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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

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Just Giving In

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!

Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 8.6k

It’s past midnight when you get back to the bunker.

You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and you’re back now. You’ll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didn’t text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didn’t explode when you drove it.

You’re glad you didn’t take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfully—in what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomach—Sam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so you’re free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult who’s probably going to die within the week would-

“You’re back.”

A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and that’s tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. You’re also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point.

You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or he’ll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person you’ve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl they’d found you as.

It doesn’t make turning around to face him any easier. He’s sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips that’s your responsibility, because you’d fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it.

Because you fuck up a lot.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up-“

“What’s up?” He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. “You’re crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I don’t know, thinking to fucking call when you realized you’d be late, and you’re saying what’s up?”

You swallow. “I lost my phone.”

“You, fuck-“ Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. “You could’ve borrow someone’s, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-“ he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. “Where the hell even were you?”

“Um,” you glance down at your hands. “Hunt?”

“Hunt.” His voice is flat, and you wince. “That’s all you’re going to say.”

You nod. “Rowena called me. Needed help with something.”

“And you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-“

“I didn’t just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.” you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Dean’s just right there, and it’s making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. “And I did tell Cas-“

“Son of a bitch, that’s not enough.” Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. It’s an intimidation tactic you’ve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when he’s furious, and demanding answers. You don’t think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect.

“Dean-“

“Cas didn’t tell us.” Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. “You need to tell us, because we were, I was-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and it’s the truth, so it’s like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“You didn’t-” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. “Just go to bed,” he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. You’ve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed.

You go right to Sam’s room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.

It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.

“Dean, she’ll be back, and you’re not helping anything-“ The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. “Oh, you’re back. You should go tell Dean-“

“He knows.”

“Cool, that’s good.” Sam scans over you—bouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowed—and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Oh, uh, you need to talk about it-“

You don’t bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.

“Yeah, you can come in-“

“Can you please close the door?” You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever he’d gone after your fight.

Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit.

“I fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, it’s bad, I’m fucking fucked-“

“Woah, slow down.” Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just, start from the top. Where were you-“

“Rowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.” You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Sam’s carpet. “I told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-“

“Wait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-“

“Mark of Cain.” You mumble. “I told her I’d owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.”

Sam says your name slowly. “You didn’t need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldn’t want you to-“

“I know, I don’t need you to-“ You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?”

“Yeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how you’d known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you weren’t able to run or call them. He didn’t need to know how you’d mowed down about five witches with the car—the sickening crunch still rattling around your skull—or how it wasn’t just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal you’d really hoped you’d mistranslated from Latin.

He just needs to know the reason you hadn’t killed Rowena when you’d escaped and taken out the rest of the coven.

He just needs to know about the problem.

“It went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. I’m kind of… cursed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, he’s gaping at you, frozen in place.

“What do you mean,” his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. “Kind of cursed.”

“I mean very cursed.” You mumble. “Really fucking cursed.”

“Shit.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I said you were probably fine, Dean’s gonna kill me-“

“No!” You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. “Don’t tell Dean!”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell Dean?!” Sam snaps, looking at you like you’ve gone insane. “If you’re really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-“

“He can’t know, Sam, please.” You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. “Don’t tell him.”

“I…” Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. “What, exactly, is the curse?”

You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. “If I don’t resolve my deepest secret, I’ll die.”

Sam blinks. “Like, die die? Death die?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. “Fuck.”

You hum a soft agreement. “Fuck.”

“And why can’t I tell Dean? I mean, he’ll want to help-“

“You know why.” You whisper. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Fuck.” Sam groans. “And you’d rather die than-“

“Yes.” You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just. I can’t. I don’t-“ You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to d-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.

“We’ll figure it out.” He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

Over your first, weak sob, you don’t hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart that’s trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Sam’s to fly to Dean’s.

“Sammy, she-“ He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. “You’re in here.”

You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway.

“Why are you in Sam’s room.”

There’s no good answer for that, and Sam doesn’t seem to have one either. There’s no plausible lie for why you’re on the floor on Sam’s room, why you’re sniffling, and why he’s hugging you that doesn’t sound insane. Even the truth wouldn’t exactly be an easy sell.

And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesn’t want to know—that you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each other’s hair or whatever—and stomps out of the room, it’s like a knife to your gut. But you can’t tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.

So this will only be the first knife. And you’d worry about what you would be telling him when this was over—how you could possibly explain yourself—if you had any faith you were going to get out of this.

But you don’t. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like you’re being mauled from inside, and Dean’s anger turns to bullets.

You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like he’s disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like you’re a spider that’s crawled into his house and he can’t even stand the sight of you.

“I’m getting dinner.” He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your book—Sam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage you’d been pointing to—Dean’s jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. “Neither of you got groceries, so I’m ordering. What do you want.”

His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like it’s being run over by a train.

“I’ll take whatever you get.” You offer him a small smile, because you can’t help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. “But can I please have a milkshake as well?”

Dean narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

“You’re going to the diner, Dean.” You shrug. “You always go to the diner.”

He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you don’t understand. “Fine. Milkshake.”

He doesn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hour—the diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer he’s gone—and returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.

Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadn’t told him to, but he had.

It tastes like chalk. And you’ve never hated yourself more.

After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. He’d usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but he’s just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.

It hurts more than any anger could. It’s lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because you’re still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesn’t count. Your whole heart isn’t orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesn’t care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this won’t be resolved—because it won’t be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will die—and takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when you’re in the shower and the water’s burning your skin.

Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that you’re heartbroken but alive.

“And I really don’t think it would even come to that.” He tells you from across the table at 2am, because you’re running out of time and sleep isn’t something you can even remember how to do anymore. “I mean, it’s Dean-“

“That’s the problem, Samuel.” You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, you’ll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what you’re putting him through. “It’s Dean. He already doesn’t like me-“

Sam frowns. “Why would you think that-“

“Because I’m a responsibility.” You’re spitting, and it tastes like venom. “I’m your kid shadow, I’m Dean’s kid shadow, I’m a burden-“

“You’re not a burden,” Sam says your name slowly. “To either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-“

“That doesn’t count. That was just a deal I made-“

“A deal you made for Dean.” Sam’s pushing back. You wish he’d stop. “Most people in our lives wouldn’t have done that for us. And Dean doesn’t think you’re his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, I’ve only ever-“

“Sam.” Your voice is flat. A little broken. “Please don’t. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I- I just can’t-“

“But Dean-“

“Please.” You’re going to cry again. “You won’t convince me.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Well, we need to try something. I’m not just going to let you die.”

You don’t think that’s up to Sam. You don’t think it’s up to anyone anymore. You won’t tell Dean, because you’ve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldn’t even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter won’t be resolving anything, and then you’ll just die in more pain.

You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirror—your skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bled—and start speaking a whisper, because you can’t stand the sound of your own voice.

“I love Dean Winchester.” You tell yourself, as if you’re not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. “I love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-“ You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. “I am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving him. I’m sorry I’m leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I… I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and he’s the only person I’ve ever- I could believe- I just-“ You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. “I love him. And he… he’s too good be obligated to love me. So I think I’ll just…”

You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Sam’s waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and that’s it. For Sam it’s not—he turns around and marches right back to the library—but for you, it is. You’re done.

You’ll hole up in your room and die alone. Like how’d you’d been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.

And that time had run out. So you’ll just go die alone.

lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven you’re not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you don’t really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and it’s pointless to worry about because you’re headed nowhere but down, but you’d still rather spend eternity with someone.

One person. You’d like to spend eternity with one person.

The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. You’d be angrier he’d just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. You’d snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb.

“Dean-“

“What the fuck are you doing.” Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“Nothing.” You whisper, and he scoffs.

“Nice shot, sweetheart. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean, I just don’t feel well.”

“That’s fucking bullshit-“

You sigh. “It’s not. I’m sick.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “how sick.”

“Fever.” You mumble. “Stomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-“

“No,” he grunts, and you hear his steps. He’s coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. “I’m not leaving you-“

“It’s not leaving if I ask you to go.” You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathing—maybe even his heartbeat—and it’s making everything worse-

“I’m not going.”

“Dean, just, please-“

“No, I’m sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I don’t even care what’s going on with you and Sam-“

You frown. “Nothing’s going on with me and Sam-“

“I have eyes,” Dean sneers your name, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s almost wounded. “You were hugging in his room, you’re always fucking whispering and hanging out-“

“That’s not-“ You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. “It’s for a case.”

“What case? A case that I’m not allowed to know about? Because that’s not a case, sweetheart, that’s a secret-“

You almost throw up, just from that word. “It’s- I’m not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-“

“No!” He’s almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you, but you’re suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and you’re not talking to me anymore-“

“You’re not talking to me, Dean.” You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. “I’m always in the library-“

“Yeah, I know, with Sam.” Dean scowls, and you’re too tired to think almost anything, but that’s strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like it’s a horrible word.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, watching Dean carefully. “He’s helping me with something-“

“Something I can’t help you with?”

You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesn’t appear to be up to that task. “No.”

Dean’s brow furrows slightly. “So I could help you.”

“I-“ You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why-“

“Because I- Just go away, Dean-“

He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. “Could I help you-“

“N-“ You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. You’re too far gone to lie anymore, and that’s the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, you’ll tell the truth. You can’t tell the truth. “Please just leave me alone-“

“I’m not leaving you alone.” He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. “You never left me alone, with the Mark-“

“That’s not-“ You can’t swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Dean’s hand grabs your thigh. “Dean, please go-“

“Do you want me to go.”

“No.” You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. “But you- you have to-“

“I said I’m staying.” He grunts. “And you’re not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I did.” You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isn’t helping anyone. “I’m sick.”

“Fine. What’s making you sick.”

“Curse.”

Fuck.

Dean’s silent for a long moment, then-

“What the fuck do you mean, curse.”

“Me.” You mumble. “Curse on me.”

“And how did a curse get on you-“

“Rowena.”

“That fucking bitch.” He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me-“

That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesn’t seem to care at all. “I was worried you’d hate me.”

“I- what?”

“I was worried-“

“I heard you,” he grunts. “I just, why the hell would you ever think I’d hate you-“

“Because I suck.” You whisper. “And I can’t- I don’t deserve you.”

Dean’s silent again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You think you don’t deserve me?”

You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. You’re still not strong enough to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you- I’m not-“ He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?”

You hum. Like you’d even have a choice.

“What will cure the curse.”

“I need to,” you try to fight down the words, but you’re light-headed and faint and Dean’s hand is really warm, so you fail. “I need to resolve my deepest secret.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “What’s your deepest secret?”

You’re going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, that’s prying the truth out of you, and he’s just looking at you and you can’t do this-

“Dean, I-“ You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you can’t look away. But you can’t stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Dean’s disgust, that might kill you right here. “Please turn around.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I need you to turn around.” You whisper. “Please.”

He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and it’s like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Can’t remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that you’re kind of a dork and a loser but you’re also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-“ You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Dean’s back. “A way that I shouldn’t talk about-“

“How do you want me.” He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“On me.” You whisper. “In me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Dean’s silent. He’s not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-

“You-“ He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear he’s leaning slightly backward. “You want me.”

“Yeah, I- yes.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.” Too late to go back now. “I love you, Dean.”

“Why- why didn’t you tell me?”

He sounds broken. He sounds sad.

You’re so confused. It’s almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.

“I- I didn’t think you’d-“ Not care. Dean couldn’t not care. He cares too much. “I wasn’t sure what-“

“What I’d say?”

“What you’d do.”

“What would you-“ He’s definitely leaning back. He’s closer, too. “What would you want me to do?”

“What would I want?”

Dean nods.

“I- it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes it-“ He sighs, twisting around to face you. You can’t read the expression on his face. It’s lost and it’s afraid and it’s… hopeful. There’s this small light that’s so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. “Please,” he mutters your name, and you might be melting. “Just, entertain me. What would you want me to do?”

“I’d want to tell me you love me.” You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. “Like I love you.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. “But I- I tried to kill you-“

“The demon tried to kill me. That wasn’t really you-“

“Yes, it was-“

“No.” Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. “You saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-“

“Anyone would’ve done that-“

“But they didn’t.” You snap. “You did. And I don’t love anyone, I love you.”

“That’s-“ He groans, his voice growing hoarse. “You- why?”

“What do you mean, why-“

“Why would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-“

“It’s not a prank-“

“Well why?” He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. “Why the hell would you love me-“

“Because I like loving you.” You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. “It feels right. And I- I know you don’t love me-“

You’re not sure what’s happening. Dean’s hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.

The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything he’s silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.

“You’re, shit.” Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. “You’re such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.”

You lean back to frown at him. “No I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. But I am too.” He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. “Seems like we’re made for each other, huh.”

“Dean, I-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. “Gimme a second.”

“Dean-“

“Please,” he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. It’s strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, you’ll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going.

“Okay.” You whisper, and—taking the biggest gamble of your life—lean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and you’d have panicked if it didn’t seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish.

“I- uh,” Dean says your name slowly, and it’s odd. You’ve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. “I lo-“ He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. “You. I- you- it’s- fuck.” He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah. I do, I-“ He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if he’s trying to tell your body more than your mind. “I love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Did it work?”

It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed you—like it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said it—but now the world is just color and light and Dean. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. He’s all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You don’t know how you missed it before, because it’s in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasn’t holding you.

“Yeah.” You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “Any time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.“

“It’s fine, I-“ You paused, frowning at him. “Were you jealous?”

He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. “Obviously.”

“Of Sam-“

“You were really close with him all the time.” Dean snaps. “And I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually you’d come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-“

“Because I don’t love Sam. I love you, that’s why I told you-”

“I didn’t fucking know that.” He grumbles. “I- Sam doesn’t know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- You’re not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didn’t-“

“Your girl?” Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods.

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Yes.” You squeak, and Dean’s hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. “Yes, please.”

“You sure?” He raises his brows, and it’s really hard to think when he’s so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. He’s really broad and warm against you, and he’s really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesn’t mean-

“Yeah, but are, are you sure-“

“Baby, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. “And I’d be very happy to prove that.”

“Prove it?” You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. “I, um, that, how-“

“However you’d like,” he says your name with a smirk, and it’s amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. “You wanna tell me how’d you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?”

You might be drooling. “Suggestions, please.”

Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.

“We could start slow,” he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. “I could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-“

“No!” You yelp. “Not slow-“

Dean’s hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp.

“Alright, baby, not slow.” He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. “But we’re going on a date. I’ve had years to plan it, wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. “How- what do you mean years-“

“You’re not the only one who had that at first sight thing.” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve lost sleep over you, baby girl. We’re going to do this right, no witches involved, but,” he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. “I’ve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if I’m going waste time not doing them.”

“Yeah, good, do that-“ You gasp as Dean’s thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. “Shit, Dean-“

“That’s my name.” He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. “C’mon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-“

“I, I’m ready-“

He chuckles. “No, you’re not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.”

“What if, fuck-“ You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-

“What if what, pretty girl?” He teases, his pace increasing slightly. “Use your words.”

Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. “What if I want you to break me?” You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. “Please, Dean-“

“You, fuck-“ He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. “Not now, baby, need to be gentle-“

“No you don’t-“

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and you’re pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but it’s mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.

“Dean-“

“Listen to me.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. “Fuck, you nearly just died-“

“I’m okay now.” You whisper. “I feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-“

He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point you’ll take anything Dean offers you-

“Fuck yeah, you do.” He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. “Bet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-“

“Slow.” You sigh, and he nods.

“Slow. But,” Dean’s free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take care of you, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?”

You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.

“Say okay, sweetheart.” He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and you’re already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. “Fuck, so good, I can’t wait to ruin you, baby, you’re never gonna even think about another cock-“

You haven’t thought about another cock in years, and you haven’t even seen it yet. But Dean’s thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Dean’s fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, he’s good-

Dean’s thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesn’t fuck you now.

“Look so pretty, cumming on my hand.” Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. “Bet you’ll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.”

You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so you’re straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You don’t even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isn’t being split open on Dean’s cock. Who doesn’t have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isn’t being held up by his hand on their waist.

But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to press—light and taunting—on your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.

“Shit,” Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you before. As if you’re somewhere they’d always expected to be, and they’re still in awe that you’re there. “Gotta be careful, want this to-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower.

“You need to listen.” His voice is gravely and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you’d do whatever he told you to, but that doesn’t mean you can’t whine and scratch lightly at his chest.

“Dean, move-“

“You gonna listen?”

“Yes, just, fuck-“ You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips.

“Want you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,” Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. “Or next time might be more than wrecking.”

Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and you’re more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this.

“Need more, Dean,” you whisper. “Need it so bad-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. “Think you’re ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-“

You’d stared to move the movement he’d said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Dean’s cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean’s voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike he’sa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way he’s touching you. Not as if he’s afraid to break you, but afraid you’ll shatter him.

And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until they’re sensitive and bare, and into your brain until it’s all just Dean.

You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, but—when Dean just groans and ruts up into you—quickly picking up pace until you’re bouncing on Dean’s cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-

“Shit, I’m- Slow down-“

Dean’s hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums.

“There you go baby, such a good girl.” His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. “You’re so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-“

You make a high, breathless sound you don’t recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.

“You alright up there-“

“Good,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. “So good, Dean, feels so good-“

“Need a little more?”

“Yes-“

“More descriptive than that, sweet girl.” He teases, and when this is done, you’re going to kill him. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to-“

“You,” the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. “Just you, only need you-“

“You love me?” Dean’s voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, there’s a small chink in his armor. You don’t know if you pried it open, or if you’ve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesn’t really believe that you love him.

And that’s the only thing you’ve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Dean’s a given and loving him feels like breathing.

So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I’m yours.”

He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. “You don’t need to be, it’s- you know, dirty talk-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I’m still yours.”

Dean’s nostrils flare, and you know you’re not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.

You’re fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isn’t Dean. Isn’t his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isn’t his cock hitting part of you that you didn’t know existed and filling you up so much you’re not sure how you’re ever going to manage being empty again.

You don’t think you will have to manage. Dean’s holding you like he’s trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. You’ll feel the bliss Dean’s drawing from your body that’s better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.

You’ll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. “Fuck, you’re so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly.

“Goddamnit, sweetheart-“ He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. “Fuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-“

You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know he’s lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-

Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. It’s not sudden, but you couldn’t never anticipated the power of it—like someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a star—or how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name.

Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You stole my line.”

“Nah.” He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. “You could have anyone you want, baby, but you’re here, with an asshole like me-“

“You’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, I am.” He shrugs, like you can’t see how his own words pierce him through that chink. “Shit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-“

“And I’ve been lying to you for years.” You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. “Neither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.” You pause, giving him your best stern glare. “To a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.”

Dean laughs, his around wrapped—gentle and relaxed—around you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until it’s just Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldn’t really care. You’re still where you need to be.

“Would you,” he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but it’s wrapped in soft fear. “I’m not good at- shit-“

He’s going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.

“Can we go on a date, Dean?”

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.”

Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean.

And you’ll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.

End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible

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

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witchywcmans · 8 months ago

Text

TOO SWEET. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after accepting his new title, your moments alone with laios start to become a rarity. it was hard for him to find time, making him long for the days in the dungeon with you. and now, the kisses between you two were quick and desperate, until one night...when a very tired laios just can't seem to ignore you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ cunnilingus + fingering, praise, size kink, reader on top, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, yearning + sexual tension, laios and reader haven't boinked in a bit, monster facts as dirty talk ofc, confession, mentions of dubious consent in 5th paragraph (from when the winged lion switched into laios's body). nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.4k

song inspiration ━━ howl, florence + the machine / oil & water, pvris / love story, taylor swift

author's note ━━ THIS ONE-SHOT CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF DUNGEON MESHI! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! okay, part 3 (and final part) of my laios series is here! like the other parts, this could be read as a standalone, if you want. my plan for part 3 was to make it vague in case ppl who haven’t read the manga want to read it, but that kinda went out the window. I highly encourage everyone to read the manga if you want more of the story, it gets so interesting! I'm a SUCKER for a knight x ruler ship, so that's what you're getting in this!! I've enjoyed writing this little connected series so much and it really pushed me to start writing reader one-shots! if it hadn't been for all the ppl in the dungeon meshi fandom who read my work, I probably wouldn't have started this. this anime + manga has become one of my absolute favorites!! I hope you guys enjoy this! ps: don't worry, I will be writing more laios in the future 😉

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

After what felt like years, all was right in the world when the Island’s dungeon was destroyed and the Golden Kingdom finally rose from the sea. You had gotten to know Laios – in more ways than one – throughout your journey inside the dungeon, which had left you terrified at some points, especially when you almost lost him. But it hadn’t surprised you when the people had declared him King of a land that was thought to have been perished 1000 years ago. With everything he sacrificed, Laios – the devour of monsters, the destroyer of demons – was the only right person to rule.

With the help of Marcille, Senshi, Chilchuck, and even more friends met along the way, Laios was advised thoroughly as he undertook the stresses of establishing the Golden Kingdom once again. He had to deal with villager problems, instituting the economy, and keeping an eye on the monsters that took residence in surrounding lands. He watched them from his bedroom window on the farthest tower of the castle, admiring the beasts that warded off any threats to the kingdom. But his passion had become the production and preservation of food throughout his land, specifically in regards to magic and monsters. He made sure not one person in the Golden Kingdom went hungry, even if it killed him someday.

Most days were spent researching with his advisors or sitting in the throne room, listening to villagers' pleas for more building materials, better water, or whatever else they came up with that day. Laios made sure to listen to every ask, but he had to admit – just talking to people was exhausting. He never regretted his decision to become King, but sometimes … he longed for the days in the dungeons, tearing into whatever monster they cooked up that night, fighting alongside you, holding your hand or kissing you … tasting you.

Like your former party members, you had taken up residence in the castle as Laios’s chief knight and sworn protector. It made sense, given the fact that you had saved him with your crossbow on several occasions in the dungeon. You frequented by his side, except when he was in his own chambers. You led him to meetings, walked with him through the streets of the kingdom, protected him if any threats arose. Ever since you took up this mantle, your moments alone together had become rare. There had been one night: after Laios was safe and sound in the walls of the castle … that you shared his bed with him, tears streaming down your face because you had been so worried for him, but it didn’t matter anymore now that he was safe, and healing, and pounding into you so hard that it left you both gasping for air. Besides that, the only encounters you had alone were fleeting, consisting of swift, passionate kisses and rough squeezes in dark corners. You two hadn’t been intimate in any sense of the word since … well, since the Winged Lion was defeated.

Just the memory of the demon made you shiver. You remembered when the Wing Lion had switched into Laios’s body and granted his true desire to become a monster. Before trying to escape the dungeon, he had tried fooling all the party members that he really was Laios and he almost fooled you. You recalled the way he had tried to kiss you – probably devouring your own desires right from your mouth – and how his hands so eagerly tried to slip underneath your skirt, finding you already aching and ready for your lover, just needing to be touched after being so distraught over Laios’s wellbeing. But you recognized the foreign contact from a mile away, and you had pushed him back, screaming at the Winged Lion to bring back your Laios.

You shook yourself out of the memory as you walked Laios back to his bed chambers that night. His stomach was full from dinner, but he was also worn out from a long day of meeting with his advisors. Marcille had really chewed into him about something today, but you weren’t sure of the reason. Holding open the door to his room for him, you caught his tired, lingering gaze before he disappeared inside. You swallowed hard, stationing yourself outside his door, your fingers on the handle of your sword. Nights like these were hard. They were lonely. It was just you out here, manning the King’s chambers, with nothing but the memory of his mouth between your legs or his groans echoing in your ears.

His half-lidded eyes tonight had you reeling, squeezing your thighs together as you tried to forget about how much you wanted him. It had been almost two weeks since he last kissed you. And that kiss had been quick, desperate, two people colliding in the small, unlit closet used by the maids.

Your hand enclosed around the hilt of your sword, and you nodded at two other guards walking past. If you kept losing yourself to daydreams like this, there was no way you’d be focused enough to protect Laios from an immediate threat. That’s what mattered after all: the King’s protection … the King’s protection … the King. Surely, it wasn’t wise to be so entranced with the new King of the Golden Kingdom as his sworn sword. And again, you understood why you were picked. But it was nights like this where you really wished you had just been … his lover. Hell, you’d even survive with just being a lady of the court if it meant no more secret meetings in closets.

You could’ve dwelled on this predicament for hours, if the door to the Laios’s chambers wasn’t opening.

You turned immediately, your hand on the hilt of your sword going tight. But it was just Laios, leaning against the open door and rubbing at his tired eyes. He had shed his fancy clothes for a nightshirt and loose-fitting drawers. His hair had grown a bit longer, and he refused to cut it out of spite. The way it was sticking out right now, pushed back slightly by his hand … you swore you could feel your knees buckling.

“Your Grace?” You greeted, remaining professional, until you saw that look in his eyes again. That tired, lingering gaze. Full of want, and care, and desperation for another body against his.

His eyes crinkled, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your call. “Please, do not feel the need to call me that at this hour.” He then held out his hand, beckoning you closer.

Swallowing hard, your eyes flicker down the barren hallway before taking his hand, letting him lead you inside his bed chambers. This was the moment you’d been waiting for so long. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as he slowly shut the large door. You unhooked your belt and scabbard, setting them by the door. As you turned to him, he was already in front of you, helping you take off your armor. His fingers were slow, not in a hurry, as he fiddled with the metal fasteners. He struggled with some clasps, muttering under his breath, and you laughed softly. Each piece was set delicately on the ground, and then he was lifting off your chainmail as if it weighed nothing. You sometimes wondered how you were able to walk around with such heavy material every day since taking up this mantle.

Finally, you were left in nothing but your clothes beneath the armor: a loose red tunic and suede trousers. The relaxed nature in his eyes vanished, replaced by an intense hunger, mirroring the stance of a wolf. Laios was rushing towards you, pushing you against the wall, and pressing his mouth onto yours. You matched his desire tenfold, winding your hands into his hair as you kissed each other with desperation. His fingers fisted into the sides of your shirt, pulling you against him, while his tongue prodded into your mouth. He groaned immediately. All this time without tasting just a bit of you had him weak in the knees. He’d never go this long without kissing you ever again.

“It’s been weeks,” he muttered between kisses. Gone was the monster-obsessed adventurer who saved you from turning into a sea serpent. He’d been replaced by a King who yearned for your touch the second he saw you every morning.

“Since we last kissed,” you corrected as he pressed your back even further into the cold, stone wall. His lips broke away from yours, leaving a trail of spit connecting you two. You exhaled, “It’s been months since we were alone for longer than two minutes.”

“I know,” he sighed, now nuzzling his cheek against yours, “and I’m sorry. All I want to do is go back to the dungeon … with you. It’s just … there’s no time, and I’m so tired.” His mouth then dragged to the shell of your ear, and you shivered when his hot breath ghosted over the side of your face. “But the way you looked tonight at dinner … I don’t know … it was the way the wine made your face red … no matter how tired I was, I had to have you tonight. I missed you so much.”

You were sure that your cheeks had to be as flushed now as they were at dinner. Just his kiss alone had you wet, already wrapped around his finger. “I missed you too, Laios.”

He hardly gave you a second to continue before he was kneeling in front of you. He couldn’t wait; there was this fierce longing in his eyes that only you could cure. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your trousers as he muttered, “I need to taste you.”

Despite his desperation, he did take a moment to admire how soaked your underwear was, how he had always been the one to cause this. You looked down at him and he looked up at you. With long, expert fingers, Laios tugged your underwear down along with your trousers. Your pussy was absolutely dripping, like a goddamn faucet. A whine escaped his lips, hungry for a taste, and he spread your folds just slightly to see the wetness gather. There were just about a thousand monster dishes he enjoyed, but nothing – absolutely nothing – compared to how delicious you were.

Laios didn’t even give you time to step out of your pants and underwear. He was grasping your hips and burying his face between your legs, pushing you right back against the wall. You choked on a moan, even though you both knew you had to be quiet, but you just couldn’t help yourself. He placed one of your legs on his shoulder to give him better access, and when he finally got the first few drops of you on his tongue, he damn near started crying.

You were exquisite. You were too sweet. Sweet like Dryad fruit.

Grinding your hips against his tongue, you whined out his name and realized how badly you had needed him in this way for weeks. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging his face deeper into your pussy. He lapped at you, absolutely ravenous, groaning when more slick entered his mouth. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked harshly. His fingers dug into your hip, surely bruising you, while his other hand wrapped around your leg and pushed them even further apart.

“Missed the way you tasted,” he muttered before flicking your clit with his tongue. “I could do this for hours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, already hazy from his touch. “Why don’t you then?”

“I want to,” he chuckled, all awkward and blushing. Just the sight of him looking up at you with those pretty eyes while licking a stripe up your pussy had you gasping. “Tomorrow. I promise. I just need to be inside you tonight.”

His promise for tomorrow had your heart fluttering. You both were going to make time again, but he also had more plans for you tonight. This wasn’t going to be just two minutes in a closet. Thinking of him stretching your walls with his girth, pushing into you after all these weeks of yearning for him, of touching yourself whenever you could because you just missed him so much … it all made you start to buck your hips against his tongue again. You knew how much he loved that. You physically felt him smile against you, sucking on your clit once again as he prodded one finger inside your tight warmth.

Your eyes rolled back once he found your g-spot, curling his finger and beginning to pump in and out. “Fuck, Laios, I –”

“Needed this so badly,” he confessed, swirling his tongue around your increasingly swollen clit. His cock was straining against his drawers, precum seeping through the thin fabric, but he wanted you to cum on his tongue first. It’s all he’d been dreaming about. “Needed you.”

“I needed you too,” you whispered, and then felt him add a second finger inside of you. You bit the side of your hand, muffling your moan. “So good – fuck. Doing so good, Laios –”

Your body was starting to shake, your walls clenching around his fingers. Laios was relishing in your taste, teasing your clit in the most delicious way. You were so, so close and he needed this so much and so did you and before you knew it, you were crying out into your hand again. Your pussy went tight as his fingers curled into your g-spot and you came all over his waiting tongue. Laios whimpered when he finally tasted your release, pushing his face as much as he could into your pussy, almost suffocating himself. He licked at you, making sure he got every last drop, and when your hips finally stilled, he pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop and lapped at the excess.

Sweat ran down your brow as you settled against the wall, trying to calm your breathing. When you opened your eyes, Laios was getting to his feet and towering over you. His hand clasped around your jaw and gave you another bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It was like he was trying to devour you, to mold both of you into one so you could be together forever.

Carrying you over to the bed, he set you down on top of the blankets and finally tugged your pants and underwear from your ankles. You laughed together when he realized that he had gotten so excited he forgot to rid you of these. "Sorry," he said, setting them down in a pile.

You couldn't help but smile when you noticed the blush on his cheeks. "Missed me that much, huh?"

His face went even more pink. "Stop embarrassing me when I'm trying to seduce you."

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, and before his fingers could grasp the hem of your tunic, you were pinning him with the brute strength he forgot you acquired in the dungeon. "You don't have to do much to seduce me, Laios," you whispered in his ear, making him shudder.

Now underneath you, you straddled Laios's lap, feeling how hard he was in his drawers. He looked up at you in shock, like you were an offering from the Gods, as you lifted your tunic off and dropped it to the floor. His breathing stilled, watching the way your breasts heaved, and his cock was practically begging for release.

You leaned down, pressing your mouth to his throat, placing sloppy kisses on areas that made his breath hitch. This was the new King of the Golden Kingdom under you, trembling from just your lips on his skin. He was wrapped around your finger just as much as you were wrapped around his. Dragging your lips down, you kissed his chest before finally swirling your tongue around one of his nipples. Laios muttered expletives under his breath as you wrapped your lips around his nipple, pinching his other one. His whole body was becoming tense underneath you, his straining erection poking against your backside, but you kept teasing him.

At the end of the day, you were always there for your King.

Once both his nipples were taut and wet from your expert tongue, you leaned back up to his face and kissed the corner of his mouth. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, cupping your face so tenderly. “Laios, I just want to be extra sure. Do you want to …?” Your question hung heavy between you two, but recognition flashed in Laios’s eyes. You nuzzled the side of his face and added, “I know you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you up if you’re that exhausted.”

“I’ve been thinking about this – about you – for weeks,” he said, his eyes filled with need. “I want this. I want you.”

You stared at him, absolutely melting at the sight of that dopey grin on his face once again, the one you loved so, so much. Now you were blushing, unable to not giggle when you saw that grin. You traced the curve of his mouth with your finger, and he bit down on the top of it unexpectedly, making you both laugh. This is why you loved Laios: everything was so easy with him.

Wait, love. Is that was this was? The burning feeling in your chest whenever he was near. The way you couldn’t help but smile whenever he did, or how you always laughed along with him. The natural disposition to protect him, whether it be from demons or people. The way you could so easily melt under his touch, under his kiss. It had always been there, staring you right in the face … love.

Feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest, you finally moved so he could push down his drawers, and his hard cock sprang free. Precum leaked from the blushing red tip, dripping down his shaft and onto his stomach. You adored how pretty his cock was, how easily he could stretch you out with his girth. He liked the way you looked at it now, how you praised him. It took a couple of times, but he eventually stopped being embarrassed about his size around you. He still liked to give you monster facts as he fucked you sometimes – as a treat.

Laios’s hands settled on your hips as you lifted yourself, positioning yourself above his cock. You wrapped your hand around his shaft to get the perfect angle, smearing his precum and making him hiss. “Did … did you know,” he said, voice strangled, “the maximum speed of a Red Dragon is approximately – oh, fuck – 60 kilometers per hour?”

“Mhmm …” You hummed, finally lowering yourself with his help, sinking down onto his cock slowly. Once he slipped a few inches inside your warm, wet walls, you both gasped. You placed your free hand on his chest and encouraged, “Tell me more, Laios.”

“Gods …” He breathed out, feeling your body quiver above him. “I … uh – fuck … people have theorized that changelings – shit – use their ability to change living things in order to propagate their species – fuck, almost there –”

You both let out a breath of relief once he was finally seated inside you. Laios sat up, tugging you more against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You stayed there for a moment, adjusting to his size once again, clinging to him as he kissed your cheek and murmured how you took him so well. You’d probably never get used to how big he was, but he filled you so nicely, so completely. After making sure you were comfortable, Laios decided to take the reins and began moving you on his cock. You whimpered after the first pass, and he had to grip your hips so tightly just to stop himself from going overboard, wanting to make this last just a little while longer. Each roll of your hips had you mewling as his cock curved inside you, brushing your spongy g-spot. His fingers dug into your skin, rocking you back and forth, grinding your already oversensitive clit against his pelvis.

Burying your face into his neck, you let him start to bounce you on his cock. He groaned, feeling himself throb inside your tight heat. Everything about you was perfect: from the way you fit him inside of you so nicely to the way you whined against his skin, begging for more. He was thoroughly obsessed with you. It was a miracle that it took him so long to initiate with you after the Golden Kingdom had risen. He found himself thinking about your touch, about your taste, more often than not. And the way you smiled at him, your laughter sounding like wind chimes in a busy street market … he knew how deep his feelings went, farther than he expected. He was the King but you were the one who brought him to his knees every time.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, biting and sucking on the side of your neck. “You always feel so good … so warm …”

He started thrusting up into you when his arms got a little tired, and you let him simply take control. There was so little control he had in his life now, especially since he was being watched almost all the time, so you’d give him this – you’d give him you. And gods, did it feel good to just melt into him, to not be his sworn sword, just for a little while. Right now, you two were just lovers, desperate to soothe each other’s ache.

The expansive bedroom was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and moans echoing off the ceiling. Your arousal oozed out with each roll of your hips, dripping onto the lavish blankets befit for a King. But neither of you seemed to give a damn as his nails created crescent shapes in your hips, and you squeezed around him so much that he choked on a whimper. With your face nuzzling the crook of his neck, you carded your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly and eliciting another sound from him.

“Did you also know,” he began in a strained tone, “fuck – wargs have no fear of monsters larger than themselves – please, fuck – not even … not even dragons?”

“Are we still doing that?” You snorted, lifting your head from his neck.

He laughed along with you, and now you both were looking into each other’s eyes as he thrust up into you, hitting the best spots. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, moaning at the way you squirmed. His tongue moved to lick up the valley between your breasts, almost animalistic, before his mouth was grazing yours and his eyes were burning into you like melted gold. You clung onto him tighter, your chest flush against him, and you knew then that this wasn’t just fucking anymore. Laios was making love to you and you were making love to him and – fuck, he was going to make you cum so hard to make up for the past few weeks.

You were creating an absolute mess on top of him, just a blabbering heap of moans and whines, eyes locked on his as you rode him into oblivion. “I’m gonna cum,” you mewled, unable to keep your voice level. Your fingers tugged on his hair again, and he responded by downright slamming you up and down his thick cock.

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” One of his hands left your hip to reach in between your bodies, where you both were linked, and two fingers began to circle your clit. You hissed, back arching even more into him. Your vow to be quiet long forgotten as he teased your ache. “That’s it … there you go.”

Laios knew his strength, and it was certainly showing it off tonight. He was rocking your hips on his cock – so close to release – while rubbing your clit in tight circles. His sweet nothings in your ear had you crying out his name, and after a few more messy passes, you were cumming around him. You were shaking like fresh mandrake in his arms. Your walls squeezed him so tight that it only took one more thrust up into you before he was emptying himself into you. He came with a lewd groan, his hands falling to his sides and leaving you to bounce yourself on his cock through his release. Eventually, when the wave after wave of pleasure settled between you both, you slumped against him and breathed heavily. And he just held you, burying his face in your neck and licking at the bites he left on your bruised skin.

When you lifted your head to kiss him, he surprised you by rolling you onto your back, his soft cock slipping out and leaving you feeling empty. He kneeled at the end of the bed and spread your legs wide open, letting your combined releases spill out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and the anguish in his tone stunned you. “It’s been weeks, and I just … I need you.”

As soon as the word, “Please,” left your lips, he was diving in again, spreading your folds with two fingers. He licked a long stripe through your pussy, gathering your releases on his tongue. He didn’t care that he was tasting his own cum; all he wanted was this – you. He lapped at you, still starving for your taste, and the way he had you cumming again was slow, calculated. Laios edged you, teetering you on the brink of release, before his hunger got the best of him. And when you came again on his tongue, it felt long and relaxing, like a weight had been lifted off you. Warmth seeped from your aching pussy and onto his tongue. He drank his fill, relishing in your sweetness.

Laios rose back on the bed, curling against your side like a tamed dire wolf. His arms slotted against you, pulling your naked front against his once again. His hand lifted to your cheek, pushing strands of hair behind your ear. Your noses brushed against each other, and he finally kissed you, slowly and passionately. There was no desperation left in him. It was replaced by the steady rhythm of his heart next to yours.

“I love you, Laios,” you blurted in the softest voice you could muster. Once you realized what you said, you didn’t dare open your eyes to see his reaction. You simply felt him, his lips hovering just over yours, and then he hummed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and your eyes opened to watch him. That dazed grin appeared once again, making your insides twist and your cheeks tinged pink.

Laios practically giggled and pecked your lips just to soothe your nerves. “I’m not sure how to handle you like this,” he joked, finally making you laugh with him. “Usually, you’re the one making me nervous.”

“I just …” You shook your head. “I was afraid you wouldn’t say it back.”

“I thought it was obvious that I’ve been in love with you since we first met,” he said in that straightforward tone of his. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones and he smiled. “Seems like I’m cooler than I thought.”

You chuckled, hitting his chest and making him fall back onto the bed. You were sitting up slightly, propping your elbow and resting your chin in your hand. Laios was looking up at you like you put the stars in the sky. Both of you knew, instinctively, that a King being intimate with his sworn protector was typically frowned upon. Neither of you truly cared, but the opinions of his people had to matter. He was a new King after all, and every move of his would be scrutinized. Which left him with one option.

Lacing his fingers with yours, he said, “We should get married.”

Your brow furrowed. “That seems a little rash.”

It was your gut instinct to deflect, to push him away, even when you scooted yourself closer to him. But you couldn’t deny that this had been in the back of your mind, shoved in the dark corners when you thought it might be too crazy of an idea. The first time it popped into your brain was when you saw Laios’s monster form lying helpless on the ground. His body was deteriorating, blood seeping out from every crevice of the three-headed creature. The Winged Lion had been defeated, but you couldn’t stop the wail that erupted from your mouth as you took in Laios’s monster body, reeking of death and despair. You remembered running from from the tower, taking one of the heads in your arms, and crying, your tears soaking the fur.

But then you and Marcille found him amongst the trees of the island, where Falin’s body had been frozen and resting against a boulder. From the moment his eyes met yours, you had no doubt that this was your Laios. And he was okay. He was tired, but he was okay. You didn’t think you could shed any more tears, but then you were running towards him, wrapping your arms around him, and he was burying his face in your neck and – gods, that had to be when you knew. With the relief flooding through you and his arms embracing you … you knew then that you wanted to be with him forever. You didn’t want to see him in harm’s way ever again. You would kill – again and again – for him. You would be by his side as long as he would have you. You loved him. You wanted him. Forever.

Laios snorted, bringing you out of the memory. “Rash? After how long we’ve known each other?” His tone grew serious. “I trust you with my life. That’s why I named you my sword. But I don’t want to go weeks without you ever again. I love you – I’m in love with you – and I know that I don’t want anyone else by my side.” He squeezed your fingers in his own. “I want to marry you. And then, we can be together freely with you as my Queen and sword sword.” He then paused, thinking. “We can do that, right?”

You laughed. “You’re the King. You can make your own rules, but …” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip for a moment as you mulled over his words. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“I’ve never been more certain about anything.” He then tapped his chin, feigning curiosity. “Unless you want me to marry Marcille? It would certainly be a loveless marriage, but she can be friendly when she isn’t advising me.”

Shaking you head, you flicked his arm. “Not sure if your sister would appreciate that. Or Marcille, for that matter.” Not even magic could force those two apart. They would love each other until the end of time.

Your eyes narrowed now. “Are you actually proposing to me without a ring, Your Grace?”

The formality made him cringe, but then his face relaxed as he stared up at you, taking in your beauty. You were the most beautiful like this, vulnerable and bare with your hair jutting out at every angle and your lips swollen from kissing him. But he’d reckon you were beautiful in every light. He couldn’t help but also think back to when you found him by Falin’s crystalized form, how it felt to just hold you again after such an egregious fight. Your warmth had seeped into him, reminding him of home. You were home. And that was when he knew, too, that he wanted to be bound to you.

Laios brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles. “Once the sun rises, you will get a proper proposal. I’ve always been a man of my word, haven’t I?”

And that he was. Because the moment you stirred awake the next morning, still sleeping in his bed, you opened your eyes to find Laios, King of Golden Kingdom, kneeling at your bedside. He held out a ring to you, eagerly awaiting your response. Once your eyes adjusted to the light and you saw his golden doe eyes, his big grin, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Of course, you said, Yes.

#my fics #fic: too sweet #laios touden x reader #laios touden smut #laios x reader #laios touden x reader smut #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #one shot: too sweet #fic: please eat #fic: forbidden fruit #dunmeshi laios #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi spoilers

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ifancyharry · 1 year ago

Text

Ever since New York

what it is: in which YN is Harry Styles's personal assistant, but maybe she should quit her job?

September.

Harry was running late. He knew he was running late because he didn’t even have the time to check on his phone how much late he was running. He hated being late. It wasn’t really in his character. In his manners. It’s not because he didn’t like people waiting on him, he loves being the center of attention; he loves having all eyes on him when he enters a room.

He just didn’t like being late because of the wasted time. Wasted time he took off work. And as of right now, work was pretty much his life. His purpose.

So being late, was kind of a big deal to him.

Y/N, on the other hand, was used to being late. And she, too, hated it. She hated the attention it came with it. But it was just in her nature, not because she wanted it, but because it happened to her. Like this morning. Her go-to local Starbucks was swamped with people, and she really wanted a pumpkin spice latte, since it was almost the beginning of fall and she still hadn’t had one.

So, it’s not like she could skip the coffee run. But said coffee run took longer than expected and made her late to her job interview. On top of that, once she exited the cafe, winning cup of coffee slightly burning her hand, it started raining, and of course she hadn’t bought her umbrella, because who brings an umbrella to a job interview?, and plus she really couldn’t be bothered to carry the weight of said object with her all around New York.

So, when she enters the Madison Square Garden Arena, she’s soaked. She almost can hear the squishy sound her Converse make as she walks, her socks feeling rather scratchy against her skin.

She jogs a little towards the backstage area, trying to recall what was said on the email that was sent to her with all the interview details. She’s breathing heavily through her nose, not really used to all the running she had to endure, and she feels hot. She’s positive the heater is on and the sudden contrast with the chilly September air makes her coat feel too warm and her jeans too tight.

She takes a moment to stop herself, trying to calm her heart and breathing down as she takes small sips of her drink. She’s already late, soaked, and sweaty, she might as well enjoy her well awaited drink in peace. She’s sure she’s not going to get the job, anyway. Leave it to her to think she’d fail before even trying.

Harry Styles personal assistant? Yes, she’s known to be a dreamer, but not to that extent. When her friend Anna had told her that her boyfriend had a friend that went to college with Jeff Azoff (she didn’t even know that said Jeff went to college), that he was looking for trustworthy people who could be fit for the job and that he had recommended YN, she thought Anna was pulling a sad excuse of a prank on her. Little did she know, about ten days later, she’d gotten an email from Jeff himself where he asked her if she was down for a little get-to-know-me interview.

Anna knew how much YN needed the job.Young, jobless, and living in New York didn’t really go together too well, and she knew that YN wanted to save as much money as possible to fulfill her life’s dream of studying art in Florence, so she pressured her friend to at least go to the interview. So that’s how she got herself in this situation, sipping her coffee while she regained her breath.

She’s so lost in her own train of thoughts that she doesn’t even realize she stopped in the middle of a hallway. She’s reading a flyer on the wall absentmindedly when she’s hit by a big, sturdy object that makes her loose her balance. She tries to grip her hands onto something to gain some kind of balance, but that only results in her coffee exploding from its own paper cup that she squeezed too hard, the cap flying off and falling on the ground.

“Fuck!” She exclaims as her bum hits the floor with a loud thump. She can feel the coffee on her coat and all over her hands as she raises her eyes from her pumpkin scented, soaked coat and lays her sight on what she thought was an object, but was, actually, a person. Her employer, more like. If she wasn’t convinced enough that she wasn’t going to get the job, she’s sure as hell now.

“What the fuck!” Harry, who had been running really fast to try and get on time to this stupid interview he had to endure, really hadn’t taken in consideration that someone could be standing in the middle of the hallway he was running down on.

So, he really thought it was safe to run and check his phone at the same time; big mistake.

It’s not like he was checking his phone for his own personal business, he was just texting Jeff that he was on his way.

“Who stands in the middle of a fucking hallway!” He shouts, but he isn’t even looking at her as he speaks. He’s looking at his shirt, that now has a big, beige colored, stain on it.

He grips the hem of the shirt with his hands and brings the stained part to his nose, which he scrunches immediately in disgust: “is this regular milk? God, it’s making me sick”.

YN really couldn’t get anything out of her mouth as she slowly gets up from her position on the floor and raises to her feet. She knows she’s supposed to say something, maybe apologize, but it suddenly feels like she doesn’t know how to talk anymore. She’s afraid, if she speaks, she’d blabber something incoherent and make a fool out of herself. Not that she didn’t already.

Plus, if she’s really being honest, he kind of sounds like an asshole, so she’s not particularly keen on begging for his forgiveness.

“If you were walking like a normal person, this wouldn’t have happened!” She murmurs, but he’s already too far out of reach to hear, otherwise she’s sure he would’ve said something else. She heavily sighs as she walks behind him, careful to leave a big amount of space between them so it doesn’t look like she’s following him.

When she enters the room, after knocking gently on the door, he’s already sat on the chair next to Jeff, a bunch of papers scattered on the desk in front of them.

She clears her throat a little and Jeff raises his eyes to her, giving her a small smile and gesturing to the chair in front of them.

Harry, arm bent at the elbow, one hand under the table and the other holding his phone, doesn’t bother to look at who came in until he’s finished reading his emails. He wouldn’t have to read his emails if he hadn’t wasted his time by being late, and mostly by being tackled by a wet puppy looking girl and her stupid pumpkin spice latte. The said pumpkin spice latte that is all over his designer shirt.

When he finally raises his glance, he’s met with a pair of big, wide eyes that remind him of those of a scared deer caught in headlights, and there’s no hint of a joke in his tone as he says: “fuck no.”

...

YN wonders whether she should quit.

It’s not her fault, really, and it’s not like she isn’t trying. She thinks she’s doing a fairly good job.

She’s trying really hard to make up for the coffee incident, and she begged Harry to tell her where he got his shirt so she could at least repurchase it for him, but once he’d told her it was Gucci, she realized it cost more than her rent so she let it go… trying the best she could to watch where she was going as to not repeat the accident again.

Harry is… well, he’s kind of difficult to work with.

She doesn’t know whether it’s because of the coffee incident or because he just doesn’t like her, but he’s really stand-offish.

He doesn’t talk much to her — only when the work demands it, and at first it was fine, YN understood why he’d act like that, but now it’s just getting kind of frustrating, especially because he’s making her job ten times harder than it already is.

She’s determined to show him that just because they started off on the wrong foot, she’s not just some clumsy little girl that had to have friends in the right places to get a job!

“Harry?” She trails off, peeking her head inside his dressing room.

He’s sitting on the couch, his back bent down and his hands fiddling with his shoe laces.

YN notices he’s dressed in his workout clothes (a pair of Nike shorts and a black tee), and she wonders whether he’s going to the gym? Maybe back at the hotel? It would be rather bothersome to go all the way back but she doesn’t say anything since it’s not her place.

When he hears her he raises his head to look at her, his brows hiking up high on his forehead. YN wonders why he’s even surprised to see her… she’s been on his ass for a month straight now, never really leaving his side unless when necessary.

“Hey” he greets her, nodding his head towards her.

“I finished everything you asked me t’do” she smiles, and if she wasn’t sure he’d find a way to piss her off, she would’ve felt at least somewhat triumphant. But she doesn’t.

Because she knows Harry doesn’t like her, so no matter what she does, it will never be good enough to redeem herself.

“Everything, really?” He asks surprised, “hav’you folded all the merch like I asked?” When YN nods he goes on, “ironed my outfit?” She nods once again, “and ‘s my schedule ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She nods swiftly, “I even color coded it” she grins.

He seems to think a bit about his next words, and then, “okay, then. Help me work out, will ya?” he says, refraining himself from smiling a mischievous smile at the sound of her groan.

He’s sure it wasn’t intentional, and she feels extremely embarrassed and hopes he hasn’t noticed or at least won’t call her out on it.

“Let’s go, YN, I don’t have all day” he chuckles darkly, patting her on the cheek as he walks past her.

YN knows she should definitely quit.

...

“What the hell is this! I thought ye said it was all done?”

YN really feels like she could cry. She’s 22 years old and she’s on the verge of crying on her job. A job she begged God to get, a job that’s fundamental to get her in the art school she’s always dreamed of.

Things haven’t been easy.

Harry has been a dick to her every day and there’s only so much one can take.

He’s mean, rude, and always cold. He never smiles even when she brings him coffee (black with no dairy milk because it nauseates him), he never praises her (not even when she color codes his google calendar), and every time she enters a room he hushes as if he’s telling this great secret she’s not supposed to hear.

Today has been a long day.

She’d woken up at 5 am to grab him breakfast (not that he demanded it, but she felt as if she needed to in order for them to start the day on a good note — it hasn’t worked, it seems) and after that, she’d watched him workout at the gym in the hotel, the stuffy room nauseating her to the point where she had to beg him to turn the AC on to let the air change.

After his workout, she’d made her way to the venue.

He’s playing at Madison Square Garden tonight, and even if it’s not his first time, the tension could be felt in the air and in the way he huffed and puffed at everything she did.

It’s her job to take care of the merch stand inside the arena, no matter what city they are in, she has to fold the merch and make the stand presentable and organized, so when the staff comes in before the show everything is neat and clean.

She’s been doing this for a month now so she knows what Harry likes and how he demands it to be cleaned, and until now nothing about her work had disappointed him. So why is he acting like she’s this major screw up that can’t fold clothes?

It’s not the fact that he’s doubting her that hurts her, it’s the fact that he’s doubting her honesty.

It was all finished. She had folded all the merch like he asked and the stand was in perfectly good tidiness when she left it; sadly, that’s not how Harry had found it, much later and much closer to the show.

Maybe his pre show jitters made him a little more on edge, because the way he’s stomping his feet and pointing at the merch is making her feel really guilty for not doing her job correctly. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she should’ve checked before telling him she was all done!

“Harry,” she trails off, and she feels pathetic as she hears her voice come out all watery, “I swear, i did like you asked. Why would I lie!”

She’s almost begging and pleading him, her eyes stinging with the devious tears she’s trying really hard not to let fall.

“I don’t know why. But why is the stand in this mess? You know this can’t happen before a show, YN!” He reprimands her sternly.

YN feels like she’s a bad student getting yelled at by her teacher, and she gulps before saying “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it now! Tidy here and then sod off!”

She nods her head quickly and hurries to get back behind the stand, folding the clothes as fast as she can to fix the mess quickly. She hears him walk away with a grunt, and once he’s out of her line of sight she feels the warm tears start falling from her eyes.

Finally.

She chokes down a sob as she keeps tidying up, wondering what the hell happened to the very organized stand she’d left.

Once she’s done, she double checks everything to make sure (just in case) and then she climbs over the counter to get out. She quickly makes her way to the dressing room as she hears the buzzing of the fans standing outside the venue, waiting trepidating for the gates to open, and she’s thankful she’d been fast, otherwise Harry would’ve fired her on the spot.

She gathers her work bag and tosses all her belongings inside, sneaking out of the door when she realizes Harry is inside the bathroom showering.

She doesn’t bother to call a Uber. She chooses to walk, hoping that the fresh air could soothe the headache that crying had left her with.

It’s a little bit chilly, but she welcomes the cold October weather with contentment, finally free of the heat weave that had populated her summer days. She wishes she could enjoy it more, and if it wasn’t for her mood, maybe she would’ve grabbed a little drink and a sweet treat on her way back. But there wasn’t anything sweet about the way Harry had treated her, so she walks sulkily back to the hotel, ready to pack her bags and leave. She’s decided. She doesn’t want to be his assistant for not even another day.

It had been a long day.

…

it’s past 11pm when Harry crosses the threshold of his hotel room, immediately tossing his sweaty clothes on the chair next to the small desk. His room is nice, big but not uncomfortably large to the point of making him feel lonely, and his bed is soft just the way he likes it, and he can’t wait to shower and get under the covers, but… there’s something he needs to do first.

So, he quickly showers and changes into way more comfortable clothes, a pair of black sweats and a grey treat people with kindness hoodie, slipping his vans on and walking immediately out of the door.

He’d like to say the uneasiness he feels in his belly is hunger (he had only soup for dinner), but it’s definitely not. He’s nervous. And he feels like a dick. And he doesn’t really know what to say to YN to make it up to her.

Should he say he was just tense because of the show? In his mind he knows that wouldn’t be too believable, because he’s been doing shows for most of his life, and if he acted the way he did before any of them, he probably wouldn’t have many friends.

As he’s searching for things to say, he hasn’t even realized he ended up in front of her door, the light beige wood dooming on him and almost making fun of him.

He closes his hand into a fist and knocks on the door, the pit of his stomach prickling.

YN opens the door almost immediately, and he wonders whether she was waiting for him.

He knows she wasn’t as soon as he sees her face fall once her eyes land on him.

She actually looks pretty cute, all snuggly and sleepy dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts, but when she looks up at him he notices her eyes are a faint red color, and his heart tugs in his chest when he realizes she had been crying.

It was never his intention to make her cry, and he really does feel bad.

“What?” She asks dismissively, her body still shielding the room from his view.

“Know ‘s late but… Can I come in?” He asks wryly, his breath coming out in puffs out of his nose as if he had been running.

“I don’t know” she ponders.

“Please, YN”

She takes a moment to reflect and then opens her door wider (he’s technically still her boss), turning to the side to let him in.

She closes the door behind him and waits for him to talk with her arms crossed against her chest. He doesn’t really know where to start, whether he should address the fact that she’s been crying or how he treated her, so he settles on “how are you?” And he feels stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth. She sniffles before shrugging.

“Sorry, that was stupid” he pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head.

YN doesn’t know what happens next.

She’s probably just tired, and maybe really hurt by how Harry treated her so she… she starts crying.

She feels her eyes fill with tears, stinging her water line. And it’s really embarrassing but she really doesn’t care. She figures he’s going to fire her anyway so she might as well let it all out.

She chokes down a sob, turning her head to the side to be as subtle as possible, but he notices straight away, walking quickly towards her.

“YN please don’t cry” he pleas, stretching a hand out to her to squeeze her shoulder.

“I’m sorry” she sobs, hiding her face and her tears behind her hands, pressing the tip of her fingers to her eyelids.

Harry really doesn’t know what to do. He thinks of himself as a good person and a good friend but this is different. He’s supposed to be her boss. But, he realizes, he’s also the reason she’s crying, and Harry is everything but cruel, so he tugs her by the shoulder into his chest, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, his hand caressing her back soothingly.

She sobs into his chest, and “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened with that stand. I did everything like you asked”.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” he comforts.

To really tell the truth, Harry had forgotten all about the clothes. Yes, he had been pissed about the conditions he found the merch stand in, but she had tided up quickly, so in his mind everything was forgiven. He hadn’t really realized how stern he had come off to her.

“YN I’m not mad about the merch stand. I’m so sorry I was so rude”

“No,” she’s quick to object, “I get it, you want everything to be perfect. Trust me I know! But I’m trying my best to make everything perfect like you want” she sniffles, pulling her face away from his chest.

She dries her face with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, sighing heavily.

“You’re doing a great—“ he starts, but she interrupts him immediately, “I don’t know how to work with you if you’re like this. You’re probably going to fire me for saying this but I can’t stand this anymore” she shakes her head to reinforce her words.

“Please don’t say that! I don’t want to fire you! I think you’re doin’ a really good job”

“Really?” She asks surprised, he’s never really told her that.

“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry I’ve been a dick to you, for this past month. I… I’ve got some trust issues, ya know? and It takes me a while to get accustomed to new people but… I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. It’s not your fault”

“I thought you kind of hated me” she admits.

“I could never,” he shakes his head, “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way”

“Yeah” she sniffles, “you really were a dick” she chuckles once she sees the surprised look on his face. “Plus I’m the only one who knows how to make your little soup” she adds.

“Oh, you’re right” he agrees, “I could never fire you, then. You’re trapped”

“Ah! You’re trapped” she giggles, the tears starting to dry on her face and a bit of color returning to her cheeks.

“But… really, I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again” he says again, looking directly in her eyes to make sure she understands he’s serious.

“Okay” she says softy, sniffling.

“Now” he trails off, “I’m really hungry. Should we go get something to eat?”

October

“Halloween is not fun.” Harry says, crossing his arms on his chest like a petulant child.

YN rolls her eyes for what seems like the millionth time, a groan escaping from her parted lips: “but it is!!” She says again.

The discussion had been opened by Harry himself, claiming he didn’t understand all the excitement YN had claimed to be feeling about Halloween.

It’s not like he doesn’t like Halloween, he just doesn’t like… scary stuff.

He hates horror movies and he hates everything paranormal — sure, he loves Twilight (he’s watched it twice already since fall started) but that movie according to him is on a whole other level, and it can’t be described as scary as much as it is angst-y.

So, when he heard YN all giddy and giggly about this god awful day, he couldn’t just not say what he really thinks of it. Of course she’d love Halloween, Harry thinks.

“I think you just never truly had the whole Halloween experience” she shrugs from her position on the couch.

“Trust me,” he says seriously, “I did. Jeff forced me to watch all the Saw movies… it was awful. Couldn’t sleep properly until Christmas”

YN has to refrain herself from laughing.

“That’s not what I mean! Watching scary movies is like… the last thing on the list of fun things to do for Halloween”

“Yeah?” He challenges, turning around in his turning chair to face her, his skin dewy with the moisturizer he’d been massaging on his face.

“Yes! My favorite is pumpkin painting” she beams excitedly.

“Pumpkin painting? You have to have made that up” he furrows his brows.

“What! No! It’s been a thing for… Ugh I don’t know but it’s really fun and I always do it. Come see!” She pats the couch next to her and grabs her phone from the pocket of her hoodie, opening her camera roll and scrolling with her finger until she reaches last year.

He rolls his eyes at her, getting up from the chair nonetheless.

He doesn’t sit next to her, instead he towers over her and lowers his head to look at the screen of her phone, his shin touching her knees “ye have a lot of pictures on that damn phone”.

“Shh!! Here!” She opens the pic and shows it to him: a big pumpkin rests on what seems like a kitchen counter, its previous orange skin painted the brightest shade of pink, with some white splotches of paint that Harry thinks could be little ghosts by their pair of eyes made with two black dots.

“Wow… that clearly is something…”

“okay! — she sighs, locking her phone — I didn’t say I was good at it. ‘S just fun an’ I always do it with me mum!” She lifts her head and their eyes lock, his are a bright emerald green today, and she can see herself reflected in them, clearly, and she wonders for a moment how he sees her, what he thinks of her. It lasts only a moment, though, because he averts his gaze quickly, and just as quickly he straightens his posture, towering over her once again.

“‘S a cute idea” he agrees, taking a step back to put some distance between them.

YN nods in agreement, picking up her laptop to get back to work immediately.

Everything is green.

…

Harry is hiding something.

He’s been giddy all day and YN noticed first thing in the morning, when she happened to toe his shoe off when he was walking in front of her and he didn’t say anything (it’s the only thing that drives him mad. Like… really mad. He once snapped at her in front of everyone because she kept doing it — accidentally of course). Now, this is not to say Harry can’t have a good day. Since that night in her hotel room, things have been really good between them, and even if their relationship is strictly professional, YN wonders whether a friendship could blossom between them.

But, she’s also gotten to know him rather well in the two months she’s been working for him, and she knows when he’s hiding something.

It all started yesterday, when he pretended he had to run some errands alone, and demanded YN stayed at the hotel “to check no one broke into his room” which is a really fucking stupid excuse. When he got back to his room it was late in the night and YN was snacking on some chips, all snuggled up and cozy in his bed, on the verge of falling asleep.

Nothing seemed different about him since the last time she saw him, and she wondered for a brief minute whether he went out to meet with someone. Having a personal assistant be with you 24/7 can be really invalidating to any romantic relationship someone could want to establish.

If the only way harry could get a significant other (or even only a sneaky link, YN isn’t one to judge) was to hide from her and demanded her to stay back, it was really pathetic on her part. She pretends like the thought of Harry with someone else doesn’t irritates her. (She’s been stuck all evening in his hotel room while he went out and about!!)

“Whatcha doin’ in my bed, pet?” He teases once he enters the room, toeing his shoes off and leaving them by the door.

“Your bed is way comfier than mine” she grins, squeezing the comforter closer to her body.

“I bet” he chuckles.

“Yeah. But I’m the one working all day so I should get the comfier bed” she shrugs.

“You’re working?” He says, feigning shock as he brings a hand to his chest, “I thought you were my friend willingly!”

“Oh fuck” she sighs, “Jeff told me not to tell you… I must have forgotten”

“You really are a menace” he chuckles and she giggles, making room for him as he plops down next to her.

“What are ye watchin’?”

“Just an old episode of How to get away with murder” she says, pressing the “ok” button on the remote to show him the title.

“Never heard of tha’” he furrows his brows, repositioning himself so his legs are stretched out in front of him.

“You’ve never… what?! That’s crazy! This is probably the best tv show since Grey’s Anatomy went down hill!”

“Is it scary?” He asks, his brows furrowing on his forehead.

“No, not in that sense at least”

“Okay, then.” He gestures to the remote, “let’s watch it.”

She grins at him and nods, selecting the first episode from the menu. She presses play and when the show starts running, she grabs the chips she was previously nibbling on, putting them between their bodies and telling him that if he wants some to just take them.

The light from the tv illuminates the otherwise dark room, and YN has to refrain herself from turning her head to look at his profile.

She smiles Every time he gasps when something unexpected happens, and when the first episode ends, he begs her to put the second straight away. She does, and she listens to his calm breaths that almost lull her to sleep. The bed is comfortable and his warmth from beside her makes her feel safe and soft, and YN thinks it’s really nice he’s doing this with her. She doesn’t stop to wonder what it means.

…

It’s only the next day that YN gets to finally find out what Harry has been hiding.

Turns out, he actually wasn’t sneaking out to meet someone behind her back!

That morning Harry had knocked loudly on her door, tantalizingly sing-songing her name. When she had opened the door, still wearing her pjs and her hair all messy, she had furrowed her brows deeply on her forehead: “Harry!” She had reprimanded him, “it’s 7 in the morning!”

“Shh, lemme come in” he begged, jumping on his place excitedly.

He’s wearing his workout clothes and YN knows from his schedule that he has an appointment with his personal trainer at 7.30.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tonight, after the show, don’t make any plans. I need you for something very serious and very important.”

And YN would really like to tell him that it’s not like she’d ever make any plans that didn’t revolve around him, but she nods nonetheless, still a bit startled from his irruption in her room that early in the morning.

That’s how they ended up here, on the floor of his hotel room, probably more than thirty tubes of paint splattered messily in front of them, and two giant pumpkins resting between their legs.

“It’s officially a week before Halloween!” Harry had said, taking the pumpkin out of the bag and showing it to her triumphantly.

YN had gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth shockingly. Never in a million years would she have thought that was what he planned to do.

She feels warm inside, like a light has been switched up and is warming all her limbs, her chest, her belly. She doesn’t know if he realizes how much this means to her.

She carefully takes the pumpkin he’s handing to her and sits cross legged on the floor. He sits down next to her, and their knees are brushing with every movement one of them makes.

“Pass me the remote, please?” He asks.

She nods and grabs it from the bed behind her, handing it to him.

“I really need to find out who killed her” he says seriously, turning the tv on. “Is it Sam?”

YN chuckles sitting next to him, shaking her head as she bends her back down to grab a paint brush.

“I’m not tellin’ you! That takes away all the fun”

“I don’t care, YN. I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me!”

“You’re so dramatic” she giggles.

She hands him a brush too and he thanks her with a mischievous grin, “if I end up dying from exhaustion it’s on you!”

“Shhh, ‘s startin’” she gestures to the tv and they both turn their head to it.

YN grabs a tube of red paint and opens it, squirting a small pump on the plate Harry had gotten her.

“What are ya making?” He asks her after a while.

“I don’t know” she shrugs, “I was thinking something simple like… red hearts”

“Tha’s cute” he agrees, “should I make it How to get away with murder themed?”

YN starts giggling, pushing his shoulder with hers, “that would be cute I guess”

“I’m just kidding. Although I think I could totally rock that”

“Yeah, you would” she agrees.

Harry ends up making it Mickey Mouse themed, drawing two big red ears a pair of big black eyes. He even helps YN with hers (she settled on something more minimalistic) which is ironic because even though she’s the one that loves art, she’s not really good at it.

Harry even snapped a few pictures to send to his mum, one with YN too, “wait, stay right there. Show the pumpkins!!”

“Harry the paint is still fresh I can’t — ugh fine!” She says lifting her pumpkin by the stem.

He leans in next to her, their temples almost touching, and Harry snaps the picture, a warm smile on his face, dimples showing and all. “Mum’s gonna love this.”

They watch a couple more episodes of this tv show Harry has gotten obsessed with, and once the clock strikes midnight YN is so exhausted Harry has to finish her pumpkin for her.

Her eyes are aching and she brings her fingers to press on them, hoping to relieve some of the burning.

“Everything all right?” He asks turning his head to look at her.

“Yes” she nods, “just forgot my glasses and the tv is hurting my eyes”

“Wait” he tells her, standing up on his feet quickly. He heads over to his bedside table and opens the drawer, rummaging through all the stuff he keeps inside it.

He sits back down after a minute, closer than he was before, and he shows her a pair of glasses, “here”.

She looks at him surprised, and “thank you” she says, grabbing them from his hand and sliding them on.

The glasses are comfortable, with a kind of thick frame, and she understands immediately they are a much better quality than hers.

She’s surprised she can see clearly with them, and she enjoys the much needed rest the glasses provide. She leans her head on the back of the bed behind her and sighs contentedly.

“Better?” He asks.

“Much better.”

“I didn’t know you wore glasses” he says after a while, his gaze still on the tv, “never seen you wear ‘em”

“Yeah” she agrees, embarrassed, “‘s just… don’t really like the way I look in them. Plus it’s not like I’m completely blind!” She hurries to add “they just get really tired and… yeah”

He turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed on his forehead and his eyes scrutinizing her face.

She feels embarrassed under his gaze and she squirms imperceptibly in her spot.

“You look proper cute, actually” he says with a swift nod as to reinforce his words.

She blushes and prays that he doesn’t notice, mumbling a ‘thank you’ and quickly averting her gaze back to the tv.

She feels once again that warm feeling inside her, but this time it’s all over her body and it’s kind of overwhelming.

She debates whether she should leave or stay, but Harry’s presence is so comforting beside her, and it’s not like his comment has to mean anything.

It’s just a compliment.

Like a friend would to another. Right?

…

It’s not easy to avoid your boss.

Harry is everywhere, and it’s not like YN wants to avoid him, it’s just inevitable since she realized she actually has a crush on him.

On the span of these three days YN tried to tell herself it wasn’t that big of a deal; Harry is handsome, he almost resembles an angel, and he’s funny, and since he’s warmed up to her she realized he’s also nice, and caring, and soft. His smile is bright as the sun. His eyes are a peculiar shade of green she has never seen before and she noticed some nights they turn almost blue and she really would like to ask him why but she figures that’s way overstepping her boundary so she just keeps quiet every time she notices it.

And he’s many things all together.

And maybe if she avoids him this feeling will go away and everything will go back to normal sooner than later.

On the fourth day, he catches her on her way back to his dressing room and she almost has an heart attack. She had been so careful up to that point!!!

She was sure he was still in the shower, and she needed to grab her sweatshirt from the dressing room since it was starting to get chilly, but once she opened the door, there he was, sitting on the couch in only a towel and a sweatshirt. Her sweatshirt. She feels like she could combust any second.

“YN! Hey!” He cheerfully greets her once he notices her, locking his phone and leaving it next to him on the couch.

“Hi, H” she replies “just needed to grab my… sweatshirt” she clears her throat embarrassed, pointing towards his torso.

He looks down to himself and then his eyes widen in surprise, “this one’s yours? I’m so sorry pet, thought ‘t was mine!”

“Tha’s fine” she shrugs, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he called her a pet name.

“You wan’ it back?” He asks, grinning.

“No, no that’s fine, I’ll find something else” but before she can even answer he’s already getting up, slipping out of the sweatshirt. He walks towards her and hands it to her, “hav’to get ready soon anyway”.

She nods and as he walks to his clothing rack where his outfit is already displayed, and YN lets her eyes linger for a brief moment on his back, his skin is already moisturized and YN wonders if it feels as soft as it looks, his little moles and freckles look like little constellations on the skin of his back, like the Gods blew stars onto it when they created him, and the color of his skin is almost lunar-like, despite how much sun he gets.

“Feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages” he interrupts the silence after a while, and YN watches as he picks up his tank top from one of the hangers and slips it onto his head.

She nods when he turns to her, the tank top is white and she can see the faint ink of his tattoos, “had so much work to do” she sighs.

“Are you sayin’ I’m overworking you?” He chuckles, and she’s quick to say: “no! No! Just… you know with Harryween coming up there’s so much stuff to do”

“Yeah” he agrees, “maybe tonight we can watch a couple of episodes…?” He questions tentatively.

YN would really like to say yes. She really would.

“I’m really tired, Harry…” she trails off, “maybe another night?”

“Yeah of course” he shrugs.

He leans down to slip on his leather trousers, tossing the towel on the couch next to him.

“But you can obviously go on though!! I already know what happened and…”

“What? No! I don’t want to watch it without you, that’s our thing.” He says, shaking his head and furrowing his brows, “‘s okay, I can wait a couple days. Even though I hav’to tell ya… i think I may be in withdrawal… i have been tempted to look up spoilers online”

She giggles at his playfulness, “Harry! I told you not to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t! But eventually I have to know, I have a couple of ideas on who did it though”

“I’m not saying anything”

“Fine” he groans jokingly, “but you have to admit I deserve an award for putting up with all your torture”

“You’re so dramatic!” She laughs through her teeth.

“Yeah, yeah. Actually!” He starts, and he smiles a malicious smile YN is afraid to know what it means, “everything would be forgiven if you came shopping with me tomorrow”

“Harry! I have so much stuff to do! I can’t just ditch everything to go shopping with you”

“Please!!” He pleas almost like a petulant child, “I don’t want to go alone! ’s boring!”

“Jeff gave me so much stuff… you know how he gets when I don’t get things done” she sighs. She’s still holding the sweatshirt he gave (back) to her, and she squeezes it against her chest.

“Screw Jeff” Harry shrugs, passing a hand through his hair to comb it.

“He’s literally my boss”

“No” he’s quick to say, walking towards her and stopping when he’s in front of her, crossing his arms on his chest “Jeff is your employer. I’m your boss” he chuckles darkly, poking her in the stomach playfully.

“Uggh fine! I’ll come” she sighs, finally giving in to his demand. “But you’re buyin’ me coffee tomorrow”

“Deal” he nods his head swiftly.

She rolls her eyes and gives him a little shove on the shoulder, “see ya after the show! Good luck”

“Thank you pet” he says smiling at her softly.

She gives a small smile back and turns to walk out the door.

Once she’s out, the cold air of the AC hits her, and she’s quick to slip over her head the sweatshirt she actually came to get in the first place.

It’s still warm and his sweet musky scent lingers on it. She buries her nose into it and walks to find Jeff, telling him the new plans for the next day.

…

“I need you to do my makeup”

It’s the 31st of October, just a couple of hours before Harryween, and Harry still isn’t dressed in his Dorothy costume.

His makeup artist had texted him that she wouldn’t be available to work on Halloween (she has young children and couldn’t miss a chance to spend the holiday with them!), but Harry was so busy he hadn’t paid too much mind to it. He knew if it got to the point where no one else was available, he could do it himself. It’s just makeup, it’s not supposed to be hard.

Well, turns out, it is hard.

So, YN was really his last hope.

That’s why he knocked loudly on her hotel door, impatiently waiting for her to open it.

He heard her groan and then the sound of feet walking quickly towards him.

“What!” She says before even checking who it was.

“I need you to do my makeup”.

That’s how they ended up in her room, both sitting cross legged on her floor with a bunch of makeup bags opened next to them.

She would really like to be fussy and pouty about it, because not only he has her working on Halloween (she didn’t specifically ask for the day off, but she figured it wasn’t necessary for her to be at the entire show and he could’ve maybe let her off a little earlier, but, no — he had demanded she stayed through the entirety of the show) plus now she’s going to be late and she probably won’t have time to do her own makeup like she wanted specially for her costume!!

but… how can she possibly complain when he’s sitting in front of her like an obedient puppy, looking at her with curious green eyes every time she takes a product out of her bag?

This little crush she has on him is starting to get out of control! Instead of being annoyed at him she’s referring to him as a cute puppy! what is wrong with her!

“Wha’s that for?” He asks, pointing to the little tube of moisturizer she takes out.

“Moisturizer. This one’s lighter than the one you use because I have oily skin, but I reckon it could work as well” she pops the cap open and squirts a small amount on the tip of her fingers.

She warms it between her hands before looking at him questioning, silently asking for his permission to touch his face.

He nods immediately once he understands, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Hold your hair for me please”

He brings a hand to his forehead and tucks away the curls that fell onto it.

YN feels her heart beat hard against her chest as she gets closer to smear the cream onto his face, massaging his cheekbones and his sinuses to ease the product into his skin.

Harry sighs once she starts massaging his temples, and he makes sure to thank God in his head for his makeup artist and her children, because YN is really gentle.

She has really soft fingers and her touch is delicate, and he thinks she touches him like something fragile that is worth preserving. And he likes the feeling a little too much.

“All done!” She beams, removing her hands from his face (she even dragged the cream onto his neck!).

“Now I think we should do eyebrows” she takes out a small black spoolie and she starts brushing through his brows, “I don’t think yours need much filling.” She ponders, “maybe just in a couple spots we can make ‘em more thick if you’d like”.

He nods, “I’d like that”.

“Okay!” She grabs her pencil and draws a couple of stray hair.

“Now… I think mascara. And then we’ll do the blush. Close your eyes” she instructs, unscrewing the tube of mascara and removing the excess on the tip. She brings a hand to his eye and presses her thumb to his eyelid, that way she can see his eyelashes better.

She starts coating them with the mascara, first one eye and then the other repeating the same process as well, “your lashes are so long” she whispers, almost to herself, but she hears him chuckle through his nose nonetheless.

“All done!”

He opens his eyes and they flutter a couple of times, the new added weight of the mascara kind of uncomfortable at first.

Once he gets accustomed to it, he looks at her with his piercing bright green eyes.

YN looks between them as she closes the tube mascara; they’re the deepest shade of green today, and the black coating his lashes is only making them stand out more.

“Now?” He asks, and she tries to hide her blush as she tilts her head down to rummage through her bag.

“Blush! I’m thinking lots of blush!”

She takes out a bright cherry blush and “that’s way too red” he protests, furrowing his brows.

She shushes him immediately, “just trust me on this ‘s gonna look so cute!!!”

This time he doesn’t close his eyes, but he chooses to look at her.

The concentrated expression on her face is really cute, her brows are furrowed as she applies the blush with her fingers (she explained she prefers fingers because brushes can irritate the skin and cause break outs and she doesn’t want that).

He feels her apply some on his nose too, and he involuntarily scrunches it. She giggles at it and then keeps blending the blush on his skin.

From this angles YN can see he has freckles on his nose, and she doesn’t know why but it makes her feel warm. He seems more real like this, his nose sensitive and with a constellation of freckles on it. She wonders if they get darker in the sun, and she figures she’ll probably know once the summer arrives.

“Looks proper cute!!!” She sighs dreamily, looking at his face to admire the finished look. “I just know your fans will go crazy” she smiles softly.

He grins at her and gets up on his feet, heading for the bathroom to look at himself.

“Fuck I look good!” She hears him say from the bathroom, “the blush is my favorite part”.

She smiles to herself as she starts tidying her makeup back into the bags, even if it’s pointless really because she has to do her own now.

She gets up from the floor and checks for the time on her phone that’s charging on the bedside table, just as Harry gets out of the bathroom. She still has a hour and a half to get ready, and she thinks she could make it work.

“Thank you again, pet” he smiles down at her and she suddenly feels too hot and breathless.

“It’s okay, no problem at all!”

…

It’s past midnight once YN finally returns to the hotel.

A guy from the crew named Peter (he’s a light technician) invited YN to go out with him and his friends, but she’s so tired she declined politely, promising to make up for it another time.

She doesn’t really know what Harry is doing, and she wonders if Peter invited him as well and if perhaps he declined, but she doesn’t have to wonder much because not even half an hour later she hears a knock on her door.

She’s already wearing her Halloween themed Snoopy pajamas, and if it was any other situation she’d probably feel embarrassed, but she’s so tired she just can’t wait to get to bed.

When she opens the door she sees it’s Harry, and she notices — happily — that he’s wearing his pajamas as well (His consist of a pair of plaid pants and a grey hoodie, but still a pajamas nonetheless), and his face is free of the makeup she’d put on him that same afternoon.

He holds in his hands two full grocery bags, and she looks pointedly at him.

“Can I come in? My arms are starting to get sore”

She nods and moves to the side to let him in, closing the door behind them after.

“So.” He starts, placing the bags on her bed, “I was about to go to bed when I realized it’s still Halloween”

She furrows her brows at him, “I thought that was like the whole point of Harryween?”

He chuckles at her, “of course, I know. That’s what I’m saying exactly.”

“I don’t follow?”

“I had you work on Halloween! You told me before how much you love Halloween and I didn’t think to give you the day off”

“Oh, Harry. It’s okay, really! Don’t worry about that, it’s stupid!” She says, but not without blushing a little.

She knows it’s just decent courtesy to remember conversations one shared with another, but she says a lot of stuff and she didn’t really think he would remember! Plus, he doesn’t really like Halloween, so she thought he’d actually regard her interest in celebrating it as annoying.

“It’s not stupid” he shakes his head, “I thought to remedy as best I could. But I have to confess, Jeff did the grocery shopping so I can’t take credit for it.”

She giggles and walks closer to the bed, peeking her head to look inside the bags, “it’s okay. You were busy”.

He laughs and nods, spilling the bags onto the bed. An undefined amount of sweets fall on the bed, and YN gasps at how many choices of candies and chocolates Jeff picked out.

“Fuck! i think he got every possible candy available” he snorts.

She agrees with a laugh, “what are we supposed to do with all this food?”

“I know it’s not the best but I thought we could watch a movie and eat it? But if you want to go to sleep that’s fine I mean I-“

He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels embarrassed.

What was he thinking? Walking into her room like a maniac with two bags full of candy and expecting her to be down to watch a movie with him. She works for him. This is entirely not appropriate and he’s aware of that, but… when he saw her on the side of the stage, singing mindlessly along to Golden, dressed as Princess Belle he realized how cruel he had been to take Halloween away from her.

Not only had he deemed it as “not fun” right in front of her enthusiasm, he also specifically requested for her to work, and even if she had not expressed formal complaints, she probably should have.

Because he had been a dick.

So, in his quick pee break, instead of freeing his bladder, he texted Jeff if he could do him a big favor and grab every single candy he could get his hands of, recommending specifically to get as many choices to pick from as he could (he didn’t know what YN liked and he couldn’t risk it).

YN quickly interrupts his train of thoughts, “okay!!! But I get to choose the movie though”

“Okay, -- he nods amused -- Deal. But — he says, picking up the remote from the coffee table to hand it to her — Nothing too spooky”

YN gets comfortable on the bed next to Harry, the candies resting at their feet. He has a package of Sour Patch Kids resting on his tummy, and every time YN wants one she has to move her arm, and it brushes against his chest.

She feels… weird. It’s weird to her that he would do something like that, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. If it was any other case, if a guy did something like this for her, she’d immediately thought of it as a date, or a way to show interest in her but with Harry… it’s different.

She doesn’t think he likes her like that.

Maybe he sees her as a friend? She doesn’t think she’s particularly fun, but he always chooses to hang out with her, even after a tiring day…

She gets shaken out of her thoughts once she hears him gasp from next to her.

“Oh God, what happened?” She looks at him pointedly.

“I told you no scary movies!” He whines childishly, closing his lips in a pout.

“Harry! ‘S Caroline! It’s not scary!” She can’t help but giggle at him.

“It’s scary to me” he huffs, taking a candy from the package and popping it into his mouth. He takes another one and shows it to her, which she gladly takes from his fingers.

“I promise if you get past the scary part it’s really good”

“Fine” he nods, “I’ll watch it. But please tell me once it gets scary again”

She smiles fondly at him and nods back, “yes, don’t worry about it.”

...

“You know, you were right… once you see past the scary scenes it’s actually a pretty good-“

It’s after the movie has finished that Harry realizes YN has fallen asleep next to him.

He rolls his lips into his mouth to bite back a smile, grabbing the remote to shut off the tv.

She must be so tired.

He has her working non stop while she should be out and having fun at her age. She isn’t that much younger than him, but he knows how much can change from your early to your late twenties.

He also knows he should get up from the bed and go sleep in his own one, but… he’s really comfortable right now and she’s really warm next to him, and she smells like candies and vanilla, the perfect scent to lull him to sleep.

He’s also very tired, and before he knows it, his eyes are closing shut and his mind is already wondering to faraway countries, with cotton candy skies and chocolatey grass.

The air smells like vanilla, and he doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or if it’s her next to him, he just knows he was definitely wrong; Halloween isn’t as bad as he thought.

it's hereeee and it's halloween themed ;))) (!!!!!) let me know what you think and if you want part 2!!!! taglist: @gem1712 @jerseygirlinca @lexiecamposv @ameerakane20 @lovrave @mema10 @sunshinemoonsposts

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controld3vil · 1 year ago

Text

invisible strings

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic)

synopsis: requested/inspired by this ask!

⤷ alt: coincidences are strange. however, what's more strange was not knowing you were in previous works with your costars.

notes: this one is pretty short. reader is gender neutral. set in the same verse as popcorn bucket (♡´౪`♡)

Ding!

"Ah I don't think you guys are going to get this one," you puffed, eyes trailing down to the question on the Vanity Fair card. The cast and you were playing the Vanity Fair Game Show for a fun video. You all eventually filmed with one another at some time during production. Though your schedules were all over the place/locations, everyone got along with each other. That is to say, some like yourself had been in the first film and kept in contact for the sequel. "What was my first show audition?"

Mumbles in unison scurried. Some hums and thought-provoking nods were seen as you hurriedly scribbled down your answer in black ink.

"Oo Shake It Up!" Zendaya points out, eyes wide with her quick response.

Austin Butler who sat beside Florence Pugh raised his head, almost surprised. "Wait, really?" While the blonde actress knowingly glances back to you for confirmation. The rest of the cast was all too eager to know because clearly they had no idea.

"Yes, correct!" You raised your arms, doing jazz hands. In a burst of energy, the mixed actress scores a bright grin, raising her fist in the air in victory. Only for you to pump her fist back, smiling back.

"How were we supposed to know that?" Timothee Chalamet says, snickering accusatively at the camera as if they had an answer. His gaze moves towards you, "You never told us that!"

You shrugged your shoulders, looking half guilty. "You're lost, pal!"

"At least I got the point!" Zendaya puffs up her chest, swiping the invisible dust off her shoulders while Florence giggles. However Timothee looked almost offended even.

"Wait you were in Shake It Up?" Austin shakes his head in pure astonishment. You gave him a slow nod, as his expression grew wider, eyes staring at you in awe. "That's crazy! I didn't know that!"

"Was it a show?" Josh Brolin's comment seemingly pops in and all four of the younger cast including yourself snickered shortly. His cluelessness only substituted for better curiosity to you. As really, you never really told them about your previous works.

"It was a Disney show," Flipping the Vanity Fair card over, only to reveal your messy handwriting, you stated fondly. Timothee then hastily pointed at the small drawing you drew next to your answer. It breaks your concentration for a second as he only stares at it in confusion while Zendaya covers her mouth from giggling. "Like a sitcom really. And I played one of the background dancers." Even you couldn't stop yourself from giggling further, taking a look at your draw.

Truly it was one of those topics that are never mentioned around you. The only reason Zendaya had known was that you had told her once about it when discussing your dance careers. The both of you were young actors and did not expect to know each other back then and even now. Though it was a cute recollection to look back upon.

"Is that a stick figure waving his arms?" Florence cocks her head sideways, having a concentrated face.

"He's supposed to be dancing!" You plead, pointing at the way you drew his arms in the air.

"That is not dancing!" Timothee's smile only grew wider from laughing too much, having to lean forward to look at the little drawing closer. "He just looks- like he's discombobulated!"

"PFFTT!"

"I mean it's a cute drawing!"

"You know what- you don't appreciate my art," You gently placed the card on the floor, giving your costar the stink eye. "I thought this was a fun game, you guys! People are being bullied for no reason!"

"No- I'm not saying your drawings are bad!" The French actor stumbles, in beats of laughter, clenching his cards to his chest. You only swat his presence away before grabbing another question.

In another instance, Austin takes his turn. For a few rounds, he asked about his hobbies, such as what instruments he knew to play. It was quick flashed answers, one by one you managed to pass through flying colors.

"Guitar and piano," Austin bobs his head, as the rest of cast suddenly became enamored at his musical skills.

"Hey!"

"Alright!"

"But also violin," He says sheerly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh okay!" Florence drags out an amused hum, in a teasing manner.

"Is that true?" Timothee quirks his brow, having one leg over another, looking all composed.

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go Disney Channel kids!" You chanted, with the mixed actress a seat away from you joined with as well. You both raised your hands in victory while Austin looked away and blushed.

"We got all the talent!"

At the CCXP Panel in Brazil, fans from all over came to attend to fantastic event. Hosted by Collider Interview, it was a massive event with an enormous stadium, fit for a band performance. There were arrays of lights, standing from the alleyways and above the ceiling. You felt extremely fortunate to have attended and made it to Brazil, for being such a joyful experience.

This time you alongside your young cast members and director, Denise Villeneuve, posed happily with all of you. The panel followed with many turns and twists, with questions coming from the crowd and host alike. One moment fans caught on was your reaction to something that Florence at said.

The Collider host mentioned Florence's history of working with Timothee on Little Women which made both of them cackle, reminiscing those dotting moments.

"Oh you know what," the British actress starts, holding her hand up. The audience was silenced, wondering what she going to mention next. She slowly turns in your direction and points. "I just remembered this, but you were in Midsommar yes?"

"Yes..." You mumbled, ending your answer on a high note, unsure really what she meant. Until it came flashing back to you, much prevalent to your shocked expression. "Oh yes yes!" And seemingly the rest of the cast and fans were roaring in surprise and in cheer.

Though you weren't present in most of the film's production, Florence had fond memories of Midsommar. You were one of the minor characters doomed to death in the first half. Both of your characters had a brief meeting together and that was all. However, it surprised you how Florence was able to recall it all. You had only filmed for a few days and vaguely met her casually.

"This is so weird but I don't know- I just kept forgetting to bring it up," She scrambles to find the right words, throwing gestures back and forth. "But for some reason, I just remembered you being there and then I was like- huh! We were in Midsommar together!"

"Right!" You lowered your tone, the weight on your heels slowly shifting to one side. As you licked your lips at the revelation. "I can't believe we just realized this now!" And you could discern the pure chaos the rest of your costars were feeling. Timothee was wheezing, desperately holding his mic for support. While Zendaya crossed her arms in a mixture of sarcasm and odd mischievousness. As if saying, Really? You guys never realized?! Austin on the other hand, solely was observing from the sidelines, with an amused smile. And all for Denny to be panned to the right with a funny disapproving look on his face.

"This is what I have to deal with," Your director somberly states and the crowd cries out in cackles.

"I don't think we were in anything together before."

No interview or video was being shot. Surprisingly it was lunchtime and a grace period for cast and production alike to go back to their trailers to rest. You did not want to go back to your own trailer so instead followed your costar to his. Knowing he had a better air conditioner and wanted to catch up on anything new you guys enjoyed talking about.

But more importantly, his air conditioner.

"Yeah, I don't think we did," Arms securely behind your head as you leaned back on the couch. You still were in full costume, in Fremen wear however it did not stop you from lounging around in every corner of the set sites. "Does Dune count?"

A light-hearted scoff escapes from Timothee, who is on his phone on the other side of the couch, in costume as well. The air conditioner was blasting heavily on all sides of the trailer yet you two did not mind the loud background noise. "No, it doesn't!"

"That's crazy right?" Lifting yourself up to look at him. His eyes don't leave his phone screen yet you know he is focused on your words. "I'm genuinely surprised we haven't played siblings,"

"We look nothing alike!" He shouts, finally lifting his gaze to your playful one. Suddenly you see his phone flash turned on as it faces you. "So, what do you think of Dune Part Two so far?"

You get up swiftly, stretching out of your tired limbs in the process. "Like a walk on the sand!"

"Aye!" He fist-bumps you as he turns the camera on him, face not covered in any gear. The audience can notice his messy locks and smudged face.

"Directors, sign us up to play something!" You waved before adjusting to put on your mask. The camera swerves to find you clipping on the clasps. A couple clicks can be heard as you move the gear up and down from your face. "Literally anything! I could play his serial killer and I would be happy."

"What-" Timothee almost choked on air, prominent to how shaky the camera view became. Though he quickly recovered, "Why do you always want to kill me in these scenarios?"

"Because it's much more fun!" You whine, shoulders deflating, as you can feel him zooming in on your expression.

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functionofjules · 8 months ago

Text

At Last

Pairing: Five Hargreeves X (She/her) Synopsis: (Taking place at the start of Season 2) Y/n finds herself alone in the sixties. Just as she begins to give up hope of ever getting home to her husband, Five, she’s pleasantly surprised. A/N: Reader has healing powers which lead to enhanced abilities like endurance and strength. Aged up Five in my interpretation. Feeling nostalgic after the series finale.

I slam to the ground with a force that could rival an elephant cracking my spine. Luckily enough, I have a tendency to avoid the repercussions from a fall of such heights. I can practically feel my cells regenerating already.

My tattered Umbrella Academy uniform that I borrowed from Allison’s closet upon Five and I’s arrival is reeking of the events of the last week. I’m not particularly fond of it and due to my lack of personal hygiene lately, I think I may be due for an outfit change.

I observe my surroundings. It seems I’m far away from home. By that I mean directly next to a dumpster.

I cautiously make my way into the street and take note of the vintage style of clothing. This indicates I’ve been dropped somewhere between the 50s-60s. This is confirmed when I steal a glance at a newspaper dated March 5th, 1960. At this point I feel myself begin to hyperventilate. Not necessarily because of the date but because I can’t seem to find a single Hargreeves sibling, most importantly my husband, Number Five.

I stagger backward until my back hits a wall that I slide down. Just as the tears begin to pour, a figure casts a shadow over my hunched position. I look up in hopes of a familiar face but am only met with a stranger. She has soft blonde hair framing her face which honestly reminds me of that actress, Florence Pugh, from the only film Five and I had time to see.

In pitying tone accompanied by her southern drawl she asks “You okay, Pumpkin? What’s the matter? You look like you ain’t doing too hot.”

I let a shaky breath escape and contemplate how much information I should give this woman. There’s no way in hell I’m explaining how my husband and I just attempted to stop the end of the world only the end up being separated from him and the rest of his family. So I settle for the next best thing.

“I’m a little lost,” I admit “My family and I got separated and I have nowhere to go.”

“Aw you poor thing!” She exclaims, bending down to my level and taking my hand “You want to come with me? I can getcha something to eat and figure things out from there.”

I nod, standing to my feet.

“That sounds nice. Thank you…” I falter realizing we hadn’t properly introduced ourselves.

She takes both my hands in hers and says “Charlotte, but you can call me Lottie.”

“I’m Y/n,” I say, offering my first smile since getting thrown out of that portal “Y/n Hargeeves.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s been three years since I was dropped in Dallas and a lot has changed.

Lottie and I live together I her two bedroom loft apartment and work together everyday at the local diner. It was quite different from my work at the Commission but not to brag, I’ve developed a very impressive coffee pouring time.

I haven’t heard anything from Five. At first I figured he’d come along right after me but he never did. A part of me holds out hope he got dropped somewhere further ahead in the timeline then me or got caught up with someone putting out a hit on him but I’m losing that hope. But I’m okay here with Lottie. I’ve built myself a nice life in Dallas.

I had just expected it to be another normal day at the diner. I tied my apron in a tight knot around my waist, told Lottie to hurry up, and we began to rush down the street together.

I had told Lottie a little about Five. How we were in love and we always protected each other. She knows better than anyone how much I miss him.

We rush into the diner with the ring of the bell behind us and ran to the back to put away our bags. Just as we’re about to head through the door my manager calls, “Y/n! I need you to give one of the chefs a hand with the pantry inventory.”

I shrug “Okay boss!”

A shoot Lottie a wave and run back to help our chef, Dave, count various condiments.

I was still in there after about fifteen minutes when Lottie ran back with a strange look in her eye. She slammed the door with such force I almost slipped off the stool I was balanced on.

“Sorry!” She apologizes, but I can tell she can’t contain herself for long “There’s a guy asking for you.”

I raise a brow “Asking for me? Is it that Harry guy again? Because he gives me the creeps, I’m really not in the mood to-“

She shushes me

“No it’s not Charlie! I really think you ought to get out there. I’ll finish up back here for ya!” She cuts me off, practically shoving me out the door.

“Okay, okay!” I say, chuckling at her intensity “I’ll go! Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

I think nothing of what could be on the other side of that door cause I know it’ll be the same thing everyday. I snatch my notepad out of my apron and the pen from behind my ear.

“Welcome in! What can I do for you today?” I say. I was about to list off the specials until I look up and see Luther Hargreeves sat next to…”Five?”

He blinks behind the counter saying “Hello Darling-“

I don’t let him get to far before a tackle him with kisses. Every inch of his face is smeared in my burgundy lipstick and it takes everything in me to stop there. I let him stand to his feet as tears spring to my eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I can’t believe-“ And then the anger sets in “I can’t believe you!”

His brown furrows as I begin to land strikes to his chest.

“You left me! You abandoned me for three years! I was terrified I was never going to see you again! How could you do something so reckless!” I tell. There’s a large part of me that knows it isn’t actually his fault but I choose to neglect that right now. My hits become harder and it’s only then he gently grasps my wrists and lays his forehead against mine.

Throughout my whole fit, he is shushing me and whispering “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my love. I didn’t want to. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

I finally cease my attacks and begin to breathe easily again. Once I’m calm I turn back towards my brother in law.

“Hi Luther.”

“Oh,” he says with an awkward attempt at a smile “Hello!”

Just then, Lottie reveals herself from behind the kitchen doors and walks over. She scans the scene and smirks at me, saying “Hey pumpkin! Care to introduce your friends?”

I chuckle introducing everyone “Lottie, this is my husband, Five Hargreeves. And this is my brother in law, Luther.”

“Alright!” She replies with a smile “Who wants coffee?”

#five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #number five #tua #tua season two #five hargreeves #netflix #fanfic #luther hargreeves #tua rewatch #aidan gallagher

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yolojrkf · 28 days ago

Text

Secretly Yours

There was always a warm feeling within you when arrived back at school. Hogwarts truly is a magical place, in photos, books, in newspapers. It’s something you could never once get over.

Having stepped off the train onto the platform you watch closely as everyone is quick to reunite with their lost friends. As do you. Summer break was quite long and boring as well seeing as it was just you and your parents at home all break plus some visitors here and there.

Not just any visitors. It was him.

You stare off into the distance, locking eyes with the one and only boy who has ever made you feel like you were truly the only girl in the world. The only boy who made you feel like you were more than just a pretty face. The boy who stole your heart who was also know as the boy who lived.

You watched as Harry stepped off the train onto the platform, Hermione and Ron following close by. He sent you a quick loving smile not wanting to be caught looking at you by the wandering eyes that are of the excited students.

You are quick to send one back slowly turning around and making your way towards your awaiting friend group eager to get back into the school.

“There she is! (Y/N)! Over here!” You hear Florence scream with Lucy next to her.

As you make your way towards them you can’t help but notice all the wandering eyes and turning heads. You weren’t a stranger to that, if anything it was quite normal. Being part Veela did come with struggles. Always having to brush off both guys and girls and waving away all the unwanted attention, but there was nothing much you could do.

People at Hogwarts saw you as an angel, as a trophy almost. You were beautiful, kind and smart who wouldn’t want that as a partner? They saw you as an object which always rubbed you the wrong way.

Why is beauty the deciding factor in whether or not you’re a good person? It angered you. You were more than just a pretty face, you were quidditch captain for your house. You were at the top of your class last year along with Hermione. You wanted people to recognize you for being you but unfortunately that rarely happened.

Finally arriving to where Florence and Lucy were you quickly greeted them before you all made your way towards where Hagrid was calling student over at.

Truthfully crossing the black lake on the boat always made you anxious, knowing the creature that lay within the lake always made you scared if you’d ever accidentally fall off. This is why you kept a tight hold onto whatever was closest to you and tonight’s victim is Florence’s arm.

“Geez could you hold me any tighter?! Serious (Y/N) we’ve crossed this line a billion times already, it’s not that big of a deal.” Florence said to me as she rolled her eyes playfully.

“Says you! You know I can’t swim and just knowing there is giant creatures living right beneath where we are currently floating just makes me anxious!” You said as you desperately held her arm even tighter.

“Yeah Florence cut her some slack, the black lake isn’t exactly all sunshine and rainbows.” Lucy said as she stairs right ahead.

When we finally arrived to school I had never been more grateful to be out of that boat.

“Oh my god finally some solid ground!” I exclaimed as I exited the boat.

“Oh come on relax and hurry we’re going to be late for the sorting ceremony! You all know I can’t be late or else William is going to go snitch on me to mum!” Florence exclaims as she hurriedly pulls Lucy and I along with her.

“Is she really? Or are you in a hurry to see someone else??? Huh???” Lucy nudges her, wiggling her eyebrows at her.

“Oh HELL NO! If anyone is eager to see someone it has to be (Y/N)!” Florence declares as she points her finger towards me.

“ME?! But I haven’t even talked or looked at a guy all year! What does this even have to do with me?!” I exclaim as I follow them down towards the great hall.

“Stop trying to deflect Flor, we both know you’ve got your eyes on a certain red head~” Lucy sings towards the end.

“And besides (Y/N) has admirers not crushes or boyfriend which is totally different” Lucy adds on.

We finally make it to the great hall. As we go inside it like being hit with a breath of fresh air and good smelling food. You quickly look around, trying to spot a certain someone noticing all the vivid and lively chatting from all the students that attend.

You finally catch his eyes again and there he is. The only guy at this school who makes your heart beat at an abnormal pace.

As you keep admiring him you notice him signal towards the doors you just came through. Seeing him stand up and make his way towards the exit.

Eager to meet him after missing him all those days during break when he wasn’t with you, you quickly come up with an excuse to leave.

“Hey guys imma head to the restroom real quick, go ahead and start without me though!” You exclaim as you release your grip from Florence’s arm. But before you can make a clear escape, Lucy grabs your wrist and exclaims,

“Wait maybe we can go together. I’m sure Florence wouldn’t mind missing just a bit right girl?”

“No I actually do mind because if I miss it then there goes my potential tickets to the quidditch World Cup all thanks to Willy.” She says while rolling her eyes.

“Plus I don’t want to sit all alone, (Y/N) is fine going on her own, right (Y/N)?” Florence asks as she makes her way to her seat while Lucy and I follow.

“Yeah I’m okay, seriously guys! And plus we wouldn’t want Flor loosing those potential tickets right Lucy?” You ask.

“I guess so, just be quick or you’ll miss all the good food!” Lucy exclaims as she lets you go. You waste no time making your way towards the exit, excited to meet him.

After exiting the big great hall doors, you make a left turn and turn into a dark empty hallway. It’s almost like muscle memory with the way you are walking. Making your way through the dark empty hallways as if you’ve done this before (which you obviously have).

You finally make it to an empty classroom but not just any. The same classroom where you had your very first encounter with Harry. As you reach for the door, who ever is on the other side is faster. The door swings open and as if it happened in fast-motion, you are swooped inside by a strong arm held onto your waist.

Opening your eyes you come face to face with him.

Harry.

You stare at him a bit longer before a wide smile breaks out onto your face and your laugh soon follows. You ware not time swinging your arms around his neck and pulling him into the tightest hug possible making him loose his balance for a second.

“Woah, relax my love~” Harry says through laughs as he try’s to regain his balance.

You face him once again.

“Sorry just couldn’t help it. I’ve missed you so much!” You say as you continue to stare at him dreamily.

“I’ve missed you more. Staying at that pathetic house with my cousin has not been fun. This whole summer break hasn’t been fun except when I was with you.” He says as he caresses your face.

You lean into his touch and all you can think about is how much you want to just kiss him. So that’s what you do.

“Harry?” You ask.

“Yeah?” He responds.

“Kiss me.” You say.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He reply’s with a smile. Closing in the gap in between both of you. How you wish this moment would last forever but even the best things come to an end. Don’t they?

Helllllllooooooo~

My name is Kevin! (They/them)

This is my first time writing on here! Please feel free to leave any corrections down below in the notes section. I want people to enjoy my writing!

I am open to requests from all with a few minor exceptions of course!

I will NOT be doing any of the following:

-rape

-SA

-incest

-HUGE age gap (I’m talking grandpa age with a freshly turned 18 year old)

-Bullying

Hate in general is just a no!

Thank you so much for reading!

(˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) bye~~~~

#harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #harry potter x reader #x reader #books #fanfic #fantasy #reading #remus lupin #Remus #sirius black #james potter #harry james potter

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classicfilmsource · 2 years ago

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I lost you in the night, Julien. I should have left you alone. I shouldn't have kissed you or caressed your face.

Jeanne Moreau as Florence Carala in Elevator to the Gallows (1958) dir. Louis Malle

#filmedit #classicfilmedit #filmgifs #moviegifs #classicfilmblr #doyouevenfilm #userfilm #fyeahmovies #dailyflicks #worldcinemaedit #elevator to the gallows #ours #gifs #1950s #by ria

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dovebuffy92 · 13 days ago

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Happy Jack Antonoff

To celebrate Jack Antonoff's birthday, I am listing five of my favorite things about his work.

Florence + The Machine's Dance Fever is my favorite album that Jack produced.

2. Taylor Swift is my favorite of Jack Antonoff's regular collaborators.

3. " King" is my favorite song that Jack Antonoff co-wrote.

4. " Out Of The Woods" is my favorite song, which Jack co-wrote with Taylor Swift on the first album they worked on together in 1989.

5. Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions is my favorite documentary in which Jack Antonoff is featured.

#taylor swift #florence and the machine #florence welch #florence + the machine #jack antonoff #happy birthday #happy birthday jack antonoff #dance fever album #1989 album #folklore the lost pond studio sessions

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d-targaryenshoe · 1 year ago

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Blooming Love - Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1610

Summary: Having a picknick in a garden, together with your children, truly is a treat, is it not?

As the sun slowly crept across the sky, casting its warm, golden light upon the emerald green grass, Anthony and you, laid out a cozy picnic blanket in the Bridgerton's family garden.

Your two daughters, Edith and Florence, giggled as they chased each other through the lush foliage, their delicate dresses billowing behind them like the sails of a ship.

Little Gerald, meanwhile, sat contentedly in front of his father, absorbed in a game of peekaboo.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses as if nature itself was conspiring to create a perfect, idyllic scene.

Your hands were full with a basket of freshly baked treats, and you paused for a moment to admire the view.

"Anthony," you said, your voice tinged with wonder, "isn't it simply marvelous?"

You glanced over at your husband, his strong, handsome features etched with a look of contentment that seemed to radiate from within.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of love and gratitude for him, for your children, for this life you had built together.

Anthony smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection.

"Yes, my dear," he said, taking your hand in his. "It is indeed marvelous. And it's all the more so because we're sharing it with those we love most."

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away.

The tenderness of the gesture was not lost on either of you.

You knew that soon enough, your lives would change irrevocably with the arrival of your newest child.

But for now, you were basking in the quiet, peaceful joy of this perfect moment.

As if on cue, little Edith skipped over, her brown curls bouncing, her blue eyes shining with excitement.

"Papa, Mama, look what I found!" she exclaimed, holding up a particularly beautiful flower.

Anthony and you exchanged amused glances before thanking her and admiring the flower.

"That's a lovely bloom, Edith," Anthony said, his voice full of pride.

"Why don't you put it in your hair?" You suggested, helping your daughter pin the flower behind her ear.

You placed the basket down on the blanket as you tried your best to sit down on the blanket with the round bump in the way, but Anthony held out his hand and helped you settle down gently.

"There you go, dearest," he said with a warm smile. "You're going to make quite a beautiful picture sitting there like that."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness, knowing that soon enough, your lives would change forever.

But for now, you could just enjoy this moment, this time together as a family.

As Edith ran back to her game with her sister, Gerald started crawling towards the picnic basket, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Oh, let me get that for you, young man," Anthony said, scooping up his son and setting him down next to him. "You're just a bit too small to reach it quite yet."

Gerald giggled, his tiny hands flailing in the air as if to prove his point, and Anthony couldn't help but laugh.

The sun continued to climb higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the lawn, but you all didn't seem to mind.

You were content, for now, just to be together, to soak up the last moments of this idyllic, peaceful life before your world was turned upside down.

And as you sat there, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and the love that bound you together, Anthony couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for everything you had.

You broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you ever wonder what kind of life they'll have, Anthony?" you asked, gesturing toward your daughters. "What kind of world will they grow up in?"

He looked at you, his expression thoughtful.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know that we'll give them love, and we'll give them strength. And we'll teach them to always be true to themselves."

You smiled at him, a tear trickling down your cheek.

Your conversation was interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter from your daughters. Edith and Florence had found a game of tag and were chasing each other around the garden, their giggles filling the air.

Anthony's heart swelled with love for them, for the joy they brought to his life, and for the promise of the future they represented.

He couldn't help but wonder what kind of young women they would grow up to be.

As if sensing his thoughts, you reached out and took his hand in yours.

"They'll be fine, Anthony," you said, your voice steady and reassuring. "Everything shall be fine."

Gerald, meanwhile, had managed to crawl his way over to the picnic basket and was now sitting up, his tiny hands reaching for a cookie that he had spotted.

"Careful there," Anthony said, gently pushing Gerald's hands away from the cookie. "We haven't had lunch yet. We should wait until Mama says it's time to eat." Gerald pouted, but reluctantly let his hands drop to the blanket.

Time seemed to slow down as you sat there, watching your children play.

The warmth of the sun, the smell of the flowers, and the sound of laughter all blended to create a perfect moment that you knew you would cherish forever.

But Anthony knew that this idyllic scene would soon change.

He was about to become a father again, and with that came new responsibilities, new challenges, and a new sense of vulnerability.

"Do you ever think about the past, Anthony?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the sound of your children's giggles.

He turned to look at you, surprised by the question. "Of course I do," he replied. "But the past is gone. We must focus on the present and prepare for the future."

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. "Yes, you're right. But I mean, do you not ever have a single thought about what would have been different if we didn't wed one another?"

Anthony considered your question for a moment. It was true that you could have ended up in vastly different places if you hadn't met and fallen in love.

Perhaps he would have married someone else, or you would have found someone else who could give you the life you deserved.

The possibilities were endless. But as he looked at your happy family now, he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't change a thing.

"I suppose I do think about it sometimes," he finally said, "but only because it helps me appreciate what we have now. We could have easily been apart, and yet here we are, stronger than ever. Whatever it was, I'm grateful for it."

"No, no, I am grateful for you, for your family, all the lot."

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

You turned to see Violet Bridgerton making her way toward you, a smile on her face.

"Oh my-, Violet," you said, rising to your feet. "What a lovely surprise."

"It surely is" Violet replied, hugging you. "I couldn't resist the opportunity to see my favorite little ones."

Violet leaned over to plant a kiss on each of your daughters' heads, eliciting giggles from both Edith and Florence.

Anthony smiled at his mother. "And how are you feeling, Mama? How has life changed with Eloise getting married?"

Violet considered the question, her eyes drifting toward the garden.

"Well, it's certainly different, Anthony. I never thought I'd see the day Eloise would be wed. But, she's grown into herself so beautifully, and she and Philip are so very much in love. It's hard not to feel happy for them."

She paused, her gaze returning to the two youngest girls, who were now running around the blanket, their laughter filling the air.

"Of course, I do miss having her around as much. She was always such a bright light, even when she was at her most mischievous. But children grow up, and they move on to their own lives."

You reached over and took Violet's hand in yours. "You know we'll always be here for you. And you must remember that Eloise will always be your daughter, no matter where she is or what she does."

Anthony nodded in agreement. "And who knows? Perhaps one day we'll have grandchildren running around the manor."

Violet smiled at the thought, her eyes shining with happiness. "Oh, I hope so," she said wistfully. "It's such a wonderful thing, watching your children grow up and start their own families."

You sat together in silence for a moment, lost in your thoughts until the sound of the children's giggles grew fainter.

Realizing that they were getting hungry, Violet spoke up, offering her hand to her grandchildren. "Shall we go inside for some tea?"

Gerald accepted her hand. "That sounds lovely, doesn't it?" she replied. "I'm sure you all would love some freshly baked scones."

You watched the kids go inside the house with Violet and you let out a content sigh, leaning back on your hands.

"It's amazing how much they've grown, isn't it?" you said, looking at your husband.

Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze following your daughters as they disappeared into the house. "They are the lights of our lives."

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, the sounds of laughter and clinking teacups drifted out from the house, reminding you of the life you had built together.

It was a life that had started so uncertain, with so many obstacles in your way, but you had managed to overcome them all.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton netflix #colin bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #anthony x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x y/n #x reader #anthony bridgerton x you

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brandyllyn · 11 months ago

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Silk from their Soul (Masterlist)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Explicit overall, check individual chapters for warnings. Summary: It was supposed to be an easy bounty. But something ain't right about her - and Cooper's itching to find out what.

My Masterlist

Chapter 1: The Ghoul takes a bounty and you might be lost. Chapter 2: Up a tree of sorts Chapter 3: Getting acquainted Chapter 4: At the Gate Chapter 5: The trouble with Ted Chapter 6: Sleepwalkers Chapter 7: Negotiation tactics Chapter 8: Where'd you learn to shoot like that? Chapter 9: Just a taste* Chapter 10: Lotta days between now and later* Chapter 11: Hidey-Hole* Chapter 12: "Thanks." "Anytime." Chapter 13: Daisy, Daisy Chapter 14: Florence Fucking Nightingale Chapter 15: Believe me when I say* Chapter 16: New plan* Chapter 17: Don't look back Chapter 18: Waking up happy Chapter 19: Unharmed Chapter 20: Interception Chapter 21: Walking after midnight Chapter 22: Make me immortal* Chapter 23: Mad science Chapter 24: A kiss Chapter 25: Truths* Chapter 26: Lotta time between now and later

Chapters with an asterisk* are Explicit

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

☢

The Truth About Monsters (Nikita Gill)

The truth is this: every monster you have met or will ever meet was once a human being with a soul that was as soft and light as silk

Someone stole that silk from their soul and turned them into this

So when you see a monster next always remember do not fear the thing before you fear the thing that created it instead.

#fallout tv series #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you

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woantohae · 2 months ago

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Interrupted feelings || Lewis Pullman x oc! Actress

Summary: Annie finally has free time with her boyfriend Lewis. They are in the middle of a make out session when her phone rings. Apparently her friend Florence has an invitation to spend Valentine's Day with her and some friends.

《tags: fluff, hints of smut, touching, make out session, mentions of pussy, dick and boobs, the usual》

Annie and Lewis were watching a movie cuddling on the couch at home.

They had finally coincided with free days after recording projects each on their own. They had been dating for more than 4 years, since they met on the set of the movie "Bad Times at the El Royale." It was an instance where their feelings consumed each other's hearts, as they could only think about each other. Lewis caressed the girl's waist with his fingers, who placed her head in the gap between his chest and neck.

Annie didn't know when she lost interest in the movie. She didn't know if it was when Lewis started caressing her waist or when he occasionally left kisses on her head in a tender gesture. She only knew that if he continued to caress her legs stretched out in the man's lap with his free hand, she would not answer for herself and what might happen next.

To her surprise, Lewis grabs the remote and turns off the TV. She frowns and he looks at her amused.

"Honestly, I stopped paying attention to the TV as soon as you walked into the room with this dress and the strap slipping off your shoulder," he admits and grabs her face with his hands to slam his lips onto hers.

Annie smiles against his lips and kisses him back, grateful that they decided to do something else to entertain themselves. Lewis lowers his hands to her waist and brings her closer to his body, desperate to feel her as close to him as possible. At the same time, with his other hand he slides it over the girl's bare thighs and legs, stealing sighs from her between kisses. She clings to his shirt, feeling the heat in the air.

Lewis caresses her legs and travels his hands over the girl's skin until he puts them under the skirt of her short dress and caresses her butt. In an instant, he moves her still with their lips glued together and in one agile movement he sits her on his lap.

Lewis pulls away for air and smiles at her with amusement as his blue eyes fill with dark desire. She smiles and giggles, placing her hands on her boyfriend's shoulders. Lewis ventures his hand until he leaves it on the girl's shoulder and attacks her lips again. As they continued a dance with their tongues, he begins to lower the other strap of the girl's dress, then he separates himself to look at her and sighs near her lips.

"You drive me crazy, love" Lewis says kissing the girl's bare shoulder, who hugs him with her arms so he can continue planting kisses in the area.

"Even after 4 years?" she asks amused.

Lewis looks into her eyes and smiles lovingly at the girl he is in love with.

"Even after four years," he answers confidently, "And forever."

Annie smiles and kisses his lips, feeling full of love. Lewis kisses her as if tomorrow didn't exist and begins to feel how his girlfriend moves in his lap, tempting him to start something that he is sure he won't be able to stop. Lewis moans into her mouth and takes the girl's butt between his hands to start moving her to feel her better on his dick covered by the fabric of his pants. He massages it to his liking, without getting bored of kneading and squeezing it until she lets out low moans at the girl on top of him. He never gets tired of hearing them.

"So that's where we are, huh?" Lewis asks in a low tone. Annie just laughs and pretends not to understand. She just moves her pussy covered by her panties over his pants. "Oh, darling. You're killing me with that," he says in a moan, and devours her mouth again.

Lewis is in charge of caressing her thighs on the sides of his lap and feeling how the girl begins to get wet with every movement he makes. He needs to cum, he's almost ready, so he takes her hips again and moves her faster, creating more friction between them to make a mess of him.

"Oh, shit. That feels good, honey" Lewis sighs and captures the girl's lips in a hasty kiss.

He brings his hand up and massages her breast over her dress. They are immersed in the pleasure of the moment, but Annie's phone rings across the room.

"Let it ring," Lewis says and lowers his lips to the girl's neckline, kissing every part of her skin.

Annie moans and grabs the brunette's hair with her fingers.

"It could be my parents," she says, closing her eyes. Lewis is about to cum, when the cell phone continues insisting. "Wait, Lewis, wait. It'll be quick."

Annie moves away from him a little and Lewis groans in frustration, not letting go of the girl's hips, keeping her in his lap. She reaches for her phone and sees the name of the caller. Annie laughs and answers, resting a hand on Lewis's shoulder.

He sighs and leans back, looking at her carefully.

"Hello Florence" he rolls his eyes in amusement. Lewis approaches and decides to continue kissing the girl's neck. He'll let her talk to the blonde on the phone, but that doesn't mean he'll stop enjoying this moment with his girlfriend. He hugs her waist and kisses her neckline with a smile as he sees how the girl on his lap closes her eyes.

"Do you want us to celebrate Valentine's day with you and Jack?" Annie asks looking at her boyfriend, who seems to think about it.

"Tell her no" he says on her skin.

"Wait a moment," the girl moves the cell phone away from her ear and covers it so her friend can't hear her. "She says she's making homemade pasta and would like us to go. Sebastian will be there with Anabelle and Wyatt with his wife." Lewis sighs and looks at her.

"Fine. Okay, tell her we'll go" Annie smiles and kisses his lips before answering Florence, who celebrates on the other line of the phone.

"Okay, I'll see you there. We'll bring dessert. Bye, I love you too."

The girl puts the cell phone aside and looks at Lewis.

"We don't have to worry about dinner tonight," she says with a laugh, to which Lewis imitates her. But he frowns as he watches Annie begin to fix her dress and begin to get up.

Lewis holds her in place. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get ready, why?" she asks with amusement in her tone.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, taking her by the waist and settling her back into his lap.

"Oh, no, no, no. You won't leave so quickly without finishing what we started," he says before devouring her mouth again.

They would have time to get ready later.

Happy Valentine's Day!!! 💌

I just needed to write something with Lewis, cause he is such a dream <333

If you have any request for him or any of rhe people in my masterlist, you're more than welcome to ask me if you like one.

Have a nice day, evening, night!

#lewis pullman x reader #fluff #smut #fanfic #valentines day #bob floyd x reader #fanfiction #sentry

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

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Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I'm dedicating this chapter to Becca Butcher, who never did anything wrong in her life. This one's for you.

Chapter Title from Shake it Out by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 26.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You bring Ryan to safety, and Ben prepares for the final showdown. Usual warnings, plus extra violence.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 29 - Chapter 31

Ben found Her in the attic. Curled in a corner, perfect features cast in the shifting light of a lone window, and reading an old, leather-bound book.

It looked almost fucking magical. Like some sort of painting he’d see in a study or museum, with all her beauty just as permanent and timeless as the sunlight leaking into the room. The dust glowed, hovering in the air and swirling with Her every breath and shift, and Ben paused to just look at Her So goddamn peaceful, so far from the tense shouts and movements of their team downstairs and on the grounds. Setting up weapons and traps and steeling themselves to fight.

Steeling themselves for Homelander.

It was why She was up here. She wasn’t fighting with them, but she still had an hour until she and Ryan left, so she’d grabbed Ben’s arm and whispered in his ear that she was going to go rest. Ben had grunted, kissed the side of her head, and held onto Her heartbeat as she walked away. He couldn’t feel Her—She’d taken the fucking suppressant again, to trick Sage, and now Ben couldn’t fucking feel Her—so he’d kept half of his attention on Her heart every second she was away. He’d marched around the grounds, going over plan after stupid fucking plan with MM, Butcher, and Annie, listened to Frenchie explain the drill a million goddamn times, and given Ryan a hug every time he started to look sad and pointlessly guilty, all without ever letting go of Her heart.

And now, as everything began to settle and it became a game of nerves—of knowing what was coming and never fucking flinching—Ben followed Her heart until he ended up here. Dropping to his knees before Her, letting her look up at him with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and pulling her into his chest. He’d brought her coffee and a bagel, but they got discarded and forgotten on the dusty floor as Ben’s whole existence remained about Her. Just fucking holding Her, hopefully until there would be some sort of goddamn imprint of Her on his skin he could carry with him into battle.

Ben didn’t want Her to go. Not now, not when he couldn’t fucking sense any part of her but what was in his hands. It wasn’t that it wasn’t enough—soft skin and nails digging into his chest and hair he could tangle between his fingers—but he couldn’t fucking sense Her. Ben wouldn’t be able to know that She was safe, that Ryan was safe, that the only two people he cared about hadn’t figured out how to get themselves goddamn killed when he was supposed to protect them.

She’d tell him that it wasn’this job to protect them. That his job was to be there, and love them, and keep them safe with a feeling, but right now Ben didn’t give a fuck. If he lost them here, at the goddamn finish line, he wouldn’t have a lifetime to make them feel safe. To do whatever the fuck families that loved each other did. To make a million stupid breakfasts and watch every movie ever fucking made, to show Ryan how to shave and raise him so he’d earn a woman half as good as She was. To hold Her like this forever and kiss her until she melted into his body.

To let the instinct of Her return, so Ben could fucking feel all Her love and adoration and joy. Because She’d be safe, really fucking safe, living in a world without Homelander or some sort of fucked up game to play, or any war to fight. She’d clean up messes they made, together. In the kitchen and on the stairs and between the sheets of their shared bed. A bed that would belong to them, and nobody would ever try to take away.

But Ben still had to keep Her. He had to not fucking falter here, and remind himself that she did have to go. They couldn’t delay Homelander, Ben had been the one who’d insisted She and Ryan stay away from the fight, and this would help him focus. All he’d have to do is finish the fucking job, and know that he’d feel Her again when it was over. Ben had to keep reminding himself that it was for Her own fucking safety, and he’d see Her again. He’d always fucking see Her again. He’d kill Homelander, their pigeon shit would come back, and he’d go find Her.

Ben was more than goddamn ready to kill Homelander. To spill the pussy’s fucking blood over the grass and turn him into the fucking worm he was. Buried in the dirt, never seeing the goddamn sun again, and sparing it any thought of having to give someone as fucking worthless as Homelander a shred of his demanded light.

“Three hours.” Her words are muffled against Ben’s chest, her head tilting back to watch him. Her eyes are glossy and her expression tired, but She’s still beautiful. Still fucking perfect, and still looking at Ben like she loves him. And it’s all he can goddamn ask for, so he lets a hand drift to her face, tracing the lines and slopes of Her features until he gets a soft smile, and can drag his thumb over the curve of her lips.

“Two hours.” Ben corrects, following his own internal timer. “And fifty-seven minutes.”

She gives him a flat look. “That’s only three minutes, I rounded-“

“It’s three minutes less. Four now, the longer you get all fucking smart with me-“

“You like it when I get smart with you,” Her smile grows to something more real, and it makes Ben feel fucking alive. “It turns you on, you horny old cunt.”

“I’m your horny old cunt. You’re fucking stuck with me,” Ben moves Her hand up between their bodies, and says Her name like it should be said. Like it some sort of perfect, sacred secret that he gets to keep.

She hums, examining the ring, and Ben knows that on any other day She’d have teased him. She’d have stuck her tongue out, pretended to pull the ring off, and giggled when Ben caught her hand and pushed her to the ground, kissing her until she was a moaning, writhing mess under him. But today is a walking fucking nightmare—or a strange space before it, where you know the nightmare is inevitable, and you’re fucking exhausted, so you can’t do anything but wait to pass out and let it take over—so She just leans back into Ben’s body, propping her head on his shoulder, and looks past him to the window.

“I think it’s going to rain.” Her words are only a breath in Ben’s ear, and he lets his hand wander over Her back, moving her further up his body. “We don’t have floodlights, and it’s probably too late to get them. Annie could be the light, but you’ll probably want her for the combat-“

Ben tugged on Her hair, just enough to get her attention and pull her drawn, worried face to his. To kiss Her long and soft and gentle, and stop the machine that was Her brain from sending her into overdrive.

“Not your job to worry about that shit.” He muttered against Her lips. “We’ve got it.”

“But-“

“No.” Ben dropped his brow to Her’s, and held her quiet, painfully fucking tragic gaze with the most goddamn certain one he could manage. His voice had to be strict and firm, because Ben was going to kill Homelander, and She wasn’t going to need to lift a goddamn finger to find it washed in blood. “We’ve fucking got it. You’re going to go with Ryan, and not goddamn worry, because we’ve got it. Read some books, stay away from the TV, and wait to feel me. Then I’ll come get you, and we’ll get fucking married-“

“Right after?” She giggled, and it was like fucking music because—even if it was quiet and soft—it meant She was a little bit happier. “Are we having a shotgun wedding?” She made a mock gasp, leaning fully back with a glimmering, wide-eyed expression. “Am I pregnant? Is it yours?”

Ben snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t joke about that shit, it’s not fucking funny-“

“You laughed.“ She gave him a pretty, fake pout, fingers tapping at his chest, and She was so fucking beautiful and hilarious and perfect that Ben had laughed.

And he still did not want to entertain that line of thought at fucking all. The very damn possibility that Ben was about to leave Her, and she could be pregnant, and it would be his because who the hell else would have made that happen, and fuck, Ben was not going to leave Her if-

“I’m not pregnant,” Her hands moved to hold his face as she spoke, her expression falling into one of worry. “It was a joke, my love.”

“I fucking cum in you-“

“I’m aware, Benjamin.” She drawled, and sighed at the scowl that Ben could feel over his face, running her fingers through his beard. “It’s, I know I can, Homelander made the scientists check, but I’m not. I think it’s part of the V. The healing.”

“The V.”

“I mean, my healing factor sort of like a stasis, right? It’s why I can’t get sick, or be poisoned, and I only get my period once a year. And, um, I think if I don’t want to be, I won’t.”

Ben started at Her for a long, silent moment before grunting, “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“If I’m not ready, if my body isn’t ready, that won’t happen.” She sighed, dropping her head into Ben’s shoulder. “I mean, we fuck all the time, and, um, Homelander wasn’t really all about protection-“

“Fine.” Ben cut it off there. He understood now, he fucking believed Her—she was a whole lot smarter than he was, and always fucking right, so there was no damn need for doubt—and had almost negative fucking desire to think about Homelander right now. Doing that, or touching Her, or trying to fucking hurt her in any goddamn way. Just the damn thought made his grip on Her tighten, because nothing should hurt Her. Nothing would hurt Her, and she needed to damn know that. “You’re okay.”

She nodded slowly against his body. “I’m okay. I’m,” she let out a long breath, and her arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m tired.”

“You’ll rest-“

“I won’t.”

Ben frowned, angling her chin up with a careful hand to find Her smiling at him in a way that wasn’t making it any fucking easier to think about leaving her. All love and want, searching over his face like She was trying to memorize it. He grunted Her name, and she sat a little higher, holding herself at his eye level.

“I’m not going to rest, Ben. I’m going to worry about you. I’m,” She smile grew, and it was only made of fucking exhaustion and love and an ache that Ben could feel around his ribs. “I love you. And if you die, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’m not going to fucking die-“

“And I can’t die.” She gave him a pointed look. “But you’re going to worry about me.”

“That’s not the same-“

“Yeah, it is-“

“It’s fucking not.” Ben snapped. “I die, you’ve still got Ryan. You’ve still got all the pussy fuckers downstairs and your family. You die, I’m done. I’ll be a graveyard coke snorter, Sunshine, and no one will even give me any goddamn coke-“

She leaned up, kissing him in the soft, easy, shut up way he usually kissed Her, and Ben fucking hated this. He should be comforting Her. He was built for battle, for war, for blood and dirt and killing in Her name, and it was not her fucking job to kiss him like this right now-

“If you want coke,” She said against his lips, and a lot of the fight in his body fucking evaporated into radiant light at the look of adoration in Her eyes. “I’ll get you some coke, Pretty Boy. But if I die, which I won’t, you won’t be done. You’ll have Ryan-“

“If one of us is dying and leaving the other with Ryan, it should be me. He likes you more-“

She wrinkled her pretty nose, whacking his arm. “He likes you plenty, you dickhead. And neither of us are dying, so we don’t need to talk about this. We can talk about how I think Hughie was going to propose to Annie and you stole his thunder, or how I think A-Train and Ashley might be sleeping together, or our wedding, but no planning our estate or trying to figure out who’s going to die. Got it?”

Ben felt something loosen around his lungs, and he grinned, dropping to nip and suck at Her neck. “It’s real fucking hot when you yell at me-“

“I know, that’s why I do it.” Her voice was an airy, happy breath, and Ben didn’t think it was possible to be in real pain when they were like this. Her legs around his torso, his mouth attached to her skin, everything fucking good.

“Brat.” He muttered, pulling back to search Her wide, slightly flushed, perfect fucking face. “We should do it now.”

“Do-“

“Get married. Right fucking now. MM’s probably a minister or some shit, he seems like the type, we can just do it-“

She shook her head, and Ben fell silent on pure fucking instinct as Her hands glided over his face. “Not now, Ben. I don’t even have a dress-“

“You don’t need a dress, beautiful, we can-“

“I want to do a real wedding,” She said, her eyes almost pleading. “I want to have a stupid, normal, insanely fucking expensive wedding, where I throw flowers and you have to pretend you like talking to people, and I get to see you in a suit, and you,” she pressed a small, innocent kiss to Ben’s cheek before moving to whisper in his ear. “Get to do the garter thing. Behind closed doors, because there’s not a chance you don’t start eating me out the moment you get there.”

Ben loved her so fucking much. “Fine. But if we’re not married by October, I’m-“

“Waiting very patiently? Because you’re a very good husband?” She kissed him in that same sweet way, and Ben rolled his eyes.

“You’re a fucking menace, Sunshine.” Ben bumped his nose with Her’s, she fucking giggled again, and he felt high. “And I am not getting married in November, it’s a dogshit fucking month, but-“

“How about December?” She tilted her head, words slow and careful. “I know we don’t love the winter, but it’ll be one year of us knowing each other. That feels symbolic-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that. I just want to get married. Soon.” He grumbled, and earned a wide, bright, toothy smile as She squirmed in his lap, her words soft and happy.

“I can live with that.”

“Good.”

“We can do it in August? Inside, so that the only sweaty and gross things are you and I after-“

��That’s fucking disgusting,” Ben said Her name with a smirk, and she hit his chest, sticking out her tongue.

“Fuck you, Benjamin, we both know you’re just marrying me for the amazing honeymoon sex we’re going to have, and maybe the opportunity to dress Butcher in a pretty dress for his flower girl role-“

“I am marrying you for a lot of reasons,” he muttered, kissing the space between her eyes and trying to inhale the easy, blissful sigh that left Her. “But our sex is always fucking amazing, we don’t need a fucking flower girl, and Butcher should count himself lucky he’s allowed to be there.”

“What about Ryan?”

“I am not making Ryan the fucking flower girl-“

“No, Benjamin, he should be the best man.”

Ben froze for a second, scanning Her soft, thoughtful expression with a furrowed brow. “Have you been fucking thinking about this?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled, turning her flushed face to press into Ben’s arm, her heart hitting an uneven, fluttering pace in her chest. “It’s been a good distraction. From, uh, everything.”

He nodded slowly, and started to draw slow, firm patterns on her skin. “What else have you thought about.”

“I think Kimiko would like to be the flower girl,” Her voice was muffled in his body, more uncertain than Ben liked, so he just hummed and kept listening. “She likes to do pretty, simple things, I think it helps her cope with the whole situation. I would like Annie to be on my side, but I really think you should take Hughie. He might get all panicky and red when you ask, but it will mean a lot to him. And I, I want MM there, but I’d understand if he doesn’t want to be-“

“He will.” Ben muttered. “He likes you a fuck ton more than he hates me.”

“I know, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable-“

He drawled Her name, kissing the top of her head. “We’re well fucking past uncomfortable. He’s accepted that I’m not going a single goddamn place without you, that I fucking love you, and that you love me. He’ll be there.”

“I do love you.” She mumbled, kissing the base of Ben’s neck and curling her fingers in his hair. “You burn, I burn. No burning without me, Benjamin, or I’m serious. I’ll fucking kill you.”

He chuckled, squeezing the skin of her hips. “Deal, Sunshine. You burn, I burn.”

She smiled up at him, all sweet and adoration and love and fuck she was going to kill him. He couldn’t fucking do this, he couldn’t fucking move from this warm, impossibly fucking good moment, and he never wanted to let Her go.

Ben was vaguely aware that she had been right. It was raining, and the attic had dropped into a damp, heavy darkness Ben could feel over his skin and inside his lungs. He could hear thunder in the distance, hear the drumming of the rain on the roof above them, but Her heartbeat was more important—sacred and critical and all fucking Ben’s—so he held onto that. He held onto Her for as long as he was fucking allowed to, until her phone buzzed and she had to pry away from Ben’s grip to take the call.

“Where are you.” MM’s voice was static and muffled through the speaker, and she sighed, watching Ben as she answered.

“In the attic with Ben, why-“

“You’re rolling out now.” There was a sense of almost apologetic urgency in MM’s words, and Ben felt his hands tense as Her heart stuttered.

“Now? I thought we had another thirty-“

“This storm is looking heavy, and I don’t want you trying to drive in it if it gets worse. You’re packed?”

“Yeah. I did Ryan’s bag as well-“

“Where-“

“In our room. But, MM-“

“Look.” MM sighed through the phone, and She swallowed. “I don’t want to fucking cut it off early either, but we don’t know when Homelander will be here, and I’d rather get this over with and know we got you out safely. Is Soldier Boy-“

“I’m here.” Ben grunted, leaning forward as she held the phone between their bodies. “What.”

“Get her downstairs, then meet Butcher and Annie in the kitchen. We’re going over everything again. No errors.”

Ben nodded, and when he looked back to Her sad, open, slightly hollow expression, everything in him became steel. If fucking anything went right tonight, it would be that She was going to be safe. That nothing was ever going to fucking hurt Her again. “Got it. Did Frenchie-“

“Guns are in the dining room. See you soon, motherfucker.”

The phone line clicked dead, and She wasn’t fucking moving. She wasn’t falling into Ben, or pulling away from him, but she was just fucking frozen. Staring at him with glassy eyes and an open mouth, her heart uneven and her nails digging into Ben’s skin, rising with smoke.

Ben didn’t bother to speak, because words wouldn’t fucking help. He gave her a long, slow kiss, letting her part open for him at the first sweep of his tongue over her lips, and deepening it until her body was warm but not burning, and Her heart was fast but not erratic.

It was a promise. Neither of them were attempting to stand and leave, because this was a silent fucking oath that Ben would find Her. That She’d be safe with Ben still lingering on her lips and teeth, and Ben would fight with the taste of honey and chocolate on his tongue, the smell of flowers everywhere around him. He’d run his fingers through her hair again, and she’d hold his face in that way that told Ben she was seeing him. That She was touching him and wanting him and had no fucking intention of ever being anywhere else, because She wanted Ben to look at Her, and she loved looking at him.

And Ben fucking loved Her. And he’d be here again—with Her in his arms, but all her fucking love alight in his body—because there just wasn’t another fucking option. He’d finish this by the time the sun reappeared in the sky, and he’d feel Her again before that. Just two fucking hours, and Ben would be able to sense her again.

He’d made it a lifetime never feeling Her at all. He’d made it two months without feeling Her or knowing she loved him. He wasn’t a fucking pussy, he’d manage to survive less than three goddamn hours knowing she was safe, that she loved him, and then worship and tend to Her for a million goddamn years when this was done.

She let Ben carry Her downstairs, burying her face in his neck and still clinging to him when they reached the kitchen and he lowered her to the ground. Ben looped his arm around her waist, holding Her as steady as he could, and neither of them spoke as he guided her outside. Into the rain, cold and stinging on his skin, her body against his the only real thing in the whole fucking universe.

They were taking the car She and Ben had stolen in Boston, and most everyone was already there. Ashley and A-Train were squished into the back with Zoe, Neuman was twisted around in shotgun to hold her daughter’s hand and whisper soothing words, and MM was standing on the driver’s side as they approached, tall and unflinching in the downpour as he gave them a curt nod of greeting and tossed Her the keys.

Ben snatched them out air with a scowl, his eyes narrowing at MM. “She is not fucking driving-“

“Shut up, Benjamin-“

“No. You’re a goddamn threat to your own safety when you drive-“

“When it’s just us,” She snapped, and tried to jump up to grab the keys from Ben’s hand, held high over her head. “I’m not going to be reckless with two kids in the car-“

“And she’s the only one I trust to drive, you asshole.” MM crossed his arms, scowling at Ben. “So unless you want Neuman to drive your wife and son around in the middle of this shit, give her the fucking keys.”

Ben did not appreciate that use of wife and son, because MM knew exactly what the fuck he was pulling with it. He’d backed Ben into a corner where She now had to have the keys, because Ben didn’t fucking trust Neuman, and she wouldn’t be reckless with Ryan in the car, but Christ. He mostly just didn’t want Her to go. Ben knew She’d be careful, that when she’d went she’d be safe, but if he kept the keys where she couldn’t get them—where nobody could get them, because Ben was a fuck ton stronger than all these pussies—he’ never have to say goodbye.

And She must have seen that on his face, because when Ben passed her the keys with a scowl, she kissed his cheek with a sad, loving smile and let Ben half pick her up off the ground as he deepened every part of this. It wasn’t a fucking goodbye, not by a damn mile, but Ben still gave Her fucking everything left he had to offer. His mouth and body fitting perfectly against every part of her, his touch on Her skin careful and deliberate, and the atomic light in his body that might be the bomb and might just fucking be his love for Her radiating into the air. Ben kissed Her and held her until they couldn’t fucking feel the rain, and her heart was beating in perfect time with his.

“I love you,” he said Her name down her throat, and she fucking knew that, and Ben was still never going to stop saying it. “I fucking love you, and I’ll find you. I’ll always fucking find you.”

“I know you will,” She mumbled, pulling away slowly, as if it was painful. It fucking was. “I trust you, Benjamin, my love. I know.”

Ben already had Her face memorized but he still stared. Still tried to look at Her enough that, when he closed his eyes, She’d be the only thing he saw. Listening closely enough that, between any explosion or sound of pain or splash of rain on gravel, he’d hear the perfect, musical sound of Her voice. He could live here, he decided. If all of time froze and Ben was trapped in this storm forever, it would be in a moment where She was looking at him, and he was holding Her, and everything ached but Ben still fucking had Her.

He wouldn’t lose Her. He’d repeated it to himself countless fucking times, and it had become some sort of oath between him and the universe, but right now it was a prayer. God wasn’t fucking real, the world was too cruel for that, but Ben still was asking for one last favor. He didn’t deserve it, but he still needed to look at Her and fucking plead that he would fucking find Her. That Ben could let go of Her and it wouldn’t be painful, because he had an hour and forty-four minutes left until he could feel Her, and when he did he’d only feel Her love. Only feel Her up and down his spine and wrapped around his skull, making everything in his vision glow and the drums pound of out his chest in an avenging beat of Her. She was fucking safe, and loved Ben, and now this was going to be fucking over.

So when Butcher and Ryan joined them—Butcher giving them a rough nod and Ryan running to give Ben a tight hug—all Ben could do was fucking pray.

“I don’t want to go,” Ryan muttered, looking up at Ben with wide eyes that he could fucking taste the fear in. “I can help-“

“It’s not your job to help, Ryan.” Ben knelt down, holding Ryan’s gaze with his own glare. “Your job is to go with her, and wait for me to come get you. I’ll take care of this, and you’re going to be fucking fine.”

“What if you lose-“

“I won’t.”

“But-“

“I won’t fucking lose, kid. I don’t lose.” That wasn’t really true anymore, but it made Ryan’s face relax slightly, so Ben said it anyway. “So don’t worry about me. I’ve got it.”

Ryan mumbled Her name, glancing to where She and Butcher were exchanging low words Ben couldn’t decipher over the pounding of the rain around him and the drums inside him. “Um, she said you lose. She said you’ve never beaten her at a card game, or won any of your fights.”

Ben snorted. “That’s because she’s a fucking genius, and nobody can beat her in a fight. That woman could talk circles around a hundred damn people at once. And,” he lowered his voice, leaning closer to Ryan with a grin. “I let her beat me at card games.”

“Why?” Ryan titled his head with a frown that was remarkably fucking uncanny to Her’s, and Ben’s smirk widened.

“Because she loves winning.”

“But it’s just a card game-

“I know that. And she really fucking loves winning. And I love her.” Ben shrugged, because in his head it was pretty goddamn simple. They played, he went out his way to lose, and she lit up like the goddamn sun after. Ben got extra ice cream, and extra sex, and She was all fucking bouncy and bright for the rest of the day, so he could lose a stupid fucking card game. “When you love someone, you let them have stupid shit that makes them happy.”

Ryan nodded slowly—it was an almost eerie imitation of Her slow nod, that told Ben they understood something, but were still thinking about it—and his frown became less strained on his face. “Okay. What does,” Ryan paused, closing his mouth once before continuing. “Does the card game, um, does it make her really happy?”

“It makes her fucking glow.” Ben looked over to where She was still talking to Butcher, and his grin became all teeth and raw fucking joy when She glanced at him, her whole face relaxed, and her smile became the one that told him Ben. Ben, I love you and adore you and want you. He turned his attention back to Ryan, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “You ever want to get her in a good mood, lose a game of cards.”

Ryan nodded slowly, and Ben knew the kid probably wouldn’t use that tactic nearly as much as he did. Ben used it, or others like it, any time he saw her eyes grow fogged, heard her breathing become mechanical, or felt her nails dig into his arm. He’d lose a bet about who got to make dinner or chose the movie or let Her lead sex just to see her fucking smile. Ben could eat next to anything, and watch a million hours of fucking static, and have almost any damn form of sex as long as it was with Her.

And Ben wouldn’t be able to be with Her for this. He’d have to just fucking wait, and keep fucking praying. Praying that Her firm handshake with Butcher was because even that damn pussy was on board with what this was about.

Killing Homelander. Keeping Her and Ryan safe.

That’s all it had been about since the very fucking start, and Ben got that now. He’d get that for the rest of his fucking life, and his last prayer to the universe was that he’d been right. That this was some sort of fucked up heaven—where Ben got to have a real family, and be loved a perfect fucking woman, and repent for the rest of his goddamn life to earn that—and not the most twisted hell imaginable. That this wasn’t well-designed torture, where everyone had somehow forgiven him, and he felt loved for the first time in a hundred years—was happy for the first time in his fucking life—only have it all taken away. To have Her ripped away from him and, to lose. Lose this war, lose the only people that mattered in the entire goddamn universe, lose the love of his life and have no one to blame but himself.

She bumped past Butcher to return to Ben’s side, and pulled Ryan into a long, tight hug without a word. Ryan’s head buried in her chest, Her body over his to shield him from the rain, and Ben wanted to crawl up from where he’d found himself—kneeling in the mud, drenched in a downpour She’d probably call mythical or some shit—and fucking hold them.

Her eyes opened, meeting Ben’s, and her tiny nod was like a command over his whole body. He stood, almost launched across to the small space to where She and Ryan stood, and took all the rain like they were fucking bullets. Another way to repent, another way to prove his love, and another way to keep them safe.

“Can you,” Ryan’s voice was muffled between Her and Ben’s bodies, drowned out in the unrelenting pound of the rain, but Ben still heard them. Right now all he could fucking hear was the rain, Her heart, and Ryan’s unsure words. “Ben, can you come with us? Please?”

She tensed slightly, but looked to Ben for his answer.

She trusted Ben to handle this himself. That he’d say the right thing, not fuck Ryan up more than the poor kid already had been, and all She had to do was back up what he said.

“I can’t, kid.” He muttered, holding Ryan’s sad gaze and making his words a fucking promise. Something so certain Ryan wouldn’t even bother to worry. “I’ve got to stay here and fight. But she’s going to take good care of you, and I’ll find you both when it’s over.” Ben felt something impossibly fucking painful, overtake his body, and his words became rough. Edged with that same pain, lined with the knowledge that he could convince Ryan they’d be safe—he could convince his damn self they’d be safe—but he still couldn’t fucking feel Her, and they still had to go. “All you have to do is wait. You’ll get somewhere safe, survive this mythical storm, and just fucking wait.” He glanced up at Her, and this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to fucking say. “Take care of each other, and I swear on my fucking life I’ll find you. I’ll always fucking find you.”

“Okay.” Ryan squeezed Ben one last time, and looked to Her with an open, soft expression. “Can I-“

“Go wait in the car, Ry. I’ll be right there.” She pulled the kid back against her and let him stay there until he was ready to god. Until Ryan pried himself from Her body, and walked away with one last fearful look at Ben. Not fear of Ben—Ben knew what that fear looked like, and it was more terror than worry—but fear for him, and Ben was going to fucking roar louder than any rain or thunder or bomb.

“Mythical?” She whispered, moving Her gaze from Ryan to Ben with a sad adoring smile. “What’s a mythical storm?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I don’t fucking know. What the hell would you have said-“

“Biblical? A biblical storm?”

“Smartass.”

“You love it.” She sighed, shuffling right into Ben’s chest and pulling his arms around Her as if they hadn’t been about to hold Her on pure fucking instinct. “You love me.”

“I do.” He ran his hands through her wet hair and pressing a kiss to the top of Her head, speaking against her skin. “I really fucking love you, Sunshine.”

“Good.” She hummed, her own arms wrapping over his torso and squeezing. “Because I really fucking love you too.”

Neither of them spoke after that—neither of them needed to speak—and when she pulled Ben’s face down to Her’s for an unhurried, sloppy kiss, he bit Her lower lip in a silent promise.

I’ll find you. When this is over, I’ll come get you, and I love you. I won’t ever lose you, because I love you, and if this does turn out to be hell, the Devil better run for the goddamn hills because I’ll burn the entire universe to get you home.

She didn’t hear the promise between their heads, or read it on his face, but she didn’t need to. Ben had told Her that in a million goddamn ways, and right now it was more of a warning to whatever might be listening. That the world better fucking pray that Ben didn’t lose Her, because he wouldn’t kill anything innocent in Her name—She’d hate that, and Ben loved Her—but he’d raze and maul and scorch anything that was guilty.

And the world must have heard him, because lightning cracked through the sky—lighting up Her every perfect feature and making Her look like some sort of forgotten, vital god that turned the world round and created all its beauty but still only looked at Ben—and Ben was forced to let Her go. To press his brow to Her’s, trace his hands over Her face to wipe any water that might be tears, and leave one long, gentle kiss to her lips before he had to watch her walk away. Meet Her eyes one last time, see that She loved him on every single part of Her beautiful face. Feel the world a little beyond himself, feel peaceful and infinite and warm in the chill of the rain, and know that Her sharp, adoring gaze would follow him, and the deep, unstoppable, consuming look in her eyes was love.

I love you, Benjamin.

There was iron wrapped over his lungs and throat, and a roaring rush of fury and blood in his chest, but it was all drowned out by Her. And it was easy to look at Her and nod, and Ben didn’t have to think to turn his face into an expression of his own pure, devout ardor and affection.

I love you too, Sunshine.

She nodded, and something in Ben became a heavy weight he was happy to carry as the car pulled away. She knew he loved her, and that was all that fucking mattered. His whole world was in that stupid fucking car, and he’d carry that piece of Her inside of him, the crucial and holy responsibility of loving Her, until he could feel her again. Ben would bear this on his shoulder and over his head until he could pull the universe back into his arms, and then he’d breathe. He’d crash into Her and spend the rest of time where he belonged, but until then he had a fucking job to do.

The next time Ben saw Her, he needed to be able to look Her in the eyes and tell her Homelander was dead.

They gathered in the kitchen, and Ben could barely fucking breathe. It wasn’t just the strain and mold on his heart leaking into his lungs, it was the very air in the goddamn room. Heavy and cold, but still humid and thin, wearing them down before the fight even began.

It was wrong without Her here. Wrong to listen to MM recite a plan She made without her listening, without her correcting or amending anything, without Ben having anything to hold but a gun in his hand, anything to touch but the splintered wooden table they sat around. It was wrong to not feel Her anywhere but in the empty space at his side, or hear Her heartbeat and voice in the static silence of a ceiling fan.

“Here’s the deal.” MM’s words were short as he scanned over the team, hands sorting the guns in a neat line on the table. “Everyone gets two guns. One regular, one drill. We got enough for one V bullet each, which means you do not take a shot unless you’re going to hit. Not you think you’re going to hit, you’re going to hit. A shot you’d have to be a real fucking idiot to miss. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, and Hughie raised a shaking hand in the air.

“What if, um, you’re just not good with a gun and don’t want to fuck anything up more than it already has been-“

“Everyone gets a gun, Lad.” Butcher snapped. “You got hands and eyes. Fuckin’ use them.”

Hughie gave a mumbled, sheepish agreement, and Frenchie cleared his throat.

“I did not, ah, account for the rain, but it should not be an issue. There are alarm triggers and traps all over the grounds, and, Petite Hughie-“

“Vicky was right,” Hughie tapped his computer on the table. “Edgar had the place wired. I’ve never see so many hidden tree cameras, I thought that was only a thing in movies-“

“Well, Edgar’s more of a paranoid asshole than most, and now we get the benefit.” MM crossed his arms, his expression grim. “Homelander won’t be able to take a piss in the woods without us knowing what leaf he uses to wipe. Hughie will keep eyes on the cams, and Frenchie’s alarms, and we can hope that the rain is in our favor. I’d imagine the overload of sound won’t help him-“

“It won’t.” Ben grunted, because the rain was starting fucking overwhelm him. It was all he could fucking hear, without Her heart there to latch onto, and it was going to drive him fucking insane. “He won’t be able to pull footsteps or random fucking heartbeats out of the noise. It’s an advantage, so fucking use it.” He moved his glare around the table. “If you can, shoot during thunder. He won’t hear the gun fire, and the pussy probably won’t bother to dodge anyway, but no risks. No fucking missing, and no going off on your own stupid little vengeance quest.” Ben’s attention moved to Butcher, and he made his words a threat. A promise of violence if Butcher screwed this up for him, for Her, for the entire goddamn world. “If Homelander isn’t fucking dead by tonight because you decided to go all scorched earth instead of sticking the goddamn plan, I’ll kill you.”

“I ain’t lookin to fuck you, Gov. Didn’t bring any protection, and I’m more damn scared of your wife than I am of you. Don’t want her findin out about our little affair and flayin me alive.”

Butcher’s words were casual and mocking, but Ben could hear the pussy’s heart over the rain—hammering at a fucking mile a minute—and see the almost imperceptible tick of his jaw, so he wasn’t fucking worried. Butcher understood that Ben would have his back, and if he got fucking stabbed in it, Butcher would die a nuclear, bloody, violent death.

MM coughed before continuing, giving Ben a short nod and starting to push the drills—along with small earpieces—out around the table. “One shot. No missing. Keep your coms on, and be fucking careful. Homelander’s got nothing left to lose, and he’s going to fight like it.”

“I still think I should be able to just, uh,” Hughie’s eyes widened as MM handed a gun to Annie, his voice growing higher with every damn word. “Watch the cameras without a gun? I’m not going to be out in the fight-“

“What if Homelander pushes through the door?” Frenchie suggests, loading up his own drill. “It is either boom, no more Hughie, or bang,” Frenchie made finger guns, shooting into the air. “No more Homelander.”

Hughie nodded, face bloodless. “Yeah, that’s. Okay. Shit. I’ll take a gun, please.”

“You’ll be okay, Hughie.” Annie gave a sweet, encouraging smile, and Hughie blushed. “You’re not a terrible shot.”

Ben grunted Her name, glowering at his own gun. “She had you fucking train her. And you didn’t do a total fucking pussyass job, before I took over. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, um,” Hughie swallowed. “Thanks, Ben.”

Ben just shrugged, focusing on putting in his earpiece in and not breaking the weapon in his hands. Ben fucking hated this. He hated just waiting for Homelander to arrive instead of going and finding the asshole, fighting him,and finishing this without any sitting on their goddamn asses. He hated that She was the one who told them to wait, and she was always fucking right, and Ben knew that waiting was smarter, but he still fucking hated it. He goddamn despised that She was out there with Ryan, without him, and there was still a whole goddamn hour until he could feel Her again, until Ben could be goddamn certain that she was safe-

He saw the light first. Out the window there was a flash of yellow light in the distance, then, over the storm, the bang of an explosion.

Everyone fucking moved. Seats scraping on the floor as they were pushed away, guns aimed at the door and the stomping of feet to cover their every goddamn vulnerability point. Frenchie and MM patrolling the upper halls, Kimiko in the attic, Butcher in the living room, Annie in the kitchen, and Ben in the entrance hall. Gun raised at the door, the drums completely under his control and more than fucking ready to burst out of his chest. Every fraction of light and fury in Ben’s body was humming and golden over his bones, dug inside his muscles, and he wasn’t goingtomiss. If Homelander was enough of an idiot to try and walk right through the door, Ben’s finger was set on the trigger, and the pussy would die in the fucking mud as Ben blasted him backward and ended this.

But all Ben could hear was the wind and rain. Banging at the doors and falling everywhere around him, loud but not enough to cover up another explosion or the shout of a teammate for aid.

But neither of those things fucking came. And if Ben focused he could hear rapid, panicked heartbeats, but no bombs, and no blood.

Just the fucking wind.

“There’s,” Annie’s voice was quiet in Ben’s ear. “There’s nothing over here. No Homelander, no open fire. Nothing.” “Same here.” MM said, his voice a little firmer. “But stay alert, he could be playing some sort of game-“

Butcher cut over MM, a slight screeching sound cutting into Ben’s head that made him grimace. “Homelander don’t play games, Mate. Mighta just been a real bloody unlucky squirrel.”

“Non, the traps are calibrated to human weight.” Frenchie sighed over the coms. “Maybe a baby deer, though. I cannot be sure.”

“It’s pouring, a baby deer wouldn’t be outside, right? It would be-“

“It wasn’t a baby-” There was another static shriek as Hughie cut over Annie, and Ben could hear the chorus of groans through the house. “Shit, sorry guys. But it, um, it wasn’t a baby deer. I actually, I don’t see anything here. No dead animals, no people, no Homelander. Anywhere.”

MM hummed, and Ben could fucking hear his frown. “The motherfucker could be toying with us. Luring us outside while he waits in the sky-“

“I fuckin told you, MM.” Butcher didn’t apologize as the static cut in once more, and the next person who made that horrible fucking sound happen was getting their head ripped off. “Homelander don’t play with his food. Not when he’s real angry. He’s either gonna burst through the door and fuckin eat us, or he ain’t here and that was a squirrel.”

“It wasn’t a squirrel.” Hughie sounded urgent, and Ben could hear his fucking tapping at the laptop over the rain. “It was something, but not a squirrel.” There was another, softer, muffled voice through Hughie’s com before he continued. “Oh, uh, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

Ben scowled. “What fucking idea.”

“Annie said to look for what bomb went off. It was the…” Hughie trailed off, the sound of his typing growing rapid, then, “Seventh bomb. Down by the creek.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Annie cleared her throat into the speakers.

“I think we should send a team. Just to make sure it’s really nothing.”

“Fine.” MM paused, and Ben jumped in.

“I’ll go. I’m invincible, and if it is Homelander, I’ll just fucking shoot him.”

“No,” MM muttered, and even though no one could see it, Ben scowled. “It could be a play to get you out. You’re the one he views as a threat, it might be a lure.”

“Nah, I’m with Soldier Boy.” Butcher said, and Ben wished he would shut the fuck up. Butcher backing up a plan was never a good thing. “We all got drills, and Homelander don’t got a goddamn clue. If it is a lure, he ain’t ready for us to be ready for him. I’ll go out with the old cunt, and if it’s nothing, we’ll be right back in shake of a cock’s ass.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and could almost fucking see the wrinkle of Her nose. Almost hear Her say there’s literally no way that’s a real phrase.

He couldn’t actually hear it—forty-five minutes—but he could imagine it.

“I can go too,” Annie added. “I can be a light source.”

MM still didn’t relent. “I don’t want to send two of my three supes out there. Not when we don’t know what the fuck that was.”

“Think of it like this,” Ben drawled, keeping his gaze on the door. “If it is Homelander, we can fight him. If it’s not, Butcher’s not a fucking idiot for once. He won’t be expecting you to have the guns, and you can shoot the stars and stripes pussy in his fucking mouth, I’ll come back, and he’ll die.”

There was a second of static, then MM’s grunt of, “Fine. But be fast, don’t be stupid, and keep on coms.”

“Aye fuckin aye, Mate. Lines on, be quick.” Butcher rounded the corner to the hall, winking at Ben. “Oi, Gov, you want anythin before we go out? Gonna put on your fuckin suit for the grand fight?”

“You want to eat my fucking asshole?” Ben snapped, because he’d very fucking purposefully traded his suit for normal, boring ass clothing. Homelander could wear a costume and fight like a fucking monster. Ben would dress like a goddamn person, and fight like an asshole who had something to lose, and people to fight for. Bloody and unforgiving, but still goddamn human. Not Soldier Boy, fighting for some sort of annoying fucking honor before. Ben was himself, and he was killing Homelander for Her.

She’d say there could be symbolism in killing Homelander while dressed as Soldier Boy, and having that be his final act in the suit. And Ben would listen to Her, then kiss the space between her eyes and mutter that he didn’t fucking care about symbolism. He cared that She was fucking safe, and Homelander was dead. Half of his uniform was at the bottom of the fucking ocean, and when this was over, Ben would burn his Soldier Boy suit and be done for good.

But right now—Annie and Butcher a pace behind him—Ben had to wander out into the darkness of rain and try to remain vigilant when he couldn’t tell up from down. It was so fucking loud, and he had to fucking focus but Christ, it was loud-

“Hey, Ben.” Annie jogged up to his side, and Ben glanced at her with a frown.

“What.”

Annie said Her name, and it was like it set something off in his body that roared with love and care and focus. “She, um, she told me more about Rome. And I wanted to thank you-“

Ben’s frown deepened, and his words became curt. “Why.”

“Because you really make her,and Ryan, actually, happy.” Annie sighed, scanning over Ben’s face in the dark of the storm. “And I’m not going to apologize for the tower last year, you were being a dick and I’d do it again, but I will say I don’t regret listening to her. When she told us to wake you up. I mean, I didn’t think this would happen, but I’m glad it did. And I’m glad she has you, even if you’re like, so gross together.”

“Good.” Ben grunted, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. “Thanks.”

Annie nodded, moving to fall back another step, and Ben scowled.

“I’m glad she has you as well.” He added, and it was Annie’s turn to look like a fucking idiot. “She deserves a friend who can’t shut her up by fucking her stupid.”

“That’s what I mean.” Annie muttered, but there was something lighter in her tone. “That’s disgusting, who just says that-“

Ben said Her name, and couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “She’d say that shit. She’s a horny fucking problem, Annie, I don’t know how she tricked you pussies, but she was fucking begging to blow me in a bathroom last week-“

Annie made a face, and Butcher laughed from behind them.

“I knew the lady wasn’t all fucking prim and proper words. Good on you, Gov. That ain’t a shit job.”

Ben whipped around, stopping dead in his tracks to glower at Butcher. “Fucking watch it-“

“Calm your bloody tits.” Butcher raised his hands in mock surround, rolling his eyes. “That was what we call a compliment. That woman was abused and tortured, and she’s a piece of bloody work, but you somehow make her all fuckin ditzy and dumb just by smilin at her.”

Ben scanned over Butcher—the words seemed genuine, even if Butcher always said everything in a way that sounded rude—and grunted before turning and continuing their march to the creek.

“You’re going to be her bridesmaid,” he snapped to Annie, because every moment of silence in the noise of the storm was driving him fucking insane. “She told me. And I get Hughie.”

“Oh.” Annie gaped at him slightly, then shook her head clear and nodded. “Okay. I mean, maybe be careful when you ask Hughie, he might turn all red and get really nervous-“

“I know.” Ben grunted, scanning over the trees as they approached the rushing water. “The guys a fucking mess, but he’s kind. Patient.” Ben scowled at a strangely shaped tree. “Good man.”

Annie let out an almost dreamy sigh, and Ben wondered if he looked that fucking stupid when people talked about Her. If he did, he didn’t fucking care, but it did make him worry about his face when She was actually there.

“He really is. I love that weird Billy Joel nerd so much- What the fuck?!”

They’d halted at the edge of the water—the creek overflowing and rushing between their feet—and Annie’s eyes began to glow, the air humming and buzzing, as the Deep grinned at them from a high rock on the other side.

Ben frowned, scanning over the man’s tall, proud, over-fucking-dramatic hero pose. “What’s the fishfucker doing here.”

“I’m here to fight!” The Deep called over the rain, and even Ben could barely fucking hear him. “And defend America-“

“Speak up, you asshole!” Annie was half screaming, eyes growing brighter. “I can’t fucking hear you-“

“He said he’s here to fight and defend America.” Ben muttered to Annie, keeping careful attention on the Deep’s look of annoyance before raising his own voice to a shout. “Speak the fuck up, you pussy, we can’t hear you!”

The Deep nodded, looking slightly uncertain. “I, I am here to defend America from the terrorists, Annie January, William Butcher, and Ben. We, uh, we couldn’t find a last name for Soldier Boy-“

Annie’s eyes narrowed, and Ben could fucking taste the electricity through the rain. “Deep, get the fuck off my farm-“

“God, Annie, can you not be a bitch for five seconds so I can do my speech?” The Deep rolled his eyes at Ben, and Ben wondered if fish would find empty fucking eye sockets attractive. “She has been out to get me since the start, sabotaging me, trying to cancel me-“

“You assaulted me, you fucking-“

“What the hell are we stoppin-“ Butcher stomped up behind them, cutting himself with a groan. “Ah, bloody fuckin- The hell you doin here, Lad. I mean, ain’t gonna pass up the oppurtuiny to kill ya, but this,” he gestured around to the woods. “Ain’t your fight.”

“Wrong, Mr. Butcher, this is Homelander’s fight, and he’s my bro, so it’s my fight too. And-“

“As well.” Ben snapped, mostly on instinct, and the Deep frowned at him.

“As well as what-“

“Proper fucking grammar, you fish blowing pussy.” Ben raised his gun, aiming right for the Deep’s head. “It’s your fight as well, and you’re going to die in it.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever grandpa.” The Deep scoffed. “Can I get through my speech now? I am here to defend America from the terrorists Annie January, William Butcher, and Ben. You have committed high treason against Homelander-“

“You ain’t able to commit treason against a person, cunt!” Butcher called over the river. “Treason gotta be against your country-“

“Well bloody fucking hell, I don’t care, you British weirdo!” The Deep stood a little taller, starting over. “I am here to-“

Ben had been fucking seconds from shooting and putting an end to this bullshit, but the Deep stumbled, fucking yelped, and fell into the water.

“Well, fuckin shit.” Butcher leaned over the flooding river, frowning at the water. “Think he managed to kill himself for us?”

“He has gills, Butcher.” Annie’s voice was the harshest Ben had ever heard it, her hands and eyes still glowing. “And he’s like a fucking cancer. He’ll be back.”

Ben scanned over the river—crashing and rushing and so fucking loud—and didn’t see any evidence of the Deep. “Assfuck could’ve hit his head-“

“No. He doesn’t get to just fucking die like that, to have this be over-“

“Bloody hell, Starlight.” Butcher gave Annie a twisted smile. “Hughie know you’re so fuckin bloodthirsty and not just a pretty church girl?“

Annie flipped Butcher off, never looking away from the water. “Shut the fuck up, Butcher, you know exactly why I want him dead-“

“I ain’t mockin you, I appreciate it-“

“Well, don’t-“

Ben raised his hand, and Annie and Butcher fell silent.

“There.” He hissed, pointing to an odd rippling pattern in the water. “Fish-fucker is alive, stop arguing and fucking focus-“

The Deep burst from the water, splashing Ben in the goddamn face, and landed on the riverbank in an even stupider fucking hero pose than before.

“Ha!” He shouted. “Bet you thought you’d gotten me. Well, I don’t go down easy-“

“You slipped, Mate.” Butcher drawled, raising his gun. “We all fuckin saw it. Now walk your sorry octopus-blowin ass away, and maybe we might let you live.”

The Deep scoffed. “Oh, c’mon, you guys won’t kill me. I mean, you’re just like, a bad guy with a gun.”He gestured to Butcher. “Like, oh no, bullets! I mean, that’ll barely even tickle, you fucking idiot.”

Ben’s hand tensed on his own gun, and he saw Butcher’s scowl grow taut and violent as they realized the same thing. They couldn’t shoot this asshole with their guns. The bullets were either useless, or made of fucking V, and the Deep wasn’t Homelander. The V would goddamn help him, make him stronger.

But the pussy didn’t fucking know that yet. He was still monologuing, his attention turned to Ben.

“And you’re just off your leash. Where’s your whore fucking girlfriend, bro? I’d say you finally grew some balls and kicked her to the curb, but she’s got her claws sunk right into your dick-“

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ben sneered, raising his gun higher as the radiant feeling in his body became hot and bloody. “Or I’ll-“

“What, kill me? That’s never worked for you guys before, and I don’t think your little slut would like that, Ben-“

Something atomic was going to explode out of Ben’s body, but Annie was right in the fucking path of it, so he did a warning shot instead. Aimed at a tree just past the Deep’s head, close enough to make him shout in fear and flinch.

“Do not fucking speak about my wife.” Ben hissed, taking a rough step forward. “Or I won’t kill you. I’ll make you wish I did.”

“Your wife?” The Deep shook his head with a tense, strange laugh. “Dude, you are way too fucking dope to be married to that manipulative ice queen bitch. I mean, I get it. I never got a blowjob from her, but Homelander told me they were good enough to fuck with his head. And like, I’m only a man, I’d probably have caved too. Fucking Annie over here gave me a shit one, and I still think about that-“

The whole world burst with light, and Ben couldn’t fucking see anything but white or hear anything but blood in his ears and a ringing in the air. It wasn’t golden light of the bomb—still held within Ben’s body—but a crackling and hissing white flash that made Ben’s hair stand on end and his skin hot and stinging. And when his vision cleared, Annie wasn’t blocking his shot at the Deep.

She was down in the mud of the river, punching the Deep’s face raw and bloody with glowing hands.

The rain was fucking wired with electricity, and that was the fucking sting. Every drop of water was filled with Annie’s power, humming through the air, but the Deep wasn’t fucking dead. He roared over the water, throwing Annie off his body and into a tree trunk.

Ben lurched forward, the bomb growing sore in his hands, aching to launch from his body and just fucking kill the pussy—smashing Annie’s head against the roots of the tree—but Butcher caught his arm.

“What the fuck-“

“Starlight’s got this,” Butcher muttered, his gaze not leaving Annie, who grabbed the Deep’s fist and kicked him in the gut as another blinding rush of light burst through the air. “She needs this, Gov. Let her fuckin handle it.”

Annie did fucking have it. She was pummeling into the Deep’s gut with tight, even hits, and every traded blow just fucking drove her on, until she’d backed the Deep towards the river, her eyes glowing as the rain crackled with energy. Butcher flinched slightly at the electric water—bu didn’t fall—and Ben was fucking impressed. He’d never see Annie look fucking feral like that, and it made him like her all the more. He could have a friend like that. It was still Annie—a little too fucking nice, a little too fucking moral—but she wasn’t above blood and grime and mud like he’d thought she was. This Annie was vengeful and fucking angry, and the Deep didn’t seem to stand a goddamn chance.

The pussy kept trying to talk to her—either to mock her or plead with her, Ben couldn’t tell and didn’t really fucking care to know—only to have Annie’s fist collide with his mouth and send him flying back. The Deep’s punches were growing weaker as Annie’s grew stronger, his nose was bleeding and his stand beginning to become unsteady, and Annie looked like she was being vindicated. Her expression was only focus, only fury, and when her body become blinding with light, Ben threw up a golden shield at the last fucking second.

A sound like thunder tore through the air around them as Annie exploded, and when Ben’s vision cleared the Deep was lying in the sizzling, electric mud.

“Woah, Annie, I, I got it, you win.” The fish pussy was crawling back as Annie advanced, twitching slightly as the rain continued to shock his skin. “Let’s talk about this, you’re not a killer, you’re like, a good person-“

“Maybe.” Annie kicked the Deep back, closer to the water. “But I’m not a saint. And I hate you.”

The Deep’s eyes widened, and he twisted to try and fall into the water and swim away like a fucking coward, but Annie was faster. Grabbing him by the neck, dropping on his back, and shoving his face into the creek.

Ben frowned, letting the barrier drop as the rain became just water once more—all of Annie’s focus and energy on keeping the Deep’s head in the flooding river—and didn’t look away from Annie as he muttered, “What the fuck is she doing.”

“Tryin to drown the cunt.” Butcher sounded fucking pleased, and Ben didn’t need to look to know he was smiling. “He breathes with fuckin gills on his torso, ain’t gonna be able to breathe if just his ugly fuckin mug is in the water.”

The Deep was pounding at the ground, trying to push Annie off, but he wasn’t faltering. His fists didn’t look strong, but they were firm. He wasn’t drowning.

Ben looked up to the darkened sky, then back to Annie and the Deep, and his fists curled. “The rain. Annie!” He shouted, and she glanced over at him with a frown. “The fucking rain! The fish fuck can breathe in the goddamn-“ Ben cut himself off with an eye roll and sigh, because Annie just looked confused. “Fuck it.”

He’d been practicing. In Rome with Her, waiting for Her and Sage’s meeting to be over, whenever he got a fucking opportunity, Ben had been trying to control the bomb. Move it through his body at will, let it glow and bang and roar in his body before focusing it and throwing it out on more than just fury and an instinct of protect.

It had paid the fuck off, because when he clenched his jaw and vaulted some of the nuclear energy built in his muscles through the air, Ben could narrow his eyes and hold it the fuck together in a way that was solid. It was the drums, tearing through his head and over his ribs, and not painful in the fucking slightest. Filling the air around them, all in a rhythm Ben could fucking control. The feeling was away from his body—golden and humming, holding Annie and the Deep in a bubble that blocked the rain—but still a part of him.

And the Deep started to flail. Scraping at the air and Ben’s gold, trying to just twist away from Annie’s hold, and growing weaker by the second.

Then he was only twitching, Annie pushed his head deeper into the river, and he stilled.

Annie looked up to Ben, nodded, and the shield dropped away as the Deep went limp under her body.

“I’m pushing him into the river.” Annie muttered as Ben and Butcher approached, and Ben nodded, because as far as he was concerned, it was Annie’s body to dispose of.

“Make sure the cunts really fuckin kicked the bucket-“

Annie pulled the Deep’s head from the water, turned his swollen, slack face for Ben and Butcher to see, and snapped his neck.

“Good enough for you, Butcher?”

Butcher shrugged, and Annie threw the Deep’s weak, small corpse into the water. He was swallowed in the rushing, tumbling river, and vanished without a trace.

Ben reached a hand up to ear to radio MM, and nothing fucking happened. “Fuck.”

Annie frowned. “What-“

“Coms are fried.” He grunted, pulling out his earpiece and tossing it back into the river. “We need to get back-“

Ben’s pants began to buzz, and he pulled out his phone, the air filling with the ringing of MM’s call.

He’d barely picked up when MM was shouting through the speaker.

“Where the fuck did you assholes go-“

Ben flinched, but didn’t pull the phone from his ear. MM’s anger was easier to focus on than the pounding of the rain. “We’re still at the creek. Our radios got fucked, but it was just the Deep-“

“We fucking know that, Hughie saw it on the cams-“

“Then what the fuck is your problem-“

“My problem.” MM hissed through the phone. “Is that we don’t have a fucking clue where Homelander is, and no one is responding to our texts.”

Something felt sick in Ben’s gut. “What.”

MM said Her name, and Ben heard the screen crack in his grip. “I texted her to check in, and I haven’t gotten a response.”

Annie approached Ben, her face drawn with worry. “What-“

Ben ripped the phone from his ear, putting it onto speaker. “MM.” He said, pushing the words through his teeth. “Where the fuck are they.”

Annie and Butcher froze, and MM’s labored sigh was almost muffled in a crack of thunder.

“I don’t know. And we don’t think Homelander’s coming.”

Butcher’s hand shot to his coat pocket, and his body went rigid as Ben heard his heart begin to fucking race. Butcher’s heart never fucking raced.

“Bloody fuckin,” Butcher tore off his jacket, turning it over and frantically shaking it. “Fuck. Where the fuckin hell-“

“Ben.” MM grunted through the phone, his voice urgent. “Hughie can’t track the car. You need to do that brain connection shit-“

“I can’t.” The words felt like fucking torture in Ben’s mouth. Like poison or bile, his whole body splitting open as everything in him became wrath, mauling his organs and spine, turning solid in his throat and making it painful to do anything. “She’s still on the fucking suppressant, I can’t fucking feel her-“

“How much longer until you can?” Annie’s question was a whisper as she glanced over at where Butcher had started to pull apart his drill. “Butcher, what are you-“

Butcher pulled out the bullet, pried it open with pure brute force, and dropped the shell to the ground as he took out the vial of V.

“Butcher.” Ben warned. They didn’t have fucking time for dramatics. “What the fuck-“

“My V’s missin.” Butcher snapped, angling the V’s needle over his forearm. “I’m improvisin.”

“Holy fuck, Butcher, no, that’s a terrible idea-“

Annie started to run, probably to try and knock the V out of Butcher’s hand, but Butcher stabbed the needle into his arm, pushed down, and the vial drained.

“Jesus-” Annie halted as Butcher dropped into the mud, his body convulsing. “Fuck! Why are you such a fucking idiot, you asshole?!” She looked at Ben, expression almost desperate as she gestured to Butcher on the ground. “What the fuck do we do with him now?”

“What did he-“

“Shot up with V.” Ben snapped into the phone, because he didn’t fucking care right now. Not when She was fucking missing, and they didn’t have a goddamn clue where Homelander was. “He’ll live, it was just the regular shit. MM, where the fuck is my wife.”

“We’re working on it, but until you can do the thing-“

“I don’t know when it’ll come back, and I am not fucking waiting.”

“It could be nothing,” Annie mumbled, still watching Butcher and not even sounding like she believed herself. “They could just be in a dead zone-“

“I don’t fucking care!” Ben roared, and his whole body was trying to strain in every fucking direction. To pull Ben back to Her, when he didn’t have a goddamn clue where she was. “We don’t fucking know when Homelander is, we don’t know where anyone is but the Deep, who’s dead in the fucking river-“

Butcher groaned from the dirt, and when he looked up to Ben and Annie, his eyes were glowing. “Gov, we’ve got this. She’s strong, it ain’t gonna be an issue and Homelander will be ‘ere-“

“Are you insane?” Annie snapped at Butcher, whose eyes were still flickering with light. “You are not allowed to make plans anymore, you just shot up V-“

“I ain’t playin this clean, Starlight, Homelander ain’t-“

“We needed that V, you asshole! To kill Homelander, which we don’t need powers for-“

“Easy for you to fuckin say, when you got powers-“

“Which I didn’t choose! Nobody made you do that-“

“Ben.” MM said through the speaker, and Ben held the broken screen back to his ear. “Get back to the house, and we’ll figure out where they are. But until we’ve got confirmation they’re in danger, no going rogue. Got it?”

He might have agreed. Ben might have swallowed the feeling of wrong in his body and just kept fucking moving, kept fucking praying that She was fine and that—when the connection lit back up, any fucking minute now—he’d feel nothing but tight nerves in his body that was Her fear and love for Ben. Not aimed at anything in particular, not mind-numbing and vulnerable, just worry. Ben might have marched back to the farmhouse, ignoring Annie and Butcher’s fight about the V, and steeled himself to just fucking kill Homelander. The pussy didn’t exactly have manners, he might just be fucking with them, or late.

No part of Ben thought Homelander was late, but he could try to pretend that was it. For Her, Ben could focus on stupid fucking teamwork and trusting that she was okay. That She’d find a way to call for him if she needed it. He’d even taken a step back from the creek, grumbled an agreement to MM, and been about to hang up the phone.

Then the world lit up. And as Ben’s looked to the skyline, dark and gray and clouded with rain just a second before, the whole fucking world ended.

Not that far in the distance, ripping throughout the world with heat and light, the sky was an almost neon blue. And for a horrible, long moment all Ben could see was fucking blue. Blue fucking fire.

Everything was fucking blue, and She needed Ben.

—————————

The first half hour of the drive is the longest of your life.

For one, nobody in the car is thrilled to be there. Neuman is rigid and silent at your side—her arms crossed and her mouth in a thin, tight line—while Ashley and A-Train frown in the back, exchanging looks between themselves, and Ryan and Zoe stay in a hushed conversation about either dinosaurs or dragons.

You’d check, or maybe dwell for even a second on how you’d manage to confuse yourself between the two, but you can’t focus on anything. Your body feels wrong—everything feels sick and slow and wrong—and you have to use all your energy to focus on driving. To get everyone to safety—or just anywhere Homelander isn’t—and not think about Ben. Not think about how he could be fighting Homelander now, how he’s going to win—he’s strong and immovable, so he will win—but it might still cost something.

You can’t think about how this might cost something. How Ben is unbreakable—sturdy and firm and made of pure fucking resolve that keeps you safe and warm and happy, your head on your shoulders and the world in focus—and Kimiko has a healing factor second only to your, but everyone else is mortal. It would be hard to hurt Annie, but it would still be possible. Butcher and MM wouldn’t go down without broken noses and bloodied fists, and Frenchie wouldn’t go down without explosions and rounds of bullets into Homelander’s unbreakable skin, but they can all still go down.

And Kimiko can still get hurt. She can lose Frenchie and go insane, the same way you know you won’t recover if you lose Ben.

You won’t lose Ben. Not you can’t, you won’t. You’re not even going to entertain the fucking idea, because it makes your blood cold and your whole body feel all the more ill. It makes the silence in your chest unbearable, gets you stuck on hollow and quiet and wide it is where Ben is supposed to be. How you might already be going mad, just because you can’t feel Ben. You can’t feel if he’s in pain, or angry, or focused or tired or relieved or triumphant. You can’t know if Homelander is dead or if the world is burning. You can’t do anything but try to drive through the storm and push down everything instinct in your body that’s tell you to turn around. That you don’t want to see blood, and the plan is solid and well-made—you made it—but you want to go back. You want to run to Ben and tell him to come with you and Ryan, or send Ryan off with Neuman and fight yourself. You could fight. There’s fire under your skin and blood in your body that’s alive and all yours, and you could destroy Homelander, but you don’t want to.

You just want Ben. And you can’t have him right now.

And the further away your drive, the more everything feels wrong. The more edged and wired and taut your whole body becomes, spiraling down into thoughts of blood and cold blue eyes before forcefully yanking your thoughts back to good things.

Ryan. Music. Stuffed Lions. Gardens. Ben.

You develop a routine. The time passes as if you’re wading through mud—any small shift in a seat, or cough, or bump of the car or too loud pound of the rain on the metal roof sends you closer to screaming—and all you can do is cling to small things to keep going, and waiting, and desperately thinking of anything but blood.

Ryan.

He’s safe. He’s in the car with you, still whispering with Zoe, and he’s not unburdened and really that happy, but he’s not crying or panicking or apologizing, so he’s okay. You’d packed his clothing, and his books—along with a few extras he’s never read, that you’d bought for him at the airport—and a deck of cards in the likely event that Ryan tore through his reading within the first few hours. He has you, and he has Zoe—which is good, he should have a friends that aren’t, his grumpy, amazing asshole of a grandfather, his grandfather’s immortal wife, his impossibly British step-father, or their cool, mute friend—and, when this is over, he’ll have Ben. Ben will find you both, and Ryan can be the best man at your wedding, because you’ll threaten to punch Ben if he’s not.

Music.

You have music. You’d put your phone on shuffle, and you had music. It filled the car with sounds that weren’t anxious and doubtful whispers or heavy breaths, and kept your attention within the world. You could tap your fingers on the wheel in time with every song, breathe in and out as if you were singing without any actual hums or vocalizations, and focus on that instead of anything else. You can pretend you’re dancing in strobing colorful lights during the songs with heavy bass and fast beats, and you can image that Ben’s arms are around your body during the slower ones. You start to skip the faster songs, just because anything that filled the air like honey or a warm, summer breeze means that you can pretend you’re pressed against Ben’s body and swaying in his hold, letting him guide you in a careful dance you could learn, but don’t really want to. You’ll spend a lifetime having Ben lead you in something so elegant and romantic and peaceful, and never want for anything ever again.

Stuffed Lions.

Ben’s was in your suitcase, right next to your white tiger. You’d give it back to him when he found you, and he’d scowl—even as you felt the glow consume his whole body—and you’d kiss him until he smiled then fall to your knees to just touch him. He’d place the lion carefully on the bed—if you told him you’d noticed he’d deny it, but he would—fist his hand in your hair, and guide your mouth up and down his cock. You’d show him how much you loved him, looking up though heavy lashes at how his throat bobbed and muscles flexed, growing wet frown every foul, vulgar praise that he offered you and every hissed groan of your name, and sit in the feeling of him everywhere. Big and strong and vengeful and all yours, cleaning you up when you were done, placing the stuffed lion on the dresser right next to your tiger, and refusing to ever let them be separated.

Gardens.

This one was harder, and easier. Right now you were driving through wilderness, and everything was green and overgrown, but it was also dark. The storm made the life around you hidden in the shadows and washed in almost too much water, made every flower and leaf hang down to the earth, made every warm patch of dirt become cold, thick mud. And so you thought of after, and that was the easiest thing to do in the world. To think of a garden after, that you’d grow in a yard that was all yours. That you’d sit in on sunnier days, and Ben would come up behind you and drop to your side, pulling you into his lap and kissing you until you were giggling, before touching you until you were moaning. He’d lay you down in the dirt, ignore your half-hearted protests of we’re outside, Benjamin, anyone could see us because he’d know that you didn’t really mean them—not when your every word after that would become either Ben or please—and then he’d touch you everywhere. Rough and long and slow and devout, before picking you up and carrying you to his part of the garden. And he’d refuse to call it his, but he’d also refuse to let you touch it, and it would be filled with butterflies he’d give threatening glares to never fucking land on him and flowers he’d pick and shove into your hands.

Ben.

It was never an effort to think about Ben, because he was everything, and therefore everywhere. Even when he wasn’t alive and humming at the top of your chest, you could still see and feel him in the whole world. He was in the headlights, leading you through the shadows of the storm. He was in the forest, filling the air with the smell of pine and your vision with green. Ben was on your tongue—his taste of strawberries and coffee still lingering from your kiss—and over your skin. Warm and rough, fitting right over you in a phantom touch that had sunken into your skin and would stay there like a tattoo. Ben was in every note of every song, and every slow and careful breath, and every dim glow of a golden streetlamp. He was every beat of your heart, and every single thought that ended up finding its way back to Ben.

You always found your way back to Ben, and so you didn’t need to be afraid. You’ll still worry, and when you hold him again you’ll probably cry, but you don’t need to be afraid.

You trust him. You trust your team.

And all you can do is drive.

Then, in a very cruel twist of fate—but more likely simply an oversight in the rush and panic of the morning—a little yellow light starts to flash on your dashboard, and you’re low on gas. You haven’t quite made it to the highway, and you’d passed a station a few minutes back, so you make a U-turn, mumble apology and explanation to the group, and drive about five minutes back to park the car at a pump and rush out into the rain. You can’t afford to linger—not for long, not when you’re still close to the farm—so you have to be quick and efficient. You’ll have to fill up the tank in the downpour, ignore how the rain is biting and cold on your skin, and go.

But the universe hates you. You must have wronged some sort of god in charge of luck, because yours is just so consistently shit. The’s a small sign taped to the gas pump with writing you can barely read—it’s a messy scrawl, and the bleeding on this ink isn’t doing anyone any favors—but still manage to decipher.

Pay inside.

You sigh, walk around the car, and rap on Neuman’s window.

She glares at you, and mouthing what and not moving from her seat.

“I’m going inside!” You over enunciate each word, pointing to the small, square connivence store. “The pump!” You point over the hood of the car. “Is fucking broken!” You make an X with your arms, Neuman just stares at you, and you sigh, yanking the door open.

“Hey!” Neuman leans back—away from the rain—with a glower. “What the fuck-“

“The pump is broken.” You glare around the car—not at Ryan and Zoe—as you make your words short and stern, mimicking Ben’s fucking listen, or I’ll feed you your balls voice. “I have to go inside to pay for gas. I’ll be back fast, don’t go anywhere.”

“Like you’d fucking let us go anywhere,” Ashely mutters, her eyes widening as your glower turns to her. “I don’t, uh, I’m-“

“Save it.” You sigh, turning your attention to Ryan. “I’ll be right back-“

“Can I, um,” Ryan’s pale, looking between you and the gas station with a frantic expression. “May I please come with you?”

“Yeah.” You give him a small smile and nod. “Let’s go.”

Ryan nods, wiggling past Zoe to the door, and you glance at Neuman.

“We’ll be back. Don’t try to drive away, because you don’t know where you’re going, and I’ll find you-“

“Yeah, you’ll track me down, we made a deal, whatever. We’ll stay here, now go.”

You swallow, draw back up, and close the door as you turn to Ryan.

“Christ, Ry.” You pull off your jacket—technically Ben’s jacket, so it’s big and warm and feels safer than any other jacket—and pull it over Ryan’s smaller, shivering frame, his hair already stuck to his forehead from the rain. “Let’s go inside, we’ll try to get you something warm-“

“I’m okay,” he mumbles as you steer him towards the station. “It’s just wet-“

“Yeah, I know, but that’s how colds get caught.” You push the door open, and go directly for the pre-made food station. “You can’t drink coffee, and that doesn’t look like reliable hot chocolate-“

You’re mostly talking to yourself, so when Ryan tugs on your sleeve you freeze, all your attention refocusing from the gas stations dogshit options to him.

“I, um,” Ryan clears his throat, and you move a little more hair away from his face on instinct more than anything else. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going? When we get the gas?”

“You are,” you sigh, turning back to the counter and settling on hot water and very old looking tea bag. “But I can’t really give you an answer.”

Ryan’s face falls slightly. “Oh, I’m-“

“I don’t know where we’re going.” You cut him off with a gentle, warm smile. “MM just gave me directions, no final destination. He said the drive will be about six hours, so we could be going to Canada, Pennsylvania, or upstate New York, and I won’t know until we’re about halfway there. But,” you drop your voice to a whisper. “When I figure it out, you will be the first person I tell.”

“Okay.” Ryan nods, returning your smile with a nervous—but real—one of his own. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You start for the checkout counter—keeping your head bowed, because you’re not alone in this gas station and you don’t need one of these random drivers realizing the Anomaly and Homelander’s son are buying tea and gas—and bump Ryan’s shoulder with your own. “You are my favorite.”

Ryan’s smile grows slightly at that, and he remains almost stuck to your side as you wait in line.

You reach into your hoodie pocket for the beaten wallet MM had passed to you before you left, and freeze as your hand brushes of the small, cold vial. You’ve been pretending it’s not there. That you’re not always away of the weight of it, that—even now—you can’t feel the label you know reads Project Anomaly, Trial 6 brush against your fingers.

You’re not proud of the fact that it’s there. Of how you’d stolen it from Butcher, how you’d swiped it from his stupid trench coat just like Ben had taught you to. Of how you’d gone back on your word, that it was Butcher’s to do what he please with.

And you know what he’d planned to do. You hadn’t been able to find it in your shared room with him, Ryan, and Ben because Butcher had been keeping it in a needle, on his body, for the entire day. You’d bet a small fortune that he’d been ready to shoot it up at any second, and that’s exactly why you’d taken it. Your final conversation with Sage had haunted you, and you weren’t sure you’d fully breathe again until the only V left in the world was that already flowing through bloodstreams.

You’ll have to burn the recipe. You should give it to Singer, or the UN, or some sort of authority figure, but you won’t. Because this isn’t just Homelander, it’s something rotting and brittle in the foundation, and this can’t be a power anyone ever gets to control or manufacture. It can’t be about being stronger or cleaner or better. It can’t be about winning anything, at all.

If Ryan grows up and has children, if you and Ben have children, there’s a chance they’ll be born with powers. You’re honestly not sure how Ben hasn’t managed to have a dozen kids—you love the man more than life, and he’s a whore—but you have a feeling it’s the V. The unstable, strange V that’s in both your bodies, that could be too much for a normal body to handle, and may be a breeding ground for what Butcher would call little fuckin Soldier Boy kiddies. And that would be different, you’ve decided, in a way that you know is bias. You’re well aware that taking the V you’d given Butcher—taking away his ability to become a supe because you don’t want anyone to give themselves or anyone else that power again—is deeply hypocritical when there’s a high chance you’ll turn around and create a child born with this same V ingrained into its DNA.

And you don’t care. You’ve earned being selfish, because you’re so fucking tired of all of this. You’ll look Butcher in the eyes when this is over and apologize—not caring if you really mean it—then fall right into Ben’s arms. You’ll burn all the V, and the formula, and there won’t be a second Homelander, or second Sage, or second anything. You’ll fix this past just killing Homelander, and no one will ever have to feel a pain like this again.

“Will the, um, place, will it have cards?”

You blink at Ryan, pulling out the wallet and forcing a smile onto your face. “I brought cards. They’re in the trunk.”

“Oh, okay.” Ryan studies your face carefully, his words slow and uncertain. “Um, I just wanted to know if you’d want to play go fish with me, or something-“ You raise your brows at Ryan’s nervous stuttering—he’s speaking like something very important is riding on this, when it’s just a game of cards—and find yourself unable to stop the real, peaceful smile from spreading over your face as you realize what’s happening.

“I’m okay, Ryan.”

He gapes at you slightly, shaking his head in an almost frenzied movement. “I, I know, I just wanted to know if you wanted to play go fish-“

“If you want to play go fish, I’ll play go fish. But,” you give him a pointed, warm look. “If you’re just trying to cheer me up, you don’t need to. It’s not your job to help me, Ry, it’s my job to help you.”

“I, I wasn’t-“

“Ben told you to play cards with me, right? To cheer me the fuck up, or something?”

“Was that, um, was it supposed to be a Ben impression-“

“Yeah, I know it’s terrible, but don’t tell him I said that. Did he?”

Ryan stares at you blankly. “Did he what?”

“Tell you to play cards to cheer me up?”

“I, um, I don’t-“

In an attempt to stop Ryan from making himself overload or pass out, you make your voice a gentle whisper. “Because I know he does that. All the time.”

“How?” Ryan blurts, looking a little panicked. “I didn’t tell you, he said it’s a secret-“

You laugh. “He’s literally never beaten me. In any game. He loses war, Ryan, every time, without fail. It’s a game of chance, that’s almost statistically impossible.” You let out a sigh that’s probably dreamy and stupid, smiling into the air, and Ryan frowns.

“Why don’t you tell him you know-“

“Because he’s a massive dumb dumb who loves us very much, and he’s always very, very proud of himself. He’s adorable, and makes me dinner without me asking, and after we watch one of his dumb documentaries, which he does not pay attention to, he-“ You cut yourself off with a flush , because you’re going to draw the line of your odd pseudo-parenting tactics with Ryan at telling him that, without fail, every time you beat Ben at cards he becomes feral in the bedroom. You think it’s some weird, primal monkey-brain part of him taking over—getting all smug and cocky with how happy you are, how he’s the one that made you happy—but you have no plans to analyze it, because why meddle with perfection.

Ben gets to glow with affection and love you can feel in your chest, looking like a wrathful angel who’s being rewarded with just you for his unrelenting devotion—strong and big and warm and Ben—and you get to scream and moan as he fucks you in a rough and unforgiving manner. Ad Ben turns you into a writhing, needy, pleading mess that only knows the word Ben, and uses it like a prayer. His lips bruise and bite every sensitive bit of your flesh, and his hands squeeze and rub your body until you’re just putty in his arms, and when you squirt over his cock he falls forward, and both of you get to rest in each other’s arms.

You clear your throat, pushing on, and hope Ryan didn’t notice your stumble and can’t hear how your heart is pounding. “He’s just, um, really happy, after. And that makes me happy, because I love him, and I love that he’d do that just to make me happy, and I love that he’s so bad at lying to me I realized what he was doing almost immediately, but he’s still so proud of himself every time I makes me even happier.”

Ryan nods as you take another step in the line, starts to say something that’s likely a sweet and nervous question, and your whole word shifts into cold.

It was just a flash. A shifting movement outside—barely visible through the rain—that caught your attention, a crude and hateful face in the shadows, and you can’t remember how to breathe, or hear, or think. You can’t hear Ryan, only a faint ringing and overwhelming, dreadful sound of your heart. You can’t take the next step forward in the line, but you can’t keep looking.

If you keep looking, Homelander will know you’ve seen him. And he’s far enough into the dark for you to know he doesn’t want to be seen.

It lasts a second—the pure terror and wild, arresting sense of no. Wrong and bad and dangerous, no—because you only have that one advantage. You’ve seen him, he doesn’t know it, and you can’t afford to be frozen in pain. Not when Ryan is at your side, and you can’t feel Ben, you only have yourself. You’re the only one that can do anything here, and you’ll find a way to get through this.

Whatever it takes.

“Ryan.” You place your hand on his shoulder, angling him away from the windows, and take a careful, measured pace forward to block him from view. “I need you to be quiet, please. You can nod, and whisper, or talking to me in Kimiko’s sign language, but you cannot speak.”

Ryan’s expression falls into something nervous and weak, and you know he’s worried you’re angry. You can’t relent your focus or how critical it is that he listen to you, but it becomes just as vital that Ryan knows you’re not mad. That he hadn’t invaded your life, or crossed an invisible and always moving line, or become something you have to deal with. That all the joy and comfort is drained from your face because you will not let Ryan get hurt, and Homelander is outside, and nothing fucking matters except making sure you get out. You don’t care to shed blood and guts or to flay alive, you only need to leave this place with Ryan at your side.

You drop your hand to hold his, squeezing gently, letting your voice raise slightly. “I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong, or saying anything bad, and I am not angry at you. Squeeze my hand twice so I know you understand.”

Ryan nods slowly, and his grip on your hand might crack your bones, but you get two squeezes, and continue.

“Good. I have this under control, I promise but I need you to listen to me. Okay?”

Two squeezes, and you sigh, standing up a little taller as you reach the cashier, plastering a fake, bright smile on your face at their empty greeting. You’ll have to keep this vague, because you’ve lowered your voice, but the cashier is inside, and right in front of you. You’re taking the gamble that over the storm and through the glass, Homelander won’t be able to hear you. The cashier might, and you can’t afford any delays.

“Your dad,” you pull the card out of MM’s wallet with one hand, refusing to let go of Ryan’s. “Is waiting outside. We’re going to have to run out into the rain, because we don’t want to get wet before we drive home. Ben’s expecting us, and we should get there soon.”

Ryan swallows, his expression only a pure, wide fright of What about everyone else? He’s going to kill everyone else.

You know that. The people in the gas station are already dead—or as good as it—and it hurts to keep smiling at the cashier when you know that. Know that the last thing they’ll ever do is chew gum behind a counter, and you can’t save them. You want to, and you’re going to be haunted by their screams for rest of your life, but you can’t save them. Homelander won’t spare them—he may go out of his way to kill them, just to prove some sort of fucked up point that starts with superiority and ends with worms—and all this time is borrowed, and can’t be used to figure out an impossible solution where everyone makes it out alive.

You’ll have to pay for everything after. Funerals and debts and family support. Some sort of worthless apology for not saving them, for trading their lives for yours and Ryans.

But it’s still a trade you’re going to make. You’re going to do everything you can—in this finite moment—to save the people in the car, the people who’d directly trusted you with their safety, and the people who may have a chance. Homelander will want to confront you, but he hasn’t even bothered to look behind him. At the gas pump, where you pray Neuman or A-Train have noticed his drenched, hollow figure in the rain and keeping quiet. You can pray that Homelander remains so focused on you and Ryan that they escape his notice, and get out.

You can buy time. Take just a little more—to save the people that have a fighting chance, that you can tell them how to survive this and they’ll listen—and keep praying for it to be enough.

“Ry,” you glance down at Ryan’s face with your warmest, most-reassuring smile, and pray he can’t see your own fear rooted deep in your eyes. “Do you want some candy?” You put an urgency in your eyes to tell him I’ve got this, I just need a little help.

He mumbles a weak agreement, and shuffles off to the candy isle. You hold up the line—anyone who goes outside will die quicker, draw attention faster—and keep one careful eye on Ryan as you take out your phone and dial his number.

Ryan had left his brick cellphone in the car, and when Zoe Neuman’s soft voice greets you as she picks it up, you almost fall over in relief.

“Hi,” She whispers your name, her voice small and filled with fear, and you know they’ve seen Homelander.

“Hi, Zoe. Can you give me to your mom?”

There’s a brief shuffling sound, and then Neuman is hissing your name through the speaker.

“What the fuck is Homelander doing here-“

“I don’t know.” You keep your word low and curt, and don’t leave room for something useless like argument. “But he is here, and I need you to listen. I’ll take care of getting Ryan to Ben’s, you tell Ashley’s boyfriend to pick you guys up. I’ll talk to him while you wait for the ride, don’t worry about it.”

Your code is crude—you’re don’t even know what the hell is going on with A-Train and Ashley, and you’re not willing to lend it nuance right now—but effective. You’ve got Ryan, A-Train will get them out, and you’ll distract Homelander. Neuman mutters an understanding, her voice dropping to a whisper the microphone barely picks up.

“I’ll tell him. Are you,” there’s a pause, the static humming until Neuman speaks again. “You got this.”

It’s only half a question, but you understand why. You need to have this—you cannot falter or break or crack—and Neuman needs you to know that. She needs her daughter to survive this—the exact same way you need Ryan to—and she is telling you that it is crucial you think you can do this. That there may not be an option, but you are still smart enough, angry enough, and more than fucking strong enough to do this.

“I’ve got this,” you repeat the words, just to make them real. You’ve fucking got this, and Zoe will be safe. You can save Zoe, you can save Ryan, and once they won’t ever need to be strong again. “Neuman.”

She hums, and you sigh.

“Tell, uh, Ashley’s boyfriend, to be fast. That this is what I’m asking, it’s all I’m asking, and if he’s fast, we both get an after. Okay?’

There’s a moment of silence, then, “Okay.”

You nod, knowing Neuman can’t see it, and the line drops.

Ryan returns to your side, clutching a bag of gummy bears in a shaking hand, and you shove your phone back into your pocket, pulling off your ring and tucking it safely into Ryan’s jacket.

“Can you keep that safe for me?” You ask, and Ryan’s eyes widen.

“Yes, but I,” He mumbles your name, and you can hear the terror lining his every word. “I’m, I don’t, I’m not-“

“I know.” You sigh, pulling him carefully against your side and kissing the top of his head as his arms wrap around you. “I know. But we have to.”

Ryan nods against you, and you lean down, keeping your word low as the cashier scans the candy.

“Stay behind me, and don’t look at the car. You’re going to be okay, we all are, but you can’t draw attention to the car. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ryan’s voice is weak—even that one word is filled with fear—and it breaks your fucking heart.

“Ryan,” you cup his face in one hand, holding his nervous gaze on yours, and you’ve never seen him look more like a kid. He is a kid, it’s often forgotten in the chaos and blood and violence of your life, but Ryan’s just a kid. And he can be afraid all he wants—fuck, you’re terrified, your blood still cold and your stomach turning and boiling—but you won’t let Homelander hold that power of inevitable, unstoppable, deadly and without a cure over either of you. Ryan can’t think you’ve already lost, because you haven’t, and Homelander won’t win. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to be okay. He’s not going to hurt you, he’s not going to even touch you, and once everyone else is out we’re going to run. I’ll knock him back, we’ll get to the car, and we’ll go back to the farm. Ben will meet us there, and it’ll be okay. Yeah?”

There are countless flaws in your plan. No car is faster than Homelander, least of all your stolen Honda Civic, and you still can’t feel Ben. Still can’t warn him what’s coming, still can’t scream between your heads for him to help. That you’re strong enough to do this, but you don’t want to do it alone, and you need Ben here now.

It’ll be back soon. Thirty minutes, and Ben would find you anywhere. All you had to do was stall and run, and find thirty fucking minutes.

So when Ryan nods, still afraid and shaking—grabbing your hand and clinging to it like a frightened child, because that’s really all he needs to be right now—but taking deeper, more even breaths, you offer him a toothless, painful and sad smile, and hand him the gummy bears.

Neither of you speak as you walk to the door, and you put yourself a step ahead of Ryan as you push out into the rain. Wet and cold, small bombs of ice and water that hiss off your skin but focus you all the same. Your whole body is white-hot, but your fire is humming along the surface of your body and you’re not breaking. You’ve fucking got this.

Homelander’s waiting for you with a crude smile and his hands behind his back—white teeth still blinding in the dark, everything about his posture and walk and face and movement so simply wrong—but there’s patch of hair near his brow that’s missing, one of his eyes looks milkier than the other, and there are still a few burn scars twisting near one of his ears. Between that and the rain, there’s a higher chance he won’t notice any of A-Train’s movements, and you can feel a small, bright bloom of something that’s bloodied and tired and furious in your chest. It might be hope. It might be certainty that you can do this.

You don’t have another choice.

“Homelander.” Your voice is bored and casual, and you don’t recognize it. It doesn’t sound like you—doesn’t feel like how your whole existence is ending in this very moment—but you can’t afford to be you right now. You have to be the Anomaly. You have to be the cold, manipulative, ungrateful bitch Homelander believes you to be, just until you’re certain everyone is out of the car. Just to hold his attention.

It’s working. His whole face twitches at your pure uninterest, and you see something that makes your heart curl and wither in your chest flash in his eyes. He says your name, and it’s wrong, and you don’t fucking flinch. “Give me my son. Now.”

You raise your chin, holding his gaze and not allowing any of your terror into your expression. “No.”

Homelander scoffs, dismissing you with a hand. “C’mon, we both know how this will go! I’ll just keep killing everyone you love, you’ll beg me to spare them, and I’ll win. I always win, because that’s just how this works! I’m-“

“Better?” You raise your brows, and there’s a flash of moment in the background, and one person is out. Two to go. “You’re better?”

“Yes!” His hands move to his hips, and he looks mostly just annoyed now. “I am better. I mean, you idiots can’t even flee properly! I just saw you, walking in there,” he gestures to the station behind you. “With my son, and you didn’t even notice me! I’ll always win,” he says your name, his expression dropping into one of menace and a crazed short of rage he doesn’t seem to know how to hide. “Because you’re weak, and human, and I’m perfect.”

You hum, titling your head at Homelander as his eyes start to glow red. “You know, that’s almost exactly what Sage said. Right before I killed her.”

“You can’t kill me,” He hisses your name again, taking a slow step forward, his laugh making your skin crawl. “And I am tired with your games, you fucking slut. You did me a favor, though, with Sage. She was starting to outlive her use, so if you give me my son back now, maybe I won’t laser you in half.”

“No.” You let a crude, mocking smile that’s all teeth and hatred cross your face. “We might not be able to kill you, Homelander, but you can’t even hurt me, so you’re not getting to Ryan.”

Homelander laughs, and it makes your skin crawl. “Maybe I can’t physically hurt you, but I can make you cry like the weak little bitch you are when I kill all your friends. When I track down your family and fly them up to the atmosphere. Suffocate them like the breakable, useless worms they are, then go find your precious Ben and use Sage’s gas-“

“I’ll wake him up.” You shrug. The rain seems to be moving into your bones, and you’re so fucking cold, but there’s another rushed movement near the car so you raise your voice. Just one more. Just a little more time. “You knock him out, I’ll wake him up and fuck up your face even more.”

This scoff is less confident, but just as cruel. “You really think he’d be grateful? Letting some weak little bitch save him, like a damsel when he’s fucking Soldier Boy?” Homelander sneers your name. “He and I are strong, we’re fucking heroes, the epitome of human evolution-“

You snort. “You’re not evolution, you’re a product. You were designed, Homelander, like a fucking machine-“

“But I was chosen.” Homelander narrows his eyes at you, there’s another flash in the background, and you stand a little taller. This is almost over. “Just like my father, just like my son. Ryan,” Homelander tries to lean around you, and you move to block his view. “You’re strong. You’re not a pathetic fucking human like her or your mother, you belong with me-“

“You’re not touching him.” You hiss, holding Homelander’s glower. “You’re not touching anyone I love again.”

“What, like Soldier Boy-“

“Yes. You hurt Ben, I hurt you, and he won’t think it makes him weak. He’ll think it’s hot, and we’ll probably fuck after.” You’re taunting Homelander, but you need him to be so blinded by anger he doesn’t see your blow coming. “But you try to take him away from me with that stupid fucking gas, and I’ll destroy you.”

“I’ll throw him in the fucking ocean, I’ll separate you ungrateful traitors forever-“

“And I’ll find him.” Your grin becomes almost manic. “I’ll always find him.”

“Fine.” Homelander’s tone is flat and curt, and he gives a stiff shrug. “Be all fucking dramatic and annoying. Let’s see how long you can stick to your whole romance thing with my father,” he looks over you with disgust, his lip curling. “When I lock you back up and he never, ever sees you again.”

Before you can speak, or move, or do anything, red cuts through your vision, there’s a boom behind you, and everything is burning. It’s not your fire—starting to riot and grow painful under your skin—because your fire is warm. Your fire feels clean and holy, because it was born from something worse than hell, but you’ve made it yours.

This fire is hell. It’s made of screams and pleas for help, and there’s nothing you can do but try not to turn around. Force yourself not to look at the wreckage behind you—Homelander must have hit a generator, because you can feel the heat behind you and hear the building crumbling—that you should’ve tried harder to prevent. People are dying and you could’ve done more, could’ve been stronger, could’ve worked to save these people who have people that care about them, who cared about people, who had lives that are over because you weren’t strong enough-

“This is what you wanted,” Homelander calls your name over the storm and fire, and you can’t breathe. “Isn’t it? To fight? To be all high and mighty about love only to not have the fucking spine to kill me? I’d dare you to try,” he laughs, his face sadistic and amused and so cold. “But this isn’t David and Goliath. It’s Goliath and a fucking slut who thinks she’s more important than she is.”

Homelander takes a fast step forward, and you have to be stronger, but fuck, you can’t. You’re falling and breaking in barely a moment—a moment you’d fucking anticipated—and the rain is so cold, and you have to do this, but you can’t. You’re alone, and you’ve never wanted to be saved more, but you can’t feel Ben-

There’s a rush of air, almost knocking you backwards, and Homelander stumbles back as A-Train slams into him, pummeling into his stomach before speeding away again.

Homelander begins to roar, his eyes glowing, and he’s distracted. A-Train is zipping in and out of the burning parking lot, keeping Homelander’s focus on trying to kill him, and the wind jumpstarts your whole body.

You grab Ryan’s hand and run. Half carrying him to the car—refusing to look back at the ruins of the gas station or the fight—and throwing him into shotgun before sprinting around to the wheel. Fumbling with the keys before slamming them into the ignition, and just fucking going. The tires skid and squeak on the wet pavement, you’re flooring the gas and breaking countless traffic laws, but you can’t care. You have Ryan, you have time, and you need to get back to Ben.

It’s almost impossible to see where you’re going. The rain is heavy and blocking your vision, you have to use the headlights in small bursts to avoid being seen, and every tree you pass looks the same as the one before it, but you know where you’re going. It’s not a long drive from the station to the farm—not at the speed you’re going—and it’s relatively simple, so all you have to do is go and go and go until you see the turn onto the dirt road, and Ryan will be safe.

He’s silent in the seat next to you, shaking and hyperventilating, and when you offer him your hand, he takes it and squeezes his eyes shut. Like this is just a nightmare he can wake up from, it will all be okay in the morning.

“Ryan,” you whisper, even though it’s just you in the car and the rain drowns out almost every sound. “It’s, it’s okay-“

“Do you think he’s going to die?” Ryan mumbles, and you tense. You don’t need to ask to know he’s not talking about Homelander. “Just because he helped me-“

“No.” You shake your head, keeping your eyes on the road. “I mean, I don’t know what will happen, but none of it is your fault. A-Train made that choice himself, we all made our choices, and this is not your fault.”

“I could’ve tried to fight-“

“It’s not your job to fight him, Ry.” You sigh, risking one, soft comforting look at Ryan’s pale face. “And this really isn’t your fault. I promise.”

Ryan nods, and you’re so fucking close. All have to do is get to the farm, and-

You barely have a second to register it as it happens. You flip on the lights at the exact moment Homelander slams down on the road before you, and you can throw your arm over Ryan’s chest, but you can’t slam on the breaks. You can try and swerve around him, but the road is wet, the car isn’t in your full control, and Homelander’s eyes are already glowing.

There’s a second where your whole body is pain. Where you falling or crashing or drowning, and you manage to keep your hold on Ryan, but your body is being shred apart and stitched together every other second. When the world comes back into focus you’re pinned under what feels like a mountain but is only metal, and Ryan’s half shielded under your body, but you can’t move.

And you still can’t feel Ben.

Homelander’s towering above you, grinning at how effectively trapped you are under the wreckage, and you can’t run, or fight, or pull yourself to entirely block Ryan from his view. You can’t even gnaw off your own leg like an animal in a trap, you can only scream in your head—between every roll of thunder and rush of chilling water—until Ben can hear you.

“Well,” Homelander sneers your name, his grin growing. “Where’s all your fight? That little spitfire attitude all gone now that you get it?”

“You,” you groan, because trying to pull your leg out from under the debris just breaks it and heals it all over again. “You’re not going to win. You can kill A-Train, but you can’t kill me, and people will notice-“

“Don’t be dramatic, I did not kill A-Train.” Homelander rolls his eyes. “I broke his legs and left him to die by himself. And I have no interest in killing you, that would be such a waste.”

Homelander scans over you, and suddenly you feel small. Any remaining resistance seems to be pulled from you as Homelander asses your body like it’s all you are, and for the first time he’s doing it without any guise. There are no declarations of a love you don’t want, for person who you’re not, you’re really just a vessel. Just a toy for Homelander to play with and use as he sees fit, and then break when he gets bored of.

You wonder how long it will take him to realize that he can’t get what he wants from you. That whenever he touches you, hurts you, your body will remember and refuse to let any part of him live within you, ever.

How long it will take before he gets rid of you somewhere cold where you can’t die but Ben can’t find you, and there will be no one left to protect Ryan. If Ben will blame himself, and burn the world only to not find you in the ash. He’ll keep looking after—he’ll be able to feel you and never find you and it might drive him mad—and you’ll keep trying to get back to him, and you won’t know how to do that or kill yourself, so you’ll become just a husk.

And you’re not strong enough to stop it. You should be, but you’re cold and there are screams echoing in your head and none of this is rational, so you’re not.

“You might be a weak, whoring, lying bitch,” Homelander says, and you can’t tell if you’re crying or just breaking in a silent, long way that no one will be able to fix. “But you’re still pretty. Smart enough to get Sage, always healthy from the V, and maybe your V will make our offspring immortal. Then we can figure that out, and put it into me.” Homelander nods to himself, and you’re going to scream but you can’t find your voice.

“Please, Dad,” Ryan whispers from behind you, and Homelander’s attention shoots to him with a flash of surprise over his horrible face at Ryan’s soft words. “Please don’t hurt her, I’ll come with you, but please-“

“Ryan, quiet.” Homelander looks over your head, to Ryan, pointing a stern finger. “This is not your concern-“

“But I don’t want you to hurt her, please, please don’t-“

You have to be stronger, but Ryan’s pleading is going to make you sob, and you can only push your upper body to try and shield Ryan a little more from Homelander’s wrath, and you can’t-

“Ryan!” Homelander’s shout rips through the air, over the storm, and right into your lungs. “I am your father, you will not tell me how to deal with my problems. And she is a problem.” His finger moves to you, and you choke on the rain. “She is weak, she is a parasite who tore our family apart, and parasites do don’t deserve to be happy. But I,” Homelander looks at you, his grin returning as he takes in the sight of you, trapped and useless and fucking broken. “Will be able to find a place for her. And we’ll figure out how to use her until she’s paid for what she broke. Until she understands that she is nothing, and you and Soldier Boy finally get she’s just good cattle, and fucking animals don’t deserve us-“

Something stabs and sears through your chest, carving you open and slicing your lungs in two and filling your mouth with blood. You hear a high, weak scream, and in the brief moment where everything is only pain—your vision blurred and body weak and head wrapped in iron and darkness—you don’t exactly what happened. There’s no weight under your legs anymore, the figure of Homelander is gone from your sight, and something that feels firm but touch you like it’s fragile is cradling you and calling your name in broken pleas.

“I didn’t mean to,” the sound is choked and barely audible, and you’re still lost in the daze of blood. Blood on your tongue and sticking to your skin and running the rain red. “I’m sorry, please don’t go, I don’t want you to go, I’m sorry-“

The voice says your name again, and something evil calls over it.

“Ryan. Let’s go.”

That’s Ryan’s voice. Saying your name and pleading for you to stay. Begging you not to leave through the fog of something that’s close, but never reachable.

Then everything rushes back into focus—your body mending itself and yanking you back to earth—and you can see Ryan’s red eyed, sobbing face over yours. Feel the cold rain on your skin and the fire in your body start to bubble over. The iron taste of blood sharpens your head, drags you together faster, and then you smell coconut.

You see a red gloved hand reaching for Ryan, feel your every instinct turn into no, and you have just enough time to throw Ryan off your body before you explode.

Ben will find you. You can’t feel him, but you know he’ll see the blue flame, vaulting from your body to the sky and burning away the rain, and understand what it means. What he has to do.

You’re not too far from the farm. You can’t burn everything—Ryan is a part of everything, and keeping him safe is and always has been more import than killing Homelander—but you can do a fuck ton of damage with just your hands and your own, zealous fury.

You can really, really hurt Homelander.

You can make him wish he’d never touched anyone before, and never want to touch anyone again.

It might be terror on his evil face, when you launch at him. And you understand that. The whole world is fire. The aftershocks of your explosion are still shaking the earth, and the rain may have begun to fall once more but it’s burning away around you. The air is hissing and waving, and you’re only flame. Your whole body wrapped in white fire, your hands curled in even, careful—just as Ben had taught you—and you might look like a monster. You might look like a demon, or vengeful spirit, or fallen star that’s refusing to burn out.

But you’re worse than that.

You’re just a human that has power in her body that makes the world sing, and you’re angry. You’ve sealed up every crack in your own body, you’re strong and you’re no demon or monster or god, because they’re not real.

You’re incredibly real.

And Homelander’s going to feel it.

The first blow of fire knocks him down the highway, the pavement cracking as he lands. He’s already stumbling—pushing up on shaking legs to glare at you—and there’s a hot, unrestrained anger in his laser slicing through your neck, but it does nothing. Ryan had just split you in two and you’d healed in ten seconds flat. If Homelander were smarter, less prideful and consumed by his own anger, he’d run.

He doesn’t, though. And you pull your punches to keep Ryan safe for your fire, but he’s still losing. His skin bubbles and twists when he tries to get close to you and land a blow, and every hunk of metal he throws at you explodes and melts as you blast right through it. You keep Ryan behind you—far enough to not feel the full force of your heat—and you never even trip.Homelander’s odd hit that strikes your face or gut sends a brief cracking sound through the air—leaves a dulled flash of pain through your body—but it fades and you repair and you don’t break.

Your hand cover’s Homelander’s face, melting away the skin of his nose, and you can feel an unfocused, aimless, hollow and self-serving anger that’s twined with the most vile, gnawing and destructive feeling you’ve ever experience. Making your body eat the anger and turn it into glory that’s only a trophy to hold high over your head.

Your empathy is back. Ben’s roaring your name in your head and between the crackling of flames, and you’re going to win. Your blood is held in your body—Ryan’s already shaking and crying behind you, and you don’t know how to focus the vigilance of your emotions yet—but your fire is growing brighter, and Ben is coming.

Homelander’s falling to the ground as you kick his tiny, worthless, hideous dick, and when you reach down with hands made of only fire, you’re smiling. Homelander is so fucking small and pathetic on the ground, at mercy you will never offer him, so you’re smiling like a fucking madwomen.

Then Homelander’s face flashes with a grin as well, and you’re not fast enough to stop his hand as it shoots up and stabs something into your bare arm.

You see the flash of green as he pushes the head on the needle down, and when he half scrambles back—holding his burnt hand up to the rain—you don’t know what to do. There glass vial that held the V shatters and melts as your fire flares, but your skin has healed over the needle and it’s too late anyway. Homelander had moved with quick precision, and the last dosage of the Soldier Boy V is in your body.

There’s a split second where you’re only afraid, and then all you can do is wish you were dead.

Agonizing is too weak a word. Pain is far too weak a word. This is what death feels like. Like no part of your body belongs to you, like they’re all being ripped and torn into isolation for their induvial torture, then being sown back together in a way that’s brittle and volatile and one wrong breath from imploding. You can’t stand, because your legs feel like they’re running away from you but can’t get away fast enough. You can’t reach out, because your hands feel heavy like you’re carrying the sky and world and every single star. You can’t push your body away from where’s Homelander’s gripping your wrist, cracking your bones and dragging you through the wreckage to where Ryan’s crying and begging. You can’t do anything but scream, and be unsure if Ben’s roars are echoing through the world in response or just imagined in your head, so you can pretend he’s here with you.

It’s not ending. You can feeling everything, and this doesn’t feel like it will ever be over. There’s light and strength in your muscles, but it’s overwhelming and stretching you far too thin. There’s water in your lungs and ribs that might be the rain, but still drowns you and makes you feel buried in your own body. Your voice is empty, and your fingers are cracking and locking back together, and you’re too aware of everything but it makes the world around you feel so big and horrible and worthless. Your blood is burning and half yours but also everything else’s and wrong in your body, pumping through your heart and filling you with dread and hate and terror. There’s lighting stinging and stabbed and destroying your whole fucking head and soul, and it feels like there’s a fever behind your eyes that’s screaming to get out and spill gut for retribution.

And then it all sinks deep, deep down into your body and becomes, so briefly, tolerable. Strange but peaceful in your body as something so, so strong wraps over every piece of pain and torture and soothes it into your body. Something golden and atomic, telling every other fiber in your body that this will be fucking fine, and that’s not an option.

Your body listens. You take a shaking breath, and you’re alive again. You’re all blood and skin and bone, and you’re all you.

There’s a hole in Homelander’s glove, and his skin feels like plastics on yours wrong. Static and inhuman, without the warmth a body should have. And his odd, twisted fear and anger are still pushing through his veins, but they’ve been covered by his anger.

And below everything else in his body, there’s something vital and horrible, but so, so powerful. It feels a little broken—as if it’s been molded and ingrained somewhere dark and wrong—but it’s still calling to you. Offering for you to grab a piece of it and pull it into your own body.

You’ve got nothing left to lose, so you bite your tongue and try to grab it. It comes willingly, and it’s only foreign and parasitic in your body for a second. Then it’s molding into a part of your body that’s fundamental and all yours, and everything is sharp. The rain is louder, your vision feels too focused—every line too pronounced, every raindrop bigger than it should be—and the smell of coconut is going to suffocate you.

But you also feel strong. Not in your mind or heart—which are the same as they’ve always been—but your hands. You feel like everything is breakable, and everything is soft, and you could flex your fingers and bring an empire to its knees. And there’s fire and fury living in your eyes, and you know exactly what’s happened. For a brief moment, you can’t help but understand why Homelander thinks he’s a god. If this was all you’d ever felt and known in your life—and everyone knew you were like this, and knew to fear it—you might think you’re better than you are as well.

You might have. You wouldn’t have, but you could have. Homelander’s powers might exist in your body—waning by the second until you take more—but you’re still you. And you’re not better. You’re exhausted and desperate, and you need more time. Just a little more time, until Ben finds you and this can be over. Until you can collapse and scream and cry and just fall all the way apart, when everything is safe.

You need more time. And you’re awake, and in pain, and so fucking angry and strong, so you’ll be able to buy it.

Homelander’s stopped dragging you along the road, and you can hear Ryan’s sobs, fueling every bit of resolve and will in your body. Building you higher and dragging you back to earth like an anchor.

“What, what did you do to her-“

Homelander cuts off Ryan’s heartbreaking, fearful, choked words with a scoff. “That doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it does! She can’t die, I don’t want her to die, I need her-“

“No, you don’t. You don’t need anyone be me, Ryan. Look at her.” Homelander yanks you up, a hand wrapping around your neck to hold you where Ryan can presumably see. “All it took was one dose of V and she’s fucking done. I mean,” he laughs, and the fury begins to build up and up behind your pupils, lining your vision with red and your head with heat. “Carrying the original V into battle, letting it fall out of your pocket? That’s downright stupid, honey. I thought you’d know better, but no.” He clicks his tongue, and you screw your eyes shut. “You’re still just a stupid, weak little girl, and I will always fucking win-“

Your eyes shoot open, and Homelander can only stare in shock when he sees the red glow in your eyes. Can only open his mouth and try to drop you, throw you away from his body, but you’re fucking strong now. You wrap your hands around his on your throat—keeping him right in front of you as a manic grin pulls at your mouth and strains at your cheeks—and you laser him right in the fucking face.

He roars, and you’re fucking moving. Punching his melted, twisted, face—skin hanging off his body and sizzling—with all that new strength in your body. Homelander’s strength, that seems just slightly weaker in your body, but you’re still more powerful. Your fists are wrapped in your own fire, and your eyes are still glowing with the laser—slicing into his arms, not drawing blood or cutting limbs, but sending him stumbling away from you—and you’re a better fucking fighter. Ben trained you well, so you can absorb every hit to your body and deal even, measured blows that make sickening crunches when they land.

You’ve push Homelander down into the mud and debris—pinning his face to the wrecked pavement and his body to the ground—and you’re so fucking exhausted but you have to keep going. To focus the laser on his skin of his neck and burn a hole for the V. When Ben arrives—he’s close, you can hear him roaring in your head and feel him drawing closer—you need this to be done. The pain hasn’t left you, only been pushed aside by the adrenaline, and you can’t keep going. You have to, but you can’t. You’re tired and cold and covered in blood, and you’re starting to feel wrong.

This feels a little beyond death. It’s eating you alive and pulling your body away from you, and you’re still fighting because Homelander won’t touch Ryan, but you don’t feel well. Homelander’s powers are volatile and horrible in your body, and the new shot of V is leaving a chronic feeling of being cleaved open and sliced apart and shoved back together every fucking second. The world is moving in and out of focus—your body feels like lead and your brain feels like it’s not your own—and when Homelander throws you off his body all you can do is drag yourself back up and keep being a fucking problem.

He won’t let you touch him anymore. Homelander’s not stupid, he can see you’re growing weaker, and he’s figured out not to touch you. You’ve moved to block his path to Ryan, you’ve thrown up a thin wall of fire to keep him at bay, but you’re so fucking tired. You’re dizzy and heavy and breathing is an act of labor, and you’re holding yourself awake by your throat. By nails in your skin and quickly drying blood in your mouth.

And you’re going to fall down. You’re going to crack and break, and keep trying to fight until you’re dragged deep, deep under as your body implodes. Homelander’s face is so fucking hideous from your fight, but it’s coming into view as the fire flickers and hisses in the rain, and you’re going to collapse but you can’t-

You feel Ben first. Somewhere in the flame and blood and searing of flesh and snapping of bones, you feel more alive, and know he’s near. You feel something return to you that you’d longed for since it left, and it’s pious and loud and wrathful and aimed into you. Filling you up with just enough fight to keep going, more and more resolve and concentration, and sparking a fuel in your veins that’s calling you somewhere warm and safe.

Then there’s an ache and mold and wrath and love that’s stronger and better than anything else in the world, smell pine as your heart becomes something golden and fucking furious.

Then, through the rain and fog, you see a blinding white light. Drawing closer and closer, screeching on the wet pavement, going so fucking fast and aiming directly at Homelander.

He doesn’t realize anything happening until you grab Ryan will all the remaining strength in your body, and dive to the side. You see his fucking horrible smile falter, his head twist, and it’s too late. Butcher’s car crashes into Homelander with a burst of fire, and you think your scream stops the world.

Ben was in there. Ben was in the car and now it’s wrecked, and you can feel the pain in his body and you’re so tired. You can’t lose this, but you won’t be able to keep going if you lose Ben. There’s so much fucking pain in your heart and lungs and throat and skull and you’re not sure who it’s belongs to but you can’t do anything but scream.

You hear more explosions, hear Ryan calling your name, but you can’t fucking breathe and there are black spots covering your vision, and Ben. Where is Ben, you need him and you can feel him but everything fucking hurts and where is Ben-

“I’m here.” Something warm and familiar and safe pulls you up from the ground, and a deep, powerful, good voice says your name. “I’m right fucking here, Sunshine, I’m here.”

Ben-

You’re going to be okay. He mutters in your head, and you’re not sure if you’re crying or drowning, but Ben’s here so it doesn’t really matter. I fucking swear, beautiful, you’re going to be fine.

You pull your face back from his chest, and he looks terrible. He’s still handsome—Ben couldn’t be ugly if he tried—but God, he looks tired and angry. You can see every line on his face and feel every stab of mold through his heart, and when you reach up a hand to trace his frown, he leans into your touch like he’s not sure it’s real.

Benjamin, my love-

We’re fine. He grunts, kissing the top of your head. We’re going to be fucking fine.

There’s another explosion, and you flinch. Homelander-

Butcher’s got it. You and Ryan are safe, that’s all I fucking care about.

You blink around, Ben’s touch and existence in your body forcing the world into focus—even as you continue to fall—and you realize everything is covered in a golden glow. That Ryan is clinging to Ben’s arm—the one that isn’t holding you—and every bang and roar of Butcher and Homelander is muffled through the atomic feeling of Ben around you.

“Ryan,” you reach out to pull him closer, not allowing yourself to flinch when all his terror hits your body. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” He whispers, staring at you with an open, fearful face. “What did my dad do to you-“

It’s impossible to look at Ben when you answer, because you feel him grow rigid, his love and care alight and bloody in your body, and his pure fucking fury written all over his face before you even speak.

“He,” you take a long breath, forcing the words out as your head begins to wrap in a haze again. “He shot me with the last original V-“

“He fucking what.”

You swallow, dropping your brow to Ben’s shoulder. “I’m okay-“

“I can fucking feel you,” Ben hisses your name, his voice lined with anger even as he runs his hand through your hair, his touch still reverent. “You’re sick, we need to get you out-“

“No.” You shake your head against him, pressing your palm to his chest. “Butcher can’t fight Homelander alone, he’s not a supe-“

“He shot the V.” Ben grunts. “The regular shit-“

Your gaze shoots up, your eyes wide. “He what-“

“When we realized Homelander wasn’t coming. He got laser eyes and strength, like last time, he’ll be fucking fine-“

“But he can’t kill Homelander, Ben.” Your words become frantic, your brain turning, but not fast enough for your tongue. “Even he gets the V in, it just makes Homelander vegetative. He needs to be hit with the nuke, he needs-“

You cut yourself off, your hand drifting to the exposed skin of Ben’s collarbone. Deep, deep down, in a fundamental part of his body—your body—he’s alive, and golden, and powerful. The V in him already feels like yours, and it’s so much better than Homelander’s. It might be because it’s the same as your V while Homelander’s is the overly perfect formula, or because Ben is simply good while Homelander is vile, or because Ben is yours and as vital to your existence as your own head and blood, but it’s right. You don’t need to take it, it already belongs to you, and it rolls into your body like a brilliant, peaceful storm.

The pain doesn’t leave you, but it becomes distant. Pushed away where it’s only banging on your skull, dulled by the sheer feeling of Ben’s power. It’s radiant and atomic in your body, up your spine and blooming over your ribs. It’s focused and hot and so fucking strong, and it’s only building higher, until you feel invincible. You feel like the earth itself, all the way down to your core, white-hot in your muscles. It would take a force like the sun to destroy you, but you’re not even the slightly bit worried it will. The sun rests in your body—under your skin and over your brain—and it’s moving in harmony with what Ben’s silently and unknowingly offered you.

You meet Ben’s eyes—the best shade of green in the world and looking right into the deepest parts of your mind that sometimes you don’t even know how to reach—and you wonder if he can feel it. Feel his own power in you, sense that something has shifted and settled into your bones.

“Ben-“

“No.” He cuts off your whisper with a stern hiss of your name. “There is not a fucking chance-“

“Butcher needs you. And you,” you glance at Ryan, still shaking and so small. “You need to stay here, my love.”

“You stay here, I’ll fight-“

“Please.” You move your hands to cup his face, and offer him a small, sad smile. “You said you’d let me do what I needed to do. I need to do this-“

“I did let you, and I lost you, so there is no goddamn way-“

“I need to do this. I, I don’t want to, but I need to. I have to. Please-“

“I’m the only one who can blast Homelander’s powers-“

“That’s not true.” You drop your brow to his, and let the power continue to climb. “Not anymore. I don’t know if you can-“

“I can.” Ben sighs, his hand squeezing the skin of your waist. “It’s, I felt all of it. And I can feel this. But you don’t have to do it just because you can fucking mimic me or some shit-“

“I do.” Everything hits a plateau of steady, unyielding strength, and you press a small kiss to Ben’s slack mouth. Please, Benjamin, my love. I can do this, please trust me.

He’s completely still under your touch, and you can feel that rot eating at his insides. It might drive you mad with guilt, but you need to do this. This has to end, and it needs to be you that ends it. You’ve never wanted it to be—you’d done everything in your power to make it so it wouldn’t be—but someone has to, and this feels unavoidable. All of Ben’s power is mixing in with yours, and you’ve never felt more alive, and it might be temporary but you’re going to use it to end this.

Ben will have to stay with Ryan. To keep him safe as you fight at Butcher’s side, to make sure he sees nothing that happens. And it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever asked of him, but you’ll spend a lifetime afterwards apologizing. Kissing him and touching him and doing whatever needs to be done for this to just be a ghost neither of you ever speak about.

And he’ll forgive you. You’ll crawl back to him and splinter apart in his arms every single time, and you know Ben will forgive you. He understands you, he’s always understood you—even if he might claim otherwise—so when you feel the mold twist in his arteries it kills you, but you know he’s going to let you do this.

Maybe one day you’ll be strong enough to tell him that—even if he doesn’t let you do anything—if Ben had shaken his head and told you no, I’ll fucking do this and you’ll stay safe, you would have given in. But he doesn’t. Ben gives you a tense nod, his jaw clenched and his grip on your body bruising, and you’re going to do this.

You have to kiss him. You should go now—there’s not a chance Butcher is strong enough to do this himself—but if you don’t kiss Ben you’re going to die. And he must feel it too, in his bones and blood and every burning nerve of your bodies—or maybe he just feels you—because you’ll never know who moved first.

You might dedicate a lifetime to describing this kiss, when everything is over. It’s hungry and angry and desperate, but coated with so much care and fear, and filled with love. It’s only really love, in the end. It’s a brief moment where it’s only you and Ben, and there’s fire on you lips that he doesn’t flinch from and a nuclear warmth in your body that only makes you dive deeper. It’s spit and teeth and fury, and so, so soft because at the core there’s a promise.

This isn’t a goodbye kiss. It’s a you’re not allowed to fucking say goodbye kiss. It’s you making a silent, final oath that Ben isn’t going to lose you, because that’s just not how this works. You’re alive in Ben, and he’s not something you’ll allow yourself to lose.

This kiss finishes, but neither of you pull away. You live in one second longer, where you’re attached in every way possible, and warm, and safe in a way that feels permanent and older than the universe, even if it’s not.

You burn, I burn, Sunshine. Ben’s voice in your head is hoarse, and his every exhale moves easily down your throat. No fucking burning without me.

I know. You smile, because Ben is here, so you’re not going to burn out. And you’re not fighting alone, because it will be Ben’s power—inside you and so fucking natural—that keeps you together and finishes this. I love you, Benjamin. You burn, I burn.

He nods slowly, and you have to pry yourself from his lips. Use every ounce of resolve in your body to stand, to give Ryan a reassuring smile as you steel yourself.

You take a long, deep, heavy breath that tastes like pine and gunpowder and Ben, and you can fucking do this.

The golden shield doesn’t need to drop, because you take a cautious step up to it and it begins to sing and glow in your presence. There’s a brief second—as you walk through it—that you’re stronger than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re all yours and Ben’s. You’re everything, warm and vast and bloody, and nothing will ever break you again.

Then the chill of rain falls on your brow, and the wind rushes in your ears, and everything comes into a sharp, brutal, unforgiving focus as you step into the ruins around you.

Butcher and Homelander are locked in the most destructive fight you’ve ever seen. Scorched earth is too light a phrase, because everything has been razed and wrecked around them. The car parts have been flung around, and there’s melted metal and gas fires and fallen trees strewn across the road, and the air feels like it’s calling forward judgment day. Heavy and hot in your lungs, all smoke and oil and ash down your throat.

Neither of them see you at first—marching through the wreckage and wrapped in flames that make this rain fade in a hiss—but they don’t need to. You make yourself know as you let out the most primal, furious sound that’s ever left your body, and a wave of fire crashes through the world, aimed right at Homelander.

Butcher moves to your side as you advance on where Homelander had vanished in the flame, giving you a smirk.

“Bout fuckin time, Love-“

“Shut up.” You snap, not sparing Butcher a glance as you see a shifting, dark form emerging from the smoke. “You get him down, I blast him, no fucking games.”

Homelander roars as he charges toward you, his laser carving a hole in your chest, and you don’t even flinch. Something white-hot and in an easy rhythm with your heartbeat crashes through the air at your will, flashing gold and knocking Homelander back.

“Bloody Christ, how the hell-“

“I have new powers.” You mutter, shooting Butcher a daggered look. “Homelander shot me with the V that I took back. And you can be a fucking cunt about that,” you narrow your eyes, and Butcher closes his mouth. “After we kill Homelander.”

“Well, Love, I ain’t sure that your plan’ll work if I don’t got backup.” Butcher glances at Homelander, rising into the air, and doges a laser blast that had been aimed at his skull. “V made me strong, but the cunt-“

“I’ve got it.” You do. Ben’s power, thrown and focused, won’t wipe the V from Homelander’s body, but it will weaken him. Enough for Butcher to get his shot. “You just need to get the V-“

“Ah, that’s the thing-“

Butcher’s words are cut off as Homelander sweeps down, grabbing him and throwing him halfway down the cracked pavement.

“What are we chatting about?” Homelander turns to you, and fuck he looks ugly. His formally too perfect face has been marred and burnt and scarred, flesh falling off his skin and his nose half caved into his fucking head. “It’s not very nice to leave me out, you know-“

You have no interest in banter or conversation, so you punch Homelander right in his thin, mauled lips and send him stumbling backward.

“Fuck,” he roars, and when he spits out a tooth you don’t bother to hide your grin. “You evil little bitch-“

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, throwing out another rush of Ben’s nuclear energy. “You’re fucking pathetic, Homelander, you know that? You had to kidnap me,” a punch to his gut, fist wrapped in fire. “And rape me,” his jaw, blood splattering over your face. “And fucking torture me in order to control me. But here’s the thing.” You take a step forward, and the pussy fucking flinches, taking a stumbling step back and your whole body begins to glow with fire and energy. You’re not sure if this is your power, or Ben’s, and you don’t really fucking care. “You never broke me. Not permanently. Not in a way that couldn’t be fixed. And now I’m going to kill you, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

He tries to fly away, but you’re faster. The whole sky turns in a storm of fire, and Homelander crashes back to earth as he realizes there’s no way out.

You hear Butcher clear his throat behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder his nose is broken and there’s a large gash along his neck, but he’s still up. Still fighting.

“You still on that die like a human shit?” He asks, keeping his attention on Homelander’s stirring body. “Or you wanna just-“

“No. He dies like the human he is. Get the V-“

“That’s, ah, that’s the thing, ain’t it.“ Butcher coughs, and you’ve never seen him look nervous before. It’s unsettling. “We don’t got no V.”

“What-“

“Used mine.” Butcher muttered. “Rest shattered in the car wreck, or is back with the team. We just got each other, Love, which I ain’t thrilled about either, but-“

“Shut up.” You squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers tapping an inhuman speed against your palm as you try to fucking work your way out of this. “We need to keep him down, that’s what the V was for, and you could do it, but I’d need to blast you-“

“Do that.”

You frown at Butcher, examining his stone-like expression. “Butcher, that might kill you-“

“So?” Butcher shrugs, and the only sign of any care or fear in his body are his hands—fisted in his pockets—and his eyes. They’re flashing with something you don’t understand, but know is emotion, even if his face is set and blank. “Don’t pretend you think I got shit to live for, Love. You all got people, I got Ryan, and he’ll be fine without me. He’s got you, he’ll make it.”

There’s no disgust or resentment in Butcher’s words, but no defeat either. Just flat fact, like even if this isn’t the only possible way, he’s not looking for another. And you can only think of that last vial of V, meant for Butcher but in your body, and how he’d been so ready to take it.

You don’t think he wants an after. Butcher might really just believe that this is all he’s for, and after isn’t a place he belongs.

And you’re not sure if you agree, because you don’t like Butcher, but he’s not Homelander. He’s not Ben either, but he’s something in the middle. Something just as angry as them both, but with just enough love and care in his body that he couldn’t be Homelander, and not enough will for something better to be Ben.

He’s not lost. He’s close to it, but not quite. He’s a supe now—and you can almost taste his own hatred of that every time he scratches at his skin or grimaces at any step—and you might call that punishment enough. To be the thing he swore to destroy.

But this will wipe the V from his body, and there will be no retribution.

But you don’t think you care for retribution, or reparation, or even an apology from Butcher. You just want this to be over, and you will offer Butcher this grace. He’s never been your friend, but he’s never tried to stop you. He’s never liked you, but you don’t really think he hated you either. He’s backed up your every plan, and never stood in your direct way. He’s antagonized you, but still had your back on your more fucked up plans.

He’s the reason you have Ben. He’d backed you up, and if he hadn’t, you’d still be alone. And this isn’t your choice to make for him, and it’s your turn to back up the one time he’s will to make a sacrifice that he’ll pay the price for.

“Butcher,” your words are soft, but firm. “Do you-“

“I got a gun.” Butcher looks you up and down, his face grim. “You still want-“

“Yes.”

Butcher nods and that’s it. All that left to do is finish this.

Homelander’s flying at you, and when his hand wrapped around your throat you let all your blood out of your body. Every last bit of cold, paralyzing fear of him that existed inside of you is pushed out, into Homelander, and he barely gets you off the ground when he drops you with a pathetic fucking scream. Butcher’s waiting for him, lasering his gut and knocking him fully to the ground, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him to the pavement and you land on his chest.

He’s sneering and hissing hateful words you can’t hear, because you’re calling the drums. The start in the distance, so familiar and in a harmony and beat you’d recognize anywhere, and as they draw closer you feel like you’ve reached some sort of peak, and you’re only seconds from the plummet. Like the barrier of Ben’s power that’s been holding the pain at bay is about to collapse, and this split second is all you have.

But you don’t break, or falter, or fail.

The drums fall into time with your heart right as the sickness of the V returns.

And you feel every bit of the bomb rip out of your body and through the world right before you fall to the ground and everything is only pain.

In the distance, or maybe right by your ear, you hear a gunshot go off. It might just be a delusion of peace—born from the way that everything is fading in and out around you and you can’t tell what’s solid and what an illusion—but then you feel something being to riot in your chest that’s more real than anything and you know you’re still awake.

Your eyes flutter open, and everything is out focus and wrapped in a haze, but that Thing that’s only ardor and care is sinking into your heart and ribs, and it gives you a brief moment of clarity. A long moment where you’re warm and safe, and so, so loved. This love feels like the universe. This love feels bigger than the universe, and you think it might be all yours.

You hope it is. It would be really nice for this existence of only pain to fade, and to wake up and be loved like this for a long, long time.

But right now you have to rest. There’s something soft and dark creeping at your vision, and you’ve never been this tired in your life, so resting feels like a good idea. It feels very simple, to just close your eyes and rest.

Peace starts to pull you, down, down down—into something warm and intangible, but somehow everything and made of ardor—and the last thing you hear is someone that sounds like everything good roaring your name.

The last thing you see is cold, blue, lifeless eyes that will never hurt you again.

The last thing you feel is clean.

End Note: I would say f's in chat for Homelander but I'm throwing a party to celebrate his death, so no respect. Also, this chapter is a direct fuck you to the “powerful MC loses her magic” trope. Fuck that. She’s MORE magical!

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