowing tears back.

“They served themselves,” Bucky bites out, his tone sharper than earlier, laced with something dark. He turns to face you then, anger shooting through his eyes, but not at you. “Swearin’ loyalty to a banner doesn’t make a man good. Men with badges and titles might do worse than those without.”

You flinch at his words. They fall. Like seeds dropped into cracks you didn’t know you had. You feel the heaviness of them. The thud in your chest, your heart catching something it wasn’t prepared to hold.

And all you can do is snap your mouth back shut.

You lower your head again. Fingers shake around the fabric of your garment from how tightly you’re gripping them. The guilt festers, tumbles, grows, and you sit there, silent, unable to reconcile the princess you once were with the murderer you’ve become.

“She was never quite ready. But she was brave. And the universe listens to brave.”

- Rebecca Ray

Part six

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld

[eico-23]

High Batfam Headcanon

(because I just had the funniest 1am conversation)

Bruce Wayne: Smoked once because either Selina or Alfred convinced him to do so. It just made him tired and he finally got some sleep. He doesn’t understand why people enjoy it so much.

Dick Grayson: Should not be allowed to smoke. Will not stop yapping about the “epiphanies” he has. (“Guys… Guys. Cucumbers are just salty pickles.”) Won’t stop bouncing around everywhere. Makes horrible snacks and thinks they’re delicious.

Jason Todd: Gets high to rest. The kind of guy who needs CBD gummies to sleep. He’s pretty well acquainted with drugs and knows how to be safe and not be an idiot.

Tim Drake: Not allowed to smoke. Banned. Gets horrifically paranoid and thinks everyone is out to kill him. Do not pass him the blunt. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

Damian Wayne: Thinks “Don’t do drugs kids” shouldn’t apply to him because he’s “not a kid.” Sneaks into Jason’s stash and tried exactly one gummy. Passed out almost immediately. When Jason found him and realized what happened, he woke him up. Bad idea. Damian begins maniacally laughing and trying to murder everyone within a half mile radius until his high wears off.

Stephanie Brown: Super fun to get high with. Giggly and thinks everything is absolutely hilarious. However, should not be allowed to get high while Tim is high. She also thinks his paranoia is hilarious and will do whatever she can to make it worse.

Cassandra Cain: Sad and somehow quieter while high. Usually rocks side to side and seems to find the smallest things entertaining. One time she literally watched paint dry. Steph is the only person who seems to be able to make her smile while she’s high.

Alfred Pennyworth: Has one day a year where he takes a long break and gets stoned out of his mind. No one is allowed to contact him or ask for anything or even look his direction unless they are on the brink of death. He needs this break. He deserves it.

Superman: Thinks he shouldn’t smoke because he needs to be a good role model. (Smoked once and enjoyed it, then felt guilty about enjoying it and repressed those feelings ever since.)

Catwoman: You will never be able to tell that she’s high. Yes, she’s having a good time up there, but the only tell you’ll get is that her eyes are slightly red. Master at flying under the radar.

[squiddy-god]

STOOPPPP THAT WAS SO GOOD. reader randomly appearing in twst and being stressed tf out, constantly wanting to go back to their duties finding themself slowly realizing this is the first time they’ve ever had freedom and autonomy. i love that so much. imagine them witnessing riddles overblot!! seeing him overcome his years of ingrained rules that his mother enforced onto him. ooh i bet it’s a conversation with jamil where he says like “if i woke up in a different universe, i’d never wanna go back. free for the rest of my life? absolutely.” that really makes it set in.

Reader going through a mid life crisis at 18 is,,, it's definitely something lmao!

But seriously talking to so many of the characters would cause such a mind breaking epiphany in readers minds.

You ask Jamil who's always level headed what he'd do and he straight up tells you that if given the chance to be free and live how he wants he'd take it without question

Watching riddle break down and finally realize he has value outside of his usefulness, that he can make mistakes and still be loved

I think all of that breaks reader down to the point where they realize they don't want to leave, they feel guilty in two ways, both because they need to work through the guilt of feeling like they owe something to their old world, and the other half is they don't want to intrude on this world, they feel like if they get close they'll get pushed away like in their old world

That's why I think malleus is such a pivotal moment

MC wakes up and rather than fighting Ob!malleus they just,,, hug him and cry,,, he was desperate to keep things together, crushed by the idea of his first friend leaving that he overbloted. For the first time you realize that these people, these friends do want you to stay

Malleus is genuinely so shocked he snaps out of his overblot. Your both sobbing, your both hugging so tight you can't tell who's clinging on more desperately

Everyone is crying, everyone is hugging and you are just ugly sobbing how you don't wanna leave

Ace is like "we don't want you to leave either dumbass" ignore he's crying too lmaoo.

I really love the idea of a late night talk with Jamil where you end up bonding over the fact your in very similar situations, the difference is you had a nice ring. Either way you're both trapped. When he says that he would take the chance at freedom without hesitation, that he'd never look back... It makes you pause for a good second, looking into his eyes for any hint of deceit or sarcasm... You hope you see it... But he's being honest, an open book or a mirror you can't tell the difference. "I... Don't want to leave but-" and he cuts you off. "But what? Have you already forgotten that you still have your whole life ahead of you?"

And he's right, for the first time you realize how young you are, how young Jamil is. That you both have your whole life ahead of both of you. And you realize that you don't have to feel guilty for wanting to be happy.

Honestly this Au is becoming pretty interesting and I'd love to hear more thoughts about it!

Any suggestions on what it should be called?

[chococara25]

Thanksgiving

AU where Buck woke up, thinking about Tommy and decided to cook for Thanksgiving, baking crusty pecan pies & pumpkin pies, delicious green bean casseroles and sweet potato gratins, cheesy cauliflower cheese with turkey bacon bits, creamy mashed potatoes and the classic stuffings.

After done with baking and cooking, he realized he had no one to give it to (Everyone would just give him weird looks if he brings everything to potluck Thanksgiving dinner, plus they had forbid him from cooking) and wondering if he should donate to the homeless shelters cos at least someone can sleep warm with a full stomach when Lucy Donato texted him out of nowhere complaining how everyone is swamped in calls all day long and how hungry they are including Tommy, who came in to cover someone's shift and EPIPHANY!! He can just give them to the 217 AND check on Tommy at the same time.

He starts to pack everything before separating some food into different containers and stick a sticky note on each of them. He then unload the bread loaves and cookies he had been making for the past week into a basket cos waste not, want not right?

Tommy coming back from a weird call involving some idiots trying to make turkey barbacoa in their backyard when he saw everyone gathering around the dining table, stuffing their face, moaning about the delicious food and praising the cook.

He was confused till he turned around to see Evan of all people staring at him, unruly curls and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey. Lucy said you guys haven't eaten all day." Evan looked awkwardly at him.

(At the corner of his eyes, he can see Lucy slunking off guiltily, carrying a whole pie and weird a plate of cupcakes with her)

Evan looked as if he wanted to say something but looked away, his lips twisted unhappily. He pushed a bag full of containers and a basket full of bread and cookies at them before running away.

Tommy hid in one of the closets, checking the bag and basket, its contents each marked by a sticky note.

The Banana Loaf - "Everytime I think of calling you, I baked instead. Now my fridge is full but I'm still thinking about you."

The Snickerdoodle cookies - "Jee asked where cool uncle Tommy was. She misses her tea party partner."

Vanilla and raspberry mascarpone loaf cake - "I can't stop thinking how you would enjoy all the cakes and pastries I made for the past few months."

green bean casserole - "I still have your clothes and I kept wearing them to sleep cos its the closest thing I have to you because I have a hard time falling asleep without you holding me in your arms"

Carrot cake loaf - "I saw a helicopter today at work and I wonder if it was you flying it. We never did have that flying lesson."

cauliflower cheese - I'm sorry I never told you I love you when I really do. I love you and I missed every single minute the moment you walk out of my life.

pecan pie - I'm sorry I said the wrong things when I asked you to move in with me. I'm sorry I too much in the end for you and drove you away."

pumpkin pie - I'm sorry you felt pressured but I didn't lie, I really admire you and your confidence made me feel safe, being with you was like waking up for the first time from the lightning coma, I could breath again and you were the one who set me free.

sweet potato gratin - "You said you were my first but not my last. Tommy, you might be my first boyfriend but you definitely my last."

stuffings - "You are my beginning and my forever happy ending. I have no interest in looking for a different happy ending if you're not in it."

By the time he reached the last container, his eyesight were blurry with unshed tears.

Brownies - "Can we try one more time? I'm not ready to give on us."

Tommy was startled when the door to the closet swung open, Captain Pruitt looming over him with a plate of pecan pie in her hands. "I saw firefighter Buckley earlier when he dropped off the food. I don't know what's going on between the two of you and why both of you decided to break up, but Kinard, that man looks as if he still in love with you."

She panicked as Tommy burst into loud tears, holding the container of brownies to his chest.

Evan was cleaning up his kitchen, he was too tired and too emotionally wrung out to stay for the Thanksgiving dinner other than dropping off the last two pies for everyone to enjoy.

He frowned when he hear the doorbell, wondering if Maddie is going to stage another intervention on him when he opened the door, before staring in surprise.

Tommy was standing in front of him, still wearing his flight suit, holding the container with brownies and the sticky notes in his arms.

"Can we talk?" He asked with hopeful eyes.

Evan pulled him into the loft, closing the door behind them.

[junkh3ad]

guys i might be going off the fucking rails here because i woke up, saw this picture of Pickles and had a fucking EPIPHANY. So as we see, this is Pickles (DUH) in Snakes N Barrels. Right? Right. SO. He’s facing us in this picture, so his sides are switched. His left is our right. Got it? GOOD BECAUSE THATS IMPORTANT.

So, in my tired state it hit me. If Snakes N Barrels was (assumed) in the 80s, then there’s a very fucking good chance that his ear piercing being on his right side was either a simple thing that doesn’t mean anything (i doubt that because everything has meaning in this god forsaken show) OR. Or it matches the times and if you have any knowledge about subtle gay signaling in the 80s, a single right ear piercing was to represent being gay

Like i said this all came to me in a frenzied state, freshly awaken and still too hot from slumber but IM TELLING YOU. NOTHING IS AN ACCIDENT.

[mur4sak1]

What would the elves give you as a gift?

A/N: Hi everyone, in these headcanons I have included what I think would be the gifts that our beloved elves would give us in special situations. Remember that English is not my first language so I hope I wrote in the best way <3

Characters: Galdor, Maedhros, Glorfindel, Maglor, Celegorm

Galdor: a bouquet of flowers (I'm SURE that Galdor would be the kind of elf to give you a bouquet of fresh flowers whenever he could.)

Every day, after attending meetings in the city to discuss strategies and defense plans, Galdor would go into the woods and fields surrounding the city to pick a bouquet of fresh flowers for you. The flowers he chose were the most beautiful and colorful he could find: white lilies, red roses, wild daisies... he picked them carefully, taking care not to ruin the petals, and took them to your rooms. He would then leave them on a table next to the bed so that in the morning you could wake up with the scent of their delicate fragrances. You loved watching them as they slowly opened, revealing their beauty to the world, as if those flowers were the symbol of your love. Every morning you woke up with a smile on your face, ready to face the day with a heart full of gratitude.

And so, day after day, Galdor continued to bring you the most beautiful flowers that nature could offer, demonstrating his love and dedication in a tangible and constant way. You knew well that you were the luckiest person in the world to have the love of such a kind and caring elf.

Maedhros: a ring

After his terrible imprisonment in Angband, Maedhros was finally free among his brothers. A lot of time had passed but the pain of losing his hand still caused strong emotions in him. His heart was full of bitterness and anger for what he had suffered, but it was right there that he realized how much you meant to him. It was your voice, your stories and your support that kept him holding on to hope during the long years of imprisonment but also the only person to help him differentiate the dream from reality when darkness took over his mind and everyone feared him. So he decided he needed to give you something special. He spent days thinking about what he could do to you, until he had an epiphany. He went to a small workshop where, as a child, his father had taught him the basics of the goldsmith's trade. With an expert but somewhat rusty hand, Maedhros began to carefully work a ring. Every time his hand trembled from fatigue, the thought of your smile gave him the strength to carry on. Finally, after days of intense work, the gift was ready. (…)

The setting sun painted the sky with orange tones, while you and your elf admired the sunset from the window of your rooms. “For you,” he said, handing you a small box. You opened the little package. It was an elegant and simple ring, with a bright red stone of the color of his hair, a little imperfect but full of meaning. “It's wonderful,” you whispered. “But why are you giving me this?” you asked, unable to understand what the event was. "Because you were the light that guided me out of the darkness of Angband," he replied in a soft voice. "Without you, I don't know if I would have ever found the strength to continue." You felt your heart ache at Maedhros' words and his vulnerability. "I hope it brings you some joy and light, like you did for me.”

Glorfindel: a picnic

Glorfindel was a kind and thoughtful elf, always caring to the needs and wishes of his loved ones, and when your birthday arrived, he decided to plan something special to celebrate the occasion. That morning he asked you to meet in a small courtyard on the edge of the city of Gondolin where you used to meet and, once you arrived, he made you turn around telling that he had to blindfold you because he had to take you somewhere. A little confused but also excited by the idea, you accepted. “Don't worry, I'll guide you.” He took your hand and you walked away. (…)

After walking for a while, you felt the sensation of grass under your feet and the sound of leaves blowing in the wind. “Well, we have arrived.” The blond removed the blindfold from your eyes and when you opened them again, you couldn't believe your eyes. You were in a beautiful flowery meadow not far from the city walls, at the foot of a large oak tree that provided shelter from the hot sunlight. There, among the chirping of birds and the sweet scent of wild herbs, sat a picnic basket. Glorfindel opened a large cloth and began to bring out countless delicacies. There were fresh fruits, pastries, delicate cheeses and crusty breads, along with a variety of delicious desserts and refreshing drinks. Throughout the day you laughed and joked, enjoying the tranquility of nature and all the beauty it had to offer, and as the sun slowly set over the horizon, Glorfindel looked into your eyes and said something perhaps even better than the picnic: “Seeing your smile among this beautiful scenery today made me realize that I can never want anything more in life. There is a question burning inside me and I can no longer remain silent... Do you want to become my wife and make this elf happy for eternity?".

Maglor: a poetry

The wind blew hard that evening on the shores of the rough sea, while you and Maglor sat on a rock watching the waves crash violently against the rocks. The air was charged with electricity, a harbinger of an impending storm. Suddenly you heard your name being called from the elf and when you turned you saw him take a note from his jacket pocket. “Here, I wrote this for you.” You opened it and saw that it contained a poem written in elegant script. The words seemed to pay homage to the sea, speaking of its power and beauty, but you understood that those words were addressed to you. You looked at Maglor with tears in your eyes, touched and speechless. He smiled sweetly at you and said: "This is my gift to you, so that you can always have the sea in your heart and the beauty of its mysteries to accompany you wherever you go." And it was in that moment, between the roar of the waves and the salty smell of the air, that you understood how similar the sea and Maglor were, both capable of enchanting you with their strength and captivating you with their beauty. And in that moment, you understood that you had found someone who would leave an indelible mark on your life, like the sea that leaves its scent on your skin even when far away.

Celegorm: a wolf cub

It was your birthday and Celegorm had done nothing for you. You were disappointed, you thought your beloved didn't even care about your birthday. But Celegorm had a special gift in mind for you, he just had to wait for the right time to give it to you.

When evening finally arrived, Celegorm took your hand and led you towards a terrace. When you got there, you couldn't believe your eyes: In the middle of the terrace there was a brown wolf cub, with sparkling eyes and a playful attitude. “I know I didn't do anything for your birthday, but I wanted to give you something special. He's an Oromë cub… he's like Huan. He will protect you and keep you company in difficult times.”, Celegorm said softly. You were speechless, it was the most incredible gift you could imagine. You ran towards the wolf cub who immediately started licking your face as a sign of affection. "Even if i had to travel a long way to bring him to you, if you don't want him I can bring him back." "ABSOLUTELY NOT" you replied anxiously and this made Celegorm laugh heartily. "Oh, so you want to hold him close to you, huh?" he said jokingly afterwards teasing you. Then, with an affectionate smile, he approached you and whispered in your ear: “Don't worry, I would never let him be taken away from you.” With a sweet kiss on your forehead, he hugged you warmly, making you feel safe and loved.

[sbdskate]

Laws Of Attraction (Part 5) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: language, angst, mature themes

Word Count: 4,371

A/N: In a shocking turn of events, this is in fact not the last part. I really wanted to put something out there this week but I’m still not quite finished with the last bit of the story. That being said, I think I found a good break point. I’m not even going to jinx myself by saying the next part is going to be the last, so TBD. Thank you again for your support. Please don’t be a ghost reader, and please feel free to comment or DM with any positive or constructive feedback. Enjoy!  

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1

You woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Perhaps that was your fatal flaw all along. The entire time you spent trying and failing to suppress and divert your feelings for the driver, you would have been better served leaning into them and letting them go in a controlled space.  

In clearing the air with Daniel, you felt a weight lifted. You were still shocked by the revelation that the feelings were mutual at least in part, but there was comfort and stability in the understanding that had been reached. The lightness allowed you to finally stand in your confidence and share in the excitement of the next phase of negotiations. The season would be over in less than a month, with only two races left including Brazil. You were grateful for the light at the end of the tunnel.

You discreetly made your way to Red Bull hospitality on Thursday morning, bright and early in Sao Paolo before the chaos of media day began. There was only an admin there who greeted you showed you around. You made yourself comfortable in the empty kitchen area, where it was immediately obvious the difference in resources. It felt opulent yet comforting, especially compared to the aggressive orange and sparse theme of McLaren. Then again, spending any excessive time around McLaren hospitality or their garage nowadays just made you depressed and resentful.

It was early, even for you, and you desperately needed to caffeinate before the meeting. You saw the coffee machine, but no mugs in sight. You began opening drawers and cupboards in search of a vessel, cursing Christian Horner in your head. You finally found them, but of course they were on one of the upper shelves. You strained your body to extend as far as it would go, everything you needed just out of reach. While adjusting your balance on your tiptoes, you felt a warm body press against you and a shadow of an arm reaching over you. You closed your eyes and sharply inhaled, relishing the pressure on your back and the smell of familiar cologne. You opened your eyes again when he peeled away from you.

“I think you were looking for this?” Daniel handed you a mug. You took it, feeling your fingers brush again. The epiphany you had earlier was dispelled in an instant. Engaging in self pleasure may have acted as a momentary release, but it did not subdue the feelings that had taken firm root over the last few months. Masturbation was simply a light pruning for the sturdy tree that now grew in your garden that refused to be moved by earthquakes or hurricanes.   

“I could’ve gotten it,” you grumbled avoiding eye contact. You had told yourself you had no reason to feel awkward about the other night, but you felt yourself shrinking in his presence nonetheless. His voice went up several decibels and he batted his eyes to mock you.

“Good morning, Daniel! Thanks so much for helping me! Good morning to you too, no problem, so happy I could help.” You rolled your eyes.  

“Good morning. I promise I’ll be nicer in ten minutes once I’ve had my coffee.” You haphazardly raised your empty mug. He raised his hands and backed away, a small smirk on his face, but did not leave. He found a seat elsewhere in the kitchen, and you felt his eyes on your back as you went about your business.

You locked eyes when you turned around with a full cup. He innocently smiled and waved, while you forced an aggressive smile back. Leaning against the counter, you took a few sips of coffee without breaking eye contact. After a few minutes you joined him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Are you done being a cunt?”

“Are you done being a douche canoe?” He snorted.

“I guess not.”

“Likewise.” You paused. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be here so early before the meeting.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Me neither. I’m excited, I think. And a little nervous.” He looked like a child on his first day of school, fidgety and unable to contain the energy requiring release. He couldn’t help the growing smile on his face. It was contagious, and you quickly found yourself smiling too.

“You should be – excited! Not nervous,” you quickly clarified. He looked down while he continued to bounce his knee.

“What if I make the wrong choice again?” he timidly whispered, though it could have been a question directed at you or the universe. It was no secret that many thought him leaving Red Bull in 2018 was the worst professional decision Daniel Ricciardo ever made, his short stint with Renault followed by his experience with McLaren as evidence. However, hindsight is 20/20. Perhaps he had too much hubris at the time, but he very validly thought he was being forced into a second driver position. How could he have known the series of unfortunate events that would follow? You did not fight the urge to hold his hand this time, gently placing yours on top of his in the middle of the table as you leaned in.

“There is no wrong choice this time,” you whispered back.

You truly believed that Daniel was in a win-win situation. Mercedes was a well-oiled, professional machine. The relationship there would be a symbiotic one. You thought they could help ground and focus Daniel, while Daniel could improve their public image and perhaps allow them to shed their somewhat stuffy, mechanical persona. Moreover, it would represent a clean slate with a new team. Conversely, you couldn’t deny how poetic a return to Red Bull would be. The place where Daniel spent so many years at the beginning of his career, it would be a momentous homecoming.

The Red Bull kitchen was quiet and empty. He looked at your hand. You were about to pull away but he lightly took hold of it before you could.

“Thanks,” he said in a soft voice to match the soft smile that graced his features.

“Of course. You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” He lazily rubbed your fingers with his thumb.

“Do you want to go over anything before the meeting?” You feebly attempted to redirect the conversation to be more professional, but you both knew there was no real effort as neither of you moved.

“Not really. I feel good this time.”

You remained in comfortable silence for a beat, lost in the exchange of energy that passed through one another. Your phone buzzed, pulling you away from the moment temporarily. Your face fell slightly. He looked at you expectantly.

“Well, you’re stuck with me today. The partner’s tied up with something.” You raised your gaze to meet his, searching for some kind of approval. He feigned distress.

“Oh no, what will I do? You’ve only handled 70% of this whole process on your own.” You squinted, skeptical of his confirmation.

“You trust a meager, low level associate to handle the entire trajectory of your future?”

“At this point, I trust you with my life.”

It was hard to tell whether he was being overdramatic for comedic effect or genuine. Foot steps in the distance pulled you from your trance, your hands quickly recoiling. With his back to the entry, he didn’t miss the chance to give you a wink and a smile that made you want to melt into the floor. Instead, you rolled your eyes in response but your bashful smile gave you away. You stood up when you saw your expected hosts enter.

“My two favorite people!”

“Good morning, Christian. I appreciate it, but you know flattery doesn’t work with me,” you quipped as you shook hands. When he wasn’t pissing off the rest of the grid, Christian really was quite the charmer when he wanted to be.

“On the contrary, it will get you everywhere.” The smile didn’t leave his face when he turned to Daniel, arms wide open. Their energy was well matched as they embraced in a warm hug. As happy as the driver was last week with his points finish, he seemed immensely more comfortable now.

When they separated, Christian looked at you again.

“What is this? Coffee and no Red Bull?” he teased.

“Sorry, had a bad experience in law school with energy drinks I’m afraid. Nothing personal. Though I was beginning to wonder whether the coffee machine was for decoration only.”

“They hide the mugs on purpose,” Daniel chimed in. Given the dimply smile and his tone, you would think he was joking but knew he was absolutely telling the truth.   

“He leaves for four years, comes back, and thinks he owns the place and can share company secrets.”

You had seen it several times now, but it amazed you how easy their relationship seemed. Although technically Mercedes was not out of the question, you already knew where Daniel’s heart was. It was now just a matter of ironing out the details.

Christian and the Red Bull lawyer joined you at the table in the kitchen. It was a nice change of setting, the informality of it made the weight of the discussion feel a bit lighter. The process with them was easy, especially compared to McLaren and even Mercedes. While it was slightly less formal, at all times you felt respected. Not once did anyone assume you were an admin or paralegal, which admittedly is a low bar. But even beyond that, especially with the partner’s absence, you were never treated as a subordinate and your professional capabilities were never called into question. Of course this process was not about you, but in your opinion you believed choice of outside counsel was an extension of the type of work environment your client could expect. Red Bull had been a pleasant surprise in this respect.

It was all smiles when you exchanged handshakes as you parted ways. You and Daniel were shown out the back door to avoid a few media that had just started to arrive at the paddock. You walked behind the teams’ hospitality stations so that you could join the main entry of the paddock without raising suspicion.

“So. How do you think it went?” you casually asked. You didn’t want your own opinion to taint whatever his genuine response may be.

“Honestly… I think it went really well.” The dimply smile you had become so fond of returned to his face.

“Honestly… me too.” You allowed yourself to show your enthusiasm, feeling yourself break into a wide grin. Away and hidden from the main walk of the paddock, he grabbed your hands and you both quietly squealed and jumped up and down. After a few seconds when you stopped and regained composure, he asked:

“So, what’s next?”

“Well, that depends on you. If you think you’re ready to pull the trigger with Red Bull, you let me know ASAP and assuming we’ve already nixed any dealbreakers that would’ve been in their offer, we go through everything again with a fine-tooth comb, see if they’re able to come up on anything and sign.”

“And Mercedes?”

“We keep them in play until everything is in writing and executed. No need to have a PR disaster like Alpine.” You were, of course, referring to the unfortunate circumstances of Alpine prematurely announcing Oscar Piastri as their second driver for 2023. He chuckled as you continued walking towards McLaren. You could hear the hustle and bustle from the press getting louder as more people began to arrive. He paused just before you were about to turn the corner and enter the circus.

“I want to be at Red Bull,” he said definitively. You smiled.

“Ok then. I’ll get to work.” He gave you an encouraging fist bump before taking a deep breath, knowing this would be the last bit of downtime you both had for the rest of the weekend, reluctant to leave the nest of the quiet sanctuary you shared just behind the organized chaos.

“Shall we?”

You sighed. “No time better than the present.”

-

Brazil was an eventful whirlwind. It was no surprise to you that Daniel continued to skillfully navigate an onslaught of questions about his future in the sport on press day and the rest of the weekend. On Saturday, the two of you gossiped excitedly when Kevin Magnussen got pole in qualifying despite Daniel’s own mediocre performance. Obviously the sport was cut throat, but everyone couldn’t help but root for the Haas underdog. There was a buzz during the sprint, Daniel just out of reach of the points in p11. Unfortunately, the race itself ended up resulting in a DNF for both McLaren boys. With each day of events, Daniel’s mood seemed to sour despite the positive steps being taken behind the scenes. Of course DNF-ing on what could be his second to last race ever is not what anyone wanted. However, while you sympathized for Daniel, that’s not what you were focused on. There was the celebration of George’s first win with Lewis also on the podium, but then there was the internal team drama you watched unfold at Red Bull.  

You anxiously waited out the post-race interview process so that you could update your client. If there was any question on what the path forward was before, it became crystal clear today.

As he walked through the paddock eager to get to his drivers room for some solitude, he saw you practically bouncing on your toes. He was a little annoyed to see you in such high spirits after an abysmal race, but it also made him relax a bit.

“I should DNF more often if it makes you this happy,” he dryly joked as he approached you. You should have been used to this song and dance by now. He makes a questionably flirtatious comment, you blush and get flustered, and after a bit of fumbling you redirect course and get back to business. You knew he wouldn’t change his behavior, no matter how many times you halfheartedly scolded or ignored him. It shouldn’t make you flustered any more, but there was excitement in not knowing whether there was any truth behind it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you liked it. But that was before your conversation in Mexico, where you divulged so much about your own inner turmoil. You had made yourself vulnerable. After that, you had assumed he would stop out of respect. What was a thrill before now felt like a cruel joke at your expense.

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I have some important news to share with you, can we go somewhere private to discuss?”

“You’re not going to buy me dinner first?” He had said this before, but it wasn’t landing like it used to.

“You’re going to have to buy yourself a new lawyer if you keep this act up.” For someone who didn’t finish the race, he was being awfully cocky today. And by goodness, did it make you feel things.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who said you wanted to be alone with me -”

“Daniel.” He usually stopped after the first rebuttal.

“Not that I’m mad at it-“

Your previous excitement began to sour in your mouth as your heartbeat quickened. You grabbed his wrist and dragged him through McLaren hospitality to his drivers room. You didn’t care who saw or what it looked like. You practically pushed him in and shut the door behind you. His eyes widened as you got in his face.

“Oh shit, is this actually happening?” he began to pull at his shirt.

“What?! No. Shut up. What is wrong with you today?”

“Oh come on, I was just joking! You know I always do this.”

“No.” You pushed your pointer finger into his chest. “Today, you’re being an ass. I don’t know if this is you acting out after a shitty race or what, but pull it together. You are not a 21 year old frat boy, you’re a 33 year old world class athlete with a fully developed frontal lobe - who is now wasting my time, and rest assured, I am billing you for it. And if you stopped your inappropriate jokes for two fucking seconds and let me do my job, I would have told you that there’s a solid chance you can be on the grid in 2024 in a fucking Red Bull. Thought you might want to know.”

You had backed him into a wall and were inches away from his face, huffing and puffing. You were so mad, that one man could make you so infuriated and horny at the same time. His eyes were still the size of dinner plates, but his expression had fallen slightly. It was his turn to blush. He had been surrounded by yes-men for so long, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been chastised like this.

“I’m sorry-” You continued, your tone somewhat more even.

“Max wouldn’t let Checo through today despite what it would mean for the driver’s and constructor’s championships because he thinks Checo purposefully sabotaged him during qualifying in Monaco. The girls are fighting which is more bad PR for Red Bull, Checo’s contract is up next year, and if this dynamic continues between the two drivers then there’s a good chance they won’t renew it.”

“That’s great news-” You cut him off again.  

“Am I a joke to you? Because I know you wouldn’t be making these comments if I was a man. I know you thought I was some secretary when we first met, but I really thought I had earned your respect throughout this process.” He looked at you now wearing the pink pantsuit you’d worn on that fateful first day.

“Can I just-”

“I’ve had to deal with so many mediocre men with undeserved self-inflated egos my entire life. I’ve dated them, I’ve been in class with them, I’ve worked with them, I’ve worked for them – especially the last five years at this godforsaken law firm. Lord knows I don’t need another one. I’ve had to work twice as hard and be better than them to prove myself as an equal. And even with all that, no matter what, as soon as I leave the room I’m the punchline of some joke I never asked or wanted to be a part of because I have boobs. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot initially but I really thought you were different. But no-”

One second you were ranting, the next you were cut off by lips crashing into yours. In your fury you missed his warm brown eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. In a flash he had grabbed the lapel of your suit jacket to bring you towards him, your hands landing firmly on his chest. Fireworks flashed behind your eyelids and for a moment you forgot what day it was, where you were, and who you were. You don’t know how long it lasted. You should have pulled away. You definitely shouldn’t have kissed back. But the taste of saline on him from the demands of the day and the scruff of his beard on your chin and cheeks made you want to stay. You smelled his cologne mixed with musk and, what was that, aftershave? Instead, he pulled away first.

You blinked a few times, jaw slack. You brought a hand to your lips, half to make sure they were still there but also for confirmation that you didn’t just hallucinate.

“Sorry, it was the only way I could think to get you to shut up so I could get a word in edgewise. If you’d let me talk, I would say I think you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. You’re smart, witty, funny, and no, it doesn’t hurt that you’re as good looking as I am. You think I give a fuck about billing? I would spend my entire fortune down to nothing if it meant I got to spend more time with you. I’ve known for weeks I wanted to go to Red Bull and I didn’t tell you until three days ago because as excited as I am about figuring out what I’m doing next year, I’m equally dreading it because as soon as I sign that means you leave. When you’re not in the room I only sing your highest praises. So yes, of course I respect you. And I realize, kissing you just now may have proved your point, and I’m sorry about that. And you’re right that I’ve been a cunt today and a lot of this weekend, and I’m sorry about that too.”

There had been very few times in your life where you were left speechless, and this was one of them. It was literally your job to be good with words, and right now they failed you.  

“And I know you’re going to say ‘let’s forget that this ever happened’ and I’ll move on and get back to business, but I can promise you I won’t. I’ll never tell another soul for your sake, because I don’t want you to lose your job, but I refuse to forget this, our conversation in Mexico, or that Sunday in Austin. You’re unforgettable f/n l/n.”

You stood there in silence for a few moments. Your adrenaline was through the roof and your mind was blank. He was clearly looking for a response, yet you had none. You did your best to break the tension.

“Well if your goal was to get me to shut up, you succeeded.”

“Honestly, I’m as shocked as you are,” he said with a small laugh. There was another long pause. “I shouldn’t have said all of that, I’m sorry.” You gave him a knowing smile.

“No you’re not.” He smirked.

“Yeah, not really.” You had become particularly focused on a speck of dirt on the floor, but finally returned his gaze.

“You know nothing can happen,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact that was directed at yourself as much as him. You unsuccessfully tried to hide the disappointment in your voice. He refused to look away from you even when you continued to avoid eye contact.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence descended again. There was nothing else to say. You realized through your tirade and this whole exchange you had been standing dangerously close to one another, and you hadn’t backed away after the kiss. You could feel his heartbeat on your chest, and you were pretty sure he could hear yours. You separated yourself and tried to pick up whatever pieces of dignity you had left. You straightened out your suit jacket and cleared your throat.

“I’m going to try to add some clauses in the contract for 2024 primary driver placement. They’ll almost certainly come back with red lines to make them conditional, perhaps based on Checo’s performance and/or your own performance in the sim, but Horner loves you so much that I think they’ll be receptive to the idea overall.” Your heart hurt at how crestfallen he looked.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“I’ll send you a draft before it goes to Red Bull. You can expect deliverables by tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

“Assuming everything goes smoothly, I anticipate the agreement to be fully executed by Abu Dhabi. Does that sound like a reasonable timeline?”

He was incredulous at how quickly you could shut everything off. He had spilled his heart to you and in return he received merely an acknowledgement before you put an abrupt end to the conversation. You had done it so many times before to a lesser extent that he shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly your walls went back up, but he somehow thought this time would be different.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “But… I want to wait until after the race. I don’t want to have to worry about sneaking away in the middle of practice or qualifying.” It was his way of saying he wanted you there for the duration of the race weekend, he had gotten used to your presence over the last three months. Despite whatever this altercation did to your relationship, professional or otherwise, he couldn’t imagine finishing the tumultuous season without you by his side. He hoped you would pick up the subtlety, but it went over your head.

“I don’t know Daniel, Red Bull probably has a million celebratory events immediately afterwards seeing as their driver won the championship and they won the constructor’s. I imagine McLaren also has a bunch of end of season events planned as well that you’ll have to attend.”

“Can we ask if they can spend an extra day in the country?”

“If you want to wait until after the season is over I totally get it, it might just be easier if we try to schedule something at Milton Keynes the following week.” For someone so smart you were also awfully dense. He tried to come up with a logical explanation that you would be willing to go along with.

“I just thought it would be smart to be able to announce this within a few days after the end of the season, where there’s still buzz and interest and before we get too far into winter break. Plus then it would give the team a few days to come up with a press release still within that timeframe.”

You couldn’t argue that such timing would be better publicity for both him and Red Bull.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right. No promises, but I’ll reach out to Red Bull to see what their schedule is like.”  

He was satisfied with the victory, no matter how small.

“Is there anything else?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth. He looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, I guess not,” he said in defeat. You felt terrible. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, but saying them out loud would only serve to stoke the wildfire you so desperately wanted to put out.

“I’ll see you next week in Abu Dhabi,” you said meekly. You left the room, ending the exchange in a stalemate with neither party satisfied.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233

[unhonest-iago]

Where Am I? Who Am I?

AO3 link - this was written for the hermitcraft guess the author 2024 event. do go check out the other authors as found in the AO3 collection.

Etho awoke a random summer's day to unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn't his usual base build. Instead, he found himself in a green bedspread with an accompanying nightstand stacked high with romance books. All the titles in Japanese. Startled, he decided to search around. See if he could find any more information as to where he had suddenly been transported to. Not knowing how he'd fallen asleep, was the moon still growing?

'Yikes,' Etho realized exactly where he was after recognizing the figure in the bathroom window. One less pixelated than it should be. His jacket no longer baring the Canadian flag emblem on the sleeve. Nor did his headband. A headband that was more of an eye patch if he was honest. Instead, it was a symbol that looked to be an abstract bird. A beak with a swirl branching off of it. Etho tried to recall everything he knew about the Naruto series. What arc even is this? Unfortunately he’d have to interact with the other characters to figure out.

Etho wasn’t the only one. Kakashi awoke to a pixelated wooden house. Did his vision get this bad overnight? Looking down, he was relieved to see his uniform still intact. But like Etho, he noted the difference in emblems. Lucky for him, Etho wasn’t involved in any big plans. Their personalities similar in that they were both aloof individuals. If only he had his books, Kakashi wistfully thought to himself.

The Hermits, one by one would eventually have the epiphany that something was off with their friend. ‘I asked him if he could fix the meal bone farm…it’s almost as if he short circuited,’ Iskall remarked to Grian. Telling him more about how “Etho” fell off their base, completely forgetting about the waterfall elevator. Going berserk with the belief that he only had one life.

'Have you noticed anything weird about Kakashi-Sensei?' Sakura reluctantly asked Naruto. 'Besides him not reading those boring novels? Not really.' Sakura on the other hand had noticed the change in “Kakashi's” demeanor. The man was more jovial, more talkative. Sakura decided that if a doppelganger had replaced their sensei, the best course of action would be to ask something that only their sensei would. But what? Oh, those pesky books. Kakashi would definitely know the plot lines backwards and forwards. Especially as it'd been one of his notable traits since they had first met. But Sakura didn't know anything about them. All the more reason to ask.

'Hey Sensei? What happened in the last volume of Make Out Tactics?' Naruto sputtered out in shock, 'but you weren't interested when I offered to explain last week! Ow! What was that for?' Sakura kicked his shin, trying to get him to shut up. Etho had zero clue. All he knew was that they were some erotica series and that he should act bashful. 'Uh, well, I don't think that's something I should be telling you, at your age,' Etho hoped his acting was up to par. Rather, it cemented what Sakura thought. If it had been their sensei, he wouldn't be able to form a coherent answer at all.

It's when the moon glows larger in the pixelated sky for the final time that the two are returned back to their respective places. Sakura is stuck as the only one aware. Later being gas lit by both Naruto and Kakashi who is actually Kakashi again. Simply told it was a figment of overactive chakras. Kakashi wants to leave it in the past and never mentions the horrors he had witnessed. Fighting against multiple creatures—mobs as the celestial body rose higher on the horizon. Iskall on the other hand confronts Etho which results in him divulging everything from the moment he woke up to the moment he returned. Glad to be back in his mountainous base.

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Fic Masterlist

Because Tumblr search features are shit. Fandoms, Fics, and Series are organized in alphabetical order. Each link will send you to the Tumblr version but there will be a link to the AO3 version within that post. If you would rather go straight to AO3, my account is linked in the post pinned on my blog.

Assassin's Creed:

Of Blades and Parchment Series

Tumblr tag: #Of Blades and Parchment

Altmal AU where Malik never became an assassin and instead works as a crippled bookseller. Series is in progress.

DPxDC

Two Crickets (My addition is only 646 words but idk about the ones before it)

no tag

An addition to a prompt by @/ailithnight and writing by @/omnicrafts and @/atiyasnake

The GIW has had Danny for an undeterminable amount of time. The strain is finally more than he can handle and he body hops into a brain dead clone, R13. Danny thinks he is having a nice dream. Kon is worried for the escaped clone he found in the middle of a field.

TW: mentions of tortue

Here's Where You'll Stay (3082 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Here's Where You'll Stay

"As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. "

When Phantom comes down with Core Sickness it's up to John Constantine to save the ghost from fading.

Nothing Says "True Love" Like Being Given The Soul of Your Murderer (1510 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #nstllbgtsoym

Dead on Main ship. Addition to a post by @/nelkcats

"Another snarl caused him to lose his staring contest with the Bat. Nightwing was now standing between the two of them and appeared to be trying to placate the crime boss while Red Robin made the bloody stupid decision of trying to sneak up behind him. Red quickly paid the price for his folly, finding himself flat on his back pinned underneath Hood's boot while he honest to God snapped at Nightwing like a rabid dog.

"It's my gift! He gave it to me. Now fuck off before I m̶a̷k̸e̸ ̵y̶o̸u̶."

Yeah. Someone should probably interfere before they pissed him off anymore.

"You should corral your kids before one of em' loses a hand."

"Hngh." Batman leaves to break up the fight with Nightwing's aid. Hood scampers off to one of the corners of the cave, cradling the violet ball in his gloved hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It sounded like he was purring. John was suddenly very tired."

Rending Flesh From the Bone (3093 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #RFFTB

Dick wasn't so sure about Jason's "gut feeling", but what are brothers for if not to support each other during paranoia episodes? Now, deep underground in an abandoned subway tunnel, Dick is starting to have regrets as he watches the scene before him.

TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text

Slap a Bow on It (4752 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Slap a Bow on It

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

 "Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

sketch of Danny's courting gift

Star Shoes (2772 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Star Shoes

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

"Things had been going so well for him lately. He should have expected the other shoe to drop. Or the metal pipe in this case."

In which Danny and his totally normal boyfriend who is definitely not Red Hood are abducted by cultists. Danny is super concussed, but he's got the spirit.

The Dead Stay Dead (My addition is only 679 words but idk about the ones before it)

no tag

An addition to writing by @/some-kind-of-creature and @/nerdpoe.

In which the LOA has a rule that those who die are never mentioned again and are erased from their records. Damian doesn't think to mention his late sister. Once he does he creates a portrait to commemorate her, but it turns out his sister is actually his brother now.

The Double-edged Blade of Chance (5309 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #The Double-edged Blade of Chance

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight.

“Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

"Why would I be a ghost?”

TW: Major Character Death, Child Neglect, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Depression

Unnamed fic (ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic)

Tumblr Tag: #ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic

Addition to a post by @/starwrighter

Fic is currently a work in progress with only a minimal amount released to the public under the Tumblr post. Once it's completely written chapters will be posted and linked independently.

[lokisprettygirl]

Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 3 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

Summary: As you reveal your desire to want more than just sex in this situationship, Daemon runs again but this time he comes back with an epiphany.

Warning: 18+, Daemon is mean and toxic, pure disrespectful at times, Reader has a personality, flashbacks of abusive relationship, sexual abuse, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, he’s not the best boyfriend, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, some violence, baby needs therapy,

Next morning when he woke up he was startled a bit to see the blanket covering his body, he sighed as he realized that you must have put this on him in the middle of the night. You continued to care for him despite his offensive behavior towards you and he wanted to stop being such a jerk but his experiences weren't allowing him to move on.

One had to learn to heal in order to move on and he hasn't healed at all in the past seven years, a part of him wanted to leave it all behind but he failed, he couldn't forget the betrayal, the way he allowed himself to be used and abused in the name of love always reminded him how pathetic he truly was.

He got up to see if you were still in his condo but the silence around him was enough to indicate that you must have left for work.

He got ready and decided to check up on you, he shouldn't have snapped at you like that, again, maybe he should just tell you that he didn't like talking about his past and he was hoping you'd leave it at that. Somewhere in his heart he knew he adored your presence in his life and he knew he didn't want to let go of you, he didn't want to be the one to leave this time, if you do, that would be alright with him, he won't chase you either, he'd deserve it like he deserved to be left by those women he used as a crutch for his mental instability.

As he reached the restaurant, Claire saw him and rolled her eyes.

"Can you call her? I need to talk" he said to her so she turned around and left for the kitchen area, a few moments later you came out of the door and walked towards him,

"Are you alright?" You asked him softly as you reached closer, you felt worried about him, that nightmare that he had must have been about something he had suffered in his life. Only a truly traumatizing event could have caused a man like him to shrivel up like that.

"Yeah why?" He looked at you, slightly confused by the question, maybe he didn't remember the nightmare.

"No .. nothing…ummm you want to eat something?" You asked him but he didn't say anything, he was staring deep into your eyes and then much to your shock or delight would be the better term, he placed his hands around your arms and pulled you closer to hug you.

You were so taken aback that you didn't even know what to do in that moment. He placed his head down on your shoulder and was holding onto you as tightly as he could, he had never hugged you this way before so you had no idea how to react but you eventually decided to wrap your arms around his neck.

"I don't want to talk about my past life. When I'm with you I just want to be with you alright?" He mumbled as he pulled away and cupped your cheeks, he placed his forehead down on yours and it made you think of that soft vulnerable man you had gotten a glimpse of a night before.

"Okay, we don't have to talk about that if you don't want to..I was just curious but to be honest I want to get to know you better Daemon, this casual thing isn't working out for me anymore, i know you asked me to not involve emotions but I can't turn it off especially when I'm around you..it's hard for me to do that, you can get out of this situation and leave if you want to..but I can't keep it casual anymore" he lifted his head up as you said all that in one breath. He feared sooner or later you'd say something like that to him.

"I can't give you what you want" he mumbled softly, he looked around and people were staring so he grabbed your hand and took you to the bathroom, not the best place to have this conversation but he had to talk to you about this.

"What do you think I'm looking for?" You asked him so he sighed, he stepped away from you and ran his fingers through his hair in nervousness as he leaned against the sink, crossed his arms and then that typical condescending smile graced his features.

"Well for starters, you would want a lovey dovey boyfriend who'll dote on you all the time. Write bloody Shakespearean poems for you and kiss you as if he's starving for a taste, then you'd want him to snuggle you and tell you how much he loves you everyday and night" he said as a matter of fact as if he knew what you wanted. He knew nothing.

"Okayyyy ummm ..first of all I'm not a teenager, I'm a grown woman .. and i don't need a grown man to coddle me all the time..it's frankly unrealistic and kind of disturbing" he looked down as you said that so you walked towards him. Was it unrealistic or you were just trying to appease him? He used to be that man. When he fell in love with her he went all in, sure he was younger and unwise back then but he wasn't always this cold stone condescending man that you were dealing with right now

"Intimacy bothers you, both emotional and physical, you don't think of sex as intimate and I'm not going to ask you why you feel that way. I don't need to know if you don't want to share just yet or ever, but I care about you Daemon and I'm tired of pretending that I don't, and I know you care about me.. I can feel it when you're around me, am i delusional?" Your eyes teared up so he sighed and looked down again.

"I care about your safety and well being, I won't lie and tell you that I don't feel protective of you. I really do and I enjoy fucking you and I'll be honest I don't want to stop either but that doesn't mean I'm in love with you or ever will be" he said to you so you nodded, this was more than what he had said in the last few months.

"You know only those who have been deeply burned by love say stuff like that?" He snickered as you said that,

"Are you a shrink now? Changing professions now huh?" He chuckled as he spoke, his voice was dripping with undiluted sarcasm.

"Look Daemon, If we are going to see each other and continue thisss then I need you to accept that I care about you and that when we are together I would want to take care of you..I'll never beg for your attention or your emotions but I want to be the one to give them to you" he looked at you, bewildered by your response, he didn't understand why you even cared about him when he has been nothing but awful to you. Was all of this just because he happened to save your virtue once? Did you feel like you owed him something?

"And why would you be so selfless if I may ask? Why would you want to waste your affections on a man who won't make you feel the same?"

"You make me feel good Daemon, just in different ways, I don't feel trapped when I'm with you or feel liable for you in any which ways, you don't expect much from me unlike those other guys that I have been with before and I enjoy that. I enjoy your company, is it hard for you to believe that?"

He gave you his typical look before he looked down again, he didn't really have an answer. She had destroyed his self esteem to the point where he didn't feel he was worthy of any form of care or affection, especially not from you. You looked at the time and you knew this wasn't the right time or place to discuss this "I'll have to go now before they assume I'm having sex or something in here and fire me" he chuckled as you said that but a somber look appeared soon after.

"Darling I'm not sure I'm what you need" He told you so you smiled and nodded. You walked closer to him and his body went stiff for a moment but he relaxed as you cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead, the touch did evoke some memories but your scent calmed him down. You were not her, he knew that but he didn't want to accept just yet that when you showed him affection it made him feel good about himself, even if just for a moment it really made him feel like the man that he used to be.

"Think about what I said and if you decide to take this thing forward, you can come to my place tonight. I'll make something you like for dinner and then we can discuss your boundaries and what bothers you" you smiled as you said that and then you turned around to leave, once you were gone he let out a irritable groan and turned around to look at himself in the mirror.

He had tried so hard to not stray away from the boundaries he had made for himself and the rules he had made for women in his life that came after her but with you he was crossing every single boundaries and he was willing to allow you to break a rule or two with him.

But he couldn't stop feeling so pathetic no matter how hard he tried, her voice kept ringing in his head, he was good for nothing and always will be, he'll never give you what you deserve.

As he reached the center, Casey Anderson stormed towards him and asked him why he had punched his brother for speaking the truth, he wanted to dissolve his contract with Daemon and change the trainer because he was utterly furious at humiliation his brother had suffered. The Targaryens made the best coaches and Casey knew that he needed them so instead of abolishing the contract with the center itself he wanted to hire Viserys instead.

"What is this all about?" Viserys took him aside to question him and Daemon just rolled his eyes, he didn't care about anything, if he didn't need money he'd quit it all together. There was a time when he wanted to become the world famous fighter and make his own name. Being in the ring and defeating his opponent was a rush he'd never forget but he couldn't even get in the ring now without thinking of the last time he was in there and what had transpired that night.

"Why don't you ask his cunt of a brother?" Daemon glared at Viserys but he wasn't having any of it today,

"Look Daemon I don't care what you do in your personal life but I won't allow this nasty attitude of yours to interfere with our business you hear me?" Viserys grabbed him by the collar of his shirt as he spoke to him loud and clear. If it was any other guy Daemon would have hit him left right and center by now but he owed his brother for helping him get back on his feet again. Literally and otherwise.

Daemon didn't care that he lost a client, he should have cared but he didn't. In the last few years under his training several fighters had made it to the international leagues so this wasn't really his loss. If he could go back in time, he'd punch him all over again for disrespecting you like that. After the stupid altercation he decided to take a day off and went straight home.

He couldn't stop thinking about your offer, was he ready to take a leap and build this relationship with you? What would happen if you try to cuddle him in bed or want more in future? Like marriage and babies and all that stuff? He would never want that. He groaned and pulled out a cigarette as he continued to worry about the situation he was in.

He wanted to give this a chance but he wasn't ready, he didn't think he'd ever be ready for an actual relationship again.

He called you in the evening and for once he felt nervous, he didn't want to hurt you again but he knew he won't be able to keep you happy either. You deserved better.

"Hiii" he heard your voice and for a few seconds he lost his own, he hadn't even realized how drastically you were starting to change his feelings for you.

"I'm not coming" he told you in a strict firm tone but his heart clenched as you went quiet on the other side. You needed a few seconds to compose yourself.

"Okay, so this is it then i guess?" You asked him and he wanted to tell you that he wanted to keep seeing you without getting all the emotions and complications involved in the mess but that would have been selfish and even though he was a selfish man to his core, he didn't want to hurt you anymore.

"Yeah..I told you to not get your emotions involved –"

"It's not your fault..no hard feelings really" his eyes teared up as you said that. You were finally giving up on this toxic situationship and that's what he wanted from you then why did it hurt? It never hurt like this when those other women left him, he looked back at the past few months and you both hardly spent any quality time outside of those dates that eventually led to fucking each other's brains out. Then when and how he developed these pesky little feelings for you?

"Alright, take care of yourself then. And i meant what I said last night, if you ever feel threatened by anyone you can always come to me" he said softly, this was the softest you had ever heard his voice go.

"Okay I'll remember that..thank you. Whatever it is..i hope someday you'll find the strength to move on Daemon, I don't know what has happened with you or what you suffered but you're so much more than that, your suffering doesn't define you or the type of man that you are. If you ever need me I'll be here too..I promise" you hung up as soon as you had finished your words, you didn't want him to get upset but you felt as if you had to tell him that.

You really wanted to be the one he'd open up to but maybe he wasn't ready to let go of his past and whatever was hurting him. You were mature enough to understand that healing could never be forced on anyone. He had to take the first step and he wasn't ready.

Ever since you met him you always had a feeling that someday you'd end up right where you were right now and get your heart broken again but you still took the risk. Now you wondered why because this hurt more than you could have anticipated.

Daemon wanted to cut you off completely, find some other distraction and not think of you ever again but it wasn't easy, he was addicted to you and how you felt around him. When a few weeks passed he had realized that he had made a grave mistake, it's not that he was sulking at home all day and was a mess because you weren't in his life anymore. Infact nothing like that happened, he went out, enjoyed his nights and even slept around with women who caught his eyes but everytime he had another woman in his bed he saw your face, even if for a brief moment he saw you underneath him, he missed the way your lips tasted and the way you'd always try to hold him when he was fucking you.

He missed waking up with your body on top of him and he missed pretending that he absolutely despised it.

He missed taking you out on dinner dates and watching you squirm in your seat as he'd gift you lavish things, he didn't enjoy putting you through such situations but he wanted to spoil you rotten in the only ways he knew how. Money and sex was the only thing he was capable of offering you so he did his best with what he had.

It's been a few weeks since he had seen you last and it was starting to eat him alive, even though he knew he could walk to your workplace anytime he wanted he never really dared. If you had moved on from him, he wanted to give you space but he always questioned himself if you had indeed moved on or there was a part of you that'd take him back if he was to show up at your door?

....

Like every breakup, this one hurt as well, if you could call it a breakup, your situation was only about to get worse with him every day because you were falling for him more and more while he stayed distant and he didn't feel anything for you or so you convinced yourself.

He had done you a favor by allowing you to get yourself out and you were grateful for that but you couldn't deny that you missed him. When you two weren't fucking like bunnies, he was someone you could go to for advice and he offered one without any sort of judgement whatsoever. In retrospect, your relationship with him might have seemed superficial and carnal but it wasn't, you felt cared for by him even though he had tried his best to not come across that way.

You also knew that he had moved on, Claire told you that she had seen him kissing a woman and then taking her home at the club he often frequented. It hurt alot to hear that but you always knew what this thing was between you two and you weren't expecting him to go celibate after the things fell apart between you two. He had fucked you stupid on the first date as well.

You just felt jealous that you weren't the woman he was sleeping with any longer.

With all those thoughts heavy in your head when you went home that night you weren't really expecting to see Daemon Targaryen. And you especially weren't expecting to see him sitting in front of your apartment door. His hair was all messy, he had his typical casanova attire on, that whorish chain hung loosely on his neck and for some reason you couldn't stop thinking about those women he had fucked in the past few weeks and if they tried to pull him closer in bed by using the chain the way you used to.

"What are you doing here?" You asked him as he stood up and stepped away so you could open the door,

"Just came to see you, you said i could if I wanted to" you looked at him as he said that, there was a fresh bruise on his cheek.

"Fought with someone?"

"Noo ..for once it's a workplace hazard" you smiled as he said that and the corner of his mouth curved as well.

"Want to come in for a cup of coffee?" You asked softly, you didn't know why he was there but it felt good seeing him.

"Sure" as you both entered you turned the lights on and put your bag down on the couch, he wanted to grab your arm and pull you into his chest, he wanted to kiss you but he controlled his desires, he didn't know if you were still willing to take his damaged self back into your life. But If you were willing to suffer with him he knew he'd have to make a few changes and sacrifices if he wanted to keep you in his life. He followed you into the kitchen and leaned against the refrigerator,

"I'm sorry I don't have the coffee machine ..in case if you haven't noticed.. would you mind if I serve you an instant one?" He smiled as he looked around, he knew what he was going to buy tomorrow.

"Don't mind one bit" he answered so you put the kettle on boil,

"Sooo how have you been?" You asked him sheepishly

"Same as I used to be, how are you darling?"

"Sameee" you smiled. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it. "Ummm Claire told me that she saw you at the club one night"

"Huhhh? Did she tell you that she tried to hit on me?" You looked at him wide eyed and mouth opened as he said that,

"She did what?" Your pitch got higher as you questioned him.

"I didn't reciprocate" you shrugged and focused your eyes on the kettle.

"Well you could have..it's..it's not that..i mean..we were not--" before you could stutter more he interrupted you.

"I won't fuck a lady you work with darling" you looked at him as he said that, he was always sincere and honest with you about these things. He respected you and gave you his loyalty when he absolutely didn't have to, you weren't surprised that he chose to not sleep with Claire but it still felt good.

"But you fucked other women?"

"Mmmhmmm..I'm just a warm blooded man..we are the worst breed of all" you chuckled as he said that.

He suddenly closed the distance between you two and turned you towards him.

"I have missed you" you tilted your head up since you didn't have your heels on and looked into his eyes as he said that.

"You have?" You gulped, your voice was trembling with anticipation.

Did he want to give this a try?

"I should have come that day but I was terrified. You were right, I have several issues but ..when I was with you.. for a little while I was able to look past my past and just be with you" your eyes welled up as he said that, you had never seen him be this way with you so it was a little overwhelming but not in a bad way.

"I thought I was showing you mercy, didn't want a lady like you to get caught up in my mess so I spared you..but i haven't stopped thinking about you..you're all i have thought of these past few weeks" he mumbled softly and you sniffled, your voice choked on your own tears as you spoke to him.

"You shouldn't make my decisions for me"

"I know..it wasn't just about you, I'm scared ..of this thing between us" he wasn't looking at you anymore and his gaze was fixated on the floor so you grabbed the hem of his jacket and pulled him closer.

"You can take your time with me Daemon, build trust slowly and we will see where it goes, small steps okay?" You mumbled softly so he nodded and hugged you the same way he had done that morning, he was so tall so he had to bend down just to put his head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your face snuggled between his neck, he always smelled like cigarette and bergamot.

You had no idea where this would go from here, he was traumatized from his past but you didn't want to get scared by that knowledge, you wanted to be there for him and help him cope.

"Tell me what you want from me, tell me something so I'm careful around you, I don't want to hurt you" his arm wrapped around your waist and he placed his forehead on yours, his eyes were closed and he was thinking about what and how he wanted to move forward with you.

He just wanted momentarily peace, for the voices in his head to stop screaming but he knew he had to talk about this with you and he had to do it now.

"I'm not sure what I want..but I know what I don't want from you, and I'll tell you all about them but I need you to know that I'm not going to be the best man that can be out there for you..Do you still want this? Us? Want me when you deserve so much more? So much better?" his fingers curled into your hair and he pulled your head behind to make you look at him.

A relationship or whatever he wanted to name this thing between you two won't be easy, you knew that but you had to take a chance for once in your life. You have always played safe and being with him was not any less dangerous than playing with the fire itself but for once in your life you weren't afraid to get burned.

"I want you..I want us"

And whenever that would happen you only hoped that he'd be there to lick your wounds and kiss it better

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

Note : it's not the end, there are a few more chapters

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