#only to be trapped in this killing game and for his life to end without even properly having one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

armpirate · 14 days ago

Text

Borrowed Skin || JJK

pairing: JK x fem!reader || Obsessive love, Impersonation

w.c.: 6.3k

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, teasing (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 28 minutes

Summary: Something felt different about your boyfriend, Junghoon, after not seeing each other for four days, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Familiar gestures felt slightly foreign, shared memories were met with hesitation, and the faintest shadows of someone else lingered in his eyes. What you didn't know was that Jungkook, his twin brother, had killed your boyfriend to take his place. Hungry for a life he could never have any other way, he came up with a plan in order to claim the love he had always desired.

MASTERLIST

It was late evening, and your phone buzzed with a message from Junghoon, your boyfriend. You met a few years ago. It was like the first scene of the couple in a romantic movie, with your hands brushing momentarily as you both went to pick up the same thing in the supermarket. You could almost say it was instant, just one look and a bit of conversation, and you both knew neither wanted to move away from each other.

Everything was perfect, except for his brother, Jungkook. They were almost identical, except for the tattoos on Junghoon's arm that covered his full sleeve, which his brother didn't have. Same with their piercings. Jungkook only had a few on his ears, while Junghoon also had two on his lips.

The differences weren't only physical:

Junghoon was always the responsible one, the kind of person who double-checked plans and took pride in being dependable. He had a steady, grounded energy that made you feel safe. You loved that about him. He was attentive, but not overly sentimental, he showed his care through actions, not words. Although, lately, that side of him was also fading.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He thrived on chaos, living in the moment without thinking of consequences. He'd always been a wildcard, the kind of guy who could light up a room but also burn it down. And the kind of guy who would constantly get Junghoon in trouble constantly when they were still close.

You remembered the tension between them vividly: Junghoon often vented about Jungkook's reckless choices, saying things like, "He thinks life's a game, but it's not. One day, he's going to go too far." Jungkook would retaliate with sarcastic remarks, mocking Junghoon for being too uptight.

Their arguments weren't just sibling spats, they were deep, filled with years of unresolved jealousy and blame. It made it easy for you to tell them apart, not just in personality but even in how they carried themselves. Junghoon's calm demeanor was worlds away from Jungkook's restless energy, which always ended up with your boyfriend also being dragged in whatever problem he was in.

You sighed when reading your boyfriend's text. He had been away all weekend, he actually canceled plans with you at the last minute on Friday, which you simply shrugged off, because it wasn't the first time it happened. He always had a last minute conference for his book, a last minute presentation or interview he couldn't place.

Junghoon: What are you doing?

Y/n: I'm coming back home... Where are you?

Junghoon: I went to the gym

Y/n: You? To the gym? You hate it...

Junghoon: Yup. Thought it'd be time to give it a chance

You simply rolled your eyes, leaving your small bag at the passenger's side of your car, your lip trapped under your teeth as you looked at the screen.

Junghoon: Do you want to do something now?

Y/n: Like what?

Junghoon: Prepare some blankets and some snacks, we're cuddling until dinner time.

You were confused, but you weren't going to oppose him. You actually liked the idea of doing something together after so long.

Junghoon: I'm on my way

Y/n: Okay. I'm shopping, but I'll be there in 10. Use your keys if early

Jungkook smiled at the text looking back at him, his smirk widening at the idea of seeing you after so long, for the first time in Junghoon's skin. He had always seen you from afar, always hooked on his brother's arm, but that night things would be different.

Even if it took him erasing Junghoon from the equation and taking his place, Jungkook would be finally able to be right where he belonged: right next to you.

His heartbeat kept beating faster as he approached your building... And a question popped up: would you be able to tell he wasn't Junghoon? Or would he be able to play your boyfriend so well that you wouldn't notice?

After he parked the motorbike, he played with the keys in his hand, the item tingling in his fingers as he looked at the mailbox to confirm which one was your door.

The house was a reflection of you: warm and orderly, with small imperfections that spoke of a life lived rather than curated. He exhaled slowly, steadying the tremor in his fingers. That wasn't the first step; that had been weeks ago. But this was the moment he crossed the line, fully stepping into Junghoon's life. Into your life. Officially adopting an identity and a personality that didn't belong to him only so he'd be able to be with you.

"Love?" his voice sounded a bit deeper than usual when calling for you.

After not hearing from you after a few seconds, he assumed you didn't arrive yet and closed the door behind him. His helmet rested on the backrest of your couch as he planned on walking around. You didn't have many details in the living room, but it was obvious on the small frames placed on the shelves on both sides of your TV that you liked to make it known that house was yours. Guilt and worry held onto his chest as his eyes fell on a picture you had with Junghoon, then to a new one.

And he wondered... was he going to be able to play the perfect boyfriend his brother always was?

Before he could think any deeply about it, the door clicked behind him, and he suddenly turned to see you. Your small frame was bent more towards one side than the other, because the weight of the bags you were carrying in one hand was too heavy.

Jungkook walked to you before you could open your mouth, his hands brushing against yours and forcing him to ignore the electricity to act as normal as he could.

"Thank you, love" you whispered, closing the door.

His walk was intuitive, thanking himself for being early and taking a look around your place to know where things were. Your tracks stopped when you spotted the helmet, ignoring the rustle from the bags in the kitchen.

"What's with the helmet?" you asked confused.

For a moment, he didn't respond, his face unreadable. Then he laughed, a little too quickly, a little too loud. "Oh, that? It's not mine. It's... a friend's. He brought me on his motorbike. I've been meaning to return it."

You frowned. "A friend's?"

He shrugged, still moving inside the kitchen, knowing his lie would be caught as soon as you looked him in the eye. "Yeah, someone I met at the gym" he said, mentioning it like it was no big deal.

And it wouldn't be... if it weren't because his brother wasn't the perfect boyfriend he always showed off to be.

He assumed you'd already know everyone in Junghoon's workplace and his group of friends, adding someone in the picture from a background you didn't know of was a quick way of escaping, without any more questions.

You nodded slowly, still trying to process the oddness of it all. You didn't want to be paranoid. Hell, you promised you left behind all of your insecurities and doubts after what happened, but you couldn't help but let all of those feelings come back at you again with Junghoon's strange behavior that night. Showing up in the middle of the night, so eager to see you, with that same nervousness... It almost felt like a throwback to...

You shook your head, trying to erase those thoughts.

"Do I know this friend?" you asked, half-joking, trying to shake the strange feeling gnawing at your stomach.

He paused, the rustle of bags suddenly stopping. "I don't think so," he said lightly. "I told you it was someone from the gym."

The answer should have satisfied you, but it didn't. Something about the way he avoided any type of honesty when he spoke made your chest tighten. You didn't push further, though. You told yourself it was nothing -Junghoon was just tired. Maybe he really had changed, even in small ways. People did, right?

The rustle of the bags came back as you started making your way to the kitchen, his wide back completely eclipsing whatever he was doing on the counter. "Come on," he said, flashing you that familiar smile over his shoulder, "I'll let you pick a movie to watch until it's time for dinner."

You returned his smile, letting yourself be pulled into the comfort of the moment. Although it lasted just a short moment, because your teeth trapped your lower lip before you could even control yourself.

"Babe" you called him, getting his attention. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean..." you readjusted yourself in the kitchen, resting against the wall, shifting your position so you'd be able to look at him "There's no secrets between us".

Jungkook hesitated, knowing what your gaze meant. Yet, at the same time, he knew that look wasn't because you were suspicious of his fake personality. It was something else he couldn't decipher, but it made his heart shrink with a guilt he wasn't the owner of.

"I do have something to tell you" he finally said.

As much as you'd have loved to be relieved by that sentence, it made your pulse quicken. Because last time it started the exact same way.

"The helmet" he said, trying to control himself by redirecting his thoughts on the conversation "is mine. I didn't want to tell you, because it was going to be a surprise, but I'm a mess and ruined it. I've been studying to get the license" he finally admitted. "I bought a motorbike recently..."

"You did what?" you frowned. "That's..." definitely better than everything you had imagined. "Oh god, that's great" you smiled widely. "The amount of things we'll be able to do, and all the places we'll go".

Jungkook's heart fluttered at the way your expression changed, opening the door to an excited rambling with several ideas you were clearly already thinking of.

"You liked the surprise, baby?"

"Yes, yes" you nodded repeatedly. "You kept it to yourself so well, I wouldn't have seen it coming at all".

"Yeah... I thought it'd be better for all the plans I want to do with you, hmm? We could go on a small trip during your holidays, I could pick you up from work..."

"I... You didn't even hint at it. You're usually so bad at keeping secrets" you sighed, relieved at what he was keeping from you.

"It was a surprise worth of keeping from you"

"I'm happy though" you smiled at him, started to take out all the groceries you bought. "I'm happy you finally got a license. I would have rathered it to be a car, you know, it's safer. But it's great" to prolong the comfort and happiness, you turned to him with a smile, finding him supporting himself on the doorframe "It's really great" you nodded again. "You know what?"

"What, baby?"

"I bought you your favorite dessert"

He tried to hide the surprise and confusion, knowing damn well you're referring to Junghoon's. Trying to keep himself from messing it up, he opted for a neutral answer: "You're spoiling me, baby".

As he watched you pacing around the kitchen, putting all the things perfectly in the drawers, he couldn't help but notice how you seemed comfortable in his presence, unaware that he wasn't your boyfriend, a little too happy with the domestic aura it all gave. For one second, he could only feel guilty of not doing what he did earlier.

"You're not going to ask why I showed up unannounced?" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, trying to push away the guilt that gnawed at him. But at the same time, the feeling of having you in his arms was exhilarating.

"Why?" you asked softly, leaning into his body.

"I missed you" he murmured in your ear, his voice low and filled with desire. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

His eyes shut close when your fingers moved up to his hair, enjoying the feeling. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, making him crave more. Instinctively his body against yours, his lips finding their way to your neck, planting soft kisses along your skin.

"I love you" he subconsciously said, with his lips attached to your scent while his hands roamed through your curves.

"Baby" you puckered your lips, touched by his words "I love you, too".

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to commit it to memory, while his fingers ran through it, gently massaging your scalp as you stood there in your kitchen.

He slid his hands underneath your shirt, caressing your bare skin, making you hum at how warm he surprisingly felt. "You're so warm" you mumbled, snuggling closer.

"You feel so nice and soft in my arms" one of his hands made its way down to your thigh. "Hmm, the best" he gave your thigh a light squeeze and then slowly ran his fingers up and down the outside, moving his digits until they brushed against the hem of the fabric of your t-shirt.

"I'm glad you came" you confessed with a soft whisper.

Jungkook smiled against your shoulder, his face hiding in the crook of your neck "Why wouldn't I be here doing what I love the most?"

"Well... You always say your job is so important".

Junghoon loved you, you knew he did, but he also found a million other things more important than you, and he didn't hesitate to remind you. Now, having him behind you, his chest stuck to your back as he hugged you tight when he was supposed to be at work, you felt a warmth in your heart you hadn't felt in a long while.

"Of course it is, but you're even more important to me" he chuckled at your action, loving the way you tried to fit against his body.

You were tired of the amount of times you'd heard that same sentence on him, only to be paid dust all the time. But, somehow, those words felt so genuine that night...

"From now on, I promise I'll focus on you only. I promise" he whispered, with his lips brushing against your earlobe.

"I'm glad our arguments finally got some sense for you" you joked, although you weren't really joking.

For one second, Jungkook wondered how his brother could even think of believing anything was more important than being with you in his arms. How could Junghoon ever think of not putting you in first place?

"You don't know how much I hated those arguments, baby" he looked into your eyes when you turned your face, his gaze and tone both growing somber at the mention.

"Me, too. I hate being mad at you" you kissed his lips.

"Being mad at you was like torture. Those fights felt like hell" slowly, he made you turn on your feet, the feeling of you in his arms already making him feel better.

"What comes after those fights is worth it though" you smirked, hiding your face on his neck.

Jungkook chuckled, endeared by the way you hid how your cheeks turned a lighter shade of pink "Yeah, my clingy baby gets even clingier after our fights" he grinned and his hand rubbed up and down your thigh.

There was something about his touch, his words... or the way he was holding you like he actually wanted you that kept you pushing for more. You started kissing his cheek, but quickly moved down his jaw and throat, feeling him gulp thick under your lips.

"Mmm, baby, that feels nice" he tilted his head to the side to give you even better access to his neck.

You moved back up, your lips rubbing against his. "You like that?"

He brought his hands up to the sides of your face and pulled you closer, his lips hovering over yours, wondering if that was always how you made things up.

"Hmm" he nodded " And I think you're so cute"

He gave your nose a small kiss before kissing your lips softly, gently pulling on your lower lip with his. With every second, he deepened the kiss, gently pushing his tongue into your mouth, pulling and playing with yours. Your fingers sank deeper in his hair, flicking your tongue on his while your hands started moving down his torso. A low hum and a moan escaped his lips as he felt your fingers move, his hands sliding up and down your thighs before eventually gripping your hips. A gasp broke the kiss when you felt his hands on your hips, pressing you a bit harder against his crotch, and as you started to rock your hips against him, you felt that need for him starting to build up.

His teeth crushed on your neck, sucking at the skin to give you a mark as his hips continued to move against yours. His hands traveled down the back of your thighs, digging into your flesh as he started rolling your hips against him, slowly getting addicted to the way you felt against him. He didn't think twice, lifting your body so you were sitting on the counter.

He was left confused when you sat straight in front of him, although your smirk calmed him down almost immediately. His pulse raced up when you started taking your shirt off, his eyes falling down to your chest. His hands moved through your smooth soft skin, traveling up your sides, while his eyes shined as if that was the first time he saw you that way.

You didn't give him time to think, because you bent over to kiss him before he could. His hands were placed on either side of your neck, pulling you back down to his lips, the kiss immediately growing more and more hungry, his tongue immediately seeking access to your mouth again.

"Babe" you whispered against his lips, "what do you want?"

"You, I only want you"

"I'm all yours"

A smirk played on his lips as he heard the words fall so freely from your lips, your eagerness only fueling his hunger for you. The fact that he thought he'd never hear those words from you, and even less dedicated to him, made his head spin. His hands slide up your sides and then down again, his fingers hooking onto the waistband of your pants as he looked into your eyes

"Is that so? You're all mine and mine only?"

"Only yours" you whispered.

You didn't care about how many times you needed to confirm that, because that was the truth.

"Good girl" he groaned, those two words, so simple yet impactful, made your blood run faster through your veins.

He tugged on your pants, signaling for you to lift your hips up a bit so he could take them off, and you helped, supporting your hands on his shoulders to give him enough space to get you naked.

As his eyes traced a silent path through your body, you couldn't help but tilt your head. "Liking what you see?" your hands moved up through his shirt.

His answer, forward yet nervous, came up as if it was the most obvious answer "Shit, I love it"

You didn't need to speak for your boyfriend to help you take off his t-shirt, it was enough with the way you kept moving the black fabric up for him to follow your silent command and do as you wanted, his abs slightly flexing as you exposed him.

"When did you get so bulked up?" you curiously asked when you spotted the difference.

It was then when you realized the big toll routine had on you and your relationship, how you barely noticed the change in his body despite seeing each other almost every day.

"I've been working out a lot lately" he said, smiling nervously, watching your fingers run over his arms.

You could almost hear the pride in his tone as you touched his muscles.

Again, a pang of sadness showed up again across your brain as you realized how long it had been since you were that intimate with your boyfriend. You didn't even notice how toned he was becoming, you didn't even notice the progress as it was happening.

"I see" you chuckled, wrapping your fingers around his neck when you saw him placing himself between your legs.

He hummed and smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, his hands immediately going to your hips, gripping them and pulling you closer to him, his face in line with your neck. He nuzzled your throat, showering the skin there with light kisses.

His lips moved up to your jawline, placing small, slow kisses up your jaw, his hands grabbing your thighs and pulling you even closer, until your hips are rubbing against his again. The mere touching having you whispering in between kisses how bad you craved him, while his hands tightened their grip on your thighs at your words, your desire for him only fueling the lust and hunger for you inside him.

He attached his lips to your neck once more, gently sucking and biting the skin there while his hips rolled up as you grinded against him. The only thing that could ever stop him from devouring you was yourself, and that was exactly what happened.

He let out a soft hum as you touched his back, his hips rolling up against you again at the soft feeling of your fingers. When your digits hit his belt, a smirk played on his lips. "Do you want it off, baby?"

You nodded and you could feel his grip on your thighs loosening to give you space to move in front of him, able to drag your body down his from the counter. He watched you in awe, the movement already sending a wave of excitement through him. When looking down at you, his eyes took in every inch of your bare skin while he undid his belt buckle.

A thick groan left his lips when you played him while undressing him, your fingers barely touching his skin when taking off his dark jeans, earning him calling you a tease with a groan. Your boyfriend didn't hold back, holding your thighs to put you back against his body, the sudden move surprising you, but not letting you back off from teasing him "Yes, I'm a tease, and? You love it".

"Hmm yeah, I do. But I also love you being a good girl"

A smirk immediately plays on his lips as you weren't able to control your legs from pressing together. His hands moved down your body, caressing your bare skin. "Oh? Does someone like being called a good girl?"

It was something... new. It wasn't the type of chat you had while having sex.

He lifted your body once more, making you wrap your legs around him so you'd be steadily placed.

"Grind against me" he said in a deep tone, his hands gripping the small of your back more firmly, wanting to feel you closer.

You positioned yourself correctly enough to do what you were told, your hips almost meeting his, you could feel his hardened bulge, yet you didn't move an inch. "You want this?" you moved your hips down, rolling them for one second before moving them back up.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his patience even at the feeling of you rolling your hips for a second, his own self-control slowly slipping out of his grasp. He gripped your hips harder, wanting to feel you against him even more "Yeah, I want this. I want you. So move against me and be a good girl for me, baby"

Clearly, you weren't going to make it so easy for him.

You bit your lip, bending over until your lips were almost touching his ear "Use the right words".

He shivered involuntarily at your whispered sentence, your breath in his ear sending another wave of excitement through him, the need to be with you growing stronger "Please, baby. Let me feel you, just move against me. You know I'm a patient man, but this is making me lose my damn mind"

"So this" you grind your hips down, moving them back up again "is making you lose your head?"

He let out a low, almost guttural groan at the slow, calculated move of your hips, the friction created by your movements driving him insane "Yeah, you're making me lose my damn mind, baby. You know what you do to me".

You licked his upper lip, your hand holding his chin before you rolled your hips back down against his.

He moaned in consequence, feeling the way you rolled your hips again, his own hips involuntarily bucking up against yours. "Baby... that's it, just keep going like that. Just a little bit more" he held back the urge to take control of your body and just take you right there, trying to keep a bit of my composure.

Although that composure didn't last long, just enough for him to take you to your bedroom.

You didn't know how or when you ended up underneath him, his body trapping yours against the mattress while his lips ghosted over yours "We're done playing now" he assured you. The air was caught in your throat when he brushed his lips against your throat. "I fucking love the way you're all mine" he groaned. "Mine only, hmm? I'll destroy whoever tries to get between us".

You gulped thick when you heard him saying that, unsure if it was just the pleasure ruling him... because he was looking deadly serious.

"What?" he called you "You like knowing that you're all mine and mine alone? You like hearing how I'll do anything to keep you all to myself?"

In three years of relationship, it was the first time you heard Junghoon being so possessive of you. Yet you didn't hate it. Not at all.

He crawled on top of you, his body trapping you beneath him. His fingers skillfully undid the clasp of your bra with a swift motion as soon as his fingertips found it. Your back arched with need as you felt the fabric caressing your skin before disappearing, and it kept folding as his lips started making their way down your body. He paused for a moment to look up at you, his eyes darkened for all the right and wrong reasons as he admired the invisible path he made from your chest to the edge of your underwear.

He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes searching for a hint of suspicion or doubt, for any sign that could make him back down. But he found none, only desire and trust. His fingers hooked into your underwear and pulled them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he got you naked in front of him.

Jungkook moved back up your body, his hands trailing up your thighs as he went. He positioned himself between your legs, his lips finding your collarbone again, leaving a mark that would be difficult to hide, while his heart pounded hysterically against his chest. His desire for you and the guilt of his identity waging a silent war inside him.

But he chose to silent them.

He lifted your leg over his hip, pulling you even closer to him. His body pressed against yours, and the last remaining layers of fabric between you felt like an unbearable barrier. He nipped at your earlobe, his voice a low, demanding whisper "I fucking need you so bad".

"I need you, too"

The way your words echoed his, the way you sounded so out of breath... It all kept clouding his judgement. He knew those words were dedicated to someone else, he knew your body was craving Junghoon, but the thought of his touch exciting you like that only made him growl deep in his throat.

His lips reached the apex of your thighs as he started moving down, pausing for a moment as he looked up at you. Your face was flushed with desire, your eyes darkened with need. He took a moment to memorize the sight before he gave in completely to his desires. Giving you one last look, he bent enough to sink his mouth sensually among your folds, the contact making you hum in pleasure almost instantly.

He ran his tongue over you, savoring the taste of you in his mouth. Your body writhed beneath his touch, your moans and gasps filling the room.. the combination of it all causing his chest to puff with pride, while his tongue dived deeper in you to get a better taste. Jungkook lost himself in you, driven by the overwhelming need to make you his, to make everything he had always dreamed of a reality.

Your moans, the sight of you, your reaction to his touch... it all drove him crazy with a primal need to possess you, to make you his in every way he had thought of ever since Junghoon introduced you to the family. He delved deeper, his tongue exploring you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Jungkook craved more of those sounds, those sensations, those reactions.

You almost couldn't recognize yourself. The passion, the way your boyfriend was giving himself to you, the way he was sinking his mouth in you as if he wanted to eat you whole and then eat you again. You swore he made you let out sounds you haven't heard on yourself ever before.

"Baby, I need you" you moaned, almost with a plea.

Your words, the need in your voice, the way your body responded to him -it was like fuel to the fire. He wanted -no, he needed- to give you what you were asking for.

Licking your clit one last time, he moved up your body, making sure he showered with kisses every centimeter on the way to your face. Jungkook positioned himself between your legs again, his eyes holding your gaze. His fingers brushed against you, teasing, but never quite giving you what you want. His voice was a low, almost desperate plea:

"Are you ready for me, baby?"

You dedicated him a soft smile, before you nodded and placed your hands on his shoulders "Always".

Your answer, the look on your face -it teared away the last shred of restraint he had. With one movement of his head, he motioned you to get a condom, which you reached effortlessly at the bedside table to hand it to him so he'd wrap himself on the latex.

His lips claimed your mouth in a deep kiss, while his length slid into you with one movement, filling you completely. It was strange, but he felt like coming home, finally being where he belonged.

For a second, the guilt installed in his brain, reminding him of what he was doing, of the place he was taking over, but how quickly you pulled from his neck and how you linked your lips together worked to get him back to the only thing that mattered: you.

You broke the kiss, moaning when he started moving, a low giggle adorning the room and making Jungkook the weakest he had ever felt. "Fuck, you feel bigger".

He couldn't help but smirk at your words, the need to hear more, to make you feel even more driving him forward. He lifted your leg over his waist again, his lips finding your ear as he murmured: "Is that a good thing, baby? Does it feel good?"

"So fucking good" you closed your eyes, dropping your head back.

He didn't know how long he stayed moving while just looking at you, drinking up all of your reactions, memorizing every small detail on your face with every new wave of pleasure, or the way your nails digged on his skin whenever he angled his hips to reach the right spot. You were so hypnotizing and addictive.

He was done being a viewer, he was the main character of the most devoted love story to ever exist.

Hearing you moan like that, hearing how good he made you feel, pushed him even closer to the edge. Jungkook bit down on your shoulder, just enough to leave a mark, as he tried to hang on just a bit longer. He picked up the pace, driving into you deeper, harder, his eyes fixed on your face, ready for the smallest sign to give you everything you could ask for.

When you opened your eyes, you didn't recognize the dark look in your boyfriend's eyes as he crashed into you, his pace was relentless, like he had been deprived from touching you for years.

Your hands moved instantly to his wrists, trying to find some stability as your body kept bouncing harder against the mattress. Jungkook intertwined his fingers with yours, holding onto you as if he never wanted to let go. He could feel your body responding to his, and could see how close you were.

"Give it to me, baby. Give me everything you have" he asked softly, your hands moving to each side of your head as his body bent over to cover yours.

He held your gaze, he took care of your body, and he walked with you to your high to make sure you wouldn't miss a single beat. Until you both turned into one, your bodies being a mix of shivers and electricity.

Jungkook held you tight, only letting go of your hands to wrap his arms around you and sink his face on the curve of your neck to inhale your scent. You were so his that it physically hurted.

"That was..." you thought for a few seconds, trying to come up with a word "new".

Jungkook curiously moved back to look into your eyes "New? In a good sense?"

"Yeah... Yeah" you nodded, huffing a laugh "Different, in a good sense though. It's just that..." you started to explain, feeling a bit nervous "you're usually so soft and slow, and careful and delicate".

"Am I?" Jungkook lifted his eyebrow, trying to wonder if he allowed his own needs to take control of himself and risk getting exposed. "I just got carried away. I'm sorry if I hurted you".

"Hoon, I've been asking you to be a bit rougher for months" you chuckled "Why are you apologizing? I liked it" while speaking, you tilted your head, looking at him "Maybe we should get even freakier next time".

For a second, Jungkook's lip twitched at hearing his brother's name on your lips, but he recomposed quickly after, letting a smirk be drawn on his face.

"You felt like a completely different person" you chuckled "I liked it".

Jungkook pecked your lips quickly, trying to get rid of the idea that he was indeed a different person.

"Shall we get something for dinner?" he casually asked, hugging you tight in his arms. He stretched his legs lazily,moving his face down to look at you, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. "How about we order something for dinner? I'm starving."

You blinked, surprised. "Order something? You usually insist on cooking after..." you trailed off, cheeks warming.

He tilted his head, the playful grin never faltering. "Figured I'd give us both a break. Besides, my cooking could use a little variety."

Junghoon always prided himself on his cooking, especially after moments like these. It was his way of grounding himself, of caring for you. Still, you shrugged off the unease. He probably was just trying to be thoughtful in a different way.

"What are you in the mood for?" you asked, shifting to grab your phone.

"Anything but Chinese food," he replied quickly. Too quickly.

Your fingers paused mid-air. "But...you love Chinese food."

Jungkook stopped, trying to think of what to say to get away from his own mess.

He hesitated, barely perceptibly, before chuckling. "Right. I meant, I've had enough of it lately. Craving something else."

You nodded slowly, letting it slide, but a faint buzz of doubt lingered in the back of your mind. As you scrolled through the menu options, he got up, moving to his pants on the floor.

His movements were fluid, confident, but lacked the familiarity you'd always known. The way he grabbed the fabric and tossed it on: it wasn't the usual meticulous way Junghoon folded and set aside his clothes.

"Pizza?" he suggested, his voice easy, casual. "Something simple."

Your lips curved into a small smile despite the growing doubts. "Sure, pizza sounds good."

As you placed the order, you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He was looking at you, but there was something in his eyes -a hunger, an intensity- that didn't belong to Junghoon. You shook your head, telling yourself it was all in your imagination.

After slipping into your clothes, the two of you left the room, the warm glow of the moment still lingering in the air. Junghoon walked beside you, his arm brushing yours occasionally as you both made your way to the living room.

"What time should the food get here?" he asked, glancing at you.

"About thirty minutes," you replied, checking the confirmation on your phone. "Plenty of time to relax."

Jungkook moved first, wrapping his arm around your waist to drag you with him over the couch, making sure both of you falled over it, your body almost over his lap, as he cuddled you tight. Something so simple as that had you instantly feeling better, instantly forgetting about any doubts or insecurities, vanishing that sense of unease and anxiety, to welcome comfort and love.

You didn't realize, but you started rubbing your cheek against his chest, while your hands held tight on his arms, your eyes closed while you allowed his scent fill your nostrils.

You were tired of being suspicious, and always ending on the worst of the conclusions, because small changes didn't always have to be for the worst.

If that was the first night of a new phase of your relationship, you'd gladly take it.

And something in him moved at your reaction. He was convinced he'd make you a million times happier than his brother ever did. It was as if the universe was telling him you were always meant to end up with him, because you molded together perfectly.

He, and only him, was everything you ever wanted, and he'd make sure he'd be the only thing you'd ever want.

#armpirate #fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #reader insert #one shot #jungkooksmut #jksmut #jk smut #boyfriendsfriend!au

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lime-bloods · 7 months ago

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I honestly didn't ever expect that I'd be in the position where I'd be using this blog not just to analyse what has come before in Homestuck, but to look toward the comic's future and do some real old-fashioned theorycrafting. but the time has come. so here goes; lime-bloods' Beyond Canon theories as of the July 6th 2024 update:

Vriska's Going to Hell

were all gonna help you! / whether you like it or not

a select few eagle-eyed readers already noticed that the sound used in last month's (Vriska: Figure shit out yourself.) is called "hell_tierwav". while it was easy to dismiss this as irrelevant composer shenanigans at the time, it's now become clear exactly what this was foreshadowing. whether it would be more apt to call this "Hell" or "Purrgatory" is probably up for debate - but whatever you call it, Vriska's been placed in a dimension seemingly tailored specifically for her personal torment.

while Vriska characteristically interprets the recreation of her childhood home as a symbol of how badass she was, the ghosts of her past - both literal, as the shades of the trolls she killed as Mindfang, and figurative, in the form of sprites wearing the faces of her dead friends - show us in no uncertain terms that Vriska's childhood home is the stage where traumas play out.

Erisolsprite puts it succinctly with his welcome to hell, but pay close attention to what exactly we're being welcomed to: this update ends on page 665. so as of this next update, we'll be starting on page 666.

Does Homestuck Have Hell?

the exact bubble of reality Vriska's currently found herself in seems to be an entirely new construction of the likes we've not yet seen in Homestuck - but that doesn't mean this kind of cosmic torment is without precedent. because while 666 is a number with Satanic connotations in the broader cultural context, it also has a very particular meaning of its own within the world of Homestuck. indeed, the latter half of the comic almost revolves around it, culminating in a climax in Act 6 Act 6 Act 6.

specifically, this repetition of a single digit is emblematic of recursive storytelling. to summarise what you can already read about in detail in my essay The World / The Wheel: when Caliborn is 'gifted' the Act 6 Act 6 supercartridge, which he is told is an "expansion" of Homestuck, it's a trick. there is no "expansion"; he's going to be trapped in a story that never ends because it keeps dividing into smaller and smaller versions of itself forever. the only way to truly beat the devil who trapped the heroes within a story is to trap him in his own story.

that's what Caliborn's "Hell" is, and that's also exactly what the Alternate Calliope achieved in Act 7 by creating the black hole which Vriska knocked Lord English into, ending Homestuck's story - something that Calliope even hints at in this very update, when she refers to the black hole as "containment"; not an accident, but a deliberately crafted prison. black holes are a symbol of recursion and regression; being sucked into one means being forced to live out your whole life over and over again, forever. so really, this is all we ever could have expected to happen when Vriska stepped into a black hole within a black hole! the presentation of the narrative even subtly hints at this; events in Beyond Canon that take place in the black hole are enclosed (in brackets), and now events that take place in a black hole-within-a-black-hole are contained within {curly brackets}, because you should always use a different kind of brackets to differentiate nested parenthesis from each other!

it is absolutely no coincidence that when Caliborn closes the curtains on his appearances in Homestuck, thinking he's won when really he's been condemned to a hell of his own making forever more, it's with a tribute to this exact same Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff strip.

IF YOU REMEMBER JUST ONE THING I SAY, OF SO MANY GREAT THINGS SAID BY ME, THEN PLEASE REMEMBER THIS. I WANTED TO PLAY A GAME.

So What Does That Mean?

one of Beyond Canon's central missions is expanding upon Homestuck's exploration of the relationships between author, text, and audience. as discussed above, a large part of Homestuck's thesis is the evil of forcing characters to live the same lives and the same stories over and over without the chance to grow or move on, and Beyond Canon picks up on this by placing Dirk in the position of trying to keep Homestuck going forever purely to appease its fans, while the Alternate Calliope continues to oppose this ideology. and while the alpha Calliope outwardly seems not to have taken a hard position on where she stands in this cosmic battle, the question posed by her device seems to be an entirely new one: can it actually be a good thing to regress, to return to ground that the story has already covered? can this path lead to something new, rather than merely stagnation?

it's so relevant that Vriska is being confronted with the crimes of her past, not only in the form of all the trolls she was personally responsible for killing but also in the form of the exact same punishment she condemned Lord English to with her heroism - complete with the herd of horses that are always present at Caliborn's demise! but where being condemned to an eternal cycle was fitting punishment for Caliborn, someone who refuses to break free of cycles of abuse and instead chooses to enact that same abuse on the world around him... if Vriska is someone who can break free of these cycles, who can change and become a better person despite what happened to her, will this punishment have the same effect? or, as Davepeta seems to believe, is forcing Vriska to reckon with her own past and traumas exactly what will allow her to break free of that cycle?

DAVE: [...] ill just be over here in the hyper gravity chamber training to beat lord english KARKAT: WE HAVE A HYPER GRAVITY CHAMBER???

it's hard not to be struck by the parallels in design and purpose between the Plot Point and Dragon Ball's Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and not just because of the Dragon Ball enthusiasts present on Beyond Canon's writing and art teams: albeit in typically Strider-bastardised form, the Time Chamber got a shoutout in Andrew Hussie's own Homestuck (see quote above), in a reference that was even picked up on by prolific theorist bladekindeyewear at the time. for the uninitiated: the Hyperbolic Time Chamber allowed its users to train for extended stretches of time, sometimes even spanning years, while a significantly smaller time period passed in the world outside - something that is actually true of real-life black holes! and with the Plot Point's own emphasis on time, represented by the hourglass included among its mechanisms, it seems to me that an essential part of making the 16-year-old Vriska ready for the trials ahead will be giving her the time to undergo the same growth her adult friends have experienced.

considering that Beyond Canon is already playing in the Ultimate Self space, where there are levels of power beyond merely the "god tiers", it also doesn't seem too farfetched to speculate that Vriska, forced to reckon with the fact that becoming a powerful Thief of Light isn't the be-all and end-all of personal growth, will take another leaf out of Dragon Ball's book here and ascend "beyond Super Saiyan". perhaps this is even the "hell tier" so cheekily alluded to in the Plot Point flash? certainly this kind of evolution would be the perfect way to challenge Dirk's belief that the Ultimate Self is the only logical final step for a character's development.

whatever the case, I believe we can take Davepeta at their word here. I don't think it's just a joke that by the end of this ordeal Vriska Serket is going to be fucking RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPED!

#homestuck #beyond canon #upd8 #vriska #vriska serket #davepetasprite #caliborn #black holes #theory #< apparently ive used this tag before but i cant say what for. will have to check later

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rainyinautumn · 2 years ago

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Did someone say COMPLETE DATA ANALYSIS OF ALL THE DEATHS IN THE LIFE SERIES? No? Well. I did it. Here are some neat graphs for you guys to look at so that you don’t have to deal with the gigantic spreadsheet I did!

Let’s start off with the big bad question: what gets people killed in this game, anyway?

Note that a CAUSE OF DEATH is not the same as a KILL. Cause of death is what pops up in the chat when someone dies (ex. PearlescentMoon was slain by Smallishbeans, BdoubleO100 fell from a high place). The cause of death does not always account for player responsibility (ex. TNT traps). Generally, a player is only considered to be someone’s cause of death if the death occurs through direct PvP combat. HOWEVER, responsibility for an indirect kill such as a trap still goes toward a player’s total kill count—for example, Joel has 14 kills overall, 10 of which are direct enough for him to be considered the actual cause of death. After all, axes don’t kill people without being swung by someone.

A few other whacky things about kill counts:

Self-inflicted deaths do not count toward a player’s kill count (ex. Grian doesn’t get a kill for jumping off Monopoly Mountain at the end of 3rd Life, Scott doesn’t get a kill for blowing himself up at the end of Double Life).

When it comes to Double Life, soulmates are considered to share their three lives. No distinction is made between Soulmate A's life and Soulmate B's life, and each death only counts as one kill (ex. Joel gets one kill for killing Scott with fireworks, even though that also killed Pearl (however, Pearl’s cause of death is still Joel, as her life is considered the same as Scott’s)).

Using the /kill command does not count toward your kill count. Grian.

With that cleared up, let’s look at kill counts.

By the skin of his teeth, Grian leads the pack in total kills. The top three you see on that graph are the only players who have a KDR (kill-to-death ratio) of more than 1—for you folks who are unfamiliar with those, a KDR of more than 1 means you kill other people more often than you die. Less than 1 means you die more often than you kill other people. Here are the highest and lowest KDRs in the series:

“What’s this?” I hear you say. “Jimmy Wet-Paper-Bag-of-a-Man Solidarity DOESN’T have the lowest KDR in the series?”

No. No, he does not, and it’s actually really funny you should ask.

Because of Last Life’s mechanic of life transferring, even players that have been in all three installments of the Life Series don’t have the same death count. Eight players died more than three times in Last Life. Another eight died exactly three times. And one player only died twice.

By virtue of starting on yellow and never receiving any extra lives in Last Life, Jimmy holds the record for fewest deaths in an installment of the Life Series with just two deaths in Last Life. He is the only player to ever die less than three times in a game. This means that although he has just one kill, he has fewer total deaths than BigB (who has died a very standard nine times), the only other player with one kill, so his KDR is higher. Congrats, Jimmy, you’re not last in everything. But you are still the only player without a PvP kill.

Speaking of PvP, it’s time to look at how people do that! Here’s a graph of the top five weapons that tend to land PvP kills the most in the series:

And now here’s weapon preferences by game:

[Double Life not depicted due to lack of PvP deaths—only 4 occurred, using a diamond axe, a diamond sword, fireworks, and an iron axe respectively.]

Despite 19 more deaths occurring in Last Life than 3rd Life, the two actually have the exact same amount of PvP kills (28). It’s interesting to note the strong preference for bows in 3rd Life, which was a much more warlike game and had several fairly formal battles where people fought from a distance. Last Life required an overall sneakier strategy, resulting in a higher use of traps. In combat, non-ranged weapons like swords and axes were generally preferred due to fights often starting in close proximity and without warning, courtesy of the Boogeyman curse. Comparatively, Double Life saw remarkably few PvP kills, likely due to each person being twice as accident-prone by virtue of being linked to another player—in fact, with a total of 12, accidents accounted for three times as many deaths as PvP in Double Life and overall for more than half (57%) of the deaths in the game.

As for individual player stats sheets, here’s an example of one of those:

If you want to see one of those for ALL 17 PLAYERS, you can go to this slideshow! More details about the stats can be found in the presentation notes of each slide. And, if you have a really specific question and want to get into the nitty gritty, feel free to send me an ask! Hope you guys enjoyed the data!

#moral of the story: stay away from high places #and Joel and Ren #and always assume Grian is up to something #life series #3rd life #last life #double life #overrainylyzed #I don't think I've ever analyzed something harder before in my life honestly #relevant rainy things

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gatorbites-imagines · 8 months ago

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Can you please do Slashers (Norman Bates, Patrick Bateman, Micheal, Jason, Brahms, Billy and Stu. You get the idea) with a, hear me out, a s/o who is just as if more out of pocket and crazy as they are, but here’s the catch their s/o aka you 🫵, don’t even realize how they are acting. (This was a 3 am woke up in the middle of the night with sweats kind of concept) But, do with that what you will.

💙💜🩵

Slashers x male reader

Headcanons

I don’t really know Norman, since I’ve never watched Psycho, and Patrick. I know Patrick somewhat at least a little cuz I’ve seen clips, so this is all based off wikis, so I hope it’s still good.

Norman Bates

Norman typically seems to have a more subdued and submissive personality, so for you two to be dating, his mom has to be out of the picture somehow. Maybe you guys still run the motel though.

Norman is possessive of you, not wanting to lose you. So you being just as possessive, if not more, in return, would probably tickle him pink even if he doesn’t want to express it. his second personality would enjoy it if you were just as violent too.

It doesn’t seem like Norman registers that hes got some issues himself, so he probably wouldn’t even notice that you had them too, or that you didn’t realize it either. You two are just two guys who are less than stable, but boy are you happy together in your little murder motel.

Patrick Bateman

You two would be like a house on fire, I think. Having someone just like himself if not worse, would only make Patrick more set in stone about his life and decisions. You two would end up clashing heads pretty regularly, since you both have such eccentric personalities, but then it goes back to being a loving relationship again.

You two are unhealthily co-dependent, and you just push each other to be your worst selves. Your worst, well dressed, manicured and intelligent selves. You guys are probably seen as kinda snobby or full of yourselves to everyone else, but you and Patrick have a great time.

You not realizing that you act this way would excite Patrick I think, since that’s the one up he has on you where you are more than him in every other way. It also excites him in other ways, since you are just like this, and this is who you are without all the debating on if this is right or not.

Michael Myers

You guys met at the asylum, that’s the only place I could imagine you two met. How you two got together I’m not sure, but it wouldn’t take long. You are both quiet and terrifying to be around, but it draws you together.

Neither of you talk much, which just results in you guys being able to communicate in silence. When you guys get out, it’s like a date for you two, going on another Halloween killing spree. If walking slowly around, knives in one hand, and holding the others hand in the other, counts as a date. Its romantic to you two, that’s all that matters.

I don’t think Michael himself really thinks about the way hes acting, so he wouldn’t think about it with you either. That’s just how he is, and how you are, and you go together like two misshapen bloody puzzle pieces.

Jason Voorhees

Jason is a serial killer, yes, but he’s also a nice guy if you look past all of that. So, if you are just chill like him most of the time, and partner up with him to get rid of the people who go where they shouldn’t go, then it would be a pretty nice relationship.

If you were even worse than him, then I could see him silently admiring you as you put together traps even, he didn’t think about. You not looking like Jason also means you can leave the forest to go into town and get different equipment, which just ups your game.

Jason doesn’t have much of an opinion on the fact that you don’t realize that you are worse than him, since this is also just the way he is and has been for who knows how many years. He likes that you are like him and that you aren’t scared of him.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is a huge fan that you are as bad as him or worse. Hes a little creep, so he would start salivating knowing you are watching him back, or seeing how you get rid of your ex on your own when they show up at the mansion.

You two are like gasoline on a fire for the other, since you just fuel the worst parts of each other in the best way, in your shared opinion. This means there’s no reason for Brahms to hide in the walls. He still likes doing it though, just so he can watch you, or you can come after him.

Like a good chunk of the others, Brahms doesn’t really register that he’s pretty messed up himself. Living in isolation for so long will do that to ya. So, it doesn’t really mean anything to him that you don’t realize how you’re acting. He just likes that you watch each other’s freak.

Billy Loomis

It excites Billy in multiple ways that you match his crazy. And by multiple ways, I mean it. It gets his blood pumping and gets him flustered to see you match his plans, or even push them further than he could have ever thought of.

You two are both horror movie obsessed bloodthirsty idiots, who both get way too excited about planning and committing the slashing. You just push each other to be worse, and to push the limits more and more. It makes you more likely to be caught, since you guys fuel each other.

To Billy its so hot that this is just how you are and that you don’t even really realize how you are acting, it’s like you are something walking right out of his deepest fantasies. But he’s has to be the voice of reason, and has to make sure you don’t let anything slip in public, just in case.

Stu Macher

Stu doesn’t seem to be the brightest guy out of the ghostface duo, so he’s probably just hyped that you match him, or go even further than him. If you go further than him, then I can imagine Stu also doing even more. Its kind of a cycle, you do something, and he follows.

It’s also what almost gets you guys caught multiple times, since you don’t really think your plans all the way through, since you both are just too excited and into what’s happening. Stu really likes the thrill of it all though, which leads to a lot of make out sessions.

Stu doesn’t really think about it much himself, that what he does is messed up and wrong, so I can’t imagine him thinking about how you act either. You two are kind of two halves of a whole idiot, and if Billy is around that he has to keep you guys on the right track so you don’t out yourselves or do something dumb.

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 7 months ago

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Yandere Cat Warrior // Mouse Trap

In the world you live in there’s a variety of races and peoples that exist. Most of them are at war due to ancestorial feuds or snobbish viewpoints about heritage. Which unfortunately means the world is overrun by constant wars and charged attacks. Being a fighter is a no-brainer. Whether or not you agree with the reasons those who do not fight shall survive. Which is why Ferrin the Cat Warrior fully believes you’ll kill him the second you’ve pointed your spear to his neck.

“Kill me then human. End this so I don’t have to see your pathetic look of victory.”

Only to realize that you’re not going to bother killing him when you’re clearly the better fighter. Even when he tries to sneakily strike at you while you turn away. You’re still triumphant leaving them cradling the scar you’ve mercifully given them. From then on it’s this. Constantly avoiding this Cat Warrior’s backshots and sneaky attacks that just never let up.

“Tired yet, human?! Ready to surrender in despair?!”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that considering your arm is still broken from the last time.”

“Don’t underestimate me! I am of the race of the greatest hunters in the world! You’ll be my prey today and the next!”

He vows to defeat you one day but he does it so often that you stop taking him seriously. He hates that you don’t realize how much of a threat he is. In the week he’s spent following you he already knows so many of your habits. Like how many times you turn in your sleep. Or often you yawn before bed. He already knows so much it's truly a miracle you haven’t succumbed to his mighty claws with all the info you’ve let him memorize.

“Stupid human! I’ll get you next time!”

It’s a game of cat and mouse that he adores fuels his primal desire to hunt. It’s strong enough that when his own kind sends a messenger to return to his fleet. Citing all his discoveries he’ll politely refuse the backup they want to send. This is his prey to chase. Others would just spoil his fun. All he’s waiting for is an opportunity to best you.

“You’re so weak. It’ll bring me no satisfaction to kill you now.”

You’ve fallen ill and he’s forced to tend to his prey. He wants you fresh for when he defeats you after all. He clicks his tongue as he feels the heat on your forehead rise and the sweat on your brow increase. While caring for you, the sound of your heavy breathing forces him to think. Why couldn’t he end this now? Why while you were indisposed and at your absolute weakest did he fight off the dog warriors that had come to inspect your camp? Why did he feel the need to scent you while your batting at him was weak?

“I think you’ve gotten me sick as well. This just means I’ll have to stay by your side then.”

From then on he’s your plus one, when you make plans to do anything he is involved. There are no ‘ifs’ ‘and’s’ or ‘buts’ about it. You’re his human and he’s your cat but if you ever say that he’s swiping at your face. He’s going to demand you let him stay in your tent as your journey persists, nipping at your neck and kneading into your thighs.

“If you’re blind this is my human, you can try to get on their good side all you like but (Y/n) is mine.”

The Cat Warrior has decided to stay by your side as you continue on a journey–that he doesn’t care to pay attention to. But even as you amass attention from all walks of life, he’s promised to remain by your side. You’d be foolish to chase away this hunter because to him he’s won. He has his prey now right where he wants you.

Complacent when he curls into the blanket with you in your tent. Groaning in your sleep casually as he nestles his fangs into your neck. His tail wrapped around your leg without so much as a twitch from you.

He’s caught his mouse.

And he'd never let you go.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere cat warrior #yandere cat hybrid #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere original character #yandere original character x reader #yandere original characters #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x reader

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chillypowder · 3 months ago

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"More Than Words"

Pairing: Chishiya X Reader

Summary: In a place Unknown to you your happy to have met Chishiya. Your life line and aswell as your grim reaper. And your unrequited lover..I meant your Friend,Just your Friend.

In the Borderlands, everyone you loved was a weakness, a target. Survival didn’t allow for attachments. But you, reckless and hopeless, had latched onto Chishiya anyway. It was foolish—you knew that. He’d never given you any reason to hope. He didn’t do closeness, didn’t do love. To him, you were probably just another face in this hellscape. Maybe not a stranger, but not someone he would ever call his own.

And yet, there were those stolen moments. The way his gaze lingered a fraction too long. The quiet conversations in dim-lit rooms after exhausting games. The way he’d listen, lips pressed tight as if fighting back some invisible wall. He’d listen, and you’d talk, filling up the silence as though you could get closer to him through sheer force of will.

But even then, it had never been enough. You knew you were just a friend.

Still, when you entered this game together, you hoped maybe this time it would be different. This game was brutal, built to split people apart, confuse them, turn every choice into a gamble. It was meant to break you, just like all the rest. But he was here. And as the walls shifted and the path twisted, your only thought was of finding him, of reaching him before it was too late.

3...2...1…

The clock started, and you bolted forward, searching, shouting his name. Every twist and turn separated you further, every dead-end taunting you. Panic clawed at your chest, but you shoved it down, forcing yourself to keep moving, to believe you’d find him.

Finally, there he was. Chishiya stood in a clearing, trapped between jagged edges of electrified wire and a barricade that forced him into a narrow path. You saw the calculation in his eyes, his mind already working through the maze, testing every possibility for escape.

"Chishiya!" You called his name, stumbling toward him.

He turned, and for a second, you thought you saw something vulnerable flicker across his face—a hesitation, a softness that he couldn’t mask quickly enough. But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone, his gaze hardening into that unreadable stare you knew too well.

“Go. I’ll figure this out,” he said, voice flat, his expression guarded. “You can still make it.”

The words cut deep. Every time, he kept his distance. Every time, he made it clear—there was no place for you in his heart. And maybe that was your mistake. Because to you, he was everything. To him, you were just a friend.

“Not without you,” you said, your voice shaking, the desperation slipping through. “Chishiya, please…”

He shook his head, a hint of frustration breaking through his stoic mask. “Don’t be foolish. You’ll only get yourself killed.”

But you were already past the point of caution. “You think I’d just leave you here? After everything?”

He averted his gaze, jaw tight. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

A thousand answers surged forward, each one more painful than the last. You wanted to tell him that he mattered. That you’d give anything if he’d just let you in. That every time he held you at arm’s length, it felt like another piece of your heart cracking, splintering, but you couldn’t stop coming back to him. Even knowing it could never be enough.

“It matters because…” Your voice wavered, your throat tightening. “Because you matter. Because maybe you don’t care, but I—”

The words were cut short as the floor lit up with an ominous red glow, the game’s timer ticking down. You were running out of time.

“Leave, now,” he commanded, his gaze hard and unyielding. The same way he’d told you countless times. The same look that reminded you of all the times he’d only see you as a friend.

But you didn’t move. Couldn’t. Instead, you reached for him, feeling the warmth of his arm under your fingers.

He froze, caught off guard by the touch. For a moment, the mask cracked. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe—just maybe—he might let you in. But then he pulled away, stepping back, and it felt like something shattered between you.

“You’re just going to get yourself hurt,” he murmured. The words hung in the air like a bitter reminder of all the ways he’d tried to keep you at a distance.

Before you could respond, the walls shifted again, the wires sparking dangerously close. The only path left was a narrow, treacherous ledge, and the goal was still just out of reach. You knew what you had to do, even if he didn’t understand. Even if he never would.

With a steady breath, you stepped forward, pushing him behind you. He protested, reaching for you, but you were quicker. You dodged the wires, feeling the sting of them as they grazed your skin, sharp and searing. Each step was agony, but you didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. You pressed on, clearing the way for him as he watched, his face stricken, caught between horror and helplessness.

Finally, the end was in sight. But the last trap triggered just before you reached it, a final wall of wires sparking to life, cutting you off from escape.

“Go,” you whispered, voice hoarse, barely able to look at him. “You can still make it, Chishiya. Please…”

His face was unreadable, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. But he didn’t move.

“Why?” he asked, voice barely a whisper, so quiet you almost missed it.

Because you’re more than just a friend to me. Because you’re the only reason I’ve fought this hard. Because even if you’ll never feel the same way, I’d do anything for you.

But you didn’t say any of it. Instead, you smiled, a weak, broken thing. “You know why.”

The timer ticked down, the red lights flashing, warning you both that time was almost up. He looked at you, really looked, as if for the first time. And for one second, you thought he might stay.

But he didn’t. With one last unreadable look, he turned and ran toward the goal, his figure disappearing into the light.

The pain hit all at once as the wires closed in, a shock so intense it stole your breath, your vision blurring. But even through the agony, you felt a strange peace. Because you’d given him the only thing you could—another chance.

You closed your eyes, the ache in your heart blending with the physical pain, both sharp and unyielding. You wondered if he’d think of you, if he’d remember this, even for just a moment.

Maybe to him, you were just a friend. But to you, he was everything.

As darkness settled over you, your final thought was of his face, his soft, unreadable gaze lingering in your memory. The tears slid down, silent, unseen, as you let yourself go, hoping that somewhere in the Borderlands, he’d carry a piece of you with him.

He stood alone, hands clenched, staring into the darkness where he’d left you behind. That brief moment replayed in his mind, over and over—the way you’d looked at him, the weight of your unspoken words, the pain in your eyes.

And for the first time in his life, Chishiya felt something like regret.

Inspired by Just a Friend to you by Meghan Trainor

Masterlist

#angst #alice in borderland season 2 #alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #chishiya x you #shuntaro chishiya x reader #Alice in borderland angst #Aib

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

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!

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

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@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

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cattimeswithjellie · 2 months ago

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All right, I know Scar basically tossed us a new piece of lore at the end of his Wild Life finale like a fisherman chumming the water hoping for sharks, but who would I be if I didn't take a bite?

Scar's Secret Life ending was different from all the other winners because he did not die at the end of the game. Death is the release, death is the way the game ends. He was clearly supposed to die to the zombie in the ravine after taking out Pearl. Neat, clean, one more winner to join the pantheon. But something happened. We don't know what it was because it was cut out of every perspective. Scar's POV takes a jump from "1.5 hearts from inevitable death to an uninjured zombie in armor and within melee range" to "zombie gone, Scar alive." Pearl's POV jumps at the exact same time, cutting from looking longingly at the Mounders' base with empty chat to a totally different angle with a chat thread fading on the screen.

Something intervened on Scar's behalf in Secret Life to make him miss his scheduled death. He could've died, he should've died, but he did not. And because he didn't die then, he couldn't die at all. And without dying, he couldn't leave his game. He is stuck there indefinitely, maybe forever, maybe until he wins another game and is able to die properly. He's got a lot of experience living on an empty world (thanks, The Crafting Dead!) and he's getting by, possibly with some visitors or hallucinations to keep him company. And despite his exile, he got paroled long enough to play Wild Life.

Scar had a ball in Wild Life! He got to play with his friends, he got to have an actual team and buddies, he even got to mend fences with Grian (mostly.) He also provided a huge amount of entertainment, killing and being killed with wild abandon. Every wild card he was right there in the mix, using it for chaos. But then Session Eight arrived, and it's like he realized it was all about to be over. All his friends would go away again, leaving him with nothing but sunflowers, shadows and regrets. The faster people died, the sooner it was all over.

And so he stopped playing. Scar _talked_ a big game through the session, explaining how he was going to use his deadly roller coaster to kill, but he managed to avoid doing so again and again. Several phases of testing, the wrong rail removed, a lever clicked at the wrong time, several faulty uses of the TNT minecart mechanics. With the exception of Skizz, who was already technically dead, nobody died on or to the roller coaster despite Scar spending his entire session on it and ignoring both the wild cards and all the opportunities he had to kill. He admitted aloud that he didn't want to kill Etho anymore, and he screwed up obviously enough that Grian said aloud that he didn't believe Scar thought his own trap could work. And that, it seems, was the bridge too far for the Watching audience, since it was only minutes later that EScarGo came along and sent him back to Secret Life.

But maybe it wasn't entirely in vain, because Scar provided a valuable lesson for future victors. Look at how Joel didn't waste any time on making sure he didn't get left behind in his game! He came up with a great pretext to kill himself and then when his trap didn't work, he just spammed ender pearls as fast as he could until he died. He wasn't about to make the same mistake and face the same fate as his predecessor. Too bad though, I hear the shadows are great friends.

#wild life #wild life spoilers #secret life #life series #trafficblr #goodtimeswithscar #smallishbeans #headcanon talk #i am obsessed with the tiny little shared timeskip in Scar and Pearl's SL finales #i want to know what happened for real!

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saberlight1 · 1 year ago

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— exit music (for a film), coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, mentions of past abuse, trauma, violence, ptsd, established relationship, reader almost gets assaulted, Y/N usage, possessive!snow, a toxic ex attacks you, hints towards past sexual assault, standard ballad of songbirds and snakes warnings.

authors note: soo i was needing some comfort, and i realized there are not a lot of hurt & comfort fics for coryo!! this is a big injustice so i decided to write this. just a fair warning: this fic contains themes that can be hard for some people to read; including sexual assault and domestic violence. if you aren’t comfortable with these topics, feel free to go read some of my other coryo stories here! i hope you all enjoy this, much love<3.

masterlist

When you first laid eyes upon the white-haired boy, you didn’t think he’d become as important to you as he is now. He was assigned to be your mentor in the Hunger Games, and you were slightly relieved when you saw him standing at the train station, waiting for you.

Although you were both cautious of the other, coming from different, yet similar lands. But once you warmed up to him, you never wanted to part.

After the arena got bombed with you all in it, Coriolanus getting injured aand trapped, you stayed behind even if there was a clear opening for you to run— because you found yourself caring for him.

He had protected you so far, treating you with kindness and respect as he guided you through this hellish period in your life. So you had to do the same. Anyways, that was what told yourself when you risked everything to stay back and attempt to help him.

You brushed your hair behind your ears, ignoring the stinging pain in your side from being burnt as you started off into a sprint towards the boy who was crying out in pain, the pole he was trapped under catching fire.

“Coriolanus!” You called out as you neared him. “I’m here, I’m here.” You tried to soothe him as you tried to push the pole off of him.

He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of your face, and almost looked confused at your act to help him.

After a moment of struggle, you finally got the pole away from him, but it had got him badly. You immediately bent down to his level, your hands going to cradle his face softly, he leaned into it.

“Oh, are you alright?” You whispered, his shaky hands coming out to grip your wrists, rubbing softly in thanks. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I—” You did your best to explain, but you were cut off by a sharp grip on your arm, dragging you away from him. The boy reached out for you as you were taken away, only making your heart sink further into your stomach.

“No!” You thrashed in their hold, but to no avail. You watched your mentor lose consciousness from the pain as you could do nothing to help him.

And even though you only met him a couple days prior, you realized in that very moment how much you truly did care for him.

That was one of your earliest memories of Coriolanus, the next time you saw him after that was the first time your lips touched. From that night on, you became much more to each other than you ever would’ve guessed.

You sighed, moving from your spot in your window as reality set in. You hadn’t seen the boy in question in over month. He had promised to protect you, and he kept it surely. He cheated to get you out the games, and it ended with him locked up, as you liked to believe. People around twelve said that the Capitol had him killed.

You wished he had left you to die if it meant he’d be free and you the one in the grave. You were in misery in your district, missing your lover deeply. But, alas, you had no choice. And with all the fighting you did in that arena, you refused to give up now.

Even if it meant living without the one you craved most.

You grabbed your bag, another hard breath leaving your lips as you walked out the comfort of your small home that was in the outskirts of District 12. You liked it better that way, being away from it all. When you were younger you used to live down by the Hob, which was located right next to the Hanging Tree.

After years of hearing the grueling sounds of somebody loosing their life, the jabberjays in the wind repeating their loved ones cries, sometimes even their last words, you simply couldn’t bare it anymore.

So you left, opting to live out by the forest and the lake, giving you pockets of peace where you could forget it all. Or, at least the things you tried to forget. Some things seemed to haunt you forever.

You quietly walked into town to go get some food from the Mellark Bakery, your head down and gaze low the whole way. You could feel eyes on you— you always did when you came out of your home. You hated their stares, their judgement, that was the one thing that seemed to haunt you the most.

You finally looked up, meeting eyes with your ex boyfriend who was stood with his friends, a sly smirk being worn on his face. You internally shrank, your steps picking up as you tried to get closer to your destination.

Anxiety flooded your bloodstream as you heard loud, hard footsteps pick up behind you, sounding as if they were only inching closer and closer. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt like you were back in the arena again, your flight or fight instincts kicking in.

You tried to calm yourself down, repeating the words ‘It’s all in your head’ like a mantra under your breath. You had recently been plagued with the worst paranoia and anxiety, and the only reason of why you could think of was because of the time you spent in that godforsaken arena. Most of the time you felt as if you being hunted, all of the horror you felt when you were in that arena never leaving your nervous system.

Most days you had to talk yourself out of a panic attack, little things setting you off and sending you into a 20 minute state of panic. It was normal to you by now, and that is what you thought was happening.

Until a harsh grip yanked you out of your head, dragging you into an alley and pinning you to a wall. A loud yelp left your lips as you hit the wall, taking you a moment to process what was happening.

When you looked up, the pit in your stomach only grew further as an overwhelming sense of dread came over you. Your ex-boyfriend, Jay, was standing over you with that same soulless smile that used to haunt your dreams.

“My, Y/N. It’s been a mighty long time since I done seen you around here.” He taunted, his hot breath hitting your face, causing your eyes to screw shut as the past memories of him doing this very same thing to you swirled around your brain. “Thought after you got a taste of the Capitol.. of that Coriolanus Snow,” he said with disgust on his tone. “That you thought you were too good f’me. For Twelve.” He spat, harshly.

It was funny how with a few words he could turn you right back into that naive girl he manipulated all those years ago. You cowered in fear, refusing to look him the eye.

“Jay, please..” You whispered, your head turned away from him in an attempt to get as far away as possible. “Just let me go, please. I won’t come back around here, I swear.” You begged, tears filling your closed eyes as you fought for your composure.

“Nah, girl.” He whispered back, getting so close to you that you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I’m gon’ do what I want with you, like old times.”

Your eyes shot open his words. “No, God, please, no.” The tears fell from your eyes as you continued to plea with him.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N.” He coldly smiled. “You used to be fun,”You felt his grip on your forearms travel back down to your hips, squeezing. The act left a bad taste in your mouth, making you want to throw up. You sobbed as you prepared yourself for what was coming, wishing you had just stayed cooped up in your home.

Your wails from the alley only increased in volume as his touch began to move downward. “Shut the fuck up,” He hissed, his hand slapping over your mouth. You prayed to whatever God was above, wishing he would just kill you now.

And just as his hand ghosted over the waistband of your skirt, the man’s touch disappeared all together, being replaced with the sound of someone hitting the floor.

You opened your tear-stained eyes slowly to find your attacker on the ground, and in a flash of throwing punches you saw that white hair adorned by the boy you adored so much.

You stood there in shock as you watched Coriolanus, who now wore a Peacekeeper’s uniform with a shaved head, beat Jay into a pulp. Tears still left your eyes as you slid down the wall, your knees coming up to your chest as you began to process what almost just happened to you.

Anxiety took your breath from your lungs as the panic finally began to set in once you realized you were safe. Your vision started to go blurry with tears as the will to breathe got harder.

“Hey, hey.” Coriolanus appeared in your line of vision, his hands wiping the tears from your face. “I’m here, you’re alright, baby.” He sighed before sitting down next to you and bringing you into his arms. You dug your head into the crook of his neck, hugging him close.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, his hand on the back of your head, rubbing softly. He tried his best to comfort you, and tried to calm the fiery rage he felt when he saw that man on top of you.

“N—No,” You shakily got out. “He.. he tried to—”

Coriolanus’ head fell to your shoulder, hugging you just as tight as a sigh of relief left his lips. He had been walking by when he first heard your pleas with that man, and he dropped everything and ran at the sound of your voice. When he saw that man on top of you, the muffled sobs leaving your lips, your eyes screwed shut— God, he saw red. He would be lying if he didn’t say he didn’t miss you in the time you were apart.

Your body shook with your sobs, the boy’s heart hurting of the sight of you this upset. “Shh, you’re safe. I’m here,” He repeated, leaving kisses on your face, neck, and shoulders whilst he whispered sweet nothings in your ear in an attempt to calm you.

Once you somewhat calmed down you pulled back slightly, just to make sure he was real.

“Oh, Coryo,” You cried, your forehead resting on his. “Thank you, thank you.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he took in your state. He had never seen you like this, so scared, so vulnerable. The sight of it only made him bring you back into his arms, holding you impossibly closer.

“I’ve got you, my love.” He hushed your cries, leaving another kiss on your head. “No one’s gonna hurt you if I’m with you, it’s okay now.” You wrapped your legs around his waist as he stood up, you still in his arms. He placed you down slightly, his hands angling your jaw up so you’d look at him. “C’mon, let’s go to your house. Get you away from this piece of shit,” he pointed to the bloodied face of Jay who was unconscious on the ground. You nodded, trying to pull yourself together, your eyes flickering back to Jay to make sure he was still knocked out.

Sensing your anxieties, he pulled you back into his arms for once last hug. “Shh,” He rubbed your back. “You’re alright. He won’t hurt you, I won’t let him.” He comforted, leaning down to kiss your tears away. His movements made you smile as you sucked in a breath before you lead him out the alley and to your home.

Once you arrived and walked through the doors, it felt as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders. You were finally home, and you had Coryo with you.

Your heart felt full as it sank in that you were finally reunited with him, with Coryo. You got him back. A smile was on your face, despite your previous cries as you turned back towards the man who shared a similar smile to yours as he looked around at your home, and launched yourself into his arms.

He chuckled slightly, hugging you back like a delicate flower in his palm. After a moment of holding each other, you pulled back again, your hands cupping his cheeks. “I thought you were dead, Coryo. I thought.. oh, I thought they took you from me.” You sighed, leaning forward to connect your lips with his for the first time in months. You poured all of the longing, all of the tears, and emotion into that kiss, trying to show all your love with just an action.

He smiled against your lips, his hands on your hips being comforting as he leaned forward, tilting his head to deepen it. When the pair of you pulled apart for air, the smiles stayed.

“You should know by now that I’ll always find you, Y/N.” He joked, tucking hair behind your ear.

“Good,” You left one last peck to his lips, before going grabbing his hand and leading him to your bed. After all of the crying you had done in the past hour, all you wanted to do was lay with him.

He instantly knew what you were trying to do, a love-sick smile on his face as he laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest. You giggle as you settled in, your hand tracing patterns into his undershirt.

“I missed you,” He whispered after a while of quiet, looking down at you.

Blush dusted your cheeks as you rolled on your stomach to give him your full attention, your chin on his chest. “I missed you, too. Probably more.”

He smiled at your words, his hand coming up to grip yours lovingly, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “You’re beautiful,” He said after a beat of silence, admiring you in the candlelight.

You smiled at his words. “You’re prettier, Snow.” Your gaze flickered down to your laced fingers, noticing his cut and bruised knuckles.

“Oh, Coryo,” You sat up slightly, bringing his hand with you to get a closer look. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. That wasn’t your fault. I’m alright, baby, doesn’t even hurt that bad.” He tried to talk you down, a soft smile still on his face.

“Thank you, I mean it.” You met his eye. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t save me.” You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. “You always save me.”

It was his turn to blush now, as you bent down to kiss his injured knuckles softly. When you finished he grabbed your jaw softly, bringing your lips to his. He kissed you hard, just like he always did. It seemed like he tried to show how much he loved you with just one simple action, and trust, he accomplished that goal.

You hummed happily against his lips, letting him pull you down on top of him, your lips still connected. When you pulled back for air, he continued to cradle your face, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He whispered, his lips still leaving kisses. “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

You smiled, giggling as you snuggled closer to him. The pair of you had quieted down once again, sleep and comfort taking over your minds.

But you cracked your eyes open one last time, leaning up to leave kisses on his jaw. “I love you, Coryo.”

His eyes opened immediately as he stared down at you in shock, before a soft smile took over his face. “I love you, too.”

And just like that, all you had been longing for was under your fingertips, and you now thanked whatever God was looking down on you for bringing this man into your life.

#coriolanus my bae #coryo #coryo x reader #coriolanus angst #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #corio snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fluff #coryo snow #tbsoas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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dkmbookworm · 5 months ago

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The more I think about it, it really isn’t out of the realm of possibility for Odysseus to say he loves calypso. Victims of abuse can still end up loving their abusers to a degree. Even if it doesn’t always make sense. Because there were likely moments where they were able to talk and bond. When he was going through a bad day with his thoughts and she helped him get out of it. It doesn’t mean that he forgives her for holding him hostage and keeping him from his family. But he only had her in that time when he’s at his lowest point.

I think at times that the fandom can underplay how much just being on the island is a torture in of itself. Even without calypso there. It represents a point where he is left only to his own thoughts. To replaying every single mistake, every selfish decision. Thinking through a million and one what ifs that could have kept them alive. Thinking of the 600 families out there that won’t get to see their men come home. Thinking of everything he did to get home only to be here. Like really think about how much that is running through his head, every second of every day. And the only person who you can talk to, who could take your mind off of those thoughts for even a second. Is your captor

“I’m not sorry for loving you” shows that Odysseus doesn’t truly get the satisfaction of being able to hate her. He likely even pities her or cares for her despite what she’s done

He does see her as a friend because of the circumstances they exist in.

He isn’t going to only remember the bad times. He will remember moments on the beach looking at the stars. Learning about her in those conversations. Maybe even finding her funny or charming. Moments of respite from the well of misery that he’s drowning under every single day.

And that’s the worst part of when you see the person hurting you as a person. And he is a monster, so who is he to judge. He has done horrible things in the pursuit of love, and maybe he can recognize that kinship in her.

Don’t forget about how “Monster” shows Odysseus finally going down that path of realization. Rather than it simply stating” I’ll be as brutal as any of my foes”. It starts with him humanizing them.

Is the cyclops struck with guilt when he kills, is he up in the middle of the night

Or does he end my men to defend his friend and then sleep knowing he has done them right

When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs is she going insane

Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain

We can see that Odysseus is able to give a strange level of empathy and understanding to his enemies while he becomes a monster. And there’s nothing to say he wouldn’t do the same with Calypso.

She is a lonely, isolated woman who has been imprisoned on this island longer than he can comprehend. Someone deeply naive and emotionally stunted from her life on the island. Desperate for love and companionship that he is unable and unwilling to give her.

Is it right? Absolutely the hell not. And as detailed in a previous post, still deeply insidious in the long term.

But this is Odysseus after he had sacrificed 6 men to get home, and then the remaining 36 after. Where he is constantly weighed down by those actions and seeing what becomes of someone who chooses to be a monster. To try and play the gods games and fail terribly.

They’re simply two monsters trapped together

#epic the musical #epic the wisdom saga #epic odysseus #epic calypso #calypso #Odysseus #also to reiterate this #I am not justifying calypso’s actions #I’m trying to get across how Odysseus might recontextualize them in his mind #as a victim of abuse #and in the grand scheme of his experiences in the story

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jadeschambers · 7 months ago

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CHAPTER 2: Trueform!Sukuna x Isekai!gn!reader

(reader has no gender but has f genitals.)

Parings: Ryomen Sukuna

Tags: Slow burn, eventual Smut, god/godess demigod reader, angst!!!, sukuna needs his own warnings, huge!size kink (that man is like 8 ft tall), mentioned cannibalism, non-con? (just beware, reader ❤️ him/ don’t read if it makes u uncomfy), cunnilingus, breast play. Some cursing n crack. original idea to this series on my page.

I, III

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” the question nearly went unheard, almost as if the wind purposely picked up the sound of your voice. “No. I don’t. that matter simply sounds like a child’s fairy tale.” dainsleif responded, leaning against the tree above. his body was restless, however he mentally wanted to take an eon long nap. you pouted, his seriousness killing the mood. noticing the familiar look that is always plastered on your face, dansleif pulled you closer. “I don’t believe in it because i want to live in this life time with you forever, dove.”

reality shook you awake, and in the unfamiliar bed your body jolted up from the heavy blankets. of course, you almost forgot where you had ended up.

“had a nice dream little one?” suddenly emerging from the shadows was the one and only Sukuna, his four arms crossed against his chest. “how long were you in here for…?” you asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “well it is my chambers after all.” his words nearly sending you flying from his bed. “h-huh?! then why am I in here?”

furrowing your brows together only aided the adorable expression on your face, all amusement seen by him. “Im a generous man, no?” tilting his head he observed your sleepy form, hair all messy and dried drool marks adorning your face. “thank you I guess..” trailing off, uraume suddenly appeared beside him, bowing in respect.

“breakfast has been prepared, you may join sukuna in the dinning hall.” they announced, leaving the both of you. “already..?” leaping up from his bed, the marble flooring was cold against your feet. Sukunas estate was beautiful during the day, the rising sun managed to frame every shadow to a perfect degree.

one thing you notes was that despite the time, the halls only rung with simultaneous silence.

sitting across from him, your new, beautiful robes gifted by him rubbed against your skin. the food in front of you looked divine… however— the smell.

Sukuna began to dig in, the fine china abraded by his utensils. “is this.. human?” your eyes widened, a hand covering your nose and mouth to prevent the bile from rising.

he merely chuckled, a wicked grin spreading on his handsome face. “you figured it out quite fast. many just begin eating without question.” his jaw flexed every time the delicate meat entered his mouth. the curse looked like a predator devouring his prey across from you.

this was a trap! was he going to eat you next?! “oh relax, don’t get so defensive it. I am not going to devour you— maybe not yet.” sukuna teased, attempting to galvanize a reaction from you.

clenching your jaw, the table jolted as you stood. “and where do you think you’re going?” he cocked a brow, leaning back onto the chair as he crossed his arms. “to hunt my own breakfast!” you growled, angrily sighing as your hand clenched your conjured pole arm.

the king of curses stood up, curiously following you. as soon as he saw you leaving his court yard, sukuna smirked wickedly to himself. this was much better than any fights or meals he had experienced recently.

oh yes, little dove... he wanted this game to last just a bit longer. but alas, he couldn't allow you escape without teaching the consequences first. “come now, foolish girl..." he muttered, disappearing behind you suddenly. “don't think you can run away that easy.”

with a flash of a red light, sukuna appeared beside you again, grabbing onto your shoulder firmly. “does a little lamb like you really know how to hunt?” he teased, invading your space. his touch felt electrifying, and now all of a sudden he was invading your person bubble.

scoffing in his face, you swiftly slammed the blade of your polearm into the ground, nearly slicing a boulder in half.

“listen— I am beyond grateful that you’ve willingly took me in. but we have to set boundaries. quite literally we just met two days ago no?!” you gritted through your teeth.

having little background knowledge about him only made the tension in the air much more suffocating. “and yes i can hunt! if you’re intimidated by me just say so!” sukuna’s eyes widened at your abrasive tone. by the gods were you feisty. but how long has it been since the curse felt this alive?

“should you consider giving up little lamb; I intend to 'teach' you regardless of whether you choose flight or stand against me..." leaning close enough to brush against you softly, his proximity left chills running down your spine.

pursing your lips together in frustration, the small of your hands held up towards his chest in a flicking motion. with a small movement of your wrist, you pushed him far from where you were once standing.

sukuna’s eyes widened, the memory from yesterday reminiscing in his mind. “personal space…please” you reminded him, biting the inside of your cheek. sukuna's expression shifted from amused disinterest to annoyance.

standing upright, he crossed his arms over his massive torso, revealing the numerous scars dotting his chiseled abdomen. “persistent aren't you?" he grumbled lowly, his voice rumbling ominously throughout the quiet area surrounding them.

for once in his life, sukuna decided to willingly play along with your games. “fine. if you prefer to not eat human then you can hunt your own food.” grumbling under your breathe, your pole arm nearly slashed sukuna’s arm in a petty manner.

“fuckin’ cannibal.” you muttered, following a small trail that lead to a river.

sukuna stood behind you, his voice scaring off the sounds of nature as he babbled incessant stories. He watched curiously as you took off the skirt to your kimono, stepping into the shallow water bank.

conjuring a bow, you carefully aimed, shooting and immediately striking four fish with one arrow. plopping the fish into the woven basket by sukunas feet, you smiled at him in accomplishment. the king of curses nearly had to hold back his laughter.

how naive, is four fish really an achievement to you? “failure is not acceptable here.” sukuna mocked, chuckling lowly at how fast your face dropped.

the walk back through the forest was mostly silent, filled by the beautiful tune of natures call. suddenly from behind, the bushes behind us shuttered, making you turn in caution.

placing a hand on his forearm, both of you eyed the suspicious leaves. in an instant, a scared little bunny hopped out, anxious with its eyes full of a preys blood. sukuna smiled as your harsh grip tightened on his.

you leapt forward faster than you could think; hugging the poor timid creature before Sukuna could land his dirty hands on it “no! not this one! go away sukuna!” you yelped, protecting the poor bunny.

chuckling deeply, sukuna shook his head slowly "pathetic..." he muttered contemptuously as he reached out again. however you smacked his hand away faster than he could think, an adorably frustrated expression painted on your face. “I said not this one. I will kill you if you hunt it!” you huffed, standing up to cradle the little animal in your arms protectively. sukuna rolled his eyes.

so you’ve been flaunting to him that you could kill him in a second— yet you cower to a mere bunny. how miserable. he thought to himself, crossing his arms.

an amused snort escaped sukuna as he trailed close behind, following every move of yours carefully. when you signaled stopping abruptly amidst green foliage, he paused too - observing your postures attentively.

there he stood behind with a mischievous gleam dancing within the dark depths of his red eyes. "what would happen if I do?" he posed cheekily, his handsome face scrunched in a wicked manner. “you'll simply have killed two birds with one stone wouldn't it? or three...four..." grinning wryly at last his statement, he crossed his arms casually, leaning onto a tree trunk idly waiting for retaliation or resistance that probably wasn't coming anytime soon.

rolling your eyes at his immature demeanor, you held out your hand towards his still figure. with a flick of the wrist, black mysterious vines suddenly attached to his huge curse like body, and no matter how much the king of curses struggled he only further lost the wrestle.

“wait here and be patient please?” you smiled innocently at his struggling. walking a few meters away into the line of trees, you let the bunny hop from your arms and freely into the forest. you knew Sukuna and many various predators could smell the poor thing, so you manipulated the air and dissipated the scent of pray lingering in the air

striding back into the lively plain, you spotted sukuna still strapped to the tree. “Im back! and you’re still here.” you teased.

finally released from the iron grasps of your mysterious tendrils, sukuna rubbed his sore wrists ruefully, but couldn't hide the grin spreading across his lips. “you deeply intrigue me little one.” he paused briefly, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. “let us return, I personally cannot fathom what would occur if you were to walk around with an empty stomach.” sukuna teased.

—

knowing that it was your own hands that cooked your meal brought comfort. however sukuna’s incessant breathing sliced through the atmosphere of your once peaceful meal. “you’re such a little pussy sukuna.”

“ha!" choking down a bitter laughter, sukuna narrowed his gaze dangerously while maintaining stoicism.

he crossed his legs beneath him effortlessly, folding into a position opposite to yours. “that is rich coming from someone protecting a mere rabbit earlier." his gesture dismissing the topic to swiftly changed subject. “but truly..." as he glanced towards you, offering reverential glances placed upon the dish you cooked; sukuna’s curiosity peeked through his mockery.

“this cuisine tastes divine regardless preference. who taught these culinary skills anyway?". his eyes gleamed with newfound interest in which he sought your answer patiently.

the question sparked a few sentimental memories to flood through your brain, causing you to chew on your lip.

“many of my old uhm.. friends i guess..” you trailed off, mumbling as you nibbled on the pair of chopsticks. would you ever return to Teyvat..? or was the idea entirely a lost cause.

the silence that draped over the conversation became heavy, veiling the tension between the words uttered moments ago.

sukuna’s head tilted quizzically; contemplating the revelations shared between you two which slowly formed more thoughts. “your kind isn't omnivorous then?" his curiosity clearly won over your indifference momentarily.

you snorted at his question, setting down your chopsticks onto a hashi-oki. “my kind? whats that s’pposed to mean.” crossing your arms you smugly giggle. “you are not fully human, at least from what i can smell.” sukuna acknowledged, tilting his head as he observed you.

growing quiet at his words, you contemplate if gods exist in this world. “what is this world exactly… because you definitely aren’t human. and you seem— strong?” leaning forward, the food on the horigotatsu grew forgotten.

“sorcerers.” he muttered. “of course, the one in front of you just so happens to be the greatest in history.” sukuna smugly announced, his hands displaying his arrogance.

you stared at him in complete doubt, pursing your lips. “right. and I can pull birds from my kimono.” sukuna rolled his eyes at your retort, yet the sound of your giggles began to turn a few cogs in his head.

suddenly he began to scoot closer, his monstrous frame only a few inches from you. “I believe we are the same no?” his eyes bore into yours intently searching for answers. “the same values? intentions?” his words began to brew the intensity between two opposites.

“uhm.. well no, i don’t eat humans, and i think im much more heroic than you.” shrugging, you began to clear your meal off the horigotastu.

however sukuna did not persist with his rambling, seeing as to your dismay he was still unworthy of trust. “you’re much to stubborn. we shall discuss further on this topic soon. get your rest little dove.”

the tatami mat beneath creaked under his weight as uraume suddenly appeared in the room. standing near the door, you glanced at him. “goodnight sukuna..” parting your ways, he watched as his subordinate guided you safely to his chambers.

the names he would call you reminded you of home. dove. it made your heart ache.

oh lawd this chapter was so long 🫡 but i wanted to really get more interactions between reader and sukuna. please let me know if u guys like this serious so far/wnt to be tagged!

tags : @maskedpacific @kbirdieee2540 @ghostlyworld

characters and art not owned by me

#jjk fic #jjk smut #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #slow burn #true form sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #multiverse #jjk slow burn #jjk series #sukuna series #jjk isekai #isekai

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 7 months ago

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Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me.

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now.

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong?

My head hurts from all the questions.

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.”

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks.

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone.

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes.

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust.

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants?

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in.

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty.

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting.

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way.

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind.

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters!

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place?

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them.

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed.

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it.

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?”

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one.

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest.

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face.

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse.

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this?

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it.

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him.

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people.

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser.

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me.

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me, a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin.

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate.

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men.

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came.

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

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

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littlefireball · 4 months ago

Text

ꜱʜ|ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴄᴀᴛᴄʜᴇʀ (ᴍ/ᴀ)

Write about a dream assassin who is tasked with fighting a nightmare that disturb people's sleep. (ref)

a/n: find it on pinterest and an idea just pops up in my mind

ᴇxᴏʀᴄɪꜱᴛ (ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8ᴋ

Summary: As an exorcist, your mission was clear: eliminate the demon. Yet, destiny had other plans. You found yourself captivated by him. Even after vanquishing his true essence, his spirit lingered within you, refusing to be forgotten. The only way to find peace was to confront him once more. But could you summon the strength to do it? Or would you surrender to the pull of your heart and let yourself love him all over again?

"Here you are, nightmare." A deep voice shattered the silence as Seonghwa turned to confront you, a gun aimed directly at him. Ever since that tragic moment when you took the life of your beloved, believing him to be a demon rather than a mere mortal, a haunting darkness has consumed you. It was only natural that you would return here, driven by the desire to finish what you started─killed the demon.

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise, darling." He approached you, arms wide open, his demeanor relaxed as if your threat was nothing more than a playful jest. After all, in his world, he could control everything.

"What can I do for you?"

"Easy. Stop making a nightmare and go back where you belong."

"My bad. Here I am. The dream is my true home."

"Absolutely not." You tightened your grip on the weapon, advancing toward him. "Hell is."

Seonghwa's smile never faltered, even as you closed the distance between you, the barrel of the gun now inches from his chest. It felt like your weapon was a mere toy in his eyes.

"You see, my dear, you misunderstand. I am not a mere nightmare conjured from the depths of someone's subconscious. I am the guardian of dreams, both sweet and terrifying."

Your finger trembled slightly on the trigger, but you refused to let your guard down. "Guardian? You bring nothing but fear and despair. I've seen the havoc you've wreaked on countless minds."

"Ah, but fear and despair are but facets of the human experience. They shape us, mold us, and make us stronger. Without them, we would be nothing more than hollow shells, devoid of emotion and understanding. I am merely a messenger, a catalyst for growth."

You shook your head, disbelieving. "No, you're just a monster hiding behind the veil of dreams. You feed on people's fears, twisting and manipulating them to your own ends."

Seonghwa's expression softened, and he took a step closer, the gun's muzzle pressing against his chest with each breath. "And what of your own fears, my dear? Do you not fear losing someone you love?I am but a reflection of those fears, a projection of your own mind."

You felt a surge of anger and frustration wash over you. "Don't try to play mind games with me. I know what you are, and I won't let you hurt anyone else."

"Hurt? I have never harmed anyone willingly. It is the fear within them that brings harm, not I. I am but a mirror, reflecting back their deepest terrors. If they can confront those fears, they will find strength within themselves."

Your resolve wavered for a moment, but you pushed it aside. "Enough of your lies. I won't fall for your manipulation. Go back to hell!"

Without a second thought, you pulled the trigger; yet, he stood still despite the bullet passing through his body. The bullet hole in his chest closed seamlessly, leaving no trace of the violence you had just unleashed.

"What?"

"That's what you fear, honey." He cupped your face, gazing at your pitiful eyes. "You can't kill someone you love." Seonghwa's touch was gentle, yet it felt like a prison, trapping you in a reality that was both yours and not. The gun slipped from your fingers, clattering to the ground.

"I don't like you!Just get off me!" You shuttered, trying to deny the emotion that was bubbling up inside you. Yet, despite your words, your heart remained unable to hide the truth from him.

"Are you sure?" His voice was soft, almost soothing. "Or is it that you're afraid to admit it?"

Your heart raced as you struggled to find the word to refute him. "He was true, no. He merely glanced into the depths of your heart, then skillfully manipulated your subconscious to mold himself into the figure of your beloved." You thought.

"Oh dear, dear." He muttered under his breath. "You know you love me."

"No, you're evil and I hate you."

"No.Y/N." He inched forward, his gaze piercing. "You're just afraid to admit who I truly am. You can't bear the thought that your beloved is a demon."

"Please…no…" You shook your head, desperate to reject reality, yearning to escape the dream, but it held you captive. You shut your eyes tightly, and the only image that surfaced was that of your lost lover, the one you had taken from this world with your own hands. He smiled and waved, a siren luring you from the depths, beckoning you to surrender to this intoxicating embrace of longing.

"Love?" As you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sight of Seonghwa standing in front of you,in the home you two shared, appearing entirely human. Gone were the devil horns, wings, and tail; everything felt just as normal as it had the day before you discovered his true nature.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, brushing away your tears. "What's wrong?"

Memories from the past flicker in your mind once again. He was a demon, having conjured a dreadful creation to dominate the dreams of others, disrupting their slumber and even devouring their souls. You were an exorcist, adept at eradicating the evil that tormented humanity. Yet, fate had a twist in store─you found yourselves falling in love during an encounter. Although you succeeded in destroying his true form, his spirit continued to reside within your heart, an unforgettable presence.

"I had a terrible dream. I saw you turn into a devil."

"Don't be silly, girl." He laughed softly, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "How could I ever be a demon?" He rested his chin on your head, planting a tender kiss there. You nestled against him, your arms encircling his waist, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Could it all be a figment of your imagination? Perhaps he was merely an illusion, not a demon at all.

"I am afraid."

"Shh, everything's fine."

"Can you kiss me, hwa?" You murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "Please..."

A sly grin danced across Seonghwa's face, aware that you had succumbed to him. With a gentle caress of your cheek, he drew you in for a kiss, slow and tender. Tears welled in your eyes, a painful reminder of the past. Those haunting memories clung to you like specters, dragging you into an abyss of regret, where you might never resurface.

You really missed him.

His kisses, warm and lingering, traveled down your jawline and neck, igniting a thrilling, tingling sensation that made your heart race.

"Be mine, Y/N." In an instant, he cradled your face in his hands and drew you into a fervent kiss. He intensified the kiss, his tongue probing for access with a touch of fierceness, a wordless assertion of possession. A wave of breathlessness washed over you instantly.

His hands crept to your back, slipping beneath your clothing to caress your skin, drawing a soft whimper of embarrassment from you. Your body ignited from the kiss, your thoughts dissolving as the world around you swirled in a dizzying dance. Yet, none of it mattered; you surrendered completely, allowing him to guide the moment.

He seized your wrist with a firm grip, forcing you down onto the floor, and your clothes vanished into thin air. He showered your chest with tender kisses, his tongue gliding over your skin, punctuated by playful nibbles that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers wrapped around your bare thighs, parting them as he descended toward your stomach. His breath pooled against your clit, making you squirm and curl your toes.

"Fuck…" You let out a small gasp as his flatted tongue licked your clit from the bottom to the top, shocked by the sudden touch of his wet muscle. "So sensitive, huh?" He drew back to your wetness, dropping a kiss before sucking your bud. A choppy moan and words flew away from your tongue, overwhelming pleasure made you lose words.

You reached down to press your hand to the back of his head, ruffling his hair as your fingers buried in them. You arched your back and your bottom lips started shaking as soon as his tongue found its way to your cunt. Pushing one finger and his tongue to your depth, he slid in and out slowly, making sure you felt every movement.

"Hwa─!!" Your whole body shook from his quick thrusting; he pushed in two more fingers to rub against your lovely wall, curling them to kiss your spot with different angles; his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out, tapping your bud and leaving a broken kiss on that.

"Please…I'm so close…" Shutting your eyes tightly,a knot formed in your stomach that needed to be released. "Show me what you get from him, dear. Make a mess on my face, I want to taste you." His dirty words hung in the air, bringing you to the edge. His thrust went faster and faster, and you came on his face with a heavy pant.

"Goodness, how delicious you are." Licking away the juices on his face, he then divided into your clit again to taste your sweetness. "Seog…" You tried to push away his head and drew back your hip, the overstimulation made you catch your breath; but he grabbed your ankles to pull you back, pushing them aside for better licking. He sucked even harder and licked faster, producing a loud kissing sound and mixed with your messy moaning. "Cum one more for me." He murmured before latching back to suck your juices. He let out a satisfied whimper, each vocalization caused vibrations that drove you insane. You couldn't help but cum again without warning.

"You're doing well, my baby girl." Seonghwa loomed over you, pressing his lips against yours. As you gradually opened your eyes, a chilling sight met you—an ominous creature lurking behind him, ready to devour your soul. A wave of terror washed over you as your eyes darted back to Seonghwa, who wore a sinister grin that sent shivers down your spine. You realized that retreating was no longer an option; you had to act before it was too late. For a fleeting moment, clarity returned, but it slipped away like sand through your fingers as Seonghwa pulled you deeper into his embrace.

"Look at me." He gently cupped your face with one of his hands, another followed to guide his manhood press against your entrance. "Say you love me, honey. I want to hear from you."

"I love you…hwa…" Smiling, he pushed forward in one go, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your spine curved once more, your head sinking into his neck before it settled back against the ground. His towering figure obscured your view, leaving you unable to see what the creature would unleash in the next heartbeat."Hwa…hwa…" Your begging was ignored as he kept thrusting steadily. He was long enough to reach your deepest, making your legs bent more.

He drew his hips a little bit and then pushed back in a quick motion, hitting your spot dead on. His pelvis grazed your clit each time he thrusted in. Everything was not rough but enough to bring you enjoyment; you soon forgot the excitement of the creature as he continued to roll his hips into you.

"You're so good, honey." His hand slipped beneath your back, lifting you effortlessly and placing you on his lap. One of his legs encircled you, inviting you to snuggle into his warm embrace. With a firm grip, both of his hands clasped your hips, drawing you in with an undeniable strength, making your soft flesh hit his hard tip. "I can't get enough from you."

"Oh my god!" You encircled his shoulder with your arms, squeezing your eyes shut as the unexpected jolt hit you. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and then he playfully did it again. You let out a soft whine each time his tip shoved into your tightness. Your wall clenched, squeezing his cock hard, making a long throaty moan fly from Seonghwa's mouth.

"I'll cum if you keep doing this." Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth for breathing, little did he know, he's already sunk in this love making. The spirit of an exorcist radiates a purity that is rare among humans, making it a sought-after prize. But is it truly easy to seize their souls? A direct approach is out of the question, yet what if they chose to offer themselves? It could be a risk worth taking. If he fails, he faces a return to hell, a place he loathes though.

Then, he crossed paths with you. Your emotional naivety stands out, captivating him. Through his love, tenderness, and affection, you fell in love with him. The ultimate goal is for you to be the one to end his life. Only then will your obsession ensure his soul remains tethered to you. He was right all along. He haunts your thoughts, tormenting you relentlessly, until today, when you finally gave him everything you had.

Throwing your head at the back to give him more access, he buried himself in your chest, peppering it with an open mouth kiss. He bit your nipple slightly, sucking it to leave a red mark on that and tapping it quickly with his tongue tip. You were so perfect, from head to toe. He could just make love with you endlessly; your body was made for him, your moaning was his favourite rhythm in this world. Gosh, maybe he was the one who couldn't forget you.

"Cum for me again, honey. I need you." "Fuck…fuck…fuck!!" You couldn't hear anything but your high-pitched moan and rough skin slapping sound. Feeling you reach the peak again, your arms and legs lost all strength as soon as the numbness creeped in, finally came the third time before Seonghwa creamed your wall with his hot white seed.

Gasping for breath, you fell against Seonghwa's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "You're mine now, forever." He cradled you into his arms, refusing to release you. As your vision sharpened, the creature lurking behind him came into focus. Before you could utter a word, it engulfed you, each fragment of your being transforming into a flicker of light and vanishing into the ether. Initially taken aback, you swiftly steadied yourself. Ha, you indeed couldn't get rid of him. Without any words, without any reaction, you disappeared in the air.

The world faded into a deep abyss once again, a familiar cloak of darkness that wrapped around him. A contented smirk appeared on his lips as he rose, feeling a rush of strength flood his veins.

It's worth it, even if it does consume time. Her soul was simply exquisite." Seonghwa stepped away from the dream, eager to hunt for his next victim. Yet, he was unprepared for the realization that no soul could compare to yours. An aching void settled in his heart, a persistent reminder of something lost. Why was this? Shouldn't he revel in the triumph of devouring an exorcist's essence? Shouldn't pride swell within him? Instead, he was met with an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

Had he fallen for you, too? He would never confess it. Yet, the memories of your shared moments haunted him—your laughter, your warm embrace, the sweetness of your kiss, the softness of your touch…everything.

—--

"What is the flavor of an exorcist's soul? Is it something delightful? Hongjoong sat opposite Seonghwa, savoring a sip of his drink.

"Disgusting," Seonghwa declared.

"So you just wasted your time. I warned you."

"Not your concern." Seonghwa shut his eyes, wishing to avoid the conversation.

"Oh, I was actually going to suggest an exorcist for you. But maybe it's pointless now."

"Let me see."

"Are you sure? Didn't you just say it's revolting?"

Seonghwa shot him a glare that could freeze fire, prompting a chuckle from Hongjoong as he pulled a photo from his pocket.

"Here she is. I think you'll find her intriguing."

As Seonghwa gazed at the picture, a tremor of emotion coursed through his heart.

"Y/N…?"

"Well, it depends on you how to deal with her."

Even though Seonghwa was unsure of why you remained, one thing was clear in his mind: he would once more make you his own.

tag list:@angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x female reader #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa smut #ateez imagine #ateez angst #ateez reactios #ateez reaction #atz #atiny

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agent-grey-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Oh, I love it and hate it at the same time. - Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem reader Wordcount: 6k pure filth

Warnings: porn without a polt, filth, drugs, mentioning of prostitution, sex, mental breakdown Summary: Finnick and y/n both won their games and when they returned home it became clear that they were puppets in Snow's hands. They’re the same, something they love and hate at the same time.

AN: This is pure filth, you're welcome.

A victor. That’s what you are.

A victor of a game you never wanted to play in the first place. When you got reaped at the age of fifteen you never imagined getting out alive, you thought that you would get killed in the first couple of days by one of the careers. But the usual alliances never formed, the careers started killing each other off by day three and the odds ended up being in your favour after all. You were the victor of the 67th Hunger Games and became a Capitol favourite. Not that you won much. You got PTSD and woke up almost every night screaming bloody murder because of the flashbacks that haunted your dreams. That was the life of a victor. Well not only the haunting dreams but you were also expected to show your face at the presidential balls organised by Snow in the capital. It was no secret that he played the victors as puppets and used them in any way he pleased. That’s how you ended up on the dancefloor with a middle-aged man whose hands kept creeping lower and lower on your back. That’s what you hated the most. They made you a killer and when you got out you weren’t free at all. They promised you a life full of prosperity and serenity in the victor's village back home in District 5 but it was all a lie. You had your peace for three weeks, four tops, but after your victor's tour Snow invited you for a chat in his office and you finally realised you were on this train forever. He made it clear that you were his property from now on and that he could use you as he pleased.

The guy you were dancing with was one of Snow’s associates, he was surprisingly friendly. Most of them didn’t treat you as a person, you were just a warm and desirable body for them to use as they pleased. You let your eyes wander over the dancefloor when all of a sudden they locked with a familiar green pair. Finnick gave you his famous cheeky smile but it didn’t reach his eyes, they had a sad tone to them. That’s when you noticed the lady on his arm, another Capotil elite. You gave him a small smile. The two of you were caught in the same trap, he a bit longer than you were. You met him at the end of your Victor's tour, after your chat with Snow. Finnick asked you to dance and while he spun you around the floor he warned you for the president and made sure you understood the danger. After that day he started looking out for you. The two of you stuck together, tried to save each other as much as possible and looked after one another. He became your safe haven. The capitol wondered out loud what kind of relationship their favourite victors had. They speculated that they spend their nights together in his bed. Even after it became public that they both had multiple lovers, the gossip continued. You did share his bed but not in the way they expected. You shared it when both of you were lonely, longing for loving touches instead of hungry ones. You could count the times you’ve kissed on one hand and never went further than that. You always wondered how it would be if the two of you had a normal Victors’ life. Would you have met during the next games as mentors and become friends? Would you be as close as you were now? You would be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to the male Victor, but it went beyond his good looks. The two of you just clicked, probably because of the shared trauma but there was so much more to him. He was kind, warm and loyal. He would do anything to protect the ones he loved. Finnick was just Finnick, he was one of a kind.

‘Don’t you agree Miss Green?’ The man's lips almost touched your ear and a shudder ran down your spine. ‘I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that please?’ You averted your gaze from Finnick so you could look at your client. His laughter roared deep in his chest as he saw your confused expression. ‘I said that this party was getting boring and that we should go back to my place.’ Your heart dropped when you heard his proposition. ‘Is it okay that I go to the bathroom quickly and that we leave afterwards?’ He nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll wait for you in the foyer.’ With a small smile, you made your way across the room. Some partygoers greeted you as you passed them by. When you stood in the bathroom you slammed the door shut as you tried to calm yourself down. ‘Come on y/n, you’ve done this a million times. It’s just another guy and it’s just sex. You will be out of there in no time’ you mumbled to yourself as you stared at your reflection in the mirror whiles you fished a little baggy out of your bra. Another side effect of the games was your drug dependency. It started as a medical treatment to keep you sane but now all you wanted was to forget the games and their hands touching your skin.

After swallowing the pill you waited a couple of minutes until you felt the familiar haze creeping into your system. You washed your hands and walked out without paying attention to where you were walking. You bumped into a tall person, their hands encircling your waist to prevent you from falling to the ground. “Shit, sorry.’ When you looked up you were greeted by the sea-green eyes you learned to love. ‘Oh Finnick, hi.’ He gave you one of his dashing grins when he saw the shock on your face. ‘You’re leaving with him?’ A soft sigh left your lips. ‘One of Snow’s associates.’ He nodded understandingly grin still on his lips but that faded when he saw your dilated pupils. ‘Are you kidding me y/n? You’re high right now?’ You took a step back and shrugged your shoulders. ‘You’re high all of the time, so it’s really not your place to tell me what I can do and what not.’ Finnick knew that the two of you were in the same boat, being sold to the highest bidders and you both had developed your own coping mechanisms along the way. ‘Never whiles I’m on the job.’ It was a mumble when it left his lips and he gave you an accusing look. ‘Yeah sorry Finn but I cannot do this sober. I should get back, let me pass please.’ Finnick dropped his head as he took a step aside to let you pass. ‘Text me when you’re done? I’ll pick you up so you don’t need to stay over.’ You just nodded as you brushed past him so you could get to the foyer. ‘There you are, ready to go?’ A fake smile found its way to your lips as you nodded your head. ‘Let’s go.’

Most of the time they took you to fancy hotels so their partners didn’t find out about their little affairs but he took you home. When you walked into his flat it was striking how neat his place was, you weren’t expecting this. There were pictures of groups of smiling people, holding champagne flutes and landscapes. He was wealthy, hence the penthouse and the ultra-modern design of the place. ‘What did you say your job was again?’ He had talked about boring meetings and how the dance was a much-welcome distraction. ‘Military detail.’ You jumped a little when you heard how close he was. ‘Right, sorry it was a busy night.’ His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, tracing soft circles on your hips. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ His hands spun you around and he planted his lips on yours. Throughout the years you learned that the more you fought the harder it was, so you just went along with his moves. You hoped that you could get out of this place soon.

02:45 Can you come to get me? - y/n

You texted Finnick fifteen minutes ago with your location attached after you told the client you didn’t stay over. He offered to drive you home but you said it was okay. When you walked out of the apartment complex you noticed Finnicks bike, of course he rode his motor here instead of his car. He held a spare helmet out and you took it without saying a word. The two of you had established this relationship where you showed up but didn’t ask questions. As you swung your leg over the passenger seat you mumbled a small thanks. He sped away, the wind gave you goosebumps but so you pulled yourself even closer to Finnick. You had your arms tightly wrapped around his waist as a support so you didn't fall off. He placed one of his hands on yours as the two of you rode through the night. The ride back to your place took you less than ten minutes. You were standing in front of your small studio, looking for your keys. Finnick leaned nonchalantly against the wall next to you. ‘You know who that was, right?’ You just shrugged your shoulders. ‘Some military guy, didn’t pay too much attention.’ A soft laugh escaped his lips. ‘He’s head of the peacekeepers and Snow’s personal security personnel.’ ‘Oh.’ You finally opened your door and walked in, Finnick following close behind. ‘I’m gonna take a shower, please stay?’ He nodded as he made himself comfortable on your couch, kicking his shoes off. ‘I know the drill.’ The roles had been reversed hundreds of times when he was a mess and you had to put him back together. You immediately turned o the shower when you entered the bathroom, the water as hot as you could handle so it would burn the feeling of his wandering fingers away. The clothes you wore were thrown in a pile on the floor and you looked at your body in the mirror, bruises started to form on your thighs. At least it wasn’t in plain sight. When the water made contact with your body it stung a bit, but after a while it was a pleasant feeling. You washed your hair and body with a sandalwood-smelling shampoo and body wash and thirty minutes later you walked back into your living room where Finnick was flipping through tv channels, long shirt covering the black sleep shorts you were wearing. He patted the cushion next to him, signalling for you to sit down. The blissful haze you fell a couple of hours ago was wairing off and your hands were trembling a bit. ‘It’s getting late, I would rather go to bed.’ You mumbled as you pointed over your shoulder to your small bedroom. ‘Sure, whatever you want honey.’ He reached for his shoes to put them back on and leave you alone, you looked exhausted. ‘No stay please, I don’t want to be alone tonight.’ He didn’t say anything when he got up out of his seat, when he passed you by towards your room he grabbed your hand so he could pull you along. You immediately crawled into your bed and left the covers open for Finnick who was taking off his clothes so he could slip into the pyjamas he kept at your place. When he stood at the side of your bed he just saw the broken girl he met after her games when she first came out of the arena. The girl he nursed back to life to the best of his abilities. You looked so broken and small.

Your back was turned towards him when you felt the bed dipping in next to you. ‘Come here,’ he mumbled whiles he threw an arm across your waist pulling you into his chest. A shaky breath left your lips as you felt his body heat against your skin. You turned around in his hold so you could face him. ‘Finnick I don’t know how long I can keep doing this. The appearances at the parties I can handle, I can pretend to be happy to be there but the sleeping around with half of the Capitol’s elite is killing me.’ Tears welt up in your eyes and your vision got blurry. ‘You know what happens if we stop, you saw what they did to Johanna.’ She was the victor of the 71st Hunger Games and her entire family was murdered when she refused to be Snow’s puppet. ‘My family doesn’t even want to see me anymore, they think I’m some cheap whore.’ It was true, They were embarrassed for you when you visited them since your whole life was smeared on TV and in the tabloids. Everyone knew what you were doing but they didn't know why you were doing it. That didn't matter to them, they had already decided who you were. ‘He already took everything away from me.’ He gently rubbed your back, a comforting gesture. ‘They just don’t know what’s going on.’ You pressed your cheek against his chest while you sneaked your arm around his waist. ‘We’re going to be ok y/n, we’ll be ok.’

A week had passed since Finnick had spent the night at your place, you hadn’t heard from him since. It wasn’t unusual, the two of you needed space and alone time as well. You had spent the last hour on your makeup and hair since you were expected at a party again when your phone lit up with a text.

08:15 Need a ride? - F

You replied a simple yes, knowing that he would show up within the next fifteen minutes. Tonight you were invited just as a guest, no clients or hidden agendas. Just you and Finnick socialising with the elites as usual. As you stood in front of the mirror in your room there was a knock at the door. ‘The door’s open Finn!’ You yelled back while you fixed the straps of your dress. You decided to wear a red floor-length dress with small spaghetti straps, it was a simple look but you were in love with the gown. ‘Y/n, are you ready to go?’ He turned around the corner when he saw you standing in front of the mirror and let out a wolf whistle. ‘Too much?’ He shook his head. ‘No, just enough you look great.’ A smile spread across your lips as you took his own appearance. ‘You look not too bad yourself either.’ It was a joke, he looked handsome and he knew he did. He gave you a wink as he stretched his hand out towards you. ‘Let’s get the gossip mill going again.’ You shook your head as a laugh rolled off your lips. ‘Yeah let’s go.’ Finnick’s driver dropped the two of you off at the entrance of the mansion where the party took place. The stairs towards the house were packed, some of them turning their heads as they saw the two of you arrive. ‘Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?’ With those words he slid his arm around your middle, placing his hand on the small of your back so he could guide you through the mass. You could feel their gazes burning on your skin as the two of you made your way towards the entrance of the building. You said your hello’s too familiar faces and plastered a smile on your lips. When you were inside Finnick walked in front of you whiles he grabbed one of your hands in his as he pulled you along. ‘What do you want to drink?’ He came to a stop at the beverage table. The table looked like a full-on bar with fancy drinks on display. ‘Something strong, need to be tipsy as soon as possible.’ Finnick reached for two tequila-based cocktails and handed one to you. ‘There you go, love.’ You took a sip and pulled a shocked face, those were strong. The two of you walked to the entrance of the main room so you could take a look at all those who were attending. Without thinking about it, he put an arm around you, his hand resting on your hip and you leaned into his touch. ‘What was the party for again?’ You asked him. Finnick had always been better at these events, he always knew who was hosting and what the occasion was. ‘The oldest daughter of the Pierces and the second eldest son of the Oakleys are engaged, so their parents threw an engagement party.’ You nodded as you remembered when you heard his words. ‘Right.’ His thumb traced small circles over the dress’s fabric at your hip and you were wondering if he was doing it on purpose. ‘They will gossip no matter what we’re doing so you don’t have to give a big performance,’ You joked as you nudged his side softly. ‘Mh?’ For a minute you thought that he didn’t know what he was doing but then you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Finnick Odair, unbelievable.’ A hoarse laugh left his lips before he took another sip of the drink in his hand.

‘What do you think of a dance?’ He looked down at you, waiting for your answer. ‘Yeah sure, but I was hoping for more than one tho.’ Finnick emptied his glass and you followed his lead, pulling a face when the alcohol burned down your throat. ‘You have my undivided attention all night Miss Green.’ You rolled your eyes at his comment as you pushed him in front of you. ‘If you say so Odair.’ Once the two of you found a place on the dancefloor he pulled you in by your hips taking one hand in his and started slowly swaying to the music. You placed your cheek against his chest and let him lead as you closed your eyes. His heartbeat pounded softly in your ear. Finnick lowered his head so he could whisper in your ear. ‘They are all staring.’ A small smile spread across your lips as his warm breath tickled your skin. You lifted your head from his chest and looked around, they indeed were eying the two of you. You could almost see the wheels spinning in their heads trying to figure out what you guys were to each other. ‘You wanted to give them a show.’ He rolled his eyes and a laugh left his lips. ‘I’m not complaining, I just warned you about what’s happening.’ You shrugged your shoulders. It was in these moments that you felt free and normal. Just a girl dancing with a guy she liked. He softly stroked a lost strand of hair behind your ear, it was such an intimate feeling that it made you blush. ‘Did I make the Miss Green blush?’ He had this cocky grin on his lips when he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Oh shut up Finnick.’ As the song ended the two of you found your way back to the bar, going for shots of tequila this time.

The more alcohol flowed the more handsy you both became, not that you minded. By two in the morning, Finnick had your back pressed flush against his front and moved his hips along with yours to the rhythm of the music, hands roaming your body at the same time. You had thrown one arm back around his neck pulling him closer. You knew what they say, ‘Tequila is nasty but after a few shots, so am I’ and you definitely were far past acting descent and composed. But you weren’t the only ones, the dancefloor was packed with grinding couples who could not keep their hands off each other. Your little performance ran out of hand. Maybe you should have stopped after the fifth shot of tequila but you had gotten carried away. At one point Finnick had placed the lemon wedge between your lips and almost kissed you when he took it out of your mouth with his own lips. You had not meant to be glued against each other in the middle of the dance floor but there you were. Finnick leaned down and placed a trail of soft kisses on your jawline. ‘Mh, Finn maybe we should go home. I think you made your point clear and gave them a show.’ A chuckle left his lips and he spun you around in his arms. You weren't sure how much of tonight was staged and what was real but you hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, that’s for sure. He clasped his hands together behind your back and you swung yours around his neck. ‘Do you wanna go?’ You nodded. ‘Okay let’s go then.’ Once again he took one of your hands into his and started guiding you towards the exit before you were stopped by a middle-aged guy. ‘Y/n, do you have one more dance in you for me?’ He had this grin on his face that made you shiver, not in a good way. ‘Sorry mate we’re just leaving.’ Finnick spoke for you as he saw the hesitation in your eyes. ‘Oh come, you had her all night Odair let the others also have some fun.’ He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the guy. ‘I said that we’re going, so back off okay?’ Finnick spoke, his words laced with a threatening undertone. Everyone in his right mind would back off, he was one of the most deathly tributes the capitol had ever seen, crazily skilled in hand-to-hand combat. The other guy eyed him up and down and he then shifted his gaze towards you. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. ‘Finn let’s go.’ You softly pulled Finnick back indicating you wanted to leave as soon as possible. His hand tensed in yours and squeezed your fingers as he turned away from the guy, ready to leave. ‘Whatever dude, everyone already had her.’ Before you could say something, before you could pull him back, Finnick had spun around and his fist made contact with the guy's jaw. He almost stumbled to the floor when he got punched. ‘You fucking asshole.’ Several shocked gasps were audible all around you. No one expected the Capitol's favourite to lose his temper like this, he was known for keeping his composure in public. ‘Finninck!’ You stepped forward and clung to his arm in an attempt to hold him back. The man clutched his jaw in surprise as if he had not seen the blow coming at all. ‘If I ever see you near her again or even hear you talking about her I’ll fucking kill you, understand?’ All he could do was nod, still not getting what just happened. ‘Finnick let’s go.’ You urged as you saw people pooling around the scene you just caused. As he turned around and started walking away he pulled you behind him by your hand. It was because he was drunk otherwise, he would never have thrown that punch you thought to yourself. The alcohol was the only explanation. ‘Guess the rumours are true then, he’s sleeping with her.’ You heard a girl say to her friend when the two of you passed them.

Once you were finally outside, he let go of your hand and went through his hair in frustration. ‘Fuck.’ he grumbled to himself. What the fuck just happened? You opened your mouth to say something but quickly shut it again when you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Snow was going to make you pay for this, you just knew it. Finnick’s driver drove the car out front and opened the door of the back seat. Finnick got into the car without saying a word and kept silent the whole drive back to his place. When the car stopped in front of his building and he got out, you stayed put expecting that Finnick didn’t want you there at the moment. When you didn’t follow him out he gave you a confused look. ‘Get out of the car y/n, I’m not letting you spend the night alone at your place after what just happened.’ You were still confused but you did as you were told and climbed out of the car. Finnick said a thank you to the driver and started walking towards the entrance of his building. It was one of the most modern places you had ever seen, you needed a keycard to enter the building and a code for the elevator since they went straight into his living room on the top floor. He got everything he wanted because he was so loved by the Capitol, he was their golden boy.

As the two of you stepped into the elevator he only needed a second to push you up against the wall. A small gasp left your lips at his sudden movements. He didn’t give you any time to react as he crashed his lips against yours, these weren’t the sweet touches he used to give you, this was pure anger. You kissed him back, placing your hands against his chest and parting your lips giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue in. Not even trying to gain dominance you let Finnick take the lead, almost melting under his touch. He only stopped kissing you when the elevator opened, ushering you out of the small box into his apartment. It gave you a couple of seconds to catch your breath, a heat rose to your cheeks when you realised what just had happened. But those few seconds were all you got because the moment your feet touched the wooden floor he spun you around and his lips found yours once again. The two of you started walking, you backwards as he guided you through his living room. ‘Finn, what are you-’ He didn’t give you the chance to finish your question as your back hit a wall. One of his legs came up between yours, hoisting up your dress as he spread them apart with his thick thigh. ‘I’m done playing his games.’ His lips found their way to your neck where he softly tucked at your skin. A moan left your lips when he found your sweet spot under your jaw. He sucked on the tender skin until it stung to then soothe it with his tongue. That was gonna bruise. ‘I’m done pretending to be ok when I see you with other people and pick you up afterwards. I don’t want the pieces, I want all of you.’ It took every ounce of self-control left in your body to pull away so you could look at him, placing your hands on both of his shoulders. ‘Finnick-,’ This wasn’t new, you had this kind of conversation before but he never said that he wanted you. You longed for him in a whole different than the Capitol did. You didn’t want him for his body, you wanted him for the man he was. He was kind, caring and loyal. He had this great sense of humour and would do anything to save the people he loved. ‘As you said, we cannot do this. Remember?’ He pressed his forehead against yours

He pressed his thigh firmer against your core and your breath hitched in your throat, you were dripping wet. You were already turned on the moment he had you flush against his chest on the dancefloor at the party. He softly bit your neck, making your head spin. ‘Finnick, we’ve been drinking-’ You were going to say that you didn’t know this was the right moment for this situation, heads being clouded by alcohol but he didn’t give you the chance. He pressed his lips full force against yours, not asking for permission as he forced his tongue inside your mouth. This was a mix of pure anger and lust, you had an idea where this came from but you were still not sure if it was because of you or if you were just at the right place at the right time. His hands found their way around your body and rested on your ass, softly squeezing and not giving you any time to second-guess the situation. He softly tucked at your lower lip when he pulled back. ‘You have no idea about all the things that I want to do to you, y/n.’ A small gasp left your lips when you felt his teeth graze your ear as he softly spoke, his voice more sensual than usual. You just gave in. Your body reacted before you could and without thinking you started rocking your hips over his thigh hoping to gain some friction between your legs, almost sure that you were going to stain his pants with your juices. Finnick smirked when he felt your movements and started guiding your hips over his leg while he pushed you down, creating more pressure. ‘C’mon baby, be a good girl and make yourself feel good.’ Your legs started to tremble as you rode his thigh, swinging one arm around his neck and placing the other hand on his hips to stabilize yourself. With a swift movement, he pulled your panties aside and watch how your pussy rubbed against his thigh. A pink blush rose to your cheeks when you saw the wet spot starting to form where your cunt touched his pants. ‘So wet and I haven’t touched you yet.’ He mumbled as he saw your juices on his thigh. ‘All for you Finn.’ His name rolled in a moan of your lips as you were getting to your high. ‘Were you already wet when we were dancing?’ He breathed in your ear, followed by his teeth scraping your neck. You nodded frantically. ‘Use your words.’ ‘Yes, yes. Fuck’ you threw your head back and screwed your eyes shut. ‘So desperate for a good fuck y/n?’ The way he was treading you combined with the sound of his voice made you only wetter. ‘Fuck Finn, I’m going to come just like this.’ A chuckle left his lips. ‘Look at me.’ You were chasing your high and ignored his order. When you didn’t comply he grabbed your chin and pinched lightly with his fingers, forcing your face down. ‘Look at me I said.’ His dominance excited you. ‘Sorry.’ You muttered and looked at him. His pupils were dilated and radiated pure lust. ‘Sorry who?’ ‘Sorry, sir.’ It rolled off your tongue without thinking twice about it. ‘Come for me’ After hearing those words the knot inside exploded, your orgasm washing over you like you never experienced before. Legs trembling and Finnick needed to support your upper body. This was pure filth and you were all for it. ‘Fuck.’ You tried to stop but Finnick kept pushing your hips in a grinding motion over his thigh. Your clit grazed over the fabric of his pants, it overstimulated you completely. 'Finn, stop too soon,' you muttered when you felt the knot in your lower abdomen tighten again. Tears began to sting your eyes when he didn't stop. ‘Ah, fuck.’ Your second orgasm came faster than you wanted. You pushed against Finnick's chest. 'Finn stop.' Tears streamed down your cheeks from the overstimulation. It was too much. ‘Are you going to let me fuck you like all of Snow's pawns?’ You nodded, that was all he needed. He took you in his arms in one smooth motion and walked toward his bed.

'On your knees.' You had never obeyed anyone so quickly. He placed his hand gently on your cheek and stroked your lips with his thumb. 'Are you going to be a good girl for me?' Your hands found their way to the button of his pants. In one swift movement, you undid them and pulled them down eagerly. Finnick followed your every move. His boxers quickly followed causing his cock to stand up proudly against his muscular stomach. You licked your lips. ‘You know what to do.’ You nodded. You took his member in your hand and pumped up and down a few times, his head looking painfully red as pre-cum glistened on it. You teased him by rubbing his head slowly with your thumb. Then you bent over, and with your outstretched tongue you licked a long line from his base to the tip. A hissing sound left his lips. ‘Stop teasing’. You pulled your lip over your teeth and took his cock in your mouth. Gently you moved up and down, building the tension. A blissful sigh left his lips. You relaxed your jaw and took his length as deep as you could in your mouth. His head pushed against the back of your throat eliciting a gag reflex. Finnick grabbed your hair with one of his hands and pushed against the back of your head as a sign to take him even deeper.

When you looked up through your eyelashes you saw that he had his head thrown back in delight, his mouth gently agape. A sense of pride spread through you. That you could make Finnick feel so good did something to you; it got even wetter between your legs. ‘Fuck y/n, keep going.’ He wrapped his hands around your neck and squeezed gently. He pushed his hips forward and began to fuck your mouth. Obscene sounds echoed in his bedroom. Your gurgling filled your ears and tears pricked your eyes. 'You look so good like that.' Your mascara by now had to hang everywhere as tears ran down your cheeks in thick drops, saliva running from your mouth. 'Almost there.' he growled between his teeth. He didn't want to admit it but seeing you sitting there made him even hornier and harder.

You didn't like to admit it but being degraded like that turned you on. You were super horny and couldn't stop your own hand. You slipped your hand into your panties and moved like crazy over your clit. You couldn't wait to bounce on his cock. A moan left your lips, the vibrations drove Finnick crazy and he began to pound even harder into your mouth. After he moaned your name, he squirted thick ropes of cum down your throat and mouth. With a plopping sound, you pulled your mouth off his cock and swallowed his cum obediently. 'Good girl. Now I know why they all want you.’ You had never been so submissive and it turned you on. ‘Please fuck me.’ It was pathetic, you were begging him to feel his cock inside you. You were still rubbing your clit and he noticed. ‘So desperate for my cock, aren't you?’. You nodded, knowing he was going to give you what you wanted: a good, rough fuck. He pulled you up and pushed you on his back. Your back hit the soft matras. ‘You're never going to want another cock again’ said Finnick with an arrogant grin on his face. ‘Stop teasing, just fuck me Finn.’ The message was clear. He took your leg and pushed it up so that it rested against his shoulder. Without warning, he pushed his cock into you all at once. ‘Fuck.’ You hissed as you clawed at his shoulders, trying to contain the overstimulation. ‘I want to be the only one who can give you this feeling.' He pounded into you at a gruelling pace. It hurt, but it was a pleasurable pain. A moan rolled over your lips. ‘They’ll never touch you again.’ he murmured hoarsely in your ear. You felt the knot in your lower abdomen begin to tighten again. Your walls pinched his cock; he was also near his climax again. ‘Say it.’ Your breath stuck in your throat. 'Fuck, Finn you can only t-' You couldn't hold it back anymore, your orgasm taking over your whole body. Your legs trembled a blissful feeling spread throughout your body ‘-touch me'. He growled approvingly. He lowered your leg but continued to thrust for his own orgasm. He found your neck and began sucking around your pulse point. He left marks, you just knew it.

He moaned your name and came inside you. He leaned his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. 'We'll figure this out.’

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