#it's so much more than that. and obviously I can't speak for everyone but from what I've seen from others

[pipwasreal]

@gameo-archive another one for the collection!

About Charles using mirrors as windows, the 'thing that is worse than a demon', and love for Jenn Lyon.

Transcript under the read more...

George: Hi Pip, it's George and Jayden here from the Dead Boy Detectives. It's lovely to hear from you, thank you so much for being a part of our little cameo week, or half week, we've absolutely loved it, getting to relive all things Dead Boy Detectives. Now, let's get into your request. You've said: "Jayden, when did Charles figure out mirrors could be used as windows?"

Jayden: Ooh well I always imagined that Edwin, obviously, Edwin has all these books of magic spells and I reckon from time to time Charles probably would have a little scroll through them himself, and I reckon that that was something he saw in one of those books and a spell that he really wanted to master as he obviously did want to go and check in on his mum. Um so yeah that is how I think he came to knowing how to do that. "George, what is the 'thing that is worse than a demon' Edwin was traded to in Hell?"

George: Great question. I probably could've had a more clear-cut answer when I filmed the scene a year and a half ago, but I imagine it was something, maybe like some evil of a non-physical form and I imagine it might have been some form of torture, so you know, like you see in, I can't remember which realm of Hell it is, but when the boys are running through the hotel, through Hell, and everyone's stuck, they're frozen... something of that ilk. It would have been a form of torture, like maybe in a room, kind of powered by a non-physical entity and I think that would have been a big struggle. Um you've said: "Please tell Jenn Lyon she is iconic. Esther is the best antagonist, so funny and scary." Listen, I tell Jenn, I speak to her a lot and I'm often telling her how much she is loved. So I will pass this on gladly, because it's true.

Jayden: And we agree.

George: We agree.

Jayden: Very, very much so. In episode 8, I was chained up to a kitchen cabinet, and in most cases that would've been awful, but the fact that it was Jenn Lyon aka Esther's cabinet, it made it a little bit easier. Listen, we love you Jenn, if you do ever watch this, but we also love you, Pip.

George: We love you, Pip.

Jayden: Thank you so much for sending in this request, you are such an angel, thank you for showing love and supporting our show. Sending you lots and lots of love.

George: Bye!

[footballffbarbiex]

Ok so I've had some thoughts bouncing around in my head since last night's game and Barcelona fans getting annoyed and blocking me (lol). But the thing that they and "pro João Félix" fans/blogs don't understand is that Atleti fans never started out this way with their feelings towards Félix. 

We were excited to have him here and welcomed him with open arms. He's our highest ever bought player and something like that doesn't happen for nothing. Of course, I still think Atleti were desperate to prove that they didn't need Griezmann after his departure (though he's proven that the only person who can replace Antoine Griezmann at Atlético Madrid is, well Antoine Griezmann) and that's why they spent the fee they gained from AG's departure on JF. I didn't think he was worth that amount of money though and I still don't. 

They saw a kid who had a good season at his club and saw potential, potential that I also thought he had. I, like many, many other Atleti fans, was excited for him to come and see what he could bring and at first he succeeded. He had a style that was nice to see and it was easy to see why so many young fans wore his name on their backs because they had hope of him becoming something big there. 

He wasn't, like Griezmann has said recently, consistent but when JF did score, he did it well and it left fans thinking "ok if this is how he is at the start of his Atleti adventure, what will he be like?" Sadly, we saw what he was like. He became more inconsistent, he became frustrated when he couldn't score (which is completely understandable because players in his position want to score) but it was his behaviour and attitude which changed following this. 

He seemed to go through a rough spell, even after winning the LaLiga title where he still hadn't shown what he was capable of to have merited that amount of money being parted with with only 10 goals scored throughout the whole season and maybe his injuries were contributing to that too. Fans were asking the same question but still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was young and still settling into the club and their football style and it wasn't something you would pick up overnight and adapt. 

But it didn't warrant him throwing things in frustration when he was subbed whether it was a bib, a water bottle or throwing himself into the sub bench seat. It didn't warrant him storming off down the tunnel when he was subbed. It didn’t warrant him refusing to go to the travelling fans end and applaud them along with the other players, simply because the match had not gone either his or the teams way. It didn't warrant him liking anti Simeone tweets purely because he was no longer getting started - something which a lot of his usual starter players also experienced; it wasn't just a João issue. Simeone wasn't targeting him. He wasn't bullying him. He was doing what any coach would. 

Past players such as Trippier have said that Simeone would die for his team and his club and the players would do so for him. He wants them to succeed, he wants them to do well and to literally go to war for him on that pitch and it shows - Atleti have the reputation they have for a reason (but have the least amount of fouls in LaLiga so far, so make of that what you will for the leagues most dangerous club 👀). 

But if you're not giving your all on the pitch, you are going to be subbed off. You're not started and you're made to prove yourself in training. I refer to Griezmann a few times in this post because he is Cholo's favourite, and there's no point in denying it. They have such a unique and wholesome relationship and I won't pretend that it doesn't exist. But even at the start of Antoine coming to Atleti, Simeone also handed his future favourite boy his ass and said "what are you doing? You need to be selfish. You can't be passing the ball, you're supposed to be scoring. You need to adapt." Yes it pissed off Antoine, he's famously said this, he went home and sulked and moped about but then he went back to training and did as he was asked and became their star boy. 

I understand the hatred that Atlético Madrid fans had towards Antoine when he was poached by Barcelona the years before he actually went. I understood why they continued to despise him when he left and why he was heckled when he came back. But he has proven that he belongs there. He's fought for his place in their eyes again. He knew the only way to make it an easy transition back to Atlético Madrid was through the fans.

But João Félix hasn't done that. He went to Chelsea and immediately dissed the fans. He made comments about how Chelsea already had a chant for him when in all the years of being at the Madrid team, they never did. He continued to like anti Atleti and anti Cholo posts on twitter and hint that he couldn't wait to get out from under his parent club. He was burning the bridge he was standing on and didn't realise the full consequences. 

All we, as a fans, heard was how Simeone wasn't allowing him to play the football that he wanted and I'm not sure if people realise this or not but you don't change a club's system to match one player who has not proven he even wants to be there. We continued to hear about how he did well under other managers before crumbling back to the way he was when he was under Simeone. He didn't work out under Simeone, Thomas Tuchel, Graham Potter, Frank Lampard and he's now faltering under Xavi - who, if you believe the rumours, didn't even want to sign João in the first place but was made to accept it by Laporta. It’s also worth noting that while Mauricio Pochettino was never his manager, his performance hadn’t impressed the new Chelsea coach enough to include him in his plans for the upcoming season which is why he was returned after the brief loan spell. This many head coaches cannot be wrong, can they? Or is this still just a Simeone issue?

But if he was doing this at Chelsea, that was nothing compared to what happened when he came back. His tactic changed. He upped it completely and alienated himself between his teammates and the fans further. I watched footage as he threw his clothing down and walked off, expecting the kit staff to pick up after him when other players were handing it to the staff or putting it into the boxes. He continued to run his mouth and then brought in his dad - almost for protection - because of the hostile environment that he had created. 

For many fans, they were open to the idea of having him back, hoping that he would, like Griezmann, have his redemption arc and actually enter his prime under us. But his return was stale and his disinterest to be there was clear after citing that he wished to play for his dream club Barcelona. But the real turning point for a lot of fans, was watching how João played on his phone and was distracted and animated during a minutes silence for a death within the club’s family. This was a total lack of respect to the club which, understandably, did not go down well. 

Last night was an explosion that has been simmering to a boiling point and everyone knew it was coming. But if Chelsea's behaviour was burning a bridge, then last night João was standing on the top of a building destined to be destroyed by explosives and he was pressing the detonation button with a grin. There is no way back for him now with his parent club. Any salvaging that could have taken place to mend the wounds that he has created is now out of the picture. If he comes back, he'll be lucky to even see the bench. 

And it's not just Atlético Madrid fans who think he has been consistently underwhelming, but press have done so too. Even recently he has learnt headlines such as

with articles stating 

The Portuguese playmaker has stalled at Barca and is still looking for the right place to revive his faltering career. Barca was supposed to be another new chance. Instead, he has endured the same troubles that have followed him for four years. And now, facing his parent club - in the shirt of his current employers - Felix once again looks like an expensive talent failing to live up to expectations. Felix's career has been defined by its inconsistency, an immense talent enjoying moments of undeniable class, followed by long stretches of underperformance - especially for a player who was so good as a teenager.

Felix has struggled for consistency. He has still been on the ball a lot, but those goals and assists that defined his first two weeks in Catalunya have dried up. He went 13 games without scoring, and has just seven goal contributions this year.

For long stretches, he has looked every bit the same immensely talented yet ineffective entity of the past few years. Call it another false dawn. But Barca aren't the first team to struggle here. There is, indeed, a pattern about Felix's career. A new season comes, as does a fast start - a few goals here, a highlight-reel assist there. The hype grows, the storylines are written. And then comes the regression, the weeks of mediocrity, before the cycle begins again.

While João may have only been 19 and still a child when Atleti came knocking, his agent certainly was not. In a way, I also blame Mendes for this. Many people have stated that agents do not give a shit about their clients because all they see is dollar signs when they get a whiff of talent and I think that he was hoping that João would be the next Ronaldo. While João may not have known fully about what it means to sign for the likes of the Madrid club, or what it’s like to be faced with their fans, his agent absolutely did and as long as he’s getting paid, he’ll continue to throw João to the wolves or allow him to implode as he’s doing now. 

Atlético Madrid fans may be throwing gasoline on him but he's the one that's holding the match. 

[sabines-wrens]

look my thoughts really boil down to the way they talk about the mandalorian not having an endgame and that promo material of din’s and bo-katan’s helmets side by side and how this season has really gotten away from din’s storyline and how the mandalorian started with him but it’s an general enough title that could be used to focus on any mandalorian

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[deathbxnny]

hey I need you SO BAD to do like an arcane reaction where they’re drunk and what they do/say while it and btw I love your writing

What Arcane characters are like when drunk. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

So this may have become a little too angsty for some of them, so uh... don't mind me-

Also, thank you so much! I'm glad you love my writing. It means a lot to me!<33

Content: Alcohol obviously, some potential heavy angst, Pit fighter Vi, established romantic relationships, some toxic behavior, this has been written by someone who has never drank a sip of alcohol in their life so I'm sorry if this is unrealistic, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not fully proofread))

》VI

Her being drunk wasn't unusual, and in fact, it has become the norm for her at this point. It was the only way for her to numb the agony she was going through every day, and there was no stopping the cycle she was in. If she wasn't drunk, then she was fighting. But even the line that was drawn between those two states she was constantly in was becoming blurry and unintelligible. Things were getting out of hand, and so was her aggression towards everything that moved, anything that cared for her.

But at least you were still here with her, trying your best to keep her together and intact when she refused to be.

She can be cruel and unfocused whilst drunk, often either yelling or punching things to express her frustrations, and yet she never dared hurt you. You were the only light she had left, and she'd be damned if she snuffed you out, too. But this doesn't mean that she can control her words at times. She says things she regrets all the time, insults that cut deep or accusations that made no sense were common. Yet you stayed, you always stayed.

A part of her knows you deserve better, but until Jinx showed up, she refused to wane off the bottle that kept her even partially functioning daily. In a different life, she'd put the bottle down, however, and just finally hug you instead.

》CAITLYN

She doesn't drink much, and when she does, it's in strict moderation. She has a reputation to keep up and can't let her sharp senses falter at any time, especially once she becomes the commander of Piltover. But when it's just the two of you attempting to relax after an impossibly stressful day, the alcohol helps her relax and become more open with her troubles. Her grief had manifested into an uncontrollable force she shyed away from every speaking on, but in drunken moments like these, she'll allow herself to find melancholy in your arms, her flushed face pressed into your shoulder as she did so.

She may cry or laugh of the worries of the day, maybe break down from the guilt and frustrations, let the anger quell over but only still hesitantly even with her judgment clouded. This is a very rare state to see her in after the loss of her mother, and she trusts you to keep this vulnerable part of her safe and sound in your heart behind locked lips.

With that said, knowing how emotional she can get whilst drunk, she tries avoiding drinking too much during functions in case things get too much out of hand. She'd rather not make a fool of herself infront of everyone after all.

》JINX

She doesn't typically drink. But the few times she does with you at her side, she somehow becomes extremely calm and lazy. She'll practically lay in the chair she was sitting in, eyes squinting at a far away point on the wall, whilst she seemingly contemplates life. Most would think that the alcohol would enable her crazy tendencies even more, but alas, it simply turns her mostly docile.

I say mostly, as she usually mentally comes up with the craziest plans instead, all of which are questionably more unethical than the last. She'll eventually lose herself in those thoughts and become either unresponsive or mutter the silliest, incomprehensible things known to man. And there is certainly no in-between.

With that said, she will probably eventually snap out of it and begin rapidly speaking about all these thoughts to you without a single care in the world. Drunk Jinx is somehow less miserable and yet absolutely doesn't like the feeling of it afterward. Sure, it makes her mind stop thinking about her issues and past, but it still feels wrong, hence why it's rare to see her drunk.

Her terrible hangovers alone also cause her to stay away from alcohol in general. It's definitely not worth that pain to her.

》EKKO

Another person who doesn't drink often at all, albeit out of his responsibility as a leader. He has to be a good role model for everyone and only drinks when the occasion calls for it, like a festival or get together with friends and you. That's when he lets loose a little and allows himself to drink more than he probably should, resulting in a very clingy and loving Ekko.

His alcohol tolerance is embarrassingly low, and he always tells himself that he should know better than to down so many glasses at once... yet it's hard to keep count after about 2 and a half of them. Or so he'd say after he sobers up in the morning, much to your amusement. During the time he's fully hammered, though, he'll always have a hand in you and slur his words rather heavily, whilst he practically near proclaims his love for you for everyone to hear. This often results in you having to slap a hand over his mouth before he embarrasses himself further... which is somehow he hates.

He gets teased by the others all the time for it and glares when they mock his loving tone of voice that he only uses when he's in that impaired state with you. This alone makes him abstain from even a singular drop of alcohol... until the next festival roles around and he forgets to keep count again.

But hey, maybe he'll remember next time because you sure as hell won't remind him.

》SEVIKA

She drinks at bars all the time with you, although it's rare to see her ever get completely drunk. She has an extremely high tolerance to alcohol and it shows when there is barely a difference in her behavior. The only thing that may indicate something influencing her would be a slight slur in her voice and her being unwilling to get up or move around much at all. She'll just want to relax and play poker in peace, even if it starts getting hard to see the cards after a while.

Another way to tell that she may be getting drunk is by her sudden overprotectiveness. Sure, it was always there and never left, despite you being able to handle yourself alone. But when she's drunk, anyone that looks at you for too long in a way she doesn't like will either be punched in the face or yelled at to keep it moving.

She also definitely always denys being drunk or even tipsy when you ask her. Whether out of pride or stubbornness, you'll never know, but she will never admit to it. It doesn't matter if she denies it whilst being unable to walk straight either.

[hello-eden]

the Plan

Based off of this post.

Damien sat at the dinner table with all of the bat family. Waiting for the opportunity to set the plan in motion. all of his siblings were at the dinner from Grayson to Brown. Even Cassandra had flown in from Hong Kong. Damien definitely thinks that Cassandra knows something's going to go down but as the plan does no one harm, he thinks she will say anything.

“Danielle will be coming to visit” Damian says to his family after the conversation lulls. Alfred had just left to refill the cold water on the table. Everyone at the table turns to him in confusion.

 ”Who is Danielle?” Richard questions with a confused smile on his face. He sat down his cutlery and made a motion with his hand as if to tell Damien to keep going.

”You've literally never brought her up” Tim says pointedly. his phone had gone off just before Alfred left the room so he had been checking his phone when Damien started speaking.

”my sister” Damian says with a frown that obviously indicates that he thinks they're all stupid. Damian knows that they have no idea who she is. Making them think that there was a miscommunication Is bringing him so much chaotic Joy...

”WHAT” every single one of his siblings exclaims as his father stays silent.

Damian knows that Father is going through every single person Damian has ever mentioned in his presence trying to figure out who she is. The look on everyone's faces is going to make his entire week. Damian suppresses the urge to giggle as he tries to keep a straight face. He felt the plan was stupid originally but a Fenton can never really turn down the chance for a bit.

”why did you not inform us of this” Father says pointedly trying not to look as thrown as he actually is. Father looks seconds from bolting to the Batcave to look over his files.

Too late for that Damian can't help but think.

”I have informed you she will be coming to visit '' Damian responds as he puts down his Cutlery. He's getting to urged fidget and that is best to do under the table then over.

”He meant that you had a sister, Demon brat,” Jason exclams. The rest of his siblings exchanged looks in disbelief.

‘I know,I didn't used to have one.’ Damian thinks to himself trying not to let the fact he thinks they're all idiots for falling for this show on his face.

”I have always had a sister, we are twins'' Damian says while arches an eyebrow at Jason.  he turned his head to look at Cassandra with his eyebrow still raised. 

Cassandra returned the look. Cassandra always had a habit of being able to look through people to tell what they think. it is useful in many things but very unhelpful in this. She eventually nodded her head at him which signaled Damien but she was on his side.

Elle and him created this plan a few months before he had been sent back. they realized that almost no time had passed for the bat family which gave them the idea. The portal between worlds had just gotten finished a week ago which gave him the chance to use the stupid plan. Damian was loving the plan a lot more than he thought he would. 

This was going to be fun

[tender-rosiey]

since requests are open, i wanted to ask for pregnant!readerxgojo where the reader is currently 9months pregnant with her first child and is grocery shopping with gojo

details — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: husband!gojo is attentive and I don’t take any criticism on that

"satoru, get up."

"but I don't wanna!"

taking a deep breath, you thank the heavens for having a husband like gojo. it really prepares you for having a child of your own. you would like to bet that gojo is more difficult than any child out there but you still have to deal with him right now.

you cross your arms and huff, "satoru, we need to go grocery shopping."

satoru grumbles and cuddles the pillow closer. his eyes drifts to you, his pretty wife, and then to your stomach. his lips curve into a small smile and he sighs happily. you're pregnant and soon, you will finally be able to see your little girl.

he will finally be able to hold her in his arms. the thought itself makes him giddy.

"you're really going to leave your very pregnant wife go shopping all by herself?" you pout but he doesn't concede.

he sits up, stretching, "are you implying that my wife is weak?"

"of course not, I am a strong and capable woman on my own!"

he makes his way to you and pulls you close. you look up at him and tilt your head with a cheeky smile, "so you going?"

he hums and presses a kiss to your shoulder, "I can't leave my girls alone, after all," his hand rests on your stomach, "though, I am sure my pretty girl here will protect her mama well."

and it's like she hears and understands him as she lightly kicks. satoru beams then looks you in the eye, "I think I am going to be her favorite," he teases, expecting you to bicker with him, tell him that the favorite will obviously be you.

he wasn't prepared to be met with a gentle smile and eyes so full love it almost scares him.

he gravitates towards your touch anyway cause who is gojo if not a lover of adventure?

the caress of your hand has him melting to putty. you then speak up with a content sigh, "well, you are my favorite so it would be nice if she shares the same sentiment as her mama, no?"

he nods with smile, closing his eyes for a moment then abruptly straightening himself, "okay!" he claps his hands eagerly, "time for shopping!"

so now you two are grocery shopping, more like you though. you look through different brands of each thing and you try to take satrou's opinion. but he is as useful as the shopping cart he is pushing.

"satoru, should I pick this or this?"

"I don't see the difference?"

still, he does provide good company and there are some things that he gets that make you want to hug the hell out of him. for example, you were troubled between two types of spreads and satoru came to the rescue.

he read the ingredients then chose one right away. a part of you thought that he didn't actually give it some thought but then he speaks up, "you're allergic to the other one and it has some ingredients that you hate, sweets," he looks at you, confused, "that should've been an easy choice."

your eyes tear up and you pull him into a tight hug, "SATORU, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!"

and the way he lights up at your affection is so very cute. he returns the hug tenfold—mindful of the little girl in you.

another thing that satoru is pretty good at while shopping with you is attracting attention. attention that he eats up like no other.

he poses and entertains the kids. he is chatting with the aunties and you’re left squeezing the hell of one poor bell pepper. you did bring up putting a leash on him, but, of course, he was encouraging of the idea to the point you had to smack him with a pillow.

“papa needs to be humbled, huh, baby?” you hum to your baby with a smile.

though, something that satoru never lets you forget is that even if he enjoys the attention from others, he truly only craves yours and only yours. one way he does is through his eyes. even when everyone’s focus is on him, his eyes are on you, so full of yearning and adoration.

and both of you know, that at the end of the day, he comes back to you. just like now.

“y/nnn! look what I got!”

you look at him and your jaw drops. satoru is all smiley and joyful…and he has about 10 bags worth of baby clothes, “satoru—I—what—why?!”

he takes his sweet time answering you, “yes: you, baby clothes for our princess, and because she deserves to be spoiled!”

“you just got 20 last week?!”

“I never said I was a ‘careful’ spender,”  he starts rummaging through one of the bags and gets out a box of jewelry, a filled to the brim box of jewelry, “I got you these as well! I remember you brought 2 new dresses and there were others that you couldn’t find matching jewelry for so—are you crying?”

forgetting about the bags, he pulls you into am embrace and coos, “aww, my pretty girl is all sentimental," his thumbs wipe the tears so naturally and he presses sweet kisses to your cheeks, "hormones got you all messed up, baby?"

“I don’t care about the jewelry.”

“ouch.”

you sniffle, “it’s just the fact that you remember these things that gets me all soft.”

“of course, I do!” he starts squeezing your cheeks together, “you’re my baby, my mochi, my honey bunny, my pumpkin—“

whining, you push his hands away, “satoru, people are watching!”

“so?”

you grumble, giving up on literally everything, “let’s just go home,” you yawn a little, “I am feeling a little tired anyways.”

satoru starts carrying the bags right away and he does it with so much ease, you would think he is just folding a piece of paper. on top of that, he doesn’t leave your side and makes sure that he’s there for you to rest or steady yourself.

you don’t get very far though.

“satoru.”

“yes, pretty?”

“my water broke.”

“WHAT?!”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[casuallyanidiot]

Imagine Being stuck in the novel of a Yandere author...

Kina a soft continuation of this post.

tw. yandere, forced relationship, cosmic (?) horror

You get hit by a truck and end up in a story! Fortunately you're not the villainess destined to die a horrible fate. In fact, you get the luxury of being the main character and getting the hopeful happy end. Unfortunately, you don't recognize any of the plot points or the names of anything.

That part of it sucks, but you figure you could just follow how you assumed the story would go.

But you find it strange how much the male lead looks like that creepy guy from your work. There's a weird pit in your stomach when he sung your praises, and you can't help but recoil a bit in disgust when he kisses your hand. You know that it's your role in this story to end up with this guy, but geez he's so weird. If the two of you weren't in some weird historical fantasy world, you were sure that he would constantly be glued to your side.

Then you realize that, oh, hey you don't actually have to stick in the direction the plot of this world is trying to lead you in.

You find that the Northern Duke is quite cute, actually, and though he isn't as detailed as some of the other characters that were probably focused on more in the novel, he's still sweet enough. So, when the Male lead proposes to you, you politely reject him and run off to be with your new lover.

But when you arrive at the Duke's estate, you find that he's... the male lead?!

"You're not- how are you here?!" You say with narrowed eyes. The male lead merely smiles at you, if not a little confused. "My love? What are you talking about? Am I not your beloved Duke?" He laughs and spread his arms wide as if to embrace you. His skin feels colder than before for some reason, though you try to brush it off.

Your life in his estate was extremely strange from then on. It was like no one else could tell that the Duke had been replaced. He looked and acted completely different from before, and when you asked the staff about it, they looked at you as if you were the crazy one. They suggested that perhaps the two men were more alike than you initially thought, and that you should focus instead on settling into your role as his happy, unquestioning spouse. You tried not to frown, but with the way their eyes glazed over anytime you began to ask too many questions, you didn't think it mattered if they saw or not.

Your new fiancé was rather clingy. Annoyingly so. You had been trying to stand his lecherous touches and less than innocent advances for weeks now, to believe that perhaps you were crazy and had somehow mistaken the Duke and the Male lead for each other like everyone said you had. That it was just some byproduct of getting reincarnated.

But then you ended up speaking to a gardener.

She was obviously just a background character, one that probably wasn't even meant to be mentioned in the pages of this novel. She didn't even have a face, and her voice was disjointed and soft. When she spoke, her words echoed in the back of your brain as if she wasn't even meant to speak.

"The lord? He's been acting strange ever since you arrived here my lady," She said. You had to blink to make sure you heard her. To make sure she was actually there. "And his face doesn't look quite right. I'm glad you noticed, my lady. Someone has to."

When you sought her out the next day, she had disappeared without a trace.

You decided that whatever was happening with the estate, the Duke and his servants, was far too strange for you to ignore. Perhaps you had strayed far too much from the original plot and setting of the novel. Either way, it wasn't worth all the trouble. Not when the very thing you sought to avoid with the male lead seemed to follow you. Not when the world seemed to be shifting to try and keep you in the plot.

Wherever you went from then on, You would keep seeing the male lead appear. But it was the same as with the Duke. A character that was unique in appearance and personality would suddenly morph into him. And no one would notice. It was like it was completely normal to have dozens of copies of the same man occupying different names and roles.

You feel insane, like you've broken something in the world.

It's one night where you finally snap and stab one of the weird versions of the male lead where you find out the truth. You're panting and covered in blood, a knife gripped in your shaking hand. There's a manic relief that grasps you right then and there. Because, these characters aren't actually alive. They can't be. Not when they all have the same exact face and voice, smiling at you with empty eyes and words that don't feel like anyone would actually say them if this weren't a book.

You let out a sob of relief that for once you're not being reminded of the man who lurked around the corners of your pervious life. He made your skin crawl with the constant muttering under his breath, with the way he watched you. You did not want to see him in these, awful, awful mockeries of real people.

All you want to do, is have a happily ever after in this stupid novel.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a noise that's halfway between a sob and a laugh. The figure shambles up, seemingly unaffected by the wound in it's side. The face of the male lead, no, of that awful wannabe author, stares back at you without a care in the world.

"Did you get it out of your system? [Name]?" It asks you with a polite smile that doesn't reach the eyes and a tilt to the head.

You collapse to the ground, whimpering as the figure approaches you and pats you on the head. It said your name. Not the main character's name, your name from the real world. You swallow thickly as the puppet of a character kneels down with stilted motions. It's like every little movement is being directly controlled right now. As if it's being written right before your eyes.

"Are you ready to behave now?" It asks like you're some scared pet, and not a living, breathing thing that's being played with like a doll.

Your lips tremble as you nod. You feel something in your mind shatter as you realize that the happy ending written for this world was definitely not intended for you.

[firestorm09890]

there's a part of canto vi I've been thinking about since it came out, and it doesn't actually have anything to do with Heathcliff.

this

She is bitter as fuck and as time goes on she's getting worse at keeping it down. Sinclair's the one who started it, by talking about how sad it is that they'd never get to see color, and Rodya starts to get a little irritated over it (yeah, sure, pity the Backstreets folk and their poor miserable little lives, privileged nest boy), but she's obviously trying not to straight up call Sinclair a privileged nest boy because she doesn't want to. But then Yi Sang and Ishmael join in on talking about how sad this place is with no color and she just can't keep her opinion down.

But that makes the atmosphere tense, and she hates a tense atmosphere, so she changes the subject and her tone, not giving a damn about how obvious it is. also, haha, ice and cold references.

And actually, this doesn't really have much evidence to support it, but I wonder if she holds a higher level of resentment for Sinclair in particular.

Canto II had some discussion about how Rodya wishes she was special (and while I think what Sonya said about her killing the tax collector just to feel special is absolute bullshit, I do also think there is some truth to her wanting to feel special), and introduced us to the concept of The Sign in a way that was vague and more like foreshadowing than actually introducing it. Then Canto III was all about The Sign, and how special Sinclair is, and since then we've had people talking about signs and stars and a new birth of the world and it's all stuff Rodya doesn't get to be part of.

I don't think she wants to hold resentment for Sinclair, and she especially never wants him to know, but going back after all this time and rereading this one interaction with him in Canto II felt pretty jarring.

the more important part of this is the way it feels like she's making a joke at Heathcliff's expense, for being poor, like even though she's also from the Backstreets she feels she's "above" it.

She absolutely does not feel this way.

On my way to find the first passage, I reread some other interesting stuff:

Once again, there's the harsh juxtaposition between casual, fun-loving Rodya, and tired, poor man's advocate Rodya. Almost everyone on the team speaks through the lens of a Nest dweller (I have to wonder if learning that Heathcliff was apparently raised in a mansion made her even more bitter), and the way she's so short with her mention of the Sweepers makes me think she's thinking about how painfully obvious it would have been to any other Backstreets dweller. And then, right after, dropping back into her casual voice, and Sinclair revealing that Rodya used the fucked up Backstreets creature to tease him...

Other obvious moments of Rodya being bitter as hell about rich people include this part of S.E.A.

and this part of her observation logs on Spiral of Contempt (actually, nearly everything in that log that isn't about the physical abnormality has to do with how much she hates how rich people look down upon the poor)

Hong Lu's canto comes after Don's, and then after his is Ryōshū's, who, based on her source material, probably served one of the most awful, contemptuous rich people the sinners have access to, and I really hope at some point here Rodya gets to snap in a big way

...hey so I wrote this entire post at 1 in the morning and then saved it to drafts because I didn't want to post something at 1 in the morning. the Timekilling Time trailer came out about two hours later, featuring both Rodya... and the long-awaited return of the Yurodiviye. so now it's past 3 in the morning for me but I'm posting it now anyway because ohohoho seeing the Yurodiviye again has given me SO much energy

I have a feeling all this is going to be very relevant extremely soon

[moviecritc]

Hiiii!! I saw that your requests are open so I wanted to ask if you could please write smau with Charles Leclerc dating a singer and him getting hate from HER fans and her having to speak up because it's getting out of control

please please please ⋆ charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader (fc: sabrina carpenter)

warnings: hate comments

a/n: i got lazy towards the end, but i've to say that i loveee this idea

english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted!

liked by charlesleclerc, chappelroan and 451,231 others

yourusername The face of a grammy winner 🎺🎺🎺

I wanna thanks to all the people that were part of this little project that ended up getting out of hand, my friends and family, and my beautiful boyfriend who was the inspiration for all of the cutest songs in this album 💖

view all comments

user1 everything was going perfect until leclerc was mentioned 🙄

user2 fr i can't stand him

charlesleclerc My 🌎 I'm so proud of you mon coeur liked by creator

user3 just shut up already user4 look at him trying to deny that he only uses her for her fame in the industry

user5 i still can't believe y/n hasn't realized yet how awful her boyfriend is

chappellroan YESS, so happy for you y/n!! liked by creator

user6 omg they NEED to colaborate now

user7 i'm happy that she went alone to the event and not with that fame fucker boyfriend of her

user8 REAL

user9 i love how everyone is agreeing in hating on charles, pls don't stop

user10 she just won a fucking grammy and all you're doing is hating her bf. i can't with this people

charlesleclerc just posted!

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 23,510 others

charlesleclerc I have no words to express how proud and happy I am that you won your first grammy (of many, obviously). I love you so much, and I hope to keep being your muse for many years 💛💛💛

view all comments

user1 he's so desperate

user2 he rlly thought he ate this

user3 SHE DOESN'T DESERVE YOU

user4 nah bc y/n didn't even commented 💀

user5 you guys are so cute

user6 he's just with her bc of her fame

user7 imagine hating on a possible world champion bc his gf is more famous than him

yourusername just posted!

liked by charlesleclerc, dualipa and 823,059 others

yourusername imagine hating on us and this is what we're doing

'please please please' is out now!!! with the mv starring the one and only @charlesleclerc 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

comments have been disabled

[olderthannetfic]

Not gonna lie, sometimes being a writer in my native language feels... isolated and alienating. However not in the 'AO3 stats be low and less than English ones' that maybe one could thought of it at first, no, I know what I am doing writing and posting my non-English fanfics on AO3. I have really good friends and a minor readership that I love.

The isolation and alienation comes from people hating their own native languages and being so vocal (almost proud with others encouraging them) about it. Bet I am not the only who has see this. And I am sorry, but that just feel like hot bullshit. Why do you hate your own language that much? Why do you praise/treat like a better language English and English alone? Why do you say 'ew, a fanfic in my native language!" like that is a completely normal thing to say? I try to come with responses and their logic that aren't plain linguistic colonialism, but I can't. It feels alienating because I see it so. freaking. much. In Tumblr, in Discords, in Reddit, in Twitter, everywhere! Sometimes I have my lows and think 'man am I the wrong here? should I despise my own language, my own (literature) culture? everyone does it'. I respond with a 'no' obviously, since I keep writing in my native language and encourage everyone who approachs me to do it. That still doesn't erase the fact that seeing 'ew fics in my native language sucks!' comments in the wild are pretty demotivating and, to be quite honest, shitty, even if the people doing them aren't from my country.

This kind of feels like a consequence of how... imperialist (for a lack of a better word, sorry) the Internet has become in the past few years. Rather, the whole world, yes; and the Internet is just a part of it so of course fandom got affected by it. If it got affected by this puritanical, bigoted and radfem-y viewpoints, it was just a matter of time for this issue ('fics in English are superior/better in general/better to write/better to got numbers') to chime in. Damned 'globalization'. It was so fast.

--

I hate it. I hate it so much. It's been constant for decades (with the exception of a few languages like Mandarin). English isn't special! Whatever century's trade language can reach more people, but that's it: it isn't more beautiful, historic, nuanced, interesting, worthy, whatever.

And god is English not less cringey and terrible when it comes to words for dicks or squelchy sex noises or whatever else people find terminally embarrassing to write about. We native speakers had to get over it in order to write. Native speakers of anything can do the same!

Though, yes, Arabic-speaking anon from last time, I grant you that some languages' speakers are going to have to invent a whole new era of writing in the vernacular. Go forth. Write your Canterbury tales if that's what it takes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

First, let me apologise for making people worry. I appreciate all those who reached out and I'm sorry that I couldn't get back to you all.

I have been through a very rough spiral. It was building for months, and I am still not fully okay.

For those who want context, it's under the cut.

I bought a house in May. It's expensive. I wasn't ready financially or in many ways for that step, but my partner convinced me. I told him as much but I was not heard. Alas, I have a mortgage, full time work, astudent loan, and an ongoing school program to contend with. It hasn't been easy and it caught up to me.

At the same time, a person who traumatised me and I have no way of fully extricating from my life, has moved closer. To keep the peace, I have to associate with him to a degree and he pretends that nothing ever happened. To him, it was nothing.

In June, I moved. It was hard and fast paced. I did most of the paperwork etc for the whole process and obv helped with the physical transition as well. I was responsible for deadlines and checklists for not just myself but my partner.

I was plugging holes in a sinking boat.

At the same time, I had obligations to my family. Every weekend if I wasn't dealing with the house and all that goes into it, I was running around to babysit or see family or whathave you.

In July, I pinched a nerve behind my tailbone. I missed a week of work bc my injury but it took longer for my to recover. I am still feeling it today. It was more than physical, but emotional.

I also got three periods that month. Hormonal can't begin to explain how fucked up I've been.

On top of all that, there are underlying issues associated with other trauma and discontent. I'm realising that I have been loyal and tolerant to the point of my own detriment.

I don't want to hurt people how I've been hurt, so I don't speak up. When people tell me something about myself, I let all the doubts planted in my mind from years of abuse convince me that they're right. I can admit my faults but often times I will think that proof of one flaw means everything about me is rotten.

People forget about me or just don't care. Both or either. They don't put the same effort in that I do. I find it hard to connect because years of disregard and neglect have told me that the other side just won't care.

But I'm not just hurt, I'm angry. I'm seeking therapy and trying to figure this out.

It all boiled over after my last post. Nothing I do is enough. For anyone. Not even when it's a hobby. I was frustrated bc the place I use for escape just made me feel like less than.

Obviously, I don't mean everyone or even the majority. I appreciate the discourse and fun and everything here! There are so many awesome people to interact with and I have missed you all, however, my headspace was bad. Very bad. I had thoughts I haven't dealt with in years.

I put my nose down and just went to work. I didn't wanna talk to anyone. I didn't wanna be in the world.

I did some reading, eventually some non-fandom writing, and sometimes, I just stayed alive.

I don't know if I'm really okay but I'm trying.

To those who have been so patient and supportive, you deserve everything. To those who are silent supporters, you do too. And even to those people who send me the most vile hate, you deserve to lift yourself out of the dark space you're stuck in. Hopefully, I can, too.

[bonefall]

Big question cause I’m so mad about how they were used: any ideas on changing Berryheart and Curlfeather from this book?

I have ONE controversial opinion and you must allow me this;

Curlfeather not apologizing to Frostdawn kinda rocks as an idea.

Obviously it reads as insulting because of how they gave Berryheart a Tom the Wifebeater ass Redemption Death in this book, and the general way that they've not approached her with the nuance she deserves is frustrating. I agree.

But hold my hand and walk with me. Imagine Curlfeather, mauled and bloody before the daughter she died saving. Frostpaw's gone through so much fixing the damage she caused, furious at the state her mother's in, the mess she made of RiverClan, all the suffering everyone's gone through... and Curlfeather says,

"I don't regret anything."

"Really? REALLY? I go through all of that, I come ALL this way, and you won't even give me a rotten little sorry?"

She doesn't give her mother a chance to respond, lashing her tail towards the grimmace that hangs off the side of her shredded cheek, "You're not sorry for how you lead to yourself looking like THAT?"

Frostpaw shoves her scarred throat foward, "You're not sorry for THIS?"

She claws dig into the sodden black earth of the Dark Forest, "You're not sorry you're HERE?"

Curlfeather is quiet, her remaining eye stoic like a stone. Frostpaw begs furiously, "NOTHING?"

"I will vow on our blood that I will not lie to you anymore," the demon's tone is soft and honest, "and I hope that means more than the insincere apology I could offer you otherwise."

Just when it feels like Frostpaw has so much anger that her body can't handle it, pain stuffs itself inside her in equal measure. Her stomach is sick with love, throat choked with affection. It takes her a minute to form the word,

"Why?"

"When my father, Reedwhisker, was taken by the Kin, I saw how they broke him. His uncle, Stonefur, did not buckle under Tigerstar. My grandmother Mistyfoot quietly rescued the Clan from his accomplice, Leopardstar, while Mistystar willingly worked alongside a vicious impostor."

Now that Frostpaw is the one who's waiting quietly, Curlfeather's voice flutters hopefully, "I was willing to do anything to restore my Clan to greatness," the specter pads foward, touching her nose to her daughter's trembling forehead, "except sacrifice you."

She didn't expect to feel the harsh sting of her daughter's paw smacking her across the nose. She reels back.

"You don't get it! It's not about YOU! It's about everyone you hurt! Dont try to pretend it was all worth it, you didn't make anything great, you just broke it!"

"I had to break it so it could be set back stronger. I gave you the chance for the power, and now you are making it better than it was."

"That was in spite of you! You told me to trust no cat and I had to unlearn that!"

"I saved you when I could have escaped with my life."

"From a situation you caused in the first place!"

"It was a warrior's death!"

There is a silence that settles over them. Curlfeather is snarling in offense. Frostpaw looks, again, at her mother's fatal wounds, the defensive stance. She's reminded of how the cats of other cultures don't always see scars as rewards for a fight survived-- just reminders of pain you've gone through.

"...it was a warrior's death," she agrees, gently, watching tattered hackles smoothen out, "...and now you're dead, while I'm still alive."

The emotion in Curlfeather's face is solemn, but otherwise incomprehensible to her daughter. The expression on Frostpaw's is equally unreadable to her mother. This is the only thing they will ever understand about each other-- that there is an irreconcilable difference between them, steeper than the divide between sky and earth.

The last words the demon speaks to her daughter are, "I love you."

It's only years later that Frostdawn can say, "I love you too."

[blockgamepirate]

This is my petty complaint time, this video annoys me SO MUCH and even more so what annoys me is that the latest comment on it is this:

HE TAUGHT YOU SO MUCH BULLSHIT, PLEASE NO, DON'T LISTEN TO HIM

And yes, I've been thinking about this stream for nearly three years now, I've been meaning to go through it to critique Wilbur's arguments, I just never got around to it

Wilbur: "Tubbo, you've created an anti-state capitalist dystopia"

So all Tubbo had explained so far was that his town had a big company that owned two other big companies. Nothing about the government or anything. It's true that one company owning all the major businesses is pretty dystopian, sure, but I have no idea where Wilbur got the "anti-state" thing from, usually capitalist companies are fine with the existence of states, states do a lot of dirty work for the capitalists

Spoiler alert: Tubbo's city turns out to be pretty much a city state so Wilbur is just wrong anyway, not that he ever acknowledges it even when it does come up

Also it's not like corporate acquisitions are completely unheard of in the UK, as far as I know. Admittedly the UK is also arguably a capitalist dystopia but you know what I mean, the concept shouldn't be all that shocking to Wilbur

He's being so dramatic and trying to make it sound like he's caught Tubbo in a mistake or something. He also keeps asking questions and then not letting Tubbo answer properly before taking like one word Tubbo says and running with it

But this is the one that I find the most obnoxious:

T: "I did some research into like economics and stuff and I discovered this thing called UBI, have you heard of it?"

W: "What's it stand for?"

T: "Universal Basic Income"

W: "Yeah, I know about that"

He clearly does not know what UBI is.

It becomes very apparent very quickly:

W: "So you've got universal basic income but then also the rich exist still?"

T: "Yeah! Yeah they do."

W: "How does that come about then,"

T: "So in my mind--"

W: "is this universal basic income different for different people?"

T: "No, no, the universal basic income is better for everyone, just the people who have--"

W: "In order for there to be a 1% that means someone's earning more,"

T: "Yes, someone is earning more"

W: "but that means the universal basic income isn't universal!"

T: "No no no, not everyone's getting paid the same but everyone gets the same to begin with, okay? But then you can build on top of it."

W: "Oh no, you've got a-- Tubbo, you've got a fucking social point system!"

T: "Have I made a social point system??"

W: "Tubbo, you've made China!"

None of what Wilbur says makes ANY sense here. The only explanation I can think of is that he didn't know what UBI was, made an assumption that it just meant "everybody gets paid the same amount of money" or something like that and then just spoke fast enough that Tubbo couldn't correct him

Tubbo is correct here, Tubbo knows what he's talking about, but he can't out-speak Wilbur who is just throwing so much bullshit out of his mouth that there's no time to even respond

So, UBI means that everyone in the society gets a regular payment of a specific amount of money that's the same for everyone regardless of their life situation (and generally a requirement would be that it has to be enough to live on, altho people do like to water this down a lot...) This would be completely irrelevant to your wages or salary or capital gains. You can choose to either live on the UBI or you can just do the regular capitalist things to earn extra money on top of the UBI

Obviously I'm not one of those people who think that UBI would solve all of world's problems, I mean I am an anarchist and all (and not an ancap either), but it's literally just a very streamlined welfare system. That's all. It would probably be a lot better than the current models we have but it's not fundamentally different. There's nothing particularly weird about it, the point is just to make sure that everyone has enough money to live on, in every other regard it's just normal capitalism

Wilbur completely misunderstands the whole thing (because, again, he does not know what UBI is so he's just trying to imagine what it might mean based on what Tubbo is saying) and jumps immediately to something he apparently has heard of, which is the Chinese social credit system, which has nothing to do with UBI. In fact I'm pretty sure it also doesn't actually have anything to do with income either, or at least not directly, so I don't think Wilbur knows what the social credit system is either

He's literally just talking in buzzwords

Like if you actually wanted to make a leftist critique of Tubbo's city, you could, don't get me wrong. But instead Wilbur keeps insisting that he's made a social point system despite Tubbo trying to explain why it's not that at all

Wilbur just keeps yelling over Tubbo until his own chat turns against him and finally Tubbo himself also kinda gives up

And from there Tubbo also kinda just starts playing into the bit and just lets Wilbur direct the whole conversation, the rest of it is just them getting more and more into the roleplay. Wilbur keeps talking about the state pension plan, even though Tubbo already tried to explain that it's part of the UBI (this actually is how UBI is supposed to work, it does indeed streamline most of the welfare spending! Obviously you can still raise questions about that (I can think of a few at least) but Wilbur didn't let Tubbo explain so I have no idea what Tubbo actually had in mind)

I could try to go through all of what Wilbur says here but it's just too much, so maybe some other time. Although to be honest there are so many other streams that I probably should talk about instead that some fans unfortunately took a bit too seriously because they assumed Wilbur knew what he was talking about

My point here is mainly that just because someone sounds really confident and knows a bunch of buzzwords doesn't mean they know what they're talking about.

[funfettifrills]

♣️; caregiver! husk x kid/agere! reader [headcanons]

[all platonic] + my inbox is open for reqs!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪husk is canonically good with kids!! He would be great at taking care of you !!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪ initially, husk keeps up his grumpy self around you

♡ʚ⁺˖↪but you find yourself enjoying being around him, to you he's a silly little kitty !!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪ he notices you will sit by him or stay in the same room as him, and he doesn't mind at all

♡ʚ⁺˖↪ at first you're a bit shy, but he tries initiating conversations with you and you happily speak to him a bunch!!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪ Once your wall of shyness is broken down, you'll find yourself sitting at the bar and info dumping to him about things you like or just your day in general

♡ʚ⁺˖↪He doesn't say much, but he always listens with a small smile on his face while he tends to his bartending tasks

♡ʚ⁺˖↪he has a huge soft spot for you, that he'd deny at first but everyone else at the hotel would clearly notice it

♡ʚ⁺˖↪whenever you go out, he starts going with you. He really wants you to be safe, even if you're in hell

♡ʚ⁺˖↪since you obviously wouldn't be drinking any alcohol, husk starts keeping things like juice at the bar just for you!! He even gets sippy cups !!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪even though he doesn't enjoy being a cat, you can't help but call him "kitty."

♡ʚ⁺˖↪ Sometimes, when you want his attention, you'll babble a bit and call out "kitty!"

♡ʚ⁺˖↪if anyone else would call him kitty, he would be sooo livid

♡ʚ⁺˖↪but he loves you and knows you mean no harm, he finds it endearing!!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪his default nicknames for you are just 'kid' or 'kiddo'

♡ʚ⁺˖↪he lets you play with his tail !! He just sits nonchalantly as you do it, and the others in the hotel watch in awe over how comfortable Husk is with you

♡ʚ⁺˖↪even if he has a soft spot for you, he's still husk so he's a very patient caregiver but also very stern when he needs to be

♡ʚ⁺˖↪if you get bratty or fussy, he won't hesitate to get you to behave, and he's very effective at it while not being tooooo harsh

♡ʚ⁺˖↪since he loves sleeping, when it's nap time he'll join you sometimes!!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪he's very comfy to snuggle with cause his fur is surprisingly soft

♡ʚ⁺˖↪as you two sleep, he holds you so gently

♡ʚ⁺˖↪He purrs during these naps too and its silly to feel the vibrations

♡ʚ⁺˖↪whenever you'd be overwhelmed and in tears, he had struggled to deal with it at first because he was intimidated

♡ʚ⁺˖↪Over time, he had learned how to handle those moments with ease and will hold you in his lap as you regulate yourself

♡ʚ⁺˖↪Depending on the severity of your emotions, he'll start doing magic tricks to distract you, and it's effective for calming you down

♡ʚ⁺˖↪he struggles with low self-esteem, so he questions whether he's good enough to be taking care of you (he is much more than good enough!!)

♡ʚ⁺˖↪you're happiest and comfiest with him, sometimes you cling onto his legs as he does random tasks and he just goes on as normal

♡ʚ⁺˖↪before he had gotten onto better terms with Angel, he'd tried to keep you away from him

♡ʚ⁺˖↪But afterward, you become close with Angel as well, and he thinks you're the cutest ever !!!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪you and Angel sit at the bar, with you in his lap, and have silly conversations with Husk

♡ʚ⁺˖↪Angel goes insane hearing you get to freely call Husk "kitty"

♡ʚ⁺˖↪ And Angel teases Husk over how soft he's gotten for you, Husk gets embarrassed in response

"Ya' let the kid call you 'kitty?' Why can't I do that too?"

"You are a GROWN man. There's no reason for you to call me that."

"You're just turning into a big softie, ya know?"

"..."

♡ʚ⁺˖↪don't even get me started on how adamant Husk would be to keep you away from Alastor

♡ʚ⁺˖↪but Alastor does find a way to get your attention, much to Husk's dismay...

♡ʚ⁺˖↪he'll find Alastor playing you, and you giggling along, which leaves Husk horrified

♡ʚ⁺˖↪he is really dedicated to keeping you safe from anything that'd cause you harm!!

♡ʚ⁺˖↪and he truly wants you to be redeemed, he knows you don't deserve to be in Hell

♡ʚ⁺˖↪overall, he adores you a bunch and would probably kill for you!!!!!!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re on a goddamn bed-“

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

“Grumpy-“

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

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

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

“You were singing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “But-“ 

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

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

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

“Well-“

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

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

He winked. “That’s the idea.” 

“Horny old man.”

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

“You can’t fucking prove that I-“

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m-“

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

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

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

“How did you know?” 

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

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

“That was-“ 

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“I fucking know that-“

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Someone’s real fucking sure of herself-“ 

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

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

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

“You fucking love it.”

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

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

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

“You didn’t have any nightmares.”

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

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

“What the fuck does that matter.” 

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

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

“But-“

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

“I want to help-“

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

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

“Swear it.” 

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

“Do you want me to.” 

“Yes-“

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

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

“I’m fine, Sunshine.” 

“But-“ 

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

She sighed. “Deal.” 

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

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

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

“What time-“

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

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

“Team meeting. At noon. It’s-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“I won’t, not it if you don’t admit-“

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

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

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

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

“You need to eat-“ 

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

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

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

Ben grunted in agreement, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

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

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

“Jesus fucking christ, woman-“

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

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

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

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

Ryan will meet you both in the gym after

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

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

“Everything good?”

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

“Nothing-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being fucking insane.” 

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

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

“You don’t know that-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it.” 

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

“We’re going to be late, Benjamin.”

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

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

“They can’t fucking start without us-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re late-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I just can’t find where-“

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

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

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

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

“Sage must have gotten there first-“

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

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

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

Ben blinked at Her. What.

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

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

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

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

Cunt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Homelander gave an address.”

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

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

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

Homelander Accuses CIA of Kidnapping Fiancée, Anomaly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking Christ.

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

“Just, listen-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What fuckin’ truth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I’m ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This meeting is not over-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Move, Benjamin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, I won’t hurt you?”

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

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

“No, but I’d live.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That ain’t my fuckin’ voice-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buddy?

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

Call him his name, Benjamin.

Why.

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

Your brother is a real fucking person.

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

Ben scoffed. Well your impressions are fucking terrible.

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

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

She wrinkled her nose at him. Rude.

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

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Then let’s get a fucking move on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why is he calling you Soldier Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben scowled. Smartass.

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

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

“Um-“

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

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

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

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

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

“But you said-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

She grinned at him. “A Pretty Boy.” 

He rolled his eyes. Brat.

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

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

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

“But he’s my dad-“

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

“I’m still sorry-“

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

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

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

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

What?

You should take your own fucking advice, Sunshine.

She wrinkled Her nose at him. Fuck you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think she liked me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going to dinner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he hit the damn target.”

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

“Thank you, Ben.”

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

Butcher spoke first.

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t joking-”

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

Butcher sighed. “You seen her?” 

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

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

“Is she-“

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you talking about.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you like me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She snorted. “I’m not beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then fucking tell me-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt

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

I think you’ll want to be there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck you mean everything-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why.”

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

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

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

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

“Things Homelander would say?” 

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gifts?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And for others?” 

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

You grimace. “Gross.” 

“Oui, very much.” 

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

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

You nod slowly. “Two a day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am not a fucking trophy wife, Sunshine.

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

And? Those are the same goddamn thing-

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

I am not a fucking maid.

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

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

Shut up.

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

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

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

Yes, please.

Silence again. I love you.

Ben, I told you-

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

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

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

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

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

Ben- 

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

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

Every fucking way.

Can you be a little more fucking specific-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t bruise me, Ben. It’ll heal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As far as you know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning to you too, Benjamin.”

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

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

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

“You’re hungry.” 

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a fucking idiot-“ 

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

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

You grin at him. “Old-“

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

“Where-“ 

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

“Why-“

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

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

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

“Kicked-“ 

“Eat, and I’ll fucking tell you.”

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

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

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

“Work.”

“Why were you working in the dining hall?”

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

You glare at him. “No.”

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

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

He sighs. “We had a meeting.”

“About?”

“You.”

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

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

“If you’re okay.”

“I’m fine-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben?”

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

“You smell like shit.”

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

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

“Don’t-

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

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

“I know-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I hit the mark every goddamn time.” 

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben?”

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

“You still smell like shit.” 

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

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

“Smartass.”

“You love it.”

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

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

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

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

“Finish your muffin.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to help me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You know how to use a gun?” 

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

“Then teach me.” You sigh. “Please.” 

“Are you really-“ 

“I’m sure.” 

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

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

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

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

“And Soldier Boy-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin, and follow Hughie inside. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Born it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, I don’t-“

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

You give him a flat look. “Guess.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt. Why are you here.” 

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

“We didn’t think-“ 

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

“Ben, I asked him to-“

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

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

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

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

Ben scoffs. “I’d be fucking better.”

“I actually agree with Soldier Boy-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was mean, Ben-“ 

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

You frown. “Why?”

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

“But-“

“Just fucking do it, Sunshine.”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

“Arms higher up.”

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

“Can you say please?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

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

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

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

“Shoot the damn gun, Sunshine.”

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

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

You can’t feel Ben.

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

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

“Are you-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benjamin, please fuck me-“

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

“Hold on.”

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

“Please-“

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

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

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

“Ben-“

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

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

“Please, Ben, you asshole-“

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

You nod, and if you had any sort of thoughts right now that weren’t Ben. Fuck, Ben, I love you. I love you, please, Ben, I love you, fuck, please- you’d point out that you can’t be fucked enough to get sore, you can’t get sore, but Ben moves to rub your clit in one rough movement and you decided that it doesn’t really fucking matter. If he wants to take up that challenge, who are you to stop him. 

“Words.”

“Do that,” you mumble, your whole body going slack as one of Ben’s fingers runs between your slit over your panties, before rising to flick your clit once. “Fuck, Ben, do that, that’s good-“

Your words turn into a whine when he starts to slide you down his body—an arm moving around your waist to keep you upright and pressed against him—and Ben hisses when you brush against his cock. Hard in his pants, long and thick, pressed against your thigh and so close and big and Ben- 

He’s trying to sit you on one of the booth counters, but you lean your weight forward and keep going down. Ben doesn’t try to stop you, his hand moving up to your face as he watches you drop down onto your knees. Level with his cock, grinning up at his slack face. When he says your name, his voice is rasp. “Are you-”

“Yeah,” you move your hands up his thighs, holding his gaze. He needs to look at you like that forever—like you’re all the stars in the sky and the spaces between them—because combined with the way you can see his cock twitch in his pant and how you his  chest is rising and falling in a heavy, uneven pattern, you might cum without Ben even touching you. “Do you want me to?”

He chuckles, leaning back against the divider and tangling his hand into your hair. “What are you supposed to do if I tell you no.”

“Shoot you,” you start to undo his belt buckle, glancing between your hands and Ben’s face. His jaw is clenched and his free hand has moved to grip the counter, leaving an indent on the metal. “I can do that now. I’m good at it.”

“You’re real goddamn confident for only a day of practice-“

“I have a great teacher,” you smile at him, and Ben swallows, glaring at you. “He’s a cunt, but really hot. I think I might let him fuck my face if he asks nicely.” 

“Brat.”

You hum, pulling down his pants, boxers with them. At this point it’s really not worth fighting the small whine that escapes your throat when you see him, because that cock is yours. And you’re going to suck it, if it's the last fucking thing you do. “That’s not nice, Benjamin-“

He growls your name, and when you look back up his eyes on yours are feral. Pushing right through your body, making you grind mindlessly onto nothing and your nails dig into his skin. “Do you want me to fuck your face.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing back at where he’s only centimeters from your mouth. “I do.”

“Well,” he smirks. “Are you going to ask nicely?”

“You dick-“

“My dick, beautiful,” he keeps glancing over your head, looking between you and something behind you that you can’t see. “Is going to fuck your perfect, pretty fucking mouth. If you can’t take it, squeeze both my knees twice. Got it?”

You nod, and your voice is breathless. “Both knees. Twice.”

“I’m going to start slow,” his hands in your hair curls into a fist, pulling your head back until your eyes meet. “And when I cum-“ 

“Inside.” Your words are a little too fast, because Ben grins.

“You want to fucking swallow, Sunshine?”

“You know I swallow, asshole-“

“I don’t know shit,” Ben winks, and you grind down on to the air again. “But I know you’re going be a goddamn work of art with your lips on my cock. And I know you’re going to fucking prove that you can swallow all of me. Ready?”

“Yes-“

The word has barely left your mouth when he slams forward. His cock pushes into your mouth, the head resting at the top of your throat, and Ben’s hand tightens in your hair as he just sits there. His dick on your tongue and your nose brushing his hips, and a whimper leaving your body when Ben groans and you can feel it.

He pulls you off, keeping the tip right between your lips, and tugs your hair until you look up at him. “Good?”

You squeeze his thigh, hold his gaze, and run your tongue around the head on his cock, grazing it with your teeth. Don’t be a pussy, Benjamin. Fuck my face.

His eyes flash, and you hear the metal of the counter whine under his grip as he takes a deep breath, staring behind you again. When he looks back to you, he looks like an angel again. He’s so handsome, and he looks primal and powerful, and you love him. You can tell him that, in a long, desperate noise when his cock is muffling any real words he could hear. He’s looking at you like you’re the holy one, when he’s everything. He’s the whole world, and when he starts to move, all your thoughts just clear to that. Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s not holding back. Ben’s hand is guiding your head up and down his cock at a brutal, unrelenting pace, and his hips keep bucking when he hits the back of your throat to the point that you give up on trying to do anything productive and just focus on keeping your gag reflex from choking on him. There’s smoke starting to curl from your hands and the whole world is growing blurry, but fuck, you don’t care. He tastes so good, and every hiss and groan that leaves him is like music, and he’s everything. 

“You’re, fuck,” you suck on him once, just trying to contain the drool falling out of your mouth, and Ben’s hips jerk. “You’re so fucking good. So fucking good, Sunshine, you’re beautiful and perfect and I fucking-“ His words turn into a long, deep strained sound, and you start to grind onto the air. You can’t let go of his legs to touch yourself, you’ll fall over, so all you can do is whine and hope a pillow somehow appears for you to ride. “Fucking Christ,” Ben’s words are pushed between his teeth, and he somehow goes faster. “God, fuck, you’re beautiful. Your mouth was fucking made for my cock, so fucking soft and warm and perfect and, fuck-“

Ben’s hand flies off the counters, joining his other on your head, and he’s close. You can feel the head of his cock twitch when your throat squeezes around it, and his words are starting to slur.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you’re fucking beautiful, and perfect, and fuck, Sunshine, you’re beautiful, you don’t have a goddamn fucking clue how beautiful you are, how much I, fuck-“

You’re dizzy and your brain is clouded with lust, but you’d manage to move one hand off of Ben’s thigh to squeeze his balls. It works just like you’d hoped, and Ben’s whole body tenses as cum shoots, fast and hot, down your throat. You swallow—you’re not a pussy, and you love him more than anything—and Ben’s hands splay against your scalp and cheek. When you pull back your lips make a popping sound, and you smile up at Ben as he looks down at you, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and his breathing loud and ragged. 

“Fucking Christ,” Ben mutters your name, and the devotion is back in his eyes. Devotion and heat and something else you don’t understand. “You’re… Christ.”

“I’m Christ?” You shift on your knees, trying to ignore how the ache is starting to become painful so you can just look at him. “Wow. Don’t tell Butcher, he’s a big god-hater-“ 

Ben pulls you upwards, leaning down to meet you halfway, kissing you until your knees start to shake again and you have to lean against him to avoid falling over.

“Brat,” his growl is paired with a long suck of your upper lip and squeeze of your waist, and you make a high, needy sound. “Want me to show you something?” 

You have literally no idea what he might want to show you, but you nod because right now if Ben asked you to figure out time travel you’re pretty sure it would take you an hour.

He spins you around, pressing your back to his chest, and you realize what he’s been staring at. The mirrors. On the booths. You’d totally forgotten about the mirrors on the booths.

“See how fucking beautiful you are?” Ben’s muttered in your ear, the hot air of his breath making you shiver and try to push further back into his body. “You’re the most beautiful woman in goddamn history. Fuck, you might be the most beautiful thing in history. I don’t know how you ever expected this to be a fair fucking fight, for us not to end up here. Where I’m going to make you feel fucking good and you’re going to watch.”

“Ben-“

“I liked watching you suck my cock, Sunshine.” One of his hands has moved up to palm your breast, and the other has started to trail down, tracing patterns on your stomach. “You looked real fucking pretty, taking my cock all good and deep in your throat, letting me fuck your face and swallowing my cum. But you’ve got a little bit of a problem, don’t you.”

Ben’s watching you in the mirror, locking your gaze with his, a thumb rubbing over your nipple as his hand slides a little lower, resting right below your abdomen. All you can do to answer him is nod, and try to grind up so that his hand will drop further. 

“You’re so fucking desperate for me to touch your perfect fucking cunt,” Ben says your name, and it rolls through your body and sets you on fire. There’s no smoke rising through your body, but everything smells like pine and the whole room is starting to dance with a misty, green light. “That’s your problem, isn’t it. You need me, need me so bad you’ve fucking ruined your underwear just from sucking my cock. I can fucking smell you, Sunshine, you smell fucking delicious.”

He hates you. You’ve made a grave miscalculation in how much Ben likes you, because this is torture. He won’t stop teasing you and calling you beautiful and good and not just fucking touching you. He must hate you, because you’re whining sounds that are meant to be pleas of his name and humping the air near his hand, and Ben won’t just touch you. Ben’s smirking at you in the reflection, and he’s such a cunt and he’s so handsome and you love him and if he doesn’t start doing something right now you’re going to punch him square in his stupid, smug, handsome face.

“You want me to fix your problem?”

“Ben-“

“I know, beautiful.” His hand moves out from under your shirt, moving up to your chin until you’re looking back at him and he can kiss you. Soft, gentle, deceptively innocent. “I’m going to take care of you. All you have to do is-“

He needs to stop being so sweet and good or you’ll tell him you love him. He needs to shut the fuck up and touch you. “Ben, please. Please-“ 

“Please, what?”

“Fucking touch me-“

His hand on your chin pulls your head back down, forcing your eyes back to the mirror right as he tears off your underwear. Ben grins at your reflections, thumb brushing against your lip as his hold on your chin loosens slightly, and his hand drops down, resting right between your thighs without just moving.

“God, you’re fucking wet,” he’s still whispering right into your ear, and it’s making you a little lightheaded. “Is this all for me, beautiful? All for me to take care of?”

You start trying to grind down onto his hand, and Ben’s free arm drops back down to pin your hips against him, muscles rippling when your try to squirm away and he’s kissing your neck and hie won’t move- “Ben-“

“No,” he grunts, hand moving back up  your shirt to brush your tits, face buried into your shoulder where you can’t actually see him. “My turn. You’re going to relax, and I’m going to do this for you.”

“Please-“

He says your name, pulling back to meet your eyes in the mirror. “You trust me.”

Not a question. You both know the answer, and it’s more for Ben to hear it. You know that, because when you glare yes, at him through the mirror, he grins. You’re about him to just do something, anything, whatever he wants as long as he’s touching you, when he moves.

Ben’s finger pushes right into you, pumps once, twice, and then is joined by a second one. “Fucking tight,” he growls in your ear, still watching you. Always watching you. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are, squirming on my fucking fingers. I’ve barely even touched you, Sunshine, and you’re already fucking squeezing me.” 

You make a loud, shameless moan as he starts to move faster, playing with your boobs with his hand up your shirt and muttering pure filth into your ear.

“So fucking good. Look at how fucking good you take me, beautiful, and this is just my hand. Just my goddamn hand that’s making you whine, whine like the perfect fucking brat you are, fucking soaking my fingers, covering me in how much you fucking want me. So goddamn perfect, you’re perfect, it’s not even a fucking contest. So fucking good and perfect, going to cum all over my fingers, look at how fucking beautiful you are with your perfect fucking mouth all swollen and your pretty fucking eyes watching me ruin you-“

He groans, because you’ve figured out that you can grind backwards, into him.

“God, fucking Christ, woman, you’re driving me fucking insane-“

Ben rambles start to turn into just low, deep sounds that roll straight through your body and down into your core. He’s still talking, and you know he’s saying words, but you’re high. Ben’s fingers are big and broad and rough inside of you, and they keep brushing against that one spot deep in your body, and he won’t stop scissoring them when they push all the way in. He keeps driving his fingers into your pussy, curling and twisting them with harsh, fast movements, and yanking them out until you can see them in the mirror. See your need for him falling off his hand, see them disappear back inside you, see his palm start to rise up to press against your clit and rub.

“Ben-“

“So fucking good,” He growls against your skin, half-pulling you off the ground. “I fucking adore you, Sunshine, fuck, see how goddamn perfect you are? Look at you, so fucking beautiful, all wrecked on just my hand-“ 

You do look beautiful. Ben is wrapped around you—he looks almost animalistic as you grind back into him with your head pressed into his shoulder—and you’re not sure if it’s the lights dancing through the room or the way that some sort of soft music seems to be playing in the distance, but you’re beautiful. You think, in the haze, that it might be how Ben’s watching you. That his eyes on yours are full of lust and hunger and affection, and you feel like something better than what you are. You’re barely in control of yourself, grinding back into Ben and countless, wanting sounds leaving your body, and you feel like wildfire. Like a star, burning and burning against the infinite way that Ben exists around you. Beautiful. But you look at Ben, watching you like you’re all the stars and planets and everything through and past the universe, and he’s better. You mold perfectly against him, and his dark hair is falling over his eyes as he ruts up into you. If you could think enough to make yourself move, you’d reach up and brush it away. But your hands are clinging to his arm over your stomach—you can see his muscles flex with every movement and it makes you squirm—and all you can do is meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching you whine and moan and writhe against him, and his jaw is slack, and he’s everything. Ben is everything, and he’s looking at you like you’re holy and crucial, so you’re beautiful. Ben doesn’t lie, so you’re beautiful. 

Ben’s palm rubbing circles on your clit start moving in faster, smaller movements right as his fingers press down inside of you and he bucks up into your ass, you almost scream as you cum. He’s still just watching you—eyes blown out and jaw slack—and when your legs give out he scoops you up into his arms, tearing his gaze from the mirror and meeting your eyes. I love you. Ben. Ben, I love you.

“You’re okay.” When you nod, your brain still a little slow, he frowns. “Words-“

“I’m okay, Ben.” You smile at him, reaching a hand up to trace his jawline. “I’m going to have to buy you a thesaurus, but I’m good.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, you clearly fucking liked it-“

“I wasn’t of sound mind, Pretty Boy. Corrupt testimony.” You shrug, leaning further into his body. “You need to learn a few more words.”

Ben grins at you. “Someone’s trying to talk herself out of a proper fucking when we get home.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“See if I give a fuck.” He kisses the top of your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s so warm. You can’t feel him, but Ben’s still so warm. “You want a proper fucking?”

You swallow. “Yes, please.” 

“Then here’s how this is gonna go.” Ben leans back, holding your gaze. “We’re going to put on your shorts, and I’m going to put on my pants. We’re going back home, and cleaning up, then going to dinner because you’re going to need the energy. Then, the moment the door closes behind us, I’m fucking you. In our bed. Deal?”

Your voice is a whisper. “Deal.”

“Good.”

He helps you get dressed. Ben pulls his pants back on—shifting his body to block yours from the door—and let you use his arm as balance while you put your shorts back up your legs.

Your underwear has been effectively destroyed, and when Ben picks it up you think it’s going straight into the trash can, but instead he shoves it into his pockets and winks at you.

“Pervert-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.”

He tries to carry you. Ben bends down, and you have to whack him to stop him from picking you up and carrying you down the hall. He pouts—the grumpy, annoyed pout that means he being a little bitch about something—but settles for slinging his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into his side. He smells good. He’s big and strong and warm and Ben, and you can’t feel him. You’re okay. You can touch him, but not feel him, and you’re okay. 

It’s later than you’d thought it was. Barely twilight—everything cast in a blue-purple glow—and Ben tells you you’re taking the first shower. Demands it, actually. Grumbles about how I fucking showered this morning, and you’re the one covered in cum, Sunshine until you relent, because you’ve lost stupider arguments with him and you are indeed covered in cum. Mostly yours, running a little down your thigh, but some of Ben’s had managed to escape your mouth and dried on your chin and shoulders. Ben walks you upstairs and into the bathroom, drops on the bed with a frown as you start to close the door, and you love him a little too much to leave him looking like a lost puppy dog in the dark. Especially when it’s really not that much effort to cross the room and stand between his legs, to give him one last gentle kiss until his hands relax on your hips and he’s grinning against your mouth. 

Ben. Ben, I love you.

The shower is almost burning. Steam collects on the glass door and your skin is still sensitive from the gun range, the hum of the fan the only sound tangling in with the water.

It’s been coming in waves. It’s important for you to recognize that this is coming in waves. When you tell Ben you’re okay, you really are. You’re okay. Then. In that moment, when you’re smiling and laughing with the people you love and care about, you’re okay. When Ben looks at you—really looks at you, sees you in a way no one else does—you’re okay.

And then you’re not. Then it’s silent, and you’re cold even with the scalding water, and that fan is humming in the same key that ones in Homelander’s apartment did. And you’re so tired.

Something feels wrong in your body. It feels like a limb has been cut off, like something’s been taken out that’s vital to your existence. The longer it’s gone—the longer it’s just you, alone in your body—the worse it gets. The more you can feel that part of you that snapped in Vought tower, and all you can feel it is flailing around in your body, trying to find where it can fit back in. It’s making you sick, it’s making everything cold again. You’re broken, and afraid, and exhausted, and all this fear has to stay in you. All of this pain has to live and fester in your body, and you’re not strong enough to stomp it out. Weak. 

You hate not feeling Ben. He’s not touching you, and you can’t feel that imprint of him in your chest, and you’re alone. You can’t control yourself, keep your shit together and keep your love or panic or pain in your body, so now you’re alone. Ben’s just outside—waiting for you to finish showering—but the fan is humming like you’re back in the tower and they had warm showers there as well. Weak.

Everything is wrong. You’re broken and exhausted and in pain and weak. Ben is staying and you don’t get why, and people aren’t giving up on you but they should. You’re making everything worse for everyone, and you’re so cold, and the whole world can see how weak you are but you’re tricking your friends and lying and you’re weak. Useless, lying, manipulative bitch. Nobody stays, because why would they? Unlovable, better alone, better never being touched or loved because nobody could love you, you’re too weak.

You can’t feel your tears falling, any evidence of them being washed away with the water and the steam, but your eyes hurt and your throat is sore. You can’t breathe, and you’re drowning and alone, and you must have started screaming because the door bangs open and Ben bursts into the room. You think you say his name, but it’s so loud. Your blood is pounding in your ears and it can’t get out, and the fan is suffocating you, and Ben’s here but you can’t feel him. You can’t feel anything but freezing, painful, cold.

He turns off the fan. His fist slams into the wall, the sound stutters off, and you still can’t really breathe but now you can hear him. He’s saying your name, pulling off his shoes and opening the shower door. His hands move to his shirt, but you make a weak, choked sob and he freezes. 

“Fuck it.” 

You hear that. You hear his grunt, and watch as he pushes into the water, let him pull your head against his chest and hold you. You’re shaking and making strangled, weak noises, but he’s holding you up and staying. You don’t know why, but Ben’s really, truly staying. He’s humming in a low, horrible voice that rolls through your body and slowly starts to clear your head, and when he says your name this time you can nod, so he continues.

“What’s wrong.”

“I, I can’t-“

“Breathe,” he mutters, hand running up and down your back. “I’m here, you’re safe, and this is real. We’ve got all the damn time in the world, so fucking breathe.”

It takes another minute, of uneven, heavy inhales and long, sobbing exhales, but you finally manage to whisper the full sentence. “I can’t fight him again.”

You can hear his frown, but he doesn’t ask who. You both know, and Ben doesn’t waste time on clarification. “There’s not a chance in hell-“ 

“There is,” you mumble. “There’s always a chance. And I can’t. If I have to, I won't be strong enough, I can’t fight him again.” Your words are vomiting out of your body, your head shaking against Ben’s chest like you can push the thought—push Homelander’s cruel, callous voice—out of your head forever. “I’ll lose, I can’t lose, I can’t go back-“

Ben snaps your name, and you let out a shaky, weak breath. “Fucking listen to me. You are never fighting that pussy alone again. Ever. That’s fucking it. End of story. You can cry all you goddamn want, as long as you understand that you are never fucking going back there, and as long as I’m fucking alive he will never touch you again.” 

You make another soft sound, and nod. “I’m sorry-“

“No. You’re fucking everything to me, and if you’re burning, it’s not without me. So don’t fucking apologize.”

This time you just let out a breath, and wrap your arms fully around his body. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t push that one. Ben just grunts, and holds you tighter against him, shielding you from the water, still holding you like you’re sacred. Always holding you like you’re sacred. Like you can’t be broken, because the fire in your body will seal the cracks back together, and he’ll be here while it does. Words are coming a little easier, mumbled into his shirt, and you’re still broken but it’s not wrong anymore. “I’m tired, Ben. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” you can feel the heave of his chest as he sighs, and you think you might just fall asleep here. You’re safe, Ben would pick you up, and you’re so tired. “Sleep, Sunshine. I’m here.”

He’s here. Ben’s here, and saying all the right things, so right before you collapse against him, you smile. His heart is right under your head on his chest, and you can’t feel him but he’s real.

“You’re home.” Ben mutters onto the crown of your head. “That’s all that fucking matters.”

This time, when he’s warmer than the water and stronger than all the fear in your body, his heart lulling you to sleep, you believe him.

End Note: Big character centered chapter, I know, but we have to EARN the confession. Who do you guys think is gonna slip up and say I love you first. I know who I’m putting money on, but also that’s insider trading.

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

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