#i’ve gotten better at not like. giving in to the part of my brain that begs to talk to them or ask about whether we’re still gonna stay

[strawbebyjam]

:)

[merakiui]

there is a knock at your door.

yandere!jade leech x (gender neutral) reader x yandere!floyd leech cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, fear/paranoia, kidnapping note - will you open it? // a birthday gift for the lovely and amazing @fish-brain-go-brrrr!!!!!!! may your special day be filled with eels, tako, and boundless happiness. (´▽`ʃƪ)♡ thank you for being a wonderful friend!! have the best birthday and enjoy this little gift hehe!!!! 🎉

Knock, knock. 

The door opens to reveal your friend since forever: Azul Ashengrotto.

And, more importantly, his Alaskan Malamute, who bounds over in quick clicks to greet you. You laugh as she all but pushes past Azul’s legs in an effort to reach your outstretched arms.

“Well, excuse you!” Azul laughs. She slobbers all over your face in her form of affectionate greeting before pulling away to sniff curiously at your suitcase. “Someone’s excited to see you.”

“I haven’t even gotten through the door,” you remark in between giggles.

“Okay, Pepper, that’s enough.” Azul clicks his tongue and she parts from you (not before delivering one final lick to your cheek. He smiles and pats her affectionately. “Good girl.”

Despite Pepper’s impressive size, she’s nothing but a softie. A gentle giant, some would describe her. You remember when she was just a puppy, small enough to be cradled in Azul’s arms like a human baby. How she’s grown!

“If you’d come this way, you can put your stuff down.” Azul shuffles aside to allow you to step fully into the foyer of his smartly-furnished home. “I’m sure you’re already familiar with everything, but it won’t hurt to reiterate.”

“Please do. It’s been a while since I’ve been at your place. Doesn’t seem like anything’s changed, though.”

He hums and shuts the door behind you. It locks smoothly. You trail after Azul, wheeling your suitcase down the hall and into the sitting room. Pepper bounds after the both of you and makes herself comfortable on a fluffy dog bed.

“Pepper’s feeding schedule hasn’t changed. Although I did switch to a different brand of dry food. This one is much better. Vet’s orders and all that. And every month I have a chef come in to prepare her a special, nutritionally balanced meal with only the freshest ingredients.”

“Wow! Isn’t she spoiled?” you tease in an exaggerated baby voice.

“I take care of my things,” he replies simply, shrugging your playful remark off, “and Pepper deserves only the finest.”

“I’m sure she appreciates it.”

As if having realized she’s the subject of conversation, Pepper barks.

Azul leads you through the house into the kitchen. It looks different from the last time you saw it and you realize he must have had it redone. Every appliance is brand-new, winking back at you when you peek into each gleaming surface.

Sleek, you think, admiring the wall oven. 

“Pepper gets one cup of dry food twice every day. Once in the morning and once at night. On Fridays, I give her a can of wet food as a treat. She can have that whenever you think is best. I usually do it around late morning, early afternoon.”

“Dry food twice each day. Wet food Friday. Got it.”

He opens a small door to a cupboard packed neatly with cans and containers. “This is where I keep her food. This bigger door is for human food. The wonderful pantry.” He knocks on it playfully.

Knock, knock.

You attempt a poor joke. “So it’s not just all dog food?”

“I have to feed myself,” he says, dramatically aghast. “I’m not a dog.”

“You sure about that?”

Azul barks out a chuckle. His mouth quirks up in an amused half-grin. “I’m sorry to disappoint. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve stocked this one full of everything indicated in the preferences you sent me.”

“So that’s why you asked me for that list! I just thought you wanted food recs.”

“That, too. You have unique tastes.”

“Microwave and canned meals are always there for me in my darkest hours.”

He hums. “Well, I’ve made sure to get each of your human favorites, so you needn’t feen for those too much.”

There’s a razored edge to his remark that makes you shrivel inside. As if your appetite is cheap in some way, more like a dog’s than a person’s.

But this is his house and it’s his money. You wouldn’t put it past him to factor in the pay cut for unnecessary sass. So you simply bare your teeth in a smile and take the punch, whether it was intended for you or not. Sometimes you forget he’s supposed to be your friend. 

“You’re welcome to use the kitchen. The whole house is your oyster, really,” he continues, guiding you towards the back door. It’s then when you notice the little black camera positioned in the corner of the room, its red eye peering soundlessly back at you. You wonder if that’s a new addition—the dog cameras. You can’t remember if they were there the last summer you were here. “Pepper has a tendency to stay out longer than she needs to after she’s done her business. She’ll come to the door once she’s had her fill, so there’s no need to fret. Although I’m sure she’ll listen to you. She’s quite obvious in her favoritism…”

You laugh but not because it’s funny. Because it’ll hopefully land you within his good graces, which is patently absurd if he’s meant to be your friend. You’re not even sure you can call these favors friendship when they’re transactional. If anything, you’re friendlier with Pepper than you are with Azul.

Am I really closer with a dog than a human? you think as he opens the door for you to view the fenced-in yard. You watch Azul gesture, his lips moving with his words. Actually, maybe Azul’s the dog.

Doubtful, but that doesn’t make the imagery any less comedic.

“I’ll be back next Monday. If you need anything or have any questions, you have my number. Oh, but just in case I’ve written the schedule for you and pasted it on the fridge should you forget.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

At that, he smiles sincerely. “Thank you. I really do appreciate this, considering everything was such short notice.”

“Nah, don’t worry. We’re friends. Plus, Pepper loves me.”

He chuckles. “I suppose that’s more than enough of a bonus. Speaking of which, how much would you like to be paid?”

“However much you’d like to give me,” you blurt and immediately regret it.

“I researched the average pay for dog-sitters, but there were just so many conflicting opinions and variables. So what do you think would be best? Please don’t sell yourself short on account of my asking. I’m always willing to give you more for your services.”

Taking a pause, you contemplate his words. If you factor in the grocery trip he made on your behalf and his letting you stay for the week alongside the tasks you’ll be completing for Pepper…

You open your mouth to suggest four-hundred madol, but he beats you to it—and with a completely different amount.

“Does three-hundred suffice?”

“Sure. No, yes. Yeah, that works.” You smile, but you aren’t very pleased.

“Wonderful! If you ever find yourself thinking you might need more, please do tell me. I want to make sure you’re paid accordingly. Good work deserves equally good acknowledgement, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod. If you know anything about Azul, it’s that he’s always willing to work with you when it comes to finances. He’s a businessman, so of course he’d know how to flawlessly navigate these types of situations. And having built himself a career and life on hard work, he has the confidence to throw numbers around and see which one sticks.

Briefly, as you follow him to the front door, you try to imagine yourself in his shoes—a businessperson who dresses smart every day, who never has to worry about money, who doesn’t have to be silently amazed by shiny appliances and refurbished kitchens.

And then you wonder if Azul is in the market for a spouse, but that idea is swiftly stamped out when you realize how silly it sounds.

He props his suitcase against the wall and bends down to welcome Pepper, who can easily match his height, into his arms. She licks at his face, sniffing the cologne spritzed on his suit, and he doesn’t seem to fuss over the hair.

“I’ll see you in a week. Be good to (Name) while I’m gone.”

Upon hearing your name, she whips her head up to look at you.

“She’s always good no matter what,” you vouch, reaching to scratch behind her ears. Her tail wags wildly. “The best girl.”

“I’m glad.” Azul pulls away. He plucks a lint roller from the side pouch in his backpack and casually brushes down his front. “I trust you’ll be fine in my absence? Do feel free to sleep wherever—whether on the sofa or in the guest bedroom upstairs. The sheets were just washed and the room is clean. Mine is as well, but I suppose it may be awkward to offer it.” He coughs into his fist. “Regardless, whichever space you find most comfortable, consider it yours for the duration of your stay.”

“Thank you for everything, Azul.” You hold the door for him as he drags his suitcase over the threshold, his backpack hanging from one shoulder. “Have a safe flight.”

Pepper joins you at the door to watch. You wave to him while he lifts his belongings into the trunk of his car, and then within mere minutes he’s pulling away and driving out of sight.

“And that’s that,” you announce, ducking back inside with Pepper. You shut the door and lock it. Surveying the sitting room, your hands situated on your hips, you wonder what you should do now. She peers up at you, just as expectant. 

The first thing you decide to do is peruse the pantry and the fridge. All of your favorites are arranged within. It’s actually too much, you realize, now unable to settle on a single option for dinner.

So instead you swipe the money Azul’s left for you on the counter—in case of emergencies, the note reads—and decide that this predicament is dire enough for pizza.

Knock, knock.

You pop up from the sofa and trot over to open the front door. Pepper gets there before you, barking loudly at the person on the other side. Gently, you shush her and peek out through the small crack to greet the driver. They smile and hand over your food. Rushing through the process, you give them the amount owed.

The door shuts and locks with a click.

“You’re babysitting for the same rich guy? You’d think he’d give you a raise or something since you do it so often,” Ace mutters into the phone.

“Yeah, well, it’s only a week.”

“Still a week’s worth of work. Why do you even feel bad? Ask for more. He said he’d give it to you, didn’t he?”

“I dunno… I mean, we already agreed on an amount and I don’t wanna seem like a greedy asshole—”

“(Name), he’s rich. They’re all greedy assholes. If he has the money to spoil his dog with monthly fancy feasts,” he says, putting on a posh accent, “then he has the money to pay you what you deserve. If you want, I could always say something. J-Just because you’re too chicken and all, I mean! Sometimes you need superstar Ace to step in. No need to thank me. I know I’m great.”

Propping your feet on the armrest at the end of the loveseat, you roll your eyes at the ceiling. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Case in point! So you should totally ask him for more. Wring him out like a money rag.”

“We’ll see… He did buy a bunch of food for me and he’s letting me stay. He even left money for emergencies.”

“You used it, right?”

“Of course I did! I’m not stupid.”

Ace laughs. “So you’re alone then?”

“The dog’s here, too. You wanna say hi?” You tap your phone. “Okay, you’re on speaker. Pepper, you wanna meet my friend?”

“What’s up, Pepper!”

She lifts her head from where she’s resting on her cushion, her ears raised curiously. Her only response is a soft huff.

“She says hi.”

“You sure you’re not putting words in her mouth?”

“Surprised you couldn’t understand her, you dog.”

“Hey!”

Grinning, you pick at a loose string on your sweater. Azul’s house is always so cold. “But, yes, it’s just the dog and me. Why?”

Ace is quiet for an uncharacteristic beat. Eventually, he clears his throat. “Dunno. Just figured you might want some company. I could come over.”

You understand the implication coyly woven into his words. “I’d say yeah—”

“Really?!”

“But he’s got cameras. For the dog, I think.”

“So just cover them up?”

“Wow, great suggestion. How long did it take you to think of that one, brainiac?”

“I’m just saying… He’s away on a business thing, right? How much time is he gonna have to watch the cameras?”

“If he’s neurotic enough, he’ll find time.”

“He shouldn’t be if he trusts you to look after the house.”

“He also trusts how easy it’ll be to connect the dots if something goes missing from his house.”

“It’s not criminal to have a guest over! Geez. You make it sound so illegal…”

“Tough luck. If you really wanna hang out, we can just get lunch next time I’m—”

Knock, knock.

You sit up slightly on the sofa, brows furrowed. Is someone at the door? At this hour? You’re certain Azul isn’t expecting anyone, and the mail isn’t due to come until tomorrow morning. You glance at Pepper. Her eyes are closed, but her ears are raised, listening.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Hold that thought. I think someone’s at the door.”

You manage to catch the very end of Ace’s don’t-get-murdered warning just before you set your phone down. Azul’s door has a panel of frosted glass, so even if you wanted to discern the person’s features on the other end you’d have to open it for confirmation. All you can go off of are shadows.

Unlocking the door, you pull it open and poke your head outside. The crisp air hits you like a slap.

No one’s there.

You check around in case someone dropped something off, but there’s nothing in sight. Nothing on the stoop. No mail to collect.

Did someone have the wrong house? you think, trying to picture the scenario in your mind. Or maybe some dumb kids are pranking me. 

Now irritated, you shut the door in a huff.

It’s summer. Don’t they have anything better to do?

Maybe it’s precisely because it’s summer that they don’t.

You choose to brush this annoyance aside in favor of picking up your phone to return to the conversation.

“Sorry about that. I’m back.”

“Everything good?”

“Yeah. No, yeah. All good here. Just some kids thinking they’re funny.”

“Yeaaah, no surprises there.”

“You’d think they’d stay away. Azul’s probably got enough money to sue them for disturbing the peace or some other stuffy nonsense and win.”

“They’re kids. They’re not gonna know any better.”

“Says the public menace.”

“I’m not that bad! Cut me some slack. I’ll have you know, I’ve matured significantly since my school days and I am very much a changed man.”

“Yeah, oookay.”

“I’m serious!”

“Sure, Mr. Mature. Anyway, it’s late. I should let Pepper out and get to bed.”

“You sure you don’t want me to sing you to sleep?” he teases.

“I actually value my sense of hearing, so no. Thanks, though.”

Before he can retort, you bid him sweet dreams and hang up. Gazing at the camera positioned in the corner, you rise to your feet.

The cameras are definitely new.

“Pepper, sweetheart, you wanna go outside?”

She seems to have understood that last part, for she scrambles out of her bed and pads over to the back door with a swaying tail. You open the door for her, and she rushes past you in a blur of fur.

Good. She’ll get one last run and bathroom break in before bed and hopefully we’ll be fine until morning.

Like a wine stain on a white shirt, your eyes are drawn to the camera once more. You can understand having cameras outside the property, but inside the house feels…unusual. But then you’ve never had a dog of your own and you’ve always lived in apartments on the highest floor, so maybe this is what most dog owners do when they need to monitor an overactive animal.

Maybe they’re those cameras that you can speak through! If that’s the case, then I can totally see him talking to Pepper or scolding her if she’s up to no good. Okay, that makes a little more sense now.

Another reason hits you, and you feel foolish for not realizing it first: For safety and security’s sake, too. Of course.

Your phone buzzes then and you pull it from your pocket to read the message. Ace has sent you something stupid on Magicam, no doubt. You’re about to open it and confirm when—

Knock, knock.

An admonishment on the tip of your tongue, you storm through the hall towards the front door. You throw it open this time, and like before you find empty space.

“Not funny,” you seethe, stepping out into the cold night to peer through the neat hedges and flower bushes. Surely those kids are hiding somewhere… “It’s late. Go home already!”

You don’t receive a reply. For a moment, you wait in anticipation. Wherever they’re hiding, they’ll have to get up and retreat eventually. It’s oddly quiet. You strain to listen for any giggles or whispers.

Nothing but suffocating silence.

And then Pepper barks, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You shut the door slowly, watching the outside slim down until eventually all you see is your warped reflection in the frosted glass.

Weird…

Again, Pepper barks.

“I’m coming! Wait just a moment, Pepper!”

You lock the door and scurry to let her in. 

Come tomorrow, those kids won’t be able to hide in the daylight, you tell yourself as you brush your teeth. And when I catch them, I’ll make sure to give them a talk on why it’s not nice to bother other people, especially at night when it’s dark out. It’s just unsafe for kids to be out late anyway!

When you settle into bed, you realize the house is perfectly still and silent. Pepper is snoozing comfortably on Azul’s bed. You never realized it, but Azul’s house seems bigger at night. More rooms. More space. Lots of shadows. A creak every now and then as everything settles. It’s in between sleep that you begin to wonder if you locked the door.

It’s fine. I’ve got Pepper to keep me safe.

Comforted with this knowledge, you fall asleep.

Knock, knock.

There is a knock at your door.

You jerk awake and, rather clumsily, feel around in the bed for your phone. It flashes the time back at you. The rest of the world comes trickling in through dull, still-sleepy senses. You finally register Pepper’s bark, which is beginning to sound more like an alarm with how relentless it is.

“Shit. It’s already afternoon?” And then you sit up. “Shit! It’s already afternoon!”

You rush down the stairs, apologizing profusely to Pepper with each step. She’s waiting for you at the very bottom, pacing in circles and barking at you.

“I know, I know! I’m sorry. I completely slept in. You must have to go really bad.”

She races you to the door and you yank it open in your haste, heaving a relieved breath when she bursts outside. You lean against the doorframe for support and bask in the sunshine that spills in.

The weather’s beautiful today. I can’t believe they were saying it might rain.

While Pepper runs laps outside, you busy yourself with filling Pepper’s bowls with the recommended amount of dry food and then fresh water. Her shadow appears against the door a few minutes later and so you let her in.

“Just in time,” you praise, watching as she trots eagerly over to her bowl.

With that out of the way, you begin preparing a very late breakfast for yourself. You can’t remember when the dishes from before were cleaned. Did you do them last night before bed?

“Doesn’t really matter,” you murmur, slicing fruit for a salad. “One less thing I have to do. Thank you, (Name) from the past.”

You skim through the notes Azul’s pasted to the bulletin board. Instructions for Pepper’s feeding schedule, reminders, times and dates. But then there are also things he’s left for himself. A calendar with important events marked. Various notes for miscellaneous things: Bring suit in for cleaning. Meet with dietician at the end of the month. Celebrate colleague’s birthday. These tiny slivers of his life remind you that Azul is a busy person like you. When you look at the stars he’s doodled around dates of particular importance, you feel yourself smiling. He’s not such an intimidating figure when you look at him through his calendar.

A text from Ace coaxes you out of your thoughts: u still on for tonight?

Tonight? But then you remember. Oh, fuck! Deuce’s birthday! I forgot we planned the surprise for today.

hell yeah!!! is your enthusiastic reply.

Later, while you’re getting ready for the evening, you think you hear someone knocking. But the running water drowns out all sounds from downstairs. If Pepper isn’t barking, it’s likely nothing.

You leave the house somewhat frazzled, hoping to shake off the strange suspicion that something isn’t right.

The biggest surprise, aside from jumping out to shock Deuce when he walked into the restaurant on account of thinking it a date—yes, you and Ace catfished him for this very cruel, irreverent birthday joke—is perhaps the text you receive from Azul.

Is it raining? Did Pepper track mud in the house?

You read it three more times and then you peek outside the window. It’s been raining ever since you arrived. So much for perfect weather… But Pepper couldn’t have gotten into any mud because the ground was dry earlier today.

No?? you write back, confusion bubbling in your chest. I haven’t sent her out since this morning when it was sunny. It’s raining now, but she hasn’t been out at all.

Horrified, you begin to wonder if you somehow spilled something during breakfast. Or did Pepper have an accident in the house? Did she get into something? A million questions headline your thoughts, overwhelming in their intensity. Thankfully, it’s Ace and Deuce who bring you back to the present.

“Ace told me you’re doing that house-sitting gig for that guy again.”

“Oh, yeah! I am. Dog-sitting, too.” You stuff your phone away.

Best not to think about it.

“Didja catch those kids?”

Deuce looks between you and Ace, a brow raised. “What kids?”

“You totally missed it! I guess some kids were knocking on (Name)’s door all night long.”

“They’re still doing it. I think…”

“No way!”

“Sooner or later, it becomes less annoying and more like harassment.” Deuce cringes. “And you haven’t caught them yet?”

“No. Or… Well, I thought I heard some knocking this morning. But I was still asleep and the dog was barking.”

“This guy has cameras, doesn’t he?” Ace looks to you for confirmation.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I have access to them.”

“Maybe that’ll drive whoever’s bothering you away. If they see the cameras, they’ll realize they’re being recorded and hopefully leave you alone.”

“Hopefully.”

“I offered to come over.”

“It’s not that serious.”

Ace and Deuce share a look of doubt.

“Really! It’s not, guys. All they’re doing is knocking on the door. Irritating as hell? Yes. But it’s all harmless. They’re outside. I’m inside. Plus, I’ve got Azul’s dog. She’s huge.”

“Just…keep yourself safe. Call one of us if you need to. We’ll come over,” Deuce says, poking around at the food on his plate.

“I will. Thank you. But let’s not worry about any of that. It’s your birthday! It’s supposed to be all about you.”

Somehow the unsettling atmosphere ebbs away, replaced with the joyous delusions of short-lived celebration.

You return to Azul’s house to find muddy pawprints on the floor. It takes you thirty minutes to scrub the floors clean, and for the entire time you’re racking your brain trying to understand how this happened. Was there mud in the backyard that you just weren’t aware of? Or did Pepper truly go outside when it was raining? Did you leave the door unlocked?

Surely Azul must have seen what happened on the cameras.

Something isn’t adding up. You spend your entire shower constructing the scene and its many possibilities, but none of them make a lick of sense.

It’s just you and Pepper, right?

As you toss and turn in bed, struggling to relax under a duvet that feels too itchy and hot, you think you hear someone knocking on the door.

Or maybe it’s the window. Maybe it’s right below you, tapping at the ceiling, pacing around in the kitchen, reaching to pet Pepper.

Maybe you’re just dreaming.

Azul calls you on the seventh day to check in. You consider telling him about the knocking, the dishes, that rainy day when Pepper tracked in mud, but you can’t seem to form the words without sounding utterly insane. So you smile and lie.

“No issues here. Pepper’s been wonderful.”

Azul hums, pleased. “Aah, I miss her something fierce. Oh, can you tell her I said that?”

You repeat his words to Pepper. “I dunno… I think she’s starting to like me more than you.”

“Well, isn’t that a problem? How else will she get her fix of you once you’re gone?”

“I’ll be back next time you need me.” And then you hesitate. “You…will need me again, right?”

“Of course. I always need you, (Name).”

There’s an awkward pause on his end. He clears his throat, but you don’t add anything to break the tension.

“Um, right. Yeah… Enjoy the rest of your business trip. I hope all is well with…that.”

“It is, yes. Thank you.”

“Then I won’t keep you.”

You end the call before he can say anything else. Pepper, who had been resting beside you on the sofa, tilts her head at you.

“Don’t tell him I said this,” you whisper, “but your owner is really bad at words sometimes.”

She leans in and licks your cheek.

Someone knocks on the door and lies in wait. You watch with bated breath, repeating the same phrase over and over: “Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door.”

Knock, knock.

She reaches for the knob.

“No… Come on. Don’t do it. It’s so clearly a trap!” You almost don’t want to watch. You know she’s as good as dead as soon as she opens the door, for the killer will descend and drag her back inside her own house.

Knock, knock.

She’s already opened the door. As expected, the killer pounces like the Grim Reaper and she shrieks like a banshee.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

Remote in hand, you lower the volume and focus on the silence that creeps in shortly after. You wait for a creak or another knock—a disturbance of some sort.

Slowly, you turn to glance at the door and then at the windows nearby with the curtains drawn. As quietly as you can manage, you set the remote down and slither off of the sofa. Pepper doesn’t seem bothered by the sounds, but you can tell she’s listening, her body tense.

No one’s out there. It’s nothing. 

You peel the curtains back ever so slightly and peek out at the darkness. There’s no one on the stoop. No one at the window. No one.

So then where was the knocking coming from? Was it really just the movie?

Or… No, certainly not. You refuse to entertain that thought.

But, if not the movie and not from outside, where else could the sound be coming from? Where else if not from within these very walls?

You shut the curtains and return to the sofa. Horror is swapped for a cheesy rom-com. You need the laughter and the cringe and every fluffy thing in between to calm the electricity in your nerves.

And it works. You fall asleep by the third rom-com, listening to cheesy one-liners and bad jokes with terribly written punchlines.

Knock, knock.

And then a noisy clatter.

You’re shaken from your slumber in a daze. You’re not sure what time it is or where you even are, and it takes a moment for clarity to filter in through the grogginess. You’re wrapped up in blankets on the bed in the guest room in Azul’s house and there’s someone standing at the foot of the bed, watching you in the gloom, and—

Wait.

How did you get to bed? Most importantly, what’s that blinking back at you? It can’t be Pepper. Pepper doesn’t have two-toned eyes. Pepper can’t stand on two legs. You squint through the shadows to pick out the shape of them, and your blood freezes when you realize it’s a person.  

A person. A person.

Someone’s inside the house and they’re looking right at you.

Do they know I’m awake? you think, your thoughts racing wildly. You lie there, rigid as a board and stiff as a corpse, and hope that they can’t tell. Calm down. Relax. Pepper will scare them off.

But then you notice she hasn’t barked a single time since you opened your eyes. Is she sleeping?

Terror pierces your heart. Did this person hurt her? Is she—

Don’t think about that.

Your eyes slide over towards the doorway, and you just about scream when you see another figure. The breath sticks in your throat. You know it’s another person because the way they lean so casually against the doorframe suggests a certain nonchalance with this situation. A nonchalance that can only belong to a person.

“Knock, knock. Aww. Did we wake you up?” It’s a man’s whispery drawl that combs through the room, raking through your scalp with sharp fingers, prodding at your ears like a hornet. “You looked so peaceful, too. Sorry about that.”

You’re not sure what you should do. Should you even try to run or escape when you’re already so cornered? Is there enough time to call for help? Will Pepper hear you if you shout? Should you play dead or feign sleep? What should you do?

What can you do?

You glance at the other figure. Unlike the other one, who sways and fidgets like he’s caught in a perpetual, invisible breeze, this person is perfectly, eerily still. Almost like a doll.

But then the man in the doorway laughs. “Layin’ it on thick there, ain’tcha? They’re already shakin’ like a leaf. No need to overdo it.”

A razored smile cuts through the gloom. Your eyesight adjusts enough to catch sight of a J-shaped strand of hair and the glint of an earring.

“No need to look so scared,” he continues, but you can’t pry your eyes from the other’s smile. It’s a smile of grotesque pleasure—one that feasts on fear so palpable it might as well be a three-course meal for him. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Then will you do something much worse? you want to ask, but all you can do is blink.

“Just gonna take you somewhere nice and cozy. Nothin’ scary about that. Ain’t that right, Jade?”

“Indeed, Floyd.” A voice as smooth and soft as melted caramel. Maybe it would’ve been soothing in a different situation. 

Before you can scream or lunge out of bed, arms are reaching out to restrain you. A hand slaps over your mouth. Fingers curl into your arms. A sickly sweet rag is stuffed against your nose.

Your feet kick against the wall, a steady knock-knock-knocking like a heartbeat, until your muscles still and the fight is drained from you. Unconsciousness blankets your body and mind within minutes.

There is nothing more unnerving than returning to an empty house, especially when it was once filled with human presence. No one knows anything, but they could’ve if there was evidence. Incriminating footage is no good.

Azul certainly thinks so while he dons his finest suit and practices a few expressions in the mirror. Pepper watches him from where she lays curled on his bed.

“A hero must look exceptional when he rescues his dearest one. Most of all, he must be innocent and trustworthy. Wouldn’t you say so, Pepper?”

At that, she can only offer a halfhearted whimper. He smiles.

“Let’s go visit my (Name).”

[runawrites-blog]

What A Pretty Necklace (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: A slip-up leads you and Bucky to discover a new kink to share. Another slip-up gives the other Avengers a bit too much insight into your relationship with him. (Female Reader) Word Count: 3,346 Warnings: SMUT (Minors do not interact), Explicit Sexual Content, Choking, Fingering, Kink Negotiation, Teasing, Gentle!Dom!Bucky, No Y/N, Petnames (Doll, Sweetheart) Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54614755 A/N: From sweet fluff to this, I guess. If you're not of age, do not interact with this or read it, thank you!

---

“What a pretty necklace.”

Bucky stilled at your words, lowering the towel he’d been using to dry his left hand after the two of you had gotten out of the shower, and you felt your face heat up as you realised you’d said your thoughts out loud. But before you could backpaddle he turned to you with a small smirk on his lips that sent shivers down your spine.

“A pretty necklace you say, Doll?” He teased, eyes raking up your towel-clad body and stopping at your neck. “Would you be up to wearing it then?”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” You mumbled, averting his eyes as you felt your cheeks growing hot. “It just slipped out, I swear.”

Bucky just chuckled at that and came closer to you, crowding you against the sink to press a soft kiss to your lips, parting quickly to speak to you. “I may be teasing you, Doll, but I can’t say that I’m not intrigued. Have you thought about this before?”

You nodded slowly, daring to look up at him to find his eyes half-lidded and his lower lip between his teeth as he waited for your answer, and you couldn’t help but confess the truth. “I have. When I see you fight with the arm, when I see you clean it, when I see you do anything with it, I can’t help but imagine how it would feel on my throat.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I kept quiet. I’m sorry if it’s weird and we obviously don’t have to do anything--”

Bucky cut you off with a kiss and you felt your worries melting away as he pulled you close, knowing that if he was kissing you like this it meant he wasn’t upset. Wrapping your arms around him you leaned into the kiss just for him to pull back again.

“I’m not uncomfortable at all.” He said softly, keeping his forehead against yours as his smile turned into a smirk. “And I’d be willing to try.”

“Try?” You asked in surprise, not having expected him to be into this idea at all. “You’d be willing to try breathplay? To choke me? Are you sure?”

“I am. It’s very intriguing, for a lack of better word.” Bucky said, pulling you a little closer to his body, his chest against yours, your bodies only separated by the towels you two were still wearing. “But before we do anything we need to talk about it.”

“Of course.” You nodded quickly, looking up at him before smiling softly. “First, I want you to know that I trust you not to hurt me. The trust is a big part of the reason I’m interested in this.”

Bucky leaned down to kiss your temple gently. “I know that you trust me, Doll. And I am so thankful for your trust. But that is precisely why we need some ground rules if you want me to choke you.”

You willed away the shivers his last words brought on and nodded. “I’ve read up on safe choking before. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to put pressure on the oesophagus or anything like that but rather on the sides of the neck, just below the jaw, to cut off oxygen supply to the brain. And obviously, you’re supposed to be careful because the throat and neck are pretty sensitive places.”

“You’ve really put research into this.” Bucky chuckled lowly before he nodded at you. “But yes, I have looked into it once or twice and I did read that, too.”

“You’ve looked into it, too?”

“As I said, it’s intriguing.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, giving you a serious look. “We also need a verbal and nonverbal safeword.”

“Three taps against your shoulder?” You asked and Bucky nodded in agreement to which you placed your hands on his chest, running your fingers along his exposed skin. “Good, and can’t we use our usual safeword?”

Bucky nodded once more, pressing closer to you. “Need you to say it to me again, Doll.”

“Redwing.”

“Good girl.” He praised and you couldn’t quite keep the shivers from running down your spine anymore. “I will check in on you throughout it to make sure you’re alright and I need you to tell me, based on the traffic light system, how you’re doing. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His praise made your face flush even more but you could tell that he wasn’t finished so you kept listening. “And I need you to tell me if anything feels off, alright?”

“I will.” You said, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek as you pecked his lips. “I trust you.”

“I trust you, too.”

With that, he leaned in to kiss you and you were quick to wrap your arms around his neck, reciprocating. When he picked you up, you squeaked in surprise but didn’t protest as he carried you to the bedroom and simply wrapped your legs around his middle. Once in the bedroom he placed you on your bed and crawled over you, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he watched you panting in anticipation and he was quick to discard your towels to get you two naked. When his fingers slipped down to the heat between your legs he gave a low chuckle.

“Already so wet for me, Doll? Just talking about me choking you gets you this worked up?” Bucky whispered teasingly, the thumb of his metal hand starting to gently rub your clit as he brought his head down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Think you can take my fingers already? I know you don’t just want my metal fingers around your neck. You love them inside you, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, please.” You gasped, grinding your core against the pressure of his thumb, hands coming up to scramble for purchase against his back. “Please, please, Bucky.”

“Anything you want, Doll.”

With that, he plunged his middle and ring finger into you, leaving you gasping at the intrusion, before he began to move them in and out of you. The movements of his fingers and his thumb still against your clit tore gasps and moans from your lips.

“Good girl, taking my fingers so well.”

“Please, Bucky.” You gasped out as he kept up his movements, making arousal coil in your belly. “I need you, I’m so wet for you. Need you so bad. Need your hand on my neck.”

Bucky leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, coming close enough for you to feel his hardened length against your thigh as he kept moving his fingers, thumb circling your clit. Then all of sudden Bucky pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the loss.

“Just a moment, Doll. I’ll take good care of you.”

His voice was gentle as he lined himself up with your entrance as you panted in anticipation, fingers digging into his back when he finally entered you, moaning deeply at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. Your moans spurred him back into action and he built up a slow rhythm as he brought his left hand up to your throat, the right one next to your head to stabilise himself.

“Still sure about this, Doll?”

“Please, choke me.”

His grip on your neck tightened, thumb and fingers pressing into the sides of your neck, just below your jawline and you gasped at the pressure. Bucky’s eyes scanned you for any signs of discomfort as your own fluttered shut, nails digging into his back and legs crossing behind his body to get him closer to you.

“Doing so good for me, Doll.” He whispered out, keeping the pressure against your neck as he picked up the speed of his thrusts. “You look so pretty like this, with my hand around your neck, like you were made for it.”

You couldn’t speak anymore, too lost in the pleasure of these combined sensations, of his dick moving inside of you, his words of praise and his hand around your throat. It didn’t take long for your head to feel fuzzy from the lack of oxygen and you felt your pleasure peaking, these new sensations sending you hurtling toward your climax quicker than you had anticipated. Bucky’s grip only our neck loosening brought you back to reality and you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Still good, Sweetheart?” Bucky asked softly as he examined your face for any signs of distress. “Can you give me a colour?”

You answered quickly, bringing a hand down from his back to place on his cheek. “Green.”

“Good.”

Before you even had the chance to react, the pressure on your neck was back and his thrusts were picking up again, leaving you a breathless mess beneath him. You had half the mind to realise that he was also nearing orgasm by the way his thrusts faltered every now and then, but you couldn’t think of it for too long as you lost yourself in pleasure.

“Good girl.” He rambled on between his own moans, not really stringing sentences together properly anymore at this point. “So good for me, taking me so well. Looks so good when you’re this breathless for me, moaning like this.”

“I’m close.” You managed to rasp out as his thrusts picked up, making you groan softly. “Please, please.”

You didn’t quite know what you were begging for but Bucky seemed to have a pretty good grasp on what you needed to get over the edge. A slight change in angle brought along more stimulation on your clit and you gasped out in surprise, eyes rolling backwards as he slightly increased the pressure on your neck.

“That’s right, come for me. Be a good girl and come for me, Doll.”

You were tumbling over the edge before you knew it, back arching off the bed and moans spilling from your lips as you clenched around him, waves of pleasure rippling through you, only intensified by the lack of oxygen going to your head. Faintly, you registered Bucky spilling inside of you, your name falling from his lips in a breathless moan.

When you came down from your height his hand was already off your neck and you panted softly as you looked up at the ceiling. Bucky rolled off you and brought a hand up to cup your cheek, gently turning your head toward him. His hair was sticking to his forehead and he was breathing heavily as he checked you for any signs of discomfort.

“You did so good, Sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?” He asked softly, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. “How’s your neck? I didn’t choke you too hard, did I?”

“I’m feeling great.” You whispered and turned to throw an arm around his body, seeking out his body and comfort. “I liked it and-- and you didn’t hurt me.”

Bucky simply nodded and pulled you close to his body, allowing you to rest your head against his chest where you listened to his slowing heartbeat as you both came down from your height. But he didn’t stay like this for long because a few minutes later, after giving you a moment to calm down, he reached over to grab the bottle you usually kept on your nightstand, uncapping it and scooting up to hold it out to you.

“You need to drink something, Sweetheart.” He said softly, holding the bottle to your lips and watching as you dutifully took a few deep sips. “Good job. You did so well. I love you.”

You pulled back from the bottle and gave him a small smile. “I love you, too.”

“What do you need right now?”

“You.”

“I can provide that.”

“Would be concerning if you couldn’t.”

He simply chuckled and pulled you close to his body, holding you as you sought out the comfort you needed at the moment. Your eyes grew heavy when he started stroking your hair gently, running his fingers through it and resting his head atop yours. Swallowing, you looked up at him, keeping your head against his shoulder.

“Please, don’t tell anyone I called your hand a pretty necklace.”

Bucky snorted at that and pulled back slightly to get a better look at you. “You mean I can’t use that fact instead of small talk at the SHIELD meeting tomorrow?”

“The team would never let me hear the end of it, especially Sam, Nat or Tony.” You joked softly as you looked back at him. “But it did make for a pretty nice necklace.”

“I have to agree. You looked so good with my hand around your neck.”

“I felt really good, too.” With a smile you cuddled back to him, arms wrapping around his body again. “I think we might need another shower but I don’t want to let go of you.”

“I could draw us a bath, so I can hold you some more.”

“Thank you so much. I love you.”

“It’s just a bath, no need to thank me.” Bucky said in amusement before pressing a gentle kiss to your head. “I love you, too.”

---

As you sat down for the meeting with Fury regarding a new mission the next day, taking the place next to Bucky, you found documents regarding the crime syndicate you’d all been hunting down for the past weeks already on the table. You skimmed through them, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Steve sat down opposite you and the two of you greeted each other like you always did. You were just turning your head to talk to Bucky when Steve pointed at your neck.

“What a pretty necklace.”

You felt your face heating up as your head snapped to Steve before your eyes flickered to Bucky’s left hand and then back at the man to whom you’d been speaking. “What?”

“Your necklace is pretty. The one with the heart pendant that you’re wearing, I mean.” Steve said slowly, confusion clear on his face. “Why did you get so startled out of sudden?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but you were quicker, trying to divert the attention away from the obvious misunderstanding on your part before anyone could figure out what you’d thought Steve had meant. “I didn’t get startled.”

“You did.” Sam piped up, giving you a look of pure interest as he leaned back in his chair. “You got all flustered and embarrassed when Steve talked about your necklace.”

“And you immediately looked at Bucky.” Steve pointed out before his face contorted into a look of slight disgust and he shook his head quickly. “On second thought, I don’t want to know why you got so flustered. Whatever happened with or to that necklace is something I don’t need to know!”

“Nothing happened with it!” You exclaimed, face turning hot as both Sam and Steve stared at you, the former with a teasing smirk and the latter in slight disgust, all the while Tony tried to hold back his laughter. “It was a gift that Bucky got me for my last birthday and the pendant has a picture of him in it. I wear it all the time.”

“And you also do all sorts of weird things with it by the sound of it.” Tony grinned at you as you glared back at him and when Bucky once more tried to speak up he cut him off. “I don’t know where this necklace has been, Freezerburn, but I don’t think I want to know.”

“Freezerburn?” Bucky made a face and shook his head, bringing a finger up to indicate for Tony to be quiet. “First of all, don’t call me that ever again. Second of all, we did nothing nasty with that necklace, so drop it.”

“He’s right. She wasn’t even thinking of the actual necklace she’s wearing.”

You all turned to find Natasha in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on her face as her eyes fixed on you. Clint was behind her and the confused look he gave her rivalled even the one on Steve’s face who by now seemed completely bewildered. Next to him, Tony had turned to you with an interested look while Sam was still smirking at you before he glanced back at the woman in the door.

“What do you mean, Natasha?”

“She did not look at Bucky. She looked at his left hand.”

Natasha had to dodge the pen you threw at her but that didn’t keep her from snickering while Clint tried to fill Wanda and Vision who had just arrived in on what was going on but was struggling to do so without bursting into laughter himself. Your face was burning by now and when you risked a glance at Bucky you found him also blushing furiously though he was still trying to play it off.

Sam took a few seconds to realise what Natasha had meant but when he did he gave Bucky a grin that made your partner glare back at him. “Your hand is her pretty necklace? Does it look that good around her neck?”

“Guys!” Steve exclaimed as understanding dawned on him before he gave Bucky a weirded-out look though you could clearly see the hint of amusement on his face. “I didn’t know that’s the kind of thing you two are into.”

“I think the arm looks like it was made for breathplay.”

You groaned out in embarrassment as Natasha teased you some more, letting your face fall into your hands. “Wanda, can you make the ground swallow me up, please?”

“Theoretically, yes.” The other woman chuckled softly as she sat down. “But wouldn’t that be a tad dramatic?”

While you shook your head, you felt Bucky place a comforting hand on your back. “Doll, I think Wanda’s right there. That does seem a tad dramatic.”

“Honestly, it’s sort of your fault for misunderstanding Steve so badly.” Tony commented, finally having gathered himself enough to speak again. “I mean, why would you assume he meant Bucky’s hand when he complimented your necklace?”

Vision chimed in on that, his voice even as he looked at Tony. “I assume you already know the answer as to why she misunderstood Steve that way, so why still ask?”

“Thank you, Vision.” You looked up before shaking your head at Tony. “It was an honest mistake, Tony!”

Before Tony could answer, Bucky spoke up, his hand still rubbing your back comfortingly. “I think you’ve teased us enough, Tony. She’s clearly uncomfortable, so could you stop?”

“Alright, I’ll stop.” The man said, holding up his hands in defeat but not before giving you a playful look. “But just for the record, your actual necklace is lovely, too.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, nodding toward Bucky next to you. “As I said Bucky got it for my birthday and I love it.”

Steve gave you an apologetic smile before once more complimenting the necklace while you reached out to take Bucky’s free hand. He gave yours a gentle squeeze and when you turned you found him giving you a look that seemed somewhere between amused and embarrassed.

“And you worried that I would tell anyone here about you calling my hand a pretty necklace.”

“It was a mistake.” You defended yourself weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, Doll.” Bucky said and when you looked up at him again he was smiling back at you. “Just maybe for the future, don’t jump to conclusions too quickly.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

While Bucky leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, parting quickly to give you a comforting smile, everyone else settled down in the seats, waiting for Fury to arrive. But the meeting didn’t start without one more teasing comment from Tony which earned him everyone else’s laughter, you flicking him off and Bucky glaring at him.

“Friday, remind me to craft a necklace that looks like Bucky’s hand for her next birthday.”

[azzibuckets]

this isn’t the end or anything part 3 [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: this is probably my favorite series i’ve ever written so i like to take my time writing each part. apologies for the wait!

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

“Seat taken?”

Paige hovers over the fifth row of seats on the bus, mouth going dry as she anticipates Azzi’s answer. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing; she didn’t board the bus planning to be stupid and try to sit next to Azzi, but when she saw how pretty the younger girl looked all bundled up in her beanie and overcoat, she knew she had to at least try.

Azzi doesn’t look up from her phone. “You know I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“That’s fine.”

Azzi sighs, and after a moment’s hesitation she picks up her backpack from the seat next to her, setting it on the floor instead. Trying to fight back a smile, Paige plops down and casts a quick glance at Azzi’s phone, wondering if the younger girl’s fixation to her screen the past few days is due to a new love interest. When Azzi doesn’t seem to notice her prying eyes, Paige moves a little bit closer, craning her neck to try to decipher who exactly Azzi is texting.

All of a sudden, Azzi looks up, making eye contact with Paige as the blonde quickly sits back with a guilty look on her face.

“Seriously?” Azzi says irritatedly.

“Sorry,” Paige replies meekly, knowing that it’s pointless to deny the obvious.

Azzi shakes her head before shutting off her phone and staring intensely out the window. Paige knows she should be more upset about Azzi’s coldness towards her, especially after what she admitted two nights ago, but right now she’s just happy to be in Azzi’s presence. And although being crammed in a bus surrounded by their teammates and coaches isn’t the most optimal privacy, it’s the closest they’ve gotten to being alone since that night and Paige is willing to take whatever she gets.

“You know I like you, right?” Once the words come out and Paige realizes what she’s just said, she fights the urge to clamp her hand over her own mouth.

Azzi’s head snaps up.

Paige shifts in her seat. She knows she’s probably going about this wrong, but the words she’s said to Azzi months ago is still weighing on her mind, and technically Azzi can’t go anywhere when she’s trapped between her and the window. So she forges on. “You said you needed space.”

“No, you said you needed space,” Azzi says evenly.

Paige rubs her eyes. “Okay, so we both said we needed space.”

Azzi is silent.

“I just…I miss you, you know? And I’ve figured out my feelings, and I don’t want space anymore.”

Azzi folds her arms over herself, as if she’s trying to burrow into herself and disappear completely. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

“Can we talk about it later?”

“I don’t know.”

“Azzi-,”

“I’m not ready, Paige, okay?” Azzi’s voice is tired, and Paige doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how Azzi doesn’t just seem tired, she seems tired of her.

“Okay.” A beat. “I’m sorry.”

Azzi tips her head back and exhales slowly. “Not your fault.”

“I can switch seats, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“You’re fine.”

Paige wants to throw up. This is why she hasn’t tried approaching Azzi - no contact with her is better then whatever this awkward tension is. Paige can feel her sinuses tightening, her throat closing, that familiar feeling pricking at the corner of her eyes. But she can’t cry, not now, when there’s five hours of road ahead of them. So she puts in her airpods and tries to think of everything but Azzi. She fails.

•••••••••••••

“I don’t care about what’s going on off the court, but you better get your shit together. I didn’t make you captain for no goddamn reason.”

Geno slams the door on his way out. He’s furious, and Paige is too. 10 points, 3 assists and 5 turnovers. She knows it’s not about the stats, that Geno cares more about her effort and the way she seemed to just give up during the last quarter. But the numbers are engrained into her brain, and the persistent ache at the back of her head is throbbing now. She tries to reflect on the game, to recall the moments she’d slipped up, the moments she’d gotten too comfortable. But despite the sweat still fresh on her neck, the memories are foggy and she feels dizzy just thinking about it.

Paige’s phone lights up with a text from Nika asking her if she’s going to the bar with the rest of the team, but she ignores it. Alcohol would make her headache worse, and all she wants to do right now is lie in her bed and mourn over how bad she played. She knows it’s not a healthy way to cope. Azzi used to always get on her ass about how getting in her own head wouldn’t make it better. Azzi would force Paige out of bed, set up a laptop with film to go over every single play, both of them writing notes on their observations and then sharing it at the end. By the time their debrief finished, Paige always felt lighter, determined and ready for the next practice now with a new list of things to work on. But Azzi wasn’t here, and now Paige was spiraling.

When she gets back to her hotel room, Paige slumps into clean white sheets. She knows she should respond to her teammates’ messages, but before she knows it she’s out.

•••••••••••••••••

“You look hot tonight,” Amari cheers, hip bumping her friend.

Azzi blushes, hands smoothing down her top. “Thank you.” She looks around the bar, trying to enjoy the lively atmosphere after their tough win, but a pit of guilt settles in the bottom of her stomach when she thinks about Paige. Their teammates assumed that Paige had fallen asleep by her lack of response to their texts, but Azzi knew better than that. She felt physically sick thinking of Paige huddled in her room all alone while the rest of them were out celebrating.

Before she knows it, she’s left the bar and she’s back at the hotel, hand reaching out to knock. When she finally summons her courage to give a couple short raps on the door, a groggy Paige opens the door. Surprise flickers across her face before she straightens up. “Azzi?” Her voice is subdued with sleep, soft, a little bit hoarse.

Azzi takes in Paige’s bloodshot eyes and red nose. “You look like shit.”

Paige harrumphs. “Thanks.”

Without an invitation, Azzi barrels through the door, pretending to be curious about the layout of the room when hers is the exact same. “You didn’t come tonight.”

“Yeah, sorry. Wasn’t feeling it.” Paige goes back to her bed and wraps the blanket around herself.

“Did you eat yet?”

Paige shakes her head.

“Do you want me to order anything?”

Another shake of the head. “Not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in 12 hours, you have to eat something.”

Paige finally looks up, making eye contact with Azzi. “Stop,” she says, her tone worn out, her voice a little rough at the edges. “Stop pretending like you care about me.”

Azzi’s veins turn ice cold. “What?”

“I know you can’t stand me anymore. I was fucking delusional thinking that forcing you to sit next to me on the bus would change anything. But it’s fine.” Paige lies down and rolls over with her back to her best friend, hoping that Azzi won’t be able to sense the fact that she’s about to burst into tears. “I took some Nyquil. I’ll be good. You can go.”

There’s silence, and Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to hold back her tears for just a few more seconds. But the bed dips, and the touch on her face is so light and gentle that she thinks she’s dreaming before Azzi speaks. “I care about you. You don’t think I care about you? Christ, Paige, you’re all I ever think about.”

The tears slip out of her eyes, and Paige curses herself for being weak. She can’t even keep herself together for one goddamn minute. “Then why are we still like this? We can’t even talk to each other without being normal.”

“I told you, I’m not ready yet, Paige.”

“Will you ever be?”

When Azzi doesn’t respond, Paige sobs harder. She feels Azzi go in to wipe her tears, but she jerks away before the younger girl can reach her. Paige’s heart is already breaking into a thousand little pieces, and feeling Azzi’s touch would make this so much harder than it already is. “Can you please just leave?”

Azzi’s face falls. “Paige, you’re burning up and have a fever, I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re only gonna make this worse.” Paige knows she’s ugly crying now, but she can’t help it. She’s angry and she’s sad and she’s hurt, and Azzi is so close, so close yet so far away.

“You’re sick and you-,”

“Azzi, please just leave me alone.” And Paige doesn’t mean for her words to come out so harsh, but seeing Azzi sitting there forlornly with that look in her eyes is killing her inside, and she can’t take it anymore.

Azzi stands up, pain written all over her face. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You already did.” Paige turns around, and she has a cold sense of deja vu. She’s been in this exact situation before, her lying on the bed while Azzi leaves. But this time, she’s the one who’s asked her to go, and Paige didn’t know how it could get worse from that night all those months ago but it somehow fucking has.

Despite the physical exhaustion from the game and the emotional turmoil from the day, Paige can’t fall asleep. When she hears a knock on the door a couple hours later, she half hopes it’s Azzi, but when she opens the door it’s just an Uber delivery man. “Chicken noodle soup from Frazo’s for Paige?”

“I didn’t order this.”

“Uh, well it says the person who ordered this is an Azzi Fudd? She ordered it to this room. Do you know her?”

Paige looks tiredly at the man. “No.”

The man furrows his eyebrows. “Um, well...”

“You can just take it. Free dinner, yay. Here’s a 20 for the trouble.” Paige shoves the bill into the man’s hand and closes the door. She leans on the counter with her face in her hands, a million questions running through her mind. She doesn’t understand why Azzi is so hot and cold. Why Azzi still can’t figure out her feelings after months and months of space. Why Azzi can’t just love her back. She curses, wishing she’d never met the dark haired girl in the first place. But then she thinks about Azzi’s smile, and she takes it back.

Christ. Everything hurts. Paige thought she knew heartbreak when her seventh grade crush turned out to be straight, but this is different. This is all-consuming. It’s like every cell of her body knows she’s missing something. Her heart physically hurts. Head pounding, nose sniffling, eyes watering, Paige lies down on the floor, wishing the granite would absorb her.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone

Series Masterlist

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

Word Count: 22.7k

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“Cucamelon-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s none of your goddamn business-“

Ready?

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

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

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

Cunt.

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

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

“What the hell is happening with your face.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is going on-“

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

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

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

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

MM blinked. “Win what-“

“You can’t fucking win this-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t-“

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

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

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

Ben scowled. “I vetoed calling us pigeons-“

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

“I am not producing fucking milk-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brat.

Cunt. Old, grumpy, cunt.

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

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

“Sorry, MM-“

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

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

“What fucking meeting do we have later.”

“Pre-Edgar, at 2.”

“I thought it was just us and Butcher-“

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

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

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

“I don’t give a fuck-“

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

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

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

Ben rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

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

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

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

“I can handle some fucking danger-“

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

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

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

So he settled on a truth.

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll try-

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you too, brat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck did you just call me-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And pathetically fuckin sappy-“ 

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

Fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because he’s a fucking man-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

Who’s fucking horny now-

Shut up, you have nice hands.

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

Fuck you.

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

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

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

Ben-

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

Fuck, Ben, you dick-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have not fucking fantasized-“

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

Fuck you-

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

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

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

Ben-

Tell me what you want.

Please-

He stopped moving again. Words, my love.

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

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

You fucking asshole-

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

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

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

You dick, fuck, Ben-

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

Ben-

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

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

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

Please, close-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That one wasn’t even that small-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Sunshine.”

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

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

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

“You like fucking begging-“

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

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

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

Yes, please, fuck yes-

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

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

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

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

Ben, please, just move-

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

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

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

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

God, yes-

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

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

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

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

Ben, fuck-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Ben-“

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

She hummed softly in his ear. “Darling?”

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“They can wait-“

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

“Ben, slow down-“

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

“You are not my boss, you cunt-“

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

Benjamin, you paranoid asshole-

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

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

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

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

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

Getting dressed.

I told you to fucking stay-

It’s just Butcher-

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

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

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

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

“Yes-“

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “What about the briefing-“

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong with you-“

“Nothing.”

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

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

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not going to lose me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he had to find the fucking line. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Blame Mallory, Vicky-“

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

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

“And not the living room?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it have to be-“

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

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

Butcher frowned. “Oi-“

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

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

I could’ve fucking told you that-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, we haven’t-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can eat my civil fucking asshole-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t give a fuck what word-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am afraid not-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes narrowed. “Yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben frowned. “That's it.”

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

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

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

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

“Red River.”

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “Is it a weapon?”

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

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

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

“But everything is dangerous at Red River-“

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

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

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

Probably.

The fuck happened to her parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck-“

I need to tell you a secret, Ben.

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

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

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

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

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

Edgar is playing both sides.

What.

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

How do you-

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

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

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

So he’s a cowardly fucking pussy backstabber-

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

Her eyes widened, and Ben frowned. Sunshine-

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten bucks that she was at a fucking orgy.

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

Fine. Thirty bucks.

You don’t have thirty dollars, Benjamin.

He scowls. You don’t fucking know that-

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

What the fuck is a side hustle.

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

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

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

The fuck are-

Pictures of your feet. For masturbation, I assume.

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

Then where are you getting thirty dollars from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re late, William-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

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

“Did you like it?”

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“Everything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been bored-“

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

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

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

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

You’re a fucking marvel, Sunshine.

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

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

That’s how I always talk-

And you’re always fucking hot.

You roll your eyes. Kiss ass.

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

Horny cunt.

Smart fucking brat.

Grumpy old man-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Muller?”

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

“Todd Muller? Governor Todd Muller?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bitch.

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

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

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

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

“If he is a professional-“

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

MM frowns. “Not your biggest fan how.”

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

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

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

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

“But you would say it matters now.”

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

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

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

“How.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, strangely, it doesn’t shock you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can’t trust Mallory.

Butcher-

Doesn’t either. Trust me-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It could be a large bomb-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We aren’t all criminals-“

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

“I am not a fucking criminal you pussy-” 

“You might be the most criminal motherfucker here-“

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

I’ve been fucking pardoned for everything-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not know, but Edgar has ways-“ 

“Of putting a bomb in our ass?”

“It is a metaphor-“

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

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

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

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

But you want to do it?

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

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

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

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

“I’ve got five votes pro-Red River-“

Mallory scowls. “I don’t see five-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Marvin, you can’t be serious-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben-

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

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

You don’t fucking know that-

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

The hell it is-

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

I can handle my goddamn self-

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

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

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

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

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

That’s not the same goddamn thing-

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

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

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

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

It’s quiet, you realize. Dead quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you trust his judgment-“

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

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

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

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

Can I fucking kill her-

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

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

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

“I would not endorse that choice-“

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

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

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

You nod slowly. “That’s it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You would never let me do this alone-”

“I told you, that’s different-“

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

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

“You didn’t lose me-“

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

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

“Ben-“

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

“Not if I have a goddamn say-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fucking invulnerable-“

“Emotional pain, Ben.”

“I’m fine-“

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

“It’s not the fucking same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t have done anything- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

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

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli

[starheavenly]

hiii!!! loving your locket comics!!!!!! just wanted to ask a few questions about your process, if you dont mind :D

whats your general process like?

do you do thumbnails, how do they look like?

roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

how detailed are your sketches? do you do multiple?

do you have any specific techniques for lineart?

do you typically use references for your comics?

generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

do you have any advice for drawing comics?

sorry for for the absolute bombardment of questions, lmao. just really enjoy your art and comics and very interested in the behind the scenes!! feel free to skip any questions (or this whole ask) well wishes and salutations!!! :D

Hello! I'm so glad you enjoy my comics, and I totally don't mind breaking down the process!

For a normal comic page, I would likely actually write a script since it's much easier to keep track of dialogue and actions. But since these are short, I just write it into my thumbnails.

Step 1: Thumbnails. Easily one of my favorite parts, since I get to throw all my ideas down. I do these comics on a 2-panel grid, so I don't have to worry about actual paneling, and it allows me to focus more on the setup of each shot. Think of it like storyboarding!

Step 2: Add cleaner thumbs if needed. I actually made 3D models of Deadlock and Ratchet's chest in Blockbench, so I often trace them to save myself some time! (It might look insane, but I promise, for me, it's not.)

Step 3: Lettering! I actually like to get the lettering out of the way right away since it can take a while. Ever since I started treating lettering as its own form of art, my skills have gotten better, but it also takes much longer.

Step 4: Clean sketch! I'm just now finding out that people think I’m doing lineart for these? I am not… these are all just clean sketches. Maybe doing the blackwork gives the illusion of lineart?

Step 5: Color! Most of these comics are in black and white to save time, but it also lets me focus on values and shot framing again. I add my glow overlay to the eyes, and boom, done!

Roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

It really depends on how complicated the panels are. I like to step out of my comfort zone. I know the Grimlock and Misfire one took longer because of how many panels there were and the fact that I was drawing characters I’d never drawn before, but I’d say it usually takes around 5-8 hours for a whole page.

Do you typically use references for your comics?

I'm literally the reference GOD- we all know this. But yes, I love using references and doing character studies. I have yet to do a study on LL Drift, but I have a few references of him that I’ve made.

Generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

I mean, I wouldn't say I don't put in a lot of effort? I put in enough. I don't know… there's a point in the clean sketch process where you can kind of just turn off your brain. I'm passionate about comics, but we can all agree there's a point in a drawing where you just zone out.

Do you have any advice for drawing comics?

I think being able to balance dialogue and visuals is super important. I don't know if you guys have picked up a graphic novel from Barnes & Noble recently, but if you open a page, you'll see a character sitting with the biggest bubble you've ever seen, filled with paragraphs of text. While I get it—being a novel as much as it's graphic—I personally like to visualize emotions more. If it means adding two more panels to make an interesting dialogue setup, I don't mind doing it. Another thing to remember is that not all panels need to have details or 100% effort. Sometimes you need to simplify and move on, and that's okay! Those two extra panels that are giving you a better stage setup might be the ones that need fewer details and less time. I would consider my comic page work and my 4-panel work very different. One is about paneling, setup, and visuals, while the other is very much like storyboarding. Both are skills you learn with practice and study.

[moodriingz]

Waiting Room pt. 2 | Q. Hughes

Summary | part one it’s Quinn’s turn to pine over the reader while she tries to move on, but can she do that when she’s still in love with Quinn?

Pairing | Quinn Hughes x reader, Elias Peterson x platonic!reader, reader x oc

Warnings | Angst?, mutual (but blind) pinning, cursing maybe 

Author's Note | Thank you so much for all of your support for part one! I feel so bad that it took me forever to write part two, but this semester really kicked my ass. I hope this lives up to the hype. I honestly just wanted to get it done to move on if that makes sense? I’m hoping to continue writing so feel free to send requests! I’ve also recently gotten into F1 so you can send requests for that too!! xx

Masterlist

“You were so right, me and Evan got along so well. He’s great. We’re going on another date too.” 

Quinn felt sick to his stomach. Not only had your friendship dwindled out of nowhere, but now you’re with someone else. Worst of all there was no explanation to why you pulled away. Quinn racked his brain for any reason why you would stop hanging out with him. 

Now he had to watch you give your attention to someone else. He was so jealous of this random guy. Quinn wondered what made Evan better than him? All he knew was that the bright smile and light blush you seemed to always have was for some other guy now. 

A couple of weeks passed and Quinn barely spends time with the team outside of practice and chooses to spend his time going through old photos and videos of the two of you or watching anything you’ve ever suggested to him. He’s halfway through one of your favorite movies when there’s a knock on his door. His heart flutters hoping it's you, but is immediately let down when he realizes that it's Elias and Brock at his door.

“What do you want,” He asks begrudgingly, leaving the door open as he returns to his couch.

“We wanted to make sure that you’re alive,” Elias said.

“Well now you know bye,” Quinn quips at them.

“Dude something is up with you and we’re not leaving until we find out,” Brock said.

“Is this about Y/N?” Elias asked.

“Fine yeah it’s about Y/N. I just really miss her,” Quinn admits after taking a deep breath.

“We used to talk almost everyday and that all stopped on the last road trip and now she’s seeing that new guy. I was finally going to ask her out and she just shut down.”

“Wait you were? You told me you didn’t see her that way and she overheard,” Elias says confused.

“She heard me? Why didn’t you say anything?” Quinn asks as his heart shatters all over again. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

“She was so upset and I didn’t think I could change your mind. She had been pinning after you for months and you never did anything, so I just believed you,” Elias said with a shrug.

“I didn’t think she felt the same way so I was just putting my feelings aside because I cared more about our friendship,” Quinn says, putting his head in his hands. “I think I royally fucked up.”

“Maybe not, Y/N and Evan don’t seem super serious yet. You might be able to wiggle your way back in with her,” Elias says sitting down with Quinn.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe bring her coffee? Start there and see what happens,” Brock suggests and Quinn just nods making a game plan to get his girl back.

The next morning he gets up early for practice to go pick up your coffee from the cafe you always go to. He knew where to go because the cafe printed their logo on their cups and he had plenty of time to take note of it. As he walked in he immediately recognized your silhouette waiting in line.

“Looks like you beat me to it today,” Quinn says walking up to you in line.

“Beat me to what?” You ask confused why after not talking to each other for a month he decided to come to your cafe.

“I was going to bring you coffee today,” He says awkwardly with a small smile on his face.

“Oh well you can still pay if you want,” You suggest as a joke.

“Yeah I guess that’s true,” Quinn says, hoping a conversation would start on its own. After a minute of silence he gives in and asks, “So what’s new with you I feel like we haven’t really talked that much recently.”

“Nothing much, you know filming you guys all day,” You say wondering if you should mention Evan. It’s still so new and you don’t know if it's going to work out, but he makes you so happy.

“I actually just started seeing this guy. His name is Evan, I think you would like him actually, he's really nice,” You say, deciding to rip off the bandaid.

Quinn knew he wouldn’t like Evan because he was getting with the girl of his dreams.

“Yeah maybe you should bring him out with us after a game or something. I'd love to meet him,” Quinn says kicking himself because that’s the last thing he wants, but anything to get back in your good graces. 

You give him a smile at his comment thinking of what to say next. Luckily for you the barista calls for you two to order. And just like you suggested, Quinn paid. He offers you a ride to the arena before you even start walking back to the metro station to get to work.

You both sit in silence trying to think of anything to talk about. You finally start the conversation by mentioning that an author you had recommended to him a while ago put out a new book and how excited you were to pick it up. 

Just like that the two of you fell back into conversation like you hadn’t missed a beat. You arrive at the arena way quicker than you thought you would and almost don’t want to get out of the car and leave Quinn again. You walk inside and as you are about to separate, but Quinn stops you.

“Would you like to go stop at a bookstore after work today to pick up that book? I could take you home after so you don’t have to take the metro home,” He asks hoping you would say yes.

Yeah that would be really nice. I’ve really missed hanging out with you,” You say with a smile and leaving to go get your work started.

“What’s got you smiling like that? Evan?” Megan, your coworker, asks jokingly.

“Actually no I ran into Quinn this morning when I was getting my coffee and we just talked for a while. Now we’re hanging out after work,” you say, taking a sip of coffee. Hoping to hide your smile behind your cup.

“Wait, really I thought you two were going to avoid each other forever.”

“Well I guess not. He said he was going there to pick up my coffee which was really sweet of him.”

“Oh he’s so into you,” Megan says sitting back in her chair. 

“No he’s not, why would you say that?”

“Think about it, he stops talking to you right after you start seeing Evan and out of nowhere he’s doing all of these nice things for you?” 

You stop and think about it, but there’s no way he told Elias that he could never see you that way. You brush it off and get on with your day. You didn’t have to shoot any content today so you didn’t see any of the guys during their practice, but Quinn was waiting for you after work to take you to go find your book.

You try not to think about what Megan said to you today, pushing it to the back of your mind. Once the two of you get to the bookstore you feel like a kid in a candy store showing Quinn all of the books you had on your reading list but haven’t gotten yet. Without you paying attention he grabbed a basket and started throwing them in there to pay for them himself.

He finally leads you up to the counter and insists on paying for all of the books he grabbed for you. You try to convince him that he didn’t need to but you were cut off by the clerk.

“Girl just let your cute boyfriend pay for your books. That’s what I would do.” You try to deny the accusation from this random teenager, but before you could they were announcing the total and Quinn was inserting his card. He grabbed the bag and walked you back out to the car.

“Sorry if what they said was weird, but just think of it as a payback for all of those coffees you got me,” Quinn said, trying to make you feel better.

“No it’s fine I think it’s kinda funny actually.” You say finally realizing you were there for several hours and were too tired to make dinner.

“I think I’m just going to order take-out for dinner if you want to keep hanging out at my place,” You say with a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Yeah that’d be great,” Quinn says as you start ordering. He stops at the restaurant while you run in to pick it up. He decides to text Elias and Brock an update and that he’ll tell them more later. 

The drive to your apartment was filled with playful banter about what you should watch and Quinn just watches you as the streetlights illuminate your face. The two of you finally arrive and settle on a new movie you just saw. It really didn’t take much convincing for him to give in; he just wanted to push your buttons a little bit.

Later, they are surrounded by take out tins and you’re starting to drift off. At some point during the movie your head ended up on Quinn’s shoulder and you started to doze off. Quinn wasn’t complaining, but felt like it was time for him to go as the credits started to roll.

“Hey Y/n/n wake up,” He says quietly as you groan and cuddle into him further. “Y/n/n you have to get up-the movie’s over.”

When there’s no sign of you moving he decides to just pick you up and bring you to your bed. Thinking you’re asleep he decides to give you a “friendly” kiss on your forehead and says goodnight. You feel the butterflies that you thought were now reserved for Evan coming back all over again. Quinn grabs the trash from the takeout and sees himself out, and can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. On his way home he decides to call Elias.

“Elias I’m in so deep I don’t know what to do,” Quinn says concerned because he doesn’t want to break you and Evan up and ruin something else for you.

“Wait what happened?” Elias asked confused because all Quinn had told him was that they were heading back to her place.

“I kissed her-” Quinn said before Elias cut him off.

“You what? You move fast, man.”

“Well I kind of kissed her. She fell asleep on my shoulder and wouldn’t move so I carried her back to her room and then I kissed her forehead. Now I’m going home,” Quinn says still with a deep smile on his face. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I guess act like nothing happened. She was asleep right? Just leave it be for now and still hang out with her. I can talk to her and see what’s going on with Evan and then you can go from there.”

“Yeah good point thanks Elias, I’ll see you later.”

The next day you walk into work reminiscing last night with Quinn hoping you could relive it again soon. Silly crush aside, you missed your best friend and wanted things to go back to normal. 

Elias practically corners you just to ask questions about Quinn.

“Quinn told me you two hung out last night, so you aren’t ignoring him anymore?”

“I was never ignoring him I just was busy,” You say trying to move around him to get to his office.

“Yeah alright. Anyways, how is it going with Ethan?” Elias asks, teasing you.

“Evan is great. I think I might invite him to a game or something soon,” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Oh wait, really?” Elias asks as you start to walk away. “For the record I think that would be a great idea. Maybe next week against Winnipeg?”

“Yeah I’ll have to ask him. Now if you will excuse me I have to go to my desk.” You say finally walking away. 

You set your things down and open your computer and Megan starts questioning you about your evening with Quinn.

“It really wasn’t anything crazy. We just went to the bookstore where he bought all of them for me and then we went back to my place and got dinner,” You tell her leaving out the fact that he brought you to your bed and kissed you goodnight.

“The fact that he bought all of your books is enough to tell me that he’s into you. I know you had a long list you were slowly buying for yourself.” Megan may have set you up with Evan but she wasn’t blind to how much Quinn was into you and vice versa. 

“I’m thinking of inviting Evan to a game. What do you think?” You ask to change the subject.

“I think it would be a good idea if you weren’t afraid of what your work husband would do,” Megan says, teasing you.

“I- what are you talking about,” You ask, hiding your blush.

“Y/N you can pretend to be oblivious, but Quinn really likes you and you should think about his reaction to having your new boyfriend at a game.”

“Who even knows if Evan would want to go,” You say before locking in on your work for the day.

You had already made plans to go out with Evan later that night so you figured it would be the best time to ask him then. You go home and get ready for your date thinking about what Megan said to you earlier in the day. 

Soon enough you leave to go meet Evan at some new restaurant you would never pick out because it was too fancy for your taste. He greets you with a kiss to your cheek asking you how your day was.

“It was good I just had to deal with Megan and Elias berating me all day,” You say, aiming to leave the questions about Quinn out.

“Why would they do that?”

“Oh I was just thinking about inviting you to a game soon and they were just making fun of me,” You say sheepishly.

“That would be so cool! Would you be able to hang out with me or would it be like a wag situation where I just watch you do your magic,” Evan says with a chuckle as you start to look over the menu.

“I could probably get the night off and sit with you. Do you think you’d be free for the game next Saturday against the Jets?”

“Yeah that would be great! I’m looking forward to it!” He says closing his menu to signal he’s ready to order.

You continue to hang out with both Quinn and Evan, but choose not to tell Quinn about your invite for Evan to come to the upcoming game.

Saturday’s game finally rolls around and Quinn notices your absence during the warmups. You usually can be found on the bench shooting content but tonight it’s Megan in your place. 

“Hey Petey do you know where Y/N is tonight?” Quinn asks hoping Elias might have some insight.

“Yeah she’s in the crowd tonight with Evan,” Elias says pointing towards Y/N and Evan in their seats.

Quinn’s heart drops. You had mentioned that you were thinking about inviting Evan but didn’t think it would be so soon. He tries to forget that you brought your boyfriend to the game, but he can’t forget the fact that you’re wearing his jersey. He can’t help but feel a fire ignite when Evan leans in to say something to you. The sense of jealousy does not go away, but there is a sense of pride knowing his name is the one on your back.

You spot Quinn looking at the two of you and give a shy wave like you had been caught. Evan leaves to go grab some water and you are stuck worrying about what Quinn is thinking about you bringing Evan. 

Honestly since you started hanging out with Quinn again you just felt like your heart wasn’t in it with Evan anymore. You were planning on ending it but he kept talking about how excited he was for the game, so You decided to wait until after to end it with him.

There were no goals by either team after the first period, but something about Quinn seemed off. He was checking the other team left and right and was obviously agitated. The crowd is electric even though the Canucks are down 3-2 half way through the third, but it doesn’t seem to help his mood.

Quinn continues to instigate against the Jets and eventually gets himself into a fight against some player who was aggravating him all night. It doesn’t last long, but enough to get himself a penalty. He looks even more upset than before watching over the play.

Y/N was worried for Quinn. He never was this short tempered and she couldn’t figure what made him that upset. Evan can feel the nerves radiating off of her and rubs her shoulder to try and calm her, but he can’t help but feel like he is the last thing she needs right now.

“Hey Y/N I hate to do this here but I think we should probably end this,” Evan says and you finally take your eyes off Quinn. There is nothing you can do but sigh.

“Evan I’m so sorry I really wish I could’ve been better for you.”

“No it’s ok we had a great time and I’m happy being your friend I just think you have feelings for someone else,” Evan says with little to no hurt in his voice.

“Yeah I would love to still be your friend,” You say with a small smile as he gets up to leave.

Quinn sees Evan get up, but he just assumes that Evan is getting you something from the concessions. He realizes he needs to stop focusing on your date tonight and lock in for the rest of the game.

Unfortunately the Canucks lose 4-2 and Quinn looks like a kicked puppy, but luckily he isn’t assigned to interviews so he can just clean up and get ready to head home. He hopes he can just forget this night, especially seeing you with Evan. 

Little does he know that you’re already waiting for him in the hallway all but pacing the area hoping he’s not too upset to talk to you. Quinn keeps his head down not wanting to see all of the sweet reunions of the couples and families until he hears you call his name. 

He almost doesn’t want to stop worrying Evan would be with you, but you ran up to him to get his attention. Quinn turns around surprised to see you alone with a worried look on your face.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asks, his voice laced with annoyance. His comment leaves a sting in your chest.

“Um we actually ended it, but I just came to see how you were doing. I was really worried about you. I've never seen you so upset,” You say with worry lacing your voice.

“Well thanks for checking on me but - wait you ended it with Evan?” Quinn asks, lighting back up.

“Yeah we were better off as friends. I honestly wanted to end it a while ago because I kind of have feelings for someone else, but he was really looking forward to the game,” You say rubbing your arm hoping he might start catching on.

“Oh?” Quinn says with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but still guarded in case it is someone else.

“Yeah he’s some goofball who was stupid and got himself a penalty tonight,” You say, stepping closer to Quinn.

“Well hopefully he can get that under control for the rest of the season, I’m sure you don’t want to be stuck with someone spending time in a box the whole game,” Quinn says with a smirk and leaning in.

You decided to close the gap and the kiss was all you had ever hoped for. There was a mix of fireworks and something that just felt like home as he grabbed your sides to pull you in closer. Neither of you wanted this feeling to end, but unfortunately you had to come back up for air. 

Quinn has the slightest pink tinge and smile on his face as he pulls back far enough to scan your face for any regrets.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long,” He says.

“Finally!” Elias says as he rounds the corner to see the two of you still wrapped up in each other's arms.

“I never thought he would make a move,” Elias adds as Quinn tries to hide in your neck.

“Well maybe we should get out of here and talk a little bit,” You suggest and Quinn excitedly nods, grabbing your hand to lead you out.

The two of you get into his car and you leave the arena stealing kisses from each other at stop lights and looking forward to your future together.

[bitethedevil]

My NSFW Raphael headcanon that is gnawing at my brain

(Don’t get me wrong, I love all the kinkier versions of Raphael in fics. However, there’s this headcanon I have stuck in my mind and it makes so much sense to me. I’ve talked about in another textpost of mine that Raphael usually doesn’t reveal his true nature and intentions before his clients are either so far in that there is no turning back or that he has already gotten what he wanted from them. Up until then he seems like the perfect gentleman. It is all honeyed words and seduction until he finally has you in his grasp.)

Just imagine a Raphael that courts you with those same honeyed words and sweet poems. He makes you feel special, wanted and like you are the most beautiful person in the world.

When he finally gets you into bed, he doesn’t rush anything. It doesn’t just feel like sex, it feels like lovemaking. Slow and intimate because he is nothing if not patient. He’s a gentleman with you. He takes his time, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Lavishes you with kisses, compliments and sweet words, always pulling your attention back on him and urging you to keep eye-contact. It feels like love because you want to believe it is and he knows exactly which buttons to push to make you melt.

Whenever you return his affections with a kiss or a touch, he praises you so sweetly. He coaxes you into giving in to the illusion that he knows you so desperately wants to believe in: that you really are the most special thing he has ever laid eyes upon. That he might be just as in love with you as you are with him.

When you finally do give in to the illusion, despite your better judgement, he asks you that cruel question that he always does: “Do you love me, little mouse?”. You know that there is only one correct (and honest) answer to that. You once dared to ask him if he loved you back? He simply smiled and kissed you. A kiss so passionate that you’d almost be tempted to believe that it was a “yes”.

The moment you’ve both finished, you lift your head from the pillow to kiss him again, as you had done just before. He pulls his head back with a cruel smile. You do it again, and he grips your chin and pushes you back into the bed. “Sleep well.” That’s all he says, still with that sadistic smile on his lips as he leaves the bed. The grand performance is over, and he played his part perfectly as always. He is as always feasting on your devastated mood that follows. You know that he will go back to treat you as if you are nothing to him as he always does…until the next time he feels like playing with you. It was all a lie. It always was. The worst thing was that he knew that no matter how much it hurt you each time, your foolish little heart would continue to long for that sweet lie, in the naïve hope that it would one day be the truth. Hope…such a tease.

(Idk man. It just makes SENSE to me, okay? He performs and he plays games with people, it’s what he does. I remember reading that some devils can have a selfish desire for being loved and it just checks out. Purely lust isn’t enough for him, he wants to own your heart and mind too, just because he can. He wants to build you up just to laugh at you as he tears it all down again.)

[bayfuzzball7050]

My favourite jjba character(s) from each part bc I know it will be more appreciated here than in a Reddit thread

I’ll use this header from now on to yap

Phantom Blood: Speedwagon. Regardless if it’s a whole meme in the community, o genuinely think it’s very brave of him to follow along in an adventure where everyone has powers but he doesn’t. He just raw dog’s every supernatural event and tries his best to be useful. It’s a noble thing.

Battle Tendency: Definitely Caesar Zeppeli. A much more complex and interesting character than his predecessor (William Zeppeli, I mean). I loved his design, personality and charisma regardless if I couldn’t resonate at all with his backstory. I also really enjoyed his rivalry/friendship with Joseph. I’ve always loved the smart/snarky guy x himbo dynamic!

Stardust Crusaders: I love kakyoin with all my heart and soul and I will never shut up about it. I resonated deeply with him since I know personally what it is like to be alone. I like how Araki portrayed his loneliness in a ‘im different than everyone I know’ way where he couldn’t relate to people the way others that. That childhood monologue— god! It hit so, so close to home. I couldn’t help but cry when the scene came up. That is when I realized how much the crusaders mattered to him. A bunch of people ‘like him’ and it’s such a sacred feeling when you’ve been feeling ‘off’ all your life. I also like that he’s always giving little fun facts he’s a bit like yapdollar

Diamond Is Unbreakable: Okuyasu. No question needed. Unlike his brother, Okuyasu is a very kind soul that has never killed anyone (at least on screen) even when he has endured so much abuse from his brother and father alike, something that would ‘justify it’ if he did became an evil character. He stopped looking for a way to kill his father because he can see the good in people and ‘accept them for who they are’. I can’t help but feel a deep sympathy for him. He had taken what his brother had told him about being better off dead so personally to the point where his first question after being healed by Josuke was (paraphrasing bc I don’t remember well) was something like “why did you save me when it would’ve been easier to let me die?”. Josuke came just in time to make him realize how much he actually mattered so he could evolve into the little goofball we all know and love.

Golden Wind: Giorno. I think most people who call him a ‘boring’ or ‘plain’ character often seem to forget that, of course, Giorno will not be a charismatic, sociable, talkative, — joseph — kind of guy. He was severely emotionally and physically neglected in his childhood to the point where showing emotions became useless since he knew he’d be left shaking in his craddle. From this emotional neglect, he started looking up at a gangster as some sort of parental figure. Someone who showed him basic human decency. Later, we get to see his ingenuity in battle. But I think one of the reasons he was so clever in life or death situations was because he has been in a ‘fight or flight’ mode since a very young age. He isn’t even ‘bottling up’ his emotions, he had repressed them deeply inside his brain to survive.

Stone Ocean: The main three. But mainly Foo Fighters bc they’re so silly >_< and I can’t begin to imagine how marvellous it has to be to, one day, become a sentient being

Steel Ball Run: I can’t quite decide between Gyro and Johnny tbh. Johnny is a character who had been always pampered with his ‘rich life’ and was then shocked with the fact that once you’re not useful, or worse, become inconvenient for people, they stop caring about you. I often think about how bad his father was with him, not only rubbing Nicholas’ death all over his face rather often, the whole “God, you took the wrong son” page or just how he never went by to visit him when he had just gotten crippled. It was just plain cruel. Also when they followed Hot Pants to a church and Johnny had to relive some of his most traumatic life experiences again and still try to win. It was one of the best arcs in sbr imo.

Gyro, on another note, wasn’t a son of a wealthy family but had to carry the weight of generations and generations of knowledge on top of the family profession on his shoulders, having to execute a child. He’s also a silly goofball with his jokes that make little to no sense and him trying to explain the spin to johnny in life or death situations always has me cackling up ngl.

Jojolion: I haven’t started to read JOJOLION, but from what I’ve seen, Gappy seems to be a silly goofball who lacks direction and I love that in a man. Also that he’s a 2 x 1 combo, literally.

Jojolands: I haven’t read jojolands either, but good lord they sold me Dragona and Paco when I heard ‘transgender’ and ‘laburantes’. Plus everyone from the Jodio team also seems to be lacking direction and being a pinch silly

[softdoctorreid]

suck it and see | reid x reader

summary: continuation of the teaching virgin!spencer series. this time, you go down on him. part 1

• nsfw/18+, smut, oral (male receiving), handjob, fem!reader

+++     +++     +++

It was almost unfair how good he was at kissing you. In the time since you’d first taught Spencer how to make out, he’d clearly done his homework. Each time chaste kisses evolved to something a little more frenzied, he had something new to try; testing a new angle with his tongue, biting your lip, nipping at the spot behind your ear. It was like an experiment and he was clearly keeping tabs on the results, noting all the things that turned you on. So when he had you in his lap, palm kneading at your breast as he sucked at your neck, you couldn’t help but say, “God, you’re good at this.”

Spencer looked up at you with a satisfied smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve been studying.”

“And it’s paying off,” you sighed. Not just for you, but for him too, if the bulge you could feel through his trousers was any indication. Which gave you an idea. “Do you want to, um, learn something new?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes. Please.”

“Anything in particular in mind?”

“Whatever you want,” he said, hands wrapping around your waist.

You tilted your head, considering the possibilities. “Well, let’s see… is it safe to assume you’ve, ah, gotten off before?” 

Spencer swallowed hard. “I – yes,” he managed with a squeak, so easily flustered by the question.

“But you’ve never come with someone else, right?” He shook his head. You felt a smile tugging at your mouth. “How about we start there, then?” You ran your hands down his chest, feeling him tense beneath your touch. “When you touch yourself, do you ever think about me?”

“All the time,” he breathed, not missing a beat. 

You pressed quick kisses along his jaw, down past his Adam’s apple, then carefully scooted off of his lap to sink down to your knees in front of him on the couch. Without breaking eye contact, you rubbed your hands up over his thighs. “Do you ever think about this? Can I go down on you, Spence?”

It was like his brain short-circuited at the question. He blinked twice before nodding. “Yes. Shit, yes. I mean, if you want to, then yes.”

You tugged at his trousers. “I really, really want to.” He fumbled with his belt, clearly so desperate to get it off. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how eager he was. The stiff ridge of his cock was already tenting his boxer briefs by the time he managed to get out of his pants. You slipped your fingers past the waistband of his briefs and gently nudged them down past his hips, keeping eye contact with him so you wouldn’t spook him. 

Only when you finally had him undressed did you let your stare wander south, eyes widening ever so slightly. He was so hard for you, straining and pink and slick at the tip. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight.

Your silence made him anxious. “Is… is it weird?” he asked, voice betraying his fear.

“Not at all. Not too big, not too small. Just right.” You wrapped your hand around him tentatively, thumb stroking over an aching vein and sending a shudder through his whole body. “Besides, it’s true what they say. Size doesn’t matter as much as knowing how to use it, and you’re so teachable, Spence.”

You pushed him back down onto the couch and sank down to your knees before him. Those wide, nervous eyes watching you so intently as you leaned your head against his knee. “You look so good, babe. Don’t worry. I just wanna make you feel good. Does it feel good?” you asked, stroking him once more, sliding your fingers up and down with a gentle grip.

He nodded, a sharp breath in. “Much… much better than my own hand.”

You laughed. “Mm, yeah there’s just something about having someone else pay that kind of attention to you. But I think there’s something that might feel even better around your pretty cock.” You licked your lips slowly, giving him just a hint of what was to come. Giving him the chance to change his mind if he wanted to, but he said nothing as you leaned in and flattened your tongue against the length of him, licking up.

He gasped, hips bucking in an automatic response to the sensation. A string of four-letter words was whispered when you took him into your mouth with a satisfied hum.

Spencer’s hands hovered over your back before resting tentatively on your shoulders. “Is this - I mean, should I…?”

You reluctantly pulled off to answer him, gripping him in the palm of your hand. “Don’t overthink it. Just relax. Here, why don’t you try holding my hair instead? You can tug, redirect me to where feels good. Just don’t force me, okay?”

“Of course not.” The way he threaded his hands into your hair so carefully you knew you didn’t have to worry with him.

You swiped your tongue over the tip of him. “You taste so good, babe,” you moaned, just to see the way his face turned pink. “I could just eat you up.” 

And so you did, wrapping your lips around him and hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him off, tracing the underside of his cock with your tongue. You tried a few different paces, taking him deeper and then easing up until you seemed to find the right rhythm, the tugs from his hands guiding you just like you’d asked.

When you looked up at him, his head was tipped back against the couch, mouth slightly agape in a silent groan. Face flushed and eyes shut tight, he was the picture of pleasure. A thrill zipped through you at the knowledge that you were the one causing this reaction in him, giving him such ecstasy. It was hard to look away, and you found  yourself sneaking glances as you swirled your tongue over his balls, taking one into your mouth, as you stroked his throbbing cock with your fingers before taking him into your mouth again.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he whined. You used one hand around his shaft where your lips couldn’t reach, rotating your wrists to offer friction, licking and sucking everywhere else, his cock warm in your mouth as you braced yourself against the soft flesh of his thigh, taking him in, all of him, focused on the taste and the feel of him, letting your moans reverberate through his dick as his own whimpers spurred you on further until you felt him tug tighter at your hair and you knew he was close before he even tried to warn you, just as you knew you weren’t going to stop. He came hot in your mouth with a shudder and groan and you let him, swallowing it down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He reached for that same hand and you held his as you climbed back up onto the couch, perching on his bare thigh. His pants were still on the floor, cock softening when he wrapped his arms around you, head resting against your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath. No sooner had you done so did he lean in to kiss you, and you were sure he could still taste a trace of himself on your tongue. Some guys refused to kiss after you went down on them, but Spencer didn’t seem to mind one bit, kissing you so sweetly before letting his head fall back onto your shoulder. 

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Just. Wow. That was – thank you.”

You giggled. “You don’t have to thank me, Spencer. I wanted to.”

“Still.” He placed soft, lazy kisses against your neck. “I didn’t know it could feel that good. I think it’s you. I don’t think anyone else could ever make me feel this way.” Spencer leaned back, eyes searching yours. “I want to make you feel good, too. Will you teach me that?”

“I will, but not right now,” you said. “One lesson at a time. Right now, I just want you to hold me. Is that alright?”

“Course.” He grabbed his briefs from the floor and hastily pulled them on before lying back on the couch and letting you curl up in his arms, his wandering fingers tracing patterns down your back.

“You looked so pretty when you came,” you said. “I knew you would.”

Spencer laughed, bashful. “I’m nowhere near as pretty as you.” His hands dropped down to rest on your ass and he lowered his voice. “I… I want to see what it looks like when you come. The sound you’d make. I want to make you come.”

You shivered. He may have still been learning, but his confidence was growing and you had no doubt that when you finally let him, he was going to devastate you in the best of ways.

+++

tell me what you think here!

[glorified-red]

Sometimes u just need Damian to hold u while u cry y'know¿??

I feel this with every fiber of my being, you have no idea.

Actions Speak a Thousand Words

summary: Damian was always a man of little words, but in moments like these, he wished he could do better to comfort you. word count: 1,280~ warnings: self-doubt, self-hatred, Damian sucks at emotions but he's tRyiNg. Light hurt/comfort In honor of summer classes sucking ASS and Damian's cameo in the Pride comic, here's this, because I feel like everyones a little bit tired right now.

You felt a shoulder bump into yours, effectively washing away all your thoughts. You hummed in question, your gaze barely lifting from where it was stuck. 

“You’ve been staring at the wall for long enough that I’ve begun to think it’s personally wronged you.” 

You hummed into the fingers that nestled against your chin, it was subtle pressure but it was enough to keep you from floating away. The hum almost died in your throat, having gotten caught in the heat that taunted you. 

When you didn’t laugh or even budge, Damian grew worried. He attempted to—as you taught him—lighten the mood once more. 

“I could fight the wall for you. It seems as though you’re mortal enemies.” 

You responded that time, but the attempt at banter fell short when your voice was nothing but a whisper. “We’re in the middle of a staring contest, that’d defeat the point.” 

It was Damian’s turn to hum, he tried to sound like he was on board with the idea but the tail end of the noise lifted into confusion. He slipped onto the seat next to you. 

“Are you at least winning?” His gaze attempted to reach yours. Green eyes were at the edge of your vision if you just turned your head to look at him. He felt his eyebrows crease together when your eyes fell from the wall and onto the desk in front of you. 

“I don’t think so,” you whispered, much softer than the last time you spoke. If Damian wasn’t inches away, the wobbles in your voice would have faded into nothing, to never be heard. The lips behind shaky fingers struggled to suck in a breath. 

Damian sifted ever closer to you until he could feel your silhouette against his. He hesitated, if not for a moment. He wasn’t good at this, he was trying to be—god he was—but it didn’t stop the lump in his throat from forming every time he saw you in hardship. 

He started with the first step: “Are you okay?” 

That sentence alone felt like he had said it wrong. He could mimic the exact inflections as everyone, down to the last breath, and he would still feel so out of place saying it. He hated the sound of his own hesitance—why couldn’t he be good at this, just once? He’d watched for years as his oldest brother danced through emotions so effortlessly, even his father had grown in an aspect Damian would never admit he was jealous of. He’d seen it—experienced it himself—yet he could never navigate this as easily as the others. 

You told him he was doing wonderful every time. You noticed his efforts and smiled at his mistakes, told him he was human and that it was okay. But damn, did Damian want to be better for you. You taught him what it was like to feel alive. He wanted to return that feeling tenfold until your body buzzed with his love for you. 

He just didn’t know how. 

The silence between you too lingered for longer than he liked. Every fiber of his being itched to fix the problem, to make sure whatever was making you feel this lost was squandered. But he quieted that part of him; he told himself “later.” Right now, that wouldn’t help you. That wouldn’t help you process this or feel whatever you were feeling right now. He had to give you time. 

So he waited, even as the milliseconds stretched into seconds. He let your brain filter through his question and piece together a response. 

“I’m just tired, Dames.” 

He picked at his pants, feeling the seams roll under his fingers. 

“Do you want to take a nap?” died in his throat. 

“We could cuddle?” slipped from his tongue. 

“Maybe take a break?” seemed impossible to say. 

Those are solutions, they wouldn’t help right now. 

“From?” he settled on. The green from his eyes never left your face for a moment. He was sure you could feel it, the weight of his gaze. It slid from your temples down your nose and across your jaw, tracing each line over and over again so he could see when they shifted. He could analyze your face for hours, it’s how he knew the twitch between your eyebrows was a sign you were trying to form the words on your tongue. 

He knew you. And he knew you wanted to smack a smile on your face and move on, to laugh it off and apologize for everything and nothing all at once. He often did the same, just with a different way of shrugging off emotions. He hid behind a stone wall where you hid behind a mirror. 

It was funny really, how easily you could penetrate his walls and how easily he could see through a two-way. 

“Everything.” Your eyes finally met his and the feeling of his heart sinking wasn’t one he could ever get used to. The sight of tears forming constellations on your lashes was enough for his heart to lurch. He felt it deep in his ribcage and up into his throat. 

He struggled on his next word. The words had to claw their way out of his mouth, enemies of hesitance and anxiety blocking their path. He wanted to tell you everything would be okay; he wanted to say it would get better; he wanted to say something that would help—anything. 

But Damian was never a man of many words, and oh, did he hate himself for it. 

No matter how many times he was told his strengths, he could only ever see the weaknesses, the imperfections, and the traits of him that could be traced back to his grandfather. Even after so long of trying to be better, it was useless. 

He was trying to be someone he wasn’t. 

So he let the words die. He let the resonance turn into a steady breath and did what he was good at: he held you. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You all but fell into his embrace, your head finding its way under his chin out of habit. It felt natural here, with you in his arms. Damian felt like he could breathe easier as if all his insecurities washed away. 

He hoped you felt the same. 

“I'm so tired,” you sobbed. Fingers clung to his shirt and pulled on the fabric but he stayed steady. He was, and always would be, your rock: the steady force in your life while all else seemed to swirl into chaos. He would always be there for you, despite everything. He was an immovable force and he slowly took pride in that fact. 

His lips pressed into the top of your head, the words hidden behind those lips ached to break through. Instead, he wrote the words into your body and kissed them into your skin in hopes the message was received all the same. 

The pads of his fingers squeezed consonants into your shoulders and slid vowels down your back and up again. His thighs carried the weight of yours and promised strength in return. His chest breathed in your sorrows and pressed affirmations into your heart. 

“I’m here.” 

It was short—that much Damian knew. But it was all he had to say. Every single word trapped in his chest was released in two simple syllables. There was nothing else. It was so simple, yet he overlooked it everytime. 

He could feel your body leaning into his, the way your hands had to convince themselves he was there. He knew you. And he knew this was enough. 

He would always be enough. 

As he was.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[rebeccathenaturalist]

What Superman Taught Me About Saving the Planet

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/what-superman-taught-me-about-saving-the-planet/

Well, 2024 is just about wrapped up–and what a year it’s been! A lot of us find the holidays to be reflective as well as celebratory, and I think it would be fair to say that after this year a lot of us are just downright exhausted. That’s why it’s important for us to turn off the news and work emails and other serious things, and give ourselves some much-needed “brain breaks” as I like to call them. As I’ve been indulging in some time off during my winter break, it’s gotten me thinking about what attracts me to various fictional media and the characters within–and how I can never really escape the things that are most important to me.

Most of you all know me through my natural history work, but hang around me long enough and it becomes glaringly obvious that I’m a pretty big nerd, too. I play D&D and other tabletop roleplaying games a few times a month, my comfort movies include The Lord of the Rings trilogy and multiple Studio Ghibli movies, and I’ve enjoyed comic books since I was in my single digits. I started out with my sister’s old Archie comics and the compendium of Walt Kelly’s Pogo strips that I read near to falling apart every time we visited my paternal grandmother. I’ve since expanded to a variety of comics ranging from the past few decades of DC/Marvel superhero fodder to a hodgepodge of indie titles and even the occasional manga (lately I’ve been borrowing my best friend’s collection of Dungeon Meshi.)

What's all this have to do with nature and Superman and saving the planet? Click "keep reading" to find out!

Walt Kelly was also my introduction to political and social commentary, even if I didn’t understand a lot of it until I was older. (Image source here.)

As I’ve gotten older, I find myself revisiting characters I’ve been rather ho-hum about in the past, including the big three DC flagship heroes. Historically I’ve enjoyed the exploits of the Bat-Family (the Cataclysm/No Man’s Land arc will always be a favorite re-read), and Gail Simone’s fresh takes got me interested in Wonder Woman again. But Superman? The Big Blue Boy Scout? I hadn’t really paid much attention to him since Smallville was first on TV (though admittedly I did mock the ’90s mullet a few years prior). I haven’t gotten caught up on the Injustice years, in part because I heard secondhand how much the writers just absolutely slaughtered Superman’s characterization by turning him into an absolute totalitarian. And I haven’t been impressed by what I’ve seen of Zack Snyder’s edgy version of him, either.

To be very honest, I’m rather tired of the tendency to grimdark everything that started out as vaguely wholesome (*coughRiverdalecough*). I can appreciate that sort of subversion from an artistic perspective, but personally I’ve grown weary of tragedy, dystopia, and depressing endings. I guess I’ve spent so much time trying to keep myself buoyed up while working to make this world a better place that I can’t get into vicarious distress via media. Hence my leaning harder into Ghibli movies, re-reading Linda Medley’s Castle Waiting collections (my all-time favorite graphic novels!), and other stories that manage to avoid being saccharine while wrapping up with a happy ending.

So it’s no surprise that when this set of panels from Superman Red and Blue #5 first caught my attention a while back, I was intrigued. I feel that Daniel Warren Johnson–who wrote, drew, and lettered the story–really captured the heart of Superman as a character. In every thing he does, he repeats the words that Ma and Pa Kent raised him with from the first moment, no matter how difficult the situation. What people like Snyder often miss is that Supes isn’t just some overpowered, one-dimensional do-gooder in a black and white world. Sure, his earliest appearances in the likes of Action Comics had him beating up the bad guys, but his lore has been expanded since then.

He’s a being of two worlds; he’s had to balance his Kryptonian nature with his Earthly nurture. He came of age on a farm in rural Kansas, raised by two kind-hearted human beings who taught him compassion and responsibility, and helped him adjust to being one of a kind in a world that often punishes differences. He’s polite and kind, and more sensitive than he’s often given credit for. Like any superhero he finds himself having to make difficult decisions, and villains often use his compassion against him (like the classic “two helpless people are in peril–who will you choose to save?” trope, in which our hero manages to save them both). And he’s had to deal with morally gray areas, in which his desire to do what’s right comes up against the question of what “right” really is in that context.

I can relate to that conflict. When we’re kids, I think a lot of us buy into the black and white, good and evil, right and wrong dichotomy we’re fed not just because before a certain point our brains just have trouble parsing a certain level of complexity, but also because the adults in our lives want to protect us from life’s difficulties as long as possible, knowing what we all eventually have to wrestle with. The older we get, the more apparent it becomes that life doesn’t have a lot of easy answers, and situations are rarely simple. As a kid I was convinced all the loggers who wanted to cut down forests where the northern spotted owl (Strix occidentalis caudia) nested were evil, Captain-Planetesque baddies who just wanted to see the world burn. As an adult, I still disagree with the push to log old-growth and otherwise structurally complex forests because I have an even greater understanding of the ecological implications thereof. But I also have more empathy for my fellow human beings who are afraid of losing their livelihood with no easy replacement, victims of the whims of the market and logging company C-suites. And I have the knowledge to understand that domestic sawmill closures are complex and aren’t solely due to the protection of older forests and their endangered denizens.

But I think what I loved the most about Johnson’s panels above is that they show that Superman, born as Kal-El and raised as Clark Kent, never lost his roots in love. His coming to Earth was a last desperate attempt of love by his biological parents, Lara and Jor-El, to save him from a dying planet. And he grew up enfolded in the love of Martha and Jonathan Kent, which he carries with him into every action he takes as Superman, whether he is saving someone from a burning building, visiting kids in a cancer ward, or sharing pizza with a group of homeless people. When he looks upon the populace of Metropolis, and then zooms out to space and looks back at our blue marble of a planet, all he can think to say in that overwhelming moment is “You are special. I love you. I’m so proud of you.”

I know that can be a hard thing to say to our species at this moment in time, as our actions have caused the extinction of so many other species, destroyed their habitats, caused a catastrophic shift in the planet’s many systems. But my psych training is rooted in humanistic psychology, and Carl Rogers’ idea of unconditional positive regard–the idea that even as we hold people accountable for their actions we always extend compassion to them, and hold space for them to do and become better. And I’m also reminded of deep ecologist Arne Naess’ concept of the ecological self, which includes the parameter “We certainly need to hear about our ethical shortcomings from time to time, but we change more easily through encouragement and a deepened perception of reality and our own self.”

And I see that final panel of Superman–Kal-El–Clark Kent–floating in space, beholding the entirety of the Earth and experiencing its beauty and fragility and sheer miraculous existence in what has been termed the Overview Effect. He is embodying the very best of who we can be, creatures so immersed in our love for our fellow living beings and our beautiful planet that it directs our every action. Even with all the ugliness and violence and sheer, unnecessary horrors he has seen people enact, he still holds and embodies immense hope for a better future for everyone, human and otherwise.

And that’s my Superman, who cynicism and malice bounce off of like bullets. Sure, if you look at the character as just a one-note musclebound power fantasy wrapped up in spandex, he’s boring after a while; you can only have so much “beat up the bad guys and save the day” before it becomes rote. But that’s never who he was in the first place. While, like other characters, he will always be influenced by whoever’s writing him this time around, one of Superman’s most enduring fundamental traits is his perennial hope and optimism that no matter how dark things get we will still rally to make the world a better place. And if not letting Superman down is what it takes to keep me trying in the face of insurmountable odds, well, here’s to truth, justice, and a better tomorrow.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[malenjoyer]

Hi!

I know right now may not be the best time to say this, but I'm kind of still processing how fast this all happened. As someone who likes to look over artists' past work esp my fav works daily and just suddenly noticed that they're almost all gone: twitter, instagram, and tumblr. It frustrates me that not only has this situation affected you, but how it really takes one selfish and inconsiderate person to ruin everything for others. I truly hope that you can heal from this and maybe we might see those pictures again, but this is just soo much to process. Just love and support for you <33333 🥹🫶😭🫶🫶🫶🫶

Hi. I’ve privated a lot of my work on tumblr and Instagram, so they’re not gone forever. I still have a lot of positive memories with them so I didn’t want to delete them. I wanted to keep all the nice comments and support I’ve gotten over these past few years.. I might unarchive them sometime in the future when I’m more okay with it being looked at. Twitter, I had no choice but to delete it, especially ones with dick, jason, and Peter Parker. My brain freaked out a little bit from seeing evidence of the person saving my art and making fake clip files with them. Logically, I am aware deleting my old art in response is stupid.

But it wasn’t limited to just comic art, it was other interests I had too which was really uncomfortable that someone would go to the extent of pretending they like other stuff I liked. They would also paraphrase tweets I’ve made about my personal life onto their own twitter. That just isn’t okay.

Every interest I’ve ever fallen in love with meant a lot to me. This is probably not publicly known information since I’m relatively private, as a depressed autistic person, a lot of who I am is what I end up liking. My friends and relatives describe me as dressing up like a cartoon character, because everything I like is so visibly obvious. I become utterly consumed in my favorite things. Suddenly, it feels like all of my control was taken away from me. My interests collected over the years were no longer just mine, it was someone else’s because they decided to lie and it was easier to continue lying. I don’t know how much was saved. There was a screenshot of a message with over 8+ of my art works sent excluding the fake files.

I don’t have control over it. The impersonation of my identity and my life experiences.

But I do have control over who gets to see what I put out in the future. I could probably write this better but I’ve rewritten a lot of things within these two days. Rewritten posts over and over so it sounds less aggressive, less hurt, less like I am trying to call for a witch hunt and more just taking extra precautions. I don’t think I have the energy to rewrite this to seem less vulnerable/pathetic.

I want to apologize to everyone who hoped I’d keep my past art public. I know how it feels. I’ve been fans of artists who just blew up their account one day and never came back. I only privated them on tumblr and Instagram. That’s all I can do. Honestly, I’m hoping a part of my brain just forgets some of this happened since depression does come with memory loss.. This post is now too long.. but I hope it gives some insight for what’s happening on my side of the brain. I appreciate all the support so far.

If you see me acting a little weird on twitter, I’m just trying to regain a sense of control over my identity.

[scremogirl]

☾✧꥟ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✧✰☀︎︎

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐀𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

Yandere! Serial killer x Sadistic Reader (final part)

GN! Reader, Mentions of blood, Mentions of mutilation, Sadistic behavior, Mentions of Stalking. y’all ik I ask you every post but PLEASE read the note at the end! Part 1 is here part 2 is here. Enjoy!

“What…”

You mean to tell me your best friend of ten years has secretly been conspiring with your stalker!? After all you’ve confided in her, all you trusted her with, the secrets you’ve shared, have been relayed to another person in the twisted name of love!?

“He’s- I-…” she sighs, attempting to regain her composure.

“You remember in 4th grade, when I liked that boy? Evan Daniels? I had the hugest crush on him,” she giggles a bit, snotty and nostalgic.

“I was convinced we’d be together forever; get married, have five kids and two dogs. But that all changed when I confessed. He told me… he told me he liked you. My best friend,” you gotta be joking. All of this just about some guy in elementary school that you don’t even remember!?

“It’s not about that!” she explains harshly, her gaze shifting from sympathetic to something much darker.

“When he told you he liked you, you agreed! You knew how much he meant to me. I got over it sure, but the years after that… nothing ever seemed to change. So I became popular but you did too, I started wearing makeup and so did you, I found my passion and you just so happened to like it too. You were always better than me; hated it! You liked all the attention you got, the praise and looks of adoration. So when I found out what Keegan was doing… why would I try to stop it?” she smiles to herself before looking back up at your glossy eyes. The bright lights of police cars spread through the area and loud voices call out for you.

“How long has this been going on?”

“How long have we been friends?” She smiles. That bitch!

“You were my best friend so it wasn’t hard to give him the information he wanted; killing Gill was just a plus,” she walks closer to you, pushing down on the dirt. Keegan tightens his hold on the axe and narrows his eyes but stops when he sees you glance over to him. “All I’ve been doing was working behind the scenes and guess what, it paid off,”

“I’m sorry things had to turn out this way,” she looks at you one more time before heading into the opposite direction as Keegan advances towards you. There's no way you're letting this slide. Your first move is to jump towards her and push her to the ground, hitting her face in as hard and fast as you can. Despite Keegan's attempts to retrain you, you grab a loose clothes pin from your costume and stab the area near his eye. In the midst of his screams, you sprint through the woods more quickly than ever. Yeah, it's dumb, but with Malika blocking the way of the police and a psychopath standing before you, you had no choice.

As you rushed to hide behind a tree, it felt as if you had been running for years. It's better not to look back, not to make a noise, to remain silent and out of sight, you think to yourself. It makes no sense how you've gotten here. I mean, you know how you got here, but you can’t rack your brain. It does explain why she always tried to sway you from going to any authoritative figure. Why she would grin to herself the handful of times you’ve lost competitions, why she all of sudden had a thing for Gill after you mentioned how cute he was. The blood on your hands fills your nose with the scent of metal and plastic. The air in your lungs has long left and your legs ache from how you sprintied every which way. This is all your fault. Just when you think you’ve reached the end, you hear bright lights shine your way and a voice calls out but when you turn your head Keegan stands before you.

“Found you,” a hand grabs at your ankle and you take the last clothes pin you’ve kept clutched at your side and stab it straight through. They howl and pain and you take this opportunity to dash your way into a different hiding spot. He regains his composure and brushes off the wound like it’s nothing. Following you into the dark before screaming out.

“You can’t hide from me forever, darling. I always know where you are,”

………………………………………………………………………………….

You were his muse.

Ever since freshman year he knew you were the one. It was love at first sight really, you’ve just been placed in Hon Visual Arts Program, seated right next to each other. How could someone be this beautiful! He would always be scribbling in his little sketch book pictures of you in all of your glory. He’d always try to talk to you but that witch you call your best friend took up all your time. You’d talk every once in awhile but never noticed who he truly was and nothing could ever satisfy the craving he had for your love. So, he took it upon himself to fill up various different pages of you; from enjoying your time around campus to painting upon paintings lining the walls of his basement in more lewd positions. However, his favorite artistic liberty was creating faces. I know it sounds weird but the way he could replicate one’s features down to a T was incredible! From paper mache masks, to clay, to porcelain dolls and to your horror, skin.

“Hey, (Y/N)! I was wondering if you could help me with a project of mine? You're the greatest fashion designer I know and I can’t think of anyone else to do this for me,” aw how sweet! Of course you’d help him.

You two worked like dogs the next couple of days, working so much in sync, his movements felt like your own. You felt so comfortable around him and became so close throughout your sessions. Eventually, after the project was done he asked you to hang out after school, no work involved. Coincidentally, that’s when the same eerie notes popped back into your life. You were shocked. How could this happen? You thought this was all over with and pushed it into the deepest part of your mind. You became so paranoid and Keegan picked up on it lighting fast, wonder why.

“Sh, it’s okay. Look at me, baby, look at me. Shh it’s okay, I’m here. I’ll protect you,” you ignored the baby part, to wrapped up in your own anxiety to actually be paying attention to anything other than your safety. It's ironic now that you think about it; the person you trusted the most is now the person you’re currently pulling a Usian Bolt on.

Oof!

You’re tackled to the ground and before you could react, your hands are tied behind your back and his axe pins your shirt to the wooden stump behind you. He’s out of breath and panting, hands coming down to rest on your waist. He straddles you and you struggle before he knocks you out cold. He sighs hauling your body over his shoulder and dragging his weapon behind him. His large frame somehow goes undetected through all the chaos he’s created.

“Why are you always running from me, Darling?”

………………………………………………………………………………….

It’s dark and cold and the only thing you can hear is the sound of your own heavy breathing. Fuck! Why is this happening?! What did you ever do that deserves this? The weighted sounds of boots from the floor above grow closer as someone descends down the stairs. Soon, your blindfold is ripped off but the gag in your mouth remains. It’s him. He looks at you sympathetically, like a puppy who knows they’ve done something bad but couldn’t stop itself. Right next to him stands Malika, battered and bruised from your assault. You take in your surroundings, and as she flicks the light on you see it. A shrine filled with you, and I mean that quite literally. From your hair to used panties and explicit photos. Some are from the earliest years of highschool and some are as recent as last week.

However, what really catches your attention is the mural on the old brick wall behind them. A empty mannequin standing front and center waiting to be dressed. There, the faces of all you once knew lie. From Mr. Sicowutz- the teacher that lead you to this death trap- to the freshly scalped features of Gill and his side piece.

“I’ll admit, you really did a number on me. I never would’ve expected that from you,” she says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Stepping closer she winds her hand back and hits you as hard as she can, rendering you even more less concise than you were before. Again, Keegan fits the handle of his weapon at the sight of her touch but does not say anything.

“I loved you, (Y/N). I really did. But after all, you’ve took from me? I could never forgive you. Goodbye,” with that said the axe swings down on her back, slicing straight through the skin and muscles. Oh, you didn’t think this was the end did you? She lays on the ground and does nothing but watch as you're freed from your binds. Keegan rubs the bruise she left on you face and attempts to massage your tender wrists but you brush him off.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You really had me questioning myself for a second, Malika. I didn’t know if I could go through with this but, we all need a reality check every once in a while,” She stares wide-eyed before croaking out a small “how?”

“Oh c’mon, you really think I didn’t know? Just like you said, I’m better than you; always two steps ahead. I’m not stupid. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, I really did,” she still looks confused attempting to crawl away but Keegan picks her up and places her on a hook attached to the wall. She looks even more confused so you give her the explanation she rightly deserves.

“It all clicked to me when I realized how much you encouraged me to go to my that last school. How, when I brought up the letters again you acted like you didn’t know what I meant. How you smiled like a Cheshire when Gill rejected me,” Keegan scoffs at the last part but all you do is smile.

“I dug a little deeper and found out the truth. He told me everything. Neither of you are good liars. So like the good puppy he is ,” you say, grabbing his chin bringing him down to rub his head, kissing his cheek lovingly.

“He helped me with a plan. I was the one who dragged you here. Who made you think you had the upper hand, let you carry on with this delusion of yours,” you snatch the axe from his hands before swinging it above your shoulder.

“I loved you, Malika. I really did. But after all, you put me through. I couldn’t ever forgive you. Goodbye,”

………………………………………………………………………………….

“The anniversary of what is now being called the “ Mayham Massacre” at the annual Freak do Shek carnival is this coming Halloween night. (Y/N) (L/)- Victim and former schoolmate of the killer known as “The Mask Maker” speaks about their experience with the crazed lunatic and how they feel with the reopening of the festival. Here’s Jim Saltovy reporting live”

“Thank you Carla’s. So, M(r/rs/s/x) (L/N) how did you know him?”

“Well it all started in highschool when me and my dear friend Malika were transferred to an art class. I-“

This channel is boring. Hm… is there anything else to watch? Oh I know, some good ol cartoons! As he lays his head in your lap snuggling closer, you finish the last details of your mask for this year. Albeit a little slimey, it’s just how you remembered to be. Somehow managing to make it out of his grip, you stumble down into the basement . Placing the mask in the finnish costume, you smile.

“Perfect,” you say shutting off the lights and making your way back up straits where your crazed lover awaits. She may have always hated being I second but this year she’ll definitely be first.

Hey y’all! I wanted to start off by saying I hope you enjoyed my Halloween special! It took a lot outta me. I did become lazy at the end so… yea. I wrote and edited this part all in 1 day 😭. I also recognize that the dynamic between reader and yandere isn’t touched upon as much besides backstory and that’s on purpose. I was experimenting with a third party character that’s not the main or y/n for future story’s. This was based off the movie Hell Fest, so go check it out if you want to; I think it’s on Netflix still idk.

-Love, Sosa ❤️

[crimsonwolf715]

Adjusting

(Part 4 of Adventures of the Batfamily)

Jason’s making toast after patrol, so around midnight. He grabs a butterknife and starts poking at the butter while waiting for his toast to finish. Once his toast is done, he pulls it out and starts putting butter on it. Someone grabs his shoulder, startling Jason. He has the knife at their throat in an instant on reflex. Dick looks surprised and concerned, his hand still on Jason’s shoulder. 

Jason lowers the knife and sighs. “Don’t sneak up on me.” 

He grabs the toast and heads upstairs without another word. He eats the toast while gathering clothes so he can shower. After showering, Jason starts reading. He looks up at the clock after reading for a while. Three in the morning and he’s nowhere near tired. 

Sometimes I wish that I was willing to get medicated for my terrible insomnia.  

“Jason!” Jason hears Bruce cry out, like he’s in pain. 

He reacts before he even has time to think about it. He drops his book and rushes to Bruce’s room, pushing the door fully open. Bruce is still in bed, shaking like a leaf. Jason walks over and Bruce opens his eyes. 

“Jason?” Bruce asks. 

“Hey,” Jason says hesitantly. 

“My baby.” Bruce pulls him into a rib crushing hug. 

What the actual hell is happening right now?  

“You okay, Bruce?” Jason asks. 

“Yes. You’re back, I’m fine,” Bruce says slowly, then lets Jason go. 

Jason notices Tim in the doorway. “You handled that better than Dick did the first time he saw it.” 

“I feel like my brain shut off,” Jason says. 

“That may be why you reacted better, but you still did,” Tim replies with a shrug. “You need anything, Bruce?” 

“No, I’m okay. You two should go back to sleep,” Bruce answers. 

“Come on. We can talk in the hallway.” 

Jason walks outside with Tim. 

“Is he okay?” Jason asks. 

Tim shrugs. “He has nightmares. Some are about your death, others are about other traumatic things that have happened. He’s got PTSD, so it’s not surprising. He’ll be okay if you don’t go running. I try to get there within a reasonable time, but it’s not necessary to run. Unless he’s yelling, he won’t wake up before you get there.” 

Jason nods. “You sure are calm about this.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been dealing with this since I started as Robin. He used to wake up and think that I was you. Usually, that didn’t end well. Since Dick came back into his life and Damian showed up, it hasn’t been so bad. It doesn’t happen as frequently. Alfred will take care of it sometimes.” 

“Speaking of the murder baby, where is he?”

“He’s at Jon’s house,” Tim answers. “Bruce lets him go over for sleepovers as long as Superman isn’t there that night.” 

“Beef with Superman?” 

“Kinda. Supes isn’t really great to the kids in his life. Kon and Jon. Bruce just doesn’t want to give Damian an opportunity to kill Superman.” 

“Huh, probably not a bad call.” 

“I think I’m gonna go back to bed though,” Tim says. “I’ve got therapy and if I seem too tired, I’ll get grilled about my sleeping habits again.” 

“ ‘Night, Tim,” Jason says. 

“Goodnight, Jason. Try not to think about that too much. He’s fine.” 

Jason watches Tim walk back to his room, then walks back to his own room. He picks his phone up to check the time and notices that Dick texted him, but chooses to ignore it for the moment. 

I’ll respond to him later, once I’ve gotten some sleep.  

He climbs into bed and stays awake thinking about the events of the last hour for another hour before he falls asleep. 

Later that day around 4:30 pm

Dick walks into the cafe and looks around. His eyes fall on Barbara and he smiles. He walks over and pulls the chair around so he can sit directly next to her. 

“Hey,” she says. 

He leans his head against her and she pats his shoulder. 

“What happened?” she asks. 

“I… I triggered Jason’s trauma and he’s been avoiding me since,” Dick answers. 

“How long has it been?” 

“I visited last night for dinner and it happened then.” 

“Maybe try going to talk to him once we’re done here.” 

“But can’t I just stay with you?” 

“No. I’m doing girl’s night with Stephanie and some others.” 

“Damn it.” 

Barbara starts running her hand through Dick’s hair. He allows himself to stay like that for a couple minutes, then sits up. 

“I don’t want to ruin the mood of our date anymore.” 

“Well, I’m always willing to listen and give wonderful advice.” 

Dick sighs. “What would I do without you?” 

“Melt. Like the Wicked Witch.” 

The two laugh, then get to talking about their lives and Dick’s job in Blüdhaven. Dick looks at his watch after a while. 

“Ah, I gotta go. I’m expected at dinner in like an hour and I have to talk to Jason. Do you want me to get you another drink before I leave?” 

“Yes, please. I want one for the road.” 

After getting Barbara another drink, the two kiss then head their separate ways. 

Tim walks out of the therapy office and Stephanie’s waiting. 

“Hey,” Stephanie says. 

“Hey,” Tim echoes, then yawns. 

“Long night?” 

“Long morning. I’ll be glad for coffee.” 

The two start walking towards their usual coffee shop. 

“Which person?” Stephanie asks. 

“Bruce,” Tim answers. “I talked to Jason for a bit, but Bruce woke me up.” 

They walk in silence for a bit, focusing more on the road than conversation. Once they get to the coffee shop and order, they take a seat. 

“So how was therapy?” 

“It was therapy. I can tell with one hundred percent certainty, Bruce and the others could benefit from it.” 

Stephanie nods. The barista calls out Tim’s name, so the two go and get their coffees. They chat for a while about school, work, and all the other little things. Tim’s grateful to have Stephanie to talk to about all the craziness in his life. 

“So, how’s everyone been dealing with Jason being back? He’s been back for like a month and a half, right?” 

Tim nods. 

“Everyone’s taking it as well as they can. Damian acts like he may have met him before with how casual he is with Jason. I’m not really sure what’s going on there. Dick’s been doing surprisingly well considering he decked Jason the first time he saw him after he found out. Bruce seems hesitantly thrilled. Like he’s worried if he acts too excited, that Jason will disappear again. Alfred’s pretty normal considering everything. Seems a little happier when Jason shows up to meals, but is otherwise normal. I’m dealing with it fine. I dealt with all the ‘he tried to kill me’ stuff pretty quickly considering everyone’s attempted it. It’d be weirder if I got a new brother, and he didn’t try to kill me.” 

“Well, at least everyone’s adjusting. Barbara was worried you guys wouldn’t be able to adjust properly.” 

“Probably something Dick said then. He’s… He’s got a lot of guilt when it comes to Jason, so it isn’t helping. Speaking of which, are you gonna be able to come over for dinner?” 

“No, I’ve got girl’s night,” Stephanie answers. 

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that was today,” Tim replies. 

Stephanie laughs. “I’ll come help mediate family dinner tomorrow.” 

Tim sighs. “No need to mediate. It’ll just be us kids outside of Dick tomorrow.” 

Stephanie raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe you will need to mediate. That may turn into a thing.” 

Stephanie nods. “I need to go though. I have to get home, get ready, and then get to the place. So much traveling.” 

“I can drive you if you want,” Tim says. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Stephanie replies, “but you behave yourself.” 

“No promises.” 

The two hug, then head in opposite directions back home. 

Dick knocks on Jason’s bedroom door. “Hey, Jason?” 

Jason looks up. “Yeah?” 

“Can I talk to you?” 

“Why couldn’t you?” 

“I thought you were angry with me.” 

“About last night?” 

Dick nods. 

“No. I’m not mad about that, Dickhead. I trigger my own trauma and I know what triggers me. Come here.” 

Dick walks into the room and sits down next to Jason. 

“You’re stupid, I hope you know that,” Jason says. 

“Only sometimes,” Dick replies. “I brought you cookies.” 

“Wow, you felt really guilty. You never used to do this kind of shit unless you felt horrible.” 

Dick sighs and looks at his hands, which are placed in his lap. “I wanted to apologize.” 

“For? I just said that I even trigger my trauma sometimes.” 

“I know it looks like I just like our other siblings better because I treat them differently than I treated you, but that isn’t the case.” 

Jason leans back, putting his weight on his hands. “Yeah, it does feel like that. I begged you to spend time with me and you refused. Damian barely has to ask for you to come driving thirty minutes to take him anywhere. You’ve shown up for Tim whenever he’s asked. I watched you guys for so long and you never once denied them unless you absolutely had to.” 

“I know, but what happened with you is why I spend so much time with them. You left this gaping hole in my life and I hated the way that everything happened. Yeah, I originally spent so much time with them out of guilt, but I love them. I lost so much and while Bruce fixed some of that, it didn’t fix the rest of it. I’m sorry that things happened the way they did.” 

Jason moves his arms so he drops onto his bed. “We’re screwed up, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dick puts the box of cookies on the nightstand. 

“Eh. I forgive you, I guess,” Jason says. 

“Thanks,” Dick replies. “I promise that I’ll do better now.” 

“You’d better. I’m not begging you to do shit with me.” 

Dick nods. The two sit in comfortable silence for a while. Jason keeps poking Dick, which he ignores entirely. Dick’s phone dings, so he picks it up. 

“Alfred wants to know what we want for dinner,” Dick says. 

“Umm… I don’t care as long as I don’t have to cook it,” Jason says. 

“I’m gonna tell him that you’re indecisive.” 

“Well, he’ll take that at face value so I don’t care. Can you do something for me?” 

Dick turns back to look at Jason. “That depends on what it is.” 

“Can you hold me accountable? I know I don’t completely agree with you guys, but just make sure that I don’t go overboard.” 

“So you’re asking me for help on hero work?” 

Jason nods. 

“I’ll do it. You just have to promise me that if I say you’re going overboard, that you take a good look at what you’re doing. If you can’t, then my judgment overrules however you feel about it.” 

“You got it, boss.” 

Dick’s phone dings again, so he looks at it. 

Tim: We’re having pizza. Tell Jason thank you.  

“Not really sure why, but Tim told me to tell you that he’s thankful,” Dick says. 

“We’re having pizza then,” Jason replies. 

Tim: Also, come down. We’re setting the table for dinner and Bruce got back.  

“Come on. We’re setting the table and annoying our father by saying hello all at the same time.” 

Dick and Jason head downstairs where Tim and Damian are setting the table. 

“Hey, Dami. When did you get back?” Dick asks, ruffling his hair. 

“This afternoon,” Damian answers. 

“How did I miss you?” 

“How did you miss me?” Damian asks, not looking at Dick as he keeps setting out napkins.

Dick shrugs. 

“I was in my room with my animals and you went straight into Todd’s room when you came in.” 

“That tracks.” 

Once the pizza gets there, everyone settles down at the table to eat. The first ten minutes are mostly in silence. Finally, Bruce breaks the silence. 

“How was everyone’s day?” Bruce asks.

“Mine was fine,” Jason answers. “I just stayed at home all day.” 

“Fine,” Tim answers with a shrug. “Stephanie’s doing well too.” 

“I just had a date, so not a lot to report,” Dick answers. 

“You know what? I do have something,” Jason says. “Dick’s so dramatic. I forgot to respond to his text and he thought I was angry with him.” 

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it,” Dick replies, pointing his fork at Jason. 

“Don’t threaten your brother with your fork,” Bruce says. 

Dick puts his fork down, but still glares at Jason. Jason’s smiling. 

“This argument is stupid,” Damian says. “You already knew that Grayson was sensitive, it’s not new for him.” 

“I don’t know whether to be offended or not.” 

“Damian’s just being honest,” Tim replies with a shrug. 

“You guys are so mean,” Dick says, not serious at all. 

He smiles as he watches Jason and Tim bicker about something while Damian’s conversing with Bruce. They’ll get through this, all of them.

[schizosamwincester]

Happy wincest Wednesday! Do you prefer romance in your wincest or is it something else entirely? I’ve recently gotten really interested in aromantic Dean Winchester.

-@schizo-sam-winchester

Okay I assume you're sending the same question to everyone because if you don't already know that I am a big fan of aro Dean then I am not talking about it enough and I need to fix that.

I am aromantic and allosexual. I know what an aromantic allosexual looks like. An aroallo person looks like Dean Winchester. I mean not exclusively, obviously, some people who are alloaro actually do care about things that aren't sex (not me, but some) and some even have low libidos or don't like people or whatever and don't have sex at all, but like. I am alloaro and I know my people and my people is Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester has no clue that romantic attraction is even real. Dean died thinking that romance is just when you have a friend who you also have sex with. And you know what's better than a friend? A brother. And you know who he also has sex with? His brother. So if you ask him, yeah, sure, he and Sam are dating or an item or whatever. They're a couple. They're romantic. Of course they are. They love each other, and they are together all the time, and they live together, and they have sex. Those are the requirements.

Sam, having been in actual romantic relationships, obviously knows better. He also knows Dean well enough to know that he does not do that and is simply incapable of thinking that way. In the event that he comes across aromanticism in his travels online and it isn't framed as just an offshoot of asexuality, he's going to immediately go "oh there's a word for that! Good. Good to know there are other people like Dean." He absolutely would not tell Dean about this, though. Dean barely admits to being bi. He's not going to want Sam to give him a whole other word.

(If the source in question did treat aromanticism as just being for asexuals, though? Well Sam knows damn well how his brother feels about sex, and how sexually attractive Dean finds him in particular. And queer labels and all that are decidedly not his area of interest, so if a thing says it's only for aces, he's not going to question that. The prospect of it applying to Dean just won't occur to him at all)

I do think Sam has romantic feelings for Dean, although I imagine they're a little different than what he'd feel for a partner who felt romantically back just because that lack of reciprocation does make the whole thing different. Still, I don't think they're unromantic per se? I think it's complicated. Dean is definitely aro, but I do think there are some elements of romance there. And I think Sam is down bad for Dean in every way, romantic and sexual.

But yeah, for me Dean being aro is a fundamental fact. I will occasionally bend that for my interpretations of Deanjohn, because there I can definitely see some elements of pining and that's fun, but I don't get that from wincest. Sam has always been there. He is part of Dean. How can Dean be romantically attracted to the other half of his own soul?

If I saw wincest as traditionally romantic, I would not give a shit about it. I wouldn't be here. I simply do not care about romance. There's a reason I don't ship destiel, and it's not because there's nothing there. It's objectively a very good set up for a ship. It's just that what's there is the potential for very good romance, and the second things get romantic my brain turns off.

Wincest is pure electric sexual attraction and tension, and sex? Yeah I understand sex. I like sex. My brain is about 90% sex at any given moment. I'm kind of impressed that I have so many ace friends, actually, given the amount I'm incapable of shutting up about sex.

... Like I said. I know Dean Winchester is aro because his view of sex and romance is pretty much identical to mine.

(To be fair, it is very helpful that I think all this because I am almost incapable of writing romance even if I do see things as romantic. It turns out that doesn't actually matter. If you write sexual feelings and just make the context romantic and don't say it's a purely sexual relationship, people will see the romance there anyway. You don't have to actually understand romantic feelings and how to write them. People will just project them in. Which definitely says some things about amatonormativity that aren't great, but hey, it's convenient for me.)