#learn polish with polish flower

[get-more-bald]

ME WHEN I PEAKEEDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!

v bad picture but THE ART IS NOT EVEN THE FULL POINT....I LOVE IT BUT THE STORY IN THE TAGS IS MY HEART!!

ngl the drawings are so good tho. im so much better at ghoul design than bethany

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Bound by Desire

I've Got a Feeling (1)

Dom!Natasha x switch!Wanda x subby!brat!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have been in a happy and healthy BDSM relationship for years, but have been looking for a third for Wanda's sake. When they meet you, they might have gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, BDSM relationship, dom!nat, switch!Wanda, sub!reader, Daddy!nat, Mommy!Wanda, strap use(r receiving), bondage (more will be added as things occur)

A/N: I worked on this all yesterday and some the day before when the idea came to me. Please Enjoy~

The sun filtered through the curtains of the bedroom windows and the skylights. You had never appreciated the morning before, but as you wake up under silk sheets; your sleep shorts and tank top it feels right.

As you stretched out you felt a set of arms wrap around you, pulling you close and breathing you in. A smile spreads across your face.

“Good morning Pchelka.” The husky voice you'd come to know as Natasha whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good morning Daddy.” You have a purr to your voice as she kisses over your shoulder and up your neck.

Small noises making their way out of you as her hand glides down between your legs. She rubs you over your shorts only increasing the need and ache between your legs.

“Tasha! Honey bee! Breakfast! Come help with setting the table!” Wanda called up the stairs.

You didn't want to, but a whine came out of your mouth and a chuckle from Natasha.

“Mommy is calling Pchelka. Guess you'll have to wait a little longer.” She whispered in your ear making another whine come out.

“Please Daddy…so achy…” you turned slightly to look into her dark green eyes. Pleading with your own for her to give in, but you knew better by now.

Her hands slipped away from you as she got up. “No Pchelka. Mommy's calling and you know not to keep her waiting. Head down, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

A pout on your face as you got out of the sheets, another shiver overcoming you as your feet hit the cold hardwood flooring. You headed down to find Wanda still cooking, by the smell of it she had turkey bacon. You learned early on that Wanda liked anything that was a healthier option.

You moved over to her, leaning up and kissing her cheek, “Good morning Mommy.” You felt her smile as you kissed her cheek.

“Good morning my precious girl. Did you sleep well?” Her arm wraps around your waist and gives a kiss back to your cheek.

“I did Mommy, but then Daddy started to tease me when I woke up…” you complain, giving the same pleading eyes to Wanda.

“Oh my poor little girl. I bet you're all achy right?”

Your lip is shaking in a pout, all you want is their touch right now. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look. Leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Please Mommy…so achy…” you bury your face between her arm and chest. She pulls you back out, gently by your chin.

“Dorogoya, be a good girl for Mommy, get the table set, get me out the juice and after breakfast we can discuss your neediness.” You wanted to protest, but knew that would result in a punishment instead of a reward. So you got to doing as asked.

Their dining room is elegant and bathed in soft morning light streaming through tall, arched windows draped with sheer, ivory curtains. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the room. The polished mahogany dining table is set by you with lovely plating and sparkling glassware, ready for a refined breakfast. Elegant high-back chairs, upholstered in rich, deep blue velvet, are neatly arranged around the table. A vase of fresh flowers that Wanda changes weekly, a mix of white lilies and pale pink roses, sits as the centerpiece, adding a touch of natural beauty to the sophisticated setting. The atmosphere is serene and inviting, perfect for a leisurely morning meal.

You smile at your handy work before bounding back through the curved archway to the kitchen. You stop in your tracks when you see Natasha's arms wrapped around Wanda's waist, as they share an intimate moment it makes something bubble inside of you. Your hands curl into fists and then out a few times.

“Hey!” It's bubbling over before you can stop it. “I set the table and I come back to this!?” Your voice is a shrieking tone. Wanda and Natasha looking at you. Though Natasha wants to stop this before it starts Wanda stares you down.

“Y/N. We were having a moment just like you and I were before you went to set the table, remember?” Wanda's voice is gentle and motherly, it always was. You know logically she's right and besides, they're married you're just some college girl they felt sorry for.

You look down at your fingers that are now absentmindedly dancing together. “M’Sorry Mommy…” You manage out. They deserve each other, you're just here to help. Eventually they'll get bored of you and then you'll be back to your old life living in an apartment that's two sizes too small and way too expensive.

“It's okay dorogoya, come get the juice and we'll have breakfast. Come here and give Mommy a hug first.” She calls, ushering you over as Natasha takes the plates of bacon, pancakes, and eggs to the dining room.

You trudge your way over to Wanda, burying your face into her chest as her arms encircle you. Her hands rubbing your back lightly in an attempt to quell the feelings rising inside of you, but she couldn't help the feelings she didn't know about. You weren't about to tell her either as she soothed you with kind words of reassurance without ever actually mentioning the words ‘I love you.’

°○°○°○°○°

She filled you perfectly. Her strap was made for you and though earlier this was all you wanted, now it was somehow feeling suffocating. Your thoughts from earlier never stopped. They'd been going through your head all day. You'd just wish it would stop as you tried to concentrate on the pleasure your Mommy was giving, but it wasn't helping.

Thoughts racing and suddenly it's all feeling like too much and you're pulling at your restraints. “Red!” Everything stops and in a whirl you're set free. Wanda tries to scoop you up, but you stop her. “Space.” It wasn't often you asked for that as you got off the bed in a hurry, running to your room.

You curled up under the sheets, tears falling as your body shook. You heard the soft knock at the door, thanking yourself you had locked it.

“Dorogoya please let me in, I just want to talk.” Wanda's voice called for you lovingly, making you clam up more. You didn't want to talk, you wanted to be silent, words felt too hard right now. “Y/N…please let me in…” you heard her voice crack ever so slightly.

You had never gone non-verbal around them, you had never brought it up either. You internally cursed yourself for this as you sat up, wrapping a blanket around yourself and plod over to the door, twisting the lock and moving back to your spot in the middle of the bed.

You heard Wanda slip in behind you, her soft steps on the hardwood. The bed sinking beneath her weight. Judging by the feeling she sat away from you towards the pillows.

You couldn't look at her, but you heard her take in a sharp breath before speaking. “I'm not sure why you called red darling, but whatever the reason is I'm glad you did call it when you needed to. I know we're still getting used to this. It's only been a month so I'm sure we're going to have bumps along the way. I'd like to fix this if possible.” Wanda's trying to make things better and still you can't answer her.

You finally sit up facing her. She's in a scarlet robe, she must have thrown it on quickly once she took off her strap. There was only one time you had called red and it was from lack of reassurance.

Wanda had been using a lot of degrading on you in a session and not enough praise. You ended up calling red and crying in her arms for a bit.

You point to your throat and making a silent scream, trying to let her know you can't talk as she looks at you a little confused. Then you added a zipped lip to it and it clicked.

“You can't talk right now, okay, that's fine. I can work with that until you can. So yes or no questions?” She asks with a little head tilt and you give a nod.

“Was it something I did?” You shake your head. “Was it something you did?” You tilt your head from one side to the other, contemplating before pointing to your brain. “Okay your head, was it bad thoughts?” You give her a nod.

You're scrunching up the blanket in your hands, worried about what's to come next for you. Tightening back up a bit before she shifts forward just enough to reach out for your chin. Such a gentle clasp she has as you tilt up to meet those sea glass eyes.

“Darling whatever those bad thoughts are saying I can promise you they are untrue. I know that's hard to believe because you haven't told me about them, but I know they're untrue.” Her honeyed voice always wrapped around you. It made you feel so safe. Like nothing could hurt you.

The tears fall freely as you crawl into her lap, koalaing your way around her. She soothes you the whole time, rubbing your back and humming a light tune, every so often a bit of Sokovian comes out in the song.

You could have stayed like that for hours. It almost felt like you did, yet at the same time it felt like mere minutes.

“M'Sorry Mommy…I just…bad thoughts…felt suffocated…” She kept rubbing your back, not forcing anything out of you. “I just…feel like you and Tasha are gonna get bored of me…you have each other and…and…” your voice started cracking as more tears fell.

Wanda wanted to intervene; she knew exactly where those thoughts were going, yet she let you talk. Knowing it would be best to let you get it out. It was already eating you alive.

“Just want to be important…want to be special…” Your throat stung as you choked back sobs to keep it together long enough to speak.

“Oh my precious little honey bee. Mommy was right, those thoughts aren't true. You mean so much to Daddy and I. You are our perfect little girl. The missing piece to our puzzle. We wouldn't dream of letting you go.” She always knew what to say, making your tears fall more.

She pulled you back just enough to wipe the tears. A small apologetic smile gracing her lips. “I know my words only go so far, but I will always make sure to let you know you are loved by us. You aren't something we're tossing away.”

You smiled before pressing your forehead to hers. She took the opportunity to give you a little peck.

“Thank you for the reassurance Mommy. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.”

“That's okay honey bee. I'm glad you were able to tell me. I do worry about you not telling me things. I know you like to carry everything, but I'm here and so is Nat. You can tell us anything.”

You simply nod against her, re-resting yourself onto her shoulder. A soft content sigh falling from your lips. You knew the bad thoughts would come back, but now you know you can always talk about it.

Taglist: @itsalwaysskorpioszn @boredandneedfanfics @godhatesgoodgirls

[heiayen]

this looks like us! gn!reader x various (kaveh, wanderer, zhongli, childe, kazuha, lyney, venti.)

summary: what things do they match with you? keychains, jewelry, clothing? let's take a look!

tags: implied modern au, around 80-100 words per character, just very short headcanons <3 could be ooc because it's my first time writing in a moment, not proofread that much

notes: ehhhh trying to get back into writing with short silly hcs... hello everyone. grand heia comeback 90% will make second part with more characters !!

Kaveh is the kind of person to have matching keychains with you! He has already got a keychain for his keys, a proud lion guarding the keys... that he manages to lose often anyway, so why not get another one? This time matching yours, and instead of attaching it to his keys (because gods forbid he loses them and the keychain!), he attaches it to his bag. And let me tell you, it does not end on a single keychain!

Most of the time, you don't even know that you are matching anything with Wanderer, seriously. If you ask him to get something matching together then, yes, he will agree, although begrudgingly, but also so often he will buy you something (while telling you to not make a big deal out of it, you're his partner, yes, yes, move on), and a few days later you will notice him having a matching pair of that thing. You never call him out for that, just smile to yourself.

As the gentleman he is, Zhongli is the man to give you matching rings or necklaces, all selected by him with utmost care. Every piece he gets for you two is one of the best quality, and he makes sure it fits your preferences, so don't worry if you wear only one kind of metal! He always pays attention to any stones in your jewelry, to ensure they are the best quality available. And sometimes, you find it so hard to bite down the urge to show off your new ring or necklace to all your friends, saying that yes, it's your partner who got it for you.

Childe is the person to see something that reminds him of you two, and get it, no hesitation. A pair of funny socks (with an animal that reminds him of you), keychains (that teddy bear was similar to you)... a scarf in the same pattern as his, because you need to be dressed well during winter, he doesn't want you to get sick– did he just point at those two chestnuts and said that it reminded him of you two? You don't see it, but whatever makes him happy!

Kazuha makes handmade yarn bracelets for you two, and he's quite skilled at it! He always picks your favorite colors, sometimes with matching pedants and pretty patterns, and you never know that he's making one, usually during late night hours, with the lamp's light as his companion, when sleep doesn't want to arrive. You got a few of them already but will happily accept every next one he makes, proudly wearing them on your wrists. It's always a lovely sight, to look at your joined hands adored by the bracelets he makes. Maybe you should learn how to make them too…?

With Lyney, you will more than often find yourself matching outfits... or at least pieces of it, if you can't wear a fully coordinated outfit. A matching shirt? Sure, that sounds great! You two can get some funny print together on it– or not funny, just a normal print. You two can also dress in a similar style if you don't have anything to match, or even match socks out of all things. Additionally, if you enjoy painting your nails... Lyney would happily paint his nails with a polish matching your eyes, and would gladly help you find one matching his, so that you two can match your nails!

Venti, on the other hand, likes to match... yes, hair clips with you. He got a bunch of them at home, all different. Ones with small flowers or stars, animals even, in so many colors and shapes– the point is, he's got them a lot, and he will happily lend you them so you two can have matching hairclips in your hair. He will also happily buy a pair if he sees one and likes it, and give you one of them. Soon, you will have an entire box of hair clips...

[bluejutdae]

• Stray Kids as very specific vibes | OT8

Chan: brushing your teeth side by side, making sure the other sleeps enough, late night city dates, plaids, dimples, racing each other on the street, spraying perfume on pillow cases, trying new stuff, 3 am runs at the grocery store, trust, last minute flights, glass clinking, lightnings, early morning fog.

Minho: reading books to each other, cat cafés, cooking together, the crackling of the fireplace, the first snow of the season, camping and fishing, quiet acts of service, giving each others silly gifts, cats stickers all over the house, warm blankets and cups of tea.

Changbin: vanilla scented candles, gym dates, sharing food, laughing carelessly, meeting the families, kissing on the shoreline, summer days, sea salt on your skin, warm hands, blowing on birthday candles, quality time, feeling safe, warm bathrobes, the smell of fresh laundry.

Hyunjin: paint stains, oversized shirts, matching nail polish, staring into each other's eyes, waking up in the middle of the night, heart wrenching movies, holding hands, whispers at night, talking about true love, soulmates, words of affirmations, sharing a blanket, museum dates.

Jisung: hysteric laughing, iced americanos, playing catch, fixing hair behind the ear, sharing earrings, falling asleep on the floor, neon lights, chapped lips and bitten nails, sharing earbuds, calming tones, shaking hands, goodnight pecks, dreaming of flying, Icarus poems, silver jewelry.

Felix: late night train rides, sitting on a car roof to watch the sun rise, the fresh water of a pool, the relaxing presence of your best friend, videogames, arcades games, golden hour, pretty smiles, silly tattoos, sharing playlists, trying new food, learning to braid hair.

Seungmin: study dates, white and baby blue flowers, coffee stained pages, journals and diaries, house keys, silly key chains, good morning videocalls, matching outfits, the warm wind on a summer night, the smell of oranges in the air, the feeling of belonging, tight hugs.

Jeongin: the glint of the snow, cold hands around warm chocolate, daily outfit pics, playgrounds, pranks, sharing secrets, watching reality shows, watching the full moon, counting stars, no fear of being judged, first love, setting goals, singing out loud into fake microphones.

[curtins]

SO IT GOES — R. Sukuna

prologue. → newly-wed life is hardly what you expected it to be, its hardly a surprise. after all, how many people find themselves bound to the notorious king of curses? but after a frosty few weeks, sukuna finds the easiest way to win you over is when he's on his knees, and between your thighs.

pairing. ryomen sukuna x afab!reader

warnings. implied arranged marriage, sukuna-like jerkish behaviour that you might expect, softer ending, a bit of ooc sukuna and he's hardly an ideal husband but this is his version of trying, øral (fem! receiving), reader is referred to as 'little wife', questionable dynamics?

word count. 2.8k! song inspiration. so it goes — taylor swift, reputation a/n. up to u to imagine how reader ended up in this marriage lol

mp3. scratches down your back now, so it goes.

ryomen sukuna was not a being of great patience. as the king of curses, feared and revered for centuries, he had watched dynasties crumble, empires burn, and warlords kneel. but none of those victories compared to the relentless, quiet struggle he now faced: winning over his new wife.

it was absurd and annoying, really. why did he care what an impudent human thought of him? he had armies of souls quivering in terror before his throne, realms that chanted his name with bitterness and fury dwelling on their tongues.

yet, somehow, he found himself furious that you were as unimpressed with his power as you were by his world.

it gnawed at him, this strange need to see something other than disdain in your eyes. instead, he was growing sick of seeing you merely raise your chin, your gaze cold and unreadable, before turning and walking away, your robes trailing away like a splash of wine-red on stone floors.

and sukuna could only stand there, and scowl, with his arms crossed across his broad chest, resisting the urge to launch a column of fresh flames in your direction.

sukuna's first attempt had been bold, even by his standards. bolder than anything that a mortal like you ever deserved.

he had summoned the finest treasures from his vaults, gifts that would make emperors and khans grovel: strings of blood-red rubies, ivory combs carved with ancient spells, silks that shimmered like starlight under the cold nights. he had ordered them delivered to your chambers, confident these displays would thaw your indifference, for did women not clamour for such things in life?

yet you'd only glanced at them, a faintly polite look of thanks in your expression before you brushed the treasures aside, dismissing them as easily as the breeze stirred leaves in his gardens.

“it’s lovely,” you had murmured, your voice cool. “but unnecessary.”

unnecessary. the word irritated him, a thorn lodged too deep. unwanted. so he tried another approach.

the next evening, he brought you to his gardens — a place few had the honour of ever seeing.

it was quiet, twilight realm, with silver-petaled trees that glowed softly against the eternal dark. the air was scented with flowers that only bloomed under the moon, and shimmering koi would swim in ponds as black as polished obsidians. he'd assumed it would impress you, even move you to see such peace in a palace that was so fraught with the intimacy of blood, flesh and violence. instead, he felt all of his eyes twitch as you gazed around with a calm, fatigued expression, and nothing more.

"it's beautiful," you had admitted, fingers wringing under the long sleeves of your robe, but you had sniffled and looked back up at him with a mild grimace, "but i have really bad allergies to most flowers."

what the fuck were allergies?

later, he learned that it was some ailments that only mortals could suffer, one that would leave them reddened and swollen, gods be good.

sukuna could feel himself growing frustrated, and the urge to toss you in chains was welling up inside. yet, for reasons that he loathed to name, he fought it down. he didn't want you to leave, didn't want to watch you retreat into your shell yet again. but it was difficult letting the silence linger, this strange vulnerability settling deep within his chest.

and as night fell, alone in his vast chamber, the king of curses was ashamed to admit that he was brooding. if treasures and displays of tranquility meant nothing to you, what would? there was another avenue, one that left a curling, bitter pit in his mouth, a trait that he so loathed to display to all.

humility. how boring. how mortal.

but regardless, he appeared at the wide doors of your chambers the next morning. he had even relished the brief look of surprise on your face, but it was quickly replaced by the cool-glass mask that sat over your features once more. he must have made for quite the sight indeed — in his true form, two arms at his side, and the other two folded behind him.

sukuna didn't quite miss at how your gaze lingered over his vast form, and then your eyes twitched.

“today,” he announced gruffly, “i am going to make you tea. myself.”

how ridiculous, he could imagine uraume snickering to hell and back.

he half expected you to laugh or scorn him, but you simply raised your eyebrows, seemingly quietened and more curious. without waiting for you to decline, he led you to a quiet corner of the chambers, where servants tended to lay out such items, as part of a morning routine. there was a simple tea set, nothing adorned with gold or precious stones, but rather plain and finely crafted porcelain.

he waited for you to settle, watching as you arranged your thick skirts and tucked your legs beneath you. only then did Sukuna speak.

"i don’t like you," he said bluntly. "you’re ill-mannered and audacious. i’ve half a mind to send you back."

you blinked, her lashes lifting in surprise, and a small, satisfying crease formed between your brows before your expression turned into a scowl. "that’s rather unkind."

sukuna shrugged, eyes narrowed. "wouldn’t you say the feeling is mutual?"

you glowered back, unflinching. "you can hardly blame me. you’re a demon, after all. i don’t even know you."

"a 'demon' who has been exceedingly kind to you," he replied, his tone curt, clipped. "there are far worse fates that could have befallen you. i’ve been too amiable to a woman like you."

you had jutted your lower lip forward, your skin catching under your teeth, lips dark as cherries dipped in blood and wine, and for a brief moment, sukuna's ire faltered before refocusing.

"and you think kindness is stuffing me into fancy chambers and draping jewels around my neck? like i'm one of your prized and properly bred deer?"

sukuna leaned forward, arching a brow with lazy derision. "don't speak ill of my prized herd. but go on, preach to me of kindness."

your scowl deepened. "you haven’t even bothered to ask me a single thing about myself. showering me with material things isn’t how you make someone happy, much less a wife. the servants told me you forbade me from attending your court, and i'm left alone in this palace for days on end."

sukuna blinked, yes, he had forbidden you from attending court, but that was for both your dignities. it would be disastrous to expose you to the fools, murderers, and curses of his realm — a mortal bride, naive and untrained, would only appear weak and vulnerable.

"fine," he said, with a hint of resignation, and ridicule. "i’ll ask things about you from now on. would that make you feel better, little wife?"

he pushed the tea he’d prepared towards her, holding the porcelain cup in his hands. "now, go on. drink this."

your gaze remained cool as you eyed the steam brewing in the cup. "the first thing you should know is that i don’t like this tea, you picked the wrong leaves. you drink it, good husband."

sukuna resisted the urge to throw the boiling liquid at you, but instead he pushed the cup into your empty hands, "don’t be a fuckin' brat. behave and drink it."

you didn't say anything, but you shoved the cup back into his larger hands, and sukuna snarled, thrusting the delicate tea with a greater force than expected, and splash!

the silent tug of war had resulted in the bitter leaves being strewn across the heavy silk layers of your robes, and despite himself, sukuna couldn't help how his lips quirked upwards at your shocked, angry expression as you launched yourself up, flicking your sleeves in his face like a flapping bird, muttering furious, filthy words that not even a sailor would sing on his most drunken of nights.

as you stormed around the chamber like an angry parrot, sukuna watched you silently, and surely he could not be faulted for this. he would not admit this ever, but it was pleasing to rest his eyes on your figure, on your face, on the cling of your robes to the curve of your hips.

"go sit on the bed."

you whipped around, glaring at him. "i will not! stop telling me what to do."

"enough of being difficult, sit down."

now your voice had begun to falter, "i need to change my robes. this is improper if i'm to leave these chambers."

by now, he had stood and moved quick to the edge of the vast canopy bed, where you had perched yourself gingerly. close, all too close, where he could inhale the intoxicating scent of honey and mint, a fresh soap perhaps?

"i will determine what is proper, and improper," sukuna murmured, and there, for the first time in written history, the king of curses dropped to his knees.

and he relished the flush on your cheeks, a red brushstroke that had appeared as quick as a fallen star, running your skin awash with heat. you had peered down at him, squirming under his many-eyed gaze. and he enjoyed this, relished at bringing himself closer to her long skirts, until his hands found their place on your thighs.

"what are you — " your words trailed off, tone breathier, as he pawed suddenly at the silk, pushing it up, and up. revealing the stockings you had worn to combat the winter cold, where the hem clung to the fat of your thighs, and so close to the silk of your innermost garments that were now starting to feel like an awful suffocation.

"what am i doing? helping you, or is this not a manner of how a husband can treat his unruly wife?"

you couldn't help but feel a shiver run through you, a tremble pass through your very core as the world around you faded, and all you could focus on was the pair of warm, large hands that ran along your sensitive skin.

"ah, ah —," sukuna rumbled smoothly, lips quirked up a fraction, "we can't have you suddenly shy now, can we? had quite the mouth on you a minute ago."

you weren't sure where to direct your gaze. to the window outside, frosted from the cold hands of winter. to your hands, which lay at your side, rumpled up in your bundled skirts. or to the blush-haired king between your legs, whose carmine eyes were crinkled in feigned amusement, and darkened with undeniable lust.

he taps the plush of your thighs once more, watching as they ripple under the press of his fingertips, "enough being coy. spread them. i do not have all day."

it would not have been a falsehood to claim that a deeper, headier feeling lay in your abdomen, purring like a beast that begged for its maws to be free. undoubtedly, a puddle of slick would be pressing against the silk of your undergarments, like a translucent stain that created a darker, glossy patch between your legs.

but you did not budge, did not move your thighs further. you loathed to admit this to a living soul, but perhaps you found satisfaction in this. there was a sort of pleasure in watching a mighty being brought low, and close to the apex of your thighs. but it seemed that your husband's limited patience had worn thin.

his dark nails dug into your thighs brusquely, in a tight and unyielding grip, knocking them back as if he had no time to spare for anything else in the world.

"fuck you, you're so -," and then your voice breaks off, as the king of curses is pressing his tongue against the sleek, dampened fibres of your undergarments.

and it's oddly...pleasing for sukuna. how intoxicating. he runs his tongue between his teeth, catching around a fang as he fights back the realisation that this is no chore for him, not anymore. perhaps both parties in this room have their own vested interests now.

he pushes his fingers past the undergarments, where slender fingers find a home in the gloss that's practically leaking out of you, "i do not bore you so much now, do i?"

"shut up, - ah!"

he's practically twirling his middle and ring finger between your folds now, letting them run a smooth dance over glistening skin and it left you keening and whimpering, for he was so so close to where you truly wanted him, needed him.

but you need not even articulate this wanton request for him, for his mouth is back on your core, and he's clearly enjoying this without abandon, and without shame. strands of sweet slick splattered across his chiseled features, clinging to his lips but he seemed to care not, and you could only moan and squeal when his fangs made contact with more force that intended.

one arm has your thighs pinned back, leaving a clear space for him to slot his wide frame in between the gap, and another works to pump fingers between your tight walls. a mortal man may be exhausted to his limits in such a state, after all, what can one accomplish when limited by two limbs?

but your husband is no mortal man. a third hand has been running down your groin, past the hair on your mound and from there, a thumb right on your throbbing clit. you feel as though you forget how to breathe when his fingers waywardly flick around, and you cry out, the feeling leaving you breathless and your heart absolutely pounding for reprieve.

"so now she can behave," sukuna's voice is low, mocking and your hands find purchase in the surprisingly soft strands of his hair, pulling forward, as you can't help but get another jibe in.

"if only you had done, hah - this from the start," your voice curls up the sky, weak to your own ears.

smack!

a sharp and shrill cry left your parted lips, as the thick pads of his fingers had come pressing down on your swollen bud. and you could feel stars building up between your eyes, caressing you and taking your breath away.

sukuna looks pleased, mouth glistening and his crimson eyes narrow, "that will teach you to speak when you're spoken to, brat."

and you can only yank on his scalp harder, relishing in how you can feel his broad shoulder's jostle as you do so. your husband's face is flushed, brows furrowed and later you will wonder and marvel at just how intently he seemed to be enjoying such a task that he claimed was so menial and beneath him.

you pity the servants who will not speak a word, but exchange glances as they bundle up the sheets after this. for it's nothing but a syrup-laden mess by now, sloppy and purely wet.

by now the world has long disappeared behind you, in front of your very eyes, and you can only heave your chest towards the sky, rolling your eyes back and shamelessly giving into the wanton moans that bubble out from your lips.

and sukuna is nothing short of utterly satisfied. one look at his mouthy wife's expression, cherry lips parted in a perfect circle, and brows furrowed like a painting — like arrows leaving their bow and finding their target. you need to finish on his tongue, he needs you to finish.

so he pushes his face into your sloppy, sticky cunt even harder. he even lets you run your hands through his hair (a criminal offence, he is certain but perhaps he'll let you go, just this once). he almost purrs when your hands wander further onto his neck, leaving small scratches that almost make him release into his pants.

but now all his energy is poured into making sure you get your climax, that you submit to him and let him have you.

"are you close, little wife?" his voice is akin to gravel now, raw like each clipped syllable was a little too rough for the air to carry. and he only receives breathy whimpers in response, your hips moving off their own accord against his face.

and it's only when you jolt against him, stiffening and crying out praises to the heavens and to the gods, that he loosens up, and pulls you even closer, till your thighs are spread entirely at the widest angle they may reach, enough to leave the muscles in your thighs sore and aching afterwards, "there are no gods here, wife. you best get used to that."

and afterwards, you cannot help the bubbling, bashful grin that erupts over your bitten, stung lips as you peer at your husband who dutifully rests in between your thighs still, you could get used to that indeed.

"do it again."

[linkemon]

Confession headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Part 1 | Part 3 of the confession headcanons.

This part contains: Sebek Zigvolt, Leona Kingscholar and Azul Ashengrotto.

Sebek Zigvolt

• Sebek would experience shock after shock before he even confessed his feelings. The first clash with reality would be the realization that he loves someone. What is it about you being on his mind all the time? That he would like to protect you from all the troubles surrounding you? That he feels boundless pride when you praise him for the smallest things? He can't sleep at night and gets up to do extra sets of push-ups to calm down. It would get to the point where he would get frustrated and ask Lilia for advice. Is this the ideal person to turn to in this situation? In his opinion for sure...

• How much fun Vanrouge would have at his expense! His, not so little anymore Sebek, experiences his first love affair. In addition, with a human being. What a chuckle of fate. Apparently, his student had learned something in life. Lilia would give Sebek some advice, not all of which would be entirely accurate. Well, he won't make everything easy for him! And it's funny to watch him hand you a rare Briar Valley frog and hope it wins your heart. It's a pity the knight didn't tell you that to get this frog he had to kill several magical creatures during the holidays, you would probably look at it differently...

• Sebek would have a hard time accepting the fact that he fell in love with a human. Of course, his opinion changed gradually as he got to know you, but realizing that he had done exactly what he sometimes criticized his mother for would be like a bucket of cold water. He even tried to find arguments against it but every time he saw your face in front of his eyes, he decided that he couldn't do it.

• He definitely ran for Malleus' "blessing" once he was sure he wanted to be with you. Of course, he solemnly promised that it would not interfere with his duties. The prince didn't mind. He was happy that he would have the opportunity to see his friend more often.

• Briar Valley still has some slightly old-fashioned traditions. Although Sebek is aware that couples date and break up, he is intentionally trying to marry you in the distant future, from the very beginning.

• His confession consisted of an oath. After all, he is a knight in flesh and blood. With a bouquet of wildflowers, he knelt down and announced that he was going to defend, protect and love you until his last breath. If you let him, he will try to be worthy of you, the lady of his heart. He came up with this idea while reading chivalric romances so the ride back to your dormitory on a white horse is basically a complete must-have...

Leona Kingscholar

• Leona would never be the first to admit the feeling growing in his heart. He has more important things on his mind than love. For example, a nap! And the fact that he ordered you to stay and sleep with him under threat was a completely different story.

• You decided to take matters into your own hands, because what is it supposed to be? You act like you're in a relationship. Your friends keep asking if you're a couple and you never know what to say, because they won't ask Kingscholar out of fear and it always falls on you. Grim sincerely hopes you are together. In his eyes, a rich prince means an endless supply of tuna. Even if he calls him a furball every chance he gets.

• One day, in a botanical garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers, you asked this one important question. Who wouldn't love me? That's what the sarcastic Leona said in response to your confession. Immediately afterwards, he squinted his eyes and happily went back to his fake nap.

• Outraged that he didn't even take you seriously, you tried to get up but failed. He hugged you tightly and pulled you to his chest. Only when you were so close to him did you realize how fast his heart was beating. You didn't know if all beasts were like that but the ghost of a smile on his lips confirmed your belief that they probably weren't. You didn't say anything for a moment, just listening to the fast rhythm. Just as you were about to say something, he opened his eyes and told you that you two could go out if you cared so much. Then he turned to his other side, saying that herbivores probably had nothing better to think about.

• Only on the verge of your sleep, wrapped in warmth, amid the scent of sweet flowers, did you hear a quiet voice in your ear "I love you", spoken in a deep and confident voice.

• You didn't want him to feel unpunished for such treatment, so for the next week you made it your goal to tell everyone you could that you were in a relationship. At first you thought it wouldn't bother him much, but when others started repeating it, he felt embarrassed, which he didn't hesitate to tell you when he really had had enough. At first it seemed to you that he wouldn't be much moved, but when others started repeating it, he felt embarrassed, which he didn't hesitate to tell you when he really had enough.

Azul Ashengrotto

• There is no way he would try to confess his love before he has tried every means available to him to see if you feel the same way. The idea of revealing himself to someone to such an extent terribly terrifies him. It doesn't matter that you saw him at his lowest point during the overblot, it doesn't change anything about it.

• He wouldn't send the twins to do anything related to this "project" as he called it in his head. He doesn't even talk about it because he knows they would be making fun of him for weeks to come, especially Floyd. The truth is that Jade realized it incredibly quickly, but he's waiting for the right opportunity to take advantage of it...

• Azul would have dozens of plans for every eventuality and somehow everything would still fall apart. The first and most important rule he adopted was to stay away from Mostro Lounge. He took you to his home sea under the pretext of sightseeing. If something went wrong, no one from the academy would see it and he would have time to collect himself. At this first point his perfect plan ended.

• First, something broke in your transportation to the museum he wanted to take you to. Then it turned out that the crab serving you didn't want to let you in, mumbling something about being late. Without losing his nerve, Azul proposed his plan B, which was a restaurant. Of course, previously checked by him. But what good is it, since the owner broke the tentacle and closed it that same morning, leaving only a note on the door that she was very sorry. On top of it all, his favorite alley in the underwater park was destroyed by a herd of wild seahorses. That sealed his defeat. He meant well but it didn't work out. Tired, he lowered his hat and rubbed his glasses, pretending that he had not spilled a tear of ink at all.

• You had to come to his aid because you couldn't watch him struggle with his thoughts. You placed a kiss on his cheek, telling him that you had fun because you spent a lot of time with him and that you were happy because he rarely gave up work for someone. This gave him confidence and with a sigh, he led you to a place he wasn't particularly fond of but one he knew would be quiet and peaceful. It was on one of the coral terraces that he hid in from kids who tormented him when he was little. When he confessed his feelings to you and you replied that you reciprocated them, he felt that at least now he would have happy memories of this place.

• Azul doesn't need to know that Jade exposed him some time ago and he sold you the information that his boss reciprocated your feelings for quite a favour...

[mediumsizedpidegon]

Another avenue I want to explore in an Amity Park is Weird scenario is all the niche sub-cultures going on.

There is absolutely NO WAY there isn't a thriving goth community in Amity Park. They're holding picnics every full moon. They're holding crafting sessions in their friends' basements. They're adopting ghost animals left and right: eight-legged dogs and blob-cats, skeletal fish and neon bearded dragons.

There's a young man called Raphael who performs live music every week at a dance club with his band: he's got a myriad of shiny piercings, and a phone camera roll full of his rabbits, Morningstar and Salem. Perhaps those ghosts are bad business like the Fentons say, but the club's never felt more alive.

The scene and emo kids are multiplying at a rapid rate. The punks and grunge folks are doing shit with textiles that makes every quilting grandmother in a five mile radius swoop in to pass on their skills. Josie and Betty, old friends who periodically upload photos online of their handmade lace, suddenly gain an influx of young folks who want to learn how to make their own ghoulish patterns.

There's a new group peeling off from the goths that dress like the embodiment of Halloween– all bones, pumpkin orange and lengths of costume jewelry.

The historical costuming community is alive and well in these times, and they fall upon the few ghosts from times past willing to share knowledge like starving wolves. Their minds are full of patterning-math and fabric prices, and their excitement is, quite literally, infectious.

A revolution starts up in food service: a great many restaurants closed or moved to follow the many people who left Amity after the ghosts first came. A pair of brothers open a restaurant that has the best Polish food around: people politely don't comment on how the owners are dressed in clothes a century out of date or how their eyes gleam. Two cat cafes open, one space themed and another with loose definitions of what counts as a "cat." Assorted coffee and tea shops dot the landscape: some serve donuts, some have cupcakes, and others have breakfast wraps, sandwiches or savory hand pies.

People that can't afford to open a restaurant sell food out of their homes, advertised by cardboard signs with phrases like CAKES FOR $10, and BARBEQUE RIBS FOR SALE painted on them in gigantic bright letters. High school students bring in bags of cookies they made the night before and completely sell out of stock before the day is done. One woman's house has no signage and yet is known by word of mouth to be a herbalist, selling tins of homemade tea blends, flowers, assorted plant clippings, and cough drops.

Someone down the street of Casper High sells small batches of eco-friendly soap at a nearby corner store.

During summer time, lemonade stands are everywhere. Some of the lemonade is made with the strange fruits from one of the parks: no one dies, so it's fine.

The Farmer's Market has gotten... intense.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Tactile.

A Grab-Bag Commission For The Very Lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: ~750.

TW: Non-Con, Somnophilia, Stalking, Non-Consensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.

This was an old pastime, for him.

The broad strokes remained the same, but the details differed. As Scaramouche, the Balladeer, a glorified weapon for a foreign military waiting to become something he was always promised he would be, he watched you from a distance, passing your stall in the local bazaar when he had time to spare and letting himself into the recesses of your mind while he was still testing the boundaries of his newfound godhood, letting the nights you spent with him fade away like passing thoughts. As a wanderer, a being with no name or history to tie him down, he was more… physical in his approach, more eager to be close to you in the way that even the most insignificant flower strives to grow towards the sun. During the day, he’d trail after you like a lost puppy, desperate for your attention, and at night, he’d slip through your bedroom window, kneel at your bedside, watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest until his eyes stung and he couldn’t stand just to watch, anymore. In that life, he’d been naïve, so unaware of what he was that he couldn’t do anything more than cup your face and feel your warmth sink into his cold, porcelain skin. He hadn’t even thought to kiss you, much less leave a mark. It was all just feather-light touches – little objects of his sentiment you’d barely remember by the time the sun rose. It was all meaningless, and Scaramouche’s daydreams weren’t much better.

As the man he was now, still nameless but not quite so untethered, he’d learned his lesson from Scaramouche’s distance, from the wanderer’s artlessness. Close enough to make contact but not quite so caught up with his own pining that he couldn’t bring himself to touch you – he let his hands drift to your neck as he thrust into you, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat as he drank in the plushness of your delicate, tender skin. In the cold of night, your warmth was more addictive than ever, your body as inviting as it’d always been. Your expression was one of disrupted peace; the tranquility of rest agitated by the feeling of his cock fucking into you at an idle pace. He pressed the heels of his palms into your throat with just enough force to feel your breath hitch, to watch your features scrunch in aimless panic before pulling away, one hand drifting to take hold of your waist and the other finding your chest, nimble fingertips circling around your hardened nipple. You jerked in response, your reaction muted but visible enough. That was something he’d always liked about you: even at a distance, he could always draw something out of you.

Not that he wasn’t satisfied with your closeness. It was a sensation he, even now, wasn’t used to – the softness of your skin as opposed to the stoniness of his, the sharp cuts and awkward bends of his body lying in comparison to your smooth, vague curves. A being crafted by the hands of a god and polished by centuries of unyielding cruelty measured against a creature designed by no one and made to do nothing, where the former always seemed to somehow come up short. If he’d been able to, he would’ve hated you for it. If he’d been just a little stronger, he would’ve hated himself for not.

He let himself slip, rut into your deeper, fuck into you faster, savor the feeling of your wet heat dulling his rougher edges. He wouldn’t let there be a distance between you and him this time, he decided – he wouldn’t dwell in the back of your mind or sneak into your bedroom, wouldn’t find excuses to steal glances at you from the other side of a crowded bazaar or be happy to spend his days basking in your shadow. He’d always be this close to you, always be able to press himself into the elysium that was your meaningless, mortal body. He’d waited long enough for it, sought it out with enough desperation, and in that moment, buried inside you, your scent in his lungs and his affection for you finally delivered without reservation, he couldn’t imagine ever going without you again. He shouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t have to.

He dug his nails into your hip, a wide smile spreading over his lips. He watched with hawk-like attentiveness as your eyes fluttered open, as your expression went from confused to distressed. You started to say something, to scream, but his mouth crashed into yours and he swallowed anything you might’ve said, your voice slipping like milk and honey down his throat. When your protests faded into an incoherent collection of whimpers and sobs, he pulled back, grinning as he finally started to thrust into you properly.

This was an old pastime, but he wasn’t the person he used to be.

Maybe it was time for something to change, after all.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Silly fact: Our 100,000th word is "fucking". Quite apt, in my humble opinion. Enjoy! Chapter Title is from Ghost in the Machine by SZA (ft. Phoebe Bridgers)

Word Count: 19.6k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Nine Days. Usual warnings

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Ben’s life had never lacked in beauty. Starting in a childhood marked by well-kept gardens and polished floors that held shiny, uptight parties, before moving to pretty girls in his youth, falling for the tricks and charms he’d learned to wield like weapons to keep their beauty near him. Eventually pretty girls changed to beautiful women, women who knew his tricks but didn’t care as long as they got what they wanted. Soldier Boy. After that, charisma, wit, and flirtation became secondary, for Soldier Boy was the weapon and there was no longer need for clever formalities to keep beauty in his life. Every beautiful thing was his, all he had to do was be Soldier Boy. Ben himself was secondary, because nobody gave a shit about Ben. It was Soldier Boy that was given beauty, and so Soldier Boy draped his life in flowers, art, women, and everything else that dared to glitter like gold.

All that beauty, from crystal to silk to marble, seemed to be pale and faded in comparison to Her. It was fucking frightening, how it suddenly became so clear that everything, every fucking thing, wasn’t even competing. Ben had climbed down the stairs as she’d snarked about his long showers, responded with his own mocking words, and then completely fucking forgotten how to breathe. She’d turn around—giving Ben a taunt he didn’t hear—and suddenly everything was just Her. Perfect, still perfect, always perfect, in a way that felt solid. Permanent and beautiful in a way that shouldn’t be earned, couldn’t be earned. That knowing didn’t stop the Thing, though. From needing to earn it. It had become impossible to keep The Things restrained, because Ben had no will to restrain it. It had told him to touch Her and hold her, so he had and refused to let go. Even when he’d gotten drugs—an opportunity that had become far too fucking rare to turn down—he’d kept some part of him against Her. When Starlight had asked Her to dance, Ben had told her to go, half because he was pretty sure Starlight might’ve started crying like a damn baby if She hadn’t, and half because fuck the Thing wanted to see Her dance. See Her with that loose happiness he’d imagined she had before Homelander.

He hadn’t been disappointed. She’d vanished into the smoke and light with Starlight for just long enough that Ben had almost stood to follow them—the Thing itching to know where She was, if she was safe—only to reappear just before he’d been about to rise from the booth. Dancing, with stupid, joyful fucking smiles and moving with the music in a way that made the Thing feral.

Ben didn’t notice the sickeningly sweet woman who’d given him the boob-drugs slide into the booth until she was right at his side.

“Where’d your pretty little bitch go, handsome?” Boob-drugs’ voice had been a low, seductive whisper in Ben’s ear, and the Thing had felt bloody at the honey-like venom of her words, the way they drawled and choked the air around him.

Ben should have given Boob-drugs want she wanted. It had been far too long since Ben had gotten his dick wet, since he’d properly fucked something that wasn’t his hand or those stupid fucking “fleshlights” She’d gotten him. She’d joked once about him destroying them in a matter of minutes, and Ben had decided only a few weeks later that She never needed to know how correct She’d been. Ben should’ve leaned into Boob-drugs, touched her like the fucking man he was, flirted with her until he was deep in her cunt on a bathroom counter. But when Boob-drugs had traced fingers up his arm and offered him sultry words, the only feeling he got was something cold crawling across his skin. The Thing not only didn’t feel satiated, but had curled up in revolt. It felt disgusting, and Ben couldn’t even fully focus on the coke as the woman had tried to pull his strings.

At some point he’d lost Her on the dance floor, and any stupid semblance of goddamn manners or entertaining Boob-drugs had been thrown out the window. He’d stood and walked away as Boob-Drugs was mid-sentence, and didn’t bother to look back. Ben had searched for Her for long, painful minutes, and finally spotted her as she moved through the crowd, a lost look on her face.

They needed to leave, Ben had decided, because the happiness had drained from Her face and the fatigued emptiness was beginning to creep back in. The moment he’d pulled Her into the night air—wind moving her hair and streetlights making her glow—exhaustion had begun to cloud her eyes quickly, and Ben had smiled to himself as She passed out at his side. She had held herself to him tightly in her sleep, from the car, to the house, and well into the night. At one point She’d started thrashing in the bed and Ben had almost woken her up—unsure if it was a nightmare or simply restlessness—but no fire had leaked from Her body, and no sounds of pain had left her mouth, so he’d pulled Her into him and fallen asleep with Her curled at his side.

When She’d left the bed in the morning, he’d found it impossible to fall asleep again. The Thing had grown cold, and Ben could hear Her heartbeat down the stairs, hear it stutter before it began to push to rapid pace. He’d followed it down to living room, almost thankful for the fucking excuse. He’d watched the smoke rising from Her body, heard the fucking hollowness in her voice as she spoke, and seen red. Then She’d broken in front of him one more goddamn time, fallen asleep with her head to his chest, and—though it was hardly afternoon—laid them down on Her bed and slept at her side.

She was awake when his eyes opened. Watching him in silence, lying on her side, heartbeat even and soft.

“Hi.” She whispered, and a small smile played on her mouth.

“Hi.” Ben’s voice was a rough croak, and Her smile grew. “What fucking-“

“5pm.”

He frowned. “We slept the whole goddamn day?”

She tensed, looking away from him. “Most of it, yeah.” The gnawing of her lip began. “I’m-“

“If you say ‘I’m sorry’, I’ll fucking kill you.”

 “I wasn’t going to.” She mumbled, and Ben rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure, and I’m the fucking President.”

 She glared at him. “I was going to say that I’m hungry.”

“Then go eat,” Ben shrugged, even as the Thing began to protest at the thought of Her leaving. “You don’t need to fucking wait for me to do that.” 

“It’s my turn to heat dinner.” She rolled onto her back, facing the ceiling with a huff. “I need to know what you want.”

Ben laughed. “I don’t give a shit, Sunshine. Food is food.”

 “You say that now,” She turned her head to look at him, a incredibly fucking dramatic look on Her face. “But I would’ve made the one thing you didn’t want and you’d have thrown a hissy fit.” 

“I don’t throw ‘hissy fits’.”

“Fine, temper tantrum.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grunted, hauling himself to a sitting position. “I don’t throw hissy fits or temper tantrums or any other pussy shit.”

She laughed. “You’re literally doing it right now.”

When Ben only grunted, she giggled again, a smug and weightless sound that made the Thing so fucking pleased. He looked down at Her in fake anger, and found that she was still flat on her back, watching him with a teasing smile and pretty eyes. The Thing wanted to pull Her into his side, to make sure that she stayed light and amused and thoughtlessly relaxed forever.

“Someone’s grumpy.” Her smile was toothy and wide, and the Thing wanted to touch Her lips. “Was nap time too short?”

He rolled his eyes, forcing himself to stand from the bed. “Go fucking eat, brat.”

“What do you want?” She called as he moved to Her bathroom. “I’ll make you oatmeal, Ben, I swear to God-“

Ben turned right before the door. “Fucking hell, bagels. Make bagels.”

“You had a bagel two days ago.”

“It’s a free country, Sunshine, I’m allowed to eat a bagel for multiple fucking days.” Ben glared at Her. “And you ate that bagel.”

“You left it out.”

“It was my fucking bagel.”

“Jesus, fine, we’ll have bagels.” She rolled her eyes, sitting up on the bed and muttering under her breath. “Fucking man baby.”

“You know I fucking heard that.” Ben snapped, she stuck her tongue out at him, and the Thing pushed at his stomach.

He closed the door before She could retaliate, listening to her shuffle around the room for several minutes—doing what he had no fucking clue—before her heartbeat faded down the stairs.

Ben had never actually used Her bathroom before. He’d always walked down the hall to his, never needing to piss or shit so bad he couldn’t just fucking hold it. Any time he did leave Her room for his own, it was to fuck his hand behind a locked door, to indulge fantasies of Her in the very room he’d just left. Ben hadn’t even fully thought about what he was doing when he’d walked into Her bathroom, it had felt like the most goddamn normal thing in the world. Now, flushing the toilet and looking around, Ben hated how fucking satiated the Thing felt. Surrounded by Her in tiny and stupid ways, seeing little damn pieces of her everywhere. The shampoo that he always smelled on Her, the discarded towel on the floor, the half-empty hand soap placed beside her toothbrush, drying on the counter. A toothbrush he was fucking jealous of for being in her mouth, like a fucking creeping pussy who’d never touched a woman.

When Ben exited the bathroom—fully intending to follow Her to the kitchen—he did quick sweep of the room, saw Her outfit from the night before hanging out of the hamper, and realized she’d been fucking changing. With him only a door away. The Thing rumbled with images of Her peeling off her clothes, moving smoothly through the room in nothing but her underwear, maybe even pulling those off too—

Ben made a detour to his room, finding relief in a fantasy of Her at his side, laying on her back with that perfect smile, and him climbing on top of her and fucking her until she was numb with pleasure. Or pulling Her onto his lap and letting her grind on him until she orgasmed with her head against his chest. Or Her rolling down, taking him in her mouth and him shooting down her throat-

He came, with a jerk of his hips, a low grunt, and imagined sounds of Her moaning in his ear.

Once he’d cleaned up—he had to find a less fucking time consuming way to do this—Ben descended the stairs and found Her at the bookshelf, pushing through its contents with a focus, narrowed intent.

“What the fuck are you-“

“There’s no fucking cookbooks in the goddamn house!” Her voice was frustrated, glaring at the books with a scowl Ben had only seen directed at himself or Butcher. “Fucking CIA didn’t think we might want just one, one cookbook? They gave us a printed copy of the constitution, but not one fucking cookbook?”

“Why the hell would you want a cookbook?” He watched her pull another two books from the shelves, making an annoyed huff before throwing them onto the floor. “You can’t cook.”

“I know that!” She snapped. “You think I don’t fucking know that?”

“Then why are you being so goddamn dramatic-“

 Ben was cut off by a copy of Shakespeare’s Complete Works flying at his face.

Her attention had already returned to the bookshelf by the time Ben was rubbing the fading red mark, her movements frantic. “I want to learn, ok? I need to learn to cook just one, shitty ass meal.”

“Fucking why?” He watched Her with vague amusement. “Did you hit your head last night?”

A pout formed on Her lips, and the Thing wanted to suck on them.

“I thought you’d be fucking pleased, Benjamin, that I’m finally conforming to what’s expected of my gender.” She grumbled, and Ben snorted.

“You are not a hallmark of your gender, Sunshine.” This time, Ben managed to dodge The Great American Song Book, but not Atlas Shrugged.

“Fuck you,” She snapped. “Go fucking eat your bagel, you cunt.”

He raised his brows at Her. “You made the bagel?”

“Of course I did, dumbass,” She grumbled, not sparing Ben a glance. “It’s in the kitchen, you can eat it or just shove it up your ass for all I care.”

Ben snorted, but wandered into the kitchen to find that She had indeed left a bagel on the counter, even fucking spread it with that damn strawberry cream cheese and placed a handful of napkins beneath the plate.

“I didn’t ask you to use that pink shit.” Ben mumbled, mouth full as he returned to the living room, standing in the doorway. “And five napkins is fucking overkill.”

Though Her back was turned from him, Ben could fucking feel her eye roll.

“You love that pink shit, you ass. And a thank you would be nice.”

“And the napkins?”

“You’re getting crumbs literally everywhere at this very second. Five was a generous lowball.”

Ben scoffed, ignoring the tiny pieces of bagel he could feel in his beard. “Fuck off, you’re not even looking at me.”

“Don’t have to, I can hear your loud-ass chewing.” She threw another book to the growing pile on the floor, hands finding her hips as she huffed at the near-empty shelf. “Is there a bookshelf in your room?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Ben wasn’t even in his room enough to have any idea, and when he was, books were the least of his concerns.

“Can I check?”

“Why are you fucking killing yourself about this?” He watched Her overly tense back rise and fall in short breaths. “I was kidding about you hitting your damn head, but you’re being fucking weird.”

“No I’m not,” She mumbled, turning with a frown on her face. “And what’s fucking weird is you not jumping for joy that we’re not going eat bagels or mac and cheese for the rest of our damn lives.”

He gave Her a mocking smile. “Well, if you’re doing it for me, Sunshine, then by all means-“

Ben caught Les Misérables right before it hit his throat.

“Can you just,” She sighed, watching Ben with a sadness in her eyes he didn’t understand. “Can you please not be a dick about this.”

Ben nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes at Her as she let out a heavy breath. “You’d tell me if something was wrong,” he said Her name firmly. “If I needed to be ready for some shit.”

“Yeah,” She gave him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I would.”

“Good,” Ben grunted, even as the Thing wanted to pull Her right into his chest. Even as he didn’t fully believe her. “There’s a cookbook on the top shelf.”

She blinked. “What, no there’s not. I checked-“

“Not well,” he said with a smirk. “I can fucking see it from here.”

“If you’re lying just to be an ass, I’m going to kill you, Pretty Boy.” She grumbled as she turned, and Ben waited while she scanned the highest shelf, chuckling to himself when she let out an infuriated sound that meant she’d found it.

“Told you,” Ben grinned widely as She pulled it down, turning back to face him with a sour face.

She flipped him off with one hand, holding the book with the other. “Cunt.”

“Brat.”

She wrinkled her nose, flipping through the pages with an adorable intensity. Ben just watched Her, the Thing pulling against him as her face lit up with a full smile.

“Found it!” She looked up at Ben, smile growing, and the Thing whined.

Ben tried to push it down, down, down and away from his chest, refusing to be a pussy who allowed his emotions to be controlled by the smile of one fucking woman.

One fucking perfect woman, the Thing reminded him, and a warmth spread through him against his fucking will.

“Congratulations,” he said dryly. “All by yourself too.”

“All by yourself-“

Ben gave her a flat look. “All by yourself as well.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing past him to walk down the hall. Ben trailed after Her like a fucking puppy. “What are you doing?” He called ahead, and she didn’t break pace for a second as she responded.

“We’re cooking dinner, dumbass.”

“We?”

“We.” They stopped in the kitchen, and she threw Ben another insufferably perfect smile. “I did not just destroy the living room to eat a bagel. We’re doing this tonight.”

Ben glared at her. “You keep fucking saying we-”

“Fine, Pretty Boy. I’m cooking dinner and you’re standing in the kitchen in case I need to yell at someone.”

“Hm,” he grunted. “I want another bagel.”

She gave a small laugh. “Deal.”

They shook on it—The Thing rolling around inside Ben as their hands touched—and She set to work.

Ben had seen a lot of car crashes. Watched a lot of bombs explode and a lot of people die.

While this was worse in quite a few ways, it was also a lot fucking funnier.

“What the fuck does ‘veggies are tender’ mean?” She snapped. “How can a vegetable be tender.”

“Maybe you need to arouse it,” Ben shrugged, taking a large bite of his second bagel. “I can do that for you.”

“You’re a gentleman,” She muttered, and he grinned, shooting her a wink.

“Are you doubting my abilities, Sunshine?”

She scoffed, but the Thing rumbled as her heart stuttered. “To make vegetables horny? Yeah, I think I am.” She narrowed her eyes at the book. “How ‘thin’ is thinly sliced?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

“Didn’t think you would, dumbass, I was thinking out loud.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “And I think they just mean like, small?”

She looked up at Ben for confirmation—despite Her calling him a dumbass less than five seconds ago—and the Thing started trying to roll around in his chest. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Helpful,” She snapped, dumping out a bag full of bell-peppers onto the counter, and he grinned.

Ben shoved the remainder of his bagel in his mouth, watching Her cut up the peppers—and then the onions—as if she was torturing them for information. Little bits and pieces were flying everywhere, he was almost fucking positive she cut herself at least twice, and he could hear Her mumbling threats to the onions about Her making them cry instead.

He snorted as She threw the vegetables into the pot, flipping them off as she turned on the stove. “How long do I have to wait for you to just give the fuck up?” 

“Forever,” She snapped. “Neither of us are going anywhere until these vegetables are tender as fuck.”

“I don’t know why you’re even doing this vegetable shit, you’re immortal now, you don’t need to be healthy-“

Ben managed, but only fucking barely, to dodge the knife as it flew at his face.

“Shut up.” She snapped. “Or I won’t give you any when I’m done.”

“Promise?” He mocked, and she picked up a second knife. “Jesus fucking Christ, fine. What are you even making?” He grunted, reaching to grab the cookbook.

She snatched it back and far from his hand. “It’s a surprise.”

“A fucking surprise?” He snorted. “Why?”

“Because.” She held the cookbook with white knuckles, and Ben rolled his eyes.

“Shitty ass surprise,” he grumbled, and She gave him one last glare before turning her anger down to the steak defrosting on the counter.

Over the next half hour, She managed to cut up the steak through a process of vulgar threats, curses, and throwing three more knives at Ben—only two of which he deserved. Once she’d shoved the steak into the oven—Ben had helpfully suggested She just use her own fucking fire and She’d asked if he had any interest in the house burning down—she picked up the pot of vegetables and walked over to where Ben sat at the counter.

“Tender?” She extended the pot for him to look at, frowning at its contents.

The vegetables were soft, and a little brown. Ben had no fucking clue what that meant in terms of “tender”.

“Fucking sure,” he watched the crease on Her forehead deepen, and the Thing wanted to kiss right over it until it vanished.

She looked up at him, lips pulling down, but nodded and dumped the vegetables into a bowl. After giving them one last glare, She dropped into the seat next to Ben with a heavy sigh. “The steak won’t be ready for ten minutes,” she mumbled, fingers tapping on the counter.

Ben shrugged, trying to control the Thing rumbling comfortably in his chest at Her arm brushing his. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is wrong now?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” She muttered, and the tapping picked up.

“You’re lying. It might not be something I need to prepare for, both something is fucking up with you.” He watched Her scowl at nothing. “Is it your sister?”

The tapping picked up. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

He said Her name firmly. “You need to fucking tell her you’re alive.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you-“

“Just fucking drop it, Ben, ok?!” She snapped. “You’re not going to change my mind, so just fucking drop it.” She took a deep breath, and the Thing clenched in Ben’s chest. “Please, just let it go.”

He grunted, the Thing flipping as She looked up at him. “Fine.”

She nodded, relief crossing her face as the tapping slowed. “Thank you.” She paused, eyes searching his face. “Do you want me to do more of the PTSD treatment tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, not having missed the bags under Her eyes and poorly hidden yawns. “You need to rest.”

She frowned. “I’ve literally been resting all day.”

“You were tossing and turning all of last night, Sunshine.” He said flatly, and She blinked at him, heart picking up.

“What, what are you talking about-“

“It’s not a big fucking deal,” Ben frowned at Her wide-eyed expression. “You were just rolling around a shit ton. Didn’t seem very restful.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t fucking need to leave the bed, Sunshine, I don’t give a shit.” He shrugged.

She tilted her head at him. “Would you have?”

“What?”

“If it had bothered you, would you have gone to sleep in your room?” She examined his face, and Ben could hear the chewing of her lips.

“Why the fuck does that matter?”

“Well, um, I just don’t remember the last time you actually slept in your own bed.” She said sheepishly, suddenly avoiding his gaze. “If you want to, you don’t have to stay in my room all the time-“

“Do you want me to go back to my room?” Ben asked, and his voice was harsher than he intended. The Thing was scraping at him, gripping at his throat a the very fucking idea of Her not wanting him, of Her sending him to be without her-

“No!” Her voice was panicked, and Ben blinked in surprise. “I don’t want you to go back, but if you want to-”

“I don’t,” Ben grunted, the Thing breathing in relief as he tried to sound like less of a desperate pussy. “I mean, I’m fucking fine staying there.”

“Okay.” She gave him a small smile, and the Thing felt light, even as she stood from her seat. “Steak,” She said, and Ben realized he’d started to frown as She moved.

“Whatever,” he grunted, and watched Her move through the kitchen. She threw together whatever shit she was trying to make, finally stood straight—a smug look on Her face—and turned with a mess of cheese, meat, and bread on a plate.

“I did it,” She was beaming at him, holding the “food” proudly, and any comments about how Ben was pretty fucking sure She’d just made a bioweapon died in his throat as the Thing tried to escape him.

“Congratulations.” He huffed, and glanced at the sludge in her hands. “What the fuck is it.”

“Cheesesteak.”

Ben frowned. “Cheesesteak?” 

She picked up the cookbook, dropping it in front of him as she sat back at his side. “Philly Cheesesteak, with peppers and onions.” She read aloud, pointing to the page with a grin. “Medium difficulty.”

The Thing was pounding at him, and Ben couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Philly Cheesesteak because?” At the flush of Her face, he pushed further. “Why Philly Cheesesteak, Sunshine? Any particular reason?”

“Shut up,” She muttered.

“Hm,” Ben teased, his own smile growing. “Does it have something to do with me-“

“Yes, you cunt. It’s because you’re from Philly.” She snapped, not looking at him. “Don’t be a fucking dick about it, I just wanted to make something I thought you’d like.”

“You only made one serving,” Ben pointed out as the Thing started roaring with a painful need to hold her. “And I already ate.”

“Oh, fuck off. We both know this is going to taste like shit.” She wrinkled her nose at the plate. “I’m going to make it for you when I can actually make it somewhat good.” She paused, heart faltering slightly. “If you want me to.”

Ben shrugged, and the Thing roared. “Food is fucking food. I’ll never say no to a pretty lady making me some.”

She hummed, and her heart picked up a little faster than it had been before. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he looked between Her and the plate. “Now eat that so we can go the fuck to bed.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, but began to eat in small bites. “It’s not terrible.” She said through a mouthful. “I’ve eaten worse.”

Ben grunted, watching Her chew and swallow. “Are you going to shower?”

“Huh?”

“Before bed,” he said, ignoring the way She licked her lips clean of food and how it made his gut warm.

“Are you saying I smell bad, Benjamin?” She teased, face all comfortable and happy. “That’s not very nice.”

He glared at Her. “I fucking want to shower, brat. And since you always whine about how long I take, I wanted to know if you need hot water.”

“Oh,” She blinked at him. “That’s, that’s really sweet.”

“Shut up,” Ben muttered. The Thing was powerful and uncontrollable in him at Her words, like a fucking pussy. He wasn’t fucking sweet, She just always got all pouty when the water was cold and it made him fucking frustrated. She would sulk around and be fucking grumpy and it made the Thing tight in his lungs, made him feel an edge he hated. She still hadn’t even fucking answered his question, so Ben poked her shoulder and she looked up at him with a full mouth. “Well?”

She swallowed roughly. “Oh, uh, yeah I think I am.” She frowned, and Ben could hear Her thoughts turning in Her head.

“Spit it out.” He prompted.

“What?”

“You look like you have a stupid question, and you’re going to fucking explode if you don’t ask it.”

“I won’t explode-“

Ben said Her name flatly. “Yeah, you will. So spit it out.”

She sighed. “You have to promise not to-“

“I know the damn drill, Sunshine. I promise not to mention it again if the answer is no. Now stop being a fucking pussy and ask the question.”

“If you want, and you don’t have to-“ She took a deep breath, and the words began to fall out of Her. “I’d be okay with it if you moved your clothes into my room. Or like some clothes. Whatever you want. I just think it might be easier, if you think you want to stay there. And I do want you, I mean I like you there, so, if you want, you can move your stuff into my room.”

Ben stared at Her, watching him with a nervous expression, heart pounding in Her chest. The Thing was rioting inside him. She wanted him in her room, in her space. She wanted him there, wanted things to be easier for him. For him to stay with her. She liked him there. With her. Ben cleared his throat, and spoke before he could even really think.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” She said cautiously. “Does yeah mean, like, yeah I don’t want, or yeah I do want to, or yeah I’ll think about it-“

“I’ll do it,” Ben said, trying to sound as casual as he fucking could with the Thing trying to tell him to pick Her up and place her on the counter and make all that stupid fucking doubt leave her face because what the hell was it even there for in the first place-

“Okay.” She took another bite of Her food. “Then maybe you can shower now and move your stuff when I’m showering?”

“Sure,” Ben stood, and She turned her attention fully to her plate. There was a little thing of melted cheese on her lip, and he wanted to brush it off with his thumb.

“Don’t take a year.” She said, and Ben swallowed as her tongue swept out to pull the cheese into her mouth.

He coughed, forcing himself to move away from the counter. “Fuck off,” he muttered, and picked up his pace out of the kitchen as She giggled behind him.

It was a race against his own fucking self-control to get to the shower and take care of himself before the Thing made him turn around and prove to Her that there was no goddamn reason she should’ve been unsure. Make Her smile and pull her tongue into his own mouth, maybe spread Her out on the counter and taste her-

Ben practically ripped his clothes off, managing to climb into the shower before the Thing consumed him.

They were back on their bed, Her lying on her back with a bright smile and Ben sitting at her side. 

“Nap time too short?” She asked again, and this time Ben didn’t scoff or stand from the bed.

He smirked back down at Her, and reached out, running a thumb over her lips. “I’m wide awake, Sunshine. But I can think of a few ways to tire me out.”

Her mouth fell further open, and she let out a small sound. “Like what?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and Ben moved his hand tangle in Her hair, cupping her head as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

“Whatever you want, beautiful.” He watched Her eyes widen, and Ben could feel the heat of her cheeks against his hand. “I have some ideas, but I’m open to suggestions.”

Moving his hand down, Ben traced a line from Her neck to her collarbone, dropping it all the way to her ass and lowering his head to kiss along her neck. She started to whimper, and he could feel the sounds escaping from her against his lips.

“Ben,” She said breathlessly, her hands finding his hair. “You-“ She let out a loud moan, head falling back as he squeezed her with one hand, tracing patterns along her skin with his other.

“Me, what?” He said Her name into her skin. “What do you want me to do?”

She dropped her hands from his hair, pulling his head up to look at Her, eyes scanning his face for only a second before she was kissing him. Long and desperate, all teeth and tongue and deep groans into each other. When She pulled back for air, Ben nipped at her lower lip and raised his hand from her waist, running his thumb over its swell.

“I want you.” She whispered, her own hand holding his against her face. “Can I have you?”

Ben pulled Her back to him, kissing her deeply until her grip was tight and she was grinding down on him. When he pulled back, he answered firmly, with no room for her to doubt. “You already fucking do.”

She nodded slowly, and suddenly she was touching him. Palming Ben through his pants, smiling perfectly at his hardness against her hand. “Where do you want me?” She asked, a beautiful fucking taunt. “You can take me right here, or at the wall. You can use my mouth, or my pussy, or I can just use my hand?”

He groaned Her name. “Fucking hell-“

“What do you want me to do, Ben? Where do you want to have me?”

Ben came, shouting Her name into the steam of the shower. Only as the high faded did it finally fucking occur to him the mistake he’d just made. He had no fucking excuse to return to his room and indulge the Thing anymore, no good reason to lock himself behind a door she wouldn’t enter and fuck his hand to the thought of Her.

He could back out. He could tell Her he’d changed his mind, he wanted to keep their shit separate, that keeping it together was just too fucking intimate and he didn’t want her to have that part of him.

Liar, the Thing hissed into him. You want Her to have every fucking part of you. You’re just too pussy to tell her.

No, he fucking didn’t. He needed to call it the fuck off, before he did something fucking stupid or insane-

She’d be so sad, The Thing snapped. You’d be fucking breaking Her.

She was a grown ass woman. She’d survive.

Would you?

Ben turned off the shower, jerking the handle clean off the wall. He dropped in on the tile floor, changed fast, and stomped down the hall to where Her heartbeat had moved— fully fucking ready to tell her he’d changed his mind and would probably just sleep in his own damn room tonight—only to open the door and find her sitting up at the headboard, already in pyjamas, eyes drooping as she read a small book.

“I thought you wanted to shower,” he said gruffly, and She just sighed, not looking up at him.

“Were you ever actually convicted of treason?” She asked. “Because if you weren’t, I’ve been calling you an enemy of the state for no reason.”

 “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Apparently, someone can’t be held guilty for treason with two witnesses or a confession.” 

“That’s not better, brat.”

She held up her book for Ben to read Constitution of the United States of America spelled out in pointlessly fucking fancy letters on the cover. “I was cleaning up downstairs, and realized I’ve never actually read the whole thing.”

“Yeah, most people haven’t.” Ben said wryly. “Only fucking pussy ass nerds bother with that shit.”

“Aren’t you America’s Son?” 

“Yeah, but I’m a fucking man who has a life outside of books. What happened to your fucking shower?”

She shrugged. “I’m not that dirty. I’ll shower in the morning, before we do the PTSD treatment.”

Ben grunted, not moving from the door. “I still think you’re not actually doing fucking shit with that.”

“I still don’t fucking care.” She finally looked up at Ben, and the Thing stared punching against him like a fucking pussy. “Why are you just standing there, you weirdo.”

“What?” Ben frowned at Her question, trying to fight the Thing telling him to go drop next to her, let her lean against him. “The fuck are you-“

“You’ve been standing at the door for like five minutes.” She said pointedly, folding the book and placing it on her bedside table. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine, Sunshine.” He grunted, and the rest of his will fucking crumbled at the goddamn soft look on Her perfect face. “I just wanted to know if I should wait for you to shower before I start moving my shit.”

“Oh,” She blinked, and started to stand. “I can help you-“

“No.” Ben cut Her off quickly. She hadn’t been in his room for more than a few minutes at a time since he’d started sleeping in hers, and some part of him was convinced she would walk in a fucking smell his cum lingering. At Her frown, he gave a short, gruff explanation of “you’re comfortable, I can fucking move clothes my damn self,” and left the room before she could respond.

It only took two trips to move all his shit, and after shoving into the drawers at Her instructions, apparently doing it wrong despite following Her every word, and Her doing it the “correct way”—which was the same way he had fucking done it—he dropped on the mattress, sitting upright as She crawled into hers.

“Night, Pretty Boy.” She mumbled through a yawn, and her eyes dropped closed before Ben could respond.

Ben didn’t remember falling asleep. He’d watched Her breathe peacefully at his side, listened to the lazy rhythm of her heart, and when she’d curled into his side, Ben had laid down and held Her to his chest. Almost like he’d only blinked, the room became full of light creeping through the curtains, and She was gone from the bed.

He could hear the shower running from the bathroom, her heartbeat smothered by the fall of the water. Unwilling to sit here, desperate for Her to return to his side like a fucking pussy, Ben stood and made his way to the kitchen, putting on the coffee and scowling at the pot as it took a million goddamn years to brew.

After impossibly long minutes Ben heard the water stop, and fucking cursed himself for the intensity of how he listened to Her heart upstairs. She shuffled around, the time stretching longer, and Ben felt the Thing sigh in relief as she finally began the walk down the stairs.

Ben glanced at Her as she entered the kitchen. “You’re up.”

“Fucking obviously,” she mumbled, stopping at his side. “Coffee?”

The pot gave a pathetic fucking sputter. “I think it’s broken.” Ben muttered, and there was another weak crackling sound in response.

“Hm,” She reached past him, opening the top of the machine. Peering forwards, She sighed. “Ben.”

“What?” He snapped, and She rolled her eyes, pulling the empty pot from its place and moving to the sink.

“You didn’t put any water in it, dumbass.”

Ben scowled. “I just fucking woke up, you try-“

“I’m not mad,” She said lightly, glancing over her shoulder with amusement. “I’m just saying it’s not broken, and that’s why.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, watching Her pour the water into the top of the coffee maker.

She only smiled at him, and even fake rage felt fucking impossible.

They didn’t talk much over breakfast, Ben trying not to watch the way Her damp hair hung around her face, or the bob of her throat when she swallowed her cereal. When the coffee had finished, She’d stood and poured two mugs, dropping one next to Ben’s plate and holding the other tightly between two hands.

“Living room?” She asked, continuing when Ben only frowned at her. “For the PTSD.”

He made a passive sound, drinking his coffee in a chug. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“What an amazing contribution to my efforts,” She muttered, and Ben winked at her.

“Does the exactly same amount of jack fucking shit wherever, Sunshine.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, poking her spoon around in the bowl. “You’re going to eat your words, Pretty Boy.” Her words seemed more targeted to the soggy cereal than Ben. “Just fucking wait.”

After dumping the dishes in the sink—Ben would fucking wash them later, and no amount of Her glaring at him would make him do it now—they dropped on the couch in those same fucking positions that had made the Thing loud and satisfied. This time was no fucking better, with Her gentle hands back in Ben’s hair and her perfect face only fucking inches away.

“I have a question,” She said abruptly, her hands hardly settled against his head. She didn’t wait for him to nod before she continued, speaking without meeting his eyes. “How did you know about Moon River?”

“Moon River?” Ben repeated slowly, watching Her overly controlled face as She gave a small nod.

“I just-“ She gave him a quick, nervous look. “I heard you humming it yesterday, during my, uh, meltdown. I never told you about it.”

He frowned. “What would there be to tell me?”

“How do you know about it?” She said firmly, finally fucking looking at him with raised brows. “And I asked first.”

“You tap it,” Ben said stiffly, and She tilted her head at him. “When you’re about to lose your shit.”

“And you recognized it based on tapping?” She said doubtfully, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a rhythmic song.”

“I took he a fucking bit to realize what it was, but it’s not my fault you can’t barely keep a fucking beat.” “There’s no beat in that song.”

Ben shrugged. “You do the verses. Stop trying to fucking avoid my question.”

“I’m not avoiding your question,” She grumbled, looking back up to his head. “You’re just making no sense.”

Ben said Her name flatly, and she gave an annoyed huff.

“It was my mother,” She snapped. “Her favorite song. She sang it all the time when I was a kid, it’s the only song she never made me perform, and it makes me feel safe.”

“Perform?” He frowned. “The fuck do you mean perform?”

She sighed. “Doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck it doesn’t”

“It really doesn’t,” She cut him off shortly. “It’s never something I’ll have to do again, so it just doesn’t. You won’t fucking care about it, Ben. Trust me.”

“Fucking try me, Sunshine.” She looked back down at Ben, and he gave her a challenging glare. “Don’t put words in my goddamn mouth.”

“If I do,” She said, holding his gaze. “You’re not allowed to be a dick.”

“Deal.”

“Promise?”

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I promise.”

“Okay,” She took a deep breath, glaring at his forehead as she spoke. “My parents divorced when I was young. It was violent, messy. I had to testify in court. My mom got full custody, because my dad had shit credit and my mom was an amazing actress. Showed up all running mascara and soft words, like She hadn’t just threatened me on the car ride over. She remarried real fast, like suspiciously fucking fast, to a rich, political dynasty asshole. Dude was a Connecticut senator when they got married, and he somehow got elected governor while I was gone. He would put on these stupid parties. With dancers and champagne towers and chocolate fountains. One of my brothers would give a speech, the other would play piano, my sister would dance, and I would sing. Sometimes they’d hold an auction for what song I performed, and the only song my mother didn't allow me to perform was Moon River. It was our song, her song. It reminds me that there was a least one thing, one stupid fucking thing, that made me more important to her than the money. I mean,” She gave a dry, hollow laugh. “She probably would’ve caved for enough money, but I left before she could.”

Ben watched Her, the Thing scraping to hold her. “What made you leave?”

The silence before She spoke was torture. The Thing needed to know what her final straw had been. What line had been crossed, so he would never go fucking near it, fucking walk as far away from it as he could until She never even had to fear it.

“She tried to keep me from leaving.” Her voice was soft. “I was fourteen, about to start high school. She tried to send me to some dog shit prep school, said I needed to work on my manners and being more fucking lady-like for when I graduated. I told her grades were important to get into college, she told me I wouldn’t be going to college. Said I was too pretty to have to worry about a job, pretty enough that men would overlook my temperament.”  She snorted. “I told her I wanted a job, I wanted to go to college. She told me to fuck off now, because she’d lock me in the house if I didn’t. So I fucked off. I moved in with my dad. Dude lived in a dogshit apartment with rats and asbestos and loud neighbors, but I never had to perform again. I could leave whenever I wanted, I was fucking free.” A shadow crossed Her face, her hand gripping Ben’s face tighter. “I was free.”

“Did they fucking look for you?” Ben felt the Thing grow taut in him, straining for the clouds forming in Her eyes. “When Homelander-“

She cut him off, shaking her head. “He faked my death. Left a note, nobody questioned it further.” Smoke curled around them, and Her heart was uneven and quick. “He used to tell me that I was better with him, he cared more than anyone could, and he would tear the world apart to get me back if I left him.” She took a shaky breath, and the Thing felt heavy in Ben’s chest.

“You’re not going back,” Ben said lowly, and Her eyes fell to his. “I fucking mean it.”

“I know,” She said quietly. “I trust you.”

The pain on Her face made Ben want to make Homelander fucking bleed and bleed until he died a painful, pathetic fucking death.

“I think we’re done.” He pulled Her hands down from his face, and She frowned at him.

“What do you mean, it’s barely been thirty minutes-“

“You’re still tired, Sunshine.” He says firmly. “We’re done.”

“But-“

“Nope, done.” Ben pushed Her hands to her lap. “We’ve got other shit to do, Sunshine. You’ve got to practice your cheesesteak.”

She scowled. “It’s your night to make dinner, cunt. You’re not getting out of it just because I’m trying to learn to cook.”

“Well, you can fucking practice for lunch, and I’ll still do dinner.”

“I chose what you make.”

“Are you fucking negotiating?”

“Yep,” she gave him a fake-sweet smile. “I choose what you make, and what we watch.”

“Fuck no,” Ben rolled his eyes. “Dinner-maker controls the TV. That was the goddamn deal.”

“I get to work on your PTSD. That was a deal as well.”

“That’s not the way it fucking works-“

“That’s the offer on the table, Pretty Boy.” She shrugged. “Take it and I’ll go make a cheesesteak right fucking now, leave it and I keep working on your stupid fucking head.”

Ben glowered at Her determined, insufferable, perfect face. “You’re a fucking piece of work, brat.”

“Right back at you, cunt.” She grinned widely—all light and smug and pleased—with Her hand outstretched, and Ben couldn’t fucking force himself to be mad at Her if she tried.

“Fucking Christ,” Ben muttered, but shook Her hand all the same.

With a small, satisfied sound that made the Thing fucking groan, She stood and walked straight to the kitchen. Ben trailed like a fucking pussy behind Her, deciding it wasn’t because the Thing started to claw at him when She left his sight, but that he just simply couldn’t miss the disaster about to unfold.

After about ten minutes it became clear that while She seemed to have mastered what “thin and tender vegetables” looked like, Ben was starting to wonder if he should be concerned about the steak giving her an aneurism. While it was damn adorable to watch her fight with the frost-bitten steak one the counter—a battle that involved several graphic threats about tracking down the cow’s family and using them for Her food instead—Her face was contorted in dramatic anger and Ben could hear her chewing through her lip.

“It would really go faster if you just cooked with your fucking fire powers.” Ben drawled and She glared at him.

“I don’t know how to do that, cunt. I can’t control it at that level.”

“I’ll teach you.” He said—complete fucking sincerely—and She scoffed. “What,” Ben scowled. “What’s so fucking amusing about that.”

She shrugged, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. “You can’t even control yourself, and most of our powers are very fucking different.”

“First of all, brat, I haven’t exploded in fucking months. Second of all, shut the fuck up. And finally, I used to train people at Vought all the goddamn time.”

“So?”

“So,” he snapped mockingly. “I know what I’m fucking doing.”

“Yeah, when you’re being paid a million dollars to tell someone don’t make a fist like that, you’ll break your fingers,” She dropped her voice in a deep-voice, mocking impression. “Aim for the throat, people use that to breathe.”

“I trained people’s powers as well,” Ben pushed, matching Her frown. “I made some good fucking heroes.”

“I’m sure,” She said, leaning forward in sarcastic interest. “Crimson Countess, you have to aim at the target. You won’t hit it if you don’t.”

“And she got a lot fucking better at it, so my point is fucking proven.”

“You were fucking her,” She dismissed with a wave of her hand, turning back to the steak. “Doesn’t count.”

The Thing started to feel like it was crawling up and around inside Ben. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I dunno,” Her heart was stumbling, and Ben wished she would fucking look at him so he could see if Her face was in that pretty flush. “Reward systems are scientifically proven to be effective.”

“So me fucking her was a reward-“

Ben’s smug words died in his throat as fire ripped through the air, filling the room with smoke and the smell of charcoal. Ben waved a hand, clearing the smoke, and found Her standing at the now-black counter, hands on her hips as she glared down at a pile of charred ash.

“Didn’t work.” She said, spinning around with a scowl. “And we’re out of steak.”

“What the fuck was that?” Ben all but shouted, the smoke still clinging to the edges of the room. “You didn’t need to destroy the goddamn kitchen!”

“That was what you told me to do,” Her shoulders were tense, words clipped. “I told you I couldn’t control it, and ta da! I can’t!”

“You’re being a fucking brat,” he spat Her name, and when she turned to face him Ben hadn’t expected to see the sullen, tight look on Her face. Lips drawn together, hands gripping her sides with white knuckles. It wasn’t quite the hollow look that always made the Thing physically hurt, but it was really fucking close.

“I just don’t want to talk about training, okay?” She spat the word training with a venom, and though her voice was steady Ben could hear the tapping begin. “You can’t fucking help this.”

“This?” Ben stood from the counter, walking to Her in fast, long steps. “You mean you?”

She didn’t flinch as he stopped in front of her. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Stop fucking saying that,” he shouted, the Thing roaring in his ears, drowning almost all else out. “I can fucking fix this for you, if you would stop being such a stubborn bitch all the time!”

The sullen look faded into rage. “It doesn’t fucking matter!” Her voice had raised to match his. “I’m not supposed to have these powers. I’m not someone who’s going to even be a fucking fake hero or earn any fucking rewards. I’m a walking bomb, and I can’t control it, and it doesn’t fucking matter because there’s no fucking point.” A shallow, distressing breath shook Her body. “I don’t want to hurt people again, I won’t let myself.” She wasn’t looking at Ben anymore, voice clouded and heavy. “So it doesn’t matter.”

The Thing wasn’t only painful or consuming anymore. It was in Ben’s blood, fucking burning at Her, for Her. He grabbed Her perfect face, turning her sad eyes to his. “You won’t hurt people,” he said, keeping his voice as fucking calm as he could. “If you just let me fucking help you.”

“But-“

“I’m literally a walking bomb, Sunshine.” Ben raised his voice over hers. “If there’s no hope for you, there’s certainly fucking none for me.”

“That’s not the same,” She said quietly. “You’re you. You’re Soldier Boy.”

“You mean the fucking terrorist?” He watched Her lips tug slightly at his dry tone, and the Thing felt a little less suffocating. “Yeah, I’m sure the public will be clamoring for my return when this is over.”

“Aren’t we self-aware today,” She gave him a half-hearted smile, and Ben returned it.

“I’m always fucking self aware, Sunshine. It’s one of my best qualities.”

She gave a small laugh, and the Thing grew looser. “I think even you know that’s not true.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” He drawled, and Her smile became a little more genuine. “Now will you please just let me fucking train you.”

She sighed, but it wasn’t as heavy as before. “It doesn’t-“

“Do you seriously fucking believe-“ Ben didn’t let Her finish, because if she said doesn’t matter one more time he might lose his fucking mind. “That you’re just going to be a fucking hermit for the rest of your immortal life.”

“I mean,” She said with a strained, fake-passive tone. “Yeah.”

“You think I’d fucking let that happen?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Sunshine, when we’re out of this and I’m shipped off who fucking knows where, you’re welcome to come.”

“Are you-” She gaped at him, and the Thing felt stuck in his throat. “Are you serious?”

“You burn, I burn.” Ben reminded Her firmly, because even if he wasn’t entirely sure where this offering was coming from, he knew he fucking meant it. “If you can’t be around normal fucking assholes, control or not, you can always fucking be around me.”

She scanned his face. “And if I can be around people?”

“Then you can stay in shit-ass New York with all those fucking pussies on your team.” Ben answered, even as the Thing scraped at his ribs at the fucking idea of it. “But you’ll have to learn to control it.”

“What If I can’t,” there was nothing but fear and exhaustion in Her voice, and it made the Thing move faster in him. “What if I just can’t?”

“You can.” He didn’t leave room for protest before he continued. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

She gave a hesitant nod. “Tomorrow.”

Ben took the victory.

The remainder of the night was quiet, Ben heating pre-made meatballs per their shitty deal, Her deciding they would watch Game of Thrones—a fucking suspicious choice given she always grumbled at Ben’s commentary—and Ben tried not to stare at Her through the night, his brain fucking consumed by every goddamn way he wanted to touch her. He managed, by some fucking miracle, to force his attention to how he would go about their training.

Ben hadn’t been fucking lying, he had trained new heroes at Vought. Never any quite as powerful or insanely smart-mouthed and perfect as her, but She didn’t have to know that. He’d figure this out, because the fucking idea of Her locking herself up to keep every weak undeserving pussy safe made him feel bloody.

When Her eyes began to look heavy and she began rubbing her face to keep them open, Ben dragged her up into her—their—bed. Ben tried not to dwell on the Thing—peaceful and quiet from the soothing sounds of Her breathing and heart—and how his offer hadn’t felt forced onto its tongue. How he couldn’t blame its grip over him, because his words had been entirely fucking true, and had fallen from him naturally.

She was up before him in the morning again. Ben felt a cold space where She had been, and the shower wasn’t running, making him sit up roughly, not bothering to change before he stalked downstairs. Finding Her in the kitchen, cross-legged at the counter with a sandwich in one hand and a book in the other, Ben found it a lot fucking easier to breathe.

 “You’re up early,” he leaned against the door, and She looked up at him with cheeks puffed, mid-chew.

“Sorry,” She said through the mouthful of food, and Ben grinned as crumbs fell from her perfect mouth. “I got up to pee, and I couldn’t fall back asleep.” 

Ben walked to lean across the counter, the Thing bucking as She swallowed roughly. “That fucking excited to get started, huh Sunshine?”

“Fuck off,” She rolled her eyes. “I was just hungry.”

 “Sure.” He winked. “You’ll need the energy.” “Are we training my fire or running a marathon?” She asked, raising her brows at him. “Because I can always back out.”

“You mean pussy out?”

“Fuck you, Pretty Boy. I’m going to burn your face off, and you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”

Ben grinned at Her as she took an aggressive bite, holding his gaze. “We’ll see, brat. Are we ready to go?”

“Don’t you want to eat?” She asked through chews.

“I’ll fucking live.”

She shook Her head, shoving the remainder of her sandwich into his hands. “Eat, Ben.”

“I’m fucking fine,” Ben said Her name dryly, failing to return the food to her as she held her hands behind her back.

“Eat,” She snapped. “You get all grumpy when you don’t.” When Ben still didn’t move, She narrowed her eyes at him. “Eat or I’m pussying out.”

Ben scowled at Her, but shoved the remainder of the sandwich his mouth, holding her glare with a look of irritated amusement as he swallowed

“Happy?” He mocked, and She gave him a genuine, toothy smile.

“Absolutely.”

The Thing fucking whined, and Ben had to fight a smile from taking over his goddamn face.

“Can we get fucking going then?”

She shrugged, “if it’s that important-“

Ben grabbed her arm—ignoring the warmth of Thing at her touch and is weak fucking need in his gut when she made a sound of surprise—pulling her to dining room. They stopped in the center of the space, and Ben forced himself to take a step back, looking down at Her sternly.

“How is this even going to fucking work?” She asked, bored sass dripping from her voice.

Ben winked at Her. “Reward system, Sunshine.” He ran through the plan he’d spent the previous night developing, and almost missed the flush of Her face and the stutter of her heart. “I’ll tell you what to do, and every time you do it right, I’ll owe you a favor.”

“A favor,” She repeated, and Ben couldn’t figure out what that fucking slow tone and neutral expression meant. “What can the favors do?”

“Whatever you want, that’s how favors work.”

“No limits?”

Ben smirked at Her. “No limits.”

She swallowed, and the Thing rumbled. “Then let’s fucking go.”

“Palm open,” Ben instructed, demonstrating with his own hand. When she followed suit, he nodded and continued. “Now light it.”

She gave him a flat look. “Are you fucking serious? I can light my hand, Ben.”

“Prove it.”

“Fucking asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and closed her eyes. A small flame ignited in her palm, and she stuck Her tongue out at Ben smugly. “Told you so, cunt.”

Ben fought the urge to grab Her, pull her tongue into his mouth. “I’m not done, brat.” He sneered. “Hold it.”

“Hold it?” She frowned, glancing between Ben and her hand. “The fire?”

“In your hand, for five minutes.” He grinned down at Her. “No spreading it, no letting it go out.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.”

She gave him a distrustful glare, spreading Her fingers wider. “My first favor is going to be making you dye your beard blue.”

“What?” Ben’s tone of mock-fury seemed to only make Her grin. “Why?”

“Because I hate you.”

“Sure, Sunshine.” He pushed down how the Thing strained at the fucking idea of Her words being true. “But you’ll only be able to fucking waste your favor like that if you don’t fucking burn my beard off.”

“Fucking watch me, Pretty Boy.” She snapped, and Ben just winked.

The first minute was fine, but near the middle of the second Her eyes started to cloud, teeth gnawing at her lips. The fire started to flicker, and before the third minute started it burst up, spreading up Her arms and through her body.

“Goddamnit!” She screamed, smoke still rising after the fire went out.

Ben gave Her a cocky grin. “What that about watching-“

“Not a fucking word.” She spread Her palm once more. “I just wasn’t ready.”

Ben hummed, and shot him a murderous glare. “I didn’t say fucking shit.” He teased, and she rolled Her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll get it this time, brat.”

“Stop being supportive, you cunt.” She hissed, and Ben laughed.

It took Her two hours, twenty minutes, fifty-two tries, and a lot of swearing to hold the fire evenly for five minutes. It was fucking worth Her verbal abuse, Ben decided, because he’d never seen her smile that wide and happy as when she finally succeeded.

“Yes!” She looked like she might literally fucking jump with joy. “Suck on that, Benjamin.”

“One favor is yours, Sunshine.” He couldn’t fight the Thing from taking over him with a broad, face-covering grin and chuckled. “Now do it again.”

By the end of the day She’d only burned Ben five times—a fucking miracle as far as he was concerned—could hold it for ten minutes, and Ben owed her five favors.

“You’re making dinner,” She cashed the first one almost immediately, and Ben had expected nothing less. “And I still choose what we watch.”

“That’s two goddamn nights in a row,” he grumbled, and She snickered.

“I know, it’s amazing.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Though Ben scowled, the Thing felt so fucking good—proud and blissed out like he was on a fucking drug—watching for the first time in goddamn days look happy. That pussyass fucking joy only grew in him when Ben sat at Her side on the couch, passing her a plate of Dino nuggets. Her smile was like a fucking infection, and the Thing running through Ben wasn’t helped in the slightest by the presence of those blue, off-brand sunglasses on her head.

“What the hell are you wearing those for?” Ben asked tauntingly, trying to make his voice crude to cover the Things genuine need to know. “It’s fucking night time. Indoors.”

“They were collecting dust,” She reached a hand up, dropping them onto her face. “And I look cool as shit in them.”

“You’d look better if they were green,” Ben muttered. “Blue’s a-“

“Pussy ass color?” She teased. “Don’t worry Pretty Boy, I won’t touch your beard and ruin your handsome face.”

“Handsome?” He blinked at Her, the Thing bellowing so loudly Ben couldn’t even pretend to be cocky.

She ignored him, even as Her heart flipped. “How would you feel about a pink beard?”

Ben whacked Her shoulder lightly, and she giggled, giving him a pout that made the Thing hungry. “Shut the fuck up.” He grunted, and She just blew a raspberry at him.

Her attention returned to the TV and as they fell into a comfortable silence, Ben tried his fucking hardest to not steal glances at Her perfect face in the TV light, tried to fight the way the Thing rioted every time she laughed at the show.

When Ben went to shower that night, his thoughts were haunted by the wide, free smile on Her face.

The next two days were some of the most peaceful of Ben’s entire goddamn life. For the fourth morning in a row, She had woken first. There had been towel discarded onto their growing pile of dirty clothes that told Ben she’d showered, and he was able to hear Her heart beating with the shuffle of her steps from downstairs. He’d entered the kitchen a quarter hour later to find Her in an intent focus, surrounded by grocery bags and the cookbook open on the table.

“How long ago did you get up?” He asked, and She’d jumped in surprise.

“Two hours,” She’d answered, gesturing to the steak on the counter. “Mallory sent the delivery early. I think I’m getting better at this cooking shit.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Sunshine.” Ben had teased, and been whacked by a paper grocery bag.

The day was filled with training, and once they’d hit fifteen minutes Ben started to have Her hit random household objects they both deemed entirely fucking useless. Itchy blankets and pillows from the spare bedroom, paintings of horses and flowers Ben told her were fucking shit—She’d laughed at that and the Thing had grown though his chest—all of Her remaining, non-fireproof clothes, and several books She’d claimed “made Her want to hurt someone in middle school.”

“I’ve never known you to need a reason to hurt someone,” Ben had drawled Her name.

She’d flipped him off. “I’m a god of peaceful resolutions, Ben.”

“Sure.”

“I am.”

“I agreed with you, brat.”

“I’ll fucking kill you cunt,” the words likely been spoken against her will, being the small, angry gape of Her mouth after.

Despite Her growing control over her powers, Ben somehow ended up with more burns that afternoon than the one before. He’d been scowling at Her as she held his head, beard slightly burned in a real fucking noticeable way.

“I look like a fucking pussy.”

“Because your beard has one little patch?” She’d teased, and watching where Her palms were resting in his hair.  “I promise, Ben, it looks the exact same to everyone but you.”

“Don’t lie to protect my fucking ego-“

 “I’ve never lied to protect your ego before. I’m not about to start now.”

Ben hadn’t had a good retort to that, and they’d sat in a bitter silence until She’d nudged his thigh with her knee. “What,” he’d sounded less resentful than he’d liked to, but it was hard to be bitter when the Thing was so fucking satiated by Her gentle smile, and how it was all for him.

“I swear, you look fine. You look like you always do.”

He’d smirked, “which is?” 

“Don’t push it.”

“I think the words you meant to say were like a Greek god of sex.”

“The Greek god of sex was a woman,” She’d mumbled, looking down at him. “And I said don’t push it.”

Ben had cum that night—the flutter of Her heart as she looked at him replaying in his head—with Her name swallowed in his throat.

She was up first, fucking again. Though she was still next to him in bed—their legs tangled and one of his arms wrapped instinctively around her—Ben had woken to Her eyes watching him with not a trace of lingering sleep.

“Morning, Pretty Boy.” She’d whispered, and he’d groaned, scratching at his face to try and push the itch of sleep from his body.

“How fucking long have you been watching me, Sunshine?”

“Not long.” Ben hadn’t believed Her—she wouldn’t meet his eyes, her own looked hung with gray, and her words sounded flat and rehearsed—but he’d let it go. They’d spent the morning it the Kitchen, Ben watching Her try to cook and doing her second cashed favor, reading a fucking book.

“This is a goddamn waste of a favor,” Ben had snapped, and She’d hummed, not turning away from the steak she was beating into submission.

“I have twelve favors still in the bank, and more on the way. I think I’ll live.”

“I shouldn’t have fucking offered you favors. Should’ve just said you get complete TV control.”

“Oh, definitely,” She laughed. “I probably would’ve agreed if you offered me ten bucks and some chocolate. But you didn’t, so now you have to read.”

Ben huffed, and dodged as spare thin and tender pepper flew at his face. “Fucking rude,” he’d said, and She’d grinned at him.

“Don’t bitch and moan like I’m torturing you. You’re just reading.”

“That’s fucking torture. This is worse than torture.”

“Woe really is you, Ben. All those words and not one is smut.”

“What the fuck is smut.”

She’d blinked, and her heart had stuttered. “It’s um, porn. Book porn.”

“You can read porn-“ Ben had examined Her, the embarrassment on her face. “Do you read porn, Sunshine?” 

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” She’d mumbled, turning her back to him once more.

“I think you read porn-“

This time, the pepper hit Ben right in the nose. When She wasn’t paying attention he’d eaten it off the floor, and it didn’t taste like complete fucking shit. She was, through brutal and hilarious trial and error, getting better.

Everything was good. Genuinely fucking good. That afternoon Ben had walked away with only two burns, She had hit about half of the targets he’d set up with passable aim—a vast improvement from Her grand total of zero the day before—and the Thing was so fucking content it was driving Ben insane. Because though he was still forced to find relief during inconvenient times in locked spaces, the Thing was getting real fucking specific about a lot of shit. It had gotten so fucking comfortable, fantasies had started to happen in the moment. She leaned against him slightly, and Ben was lost in thoughts of pulling her on top of him and fucking her until she collapsed against him. She smiled at him and Ben barely held himself from bruising her mouth with his. Two nights in a row they’d been so close—tangled and pressed together in sleep—that Ben hadn’t been sure where he stopped and She started.

Things were fucking good. She was fucking perfect and Ben was starting to worry that the light feeling in his chest was something that might last. That he might burn the world to keep there.

She was sitting next to him now, watching the TV while Ben watched her. He wanted to touch Her, he had to touch Her. More than just her hands and legs, fucking everywhere. He needed to feel Her, because this stupid fucking euphoria was stronger when She was at his side and he could hear her heart. She needed to know that, he needed Her to smile because Ben told her that she was the most perfect goddamn thing that had ever existed, and nothing even came fucking close-

The door slammed, and She was moving before Ben was, a controlled flame igniting on her fingers. Some muffled grunts came from the dark hall, Ben felt his whole body tense, ready to bleed whoever was there-

A silhouette was nearing the door, and Ben was fucking proud of how fast the fireball left her hand. Only a second later, goddamn Butcher walked into the room, covering their floors in fucking blood and sweat.

Ben should’ve pushed Her harder that afternoon. Maybe Her flame would’ve hit Butcher in the fucking face instead of only leaving a scorch mark on the wall near his head.

“Fucking Christ!” Butcher roared, stumbling far to the side. “You almost fucking hit me!”

“I’m not that lucky,” She snapped, and Ben snorted. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Are you blind, Love?” Butcher unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a large bullet wound in his chest. “Fucking fix it.”

She was, as fucking always, too kind for her own good. Because she stalked around the couch, and laid a single hand over Butcher’s wound in a venomous silence. Ben’s jaw clenched as Her heartbeat began to pick up, at the smug fucking look on Butcher’s face, at how she was rubbing her own chest in mirror to Butcher’s injury.

“Where did you even get this?” She asked, and Butcher shrugged.

“Don’t matter.” His gaze turned to Ben. “Got a gift for you, Gov.”

 “A gift?” She and Ben said in unison, and Butcher rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t you two bloody adorable,” he sneered, and Ben wondered if She could fix a ripped off head. “It’s in the damn car, I’ll need help getting it.”

“Help?” She asked, and Ben could see the thoughtful, untrusting frown covering her face, even with her back turned. “What is it?”

 “A fucking surprise.”

“He hates surprises,” She said, and the Thing hummed somewhere near Ben’s lungs.

“He’ll like this one,” Butcher dismissed. “Don’t you fucking trust me, Love?”

“Nope.” She snapped, heartbeat growing erratic even as she removed her hand. Butcher’s wound was gone, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin.

Butcher turned—flipping the hall light—and walked to the door in long steps. Swinging it open to the cool night air, he gave a sweeping gesture, brows raised. “C’mon cunts. We ain’t got all fucking night.”

Ben followed Her down the hall, only step behind, an arms distance away. Butcher’s car was parked in the drive, still running with the headlights on.

“What would you have done if the car had got stolen?” She asked, following Butcher to the trunk.

“Considering I can’t file a police report,” Butcher said, tone bored and cruel. “I think I might just use all the fucking CIA resources at my disposal to bloody find it.”

The trunk was popped open, and in it lay—fucking finally—the Soldier Boy shield in all its flawless fucking glory.

Ben didn’t hesitate to yank it up, grinning widely, and almost missed Her look of amusement.

 “Would you two like a minute alone?” She teased, and Ben scowled at Her.

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine. It’s my goddamn shield, that you pussies-“ Ben pointed an accusing finger at Butcher. “Have fucking owed me for two months.”

“Time wasn’t right, mate,” Butcher said lazily, and Her heart faltered.

“And it’s right now?” She was almost whispering, the wind howling over her words. Even in the darkness, Ben could see the fog begin behind her eyes. “Why?”

“Big mission in four days.” Butcher began to move to the front of the car. “Thought I’d get ahead of it, let Soldier Boy do whatever weird shit he wants with his baby blanket before we have to move.”

Ben’s fury at the baby blanket comment was drowned out by the tap of Her fingers. The blanched, fearful fucking look on Her perfect face. The Thing howled, and Ben’s teeth became gritted.

“What type of shit are you about to make us pull, Butcher?” Ben growled.

Butcher winked. “We’re trying to wrap this circus up soon, Gov. Don’t worry your little mug about it.” Butcher’s attention turned to Her, saying Her name with a smirk. “See you in a few days.”

The car pulled out of the driveway with a screech, and She and Ben were left standing in the night. She looked at Ben with an empty smile as they returned into the house.

“Happy to have your shield back?”

“Should never have left,” Ben gripped it a little tighter as the Thing started to pull him toward her. “The fuck is Butcher planning?”

“What?” She said, blinking at him. “I- I um, I don’t know.”

She wasn’t looking at him, and every movement she had was controlled, mechanical. Ben didn’t fucking believe her. “You sure about that?”

She nodded, making a sound of agreement. Ben was going to push, he was going to ask why she was fucking lying, what she knew and why it was making her act so fucking strange, but She gave a long, stretching yawn, eyes lidded and steps unsteady.

“I’m tired,” She mumbled, leaning into Ben as they moved down the hall. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Ben watched Her give another, loud, fucking adorable yawn, and the Thing felt warm where they touched.

“Few more hours before bed,” She nodded, walking toward the couch. Ben caught Her waist with arm before she could sit.

“You’re going to sleep now, Sunshine.” He placed his shield carefully at the foot of the steps. “You’re going to fucking pass out.”

“No I’m not,” She wiggled a bit, but Ben didn’t budge. “It’s only ten.”

“What time were you up this morning?” He asked dryly.

“What time were you up this morning?” She snapped.

“I fucking asked first.”

She gave him a half-hearted shove. “Nuh uh.”

“Really?” He snorted Her name. “What are you, a fucking child?”

“That’s rich coming from you, Ben.” She was starting to slump against him. “And even if I was, you’re not my fucking dad, you don’t get to give me a bed time.”

“I think you’re giving yourself a bed time, beautiful.” The word slipped out of Ben’s mouth, and the Thing became frozen as She looked up at him.

There was no fucking reason for that to be weird, Ben had called fucking hundreds of women beautiful. She wasn’t any fucking different. Even if She was perfect and leaned into him and looking up at him with sleepy, shining eyes and the Thing wanted to—fucking had to—hold Her like this forever-

“I’m not tired,” Her words were slurred mumbles against Ben, and he chuckled because—before the words had even left Her mouth—she was slumped into him, breathing growing steady with sleep.

Ben carried Her upstairs, laying her carefully on their bed and pulling the blankets up her body. When he drew back up, fucking forcing himself to walk away, back down the stairs, let Her sleep alone like a normal fucking man and not some weak fucking pussy who was scared to leave her side, she made a small sound behind him. When Ben turned, She was splayed out across the mattress, with one hand reaching out to Ben’s side, and frown twisted on Her perfect lips.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to no one, and stalked back to the bed. The Thing’s flailing around inside of him was calmed as Ben pulled Her to his chest, and She gave a small, breathy sigh as Her face returned to a picture of easy content.

Ben fell—lulled by Her heart and gentle breath—into deep sleep.

She was up first. The bed at Ben’s side had already grown cold, but he could hear the shower running through the bathroom door, hear the slow drum of Her heart as she moved. Ben stood and moved down the stairs, aiming to put on the coffee before she finished, only to find a half-full pot and a discarded mug at the counter. Her phone lay, face-down, at the mug’s side and glancing at the sink, there was a dirty plate that had definitely not been there the previous night.

When She arrived in the kitchen—hair damp and face blank—Ben coughed loudly.

“I can see you, Ben.” She moved past him, picking up her phone. “You can just say hi.”

“How long have you been up?” He asked roughly, and She shrugged.

“Few hours. We went to bed early last night, I must’ve gotten all the sleep I needed.”

“You fucking passed out last night,” Ben snapped Her name. “And it is not early. A few hours would mean before the fucking sun.”

She didn’t look up at him. “So?”

“You’re being fucking weird. And you never answered my question last night.”

“What question?” Her voice was flat, bored.

“What the hell is Butcher’s mission? It’s clearly something important, if he decided to give me my fucking shield.”

“I don’t know. Nobody’s told me.”

“I think you’re fucking lying.”

She raised her head, glaring firmly, coldly, at Ben. “I’m not. They don’t tell anything, you fucking know that.”

“I-“

“Nope.” She cut him off, placing her phone on the counter and crossing her arms. “We’re not fighting about this. Doesn’t matter what you think, Benjamin. That’s the fucking truth. Okay?”

Her face was like steel. He hadn’t seen her face like this, blank and controlled and full of so much quiet fury, in fucking months. The Thing was fucking cowering in Ben, like a goddamn pussy. Not afraid, but fucking desperate for her to stop looking at him like that. 

“Fine.” He grunted, and something like relief flashed across Her face. “But you need to fucking promise that if I need to be worried, you’ll tell me.”

“Sure,” She turned to the fridge, and Ben grabbed her arm, turning her to face him.

“Fucking promise.”

She blinked at him, voice a little softer—almost fucking delicate—when she said, “Promise.”

“Good,” He released her, and though the Thing felt no more peace, Ben took the goddamn weak reassurance. “Now eat, we’re training in a hour. Today you’re going to hit all the fucking targets.”

“You have a whole lot of faith in me, Pretty Boy,” She gave him a smile, and even that felt fragile. “Don’t know where the hell it comes from given how dogshit I am at this.”

“You’re getting better,” Ben winked. “Under my masterful fucking guidance.”

“Uh huh,” She snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Two hours later, after She missed the target for the eleventh time in a row—Ben watching from the edge of the room—he was starting to think she was doing it on purpose.

“You know, if you’re trying to prove a point,” Ben said Her name, giving her an annoyed look. “There are damn better ways to do it.”

“I’m not trying to prove a point,” She snapped. “You’re the one who chose the smallest fucking cup in the world.”

“You hit it yesterday.”

“Shut up,” She missed again, a low noise of frustration sounding from her chest. “God fucking damnit!”

Ben watched Her, lips gnawing and breaths becoming shallow. “Calm the hell down, Sunshine.”

“I am fucking calm.”

“You’re burning a hole in the floor.”

She looked down to where the wood was charred beneath her feet. “Fuck off.” She muttered.

“This whole fucking house is fire-proof.” Ben pushed himself off the wall. “You’re burning like a fucking bomb. What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just having an off day.” Her words were hissed through teeth, and smoke was filling the room.

“You’re sloppy.” He stopped, glowering down at Her. 

She didn’t falter, holding his gaze. “Last time you said that, was anything wrong?”

“Last time you fucking broke down.”

“Do I look like I’m breaking down now?”

“You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hit the fucking target.”

She didn’t break eye-contact as her arm shot out, and Ben looked in time to see the cup—along with the entire damn wall—catch fire.

“That doesn’t count,” he grunted.

“The fuck it doesn’t.”

“You have to only hit the target, brat. That’s the whole goddamn point.”

“Fuck off, you asshole.” She shoved against his chest. “You’re being a cunt on purpose.”

“I’m not the one being fucking insane about ‘nothing’.” Ben mocked. “We’re staying right here until you either admit something is up or hit the target the right fucking way.”

“Fuck you.”

Ben didn’t answer, only held Her glare. The Thing hated this, it hated how fucking strange She was being, how She wouldn’t fucking talk to him, how Her face was all painful shadows and contorted control. But Ben couldn’t fucking break. Couldn’t fucking let it go just to see Her smile. Not when she was tapping and chewing and her eyes were so fucking empty and she wouldn’t tell him why.

The afternoon was long. She didn’t hit a single fucking target, and Ben called it when She started looking like she was about to explode. Ben showered—trying to figure out the fuck to make Her talk—while She continued her practice in the kitchen. When he returned downstairs, Ben found her on the couch, watching the TV with a blank expression.

“Have you calmed the hell down?” He snapped, and the Thing grew thick in his throat when She looked up at him with exhausted, foggy eyes.

“Yeah,” She said softly. “I’m sorry-“ She cut herself off, swallowing heavily. “I promise nothing is wrong. I’m just tired.”

“Because you keep getting up like you’re in the fucking military,” Ben muttered, walking to sit at Her side. “You need fucking sleep.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“Shut up. It’s not the same.” Ben leaned back. “And I have been sleeping.”

“I know, you snore like a truck.” Her smile this time was a little lighter. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” Ben turned to look at Her, and found his face being pulled down, soft hands in his hair. “Right now?” He frowned at her. “It’s late, and you look a little too fucking tired.”

“We missed yesterday.” She said as if it was fucking obvious. “And if you still think it does nothing, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

Ben’s frown turned to a scowl at that. She was too fucking good at backing him into those corners, where She knew he couldn’t respond without her winning. “You think you’re real smart, huh?” 

“I don’t think I’m smart,” She gave him a cocky grin. “I know I’m smart.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

As Her brows drew together in focus, the Thing became strained. Something was fucking wrong. It didn’t matter how many times She denied it, she was more stressed than he’d ever fucking seen Her. Ben racked his brain for a way to ask Her that wouldn’t make her explode, wouldn’t make her shut down or turn away from him. It was an exhausting process, he had no clue how She did this all the time like it was easy, asking careful question and using stupid fucking tricks to bend him to Her will. Admittedly, Ben admired it. It was fucking hot, the small smiles on Her perfect face and how quick her words came. But Jesus fucking Christ, he wished She was worse at it. Especially as he tried to do it himself.

He said Her name slowly. “How did you meet Butcher?”

“What?”

���How did you-“

“I heard you,” She said tightly. “Why are you asking that?”

Ben fought the frown on his face. “Am I not allowed to ask fucking questions?”

“Not weird ones out of the blue.”

“It’s not that damn weird,” he grumbled. “You’ve never told me. Fuck me for being curious how you fell in with a bunch of fucking pussies.”

She sighed. “I escaped Homelander,” her hands gripped his head a little tighter. “They found me. Not much more to say.”

“How did they even know about you?” He searched Her face for any tells, any breaks in her mask.

Her face remained passive, unreadable. “Maeve told Butcher. He told Mallory. They tracked me down.”

“Why didn’t you fucking leave?”

“Leave?”

“The country,” Ben pushed. “Fuck, just the damn East Coast. Why did you stay where you could be found?” 

“You don’t know that I didn’t,” she muttered. “Maybe they found me in Aruba.”

“No, they fucking didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t know that, you cunt.”

“Answer my question, brat.”

She glared at Ben’s forehead. “I don’t know. I just, the first thing I found out when I escaped was that to everyone in the world, I’d been dead for over two years. I didn’t have anything to go back to.”

“So you should’ve just fucking left-“

“I couldn’t,” She hissed, and Ben felt her hand get warm. “I had nothing, no one. Just a fucking grave that proved I had existed. I was angry and tired and alone. Butcher found me at my grave, because that’s the only place I could be. I didn’t have it in me to leave, because I kept fucking hoping I’d blink and the grave would vanish.”

“Sunshine-“

“They found me, and they offered me a reason. I ‘fell in with them’ because they knew I was alive, and it gave me some sort of fucking value. That’s it.”

Ben placed his hands over Hers, and she finally looked at him. “I think we’re done.”

This time, She didn’t fight, and her voice was so fucking tired when she spoke. “Okay.”

The rest of the night was quiet, and though She was smiling and laughing, the joy felt uneasy, and it never reached her fucking eyes. When She leaned against Ben the Thing became loud, because though she wouldn’t look at him she was gripping his arm like he might vanish. Though She traded teasing words with him, there was no edge of amusement to them, lined only with that flat, rehearsed sound.

She was up first. They had fallen asleep late, Her pressed into the bed by Ben’s arm across her stomach, but She was up first. Ben found Her in the kitchen, sitting with her fingers tapping quickly on the counter. Before he could ask Her what the fuck she was doing up so early again, She looked up and smiled—a real fucking smile with teeth and clear eyes—as he entered the room.

“You’re up!” There were bags under her eyes, hanging heavier than before, but she was really fucking smiling and the Thing was tearing in two. “Finally.”

Ben started at Her. “Finally?” 

She hummed, nodding as she stood and walked to the oven. “Are you ready to have your mind fucking blown, Pretty Boy?”

“What the fuck are you-“ Ben cut himself off as She bent over, pulling out a cheesesteak—a beautiful cheesesteak that smelled fucking good—and turned with a grin.

“I did it.” She said smugly. “I cooked.”

“You’re real fucking pleased with yourself, huh.” Ben raised a brow a Her, and the Thing hummed as she gave a strong, proud nod.

“You’re going to fucking proud of me as well, dummy. I’m a god of this cooking shit.”

Fighting a smile, Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

She placed the cheesesteak before him, and gave a dramatic bow. “Bon appetit, cunt.” 

Ben expected it to taste like shit. It would’ve been really fucking funny if it tasted like shit, and it would’ve been so fucking easy. He could’ve teased her, or pretended it was fine and not felt the Thing buck around inside of him. But She would never just make shit easy for Ben. He had never met a more impossibly, obnoxiously fucking perfect person who seemed to know how to push every single one of his goddamn buttons. Because, fucking hell and Christ, this cheesesteak was good.

She watched his reaction carefully, eyes a little too wide to be natural. “So?” Her voice was nervous, delicate, and Ben couldn’t fucking force himself to lie.

“It’s good,” he muttered and She blinked.

“So you like it?”

Ben swallowed. “It’s good.”

“You said that,” Her voice was strained. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, Sunshine.” Ben took another large bite, and the words pushed out of him. “It’s fucking amazing. Keep your damn head on.”

Her smile took over her face, and though she didn’t look the slightest bit less exhausted, she looked so fucking thrilled at his words that the Thing fucking whined.

“Great. That’s good. I’m, uh-“ Her face was becoming flushed. “Thanks.”

Ben winked at Her. “You’re going to cook more shit now, right?”

Her heart stumbled, and she looked away. “We’ll see.”

“What if I give you that complete TV control?” Ben said through a mouthful, and She shrugged.

“I can just use my favors for that.”

“You’ll run out,” Ben said pointedly. “You didn’t get any yesterday.”

“I told you, it was just an off day.” She grumbled, and Ben nudged her with his foot, waiting for Her to turn before he spoke.

“If you want to take a break from it, just fucking tell me.”

She stared at him. “You fucking bullied me into this, and now you want me to take a break.”

“You’re exhausted. You’re not going to perform any better.”

 “I’ll be fine.” She snapped. “It was an off day.”

“You don’t have to prove a damn thing to me-“

“I’m not trying to.” She stood upright, moving to the door. “I’m fine, and I’ll perform fine as well.”

Ben examined Her, posture too rigid, face washed out, blinking too fast. “If you don’t, I earn a favor.”

“Deal,” she crossed Her arms. “There’s not a chance in hell you’ll get anything.”

“We’ll see,” Ben said through a mouthful, and She stuck her tongue out at him before marching away.

As he ate, Ben listened to Her move in their room. Her heart was fast—erratic and loud through the floor—until, suddenly, it wasn’t. It grew slower, steady and even, and She had stopped moving. Ben walked carefully up the stairs, abandoning the plate in the kitchen, and opened their door to find Her slumped on the bed. She lay on her side, head against Ben’s pillow, leg angled off the side of the mattress like she’d been knocked out. Her eyes were fluttering slightly, her breaths coming long and deep, and Ben realized he hadn’t seen Her sleep like this a fucking week. With a peaceful face, completely taken in rest. Every perfect feature of her face was blissful, somehow more beautiful with the push of pain. The Thing was filled with a foreign fucking adoration, and Ben couldn’t stop himself from carefully pulling a blanket over Her body, flipping off lights and closing curtains until there was nothing that could disturb Her. He paused before leaving the room, watching Her like a pussy fucking creep, but he could’t bring himself not to.

The Thing wanted to touch Her, Ben wanted to touch her, and the only thing that kept him from pulling her to his side was fear of waking her. This—Her sleeping without restraint—was more fucking important that the Thing and it’s stupid goddamn need.

Ben returned to the kitchen, finishing the cheesesteak and trying not to dwell on the ache of the Thing to return to Her. Just be there, near Her, if she fucking needed anything. She had to sleep, sure, but that didn’t mean Ben couldn’t fucking be there. What if She woke up, and was ready to tell him what had been bothering her. What Butcher was planning. What if She fucking cried, what if she needed him, just him. Not any food or comfort or help but just him. 

He found himself in front of the TV, no attention on the show playing. Only Her breathing, only her heart. Any flutter or staggered sound made Ben’s whole fucking body tense, and though no drums sounded, it felt painfully fucking similar, like the slightest break in Her was a break in him.

When he heard the first scream, Ben had never moved so fucking fast in his life. He tore up the stair, kicking the door clean off its hinges, and a rush of fire blew past him into the hall. Ben’s blood turned cold as he moved into the room, his heart pounding in his chest.

She was floating off the bed, thrashing like she’d been fucking possessed. Everywhere around her was fire, covering her body and pushing at the walls. She was screaming, no breaks in the horrible fucking sound for breath. Her eyes looked screwed shut, her jaw hanging open and body fighting something Ben couldn’t see.

He launched himself at Her, trying to avoid her flailing hands—curled into claws and scratching at the air—as he shook her awake. He roared Her name, and she rose higher off the bed, back arching and fire growing. She looked like she was being tortured, screeching words Ben couldn’t understand and making deep, guttural sounds of agony. Ben could feel his skin burning—searing and scarring and raw—but grabbed Her roughly and pulled her down from the air. He couldn’t wake Her up, her eyes wouldn’t fucking open, the screams wouldn’t stop-

Ben did the only thing he could think of—deciding She could give him all the hell in the world for it and it wouldn’t change a goddamn thing—and slapped Her. Not hard enough to break Her, holding his strength back from leaving even a temporary mark, but enough to make it sting. Enough to make her eyes shoot open, make Her breathe ragged and sharp gasp as she fell fully onto Ben.

Tears were turning to steam in Her eyes and the screams became weak and desperate scrambles for air. She was clinging to Ben with flaming nails in his skin, but he didn’t give a goddamn fuck, because all that mattered was Her. Awake, choked on sobs and burning, but awake. Ben would let Her melt his fucking skin off if it helped, if it meant he would never have to hear her scream again.

Ben wasn’t sure how much time passed before She finally spoke, words pushed from her throat and so quiet he almost didn’t hear them.

“Why-“ She took a pained breath, hands fisted in Ben’s shirt. “Why did you let me sleep?”

“You passed out,” he said Her name in a low tone. “You fucking needed it.”

She shook her head. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“Did you not hear me say you passed out?” Ben’s voice raised slightly, holding Her tightly against him. “You looked like shit, like you hadn’t slept in days-“

“On purpose!” She pushed at his chest, voice high and unsteady. “I couldn’t sleep, I can’t sleep! I won’t let myself or-“

Ben narrowed his eyes as she cut Herself off with a miserable sound, something furious build in him as Her head fell into him.

“Or what?” He asked firmly, and She shook her head.

“Nothing.” Her voice was a whisper, and Ben pulled her back, holding her head so she was looking at him.

“Or what?” This time the words were louder, angrier. She had been fucking hiding something, and if it was something that reduced Her to this, he wouldn’t fucking let it go or bend anymore. Ben was going to know what was fucking wrong, if She wouldn’t tell him, he’d torture it out of Butcher by hand.

“I can’t-“ She shook her head frantically, and Ben  grabbed it between his hands. “I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, you fucking can."

“No, you don’t understand, I- I can’t, you’ll-“ She choked on another sob, and the Thing was roaring inside him.

“I’ll what?” Ben said Her name through teeth. “What the fuck is wrong-“

She made a desperate whimper, trying to pull from him. “You’ll try to-“ Her breaths were shallow and short. “Can’t-“

“Look at me.” Ben lowered his voice, even as he tightened his grip.

“No-“

The Thing was like stone in him, running a cold, angry resolve through Ben’s body. “If you think for one goddamn fucking second that I’ll let something hurt you, you’re a lot more stupid than I thought.”

“You won’t- you can’t-“

“Stop fucking saying that.” He snapped, and another weak sound fell from Her mouth. “Just, fuck, please.” He traced soft circles on Her face, and her heart slowed slightly. “Fucking look at me Sunshine. Just look at me.”

Finally, She did. The lingering fire went out as she met his eyes, blinking away heavy tears.

“What’s wrong.”

“I can’t tell you.” She whispered, and Ben shook his head.

“You need to fucking tell me. I can’t do anything if you don’t-"

“I know." Her eyes were so sad, she looked damn haunted. “That’s why I can’t tell you.”

“You need to make some goddamn sense.”

She sighed. “I can’t.”

“Try.”

“No, Ben. I can’t. I won’t. This isn’t something you can fix.”

He said Her name slowly. “Either you tell me now, or we sit here until you come to your fucking senses.”

“I-“

“You just woke up screaming and set the whole fucking bedroom on fire.” He roared, unable to care if his voice was loud and cruel. “You’ve been lying to me that everything is fine, but it’s clearly fucking not, so if you don’t start talking right fucking now I’ll-“ Ben took a deep, furious breath, dropping his head against Hers. “Just fucking tell me, goddamnit. You’re making me feel fucking sick, so please tell me.”

She pressed her head to his, and Ben wasn’t sure either of them were breathing. “You’ll try and stop me,” Her volume was barely a fucking sound. “If I tell you, you’ll try to stop me, and I can’t let you.”

He said Her name, and she shook her head, leaning back.

“I can’t let anything stop me. This is it. I can’t tell you or you’ll stop me, I can’t tell Annie or Hughie or MM because they’ll stop me. I can’t sleep because I’ll lose my nerve and stop myself. And I can’t let that happen.”

“I-“

She cut Ben off again, red eyes searching his as she placed her hands over where Ben held her face.

“This is the only way. So I can’t let anything stop me.”

Ben started at Her, the Thing squeezing at his throat. “Tell me.” 

“Ben-“

“You aren’t fucking leaving this room until you get real fucking specific about whatever shit you’re about to pull.”

She only sighed. “I told you-“

He hissed Her name. “I have some fucking news for you, Sunshine. Whatever it is, I’m stopping you. If it’s a gambit to steal Butcher’s kid, if it a play to trap Sage, if it’s some sort of self-sacrificial bullshit-“

Her heart faltered, so subtly, but Ben caught it. She started to shake her head, but he didn’t waver, keeping her perfect, tragic face aimed at his own.

“What the fuck are you about to do.” He growled, and a small sob left Her. “And don’t say you can’t tell me or it doesn’t matter or lie or apologize. Say the fucking truth,” Ben’s voice became weak, desperate, pathetic as he said Her name. But he had to know. He might fucking die if he didn’t. “Please. Just tell the fucking truth.”

The second before She spoke was the longest of Ben’s life. It was hell, because if she lied it would rip the Thing apart, would rip him apart. She was watching him, hands still holding Ben’s, and when the silence broke with Her unsteady inhale—worlds falling out of her like vomit—Ben time move once more, all too fast.

“The Ryan plan. It’s the Ryan plan. It’s the only safe way to get him out, get him away. Safe. Get proof, undeniable proof of what Homelander is. What he’s capable of doing, what he’s done. Becca Butcher files, and-"

“You.” Ben said, blood running cold.

“Me.”

“And how, fucking how, did you plan on getting close enough to tell him.” Ben spat, and She wouldn’t look him in the fucking eyes.

“The only definite way.”

“Fucking say it.”

“Let Home-“ She made a weak, hollow, broken sound. “Let Homelander take me."

This was hell. Ben was fucking certain of it. This was some sort of punishment, where he got to have Her only to lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose her. Not if it was something like his, something unnecessary and so fucking stupid. There was no longer a divide in Ben between his rage and that of the Thing. Every fiber of his body was in a consuming fucking chant, a certain answer to what he had to do.

“No.”

She shook her head. “It’s not-“ 

“No.” Ben’s voice was firmer, louder. “Not a fucking chance in hell.”

“I’m not asking.” Her voice was still empty, but more firm with the anger creeping onto her face. “You don’t get to tell me what-“

“We fucking promised.” Ben growled. “We aren’t going back. So no.”

“You don’t get to stop me, Ben.” She spat. “I’m fucking doing it.”

“Would you let me go back under, for some bullshit, pointless fucking plan?”

She scowled. “Of course not, but this isn’t-“

“It’s the exact fucking same!” Ben pulled himself from Her completely. “You’re not doing this, not while I’m fucking alive and able to do something about it!”

“You don’t tell me what I can do!” She screamed. “This is the only way, and I’m fucking doing it!”

“NO!” He roared. “You don’t get to fucking give yourself to him like you’re a fucking pawn.”

“I am a pawn!” She screamed. “I’m the only way in, the only way to save Ryan, get him the fuck away so you can do your fucking job and kill him.”

“Do you really think that I’d just let you go?” He hissed. “Do you seriously fucking believe that Homelander would take you and I wouldn’t fucking burn everything to get you away from him.”

“I’m not your fucking responsibility. Protecting me isn’t your job-“

“I don’t give a fucking shit about your plans or Butcher’s plans or my job. I give a shit about you.” Ben could hear the drums in the distance, but it didn’t fucking matter. Nothing fucking mattered except Her. “You burn, I burn. You’re not fucking burning without me, so no.”

She stared at Ben, and all the anger was gone, replaced by a look he couldn’t fucking understand. “Ben-“

“No.” He snapped, extending his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“My phone?”

“I’m calling your team. We’re going to come up with a plan that’s not fucking stupid.”

“My plan-“

“Isn’t going to happen. You’re going to sleep, and I’m going to stay right fucking here until we come up with a new fucking plan.”

She glared at him. “If you lock me in this room, I’ll fucking-“

“Stop being so fucking dramatic, I’m not locking you anywhere. Wherever you go, I go. I won’t leave your side for a fucking second, not until I know you won’t try and go through with this idiotic idea.” Ben flexed his hand. “Give me your phone.”

She let out a shaky sigh, tilting her head. “You’re serious.”

“As goddamn cancer.”

She watched him—Ben still couldn’t fucking read that expression on Her perfect face—looking for something She seemed to find with a small nod. When She placed her phone in Ben’s hands it felt like the world finally started moving again.

“I’m sorry.” She said softly, keeping her hand over the phone in Ben’s palms. “I’m really-“

“No apologies.” Ben said, closing his fingers around Hers. “Go sleep.”

“Can you-“

“After I call.”

She hummed carefully, walking to the bed. When She didn’t lie down—only sitting at the headboard with her arms wrapped around her body—Ben raised his brows.

“I won’t-“ She swallowed. “I won’t sleep if you’re not here.”

Ben blinks. “Oh.”

“I can wait-“ She cut herself off as Ben dropped on his side of the mattress.

“I can talk while sitting,” he said dryly. “Sleep.”

All the fight and pain seemed to drain from Her at once with Ben’s words, and she almost fell into his side as sleep overtook Her. Ben slung his arm over Her shoulder, and for the first time that day the Thing breathed.

Ben managed to get her phone open himself, and found Butcher’s contact with much more ease than last time. It took him a second to figure out the difference between cell and work, but when it began to ring Ben held it to his ear, grinding his teeth as Butcher took his sweet fucking time to pick up.

“Oi, Love. We ain’t supposed to be talking for another two days-“

“We need to fucking talk Butcher.” Ben growled. “Change of plans, She’s not doing your dirty work. If you and your pussy ass team aren’t here by tomorrow afternoon to figure out something new, all deals are off. Do you fucking understand?”

There was silence for only a second. “I don’t know what-“

“Don’t bullshit me. Tomorrow afternoon, or I walk.”

“I don’t take any bloody orders from you, Gov. And you can’t just fuckin walk-“

“Fucking try me.” Ben hissed, and didn’t wait for Butcher’s response to hang up.

————

The day was long. You slept, really slept, for the first time in a week. No nightmares, no fire, no vigilante methods to keep yourself awake. Ben wouldn’t let you out of his sight, except to use the bathroom. And even then you’d have to talk the whole time so he knew you were there. He didn’t trust you, and you didn’t blame him. He won’t look at you, he keeps ignoring your apologies, and the Feeling can’t stand it. It’s killing you. He’s barely spoken, except in one-word answers to questions. 

“When will the team be here?” You ask nervously.

“Evening.” He says coldly, and that’s all you get.

Now you’re wrapped in a blanket, sitting quietly on the stairs as everyone fights around you. Most of your view of the team was blocked by Ben—who had planted himself firmly at the foot of the stairs—but you could hear it all.

 “Wait,” Annie says slowly. “So was this her plan, or Butcher’s?”

 “Sounds like a Butcher plan.” MM mutters, and Butcher scoffs.

“This was all her,” he snaps your name. “I was just enjoying the ride.”

“When did you even come up with this?” Hughie asks, and you catch a glimpse of his worried face as he tries to lean around Ben and address you.

Ben promptly moves to block him once more. “Don’t fucking talk to her, you fucking pussy.”

“I’m just-“

“Five steps back, Cocksucker, before I make you.”

“Ben,” you mumble, standing up and walking to be directly behind him. “It’s fine.”

“Listen to Sunshine, Gov.” Butcher sneers. “It’s fine.”

You glower at him over Ben’s shoulder. “Stuff it, Butcher.”

“I still don’t really understand,” Annie speaks over the venomous looks you and Butcher are exchanging. “Does Mallory know about this?”

“No,” you sigh. “Only Butcher and I. That was the point, no possible leaks that would tell Homelander it was a trap.”

“And the Becca files-“

You cut Hughie off. “I would’ve hidden them on myself.”

“Homelander would’ve seen them, no?” Frenchie frowned. “X-ray vision.”

“I had Butcher buy a tampon-shaped USB.”

Annie’s face wrinkles at your words. “That’s… Disgusting.”

“By the way,” Butcher interjects. “If we ain’t going through with this, you owe me forty.”

“There’s no way in hell you’re going through with this, Butcher.” MM snaps. “You two-“ he waves a hand between you and Butcher. “Are motherfucking idiots, who knew how insane this plan was and didn’t tell us because there’s not a single fuckin universe where we’d let you go through with it.”

“I don’t know why I’m takin all the bloody blame for her plan-“

“Because she’s on strike one!” Annie shouts. “This is strike fifty for you, asshole! There’s a reason she went to you, because is your exact brand of fucking shit!”

“Ooo,” Butcher mocks. “Church girl using some vulgar fuckin words, I’m shaking in my sketchers.”

Hughie says your name, pleading. “You have to have known this was a bad idea. Why-“

“It was, it is-“ You see Ben’s jaw clench in front of you. “The best way to get Ryan away from Homelander at his own will. There’s no tangible records of me, or anything that Homelander did to me.”

Annie frowns. “What about a witness-“

“There are none. I, I-“ Fire itches under your skin as memories of white lab coats covered in ash flash in your head, clearing suddenly as Ben leans back, his hand moving to brush your knee. “I killed all of them. When I escaped.” You swallow. “It was an accident-“

“Were there rotating guards?” Ben turns to look at you, eyes narrowed in a look of stop apologizing.

“I think so.” You mutter. 

“Then that’s it. We find one of those fucking pussies, get them to testify or give us some fucking proof.”

You shake your head. “Homelander might have killed them-“

“Maybe he did.” Ben shrugs. “And we’ll find another fucking way. You’re not throwing yourself in front of this stupid fucking train,” he says your name, holding your gaze like no one else is in the room. “That’s it.”

MM coughs your name, and your attention is ripped from Ben. “Are we going to need to put some security on you-”

“She’s not leaving my side.” Ben snaps, and MM glares at him.

“I didn’t fucking ask you, Soldier Boy.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, giving MM a reassuring nod as you notice the muscles of Ben’s back growing tense. “I promise. Just, please, keep me updated.” Your voice is desperate. You don’t care. “Tell me what you find, even if it’s nothing.”

MM nods. “You’ll stay here?”

“I swear it.”

The teams leave, and it’s just you and Ben, alone.

“Ben, please-“ Almost the moment the door closes you’re begging, chasing Ben as he walk away from you and up the stairs. You just need him to say something, anything that makes you sure he doesn’t hate you.

“Stop it,” He grunts your name, not turning. “Just, fucking stop it.”

“I’m sorry-“

“I don’t want your apologies.” He snaps. “I’m not mad.”

“Yes you are-“

“No, I’m not.” He whips around, and still catches you before fall into him. You feel it. He’s not mad, but something is pushing around in his heart. It’s painful, and it’s so much worse. “I’m mad at Butcher, I’m mad at Homelander. I’m not fucking mad at you.”

“Why?” You can’t help but whisper. “I lied.”

Ben sighs, eyes boring into yours. “Because it’s you.” He grunts, and the Feeling keens. “Too fucking kind for your own good, too fucking smart as well, even if that was the most stupid shit I’ve ever heard.”

“So,” you don’t think you can breathe. “You forgive me.”

“I wasn’t mad at you, Sunshine. I’m fucking furious that you thought this was a good idea, that you weren’t going to tell me. But you didn’t betray me. So we’re square.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” the words are blurted, because you need him to know. “The plan was you’d just be locked in here alone, and Butcher would have Frenchie make something for when you had to leave. I wasn’t ever going to put you back under.”

“I know. I trust you.”

And you feel that too. He does.

“You don’t hate me,” you say, one more time. It’s barely a question, but Ben answers anyway.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You give a shit about me,” you repeat his words from last night carefully, the Feeling desperate to hear him say it again.

He grunts, and you feel his heart turn. “I give a shit about you.”

“And your offer? To go with you?”

“What about it?”

“It’s still an offer?”

“Did I say it wasn’t?”

“No, but you might not have been sure and-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Do you trust me?” When you nod, you can feel his heart, tense and hot. “Then believe me when I tell you that I meant it. No pussying out.”

“No pussying out.” You echo. “Ben?” He frowns, eyes holding yours, so you continue. “I give a shit about you, too.”

A smile pulls his lips. “You as well.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, and you’re also smiling. “Stop using my own lessons against me.”

“Stop teaching me shit.” He teases. “It never ends well for either of us.”

“What if, what if we learn stuff together?”

“Sunshine, if you’re about to suggest I go back to fucking school-“

“No, dumbass,” you laugh softly. “You can’t cook either. We have our one, shitty cookbook. I’ll keep learning if you do it with me.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “Why? What are you going to make me do?”

“I just want to do something together that isn’t about life or death.” You mumble, looking anywhere but him. “I’m not trying to make you do anything. If you don’t want-“

“Fucking fine.” You turn sharply, unsure you heard him correctly. “Whatever.”

“So you’ll do it?” He grunts a sound you know to be begrudging affirmation, and your smile grows wide as you extend your hand.

“I’m not fucking shaking on it.”

“Do it or I’ll never make cheesesteak again.”

He scowls, grumbling something about blackmail, but shakes your hand roughly. You expect him to let go—pull away and keep being gruff and quiet—but instead Ben pulls you into him, holding you caged, warm, safe in his arms. You hold onto him, because if he lets go your legs might give out and the Feeling is soft and content here. You don’t know how long you’re standing there before Ben speaks, and you feel the words rumble in his chest as he does.

“You need sleep.”

He’s right, and you don’t have anything in you to fight, so you just nod. Ben picks you up, fully off the ground, and carries you into your room. As he places you on the bed he tries to let go, but you hold him tighter, pulling him until his head is next to yours.

“What if I have a nightmare,” you say softly in his ear.

“Are they-“

“About Homelander. All of them.”

“Then I’ll wake you up, and we’ll watch TV or some shit.” Ben says firmly.

“You won’t leave?”

“You couldn’t force me away.”

You believe him. You can feel it, the stone resolution and the pure fucking care. Both, somehow, for you. He’s still touching you, and the Feeling is peaceful. It never wants him to let go.

“Okay,” you yawn, and your body is already growing numb.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” You hear him say right before sleep catches you.

End Note: As we reach 10 chapters, 100k words, and 1 month, I just want to pause and say that I am so, so thankful for you guys. I can’t believe the love and support everyone has given this fic, or properly articulate how amazing this has been for me. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun writing in years, and I honestly didn’t think people would even read this. Every time you guys engage with my little story it means the whole fucking world to me. Every comment or interaction is everything to me, you don’t even know. Thank you, thank you, thank you again, and I’ll see everyone next time for the much less angsty chapter 11. In the mean time, let me know your thoughts! <3

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

@fghj18

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

[zoyazoy]

Hello! I have noticed that in your recent post you drew a girl in a Łowicz folk costume - it's a lovely drawing! You weren't sure about the wedding attire, so I hope this will be of help! When it comes to wedding headdresses from this region, they tend to be very rich in flowers, either in a bouquet-like form (first two pictures; the top is more circular, often with a very clear meeting point at the bottom where all of the wires with flowers and other ornaments start branching out) or in a less dense form (latter two pictures; "rózgi", singular "rózga" is how the wires with flowers on them are called!)

And here are some in colour:

If you would like to find more pictures of polish folk dresses, site strojeludowe.net ( https://strojeludowe.net ) is a very helpful resource with lots of pictures of different polish dresses, but it is all written in polish. Nonetheless if there is anything you're not sure about I would love to help! I'm really happy to see you like our dresses and make such lovely drawings of them! Have a nice day 😊💗

That's so beautiful my heart melting T_T If I were the bride this would be my first choice of thing I want to wear too. Thank you for such a useful information! I love learning more about other culture and this is very helpful for me. I'm so happy. I try drawing it, it look so heavy! I was wondering if the bride would be able to wear it for long. but it's so beautiful that the pain would be worth it imo!

[lonelymoonbeams]

Sophia lore (because no one talks about her enough)

Sophia is actually canonically Turkish! The grandma in Vertin's head spent a whole trace comparing her to a rug, specifically a kilim, which is a Turkish rug that's known for being very fine, lightweight, and having unique patterns due to being handmade. She's probably from Anatolia, aka Asia Minor.

Her mom was in the hospital for a long time when she was little, and Sophia and Hugh (her dad) would go visit her.

Whenever Sophia finished her studies as a kid, Hugh would give her a candy. She saved them in a jar in order to buy flowers for her mom, although I'm not exactly sure how candies pay for flowers. A trade, maybe?

Also as a kid, Sophia had a habit of calling people's names twice. No relevance. I just thought it was cute.

Sophia used to get up early in order to collect sand from the beach. She used it to polish glass since she wanted to make her dad glasses. Oddly specific skill for a child to know, but hey.

Sophia was the one who introduced 37 to fruits in yoghurt. She learned it elsewhere before coming to Apeiron. She was also the one who gave 6 his metal crown- it was originally going to be a fabric hat until 37 got involved and they made it a metal triangle. Fortunately, 210 intervened and made it wearable.

Sophia worked with 37 on calculating for the return of their ship, likely in the position of Corrector. Both of them were on the shore waiting for it, and both saw their parents get reversed, only to wash up as geometric shapes.

Sophia's nervous habit has always been pulling her hair.

She can get very emotional when answering questions. However, she's always quick to backtrack as soon as she realizes.

Sophia is actually described as very smart. Despite being an outsider, she was faster than many of the others on Apeiron. However, it was never noticed because 37 would always be the one on top.

Girl has such self-esteem issues. Stop. Please. Why are you like this *head in hands*

Sonetto is someone she can relate to. They both are exceptional students and arcanists who will never be better than their childhood friend. They'd probably be friends, in another time.

The reason why she's the Corrector is because no one else wants to do it, since they see it as having to do with the world of matters.

Possibly the funniest- Hofmann has seen Sophia's baby/childhood picture, but they've never met each other.

[mangocustard16]

📁....Seventeen's reaction to having an actor/actress s/o₊˚🎬📼🎥✩｡

genre: fluff warnings: pet names, cursing lmk if i missed something w.c: 970 a/n: thank you! anon and I'm sorry i won't be covering another req that asked me to write about ghostface/scream cuz i already saw someone write about it<3 sorry anon!

#Seungcheol 

He is very supportive of your career and is proud of your accomplishments. He's clearing out his schedules to attend premieres, to silently cheer you on, and is not afraid to publicly express his admiration for your talent. Would casually appear during your shootings with your favorite flowers and snacks for everyone. "Babe! Aren't you supposed to be on the other side of the country?" "No, I'm supposed to be wherever you are."

#Jeonghan 

Oh boy! he's taking tips, no jokes. He's got his notepad out and is ready to jot down directions and suggestions. He is ready to polish his acting skills which will come in helpful when bluffing others during the mafia game.  Bonus: he shares the prizes he wins from "Going Seventeen Mafia Games" with you. "Hannie that's the third Dyson air wrap you've won this year!"

#Joshua 

Your supportive lil' boy. He helps you practice your lines and gives valuable advice. Everything flows smoothly until you reach a scene involving a kiss. joshua.exe has stopped functioning. He's momentarily frozen, and you can't help but wonder if he's even breathing. He had anticipated a kiss scene cuz you were the main lead, but it still bothered him a little to see you kiss someone else who is not him. But he's definitely not insecure or anything, just a peculiar sensation. And for the cure, just kiss the living daylights out of him so hard that he forgets the world except for you.

#Junhui 

Well....he's an actor himself, so it's quite obvious that he's exceptionally proud of you. He's shamelessly promoting your movie/drama every chance he gets. Dedicates an entire Weibo live suggesting your movies and dramas to carats while explaining the plot in great detail. "You know The Dreamcatcher's plot twist caught me so hard that I almost fell off my seat"

#Hoshi

He wants to accompany you everywhere – to set, to your trailer as you practice your lines, to premieres and other events. He adores the world you live in and wishes to learn more about it. He tried out acting(a period drama) and continued talking in that manner for days. "What an interesting food this is, 'twixt two buns lies a delicacy that-" "It's just a burger calm down."

#Wonwoo 

He would be so proud of you. He'll be your silent cheerleader. When the two of you are alone, he will lavishly compliment your acting and take you out to a lovely meal to celebrate the premiere. So, while it may not appear to others that he makes a big deal out of it, you'll know how proud he is.

#Woozi

Please DO NOT bring him to events – Woozi almost blends in with the numerous cameramen and women, his own phone in hand as he photographs picture after picture of you as you go into the premiere of your new film — he's a very proud boyfriend, after all. "Look here! babe. Damn you look so good"

#Seokmin

He is gonna hype you up so much omg. He like, Jun, won’t hesitate to promote your movie every chance he gets. His darling is building a name for themselves, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do everything he can to help them. He's always bugging Carats to go see the latest movie. Whenever you watch the movie alone, he will be more sincere and serious in his compliments. "No problem, carats! If you've already seen the film, you should go watch it two more times."

#Mingyu

He'd be captivated by your performance and would shove his face very close to the screen every time you appeared. And, while he may not shamelessly promote you as some of the other members do, he will certainly speak highly of you and your acting abilities to everyone he knows. That's all he talks about when he's out with his '97 liner buddies. Literally. "Y/n had to act like they had not found the killer while sitting right beside them. They are so cool!"

#Minghao 

Minghao is buying the CD regardless of whether he could simply ask you for a copy of the movie you're in or even if he's seen it hundreds of times. He is one of your biggest fans; he owns all of your movies, has seen all of your shows, and knows all of your interviews by heart.  "Are you watching y/n’s movies again? Aren’t you tired?" "Fuck off"

#Seungkwan

He actually got to know you during an event promoting your latest drama. He's your biggest fanboy, watching every drama/movie you've ever starred in, and bombarding you with compliments. Winces slightly whenever he sees you kiss a fellow actor on screen. "So your type is Song Jung" "Come on!! Stop sulking, we filmed that 6 years ago" 

#Vernon

Leaves 15-line reviews on your movies complimenting your acting skills. He is always pulling out your movies during movie night and doesn't understand why wouldn't wanna watch your own movie for the nth time again. "Babe, we have watched Wandering Dreams more than 20 times" "So, do you wanna watch 'Written in Sand'?" *dies* Bonus: All the movies you've starred in receive an obvious 5-star rating.

#Chan

He'd be so freaking excited! It wouldn't be strange to spend endless nights practicing your lines with him. Coffee would be essential for those nights, as the caffeine would keep you up as you practiced. And whenever someone pointed out how much the critics praised you, he'd say, "Yeah, of course, my love did amazing." It's as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

BONUS:: Sends coffee trucks to the set during shooting: Minghao, Seungkwan, Jeonghan, Joshua ♡

[eroselless]

─────────────── sommer house // 2

series summary: After starting a new job at a prestigious museum in London, you form a close friendship with Helaena Targaryen. You're surprised when she invites you to stay at her family's estate for the summer holidays. [2.7k]

[aegon targaryen x reader, modern!HOTD AU ]

masterlist | previously

warnings: none, i think!

note: i'm so sorry it took me a little bit to get this out. i've been prepping for a big trip coming up soon, my head has been a little everywhere recently. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

The rain that had accompanied you on the way out of London had ceased by the time you arrived at the Targaryen estate. The sun was dipping under the horizon, painting the sky in a soft orange and pink hue. The windows are still streaked with rain as you push off the plush seat and step out of the car. You stretch your arms above your head, loosening the muscles tightened by the long drive. 

Taking a deep breath, your eyes scan the scenery before you. The stone walls of the house seem to grow from the landscape, it’s garbled roof echoing a serene, timeless elegance. Tall trees and lush greenery frame the manor, flowers blooming in vibrant bursts along the pathway to the house. The silence is tranquil, punctuated only by the occasional wail of a passing bird. 

With your bags taken by a man who introduced himself as Criston, you begin to follow Helaena up the gravel path. Her steps fall softly as she leads the way. The look in her face is soft and gentle, hiding much behind her eyes. The more you look at the manor, the more it resembles an enlarged and elevated cottage or even a mix between a cottage and a castle, if such a thing existed—homey, alluring, and comfortable. 

You enter the home, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and old books, a familiar scent you learned to love during your time at the museum. You continue to follow Helaena through the foyer and into the living room, your footsteps muffled by thick rugs lined with intricate patterns. The room is open, the dimming sunlight streaming through a set of two large windows. A grand piano sits in a corner, scraps of paper tucked away in a book on the windowsill next to it. A large collection of books fill the shelves spanning an entire wall. Swords, small statues and animal skeletons are scattered around the room and hanging on the walls. There’s even a collection of insects pinned in frames, butterflies of all colors and sizes. 

The room is empty save for a silhouette sitting at one of the windows. It overlooks the vast ground of the estate, eyes watching two figures as they lounge outside by a small lake just beyond and below the window. 

“Mum,” Helaena calls out, wrapping her knuckles against the doorframe where the two of you have stopped. The woman takes her eyes away from the window, taking in a sharp breath before turning to you, a wide smile on her face. 

“Hel,” she calls her, pulling her daughter into her arms, hands caressing Helaena’s hair. Helaena hesitates momentarily before wrapping her arms around her mother. As you watch them, you notice how different they are from each other. If you hadn’t been told before, you would've never known they were mother and daughter. Helaena wore a cerulean sweater with gray trousers, her blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders. Alicent, on the other hand, wore a deep green blouse with brown trousers, her hair pulled away from her face but cascading in long tresses down her back.

Helaena pulls away from her mother, gesturing toward you. “Mum, this is Y/N,”

Alicent meets your eyes, introducing herself. Before you can reach out a hand for a shake, she pulls you into a hug just as she had her own daughter.

She pulls back, hands gently gripping your biceps. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. Helaena’s told me so much about you,” she says, her voice filled with genuine warmth. “Welcome to our humble home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Targaryen,” you say, smiling.

“Please, call me Alicent. I insist.” Her smile broadens. “Come, let me show you to your room,” she says, guiding you through the elegantly decorated hallways. 

The faces in each portrait seem to follow you as you pass, their eyes windows into the past lives that once filled these halls. It sends a soft chill up your spine. But you can’t help but marvel at the grandeur around you – it’s as if you’ve stepped onto a movie set, a dream.

Alicent stops in front of a door and pushes it open. The room is immense, its pale blue walls bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through a large window. “This will be your room,” she gestures. “Helaena’s old room is just next door. There’s a bathroom that connects the two, but you’ll have plenty of space.”

You step into the room, immediately taken by its charm. The plush bed is adorned with soft pillows, the rugs underfoot are invitingly soft, and tasteful art hangs on the walls, adding a touch of elegance.

“This is beautiful,” you say, spotting your suitcases left at the foot of the bed. “Thank you so much, Alicent.”

Wandering into the bathroom, you’re greeted by a large bathtub that sits in front of an even larger window. On one side of the room are a pair of sinks; on the other, a spacious shower. Setting your things down at one sink, you peer out the window, the soft light peeking in as the sun continues to dip further down the sky. It casts shadows over the grounds. You can see the back of the estate, the sprawling gardens, and the lake.

“Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just let me know,” Alicent says. She bids you goodbye and withdraws from the room, reminding you that dinner will be in about an hour.

Leaving you alone, you sink into the lavish plush armchair, feeling completely at home. Your eyes peer out the window, every time finding something new to look at. In the distance, you can see stables and what looks like an old church with people pouring out. There’s a treeline just beyond the property that looks like it goes on for miles. Getting lost trying to find the end of the forest, your eyes begin to feel heavy and you find yourself drifting off. 

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's not until a while later you hear your name called softly from the doorway. Shifting out of your relaxed stupor, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and spot your blonde haired friend peeking at you from the doorway, a gentle smile on her lips. She raises her eyebrows at you and you shove her shoulder with yours before following her down the grand staircase. As you descend, the scent of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making your stomach tinge in anticipation.

The dining room is abuzz with activity as the Targaryen family gathers. The two men you saw outside earlier, Helaena’s brothers, stand at the entrance of the dining room, conversing quietly. Aemond and Daeron stand taller than you, both offering you polite smiles. There's a hint of reserve in their eyes, making the nerves in your veins accelerate a little more. 

You’re surprised at how similar yet so different they are from each other. Both share a sharp chin and lanky limbs long and lean. Their clothes contrast each other in style but compliment their individual characteristics. Their hair is a pale blonde like Helaena’s – Aemond’s long locks flowing down his back, while Daeron’s is cropped short above his ears.

“Welcome,” Aemond says, his voice smooth and measured. He extends a hand, and you shake it, noting the firm yet gentle grip.

“Good to see you,” Daeron adds, his smile a touch warmer than his brother’s. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you both,” you reply, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement.

Helaena guides you to your seat at the long, polished dining table. The table is set with gleaming silverware and adorned with an array of delicious dishes—roast meats, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked bread. The space is elegant and inviting, with a long, polished oak table set with gleaming silverware and sparkling crystal glasses. Soft, golden light filters through antique chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the room. The rich scent of roasted meats and fresh herbs fills the air, mingling with the subtle aroma of the flowers that adorn the table. Your eyes scan over the feast and the new faces, taking in the grandeur of the setting.

You watch as Helaena’s father, Viserys, limps his way into the room, clinging onto Alicent’s arm with one hand while the other pushes on a cane. There’s a thin layer of hair on his head and the side of his face is riddled with scars. His face lights up with a warm smile when he meets your eyes, radiating a quiet strength and dignity. Alicent takes her place next to him, a soft smile adorning her lips. 

You observe the family as they take their seats and begin scooping servings of food onto their plates. The initial nervousness fades as you find yourself relaxing into your seat. You're passed a large plate of potatoes, Helaena motioning for you to help yourself.

Viserys is seated to Alicent’s left, his demeanor kind and relaxed. He looks up with a gentle smile. “So you’re the friend Helaena has spoken so highly of. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” you say, returning his smile with genuine warmth. He continues by inquiring about your past, how you came to be in London, what you thought of the weather compared to back home. It made the butterflies return to your stomach as you answered each of his questions but by the time the second course was being served, you felt comfortable in your seat surrounded by the new faces. You can even see Aemond and Daeron’s faces soften towards you, even popping in a question or two. 

“She’s quite the asset,” Alicent remarks with a knowing glance toward Helaena. “I’m sure she’s been a wonderful companion to you.”

Helaena rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re making it sound like I’m her personal tour guide.”

“You’ve certainly taken on that role,” Viserys adds with a chuckle. “And what about your plans for the future? Helaena tells me you’re quite ambitious.”

You nod, feeling a slight flush of pride. “I hope to continue working in the field and eventually contribute to research and education. The experiences I’ve had so far have been incredible.”

The warm hum of conversation continues to fill the room as the Targaryen family settles into their seats. The clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of voices create a comfortable backdrop to the meal.

Helaena leans closer, her voice a soft murmur. “So, what do you think of the estate so far?”

“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “Everything here has such character.”

Alicent, seated across from you, chuckles softly. “I’m so glad you think so. I’ve always felt that our home has a bit of magic to it. It’s like stepping into a different time, don’t you think?”

You nod, taking a sip of wine that has been poured for you. “Absolutely. There’s something so charming about the way everything is preserved.”

The conversation continues to settle into a comfortable rhythm, but the door creaks open and a figure steps in. The room momentarily goes quiet, all eyes drifting to him. He stands silently in the doorway as he meets the gazes of his family. Alicent rises from her seat at the head of the table, her expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. 

“Aegon,” she says, her voice tense with unspoken reproach. She reaches for his arm but hesitates as her fingers brush his damp sleeve. With a resigned sigh, he shrugs off his coat, letting it fall in a sodden heap on the floor before it's picked up by a man you swear you’ve seen two of this evening. The muffled thud of the fabric is a silent testament of Aegon’s defiance in the face of her disapproval. He meets Alicent's gaze, and from your spot on the other side of the room, you can see the disappointment lurking beneath the surface of her composed facade. They have much to speak about, but not here, not now.

“Aegon,” Viserys says, his tone a mix of amusement and warmth. It tears him away from the intense stare of his mother. “You’ve finally graced us with your presence. We were just beginning to think you’d forsaken us for the allure of London nightlife.”

Aegon’s gaze sweeps across the room, settling briefly on you. He offers a friendly, albeit slightly reserved, smile. “Sorry for the delay. Work ran late, and I got caught up in a few things.”

He is much different to his brothers. Though he shares the same platinum hair, his appearance is much more disheveled. His hair is tousled atop his head, covered partially by a dark beanie. The beard that is beginning to adorn his cheeks is darker than the hair on his head and there’s a light scent of cigarettes that wafts off of him as he walks. He’s dressed in a loose gray henley under a plaid shirt and dark trousers. 

He takes his seat at the table, his movements casual yet deliberate. As he starts to serve himself, the conversation resumes, though now there’s a subtle undercurrent of anticipation. Everyone’s smiles are warm but not as relaxed as they were before. A different energy seems to run through the Targaryens.

Helaena leans closer to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aegon’s always running around with work and other commitments. He’s a bit of a mystery sometimes.”

You nod, spooning mashed potatoes into your mouth, glancing at Aegon as he engages in conversation with his family. There’s an air to him that you can’t quite put a finger on. A look in his eyes you recognized from Helaena, a distance in his eyes, a soft ache that pools in his violet eyes.

Alicent tries to bridge the gap in the silence that is beginning to lull over the table and calls out from her spot on the other side. “Aegon, tell us about your latest project. You’ve been working on it quite extensively.”

Aegon leans back, a forced smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just another one of those things that keeps me busy. Nothing too thrilling.” His reply is curt and short. It’s obvious he doesn’t feel like talking about work, preferring to stick to any other topic. 

The dinner continues with lively conversation, but you notice Aegon casting occasional, subtle glances in your direction. His interest is understated, almost imperceptible, but it lingers. Despite not exchanging a word with him throughout the meal, you find yourself shrinking a bit each time his gaze meets yours.

The conversation gradually wanes, and a moment of silence falls over the room, broken only by Viserys’s abrupt cough. Alicent rises from her seat, signaling to a pair of live-in nurses who enter the room. She whispers something to one of them before turning back to the gathering. Nervousness seems to settle over her as she clasps her hands in front of her, wringing them anxiously.

"Thank you all for joining us this evening," Alicent says, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "We should all get some rest. The big party is just a few weeks away and we have much to plan."

As everyone begins to filter out, moving quietly like shadows in the night, you follow Helaena to your room. Looking back, you catch a glimpse of Aegon walking further down the hallway. His gait is slow and detached, his shoulders slightly slumped, before he turns a corner and fades into the darkness.

"Goodnight," Helaena says with a sleepy smile, lingering at her doorway. "Sleep well. Tomorrow promises to be eventful."

"Goodnight, Helaena," you reply, returning her smile. "Thank you again for having me."

"Of course. Sweet dreams," Helaena says warmly before closing her door behind her.

tags: @mrs-starkgaryen @gloryekaterina

[innerfare]

Eustass Kid Fluff // Angst Compilation

Summary: A compilation of Eustass Kid angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Was always too ADHD to stand in front of the mirror for a full minute brushing his teeth, always ended up wandering around the ship while brushing and then forgetting to finish; only started staying put when you began joining him. 

Flowers: 

If it’s at the point where he’s buying flowers, this man is so far beyond pride he won’t flinch at purchasing a bundle of pink tulips, even if they clash with his outfit/aesthetic. He also presents you one night with a bouquet of metal flowers he made himself. He spent ages on it, but he really didn’t mean to. He intended to make one but got absorbed in his work and made an entire bundle of dainty little metal flowers. He’s oddly proud of himself for making something so delicate and would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you to a concert, best seats in the house. He would prefer rock, but he’ll go to any concert you want. Honestly has no qualms about pulling up to an Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift concert with you, won’t go so far as to learn the lyrics but will nod his head and dance with you because he doesn’t believe people should be ashamed of their music taste (that being said, he can’t help but be embarrassed by just how much he likes Olivia Rodrigo; Sour is punk rock and Brutal is his favorite song, no matter what Killer says). He’ll buy you two matching t-shirts, too. 

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway. 

Fighting and Making Up: 

Actually loves to fight, lives to butt heads. Has a notoriously bad temper, meaning the two of you often fight. Serious fights usually happen because his temper got him into trouble. The number of arguments you’ve had while you’re patching him up because he got in a nasty bar is unreal. Your argument always over something stupid, at least in his opinion. He usually ends up storming off and locking himself in his workshop because he doesn’t want to yell at you too much but he’s furious with you and still has a bunch of adrenaline flowering through his bloodstream from his last fight. Alternately, he’ll start fights with you when feels like you’re keeping something from him, even if it’s something small, because it drives him crazy and he thinks you should be an open book. He's not really the jealous type when it comes to physical stuff, but he does get upset when you seem to have an emotional or intellectual connection with someone else, and that can cause some arguments. Oh, and fights are most definitely foreplay, so you can conclude how the two of you make up. 

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Escaping the chaos of life and climbing a desolate hill, sharing a late afternoon snack as you stare up at the clouds and point out different shapes, saying, “that’s you,” when you see a funny one. Arguing over which one of you gets to be the dragon cloud, your argument turning into roughhousing and the two of you accidentally rolling down the hill, him laughing and kissing your cheek when he knows you’re okay and then starting the argument again. 

Nightmares: 

It’s never like it happened with his first love, Victoria. And it’s always some way new. You fall overboard during a storm and drown, Kid diving into the water to save you but sinking due to his devil fruit ability, Killer diving in to save him but leaving you to die. You get deathly ill and he enlists the help of his ally, Trafalgar Law, to save your life, but he betrays Kid and kills you. He gets captured by a crew of enemy pirates, and when the crew comes to save him, you get killed in the crossfire. The nightmares just keep coming like this, you dying because he couldn’t protect you or expected someone else to do it for him. And each time he wakes up, it is with a renewed certainty that the only way to keep you safe is to do it himself.  

I Love You: 

You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.

You’re Jealous: 

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[shalotttower]

The Art of Disappearing (part 1)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1800+ Notes: mentions of death, implied torture and violence, NSFWish, WINE Part 2

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here.

Melt seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains until you're indistinguishable from them. Become wallpaper with eyes that stare and mouths that don't open, and arms that only pick, and pass, and scrub, and fold.

You're not the girl who was locked in the cellar last week.

You're not the girl who dropped a plate yesterday.

You're not the girl whose blood got so deep into the dining room rug that it's better off being burned.

You want to say that you won't be that girl, but you can't promise anything anymore except that dinner is at 6 o'clock every evening unless stated otherwise by Lady Dimitrescu. Your schedule revolves around hers entirely, like planets rotating around their dying sun, even if it's not your shift. There's no such thing as a day off in the castle.

But there're such things as a quiet day, or a normal day, or a bad one.

Today is a bad one.

Lady Dimitrescu's favourite lipstick is missing.

It's a very rare, expensive shade, like the red shell of a ladybug, or the last breath of a maiden. Your ears pick up the word being murmured from one maid to another — 'if anyone sees the item, return it to the Lady's vanity immediately'.

You hope that someone finds it soon. Nobody here is dumb enough to steal, so it's probably forgotten somewhere. But you don't say it of course, because Her Ladyship doesn't forget anything and you still need your tongue intact.

---

Lady Dimitrescu likes wine; you enjoy living.

You pray that the two never overlap.

So far luck has been on your side — for six months now you've been working in the castle. You've cleaned stains from carpets and floors without asking what they are (because it was clear even without questions); polished silverware until you could see yourself reflected in them and arranged flowers countless times to learn which ones Lady favors over others.

You were a mouth that didn't speak and eyes that saw nothing. A piece of furniture with legs and arms.

As long as you do your job and keep a low profile, you're safe. Humans thrive in delusion, and so do you. It keeps you sane, what an oxymoron that is.

---

At three in the afternoon, you clean the bathrooms.

Bela is the neatest among the three, and Cassandra leaves everything scattered around for maids like you to collect and place where it's supposed to be. Daniela is... unique. You're not sure how she manages to get stains and fingerprints on such random surfaces. Sometimes you wonder if she does it on purpose.

Daniela loves fun surprises.

Like sneaking up on you when you're on your knees, scrubbing the tub. She pokes your shoulder. "Hiya."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"Lady Daniela," you greet while trying not to let your hands shake under the apron.

She's smiling sweetly today, like she didn't just scare ten years out of you. You're not fooled and know better than to trust that expression. Nothing in this castle is innocent and saccharine and nice. Especially not the daughters.

"Can I help you with anything, my lady?"

Please say "no" and leave.

Daniela rocks on her heels then leans forward, inspecting your work.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

She's bored, you realize. Great. Bored means unpredictable behavior, and unpredictable behavior means trouble for everyone else who isn't Daniela herself. You wait for whatever she wants — entertainment? food? — patiently despite the churning in your gut.

"I'm bored," she announces.

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's play a game. Hide and seek, like little ones."

Six months have yet to make the instinctive urge to flee within you die out whenever one of them wants something from you directly. You'd think that this whole time might've increased your chances of survival, but humans thrive in delusion. In reality, everything is a gamble here. An embroidery of chance and circumstances that determines if you will live another day, that's all.

"I would be honored, my lady."

The bathrooms must be finished by five, and it's almost four. You're not going to make it on time.

"Who is going to hide first?" You ask after a moment.

Daniela claps. "Well you, of course, silly!"

Of course.

---

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here. Melting seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains.

But you're not a vase or a coat rack. You're just a girl who's been in the castle for a while and has gotten good at being invisible. You can't hide your heart beat. Your scent and the warmth of your skin are impossible to erase.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Daniela's sing-song voice carries from the other end of the west wing, and then fades.

She didn't count to ten. You know because you've been counting along, just to have an idea of how much time there's left until she finds you. There're no harbored hopes about the opposite happening. Hide and seek is one of Daniela's favourite games, and she dedicates herself to it thoroughly, with great interest.

It's not about winning the game — that much you realized early on when she played against other maids, plucking one out and chasing her around the castle before dissolving into flies with a cackle.

It's about the entertainment good enough to satiate her.

You're not the most agile, not the fastest. Even after six months your knowledge of the castle's layout is patchy, but you try to think logically. What places will she check last? What will Daniela expect you to choose?

Closets are off limits. So is the library, unless you want Bela on your tail as well.

Your mind wanders.

There're so many rooms in this castle that you haven't seen once during all of your shifts. You're always cleaning hallways, sometimes the daughters' parlors, and nothing more.

Down the stairs, past the servant quarters, is a place where rumors are born. Of thick barrels stacked to the ceiling like dominoes and wine in various stages of production. It smells sour-sweet down there — like fruit rotting in August.

Wine that never runs out in Dimitrescu castle as long as there're maids.

That's what others say, at least. Nobody has come back to confirm.

Would she look in the cellar? Would anyone?

It's the last place you'd search if you were looking for someone insignificant and replaceable.

You take off your shoes so that your steps don't echo in the expanse of marble and stairs.

---

There're all kinds of things down here. Broken furniture that's been tossed aside for disposal, boxes and crates of unidentified items, old paintings of people you don't recognize.

And wine.

A lot of it in barrels and bottles, some of which are labeled, some aren't. You walk past them, following the corridors of dusty brick. The air smells like mold and fermentation, damp. It reminds you of the lakeside by your grandmother's cottage in summertime and you feel strangely nostalgic.

You miss home.

The thought is dangerous and you quickly push it away, back to where it belongs — in your memories. Home doesn't exist anymore.

Time passes. Minutes go by without the sounds of buzzing swarms or doors creaking open somewhere nearby. No voices either, except for your own breathing and heartbeat that fill up every corner of silence. You find a nook between the stacked barrels and settle there with your knees pulled to your chest.

The place is colder, uncomfortably so. Cool ground sends its chill through your stockings.

You've done everything you could. Found a good hiding spot, a perfect one, and it's out of your control from here on.

The art of disappearing is simple: be nothing and wait until time decides if you're worth staying like that or not.

---

Daniela finds you after your legs start to numb from sitting.

"Found you," she grins from ear to ear.

Her flies settle as she solidifies into flesh with a giggle, girlish and mischievous. It could be cute if not the bloody smudges around her mouth and chin. She crouches down in front of you, close enough for you to see the specks of gold in her eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Daniela."

Your fingers dig into your skirts.

Daniela tilts her head; a fly crawls on her cheek before taking off. "I win! I get my prize now."

You didn't know you were playing for a prize. But nobody tells you anything in this castle until it's too late, like that you're not supposed to open windows in winter, or that you can't touch Daniela's books because she has them organized alphabetically.

"What would you like, my lady?"

Another fly lands on your lips, a thick creature with translucent wings and little fuzzy legs. They tickle but you resist the urge to make a face lest she takes it as an insult. At your question her expression turns impish, one of those you never fail to associate with trouble.

She reaches into your apron's pocket... and pulls out a lipstick.

You stare at it — a simple elegant tube with a golden cap.

"Look what I found!" Daniela waves it in front of your face like it's a toy.

Your blood freezes over. How did it end up there? You've been working for hours today yet you don't recall ever picking it up off anywhere. Where-

"My lady, I didn't take it!" you blurt out in horror, when it dawns on you. "I swear, I wouldn't! I would never-"

Daniela blinks owlishly and then breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach. Her smile is so wide that you can see her gums stained with coagulated blood which makes your stomach turn. The flies swarm and dissipate around you both, disturbed by her unrestrained mirth.

"Silly," she interrupts your stammering. "I know! You should've seen your face!"

Oh thank god.

You're so relieved that for a second all air leaves your lungs.

"...you tricked me?" you ask quietly after a moment, a bit more composed now when the accusation of theft doesn't hang over your head.

"Mhm," Daniela nods and wipes tears from her eyes, still giggling.

You're not sure if it was funny to anyone except her.

Her smile lessens gradually and eventually vanishes from her lips altogether when the initial amusement wears off. Something coy appears in her demeanor, sheepish even, as she fiddles with the lipstick in silence.

"Can you put it back in mother's vanity?" she grabs your hand suddenly and places it into your palm.

That's when you realize that you never even once questioned where she got it from. But Daniela gives you a pout with a warning look, like she's able to tell exactly what you're thinking. All questions die instantly on your tongue; you nod.

"Yes, my lady. Of course."

"Good," she pats your knee. "Don't forget! Or I'll eat you."

Flies descend onto your skirt, buzzing around Daniela's fingers until she disappears into dozens of black insects.

You know that she meant every word.

[dollishbabess]

Do you do batfamily? I literally love your profile aesthetic and I think it would be really cool something like girly reader who is the youngest in the batfamily, I think it would be funny the boys dealing with her and everything. ily🤍

“I PRESSED HIDE ICONS BUT I CAN STILL SEE ME” ── .✦ DOLLISH ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

A/n: this literally made me laugh but tysm ily too, but literally i tried to balance this with sass + a girl who likes pink and other colors instead of stereotypical pink girly girl and etc but if this is not correct then sorry because i only have one sister and a brother and i’m oldest out of all of them.

tags: batfamily x girly!batsis

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The manor is, of course, dark and filled with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Meanwhile, you’re room is beautiful with subtle hints of pink decor and white, and a beautiful walk in closet, and your room is the only spot with cozy, neutral decor and soft pinks, which you somehow convinced Alfred was “tasteful and happy”

Bruce pretends he doesn’t notice the little decorative changes you make around the house, like the rose-gold lamp in the hallway or the fresh flowers on the dining table. Alfred, though, secretly loves it because it makes the place feel a little less like a ‘depressive episode’ (I’m convinced if someone suicidal went in that manor they would likely fucking commit at this rate).

“CINDERELLA ARE YOU FUCKING READY?!” ── .✦

When you go to family dinners or galas, the boys have come to expect that you’ll need at least an hour to get ready. They used to complain, but now they’ve just accepted it (even if it means sleeping while standing up waiting) And you’re always perfectly dressed, from your hair to your jewelry.

Tim once asked why you had to wear rings on your ring finger without being married, and without missing a beat, you responded, “Because I need to let people know I have style standards, maybe you can learn a or two about fashion, your dressed like a fucking caveman.”

“ITS EXPLAINABLE” ── .✦

Alfred has somehow become your unofficial shopping partner, knowing all your preferred stores and patiently sitting outside the fitting rooms. He’s the only one who will willingly go with you without complaint, and he even knows which colors you like best

Once, Bruce was caught off guard by a credit card alert because it was awhile someone spent THAT much money and asked Alfred about it. Alfred just responded calmly, “It was for necessary purchases, Master Wayne,” even though the “necessary purchases” included a ton of “designer” things.

── .✦

Damian once challenged you to a chess match, thinking he could beat you easily. Halfway through, you made a risky move, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “You’re about to see a queen move.” Damian lost, and he’s still confused about how it happened.

One morning, Dick said, “Isn’t it a little early for all the glam and glitter?” You just gave him a look and said, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be alive, your social security number is probably one.

YOUR BEAUTY PRODUCTS BECOMING A ATTEMPT ON PEOPLES LIVES ── .✦

Bruce has almost tripped on your eyelash curler twice. The family has also officially banned you from putting skincare masks in the fridge after Jason mistook your green tea gel eye masks for some kind of salad topping (the worse part is… he ate the whole thing and didn’t realize until he went shopping trying to find the exact one until he found it in the skincare aisle instead of the salad dressing aisle…)

Tim opened the wrong drawer in your room once, and it looked like a makeup frenzy had exploded. Lip glosses, nail polishes, tiny skincare samples, and sheet masks cascaded out, and he just stood there, baffled by how much one person could need, (he thought you ran a business for a few days after.)

── .✦

You also gave Bruce a mini heart attack when you told him you wanted a different laptop because “this one’s too boring.” The Batcomputer tech isn’t boring, but you wanted a rose-gold case and “a vibe,” so Bruce ended up ordering one in the exact shade you wanted.

The family group chat is complete chaos. You regularly send pictures of quotes from romance novels, and the occasional inspirational meme with sparkles. Once, you sent a photo of the living room and asked, “Could we get some lighter curtains in here? For my aesthetic and mental well being?”

Whenever someone’s late, you flood the chat with passive-aggressive texts like, “Jason, do you know what ‘be here at 6 PM’ means?” or “Dick, if you’re any later, I’ll be old enough to vote for Kamala at this rate.”

MOVIE NIGHTS ── .✦

You insist on watching rom-coms and dramas instead of the usual action movies. Even though the boys groan, you’ve noticed they secretly enjoy the movies by the end. Tim tried to deny it, but he was caught laughing at a scene in white chicks and you swore to never let him forget it.

Once, you convinced them to watch a “fall aesthetic” movie marathon, complete with hot chocolate and fuzzy blankets. Even Jason joined in, and you teased him the whole night, whispering, “Don’t pretend you don’t love a good blanket.

THE OFFICAL FASHION GURU FINALBOSS 💜 ── .✦

You’ve taken it upon yourself to occasionally “advise” the boys on their fashion. If Tim wears a hoodie that’s “two shades too close to ‘depression’ ” you’ll be the first to tell him. You even convinced Damian to try a collared shirt once, though he looked horrified.

Dick gets roasted the most. He walked out wearing cargo shorts once, and you deadpan, “Going for the ‘i’m so old i saw humans evolve’ look i see.” He didn’t change, but he was clearly a little self-conscious the whole day (he never wore cargo shorts ever again…)

SKINCARE TIPS ── .✦

You’ve taught the boys some random facts they never knew, like the importance of hyaluronic acid for skincare and the difference between ballet flats and loafers. They pretend to brush it off, but you’ve overheard Jason giving roy skincare advice using the tips you shared.

When Bruce had a minor scratch on his face from patrol, you casually handed him concealer. “Just dab, blend, and don’t tell anyone,” you said. He followed the instructions without a word (he used to do that before, just impressed you also knew)

THE BABY OF THE FAMILY ── .✦

As the youngest, you know how to work the “baby sister” angle like a pro. The boys are fiercely protective, and any time you need a ride, money for something “totally essential,” or help with homework, you can count on one of them stepping up.

Once, you asked Damian to grab something from a high shelf for you, and when he hesitated, you hit him with, “Guess i really am alone without a good brother..” He ended up grabbing it for you with a grumble, but you swear you saw him smirk.

@dollishbabess made by me, do not translate, or repost or copy.

Second divider: @cafekitsune, other dividers not sure I kinda forgot sorry