#like the title of the series didn’t just come from nowhere

[ofstoriesandstardust]

rebel would’ve been devastated to hear about liam payne passing like i’m talking she plays nothing but one direction for a week straight and watched only sad tiktoks and when her found family tries to pull her out of the bubble she just makes them watch this is us with her while bursting into tears every other scene wrapped up in her one direction blanket slider bought for her as a gag gift that she unironically loves

[throneofsapphics]

against the contract, chapter one

poly!Feysandriel x f!Reader

summary: If they were genuinely bad people, it would be so much easier to kill them. Signing a special contract to work with Azriel, Feyre, and Rhysand turns out nowhere near expected. You were a bit of fun that became their solace and escape, they were supposed to be an easy assignment that turned into your living nightmare

warnings: d/s dynamics seen, bondage, bdsm, piercing kink, needles, blood, toys

word count: 2022

a/n: here we go!! let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist, next chapter comes 10/1 :)

series masterlist | next chapter >>>

There's a type of power in entering a room and having everyone stop to look at you. Rhysand, the devil of Velaris, knew that all too well, and loved every second of it. A man like him was made for the dark and night, but that didn't mean he couldn't shine in it. Tonight, however, someone else was capturing everyone's attention, and he intended to figure out who and what made them so enticing. You’d slowly gained notoriety, and he made it his job to know all players in his city. 

A single question to the right person, someone who recognized him, got him directions to a back room, he entered with his right hand wrapped around Feyre's waist, keeping her flush against his side. Azriel kept pace beside him on the left, a hairsbreadth too close to be just friendly, his shoulder brushing against his every few steps. 

The room they found was bathed in red light, throwing a ... sexual energy over everything. Intentional, he was sure of it. A leather topped platform stood on top of another platform at the front of the room, elevated perhaps two feet or so off the ground. 

Right there, kneeling on the leather, that’s where he got his first glance at you. With your eyes cast downward, hair braided back, hands behind your back, you made the picture-perfect submissive. He couldn't see behind you, but he could imagine you had perfect positioning from that angle as well, either your fingers interlocked, or opposite forearms grasped. He imagined there wasn't much about you that wasn't perfect. 

A dark haired, tanned woman stood before you, circling. You kept perfectly still. He spotted the tray on a small stool to the left. Needles, jewelry, swabs, alcohol wipes, and everything else needed for a piercing. His interest rose more, especially as he noticed Feyre’s head tilt up, her body pushed lightly against his arm as she straightened for a better view. 

You’d never see the three of them, cloaked in darkness as they were but you shone under that spotlight. 

There was no announcement, no grand words as it began, but the quiet clink of a needle caught everyone’s attention. Each bit of this was intentional, he knew it, to wrap someone deep into a web and for once he found himself wanting to let go, to heed resistance, to be swarmed and brought into the fold. 

Rhysand thought he caught the briefest hint of nerves, but the woman’s hand cupped your cheek and you melted. The woman stood behind you, one hand tilting your chin up, leaning down to whisper something in your ear. 

“Yes,” you replied breathily, voice carrying across the room. No honorific, if this woman was your Dominant you would’ve used the title. Rhysand couldn’t help hoping you weren’t claimed. 

She pinched your nipple, her mouth caressing the side of your neck, and he wished it was his hands and mouth on you. Another female came on stage and he watched as the two worked you, twisting the platform to show the elegant double column ties down your arms, tied off to a metal ring on the floor. Your legs were tied individually, your calves flush against the backs of your thighs, tied off to the floor as well. Pinned in place. The separate ties made sense as you spread your legs, revealing a fucking beautiful cunt, folds already glistening. He didn’t bother shifting to hide his hardening cock, especially as Feyre squirmed next to him. He knew Azriel wouldn’t move an inch, just as well as he knew there was no way the male was entirely unaffected by you. 

As the second woman brought out a vibrator and crouched slightly off to the side not to block your view, before clicking a button and pressing it deep against your clit, your teeth dug into your bottom lip, fighting to stay still. The buzzing filled the room, along with your panted breaths. 

The first woman ripped open an alcohol swab, and Rhysand shoved his free hand into his pocket to hide how his fingers curled. Azriel shot him an amused yet still aloof look, and he fought the impulse to roll his eyes like a child might. 

“Stop distracting me,” Feyre hissed and elbowed him. He hadn’t realized he was gripping her so tightly, he loosened his fingers a tad, a brush of guilt creeping in. “Oh stop that,” Feyre placed her hand on top of his. His darling was a sight, as always, clad in a sheer gossamer dress, resting just at her mid-thighs with a plunging neckline. 

He hadn’t realized he’d been stuck staring at her until she spoke again. “You’re about to miss it.” 

Rhysand’s head snapped forward fast enough his vision blurred for a second, clearing just in time to see pure ecstasy crossing your face as the needle pierced your skin. 

“I want her,” Feyre breathed after the second piercing. What or in this case who his Feyre darling wanted, he did his best to be sure she got.

Needles still in both of your breasts, you came with your head thrown back, a silent scream leaving your lips, and his newest obsession was born. 

-

You changed into comfortable clothes, leaving the jewelry in for now. You liked having it in for a few hours after each performance. There was something to be said about solidifying the experience and memory in your mind. 

The door flew open, your lips parted to give a greeting to whoever it might be, but your words froze in your mouth. It was unusual for anyone to re-enter the locker rooms, especially at this time. Comically slowly, you turned around to face the intruder, hand reaching for the knife in your bag. You relaxed as the smell of expensive but not very tastefully applied perfume hit you. 

“Morrigan wants to work with you again next time,” Francine, the club owner, said brusquely, striding into the changing room. You pause. It was strange for her to be in here, stranger to come for something that could’ve been a text. 

“She told me,” you said slowly. The blonde hadn’t said that directly, but she’d said something close enough earlier. 

“One of these days,” Mor tapped your shoulder, “I’ll convince Emerie to scene with both of us.” 

“Poor me,” you groaned over-dramatically, but in reality that sounded quite nice. 

“Excuse me, more like lucky you,” ruby red lips smiled at you over the edge of a wine glass. A sensuous and promising smile. 

A promise you’d quickly take her up on another day, but right now. “I’m out tonight,” you waved a hand over your chest. “Open wounds and all.” 

“Pity,” something, perhaps someone - probably Emerie, distracted the blonde and she pressed a kiss to your cheek before darting off behind you. Figuring that was a good time as any to leave, you tipped the bartender and left. 

Francine rubbed at her nose, shoving her red framed glasses up. Her matching red lips pursed into a frown. “Well. Since you’re here, I told them –  all three of them,” she emphasized, “ that you don’t take contracts, but they insisted on offering to you.” You tried not to show your offense at her scoff. “And that it remained sealed,” she sighed as if it was a massive inconvenience, waving the letter in the air. That caught your attention. It wouldn’t be the first time someone offered you a contract, but it would be the first time it made it to you. Usually Francine refused on your behalf, per your instructions, of course. But ... the look on her face. There was a mixture of expectation, and perhaps a hint of fear. You’d never known anything or anyone to scare that overbearing woman before. She ran a sex club for Gods sake. 

Her look implied she expected you to open it there and share. You remembered her scoff, the mocking way she said ‘you.’ No way. The nosy bird didn’t need these particular details. You enjoyed your privacy, and suspected these clients did too. Maybe a contract was just what you needed to take your mind off things, but you knew that would be very different from the ‘performances,’ you usually did a few times a week for the club. Francine liked to call you her ‘greatest discovery.’ You had choicer words for the woman, and generally kept them to yourself. 

You took the sealed envelope from her hand and tucked it into your bag. “I’ll look it over tonight and get back to you tomorrow.” 

A mix of disappointment and relief followed by a tight lipped smile and short nod as she pivoted, stalking from the room. You gave an overly cheery wave behind her back. Better than flipping her off. Too many mirrors. 

You went through your entire getting-home routine first. The Domme or Dom from your scenes always provided excellent aftercare, but it never hurt to love on yourself a little. After a shower, removing the jewelry from earlier and cleaning out the small wounds, a meal, and a couple glasses of water you finally felt ready.

Flipping through it, it looked pretty standard - nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary. Not that you had much knowledge or experience with them, but nothing crazier than what you expected. 

L.1 The Submissive will live with the Dominants for the duration of the contract.

You frowned at the line. Vague. You'd expected perhaps a bit more detail on that, but maybe it would be discussed when you met them. Gods, you really were thinking about taking this contract. Your very first one. 

Your mind wandered as you gazed over the words. If they were ugly, would you back out? You didn't think Francine would offer you a contract with someone especially hideous, but she had hinted they were very much VIP clients. Three of them, too. 

Spine straightening as you made it to the “Rules” section, you bent your head a bit closer to the paper. 

The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominants immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominants excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). They will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

Reading through the paper, seeing the official language, sent heat to your stomach. Part of you was turned on by this, the idea of having a semi-legal contract entitling individuals to your submission and you to their dominance. You bounced one leg, there was so much to think about, but it seemed so simple. A voice, one who’d gotten you into both good and bad situations, whispered at you to ‘just take it.’ 

The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominants. The Submissive will conduct themself in a respectful manner at all times, unless otherwise requested.

Unless otherwise requested ... you frowned and highlighted that section. What the hell did that mean? Perhaps some kind of roleplay. You put a question mark next to it. 

There was a section for you to fill in your hard limits, easy enough considering you’d had those memorized for years, having been asked the question frequently enough. 

You flipped back up through, double checking for the section on safewords. Satisfied with “Green, Yellow, and Red,” you didn’t mark anything on that page. 

All of this was thrilling. Invigorating. Lighting an energy you hadn’t felt at this intensity in so, so long. Not since him. 

Ashamedly, what really caught your attention, in the end, was just how much they were willing to pay for your time. You could live comfortably for years off of that sum without having to work. Perhaps this is what would send you straight to hell, but in that moment you didn’t particularly care what they looked like, as long as they obeyed the rules set on paper, so could you. 

-

Azriel, crouched in the shadows on a neighboring roof, watched through your parted blinds as you highlighted and noted the contract. Good girl. 

series taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @lilah-asteria @nestaismommy @yeonalie @daycourtofficial @emidpsandia @thelov3lybookworm @justasillylittlegoofyguy @aactuaaltraash @hannzoaks @angelbunny222 @​​littlest-w01f @pandabiiissh

acotar taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124 @callsigns-haze

general taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16

[godmadeaterribleerror]

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re on a goddamn bed-“

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

“Grumpy-“

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

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

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

“You were singing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “But-“ 

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

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

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

“Well-“

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

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

He winked. “That’s the idea.” 

“Horny old man.”

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

“You can’t fucking prove that I-“

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m-“

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

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

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

“How did you know?” 

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

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

“That was-“ 

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“I fucking know that-“

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Someone’s real fucking sure of herself-“ 

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

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

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

“You fucking love it.”

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

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

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

“You didn’t have any nightmares.”

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

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

“What the fuck does that matter.” 

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

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

“But-“

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

“I want to help-“

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

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

“Swear it.” 

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

“Do you want me to.” 

“Yes-“

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

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

“I’m fine, Sunshine.” 

“But-“ 

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

She sighed. “Deal.” 

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

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

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

“What time-“

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

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

“Team meeting. At noon. It’s-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“I won’t, not it if you don’t admit-“

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

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

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

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

“You need to eat-“ 

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

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

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

Ben grunted in agreement, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

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

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

“Jesus fucking christ, woman-“

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

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

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

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

Ryan will meet you both in the gym after

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

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

“Everything good?”

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

“Nothing-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being fucking insane.” 

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

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

“You don’t know that-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it.” 

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

“We’re going to be late, Benjamin.”

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

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

“They can’t fucking start without us-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re late-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I just can’t find where-“

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

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

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

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

“Sage must have gotten there first-“

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

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

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

Ben blinked at Her. What.

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

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

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

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

Cunt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Homelander gave an address.”

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

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

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

Homelander Accuses CIA of Kidnapping Fiancée, Anomaly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking Christ.

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

“Just, listen-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What fuckin’ truth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I’m ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This meeting is not over-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Move, Benjamin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, I won’t hurt you?”

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

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

“No, but I’d live.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That ain’t my fuckin’ voice-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buddy?

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

Call him his name, Benjamin.

Why.

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

Your brother is a real fucking person.

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

Ben scoffed. Well your impressions are fucking terrible.

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

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

She wrinkled her nose at him. Rude.

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

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Then let’s get a fucking move on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why is he calling you Soldier Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben scowled. Smartass.

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

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

“Um-“

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

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

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

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

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

“But you said-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

She grinned at him. “A Pretty Boy.” 

He rolled his eyes. Brat.

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

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

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

“But he’s my dad-“

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

“I’m still sorry-“

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

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

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

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

What?

You should take your own fucking advice, Sunshine.

She wrinkled Her nose at him. Fuck you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think she liked me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going to dinner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he hit the damn target.”

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

“Thank you, Ben.”

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

Butcher spoke first.

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t joking-”

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

Butcher sighed. “You seen her?” 

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

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

“Is she-“

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you talking about.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you like me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She snorted. “I’m not beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then fucking tell me-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt

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

I think you’ll want to be there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck you mean everything-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why.”

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

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

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

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

“Things Homelander would say?” 

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gifts?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And for others?” 

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

You grimace. “Gross.” 

“Oui, very much.” 

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

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

You nod slowly. “Two a day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am not a fucking trophy wife, Sunshine.

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

And? Those are the same goddamn thing-

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

I am not a fucking maid.

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

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

Shut up.

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

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

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

Yes, please.

Silence again. I love you.

Ben, I told you-

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

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

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

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

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

Ben- 

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

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

Every fucking way.

Can you be a little more fucking specific-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t bruise me, Ben. It’ll heal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As far as you know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning to you too, Benjamin.”

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

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

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

“You’re hungry.” 

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a fucking idiot-“ 

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

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

You grin at him. “Old-“

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

“Where-“ 

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

“Why-“

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

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

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

“Kicked-“ 

“Eat, and I’ll fucking tell you.”

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

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

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

“Work.”

“Why were you working in the dining hall?”

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

You glare at him. “No.”

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

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

He sighs. “We had a meeting.”

“About?”

“You.”

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

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

“If you’re okay.”

“I’m fine-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben?”

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

“You smell like shit.”

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

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

“Don’t-

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

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

“I know-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I hit the mark every goddamn time.” 

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben?”

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

“You still smell like shit.” 

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

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

“Smartass.”

“You love it.”

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

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

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

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

“Finish your muffin.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to help me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You know how to use a gun?” 

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

“Then teach me.” You sigh. “Please.” 

“Are you really-“ 

“I’m sure.” 

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

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

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

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

“And Soldier Boy-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin, and follow Hughie inside. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Born it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, I don’t-“

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

You give him a flat look. “Guess.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt. Why are you here.” 

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

“We didn’t think-“ 

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

“Ben, I asked him to-“

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

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

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

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

Ben scoffs. “I’d be fucking better.”

“I actually agree with Soldier Boy-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was mean, Ben-“ 

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

You frown. “Why?”

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

“But-“

“Just fucking do it, Sunshine.”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

“Arms higher up.”

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

“Can you say please?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

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

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

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

“Shoot the damn gun, Sunshine.”

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

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

You can’t feel Ben.

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

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

“Are you-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benjamin, please fuck me-“

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

“Hold on.”

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

“Please-“

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

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

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

“Ben-“

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

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

“Please, Ben, you asshole-“

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

You nod, and if you had any sort of thoughts right now that weren’t Ben. Fuck, Ben, I love you. I love you, please, Ben, I love you, fuck, please- you’d point out that you can’t be fucked enough to get sore, you can’t get sore, but Ben moves to rub your clit in one rough movement and you decided that it doesn’t really fucking matter. If he wants to take up that challenge, who are you to stop him. 

“Words.”

“Do that,” you mumble, your whole body going slack as one of Ben’s fingers runs between your slit over your panties, before rising to flick your clit once. “Fuck, Ben, do that, that’s good-“

Your words turn into a whine when he starts to slide you down his body—an arm moving around your waist to keep you upright and pressed against him—and Ben hisses when you brush against his cock. Hard in his pants, long and thick, pressed against your thigh and so close and big and Ben- 

He’s trying to sit you on one of the booth counters, but you lean your weight forward and keep going down. Ben doesn’t try to stop you, his hand moving up to your face as he watches you drop down onto your knees. Level with his cock, grinning up at his slack face. When he says your name, his voice is rasp. “Are you-”

“Yeah,” you move your hands up his thighs, holding his gaze. He needs to look at you like that forever—like you’re all the stars in the sky and the spaces between them—because combined with the way you can see his cock twitch in his pant and how you his  chest is rising and falling in a heavy, uneven pattern, you might cum without Ben even touching you. “Do you want me to?”

He chuckles, leaning back against the divider and tangling his hand into your hair. “What are you supposed to do if I tell you no.”

“Shoot you,” you start to undo his belt buckle, glancing between your hands and Ben’s face. His jaw is clenched and his free hand has moved to grip the counter, leaving an indent on the metal. “I can do that now. I’m good at it.”

“You’re real goddamn confident for only a day of practice-“

“I have a great teacher,” you smile at him, and Ben swallows, glaring at you. “He’s a cunt, but really hot. I think I might let him fuck my face if he asks nicely.” 

“Brat.”

You hum, pulling down his pants, boxers with them. At this point it’s really not worth fighting the small whine that escapes your throat when you see him, because that cock is yours. And you’re going to suck it, if it's the last fucking thing you do. “That’s not nice, Benjamin-“

He growls your name, and when you look back up his eyes on yours are feral. Pushing right through your body, making you grind mindlessly onto nothing and your nails dig into his skin. “Do you want me to fuck your face.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing back at where he’s only centimeters from your mouth. “I do.”

“Well,” he smirks. “Are you going to ask nicely?”

“You dick-“

“My dick, beautiful,” he keeps glancing over your head, looking between you and something behind you that you can’t see. “Is going to fuck your perfect, pretty fucking mouth. If you can’t take it, squeeze both my knees twice. Got it?”

You nod, and your voice is breathless. “Both knees. Twice.”

“I’m going to start slow,” his hands in your hair curls into a fist, pulling your head back until your eyes meet. “And when I cum-“ 

“Inside.” Your words are a little too fast, because Ben grins.

“You want to fucking swallow, Sunshine?”

“You know I swallow, asshole-“

“I don’t know shit,” Ben winks, and you grind down on to the air again. “But I know you’re going be a goddamn work of art with your lips on my cock. And I know you’re going to fucking prove that you can swallow all of me. Ready?”

“Yes-“

The word has barely left your mouth when he slams forward. His cock pushes into your mouth, the head resting at the top of your throat, and Ben’s hand tightens in your hair as he just sits there. His dick on your tongue and your nose brushing his hips, and a whimper leaving your body when Ben groans and you can feel it.

He pulls you off, keeping the tip right between your lips, and tugs your hair until you look up at him. “Good?”

You squeeze his thigh, hold his gaze, and run your tongue around the head on his cock, grazing it with your teeth. Don’t be a pussy, Benjamin. Fuck my face.

His eyes flash, and you hear the metal of the counter whine under his grip as he takes a deep breath, staring behind you again. When he looks back to you, he looks like an angel again. He’s so handsome, and he looks primal and powerful, and you love him. You can tell him that, in a long, desperate noise when his cock is muffling any real words he could hear. He’s looking at you like you’re the holy one, when he’s everything. He’s the whole world, and when he starts to move, all your thoughts just clear to that. Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s not holding back. Ben’s hand is guiding your head up and down his cock at a brutal, unrelenting pace, and his hips keep bucking when he hits the back of your throat to the point that you give up on trying to do anything productive and just focus on keeping your gag reflex from choking on him. There’s smoke starting to curl from your hands and the whole world is growing blurry, but fuck, you don’t care. He tastes so good, and every hiss and groan that leaves him is like music, and he’s everything. 

“You’re, fuck,” you suck on him once, just trying to contain the drool falling out of your mouth, and Ben’s hips jerk. “You’re so fucking good. So fucking good, Sunshine, you’re beautiful and perfect and I fucking-“ His words turn into a long, deep strained sound, and you start to grind onto the air. You can’t let go of his legs to touch yourself, you’ll fall over, so all you can do is whine and hope a pillow somehow appears for you to ride. “Fucking Christ,” Ben’s words are pushed between his teeth, and he somehow goes faster. “God, fuck, you’re beautiful. Your mouth was fucking made for my cock, so fucking soft and warm and perfect and, fuck-“

Ben’s hand flies off the counters, joining his other on your head, and he’s close. You can feel the head of his cock twitch when your throat squeezes around it, and his words are starting to slur.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you’re fucking beautiful, and perfect, and fuck, Sunshine, you’re beautiful, you don’t have a goddamn fucking clue how beautiful you are, how much I, fuck-“

You’re dizzy and your brain is clouded with lust, but you’d manage to move one hand off of Ben’s thigh to squeeze his balls. It works just like you’d hoped, and Ben’s whole body tenses as cum shoots, fast and hot, down your throat. You swallow—you’re not a pussy, and you love him more than anything—and Ben’s hands splay against your scalp and cheek. When you pull back your lips make a popping sound, and you smile up at Ben as he looks down at you, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and his breathing loud and ragged. 

“Fucking Christ,” Ben mutters your name, and the devotion is back in his eyes. Devotion and heat and something else you don’t understand. “You’re… Christ.”

“I’m Christ?” You shift on your knees, trying to ignore how the ache is starting to become painful so you can just look at him. “Wow. Don’t tell Butcher, he’s a big god-hater-“ 

Ben pulls you upwards, leaning down to meet you halfway, kissing you until your knees start to shake again and you have to lean against him to avoid falling over.

“Brat,” his growl is paired with a long suck of your upper lip and squeeze of your waist, and you make a high, needy sound. “Want me to show you something?” 

You have literally no idea what he might want to show you, but you nod because right now if Ben asked you to figure out time travel you’re pretty sure it would take you an hour.

He spins you around, pressing your back to his chest, and you realize what he’s been staring at. The mirrors. On the booths. You’d totally forgotten about the mirrors on the booths.

“See how fucking beautiful you are?” Ben’s muttered in your ear, the hot air of his breath making you shiver and try to push further back into his body. “You’re the most beautiful woman in goddamn history. Fuck, you might be the most beautiful thing in history. I don’t know how you ever expected this to be a fair fucking fight, for us not to end up here. Where I’m going to make you feel fucking good and you’re going to watch.”

“Ben-“

“I liked watching you suck my cock, Sunshine.” One of his hands has moved up to palm your breast, and the other has started to trail down, tracing patterns on your stomach. “You looked real fucking pretty, taking my cock all good and deep in your throat, letting me fuck your face and swallowing my cum. But you’ve got a little bit of a problem, don’t you.”

Ben’s watching you in the mirror, locking your gaze with his, a thumb rubbing over your nipple as his hand slides a little lower, resting right below your abdomen. All you can do to answer him is nod, and try to grind up so that his hand will drop further. 

“You’re so fucking desperate for me to touch your perfect fucking cunt,” Ben says your name, and it rolls through your body and sets you on fire. There’s no smoke rising through your body, but everything smells like pine and the whole room is starting to dance with a misty, green light. “That’s your problem, isn’t it. You need me, need me so bad you’ve fucking ruined your underwear just from sucking my cock. I can fucking smell you, Sunshine, you smell fucking delicious.”

He hates you. You’ve made a grave miscalculation in how much Ben likes you, because this is torture. He won’t stop teasing you and calling you beautiful and good and not just fucking touching you. He must hate you, because you’re whining sounds that are meant to be pleas of his name and humping the air near his hand, and Ben won’t just touch you. Ben’s smirking at you in the reflection, and he’s such a cunt and he’s so handsome and you love him and if he doesn’t start doing something right now you’re going to punch him square in his stupid, smug, handsome face.

“You want me to fix your problem?”

“Ben-“

“I know, beautiful.” His hand moves out from under your shirt, moving up to your chin until you’re looking back at him and he can kiss you. Soft, gentle, deceptively innocent. “I’m going to take care of you. All you have to do is-“

He needs to stop being so sweet and good or you’ll tell him you love him. He needs to shut the fuck up and touch you. “Ben, please. Please-“ 

“Please, what?”

“Fucking touch me-“

His hand on your chin pulls your head back down, forcing your eyes back to the mirror right as he tears off your underwear. Ben grins at your reflections, thumb brushing against your lip as his hold on your chin loosens slightly, and his hand drops down, resting right between your thighs without just moving.

“God, you’re fucking wet,” he’s still whispering right into your ear, and it’s making you a little lightheaded. “Is this all for me, beautiful? All for me to take care of?”

You start trying to grind down onto his hand, and Ben’s free arm drops back down to pin your hips against him, muscles rippling when your try to squirm away and he’s kissing your neck and hie won’t move- “Ben-“

“No,” he grunts, hand moving back up  your shirt to brush your tits, face buried into your shoulder where you can’t actually see him. “My turn. You’re going to relax, and I’m going to do this for you.”

“Please-“

He says your name, pulling back to meet your eyes in the mirror. “You trust me.”

Not a question. You both know the answer, and it’s more for Ben to hear it. You know that, because when you glare yes, at him through the mirror, he grins. You’re about him to just do something, anything, whatever he wants as long as he’s touching you, when he moves.

Ben’s finger pushes right into you, pumps once, twice, and then is joined by a second one. “Fucking tight,” he growls in your ear, still watching you. Always watching you. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are, squirming on my fucking fingers. I’ve barely even touched you, Sunshine, and you’re already fucking squeezing me.” 

You make a loud, shameless moan as he starts to move faster, playing with your boobs with his hand up your shirt and muttering pure filth into your ear.

“So fucking good. Look at how fucking good you take me, beautiful, and this is just my hand. Just my goddamn hand that’s making you whine, whine like the perfect fucking brat you are, fucking soaking my fingers, covering me in how much you fucking want me. So goddamn perfect, you’re perfect, it’s not even a fucking contest. So fucking good and perfect, going to cum all over my fingers, look at how fucking beautiful you are with your perfect fucking mouth all swollen and your pretty fucking eyes watching me ruin you-“

He groans, because you’ve figured out that you can grind backwards, into him.

“God, fucking Christ, woman, you’re driving me fucking insane-“

Ben rambles start to turn into just low, deep sounds that roll straight through your body and down into your core. He’s still talking, and you know he’s saying words, but you’re high. Ben’s fingers are big and broad and rough inside of you, and they keep brushing against that one spot deep in your body, and he won’t stop scissoring them when they push all the way in. He keeps driving his fingers into your pussy, curling and twisting them with harsh, fast movements, and yanking them out until you can see them in the mirror. See your need for him falling off his hand, see them disappear back inside you, see his palm start to rise up to press against your clit and rub.

“Ben-“

“So fucking good,” He growls against your skin, half-pulling you off the ground. “I fucking adore you, Sunshine, fuck, see how goddamn perfect you are? Look at you, so fucking beautiful, all wrecked on just my hand-“ 

You do look beautiful. Ben is wrapped around you—he looks almost animalistic as you grind back into him with your head pressed into his shoulder—and you’re not sure if it’s the lights dancing through the room or the way that some sort of soft music seems to be playing in the distance, but you’re beautiful. You think, in the haze, that it might be how Ben’s watching you. That his eyes on yours are full of lust and hunger and affection, and you feel like something better than what you are. You’re barely in control of yourself, grinding back into Ben and countless, wanting sounds leaving your body, and you feel like wildfire. Like a star, burning and burning against the infinite way that Ben exists around you. Beautiful. But you look at Ben, watching you like you’re all the stars and planets and everything through and past the universe, and he’s better. You mold perfectly against him, and his dark hair is falling over his eyes as he ruts up into you. If you could think enough to make yourself move, you’d reach up and brush it away. But your hands are clinging to his arm over your stomach—you can see his muscles flex with every movement and it makes you squirm—and all you can do is meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching you whine and moan and writhe against him, and his jaw is slack, and he’s everything. Ben is everything, and he’s looking at you like you’re holy and crucial, so you’re beautiful. Ben doesn’t lie, so you’re beautiful. 

Ben’s palm rubbing circles on your clit start moving in faster, smaller movements right as his fingers press down inside of you and he bucks up into your ass, you almost scream as you cum. He’s still just watching you—eyes blown out and jaw slack—and when your legs give out he scoops you up into his arms, tearing his gaze from the mirror and meeting your eyes. I love you. Ben. Ben, I love you.

“You’re okay.” When you nod, your brain still a little slow, he frowns. “Words-“

“I’m okay, Ben.” You smile at him, reaching a hand up to trace his jawline. “I’m going to have to buy you a thesaurus, but I’m good.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, you clearly fucking liked it-“

“I wasn’t of sound mind, Pretty Boy. Corrupt testimony.” You shrug, leaning further into his body. “You need to learn a few more words.”

Ben grins at you. “Someone’s trying to talk herself out of a proper fucking when we get home.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“See if I give a fuck.” He kisses the top of your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s so warm. You can’t feel him, but Ben’s still so warm. “You want a proper fucking?”

You swallow. “Yes, please.” 

“Then here’s how this is gonna go.” Ben leans back, holding your gaze. “We’re going to put on your shorts, and I’m going to put on my pants. We’re going back home, and cleaning up, then going to dinner because you’re going to need the energy. Then, the moment the door closes behind us, I’m fucking you. In our bed. Deal?”

Your voice is a whisper. “Deal.”

“Good.”

He helps you get dressed. Ben pulls his pants back on—shifting his body to block yours from the door—and let you use his arm as balance while you put your shorts back up your legs.

Your underwear has been effectively destroyed, and when Ben picks it up you think it’s going straight into the trash can, but instead he shoves it into his pockets and winks at you.

“Pervert-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.”

He tries to carry you. Ben bends down, and you have to whack him to stop him from picking you up and carrying you down the hall. He pouts—the grumpy, annoyed pout that means he being a little bitch about something—but settles for slinging his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into his side. He smells good. He’s big and strong and warm and Ben, and you can’t feel him. You’re okay. You can touch him, but not feel him, and you’re okay. 

It’s later than you’d thought it was. Barely twilight—everything cast in a blue-purple glow—and Ben tells you you’re taking the first shower. Demands it, actually. Grumbles about how I fucking showered this morning, and you’re the one covered in cum, Sunshine until you relent, because you’ve lost stupider arguments with him and you are indeed covered in cum. Mostly yours, running a little down your thigh, but some of Ben’s had managed to escape your mouth and dried on your chin and shoulders. Ben walks you upstairs and into the bathroom, drops on the bed with a frown as you start to close the door, and you love him a little too much to leave him looking like a lost puppy dog in the dark. Especially when it’s really not that much effort to cross the room and stand between his legs, to give him one last gentle kiss until his hands relax on your hips and he’s grinning against your mouth. 

Ben. Ben, I love you.

The shower is almost burning. Steam collects on the glass door and your skin is still sensitive from the gun range, the hum of the fan the only sound tangling in with the water.

It’s been coming in waves. It’s important for you to recognize that this is coming in waves. When you tell Ben you’re okay, you really are. You’re okay. Then. In that moment, when you’re smiling and laughing with the people you love and care about, you’re okay. When Ben looks at you—really looks at you, sees you in a way no one else does—you’re okay.

And then you’re not. Then it’s silent, and you’re cold even with the scalding water, and that fan is humming in the same key that ones in Homelander’s apartment did. And you’re so tired.

Something feels wrong in your body. It feels like a limb has been cut off, like something’s been taken out that’s vital to your existence. The longer it’s gone—the longer it’s just you, alone in your body—the worse it gets. The more you can feel that part of you that snapped in Vought tower, and all you can feel it is flailing around in your body, trying to find where it can fit back in. It’s making you sick, it’s making everything cold again. You’re broken, and afraid, and exhausted, and all this fear has to stay in you. All of this pain has to live and fester in your body, and you’re not strong enough to stomp it out. Weak. 

You hate not feeling Ben. He’s not touching you, and you can’t feel that imprint of him in your chest, and you’re alone. You can’t control yourself, keep your shit together and keep your love or panic or pain in your body, so now you’re alone. Ben’s just outside—waiting for you to finish showering—but the fan is humming like you’re back in the tower and they had warm showers there as well. Weak.

Everything is wrong. You’re broken and exhausted and in pain and weak. Ben is staying and you don’t get why, and people aren’t giving up on you but they should. You’re making everything worse for everyone, and you’re so cold, and the whole world can see how weak you are but you’re tricking your friends and lying and you’re weak. Useless, lying, manipulative bitch. Nobody stays, because why would they? Unlovable, better alone, better never being touched or loved because nobody could love you, you’re too weak.

You can’t feel your tears falling, any evidence of them being washed away with the water and the steam, but your eyes hurt and your throat is sore. You can’t breathe, and you’re drowning and alone, and you must have started screaming because the door bangs open and Ben bursts into the room. You think you say his name, but it’s so loud. Your blood is pounding in your ears and it can’t get out, and the fan is suffocating you, and Ben’s here but you can’t feel him. You can’t feel anything but freezing, painful, cold.

He turns off the fan. His fist slams into the wall, the sound stutters off, and you still can’t really breathe but now you can hear him. He’s saying your name, pulling off his shoes and opening the shower door. His hands move to his shirt, but you make a weak, choked sob and he freezes. 

“Fuck it.” 

You hear that. You hear his grunt, and watch as he pushes into the water, let him pull your head against his chest and hold you. You’re shaking and making strangled, weak noises, but he’s holding you up and staying. You don’t know why, but Ben’s really, truly staying. He’s humming in a low, horrible voice that rolls through your body and slowly starts to clear your head, and when he says your name this time you can nod, so he continues.

“What’s wrong.”

“I, I can’t-“

“Breathe,” he mutters, hand running up and down your back. “I’m here, you’re safe, and this is real. We’ve got all the damn time in the world, so fucking breathe.”

It takes another minute, of uneven, heavy inhales and long, sobbing exhales, but you finally manage to whisper the full sentence. “I can’t fight him again.”

You can hear his frown, but he doesn’t ask who. You both know, and Ben doesn’t waste time on clarification. “There’s not a chance in hell-“ 

“There is,” you mumble. “There’s always a chance. And I can’t. If I have to, I won't be strong enough, I can’t fight him again.” Your words are vomiting out of your body, your head shaking against Ben’s chest like you can push the thought—push Homelander’s cruel, callous voice—out of your head forever. “I’ll lose, I can’t lose, I can’t go back-“

Ben snaps your name, and you let out a shaky, weak breath. “Fucking listen to me. You are never fighting that pussy alone again. Ever. That’s fucking it. End of story. You can cry all you goddamn want, as long as you understand that you are never fucking going back there, and as long as I’m fucking alive he will never touch you again.” 

You make another soft sound, and nod. “I’m sorry-“

“No. You’re fucking everything to me, and if you’re burning, it’s not without me. So don’t fucking apologize.”

This time you just let out a breath, and wrap your arms fully around his body. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t push that one. Ben just grunts, and holds you tighter against him, shielding you from the water, still holding you like you’re sacred. Always holding you like you’re sacred. Like you can’t be broken, because the fire in your body will seal the cracks back together, and he’ll be here while it does. Words are coming a little easier, mumbled into his shirt, and you’re still broken but it’s not wrong anymore. “I’m tired, Ben. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” you can feel the heave of his chest as he sighs, and you think you might just fall asleep here. You’re safe, Ben would pick you up, and you’re so tired. “Sleep, Sunshine. I’m here.”

He’s here. Ben’s here, and saying all the right things, so right before you collapse against him, you smile. His heart is right under your head on his chest, and you can’t feel him but he’s real.

“You’re home.” Ben mutters onto the crown of your head. “That’s all that fucking matters.”

This time, when he’s warmer than the water and stronger than all the fear in your body, his heart lulling you to sleep, you believe him.

End Note: Big character centered chapter, I know, but we have to EARN the confession. Who do you guys think is gonna slip up and say I love you first. I know who I’m putting money on, but also that’s insider trading.

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

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[delirious-donna]

The Mistakes We Make [Part Eight]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: Kento has come to some startling conclusions and works to put his decisions into practice. Finding the apartment empty whilst a storm rages outside tests his restraint to the limit. It'll be fine, right?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: angst, emotionally charged argument, take the title as it's own warning cause I don't want to spoil everything

Part Seven | Series Masterlist | Part Nine

The following morning was overcast. Heavy grey rain clouds dominated the sky, threatening to burst at a moment’s notice. A breezy wind blew through the city, buffeting off the panoramic windows and carrying debris from the streets so far below up to whip against the glass. Despite the gloomy conditions, your mood was surprisingly bright and dare you say, positive.  

Sipping your coffee, the miserable weather was the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, your head was full of possibilities and thoughts of the immediate future. The second you woke up to find yourself tucked up in bed, still fully dressed but snuggled beneath the duvet, you knew exactly how you must have ended up here. Kento carried you to bed.  

Kento Nanami put you to bed with care. He didn’t leave you to sleep in an awkward position out on the couch, no. That man—that annoyingly endearing man—had lifted you carefully enough not to even disturb your slumber and carried you to bed. Someone who didn’t care wouldn’t do that, it wouldn’t make any sense.  

He likes you. You like him. It was obvious, and if the realistic snapshots of your dreams held any authenticity, maybe he had kissed your head and murmured soft sentiments to you. That part was wishful thinking but not outside the realms of plausibility given how real the dream-like moments felt when you examined them closely.  

It made you smile into your mug, lost in thoughts of what to say or do when Kento finally appeared from his room. You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and frowned. It was later than you expected and there was still no sign of the man that was always up bright and early. Maybe he had decided to sleep in for once, and of course, he would pick the day that you wanted to see him most to indulge in more hours of sleep.  

By noon you were worried. The apartment had long fallen silent, the music you had played earlier turned off so you could try to listen for signs of life from your host. There were none to speak of. Closer and closer you crept to his closed door until your ear was pressed against the solid oak. You couldn’t hear any movement, no rustling of sheets or footsteps to suggest he was getting dressed. No sounds of faint snoring or the distant noise of a running shower.  

“What the fuck is going on?”  

You knocked once, quietly.  

There was no answer. So, you knocked again, this time far louder and you followed it up by calling out loudly. “Kento, are you in there? Is…” you searched for the right words. “Is everything alright? I’m starting to worry.”  

Again, there was no reply. This was getting ridiculous, and your annoyance at not knowing what was going on got the better of you. The door opened whilst you kept your eyes firmly fixed on the floor just in case you were about to walk in on him half-dressed or worse… naked. However, the bedroom was empty.  

The bed was neatly made, nothing appeared out of place from the time when you had last nosed about in here. It felt like forever ago but in reality, it wasn’t that long. You stuck your head around the corner, glancing into the walk-in closet and finding it equally empty. The bathroom was next, and once again you knocked before entering to find it empty and like it hadn’t been used in at least a few hours.  

Had he left before you even woke up? It was the only thing you could think of since a thorough search of the entire apartment turned up no missing blond man. You weren’t sure why it bothered you as much as it did. He was a grown-up, he could come and go as he pleased. Yet, you expected that he might have left a note or something to let you know where he was and when he would be back, or was that assuming too much?  

In the end, you did your best not to let it sour your mood. Kento was a free man, perhaps he had errands to run, and he would be right back with groceries in hand, you simply didn’t know. You had your own agenda today, and one you were excited to get to. It had been on your mind for several days now, knowing that your time here with Kento was ending, you wanted to buy him a gift to show your gratitude for his allowing you to stay here when he didn’t have to.  

A few ideas were running through your mind as to what would be most appreciated, and the sooner you hit the stores, the sooner you hoped to come to a final decision. You wanted it to be special, something that he wouldn’t think to buy for himself. Were you putting a lot of stock in this gift? Maybe… but it was how you showed your lo—appreciation. Love was too strong a sentiment, or so you tried to reason.  

You hastily scrawled a note and left it on the kitchen island. The front door locked behind you, whilst the elevator took you down to the lobby for the battle against the elements to commence.  

Gone out. Be back later! Hope you’re having a good day. X  

 ~  

Everything was silent when he returned home. Kento wasn’t sure what he expected, and what he would prefer, but somehow it wasn’t as relieving as he expected, to walk into a noiseless space. How quickly his appreciations had changed.   

He saw the note almost immediately, not bothering to pick it up since the thought made his stomach clench with anxiety. His finger did somehow find its way to touching the small flourish of a kiss, and he scowled upon realisation. He hadn’t spent the day clearing his head and mentally running through every outcome he could foresee just to return straight back to square one. His mind was made up. Giving up everything he had built for himself was pure insanity. End of discussion.  

A powerful gust of wind pounded against the windows, drawing his attention to the weather conditions he had driven through, and his frown deepened. Kento stepped towards the glass, eyes scanning the barely visible streets below and the tiny moving umbrellas which appeared like dancing circles as people navigated around each other.  

Did you have an umbrella with you?  

Were you out in the elements or tucked up somewhere safe and cozy like a small café?  

What was so important that you had ventured out on such a horrible day in the first place?  

It didn’t matter. It was none of his business, and he should stop thinking about it.  

Picking up a random book from his overstuffed shelves fit to bursting with books he wanted to read but had never had the time for, he didn’t even glance at the title before he was settling himself in the farthest part of the couch. Sure, it was the seat that let him both keep an eye on the front door and allow him a view of the worsening weather, but he refused to acknowledge that fact.  

Three hours passed and Kento could recall exactly nothing of the pages he’d dutifully turned in his book. He read the lines of text but none of them stuck no matter how many times he repeated the action. Frustration burned hotter the longer he tried until he threw it down on the arm of the couch and turned worried eyes towards the now storm raging outside. Where the hell were you?  

It had never dawned on him to exchange numbers with you, there hadn’t seemed to be a point since you were occupying the same space, but now he saw the idiocy of such a small oversight. He was halfway towards his phone on the kitchen island to call Karin and have her send through your contact info when the door suddenly burst open.  

A small puddle surrounded your feet, every inch of you soaked right through and shivering. Your hair was plastered across your face, obscuring your eyes which didn’t help you wrestle with the half-folded-down umbrella in your hand. Several of the metal spindles were broken or sticking up at odd angles from the winds and Kento reached for you before you even realised he was there.  

“Shit! You’re soaking wet. Where the hell have you been?” Kento thundered, his tone refusing to diffuse even when you squeaked in alarm and almost stumbled backwards.  

His hand wrapped around your elbow was the only thing keeping you on your feet. The umbrella was wrenched from your grasp, a startled yelp only further fuelling the snarled expression you could make out between the messy strands of your hair. You could feel the fury ripple outward from his body and into your own. What the fuck...?  

Kento disappeared. One moment you were being firmly pulled into the living area by his strong hands and the next he had let you go and rounded the corner, out of sight. Shaking from the cold that continued to penetrate your clothes, the chill all the worse now you weren’t running on the adrenaline of battling for your life on the streets far below, you were bamboozled by his demeanour. The warmth of the apartment was apparent, but until you could strip off every layer of sodden clothing and soak your bones in a warm shower or bath, your teeth would chatter, and your limbs would shudder.  

Suddenly, you remembered to check the package, which was tucked securely inside your bag, grateful for your forethought to wrap the box in several plastic bags before placing it inside. It was unscathed and you exhaled a sigh of relief. The gift was far from inexpensive, something you would never have bought yourself and yet, you happily dropped a not insufficient amount of money on the man who returned to you with a large fluffy white towel in hand and a scowl etched across his face.  

He took the bag from your grasp before you could protest, setting it on the kitchen stool and leaning back against the counter with his arms folded. With your hair now a little less wet and back into some semblance of submission, you could see how terse his expression was and it caused you to frown in reaction. What was the problem?   

“Thanks. I’m definitely going to need a hot shower after the day I’ve had,” you conceded with a chuckle. It was your attempt at an olive branch, hoping that he would drop the bad attitude he was wearing like a cloak.  

Kento scowled harder. “Why were you out in a storm in the first place?” He was trying to calm the ire that was eating him alive, unsure where the heart of his anger truly came from, or at least, not willing to admit its source.  

“Shopping.”  

“Shopping,” he parroted back. “You risked your life to go shopping? Are you that stupid?”  

You recoiled. The words landed directly against your chest. An anger of your own beginning to bubble like water brought to a rapid boil. It was funny how fast you forgot about the steady drip of water creating a large pool around your feet, nor did you feel the cold as acutely.  

“Excuse me?”  

Kento pushed off from where he was leaning, gesticulating towards the evident storm raging outside. Sheets of heavy rain blown by the howling wind lashed the glass as if to prove his point and you seethed at him, hands curling in and out fists by your sides.  

“You heard me. What could be so important that you would risk your life in conditions like these?”   

You stalked closer, fury pounding in your veins enough to make your blood sing with molten heat. “You were out in it too!” You yelled, barely drawing breath between words. “Unless you’ve got some hidden room in this apartment that I’m not aware of. At least I had the decency to leave a note.”  

He scoffed, turning from you to increase the distance between you both but you weren’t done.  

“You could have been laying sprawled out, in need of help for all I knew! I was worried that—”   

“That is different,” he countered whilst a broad hand ran roughly through his hair. The usually neatly parted blond hair was ruffled as if he had already worked his fingers through it whilst you were out. “I was safely in a car, not traipsing around the fucking city with only an umbrella for protection.”  

This man. This perfectly outrageous, infuriating man. Oh, he was doing his damnedest to push every one of your buttons. You weren’t some stupid little girl that needed protecting or coddling.   

“And what does it matter to you? You’re not my fucking brother, Kento! At the end of the day, we’re nothing to each other!”   

Shit, that hurt. The regret was immediate; tears burning behind your eyes, threatening to blur your vision and you’d be damned if you were going to let him see them fall. Withdraw. You needed space, to pull back from this stupid, meaningless argument. Except it wasn’t meaningless.  

You made to move past his hulking frame that filled the way to the hall and the solace of your room, but two strong hands shot out to prevent you from running. His grip shook, fingers curled around your shoulders as he pulled you to him. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Kento looked downright furious; his lips curled back from his teeth with a snarl and his eyes snapped fire. The raging inferno of a wildfire—uncontrolled and dangerous—shone in those intelligent brown depths.  

“Oh no, you don’t get to walk away, not now. Do you honestly think a brother would be this worried… shit… that they would get this angry about you being in danger? I don’t think so. You’re an intelligent woman, you know this kind of reaction is reserved for something far more intimate than that.”  

His words stole the remaining air from your lungs, you were held in a vacuum with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Your eyes bounced between his, certain you hadn’t just heard what he said. It had to be all in your head, your traitorous brain implanting false declarations, but… no. He did say that. He had worried about your safety, and not because of some arbitrary sense of obligation. This man who you wanted to yell at some more. This man who you wanted to do nothing more than shut up with a kiss.  

“Wh—”  

The world stopped turning. Everything felt frozen in place as your lips found his and the relief was immediate. The starchy material of his shirt felt alien against your fingers, not that you were even sure when they had fisted into it in the first place. Kento crushed you to his chest, forcing you to step onto your tiptoes to continue the assault. His hands found your waist at the same time you curled an arm around his neck. The taste of coffee erupted on your tongue, bitter but sweetened by warm honey notes that felt indulgent.   

This moment felt forever in the making, all the missed opportunities and miscommunications seeming inconsequential now that you had him where you wanted him. You could drown in this man. The flames of your anger continued to flicker in the periphery; he wouldn’t get off this easily, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about his earlier hurled words when his tongue was pushing past the seam of your lips. He was a combination of sweet and salty, leading the dance with a gentle dominance that suited him perfectly. Kento’s hands were careful, considered in how he held you, whilst he let his tongue curl over your teeth and stroke over your own. You were kindling in his hands, soaked to the bone yet you felt not an inch of the cold penetrating your skin. Kento would set you ablaze and you’d let him.  

Your eyes hooded then finally closed, the shock of how you had both lunged in the same breath was long over and now you were simply a mass of sensations, lost to your desires and happily so. Your fingers inched towards the rough undercut at his nape only to be ripped away, shattering the cocoon of warmth in an instant. It felt like a punch to the gut, gasping like a fish out of water and you blinked in alarm.   

You could only watch whilst Kento shook his head in resignation, his face lowered so as not to look you in the eye and the scratchy feeling in your throat returned tenfold. The hands that only seconds ago tenderly explored your waist now imprisoned your wrists, preventing you from touching him any longer.  

“I can’t… we can’t do this,” he said whilst the bottom of your stomach fell out. How dare he pull you into that claim without your consent.  

“No! You mean you can’t do this. I want this, I want you, Kento. You’re the one pushing me away, holding me at arm’s length,” you half screamed back. The tears were falling fast, hot splashes against your cheeks and you hated yourself for it.  

“It won’t work. I—I’ve spent hours trying to figure out how I could make it work and I can’t.”  

Goddamn him. Didn’t he realise that it wasn’t a puzzle to solve, it wasn’t a project to manage? It should be a venture started together; he should be able to lean on you as much as you could depend on him. He was a fucking coward. The seams of your heart were being ripped open and he spoke words of reason, of logic, like those were the only things to consider. Couldn’t he see how much he was hurting you?  

“Coward.”  

He didn’t try to stop you when you pulled free, turning on your heel to snatch up a plastic-wrapped lump from your bag. You shoved it into his chest with force, resulting in a grunt of surprise at your unexpected strength.  

Kento could barely look as you barged past him to run down the hall. The door of your room slammed shut with an air of finality that churned his stomach into a mass of thorn-tipped vines. He despised the hurt that was etched across your face, the tears streaking your cheeks and the complete betrayal dulling your usually sparkling eyes. You were right; he was a coward.   

How long he stood there, staring down an empty hallway whilst the rain lashed and the winds howled, he didn’t know. Eventually, he glanced at the package in his hands and curiosity got the better of him. He pulled out a gift-wrapped box from the layers of plastic bags protecting it from the elements, a golden bow adorned it, and he smiled despite the pain. With careful fingers, the bow pulled loose, and the paper unwrapped to reveal an expensive camera.  

Kento scrubbed a palm down his face, eyes slowly shuttering at the gift he would have never considered for himself, but which was perfect. He hadn’t given you nearly enough credit, you were so wonderfully compassionate and understanding, and he had fucked everything up. He knew in his rational mind that it shouldn’t work, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t, not if you worked at it and were both willing to compromise.   

Should he…   

You needed time after what he had done. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you if he knocked on your door right now, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he had the words to make this right. Things would look better in the morning, he had to hope that there were enough remnants of what had been there before to repair the damage. Kento touched his fingertips to his lips, he could still feel yours against him and what he wouldn’t give for one more taste. One more smile. One more playful tease at his expense. One more secret glance that tightened his chest.  

“Fucking coward.”  

~  

The storm had passed by the next morning, leaving behind a beautiful cloudless sky and the dawn chorus of chirping birds. Kento woke with a start and immediately winced at the streams of sunlight filling his bedroom. He sat up with a grimace, holding his pounding head in his hands and looking down to find himself still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. A crystal-cut tumbler half-filled with amber liquor sat on his nightstand and he recalled having drunk several very full glasses to find the embrace of sleep. It had refused to come to him without the alcohol numbing his emotions and he was only glad he hadn’t done something stupid in his drunken stupor like trying to speak to you. That wouldn’t have gone over well, that much he knew.  

Speaking of you, he recounted hearing sniffling noises during the darkest part of the night, but he couldn’t tell if they were yours or if his conscience was torturing him. He wouldn’t put it past him, the midnight hours had been spent berating his stupidity and warring with the voice in the back of his head that continued to chirp that this was for the best.  

After he straightened himself out, washing his face and changing into a clean outfit, he went in search of coffee and hoped to find you in the kitchen with your morning cup. Instead, what he found was an apartment that was eerily quiet, even more so than when he returned home yesterday. Each footstep filled him with rising dread, the icy prickle of unease at his neck and no amount of scratching would relieve it.  

The whisky bottle from last night was exactly where he left it. The coffee machine was cold and unused. The camera you had gifted him lay on the couch with the golden ribbon rumpled on the floor beneath. Kento swallowed; unwilling to believe what he knew in his heart to be true. Instead of facing reality, he began his morning ritual of preparing coffee until he pulled down two mugs instead of one.   

His hand shook around the grey mug you had favoured since you burst into his world in a whirlwind of laughter and joy. The smell of French roast turned his stomach and he launched himself down the hall to confirm his suspicions. There was no answer to his insistent knocks at your door, each one another nail in his coffin until he was completely trapped.  

The room—your room—stood silent and empty.  

 Every trace that you had ever been here was gone, that was except for your scent which lingered in the air, thick with melancholy. Kento sat on the corner of your bed, his head cradled in his hands at the gravity of what he had done. Not only had he acted cowardly, but he had also caused you to run from him and that was a sucker punch to the gut.   

“You’re a fool, Nanami. A coward and a fool…”  

[namfinessed]

come closer, come closer - k.nj.

genre: fluff, angst (8.7k) (slowburn! sliceoflife!)

summary: nothing in your life is permanent, you would never let anything be permanent, but namjoon nestles his way in and refuses to leave, will you let him stay or would he remain something temporary? or a fic in which a friends-with-benefits situation with namjoon gets twisted out of control. (colors!universe)

note: all of the stories in the series can be read individually <3

masterpost series masterlist

-

fate used to amuse you, the concept of people, the many people, their many stories, their many love stories, some that made sense to you, some that seemed like absolute madness, but all of them stories you sat and listened to, you sat and read about because stories to you, were a window to what life could be.

and your life changed when namjoon entered it. it seemed like too much of the world aligned so that you would fall for him, it seemed like madness, and it made perfect sense.

everything that happened after meeting him, was truly out of your hands.

-

it was an off day at work. you hummed as you breezed past the shelves of books surrounding you, nothing brought you more peace than this.

today, your mission was to find a particular book.

at the end of the matinee by keiichiro hirano.

the book was about two people, close to their forties in age, who fall in love, but with the caution, wariness, and desperation that comes with that age. one of them was a world-renowned ‘genius’ guitarist whereas the other was a trauma journalist, their universes couldn’t be more different but seemed to align just for them. when you had heard about it, you knew immediately you had to read it, it was this concept of love that you had never explored before.

your eyes darted to every title as quickly as they could, but you could feel yourself getting impatient as you passed by more shelves, none of them had the book you wanted.

the front desk lady lied when she reassured you that it was in row 3, you were in row 15 now and it was nowhere to be found.

a deep irritation settled under your skin as you cursed the skies and stars for doing this to you, you continued your grumbling as you sat down with a huff at a table. of course, two good things, a day off and the book you so desperately wanted, wouldn’t happen all at once to you. rarely, one good thing happened to you in a day so, this was nothing new.

but still, you were so invested in the world of that book, that you wanted to dive into that world and never float back up because a love so tender, at an age where everything feels the same and your skin sheds its youth, fascinated you.

and today, you won’t get to dive in, you won’t get to be lost in a world that didn’t belong to you.

“excuse me, that’s my seat.” a hush of a voice filled your ears. you immediately removed yourself from the seat and moved a seat up, scrolling on your phone aimlessly.

maybe you will find another book.

maybe there is another world that you could live in, for now.

then, it hits you.

the scent of something soft, a cloud, a pillow. the scent wraps around you, taking you with its softness. you know that scent.

you peek up to see a man next to you. he was wearing a baby blue sweatshirt, matching sweatpants, a baseball cap, and a mask.

the softness that distracted you.

and in his hands, he held the book that you were wishing the gods above and below for.

you know those hands.

he was the one who took your precious book before you did?

you didn’t own it by any means but that didn’t mean you weren’t highly frustrated that it ended up in his hands, of everyone else.

“you.” you said, as calmly as you could.

namjoon bites back a grin at the frustration in your voice. “yes?”

“you know i’ve been looking for this namjoon, this isn’t fair.” you bark out, leaning forward to grab the book from him but he just holds it above himself, knowing you won’t be able to reach it. you sink back into your seat with a frown on your face and namjoon sighs.

he’s never had a problem telling someone no, in fact, he’s enjoyed turning down some overly excited people but when it came to you, denying you of something just wasn’t possible for him, even if it was as a joke.

the book plopped in front of you and your frown immediately melted, and you grabbed it into your arms, namjoon rolled his eyes with a fond smile growing on his face.

“give it to me when you come over someday.”

your relationship with namjoon was hard to describe, you were sort-of friends, sort-of friends who had read books together, sort-of friends who hung out without saying a word, and sort-of friends who occasionally had sex.

it all started when a mutual friend introduced you to him at a horrid party that you hated being at, namjoon hated it too and he made that clear, so you decided to spend your time doing something else.

and soon, it became a regular occurrence and it was working well, you two understood what the other wanted and had no qualms about giving it to them.

namjoon pulled out his book as well and you peeked at it curiously.

lovers in the night by mieko kawakami.

strange.

you added that book to your to-read list yesterday.

“you can just ask to see it if you want, you know?” he tuts at you teasingly, watching your eyes dart towards his book, you scoff at him and sink into your seat.

then, there was silence, only the sound of pages turning and both of your breaths coming out in the space. you liked that, you never had to talk to namjoon to be present with him and so far, this arrangement worked perfectly for you.

but you caught yourself peeking in his direction again, this time, it wasn’t his book, it was him, the way he sat, the way he turned the pages sharply, the way his breath came out slow and you had no excuse for your curiosity.

“tonight, your place?” his question came casually and you nodded as soon as the words left him.

you couldn’t help but think that you had agreed too quickly.

-

“i don’t understand the point of this movie” you say to namjoon, lying across his chest and your body shakes with his as a low laugh tumbles out of him. he has come to be extremely fond of your quick irritation to things.

“you read so much romance, i thought you would’ve gotten it by now” he sips his wine and you feel the urge to tip it over his white sweatshirt, just for his sarcastic tone. namjoon sees the glare on your face and feels the strangest satisfaction wash over him.  

“don’t make me pour the bottle on you.” you eye the bottle that was near your feet and he promptly reaches out to put it near him with a tut which makes you giggle.

chungking express wasn’t your usual movie.

there was no rosy romance filled with confessions and promises.

there were just stolen glances, just hoping that someone else wouldn’t take them, just the characters in a world that changed too quickly, just memories that never faded.

it both fascinated and confused you.

why did love have to be so confusing?

if two people liked each other, was it so hard to just say the words and be together?

why did anything else matter?

he notices your confusion, the deep frown on your face is a dead giveaway, and namjoon, shamefully admits to himself, that he finds it cute.

“i can hear your mind all the way here” namjoon taps your temple and you shift to sit with a groan. “i just don’t understand what’s so hard.”

he already wanted to pull you back on his chest but he clears his throat instead.

“please fill me in.”

“if she likes him, why didn’t she just tell him?” you point to the character who was now staring adoringly at her lover, this was just one out of the many times that they’d met and she was yet to make a move.

namjoon stares at the character, all of the words she wants to say die inside of her but her eyes stay alive with the love she holds for her object of admiration.

“i guess it’s not so easy.”

“what is not easy about just saying the words?” you rolled your eyes.

namjoon’s answer is quick, maybe too quick, “i don’t know, giving someone a piece of your most vulnerable form is scary, there is always fear in affection.”

he leaned back uncomfortably after saying it, not knowing if he should’ve said anything at all.

but to you, something about the way namjoon spoke, always put you in a daze. you never heard someone talk the way he did and you weren’t supposed to like the way he talked. “you sound like the wise tortoise from kung fu panda.” you snicker at him instead of blurting out that his words warmed your heart.

in a world where affection and love were dying, namjoon gave a more comforting reason as to why it was dying, maybe it wasn’t the factual reason, but it helped you feel better anyway.

he scrunches his eyebrows and scoffs at you, “he’s my favorite character so, fuck you.” you laugh at his annoyed face and throw your legs over his feet, he adjusts himself and you sink into the side of his arm. namjoon could feel his body wanting you closer but he resisted, he held his arm above you and over the sofa and shoved his desires in deep.

the movie was long, you didn’t particularly like it, and you never understood why people had such a hard time figuring out their feelings but namjoon didn’t have to know. and as soon as the movie ended, he got up to leave.

“you can pick the movie next time,” he says as he puts on his shoes, looking up at you with a knowing grin. “i liked it!” you tried to save your face, following him to the main door.

well, he liked that you were at least pretending to not completely hate it, for his sake.

namjoon turns to you with a quirked eyebrow, finding it all so amusing, and before he can stop himself, he steps closer and places a single kiss on your forehead and just as quickly, steps away.

that wasn’t supposed to happen.

he doesn’t know what came over him.

“i saw you yawn five times in ten minutes, we’ll watch kung fu panda next time.” he snickered with an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach and rushed out the door, to make sure he didn’t do anything again.

and you stand, shell-shocked.

that was not a big deal.

a kiss on the forehead.

not a big deal at all.

it was not a big deal that your hands were clenched by your sides.

it was not a big deal that your cheeks stayed burning hot.

it was not a big deal that your feet refused to move away from where he left.

this shouldn’t be happening.

you guys never just watched a movie, it always led to something more but it wasn’t even in your minds today and that wasn’t okay.

you needed to remind him that your hangouts were for sex only and it can’t be anything else. you needed to remind namjoon that you were getting off track, which was unacceptable.

that night, namjoon dreamt of you in his arms, just you in his arms, that was unacceptable.

but that night, your hands reached to caress the spot where you still felt his lips. and that was also unacceptable.

-

you didn’t text him after that, it wasn’t intentional or anything, you just felt that things shifted that night and you didn’t like it, a little distance would set things right back to the way they were.

casual and easy.

because that’s why you two worked, it was always casual and easy with namjoon.

and you hated to admit this to yourself, but you missed him.

which wasn’t so casual and easy.

you checked every post he made on instagram, every story that he uploaded, every song he recommended, and you still answered when he texted you but you let the message hover in your notification board for a few hours and gave every excuse possible to not meet him.

and this was supposed to be easy, you never felt the need to hang out or be with namjoon before, but that feeling was growing as the days passed, without a feel of his skin, without his gaze on you, without his slow laughter flowing through your room.

you wondered how it was for namjoon, maybe he was okay, maybe he didn’t care at all, maybe he was with someone else already and that was all fine, it was how things should be.

“people do fall in love. people do belong to each other because that's the only chance that anyone's got for true happiness.”

paul from breakfast at tiffany’s spoke on the screen, he looked angry but his words plead with his lover to agree with him, to let him sweep her off her feet, he needs her to understand that they are meant to be, even if she tried to deny it, even if she believes in a world where love didn’t exist.

you watched with teary eyes as they both ended up kissing in the rain with all their love pouring into each other.

it made you feel bitter.

it made you feel…empty.

you ignore it.

with an uneasy feeling crawling down your chest, you pull out your phone and your finger immediately reaches for the instagram icon. you waste no time clicking the circle around namjoon’s profile.

god bless him for being so active.

he was at a bar, not too far away from here and he was smiling, surrounded by a large group of friends.

the uneasiness in your chest let up a bit as your lips tugged into a smile too, namjoon’s always had a nice smile.

you really wanted to see him.

as much as it killed you to come to terms with that, every inch of you was trying to run away and find him, melt in him, let him talk through the night about things you never quite understood but enjoyed listening to.

or maybe your forehead just wanted another kiss, maybe your body just wanted company for tonight, maybe you just needed him for the exact benefits your situation rewarded you with.

maybe meeting him wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all, you two had an arrangement for a reason, to give your bodies to each other.

but he was with his friends, it would be quite rude and obnoxious of you to just ask him to get out of it and meet you, just because you feel more needy than usual.

there were other ways though.

you didn’t have to go for him at all.

it was dinnertime, you were too lazy to cook, it could just be that you were hungry and decided to pick up some food. isn’t it so convenient that the place so close to you with food also has namjoon in it? but it wasn’t about him at all, the last thing on your mind.

a solid plan, if you could say so yourself.

-

a gush of wind pushed past you as you stood before the door to the restaurant that held namjoon on the other side. the stars were hard to see as you looked up and took a few deep breaths, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, so long since you’ve heard his voice, so long since you’ve touched him.

(it’s been two weeks, actually.)

did you want to do this?

is this how you wanted to see him again, with some elaborate ruse?

the answer was yes.

yes, you wanted to do this and yes, this was how you wanted to see him again because you quite literally couldn’t figure out another way to see him.

texting and asking to meet was so old-fashioned.

the loud ring of the bell above your head, made you flinch as you pushed in and a string of greetings from the waiters came toward you, you politely greeted them back but your fingers twitched as you started looking for the person you had come all dolled up for.

you mean, the dish you couldn’t wait to take home and scarf down.

you quickly stepped to the counter where the menu lay and started flipping through it, not caring or seeing anything.

then you heard it.

his laughter.

which through all the noise, somehow made it to your ears.

maybe you had been paying extra attention to hear him somewhere but for now, you will just say that his laughter was too loud because why would you want to hear him when you were here for something else?

nevertheless, a look wouldn’t hurt anyone. you could just see him, satisfy this urge in you, and go back home with warm food.

if you remember the story right (you did, you rewatched it fifty times), namjoon was sitting towards the left side with a group of around six people so, you slyly scanned the left side with eagle eyes.

one quick look.

and nothing else.

and.

nothing.

else.

you told yourself that, ordered yourself that you would not be talking to namjoon.

and there he was.

your breath paused.

he didn’t look anything different from the ordinary.

he was wearing his beige trousers and t-shirt, he was wearing his worn-out beanie, he was laughing with the people around him and it was so simple, so ordinary, a scene that you would see anywhere in any restaurant.

but you wanted to run to him and hold him close, let him warm you, let him run his fingers through your hair, let him never let you go.

and you knew how dangerous it was to feel this way and how this would end for you.

that’s when you saw it.

the fear in affection, that namjoon had so gently explained to you the other day.

your “quick look” lasted more than a few minutes but you were having trouble peeling your eyes away from him.

that was until, you saw his body sit straighter and start looking around, as if he could sense someone’s gaze on him (that was on you, you were probably burning holes into him with your eyes) and you turned your body completely to the other side.

you were just overthinking it, there’s no way namjoon would sense someone casually glancing at him.

“i’ll take this to go, please” you whispered to the person at the counter while hurriedly pointing to some random dish on the menu. they looked at you with an uneasy smile and nodded slowly, you must look crazy to them.

but that didn’t matter, as long as you got your food and you got the hell out of here before namjoon noticed you, you were good with whatever they thought of you.

you scrolled through your phone, still facing fully away from him, and waited for your order to come, your foot tapping restlessly against the floor.

you kept waiting.

and waiting.

and waiting.

why were they taking so long?

the pace at which your foot tapped against the floor increased as you started to grow anxious.

you couldn’t stay forever, namjoon might finish his dinner, he might walk out, passing right by you and you would have to talk then and that was just-

“what are you doing, standing here?”

the tapping of your foot stopped.

exactly what you were dreading.

or exactly what you were hoping for.

you are not sure which one it is anymore.

“oh hey.” you turn around with a lame wave of your hand at the man that you don’t know what you feel for. he was looking at you with crinkled eyes and a teasing smile that picked his cheeks up and made them round.

get a grip.

“you know, the chairs at a restaurant are for sitting.” you follow his gaze to the chairs lined up near the counter.

……

you had nothing to say to that.

“i came to pick up dinner, what are you doing here?” you asked, as if you didn’t know already and he pointed towards the table that you were staring at earlier. “just with a couple of friends, do you want to join us?”

it was your rule, one that you had established wordlessly, stating clearly that you were not meant to hang out with each other’s friends but you always had wondered what namjoon was like around his friends.

was he just as snarky?

was he just as wise?

did he have an answer to everything for them as well?

you let him take your hand and walk you to the loud table, the food that you hadn’t noticed, grew cold on the counter.

-

“namjoon used to be so uptight then, he didn’t even help us on the test, he told us, ‘ey, i won’t be there in the future to help you out, so figure your shit out’, and he said this for one math problem, for one stupid test!” his friend, yoongi, barked out with a deepened voice to imitate namjoon and you loved every minute of it, as your head fell back in laughter.

namjoon smiled sheepishly, though his eyes threw daggers at yoongi and hid his face behind his huge hands, turning away from you.

you found that especially adorable.

“what a narc” you shoved his shoulder and, everyone erupted into loud laughter around the table. namjoon squinted his eyes and tried to give you an intimidating glare, which soon melted into a smile when you raised your eyebrows at him.

it felt so good.

he had his arm around your shoulder, you were almost buried into his side, the soft scent of his perfume enveloped around you and his friends seemed to love you. and the best of all, his eyes gazed over you constantly, to check on you or look at you, you had no idea but you enjoyed the attention nonetheless.

only if what you had was real, only if you knew namjoon as much as they seemed to, only if you could grab his neck and kiss him.

you shook your head at those thoughts, whatever this comfort zone was, it was only for tonight, you would never hang out with his friends again or be around him in this way again. you were only allowing this for tonight.

but.

you liked this so much.

“you good?” namjoon pulled you in closer to whisper to you, his eyes assessing the frown growing on your face.

no, i suddenly want to know everything about you, after ages of being fine with knowing nothing.

“yeah, all good” you smiled at him, tipping back your glass to hide the building tension in your throat. everyone around the table started standing up and namjoon pulled you up as well, but his hand stayed around you, holding you gently yet in a way that wouldn’t make it too easy for you to let go.

“it was so nice meeting you.” another friend of his, seokjin, wrapped you in a hug as namjoon’s arm stayed around your back, you smiled and hugged everyone else, as much as you could with his arm on you and they started waving their goodbyes, leaving you and namjoon.

you didn’t want to say ‘well, good to see you, let’s go back to fucking next week’, you didn’t want to wave goodbye and leave the warmth that radiated off namjoon, you didn’t want to go home, and think too much about his hand on your waist.

and namjoon surprised you.

“your place?” he asked, leading you out into the cold night as well and you felt the weight of all your doubts levitate off you, you tried to not agree too quickly but you couldn’t help but nod eagerly which made him smile in response, pulling you in tighter.

you two walked leisurely, with all the time in the world in your hands, and the night got darker, colder, and namjoon’s grip on you got tighter, warmer.

you didn’t speak a word, only stole glances at his side profile every once in a while, to make sure that somehow you hadn’t conjured this from your dreams, that this was reality and namjoon was here.

“what’s on your mind?” he catches your eyes, which were admiring his jaw and you look away, wanting to disappear into the night. he tugs on your hand, to urge you to answer him and you do, “your friends are hilarious, i had a very good time so thank you for inviting me.” the ‘thank you’ came out more awkwardly than you had thought.

but thankfully, namjoon found you endearing so he laughs at your scrunched-up face.

“i mean you were right there, i wasn’t going to let you go and eat alone in your apartment. but what a coincidence, right? us turning up at the same place. besides, i was going to ask you to meet them soon anyway.” he had a lovely smile on his face, he seemed to find the idea very charming, that you had somehow stumbled on each other and a pang of guilt shot through you for orchestrating the whole thing.

and the guilt worsened as the television played mindlessly in the background, as your body tangled around his, as his breath came too close, too loud, and his hands gripped onto your hair. you felt him everywhere and nowhere around you, it unnerved you.

you pulled apart hastily, the simple, harmless lie you told was enough to put some invisible wall between you and him. it felt wrong that he thought it was some sweet moment but it wasn’t.

namjoon immediately retracted, pulling his hands to himself but remaining close as he watched your reaction carefully, “do you want me to leave? because it’s okay if you’re not in the mood or don’t want me around right now, i get it.” the sound of his even breaths, his soothing tone, forced you to look at him.

“i lied,” you expected it to be harder to tell him but it wasn’t, namjoon sat up with an eyebrow quirked up as you explained to him that your turning up at the pub was no coincidence, that you had come there after seeing his instagram story.

“that’s it?” you nodded, skin burning with embarrassment, only looking up when you heard his low, amused laughter. namjoon shook his head at you, “but why? you can always call me, you know, i loved that you met them and had a good time.” he reached over to shut off the television and pull your legs from under you and onto his lap, his fingers tapped your thighs as you fell back on the sofa, covering your face with your hands.

“i felt like i couldn’t,” maybe it was because your voice sounded so small, maybe because he finally saw how truly upset you were about this but namjoon pulled you back and rested your head on his shoulder, “you always can, it doesn’t matter how or what or where we are, just call me and i’ll be here to finish all of your wine,” though you laughed at his words and buried yourself further into his collarbone, you knew you weren’t telling him the simple truth.

that night, once again, you didn’t do anything, you absentmindedly watched some movie, you crawled into bed next to him, he kissed your forehead, and fell asleep.

“namjoon?” you whispered against his snores, he stirred ever so slightly, hands reaching up to pat where you were sleeping, hands relaxing when they touched you.

“yeah?” he groaned into the pillow, “i came because,” you started, words swallowing down your throat, words flying out of your mouth.

“yeah?” this time, he looked up with squinted, sleepy eyes, and your heart drowned in adoration at the sight.

because i missed you.

it was simple words but how awful would it be, if you uttered them, and your heart that was drowning with adoration now, would have nothing to drown for?

“i just wanted to see you,” because you missed him so desperately, and a text or call wouldn’t have fed the hunger your longing left you with.

“i’m glad, because i missed you,” he kissed your shoulder and turned away to continue his slumber.

and left you with the same simple words you had been too scared to utter.

somehow, namjoon always voiced the simple words, even if they were naked, he voiced them as if it was nothing to put your bleeding heart out on your sleeve because missing someone was intimate, it was dangerous.

and that’s when your heart drowns again, you finally realize that namjoon has gotten closer to you.

a little too close.

-

what does it take for a person to be close?

is it the physical distance that lessens with every breath?

is it the emotional distance that connects you with an invisible string from miles away?

being close to someone is a fickle thing.

a person who knows everything about you, may not feel close.

but a person who tries to know you, may feel close.

namjoon feels close.

nights pass where the line between what you and namjoon were and what you were supposed to be, blurred to oblivion. you stopped questioning what it was, you stopped counting the beats your heart skipped every time he showed up at your door.

this night, both physically and emotionally, namjoon is close.

“why do you always read romantic books?” he hums, casually, as things have always been between you two as his hand lazily runs across your hair. he isn’t prying, it’s just a mild curiosity.

but it’s a question no one’s ever asked you.

you read romance to feel the love you yearn for.

that is your answer, there is a yearning in you that isn’t quenched by anything else except books that put your longing in words. it’s an answer you can’t give to namjoon.

“they’re just fun” you shrug, looking up and hoping he would buy your lie. he does not, he doesn’t try to hide that he doesn’t believe you but with a small smile and shake of his head, he lets you live with the lie.

“the real thing’s more fun.”

you remained silent.

you hugged him closer.

you didn’t sleep that night.

-

“have you got everything?” namjoon said, as he loaded your bags into the back of his car, “you helped me pack yesterday, namjoon, and you drilled my head for hours after to make sure of it,” you rolled your eyes at him, and he chuckled, patting your head, “just checking.”

you ignored the rush of warmth that filled your fingertips and your toes, you and namjoon were heading out of the city, into a tiny, charming town with his friends where you would spend about four days in a cabin there.

and yes, you know what it sounds like but when you received a call from namjoon, his excited, hopeful voice, you could imagine his face reflecting all of that, and you couldn’t say no.

the drive up is short, you sleep through it and namjoon plays soothing songs to avoid waking you up. the cabin is beautiful but you already know that from pictures and upon arrival, you are greeted with loud shouts and long hugs from his friends, you almost melt from all the affection they shower you with.

“this is for you,” yoongi hums as he drops a keycard into the palm of your hands before disappearing into his room and you trudge up the stairs to reach yours.

of course, you aren’t surprised when you see namjoon unpacking his clothes into drawers once you open the door, you know you had to share a room with him, considering that you are a guest on this trip.

it did make you reluctant at first but now, you were just waiting for your feelings to set you ablaze to make themselves known.

“hey, you” namjoon sings as he walks past you, but not without dropping a kiss on your temple that has your shoulders stiffening and your face tingling. “we’re going out in a bit to start a barbeque, see you there?”

you nod, your stomach reeling from the subtle touch of his hands that brush your arms before walking out the door.

you fall on the bed with your head in your hands, on days like these, you wish you could walk up to namjoon and ask him, what did you mean to him? did he think of you in the darkness of the night? did he want you around always?

because you did.

but you couldn’t ask.

-

drinks were passed, fairy lights descended on you, and soft singing filled the air.

“and our wise namjoon was just telling us what love is,” yoongi dramatically gestured to his red-faced, swaying friends and your ears picked up, hoseok groaned, “what did he say though?”

“that love is wanting to know someone more every day,” hoots and cheers and teases filled the air as namjoon buried his face into the side of your arm and complained endlessly under his breath.

you tried to laugh but you wanted to know everything about namjoon, what did that say about you?

and he asked you about yourself all the time, what did that say about him?

the question left you uneasy and annoyed.

“there’s a lake just around here,” jungkook looked at everyone around him with a suspicious glint shining in his eyes, then he got up, “race you there!” he yelled and took off, heavy feet thudding on the soft ground and everyone squealed in delight as they followed him.

namjoon pulled your hand with his as the cold air rushed over your face, a smile was frozen on your face and you ran until your lungs burned. it was out of a movie, the way your hair flowed, the way your laughs blended into the night, the way namjoon couldn’t stop looking at you.

then, as you expected, jungkook got pushed into the lake, he surfaced to yell at jimin only to break into giggles, and soon, everyone was trying to push everyone.

but namjoon only wanted to push you.

you ran around, escaping his touch in mere seconds, looking back breathlessly to see if he was near, and when he did catch you, he didn’t just throw you in, he threw both of you together.

you fell into the water, a laughing, bumbling mess but as cold as the night was, namjoon was warm so you snuggled into his neck and he held you with strong arms that wouldn’t let you drown.

close.

namjoon was so close.

“oh god, the couple’s at it again,” jin groaned and splashed water on the two of you and namjoon laughed out loud, pushing more water onto jin’s face.

but jin was wrong.

“we’re not a couple,” you nervously laughed, hands instinctively loosening around namjoon’s neck and he froze under you, his hands loosening around you as well as he cleared his throat.

jin swam away before he had to deal with the tension between you two.

namjoon’s arms left your body and you felt something break inside you as he pulled himself out of the water and wordlessly offered you, his hand. you grabbed it unsurely, not looking at him either.

you both didn’t speak at all until you reached your room.

-

“why did you say that?”

“say what?” you sat on the bed, picking on the lint that gathered on the sheets, unwilling to look at him.

“don’t act like you don’t know what i’m talking about, you’re smarter than that and i know it,” namjoon pinned you with serious eyes, making your heart burn in your chest, “but we’re not a couple.” you whisper, hands tightening on the sheets.

namjoon sighed, a heavy sigh, a sigh that conveyed irritation, disappointment, and restrained anger.

“i don’t understand why you’re upset, we are not a couple,” your irritation reared its head and namjoon shook his head, sitting beside you.

“are we not?” his question is breathless, lifeless, it’s waiting for you to revive it, pour life into it, and your eyes water without any command from you.

you think of the nights you spent together, the laughs you laughed together, the meals you’ve eaten together, the words that grow into a tower between you two and you think, yes, perhaps you are a couple without ever knowing it.

but it wasn’t supposed to be this.

“we had an arrangement,” you fight on, “which went to shit the second you met my friends,” he counters and you bite your lip, annoyed.

“i didn’t plan for that to happen.”

“but it happened.”

“do you really not know?” he asks again, and you know what he’s going to say, you turn away, legs coming to close around your chest.

his eyes widened and with a smile filled that held gentle surprise, he spoke as if his own words shocked him, as if he couldn’t believe he brought them to life.

“i like you. no actually, i love you.”

“don’t.”

namjoon moves away, physically his body flinches from you.

you silently crawl up on the bed and lay your head on the pillow, you gather your courage which crumbles when he comes up too and his hands find yours, he squeezes in question, what do you mean?

why did it have to be him, of all people?

“don't like me cause i don't know how to like you back, not in the way you want and not in the way that will ever be enough for you,” you say quickly, wanting this torture inside you to give up and go home, so you can finally be at peace with yourself.

it took all of two minutes for namjoon to remove himself from you.

and he left you in the bed, you clutched the pillowcase as you heard his footsteps recede from the room and you flinched when the door shut.

you cried, you put your arms around yourself and cradled your face to sleep, maybe it would be nice to feel someone else hold you but you couldn't let that be namjoon, it had to be someone that you could hurt and be okay with it.

-

namjoon was ignoring you, he didn’t come back to the room that night and now, he was sitting a few feet away from you and you couldn’t ignore the way everyone glanced between you two.

“the fireworks will start at 8, everyone be back by then,” jin announced, receding from the gathering and going back into the home.

“come, okay? we’ve got drinks and food,” jungkook squeezed your shoulder as he walked past, of course, he noticed you and namjoon not talking and he was sweet for making sure you were coming. you gave him a weak smile and nod.

when you reach the place where fireworks are supposed to light up the sky, there’s only namjoon on the bench that was too long for just one person.

there was so much space.

there was so much place.

but you didn’t fit in there, not next to him.

your hands wrung the cardigan dangling on your arms as a sharp exhale tried to stabilize you.

you turn around to leave but stop in your tracks when his eyes fall on the back of your head. even without looking back, you know he’s seen you and if you left, you would feel even more pathetic.

“don’t go,” he whispers, it’s hard to hear him over the crickets chirping but his voice finds its way to you and you want to cry again, “even if we’re not talking, don’t go.”

so, you stay.

you look at the lake in front of namjoon and he looks at the empty bench next to him, he knows who should be there and you know who shouldn’t be there.

even far away, his presence suffocates you, not in a dangerous way, but in a way that you would forever want to be suffocated.

everyone else arrives loudly, carrying cans of beer and packets of food and some of them sit down, jungkook and jimin are kind enough to stand next to you and keep you company but even they know where you should’ve been instead.

the rest of the night, you remember in gaps.

you remember looking at his hand when everyone looked at the fireworks, you remember the way his face lit up with a thousand colors, you remember the way his voice cheered at the sight in the sky, you remember the way his skin traveled and embraced his body.

how was something as ordinary as skin, so extraordinary when it came to him?

you wanted to become one, to melt into him and never come back to your true self. your hand itched to touch, to reach out but instead, it tightens on your cardigan and you force yourself to look away.

-

when you got back home from the cabin, namjoon had dropped you at your room, carried your bags in, and left immediately after as if being in your presence was unbearable for him, which made you cry as soon as the door shut behind him.

now, you were in bed, it was tuesday and you had no one in your life again.

you watched your phone like a hawk, jumping at every ting! it made but it was never namjoon and you always found yourself wishing it was.

your arm dangled off the sofa as you watched kung fu panda play on the tv.

"your story might not have a happy beginning, but that does not make you who you are." soothsayer spoke on the screen and you watched with your lips between your teeth, ignoring the way your heart skipped over when the scene cut to the wise turtle, oogway.

you didn’t want to think of namjoon, you didn’t want to think of his laugh when you called him a wise turtle nor did you want to think of how you could be watching this with him right now.

but he was out of your life now.

and you didn’t know how to live it anymore.

you suddenly were too aware of how lonely you were and too aware of how no one could soothe the loneliness nor cure it.

you saw the book he had given you that was on your coffee table still, you saw his wine glass that was tucked away in a corner of your kitchen, you saw his sweater that you never bothered giving back and you felt yourself crumble from within.

when someone leaves your life, the life you had before them seems alien, not yours.

and your life, right now, was just not yours.

-

“but he wasn’t even that good-looking, so it wasn’t too sad,” your friends laughed around the table as one of them spoke, you raised your glass to your lips and sipped to kill the words inside you.

but my man was beautiful, my man was everything, so it is sad for me.

when your friends called you to meet up, it seemed like a beacon of light shoved into your life and you immediately accepted, you had to go back to your life before namjoon.

“i don’t think i’ve ever liked anyone enough to be sad after we break up,” one of them sighed and the rest followed.

but i’m so sad.

“but how do we know if we like someone that much?”  you asked silently, not really meaning to and all their heads snapped to you.

“i’ve only loved that much once, and it was…strange, none of me felt like me anymore, i guess you without them stops making sense,” your friend said, her eyes shimmered with memories of her past love. the ball in your throat grew tighter and it wound itself around your entire being.

you without namjoon, didn’t make sense.

and you were close to letting him out of your life forever.

you pushed against the table, hands shaking but you were so determined, it was suddenly too clear that you needed him.

“guys, i have to go.” they all smiled and giggled as they watched you run out of the restaurant.

-

you ran into the pouring rain, water splashed on your sneakers and your jeans but you kept pushing forward.

if you lose namjoon now, you will never forgive yourself, if you lose him after finally realizing that you need him in your life, you will never recover from the pain.

your hands hurriedly stuffed into your bag, pulling out your phone and checking his instragram, you were blessed with a view of his home and book in his stories so you wasted no time in dialing his number, pressing it to your ear and praying to every raindrop falling on you that he would pick up.

he picked up.

you stopped in your tracks.

there was only his breathing on the other side, some static noises too, and still just the simple act of him picking up the call had you sighing out in relief.

“namjoon, please come out,” you whispered, eyes lining with tears that would join the rain on your face and he sighed, you held your breath until he spoke.

then, after a pregnant silence, he sighed again, “okay.”

you cut the call and started running again, renewed energy slammed on the ground as you ran for your life, for your love.

as you finally reached his apartment, your heart raced with anticipation. the running left you breathless, the rain was merciless but the thought of seeing him filled you with an energy that surpassed any physical exhaustion.

and you bent over, catching your breath, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. your mind raced with thoughts of what to say, how to express the feelings swirling within you. with each cough, you felt the intensity of your emotions grow, this moment, this night, this rain could change everything for you.

but you knew that whatever you said, whatever you decided to reveal, it would come from ages of knowing but denying your heart.

when someone you love leaves your life, the life you had before them stops making sense, that’s when the hollowness comes in, that’s when you realize you need them.

and you were done, you were done hiding and you were pretending that you didn’t want him under your very skin.

then, the rain stops.

to correct it, the rain stops falling on your head.

you see his shoes in front of you and muffle the cry that erupts in your throat.

you look up impatiently, so quickly that namjoon jerks back and you curse yourself with every word possible, how did you ever deny yourself of him?

“why are you here?” namjoon tries to stay stoic, and cool, even as his hands scream at him to pull you to him, to let his skin become yours and instead, his hands tighten on the umbrella he’s holding over you.

“i was wrong that day,” you gasped out, and his heart lurched even as he tried not to hope for too much, “which day?”

“when i tried to act like we weren’t anything, i was wrong, namjoon, so terribly wrong,” you shook your head at yourself, pushing your hair away from your face, your chin trembled as you tried to talk to the one person who made your heart run like a racehorse.

“and i was so scared, but i should have never lied to you or myself just because i was scared,” he listened, patient as ever, but you saw his eyes go red and the way his nose twitched with a sniff.

“but why were you scared? it’s just me,” he laughed, as if he wasn’t the most extraordinary person ever, as if everything he spoke didn’t carry a bit of magic, as if he wasn’t magic himself.

“i was scared because,” you swallowed, can you say it out loud?

something about the rain made everything look so beautiful, so pure, so vulnerable but it made your heart feel so heavy, feel so filled with dread that it might burst, because if he didn’t believe you, if he laughed and walked away, you wouldn’t know how to live with yourself.

his hand snaked up your arm and something tender floated in the air around you, something that made you feel so close to namjoon, something that felt so right. but you weren't speaking a word, nor were you touching him, but you were in front of him and he was in front of you, and just like this, you felt as if someone had laid you bare.

“when i hold me, it's imperfect, i don't touch all of me and that's fine, it's just me, but if i don't hold you perfectly, the way you deserve, i might just die from guilt,” you breathed out, chin trembling again and namjoon held your jaw, and your eyes fell close.

“if i hurt you, i can never come back from it because you’re a good person, you don’t hesitate to say things like, ‘i miss you’ or ‘i saw this and i thought of you’, but those things scare me, i’ve never said them before.”

“but?” he mused, pushing your hair behind your ear and you curled into his palm, leaning your entire face on it.

you laughed, it wasn’t happy, it wasn’t sad, it was just a sound, “but i don’t know to live without you, i need you, i miss you even when you’re away for a second, i think of you in every movie i watch and i see you in some or the other character in every book i read, i see you everywhere in my life and i need you in it.”

“my life isn’t mine without you, i love you.” you pleaded.

and everything was silent for a second, he looked at you, you looked at him, you felt his skin become yours again, you felt the relief flooding in you but you also felt desperate to hear his voice.

“at some point, you’re going to need someone to hold you, the right way i mean” namjoon spoke finally, and you nodded, grabbing onto his shirt, “it needs to be you.”

namjoon’s never been able to deny you of anything at all so he says, “it will be me. now, come here,” he pulled on your arm until you fell on his chest and the rest of the world fell into place for you, you gripped onto him as if someone was going to take him away and namjoon laughed, kissing your forehead, which sent a numbing tingle all over your body.

“i love you too.” it felt right, you didn’t want to run away and take back everything you said, you wanted to hear him say it again and again, you wanted to say it again and again.

being close to someone is a fickle thing.

a person who knows everything about you, may not feel close.

but a person who tries to know you, may feel close.

and namjoon was so close that it didn’t make sense, like many stories you’ve read in your life, but it didn’t have to.

because from now on, he was you, and you were him.

and from now on, you and him, are the magical story that you would tell to everyone else.

[mayolive-writes]

Ease Your Mind | Jungkook

Part One of the Seven Series: Seven Masterlist

Title: Monday - Ease Your Mind

Pairing: idol!jungkook x AFAB reader

Summary: Jungkook is finally coming home after a long tour. Work has been fun and fulfilling, but there’s no place like home. After being deprived of your attention for so long, He knows exactly how he wants to spend the week ahead.

Wordcount: 1128

Genre: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship

Warnings below the line, minors DNI

Warnings: fluffy hours bro, soft/slow sex, protected sex, vaginal penetration, they are both kinda subby, pet names (bun, koo, hon/honey), very brief overstimulation, jk is Clingy™️, if I missed anything, let me know and ill add it!

Notes: It took me a bit to determine how I wanted this to play out and what I wanted their dynamic to be like. Like I already said, they’re both kinda subby in this one, not enough people explore subxsub dynamics smh. But that won’t be the case for the whole series. I attempted to proofread but cannot promise perfection. Feel free to comment/reblog/like, I love getting feedback! And if you would like to be added to the taglist just leave a comment :)

Enjoy!!

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The days leading up to Jungkook’s return seemed to stretch beyond time, but it all becomes worth it as you count down the seconds, watching people exit from the terminal, eagerly waiting. You ease your weight from foot to foot, an eagle eye watching.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually you’re forcing down the urge to yell out his name as you see him emerge. Attention is the last thing he wants after a long plane ride. Instead, you discreetly make your way to eachother before quietly embracing. Your heart doesn’t soar, but rather fills with relief and comfort, absorbing the warmth that you missed so much.  His arms wrap tightly around you, and you regain a sense of safety you didn’t realize was missing. Although you might never get used to Jungkook leaving, you’ll always be ready for his return.

Most of Jungkook’s face is obscured by a dark mask and wide bucket hat, but looking up you see his eyes watering, folded into crescents from the smile beneath his mask. Tears fill your eyes, and you squeeze him tighter. Not a word has been spoken yet, but it isn’t necessary.

You sit down in your car, drained from the long morning, relieved but tired. Jungkook grabs hold of your hand once more.

“How was the plane, Bun?” The only response Jungkook gives is to rest his head against the seat and release a long, exhausted sigh. You squeeze his hand, gently caressing the skin that you haven’t felt in months, but that still feels familiar and soft.

You drive home in effortless silence. In the passenger seat, you hear Jungkook dozing off, his head knocking against the window once or twice during the ride. Before waking him up, you watch his peaceful sleeping face, his lips parted lightly, breath low, and the crease between his eyebrows nowhere to be seen.

As you finally walk through the front door, Jungkook falls against you once more, hugging you close.

“I missed you.”

The soft background noise of the TV rouses you. Through bleary senses you feel Jungkook’s warm breath on your skin, feel him huddled close to you, and smell the peachy shampoo on his hair. It wasn’t a surprise to you when Jungkook said that before doing anything else, he wanted to simply lay with you on the couch, and watch something mindless. It was always his first request coming home from a tour. Each time, you would oblige.

You carefully shift towards the TV to occupy yourself while Jungkook continues to sleep. Time passes slowly in his arms, warm and secure.

Through the window, you watch as the sun sets, and the sky darkens with gray clouds. As the clouds stir, so too does Jungkook. It’s gradual, the way he awakes. A few grumbles, a bit of stretching, and a couple yawns later his eyes are open, and you feel them fixed on the back of your head. You adjust your position once more to meet his gaze and are quickly absorbed. His eyes look brighter, if not a bit foggy, after a much-needed nap; their gaze soft and tranquil.

Jungkook whispers, “Hon, I’m gonna be honest,” you nod, “I really, really need you right now.”

Oh.

Oh…

There’s an immediate shift in the air around you as your heart races. It doesn’t take long before he presses you gently into the couch and captures your lips.

Jungkook speaks with increasing desperation between each soft kiss, “missed you,” kiss, “want you,” kiss, “need you” kiss, “please, please—”

He whines quietly, and you allow yourself to get lost in his desperation, “need you too, Bun.”

Inching his hands beneath your hoodie, Jungkook revels in your soft skin that he spent months pining to feel beneath his fingertips again. You squeeze him closer, tugging at the roots of his hair when his lips attach to the crook of your neck. He steals this moment to suck a deep mark into the warm skin, easing the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

He doesn’t stop.

With swift movements, he removes your hoodie to uncover more skin. Or, to him, a wider canvas. One by one, bruises bloom along you. Neck, collarbones, chest. Wherever they can reach, he lets his lips touch. Jungkook ends up towering over you, the look in his eyes a crossroads between adoration and desire. He meets his forehead to yours, heat radiating off his body, “haven’t had you in so long…”

“Well, you have me now.”

“Never wanna leave you again,” He breathes you in, and you feel his hips rut into you.

No amount of over-the-phone intimacy could make up for the months spent apart from you. It’s no surprise that it takes little to no time before Jungkook is easing himself into your folds, face buried in your neck, uncontrollable whimpers escaping the both of you.

He works slowly for both your sakes, cautious in his movements, barley able to control himself. One hand holds your waist as the other intertwines with your fingers, his grip unbreakable. The way he slides through your walls with ease, gently rocking in and out as he desperately holds onto you makes your brain go numb. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him tighter, needing more.

“H-honey, I don’t think I’ll l-last long.” He whines in your ear and his prediction is correct, only a few more thrusts cause him to break. Despite him coming, however, he doesn’t stop, “M-more, need more.”

“Keep going, Koo, please keep going—” You softly beg, “

His thrusts are faster and deeper now, fueled by need and desperation. “Oh, god, you feel so good” Jungkook cries.

“I’m so close, please, please—” you feel yourself become feverish as your high approaches, hands grasping at Jungkook’s back, the graze of your nails causing him to groan in pleasure. Your back arches, a final stifled moan escaping your throat. But still, Jungkook continues to drive his cock into you. The overstimulation makes you whine and squirm, gasping for relief. Gradually the feeling gives way to pleasure once more. Your limbs feel weak, your brain lost but begging for more until you’re both whimpering against eachother.

Countless minutes pass as you and Jungkook cling to eachother, refusing to let go. His hands stroke up and down your body, and in return, your fingers brush through his hair. Rain patters against the window, creating a lull.

You mumble, “feel better?”

“Much better, baby.”

“We should shower, Bun.”

Jungkook snuggled in closer, “don’t wanna”

“Too bad, so sad. Promise I’ll wash your hair.”

He raises his head from your chest, showing off his puppy eyes, “Really?”

The week ahead promises to be tiring, but it’s good to be home.

Taglist: @alpha-mommy69 @jkslaugh97 @eyesforjungkook @skzthinker @sporadicarcadebanana @kookswifesblog @hipeople123456-blog

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Bit Slow Round These Parts

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Dec 2023 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - Mhok is about the most indulgent boyfriend on the planet. Why they dressed as 1930s gangsters for the wedding? I have no idea idea, but it’s adorable. IFYLITA mark 2? And they’re even dancing together using bits of the same steps that were used that show too. Cute nod.

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 6 of 10 - Everything but the kitchen sink includes lesbians apparently. Excellent. Carry on. Also a lot of filler about the sides. (Boring, stop that.) I wish the doctor were a little bit more of a multifaceted character (and less evil snakey), and that we had some of his backstory + Tharn. If we saw them as kids, having a longer true friendship, it would make Tharn’s attitude a little bit more sympathetic and forgiving.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 5 of 10 - I like this show, but it’s awfully one-sided in the romance arena. I mean shouldn’t they be trying to support and make each other happy? Why does it always have to come from Him? Also, I’m constantly worried about the fact that Nail doesn’t eat any vegetables. His digestive track must be in serious distress. And if the boy is a bottom?! Look I have concerns is all I'm saying, I hope he's getting his fiber along with the dk. Meanwhile... Mom confrontation! Always fun.  

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 9 of 10 - Now I’m having a hard time keeping the twins straight. Who’s getting beat up for whom, what’s going on? No matter who, First caught himself a live one. I like those bits.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 7 of 14 - I got little crumbs of my sides but not enough, and then they dropped the mpreg bomb. Kinda like blowing the BL diaper. Trash watch happening here.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 5 of 12 - They are so cute. And mostly such good communicators. Except evil dad is evil! I didn’t have OffGun tango on my bingo card, but I'm happy to check it off. After making everyone sing, GMMTV is now making everyone dance. I much prefer it. Kiss came a bit out of nowhere. But it was sweet. 

A few minutes later...

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 6fin - I don’t know, I feel like this just wasn’t good enough for the class of talent involved. Which means it’s mostly the story and script's fault. In the end I kinda just wanted Guy to get the guy.

In cluclusion:

A lack-luster story about a group of bakers coping with (mostly) a shoddy script that could not be saved by either the beauty nor the talent of the actors involved. It suffered for lack of narrative backbone and so did I. 6/10

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 8fin - Mai is an adorable clingy boyfriend, and that bit was kind of cute.

Summation:

Office clown, Jade, a manic pixie dream dork, is courted by the new intern, Mai. This show is right in my wheelhouse but it fell flat for me. I wish it had lived up to the concept behind the title (if nothing else). If we had done more of Jade‘s family and the reasons behind his self-worth struggles and self-acceptance issues, they might have been easier to bare. Without backstory, the show had no through line. In the end, Jade was a largely intolerable character, and Mai felt flat and lacking in personality. I was disappointed with this show, and I hope they don't blame the pair for the poor ratings. 6/10

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) 1626 ep 19 of 24 - Meh. So dull. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - I’m not really interested in the late addition love triangle concept.

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 4 of 8 - a bit too frenetic and manic for me, this one. Glasses boy is best boy. But I’m kind of confused as to was actually going on with this show. Including whether I like it or not.

I Became the Main Role of a BL (Japan Sun Gaga) ep 1-3 - AKA BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita: Crank Up Hen - it should finish airing at the very beginning of the year, so I decided to wait and watch all 3 back-to-back. 

It's Airing But...

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. I DNFed this at ep 5. Frankly I'm impressed with myself for getting that far.

Night Dream (Sat YT) 6 eps - It’s a pain to track down and I really didn’t like the first episode so… DNF  

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). I don't think even the perfect single dimple can motivate me to watch. Word is... it's terrible.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes. I'm waiting to binge if safe.

Dead Friend Forever (Thai Sat iQIYI) - horror, meh, tell me if it's worth my time?

It's done and I didn't, or we can't

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep 1. Been told I shouldn't bother. So I won't.

Behind the Shadows (Korea movie) - This is a historical I was interested in, but I've been told they kill the gay so I'm OUT.

[INTERNATIONAL] Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - yeah Japan put the smack down on our boys. Sadness. You can use a VPN if you like. Read all about it here.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have a spare day.

Crazy work load right now so no idea when that will be. (End of year is a bear for me.)

Honestly I'm gonna have an epic number of dnf's this year for me.

Next Week Looks Like This

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED). With the end of the year upon us I'll do an "announced for 2023 but never happened list" soon.

Also my best ofs are coming.

Don't think I'll do a stats round up this year, everything progressing as before.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

(Last week) - sorry, forgot to link it.

It's 2024 people! Round ups are coming!!!! Leave a comment or an ask, if you have something specific you want addressed.

[marblemoovt]

Fever - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, Dad!Price

Summary:

John pounds on your door at an ungodly hour in the morning. You've never seen him so distraught.

------

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself.

Note:

Hello! It's been a while since my last Price fic. If I'm honest I'm sorely tempted to keep writing this universe as a series of oneshots (because I'm terrible at commitment). So expect to see more Rose and Price at some point. I've already come up with a series title lmao..

I have a few dividers I want to try out and see which one I like best. So far I like this one better than the previous one.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Bam. Bam. Bam

You bolt upright in bed, squinting around your room until you locate the alarm clock on your bedside table. You glance out the window and notice the sky is still dark, and the sun is nowhere to be seen. Not even a sliver of pink or orange to creep over the horizon. Hm. Definitely not your alarm.

BamBamBam.

The noise grows louder, and the pause between hits becomes nonexistent. Your brain refuses to process the source as you sweep your eyes across your room. The early haze that fogs over your mind when you wake up clouds your ability to think.

Until you hear John shout your name. 

Snatching a coat hanging off a chair, you fly out of the room. The floorboards squeak beneath your weight as you weave between your furniture. Sliding to a stop in front of the door, your fingers fumble with the lock before you wretch it open.

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself. 

A small groan comes from the blankets. “Daddy, you’re squishing me.” 

Your shoulders sag as the tension leaves your body. The weight resting on your lungs eases. You glance up at the ceiling and say a silent prayer of thanks before beckoning the pair inside.

Heading to the kitchen, you prepare some tea to keep yourself busy. No caffeine, though. You were anxious enough as is; you didn’t need to worry faster. Fishing out the chamomile from your cupboards with three cups and saucers, you turn the kettle on to boil. While the tea steeps, you take out the honey and add a drizzle to each cup. 

“Daddy, I’m cold.” Rose’s voice breaks the still silence. You run through a mental list of all the possible things that could be wrong. It can’t be life-threatening if John knocked on your door instead of taking her to the hospital. But you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenarios. The kettle whistles, pulling you out of your thoughts. You’ll ask after you bring the tea. 

A quick glance reveals that John is still cradling her in his arms. The lighting unveils the redness of his eyes and the thin, tight line of his lips. “I know, my little flower. We’ll fix you up, and you’ll be as right as rain,” he says, stroking her head.

You walk over and set the drinks on the table. “Tea? It’s chamomile,” you say, sipping from your cup. The warm liquid soothes your nerves, pooling comforting heat in your stomach. John’s lips quirk up, but they fall just as quickly. He makes no move for the tea. Your cup rattles on the saucer as you place it down. “John, you look like shit,” you state. No response other than a slight flinch. You sit down beside him and hold out your arms. “Drink, you’ll feel better. I can hold Rose for you.”

John studies your face. His eyes are staring past you. It makes you wonder what he’s seeing to make that solemn expression. The movement of you tilting your head brings him back to the present. His gaze flickers between you and Rose. “Ok,” he whispers, carefully placing her in your waiting arms. 

“Hi, Rosy,” you greet her, checking to see if John is drinking his tea. His shoulders aren’t as tense as he sips the drink, but his knee begins to bounce. 

Rose cracks an eye open and smiles widely at you. “Hullo,” she rasps.

You observe her flushed complexion and the hair clinging to her face. “How are you doing, little one?” you ask.

She licks her chapped lips and says, “M’ sick.”

“That sounds like no fun,” you say, exaggerating the frown on your face.

Rose smiles wide and shakes her head slowly. “But Daddy says I don’t have to go to school.” Her eyes glitter at the prospect of staying home, a fantasy most children have at least once during their school years. You can imagine the chaos she could cause if she wasn’t so sick.

You mirror her grin and brush her damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “That’s true. You get to stay home and sleep in,” you say, and her smile nearly blinds you.

“And watch cartoons!” she adds. Ah, the quintessential stay-at-home activity for the sick. She starts squirming in your arms. “I get to watch all the shows I miss because of school.” Her lips curl into a feline-like smile, reminiscent of a cat that stole a big, juicy fish. 

You laugh and nod. “That sounds amazing!”

Rose giggles, “That’s because it is!!” If she wasn’t sick, you would be squeezing her in a bear hug. 

You press the back of your hand against her forehead. It’s warm. “Did your dad take your temperature?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and says, “He put a stick in my mouth and told me to hold it there.” She mimics the motion of placing a thermometer in between her lips and closing them. Your cheeks start to hurt; how can such a tiny being be so precious? She must get it from her father. 

You eye the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep all your medical supplies. “Can I check again?” You trust John, but you just want to make sure. 

“Why?” she asks.

“To see how warm you are,” you answer, booping her nose, which scrunches up in response. 

Rose looks at you with her big blue eyes. “Why?” she asks again. You’re glad to see the fever hasn’t affected her curiosity. 

You smooth down her hair, doing your best to flatten the stray cowlicks. “Because it’s dangerous if you’re too hot. You would need to go to the hospital,” you say. 

Rose furrows her brows and utters an “Oh.”

You rise from your seat and head for the kitchen. “Are you comfortable?” you ask. To free up your hands, you shifted her upright, and she’s now clinging to you like a koala.

“Mm,” she mumbles a confirmation into the crook of your neck. You grab the thermometer and turn it on to see if the batteries are still working. On your way back, you fill up a mug of water to keep Rose hydrated. Once seated back on the couch, you bring the thermometer to her mouth, and she lets you take her temperature without a fuss. 

You wait a few minutes until the device beeps to signal it’s finished. “38.8. Not a low fever, but you should be fine with some rest,” you say. Next, you take the mug and hand it to Rose. “Can you drink this water for me?” She drinks every last drop, smacking her dry lips together. “Wonderful! For being such a good patient, the doctor has decided to give you a little treat.” Fishing around your pocket, you pull out her reward. 

Rose stares in awe at the shiny wrapper in your hand. She gently plucks it up and marvels at the strawberries dotting the colourful material. She glances at her dad, but you bring a finger to your lips when she looks back at you. Rose smiles and nods her head, clutching the candy in her fist.

“I’m sleepy,” Rose announces. You look at John and notice that he’s sunk back into the couch, staring into his empty cup.

“There’s a bed in the guest room. I can put on some cartoons for you to fall asleep to,” you suggest.

She nods her head. “Ok.”  

On your way to the guest room, you fill another glass of water to leave on the bedside table. You lay down Rose on the bed, rummaging in the closet for a thin blanket. As you tuck her in, you feel her forehead with your hand. “Do you feel uncomfortable? Do you want to take any medication?” you ask, making a note to grab a damp cloth before you leave.

“You’re like Daddy. Especially when he looks like this.” Rose brings a finger up to each eyebrow and pushes them down, grimacing in a familiar fashion. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and you join in, unable to resist her charming antics. “Daddy already gave me some medicine. It tasted like bubblegum,” she remarks, sticking her tongue out as the rest of her face scrunches up. 

Amusement twists your lips into a smile. “You don’t like bubblegum?” you ask.

Rose shakes her head. “Bubblegum should not be medicine,” she says with a grave tone; it’s the most serious you’ve seen her since she arrived. You head to the adjoining bathroom and run a clean cloth under room temperature water. Wringing the excess moisture, you return to her side and wipe her sweaty skin.

Rose’s eyelids droop; you take this as your cue to leave. “Alright. Your dad and I will be in the living room or in the room across if you need us.” She nods, and you go to turn on the TV, switching to a channel she likes and lowering the volume and brightness.

You tiptoe out of the room, closing the door slowly but leaving a small gap in case she calls out for anyone. When you return to the living room, John is still in the same position. Except now he’s wringing his hands as his cup sits abandoned on the table.

“John?” you call out his name softly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t look up at you, and you wonder if he even heard anything. You remain at a distance, observing every flex of his muscles as he fidgets.

“Is she asleep?” he asks in a whisper. His eyes dart to your figure before landing on his lap again. You walk up and gingerly take a seat beside him. John shifts some of his weight onto you, head resting against yours. You can feel the exhaustion emanating from him in waves. He looks like he could fall asleep any minute himself. 

“Nearly. Rose could barely keep her eyes open when I laid her on the bed,” you say. Warmth envelopes your waist as John snakes an arm around you, pressing you closer to his side.

He kisses the side of your temple, murmuring into your hair, “I’m sorry for troubling you like this. I just… didn’t know what to do.” It’s not often you hear his words catch in his throat. You frown at the wobble in his tone and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in the way you know always has him purring. He hums appreciatively and leans into your touch, eyes closed in momentary bliss. 

“You’re not troubling me at all. Is this the first time she’s gotten this sick?” you ask.

John mulls over your question, his brows furrowed with thought. “First time while I wasn’t deployed,” he answers. John sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “I’m a terrible father,” and his chuckle leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You pick up the untouched third tea and use it to warm your hands. “What makes you think that?” you ask, fingertips tapping against the ceramic sides of the cup. 

His answer is almost immediate, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “Because I panicked.” As if that single sentence encompassed everything he did wrong tonight. 

You frown and set the cup back down, not wanting to break it in a fit of emotions. There’s a strange disconnect between John’s confidence at work and at home. “So? Does being a good father mean knowing everything about parenting? Because in that case, there’s not a single good father in the world,” you say. But your attempts at comfort only cause him to sigh. “Panicking doesn’t always equal death.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No. No, I don’t, John. I can’t read minds. What I can tell, though, is that you did your best to handle the situation.” If only you could extract your memories and play them for him to watch. Then maybe he would finally see what a good father he really is. 

“It wasn’t enough,” he deflects.

You place a hand on his shoulder and say, “Yes, it was. Rose is sleeping peacefully down the hall. She’s fine.” You emphasize ‘fine,’ but John shakes his head. Doubt swims in his eyes, churning the blue depths into sheets of glistening glass. 

“What about the next time something like this happens?” he counters. You can feel the damped vibrations through the sofa cushions, and you place a hand on John’s knee. 

“Then you use what you learned from the previous times and do better,” you reply in an even tone. The two of you stare in silence. You refuse to look away. John wavers underneath your gaze. His lips remain in a thin line, stretched taut like a rubber band. And what eventually happens when you put too much strain on a rubber band?

It snaps.  

“Can you hold me?” he whispers, and your heart clenches. You want nothing more than to pick up and carry him to your bed for some well-needed cuddles. But John’s a big man. You’re not sure you could do any of that without struggling.

You shuffle onto his lap and open your arms wide. “Come here.”

John buries himself in your embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he mumbles. His beard grazes your skin, and a giggle bubbles from your throat. The sound causes John to tighten his arms around you. Is this what stress balls feel like when they’re about to explode?

“No problem. I’ll hold you for as long as you want me to,” you say, patting his back. It’s faint, but the scent of his cologne wafts in the air. Notes of bourbon and the smoke from his favourite cigar brand. You breathe it in, wishing you could bottle it up to use when he’s away.

He chuckles, and the resulting vibrations raise the goosebumps on your arms. “I’m afraid you’ll have to surgically remove me from yourself,” he says, burrowing into you.

“Well, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world,” you wheeze, rubbing the burning tips of his ears between your forefinger and thumb. 

His voice is small, but it reaches your ears in the serene evening. “You still want to stay?” he asks. 

Your lips twist into an amused smile. “Did I ever say I wouldn’t?” You brush your fingers through his hair, fiddling with the grey streaks you find.

“I’m a mess,” he says. 

You nod. “Yeah, a hot one.”

“Darling….” he drawls. 

“Yes, John?” you say, batting your eyelashes, looking like the epitome of innocence. A sudden attack is launched on your vulnerable sides. “Hey!” you screech as John digs his fingers mercilessly into your waist. You attempt to squirm out of his grasp. If you don’t get away in time, your fight instincts might take over from your flight, and John will learn the hard way not to tickle you.

Although you doubt his reflexes will allow anything to happen. The cheeky bastard’s nearly impossible to catch by surprise since he reacts instantly to any objects hurtling towards him.

“I like hearing you laugh,” John admits, the lines on his face relaxing. The warmth in his eyes stirs that familiar fluttering in your chest. A shudder wracks your body when he absentmindedly rubs circles into your hips.

You peck his nose and lean your forehead on his. “Gets the happy chemicals flowing?” you ask.

John hums, “Mmm.” He teases you again with a quick skim of his fingertips, and you bite your lips to keep quiet. Rose is still sleeping, but a small laugh punches through your teeth. John relents his assault, satisfied for now. 

He continues to cling to you like a koala. You think back to what you’ve learned about John since that fateful encounter at the grocery store. “John? Why do you get so insecure when the topic of parenting surfaces?” you ask.

“...Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. You mentally scold yourself for bringing up a sore subject.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to,” you say.

“What?” John looks at you with wide eyes.

You grin and gently close his jaw before it can reach the ground. “I won’t force you to talk about something you don’t want to,” you say with a shrug. 

“Thanks.” The room falls silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock and the unintelligible murmurs of the TV.

“John, you’re really not that bad.” You trace the bags underneath his eyes, frowning at how puffy they are. 

“Well, I can’t be a bad father if I’m never around,” he chuckles dryly.

You hesitate before asking, “...Is that what this is about?”

“....”

“I know your job takes you away from home often.” You pause and wrack your brain for the right words to convey what you want to say. “But I wish you could see how Rose smiles when I tell her you’ll return in a few days. Or how she hugs her teddy bear—that you gave her—close every night.” Rose’s enthusiasm for her father’s return never wavers, never changes. You’ve babysitted Rose on and off for months now, and every evening, without fail, you hear the recording in the bear play from her room. “Would we like to see more of you? Of course. But I understand, and I think Rose does to a certain degree, that you have responsibilities and duties to fulfill.”

The right side of John’s lips slant up. “Don’t you ever get tired of cheering me up?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ You stand up and hold a hand out to him. “Now let’s get you to bed, my sad little man.”

“Little?” John chuckles, placing his hand in yours.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re just a sad little guy,” you say.

John blinks slowly and raises his brows. But his expression is soon replaced with amusement. “Is this some kind of internet lingo I’m unaware of?”

“....”

John clicks his tongue. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

You huff and feel like a cat with its hackles raised. “Don’t judge me for how I spend my free time,” you say.

John nods. “Ah yes, reading literature. What were they called again? Fan books?”

“Fanfics,” you correct, tugging him from his seat. “To bed. Now.”

John's eyes crinkle at the corners, and his quiet laughter fills the room. “You don’t need to be ashamed, darling. It could be worse. You could be reading those raunchy romance novels they sell at the grocery store.” You don’t humour him with a response, too busy trying to mask your face with a neutral expression. God forbid John learns about the kinds of things you read in your sacred corner of the internet. “You read the equivalent online, don’t you?” The apples of your cheeks tingle, and your mouth dries.

You clear your throat and begin stacking the cups and saucers. “It’s still late. We need to get some more rest,” you say, setting off at a brisk pace to the kitchen sink. The thud of footsteps follows right behind you. You don’t have to turn around to see how his lips curl into a grin.

“You read those books when you have me?” he asks, mock hurt lacing his tone.

You roll your eyes and set the dishes in the sink; a problem for future you. Turning around, you cross your arms and steel your gaze. “In my defence, some of them actually have a good plot,” you say. John raises a brow, and he does a poor job covering his laugh up with a cough. “Don’t give me that look! Some of them do!” you insist. Literal masterpieces exist on the internet. And they’re free??? Clearly, John’s never binged a fanfic until three in the morning and had an epiphany, only to be left desolate and distraught now that there are no more chapters to be read.

During your internal debate to justify your reading habits, John hoists you over his shoulder and heads to your bedroom. 

“Why don’t you recount your favourite one, and we can reenact it, hm?” he suggests, landing a playful smack on your bottom. You flail your limbs to no avail. The heat on your face could burn through the clothes on his back. John glances over at you with a smirk. “You can be quiet, can’t you, love? You did so well last time.” He caresses the back of your thighs, closing the door behind him with his foot.

At least you get a glorious view of his ass from this angle.

End Note:

Listen, don't ask me why I always end up writing some angst when it comes to Dad!Price. I can't help it, it's just ingrained in his DNA. I do have some ideas as to what happened with Rose's mom, and I do want to eventually write Price coming to terms with his grief. But as always, who knows when I'll get to that.

I did think about dragging this out longer. Originally, Price was also supposed to fall sick the next few days and Reader would be nursing him with the help of Rose. But that would have doubled the length and I just wanted this done so I could move on to the next fic 😅

Now it's on to the next fandom on my list! Alas, I am cursed with too many ideas and not enough willpower to write all of them at once.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Taglist: @mipitt141, @lovecats123451

[volklana]

I Could Drown Myself In Someone Like You

Part Two

Read Part I Here:

You can find my other Biker!Bucky fic here:

Title Comes from this Song:

Request: Hey girl I literally just found your blog and when I tell you I BINGED your Ride series. Please I beg could we have some more Biker Bucky? Maybe barmaid reader? I really don't mind as long as we get some BikerBuck!

Warnings: This chapter references past domestic abuse, and current alcohol abuse. If that isn't for you, please don't read, protect your peace and you can catch me next time xx

Amidst the carnage of  discarded clothes, tangled sheets and bruising kisses, Bucky collapsed down on top of you a panting mess and your chest heaved as you came down from your own high.

“Fuck, doll,” he sighed eventually, rolling over to pull you close to him, he ran his fingers absentmindedly up and down your arms, to ease his racing thoughts and thumping head. 

He paused all actions when his fingers landed on a large scar that ran almost diagonally across your forearm and he felt you tense when you realised he had felt it, his brow knitted into a frown when he pulled your arm closer to inspect it, realising you were littered in tiny, little circular scars too, and he startled when you pulled your arm completely from his grasp, rising to start pulling your discarded clothes back on. 

“Doll?” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna talk about it Buck,” you pleaded and he looked at you like a kicked puppy when you continued “I didn't ask you how you got your scars, please don’t ask me about mine.”

He shot out of bed and was by your side before you could blink.

“But you could ask me about my scars. You can ask me anything. You got me wrapped around your little finger. I’m all yours.” 

You softened at that and stopped attempting to pull your clothes on in haste and beckoned for him to move into your arms.

“Just, just don’t push me too quick Bucky. I need time to adjust. Can you give me time?”

“I got time,” he agreed, pulling you in for another kiss, before he pushed you down onto the bed, climbing on top of you already hard again and had you a panting mess before he even slid inside.

When you woke the next morning Bucky was nowhere to be found, You tried to stop the disappointment pitting in your stomach when you realised his bike wasn’t in the parking lot either, so you pulled on your clothes and headed out to climb into your truck, when the roar of his bike whipped your head around and he stalked across the lot until he reached you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he commanded.

“You weren’t here,” was all you offered and he softened a little “I had some business to take care of. But I’m back now, let me make you breakfast.”

You nodded and followed him back inside, only noticing when you sat down to eat that his knuckles were bloody. 

Bucky was an enigma to you. 

Over the coming weeks, with you, he was all gentle kisses and reassuring, soft touches. He was the Bucky that hung fairy lights around your cabin and picked wild flowers to put in vases in the window. The Bucky who still all these weeks later refused to charge you a single penny in rent. The Bucky who made love to you and looked after you in ways no one else had ever done. 

But you knew he could be reckless and at times a little too fond of whiskey. Bucky kept a lot of secrets, like where he snuck away to sometimes, returning bloody knuckled, or why he sometimes woke up screaming in his sleep. 

You tried to remind yourself that you too were carrying secrets of your own, but the truth was you were falling in love with Bucky, and that thought above all terrified you more than anything else. The sinking fear that someday this was all gonna come crashing down around you.

You were trying your best not to be a flight risk but the packed bag you hid under your bed was a constant reminder that you would always be ready to run when your time came. 

It didn’t take long for Steve and Sam to find out that you and Bucky were sneaking around, but despite his best attempts to keep you occupied, you were never late for a single shift.

About a month or so into seeing Bucky, Steve had been lingering around you all day and you finally had enough when he followed you down to the cellar.

“Steve,” you giggled “Whatever you have to say to me, just out with it.”

He laughed too, for a second, scratching at the back of his neck.

“I love Bucky y/n, he’s my brother for life.”

“But?” you quirked and he released a shaky breath. 

“But the war fucked him up, alright? It changed him. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“He won't hurt me Steve,” you assured, side stepping him and making your way back up to the bar.

“He won’t mean to,” Steve sighed and had to make peace with the fact that he had warned you as best as he could while also remaining loyal to his best friend.

Your laughter bounced off the walls of the closed bar, as you and Sam were setting up for opening. Bucky had been in the office going through the books when you got in, so you’d quickly pecked his cheek, leaving him to his work, but frowned when you saw the glass of whiskey on the desk.

You had been busy setting baskets of condiments out on each table while Sam was prepping food at the grill, singing along to the radio and using a flipper as a microphone, he made his way across the floor and took you in his arms and you danced across the floor together singing along too, giggling as he spun you around.

You startled when Bucky’s voice boomed across the floor.

“Get the fuck away from her Wilson,” he barked and was marching your way in the blink of an eye.

Sam immediately stepped away, hands in the air in surrender, the smile slipping off his face. 

“You don’t fucking touch her,” he was seething and pulled your arm in his and began to pull you behind him, you tried to wrestle free, slapping at him.

“Who do you think you are?” you gasped “Let go of me Buck.”

Bucky whirled you in front of him and you immediately prepared yourself for the slap coming your way, backing away, small hands up in defeat, trying to make yourself as small as possible, breathing laboured as you tried to fight off the incoming familiarity of a panic attack. 

But the slap never came.

And Bucky was rooted to the spot, sheer panic written all over his face.

“Doll?” he pleaded “Doll I would never-” 

But it was too late, you were sprinting out into the parking lot, tears streaming down your face and you fought to force air down into your burning lungs. 

Bucky came to find you, crouching down beside you. Stroking your hair.

“I would never hurt you,” he cried “Please doll. I need you to know that,” you nodded furiously, but you both knew. You knew the magic of the past few weeks was broken. 

You thought briefly of that packed bag in your room, and Bucky’s mind wandered to a faraway bunker in the Middle East. 

Despite it all you worked your shift, but even the regulars were put off by how quiet you were. You worked in silence and refused to meet Sam’s eyes all night.

When your shift finished, you pulled your apron off and Bucky was offering to ride you home.

“I think- I think I wanna be alone tonight Buck,” you said meekly and your words burned Bucky, as he watched you leave.

“I should go after her,” he sighed and Steve slammed the glass he was cleaning down.

“Bucky,” he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You should respect her wishes and leave her alone. And you should apologise to Sam for being an asshole. But we both know you’re going to do exactly neither of those things.” 

The pounding on your front door pulled you from your tears, and you rolled over, hoping Bucky would take the hint and just leave but you knew Bucky better than that.

You let him knock a few more minutes before you finally swung the door open.

He was drunk, propped up on your porch with one hand and swaying slightly.

“Did you ride your bike out here like that?” you demanded as he barged his way by you inside. 

“How did you get those scars?” he demanded attempting to catch your arm but you snatched it back quickly.

“Buck what? No. We’re not doing this tonight,” you cried. 

“Someone did that to you didn’t they!” he demanded “That’s why you flinch. That’s why you run, that’s the cause of the panic attacks.”

“I don’t want to talk about this Bucky,” you cried “Please just go.” 

“I want to talk about it,” he snapped. “I want to talk about it because goddamn it doll, I don’t want you to have to hide any part of yourself from me. I want you all. And I’m sorry I’m such a piece of shit and I made you scared earlier. But I didn’t even know I could feel like this ever again.” He was tugging frantically at the ends of his long hair. 

“Bucky,” you cried “You’re saying all of this because you’re drunk, you would never say this to me sober.”

“I’m fucking terrified. Can’t you see that doll? I’m in so deep I don’t even know how to get back out. I need- Fuck I need you to know that I never want to hurt you. I would rather die.” 

He made his way over to you cupping your face and forcing your eyes to meet his, “The way I feel. The way you make me feel. I thought it was impossible. But you made it possible.” 

You wanted to melt into his touch, to fawn and assure him that everything was okay but you had nearly lost your life running away from your last relationship and as much as Bucky loved you, and you couldn’t deny you loved him, he was a loose canon.

“I don’t think I can do this Buck. It’s too much! The drinking-the fighting. I need calm. I need peace.” 

“And I need you,” he pleaded, “If I agree to see a shrink. If I give up the whiskey. If I put the work in for me, for us, could you see a future with me?” 

You nodded, because honestly you could, but you would need to see the proof. 

“If you did those things, if you give me breathing room, I could see my future with you.”

Bucky looked into your eyes for what felt like an eternity, before he nodded slowly, he knew in that second that he would change his whole life to make you happy, and safe.

“How did you get your scars?” he whispered and pressed his forehead to yours.

You sighed a shaky breath and nodded gently, “Knives, cigarettes, anything he could get his hands on,” you cried “That’s what I’m running from Buck. That’s what I’ve left behind.” 

He pulled you to him in an instant, peppering kisses to your forehead, your hair and eventually your face.

“I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again. Including- Especially me.”

Tagging: @spookyparadisesheep   @jbbarnesgirl   @salvatoreitmeanssaviour@princesscornbread   @loki-laufeyson-1054 @firstcashheroathlete @missvelvetsstuff     nana1000night   sapphire-rogers   @sarahrogersevans   @steverogerssimpp @spudinthemud   @mrsragnarlodbrok @buckgasms @miss-patriciah-maximoff   @hellomissmabel  @knittingknerdy @shamvictoria11 @buckysberrie @assembletheimagines @dearthofequanimity @wellthatsrandomkek @mitra-k-w @nikkitia7 @fantasticimpaladoctor @feelmyroarrrr @sebseyesandbuckysthighs @andhiseyesweregreen @frickin-bats @buckyywiththegoodhair @iiharu-kunii @bellenuit45-blog @james-bionic-barnes @avengerofyourheart @jaegers-and-kaijus   princess76179   brasspistol  thelittleredrobinhood tiedyedghoulette mishkatelwarriorgoddess

[unclaimed-garbage]

My First Impression Rant on S2E8: “The Full Moon.”

SPOILERS FOR S2E8 “THE FULL MOON” OF HELLUVA BOSS

[Things that I liked about the newest episode]

The Art/animation:

The art/animation was super good as always. The fight scene were choreographed rather well and it was just awesome. (Shoutout to the effects team as well).

The music and voice acting:

The music and voice acting were also really good (though at some points, certain characters didn’t sound right??? Like there was one scene where Moxxie confronted the Cherubs and his voice sounded COMPLETELY different. Aside from that though, the emotion in Blitzø’s voice for example where absolutely STELLAR.

Unfortunately, I don’t have many good things to say about this episode because tbh, it was a HUGE let down for me.

[Things I didn’t like]

The goddamn plot:

The pacing here was fucking atrocious and especially bad this episode. The goddamn cherubs and Dhorks got more screen time than Stolas and Blitzø, which shouldn’t be the case given that the episode is titled “The Full Moon” and should’ve been about Blitzø and Stolas’ “deal.”

It was also incredibly strange because why in the world would Vivziepop hype up this episode only to have it barely feature the main storyline. Sure, it was nice to see less of Stolitz, but when you market an episode as being a Stolitz-centric episode that’s supposed to be where they break up, you should expect more focus.

Instead though, we got more of Dhorks’ and Cherubs’ rushed Alliance that went nowhere and was the A plot, while the most important part of the series was shafted as the B plot.

Speaking of shafting the B plot, the pacing was another issue:

The pacing was (once again) another huge issue for me. Blitzø and Stolas’ talk about their “deal” was EXTREMELY quick. Though it was incredibly well done both voice acting wise, mood wise, etc, the pacing just went too fast and it would’ve been nice to see more buildup.

Not only that, but with The Cherubs’ and Dhorks’ situation, the fight went on way too long when it didn’t even affect the actual plot or story. It just meant nothing narrative wise and just felt like a waste of time tbh.

That leads to my next issue, the stakes:

The stakes of this episode were meant to be incredibly high. This was the episode where Stolas and Blitzø were theorized (and confirmed) to break up. Despite this high-stakes moment that’s been forever in the making, with the Cherubs portion of the episode (that took up more screen time than the supposed main focus), the stakes were incredibly non-existent most of the episode and then quickly hit you like a brick in the final five minutes where the most important part comes to play.

Like sure, some may argue that the stakes and tension hitting you was supposed to be like that, but it just felt like bad writing to me.

This leads into the next issue which is tone/tonal whiplash:

This episode suffers from pretty bad tonal whiplash imo. While a good portion of the episode was used to bring Dhorks and Cherubs back into relevancy, there were moments where Blitzø went out (and met Fizzeroli later on) to buy new stuff for their monthly fucking.

Despite the audience heavily suspecting this episode would be Stolitz’s breakup episode, there was little to no buildup. In the beginning of the episode, we get Stolas and Blitzø’s duet talking about the full moon and whatnot. We know that Stolas will give the asmodean crystal to Blitzø, but we don’t know how he’ll react.

We see everything on Blitzø’s side going wonderfully, he’s buying stuff for their “deal” and whatnot making sure it’s perfect (because it’s heavily implied Blitzø is worried that Stolas is getting sick of him). On the other hand, we see no buildup on Stolas’ side. No buildup whatsoever. After the duet, he’s completely gone until Blitzø meets up with Stolas. I think that works against the episode and it’s intentions. So, it went from Blitzø being happy, to things all going to shit with little buildup imo.

The Episode’s intentions:

Honestly, this episode really rubbed me the wrong way, especially when Blitzø finally confronts Stolas about everything. It truly seems that they’re trying to paint Blitzø as the villain, when that’s furthest from the truth.

In scene one (which I’d previously screen recorded, but you can only upload 1 video from camera roll), we see Stolas asking for the book back. Permanently so he can give Blitzø the Asmodean crystal. Blitzø’s reaction here is VERY telling, as he automatically assumes he isn’t doing good enough in their “deal” and thus is jeopardizing his business and his employee’s livelihoods. This is just one example of the gross power imbalance in their “relationship” and like it or not, this scene alone proves that Stolas has created and upheld a gross power imbalance.

Scene/video two ALSO showcases the gross power imbalance in this situation. Blitzø is literally CRYING and BEGGING to keep the book because (as of this point in the episode), he is unaware of Stolas’ intentions and truly believes that the deal is being revoked and he’ll lose his business, job, and cost his employees’ jobs and livelihoods.

Scene/video three truly bothers me in more ways than one because STOLAS was the one who suggested the “deal”. STOLAS was the one who suggested they meet up on the full moon for sex. So WHY is he acting so surprised that Blitzø expected it to be about sex when that was the standard STOLAS set? It really does feel like the narrative is trying to sympathize and make Stolas seem like the victim when Blitzø is merely upholding the arrangement hess. been confined to.

Scene/video four REALLY REALLY grinds my gears after Blitzø rightfully goes off for being blindsided and given no chance to process what the hell Stolas has told him, Stolas is yet again treated like the victim while Blitzø is made to be the villain. Blitzø literally mentioned in the scene before this that he needed time to think things over and couldn’t have this thrown at him like that (and also rightfully goes off on him for seeing him as lesser and being toyed with).

Not only that, but it’s just misguided at best and downright malicious at worst that Blitzø’s trauma and abuse from Stolas is either completely swept under the rug or spun to make Blitzø be the villain in the situation when he’s merely fighting back against the abuse he’s faced.

The final part, The Hype:

Honestly, this episode was REALLY disappointing. It didn’t even reach the 30 minute mark and was the same/similar length as every normal episode, yet it was supposed to be so much more important. We were promised a good episode where Stolas and Blitzø would discuss their “deal,” yet it was shafted to the last five minutes and felt incredibly rushed and victim-blamey tbh. The hype for the episode didn’t really match what we got imo and I’m more disappointed with this episode than I’ve been with the other episodes in season 2.

Overall, I really hate Stolitz as a ship because of portrayal in the series and the episode heavily suffered because of it and also suffers from the usual issues due to the lack of proper pacing and the fact that it wasn’t even longer to allow for more time.

Rating: Tilts between a three and a negative infinity tbh

Maybe I’ll make a much more in depth/thought out say since this one was kinda a heat in the moment one I made while on my way home from Walmart. 💀

[blue-slxt]

Our Song Cord: Nobody Gets Out of Love Alive

(Chapter 4)

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Time to finally get to the plot point that inspired this whole fic for me lol. This idea just came smack outta nowhere and it wouldn't leave my brain until I got it down so I hope you guys enjoy it. Every chapter title is a song reference, so if you know the song, you get a cookie. I really really appreciate feedback so comments and reblogs are heavily encouraged. All characters are aged up.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part | Next Part

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Reader Making Poor Life Decisions, Kiri Being the Best, Mentions of Smut, Cheating? (If you squint), Friends to Lovers, Angst, Misunderstandings, Mentions of Pregnancy

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Consequences and misunderstandings.

There’s a distinct shift in you and Neteyam’s relationship over the next week or so. In public, you both give the appearance of best friends. Partners in crime that do everything together just like everyone had always known you to. But in private, you more often than not spent your time as a sweaty, heaving pile of intertwined limbs. Even after the end of your heat, the two of you still couldn’t seem to keep your hands off of each other.

Neteyam, in particular, was getting bolder with his affection. It would be a small brush of his tail against yours, his hand lingering on the small of your back during actual training sessions, or even a quick sneaky kiss he’d press against your cheek when no one was looking. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely adore all the attention he showered you with. Your heart called out for him in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but it hit you with a force strong enough to make the blood all rush to your head. Your body craved him deeply as if he was the very air you needed to fill your lungs. But the revelation of all these feelings did complicate things.

The reality was, Neteyam didn’t belong to you. And soon, he was going to belong to someone else. You felt ashamed every time you would see Layao shoot him a smile or let her hands trail over his arms and you would feel your gut twist with nausea.

You knew that this arrangement you had with Neteyam was going to be coming to an end soon as his ceremony was coming in just a couple days. But it was the fact that your time was running out that made you want him that much more. To steal these small moments with him more often. Build more memories to hold on to like a security blanket. She would have him for the rest of their lives, you should be allowed these last few days.

And what an eventful few days it was. The two of you would see each other every single night. You would spend hours experimenting with new positions and possible kinks. You’ve both discovered a lot about each other and yourselves. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had him spit in your mouth. The thought of such a thing before would have disgusted you, but when you hold your head back and mouth open still holding some of his cum on your tongue and you watch that steady stream roll from his tongue to yours, you swear you’ve never tasted anything more delicious in your life. And Neteyam loves having you on top. He loves being able to watch your head fall back and release so many sweet, dirty sounds while your tits bounce with your every move.

And as much as you loved fucking him, you equally loved the tender way he’d hold you afterwards. You’d lay your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat and he’d kiss the top of your head while cooing sweet words to you. On several nights, the two of you would lose track of time and have to scramble to make it back home before everyone else woke up. It was a risky arrangement, but that just added to the thrill of it all.

But now, Neteyam’s ceremony is in 2 days and you can’t help the deep sense of dread you feel lurking just under the surface. It causes your vision to go unsteady and your stomach churn when you wake up in the morning. Suddenly, you’re rushing out of your home and to a nearby bush coughing up your stomach contents. It burns your throat and leaves a disgusting taste in your mouth. Your body feels weak trying to walk back to your home. You quickly rinse your mouth out with some water you have and decide it’s probably smart to go to the healing tent and be checked just to be totally sure that you’re not coming down with a cold. Hopefully, they have something that will settle your stomach.

When you walk into the healing tent you look around for any familiar face. “Kiri? Tsahik?” Footsteps shuffle over to you and it’s Layao. “Oh, sorry, I was just looking for Kiri or Mo’at.”

“Oh, they’re out gathering herbs. Are you alright? Is it something I can help you with?” Her voice is sweet and her expression is gentle. Another churn of your stomach plagues you as you fight to swallow back down the bile building in your throat.

“W-well, I woke up not feeling very well. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t getting sick.”

“I can definitely help you. Mo’at has been training me more in these kinds of things. Come, sit.” She gently holds your wrist and leads you to sit on a mat nearby. You try to take deep breaths to help ease the erratic beating of your heart. Your eyes study her as she pulls out a small, sharp bone similar to the one that Mo’at keeps with her. Her voice is still gentle when she approaches you.

“It’s just going to be a little prick.” She pokes just barely through your skin and brings the tip of the bone up to her lips and lets her eyes close while she listens for Eywa.

After only a few seconds, her eyes shoot open and she smiles brightly at you. “You are with child. You have been blessed.”

A ringing in your ears starts. “I’m sorry, that must be a mistake. A child?” “It is no mistake. I have done this several times now. Eywa is going to bless you and your mate with a precious baby.” She clasps her hands together showing her genuine excitement for you.

Your chest tightens with a mix of emotions.

“I did not know that you had a mate already. I’m sure he will be overjoyed to know!” she places a hand on your shoulder and you do your best to not recoil from her touch.

“This is big news. I should go so I can rest. Uh, thank you.” You say starting to stand up.

“Oh, wait.” She turns to fidget with a myriad of different bowls and herbs and things behind her. “Here. These should help with the nausea and weakness.” She says as she places a small sack of herbs in your hands.

“Thank you. I should get going.”

The walk back to your home feels like it passes by in a blur. Your mind can’t process anything properly right now. A baby…you were going to have a baby. Neteyam’s baby.

‘Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ is your initial reaction. You flop down on your sleep mat and stare blankly ahead. What are you supposed to do?

You look down at your stomach and, all of a sudden, you’re hit with a wave of overwhelming affection. You hold a hand lightly just under your navel and let it sink in that there’s a little manifestation of your love growing inside of you.

But how are you supposed to tell Neteyam? This would completely derail his arrangement with Layao. You don’t want to cause any trouble or embarrassment for anyone.

While you’re lost in thought, there’s a knock on the post outside the entrance to your home. You jump at the sound, but relax a little when you see that it’s only Kiri. “Hey, Kiri.”

“Hey, Layao told us you came by the tent.”

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t feeling good when I woke up so I just came to get checked.” The apprehension is written all over your face and Kiri can sense it.

“She told us about…” she doesn’t finish her sentence but gestures to your stomach.

“Ah, I see.”

Kiri comes closer to you and crouches next to you. “Don’t look so excited.” She jokes. You know she’s trying to cheer you up, but there’s too much anxiety storming in your mind right now.

“So, who is the lucky guy? Is it Aykxo? I saw you talking with him a while ago. He’s quite the catch.”

You try to quickly compose yourself when you turn your head away from her, but the quiver in your lip shakes your voice as it comes out. “No. It is not Aykxo. But I can’t say.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “If it’s not Aykxo, then who else would it be? The only other person I ever see you with is Net—“, she cuts her own sentence short when the circuits connect. When she goes silent, all you can do is look at her. Her expression shifts from shock to pity. “Oh no.”

“You can’t tell him, Kiri.”

“You’re joking. Please tell me you’re not serious. How did this happen? When? Is that why you’ve been out so late together every night? And all the marks on you? Oh, Eywa, I think I’m going to be sick!” You can barely register Kiri’s rambling when your head falls into your hands and the tears start to well in your eyes.

She pauses and takes a breath when she notices your small sniffles. She places an arm around your shoulders. “What are you planning to do?”

“I can’t tell him. It would ruin everything for him. I can’t do that to him.”

“But this is his baby. He’ll want to be there for you. He has to know. Besides, what are you going to tell him when your belly starts growing?”

She’s right. And you know she is. Of course, Neteyam deserves to know and you know that he would want to be there, but the fear of what this could do to your relationship is too great in your heart. It’s one thing for him to reject you, but to turn away you and your baby would utterly crush you.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I can’t tell him, Kiri. I can’t. And you can’t either. Nobody can know.”

“Fine. I won’t say anything. But he should know. This baby is as much his as it is yours.”

You huff out a breath trying to decide on the best course of action.

“Do you need anything?” she asks still holding onto you.

“Just time.” You say plainly.

“Alright. Consider it done.” She responds in a very matter-of-fact tone.

You watch her in confusion as she stands and makes her way out of your home before you even have the chance to ask her what she means. Instead, you fall on to your back on your sleep mat and stare up at the sky musing to yourself about your situation.

…

This might be a mistake. When Neteyam asked you earlier if the two of you were still meeting tonight, every logical part of you screamed at you to make up some kind of excuse to say no. But seeing his hopeful eyes and that damned smile that defied all logic, you couldn’t find it in you to turn him down.

So, here you stood near the shack waiting. You beat him here tonight since your anxiety was running too high for you to just sit at home.

When you hear a rustling in the nearby bushes, your body tenses feeling him get closer. When Neteyam finally emerges, he’s clearly surprised to see you here first, but happy all the same.

“You’re already here. That excited to see me?” he jokes walking straight to you and wrapping his arms around your middle. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck and presses feather light kisses to your shoulder.

By Eywa, how are you not supposed to just soften under his gentle hold? “Teyam?”

“Hm?” he hums in response without moving his face away from your neck.

“Can we just sit together for a while? It’s been kind of a rough day and I just really need you.” Your voice is hesitant and small. But when he pulls back, there’s not even a hint of disappointment there.

“Of course, sevin.”

He’s gotten much more comfortable with things like that too lately. Every now and then, Neteyam will drop in a pet name for you. It makes your heart pound every time, even if you feel like it shouldn’t.

He sits on the ground cross legged and opens his arms out for you in waiting. You smile to yourself before slotting yourself right into his lap facing him and crossing your legs behind his back. You rest your head on his shoulder and he mimics you while rubbing his hand up and down the expanse of your back.

“What is bothering you, syulang?”

If there was ever a time to tell him the truth, this would be it. It should be. And yet, your mouth just opens and closes repeatedly searching for the right string of words.

“I just woke up not feeling really good…” not technically a lie. “And I just keep thinking about this. Soon, you are going to have your mating ceremony and we’ll have to stop this.” It sounds needier to your ears than you’d like for it to. “I mean, you won’t need my help anymore, you know?”

Your attempt at a recovery is unconvincing at best and you just pray that Neteyam won’t pick up on the underlying context. He’d never tell you whether he did or didn’t, though. Neteyam is a smart man. But still, it doesn’t take much more than half a brain and a pair of working eyes to figure out that you had it bad for him. He found it nothing short of adorable how your face would flush when he’d kiss your cheek or how you would stutter and stumble over your words when you’d ask for him to touch you.

“Well, if that is worrying you, then you’ll be happy to know that the ceremony has been postponed.” He says still just mindlessly rubbing his fingertips in shapes on your back.

Instead of happiness, your first emotion is surprise. You pull your face back to be able to look at him to make sure he was being serious. “What? Why?”

He just shrugs his shoulders, “I’m not sure. Apparently, grandmother had a change of opinion and suggested to my parents that we put the whole thing on hold.” “For how long?” “They didn’t say. Just until she is sure again, I guess.”

Your brain tries to figure out what reason Mo’at could possibly have for changing her mind. That was something she rarely ever did. Once she had an idea set in her mind, there was usually no talking her out of it. And, for some reason, your mind keeps flashing back to your conversation with Kiri from earlier.

“Do you need anything?”

“Just time.”

“Alright. Consider it done.”

There’s no way. You thought her demeanor was a little odd, but there’s no way that she managed to pull this off. You try to suppress the small smile that makes its way onto your face. You mentally file away a note to make her the best bracelet your amateur fingers could manage.

Neteyam notices the lift in your expression and it clearly pleases him to see you happy.

“I will always need you. We’ve spent our whole lives together. How could I ever not need you?” The hint of love in his voice and eyes is disarming. How are you supposed to not be completely in love with this man? You place your hands on either side of his face and brush your nose against his with a small giggle. “You are too sweet to me, Teyam.”

For the rest of the night, you both pass your time with just casual conversation. Neteyam tells you what kind of trouble Lo’ak has gotten himself mixed up in lately and you fill him in on the latest gossip among the people. Neteyam isn’t really one for gossip, but he loves seeing how enthusiastic you are with your vivid retellings. Neither of you can keep your hands to yourselves the whole time. You always have to be touching in some kind of way. Sometimes Neteyam has you sit in his lap, sometimes your back is pressed against his chest while you sit between his legs, hand holding, playing with each other’s braids, stolen kisses, longing looks, it’s more intimate than some mated couples.

It’s enough to make you temporarily forget about the tiny truth hiding in your womb behind your still flat stomach.

Once daylight starts threatening to creep in, you both decide to call it a night and sneak back home. Since it’s still so early, you actually accept Neteyam’s offer to walk you home this time. It’s far too early for even the earliest risers to be stirring around so there should be no real harm in it. All the while, your mind is trying to work out the best way to break the news to him. And then comes the fear. You don’t want to lose this. It’s so comfortable and pure and you don’t want to ruin that. But you won’t be able to keep this under wraps for long.

“Thank you for walking me, Teyam. You really didn’t have to.” You say turning to him once you reach your home.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. I want to make sure you’re safe. Besides, it gives me an excuse to spend an extra few minutes with you.” His slanted grin exposes one of his fangs and you want to roll your eyes at him, but your smile gives you away. You go to turn and walk in, but you stop when he grabs your hand and turns you back to him. His eyes roam up and down your body and his voice is low. “Will I see you later?”

Fuck, he can’t look at you like that and talk like that. You literally can’t say no to him when he looks at you like that. You have to bite your lip just to keep from screaming. “Sure, Nete.” You say his name in a singsong voice teasing him.

He may laugh, but you know that he not-so-secretly loves it. He steps forward to peck your lips one quick time before finally letting go of your hand and watching you walk inside.

Neteyam knows that he’s in a tricky spot. On the one hand, he feels a deep sense of duty to his family, to his people, and to Layao. But on the other hand, he’d be lying if said he was upset about the arrangement being postponed because that means that he gets to hold on to this fantasy a little longer. He gets to fulfill his duty to his own heart. But which one should take precedent? It’s true he doesn’t want to disappoint his parents or his intended mate, but he can’t picture his future without you. Loving you, mating with you, having you bare his children. Not to mention how you not-so-secretly loved him back. It should be just as simple as that, shouldn’t it? He decided that he needs to have a talk with his father.

…

Rays of light beaming through the spaces of your kelku wake you late in the morning. Your stomach flips and threatens to make you spill, but you choke it back down just barely. This nausea feels like it will be the death of you. But you have daily chores to attend to. With a couple of deep breaths and a couple swigs of water, you settle your stomach enough to make it out of bed and out into the village. Today would be the perfect day to help weave some baskets. You can sit still and you can practice your weaving skills. You take a seat near the other women working on their baskets and use your fingers to slowly form the right intertwining pattern.

It’s tricky for you to say the least. Weaving has never really been your strong suit. Trying to understand the way the patterns and lines all come together to form one cohesive object was beyond you, but you give it your best effort regardless.

You get a little distracted by the feeling of eyes on you. When you look up, you can notice some of the other girls looking at you and whispering amongst themselves. That’s a little odd, but you figure it’s nothing worth worrying about.

“What ya working on?” a familiar voice appears right behind you and makes you jump. When you look, a smiling Kiri is crouched behind you.

“Kiri, you nearly made my heart stop!”

She hides her laugh behind her hand, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You were just focusing so hard.” She moves around so that she’s sitting next to you now. “So, how did things go?”

You swallow hard trying to find the right words yet again.

“It went fine. We talked…a lot…about a lot of…stuff” you couldn’t sound more unconvincing if you tried.

“You didn’t tell him yet, did you?” you flinch a bit at her deadpan expression and tone.

“It just wasn’t the right time.” “Well, I’ve made sure that you have plenty of that.”

“So it was you!” your voice gets a little louder before you can really catch it.

“Shhhh, keep your voice down! You said you needed time so I bought you some time. But you only have so long before you’re not going to be able to hide it anymore. Plus, I have no clue how long before my grandmother actually makes up her mind. So, whatever you do, you better do it quickly.”

She’s not wrong. And you’re grateful for her help, but what are you supposed to do? How do you break news like this?

“But what am I supposed to say to him, Kiri? ‘Hey Neteyam, I know you’re supposed to be with Layao but, I’m pregnant with your baby’? How well do you really think that will go?” you ask with all the sarcasm you can muster.

“Very well, actually! Even the blind can see how much my brother loves you. And I mean love loves you. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”

Your cheeks get hot and you can only look away from her. “The timing just still feels off. I’ll tell him. I will. I just need to find the right time.”

Kiri sighs deeply next to you, “Fine, but just don’t let it get away from you.”

“Alright.”

…

When Neteyam arrives back at his family’s kelku, only his mother and Tuk are there. Neytiri was prepping meat for their dinner and Tuk was working on weaving a small basket for herself. Neytiri smiles at Neteyam when he walks in. “Welcome home ma’itan. Food will be ready soon.” She says barely taking her eyes off her working hands.

“Where is dad? I need to speak with him about something important.”

“Your father is in a strategy meeting.” She says and finally looks at Neteyam to see the apprehension written all over him. “What is it that’s troubling you?” She finally sets down the meat and her knife while she watches him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Neteyam considers brushing it off as nothing and coming up with some kind of excuse so he could avoid this conversation with his mother. But then he thinks about it a little deeper. Maybe his mom was the right person to start with after all. While she was always strong and firm, she was also incredibly empathetic when it came to her family. She was often the more level-headed one and more willing to hear them out. He relents with a sigh and walks over to help her with prepping the food for dinner while he talks.

“It is about the arrangement with Layao…I am having some doubts about the whole thing. I understand that she is who you and dad and grandmother have chosen and she is a nice girl, but—”

“But you hold someone else in your heart.” She finishes the thought for him. She was always good at that kind of thing.

He finds himself unable to speak and opts to simply nod his head instead while he continues to work on his slicing. Neytiri places a hand on Neteyam’s face and makes him look at her.

“Layao is a good girl and the two of you together is good for the clan.” Neteyam’s stomach drops hearing this. “But, at the end of the day, you need to do what is good for yourself and if it is this other girl, then Eywa will find a way to make it so.” A small glimmer of hope reappears in Neteyam’s eyes.

“It would not be the first time something like this has happened. It’s how I ended up with your father.” She casually drops in.

Neteyam laughs a little to himself remembering all the times his parents would recall their love story to him and his siblings when they were little. It gave him hope that if things could work out for them this well, then maybe Eywa could make something work out for him too.

Neytiri takes the knife and food from Neteyam, “Go, find your father. It sounds like you need to speak to him.” A ghost of a smile sits on her face and Neteyam perks up a bit feeling a new wave of surety. He offers his mother a kiss on the cheek before jumping up from his spot and heading out to search for Jake.

The clan is alive with the hustle and bustle of everyone going about their day and getting their duties done. In the midst of his search for his father, Neteyam hears a call through the crowd of people.

“Neteyam! There you are!”

When he turns around, Layao is already making her way over to him. He sighs a bit because he doesn’t have time for this right now, but he doesn’t want to be rude to the poor girl. It was already bad enough that he was on his way to call off their arrangement. No need to twist the knife by ignoring her too.

“Layao. Were you looking for me?” he asks putting on his best, most casual smile he can right now.

“Yes, I wanted to give you this. I heard that you like yovo fruit and I figured you could use a snack while you’re going about your day. I’m sure you’re very busy.” Her hand rubs at the back of her neck trying to calm her nerves. Neteyam’s heart breaks for her. She’s truly a sweet girl and she is a catch in her own right, but she just isn’t the one that his heart calls for.

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s nothing. Have you heard the good news?”

“What news?”

“About your friend. She and her mate are being blessed with a child.” Her excitement is evident, but Neteyam feels like his brain just short-circuited.

“She and her mate? A child?” he reiterates to ensure he heard her correctly.

“Yes! She came to me the other day because she was feeling ill and I received the message from Eywa. Isn’t it exciting? But I didn’t know she was mated already. I wonder if it’s Aykxo. Remember when we saw them talking that one day? And then they disappeared off into the forest together after eclipse. It has to be, right? That’s what everyone else is saying.” her smile grows wider while she theorizes about the origin of your unborn baby and the secret of your lover.

Now, Neteyam is the one who’s feeling ill. This couldn’t possibly be true, could it? You would have told him…wouldn’t you?

…

Nerves consume you as you lean against the tree near the shack. Neteyam is late. He usually would be here by now and Neteyam is never one for being late. Maybe he got caught by someone trying to sneak off and he needs more time to get away. Your foot is involuntarily tapping the ground trying to release some of the tension in your body. Suddenly, you hear rustling through the bushes and can faintly make out dramatically swaying braids in the dark.

“Teyam! I was starting to worry that you weren’t coming tonight.” You greet him with a smile and walk towards him as he breaks through the foliage. When you approach him, he takes a step back from you. Your face falls. Neteyam has never avoided your touch before. Especially not recently. Usually, his hands are drawn to you like moths to a flame the second he lays eyes on you.

“What’s wrong?”

His jaw clenches and he’s avoiding looking you in the eye. This isn’t like him at all.

“Neteyam!” your voice gets a little louder urging him to finally look at you and say something. When he does look at you, the sight makes your heart break. His eyes are red and filling with tears and there’s a deep sadness tainting his otherwise flawless face.

“Teyam?” your voice is just above a whisper stepping towards him. Your hand is about to rise to touch his face, but his hand gently stops yours by your wrist.

“Is it true?”

You almost can’t even hear the question with how low his voice is.

“Is what true?” “Are you pregnant?”

Silence. Your entire body stills. It feels like even your lungs have frozen in place and stopped your breath all together. His eyes study your face waiting for some kind of sign or an answer. But, in truth, your silence says it all.

“Is it Aykxo’s?” his voice wavers ever so slightly when he speaks.

“Who did you hear that from?”

“That’s what everyone is saying. And I know you went off with him that night you went into heat.” The hurt in his voice is evident. You want nothing more than to deny it; to tell him the truth. But when your mouth falls open to speak, you can’t seem to find words.

“What’s worse is that you didn’t even tell me. I had to hear it from someone else.”

“Who did you hear it from?” “What does that matter? The point is that it should have come from you.” His voice is more firm with the hurt giving way to agitation.

“Teyam, I wanted to tell you, but it’s complicated…” tears start to well in your eyes ready to spill at a moment’s notice.

“No kidding. And to think, I thought you might actually…” a small sob breaks his sentence and he has to pause to take a breath and recompose himself. “Never mind. I don’t know what I expected. This whole thing was always supposed to be just temporary anyways so why don’t we just cut it here? We’ve got all we needed out of each other so no need to continue anymore.”

“Tey, please don’t do this. Just let me explain—”

“Congratulations on your child.” He turns and walks back through the dense bushes and branches and disappears right before your eyes.

The shock finally subsides and the despair flows through you. Your knees give out and you fall to the ground with tears cascading down your face. Sobs rack your body as you hold your stomach. It’s your worst nightmare come true. The man you love has renounced you and your baby. The baby that you didn’t have the courage to tell him belonged to him. That you belonged to him. Looking down at your belly, you quietly promise your baby that the two of you will make it through this…somehow.

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[the-authoress-writes]

Safe and Sound Chapter One

Or: It’s the Great Karmic Bitchslap, Jake Seresin!

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Seresin OC

Safe and Sound Masterlist

Synopsis: After leaving her violent and abusive husband, Anastasia Seresin has known nothing but fear for months.

Always looking over her shoulder, wondering if he’s found her and their son, Luke, again.

With nowhere left to go, she turns to her younger twin brother, Jake, hoping that finally, she’ll have fled far enough.

But when she meets Bradley Bradshaw, her world is turned upside down, and she’s left wondering…

Will she have the courage to love again, and to let herself be loved?

Series Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of domestic violence and abuse, mentions and descriptions of sexual abuse, stalking, PTSD, character(s) of faith (Catholicism), warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

This is a story dealing with very serious and sensitive topics.

Please be careful, and protect your own peace.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of triggers, mentions of past domestic violence and abuse, mentions of Catholicism, mention of gaslighting, brief mention of assault, discussion of eating habits, stalking, and of course, military and legal inaccuracies.

Author’s Note: This story is one that is special to me; this was one of the first Top Gun stories I came up with, soon after I watched TG:M.

I’ve been keeping this to myself, because this is going to be intense and hard, but I know that if I don’t put this out there, I’ll never finish it.

So here we go.

Title is from the Taylor Swift/Joy Williams & John Paul White song of the same name.

Not breaking my habit of naming my stories after songs, it seems!

How had her life come to this?

Constantly on her guard.

Watching the way the shadows shifted.

Breaking into a cold sweat whenever she smelled anything that reminded her of his cologne, and when she saw or smelled red roses.

Living out of motels with her son.

How had she been so deceived?

How had she given her heart, mind, and body to the maniac she called her—thankfully—ex-husband?

All the things she gave up for him…

All the things he did to her…

All the things she let him do to her…

She shuddered just thinking about it.

All these thoughts swam through Anastasia’s head as she stared up at the ceiling, listening to her son, Luke, breathe.

Luke.

The only thing she didn’t regret about her marriage.

The only truly good thing Derek ever gave her.

Her beautiful, brave boy.

How she wished she could give him a better life than this.

A better life, the life he deserved, where he could just be the happy eight-year-old he was, instead of quiet, grave, and much-too responsible.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, not wanting to wake Luke and burden him even more than he himself was taking on.

She should have listened all those years ago when her twin brother Jake told her Derek was bad news, but Derek had fooled her so well, and she’d been so in love with him, or maybe she was just in love with love.

She would never know, now.

Regret burned in her heart as she remembered her last argument with Jake.

“Stash, I don’t like him.”

“God’s sake, not this again; you haven’t liked anyone I’ve been with, Jake.”

He rolled his eyes, “Not like this.

I have a bad feeling, Stash, he—something’s just plain wrong.”

“He loves me, Jake,” she defended.

“He says he does, but I don’t think he does; I don’t like the way he looks at you, why can’t you see it?” he said, voice rising.

“You know, I think you’re just jealous that I’m in a committed relationship, and you’re not!” she pointed.

“This isn’t about that!”

“Then what the hell is it about, Jakub?!”

Her younger brother inhaled and exhaled evenly. “I am concerned about you, Stacia.

You have to break up with Derek.”

Frustration flared in her chest. “See?!

You can’t even give me a straight answer about why I should!

And for another thing, why should I listen to relationship advice from you, when you have such a fantastic track record in your relationships?

You couldn’t keep one in high school to save your life, so why would you know the meaning of the word commitment?

Oh—sorry, not sorry, you wouldn’t know it, even if it hit you over the head!!”

Jake clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to get into an argument with you before I go back to Annapolis, Stash, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll end it with him,” he said, voice shaking.

She scoffed, “You don’t want to get into an argument with me?

Well, too fucking late; I’m not going to break up with him, I love him, and he loves me, end of story.”

He threw his hands up, “You’re so fucking stubborn, you know that?!”

“Pot, meet Goddamn kettle!

I’m not breaking up with Derek, and that’s final, so you can go back to Annapolis, and while you’re at it, get the fuck out of my life, Jake!” At the shock in his eyes, spite sparked, hot and furious, in her heart. “And you know what?

If you hate Derek so much, I don’t have a brother anymore.”

Jake’s face fell. “Stacia—”

“No, I love him, and you’re wrong about him, so do me a favor and stay the hell out of my life, Jacob, because clearly, you can’t be happy for me, so you’re dead to me.”

That was the last thing she’d said to her brother almost ten years ago.

One year after her and Jake’s argument, she walked down the aisle without her brother on her side of the church, trading Anastasia Seresin for Anastasia Malloy.

And still, despite everything she’d said, Jake sent her a letter, that she read despite herself. “Dear Stacia,

I pray that you had a great day.

I pray that you have a happy marriage.

I’m currently in Pensacola for the next two years for flight training, and while I will respect your decision to cut me from your life, I just want you to know that you will always be my sister and I will always love you, Stacia.

With all my love,

Kuba”

She kept that letter, even though she initially wanted nothing more than to throw it away, eventually moving it to her Bible, between the cover and the paper lining, once Derek became abusive.

Over the next ten years, Jake sent her cards every time his duty station changed, something she only discovered while taking out the trash five years ago, finding his card detailing his assignment to VFA-151 in Lemoore, which mentioned the other cards he’d sent.

When Derek found it hidden in her dresser, he threw the card again, and she got a sprained wrist and slammed against the bedroom doorframe for it.

Unable to escape her memories and regrets, she lay restless in bed until it was time to get up.

The routine was just that; after washing up, she woke Luke, so the two of them could eat breakfast before she looked for jobs in the area—since it’d been four months since Derek last found them, she felt it was safe to start looking for at least a part-time job—and because it was a Sunday, they would go to church for Mass at noon.

The church was nice, and the homily was decent, but it just made her miss her old parish church.

She especially missed Father Janusz.

The grandfatherly priest was the one who encouraged and exhorted her to leave Derek; he and his sister, Bożena, his housekeeper, were the only ones who believed her when she first said she was being abused.

Because Derek hadn’t just fooled her, he’d managed to fool the whole community into thinking she was crazy and a cheater, and that he was a salt-of-the-earth Sheriff’s Deputy, suffering an unhappy marriage for the sake of his son.

Father Janusz and Bożena kept her anchored to the world, even through Derek’s relentless gaslighting.

She remembered the night she left.

“Go, my daughter,” Father urged, pulling her into a warm embrace.

“I’m scared, Father.”

“Be not afraid, Stacia.

Just drive; get away from here.

We’ll handle the rest, and cross the bridges when we get there.

Here, take this.”

Father drew back, and pressed a cellphone and a credit card into her hand. “The cellphone is one of the administrative phones paid for by the parish; don’t worry about the charges—and this is the card to a savings account in Bożena’s name.

I placed some money there for you from my personal savings.”

Tears welled in her eyes, “Father, I can’t take all this, you’ve already done so much for me and Luke,” she gestured at the ‘97 Toyota Camry Father had given her.

“You will—you must.

Do it for your boy, hmm?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“Now go, Stacia—I’ll file the annulment with the Diocese, as well as the divorce papers, request for custody of Łukasz, and restraining order, in the city tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

“Okay—thank you so much for everything, Father—I can’t thank you enough.”

“No thanks needed, child.

Niech Bóg będzie z tobą, Anastasja.”

The divorce and annulment went smoother than she thought it would, but somehow, even with the testimonies of Father Janusz and Bożena, she still managed to come out the bad person, with the request for a restraining order denied, and Derek cleared on his charges of domestic and child abuse.

She comforted herself with the fact that at least she somehow got sole custody of Luke, and together, they ran to the other side of Texas.

She and Luke were beginning to settle down three months after the whole thing, when she got a call at half past midnight from Bożena.

“Hello?”

“Stacia, it’s Bożena.

You have to run.”

“What?” she frowned, sitting up.

“Janusz was attacked in the rectory.

He couldn’t identify who it was, but we both believe it was Derek.”

“Is Father alright?” Anastasia gasped.

“He’s as alright as he can be.

But he’s in surgery right now for a broken arm and leg.”

“Did they arrest Derek?”

“No.

There’s no proof it was him, and you know what they think of you and him in that stupid town, córka,” the elderly woman bitterly muttered.

How Sheriff Lackman and the other deputies could be so blind was truly astounding. “But they have to investigate!

Father was badly hurt!”

“And they will, but I have no doubt that “whoever” did it will never be caught and prosecuted for it.

Which is why you have to run.

I’ll put more money in the account Janusz gave you tomorrow.

Take Luke and go, fast,” Bożena urged.

And that conversation was what triggered her packing her life into bags and taking Luke, praying that Derek wouldn’t come after them.

But he had, and he’d found them nearly half a dozen times, to her terror.

“Mama, can we get waffles again for lunch?” Luke’s voice broke her from her thoughts as she stood in front of the door to the church’s parking lot, can of Mace in the hand which wasn’t holding Luke’s.

“Sure, sweetheart,” she absently said, intently scanning the parking lot and checking the corners before she opened the door and they stepped onto the sidewalk.

After checking the backseat and trunk of the car, she buckled Luke into his booster seat, and drove them to the local diner, where she barely ate, wanting to save as much of the money Father Janusz and Bożena gave them, keeping her head on a swivel, ironically using a saying her ex-husband was fond of throwing around with his fellow deputies.

“Mama, I can’t finish, can you help me?”

She looked down to see Luke looking up at her pleadingly. “You barely ate, Kaszek, and you finished the plate last time.”

“‘m not that hungry,” he muttered, tapping his thumb on his opposite palm, his tell that he was lying.

“Lucas Tymoteusz Seresin Malloy, we just came from church.”

He sighed, “Please just help me, Mama?

We can both eat.”

A dagger plunged into her heart; of course he’d noticed that she wasn’t eating much of anything—she’d finished her plate of fries ten minutes ago. “I’m okay, honey, you can finish it.”

The rumbling of her stomach gave a different answer.

“Please, Mama, let’s both eat, please,” Luke pled.

Tears welled in her eyes; her beautiful boy was so loving and considerate, despite all the abuse he’d been raised around. “I don’t want you to be hungry, Luke.”

“I don’t want you to be hungry either, Mama.”

With a sob, she pulled Luke into her arms, running her hand through his dark golden blond hair, the exact same shade as her own. “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“Are you sure, you’ll get hungry later?”

“Mm-hmm.

You’ll be even hungrier than me later if you don’t eat.

Please, Mama.”

“Okay, I’ll eat a little.”

Luke’s smile lit up the room, and it reminded her of Jake’s smile, twisting an old knife in her heart.

She ate less than Luke probably would have liked, but her stomach was glad for the little extra food, and they even managed to enjoy the day, going to the library and the dollar store, where she let him pick out three things, the two of them later deciding to splurge on McDonald’s for dinner, where Luke managed to get the toy he’d wanted in his Happy Meal.

She had an almost optimistic outlook on things when they arrived back at the motel for the night, and she was maybe, just maybe, beginning to hope that she could finally start over.

“Okay, honey, get your clothes for tomorrow,” she said, doing the same and rummaging through her own bag, making use of the system she’d come up with months ago: they kept their clothes and important belongings in the car, just in case they had to make a quick getaway, that way, they would leave as little as possible behind if Derek found them again.

“You good, Kaszek?” Anastasia asked, shoving her clothes in her tote bag.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Okay, let’s go!”

She held Luke’s hand in her left, her can of mace in her other hand, carefully sweeping the parking lot and the motel building with her gaze.

She was just about to step up onto the sidewalk running along the motel building, when her eyes landed on the ground just before their room door.

She stopped in her tracks as fear shuddered down her back.

Because just there, lying innocently in front of their room door, was a single red rose petal.

Red roses.

Those were the flowers he’d always give her after he hurt her, as an apology, to show that he was a “loving and caring” husband.

“Mama.” Luke’s voice was heavy with warning, having obviously also seen the rose petal.

“Look behind us, Luke.

Is he there?” she breathed, trying to keep her voice from shaking, as she gripped her Mace tighter.

“No.

There’s no one, Mama.”

“Good.

We’re going back to the car,” she whispered, glad she’d already paid for the night yesterday, and they wouldn’t have to worry about local police coming after them for the motel room fee.

“Run, Mama?”

“Yes—go.”

They ran back to the car, Luke buckling himself into his booster seat, and she mentally cursed as her trembling hands dropped the key, the sound as it hit the car floor ringing like a death knell, but she managed to pick it up and insert it into the ignition.

To her horror, the car didn’t start, and it could be a figment of her imagination, but she could swear the shadows at the corner of the building were beginning to coalesce into an all-too-familiar figure.

The ignition cranked and cranked, but the car still refused to start.

“Oh God, please,” she cried, turning the key yet again.

The sound of the engine starting was like the most heavenly music, and she threw the car into reverse, speeding towards the highway—she had to stay off the back roads, especially now.

Once they made it to the highway, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease minutely, glancing back to see Luke’s frightened eyes on her.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama.

Daddy found us again,” he despairingly breathed.

“I know, I know.

I’m so sorry, Luke, you shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“I’d rather run with you than live with Daddy, Mama.”

Anastasia bit her lip to keep her sob from escaping. “Ja cię kocham, Luke.”

“Ja też cię kocham, Mama.”

“Try to get some rest, okay, sweetheart?”

“I’ll try, Mama.”

An hour later, he was finally asleep, and she allowed the tears she’d been keeping down, to come.

Was this what she’d be doing for the rest of her life?

Always running, always looking over her shoulder, wondering if Derek had found them again?

All she wanted was to be able to breathe, to live, to raise Luke in peace, but where would she be able to do that?

Because Derek had found them, every single time.

Suddenly, as she drove, a wild hope seized her, her thoughts turning to the card in her bag, which she received after Father Janusz was able to convince the mailman to deliver any letters addressed to her to the rectory.

“Dear Stacia,

I don’t know if you even get these, at this point, but since none of them ever get sent back to me, I’m going to keep sending them.

I’ve been assigned to NAS North Island in San Diego for the foreseeable future; I’m part of a new special, elite STRIKFITRON, VFA-223, called the Black Cloaks.

(You’ll never guess what our squadron callsign is)

God, I wish we were on speaking terms, Stash, I want to tell you all about my new squadron.

Without disclosing classified information of how we came to be, we’re the best of the best’s best, forged as a team through one of the toughest missions I think will ever have to be flown, under the command of the best officer I’ve ever met.

And I’d dare to say that we’re a real team… maybe even a family.

I wish I could introduce you to everyone.

I even have a real wingman again.

He was a bit of an acquired taste; we first met in Pensacola for flight training, but he’s not a bad guy, I’m actually happy to fly his wing.

You’d love Phoenix—and Mav, my CO, he’s the second-most charming bastard I know, after yours truly, and the best naval aviator I’ve ever seen.

He handed me my ass all through training for that mission I talked about, and he’s even better than the legendary reputation that precedes him.

He’s taught me so much, and he actually cares about us, not just because we’re valuable to the navy for our skills.

He cares about us as people, and I’m honored to serve under him.

Fuck, there’s so much I want to tell you, all the paper in the world wouldn’t be enough to write it all out.

I pray you’re happy, that I was wrong about everything—there’s nothing more that I want for you, Stacia.

You’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always be your brother, no matter what, even if we never speak again.

Ja cię kocham, Stacia.

All my love forever,

Kuba”

She could go to Jake.

There was no possible way that Derek could bullshit his way onto a Navy base without a military ID.

They could be safe there.

But her mind flashed back to the argument she had with Jake all those years ago, to the horrible things she told him.

Could he forgive her for what she said, for the years of silence, first voluntary, then forced by Derek—could he forgive her for all of it?

Anastasia suddenly shook her head; that was her pride talking—from all the letters he’d written, there was clearly nothing that he wanted more than for them to speak again, so why would he turn her away?

At any rate, she thought, looking at Luke’s peaceful face in the rearview mirror, even if Jake did turn her away, maybe California would finally be far enough away from Derek, and she pulled over to look up the address for NAS North Island.

It felt like it took forever, but finally, after hours and hours of driving, she pulled up to the gate of NAS North Island.

The guard peered into the car before looking expectantly at her. “Good evening—ID?”

She handed over her driver’s license, and the guard took one look at it, before saying, “I need your USID, ma’am.”

Anastasia mentally facepalmed.

The very requirement which would keep her and Luke safe from Derek, would be the same thing which kept them out.

“I… I don’t have one.”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t enter.”

Her heart sank. “Please, sir, my brother is assigned here, I need to get in—”

“Ma’am, without a USID, I can’t allow—”

“I need to see my brother,” she pled. “Please, sir, we haven’t spoken in years, so I don’t know his number, but I know he’s stationed here and living on base, and I need to see him.”

“Ma’am—”

“If you call him—surely his number is in some sort of database—he’ll tell you I’m his sister.

Please, I have nowhere else to go, sir,” she breathed, tears welling up against her will.

The guard stared at her for a long moment, and then turned to face the computer in his station. “Alright, I’ll call him, but if he says you can’t come in, or he doesn’t know you, you have to leave, ma’am.

Does your son have any ID?”

“No, sir.”

He ambivalently hummed, before typing something into his computer. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Jacob Seresin.

He’s a pilot.”

He typed some more, then picked up a phone, the sound of the buttons seeming so loud in the night air, before the longest silence she’d ever heard deafened her, and she prayed that Jake would answer the call.

Blessedly, finally, the guard perked up. “I’m very sorry to wake you, Lieutenant, but I have a kid and woman here at the gate asking me to let them in, she says they need to get to your house,” the guard replied.

A short silence.

“The young man has no ID on him, but the woman’s driver’s license says Anastasia Malloy.”

This silence felt like an eternity, and Anastasia held her breath, praying that Jake wouldn’t turn his back on her, that her hope in him wasn’t unfounded.

“Alright, sir.

I’ll escort them to your housing.”

She sobbed in relief, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Alright, ma’am, your story checks out.

I’ll be escorting you to your brother’s housing, just wait here.”

Once the guard came back with someone else to man the gate, he drove up in a black Charger, instructing her to follow.

“Mama, we’re going to see Uncle Jake?” Luke asked.

“Yeah, we are, baby, hopefully, he’ll let us stay with him, at least for a little while,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even as the emotions were coursing through her.

“Do you think he’ll like me?”

“Of course he will, Kaszek, he’ll love you.”

Her brother had a soft heart under all the bravado he liked to show the world, and if he was still the Jake she remembered, he would love Luke, even if only because he was her son.

“I hope so, Mama.”

They drove past score after score of cookie cutter houses before stopping, and her breath caught in her throat.

Shadowed by the exterior lighting of his house, Jake stood on the path leading up to his house.

From what she could see, he looked much the same as a decade ago, but maybe with a slightly more muscular build, like he’d finally grown into the figure given to him by their father, his hair was disheveled as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly, and there was a taut line of tension in his body, which she instinctually prayed was not going to lead to anger directed at her.

“Wait here, okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama.”

She stepped out of the car on shaking legs, walking to her little brother.

He looked her up and down, the tension seeming to pull tighter throughout his body, a furrow carving its way between his brow as he took her state in, and she fearfully looked into his eyes, their mother’s eyes, as tears she could no longer contain, traced down her cheeks.

The fear practically drained from her as she registered the look of warmth, love, and concern in those green eyes, and she murmured, voice trembling and breaking, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Stacia.”

And as he opened his arms to her, she launched herself forward into his embrace, sobbing, feeling safe for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

There is actually a sizable Polish community in Texas, and in fact, one of the oldest churches in the state is a Polish Catholic Church.

Which is just perfect, because here, the Texas-born Seresin twins have Polish ancestry and nicknames, since I headcanon that Jake has Polish ancestry, like his actor, Glen Powell’s supposed ancestry, so—

Polish Glossary

Disclaimer: this is all taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Jakub (pronounced YAH-coohb): Polish version of Jacob

Stacia (pronounced StAH-shuh): Polish nickname for Anastasia (the Polish version is Anastasja, pronounced AHNA-stAH-sheeya)

Kuba (pronounced COO-buh): Polish nickname for Jakub

Janusz (pronounced YAH-nuush)

Bożena (pronounced Boh-zhEHna)

Łukasz (pronounced WOO-kahsh): Polish version of Lucas

Niech Bóg będzie z tobą, Anastasja: May God be with you, Anastasia

Córka (pronounced TSOO-rkAH): Daughter

Kaszek (pronounced KAH-zheck): Polish nickname for Łukasz

Tymoteusz (pronounced TEA-moh-tAY-uush): Polish version of Timothy

Ja cię kocham: I love you

Ja też cię kocham, Mama: I love you too, Mommy

(Yes, Mama is Polish for Mommy)

NAS Pensacola is “The Cradle of Naval Aviation”, where all Naval Aviators and WSOs go for their flight training, and training can go from eighteen months to as long as two years.

I played it safe with two years.

VFA-151, the “Vigilantes”, based out of NAS Lemoore, is Jake’s squadron in TG:M, according to his flight suit patch.

STRIKFITRON stands for Strike Fighter Squadron.

Gee, I wonder what VFA-223’s squadron callsign is… 😉

USID: Uniformed Service Identification

It is highly unlikely someone could pull an Anastasia and get on base the way she did, but it’s all for the ahhhht, dahhhling.

My subtitle for this story was the working title this story was under until I came up with “Safe and Sound” as the actual title.

It’s derived from the classic Peanuts television special, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”.

I thought about not putting it, but giving Jake the biggest karmic bitchslap was the entire reason I came up with the plot, so I’m putting it.

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

thistle, part one

a/n: I'm posting the next part in a few days, so you won't have to wait too long to find out what happens next ♡

summary: “A title that’s been true since the moment I was born, but there are also a few others that are just as real. I am a son, I am a brother, I am a soldier. I am still the exact same person you spoke to only yesterday. I haven’t changed one bit, so please don’t act like I have. Please, at least call me James.”

warnings: James Potter x reader, royal au, prince!James, servant!reader (lady's maid), forbidden romance, secret relationship, historical au (beginning of the 1920s), references to WW1, surely extremely historically inaccurate but this is just for fun, lovesick!James, weapons, grief, death, smut, kissing, attending a ball, dancing, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, cockwarming, oral

word count: 6148

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

series masterlist - next part

Marching up to the bespectacled man exiting the stables, his clothes all ruffled and dirtied from the ride he’d presumably just taken on this drizzly day, “excuse me, sir?” he slowed his trek at the sound of your soft voice, turning his head to look at you in surprise, “do you know the way to the servant's entrance? I seem to be a bit lost.”

“Um, yeah,” he blinked a second, taken aback by your question as he gave you a quick once over, “it’s just down that path,” he pointed towards the east side of the castle, “green door, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, tightening your grip on your suitcase and began to move in that direction. 

“Are you new here?” he asked swiftly, halting your movements. 

“Kinda,” you said, “I’m the queen mother’s new lady’s maid.”

“Oh,” a genuine smile bloomed on his face, “I didn’t know grand-, I mean, her majesty Delilah was coming for a visit.” 

“Well, I’d imagine you as, I presume, a groundskeeper,” you guessed, squinting your eyes at the helpful stranger in front of you, “isn’t exactly first on the list of people who need to be notified of such things.” 

Choking out a small chuckle, neither confirming nor denying your guess, he simply glanced down at his muddy boots, “yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Looking back over your shoulder at the large castle looming over you, “I’m sorry, but I should really get going. Her majesty likes to freshen up quite a bit after a long trip such as this.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he exhaled, clearly not ready to part ways yet, “you go take care of that, I’ll see you around.”

“See you!” you shouted over your shoulder as you made your way towards the discreet green door. 

“That’s pretty,” a smoky voice from out of nowhere made you jump and promptly stop your soft humming, dropping the small bouquet of wildflowers you had picked but a moment ago. Turning to see who else could be out here in the forest, you spotted the helpful figure from the day before, leaning against a tree.

“Jesus! You gave me a fright!” a hand came up to clutch your chest. 

“Sorry,” he smiled, shifting the bent hunting rifle that rested over his burly forearm. 

“It’s fine, no harm done,” you exhaled slowly, “just need to make my heartbeat understand that as well…”

Watching as you momentarily bent down to pick the dropped flowers off the forest floor, “you out on a walk I presume?” he pushed off the tree and stepped closer.

“Yeah, well,” you rose back up, “the weather finally cleared up, so I thought a bit of fresh air might do me well,” you said, gliding one of your cold hands down into your coat pockets, “plus I’ve heard so much about the grounds here, I wanted to see them for myself.” 

“They are quite something, aren’t they?” he smiled warmly down at you. 

Feeling heat begin to rise in your cheeks from his unwavering glare, you coughed lightly and glanced down at the humble bouquet clutched in your grasp, “and, um, you’re-”

“Hunting,” he filled in before you could manage to finish your guess.

“Oh, am I getting in your way?” worry filled your voice, imagining that bullets could start flying over your head as soon as a bird flew by, “is it safe for me to be out here? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware-”

“Nah, you’re good,” he waved a reassuring hand, “I split up from the others a while ago and then when I heard you, I wandered even further away from the rest.”

“You followed me?” he noticed your eyes flicker down towards the weapon he was carrying. 

“I-, oh god,” he winced, scrunching his expression up in regret and bowing his head, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I am a stranger to you with a deadly firearm, not a harmless bunny rabbit,” you could literally see the imaginary whip he was punishing himself with, “I’m sorry I scared you, I’ll just go-”

“No!” flew out your lips before you had a chance to think, “It’s fine, you can stay if you want.” 

Gazing into your eyes a moment, he then exhaled, “thank you, miss.” 

“Y/l/n,” you told him, “my name is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Y/n,” the corners of his lips curled up as he tasted your name on his tongue. 

“And your name?”

“James,” he said, then stressed, “just James.”

James… like the youngest of the two princes? You shouldn’t act too surprised; it was a common enough name after all. 

“Can I ask you something?” he spoke as you wordlessly agreed to go for a stroll together among the birch trees.  

“Sure.”

“How long have you been the queen mother’s lady’s maid? It’s just, I remember her previous one, the one she had before the war, and I feel like I would have noticed when you came along.”

“It’s been about 6 months now…” you answered rather sombrely. 

“You don’t sound pleased about that.”

“No,” you glanced in his direction to underline your statement, “I love the job, don’t get me wrong, it’s just-,” you choked on the bitter fact and opted to say, “it’s complicated.”

“Is it too complicated for a man like me to comprehend?” he offered with a gentle smile. 

Letting a low sigh flow out, you spoke, “that previous one you remember?” he nodded in confirmation, “that was my mom.” You tried to ignore how your bottom lip began to quiver, “she had me out of wedlock and later in her life, so not many people knew about me. But her majesty Delilah did. She’d always been very fond of my mother, so she let me grow up there at Cudworth palace. She-,” you let out a shaky breath, still finding it difficult to vocalize, “she became ill a few years back, so her majesty made the decision to let me inherit the position. Made sure I was set up for a good life, I guess… My mother trained me for as long as she could till I was nothing short of flawless. It’s been 6 months… 6 months with the job and 6 months without her…”

“Yes, I think the sapphires will do quite nicely for tonight,” Delilah purred as her weathered fingers brushed over the jewellery spread out in a presentational fashion on the vanity she sat at. 

Wrapping a silver lock around your finger, you carefully pinned the last piece in place, securing her intricate updo. Glancing at the finished product in the reflection, you then agreed, “sapphire it is,” plucking the precious stones off the doily-clad table and gently adorning her earlobes with them. 

“Beautiful work, dear,” Delilah gave your hand a small pat as you secured the last earring, momentarily catching your eye in the mirror. 

The dragon lady. That’s what people called her. Though, through all of your life, the intimidating queen mother had been nothing but kind to you. It was clear that she had a soft spot for you, though you’d never dare to confirm that suspicion.

“Thank you, madam,” a soft smile quickly warmed up your features as you checked her hair one last time, “I hear the prime minister will be attending dinner tonight.”

“Oh, well, I guess I couldn’t avoid him forever. Hopefully, they won’t seat him beside me this time, it was so awfully boring last time, kept on talking about cricket.” 

“Could always be sneaky and pretend that you can’t hear him,” you suggested with a sly grin. 

“Wouldn’t that be something,” her crow's feet framed eyes glinted with a youthful mischievous glow. 

Your shared giggle was interrupted as the door to her champers creaked open. Turning to look, you saw none than your helpful stranger.

“Grandma,” James simply sauntered in as if he owned the place, “I was wondering if you could-,” both his words and his brisk pace fell short as he spotted you, “oh, hi,” your presents promptly brought a fluttering smile to his lips. 

Just as you were about to speak up, your eyes wide enough to burst at his audacity, Delilah bellowed, “good lord, James, it’s been enough time, you really must shred that army brashness and start entering a room the way you were raised to. This is not a war room, it’s the castle’s peacock suite!”

“Right,” he chuckled lightly, his eyes never staying on his grandmother for long before flickering back to you, “sorry granny.”

Why was the groundskeeper referring to the queen mother his grandmother? It couldn’t be because-

“Y/n,” Delilah turned in her comfortable chair, “I don’t think you’ve been acquainted. This is my dear James,” she presented with an outstretched arm, “the youngest of my two grandsons.”

Swiftly averting your flabbergasted gaze, you curtsied timidly and gasped, “your highness,” your terrified eyes darting across the Persian rug. 

You’d only gotten to know the prince’s likeness through old paintings of him as a child. The battle-scared man standing before you now looked nothing like the bespeckled young royal captured in the portrait you’d passed countless times before. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you miss,” he smiled warmly, bowing his head slightly at you in return. 

“Now,” Delilah reached for her cane and slowly pushed herself up to her feet, “what was it you needed?” 

“Yeah, um,” he thought for a second, seeming awfully distracted, “it was-… I’m sorry, I completely forgot what it was.”

“Well, maybe you’ll recall during dinner, my boy,” she slowly moved towards the door, “shall we go down?”

“You go ahead,” James gesticulated, “I just need Y/n to send a message down to the kitchen for me. We wouldn’t want them to hold back on the wine now that prime minister Ferrell is joining us.”

“Oh, bless you,” Delilah grinned before disappearing out of the room, “that’s why you’re my favourite.” 

Closing the heavy door behind the former monarch, James gently grabbed you by the elbow and guided you further into the room. Preparing yourself for the worst, you immediately promised, “I’ll go relay the message at once,” your head still bowed, not daring to look him in the eye. 

“You don’t really have to, I already sent word down an hour ago. I simply said that to get a moment alone with you,” he lowered himself in an effort to catch your cautious gaze, “Y/n,” breathing out your name as if it weighed a ton, “would you please look at me?”

Only momentarily flickering your eyes up to meet his, you blurted out, “forgive me, your majesty, I swear I didn’t know,” your heartbeat was so strong you could hear it pounding in your ears, “I would have never spoken to you in that manner if I knew who you were!”

“Please do not apologise,” goosebumps bloomed on your skin as you felt his fingers briefly caress your arm, “I was so grateful that you didn’t just stiffen up like everyone else, you talked to me like any other man. So, for that, I thank you and beg you to please not change it now that you know.”

“What? I-I couldn’t do that! It isn’t proper, it isn’t right!”

“Why not? You did it before.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were a prince before.”

“A title that’s been true since the moment I was born, but there are also a few others that are just as real. I am a son, I am a brother, I am a soldier. I am still the exact same person you spoke to only yesterday. I haven’t changed one bit, so please don’t act like I have. Please, at least call me James.”

“Your majesty, I couldn’t.”

“Why not, Y/n? It’s just my name, it’s not gonna bite you, didn’t before and I promise it won’t start doing it now.”

“Thomas,” king Fleamont glanced up from his papers to address his eldest son, “we’ve invited a few eligible ladies for tonight. Please actually talk to them this time, don’t just sulk in the corner with your brother.”

“Christ,” James' brother groaned, “papa, I thought this ball was just a little get-together now that granny is in town. Must I truly have to be paraded around every chance there is?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to find a wife, yes,” his father said sternly, then returned his attention to the crisp newspaper.

Grumbling, Thomas slumped back, huffing beside his brother on the tufted couch, “let’s hope they at least push their tits up to the heavens above,” he muttered under his breath for only James’ ears to receive, “that might make it tolerable.”

Chuckling at his sibling’s pout, James then suggested, “since this is for grandmama, why don’t we extend the invitation to Y/n?”

Furrowing her brow over the small fluffy dog in her lap, Euphemia questioned her son’s bold idea, “who’s that?”

“Granny’s lady’s maid,” his words awoke a severe expression to all but one of his family member’s faces. 

“Why that’s a wonderful idea, James!” Delilah cheered, “she does indeed deserve a bit of fun.”

Leaning in closer, Thomas hissed in his brother’s ear, “have you gone quite mad? A servant at a ball? Look at a calendar, brother, it isn’t December yet.”

“She isn’t that bad,” James defended, a storm quickly brewing in his chest, “plus, you know, granny’s not that young anymore, it might be a great help for her to be there as support. Just as a precaution.” 

“But I have nothing to wear!” you protested, “I didn’t bring a gown, let alone own one.”

“I know you don’t,” Delilah said calmly, not taking any of your blubbering to heart, “that’s why I had a few maids go through an old trunk of mine that I never brought with me to Cudworth,” she snapped her finger at the butler in the corner as he swiftly presented the dusty box he was balancing, “you are gonna wear this,” the top slipped off and you caught sight of the most stunning lavender beaded gown you’d ever beheld in your entire life. 

“Your Highness,” you marvelled at the way it sparkled in the low light, “I can’t wear that.”

“I know it’s not the latest fashion, but it’ll do a lot better than that frock you’ve got on now. I only remember wearing it once at a ball back in 1861.”

“I-…” you tried to protest, though nothing came out. 

“Y/n, this is not a proposition, you are gonna wear that gown and that is final.”

“God, this soiree is even more ghastly than the last one,” Thomas glanced back over at the cluster of young women fanning themselves and batting their luscious eyelashes at the eligible heir, “you think people would notice if we sneaked off?”

Ever thankful that he didn’t receive the same level of unyielding attention, James cocked his brow at the man half-heartedly attempting to hide behind him, “I don’t think that’s an option, brother,” then snatched up two tall flutes of stary bubbles and handed one off, “here, have another glass of champagne.”

“Thanks, but I’m gonna need a lot more in order to survive the 12 dances I've been swindled into later tonight,” he pouted and took a large gulp. Just then, as the crown prince swallowed down the stinging carbonated beverage, he caught sight of the figure that appeared at the top of the wide staircase. “Wait,” he elbowed his brother, ushering him to glance in that direction, “who’s that?”

Recognising you immediately as you timidly ascended the grand steps, clutching onto the side of your lilac dress, lifting it off the tile so as to not have to trip over it, James uttered through his growing smile, “that’s Y/n,” and nothing whatsoever could stop his unwavering gaze.  

“Really?” he scoffed, “that’s the scullery maid?”

“That’s her…” James replied dreamily. 

“I gotta admit, in that dress, you could almost mistake her for a real princess.”

“Yeah…” James uttered softly, not hearing a word of what he had just agreed with. “Hold this, will you?” without looking, he handed his glass off to his brother and left his post as the crown prince's unofficial shield. 

“James!” Thomas hissed, standing there in alarm, one glass in each hand, not sure if he should follow or not, “where are you going? Don’t leave me alone! I’ll be swallowed whole!”

Catching sight of James’ determined approach, you let out a deep and shaky exhale. 

“Y/n!” he smiled, coming to a jovial stop right in front of you, ignoring every merry man trying to catch his high-regarded attention. 

“Your highness-” you started, but his voice cut in, breaking your greeting in half. 

“James,” he corrected you, the glint in his eye promptly sending a shiver down your corseted spine.

“Good evening.”

“I hope it’s not too forward of me for saying this, but you look absolutely beautiful tonight.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you blushed over his honeyed words, “thank you, your highness. Though I wouldn’t dare take any of the credit, this was all your grandmother’s doing. This is actually one of her old dresses,” you glanced down at the elegant gown, carefully playing with the skirt and presenting it. 

Looking over the fabric just as you did, his earnest words nearly didn’t catch your ears, “I wasn’t complimenting your dress…”

Blinking up into his warm eyes, you found yourself speechless, clueless of how to respond to such flattery by someone of his stature. 

“Would you care for a dance?” he asked unexpectedly, evidently not caring about the improper nature of the request, and looking at you as if you were the only person in the entire ballroom. 

“That’s very kind of you, your majesty, but I’m afraid I would just embarrass you,” you averted your gaze, “you see, I don’t know how.”

Briefly glancing back at his parents, checking to see if they were watching, James then grabbed your hand, it seeming so small and dainty in his, and uttered, “come with me,” discreetly guiding you out into one of the vacant side chambers. 

Following his lead, looking back over your shoulder in fear that someone might notice, it calmed you ever so slightly to see that everyone else was entirely enraptured by the dazzling event. 

Shutting the door behind you, his hand still holding yours, he gently turned you around to face him once more. Hearing the string quartet still loud and clear through the walls, the prince smiled, “so, miss Y/l/n,” asking you once more, now in a more private setting, “may I have the honour of this dance?”

Lifting the back of your hand up to give it a small peck, eye contact never wavering, you answered, “the honour would be mine,” blinking up at him through your lashes, “yes, yes you may.”

“Okay, so you just put your left hand right here,” he grabbed it and slid it up, past the many shiny medals adorning his chest, to rest upon his broad shoulder, “and keep the right one where it is,” you inhaled sharply as you felt his free palm slide into place on your waist.

“A-alright,” all the hairs on your body stood up at the intimate proximity, “and now?”

Your right hand entirely engulfed in his, he glided his thumb over it, delicately swiping over a few of your fingers, “now you just let me lead,” noticing how your jaw clenched, he reassured you, “don’t worry, love, it’s easy,” you felt your tense muscles begin to relax a bit at his deep soothing tone, “I’ll do all the hard work, you just trust me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you offered him a small nod as he gently began to move, taking you with him as he fell into the song’s rhythm as if it was second nature to him. 

Simply swaying softly at first, it didn’t take long before he had you flowing to the music, slowly making your way deeper into the room, dancing further away from the lines of light the closed door cast. 

When you eventually felt him gain more confidence and move your body around freely, you followed the instinctual reflex to briefly glance down at your shoes. Feeling his hand let go of your waist momentarily, he whispered, “don't look at your feet,” and lifted your chin up so you could meet his gaze, “look right here.” 

Letting his finger drop back down into place, you felt his palm move and slide around to your lower back, drawing you in just a little bit closer. Feeling yourself disappear into the warm eyes veiled behind his spectacles, completely enraptured by his being and entranced by the way he moved you, you felt his hitched breath hit your skin as he leaned in close enough for your lips to graze against each other. 

But just as your eyelids fluttered close in anticipation of his eventual touch, the sound of the door, now a good ways away, creaking open halted your dance at once. 

“James?” you heard the crown prince call out, music now more vibrant as it didn’t have to travel through walls anymore to reach your ears, “you in here?”

Acting quickly, James pulled you around the corner and settled you into the little alcove there, pushing you up against the plate mail stature decorating the small corner and cloaking your figure with his own. His bulky frame swallowed nearly all of the starry light streaming in from the tall windows scattered around the chamber, causing you to be able to see him and only him. 

“Seriously brother, you have to get out here before pa realises that you’re gone!”

Disregarding his sibling’s warning, James stood his ground, completely enraptured and sharing your breath as he pressed himself up against your voluminous gown. You weren’t sure if it was because of the proximity or if your fingers simply followed the magnet calling them, but you found yourself pressing your palms against the silky fabric of his detailed jacket, feeling his taught abdomen expand with every shaky breath. 

Dilated pupils flickering down towards your lips, you found your own mirroring his, fearing that you might faint in the intensity of it all. 

His lips pressed against yours before you even had the chance to fathom that it was actually happening. The prince was kissing you. His lips were brushing against yours not in curiosity, but in genuine yearning.  

“Come on James, stop messing around, I know you’re in here!”

A small string of saliva followed as James reluctantly pulled back, thumbs brushing over each one of your cheeks as he stared deeply down into your hazy eyes. 

“Come to my room at midnight,” he whispered breathlessly, restraining himself to dive back in. 

“Your highness, I-”

“Please,” he interrupted desperately. 

You didn’t give yourself another moment to think before giving him an answer, being completely spellbound, you uttered, “yes.”

And with a bright smile, he let go of you and backed away, still staring as you had to reach out for support against the wall in order to not tumble back against the ornamental armor. 

“Just hold your horses, Thomas,” he called out to his frantic brother, eyes still locked with yours, “I’m coming!”

Hearing the rapid beating of your heart thumping in your ears, you let out a shaky breath. It took you a long moment to finally mustered up the courage and let your fist come into contact with the prince’s door. 

Almost instantaneously was it ripped open as if James’ fingers themselves had already been mere inches from the silver knob, impatiently lying in wait like a lion on the hunt, the action was so swift that it startled you. 

Face lighting up as he saw you, nervously standing outside his chambers, he promptly grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you inside. 

As the door shut behind you, “h-hi,” you offered him a meek smile and stood in the dim room as if it was a china shop. 

Elatedly biting down on his plump bottom lip, he echoed, “hi,” sliding his fingers down to weave through your own. Using the hold as leverage, he gently pulled you in closer, his other palm ready to catch your cheek before confidently pressing his lips against yours. 

When he momentarily pulled away, you squeaked, “your majesty-,” hindering him from taking your lips once more.

“James,” he corrected you breathily, keeping his eyes shut and nuzzling his nose lightly against yours. 

“James…” you tried to keep your head levelled, “what am I doing here?”

“What do you mean? Do you not want to be here?” he took the hand still enveloped in his and pressed it against his chest, “here, with me?”

“I…” this was wrong. The list of punishable things to stray away from in your line of work was extensive, but this one was certainly at the top, “James…”

“Christ, that sounds good coming from your lips,” he groaned, seizing your lips again and flexing his fingers on the side of your head, lightly messing up your primly pinned hair. 

Feeling yourself melt under his touch, the kisses began to wander, scattering down your goosebump-ridden neck. 

“We…” your breathing was heavy and ragged, “we can’t… What if someone finds out?”

Pulling back, he gently shook his head, “they won’t,” dark eyes boring into your very soul. 

“But I can’t-… Y-you’re-…”

“I?”

“You are-…”

“I am just me… Just James,” he stared down at you, begging you to stay. 

“But-”

“I am yours,” he promised you earnestly, a hint of fear glinting in his golden eyes, “I am all yours.”

Choking down a sob, you then found yourself pulling him down for another kiss, letting his overwhelming vow sink in and dim that warning light pleading you not to venture any further. 

Soon clawing at the silky fabric of his jacket, your fingers caught in the two rows of shiny buttons, restraining yourself from just ripping them clean off. Letting out a quiet whimper as James suddenly detached from you, taking a step back, gazing down at your heaving form, not giving in as you reached out for him to return. 

Eyes fixed, his own fingers slowly found the buttons along his torso and began to undo them. Tilting his chin up, he watched you closely as he carefully unveiled every inch of himself to you. Moving your fingers up to mirror his actions, he swiftly spoke up, “wait, let me do it,” stopping you before you’d truly begun, “please.”

The wish made you suck in a breath in anticipation, slowly lowering your hands back down to either side of your skirt, clutching onto the heavy lavender fabric for support as you gave him a small nod. 

For a moment, you thought he was gonna bear it all to you right then and there, perhaps he did as well, but his fingers stilled right at the waistband of his underwear when only they remained. Blinking sluggishly as you tried to take in his breathtaking visage, in what felt like a millisecond, James had moved to be back into your proximity. Walking around to stand behind you, his fingers then began to work at the numerous buttons and laces, freeing you of the unusually extravagant ensemble. 

You hadn’t even noticed how you’d stopped breathing till his lips pressed against your exposed shoulder and let the first layer fall. 

Little by little, the weight you carried was lightened as he tossed more and more fabric to the cold floor, creating quite the poofy puddle. When the corset fell off, James quickly replaced the stiff restraining item with his large warm palms, feeling your waist through the last thin layer remaining, inhaling deeply against the back of your neck. 

Gently turning you around, he slid his hands up your sides, promptly lifting your arms to stay above your head. Not dropping his eyes from yours, he glided fingers down to gather up the material of your delicate chemise, only lifting it over your head when the whole length of it was bunched up in his fists. 

Not being able to wait any longer, you let your arms fall, draping them around his broad shoulders and pressing your bare body up against his, the palpable tent in his briefs twitching against your stomach at the contact. 

Kissing him deeply, you nearly didn’t register when he scooped you up into his arms, the action seeming so effortless for the prince. Thighs enveloping his hips, it was first your heel that attempted to rid him of his last remaining clothes, though when it only worked to push them an inch off his hips, you impatiently dropped a hand down to yank them down the rest of the way, letting him step out of them as his slow stride closed in on the plush bed on the opposite side of the chamber. 

Feeling the bedframe soon halt his footsteps, your lips didn’t fall from his as he leisurely turned and planted himself on the mattress, taking you with him still securely wedged against his body. 

With his hands already rooted on your rear end, now that he no longer needed to carry you, they started to explore your body, palming at every pillowy curve within his reach. It only took one measly little rock of your hips against his thighs for him to needily yank you forward, landing your sobbing centre directly on top of his hard length.

“Your highne-, James,” you whimpered, the intoxicating contact making you detach from his lips and hide your blushing cheeks in his sturdy shoulder, still reciprocating his forward actions and sliding your dripping heat all along his throbbing length. 

“Please, let me have you,” he groaned into your hair, his hot breath blowing back some of the unravelled hair framing your face, “let me feel your warmth,” he pressed a palm on the small of your back, making you arch it and causing all of the delicious pressure to always be directly on your buzzing little pearl, “just let me in, love,” his fingers caressed your spine as you moaned against his neck, bucking desperately against his hardness, “let me have you, let me have all of you just like you have me.”

Reaching down between your bodies, you grasped onto James’ cock and lifted up your trembling thighs, though his large palms swiftly scooped under you, granting you some more security as you swept the bulbous tip through your folds, parting the wet petals over and over again till your quivering hole was screaming for attention. And then, still with your face buried in the crook of his neck, you sank down, eyes rolling back in your skull as your creamy pussy slowly swallowed all of his length. 

“Fuck,” James cursed, his chest rapidly rising and falling underneath you. 

Clinging onto him for dear life, you slowly began to ride him, shakily bouncing in his lap. Lewd squelching noises reverberated off the palace walls as he let you find your rhythm, eventually finding a slow but intense pace, first raising yourself nearly completely off, till just the memory of his girth remained, and then slamming your hips down against his own so hard that it actually made you see stars with how deep he got. 

“Let me see that beautiful face of yours,” you felt his fingers come to rest on each side, in no way attempting to force your head back, simply pleading with you sweetly with every gentle sweep of his thumbs against your cheeks. Your hips faltered as you timidly crawled out of your hiding spot and blinked your heavy lids at him. 

The shyness eventually melted away as you registered the adoring look in his eye. Gradually resuming your hips moments, you watched as his head tilted back ever so slightly in pleasure and gaze down at you through his lashes, “there you go, darling,” you let out a loud moan as you felt his palm accompany his praise, swiftly landing it upon your bottom, encouraging your bouncing and causing you to get back on track that much faster. 

Rapidly nearing the end now that his soulful eyes were locked with yours, you found yourself completely lost in the euphoric feeling, eventually welcoming James’ desperate aid as he dug his fingers into your hips and rocked you in his lap, essentially just using your body as he would with his own fist at night, lifting you off with such ease and fucking into you till you were both absolutely wrecked by the perfectly synched orgasms that rocked your realities. Though still, even as the pace slowed, he still kept on bouncing you in his lap, pushing his load deeper within you with every needy thrust. 

Breathlessly, both of you still completely enveloped in each other, your arms sluggishly draped around his neck and his wrapped around your sweaty body, keeping you pressed up against him. 

Slowly blinking his eyes open and staring back at you through his glasses, which had long ago glided so far down his long nose that they were now on the verge of falling off, he sighed contently and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Promise that you’ll write to me,” he whispered, his deep rumble making your sensitive body tingle and your walls clamper down on his softening girth. 

First giving his nose a light nudge with yours, you then brushed your lips against his, rapidly developing the innocent peck into a kiss so passionate that the time might as well have stopped. 

“I will,” you breathed, feeling the most blissful of tears roll down your cheek, “I promise.” 

“Y-your majesty!” you gasped, throwing your head back in ecstasy, nearly bumping your head against the doorframe you were balancing against. 

Detaching his lips from your swollen clit with a pop, he glanced up at you from his kneeling position and corrected, “James…” chuckling lightly as his fingers still clutched onto your dark skirt, bunching it up at your waist, “love, it’s been a whole year, thought you’d shake that habit by now.”

“Has it truly been a year already?” a shaky breath escaped your throat as he planted a kiss on your gleaming petals that was way too soft for how close he had you to the edge. 

“Happiest year of my life…” he beamed, right before diving back in, eating you out so as if someone could walk in and interrupt your fun at any moment, which was completely probable seeing as he hadn't waited for you to be behind closed doors for him to have a taste, simply whirled you around a corner and told you to be on lookout while he had his fun. 

“Fuck!” you weaved your fingers through his hair in an effort to keep him steady as the fireworks set off inside your belly, “James, I’m gonna-, don’t stop!” 

Bucking against his tongue as he stared up at your pleasure-filled face in awe, his mouth eventually eased into light pecks, loving the way your sensitive form jumped against his lips. Eventually rising back up to his feet, he pressed his slick-covered lips against yours and let your dress fall back down, covering the mess he had made. 

“Thank you,” he smiled brightly, lifting his thumb up to clean the glistening lower half of his face, swiping the finger over his chin only to bring it back up to his pillowy lips, licking the rest of your essence off and enjoying every last drop you’d given him.

“…It was an automobile accident…”

“W-what?” James uttered breathlessly, haven not heard a word of what his father had said after the bomb had been dropped. 

Tightening his jaw in an effort to control his own unbearable emotions, the severe king repeated, keeping his voice clear and stern, “your brother, crown prince Thomas, died last night. The authorities found him this morning a few hours away from here, in his car, which had crashed, tumbled over completely. I don’t know how long he was out there, trapped beneath an entire ton of metal, waiting it out, all alone… I-…” he let out a shaky breath, momentarily closing his eyes in order to centre himself, “the funeral will be held on Monday. That should give people a chance to get here in time.”

“Monday…” James’ unfocused eyes flicked around the room as he tried and failed to breathe in a world without his big brother, “granny will be able to get here in that time… that’s-…” he noticed how his glasses were now completely fogged up by his agonising tears, “she-, she should be here…” 

“My dear boy, you know what this means, right?” he exhaled, trying to catch his son’s glistening eyes, “as of last night your life will never be the same. It’s time for you to step up as the next rightful heir to the crown.”

next part

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[jesuschristmattyhealy]

you're the only one I want to see

to the anon who suggested this idea: I hope you know it has become a permanent installment of my before-bed-fantasy-dream-time. this is very much inspired by the Andrew/Amelia Golden Globe's interview, hence the title. thanks to @hereyeswerefilledwiththestars for the reader's interview theme I appreciate you bestie <33 hope you all enjoy comments and feedback is always appreciated. ilysm

////

“I think you’re being summoned.” 

“Am I?” 

You watch in professional disbelief as Harry Styles turns in profile to find that, yes, his publicist is waving him onto the next interview. 

“Oh, yeah,” he pouts, “So sad, I was having such a good time chatting.” 

“Don’t worry,” you reply with an air of chumminess you can’t quite believe is coming across as effortless, “We’ll find a time soon, darling, I promise.” 

“They can’t keep us apart, I won’t let them,” he declares, “Keep up the good work.” 

“I’ll certainly try!” You call after his retreating back. As soon as he’s out of ear and eye shot you double over, wheezing to the camera man, “I can’t believe I just had a full conversation with him.” 

It’s the 2023 Britt Awards and British GQ has hired you as a representative for the red carpet, after your web series gained popularity and got you noticed by large publications across Europe and America. In a world where every interview has to have a schtick, yours is called “Two Drink Minimum,” a show where you invite celebrities out for at least two drinks and ask them increasingly more ridiculous questions as the night progresses. So far, you’ve hosted names such as Pedro Pascal, Bryce Dallas Howard and Jonathon Van Ness and in the new year, it seems like everyone’s publicist is in your inbox asking for a feature. Your career has led you to a lot of “pinch me” moments, but watching Harry Styles’ ever-sequined back sauntering away from you calls for a punch square in the face. 

Suddenly, a male voice pulls you from your star-struck stupor. 

“I was hoping you’d be here.” 

You start, spinning around to come face to face with the man who decorated both your high school bedroom and college dorm room, and your phone lockscreen for as long as you can remember having one. Matty Healy, wearing a dark green suit and an amused smile.

You press a hand to your chest, “You scared me-” 

Instinctively, he reaches for your forearm, “-oh no, I didn’t mean to scare you-” 

You grip the sleeve of his suit, hardly believing his real skin and bone is beneath it, “-you just materialized out of nowhere-” 

“-I was just so excited to see you, I couldn’t help myself.” He giggles — really giggles. 

You can feel your face heating up in spite of yourself, “Wha- excited to see me? Matty Healy please-” 

“No, really, ask the boys I’ve been dying to meet you.” 

The knowledge that the men of the 1975 have even mentioned your name, let alone had full conversations about you, is almost too much to handle. You search for a word, anything really, that might be appropriate. Your brain feels like hot pea soup. 

“And where is your… gang this evening?” 

His brow furrows, you immediately regret saying anything. Staring at him might’ve even been better. 

His lips turn up at the end, “Gang?-” 

You’re already explaining yourself, “I don’t know why I said that you’re-” 

He’s smiling full on now, like he knows something you don’t,“Yeah, there’s a name for what we are, love, it’s a-”

“- A band, I’m sorry it’s just that I’ve been talking to Harry Styles and I’ve lost all cognitive ability,” you joke, gesturing wildly at your forehead.

He rolls his eyes, the smile becomes a smirk, “Oh that’s it, is it, you’re still thinking about him? Should I leave, should I go find him for you?” He points his thumb behind him, already turning to go. 

You reach for his arm again, giggling at his sarcasm, “No, no, Matty that’s not what I meant-” 

“- No it’s alright, I don’t want to stand in the way of true love.” He waves one hand at you, the other loosely holds your finger tips.

“No, honestly what it is is that I’m actually getting really nervous around you but I was embarrassed so I used Harry as a cover,” Truer words had never been spoken. 

He’s nodding, a single strand of hair tickling his eyebrows,“Oh, there’s the backpedal, no it’s alright the damage is done, I see where I stand. Just England’s second best male pop star, that’s alright.” 

You whistle through your teeth, donning a jokingly skeptical look,“I don’t know, I feel like Ed Sheeran might have that title.” 

His mouth actually falls open at that,“Ed Shee- right I’m leaving, you’ve slandered me for the last time-” 

You’re laughing now, the nerves have gone. It feels like you’ve been old friends forever,“No! Matty, don’t give up on us-” 

He shakes his head, looking away from you into the crowd, “-after I was so kind and complimentary to you-” 

“- you’re right I’m the worst, I’m awful-” 

“-telling you how excited I was to see you, practically baring my soul-” 

“- please come back, let’s talk about this!” 

“Ok, fine you’ve convinced me.” He circles back to you, clasping his hands in front of him. His eyes make a trail from your eyes to your mouth to your necklace back to your eyes. If you weren’t blushing before you certainly are now. 

You take a deep breath, “Ok, now you were telling me where your band is.” 

“Yeah, they’re queueing at the Glam Bot.” 

“Oh, is there a line?” 

“Yeah, it’s ages long too, I couldn’t stand there any longer. George is gonna text me when we’re up.” 

“Do you have your pose planned?” You ask. 

“No, and I’ll tell you what we should probably figure that out because that thing is proper intimidating.” 

“Yeah, it comes at you awfully fast doesn’t it?”  

“Yes! It’s so fast, I get nervous just watching it.” 

“Matty Healy? Afraid of a robot?” 

He frowns with his whole face, leaning backwards,“No, no, I’m not. I’m a big guy, I don’t get scared-” 

You roll your eyes, laughing through your nose,“That’s right I forgot, forgive me.” 

“-It’s fine, just try to remember next time,” He winks at you, just barely so much so you think you might have imagined it, “No, I’m mostly just scared that I’ll blink or something stupid.” 

You make a noise of agreement, “Do you want to practice not blinking?” 

He bites his lip in thought,“How would we do that, exactly?” 

“Easy, we’ll just have a staring contest.” 

“Oh yeah, okay .” 

You square off, each of you closing your eyes in preparation. 

“Ok,” you say, “Counting us down. Three, two, one, go.” 

You open your eyes and are immediately met with his stare, dark amber, autumn leaves and the forest at sunrise, maple and mahogany. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s smirking at you again, as if he can read your thoughts. You try to think about neutral things, dogs, going to the grocery store tomorrow, how much your feet hurt right now, just in case he can. 

“My eyes hurt already,” You whisper. 

He doesn’t say anything, just hums something under his breath. It all feels strangely intimate, all these people in the room and he’s staring at you like you’re the first person he’s ever seen in his life. An idea washes over you suddenly. He’s rocking back and forth slightly on his heels. Just as he moves forward, you lift your hand and snap your fingers in front of his nose. He blinks immediately. 

“Ha! You blinked!” 

“That’s cheating!” He’s indignant, his Northern accent evident. 

“It’s not cheating, I’m just preparing you!” You laugh as he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“This is so unfair,” he rubs his dry eyes with the heel of his palm. 

You pout sarcastically at him. “I’m so sorry, I hope someday you can forgive me.” 

“It might take a while,” He wrinkles his nose at you, then is distracted by his phone lighting up i his pocket, “Oh, George is demanding I come back now.” 

Your stomach falls slightly, “Yes, go back to your-” 

“Gang?” he raises his eyebrows. 

“-exactly.”

He touches your arm again, the skin tingles, “So sorry to leave you, I feel like that was probably the most worthless interview you’ve done all night-” 

You laugh. 

“Not like that it was bad, I just feel like I didn’t give you anything whatsoever.” 

You place your hand over your heart, “Don’t worry, it was very impactful to me.” 

“Ok, well that’s all that matters,” He’s inching away, lingering slightly, “Maybe we uh… maybe we can have a redo on your show.” 

You hum agreement, “Now there’s an idea, Healy.” 

“I have good ones sometimes.” He shrugs, thumbs in his pockets. 

“I’ll have my people get in touch with your people,” You say, and before you can stop yourself, shoot him a pair of finger guns. 

He’s almost turned away, but does a double take, laughing, “Did you just finger gun me?” 

“Pretend that didn’t happen.” 

“Sure. I’ll see you in there.” 

He walks away, giggling still, looking over his shoulder at you. You retreat to the bathroom to call your roommate in hysterics. 

[beybaldes]

I’ve been thinking ‘bout you

summer sleepover masterlist

will kitman x gn!reader

summary : “buying your favorite books (esp. when they know nothing abt it but still buys it anyways because he knows how much you like them)” requested by anon

content warning : i made up the book plot so no spoilers for anything real

an : I love will kitman and I love books and I love the anon who requested this title is Frank ocean from Chanel Orange vine referencers rise up

“So I’ve read the whole thing, right? And I’ve got, like 2 pages left, and everything’s been resolved so I’m thinking; it’s just some filler for a conclusive ending, right? Wrong!”

You and Will were hiding away in the boot room. Thanks to the colder weather and couple of inches of snow that had covered the pitch, Ted had limited practice to inside today, which meant you and Will were practically redundant to the team today. Not that you were complaining. There was nowhere you’d rather be then cooped up with the cute kitman.

Will, ever the sweetheart, was happily listening to you rang about the book you’d been reading this week. He’d caught you reading it several times through out the week, asking for updates each time he saw you sneaking in a page or two and each time you’d very happily given him them. Beard and Roy were the only other people around the dog track that shared your love of reading, but the three of you had started a book club, so you’d lost the ability to discuss it with them until your bi-weekly lunch where you’d discuss ideas and pick out your next read.

“The last two pages basically undid the plot of the whole of the book and put them back at square one but with even less of an advantage then they did the first time.”

“Why would they do that? I thought they’d come up with a way to make sure the guy stayed dead?” Will was putting on a third wash for the teams kits in the two hours you’d been hiding in the boot room together; the whole room extra warm from the bumbling of the washing machine and the smell of the lavender detergent Will liked to use filling the room.

“Sounds like they’re trying to set up a second book, and I mean, obviously, I’m going to read it, I just wish they’d come up with a better way to set up a sequel - like, give them a new quest or something.”

As Will finished loading up the washing machine and setting it off, he took a seat next to you on the boot room bench, letting his hands fall into his lap where he fiddled with his fingers nervously. “So, you’ll probably be wanting that second book in the series, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” You confirmed, running your fingers up and down the cover of the first book in the series. Even though the ending had pissed you off, you’d enjoyed it until then, and you weren’t going to let 2 bad pages ruin the 378 good ones. “I might try and convince Beard and Roy to read it next at book club later this week.”

“Well, regardless of if they want to read it or not, you definitely should.” Will leant away from you, appearing back at your side with a hand tucked awkwardly behind his back. Once he’d sat up straight again, he breathed in shakily, then pushed his hand in your general direction, the second book of the series in his palm. “I bet it’s good.”

“Will.” You cooed, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug. Startled, he didn’t hug you back, but made the most of the opportunity and kept one arm around you when you pulled away. “You didn’t have to get me this.”

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, freezing once more when your head met his shoulder. “I really liked it this week when you were updating me on what happened in it. I was kind of hoping…. You’d do it with this one too?”

Will thought he was going to melt under the burning adoration of your gaze.

“You’re so cute.” If his cheeks hadn’t been burning bright red at the contact you were sharing, they would’ve been now. “Of course I can, I’d love to.”

With a gasp, you stood from the bench, moving closer to the corner of the boot room next to the washing machines, dragging Will with you by his hand. You didn’t let go when you took a seat, pulling him to sit in the corner so that you could lean against him, knees bent and book open against them.

“I can start right now, if you’d like?”

Will smiled softly, a hand instinctively coming up to brush your hair out of your eyes as you tilted your head back to look at him better. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

The two of you spent the rest of your day at the dog track getting a head start on your new book, only stopping when the two of you dozed off in each others arms, your calming voice sending Will to sleep and the warmth of him bringing you to sleep soon after.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 4: Midnight]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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It paints you like a canvas: sunlight, candlelight, sunlight again.

Two days after the miscarriage—the stillbirth, actually, the delivery, the beginning and the end all at once—you are searching the halls of Westminster Palace, the train of your gown dragging on the floor. It’s just a little too long for you now; it had been tailored to accommodate the additional weight and inches of pregnancy. And the court is just like they were before. They gawk, they jabber amongst themselves, but they can’t seem to think of a single word to say to you. Well…there is one exception.

“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing here?!” Nico exclaims when she rounds a corner and spots you. She rushes over and takes both of your hands in her own. “You look awful, you must be ready to drop over and sleep wherever you fall. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your rooms—”

“I can’t stay in bed for another second. I’m losing my mind. I’m just lying there, useless, staring up at the ceiling thinking about...everything.” The baby. The throne. Aegon. Aemond.

“Oh,” she says, sympathetic and yet proud. She sweeps back loose strands of hair from your face. “You have too much fire in you for that, I suppose. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s a shame you were born a woman, you could have ridden into battle and butchered people and put all that ruthlessness to good use.”

“Being a woman didn’t stop Boudicca.” And she wasn’t just a woman. She was a wife, a mother.

“And where did that get her?” Nico retorts with raised eyebrows. “Nowhere enviable.”

You can’t think of a clever response. “Would you happen to know where Aemond is?”

“Not presently. He’s been looking in on you, you know.”

You do know: you’ve glimpsed him in the doorway, caught his whispers with the physicians and the midwives and your secretless English ladies. “I need to speak with him about something. To…” You pause. You can’t tell Nico about the poem that’s now hidden in the trunk at the foot of your bed; but you can tell her something else that’s true. “To thank him.”

“He’s been distraught,” Nico says, her voice low. “Quiet, secluded. Even more than before.”

As usual, she sees too much. “Yes.”

“He cares for you. Quite a lot, I think.”

“I’ll check the courtyard,” you say, hoping to change the subject. “Maybe he’s training there.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I think I can manage.”

“What if you pass out and end up out in a field somewhere covered with snow? What if you find a boat and row yourself back to Navarre? What if you’re eaten by wolves?”

“Send out a search party if I’m not back in an hour. But don’t invite Daemon. He’d drag me headfirst into the lair.”

“Alright,” Nico relents, touching your hair fondly again. “One hour. And I’ll chew my nails to bits the whole time.”

“As long as they’ve grown back by the wedding.”

She beams, white teeth and starry eyes. When she at last marries Daeron in August she will be another princess from the Continent, another thread in the Greens’ tapestry. She will be a lot like you…except that she will be in love with her husband. And she will be able to give him children.

But Aemond’s will come before them in the line of succession, you think, with a mournfulness that shocks you. The sons he has with whoever he ends up marrying, Helene of Austria or Beatrice of Naples or Anne of Bohemia. Some other woman, some other future, parts of him I’ll never know.

“I want you to help me choose every detail,” Nico says. “From the food to the fashion.” This is how she plans to distract you from your own misery. And the Duke of Hightower will indulge her: with every pregnancy you lose Nico becomes more relevant, and in any case Milan is a greater ally than Navarre. If the Holy Roman Emperor’s daughter ends up crossing the English Channel, she will eclipse you both.

“I’ll endeavor to not be eaten by wolves until August,” you tell Nico, and then head outside into the courtyard.

Aemond isn’t sparring there with Sir Criston Cole; with the exception of a few amorous couples strolling through the powdery white snow, the courtyard is empty. You pass next through the palace gardens, frozen and naked, their treasures—angelica, feverfew, St. John’s wort, betony, chamomile, rosemary, pennyroyal—long-since plucked and dried and stored away for winter. Aemond isn’t there either, and he isn’t in the royal stables when you enter them, horses chomping noisily on oats and hay.

You go to Vhagar’s stall and she pops her great shaggy head out to greet you. “Hello, you big monster,” you murmur, smiling. You run your palm down the white stripe of her blaze. She’s killed people, and everyone knows those stories; she stomped one man to death and kicked another in the jaw, trotting away and leaving him to drown in his own blood. That was before Aemond tamed her when he was still a boy. He mellowed her, or she mellowed for him, and however it happened they’re both better off for it. She’s a weapon, the same as his sword or his strategies. She has a role to play in the Greens’ battle for the throne as well.

There’s rustling from Sunfyre’s stall, too loud to be a rat or a bird. You cross the aisle and peer inside. There on the floor, half-covered in straw, is sprawled your husband. Sunfyre looks passively down at him, stems of hay sticking out like porcupine quills from his muzzle.

“Aegon?!”

“Shh!” he pleads, waving one hand drunkenly. His white-blond hair falls over his face like a veil. “I’m hiding.”

“From who?” But the answer to this is obvious; you know before he says it.

“Grandsire. He’s furious, he’s a demon. He’ll have me drawn and quartered.”

“What’s he so upset about?”

“Oh, the same old thing, I’d imagine,” Aegon says vaguely. His shortcomings, his embarrassments. Then his murky ocean-blue eyes focus a bit and his voice goes tender. “Are you in pain?”

“I’ve had a lot of wine. It helps some.” Takes the edge off, smooths down the fangs, dulls the knowledge that parts of you are still collapsing down to fill the space where your child once lived. Blood drains away, blood fills up again, blood readies itself for the inevitable next attempt.

“Good,” he says, though uncertainly. His sentiment is clear, but he doesn’t know how to express it.

“Have you seen Aemond?”

“Not today.”

You sigh. “Never mind, then. I’ll keep looking.”

“Should you be running around the palace like this?”

“I haven’t done any running in a very long time. And I’m confident I can find my way back to bed when I need to.”

Now Aegon is gazing up at the stable ceiling, studying eaves and bird nests like constellations. “It should have been him,” he exhales like a confession.

“What?”

“Aemond. It should have been him. The one to shoulder the responsibility, to reign. I don’t belong someplace where people watch me. I have nothing to show them that they want to see. I belong someplace warm and wild, someplace I can disappear. Is it such a crime to not want to be held to a higher standard than an inconsequential man? Is it such a crime to not wish to be remembered? I never asked to be the heir. Not even the king wants me to be the heir. How am I the one in the wrong here?”

“I think many of us wish for things we cannot have,” you reply morosely.

“We could have them,” Aegon counters. “If we ran far enough.”

“That’s a coward’s way out.”

“I’d rather be a free coward than a jailed prince. Or a dead one.”

As if to emphasize his point, you spy something odd about his saddle, hanging from a massive iron hook on the stable wall. You move closer to scrutinize it. Then you return to Sunfyre’s stall. “Someone cut your stirrup,” you say, frightened. “Before the Christmas boar hunt. It’s sliced clean most of the way through and then the rest of it must have ripped as you were riding.”

Aegon squints up at you. He’s mystified. “Why would someone do that?”

Your exasperation—your contempt, not for him but for his failings—must show on your face.

“Please don’t look at me that way,” Aegon says. “Not you. Mother always loved Aemond more, Father always loved Rhaenyra, Grandsire loved the throne. You are the only thing I’ve ever had that’s supposed to be mine.”

And now you’re the one who is imagining a traitor’s death: hanged momentarily, cut down and thrown onto a table, drawn open like a gutted animal as the crowd’s screams mingle with your own, dissected into quarters once your belly is sufficiently emptied. Because surely you’re the worst sort of traitor there is. “You must be more careful,” you implore Aegon. And he smiles; he takes this as a token of affection.

You finally find Aemond somewhere you should have suspected. It’s where people go to find peace, solitude, wisdom. He’s sitting in a cascade of kaleidoscopic light pouring in from the stained glass windows, scenes of King Arthur and Saint George, lovers and swords and dragons. You slide into the pew, cool austere wood. The small private chapel is abandoned except for the two of you. On the altar is a cross: blood, pain, sacrifice, redemption. Aemond has his hands folded and propped on the back of the next pew. He stares straight ahead, grim and silent. He must know you’re there, but he doesn’t make any sign that he does.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” you say.

“You’re not interrupting. I was just speaking to God, but I’m finished now.”

“Do you believe he can hear us?”

“I used to.” Still, he keeps his eye on the altar. Flecks of luminance pepper his skin: gold, ruby, emerald, sapphire. “You’re wearing green,” he marvels. He can see you well enough for that, a blur on his periphery.

“Yes. Like ivy.”

And only now does he look at you, afraid and yet with fragile hope.

“Aemond,” you say softly. “I didn’t know.” I longed for it, but I didn’t know.

Long seconds tick by, ten, twenty, a hundred. “I have envied Aegon my entire life,” he says at last. “I have felt that I was more suited to be the firstborn, to be the heir. I have watched him squander opportunities and defile morality and bring nothing but heartbreak to my mother. I have worked myself to the bone to prove myself worthy of what he was freely given. I carry scars in the shape of his absence. I have always envied Aegon. But never more than the day I watched him marry you.”

You move without thinking, reaching for his hands and interlacing them with your own. “Please don’t hide from me anymore. I can’t endure it. Not added to the weight of everything else.”

He feels your cheeks and forehead, his brow crinkled with hushed concern. “You’re in pain.”

“I was alright when I left my bedchamber. Now…” Now the cramping is very bad again, and the strip of thick linen folded between your legs is nearly soaked through with blood, and your mood is sinking; you feel shaky and insurmountably sad, like you could rupture into tears at any moment.

He is distressed. “Why did you exert yourself like this?”

“I had to find you.”

He stands and offers you his arm. “Then now that you have, allow me to escort you back to bed.”

“And you’ll stay for a while?”

He smiles, warm, a flicker of candlelight in a dark room. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll let me.”

You walk very slowly together, you clutching his forearm, Aemond distracting you with English legends: myths, monsters, men. But he does not speak of children. Westminster Palace is frenzied when you step inside, courtiers rushing around and hissing gossip back and forth to each other. Greens and Blacks appear to be equally scandalized; you wonder what has happened. As you and Aemond make your way down a hallway—your steps halting and dizzy—Prince Daemon sails by wearing a cruel smirk, sharp, delighted, Scottish deerhounds loping alongside him. And then you peek into the Great Hall and you see them: the Montfords, Lady Joanna’s parents and uncles and her handsome, ambitious brothers. They’re all beaming and radiant, though they really have no reason to be, now that Aegon is long past bedding Joanna and the Montfords can no longer call upon the Duke of Hightower for any exceptional favors. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Joanna since around the time Nico arrived in London, since August, since you discovered you were pregnant again. That was five months ago. The Montfords are passing around an infant swaddled in green cloth, showing him off to the other powerful families of Southern England, accepting compliments and proposals of betrothal to wealthy newborn daughters. From what you can tell, the child is fat and mewing and…and…

You gasp, and Aemond swiftly directs you farther down the hallway before anyone notices you watching. He says nothing, but you can read the shock and fury on his face. Because Lady Joanna Montford’s infant is a healthy living boy with silvery white hair just like Aegon’s. Because her child is a Targaryen.

There are yelps and whimpers coming from Aegon’s bedchamber. Somebody must have found him hiding in the stables after all. The door is open. Inside the Duke of Hightower has backed Aegon into a corner and is slapping him: his head, his face, his hands when he tries to shield himself. Aegon’s pale skin is freckled with angry pink welts, his hair in disarray. There are still bits of straw knotted in it.

The Duke of Hightower seethes: “To do this, to have a bastard before you’ve secured the succession! It’s a disgrace! You have muddied the waters yet again, you have undermined certainty when we so desperately need it, when all of our lives depend on it! You should be putting every last ounce of the miniscule effort that you possess into producing a legitimate son with your wife—!”

“Grandsire, she’s not capable of it!”

Then they see you, and Aegon has the decency to cover his face in shame; but the Duke just glares at you, as if he wouldn’t mind hitting you too, as if you are dangerously close to becoming an enemy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks after the miscarriage, the royal family has gathered for a private dinner. The occasion is Daeron’s sixteenth birthday, although the king mentioned it once and then seems to have promptly forgotten again. He is admiring a collection of tiny woodcarvings of horses that Joffrey has made, praising them as if they are great treasures, handmade tapestries or poems or blades. Alicent, much to the contrary, fawns over her youngest son. She frets with his curly white-blond hair—trying to make it lie neatly, a pointless aspiration—and asks Nico about wedding plans. Nico is effervescent, bubbling over with enthusiasm for fabrics, colors, cakes, flowers.

Aegon sits to your right, Aemond to your left. Your husband is drowning himself in wine and peering blearily down at the trappings of the table: duck, mushroom pasties, spinach tarts, salmon pie, bread, and makerouns of course, Daeron’s favorite. Aemond doesn’t say much, but he ensures that your cup stays full of apple cider and your plate piled high with winter delicacies.

“I can’t,” you complain when he serves you another spinach tart. You’re still bleeding, although it has lessened considerably. You still have very little appetite. Weight has fallen off you like leaves from autumn trees since you lost the baby, a fact that no one seems to have noticed except Aemond.

“Try,” he replies, and slices you a portion of duck too, the browned skin crackling and shiny with grease. Across the table, Daemon and Rhaenyra exchange fleeting caresses and gazes warm with desire. Jace chats politely with Baela, Luke giggles with Rhaena. They all wear lustrous black like a uniform. Even the king wears it, accented with maroon the shade of dried blood.

“We must get you a real horse,” King Viserys is telling Joffrey, who smiles adoringly up at him. The king coughs into his sleeve and then continues. “Would you like a Marwari, like your mother has? They’re nimble, gorgeous creatures, and with such peculiar ears! They’re very rare as well, only bred in North India. Seafaring traders can bring some here for you to choose from. They come at a great cost, but you are worth it, don’t you agree, Joffrey? You know, India was once partially conquered by Alexander the Great. He…”

Aemond glances longingly at the king; it’s a split second, and then it’s gone. You are well aware that Aemond knows very nearly everything about Alexander the Great. The king never speaks to him about it. He rarely speaks to Aemond at all.

You lay a hand on top of Aemond’s. “Will you tell me about it later?” you ask him. “Alexander and India?”

He smiles, his cheeks blushing pink. “Of course.”

The Duke of Hightower clears his throat loudly. “I have some happy news to share.”

King Viserys looks up, as if suddenly remembering that the Greens are here too. “Oh? Do enlighten us, Otto.”

“After much negotiation, the Holy Roman Emperor has formally agreed to a match between his daughter and Prince Aemond.”

“Very impressive, Otto!” The king claps politely. He’s already resuming his conversation with Joffrey, a six-year-old.

“Wonderful!” Nico heralds cheerfully. “Lose a Helaena, gain a Helene!” She holds her cup aloft in a toast, then lowers it as she observes the awkward atmosphere of the table. You and Aemond are so determined not to appear heartsick that you can only avert your eyes, Alicent frowns anxiously, Daeron is bewildered, Aegon drinks. Rhaenyra forces a stiff smile; Daemon watches you, deep-set eyes gleaming with dark mirth.

“Well…” the Duke says. “Perhaps I should have started with the unhappy news. Princess Helene is dead of fever, God rest her soul.”

“Oh, the poor girl!” Alicent laments, crossing herself. “And poor Frederick and Eleanor.”

“Fortunately, Frederick still has one daughter left—only one—and he is willing to send her to us.” The Duke doesn’t have to say what this means aloud: that the Greens have risen ever-higher in the Continent’s estimation, that their allies grow mightier and more numerous by the day.

“How fortunate,” Daemon quips. “Always a wise idea to have children to spare.” He winks at you, swigs his wine, licks red drops from his lips. His Scottish deerhounds, which follow him everywhere, sniff around the table for scraps. “And who is the lucky bride-to-be?”

The Duke of Hightower is glowing. “Kunigunde.”

“Kunigunde?!” Aegon blurts out, then drops his head back down when the Duke glowers fearsomely at him. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, staring into his wine cup. “What the hell kind of a name is Kunigunde?”

“She sounds…” Daemon raises his white eyebrows, choking back laughter. The Black children are following his example and snickering derisively, even little Joffrey, who doesn’t have the slightest idea what this marriage represents. Even the king smiles. “Germanic.”

“You’ll like her,” the Duke informs Aemond, ignoring his detractors. “You should be crawling on your knees to thank me for this match. You think I’ve taken no notice of your hard work, of your sacrifices, but I have. Kunigunde has received an extraordinary education for a woman. She studies astronomy and mathematics and history, not just languages. She practices archery. She is a renowned horsewoman and hunts often. She is intelligent, and she is bold, and she is precisely the sort of woman you would choose for yourself, is she not?”

“She is,” Aemond admits gravely.

“Kunigunde,” Aegon mumbles again, incredulous.

The Duke continues: “And so when she arrives you will wed her and bed her and I will hear not a single word of complaint about it. You will like her, or you will grow to like her, or you will endure it with grace if by some miracle you don’t like her. Is that understood?”

“How romantic,” Daemon chuckles. “A toast? To love?” He lifts his wine. Only the other Blacks join him, their cups clanging merrily against each other.

“I’ll be delighted to make a new friend, at least,” Nico says. “And one from so distant and vast a kingdom!”

Alicent nods distractedly. “Yes, we’ll have to ask her all about what it’s like there.”

“Hmm.” Daemon bites into a halved pomegranate, spilling juice like rubies, like blood. “Now my curiosity is aroused. Tell me, Navarre, what is your homeland like this time of year?”

“That depends on which region you have in mind,” you say frostily. Aemond is glaring at his uncle, measuring him, waiting, coiled. “The mountains are cold and snowy, the valleys are more temperate, the deserts are stark but still golden. Navarre is beautiful, even in January. It might be the most beautiful place there is.”

“You don’t find it to be…rather…” Daemon grins, pieces of pomegranate seeds caught between his teeth like bits of organs. “Barren?”

The table goes silent. Time slows until it stops. You should have a barb of an insult to hurl back at Daemon; you open your mouth to loose it like an arrow. But nothing comes out. Instead, hot sudden tears brim in your eyes and begin to spill down your face, your skull filled with flashes like white lightning: What would we have named him? What would he have been like?

Aemond bolts from his seat and goes for Daemon, fists swinging. Everyone is yelling; chairs are tipping over as people leap to their feet. Nico is shrieking and swearing at Daemon as her betrothed holds her back, his hands linked around her waist. Aemond’s knuckles crack across Daemon’s face as guards flood into the room and struggle in vain to separate them; Daemon strikes out, scratches, bites, yowls like an animal. Rhaenyra is pulling Rhaena and Joffrey away to safety. Unprovoked, Aegon pitches a handful of salmon pie at Baela, then screams and flees when she scrambles over the tabletop in pursuit. Alicent intercepts her, pinning Baela’s hands to her chest where they pose no threat. Jace and Luke try to join Daemon, but the Duke shoves them aside, bellowing ferociously, words you are too panicked to register. In the melee, Daemon snatches up a fork, turns to Aemond, and aims for his remaining eye. You dart beneath the table and knock Daemon off his feet, catching him unprepared. He whirls to you with his back against the floor, eyes glittering savagely, and, roaring, stabs at you with the fork. You duck, but the metal skates across your cheekbone, drawing a thin stripe of blood. The Scottish deerhounds are snarling and snapping at you. Aemond yanks you away and drags you to the other side of the room as Daemon follows, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

“Enough!” King Viserys thunders, and the turmoil dies. Alicent flies to him—attempting to pacify—but he ignores her.

“He must pay!” Aemond shouts, pointing at Daemon, whose nose is bloodied from his blows. “He must pay for what he’s said, for what he’s done!”

“It looks to me that he already has,” the king replies impatiently. He grimaces at everyone present, with no lines drawn between the blameworthy and the not. “This rivalry, this petulance, this bitterness, it must end!” He turns to the Duke of Hightower. “You must restrain your branch of the family, Otto, just as Rhaenyra must gain better control of hers—”

“Viserys, Daemon has ceaselessly antagonized the princess—!”

“I am not Viserys!” the king booms, then pauses to cough. “I am the king, I am your king, and since there seems to be enduring confusion, allow me to clarify some things, some exceedingly fundamental things. I have already chosen an heir, and it is Rhaenyra.” He looks to Daemon. “You have nothing to fear from Alicent’s children. You have no cause to provoke them. It is a waste of your many talents.” Now the king addresses Otto. “You can glorify your house however you see fit, but remember where this all ends. Rhaenyra and her heirs will inherit the throne upon my death. It stays with her, that is my most ardent wish. It is treason to undermine it. By all means, increase the wealth and status of your dukedom. But never forget who gave it to you.”

The king sweeps out of the room, Rhaenyra and her children following closely behind him. Alicent stands there helplessly, abandoned, forgotten. Nico and Daeron comfort her instead. Aegon meanders back to the table, sighs deeply, and pours himself a fresh cup of wine. Aemond examines the shallow gash across your cheek. Daemon watches, a dozen guards stationed between you and him. Growling Scottish deerhounds flank him like the train of a gown.

“I’ll kill you one day,” Aemond says calmly, matter-of-factly.

Daemon shrugs. “You’re welcome to try.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two months after the miscarriage, the physicians say it’s time to try again. They are the ones who decide: not you, not Aegon, not either of the people whose bodies are requisite to the task. Just old men in the service of another old man: the Duke of Hightower. Men who have never had to feign pleasure as they were groped and invaded. Men who have never felt a child tearing from their own flesh, nor the cramping and blood that follows, reminders that are impolite to speak of.

Aemond keeps you company; you don’t even have to ask him to. Your ladies are no longer surprised when they walk into your rooms to find him there. He, Nico, and Daeron are frequent visitors, far more frequent than your own husband. You read together, or Aemond reads and you embroider, or you play card games, or you simply talk until the stars have rolled by overhead like a wheel and the first golden bars of daybreak spill in from the windows. Tonight, as you wait for Aegon to arrive—full of anxiety and impatience and hope, full of dread—you are embroidering a pillow with Vhagar’s silhouette. Aemond is sitting beside you on the bearskin rug and reading a book about the kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula, including Navarre. The fireplace pops periodically, heat and red-golden light, sparks and shadows. Aemond is dressed in his usual dark green attire, but you’re only wearing a white nightgown. Once someone has seen you sobbing on the floor and coated with the blood of failure, it seems useless to try to reclaim your modesty.

“Does this look like a horse?” you ask Aemond doubtfully, showing him the pillow.

He blinks at it. “It certainly looks like…a large land-dwelling creature. Of some sort.”

You sigh defeatedly. “I’m so damned nervous. My fingers won’t cooperate, I can barely feel them.”

“I’d still enjoy the pillow. Even if Vhagar looks suspiciously like one of Hannibal’s elephants.”

You laugh. “Yes, that nose…a travesty, surely.” You set aside your embroidery. It’s a lost cause this evening. You stare into the fire, feeling warmth like the sun on your face, so hot it nearly burns.

“Why are you still nervous?” Aemond asks gently. “After all this time?”

“Will you be nervous when you’re expected to fuck Kunigunde?”

“Yes,” he says, a bit startled.

“Only the first night? If she never stops feeling like a stranger to you?”

“No,” he admits. “Perhaps not.”

“That’s why I’m still nervous.”

Aemond closes his book and studies you pensively, firelight dancing on his face. Several miles away in the Tower of London, the bells toll twelve times: midnight.

“He won’t be here,” you say, relieved and yet broken, no end of your prison in sight. “Not tonight. And why would he be? Who would want this, the way it is between us? He’s fumbling and drunk, I’m a resigned liar, both of us trying our best but just waiting for it to be over. Rhaenyra gets to enjoy lying with her husband, Nico will enjoy it when it’s her turn, but I don’t. I never will. I’ll never know what that’s like.”

Time slinks forward. It seems like an eternity passes before he speaks, dust to pyramids, castles, cathedrals, civilization and then back to dust. “I could show you,” Aemond says, so quietly you might have imagined it.

You don’t understand. “Show me what?”

“How good it can feel.”

You gape at him, stunned. “I can’t lie with you.” And then you think immediately, like a traitor: Can I?

Aemond shakes his head, staring down at his open palms. “Only my hands.”

You should say no, here in your bedchamber waiting obediently for his brother to arrive, here on the skin and fur of a beast Aemond killed for you, here with sweltering flames inking you both with amber-rust light like sunset, like dawn. But something stops you. It’s the fact that Aemond knows you somehow, all of you, or very nearly all; and when he stumbles into one of your rare secrets like an unfamiliar room he wants to get down on his hands and knees and memorize every floorboard, every fleck of paint. You nod, moving towards him, your nightgown whispering against your bare skin. “Just this once?” you ask.

“Just this once,” Aemond agrees.

You can already feel yourself aching for him, muscles and nerves waking up, violent red craving. You press your left palm cautiously to Aemond’s chest. “How…?”

“It’s alright. You can lean against me.”

Your right hand travels up to rest on the back of Aemond’s neck; you can feel his long silvery hair ghost across your knuckles. You inhale him: leather, smoke, musk, darkness and possibility all tangled up together like the two of you are now. One arm circles around your waist, drawing you in even closer, until your thighs are touching. You wonder what his bare, defenseless skin would feel like on yours; you wish the clothes between you were in a pile on the floor. But that is far, far too risky. You could not remedy that instantly if there was an unexpected knock at the bedchamber door.

Aemond’s pale blue gaze—rapt, intense, starving—stays on yours as his other hand settles on your ankle. His fingertips move slowly upwards, tracing your skin lightly, slipping beneath your nightgown: calf, knee, thigh. He hesitates there: one last chance for you to stop him.

“Yes,” you murmur instead, resting your head against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. And already, you know this will be different; everything about it feels different. Because Aemond is the one here with you.

He reaches between your legs and finds warm, slick folds that are already wet for him. His breathing hitches, then quickens, his ribcage rapidly expanding and caving in again, a cycle like the moon or the seasons. He drags his fingers through your wetness and then places them on a spot that Aegon always paid great attention to, although to little effect. But when Aemond touches you there—experimenting with different pressures and motions—you are swept up in a euphoric riptide that can only carry you higher, higher, higher still. You’ve glimpsed this feeling before, but you’ve never been able to get lost in it. You are gasping, restless; your hand on the back of his neck wanders and inadvertently knots in his hair. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, low and husky, meaning: no, don’t apologize, no, don’t stop.

“Aemond, something’s happening…”

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His fingers circle more quickly, more powerfully. You moan and bring your lips to his throat, delicious heat and salt flowering there. You fight the instinct to bite down, to leave bruises, to mark him as your own. He’s not yours and he never will be, and no one can know all the irrevocable ways he has written himself into you like the ink of a poem, words scaling the scarlet walls of arteries and veins, rhymes in your bone marrow. The pleasure keeps mounting; every time you think it can go no higher, you climb to a new height like the steps of a staircase. “I can’t stand it—”

“Almost there,” he pants, and pushes a finger into you, the heel of his hand still grinding against the place where the sensation is greatest. Your hips move in time with his thrusts.

“More,” you beg helplessly, and Aemond glides a second finger inside. You twist your grip into his tunic, into his hair. You meld yourself into him, never feeling close enough. Now he’s nipping at the line of your jaw, his free hand against your face, his whispered voice telling you to relax, to breathe through it, that it’s alright to give in. And then your eyes flick down and see the outline of him through his trousers—how large he is, much larger than his brother, thick and long, perhaps even too much for you to take—and it is this, the thought of having Aemond completely, of him spilling himself into you in body as he already has in soul, that sends an indescribable wave jolting through you: heat, ecstasy, contracting muscles, bursts of color.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you say in a rush when it ends and you’re too sensitive to be stroked. Aemond’s hand stills, but he keeps his fingers inside you, feeling your walls throb around him for what he undoubtedly fears is the first and last time, resting his forehead against yours, trembling all over.

Your thumbprint skates across his parted lips, and then you cup his face with both hands and kiss him deeply, soft and slow. It might as well be your first kiss, your only kiss. It blows the past out of you like stormwinds ripping up homes and centuries-old roots.

You tell him when it finally breaks: “I wish it could be you.”

Aemond searches your face, then kisses you again, fiercely this time, with an unspeakable desperation. Then he rises to his feet and leaves, no goodbye, no plans, no promises.

And when Aegon does stagger into your bed the next night, you’re able to nudge his hands into the perfect position and close your eyes and think of his brother, and for the first time you reach a shuddering, breathless peak with him. You try to stifle the sheer intensity of your pleasure, the arching of your spine and the way your fingernails bite into his skin, leaving dark pink blooms like roses. But he knows this time is different.

“Well, wife,” Aegon says, grinning roguishly. “I think we’re getting better at this.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Aemond fetches you without a word of explanation. He leads you to the royal stables, where the last of the winter’s snow and ice is melting away, dripping from the eaves like rain.

“Are we going to take Vhagar out walking…?”

But Aemond breezes right past Vhagar, who watches you both with large, intelligent eyes as she crunches on a mouthful of oats. He stops at a stall that has always been unoccupied, ever since you first arrived at Westminster Palace over a year and a half ago.

“What—?” And then you see her: pure glossy black like onyx, long mane and tail, intrigued ears pricked forward towards you. She’s heavy with muscle, bigger than Sunfyre or Caraxes, almost as large as Tessarion. “Oh, Aemond…”

“She’s an Andalucian,” he says, anxious, hoping you’ll approve of her. “I wrote to your brother Alonzo and arranged for her to be shipped over from Navarre a month ago, but she’s just arrived today.” He smiles faintly, wistfully. “So don’t think she is a gift for services recently rendered.”

You smile back. “I don’t recall having the opportunity to serve you.”

He flushes, but tries to ignore it. Still, his eye traces the curves and valleys your emerald green gown, all those places he never got to see, to taste.

You pet the Andalucian’s inky muzzle and she consents, nickering contently. “I never thought I’d have my own horse here,” you say. “Not unless I gave Aegon a son. Maybe not even then.”

“What will you name her?”

You look at Aemond as you answer, your eyes dark with craving for him, a curse you can’t break, a spell you’d cast over and over again. “Midnight.”