#panic at the disco fluff

[cr33p-a-z01d]

ryan ross x reader <3

ryan ross x gn!reader!! ☆ ryan gets tired after a show and you and him cuddle about it <3 (fever era)

an: hi!! this is my first fic on here so sorry if it sucks :,) constructive critiscm is always welcome. reblogs are always appreciated <3 hope you like it! x3 warnings: none!

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you lay on the backstage dressing room fold-out couch as you hear the music out on stage die down. As the guitars die down and the cheering gets quieter you hear footsteps sdown the hallway and jolt up. The door opens with a click and your boyfriend, Ryan, walks in looking sweaty and tired.

"Hey baby," you say, as you stand up and walk over to Ryan, hugging him softly and kissing him a kiss on the check, "how was the show?" Ryan smiles softly and sits down in the chair next to the vanity before saying anything.

"Yeah, it was okay," He says with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing a makeup rag and rubbing his eyeliner off. "I'm just tired, you know how I get after these things." The makeup remover revealed that Ryan had very dark eyebags from not sleeping well the past few nights. The shows always went super late into the night and the band usually had something to do early in the morning so it was no wonder he wasn't sleeping well, but it had always made you feel bad considering how hard he worked and how tired he was all the time.

"Come lay down." You say as you lean against the vanity. Ryan gives a questioning look before you continue talking, "Yeah, I'll turn the lights off and we can just lay down a sleep for a bit, you obviously need it" You say with a light chuckle. Ryan murmurs a word of agreement before pushing the chair out and walking over to the fold out couch and laying down.

You walk over to the light switch and flip the lights off, engulfing the room in darkness except for the small light bulbs around the mirror of the dresser.

You make your way over to the couch and lay down next to your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his small waist. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and kiss him, "You did really good tonight." You say while smiling.

Ryan laughs quietly before talking Ina very quiet voice, "Be quiet, you said I could sleep" He says with a small chuckle. You couldn't see it but you could tell his face was getting red from the compliment.

"Yeah, whatever" You say before planting a small kiss into the back of his hair, you pull Ryan in closer to you and you both end up falling asleep together before doing the same thing over again tomorrow.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

hii!! hope you enjoyed :D this is my first fic on here so I hope it doesn't suck a lot LOL. this wasn't proofread or anything so there's probably some mistakes but just shhhh. anyways I hope u liked it :3 if you're one of my mutuals pls tell me if this sucks or not LMAO

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 18

"I see what's mine and take it" (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes) / Bewitched

Yuu's party watched in horror Malleus's body twitched uncomfortably, Rollo standing unfazed over his body.

"Bastard!" spat out Yuu, bursting out of the vines and raising their staff to charge a spell. From the corners of their eyes, Yuu could see the other members of their party do the same, or at least their own version with their respective weapons.

Rollo, however, was not amused.

"Cross me again," he warned, and raised his staff over his head.

Yuu tried to fire, but the shot was a total waste. Rollo vanished into the shadows too quickly, the bolt of magic ended up bouncing off the polished stone wall, dissipating into the ground.

Though minor, the attempt would end up costing Yuu precious seconds of sorting out the situation. As the resident healer, it was often on them to sort out complex magical problems whenever they were presented to the party, and this would prove to be a thorny mess to sort out.

Yuu, however, did not know that at this time. Still, when Malleus rose from the cloud of smoke that had enveloped his body to a dizzying height, they were able to guess that Rollo was indeed a very, very powerful wizard.

It was easy to see why Malleus was doing so. His lower half appeared to have been replaced with the body of some sort of reptile, with scaly flesh and clawed limbs and all of that.

Yuu guessed it was a dragon, though they'd never seen one. It matched the descriptions they'd heard.

How had Rollo been able to summon so much transformation magic at the drop of a hat? He'd have to have constructed the body of the dragon with something, would it be prudent to destroy his supply and cut him off.

Or... was this something Malleus could do innately?

"Yuu!"

Before they could blink, someone was tackling them to the ground. They'd become to fixated to notice the haze leaving Malleus's eyes as he took a swipe at them.

The long, vicious claws were mere breaths away from Yuu as Ace held them down, and Yuu was thankful the wind had been knocked out of their lungs, lest they scream at it all.

They saw Jack draw an arrow as Deuce tried to stick Malleus with a knife in the stomach. Both points seemed only to agitate Malleus more, however, and he roared so loudly, Yuu felt it in their chest.

Yuu rolled away to let Ace snatch his sword off his belt and charge forward, and Yuu began firing up a spell, though they didn't know which one to use.

Malleus's eyes were wide, his teeth gnashing and grinding, the still-human part of his body flailing wildly.

He attacked Deuce, who screamed and ran away as fast as he could, just barely dodging a sickening snap of Malleus's jaws.

His jerky movements suggested he was being yanked somehow, possibly against his will, but Yuu's brain was paralyzed with fear, and they couldn't quite think straight.

Malleus's tail swung around, crashing Jack into Ace, and Yuu saw what it could be that was puppeting Malleus- Rollo, standing behind him with his staff plucking at some glowing strings.

Yuu fired again, but Rollo vanished once more. They found him again quickly in a ledge on the walls, but Yuu knew it was no use in trying to shoot again without a better strategy. He was just too fast.

Instead, Yuu tried to summon a great ball of light and explode it right next to Malleus. They took most of the energy out of their spell, instead maximizing the remaining energy as light and sound to create a flashbang.

If he was falling prey to baser instincts, this irrationality might care him off, and indeed, his wretched squeals made Yuu's heart wrench.

But it worked. Yuu saw Malleus trying desperately to rub the light out of his eyes, allowing Yuu's party to regroup.

Rollo would not stand for it. With a cold glint in his eyes, he raised his hands, and Yuu swore they could see the puppet strings attached straight to his fingers.

Malleus went slack, tear tracks running down his cheeks, then rigid, all with the same vacant look in his eyes before his pupils sharpened.

Onto the object in his line of sight- Yuu.

He surged forward to slash at them, and Yuu hit the floor to dodge. His fixation had not ended, however, and he pushed them further and further into a corner of the room as Malleus attacked.

"M-Malleus!" Yuu exclaimed, feeling their staff tap the back of the wall indicating they'd run out of space, and with that, time.

To anyone else, the change might have been imperceptible, Yuu thought there might have been a chance that the words had actually sunk in.

"Malleus," they said again, trying to sound calm. "You remember me, right?"

They tried to examine whether or not the minute change sin his face meant he was listening, but the biggest tell to Yuu was that he wasn't attacking anymore. He was still coiled tightly like a predator, but at least Malleus had stopped for now.

"Yuu!" exclaimed Epel, but Yuu had to ignore him to focus.

"Malleus, please remember," insisted Yuu. It seemed it was their voice more than their words he was responding to, so Yuu kept talking. "I know you can calm down. You must be scared, right?"

He was breathing heavily, as if the strings were taking a physical toll on him. Yuu could see his shoulders heave up and down.

"That's good," said Yuu, lowering their voice a bit. "That's really good. You're doing good, you know that?"

Malleus was only staring now, tense body having seemingly uncoiled a bit.

"Thank you, Malleus," they said.

Just then, another voice cut in.

"Attack!" shouted Rollo, and Yuu's stomach dropped out as Malleus lunged straight for them.

There wasn't even time for them to scream as his claws sunk into them, but to their surprise, Yuu was actually fine.

One of Malleus's long clawed limbs had grabbed onto them, lifting them to his eye level.

From this close, Yuu could see just how unhinged he look, the magic clearly twisting his body in cruel and unusual ways.

"Malleus! I said, attack!" ordered Rollo, but Yuu could hardly hear him over he pounding in their ears.

They tried to stay still as Malleus examined them, fist squeezing and loosening with no regard for their security.

"Oh no, Yuu!" They recognized that as Jack, calling up helplessly from below.

Malleus had finally centered his gaze on them, though, and had semeed to come to a conclusion.

Nodding to himself, he growled a bit to the people below him, enveloped Yuu beneath his great wings, and before they knew it, the two of them had vanished, having teleported away.

[camjsad0]

Birthday wish ‧₊˚✩彡

- Ryan ross x reader oneshot !! got bored and js wrote this lol. this is my first oneshot so expect to see a few mistakes sorry😞💪💔

- Fluff <3

- WC: 741

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★

It was 6:30pm on a tuesday, just a few days after ryan’s birthday. I was laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling thinking about random stuff while listening to my favorite band. This was usually what i did everyday.

My thoughts were quickly cut off when i felt my phone vibrate.

I lazily grabbed my phone and saw that ryan had sent me a text. I instantly checked what the message said.

“Hey, can i come over??”

I nervously typed on my phone and sent him back a text,

“yeah sure, what time r u coming over?”

“ill be there in 10 mins :)” he replied.

I sent him a like and got off my bed, making my way to the vanity.

I didn’t know why i was so nervous, it was normal for ryan to come over. However, i never really cared about what i looked like. But for some reason i’ve been developing feelings for ryan—— although i keep trying to be indenial about it because i knew that telling him how i felt can result into having my long-time friendship with ryan ruined. I knew for a fact that ryan viewed me only as his friend, nothing else.

I pushed away my thoughts and quickly started to brush my hair, put a decent amount of lipstick; just making myself look like i totally haven’t been rotting in my bed for days.

A few minutes have passed, and i heard a knock at my door. My mom probably had already let him in, I opened the door to see ryan’s surprised look on his face. “What got you all dressed up?” in a teasing manner. “I went out earlier.” clearly i was lying, unfortunately ryan picked up from my weird tone and replied “You’re totally dressing up for me, aren’t you?” smirking as the words flew off his mouth. “Oh shut up” trying to hide my flushed face, quickly turning around and making my way to my bed as i sat down on it.

“Wanna watch a movie?” looking up at him as i asked. “Yeah sure, how about this one?” he said as he picked up a CD from the small shelf. He comfortably sat down on my bed as i set it up and hurriedly sat down beside him.

30 minutes in, and i sensed that ryan was getting bored of the movie, and honestly so did i, it was just your typical horror movie. He yawned and placed his head on your shoulder. You awkwardly sat there until you finally felt comfortable enough to lean your head on top of his.

“You’ve been acting weird lately, what’s wrong?” he randomly blurted out. I didn’t know how to reply and froze for a few minutes before i finally replied, “It’s nothing.” I stuttered out before getting up and rushing to my bathroom. My heart beating fast, as if it was about to fly out of my chest.

Why were you feeling this way towards ryan? Your bestfriend for years?

You stood there for a few minutes and realized that you had probably left ryan startled. You hesitantly pushed the door knob open.

Ryan was holding your journal in his hands, casually flipping through the pages. Reading it with a smile on his face, I don’t even think he noticed you.

You almost fled there to snatch your journal back, although you knew that ryan had probably already read enough to know how you felt towards him.

“Why did you never tell me how you felt?”

“I’m sorry, but i knew that you only viewed me as your friend-“ you were cut off. “Why would you assume that? What if i liked you too?” He admitted. I couldn’t believe what i just heard. I never even noticed that he had feelings for me too. “What do you mean?”

“God, you’re so oblivious (y/n). I’ve liked you for years. But you were always busy being with some guy that didn’t even treat you right. It crushed me to see you being treated that way. I never had the chance to tell you how i felt-“ you immediately cut him off by placing a soft kiss on his lips. Leaving a faint pink kiss mark on his lips, making you giggle. He leaned forward to kiss you again, this time being more passionate. He pulled off and reached a hand to your cheek.

“I guess my birthday wish came true.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★

[prettyseaveins]

Lover Boy, Lover Girl - R.R.

Ryan Ross x female!reader one shot

SFW / No warnings 

word count: 748

Summary: a small snippet into a random morning with Ryan Ross

“Ryan, did you hear what the fuck is going on with the government?” you asked, your body leaning against an arm of their shared couch as you held a cup of coffee. A look of disbelief was on your face as your boyfriend sat down beside you, letting his eyes fall on the screen you stared at. “This literally means that the government is gonna start controlling our brains or some shit because they want to block the media we consume—which is complete and utter bullshit! What the fuck? Does this mean I am no longer going to be able to sing about socialism and shit?”

“I think you’ll be able to sing about your idealistic world of anti-capitalism and love for me no matter what the government says,” he smiled comfortingly at you and let a hand rub your thigh soothingly. “This probably won’t even pass. Do you even hear how dumb they sound? She asked him if some dumb meme caused kids to become communists. I think we’ll be fine.”

“I guess you’re right, but also, who said I sang about loving you? For all you know, I could be singing about my love for Pedro Pascal or another celebrity crush that is ranking high on the list. Who knows, it could even be one of your friends from a different band. What was that bassist that took over Jon’s spot? Austin, was it? Or maybe his name was Antonio?” You put a finger up to your chin, tapping it as you faked your pondering. “Oh, I remember! Dallon is his name! Isn’t he a part of some big and famous band now? Supposedly even better than that band you used to be in?” Before you could utter another word, Ryan grabbed the coffee out of your hands and pushed his free hand into your side, starting to tickle you.

“You better plead for mercy,” he said, continuing to tickle you as you giggled and thrashed around. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You were right! All my songs are about you and not some stupidly gorgeous hunk!” Another fit of giggles and laughter left your lips as he continued to harass your side with wiggling fingers. “I said you were right! Please, have mercy on my soul!” After a couple more seconds of tickling, Ryan stopped and let you be free of the punishment.

“Thank you for admitting I was right,” he took a quick sip out of your mug, grimacing at the taste. “You put way too much creamer in here.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t for you, it was for me,” you sat up and grabbed the mug from him before taking a sip of your own coffee. “I could make you a cup if you want. One that has less sugar for your poor old soul.”

“You can’t be mean to me anymore. I have fingers of steel that could tickle you for eons to come,” he wiggled his fingers to try and prove just how serious he was, but it only resulted in a cringe from you.

“Okay, lover boy. I’m gonna make you a cup of coffee so I can hopefully get that image out of my head,” you stood up and started walking to the kitchen, setting down your own mug to start making Ryan’s. “And can you please change the channel? I would love to stop thinking about how the world is coming to an end for one second.”

“As you wish,” he picked up the remote and flicked it to a different channel, letting a random episode of Friends play as you made him coffee. “Make sure to use the mushroom house mug.”

“You mean the only mug you ever use? Technically, it isn’t even your mug, I’m the one that bought it,” you countered, finishing making his coffee before walking back to the living room and passing the mug to him. “I made sure to keep it extra disgusting.”

“Just because I like my coffee actually tasting like coffee doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. Also, I will forever be denying the fact that this was ever your mug. They are forever mine,” you rolled your eyes at his statement and grabbed your own mug, it coincidentally originally owned by your boyfriend, before taking your own sip.

“Whatever you say, nerd,” you giggled and let yourself sink next to Ryan, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love you too, lover girl,” he said softly, peacefully watching the television with you.

~

A/N: I just wanted to create more ryan ross content so i wrote this lol. i’m gonna write more so drop suggestions if u want to ! thank you :)

[loverontheleft]

Happiest (revised)

Original request(s): I would love an imagine where the reader and Brendon are at Disney World, and he proposes in front of Cinderella Castle and it’s just so fluffy and sweet? Thanks! Aaaaaaand I would love to have a Brendon x reader imagine during a slow dance in their home followed by really slow, passionate, fairly vanilla sex.

Brendon x reader

Word count: 3.9k➡️5k

Warnings: nothing really. Pretty vanilla per the request.

-||-

“Bren, why are we walking so fast?” You’re practically trotting alongside your boyfriend, your hands tangled together as he cuts through the crowd—well, as he follows through the parting of the people Zack makes as he cuts through the crowd while Jake brings up the rear, his camera in tow. “Our next Genie+ pass isn’t until—” you pause to think.

“5:30. For the Seven Dwarves. But—” Brendon cuts himself off and tugs you close so you’re flush against him as a tour group in bright yellow shirts marches by, chanting at the top of their lungs. “But we’ve got somewhere to be,” he finishes, stroking the small of your back. “Come on, my love.” He nods in the direction where Zack and Jake are waiting patiently. Before starting though, he adjusts his hat as the stragglers of the tour group shoot you both furtive looks. You nudge him and look up at him, and he looks back at you. You’re silently asking the question, and Brendon nods. There’s a bit of time.

He waves at the teenagers, who squeal in stunned recognition, while you dart away to tell Zack that Brendon needs five minutes. Mission accomplished, you move back to where your boyfriend stands, and offer to take the photos. He beams at you, and the girls are gushing with gratitude to you both.

Photos taken and Zack alerted, he’s back to his brutal pace, and you and Brendon are laughing as you stumble over each other to keep up with him. Jake is taking his time, stopping and shooting his own photos seemingly at random but always catching back up with you by weaving through the crowds effortlessly. When you finally come to a stop, you stare up at the castle in front of you. “Brendon, what are we—” but your stomach growling interrupts you before you can finish the thought. He smiles.

“Fixing that. Come on, Y/n. We’re having lunch at the castle!” Brendon beams at you as Zack leads your group into the tunnel cutting through the castle and opens an ornate door on one side. You must look like a child at Christmas when you launch yourself at Brendon, hugging him tightly, and you can hear the shutter of Jake’s camera going crazy. “Happy, Princess?” Brendon murmurs in your ear. You nod, still clinging to him.

“You do make me feel like a princess,” you tell him, smiling radiantly. “I’m the luckiest, happiest girl.”

He kisses your forehead and holds you close as Zack lets the cast member at the hostess stand know the four of you are here. “Zack doesn’t mind being the responsible adult, handling all of this for us, does he?” You cling to Brendon, and he shakes his head.

“Nah. For one thing, he knows I shouldn’t do it myself. Best to lie low whenever possible. Small things like the photos earlier aren’t a big deal, but…my name on a lunch reservation feels different. And our anxiety manifests differently. Mine, I need to avoid it all. He needs to feel like he’s in control. And this way, he is. Despite what he may say or how he rolls his eyes, he likes taking care of you. He knows you’re important to me,” and Brendon breaks off so he can kiss you softly. “He knows you’re important to me, which means you’re important to him. He knows you make me the happiest I’ve ever been so…he’s going to keep you safe and keep you around.” Brendon shifts a little, biting his lip. “I love you.”

Your eyes are welling, and you clutch him to you. “I love you too. Thank you for treating me so well.” Brendon smiles and brushes his lips over yours once more, murmuring that he’s only treating you the way you deserve to be treated. “Still…” you trail off when Zack beckons. “Oooh! Time to go,” you say giddily, tugging at Brendon’s hand. “Let’s go, baby!”

-||-

“How do I look?” Brendon angles the plastic crown on his head and looks to you for approval. “That bad?” He teases when he catches your rapt expression. “Yikes, I knew I’d look dumb, but—” and as he reaches to remove the crown, you shoot out a hand and slap his away.

“Don’t you dare. You look gorgeous,” you murmur, transfixed on him. “Absolutely gorgeous. My Prince Charming.” He beams at you and raises his glass to yours, tapping them together lightly. “To us,” you say with a smile. He echoes your toast happily, and you both drink. Zack and Jake mimic the two of you, making you and Brendon blush and laugh.

“Sorry guys, we’ll try to stop living in our own little world,” you offer, and Jake shrugs, urging you two to lean together so he can take a photo. Brendon gets up and moves around the table to wrap his arms around you, and you smile up at him, forgetting about the camera and everything else. You tend to do that in his arms. There’s the snap of the shutter—you both blink, adjusting your expressions for the camera.

“Don’t bother,” Jake says with a wave, studying the preview screen. “That candid was everything.” He turns the camera to show you both, and you gasp quietly. “I know, right? It’s perfect.” Jake looks ridiculously pleased with himself, but you have to concede that the photo is definitely your new favorite.

Brendon kisses the top of your head before moving back to his seat. Once seated, he reaches across the table, taking your hands.

“Alright, time for a confession.” You look at him with wide eyes, and he smiles nervously. “This technically isn’t just a vacation.” Brendon pauses, and you nod, encouraging him to continue, even though you’re confused. “I have something important to do later. But if you’ll bear with me, I promise it’ll be worth it.” He smiles reassuringly and squeezes your hands. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” you tell him, raising your intertwined hands to kiss your interlocked fingers. “You always keep your promises. What do you have to do later that’s important?” He mimes zipping his lips and grins at you as the server places your side salads in front of you. You’re distracted; you give a quiet squeal of delight and gesture at your salad bowl. “Bren, even the croutons are shaped like Mickey!” He laughs delightedly at your glee and nods, watching you happily. “B, this is amazing. You’re amazing. Even if you won’t tell me what we’re really here for, this is amazing, and I’m so happy.”

“I’m glad. You being happy is all I ever want.” He shoots Zack a playfully dirty look when Zack gags into his cheeseburger, and you all laugh before digging into your food. “I mean it,” Brendon murmurs later over the slice of cake you’re sharing for dessert. “You being happy is everything to me.” You stab a piece of cake with frosting and bring it to his lips, smiling when he delicately plucks it from your fork.

“I am happy. I'm so happy. Brendon, my love, I’m the happiest. Are you?” You ask the question softly, taking your own bite. He nods eagerly, echoing your statement and strokes your hand that’s resting on the table with his index finger. “Good. You are so good and kind and wonderful. You deserve to be the happiest you can be,” you tell him, leaning in and meeting his lips for a soft, chaste kiss. As you part, the server approaches with the bill; Brendon holds out his wrist to tap his magic band to the scanner. Quickly, he signs the slip she offers and adds a tip before the four of you stand.

Brendon slips an arm around your waist and holds you close so Zack can lead the way out of the restaurant. You duck your head and follow Zack out, Brendon right behind you. His hand on the small of your back is soothing; you relax into his touch. Once you’re outside, you both slip your hats back on and check each other. “Good?” You ask, and he nods, kissing you quickly.

“Perfect. I’m good too?” He asks, tugging at the brim of his hat, and you echo him, taking both of his hands in yours and swinging them back and forth. “Good,” he affirms, squeezing your hands. “Let’s go,” he says after a moment, beckoning you to follow him. You’re at a leisurely pace now, and Zack pauses by a building designed to look like a fire station on Main Street. He knocks on a door, and it opens; Zack herds you and Brendon inside.

“Here we are,” Brendon murmurs, shrugging out of his leather jacket, leaving him in black jeans and a black t-shirt. You shiver just looking at him, and he slings it over your shoulders. “Cold, sweetness?” When you nod, he presses his lips to your forehead. “Then I’ll leave it with you. And my hat.” He nests it over yours. “Keep those safe for me?” He asks, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Where will you be? Wait, where are we?”

Brendon smiles sheepishly when a Disney cast member trots up with a clipboard in hand. The back of the clipboard has a familiar wreath logo on it, and you gape at him in disbelief. “Are you…no…wait. Are you—are you going to be in the Disney Christmas parade?” You’re whispering, even though everyone in this huge room seems to be in on the plan.

He grins at you and nods as another cast member appears with a garment bag. She unzips it swiftly and whips out a jacket you’ve never seen before, but it’s definitely meant for Brendon: the gold swirls look like a recent tour jacket, but these are slightly more precise, more uniform, and they look like—you grab his arm. “Those are Mickey heads!”

Brendon smiles and nods as he slips into the jacket, and yet another cast member comes up with a small black case that opens to reveal his signature golden microphone. “Urie, you sneak!” You exclaim in a stunned whisper, unable to stop grinning. “I didn’t even know they were recording today. This is the best surprise ever.”

“Hopefully not ever,” he murmurs with a small smile, passing you the microphone to hold while Zack slips him the box with his cufflinks; they’re a custom black opalescent set you got him last Christmas with his band’s logo engraved in them, and you get a little thrill every time you see him wear them. “Okay. I’ll see you soon, my love.” He kisses you once more, holding you close and breathing you in. “I won’t miss our Genie+ pass. Promise.” He pulls back and smiles, eyes shining. “I love you, Y/n.”

You whisper it back, hand him his microphone, and he blows you one last kiss as he’s whisked away by the cast members; you whirl around to look at Zack and Jake. “You guys knew?” They exchange looks and then meet your eyes. “Oh, of course, you knew. He couldn’t take one step without one of you knowing about it. Okay, so…now what? Do we get to watch? Where do we watch?” You’re impatient; you just want to see him perform. You know they’re taping and will require several takes, but you don’t care. You love watching him perform and want to see every moment of it.

At your question, a woman looks up; she recognizes Zack and waves the three of you over. There’s a cluster of large monitors and chairs; Jake makes himself comfortable in one and you do too, settling in to wait.

It’s been probably about twenty minutes when one of the cast members who is standing around introduces herself and says she’s in training to work in the boutique doing hair; she asks if she can practice on you. You’re not opposed, but you don’t know the plan. When you glance at Zack, he shrugs and nods, telling you you’ve got the time.

She flags down two fellow cast members to do your makeup and nails after begging to let them practice on you, and before you know it, your vision is entirely blocked by the woman doing your makeup and, honestly, you don’t mind. You know they’re not filming yet, so you're not missing anything, and the brushes feel good on your skin. You only did the bare minimum this morning: a tinted moisturizer, some mascara, and your lip gloss. But Shannon, as she introduced herself, is going all out, studying you from different angles while Tori works on your hair, debating between different styles behind you, and Renee works diligently at your cuticles. The camera shutter startles you; you look up, and Jake is grinning at you innocently, telling you Brendon will want to see you all done up.

-||-

“God,” you marvel, looking at yourself in the mirror. “You’re all incredible!” They blush and thank you before turning their attention to the monitor where you can see Brendon’s float just edging onto the screen. His voice carries through the air, and you’re swooning internally, watching him work the crowd from the Nightmare Before Christmas float he’s been assigned. Everyone else in the waiting area is mesmerized too, and your heart swells with pride. Your man is so talented and makes people so happy. He’s clearly having the time of his life, and you can’t wait to curl up in bed with him and have him tell you all about it.

It’s been maybe thirty minutes of repetition, of pulling the float back to reshoot from a new angle, when Zack checks his watch and comments that your clothes, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with Brendon’s leather jacket thrown over it, don’t really match your face and hair. The three women guide you out of your chair and lead you away with knowing grins, telling you not to protest.

“I blame you for this, Zack!” You call back teasingly before falling into stunned silence when Shannon flings open a door to a room that’s filled with what looks like dresses in every shade and every type of fabric known to man. “Well,” you say with a good-natured shrug. “You’ve done my hair, nails, and makeup…might as well dress me up too.”

-||-

“Oh Y/n!” Zack exclaims in a teasing voice. “You look like an absolute princess!” You roll your eyes at him and smooth your hands over the black crepe sheath dress Tori convinced you to put on. Brendon’s jacket is still keeping the chilly air off of your otherwise-bare shoulders and you insisted on keeping your high-top converses on; still, you do actually feel pretty fantastic.

Zack checks his watch again. “Right. Come on.” He reaches for you, and you shoot him an alarmed look, saying you’re not going anywhere; you need to go change out of the dress. “No time. We’re going now.” He’s putting a hand on your shoulder and steering you towards the fire station entrance and back towards Main Street, despite your protestations. “Come on, let’s go.”

When you step out onto Main Street, your breath catches. The parade is still going, and it’s absolutely incredible. Zack keeps walking, the hand on your shoulder propelling you gently forward. As you approach the castle, Zack waves at another cast member with a clipboard and headset, and there’s a call to pause. Brendon’s float is centered in front of the castle, and Zack nudges you through the floats. You look up; Brendon is waiting for you, an expectant smile on his face and—is that anxiety in his eyes? “

Brendon, what is this?” Your voice shakes, because you think you know. At least, you hope you know. The hair and makeup, the change of clothes, the manicure, the perfect positioning of the float in front of the castle—it’s all hinting at one thing, and you know you’ll be disappointed if you’re wrong. “Brendon?”

Instead of answering, he holds out one hand for you; you take it, and he leads you to the center of the float, smiling at you reassuringly, his thumb moving in soft circles over the back of your hand.

“I love you,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. Your eyes are wide, your legs are trembling, and your hands are shaking as he raises the microphone back to his mouth. You’re more sure than ever that you know where this is going, and you take a steadying breath. He’s worked so hard to make this all possible; you’re going to take it all in and remember every single detail.

“Two years ago, you made me the happiest man alive when you said yes to being my girlfriend. It’s been two amazing years, and I can honestly say you being by my side for the highs has made them that much sweeter, and the lows have been so much more bearable. You’re perfect for me; we complement each other so well, and I’m so wildly in love with you. I don’t want to go a single day without you in my life. Y/n Y/l/n, will you make me the happiest man alive once more?”

Your hands are over your mouth, and your eyes are brimming with tears as he drops to one knee while fishing a small box out of his suit jacket. Eyes on his, you drop your hands, letting him take your left hand with one as he holds the open ring box carefully in the other. “My love, my dream girl, my princess—can we add one more title? Will you become my wife and do me the honor of marrying me?”

You’re nodding, repeating your “yes” over and over again before the whole sentence is even out of his mouth, and he’s on his feet in an instant, his arms around you as his lips find yours for a passionate, ecstatic embrace. The crash startles you both; you pull away and start laughing giddily as the gold glitter fireworks explode behind the castle. “You’re absolutely incredible; you’re the best man I’ve ever known,” you tell him, forehead resting against his and lips brushing.

“Because you make me strive to be. Let me put your ring on your finger, my love,” Brendon murmurs, stepping back and taking your left hand again so he can slide the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit and truly stunning; it’s a large, round solitaire diamond that shines like nothing you’ve ever seen before. “It looks beautiful on you,” he tells you softly, and you fling your arms around him again, telling him it’s absolutely perfect as you kiss him deeply. His hands slide down your back and move past your waistline; you arch into him, desperate for more. Zack clears his throat, and you pull apart, beaming at each other and breathing hard.

“You’re on a float for a family parade in front of Disney’s castle; everyone is watching. Keep it PG,” Zack intones. “Good news; that was the last take for Brendon. You’re both free to go.”

-||-

“I have one more surprise for you,” Brendon murmurs, stroking your hand lovingly as you sit snuggled up beside him on the grass at the fireworks viewing party following the dessert buffet he booked for your group. You look at him in wonder; he’s had surprise after surprise this afternoon.

“It’s a good one,” he assures you, and you laugh, nudging him with your shoulder and telling him that each surprise has been perfect. “I think you’re really going to like this one though,” he says with a smile. “I hope.” He slings his arm over your shoulder and you burrow against him, warmer now that you’re back in your original clothes—though you appreciate his sneakiness earlier; he knows you well and knew you wouldn’t want to be in jeans when he got down on one knee. The first firework goes off, and he turns his head slightly to kiss your temple. “I love you,” he whispers. “Thank you for making me happier than I ever thought possible. I truly am the happiest I’ve ever been.” You smile up at him and murmur it back, cupping his face in one hand and drawing him in for a long kiss.

When the fireworks come to an end, Brendon stands and offers you his hand; you clamber to your feet and wait for the crowd to disperse. Zack is standing close by and Jake is leaning against the fence of the garden seating area, having gone for a walk to take some photos. When the people thin out, Zack nods and follows closely behind you while Brendon leads the way. Your hands are tangled together and he’s beaming when you approach the castle again. “Brendon, dinner here too?” You’re teasing, but he nods, running his thumb over your ring.

“Sure, we can order room service if you’d like.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait, what?”

“Honey, we’re home,” Brendon says in a dramatic voice, knocking on a door. “We’re staying in the Cinderella Suite. Just for the night though,” he amends with a grin. “A gift from the Mouse to us, celebrating our engagement.” A cast member in an opulent blue velvet uniform swings the door open and greets you by name with a broad smile. He guides you inside and invites Brendon to tap his magic band against a small panel under a painting of the glass slipper. He does so, and elevator doors slide open. You’re in awe; Brendon guides you in after the cast member, Nathan, and Zack and Jake bring up the rear. As the doors shut, you’re still staring at Brendon in silent wonder. The doors open to a marble foyer, and Nathan leads the way, giving you a brief tour of the space.

Once he leaves, Zack checks in with Brendon, who nods and tells him that you’re both fine and definitely in for the night. “Go back out, have fun,” Brendon tells Zack and Jake, who don’t need to be told twice. The elevator doors close after them, and Brendon turns to you, eyes soft.

“Alone at last,” he murmurs, taking you in his arms. “My sweetest girl. My gorgeous princess. My love. My fiancée.” The word makes you beam; you throw your arms around his neck and he lifts you up slightly, carrying you into the living room, or the salon as Nathan called it.

Brendon places you gently on the couch so you’re sitting, and he turns towards the bookshelves, messing with his phone. After a moment, Sinatra’s “All The Things You Are” softly fills the room. “Dance with me, sweetheart?” He extends a hand to you, and you place yours in his eagerly, letting him pull you close.

He’s singing softly in your ear as you dance slowly, one of his hands sliding down your back to rest at the curve of your spine. “All that I want in all of this world is you,” Brendon’s voice is low and smooth, and you find yourself melting into his arms. He holds you tightly before carefully dipping you, and you swoon playfully. You giggle as he brings you upright again, and you cling to him. “I’m the happiest man alive,” he tells you, kissing you softly. You nod, going on tip-toe to kiss him back tenderly.

As the song closes though, you tug at his shirt, leading him back towards the bedroom you saw earlier. You’re ready to really celebrate. “Bedtime, sweetness?” He follows eagerly when you nod, practically tripping over himself as you both laugh and race to the bed hand in hand.

The large bed has an ornate canopy over it, and he lifts you up and lays you out over the plush comforter. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, and you nod, already barefoot as his fingers work at your jeans.

He makes quick work of your clothes and it’s not long before you’re both under the covers, pressed against each other with roaming hands and eager mouths. “Brendon,” you murmur against his lips. “I need you.” Your hand sneaks down to stroke him gently, and he kisses your temple. One of his hands slips between your thighs and nudges them apart so he can trace his fingers against the wet heat he finds there. You’re moaning and squirming, desperate for more; you drape your leg over his waist, and he pulls you even closer.

“Need you,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair and rubbing against him. “Brendon, please.”

“I know, sweetness,” Brendon murmurs, kissing you softly. “I know. I need you. But I also need to get you ready for me; can’t just—” and his hips rock forward. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I just stripped you naked to get my cock in you?”

“Fuck,” you whine, clinging to him. You’re not sure if it’s the feeling of him against your thigh or the things he’s saying, but you’re overwhelmed with lust. “I know you’re being wonderful right now, but—”

Brendon laughs, shaking his head and kissing your forehead. “But nothin, sweet girl,” he teases. “We’re going to do this right, okay?” When you sigh your acceptance, he moves down your body and presses a gentle kiss to your hip. Your back arches just feeling his warm breath on your skin, and your legs fall open wider for him. “Good girl.”

“Oh, yes,” you moan, delving your hands down under the covers to grip his head. “Oh please, Brendon, yes!”

His tongue is moving with delicate strokes, lips caressing and breathing heavy. You’re glad he insisted on foreplay; you love his mouth so much. Brendon’s making soft, desperate sounds as he buries his face in you more firmly, his fingers wrapping around your waist and holding you in place on his mouth. After a moment, both of his hands move behind your knees, guiding them up so the blankets drape over him loosely.

You can’t stop moving against him, can’t stop whimpering his name and praising his tongue or the way he’s slipped two fingers in deep and is curling them back. You gasp, and Brendon nods, murmuring that he wants you to come for him. “Come on my face; give me all this sweetness—love you so much, want you to let go, really come for me. Know you can, and you know I want it all. Give your man everything you’ve got.”

You kick the blankets off, needing to see him. His dark eyes flash up from between your legs; you moan when his tongue rubs against your clit, and then you’re coming hard. Your body is trembling, eyes wide open, lips parted, and your fingers curl in his hair as you come with a loud squeal.

Brendon groans, tongue caressing while his fingers keep stroking through your climax, and you’re trembling when he crawls up the bed to take you in his arms. “Hi, my love,” he murmurs, grinning when you clutch him close and kiss him desperately. “It was good, then?”

“Yes; god, so good,” you whisper, nodding to reinforce your point. Brendon sighs contentedly, running a hand between your legs and stroking over his length. “Need you,” you remind him, and he agrees, situating himself over you and kissing you as he pushes in. His quick intake of breath matches your short gasp of pleasure; he caresses your face as his hips move slowly. “Yes,” you repeat, raking both hands through his hair and holding his mouth close to yours. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Brendon says as he rocks forward again, going deeper this time. “Does this feel good?” You tell him yes, you can’t get enough of him; his mouth is on yours again, and he’s got one hand resting on your thigh while the other cups your face, lingering between you and the pillow. You’ve got one hand playing with his hair at the nape of his neck while the other strokes over his back. “I love you so much,” he repeats, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too,” you whisper, clinging to him. “So much. I’m going to be your wife.” At the word, both of you break out into uncontrollable grins, and he holds you tight, both of you moaning and moving together slowly. “Oh B,” you whimper, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” Brendon groans, breathing hard. “Y/n, love, my sweet girl, you feel so—”

“Yeah,” you agree in a tight voice. “Yeah, you feel so good—oh god, Brendon! Brendon! Now!”

“Y/n, yes!” The hand framing your face moves to caress your hair and his mouth is on yours with urgency. You’re both moaning into each other’s mouths, your tongues touching and lips moving together as his stomach tenses, and you feel him come. Feeling him brings a hot second wave of pleasure through you, and he groans, clutching you close as you tremble under him. “That’s it honey, come for me. Come for your future husband.”

“Ooooooh fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you quiver in his arms. “Brendon, yes!”

“Y/n,” Brendon murmurs after a moment when both of your breaths are steady and even again, nuzzling your nose. “You’re so beautiful. All the time, but especially when you come for me.”

“God, Brendon,” you say with a soft laugh. “You’re—you’re perfect.”

“You are too, Y/n. Perfect and perfect for me,” Brendon says as he brushes your hair over your ear and pulls you closer still. “You’re so damn perfect for me. You’re everything I've ever wanted in a partner. I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers in your ear, stroking your thigh.

“I’m pretty sure they call Disney the happiest place on earth,” you mumble, resting your head against his chest. “Well, I can confirm that’s true. I’m the happiest girl alive right now, and I will be, as long as I’m your wife. So basically forever,” you say with a soft smile. “Since I’m always going to be yours.”

“They also call it the place where dreams come true,” Brendon tells you, kissing your forehead. “And, to quote the love of my heart, the light of my life, and my future wife…I can confirm that’s true, because you’re my dream girl, and I’m always going to be yours.” He kisses you once more as you snuggle in closer. “Y/n…all of my dreams came true today. I love you so much.”

[uncaaj]

Fanfic: I Luv U Emo Boy XD (DuckTales 17)

Based on an AU by @georgiarose and Glo

READ NOW ON AO3!

The perfect day off began like this- with the drop of a CD into a boombox. The disc whirred to life and the echoing notes of a lonely piano filled the subdued, poster-riddled bedroom of Gyro Gearloose. He stretched his lanky arms to the ceiling and brought them down gracefully, cracking his neck just as the lead singer of his favorite band began to tell a story.

When I was a young boy

My father drove me into the city

To see a marching band

Gyro swept his long, jet-black bangs out of his eyes. 

Perfect.

Walking over to the mirror next to his dresser, he snatched a black tube from the top of it and unscrewed the cap. The brush inside emerged covered in cheap eyeliner, color “Eternal Night.” As he carefully drew the makeup around the perimeter of his eyes, making sure to keep the lines simple and clean, he contemplated what he was going to wear. The sun was at its summer peak, roasting everything outside to a fine golden brown. No matter, for he had laid out his outfit the night before, something his parents would call a proactive and studious action. What did they know? They shouldn’t get their hopes up thinking he’d ever live the life they did. He just didn’t want to spend forever deciding what to wear, not when that time was better spent browsing for the new Haythorne Heights CD, which would be out any day now.

That, and impressing his boyfriend.

Speaking of, it was time to see if he was up. He probably was. Gyro was a late sleeper, something his parents frowned upon. Whatever. Gyro closed up the eyeliner and returned it to the dresser, making a mental note that he should get more while he was out. He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, heading straight for the top of his contact list.

“Gyro!” called a voice outside the door. “Can you please turn your music down? Your father can’t hear the big game!”

Gyro rolled his eyes and turned the knob a fraction of a percent down. Parents.

+++

Oh, well, imagine

As I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor

And I can’t help but to hear

No, I can’t help but to hear an exchanging of words

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera tried not to nod his head to the upbeat, plinky sounds of his own boombox as he applied his eyeliner. Luckily he had done this so much, he had the application down to a fine science. All of his friends were jealous, even Gyro, the emo-est emo he’d ever known.

Fenton’s phone vibrated on his desk. Speaking of…

He finished up and screwed the brush back into the vial. He flipped the phone open with his thumb and saw the new text notification.

“hey loser XD u up?”

Fenton smiled and started pressing the keypad, which he also knew inside and out for the perfect SMSs. “I woke up at 9am this morning. Are you up?”

“lol who r u, my mom?”

“I love you too. :3 When are you coming?”

“in 10 min, we got the new spiked bandS @ the HT”

“:DDDDDD”

“see u soon”

His bedroom door opened. Fenton shut the phone and looked up. M’ma Cabrera walked in, lugging a laundry basket. “You got your clothes sorted, pollito?” she asked.

“Yes, M’ma, on my bed,” said Fenton, turning the music down so he could hear her properly.

She held the basket out on the bed’s edge and scooped the pile of neon tees and striped pull-ons into it with one motion. “So who’s taking you to the mall today?” she asked.

Fenton gulped and ran his fingers through his long purple-tipped hair. He had forgotten to mention that part until now and he knew she wouldn’t be thrilled knowing who he’d grabbed a ride from. “Er, Gyro Gearloose,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

M’ma sighed and put the basket onto the bed. “You know I don’t like you hanging out with that boy.”

“M’ma, he’s not that bad-”

“He’s careless, he’s disrespectful and he smokes- bad habits very easy to pick up. And I bought you all those nice shirts for your first college semester and you are dressing like a piñata!”

“M’ma, this is what everybody’s wearing. But I’m not doing it to fit in. It’s an expression of who I am.”

M’ma sighed again and wrapped her son up in a big hug. “Your mama can’t help it. I just don’t want you getting into any trouble, that’s all.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Fenton, trying a little to squirm out of the hug. “I trust him, and you can trust me.”

M’ma nodded. “Okay, Fenton.” She smooched him on the forehead and went back to grab the laundry basket. “Just make sure you’re back by dinnertime, okay?”

“Yes, M’ma,” said Fenton, waving her out. As soon as the door shut, he exhaled in relief. He loved his M’ma, but boy, was she smothering sometimes.

A little while later, Fenton heard a car horn outside his window. His excitement spiked in his chest and he practically tumbled out the door into the living room. “I’m leaving, M’ma! Love you, see you at dinner, bye!” 

It all came out as one word as he bolted out of the house, but M’ma understood it perfectly anyway. Her own motherly instinct spiking, she carefully placed the sudsy plate she was sponging back into the sink and made her way to the front window. Peeking through the blinds, she saw Fenton and Gyro leaning against the latter’s car. Gyro, dressed in a black beanie, black t-shirt whose band logo she didn’t recognize, black skinny jeans, and black boots despite the blazing temperature outside had his phone held up high, Fenton in his other arm as they posed for a picture. M’ma sighed, seeing wisps of smoke emit from the cigarette in Gyro’s mouth. She knew Fenton was at the age where she could let go some and let him live his life, but darn it if he didn’t make so hard to do so. Still, it was the price of the gig and she would love him and support him to the ends of the earth no matter what.

As the camera shutter clicked, Gyro caught sight of Mrs. Cabrera peeping at them through the front window of Fenton’s house and sent a dark sneer in her direction. She was unfazed, police women usually weren’t, and made the “I have my eyes on you” motion toward him before letting the blinds go and returning to whatever it is she was doing. Gyro rolled his eyes.

“What’s up?” said Fenton.

“Parents,” Gyro scoffed.

“She means well, I promise. She bought me this the other day.” He motioned toward his pink shirt with a kooky character on the front from that one Invader Zir show on TV.

“Well, that’s something. You’ll get tons of likes when I post this on ThisSpace later.”

“D’ya think we’ll make front page?” Fenton bounced on his toes at the thought.

Gyro blushed. Gods, he was so cute. All he could do was shrug and give him a peck on the forehead, then walked over to the driver’s seat of his all-black rustbucket. As Gyro and Fenton peeled away from suburban hell, engine sputtering all the while, he asked, “You mind if we stop at Starducks first? I feel like the undead.”

“Fine with me. Maybe I’ll try that new hibiscus refresher they have.”

“You’re so fruity, dork.”

“You’re my boyfriend so who’s really the fruity one?”

“...touche.”

Gyro pressed the play button, and the two lovebirds entered their pure nirvana set to a CD in a stereo.

Dance, dance

We’re falling apart to half-time

Dance, dance

And these are the lives you love to lead

Dance, this is the way they’d love

If they knew how misery loved me

[kinnersonne]

Hot take: Loki liked panic! until Thor liked panic!

[ryanross5eva]

ABSENCE [RYAN ROSS X BRENDON URIE]

TW: Self harm, self harm references, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, child abuse, blood, sharp objects, suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts and suicide references .

Please do not continue to read if you are sensitive to any of these topics!

Angsty/fluffy Teen! Brendon Urie x Teen! Ryan Ross oneshot.

Word Count: 6753

Hope you enjoy, please comment on any errors or improvements/suggestions or if there are any trigger warnings i missed! This is my first post. I apologise if it's bad yikes >_<.

Also put any one shot requests into the comments.

If you have any other ships or x readers (of emo men) put them in the comments.

—————-

Ryan kicked his shoes off and walked into his house. The horribly familiar scent of alcohol filled his nose, quickly running upstairs to avoid his dad. They lived in a relatively small town, his dad only went to his job for alcohol. He was getting money from his dead wife's bank account; he figured that kept Ryan’s needs sorted. Ryan would often get beatings from his dad, he never had a safe place until he went to school. Even at school he would be bullied and Ryan usually went home to cry himself to sleep. He always wishes everything would be different. Perhaps it would be better if his mom was here; he still went to visit her gravestone every weekend. His dad didn’t care for her except for the money he obtained from her death.

Ryan usually woke up at 5:45am to get ready for school. He had to do everything himself, so it took him longer than others who had their parents support. Ryan had set out all his clothes for the day, until something caught his eye. He looked down at the faded scars on his wrist; they reminded him of the times where he used to self-harm to feel better. Especially after his mother’s death. He stared around his room; the wooden box containing blades had an unusual enticing aura. fuck. He couldn’t relapse now, he’s 3 whole months clean; nearly 100 days.

He swiftly grabbed the blade and made 7 deep slashes across his wrist. He grabbed a tissue to clean himself up.It was the middle of summer and 71.6°F outside. He’d either just have to risk being spotted by teachers or wear a jacket all day. It was way too hot for a jacket and he had sports today; there is no way he could go with a jacket on all day. His school didn’t even have any goddamn air con. Ryan eventually decided to leave his jacket at home and try to cover up his fresh scars with band bracelets. He scrambled down the stairs with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“GET HERE RIGHT NOW!” His dad furiously shouted, Ryan could feel his stomach bubbling with anxiety and dread. He had to obey his father otherwise the punishment would be 10 times worse. He knew what was coming, it happened everyday. His father would punch him and occasionally break glass bottles on his head. Ever since he was born his dad became addicted to drugs. He blamed it on Ryan as he became a father when he didn’t want to.

As Ryan obtained eye contact with the burly irate man, he could see him clench his fist and shake with frustration. He braced himself as he took a clean strike straight to the head, that would definitely bruise quickly. Ryan always had to lie to the teacher and make up excuses. For example ‘I fell over.’ or ‘I got in a fight with another student.’ but Ryan knew he couldn’t keep up th at counterfeit for much longer.

Tears burned his face as his dad yelled for him to leave. He didn’t have anyone anymore. No mother, an unloving father and zero friends. The teachers that he could supposedly go and talk to didn’t even care, that's their job! They're supposed to fake sympathy even if they don't even mean it.

Ryan slammed the door and shoved his headphones in his ears. Even if he didn’t have any special people in his life, he had music. One day he dreamt of being famous. School had recently been getting worse for him; people would constantly call him gay or emo. Sure, he dressed in band shirts but he wasn’t the definition of emo. He never dated anyone, how would he even know if he was gay! His favourite band was my chemical romance, he always looked up to them. Everyday he would listen to them on the way to school. They truly changed his life, they were his source of comfort and inspiration he needed.

Ryan sucked in a deep breath as he arrived at the school gates. Almost immediately getting shouted at. When would this stop? Would it ever stop before it got too much? He just headed to his locker to prepare for English. BANG. There he was in Ryan’s eyeline, the well-known school bully. Already being bullied 3 minutes into the school day…yay. Ryan hated this, being bullied everyday just to go home to an even worse environment. He learned life isn’t always fair but can always be unfair.

He sat in English literature class, alone and bored. The students awaited the arrival of their teacher, Mrs Kay. Everyone was throwing paper aeroplanes and pencils at each other; until, Mrs Kay walked into class with an unfamiliar student. As she saw the disastrous sight of the classroom, she gave a disappointed sigh.

“Class! sit down, please welcome to our classroom a new student. His name is Brendon Urie.” He slowly made his way to the back of the classroom and sat in one of 3 empty desks next to Ryan. He tried to ignore the stinging on his wrists as a new wave of anxiety hit him. He tried to cover his fresh, beedy, scarlet cuts as best as he possibly could; hopefully no one would notice because then he’d be perfect for the bullies to target. They already did anyways, he just couldn’t have anyone see what he went through. His mental state was at an all time low. But, his thoughts were quickly interrupted by the new kid.

“Hey, as you know I’m Brendon. I thought you look pretty cool; I like your style. So, I thought I’d come sit next to you! What’s your name?” Ryan stared at him with shocked glassy eyes. No one had ever been this nice to him.

“Oh, um hi, thanks I’m Ryan Ross. I like your style too.” A smile crept upon his face. He hadn’t felt a genuine smile since his mother was still alive. Brendon shot back a true friendly smile back at him.

“I was wondering if we could have lunch together? If you have any friends I’d love to meet them!” Ryan’s smile faded away slowly. The other boy gave him a sympathetic confused look. He cleared his throat as Ryan just stared off into space.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah I’d like it if we had lunch together,” Ryan paused before continuing with the hard part. “I don’t have any friends though, the only human interaction I usually get is teachers or bullies,” He sighed and let out a small laugh. Brendon stared wide-eyed at the skinny tall boy.

They sat through the rest of the English lesson quietly, occasionally making jokes or commenting on things Mrs Kay said. Ryan kept seeing the teachers glance at his wrist, he continued to shift in his chair. RING. That was the bell for class to be over. Finally! He could get to know Brendon a bit more. But he just had to be interrupted by Mrs Kay.

“Ryan, could I have a word with you please?” Of course Ryan had to agree to it. Who was he to refuse a goddamn teacher? There certainly is no way to get out of this. He just nodded his head and walked towards her. “Ryan, I’m concerned about you. I’ve seen your wrist and I have these mental health concerns and possible ways to fix them on these documents. I need your dad to have them, is that ok?” His palms became sweaty and he tapped his fingers together.

“Is there anyone else we could give it to Mrs Kay?” Ryan anxiously asked.

“Do you have any friends that could help you?” She questioned, obviously knowing the boy’s social life.

“Actually I do,” Ryan replied as he snatched the papers out of her hands and ran to go meet Brendon in the lunch hall.

He took a deep breath before he entered the grand lunch hall. Ryan sat down next to his new friend; he quickly grabbed his lunchbox out of his bag.

“Hey, so I need to tell you something important. Then I have a huge favour I need to ask you,” He spluttered as Brendon took a bite of his sandwich. He happily replied with a simple nod. “Around 5 months ago my mother died,” Brendon looked at the boy with a flabbergasted expression upon his face. “Also, my dad beats me and he is addicted to drugs and alcohol. Obviously having all of that happen to me is quite a burden, after my mom died I fell into a deep spiral of depression…” Ryan didn’t quite realise how many tears started flowing down his face at this point. Brendon wrapped his arm around him as a source of comfort.

“It's ok Ryan, take your time,” He took a small slurp of his drink before panning his attention back to him. Ryan sucked in a deep calming breath before continuing. Words failed to come out of Ryan’s mouth, so he did the next thing he could think of. He carefully removed all the bracelets for his wrist and showed them to Brendon. “I get it Ryan, I’m here for you.” He engulfed him in a warm caring hug.

“I’m sorry, we just met. I shouldn’t have told you this, I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.” He got up to run away but Brendon grabbed his arm to pull him back. Ryan winced at the stinging sensation reappearing.

“Ryan. I still want to be your friend. I can tell beneath everything that you’ve put up with is a boy who just wants to feel loved again,” He stared at him with an understanding look in his eyes as Ryan slumped back down. “Anyways, what was this ‘favour’ you needed me to do?”

“Mrs Kay gave me these papers about mental health. She said I need to give them to someone because they might be able to help me with panic attacks and stopping self harm,” Ryan sniffled. Brendon took the papers out of his hands and quickly scanned over them.

“How about we go to my house later? We can get to know each other even better and we can discuss these papers,” He flashed a toothy smile at Ryan. He just replied with a simple nod.

The rest of lunch and school went a lot smoother than usual from Ryan’s perspective. Having a friend around really does make life more enjoyable. They agreed to meeting each other in the parking lot after school.

Brendon talked about himself on the walk to his house, simply so Ryan could get to know him better. They scraped their shoes along the warm concrete sidewalk as they approached the Urie’s household.

“I’m home now mom!” brendon shouted as he took a step closer to his kitchen. “I brought a friend over, hope you don’t mind,”

“Of course not honey!” Mrs Urie exclaimed whilst wiping her hands on a towel. Ryan nervously gulped before gaining the courage to speak. His eyes nervously flickered around the room, seeing quite a few religious items such as multiple bibles.

“Hi Mrs Urie, I’m Ryan, nice to meet you!” He blurted before being pulled into a motherly hug. Tears filled his eyes. He forgot what a mothers love felt like.

“Nice to meet you too Ryan, friends are always welcome here!” He only had time to reply with a small nod as he got dragged upstairs by Brendon. Before he knew it he was entering Brendon’s colourful yet very teenage room.

“So, I had a look at the papers and it’s just about frequently checking up on you. I think we can handle that,” Brendon cheerfully explained.

“Yeah, I think we can!” Ryan replied with a cheshire-cat-like grin spreading upon his face. His smile was clearly contagious as brendon has an identical one spread across his face as well.

They continued chatting together but were eventually cut off by Ryan’s phone buzzing. Seeing as it was his dad, he thought he better answer it or there would probably be consequences. “Sorry Brendon, I have to take this,” Brendon simply nodded as Ryan headed just outside his room.

“RYAN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” His dad shouted down the line. Ryan started to anxiously pick at his nails as he thought of his response carefully.

“I’m at a friend's house, sorry.” His breathing slowly picked up as he awaited his dad’s reply.

“Just get home now, I’ll just have to punish you later!” He sighed. Ryan’s eyes pricked with tears as he slid down the wall. Teardrops soaked his jeans as he quietly sobbed. He ripped a piece of paper from his homework and wrote an explanation to Brendon.

‘Sorry. I had to leave :P’

He grabbed his bag from the hallway and left the Urie house. Thank god his house was only a couple blocks away. God only knows what his dad was about to do.

Brendon slowly creaked his door open; it’d been 10 minutes since Ryan left to take the call. Surely it can’t take that long. To Brendon’s surprise, Ryan wasn’t there at all. He frantically scrammed back into his room to flop back onto his bed. Had Ryan text him?

From Ryan:

I left a note, sorry.

His heart raced as he crept back outside and read the note. He left Ryan a few texts along the lines of ‘Don’t worry’ or ‘Where did you go?’ to say he was concerned about him was an understatement. He was extremely distressed over his new friend. What if he gets beaten again? Even though he only met him today, Ryan was his number 1 priority. The scent of food disrupted his thoughts. He went downstairs and slumped down at the dinner table.

Ryan took a deep shaky breath as his dad opened the door. “Get here you little shit.” His dad’s voice rang through his ears. The only sound Ryan could let out was a weak whimper. Before he knew it, an empty beer bottle was smashed against his head. His dad gave out a menacing chuckle, pushing him straight to the floor. “You are garbage, don’t forget it.” Ryan sluggishly walked upstairs; he felt exceedingly lightheaded. Even more than all the normal times his father beat him, he was so used to the sensation. But he could tell this was unusual. When he entered the bathroom, his vision went blurry and dark as he collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Three hours later.

It was 8:15pm, 4 whole hours since Brendon last spoke to Ryan. Brendon was casually scrolling myspace, until he noticed how alarming it was that Ryan hadn’t responded. His mind panned back to what he had told him earlier, wait, did he go home? What happened with his dad. He didn’t have any time to waste as he chucked on his shoes and yelled to his mom. “I’m going to check on a friend, is that okay?”

“Of course honey,” and with his mom’s confirmation he sped out the door. His sneakers scuffed along the damp concrete and he puffed out heavy exhausted breaths. Rain fell upon his face as he ran so hard his legs nearly gave out.

Hang on, how was he going to get in? Fuck. He should've thought of this before he sprinted here. After pondering on what he should do, he spotted a window which was cracked open. He squeezed his body into the tight gap and got into the house. He could see the staircase from where he was standing. Loud chuckles and clattering of beer bottles against tables were erupting from the room next door. So, if that was Ryan’s dad he could easily get upstairs without being caught.

Once he tiptoed upstairs, a thud sound came from behind a closed door. Surely no one else was here, right? As the cogs turned in his brain, it came to him that it was Ryan. Frantically, his hands turned the doorknob to reveal Ryan curled in a ball on the ground. Brendon examined his whole body checking for injuries; blood was streaming out of his head. He inspected the injury closer and pulled small shards of what looked like beer bottle glass out from his brown locks.

“Ryan, can you hear me?” Brendon calmly spoke as he shook the young boy. He didn’t respond. His body laid unconsciously on the freezing tiles. Small teardrops turned into loud sobs as Brendon held Ryan as if he was fragile porcelain. He picked up Ryan and retraced his previous footsteps to end up back at his house. “MOM!” Brendon let out a shaky cry out of terror.

“Brendon? What’s wrong honey?” His mother quickly rushed to the front door and gasped before being interrupted by Brendon.

“Help me to get Ryan to hospital please,” He said through his teeth whilst choking back tears.

“He’ll be okay honey, I promise. Now, go get in the car,” She quietly answered as she rushed to get her keys. Brendon buckles his seatbelt faster than ever as he props Ryan up against him. Mrs Urie didn’t say a word to him; it was clear he was very distraught about this whole situation. I mean, who wouldn't be?

Brendon wiped away his tears as they stepped into the Emergency Room. His mom rubbed his back as a source of comfort; he just hoped that Ryan would be okay. Brendon sucked in a deep breath before talking to the worker at the front desk.

“What seems to be the problem?” The worker asked in a caring tone.

“My friend has an abusive dad, he didn’t respond to my text for hours. So, I went to check up on him and found him with glass in his head and he was unconscious on his bathroom floor.” He sniffled as he awaited the response.

“Ok, your friend will be in to see a doctor in 5 minutes max,” They thanked them before sitting down. Brendon anxiously shook his knee up and down as he waited. Ryan was so precious to him. They’ve only known each other for a day, but Brendon still felt this overwhelming need to take care of him and be there for him.

After a five minute wait, the nurse asked for them. “Ryan Ross? Doctor Lockwood is ready for you.”

“I’ll wait here, good luck.” Brendon’s mom gave him a pat on the back. He carried Ryan to the doctor; then he was instructed to place him on a hospital bed. Before he could even blink, the doctors got straight to work as they stitched up his wound.

“Mister Urie,” Dr Lockwood began. “I would like to discuss Ryan’s injury with you,” Brendon sat with the doctor for 45 minutes and explained. Worry ran through his veins as he thought about Ryan. “Well, Ryan’s stitches should be finished, if you would like to go and see him!” Lockwood exclaimed whilst looking at his rusty watch.

Brendon nodded and rushed to go see his friend. “Hi Ryan, how are you holding up?” He quietly whispered.

“I’m good, what happened? I don’t remember much..” He sniffled and gave Brendon a half smile. He explained for a 3rd time what happened and after an hour Ryan got discharged.

They got back into their car and Brendon sat in the back, just in case anything happened. “Ryan,” Mrs Urie spoke up, “I don’t think you should go back to your house, at least not tonight. It really does not sound safe for you, also I’m sure Brendon wouldn’t mind a sleepover!”

“B-but my dad will be really mad if he finds out I left and I’m not there.” Tears slowly welled up in his eyes.

“Ryan, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. May I have your dad’s number? I’ll tell him you're staying at ours, then I will have to tell the police, okay?” Mrs Urie had her mind set on this, it was extremely wrong to do this to a kid. What a monster he must be. Ryan just leaned his head on Brendon’s shoulder, occasionally lifting his hand to wipe his tears away.

They silently unbuckled their seatbelts and made their way inside the house. Brendon led Ryan upstairs to the bathroom and got a spare toothbrush out for him.

“Uh Brendon, I don’t have any clothes to sleep in,” Immediately after, he went to get clothes for him. He grabbed shorts and a baggy hoodie. Ryan took the clothes from Brendon and muttered a small thanks.

“You can get changed in here, I’ll go to my room.” Giving him a little smile, he exited the room.

A few minutes later, Ryan was ready for bed. He stared confused at the floor; oh great, there’s only one bed. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor, Bren?” His heart fluttered at the thought of a nickname. Brendon blushed before clearing his throat.

“Oh no, I don’t mind you sleeping in my bed! It’s massive anyway,” He awkwardly chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. Ryan slowly crawled into bed next to Brendon. He clicked off the bedside light and snuggled down into his pillow. “Night Ry,” Ryan felt his cheeks heat up and glow red with the simple nickname. No one ever made him feel this way, what emotion even was this? He couldn’t quite figure it out; he copied Brendon’s previous movement and fell into a calm slumber.

-

The next morning, Ryan awoke with an extra warm sensation to one side of him. It seemed that Brendon had attached himself in his sleep. He wasn’t complaining, it was quite relaxing. He reached over to his phone on the oak table. His eyes squinted as the bright screen flashed violently. Brendon stirred in his sleep as Ryan took a few pictures on his phone. He could tell Brendon was waking up, his deep snoring stopped and he was constantly moving. Eventually he ended up with his head on Ryan’s chest, Brendon rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Morning Ryan, sorry for kind of sleeping on you,” He let out a content sigh and grabbed a bottle of water. Ryan stretched out his long arms and sat up.

“It’s ok, I don’t mind,” He grinned and headed to brush his teeth. Brendon quickly did the same thing, after proposing the idea of pancakes. Ryan eagerly agreed as he leaped down the stairs.

They sat together on the couch with the white noise of the television buzzing in their ears. After they had finished their pancakes, they shared memes on their phone and had a normal chat. Brendon’s mom interrupted them with an idea. “Y���know you guys could go out today!” Ryan quickly accepted the idea with a cheerful nod. Brendon exchanged glances with him as they decided upon a final decision. “There’s lovely restaurants in the town centre, I’ll give you some money boys.”

“Oh, It’s okay Mrs Urie. You don’t have to give me any money; you’ve done more than enough by letting me stay here.”

“Don’t be silly,” She chucked, “having your company is lovely, I don’t mind giving you money!” Mrs Urie smiled as she handed Ryan $50.

“Let’s go get ready then!” Brendon grinned as he excitedly ran upstairs. “I’ve got some clothes you can wear,” He shouted. Ryan flinched at the loud shouting, growing up he always hated shouting, even before his dad started to abuse him. His dad would usually have screaming wars with his mom; no matter what, it would end in his mom crying and Ryan trying his best to comfort her. He was only young, he couldn't do much about it.

Twenty minutes had passed, they were both completely ready and went out. “Mom! We’re going now,” He yelled, waiting for his mother’s response.

“Okay, remember to be safe!” Mrs Urie scrambled to grab her phone as they left. She dialled the police’s number to tell them about Ryan’s dad. Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello ma'am, what are you calling us for?” They answered; she went on to explain about his situation (In extreme detail) for almost an hour straight.

“Thanks for your report, we’ll send the police around there now and hopefully remove any harmful substances from the house.”

“Thank you so much, goodbye.” With that being said, they hung up and presumably got to work.

Brendon and Ryan were in the town centre now; they walked the streets together, hands occasionally grazing each other. They eventually entered a small restaurant tucked in the corner of a street. Two lengthy hours sharing conversation and eating lunch.

Once they had finished their meals, Brendon had called the waiter over and paid for the food.

“How about we head to the restroom quickly and then go home?” He suggested with a small smile on his face as he admired Ryan. He replied with a mini nod and smiled back at him.

Brendon was washing his hands in the marble sink as Ryan stared at him. He grabbed a few paper towels, drying his hands off. Straight after, they left the restaurant, feeling content.

“That was a really good meal!” Ryan beamed but was abruptly cut off by a man in all black + a mask attack Brendon. He was put in a headlock and had a gun put to his head; it wasn’t a busy street and the restaurant windows were tinted. No one would see.

“GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!” The man barked. Brendon whimpered as he couldn’t reach his pockets and stared at Ryan for help. He proceeded to punch the man square in the face. He couldn’t stand to watch Brendon be hurt any longer.

“Fuck off; don’t ever threaten us again.” Ryan growled as he scrammed. Brendon had tears in his eyes, frozen in shock. He engulfed him in a hug, Brendon only responded by resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder.

He rubbed his back and sighed. They stayed like that for a good minute until Ryan cupped his cheeks and wiped his glistening tears away. Their eyes were locked onto each other as they breathed deeply. Brendon slowly leaned closer and just before he could pull away; Ryan’s lips collided with Brendon’s. It was a sweet caring kiss, nothing but care and affection.

A moment was spent with Brendon longingly looking into Ryan’s hazel eyes. Suddenly, Brendon pulls back and pushes him away, a new-found rage filling his pupils.

“Ryan, boys can’t love boys,” He said as he ran away, shouting at Ryan to not follow him.

The bus was due in 3 minutes.

Brendon ran like his life depended on it; his lungs felt as if they were collapsing. His feet were on fire, he finally reached the bus stop just as it arrived. The bus hissed as the air brakes were being used. The double doors swung open as Brendon eagerly ran inside and raced to the back of the bus.

His hands traced designs on the polyester fabric of the bus seats. Thoughts raced through his mind at a 1000mph. Brendon couldn’t get Ryan out of his head. Every thought or idea was centred around him.

Shit.

He didn’t like Ryan. He couldn’t! His mum simply would disown him, she’s the most religious person he’d ever met. She would NEVER let Brendon see Ryan again. But, did Brendon actually have feelings for him?

The way his stomach gets butterflies whenever he thinks of him. The way a light dusty blush brushes his cheeks whenever they touch. The way he admired every movement Ryan made.

Fuck. He wasn’t just simply in love. He was head over heels. He had to tell someone, it had to be Ryan.

His mind wandered, taking him back to a time where his mother had a strong point of view.

~ Flashback ~

“Brendon! Pay attention, young man,” His mother disciplined as he played with his shoe laces.

“Sorry,” He muttered, turning his attention to the boring pastor. The pastor was talking about being homosexual, he didn’t appear to have a very fond opinion of it. Brendon’s mom was so brainwashed by him, she fully believed his opinion on homosexuality was right. It wasn’t; everyone should be accepted for who they are.

In the end, her views were so extreme that homosexuality is the reason they moved. She’d found out that there was quite a few homosexual kids at his school and refused to stay there.

~ End of flashback ~

Brendon had come to a realisation, he was bisexual. Even though his current love interest was a man, he had felt sexual attraction to women as well.

The bus came to a halt. He rushed out of the musty bus and raced to his house. He needed to make things right, but first he needed to know Ryan was ok.

Swinging open the door, he shouted for his mother. “MOM!” He yelled in a frightened tone.

“What is wrong? Where’s Ryan?” Brendon felt a sickening sensation form in his stomach at the small mention of the boy.

Ryan sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, tears flew down his face as he thought of Brendon. How could he just ditch him like that? He thought that Brendon was there for him after the incident with his dad. Oh, that was another thing to sob about. His shitty father. Why did he have to end up like this? Ryan reminisced on all his memories with his mother, tears increasing their quantity.

He did know one thing that would make him feel better. He knew it wasn’t the best solution, but it would put a temporary stop to his emotion. Cutting himself, that's all he could think to do. The sky had dimmed, now being a dusky grey. Ryan shuffled down the alleyway and yanked the shiny, metal blade out of his pocket. His hands roamed to pull his sleeve up. A few cuts, that's all he needed. He couldn’t seem to stop.

Ruby blood pooled around him and darkness overcame him.

“Mom, I left Ryan in the town centre. We had a slight argument,” Brendon whimpered. He curled up into a ball on the floor and weeped. “Please, go get him,” He pleaded.

Mrs Urie nodded and responded in a soothing voice, “Ok dear, you go upstairs and calm yourself down!” She exited through the front door and started up her car. Brendon dragged his body upstairs and flopped onto his comforting bed, recollection of cuddling up to Ryan washes over him.

After a while, she arrived at her destination. She glanced around the restaurant, Ryan was nowhere to be seen. Un popping her pocket, she grabbed her phone out of her pocket.

To Brendon:

Hey, is (restaurant name) where you went? I can’t s-

Her typing was cut off by her view being attached to a boy in the alleyway. Hurriedly, she scrambled over to him, her heart felt as if it was in her throat. It was Ryan.

“Ryan,” she called out, “I’ve come to get you!”

No response. Dead silence. The blood glimmered in the dull street lights.

“Oh my…” She gasped. Mrs Urie picked up Ryan in her arms and ran as fast as she could to the car.

She frantically propped his body against the leather seats. Her hands rummaged in the back of the car for her first aid kit. A green bag was quickly opened, strings of bandages were pulled out.

Slowly, stretchy bandages were wrapped around Ryan’s wrist, she applied firm pressure as it soaked up his blood. His limp body was put into a more comfortable position, buckling up their seatbelts, she started the car.

Ryan stirred in his slumber, his eyes soon adjusted to the colourful street lights.

“Mrs Urie?” He earned a small gasp out of her mouth.

Shocked and stunned, she replied, “Yes Ryan?”

“Where are you taking me?” He said with his eyebrows knitted into a confused expression.

“Just back to my house,” She said with a friendly smile on her face. She pondered for a moment, then got the courage to express her thoughts. “What happened between you and Bren?”

Several tears were appearing in his eyes, just at the simple mention of the boy. Gosh, he really was in love. It was just a shame his gay realisation had to be so tragic.

Eventually, he spoke up, “Uh, I kissed Brendon,”

“YOU WHAT!” She screeched.

“I don’t even know! It just felt right at the time…” He trailed off.

“You and Brendon are seriously in for it when we arrive at home! And do not even THINK about texting him to warn him!” She scolded. Ryan sat silently for the rest of the ride; he wished the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole.

They arrived and to say Ryan was horrified was an understatement. His hands were shaking and his eyes were threatening to spill tears.

“BRENDON! GET HERE NOW!” She squawked. Brendon knew that he was in for it. By the tone of her voice, reminding him of his father, Ryan grew more anxious.

Thundering steps boomed down the staircase as Brendon came rushing down. His eyes bulged out of his head; as he looked at Ryan, a panicked expression spread across his face.

“What happened Ryan?” He blurted with a soft, worried voice.

“You! You don’t care about me,” Ryan yelled, emotion loud in his voice. Brendon stared at him in shock, he felt as if a piece of his heart shattered into a billion pieces.

“Ryan, listen to me!” He pleaded, but Ryan slammed the door and ran to their bathroom. Brendon thought that Ryan hated him; little did he know, Ryan was going through the exact same thought process.

Ryan curled up in the corner of the bathroom, tears didn’t just fall, they were crashing around him. He thought back on wanting the world to swallow him up; he realised he was just suppressing his feelings. Ryan was suicidal.

He balled his fist up and shoved them inside his denim jacket pockets. Something cold pressed against his knuckles.

The blade.

Resisting wasn’t an option, he was overcome with an extreme need. A need his mind said he must fulfil.

However, he found his wrist wasn’t enough this time. He needed more. More blood. More thrill.

More pain.

This urgency for more resulted in him slitting his throat. First, only starting off with small cuts, blood rushing to the surface, but not dribbling onto his skin. The emotion had gotten so intense, he began to cut deeper. Blood rushed down his neck, ruining his shirt and occasionally dripping onto his jacket.

Ryan had started to feel light-headed. He stumbled around the bathroom; fuck, how was he meant to hide this scar. Before even taking any protocols into consideration, he began to clean up. Brendon didn’t have anything to clean cuts with. Of course he didn’t, what was Ryan thinking?

Carefully, his freezing hands pressed the paper towel against his neck. Sucking in a breath - caused by the pain - as it began to sting.

Why didn’t his attempt work? All he wanted was to be gone, he’d thought there was nothing else left for him on Earth. He might as well just die. He thought he was pathetic, that's what drove his passion for pain.

A knock came from the old, creaky door.

“Ryan,” Brendon said firmly. Ryan’s heart leapt out of his chest, he couldn’t face Brendon, at least not now. Quickly, he wiped his teardrops away and tried to steady his voice.

“Yes?” Ryan said, his voice slightly shaky from previous events.

“Come out, please…” His tone was hopeful; all he wanted was for Ryan to come out of the bathroom.

Ryan choked back his tears as he examined his neck in the mirror. “I can’t,” Ryan thought carefully about his response, but nothing was a good enough reason.

“I promise I don’t hate you…” Brendons voice trailed off before he continued. “I actually have some, uh, complicated feelings. I'd like to talk to you about it. But only if it’s alright with you!” He took a huge gulp, awaiting the other boy's reply.

No reply was made. Ryan lowered his head into his knees; he’d never been this bad. He let everything get to him, every comment, every action and most importantly everything. Some things (or people) are better off being shut out.

“I’m coming in Ryan; I can tell you're not okay,” Brendon waited for any final reponses. Finally, he turned the door knob with his hand.

He was speechless, bloody tissues and more cuts on his wrist. But, he hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. Brendon sat opposite Ryan.

He rubbed Ryan’s shoulder comfortingly. He was waiting for some form of eye contact; looking to find meaning and emotion in his eyes. Any form of communication would work, a sign even!

Ryan pricked his head up. Brendons breathing faltered as he saw his neck. Hundreds of thoughts ran through both their minds.

Suddenly, a harsh slap was delivered to Brendon from Ryan. It was all too overwhelming for him. His brain was shutting down and he wasn’t thinking straight.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Ryan raised his voice.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE! RYAN, I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP YOU!” Brendon felt his eyes rapidly well up.

“Well. Maybe I don’t want your help!” He said, quite a bit quieter this time.

“Clearly, you need someone's help! You can’t go a single fucking day without cutting yourself,” He muttered, Brendon was extremely pissed off by now. He had never been in a situation like this; all he yearned to do was help. Help the special person in his life.

Brendon realised that he shouldn’t have said that, he could’ve just ruined their (complicated) relationship completely. He seemed to snap out of his thoughts when Ryan was sobbing.

Brendon did that. He realised he made Ryan this sad.

“I’m so sorry Ryan, I wasn’t thinking! I didn’t mean it,” He apologised, Ryan meant so much to him. How could he do that to him?

“Go away,” Ryan sniffled. “I hate you,” He wept. Brendon knew he didn’t actually mean it. Even Ryan knew he didn’t mean it. Ryan had also come to the realisation that he did in fact need help.

Brendon stayed sat opposite him. He was lost for words; he had no idea what to do. He stayed silent, wishing that Ryan would say something first.

Fortunately, his wish came true. Ryan finally spoke up after what felt like an hour of silence - in reality it was less than a minute.

“Bren,” His cheeks dusted a pink shade at the pet name. “I need help,” He said and took a gulp of courage.

Brendon took Ryan’s hand in his hand. “Y’know I’d get you any help you needed,” He told him, maintaining a calm eye contact.

“All I need is you,” Ryan sighed softly; finding a sudden surge of confidence. Their eyes were like gravitational pulls towards each other; not leaving their view.

Brendon pulled Ryan into a deep, passionate kiss. Breath slightly shaky as their lips parted.

“When I left, I realised that I’m in love with you…” Brendon blurted. His cheeks burned a bright pink hue.

“I guess it’s true,” Ryan snickered, the other boy just stared, confused.

“What?” He questioned, trying to think of the answer, mind blanking.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”

—

A/N That is the end of this oneshot! Hope you enjoyed it! Fun fact: this was based off of something I wrote in class :p

[sunraies]

Rafe x Sleepy! Reader where he freaks out that she’s not answering her Phone and thinks The worst scenario that she’s sick of him, cheating etc. But It gets better when she calls him while he’s with The boys and she’s in her pj’s telling him she just woke up and asking what happened that made him call so many times 🥹

Sleepy baby

As requested above

Warnings - insecurities, toxic thoughts, drug use, drinking, and mentions of sex. Ending fluff.

*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*

16 hours ago, you posted to your insta story. 16 hours since you'd been laughing, smiling, singing, and dancing into the camera. Music pumping and disco lights blazing as you partied into the night.

You looked so happy, surrounded by your college friends. Some he knew, and some he didn't. He wished he could have been there with you. Long distance was slowly killing him, he was sure of it.

Although he'd been uneasy about you going so far away, things had been working out. He visited as often as he could, and you came home for the holidays. But it was moments like this when he started to doubt it all. His mind would spiral.

At first, he thought there was a reasonable explanation for you not texting him when you made it home and for not responding to his messages. You were probably to tired and drunk, simply forgotten.

But as the hours ticked by and multiple messages and phone calls later, his mind began to wander to darker places. You didn't need him anymore. You had finally realised it. You had found someone else. Someone else had found you.

You were a college student, you didn't need some hometown boyfriend dragging you down, you had finally decided to live your best life. Without him. Party, sex and drugs.

Well, two could play at that game. The moment Topper had told him about a party happening, he immediately said he would go. Fuck it, he was still the Kook King, he knew how to party, how to have any person he wanted.

The problem was that you were the only person he wanted. After a few drinks, he found himself where he normally ended up at parties. Sat with his boys, Topper, Kelce, and Barry, nursing a beer, smoking a blunt, doing a few lines, and glazing into the fire pit as the sky of endless stars shone above them.

"Bro, that's like the billionth time you checked your phone." Topper pointed out as Rafe pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket again.

"What's up, Little Miss Havard ghosting you?" Barry teased as he through arm an over Rafe's shoulders.

"Fuck off" Rafe tried to shake his arm off before sighing as looked at his phone again.

All that stared back at him was you as his lock screen and a couple of notifications, but none from you.

"Oh, shit. You really think she is?" Barry's smirk dropped, suddenly noticing his friend genuinely down about something.

"She's probably just busy," Kelce tried to reassure him. "You know with essays and shit. I mean, I have a shit ton, and that's just online"

Out of everyone in their little friend circle, you were the only one who moved the furthest away. Topper was on a gap year, Kelce was doing online courses, Barry was dealing, and Rafe had to follow in Ward's footsteps. A few of your friends did gap years.

Rafe nodded slowly. "What if, what if she's do -" He didn't finish his sentence as his phone screen suddenly lit up. 'FACETIME - Baby 😍 💍'

He nearly dropped his phone in the panic of answering it. For a spilt second, he thought about letting it ring out of spite. You'd not answered any of his. But he couldn't do it, for all the spiralling his mind had been doing. He needed to talk to you.

"Rafe, hey, you ok?" You looked so sleepy as you rubbed your eye. "I'm so sorry, I've been asleep all day"

If he could have jumped into the screen and kissed you in that moment, he would have. You looked so adorable, hair in a mess, no makeup, clearly sat in your dorm room bed as he recognised the bed sheets and the tapestry on the wall behind you.

What made his heart warm the most was that you were in one of his t-shirts. One of many you had borrowed/stolen.

He knew he was smiling at his screen like a complete goof. But he didn't care.

"Where are you?" You asked, trying to work out the noises around him and odd lighting of the fire pit. "Why did you call so much? Everything ok?" You asked, concerned.

"Everything's good, baby," He smiled. "Just at a party with the boys." He turned the phone around to show them

"God, Rafe, no don-" Too late, there you was in all you sleepiness. Proudly held up on his phone screen.

"Mrs Country Club!" Barry greeted as the others said "yo" and "hey"

You awkwardly waved and smiled as your cheeks burned before Rafe turned the phone back him.

"Well, I better not keep you from the party. As long as everything is ok?" You could tell something wasn't quite right, but didn't push it. He'd tell you in his own time. He always did.

"Everything is fine, my sleepy baby." He smiled, not giving a shit if the others heard.

"Alright, see you this weekend? Facetime tomorrow?" You smiled as he nodded before saying I love yous.

"Aww, my sleepy baby. Sleepy bab-" Barry teased before Rafe pushed him. Causing his chair to topple backwards onto the grass. Making everyone who witnessed laugh.

He glanced at his phone one last time, seeing you smiling face on his lock screen and new message 'Baby 😍💍 - I really do love you ❤️😘'

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I love you guys <3

Chapter Title from Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco

Word Count: 25.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You're home. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

There’s a soft blanket across your body and a hand in yours that you’d recognize as Ben’s if you were in a grave, and you know you’re home. You can’t really remember how you got home—there’s a blur of screams and pavement under your feet, and a ghost of something in your ear telling you where to go—but you know you're safe. You can hear Ben’s snores and feel a comfortable weight pressing near your stomach, and it tells you that you’re safe. You’re exhausted, you feel like something is numb in your blood, but you’re warm. Ben’s heat is radiating across your body, and the blanket is trapping it in your chest. And, most importantly, you’re not alone. Ben was here, you were home, and you’d never have to be cold and lonely again.

You open your eyes slowly, because everything in you is still foggy and trudging through mud but you have to see Ben. Just look at him. Make sure he’s real.

The room is dark, all the lamps off with the door closed. You blink a few times and try to raise your free hand to wipe away sleep from your eyes, but there’s an IV in it that’s sore to pull on. And you can’t move your other hand, wrapped up in Ben’s, so you just keep blinking and squinting until nothing is blurry. You have time. You have all the time in the world to wake up, because you’re home.

Dawn is breaking, and everything is cast in a golden glow. You’re in a cot, just a little more comfortable than a hospital bed, and there’s no blood on your body. Everything is clean, and there’s a half-empty paper cup of coffee on a table next to you, the rim of it wrinkled and a little torn. The blanket—green and fluffy—seems to be moving in a wind from under the door, and Ben’s head is resting against it. Resting against you. 

Ben. 

He’s passed out, breathing steady and face peaceful, but he’s here. He’s pulled up a chair up to the side of your bed, one hand holding yours near his face, and the other one splaying out and up to your head with fingers tangled in your hair. His lips keep brushing against your knuckles when he lets out another grunting snore that rolls through your bones, and the way his face is half squished against your body makes your heart flutter slightly. He’s slumped over in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable—his back is hunched and he’s half out of the chair beneath him—but he’s knocked out. Those are his deep sleep snores, and he’s dead weight on your body. When you squeeze his hand once, just because you can, all he does is make a low noise and slump further into you. The room smells like him—pine and coffee and salt drifting around the air and soothing your head—and his thumb drifting across your hand in his sleep in small, mindless circles. His hair is falling across his eyes—if your arm wasn’t still trapped by the IV you’d brush it away—and his face is cast in the shadows of the morning, and he’s everything. You smile, even as a small lump forms in your throat, because he’s warm, and safe, and pretty.

He’d grumble and bitch if he could hear you, but he’s so pretty. With his face smushed into your stomach, his eyelashes fluttering when he shifts, and his jaw twitching when you squeeze his hands again, Ben’s beautiful. You love him, so fucking much. 

You feel your breathing start to grow unsteady, and suddenly the most important thing in the world is that Ben looks at you. You almost let yourself sit in it and let him sleep—he looks so peaceful and you can see the gray-purple bags under his eyes—but you’ve missed him. You’ve missed his touch and smell, you’ve longed for it, but they’re not enough. You need him to look at you, to see his smile or frown or the furrow of his brow on his face. You need to hear him. He needs to say your name, or call you Sunshine or beautiful or brat, or just anything as long as he says it like him. Deep and faking annoyance, meaning every single word he says. He needs to say you’ll be okay. The longer you’re awake the more you can feel those cracks on your body and mind, the more you’re overwhelmed by where they’d broken open at the end. Ben needs to say you’ll be okay, because he wouldn’t lie about that. If Ben says you’ll be okay, if he tells you you’re home and safe, you’ll really believe it. If he wakes up you’ll feel him again, and you have to feel him. You need to feel all his concern and care and adoration in your body, to make sure it’s still there. You can’t feel his Thing anymore, but he’s asleep. You can’t feel Ben because he’s asleep, and when he wakes up everything will be good again.

It takes effort to open your mouth and speak, your throat dry and not moving fast enough. But you need Ben to wake up. 

“Ben.” You’re whispering. He looks so calm, and you’re so tired, so you can’t do more than whisper. “Benjamin.”

A low grunt escapes him, and you shift under him just enough to jostle his head. You’ll have time to apologize—and hear Ben tell you to shut the fuck up and never apologize to him—for is later. Right now you need him to wake up.

“Ben,” your voice is a little steadier, but still quieter than you want. “Please, Ben, please wake up.”

His face twitches, eyes fluttering slightly, and you still can’t feel him. You need to feel him. 

Your voice is growing louder, getting higher and more panicked as your heart picks up. “Ben, please,” you sound almost hysterical, trying to tug at him but you’re so tired. “Benjamin. Ben, please, please wake up-” 

His eyes shoot open, finding yours immediately, and your words die in a choked sob. 

You’ve never seen Ben move so fast. In a second he’s up from your body, up from his chair, and sitting on the cot at your side. His hand in yours never lets go, the other moving behind your head and gently pulling you up to his chest. He’s so warm, and you can feel his every breath as he whispers your name. His voice is low and hoarse, just barely audible over your crying and the sound of his heart, but it’s Ben. That’s how he says your name, that’s how you always want him to say your name. Like it’s the most important word in the world. He’s surrounding your every sense, his body firm under your hands and his smell soothing your head. He’s big and warm and Ben. He’s everywhere.

You can’t feel him. The part of him that belonged to you is gone, and he’s touching you but you can’t feel him. 

Some feral instinct of no takes over your body. That’s not your Ben. You can always feel your Ben. He’s the only one that’s supposed to touch you and hold you and say your name, and this fucking imposter is doing it all right—your stupid heart that’s only for Ben even thinks it’s him—but you can’t feel him.

He’s still holding you, carefully and reverently like your Ben would, but you can’t fucking feel him. You can’t feel anything but no. Something is trying to trick you, trying to make you feel so safe and warm and no. Not real.

It’s not a dream. You try and push the imposter away, but he’s strong like Ben is and all that happens is you shriek in pain as the IV pulls at your arm. The fake is trying to talk to you and ease your fear, but you just want Ben. You want the real one to appear and pull the liar away and pick you up. You can’t fight anymore, you’re so fucking exhausted and this is so cruel. This painful and fucked and you don’t know why Sage is doing this to you—making you think you were home—but it’s not real and you’re going to break because this is torture-

Ben’s voice is saying your name. The imposter is trying to calm you down as you make strangled sounds of protests and try to escape his hold. He’s pulled you away from his body, his hands are cupping your face, and he’s holding you right. His hands on your face are calloused and his tracing the same patterns your Ben does, and it’s not real.

He says your name again, and you can barely hear him through panic clouding your head. You have to go, this is so cruel because your heart is trying to make you just fall forwards into the imposter but your brain knows it’s a lie. It doesn’t matter how he smells like pine and how he’s touching you like you’re holy, or how his voice has all the right inflections and his body molds perfectly against yours. You can’t feel Ben. 

This time, his voice is louder. Almost desperate as he repeats your name, and your evil body responds to it. Makes you listen to him as he speaks.

“You’re from Boston, and you lived in New York, and now you live with me in fucking Jersey.” He’s just saying facts about you. Facts Sage knows. “We lived in a safe house, because you’re too smart for your own fucking good and decided to wake me up. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and you got the idea that you could fucking control me.”

These are all just facts, Sage could’ve just fed the liar a script-

“You were right. You’re right about most things, and good at a lot of shit, but you can’t fucking cook. Nobody taught you how.” His voice is urgent, and you stop screaming. These are more specific, things Sage could guess but doesn’t know. This maybe Ben must pick up on why you’ve stopped trying to claw his hands off your face, because he stops naming facts and begins to list off things about you. About who you are. His voice grows louder, clearer, but you still can’t feel him. 

“You call coke cocaine, say shit like braggart and macabre and unbecoming, and you swear like a fucking sailor. You love music, you have the voice of a goddamn siren, and you tap Moon River when you’re getting emotional. I’m not allowed to call you emotional, because it’s tasteless. You hate your mother, because she’s a bitch, and you hate advertisements because they prey on people’s insecurities. You fucking love people. You got a PhD because you’re fucking brilliant and love people.”

You’re breathing a little steadier. You want this to be real, you’ve never wanted anything more. But Sage still could’ve just figured you out- 

“You think everything is amusing, and you help everyone, even when they’re fucking pussies who don’t deserve it. You taught me how to use a phone, and the first photo in my library is one you took of my shield. You made it my lockscreen, and taught me how to change it if I wanted to. I made it a photo of you watching a movie, because you looked hot in it. You’re hot all the time, but when you’re doing something you love you’re brighter than the goddamn sun. And you loved watching that stupid fucking movie. And I loved watching you.” 

Your brain is still hazy, and all his words sound right. But you still can’t feel Ben, and you’re so tired-

“You call me Benjamin, and old, and grumpy, and I let you because you’re fucking everything to me. You think your three best qualities are your dumb as fuck plans, your tits, and your ability to put up with my shit. You’re wrong, because your plans always hurt you,” his voice is almost strained, and you want to make it happy. “Your tits are perfect but all of you is perfect so they don’t fucking count, and you love putting up with my shit. You think it’s funny.” I love you, your traitorous heart is siding with maybe Ben. I love you. Ben, I love you. “Your real best qualities are that you’re smart, and kind, and you have the best fucking pussy of all time.”

Your body is leaning into him. You’re not strong enough to stop it, not when you need this to be real. This has to be your Ben, or you’ll shatter.

“When you’re ready, I’m going to fuck that pussy wherever I want. You said I could, as long as we’re together, because my dick is yours and you chose me. When this shit is over, we’re going to go to Rome, together. We’re going to go to Rome and open an escort business and you’ll be the pimp and I’ll be your muscle and fuck you everywhere. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. You’re never going to burn without me again. I won’t fucking let you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry. “But I don’t let you do anything.” 

The world clears in your head. You can see Ben watching you, and it’s Ben. You still can’t feel him, but nobody else would know those things but your Ben. Your hands are still fisted in his chest, smoke rising from your knuckles and nails, but this is Ben so there’s no fire. He’d let you beat at his chest and kick up into his gut because he’s Ben, and you couldn’t hurt him if you tried. 

“Ben,” you whisper, falling forward until your brow is pressed to him. “Something’s wrong. I can’t feel you.” 

“I know,” His voice is gruff, deep. Ben’s. He’s real. “They gave you some sort of drug to stop it. The French Prick said it would help you. He’s clearly a fucking idiot.”

You huff a dry laugh, shaking your head in his hands. “That’s rude, Benjamin.” 

“I don’t give a fuck.” 

“I know.” You smile at him, and his mouth twitches slightly. He’s here. “Hi.” 

He sighs, eyes fixed on yours. “Hi, beautiful.” 

“I missed you.” 

“I know,” he mutters. “I missed you, too.” He falls silent after that, just watching you. You’re just holding each other, your body having moved itself into his lap and one of his arms long dropped to circle your hips and keep you there. And this is your Ben. Nobody else is capable of looking at you like that, nobody can fake the way that Ben’s eyes on yours always pull you apart, and how it’s so strangely comforting. They could look like him and say all the right words and hold you the right way, but only your Ben sees you. And they couldn’t fake that.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shut up.” He grunts, and you can’t help your small smile. “Never fucking apologize to me.”

“I tried to scratch out your eyes, Ben.” You mumble. “That feels like it warrants an apology.”

“Well you didn’t fucking manage to, so shut up.” He pauses, scanning your face. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “You’re okay.”

Not a question. You giggle, and probably look insane—his scowl tells you that you do—but you missed him. You missed Ben so fucking much. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m really okay. I just,” you sigh. “I’m tired. I’m-“

“If you say you’re sorry again, I’ll kill you.” 

“I’d like to see you fucking try-“ 

Ben kisses you. It’s slow, soft, and careful. Like you might turn into ash or smoke if he makes the wrong move, and you still can’t feel him but he tastes like coffee and salt and Ben. This is him, his tongue tracing your lips lightly and his hand running through your hair. His arm around you holding you tight against him, his hand on your waist kneading at your skin.

When he pulls back, you’re smiling. This is real, you’re home and Ben is here, so you’re smiling. There will be time for shadows and pain later, right now Ben is here.

He looks like he wants to say something. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his hand has moved down to trace the line of your cheekbone. You need to tell him you love him. Ben’s looking at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, and you’re sharing his breath, and he’s so warm and strong and Ben. He hums your name, and you’re going to tell him. Even when you can’t feel him, he's everything, and in the haze of sleep and Ben’s presence it really feels like a good idea because he has to know you love him.

The door bursts open, and Ben’s whole body wraps around you. Pull you into his chest and his arms steadily, gently cage you there. His shoulders hunch down, like he’s trying to push you into his body, and his roar rolls through your ribcage.

“What the goddamn fucking hell is wrong with you pussies?! You can’t just fucking barge in without a goddamn warning-“

“Our apologies, sir. We heard a disturbance, and wanted to check on the patient.” You don’t recognize that voice, but Ben’s grip on you has loosened slightly, enough for you to know that Ben knows them. That he’s decided you’re not in danger.

“She’s fine,” Ben snaps, and you start to try and wriggle out of his grip. “Get the fuck out.”

You poke at his chest, because the stupid bear of a man won’t budge. He’s looking over his shoulder, not even flinching when you pinch his arm. “Ben, let me go.”

Ben’s glare turns down to you, and he’s so close and handsome and Ben and you need to get a fucking grip. Love is making you an idiot.

“No,” he grunts, and hauls you slightly further up his chest. “Shut up.”

“Fuck you. Let me go.”

“I said-“ 

“Please, Ben. My arm hurts.” 

It’s not technically a lie, the way he’s moved your body puts the IV at a weird angle that’s sore and stinging, but you say it because you know he’ll listen. His eyes dart down to where the IV is stuck in the crook of your elbow, and he’s scowling as he lets out a long sigh.

“Fine.”

His arms grow just slack enough for you to move your head back and peek around him, seeing a skinny man in scrubs standing at the door.

“Hi.”

The man blinks, gaping at you. “You’re awake.”

“Fucking obviously,” Ben mutters. “I could’ve told you that, I should be the goddamn doctor-“

“You’d be a terrible doctor, Ben.” You pull back to grin at him, and you see something soften in his glare when your eyes meet. “You have no bedside manner.”

“Bedside manner is for pussies-“ 

“I should, uh,” the man is still in the door, staring at you with wide eyes. “I should go get Director Mallory. She said to tell us when you were awake-“ 

“Do not get Mallory,” Ben snaps, twisting around to meet the man’s eyes. “Get a fucking doctor, you dickless ass, so we can go the fuck home.”

You punch his chest, and he looks back down with a scowl as the man scrambles away with a frantic nod.

“I’m fine, Ben. You don’t need to bully the nurse.”

“I wasn’t fucking bullying the nurse-“

“You’re a big guy, Benjamin.” You sigh, leaning back into him and letting his body muffle your words. “You’re scary. That guy looked like he was going to piss his pants.”

He grunts. “You’re not scared of me.”

Not a question. You’ll always answer.

“No,” you smile up at him. “But I could kick your ass if I wanted to. And you wouldn’t hurt me, so there’s nothing to be scared of. But most people don’t know how much of a big softie you are-“

“I am not a fucking softie-“

You kiss him this time. You move your hands up to his jaw and tug lightly, and he lets you move him down. Back against you. You hate not feeling him—really feeling Ben in your body—but this is still everything. Even without the stone resolve wrapping over your muscles and head, or pound of him against your ribcage, he’s still Ben. And that’s more than enough. Him touching you and meaning it will always clear your head, and he’ll always fit perfectly against you, and he’ll let out low grunts and groans that make everything easy. Ben will always be warm, always keep you safe, and when he pulls away from your mouth his eyes will always watch you. His forehead will keep pressing to yours, and his hands will keep making you feel good, and his voice will keep rolling through you when he speaks.

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Ben kisses you again, and he’s still being so gentle. Even when he deepens it, pressing his tongue against your lower lip in a silent request, he’s going slow. Holding you lightly against him, groaning in a way that’s driving you a little insane but not growling. Not hauling you up against him and biting at your neck until you start to grind against him. You wish you could feel him. If he’s worried or angry. If he’s not just laying you down on the bed and fucking you because you’ve only just returned and something is still snapped and flailing weakly in the muscle of your chest, or because he doesn’t want you anymore. Because he’s waiting for you to move, so he knows you won’t freak out again if he tries anything, or if he’s seen how you’d broken and decided you were weak. Not good enough for him, too human for him to waste time on.

But Ben wouldn’t do that. He would always want you. He might not love you, but he wants you. And he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t give people things out of obligation. Ben likes that you’re kind, that you’ll always be a little more human that the V should allow.

Still, a mocking, sadistic voice echoes in your head. Too human. Too weak. 

Ben’s hand drifts up your body, brushing against your ribs, and your head goes clear. He can still do that. You can’t feel how solid and immovable he is, how his touch is filled with adoration, but you can know it. It’s not in your blood, but it’s in how he’s sucking on your upper lip and his teeth are brushing against your skin. It’s in how—even with touches that are a little too soft—he’s holding you in a way that you can feel every movement of his body, and it’s all firm. Assured in his place against you, never hesitating to move you a little closer, never pulling back for air because this is more vital.

Someone coughs, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. His hand on the back of your head holds you steady where he wants you, dropping his mouth to leave a wet, sloppy kiss at the base of your neck before rising up your jaw, your cheek, your brow. Leaving a trail along your face before finally pressing one, heartbreakingly light kiss on the top of your head.

“Excuse me,” someone with a tight, croaking voice is speaking from behind Ben. “If the patient has woken up, I need to speak to her.”

Ben pulls back, rolling his eyes at you as he responds. “Fucking talk.”

“May I see-“

You wiggle yourself upwards, using your free arm to pull on Ben’s neck and peek over his shoulder. The doctor—standing hesitantly in the doorway—cuts himself off, staring at you in surprise before shaking his head and entering the room. 

The doctor stops at the side of your bed, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. You try to twist around in his arms, to face the doctor while remaining pressed into Ben’s chest, but the IV tugs at your arm and a small sound of pain escapes your throat. That makes Ben move, picking you up carefully so he can adjust his own position to be at the head of the cot, lowering you between his legs and keeping one arm wrapped around your torso. The doctor watches with a wide-eyed, nervous expression before coughing again and grabbing a clipboard that’s been hanging on the wall.

He says your name—your full, real name—confirms your birthday, and begins to read off the clipboard. “Super-abled female. Primary residence, redacted. Powers, regenerative healing factor, empathy, pyrokinesis, and redacted. Occupation, redacted. Emergency contact, William Butcher-“ 

“What?” You frown, feeling Ben tense around you. “Why is Butcher my emergency contact?” 

The doctor shrugs. “I’m just reading what I was given, ma’am. If you would like to change it, we can do that when you’re discharged. Speaking of which,” his eyes narrow at the clipboard before looking up to you. “We will need to run some tests before allowing you to leave, and Director Mallory will have to approve the removal of your IV.” 

You sigh. “What kind of tests?” 

“While you’re here I like to get your vitals, and I’ll have to ask you some questions about the events leading up to, uh,” the doctor shoots a quick, anxious glance above you, where Ben’s chin is resting on your head. “Your admittance.”

“I, um, I don’t really remember much-“ 

“That’s common for events of emotional distress such as yours.” The doctor scratches at his ear, looking between you, Ben, and the clipboard. “We just need to gather as much information as possible. While there’s been no sign of physically inflicted harm, given your situation and history we’ll still need to ensure mental stability-“ 

“Okay.” You try and curl further into Ben and he gets the silent message, squeezing his hand on your thigh and rubbing circles against your skin. Your whole body relaxes into it, and you nod at the doctor. “What do you need to know?”

“Um,” the doctor’s eyes fall to where Ben’s touching you, and you’re too tired to be embarrassed. Ben’s touching you, and he’s big and warm and safe, and it’s making breathing and speaking easier. The doctor can deal with it. “Just, try and recall anything you can.” 

“Anything?” You repeat, and the doctor nods. “Anything about…?” 

“What got you here.” 

You nod slowly, but when you try to think about what happened after Homelander had left all you see is blood and all you feel is cold. “I, um. I really don’t know. I figured out that my empathy power could reverse, so people could feel me, and I tested it to make sure. I was just, I was exhausted and alone, and whenever I touched people they’d fall over.” Your nails are digging into Ben’s arm, and he doesn’t flinch. Only pulls you closer. “I, um, I was looking for something in the tower, a weapon against Homelander, and I found it.” The part of you that had broken when Homelander kissed you grows painful, and your voice becomes strained. “I figured out a way to get Homelander away from the tower, and I just ran. I don’t, I can’t really remember what happened after, but I think I just kept running until I got here.” 

The doctor frowns. “When you arrived, you were covered in blood. Do you remember if anyone tried to hurt you-“ 

“No,” you whisper. You remember that. All the blood on your hands and under your feet and dried against your face, even when nothing was burning anymore. Blood in your hair and metal on your tongue and red splattered across your clothes-

Your clothes. The stained pants and shirt you’d left the tower in, the pockets you’d been keeping the V in. 

Where are your clothes. 

You turn around, grabbing the collar of Ben’s shirt and ignoring the pain shooting through your arm. Your clothes. 

“What-“ 

“Ben,” you cut him off with a frantic shake of your head and a high voice. “Ben, my clothes. Where the fuck are my clothes. I need my clothes-“ 

Ben says your name with a frown. “I changed you out of them, you were covered in fucking blood and dirt-“ 

“Where did you put them,” you pull yourself up to his eyes level, holding his face between your hands. “Ben, where are my clothes-“

“Annie took them up to our apartment,” his hand moves off your thigh, circling around your wrist. Holding you still. “They’re just up in the fucking apartment. We can clean them, or burn them, or whatever the fuck you want. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. Your clothes are up in the apartment, the V in is your clothes, and Ben says it’s okay. You fall forwards, pressing your head into the crook of his neck, and you’re okay. 

The doctor’s pencil is scratching against paper, and you don’t bother to look at him. You don’t think you could pull away from Ben if you tried, because it’s safe here. Ben’s hand is running through your hair, and you can feel every rise and fall of his chest with his breath, and you’re safe here. He won’t leave. You love him, and he won’t leave.

“I’d like to order a psychological evaluation,” the doctor is saying, and you just nod into Ben’s body. “And I’m going to recommend to Director Mallory that you remain out of the field until it’s completed and you’ve been approved.” 

You hum and acknowledge, and when Ben speaks you can feel every word in your bones and gut, soothing any lingering fear.

“She doesn’t need a fucking shrink.” He snaps. “She needs to go home and rest.” 

“It will just be a brief session, to make sure there’s nothing to worry about. Given the, um, nature of her time away, we’re required to ensure there was no deeper trauma inflicted. She may as well be fine, but it’s just precautionary-“ 

Ben’s going to shout at the doctor. You can hear his heart picking up where your ear is pressed to his body, his body has gone rigid, and when you look up his jaw is clenched. 

You almost reach up to pull his face down to yours, but his gaze drops down to yours with a frown before you even move. 

There’s not a chance in fucking hell we’re staying here another night-

It’ll be an appointment, Ben. We’ll go home, and come back for an appointment. Or they’ll come to us, we do live here. You offer him a small smile. And the longer you yell at the medical professionals, the longer we have to stay here. 

He rolls his eyes. I’m not fucking yelling. 

You were about to. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Not until you promise to calm your ass down.

I am fucking calm.

You give him a flat look, vaguely aware that the doctor had long fallen silent. Really. 

I’m calm as shit. I just want to take you fucking home- 

I am home. You lean forwards, resting your chin on his chest. You’re here. 

Ben’s glower vanishes in a second, and he’s watching you with an expression you can’t understand. It’s familiar, but if you’re supposed to be able to read it, you can’t. 

He doesn’t look away when he speaks. “Fine.” 

“Um, sir,” you can see the doctor in your periphery, frowning at Ben. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to speak on her behalf, considering you’re not family or given power of attorney. Technically you shouldn’t even be here-“ 

Ben’s head shoots up, his scowl returned in full force, and you have to speak before the doctor gets his head bashed in.

“It’s fine, he’s okay.” Please don’t make him leave. “It’s um, he’s right. I’m fine with a psych eval. I just, can I ask how long I have to be here?” 

When you lean back to watch the doctor’s reaction, he’s staring at Ben with a frozen expression. “We, um,” the doctor swallows. “Director Mallory needs to speak to you first, then you’ll be discharged. Vitals can wait, I think.” 

“Can you please go get her?” 

The doctor nods, retreating backwards. “Yeah. I can.”

“Thank you-“ 

The doctor slams the door closed as he leaves, and you glare up at Ben. 

“Benjamin.” 

He’s still glaring at where the doctor had disappeared into the hall. “What.” 

“I told you to stop bullying.” 

“I didn’t even goddamn say anything-“ 

You snort. “You were looking at that guy like you were going to rip his head off.” 

“He was going to try to make me fucking leave you-“ 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “He couldn’t make you do anything. And he was technically right, you’re not my relative or emergency contact, so you probably shouldn’t be here. That’s policy at most hospitals.”

“This isn’t a real hospital,” Ben mutters. “All their policies are made up dogshit.”

“Well, all policies are made up dogshit. They’re all just fake, hyper-specific corporate law.” You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“What, so I’m not allowed but fucking Butcher would be-”

“I’m going to make you my emergency contact, Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “But not until you stop being a fucking man-child.”

“I am not a man-child-“

“Then stop throwing a temper tantrum.” 

He’s still glaring at you, but it’s for show. You know that glare, where his brow is furrowed and his mouth is in a frown, but his eyes have nothing but content affection in them. “Brat.” 

You smile at him, and it’s a real smile. There’s teeth and joy and comfort and your cheeks hurt a little bit, but it’s the only pain you’re feeling because you’re happy. Ben’s here and you’re happy. “Cunt. I can still keep Butcher as my contact, so don’t test me.“

Ben’s eyes narrow. “That’s not fucking funny.” 

“It’s a little funny-“ 

This kiss is harsher. Still not rough, but desperate. Full of want, Ben groaning your name down your throat and his tongue pushing a litter further than before. His nose bumps yours, and when you don’t pull away he goes deeper. Nipping at your lips until they swell, pulling your tongue into his mouth with a low sound from his chest that makes you whine at start to climb up to get closer. He grins against you, and his voice is in you. 

“Fucking like that, Sunshine?” You nod against him, and he does it again. “Use your words.” 

“Yes,” you’re breathless. He’s barely touching you, but all your air has been pushed into his body and you have no desire to take it back. “I like that.” I love you.

“More?” 

You nod, and Ben moves to your ear, kissing right below it before growling against your skin. 

“Fucking words-“ 

“More,” you mumble, lowering your head into his shoulder. “More, please.” 

Ben hums, and your whole body shivers. “Try again.” 

“You’re such a fucking asshole-“ 

“You’re into it.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it from only thinking Ben. Ben, I love you. Please, Ben, I love you. “I am. But I’m a little fucked up.” 

He pulls away, and you almost whine again. You barely manage to swallow it, trying to pretend it doesn’t kill you that you still can’t feel him. He’s looking up at you—sitting halfway on his torso—and you love him. You love that he’s here, and touching you like you didn’t break or leave, and smirking at you as you start to grind onto him.

“I like you a little fucked up.” He says, and you can’t swallow your next whine as he squeezes your ass. “But I’m also not fucking you here.”

“Ben-“

He drops his arms down to your hips and holds you carefully up his body as one hand snakes up, below your shirt, and keeps you steady against him as he flips you both over. Pressing you down into the mattress, and kissing you into the half-plastic cot pillow until you whimper.

“I’m not fucking you here,” he says your name again, and you can only nod. Anything that keeps his voice rolling through you, keeps him around you. “I’m going to fuck you, and when I do you’re going to say my name, and moan, and cum all fucking over my cock and hands and face. But not here. Not until you’re okay.” 

You are okay. You’re still broken and tired, but you’re okay. Ben’s here, and safe, and warm, and you’re okay. You should tell him, you should tell him you’re good, he’s here so you’re good, but it will come out I love you. If you try to talk to Ben right now you’ll say Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben I’m fucked up and broken but it’s all good because I love you, and you’re here.

You can’t say you love him. You’re awake now and you know that you can’t say you love him. You’re not ready for him to say he doesn’t love you, you’re not strong enough to live through that right now, so you can’t say you love him. All you can do is surge up and grab Ben’s face, feel him in every way you can with your empathy numbed, and let him groan into you. Let him guide your arms back down so that the IV doesn’t pull at your skin, let him make your head clear with just Ben. Kissing your and invading your senses in the best possible way. Here and real and Ben.

“I missed you,” you hum the words into his mouth, and hope he hears the underlying song of I love you. Ben, I love you. “I really fucking missed you.”

His head lifts up, pressing a kiss on your forehead, words muttered against your skin. “I missed you too, Sunshine. Don’t ever fucking do that shit again.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and mean it. You’re exhausted, and a broken piece of you is still shifting around inside your body. You won’t survive doing that again. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and draws back to watch you. Eyes scanning over your body, picking you apart and searing into every single part of you. You’ve never felt safer.

“Fucking swear it,” he grunts, and you don’t hesitate.

“Promise.” You smile at him again, and his whole body relaxes. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“You didn’t fucking leave me,” Ben mutters. “I lost you-“

“You didn’t lose me,” you reach your hands up, ignoring the sting of the IV. This is more important. “You’ll never lose me, Ben.”

He nods, but doesn’t move. “Good.”

You can’t feel him. You wish you could feel him, because he’s saying something else. There’s something in his voice that you’ve heard before, but it’s stronger. Almost everything in his tone is filled with the one part of him you don’t understand. That big, focused thing that had lived in your body. That was him, that you can’t feel anymore. You want it back. You want all of him, but the IV is still in your arm and you can’t have it right now. So you just smile at him. You smile at Ben, and it’s the simplest thing in the world.

I love you. Ben, I love you. 

His eyes are dropping back to your mouth, and you hope he just fucks you. You’re tired, and this bed is uncomfortable, but if Ben’s hand moved just a fraction lower on your hips and if he kissed you like that again, there wasn’t a single thing you wouldn’t let him do to you. When he looks back up at you his eyes are blown out and dark, focused on you as his hips drop and his cock presses against your inner thigh, and you need him. You need him to stop being such a misguided noble ass and just touch you when you’re broken. You need someone to pull this stupid fucking IV out of your body so you can feel Ben, and he can take you home and fuck you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters your name, and you make a small weak sound. “So fucking good and beautiful.” 

“Ben-“ 

He cuts off your plea of his name with his mouth, with one long, sweet kiss. This kiss is sweet. It’s not to shut you up or make you moan, it’s just to kiss you. To make you sigh and smile against him when he hums your name, when his hand reaches up to brush hair from your face.

“Whole thing,” he mutters. “Say the whole thing.”

You couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. He’s tracing his thumb across your jaw and dropping his mouth to kiss the spot only he knows about, and you love him. You’ll give him anything.

“Benjamin,” your voice is unsteady, and you can hardly focus over his gentle bite on your skin. You’re going to say it. He’s not moving back to shut you up and he’s touching you like you’re holy, so you’re going to say it. “Please, I-“

He rises back to you. Kisses you with a hand cupping your cheek, and grunting your name in a way that makes your whole body melt. “I fucking adore you,” Ben mutters, pulling back to look at you with a devotion on his face that makes nothing else matter. “You know that I adore you.”

You nod, not even mad that he’s telling you, because he’s right. You know that Ben adores you. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, so you know he adores you. 

But he doesn’t love you. So all you can do is smile at him and make a small sound of affirmation. 

“I know, Ben.” You lean further into his hand. “I know.”

He nods, and his mouth opens. Probably to make you promise that you know, or say something else that both heals you and makes you love him more. Makes you certain you will never be able to tell him that you love him.

The door opens, and you’ve never been more grateful for how noisy, boundary-lacking, and aggressive your team is. 

It’s everyone. You can’t see over Ben’s body, but the clamor as they push in from the hall into your room is impossible to miss. You can hear Hughie’s apologizing as he bumps into people, and Annie’s shout of his name as something falls down near the door. You can hear Frenchie’s snort, and if he’s here Kimiko is as well. That’s MM telling everyone to sanitize their hands, and Butcher’s scoff at the very idea.

That’s Mallory’s voice, raised above the commotion as she snaps at you and Ben.

“I think everyone would appreciate it if Soldier Boy would get off the bed so we can talk.”

You giggle at Ben’s sour expression, and he rolls his eyes at you.

Why the fuck do they all have to be here.

We won’t know unless we ask. You don’t even have to talk, Ben, you just have to get off of me. 

No. 

You can still touch me, but I need to see everyone. Please. 

You pout at him, and his eyes narrow. This is fucking dumb. 

Yep. Move your ass, Benjamin. 

He grunts, and instead of rolling off your body he sits up and pulls you with him. His gaze is focused on your arm with the IV, shifting so that the tube doesn’t keep pulling at your skin and only settling when he’s found an angle that he deems suitable.

When you turn your head, you were right. It is everyone. And they’re all staring at you. Even Butcher’s expression is uncharacteristically careful, no mocking words about how you’d just had Ben pinning you to the bed, or snide comments about you still being folded into his chest, comfortable in his lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, feeling your face heat. “It’s, um, it’s good to see you guys-“

“Are you okay?” Hughie blurts, looking you up and down like bruises and scars might suddenly form on your skin. “We’re really sorry about, um, kind of everything-” 

“I’m fine.” You smile at him, and pinch Ben’s arm when it tightens around you. You are fine. “And none of that was your fault, you don’t need to apologize,“ Ben snorts, and you pinch him again. Harder. “It’s really okay, Hughie. I’m okay.” 

Hughie nods, but still looks unconvinced. “I mean, I’m still sorry. This really fucking sucks, so I’m sorry-“ 

“She don’t want your apologies, Lad.” Butcher drawls, and Hughie turns red. “They ain’t gonna help shit.”

You can’t look up at Ben, because you can picture his that’s what I’ve been fucking saying face in your head. Instead, you give Butcher a dry smile. “Don’t speak for me, dick-face. And why the fuck are you my emergency contact.”

“Well, it was either me or MM,” he shrugs. “And I drew the short straw.”

You look to MM for confirmation, and he gives you an apologetic look. “We didn’t really know you. And then once we did, we had bigger fuckin fish to fry than updating contact info.”

“Well, I’d like to update it now, please.”

MM nods. “I can have the doctor get the papers. We have to put Ryan in the system anyway, we’ve been kicking that can down the road way too fucking long.”

“Is he okay?” You look around the room nervously. “I know you got him out, but-“

“He’s good,” it’s Ben that answers, and when you tilt your head back to look at him he’s watching you with something soft in his eyes. “He’s doing fucking fine.”

You blink at him. You’ve been talking to him?

You asked me to. 

You nod, and smile at him. Thank you. 

Ben frowns. Don’t. 

“We’ll have time for catching up later and doing that later,” Mallory’s voice isn’t cold, but it’s firm, and when you look at her she’s scowling. “We have a few things to go over before I approve your discharge.”

You feel Ben squeeze your waist—you think he’s reminding you he’s here—and you nod at Mallory. “Okay. Go.”

“Later, I’ll want a fully detailed debrief of your time with Vought,” Mallory starts, and you sink a little further into Ben. Let the heat of his body and the smell of Ben roll through you. “Right now I need to know about your escape.” 

“I already told the doctor, I don’t remember-“ 

“Not how you got here,” Mallory shakes her head, and you blink at her in confusion. “I already know that. The whole world is talking about how you got here. What I want to know-“ 

“What do you mean,” you probably shouldn’t have cut Mallory off—not with how she’s glaring at you—but you can’t remember anything and suddenly nobody will meet your eyes.

Annie says your name softly, looking at you with a sad expression. “How much do you actually remember?”

“I, um, I found the V. It was the original formula-“

“That won’t work.” Mallory cuts over you, and your words choke in your throat. “From what we understand, the V in both you and Soldier Boy is completely neutral to Homelander.”

You blink at her, your voice small. “What?”

“She’s right,” MM sighs, rubbing his face with a shake of his head. “The papers in the lab said he'd be immune to and unaffected by it. Would be like injecting the fucker with saline.”

You shake your head. “There wasn’t anything else. He only had the one vial-“

“We’ll keep fucking looking,” Ben grunts, rubbing circles on where you’re gripping his arm. When you glance down you realize smoke has started to rise from your knuckles and palm, but Ben hasn’t even flinched. “We’ll figure it out. You’re fucking staying here.”

“That might not be an option-”

“Shut the fuck up, Mallory.” Ben snaps, his arm pulling you closer, body hunching down like Mallory might try and take you. “She’s not doing your fucking dirty work anymore-“

“I’m not going to send her back to Vought,” Mallory’s arms are crossed, and gaze locked on Ben, above your head. “But she’s made herself important to the whole country. All of Manhattan is in chaos, and Homelander’s on a rampage-“

“What?!” You shake your head, looking around the room frantically. Something happened. Everyone looks nervous and guilty—even Ben has tensed further around you—and the callous, sadistic voice in your head has returned.

Weak. Nobody stays because you’re weak.

“What did I do?” You whisper, and Butcher’s voice isn’t cruel when he answers.

“Vought tower,” he grunts, and you feel something clench at the base of your throat. “Didn’t destroy it, did fuck it up real bloody well. VNN is sayin it was another terrorist attack, but eye witnesses are reporting seein you run away with people droppin like fuckin flies around you. Just passin right out with screams. Most seem fine, but there’s been reports of burnt bodies in the tower itself. Sage ain’t been seen since you returned. Homelander won’t give a direct address, but he’s been seen flying around. Looking for you, lasering anyone in the way.”

“How,” you swallow. “How did I get here without him catching me?” 

“You ran.” Ben mutters in your ear. “You just fucking ran.” 

“But I was across the river, someone would’ve seen me-“ 

“People did see you,” Mallory’s watching you carefully as she speaks, lips in a thin line. “But everyone that got too close collapsed, right up until you got here and passed out.” 

You remember that. You have a vague flash in your head of pushing through the doors of the lobby, of people trying to yell at you and their shouts turning into screams. Of your legs giving out and falling to the floor, of everything around you being cold and painful, but Ben’s Thing in your chest pounding and clawing at you to keep going. Telling you that it was almost safe, that Ben was close, so close, you just had to call for him and he’d come.

There’s another vague echo, of something approaching you and you allowing it to. In the ocean of no and cold and help, someone help, I can’t fucking breathe something had approached you and you’d know it was safe. It was familiar and strong, and it had wrapped around you and cleared your whole body. Sleep had felt easy, your brain had gone Ben. Ben, I love you, and you’d stopped screaming. 

But it hadn’t only been you screaming. 

“Did I,” you push the words out, staring at your fingers on Ben’s arm. Still smoking, fire itching under your skin. “Did I kill anyone?” 

“If you did, they were Vought.” Butcher sighs. “But they ain’t released anything official. All we know is that the whole bleedin country is looking for you.”

“Nobody saw me come here?”

“No,” Annie shakes her head. “You were last seen leaving New York.”

“There’s a lot of theories,” Hughie offers. “But nobody’s actually figured it out.”

You nod slowly, trying to focus wholly on speaking, grounding yourself within Ben’s body around you. “And you need to know what to say to the public. If I’m back here or not.”

“You’re America’s fuckin martyr,” Butcher says your name, and even he sounds tired. “We ain’t got a lot of time until Sage wakes up from whatever you did to her, and she’ll-“

“She’ll spin it,” you sigh, your fingers tapping on Ben’s skin. “She’ll turn this in their favor. We need to be faster.”

“This seemed to be your plan the whole time,” Mallory looks you up and down, and you hold her gaze. You just have to hold yourself together a little longer, then they’ll let you go home and you can fall in Ben’s arms and fully break. “What should our move be.”

You don’t know. You had known, you’d had steps lined out for when everything fell into place. For when the world knew who you were, and had grown attached to you. For how you’d find the proof—something undeniable and obvious—of what Homelander had done to you and leak it from Vought. Turn the world against him and stay at his side, lure him to Ben and give everything left in you to finish it. Burn and burn and burn and hope it was enough to keep Homelander down. Then you’d adjusted, and you’d planned to leak it and get the V they needed, then escape in the dark. Have Homelander come find you and kill him like that.

There had been flaws and holes in both of those plans. Not all the world would’ve condemned Homelander, but a small following of fanatics was better than millions rioting in the streets. There was the chance you wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold Homelander for Ben, but the V had solved that problem. There was a chance Homelander wouldn’t look for you, but it had been slim. He’d have thought you’d just vanished, been taken from him once more. There had been so many possible setbacks, and you’d known how to account and adjust for all of them.

But you’d failed. You hadn’t gotten the right V, and your escape hadn’t been quiet and smooth. It had been horrible and violent, in the broad daylight and for all the world to see. You’d gotten out, but you’d been unable to control yourself and you’d failed. Just like Sage said you would. And you didn’t know what to do.

Weak.

“This can wait,” Ben’s voice is from his chest, deep and rough. “She’s fucking tired. Let us go home, then we’ll do your fucking jobs for you.”

We. Ben won’t really be doing anything, just sitting with you, but he’s right. That’s still we.

“Soldier Boy, she’s my agent. I will decide-“

“You aren’t going to decide fucking shit.” Ben hisses. “She not your agent, she’s fucking dead as far as the government is concerned.” 

“She’s not dead,” Mallory snaps. “That’s the problem. She’s incredibly alive, and the whole world knows. We need to know how to proceed-“

“I’ll figure it out,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. You will figure it out. You always figure it out. You have to figure it out, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if you can’t. “I just need a minute-“

“No.” Ben’s hand moves over yours, and you realize the smoke has started to flicker with light. “You need to fucking rest. This can wait until you’ve rested.” 

“Ben-“ 

“He’s right,” MM mutters, and you turn to gape at him. “You just half-destroyed a building and ran all the way from Manhattan to Newark. Even with the V, you need rest.” 

“I was just asleep for a day-“ 

“Passed out,” MM corrects you with a firm glare. “You were passed out. That’s not sleep, or rest, it’s burnout. You need to get in a bed and really fucking sleep, before it gets worse.”

“Marvin,” Mallory shoots MM a sharp look. “There’s a lot at stake here-“

“Look at her, Grace,” MM doesn’t waver, nodding at how you’re all but buried into Ben’s body. How there’s smoke still rising from between Ben's fingers over yours. “She’s not going to have any good ideas right now. She’s exhausted, let her rest.”

“I’m fine-“

Ben says your name, and you look up to find his flat glare examining your name. “You’re hungry.”

“I said I’m fine-“ Your stomach growls, and Ben smirks at you. He knows what he’s doing, the asshole. “Fuck you, Benjamin.”

He winks. Eat first. You’ll need the energy.

Shut up. You wrinkle your nose at him, and he chuckles.

“There’s still some leftovers from dinner last night,” Hughie glances at Annie for confirmation, and she nods. “We could bring them down for you guys. I know Soldier Boy hasn’t eaten-“ 

“What?” You frown, and Hughie’s eyes widen. “What do you mean Ben hasn’t eaten.” 

Hughie shrugs—words becoming stumbled and unsure—and you can feel Ben’s arms tighten around you. “I, uh, I’m not sure. It’s been a crazy few days. Who knows who’s been eating and who hasn’t-“

“Hughie,” you say slowly, and he looks at you with a pale face. “How long have I been asleep. Don’t lie, you’re bad at it.”

“Um, maybe 36 hours?”

“And has Ben left this room in those 36 hours?”

“Don’t fucking answer that,” Ben’s words to Hughie are an order, and you glare up at him. “And I took at least one piss, Sunshine, so shut the fuck up.”

“Have you eaten, Benjamin?” He just glares at you, and you look back at Hughie. “Has he eaten?” 

Hughie looks around to the rest of the team for help, but nobody seems to be willing to take over. Even Annie just moves a step in front of him, gaze locked on Ben above your head. 

“Hughie-“ 

“I, um.” Hughie’s looking between you and Ben, and you think he’s trying to decide who’s less dangerous to ignore. “I don’t-“

“Bloody Christ,” Butcher rolls his eyes, stepping forward. “You two are gonna give the Lad a heart attack. Soldier Boy ain’t eaten, or left this room. And his piss was in a bloody bottle that I can see in the bin from here. Try not to fuck about it in front of us.”

You pretend not to hear the last comment, and twist to shove at Ben’s chest. “You fucking idiot-“

“I was waiting for you,” he snaps, catching your hands. “Fuck my ass for being worried about you-“

“I’m fine, Ben. You need to eat-“

“I’m not about to goddamn leave you-” 

“You need to eat!” You try to knee his gut, but just manage to shift into straddling him. “You need to eat just as much as I do, you don’t even have to go back upstairs! You could’ve just found a vending machine-“

“I said I’m not fucking leaving you!” His voice is loud, but not a yell, and he tugs you closer. “You were passed the hell out, I can’t just leave you like that-“

“Ben,” you say, voice a little softer. He looks pained, and his hands are holding yours against him, almost crushing your fingers. “I’m home. You never left me. You need to take care of yourself as well.”

His jaw clenches. You were fucking screaming, Sunshine. You didn’t hear you, you didn’t see you. I’m not fucking leaving you to wake up alone after that.

I didn’t wake up alone. And you’re going to have to let me be alone eventually. At some point I’m going to have to shit. 

You can shit in front of me. I don’t give a fuck. 

You give him a flat look. You know what I mean. I’m okay. You should eat. 

You should fucking eat. 

Ben, please. 

He sighs. Fine. 

You don’t bother to try and turn back to your team as Ben lifts his head to address them. 

“We’ll grab the damn leftovers on our way back. Now can we fucking go.” 

“I have to call the doctor,” Mallory says, and you see Ben glare at her. “Her skin attempted to heal around the IV, it needs to be removed carefully.” 

“Then fucking do that.”

“Ben,” you wait for him to look back at you before continuing. “Go get us the food now, and by the time you get it home I’ll be discharged.”

“There’s not a chance in hell-“

“I’ll let you carry me.” You smile at him, and he glowers at you.

Brat. 

Cunt. Go get the food, please. 

“We’ll be watchin her the whole fuckin time, Gov.” Butcher says from behind you, and Ben’s eyes don’t even flick upwards in acknowledgment. “She ain’t gonna go anywhere.” 

He’s right. I won’t. You’ll get back, and I won’t even have gotten off the bed. 

He frowns. Tell me you’re okay. 

Ben’s right here, watching you and handsome and everything, and it’s so easy to smile and blink. I’m okay. 

He nods, and kisses the top of your head before peeling you off his body and laying you back on the bed. He stands slowly, scanning across your body. 

“Ben,” you say softly, and his eyes dart to your face. “I’m fine. I’ll be right here.” 

“If you’re not,” he grumbles, running his hand through your hair and leaning down to press his brow to yours. “I’m killing Butcher.” 

You grin at him. “Deal.” 

“Adorable,” Butcher mutters, and neither you nor Ben move away from each other. “Hughie, help Soldier Boy get the food.” 

“Why me?”

“You started these two horny fuckers on their weird bloody rampage-“ 

“It’s okay,” Annie’s voice is soft, and you can picture her holding Hughie’s arm, still a step in front of him. “Me and Kimiko will go with you. More hands.” 

“That’s a smart lady-“ 

“Shove it up your ass, Butcher.”

This is fucking stupid, Ben blinks at you, and you smile. I could carry all of them and the food my goddamn self and be back in half the time.

I don’t doubt that, but if you try to fight them this will take longer. You run a hand over his jaw, through the hair of his beard. Try not to miss me too much, Pretty Boy.

He looks at you in a way you’ve seen a million times—all reverence, right through you—but it’s deeper. Completely devoid of something you hadn’t even realized was covering it. You don’t know what it means, especially when Ben leans down and kisses you one more time. Long and deep—holding your face where he wants it and pressing you back into the pillow—in a way that clears your head to just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’s trying to pull away, but you make a small sound at the loss and he doesn’t even pretend to try and ignore it. Ben falls right back into you, going and going with a fervor until you have to pull away for air and he rises to kiss the space between your eyes.

“Don’t fucking move an inch until I’m back.” He mutters against your skin, and you nod.

“I won’t.” You catch Ben's wrist as he starts to step away, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben pries your hand off his wrist and raises it to kiss your knuckles—warmth spreading through your body where his lips brush your skin—and you think he’s going to say something. He scans over you one last time and his mouth opens, so you don’t say anything because you’re certain he’s going to. But Ben just frowns at nothing, tugs the fuzzy blanket up your body, and leaves.

You stare where the door closes behind him, and you know he’ll come back but suddenly you’re cold. This wasn’t a good idea, because Ben isn’t here and you can’t feel anything but cold. You’re left in the room with Mallory, Frenchie, Butcher, and MM, and it’s a warm room—the light of the morning is shifting on your knuckles, right where Ben kissed them—but you’re cold and alone.

“Can we please get the IV out now?” You mutter, not really addressing anyone in particular. “Or at least close the flow?”

When you turn to look at them, they’re all exchanging worried, tight looks.

“What?”

MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.” He says your name, and you frown. “It might not be safe.”

You blink at him. “Safe?”

“Previously,” Frenchie’s words are slow. Carefully chosen and delicate. “Your powers of empathy were as if a one way alley from others, into you. Now they are acting as a bridge. With cars driving in both directions.”

“Cars?”

Frenchie nods. “The cars are emotions. Crossing the bridge, violently.”

“You went vigilant, Love.” Butcher grunt. “We take you off that IV, ain’t no guarantee you won’t hit us all with a blast of Homelander trauma.”

You shake your head, looking between them. “That’s not how it works.”

Mallory frowns at you. “How are you sure.”

“It only happens when I want it to. Pushing my feelings on others.” You clarify your words, glancing down at your own hands. “I have to focus for it to happen. Or I have to be in a,” you sigh. “Hysterical state.”

“Hysterical.” 

You nod, ignoring how disbelieving Mallory’s tone is. “Freaking the fuck out. Or…” You trail off, because there’s one other way that the empathy turns outwards without you telling it to. When you’re not freezing, falling into a place you can’t pull yourself out of, but when you’re burning. When you’re looking at Ben and he’s touching you and your whole body grows molten.

MM coughs, and you blink at him. “Or what?”

“Or when I’m, um, emotional.” 

Frenchie frowns at you. “Emotional and hysterical are the same, no?” 

“No,” you smile sadly at your fingers, tapping against the blanket Ben had pulled back over you. “They’re not. Hysterical is bad, and emotional is good.”

MM lets out a long, heavy breath, and you know he understands. “So as long as you’re not hysterical or emotional, you don’t think we’ve got shit to be worried about.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.” 

You won’t be okay. This means you can’t touch Ben again, so you won’t be okay. If you touch him, he’ll make everything in you love. It’ll only be eternal, infinite love for Ben and it will make your blood spread from you to him. That will make Ben love you. You can’t make Ben love you. It wouldn’t mean anything if you made Ben love you. Ben would hate you if you did that. If you grabbed him and forced him to do something he didn’t want to for your own, selfish reasons.

Homelander’s voice is sneering in your head, echoing around your body.

Fucking manipulative bitch. Can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them. 

This was a trick. You’d be tricking Ben into loving you. Ben would stay with you, and you already know he likes you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him. So much it hurts, all the way through you and the world, in an ancient and indestructible fervor that will only end with all the universe.

You can’t make him feel the same way. For you. You don’t want to make him love you for you. You want Ben to love you so much that it’s painful—the only thing you want more is Ben, just Ben, at your side and grinning at you all the fucking time—but he had to feel it himself. If Ben doesn’t love you himself, you’ll just never be loved by anything again. And you could be fine with that. With Ben caring about you and staying with you, but not loving you. It might eventually kill you, but you’d rather die that sad, withering death than force Ben to love you. Then lose him.

But you can’t tell him. You should tell him, you trust him—you’d always trust Ben to protect you and make you safe and happy—but you don’t trust you. You don’t trust yourself to hold your blood in your body when Ben touches you, and you don’t trust yourself not to fold when he asks you why. When you say Ben, I know I said you could fuck me, but you can’t anymore, and he responds with, why the fuck not. Are you hurt, did Homelander fucking hurt you, you know you’ll cave. You’ll look at his handsome, angry face and feel stone and fury running through him for you, and you’ll tell him you love him.

You’re really not ready to tell Ben you love him.

And you might die if you can never touch him again.

“Frenchie,” you mumble, and he pauses his fidgeting with the IV. 

“Oui?” 

“You made this stuff, right? The suppressant?” 

“I did.” He frowns. “Why?” 

“How long does it last?” 

Frenchie tilts his head. “It does not. The V in your body rejects anything that is not natural to its system. The moment I remove the IV, the effects will-“ He makes a pfit sound, and gestures away from his body. “Gone.” 

“Oh,” you swallow. “Could you figure out how to make it last?” 

“Why would you want that?” MM grunts, and you turn to see him frowning at you. Confused. “I can’t imagine it feels good now-“ 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone by accident.” You mutter. “And it won’t be forever. Just until Homelander’s dead.” 

When Homelander’s dead, you’ll rest. You’ll still be afraid, but you’ll have all the time in the world to heal that part of you where something was broken. And one day you’d be whole enough to tell Ben you love him and survive him turning you down. But only once Homelander’s dead. 

“I could make it a pill,” Frenchie tilts his head at nothing in the air. “I would need a day, perhaps two-“ 

“But you could.” Your voice is desperate. You don’t care. “You could make it a pill.” 

“Oui, I will just need some time to do so.” 

You nod. “Do it. I can wait a few days.” Just a few days. Just one, maybe two days of not being allowed to kiss Ben. You’ll still be able to touch him—curl into his side and run your hands across his sharp jaw and over his broad shoulders—but nothing more. You just survived almost two months with nothing at all. You can go two days with just hands on skin.

You really, really hope you can go two days with just hands on skin. 

Mallory raises a hand, stopping Frenchie’s hand on the IV. “If you truly feel uncertain of your ability to control yourself, I’m not going to approve the removal of the suppressant before a pill form is provided.” 

It’s important to keep the shake of your head even and not panicked and fearful. You need the IV out now. Your arm hurts, and if Ben can’t pick you up and carry you home—set you down in your bed and sleep at your side—you might start crying. “I’m not going to blow up, I promise. I just won’t touch anyone.”

Just like last time. 

You don’t say it, but it’s implied in the way you swallow and all of their features become tight. Nobody except Ben had touched you before you could influence their emotions. Up until Ben, you hadn’t touched anyone—save for brief, tense moments of contact for healing—in years. Scientists and Homelander had touched you, but you’d never touched them. Not in the magnetic way some part of your body was always finding a way to stay against Ben’s.

There’s a brief theory that flashes in your head—made of hadn’t touched anyone, touched Ben, kept touching Ben, felt Ben, loved Ben, everyone feels you, you keep feeling Ben and it won’t stop—but it’s gone the second MM frowns at you, speaking in a low, careful voice. 

“Even Soldier Boy?” 

“I can touch Ben,” you mutter. There’s not a thing they can threaten you with or tell you that will make you stop touching Ben. “I just can’t, um, you know.” 

Mallory frowns at you, saying your name in a cool voice. “We aren’t mind readers-“ 

“Bloody hell, Grace. She ain’t gonna be able to fuck him.” Butcher’s words are bored, his face lazy. “Seems pretty cut and shit dry from where I’m standin.”

Mallory shoots Butcher a glare. “I am not privy to your sex lives, William. Her relationship with Soldier Boy,” you hate how Mallory says relationship. Like it’s disgusting or wrong, when whatever you have with Ben might be the only good thing left in your life. “Is not my primary concern, nor something I ever spare thought to.”

You have to bite your cheek until there’s a tang of blood, because that’s a lie. Mallory had clearly thought about it enough to use it to blackmail Ben, to keep him in line. You don’t think you’re supposed to know that, and right now isn’t the best time to yell at her about trying to take Ben away from you, but you didn’t forget. You won’t forget. 

So you just glare—firm with a silent fury—at Mallory. “Please,” it’s not a real please, but lined with venom and exhaustion. “Just take out my IV. I won’t explode, and I won’t touch anyone. I just, I,” you sigh. “I want to go home. Can I please go home.” 

Mallory’s scowl doesn’t waver, but she gives Frenchie a sharp nod and he takes out a small knife from his pocket, approaching your arm. 

“I will need to cut the IV out.” Frenchie glances up at you, tone apologetic. “It will hurt. And there will be blood.”

“Okay,” you nod, curling your hand into a fist to still your fingers. “Do it.” 

Frenchie’s arm raises, the blade resting on your skin, and you have to bite your tongue when it goes in. Carving under where the IV had been placed, through skin and muscle until Frenchie can get a good grip to yank it out. You manage not to scream, even when the blood starts to rush out of the hole in your arm. Covering the cot, the blanket, your skin, your hands. Blood. So much blood. Why is there so much blood-

Your skin isn’t even fully healed when you feel it. The cold trying to push out of your body, soothed by Ben’s Thing. Returned in your chest, humming and warm against your ribs. Tight, but growing slack by the second. He’s close. You don’t know how you know, but Ben is almost back. 

Mallory coughs. “Is it-“ 

Your head shoots up before the door fully opens, but when it does Ben is barging into the room. Taking long steps back to your cot, eyes scanning over your body with scowl and fists clenching when he sees the red stained across the sheet. 

“What the fuck did they-“ 

You pull Ben into you, yanking him down with a fist in his shirt and rising on your knees to meet him halfway. He catches you with a grunt, arms wrapping around your waist as he raises you further up his body. You can feel him. You can feel the spark of surprise when you surge up to him, and how it turns into concrete worry and care when you bury your head in his neck and his arms tighten around you. You can feel an ache inside of him, and how it’s dissolving into something focused and wrathful and hot. Filled with blood and ardor, flowing into your body and making breathing easier. The shattered piece of you doesn’t fall and meld back into place, but you sink deeper into Ben—his body and smell and the pure feel of him—and you know you’ll be okay. You can’t be broken, not really, because someone broken wouldn’t have another touch them like this. With hands pressed into their skin and the spaces between their bones, with an adoring care that’s everything.

Ben is everything, and you can feel him again. He speaks, and his deep, rumbling voice isn’t just lips on the top of your head or noise that resonates in your bones. It’s deep in your gut and lungs and head, a sound that makes every divet and nerve of your body go Ben. Ben, I love you. 

“What’s wrong.” 

You shake your head against him, and salt falls onto your tongue. You’re crying, and it’s not choking your words or leaving a lump in your throat. It’s relief, something taut around your head vanishing because you’re safe. You can feel Ben, and there’s not even a sliver of a chance he’s not real. Sage could fake looks and words and smells and touches, fake everything that makes Ben Ben, but she couldn’t fake how you know it’s him. How there’s a soft chorus of Ben that lives in your veins, and it’s only drowned out by his Thing, roaring inside you when you try to pull him closer. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his skin, and you can feel his jaw tighten. Something sour darts up his spine, and you sigh. “I’m really okay.” 

“Then why is there fucking blood everywhere.” 

Blood. So much blood. “Frenchie had to cut out the IV. But I’m okay-“ 

Ben doesn’t let go of you—hooking your legs over his arm and moving your hands to hold the base of his neck—as he stands, turning to glare at Mallory with a sneer. “You said it needed to be taken out fucking carefully-“ 

“It was done carefully, Soldier Boy. She had attempted to heal over it, there was no other option aside from surgical removal-“ 

“You cut it out of Her goddamn body!” Ben’s hands tense on you as he shouts over Mallory. “Christ, there’s fucking blood on the floor-“ 

“Ben,” you look up at him with a small, soft smile. “I’m really okay. I just want to go home. Please.” 

He scowls at you, and you can feel how furious he is. It’s burning in his chest, making his breathing sharp and body rigid. They fucking hurt you- 

I healed. You can’t even tell anything happened. 

There were other options. There’s always other goddamn options. 

You give him a small shake of your head. Maybe. But it’s done, and I’m okay. Can we go home now? 

Ben sighs, scanning over your face like he might find a bruise or cut to justify his anger. I’m carrying you. 

That was the deal. 

He rolls his eyes, and that strange look you should understand but just can’t flashes across his face before he turns back to Mallory. “We’re going. If you try to stop me, I’ll shoot you.”

Mallory scoffs. “You don’t have a gun-“

“I gave him one,” Butcher shrugs. “He ain’t gonna use it on us, Grace-“ 

“I will if she tries to fucking stop me.” Ben snaps, and you sigh, tapping on his jaw until he looks back at you. 

What. 

Don’t be honest with Mallory about your violent intentions. She won’t appreciate it like I do. 

Ben snorts. That’s because she’s a fucking bitch, and you’re not. Then says aloud, “But I won’t do a single damn thing, as long as you let us walk out with any more fucking tests or questions. We’ll do a debrief, later and after she’s gotten some damn sleep and a good shower. We clear?” Mallory gives a clipped nod, and Ben pauses, glancing down at you again before he speaks. “And you’re not getting my gun back.” 

Mallory looks like she might argue, but MM stops her with a sigh. 

“Not worth it, Grace.” He turns to Ben, crossing his arms with a frown. “You misuse that gun-“ 

“Yeah, you boring fucking pussies will confiscate it,” Ben’s eyes narrow. “Good thing I won’t.” 

MM just looks Ben up and down, and steps back. You barely have time to process that weirdness before Butcher manages to confuse you further. 

“Happy day, Gov.” Butcher winks, and there’s no malice in his voice. It’s mocking and sarcastic, but not cruel. “Go be fuckin disgusting away from my virgin eyeshole.” 

Ben just grunts, and you flip Butcher off over his shoulder when he starts to walk away.

Butcher winks, and it’s still not mean. It’s a taunt with nothing really hateful behind it. 

“What’s that about?” 

Ben frowns, carrying you through the halls. “What.” 

“MM backed you up. Butcher didn’t ask you if you could go five seconds without me.” You grin at him. “Did you make friends?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“You made friends, Ben. Maybe I should leave you for playtime more often-“ 

Ben’s hands tense on your body. “Don’t fucking joke about that. And I didn’t make friends, I’m a grown man-“ 

“So is Butcher-“ 

“Butcher doesn’t have friends.” 

“He has you.” You poke Ben’s chest. “You’re best friends-” 

“You’re my best friend,” Ben grunts, and the hot thing in him bubbles over. “And Butcher and I have an understanding. We’re not fucking friends.” 

You frown. “An understanding? About what?” 

“The Kid.” 

“Ryan?” You study Ben’s face as he gives a tight nod. “What about Ryan?” 

“He wants me around.” Ben’s words are short, but you can feel something prideful and loud wrapping around his body. “I’ve been helping him with his dumb as fuck homework,” Ben’s lip curls, as if the very prospect of learning is disgusting. “And I’m going to train him. Help him control his strength so he doesn’t fucking break something. Or someone.”

You love him. You have an infinite list of reasons to love Ben, and one of them is that he keeps finding ways to make the list longer. He’s training Ryan, and he has an understanding with Butcher, and you hadn’t been gone for so long only to return and find half the building destroyed from a dick-measuring contest. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, and Ben’s scowl deepens as he steps into the elevator.

“Shut-“ 

“No.” You smile at him, and his glare drops down to you. Something in him softens when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I didn’t fucking do jack shit-“ 

“I know.” You reach up a head, running it down his nose and over his cheek. “And that must have sucked fucking balls. So thank you.”

“For waiting.” His voice is flat, and there’s something sore on his lungs. 

“For waiting,” you whisper. “And listening to me.” 

“Well, you’re usually fucking right about shit.” He mutters, the unreadable look returned. “It’s annoying as goddamn hell.”

“Shut up, you like it.” I love you.

“Maybe,” Ben shrugs, and the elevator opens with a ding. “Good luck proving that.”

“I don’t have to prove it,” your smile turns smug, and you tuck your head back into Ben’s body. “You adore me.” 

You feel Ben start to glow again, and your whole head starts to feel light and high. “I do. You’re goddamn brat, but I do.” 

It’s nothing short of a miracle you survived without this for so long. Without Ben around you, without the certainty that he’ll be right at your side through any hell or apocalypse, then pick you up and carry you somewhere safe. But it’s a miracle that’s painted in shades of green that tell you Ben is how you got through this. That he waited—you’d known he would wait, that he wouldn’t leave you—and now you’ve brought yourself home. 

“Ben?” Your words are hummed against his skin, and his grunt of acknowledgment resonates through your whole body, right into your fingers and resting happily in your head. “You’re my best friend as well.” I love you. Ben, I love you. 

He sighs, and it moves through your body. Lulls everything that had still been frantic or afraid. “I missed you,” he mutters. “I fucking missed you. I’m serious as goddamn cancer and bombs, Sunshine, never try to do that again-“

“I won’t,” you mumble, running a hand up his neck, into his hair to check one last time. Real. “I didn’t really enjoy it either, Benjamin.” 

“Next time you want to get away from this shit-ass supe motel, all you have to do is ask me and we’ll go to the fucking park.” Ben’s words are slightly strained, but he’s trying to joke about it. He’s trying, for you, and you love him.

“Can I take Butcher as well?” You smile against him. “See which one of you fetches the stick faster?”

Ben makes a low sound that’s half annoyance and half a poor attempt to cover a laugh. “I will. I’m a fuck ton faster than that pussy, he’ll get distracted cleaning his own asshole.”

“You’re faster than everyone, Ben. It’s not exactly a fair contest-“ You cut yourself off, pulling your head back to look at Ben with wide eyes. “Oh, shit. A-Train.” 

Ben frowns at you. “What about him?”

“Is he okay? Has he been helpful? Is he safe? I don’t think Sage figured out what happened, but I can never be sure-“ 

“Breathe,” Ben says your name in a sharp, low tone, and your body responds before your brain can even fully register it. “A-Train’s fucking fine. He’s a whining pussy, but we’ve gotten some shit out of him.” 

You swallow. “Have you, um, talked to him? 

Ben’s brow knits, and he looks back ahead. “Not outside of the mission. He’s been moping like a little bitch, and he won’t stop fucking looking at me all damn weird.”

“You did rise from the dead,” you mumble. “Twice.” 

“Yeah, damn months ago. You’d think the asshole didn’t have other shit to worry about.” Ben’s scoff is slightly bitter, and you feel a pang of guilt because you know why A-Train is treating him odd. For some impossible reason, he’s the only one that knows you love Ben. Sage has guessed, and you have a feeling MM, Butcher, or Annie might be catching on, but A-Train knows. You told him. But he hasn’t told Ben.

You’ll have to buy him flowers later. Or very good sneakers. As an apology for throwing him into the fray with such a massive secret and a thank you for putting up with what you’re sure was a very pissy and grumpy Ben for several weeks without cracking. 

“Can I talk to him?” Your question is soft, and you already know what Ben’s answer will be, but you ask anyway. “I have some questions-“ 

“No.” Ben adjusts you in his arms, pulling you a little further up his chest. “No planning or thinking or doing everyone’s goddamn job for them today. You’re going to shower, and sleep, and that’s fucking it.”

“But-“ 

“No.” 

You sigh, and nod into him. You know how to choose your battles, and this isn’t one you’ll win. It’s not really one you want to win—if you could, you'd spend the rest of your life right here, head buried into Ben’s neck and surrounded by him, just Ben—but you had to try. At least attempt to convince yourself that there are things more important than Ben’s skin on yours, than the promise of rest. True, easy rest, without cold or vigilance. 

You feel Ben press a kiss to the top of your head, and the small rush through your body is controllable. He can keep kissing you—in a way that makes his Thing in your chest settle deeper and your whole body relax—but nothing else. You’re going to have to tell him that soon. You can hear the door of your apartment opening, and you’re going to have to look Ben in the eyes and say not yet. I love- You can’t say you love him. You have to rehearse this in your head for that exact reason. You can’t tell Ben you love him. This will have to be Ben, I adore you. I’ve missed you and I still want you, but I’m tired. I can’t do everything right now. I promise I’m okay, but I just need time.

He’ll give you time. You’re saying just for now, so Ben will nod and give you time and your heart will want him to touch you more. Your love for him will become bigger, and it will make this harder. You know this is going to be impossible, but it’s only a day. Maybe two.

You’ve survived a lot worse. Not fucking Ben will, in the grand scheme of things, be simple. You just have to not fuck him. You’ve managed to do it for all your life, you can keep it up for two more days.

Then you see the apartment, peaking around over Ben’s shoulder as he carries you upstairs, and you were wrong. Not fucking Ben is going to kill you.

Your apartment is clean and this is going to kill you. 

You don’t get to see everything—catch every single detail or small change—but you see enough. Everything is clean. There’s a dirty dish in the sink, a cardboard take-out box on the counter, and the coffee pot is half full, but the rest of the kitchen is spotless. There are two new chairs at the dining table, there’s a part of the wall that’s a different color than the rest of it, but nothing’s broken. There’s not even any trash. The remote is on the coffee table, next to your laptop—right where you’d left it, plugged in—and Ben’s empty mug. The couch has a blanket and a pillow—the cushions look more beaten in than you’d last seen them—and you lean back to frown at Ben as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

He just nods, and you sigh.

“Ben-“

“No.” Ben gives you a small glare, and his throat and stomach feel sore. “Shut the fuck up.” 

You glare at him. “I didn’t even say anything-“

“You were going to tell me I should’ve slept in the bed, because I’m not a small guy and it couldn’t have been good for my old man back.” You gape at him slightly, because Ben’s impression of you isn’t your teasing, overly-gruff and still too high-toned impression of him. It’s shockingly accurate. “But there wasn’t a chance in damn hell I was sleeping in our bed without you. That’s that, no fucking fighting-“

“Okay,” you say, and Ben pauses at your bedroom door, a hand raised to push it open. “That’s that.” 

He frowns, and for a second you think he’s going to fight with you. Ask why the fuck you’re giving in so easy, even if the answer is simple. You love him, you missed him, and you understand. If the positions had been switched you wouldn’t have been able to sleep in your bed either. You’d have stared at the door at night and spent wasteful hours of the night just hoping Ben would open it and walk out. That he’d only been taking one of his long showers, and was going to come pick you up and carry you to bed like he was now.

Ben drops it, though, and you’re grateful. There’s no real way to explain it that doesn’t end with you slipping and saying you love him. So when Ben nods—he keeps looking at you with that strange expression and you don’t have the guts to ask him what it means—and opens the door to your room, you smile at him. And right before he looks back up to carry you inside, Ben smiles back.

You don’t get to see much of your bedroom, but you catch Ben’s shield—resting near the door—and your scorched and bloody clothes laid on the dresser. The only light is in the bathroom, and Ben doesn’t stop to turn on another before he lowers down onto the bed. Dropping you down his chest, but not removing you from his hold. Dropping his forehead down to yours and staying. Always staying. 

It’s several minutes like that—just Ben holding you, lips brushing as you breathe but nothing more—before he speaks. 

“You need to shower.” 

You nod, lips twitching against his. “I am covered in blood.”

Blood. All this blood, on your hands and under your nails and no shower will make you clean again- 

“You need help.” 

It’s not a question, it’s one of his statements that should be question but comes out like a fact or order. The only thing that stops you from just humming in agreement, letting Ben win this and having him carry you into the shower, is the knowledge of how that ends. You can still feel him, and if he touches you like that he’ll feel you. Ben can’t feel you, or how your love for him is everything in you. Trying to hang off of his Thing in your chest and give it whatever it wants.

“I,” you sigh. You’d practiced. You can do this. “I can’t.” 

Ben frowns, pulling back to examine your face. “You can’t? Can’t what, fucking shower?” 

“No, I can shower.” It’s so hard to look at him right now. To feel all of Ben’s concern and something sore and bitter in his body that’s for you, but not at you and keep searching his eyes for his reaction as you speak. “I can’t, I can’t do more.” 

“More.” 

If he didn’t look so genuinely confused—if you couldn’t feel the fog of befuddlement in his head—you’d be pissed at Ben for making you say it. 

“Sex, Ben.” You swallow. “I can’t have sex with you right now. I’m really tired, and I just, I need time.” He says your name, but words have begun to fall out of you. “Only time. I really, really missed you, and I still want you,” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I do still really want you, a lot, but I need time.” His voice is louder this time, but you can’t stop talking, stop explaining yourself. “Please, just time. I still want you, I just need time, I’m so sorry-“

Ben kisses you, and your words turn into an unsteady, desperate breath. He’s understood. You know Ben’s understood, because his mouth rests against yours until you nudge your tongue between his lips and he takes over. Deepening the kiss with a grunt, squeezing your hips, and not rutting up into you when you moan. He doesn’t flip you over and cage you between his body and the bed, or drop his hands any lower than they’d been when he’d started. Ben just cups your face and traces patterns on your skin until you sigh—light and content—into his mouth, and he slowly pulls back.

“Stop apologizing,” he mutters your name, and you nod. “I think I’ll fucking manage to survive, don’t lose your damn mind.” 

“I still want you,” you mumble, because it’s important Ben understands that. “I promise I still want you. I’m-“ 

He kisses you again, one, small, almost innocent kiss. “You’re home. You trust me.” 

“I do,” you whisper. “More than anything.” 

“Then fucking believe me when I say that’s what matters. You’re fucking home.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Homelander didn’t-“ 

“No,” you shake your head, cold growing near that broken part of you. “He just kissed me.” 

“He what-“ 

“Only once,” you say softly, staring at where your fingers have dug into Ben’s body. “At the end. But I’m okay.” 

Ben glances down at your mouth, and you feel the sore, bitter thing in his muscles before his arms tighten around you and he speaks in clipped words. “I-“ 

“You can still kiss me,” your voice is borderline panicked, because Ben can’t stop touching you. Not while all you can have is the feel of his skin on yours, the feel of Ben invading over your every sensation in the best way possible. “Just not more. Not now.” 

He nods, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s right not to, you’re not okay—you’re broken and exhausted and something in you has begun to fray—but if Ben leaves you alone for some stupid, noble reason of letting you be, you’ll fall and not get back up. 

But he, once again, lets it go. Ben’s jaw clenches as his hands grip on you grows a little rougher—before loosening and becoming far too gentle—and you can feel his Thing in you ache, but he drops it. Scanning your features like he might find the truth written somewhere on your face, moving a hand to the back of your head so he can angle your forehead against his lips.

“You’re okay,” he grunts against your skin, and you will be. Ben is staying, so you’ll be okay. 

“I am.” You look up at him, and he’s so handsome. He looks so tired, and his lips are pressed together in a frustration that matches the knit of his brow, but he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’d hate that you called him beautiful—he’d grumble and scowl about it—and just that thought makes you feel a little less heavy. You’re home, and you have the ability to make fun of Ben and call him beautiful. You get to see his glower, and touch warm lips with yours, and run your fingers through the soft hair of his beard and over the certain strength of his body. Ben is staying, so if you piss him off you can just kiss him as an apology, make him dinner if that doesn’t make him stop being such a bitch, and—if all else fails—watch a documentary or ESPN with him until he smiles again. And that makes everything better. Ben is here, so everything is just a little better.

“Then shower,” Ben’s eyes are softer on yours, his hands on your body are warm. “And we’ll eat, then you’ll get some goddamn sleep.”

“Can you,” you pause, unsure of your own idea, but you trust him. You trust Ben, and you don’t want him to leave you tonight. Tomorrow you can be a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone to help her survive. Right now you need Ben to keep talking to you, keep making things easier, keep crashing into your orbit until you’re just a little more certain this is real. Until Homelander’s voice hissing weak and flashes of blood lining your vision are gone forever. Until you never smell coconut again because all you can smell is Ben. Pine and gunpowder and salt and strawberries and vanilla and coffee and Ben. “Can you please stay here while I shower? I’m not that hungry, we can eat after I sleep, and you’ll just be on the toilet-“

Ben stands up, taking you with him. He doesn’t speak, but his answer isn’t in his words. It’s in how he carries you to the bathroom, closing the door behind you both and letting you slide down his body. Keeping his arms around you until your legs are steady before turning to face the wall.

“Ben, you’re allowed to look. You’ve seen me before.” 

“No.” His back is straight, shoulders tensed, and when you lean around to try and look at him it’s like the wall is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “I’m a fucking gentleman, Sunshine, and-“

You snort. “Benjamin, you are not a gentleman. You’re an obtuse, vulgar asshole, and that’s why I-“ you swallow, and know you need rest. That was too close, and you barely manage to finish the sentence smoothly. “Trust you. I know you, I don’t think you’re going to do anything. It’s really okay if you look.”

Ben’s eyes drift from the wall, meeting yours. “Fine. But if-“

“If I start to freak out or get uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You know, I don’t always lie about how fucked up I feel.“ 

“Yes, you do.” Ben mutters, still half-facing the wall. “You think it doesn’t matter. But it fucking does. You fucking matter, you matter more than any-“ 

You kiss Ben once, enough for him to shut up, and pull back with a smile. “You’re being an idiot. An honorable, overprotective, gentlemanly fucking dumb dumb. If you look at me, my head won’t fall off my shoulders. Okay?” 

He scowls, but twists to face you. As you take off your clothes you see him scan your body, but it’s an assessment. He’s checking you for marks or scars or visible wounds, even though you both know there wouldn’t ever be any. Ben keeps his hands curled in fists at his sides, his eyes watching your every moment for you to falter or stumble, when you disappear into the steam of the shower you hear him shuffle closer to the door. To stand guard. You can feel his Thing rumbling around, tearing itself apart inside you, and when you speak it’s mostly just to hear Ben’s voice. You know he’s still there, but you just want to hear him. To let him distract you from the way the water’s turning red as it runs over your hands and under your feet.

“This shampoo is full.”

“What.” 

“My shampoo,” you turn the heavy bottle over in your hands, and a large glob of soap falls into your palm. “It’s full. It was almost empty when I…” You still can’t say it. It’s over and you’re home, but you still can’t say it. 

“I bought more.” 

You smile into the steam at his low, short words. You can see him on the other side of the fogged glass, shifting where he’s pressed his back against the door. “All by yourself?” 

“Shut up. I used that Amazon shit, it’s not fucking hard.” 

“It took you three hours to understand what they were selling. You said it was fucking pointless, can’t people these days just walk to a store with their damn legs.” 

Ben’s Thing in your chest hums. “Well, you didn’t tell me I could buy a fucking knife or spend the CIA’s money on pointless shit-“ 

“I definitely did.” You add more shampoo into your hair until there’s soap falling in your face and the smell of shea butter and rose overpowers the tang of metal. “My entire pitch was wasting the CIA’s money on clothing and decorations. You just weren’t listening.” 

There’s a pause, and you see Ben tense before he responds. “I was distracted.”

You hum, the soap covering your mouth, and wait for him to continue.

“You were sitting on me,” Ben mutters. “And you kept fucking moving. Your tits were right in my face.”

The steam of the shower begins to make you a little dizzy. “Oh.”

Ben grunts. “I got your stupid shiny hair shit as well. Should be in there.”

“Stupid shiny…” you trail off, eyes finding an unopened bottle in the shower caddy. “Conditioner?”

“Sure.”

He got you conditioner. Ben got you conditioner, and shampoo, and when you step out of the shower he’s there with two towels. Holding them out for you, grumbling that you always use two when you blink at him. Once you dry off, Ben pulls off his shirt and shoves it into your hands, tells you to wear it and waits for you to tug it over your head before giving you one last kiss on your brow. Guiding you into his arms and holding you against his distractingly bare and warm chest, letting you bury your face into his body, and you can feel him all around you, and this is going to be impossible. You love him so much, and he’s being so good to you, and it’s only two days but you’re not sure you’ll make it. You need him to be closer, or to climb into him, or for him to live against you like this forever. 

But you have to let him lead you out of the bathroom and onto the bed, and tell you he’ll be back in a second, you look like you’re about to fucking collapse, and watch the door close but not shut—left just enough ajar for steam and pine to fill the room around you. 

Your clothes are still on the dresser. Fabric charred and stained red, not worth salvaging but still waiting there.

The V. 

Your steps across the room aren’t silent as you cross the room. Ben would hear them no matter what, and as much as you want him to burst out of the bathroom, pick you up, and throw you back on the bed—laying on top of you so you can’t go anywhere, grumbling about resting until you kiss his cheek and he makes a grunt of affection that means you win—you’ll also cut his balls off if he tries to treat you like glass. The shower keeps running, and if Ben notices your movement he doesn’t react to it, so you stop in front of the dresser and shift through the clothes with tentative hands—blood, dried but still wrong—to pull out the vial. Green V, that’s in your and Ben’s bodies, that’s completely fucking useless.

You should throw it out. Dump it down the toilet or the sink, smash it and let it evaporate with the heat of your fire, sitting easily under your skin once more. At the very least, you should give it Mallory. That’s what you do with illegal paraphernalia, you turn it into the government. But you don’t want to. You can’t destroy it. Your excuse will be it’s a marvel of science and sort of yours—it even says Anomaly on it—but really it’s feeling. A tug in your gut that says useless against Homelander, but not useless period. It’s the same tug that tells you don’t give it to Mallory. She’s your ally. Not your friend. She wants Homelander dead, but a lot of people want Homelander dead. Wanting Homelander dead is not a benchmark of mortality.

It’s so small in your hand. Barely bigger than your ring finger, barely wider either. It fits right in your underwear door—between a bra and some socks—and when you close it your eyes land back on your clothes.

Blood. There’s just so much blood.

You feel like you’re going to vomit. Something is crawling on your skin, sticking to it and seeping into your body. Your steps back to the bed are hesitant, because your vision is lining with red and your head feels like something is flooding you. Choking you and dragging you down, down, down. Blood.

The shower turns off, and you barely hear it. You can feel the pounding of Ben’s Thing—growing louder and starting to become painful—and when Ben opens the door he’s frowning. He’s surrounded in the steam from the shower, covered by only a towel, and the light of the bathroom around his frame makes him look like some sort of furious, vengeful angel.

You’re really tired, and you can never tell Ben you thought for even a second he was an angel. Even now, in your head seconds later, it sounds stupid, and he’d snort and tease and kiss you. Maybe you should tell him, later, when he’s fully dressed and you can touch him properly.

“What’s wrong.” He’s still frowning at you, and his eyes are darting around the room, resting in sharp shadows and deep corners. You blink at him when his gaze finds yours, watching your every movement carefully.

“Nothing’s wrong, are you-“

“I thought you-” his brow furrows, and he’s scanning over your body, curled back into the sheets of the bed. “Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He nods tightly, moving to stand over you, reaching down to hold your face between his hands. “Fucking positive.” He bends over, giving you one, long kiss before muttering against your lips, “Sleep well, Sunshine.”

You grab his forearm right before he can pull away, the words fully registering. “Wait, I-” you try to pull him back, but he doesn’t even stumble. Just looks down at you with a neutral face, with an overwhelming combination of care and resolve and adoration moving from his body to yours. “Please stay.”

“You said-“

“To sleep. I don’t-” you swallow, trying to fight down tears of exhaustion and desperation and fear. “I don’t want to be alone. Ben, please-“

“Fine,” he grunts, and you feel his Thing stab you somewhere near your heart. “But I’m staying on the floor.” 

“You need sleep as well-“ 

“And I’ll get some.” Ben doesn’t waver, just glaring at you. “On the fucking floor.”

“Why.” Your words are strangled, you just want him here, why won’t he stay here. “It’ll be uncomfortable, and I’m okay with you in the bed. I mean, if you’re not okay with it, you can tell me-“

“It’s not you,” he mutters his name, and it’s so gentle. His voice is low and gentle. “You need sleep, and I’ve been having nightmares again. I’m staying, but there’s not a fucking chance I’m risking waking you up.”

You nod, but you must still look as hollow as you’re starting to feel, because Ben bends down again, tilting your head up between his hands to make you look at him.

“Listen to me. It’s not fucking you. And I’ll be right there,” he jerks his head to the floor beside your bed, eyes never leaving yours.  “I’m not fucking leaving you,” this time your name is firm. Almost an order, trying to make you understand something. “I’m never fucking leaving you, not again. Got it?”

“You didn’t leave me,” you mumble, and Ben’s mouth twitches. 

“Whatever.” He kisses the top of your head one last time, his words against your skin resonating around your skull. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’m not going to a goddamn place without you.”

You nod, and try to. You really, really try to get some rest when Ben pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, trying to move silently around the room and failing massively. You try to calm your body when he grabs a pillow off of his side of the bed and a single, thin, spare sheet before dropping down and sprawling out across the floor. You try to sleep, but your brain won’t rest, echoing screams and taunts into your ears. You try to close your eyes, but when you do they’re restless. Trying to keep watch for something that you know won’t be there, but your body doesn’t. And when you open them the light of day moving through your curtains casts shadows over Ben’s scowl and tight brow, and you want to touch him.

When you drop your hand off the side of the bed, it’s mostly just to hang it there. Closer to Ben, further away from these sheets that are soft and clean and smell like nothing. Not like coconut, but not like pine. Just bland, stale nothing. No concrete proof that thing is real. 

You don’t jerk back in surprise when you feel Ben’s fingers fold between yours. It just feels like something returning. Sliding right back where it belongs, filling your body with an assurance that he’s there. Warm and safe and certain. You keep trying to sleep but your head won’t rest. Your heart is beating too fast, and a small, unhelpful and horrible voice won’t stop telling you blood. This might, somehow, still not be real, or Homelander might find you, and there will be more blood. Can’t rest, you’ll drown in blood if you’re not alert, not careful, not running.

When you open your eyes, Ben’s already watching you. Flat on his back, resting his forearm against the side of the bed as he reaches up. Everything in him is affection and concern, and the expression on his face is that one that’s impossible to understand.

You don’t really care to understand it. Not word for word. You know it’s important, and for you, and good. Whatever Ben’s trying to tell you—even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it—is good. 

His hand tenses in yours when you climb off the bed, pushing away the sheets of nothing and practically rolling down onto the floor. Onto Ben. He catches you, moving your hand—still locked in his—so that it doesn’t get crushed between your bodies, and raising his free arm to hold you against him, even as he glares down at you.

“What the fuck are you-“

“I don’t care about nightmares,” you whisper, even though it’s only you and him, and Ben lets out a long sigh. 

“You need to rest-“ 

“I will.” You scoot a little further up his body, burying your head in his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. Real. “I want to sleep next to you, Ben. Please.”

There’s a rush through Ben’s body, and it’s loud and hungry and powerful and glowing, but you don’t really care right now. Not as he relents, moving his arm higher up to get a firm hold of your back. Keeping you almost unmoving as he slides his hand up in yours, moving your grip onto his wrist, sitting up and slowly pulling a larger blanket down from the bed. When he lies back down he rolls onto his side, twisting you around carefully so your back is pressed to his chest, wrapping his arms around you with one hand splayed on your stomach and the other sliding back down to hold yours. His head is above yours, and when you bend your knees his legs follow. Tangling between yours, and he squeezes your hand once before muttering words that you feel more than hear.

“Go to sleep.” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly heavy and breathing easier. When you speak, your words are barely a breath. “Thank you.” 

He pulls you a little further against him, and whatever’s been aching inside of him eases. Turns bright and wide and clear. “Welcome home, Sunshine. Sleep.” 

You hum, and you’ll never tell him you missed that. How he could tell you sleep and your body would listen. Trust him to know it’s safe, that you can rest and nothing bad will happen, because Ben says nothing bad will happen and he wouldn’t lie. If he’s decided you’re safe, you are. If he’s here, you can sleep.

Ben’s strong and safe and everything and you love him. And right before you fall under, into easy, sedated darkness, every rational and reasoning part of you that reminds you don’t tell him. You can’t tell Ben you love him, not now, is washed over with pine and warm and Ben, and you’re going to tell him. Your mouth even opens, the words forming in your throat without effort. Ben. Ben, I love you.

If they come out, they’re an incoherent mumble. If Ben hears them, let alone understands them, you don’t get to know. You’re asleep—really, easily, completely asleep—in the next second, and there are no nightmares. Only an easy dream of walking through the forest in the sun, Ben’s hand in yours, safe.

——————

Ben was up before Her. Watching where their hands were still connected, where the lingering light of the day was casting shadows across her perfect, beautiful face.

She was here. She was home, and Ben was holding her while she slept with a slow heartbeat and soft breaths. He could’ve moved them up, off the floor and onto the bed, but every time Ben shifted Her eyelashes would flutter and she’d lean further back into his body. All he managed to do—in the name of comfort—was figure out how to half-roll his body so she was laying more on him than the fucking floor. 

She was home. Ben loved Her, and she was home. She’d need things, things Ben hadn’t managed to remember in her absence. A phone—if Mallory said no he’d buy a shitty burner for himself and give Her his—and some toothpaste. Ben had used about three tubes himself, and there was hardly enough left of the fourth for both of them. He’d gotten shit for her hair, and body wash, and a weird fucking tub of hard gel shit that looked like rocks and smelled like Her. He’d kept a steady flow of groceries—She needed to fucking eat, and the moment she woke up Ben was going to heat up the leftovers—but he wasn’t good at it. There were empty spots in the fridge that had defiantly been filled before, and Ben was pretty fucking sure he was buying the wrong type of apples. They were tangy and hard, and the ones she’d been buying had been crisp and soft. She’d tell him how to fix it—later, once she was rested and Mallory was off their fucking asses—and Ben would so she didn’t lift a single goddamn finger. 

He wouldn’t be able to keep Her from working. She needed to feel useful, and she’d punch him if he tried to tell her what to do. It would be hot—she would glare at him and get that wild look in her eyes that made Ben want to see just how feral he could get her—but Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her right now. He was fine with that, because as much as every instinct in his body was roaring at him to pick Her up and tell Her you love her. Hold her perfect face and tell her she’s your whole fucking world, and you love her more than you need goddamn oxygen, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about Ben loving Her, it was about Her sleeping easily against him. About him being there when she started to look empty and sad and hopeless, when she started to scream and it made his whole body tighten in pain. If Ben told Her he loved her now, she might not be ready to hear it. Not when She wasn’t even ready to fuck him. He needed to tell Her when she could smile at him when he said it, when there wouldn’t be any looming threats or possibilities they could lose each other. If She turned him down, decided that Ben wasn’t worthy of loving Her—he wasn’t—She needed to be safe on her own. If Ben lost Her he needed to be fucking positive she’d be okay.

She said she was okay. But she said that all the fucking time, and it didn’t mean anything. She said she was fine, but she kept crying. She said she was good, but her eyes kept flashing with pain and distress. He’d been certain that when he was in the shower he’d heard her voice, strained and alarmed, saying blood. So much blood, and it had made him feel fucking sick. She said she was fucking okay, but she’d lost her goddamn mind when she’d woken up. It might haunt Ben for the rest of fucking time, how she’d been screaming that he wasn’t real, and her nails had been scratching at him, trying to get him away with rabid, desperate movements. She hadn’t known it was him. She’d trusted him, because once he’d convinced her she’d started crying and fucking apologizing and falling into him, but she’d been so fucking afraid. And She’d, again, said she was okay, and Ben fucking knew it was a lie. He knew Her—he knew how good and selfless she was—and he loved Her more than fucking anything, and there wasn’t a single person in history who was better than she was. And Ben didn’t trust anyone less to honestly tell him they were okay.

She thought she was a burden. Ben was goddamn certain She wasn’t telling him because she didn’t want to make him worry about her, but he already was fucking worried about Her. He’d always fucking worry about Her. If she was happy or safe or needed anything, if She was okay when he was gone, if Ben loving Her could be enough for her to stay with him forever. If it wasn’t, what he could do for Her to make it enough. And it wasn’t a burden, because everything Ben did for Her made her smile at him and nothing in the fucking universe was worth more than that. But he couldn’t tell Her that, because every form of that conversation started or ended with because I fucking love you, Sunshine, and it’s damn killing me that you won’t just admit you’re in pain. I can’t fucking help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, tell me how I should hold you, or if I should sit with you, or what I can bring you to fucking make you happy again.

And this wasn’t about Ben, or him fixing Her. It was about Her feeling okay, and saying it in a way Ben believed. In a way that wasn’t just a soft smile and words, but actions. Where she’d stop looking so fucking afraid, and Ben could protect her from normal things. He didn’t know what normal things would be—maybe a clogged toilet, or an argument with Butcher, or staying with Her when she eventually met with her family—but it wasn’t fucking this. It wasn’t Her saying Homelander hadn’t touched Her, only kissed her—Ben was going to rip off the pussy’s fucking mouth and shove it up his worthless dickhole—but that She couldn’t touch Ben.

He’d wait. Ben had waited his whole fucking life, over a goddamn century, for Her. He could wait another century, a whole fucking millennia for Her to be ready to touch him. At least this time he was able to look at Her, smile with her, laugh with her, love her and love her and love her in silence until one day she told him she was ready and Ben could say it aloud. Tell Her that he loved her, and he’d never fucking stop loving her, and then fuck her until they broke the bed and cracked the walls and she believed him. Ben would ensure it was worth waiting, that when she was ready he’d blow her perfect fucking mind and make her look at him with nothing but fucked out bliss on her beautiful face.

He just had to wait.

It took another hour before She stirred in his arms. An hour of watching Her look content and peaceful, of Ben savoring the way she fit fucking perfectly against him and listening to the beat of Her heart. At some point his phone—resting on the dresser—buzzed once, twice, three times with news that was probably urgent. Ben couldn’t see who was texting him, but night was creeping into the sky and he guessed they were near dinnertime, and everyone should’ve been able to fucking guess they were busy. If he was getting texts, they were either Mallory being a fucking bitch about something, or MM, Butcher, or Annie trying to tell him something important. Ben didn’t care, because to check his phone he’d have to move. He had no goddamn interest in moving, not until She rolled over with an adorable, disgruntled sound, right into Ben's chest. Their hands became smushed in the little remaining space between their bodies, and Her arm—that had been resting over Ben’s—flew up to his face. Almost slapping him, landing and resting on his jaw with a slack palm and fingers near his ear. 

He loved Her so fucking much. 

She made a sound that might be a mumbled word or just a grunt, and Ben smiled down at Her, squeezing her waist gently. Whispering Her name onto the top of her head. “I know you’re awake.”

Her response was just that same noise, and Ben chuckled. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” 

“It’s fucking nighttime.” 

He shrugged, and hoped She couldn’t hear the skip of his heart when she looked up at him with a pout, Her whole face tired and still so fucking beautiful. “Who gives a fuck. You hungry?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Just stared up at him with half-open eyes and a slightly parted mouth, and fucking hell She was perfect. She was smiling at him—he didn’t even do anything—and the limits of Ben’s will didn’t extend to not smiling back. To not giving Her a wide grin that made her whole face light up and her eyes turn from glazed with lingering sleep to glossed with something Ben didn’t recognize. She was staring at him with blown out pupils, and a pretty fucking smile, and her knee was dangerously close to Ben’s cock. He knew She could feel him—Her eyes darted down and she swallowed heavily—but she didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into his body, mouth brushing against his neck as she spoke.

“What are the leftovers?” 

“Burritos,” Ben muttered. “They’re not fucking good.” 

He could feel her smile. “You’re still going to eat one, Benjamin. I’ll go on a hunger strike if you don’t.” 

“Brat.” 

“Cunt.” Her words were hummed with breath fanning across Ben’s skin, and still neither of them made any efforts to stand and move. “What time is it?” 

“I don’t fucking know, I’m not a damn clock.” 

She gave a small laugh, and Ben’s heart nearly fucking exploded. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hm,” she leaned back, looking up at him in mock thought. “No.” 

He kissed Her. Ben was allowed to kiss her, and he was going to take every single fucking opportunity to do so. To suck on her lower lip and trace her teeth with his tongue, to hear a happy, breathless sound leave her body when he nipped at her pretty mouth. To roll Her on top of him and let her lead this, because he knew She would have some sort of fucking line and Ben needed to find it. Let Her show it to him, so he could keep walking right up to it and never, ever fucking cross it. 

It wasn’t where he’d have guessed. She was above Ben, falling onto him with sloppy, wet kisses and his hard cock pressing into her thigh, and she still didn’t stop. Then she ground down onto him once, and almost lept off of him. Ben had to shoot out an arm to catch Her, keep her from landing awkwardly on the hardwood floor.

She blinked at him, scanning his face with a look he didn’t understand. It wasn’t guilt, because she wasn’t fighting a pout. It wasn’t anger, there was nothing fierce in her gaze. It wasn’t negative—Her hand was resting easy on his arm around her waist—but it was still making his heart twist. There was something she wasn’t saying, and Ben needed to fucking hear it. To hear her say she was okay again, even if he knew it would still be a lie.

“Your phone is buzzing,” She mumbled, and Ben had to drop it. They were up, and they had shit to do. Ben would have a fucking lifetime with Her to make sure she was okay.

“The burritos are on the counter,” he grunted, keeping an arm around her as he sat up. “I’ll throw them in the microwave-“ 

“I can do that,” she shifted onto her knees, but didn’t stand. Studying Ben’s face with careful eyes. “You check your phone.” 

“No. It’s probably not fucking important-“ 

“Benjamin.” She gave him a flat look. “Who would be texting you about nothing.”

He glowered at Her. “The Kid. Sometimes he asks me questions, and I’m usually at dinner. I’m not a goddamn hermit-“ 

“If it is Ryan,” Her eyes were so bright. Teasing and happy and full of light. “Shouldn’t you answer it.” 

Ben couldn’t fight with Her. Not even about something stupid that didn’t matter. Not when she was looking at him with such adoration, and there were no shadows on her face. “Whatever.” 

Her smile—somehow—got fucking wider. Full and joyful as she leaned forwards, a hand on Ben’s arm to steady herself as she gave him a small kiss and spoke against his mouth. “I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Be careful-“

“I can walk down some stairs, Ben.” Her voice was dry, but she wasn’t moving away and she was still fucking smiling against him, another hand rising to run fingers through his beard. “I’m a big girl, with legs.” 

“Still,” he muttered. “Go slow.” 

“I will.” She stood up, and Ben’s hand flew to her calf. Still touching Her. He had to keep fucking touching her. “Go check your phone, Pretty Boy. I’ll heat up your burrito for you.”

She didn’t walk out of the bedroom until Ben rose up himself. She even let him give her one last kiss, hanging against him a second longer than she probably needed to, like she couldn’t fucking bear to leave him either. She didn’t close the door behind her, and Ben watched her walk away until she disappeared down the stairs, keeping his attention on Her heartbeat as he walked to the dresser. 

Almost all the texts were from Butcher. There was one from the Kid—he’d convinced Butcher to buy him an old block of metal and buttons that was technically a phone—asking if She was okay. Asking to meet her. She’d want to meet the Kid, so Ben just told him Ask Butcher before opening up the rest of his messages. 

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Tomorrow round noon, team meeting, all hands

Ryan wants to know if you can start training

He also wants to meet her. Answer the boy’s messages you cunt.

Whenever you twats wake up, the shrink’s ready

He’ll come to you

Just gotta fucking wake up and tell me to send him 

All of those could’ve been one fucking text. Ben said as much in his response, along with that he’d train the Kid after the meeting, he could meet Her before they started, and that the shrink could come in an hour before shoving his phone in his pocket and joining Her downstairs. 

She hadn’t started eating without him. Ben’s burrito was waiting for him, placed in front of his usual seat, and her fingers were tapping on the table as she stared at it with a frown. Her face shot up to Ben before he’d even fully exited the bedroom, and he fucking loved Her. He loved how her face relaxed when she saw him, how she’d put three large napkins next to his plate, how when he reached her at the table she smiled at him and leaned her head back to let Ben give her a small kiss before sitting down. He loved how She leaned forwards until their knees were pressed together under the table. He loved how she tilted her head at him, studying his expression before taking a careful bite of her burrito. How she didn’t swallow until Ben rolled his eyes and took a bite from his own. 

He loved the smug look on Her perfect face, and the small, pleased sound she made when Ben swallowed. 

“What were the texts about?” She didn’t look away from him as she took another bite, and Ben shrugged. 

“Butcher’s sending the shrink. The Kid wants to meet you.”

“Ryan?” Her voice was soft, nervous. “Can I?”

Ben snorted. “Of course you fucking can, don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Hey-“

“He’s only here because of you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because it was fucking insane she thought anyone would stop her. That—if anyone tried to—Ben wouldn’t shoot them. “You want to meet him, you will.” 

She nodded, giving Ben a small smile. “Thank you.” 

“Shut up.” 

She giggled, taking a slightly larger bite from her burrito and speaking through a mouthful of food. “Is he okay?” 

He frowned at Her. “What?” 

“Ryan,” she swallowed, watching Ben with soft, pretty eyes. “Is he doing well? Are you, do you really think he’s okay?”

Ben had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Her he loved her. To lean over the table and find a way to pull her into his lap, to hold Her and tell her of course he’s fucking okay. You gave everything, more than you fucking should’ve, and I’ll be fucking damned if it was for nothing. You were right, you’re always fucking right, and he’s good. I started talking to him because you told me to, because I love you, and he’s a good kid. He’s smart like you are, and you’re going to like him. I’m going to watch you talk to him and it’s going to be fucking worth all of this shit, because I love you and you’re going to light up about how this worked out and now the Kid is safe and happy. I’m going to be happy because you’re home and I love you and you’re going to be fucking happy and I fucking love you. I love you, Sunshine, and the Kid is good. 

He managed to hold it in—through sheer, brute will—and only nod. “He’s good. You’ll like him.” 

“I will?” 

“Yeah, you will,” Ben muttered, taking another bite. “He likes you.” 

She frowned at him, and Ben realized a second too late what he’d just said. “He’s never met me.” 

“Well, he knows about you. And he thinks you’re cool-“ 

“But he doesn’t know me,” She protested, and Ben didn’t understand the distress in her voice. As if there was a fucking world where someone would not like Her. “He knows about me, not me. He might hate me-“ 

Ben drawled Her name, and decided his pride wasn’t worth holding onto over the strain of her words and how they were making his heart tighten. “We’ve told him about you. He fucking likes you. Wouldn’t stop asking me every goddamn question about you. Stop being fucking nervous about it, he likes you.” 

“Oh,” She blinked at him, shaking Her head like she was trying to clear a thought. “What, what did you tell him?” 

“Everything.” Ben muttered, unable to look away from Her wide eyed, perfect face, continuing when she just gave him a confused expression. “Your work before this, what you liked, what shit you hated, all the fucking things you do for everyone.” 

“And he likes me?” 

Ben scoffed. “Of course he fucking does.” 

“Even when you told him everything?” 

“Well, almost everything.” Ben smirked at Her, winking. “I didn’t fucking tell him how you taste, or look under me, or how you sound when you moan my name.”

Her face flushed, and her gaze dropped to her plate. “Would be a weird thing to tell him. We’d have to call CPS on you.”

He snorted. “I don’t think CPS gives a fuck, Sunshine. And I don’t tell anyone that shit, it’s fucking mine to know.”

It was. Ben was figuring out how to walk a very careful line with his love. One on side was everyone needed to fucking know. Everyone needed to understand that he loved Her, and that nobody was capable of loving her like he was, and nobody fucking deserved her—Ben himself was sure as shit not worthy—but his whole life was about earning her. About loving Her, and worshipping her, and doing whatever she asked him because Ben fucking loved her and everyone needed to be crystal fucking clear about that. Even if she didn’t want him, Ben wasn’t up for grabs. He was Her’s, and he didn’t have any interest in being anyone else’s. If She said no and left him, Ben would watch her go and fucking live with it because he wasn’t a pussy, but she’d also take his fucking heart with her. People should know that, because Ben didn’t want his time wasted by other women who could never be Her trying to charm him. And if She, by some miracle, decided she did want Ben, he would fucking kill anyone who tried to take him away from Her. If she accepted Ben’s love, nobody was ever going to take it away from Her. Ben was fucking Hers, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. 

On the other side of the line was Ben loved Her, and she adored him, and that was fucking sacred. Nobody should be allowed to see the parts of Her she reserved for Ben, because they were given to him and him alone. If She wanted the world to have them, she’d say their names like she said Ben’s and she looked at them with the same ease in Her eyes when she looked at Ben. She’d kiss them like they were everything, and cling to them like she was always touching Ben. But she fucking do any of that, because those were vulnerable, secret parts of Her she’d offered Ben and he’d fucking go back to sleep and be tortured a million goddamn years before he betrayed Her. Before he exposed them or let them shatter, before he let anyone hurt them. Ben was Her’s, but she was also Ben’s. These pieces of Her were Ben’s to care for, and she trusted him to do it right. He was going to fucking do it right, so She never had to worry about him leaving.

Some part of Her must know that—know how fucking serious he was—because she just gives him a small smile and strange, peaceful look from under her eyelashes and changes the topic. 

“Have you seen all the rumors about me?” She grinned at him, and a little bit of sauce fell out of her mouth. Ben wanted to lick it. “Do you think I’m Edgar’s daughter, or Singer’s?” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fucking insane dogshit. I’d have thought the world would move on from pointless, hounding fucking gossip. Let people live their goddamn lives.” 

“What a champion of public figures’ right to privacy,” she teased, tongue flicking out to catch the sauce. She was trying to fucking kill him. “Tired of the tabloid lies, Pretty Boy?” 

“If one more pussy says you’re fucking Butcher, I’ll kill him.” 

“I can’t imagine he’s loving that either,” She shrugged. “And Butcher couldn’t handle me.” 

Ben chuckled, but some sort of bell rang in his head. Something familiar, that made him pause and look at Her. Perfect, glaring at the stray beans on her plate. His mouth opened—he wasn’t even fucking sure what he was going to ask—and someone knocked on the door. 

She started to rise, but Ben managed to make his glare firm enough that she dropped back down and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re not fucking-“

“I know, you’re going to get the door, I’m going to stay here and rest.” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not fucking delicate, Benjamin-“

“I don’t think you’re fucking delicate.” He snapped. There wasn’t a less delicate woman on the planet, and he fucking loved that about Her. “I’m being a goddamn gentleman. Stay in your chair.”

“Asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and Ben grinned at her.

“You fucking love it.”

She flipped him off, face flushing a pretty color, and Ben just winked before walking to the door and opening it to find a small, weedy man with the beady, reptilian eyes and the tiniest glasses Ben’s seen in his goddamn life.

“Hello,” Lizard-Eyes looked Ben up and down with tight lips and a twitching nose. “I am here for an evaluation of the Anomaly’s psychological status, at the orders of Director Mallory. I take it you are Soldier Boy?

Ben scowled. “Of course I’m fucking Soldier Boy, who the hell else-“ 

“Ben,” She called from over his shoulder, and Ben shifted his body to block her from the view of Lizard-Eyes. “Just let him in.” 

Ben twisted over his shoulder, shooting Her a glare. He looks like a fucking haughty pussy. This is fucking pointless. 

Maybe, She shrugged. But we still have to do it. Might as well do it now. Please, Ben. 

He sighed, and turned back to Lizard-Eyes, looking him up once and down before stepping to the side. 

Lizard-Eyes walked past Ben without a second glance, his eyes locked on Her. Looking at Her like she was some sort of fucking puzzle or trophy. 

“Lovely to meet you,” Lizard-Eyes said Her name, giving her a smile that made Her flinch. A tiny, easily missable movement that Ben caught with ease and Lizard-Eyes missed entirely as he extended his hand.

“Um, hi.” She glanced up, over Lizard-Eyes, gaze finding Ben’s. What is he doing?

Ben shrugged. Fuck if I know.

Lizard-Eyes turned around, frowning at Ben. “If you, sir, could find leave for us to begin-“

“He stays,” She said quickly, eyes falling to Lizard-Eyes’ still outstretched hand. “And you shouldn’t touch me.” 

Lizard-Eyes’ head whipped back to Her. “Why ever not? Will it trigger a trauma induced reaction-“ 

“She’s an empath supe, you fucking idiot,” Ben muttered, walking around the table to stand behind Her. Placing a hand on her shoulder and savoring the way she leaned back into him. 

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes nodded, voice far too fucking fasciated. “That must be quite a burden, to feel and shoulder the emotions of others.” 

“I manage,” Her voice was dry, and Ben snorted.

“Will he,” Lizard-Eyes lowered himself into a chair, glancing back up at Ben. “Must he be here for our session?”

“Yeah, he must.” Her voice was firm. Final. Ben was staying, no room for arguing. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Lizard-Eyes pulled a large stack of papers out his goddamn ass, looking at Her over his stupid fucking glasses. “Let’s begin, at, well, the beginning.” He chuckled to himself, and he sounded like a fucking horse. “Why would director Mallory believe you may be in need of an assessment?” 

“Probably because I was just held hostage by my abuser for almost two months,” Her voice was bored, but her fingers had begun to tap on the table. Lizard-Eyes didn’t even fucking notice. “And I didn’t exactly return peacefully.” 

“Your abuser?” 

There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell Lizard-Eyes didn’t know who Her abuser. Even if he’d only just been presented with the case, She’d been all over the goddamn news. And Her face wasn’t forgettable, it was perfect and beautiful and seared itself into your goddamn eyes. 

She sighed, and Ben could hear the resentment in her voice. “Homelander.” 

Lizard-Eyes hummed, writing something down. “And what forms of abuse did you endure under him?” 

“Rape,” Her voice was soft, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “Kidnapping. Emotional abuse. Unethical medical experimentation.” 

Lizard-Eyes’ nod was fucking eager, and Ben was going to break his stupid pencil, then his hands, then rip out his tongue. “And during this second time? Were there repeated offenses?” 

“I,” She swallowed. “I don’t-“ 

“From the first occurrence. During the past two months did you experience,” Lizard-Eyes checked his notes. She’d just fucking told him, and he made a dramatic show of looking over his glasses and frowning at the paper. “Rape? Kidnapping? Emotional-“

“How the fuck is this helping,” Ben snapped, because Her heart had begun to pick up her fingers were tapping faster, in time with the chew of her mouth. “Just do your goddamn job and clear her. Now.” 

“My methods are not for you to understand,” Lizard-Eyes angled his chin up, giving Ben a thin-lipped frown. “But they are proven. I must hear, in her own words, what we are facing. Now,” his eyes returned to Her. “Please continue.” 

There wasn’t a fucking we. This was Her, doing everyone’s work for them and better than they possibly could, and Ben staying at her side until she gave him something to do. Lizard-Eyes wasn’t a goddamn part of this. 

She was full of a lot more fucking grace and forgiveness than Ben was, because she just kept entertaining the fucking idiot, even her whole body tensed under Ben’s hand. “No rape, just, um, one kiss. Emotional abuse, he tried to make me kill someone. This was kind of kidnapping again, and he choked me a few time-“ 

“He fucking what.” Ben hissed, glaring down at her. “You said he didn’t fucking touch you-“ 

“He didn’t, Ben.” She leaned back, giving Ben a tiny, weak smile that was probably meant to fucking reassure him. “Not like that.” 

“Like what?” Lizard-Eyes’ question drew Her eyes away from Ben, but her head remained slightly tipped back. 

“Um, rape. He didn’t rape me this time.” 

“Excellent,” Lizard-Eyes gave a short nod, looking down at his papers. “Who was it you killed? Was there an emotional attachment?” 

“I didn’t kill him, Homelander did. I couldn’t.” She let out a long breath. “And I’d never really talked to him.”

“Interesting. Is that all?” 

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “That’s all.” 

She was fucking downplaying it. Ben knew Her, knew there was probably some other fucked up shit Homelander had done to Her or made her do. Christ, she’d had to stand in front of a camera and lie about her whole fucking life, had to pretend she loved Homelander, and she’d come home screaming. There was more, there was always fucking more She believed didn’t matter. Lizard-Eyes was just nodding, consulting his goddamn notes and looking at Her over his glasses. 

“How have you felt since your return?” 

“Tired,” She mumbled. “I’m just tired. I got some sleep, but I’m just really, really tired.”

“And have you been given, ah, the opportunity to sleep?” Lizard-Eyes glanced up at Ben, and She shook her head. 

“Yes. I took a shower, ate, and slept. It’s just been a day,” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Hm.” Lizard-Eyes looked Her over, squinting like she was a goddamn specimen. “Have you had any violent outbursts? Felt any form of bloodlust?” 

“No,” She mumbled, and Lizard-Eyes made another fucking note. 

“Have you had any nightmares, or dreams in which you enacted brutal vengeance on your abuser?” 

“No.” 

“Have you felt as if your actions were outside of your control? Heard any voices that are not usually there, or maybe tell you to do things you may not normally do?”

“Um,” She swallowed, heartbeat skipping as leaned further back into Ben. “No.” 

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or ending your life?” 

“No, but it wouldn’t work-“ 

Lizard-Eyes smiled at Her, and it was fucking disgusting. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?” 

“I don’t think so.” She frowned, glancing up at Ben with a confused expression. Is that it? 

Ben looked over Lizard-Eyes—consulting his stupid fucking papers with an over-dramatic expression—before rolling his eyes at Her. Damn seems it. Pussy.

Her mouth tugged up slightly. Do you think those things actually help him see? 

Ben failed to cover his snort. Not a chance in fucking hell. 

Lizard-Eyes, oblivious to their exchange, looked up with another horrible smile. “I am happy to say I feel comfortable clearing you. You’re not displaying any worrying behaviors that would compromise your safety to yourself or others.” 

She blinked. “Oh, okay. Is that-” 

“I will recommend that you take it easy,” Lizard-Eyes continued, attention returning to his notes. “Maybe take up mediation. It’s been a pleasure, and should you need any more aid, know that my door is always open.” 

“Wait,” She reached across the table, not touching Lizard-Eyes but placing a hand on his papers, drawing his gaze to Her. “You work in medical, right? For the agents?”

Lizard-Eyes gave a hum. “Third floor, room twenty-six. If you would like to meet again-“

“No, I’m good.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t happen to have the change of contact forms on you? I kind of forgot them earlier.”

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes shuffled through the pile, pulling out three poorly-stapled pages. “Will you need time to complete them?” 

She shook her head, taking the paper and looking backward at Ben. “Phone?” 

He frowned. “What.” 

“Your phone, Ben.” She reached a hand up, palm open. “I didn’t memorize your number, I need to see it for the form.” 

Ben tried not feel so fucking smug about it. About Her making him her emergency contact, especially because there weren’t really any other fucking options. It sure as fuck shouldn’t be Butcher, and the only two out of their team Ben would trust to take care of Her properly—listen to Her, not let her do stupid sacrificial shit, and protect her like the goddamn perfect work of art she was—were Kimiko and MM. They’d both drop their shit to take care of Her, they’d both be pissed if she put herself in danger, and neither of them would get all fucking moral about it. MM might lecture Her about it later, but it was better than Annie's goddamn judgmental looks. Kimiko liked Her, and would get her hands bloody to help Her, and Ben could fucking appreciate that. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect Her—MM was all about that no man left behind fuckery, and Kimiko adored Her—but they weren’t as good options as Ben was. For one, MM was always busy and had his own family to worry about, and Kimiko couldn’t fucking talk. But Ben was still better. He’d drop the fucking sky off his back to go to Her, he fucking loved Her and there wasn’t anyone who knew her perfect, insane fucking brain as well as he did. 

Lizard-Eyes certainly fucking didn’t. As She filled out the form with her neat, scrawling handwriting and an adorable focus, Ben just glared at Lizard-Eyes. He didn’t fucking get it. How you could never trust Her to say she was in pain, or that her pain was the worst fucking thing in the world. Lizard-Eyes could clear Her now—in this moment when her voice was clear and steady and her eyes were sharp—but he’d never seen her screaming or crying or trying to escape her own goddamn body, all while insisting she was fine. She wasn’t fucking fine, and it made everything wrong. 

Ben had known that from the start. Before he’d loved Her, before he’d even fucking liked her, Ben had known that Her being small and broken and afraid was just fucking wrong. She was supposed to be happy. Everything was better when she was happy. Men should be going to fucking war to keep her happy. She deserved it. She deserved happiness and light and love and fucking everything, and Ben didn’t care if it took the rest of goddamn time, he’d do whatever she needed to make her happy. If it was things, he’d get her things. He’d buy her all the fucking things in the world. If it was vengeance, he’d walk by her side and do the dirty work for her. If it was for everyone to leave her alone, Ben included, he’d do it. He’d walk away and wait forever for Her to return.

It wouldn’t be that. She stood up, showing Lizard-Eyes to the door and saying kind words the pussy didn’t deserve, and Ben knew she’d just want time. She’d want Ben to stay and hold Her while she’d tried to fix everything wrong in the world, and then she’d want to laugh and talk and tease him. So Ben would stay, and when she asked him to stay he’d remind her that nothing could fucking make him leave her. He’d do what She asked, fix what she told him to, and then kiss Her until she was just happy. Ben just wanted Her to be fucking happy. And he loved Her, so he’d trade the whole fucking world to make that happen. Then give it back, because She wouldn’t want the world. She’d just want Ben.

She was closing the door and walking to Ben, and She was smiling, and this was the whole world. She’d smashed Her face into his chest, and relaxed into his arms, and Ben fucking loved Her. 

“Is it late?”

Ben glanced at his still-open phone on the table. “Past ten.”

She hummed. “I’m not that sleepy.” 

Ben muttered Her name, and she pulled back to glare at him. 

“Don’t tell me I am,” She snapped. “I’m tired, not sleepy. There’s a difference, and I’m not sleepy. So shut up.” 

Ben raised his brows at Her. “I didn’t fucking say anything.” 

“You were going to-“ 

“And those words mean the exact same thing, Sunshine, don’t bullshit me.”

“They don’t,” She scowled. “Tired is exhaustion. Strain and fatigue. Sleepy is heavy eyelids and woozy.” 

“Smartass.” 

“You’re the one who fucking doubted me, I just-“ 

Ben kissed Her, soft and slow and She was home. She was fucking home, in Ben’s arms, and he was never going to lose Her again.

“If you’re not sleepy,” he muttered against Her lips. “Then what do you want to do.”

She sighed into him, and it was a light and breathy sound that made Ben’s whole body relax. “Can we watch TV?”

“Of course we fucking can.” Ben dropped down, just enough to pick Her up, and rose fast enough to swallow her yelp in his mouth. “We can do whatever the hell you want.” 

She smiled at him like he was everything, resting Her head on his shoulder, and Ben wasn’t sure how he’d managed two months without this. Fuck, he didn’t know how he’d gone a hundred years without this. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t.” 

Ben had glared at Her and grunted the words, but she clearly didn’t take him fucking seriously anymore, because she giggled. She goddamn giggled, and buried Her head in his neck, and gave a hum of content that made Ben’s whole world light up. He fucking loved Her. He had to keep gnawing off his tongue through the movie—Her pick, a cartoon about jazz and frogs that Ben allowed because he was a fucking pussy who loved her—because he was hardly able to stop himself from telling Her. She didn’t climb off of him when they sat on the couch, and Ben almost told her. She hummed the words of all the songs—it was goddamn musical—and the whole room filled with lights and smells and Ben almost told Her. She smiled up at him during random scenes, and Ben almost fucking told Her. 

“You look sleepy, beautiful.” Ben murmured into Her ear, halfway through, and she shook Her head, voice slightly slurred when she spoke. 

“Fuck you.” 

Ben chuckled, and adjust Her in his arms so she could have an easier time breathing—and Her lips would brush Ben’s skin more, but who the fuck was going to yell at him about that—and Ben almost told Her. 

The movie had hardly finished when she passed out. Her whole body went loose and her heart fell into an easy rhythm, and Ben carried her upstairs. Carefully, gently, watching Her face, easy and perfect and beautiful in the dark. Setting Her on the bed and pulling the covers over her body, brushing stray hairs from her face and smiling down at Her. Perfect. Still so fucking perfect.

Ben wasn’t strong enough to stop himself from climbing on the bed himself and pulling Her back to his side. He shouldn’t. He might wake up with morning wood and it might freak her out, or he might have a nightmare and disturb her. But She’d begged him to stay, and Ben could watch Her and protect her like this. Keep Her safe, never leave, make Her happy. Fuck Mallory and Homelander and the media and the mission and Sage and the government and Vought. She just needed to be happy, and everything would be right.

Whatever it took, Ben would make Her really, truly happy again.

End Note: For those of you who are mad they didn’t IMMEDIATELY fuck, all I have to say is fair. Yeah, that’s fair. Although you SHOULD know better by now. They WILL fuck, we’re real close to them fucking, but let them get there themselves, their way. (the hardest and most inconvenient way possible).

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

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[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 7

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Brief suggestive content. Angst, anxiety, self loathing, relationship issues. Darling is her own tag/warning. Panic attack, eating related issues, fainting. Emotional hurt/comfort, fluff. Established throuple. It's better when they're here.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Kyle grins in response, and then pulls you in for a hug. His face is full mirth, his cheer warming you from the inside, and you embrace him in return. 

“’bout time they bring you out here. No reason to hide you away all this time.” Something nervous, a light giggle, slips out from between your lips, your eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. Johnny's hand flexes against the base of your spine. 

“Gaz.” Simon sighs, and he barks out a laugh before turning back to you. 

“Try not to let these two bore ya to death.” He whispers, before giving them both a nod and ducking down the hall. He makes absolutely no noise, feet silent against the floor, practically disappearing before your eyes, shadow here then gone, presence felt, and then void, all at once.

“He’s nice.” You look up at the two of them. Johnny chuckles, amusement scrawling across his lips and cheeks as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Don’t let him fool ye.” He quips and you frown, confused.

“Gaz is… very, very good at his job. One of the best there is, I’d say.” Simon explains gently, and then your stomach sours, because you remember.

What they do. What their jobs are. Why you’re even here in the first place. You’ve never asked for in-depth detail or explanations, but you’ve heard enough, know enough, to know.

He turns the lock and pushes their door open, giving you a view into their room, a short hall that expands out to something that looks like a college dorm, except maybe a bit bigger. It’s got all the similarities though, cinderblocks and an old, tiled floor, singular window and a bit of an odd smell.

“So, this is your room?”

“Aye. We’ve got a big bed, mostly thanks to Si, and a little more space than everyone else on this floor but, this is it.” It’s sparse too, no pictures or personal items, nothing that looks like or resembles them except…

There’s a bulletin board, hanging on the wall above the bed. It’s empty, save for one thing, a photo that’s been stapled to the cork.

It’s of you, this photo, you under a white sheet, smiling at Simon, who’s behind the camera, with just the shadow of Johnny’s hand along your upper arm. It was taken last year, you can tell, because you recognize the style of your hair from that time, and you stand there for too long, staring at it, mouth partially hanging open, breath held in your lungs.

Nothing in this room that reflects them, or their home, or each other… nothing. Except for a photo of you. 

“Darling?” Simon murmurs, and his chest presses against your back, thumb and forefinger stroking along the back of your neck. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. I… I’m alright.”

“So, like… what is that you guys do?” The question lands to a silent reception, both of them exchanging looks in front of you, almost like you’re not even in the room. You feel awkward, and self-conscious, while they seem to have a silent debate with their eyes.

“We’re in multi-national special ops unit.” Johnny provides, and your eyebrows crease as you process. A what? A multi-national what? You laugh, until you realize their faces are deadly serious.

Wait. Are these guys in the fucking military? 

“Special ops, like… the military special ops?”

“Kind of.”

Oh. 

Fuck. Your cheeks feel hot, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or the topic you’ve stumbled upon, but you swallow loudly as you process it. 

You’re not exactly a huge fan of the military. Not like you really know anything about it, just that most of the wars your own country has been involved in for the last twenty years revolve around oil and imperialism, and all the dudes who serve are abusive and predatory. Assholes. Creeps. 

Or at least, that’s what it’s like where you’re from. 

“She didn’t like that.” Simon murmurs from behind the mask, and Johnny grimaces. 

“Alright?” He hums and a small noise gets stuck in your throat, like you want to say yes, want to say no, like you’re not sure what you want. “We travel a lot, for work. So, we’re not always around… that’s where we’ve been the last few weeks. Working.” The words make your heart skip a beat, and you nod, still processing.

Not always around… not always around. 

So they really aren’t planning on making this a thing, then. The thought stings with bitterness against your tongue, and you shove it away. 

 When you don’t say anything in response, Johnny sighs, and reaches for your hand, fingers curled against your palm in your lap. “How did we get on this subject anyway? We’re supposed to be havin’ some fun.” He smiles, big and warm, sending butterflies spiraling through your stomach and up your spine. 

Simon’s gaze never strays from your face, and his brow furrows, like he’s reading you, or piecing you together. The scrutiny makes you shiver. 

Why are you worrying about it? This is only like the third time seeing them, anyway. You’re getting too attached. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re just having fun. That’s all it is. 

“Right.” You quip, and then pull your drink towards you before rising from the chair. Your skirt is short, and you realize it’s probably too short when you see Simon’s jaw grinding behind the mask as you turn your body, edge of the fabric brushing against the back of your thighs. His gaze is heavy, it’s hot, and you remember the image of him looking up from between your legs the other night, lower half of his face buried in your cunt, still hidden from view without the scrap of fabric. “So… should we get another round then?” You hold your empty drink, ice clinking against the glass, and Johnny chuckles before standing in front of you, a hand on covetously laying on your waist as his lips brush your cheek. 

“’ll get them, love. You sit.”  

The bed is very, very warm. You don’t even need the duvet and sheet that you have pulled around your shoulders, your hips, but you snuggle down into them farther, breathing in the scent of Johnny’s shampoo, of Simon’s skin.

It all whirs around you in some soft, soothing scented lullaby, and you allow yourself the indulgence, closing your eyes again even though you’ve only just woken from the nap that you slipped into when they left for a meeting.

You’ve managed to trap their body heat beneath the blankets, and you wiggle around until you’re facing the other side, staring at the bulletin board, your own face frozen in time staring back at you.

You look different. You look like you’re in a haze of contented bliss, a peaceful state of happiness, safe and secure, tucked between the two of them without a care in the world.

Why did it change? Who changed it? When? How? 

The questions echo as you piece through the last few months in your mind, trying to place where the original seeds of darkness sprouted from, to find where the murky thoughts and feelings really came from, their roots, their birth.

This process, this seeking, makes your hands shake against the sheets. It makes your legs twitch, feet rubbing against each other while your chest tightens. Dread, panic, shame, all twist and turn through your mind, pinpointing your weaknesses and failures, exposing you to yourself like the fool you are.

They’re trying. Are you? 

You don’t need the answers, not truly. You know where the blame lies. You know what happened. You know the part you played; you know the parts the guys played.

You stare at the wall and try to count the patterns in the concrete, willing your brain to focus, willing yourself to pull up, pull out, put your head on straight. The sound of blood rushing in your ears is deafening, loud enough that you think someone may hear it down the hall. May hear you, succumbing to yourself.

It feels like drowning.

They could pull you out. Simon could fix it. They could make it better. 

But would they? Could he, now? When nothing is the same? 

The memory from leaving the hotel ripples across your heart like a familiar melody, acid burning in your calves as you blink and shudder.

Simon, holding your nape, Johnny, holding you to him in the elevator, in the car.

“Stay with us darling. Stay here. With us.”

You wonder if it will ever be the same again.

You hate this one as much as the last. 

Your mouth pulls into a frown, hands resting on your hips as you stare at the canvas in front of you, rotating your head from left to right, like that will make you see it better. Like that will bring it into focus. 

The colors are wrong. They don’t harmonize, they don’t crest and swell together like you had envisioned. They don’t blend in a cacophony of floral silhouettes like you saw in your mind. 

Instead, they look like a storming sea. Darker hues overpowering the light, like thunder through daybreak. 

Maybe you could fix it? Or maybe, you should just abandon this technique. Maybe you could-

There’s a knock at your door. 

It’s not light, or gentle, but firm, ringing out in rapid succession and you jerk. 

Who could that be? You’re not expecting anyone until- 

Oh. Oh no. Oh god. Oh no, no no. 

Your eyes dart frantically around the art room before you're shoving the two brushes from your hands into a tray and tripping out into your living room. 

“Oh my god.” You gulp out loud to no one but yourself, the person who has spent the last three, possibly four days in a haze, a painting binge, trying to escape the stress of your job, of life, of this… thing that’s going on with Simon and Johnny.

Trying to escape yourself. Your thoughts. Your feelings. 

Your flat expresses it well. You think, possibly, it could appear like it had been ransacked. Your clothes are everywhere. Draped over your tiny loveseat couch, shoved between cushions and pillows. Two-day old toast sits on your kitchen counter, accompanying two, three, four coffee mugs that are filled with varying levels of liquid. Your uneaten dinner from last night sits on a plate next to the trash can, your oats from the other morning sit cold in the sink. 

A prescription bottle that hasn’t been touched in four days, lurks on the kitchen counter with a handwritten note taped beneath it: 

“You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.” 

Another knock sounds at your door, thumping followed by the sound of your phone vibrating next to the stove.

Your left sock has a swipe of chartreuse across it. Your overalls are tacky with dried paint. You can vaguely feel your hands touching your hair, your neck, hovering above where your heart hammers. 

You can’t let them see you like this. 

They’ve never seen you like this. 

This is supposed to be light. It’s fun. It’s… not real. They’re not with you. They cannot see. 

You take a deep breath. 

Maybe you can pass it off. You can… say you’re sorry for the mess, that you’re sorting through things for donation. And you don’t have to lie about painting. That will explain the clothes. 

You take a breath, and then open the door to find Johnny on the other side, happily smiling at you, mohawk shining in the light of the hall. He looks you up and down briefly, and you freeze, waiting. 

Waiting for him to say something nasty, something hurtful. Waiting for him to reprimand you for failing, to accuse you of being useless, helpless. Waiting for him to tell you he doesn’t have time to deal with this. That you should be better, do a better job of taking care of yourself. 

“- and he’ll just be a minute, but we’re so excited, been thinkin’ about ye all week. We had such a good time before we left, really loved sharing those days with you.” What? You blink. He cocks his head. “Love? Y’alright?” 

“Yeah.” You answer, voice monotone. Somewhere, trapped beneath layers and layers of the worst pieces, you’re screaming. You’re aching. You’re desperate. 

“This all paint?” He motions to the splatters and stains, and you nod robotically. “I remember, you mentioned that last time… that you paint. I uh, draw sometimes.” Of course, he draws. Because he’s beautiful, and perfect. He rubs his neck almost sheepishly before raising an eyebrow at you. 

Oh. Right. 

“D-do you… want to come in?” You offer it meekly. Please say no. say no, say you’ll wait out in there, say you don’t want to. 

“Sure, thanks.” Fuck. He steps by you as you motion, brushing against you closely, close enough that the butterflies flutter and you can feel the heat of him. “This is cozy, yeah?” He gestures to your flat from the kitchen, and you nod again. On autopilot.

All you can see is the food, untouched, uneaten. Evidence of your struggle. A water bottle that’s full to brim. The coffee cups, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to wash. All you can feel is your own skin, dry around your mouth, your nose, and oily everywhere else, your dirty clothes heavy against your body. You can feel your teeth, your tongue, unbrushed, unclean in your mouth, jaw clicking while your grind your molars. 

You shouldn’t have let him in. He’s going to see. He’s going to hate you. Hate this. 

The room spins. 

“Hey,” There’s a hand, on your arm. It’s big and soft, and sweet and you blink again. “Darling.” There it is. That pet name. That nick name. That name that’s quickly becoming your own. The one that makes you feel warm, safe, cherished. The one that makes you feel like this is something more. 

You hate it. 

You love it. 

“What is it?” Johnny’s handsome face peers down at you, concern worrying across his brow. 

“N-nothing.” You try to lead him off, but your breathing stutters through your nose, and he looks alarmed. 

There’s a new knock at your door, heavy and quick, and you both turn to look just as Simon is filling the door frame, half of his face hidden with the black mask that he always wears. 

He watches you. Like a predator. His eyes flick from you, to Johnny, to the kitchen… the living room. 

It's like there’s a train sitting on your chest.

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He says softly, clicking the door shut behind him. As soon as it’s secure, the mask comes off, and he’s focused on you, eyes not leaving your face, moving closer and closer until he’s upon you and Johnny, huge hand coming to hold your elbow. “What’s going on?” He murmurs, but it’s not for you. Even if it was, you cannot answer. There’s a train sitting on your chest, after all. 

“Ah dinnae ken.” Johnny answers immediately, while his palm works up and down your arm in a calming pattern. 

“Darling?” Simon cups your cheek. Ever since he showed you his face, he’s been… like this. Intuitive. Too intuitive. Too keen. Like he already knows. Like he’s been waiting. 

“I-“ you try to tell him it’s nothing. That you’re tired. All of your lies flit through your head, the stories you wanted to concoct to explain everything away but nothing comes out. Not even your breath. 

The room spins again, but this time so does your head. The floor feels like it’s tilting, or maybe it’s your feet that are off balance. You’re not sure. You feel light though, like your legs don’t even exist. Like your knees aren’t real.

“Shite.” Johnny swears, and lunges, hands darting out to catch you before the world goes black. 

“Are you asleep?” There’s a whisper, like a soft touch, against your ear. It’s enough to prickle, enough to crack a smile across your lips, and you press your face into the blankets while strong hands shift your hips.

“I dinnae, might be.” Johnny hums, stroking fingertips down your ribs. It tickles, forcing a breathy giggle from your mouth that’s met with another’s, lips moving with yours while you melt away in a pile of partners and pillows.

“How was the meeting?” You whisper. Simon cradles you to his back, warmth bleeding through his shirt to your skin, and you shimmy closer, pressing hard until you’re flush with him, Johnny watching the two of you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Standard.” Simon answers. “Thought about you the whole time.” He kisses your cheek, arm reaching for Johnny who obliges, nestling himself against your chest. You focus on them, taking long, deep breaths, keeping yourself above water, keeping the murky depths at bay, for now.

It’s better, when they’re here. It’s always better, when you’re together.

“Thinkin’ about ye asleep in our bed, bare cunt on our sheets enough to drive me mad.” Johnny groans, fingers skating across your hip bone. You’re not wearing underwear, just a giant sweatshirt, one of theirs, though you’re not sure who’s.

Lust roars to life between your legs, desire, want, has you clenching, but you try shove it away.

It’s too much, too soon. You’re too… off center. You’ll lose yourself. 

But they’re here. They’ll put you back together. Simon won’t let you fall. 

It’s not a good idea. 

You want it. You want them. Need them. 

The back and forth makes your head hurt.

“I- I’m not ready.” You blurt, and he freezes, pulling his hand free immediately but you grab onto it, desperate to have his touch, to feel him.

Guilt burns in your heart.

“Of course, darling.”

“I’m sorry… I want to I just-“

“You never have to apologize.” Simon rumbles and you shake your head.

“I know but, I feel bad. Guilty.”

“Look at me.” He urges, and you shift, all while clutching Johnny’s hand in yours. “We love you. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about. We will be here when you are ready, but there’s no rush.” He strokes a thumb across your cheek, and you lean into it, eyes slipping closed. “I think I’d be more worried if you were ready to jump right into sex, after everything.” Johnny hums his agreement and presses a warm kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s take a nap then?” He suggests, and you pull his arm to your chest, rocking between the two of them until you’re effectively sandwiched, comfortable, and secure, just the way you like it.

The way you dream about it.

The way you can only hope it might be, from now until forever.

[wonwayne]

whatever you say ☁️ park jongseong

pairing : bf!jay x fem!reader genre : tooth-rotting fluff warnings : none! word count : 0.85k

a/n : i don't really know what this is. but it's cute. (just HAD to write on this thought [creds to @atrirose] because husband material jay !!)

home. nothing felt better than coming back from an achingly long work day to the smell of you. closing the door softly behind him, jay let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. comfort always seemed to creep up on him like this, with subtle reminders in the air that you would always be there for him, ready to—

“help me build the titanic?”

you beamed up at your boyfriend, legs crossed on the living room carpet, encircled by seemingly infinite lego pieces in red, white, yellow, and black.

not quite what jay was expecting to come home to. but he approached your little recreation ground anyway, lunging carefully towards the box packaging. “another 2000+ piece lego set?”

“9000!”

“oh—”

“9090, to be exact.”

jay nodded, kneeling down by the carpet to match your eye level. “... that’s really—”

“wait no, 9092! sorry i keep correcting myself, it’s just that i forgot to add the jack and rose minifigures.” you pointed proudly at the thumb-sized people. “once i’m done with the ship, i’m going to have them at the bow like that iconic scene. and then maybe every few days i’ll move them to the floor and put rose on a little door.” you held lego jack up to your boyfriend’s face. “you look just like him.”

he glanced to the side before mirroring its boxy grin. “do i?” you nodded vigorously. “well that’s very flattering, y/n, but i should say,” and he looked emphatically at the heap of legos strewn between him and you, “you’re making it very hard for me to hug you. any closer, and i’m bound to step on a lego here.”

your expression morphed instantly from disquiet to delight. god, you could never get over how adorable he was when he said the sweetest things in the sternest voice. “i’m sorry!” you burst out, sweeping the pieces to the side and jumping into your boyfriend’s arms. “i’ll be right at the door to hug you next time.”

“thank you, love,” he murmured as he kissed the top of your head, “keep working, i’ll make dinner and help build as soon as i can.”

even more adorable, you thought, for calling your lego-building “work.”

tragically, jay found you breaking your promise just a few evenings following. anticipating your pretty face peeking out of the doorway, he practically raced out of the apartment elevator. but instead of anything to look for, he was met by faint screams and hearty laughs — your laugh among them, and panic consumed him. who would she be laughing with in OUR apartment besides me? why the screams?? what if she’s—

bursting the door open, he was yet again unable to make sense of… you. you, belting taylor swift at the top of your lungs, dappled with rainbow light under the mini disco ball you’d set up in the far corner, mid-cartwheel with a wireless mic in one hand, dangerously close to crashing into both your partners in crime, jake and sunghoon.

they steered clear of you swiftly before freezing at the sight of a narrow-eyed jay.

“uh, y/n,” sunghoon began (poor boy), “i think—”

“—BUT THIS LOVE IS BRAVE AND WIIIIIIIILLLLLDDDDDD,” you persisted, thoroughly unaware of your boyfriend’s presence, and nearly assaulting the sofa as you landed from the cartwheel.

it took you till the end of the song’s bridge to notice your friends’ conspicuous silence. following their uneasy gaze, you saw jay maintaining the hardest poker face you’d ever seen him wear before.

but forget the “oh hi”s, skip the “let me explain”s — you glided over to where jay stood by the entrance and, offering the mic to him, sang quietly: “and i neverrrrrr saw you comiiiiiiiiiiing.” you sounded impossibly good.

“you should’ve,” he said, voice low, and with the hint of a pout, “seen me coming.” at a louder volume, he addressed the boys while his arms wrapped around your waist, “why do i have to come home to these two losers making a mess on a respectable thursday evening?”

jake opened his mouth to protest, but jay’s attention was already back to you. “you invited them?” he asked casually, pulling you closer in.

“i was getting bored without you,” and it was your time to pout, “had to unwind somehow.” you conveniently left out the detail that you had organized the whole “mess” in the house, and that the other two had played absolutely no part.

“with karaoke at the ungodly hour?”

“well, only because you arrived at an ungodly hour.”

he paused for a moment, then conceded, “right. of course, love, i’m sorry.”

you missed jake’s priceless expression as he made eye contact with jay across the room.

“P A R T N E R  P R I V I L E G E,” he mouthed as aggressively as he could.

jay scoffed, and buried his chin deeper into the crook of your neck.

the only privilege, he would tell the boys later, was that of him having you in his life.

[hyukakisses]

emo yeonjun making reader listen to all his favorite bands!!! mansplaining events, lyrics of the songs (as if you don’t have ears and your own experiences) and slowly getting reader into all of the said bands he oh so loves 🩷🪽

-emo yeonjun putting you on! (request!)

pairings: emo yeonjun x reader

plot: random emo yeonjun trying to put reader on headcanons

warnings: cool yeonjun (he doesn’t fit loser im sorry), sweet reader (my type..), smut, fluff, mentions of smoking (weed), pet names (baby etc etc)

“wait- you seriously don’t know who black veil brides are?” yeonjun frowned his eyebrows “don’t you mean pierce the veil?” your head pops up from laying on the said boy’s chest “are you serious?”

“w-what’s.. what’s this?” your eyes widen at a shoe box full of cds from your boyfriend, he wasn’t gifting you his favorite cds from his favorite bands because he was planning on committing suicide right?

“why are you giving me these? aren’t they from your favorites?” you kept questioning yeonjun confused “im not gifting them to you baby, im just trying to put you on” the emo boy answers trying not to laugh at the confused look on your face

“put me on?” “put me on what?” yeonjun sighs forgetting you’re a little slow sometimes “putting you on good music, meaning you need new artists to listen to baby” “what? and what’s wrong with what i listen to?” you were frowning a bit hurt by yeonjun’s comment. “babe you listen to glee and taylor swift basically the worst top 40”

“i love you” yeonjun chants under his breath as he kissed you hungrily. his bedroom dark and brooding “i love you so much” he repeats making you flush. “i kinda like this song you showed me.. i think it’s called demolition lovers? it’s by my chemical romance” you pull away making yeonjun laugh. “we’re about to fuck right now and you’re telling me about a song?”

“easy baby just inhale and exhale” yeonjun had his hand wrapped around a blunt attached to your pretty lips, your eyes watering at the burning sensation how the hell does yeonjun smoke weed all the time?

“and who created the emo scene baby?” the back of yeonjun’s thumb rubbed tight circles on your swollen clit, making it difficult to respond to his questions

you mentally cursed at yourself for your brain being so forgetful. you spent all day listening to yeonjun’s favorite bands when he was away with his friends how is this not ringing a bell?

you let out a whine, “p-panic at the disco?” yeonjun only laughs at you, signaling you didn’t get the question right

your back arches and you let tears fall down your chubby cheeks when you felt yeonjun pinch and twist on your throbbing clit. “are you feeling that dumb baby? are you really that stupid you can’t answer a simple question?” his other hand pressing against the bulge at your stomach

you wanted to cum so badly, “i-im sorry!” you let out a cry “i meant i meant.. my chemical romance” you let out a sigh in relief when yeonjun pressed himself further inside you. his hand going back to rubbing your clit finally, letting you cum around him.

you felt your boyfriend pull your head into a needy kiss, following by a string of ‘you’re so good to me’ ‘i love you’

[pygmi-cygni]

Mi Luz - Miguel x reader fluff fic

Content warnings - diabetes-inducing fluff, no smut, kissing, emotional constipation

Summary: Miguel has been struggling with stress, and a soft little somebody can't seem to leave his head. Pining, crush, cute cute cute big man

slow burn for two seconds cause I have no self control

Reader is afab, no y/n, described with having large eyes but that's it

love you sweet thing, enjoy ☆

It was hard to be the king of everything.

That's somewhat what he thought of himself, sitting at the top of his tall but lonely throne, scrutinizing his subjects. Miguel didn't choose this life, it chose him. The bitterness that came with the weight of the world sat thick in his mouth, twisting his lips into a snarl and his brow into a scowl. No surprise that the Spiders around him didn't meet his eye unless to cower in fear.

It didn't bother him. He liked being alone, enjoyed the quiet of his lair - except when his pesky assistant ruined his brooding with her obnoxiously loud voice-

"aw Migs, I thought we were besties..." her pixelated pout hung in front of his eyes.

never shoulda taken you out of the drafts, he muttered, but there was no venom behind the words.

Miguel wasn't a recluse, he was just...busy. Too busy to chat, to 'hang out,' as his younger employees begged. He had shit to do, people to save. Friendship didn't fit in his schedule.

So he stalked through the halls as little as possible, shouldering past cliques and couples holding hands. He didn't need that shit.

Okay, so maybe it bothered him a little bit. Not a lot. Just a smidge. An itsy bitsy amount, if you'll pardon the pun. Hardly worthwhile. Nothing to write home about. Just something that churned in the back of his mind every waking moment of his day came up once in a while.

The irony didn't escape him, how aura sensitivity seemed to be bestowed on the least sensitive man out there. The radiating emotion and color bouncing off of everyone that passed gave him a headache. Miguel had no spidey sense to speak of, no superhuman reflexes, but the minute someone's mood changed, his ears were pricking. Not that he cared.

He didn't care that his chest ached when the sour green of fear laced the aura of his visitors. It was like a switch; he'd walk into the room, and the once shining gold and pastel hues would darken to a nervous blue, thrumming with panic. Some could pass it off, putting on a brave smile for him, but he could see. Miguel could see every shift in hue that betrayed just how little HQ liked him.

But it didn't bother him. He was king of the world.

Miguel's fangs dug into his lower gums as he ground his teeth through the debrief. It had been a shitshow; a group of rookies too unfamiliar with the terrain to do anything other than Fuck It Up. Four of them, Spider-girl 2045, Huntsman, and the twins, Recluse and Widow. All young and stupid.

Currently, all four were talking over each other, auras flashing like disco balls as they bickered over who had the right story.

"I friggin told you, Wid, that's not the right street, it was definitely 45th-"

"Oh, suck my webshooter, that wasn't even the right universe-"

"Would somebody please figure it the fuck out before I send you all back to the void!"

A meek silence followed his outburst.

Miguel was heaving, red eyes glaring down at the comedy of errors beneath him. The kids stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Shame and embarrassment swirled around them in a sludgy grey haze.

Shit. He did it again, he was trying to be better but they were so fucking annoying and it was loud and his head hurt-

"Go home," he seethed quietly, "figure it out, and come back when your heads are out of your asses."

Not waiting for another scathing word, the Spiders scattered.

With a bone rattling sigh, Miguel collapsed onto his desk frustratedly. Why was he like this? His temper was so strong, no matter how hard he tried to reign it in. Peter had a toddler for chrissakes and hardly ever raised his voice.

LYLA hovered over his shoulder, a knowing look on her face. He nudged his face further into the desk, shutting out her abrasive glow.

"Go 'way," he muttered, teeth scraping the plasticene surface. As always, she ignored him.

"You need help, Miguel. I mean it, hey don't-" her voice went stern as he reached to disable her.

"I don't wanna hear this again," he growled, fumbling for the controls.

"Well, I'm sure these kids don't wanna be screamed at again either, and your feelings are not more important than theirs."

His carmine eyes simmered with rage as he halted. She was right, of course she was right but god why did it hurt-

Shame licked his ribs and he ducked his chin.

LYLA took the opportunity.

"With the new universes we just discovered, there'll be a whole batch of new recruits. Is this really how you wanna run this? Christ, Migs, it's almost better to be independent than deal with you."

At his huff, she crossed her arms. Prancing to the front of his chair, she tapped his nose.

"You can fix it, if you really want to. But who cares if they're saving the world when the world they live in has people like you?"

She blinked out of existence, as a shameful blush reddened his cheeks.

Fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

Twenty new spiders would be arriving today at noon on the dot. Miguel could already feel the migraine coming on as he discussed logistics with Jess and Peter. Training, tours, watches, all the work was piling in his mind.

"Miguel?"

Jess' sharp tone brought him out of his reverie. She looked expectant, a stack of files outstretched. "Did you hear what I just said?"

His blank stare triggered an eye roll. "These Spiders need Multiverse tracking, so you'll take them to the Center at 2:30, yeah?"

Miguel acquiesced gruffly and snatched the files, Meeting adjourned, he waited for his office to be clear again.

Peter hung back, aura churning with conflict.

Oh boy, here we go.

"Hey big guy....up for a chat?" Peter's eyes were bright but wary, and Miguel shot him a weary look.

"I don't have time to chat, Parker, we've been over this," he bit out.

"It's important."

"I don't care, write me an email-"

"Huntsman is AWOL."

Miguel blinked, fiery words fizzling on his tongue. Impossible. He'd just seen him an hour ago, how could that be? Sighing impatiently, he began searching for the small boy on his wall of screens.

"Miguel."

"What."

"You scared him pretty bad, dude. I know you don't like to here this, and I'll try to keep the hippy-dippy to a minimum, but dude," Peter breathed, eyes worried. Miguel struggled to make eye contact, hating the rare sincerity of his tone.

"I mean..." Peter faltered, gesturing to the door. "Voidspace is no joke. Especially some of those kids, where they've come from...you gotta fix your stuff. That's not cool. Jess and I have been-"

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

"Don't look at me like that," Peter scolded. "You know I'm right."

Miguel seethed out his nose, hands clenching and unclenching around his tablet. god, if only other people saw feelings the way he did, maybe they'd leave him alone.

"I," he spat, "am aware that my temper is...volatile. But-"

"No buts," Jess said from behind him. He whirled. The tension was strangling the air from the room. He needed a break. There was so much to do...

"How you talked to the recruits today was unacceptable. Don't act like you're above consequence," She said in response to his growl. "That behavior is appalling. We can find someone else to do this, you know."

His anger dissipated. She wouldn't.

"You wouldn't."

"If it meant helping the success of the next generation, I would."

Miguel, for once in a long time, felt the sting of tears in his throat. Sensing the shift, Peter gave him an awkward shoulder pat and retreated.

"We care about you, man," he said gently, "but you gotta work this out."

With that, the door slammed shut, and Miguel was alone.

Again.

☆ ☆ ☆

He thumbed the corner of his sweatshirt, damp from his workout. Peter's conversation rattled around his brain. He didn't think he'd been that harsh. He never meant-

He never meant to hurt anyone.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? No matter how hard he tried, someone always got hurt. His tongue was too sharp, his claws too fast.

Her form, small, clutched in his arms, deteriorating into pixels as she sobbed-

No.

He wasn't doing this again. Miguel stared at himself until he was sure the mirror would crack. They deserved better. He deserved better. It was cowardly, the way he hid from emotion.

Was that what it was?

Was he afraid? Afraid to reach out for it to snap back in his face? It seemed so childish, like there should be something more than the fear of other people keeping him at bay. Gabi was gone. There was no changing that. He knew that in his head, but his heart?

The roiling stew of his emotions made his chest tight. He couldn't do this, not right now.

Maybe tomorrow.

It was late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. Miguel was steadily working, a slight burn in his red-rimmed eyes the only indication that he was tired. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins, keeping his back rigid and muscles taut.

Another anomaly, another fight, another file. click-click-click went his keyboard, rhythmic in the the empty office.

Almost empty, that is.

Out of the corner of his eye, a soft shine radiated from the doorway. Biting back a sigh, he leveled his tired glare with the figure, mentally preparing himself for one of Peter's scoldings. But as the figure drew closer, he realized he didn't recognize the shimmery white aura or the person attached to it.

"Miguel O'Hara?"

A soft, lilting voice carried from the base of his tower. Miguel blinked, not recognizing the voice either.

"Yes?" He responded gruffly, wracking his brain for who the fuck could be visiting him at this time of night -

"Um...Can...Can you roll down? O-or something? I'm sorry, I just can't really see..." the sweet voice faltered and he rolled his eyes.

Maybe, if they'd waited till a reasonable hour to visit him, his chair would be in a more reasonable position. But nooo.....

Regardless, he began the slow descent from his perch. As he grew closer to the ground, the pearlescent light grew more in focus. Miguel came to the conclusion that he definitely did not know you.

Your expression was patient and soft, standing with your hands folded and dressed in a comfortable sweater. You must be new; most seasoned Spiders wore suits out of convenience. A file was grasped loosely in front of you.

"I'm supposed to be working in the office next door, and it seems I wasn't given a keycard?" Your owlish gaze turned hopeful, and he was taken aback by your gentle gaze.

Miguel had never seen someone with such large eyes. Round and long-lashed, they exuded warmth and an innocence that reminded him of her

No.

Stop it.

"Uh, yeah, hang on a second," He fumbled for his watch and pushed past you, not waiting for you to follow.

His mind was reeling, trying to recall if he was supposed to know who you were. Jess had mentioned an assistant, but he figured it would be someone less....soft. More experienced, that is. Besides, he didn't trust you. No way was he just shoving the fate of the universe in your hands, even though your eyes were nice and you didn't cower when he spoke-

Stop. It.

He exhaled loudly, trying to expel the thoughts with it. You stood next to him, ever patient. Your halo, he found, was still that shimmering white. It was a soft light, not glaring and oppressive like the colors of his teammates. It soothed his headache rather than aggravated it.

Realizing he was staring dumbly at the locked door, he sighed again and slid the keycard across the pad.

Error.

Miguel blinked. He had the master card, it applied to every door, what the hell? Trying again, he felt impatience coiling in his chest. What....

Peter. Peter had borrowed his card to let Mayday out of a lab she'd snuck into. He promised he'd return it by today, but knowing him....

"I can't fucking believe this," Miguel muttered venomously, "he takes the most valuable piece of tech I have and fucking forgets to return it, that irresponsible piece of...shouldn't even be a father, gotta be kidding-"

"Miguel?"

He froze, having forgotten you were there. Humiliation tinged his cheeks. He'd done it again, fuck, he wasn't even trying-

"If it's too much trouble, I can just get my card tomorrow." Your voice was patient and placating.

He shuffled his feet, unsure of how to handle your response.

You were still glowing with a soft white light, tinged only by a slight pink hue. Sympathy. No fear, no ugly red anger or terror at his temper. your eyes. you looked him in the eye. you smiled at him. you wanted to help-

His throat, too choked up with confusion and pity and ugh that he merely grunted and ducked back into his office, leaving your soft gaze behind.

☆ ☆ ☆

God, it drove him crazy. Your patience. Your light. He could feel you from yards away, your glow that was always warm, always kind. Your card arrived safely, and there wasn't another mishap between you two.

Every day, you'd pitter-patter into his office on soft feet and explain the schedule to him, then go through the mission briefs with a gentle tone that didn't falter, even if he grouched about the conferences overriding his lunch break.

He didn't think he'd need an assistant. He could do it himself, had been forever. But you...helped. Your organization was impeccable, finding reason and structure where his brain only saw chaos. Miguel was terrible with time management, but you'd give him a gentle reminder that it was time for a break, or that the work was done and his brooding could be saved for tomorrow.

Go home, Miguel, you whispered kindly, tucking a bag of dessert into his large palms. I'll see you tomorrow.

Well, he'd see you sooner. He liked to think about you. It didn't feel like daydreaming, because you worked together and therefore thinking about you was thinking about work, technically. It puzzled him, how your patience never wavered. You'd heard the stories, comforted victims of his wrath. But your light only burned brighter with him, never dampened in contempt.

He noticed it first at a work party. Miguel hated these functions, found them boring and tedious. Chatting about mundane things while nursing cheap wine and a migraine? He'd pass.

Then, you arrived. Dressed in a soft purple sweater and a long skirt god he loved your sweaters, how warm and docile your eyes hidden shyly beneath your hair. He itched to walk over, but nerves rooted him to the spot. You were tucked against a wall, clearly uncomfortable, and as your gaze scanned the busy room...

you landed on him. And,

you glowed. radiantly, your nervous blue haze shimmered with a soft golden happiness, and you waved with a smile. Miguel swallowed thickly.

You were happy to see him. He, who never gave you more than two word sentences, who snapped and bickered and bit like a hissing cat, made your halo glow so bright it warmed his cheeks.

Nobody had ever felt that way about him. And it was so fucking stupid, the giddiness that made him dizzy. Decency was all it was. You were just being nice. And here he was, a blushing melting mess because you were happy to see him.

He looked forward to you even more after that. Slowly, he tried his best to bite his tongue, to keep the irritation from spewing. Instead, he tried fanning the flames with small talk, stumbling through conversation like a lovesick teenager.

He could tell you were surprised, but you welcomed the change. You would sit at the edge of his desk and talk about random occurrences, silly mundane things that still made his cheeks ache from smiling. How the slowly brightening halo of light around you made him adore you more, even if you had to sheepishly apologize when it got too bright.

don't be sorry, mi luz, he wanted to whisper, I love to see you shine.

Then, inevitably, you would pad back to your office and your light would be gone. Miguel would pout at the loss, missing the gentle glow that made his chest ache.

So he decided to do something about it.

You were revising a plan against the latest anomaly in sector AB-7. His tablet was clutched to you as you curled against his chair. The warmth emanating from your aura made him melt with adoration, eyes growing heavy-

"Migs?"

He hummed, still gazing. You'd picked up the nickname from his AI, and he wanted to curl up in your lap every time you said it.

"You look tired, I'll let you rest." You placed the tablet back on his desk and patted his shoulder god do it again please before turning-

"No."

He murmured it, not quite pleading. You stopped, tilting your head in confusion. "You...can stay. There's room down there, if you still wanna work," he added gruffly.

You didn't say anything, and he felt the words rush out. "It just- it just seems strange that you'd be working in a different office when you spend so much time here anyway, but don't worry about it, it's fine-"

"Migs," you said, so gentle it made his toes curl. "I'd love that."

And hence began the worst mistake of his productive career. Because now you'd made a home in the corner of his space, and your softness was always there, so inviting for him to marvel at. He'd lost hours of working just staring.

He learned everything he could about you. How you weren't cleared to fight, which is why you could afford do dress so comfortable. Fine by him, he'd blow a fuse if something happened to you. As long as he could keep you tucked in his little haven, safe for him to admire, he didn't give a fuck.

Jess would raise her eyebrows at your constant presence, but his heart rate was lower and he smiled. She'd never been more shocked.

He was doing better.

Miguel soon found himself focusing all of his spare attention on you. Buying you sweaters, letting you watch your favorites movies on his widescreen, doing anything to make your light glow a little brighter.

This was....different. he hadn't had this, not for a long while. It made him nervous, a little undercurrent of shyness beneath his desire to make you smile. You were never as forward with him, kind as ever but at a distance. He would take what he could get, though. As long as your light kept shining, he'd bask in its warmth.

☆ ☆ ☆

God, what a meeting. He'd zoned out halfway through, so astronomically exhausted that he could barely keep his eyes open. His thoughts were consumed with the idea of taking a nap on the old sofa you'd shoved into his office. you'd be right next to him, reading and playing with his hair, oh god if only the clock would move faster- Miguel almost lept out of his chair when the meeting concluded.

His feet quickened back towards his office, feeling your light trickle under the door.

Oh. uh oh. uh oh uh oh.

He stood frozen, staring at his desk. You had made yourself comfortable in his chair, napping with your chin tucked and hair mussed and he felt his chest grow tight god what is happening to him good christ-

Miguel swallowed roughly and peered down at your closed eyes. Your aura was a soft pink, content and sweet. He wanted to hold you so badly. God, that's what he'd been needing. To tuck you up in one of your devilishly soft sweaters and keep his little light all to himself.

It wasn't lust, his desire for touch. Lust felt too carnal, too vile for you. He would never defile you like that, wanting only to watch you shimmer and preen with happiness. Little light, mi luz, so soft...

His eyes were shining with adoration as he looked at you. He didn't know how long it had been, and he didn't care. But after a moment, he realized sleeping on his straight-backed chair would hurt your back. He needed to move you. Hold you on his lap, he was softer and warmer and god help him-

Taking a breath, Miguel slid his forearms under your curled form and lifted slowly, careful not to jostle you. Whatever love demon was inside keened with joy, and he wanted to weep. As he gently maneuvered you towards your comfortable armchair, he caught a shift in your body. Freezing again, he waited for you to finish squirming, finally settling with your head tucked in his neck.

And oh, mi luz

You were glowing warmer now, the faint blush shimmering gold against your hair. Miguel's lips quivered and he began to rock gently. His hands shook with care. He could feel the tranquility rolling off of you in heavy waves, making his eyes heavy and his heart full. You felt safe with him. Soft snuffling breaths against his collar and hands clutched loosely at his nape sent shivers down his back.

He was going to die. His chest burned with the need to shout, to scream with excitement. Finally finally, little soft light, all his to hold-

Miguel might have been squeezing too tight in his joy, because your brow pinched and you mewled in discomfort. He immediately hushed you, coaxing you back into golden sleep. Crooking his elbow so you laid comfortably over his shoulder.

"Sleep, mi luz, I have you. I have you," he cooed, nudging his nose into your jaw. You sighed contentedly and murmured a good night as he gently laid with you in the armchair. He buried his face in your hair, shivering with the warmth that enveloped him.

☆ ☆ ☆

Wherever this was, he never wanted to leave. Miguel felt syrupy and languid, wrapped in a cocoon of something that felt divinely warm and safe and

"Migs?"

A rustle, and the lovely bundle in his arms blinked blearily at him. His lovestruck eyes shone down at his little love, and he smiled gently.

"Hi, dovey," he murmured, rubbing your back, "sleep well?"

You nodded and scooted up, seated fully against his chest. Your aura pulsed sluggishly, dripping like honey. Miguel was too busy sweetly nosing your cheek to notice the hues dancing around your head. still half-asleep, you purred happily, dozing gently against his warm neck. Miguel kept up, suckling gently behind your ear and across your lips and everywhere he could reach without waking you. He could do this for hours.

The warmth was beginning to singe his hair though, and he hissed gently.

"Mi luz," he whispered, trying as gently as possible to rouse you. You whined at the wake-up, doe eyes drowsy and unfocused.

"Your halo, mi sol," he whispered, pecking your cheek, "getting a little warm is all."

you blushed, quickly dampening the shining haze of love you had blanketed over the both of you. Miguel grunted and laid his head back again. You followed suit, curling against him as close as possible.

'love you,' your lips murmured into his skin.

'mi luz,' he said reverently, and his soft mouth soothed you back to sleep.

that's all folks! might do some lil drabbles off of this but idk yet. hope you enjoyed, requests are open, ilysm xox

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @migueloharasbbm @ridiculous-hibiscus @seeeuspaceecowboyyy @neeshsoodrippedout @llumetrii @iminloveweveryone

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[her-power]

The End of All Things (e.m. x fem reader)

C/W: 18++++ MDNI, I'm serious! Sweet! Eddie, smut, fluff, fingering (f receiving) oral (f+m receiving) unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!) making out, swearing, grief, hurt/comfort, parentloss, death, talk of death, best friends in love summary: This takes place 5 years after the events of S4. Midsummer 1991. Eddie & reader are in their mid twenties. Eddie is your best friend and has come to you after an unimaginable loss you just endured. You realize your feelings for him during this time, and sweetness and sexiness ensues. I originally was going for a subtle smutty-ness, but I got carried away, whoooops. (I suck at summaries, I'm so sorry)

A/N: This is based off of a life changing event that happened to me when I was seventeen. A lot of it has actual conversations/reactions from said event. This was insanely therapeutic for me to write, and I thank you all for reading this if you do, this goes out to all the ones who suffered a loss and are still actively healing. I see you, you are a rockstar and keep going <3 I also pay a little homage to Matthew Perry/Chandler Bing. I'm still not over it and Chandler will always be my comfort character like Eddie. This may have multiple parts, I also semi-proofread this, sorry for any mistakes! The title is a Panic! At the Disco song, it's been on repeat for awhile for me and I think it's perfect for this so definitely take a listen to it after you read this.

Word Count: 7.5k

“She’s gone.”

Your breath hitches as you stare at the wide amber eyes of your father from where you sat on the couch. He was clasping your hands tight as you stared at him. Your throat tightens.

“You’re lying.” A smirk tugs at your lips, this was a joke. The second those words left your lips you felt something cold creep up your spine, turning your stomach into knots.

“Honey, I’m not. She’s gone, she—” 

You stand up fast, ripping your hands out of his. Your bottom lip trembles as you feel your tears burn the corners of your eyes. 

“You’re lying!” You yell at him. “Where’s Mom?! Where is she?! You’re lying!”

Your father drops his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You knew he wasn’t lying; you knew it. It didn’t mean you had to believe it.

She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead.  Wasn’t. Dead. She’s dead.

Those words swirl in your mind as you quietly groan. Your fingers clench at the hem of your black camisole, pulling and tugging at the thin material, feeling too hot, too tight. 

“N-no…” You whimper, your vision blurring as you stare at your distraught father.

Your very core burns, it stings, and you couldn’t tell if you had a heartbeat. Is that what she felt? You wonder.  Hunching forward, the pain in your chest was building and building as you loudly gasp.

“Nooooooooo!” You wail loudly. You find yourself pumping your legs towards somewhere, anywhere. An escape.

The door.

You swallow back bile as you push your front door open with your shoulder, you awkwardly stumble down the front steps, and the cool midsummer air caresses your face as your feet hit the paved driveway. You gasp again, gripping at your chest, and then you scream.

You didn’t know you could make a sound like that. A sound that was full of pain, full of anger, full of a feeling of invisible hands squeezing your heart until it bursts in your chest. Your scream echoes through the quiet neighborhood; you inhale another shaky breath, nails clawing at your stomach as you wail again. 

A dog barks in the distance, a porch light turns on, then another. You swear you just heard someone say your name. You lift your head to the sky; the stars were so visible and beautiful that night, looking like small freckles kissing the dark sky.  Your legs tremble beneath you, they’re numb, and you feel them start to buckle-

Strong arms grab you from behind, wrapping protectively around your middle; hot breath hits the back of your neck. Cool metal from ringed fingers touches your skin, hugging your arms to your chest as you let out another heartbreaking wail.

“It’s me, it’s me, sweetheart."

Eddie.  Your best friend since you moved to this shitty town ten years ago. Your sweet, chaotic, beautiful Eddie.  Your legs finally give out and he gently cradles your back against his chest, resting his forehead against your bare shoulders, feeling the roughness of hard pavement as your bum hits the ground. Your head leans back against his shoulder, his curly hair tickling your cheek ever so softly.

“H-how…” You try to form words; they were caught in your throat; you weren’t even sure if you had a voice anymore.

You wanted to ask how he got to you so fast, and if he could hear you all the way from his trailer a mile away. You’re practically sitting in his lap; his calloused fingers gently smooth out your mess of waves in your hair. Your vision blurred with hot tears as you could feel the Earth shattering beneath you. His hands find your face, his fingers cup behind your ear as he turns your face to his gently.  Only the soft light from the front porch light illuminated his handsome features.  Eddie. Your Eddie.  His big brown eyes are wide as he stares at you, he looks terrified. He has never seen you this way before. You called him a few hours ago in the afternoon to tell him your mom had to go to the hospital for an emergency surgery, that you had to stay home to wait by the phone for updates from your father and you would promise to call him when you knew more. You were supposed to go to his place to smoke some weed and order pizza, a traditional Thursday night thing for you both. You figured he probably wondered what was taking so long, it had been hours. And for as long as you have known Eddie Munson, he didn’t have much patience; it was hard for him to sit still. Your fingers twirl the ends of his hair as you try to focus on him. 

“Tell me.” He says quietly.

You can already see tears forming in his eyes, and you suddenly realize this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Your noses were almost touching. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head from side to side, spitting and blubbering out more tears as the pain tightens its grip on your heart once more.

“I can’t.” You manage to gasp out. “Don’t…Eds, don’t make me say it.”

His hand cups over his mouth as he stares at you, realization settling on his face. 

“No…” He inhales sharply. “No, Y/N…there’s no way.” 

A memory flashes in your mind just then, a memory from only a few months ago.

You sat on the counter in the kitchen with your mom and Eddie as she made dinner. She was making his favorite chicken parmesan because it had been the five-year anniversary since he was no longer a suspect of those murders that had occurred that Spring. Your parents never believed he had anything to do with it, and it was your mother standing up for him at the town meeting that really helped his case, partially because the entire town was afraid of a hard-headed strong woman who grew up in South Boston, Massachusetts and also there was no evidence at any of the scenes of his involvement, or that he was a Satan worshipper.  The other kicker was that Jason had disappeared, and everyone just assumed he did it after that. However, it didn’t stop the town from calling the cops every time they saw him walking somewhere or blasting Metallica from his speakers in his trailer. When your mom had her back turned, he attempted to stick his finger in the boiling pot of homemade meat sauce. Your mother wasn’t stupid, you swore she had eyes on the back of her head. She poked him in the side with the ladle handle, causing him to yelp.

“Come on! Just one taste! I promise I won’t ask for anymore until it’s ready. I’m STARVING.” Eddie pleaded, giving her a pathetic puppy dog look. 

“Kid, get out of my kitchen. I’m not falling for that look again, I got stuck with you for ten years!” Your mother chuckles, stirring the sauce. 

“You got stuck with a very handsome, talented, super funny son you always wanted! Did I mention handsome?” He towers over her and had sweetly rested his head on her shoulder, giving her a goofy grin.  Your mother used the palm of her hand to push his face away and laughs.

“It’s my caring daughter’s fault for LITERALLY dragging you out of the mud that summer.” 

Eddie looks at you, his smile reaching his eyes. “Yeah, your daughter is pretty awesome.”

He winks at you, and you roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Don’t kiss my ass, Munson.” Your mom laughs. “I’m sending you home a plate for your uncle, and you better give it to him this time!"

“He politely declined!”

“No he didn’t, you ate it on the way there!” You banter back at him. He whips his head around to look at you, his face falling in mock betrayal. 

“You are not my best friend anymore!” He wraps an arm around your mom’s shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “She’s my best friend now!”

You roll your eyes and laugh, hopping off the counter and making your way back to your room, but not before hearing your mother say this to Eddie:

"Everyone is out of their damn mind for not getting to know you or love you like we do. Jokes aside, honey, I can never ever replace your own mother, but I will make damn sure that you know that you can always come to me for anything.”

“Awww, Mrs. Y/L/N. Don’t make me blush-ow!” He laughs, you’re guessing she pinched him.

“I’m serious, Munson.” 

“I know, I know.” You can hear the smile in his tone. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” 

You stare him now; he’s trying so hard not to cry. 

“Fuck.” His voice shakes and he pulls you into his arms for a hug.“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” 

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his Motley Crue t-shirt. Your mouth muffled by his shoulder.

“I’m sorry too.” You whimper. He hugs you tighter, and you can’t help but completely melt into his arms. 

Your father had left the house the same night. Your mom’s brother lived an hour away, who was completely beside himself over the loss of his little sister. You could see that your father was exhausted, that he was tired of making fall calls and answering the phone. You could tell he wanted to go see his brother-in-law. He was already talking about arrangements, and you pretty much forced him to go see your uncle, that the arrangements could wait and that everyone needed to clear their head because she had just died. You assured him that Eddie didn’t plan on going anywhere and that she wasn’t going to be alone, that Wayne was aware of what had happened and knew where he was.

You sat on the floor of your living room an hour after your father had left. The rotary phone was at your hip, the receiver at your ear before you slammed it down and yanked the cord from the wall. You were over the phone calls too. The cops were called, apparently a neighbor had saw Eddie “lurking” around your house and assumed that was the cause of your screaming.  You were too pissed, too grief stricken, too exhausted to bite your tongue. You had snapped at Office Hopper, but as always, he handled your snapping as graciously as he always did.

“Who was it?” You snapped. “Mrs. Hansen, right? That bitch always had a problem with us because my mother was so outspoken. She could never say shit to her face but would say it to our other neighbors. Well, guess what Kathy! SHE’S DEAD NOW!” You scream out your front door, Eddie’s hands were on your shoulders, gently pulling you back in the doorway.

“Easy, easy.” He mutters in your ear. 

“Y/N. There’s no need to yell, I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss, but when we get a call that is concerning like that, we have—"

“Why is he still being targeted as the town freak? He has done nothing wrong, ever! We’re not in school anymore, we’re practically grown-ups. We work, we play nerdy games, and we listen to music. Come on, Hop. You know she didn’t call over concern for me. She hates me.”

Hopper sighs, taking off his hat. “You have to be respectful to your neighbors. You know this. Especially…” He lowers his voice and leans closer to you. “Especially the ones who call when a cat shits on their lawn.” 

A smile tugs at your lips, and your face softens. 

“Get some rest kid. Let us know if you need anything.” He glances at Eddie. “Take care of her, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know Hop. Thanks.” He says softly.

You shut the door quietly and lock it. You glance at the clock, not believing it was after midnight. You comb your fingers through your knotted hair.

“I’m going to wash up. I need to scrub this fucking night off me.” 

He nods at you, and you gently squeeze his hand as you walk by him into the bathroom. Eddie watches as you walk away, his breath hitching as soon as you close the bathroom door. He runs his hands through his hair and shudders. Eddie was usually pretty good with his words, most of the time he could never stop talking, but tonight, he had none. He had no idea how to comfort you, he had no idea what to say, or what to do. He loved your mother.  That woman took him in like her own with no questions asked and it got to a point where Wayne would offer her money, which she would always refuse. She was the only one besides Wayne to defend him after the murders and all the bullshit with Hellfire. You had told him that Hopper had to practically restrain her from punching one of the mechanics who wanted to go on a witch hunt to find you; you told him you had never seen Hopper so scared for another human being.  Eddie has tears form in his eyes and he quickly swallows them back, groaning quietly from the stinging and aching in his chest. Your mother treated him like a son, and he knows he would never feel that again and that hurt. It also hurt that Eddie had never told her how he felt about you, how for so many years he would be brave enough to pull her aside and say something but would pussy out last minute. Eddie wanted your mother’s approval. It had been like that for ten years. Yeah, he slept around, wasn’t a virgin by any means, but none of them ever stuck. All those girls, those women, he always wished it was you. He loved you; he loved you so much, but now, he wasn’t sure if he could ever tell you.

You peel off your clothes after you begin filling the bath, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You look like you aged fifteen years in a few hours. Blood shot eyes, hair a wild mess, cheeks crimson from all the screaming and tears. You sigh as you step into the bath, the water hot and you wince as you feel every muscle unclench as you slide into the porcelain, until just your head is exposed above the water. You stare up at the tile on the ceiling, marking each corner that had cobwebs that you made a mental note to clean. You close your eyes, inhaling a breath as you sink your whole face under the water. The sounds are muffled, the sound of the faucet still filling the tub vibrates around you.  You wonder what it felt like, what she felt. Did her heart stop first? Or her brain? Did she know she was going to die? You open your eyes underwater, your chest clenches again and you stop holding your breath. Your mother’s lifeless face flashes in your mind and you gasp in water, quickly lifting yourself up, knocking over the shampoo bottles. You sputter and cough out the water you had just inhaled. Tears spring to your eyes and you begin to sob and suddenly felt so, so alone.

“Eddie.”  You groan out, but your voice felt small. “Eddie!” You call again, the tears still spilling. 

You hear a shuffling of footsteps outside the bathroom door, and a soft knock. “Are you alright in there?”

You had forgotten you were naked and submerged in water as you lean forward to turn the faucet off. You felt insanely vulnerable, but you needed to clean yourself up. You just didn’t want to be alone.  You bring your knees up to your chest, resting your cheek on your knee, doing your best to cover your breasts and torso. The lower half of your body was hidden by the soap bubbles. 

“You can come in.” You tell him meekly, wiping away the hot tears.

You knew he hesitated, it took him a few moments to respond. “Are-are you sure?”

“Yes, I just need…I just need someone in here with me.” 

The latch on the door clicks open, and he slowly pushes it open with his toe. His eyes were already averted to the ceiling as he walked in, trying his best to be respectful. 

“You can look at me, Eddie. It’s okay.” Wow, you thought to yourself, you were feeling brave.

A blush rises to his cheeks, and he meets your eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when he could only see your bare shoulders, legs and back. He sits on the floor next to the bathtub, leaning his back against the wall and looks at the side of your face. 

“Talk to me.” He says sweetly, resting his chin against the lip of the porcelain.

He watches you make the washcloth swim back and forth in front of you, and he gently leans towards your hands, taking the cloth from you. He waits for you to say something, but you don’t. He takes the small bottle of body wash and squirts a glob of it on the cloth, gently massaging it into the fabric. Your heart was racing, and you hear him inhale a shaky breath. He kneels up a little, the warm washcloth hits your skin so gently as he carefully traces circles around your shoulders. You shudder, a warmness settling in your tummy. 

“What am I gonna do?” You say quietly, tears burn your eyes again and you groan, you were tired of the tears.

Eddie swallows hard, gently moving a piece of your hair back to wash your neck. This felt foreign to you, this semi-erotic moment of him touching you like this, so sweetly, so gently. Your Eddie.

“I don’t know.” He says to you. “I wish I did, but I don’t.” 

You lift your head to look at him, seeing a blush creeping up as the hills of your breasts are exposed. You watch him as he concentrates on your back, gently moving the cloth up your neck, your eyes flutter close. He dips the washcloth in the water and squeezes out the excess, pausing before moving his way towards your lower back.

“You know whatever you need, I’m here. Okay?” He tells you and you nod. He gently wipes away an exposed tear from your cheek. “You’re kind of stuck with me at this point.” 

Your face scrunches up in mock annoyance and he laughs, you chuckle. “Yeah, I know. Thank you.” 

He's looking into your eyes now and your eyes dart to his lips, before looking back into his eyes. He quickly glances away to finish washing your back and you turn your body towards him so suddenly, water splashes up and he drops the washcloth. You don’t know where this feeling came from, how you just wanted to continue to be touched by him, be loved by him. Was it the grief? You weren’t sure, but you sure as hell wanted to feel something else besides the fucking horrendous pain. Your hands are on his shoulders, the wetness from you dampened the ends of his hair as he stared at you with wide eyes. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers, his hands reaching up to cup your wrists.

You could tell he didn’t want to overstep, and he kept his eyes just on you, your eyes. He was a gentleman in all the right ways; but he desperately wanted to look at your body. You were fully exposed to him besides your lower half, and he had dreamt of a moment like this. Your hands touch his cheeks, your nose barely grazes his.

“Kiss me, please?” You say quietly, and his breath hitches.

His hand cups the back of your wet hair, pulling you towards him slightly as your breathing picks up. You could feel him tremble as you lean closer, your breasts pressing against the coolness from the porcelain, your nipples hardening at the contact. You push your mouth onto his, his plush lips as soft as you imagined they would be. He uses his other hand to cup your neck, you opened his mouth with yours, feeling his tongue enter your mouth so carefully. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing Eddie. Your Eddie.

You wrap both arms around his shoulders, and his hands wraps around your middle. He was getting comfortable, years and years of his love for you was spilling out in this exact moment. You feel him lift you so easily out of the tub, awkwardly stumbling into the wall. Not realizing how strong he was, he grabs your ass, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. You could feel his clothes soaking from the contact of your wet skin and could feel the wetness that pooled between your legs as he kept kissing you, blindly searching for the handle of the door. The cool air from the living room air conditioner hits your bare skin, causing gooseflesh to prickle all over you. You push your body against his more, deepening the kiss and he groans, bumping into everything you both contacted. Pictures became crooked on the walls, you heard something tip over from a few of the shelves, and you finally make it to your bedroom door. Your back hits it a little roughly, and he pulls away from you to catch his breath before pressing his mouth to yours again and he finds the doorknob with one hand as the other continues to hold you up. You both fall to your bed with an oomph, you start laughing hard because your head had clunked against the headboard, and he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Shit.” He breathes out, pulling away from your lips and laughs. “I’m sorry, are you okay?” 

You smile at him and nod, your lips pulsating from the kissing. He smiles down at you, rubbing your cheek, your hair, his hand gently smooths its way down your bare arms, towards your hips. He’s still looking at you, wanting to make sure it was okay for him to really see you before going further. You rub his cheek, and he leans into it, gently kissing your palm as he hovers above you. He was still trembling, and you take his hand, placing it on your skin below your breast. His calloused fingers squeeze the spot gently, his fingers barely grazing the underside of it as you watch his throat bob. He leans towards you and kisses your lips gently, leaning back on his heels as his eyes dart over your body. You bend your knees ever so slightly; he places his hands on your knees and kneels between your legs. He lets out a sigh and smiles sweetly at you and pulls off his shirt. His fingers trace a soft line over your ribs, he makes circles over your navel, the soft skin at your hips. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers to you, he chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, you’ve always been beautiful to me, not that just your body is beautiful. Your face is beautiful too, and your heart. All of you, everything—”

“Eddie, take a deep breath.” You smile, moving your palm up his torso and cupping his cheek.

He laughs, inhaling deeply, and places both hands on the side of your head as he leans down, your legs wrap around his jeans, feeling his eager bulge through the zipper. He kisses you softly, pulling away to look into your eyes. You could see tears form at the corners of eyes and you hold his face in your hand.

“What? What is it?”

He sighs, leaning up on his elbow. “For so many years, I wanted to tell your mom something that had been eating at me.” He groans, a single tear falls down his cheek and you wipe it away. “I wanted to tell her how insanely in love with you I was…I am.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, your heart does a back flip, and you feel your own tears prickle your eyes. 

“I know it doesn’t mean much now, because she’s gone…fuck.” More tears spill from his eyes, you wipe them away, he holds your hand to his cheek. “I loved her. I loved her so much and she became a mother to me at a time when I really needed her, and she always told me I could tell her anything. I should’ve told her how I felt about you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how much he really did love your mom. Their relationship was for sure that of a mother and son. He had called her one night from the Hideout in the middle of the night because he got into a fight with a stupid townie and she’d bring him back to your house, cleaning up his wounds and comforting him. One night he had fallen asleep on your couch from a night of too much drinking, and she tucked him in, placing a large cooking pot next to him in case he had to puke. She would do so many motherly things for him that he wasn’t used to, and once he was finally comfortable enough to accept those gestures, he felt like a little boy again.  You bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling and you give him a smile.

“I think she knew.” You curl your fingers through his hair.

“How?” He asks you.

“I never really thought much about it at the time, but she would throw subtle ‘son in law’ jokes at me and I would just ignore her. Because you were my best friend, there was no way you’d feel any other way than that. Or so I thought.” 

You trace an outline on his lips with your finger. “You love me?”

He nods, not bothering to wipe another stray tear away. “More than you know.” 

“I love you, too.” You tell him softly and he smiles.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You roll your eyes, tugging a piece of his hair and he yelps. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He laughs, caressing your face with the back of his hand, smoothing out your wet hair. He leans down, kissing you softly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him onto you, he lets out a hot breath as you push your tongue in his mouth. His hands travel down the dip in your shoulder, down the middle of your chest and stops on the curve of your breast. You feel the coolness of his metal ring against your skin, your nipple hardens, and you gasp in his mouth when you feel his fingers gently pinch the hardened bud. His mouth finds your throat, leaving kissing trails down to your shoulders, still pinching and squeezing your breasts as you squirm beneath him. His mouth takes your nipple in his mouth, and you hear him softly moan as he gently bites down. His tongue swirls around the bud and sucks, and you arch your back. His hand travels down your navel and over your sex. You whimper when you feel his fingers spread your lips apart and he runs a finger over your clit. He pulls away from your breast and kisses you hungrily, his fingers tracing circles around your clit, pushing down and he smirks against your lips when you let out a loud moan. No one has ever taken their time with you; you have only had sex with two men in your life and it was always you finishing them off first and them being “too tired” to return the favor. Eddie knew what he was doing, you knew this wasn’t his first rodeo, and you desperately wanted to know what else he could do. He pulls away from your lips, licking and kissing a trail all the way down to your navel. He leans back on his heels, and your eyes widen at the outline of his hardened cock beneath his jeans. He places his fingers in his mouth, sucking off the taste of you and you squirm at how sexy he looked. You bend your knees and open your legs wider. 

“Damn.” He mutters, scooting back to lay in front of your dripping cunt. He wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to his face. “You really are beautiful.”

He kisses your clit gently, you arch your back, gripping at the sheets beneath you. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nerves, and he sucks on it, letting out a loud groan. It vibrated your entire body, and you moan. His fingers press into the meat of your thighs as he buries his face closer, his tongue lapping at your hole as you could already feel yourself about to burst. You grip his hair, tugging on it hard, which sends him into a frenzy, and you feel two fingers slide their way into you. 

“Eddie…”  

You moan his name, and he begins to pump those fingers into you, pressing against the sponginess of your g-spot. He continues to devour your clit and you lean up on your elbows to watch him. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you couldn’t believe that your best friend of ten years was doing these things to you.  Your Eddie.  He pulls away from your clit, feeling you clench around his fingers, and he slinks his way back up your body, his chin wet and dripping of you. He kisses you passionately, you moan at the taste of yourself, and he continues pumping his fingers in and out. His thumb finds your clit and rubs circles, you hold onto his shoulders as he kisses you, feeling yourself close to release. He pulls away from your lips for a moment.

“Come on, baby. I know you can cum for me.” His voice was lower, almost deeper.

Those words almost sent you over the edge, words you never in a million years thought would come out of his mouth. He pumps harder and groans as your hand finds his cock through his jeans and you rub your hand over the material. You dig your nails into his shoulders, and he lets out a hot breath against your neck, whimpering at the sheer intensity and passion.

“Fuck, Eddie…”  

You moan out in pleasure and he groans against your neck. You feel the pressure building and building in your lower belly and you cling onto him as your orgasm rips through you and you cry out. He keeps his fingers inside of you, riding the orgasm out with you, the overstimulation was insanely uncomfy but as he kept pumping into you, you eased into another hard orgasm and your body shook beneath him. He slides his fingers out of you, you catch your breath as you continue to cling onto him. His hands grip your hip, and he looks at you, a smile creeping on his lips. You sigh, crashing your lips against his, unbuttoning his jeans hurriedly and sliding them off. His lips graze against your ear lobe and you roll him onto his back with your legs and he giggles. You laugh, kissing his lips, his neck and you lean up on your heels. His hands hold onto your hips.  The length of him was almost intimidating, you bite your bottom lip and take him in your hands, gently moving your fist up and down. He lets out a deep groan and his eyes squeeze shut, arching his back. You rub his precum over his tip and he shivers, you move your head towards his cock and glance up at him. He looks at you with half lidded eyes and you lick a long strip from the base all the way to the tip, taking him into your mouth. 

“Oh…oh my, unghhh—”  

A loud, throaty moan escapes him, surprising you both and you both laugh. He covers his face with both his hands shyly, slightly embarrassed by the sound he just made. You kiss his tip, licking down his shaft and he whimpers. He grips the back of your head as you bob up and down, taking him all in, rubbing his balls to get him to squirm. He let out a low growl, a sound so animalistic and sexy you couldn’t believe you were the cause.  He wanted to feel you, he wanted to be inside you and couldn’t wait any longer. He pulls at your hair, lifting your head up, your lips were swollen and wet with spit. 

“Come here.” He says breathlessly. “Now.”

You crawl up to him, his lips catch yours in a passionate kiss. You were trembling now as you lined yourself up with his length. He cups the back of your head, sweetly pecking your lips as his other hand grips at your hips. You keep your face close to his, your lips barely touching as you lower yourself onto his cock. He squeezes your hips, throwing his head back into the pillow and lets out a throaty groan. You whimper as you take him all in, slowly rocking your hips to get used to the size of him as he stretches you out.

“Are you okay?” He whispers to you, lifting his arm up to cup your cheek. 

You nod, pleasure was building in your belly as you grind against him, your clit rubs generously on his pelvis. You look into his eyes, running your hand up his chest, over his tattoos, tracing his lips with your fingers. You insert two fingers into his mouth, which he takes willingly and sucks. You move your hips up and then down, hard. His moan vibrates on your fingers as you rock faster against him; you remove your fingers and begin playing with yourself with that same hand as he watches you in awe. He arches his hips into you, and you cry out, your head falling back, he caresses and pinches your nipples.  You lean forward, using the headboard as support to continue your movement. His tongue traces circles around your nipple, sucking hard and squeezing both with his hands. He moves onto the next one, you moan louder into his ear, and he grabs your ass, burying his cock deeper into you. 

In one swift motion, he flips you on your back. His eyes stare into your soul, and you kiss him. He kisses you back with the same hungriness from earlier, taking your leg and moving it onto his shoulder as he thrusts into you.  An insanely pornographic sound escapes your lungs, and he smiles against your lips. He leans up slightly to stare at your face, you were biting your bottom lip, and your eyes burn into him, and he could feel his heart growing bigger and bigger for you in that moment. You grab his perfect ass with your legs to push him further into you and he arches back; your lips go to his throat, gently nibbling on it and licking all over. Your orgasm was building in your belly, and by the way he was slowing down and getting a little clumsy, he was close too. 

You pull his face towards you by the back of his head. “Fuck me.” You tell him through gritted teeth.

His beautiful brown eyes dilate, and you see the pure lust take over in his stare. He leans back on his heels, pulling himself out of you and you frown, he pulls you towards him hard by your thighs, his fingers for sure going to leave lovely bruises. But you didn’t care.  Before you could make another comment, he slams his cock into you, and you scream out. He holds onto your hips, rolling his against yours at a hard pace, you swear you could see all the fucking colors of the rainbow. 

“Fuuuuck…”  He moans out. “Oh fuck-I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop, Eddie.”  You whimper, his cock slamming into your g-spot over and over was making you forget your name. 

You move your hands down and find your clit, rubbing vigorously against it as your cunt clenches against his cock. He watches you rub yourself, a smile toys on his lips as he stares in wonder at you, he felt as if he was fucking a goddess.

“Oh god…”

“Cum with me, baby. I want to feel you.”  

He groans loud, and that was enough to send you screaming, and crying out his name as you came all over his cock. You grip the sheets under you, still cumming hard and he slams faster into you, the bed squeaks and the headboard bangs into the wall and he sputters. 

“Oh…my…unnngh.”  

He slams into you once more, you could feel the warmness settle in your cunt as he came inside you, feeling his cock twitching as he slowed his pace and cried out, collapsing onto your chest. He rolls his hips against you and shudders. The two of you lay there in a pile of limbs, heavy breathing, and sweat. He lifts his head up to look at you, smoothing out your still wet hair, and presses his lips to yours. Your tongue goes into his mouth, and he moans softly, cupping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. He slides out of you gently, and pulls away from you, laying on his back. His hand rested on your thigh, and you could feel him dripping from you; you needed a minute. Or several. 

“Well,” he says breathlessly. “I’ve never done that with you before.” 

You weakly slap his chest and laugh loudly; tears prickle your eyes as you feel another laugh roll out until you’re full-blown cackling. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and you laugh harder. He shakes his head, laughing with you, turning onto his side to rub your tummy gently. Your laugh was one of the things he loved about you because it was so contagious, and that this was the first time today he could see pure happiness on your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, your laugh still rolling out of you. “I don’t know why I’m laughing so hard. Oh wait, I do, you’re a fucking idiot and I love you.” 

He laughs, kissing your cheek. “No going back now.”

“No.” You say, catching your breath, bringing your palm up to his cheek. “Never.” 

He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your neck and leans up on his elbows. “My clothes are soaked.”

“I’ll put them in the wash.” You kiss his nose, slowly sitting up in bed, you could already feel the soreness between your legs. “I’m pretty sure my mom folded a bunch of your clothes you left here the other day.” You pause and turn to look at him. 

“Of course she did.” He says with a sweet smile, tracing your spine with the tip of his finger. “Do you want me to go get them?”

You knew he only asked because the washer and dryer were in her little den with her vanity mirror. 

“Uh, no. It’s okay.” You give him a smile. You go into your dresser, pulling out underwear and your oversized Queen tour t-shirt you got in 1987. Your mom had bought the tickets for you and Eddie; Eddie was indeed a total metal head, but he had a soft spot for Queen, probably because you loved them so much. You throw on the clothes and turn when you feel his eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, a blush creeping up on your cheeks as you stare at his naked body.

His right arm, which was covered in a full tattoo sleeve, was bent behind his head as he looks at you. 

“Nothing.” He smiles sweetly. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Around us.”

You lean over to him to kiss him, he holds your head,, leaving lots of pecks around your cheeks and lips, causing you to giggle. You pull away, turning around to grab his mess of clothes on the floor, throwing his dry boxers to him. He takes this opportunity to smack your ass and you yelp. You narrow your eyes at him, and pull out his chain wallet, snapping it open, pulling out some cash, you could only make out a few ten-and one-dollar bills. 

“I’m taking this.” You tell him, shoving the bills into your underwear. 

“Pretty cheap date, don’t ya think?” He laughs, pulling his boxers over his hips as your face falls into mock shock, you pull out the cash and throw it at his face, causing him to laugh harder.

You shake your head, leaving the room, heading towards your mother’s den. You slow your walking down as you meet the closed door. The grief starts to creep up again, your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob. You twist the knob and push it open. An aroma of peach, rose and slight Sandalwood hit your nostrils and you have to hold onto the wall for support, blindly finding the light switch. The light is bright, and you squint, your eyes already filling with tears as the scent of your mother was everywhere in this room. Her vanity sat perched against the wall, the wood was a soft amber color. She had rebuilt this vanity after getting it from a garage sale a few years ago. You gently run your hand over the fabric of her sweater that hung behind the chair she always sat at; whether to do her make up, or randomly sketch some drawings in her sketch book. You pull your hand away as if burned, and you quickly go to the washing machine, tossing Eddie’s clothes in as well as some dirty ones that were in the basket.  You see his folded clothes on top of the dryer, your heart hurt with how right you were and how she would never fold his clothes again.  You groan, looking over the clothes, sniffling. You take out his Metallica tour t-shirt, and his black jeans. You exit her room after shutting off the light and quietly shut the door.  Eddie was strumming at your acoustic as you walk back in, smiling at you at you hand him the clothes. He sees the tears in your eyes and immediately puts the guitar back on the stand.

He takes your hand, “What happened?”

You shake your head, trying to smile. “Nothing…it’s nothing. I’m okay. Can we go to bed?” 

He looks you over once with concern and nods, gently kissing the top of your hand. You crawl into bed, leaning over him to turn off the light on your nightstand. You curl up next to him, burying your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling the blanket over the both of you. You feel his lips kiss your hair and you sigh. All the sadness, all the grief had fallen away as he held you and you wished you could stay like that forever.

As if the universe was working against you, you woke up screaming. You were covered in sweat and tears pooled from your eyes as a panic attack settled deep in your chest. You sat up, leaning against the headboard, bringing your knees up to your chest as you scream out a sob. Eddie had woken up immediately, feeling you thrash around before you woke up. Dawn was approaching, and he flicks the light on. He kneels in front of you, placing both of his hands on the side of your head.

“Hey, hey, look at me, I’m right here.”

The dream you had replays over and over in your head like a broken record. You let out a painful groan, holding onto your stomach as you to try to speak and to calm your breathing before you hyperventilated. 

“She…she was right there. Right in front me.” You tell him, your voice choking with sobs. “Right there! She was so close to me and I tried to reach for her hand but she kept moving away from me, and I ran to her. I ran so fast, but she just kept going further and further away until I couldn’t see her. And then she was gone. She was gone.”

You cry, hard, and he takes you in his arms, hugging you as you wept. You wail and he tightens his hold on you, gently rocking you as you gripped onto his arms.

“I’m not ready for this.” 

“I know.” His voice trembles, smoothing out your hair. “You don’t have to be ready for something like this.”

“Why did she leave me?” You whimper, your entire body shakes.

“Why was she taken away from us!? Oh god…” 

He kisses your head, your cheek, finds your lips and kisses them softly. 

“Please don’t leave me.” You choke out. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise you.”

“Don’t leave me.” You cry, holding onto him for dear life. He rocks you and you cry. You weren’t ready for the coming days, you weren’t ready to keep feeling this sorrow phone call after phone call, hug after hug, tear after tear. You weren’t ready for today. You weren’t ready for tomorrow. You weren’t ready. You weren't ready.

[companionjones]

X Reader Masterlists

Key -A story with an indent immediately under another story is a sequel. 📬 =Request // 🌧️=Angst // 📱=Fake Text // ☁️=Fluff // ☔️=Hurt/Comfort // 📚=Series // 📝=Short // 🔥=Smut

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