#it seems I have way better ball control than I did when I was a kid. whyyy now. i was such a loser I could have used some athleticism

[tomatoluvr69]

What’s up tumblr hope you had a super fun leap day. sparkle on. big news my first seed start sprouted while I was at work ✨

[letsgetrowdy43]

Love on the lake—

Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Request: 🐞 Quinn isn't usually a touchy person but when he gets with the reader he is all over her "Never figured you for this much of a cuddler."

Warnings/notes: It's a cold start, couldn't quite think of a better intro so please ignore that!

End of summer celebration!!

One of Quinn's hands gently held her hips flush to him as he steered the boat, a grin on his face as her hands placed themselves over his on the steering wheel. "You're doing really good," he mumbled into her ear, followed by a kiss on her freckled cheek right before he explained the importance of the water markings. Her back pressed against his toned chest as he taught her how to steer the boat, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she nodded at his instructions before he removed her hands and let her take control.

His hands began to roam her sides, sending goosebumps down her warm skin as he began playing with the little red bows on the hips of her bikini bottoms which gained a groan from his brothers in the background who had been tortured with Quinn's affection towards his girlfriend since she arrived in Michigan earlier in the week.

Sometimes, it was as if his brothers ceased to exist the moment she appeared. This, of course, led to many agonizing moments for his younger siblings.

Quinn wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection, especially not around his family. But now as he sat with his girlfriend prettily on his lap in the captain's chair of the boat, his arm wrapped securely around her, he couldn’t help himself.

He was completely, unabashedly, all over her, and he didn’t care who saw it.

Jack and Luke, who were both sprawled out on the opposite side of the boat, couldn’t help but notice the giddiness that seemed to occupy Quinn's demeanour. Jack shot his older brother a look, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief at his shameless roaming hands.

“Never figured you for this much of a cuddler, Q-ball,” he teased his tone light but with that signature smirk Quinn knew all too well, all the while his girlfriend's face broke out a red flush. Luke chimed in, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Yeah, who knew Quinn had a soft side? What happened to your mysterious act?”

Quinn rolled his eyes but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as the girl leaned further into his hold, face buried in his neck as she hid the slight embarrassment of being caught.

Normally, Quinn might have been a little annoyed at their jabs, but today he was too content to care. “You guys are just jealous,” he shot back, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on her thigh.

She laughed softly, tilting her head to look at him with a smile that made his heart do that weird fluttery thing it always did when she was around. “I didn’t realize I was dating such a softie,” she teased, her voice full of affection and a little sultry as she dipped down to press a kiss to his lips, eliciting a cry of agony from his little brothers. "You changed me for the better I fear," he said lowly as he looked up and waved off at the boat passing by.

Jack leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he shot Quinn a knowing look. “Man, you’re in deep,” he said with a laugh. "It's pretty sad,” Luke agreed, chuckling as he shook his head before ridding himself of his shirt and diving into the lake.

He looked down at her, the warmth in his chest growing as she smiled back at him. No words were needed—just a simple look that solidified the unspoken connection between them, something that resembled love that ran deeper than anything words could convey.

The day got hotter as the laughter and playful banter of his brothers echoed around them. But for Quinn, all that mattered was the girl in his arms, the way she fit so perfectly against him, and the simple, undeniable fact that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

And as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the water, Quinn leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his brothers’ teasing forgotten. He was content, truly happy, in a way he hadn’t expected. And even though this wasn’t typical for him, he found that he loved every minute of it.

Because with her, being a little out of character felt like the most natural thing in the world.

-

-

-

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

[oceansblvds]

petals ; coriolanus snow

pairing ; coriolanus snow x reader

words ; 1.7k

about ; "The harshness and brazen demeanor that enveloped him when you were around seemed to melt away with time, this certain activity that the two of you engaged in became more of a delightful reprieve than something to do to release tension."

warning(s) ; smut, fingering, p in v sex, not edited, just a short blurb kinda?

authors note ; hello! this is me putting myself out there as a snow writer bc im obsessed with tom blyth. so anyways. please feel free to request fics or headcanons or blurbs! i hope u enjoy :)

Life in the Capital was nothing but lavish for you. 

With your family’s status, extravagant balls were somewhat a staple in your life, along with all the beautiful shoes that you wore as you walked your way into the academy, or the five star meals you were allowed to eat every night. You didn’t know how to be poor, it simply wasn’t in your blood to have anything less than what your life offered you. And that was incredibly obvious for the way that you held yourself in the presence of others. Having been groomed by your mother and father to be the perfect heir to their fortune, they didn’t expect anything less than you. You were beautiful, you were intelligent, and you knew how to control a situation and a conversation as if it was the back of your hand. 

And that simply aggravated him. 

He wasn’t sure when it had really started, this loathing for you. Perhaps it was when you purposely had him suspected of cheating on a test when you two were in your first year of the Academy, or perhaps it was the fact that you knew that he hadn’t cheated, you were simply intimidated by his intelligence. Wherever you stood academically, Coriolanus was always on your heels, just behind you clawing at your back to get ahead of you in anything. And sometimes he did manage to do better than you, and that was when he felt the most happy around you. When you were an absolute mess, a stupid look on your face as you tried to come up with an excuse as to why you didn’t do as well as him. Oh, that was where he was happiest. But he hated you, he loathed you. At least that’s what he told himself in the midst of his obsessive fixations about you, how he would sit alone in his bed at night in his run down home and think about the fact that you were probably eating your second meal of the night and you were going to sleep in silk sheets that got changed every single week. 

And that simply aggravated you. 

How he always assumed that the only reason why you were as intelligent as you were was because of your family. You didn’t know that he was actually secretly poor, but regardless of it, the Snow's wealth had never reached the high peak that yours did in the past. That much was obvious, you could see it in the way that he dressed himself that he was lesser in status. And you took every opportunity to remind him of it, every single breath that was spent around him was an insult, a jab, trying your best to get into his head. And he did much of the same. You two hated each other, it had always been that way and it would always stay that way. 

That was, until the two of you had been paired up for a project together. Something about how to better raise attention for the Hunger Games, how to make them more enjoyable. You two had been at your house when you prepared for it together, the slight arrogance in your heart not even noticing the way that he had completely dodged all your questions about working at his place. It had gotten late, and despite the normal amount of bickering between the two of you, the bickering turned into a crude form of flirting. He said that your mouth could be used for such better things rather than to insult him the way that you did, and you were desperate to prove to him wrong. You wouldn’t fall for the flirtations of Coriolanus Snow, you were so sure of it. But soon enough, his lips were on yours and your clothes were on the expensive carpet of your room and you two had your limbs tangled in the silk sheets. A month passed, and like clockwork, the two of you would end up with each other with your clothes off. It didn’t matter the reason or the place, it always happened. 

He pushed you into the cold, almost sterile lab table, muttering something under his breath about how he only had a few minutes before he needed to go to lunch. You laughed, the sound getting cut off by his lips placing themselves on your own, like they always did. His kisses were bruising, like he was trying to prove something, and maybe he was. The harshness and brazen demeanor that enveloped him when you were around seemed to melt away with time, this certain activity that the two of you engaged in became more of a delightful reprieve than something to do to release tension. You paid no mind to it. 

“Then you better make those few minutes worth it,” You whispered, taking note of the footsteps that you could hear from outside the door. This wasn’t the first time that you had snuck around in the University, but every time it did fill you with a sense of urgency to get things started lest the two of you be caught. 

Coriolanus let out a chuckle. “I always do.” His lips pressed to the skin of your throat, teeth grazing against your pulse point before sucking on it loosely, enough to make a mark for only a moment. 

Cheeky. You thought to yourself, your hands finding refuge in his blonde hair, certain tufts of it retaining the curliness that you had known them to have during your time at the Academy. You pulled him closer, ever so closer, like you didn’t want to let him go. His hands helped to lift you up onto the lab table, your legs opening and his body slotting in between them, a perfect practiced dance. The University uniform was much more relaxed than the Academy’s was, a low cut black skirt making for easy access during these moments in between classes and lunch. His hips grinded against yours for only a moment, a gasp escaping your lips that was captured by another searing hot kiss, enough to know that he was telling you to be quiet. He continued to kiss you as his hand came down under your skirt, fingertips ghosting against your inner thighs before reaching where you wanted him most. 

He was met with a wet, sticky mess, an after effect of the fact that the two of you hadn’t fucked in over a week. Despite all of his brain power wanting to tease you for it, he found himself keeping this as a silent victory, the pad of his thumb coming in contact with your clit, slipping one finger in and curling it. You arched your back forward only slightly, already conveying the message that you wanted him inside you already. “Patience,” He whispered. 

You whined. He was the one who wanted to go to lunch anyways, and now he was stringing you along? You had half a mind to fight back, but the words died in your throat as he added a second finger, slipping in almost effortlessly. He continued to pump them in and out at a languid pace, his left hand holding your waist so that you couldn’t move. He was keeping the rhythm, not you. All the while his thumb kept rubbing against your clit, making you a squirming mess in his hands like putty. 

“Coriolanus,” You breathed. “Come on, please.” 

He hummed in response, acting as if he didn’t hear you. But he did, because soon enough he was withdrawing his fingers, hands working to free himself from his neatly pressed pants, his cock springing free in a matter of seconds. You wrapped your hands around his neck, his face coming into the crook of your own as he guided himself towards your entrance, the tip of his cock grazing as if to tease, before sheathing itself in. Once he bottomed out, he already started a fast rhythm, giving you little to no time to adjust. but you were so needy you didn’t care, not one bit because he was making you feel so good that you wished for this moment to last forever. and you were already so wet and willing, Coriolanus couldn’t wait a second longer. 

If he was tired from staying up all night to finish homework and studies, he didn’t even show it. Coriolanus fucked into you with such a frenzy that it was almost animalistic, which made you wonder how much energy this man possibly had. What you didn’t know was it was your moans what were spurring him on, your moans that kept him going. And you loved it so much that you couldn’t think straight. all you could do was try and keep yourself still, words stringing together into barely put together sentences of oh fuck yes and that feels so good. It was a moment of such pure bliss that you didn’t even feel yourself start to clench around him, noticing it finally when you felt every inch of him scrape against your willing walls, bringing you closer to that cliff into a sea of pleasure that only he could give you. What finally made you break was the groans that he was making, which were hot and heavy and like heaven to your ears that you knew you would be playing on repeat before you went to sleep tonight. 

His hand slipped between your legs, pressing up against your swollen clit and that was it. You were sent into a state of pure, fucked out bliss as you came around him, your moans being muffled by the shirt he was wearing, your mouth pressed against it to try and stifle all your noises in the moment. With a few more demanding thrusts, Coriolanus was spilling himself inside of you, a groan of contentment falling from his lips as his head dropped to your shoulder. Your legs were still wrapped around him, shaking from the change of pace, relishing in the moment that the two of you were sharing together. You barely had any time to refocus yourself before he was pulling out, a few remnants of his cum dripping out of you that you saved by pushing your underwear back into place. 

“Lunch better still be in the cafeteria,” He spoke, zipping up his pants and latching his belt. “If it’s not, you’re buying dinner tonight.” 

You cocked your head to the side. “Dinner?” Usually you two would never go out together. But before he answered, Coriolanus had already left the room. 

[kingkat12]

REQUEST

Roman, consensually (or not…) using his power on you to make you cum whenever he tells you to. & or threatens to in public, because he’s a dick like that

oh, this made my mind wheel turn like crazy... this was such a fucking sexy imagine, thank you for this request!!🌸🙈 i went a little off board and might actually have to revisit this idea, so don't be shocked if i elaborate some day tihi🥸💜

meeting vibrations (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, voyeurism, sex toys, upir!roman, mind control, Roman using his powers for no good

summary: being the CEO of Godfrey Industries, Roman's growing ego allows him to put you in the middle of his latest fantasy-- watching you squirm as he controls the vibrator inside you during one of his business meetings.

word count: 852

I couldn't believe I had said yes to be put in this situation-- I had never expected to rope myself into something so risky.

As I sat in Roman's office on his ridiculously comfortable couch, my legs gave in to a tremble which I tried to remedy by pressing my thighs together. I bit down on my lower lip with power I didn't know I had, balling my fists in my lap as I did my best to stay composed. He had a meeting going on, after all; there were about eight other businessmen in the room who thankfully hadn't noticed the buzzing of the vibrator between my legs. This was a new one-- I wasn't sure what it was called, but I knew it had a part which went inside of me and an outer part which sucked at my clit. 

My hands gripped the couch as I glanced towards Roman, who seemed occupied with the documents he had just been presented. He was very discreet about the controller he had tucked up his sleeve, and every time he pressed his wrist against the arm of his office chair, my vibrator went up a level. Roman had always been very good at hiding his emotions, and I knew that there was no way he'd be the one to slip up in this situation-- which is exactly why I had to keep my mouth shut. This was especially hard to do when I shifted in my seat; I realized the trembling I was suppressing in my legs was moving up into my hands as the vibrator shifted inside of me. Suddenly, it was pressed directly against my sweet spot, and my breath hitched as my walls fluttered around the device.

Roman's green eyes immediately found mine, sending me a stern look; I could practically hear him telling me to keep it down. He could read me better than anyone ever had, and I was convinced he knew how much I was struggling to stay contained and poised with the constant stimulation against my cunt. However, I knew this was the satisfying part for him-- watching me quietly writhing around in pleasure, the way my eyelids grew heavy as I held my breath, trying to keep down every little noise that begged to spill past my lips.

I was glad to keep his gaze, especially when Roman let slivers of a knowing smirk slip past his composed demeanor. He sat back in his chair with a comfortable manspread, running his fingers through his gelled hair with the same arm in which he had hidden the button to my vibrator. It felt like a tease, a show of power, and everything about it served as a reminder that he could make my situation a lot worse in an instant. He had to look away from the squirming mess I had become on the couch to answer a question from one of his associates, and I realized I had been holding my breath. 

Once again, I wondered why I had said yes to this-- Why had I allowed Roman to do this to me? If he hadn't convinced me while we were having sex yesterday, I was sure I would've at least found some sort of compromise? Everything about this was insanely risky; if the businessmen somehow found out, if one of them suddenly pointed out the buzzing sound coming from his blushing girlfriend, the both of us would be absolutely screwed. 

It only got worse when I shifted once more, my heart thudding hard in my chest as the vibrator pressed up even closer to my clit, the vibrations making me let out a shaky breath. The shaking of my leg returned, no matter how much I fought it-- I inwardly begged for mercy from all the possible deities in the world to keep the businessmen from turning around and seeing my wrecked state. My pleading eyes found Roman's, watching him suppress his devilish smirk against the palm of his hand to hide it from his associates. 

I could reconcile with my stupidity and the way I had agreed to this, but I definitely couldn't forgive myself for not remembering my one rule during any of our risky sexcapades-- don't look into his eyes for too long. It was definitely not the smartest thing to do when your boyfriend was a upir capable of literal mind-control. 

It didn't take long before it became impossible to look away from Roman's green gaze; this was the first sign that he had roped me in, ready to utilize his powers. Everything about it caught me off guard-- I had never expected him to do it with other people in the room or in public. 

Nonetheless, I should've expected it from him. My nails dug into the couch as I swallowed a choked moan, crossing my legs as Roman tilted his head down, staring at me through his brows with his green eyes dripping with absolute power.

It was impossible to look away, and Roman didn't have to utter a single word for my body to comply with his mind-control orders; cum. 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay! I was hit with a big case of “this chapter is very important so it has to be perfect” and “I have a crush on someone and it’s rendering me incapable of human function." Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Love From The Other Side by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 26.4k (for context that is longer than the first 4 chapters combined. Someone needs to restrain me)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have work to do, and Ben keeps to his word. Usual warnings, with emphasis on assault. No rape, but one non-con kiss. Make the best call for yourself.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

You’d been right. Word of mouth spread fast, and Sage knew about your speech. Homelander as well, but he’d reacted about as you’d hoped to anticipate. Proud, smug, certain beyond a doubt that you had been speaking of him. 

Sage knew better. She knew what you’d really meant—who you’d really been speaking of—and the only thing that saved was that she couldn’t do anything about it. 

Because word of mouth spreads fast. 

But the internet spreads faster. 

Everyone has an opinion on what, in a brilliant twist of journalism, was being called Believe-gate. Everyone has seen the photo of your fearful expression when the “CIA terror attack” on good, christian America had begun and Homelander had shot off the stage. Fear for your lover, gone to fight for what’s right. Or, if the photo was of your fear expression when your extraction operation had begun and Homelander had gone to kill your team. 

It all depends on who you ask. 

If you ask Homelander’s supporters, or Homelander himself, you’ll hear the narrative you’ve been forced to memorize and parrot almost every day. Your fear was for Homelander, whom you loved. The attack by the CIA on a group of innocent civilians was a tragedy both in the losses of A-Train and Ezekiel, and as the American people had to learn they couldn’t trust their government. They could only trust their heroes, trust Homelander, to keep them safe. 

If you ask the Starlighters, or read the CIA’s official statement on the matter, the alleged “attack” had been an extraction operation for the Anomaly that had gone sideways. Employees of Vought had interfered with a government sanctioned mercenary team—lead by William Butcher and containing Soldier Boy but not in official association with Starlight—and collateral damage had been unavoidable. People should write their congressman to divert more money into funding Butcher’s team, and boycott Vought products until the Anomaly was freed. 

That’s closer to the truth, but reality is still far more absurd than either side seems to properly capture. Not absurd in the way the media seems to think, because gossip and rumors spread like the wildfire climbing steadily back under your skin. In meetings—as Sage goes over damage control and shoots you cold, measured glares—you see post after post, headline after headline, and video after video of speculation. You’re honestly a little surprised it took this long for the ball to get rolling. You’d thought the aftermath of your interview was going to be the largest fallout—the biggest step and ultimate catalyst—but you’d been wrong. This was it. For some reason, the Believe Expo was what did it. People are trying to figure out what was really going on. Someone posits a theory on Reddit about you’re a robot or shapeshifting supe who stole the face and identity of a dead PhD student. NPR runs a story about the history of government and corporate propaganda, and CNN does a frame by frame breakdown of recording of your speech. A video essay about how you were Homelander’s girlfriend but had been tortured and brainwashed by the CIA to infiltrate Vought. Old footage of the Firecracker rally circulates as people dissect your every facial expression. One person accuses you of being obsessed with Homelander. Another says you’re just Stormfront with a new face. There’s a small online movement that’s pretty sure you’re actually Sage’s girlfriend and Homelander’s just bearding for you, and another that’s convinced you’re Robert Singer’s estranged love-child. One person sends an email accusing you of being Stan Edgar’s daughter. Several people accuse you of working for the Chinese, and several more of being a British Spy. At A-Train’s funeral, one stupidly brave man with a microphone had shouted a question of what’s your response to allegations you had an affair with William Butcher, and you’d almost laughed in his face. 

That might have been your favorite moment, because it made you snort and think of Ben’s sour expression. 

Butcher couldn’t fucking handle you, Sunshine. 

Benjamin, you can barely handle me yourself. 

I’m having a grand fucking hell of a time trying. Butcher would start whining like a bitch. 

You whine like a bitch. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

That’s the part nobody has guessed. People have landed on pieces of the truth. You are a dead PhD holder—everyone always seems to forget you actually had the PhD—and you are infiltrating Vought, but not because anyone told you. If anything the biggest opposition you faced to your plan has been from your side. Not a day passes where just the phantom of Ben doesn’t tell you to come home. To wear blue and let him just come get you. 

And that’s the part people seem to be missing. It’s obvious to you, but you’re biased and have the full picture. The fear on your face at the Believe Expo was for Ben. For the split second you’d thought you might lose him. People couldn’t trust their heroes, but nobody needed to break you out. People should absolutely not demand Butcher be funded further. You did not want to return to find Butcher, Ben, and Frenchie jerking themselves off over a collection of military-grade weaponry. In all the millions of people stringing you up to search for the truth, the real you—if Vought is right or the CIA is right or if you’re playing them both—they all miss the only two things that really mattered to you.

Kill Homelander. Whatever it takes, however you have to twist and pull yourself apart, you will kill Homelander. 

Go home to Ben. Tell Ben you love him, then go wherever he goes. 

As the week starts to pass, the scandal doesn’t turn into just another story. It only grows. Sage puts you back on tower lockdown, and most of the time it’s just you, The Deep, and Ashley on 99. You have to record videos and do livestreams and keep pretending you don’t want to lean over to Homelander in the dead of night and just kill him. Find a way to make yourself stronger than him and strangle his throat, or use all the fire you have in your control to reduce him to a shriveled husk that’s still in only half the pain you are. You smile all day—in the dim yellow lights of Homelander’s room and into flashing cameras at Sage’s orders—and at night you drag up the fire, miss Ben, and feel the cracks in you start to spread. 

You’re the most famous person in America. 

You want to go home. 

You have to go home. Before the cracks reach something fundamental and you just break. Without Ben to pick you up. 

Overall, you’d know getting the V was going to be a delay, but it’s not as large as you’d expected. The time added by finding V is being lost by how fast everything else is going. How it’s snowballing and rolling down the mountain with you even having to push it. Three weeks are added to your timeline just as two are lost, and you’ll be home soon. 

If everything goes well, you’ll be home soon. 

You’re keeping yourself whole. By threads and stitches and temporary bandaging, you haven’t completely lost yourself and fallen apart. But the cracks are coming faster, larger. Nightmares that you have to learn to hold down, because Homelander can’t see you break. You wake up paralyzed and cold, still haunted by images of Ben asleep, or gone, or having just left. He wouldn’t, you know he wouldn’t, but Homelander had still cornered you after the Believe Expo and told you that he had. 

He’d dropped you in the Seven’s meeting room, and pushed you into the wall by your throat. 

“You didn’t know,” he’d sneered into your face, and you’d had to shake your head weakly. 

“I didn’t, I swear-“

“Were they there to save you? Take you away again?” 

“I don’t know-“ 

“Tell me the truth!” He’d roared, spit flying in your face and coconut making you sick. “I’m so sick of everyone lying to me!” 

“I am,” you’d clawed at his gloved hand, the leather cold on your skin, choking on your words. “That’s the truth, please, I didn’t know-“ 

Homelander had laughed. “Doesn’t matter, they didn’t get you. Your precious little Soldier Boy ran.” 

That wasn’t true. You’d told Ben to go, he hadn’t run. He’d never run, not away from you. 

“They left you. Didn’t even try to keep you.” Homelander had tsked, shaking his head. “I’d stay.” 

You’d just nodded, unable to speak, and Homelander’s jaw had ticked. Hand tightening around your throat. 

“I said I’d stay. They left you, Soldier Boy left you, but I’d fucking stay. You’re a fucking manipulative bitch, who can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them. I’m the only one who sees through you, who doesn’t fall for your silly tricks, and that’s why I love you. You can’t fucking trick me, and I know you love me.” 

Your nods had grown frantic. “I know, please, I can’t-“ 

“I’d stay.” Homelander had hissed. “You love me and I stay.” 

“You’d stay. I love-“ 

The door opened. Your desperate, lying words had failed in your mouth because the door had opened and a group of people had walked in. Interns or cleaners or tech workers, just normal people. 

Homelander had lasered them down, their bodies falling to the floor with sickening crunches and wet sounds. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even blinked. Just killed them and turned back to you with an annoyed expression. 

“People don’t even knock anymore.” He’d sighed. “I mean, it’s manners. None of these people were raised in a fucking barn, right?!” 

“I, I can’t,” you’d coughed slightly. “Breathe, can’t breathe-“ 

Homelander had rolled his eyes, glaring at you as he spoke. “Say you didn’t trick me.” 

“I didn’t trick you, I can’t-“ 

“And you love me.” 

“I love you-“ 

“Say Soldier Boy left you.” 

“He left, I can’t, please-“ 

He’d dropped you to the floor, scowling as you’d pulled yourself back up on shaking legs. “Good.” He looked you up and down one. “I can trust you.”

That had been what you’d been angling to hear for weeks. All of this had been playing the game until Homelander trusted you. It was even more vital now, if you wanted to find the V. But you’d only been able to stare at the bodies on the floor. Blood on your feet and splattered across your face, and it won’t come off. Not really. Never entirely. There’s guts spilled across the room, a brain visible through a hole in a skull, and mouths frozen in permanent screams that you’ll see for the rest of your life. 

That night your dreams had been haunted by red hands and cold skin, and when you called for Ben to find you, no sound had come out. You’d woken up paralyzed, and a pattern had begun. This became the new normal.

You’d had nightmares in the tower. But they’d been bearable, no worse than they’d been before. You’d woken up cold and curled into your own body, your breath and heart still steady enough to be silent to Homelander. 

Now they felt like death. They felt like a burning, white-hot sort of cold under your skin and in your blood, an inescapable hurricane that would devastate what little was left of your control. Nightmares of Ben vanishing in smoke, hearing him fall to the ground and not get back up. Nightmares of blood rivers that pull you away and under and down, until all you can see is red. All you can taste is metal and it freezes your tongue. Holds it still when you wake up with a high, ringing feedback in your ears, and holds you down when you try to rub off the lingering feeling of dread. The sense that this is eternal, and you only have yourself to blame. 

You chose this. In every nightmare you jump in the river, and if you don’t Ben falls in smoke that you can’t pull him out of. Every time you wake up you’re frozen, and every day you can’t breathe without tasting coconut and iron. Over and over until you think you’re going mad, because you look at your hands and they still have blood on them. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. It’s tying that cold you’ve felt from the start into the fire, pulling it up faster and faster as your skin starts to grow molten on your body. As the cold runs through your veins and heart and begins to leak into the world. 

At first, you don’t notice. You’ve felt this before, this feeling of every nerve in your body growing heavy as your blood grows cold and pushes out of you. You’d felt it with Tek Knight. Felt it when Homelander had pulled you into the sky during that fight outside, and when he’d grabbed your face after Noir II. Brief flashes of something like a glacier rushing in and over you, covering anything that dared touch you. But it had been temporary. Brief, polar flashes that were gone in a second. This was long. This was arctic, permanent, and you could barely control it. Nobody touched you, nobody ever touched you here, but it was still spreading like mold around you. People go rigid when they pass you, and start to look cornered and feral when they sit in a room with you for too long. They look trapped. They look how you feel. 

After one meeting, where a Vought “journalist” sat across from you and Homelander—asking you pre-written and approved questions about love and your future and it’s so cold—Sage holds you back. Homelander gives a clap of his hands and crude, white-toothed smile before vanishing with a jump and a sonic sound, but Sage holds you back. 

“Sit down,” she nods to the chair you’re only half risen from, and it’s not a request or suggestion. She’s telling you to sit, and you do. You’re not at an advantage right now, you’ve made too many risky moves that—while paying off—had shown too much. Shown you.

You sit, and wait. You won’t speak first, because you don’t know what game you’re playing and can’t afford to make the starting move. 

Sage frowns at you, tilting her head, but begins to speak. “I’ll admit I’m not sure what you told Soldier Boy that incited such an event, but it did allow me to understand you better.” 

“Understand me?” Your words are spoken through the constant cold. Too controlled, almost bored. “I don’t think there’s much to understand.” 

“There’s more than I usually face.” Sage looks you up and down, and sits across from you. Leaning forward. “It’s taken me longer, as well. There’s been one last piece of the puzzle I couldn’t quite find, and you handed it to me. I thought of you better than that.”

“I don’t think I am a puzzle.” You frown. “And I’d never think of myself better than anything-“ 

“Yes, I got that quite a while ago. Someone who values themself, values their life, doesn’t volunteer to stand in the front lines of an unwinnable war. Doesn’t forgive as easily as you do.” 

You shrug. “I believe that there are very few things that are truly unforgivable. I can only think of one.” 

“Rape?” 

You swallow, frost pushing up your throat, and Sage hums. 

“Unsurprising. That’s another puzzle piece that fits you well, and another reason your little performance will never really be sold.” 

You’re not shocked you haven’t fooled Sage, but it’s not her that you need to have a hold over. So you just watch her silently until she scoffs. 

“This is just us talking. Homelander won’t hear, I’m not looking to lose my first semi-worthy opponent to an easy to spot trap.” 

You still don’t speak, and Sage smiles. 

“Smart. Would proof help? How about,” she looks you up and down. “When we met in January, I was genuinely considering flipping to your side. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he, and while I have no care for people,” her face twists slightly as she says the word, like it tastes sour on her tongue. “I did think I could face an equal challenge taking down a well-established international conglomerate as I was facing with the United States Government. But with a new, unexpected player I decided this could still be interesting.” Sage sits back, looking you up and down. “I showed you mine.” 

Sage wouldn’t call Homelander a pathetic imbecile if there was a chance he might hear—she’s still very capable of being lasered in half—but she could pull a tape and show select footage. So you just blink. 

“Fine.” Sage sighs, and pulls out a pen. Pink, with a fluffy top. She passes it into your hands, careful not to touch skin, and nods. “Click it.” 

You glance at the pen, and push the ballpoint out. 

Sage’s voice echoes through the room. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he. 

You frown at her. “Collateral?” 

“You’ll hold on to the pen, after this conversation I’ll wipe all the tapes and break all the audio bugs in front of you, and then you’ll return the pen to me. Deal?” 

You nod slowly, taking the pen. “Deal.”

“Good. Show me yours.”

“I don’t know what you want me to show you,” you shrug. “Like I said, I don’t believe myself to be a puzzle. And you’ve already figured me out.”

“I hadn’t,” Sage corrects you. “For months, I hadn’t been able to see the whole picture. Your forgiveness is… inconsistent.”

“Really,” you say dryly, crossing your arms. “I’ve only been raped by one man.”

Sage hums. “Would you forgive me?”

“Would you earn it?”

“Maybe.”

You lean back. “Then maybe I’d forgive you.”

“Even though I’m actively working with your rapist? Am aware of the trauma he inflicted upon you and yet still chose to enable him?” 

The cold is sitting in your throat. “All depends on you. Like I said, you’d have to earn it.” 

“And how did Butcher earn your forgiveness?” 

You frown. “Butcher?” 

“He’s the thing that incited Homelander looking into Becca Butcher. Discovering Ryan Butcher. Wanting more.” Sage gives you a half-smile. “Taking you.” 

“I don’t hold people accountable for the actions of others.” Your voice is still bored, even as the cold starts to numb your tongue. “Butcher had no way of knowing that Homelander would do this. He didn’t even know who I was until last year.” 

“Is that the same grace you’ve offered Soldier Boy?” 

Your heart stutters, falters, and freezes. “I haven’t offered Soldier Boy anything he hasn’t earned.” 

“And that’s the thing.” Sage narrows her eyes at you. “You really believe he’s earned it. Despite all of his crimes, of which are an impressive amount and magnitude, you’re still forgiving him. And couldn’t figure out why. It doesn't fit with anything else, it’s completely irrational. But the answer isn’t something that’s supposed to be rational, and I made the mistake of factoring it out.” 

“I don’t-“

“You’re in love with Soldier Boy.” Sage looks you up and down. Her handiwork she gets to admire. “And I didn’t catch it because, by all logical reasoning, you shouldn’t be. I didn’t even consider it until I’d exhausted all other possibilities, and even then I settled on some odd sort of camaraderie. But you love him.” 

The cold becomes like frost lining your heart, and every beat begins to spread it further. Move it out. Play the game, don’t break. “What would it change, if I did?” 

“You do,” Sage says simply. “You are in love with him. It explains everything that felt out of place. Every action you made that didn’t line up with what I’d anticipated.”

“What you’d anticipated?” 

“Yes. For example, you shooting me. It was a reckless choice that backfired on you completely, but every time I ran over the scenario you would still do it. I’d wondered if I’d undersold the stakes, made you feel backed into a corner when that wasn’t my intention. But you’d still shoot me. You’d always shoot me, and it was because I misestimated your stakes. You love Soldier Boy, so if I tell you he’s in danger you will act.” 

“That doesn’t mean I love him.” You give Sage a passive shrug. “Maybe I shot you because you’re fucking annoying.” 

“No, you wanted to hear my plan. That's why you’re still sitting here.” Sage nods to the door. “You could’ve left. You could’ve gotten up and run out the door. You’re faster than I am, you’d have gotten away, showed Homelander the pen, and won. But you know I’d have a countermove, and that’s why you’re still here. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Why you’re here.” You repeat slowly, and Sage nods. 

“We’re the only players that matter now.” She grins at you. “Homelander and Butcher and Soldier Boy can flash their toys, but in the end you’re stronger and I’m smarter. My plan will work better, and you’ll respond in a way I won’t predict. You’ll have a move that would be successful, because you’re fucking powerful, but you’ll sidetrack yourself in the name of humanity and love. In the end the question will be if you can control yourself. If you can forsake being good enough to be great. My bets are on no, but you’ve surprised me before. And that’s what makes this interesting.” 

Play the game. Even as you start to cave in, play the game. “You know I’m stronger than Homelander. But you haven’t told him, he still thinks he’s the strongest supe alive.” You frown at her, trying to pull everything together in your head. “You don’t want him to know I’m stronger. If I fight him, you don’t want him prepared. You want me to kill him.” 

“I do.” Sage shrugs. “I’d like to martyr him, but I don’t think I will. I think I want to play this out.” 

“Make it interesting?” 

Sage smirks at you. “Make it interesting.” 

“It’s your move,” you say, throat tight. “And, while we’re being honest, I’m fucking winning right now. So, what’s your move?” 

She laughs. “You were winning. But I’ve figured you out, so your lead is gone.” Sage’s smile becomes crude and chilling. “In exactly one week, you’re going to propose to Homelander, live on VNN.” 

The cold rushes, so fast. It had been building up and up and now it’s everywhere. A week isn’t long enough. You still haven’t found the V, you’re not close, and a week isn’t enough time. Every piece of your innards and piece of your mind is freezing, because you can’t. You can’t go home yet, but you can’t go fast enough. And you’ll die before you smile at Homelander. Before you let him touch you. He’ll take it as a sign that he’s done this right and now he’s won you. Your blood is frozen and creaking in your body, but Sage is still smirking across from you. 

Breathe evenly. Hold your blood in your body with calculated breaths and careful words. “And If I don’t?” 

“Then I lure Soldier Boy out, and put him back to sleep.” Sage stands, and you can’t move. You can only watch her walk around the room reaching into bowls and under furniture to show you tiny audio bugs that she crushes in Her hands before taking the pen back. “You have a week. Your move.” She pauses at the door, looking back at you with a frown. “Don’t make me wrong about you. I have no interest in being wrong.” 

Then you’re alone, and the cold becomes big. It’s inescapable, how unending this feels. It’s too massive for you, too wild to control and spreading too fast to contain. You stumble your way back to Homelander’s apartment—people parting around you like you’re made of poison—and lock yourself in the bathroom, dropping to the floor in desperation to not break. You’ll find a way out of this, you always find a way out of this, you’ll get through this and go home and this isn’t permanent. Sage hasn’t won, because everything in you is still you, and soon you’ll go home. Everything is cold and bursting out of you, this feels like it will last forever, but it won’t. It can’t. 

The cracks continue to grow, and when you sleep that night you’re plagued by smoke and ice that makes you weak and swallows Ben. You hear him fall and he doesn’t rise back up, and you reach for him only to find him further than you’d thought. 

When you wake up, you’re still held down. Paralyzed and frozen without relent. You want to go home. You’d overestimated your strength, you didn’t want to beat Sage, or trick her, or win. You didn’t want this to be interesting, you just wanted it to be done. You’re exhausted, and alone, and you miss Ben so much. You’re not going to win, because these cracks are starting to be dangerous and you can’t stop them. You’re too weak to stop them, you don’t know how, and you can’t be smarter or stronger because you’re just so tired and almost every part of you is growing thinner and softer by the second. One step away from shattering. Breaking. Maybe you’ve really just already broken, but in a way you didn’t realize, and now you can’t be sewn back together. Your fire is sputtering out once more, you can’t pull it back up, can’t kill Homelander, can’t save Ben. You’re going to break and it’s going to make Ben go under, and he’ll never hold you again. You’re going to be in this vast, hollow loneliness forever, and Homelander will keep you on a shelf as your last embers flicker harmlessly, and you’re going to never see Ben again- 

Calm the fucking hell down, Ben’s voice in your head is rough as it says your name. You’ll see me again, you fucking promised. 

That strange thing is humming in your chest. It hasn’t left you since it appeared. Since you’d seen Ben. Through the day it sat in you silently. Undisturbing, shifting and rolling with a dull ache near your heart. Just a piece of Ben that you got to keep, that always felt like him. Like he was there, warm around you in the cold and tending to your fire. Then, at night, it roars. Twisting with your guts and kickstarting your lungs and mind when you grow frozen. Speaking to you in the dark until you feel like you again. A part of you that’s ingrained and unmovable, that’s not plagued by this cold because Ben is warm. Never afraid because Ben is safe. It’s angry and bloody and zealous, but it’s Ben, and so it smells like pine and feels good. Feels solid and easy, makes Ben feel more real. You’re on the too smooth, silken sheets of Homelander’s bed and everything is cold, but you can almost feel his breath on your ear and his voice rolling into your body. 

I did promise. You sigh into the dark of the room, and your breath comes out in fog. But I don’t think I can talk my way out of this one, Pretty Boy. 

Why the goddamn hell not. 

I’m not smarter than Sage, or stronger than Homelander. I said whatever it takes, but I can’t, Ben. I can’t. I just want to come home. 

First of all, shut the fuck up. You’re being stupid, Sunshine. 

Fucking rude- 

His voice cuts you off. It’s doing that a lot more lately. I don’t give a shit. Homelander is a pathetic fucking pussy, and Sage is a heartless bitch. You’re perfect the goddamn way you are. It’s goddamn infuriating how you’re so perfect, because it’s inconvenient. And if you want to come home you’ll wear blue and not a single fucking thing in the world will stop me getting you. 

That’s part of the problem, Benjamin. I’m not perfect, I can’t fight them, and I can’t let you come and get me. You know that. 

You are fucking perfect. You’re a goddamn pain in my ass, but you’re still beautiful and sure as shit smarter than you should be. And all I know that I fucking miss you. 

You’re crying. Silent tears you have to muffle and wipe away, because even if Homelander isn’t here you can’t chance that he’ll see you break. If you break, it can’t be in front of Homelander. You won’t allow it. 

But Ben’s voice sounds so real. Deep and pushing calm into you—soothing your blood back into your body—because as long as Ben’s voice is here and talking like this nothing can hurt you. 

I miss you too, Benjamin. Your smile is soft and tired, but you can feel Ben there. Something a little more solid than a phantom around you. 

Come home. Just fucking come home. There’s a beat of silence, and his voice in your ear is hoarse. Please. 

Soon. 

You always say soon. Just come home now. 

Ben- 

I miss you. I fucking miss you and I don’t want you home soon. I want you home now. His voice is building with frustration, and something in you is starting to spark in time with that strange thing. I can’t keep worrying about you. You promised, and I trust you with my goddamn life, but I don't trust you with yours. 

Hey. You frown into the dark. My life, Benjamin. My choice to stay. 

I haven’t fucking gotten you, have I? I’m respecting your stupid fucking choice, but I still hate it. I fucking hate this. 

I know you do. But there’s more work to do. 

You don’t have to be the one to do it. You can just- 

I can’t. You hug yourself, the warmth in you growing stronger. Not pushing the cold down, or your blood back in, but rising the fire to fill the cracks the cold is leaving along your head and heart. I can’t just come home. I have to do this. This has to be me. 

There’s another stretch of silence—that thing climbing up your spine and lighting up every nerve—before Ben’s voice rings around you once more. Fine. 

Thank you. You’re not sure why you’re thanking him. He’s not real, but it’s an instinct. Thank Ben, always thank Ben because everything in you is back in your hands and you love him. 

Don’t. 

You smile into the dark, your tears drying in your eyes. You can’t fucking stop me, Pretty Boy. 

I will soon. You’re going to come home, and every time you thank me I’m going to fuck the words out of your mouth. 

I don’t think that’s going to have the effect you intend it to. 

Yes it fucking will- 

Ben. Your voice in your head is dry. If every time I thank you I get fucked, I’m never going to stop thanking you. I might start just thanking you randomly, specifically so you fuck me. 

The thing in you is bellowing and jerking your heart around. Smartass. 

I mean, you had to have seen that coming- 

I just want to see you coming, beautiful. You can almost see his wink. All over me. 

Horny old man.

You love it. And you’re no fucking better than me. 

Than I. And excuse you, I for one can keep it in my pants- 

His voice snorts. I know you, Sunshine. You want to fuck me more than anyone has ever wanted to fuck me. And a lot of people have wanted to fuck me. 

Braggart. 

That’s not a real word. 

Yes, it is. 

Well then what the hell does it mean. 

You brag a lot. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Benjamin. You could’ve gotten that one yourself. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Make me. 

I will. When you get home I’m going to shut your pretty mouth up for a whole goddamn year. With my cock, and my hands, and- 

Fuck you. 

I promise I will, brat. I’m going to fuck you so much you’re never going to want anyone else to touch you. 

You don’t need to fuck me to do that. You sigh, trying to sit a little longer in the warmth as daylight starts to creep into the room. I already don’t want anyone but you, Ben. 

His voice is silent for a second, and you think it’s going to say what it always does, because you love me, but it doesn’t. The thing rattles with an ache in your body, and Ben’s voice is softer than you’d expected when you hear it again. I don’t want anyone else either. 

Good. Your breathing is easy, and you can really almost feel Ben. Behind you, around you, in you. Can you still fuck me anyways? 

His laugh rolls through you, and that thing feels lighter. You feel lighter. Deal, Sunshine. 

Deal. 

The thing fades into dormant ease once more, but you’re still warm. Your blood is still trying to break out of your body, but you’re holding it in. 

And the fire is building. Faster and faster, blazing up into your skin, the fire is building. 

And you won’t break. 

In the morning, your lockdown is temporarily lifted so Homelander can parade you to the masses. They’d long fixed the damage you and Ben caused to the tower lawn—the grass is green once more, and the sidewalks have been repaved smooth and black—and they’ve set up a stage that’s reminiscent of Firecrackers. Not quite as dramatic, twice as large, and with better rigged lights. You could just walk out the doors of Vought Tower—they’ve barricaded the path for that very purpose—but Homelander trusts you. And you’re so close. You’re holding on by a thread, but you won’t break. Not yet. 

Homelander’s been touching you more. Never casually, and not like that, but his hand isn’t just on your lower back anymore. It’s clasping into yours more often, and not in the intimate, careful way Ben does. A cold, leather glove that snaps around your hand, no fingers intertwined or thumb rubbing on your skin. Yanking you around in a way that makes your elbow snap, slamming you into his back and not bothering to steady you. You let him, he has to trust you, but it makes you colder. Homelander will look at you with cruel blue eyes, devoid of any light or warmth or life, and you feel like a prize. He’s won you, and now he’s growing more and more confident, less and less afraid. 

He still won’t touch you with skin. You can’t figure out why, but Homelander’s so very careful not to even brush his skin against yours. You’d think it’s fear. That you’ll feel him, and see something he doesn’t want you to. It’s not about you burning him, you haven’t used fire in front of him since he’d taken you and he knows it. He thinks you’ve burnt out. Learned your place and burnt out. So it has to be about a fear you don’t understand. 

You try not to question it. It’s saving you from being touched like that, and that would break you. That would irreversibly shatter you, and you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself back together. So you don’t question it, use that small part of Ben that’s comfortable in your chest to feed the fire, and try to keep the cold in you. You’ll have to, for this. You can’t afford the cold taking control and falling out of you. You can’t afford flinches or numb expressions when this winter becomes something that’s beyond you. 

So you push it down, down, down, and smile at Homelander. Too sweet, too many teeth, almost manic. 

But you smile at Homelander, and play the game. You’re almost done, so you play the game. 

“Babe?” 

He turns on you with a shark-like expression. You’ve baited him with blood—drawn right from your heart and making you cold—and he’s taken it. 

Homelander says your name, and it's hard to keep smiling. “I like babe, it’s right. Keep using it.” 

You nod, and don’t speak. Waiting for him to prompt you. 

“If you want something, say it.” 

“I was just wondering if you could carry me to the rally later?” Your words are softer than you’d intend, but your tongue is numb in your mouth and it’s the best you can manage. “I just want to get more used to flying with you-“ 

“Of course you can,” Homelander looks you up and down. “It’s not like you’ll get hurt if I drop you.” 

You make yourself laugh, and it doesn’t sound like you. But you keep smiling. Allow yourself to sound smaller. “You won’t drop me, right?”

He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’d take a week to scrape off the pavement.” Homelander’s eyes narrow on yours. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“Of course!” Voice lighter. Don’t let a crack show in it. “I’m just scared of heights.” 

“Oh,” Homelander nods, and starts to walk to you. Arms opening to pick you up, and you have to not scream. Have to keep your teeth from chewing at your cheek and your hands from shaking. “Then let’s go fly. Now.” 

“I, I’m not ready-“ 

“Honey,” Homelander’s voice is annoyed, and he’s glaring again. “Humans have silly little fears about heights. Not us. You’re going to get over this, fucking now, because you aren’t human anymore.” 

You’re not afraid of heights. You’ve never been afraid of heights. You’ve only ever really been afraid of three things in your life. 

Being worthless. 

Losing Ben. 

Homelander. 

But you can’t break. Play the role. Nod slowly and walk into Homelander’s arms. Feel cold but keep it in you, because you don’t have time to let it out. You have six days to do everything, and being defiant isn’t a luxury you can afford. 

He’s still grinning at you, and his teeth are too white. They look fake. “I knew you’d come around. Sage said you wouldn’t, said you’d always be a little too weak, but look at you.” He laughs, and you have to keep smiling. “Still fucking weak, but ready to fix it.” 

He doesn’t let you respond before yanking you up the stairs and onto the roof, and your words and protests die in your throat because he has to trust you if you want to go home. And when Homelander shoots up into the sky, you can’t scream or push him away or even go rigid like you’d done before. You had to pretend you trusted Homelander. That he’d won you and now you trusted him. You have to pull him closer on purpose, even though he’s colder than the air around you and your body hates it. It hates touching him, it hates him touching you. He does it as if you’re his possession. With callous, thoughtlessly placed hands and like, if he were to drop you, it wouldn’t matter. You’re his to break. 

You’d flown with Homelander before, but that had been for transportation. He’d been focused and bored, carrying you like cargo. This was purely to force any fear or weakness out of you with speed and brute force. He’d done flips, your body tossed around through the air and his arms so loose on you there’s not a second where you are certain he won’t drop you. Halfway through you start to hope he will. That you’ll fall with a sickening splat below, someone will post it online, and Ben will come get you.

But Homelander doesn’t drop you. He goes so fast your skin feels like it’s peeling off your face, so high the air feels thin, and through clouds that leave you damp and chilled. 

You weren’t afraid of heights before. You think you might be now. Another line on the growing list of things that, even if you manage not to break, will never be good again. You’re not sure how long you’re up in the air, but when you land back at the tower your hands feel bitten with frost and there’s bile in your throat. 

“Go get yourself together,” Homelander orders, nudging you to the door back inside. “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

You nod, and try to smile at him. He grins back, but his expression turns slightly sour the longer he looks at you. 

“Don’t fucking cry. And wear your supe outfit.” 

He’s gone in a blast of wind, and you’re left to stagger back to his apartment. Alone. Blood so cold, but without time to get a hold over it. You just have to keep going, and hope this settles within the hour. 

You find your way back to the apartment, still freezing into your bones. Trying to stoke the flames under your skin with that thing of Ben’s in your chest, with thoughts of good things. 

Music. City Lights. Ben. 

Go through the movements. Don’t vomit—it will take too long to do, time you don’t have—and hum to yourself until the air feels warmer. You can still feel the cold rushing in your blood, but your skin is warmer. You sing a song of summer, and at least your skin feels warmer. You don’t break. 

Do your hair and makeup yourself. Ashley had offered you a team this morning, and you’d turned it down. You’d made sure Homelander heard your words—I know what I should look like, I don’t need people helping me—and Ashley had nodded and dropped it with an anxious expression and tug of her hair. So now you stand at the mirror, putting on lipstick that’s the wrong shade of red for your skin and applying shadow in a way that’s not you. Not a style you’d ever wear, not when you had control over it. But it’s the role. This is the right red for this version of you, because it’s a red Homelander likes. This eyeshadow is exactly how you have to do it, because it’s how the paid Vought artists did it. How the world thinks you do it. 

You keep a small part of you in your makeup. There’s a green, metallic eyeliner in the collection that had appeared in Homelander’s bathroom, and you trace it on your inner eye. It flashes whenever you move, and it’s impossible to miss. Just a little green, where Ben won’t miss it. Just a little light that doesn’t feel blinding, but feels peaceful and alive. You don’t break. 

Now get changed. You have to get changed, because you’ve calmed down enough to not be in danger—or a danger—and done your hair and makeup. The hour is almost up, and so you have to get changed.

The only reason you’re managing not to vomit every time you wear your supe costume is because there’s still a stale smell of Ben on it. You’re surprised Homelander hasn’t noticed, but he also doesn’t know what Ben smells like. The pine could just be from the outdoors, the gunpowder from the attack. And the part that’s just Ben—not shampoo or lingering parts of his day that grow stronger on his skin—is yours to know. It’s a strong smell, powerful and Ben, and you know it’s his. Same as you know that the thing in you is him, something of Ben’s that’s left a tattoo on you. You know all of him, and this smells like he feels. Like he tastes. 

You still remember what I fucking taste like? 

Shut up. I miss you, and I love you. Of course I remember, don’t be a dick about it. 

Would you prefer I give you my dick about it? 

You snort softly into the empty air. That one’s not even good. I expect better from you. 

You fucking shouldn’t. 

And yet, I do. 

Because you love me. 

Because I love you. You frown at your reflection in the mirror. The green hair clip you’ve been wearing—the one you’d been clinging to since you’d seen it in a costume room and stolen it to keep—looks out of place. It feels too much like you, and you don’t look like you. You look like a statue, or doll. 

I look stupid.

You look hot. You always look hot, Sunshine. It’s one of my favorite things about you. 

Wrong. You smile at your reflection, and that’s your real smile. You’re talking to Ben—even if it’s just his phantom—so that’s your smile. You like that I’m smart, and that I’m kind, and my pussy.

And all of that is fucking hot. Because you’re hot. 

Thanks, Pretty Boy. You’re hot as well. 

I fucking know that. That’s why you love me. 

That’s not at all why I love you. I love you because you care, more than you’ll ever admit. I love you because you never give up on anything, and because you’re honest. I can trust you, I can always trust you. I love you because you always do what you say you will, and you’re never trying to be anything but yourself. You’re an asshole, Benjamin, but you’re my asshole. You’re a protective, abrasive, vulgar manwhore, and I love you so much it makes me a little insane. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

You also love me because I’m a good piece of ass. I’m hotter than the goddamn sun and you want to jump my bones, admit it. 

I’m allowed to love you because of who you are and also think that you’re stupid hot, Benjamin. You make me laugh and feel safe and happy so I’m always going to love you, and you’re so handsome it hurts to look at so I’m always going to want to jump your bones. 

Good thing I want to fuck you until you’re dizzy and can’t even damn speak, beautiful. 

I think I can live with that. You sigh. I miss you, and I have to go. 

I miss you too. Kick their fucking balls into their throats. 

You huff a small laugh into the air. Gross. 

You love me. 

I do. The cold in your blood is tangible, but so is the fire. And both are yours. Completely yours. 

You can do this. You can fucking do this, do it right, and go home. 

It still takes holding your tongue between your teeth to not scream when Homelander grabs you, and control over every muscle in your body to not go rigid when he touches you, but you do it. You keep your body limp and smile at his cruel face. You land on the stage—the crowd only one push or wrong noise from a riot—and keep smiling. You shrink into yourself, step back into Homelander’s shadow in a careful way that’s about being shy. About not wanting the spotlight, and seeking comfort in love. 

It’s really about trying to get away. About giving your feet just an inch they can move away, because they want to run. Everyone is watching you like you’re going to be their salvation. Like they’re going to eat your flesh and it will bring them comfort. Like you’re going to put on a show and it will be glorious, like you’ll bring them something they’ve been missing. Homelander is watching you as well, and you’re trying to get to where he can’t see. His eyes make that cold spread, make it rile up in wind that sweeps through your body like a storm.

So you’re quiet, and meek, and give Homelander no reason to look at you. You wave to the crowd and smile in a small, pliant way. Sage walks up onto the stage and you get the same, small nod that she offers Homelander. You return it with a sweet expression, and fade into the background as Sage and Homelander work. All you have to do is be here, stand silently, and do as you’re told and it will be more than enough. Cameras are angled at your every shift and breath, and you’re still nothing more than a statue. Homelander tells a completely fabricated and implausible story about how he used to fly you to Paris at night so you could picnic on the top of the Eiffel Tower. The Deep shows up and talks about how hard all the lies have been on you and Homelander, his two closest friends, especially after the recent deaths of your teammates. You considered them family, and this is a period of grief, not of—as the Deep puts it—being a total hater on true love. Ashley gives a speech about how when she first met you, she knew you were in love with Homelander because you couldn’t stop laughing with him about nothing. She says you and Homelander have invited her over for dinner, and everyone here should one day hope to have his burgers and your chocolate mousse cake. 

In the hum of the speaker feedback, you hear Ben snort. Suddenly he’s everywhere. Around your body and between your fingers and resting on your head. 

I remember when you tried to make us a cake. I wasn’t sure if it looked or tasted more like actual dogshit. 

Fuck off. You ate the whole thing. 

I’ll eat fucking anything, Sunshine. That cake was a goddamn travesty.

Guess who’s not getting a cake for his stupid birthday. 

I’m a little damn old for a cake. His voice drawls your name on the wind. I’ll just eat you instead. 

Smooth. And you’re never too old for cake, Benjamin. I’ll even put vanilla ice cream on it. 

I thought I wasn’t getting a fucking cake. 

I changed my mind. You’re getting cake, and it’s going to be the fanciest cake you’ve ever fucking seen. And I’m going to put rainbow sprinkles on the ice cream, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me. 

Can I still eat you? 

Yes. But you’re eating the cake first. And you have to grill burgers. 

For my own fucking birthday? Isn’t the whole point supposed to be that I don’t do shit? 

Would you rather I make the burgers?

You and Ben had tried to make burgers four times. Technically, you had tried. He’d already known how, because he was a goddamn red blooded fucking American man, and attempted to teach you, but you had not been a good student. You’d burnt them every time, but you kept getting distracted. Ben’s muscles would ripple when he flipped a burger and he’d grin at you while he talked about meat and things being tender, and you think you just kept blacking out in an effort to not fuck him right there. After the fourth smoke alarm resulted in you and Ben sitting in the dining hall while Mallory lectured you about fire safety and banned you from the kitchen’s grill, you’d decided this was just a skill you didn’t need to have. Ben could make burgers. He was better at it, and always got focused in a way that made you both want to fuck him—have all that intensity and care turned on you—and just touch him. Run a hand across his forehead, into his hair, and check that he was real. It made you love him more. 

You’re not sure if the phantom is reacting to the burger comment and you calling him adorable, but something rumbles around in your heart and Ben’s voice grumbles. Shut the fuck up. 

It’s a little easier to look mindlessly happy. You can feel this remnant of Ben in you—this thing that is him—climbing up a little higher to sit on the top of your chest, so it’s easy to pretend you’re ditzy and humble and your smile is light and carefree. Ashley concludes her speech, and Sage is up. You and Homelander represent the best of what the world has to offer. Two people who have loved each other from the first time they saw each other, and who, despite the hardships and obstacles, will always prevail. She says Homelander will always find you, and you manage to keep smiling. Ben’s Thing tightens in you, and you can practically see his angry expression, but you keep smiling. You will build a perfect American family, and Ryan Butcher will be returned to where he belongs. 

I haven’t been being a dick to the Kid. 

You blink. What? 

You told me not to be a dick to the Kid. I haven’t been. I’ve been a goddamn angel.

Okay. You fight the confused frown on your face. Why are you telling me that? 

Because you seemed to really damn care about it. I don’t know. Shut the fuck up. 

But- 

You were right. He’s not like Homelander. He’s a little bit of a pussy- 

Benjamin. 

What? 

Don’t call a twelve-year-old a pussy. It’s uncouth. 

But he is a pussy- 

How can he possibly be a pussy. 

He can name all fifty states. 

I can name all fifty states. 

That’s different. 

How. 

You’re a fucking know it all.

Hey- 

You’re a sexy know it all. You look hot when you get riled up, and talking about pretty much anything gets you riled up. If you sat in front of me and named all fifty states I’d get a fucking boner. 

That’s weird, Ben. 

Fuck off. You’d love my boner. 

You lightly bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling. I would. 

You’d suck me off, and look fucking hot doing it, and then I’d eat you out and make you cum on my face- 

You’re trying to distract me from you calling Ryan a pussy. 

No. Shut the fuck up. 

You shut the fuck up. I would suck you off, and then maybe I’d let you eat me out- 

Maybe? 

And then I’d make you clean up and get dressed and learn all fifty states. 

That information will never be goddamn useful, Sunshine. Would be a waste of my fucking time. 

Because you’re such a busy man? Is getting a boner from listening to me talk and then eating me out that time consuming? 

So I will get to eat you out. 

Fuck you.

That’s what I’m fucking asking- 

Stay on topic, Ben. You should be able to name all fifty states. 

Why in goddamn Christ- 

You’ve been around since before Hawaii and Alaska, and you’re barely younger than Arizona. It’s a little sad you can’t, Pretty Boy. 

Well, I’m not a damn loser pussy, so I don’t really give a fuck. 

Rude. 

You’re not a loser pussy either. No woman of mine would be a loser pussy. 

Your heart stumbles a little faster, and Ben’s Thing hums in your body. Thanks. 

Don’t. 

You can’t fucking stop me- 

Because I’m not there, beautiful. If I were on that stupid fucking stage and you thanked me, I’d pick you up, carry you home, and stop you with my cock in your pretty fucking mouth. 

You need to get a grip on yourself. Maybe start putting effort into filtering the phantom better. Because, even in your head, your voice sounds breathless. Okay. 

No big words, Sunshine? Just going to let me fuck your face- 

Shut up. Cunt. 

Brat. There’s a beat of silence, but it’s still louder than the noise of the crowd because you can almost hear Ben’s breath in your ear. I miss you. Come home. 

Soon. You feel something heavy, sickening in that piece of Ben inside your chest. You can’t stand it, it makes your heart hurt, and you need Ben—even this strange fragment of him—to feel happy again. And as soon as I do, I’m kicking your ass and making you apologize to your grandson for calling him a pussy. 

It feels lighter, and Ben’s scoff isn’t painful. Don’t call him my grandson. 

He is, by definition, your grandson. Don’t be a pussy about it, Benjamin. 

Smartass. 

Old man. 

You like it, you fucking grave-robber. 

Am I a grave-robber, or are you a cradle-robber? 

You’re a goddamn grown woman- 

And you’re an ancient, grumpy man-child. 

You love it. 

I do. You don’t repeat the second part, because Ben’s voice doesn’t prompt it out of you. It just falls into a comfortable, happy silence everywhere around you, and you feel safe. You might have never been in more danger—Homelander at your side and the eyes of the world on you—but everything that’s been breaking in you feels a little more manageable. You’re still full of that never ending cold, but it’s not falling out of you or trying to escape. You can sit in it easily, because you can almost feel Ben there and your fire is still growing. Sage is still talking, and you let it pass through you. This will get through you, and you’ll go home soon. Sage calls you the sweetest and most genuine person she’e ever met, and you hear Ben’s snort. She talks about how Homelander treats you like an equal, and there’s a spark of annoyance in Ben’s Thing for you. She calls you and Homelander American Heroes, and you can keep yourself modest and happy as Homelander laughs and waves off the compliment. 

But you can’t stop the momentary static of your heart, or the numb of your body, when Homelander kisses your cheek. A new crack forms—long and somewhere critical—and Ben’s Thing in you riots. Grows louder than the crowd, louder than the ringing in your ears. 

You almost don’t see Homelander freeze. He goes still and rigid, his face twitching and looking sick, and you realize that the cold is leaving you. Homelander touched you, and Ben’s Thing is roaring in some sort of pain, and you’ve lost a hold over the polar feeling in your body. 

Fuck this, I’m coming to get you- 

Benjamin. He’s everything in you that’s good. Everything is cold and you’re afraid and you can’t control yourself and you’re going to lose, but Ben’s voice is still around you and you’re still you. You haven’t broken. You’re so close, you won’t break, and this piece of Ben will help hold you together. You can’t. You know that. 

He fucking touched you- 

He only kissed my cheek. I’m okay. You’re not. You know what this means, even if Homelander had recoiled from you with a look that won’t last. But you’re so close. There won’t be time for escalation, you’ll be home soon. You’ll falter and break when you get home. 

Ben’s voice doesn’t seem convinced. You don’t fucking look okay. You look like you just got goddamn shot, you need to come home right now- 

I’m fine. 

When Ben says your name, there’s some sort of strain in it. The same ache and pounding that you can feel from that thing inside of you. There’s not a single goddamn thing you can do to stop me- 

I know. But please don’t. If you trust me, Ben, please don’t. 

You don’t know why you’re arguing with him. This Ben isn’t real, it can’t come get you. But it’s so deep inside of you, keeping you together as Sage’s speech concludes and Homelander herds you up to the front of the stage, you entertain it. It doesn’t feel fake. It feels like him. The sharp, bitter anger in your chest feels like his, the gravely frustration in his voice sounds like it’s coming from right behind you, and it’s so fucking important that you keep it there until you’re in control again.

I do fucking trust you, but I can’t just leave you- 

Not leaving me. You’re never leaving me. You’re waiting. 

Ben’s Thing stabs into you, and you almost flinch from it. I am waiting. I’m waiting for as long as it takes. But Christ, I fucking hate it. I don’t want to wait, I want you home. 

I want to come home. I want to come home more than almost anything. But- 

Almost? His words are a grunt from somewhere at your side. The hell do you want more- 

You. Fire is building in you, fed by the warmth of Ben’s Thing beating in your chest. I want you. 

That thing roars. Claws against your ribs and heart, and you can’t think about anything else. You’re going through the movements—waving and smiling to the crowd—but everything in you is about Ben. About how you’ve never felt a fervor like this anywhere but in him, and you miss him and want him and love him- 

Fine. He’s relenting. He’s only in your head, but he’s still relenting with a low, tired voice. But if I see even a little bit of fucking blue- 

You can break down the doors of Vought Tower and carry me home. You swallow, and keep your face bright as something in you wilts when Homelander’s arm wraps around you. I’ll see you soon, Ben. I promise. 

I know. And I’ll wait. 

Thank you. 

Don’t.

It doesn’t go dormant, but Ben’s Thing stops being loud. It moves back to resting near your heart, existing always with that arctic sensation in your body. It takes all the strength and will you possess to pull the lingering bits of it—the fear it’s made of—back into you and hold them there when Homelander vaults up into the sky. He’s not touching you on skin again, and Ben’s Thing has tugged much of it out of the air around you, but your blood is still singing, trying to reach anything else and make it feel this. Feel the pure, raw terror that the infinite cold is made of, that’s rushing through you. Rushing out of you. 

But it’s not just fear falling out of your body. It’s something furious that’s for Homelander touching you. And you’ve felt things that aren’t fear move out of you before. You’ve felt heat, want and love and adoration, run out of your body when Ben’s touched you. When you’ve gotten to touch him. 

Homelander leaves you on the roof to find your way back to his apartment, saying he has business to attend to. He looks like he might try to kiss you, but fear and hatred leaks out of you when he moves and suddenly he’s gone.

And you have a theory. You have a little more than five days, this Thing of Ben’s still burning peacefully inside of you, and a theory.

You have to test it. The cold in you is growing, but so is the fire. Both are, for now, in your control. The fire and the cold are everywhere in you and on you, but not around you, and you’re holding them there. If you’re right about this, then everything will work. You’ll go home.

But you have to test it first. 

You spend that night, alone in Homelander’s apartment, making a new plan. You can’t test on Homelander, he needs to keep thinking you’ve gone docile. That you’re out of tricks and are back to being what he thinks you are. You can’t test this on Sage, she’ll figure out what’s happening and you can’t afford that right now. This is the only advantage you have over her, because you’re certain she doesn’t know about it. If she knew, she wouldn’t let you go to rallies, or go anywhere near her. This is the one thing she can’t control or predict or understand.

Feelings. She can’t control how you feel. She can’t stop you being afraid or angry, can’t stop you loving Ben, and can’t prevent how when it all becomes too much your emotions aren’t yours anymore. How they’ve been building up and up  and up, growing loud and feral, and now they’re bigger than you are. You’re more afraid than you can hold in you. Afraid for your life, and your self, and for Ben. And every time Homelander’s touched you or Sage had threatened you the fear has grown until it’s sweeping through your body. 

But it’s not just the fear. It’s your anger, your fury that this isn’t fair. This is wrong and fucked up and you have to be the one to fix it, but you just want to go home. You’re full of wrath for yourself, for Ryan and Becca Butcher, for Hughie and Annie and MM and Frenchie and Kimiko and everyone you love being forced into this. It’s stoking the fire, and that’s why everything is white-hot now. The anger and fear are made of the same thing that pushes out of you in moments when they consume you, and now they sit in your blood to be weaponized. 

The only thing bigger than them is your love. It’s grown so large in your heart and head and soul that it’s become its own animal. It starts in you, and it belongs to Ben. All this love in you is for Ben. You’ll always know him anywhere because your empathy has decided that he is you. He’s something so crucial to you, your love for him is so powerful, that you don’t recognize him just because you know him. You can feel him when he’s not touching you, sense him when he’s close. Nothing has ever been as powerful as your love for Ben, and your empathy knows that. It knows that he won’t hurt you, he’d never hurt you, and that it’s only this strong because of him. Because Ben let you touch him and wasn’t afraid of you, and now he’s everything. Just as much a part of you as the fire has become, and you’ll always return to him. 

You’re so close. 

Right now you have to be angry and afraid and learn what it can do, and then you can go home and love Ben. Spend the rest of time loving Ben. 

But first you have to be angry and afraid. 

It takes four of your five remaining days to prove and understand your theory. You go along with Sage’s orders and Ashley’s requests, because right now the act is vital to keep up. You can hear the protest crowds from the 99th floor, and every time you catch a glimpse of social media it’s all about you. You’re America’s sweetheart and savior and symbol, and this is all you have left to do. 

You test on the Deep first. You hold your anger in every muscle of your body, and ask the Deep about something simple. 

“Hey, Deep?” 

The idiot pauses in the hallway, spinning around to grin at you with a puffed out chest. “Anomaly! What’s going on, does Homelander need me-“

“No,” you give a light, silly giggle, like a schoolgirl who just heard her crush liked her back. You don’t throw up on the Deep’s dumb, shiny suit. “I just wanted to know if you got the funding for your new movie?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah! I mean with A-Train dead, rest in power, brother,” he puts his fist up in a salute and you have to hold down a scoff. “There’s like a fuck ton of money just lying around, and I was like ‘uh, guys. What if I got the money, right?’ and they said-“ 

You’re not listening to what Vought Studios said, because you’re trying to figure out how to touch the Deep without him realizing. You wait until he’s completely engrossed in his story then start to walk, gesturing for him to follow. He falls into a pace at your side, talking about getting good writers that will do his character justice, and you lean to the side. Brush your arm against his, and all the wrath in you flares. 

The Deep’s voice grows louder. Tighter. “And I don’t fucking understand why they didn’t just give me the money, right? I mean it’s not fucking fair I have to pull all this shit together by myself. I just want to chill the hell out, but somehow this falls on me to fix this shit-“ He freezes, because by his last words he was in a full on shout. Almost a scream. “Uh, sorry, I don’t know where that came from. Don’t tell Homelander I was yelling at you, I really didn’t mean to-“ 

“It’s fine,” you smile, and it’s more sweet than smug. But you feel really fucking smug. “You’re just passionate.” 

One down. One step closer. 

Next, you find the writers. Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. You’ve forgotten their names again, and you’d feel a little worse about it if the moment they saw you they didn’t start trying to feed you anecdotes to use about your love for Homelander. 

“What if,” Bald Pussy leans forward with a toothy grin. “You asked him out first. And he said no, because he loved you and wanted to protect you, but it broke your heart.” 

“And you tried to get over him,” Skinny McBrown-Nose jumps in with an up-beat bounce to his words. “But nobody made you feel the way he does. There’s nobody else for you, and you’d just resigned yourself to a life of solitude when he confessed his love for you. He just couldn’t bear to see you with another, and he decided that putting you at risk would be fine, because he’s the strongest man in the world. As long as he’s there, you’ll be safe.”

You blink, because that is shockingly close to being accurate. For them it’s about Homelander and not Ben, but it’s more you than anything else they’ve pitched. 

There is no one else for you but Ben, although you don’t think you’d ever even try to get over him. When this is over you’ll just resign yourself to not being loved by him and dedicate yourself to loving him in secret. 

Ben is the strongest man in the world, but he’d never put you at risk. He hates you putting yourself at risk, and if he knew one of the reasons you’ve been staying at Vought was to protect him he’d probably have an aneurism. 

And as long as he’s there, you are safe. There’s not a safer place in the world than at Ben’s side. 

“I, um,” you have to cover your hesitation, because the writers are looking at you with nervous, expectant expressions. “I think Homelander would prefer he asked me out. It fits in better-“ 

“But this way,” Bald Pussy interjects eagerly. “We hit the demographic of liberal women in the 18-44 range. They’ll love that you took the move first, and that he loved you so much-“

“I don’t know.” You pull all the dormant cold from your blood and focus on it—let it choke you—and lean forward enough for your hands to touch theirs. Lightly. Unnoticeably. Holding their gazes so they don’t look down and see it. “Maybe I should go get him, and you can tell him-“ 

“No!” Bald Pussy’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, no need to involve Homelander, you’re probably right-“ 

You can’t be sure if this is just an average, healthy fear of Homelander, or your fear of Homelander. The fear that haunts you and follows you everywhere. You have to be sure. “I mean, I like it. I think I can just approve it myself-“ 

“Don’t worry about it!” Skinny McBrown-Nose’s voice is a squeak. “I mean, you shouldn’t bother him. It wasn’t that good an idea, and we’ll come up with a better one, so you don’t have to risk it. Right?” 

That’s fear for you. Skinny McBrown-Nose is afraid for you, to talk to Homelander and offer him something he might hate. He has no rational reason to be afraid for you, not with what he’s been told. It worked. 

You agree softly and walk away from them. You have more work to do. 

You fall into random people and bump against passers by. For the first time in years, you’re touching everyone you can on purpose. Doing it randomly is helping you from falling apart, as their emotions aren’t intense or overwhelming. They’re mostly just bland, flavorless neutrality. It’s not a great indictment of the emotional health of Vought’s employees—how soulless and empty everyone is—but right now it’s working in your favor. You can ignore the emotions that each touch gives you and just study the way they react. 

Some stumble slightly, and a lot of them freeze. Several double over before looking around with slack, pained expressions, and one even falls to the ground. Dropping with a strangled sound like you’d shot them. 

And you know you were right. You’ve proven yourself right, and you almost fully understand it. You’re so close. To going home, to being with Ben again, to being done. This is almost over. 

Almost. You just need to find the V. You have just less than two days left, and you won’t fail. Your nightmares are growing worse and you’re still waking up paralyzed, unable to breathe or move or think anything outside of blood. So much blood, all on your hands. Not strong enough to clean them, too weak enough to wipe them on another. And there’s just so much blood. 

But you’ll get through it. You’re almost home. 

The more you do this, the more you feel Ben. His voice is always louder now, and you think you might be going insane. You don’t know if it’s this new power taking you over and driving you mad, or if you just miss him so much you’re losing your mind, but Ben feels closer than he had before. Maybe it’s because you’re almost ready. Maybe it’s anticipation. 

But no matter what it is, he’s still everywhere. His Thing in your chest is almost always alight, and his presence is solid. Just as permanent as your love for him, just as strong and warm as he is. It feels so purely Ben that your body starts to look for him where you know he won’t be. He’s not going to be in Homelander’s bathroom, or in the Seven’s meeting room, or Ashley’s office. But you can sense him all the time, and the phantom is getting away from you. Muttering in your ear at inconvenient moments about random things that were far too detailed.

Why the fuck did you love those stupid sunglasses? He’d grumbled one morning, a little before your talk with The Deep. You’d frowned into the lukewarm air of Homelander’s kitchen. 

What are you talking about? 

Those shit quality, knock-off Soldier Boy sunglasses you always wore. Why did you like them. 

Oh, you’d blinked at nothing, tapping at the bridge of your nose. Why?

I asked first.

But-

Just answer the damn question, Sunshine. There was a pause, and you could almost hear his sigh. Please.

You had to fight the smile on your face, because Homelander could walk in at any second. Well, since you asked so nicely, Pretty Boy, they reminded me of you. 

He was scowling. You don’t know how you know, but you’re certain he was scowling. They were fucking blue. 

Yeah, well- You pause, his words settling in. What do you mean, were. 

Don’t fucking worry about it. How did they remind- 

Why did you use past tense. What happened to my sunglasses. 

I said don’t worry about it, his voice muttered your name, and it was almost sheepish. It’s not- 

Benjamin. 

They broke. 

What. 

When I lost you, they got smashed- 

First off, you didn’t lose me. Stop saying you lost me. Second of all, why are you asking me about my broken sunglasses. 

You loved them. I want to know if you just fucking like sunglasses, or if it’s something else- 

I loved those sunglasses because they made me more certain you were real. You’d cared enough to give them to me when Butcher had dropped them off, and that made me happy. It made me think you cared about me- 

I do care about you. He sounds indignant. Of course I fucking care about you. I- 

I know you care, Ben. That’s why I’m not that mad about them hypothetically being broken, because I don’t need proof- 

Why would you ever fucking need proof. 

Because you’re confusing. You’re the love of my life, Benjamin, and you confuse the fuck- 

His voice sounded like it had somehow dropped an octave when he says your name. What the hell did you just say.

I said you’re a confusing piece of shit- 

No, the other thing. 

I said I love you. You know that. Let me talk. 

Sunshine- 

Homelander had walked in, and you’d had to tune out Ben’s words around you to feign joy in his presence and interest in his words. Ben’s voice had fallen back into a soft sound of static, but his Thing had remained—steady and comfortably—in your chest. A constant, dependable, holding you down until only a few hours later when you’d heard him from nothing again.

You would fucking know what this shit means. 

You’d frowned at the stall of the bathroom, collecting your thoughts and trying to reign your anger back to your body. What shit? 

Manifest Destiny. Doesn’t even make any damn sense- 

It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so. 

Smartass. 

You fucking asked me the question. It’s not my fault I knew the answer.

You’d heard Ben’s snort, and his Thing had rolled over inside you. Brat. 

Cunt. 

Someone had entered the bathroom, and Ben’s voice had gone silent around you—a smell like pine and barbecue fading from the air—as his Thing had remained burning in your chest. You didn’t dwell on it, you didn’t have the time or energy to even think it over once, especially as it just kept happening. Over and over, through the evening and night, Ben’s Thing kept growing brighter and Ben began to intertwine into your senses. You start to spare it thought, especially as the conversations keep starting from silence about nothing. 

I’d never hurt you. 

I know that. You barely managed not to stumble as you walked through the hall, his voice taking you by surprise. Why are you telling me that? 

Because Annie’s fucking wrong. I’d never fucking hurt you. You’d have told me if it hurt, and I’d have fucking tied your hands up if you tried to keep doing it. 

You’re just confused enough to not let that turn you on. What? 

If you kept trying to do your fucking brain magic after saying it was hurting you. I’d have tied you up to stop you from doing it. I’m not- 

Why are we talking about this? 

Because I wouldn’t hurt you. I love you, and I rather fucking ship myself back to Russia- 

You sigh. I told you to stop saying that, Ben. 

He went silent for a second, and his Thing in you rumbles. What. 

Stop saying you love me. 

No. 

Please- 

No. I fucking love you, let me say it- 

Ben, please. 

Stop saying please. I don’t want you begging unless it’s for me to make your pretty fucking eyes roll back in your head- 

I’m not joking- 

Do I sound like I’m damn laughing. I love you-

Benjamin- 

You almost walk into a wall, and have to cut off your own voice in your head to regain your balance. And now you’re certain it’s not worth second guessing, because Ben doesn’t love you. You simply miss him so much your stupid brain is inventing random reasons for him to talk to you. It’s only been two weeks since you saw Ben last, and it’s driving you insane. 

If you weren’t already so preoccupied with trying to get a lead on some V, you might be more worried about that. But right now you need the comfort that’s provided by Ben’s voice rolling through you as he tells you he loves you, and the easy joy that talking to his phantom brings. The way it makes his Thing so powerful and devout to whatever feeds it. 

You still can’t figure out what feeds it, but it’s only growing more and more hungry. It’s still holding your head together, though, so you entertain it. You have a whole morning dedicated to finding V, and Ben’s phantom and Thing can follow you wherever so you don’t break. You have two days left, so you have to play the game and keep your mask on and find the V. If letting Ben haunt you will keep you sane, so be it. There are worse ways to be hungry.

A-Train said Homelander kept some in his room, but you’ve been looking over almost every nook and cranny and shadow and hollow, and there’s nothing. Homelander didn’t throw it away, he wouldn’t, but you don’t even have an educated guess as to where he’d move it to. It doesn’t help that you have to at least try to sneak around Sage’s notice, or that Ben’s voice keeps muttering everywhere about things that don’t matter. It’s keeping you sane—his grumbles and feel all around you, pushing your cracks back together—but it’s a little distracting. You can’t care about breakfast or guns or the movie Palm Springs—you don’t actually remember watching that one with him, you weren’t sure he’d like it—because you have to rummage through cabinets and empty rooms of the dead members of the Seven.

Ben’s voice keeps telling you he loves you. You give up on trying to shut him up, because you don’t have the time. He’s here to keep you steady, and it’s working fairly well. 

I still can’t fucking believe they were keep my shield in goddamn Ohio. 

Uh huh, you nod mindlessly into the air, pressing the wall in Firecracker’s old room like you might find a secret door. Annie probably would’ve mentioned a secret door, she lived here for almost three years after all, but you can’t afford to leave any stone unturned. 

I mean, why even go to trouble of putting it back together if you’re going to put it in taint-fuck Ohio-

Benjamin. Why are we talking about Ohio.

Because if Vought was keeping V in Ohio with my shield, I’ll blow their stupid fucking tower up- 

Your shield was fine, you big baby. And It doesn’t matter where Vought was keeping V, what matters is where Sage is keeping it. Now.

Ben’s grunt sounds from somewhere behind you. You’re right. 

What was that? 

You’re fucking right. You’re always fucking right, so don’t damn gloat- 

I am not always right. 

Yes, you are. You’re going to find the V and come home, because you fucking promised and you’re always right about this shit. 

What shit? 

How people think. Their dumb fucking pussy emotions and thoughts. 

Well, I do try. 

You’ve probably already fucking found the V. Homelander probably didn’t even hide it, because he’s a smug pussy who thinks everyone fucking loves him. 

You almost drop the vase you’d been turning over in your hand, mouth falling slightly open. Holy shit, Ben. You’re a genius. 

Goddamn right I am. His voice pauses in your head, and you can almost see the knit of his brow. But why the fuck do you think that. 

Because Homelander’s a hubristic piece of shit. He won’t think anyone would ever cross or betray him, and if they did he doesn’t think they’d get away with it. 

So? 

You smile, fingers tapping against the vases slightly dusting glass. I know where the V is. 

It takes an effort not to sprint back to Homelander’s apartment. To look nonchalant and bored as you open the door, to call out to see if he’s there, and walk up the stairs carefully just in case. 

You duck under the bed, and there’s a black box. A small, sleek black box without a lock, weighting barely over five pounds when you pull it out. 

There’s only one vial. One small vial of green liquid, with a label on it that reads Project Anomaly, Trial 6. 

It’s your V. Ben’s V. 

It’ll have to do. 

There’s only one last move. One last careful move. One more thing before you can go home, and one more day to do it. 

You make dinner for Homelander. You’re not sure what he likes, but he’s made you eat a lot of corn dogs. You don’t know how to make corn dogs, so you heat up some hotdogs and hope it’ll be enough. 

It needs to be enough. 

When he arrives, your smile is tooth-rotting. You’re small and quiet and weak, and you’re all for him. You’re cold and exhausted and everything in you is taut, but you’re so close.

“Hi, babe!” You’re going to vomit. You can’t, but later you’ll need to cut off your tongue so you can never even risk sounding like that again. “I made you some food.” 

“Food.” Homelander stops in front of you, and you don’t flinch. “What’s the occasion that finally made you stop fucking moping?” 

“It’s an offering,” you give him a simper. It hurts your face. “I want to apologize, and talk about us.” 

Us. You want to scream but you turn it into a sweeter smile, and Homelander’s face twists into a wide, smug smirk.

“Us?” 

He says the word like it’s real. Like it’s applicable to you and him, and you’re not barely alive anymore. So close. 

“Our future.” You pat the seat next to you. “Eat first, you’ve been running around all day.” 

Homelander lowers into the seat, and frowns at the sad, limp hotdog in front of him. “What the fuck is this.” 

“We don’t have a lot of raw ingredients, I did my best with what I had, I’m sorry-“ 

“I am not eating this limp dick excuse for food.” He pokes the hotdog, and turns to fully face you. “Talk.” 

“I, um,” you take Homelander’s hand gingerly, waiting for him to yank it back. He doesn’t. “Sage suggested that I should propose to you, and I just wanted to talk to you about it. Make sure that’s what you want-” 

“Sage suggested.” He scowls at you. “So you don’t want to marry me? What am I doing wrong?!” You stare at him, frozen in place as you try to hold your blood in your body, and Homelander’s voice grows louder. “Fucking answer me!” 

“Nothing!” Your voice is nervous because you love him and want him to be happy. Not because you keep seeing red on your hands and his face and splattered across walls. You’re holding one hand up to his face and it’s to comfort him, and you’re not forcing your fingers to stay steady. He’s so angry, and cold, and everything in him is like a tornado. Moving and changing too fast, making you sick. “I just want to make sure marriage is something you want too! I love you, that’s enough-“

Homelander’s moving, and before you can even realize what’s happening his mouth is on yours. His hold on you is like a chain, uncaring and harsh and wearing you down, wrapping around your throat until all you can do is think no. No no no no no- 

“I knew you’d see it my way.” His words are hissed against your lips, and something finally breaks deep in you. Far, far down in an artery you feel it snap, and if this doesn’t work, you might not survive. 

“Of course,” you have to smile. The world is ending but you have to smile. “Thank you for waiting, babe.” 

Homelander stands up, almost pushing you away, and claps his hands. “This is going to be a fucking wedding. They won’t be saying all those lies about us when they see it, it’ll be befitting of the gods we are.” He grins to himself. “And everyone loves romance. Fucking sheeple will eat this up. I’m going to get you a ring-“ 

“Can you get it from Paris?” You give him a pout. “I’ve always wanted a ring from Paris.” 

“Of course, honey. Only the best for the bride of the century.” Homelander nods, and kisses you again. You’re drowning, falling, dying, breaking- “I’ll go now, Sage won’t bitch about it when she sees how much people love us.” 

You pretend to start and protest, but he’s already gone. And you’re alone. You’re breaking—the cracks are starting to split open and the world is going blurry—but you have to go. You’re on a time limit, and you have to fucking go.

You’re so close. You can’t fail now. 

Homelander’s fast. Paris is far, but Homelander’s fast. You probably have an hour, likely less if he gets word. You’ve already wasted time on the floor, clinging onto the parts of you that are somewhat intact to get your through this. Trying to focus on Ben’s Thing in your chest—bloody and loud—to keep your feet moving. 

And you run. Nobody guards Homelander’s room, people are barely even on 99 lately, so you run. Faster than you’ve ever run in your life, one hand over the original V in your pocket to keep it from falling out. Out the door, down the stairs, not stopping to check if anyone sees you. The fire is scratching under your skin, and you’re going to pass out from the cold you won’t let leave you, but you go. 

Down, down, down. 82. 74. 66. 53. 

The alarms go off. The stairwell lights up red, the blare of a siren echoing off the gray walls, and you keep running.

50. 47. 42. 

A door opens somewhere, the creak and scrape on the concrete barely audible. 

38. 

A man in all black is aiming a gun at you. He has brown eyes, and his hands are shaking. 

His eyes burn out first, and you keep running.

35.  

Three more. One of them has a tattoo of a flower visible on her wrist. It curls and twists with the burns on her hands.

31. 27. 23. 

More bodies. The stairs are littered with bodies, and everything is painted in blood, and the water from the sprinklers is going up into steam. You can’t see your next steps, or the floor numbers, but you keep going. 

Down, down, down. 

A green EXIT sign is glowing through the smoke and mist. You slam into it, and you might hear something crack. 

Go. 

People are screaming, most of them parting around you. A few more bodies drop, a few more flashes of curly hair curling up in smoke and a scar on a cheek growing larger. One man’s shout of stop sounds like your father. 

Fucking go. 

You can see the exit. The doors of Vought Tower are made of glass, and it’s sunny outside. Everything is sparkling, like it just rained. 

GO. 

Someone calls your name. Your real name, your full name that’s carved on a gravestone in Boston. But the voice is wrong. There’s only one voice that’s right, that’s safe, and it’s the deep one that’s roaring for you in your chest. You don’t stop. 

That’s your name again. A woman is calling your name. She’s small, with dark skin and the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen.

She’s not safe. Everything in your brain is gone—replaced with a smooth song that feels familiar and an instinct to go home—but this woman is not safe. 

She’s talking to you, saying words you should understand, but you have to go. She’s telling you that you’re interesting, but she’s still won. That you shouldn’t use that vial in your pocket, because it might kill you. That you’ll never find the right kind, and that someone that makes everything in you scream is coming to take you away. That you’re out of the way, you failed to control yourself and now this shrewd woman has won. 

You can see the sun. It’s warm. It feels safe. The grass is green, and it’s reaching up to the sun. 

And you let go. You stop trying to keep yourself steady and strong, and you let all the exhaustion and loneliness and horror out into the air. Someone screams, and it might be you.

Glass shatters, and something stings your skin. There’s blood on your hands, and you don’t only belong to you anymore. 

But you can feel the sun.

———————

In the week after the Believe Expo, Ben started to lose his mind. 

He’d been in a meeting when it had started. Sat silently a few tables down from where MM, Mallory, and Butcher were interrogating A-Train. Ben had been kicked out of the actual process, because apparently nobody fucking appreciated how all his questions were about Her, and if she was okay. What did her smile look like, if she was even smiling. Was she having nightmares, and was Homelander keeping her locked up. Why was A-Train such a fucking weak pussy who didn’t help her. 

So he’d glared at them from across the room, trying to both listen to A-Train list off stupid fucking passwords and building locations and not break the glass in his hand. It would shatter everywhere, and Ben would probably have to fucking clean it up. 

That’s not glass, Pretty Boy. It’s plastic. 

Feels like fucking glass. 

Well, it’s plastic. You really think the CIA would give us real glass? When most of us can’t seem to stop blowing shit up and Hughie startles at the smallest sound?

Ben had smiled into the air, ducking his head so that nobody would see him looking like a fucking idiot. Plastic can still goddamn break, Sunshine. 

Her voice hummed somewhere in his chest, right next to the Thing. Well, it’s easier to clean. 

He’d snorted, and looked up as the doors from the hall swung open. Hughie and the French Prick had burst into the room, both shouting incoherently and tripping over each other. 

“The bloody hell is wrong with you two, ain’t you able to see we’re busy?!“ 

Kimiko had stepped over Hughie and the French Prick as they untangled themselves, ignoring Butcher as she marched over to Ben. 

He’d frowned up at her. “What.” 

She’d glared at him, signing something she fucking knew he didn’t understand, and dropped her phone in front of him. 

It was Her. A picture of Her, at the Believe Expo, frozen on the stage. Staring off into the distance, stage lights washing out her perfect features, her mouth open and her eyes wide. The headline above the picture read Anomaly’s Speech Interrupted by Terrorist Attack from the CIA. 

“The fuck is this.” 

Kimiko signed at Ben aggressively, and he didn’t fucking understand- 

“She says that it is all over the news.” The French Prick had stumbled up behind Kimiko, translating with a frown. “That it is bigger than the court trial. People are, to quote roughly, ‘losing their fucking minds’.” 

“Frenchie, what the hell are you talking about.” MM had called, still seated across from A-Train. “What’s bigger than the court trial?” 

The French Prick had said Her name, still watching Kimiko. “She is everywhere. The article Kimiko is showing Soldier Boy is from VNN, and there are many more about her and Homelander and the Believe Expo and-“ The French Prick had sighed. “Mon Coeur, I am not saying that to them.” 

Kimiko had turned to him, gesturing again with another point to Ben. 

“Because it will not be helpful.” The French Prick had looked at Ben, then said in a lower voice that Ben had still fucking heard, “this is already not very good-“ 

“If you don’t fucking tell me,” Ben had growled. “I’ll rip off your hands and make you eat them.” 

Kimiko had stepped between the French Prick and Ben, still gesturing at the former with only a brief pause to flip the latter off. 

The French Prick had let out another fucking sigh, and said the words slowly. “There are many… outlandish rumors. About her,” The French Prick had nodded at the phone, still in front of Ben. “And the nature of her life.” 

“Frenchie,” Butcher had drawled from across the room. “If you don’t start talkin without being a cryptic cunt-“ 

“Many are calling her a messiah. Some think she is an insider, a spy for either the CIA or Vought. There are investigations into her past, her paternity, and relationships with Homelander and…” The French Prick had winced as he spoke. “Monsieur Butcher.”

Ben had needed to take a walk. His fist had curled against the table, blood had pounded in his ears, and Her voice in his head had hummed do not kill Butcher. It will be messy and just a huge inconvenience for everyone, so Ben had stood up—the bench screeching as it flew out from under him—and stomped out of the dining hall.

Butcher had, surprisingly, not been a total fucking dickless piece of shit about it. Nobody had even mentioned it as more and more rumors and speculations poured in, each more fucking insane than the last. Ben started to long for Her to haunt him again, because right now he was being suffocated with this version of her that wasn’t fucking Her. It wasn’t even a goddamn person, it was a product, an idea for the fucking masses to project onto. She wasn’t a liar, or a honeypot, or a silly bimbo just caught up in a whirlwind romance that had gotten away from her. She was a brilliant, beautiful, fucking perfect woman. She wasn’t brainwashed—Ben pitied the fucking idiot who would try to, She’d give them a run for their money—or anyone’s fucking bastard child, and she had a PhD. In Anthropology, because she cared so fucking much about people and making the world good. Because She was good. She was the only person in the whole fucking world who was good. She wasn’t Homelander’s or Butcher’s or CIA’s, she was Ben’s. She was the most painfully strong-willed woman he’d ever met, and she wanted Ben.

And he had to just fucking watch, like an undeserving fucking pussy, as people kept talking about Her like they knew her. They didn’t know her. Ben knew her. He knew that this was part of Her stupid plan, and that she’d be home soon—She’d fucking promised—but that no matter what he’d wait until everyone else was dead and the building around him was in ruins for Her to return to him. He knew that, if this wasn’t tearing the country apart and inciting riots in the streets, She’d find it all hilarious. 

That’s the third person this week to accuse me of getting a BBL. She hummed in Ben’s ear as he listened to Hughie ramble on about the newest developments. Like I could afford an ass this good on a waitress’ salary.

He coughed to cover his snort, and Mallory shot him a glare.

“Is there anything you would like to say, Soldier Boy?” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“I’m your reporting officer-“ 

“You’re still not fucking paying me,” Ben sneered. “I’m not here for you, or your shit fucking ideas. Hughie, keep talking.” 

Hughie nodded nervously, and continued. It was a lot of pointless shit about how they had to keep to their stories, what allegations were worth addressing and what was just nutjobs talking out of their asses. Ben wasn’t really fucking listening, just staring at another photo of Her, in that stupid fucking costume, wearing a smile that wasn’t Hers. 

He missed Her smile. Ben missed every fucking thing about Her, but her smile was a goddamn work of art. When it was real it was wide and toothy and made everything around it brighter. Her eyes would scrunch with it, and it always looked like she was keeping a secret. Something just for Her, about how beautiful the world was and how she got to see it. When She gave Ben that smile, he got to be in on the secret. He got to see every single fucking perfect part of Her—understand a little more about why She loved this shit life so much—and if she let him he’d keep making Her smile until everything was almost as beautiful as She was.

He kept his promise. It had clearly been important to Her—for reasons Ben didn’t understand—that Ben was better to the Kid. She’d cashed in a fucking favor for it, and Ben knew she wouldn’t forget that it was Her last one. She’d wasted them on making him watch TV and read goddamn books and getting her some chocolate from the dining hall in the middle of the night—he’d have fucking done it without the favor, because She’d sprawled herself across his chest and held his face between her hands with a pretty pout on her lips—but She’d never used that last one.

But She wanted Ben to be nicer to the Kid. So he marched into the dining hall for dinner and sat at the almost empty table. 

The Kid stared at him over a book, and Ben grunted. He didn’t have a goddamn clue how to do this. 

“The fuckin hell are you doin here?” Butcher appeared through the kitchen doors, two plates in hand. He set one down in front of the Kid, dropping down across from Ben with a scowl. “You ain’t been to one of these since-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered. He didn’t need another fucking reminder She was gone. “I live here just as much as you do, you fucking pussy. I can eat wherever I damn well please.” 

Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “Then where’s your food.” 

“I only just fucking sat down-“ 

“You can have mine.” Ben felt his jaw clench as the Kid pushed his plate across the table. “I’m not that hungry.” 

“Ryan, you eat your own fuckin dinner and let me-“ 

“Kimiko gave me some cheese earlier.” The Kid mumbled. “I was showing her my homework and she was eating cheese. I asked for some-“ 

“Ryan-“ 

“I didn’t mean to eat all of it, I was just hungry-“ 

“Ryan-“ 

“And Mom said sharing was good!” Ryan looked at Butcher with wide eyes, and the pussies face fell into a glower. “She said sharing was important!” 

Butcher’s glare turned to Ben, and Ben pulled the plate closer to his body. He wasn’t that fucking hungry either, but Her voice kept ringing in his head. 

Be kind to Ryan. For me. 

“Uh,” Ben looked at the Kid, who was watching him with an openly nervous expression. “Thanks.” 

Was that so hard, Pretty Boy? You were almost civilized. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Her laugh echoed around Ben’s head, and he gave the Kid a small nod. “What are you reading.”

“Of Mice and Men,” The Kid answered, and his voice was so fucking quiet. “Aunt Grace says it’s important for my education-“

“That the one about the huge idiot who gets shot in the head, yeah?” Ben frowned, because he’d read that book. Over 80 years ago, but he’d read it. “It’s-“

“Lennie gets shot?!” The Kid’s face had fallen, and Ben blinked. 

“Uh-“ 

“Bloody hell.” Butcher sighed, pulling the book away from the Kid with a glare at Ben. “Tell him about your homework Ryan. I’m gonna go get you another fuckin book.” 

There was silence for a second after the door closed behind Butcher. 

“You don’t have to listen to me talk about my homework,” the Kid mumbled. “It’s not that interesting.” 

Be kind to Ryan. “I don’t fucking care. Talk.” 

The Kid started slow. He’d been right, it wasn’t that interesting. It was all books and history and science and fucking math. Ben goddamn knew what ecosystems were, and he didn’t give a fuck about calculating percentages, but the Kid seemed to. He got all damn cheerful naming the fifty states, and Ben didn’t have the fucking heart to shut him up. She’d asked him to be kind, and this seemed like the type of shit She’d love. She wouldn’t care that it was all for fucking children, She’d ask the Kid about his opinion on the symbolism in their stupid fucking books and his opinion on the Lousiana purchase.

So he let the Kid talk, all the way until the dining hall finally started to fill with the rest of the team. Annie and Hughie first, followed by Kimiko and the French Prick, all of whom gave Ben odd looks but didn’t interrupt the Kid’s ranting. MM and Butcher arrived—A-Train was still mostly keeping to himself, Ben hadn’t even seen him outside of meetings—and the Kid was cut off mid-sentence as Butcher dropped another book on the table.

Ben stood up. He’d done what he had to, and been nice to the Kid. He could leave.

“Are you not eating with us?” The Kid was frowning at him. “I thought you were going to eat with us.”

Ben wasn’t sure what to do. “I’m not-“ 

“Sit your ass down, Soldier Boy.” MM grunted, not looking up from his plate. “Eat your fucking dinner.” 

The Kid was still fucking watching him with a sad expression that turned into a smile when Ben slowly returned to his seat. 

Ben wasn’t sure how he allowed it to happen, but he was back in the dining hall the next night as well. He kept thinking about how fucking happy She’d be he was talking to the Kid, and how the Kid didn’t seem to care that Ben had tried to murder him at one point. He just seemed happy Ben was there, and his face lit up when Ben sat across the table again. So Ben was there the next night, and the night after that, and suddenly he was fucking eating dinner with everyone. 

The Thing was still fucking trying to tell him something. He still didn’t fucking understand. It kept going on rampages around Ben’s body, trying to force him to get it. To just know what it wanted him to, what the Thing had decided was so fucking important for him to know. And it was still trying to tell Her. She wasn’t here, Ben had to keep reminding the Thing She wasn’t here, but it didn’t give a shit. It was rioting inside of Ben like it did when She was sad and he needed to help. To hold Her until her heartbeat was steady, or talk to Her until her perfect fucking brain was Her’s again. When it was trying to tell Ben to touch Her, that he should touch Her and all the pain and fear written across her pretty features would vanish, because Ben would make Her feel good. He’d touch Her and kiss her and bite her and fuck her until she was happy. He’d do fucking anything to make Her happy. 

And the Thing roared. 

There were points where the Thing would explode inside him, and Her voice would become clear. Like she was right at his side, grinning up at him as she spoke. Telling him about things only She would think of. The real Her, not the echo of her in his head. The Thing would squeeze in Ben’s chest in the middle of the night, and Her voice would start talking all too fast about how she couldn’t come home. She was weak and couldn’t come home. Ben told Her to shut up, because she would. Not coming home wasn’t a goddamn option. 

And She still wasn’t wearing blue. She’d promised, fucking sworn, that she’d wear blue if Ben needed to come get her. But she wasn’t, so Ben just waited. Mallory turned on the Dining Hall TV for some sort of stupid Vought show, and She looked so fucking exhausted and small—shrinking into herself in a way that Ben knew meant she was afraid—next to Homelander. But Ben had to just listen to Sage give a speech about their fucking relationship, and not go help Her. He hated this, but he fucking couldn’t go until She gave the signal. The Thing was raging inside of him, and Her voice was following him—teasing him with a lightness in her voice—but Ben had to just watch. Talk to Her in his head about anything, because that’s all he could have right now.

Then Homelander kissed Her cheek, and the table had cracked under Ben’s grip. Everyone was fucking looking at him, and She looked so fucking afraid. Homelander had touched Her. That weak, pathetic fucking pussy wasn’t supposed to touch Her. Ben should’ve been there to fucking kill him for even looking at Her- 

Ben was moving before he was even aware of it. Stalking down the halls, back to the apartment, because he was going to get Her. The Thing was going fucking feral, and Her voice kept trying to stop him, but nothing could stop him. Nothing was going to stop Ben from fucking killing Homelander, right fucking now. He had his shield and himself, and V or no V, he’d take the shot and he wouldn’t fucking miss. He wasn’t going to keep fucking leaving Her- 

Not leaving. 

She kept talking to him, her voice desperate in Ben’s head. He had go goddamn save her, bring her home- 

Her voice wouldn’t shut the fuck up. She wanted to come home. She wanted him more. She’d see Ben soon, but he had to wait.

He had to keep fucking waiting. He had to put down his shield, put his shirt back on, push his suit back into the dresser and just miss Her. Wait for her and miss her.

After a while, someone knocked on the door. Ben scowled—if it was Hughie or Annie here to talk about fucking feelings, he’d punch their teeth out—and went to answer the door. 

It wasn’t Annie or Hughie to talk about feelings. It wasn’t Mallory or MM or Butcher to lecture him either, or even the French Prick to do whatever the hell the French Prick did. 

It was the Kid, looking up at Ben with an anxious face. 

“You, um, you weren’t in the dining hall for dinner. I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Ben blinked at him. He didn’t fucking love how he seemed unable to hold a normal conversation with the Kid. It was just a small fucking human. He could act like a grown ass man.

“I’m eating alone. Go back before Butcher starts fucking looking for you.” 

Ben went to slam the door, but the Kid stopped him. Shot out a hand and stopped Ben. “Please, wait-“ 

“How fucking strong are you?” 

The Kid stared at him. “I, um, I don’t know. My dad said I was really strong-“ 

“Anyone ever tested it?” 

“Tested what?” 

Ben sighed. “Your strength. Given you some weights, put you under a car-“ 

“A car?” The Kid shook his head frantically. “I don’t, please don’t put me under a car-“ 

“Calm the fuck down, I’m not going to do it right damn now.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell Butcher tomorrow.” 

“Tell Butcher what-“ 

The Kid’s words were still panicked, and Ben sighed, running a hand over his face. “We need to figure out how strong you are. Just so you don’t fucking break something.” 

“I broke a cup,” the Kid mumbled, staring at the floor. “When I got here. And I’ve broken some people-“ 

“That’s not your fault,” Ben snapped, Her sad face flashing with smoke in his brain. “If nobody’s taught you how to control it, you shouldn’t be fucking expected to.” 

The Kid nodded slowly, still staring at Ben. “Will you help me?” 

“I don’t-” Ben’s fists curled at his side, and he cut himself off as he saw at the Kid’s wide, hopeful eyes watching him. Watching Ben like he was better than he was, like he’d somehow earned the Kid’s trust. Ben cursed himself, and sighed. “Fine.” 

“Will you come to dinner?” 

“No.” Ben wasn’t going to relent on that. He didn’t need everyone’s fucking sad, pitying looks, not right now. Not when the Thing was still rolling around inside him, not when he could still see Her face—full of frightened shock—and couldn’t do anything about it.

“Can I eat here?” 

Ben blinked. “What.” 

“May I please eat here? If, um, if it’s okay with you I can go ask Butcher-“ 

“Why.” 

The Kid shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor. “I want to ask you some questions, please.” 

Ben frowned. “About what.” 

The Kid said Her name, and the Thing fucking moaned in pain. “I just, I want to know about her. Nobody will talk about her, and Kimiko said you were-“ 

“You can fucking talk to Kimiko?” 

“I’m trying to learn,” the Kid shrugged, glancing up quickly. “It’s important to understand and respect others, even if they’re different-“ 

“Fine.” 

The Kid looked fully back up. “Fine?”

“You can eat here. Don’t bother getting Butcher, he’ll be a fucking ass about it. If he whines like a dickless pussy, I’ll deal with it.” Ben stood aside in one sharp step, and the Kid walked in the apartment slowly, looking around with wide eyes. 

“Your place is nicer than Butcher’s.” 

“Everyone decorated their own,” Ben grunted, moving to the kitchen. “And Butcher’s fucking boring. No color in that asshole’s place.” 

“Who decorated yours?” 

Ben sighed, said Her name, and ignored the stab through his heart. “Sit the fuck down. We’re eating bagels.” 

The Kid waited silently as Ben pulled out plates and prepped the food. When he stalked back over to the table—The Kid watching him and sitting with good fucking posture—Ben slammed the bagels down and dropped in his seat. The Kid was in Her seat.

He had to be okay with that. She’d kick Ben’s ass if he moved the Kid just because he didn’t think anyone else should ever even try to take her place in any fucking way. 

The Kid took his first bite, and stared down at the bagel as he swallowed. “Is this-“ 

“Strawberry cream cheese,” Ben muttered, shoving half of his own in his mouth. “Better than fucking crack.” 

“Oh.” The Kid nodded, and took another small bite. 

Ben sighed. “She liked it.” 

Don’t lie to the child, Benjamin. You love that shit twice as much as I do. 

“She showed it to me,” Ben amended himself, face dropping into a scowl. “And I love it as well.” 

The Kid nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Taking another bite, waiting for Ben to speak.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Ben leaned back in his chair, glaring at the Kid. “Three questions. That’s all you fucking get. I don’t have to answer a goddamn one if I don’t want to, and you don’t get them back. So choose fucking wisely.”

The Kid nodded, and looked back down at his plate. Ben shoved the rest of his bagel in his mouth, watching the Kid carefully as he chewed. 

“What’s her favorite color?” 

“All of them,” Ben swallowed, his words becoming clearer. “She liked every fucking color. She said she didn’t want any of them to feel bad about being ugly, so she wouldn’t pick a favorite. All colors had something to contribute.” 

“Even orange?” 

Ben snorted. “Halloween and the damn Grand Canyon.” 

The Kid took another bite, looking up at Ben. “How did you meet her?” 

“She fucking kidnapped me.” Ben grumbled, and the Kid’s mouth fell open. Ben rolled his eyes. “Not like that. She woke me up to kill Homelander, and we lived in a safe house together. We grew,” Ben frowned, searching for the right word that explained how She was his whole life. How he’d decided that, in the end, he would fucking die and kill and bleed for Her. How She made him happy and was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. How She was perfect, and adored Ben, and they’d always fucking burn together. “Close. Once we stopped trying to damn kill each other, we grew close.”

“Okay.” The Kid looked fucking sad, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Spit it out,” Ben muttered. “Whatever the hell you want to say-“ 

“I’m sorry.“ The Kid’s voice was almost a whine, and he sounded desperate. Talking too fucking fast. “I, um, I know she’s not here because of me, and what my dad did to her, and Butcher says it’s not my fault but-“ 

“Shut up,” Ben’s words were rough, but he was getting worried the Kid was going to make himself pass out. “Butcher’s, for fucking once, right. You’re not your shit-fuck father, buddy.” That felt like something She’d say. “And she wanted to help you. She doesn’t hate you.”

“Why?” The Kid gave Ben a pathetic, sad look. “Why did she help me? After what my dad, what Homelander did-“ 

“Because that’s not the type of person she is.” Ben snapped, and his voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but the Thing was bellowing inside him. “She doesn’t hold things against people, even when she fucking should. She wants to help people, and so she fucking does.” Ben sighed. “She thinks the world is good. She’s mean and rude and has a smart fucking mouth, but she still thinks this shit is worth something. And she’s a fucking genius, so she’s probably right. She probably didn’t even damn think to blame you, so don’t fucking do it for her. She doesn’t like people doing shit for her.”

“She doesn’t?” 

“No.” Ben watched the Kid’s soft, eager expression. “She works her fucking ass off for everything, and earns every damn thing she gets. Never even asks for shit in return.” Ben scowled into the air. “She deserves a fuck ton more than people are giving her.” She deserved fucking everything. “Does everyone’s goddamn jobs and all she gets is an apartment and a limited company credit card in fucking Mallory’s name. If the CIA weren’t full of such fucking asshole pussies, they’d just give her goddamn control of everything and we’d all be home in an afternoon.”

“She sounds really cool.” The Kid mumbled, and Ben nodded. 

“She is fucking cool.” He grunted. “She’s fucking perfect.” 

The Kid looked up at Ben with big eyes. “Yeah, it, um, it makes sense why you love her.”

Ben’s whole world stopped. 

He did. 

He loved Her. 

With every single fucking part of him, Ben loved Her. That was what the Thing was. Love. For Her. That’s what it had been trying to tell him. He loved Her. 

She was perfect. She was the whole world and everything around it and between it, and Ben loved Her. She never fucking wavered, and was so fucking smart and beautiful and good, and Ben loved Her. She trusted Ben, she wanted him, and he fucking loved Her.

This was the stupid shit people wrote all those songs that She loved about. Where they talked about it like it was evasive and the most amazing pain you’d ever fucking feel, and how their person was the best person and nobody fucking got it like they did. This pain was fucking amazing, and Ben never wanted to stop feeling it. It made his heart—that’s what the fucking Thing was, and Ben was a goddamn idiot—ache because she wasn’t here, but it also meant he got to want Her. The pain meant She was in sight, and Ben just had to fucking wait. He’d never stop waiting. If the next time he saw Her was in a thousand fucking years, Ben would pick her up into his arms all the same and kiss her until she moaned into his mouth and he could breathe again. Because his person was the best fucking person. Nobody did fucking get it like Ben did. She was better than every other goddamn pussy fucker on the planet, and she was a goddamn force of nature. She made oceans part and lightning strike and the sun followed Her because it wanted to share Her warmth. She was so fucking perfect, so powerful, that she’d managed to make Ben’s heart beat in a way it hadn’t before. He’d been alive for over a goddamn century, and he’d never had everything be about his heart, and how it needed to be in time with Hers. 

This was all the goddamn movies she’d made him watch, where two people would look into each other’s eyes and the music would swell and everything would fade to black as they kissed. This wouldn’t fade to black. This would keep going, and Ben would eat Her pretty face and suck her lips until they were swollen. He’d put wets kisses along her jaw and bite on her neck, and she’d fucking moan and the lights would stay up as Ben fucked her. Really, properly fucked Her like she deserved, made her unravelled and wrecked under him. Everyone would fucking see, because the whole fucking world needed to see Her how Ben saw her. And he’d keep going and going until she looked at him like he was everything, and Ben would keep fucking loving Her until someone figured out a way to kill him. And even then he’d crawl back to Her. They’d have to pull his fucking heart out of his chest and launch it into fucking space where he couldn’t follow it. He’d probably follow it anyways, because space didn’t have fucking shit on Ben, on his love for Her. His love was bigger, more important, and if space tried to take his heart Ben would just have to figure out how to fucking kill it and get Her back.

This was probably like poems and books, as well. She’d say it was. She’d say that love is the most poetic thing in the world, and that love in some form runs through every great story in history, even the tragic and heartbreaking ones. She’d make this shit poetic. She’d hold Ben’s face between her hands and say a bunch of things he didn’t understand, using allegories and metaphors and smiling at him, and it wouldn’t fucking matter what Ben understood. She would be there, telling Ben she loved him and smiling and saying it a million different ways because that’s who she was. Her brain moved too fucking fast, and She’d only be able to tell Ben she loved him in a way that was beautiful. 

Ben didn’t need to be fucking beautiful. This was pretty fucking simple, he loved Her. That was all that needed to be fucking said, there was no other goddamn way to put it. Ben loved Her, like nobody had ever loved anything in goddamn history. Ben loved Her, and whenever he thought the words his heart would feel a little easier in his chest.

Once She was home Ben would get his hands dirty for her and do whatever she told him and make Her feel fucking good. That’s what he was here for now, to make Her feel good, to touch her and praise her and worship her until she understood that she was perfect. She’d fall apart because of Ben, and she’d fucking smile at him after, and that would be all he needed to keep living. She could have all his food, and take all his sleep and oxygen and goddamn peace, but Ben would fucking thrive. Because She’d be there and he could keep loving her.

But now, he had to get through the rest of dinner and show the Kid out while acting like everything was normal. He had to get through the rest of his fucking life acting like everything was fucking normal. Like he wasn’t in love, in stupid fucking love, with Her. 

He’d tell Her. She had to fucking know. Ben would hold it within himself until She was home and happy, then he’d tell her. 

He didn’t have a fucking clue how. He’d never done this shit before, where it really fucking mattered that he did it right. He could get her shit. Something she’d like, that proved that Ben listened. He always fucking listened to Her.

She liked those stupid off-brand Uought sunglasses. She’d wear them all the damn time, and they’d broken when he lost Her. He wouldn’t get Her blue one’s this time. She shouldn’t wear blue, unless it was to tell Ben to come fucking get Her. He didn’t want to get Her Soldier Boy sunglasses, Vought didn’t deserve Ben’s money—technically the CIA’s money, but who gave a fuck—or his likeness. 

Ben got Her green ones. Simple fucking green ones with the same aviator frames, that he could give to Her and say he loved her and she’d smile at him. 

He kept eating with the team. The Kid kept asking Ben questions, a lot about history—like he was supposed have a fucking clue just because he’d been alive for some of it—and a lot about Her.

“I wasn’t alive in the fucking 1800s,” Ben muttered as the Kid showed him a worksheet question. “I don’t have a goddamn idea what that painting means.” 

“The book said it was about Manifest Destiny,” the Kid frowned. “But I can’t find a definition, and Butcher and Aunt Grace don’t want me to have a phone.” 

Ben actually agreed with that. The Kid didn’t need to see all the shit people were saying about him, or about how Homelander and Her were in love but maybe She’d been fucking Butcher. Ben wished he could unsee it. Wipe it from his goddamn brain. He was about to say he didn’t have a fucking clue about the Manifest Destiny shit, but She must have told him at some point. This seemed like shit she’d tell him about, and suddenly her voice was reminding him. 

“It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so.” 

The Kid blinked at him. “Really? Are you-“ 

“I’m fucking certain.” Her voice in Ben’s head had been fucking certain, so he was as well. “That’s what it means.” 

“Okay.” The Kid started to write on the paper, and people began to trickle in for dinner. Butcher sat at the Kid’s side—glancing over the worksheet once and giving an approving nod—as Hughie and Annie sat on Ben’s bench. Neither flinched when Ben glanced at them. MM and A-Train arrived, the fast pussy finally seeming to develop some team spirit, and the French Prick and Kimiko were late. Ben hoped they were finally just fucking. If they kept making silent heart eyes at each other without just fucking, he’d shoot them. The French Prick specifically, because Kimiko would just be a waste of a bullet. If Ben couldn’t fuck his woman, everyone else better start appreciating what they goddamn had.

“You still need my phone for that bloody school shit, Ryan?” 

“No,” the Kid didn’t look up from his paper. “Ben helped me. Manifest Destiny means,” he paused, squinting to read his own handwriting. “The nationalistic belief that America should expand to the west.” 

Butcher scowled at Ben. “That so?” 

The Kid hummed, and Ben shrugged. “I’m fucking right, so don’t lose your stick up your own asshole.” 

“You seem real fuckin sure-“ 

“He is right, Butcher,” MM muttered. “That’s the definition. Not sure how he knows-“ 

“All of you seem to be real goddamn convinced I’m a fucking idiot,” Ben snapped. “I’m not a boring pussy, but I know things. I’m not a goddamn asshole without a fucking brain.” 

“I think we just aren’t sure what you would know,” Hughie mumbled, glancing at Ben nervously. “I mean, you haven’t been in school in a while. And I don’t think they taught westward expansion with any, like, nuance in the early 1900s.” 

“They didn’t,” Ben sighed, and said Her name. He needed to say Her name more, it made his heart squeeze but it always sounded fucking right. “She told me. And she’s a fucking nerd,” he tried not to smile. He fucking missed her. “She’s always fucking right about that shit.”

A-Train was looking at Ben weird again. Ben was about to fucking ask what the hell is problem was, why the pussy wouldn’t just talk to him. Ben hadn’t even ever really tried to kill him—as far as he remembered—and everyone else was talking to him. He’d defiantly tried to kill everyone else at least once, so why the fuck A-Train was being so damn strange- 

“Does she like school?” The Kid was asking Ben with those same fucking wide eyes, and he couldn’t not talk about Her if he fucking tried. 

“She says there are massive flaws in the American education system,” Ben shrugged. “But she likes learning, because she’s fucking insane.” 

“What was her favorite subject?” The Kid’s voice was growing eager, and everyone else was silent. “In school?” 

“English. And the fucking social one. Anything about people.”

“Arts and Humanities,” MM offered, frowning at Ben. “If it’s not STEM, it’s Arts and Humanities.”

Ben didn’t have a fucking clue what STEM was, but Arts and Humanities sounded familiar. “Sure. That shit.” 

“I like English as well,” the Kid was smiling, and Ben couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching. “But I also like science. Biology is my favorite-“ 

“Let the old ass fuckin eat, Ryan.” Butcher muttered, standing up. “You want pizza rolls?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Butcher nodded and stalked off, and the Kid turned back to Ben. 

“Does she like biology?” 

Ben sighed. “She likes everything. I think she gives at least a small shit about biology, because she talked about it when she’d work on my shell shock.” 

The Kid needed to stop asking fucking questions about Her, because Ben was learning he was incapable of just lying or telling him to shut the fuck up. His stupid heart would grab his mouth and use any fucking excuse to talk about Her—about how good she was and how she made everything around her good as well—because it wasn’t allowed to say Ben loved Her yet. 

“What’s shell shock?” 

“PTSD.” 

“What?” Annie leaned over Hughie, frowning at Ben. “What are you talking about?” 

“She was doing her fucking brain magic shit on my head.” Ben snapped. “She asked to, and it was fucking working.”

It had been working. Ben would never tell Her, because she’d get that pleased look in her eyes and bounce around the room, taunting Ben until he grabbed Her and kissed all the smug words out of her mouth—actually, he would tell Her, because that sounded fucking amazing—but it had been working. Ben’s nightmares about Russia and pain had faded, and he didn’t hear drums in the constant background anymore. Now it was only Her, following him and making him lose his fucking mind. 

Annie nodded, and dropped it for the rest of dinner. Ben answered a few more of the Kid’s questions, ignored A-Train’s silent, strange looks, and ate his barbecued ribs. When he was done he cleared his plate, dropping it into the sink, and nearly punched Annie when she came up behind him. 

“Soldier Boy?” 

Ben whipped around, fist’s clenched. “Christ on a fucking cross-“ 

“Why didn’t she tell us about the PTSD treatment?” Annie crossed her arms, standing her ground. “We should know-“ 

“Me and you pussies weren’t exactly buddy-buddy,” Ben drawled. “And you don’t need to know shit about what she and I do.” 

“If it affects the team, we do.” 

“Well it fucking doesn’t-“ 

“It was probably hurting her,” Annie pushed on, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t just vanishing. Whatever she was doing to fix you was going into her.” 

“She’d have fucking told me-“

Annie shook her head. ���She wouldn’t.” Annie said Her name with a sad expression, and Ben’s heart hurt. “She, well, you know her. She wouldn’t ever tell anyone she was hurting, not until she had to.” 

“She’d fucking tell me.” Ben insisted. She’d never fucking lie to him, and he’d never doing anything that would hurt her. “If it was hurting her, she’d have told me and I’d have fucking stopped her-“

“Just, listen.” Annie sighed. “I know she cares about you. A lot. And if you care about her, you won’t make her keep doing that when she gets back. It’s not her responsibility to fix you, even if she...” Annie looked him up and down. “Cares about you.” 

“I fucking know that,” Ben hissed. “You think I don’t fucking know that? I care about her more than you’re goddamn capable of imagining-“ 

“Then don’t hurt her.” Annie shrugged. “She won’t say it’s hurting her, but her nightmares were getting worse even before the tower. She’s dealing with a lot, do this one thing for her.” 

Her nightmares had been getting worse. And She’d been staring at corners and shadows when she didn’t think Ben was watching. “How the fuck did you know that.” 

“She’s my friend,” Annie frowned. “She told me stuff.” 

“What other stuff did she tell you?” 

“Enough for me to believe that you don’t want to hurt her.” 

“Stop speaking in fucking riddles-“ 

“Soldier Boy,” Annie shook her head. “I’m not trying to fight with you. Not right now, with everything being so fucked. But just, don’t hurt her.” 

Annie left, and Ben couldn’t fucking move. He’d never hurt Her, he fucking loved Her. Everything in him was dedicated to protecting her and loving her, and he’d rather go back to sleep or ship himself to Russia that let her hurt anymore- 

She knew that. Ben was certain She knew that. She didn’t know he loved Her, and he wished her voice would stop trying to fight with him about that, but she knew Ben would never fucking hurt Her. He’d keep her safe, he’d always care for her and make her happy. Everything good was Her, and Ben’s heart kept beating so she could have it when she came home. 

The blood in Ben’s body had turned into Her. This is what people must have meant when they said love would drive you mad. Her voice, growing clearer and clearer in his head, was still telling about strange fucking things Ben hadn’t been thinking about before. Sometimes it would even say that She loved him, and Ben decided that he was getting a little too fucking into this fantasy. Where he could ask Her voice in his head questions and she’d answer like it was Her. Really Her. When he’d finished buying Her sunglasses—She’d be real fucking proud, he’d used Amazon without calling Hughie to make him do it—Her voice had been tired and sour around him, but still so slightly amused. Sounding like Her. 

Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

Ben had frowned into the empty apartment. What the fuck are you talking about. 

The Deep. Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

I don’t fucking know. Why the hell would I know that. 

You don’t have to actually know, Pretty Boy. You can guess, or offer another type of porn. My vote is tentacle, but if you think there’s another- 

What’s that one you told me about that I couldn’t fucking understand. With the dogs. 

Beastialty? 

No, smartass. With the costumes- 

Oh. Furries.

Ben had nodded at nothing. Is there an ocean version of furries? 

Maybe. I don’t actually know. 

You don’t have to actually know, Sunshine. You can fucking guess- 

Shut up. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

No. 

Fuck you. 

I will. When you get home I’m going to blow your fucking mind. There’s not a single goddamn thing I won’t do to you, not if you ask real fucking nice- 

Not a thing? Are you going to tentacle fuck me? 

Brat. 

Cunt. And there probably are ocean furries. Rule 34 and all. 

What the hell is rule 34.

Her snort had rumbled in Ben’s chest. Oh, that’s going to be so much fun to show you. 

You can just fucking tell me- 

No. I want to see your face, it’s going to be adorable. 

I am not goddamn adorable- 

Yes, you are. You’re downright cute, Benjamin. Deal with it. 

Ben had sighed. You’re lucky I love you. 

Ben, please. Stop saying that. 

No. I fucking love you, and there’s not a goddamn thing that will make me stop loving you- 

Ben- 

His phone had buzzed with a message from Butcher about another A-Train meeting, and Her voice had vanished into the hum of Ben’s heart. He’d smiled at her sleepy face, still his lockscreen because there was not a fucking chance in hell he’d change it now, and left to go hear A-Train list out another bunch of stupid fucking passcodes.

He kept hearing Her. Her voice was only growing stronger, and Ben must miss her somehow more than he’d thought fucking possible because she was always there. 

Benjamin. 

He’d tensed, standing in the shower after returning to his apartment from dinner, and repeated Her name back to her in his head. 

Would you hate it if I asked you out? 

What. 

If I told you I loved you, and asked you out. And don’t say you love me. You’re not allowed to say you love me. 

Shut the fuck up, I’ll tell you I love you as much as I fucking want- 

Ben. Please just answer my question. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

My answer is no. Why the fuck would I hate it if you asked me out. And if you told me you loved me- 

I don’t know. Gender roles? Guys are supposed to ask girls out. 

We’re not fucking children. Let me finish my damn sentence. If you told me you loved me, there wouldn’t be a single fucking thing you could ask of me that I wouldn’t give you. And it doesn’t matter, because as soon as you’re home and safe I’m going to tell you I love you and fuck you stupid. 

Stop saying that- 

No. I’m going to make you cum all over me a hundred times in every single fucking position I can think of. Then I’ll make some new ones, and figure out which ones are your favorite, so I can keep fucking you forever. 

Ben had almost been able to hear that small sound She always made when she was trying to hide how wet he’d gotten her. I’d like that. 

Good. Because it’s fucking happening. The moment you say the word, you’re fucking mine, Sunshine. And if you want to suck my cock, I won’t stop you. 

What a gentleman. I’m one lucky gal, having such a generous… Her voice had trailed off, and Ben had seen her pretty lips falling into a frown. Heard the chew of her cheek. Boyfriend sounds stupid. 

Boyfriend is stupid. Ben had scowled, because boyfriend was too weak a word to describe what he needed to be to Her. And girlfriend was a fucking pathetic thing to call the most perfect woman to ever exist. And I’m not ever going to call you my girlfriend, because we’re fucking adults. 

That’s true, hundred year old men shouldn’t have girlfriends. That’s pretty embarrassing for you.

Brat.

Cunt. There was a beat of silence. What would you call me?

Doesn’t matter, Ben had shrugged, even though She wasn’t real and couldn’t see it. As long as we’re fucking together, I don’t give a shit what we call each other. 

He’d want to call Her his wife. Suddenly he was goddamn certain that, one day, he’d fucking marry that insane and perfect fucking woman. If She’d let him. As Her voice hummed and faded away again, Ben decided that whatever she’d give him he’d take. He’d ask, at the right times, what she wanted. If it was everything he wanted. But if she didn’t—she might never want exactly what Ben wanted, not with Homelander as a stain on her head—Ben would genuinely be fucking fine. Not Her type of fine, where she just didn’t want to talk about how much everything was hurting Her, but just fine. As long as She was with him, Ben would be fine. 

His dreams were getting fucking horrible again. He’d wake up from nightmares filled with blood, unable to breathe with Her voice in his head. 

Blood. So much blood. I don’t have time to clean all this blood- 

Breathe, Sunshine. He’d glare into the dark, because even if She wasn’t real it was fucking painful to hear her voice so afraid and weak. Just fucking breathe. 

There’s blood, Ben. It’s everywhere, and it’s not mine, and I miss you. I miss you so much- 

Wear blue, and I’ll come fucking get you, right now. 

No, I’m so close. I can’t. 

Then breathe. 

Ben’s own heart had slowed, and his own breathing became even. 

Thank you. Her voice had whispered, right in his ear. He could almost feel Her soft hand, gently tracing his jaw in the dark. I’m sorry. 

Shut the fuck up. Don’t ever thank me, or apologize. 

Please- 

No. I don’t want it. I want you home, because I fucking miss you. Nothing else. 

Okay. Silence, then. I’ll see you soon. 

He’d sighed into the dark, and stared up at the high ceiling. He’d forgotten to turn off the bathroom lamps, and there was light leaking under the door of their empty bedroom. I’ll see you soon.

They were still looking for V. A-Train had given them a list of warehouses and Vought storage spaces, so right now Ben’s job was to comb over them with Butcher, Hughie, and the French Prick for clues. There were hundreds of warehouses and cargo ports and underground bunkers, and Hughie kept finding fucking more. There was one in Sacramento that A-Train had claimed was full of V, but Hughie couldn’t find it on any records. It had seemingly disappeared off the face of the damn planet. There were fifty more like it, a lot of others in fucking places like New Orleans and Austin that held supe gear, and several in Akron and Portland and Chicago that were label miscellaneous. They’d kept Ben’s shield there. In a fucking miscellaneous warehouse. 

“This is getting us fucking nowhere,” he muttered, crumpling another paper in his hand as Her voice turned back to an easy song in his head. “It doesn’t fucking matter where Vought kept them. Sage would fucking hide anything she didn’t destroy.” 

“You got a better fuckin idea, Gov?” Butcher snapped, not looking up from his own papers. “We ain’t got much to go on, we’re doin the best with the shit we’ve got.”

“Our best is fucking dogshit-“ 

“Maybe it’s offsite?” Hughie paused his tapping of the computer. “Vought has, like, a lot of shell companies, right? Maybe Sage moved it there, off of any records.” 

Butcher nodded slowly. “Frenchie-“

The French Prick sighed. “I will go tell MM.”

“What about Homelander,” Ben grunted, frowning at Hughie. “Are you looking where he’d keep it?” 

“We can’t be sure he has any-“ 

“He does.” Ben’s snap was cold. “He might be the one keeping it offsite, where Sage can’t fucking find it.” 

“Lad, he’s ain’t totally fuckin wrong,” Butcher glanced up and Hughie with narrow eyes. “Homelander ain’t tryin to hide it from just the CIA, he’s tryin to hide it from everyone. And Vought’s his fuckin playground. He might be keepin it wherever he damn pleases.”

Hughie sighed. “Maybe, but I can’t check that without the list of shell companies.” 

“Do your fucking braking shit,” Ben scowled. “Isn’t that your whole fucking thing-“ 

“It’s hacking, not braking. And it’s not my whole thing-“ 

Hughie cut himself off as the Kid pushed into the dining hall. 

“Is it pizza night?” He sat next to Butcher, right across from Ben. “I know it’s early, but I’m really hungry-“

“It’s Friday, ain’t it?” Butcher started to pull his papers into his chest, shoving them down to Hughie. “And we can eat early. We’re the cunts in charge of ourselves.”

Ben returned his papers to Hughie as well, because this wasn’t going to do fucking shit. There wouldn’t be V anywhere, Sage was too smart of a bitch to leave it lying around. Ben could eat dinner, and then hang over Hughie’s shoulder until the man proved himself fucking useful.

He ate Her favorite type of pizza. He’d been eating Her favorite type of pizza, because it reminded him of Her. Of her smile and the soft look on Her perfect face when Ben would get it without her asking. She didn’t need to ask. Ben knew everything about Her that he needed to in order to keep her happy. It was how he was able to answer all of the Kid’s questions, and usually that knowledge would make his heart a little slower. Make Ben feel a little more at ease that She be safe and happy with him. That there was at least one way in which he was deserving of Her. But tonight his heart was going a mile a damn minute and he couldn’t fucking figure out why. He felt like something was choking him, like every nerve in his body was burning and he was cold. The pizza was warm, the dining hall was warm, but Ben felt cold. And it only got worse and worse. He felt fucking sick, something felt wrong. The longer the night went on, everyone having joined them to eat and talk about anything but the mission—a recently imposed rule by MM after Butcher had said the words supe jizz might have fuckin V in it and everyone had lost their appetites—the worse Ben felt. He was dying. Everything fucking hurt and he felt like he was going to fucking collapse- 

The whole room lit up red, and deafening alarms started to sound through the building. Ben and Butcher were up first, MM and Annie close behind them as they stormed to the door. 

“What’s going on-“ 

“Stay right fuckin there, Ryan.” Butcher roared, and the Kid froze in his steps. “Hughie, don’t let him out of your sight. Everyone else-“ 

“We don’t know what’s going on, Butcher.” Annie’s words were loud, but unsure. Ben could even fucking hear her heart racing over the sirens. “It might just be a fire drill-“ 

“We ain’t supposed to be hooked up to the drills,” Butcher snapped, pounding the wall and opening a full fucking arsenal panel. Someone should’ve told Ben about that sooner. “And we ain’t supposed to get alerts unless it’s defcon 1. It might be-“ 

“It’s not Homelander,” MM held up his phone. “I’ve got a Google alert on the fucker, he was just in France-“ 

Ben caught the gun Butcher was tossing to him. “It’s fucking something.” He grunted. “Something’s real fucking wrong. Get a gun and start moving.” 

MM frowned. “How the hell do you know-“ 

The doors burst open, and one of those pussy fucking agents—the man—yelped as five gun’s clicked with barrels aimed at his head. 

“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot-“

“What the fuck is going on,” Ben didn’t try to make his voice nice or kind. Something was going on, he’d never felt this type of goddamn suffering in his life, and when he’d paused for just a second he’d realized Her voice was gone. It wasn’t humming softly around in his head and heart anymore. It was just fucking pain. 

“Soldier Boy, sir, I’m sorry to bother you but-“

“Fucking talk!” Ben roared, his ribs starting to cave in. “Stop pussying around and use your goddamn words-“ 

The agent shouted Her name, and the gun broke in Ben’s hand. “She’s in the lobby, but nobody can touch her-“ 

Ben didn’t wait to hear more. She was in the lobby. The sky felt like it was fucking falling and Ben couldn’t really see beyond something red lining his vision, but She was fucking here. He was sprinting down the hall, and into the elevator with Annie, Kimiko, and somehow Butcher the only ones managing to keep up. His fists were clenching and unclenching, nobody was daring to fucking speak, and as the elevator started to drop the pain began to subside. Like it knew he was getting closer. It knew She was home. 

The elevator had barely dinged before Ben was out of it, ripping through the metal with his hands. They hadn’t stopped in the lobby—they’d stopped three or four levels above—and people were trying to get on. Scrambling forwards, then falling back with surprised sounds as Ben pushed past them. All of them looked fucking afraid, like they were running from something. 

There was an overlook into the main lobby. The first seven floors had hallways that wrapped around the entrance, and Ben had a feeling that if he just kept walking towards what everyone else was fleeing from, he’d get there. Butcher and Annie were calling after him, but Ben didn’t fucking care. She was so fucking close, he had to fucking get to Her-

He heard Her screams first. They were raw noised of pure fucking pain, and she was probably trying to fucking say something. Ben could only hear his blood in his ears, and hHr screams, and her heartbeat. Fast and wild and pounding out of her chest.

Ben could hear Her heartbeat. That was Her heartbeat. He’d recognize it underwater and in deep space and buried twenty feet under the ground. It had made him turn around at the Believe Expo, because he’d have just kept walking and telling Her voice to stop torturing him with ideas that she might be there, but he’d heard her heartbeat. And this was Her fucking heartbeat.

She was alone, curled into Herself in the center of the lobby. Ben could finally fucking see Her, four floors below him, collapsed on her knees and screaming. Covered in blood, clothing scorched, and fucking screaming. Everyone was either fleeing, passed out in an odd pattern across the floor, or watching with wide-eyes from a wide circle that had formed around Her. Nobody was helping Her. Why was nobody fucking helping Her- 

She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t looking at anyone, her eyes screwed shut as she screamed again. It was the worst fucking sound Ben had even heard. He needed to fucking get to Her, now. He’d survive the jump down, he wouldn’t even fucking feel it. He took a step back, readying to go, go to Her, he’d wasted too much fucking time and he had to get to Her, but a small hand yanked him back. 

“What the fuck-“ 

Kimiko was glaring at him, pointing at the people scattered around Her and signing something Ben couldn’t fucking understand. 

“I need to help her-“ 

She shook her head, gesturing to the weak, knocked out pussies on the floor. 

“They’re not fucking burned, there’s not even any fucking fire. And I’d fucking survive it anyway-“

“It ain’t fire, Gov.” Butcher was out of breath, shoving his way forward with a glower at Ben. “If you hadn’t just bloody run, you’d have heard what’s goin on.” 

“If you pussies don’t let me go and shut the fuck up, I’ll fucking kill you-“ 

“It’s the empathy!” Annie was right behind Butcher, her voice desperate. Below, She screamed again and Ben died a little bit. “People were trying to help her, but they kept screaming and collapsing. There’s not any fire, she just,” Annie’s eyes landed on Her, flinching as She screamed. “They’re feeling Her. Anyone who goes too close to Her feels whatever she’s feeling.” 

“And they’re all fuckin passing out from it, Gov.” Butcher sighed, shaking his head. “We just got to let her tire herself out, if anyone gets just a little too bloody close they’ll-“ 

There was not a chance in goddamn hell Ben was going to wait. She was here, she was home, he was done fucking waiting. If he felt that pain, or passed out, or even fucking died, at least it would’ve been to get to Her. 

He yanked his hand away from Kimiko, sending her stumbling backwards, and jumped down to the lobby. 

The floor cracked under him, and Ben braced himself for the pain. To roar and scream like she was and fucking crawl to Her if he had to. 

Nothing came. There was a dull kind of ache, but no pain. Everything that hurt was the noise of the alarms and the horrible sound of Her screams. He took a careful step, closer, and still nothing. Another, and the alarms and gathered crowd fell into the background. Her heartbeat was louder, and it was all Ben could hear. Everyone could fucking watch with stupid pussy gapes, all that mattered was Her. 

Her eyes were still closed, and when she screamed again he heard the words, running from her blood into his. 

Ben. 

He ran. It took two, bounding and powerful strides to grab Her. Hold Her in his arms. To fall to his knees at Her side, and pull her up into his chest.

Her screams stopped. Ben cradled Her head in his hand, his other squeezing her waist to make sure She was fucking real. He felt a flash of something boundless, something infinite and indestructible, and then she passed out. 

Ben carried Her to medical. He wanted to carry her to bed, to let her just rest, but he had to make sure she was okay. That someone with a pussy fucking degree would look at Her and tell Ben she’d be ok. Everyone was parting around then, and Ben didn’t give a fuck. She was in his arms, and everything was going to be okay. 

They gave Her a bed. Every doctor on the staff popped their head in—Ben thought they might be drawing straws for who’s turn it was to check on Her—and the French Prick came in with a vial of a golden liquid, attaching it to Her IV. 

“The fuck are you doing,” Ben grunted, but didn’t move from Her side. He’d pulled a chair up beside Her, and wasn’t going to fucking leave until her eyes opened. Until She could look at him and say she was okay. She was going to be okay. She had to be fucking okay. And if she wasn’t, Ben had to know that so he could figure out how to help. If he could fix it or heal it or just had to stay there, at Her side until she smiled. Whatever it fucking took.

“It is a suppressant.” The French Prick glanced at Ben’s scowl. “It will not hurt her. It will help.”

“How.”

“We do not know what will happen when she awakens. This will make sure people other than yourself can approach her safely.” 

Ben nodded slowly, looking back at Her face. Perfect, at complete ease in her sleep. “Fine.” 

Then it was just them again. Ben’s hand was in hers—nobody could make him stop touching Her with a fucking nuke of Sage’s gas pointed to his chest—and she was sighing in Her sleep. 

Perfect.

He loved Her more than the whole fucking universe, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her that when she woke up. When Her eyes opened, it was going to have to be about her. Ben would have to fucking swallow the words, and tell her he loved her when she was ready to hear it. When he was convinced beyond a doubt she’d be okay, and that she’d keep smiling at him no matter what she felt for him. She wouldn’t leave him. She adored him. Even in her fucking sleep her fingers had twined themselves into his, and Ben had never been more certain of anything or anyone. He was certain he loved Her. He was certain he didn’t deserve her, but that his whole fucking life from here on out was going to be about earning her. This was all about Her now. 

Everything was Her. 

And Ben couldn’t say it where She could hear him. But he had to say it, now, or he’d explode. 

“I wanted to hate you,” he started in a low voice, watching Her eyes flutter in sleep. Perfect. “I should’ve fucking hated you, and I really goddamn wanted to. You seemed like everything I fucking despised. People who think they’re better than me because they’re too weak to see the gray of the world. People who sit in ivory fucking towers and think they’re worth more because they’re smarter than me. People who think they deserve to tell me what to do, pussies who are too fucking good for anything.” He sighed. “I really fucking tried to hate you. It would’ve been easier. Made this stupid shit so much fucking easier. But you can never make anything easy, can you Sunshine. You have to be the most beautiful fucking pain in my ass all the goddamn time.” 

She shifted slightly, heart still slow and steady, and Ben smiled. “You wouldn’t fucking stop proving me wrong. You don’t think you’re better than me, you are better than me. You’re better than fucking every sorry pussy in the world. You see all the gray, but you still keep doing good things, and that’s so fucking hard to do. I’ve been trying to, for you, and Christ, it’s exhausting. But you just do it, like there’s no other option. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever fucking met, and you’re fucking funny, and you never think you’re better. You explain everything you say if someone asks, and you’re not nice about it, but you do. You love answering questions, you love people, and I don’t fucking get it. I don’t fucking understand how you’re so fucking perfect, and why you couldn’t just let me hate you. Why you couldn’t just be a fucking bitch, why you kept smiling at me and laughing with me.” She hummed in her sleep, and Ben reached a hand out. Brushing his thumb along Her cheek. “You’re so good, Sunshine. I couldn’t hate you, because you’re just good. You’re too good for everything, but you’d never lord it over anyone. You’re the most beautiful woman in history, and you’re a goddamn brat, and I could never really fucking hate you.” He felt a lump form in his throat, and She leaned into his hand. “I love you.” He sighed Her name, listening to the easy sound of Her heartbeat. “I love you. You burn, I burn, and I fucking love you.” 

She was safe. 

She was home. 

Ben loved Her, and they were going to be okay.

End Note:  Can you guys tell I’m a whore for Chekov’s Gun? We did it squad. She's home. Thank you all for sticking through the darkest part (there WILL be more angst, but like. hurt/comfort. Lined with fluff and character growth that doesn't make us want to die), and every form of support you've shown me. You guys are the best, and I'm very sorry for doing that to you. See you soon!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[zara972935]

Some people see Tsukishima with a cute girl after practice!

Kei had asked (y/n) to practice with him after the rest of the team had left. (he was so sure they all left, but nothing just goes his way😔)

mention of one little kissy kissy (reader and kei are in a relationship)

she/her prns used

Tsukishima:

hey (y/n), can you practice with me

the idiots finally left

(Y/N):

haha sure! and i don’t think it’s very nice to call them idiots when they’re your teammates!

Tsukishima:

yeah yeah, lecture me after you help me

you lived close to the school, so you just packed a few things in your bag, telling your mom you’d be going out. you walked for about 6 minutes, slowly approaching the gymnasium. you saw the lights in through the windows, and pushed the door. you stepped in, seeing Tsukishima bumping a volleyball against a wall.

he turned around, noticing you entered. he hummed in acknowledgment, catching the ball and walking over to you.

“what do you even have in there? your house is right here anyways.” he glanced down at your bag that you set by the door, with slight sarcasm.

“i didn’t come here for you to be asking me what i have.” you playfully replied. “so you need help with your spikes or something?”

“spikes.” Tsukishima and you walked over to the cart full of volleyballs, rolling it over to where you’d being throwing the ball up so he could spike it.

“can i change up the distances?” you ask, trying to bump one of the volleyballs, almost immediately losing control, while Tsukishima walked over to where he’d start running from.

“yeah i guess.” he muttered, stretching his arms.

“yo-kay, tell me when you’re ready.” you had a ball in your hands.

although, not too far away, hinata and tanaka were in the club room (the two people who should NEVER be left alone), chatting with each other. “wait wait… shh..” tanaka looked out one of the small windows in the club room.

hinata’s eyes widened, suddenly thinking he was in a horror movie.

tanaka then scared him by fake jumping at him and yelling “BOO!” hinata jumped up, running out the club room and nearing the gymnasium. he slightly tilted his head when he saw light pouring out the windows of the gymnasium. did someone say they’d stay after practice?

tanaka had followed hinata, but was confused why he had stopped and was looking at spot he couldn’t see from his position. “uh hinata? what’s wrong?” he walked up to hinata, then noticing the light.

“hmm? i don’t remember someone saying they’d stay after practice.” the duo then suddenly heard loud laughing from inside the gym. they jogged to the windows, hoping to find the source.

you had thrown the ball too far along the net, and Tsukishima missed terribly because of you. but you couldn’t help but cackle as he scowled at you. you apologized, but it didn’t seem very sincere as you kept giggling.

“just keep going.” tsukishima walked back to his starting spot.

“here we go Kei!” you said as you crouched a bit to be able to throw the ball high enough.

tanaka and hinata were peeking through the windows, shocked to see Tsukishima Kei practicing with such a pretty girl! they pulled out their phones, snapping a few pictures.

soon enough, everybody went to their own houses, one duo giving a goodbye kiss before leaving. (i hope you know which duo…………………………………………….. oh and the boys someone got a picture of them doing the goodbye smoochie)

next practice had finally rolled around, and during a water break, hinata brought kageyama and tanaka brought asahi, dachi, sugawara as they approached Tsukishima with their phones ready. “Tsukki, Tsukki, lookie, lookie!” Hinata repeated what he once heard Bokuto say, waving the phone then showing Kageyama.

Tsukishima had ignored Hinata’s voice, not knowing that most of the team was behind him. he only then turned around when he heard Kageyama yell, “why is Tsukishima with such a pretty girl and i’m not?! i’m so much better than that loser!”

Tsukishima spun around, snatching the phone from Hinata, swiping through the photos of him and (y/n). “how the hell did you get these?” he then notice the third years slightly giggling, but then clearing their throats.

“tanaka? how do you have pictures too?”

“let’s just say, you need to introduce us to your girlfriend!”

“oh shut up. never in a million years.” he said, his voice and face telling no story. his ears though? you could’ve thought he had just be burned with how bright red they were!

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Hiii!

I love your writing, especially Mirror, Mirror! Are you still taking request? I‘ve been thinking about Ascended Astarion and female Tav/Reader attending a ball for the politicians and nobles of Baldur’s Gate, getting all dressed up and socializing, dancing and Astarion flirting with her all night long. Astarion obviously wouldn’t waste a chance to be alone with Tav/Reader, takes her on a romantic stroll in the gardens and has his wicked way with her somewhere in a dark corner 👀

I can not make Ascnedant Astarion not dark I am SORRY but I can't help myself. The intro to this is sad bad, but honestly it gets pretty fun later down the line. Gotta set up that Stockholm syndrome. You gots it here.

Tw: Murder, Violence, not much but it is there, graphic smut, 18+ sweet dark fluff. I do consider this Stockholm on your end. Very inspired by the in-game quote of locking you away for a decade. Also, never write shit only in tumblr post editor, I lost half of this right before I was going to post last and it almost killed me

~

Astarion was.... aware that you'd been having a hard time as of late. If anyone could empathize with the complications of being a vampire spawn, it was certainly him. Even though his circumstance were obviously much, much worse than yours ever could be.

He was no Cazador. Astarion was different, he loved you. He knew what was best for you. All that needed to happen now was for you to accept it.

And in your defense, you were trying. It had taken a long time for you to finally come to terms with the full extent of power he had over you as his spawn. He would always know where you were through sensation alone. Always ready and willing to drag you back home if need be. He could compel you to his side at any moment, though he did have a bad habit of going out to find you during your little tantrums. It seemed to work better to put you in your place, especially since he had very little self-control when it came to who you associated with. Many a possible friend had died at his hand, in front of your eyes. A waste, really, one that wouldn't be necessary if you would just listen.

But the demonstrations had been useful. Slowly but surely you were learning that the option of secrets between the two of you had died the second he sunk his fangs into your wrist. He had personally put an official stop to all of your extracurricular activities. The things you used to do in your spare time were silly and dangerous, always going out of your way to help the undeserving. But now he had the control to stop you, to sequester you at the estate where you were safe.

You had nowhere to be besides his side and you were finally starting to understand that. Things were so much easier when you gave in and listened, happier and more fun.

Lately, it had almost felt like another honeymoon phase, with your sudden predilection for extreme loyalty. It helped that he could still see into your mind through the new connection, fully aware that your love remained real and pure, if not a bit melancholic. It was silly really, the guilt you felt towards him for letting him ascend. Never mind the thousands he sacrificed, you were too concerned with how power had chanced him.

It was cute. Stupid, but cute. Because obviously it had changed him for the better. How else would he be where he was now? With his hands already in nearly every major part of Baldur's Gate's governance? He had made wide, sweeping moves to gain control in the past year, banking on your dual hero status to deflect from his more... unsavory attributes. But it was working, and in a few years time this city would belong to him. Then the two of you would be on to the next major conquest. A future that you were just now coming to terms with.

And Astarion wanted to reward you for that acceptance. He had been a bit paranoid of late, paranoid enough to not let you out of the house for a solid fortnight. But for good reason. The last of the Gur had come out of the woodwork recently, looking for revenge for their children and fallen comrades. With a specific interest in you. It had made sense, in a way. You were his greatest weakness after all. So of course he had to take it upon himself to personally hunt the last of them down to tear them limb from limb.

But now they were officially gone, and he was finally feeling comfortable with letting you out into the world again. Just not out of his sight. And tonight was the perfect opportunity. He had a mandatory soirée to attend, populated by neighboring nobles and a few powerful foreigners. One that would be so much more entertaining with you willingly by his side. Or forced, if need be. Depending on if you decided to be in one of your moods, though they were a rarity nowadays.

But no, you turned out to be too excited at the prospect of leaving the house to even attempt being a brat. Astarion watched you with a smile as you appeared at the top of the staircase, dressed to the nines. He whistled as he watched you descend, beyond pleased with how you looked. He met you at the bottom of the landing, easily wrapping an arm around your waist before setting a quick kiss to your temple, "You look beautiful pet. Absolutely stunning."

You truly did. A navy satin gown that matched your skin tone perfectly, fitted with delicate straps and a low bodice. Perhaps the slit in the leg was a little high, revealing too much of your perfect thigh for the rest of the world. But you looked too good for him to complain.

You really were so gorgeous, could he be blamed for wanting to dress you up?

You rolled your eyes, but Astarion didn't miss the tiny smile dancing on your lips, "You're the one who picked it out."

"And you wear it perfectly," Astarion praised, already leading you out the door. He kept you close to his side during the short journey, his eyes darting around your surroundings every few moments. His paranoia had been quelled, but it hadn't completely died out. But he had already made the decision that he was going to be on his best behavior tonight, and that included not indulging in his protective nature. You deserved nothing less.

But that didn't stop Astarion from taking some mental notes on those who stared at you too brazenly when you arrived. Part of him couldn't blame them, not when he could understand your thrall better than any one else. But the other, more fun part of himself was too busy imagining ripping them apart for the audacious, lustful stares.

But he didn't drag the two of you out for strictly fun, a fact that he was quickly reminded of when you were approached by the main host, "Lord Ancunín! I'm so pleased that you could make it."

Astarion vaguely remembered who he was, though he was much more interested in his friends than the man himself. The man turned his attention toward you, brow raised, "And who is this beautiful creature?"

Astarion could feel his brow twitch at the insolence. How dare he not know who you were? The Hero of Baldur's Gate, his consort, the love of his life, how could someone of his breeding be so ignorant? You had to many titles to choose from for introductions, so Astarion decided on the most important, "This is the future Lady Ancunín, my fiancé."

He could feel you tense at his side, staring up at him with wide eyes like what he said was surprising. Which was odd. He had been extremely clear about his intentions since the day he ascended, marriage was the obvious next step for the two of you.

"Well it's lovely to meet you," The noble said with a smile, his attention going straight back to Astarion, "Now if you'll excuse us, I have a few matters to discuss with your future husband."

Astarion was startlingly close to hurting this man. What on earth made him feel as though he had the right to dismiss you? He tightened the arm he had around your waist, sneering at him, "There is nothing that you can say that she won't eventually know. Don't waste our time."

Then he proceeded to do just that, wasting Astarion's time with useless information and worthless attempts at allyships. It seemed to be an unfortunate trend as the night progressed, just reinforcing how utterly useless the gentry could really be. Not to mention their constant passive dismissal of you. He really was going to need to start letting you out more often, though he had to wonder if they were even worthy of your presence. He would have been a bit more forceful regarding his own displeasure at their arrogance if you weren’t so distracting.

It was hard to hold onto his own indignation when you seemed so content. You were leaning into him the whole night, smiling softly through all of his inane conversations. Never failing to be adorably pleased at your introduction. It made Astarion want to fawn over you, alternating between whispering sweet nothings in your ear and sweeping you onto the dance floor. All of your pleased laughs and giggles music to his ears.

He kept you close all evening, never allowing you to wander past his sight. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, never quite shaken off after your first waltz together. But you didn't seem to mind. If anything you were glowing under the attention, happy in a way he hadn't seen for a long time. Too long. Beautiful enough for him to have the overly romantic thought that he never wanted the night to end.

Even after he had done his rounds, engaged with all whom he had planned on, he wasn't quite ready to leave. They had all been dreadfully dull, but at least a few conversations would prove useful in the future at the very least.

He started to steer you towards the back garden doors, whispering in your ear, "Take a walk with me?"

You followed him easily, happy to leave the bustle of the ballroom and step into the coolness of the night. You both started walking, hand and hand in a comfortable silence. It was a pretty enough garden, hedges and ivy lining the walkways, a white slightly weathered gazebo placed in the center.

"You know," You said eventually, as the two of you went up the gazebo steps. You leaned against the railing, looking at him with a coy smile, "I don't recall you ever proposing."

Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he crowded around you. It was an unnecessary question, considering how you would have no choice in the matter. But he was playing nice tonight. Astarion grinned at you, bracing his hands on the railing to cage you in his arms, "If you want a proposal, I'm more than happy to oblige."

"I do," You were playing with the lapel of his jacket, looking up at him through your lashes, "Sooner than later if you don't mind."

"Your wish is my command," Astarion murmured, shameless as he started to kiss along the line of your throat, "I'm proud of you pet. You've been an angel all night."

"You haven't given me much to complain about," You said with a small laugh, your breath hitching when his fangs scraped against your delicate skin, hard enough to make pinpricks of blood bubble to the surface.

"You know..." Astarion started, pulling back to look you in the eye. His voice gentle but serious, "It could always be like this. If you let it."

"I... I know," You admitted, biting on your lower lip as you struggled for the words, "I-I want that. I want you. Even if... it's like this."

Astarion would take offense at the subtle dig if it was anyone else. But with you? He was just happy that you were finally coming around, at long last willing to accept the fate he'd set for you.

"You have it," Astarion promised, tilting your chin up to press a light kiss to your lips, "For as long as I breathe my love, you're mine. And I'm yours-"

You kissed him before he could finish, wrapping your arms around his neck, forceful in a way that he had desperately missed. But you were pulling back too soon, your mouth swollen and your lipstick slightly smeared, smiling at him like the precious thing you were.

How could he resist?

"I think you deserve a reward for tonight my pet," Astarion said, leaning in to softly kiss along your jaw, "For being such a sweetheart."

His hands were wandering, already moving to pluck at the delicate straps of your dress, slowly teasing them to drop down your shoulders.

You made no moves to stop him as your eyes darted around the empty space, "H-Here? But what if someone sees?"

"Then I'll tear their eyes out and feed them back to anyone who stumbles on us," Astarion said simply, smiling at the way it made you laugh softly.

"Violence isn't always the answer you know," You said, your breath hitching as he lightly bit your neck. Your dress still slinking down all the while, "I thought we talked about that?"

"Perhaps," Astarion murmured, "But it seems to usually work in my favor."

He had already managed to slip the straps down enough to ease the way, brazenly tugging the fabric until your breasts spilled from the top. He leaned back in, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth as you gasped; mewling when he began touching you, shamelessly pinching your nipples just to hear you whine.

He adored all your little noises, so easy to coax out of your mouth. He could feel his own cock pulsing in the confines of his trousers, the feeling getting worse and worse as you started to whimper.

Astarion let one of his hands travel further down, right through the slit in your gown. He traced the seam of your pussy through delicate lace, smiling into the kiss from how the simple touch had your hips pitching forward. He could feel you getting wet, already seeping through the fabric of your panties, your needy cunt already begging for his touch. And Astarion was more than happy to oblige.

He tore them from your hips, letting the tattered pieces fall unceremoniously to the ground before he started to rub his palm against your clit, more slick gushing out as you moaned.

You were clutching at his shoulders, panting into his mouth as he played with you. Your thighs tightened around his hand, your cunt wet enough to fill the air with messy, indecent sounds.

Whatever trepidation you had before was quickly dissolving, a small chant escaping your lips as you two kissed, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Astarion was more than happy to oblige.

"Hold onto me darling," Astarion ordered, giving you a split second to tighten your grip around his neck before he was lifting you in the air, settling you on top of the thick railing with your legs spread wide. He made quick work of taking his weeping cock out, rubbing it along the seam of your cunt as you moaned. And then he was pushing inside, the slide soaked and easy.

You felt so tight around him, tight and sopping wet as he started to fuck into you. He bent his head down, popping one of your hard nipples into your mouth as you cried out, your nails clawing into his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his hips, trying to pull him in even closer, despite the fact that he was pressed deeply inside of you. Hitting all of your sensitive places.

He could tell that you were close, your whining getting more and more high-pitched by the second, your sweet cunt pulsing around his cock. Astarion started to rub at your clit again, at the perfect angle to make you tense up and cry out. And just like that you were squirting against his hand, breathing heavy as your orgasm ravaged through you.

Astarion grinned, popping off your breast to kiss your slack mouth. Naughty thing that you were, making a mess all over your fancy dress. He pulled back to look at you, debauched and panting, your pupils dilated at you stared up at him. You looked gorgeous, fucked out and perfect.

He started to fuck you harder, the erotic image was too much for his mind to handle. You where whining with each thrust, no doubt oversensitive as he roughly slammed into you. But you were a good girl, taking it without a single complaint as you held on for dear life, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. But lucky enough for you, you didn't have to wait long.

Astarion spilled inside of you with a drawn out moan, grinding circles into your cunt as you quivered. You pulled him in for another kiss, messily sliding your lips together as he filled you up. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, lazily kissing as he softened inside of you. It felt good, it felt right, the perfect end to a great night.

Astarion pulled out slowly, cooing at you as you gasped at the feeling. Your legs were still trembling as he set you back on the ground, bad enough for Astarion to wonder if he should just pick you up before you crumpled on the floor.

But first...

Astarion dropped to his knees, ignoring your surprised gasp as he spread your legs back apart.

"Hush darling," Astarion ordered as he pushed your dress back up, "Let me have a look at you."

Astarion was aware that he had gotten a little rough near the end there. It wouldn't be the first time he made you bleed during sex, nor the last. But he would hate to do so accidently. But no, your pussy looked perfectly healthy, if not a little swollen. Flushed and pink, your hole still twitching the slightest bit. The sight of your pussy all slick and red was nearly enough to make his mouth water.

"Spread your legs a little further pet," Astarion murmured, looking just to look. He gently added pressure to your shaking thighs until you complied, "That's it. Good girl."

His cum was already starting to leak out of you, the smallest bit of white making it's first appearance amongst your wet folds. No doubt it would be sliding down your legs soon enough. He could do something about that. But then again... the alternative sounded like too much fun.

Astarion stood back up with a smile, patting your pussy once before letting your dress fall back down, "Try to hold it in darling. We wouldn't want to make another mess, would we?"

You nodded slowly, still looking half out of it. A sweet, hazy look still plastered onto your face. You were already leaning in for another kiss, naturally desperate for more contact. Contact that Astarion was more than happy to give. He pulled you closer, kissing you deeply; your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him even closer. He wrapped his arms around your back, dipping his tongue between your lips as you dreamily sighed.

You pulled away first, to his displeasure, but you didn't go far. You rested your forehead against his, smiling softly with loving eyes, "Hi."

Astarion couldn't help but smile back, taking the time to tuck a wild piece of hair behind your ear, "Hello my treasure. Did you have fun tonight?"

"I think you know the answer to that," You giggled softly, "I'm not even sure I can walk."

That he did. And there would be many more nights like it. Though for now, he'd prefer to get you home. He felt a bit reluctant to parade you back out there for the masses eyes, so obviously debauched by his hands. No, the sight of you happy and flushed was for his eyes only. Your night would be ending here.

You squeaked as he swept you up in his arms, already muttering the magic for a portal under his breath. And just like that the two of you were gone, completely uncaring to give any good byes.

The two of you popped right into the entry hall of the estate, sudden enough to nearly scare a maid half to death. Astarion paid them no mind, too busy with carrying you upstairs to the sanctuary of your quarters.

You cuddled into his chest, looking up at him with a nervous look, "Did... Did I do good tonight?"

"Of course you did," Astarion cooed as he kicked the door to the bedroom open, trying to softly drop you on the bed, "Perfect creature that you are, what else could have possibly happened?"

But you didn't let go when he tried to pull back, clinging hard enough for Astarion to simply follow you. But he didn't mind, no he preferred you like this. Needy, wanting, and his. He twisted the two of your around, settling only when he had you laying on top of him. He would set a bath for the two of you later, but for now he was more than happy to lay here, watching as your tired to stay conscious. You always got so tired after sex, just one more silly thing that he was endeared by.

"I love you," You mumbled, your eyes falling closed, "Thank you for taking me tonight. For trusting me. I... thank you."

"I love you too darling," Astarion murmured back, kissing your forehead, "You get better by the day. I really am proud of you."

It was true. You were learning, adjusting. Give him a decade and you'd be completely immersed in your new life, all thoughts of useless things like "freedom" forgotten.

You were his. Until the end of time, you'd be together.

He'd make sure of that.

[teojira]

TEDDY! I checked ur old blog and saw u have a this one :3, and i saw u write for the KAIJUUUS? bro i love godzilla sosososoosoOSOSOSOSO MUCH, if you're down for it, could you do some headcanons of being Godzilla's favorite human?, ofc platonic, (i dead ass love this gigantic lizard sm i made a wedding pic art as a joke cause someone said marry the damn lizard and i said fine i will, and i wanna clarify twice, it was a joke, i just love large lizards)

[Being Goji's favorite human headcanons] [platonic]

Summary: What being a huge lizard titans human entails!

Warnings: None! Just platonic companionship between you and the Big guy.

Word count: 650+ words

A/N: Omg Tama :(( I'm so happy to see you're here from the call of duty blog!! It's always a joy to see you in my notifs 🫶 ofc I got you, Godzilla headcanons comin right up! I hope these are okay!

- Being Goji's favorite human comes with alot of good, but alot of bad as well.

- It makes you special. There is no documentation in any of Monarchs database of him having any explicit connection to humans, no country, no specific race, and you're seemingly the first person in history. But that also means you're under their control due to your ties to the Kaiju.

- He doesn't visit nearly as much as he wishes he could, despite you both being connected by seemingly fate. He is the king of monsters, bro is busy! He has to keep the balance.

- Monarch learned the hard way that you cannot be housed at a base, it sets Goji off, so they literally have to place you on a private island somewhere for when he does come to see you, he can't destroy anything.

- Contrary to most of the publics opinion, he IS sentient. He knows what he does. Destroying usually comes with the territory when he has to fight a threat, but visiting you isn't so he makes sure not to crush your home, bellowing to let you know he's come to see you.

- He doesn't know why he cares for you, but it feels right, coming to you and curling up on the sand, waiting for you to come closer.

- Goji has ever been touched by one other human without intent of harm, Serizawa. He still remembers how comforting it was, how a small little human seemed to care for him when he was at his lowest.

- He enjoys when you pet him, more often than not being more than okay with the touch. It also helps that you take care of any issues he may have due to him being in the water extremely often, and he gets the occasional barnacle.

- The first time you took one of him, he snarled so loud that it sent you flying onto your back in fear, his large head whipping around to see just what the fuck you were doing.

- You explained to him calmly that you were removing the parasites from his scales. All you got was a huff in return. But he did turn back and rest his head again, so you figure that was him saying it was okay.

- It's hard to spend quality time with the titan due to just how BIG the fucker is, but he allows you to climb up him and make your way to his head, he's eerily still when he feels you on him, he knows his strength and size and one wrong move and you fall, shattering your legs.

- He would definitely bring you back things he's found in the ocean. What do you mean you're not interested in this deep sea squid that's the size of 3 school buses? He got it just for you! (You let Monarch take it to study, but you pretend to Goji that you are taking it for yourself.) (He lets out a pleased rumble at providing for you.)

- He somehow has the uncanny ability to find you no matter where you go, one time Monarch took you to the Japan base for a meeting that they deemed you necessary to attend.

- Imagine everyone's shock and awe when he appeared, roaring in a rage as he slouched down to the ground, not relaxing until you ran out in view, frantically waving your arms.

- He takes all his naps on your private island, curling into a little ball, it's the best rest he has had in years, only thing to make it better is when you join him, bring a blanket or bring a little air mattress and sleep out there with him, it brings him so much joy. If lizards could purr, you're sure he would be.

- Where this Goji, there is Mothra! She wants to see what caught his eye for the first time in centuries, she cares for humans more than he ever has, so she takes a liking to you immediately. So she visits you when she's able to, usually chirping and letting you touch her fuzz.

[2chopsticks2eyes]

Numb

(Part Two)

This is part two of a multiple part series, please be sure to start from part one!

(Part One) | (Part Two)

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Fem Reader

Themes: Angst, (Smut), (Fluff)

Word Count (all parts): ~21.8k | AO3

Summary: You were penniless and working tirelessly at a seedy club when you were assaulted. As soon as you resigned yourself to your fate, Lee Minho saved you, albeit grudgingly. You received treatment and you didn’t have to pay them a dime under one condition: You must be confined to his home for the remainder of your recovery.

Author’s Note:

***IMPORTANT!!!*** THIS STORY IS FILLED WITH TRIGGER WARNINGS. THIS SECOND PART DOES NOT CONTAIN THOSE TRIGGERS, BUT IT IS IMPLIED AND REFERENCED. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ TAGS AND WARNINGS AT BEGINNING OF PART ONE BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The overall plot line was based off a recommendation from @linoots from Tumblr (I received permission from them to write this type of content)

(I’ve missed you all dearly. So sorry it’s taken so long 🥺)

__________________________________________

You silently watched as the doctor removed the IV that had been pumping fluids into your body for the past 48 hours and you rubbed the uncomfortable bandage he replaced it with.

You refused to make eye contact with him. In fact, you did not look or talk to anybody since you woke up in that same home-hospital room you had grown accustomed to. Not Chris, not Felix, and definitely not Minho.

You were a shell of your former self and you didn’t know if you were upset or relieved that you were revived. You didn’t know what to make of it. But now, there was one emotion you knew that burned brighter than your numbness.

Anger.

You couldn’t quite believe Felix’s words when he said that Minho was the one who came to your rescue… again…

But that was preposterous. The bastard probably told the younger man to say that to make himself look better… Whatever, fuck it all.

You allowed yourself to be led back to your room to get some rest. However, when Felix left and Minho walked in, you fortified your walls even further. You felt your face turn sour with each passing moment without even looking at the man and you rolled over in bed so your back was facing him.

There was a long pause of silence that seemed to drag on for hours.

You finally heard a long sigh and then the sound of him plopping down into the chair by your bed. “You know…” He started, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “There’s a reason I bothered to do all of this...”

You tried your hardest to ignore him, but you couldn’t control the fact that his words piqued your interest, your ears already tuned-in to his velvety voice.

“Not just this time, but… the reason I brought you here in the first place.” After a moment of silence, he realized you weren’t going to respond, so he huffed in frustration. “Forget it.”

You suddenly heard the door open and you peered over your shoulder. Without turning to face you, he blankly said, “You are now required to have 24/7 supervision, congratulations.”

And with that, the man walked out while Felix walked in, a meek smile on his face and hands full with baked goods.

“In the mood for cookies?” You sighed and just returned to your side as you balled up in a mess of frustration and confusion under the covers, mind still tingling with the thought of what Minho was going to say.

__________________________________________

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Felix. I’m a grown woman.”

Felix just huffed, obviously sick and tired of your complaints. “You know why it’s this way, sweetie. Don’t blame me for doing my job.”

The topic was a constant now. He was obviously there for your physical therapy, but he was also everywhere else. You loved the man, you did, but there is only so much time you could stand without a little alone time!

You wanted to watch TV? He was there. You wanted to nap? He was there. You couldn’t even go to the bathroom without having to leave the door open so he ‘has access to you at all times’. Thank god he stayed outside while you did your business…

After a week of this bullshit, you decided to do something about it…

Throughout your exploration of the house, you found some rooms with names on them. Evidently the ones that Minho once said were strictly prohibited. A couple of the rooms had names you were completely unfamiliar with, but others, you remembered well. Chan, Felix, Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin, and finally some large double-doors with the initials L.M.

Lee Minho.

The man had supposedly been ‘out on business’ the entire week, but you knew for sure he had come back today with all of the ruckus of the house staff.

So, when you were positive that Felix had finally passed out on the sofa in your room for the night, you, as quietly as humanly possible, snuck out of the room and tip-toed down the hallway and downstairs to the doors you knew by heart now.

The room was surprisingly extremely secluded and you thanked the heavens because you knew for sure you wouldn’t be able to keep cool once he was in sight. You were fully prepared to bang your fist all the way through Minho’s door to meet the man himself if that’s what it took, but as you raised your fist to knock, the door suddenly opened.

Well… shit…

You really didn’t want to admit it, you really didn’t, but… the sight before you was absolutely, without a doubt, mouth watering. He looked just as surprised as you, but you found yourself focused on something other than his face for once…

The man was completely shirtless, pajama pants riding low on his hips and revealing the prominent V of his abdomen. Speaking of abdomen, the dude was of course ripped. Well, maybe not Dr. Chris (Or Christopher, or Chan, or what the fuck ever you want to call him) kind of ripped, but enough to make your eyes bulge out and glue themselves to every inch of impeccably toned abs and pecs.

And another thing that stood out in particular was the sleeve of tattoos twisting and swirling around the upper half of his right arm. You had only seen him in button-ups thus far and, even if he rolled up his sleeves, you somehow hadn’t ever noticed it. You were usually hyper-focused on his face, but at that moment, all you could see was the vast amount of skin on display.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What are you doing here?” His stern words snapped you back to reality and you had to rapidly blink to regain a semblance of consciousness.

What am I doing? You shivered and grimaced at yourself for your intrusive thoughts before meeting his eyes.

“Uh-uhh I–” You halted your words when you noticed he was clutching something on his side. Curiosity got the better of you and you peered around his towering frame to see a soiled and basically useless bandage dripping with blood. “Holy shit! Are you alright?!” You said stepping towards him instinctively, catching yourself once he tensed and stepped back, correcting his posture as if to defend himself.

Psh, what could you possibly do to him? You couldn’t even defend yourself…

He glanced at the cloth he was currently pressing to his side and made a disgruntled noise. “I’m fine.” He said with a curt and slightly annoyed huff. “Why don’t you have anyone watching you right now?” He grumbled, obviously frustrated as he looked around behind you in search of your babysitter.

You furrowed your brows, still peeved but also worried about the still-bleeding wound on his side. “I had to sneak away because I don’t necessarily appreciate being babysat like a fucking child! Now you need to refresh that bandage before it gets infected!” You borderline shouted.

You could almost feel the daggers he shot at you with his eyes pierce through your flesh. “I said I’m fine! Now go back to be– Hey!”

You cut his sentence off short when you saw a first aid kit that looked like it had been through war and back on a small table behind him before you marched your way in, not giving two flying fucks that you were invading his room. “Get your ass in here, we need to clean you up first.” You demanded, collecting the kit and marching into what looked like the ensuite, completely ignoring his protests.

Jesus, is this much luxury even necessary? You thought as you passed through his behemoth of a room. Gray, white, and covered in smooth marble and chandeliers, it housed all of the amenities to be considered its own wing of the house. The gray material of the sofa and bed looked so soft and luxurious you were tempted to walk over and run your fingers along them. But that would have to wait.

He slammed his bedroom door shut with a huff and turned around. “You can’t just–!” You ignored him as you strolled into the bathroom (Still unnecessarily gorgeous).

“Just get your ass in here and sit!” You shouted from the bathroom. When you saw him stop in the doorway and glare at you, you just proceeded to open the first-aid kit and then pointed at the black and white marble countertop next to the sink. “Sit.”

He rolled his eyes before squeezing them shut and breathing out a slow sigh. “You… You’re a pain in my ass.” He groaned before dragging his feet over to you and hopping up to sit on the counter like you asked. If you hadn’t been right in front of him, you would have almost missed the slight hiss of pain he breathed through clenched teeth.

Why you had felt a pang of sympathy for the man, you had no clue.

He watched you apprehensively as you washed your hands and moved to face him. A brief moment of awkward silence had permeated the air before you tentatively raised your hands to remove the soiled bandage.

Minho visibly stiffened, but he made no move to stop you as your shaky fingers slowly peeled back the gauze.

Holy shit. That was 100% unmistakably a bullet wound.

Your mind was automatically transported back to that first night where you witnessed this guy casually gun down those men, effectively splattering five different brains on the fresh snow without even batting an eyelash. Who the fuck is Lee Minho? And what all was he capable of?

“If you’re going to just stand there and stare, then kindly leave me the fuck alone.” His gruff voice made you jump slightly as you were pulled from your thoughts.

You cleared your throat as you proceeded to throw away the red-stained dressing. You avoided his eyes as you grabbed the saline solution and a towel, still feeling his eyes bore into you with every movement.

However, you froze as you held the saline up to the mangled skin. “U-um… Did you take out—?”

“Yes, I already removed the bullet. Get on with it.”

Your stomach churned at his affirmation of the cause of injury, but you were getting sick and tired of his assholery as you glared up at his blackened eyes. “You know, a little gratitude goes a long way, shithead.”

He seemed stunned for a moment, looking at you as if you had gone crazy before returning to his deadly glower. “Look here, Tinkerbell—“ You bristled at that stupid-ass name again… “YOU’RE the one that barged in here. YOU’RE the one who has been a pain in my ass ever since you got here. So, no, I won’t give ‘gratitude’ where it’s not deserved. Plus, you’re the one to talk…” He murmured the last bit, but you still clearly heard him.

“Then why bother saving me in the first place?!” You basically screamed at him.

Silence and a shocked disposition was all you got in return.

“I had nothing to live for anyway, so why bother?! You could have just as easily ignored what was happening and went on your merry fucking way. Could have left me behind that dumpster to freeze and bleed to death so you wouldn’t have to deal with this ‘pain in the ass’. Could have also left me alone to OD and suffocate on my own vomit the other day. So what gives?” You finished with a seething remark while gesturing to yourself.

His face was stark blank. “You want to know why I saved you?” He said through gritted teeth. You just responded with a curt nod. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before his expression morphed into something more solemn. It seemed like he was having an internal battle before he began to speak. He finally sighed and leaned his head back against the wall mirror with closed eyes. “I once… I had a cousin, one that was very close to me. I would always be overbearing and protective and she would always tell me to stop babying her.”

He chuckled fondly as he reminisced and you found yourself latching onto his every word. You chalked it up to the fact that you were finally learning something about this enigmatic man and this whole fucked up situation.

“Anyway, as we got older and I got busier, I began giving her more space. She was becoming a woman and I accepted the fact that she could begin to take care of herself.” He paused, but considering the faintest waver in his voice and his dry swallow, it didn’t sound like it was because he was waiting for a response… “I thought she was safe… but there were… others… vile pigs that knew how close she was to me…”

Another beat of silence and you watched his face slowly morph from sorrow to unbridled rage.

“I found her in almost the exact way I found you…” His words felt like a punch to the gut and painful images flooded your mind as you swallowed the bile that rose to your chest. “But, in her case, the scum that had… done that to her had already fled and I… I couldn’t save—” He squeezed his eyes tighter and his jaw clenched hard around the emotions before they could spill out.

You both knew he didn’t need to finish that sentence.

You felt the numbness that had taken over your soul begin to crack once again at the feeling of sympathy towards his cousin, and that shit scared you like none other.

“So, yeah. You might be a raging bitch and I might be a pretentious motherfucker. But even so, I couldn’t just leave you… I just couldn’t…” You felt something churn in your gut and you furrowed your brows in frustration as to what it was. You watched him take a deep breath and sit up a bit straighter. “So, with that being said, I can’t just allow you to throw away everything you’ve worked for so far.”

As if indicating that he had enough of the back-and-forth, he attempted to grab the saline bottle from your hand, only to be met with adamant resistance. You gently pushed his hand away (thankfully without any struggle) and brought the saline and towel up to his ever-bleeding wound that was dripping down to the puddle it created, causing a concerning amount of deep crimson to flood the marble countertop.

You silently flushed the deep cavern with the solution until you deemed it was properly cleaned before moving on to the peroxide. “This might sting a bit…” You warned as you watched his jaw clench. He closed his eyes as you disinfected it and you wondered how he could keep so cool after having a bullet plunged into his side.

Once he was properly cleaned and covered in antibiotic ointment, you picked up the gauze and searched for some tape. Your eyes widened as he wordlessly moved to hand you a long compression wrap.

You emitted a noise that sounded somewhat like a sputtering engine and your face flushed as you saw his suppressed smirk. To wrap that thing around him, you would have to run your hands all over his muscled torso… fuck.

“Something the matter?” He lilted in that nonchalant, annoying timbre. Teasing. “If you don–”

“It’s fine!” You cut him off, maybe a bit too loudly as you refused to make eye contact. “It’s just… just… don’t you have any dressing tape?” You said as you coincidentally eyed his well-defined pecs and abs.

He shrugged. “Nope. Not with me anyway. I just have this—“ He said while waving the fabric in front of your face again with a challenging brow lifted.

You nervously chuckled and squeaked out, “O-okay… Stand up…” You instantly felt goosebumps rise all over your flesh as he hopped off the counter, keeping the gauze pressed to his wound, and stepped a bit too close for a man you barely even knew. Deep breaths, you can do this…

“Hey…” You slowly raised your eyes to meet his own at the sound of the softer change in his tone. He took the tiniest step back to make it easier for him to look you in the eyes. “If you're uncomfortable… I mean… I’m not…” You don’t think you had ever seen him struggle so much with his words. He sighed and closed his eyes before sadly looking at you again. “You have nothing to be afraid of with me… I wouldn’t even think of…” He huffed and shook his head in disgust as he seemed to be thinking of the exact same thing that had plagued you day and night since arriving here.

Before he could even drive his point home, you gently laid your hand on his shoulder, causing his gaze to return to you. “I know…” You replied. “You hardly scare me, Lee Minho.” You teased with a wry smile that even surprised you.

His disturbed face was slowly replaced with a pleasantly surprised grin similar to your own. You watched with feigned mockery as he raised the wrapping once again. “Then prove it, Tink.” You just scoffed and rolled your eyes at the shortened version of his unrelenting name for you and snatched the elastic cloth from his hand.

“Fine.” You huffed defiantly before looking at his abdomen once again. You tentatively pressed the end of the wrap against his heated skin that made you blush. You could feel him watching you and you suddenly felt like hiding.

You wrapped the bandage over several times, feeling yourself tense up every time you touched his bare skin, and secured it tightly once you were finished. “O—“ Your voice cracked when you tried to speak and your face heated as you cleared your throat. “Okay, you’re finished…”

You wouldn’t look him in the eyes, how could you after you basically forced him to let you run your hands all over his tan, muscular, and absolutely gorgeous skin?

“W—“ He hesitated and, despite yourself, you found your eyes instinctively seeking his own out to somehow read the words through his dark irises. You found he was searching your eyes as well with pursed lips before he looked away and cleared his throat as well. “Thank you.”

Huh?

“Channie-hyung wasn’t available when I returned home so I tried to take care of it myself. I guess my half-assed effort didn’t do much, huh?” He chuckled and looked back at you with a meek smile.

Who the fuck is this man and where did Lee Minho go?

He nervously chuckled and you realized you’d been staring at the man far too long. You took a deep breath and stepped back. “Well, I kind of owed it to you now, didn’t I?” You said it lightheartedly, but he furrowed his brows.

“You don’t ever have to owe me anything.”

You arched a brow, but he just turned and began packing away the first aid kit again. You watched his back, trying to remember why you came to his room in the first place. “Minho?”

He stilled his movements.

“What do you even do?” He turned and arched a brow at you and you rolled your eyes, stepping forward next to him to lean against the counter. “Like, you are obviously loaded…” You said gesturing to your luxurious surroundings. “You have a full staff with a doctor to patch up nasty bullet holes like this and god knows what else…” You both looked at his bandage. “And not to mention the bullets you cleared through those guys’ heads without even blinking an eye that night…”

He bit his lip and you followed the action with your eyes. You instinctively wet your own lips. After he was done staring at the marble countertop for an unnecessarily lengthy amount of time, he hesitantly turned his body to face you.

“You could say I sort of run something like a… secret organization?” He said tentatively like it was a question unto himself and you furrowed your brows.

You squinted skeptically at him. “So… you're telling me—“ Is that worry on his face? “—that you're a secret agent? Like a spy?” You looked at him in disbelief.

He sputtered a restrained laugh and looked at you with a suppressed smile. “I suppose you could say I’m like a spy.”

“LIKE a spy?”

He looked up like he was deliberating. “Sure. Like a spy.”

“But not actually a spy?”

He groaned at your questioning and ran a hand through his messy hair. Come to think of it, this is the most dressed-down look you’d seen on him. Gone were the button-ups and slacks, now replaced by sweats and a compression wrap over his shirtless body.

He stood straight and crossed his arms, obviously ready for the conversation to be over. “Does it matter? Look, it’s already really late and Yongbok will panic if he realizes you ran off.”

Oh shit, that’s right. That’s the whole reason you were even there. In Minho’s bathroom. Standing closely to him. With the man half naked and you in your flimsy, silk nightwear. Your peaked nipples seemed suddenly way more apparent as you crossed your arms over your chest. You rapidly blinked as if suddenly waking up and quickly stepped back.

“I-I wanted to ask you something…” He arched his brow and you continued. “Can you please call off the reinforcements? I know I made a bad decision and all, but I will honestly go crazy if I have to use the bathroom with the door open one more time.” You found yourself begging rather than demanding like you had initially intended.

Why, though?

He looked hesitant and you quickly added, “I don’t even mean all of the time! Like, I’ll keep my bedroom door open so he can check up on me and he can even watch me secretly while I’m around the house, I just want at least a little sense of privacy!”

You knew you sounded like a pathetic child, but you had resigned yourself to that fate as soon as you had to take a massive, violent shit earlier that day and you knew Felix had heard everything from the other room. Without any doors to create that sweet, sweet sound barrier? Ugh… You were still mortified to look at him.

You silently watched him with imploring eyes as he tiredly rubbed his brow. “You…” You widened your eyes with a hopeful energy pulsing through them, hoping to portray as such as he looked into your pleading eyes. He sighed. “I suppose those terms are fair…” You lit up like a Christmas tree before he raised a finger. “BUT, if you are EVER alone ANYWHERE, you need to let him know where you are and give him regular updates on your whereabouts to let him know if you are okay. Okay?”

You vehemently nodded your head and perked up. “Thank GOD!”

He smirked and crossed his arms again. “I think I like you calling me a god. Have I upgraded from a narcissistic asshole?” He tilted his head with raised brows and you were, once again, reminded how gorgeous this man really was.

You rolled your eyes and went to shove his shoulder, but before you could even touch him, he grabbed your wrist in the blink of an eye. For some reason, you both looked surprised as he froze with your wrist in his hand from less than a foot away. Your heart was racing and you chalked it up to being from fear of someone grabbing you.

But why did that conclusion not feel quite right…?

Before you could ponder it, he dropped your arm and quickly stepped away. “Fuck. I-I’m sorry.” He shook his head and you watched worry swirl in his eyes.

No…

No, you weren’t afraid of this man. You don’t know why, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you intentionally. Even after everything… “It was just instinct! I swear! I would never intend to—“

“I know, Minho.” You cut off his panicking, but his brows gave away his lingering concern. “I guess I’m just going to have to take your word for it on the whole spy thing, though, because those were super fast reflexes.” You chuckled to ease the tension and his face softened slightly.

It was silent for a moment and he cleared his throat again. “Well, I should walk you back to your room, it’s late and I’ve had… a very long few days.”

You took a large breath and promptly left the bathroom. “I’m perfectly fine on my own, you know?” There’s that twinge of irritation again…

”I know, I know. But if Yongbok is awake, I want to be able to ease his worries and update him on his role in taking care of you.

Taking care of…

Not treating, not monitoring. Taking care of. You supposed that’s what they were doing, huh? Felix was, in fact, doing much more than treating or monitoring. He waited on you hand and foot and you were being a bitch about it. You made a promise to yourself right then and there to let him know as soon as possible how much you appreciated his care and apologize for your behavior.

You nodded, both to yourself and to Minho’s reasoning before making your way back to your room with the mysterious and intriguing man just a few steps behind you.

__________________________________________

Felix was a saint. Not only did he forgive you when you apologized, but he went as far to say it was his fault for being overbearing. Which was obviously preposterous.

With your new parameters in effect, Felix decided to leave the estate shortly, before quickly returning with gifts for you. Among them were several jigsaw puzzles and you perked up at the sight of them. Over time, you had come to really appreciate those puzzles. So much so that you had already finished all of the ones currently at the estate, strangely enough. All kinds of different collections displayed on random tables throughout the mansion.

Felix was true to his word and gave you your space, only briefly giving you regular check-ups as you sat in one of the many living rooms that giant freaking place held and began the therapeutic work of putting together an adorable puzzle of a litter of kittens.

You would love to have cats…

When a sudden ruckus erupted down the hall, you furrowed your brows and looked behind you to the source. Down the corridor you saw the same seven men that you had seen regularly around the house (obviously minus Felix) dressed in what looked like active-wear gathering around the front entryway.

The men never approached you, but that was most likely because you tried to make yourself scarce once you saw one of them. Maybe Dr. Chris, Felix, and Minho you trusted, but you didn’t know those other men and it made you sick to your stomach thinking of being alone with a stranger without one of those three men accompanying you.

”Okay, guys, this is just routine training today, so no fire hazards, alright Hyunjin?” You heard Minho announce to the group.

Training? Like their super-secret-spy type training?

You felt yourself stand and march over to them without even formulating what you were doing. Who needs rational thought anyway?

If you were remembering correctly, the one named Jeongin spotted you first with a look of surprise. “Come. On. Hyuuung. We need to be prepared for anyth—“ Jeongin harshly elbowed the one who you assumed was Hyunjin and quickly spoke up.

’Hy-Mr. Lee, sir. I think someone is here for you…” He nodded a bow to you and you returned it, giving a meek smile to the group before meeting Minho’s gaze.

He looked slightly surprised before giving you… was that a smile? No, surely not…

You cleared your throat as Felix made his way over with hurried steps and a worried expression. You, then, glanced over at the other men who had become quiet as death upon you stepping up next to Minho. You scanned over them before slightly bowing. “Um… Good morning…” You introduced yourself before hearing a small ‘oh’ from the man beside you. You turned your head as he stepped forward and turned to face you again.

”I guess I haven’t really introduced them all to you yet… These are my… This is my inner circle.” He hesitated and turned to gesture to each of them. “Some I’m sure you already know. Like Channie-Hyung, Yongbok, and Jisung.” The three nodded politely with soft smiles. “But to formally introduce you to the others, this is Changbin…” The shorter, muscular man offered a shy smile. “Hyunjin…” Your eyebrows raise at the incredibly handsome man as his full lips formed a smile as well. “Seungmin…”

”Nice to formally meet you.” He said with an amused grin and you nervously chuckled as you informed him likewise.

”Then there’s our maknae, Jeonginnie.” Hyunjin cooed at the youngest when he also gave a shy smile and he received a death-glare in return.

All of the men remained incredibly polite, bowing their heads when introduced and maintaining their distance. Shit, they probably already know everything about you and your situation… especially considering the fact that no one asked you who you were or why you were there.

You guessed you understood and you were actually somewhat grateful. It saved you from having to explain it yourself and relive all of the pain again…

”It’s very nice to meet you all.” You gave the men a polite smile before turning to Minho again. You were on a mission. “Minho, can I please come train with you guys?”

You could hear a pin drop with how silent the room got. “You… you want to train?” You gave a determined nod before slumping your shoulders at his shake of the head. “No. No way.”

“What?! Why?!”

”Um, I think it’s best we head out first. We will meet you there sir.” The youngest quickly relayed before walking out the front door with the other men in tow, Felix quickly retreating to some other corner of the estate.

After watching the mass leave, you fixed your glare on Minho’s resolute expression. “Not only are you not employed by me, but you also have an injured arm—“

”It could be good therapy for me! And I can even raise it horizontally now!” You demonstrated the movement with gritted teeth, trying to hide the pain, and he responded with an unimpressed visage.

“You are already receiving therapy and you would just be a liability. So, no. End of discussion.”

A liability? Ouch.

You felt anger rise up in you and you took a step near him, his features remaining stone-cold. “You… You’re a… ugh!” You couldn’t even muster up the will to call him an asshole anymore. What the fuck was WRONG with you?

With the lack of anything better to say, you furiously stomped away up to your bedroom to fume in private, but not without flipping him off the entire way there.

__________________________________________

“Knock knock, love.” Felix announced before stepping through your open doorway. It hadn’t been long since you petulantly curled up on the plush armchair by your window to angrily watch the rain outside.

Of course it would rain. Apparently fate had decided to mock you as if you were an actress in some sort of sad music video. Surely Felix would agree.

You watched with hesitancy as he held out his hand to you. “Follow me.” He said calmly with a smile. “I want to show you a new room.” You perked up at that notion. You had been running out of places to explore recently and the prospect of seeing something new was like a kid going to a playground.

You took his hand and allowed him to lead you to one of the many locked double-doors on the estate. What you saw made you gasp in awe. Bookshelves upon bookshelves lined the walls of a massive, two-storied library that was stocked to max capacity with what looked like brand new books as well as older than hell pieces of literature. All surrounding a cozy living area with couches, armchairs, and even a fireplace.

”Minho-hyung must really trust you to let me show you this. These books mean a great deal to him and many of them are extremely fragile as well.” He trusts me? You thought as you watched Felix’s eyes widen. “I-I mean Mr. Lee…”

You furrowed your brows and turned to him. “Why do you do that?” You asked and he just blinked at you with worry written on his features.

”D-do what?”

Playing dumb, are we? “That! Those other guys do it too! Why don’t you just call him Hyung? You all are obviously close. Why try to hide it?”

Felix nervously rubbed the side of his neck and looked down. “It’s not like we are trying to hide it, necessarily. We are just trained to remain professional. It’s just much harder when we are all home and much more relaxed.”

You nodded your head in understanding. “But why do you try to hide it with me? I’m not exactly here on business.” You arched your brow and he smiled sweetly.

”It…” He seemed hesitant to speak until he sighed and lowered his head. “If we keep things professional with you, it might be easier when we have to see you go…” You were taken aback. Easier? Is he saying they would miss you? Why? You were a nobody, and you were honestly kind of a bitch. No, that can’t be it.

”What do you mean by easier?”

He seemed confused by your question. “When you spend so much time with someone, it’s easy to get attached. Even the coldest heart can find warmth in someone they find trustworthy and important.”

Trustworthy? Important? You? What in the world did you do to earn those titles?

Felix must have read the disbelief on your face because he continued. “You and I have spent a lot of time together over the past months. I’ve learned a lot about you and your habits.” You blushed. He most definitely knows a lot about you. He’s seen a lot too. “I know you are a good person. I have an eye for these things.”

He winked at you and you huffed a chuckle.

“And Minho-hyung knows you are a good person too. He just has a different way of… expressing his feelings.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “No, it’s true! We discuss you and your progress often and the kind of leniency he gives you in this place is unheard of for anyone other than our circle. Even some of the house staff haven’t been allowed in some of these rooms you’ve seen.”

What on god’s green earth did you say to them to trust you? I mean, of course they can trust you. You bear no ill will toward any of them, not seriously anyway. But why do they think so? Felix could definitely see the confusion on your face when he gently placed a hand on your upper back and guided you two further into the treasure-trove of books.

“Don’t think about it too much, love. Just know that everything we do, we do out of good and pure intentions.”

You definitely thought about it too much.

__________________________________________

You were determined.

You were going to get out of that damned house, even if just for a minute, whether he liked it or not. By exploring the house, you ended up finding a board room, like true business-official type shit. A long table surrounded by office chairs and even a projector screen. And with a small tip from Felix, you knew they all happened to have a meeting that morning.

An actual business meeting. Not the one including half-naked women this time.

So, after gearing up in some serious workout attire, you marched yourself to that exact room, not even bothering to knock. You were on a mission. ”Lee Minho, I demand to be included in your training. I won’t take no for an answer!”

His were the first eyes you seeked out when you entered the room and you willed yourself to not back down.

You, then, remembered the presence of the other seven men in the room and how silent everyone had become. It was as if they thought, if they move even slightly, all hell would break loose. And by looking at Minho’s facial expression, they might have good reason to think as such.

”I. Said. NO. Now please see your way out. As you can see, we are clearly busy.” You were pissed, no, more than pissed, but you squared your shoulders.

However, before you could utter a word, Jisung spoke up. “Hyung. I think we should let her. She is obviously passionate about it.” Minho glared at his friend and then back at you. He was silent for a moment, as if he was deliberating, before speaking again.

”No.”

”FUCKING HELL, MAN! I have been sitting on my ass here for months now for a reason I’m sure everyone here already knows about—!“ You watched guilty expressions color the room. “—and now that I’m getting better, you’re not going to help me defend myself if something like that happens again?” You witnessed his eyes widen as a traitorous tear fell down your cheek. “Fuck. You. Lee Minho!”

Resilience be damned, you were itching to escape that suffocating room and the problem within it. You stormed away once more with a harsh slam of the door and a burning fire inside you fueled by hate and anger.

Fuck this.

__________________________________________

You felt a plop on the couch next to you and you jolted in place with a tiny squeak.

After the meeting room fiasco, you had been spending all of your time in the library. You were so immersed in your book that you didn’t even realize there was another presence in the room.

With a quick whip of the head and an incredulous look on your face, you watched Minho smirk next to you in amusement. “For someone who is super quick with their tongue, you sure are slow with everything else.” He chuckled as you came down from your fright and you placed a hand on your rapidly beating heart.

That motherfucker just about killed you! Well, not literally, but still! You closed your eyes to collect yourself before opening them again to glare at him.

However, instead of that same annoying smirk, his face turned into one of regret. “Shit, I’m sorry… I didn’t even think if that would make you… fuck, I didn’t—“

”It’s fine!” You quickly cut him off, knowing where he was going with that statement. “I-I’m fine… you just startled me a bit.” You calmly placed your bookmark before turning back to him with narrowed eyes. He looked a bit more relieved.

”Still, I need to be more… considerate.” He looked down at his hands, avoiding your eyes. “In more ways than one…” You furrowed your brows in suspicion before he returned your gaze once more. “I’ve thought about it a lot and I realized that I haven’t necessarily been easy on you throughout all of this. I might have played a part in helping you physically, but I didn’t consider how this would all affect you mentally.”

You were speechless. Was this the same man? He’s actually being… remorseful…

“So, yeah. Sorry about all that…” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck while averting his eyes. He clearly wasn’t used to apologizing so much. “I, um… I wanted to ask you if we could, like, start over?”

You had never seen the man fumble so much since meeting him and it was quite a refreshing sight. “Why? Are you about to drop another ridiculous rule on me and you’re just saying this to lessen the blow?” You huffed a bitter chuckle.

You could see his temper start to rise before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m saying this…” There was a slight edge to his voice before he opened his eyes again with a much more gentle demeanor. “—because I am tired of us butting heads.” He slumped into the backrest and you arched a brow. “And also because you were right.”

Okay. Something is seriously wrong.

”I thought it would be dangerous for you to train with professionals and be subjected to a room full of random men.” He limply turned his head your way while remaining melted into the cushions. “And yes, there will be other men there. All of my subordinates use this training center. It’s one of my most used gyms for my… industry.”

You scoffed. “Pft. ‘Industry’” You mocked with finger quotations.

He smirked. “Yes. Industry.” His face gradually returned to a more serious disposition. “There is also the matter of secrecy.” You nodded your head. Yeah, that made sense considering his occupation, but who were you going to tell? “Not saying I don’t trust you—“

”Why do you trust me?” You blurted, the question still buzzing around in your mind like an annoying pest. He furrowed his brows as if he didn’t understand. You continued. “Like, yeah, I get why you saved me now and all, but why do you trust ME?”

His brow slightly softened and he cleared his throat. “Y-you have given me no reason not to trust you. Why? Did you do something?” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “No, asshole. It’s obvious to me that you should trust me, but you’re just going to take my word for it? You must be a really shitty spy.” He guffawed loudly, sitting up with a bright grin as he seemed like himself again.

”You haven’t seen what I can do, Tinkerbell.” You rolled your eyes, but you did find the notion intriguing.

”Oh yeah? What can you do?” You could see a spark light up in his eyes as he stared into your own and you had to gulp down the saliva that pooled in your mouth from the sight.

”Well…” He shifted to face you, elbow now propped up on the back of the couch. “You’ll get to see some of it when we train you.”

You felt your heart jolt. “When you train me?” You felt the corners of your mouth slowly lifting and his followed right behind.

”We leave at noon. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” He mused.

”No! No, I want to!” You looked at the clock. 11:30. Shit, he couldn’t have told you a little sooner? You sprang to your feet and he stood as well. “Just let me go change and I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

He just gave you a brief nod before turning on his heel and leaving you giddily buzzing in your skin.

__________________________________________

Somehow, you had plenty of options to choose from, but you opted for a simple T-shirt and joggers. Not the cutest, but who were you trying to impress?

A vision of Minho flashed in your mind and you reeled from the thought. Ugh. Why did my head think of HIM? In fact, why were you thinking so much about him in the first place? You chalked it up to it being from interacting more frequently nowadays. Yes. That must be it. You resolutely threw on a hoodie over your shirt and marched your way to the foyer.

“You ready? It won’t be easy.” He said from where he was leaned up against the staircase banister. You took in the sight of his workout attire, not really taking the time to fully appreciate it until now.

He wore a loose pair of sweatpants and an airy tank top that allowed you to gaze at his intricate sleeve of tattoos once more. He would almost look human if he hadn’t been blessed with his other-worldly beauty.

You blinked away the thoughts and gave a firm nod to him in response. “I don’t want easy. I want effective.”

He smirked and stood up straight when you approached. “We’ll see soon how confident you are in that statement.” You glared and he gestured his head. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Instead of heading out the front, he made his way further into the house. You furrowed your brows. “Where are the other guys? And where are you going?”

”Tsk. So many questions!” He mused and grinned at your responding scowl. “The guys are already there and, as to where we are going…” He stepped up to a large door located in the next room and opened the door for you to enter first, your face surely gawking at the luxury. You heard a chuckle from behind you. “Your reactions are always so adorable.” He smoothly teased.

EXCUSE ME?!

You whipped around and glared at him as he just continued walking past you. “Now…” He turned back to face you again. “Which one do you want to take?” He said plainly as he gestured to the plethora of extremely expensive cars.

The garage definitely looked like it belonged in a spy movie, but you were stumped. He said he was like a spy. Not a spy. Like a spy. You were still racking your brain as to what that meant.

Your eyes grazed over the fancy marble interior of the museum-like garage and the cars on display. How can someone have this much disposable income?

You didn’t know the first thing about cars, why did you have to pick?

When you just pointed to some random car, he raised his brows. “Really? The Rolls Royce?”

“Well, shit I dunno! Why do I need to pick? You obviously know more than I do when it comes to this!”

He cackled and led you closer to your chosen car. “Oh, I know waaay more than you, Tink.” You grumbled and he chuckled as he opened the door for you, letting you slide into the disgustingly luxurious vehicle.

”Why do you even have all of these cars? Don’t you have someone else to drive you?” He donned a cocky half-grin when he slipped into the driver seat.

”Sure, when I’m on business I do. But we are just going to train.”

In the blink of an eye, his face was directly in front of yours as he reached across you, eyes fixed on your seatbelt strap as he grasped the material. As soon as he stretched it across your body, he seemed to notice your surprise.

He froze, blinked at you rapidly, then quickly averted his gaze back down to the strap to buckle you in. He cleared his throat and gulped before starting the car. “Plus…” He added with a slightly strained voice. “It’s not nearly as fun riding as it is driving.”

__________________________________________

“Was the bag seriously necessary? Who would I even tell?!” You seethed as you threw the black, silky fabric at him.

Before you two even left the driveway, he forced you to shove your head in a stupid black hood so you “couldn’t know the location” once you left the estate later. You told him that it was unnecessary and stupid, but the man insisted.

You ripped the damned thing off as soon as he put the car in park.

”Have you forgotten what I told you? About my work? Why are you surprised with the secrecy?” He explained calm and composed as he discarded the bag in the car again.

”Well then blindfold me next time! I could barely breathe!” You were over exaggerating, of course. That material was extremely airy and breathable, you just wanted to feel superior to such treatment.

”Well excuse me, your highness…” He rolled his eyes as he pulled out his keys and walked up to the door of a large, nondescript, concrete building. Unlocking and opening the door for you, he gave you an exaggerated bow.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you passed the threshold, and marched into what looked like a massive gym complex of some sort.

However, the entire building was devoid of life. Of course that’s not including the seven familiar figures you saw fighting on the far end of the room. ”I thought you said all of your employees train here?” You said with an arched brow.

Minho passed you with a shrug. “Not today they don’t.” Well that answered nothing…

”Hey there, girly! Ready to get that blood pumping?”

”Calm down, Changbin. She is still going through therapy, remember?” Dr. Chris told the younger muscle man from where he was doing crazy heavy deadlifts off to the side.

”I know, I know, grandpa.” Changbin smirked at the doctor’s glare. “But just remember: ‘What hurts today makes you stronger tomorrow.’”

The other men groaned in tandem and you found yourself slightly smiling. “That’s a great motivational outlook, Changbin.” You said to the group as you watched Changbin’s face light up.

”Okay, enough, enough.” Minho declared. “Today’s training is obviously a bit different than usual.” He gestured vaguely at you. “We have a base level trainee and she needs to be trained from ground zero.” He gave you a side-eye and a cocky smirk. “Maybe even lower than that…”

”Hey!” You made a move to give him a lighthearted shove, and then was immediately reminded of what happened last time as his hand shot to your wrist to stop the action. You tried to free yourself, but his grip was like stone. “Let me go, asshole!”

”Make me.” He said as he suddenly faced you, pulling you closer. “Come on, show me. What would you do if you wanted to be released?”

You didn’t have an answer for him. Any move you could possibly make would be caught by his cat-like reflexes. You just challenged him with your eyes before his own softened, along with his grip on your wrist.

Just as your wrist was released he gave you a couple pats on the head. “Don’t worry Tinkerbell. I’m sure you will figure it out eventually.” You just about growled at him as he walked over to stand by Chris who was now seated on a bench nearby. “Channie-hyung and I are just here to observe and critique ALL of you, so do your best.” The man made an annoyed expression and waved the back of his hand in front of him. “Well? Get on with it!”

With that, you found yourself surrounded by six (frankly gorgeous) men looming over you.

“Hey! Back off! Don’t all go at her at once! I said ground zero you pabos!” Minho shouted from the sidelines before the others retreated and Changbin stepped in front of you.

”Calm down, Minho. This is what I’m here for.” You breathed in a resolute huff and nodded at Changbin. “I’m ready.”

__________________________________________

“Watch out for her arm!”

…

”Don’t actually try to hurt her, idiot!”

…

”That’s too rough!”

…

The entire training session Minho had shouted at each and every one of the men trying to teach me at least once and it was growing tiresome. “Why even let me train if I can’t even, I dunno, actually train???” You grumbled at the stubborn man as the group was taking a break. “I have legitimately learned nothing with the parameters you have set!”

”For real, hyung. You aren’t letting her show her full potential. She needs—“

Minho instantly cut Changbin off. “I will decide what is needed and I think that it would be better for her to just watch for now. It’s obvious that she is not ready.”

”WHA—?” You squealed with widened eyes and a disbelieving expression.

”Actually, I think she is doing quite well in her recovery…” Dr. Chris stated matter-of-factly where he stood next to the other six men drenched in sweat.

You watched Minho slowly turn his murderous expression to the doctor, but you stepped into his line of sight before he had the chance to retaliate. “Please let me continue… I promise I will take it easy, I just…” You looked down at your restless hands before returning your gaze to his blackened irises. “This is just really important to me��”

You watched as the man’s face minutely softened and glanced at the seven men around you that also awaited his instruction.

”Please?” You implored, not used to such pleading from your end. His eyes darted back to you before he moved to rub his temples with a sigh.

“Fine.” He groaned. “But base-line self defense only. We can move on to more advanced training once you have recovered a bit more.”

You don’t know why you felt such relief come over you. Maybe it was the satisfaction of even marginally getting through to him, but you let a wide grin escape as your body involuntarily moved to hug the man.

What the fuck?

Just as quickly as you embraced the man, you retreated just as fast with furiously heated cheeks. Why in the world did you do that? You were FAR from hugging terms with him! He probably just about shot you in the head from the unexpected touch!

However, you couldn’t help but notice the citrus and sandalwood scent emanating from his solid, warm body. His skin felt like flames against yours and you welcomed the heat. It didn’t last long, but the simple contact with him made your blood boil and quickly reddened your entire face.

When you pulled back and cleared your throat, you witnessed a millisecond of bewilderment on his stone-cold face before it was immediately schooled back into place (but that did nothing to cover up his bright red ears). “Th-thank you.” You mumbled before you escaped to the water fountain that was, blessedly, on the other side of the room. Never mind the fact you had a water bottle already with you by the group…

__________________________________________

By the time you and the rest of the boys finished (which was a very productive start if you do say so yourself), Minho had informed he was called in for an unexpected ‘business meeting’ across town and that training would finish early for the day as he needed to take a couple of his men with him.

You were a bit disappointed, but at least you got to do something. Which was more than you expected honestly.

As you requested, you were blindfolded for the car ride back instead of the stifling bag he donned you with on the way there, but you rode back with only five of his men instead.

You could feel all of their eyes on you as you rode in silence. Jeongin drove the unnecessarily expensive limousine, Changbin, and Hyunjin sat across from you, and Felix and Chan bracketed you on each side.

The silence was even more suffocating than the bag you wore earlier as you felt yourself start to become antsy. “For the love of god, please someone say something! I feel like I’m an exhibit in a museum right now.” You whined and buried your face in your hands (even though you couldn’t see anything anyway).

”And what a lovely piece of art you are, darling~” Hyunjin lilted before you heard a slap of skin and an over dramatic squawk from said man.

”Yah! Don’t be a creep!” You heard Changbin exclaim as the precious Felix giggled next to you.

”It was supposed to be a compliment!” You heard someone click their tongue before Chan decided to speak up.

”It’s interesting isn’t it…” He commanded the whole group’s attention with practiced ease and you quickly realized the hidden influence this man had over the lot of them. Which would make sense due to the fact that the doctor had probably saved most of, if not all of their lives at some point in time. “I haven’t seen or heard of Minho ever taking it easy on a trainee before… Most of them have to come see me even after their first session with him.”

”For real though, the man is ruthless with everyone else! He will even push them through the pain of broken bones!” Hyunjin exclaimed incredulously.

”He wants to make sure they are prepared through anything, even excruciating pain.” Jeongin stated simply from the driver’s seat.

Holy shit, these guys are no joke! “What the fuck? Why can’t he do the same with me?!” The entire car went dead silent in response. You could feel the annoyance creep into your bones. “Is it because I’m a girl? Seriously?!”

You heard Felix scoff next to you. “As if.” He sputtered in amusement. “The female trainees are some of the toughest among all of us.”

Then why?

”Maybe he just has a soft spot for you…” You heard Hyunjin mumble and you outright cackled at that one.

”Are you kidding?! Have you seen the way he treats me??” You question with an incredulous chuckle.

“You never knooow~” Hyunjin stated with a teasing lilt to his voice before you heard another smack.

And before another word could be said, your blindfold was removed and you were ushered into the estate once more.

A soft spot? What a joke.

__________________________________________

I hope you guys are happy with the turn-around. 😏

I’ve missed you all so dearly and I apologize for the wait. 🥺 I would say that the next part will come out sooner, but I don’t want to guarantee that if life decides to fuck with me some more. 🙃

As always, please like, follow, and share!

Thanks baby Stays! Love you and missed you guys! 💋😽💋

And of course my squad and tag list:

@lyramundana

@channieandhisgoonsquad

@moonlightndaydreams

@queenmea604

@sweetracha

@rylea08

@maknaeswrld

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

[malfoyswand]

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

summary: your best friend, draco malfoy, plans a surprise to ask you to the yule ball.

word count: 1.8k

genre: fluff

warnings: none, just soft draco :)

author's note: thank you to the lovely reader who requested this, it's my first request so i really hope i did this justice! also yes, i got a little inspired by that one gilmore girls episode with the 1000 flowers for the proposal lol

➪ masterlist | requests

"Mate, I think you're overthinking this."

Blaise Zabini reported his opinion of the matter, but Draco Malfoy barely comprehended a word he had spoken. The only things on his mind were (Y/N) and of course, the bloody Yule Ball.

If he was honest with himself, Draco was at least partially excited for the dance. He knew it was meant to be one of the greatest nights he may ever experience while at Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure if he would. The dance was only a week away and somehow, Draco found himself without a date.

If anything, the Yule Ball was making him nervous.

"I'm not, Zabini!" He spoke quite loudly, then softened his voice as he realized students had looked their way. "This needs to be perfect, alright? This is (Y/N) we're talking about, you know how I feel about her."

Blaise couldn't help but sigh, with a smile on his lips as the two of them walked to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. It was quite a feat for Malfoy to tell Blaise that he had romantic feelings for his best friend, (Y/N). Blaise knew that Draco dreaded being seen as anything but tough to the world, the fact that a girl had this much control over his emotions spoke volumes. 

"Exactly my point, Malfoy. She's been your best friend since first year, I doubt she would ever be disappointed or angry with whatever you come up with. Besides, she's just a girl. Just ask her to the ball like how you would ask a girl out on a date."

"Er.. well.." Draco began to speak, the hand that wasn't holding his books scratching the back of his neck. The two of them finally stopped walking besides the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Blaise's eyes widening as he tried to hide his laughter.

"You're telling me that Draco Malfoy has never been on a date before? Merlin!" His laughter echoed down the chamber, earning him a scoff and a playful shove inside the classroom by Draco. "Sorry, sorry. I just thought that with every other girl in this school begging to be your date to the dance, you would've taken at least one of them on a date." His voice was spoken quietly, careful that the other students wouldn't hear their conversation.

Draco shook his head as the two of them sat down in their seats, pulling out their books and parchment. "No. I've turned them all down. They're just not her, know what I mean?"

"You're down bad, mate." Blaise smirked slightly to himself, whispering the only advice he could really offer his friend. "Listen, girls like being asked out in a personal way. You know the kind of things (Y/N) likes, all you have to do is make it special and she'll be swooning."

"Right." Draco mumbled to himself as Professor Moody began to teach his lesson. However, he certainly wasn't thinking about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Instead, Draco glanced over to where you sat across the room. He knew you better than anyone, yet he had no idea how to ask you to the Yule Ball.

That was when the idea struck him. The new bag you bought last week caught his eyes, he noticed the way the bag had intricate floral designs sewn into it. A memory replayed in Draco's mind. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he wrote on a spare piece of parchment, folding it into a paper crane before sending it your way.

Your hands caught the paper crane, grinning as you knew exactly who it was from. You tried to ignore the way your heart seemed to skip a beat each time you saw one fly towards you. On the piece of parchment, it read:

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower tomorrow morning before breakfast? - D.M.

You lifted his gaze to meet his awaiting gray eyes, your head nodding before turning back to the professor's lesson. Draco did the same, but his mind was already running through a mental checklist on all the supplies he had to get to make his idea come to life.

The next morning, you woke up wondering why in Godric's name you decided to meet up with Draco this early in the morning. The sun was just starting to rise outside the window, and none of your other roommates were even awake. You groaned as quietly as you could, practically tiptoeing around the dorm bedroom to avoid waking everyone else.

As you brushed your hair in the girls' lavatory, you felt the butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter around again. You cursed yourself under your breath as you tried your best to focus on your breathing.

Lately, being near Draco Malfoy has always made you more excited than you really ought to be. Of course, he was your best friend so you had always been excited. But now, even one glance at him caused a warmth to glow within your chest. The feeling was a foreign one.

As you walked through the castle towards the Astronomy Tower, that warm feeling in your chest arose again as you caught sight of him. He was pacing near the entrance door, mumbling as if he was rehearsing something. You cleared your throat as you walked towards him, Draco stopping in his tracks.

"(Y/N)." He spoke your name, his lips forming into a soft smile. "Thanks for meeting up with me, I know it's a bit early for you." His tone was playful, he knew you were not much of a morning person. 

"About that, why so early in the morning, Malfoy?" You gently shoved his shoulder, he only laughed in response. He opened the Astronomy Tower door entrance, his hand indicating for you to step inside first. 

"You will see."

You walked up the long set of stairs up the tower. You couldn't see the fact that Draco was a nervous wreck behind you, his hands having to wipe themselves on his slacks to remove the sweat from his palms. As much as you hated to wake up this early in the morning, you knew the views up from the tower would be gorgeous. Draco knew that the Astronomy Tower was, quite honestly, your favorite place to admire the landscape.

“Oh my..” Your body stopped in its tracks once the two of you reached the highest level of the tower. Your eyes couldn’t take in your surroundings fast enough it seemed.

It was as if every surface of the tower was covered in red roses. Somehow, someone must have placed hundreds of roses in vases, scattering them around almost every corner of the room. The light shining into the tower only amplified their beauty, it was as if each petal seemed to come alive as the sun continued to rise.

“D-Did you know these flowers were here?” You stuttered as you started to pace around the room slowly, your fingertips grazing upon almost every petal there was. Their beauty took your breath away.

“I did.” Draco bit his bottom slightly as he watched you, desperate to know your reaction. He couldn’t tell if you liked or hated them. “They’re for you, actually.”

Your eyes darted from the roses you were admiring to Draco, your body facing his. Although you were truly flattered, the idea of him doing all of this for you made your head spin with so many questions. You knew Draco Malfoy better than he may ever know himself, you had never seen him do anything this nice or extravagant for anyone before. 

“You said a couple of weeks ago that you wish spring would come along so you can watch the flowers bloom again. Of course, it’s only December, as we can all see.” Draco answered your question, a slight chuckle falling from his lips as he pointed outside of the tower. More snowflakes began to fall, covering the castle with even more snow.

“So, I thought to bring the flowers to you. And I only assumed you liked roses, from your bag.” His eyes went from watching the snowflakes outside to your bag that was decorated with tiny red roses around it. Since when did Draco notice something so mundane, like a new tote bag?

“I just.. don’t know what to say.” Your voice came out as a whisper. Him decorating the entire Astronomy Tower with roses, just because you said you missed the spring and summer flowers, was entirely insane. You couldn’t come up with the words, so all you could do was step forward to hug him tightly.

Within an instant, you felt Draco’s arms wrap around your waist, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He closed his eyes, smiling softly to himself out of relief and joy. He was relieved and happy that you had liked the surprise, but he knew what he must do, even though it terrified him.

“That’s not the end of the surprise.” He said as he slowly pulled away from the hug. All of a sudden, it was as the boy became aware of every heightened emotion he was feeling. “But I must do this properly..”

Your eyebrows raised as you watched him turn around, picking up one of the red roses from their vases. If you weren’t convinced you were dreaming at the moment, you would have sworn you saw a small bit of sweat on Draco’s forehead as he looked towards you.

“I-er..” He took a step forward towards you, any closer and your bodies would have made contact. With a deep breath to calm himself, he handed the rose to you. “Would you want to go to the Yule Ball with me, as more than just a friend?”

Your lips slightly parted as you took the rose from him. You had slowly been falling for your best friend for the past four years, but you had convinced yourself that the Slytherin Prince would never fall for you. For four years, you had thought that he would never settle for you, when every other girl in this school begged for him just to look their way.

Once you realized you had failed to give an answer, you closed your mouth and smiled in his direction. “I would love to, Draco.” You responded, stepping forward once more to close the gap between you two. You pressed your lips softly to his cheek.

When you pulled away, you realized that Draco’s cheeks were slightly pink as his eyes widened. You couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the sight. Draco Malfoy was notorious for being the calm, collected one of the two of you. Seeing him as, essentially, a nervous wreck over you caused that warmth to be felt in your chest again.

“Who would have thought I could make Draco Malfoy this nervous?” You joked, attempting to calm his apparent nerves.

“Who said I was nervous?” He scoffed just as playfully, grabbing a few more roses to hand to you. You took them in your hands, smelling their pleasant aroma as you followed him back down the staircase.

“Malfoy, you were just as red as these roses.”

[crisiscutie]

Honestly this is more of a prompt than a true request. But, imagine baking bread with Sephiroth(s) and the kids. Family baking time is always cute.

Yes, but I'd imagine with five kids (and counting🤭), said baking time can get quite chaotic with Fluffy Sephiroth.

You sat on your yoga ball, trying to ease your pregnancy pains. Although you hoped for a peaceful break, you couldn't bear leaving your poor husband alone any longer with everyone else, especially your youngest wild child, Lucy.

"Kadaj, that's too much flour!" Sephiroth said.

"You're not adding enough, father! I'm adding more!" Kadaj said.

"No, it'd be too much! And Loz, stop eating the raw batter!" Sephiroth's slit eyes quickly scanned the kitchen. "...Where is Yazoo?"

Meanwhile, Angealica, your eldest daughter, sprinted around desperately. She was trying to intercept Lucy before she could enter the kitchen and further stress Sephiroth.

"Put this apron on!" Angealica shouted, but Lucy just giggled at her. While it may have seemed like a game to Lucy, it was anything but for poor Angealica, who always did her best to help maintain order in the household.

Yazoo approached you from behind and relaxed his head on your shoulder, just as Sephiroth would do in his moments of stress or laziness.

"Mother, I don't want to bake bread without you... Kadaj doesn't know what he's doing, Loz keeps eating the batter, and Father has no control," He quietly pouted, mumbling into your skin. You reached a hand backwards and petted his head.

"Don't worry, sweetie," you reassured, "Mommy is just taking a short break. Everything will be better in a little bit..." In response, a satisfied purr could be heard coming from him. Smiling, you rose from your yoga ball and led him to the kitchen. Along the way, you interrupted Lucy during her antics and took the apron from Angealica, carefully wrapping it around Lucy as she squirmed in your grasp. She playfully growled at you and gave your cheek a tiny chomp. You giggled, chomping her right back, and then ruffling her hair. When you reached the kitchen, you put your hands on your hips, watching Kadaj and Sephiroth debate with each other over the bread recipe.

"That's why you bake it the first time and make adjustments for the second!" you said, planting a quick kiss on your silver kitten husband's lips and while gently pinching Kadaj's cheeks. Next, you softly took the raw batter from Loz, booped his nose, and tied your own apron. Finally, it seemed order was restored at last. Your family fell silent and watchful, closing in around you. You let out a relaxed sigh and started going over the fundamentals of breaking bread again.

[unfinishedslurs]

bedsharing (future stobin lavender marriage) (steddie)

“Why do you have tampons in your bathroom?” Eddie asks, toweling off his hair. “Wouldn’t your mom just keep them in hers?”

“They’re Robin’s.”

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on the back of his neck, and turns around from where he’s hastily folding his clothes. He has another towel wrapped around his hips, and Steve’s gaze drifts there before snapping back up to his face. 

“What?” He asks.

“I thought you guys weren’t together.”

Steve sighs. “Just because I have tampons for when she stays over—“

“It’s just—why wouldn’t they be in the guest bathroom?”

“She stays in my room,” he says, and then realizes how that sounds. “Okay, yeah, but we’re not dating. That’s never gonna happen.”

“So you’re just hooking up?”

Steve instinctively makes a face, and Eddie’s eyebrows jut up. “No. I’m not her type, and even if I was, at this point that ball has left the court. I don’t like her like that, she definitely doesn’t like me like that, and next time Henderson tries to convince someone we’re soulmates I’m going to wring his little neck.”

“I thought you said you were soulmates.”

“Yeah, but not like that.”

“Just enough that she sleeps in your bed and has tampons in your bathroom, apparently.” Eddie bends over to wrap his hair in the towel, and Steve spends a long moment staring at the curve of his bare spine. 

“Hey, man,” he says belatedly. “We got caught off guard one time. I’m not doing that again.”

Two loads of laundry, and Robin had cried in anger and embarrassment. Steve of ‘83 would have found it disgusting. Steve of now was a little grossed out, but also had been bled on in ways much worse than a period, so he just took her out to milkshakes and stocked up on enough supplies to last for a lifetime. After that, all bets were off when it came to the few boundaries they had left. 

Eddie grimaces in acknowledgment, grabbing the pair of sweatpants on the bed. Steve turns around before the towel drops, because years of locker room experience can’t possibly prepare him for seeing Eddie Munson’s naked ass. 

“So no dreams of a white wedding and gaggles of grandchildren running around?”

“I mean, we’ll probably get married at some point,” Steve says absently, fiddling with his bedspread to keep from turning around. He can have self control. He’s capable of not ogling his friends. “It’ll be safer that way.” Shit, why did he say that? He might as well hang a neon sign that says QUEER over his head. “Easier,” he corrects himself, knowing damn well it’s useless. 

There’s a thud and a groan, and Steve whirls around to see Eddie on the ground, halfway into his pants. 

“Are you okay?”

“So you’re not together, and you’re not hooking up, but you’ll get married?” Eddie demands from the floor, wiggling into his sweats. “And…what? Have a loveless, sexless marriage? Because it’s easy?”

“Just because the love isn’t romantic doesn’t mean our marriage would be loveless,” he protests, mind whirling with excuses he can’t use. Why did he open his big mouth? Why couldn’t he have just said anything else?

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” he shrugs, trying to get his heartbeat under control. “We’re already going to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well get some legal benefits out of it.”

“Sure, sure,” Eddie laughs, disbelieving. “Getting married for legal benefits and safety. Harrington, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this sounds like—“

“Sounds like what?” Steve cuts through what Eddie was about to say. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s a bone-deep certainty that Eddie will end up on the truth if he keeps talking. “Are you coming to bed or not, man?”

Eddie falls silent in the middle of standing up, dark eyes pinning Steve to the spot. He knows, Steve thinks, and tries not to picture what Robin would say if he got another concussion. He hasn’t confirmed anything, and Eddie seems like a good guy, maybe even their kind of guy, but if he’s wrong then he’d better grab Robin fast and get the hell out of dodge. Dustin might forgive him eventually, if he knew the reason why.

The silence is getting unbearable. 

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie finally shrugs. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I want the left side.”

“You asshole,” Steve hisses, pretending the relief in his chest isn’t damn near killing him. “You know that’s the side I sleep on.”

[sockmeat]

Could I maybe get an Angel and Reader fake date catch feelings imagine? Angel needs a date for an event, probably would have asked Husk but he's busy, so Reader agreed to go with him instead and agreed to do the whole 'loving couple' act only for them to catch feelings as the night carries on.

                                                        𓆩♡𓆪

✼__________________________________________________________✼

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 --𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩…(𝑯𝒂𝒛𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍)

(𝐰𝐜): 723

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Valentino decides to create a dating scandal with Angel Dust, things take a turn for the better when he chooses you as his fake partner.

(𝐀/𝐍): i stretched it out a lil but its like the same thing still; :3

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): it gets sexual because i have no self control

                                                        𓆩♡𓆪

♡ I don't have enough brain power to think of a specific event so it could be a royal ball for all i know

♡ Somehow, Angel Dust's reach was decreasing by the smallest amount so Valentino decided to stir something up

♡ Clearly porn wasn't working as well anymore since Angel started rebelling against him, so Valentino decided to rile up some of Angel Dust's more dedicated fans

♡ Valentino knew that fans would kick up dirt about a "boyfriend"

♡ He gave Angel the grace of picking out who it would be and he just happened to pick you

♡ He figured Husk wouldn't be able to sell it, but you were able to work up a crowd just like he could and Alastor would most likely kill him, so you were the best option

♡ He also had the smallest attraction to you, so that was an added bonus

♡ It's "announced" at one of Valentino's events

♡ Where Angel would usually be sitting on Valentino's laps for this, he was sitting on yours

♡ It was a little bit awkward first but with a few drinks and playful banter, you eased up and made everything seem so much more natural

♡ There were doubters of course, but nobody could deny your obvious chemistry

♡ The two of you went through scenarios that Valentino had planned specifically to convince the public but Angel Dust found himself enjoying it more than he thought he would

♡ And you did too 👀

♡ You fully expected this event to be a pain in the ass and were only really going for the free drinks

♡ However, the conversation between you and Angel was as natural as it possibly could be

♡ It's like you two weren't just acquaintances before this night

♡ Just as Valentino intended, your "relationship" spread like wildfire through Hell

♡ You two were the new hot topic around Hell, with a tough mix of haters and shippers

♡ You really enjoyed your night out with Angel, even if it hadn't happened how you would've preferred, so you decided to ask him to go out with you again

♡ Though you did pussy out and said it would be good to feed the lie...

♡ Angel saw through your shit, you were way too nervous, but he agreed anyway

♡ The cycle continued and eventually you stopped using the publicity as an excuse and just called them dates

♡ You'd take him out shopping, to bars, out to dinner, or even just for a walk

♡ Doing things together just became second nature

♡ You became used to his presence, as did he with yours, to the point where he could just go to your room and cuddle with you for the night without blinking an eye

♡ But even though it looked official, you never actually asked him to be your boyfriend

♡ On one of your dates you took him to his favorite bar and ordered a few too many of your favorite drinks

♡ You two ended up drunk from the drinks and high off the tension of your romance

♡ And after some heavy teasing from Angel, you finally cracked and brought him to the bathroom where your hands got a little more than curious

♡ You had to pry him off you just to order a taxi and had to sprint with him in your arms just to make it to your bedroom, but your drunk ass made it

♡ Although you two were far from sober, you were both intentional with your actions and genuine with your late declarations of love

♡ The morning after was a little awkward

♡ Angel woke up first and pushed himself into a panic, worrying that you weren't actually into him and you only wanted sex, despite all the time you had spent together and your obvious infatuation

♡ But his worries washed away when you woke up, immediately pulled him closer, and called him a sweet name

♡ He enjoyed the moment before you two talked about what happened and the details of your relationship

♡ You finally became official and Husk could stop listening to Angel whine

♡ Your dynamic didn't change much, but there was definitely a lot more PDA in the hotel after

                                                        𓆩♡𓆪

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 51

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "I was so afraid… I thought I lost you."

Chapter Warnings: Angst, violence, gore, death

AO3

Spotify

You held him close as you trembled, more fragile than you’d felt since the breach began.

The control over your wild emotions was slipping, but then they were soothed by the hand that gently stroked down your back. You squeezed him tighter.

049 stiffened and made a soft noise of discomfort. The thought of him in pain was the only thing that reeled you in, the tangled web of nerves pushed aside in favor of focusing on him.

You pulled back to get a better look at him. His robes were tattered, as if aggressive moths had nibbled at the edges.

“You’re hurt.”

049 simply smiled with his eyes.

“You’re here.”

Your lips trembled; you couldn’t smile back without fear of the expression breaking.

“Course I am. I had to find you.”

It was… difficult to focus with him staring at you that way, drinking in the sight of you as if he hadn’t expected to see it again.

You wanted to reach out and pull him close again, but you didn’t.

“You’re avoiding the issue.” Your voice was stern, hiding the tremble you felt in your bones. You could fall apart later; right now, you had to find out just how injured he was.

049 released a small sigh and attempted to sit up, only succeeding with the addition of your help. He glanced down at himself, the ruin of his robes, but he was less concerned than you were.

Of course you were concerned, those damn robes were his skin, and he must have been in pain.

“An unfortunate result of being in the Old Man’s web,” 049 relented. “Also… he doesn’t particularly like me.”

You frowned, some of your earlier anger returning. It was fortunate for 106 that he’d closed the way to his dimension, or you would have been tempted to go back and make sure he could never hurt 049 again.

“You were able to extract the digital storage device from my bag,” he added, his gentle voice drawing you from your anger, like purging venom from a wound. His eyes were soft, warm, and God, you’d missed this so much. Missed him.

“I started the breach with 079’s help,” you said. “That’s what you planned, isn’t it?”

His gaze grew heavy and solemn.

“A breach would give you the best opportunity of escape.”

“You didn’t plan on escaping with me.”

“I did not expect to live long enough to try,” he said with a tilt of his head. “My survival was irrelevant to the plan.”

Your face scrunched, anger flickering back to life.

“It’s not irrelevant to me.”

His pale eyes went soft again, unbothered by your sharp words. And when he reached to touch your jaw, you froze, the anger snuffed out, or at least reduced to a simmer.

But 049’s expression wasn’t tender, it was focused. His thumb rubbed your jaw and then pulled back, examining his glove.

“Who did this?”

You looked at his hand but saw nothing against the black fabric.

“What?”

“The Pestilence.” He nearly hissed the word. “It lingers on your skin.”

You frowned.

“I must have gotten it while in there.”

“No… this is different.” He rubbed the spot on his thumb, his voice lowered into an unfriendly rumble. “This is the mask’s brand of corruption.”

Entirely outside of your own control, your face went hot.

“Ah, yeah.” You aimed for casual and landed on awkward. “I ran into 035.”

His gaze darkened so fast it was like a whipcrack.

“I’m okay,” you said in a rush, “079 helped me get away.”

“What… did he want with you?”

He spoke slowly, as if each word had to be chewed before being spit out. You didn’t envy 035 if they ever ran into each other again.

“The usual. Attention, and an opportunity to be a smug asshole.”

That wasn’t the whole of it, and 049 seemed to sense this, his expression unblinking as he waited for you to continue. Which, you did, your hands balled nervously in your lap.

“He was also certain there was a way to leave the facility. All the skybridges have been retracted, but he said there was a way out through the archival section. And that… you would know how to find it.”

That knocked some of the harsh edge out of 049’s steely expression.

“I do not know of any alternate egress from this facility. And I do not know why he believes I would.”

You relaxed a little, even if the news was disappointing. 035 had seemed so insistent on it, too.

And then you backtracked.

“Wait, alternate egress? Do you know of another exit?”

“Of course.” He looked at you askance. “The way we came in.”

The front door. He was talking about the front door.

“Who came up with this plan?” you asked as you rubbed your forehead.

“That would be the one you call SCP-079.”

Ah. Right. 079 had probably been so confident in his own ability to keep the skybridges down that he didn’t consider the possibility of anything else.

“Well, he’s not here, so we’re on our own, unfortunately,” you said. “I guess… we try to find the archival section and see if 035 wasn’t just making up shit. With 079 and 682 gone, I don’t know what else to do.”

049 cocked his head.

“The reptile is… here?”

The question came out so polite in its confusion you almost smiled.

“Yeah, he’s out. I freed him.”

049 only blinked, as if not quite sure what to do with this information.

“There’s so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start,” you said softly. “A lot has happened since they took you away.”

So much, and you didn’t have to hide anything anymore. Not from the cameras, not from 049 in fear of what Leahy would do to him. You realized, for the first time, you were truly alone together.

You moved without thought and knelt between his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing close until there was no distance between you. You tried to be gentle, mindful of his damaged skin, but your need was too great to hold back.

He didn’t stiffen or pull away, only stilled for a moment before pulling you in, arms around your middle. You were on your knees while he sat on the floor, the only way you had height over him, and you pressed him to your chest, not caring of the edges of the beak against your collarbone.

“I found you,” you whispered into the hood of his robes. “I was so afraid… I thought I lost you.”

The fingers dipped against your skin were grounding and warm.

“I had thought death had come for me, after I had avoided its embrace for so long. I had… accepted my fate.”

“I didn’t.” And you never would.

He hummed a pleasant noise, and one hand traced up into your hair to gently touch the strands.

“We are not free of this place yet.”

His voice was quiet, as if afraid to break the fragile moment. But he was right, and you had to get moving. Staying in one place for too long was a guaranteed way to be caught by something violent and murderous.

But… perhaps one more moment wouldn’t hurt.

You pulled back just far enough to cup his head in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead.

The noise he made was strange, like a startled growl or a muffled purr, and a tremor moved him as your lips lingered on his skin. His hands had fallen to your waist, fingers tightening as if to pull you closer.

You ended the kiss but remained where you were, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You wanted to stay like this, just the two of you. No breach, no lethal lockdown, no stray SCPs or soldiers. Only you and him.

You reluctantly pulled away, giving one last stroke of your thumb over the place on his mask where his cheek would be. He seemed just as unwilling to part from you, his expression naked, something wistful in his grey eyes.

Perhaps once you escaped Site-20, you would have time to figure out what this was without the constant shadow of the Foundation. The problem was figuring out how to leave a facility that was built to be impenetrable. 049 wasn’t at his full strength, and you discovered another problem as you pulled away.

The shotgun slung across your back had corroded beyond recovery, the metal eaten through with black rust. The pistol and gun belt met the same fate, the unnatural rust marring the fabric and metal. The food you’d taken hadn’t fared any better, accelerated into a rotten state. It seemed that anything that hadn’t been in direct contact with your skin had been lost to the leeching hunger of 106’s lair.

You stripped off the useless pieces, thinking over this new obstacle. Without 079, finding another armory would be unlikely. You wondered if he’d betrayed you now that 682 was free.

Or… maybe betrayed wasn’t the right word. He would have considered your bargain fulfilled, whether or not you made it out alive, and would see no reason to wait for your return. From the perspective of a purely mechanical being, it made sense. Except you knew from how 079 felt about 682, he wasn’t entirely cold circuits and unfeeling logic.

So, for the time being, you would work under the assumption that 079 and 682 wouldn’t be coming back. Luckily, you knew where to get more weapons.

“I don’t know how to get out of here, but we need weapons,” you said, getting to your feet and brushing off your knees. “Can you walk?”

“I believe so.”

You reached out a hand, and 049 stared at it with mild confusion, until he understood and took it gently. He was heavy but had more strength than he’d had in the dark realm, and he stood on his own two feet without swaying. It was progress.

You led him from the medical bay, retracing the steps you’d taken with Leahy. You hadn’t really thought about the Site Director after getting 049 back, and your mind shied away from your last image of him. You didn’t need the distraction.

The halls remained just as empty, lit red with emergency lighting and the occasional smear of crimson on the white linoleum. It didn’t take long to reach your destination, and you stood on the threshold, shocked by the destruction. You didn’t remember it being this bad before, or… maybe it hadn’t seemed bad at the time.

049 loomed over your shoulder, taking in the room that had once been the Site Director’s office.

“What has befallen this place?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead sorting through the blasted office furniture for what you sought, sifting through the carnage with fragile numbness. The bodies were distinguishable from the furniture by the glimpses of pale bone and the stench of cooked flesh. These were no longer people. They were pieces of burnt meat and charred bone.

You tried not to look at them, but it was hard to look at anything else.

“They were guarding Leahy,” you said, trying to keep your voice flat. Unaffected. “And I needed him to find you, so…”

The result was self-explanatory. Or so you thought, but 049’s silence said otherwise as he stared at you.

“I wore the jade ring. SCP-714 affects me… differently than it should.”

His grey eyes flicked around the room.

“I see.”

He offered nothing more, simply watched what you were doing. You picked up a P90 that seemed undamaged, but it caught on an arm, which might not have been a problem if it had been attached to a body. The limb untangled itself and fell to the floor with a sickly thud.

The gun slipped from your fingers and clattered to the sooty, blood-stained floor. You ran out the door, past 049, and dry heaved in the corridor. Nothing came out but drool, your mouth filled with acrid-tasting saliva, and you spit it out.

What was wrong with you? It hadn’t bothered you before, it had been easy. Uncomplicated. They’d been obstacles, and you’d removed them. If you could kill these men, you could damn well face the result.

It wasn’t as if they’d given you a choice. You’d needed Leahy, and now he was… was…

049 appeared at your side, and you straightened, wiping the spittle from your lips. He was carrying two P90s, and they should have looked odd in his hands, like a medieval knight with a smartphone. But it was strangely natural, and he looked strangely comfortable holding them.

He held one out to you, muzzle pointed away, stock first. You took it with unsteady hands, noting he kept the other. You wondered if he’d ever used a gun before, if he even knew how. With the way he gripped it, you had a feeling the answer was yes.

“You’re not accustomed to the dead.”

You gave a small shrug and looked at your gun, pretending you were interested in checking the ammunition clip.

“I’m not used to… causing death.”

“Good.”

You met his eye, his expression serious.

“One should not bear the executioner’s axe with a light step.”

You remained quiet, and he suddenly looked away.

“You… did not have to do this. Not for me. The price you paid may not have been worth the result.”

“It was worth everything.” Your mouth twisted into a scowl as you stepped closer. “I told you. I’m leaving with you or not at all.”

He spoke your first name, softly, and it was almost enough to make you weak. But you kept your expression hard and said, “We need to keep moving.”

You walked away from the Site Director’s office and refused to linger on what was left behind.

Without a concrete plan or much in the way of supplies, your only idea was to go with 035’s original plan, which unfortunately would lead you in the opposite direction of the skybridges. Worse, there were signs of recent activity. Scorch marks that still smoked, blood that still pooled from warm bodies.

The lights had also been restored in this sector, bright and clinical white, making your eyes ache after the dim red. It was harder to hide like this, and it was sheer luck that you both weren’t spotted when you came across a platoon of guards. They were too focused on taking down a twenty-foot-tall anomaly as it swung at them with giant hands, eyes covering its back red with fury.

049 pulled you down a side corridor, and you kept running, the staccato of gunfire and screams echoing the halls, chaos and death filling the sector. You both were blind without 079’s guidance.

The Epsilon-11 soldiers didn’t make a sound until you rounded the corner and froze. 049 couldn’t pull you back quickly enough this time.

You were hit hard in the middle like being slammed by a truck. Your legs went out, and you only remained upright because he hooked his arms under your shoulders and pulled you back out of the line of fire.

He set you down against the wall, leaning across your body and the corner to shoot back. You tried to raise your own P90, but your fingers were clumsy and slick. You looked down and found your smock coated in red.

The gunfire was deafening so close to your head, but 049 still heard your gasped words.

“No,” he said, so firmly it was almost a growl. He fired around the corner, his eyes ablaze with fury and an intent to slaughter. By the cries and falling bodies you heard between the bursts of fire, he seemed to be succeeding. But there were holes in his robes, blood oozing from the wounds at a slower rate than yours. Not bulletproof, after all.

“Please,” you rasped. “We have to.”

“Your body won’t survive the strain.” Another rapid burst of gunfire, lighting his mask in an ominous glaze. “The ring would kill you.”

I’m dying anyway, you didn’t say. And you were dying. All because you rushed that corner without checking first. You’d been so desperate to escape, and now you wouldn’t.

“You… need to go.”

He didn’t acknowledge you, hunched over you like a warding stature, all fire and brimstone. But he still bled, wounds dripping onto your smock to mix with your own, and you noted it was the same. Red blood.

You thought it would hurt more. Your abdomen was torn, littered with holes, but beyond the initial impacts, you didn’t feel much. You didn’t need one of the Foundation surgeons to tell you that wasn’t a good sign.

“Valens,” you tried again. Begged. “Go.”

“No.” Now he did snarl. “Do not ask this of me.”

He wasn’t going to leave. Everything you’d done, everything you both suffered, it would be for nothing.

You looked away, hope draining out of you just as quickly as your blood. And then you caught sight of them. Two circular anomalies peeking through the door you’d just come through. One orange, the other yellow, they jostled each other to get a better look at you with their singular eyes.

SCP-131-A and SCP-131-B. What were the Eye Pods doing here?

They didn’t come into the corridor, clearly terrified of the gunfire as they trembled, rolling back and forth in nervous oscillation. You could even hear the small noises they made, like scared puppies wanting to be comforted during a thunderstorm.

And then you heard another sound. Scrapping, rolling stone, grating against something hard like…

Concrete?

The Eye Pods—they didn’t want your protection. They were warning you.

“The… lights.”

049 ignored you, too focused on the enemy, his eyes narrowed and furious.

“049! The lights!”

He glanced at you questioningly, and his eyes went a little wide as you raised the P90 clumsily in your left hand and fired past him into the ceiling.

Your shots went wide but some of them hit their mark, exploding the fluorescent bulbs overhead in a bright spray of angry sparks.

049 might not understand your reasons, but he didn’t hesitate to follow your actions as he leaned around the corner and fired upward into the squares of light. He took another hit, and another, before you gripped him by the sleeve and pulled him back with the last of your strength.

You didn’t destroy all the lights, some of them remained, but they were damaged, and the corridor flickered with sporadic flashes.

The gunfire paused. And then the screaming started, bullets flying, but not in your direction. The sound of snapping bones punctuated the screams and gunshots, until finally, it was silent.

There was nothing in front of you, 049 sitting next to you as he leaned against the wall, panting and gripping his rifle.

And then, with the next flicker, it appeared in front of you, inches away. Its harmless-looking stubby arms reached out, its painted face strange and unseeing, and yet, its focus solely on you.

The overhead lights flickered again, casting you into brief darkness, and still 173 remained in place.

“How?” Your voice was faint. It was getting harder to draw breath.

“I can see in darkness,” 049 said grimly. “I will watch as long as I can. Blinking is not a necessity.”

The Eye Pods had vanished. If they were here, they could keep 173 in place, but they weren’t, and 049 needed to get somewhere safe.

There was… one thing you could do. One last act for him.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. You weren’t speaking only to 049. “It’s okay.”

You reached out and touched 173 on its stomach. The stone should have felt cold and lifeless, but it was warm, and hatred thrummed under your palm. It was a vibrant, visceral loathing that ran deep, a part of its nature as much as its limbs and painted face.

Its very existence was hatred, born out of a cruel origin it hadn’t chosen, forced into a box where its captors always watched. It hated the staring. The only relief it felt was when it could punish, and the captors couldn’t stare anymore.

All it wanted to do was kill, it had nearly killed you once, and all you felt for it was sadness.

You closed your eyes. You were so tired, your body sluggish as your thoughts wanted to do the same, but you concentrated. Focused on the thing inside of 173 that didn’t belong. The gaping wound that shouldn’t exist, that drove the anomaly to seek pain and death as a balm. And you began to close it.

The hatred dimmed, gradually, like a dying light, one that hurt to look at and would burn everything to ash if it could. But there was something still beautiful about it, and when it was extinguished, you felt its loss. This wasn’t like the black hole, or the suffering, time-dilated patient.

173 had been made of stone, but it was alive.

Had… been alive.

You opened your eyes. 049 was close, his mask inches away as he stared down at you, something rare and novel in his eyes. Fear.

At first, you thought it was fear of what you’d done. But then you realized his hand was pressed to your stomach, trying to stop the flow of blood. His other arm went around your back, and you barely registered the shift in gravity as he lifted you from the ground.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, looking past his shoulder to the SCP that stood there, unmoving. It would never move again, now just a strange piece of art in the flickering light.

The image of the lifeless statue vanished as you closed your eyes, and the world went still.

Next Chapter

[sleepymccoy]

Two thirds of a whole

“Your report indicated that you spent some time with the other Spock.”

“He was a strange man to meet,” McCoy muttered, sinking into a chair hesitantly.

“Tell me about him,” Spock invited, filling their glasses.

McCoy leant on the table and raised a hand. “Now, I don't want to sound egotistical, but the only change I know of was my not being on the Enterprise.”

“It is not egotistical to report your observations.”

McCoy smiled. “You might be wanting to take that back shortly, we'll see if I let you.”

Spock's gaze flashed to him. A strange expression passed his face, softer than most Spock let through when he was in control of himself, then he seemed to make a decision and looked at McCoy squarely. “Tell me,” he repeated.

“Well, he was lonely,” McCoy said simply. “He and their Jim weren't friendly. You- they weren't arguing or any sort, just not friendly. Jim was thinner too, more professional and detached. Broke my heart a bit. He did too.”

“He being the other Spock,” Spock clarified.

“Yeah.” McCoy pulled the water glass over and pressed it against his bourbon glass, feeling the grating tension of glass on glass in his fingers. “Didn't get along a lick with anyone on board. Didn't offer comments or defend his opinions beyond the bare minimum. He just worked, then went to his room and stayed there.”

“He sounds like a better Vulcan than I.”

McCoy glared at Spock. “You're the better man,” he shot back. Then, before Spock could disagree on principle, he continued. “He was sad, Spock, miserable and lonely! The way he latched onto me at the end there, you…” he sighed. “Ah, I dunno.”

Spock's eyebrow raise was enough of a response to keep McCoy talking.

“I don't know,” McCoy said carefully, “what he was getting out of me that no one else gives. I'd like to understand.”

“You are asking what benefit I find in knowing you?”

McCoy grit his teeth. “I suppose.” He drank. “You’re allowed to kick me out.”

Spock crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “It is a simple enough answer,” he said. “You are the antithesis of Vulcan logic. You exemplify the most challenging type of human interaction I could have - that is, one whose argument is based in emotion and unmoving. But you explain yourself well, and have improved my comprehension of the convoluted decision making processes humans take.”

“Huh,” McCoy said. He drank.

“Additionally- ”

“There's more?”

Spock ignored him. “- you take time to point out when I am culturally insensitive. Many simply take offense, but you communicate it. Often, you communicate it excessively. Perhaps this other Spock lacked your early tutelage and suffered for it. Although, I must add, Vulcan intimacy is far more impersonal than human and perhaps he is pleased with his relationships on board. Knowing no other.”

“He kissed me like he was dying.”

Spock's hand lurched, knocking against his water glass. It didn't tip over, they had broad bases in case of turbulance, but it shook from the impact.

McCoy went quiet and drank his bourbon.

“Where did he kiss you?” Spock asked at a whisper.

McCoy looked at the table top. Real wood, Spock was more of a sensualist than he admitted. “On the mouth, Spock, how dirty d'you think I am?”

“I mean- so, he kissed you in the human way?”

Spock's hands were balled into tight fists. His eyes were wide, his cheeks green. He was quite still.

“Yeah, I hadn't considered that,” McCoy said, trying with all his might to sound unaffected and like they were discussing lab results. He remembered the feeling of Spock’s fingers in his mouth. “He was good at it too, wonder where he learnt it.”

Spock waved his hand absently. Those fingers… “Before I met you,” he muttered. “Wait. You allowed it to continue long enough to tell? Were you willing?”

“I was surprised at first, but, Spock, there’s something about you- ”

Spock stood, his chair scraping back loudly.

“God, don't hit me,” McCoy muttered, “you're really strong.”

---

This fic is complete now! If you enjoyed the snippet you'll enjoy the rest of the shenanigans they get up to <3