#or it is in a series or from an author I really like

[mrsfancyferrari]

Our Doggie

Summary: 4 moments of you, the proud mom and Lando Norris, the protective dad of Chase Norris, the dog.

Song: Miguel - Sure Thing

Part 1 Author’s note: Happy birthday to my favourite boy! Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 5.8k

The sun hung high over the bustling Formula 1 paddock, casting a warm glow against the vibrant team banners fluttering in the light breeze.

The aroma of fresh coffee and fuel mixed in the air, tickling your senses as you navigated through the crowd, Chase nestled contentedly in your arms.

Lando walked closely beside you, his signature grin plastered on his face, a look of particular joy you loved to see.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, glancing down at Chase, who was blissfully oblivious to the world around him, his tiny paws resting lightly against your chest.

“Absolutely!” you replied, adjusting the fluffy cream-colored fur of your little dog. “I mean, if the internet exploded over how cute he is, I can't wait to show him off in person again,”

Lando chuckled, his laughter filling your heart with warmth. “I still can’t believe how many fans have taken an interest in Chase. I mean, he’s adorable, but it’s not like he’s driving a car,”

You shared an amused glance. “True, but I think we both know he steals the show everywhere we take him. With those big eyes? He’s irresistible.”

As you made your way towards the McLaren hospitality area, the familiar sight of Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc caught your eye.

To your surprise, both drivers were squatting beside their own dogs—Lewis with Roscoe, a distinguished-looking bulldog, and Charles with Leo, a spirited miniature longhaired dachshund. It was a rare sight to catch them both not in race mode, but at play.

“Hey, you two!” you called out, waving your free hand. “Look who we've brought along!”

“Oh wow, it’s Chase!” Lewis exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he stood up with Roscoe. The bulldog ambled over with a curious snort, eyes fixated on Chase.

“Is that our little Instagram star?” Charles teased, his accent thick with amusement as he crouched down, already reaching out towards Chase. “I’ve seen more of him than myself lately.”

“Guilty as charged!” you laughed, beaming with pride. “And this little guy is ready for his paddock debut for real.”

Lando stretched out his arm and playfully nudged you. “But first,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “let's see if these two dogs can keep up with the fastest little dog in the paddock.”

You raised an eyebrow at Lando. “Fastest? You realize he’s like, what? Two pounds?”

“Let’s not underestimate Chase. He’s a champion at heart!” Lando shot back, petting Chase’s head lovingly. “Right, buddy?”

Before you could respond, Leo dashed forward, tail wagging enthusiastically, and nudged Chase’s paw.

Chase blinked up at the Dachshund, seemingly unsure at first but then quickly warming up to the new canine friend. You felt a smile spread across your face; this would be fun.

“Looks like they’re already sizing each other up,” you said to Lando, who watched proudly.

Lewis rose, laughing. “I think all we need now is a proper doggy playdate. What do you say for a few minutes?”

“Absolutely,” you affirmed. “This could be a whole new Instagram series for me.”

The three of you found a patch of soft grass a short walk from the bustling hospitality area. The sun-kissed spot gave the dogs plenty of space to romp while the energy of the paddock buzzed pleasantly in the background.

As the dogs began to play—Chase scampering after Leo, who darted with boundless energy and charm—you leaned into Lando, who slung an arm around your shoulders. “You know, I didn’t expect today to turn out like this. It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes glinting with affection.

“It really is,” you said softly, wanting to freeze this moment in time.

You looked over at the three furry friends, enjoying their newfound friendship, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Chase surprised everyone by catching up to Leo and tugging playfully at his tail.

“As long as they don’t dig up the paddock or cause chaos,” Lando added, chuckling.

“Who would have thought you’d become a dog dad this quickly?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

Lando feigned distress. “Me? It’s all your fault! My life used to involve fast cars and loud engines, and now it includes this little ball of fluff demanding cuddles.”

“Looks like you’ve traded one love for another,” you smiled, leaning in to steal a kiss.

The soft brush of his lips sent a tiny thrill through you that never seemed to fade no matter how many times you shared these moments.

You watched as Roscoe plopped down beside Chase, who was busy barking up a storm.

“Is Chase bringing out the playful side of Roscoe?” you quipped, noticing the bulldog’s effortless charm as he nudged the tiny dog with his nose.

Lewis approached with a proud grin. “I think he is. I’ve never seen Roscoe this active since… well, forever, to be honest. We might be onto something with these doggy meet-ups.”

Charles laughed, joining in their amusement. “Next season, we might need to think about forming a dog team!”

With the race weekend in full swing, you felt a sense of peace that was rarely achieved in the high-speed world that encapsulated your lives.

The dogs chased each other in wide arcs, occasionally stopping to check in with their humans, tails wagging wildly. It was a cookie-cutter version of bliss—a world away from fast cars and flashing cameras, grounded in pure, uncomplicated affection.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue across the paddock, you and Lando settled onto the grass, Chase nestled comfortably between you.

“Can you believe they’re all sleepier than we are?” Lando mused, watching the dog pile settle down in a heap of fur.

“I can’t. It’s like they burned off all their energy in five minutes,” you laughed.

A thought crossed your mind, and you turned to Lando, feeling slightly more serious. “What if we brought Chase to more races with us? He could be a mascot of sorts.”

“I love that idea!” Lando grinned back at you, his eyes sparkling. “I can already see the team merch: Chase-themed caps or something. It’s perfect.”

As laughter filled the air around you, you realized that amidst the chaotic world of Formula 1, filled with roaring engines and high stakes, it was these quiet moments, shared with Lando and Chase, that truly defined your happiness.

You rested your head against his shoulder, knowing deep down that no matter where this journey took you, together, you’d always find the joy in life—the little moments that felt like magic.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You sink back into the soft layers of your bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

The world outside is alive with the gentle trill of crickets, but here, in your sanctuary, the only sounds are the steady heartbeat of Lando beside you and the slight rustle of sheets as he shifts to get more comfortable.

You take a moment to relish this perfect calm after the day’s chaos, the two of you finally alone together after putting Chase to bed in the living room.

You can’t help but look over at Lando, his messy hair fanning out on the pillow like a halo, his lips slightly parted in that relaxed way that makes your heart flutter.

He glances up at you, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So, what should we do now that we have time?” you tease, half sitting on top of him, enjoying the playful tension in the air.

He raises an eyebrow, a grin breaking across his face as he fights to suppress a chuckle.

“Hmm, choices, choices,” he says, pretending to ponder deeply. “Should we play a game? Or maybe I could serenade you with my terrible singing?”

His voice dips into a mock dramatic tone that sends a wave of laughter bubbling up your throat.

“Terrible singing sounds perfect,” you reply, grinning as you mockingly glare at him. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to hear your off-key renditions of popular songs?”

“Hey, at least I’m better than the last guy who tried,” he shoots back, pulling you closer to him. “But, fine. You might be the perfect audience for my next hit single then.”

As he leans in, you stroke your fingers through his hair, enjoying the moment. It’s easy to forget about everything else with him here.

The chaos of your day fades, leaving only the warmth of his body and the sparkle of his laughter.

You leaned down closer to brush your lips against his. The kiss tasted like sweetness and laughter—soft and familiar. Just as you were about to pull back, Lando deepened the kiss, his free hand finding its way to your waist.

You melted against him, feeling the electricity coursing through your entire body. “If we keep this up, you might end up forgetting your song.” you murmured against his lips, smiling playfully.

But just as you find a comfortable rhythm, the door creaks open slowly, and you turn your head just in time to see Chase, your little dog, making his grand re-entry.

His tiny body clambers up the stairs with determination, climbing onto the bed with gusto. His tail wags furiously as he reaches you, giving you both a salute of excitement and wanting attention.

Lando bursts out laughing, his beautiful joy filling the room.

“Look who decided to join! Chase! You’ve missed all the fun!” Lando exclaims, rolling onto his back and reaching out for the playful pup.

“Seriously? I thought we put him to bed!” you giggle, scratching Chase behind his ears as he wriggles happily between you and Lando.

“He’s a tiny troublemaker,” Lando laughs, showering the little dog with love as he lifts him into the air. “Just like his human.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I’m not a troublemaker!” you retort dramatically.

Chase, ever the attention-seeker, wiggles in Lando’s hands, finally settling on your lap, looking up at you with big, innocent eyes. You can’t help but melt.

“Okay, but really, what are we going to do?” you ask again, this time scratching behind the little dog’s ears while seeking Lando’s gaze.

“How about this: let’s have a little movie night right here?” Lando suggests, nodding towards the television tucked in the corner of the room. “But we’ll need snacks, and I have a secret stash of popcorn hidden under the bed.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “A secret stash? Why wouldn’t you share this with me sooner?”

“It’s a special treasure reserved for awesome moments,” Lando says with a wink, and you can’t resist the charming way he always manages to make the mundane feel special.

“Alright, you win. Movie night it is!” you chirp. “But you better make that popcorn perfect, or…”

“Or what? I’ll have to serenade you?” he interjects with wink, causing a giggle to erupt from you both.

“You’d better run and get it, then!” you tease as you flail your arms dramatically, punctuating your point.

You watch as Lando slides off the bed, throwing on a T-shirt, not even bothering to get fully dressed before darting to the kitchen.

While he’s gone, you indulge Chase with a few more scratches and gentle rubs, finding solace in the way the small dog relaxes into your touch.

You love this moment, the cozy intimacy, and the way it feels like your little family is all together in this sanctuary of warmth.

Lando returns with a bowl of popcorn, grinning ear to ear like he’s just won the championship. “Tada! The prize for best boyfriend,” he announces, dramatically presenting the bowl to you.

“Now that is a worthy prize!” you laugh, taking a handful while he settles next to you, pulling both you and Chase into his arms.

You press play on the remote, the screen illuminating the dim room with the warm colors of the movie. As the opening credits roll, you lean back against Lando, enjoying his presence.

Chase shifts between you two, finding a cozy spot against your legs.

For a moment, the world outside feels far away, and it’s just the three of you. The movie is just background noise as you sink into each other’s company, laughing together, whispering jokes, and stealing kisses in between popcorn munching.

“This is perfect,” you whisper after a particularly funny scene, and Lando turns to look at you, his expression softening.

“It really is. Just us, our little family,” he replies, his voice low as he brushes a stray hair behind your ear. He shifts slightly, bringing you even closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

“And somehow, with Chase here, it’s even better,” you add playfully, watching as Chase squirms to get more comfortable.

“True,” Lando agrees, laughing softly. “He’s the best addition we could’ve asked for.”

The night passes in a blur of laughter, cuddles, and shared popcorn, making memories that cling to you like the warmth of Lando's embrace.

As the credits roll on the final movie, you find yourself feeling grateful for this moment, for the peaceful rhythm of his heartbeat next to yours, and the constant presence of Chase, who has curled up in a contented ball at your feet.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” you ask playfully.

“Absolutely,” Lando says with a smile, kissing your forehead before stretching luxuriously. “Every day if that’s what you want.”

With that, you settle deeper into his embrace, feeling the warmth of love wrap around you, content in the knowledge that these quiet nights are the foundation of a happiness you hope will last a lifetime.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You quietly opened the front door, careful not to make a sound that might wake your boyfriend, Lando, or your dog, Chase.

The remnants of a night filled with laughter and dancing still tingled in your veins, igniting a rush of warmth as you stepped inside the dimly lit apartment.

Your senses were slightly dulled, having indulged a little too freely in celebratory shots and frosty cocktails, but the sight of your sanctuary—a place infused with memories of lazy afternoons and cozy movie nights—brought a smile to your slightly wobbly lips.

You tiptoed through the narrow hall, the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla wafting through the air, welcoming you home. As you reached the bedroom door, you pushed it open ever so gently and peeked inside.

A warm glow from the bedside lamp illuminated the room just enough for you to catch the tender scene: Lando, with his tousled hair sprawled across the pillow, and Chase, curled up against him, both seemingly serene and lost in a peaceful slumber.

You couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the endearing sight.

Lando had always been a snuggly sleeper, and when paired with Chase—who had an affinity for cuddling—it was a charming combination that made your heart swell with affection.

You took a moment to soak in the warmth of the image before deciding to give yourself a refreshing moment, slipping out of your party attire and into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once the steamy spray enveloped you, you let the impulses of the night wash away. The coolness of the bathroom contrasted with the warmth of the shower, and as the hot water cascaded over you, it washed away the heaviness of the night.

You hummed softly to yourself, chasing away the fleeting thoughts of wild dance moves and flirty conversations, focusing instead on the love waiting for you out there.

After a few minutes, you emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a soft towel, the cool air of the bedroom brushing against your damp skin.

You glanced toward the bed and saw Chase stirring. He stretched slightly before lifting his head, his white fur glistening in the low light.

It was moments like these that made you realise just how precious this little family was to you.

And then, without warning, Chase unfurled himself from his cozy position and sprang from Lando's grip like a spring on a watch, bounding toward you with all the enthusiasm and sincerity only a dog could possess.

"Chase! Hey buddy!" you exclaimed, instinctively kneeling down and opening your arms wide.

He galloped into your embrace, nuzzling his nose against you as you laughed softly, your heart swelling with affection.

“I missed you!” you told him, scratching behind his ears, his tail wagging furiously. The rush of love you felt was intoxicating, and for a moment, all thoughts of your night out melted away into nothingness.

As you reveled in the sweet reunion with Chase, Lando stirred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The moment he caught sight of you kneeling on the floor with Chase beside you, a sleepy grin broke out on his face.

“Looks like someone was waiting for you,” he mumbled, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

You smiled up at him, a little bashful. “I was just trying to sneak in and not wake you two,” you replied, feeling a subtle warmth creep over your cheeks. “But I guess Chase had other plans!”

“Yeah, he always does,” Lando chuckled, stretching and propping himself up on one elbow. “You’re home later than I expected. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was great! Just some dancing and drinks with the gang. But honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you guys. I was so excited to come home.” You paused, your heart racing a little as you spoke the words.

Deep inside, you knew there was something incredibly comforting about being home—not just in the apartment, but in the company of Lando and Chase.

Lando’s expression softened, and he sat up fully, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m glad. I was worried you might not come back for a while,” he teased, winking playfully. “I wasn’t sure how long I could have kept Chase entertained!”

You giggled, rising to your feet, both Chase and Lando now fully awake and alert.

“I can’t believe how snuggly you both look together. I wish I had a camera—cute overload!” Your heart fluttered at the idea that even in sleep, your little family brought so much joy.

“Speaking of,” Lando began, scooting over on the bed and gesturing for you to join him. “Come sit with us.”

You quickly hopped onto the bed, crawling between the sheets and cuddling up against Lando's warm side, with Chase settling in at your feet.

Lando wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You smell like fun,” he said, a teasing smile gracing his lips.

“Is that a compliment?” you retorted, nudging his shoulder playfully.

“Absolutely. Fun looks good on you.” Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss atop your head, sending a ripple of warmth through you.

“But I have to admit, I’m glad you’re home. It’s always better when we’re together.”

You nestled against him, resting your head on his chest as you felt the beat of his heart. “I feel the same way. It’s like I float through the night, but my anchor is always back here with you and Chase.”

Chase, perhaps sensing the tender moment between you, looked up with his big brown eyes and tilted his head, as though he were in on the secret.

You couldn’t resist giving him a scratch behind the ears, which only elicited a contented sigh from him.

"Aren't you the cutest little anchor?" you whispered playfully.

“That you are, buddy,” Lando said, reaching down to ruffle Chase’s fur. The dog responded with a delighted huff, wriggling his body in appreciation.

The three of you were a perfect triangle of comfort, an unwavering circle of love in a bustling world. Evenings like this were rare and precious—moments you cherished.

“So, what did you get up to today?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Your voice was curious, genuine interest lighting up your eyes that always captivated him.

Lando chuckled, turning to face you. “Oh, you know, the usual—work, a hundred walks and taking Chase to pee outside. I think he might be getting it.”

Chase, as if on cue, laid his head on Lando’s knee, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Well, at least someone is satisfied with my work today,” Lando said, scritching Chase behind the ears, causing the dog to squint in pleasure.

“You’ve always had that effect on him,” you said, placing your hand over Lando’s for a brief moment, a simple gesture that spoke louder than words.

“I think he might like me more than you,” Lando teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Oh really? Is that so? Right in front of me, too? Chase!” You turned to the dog dramatically. “How could you betray your own best friend like this?”

Chase merely wagged his tail, blissfully unaware of the banter as if to say, “Sorry, not sorry,” before burying his face deeper into Lando’s lap.

Lando laughed. “I guess I just have the magic touch. It must be all those treats I give him.”

“Magic touch or bribes? You’re not fooling anyone, Lando.” You shook your head, unable to keep a straight face.

After a moment, the mood shifted a little. “We should go to sleep now, we’re meeting my parents tomorrow, remember?” you said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

It was getting late, and the thought of the impending family gathering made your stomach flutter with nerves.

Lando nodded, but there was a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I know. I just... I want everything to go well. What if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you,” you assured him, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand soothingly. “Just be yourself. You know how to charm a crowd, especially with your goofy jokes.”

“Right, my jokes,” he said, chuckling and shaking his head. “I think I’ll save the ‘dad jokes’ for later. Maybe I should just stick to polite conversation.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “Polite conversation could go far, or it could bore them to tears. They’re going to want to see the real you—silly, charming, and maybe a little awkward.”

“Awkward? Me? Never.” Lando feigned shock, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. “I’m the epitome of cool.”

“Sure you are.” You smiled knowingly. “But I promise you, they will appreciate your quirks more than you think. They just want to get to know the guy their daughter is dating.”

Lando sat up a little straighter, his posture shifting into something more serious. “But what if they have questions? What if they think I’m not good enough for you?”

“Lando, stop worrying.” You leaned in closer, taking both of his hands in yours. “They’re not expecting anyone perfect, just someone who makes me happy. And spoiler alert: you do.”

He smiled, the tension crumbling between you like a sandcastle washed away by the tide. “Thank you. I guess I just want to make a good impression on them. You mean a lot to me.”

“And you mean a lot to me,” you replied softly. “The sooner you realize that, the easier this will be.”

With a deep breath, he nodded, clearly trying to shake off his nerves. “Okay then. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Breakfast at the diner down the road, then to their house for coffee. We’ll take it easy,” you said, pulling your legs up onto Lando's to move closer, snuggling deeper against him.

“Sounds good—unless they try to feed us the mystery casserole,” Lando joked. “Then we might have a problem.”

You laughed. “I can’t promise they’ll have their best dish on that day, but I’ll bring backup snacks, just in case.”

“As long as you’re by my side, I can handle anything.” He leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours.

The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, a shared moment that felt like a promise to tackle whatever came your way.

Chase stirred slightly and stretched, yawning wide as if sensing the change in atmosphere before settling back into a comfortable position.

“I think he approves of the plan,” you whispered, glancing down at the sleepy dog, who seemed perfectly content in his little world.

Lando smiled, squeezing your hands gently. “I’m ready, then. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be great.”

“Definitely,” you said, feeling the drowsiness creeping in. Both of you started to settle in as the soft evening light faded into nighttime.

As you both surrendered to sleep, you felt grateful for this little family you had created together, intertwined through laughter, love, and even the occasional awkward moment.

Tomorrow would come with its challenges, but with Lando by your side, you knew it would all be worthwhile. . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You stood in the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity, as the smell of vanilla cake filled the air.

The clock ticked loudly in the background, each tick a reminder of the approaching moment when you would yell, “Surprise!” at your boyfriend Lando. Today's special occasion wasn't just any day; it was his birthday, a day you had been secretly planning for weeks.

You glanced towards the living room where you had set up decorations—streamers trailing down from the ceiling, colorful balloons bobbing in a corner, and a plethora of gifts waiting to be opened.

Family, friends, and their dogs had all pitched in. You couldn't wait to see Lando's face when he walked through the door; the surprise was your gift to him.

Chase, your fluffy golden retriever, sat obediently at your feet, his big brown eyes reflecting your excitement.

Normally, Chase was skittish around crowds, but you had coaxed him into staying close to you tonight.

“Just a little longer, buddy,” you whispered, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “You’ll love seeing Daddy happy.”

The door swung open, and in walked Lando, his casual charm lighting up the room. You felt your heart flutter as you quickly gestured for everyone to hide.

The guests stilled their chatter, and you barely contained your excitement.

“Lando! You’re home!” you shouted, breaking the silence as he stepped inside, catching him off-guard. His brows furrowed in confusion before slowly transforming into realization.

“What is all this?” Lando’s voice was a mix of surprise and delight as his eyes roamed over the decorations, resting finally on the cake adorned with candles burning bright.

“Happy birthday, Lando!” you and the rest of the guests cheered, stepping out of your hiding spots with wide smiles.

Lando's face lit up brighter than the candles on the cake. “Wow, you did all this for me?” he asked, his voice warm. You could see the corners of his mouth twitch with disbelief.

“Of course! You didn’t think I’d let your birthday slip by without a party, did you?” you teased, walking over to him. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured into your hair, warmth radiating from his chest. You could almost forget the anxiety that had plagued you in the days leading up to this; seeing him smile made it all worth it.

After he greeted everyone, the cake was brought out, and the group gathered around him to sing “Happy Birthday.” You led the cacophony with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Lando chuckled, his face a perfect blend of bashfulness and joy as he blew out the candles, the wish dancing on his lips as he stole a fast glance at you.

As the cake was sliced and laughter filled the air, Chase had managed to find a cozy spot on your lap, grateful for the peace among the noise.

In fact, he looked slightly puzzled by the whole gathering of unfamiliar spirits surrounding him, opting to bury his head against you as if it might provide an invisibility cloak.

“Isn’t he the cutest?” a friend commented, pointing at Chase who had planted himself firmly into your lap.

You stroked his soft fur, providing him with reassuring pets. “I think he’s scared of us,” they added.

“He’s just a bit shy,” you replied, glancing down at Chase, who only lifted his head slightly with a soft whimper. “But he’ll warm up soon.”

Just as you were talking, Chase began to wriggle around unexpectedly, clearly seeking something—or someone. You could feel his eagerness in the way he shifted, nudging you.

“What is it, buddy?” you asked, slowly allowing him to move from your lap.

As if freed from a loose leash, Chase bounded towards Lando, catching him off-guard. His tail wagged with enthusiasm, sending a nearby glass teetering toward the edge of the table.

Lando’s face broke into a joyful grin at the sight of his dog coming alive, and it made your heart swell.

“Hey, Chase! You’re finally here!” he said, kneeling down as Chase found his place in Lando's arms.

The transformation from the scared pup to the ecstatic dog was instantaneous, and you couldn’t help but smile as Chase began licking Lando’s face animatedly, as if to say, “Happy birthday, Dad!”

“This is the best birthday gift,” Lando laughed, glancing back at you with his eyes sparkling with love. “Thanks for bringing here! Look at him! He’s so happy!”

You watched as Chase’s little tongue continued to bathe Lando’s face with affectionate licks, trying to express his own birthday wish. “Better than any present I could give you,” you said softly, crossing your arms while leaning back against the counter.

“You’re right about that,” Lando replied, grinning despite the slobber.

“And you know you’re the best present I could ever ask for.” His gaze lingered on you, the warmth of his affection palpable in the room.

As the evening wore on, laughter and chatter filled the house, enveloping everyone in a cocoon of joy.

You walked back to find more snacks for your guests, the melodies of chatter and occasional barks from Chase as he played tug-of-war in the background creating a cheerful, lively atmosphere.

When you returned with a tray of snacks, Lando spotted you and called, “You know, I keep expecting another surprise—like you revealing a hidden talent or something.”

“Oh, please! Not all of us are as talented as you,” you laughed, rolling your eyes dramatically. “What would I even showcase?”

“Juggling? Singing? Interpretive dance?” he teased, showing his cheeky side as he approached, Chase still at his heels.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you said, leaning into him playfully.

As the night continued with games and heartfelt conversations, you couldn’t shake off the feeling of pure bliss. In the moment, with Chase happily rolling around at Lando’s feet while laughter floated through the room, the pressures of life faded into the background.

Here, surrounded by friends and love, everything felt perfect.

As you nestled up next to Lando later that evening, sharing your warm spot on the couch with Chase snuggled between you both, you realized that just like the candles on the cake, these moments were to be cherished—light against the darkness, warmth against the cold.

“Happy birthday, Lando,” you whispered, leaning closer.

“Happy birthday, indeed,” he replied, his smile contagious.

All could be perfect birthdays that lead to unforgettable memories, yet this one would stay forever etched in your heart—a night of laughter, love, and your little family: you, Lando, and Chase. . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

[v6quewrlds]

❝ goodies, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: ja'marr is a lot of things, subtle is not one of them. when he drops the bomb of joe's no nut november pact, it's only fair you make it as difficult for him to stick to it as possible, right?

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: the idea that started this entire nnn series lol lsu joe 😵‍💫. day six of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, arkansas slander, reader is a menace, sexting, dick pic, unprotected sex, mention of the pull-out method, handjob.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: lsu!joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.2k.

Your living room buzzed with the chatter of friends and the distant sounds of a video game battle royale. You leaned into the couch, your elbow digging into the cushion as you listened to Alani and Portia's latest gossip, their laughter echoing off the walls. Across from you, Joe, Ja'Marr, and Justin were huddled around the TV, controllers in hand, immersed in a digital world of basketball glory. The aroma of pizza and the occasional snort of laughter filled the air.

Ja'Marr looked up from the screen and caught your eye, a sly smile spreading across his face. "So, Joe," he said, pausing the game, "How's No Nut November treating you?"

Joe's thumbs hovered over his controller, his eyes flicking over to you before returning to the screen. "It's fine, man. No big deal."

But your ears had perked up at the mention of the infamous challenge. You felt your eyebrows furrow in reaction to Joe's participation in something so ludicrous. "No Nut November?" you echoed, your voice laced with disbelief.

Ja'Marr chuckled, leaning back into the couch. "Yeah, Joe suggested we do it this season. You know, build up that testosterone for the big games."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, so you're telling me that if I showed up at your place, begging you to fuck me, you’d turn me down?” You challenged, your voice a blend of playfulness and disbelief.

Joe, ever the poker face, barely glanced away from the TV. "Well, you're not begging," he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And it's not just about saying no. It's about self-discipline."

You rolled your eyes and whispered to Alani and Portia, "Can you believe this?" The three of you stifled your laughter, exchanging knowing glances.

"Hold up," Portia said, leaning towards you, "If Joe's really into this 'No Nut November' shit, maybe we can make a bet of our own."

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, like how much you think it'll take for him to crack?"

Your competitive spirit ignited. "I bet he won't make it through the week."

Alani and Portia's giggles grew louder, their eyes gleaming with excitement. "Okay," Alani drawled out as she thought for a moment. "We'll bet on it. If you can get Joe to break before the week is over, we'll buy your drinks for the rest of the month. But if he makes it, you're cleaning the apartment for the month."

Your mouth twitched with a smirk. "You're on," you said, tossing your hair over your shoulder. You knew Joe's resolve was iron-clad, but you had a few tricks up your sleeve.

"Are you seriously betting on my bet? That's cold, babe," Joe called out from the couch without taking his eyes off the TV, a hint of amusement in his voice. You stuck your tongue out at him before turning to your friends, your eyes gleaming with determination. "Game on," you said, raising your hand for a high five.

-

The week began with a series of subtle teases from you. You would strut into the room wearing nothing but Joe's oversized t-shirts, your bare legs leaving little to the imagination. You would bake his favorite cookies, their warm, sweet scent wafting through the apartment when he'd stop by to see you. You would casually drop sexually charged innuendos into typical conversations, watching Joe's reactions with a devilish glint in your eye.

But Joe remained unfazed, his resolve stronger than ever. Each day, he'd give you a knowing smile and say, "Good luck with that," before retreating back to his phone or his laptop. The tension grew thicker than the smell of those freshly baked cookies, and the conversations between the two of you were more heated than the Baton Rouge summer humidity.

One evening, as the week dragged on, you sat on the couch with Joe, your legs thrown over his lap, watching the latest episode of your favorite TV drama. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his muscular thighs tense beneath you. The room was dimly lit by the flickering TV screen, casting a warm glow on your faces. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his neck, whispering sweet promises and nibbling on his ear. His grip on your thigh tightened, and you knew you had his full attention.

"Come on, Joe," you purred, your voice dripping with seductive challenge. "You can't tell me you're not feeling it."

Joe's jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the TV. "Babe, I'm serious. This is a commitment I made. And I'm not losing."

Your smile grew wider, your eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, I know you're serious," you whispered, your hand sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. "But I'm just saying, you've got to be close to the edge by now."

Joe's eyes darted to yours, a spark of annoyance mixed with lust. "I can handle it," he said firmly, his voice strained.

The days turned into a dance of temptation and denial. You upped your game, slipping into his apartment while he studied, dressed in his favorite set underneath an oversized hoodie, your moisturized skin glowing in the soft lamplight. You would whisper dirty thoughts in his ear, your breath tickling his skin, your fingers tracing the waistband of his sweatpants, feeling the growing bulge beneath. Each time, Joe would push you away with a gruff laugh, calling you relentless.

But you were more determined than ever. You knew Joe's weaknesses, the way he liked his kisses—needy, all tongue as you moaned into each other's mouths—and the way his eyes would glaze over when you touched him just right.

-

One evening, you decided to bring in the big guns. As you sat side by side in your bedroom, you leaned over and whispered, "Babe, I need you to help me with something."

Joe looked up from his laptop, his blue eyes piercing through the darkness. "What's up?"

You bit your bottom lip, your heart racing. "I can't focus on my homework," you whined, your voice low and seductive. "I'm just too distracted."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "What do you need my help with?"

You leaned closer, your hand sliding onto his thigh. "Well, you know what usually helps me focus..." You trailed off, your eyes flicking down to his crotch before meeting his gaze again.

Joe sighed, setting his laptop aside. "You're not playing fair," he said, though the smirk on his face betrayed the seriousness of his words. You giggled as you shrugged playfully. "But I need you, Joe. I really do."

The air grew thick with tension as Joe contemplated his options. He knew he was close to breaking, and your touch was making it increasingly difficult to hold out. You slid your hand up to his waistband, your thumb brushing against the bulge that had formed in his shorts. His breath hitched, his resolve wavering like a candle in a storm.

"Babe, I can't. You know the rules," Joe murmured, trying to ignore the heat building in his pants. But you weren't one to back down easily. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "Please, Joe. Just a little bit," you begged, your voice a seductive purr.

Joe's hand shot up, gripping the back of your neck firmly, his eyes flashing with desire. "Babe, you're going to be the death of me," he groaned.

Your grin grew even wider, your brown eyes sparkling with mischief. You sat up, straddling him, your hips pressing into his lap. "Is that a yes?"

Joe's gaze drifted down to your full lips before he pushed you away, a little too roughly, his breathing ragged. "Nope. Not happening," he said, his voice finding its gruff firmness.

You pouted, your eyes glinting with determination. "Come on, Joe, I'm begging," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and desperation.

Joe leaned back, his hand still on the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. "You know I can't," he said, his voice strained.

You leaned in, your breasts brushing against his chest. "But baby, I'm horny," you whined, your voice dripping with exaggerated need.

Joe's eyes narrowed, and he chuckled. "You're always horny."

You rolled your eyes as you shifted away from the bed, Joe's smug grin following you. "Fine," you said, pouting. "But you know this isn't over."

Joe chuckled, standing up and stretching. "I'll make it up to you after the month's over," he promised, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

-

By Friday night, you were more than ready to throw in the towel on your little bet. Joe would be playing against Arkansas Saturday night, and you knew he would practically be MIA most of the day. Sitting in the living room of your apartment, you had all but accepted defeat.

"You know what," you said to Alani and Portia, "I think I'm gonna lose."

Your friends exchanged knowing glances, their smiles smug. "You can't give up now," Alani said, nibbling on a slice of pizza. "You're so close to breaking him."

Portia nodded in agreement, her eyes glued to the TV. "Besides, the game's tomorrow. They're playing an SEC rival tomorrow, he might get caught up in the adrenaline and forget all about the challenge."

You scoffed. "Yeah, because Joe Burrow—Joe Cool if you will—is just gonna forget about his sacred 'No Nut November' because they beat Arkansas... a trash SEC team." But deep down, you knew they had a point. The pressure was on, and you had one last shot to win the bet.

That night, as the clock ticked closer to midnight, you lay on the couch, scrolling through your phone. Your mind was unable to focus on the trash reality show that had become a Friday night tradition for the three roommates. Alani and Portia were sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by snack wrappers and empty soda cans, their laughter bouncing off the walls.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you looked down to see a text from Joe. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message.

You're home, right?

You responded, playing it cool.

Yeah, why?

Good.

Came his curt reply, followed by a photo that made you gasp. It was a picture of Joe's covered but visibly erect length, straining against the fabric of his shorts. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight, your pulse quickening.

Your boyfriend had never been one to send many pictures of himself, let alone pictures that bordered on nudes. You felt a thrill of victory run through you as you realized Joe was finally cracking under the pressure.

You texted back, your thumbs flying over the screen.

Oh, is that for me?

Joe's response was swift.

Yeah, it is. Fuck No Nut November.

The words sent a jolt of excitement through your body. You looked over at your roommates, who were now watching you with confused expressions.

"Joe just sent me a dick pic," you sang, rising to your feet, the excitement in your voice palpable.

Alani and Portia's laughter abruptly cut off, their eyes snapping to you in disbelief. "Wait, what?" Alani squealed, reaching for your phone. You dodged her hand, holding the device away with a grin.

Your phone pinged again with another incoming text from Joe.

Open the door.

Your eyes gleamed with victory as you strutted over to the door, your hips swaying with confidence. You threw it open to reveal Joe standing in the hallway, his expression a mix of frustration and need. He stepped into the apartment without saying a word, his eyes locked onto yours.

Your boyfriend was a beautiful man. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, clocking in well over 6 feet tall, with a gorgeous smile. But as he towered over you in the doorway, visibly frustrated with pink brushes of color over the bridge of his nose and the apples of his Louisiana sun-tanned cheeks, you couldn't help but feel as if he'd never been more beautiful.

"You told them?" Joe's voice was a mix of annoyance and amusement as he stepped into the apartment, closing the door firmly behind him, hand already reaching for the flesh of your hip. You nodded, unable to suppress the wide grin on your face.

"You sent me a dick pic, Joseph Burrow," you said with a smirk, leaning into his broad frame. The sight of him standing there, looking so flustered and needy, had your heart racing.

Joe rolled his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening. "I know," he said, his voice gruff. "I’ll get you guys your 20 bucks in a minute. Right now, I’ve got something more important to handle."

With that, he scooped you into his arms, his eyes dark with desire. You squealed with surprise, your friends’ laughter trailing behind the two of you as Joe carried you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut.

Alani and Portia giggled, retreating to the front door to give you two space. "Take all the time you need, we’ll find somewhere else to spend the night. Just don’t break the bed!" Alani called out as she closed the door behind her, leaving you and Joe alone in the apartment.

The room was bathed in a soft moonlight, the only sound was the rustling of your clothes as Joe laid you on the bed. He hovered over you, his gaze intense as he reached for the hem of your shirt. Your heart thundered in your chest as you watched Joe's strong, calloused hands peel away the layers of fabric, revealing your bare skin. His touch was like fire, leaving trails of heat wherever he went.

"So, Mr. Self-discipline," you smirked up at Joe as he hovered above you, the bed creaking under your combined weight, "What lesson have we learned this week?"

Joe's eyes narrowed in mock anger as he grabbed the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down. "The only lesson I've learned is that you're a distraction," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Your laughter turned into a breathy moan as Joe's mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking as he worked his way down your body. His hands skimmed over your curves, igniting a trail of pleasure that made your toes curl. You felt his erection press against your thigh, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"I think we've both learned some things," you whispered, arching your back as Joe's teeth grazed your collarbone. His hands moved your hair away from your face to trail his kisses down to the valley between your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you couldn't help but whimper. "But the most important one is that I always win," you said, your voice filled with triumph.

Joe chuckled darkly, his eyes meeting yours as he peeled your panties away from your skin. "We'll see about that," he murmured, his voice a mix of challenge and lust. He held back a groan of appreciation as he took in the sight of your bare pussy, already glistening with need.

Your hands found the bottom of his shirt, tugging at the fabric until it was over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest. You traced the lines of his obliques with your fingertips, feeling his muscles tighten beneath your touch. Joe leaned down to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth with the same urgency that was building between your thighs.

He broke the kiss to pull his shorts off, his erection springing free, standing tall and proud. You licked your lips as you took in the sight of him, feeling a fresh wave of arousal wash over you.

Joe leaned over you, his breath warm and minty as he whispered, "You're so needy, baby. Couldn't go a week without me, huh?" You felt a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you didn't deny it. Your body was begging for his touch, your pussy throbbing with anticipation.

You smiled into the kiss he pressed to your lips. "Not as much as you, clearly."

Joe's smirk grew into a grin as he hovered above you, his cock standing proudly at attention. "Clearly," he murmured, his hand moving down to stroke your thigh, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner leg.

Your eyes fluttered closed as Joe's touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing the edge of your pussy. You were already wet for him, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. "You're so fucking beautiful, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need.

"Show me how much you've missed me, Joey," you urged, your voice breathy.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes a stormy sea of blue. Then, with a curse, he gave in, pushing inside you with one swift stroke that made you arch off the bed with pleasure. Your nails dug into the sheets, your body stretching to accommodate his size. He was thick, and you felt every inch of him, filling you completely.

"Fuck," Joe groaned, burying his face in your neck. His hips began to move, setting a rhythm that had your toes curling and your legs shaking. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. The friction was exquisite, and you knew it wouldn't be long before you both started spiraling towards your climaxes.

Your hands trailed up from his back into the strands of his hair, his hips beginning to set a relentless pace that sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you. You could feel the tension in his body, the desperation that mirrored your own. You moaned his name, urging him on, your breath coming in pants that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Jesus, babe," Joe grunted, his movements growing more erratic as he continued working you both to your orgasms. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, his hand reached down to draw your thigh to rest against his waist. His fingers squeezed at the soft, supple flesh until you knew you'd have bruises in the morning.

But you didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of him inside you and the way he filled you so completely.

Your moans grew louder, filling the room as you gave in to the pleasure that had been denied for too long. You felt his muscles tense, his grip on your thigh tighten, and knew he was close to losing his battle against the bet.

"You're gonna break, baby," you whispered, your voice a seductive purr. "You're gonna lose the challenge."

Joe's eyes snapped to yours, a challenge gleaming in your depths. "Don't you fucking start with that shit right now," he growled, his breathing ragged despite the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

Joe groaned, the sound of pure agony and pleasure as he fought the urge to come too quickly. Your eyes glittered with excitement, your heart racing as you watched him struggle. But you weren't about to let him win.

He had hell to pay for making you wait.

You slid your hand down between your bodies, your fingertips circling your clit as Joe's cock hit just the right spot inside you. The combination was electric, and you could feel the beginnings of your orgasm building.

Your laugh was breathless, a sweet sound that seemed to push him closer to the edge. You sat up, your breasts bouncing with the movement, and kissed him deeply, your tongue dancing with his.

Joe’s eyes rolled back into his head, a low groan escaping his throat. He could feel his self-control slipping away, the pressure building to a crescendo that he hadn’t felt in weeks. He knew he was going to lose this bet, but he also knew it was going to be more than worth it.

"Let me know when you need to pull out." your voice seemed to curl around him, your eyes gleaming with mischief as you watched Joe’s face contort with pleasure.

"Fuck off, you’re enjoying this way too much," Joe murmured, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold back. "You're on the pill, remember?" He continued, his voice strained as he pushed into you deeper.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you nodded, your hands running over his back. "Mmhmm," you hummed, your hips rocking into his. "But I'm not ready to bring a little light-skinned baby into this world."

Joe groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. "Goddamn, babe," he warned, his voice strained. "Can't say shit like that when I'm about three seconds away from making it a reality."

"Pull out, dummy," you laughed, knowing he just wanted to prolong the inevitable.

He pulled out with a gasp, his cock glistening with your arousal. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, your body begging for more. But you knew the game was still on.

He hissed out a strained, "Fuck," and your eyes widened as you watched Joe’s hand wrap around his throbbing cock, the veins bulging with the painful pulse of his ruined orgasm. The sight of his angry, red tip was almost too much for you to handle, but you bit your lip, keeping your own desire in check. He leaned over the side of the bed, reaching to pull out a condom from the stash in the nightstand.

With trembling fingers, he tore the packet open and rolled it over his erection. The anticipation was killing you, and you could feel your pussy clenching, begging for him to fill you up again.

"Get on top," Joe ordered, his voice gruff with need. You didn’t miss a beat, straddling him and sliding back onto his cock with a moan that seemed to resonate through your very bones. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Your hands braced on his chest, you began to move, your hips rolling in a sensual dance that had Joe’s eyes crossing with pleasure. The head of his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust, and you could feel your orgasm building again. You threw your head back, your hair cascading down your back like a waterfall of chocolate silk.

The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. Your breath grew ragged as you worked yourself closer to the edge, your eyes crafting a hazy image of Joe in his bliss. You could see the need in his gaze, the desire that was just barely being contained.

Joe’s hands roamed over your body, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples until they were pebbled and sensitive. He rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers, a smug smile playing on his lips as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kissed him again, your tongue delving into his mouth with a hunger that matched his. You could feel Joe’s body tensing beneath you, his muscles straining as he held back his release. You broke the kiss, panting, your eyes locked on his.

"You’re so fucking beautiful, baby," Joe murmured against your neck as your hips rolled faster, your breaths coming in pants. He could feel the tightness of your pussy clamping down around him, your walls fluttering with the beginnings of your climax. His own release was barreling towards him like a freight train, the pressure in his balls becoming almost painful.

"Pain in my ass, but so fucking beautiful. "Joe’s voice was a gruff whisper in your ear as his hands moved to your ass, urging you to ride him harder.

You laughed wholeheartedly, a sweet sound that seemed to push Joe closer to the edge. You leaned back, your hands on his thighs, and increased your pace, feeling him swell inside you with every thrust. The sight of you bouncing on him, your pussy clenching around his cock, and your breasts engaged in their own mesmerizing dance, was almost too much.

"Don’t hold back, Joey, I can take it," you teased, your voice thick with lust as you continued to ride him with wild abandon.

Joe's eyes rolled back, and a guttural groan escaped his lips. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, pushing you to the brink of his own release. The tension in the room was palpable, an intense mix of desire and competition that seemed to fuel your passion even further.

You threw your head back, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you felt Joe's cock swell even more. You knew he was close, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

"Do it," you breathed out, your voice a command. "Come for me, baby."

Joe nodded frantically, eyes closing. Then with a whimper, he let go, his hot seed spilling into the condom. Your own orgasm crashed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. You remained like that for a few moments, your bodies entwined, breathing heavily as you both came down from your shared highs.

You collapsed onto Joe's chest, your heart racing. You felt his chest heave with his breaths, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of victory. You had won the bet, and more importantly, you had Joe's full attention again. You kissed him softly, your hand stroking his sweaty hair.

After a moment, you pulled back, your eyes twinkling with triumph. "How are you gonna explain this to Ja’Marr and Justin?" You asked, a smug smile playing on your lips.

Joe rolled his eyes, a grin spreading across his face despite his defeat. "I'll think of something. Maybe I'll say you’re a witch with magical pussy powers," he quipped, earning a playful smack from you.

"Asshole," you said with affection, snuggling into him. "You’re so gross."

Joe chuckled, his arms tightening around you. "But you love me anyway."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a sweet echo in the quiet room. "Unfortunately, I do."

The two of you lay together, basking in the aftermath of your passionate encounter, the only sound was your mingled breaths and the distant murmur of Baton Rouge outside. Joe separated from your warmth briefly to get rid of the soiled condom. You could feel his dick pulsing gently as it rested against your thigh, the reminder of his release. It was a feeling you hadn't felt in a while, and it brought a sense of contentment that you hadn't realized you had been missing.

Finally, Joe spoke up, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "You know, I should be mad at you."

You pulled back slightly, your smile fading into a look of concern. "Mad? Why?"

Joe sighed, his grip on you loosening. "Because you didn’t even give me a chance to win. You played dirty."

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "But you love it when I play dirty." You wiggled your hips, feeling him harden against your thigh once more.

Joe groaned, his grip tightening again. "You're going to be the death of me," he said, though his voice held a playful lilt.

You giggled, leaning in for another kiss. "But what a way to go," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

Joe's chuckle was strained, his body still humming with the aftershocks of his orgasm. "True," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as your kisses turned gentle, exploring his jaw and neck.

Your fingertips trailed over his chest, tracing the muscles that had flexed so beautifully under your touch just moments before. Slowly they trailed down to his semi-hard cock, which twitched at the contact. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, your nails scraping lightly over the sensitive skin.

Joe groaned, his smile growing wicked. "You're not helping." A large hand dipped down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it lightly. You giggled, the sound spurring his already raging libido.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him with the same skill that had driven him to distraction the entire week. "What if I don't want to help?" you whispered, your eyes full of challenge.

Joe's eyes snapped open, his smirk turning predatory. "You're playing a dangerous game, babe." But the twitch in his cock told you he enjoyed it.

Your hand stroked him more firmly now, your thumb circling the sensitive head. "Isn't that what you love about me?" you purred, feeling the beginnings of his arousal building again.

Joe groaned, his eyes closing briefly as he fought the urge to let go again. "You're a menace," he murmured, his voice a mix of pleasure and exasperation.

"And you love it," you whispered, leaning down to kiss him again. Your hand never stopped moving, your touch growing more insistent as you felt him swell beneath you.

Joe’s eyes snapped open, a smoldering look in their depths. "Maybe," he conceded, his voice thick with lust.

Your smirk grew into a full-blown smile, your hand picking up the pace. The feel of him in your hand was intoxicating, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him. "Maybe?" you teased, your voice rising in mock innocence.

"Fine, I love it," Joe groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your strokes. "But you're going to pay for this."

With a flourish, Joe eased away from your hand and flipped you both over. You found yourself pinned beneath him, his eyes dark with desire. He reached over into the nightstand, grabbing another condom to replace the discarded one sitting in the small trashcan beside the bed.

"Oh, really?" you challenged, your voice laced with excitement. "And what do you plan to do to me?"

Joe's eyes glinted in the moonlight as he leaned over you, his teeth grazing your neck. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight," he murmured, his cock nudging against your entrance.

Your eyes widened with excitement, your pussy already slick with anticipation. "Is that a promise?" you whispered, your voice breathless.

"You bet your sweet ass it is," Joe said, his voice a low growl as he pushed into you again. Your walls clenched around him, and he had to bite back a moan at the feeling. He’d missed this, missed you, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass without making it count.

He began to move, slow and deep, watching as your eyes glazed over with pleasure. Your nails dug into his back, leaving half-moons on his skin. Your moans grew louder with every stroke, and Joe knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all passion and possession, his tongue dancing with yours as your hips met in a rhythm that seemed to be choreographed by fate itself.

The room grew hot, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the faint hint of your perfume. The only light came from the moon, casting a soft glow over your tangled limbs. Your breath grew ragged, your moans turning to whimpers as Joe hit that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You felt your orgasm building again, a wave ready to crash over you at any moment.

But Joe wasn’t done with you yet. His hips picked up speed, his strokes becoming more forceful as he claimed your body once again. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back as you matched his rhythm, urging him deeper. Your nails scored his back, leaving red lines in their wake as the intensity grew.

"Such a greedy girl," Joe murmured against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He could feel you tighten around him, your pussy begging for release. He didn’t plan to give it to you just yet. He wanted to savor the feeling of you beneath him, savor the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

"Couldn’t let me go for a month, huh? Just had to have my cock fuckin' split you open, huh?" Joe grunted, his rhythm becoming erratic as his own release built.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your breathing coming in short gasps. "Y-yes," you managed to whimper out.

Joe’s smirk grew wider, his cock swelling even more inside you. He knew you were close, your pussy clenching around him. He reached between you, his thumb finding your clit, and began to rub it in small circles as he continued to fuck you hard. Your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at him with a mix of pleasure and desperation.

"Joe, I’m gonna—fuck, yes!" Your voice was a breathy whisper, your body trembling with anticipation.

Joe’s own need was palpable, his strokes becoming more urgent as he felt your walls tighten around him. "Come for me, baby. Show me how much I’ve been neglecting you." He growled, his voice a low rumble that made your insides clench.

Your eyes snapped open, meeting Joe’s intense gaze as you felt yourself teeter on the edge. The orgasm built, a crescendo of pleasure that made your toes curl and your body tighten. With a scream, you shattered, your pussy clenching around Joe’s cock in a vice-like grip that had him groaning in ecstasy. He followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you with his hot cum, the feeling of him losing control only adding to your own pleasure.

Your heart raced, your chest heaving with every breath. Joe leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "You win, baby. You always win."

You grinned, your eyes still hazy with passion. "Damn right, I do."

You lay there basking in the afterglow, your bodies sticky with sweat and the scent of sex filling the room. Eventually, Joe rolled off you, his cock slipping out with a wet sound, his cum coating the material of the condom. He disposed of the second soiled condom and then collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving. You couldn’t help but admire the view, his muscles defined and glistening from the exertion.

"Fuck, I needed that," Joe mumbled, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You chuckled, turning onto your side to face him. "You say that every time we fuck, but it’s like you forget how good it is when you go on those stupid bets," you teased, playfully poking his chest.

Joe caught your hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. "Maybe I need the bets to remind me how much I miss this when I’m not getting it," he said, his voice still rough from his orgasm.

Your eyes searched his, and you could see the truth in them. Despite the teasing, you knew he enjoyed the challenge you presented, and the thrill of the chase was just as much a part of your relationship as your intimate moments of passion. You leaned in to kiss him, your lips meeting in a gentle caress that spoke of something deeper than the physical connection you had just shared.

As you two lay there, your hearts slowly returning to a steady beat, your mind raced with the implications of your victory. You had won the bet, but more importantly, you had proven to Joe that you could break through his walls of self-control. It was a dizzy feeling, one that filled you with a newfound sense of power in your relationship.

"So, what do I get for winning?" you asked, your voice still husky from your love-making.

Joe chuckled, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. "What do you want?" he replied, his eyes playfully challenging yours.

You pretended to think for a moment, your hand tracing a line down Joe’s chest. "How about you never make a stupid bet like that again?" you suggested with a cheeky smile.

Joe rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face betrayed his amusement. "Okay, fine, I’ll never do a No Nut November again if you promise to leave my fantasy football league alone," he countered, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently.

Your eyes lit up with mischief. "You’re an NCAA athlete, you shouldn’t be betting in the first place."

"Hey, a guy’s gotta have fun somehow," Joe said with a grin. He kissed you again, his hand resting innocently on your body for the first time that week.

Your smile turned sly. "Well, you definitely had your fun tonight. I’m surprised you have anything left in you after that performance."

Joe’s grin turned wolfish, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. "Oh, don’t you worry, baby. I’ve got plenty more where that came from." His hand trailed down to your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before sliding up to cup your ass. You giggled, squirming against him.

"That’s enough for tonight, Joseph. Maybe if you win tomorrow’s game, I’ll consider it," you teased, playfully swatting his hand away.

Joe’s eyes narrowed, his competitive spirit riled up. "Against Arkansas? Babe, have some faith in me, holy shit," he said, his voice a low rumble as you both laughed. "But when I win, you’re all mine for the weekend. No distractions, no friends, just you and me."

Your pulse quickened at the thought of an uninterrupted weekend of Joe’s undivided attention. "Can't wait," you whispered.

[pandapetals]

Shits and Giggles

You and Logan get drunk together and get caught by Xavier.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

“I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had,” you giggled, waving the half-empty beer bottle in your hand like it was some kind of trophy. The world felt a little off-kilter, the living room spinning just slightly as you leaned against Logan on the couch.

Logan, slouched back with his legs stretched out and another empty bottle at his feet, glanced over at you, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. “Sweetheart,” he slurred, his words tinged with a hiccup, “I think we both gave up on countin' somewhere between… hell, I don’t even know.”

You snorted, dissolving into another fit of laughter that made your shoulders shake. “Between 'hell' and 'I don’t even know,'” you echoed, the absurdity of it striking you as the funniest thing in the world. “That’s gotta be at least… five?”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for another bottle on the coffee table, nearly knocking over a half-eaten bowl of pretzels in the process. “Five? Try ten,” he shot back, popping the cap off with a quick twist of his wrist. “You’re lightweight compared to me.” He took a swig, then glanced sideways at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Remember when you tried to out-drink me that one time?”

You burst into laughter again, nearly spilling your drink. “Oh my God, yes! I thought I could handle whiskey,” you said, still giggling as you shook your head. “And then I ended up singing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' on the pool table.”

Logan snorted, his deep laugh rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, you were ‘Galileo’-ing so hard, I thought you were gonna fall off.” He pointed at you with the neck of his beer bottle, his grin widening. “I’ve never seen anyone get that passionate about Freddie Mercury.”

“Well,” you said, trying to compose yourself but failing as another hiccup escaped, “Freddie Mercury is worth the passion.”

You both dissolved into another round of laughter, so loud that the quiet mansion seemed to echo with it, the kind of laughter that left your sides hurting and tears forming at the corners of your eyes. It felt like the whole world had shrunk down to just the two of you—your private little universe of bad jokes and too many drinks.

Logan wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “We gotta be the loudest drunks in history,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. “Pretty sure we just woke up half the neighborhood.”

“Hey, it’s not our fault the living room has such good acoustics,” you said, hiccuping again, then letting out a laugh that quickly turned into a snort. “Plus, if the mansion was really soundproof like Xavier claims, we’d be fine.”

As if on cue, Xavier wheeled in, looking every bit the stern headmaster despite the lateness of the hour. His brows were raised in a mixture of amusement and disapproval. “And what, may I ask, is the cause of all this ruckus?” he said, his voice calm but carrying that unmistakable tone of authority.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to stifle your laughter. “Professor!” you said, eyes wide as you tried to sit up straighter. “Uh, we were just… um…”

“Studying the effects of… alcohol on… something,” Logan added, attempting to sound serious but breaking into a grin halfway through the sentence. “Purely scientific. For… education.”

Xavier sighed, shaking his head as he looked between the two of you. “At this hour? In the middle of the living room?” His lips quirked slightly like he was fighting the urge to smile. “You do realize there are other people in this mansion who require sleep?”

You bit your lip, trying to look contrite but still giggling. “Sorry, Professor,” you said, though your voice wobbled with barely contained laughter. “We’ll keep it down. Pinky promise.” You held up your little finger as if to seal the deal.

Logan glanced at you, then back at Xavier, and without missing a beat, extended his own pinky in a solemn gesture. “Swear on it,” he said, the grin still tugging at his lips.

Xavier shook his head again, a hint of a smile breaking through his stern expression. “I suppose I’ll let it slide this time,” he said, turning his chair toward the door. “But if I hear another rendition of 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' you’ll be on kitchen duty for the rest of the month.”

As soon as he left the room, you and Logan exchanged a look before breaking into laughter all over again, doubling over as you clinked your bottles together. “Kitchen duty,” you gasped, wiping tears from your eyes. “I can’t even make toast without setting off the smoke alarm.”

Logan’s deep laughter echoed through the room once more as he reached over to pull you closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “Guess that’s one more reason to behave,” he said, his voice still rough with amusement. “But I gotta admit, darlin’, there’s nobody I’d rather get scolded with.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as the laughter finally started to die down, leaving a warm, fuzzy contentment in its wake. “Likewise,” you murmured, your voice softened by the alcohol and the comfort of his warmth. “We really are a bad influence on each other, huh?”

Logan chuckled, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “but I’d say we’re a damn good time.”

[cherrycolored-punk]

take a bite out of these

just an updated list of all of my favorite creators so far! I’m sure there will be plenty more added 🖤

thank you for sharing your talent and your amazing creations!

this is a little long so all recs are below the cut !

can also follow my tag #el’s fic recs

Eddie -

crash + fall by @trashmouth-richie - an ongoing soulmate AU series about my favorite freak that I’m already so very in love with and is written so beautifully.

she fucking hates me by @littlexdeaths - I’m still foaming at the mouth over this bully!Eddie x reader fic. it’s so fucking hot and I don’t think I’ll be over it any time soon (or ever).

after hours by @hellfire--cult - I am fairly new to the omegaverse and holy fuck what an introduction this was. I love a dominate Eddie and oh my god did Roe deliver.

sailor’s delight by @dr-aculaaa - this fic made me YEARN in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Drac is an amazing writer and I just wanna live in this little world they created.

let's go, don't wait by @carolmunson - the fic that has me questioning why none of my online dates have ever been this good. I fucking love this story so much, just wanna live in a world where teacher!Eddie falls in love with.

daylight by @abibliophobiaa - while I tend to stay away from pregnancy!AUs, this one had me hooked. It's cute, sweet, hot. I need a dad!Eddie stat.

twenty-four hours / coffee shop blues by @ghost-proofbaby - ghost is hands down one of my favorite Eddie writers. She writes him in a way that makes me fall in love time and time again. as a bonus, if you're a fan of astarion, she's written the moon will sing (i love you like the sun) which is just as beautifully written as the rest of her works.

the biology tutor by @mrsjellymunson - I binged this in a day, the premise and the smut were so damn hot that I couldn't get enough.

everlong by @andvys - this was my first introduction to andy's work and it has remained a favorite ever since. has so many amazing stories but there's something about a secret relationship behind Steve's back that gets me.

the yes policy / wish you were here by @pinkrelish - the way I lost sleep reading through both of these fics. I love the worlds that Alyson created and the version of Eddie she gifted us with. I've read them over and over again.

to know you’re mine by @blueywrites - I read through this series in a day, losing sleep may I add, because I was that addicted to it. I will admit, at first, I didn’t think it’d be my jam because of the swinger dynamic but holy shit does Bluey make it both tender and hot at the same time. I almost combusted. I seriously couldn’t get enough. She is an amazing writer and I can’t wait to read more of her work.

for your viewing pleasure / shelter from the storm by @rebelfell - the way Sarah has me absolutely on my knees for Eddie every time I read one of her fics…they genuinely leave me UNWELL (in the best way). like for your viewing pleasure? I was a little unsure at first (would I get jealous over a fictional man having relations with other fictional women?) but then I devoured it. it’s so insanely hot and she is one of the best smut writers on here. and shelter from the storm? pllleeeeasseee Eddie show up on my doorstep to check up on me in a storm. Please offer to get me there.

Steve -

we tried the world / she drives me crazy by @upsidedownwithsteve - if there is an author I equate with a character, it's Emmy with Steve. I was a diehard Eddie girl until I read her stories and fell in love with my favorite dork again and again. All her works are seriously a gift that I always return to.

all i really want is you / colors by @loveshotzz - the first author that made me even consider an older!Steve let alone fall in love with him over and over in every way she writes him. I will never be over either of these fics and re-visit them all the time.

we'll call it love by @superblysubpar - I've said before that this is part of my top ten and still is to this day. I revisit it often, falling back into this world. dreaming of this steve. story is so witty, funny and hot while also remaining tender in many moments. Also, simply the best - the title is pretty self-explanatory because the story is already that…simply the best. It’s ongoing but I am already hooked. I love the Spider-Man!Steve AU and Taylor is an amazing writer so I know it’s only going to keep getting better.

asking for a favor by @wroteclassicaly - this struck me right in all the perfect feels and Kristen has a way of doing that. I have a long to be read list but Kristen is all over it. She's an amazing writer and I love all her angst / smut.

Jonathan -

rise and shine by @eiightysixbaby - I hadn’t read a fic for Jonathan before, or really considered it, but man…this fic managed to convert me. Now I need him in the biblical sense.

Billy -

no charge by @hellfire--cult - oh. my. fuck. what a fast conversion this was to a Billy fan. Jaw on the floor, wondering why I don’t have a hot hot hot Billy knocking on my floor to give me the ultimate striptease plus 8 inches extra.

honey honey by @pastel-pillows - speaking of my fast train to a Billy fan, this is the fic that really started it all. He is so sweet in this, and I just ache for a soft Billy since reading this amazing fic.

@boltedfruit

@selineabanto

@xgumiho

@tubesock86

@stervrucht

@toktopus-art

@donttellunclesam

@littleststarfighter

@tellme-astory

@jemmacdraws

@obligatedart

@strangergraphics (graphics / headers / dividers)

@hugdealer (some of my favorites edited photos of Eddie)

@freckledjoes (photos / gifs)

@werewolfnat (formerly kingofscoops)

@djo

@steveharringtondaily

@batty4steddie

@emziess

most, if not all, of these are Eddie coded

you know I can eat you better than he can

getting hate fucked on your crushes bed by his best friend

post campaign pleasure with your dungeon master

your bully finds out you have a crush on him

[funkyt-t]

It always baffles me how Tamsyn Muir writes the locked tomb series as if it's a fanfic. It's such a weird feeling, but I don't in any way mean it as an insult.

When you're reading tlt series there's always this presence of the author that you don't often get on other published books. Like, she'll make in jokes and references as if she's part of the fandom. Right when you're getting immersed in the world she'll pull out a "That's what she said" or "Jail for mother!" and suddenly you remmember that this is a book, with an author, an author really fond of puns and internet memes.

Tamsyn Muir writes like she's writting fanfiction to a small, nieche fandom where all the authors all kinda know eachother, and they've already deviated from canon so much that the stories are their own thing now.

It used to bother me a lot on my first read but now I'm just fascinated by it. It feels like you're reading a work made by a peer. A peer who is really good at writting, but a peer no less.

Maybe it's just that I grew up and have written some stuff myself, and now I can see things I couldn't before. But idk, it just really interests me the way Tamsyn just fucking writes shit like she's just trying to amuse herself or her friends. I came to respect it a lot.

I'm not as good of a writter so there's no conclusion to this really. Just postulating to the void like I'm Palamedes Sextus.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 27 - Just a Shot Away

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Being pointlessly confident and saying that we're going to finish with 31 chapters. See you on the other side of this one! <3

Chapter Title from Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones.

Word Count: 27.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The team drives to DC for a meeting with Singer. Usual warnings, with a little extra violence and gore.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, very big fluff, very big angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 26 - Chapter 28

“Can I drive?”

“There is not a fucking chance in Christ’s blue balls I’m letting you drive, Sunshine.”

She pouted at Ben, propping her chin on his shoulder and being a fucking hazard to Ben’s very good, very safe driving. “Please?”

“No.”

“But-“

“I’m really fucking like my life.” He gave her a side-eyed, flat look as he said Her name. “So no.”

She stuck Her tongue out at him, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat as she muttered under her breath. “You can’t even die, you cockfuck asshole.”

Ben snorted. “You know I can fucking hear you, brat. And you’d figure out a way to kill me, you’re real damn smart like that.” 

“Kiss ass.”

“Only for you, darling.”

She flushed at his wink, thighs pressing together with a small squirm—like She was trying to move Ben’s hand up from where it had found an easy home near her knee—and he’d fucking won. Ben didn’t even try to stop the triumphant grin from crossing his face, because he never fucking won these arguments. They usually ended with Her moaning as Ben fucked her in an attempt to regain some control and dignity after she’d convinced him eat lunch with Her, Hughie, and Annie, or do the laundry, or thank Kimiko for brownies, or read a fucking book. But she wasn’t pushing further, cutting right to watching Ben with lust-blown eyes and a pretty, gaping and slack expression, so he’d fucking won.

“Need me to pull over?” He dragged his hand up Her leg, smirking at her small gasp. “Take care of you on the side of the fucking highway?”

“Fuck you,” She mumbled, grabbing Ben’s hands and turning it over between hers in a way that was somehow lot more fucking distracting than her pout. “Horny old cunt-“

“I can hear your heart,” Ben drawled Her name, twining his fingers into hers. “You want me to fuck you, and I haven’t even done anything-“

“It’s the driving.” She shrugged, but Ben didn’t miss how Her hand tightened in his. “You look hot when you drive.”

He chuckled, glancing over at Her beautiful, fake sulking face. “Driving fucking does it for you? Should I get a car, just to turn you on-“

“Shut up, Benjamin.” She wrinkled Her nose at him. “You get turned on when I’m good with Ryan, Mr. Breeding Kink. I’m allowed to think you’re sexy when you’re driving a car.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I am not going fucking apologize for loving you and wanting fuck you until your full of me-“

“Well then I don’t have to apologize for looking at your hands and muscles when you drive!”

“You have a damn obsession with my hands, Sunshine.” He grinned at Her, lifting her hand up in his to kiss Her knuckles. “I’m starting to think you like them more than my cock.”

“I’m allowed to like multiple things, Pretty Boy. I don’t know if old age is getting to you, but I also said muscles-“

“How about this.” Ben held their hands in Her lap, looking between her pretty, dramatic, perfect fucking fake-scowl and the road he had to not crash on. “After Edgar, I’ll let me give you a blowjob right fucking here, in the car.”

“Oh, you’ll let me give you a blowjob-“

“I wasn’t fucking done, brat.” Ben guided their hands between Her legs, cock twitching in his pants as her thighs squeezed around them. “Then, I’ll finger you all you goddamn want. Use my hands how you like them, make you cum on my fingers. Deal?”

She swallowed. “Deal.”

“Good girl.”

Ben laughed as She hit his arm, half grinding onto him at the same time. “Shut the fuck up-“

“You love it.“ Ben felt that strange, radiant thing burst alight in his body. “You love me.”

“Against all my better judgment,” She sighed. “I really do. Can we go over the plan again?”

He nodded, but there wasn’t really that fucking much to go over. They’d made practically negative progress on what the keys could be for—Frenchie had tried to duplicate them, only to discover it was a magnetic skeleton key, and whatever the fuck that meant had caused Her to let out a long, exhausted sigh—and everyone’s bets on the answer seemed to live in the realm of just fucking praying that it wasn’t another problem for them to deal with. Or, if they were all being real damn honest, for Her to deal with.

“It’s probably not something perishable,” She’d said, everyone gathered in the dining hall and glaring at the keys on the center of the table. “Given how long it sounded like the keys were at Red River.”

“That is why my bet is on a weapon,” Frenchie had nodded along to Her words, looking to Kimiko for agreement. “Right, Mon Coeur? Guns and bomb are not items that perish-“

Kimiko had signed something, and both Her and Frenchie’s faces had fallen.

“It could be that.” She’d muttered, voice raising as She translated for the rest of the team. “Something that is perishable, but Edgar doesn’t care if it perished.” 

“Well, why’d he want you and Soldier Boy to get it now-“ 

She’d shrugged, cutting MM off with a tired, almost bitter look at the keys. “Maybe it’s value isn’t dependent on it being, um-“

“Alive.” Ben had grunted, and She’d swallowed. 

“Yeah. Alive.”

“Or just ripe?” Hughie had offered, voice practically fucking desperate. “It doesn’t have to be living, they could be hiding something from the government like they did V, like food or-“ 

“I ain’t puttin money on Edgar stashin pears,Hughie-“ 

She’d shaken her head. “No, Butcher, Hughie’s actually got a point.”

“I do?”

“No he don’t-“

She’d turned Her eyes up to Butcher and Hughie, tone bored and amused. “Yeah, he does. The keys are to the Cornucopia. In Greco-Roman cultic practices, cornucopias were often depicted with agricultural gods, and copia literally means abundance in Latin-“

Butcher has snapped Her name. “Tell us like we’re fuckin idiots, Love-“ 

Ben had frowned, because he’d been following along just fine. But She was also literally alive inside of him, so he’d either adapted to Her smart talk so well he didn’t get phased by it anymore, or She was physically making Ben more intelligent. He hoped it was the former, because then it could be another testament of his love for Her. How he really fucking listened when She spoke, even if his primary motivation was how fucking hot she could be when she was talking about things she was passionate about. And given that She was somehow passionate about every single fucking thing in the universe, Ben would never make her stop talking or dumb it down for his sake. He got to learn shit, and have a boner that She usually ended up fixing. Everyone fucking won.

He’d almost told Butcher to fucking shove it and let Her speak, but She’d been faster, frowning at Butcher as she’d continued.

“Cornucopias are symbols of Greek and Roman food gods. The word means Horn of Plenty in Latin.” She’d looked back to Hughie with a small smile. “So food isn’t that insane of a guess.”

Despite Her reassurance, nobody had ended up putting money on food. The keys were now a slight weight in the pocket of Her jacket, and they’d agreed upon keeping the V from Edgar. If he asked about it, they’d either playing real fucking stupid and telling him they’d only received the keys, giving him a vial of water She’d put green food dye in, or saying they’d broken them. Ben was pretty damn sure Edgar would buy that last one, because the man seemed convinced their team was made up of complete fucking idiots.

It might be. In the past two days they certainly hadn’t been a bunch of fucking geniuses. Mallory had attempted to brief with them about Singer and potential new avenues for V, and Ben had witnessed some of the worst fucking acting performances of in history. For a group of people whose whole fucking job was murder and espionage, they hadn’t managed to be fully capable of looking Mallory in Her hypothetically compromised face and just goddamn lie. Hughie had been all goddamn sweaty, MM and Butcher just kept grunting and glaring, Annie wouldn’t stop staring, and Frenchie had been talking at a damn near inhuman pace. If it wasn’t for Her and Ben, Mallory would’ve clued in on how they’d all finally fucking realized that She was a bitch and couldn’t be trusted.

“Maybe,” MM had muttered as they’d returned to Jersey, the air in the limo tense and wired. “We could tell, Grace, and she’d side with us. She didn’t seem to be Muller’s biggest fan-“

“No.” She’d shuffled further into Ben’s side, leaning into him with a sigh. “Mallory’s primary allegiance is to democracy. If there’s even a chance Singer might think that she’s just trying to sabotage Muller’s as a VP candidate, she won’t actually help us. And she’s not stupid. She might put together that we’re going after federal V, notice the documents are missing or something, and try to stop us. We can’t risk it.” 

Ben had expected more pushback, but Butcher, of all goddamn people, had taken her side.

“She’s right, Mate.” He’d looked at them through the rear-view mirror, a sour and tight-lipped expression on his face. “We ain’t able to take big gambles on anything right now. What Grace don’t know ain’t gonna hurt her, so she’ll be stayin in the dark on this one.”

And that was the fucking plan. Keep Mallory in the dark about the leak, let Her and Ben get the keys to Edgar, and meet the team in Boston for the V. Then they’d fucking kill Homelander—no loose ends for him to know it’s coming, Annie had even bought Her a private, non-CIA funded phones—and deal with the mess it left when the pussy was a million goddamn feet under. 

The mess that included those two original formula V’s, one being kept wherever the fuck Butcher kept things, and one in Ben’s jacket.

They’d agreed not to give it Edgar. There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell they were giving that V to Edgar. When this was over, they’d likely just fucking flush it down the toilet.

But they hadn’t. And Ben had looked at it in Her underwear drawer before they left, and decided that there was no goddamn way he was just leaving it here. In the FBSA Headquarters, where Mallory could just walk into their apartment with her seemingly unlimited jurisdiction and find it.

And he’d forgotten to tell Her. It was really just fucking occurring to him now, as She outlined what to do if Edgar asked them for the V, that it was something She’d probably want to know about. This seemed like the type of shit he’d get yelled at for keeping from Her, even if it wasn’t at all on purpose.

He grunted Her name before he could forget again, and She cut off her own lecture, frowning at him.

“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something, and you’re not allowed to lose your damn mind about it.”

Her tone raised into a slight warning. “Ben-“

“It’s not fucking bad,” he muttered, risking a look at Her expression. She mostly just looked concerned, and it was a lot fucking worse, so Ben had to just say it. Lock his eyes back on the road and just goddamn tell Her. “I brought the V.”

There was silence for a second, and when Ben looked back, She was only blinking. Her head had tilted slightly, and her fingers were trying to tap in Ben’s hold, but her heart was natural and even, so she wasn’t mad.

“Okay.” She sighed, leaning Her head back in her seat and squeezing Ben’s hand. “I mean, it’s not ideal, but I’d rather have it with you than leave it at the compound. Next time tell me before we leave,” She whacked his arm lightly. “But I can work with it.”

Ben nodded slowly, and muttered, “you’d rather have it-“

“With you.” She repeated herself, and Ben could hear the smile in Her voice. “I trust you, Pretty Boy. And you’re even safer than an underwear drawer. You can yell at people, and hit them into a wall if they try to take things from you. You’re very dramatic, Benjamin. It’s one of your best qualities.”

He snorted, running his thumb over the skin of Her hand. “Brat.”

“Cunt. I need to pee.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me that-“ 

“Because you,” She nudged his shoulder, and Ben turned to see that pretty pout on her lips. “Won’t let me fucking drive, and I am not peeing in the woods, so you need to get me to a gas station.”

He rolled his eyes, but grunted for Her to find one on the map and listened to her directions, parking and turning to watch Her move at his side. 

“I’ll be back,” She smiled at him, fumbling with her seat belt. “Put some gas in the car while I’m gone, we’re low.”

Ben scowled. “No, we’re not-“

“Yes,” She leaned over him, pointing to a small, flashing light on the dashboard. “We are.” 

“That means Butcher’s low on washer fluid-“ 

“Nope. Gas.” She turned to grin at him, their faces barely a fucking inch apart. “Old man-“

Ben tangled his hand in Her hair, pulling her into a long, soft kiss. Shut the fuck up, Sunshine, I am not goddamn old- 

You’re so old. She let out a happy sigh into his mouth, pulling back to meet his gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.” He kissed Her cheek, and her eyes on his were so fucking full of adoration and want it might kill him. “Go piss. Be fast.”

“I always am. Fill up the gas, please.” 

“With what damn money-“

“Butcher gave me a hundred to use on gas and whatever fuckin lube you and the old cunt need, as a gift.” 

“Jokes on that pussy, we don’t need lube.” Ben winked at Her. “You get plenty fucking wet for me, all by your damn self.” 

“Fuck you-“ 

“If you insist-“ 

She bumped his nose with Hers, brushing hair out of his eyes. “After I pee, Benjamin, my love, you can fuck me all you want. But only after you let go of me, so I can pee.” 

Ben grunted, releasing where he’d subconsciously grabbed Her waist, but holding onto the sound of Her heartbeat as she climbed out of the car. She’d passed him the money from Her jacket, and now Ben had to fill up the gas tank, because Her saying Benjamin, my love, was some sort of goddamn override to his brain that made body move to Her will more than his. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have gotten Her gas—She’d asked him for something, and Ben would be damned if she didn’t fucking get it—but he might have pushed for them to go somewhere else if she hadn’t added that one fucking phrase.

But now he had to get gas here. At this backwater fucking washed up parking lot, with a pump that might have been installed before Ben was even taken to Russia. This whole fucking place was disgusting, even by the real damn low standards of gas stations in upstate New York. Ben wasn’t even sure it was genuine establishment and not an abandoned building that some hicks has started selling dogshit coffee and stale candy bars at. If this was Ben’s car, which it fortunately wasn’t, he’d probably have flat out fucking refused to put their alleged “gas” in the engine. They were selling it for a million damn dollars—She’d explained the rapid increase of cost of living and inflation to him several times, but $4.50 for gas had to be a crime—and if he wasn’t able to lean against Butcher’s car and keep a very careful eye on every single pussy moving around the lot while she took a piss, he would’ve damned it and gone into the bathroom with Her, just to make sure she was safe.

But She probably would’ve killed him for hovering, and it wasn’t like Ben couldn’t feel Her—easy and content and humming a soft, natural song—everywhere his head, or hear her heartbeat slightly muffled, but steady, across the parking lot. And it was just them, three truckers, the store workers, and a family on some sort of weird fucking road trip at the station overall, so things would be fine. And if they weren’t, Ben had a fucking gun. They were going right to Boston after this shit, so even though he wasn’t allowed to bring his suit, Ben had dropped his shield in the trunk of Butcher’s car and packed one of the gun ranges better pistols in his pants, along with the one Butcher had given him when She’d return in his pants. So if that bouncy fucking five-year-old tried anything, Ben would be ready.

The five-year-old wouldn’t try anything. It was a little girl, rolling in the grass like a damn dog, giggling to herself as her mother watched her with a tired, joyful smile, and neither of them seemed to be plotting anything. A man joined them with a slightly smaller boy, passing the woman a coffee with a kiss as the boy half-tackled the girl, and something Ben fucking became radiant and soft and aching and hungry in his chest and head and gut.

He’d never fucking gotten that. Ben couldn’t ever remember being that carefree as a kid, and he’d certainly never fucking played in the grass, looked up at his father, and gotten a thumbs up and smile of approval. She’d never had it either. Ben would place real good money that Her parents had never watched her with content, easy expressions, and then shared low laughs with each other about a joke Ben could fucking hear, and wasn’t that damn funny. Those assholes across the parking lot seemed to think it was fucking hilarious, leaning on each other and watching each other with expressions that would’ve made Ben scoff and make a face of like he’d smelled something foul forty years ago.

He wouldn’t now. He hadn’t gotten that before either—real, raw, powerful fucking love—but Ben fucking got it now. That together didn’t just mean at someone’s side most days, and in name, with acknowledgments through teeth. Ben had thought the most together had to offer was a show. Someone he didn’t like that much, but could half-tolerate for a few hours, to flash and shine with him so everyone went fuck, they look good. They’re smiling for us, so that’s love.

Ben had been a fucking idiot. Together meant together. It meant at Her side, always matching Her step for step, but a fuck ton more than just a name. Together meant just them, no need to stray and no way out, because Ben didn’t want a way out. He loved Her—he couldn’t stop telling Her, and it almost fell out of Ben like when he exhaled it would always come out as the words, I love you, Sunshine—and together meant Her and Ben, burning at each other’s sides, no matter what every other pussy fucker wanted. And all the best parts of this weren’t for any single camera or crowd, they were for Ben. They were how She looked wearing his shirts and sprawled over his body, a weight he could easily throw off but never wanted to. They were watching TV shows and Movies with Her, and watching her smile in the glow of the screen. They were trading smirks and winks and jokes, and bumping shoulders or walking with Ben half holding Her up as he made dirty promises he’d always keep. They were dancing with Her in the haze of colorful light provided by her beautiful, fucking enchantingvoice, and saying shit like enchanting because that seemed like a word She’d use.

He really fucking got that together wasn’t a performance. Ben liked Her—She was fucking hilarious and mean and smart and perfect—and when he smiled it was for Her. Not a single other pussy fucker mattered when Ben smiled at Her, because it was something that he couldn’t help, and acted as another piece of evidence that Ben loved Her. Further proof that she’d never have to be afraid of anything again, because Ben would keep her safe, and she’d never have to want for anything because Ben would find whatever she asked for.

So Ben couldn’t scowl at the man across the lot, half-hanging over his wife, because Ben knew that he probably looked that fucking stupid when he looked at Her. But anyone would look that stupid if they got to love Her. If She’d turned them into a fucking pussy who thought about things like would they take stupid road trips? They could. After this was over, She and Ben could do whatever the fuck they wanted. Ben’s whole goddamn brain had been turned into a place to figure out what else would She want. A road trip probably wasn’t the best idea, if Ben wanted to keep his sanity. Given how frequent and intense their sex was, they’d have to pull over two or three times a day and Ben was never going to fuck his wife in a flea-ridden, stiff mattressed, peeling-paint motel room. He could—Ben could fuck Her anywhere—but She deserved all the comfort the world had to offer.

She’d want to see beautiful things. Not have them, but see them. Ben would need to take Her to places that held half the beauty she had in Her own body and heart and head, just so She could see what he got to look at every goddamn day. Ben needed to show Her things like waterfalls and mountains and oceans, find Her a place where the sun was almost as bright as She was, and he could hold Her just to hold her. A place where there were soft breezes and music and good food and flowers.

There were flowers here. As gross as this place was, there were still flowers. Off the side of the lot, past where the family had been standing and where everything turned overgrown and green, there were light pink flowers.

She was still in the bathroom, and the tank was full, and Ben couldn’t stop staring at the flowers. It was just him and two truckers now—shorter men with baseball caps and slightly tattered clothing—and they were looking over at Ben with weary frowns.

But Ben still just fucking stared at the flowers.

And that was the type of fucking love-sick idiot pussy She’d turned him into. The type that stomped across the parking lot, glaring daggers at the other men in a silent dare to say something—because Ben would throw them right through their stupid trucks and not break a sweat—and grabbed some flowers out of the ground for his wife.

She’d like them. She’d get pretty, wide eyes and smile at Ben and it wouldn’t matter that he’d just picked flowers like a fucking child, because She’d be happy.

He returned to the car, scowling at where he could still hear Her heartbeat through the walls of the gas station.

You’re not being fucking fast, Sunshine.

There was barely a beat before she responded. Take it up with my asshole, Pretty Boy. I’m shitting.

Are you almost done.

I think? Maybe five or six more minutes. Ben heard Her amusement bounce around his head, and he could fucking hear the smile on her face. Think you’ll make it? 

Shut the fuck up. Ben glared at the flowers, still in his hands. Do you need anything. 

Like what? 

I don’t fucking know, what do gas stations sell now-

Probably the same things they sold in the 80s. Gum, candy, condoms, snack, soda, energy drinks- 

What the fuck is an energy drink.

Like, a Red Bull or a Monster. There was a pause, and then, have you had a Red Bull? 

Bulls aren’t red, they’re brown or some shit-

No, dummy, it’s a brand name. Like Doritos, but caffeine and sugar. Go get a Red Bull, Benjamin.

Ben frowned. Why. 

Because I want to watch you drink it.  

He looked down at the remainder of their money. Are you hungry.

If I say yes, will you buy the Red Bull.  

He grunted Her name between their heads, and Her soft laugh echoed through his mind.

I’ll take whatever else you get.  

What the fuck do you want, Sunshine-

We’ll share. Go get the food and I’ll find you after I’m done.

Ben nodded to no one and put Her flowers in his pocket, taking one last assessing look around the lot—one more person had parked a white van, but that was it—before heading into the gas station convince store.

These things hadn’t fucking changed in the slightest. Still flickering blue, washed-out fluorescent lights, dirty floors and walls, and messily stocked shelves. Ben stalked over to the drink fridges lining the walls, scanning the shelves for whatever the fuck a Red Bull was—figured out it was a silver and blue can, and decided to get the black and green one a few shelves instead on fucking principle alone—and moved on to find Her some food.

The newer man, with the van, had walked into the store, joining Ben and the acrylic-nailed woman behind the counter, and was studying all the sandwiches and donuts near the register like he might actually find one that didn’t taste like fucking shit. Ben decided to go for the snack isle instead, because he could kick the pussy out of his way, but She’d be eating whatever he ate. Ben wasn’t that fucking hungry, and he knew if he tried to just give Her food and not take any himself, she’d go on a strike and refuse to take a bite until he took one as well. That meant he had to figure out something that they’d both eat, but She’d love more, enough to eat most of it without pawning half off to Ben. And Ben would not take a single fucking bite of a Styrofoam, gas station hot dog, so snacks it was.

He grabbed things he recognized. Potato chips and Rice Krispies and Oreos and Pop Tarts, and then a large bag of chocolates he could insist was only for Her, because he had this stupid fucking energy drink for himself. She needed to drink as well, actually, so Ben returned to the drink isle and scowled at the options. Colorful bottles and over-priced water and juices designed for children that Ben wouldn’t be buying his wife- 

Fuck. He kept doing that. Since DC, Ben’s brain had decided to turn against his own interest of waiting and doing it right to just call Her his wife. She would be—he’d fucking kill the proposal, and make every other romantic thing in history look like a World War—but she wasn’t yet. So he needed to get a goddamn hold over himself, grab one of those fancy fucking water bottles, and pay for everything so they could keep going before Ben did something stupid like asking Her to marry him in a parking lot.

He sensed Her before he even realized her heartbeat had moved. An innate feeling of closer, She’s getting closer, good things are getting closer, and then a ring of a high bell as the door opened. Ben had made his way over to the counter—waiting as the cashier scanned everything in the slowest way goddamn possible—and turned to see Her walking over to him with such a perfect fucking look of ease on her face, a small smile pulling at her lips as she assessed his picks.

She opened Her mouth—eyes meeting Ben’s and full of a fucking light and sheer goddamn happiness that made him high—and that pussy fucking van idiot, mouthful of a sandwich he hadn’t damn paid for yet, stepped between them.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here, honey?”

She froze, and Ben felt his hands curl into fists as something started to twist and flail in his gut.

“I, um, I don’t,” She looked over the man’s shoulder to Ben, and he jerked his head to the Van-Pussy.

Do you want me to kill him-

“You up here with anyone? Nah, no way someone would leave you alone if you were, they’d have to be a fucking cuck.” The man laughed to himself, and Ben took a jerked step forward to rip off his goddamn head.

No murder, Benjamin. 

He halted, keeping his attention on Van-Pussy’s every shift and breath. Some small murder can be fucking justified, he’s got it coming-

I’ve got this. If you need to start punching holes in people, I’ll tell you.

Ben was going to break his own fucking teeth, his clenched jaw becoming slightly strained and almost painful, but he gave a small, curt nod. Swear it-

Promise. “I am actually. Here with someone.”

Van-Pussy laughed again, but this laugh was dismissive, like she was stupid. “Please, honey. I don’t see no one-“

She shrugged. “Then turn around.”

Ben coughed to cover his laugh, and Van-Pussy whipped around to meet his glare.

Then the fucking idiot rolled his eyes. “You could do better than him, darling, you’re way too pretty for him. Come with me, and I’ll show you a real good time.”

That was an insane fucking statement. Ben had issues, but he also knew what his face looked like. He might be the only asshole alive who was close to being as attractive as she was. It was another reason he was fucking built to love Her right, because She deserved to fuck and smile and love someone who could hold even a tiny, flickering candle to the massive, consuming and cleansing inferno of life and beauty that she was.

Ben probably would’ve broken Van-Pussy’s face for that statement alone, then his ribs for calling Her darling, and then his knees for how he’d started to reach for Her, but she was a fucking wonder of the universe and moved faster. Side-stepping Van-Pussy in a smooth movement, reaching a hand out for Ben to wrap his own around on instinct, and let Herself be tugged right up to his side, under his arm, where they both goddamn belonged.

“I’m good, thank you.” She gave Van-Pussy’s wide, almost thunder-struck expression a sweet, toxic, toothless smile, and turned herself and Ben around, back to the counter.

Ben kissed the top of Her head as she fully assessed his choices, the cashier somehow not finished scanning. “I can still fucking kill him if you want-“

She cut off his words, muttered in Her ear, with a turn of her head and full, long, kiss. “No murder, Benjamin, my love.” She hummed into his mouth, and pulled away to rest her head on his shoulder, looking back to the food. “No weed, huh?”

He blinked, frowning between Her and the counter. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

���Weed is legal in New York,” She shrugged. “And a lot of gas stations sell it now. It might not be regulated weed, but that doesn’t really matter to you-“

“Are you fucking with me-“

“Nope.” She bumped their shoulders, and turned to the cashier. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you have any cannabis products-“

The cashier looked up at her with a flat, almost dead-eyed stare. “We got joints, $40 for the bag.”

“Can you add that as well-“ 

The woman turned around to the wall of cigarettes and condoms behind the counter, and She smiled up at Ben.

“See? Weed-“

Ben cupped Her chin, holding her still so he could kiss her as deep and rough as he could manage without starting to fuck her on the disgusting floor of the gas station. She was fucking perfect, and amazing, and all Ben’s and fuck he loved Her so goddamn much-

They only broke apart because the cashier cleared her throat, slamming a bag of weed on the counter and looking at Ben expectantly. “Fifty-five bucks.”

Ben paid—his instance that they didn’t need a bag, because he could fucking carry everything without an issue being shot down by Her sharp glare—and guided Her out of the store, back to the car. Ben winked at Van-Pussy as they passed him, because She was his. She’d chosen Ben, and was tucked at his side with a smile and perfect fucking look of happiness on her beautiful face. She knew Ben, and got him weed, and loved him so much that Ben could see it everywhere. In the trash littered around the gas station and smudges of dirt on the windows of Butcher’s car. In the woods surrounding them and the and the sparkles of glass in the parking lot, in the reflection of rainbow in some stray oil pooling out of the pump, and Her smile as they climbed back into the car.

“No weed now,” She glanced up at him as she pulled items out of the plastic bag, a tone of apology in her voice. “Just because we need to go, and can’t afford to be pulled over if a patrol cop sees the driver smoking a joint.” Her eyes lit up, and Ben knew exactly what she was going to say before her mouth even opened. “Or-“

“You are not driving, Sunshine.” Ben drawled, fighting his smile at the pretty wrinkle of Her nose. “Don’t even fucking try to convince me otherwise.”

“Cunt,” She mumbled, tossing the joints into the back of the car. “What do you want first?”

“Whatever you don’t want.” 

She nodded, frowning at the bag. “Chips?”

“I don’t give a fuck-“

The bag of chips was half-chucked at his face, and Ben looked over to see her holding up the green can, her brows raised.

“Benjamin, this is not a Red Bull-“

“It’s the same shit, isn’t it? And it’s green-“

“Holy fuck, Pretty Boy.” She giggled, passing him the drink. “You’re like a toddler who won’t eat chicken nuggets because they’re not shaped like dinosaurs-“

“Shut the fuck up-“

“I think it’s adorable.” She leaned forwards, propping her chin on his shoulder. “And I love you, you old grump. Drink the Monster.”

Ben scowled, glaring down at Her as he popped the can open. “This is dumb as shit-“

“Yeah, it is. Do it, you pussy-“

He kissed Her once, just to turn her words into a soft moan, and pulled back with a smirk. “Brat.”

He took the drink in one gulp, and almost spat it out over Butcher’s dashboard. 

“Fucking Christ, this tastes like ass-“ He glared at Her, head buried against him and absolutely failing to contain her laughter at his suffering. “People drink this shit on purpose-“

She nodded, her grin wide and toothy and unrestrained as she looked up to meet his eyes. “They do, yeah. It’s like dogshit coca cola, but also helps you finish an essay two hours before it’s due. It has its merits.”

“It’s fucking disgusting,” Ben grumbled, slamming the can into the cup holders for Butcher to throw out later, and She giggled again. “You think this is fucking funny-“

“I do.” She pulled herself up, kissing along Ben’s jaw and taking his hand in Hers. “I think this is hilarious.” 

“You’re so fucking mean to me, Sunshine-“

“You love it.”

He rolled his eyes, but squeezed Her hand and only muttered, “I do, you fucking brat.”

“Thank you for trying that for me-“

“Don’t.” Ben sighed, glancing Her as she settled back into her seat, their hands still tangled together. “I got you something.”

“You got me lots of things.” She looked back to the bag, pulling out the chocolate with a smile. “Very good boyfriending, Benjamin.“

The radiant thing coursed through Ben’s whole body, blooming over his ribs and warming his gut. It was damn near impossible to keep frowning—to keep his brow drawn and face neutral—when she was so contagiously happy. Like disease Ben wanted to,fucking needed to catch.

He shoved his hand into his pocket before he could pussy out, and coughed to regain her full attention. “I got you something else, as well.”

A small frown crossed her face as she titled Her head, scanning over Ben’s very fucking serious expression. “What?” 

He pulled the flower out, extending it for Her to take with a stiff arm. He didn’t have any fucking words for it, because it didn’t need words. This flower was for Her. Ben had picked it for Her, and that was all he goddamn knew how to do. Ben knew how to do things for Her, because it was easier than breathing, and that was it, and it would have to speak for itself.

She was gaping between him and the flower, the whole world almost fucking drowning in the feeling of Her—infinite and good and made of fire and life and love and honey and music and something golden Ben didn’t have a name for—and when she reached out with a slightly shaking hand, her voice was soft.

“You got me a flower?”

Ben grunted an agreement, trying to figure out what the fuck Her exact reaction was. Why she sounded so fucking nervous, when She was electric and overflowing inside on Ben’s body.

“Where-“

“Woods.” He muttered, jerking his head in the vague direction of where the family had stood. “There were fuck ton of them-“

“You,” She swallowed, glossy eyes moving to fully onto Ben’s. “You picked it for me?”

“Of course I picked it for you, who the fuck else would I pick it for-“

She practically launched herself out of Her seat, crashing her mouth into Ben’s, and his words died with a groan as she straddled him. She was kissing Ben like she’d fucking die if she didn’t, grinding down onto him with moans of his name and sounds of want that made his cock grow painfully hard. Her hands were tangled in his hair, their bodies molded perfectly together, and fuck she smelled good, felt good, everything about Her was so fucking good-

“I love you,” She whispered, voice slightly unsteady as she pulled back to watch him, and Ben realized he could taste the salt from her tears. She was fucking crying, why the fuck was she crying-

“You-“

“I love you so much, Ben.” She gave him one last, tender and sweet kiss, smiling against his lips. You’re amazing, and I love the flower, and I really fucking love you.

Ben realized—as he chased Her mouth back to his, feeling how every piece of Her was coated in pure fucking joy—that the tears were happy tears. She was so goddamn happy it was making him feel fucking alive—alive in a way that only She knew how to be, where everything was beautiful and had meaning and somehow Ben was still everything to Her—and he couldn’t fight the grin from crossing his face and She settled back into her seat, fully taking the flower from his hand and looking at it like it she looked at him. Adoring and soft, Her whole face relaxed and not an ounce of pain or fear over her perfect features. She looked at the flower like it was a piece of Ben he’d carved out to offer Her, and that made the stupidity of picking his wife a flower feel more than goddamn worth it.

He’d fucking done it again. Not his wife, yet. Ben could, probably, ask right fucking now and get it right, but they were on a time limit. They had an hour left to go before they reached Edgar, and couldn’t afford to use time for Ben to pull her back over him and tell Her to fucking marry me, Sunshine, because I love you and I’ll give you a whole fucking garden if you ask me to. I’ll kiss you stupid on the grass, surrounded by as many flowers as you want, then fuck you stupider until you’re this happy all the goddamn time. I’ll buy you all the damn snacks you need, and drink a million more of those shit fucking cock-drinks if it always makes you giggle. Just fucking marry me, and I’ll love you however you ask for the rest of our lives. Forever. I’ll love you for fucking ever. 

But stupid things like not letting America fall and crumble under Vought and Homelander made Ben have to start the engine and keep moving. His hand had returned to its home on Her thigh as she rambled about every single, pointless, perfect thought that popped into her head. She loved the color pink, and Ben wasn’t allowed to call it stupid or girly, or she’d put pink and blue glitter in his shampoo and then kick him in the balls. She loved flowers as well, and was proud of Ben for not killing Van-Pussy, and he’d somehow managed to grab her favorite Pop Tart flavor. She made him share her water, and threw an Oreo at his face when he grumbled about how he should’ve fucking killed Van-Pussy, and started reaching between his legs to grab chips as she spoke, which didn’t fucking help him focus on the road at all.

Ben had apparently gotten her a rose milkweed, which was a primary attractor of Monarch Butterflies.

“How fuck do you know that-“

“I went to butterfly garden when I was a kid.” She shrugged, still smiling at the flower and twirling it between her fingers. “They had these everywhere.” 

He grunted—of course She’d just have fucking remembered that—and let her continue on a tangent about butterflies and flowers and whatever the fuck else she wanted to talk about. She was distracted from the meeting with Edgar— drawing closer and closer the longer they drove—and Ben got to hear her voice, so he was good. He could glance at her every few minutes and feel his mouth twitch at the eager, bright expression on her face as she spoke, and wonder if She’d want to go to a butterfly garden again. If that would make Her keep smiling like this, if She might tackle him and call him amazing again.

He’d gave to figure that out later. Right now, they were parking in the back lot of Edgar’s prison, and had a fucking job to do. She’d slowly fallen silent as they’d driven through the gate—her hand tapping against Ben’s and teeth visible as she gnawed on her lips—and when the engine turned off, Ben waited. Stay right at Her fucking side, holding and watching her until she took a long, heavy breath and met his eyes.

“The plan-“

“Go in,” Ben grunted. “Give Edgar the keys, but not the V, and clear my debt. Try and get him to tell us what the fuck the keys are for, and let you take the lead if he asks about the V. No talking to anyone but Edgar and MM’s contact, no lingering and fighting if shit goes south. If hell breaks loose, get the fuck out and don’t look back.”

She nodded slowly. “If another guard asks who we are?”

“Let our insider take of it.”

“And if someone recognizes us-“

“They won’t,” Ben grinned, reaching over and dropping Her sunglasses from her brow to her nose. “Because we won’t be around long enough for a single fucking pussy to realize who we are.”

“Do you-“

Ben grabbed the stupid fucking Red Sox cap she’d bought him from the backseat, glowering at Her as he dropped it over his hair. “There is no goddamn reason it had to be Red Sox-“

“The reason is that I think you look very handsome,” an infinite, sharp light danced in Her eyes, and she leaned up to kiss Ben over his beard, holding his jaw with a gentle touch. “When you’re so grumpy about a hat.”

“It’s fucking blue-“

“You’ll live, you massive fucking baby.” She dropped back, giving her own body—wearing her sunglasses, Ben’s green shirt, and a green jacket Annie had gifted to her—a dramatic gesture. “And I’m wearing enough green for both of us. Let’s haul ass Pretty Boy, so we can get it over with.”

Ben scowled, but climbed out of the car, half-running around the car to get her door before She could even fucking think to do it herself.

She smiled up at him—taking Ben’s hand and letting him help her out of her seat—and pressed Her palm to his chest as she gave him one last kiss. Barely a brush, just enough for Ben to have time to wrap his around fully around her waist and hold her face, dragging his thumb over her lips as they separated.

“Such a fucking gentleman.”

She was teasing him, but the words still made Ben’s heart almost pound out of his goddamn chest, made his whole fucking body wrathful and illuminated and fall in time with Her. Her, Her, Her, Ben fucking loved Her, and nothing was could have been better than this, be better than this, be better than them, burning together fucking always.

“Shut up, brat.“ Ben rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore how she could obviously fuck see—and defiantly fucking feel—how everything in his body was made of rough, permanent, immoveable affection and love for Her. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Her hand fisted in Ben’s shirt, her head dropping to take long, steady breaths against him before looking back up, her face set and focused. “Let’s do this.”

MM’s contact was a surly, uptight man who worked for the prison and grunted more than Ben did. He’d looked them up and down, muttered a request for proof of identification—neither of them had that, so She set her hand on fire and Ben snapped the man’s baton in half—and then nodded, gesturing for them to follow him. If he thought it was noteworthy how Ben’s arm was resting on Her hips—held there by her hand over his—the man was smart enough not to say a fucking thing and only lead them long, twisting, empty halls to a steel-doored room, identical to last time.

“He’s in there,” the man—he’d said his name, and Ben hadn’t been fucked to remember it—told them, looking Her and Ben up and down with a frown. “You got an hour before he needs to be back in his cell.”

“Got it,” She was braced at Ben’s side, every word coming out careful and neutral. “Thank you.”

The man just shrugged, moving to stand against the wall and keep guard. “MM wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious as shit, so don’t worry about it.”

She sighed, nodding, and looked back to Ben. I’ve got the keys, is it okay if I do most of the talking-

The talking is your shit, Sunshine. Ben kissed the space between Her eyes, dropping his head until their brows were pressed together and he could study Her pretty, sharp eyes. I’ve got you, but you’re doing the damn talking.

Okay. She took another, grounding breath, and Her heartbeat grew a little more natural before she pulled back, and pushed the door open.

Edgar was indeed waiting for them, handcuffed to a table and humming bland tune that halted as they entered the room.

He said Her name first, eyes not even fucking darting to Ben. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Is it?” She dropped in one of the two metal chairs across from Edgar, pulling Ben with her. “I’d say it’s mediocre at best.”

Edgar huffed a small laugh. “I suppose the circumstances could improve vastly, but at least you have Benjamin.”

Ben got a nod, and before he could snap at Edgar to stop fucking calling him that, She did it for him. 

“Edgar,” She leaned over the table, eyes on Edgar’s a dry, silent threat. “For both our sakes, don’t call him that.”

“Ah.” Edgar hummed Her name. “I never took you for the territorial sort-“ 

“I’m not. But every time you call my Ben Benjamin, you’re in danger of getting your head ripped off, which would be a real bummer for you, and I’m in danger of visualizing things I have no interest in visualizing.” 

“Would I be able to hear an example of such a thing-“ 

“Do you have a guess as to what three times I call him Benjamin the most are?” She barely waited a second for Edgar to think before she continued a lazy, edged smile on her face. “Never mind, I’ll just tell you. When I’m pissed at him, when I’m telling him I love him, and when he’s fucking me. So forgive me if I don’t want to imagine my boyfriend’s cock in your mouth, Stan. I think I’m doing us all a favor with that.”

Ben might have made sour, lip-curled face at the idea of Edgar giving him head if his brain wasn’t spinning around Her calling him her boyfriend again. Husband would sound better. My husband was almost as fucking good as my Ben, and they did very fucking similar things to his whole fucking existence. Reduced everything to Her, a riot and song of Her.

Edgar didn’t have the same thing weighing down his disgust, though, because the pussy just sighed, shaking his head. “Your very disturbing point has been taken. Shall we move to business?”

“What else are we even here for?”

“Indeed.” Edgar looked between them, Ben rigid at Her side and her fingers tapping a quick, unyielding pattern of Moon River on the table. “I trust you managed to fulfill my request without issue?” 

Ben wouldn’t call Red River without issue—between Her having to move around a Vought Facility by herself, Ben being unable to do a single fucking thing but wait and try not to punch Hughie in the throat as he offered attempted words of comfort, and the whole fucking Ashley thing, it was a little damn insane nobody had died—but She nodded, giving Edgar a passive shrug.

“Everyone made it out in one piece. Consider your request,” She reached into her pocket and held up the keys for Edgar to see before tossing them onto the table. “Fulfilled.”

Edgar barely fucking looked at the keys, just enough to acknowledge their presence before returning his gaze to Her. “I’d hazard that you’ve speculated on their nature with your delightful band of misfits?”

“We’d be terrible at our jobs if we didn’t.”

“Most of you are quite awful at your jobs. But you,” Edgar said Her name with a thin-lipped smile. “Seem quite capable. Would you mind sharing with me your conclusions?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Would you tell me if I hit on anything correct?”

“I’d offer one better, and share their home and use with you. All you have to do is tell me what you believe my answer will be.”

She paused, blinking at Edgar, and Ben frowned. They hadn’t expected Edgar to just fucking volunteer that information.

I don’t fucking trust it, Sunshine-

I don’t either. She glances over at him, and Ben could see a little hint of quickly drying blood as she chewed through her lips. But we have to play his game, and get this over with.

“Whenever you care to begin-“

“Fine.” She turned back to Edgar, cutting him off with clipped words. “I think it’s for a house, or some other form of private property.”

A small, snake-like smile played on Edgar’s lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s a skeleton key, but it’s also magnet based, which means it’s meant to unlock multiple, potentially high-security doors. It’s an intricate design, complicated, which means it’s probably not just as house, but all the same it’s yours. Not Vought’s. Vought would’ve sprung for a smart key. You chose not to.”

“Did I?” Edgar hummed, his face and tone still insufferably fucking unreadable. “Perhaps it is simply not that valuable-“

“Wrong. It is.” She poked at the keys on the table with a shrug. “If it’s a house, it’s a house with a name. Only rich assholes name their houses, and only weird cryptic fucks use fancy master keys. It might not be something dangerous, but it’s valuable. Important enough for you to hide.”

“Impressive.” Edgar nodded, his tone sounds almost fucking delighted. “Would you like to hear the real answer?”

She didn’t dignify Edgar’s words with anything but a half-passive shrug, Her eyes on him still sharp and clear.

“They are mine, but you were wrong in saying that they were not Vought’s as well. Before they came into my possession, they were the property of one Dr. Fredrick Vought. I’m sure you’ve heard of his unfortunate history-“

“You mean the Nazi thing?” She said, voice flat. “Yeah, I might have.”

“Do you remember who the Nazi’s were allied with, during Vought’s time within the party?“

“The axis powers were the Third Reich, Italy, and Japan. But I don’t-“

“Smart girl.” Edgar’s smile twisted further over his face. “See, Dr. Vought may have lost faith in Germany’s capabilities and defected to America, but he returned to Europe many times after the war’s conclusion. He’d made several friends within Mussolini’s party, and paid them a visit from time to time. It was a retreat for him, a time to enjoy like-minded company and get extra eyes on his various projects. Even after he’d perfected compound V, Vought still made many trips back to Italy, if only for leisure. Around the 60s, he went so far as to have a villa built in one of his favorite spots, and named it the Cornucopia. A villa I inherited when he stepped down, and passed me the mantle of Vought CEO. These,” Edgar nodded back to the keys. “Serve as the master key, for the master of the house. Myself.”

She frowned. “Wouldn’t that technically mean they’re Ashley’s? If the villa is traditionally passed down from CEO to CEO?”

“It would,” Edgar sighed. “I’m afraid it absolutely slipped my mind into the chaos of my arrest to alert my successor of its location or existence. However, given that Dr. Vought and I are the only two owners, I wouldn’t quite call it tradition, which is why I am more than comfortable skipping over Mr. Barrett altogether and gifting it to you.”

Ben had very fucking rarely seen Her purely shocked. Gaping and wide-eyed, her beautiful face a picture of confusion, looking at Edgar like he’d just started speaking a different fucking language.

“I, um, I don’t-“

She stuttered and tripped over words when she was short-circuiting. When Her brain was overloaded with fear or lust, and had worked itself into a fucking overdrive Ben usually knew how to fix—holding Her until she was happy again, or fucking Her until she was stupid and glossy-eyed, and managed to kick herself back into gear—but didn’t have a goddamn idea how to help now.

“What the fuck do you mean, gifting it to her.” Ben took over, squeezing his hand on her hips in a silent reassurance, and fucking prayed that some answers would help bring her back down. 

“I mean what I say. The property and all its contents now belong to you,” Edgar angled his head to Her, saying her full name.

“Why.”

“Because, Soldier Boy, I like her. A feeling I am sure you will not take issue with-“

Ben scowled. “You’re not the gifting type, you dick, so tell us why-“ 

“I am afraid it is no more complex than a simple an affection and well-wish. I’ve been feeling more generous,as of late, and no longer have use for a villa halfway across the world.” Edgar turned away from Ben, back to Her. “You are clever, with a hopefully bright future, and I believe you may find worth in it.”

That seemed to pull Her back down enough to respond, thought Her voice softer, more uncertain, than usual. “Worth? What kind of worth?” 

Edgar dismissed Her question entirely. “You may also keep your V. I do not doubt that you’d simply forgotten it,” he looked between Her and Ben with a raised brow. “But it was never fully mine to begin with. I trust you won’t be foolish with such a volatile and dangerous drug, and if you are, please keep it far away from me.”

She blinked, glancing back down to the keys. “I can’t take these-“

“Take them or not, they’re now yours.”

“But-“ 

“It is a gift,” Edgar said Her name, voice slightly more edged. “It cannot be returned. Should you leave the keys here, they will be your lost property. Your responsibility.”

“It’s,” She cleared her throat, raising her still voice to a steady tone. “It’s in Italy?”

Edgar nodded. “Rome. The northern area, I believe. Forgive me, I only had a chance to see it once.”

She swallowed slightly. “And it’s mine?”

“Correct.”

She pulled her gaze fully from the keys, onto Edgar. “Is that, that’s all? No hidden plans or debts or secret terms?”

“If you are asking about Soldier Boy’s debt, it is forgiven.” Edgar’s cold smile had returned, his attention moving to Ben. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, and I’d shake your hand, but as you can see,” he pulled slightly on his cuffs. “I am otherwise occupied.”

Ben just grunted, and she took a long breath.

“We’re done here, then?”

“Tragically, yes.” Edgar sighed. “Our time has run out.”

“Awesome.” She stood up, Ben’s arm half supporting her, and gave Edgar a small, tight nod. “Have a good life, I guess. And, uh, thanks.”

“Gifts do not require thanks,” Edgar said Her name with a bored smile. “And I am sure we will be seeing each other again.” 

“Yeah, well.” She grabbed the keys off the table, returning them to her pocket. “Here’s hoping we don’t.” 

Before they left, she found Edgar a piece of paper to write the address on, Ben giving Edgar a long, angry glare—just for the fucking sake of it—until She tugged him back into the hall. MM’s contact was waiting, and barely looked at them before he grunted to follow his lead out. Ben looked down at Her as they walked, a grin tugging at his face.

You got a fucking house.

Villa. She corrected him in Her head with a sigh, leaning further into his side. And it’s a Nazi villa, so I’m not exactly thrilled.

Who gives a fuck what it was, Sunshine. Ben nudged Her shoulder, waiting for her to look up before continuing. It’s yours now, and you can do whatever the hell you want with it.

She blinked at him as they exited the prison. Like what?

Fill it with bugs and rat shit. Or baby animals and chocolate-

That’s dangerous, Ben, a lot of animals can’t eat chocolate-

He rolled his eyes. Then make it a fucking hospital, smartass, or an orphanage. Live in it or blow it up. Whatever the fuck you do with it, it’s yours.

Ours. She smiled at Ben, and the radiance bloomed around his heart and along his spine. We’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected, Benjamin, so the villa is your problem as well.

He should do it now. Ben should just fucking pin Her against Butcher’s car, kiss Her until she was fully relaxed in his arms, drop to his knees, and do it. Tell Her that they’ll be fuck-buddy-brain-connected forever, and he’d never call them that aloud, so they should just get fucking married so she could say you’re my husband, Benjamin, so the villa is your problem as well, and Ben could kiss Her softly and mutter that nothing with her was a problem. She was the best thing in his fucking life, and she couldn’t be a problem if she tried. And She certainly fucking had. Also, just as another damn bonus, Ben could call Her his wife to anyone who was around to hear it, and they could have world-ending engagement sex in Butcher’s backseat, until the pussy couldn’t drive without smelling Ben’s cum and Her squirting.

And Ben probably would have actually gone through with that plan, had they not reached the car to find Sister Sage in the driver’s seat, sorting through their remaining snacks with The Deep at her side, his feet up on the dashboard.

Ben grabbed his gun—half shoving Her behind him as he yanked open the door—and pressed its barrel to Sage’s temple. “What the fuck are you pussies doing here.”

Sage didn’t even flinch, turning her head to meet their eyes and moving the gun to her brow as The Deep started to climb over, shouting protests Ben could barely hear over the ringing in his ears.

“Hey, dude! That’s not cool-“

“Deep,” She’d moved back to Ben’s side, a light hand on arm in a silent request not to yet shoot. “Shut up-“

“No, you shut up, you traitorous whore bitch-“

Ben re-aimed the gun at the Deep, who cut himself off with a swallow. “You watch your fucking mouth when you speak to her, fish-fuck.“

“Or what.” In a remarkable act of sheer fucking stupidity that was impossible to mistake for bravery, the Deep kept talking. “What’s so magic about her blowjobs that she’s got every fucking guy who gets one obsessed with her-“

Ben clicked off the safety, raising the gun slightly higher. “I warned you.“

“Hey, dude, woah, calm down.” The Deep raised his hands, cowering like a fucking pussy. “I didn’t know you were serious about-“

Sage raised her hand, and the Deep fell silent.

“Call off your hound,” Sage said Her name in a lazy, almost annoyed tone, and Ben’s grip on the gun almost snapped it in half. “We’re here to talk.”

She looked between Sage and the Deep with weary eyes, and didn’t tell Ben to lower the gun. “How did you know we were here.”

“We received a tip that the Anomaly and Soldier Boy were alone together in upstate New York, only an hour away from Stan Edgar’s prison.” Sage gave Here a flat look. “It doesn’t take genius to connect those dots. And I am a genius.”

She glanced at Ben. Fuck, someone must have recognized us-

Van-Pussy.

Who-

The asscuck that tried to hit on you. Nobody else but the cashier saw us, and she was high as tits.

Damn it. Light danced slightly in Her eyes, even as her expression remained set and passive. I should have let you kill him.

Ben knew She was joking, but that didn’t stop his grunted, smug response of, damn right you should have.

She wrinkled her nose at him and turned back to Sage, who was watching them with a titled head. “What do you want.”

“What was that?” Sage looked between Her and Ben with a wolfish smile. “What did you two just do?”

The Deep frowned. “They didn’t do anything, they just stared at each other for like a minute

“Exactly, you fucking idiot.” Sage rolled her eyes. “But something still happened. Can I guess?” 

“No.” She snapped, glancing back to the Deep. “What’s he doing here?”

“I got the tip, I fucking caught you-“

“You thought it was nothing.” Sage shot the Deep a cold glare. “And only told me because you’re mandated to pass on any report of the Anomaly’s actively.”

Ben heard Her heart pick up pace in her chest as the Deep turned red, stumbling over his words. “Well, I’m the one that had the helicopter idea-“

“And I flew it. You’re only here because you’d have gone to Homelander if you didn’t.” 

“You,” She looked between Sage and the Deep. “You haven’t told Homelander.”

“Of course not.” Sage dismissed Her with a shrug. “I’m here to talk to you, not monologue and blow you up.”

Her nails dug into Ben’s arm, and Her words were slow, careful. “That’s not interesting, is it.”

A smile that Ben didn’t fucking understand, but made Her lean further into him, crossed Sage’s face. “Exactly. Homelander’s a fucking idiot. I can’t have him messing this up.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my man Homelander like that, I could still tell him what you’re up to-“

“No, you can’t.” Sage didn’t look at the Deep as she cut him off, her attention locked between Ben and—primarily—Her. “Go to him now, and you’re an accomplice. You kept this from him, and he won’t be forgiving of that.”

The blood drained from the Deep’s face, and She cleared her throat. 

“Why are you here, Sage. What do you want.” 

“Like I said before, to talk-“ 

“About what.” 

Sage’s wolfish grin returned, cruel and jeering and fucking annoying as shit. “You’ll see.”

Ben kept his eyes on Sage and the Deep’s every movement as he spoke, low and gruff, down the line to Her head. I can just fucking shoot them, and we can go-

No. She sighed, squeezing Ben’s arm once. The only way out of this is to talk to them.

Or kill them-

Sage will have a failsafe for that. And I think she really is just here to talk.

Ben scowled. Why.

She knows she can’t kill us. Homelander, She took a heavy breath, and Ben risked a glance to see her face hollow and tired. Homelander isn’t here. He’s not the wait and hide type. And Sage won’t call him until she and the Deep are far away from whatever happens after he arrives. She has something to say, or she’d have just sent Homelander to start with. And I want to hear what it is.

They make single wrong fucking move-

And you shoot them. “Get out of the car, and we can talk.”

“Good choice.” Sage climbed out of the driver’s seat, crossing her arms as the Deep scrambled out behind her. “I’m sure we could all build a little more trust if I didn’t have a gun pointed at me for the duration of our conversation.”

“Tough fucking shit.” Ben growled, tracking the Deep’s stumbling steps to Sage’s side. “Talk.”

“Fine.” Sage sighed, turning to Her. “I believe you have something I want.”

Her features remained passive, but her body was half falling onto Ben’s. He shot an arm around Her waist—gun still set on Sage—and her hand held him there as she resounded with bored words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, as I’m sure Ashley has told you-“

“I haven’t seen Ashley since I left the tower-“

“Please.” Sage gave Her a pointed look. “Ashley’s last known location was Red River, the same day that hours of camera footage were erased, and several windows were melted away. I know she’s defected, but it’s fine. I’ve accounted for it. But she may have mentioned to you that I’ve been hounding Stan Edgar for months, and you might be able to help me get what I want.”

“Why the fuck would we ever help you-“

Sage’s words were dry but firm over Ben’s. “Because everyone has something they want. And I could help you, if you helped me.”

“How,” She paused, studying Sage’s face. “Why would you help us?”

“I wouldn’t be helping you, I’d be exchanging a good for a service.” Sage looked between Her and Ben—Ben’s arm around Her body, Her finger’s tangled in his—and smirked. “If you give me the Cornucopia, I’ll help you get out.”

“What’s the Cornucopia-“

“What I’m looking for.“ Sage shrugged. “Edgar told me he had someone retrieving it, and now you’re here. When you find it, bring it to me instead, and you’ll be done. Forever.”

Ben caught it that time. The slight stumble of Her heart tipped him off, but he hadn’t missed those words. When you find it. Sage didn’t know they had it now.

They had a fucking advantage.

Sunshine-

I know. “What do you mean done.” She asked aloud, eyes narrowed. “How is that our end.”

“Because you’ll be gone.” Sage said, a glint in her eyes. “You’ll leave New York, leave Butcher and his cohort of idiots, leave Vought and Homelander and this whole fucking country, and never look back. And I’ll ensure nobody ever finds you again.”

Ben went rigid. Out. Really fucking out, with nobody to ever bother them again. She’d be safe, and Ben would be with her. Nobody would ever try to take him away from Her, and nothing would make her cry anything but happy, easy tears for the rest of their fucking lives.

“Why.” She frowned, fingers tapping on Ben’s hand. “If Ben and I go, that’s it. No more games, or battles. It’s not interesting.”

“It could be.” Sage grinned, and it was fucking blood-curling. “You could make one last statement, really fuck up everything up, and leave. You could affirm Starlight’s story, tell Homelander you’ve never loved him, and I’d have to clean that up. You could shoot Butcher up with that V you stole from Homelander, and let them go scorched earth while you’re far, far away from it. Fucking your boyfriend and never thinking about any of this again. You could make it interesting, however you want, and get out. I’m sure you want out. Wouldn’t it be so nice for you to just be done?”

It would be the be best thing in the goddamn world to be done. To leave, and never look back. To just be at goddamn peace together, and fuck on a beach or in a forest, and let some other sorry fuckers deal with the fallout of this whole goddamn thing. Ben had faith in Her ability to deal Sage one last blow that would be difficult to fix, and their team would be able get the V and kill Homelander themselves. Sage might fucking stab them in the back, but they could take extra precautions themselves. Measures to make sure that it was just Her and Ben forever.

But no Ryan. None of the rest of their team, and no freedom. Ben could hear Her heart—stuttering and rapid against him—and knew that this would just be locking Her up in a new goddamn way. And Ben wouldn’t be fucking worthy of Her. He’d be pulling her away from every single other thing she loved—and a few things he tolerated more than others—just to have her to himself. And he’d never fucking do that to her. She deserved to have the whole fucking world, not just a small sliver Sage offered them. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone, and She needed to help, or she’d go fucking insane. They’d both be away from Ryan, and the kid was just starting to calm the fuck down and stop blaming himself for everything. Christ, She was just starting to stop blaming herself of everything. And Ben, Ben was still repenting.

He was repenting. He was fucking repenting, and this war was part of that. His whole goddamn life was about Her, and he knew that if he told Sage he was in, She’d love him enough to follow him. She loved Ben, and it still wasn’t something he’d ever fully deserve—how infinite and powerful and intoxicating Her love was—so had to keep goddamn earning it.

“Shove it up your evil fucking ass with the stick, Sage.” He grunted, his hold on Her hips tightening. “We don’t need your goddamn help. We can get out ourselves, after we kill all you spineless fucking pussies.”

Sage gave him an almost amused look. “The offer wasn’t for you to decide on, Soldier Boy-“

“His answer is my answer.” She cut Sage off with a shrug, and Ben felt something hot and prideful and loud grow near his heart. “No.”

“You’d let a foolish, violent man speak for you?” Sage scoffed Her name, and Her hand grew warm in Ben’s. “Even if you love him, I’d have expected better-“

“Why?” She snapped,  the look of pure fucking blood and exhausted wrath on her face one Ben knew to mean danger. “Everyone keeps expecting better of me, but they really fucking shouldn’t. I’m going to let Ben speak for me, because he loves me, and he knows me. We’ll pass on your offer, but thanks.”

Sage’s face was drawn in a tight frown and analytical glare, probably trying to figure out how to talk them over to her side—she wouldn’t fucking succeeded—but the Deep was gaping. Looking between Her and Ben with wide, confused eyes.

“You,” The Deep cleared his throat, voice uncertain. “You dudes are like, in love love? Not just fucking?”

Something sparked in Her eyes, and she leaned forward slightly as she answered. “Yep. Love love. But we do also fuck. A lot.”

The Deep swallow. “Oh.”

“Real nasty sex as well.” She shrugged, a smirk playing over her pretty lips. “He’s good with his hands, and his dick is huge. I mean, the sex would be good regardless, I love him more than life, but he has a massive dick. It helps.”

Ben frowned, glaring down at Her. What the fuck are you doing.

Trust me. We need to rile him up.

Why the hell-

Sage can’t stand stupidity. If we can get her to fight with the Deep, the dumbest person I know, then one of them might slip.

Ben looked back to the Deep, and if that was what they needed to do, it was working. The fish-pussy had turned red, and his eyes seemed like they were going to pop out of his goddamn head.

“Uh, congrats. Sage, we should like, tell Homelander that-“

“Do not tell Homelander anything, you fucking idiot.” Sage hissed. “And shut up-“

“But if they’re like, really serious-“ The Deep cut himself off, looking back to Her. “Is it serious-“

“Yes.” Ben’s words were short and firm, because he’d been five fucking seconds from proposing to Her before these two goddamn fuckheads had shown up. She looked up at him with a small smile and sharp amusement, bumping their shoulders.

It’s serious, Pretty Boy?

Shut the fuck up. Ben rolled his eyes at Her pretty, perfect, teasing face. I love you, or course it’s fucking serious.

She hummed, a little light blooming in Ben’s head, even as Sage and the Deep continued arguing. We are fuck-buddy-brain-connected. 

Brat- 

“If it’s serious,” the Deep was still fucking whining, and Sage looked two seconds from punching him. “Homie should know. He thinks she still loves him, but she’s clearly with Soldier Boy-“

She snorted. “Did you just fucking call Homelander Homie?”

“Yeah, I did.” The Deep’s chest puffed out, and he shot Her a glare. “He’s my bro, and I’m not going to let some hot piece of ass string him along when she’s in love with his dad-“ 

Ben moved to gun to the Deep, and the pussy’s words stuttered off. “Fucking watch it.” 

“Hey man,” the Deep raised his hands, palms up. “I was like, fucking around before, but her head can’t be that good. Homie deserves better, and you’re like, a man man. Don’t let some chick control you-“

“I don’t control him.” She snapped, and Sage fucking laughed. A dry, empty laugh that made Her swallow and Ben feel fucking sick as he re-aimed the gun at Sage’s head. 

“Doesn’t she?” Sage looked between them, voice dripping with a mocking, fake sweetness. “I remember Soldier Boy being an honorable, strong gentleman. But here you are, pointing a gun at a vulnerable woman when you’re at a clear advantage, letting to your girlfriend tell you what to do like a pathetic little dog.”

Ben didn’t fucking care about Sage’s mocking words. He was being honorable, because he was protecting Her. He was fucking helping her, and listening to Her because she fucking had this, and Ben trusted her. He wasn’t listening to a woman, he was listening to his woman. The most perfect one in history, who was half hanging off his arm with glazed eyes, her breathing mechanical as something loose and hollow writhed around in Ben’s—Her—gut.

And that was what Ben fucking cared about. How Sage’s words had made everything fucking horrid and vile because She was hurt by them, and nothing was fucking allowed to hurt her. Not when Ben could fucking do something about it.

“You are not a vulnerable woman,” Ben hissed at Sage, something like bile on his tongue. “You’re an evil, conniving bitch.”

Sage didn’t even goddamn waver, continuing as if Ben hadn’t even fucking spoken. “It’s not healthy, your little arrangement. Love or not, you’re going to be lost and alone when she eventually leaves you.” Sage’s jeering, skin-crawling smile was covering her whole fucking face. “And she will leave you, Soldier Boy. She’ll realizes that you’re not a white knight, come to save her and the world from Homelander, and she’ll leave you.”

“Watch your fucking mouth-“

“You’re not an angel. You’re not good enough to heal what Homelander did to her, and she’ll realize that soon.” Ben’s vision was lined with red, his body goddamn frozen as drums sounded far, far in the distance, and Sage kept fucking talking. “That Homelander gets all his anger from somewhere. That you’re no better than he is, because when she tries to leave you, you won’t let her go. You’ll grovel like a child, and when she says no, you’ll force her to stay. Lock her up and keep her just for yourself-“

She was moving before Ben even fucking registered that She’d let go of his arm. Her smoking, flame-wrapped fist flew through the air and collided with Sage’s face, and a hiss echoed through the air as Sage let out a shriek of pain. Ben saw a flash of something metallic—the Deep shouting and flying at Her with a raised fist—and shot. The fish-fuck landed in the dirt at Sage’s side, the bullet wound on his shoulder more than fucking effective as he whimpered in pain. It wasn’t enough to kill the pussy—She hadn’t killed Sage, so Ben had followed suit—but enough to bleed out if no aid arrived.

“You manipulative fucking cunt.” She was a step in front of Ben, glaring down and Sage and the Deep on the pavement. “Ben might not be a white knight, but he’s nothing like Homelander, and you fucking know it. He’s certainly a better fucking person than you are.”

Sage’s words were unsteady and strained, but still crude. Still fucking hateful. “If you really believe that, you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for-“ 

“And I don’t fucking care.” She hissed. “Next time you say anything like that to him, I’ll burn your fucking brain out of your skull.”

“We’re not done here-“ 

She huffed a dry, empty laugh. “Yeah. You are. Ben and I are going to leave, and you’re not going to follow us. And if you try to call Homie, then it will be over. I’ll kill everyone, and that will be it.” 

Sage scoffed Her name. “You can’t really think I’ll fall for such an obvious bluff-“

“I don’t need you to, because it’s not a bluff.” She leaned down slightly, holding Sage’s glare. “Homelander shows up, I kill him, and you, and the Deep. If that somehow kills me, then fine. At least it we’ll be done. Really fucking done. No games. Not interesting.”

Sage spat out blood, eyes narrowed on Her’s. “That’s cheating.”

“Maybe,” She shrugged, rising back up and looping her arm through Ben’s. “But I don’t care.”

Something was still fucking aching and toxic in Ben’s body and she pulled him back to the car. It hadn’t been a bluff. Ben knew how to read Her bluffs, and that hadn’t fucking been one. And She wouldn’t have killed Ben. He would’ve been left to wait in a scorched forest for the rest of goddamn time, waiting for Her to walk out of the smoke and smile at him again. She’d have burned out without him, and he’d never be able to fucking hold her again.

Sage doesn’t know what the Cornucopia is. She slid into the passenger’s seat, letting out a long breath. But she’s still looking for it, which isn’t good-

Ben grunted Her name between their heads, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled, bending the metal under his hands. You know I’d never fucking do that shit to you-

Of course I know that-

And I’ll never let Homelander hurt you again. Ben started the engine, holding Her attention with a glare. If he ever fucking comes for you, you’re not fighting him alone. You burn, I burn, Sunshine, that was the fucking deal. We’d kill Homelander and Sage and the Deep, together. Got it?

She gave Ben a soft smile, and nodded, her voice in his head low and gentle. I got it. Ready?

Ben grunted. Ready. You’re good.

I’m good. She sighed, leaning her head onto Ben’s shoulder as he began to drive. I’ve got you, Benjamin, my love. I’m good.

Even as they drove away from Sage and the Deep on the pavement, with a whole new fucking problem that was made of what the fuck do they do about the Cornucopia now on their hands, Ben grinned. That radiance covered his chest and gut and skin, and nothing really fucking mattered but Her, and finishing this. Finally being free of this dogshit circus, and being a little more worthy of Her hand in his, forever.

There wasn’t really that much shit left to do before they could be free, and together, forever.

—————————

It’s been a long, shit fucking day, and you’re only halfway done with it. Your blood is yours, and your skin barely has an itch beneath it, but you’re so fucking tired.

And you’re not sure if it’s that piece of your brain inside of him, or just how well Ben knows you, but the asshole has started to coddle you. His hand has returned to rest on your thigh—it’s there so often you’re starting to think his palm has developed some sort of magnet to your leg—and he’s very obviously doing everything he can to distract you from how this is your last shot. That this might end with blood in gutters and covering hands, but—if you do this right—it will all be done. This has to be done. There are too many other battles to fight for this truly critical one to not be wonsoon.

And Ben won’t let you think about that. He seems to have decided for himself that his job is to drive you around—because he’s a dick who has flat out refused to ever let you behind the wheel of a car on account of it being dangerous to everyone on the fucking road—and keep your brain everywhere but they imminent threat of Homelander. Sage. The CIA and Mallory, what will the after look like and who gets to have one, why would Edgar just give you a Nazi villa, and what the fuck does Sage want with it when she doesn’t even seem to know it’s a villa-

“You’re hungry.”

You look over to Ben, his eyes set on the road ahead of you. “What?”

“Your stomach,” he mutters. “It growled. You’re hungry.”

You are hungry. And it might just be Ben’s deep, firm, certain voice and how your body obeys it more than you, but it doesn’t really matter because suddenly you realize that you’re hungry.You’d eaten breakfast this morning, before you’d left for Edgar, and then the snacks Ben had bought you close to noon, but that’s it. It’s late afternoon, the sky turning red and gold on the horizon, and you’re really, really hungry.

“There’s a rest stop in a few miles-“

“No.” Ben snaps, glancing at you with a scowl. “Not a fucking chance.”

You sigh, because he’s right. You can’t risk being recognized again, and this wouldn’t be a sketchy, overgrown gas station. This was a rest stop on an interstate highway.

“So what should we do?” You watch Ben carefully, because you can feel his resolve ripping in half, and you think he’s fighting with himself about something.

“They still got McDonalds on highways?”

You smile, propping your chin on his shoulder. “Are we in America?”

Ben snorts, and the resolve settles back into itself. Firm and concrete and all around you like a hot, stone shield. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Are we getting McDonalds?”

He gives you a curt nod, eyes darting to meet yours and the glow inside him crossing over your ribs and blooming in your heart.

He’s so fucking handsome. The sunset is making him look golden—dark hair and defined features and eyes that follow you in the earth and fill you with life—and it’s not making it easy for to you remind yourself that he’s not an angel.

It helps to remember that angels aren’t real, and Ben is very real. He’s warm under your touch, and strong and careful in his natural hold on you. His thumb is rubbing circles on your skin, and his arm muscles keep flexing as he drives, and you want them around you, holding you to his chest as his cock hits that deepest spot inside you. You want to see his beautiful eyes watch you unravel under him, want to hear his low, teasing, affectionate voice make your stomach warm as he calls you good and beautiful and darling-

“Are you going to answer me, Sunshine, or just keep fucking drooling?”

You blink, and see his smirk, feel his whole body rushing with a cocky, bright pride. “I don’t-“

“You were staring, and it’s real fucking rude,” He drawls your name, squeezing his hand against you. “I’m not a piece of meat for you to objectifine.”

“Objectify.” You correct, even as your face grows warm. “And I don’t feel that bad about objectifying you, Pretty Boy. You’ve objectified me.”

“When the fuck-“

“What was the very first thing you noticed about me?”

Ben pauses, brows drawn, and you realize he’s actually thinking about it. You’d expected a small grunt of how the fuck am I supposed to remember that, Sunshine, it was over half a goddamn year ago, but his fist is clenched on the wheel, and he’s glowering at the road, so he’s really trying to give you an actual answer.

“Heartbeat.”

You tilt your head at him. “Heartbeat?”

“Your heartbeat was normal,” he grunts, his jaw set and words low. “When you woke me up. Mallory, Butcher, and Annie were all being anxious pussies, and Hughie was going to fucking piss himself, but you weren’t afraid. Of me.”

Ben glances at you as he finished, something so bloody and powerful inside of his body, and his gaze filled with it. A twisted and pious awe that’s all for you, that ignites your blood in a way that makes you feel seen. Seen and really fucking alive.

“I,” you swallow, fighting your urge to climb on top of Ben and kiss him all over his stupid, handsome face, if only because that’s not very safe driving. “Oh. I thought you’d say my tits.”

“I noticed your tits as well,” he shrugs, winking at you. “But that’s only because I’m not fucking dead, and you’re the most beautiful woman in history.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, and try to ignore how you need to touch him, or else you might explode into a mess of Ben. Loving you and always being so sweet at the worst, most inconvenient time. “Shut up-”

“No.” Suddenly, something is tight and sore over your lungs and around your throat—Ben’s lungs and throat—and when he speaks again, his voice is low and tense. “What did you notice about me.”

“Honesty, I don’t remember.” You sigh, a little guilt eating at your heart and gut when Ben’s frown deepens. “I was a little, um, out of it. I didn’t really think I’d like you all that much, let alone, uh, love you.”

You swallow, because even though Ben knows you love him now, this feels strange to say. Like you’re mostly rolling your eyes at your past self, who had truly believed she’d be able to wake up Soldier Boy, keep him in line with powers she could barely control, live with him in a mutual contempt, and leave him without a second thought at the end. She had been a real fucking idiot, because you’re never going to leave Ben. He’ll have to peel you off of him and snap your heart in two, and even then you might try to crawl after him and beg him to change his mind.

But that’s another reason why you love him. Ben wouldn’t ever hurt you, let alone like that. He’ll keep you against him and hold you carefully and reverently for the rest of time, and if you fell to your knees and begged him to stay with you, he’d pick you up, kiss you, and call you fucking stupid for thinking he’d ever leave you.

Right now, though, he’s just nodding with almost a pout on his face, and you can feel the soreness inside him grow.

“But,” you push forward, offering him a soft smile that you mean with all your heart, which belongs to Ben. “I think I know when I started loving you.”

Ben glances at you again, almost wearily. “You said that didn’t matter to you.”

“It doesn’t,” you shrug. “I feel like I’ve loved you forever, and that’s all I care about. But if you want to know-“

He gives a quick grunt of affirmation, the soreness pounding and clenching over him—growing slightly electric, almost wild—and you take a long breath.

“The club. That we went to with the team. I, um, I liked being near you, and I didn’t want to stop being near you.” The soreness starts to ease away, but Ben’s grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, and your body is still sore and tensed, so you continue. “Just the, um, just the thought of you calmed me down. And you looked really handsome, and I liked when you laughed and smiled at me, and holding your hand felt good. I didn’t ever want to stop holding your hand, and that was scary, but not because of you, because I’ve never been scared of you, just because I didn’t want to leave you, and I’d never felt that before, I didn’t think I’d ever feel it at all, after Homelander, and I think that’s why I didn’t immediately realize I loved you, because I’d never been in love like this before. I mean, it was really confusing, because my job was to make sure you didn’t go rogue, but I was mostly just thinking about you and boob-drugs-“

Ben cuts off your rambling with a scowl. “Why the fuck were you thinking about boob-drugs.”

“You liked her,” you mumble, burying your face in his arm. “And I didn’t want to care, but I did-“

“I didn’t like her.”

You shake your head against him. “You don’t have to lie, Ben-“ 

“I don’t fucking lie to you,” he snaps, and you chance at look up at him. Still golden in the light of the sunset, impossibly handsome with an almost confused scowl and deep words you can feel in your chest. “She was an annoying bitch, I didn’t give a fuck about her.”

“But you were, um,” you force the words out, chewing on your tongue. “You were hungry.”

“What-“ 

“For her. I could feel your hunger for her, and it’s your lust-“ 

“That was for you, smartass.”

The whole world because blurred and sharp all at once—like it does when you’re under Ben, with some part of him inside you and getting you high on just his touch and smell and feel—and you realize Ben is better than an angel, because he’s yours. This stubborn, grumpy, impossible man is all yours, and you can feel his love hot and focused in your chest.

“Oh.”

Ben snorts slightly, and you can feel an airy, smug disbelief in his head. “Have you seriously been thinking I was trying to fuck Boob-Drugs this whole time-“

“Fuck you-“

“I wanted to.” Ben grins, and the soreness is obliterated by a swelling, hot and bright feeling in his chest and spine. “I wanted to pick you up and fuck you on that table, Sunshine. You were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m never going want to fuck anyone but you again.” He turns his head, eyes still on the road, and kisses your brow. “I told you my dick is yours, darling, and it has been for a damn long while. I love you, not some fucking coke whore in a club.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you press your head back into his body, moving one hand to tangle in his. I love you too. And if it helps, my pussy is yours.

Ben chuckles, and it rolls through your body, leaving everything soft and calm in its wake. Good.

You nod, a little stupidly, and start to wonder if Ben asking you to marry him hadn’t just been a half-dream created by all your love for him that lived with your head. That it hadn’t just been a wishful haze born from the smell of pine and taste of salt, or the feel of warm safety around you and constant loop of Ben, Ben, Ben that was everything good. If the deep words you’d felt in your bones weren’t just created by your cock-drunk, Ben-drunk brain.

You don’t get to ask, though, because Ben’s pulling into the rest stop and demanding your order before repeating it in rough words to the drive-thru speaker. You put on your sunglasses, just for safety, and Ben leans his body forward to half-block any view of you from the cashier and serving windows.

From there, the rest of the drive is impossibly easy. Things with Ben are always easy, but you know that he’s working harder than usual to keep it that way. He lets you put on music to cover the rumble of the engine, and gives you pointed glares when your food starts to be forgotten in your hands. He’s indulging in your every rant about nothing, pulling you out of any spiraling thoughts of three hours to Boston, three hours until you’re either one step closer to killing Homelander or dead in the water with such skill that you’re starting to wonder if he’s studied for this. If Ben’s trained himself to keep your head clear, and your smile on your face instead of fading into the haunting thoughts of soon. Soon you may have to fight-

“Ryan told me you got him a bunch of fucking books.”

You nod, and your smile spreads a little wider, a little more naturally. “I did. He read all of Butcher’s.”

“Butcher reads?”

“Allegedly, yes.”

Ben snorts. “That pussy doesn’t have the damn patience-“

“Benjamin, my love, you don’t have the patience. You have the attention span of a toddler.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, but every inch of annoyance on his face is fake, because you can feel all his affection and care in your body. Warm and innate and permanent. “I am not a toddler-“

“No,” you hum, giving him a sweet, teasing smile. “But you are a massive fucking man baby. My massive fucking man baby, who I love very much and takes very good care of me.”

He rolls his eyes, and the glow moves up his spine. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Do you think Ryan’s okay?”

Ben’s frown deepens. “Of course he’s okay, he’s got us. The kid has finally started to fly and laser at the same time, and you’re real fucking kind to him when he gets all sad about his pussy-fuck father-“ 

“I mean with everyone away.” You cut Ben off with a sigh, even as his words make the world around you soft and vivid and lined with a light you never want to lose. “This is all hands, and he’s all by himself-“

“He’s strong.” Ben squeezes his hand in yours, voice firm and everything in him made of an unwavering, concrete care. “He’s a smart kid, who’s gotten through a fuck ton more than one day alone. We’ll be home soon, and you can fuss all over him-“

“I do not fuss-“

Ben chuckles, shaking his head as a flash of amusement runs between your bodies. “You fuss all the damn time. Christ, you fuss over me,” he grins down at you as he says your name, and it makes everything in you a little electric. “But you’re a fuck ton meaner about it.”

“Well Ryan’s nicer to me,” you stick your tongue out at him. “And you’re an asshole.”

“But you still fucking fuss.” Ben winks at you, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “Because you love me.”

“I do love you,” you mutter. ”But I don’t fuss. You fuss.”

“The fuck I do-“

“You always make me eat.” You lean forwards, kissing his jaw. “And you make sure Ryan’s doing well in school, And you never let us push ourselves, and you’re always making sure we’re okay, and you love us-“

“Whatever.” Ben grumbles, glaring at the lamp-lit road, and you giggle.

“Grumpy-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He rolls his eyes, frown twitching as you lean into his side. “You’re lucky I love you-“

“I know.” You turn your face to nuzzle into his shoulder, ensuring that every breath is Ben. Pine and salt and gunpowder and Ben. “I really am.”

The glow returns in a full, brutal force, and it’s like a sedative. The world starts to blur in a way that you don’t want to hide or run from, and Ben is muttering low words that you can’t hear but still feel in your body. Soothing your head and easing you into a molten warmth that’s just too good to fight. Your eyes start to droop, and just before everything turns into a dark, simple daze of sleep, you feel a big, rough, warm hand brush hair from your face, and rumble of words that you don’t fully understand but, still make you know that everything is right here. That voice is Ben’s—everything around you is Ben—and he loves you, and nothing bad can really happen as long as that’s true.

And it will always be true, and that knowledge pulls you all the way under, into dreams of sunlight and green and something perfect that’s just out of reach, but still yours. Still everything, and made of love so strong you feel it a little beyond your body.

It’s all you feel until a finger you recognize as everything good brushes over your lip, and you drag your eyes open to find Ben watching you. His gaze is attentive and devout, and when you smile at him everything becomes ardor and a zealous wrath of love in your chest. Feral and watchful and protective, in a perfect time with the song in your head of Ben. The night is dark, but you can still see light everywhere because Ben.

You know you’ve arrived—there are horns blaring in the distance, and you can smell the pungent, briny ocean of the Boston docks—but you’re still breathing without thought because Ben is here, and you can fucking do this.

You’re okay.

I’m okay. You take a heavy breath, grounding yourself in Ben’s solid, strong body against yours—fingers holding your chin with a firm, gentle touch, an arm wrapped over your shoulders with a hand rubbing patterns in your skin—and his determined, concrete feeling of care. Are we ready?

Whenever you are.

You nod, peeling yourself away from where you’d slump and molded into Ben’s hold, but lean back to give him one, soft kiss on the cheek. I love you.

I love you too, he mutters in your head, tangling at hand in your hair and gently moving your mouth to his. We’ve fucking got this.

You hum into Ben’s kiss, holding his face between your hand, keeping his brow against yours when you separate for breath. We’ve got this. 

Ben had parked right next to the limo, so you shed your jacket and sunglasses before climbing out, replacing them with a black hoodie that will hopefully lend you some stealth, and follow Ben out of the car.

When you knock of the driver’s window, it rolls down to reveal a scowling Butcher, his arm hanging out the window as he looks over you and Ben with contempt.

“It’s nine fucking thirty.”

“Congratulation on being able to read a clock, asscuck-“

“We said eight forty-five.” Butcher cut off Ben with a snapping hiss “You horny fuckin twats are late. Again.”

“These roads are fucking dogshit.” Ben shrugs, holding Butcher’s glare with an indifference. “Let us in the damn limo so we can get this over with.”

Butcher lets out a huff of annoyance, stands out of the driver’s seat, opens the back doors, and lets you and Ben climb in before following and locking the door behind him.

“You’re late-“

“Someone wouldn’t let me drive,” you give MM an apologetic look as Ben pulls you half onto his lap. “We’d have been here two hours early if he did-“

“I don’t let you drive,” Ben drawls. “Because you’re a fucking criminal behind the wheel.”

“No, I’m not-“

“You are, Sunshine. Christ, Hughie and Kimiko have seen it,” Ben turns to them, brows raised. “She’s a fucking menace when she drives, isn’t she.”

Kimiko just signs I don’t care, it’s fun, but Hughie’s eyes widen, his facing turning red.

“I, um, I’ve only seen it once, and it was kind of an intense day-“ Hughie’s stutters are cut off by Annie, placing a hand on his shoulder and glaring at Ben.

“Don’t do that to him, Ben. He’ll have a panic attack about picking a side and we’ll have to wait until he calms down.”

Everyone freezes, and you know it’s not just you that heard it.

“Did you,” MM clears his throat, eyes narrowing at Annie with a frown. “You called him-“

“C’mon guys.” Annie gives a flat look around the dead quiet limo. “I mean, he’s clearly here for the long term, and it’s been getting weird to call him Soldier Boy when I talk to you,” Annie nods in your direction, saying your name with a bored tone. “About how much you love him and how good his dick is.”

Your whole face flushes as Butcher lets out a sputtering cough, Frenchie gives Ben a nod of respect, and MM’s gape almost unhinges his jaw.

Ben himself isn’t at all helpful, kissing the top of your head and wrapped in a smug, blazing feeling of energy that—when you lean back to glare at him—makes him look almost boyish. He’s looking down at you, nothing but want and love and adoration in his eyes, and you almost whimper at how effectively he’s pulling you apart under his gaze. He looks so happy—even with the mission only one strict reminder to remain on track away—and nobody’s but Ben has ever looked at you like that before. Like he’s proud just to be at your side, as if you’ve given him something just by loving him. You think you have, because his grin is so wide and handsome and cocky, and his words in you are so certain you can feel it settle in your veins and nerves.

Christ, you must really love me if you’ve got Annie calling me my damn name-

Fuck you, Benjamin-

You want to. You fucking love me. He squeezes his arms around you, eyes dancing with cocky, comfortable light. You really damn love me.

You know I love you, you asshole. Shut up. 

No. I’m allowed to brag about my woman loving me as much as I goddamn want-

MM let out a long, half-groaning sigh, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw. “You know what, we don’t got the time for this. Let’s do this shit, and then Soldier Boy can be Ben to you motherfuckers all he wants, as long as I never have to hear about his dick again. Hughie-“

“The warehouse should be clear, I didn’t see anyone on their cams.” Hughie glances at Annie, who’d dropped her hand from his shoulder to rest over his own. “Annie, can you-“

“I can fry them.” Annie frowns into the air. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to only fry the cams, I might take out the lights too-“

“We got that fuckin covered, Starlight, don’t worry your blonde little head.“ Butcher nods to Frenchie, who pulls a bag out from under his seat.

“I have made them solar powered,” Frenchie pulls a flashlight, displaying it for the whole team to see. “And left them in the sun for several hours. Should we be plunged into the darkness,” he makes a dramatic gesture, grinning around the limo. “There will be light.”

Annie leans backward with a relieved expression, and you tap your fingers on Ben’s forearm as you speak.

“We all know what we’re looking for?”

MM nods. “If those papers were up to date, six to seven crates label RRD.”

“Red River Donations,” Butcher mutters. “Bloody cunts not even tryin to hide it.”

You swallow, pushing on. “And the plan? Everyone got that?”

“In and out, Madame.” Frenchie says your name with a solemn tone, chest puffed. “No messes, no trail, no fuckery.”

“No fuckery.” You nod, chewing on your cheek until you taste metal. “No evidence. Annie, if you can, try to fry out a few of the other warehouses, so it looks like a circuit blew. And no matter what, we’re just getting the V.” You give Butcher a firm glare. “Got it?”

“I’m all fuckin in, Love.” Butcher gives you a sarcastic—but not crude or mocking—grin. “Like Frenchie said, in and out, and all you cunts can be home to jerk each other off by midnight.”

You flip him off, and look back to the rest of the group. “MM, you’ve got-”

“Groupings, after we all get armed. Look alive motherfuckers, here we go.”

“Here we go.” You echo, looking around this limo with a tight, close-lipped smile that hurts your face. “Make it quick, stick together, and no fuckery.”

Everyone makes various sounds of agreement, shuffling out of the limo in silence. Ben keeps his arm around you as you separate from the group—weapons being passed out and Butcher lecturing Hughie about how to drive a limo, and to not throw a fuckin raver while we’re gone, Lad—so you lean into his body, forcing your breathing to stay in time with his.

I’m sticking with you, Ben grunts, popping Butcher’s trunk to grab his guns and shield. And if MM tries to pair me off with someone else- 

He won’t. You’re stuck with me, Pretty Boy. Get used to it. You watch Ben’s stoic expression carefully, reaching up a hand to trace over the deep lines on his face. When he looks down at you—all his concern and care like armor over your skin—something softens in his eyes.

Good. Ben leans down, kissing the space between your eyes. I like being stuck with you. Even when you’re a fucking brat.

I like being stuck with you too, cunt. You wrap your arms around torso, burying your head in his chest and just breathing in Ben. Pine and gunpowder and Ben. Strong and certain and yours, holding you until you rest your chin on his chest, studying his narrowed, concerned frown you can feel all over your skin and like lead in your heart. If there’s no V-

There will be. His voice is almost stern grunt in your head, and his brow drops to yours. We’ve fucking got this.

You nod, and stay here—with Ben—until it’s not an option anymore. Until holding his face between your hands and sharing his breath doesn’t fully stop your brain and heart from racing, but solidifies the instinct of Ben just a little bit more. It’s already carved into you, already permanent, but it keeps growing stronger. Keeps finding its way into deeper parts of you that might have just not existed before, but are now pulling open for Ben to have. And finding a new place for Ben to be a part of you—this one somewhere across your skin, bitten by the chill of ocean wind and beginning to come down, down, down into something green and warm—will have to be enough.

You and Ben return to the group—one of his arms over your shoulders, and the other holding his shield at his side—and you take in how everyone but seemingly you and Annie is armed. Even Hughie has a gun, even if he keeps glancing at it like it might try to run away from him. But you don’t think Annie knows how to shoot, and you don’t need a gun. The fire is all yours under your skin, and Ben’s at your side, so you’ll be fine. The night air is wired and suffocating, and every distant city noise sets off a cold flare in your body, but you’ll be fine.

“We’re splitting in half,” MM grunts. “Two supes per team, Hughie holding down the fort. I’ve got Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie.” MM says your name with a short nod, and something lights up over your bones when you realize you’re in charge of group two. “Is taking Soldier Boy and Butcher. And if anyone tries to fight me on this shit, I’ll shoot them, so don’t fucking test me.”

Butcher glowers, slowly closing his mouth with an eye roll, and you look up at the blue-tinted sky, not a star in sight.

“Annie, can you-“

The words barely leave your mouth before the world starts to fry, crackling and sparking around you. For a second, everything is blinding light, scorching into your eyes and lingering for a painful second before you’re able to see the dark harbor and warehouse, visible in the distant lights of the city and sky.

You got lucky. Your eyes healed within half a second, but most everyone else is still rubbing and blinking, and Annie’s looking around the half-blinded group with a guilty expression.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry guys-“ 

“They’ll be fine,” Ben snaps, face slightly scrunched as his own eyes recover. “A little light isn’t going to goddamn kill the pussies, Annie, don’t fucking whine.”

Annie nods slowly with a little less shame in her eyes, Kimiko places a reassuring hand on her arm, and you bump Ben’s shoulder with yours.

That was very sweet of you, Benjamin, my love-

Shut the fuck up. Ben grumbles your name between your heads, raising you a little off the ground as he kisses the side of your head. Feeling guilty is only going to slow us down-

You twist your head, moving Ben’s mouth to yours for a simple, easy, gentle kiss. I know. But you still made her feel better. So thank you.

He just grunts—deepening the kiss until his tongue is tracing over your teeth and his hand his kneading at your skin—and you let out a soft, airy sigh. You can fucking do this, and then your whole life will get to be moments like this. Where Ben’s glaring at you, but you know he doesn’t mean it because you can feel him wrathful and fond and rough, rolling around in your chest and humming with an affection and love that’s more real and tangible than anything else in the world.

You can do this.

Kimiko and Ben open the doors of the warehouse—blackened and filled with cold, drafting winds—as Frenchie passes out the flashlights and Butcher stomps to your side, a scowl on his face you can feel searing into you.

“I got somethin you need to answer, Love.” He mutters, and you drag your gaze from Ben to meet his eyes.

“Butcher, we don’t have time-“

“Edgar.” He hisses, glare narrowed and firm. “You and the simpin cunt better have gotten some answers for me-“

You give Butcher an amused look. “Did you just say simping-“

“Love, I’ll call that puppy dog of yours whatever the bloody hell I want. Tell me what Edgar told you.”

Ben-

I know. I can hear. What the fuck is a simping-

I’ll tell you later. I’m going to tell Butcher about the Cornucopia, but not the extra V. I need you to back me up on what-

I always back you up, Sunshine, don’t be fucking stupid.

Your face flushes slightly as you return your attention to Butcher, and you have to fight the small smile tugging at your lips from how annoyed Ben sounded at the very idea that he’d ever stand against you.

“We’ve got to move,” you tell Butcher, flexing your fingers slightly. “I’ll tell you while we look.”

Butcher’s jaw twitches, but he nods. “Fine. Let’s get this shit over and fucked out.”

Ben returns to you—and now Butcher, both men glaring at each other like if they stop their dicks will fall off—and you look over to MM’s team with a tense, grim smile.

“If you find it first, get it back to Hughie and have Annie send out a signal. If we get it first, I’ll send the signal. Annie-“ 

“Long flash for regrouping, short for,” Annie swallows. “Emergencies.”

“Okay, good.” You look into the seemingly infinite darkness of the warehouse, chewing on your lower lip as you speak. “We’ll take left, you guys take right. No wandering, and don’t be stupid.”

MM nods. “Good luck, motherfuckers. See you on the other side.”

They go in first, Annie’s hand lit up and everyone else holding guns and flashlights. For a second the daunting, long shelves and halls of the warehouse are illuminated, and when they’re cast in shadows that fade back to pitch black once more, you light a small fire in your palm and take a long breath.

“Shelf by shelf.” You don’t bother to look at Ben or Butcher as you speak, because Ben always listens and Butcher’s a dick, but not an idiot. “Try and be subtle, and keep each other’s backs. Ready?”

You hear two low grunts, and roll your eyes.

“Can I get a verbal affirmation, testosterone representatives?”

“Stop wastin time, Love, and just bloody go-“

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that.” Ben sneers, and you turn to glare at them both.

“Rules.” You snap, eyes narrowing and the fire in your hand growing a little brighter, feeling a little more inlaid and pure in your body. “Benjamin, you’re the love of my life and I adore you, but if you spend the whole time pissing off Butcher you lose blowjob privileges for a month, and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“In the doghouse Gov, tough fuckin luck-“

“And you.” You turn your glare to Butcher, and he falls silent with eyes wider than you’ve seen them before. “If you antagonize him, I’ll kill you myself. Got it?”

You get a crude, huffed agreement from Butcher and take it, turning back to the warehouse.

“Let’s do this.”

For the first five rows, you search in silence. Ben and Butcher keep their guns raised—the former directly at your side and the latter a pace behind—and you realize that Butcher’s shock and compliance hadn’t just been from your words. Your fingertips are wrapped in a white flame that casts long shadows on the floors and walls when you move, and when you turn to look at Ben around the end of shelf four, he’s watching you with an awe.

Fucking Christ, Sunshine.

You frown at him. What?

Your eyes. They’re burning.

They don’t feel like they’re burning. Your vision is clear, and your fire is controlled like an extended muscle as the ghost-like flames light the warehouse, so you shake your head slightly. No, they’re not-

The fuck they’re not. “Butcher.” Ben grunts, his eyes still on yours, hitting something deep in your body and unraveling it with a care you feel along your spine. “What do her eyes look like.”

Butcher glances at you and scoffs. “The fuck am I supposed to say, fire? She got fire-eyes?”

Ben gives you a pointed, smug look, and you wrinkle your nose at him. “Shut up.”

“Looks hot.” Ben shrugs, winking at you. “I wouldn’t be mad if you broke that out later.” He pauses, then adds. “For sex.“

You snort. “Yeah, I got that part by myself, Pretty Boy-“

“Can you twats not eye-fuck each other right in front of me?” Butcher sneers, poking at a crate with his gun, glaring at it like the box is personally responsible for you and Ben. “I ain’t a prude, but it’s bloody disgusting, keep it in your fuckin brain connection shit-“

“The Ben’o’phone.” You nod, not bothering to fight your smile at Ben’s adorable, grumpy glare.

“We agreed not to fucking call it that-“

“I didn’t agree to anything, Benjamin, my love. And you haven’t pitched anything else-“

“I’m not pitching fucking shit, but I’ll eat Butcher’s ass before I call it that-“ 

“Come near my ass, Gov, and I’ll fuckin shoot you.” Butcher grunts, his glare turning back to you. “And you still need to get real bloody specific about Edgar-“

“The debt is cleared.” You cut Butcher off with short, well-chosen words. “Edgar is, hopefully, not our issue anymore.”

“And the Cornucopia-“

“He,” you sigh, bracing yourself for Butcher’s reaction. “He gave it to me.”

Butcher freezes, looking you up and down with a taut, deep glare. “The fuck are you talkin about. The bloody tits were the keys ever for-”

“A villa in Rome.” Your fingers start to tap on nothing, and you keep your voice neutral and even as you continue. “It was Fredrick Vought’s, then Edgar’s, and now, apparently, it’s mine.”

“In Rome.” Butcher repeats, shaking his head slightly. “Dr. Vought had a villa in Rome and Edgar is just handin it to you? Nah, Love, that ain’t trackin-“

“Well, it’s the truth.” You snap. “I don’t understand it either, but it’s all we’ve got to go on. Now can we please keep moving-“

Suddenly, Ben goes rigid. Standing slightly taller, looking around the shelves with an almost feral attention you can feel raging in your chest, wrapping over your lungs.

Ben-

You hear the click of Ben’s gun, and he takes one stride to stand in front of you, the barrel pointed in the direction of the warehouse entrance. Stay quiet.

Benjamin, what’s-

“The fuckin hell is wrong with you-“

Ben cuts Butcher off with a hiss. “Shut the fuck up, you pussy. We’re not alone.”

Your blood goes cold, a chill hitting your body that makes everything suddenly far too taut and electric around you. “Ben,” you whisper. “How many.”

“One.” He grunts, taking a half-step back so he can glance at you. His jaw is clenched, voice low. “Fast heart. Not Homelander.”

The world stops blurring, but you’re still on edge. Nobody should know you’re here, and if a single person catches you, this whole thing could blow. “Who-“

“William!” A cool, angry voice echoes through the warehouse. “I know you and the Boys are here. Are you a fucking idiot?”

All three of you become rooted in place as you recognize the owner of the shout, sharing wide-eyed expression of shock.

“What the fuck is Mallory doing here,” you whisper, words pushed through your teeth. “How did she even know-“

“This is remarkably risky and stupid, even for you dumbasses.” Mallory continues yelling, and you see Ben’s grip on the gun become white. “Stealing government property is a felony, and I can’t let you-“

Butcher hisses your name, nodding to your still burning fingers. “You have to turn the nightlight off, right fuckin now-“

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to pull the fire back under your skin, but it keeps itching and scraping its way back out as Mallory’s words ring through the warehouse.

“I know you’re here, and unless you want to fucking abandon Campbell for me to arrest-“

“Hughie!” That’s Annie’s voice, and it’s frantic, in a sizzling time with the wires above your head. “Mallory, this isn’t his fault-“

“I don’t care whose fault it is, I need you all to come out so we can talk like adults and not petulant children!”

You feel Ben’s body press slightly into yours, and open your eyes to see him watching you. They’re moving. What’s our play.

I don’t know. You shake your head, your nails digging into your skin as you try to pull the fire back down. Ben, how did she know we’re here. Who else-

Someone’s calling your name, and the fire flares up your arm. It’s a nervous, softer voice, and it’s Ryan’s.

Your name echoes around you once more, and then, “Ben? Butcher? Aunt Grace said you’re in trouble, I want to help-“

You start running to the entrance of the warehouse, the ringing in your ears only just quiet enough to still hear Ben and Butcher barely steps behind you.

“Ryan!” You’re half-screaming, not caring that Mallory can hear you. “Where are you?!”

Ben overtakes you in a second, his voice in your head urgent and low. Front entrance-

You don’t bother to listen to the rest, breaking into a full-on sprint until you can see the break of the skyline, dark over the ocean, and seven silhouettes in the door. You skid to a stop—Ben catching your arm to prevent a stumbling fall—and take in MM, Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie in tight stances off to the side, Hughie with a sheepish, anxious expression trying to slowly inch closer to Annie, Ryan a pace outside the warehouse, and Mallory at his side, gun raised and aimed right at your head.

“Don’t move,” Mallory warns, the gun clicking. “I will shoot.”

You feel Ben’s hand tighten on your arm to an almost bruising grip, his own wrath moving the earth under your feet, but your fury is hotter and brighter, zealous and unforgiving as you narrow your eyes at Mallory.

“What the fuck did you do,” you hiss, flattening a palm on Ben’s chest in a silent signal not to move. “Did you bring Ryan-“

Mallory scoffs. “Of course I didn’t bring Ryan, he must have followed me-“

“I wanted to help,” Ryan whispers, his whole face pale, his body curling into itself slightly. “I’m getting stronger, I can help-“

“Ryan, this ain’t something for you to do.” Butcher grunts, taking one, slow step closer to the entrance. “And you, Grace, are you out of your bloody mind? Tellin the kid we’re in danger just to fuckin one-up us-“

“I am doing my job.” Mallory snaps, re-aiming the gun at Butcher. “You are disobeying direct orders from the president-“

“That order was wrong, Grace.” MM mutters. “And you know it-“

Mallory sighs. “This isn’t the time for that, Marvin. We can’t afford to lose sight of order right now, and you are still CIA employees-“

“We’re not.” Ben grunts, rising to his full height as he glowers at Mallory. “You don’t fucking pay us. We can do whatever to goddamn hell we to get the job done-“

“Soldier Boy,” Mallory warns. “I’d advise you remember the conditions of your deal-“

Ben snorts, raising his own gun. “Fuck your deal. Ryan, get inside.”

“Ryan, don’t move.” Mallory holds Ben’s glare, her gun moving to not him, but you. “You’re all going to come peacefully, or I’ll shoot-“

It’s your turn to laugh. A dry cackle that you hate the sound of, because it’s fueled by something hateful and cruel. “Go ahead. I’ll live and you have to know that he’ll,” you tilt your head to Ben. “Kill you. Immediately.”

“You’re not the type to make threats,” Mallory says your name, even as her gaze flits to Ben. “And you overestimate your importance to this operation-“

“Do I?” You shrug. “I don’t think I do. I think you’d be fucked without me. Without Ben. Ryan,” you look past Mallory, your heart straining and turning over at the pure fear on Ryan’s face. “Please come here, it’s not safe to stay outside right now, this is dangerous-“

“He’s a supe.” Mallory snaps, and Ryan starts to lean forward, like he wants to run but can’t. “He’ll be fine-“

“He shouldn’t have to be.” You stretch out a hand to Ryan, the fire starting to dim. “Ryan, I know you want to help, but this isn’t the place. We’re not in danger now, but we can’t risk lingering here. Please-“

Ryan takes a tentative step forward, and Mallory’s face twists into a sneer in your direction.

“You are not his guardian,” she says your name, taking a side-step to block Ryan’s path. “Neither you nor Solider Boy have any claim to him-“

“He’s my fucking grandson-“

Mallory cut’s Ben off with a scoff. “Who you tried to kill-“

“You ain’t better, Grace.” Butcher mutters, and you realize his own gun has risen back up, aimed right a Mallory’s chest. “You’d use the kid as a fuckin weapon against his psycho cunt father-“

“Homelander?” Ryan whispers, watching Mallory with a slack, almost tragic expression. “You want me to, to fight my dad-“

“You’re stronger,” Mallory snaps, her voice flat, words spoken as if they’re inherent. As if it’s obvious that Ryan must fight Homelander. “You’d kill him, and we wouldn’t have to waste time with the V-“

“But the V would work, right? Ben said it would work-“

“Soldier Boy,” Mallory shoots Ben a daggered glare. “Has lost sight of the mission. You are our best bet, Ryan, as the Anomaly has failed to stand against Homelander.”

Annie’s mouth falls open, and you feel relief flash through you as you realize Hughie has made it back to her side. “It’s not her fucking job to fight her rapist, Mallory-“

“If it isn’t,” Mallory’s gaze returns to you, and you feel something start to bubble over between your joint and in your muscles. “Then the responsibility falls to Ryan.”

“I, I don’t want to fight him.” Ryan stutters. “I’m sorry, I don’t, I know what he’s done, but I can’t-“

“You won’t.” Ben snaps, jerking his head in your direction. “Go to her, Ryan.” There’s a pause, long and heavy in your lungs, and then Ben grunts, “please,” and it dissipates as Ryan starts to move.

“Ryan-“

“I don’t want to fight, Aunt Grace,” Ryan mumbles, walking slowly past Mallory. “I just want to help, without anyone else getting, getting hurt because of me.“

Ryan reaches your side, and the flames waver almost instantly into smoke as he wraps a hand around your arm, clinging to you like he might drift away if he doesn’t. Almost on instinct you pull him a little closer, wrapping him in a hug as Ben shifts his body to fully block you and Ryan from Mallory’s gaze.

“Soldier Boy, watch yourself. I will not hesitate to return you to the box.”

Your hands tense slightly on Ryan’s head, and you try to keep your breathing steady for his sake as you hear Ben’s drums, watch the muscles of his back tense at the words.

“Walk away, Grace.” MM grunts, and from the corner of your eye you see his gun raise as well, and hear Mallory’s noise of disbelief. “We’re going to take the V, take Ryan, and leave. You’ll see us again when the dust settles, but I’d advise you take a leave of absence right fucking now.”

“Marvin, have you forgotten that this asshole killed your family-“

“No.” MM’s words are certain, resolved and flat. “I haven’t. But I’m practicing some motherfucking forgiveness, and no matter what I’m not letting you put the kid in the line of fire. Last warning. Leave.”

There’s sounds of shifting, and when you glance around you realize that everyone has raised their weapons. All aimed at Mallory, all paired with solemn, grave expressions as they move like a wall in front of you and Ryan. At Ben’s side.

And—between the space of Ben and Butcher’s bodies—you see Mallory lower her gun with a thin lipped, cold glare. 

And you smell coconut.

And something is wrong.

Ben-

You hear him first. Behind you, with stiff steps and humming an off-key, patriotic tune. And when you whirl around—keeping Ryan steady against your body, his face hidden from full view—your veins bite with frost, and something broken wails and twists in your gut.

“Well, well, well.” Homelander’s smiling is wide, all white teeth, made of a rage that’s in every tense muscle on his face, and there’s a glint of something like poison in his eyes. “What a lovely coincidence to run into all you here!” His eyes scan over your group, and you don’t have to look back to know they’ve all frozen. You can feel Ben’s eyes looking between you and Homelander, hear the drums drawing closer as that part of him inside you begins to riot and bang on your ribcage.

Ben grunts your name in your head, and you realize you’ve started to lean back. Closer to him, further from Homelander. You need to get behind me right fucking now-

I can’t. Your breathing is forced, in and out of your body as you try to stifle the horrible, artificial, sickly smell of Homelander. Try to pretend he’s not close enough that you can see the slight wrinkles on his suit. If I move, he’ll move.

“It really is all of you, isn’t it?” Homelander sounds delighted, and you feel sick. Cold and vile, suffocating and unable to draw in any new air. “The whole gang is here! Oh, this is too good, we can be done in ten minutes tops!“

“How the fuck did you get here, Homelander.” Annie hisses. “How did you find us-“

“I followed Ryan, of course.” Homelander’s turns back to you, his smile growing manic, and you hold Ryan a little closer. “Good flying, son, but let’s work on getting a little higher up in the air next time, huh? Don’t want satellites to track you again.”

He laughs—continuing to taunt Annie with words you don’t hear—and Ryan looks up at you with a panic in his eyes you feel scratching at your skin and heart, making everything too sharp and bright, filling the world with a terror that lives in Ryan’s chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ryan whispers your name, and his voice pleading. “I didn’t mean to, I promise, I just wanted to help-“

“I know you did.” You run a hand over his brow, forcing your voice to be soothing as your eyes darting between every rise and fall of Homelander’s chest and Ryan’s pallid features. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“I, I’m sorry-“

“I know.” You repeat, swallowing down a bile in your throat that’s made of either Ryan’s fear or yours. It’s hard to really tell the difference. “You’re going to be okay, Ryan, I promise.”

There is no guarantee you can keep that promise. But you will do everything in your fucking power to make sure Ryan gets out of this, and you know Ben—alive inside you, alert and wrathful behind you—will do the same.

Then Homelander says your name, you have to meet his eyes. You have to keep Ryan against you, and try not to just scream as blue, cold, hateful and evil eyes carve into your head, violating and invasive and wrong.

“Thank you, honey, for getting Ryan for me. Come here. Now.”

“I,” you take a long breath, and a shaking half step back. “No. You’re not touching him.”

“Fine, you can hold him.” Homelander rolls his eyes, extending a red-gloved hand. “I mean, I’m glad you’re finally getting into that mother bond shit, but he’s still my son. I’ll want him back eventually, and we’ll get you another one once this is all just a funny story to tell our it.”

“No.” Your voice is a little louder this time, and the cracks over your head and heart are starting to leak something like venom into your teeth, spitting with every word. “You’re not touching either of us. Ever.”

Homelander’s eyes narrow. “Are you still throwing this temper tantrum? I got it the first time,” he snaps your name, and you can feel Ben roar inside of you. “I’ll let you outside more, and you can do, let’s call it 50% less TV appearances. But I can’t kill these fucking idiots until you’re over here, and this is a family affair, so let’s get this over with and we’ll talk about it more at home-“

“They ain’t goin anywhere with you, cunt.” Butcher snaps, and you see his move forward in your periphery. “And you don’t got a family. You’re just a sorry, lonely fuckin murderer who don’t got no one.”

Homelander’s jaw twitches. “That’s cruel William. And wrong.I have my son, with your lovely wife, may she rest in peace, and my fiancée and I-“

“She is not your fucking fiancée,” Ben growls, and you can feel him move a little closer. “She’s not your anything.”

“What, do you think she’s yours, Soldier Boy?” Homelander sneers. “She’s using you to get back at me! She’s a lying, manipulative bitch-“

“Shut your pussy fucking mouth.” He’s another step closer, and you risk another inch back. ���Don’t ever fucking speak about my wi-“

“Your what.” Homelander clicks his tongue, looking between you and Ben with disgust. “Your whore? Did she turn around spread her fucking legs for you, again? Are you so pathetic that you’d pick up your son’s scrappy seconds-“

“I am not yours.” You whisper, leaning back a little further, until you can feel the warmth from Ben’s body. Kindling something inside you that makes you raise your chin, holding Homelander’s glare. “And Ben isn’t pathetic. At the very least, he’s never had to make me do anything.”

Homelander’s eyes flash, his neck flexing spits his words through teeth. “This isn’t cute anymore,” he sneers your name, and you have to force a long breath so that smoke doesn’t curl from your hands. “We’re going home, and all will be forgiven. Fucking my father, being weak and letting these rats manipulate you, every childish stunt you’ve pulled to try and hurt me when I love you. It will all be behind us, if you come home now.”

“No-“

He shouts your name, and you flinch. “I have.” Homelander’s head jerks, and he lets out a long, harsh exhale. “I have done everything right for you. I have loved you, turned you into a god, ensured that our marriage will be fruitful by asking your mother for fucking permission to marry you! We could be fucking Olympians. I could be a king, and you could be my queen, and we could fill the fucking world with children like Ryan! Stronger! You could be Madonna, the world will remember and worship you for a million years-“

“They’ll remember me for this.” You whisper, making sure your grip on Ryan is firm, your body wrapped over his. When you run, you aren’t going to drop him. “For killing you.”

“Well,” Homelander’s mouth draws into a sour, scoffing line. “If that’s what this is about, here you go.”

Homelander’s eyes glow red, and you realize what’s going to happen a second before it does. Your mouth falls open—maybe to bargain, maybe to beg, maybe to scream—just as Homelander turns, and lasers right through the warehouse. Shelves crashing down, boxes breaking open, a fire setting off deep, deep in the falling building and starting to spread before Homelander’s even moved back to face you.

“There.” He spreads his arms wide, half-gesturing to the wreckage behind him. “No more V. No killing me. Now stop playing these childish, annoying fucking games and come here.”

You’re frozen. You can feel Ben rolling and bellowing inside you, just a slight falling movement away from you crashing into him, and when you chance a look at the rest of your team—their faces washed in the dancing shadows and lights of the fire—they’re like statues. Ryan is still clinging to you, his fear everywhere in your body, his breathing shallow and rushed, and you don’t know what to do. Everything is moving too slowly around you to process, and there’s only fire that’s not cleansing but bloody, air that’s choked in artificial coconut, and earth and pavement cracking under your feet as the warehouse start to fall.

Then you hear the soft click of a gun, and vaguely register Mallory, pushing forward to Homelander, emptying her rounds into his chest. Bullets that fall to the floor with a rattling sound of metal, off-beat with the drums drawing closer to Ben, off-key with the ringing in your ears, and Homelander’s eyes glow red once more.

You feel something that’s heated—but foul and sticky and foreign—on your skin, Homelander’s eyes return to blue once more, and everything speeds back up.

Everyone is shouting around you. Plans are being made to get out, to find a way to survive this, but you’re not listening. Ben is grabbing you from behind, turning to so his body blocks you from Homelander’s view, and grabbing your chin with his free hand.

Run. Get Ryan the fuck out and run.

Ben-

I’ll find you, I’ll always fucking find you. You feel something rotten and aching start to cover his heart, but it’s not as strong as his wrath. As the hot, resolved, concrete fury in Ben’s body, that’s wrapping around you and making the world sharp as he searches your face with an almost desperate gaze. I swear I’ll find you, Sunshine, but you need to fucking run-

You lean forward, this kiss is feral. Savage and hopeful and made of pure, raw love. He’s everything, and you’re making sure he feels it. I love you, Benjamin.

I love you too. Ben grunts your name, running his thumb over your cheekbone with a soft, reverent touch. Run.

You nod, and don’t spare more than a glance at the scene before you—Mallory’s body split open on the pavement, Ben, Annie, Kimiko, and Butcher fighting Homelander as Frenchie, MM, and Hughie mostly just dodge and try to land blows where they can—before you take Ryan and go.

You hear Homelander roar your name behind you, and you don’t look back. There are flashes of light and heat ripping through the sky, and bangs and clatters as the warehouse begins to fully cave in, but you just keep fucking moving.

It’s useless to go for the limo—you hear it implode only moments after you pass it—so you pull Ryan deeper into the harbor, past more and more warehouses, trying not to drag him but unable to afford a single broken pace. Hiding is your best bet. Ryan’s shaking in your arms, sobbing and half-falling as you pull him along. Everything in his is made of pure, crippling fear that takes every single fiber of your will to push through, and you’re not faring much better. When you crumble against the wall of a warehouse that hides you in shadows and the crashing sound of the ocean, it starts to catch up with you.

How everything is cold, and you can’t fucking breathe. Everything is crashing and shattering around you, and it’s constricting over your lungs, plunging you into a white-hot pain that would be numbing if it didn’t feel like something was bruising and beating and searing into your skin. It’s holding you awake by your throat, and it’s made of wrong. Ben is in danger, and the drums keep falling in and out of time, and everything is wrong. Everything is thrashing and pulling and brutal inside you, trying to pull you back to Ben, but you have to stay here.

You have to stay here. With Ryan. It’s awful and you hate it, but you can’t leave Ryan. Another blow leaves an aching, denting pain on your skin like a phantom is trying to beat you into the ground, but you have to stay here, with Ryan.

He gasps your name, and you try to curl over him a little more. You can’t flinch when something hits you in your gut, or shout in pain as a foreign burn scratches over your skin. You have to keep a quiet as you can, and stay with Ryan.

“I didn’t mean to,” his words are choked, and his hold on your body might crack your bones. “I, I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I wanted to help-“

You let out a soft shush, running your hand through his hair and over his brow. “I know, I know.” You sigh, and gently pry Ryan off your body. He goes with ease, letting you move him back just enough to meet your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Ryan, I know. It’s okay.”

His eyes are glossy with tears, and you think that it might be blurring your own vision. That, or the devastating pain that crashes through your chest—like someone’s hit with you with a bomb—or the way you swear you can hear Ben’s roar of pain somewhere on the wind.

“I’m sorry-“ 

“I know.” You don’t bother to try and smile at him, but you let your gaze grow soft, forcing down a sick, rotting and mold-like feeling that’s spreading over your chest. “This isn’t your fault, Ryan. It’s not.”

“Ben-“

“He’s strong.” You whisper, and he is. Ben is still alight and bloody and unforgiving inside of you, and the drums haven’t faded. They’re pounding louder and louder in your ears—never quite close enough, but drawing closer—and Ben is strong. “And he won’t blame you either. He knows this isn’t your fault, he won’t even think to blame you.”

“My dad-“

“We won’t let him hurt you.” That’s a promise you won’t let yourself break, so you pull Ryan a little closer and let him bury his head in the top of your chest. “I promise, he won’t hurt you.” 

“Can you,” Ryan lets out a shaking breath, and his fear doesn’t fade, but becomes a little less like a disease. A little easier for you both to breathe through. “Can you keep talking? It’s, it’s really loud, I don’t like it.”

“Of course,” you push down another feeling of pain, pain inflicted on your skin by something evil and crushing against  your head like a boulder. “Is there anything-“

“How did you meet Ben?” Ryan leans back a little, watching you with nervous, almost child-like eyes. Like maybe this is just a horrible nightmare, and he’s seeking easy comfort so he can go back to sleep. “He’s told me, but he kind of swore a lot, and he, um, isn’t a great storyteller.”

“No, he’s not.” You huff a soft laugh, and even as something slices over your skin, there’s a warm feeling humming in your head that’s always made of love for Ben. “I mean, he can be, but he does swear a lot. He’s a very vulgar old asshole.” You let out an almost dreamy sigh, and something crashes into the side of your head as you whisper, “I love him so much.”

Ryan’s nod is small, and he’s still watching you with wide eyes. “Did you, was it love at first sight-“

“God, no.” You keep your fingers combing in even patterns through Ryan’s hair, and raise your voice just a little more when he flinches at another too-close bang. “I thought he was the worst. He was crass and rude and mean, and I’d only been told that he was an asshole. And he is an asshole. But he’s also caring and honorable and determined and protective and reliable and loyal and rational and good. And he loves us.” The smile that tugs on your face is real, and Ryan returns it tentatively. “He loves both of us. A lot.”

“What’s his favorite color?”

“Green,” you hum, your smile growing a little bit more. “And he hates blue. Thinks it’s a pussy color.”

Ryan nods. “That, um, I think I’ve heard him say that.”

“You probably-” you cut yourself off with a slight groan, something beginning to beat into your face. And then it’s gone, and you hear a shout of your name. It’s from a voice that makes cracks line your vision, and it’s far too close. “Ryan, fuck,” you start to pull yourself up, taking Ryan with you as your whole body becomes sore, stinging and throbbing with that strange pain. “We need to move-“

Something cracks on the ground, wind rushing past you, and you shove Ryan behind your body as the cold sets in. Reducing everything to Homelander. Nine paces away and looking at you with a callous, hateful face.

“It’s over,” he hisses your name, hands locked behind his back as he takes you and Ryan in. “Your precious Ben isn’t strong enough to kill me, nobody is strong enough to kill me, now stop being a fucking bitch and come home.”

“No.” You whisper, and it’s more of prayer. A plea for something to help you, because you’re too weak. Your fire has gone dormant, and your blood has begun to try and climb out of your body, but you can’t control anything enough to not hurt Ryan. “Please, Homelander, please just leave us alone-“

“You’re fucking mine, I made you both, and no amount of prancing around and showing off your little party trick is going to change that you belong to me. You will always fucking belong to me-“

He takes a step forward, and the air feels like lead. “Please, just, just leave Ryan-“

“Nope.” Another step, and a disapproving tsk. “You’re both coming home, and we’ll get through this as a family. Don’t you want a family,” he says your name, and you feel so small. You can’t draw yourself up, can barely look him in the fucking eyes because they haunt your worst nightmares with how they butcher and chop and destroy every part of you that’s yours. “I mean, fuck, you can’t think Soldier Boy would give you one? He doesn’t care, and he’ll probably just, you know,” Homelander slices his hand over his throat with a click of his tongue. “You when you try to leave him. He’s not patient like I am. Also, let’s face it, your options are limited. You’re a fucking bitch, you’re lucky you’re pretty enough for me to put up with all your fucking tricks and manipulation and how annoying you are-“

“I’m sorry, I’ll, I’ll try to be better, just please leave Ryan-“

Another step. You’re trying to think of a way out, but there isn’t one. You don’t want to go back, you can’t go back, you’ll fucking shatter if you go back, and Ben is roaring your name somewhere in the distance but Homelander’s too strong. He’s malignant and unkillable and there’s no way to kill him now. You know Ben is trying to get to you and Ryan—you can feel him getting closer, alive and nuclear in your body—but he won’t be fast enough. He’s closer—and you feel something tear open in the crook of your elbow—so you can try to delay Homelander until he gets here, but it’s a slim shot.

Then, just after another step, something kills you before Homelander’s even at an arms distance. The whole world turnsto agony. Pure fucking pain and horror and anguish and you’re dying. It’s shredding you apart, and your whole body is wrapped in an unending explosion of pain. Your lungs feel like iron and your bones are burning and your skin is being flayed and ripped open and death would be better than this. You’re screaming—you only know because you can hear shrieks of pain that sound like yours—and your vision is clouding with black spots as your head caves in on itself. Your blood is made of lightning, and every nerve is trying to fly off your body as this feeling pulls you apart, as your organs and muscles are thrown around inside your body, being pried open and filled with something atomic. And then they seal shut and you take a desperate, ragged breath as the world clears.

You’re leaning against the wall, half slumping onto Ryan, and the pain is still lingering in your body. But Homelander is four steps away, and starting to reach out, and you can hear something good bellowing your name.

You can’t move—everything moving too slow and too fast all at once—but you still see Ben running behind Homelander, to you. Closer, so fucking close, but Homelander turns and sees him and it’s not close enough.

You’ll have to protect Ryan. Homelander is turning back to you with a crude, violent smile, and you know you’ll have to protect Ryan. Take every bullet you can so Homelander doesn’t ever hurt Ryan. And you’ll hold on to Ben, and you’ll fight and scrape your way out, figure out a way to get both you and Ryan home.

Ben says your name again, and it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s aching and tormented, like he, deep down, knows he won’t reach you on time. Your eyes lock onto his over Homelander’s shoulder, and try to smile at him. He’ll fight to get you. And you’ll always find your way back to him.

Homelander takes a lunging step, and you’re going to fucking survive this, and you’ll let the sound of Ben roaring your name haunt you in every dream until you get to hear him say it with a soft, easy devotion instead of a rabid, dreadful, wild desperation.

You keep your eyes on Ben’s as Homelander takes that last step, and then the world washes in gold. Everywhere around you, solid in a way that feels so familiar, and warm. Grounding you back in your head, clearing to world into something sharp and tangible and safe.

Homelander isn’t touching you. He’s punching against the layer of gold around you, and then flinching back with wide eyes and a strangled sound.

Then Ben comes up behind him, and smashes Homelander’s face right into the wall of light and energy around you before yanking him away, and tossing him halfway down the ally.

You press your hand against the gold, and realize it’s Ben. It’s so familiar because it’s simply just Ben. It’s humming at your touch—a little extra light growing where you’ve placed your hand—and you meet Ben’s firm, tense gaze with wide eyes.

Benjamin. What did you do.

Took the V. He glances down to where Homelander is groaning, starting to rise back up. Don’t let Ryan touch it, it feels like the nuke or some shit.

Are you fucking insane-

No, Ben looks back to you, and you feel him roll in your chest. It worked, and you’re safe. I’m fine-

You could’ve died, you dumbass-

But I fucking didn’t. Homelander’s on his feet against, and Ben’s body braces, his fist clenching at his side. Stay here.

You glance back to the wall—molding into and around your touch—and realize that if you pushed it a little more it might simply let you past. As if it counts you as a part of itself the same way your empathy counts Ben as a part of you.

“What, what’s going on-“

You wrap your arm back around Ryan, trying to shield his view as Ben deals the first punch and Homelander goes flying into a wired, barbed fence. “They’re fighting,” you whisper, unable to tear your eyes away as Homelander staggers back up, lasers Ben right in the chest, and a searing pain pulses in the exact same spot on your body. “Ben took some V. Don’t,” your gaze flies back to Ryan, and you catch his hand as it raises to the gold around you. “Don’t touch it. It could be dangerous.“

“But you touched it-“

“That’s,” you sigh, your body jerking as Homelander lands a blow on Ben’s gut. “That’s different. Ben and I are, um, we’re connected. It can’t hurt me.”

Ryan’s eyes widen. “Butcher told me you put your brain in him, and you can read each other minds-“

“Yeah, I,” you take a heavy breath as Ben doges Homelander’s next punch, and lands five in return. “I did. Plant my brain in him. But it’s not mind-reading, it’s more like texting. I send him thoughts, he-“ you make a choked sound as Homelander’s hand wraps around Ben’s throat, and a frantic gasp as Ben kicks Homelander back, his whole body seeming to glow through the haze of gold. The drums are clearer, falling into time faster. “Fuck, Ryan, cover your eyes.”

“Why-“

“Please,” you squeeze your arm around him, letting your gaze flick back to search over Ryan’s open, frightened expression you fell across your skin. It’s not the paralyzing fear from before, it’s heavy. Uncertain and head-wrecking. “You don’t need to see this, I promise-“

He just nods and buries his head in your arm. You hold him there, forcing your breaths in and out as the drums get closer. So close, Ben’s staring to illuminate the whole fucking world, and Homelander’s just fumbling on the ground-

He’s not fumbling. He’s groping at his own suit, trying to grab something.

No.

You don’t know if it’s just in your head, or called out to Ben aloud, or traded between your minds, but Ben looks up. At you.

Homelander throws something at Ben, it breaks on his chest, and you feel his panic—feral and animalistic and raw, covering every single part of your body and trying to rip out of your chest—right before his eyes widen, and then close.

Ben falls to the ground, the golden barrier around you fading away, and he’s quiet inside you. Not gone, never gone, but darkened.

Asleep.

And you’re not afraid anymore.

You’re angry.

You’re screaming Ben’s name, Homelander is standing up—dusting himself off and turning back to you—and you’re furious.

The whole world is made of fire. Your whole body is racked with it, building and churning under your skin, sealing over cracks and making breathing so fucking easy. The air is filled with smoke, but breathing isn’t an act of labor at all.

It’s a way to focus.

Because you’re going to kill Homelander.

He doesn’t see it coming. He’s an overconfident, narcissistic, monstrous pussy, so he doesn’t recognize that he did break you. A vital, impossibly powerful piece of you just snapped in your body when Ben crumbled on the ground, and your own voice sounds far away when you tell Ryan to run. To find Butcher, and go. 

And then you’re moving. Half-flying to Homelander, and savoring the parasitic, hostile fear that rushes through you when your flaming fist collides with his face.

You’re in complete fucking control. Homelander stumbles back, and you don’t even fucking flinch. Your whole body is burning, your clothes turning to scorched ash under the white-purple flame, and you’re standing tall. Looking down your chin at Homelander as he collects himself, looking at you with an almost confused expression. 

“What is this,“ he says your name, running his hand over where his skin has twisted and burned, and you don’t bother to hide your sneer as you answer.

“This is it, you cunt.” You hiss. “You’re never touching me, or anyone else I love again.”

“Oh, please, you do not love Soldier Boy-“

“You willing to bet on that?”

Homelander blinks, looking between your burning body and Ben’s sleeping one, and scoffs. “You can’t be fucking serious. You’d really leave me for him-“ 

“I’m not leaving you. I was never yours.” You take a step forward, the pavement cracking under your feet. “I do love him. I really, really love your father, because he’s a million fucking times the man you are. He’s never,” the fire building in your fists grows brighter. “Hurt me. He always fucking respects me. He loves me.” You slash an arm through the air, and the wave of fire that rolls from it sends Homelander scrambling back. “And after I kill you, I’m going to marry him. And then I’ll have his kids. And it won’t because I’m his fucking vessel, it will be because I want to. And they will never,” the air around you is waving and electric and Homelander’s eyes widen. “Even know your fucking name.”

It clicks. In Homelander’s horrid, amoral, evil mind, it finally clicks. His eyes narrow, beginning to glow red, and he’s finally fucking got that you hate him.

“Fine.” He spits your name, rising off the ground and sneering down at you. “Have it your way, you ungrateful bitch.”

You don’t care for banter, or taunting. You just want to finish this. So when he lasers through your chest you bite down on your tongue, but both heal over in a second—skin and muscle and organs reforming so fast you don’t even stutter a breath—and your face curls into a smirk. He can’t hurt you.

And then you’re moving.

Homelander is strong than you. Physically. In terms of brute force, Homelander has the upper hand.

But you’re burning the fucking world, and it’s singing for you. The fire inside you is a hurricane, it’s volcanic, it’s world ending and city leveling, and it’s all fucking yours. And it’s not razing the ground or ocean, because it’s all focused on Homelander. Your vision is lined with red, and you’re going to kill him.

You dodge almost every blow Homelander attempts to deal you, and your technique—thanks to Ben—is perfect. Every hit you land is measured and powerful, wrapped in fire that sizzles and twists and boils Homelander alive. He lasers through you twice more, and it’s just as ineffective as the first time. If anything you brush it off faster, because it kicks your adrenaline up and the pain barely jolt through you for more than a second.

You have the upper hand. Homelander’s falling back as your fire grows hotter, and he’s almost covering is hideous, still smoking scars. You explode in fire, hovering off the ground from the pure force, and it knocks him to the ground.

You yank his head up—golden hair singeing black under your fingers, skin bubbling and growing marred beneath your touch—and hold his slightly fogged gaze, letting every inch hatred and loathing and fucking wrath in your body push back on whatever fear or anger lives in him. Allow every bit of your blood into Homelander’s body like a poison, digging your nails into his skin.

You lower your face down to Homelander’s, and hope he feels your every word.

“I hate you.” You search every inch of his pathetic, weak fucking face, your words easy but still spoken through teeth. “I fucking despise you. You’re a monster, Homelander, and I am never going to do anything better in my life than making sure you never hurt anyone again.”

His eyes flash, glowing red and cutting through your body, but your grip only tightens. The smoke is choking his air-pipe, he’s burnt and mauled from your flame, and the roar that builds in his throat is primal.

Cold, leather hands grab your wrists, but his grip slightly slack as he gasps for breath, and he can’t push you away from him.

Homelander’s eyes on yours are frenzied, and suddenly he’s surging up. Not to his feet, but to you. His mouth moving to yours, and your hold on him loosens as you push away from him on an instinct of no. No, never again, cold and wrong and horrible and no.

There’s an echoing boom, and then he’s gone. Homelander blasts up into the air, and you’re left naked on the ground.

And Ben’s still asleep.

You sprint back to him–body still ablaze—falling to his side on the ground, grabbing his face in your hands. The weight and terror of what just happened is crashing into you, and Ben’s asleep. Homelander said Sage’s gas would last for three days, you can’t wait three fucking days, you need Ben now. You need to feel him in your chest, to tell him you love him and adore him, to hit him and shout at him about how fucking stupid it was to shoot up the V, how thankful you are he did because you’re still here, and everything is going to be okay because you’re still together.

His face is completely neutral. Not peaceful, but blank. And when you try to shout between your heads, for him to wake up, please wake up, Benjamin, I need you to wake up now, it’s like screaming into the sky.

You know you’re crying because of the sobs that shake your body, but the tears are evaporating into your flame. You’re weakly slapping Ben’s face, trying to get his eyes to just flutter, but it’s pointless.

Hitting him is pointless. You can try one more thing.

You drop your brow to his—you’d worry about his skin burning, but it might wake him up, and you aren’t actually seeing any blisters form where you touch him—and pray to a God you don’t believe in that it can be this easy. That, as you start to grow lightheaded and the world fades in and out, it’s because it’s working and not because you’re hyperventilating and screaming choked sounds of Ben’s name.

Then you feel strong, steady arms wrap around your body, and you collapse against him with strangled, pathetic noise.

He grunts your name in your head, and your fingers tangle in his hair. You’re okay.

I’m, you nod, even as you try and pull Ben closer, try to climb into his body so you can break in the safest place in the world. I’m okay.

Sunshine-

I’m okay, really, I’m just tired. I just, Ben pulls you fully onto his lap, and you wrap your legs over his torso with another sob. I love you, please don’t do that again-

Ben doesn’t push back about how it wasn’t at all in his control, or how you’ve pulled a lot of similar stunts that might have left him as broken as you feel. He just squeezes you, moving your head to rest in his neck, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

I won’t. And I love you too.

You nod, and there’s more to deal with, but you can’t make yourself move. You have to find the team and regroup, to figure out what to do with Mallory’s body, and work out Ben’s exact new powers, but you’re so tired, and those will still be issues in ten minutes. You have one last gamble to take—Homelander won’t face you head on, and you can’t risk Ryan like that ever again—and Sage’s next move to worry about, but right now you’ll just stay here. Sobbing into Ben’s body, letting him hum an off-key tune that’s meant to be Rainbow Connection until you’re only letting out shaky breaths, only feeling his warmth. He smells like pine and salt and gunpowder and something potent that’s mostly just Ben, and it’s invading your sense and bringing you down.

There will be more to do.

But you’re just going to stay here, with Ben, for a while.

End Note: Babe wake up, new Soldier Boy powers just dropped.

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

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Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@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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@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli @imsiriuslyreal

[frehyun]

In Sickness

hyunjin x gn!reader x changbin

warnings: none!

genre: sick fic, fluff

word count: 956

author's note: i'm sick as hell with the flu so this is pretty self-indulgent. i hope it's coherent because my brain is just as foggy, but i really wanted to write something while i can't work on other things that require a bit more brain power🥹 hope you enjoy, feel free to let me know what you think! 💗

masterlist

divider by @firefly-graphics

Being sick was the worst.

Your nose was clogged up, your throat felt weird, raw and scratchy, your voice came out weird every time you tried to talk and your head was pounding from all the sniffing, your brain a foggy mess, making it difficult to focus on the most mundane tasks.

Seeing as you couldn’t even finish one of the tasks you had set out to do for the day, you grew frustrated and groaned loudly, attracting one of your boyfriends who trudged through the apartment to your room to see what was wrong.

“What’s got you so worked up, baby?” – came Changbin’s voice from your doorframe as he leaned against it, a concerned frown gracing his face.

“I can’t even finish this thing that I wanted to finish writing. This sucks” – you pouted and made grabby hands at him.

Changbin sighed and took a few steps towards you before enveloping you into a tight hug, his big and strong arms feeling like a safe haven around you. Luckily, both of your boyfriends had already given in to physical contact with you, reasoning that if they were going to get sick, it was probably already too late anyways, so might as well not deprive you of cuddles in these trying times.

“How about you stop for today, I’ll make you a tea and tell Hyunjin to bring some snacks on his way home and we’ll just relax tonight and binge a series? Hm?”

You noticeably perked up at the suggestion, making Changbin slightly chuckle above you as he rubbed your back soothingly.

“Can I choose?”

“Hey, I’m in the minority anyways, you and Hyunjin always immediately agree when it comes to choosing what to watch” – he shrugged and scooped you out of your chair and up into his arms, easily carrying you to the living room where he placed you softly into the corner of your couch. He tucked you in before leaving to the kitchen, phone in hand to order Hyunjin around.

As he disappeared into the other room of your apartment, you sighed and sank further into the blankets and cushions surrounding you. You felt truly blessed to have not only one but two very attentive and sweet boyfriends. It quite honestly made you a little emotional, your already exhausted body wanting to tear up at the thought of two people you loved taking such sweet care of you.

You rubbed at your eyes before the tears threatening to spill over were able to escape down your cheeks and instead focused on browsing through the available shows for later.

Changbin came back in with two steaming mugs that he set on the coffee table in front of you, retreating quickly to get a third one that finds its home beside the other two. You giggled at his choice of mugs, each one being a specialised one that was specifically made with one of you in mind.

Changbin’s had a big Dwaekki on it doing deadlifts, surrounded by many, many hearts drawn by you and Hyunjin respectively.

Hyunjin’s had Jiniret drawing a beautiful bouquet of flowers, also surrounded by many hearts from you and Changbin

And yours had a cat on it, similar to Jiniret and Dwaekki, holding up a pen and paper and looking real smug about it. Of course, you also had your fair share of hearts drawn by both of your boyfriends surrounding the kitty.

The sight made you smile, seeing the mugs together like this. This time, however, you couldn’t catch your tears before they fell, alarming Changbin who was immediately at your sight.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

His hands hovered over your bundled up form, not wanting to accidentally cause any further pain. You felt kind of embarassed for bursting out into tears like this randomly, hastily shaking your head.

“No… Just overwhelmingly happy and touched, I guess?”

The visible confusion crossing over Changbin’s face wasn’t lost on you and you chuckled at the sight.

“I’m sick and you’re dropping everything to take care of me… Makes me feel so many things.”

At that, his gaze softened and he allowed himself to sit down next to you, caressing your thigh.

“Of course we would, you’ve done it countless times for us as well, angel.”

A short while later Hyunjin arrived at home with several bags hanging off his body.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a bunch of stuff!”

“That’s way too much.”

“You know I snack, they won’t go bad under my watch” – he grinned and plopped down on your other side, so he had one entire half of you for himself.

Not too long into the first episode of the drama you chose, Hyunjin clung to you like a koala as you leaned against Changbin’s shoulder, pressing his plush lips into your shoulder every now and then to reaffirm his presence beside you.

For the third time that day, you were close to crying. The warmth that spread throughout your body from being squished between your two boyfriends, one offering his strong and steady shoulder for you to rest your head on while the other acted like your personal weighted and heated blanket, made you want to cry.

Truly, what did you do to deserve the two of them?

Sniffing, you nuzzled further into Changbin’s shoulder and moved your body around, so Hyunjin could lie directly on top of you. You put your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer into your embrace, breathing his calming scent in as you grew tired.

If this is what being sick looked like with Changbin and Hyunjin by your side, you think you could survive the foggy brain for a few more days.

[xclowniex]

Okay I need peoples opinions in this.

There is a tik tok creator and author who has a series on tik tok they're trying to turn into a book called Cafae Latte.

It is this very queer and diverse series. All characters are played by one woman, the creator who is white.

She has 2 jewish characters, both are dragons who shape shifted into humans. One wears a magen david and the other is orthodox and wears a tichel. The creator wears them when portraying the respective characters

Now I have an issue with this for a few reasons which all fall under the big glaring thing of, they didn't consult any jews or do any research past the surface!

First issue of business is the tichel. I do find it incredibly disrespectful for a non jew to wear a tichel when you're portraying a Jewish character and you can't even get tzniut correctly. It wasn't until they finally got a tichel, that they learnt thay they needed to cover their collar bone and elbows. Especially when you also don't call it a tichel and just call it a "jewish head covering". If you're trying to make a Jewish character who keeps tzniut, these are basic things you should know if you did any research!

Second order of business, the magen david. I do find this disrespectful as it's not really for non jews to wear???? Like it's not like you commit this great atrocity by wearing it. But considering their poor rep with the character above, I doubt they know anything meaning behind it and why its important to jews. Plus it's pretty much literally just used to signify that the character is Jewish and that's it.

Thirdly order of business, idk how else to start this besides, they unjewished hebrew??????

Like they were creating a family crest for one of their jewish characters and had this design with the tree of life and some hebrew and wanted help on getting the hebrew correct and said "hebrew speakers and that probably include jews, I think. I need your help with this hebrew".

Like excuse me what. Not all jews speak hebrew and not all hebrew speakers are jewish, but the majority of hebrew speakers are jewish. Adding jews as this after thought which may technically be included is awful.

Last order of business. This time, not about the jewish characters but the arab and muslim one.

Therre is this character they play who is a Muslim arab amercian and they said in their intro post for this character "I'm not sure which arab country specifically she is from as I'm not educated enough". Like excuse me what. There are cultural differences between different arab countries, not in a way which they're completely different from each other but it is a thing.

And to make matters worse, she has a YouTube video giving tips on writing diversity well.

And idk it just really irks me as they are a published writer, who is all about good diversity representation yet can't even do it properly. Consulting jews, not even jews actually, hebrew speakers to use their words, is not enough to give good rep. You need to talk to rabbis, jewish community leaders in general.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

LITBC Ep. 7-8: Gotta Love an Adaptation

Chiming in from @lurkingshan's book club post

On Episodes 7 and 8

So, I love adaptations. While I don’t always engage with every element of an adaptation (I have read zero of the BL books for the shows I’ve watched, for example) I am always interested to learn about how stories are transferred between mediums and people. 

Love in the Big City has been so fun to watch because I have really enjoyed seeing the ways in which the author of the book himself has decided to adjust his own story as the screenwriter for the show. The original creator being in charge of the story in another medium is rarer than it should be, and I am always more comforted by the changes made to plotlines when I know that the creator was responsible. 

Episodes 7 and 8 for example still followed a lot of Part Four, however it was had some of the strongest moments of divergence from original canon of any section of the series. A number of us have mentioned the T-ara’s as an example of this. I think the loneliness that we feel throughout the entirety of the book is countered in the show by the visual presence of the T-ara’s in all the important parts of Go Yeong’s life. And it is such an interesting thing because we don’t learn about them until Part Three of the book, but in learning of their existence we realize that Young has had people around him for all the shit he’s talked about in Parts One and Two. 

gif by @khunkinn

One of the biggest changes being the ending. In the book we end with Young wandering the streets alone, thinking about all the writing about love that he’s done. We end with the flashback to him and Gyu-Ho’s lantern burning. We end with the words: 

“In the end, I left just two syllables on the lantern.  Gyu Ho. My only wish.” 

In the show we still get the burning lantern, we get Gyu Ho, and we get a one-two punch of having the lantern physically say Gyu Ho (규호) on it in Korean, and the voiceover say “love” because fucking ouch. But we also get Go Yeong watching the fireworks with the T-ara’s, a scene that is very much not in the book. I know in talking with some people that they read that moment as taking away from the healing that Young has been doing, which is an entirely valid read, especially because we know how often Go Yeong fakes a smile to hide his pain. 

But for me, it didn’t feel like having the T-ara’s there with him was getting in the way of his healing. With the addition of the T-ara’s as a link between the story beats I really appreciated that Go Yeong ended the show with all of his single friends, watching this explosion of fireworks. I really loved that we end with some level of understanding that Go Yeong will have people in his life to support him whatever comes his way, who will drag him out of bed when he’s depressed, who will carry his mother’s coffin at her funeral, who will be there to watch his healing and to call out his poor taste in men. 

I loved the addition of Eun Su and the wedding and the way that Eun Su looked straight at Go Yeong when he was deciding whether to say yes or no to the proposal. I loved that we got this quiet moment of tragic helium consumption between Go Yeong and Eun Su in a moment of sobering calm, that we had a moment to let Eun Su cry realizing that he didn’t want to get married and that Go Yeong was there in all of that as a support. I know that Go Yeong doesn’t trust the T-ara’s enough to tell them about Kylie, but I have hope that one day he will. Just as he has been reflecting upon the fact that he loved Gyu Ho and regrets letting him get away. 

On the Adaptation as a Whole

Okay, on to the adaptation as a whole. I want to talk about the decision to use different directors every two episodes and why I think that was a brilliant choice. 

First of all, we know each section of the book is its own period of time, and centered around different relationships in Young’s life. The structure of the parts in the book is really interesting because the readers can realize how important Gyu Ho is in Young’s life in the fact that he interrupts the narrative with Habibi. While I think this show would have been elite if it had released two episodes a week for four weeks, I understand the urge to publish it all at once considering the push back it received in Korea. 

Regardless of that though, having different directors makes each of the four sections feel distinct. It is always really fun to watch shows that have different people behind the camera because you will always get something different. Each director has a different lens, a different style, a different performance they will draw out of the actors. And that is incredibly important in a story such as this one where the main character is changing over time. You can write and perform character growth, but I think each part comes with a change in physicality that- while not impossible -would be really difficult to draw out of a performer who is being directed by the same person throughout. 

In addition, because each part does focus on a different important relationship in Go Yeong’s life, having different people be in charge of directing those relationships creates fresher, more distinct chemistry between each pairing. The kind of relationship that Mi Ae has with Go Yeong is large and bright and loud. It’s full of light, and joy, and a deep connection built on authentic selves only the two of them understand. But look at how Go Yeong interacts with Mi Ae in Episodes 5-6. His relationship to her has changed and while the same director could have helped the actors navigate the changing relationship between them, I think to have a different person with a different visual style direct that scene adds an additional, juicy layer of complexity and separation that you wouldn’t necessarily get otherwise. 

As I and many others have surely noted before, different mediums have different benefits when it comes to conveying information. Books can provide intense description or skip over entire settings depending on their relevance, television must show you everything, the clothing the actors well tell you a lot about their characters, the food they eat, the things they drink, the places they live, all the little pieces of set dressing you might not get, that you don’t get from the book are all in there. Love in the Big City the novel gives you much deeper insight into Young’s psyche than you are going to get in the show. The book feels bleaker, more isolated, and more depressed at all stages of the story than what we get out of the show, for the simple fact that the entire story in the book is narrated. When we are first introduced to Go Yeong in the show we get the exterior version of him, the fakest version of him in so many ways. A version of Young we never get because of the structure of the book. 

But there is something I have been thinking about in terms of the visual progression of the stories with the directors that we get. The show itself gets darker and more introspective over time. In Episodes One and Two we are lured in to the story via quick, snappy, and chaotic vibes. The room we open with is full of light, Go Yeong is begging for sex, and then he’s running out the door because his sex partner’s boyfriend has returned on military leave. The club is bright, his time with Mi Ae is bright, the abortion clinic is bright, Mi Ae’s wedding is bright. Everything is bi and loud and distracting, because this is the point in Young’s life where he is the most detached from his own feelings. The biggest moments of visual darkness in Part One are all surrounding Kim Nam Gyu, they’re dates mostly happen in the dark. Their conversations in the car are in darkness, the date to the lock gate is in darkness, the karaoke place is dark, the exchange of apology marinated crab is in the dark. 

But Mi Ae is the more important and prominent relationship in Yeong’s life in the first two episodes and so darkness is drowned out and more disguised in the first two episodes as a result. 

gif by @themisconceptions

Part Two the darkness starts to take over more. Most of the dates with Hyung also take place in the dark, his apartment is scarcely lit, the light of day is on screen primarily through the windows of Hyung’s apartment, through the fake lighting of the hospital rooms. In times when Hyung and Yeong are out in daylight the sky is overcast and gray, better lit than his apartment to be sure, but still there is something dulled out about the sky when they are together. The brightest moments we really get to my recollection (which to be fair I refuse to go back and comb through the episodes to back up my claim) are Yeong waking up in the hospital after his suicide attempt, and Yeong sitting in the park with his mother’s head in his lap. 

Part Three has something really interesting in it to me in terms of how it plays with light. Go Yeong’s relationship to Gyu Ho starts primarily in the dark, meeting at the club, meeting in the coffee shop after the play, meeting on the steps after the last train. But we start to see more light in these episodes after Go Yeong tells Gyu Ho about Kylie. When he starts that conversation he begins it in the dark, and by the time that Gyu Ho has caught up to him to cry over the fact that Go Yeong is smiling through the pain the light has started to rise. Just thinking visually about this part I feel like we get a good mixture of light and dark, it feels balanced in a way the other parts haven’t, and I think that speaks to the fact that Gyu Ho is the person that Go Yeong actually loved. 

I am talking about the lighting here mostly because Part Four feels so distinctly dark. The curtains are drawn, there is very little light coming in. I think @solitaryandwandering is on to something when they are talking about the lighting feeling more ambient. All the light throughout feels muted somehow, like the camera isn’t picking up as much of it even when it’s there. Light does not exist around Habibi almost at all, his apartment is pretty dark, the stairwell where they do their chase scene feels washed out rather than bright, the hotel where Gyu Ho and Go Yeong have sex, the hotel room he has with Habibi where the curtains close all the way, versus the light that comes streaming through the gap in the curtains in his first hotel room with Gyu Ho. Once again the brightest sections of this part surround Gyu Ho, but even then compared to Part Three the way this director utilizes light feels more muted and reserved, just as Go Yeong spends a lot of his time in this part grappling with deep depression. 

I love that even though we have four different directors I feel like we have a clear visual metaphor through the linear progression of lighting in this. We start out bright with the fakest version o fGo Yeong and we end dark with the realest version of Go Yeong we’ve had a chance to see. He’s still got a way to go, but I like how the directors are able to pull different performances and aesthetics out of the story while still making it feel like one cohesive unit. 

Also, I really wish I could pick Park Sang Young’s brain to learn if and how the last few years since he published this book have influenced his engagement with the source material and if and how that may have influenced any changes he made to the story we watched in the show. 

Also also, hugeee shout out to Nam Yoon Su, that dude fucking crushed his performance as Go Yeong, and I another reason I am glad that there were multiple directors on this is because I want that boy to stay as booked and busy and I think that gets a little easier when he has now shown his acting prowess off to four separate directors.

[romana-after-dark]

Little Tease

Dark!Logan x Fem!reader

Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Summary: Logan is trying to train you, but you keep teasing him. It's not his fault, really.

Warnings: Dub con but reader is secrtly into it. logan in a position of authority but to be clear, this is NOT student reader, or teenager reader at the school. This is a short fic so we're not getting into a backtory but that is NOT what this is.

Based on this ask.

More apoligetic non con? Read this series!

Divider by @coolcatsgraphics

1000 follower fundraiser game!

You were doing this on purpose.

Itty bitty shorts. Tight sports bra. Just you and him on the sparing matt and fuck, you looked delicious as sweaty and heaving.

Logan was the gym teacher, but that's not why he was here with you. He didn't spar with students, especially not while shirtless. Students had appropriate gym uniforms. Student's didn't dress like whores tempting him to pounce.

But you were. You wanted him. He saw it in the way you smirked at him when he looked at your tits. He felt it in the way you wiggled your butt when he took you down. He smelled it. Ohhhh he smelled it. The wetness between your legs whenever you and him tousled.

The premise of the rendezvous began innocently enough. You were a mutant, but not one with any powers that could protect you. You weren't like Jean, Remy, Hank, or him.... instead, you were empathic, able to make people feel what you felt and vice versa. This was something that put a target on your back, but you had no ability to protect yourself.

So, you asked Logan to help you, to train you in at least basic self defense so that those who would hurt you for being a mutant wouldn't have an easy time, and you didn't have to simply depend on the protection of others.

and it was torcher. How was he expected tp go about him day after feel your skin, your body under him, your sweet smell... he left rock hard every day.

Until today, when he flipped you around and swept your leg, he landed on top of you. he didn't get up.

"Alright Logan." you chuckle and grunt, attempting to get up but his 300 pounds kept your sweaty face pressed to the mat. "You made you point."

"This is why you gotta watch your legs, pumpkin. I been tell'n you, you're not steady."

"I knoooooow" You can't help but groan. "But can you get your fat ass up? Crushing me here."

Logan's face nuzzled your neck, the hair of his sideburns tickling you. "that's not fat, and you fucking know it. That's the skeleton, you know what that means?"

you huff your answer. "That you're gonna suffocate me under here?"

"It means I can protect you, pumpkin." Logan feels your whole body still underneath him. "Don't need to worry 'bout a thing, not with me around..." He trails his fingers down your sides, feeling the lightweight workout material separating you from him.

Once again, you try to push him off, but all the push ups he makes you do are no match for his heavy weight. "Logan. I think you got the wrong idea-" But he cuts you off with a deep kiss t those sweet lips of yours, sucking n your tongue and biting on your lips even as you squirm under him. Your movements only served to stimulate his cock in the loose grey gym shorts.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects him to you for another moment still. "No wrong idea, baby." Logan draws up his claws just a little, juuust enough that when he slides his knuckles over the crack of your ass, your pathetic, half-see through leggings shred underneath him.

"Logan! Stop!" Your voice cracks as you slap at the blue matt. "Get the fuck off me! I'm tellin Scott!"

"I'm TeLlInG ScOtT!" Logan mocks you, freeing his acing cock and sliding the uncut tip over you wet little slit. He knew you'd be wet, he could mell it on you, but this was something else. "No, you're not pumpkin. Know why? Because the second Jean looks into your m- oooh fuck- when she looks into that pretty little head of yours, she's gonna feel it. Right here." He slides a hand between you and the sticky matt, feeling your stomach right where his tip pokes you. "She's gonna feel how you felt right here, the warmth in your tummy when you watch me warm up, the way it flips when i touch you and, and the way it's clenching right now, ready to come on my cock after only a few strokes.

You whimper, know logically, realistically, Scott wouldn't question you like that, that jean wouldn't tell him any arousal you felt, that the fact you were telling him to stop would be enough for Scott...But a part of you pictured him doubting you, laughing at you even. you couldn't take it.

Instead, you try to appeal to Loga's decency. Even as your stomach swirled and tightened. "Logan, I was just teasing, I didn't mean-"

"But you did, pumpkin." Logan railed into you, one hand pressed between shoulder blades you keep you down, the other squeezing and pulling and touching your body. "You wanted it, you wanted me and you were just to scared to ask. Don't worry," He huffs, hot breath against your ear. "I got you."

He fucked into your core with a fervor you've never felt, a desire for you that was palpable in the air. He was hot, and you did want him... but not like this. "Logan..." You stop moving, stop squirming, stop fighting and lay down. When he sucks kiss to your neck, you can't help it anymore and cum on his cock stretching you open.

"Good girl..." Logan groans, your tightness pushing him over the edge. He bred your sweet pussy full of his cum, pumping you so full that as he continued to pound into you, the white slick platters out from around his member.

When it was over, he continued to lay on top of you, holding you close to him with hi nose familiarizing himself with the scent of your hair. Delicious.

"Logan..." You whimper underneath him. "Just let me go... I'm not gonna tell Scott, or- or anyone. Just please get off me."

"I'm sorry, pumpkin..." He licked a stripe up the side of your face. "not even Scott could keep me away from you now. You're mind." Logan sits up, resting back on his haunches and undoes his jacket. With surprisingly gentle hands, Logan pulls you up and wraps the sweatshirt around your waist to cover the hole he riped in your leggings and underwear. "I'm not gonna stop doing this."

****************************

thanks guys!!!! I've been cracking down on school so not as much time to write :(((

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @madamerubrum @journal3sposts @tomhockstetter7-111 @and-claudia @yeaiamme2 @xoxabs88xox @hornystan @mortuary-reads @hereforthehitsbaby @alexisdotnett @kemi707 @spookysquids @zaggprincess2 @freythecrazyfae @esperanza229 @chocolatequeenbasement

[therentyoupay]

Hii kris can you give us a teeny tine spoiler for More thank you know finale 🤣? I just really can't wait for you to post the final chapter 😭😭

a TEENY TINY ONE?? i'm not sure i can 🤣🤣🤣🤣 but here's what i CAN say:

calli had the original vision for all of mtyk from the very beginning of everything (premise, ending, final scene), which was inspired from a single "what if...?" scenario from our list on our brainstorming google doc from like summer 2023; calli had always had One Very Specific Moment mind for the ending-ending of the whole mtyk series... however, in the end, we didn't actually end up using That Specific Moment in the story (kris ended up changing it to SLIGHTLY MORE ANGST because we both like to suffer)

on that note, kris ended up adding like 15k words after That (Revised) Specific Moment oops sorry not sorry

pretty sure we've mentioned this before, but before any of the Heroes' Journey arc was imagined for the project (i.e., the bulk of act iii), calli had literally just written in the google doc: 'kris add jelsa adventure stuff here!' under "act III" header, and then a series of our whatsapp audio messages and brainstorming chats spawned all of parts i-vii oops 😂

kris LITERALLY wrote most of the entire mtyk story (parts i-vi) in the span of literally like two and a half weeks near the end of summer, and then together we relentlessly fine-tuned/proofread/edited/beta'd each part, week by week as we posted each to ao3; the whole time, we left the final part (part vii) unwritten until part vi was being written, to make sure we had the full scope of jack and elsa's journeys before writing any of the final scenes

once part vi was posted on ao3, kris started writing and fine-tuning vii in earnest; calli literally beta'd the whole "finished" final chapter and then kris had a stroke of inspiration like two or three weeks later and wrote 12-15k more words and calli had to beta the whole thing all over again 🤣

part vii is WRITTEN, and is BETA'd, and is FINISHED, and exists on ao3 as a DRAFT, complete with full author notes and end notes! as soon as the final part of the youtube series is finished, the final chapter shall be posted simultaneously and we shall click that little "Post" button 💕 all that's left is the youtube video! but kris and calli are in final year of PhD program/the first year of med school, respectively, and we are LOCKED INto career responsibilities this month, so we are hopeful for an ✨(early??? mid????) December final-chapter release✨

GO SHARE SOME LOVE WITH CALLI, who is literally, i repeat, TRAINING TO BECOME A DOCTOR AND IS VERY BUSY AND AMAZING 🤣

(A CHRISTMAS TREAT PERCHANCE???)

the final chapter is 19,111 words 👀

LOVE YOUUUU THANK YOU NONNY 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

[v6quewrlds]

❝ know no better, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: with your work responsibilities taking you away from long island, you and mat haven't had much time to blow off some steam. his friends, however, are tired of being on the receiving end of mat's "steam" and enlist you to help.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: about half way through the nnn series! i am a diva!mat truther so enjoy. day five of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, oral (male receiving), mat’s a lil grump.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.4k.

You looked up from your laptop, your eyes scanning the crowded airport lounge. The clacking of keyboards and murmur of distant conversations created a familiar backdrop to your focused silence. You sighed, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you awaited your flight's boarding call. Your phone buzzed, and you picked it up, expecting to see a message from work reminding you of the deadlines that had kept you in Boston for nearly a month. Instead, you found a text from Ethan Bear.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You hadn't spoken to Ethan in ages, not since the last time you and Mat had seen him over the summer. 

The message was simple: "Hey, noticed Mat's been on edge lately?" 

You read it again, a hint of confusion creasing your forehead. Of course, you had noticed. Mat's mood swings were like the tides, but you had just chalked it up to the pressure of his season and your demanding work schedule pushing distance between the two of you. 

You typed back, "He makes it hard not to lol he's prob just stressed with the season. Why?"

Ethan's response was swift and to the point. "It's that dumb No Nut November bet. He's losing his shit like a little bitch. Can you fix him?" 

You couldn't help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. Mat, your six-foot hockey player of a boyfriend, reduced to a grumpy mess over a bet? It was almost endearing in its ridiculousness. But Ethan's concern was clear, and you knew you couldn't ignore it. 

You replied, "I'll see what I can do," with a winking emoji, feeling less than guilty for the amusement that bubbled up inside you.

As you boarded the plane, you couldn't shake the image of Mat, all six feet of brooding masculinity, brought to his knees by his own stubbornness. You chuckled to yourself, imagining the look on his face when you told him you knew about the bet. The flight back to Long Island was a blur of work emails and half-hearted attempts at relaxing, your mind racing with ideas to tease him into dropping this absurd challenge.

When you finally stepped into your apartment, the tension hit you like a wall. Mat's heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, and you could hear him muttering under his breath. You set down your bag and called out, "Honey, I'm home!" with a playful lilt in your voice.

Mat appeared around the corner, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and annoyance. "Fucking finally," he grumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in an attempt to suppress a smile.

You rolled your eyes, your amusement clear. "What crawled up your ass?" You stepped closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mat sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "You wouldn't understand."

You stepped closer, your curiosity piqued. "Try me."

Mat rolled his eyes, his frustration palpable. "It's just this stupid bet with the guys. I can't believe how much it's messing with my head."

Your smile grew. "Oh, the No Nut November bet? That's what's got you all worked up?" You couldn't resist poking the bear. "You know you can just tell them you can't do it, right?"

Mat's jaw clenched, and he glared at you. "It's not that simple. My pride's on the line."

You chuckled, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Okay, tough guy," you said, your voice gentle and teasing. "But if it's really bothering you, maybe you should just, I don't know, not do it?"

Mat's eyes searched yours for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his gaze. He was torn between his pride and his desire to end the torment. You decided to take matters into your own hands. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I have an idea," you murmured against his skin. "How about I help you relieve some of that tension?"

His eyes widened, and you knew you had his attention. "How?" he asked, his voice gruff with hope.

You stepped closer, your hands sliding down to his chest, your thumbs tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. "How about I give you a little something to take your mind off of it?" you suggested, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You saw the spark of interest in his eyes and knew you had him in your grasp.

Mat's expression softened slightly, his eyes flickering with curiosity and a hint of desperation. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his tone cautious.

You smirked. "I could give you a reason to lose the bet?" you offered, your voice laced with playful challenge. You watched as the realization dawned on him, and his eyes grew dark with need.

"Did someone set you up to this?" he asked, his voice thick with suspicion, trying to hide his growing excitement.

"Let's just say I have my ways of finding things out," you replied with a wink. You could feel the tension in the room start to ease as Mat's curiosity took over.

Mat looked at you skeptically. "Alright. But if you're just messing with me..."

You giggled, standing on your tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I'm not messing with you, baby." Your breath was warm and sweet, sending a shiver down his spine. "I want to help."

Mat stared at you for a moment, trying to gauge your seriousness. He was desperate for relief, and the thought of losing the bet was becoming increasingly more appealing by the second. With a huff, he stepped back, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?"

You took a step closer, your eyes never leaving his. "Well, I was thinking..." you trailed off, your hands moving to the hem of his shirt, "maybe I could help you relax." You began to lift his shirt, your hands gliding over his abs, your manicured nails lightly scraping against his skin. "You know, just a little something to take the edge off."

Mat's resolve was crumbling. The feel of your hands on him was too tempting to resist. He let out a gruff chuckle, trying to maintain his tough exterior. "You're really going to do this?"

Your smile grew mischievous as you continued to lift his shirt, exposing his toned stomach. "Mmhmm," you hummed, your eyes flicking up to meet his. "I think it's only fair that if you're going to be a grumpy mess, I get to enjoy the perks of helping you out."

Mat's arms fell to his sides, his eyes locked on yours as you continued to explore his torso with your fingertips. "And what perks would those be?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with anticipation.

Your smile was sly. "Well," you said, your thumbs grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, "I was thinking I could give you a nice, long, slow release."

Mat's eyes darkened, and he took a sharp intake of breath. "Fuck it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fiery kiss that sent shockwaves through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gave in to the passion you had been craving for weeks.

The two of you stumbled into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. You pushed him down onto the bed, your body straddling him. You could feel his heart racing under you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his muscles taut and his eyes filled with a desperate need that made your own pulse quicken.

Mat's hands found the zipper of your jacket, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he tried to get it off of you. You laughed and helped him, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it aside. You leaned in again, your mouth tracing a line of kisses down his neck and chest, feeling his body respond to your touch. His breathing grew ragged, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

As you kissed down his body, you felt the tension in Mat's muscles start to unwind. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you knew that you were winning the battle against his pride. With a knowing smile, you began to undo the drawstring of his shorts, your eyes focused on his.

"Missed this pretty, perfect dick," you murmured against the fabric of Mat's shorts, your voice muffled and playful. Mat's body tensed in anticipation as you slowly pulled them down, revealing him to your gaze. You took a moment to admire him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and desire.

Mat groaned, his hands gripping the bed sheets. "You're evil, you know that?"

Your eyes gleamed with victory. "Only when it's for your own good," you teased, your fingertips brushing against his arousal. You watched his reaction, his eyes rolling back slightly, raven hair beautifully contrasting the crisp white sheets.

Mat's hand reached up to tug at your hair, urging you closer. "Just do it," he begged, his voice a mix of frustration and need.

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Pushy," you said, your voice low and soothing. You leaned down, your warm breath fanning across his skin. Mat shivered as you pressed a kiss to the tip, your lips curling into a smug smile at his gasp. You took your time, teasing him with feather-light kisses and gentle strokes, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

Mat's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth grinding together. "Baby," he ground out, his voice a desperate plea. You conceded and took him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate, savoring his taste and the sound of his moans. His hips bucked upwards, and you held him down with a firm hand, keeping the pace at a torturous crawl.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watching the myriad of emotions playing across his face: surprise, pleasure, and a hint of embarrassment at his loss of control. You took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, and he swore, his hands fisting in the sheets. The salty tang of his sweat mingled with the faint scent of his cologne, and you felt a thrill of power knowing you could bring this strong, confident man to the brink of madness with just your mouth.

Mat's thighs tensed beneath you as you increased your pace, your hand pumping in time with your mouth. His breath grew ragged, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. You took him deeper still, your throat tightening around him, the sensation of his impending climax thrumming through your body.

"Shit," Mat groaned, his voice tight with need. "C’mon, babe, I can't..."

You released him slowly. "You can't what, baby?" you whispered, your voice like velvet against his sensitive skin.

His eyes flew open, and he stared at you, desperation warring with the need to maintain his pride. "I'm gonna come, baby," he warned, his voice strained.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes gleaming. "Mmm, I know," you said, your voice a sweet taunt. With a devilish smile you held his gaze as you stuck your tongue out, a line of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock. Mat's hips jerked upwards involuntarily, his eyes widening with shock and pleasure.

"You're gonna lose that bet," you whispered, your breath warm against his sensitive skin. Mat's jaw clenched, and he nodded, the fight draining out of him. His hand reached for you, guiding you back down to him. "Good boy," you murmured, your mouth enveloping him again.

Mat's hips began to thrust slightly, his movements growing more urgent. You felt a rush of wetness between your legs, your own desire spiking at the sound of his desperate moans. You tightened your grip, your tongue swiping against the underside of his shaft. His hips bucked harder. With one last, deep suck, you felt him pulse in your mouth, the warmth of his release flooding your mouth.

Mat's body went rigid as he came, his breath hitching in his throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him, and gave his cock one last gentle kiss before sitting back on your heels. You watched him, his chest heaving and eyes glazed over with pleasure.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by your ragged breathing. Then Mat's face contorted into a mix of frustration and relief. "Fuck," he muttered, collapsing back onto the bed. "How bad was I?"

You grinned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Oh, you were pretty bad," you teased, your voice light and playful. "Ethan texted me about it. Said you were being a little bitch."

Mat's face reddened as he buried his face in a pillow, muffling his groan of embarrassment. You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's okay," you said, your voice gentle. "You're my little bitch."

Mat threw the pillow at you, his laughter joining yours. "Fuck off," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric.

You caught the pillow and tossed it aside, your smile widening. "It's all love, baby," you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "But seriously, you okay?"

Mat took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I just didn't know it would get to me like this."

Your expression softened, and you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble that had started to form. "No more dumb bets?" you asked, your voice a gentle reprimand.

Mat sighed, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "No more dumb bets," he agreed, his voice gruff. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole."

Your smile was warm, your thumb continuing to stroke his cheek. "You should probably apologize to Ethan. Whatever you did to him, it's gotta be bad if he's asking for my help."

Mat chuckled, his irritation fading. "I'll text him later, tell him you talked some sense into me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Thank you, baby." He kissed you, the affection in his touch making your heart flutter.

[bestiarium]

Who was Davy Jones? [Nautical folktales]

This is something completely different from my usual posts. The nautical folk character of Davy Jones isn’t really a mythological creature in the same way as Mesopotamian demons, Inuit spirits or medieval European monsters.

In fact, it turns out the exact origin of the name is hard to pin down. ‘Davy Jones’ Locker’ was nautical slang for the bottom of the ocean, a euphemism used in the context of sinking ships and drowned sailors (as in, he went to Davy Jones’ Locker). As far as I can tell, this term for a seaman’s grave predates any reference to Davy Jones as a separate, actual character. Sailors who died at sea were said to ‘be keeping watch with Davy Jones now’.

As for the name, it’s not entirely clear where it came from but there are some theories. ‘Davy’ might be directly derived from ‘devil’, and according to other authors it might have come from ‘Duppy’, a Caribbean term also meaning devil, though this seems to be less supported. ‘Jones’ most likely comes from Jonah, the Biblical character and later nautical slang for a sailor who brings bad luck to the ship he is on.

It's not impossible that Davy Jones was (based on) a real person but it's not likely.

So, who is Davy Jones and what does he look like?

The oldest physical description of Jones as a being comes from ‘The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle’, a mid-18th century fiction novel by Tobias Smollett. I normally don’t use fiction novels as sources, but we don’t have anything else here and Smollett’s description of the creature seems to have become the basis for iterations of Davy Jones in media, so we might as well. In the book, Davy Jones is said to be a horrible fiend presiding over the wicked spirits of the oceanic depths. He is a monster with blue smoke billowing from his nostrils, a tail and a horned head with large saucer-like eyes and three rows of teeth.

And this is the description Davy Jones was stuck with until 2006, when Disney released Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, which featured the antagonist that you thought of when you saw the title of this post. This version of Davy Jones became so cemented in our collective consciousness that it’s hard to imagine him in any other shape or form. And, to be fair, it makes sense, because it was a good movie.

(Although it’s hard to beat the first one.)

Sources:

Norton, L A., 2016, Folklore, Superstitions and the Sea, The Northern Mariner/Le Marin du Nord, 26(1), p. 21-30.

Foster, J., 1969, Varieties of Sea Lore, Western Folklore, 28(4), pp. 260-266.

Archibald, M., 1998, Sixpence for the Wind: a Knot of Nautical Folklore, Dundurn, p. 45, 143 pp.

Smollett, T., 1751, The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle, London, p.71, 372 pp., text cited via Greensdictofslang.

(image 1: Davy Jones on his locker. Illustrated by John Tenniel for issue 103 of ‘Punch, or the London Charivari’, 1892)

(image 2: a character from ‘The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle’ disguises himself as Davy Jones to scare others, illustration by George Cruikshank in ‘Illustrations of Fieldeing, Smollett and Goldsmith, in a series of forty-one plates’)

[tinfoil-jones]

For Your Own Good: Intermission

Askbox? Open

If you don't know what this post is about, "For Your Own Good" or tagged as "Early Amnesia AU" on tumblr is a dialogue-only Gravity Falls fanfiction I've been working on that kinda-sorta follows a Mystery Trio -esque timeline, where Ford doesn't build the portal. To sum it up, the whole fanfiction boils down to:

Researcher Ford: I told you I never wanted to see you again.

Mullet Stan: Dude, I don't know who you are or WTF you're talking about right now, but I'm leaving this town and never coming back. You are never seeing me again after this. I'm probably going to forget you in like five minutes.

Researcher Ford:

Researcher Ford: *immediately kidnaps him*

You can consider chapters 1-10 to be Act 1 of the fanfic, and I’m taking a break for at least a week, most likely longer. The chapters so far were already written out in advance, and so was a huge reveal, but I still need to tie things together.

Here’s some authors notes/extra stuff about it, some of it might have already been put in the AO3 before or after notes. These are in no particular order:

This takes place 10 years after Ford and Stan were separated, currently they are both 27 about to be 28. Fiddleford is slightly older than them, being in his early 30s.

Ford is unironically the only person who finds Stan’s really dumb jokes funny.

Ford is the one who displays the most behaviours that would be seen from Mabel and Dipper decades later. Like Dipper, he views washing clothes as a waste of time, and like Mabel he ate an entire tube of toothpaste (granted, it was on accident)

While Ford is the more likely of the two to display traits that later present in Mabel and Dipper, it still happens with Stan as well. Stan has a similar nervous-chewing habit that Dipper displays in the OG series, but his only comes out when he’s particularly anxious. In this case, it was because he had nicotine cravings.

The 'That motherfucker is ugly' line that Stan used on Ford can be considered extra ironic because of how much the Stan Twins look like their dad.

Bill Cipher was originally supposed to speak in Times New Bastard (which is Times New Roman except every 7th letter is jarringly sans serif, a meme from tumblr), but AO3 and tumblr don’t let you change the font.

Stan goes out of his way to avoid using Ford and Fiddlefords given names- but this isn’t because he doesn’t know what they are. In the few times he has used their names, it was a sign that he was being sincere.

If you want to wonder whether or not Fiddleford likes Stan back, consider the fact that he could have walked away at any point, and either washed his hands of the whole thing, or just outright reported Stanford to the authorities. 

Bill is more like Discord from MLP - he’s just chaotic, often to the detriment of others, but he isn’t outright malicious (anymore), and he’s too busy SIMPING to cause any real harm. Basically, Bill is Fords patron for studying weirdness - he helps Ford in his research, but the cost that Ford pays is that Bill is able to possess him when he sleeps, and has unlimited access to his brain.

If Ford knew Rick Sanchez, why didn’t Rick see how similar Stan looked and put 2-and-2 together? Easy; Rick didn’t give a single shit about Ford, so he never committed his face or name to memory. Ford himself only remembered Rick because Rick was such a massive, egotistical asshole. If anything, Rick would think Ford is the lesser version of Stan.

Chapter 10 was the first concrete proof that the Stan we’ve been following likely is Stanley Pines and not some similar conman named Stan Malone. The last time Ford saw Stan would have either been when they were teens, so other than Stans commercials for his failed products there’s no way Ford would know what an adult Stan would even look like, and he’d have to use himself as a reference.

Stan has given some insight on his Thalassophobia (fear of the ocean / large bodies of water). In Chapter 10, he told Ford a number of things he escaped, including the trunk of a sinking car, and cement shoes. Cement shoes are either when you tie someone to a cinder block and throw them into a body of water, or when you literally incase their feet in cement, wait for it to dry, and then toss them into a body of water, so they’ll drown. Presumably, these are still things that would have happened to him even if he didn't lose his memories, so why would it give him a fear of the ocean now? Stan Pines in the OG still had a lot of positive memories associated with the ocean - he grew up on the coast, and had a lot of his hopes and dreams tied to the ocean. But without his childhood memories, he has no positive associations with it, only memories of times he almost drowned. 

Ford himself is not a touchy guy. The reason he hugs Stan even though it isn’t reciprocated is because from his perspective, this is his twin brother who is in pain and has been suffering all by himself for a long time. And Stan - at least how Ford remembers him - had a very touch-based love language. Fords doing it because he thinks it’d comfort him.

Stan seems pretty calm and chill for someone who’s been kidnapped by a ‘stranger’. This isn’t because he’s an overall chill guy because of amnesia, no he’s super pissed and the second he knows he’s free he will let them know that with his words, and incredible violence. He’s remaining calm because he’s been imprisoned and kidnapped enough times to know that pitching a fit or lashing out at his captors won’t do him any favours.

Fiddleford is still married to Emma-May and they do have Tate. But it's one of those lavender marriages (they're both gay and mutually bearding each other)

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

So, I'm not done with Worm yet, so I may be surprised by something, but while I will 100% agree that people who haven't read Worm (and have just read the fanfiction) shouldn't write worm fanfic, I think the degree to which 'the fanfiction gets stuff wrong' is vastly overstated.

Because things like the Wiki exist, and a pretty active fan community, getting the actual basic facts is not hard. Apart from particularly controversial bits of fanon (Aura Theory, for instance) it's rare that a fanfic, even one written by someone who hasn't read Worm, gets fundamental details about basic facts of the setting wrong. (At least as long as the person is making the effort to do that).

Where fic can trip you up is in implications, impressions and errant details regarding the motivations and personalities of secondary characters. That's where I've found the biggest 'that's not what I got from the fanfic'. And while those things can be really big deals and trip you up, I don't know if they're really as big a deal as a lot of people want to nitpick and bitch about.

Because while those things can be wrong, they're not usually wildly out of left field, but rather just - what happens in fanfic and frankly, in any sort of writing that goes on long enough (see TV shows, long running book series, etc) - an exaggeration of what's already there.

To take a recent example - the degree to which Carol Dallon gets portrayed as an abusive parent to Amy can absolutely and has absolutely been overplayed in some fanfics. Especially ones that make her trigger-happy with her magic lightsaber axe. But at the same time, while we don't see a lot of Carol in Worm, what little we do does give various impressions of the character, most of which are pretty fucking negative. The degree to which a fanfic then takes those impressions and then plays with them can start to get absurd and give someone unfamiliar with the source material false impressions, but they are derived from the actual text of Worm.

Like, I don't think Carol actually hates Amy, in the text. But I also think 'Carol hates Amy' is not a huge leap from what's in the text. It is, to paraphrase Buffy Summers, more like you take a few small steps and there you are.

This whole thing is a bit of a roundabout way of saying: That annoying fic trope of the SI into Worm who 'only reads the fanfic' as a way for the fic author to knock those who write worm fanfic without reading Worm is actually pretty stupid. Because in practice, they'd probably get along fine overall.

[cosmicalily]

'written by the aces' - an all-member mini series by @cosmicalily

Outline: A series of individual-member centred stories based on songs by my favourite indie girl band, The Aces, written for my favourite boy band, Stray Kids. The Aces have such a wide range of songs showcasing so many types of love, and as I listen, I always find myself subconsciously reminded of a member's mannerisms and love language. I love the way my worlds blend in music.

Author’s note: I actually first started posting for this series at the end of last year, but then I deleted all of my old fics in a moment of self awareness. Back then, I was really stressed about quantity over quality, so I'm now thoroughly editing and reworking my old storylines for these oneshots to make sure I'm happy with them before I put them out. I spent literal hours curating a list of which song resonated with each member best, and I highly reccommend listening to the specific song for each fic!

Track 1: B.C - Always Get This Way

All I know now is it controls me, and I don’t wanna call you, but I can’t really sleep, and I've been wearing a smile, pretending to eat and I swear, that I can explain, oh, I always get this way

Track 2: M.H - Attention

I'm tired of tearing you apart, know your heart has had enough, it's obvious, you're starved for affection, and you need more, and you need more, you need more attention

Track 3: C.B - Last One

I can’t, I can’t stop, I can’t start without you, you’ve been killing me taking all my attention, I don’t, I don’t need another song about you, so this is the last one, this is the last one

Track 4: H.J - I've Loved You For So Long

You're taking me back, babe, to where it all started, wearing your hair up in your New York apartment, I swear, I've loved you for so long, I'd do it again and again and again and again, baby

Track 5: J.S - Miserable

Now it’s a pain, I’m so tortured and vain, just wanna feel better, I finally got what I want, finally got, what I want, but the next part’s kinda comical, I’m still fucking miserable

Track 6: Y.B - Stay

Don’t be lonely ‘cause you’re not alone, gotta send me pictures, save em to my room, if I fly to see you would it feel like home? If I change my number, you’re the first to know

Track 7: S.M - Going Home

Fuck anyone who says they doubt you, I love everything about you, you know, even all of the the things you say you don’t like, nothing I don’t like. I love that you never pretend with me, even from the start you taught me to be, nothing but me

Track 8: J.I - Younger

It all will work out, you're not gonna feel this way, not forever, and you'll lie awake in tears til the morning, you're not gonna know everything when you're 14, you don't even know at 25, and that's alright