#ryan hover

[nofatclips]

Our Philosophy Is Fiction by Deerhoof from the album Actually, You Can

[xltl]

[corruptionprincess]

i used to watch buzzfeed unsolved to sleep and it got to the point that i was having dreams of being graphically murdered while ryan narrated it

[witchlinda]

I KNEW THIS WAS ALL RYAN AND BLAKE'S FAULT!!!!!

[hiddenonigiri]

while I love this part (that pie was in unit b bc jane trust her, which I bet is because of her experience and skill) — I also think it’s kind of funny what is implied about why ryan was in the main unit

[pasdetrois]

i love collecting dreamer characters, especially when they take sentiments like "the law of gravity is tragically incompatible with dream-catching" as an idea to be defied. just one of the archetypes of all time to me

[staryseult]

Pov: you fly RyanAir

[pedroscurls]

let the world know (one-shot)

summary: you and hugh have been keeping your relationship a secret... until hugh accidentally lets millions of his followers know exactly who he's been dating. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 3.7k warnings/tags: fluff, surprise appearance of ryan reynolds and blake lively, no use of y/n. a/n: i combined two requests (one & two) into this story and i'm sorry that this to take so long to post, so thank you both for waiting so patiently! hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing it. as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

You had met Hugh at an after-party for the Oscars, both at the bar waiting for your drinks. He was one of the presenters and ironically, the presenter for your category as best actress. You didn’t win, though, but it still felt like an honor to be nominated. 

Throughout that entire night, you and Hugh didn’t leave each other’s side. There was an obvious attraction that you both felt towards each other, but you had known that he had just been recently divorced from a woman who he had been with for almost thirty years. You certainly weren't expecting anything to come out of that night, but you ended up exchanging numbers. 

Throughout the next few months, you had come to learn that Hugh was a big fan of your work and that you were one of the people he wanted to eventually work with. Though, the more you spent time with him, the more you talked with him, the more you realized that your feelings for him began to grow. 

It was a couple of months after meeting him when you kissed him. It was at a dinner party that he was hosting and you were outside on his patio, leaning over the railing with your glass of wine as you overlooked the city. Everyone was inside, talking and mingling, but you needed a break. You were still getting used to being in the public eye and after your nomination, your fanbase just increased and more people began to reach out to you, wanting to work with you. It was certainly everything you wished for, but it was still overwhelming. 

You can still remember that night, how safe and calming you felt around Hugh. 

“Hey, you,” he says, shutting the door behind him and resting a hand on your lower back. “Needed a breather?” 

You nod and look up at him, smiling in his direction. It had become increasingly difficult to keep your feelings for him at bay so you had slowly begun to distance yourself. You were sure that he wasn’t looking to be in a relationship, especially not after just getting out of one. 

“Yeah, everyone’s great though,” you answer. “But I’m still– I’m still getting used to all of this.” 

Hugh nods, resting his forearms against the railing as he stands next to you. You feel his arm brush against yours and you bite your lower lip, gazing up at him to see his eyes staring out at the city’s skyline. “I think you’re doing great.” 

“Having you here helps,” you blurt out. You’re about to look away, about to go back inside when Hugh turns to face you. 

“Can I be honest?” he asks, a small smile on his lips. 

“You know you can always be honest with me,” you reply. 

“This dinner party… It was originally supposed to just be you.” 

“Me?” you ask, confused.

Hugh nods. “Yeah, I wanted to invite you over to have dinner with me, but then I got in my head and thought maybe you’re not interested, so then I started inviting more people.” You can see the blush appear on his cheeks, the tips of his ears reddening. 

“Why just me?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hugh chuckles. 

You bite your lower lip and shake your head. You know exactly what he’s implying, but you want to hear him say it. “Why just me, Hugh?” you ask again.

Hugh steps closer, hesitantly bringing a hand to cup your cheek. He watches you lean against his touch and he smiles, lowering his head so that his lips hover dangerously close to yours. “Because I like you a whole lot, baby.”

Baby.

You suddenly lean forward to press your lips against his, free hand moving to rest on his arm. You’re about to pull away, about to apologize profusely, but Hugh just pulls you back flush against him with an arm wrapped around your waist. He deepens the kiss almost instantly, relaxing instantly into you. 

You whimper quietly against his lips, which gives him enough access to slide his tongue past your lips. “Mmm,” you mumble, having had to pull away when you realize that the rest of his guests can easily see what’s going on if they just look outside. 

“So…” Hugh grins, looking down at you. “Guessing you like me too?”

You smile, eyes sparkling up at him. “Was the kiss not enough of answer for you?” 

“Hmm. I may need a little more convincing.” 

“You might want to have your guests go home then.” 

And that was more than six months ago. You have kept your relationship with Hugh private, both of you doing your best to keep it a secret from the public eye. But, Hugh had started to post more and more of you, making sure that your face never showed. He confirmed rumors that he was seeing someone, but never said who. 

The more Hugh posted of you, the more people started to speculate who you were. You had learned early on to never read the comments section, but you couldn’t help yourself when Hugh had taken a picture of you on his couch with a book covering your face. You repeatedly saw your name in the comments and realized that it was just a matter of time before your relationship with him would become public. 

Later that night, you’re lying in bed with Hugh after coming home from a party at Ryan and Blake’s house. This is the last weekend you have with him before you leave to start filming your new movie and before he has to leave to begin press for Deadpool & Wolverine. 

“Gonna miss you while you’re away,” Hugh says, arm wrapped around your shoulders as you rest your head on his cheek. 

“Me too. You and Ryan are gonna have so much fun.” 

“Wish you could come with us.” 

“I’ll just go and hang out with Blake,” you smile. “She can keep me company while you’re away.” 

Hugh smiles to himself and kisses the crown of your head, reaching out for his phone when he sees a text from Ryan. He looks down at it and sends him a thumbs up emoji after he sees the two pictures he’s sent. One is a behind the scenes picture of them on set and the other is a photograph of you and him. He stares at that picture a little longer, smiling to himself when he sees the big grin on your face, eyes gazing up at him as his lips press against the side of your temple with his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. 

“Look at this, baby,” he shows you the picture and sees you smile instantly. 

“We’re cute. Did Ryan take that?” 

“Yeah, just sent it to me.”

“Can you send it to me too? I like it.” 

“Of course.” Hugh sends you the picture and then goes directly to his Instagram to post the behind the scenes picture that Ryan sent, not realizing that he also just added the same photo of the both of you to his story. 

—

The following morning, you groan at the sound of your phone repeatedly buzzing. You rub your eyes and slowly sit up, glancing over at Hugh who is lying on his back with an arm behind his head. You grab your phone and then widen your eyes at the missed calls and unread text messages from your publicist. Furrowing a brow, you open the text thread and click on the link she sent you. 

Once you see the same photograph from last night but on Hugh’s story, your jaw drops. You see the notifications from your own social media continue to rise with comments from your fans and his. You send a text to your publicist to tell her that you’d have to call her later before you gently nudge Hugh’s shoulder. 

“Baby, Hugh, wake up.” you tell him, seeing him stir awake. 

“Hmm?” he mumbles, eyes still shut as he turns to face you. “What is it, baby?” 

“What picture did you post last night before we went to bed?” 

Still, Hugh’s eyes remain closed. “The picture that Ryan sent. It was a behind the scenes shot of us on set.”

“Hugh, you also posted the other picture Ryan sent you last night. On your story. For millions of your followers to see.” 

“No, I didn’t,” he says, finally rubbing his own eyes as he gazes up at you. Then, you turn your phone around and show him the same exact picture he sent you last night but it’s obviously posted on his story. He sees his icon on the top left-hand side of your phone as he scrambles to sit up. “I swear, baby, it was an accident.” 

You see him reach for his own phone, which also has an insane amount of notifications from his own publicist. Then, he sees a text from Ryan, who simply just said: Finally. 

“Hugh… Ryan just reposted it. Oh my god,” you drop your phone on the mattress and cover your face. This wasn’t exactly how you wanted to tell the world that you were in a relationship with Hugh. Even though there were a good handful of people who guessed that you were the one he was dating, it still wasn’t what you had in mind. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, looking over at you. “I’ll make a statement, say that it’s just a misunderstanding and–”

“Hugh, it’s okay.” you interject, letting out a quiet sigh as you face him. “It was bound to come out and it isn’t like we were both being careful anyway. I mean, we were posting without showing each other’s faces.”

“I just–” Hugh sighs. “It’s not how I wanted to announce my relationship with you.” 

You can tell Hugh feels bad; he won’t even look at you. You gently move to straddle his hips, legs resting at either side of him as you bring your hands up his bare chest to rest on his shoulders. “I mean, at least we look good?” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood. 

“You’re not angry?” He asks seriously. 

You shake your head. “Why would I be angry? It was inevitable, Hugh. I mean, would I have wanted to announce it like that? Probably not, but it is what it is. I’m happy with you and now the rest of the world can see it too.” 

Hugh nods to himself, moving his hands to rest on your hips as he leans up to peck your lips. “So, this means I can start posting more pictures of you?” 

“Oh yeah,” you grin. “And I get to post more of you too.” 

Hugh smiles, relaxing against you. “I suppose it feels freeing now that we don’t have to sneak around. I can take you out to dinner, can hold your hand, can kiss you without having to check if anyone’s around.” 

“Mm, I do like the sound of that,” you reply, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. 

Hugh’s arms tighten around you and lies back down with you on top of him, turning his head to nuzzle against the side of your neck. He begins peppering kisses along your skin, hands dipping to grasp your backside. You gasp quietly, feeling his length harden against your clothed sex. 

But before either of you can continue, his phone rings and he looks over to see Ryan giving him a call. He groans and looks up at you, your eyes also moving over to his phone. 

“Should probably answer that,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. Answering the phone, Hugh puts the phone on speaker and immediately hears both Ryan and Blake’s voice. 

“Jesus, thank god, you finally posted her,” Ryan says. 

“And um, first of all, how come I didn’t know?” Blake adds. “I mean, I knew there was something between the two of you, but I didn’t think you were already in a relationship!” 

“You both are on speaker, by the way,” Hugh finally comments. 

“Morning, Blake. Morning, Ryan.”

“Oh, oh, did we interrupt something?” Ryan asks with a suggestive tone. “Should we call later? Maybe after your little morning romp or–”

“Ryan,” Hugh interrupts. 

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Ryan chuckles. “I’m just so glad that it’s out in the open. It was really difficult to keep this a secret, you know.”

“Not our fault that you caught us kissing,” you point out.

“What?!” Blake asks. “Where was I?” 

“I think you were in the kitchen, but honestly, I’m surprised Ryan didn’t tell you as soon as he found out,” you laugh quietly, resting against Hugh. 

“Well, Hugh told me not to tell anyone.” 

“That’s right. He promised me he wouldn’t say a word, even to Blake.”

“I’m surprised. Ryan usually tells me everything,” Blake says with a quiet laugh. 

“Yeah, Hugh told me that he didn’t want to ruin things with her and–” Ryan stops, catching his next words before they leave his lips. 

“And that’s our cue,” Hugh says. “We’ll call you both later.” 

“I want details,” Blake adds. 

“I’ll call you and tell you all about it, Blake,” you tell her. “I promise”

—

Luckily, your next film was an independent film so shooting only took about six months. It was so much easier now that your relationship with Hugh was no longer a secret. He’d come and visit you on location for a few weekends and when you had enough downtime, you also flew back home to spend some time with him. You both managed to find a good routine while you were away on set and it only strengthened your bond with him. 

Hugh had surprised you with a week long vacation to Mexico before you had to start press for your new independent film. It was a dream to be able to spend uninterrupted time with him. Most mornings were spent in bed, though, tangled in the sheets, limbs entwined, and moans filtering the room. 

While the week in Mexico passed all too quickly for your liking, you at least had the beginning and end of your press tour in New York. You’re still new in this industry, having taken it by storm with your recent Oscar nomination last year, but as time progressed, you had slowly begun to settle into this new life of yours. 

It also helped a great deal having Hugh by your side. 

You both were initially expecting a lot of hate after your relationship with each other was announced, but surprisingly, the amount of love and support you received from your fans and his and even your fellow colleagues was a relief.

Your first interview on the press tour is with Jimmy Fallon and you asked Hugh to come with you, knowing that the two are really good friends. You’re still slightly nervous, but having Hugh by your side helps calm you down. You’re in your dressing room, the make-up team fixing your hair and make-up before you hear the knock on the door to let you know that you’re up next. 

After a few moments, the make-up team leaves your room and you turn to face Hugh. “Am I gonna be okay?” 

Hugh stands up and walks over to you, hands resting at either side of the arm rests as he leans down to peck your lips lightly. “You’re gonna be amazing. Just be yourself, baby.” 

“What if he asks about us?” 

Hugh shrugs. “Be honest, but not too honest,” he winks. 

“Thanks for coming with me, Hugh.”

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here with you. Now, come on. You’re up.” 

Five minutes later and you’re sitting next to Jimmy Fallon, finding it very easy to talk to him. Knowing that Hugh’s backstage brings you a lot of comfort and as the questions deviate from your career and into your personal life, you bring your hands on your lap, fidgeting with your thumbs. 

“So, you were supposed to be here last week,” Jimmy begins, smiling knowingly in your direction. “What happened?”

“Oh,” you laugh nervously. “I was in Mexico actually. It was a surprise vacation.”

“How was Mexico?” Jimmy asks, a picture of you and Hugh in the background. It’s a silhouette of the both of you, the sunset the main backdrop, but it’s obvious that you both are kissing. You hear the crowd start cheering and you furrow a brow in confusion, turning your head to see the picture on the big screen.

“I probably should have known that was going to come up,” you tell him, shaking your head. “Mexico was amazing, thank you for asking Jimmy.”

“Lots of sunset watching, I presume?” 

You cover your face with your hands, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you both laugh amongst yourselves. Just as you’re about to say something, the crowd becomes louder and you look up to see Hugh walking over to you and Jimmy’s desk.

“Hugh!” Jimmy says, standing up and greeting Hugh with a handshake and hug. 

“You embarrassing my girl, Jimmy?” Hugh smirks, releasing the other man to lean down and kiss the crown of your head. You can hear the aww’s from the audience and despite feeling at ease with Hugh, you’re still so shy. The picture is still up on the screen, so you stand up to peck Hugh’s lips lightly before he sits down on the empty seat next to you. 

You sit back down and then look over at Jimmy, a small smile on your lips. “Careful, you don’t want to get the Wolverine angry,” you tease. 

Jimmy laughs. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Hugh, thanks for joining us.” 

Hugh reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with your own as he nods in Jimmy’s direction. “Thank you, Jimmy. It’s good to see you again.” 

“So, Mexico…” Jimmy continues.

“Oh god,” you laugh. “It was amazing, right honey?” 

Hugh smiles, eyes sparkling down at you. “It was a great time, baby. We had a lot of fun. She works a lot, so I wanted to surprise her with some downtime before she starts this press tour.” 

“He’s literally perfect,” you tell Jimmy.

“You both look incredibly happy,” Jimmy points out. “And I’ve gotta ask because I don’t think either of you have admitted how you two met or how this started, but…” he grins. “I have my assumption that it started about a year ago during the Oscars.” 

Hugh’s eyes narrow slightly, a smile still on his lips. “Oh, come on, Jimmy. You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I was asking her,” he winks, turning his attention on you.

You look over at Hugh and bite your lower lip, then turn to look at Jimmy. “We actually met for the first time that night, but that’s not when all this happened,” you confirm. “We were friends before we took anything to the next level.”

Hugh nods in agreement. “I was too scared to tell her how I felt. Didn’t want to ruin such a good friendship that we built together and then one night, I had some friends over for dinner and she’s just out on my patio, all by herself.” 

“Needed a breather,” you add. “And the view from his place is breathtaking.” 

Hugh chuckles, eyes still locked on yours. “So, I went outside to check on her and one thing led to another and she kissed me.” 

Jimmy chuckles, eyes slightly wide. “Wait, she kissed you?”

“He wasn’t going to make the first move,” you answer. “So, I figured I might as well do it.” 

Hugh grins and then looks out into the crowd with a wink. “Fellas, get a woman who goes after what she wants,” he teases. 

Jimmy smiles, “Well, I think I can speak for everyone here and say that we love the two of you together. You both look so happy.” 

“We are,” Hugh smiles. “I’m really happy.”

“Me too,” you say, seeing him take your joined hands and press a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “The happiest I’ve ever been.” 

After a few minutes, your interview comes to an end and Jimmy cuts to a commercial break to take some time for the next guest to get on stage. You stand up and give him a hug, telling him how much fun you had while on his show as Hugh’s arms remain wrapped around your shoulders. 

Once you both leave the stage and make your way back to your dressing room, you immediately sit on the couch and let out a relieved sigh. 

“You did great,” Hugh says, sitting down next to you as he pulls you into his arms. “I hope it was okay that I crashed your interview.” 

“I loved that you were there with me,” you tell him honestly. “I’ve noticed my life’s better when you’re by my side, Hugh, so thank you.”

“Such a romantic,” he teases, leaning down to kiss your lips. “But I love it. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Hugh,” you grin. “Now, I just need to do this for the next two weeks with multiple appearances a day, huh?” 

Hugh nods. “Yeah, but you don’t have anything to worry about, baby. I’ll be right there with you.”

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[itsstrange]

The Promise

Relationship: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Fandom: Yellowstone

A/N: A small idea I had while daydreaming at work, hope y’all like it. 🥹

Summary: Saying Goodbye Is Always The Hardest. So Is Keeping A Promise.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: (No) Angst, Mention of Military, Farewells, A Little Sad Moment, Angry Rip, Sad Rip, Arguments, Small Confessions.

————

ENJOY 🐎

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“So… you’re really goin’ back?”

You look up, meeting his eyes before averting them back down to your duffel bag where you toss the stack of clothes inside. The clothes that have been folded, locked away underneath the bed for the past five years. The clothes you swore you wouldn’t wear again, wouldn’t dare to see until you had kids in the future to explain to them why you had a pile of clothes and photos locked away in some old worn trunk that dusted away underneath your bed.

Unfortunately it didn’t last to reach that day because here you are, packing away the clothes into your tactical duffel bag that was also locked away.

“How long?”

You inhale deeply through your nose before slowly exhaling, still not meeting their gaze you continue packing away, placing the frame photo of you and the boys in the center before zipping the duffel shut.

“Not sure.. too early to say,” You answer as you move the bag to the foot of the bed before sitting down,

“When do you leave?”

You swallow, feeling the way your chest tightens at the thought, “Tomorrow, before sunrise,”

Thick silence hovers the room. Everyone thinking and feeling the same thoughts, emotions.

“And why are you going back again?”

“Will you morons knock it off with the questions,” Lloyd’s husky voice bouncing off the wooden walls brings a small smile and a chuckle from you,

“A buddy of mine needs help,” You still answer Jimmy’s question, which he doesn’t respond with another mostly because he can see the way Lloyd gives him the look,

No other questions were sent your way, neither of them wanting a look from Lloyd as well, nor did they want you to dwell on the heavy mood that hovered. So instead, Ryan and Colby were the first to bring up a farewell party, change of topic. You kindly decline their idea, but of course neither men listens to you.

As Ryan and Colby begin listing items on what to bring for the farewell bonfire, and yelling at one another on who gets to keep your bunk (because it’s the closest one to the bathroom) you couldn’t help the small chuckle that falls from your lips. You were really going to miss every single person in this room. Despite them making you lose a few strands of hair from their idiotic actions, and constant bar brawls, you were surely going to miss them.

They made every other day interesting, every night annoying and fun at the same time with their childlike games that they come up with that sometimes leaves them with bruises or a chipped tooth. Everyday, every night, they made it special and you were definitely gonna miss it.

“Hey I’m not leaving just yet, I still got the whole day and the night before y’all start fighting over my bunk,” You say as you stand from the bed, punching both men on their shoulders,

They both share a laugh with you as they continue listing whatever alcohol they should buy, asking if you preferred hotdogs or burgers as you all walked out the house.

Saying goodbye to them was hard, but not as hard as it’s gonna be when you say it to him. Now that.. that will definitely break your heart. The look in his eyes when you tell him, you can already picture them and from the way your chest tightens, you know it’ll be difficult.

*******

You were currently feeding the rest of the horses inside the stables. Marking down the ones who needed a wash and a trim, which stables needed cleaning. Same old routine before having to check up on the rest of the animals, considering your main job at the ranch was analyzing and tracking the animals health. You weren’t exactly a veterinarian, but you learned a few things throughout the years which John persuaded you to take up on his offer of being in charge of the animals when it came to their monthly health checkups. So of course you took classes to advance your knowledge, to help around the ranch, make it easier for the old timer.

Yes he did have actual trained, experienced, veterinarians working on his animals before, but knowing how you easily picked up the job, how much love and care you gave to the livestock, he knew it was a good investment on both parts. Besides, he trusted you dearly in that department.

Hours had flown by, nearing six o’clock in the afternoon as you were finishing up in the stables before heading out to help Lloyd and the boys to check out some of the cows that were further up in the land. As well as putting up a new fence since the one hanging on was already rusting away due to the weather these past few days, as well as some idiotic trespassers cutting through the fence simply to test the Dutton family.

Just as you throw some fresh hay into one of the stables and patted the horse in its neck as he eats his dinner, the sound of loud rough boots marching against the ground ring in your ears.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” His loud, rough voice settles behind you, words firm as you dumped hay into the last stable,

You sigh, taking off your gloves and placing them in your back pocket before looking up at him. Eyes wide, angry, betrayal, and fear were written in them. Just like you pictured.

“Yes.. I was,”

“When? Tomorrow? When you leave apparently?” Betrayal can be heard in his voice, blue eyes confirming his tone,

“There hasn’t been a good time to let you know,” You tell him, voice calm, tired, heartbroken,

It wasn’t a lie. When he had gotten back from running an errand with Kayce you were determined to lay it on him, but things got hectic that you weren’t even able to spare him a word. It remained that way for the rest of the day, work after work, problem after problem, when lunch came around he wasn’t at the table eating his supper with everyone else, he was out with Dutton, doing the man a favor, so wanting to talk to him during lunch didn’t happen like you were hoping for.

You told yourself you’d let him know when he came back, but apparently he was out and about with Dutton for the rest of the day. So by the time he had came back was at this very moment, catching you feeding the horses inside the stables. Dutton must’ve told him at some point during their errand runs, who else could have? You weren’t annoyed it was your boss who gave him the news, but you were hoping it’d be you who told him because it came from you, no one else.

“Do you not remember what that place did to you?!” He harshly whispers, taking a step closer to you, “Cause I sure as hell can!”

You lower your gaze to the floor with a faint sigh at his words. Of course you remember. How can one forget something like that? The constant nightmares, the flashbacks, mood swings, not knowing what was real or not, the cold sweats, all of it you remember. The first few weeks of being home after being honorably discharged were rather difficult, your body knew it was home, safe, but your mind was still at war. Constant nightmares played in your in head, bullets flying everywhere, blood stains surrounding you, staining your hands and vest. Screams echoing in your mind on a daily from those who were gunned down, who were injured and were slowly bleeding out in your hands.

It was an everyday thing. The boys, Rip, would beg you to get help, to talk to someone, but you’d just shrug them off telling them you were fine, that it’ll pass.

But you were in fact not okay and the nightmares never ceased.

It was after one particular night that everything had changed. The one night that had you finally reaching out for help, the night that had you admitting that you were not okay.

You had been home for two weeks when it had happened. All it took was a hectic, drunken brawl to trigger the episode. One minute you’re enjoying your beer, slightly laughing at a joke that one of the boys shared, letting lose to ease the noise in your head, then the next you’re being pulled off a blonde head who’s face was nearly disfigured beneath you. Blood covering her once fresh face and clean hair, along with your hands that shook from adrenaline, anger, fear, shell shock.

Once Rip got word of what happened he stormed his way to the bunkhouse which is where he had found you staring at your own reflection in the bathroom. The way a cold and lost look was written in your eyes will forever be embedded in his mind. It wasn’t you who stood standing in front of the mirror with tensed shoulders, hair a mess from sweat and dried blood, the real you was trapped in your mind.

It nearly took all night to bring you back, but not once did he give up.

“Rip,” You softly call his name with an exhausted sigh as you close the door to the stable,

“No. You’re not going!” Blue eyes widening more with fear and rage,

“Yes I am,” You respond in a whisper, “They need me,”

“And we need you here!” I need you here.

It was what he should’ve said, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Wasn’t exactly how he wanted to let you know the truth, wanted to do it the right way, a more intimate, genuine way. But now, he’s out of time. And most likely lost his chance.

He lost you.

“Rip-,” You begin to say but was interrupted by Kacey walking in the stables,

“We’re loaded to fix the fence,” You turn to him before giving him a small nod,

The youngest Dutton switches his gaze from you to the brute man staring intensely at you, knowing then he had walked into something and immediately sensing the tension surrounding the air. He’s felt this mood before, felt tension between you two every so often, but for some reason this time it was stronger, as if one wrong word said would ignite the awaiting flame. So without another word and only a simple nod, he turns to walk away, giving you two privacy. However, you didn’t stick around. Both to just get the day over with and also to postpone the argument.

If you even get a chance to talk about it with him again.

You hear Rip call out to you as you walk out the stables, halting your steps. You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, but no words were said, so instead you let out a sad sigh through your nose as you continue walking out the building. Leaving the brute man alone in the stables with angered thoughts.

*****

Hours had flown by. After fixing the fence, which took nearly the whole day since it was worse than anyone thought, doing daily health checks on the animals, running a quick errand with Beth, everyone was finally able to wash up and spend the remaining hours with you. Everyone sat around the bonfire sharing stories about anything and everything, chatter, laughter and music can be heard in the darkened night.

Empty beer and whiskey bottles, sticks with dried marshmallows and chocolate littered the ground around everyone’s feet. It was a night you’d deeply remember, a night you’d miss, a night you wished would happen every Friday, but you knew it wouldn’t be possible. At least not with you. Not anymore. You tried keeping a strong face, positive thoughts, positive energy, for the sake of everyone around you. They all had high hopes of you coming back home, claiming you’d be home in less than two months because you were tough as a bull, but you knew the truth. The reality of it all.

Obviously you didn’t remind them of the truth, didn’t want to take away the little happiness they held onto for you, the strong faith they had. So all you did was smile at them, raise your glass and down the last bit of your drink. Every so often you’d get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the mission, the serious consequences, the challenges that will come with it, the horror you’ll soon face, but before you can trap yourself in such thoughts they were there to bring you back. Invite you to their conversations, their stories they were sharing, their jokes, which you were thankful for.

What you didn’t notice was the way a pair of blue eyes have been secretly staring at you from across the fire pit. A dark corner where the fire barely illuminated his features. Light or not he didn’t care if he was caught staring at you, everyone was able to read his opinion of the whole situation but no one dared to ask him about it. He was already a fumed bull waiting to be provoked.

There were times where you’d glance up and catch him staring, but not once did you confront him. Making a scene in front of everyone was the last thing you wanted, so you ignored him and his glaring daggers.

Although, at one point during the night, Colby was the one to mention they had ran out of marshmallows, which you volunteered to grab the extra pack from the bunk house. Slightly buzzed you make your way through the Dutton ranch with sluggish steps till you push open the door to the bunks. Walking to the kitchen you grab the new pack of marshmallows sitting on the counter along with another couple chocolate bars. Just as you turn to head back out, your steps come to a stop when you see Rip standing by the couch.

Face emotionless, but eyes dark, red. Was he crying?

“Havin’ fun?” Rip questions, tone cold and firm, yet his blue eyes have another written emotion in them,

You shrug a shoulder, “Tryin’,”

He scoffs, “Yeah I see that.. but it ain’t workin’,”

You knew exactly what he was referring to. The constant lost in thought when the conversation was directed somewhere else. What you didn’t know until now was those same eyes that have been staring at you from the dark were analyzing you throughout the entire night. Watching the way your smile quickly faded as you once again lost yourself in your thoughts, watching the way your fingers peeled off the label from your beer bottle, the way your leg bounced uncontrollably from nerves, fear, and anxiousness. He knew you were afraid, he read you perfectly, but he knew nothing he’d say would change your mind. Not now, not ever.

You were stubborn like a goddamn mule.

“Yeah well, it’s a little hard to have fun when I got two sets of eyes throwing daggers at me all night,” You say, matching his tone as you stare into his eyes,

Heavy tension once again surrounds you two, the muffled music coming from outside was the only thing that can be heard in the room. Neither of you said anything for a good minute or so, just staring at one another with pain written in both your eyes with tears threatening to build. This wasn’t how you wanted to give your farewells to him. Having an argument with him before you left was something you did not want, but yet here you are.

“Can we just..,” You pause, letting out an exhausted sigh before continuing, “Enjoy the rest of the night before I have to catch a flight in a few hours?”

Rip stares deep in your eyes. Hurt, sadness, anger, and fear were written in his blue ones, they were easy to read, especially when he stared at you the way he was staring. He didn’t bother to hide it, yet he didn’t express it to you verbally. Not like he had to or wanted to, it was obvious on how he felt of the whole situation.

“They’re out there celebrating your death..,” He says pointing a long finger at the door then continues with, “.. and I ain’t being apart of it,”

His voice slightly breaks with each word. His blue eyes standing out more when tears begin building, but not one dares to slide down his cheeks, at least not in front of you. Not saying another word, he turns around and heads out the door with a harsh shove that has it banging against the wall.

Whatever string was left holding your heart in place had finally snapped as you watched the door shut behind him. The last memory you’d have of him. This wasn’t how you wanted to leave things with him, he was the only one who could have helped you through it, fought through the dark times, the constant noises in your head. He was the only one who you stayed alive for while you were out in the field, but now that he’s walked away, not wanting any part of it, you didn’t know if it was even worth staying alive once you landed on base. He was your anchor to it all.

And now you’d be stranded in the dark, drowning with nothing to hold you upright. Keep you up float when you felt like sinking, when you felt like the water was too strong for your fighting body. The one person who could’ve saved you from it all was now walking away, leaving you alone.

‘Maybe it was for the best.’

You tell to yourself. You convince yourself. Maybe him not being apart of it, apart of your life would one day guide him to a better life with the love of his life, guide him to someone who can make him happier, stronger, happier.

It was for the best that he left.

*****

4:30 am

Throwing your duffle and backpack in the backseat you shut the door before facing the small crowd. You give everyone a big hug, including the man himself, John Dutton who hugged you for a good long minute before being slightly shoved by Beth who took you in a stronghold as she secretly let the tears fall down her cheeks. You don’t know how, but you kept your own tears from spilling down. Once departing from the woman you go ahead and start hugging the cowboys, sharing a few laughs with them as they joke with you one last time. Which you appreciated their effort in trying to lighten things up, but you knew they knew nothing they can say now will help. But still, you appreciate it.

“So.. who won?” You say when Ryan and Colby stand in front of you,

They both share a look, small smile forming on their lips, “Neither,” Colby says,

You give them a confused look, but Ryan continues with, “We decided to leave it ready for you when you come back,”

Come back. Something you knew was a big word at the moment.

“Can’t have it ready forever,” You say with a sad chuckle,

“We can and we will,” Ryan firmly states, letting you know no one will come near the empty bed unless it’s you,

It was a faint demand from them. They wanted you to come back, no matter how hard it will be, they demanded that you come back to reclaim your bed at the bunkhouse, and that alone brought the ball back in your throat.

“Gonna miss you dorks,” You manage to say before quickly bringing them both for a group hug,

Both men wrap their arms around you, burying their faces in your hair as they cherish the moment. As you go to pull away both their hands on either side of your hip tighten, not wanting the hug to end, but eventually step away from you.

You give them a small smile and then a small wave to everyone huddle in front of you before turning around to climb into the truck where Roscoe patiently waited for you.

“Ready?” The soldier asks as you take one last glance out the window, watching everyone wave at you with saddened smiles, the ranch standing tall and beautifully behind them.

Letting out a small sigh you give him a nod.

In a matter of seconds the truck roars to life before beginning to move down the driveway and out of the Duttons ranch. Silence engulfs the car, only the sound of the radio softly playing in the speakers is heard. Leaning your head against the headrest behind you, you let your mind drift away, thinking about everyone at the ranch, playing their faces in your mind to not forget them, your fingers softly playing with a small deer origami that Tate had made for you last night for good luck. Then thinking about him once again.

Remembering how things were left between you two. Wishing you could’ve fixed things before you left, wished you could’ve said the truth, wished he could’ve have given you the chance to let you show him just how much he meant to you. But he didn’t. None of it happened.

So now, all you’ll think about is What If.

While driving halfway out the ranch and you still being lost in thought, you didn’t capture the moment a large black figure blending in the dark speeding in your direction until the truck comes to an abrupt stop. Causing your seatbelt to lock just in time to catch your body from going forward.

“The fuck?” Roscoe reacts, putting the gear in park as he eyes the figure that is currently blocking his way,

You clench your jaw as you make eye contact with him, even in the dark and with the only source of light from the headlights you both immediately lock eyes.

Of course it’s Rip on top of his horse. Black hat on his head with his black jacket wrapped on his frame.

“I’ll take care of this,” You say, never breaking eye contact with him as you unbuckle yourself and open the door,

“(Y/n) we don’t have time for this,” Roscoe tries arguing back, but you repeat yourself as you hop off the truck,

Shutting the door and standing by it you face him, where he still remained on top of his horse.

“Rip seriously what is your problem? I don’t have time to deal with you right now!” You yell as the brute man climbs off his horse,

A grim look was written on his face as he makes his way towards you. A look he only has when he’s angry about something, and right about now he’s angry at you, you knew that.

“I swear to god Rip if you don’t get out the way I’m gonna-,” Your words were cut off by a pair of rough lips latching onto yours,

Your eyes grow wide in anger, shock, and confusion. But once you feel the way his hand gently cups the side of your face you realize what exactly is happening and only react back. Your own hands finding their way to his face, fingers slowly tangling themselves in his soft, dark curly hair at the base of his neck. A deep, saddened relieved sigh escapes from you two as you both pour the hidden truth into the kiss. Deepening it and cherishing the moment at the same time, neither one wanting or planning to break it off, but you both knew it had to happen, you had to leave.

Which is why Rip got a little selfish for a second, he deepened the kiss, licking his way into your mouth as he held a tight grip on your hip to not let you out of his hold. Just a few more seconds of this, he had to. If this was the only time he would get this opportunity until you came back home, then he was sure as hell he would take every second that was available to have you in his arms, have your lips molding with his, have your fingers tugging on his hair, have your breath fanning his lips, have both your hot tears smear against his own cheeks. He was taking advantage of the moment because he knew it would be more than a month that he would be able to feel it again. Feel this moment again.

Eventually, you both do break the kiss, but not once did he let an inch form between you two. Leaning his forehead against yours, he lets you both catch a breather from the intense, beautiful moment.

“You come back to me you hear?” He whispers, beautiful blue eyes now searching for your own,

When he finally does find your (E/c) eyes that he has grown to love, he whispers once again, “You come home,”

New tears fall down your cheeks at his words, you knew you couldn’t make such a big promise, especially in your line of work. It was a rule, a rule everyone in the military who serves knew they should never make, because they knew reality was always behind that promise.

You stare into those blue eyes of his that have tears of their own, some finding their way down his rough skin, while the rest build at the brim of his eyes. You knew he knew you couldn’t make that promise, but he knew you’d fight for it no matter what, no matter how impossible it might seem, because he knew you always kept your promise. That’s who you were. Loyal, loving, protective, unafraid, and a true fighter.

You stare into his eyes a little longer, feeling the way another tear slides down your cheeks then feeling the rough pad of his thumb gently wiping it away. The words get caught in your throat, the words where you wanted to tell him to be realistic, to not make you promise anything because disappointment and pain is the only thing he’ll receive, but before you can even force them out you hear your name being called from inside the truck.

“We gotta go,” Roscoe softly says, hating to interrupt the moment, hating to part you from the man you clearly love,

You sniff, looking down at the ground then back up to Rip where he only gives you a small smile.

“C’mon,” Rip whispers as he leads you back into the truck,

Once sitting inside, shutting the door, Rip points at the man behind the wheel before saying, “You look after her you hear?”

Roscoe nods at him, “You’ve got my word man,”

Rip nods back before averting his eye to you. You sat there, tears still slowly sliding down your cheeks, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to him, not after you both finally confessed to each other. Which reminds you, you had to say it, in fear of not being able to ever again.

“Rip I-,” You try but he cuts you off with a shake of his head,

“No. Don’t say it. You say it when you come back,” He demands, small smile tugging on the corner of his lips, “Just know I do too,”

I do too.

You sniff once again, tears falling down as you glance behind him, seeing the ranch and the bunkhouse glow in the background. Memories flash in your mind. All those laughs, tears, injuries that you’ve accumulated over the years with everyone who lives and works at the ranch played in your head, reminding you that you had a family to come back to once again, you had friends who were also waiting for you to come back with open arms. You had a life to get back to.

Come back.

Averting your eyes back to his that had tears of their own falling down his cheeks, you stare at him as you remembered, you had him to come back to. He was your main reason to come back home, he was the reason why you weren’t going to die in the field, he was the reason why you weren’t going to give up when shot down, he was the reason why you weren’t going bleed out. He was your reason why you were coming home.

And if anyone tried stopping you from doing so, then it would be the last thing they ever did.

Because you are coming home.

Reaching a hand out the window, you let your small held cup his bearded cheek before letting your own thumb wipe away the tears that fall down. Looking into his eyes with a firm stare, a promise, you let him hear the words.

“I’m coming home,”

—————

-Ahhh It’s Finally Here!!! I’m Not Kidding I Have Been Going Back & Forth With This One. Mostly Because I Had Writers Block, But Also Because I Would Change A Lot Things & Finding New Ideas To Replace The Old Ones.

-But Again! Thank You To Those Who Have Been Patient & Have Been Waiting For This Wheeler Fic! More To Come!!

-Lastly, Make Sure To Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔 🔔 For More Updates!

—————

Part 2 << SOON

[corroded-hellfire]

This is a little angsty but do the AYW kids ever go through scrutiny about reader and Eddie's marriage from school and their friend's families?

With Ryan and Luke did they ever hear negative comments from their classmates other parent about reader and Eddie? Or a classmate saying "[reader] isn't your real mom!"

Can we agree that these boys need to be protected at all costs?

Words: 2.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The smell of crayons and Play-Doh hovers in the first grade classroom. The teacher, Ms. Fabray, counts her blessings that there aren’t any more foul odors filling the space. The kids are just back inside from recess, still rowdy with those last bursts of energy they get whenever they hear, “Five more minutes!”

As usual, Brandon Simpson is the last student to stroll in the back classroom door. He’s the most consistent troublemaker in the class and one of the reasons Ms. Fabray wishes this school year would hurry up and be over.

“Go sit there, Brandon,” Ms. Fabray instructs the six-year-old, gesturing to the only table that has an available chair. 

He plops down next to Luke Munson, who only glances at him out of the corner of his eye before he goes back to drawing.

Luke’s tongue pokes out between his lips as he concentrates on getting the shape of the dog’s nose just right. The moment he sets the black crayon down, his arm gets shoved. Luke’s brow furrows as he looks over at the culprit. Brandon beats Luke to the punch to speak, though.

“That girl who picks you up from school isn’t your sister?”

Well, that was one of the last things Luke expected to come out of the other boy’s mouth. Once his surprise vanishes, his head fills with a vision of you and how you smile every single time you see him and Ryan walking out of the school building.

“No, she’s my daddy’s girlfriend,” Luke says with a shake of his head. 

“But she’s so young!” Truthfully, Brandon wouldn’t have been able to gauge your age even if he was given one of the numbers, but he heard his mom complaining about the Munson’s dad being with a girl young enough to be his daughter.

While completely untrue since Eddie is only twelve years older than you, Brandon didn’t know nor care, and was just happy he had something he could use to tease Luke.

“So what?” Luke asks, reaching for the brown crayon.

“My mom says your dad should know how ridiculous he looks,” Brandon says. “That he’s probably having a midwife crisis and is trying to feel young again.”

The little girl sitting across from Brandon tilts her head up slightly to look at him beneath her sandy blunt bangs.

“It’s midlife,” she says. 

“Whatever.” Brandon waves her off. “He only wants her cause she’s pretty and young.”

The bully is clearly just parroting what he heard his mother saying, but it gets the intended effect. Luke drops the crayon and his small hands curl into fists.

“She loves my Daddy.”

“But not you,” Brandon says with a shrug, turning to grab a few crayons of his own. “I bet she just puts up with you cause she likes your dad.”

“That’s not true!” Luke shouts.

“Quieter voices, please,” Ms. Fabray says from across the room.

“She’s not your mom,” Brandon goads while starting his own drawing. 

Luke hates that he can’t deny that. You’ve treated him better than his own mother has from the day you met him. It didn’t take long before Luke wished that you were his mom instead of Brittany. When he realized that wasn’t possible, he switched to wanting you to be with his dad. Now that his dream had come true, Luke never thought someone would be so mean about it. 

“But she loves me,” Luke says.

The words are true, he knows it with every fiber of his being. The four words don’t even seem enough to the little boy to encapsulate how much you care for him and do for him. To him, you’re better than a mom, since his frame of reference is so terrible.

“I love my hamster, but I’m not his dad!” Brandon shoots back. 

Luke’s hands bang down on the table and his brow furrows even further.

“I’m not a hamster! And she loves me!”

“What’s going on over there?” Ms. Fabray asks, craning her neck in the direction of the boys.

“She’s a fake mommy,” Brandon continues, ignoring the teacher. “Not a real mommy.”

The fury has come to its boiling point in Luke’s small body. He sees red as he lunges for Brandon, knocking the other boy out of his seat. Both of them land on the rough carpet, a mess of tangled limbs and shouts.

“Boys!” Ms. Fabray yells, hurrying over to them. “Luke! Brandon! Stop it!”

Luke wraps an arm around Brandon’s neck, his Hot Wheels sneakers digging into the ground. Brandon’s legs kick, his heels pounding against Luke’s shins. It causes Luke to let go, and Brandon takes the opportunity to roll over and start hitting Luke in the ribs. 

Ms. Fabray pulls Brandon off by gripping him beneath his armpits and sets him down behind her. Luke hops up and the teacher immediately holds her hands out to keep the boys separate. 

“That is enough!”

“He started it!” Brandon shouts. 

“Nuh uh!” Luke shoots back. “He started making fun of my mo—my dad’s girlfriend!”

“Brandon, you go sit in the corner seat. Luke, you go sit at my desk. Now.”

The gray-skinned demon creature in the novel you’re reading creeps behind the main character and is on the verge of pouncing on her when the door to Eddie’s apartment swings open. You jump and let out a small yelp. 

Eddie ushers a red-faced Luke inside and closes the door behind them. 

“Hey, what’re you guys doing here?” you ask, glancing down at your watch. It’s still hours from when you usually leave to go pick the kids up from school. 

Neither of them answers, but Luke takes off running down the hall to his room. Eddie tosses his keys onto the counter and lets out a heavy sigh. He stumbles over and plops down on the couch next to you. 

“Luke got in a fight.”

“Again? Is he okay” Your eyes widen in shock as you lean in towards your boyfriend. The fight Luke had gotten into when kids made fun of Ryan’s glasses last year doesn’t feel that long ago.

Eddie nods, sighing again. He turns his head to look at you, a small melancholy smile on his face.

“Physically, yeah,” he says. “He’s upset though. He started it over something another kid said. About you.”

If the rug was pulled out from under you with the fight news, this crumbles the entire foundation of the house beneath you.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. He reaches over and rubs his hand over your thigh. “That you’re not his real mom.”

Your heart drops. Sadness and anger simultaneously begin to fill the now-empty space in your chest. 

“Can I talk to him?” you ask, a tentative tone to your voice. You’d completely understand if Eddie, as his dad, wanted to be the one to handle this. 

“I think you’re the only one who can make him feel better, honestly,” your boyfriend tells you. 

Something about that touches you. The fact that you have a special enough place carved out in Luke’s life that there’s a pain only you can soothe. 

Unsure of how to respond to that, you nod and push yourself up from the couch.

It’s quiet as you approach Luke’s room, but when you peek your head in, you see him sitting on his bed sniffling and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, you.”

He doesn’t look up at the sound of your voice. Instead, he curls further in on himself and scoots closer to the bottom corner of his bed. Your heart aches more and more with every step you take towards him. 

His Hot Wheels blanket shifts beneath you as you take a seat next to him. 

“Do you want to talk?” you ask him quietly. 

There are a few moments where his sniffling is the only noise in the apartment. Suddenly, Luke turns around and buries his head in your chest, his arms gripping you tightly around the waist. 

A gasp escapes you, shocked at the overt show of emotion. The usually happy and bubbly little boy sobbing into your t-shirt tears your heart in half. You instinctively wrap your arms around him, hugging him close to your body. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you coo before pressing a kiss into his curls. “I’ve got you. Everything is okay.”

Luke’s heart wrenching cries bring tears to your own eyes and you do your best to blink them away. 

“I love you,” you mumble against his hair. “I love you so much, you wouldn’t believe.”

He pulls back and looks up at you with wide watery eyes. His face is tear-stained and rosy red. The pain you find there is unbearable. You’d give anything to make him feel better, to make him happy.

“I…I love you, t-too,” he warbles out. 

You press a kiss to his forehead, and he pulls away a little more so he can wipe his eyes. 

“Are you okay, sweetie?” you ask, reaching up and wiping away a tear he missed. 

“I-I got in a fight,” he admits. 

“About what?”

His bottom lip wobbles but he swallows down the fresh tears that threaten to pour. 

“Brandon Sim-Simpson kept saying you don’t love me because you’re n-not a r-real mommy.”

“Oh, Luke.” One of the tears that had collected spills down your cheek and you’re quick to wipe it away. “You don’t think that, do you?”

The little boy shakes his head, his curls bouncing with the motion. You breathe a sigh of relief. It would absolutely break you if Luke believed this punk kid and doubted your affection for him.

“Good.” Gently, you cup Luke’s face in your hands and look him straight in the eye. “Luke, I love you, Ryan, and Daddy more than anything or anyone else in the world. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone as much as I love you.”

“H-He wouldn’t believe me,” Luke sniffles. 

“Well…then he’s stupid.”

Luke’s eyes widen at your words. He never expected to hear you talk like that about a kid. But this particular kid hurt your boy, so you think calling him “stupid” is on the tame end of the spectrum. 

“Honey, you know that I love you. Me, Ryan, and Daddy all know it and we all love each other. That’s all that matters.” You smooth some curls away from his face. “I know what he said hurt you. He was wrong in what he said. But it’s true I’m also not your mommy.”

The six-year-old glumly nods his head, his eyes downcast.

“But…” You tip his chin back up, so he’ll look at you. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you in the same way a mommy does. Because I do. I would do anything for you.” I would die for you, you think to yourself. I would kill for you. “I will love you for the rest of my life, and even after.”

“Even after?” Luke asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile. “I’ll be a ghost and still try to squeeze you.” You wrap him up in your arms and pull him into your lap. He’s getting a little big for this, but you don’t give a shit.

Luke tucks his head under your chin and his hands grip your upper arms, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. “You’re everything to me, Luke. The fact that I’m not the one who brought you into this world doesn’t change that. Nothing can ever change it. You’re my little boy.”

“You’re better than a mommy,” Luke says against your neck, letting his eyes slip closed.

His words warm your heart, and you give him a soft squeeze. 

“Thank you.” Softly, you rub your hand up and down his back. “Do you feel better?”

You can feel his curls brush against you as he nods his head. He sniffles once more before tilting his head back to look up at you.

“Yes. I’m sorry I got in a fight.”

“I understand the feelings getting too big, sweetheart. But we have to find better ways to express them, okay?”

He nods again and dives back in for another hug. 

You cling to him just as tightly as he does to you. The love the two of you have for one another surrounds you in a warm bubble, solidifying this moment in both of your memories. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for Luke, and you’ll spend the rest of your life showing him in a million different ways. 

[wolverigrl]

Trying to have a romantic night at home with Hugh but the kids and then Ryan who rings him keep runing the mood

😉

Romance and Unicorn Plushies

Hugh Jackman x f!reader

A/N: Thank you for this idea, and I hope y'all like it! xx

Warnings: fluff

Enjoy!

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

Tonight was supposed to be our night. Hugh had finally finished his work, the kids were tucked in, and we were going to have that long-overdue, romantic evening we'd been craving for weeks.

I could already picture it - just the two of us, no interruptions, candlelight, soft music, and then maybe... well, more.

He was in the kitchen finishing up Dinner, and I couldn't take my eyes off him. The way he moved, so effortlessly casual, like he wasn't even aware of how ridiculously attractive he was.

His forearms flexed as he stirred the sauce, and I found my mind drifting to much less innocent thoughts.

"Careful." Hugh teased without even turning around, his voice a low mumble.

"If you keep looking at me ike that, dinner's going to end up burned."

I leaned back against the counter, niting my lip as I gave him a slow once-over.

"Maybe I like my food with a bit of heat."

He turned then, giving me thas boyish grin that always made my heart race.

"Is that so?" He walked over, eyes never leaving mine as he placed his hands on either side of me, caging me in against the counter.

"I can think of a few ways to turn up the heat."

His breath was warm against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine as he leaned in, just close enough for his lips to brush against my ear. The nearness of him, the smell of him, was making it hard to focus on anything other than how padly I wanted him to close the small gap between us.

"Like what?" I asked, my voice teasing as I tilted my head, giving him more access.

"Mmm.." he murmured, his lips grazing my skin in the softest, most frustrating way.

"I could show you.. but it's much more fun if I make you beg for it."

I let out a soft laugh, running a hand up his arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath my touch.

"Hugh Michael Jackman.. do you really think I'm going to beg?"

He smirked, that slow, dangerous smile that set my pulse racing.

"Oh, love, I know you will."

Before I could come up with a witty response, his lips captured mine, slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to drive me insane. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were pressed flush against each other. The heat between us was immediate, electric, and I was suddenly not hungry for anything other than him.

He pulled back just slightly, his lips still hovering over mine, teasing me with every breath.

"Pasta's almost ready.."

I groaned, tugging him back toward me.

"I don't care about pasta!"

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands slipping beneath my shirt to trace lazy patterns on my skin. I could feel every inch of him, the tension building between us like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"Are you sure?" he murmured against my lips. "I've been slaving over a hot stove for you."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me as I pulled him even closer, our bodies flush.

"If you think pasta's more important than this right now, I'm gonna start questioning your priorities!"

"Fair point." he whispered with a grin and his hands wandering lower.

"But you haven't even tried it yet."

His lips trailed down my neck, and tilted my head back, completely giving in to the sensations he was pulling out of me. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to get me to the point where I couldn't think about anything but him. And he was enjoying every second of it.

Just as his hands slipped a little lower, the sound of giggling echoed from upstairs.

We both froze.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" Hugh groaned, dropping his head to my shoulder.

"They swore they were going to sleep." I said, exasperated.

But the laughter continued, and there was no use pretending they'd settle down on their own.

Hugh reluctantly let go of me and straightening up.

"I'Il go check on them."

"I'll come with you." I said with a sigh, and we both headed upstairs.

Sure enough, Ava and Oscar were wide awake, tangled up in sheets and pillows, whispering about something and clearly not planning to sleep anytime soon.

"Guys, come on.." Hugh said, rubbing is forehead.

"You promised you'd be asleep by now."

"Sorry, Dad.." Ava said, looking guilty but still too amused to be fully remorseful.

Oscar just grinned, as if this was all part of his master plan.

"We couldn't sleep."

I couldn't help but smile despite myself.

They were adorable, but right now, I wanted nothing more than to be back downstairs with Hugh, picking up where we'd left off.

"Alright.." Hugh sighed, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"But seriously, you need to go to bed. It's late."

"Can we have one more story? Pleeeease!" Ava asked, pulling out the big, puppy-dog eyes and Hugh, of course, melted immediately.

"One more." he agreed smiling. "But that's it! Then you sleep!"

I gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. He just shrugged sheepishly.

He managed to get them settled after one more short story, and by he time we made it back downstairs, I was ready to pick up exactly where we'd left off. Hugh, as if reading my mind, grabbed my hand, pulling me back into his arm: with that same fiery look in his eyes.

"Where were we?" he asked, his voice a low, seductive murmur. His iands slipped down my back, and I shivered under his touch.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

"I think you were about to make me forget my own name."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against my neck.

"You make it very hard to keep track of time."

His lips brushed mine, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent. His hands slid under my shirt, fingertips grazing the skin of my waist, sending shivers through me. I pressed against him, feeling the solid warmth of his body, every muscle taut with restrained desire.

"Bedroom?" I breathed between kisses.

"Good idea." he muttered, lifting me slightly as we stumbled toward the stairs again without our lips parting.

Just as we reached the foot of the stairs, the doorbell rang.

We both stopped, frozen in place.

Hugh groaned loudly, resting his forehead against mine.

"This is some sort of cosmic joke!"

I couldn't help but laugh, even though I was equally annoyed.

"You should probably get that."

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but headed to the door. I leaned against the banister, trying to catch my breath and calm the frustration that was building as well.

We were so close.

Hugh opened the door, and there, standing in the doorway, was none other than Ryan.

"Ryan?" Hugh asked, exasperation clear in his voice. "It's almost ten o'clock at night!"

"Hey, mate!" Ryan grinned, strolling into the house like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I just remembered my daughter left her unicorn plushy at your place."

Hugh blinked, still confused. "And you remembered that now?"

Ryan nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, she can't sleep without it, so I couldn't wait till morning."

Suddenly he leaned in, whispering just loud enough for us to hear.

"She has superhuman ears for the sound of her teddy bear being touched by anyone but her!"

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me, and when Hugh glanced back at me with amusement, I shrugged.

"Unicorn plushies are serious business!"

"Yeah, see! She gets it!" Ryan said, smiling brightly. "You're the real MVP here!"

Hugh stepped aside, letting Ryan in with a sigh. "It should be somewhere in the living room. Try to be quiet. The kids just went to sleep."

As Ryan tiptoed through the house with exaggerated care, I couldn't stop giggling.

Hugh's frustration was palpable, but there was something so absurd about the situation, it was impossible to stay mad. Ryan, of course, found the plushy within minutes, triumphantly holding it up as though he had found some priceless artifact.

"I found it!" he whispered, glancing around dramatically, as if afraid the sound of his voice alone might wake the kids.

"Great. Now, out." Hugh said, trying to hide a grin, but failing miserably. He leaned against the doorframe crossing his arms in a way that would've looked intimidating to anyone who wasn't Ryan Reynolds.

"Leaving, leaving!" Ryan said, mock-saluting. "Sorry for the intrusion. Looks like you two were busy."

Hugh groaned playfully as Ryan winked at me before strolling out the door, whistling to himself like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Hugh closed the door behind him and turned to me, his face a mix of exhaustion and amusement.

"Why do I put up with him?"

"Because he's your best friend!" I teased, still laughing.

Hugh sighed, running a hand through his hair before walking back over to me, pulling me back into his arms.

"Now, if there are no more interruptions.

Where were we?" I asked, letting my hands wander across his chest feeling the tension still simmering between us.

"I think I was about to make you beg." he murmured, his voice low and teasing, lips brushing against mine.

"And what makes you think I'm going to beg?" I challenged, wrapping my arms around his neck.

His smile widened, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Oh, love, I'll have you begging before the night's over."

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

Tags: @angelofthorr @haytchee

[pedroscowgirl]

Idk if you saw that interview where Hugh was like "I don't have a safe word I want to keep going" but something where it's actually giggly sex 😭

A/N: i hope you like this cuz idk if it turned out the way you wanted but here you go <3 ill add details later cuz its 4 am rn and im tired

The day had been buzzing with excitement as you prepared for the big interview. Hugh and Ryan, ever the dynamic duo, were scheduled to promote their latest film, and you knew it was going to be a mix of sharp wit and hilarious banter. As you stood behind the camera, you watched the two of them take their places, standing side by side. Hugh wore a mint-green polo shirt, his posture relaxed and his face lit up with a broad smile. Ryan, in contrast, had a more deadpan expression, dressed casually in a dark, patterned shirt.

The interview started off smoothly, with the host asking the usual questions about the movie. But then, as expected, the conversation took a playful turn. Ryan, ever the joker, looked straight into the camera, his expression serious as he quipped, "My safe word is ‘please stop, that hurts.’"

The crew burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but chuckle from your spot behind the scenes.

Hugh, standing beside him, grinned widely, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable. "I don’t have a safe word," he declared, his voice deep and smooth. "I want to keep going."

The room erupted in laughter again, the chemistry between the two actors on full display. In that moment, Hugh’s eyes flicked over to where you were standing, and he caught your eye. He flashed you a smile—half playful, half something deeper—and it sent a warm shiver down your spine. It was a fleeting moment, but it felt like a private joke shared just between the two of you.

The rest of the interview continued in the same vein, filled with jokes and teasing, but that brief exchange lingered in your mind, making your heart race.

Later that evening, you arrived home, the day’s events still dancing through your mind like a slow, sweet melody. The house was wrapped in a soft, peaceful silence, but as soon as you stepped inside, you noticed Hugh. He was already there, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, a drink cradled in his hand, his gaze lifting to meet yours the moment you entered. His smile—slow, teasing, and so familiar, curved at the corner of his lips, the kind that always made your heart skip a beat.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself today," he said, his voice rich with warmth and playful insinuation, the sound of it wrapping around you like a slow caress.

You couldn't help but grin, your steps carrying you closer to him, the space between you shrinking with each beat of your heart. "You and Ryan," you said, shaking your head slightly, your smile widening, "were having way too much fun. That safe word comment really got to you, didn’t it?"

Hugh chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air, settling in your chest. He set his drink aside, his arms slipping around your waist in one fluid motion, pulling you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, making you melt into his embrace. "Maybe," he murmured, his lips hovering near your ear, his breath warm and tantalizing against your skin, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. "But it was your laugh that I couldn’t stop thinking about."

Before you had a chance to respond, his mouth was on yours, soft and slow at first, tasting, teasing, exploring. The kiss was sweet, but laced with the same playful energy that had lingered between you all day. His lips pressed harder, more insistent now, as if he wanted to consume every thought, every breath, every inch of you. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer still, until there was no space left between your bodies, only heat and the promise of something more.

You laughed softly against his lips, your breath catching as his kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours, playful yet full of intent. "So," you murmured, your voice breathless as you broke the kiss, just for a moment, "no safe word, huh?"

His grin widened, wicked and full of mischief, as his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. He nuzzled into your neck, his lips trailing feather-light kisses along your pulse. "Only if you say, 'please stop, that hurts,'" he teased, his voice low and rough with desire.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, but it quickly dissolved into a soft moan as Hugh’s kisses turned into playful nips, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your entire body hum with anticipation. The banter, the teasing, it all faded into the background as his hands moved over you, exploring, claiming, until all that remained was the heat between you, the shared breath, the undeniable pull of desire.

Hugh's lips continued their tantalizing path, leaving a trail of warmth and tingling sensation wherever they touched. And your laughter melted into moans, soft whispers exchanged between kisses, the playful energy from the day morphing into something deeper, more intimate, as you both surrendered to the moment.

He scooped you up effortlessly, a surprised squeak escaping your lips as he lifted you into his arms. The feeling of his strength, the way his arms cradled you securely against his chest, made your heart race. With every step toward the bedroom, the anticipation grew, a heady mix of excitement and desire swirling in the air between you.

He set you down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasted with the fiery intensity in his eyes. His gaze never left yours as he slowly undressed you, his hands moving with deliberate care, as if savoring the moment of revealing each part of you.

Hugh paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you laid out before him, a look of awe and affection on his face. The room was quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths, heavy with expectation. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started soft and sweet but quickly deepened, growing hungrier, more demanding. You melted into it, your hands reaching to pull him closer, to feel his warmth against you.

In the soft, warm glow of the room, your bodies were tangled up in the sweetest way, the gentle rise and fall of your breaths matching as you snuggled close. Hugh’s eyes twinkled as they met yours, a mix of love and a playful glint that made your heart skip. His forehead rested against yours, both of you grinning, caught up in the cozy, silly intimacy of the moment.

"I love you sooo much," he whispered with a giggle, his breath warm and soft against your lips. You barely had a chance to respond before he kissed you, quick, teasing kisses that made you both laugh, your smiles breaking between every kiss. His hand slid down your side, fingers tracing your skin like it was the softest thing he’d ever touched. He paused, looking up at you with an exaggerated, playful grin. "Ticklish?" he teased, giving your side a tiny, playful squeeze, and you burst into giggles, squirming beneath him.

As he gently touched you, it wasn’t rushed or intense; it was slow, sweet, and filled with those giggly, breathless moments where you couldn’t help but smile at each other. Every touch was tender, like he was trying to make you laugh as much as he was trying to make you feel good. When his fingers reached your core, you gasped with surprise, but it turned into a light, joyful laugh as your body arched instinctively towards him, the tension mixed with pure delight.

He smiled too, his breathy laughter joining yours. "Oh, you like that?" he teased, his voice soft and playful. You nodded, biting your lip, trying to keep the laughter at bay as his fingers moved with a gentle rhythm that made you feel safe, loved, and totally adored.

The pleasure was real, but so was the lightness between you two. "Oh my gosh," you murmured through another giggle as he hit just the right spot, and Hugh grinned like he was so proud of himself. His thumb circled in a way that had you gasping one moment and laughing the next, the closeness making everything feel warm and perfect, like the two of you were sharing something so beautiful.

"Let go for me," he whispered with a smile, leaning down to kiss your nose, his voice filled with love and mischief all at once. You clung to him as he coaxed you higher and higher, your body trembling, but your heart so full of joy that you couldn’t help but keep smiling.

When the release came, it was like the sweetest kind of relief—your body tensing and then melting into pure, soft bliss. You smiled through it, your hands gripping his arms as the waves of pleasure washed over you, feeling like your whole body was filled with light. "Oh, wow," you gasped between soft, breathless chuckles, and Hugh was right there with you, pressing kisses all over your face like he couldn’t get enough.

"You’re so cute," he murmured, his voice filled with affection as his hands stayed on you, grounding you, keeping the moment tender and safe. You caught your breath, the two of you still tangled up together, all smiles and sweetness.

After a moment, Hugh gave you a playful look, his eyes gleaming with that teasing light. "Round two?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he tugged at his waistband, making you excited all over again. You nodded, grinning, feeling giddy with love and anticipation.

He moved slowly, undressing like he was putting on a show just for you, every move exaggerated in the silliest, most endearing way. When he finally joined you again, his body warm and familiar, he hovered above you, his eyes searching yours one more time, but this time with pure playfulness.

With a slow, gentle movement, he entered you, both of you gasping, but then immediately relaxing. His movements were slow, steady, but filled with love, each thrust bringing you closer, but in the sweetest, most joyful way. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, the two of you so connected that it felt like the world melted away.

“Look at me,” he whispered through a grin, his voice full of love. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and the pure adoration there made your heart swell. He smiled down at you, his eyes twinkling like you were the only person in the world, and you felt like you were floating.

The pleasure built, slowly, softly, until it was almost too much—almost. "Are you sure you don't need a safe word" Hugh said trough the moans as he looked down at you. "No hugh, u can fuck me as hard and as many times as you want" you maneged to get out. And then, with one last, sweet thrust, you were falling over the edge together, the release gentle but overwhelming, your bodies trembling with it. Tears were forming at your eyes, as the last waves of pleasure rolled through you. Hugh held you close,smiling again, his face pressed against your neck as you both caught your breath, wrapped up in each other.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, his voice soft and filled with so much love. You smiled, feeling like the luckiest person in the world as you lay there together, the room quiet, your hearts full. And as you snuggled into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, you knew this was love real, wrapped up in a moment you’d never forget.

"Today was fun," you murmured, resting your head against his chest.

Hugh hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It was. We should definitely do it again sometime. Maybe with a few new safe words."

You both laughed again, the sound carrying you into a peaceful, contented sleep, still wrapped up in each other’s arms.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I'm dedicating this chapter to Becca Butcher, who never did anything wrong in her life. This one's for you.

Chapter Title from Shake it Out by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 26.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You bring Ryan to safety, and Ben prepares for the final showdown. Usual warnings, plus extra violence.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 29 - Chapter 31

Ben found Her in the attic. Curled in a corner, perfect features cast in the shifting light of a lone window, and reading an old, leather-bound book. 

It looked almost fucking magical. Like some sort of painting he’d see in a study or museum, with all her beauty just as permanent and timeless as the sunlight leaking into the room. The dust glowed, hovering in the air and swirling with Her every breath and shift, and Ben paused to just look at Her So goddamn peaceful, so far from the tense shouts and movements of their team downstairs and on the grounds. Setting up weapons and traps and steeling themselves to fight.

Steeling themselves for Homelander.

It was why She was up here. She wasn’t fighting with them, but she still had an hour until she and Ryan left, so she’d grabbed Ben’s arm and whispered in his ear that she was going to go rest. Ben had grunted, kissed the side of her head, and held onto Her heartbeat as she walked away. He couldn’t feel Her—She’d taken the fucking suppressant again, to trick Sage, and now Ben couldn’t fucking feel Her—so he’d kept half of his attention on Her heart every second she was away. He’d marched around the grounds, going over plan after stupid fucking plan with MM, Butcher, and Annie, listened to Frenchie explain the drill a million goddamn times, and given Ryan a hug every time he started to look sad and pointlessly guilty, all without ever letting go of Her heart.

And now, as everything began to settle and it became a game of nerves—of knowing what was coming and never fucking flinching—Ben followed Her heart until he ended up here. Dropping to his knees before Her, letting her look up at him with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and pulling her into his chest. He’d brought her coffee and a bagel, but they got discarded and forgotten on the dusty floor as Ben’s whole existence remained about Her. Just fucking holding Her, hopefully until there would be some sort of goddamn imprint of Her on his skin he could carry with him into battle.

Ben didn’t want Her to go. Not now, not when he couldn’t fucking sense any part of her but what was in his hands. It wasn’t that it wasn’t enough—soft skin and nails digging into his chest and hair he could tangle between his fingers—but he couldn’t fucking sense Her. Ben wouldn’t be able to know that She was safe, that Ryan was safe, that the only two people he cared about hadn’t figured out how to get themselves goddamn killed when he was supposed to protect them.

She’d tell him that it wasn’this job to protect them. That his job was to be there, and love them, and keep them safe with a feeling, but right now Ben didn’t give a fuck. If he lost them here, at the goddamn finish line, he wouldn’t have a lifetime to make them feel safe. To do whatever the fuck families that loved each other did. To make a million stupid breakfasts and watch every movie ever fucking made, to show Ryan how to shave and raise him so he’d earn a woman half as good as She was. To hold Her like this forever and kiss her until she melted into his body.

To let the instinct of Her return, so Ben could fucking feel all Her love and adoration and joy. Because She’d be safe, really fucking safe, living in a world without Homelander or some sort of fucked up game to play, or any war to fight. She’d clean up messes they made, together. In the kitchen and on the stairs and between the sheets of their shared bed. A bed that would belong to them, and nobody would ever try to take away.

But Ben still had to keep Her. He had to not fucking falter here, and remind himself that she did have to go. They couldn’t delay Homelander, Ben had been the one who’d insisted She and Ryan stay away from the fight, and this would help him focus. All he’d have to do is finish the fucking job, and know that he’d feel Her again when it was over. Ben had to keep reminding himself that it was for Her own fucking safety, and he’d see Her again. He’d always fucking see Her again. He’d kill Homelander, their pigeon shit would come back, and he’d go find Her.

Ben was more than goddamn ready to kill Homelander. To spill the pussy’s fucking blood over the grass and turn him into the fucking worm he was. Buried in the dirt, never seeing the goddamn sun again, and sparing it any thought of having to give someone as fucking worthless as Homelander a shred of his demanded light.

“Three hours.” Her words are muffled against Ben’s chest, her head tilting back to watch him. Her eyes are glossy and her expression tired, but She’s still beautiful. Still fucking perfect, and still looking at Ben like she loves him. And it’s all he can goddamn ask for, so he lets a hand drift to her face, tracing the lines and slopes of Her features until he gets a soft smile, and can drag his thumb over the curve of her lips.

“Two hours.” Ben corrects, following his own internal timer. “And fifty-seven minutes.”

She gives him a flat look. “That’s only three minutes, I rounded-“

“It’s three minutes less. Four now, the longer you get all fucking smart with me-“

“You like it when I get smart with you,” Her smile grows to something more real, and it makes Ben feel fucking alive. “It turns you on, you horny old cunt.”

“I’m your horny old cunt. You’re fucking stuck with me,” Ben moves Her hand up between their bodies, and says Her name like it should be said. Like it some sort of perfect, sacred secret that he gets to keep. 

She hums, examining the ring, and Ben knows that on any other day She’d have teased him. She’d have stuck her tongue out, pretended to pull the ring off, and giggled when Ben caught her hand and pushed her to the ground, kissing her until she was a moaning, writhing mess under him. But today is a walking fucking nightmare—or a strange space before it, where you know the nightmare is inevitable, and you’re fucking exhausted, so you can’t do anything but wait to pass out and let it take over—so She just leans back into Ben’s body, propping her head on his shoulder, and looks past him to the window.

“I think it’s going to rain.” Her words are only a breath in Ben’s ear, and he lets his hand wander over Her back, moving her further up his body. “We don’t have floodlights, and it’s probably too late to get them. Annie could be the light, but you’ll probably want her for the combat-“

Ben tugged on Her hair, just enough to get her attention and pull her drawn, worried face to his. To kiss Her long and soft and gentle, and stop the machine that was Her brain from sending her into overdrive.

“Not your job to worry about that shit.” He muttered against Her lips. “We’ve got it.”

“But-“

“No.” Ben dropped his brow to Her’s, and held her quiet, painfully fucking tragic gaze with the most goddamn certain one he could manage. His voice had to be strict and firm, because Ben was going to kill Homelander, and She wasn’t going to need to lift a goddamn finger to find it washed in blood. “We’ve fucking got it. You’re going to go with Ryan, and not goddamn worry, because we’ve got it. Read some books, stay away from the TV, and wait to feel me. Then I’ll come get you, and we’ll get fucking married-“

“Right after?” She giggled, and it was like fucking music because—even if it was quiet and soft—it meant She was a little bit happier. “Are we having a shotgun wedding?” She made a mock gasp, leaning fully back with a glimmering, wide-eyed expression. “Am I pregnant? Is it yours?”

Ben snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t joke about that shit, it’s not fucking funny-“

“You laughed.“ She gave him a pretty, fake pout, fingers tapping at his chest, and She was so fucking beautiful and hilarious and perfect that Ben had laughed. 

And he still did not want to entertain that line of thought at fucking all. The very damn possibility that Ben was about to leave Her, and she could be pregnant, and it would be his because who the hell else would have made that happen, and fuck, Ben was not going to leave Her if-

“I’m not pregnant,” Her hands moved to hold his face as she spoke, her expression falling into one of worry. “It was a joke, my love.”

“I fucking cum in you-“

“I’m aware, Benjamin.” She drawled, and sighed at the scowl that Ben could feel over his face, running her fingers through his beard. “It’s, I know I can, Homelander made the scientists check, but I’m not. I think it’s part of the V. The healing.”

“The V.”

“I mean, my healing factor sort of like a stasis, right? It’s why I can’t get sick, or be poisoned, and I only get my period once a year. And, um, I think if I don’t want to be, I won’t.”

Ben started at Her for a long, silent moment before grunting, “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“If I’m not ready, if my body isn’t ready, that won’t happen.” She sighed, dropping her head into Ben’s shoulder. “I mean, we fuck all the time, and, um, Homelander wasn’t really all about protection-“

“Fine.” Ben cut it off there. He understood now, he fucking believed Her—she was a whole lot smarter than he was, and always fucking right, so there was no damn need for doubt—and had almost negative fucking desire to think about Homelander right now. Doing that, or touching Her, or trying to fucking hurt her in any goddamn way. Just the damn thought made his grip on Her tighten, because nothing should hurt Her. Nothing would hurt Her, and she needed to damn know that. “You’re okay.”

She nodded slowly against his body. “I’m okay. I’m,” she let out a long breath, and her arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m tired.”

“You’ll rest-“

“I won’t.”

Ben frowned, angling her chin up with a careful hand to find Her smiling at him in a way that wasn’t making it any fucking easier to think about leaving her. All love and want, searching over his face like She was trying to memorize it. He grunted Her name, and she sat a little higher, holding herself at his eye level.

“I’m not going to rest, Ben. I’m going to worry about you. I’m,” She smile grew, and it was only made of fucking exhaustion and love and an ache that Ben could feel around his ribs. “I love you. And if you die, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’m not going to fucking die-“

“And I can’t die.” She gave him a pointed look. “But you’re going to worry about me.”

“That’s not the same-“

“Yeah, it is-“

“It’s fucking not.” Ben snapped. “I die, you’ve still got Ryan. You’ve still got all the pussy fuckers downstairs and your family. You die, I’m done. I’ll be a graveyard coke snorter, Sunshine, and no one will even give me any goddamn coke-“

She leaned up, kissing him in the soft, easy, shut up way he usually kissed Her, and Ben fucking hated this. He should be comforting Her. He was built for battle, for war, for blood and dirt and killing in Her name, and it was not her fucking job to kiss him like this right now-

“If you want coke,” She said against his lips, and a lot of the fight in his body fucking evaporated into radiant light at the look of adoration in Her eyes. “I’ll get you some coke, Pretty Boy. But if I die, which I won’t, you won’t be done. You’ll have Ryan-“

“If one of us is dying and leaving the other with Ryan, it should be me. He likes you more-“

She wrinkled her pretty nose, whacking his arm. “He likes you plenty, you dickhead. And neither of us are dying, so we don’t need to talk about this. We can talk about how I think Hughie was going to propose to Annie and you stole his thunder, or how I think A-Train and Ashley might be sleeping together, or our wedding, but no planning our estate or trying to figure out who’s going to die. Got it?”

Ben felt something loosen around his lungs, and he grinned, dropping to nip and suck at Her neck. “It’s real fucking hot when you yell at me-“

“I know, that’s why I do it.” Her voice was an airy, happy breath, and Ben didn’t think it was possible to be in real pain when they were like this. Her legs around his torso, his mouth attached to her skin, everything fucking good.

“Brat.” He muttered, pulling back to search Her wide, slightly flushed, perfect fucking face. “We should do it now.”

“Do-“

“Get married. Right fucking now. MM’s probably a minister or some shit, he seems like the type, we can just do it-“

She shook her head, and Ben fell silent on pure fucking instinct as Her hands glided over his face. “Not now, Ben. I don’t even have a dress-“

“You don’t need a dress, beautiful, we can-“

“I want to do a real wedding,” She said, her eyes almost pleading. “I want to have a stupid, normal, insanely fucking expensive wedding, where I throw flowers and you have to pretend you like talking to people, and I get to see you in a suit, and you,” she pressed a small, innocent kiss to Ben’s cheek before moving to whisper in his ear. “Get to do the garter thing. Behind closed doors, because there’s not a chance you don’t start eating me out the moment you get there.”

Ben loved her so fucking much. “Fine. But if we’re not married by October, I’m-“

“Waiting very patiently? Because you’re a very good husband?” She kissed him in that same sweet way, and Ben rolled his eyes.

“You’re a fucking menace, Sunshine.” Ben bumped his nose with Her’s, she fucking giggled again, and he felt high. “And I am not getting married in November, it’s a dogshit fucking month, but-“

“How about December?” She tilted her head, words slow and careful. “I know we don’t love the winter, but it’ll be one year of us knowing each other. That feels symbolic-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that. I just want to get married. Soon.” He grumbled, and earned a wide, bright, toothy smile as She squirmed in his lap, her words soft and happy.

“I can live with that.”

“Good.”

“We can do it in August? Inside, so that the only sweaty and gross things are you and I after-“

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Ben said Her name with a smirk, and she hit his chest, sticking out her tongue.

“Fuck you, Benjamin, we both know you’re just marrying me for the amazing honeymoon sex we’re going to have, and maybe the opportunity to dress Butcher in a pretty dress for his flower girl role-“

“I am marrying you for a lot of reasons,” he muttered, kissing the space between her eyes and trying to inhale the easy, blissful sigh that left Her. “But our sex is always fucking amazing, we don’t need a fucking flower girl, and Butcher should count himself lucky he’s allowed to be there.”

“What about Ryan?”

“I am not making Ryan the fucking flower girl-“

“No, Benjamin, he should be the best man.”

Ben froze for a second, scanning Her soft, thoughtful expression with a furrowed brow. “Have you been fucking thinking about this?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled, turning her flushed face to press into Ben’s arm, her heart hitting an uneven, fluttering pace in her chest. “It’s been a good distraction. From, uh, everything.”

He nodded slowly, and started to draw slow, firm patterns on her skin. “What else have you thought about.”

“I think Kimiko would like to be the flower girl,” Her voice was muffled in his body, more uncertain than Ben liked, so he just hummed and kept listening. “She likes to do pretty, simple things, I think it helps her cope with the whole situation. I would like Annie to be on my side, but I really think you should take Hughie. He might get all panicky and red when you ask, but it will mean a lot to him. And I, I want MM there, but I’d understand if he doesn’t want to be-“

“He will.” Ben muttered. “He likes you a fuck ton more than he hates me.”

“I know, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable-“

He drawled Her name, kissing the top of her head. “We’re well fucking past uncomfortable. He’s accepted that I’m not going a single goddamn place without you, that I fucking love you, and that you love me. He’ll be there.”

“I do love you.” She mumbled, kissing the base of Ben’s neck and curling her fingers in his hair. “You burn, I burn. No burning without me, Benjamin, or I’m serious. I’ll fucking kill you.”

He chuckled, squeezing the skin of her hips. “Deal, Sunshine. You burn, I burn.”

She smiled up at him, all sweet and adoration and love and fuck she was going to kill him. He couldn’t fucking do this, he couldn’t fucking move from this warm, impossibly fucking good moment, and he never wanted to let Her go. 

Ben was vaguely aware that she had been right. It was raining, and the attic had dropped into a damp, heavy darkness Ben could feel over his skin and inside his lungs. He could hear thunder in the distance, hear the drumming of the rain on the roof above them, but Her heartbeat was more important—sacred and critical and all fucking Ben’s—so he held onto that. He held onto Her for as long as he was fucking allowed to, until her phone buzzed and she had to pry away from Ben’s grip to take the call.

“Where are you.” MM’s voice was static and muffled through the speaker, and she sighed, watching Ben as she answered.

“In the attic with Ben, why-“

“You’re rolling out now.” There was a sense of almost apologetic urgency in MM’s words, and Ben felt his hands tense as Her heart stuttered. 

“Now? I thought we had another thirty-“

“This storm is looking heavy, and I don’t want you trying to drive in it if it gets worse. You’re packed?”

“Yeah. I did Ryan’s bag as well-“

“Where-“

“In our room. But, MM-“

“Look.” MM sighed through the phone, and She swallowed. “I don’t want to fucking cut it off early either, but we don’t know when Homelander will be here, and I’d rather get this over with and know we got you out safely. Is Soldier Boy-“

“I’m here.” Ben grunted, leaning forward as she held the phone between their bodies. “What.”

“Get her downstairs, then meet Butcher and Annie in the kitchen. We’re going over everything again. No errors.”

Ben nodded, and when he looked back to Her sad, open, slightly hollow expression, everything in him became steel. If fucking anything went right tonight, it would be that She was going to be safe. That nothing was ever going to fucking hurt Her again. “Got it. Did Frenchie-“

“Guns are in the dining room. See you soon, motherfucker.”

The phone line clicked dead, and She wasn’t fucking moving. She wasn’t falling into Ben, or pulling away from him, but she was just fucking frozen. Staring at him with glassy eyes and an open mouth, her heart uneven and her nails digging into Ben’s skin, rising with smoke.

Ben didn’t bother to speak, because words wouldn’t fucking help. He gave her a long, slow kiss, letting her part open for him at the first sweep of his tongue over her lips, and deepening it until her body was warm but not burning, and Her heart was fast but not erratic.

It was a promise. Neither of them were attempting to stand and leave, because this was a silent fucking oath that Ben would find Her. That She’d be safe with Ben still lingering on her lips and teeth, and Ben would fight with the taste of honey and chocolate on his tongue, the smell of flowers everywhere around him. He’d run his fingers through her hair again, and she’d hold his face in that way that told Ben she was seeing him. That She was touching him and wanting him and had no fucking intention of ever being anywhere else, because She wanted Ben to look at Her, and she loved looking at him.

And Ben fucking loved Her. And he’d be here again—with Her in his arms, but all her fucking love alight in his body—because there just wasn’t another fucking option. He’d finish this by the time the sun reappeared in the sky, and he’d feel Her again before that. Just two fucking hours, and Ben would be able to sense her again. 

He’d made it a lifetime never feeling Her at all. He’d made it two months without feeling Her or knowing she loved him. He wasn’t a fucking pussy, he’d manage to survive less than three goddamn hours knowing she was safe, that she loved him, and then worship and tend to Her for a million goddamn years when this was done.

She let Ben carry Her downstairs, burying her face in his neck and still clinging to him when they reached the kitchen and he lowered her to the ground. Ben looped his arm around her waist, holding Her as steady as he could, and neither of them spoke as he guided her outside. Into the rain, cold and stinging on his skin, her body against his the only real thing in the whole fucking universe. 

They were taking the car She and Ben had stolen in Boston, and most everyone was already there. Ashley and A-Train were squished into the back with Zoe, Neuman was twisted around in shotgun to hold her daughter’s hand and whisper soothing words, and MM was standing on the driver’s side as they approached, tall and unflinching in the downpour as he gave them a curt nod of greeting and tossed Her the keys.

Ben snatched them out air with a scowl, his eyes narrowing at MM. “She is not fucking driving-“

“Shut up, Benjamin-“

“No. You’re a goddamn threat to your own safety when you drive-“

“When it’s just us,” She snapped, and tried to jump up to grab the keys from Ben’s hand, held high over her head. “I’m not going to be reckless with two kids in the car-“

“And she’s the only one I trust to drive, you asshole.” MM crossed his arms, scowling at Ben. “So unless you want Neuman to drive your wife and son around in the middle of this shit, give her the fucking keys.”

Ben did not appreciate that use of wife and son, because MM knew exactly what the fuck he was pulling with it. He’d backed Ben into a corner where She now had to have the keys, because Ben didn’t fucking trust Neuman, and she wouldn’t be reckless with Ryan in the car, but Christ. He mostly just didn’t want Her to go. Ben knew She’d be careful, that when she’d went she’d be safe, but if he kept the keys where she couldn’t get them—where nobody could get them, because Ben was a fuck ton stronger than all these pussies—he’ never have to say goodbye.

And She must have seen that on his face, because when Ben passed her the keys with a scowl, she kissed his cheek with a sad, loving smile and let Ben half pick her up off the ground as he deepened every part of this. It wasn’t a fucking goodbye, not by a damn mile, but Ben still gave Her fucking everything left he had to offer. His mouth and body fitting perfectly against every part of her, his touch on Her skin careful and deliberate, and the atomic light in his body that might be the bomb and might just fucking be his love for Her radiating into the air. Ben kissed Her and held her until they couldn’t fucking feel the rain, and her heart was beating in perfect time with his.

“I love you,” he said Her name down her throat, and she fucking knew that, and Ben was still never going to stop saying it. “I fucking love you, and I’ll find you. I’ll always fucking find you.”

“I know you will,” She mumbled, pulling away slowly, as if it was painful. It fucking was. “I trust you, Benjamin, my love. I know.”

Ben already had Her face memorized but he still stared. Still tried to look at Her enough that, when he closed his eyes, She’d be the only thing he saw. Listening closely enough that, between any explosion or sound of pain or splash of rain on gravel, he’d hear the perfect, musical sound of Her voice. He could live here, he decided. If all of time froze and Ben was trapped in this storm forever, it would be in a moment where She was looking at him, and he was holding Her, and everything ached but Ben still fucking had Her.

He wouldn’t lose Her. He’d repeated it to himself countless fucking times, and it had become some sort of oath between him and the universe, but right now it was a prayer. God wasn’t fucking real, the world was too cruel for that, but Ben still was asking for one last favor. He didn’t deserve it, but he still needed to look at Her and fucking plead that he would fucking find Her. That Ben could let go of Her and it wouldn’t be painful, because he had an hour and forty-four minutes left until he could feel Her, and when he did he’d only feel Her love. Only feel Her up and down his spine and wrapped around his skull, making everything in his vision glow and the drums pound of out his chest in an avenging beat of Her. She was fucking safe, and loved Ben, and now this was going to be fucking over.

So when Butcher and Ryan joined them—Butcher giving them a rough nod and Ryan running to give Ben a tight hug—all Ben could do was fucking pray. 

“I don’t want to go,” Ryan muttered, looking up at Ben with wide eyes that he could fucking taste the fear in. “I can help-“

“It’s not your job to help, Ryan.” Ben knelt down, holding Ryan’s gaze with his own glare. “Your job is to go with her, and wait for me to come get you. I’ll take care of this, and you’re going to be fucking fine.”

“What if you lose-“

“I won’t.”

“But-“

“I won’t fucking lose, kid. I don’t lose.” That wasn’t really true anymore, but it made Ryan’s face relax slightly, so Ben said it anyway. “So don’t worry about me. I’ve got it.”

Ryan mumbled Her name, glancing to where She and Butcher were exchanging low words Ben couldn’t decipher over the pounding of the rain around him and the drums inside him. “Um, she said you lose. She said you’ve never beaten her at a card game, or won any of your fights.”

Ben snorted. “That’s because she’s a fucking genius, and nobody can beat her in a fight. That woman could talk circles around a hundred damn people at once. And,” he lowered his voice, leaning closer to Ryan with a grin. “I let her beat me at card games.”

“Why?” Ryan titled his head with a frown that was remarkably fucking uncanny to Her’s, and Ben’s smirk widened. 

“Because she loves winning.”

“But it’s just a card game-

“I know that. And she really fucking loves winning. And I love her.” Ben shrugged, because in his head it was pretty goddamn simple. They played, he went out his way to lose, and she lit up like the goddamn sun after. Ben got extra ice cream, and extra sex, and She was all fucking bouncy and bright for the rest of the day, so he could lose a stupid fucking card game. “When you love someone, you let them have stupid shit that makes them happy.”

Ryan nodded slowly—it was an almost eerie imitation of Her slow nod, that told Ben they understood something, but were still thinking about it—and his frown became less strained on his face. “Okay. What does,” Ryan paused, closing his mouth once before continuing. “Does the card game, um, does it make her really happy?”

“It makes her fucking glow.” Ben looked over to where She was still talking to Butcher, and his grin became all teeth and raw fucking joy when She glanced at him, her whole face relaxed, and her smile became the one that told him Ben. Ben, I love you and adore you and want you. He turned his attention back to Ryan, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “You ever want to get her in a good mood, lose a game of cards.”

Ryan nodded slowly, and Ben knew the kid probably wouldn’t use that tactic nearly as much as he did. Ben used it, or others like it, any time he saw her eyes grow fogged, heard her breathing become mechanical, or felt her nails dig into his arm. He’d lose a bet about who got to make dinner or chose the movie or let Her lead sex just to see her fucking smile. Ben could eat next to anything, and watch a million hours of fucking static, and have almost any damn form of sex as long as it was with Her.

And Ben wouldn’t be able to be with Her for this. He’d have to just fucking wait, and keep fucking praying. Praying that Her firm handshake with Butcher was because even that damn pussy was on board with what this was about. 

Killing Homelander. Keeping Her and Ryan safe. 

That’s all it had been about since the very fucking start, and Ben got that now. He’d get that for the rest of his fucking life, and his last prayer to the universe was that he’d been right. That this was some sort of fucked up heaven—where Ben got to have a real family, and be loved a perfect fucking woman, and repent for the rest of his goddamn life to earn that—and not the most twisted hell imaginable. That this wasn’t well-designed torture, where everyone had somehow forgiven him, and he felt loved for the first time in a hundred years—was happy for the first time in his fucking life—only have it all taken away. To have Her ripped away from him and, to lose. Lose this war, lose the only people that mattered in the entire goddamn universe, lose the love of his life and have no one to blame but himself.

She bumped past Butcher to return to Ben’s side, and pulled Ryan into a long, tight hug without a word. Ryan’s head buried in her chest, Her body over his to shield him from the rain, and Ben wanted to crawl up from where he’d found himself—kneeling in the mud, drenched in a downpour She’d probably call mythical or some shit—and fucking hold them.

Her eyes opened, meeting Ben’s, and her tiny nod was like a command over his whole body. He stood, almost launched across to the small space to where She and Ryan stood, and took all the rain like they were fucking bullets. Another way to repent, another way to prove his love, and another way to keep them safe.

“Can you,” Ryan’s voice was muffled between Her and Ben’s bodies, drowned out in the unrelenting pound of the rain, but Ben still heard them. Right now all he could fucking hear was the rain, Her heart, and Ryan’s unsure words. “Ben, can you come with us? Please?”

She tensed slightly, but looked to Ben for his answer.

She trusted Ben to handle this himself. That he’d say the right thing, not fuck Ryan up more than the poor kid already had been, and all She had to do was back up what he said.

“I can’t, kid.” He muttered, holding Ryan’s sad gaze and making his words a fucking promise. Something so certain Ryan wouldn’t even bother to worry. “I’ve got to stay here and fight. But she’s going to take good care of you, and I’ll find you both when it’s over.” Ben felt something impossibly fucking painful, overtake his body, and his words became rough. Edged with that same pain, lined with the knowledge that he could convince Ryan they’d be safe—he could convince his damn self they’d be safe—but he still couldn’t fucking feel Her, and they still had to go. “All you have to do is wait. You’ll get somewhere safe, survive this mythical storm, and just fucking wait.” He glanced up at Her, and this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to fucking say. “Take care of each other, and I swear on my fucking life I’ll find you. I’ll always fucking find you.”

“Okay.” Ryan squeezed Ben one last time, and looked to Her with an open, soft expression. “Can I-“

“Go wait in the car, Ry. I’ll be right there.” She pulled the kid back against her and let him stay there until he was ready to god. Until Ryan pried himself from Her body, and walked away with one last fearful look at Ben. Not fear of Ben—Ben knew what that fear looked like, and it was more terror than worry—but fear for him, and Ben was going to fucking roar louder than any rain or thunder or bomb.

“Mythical?” She whispered, moving Her gaze from Ryan to Ben with a sad adoring smile. “What’s a mythical storm?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I don’t fucking know. What the hell would you have said-“

“Biblical? A biblical storm?”

“Smartass.”

“You love it.” She sighed, shuffling right into Ben’s chest and pulling his arms around Her as if they hadn’t been about to hold Her on pure fucking instinct. “You love me.”

“I do.” He ran his hands through her wet hair and pressing a kiss to the top of Her head, speaking against her skin. “I really fucking love you, Sunshine.”

“Good.” She hummed, her own arms wrapping over his torso and squeezing. “Because I really fucking love you too.”

Neither of them spoke after that—neither of them needed to speak—and when she pulled Ben’s face down to Her’s for an unhurried, sloppy kiss, he bit Her lower lip in a silent promise. 

I’ll find you. When this is over, I’ll come get you, and I love you. I won’t ever lose you, because I love you, and if this does turn out to be hell, the Devil better run for the goddamn hills because I’ll burn the entire universe to get you home.

She didn’t hear the promise between their heads, or read it on his face, but she didn’t need to. Ben had told Her that in a million goddamn ways, and right now it was more of a warning to whatever might be listening. That the world better fucking pray that Ben didn’t lose Her, because he wouldn’t kill anything innocent in Her name—She’d hate that, and Ben loved Her—but he’d raze and maul and scorch anything that was guilty.

And the world must have heard him, because lightning cracked through the sky—lighting up Her every perfect feature and making Her look like some sort of forgotten, vital god that turned the world round and created all its beauty but still only looked at Ben—and Ben was forced to let Her go. To press his brow to Her’s, trace his hands over Her face to wipe any water that might be tears, and leave one long, gentle kiss to her lips before he had to watch her walk away. Meet Her eyes one last time, see that She loved him on every single part of Her beautiful face. Feel the world a little beyond himself, feel peaceful and infinite and warm in the chill of the rain, and know that Her sharp, adoring gaze would follow him, and the deep, unstoppable, consuming look in her eyes was love.

I love you, Benjamin. 

There was iron wrapped over his lungs and throat, and a roaring rush of fury and blood in his chest, but it was all drowned out by Her. And it was easy to look at Her and nod, and Ben didn’t have to think to turn his face into an expression of his own pure, devout ardor and affection. 

I love you too, Sunshine.

She nodded, and something in Ben became a heavy weight he was happy to carry as the car pulled away. She knew he loved her, and that was all that fucking mattered. His whole world was in that stupid fucking car, and he’d carry that piece of Her inside of him, the crucial and holy responsibility of loving Her, until he could feel her again. Ben would bear this on his shoulder and over his head until he could pull the universe back into his arms, and then he’d breathe. He’d crash into Her and spend the rest of time where he belonged, but until then he had a fucking job to do. 

The next time Ben saw Her, he needed to be able to look Her in the eyes and tell her Homelander was dead.

They gathered in the kitchen, and Ben could barely fucking breathe. It wasn’t just the strain and mold on his heart leaking into his lungs, it was the very air in the goddamn room. Heavy and cold, but still humid and thin, wearing them down before the fight even began.

It was wrong without Her here. Wrong to listen to MM recite a plan She made without her listening, without her correcting or amending anything, without Ben having anything to hold but a gun in his hand, anything to touch but the splintered wooden table they sat around. It was wrong to not feel Her anywhere but in the empty space at his side, or hear Her heartbeat and voice in the static silence of a ceiling fan. 

“Here’s the deal.” MM’s words were short as he scanned over the team, hands sorting the guns in a neat line on the table. “Everyone gets two guns. One regular, one drill. We got enough for one V bullet each, which means you do not take a shot unless you’re going to hit. Not you think you’re going to hit, you’re going to hit. A shot you’d have to be a real fucking idiot to miss. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, and Hughie raised a shaking hand in the air.

“What if, um, you’re just not good with a gun and don’t want to fuck anything up more than it already has been-“

“Everyone gets a gun, Lad.” Butcher snapped. “You got hands and eyes. Fuckin’ use them.”

Hughie gave a mumbled, sheepish agreement, and Frenchie cleared his throat.

“I did not, ah, account for the rain, but it should not be an issue. There are alarm triggers and traps all over the grounds, and, Petite Hughie-“

“Vicky was right,” Hughie tapped his computer on the table. “Edgar had the place wired. I’ve never see so many hidden tree cameras, I thought that was only a thing in movies-“

“Well, Edgar’s more of a paranoid asshole than most, and now we get the benefit.” MM crossed his arms, his expression grim. “Homelander won’t be able to take a piss in the woods without us knowing what leaf he uses to wipe. Hughie will keep eyes on the cams, and Frenchie’s alarms, and we can hope that the rain is in our favor. I’d imagine the overload of sound won’t help him-“

“It won’t.” Ben grunted, because the rain was starting fucking overwhelm him. It was all he could fucking hear, without Her heart there to latch onto, and it was going to drive him fucking insane. “He won’t be able to pull footsteps or random fucking heartbeats out of the noise. It’s an advantage, so fucking use it.” He moved his glare around the table. “If you can, shoot during thunder. He won’t hear the gun fire, and the pussy probably won’t bother to dodge anyway, but no risks. No fucking missing, and no going off on your own stupid little vengeance quest.” Ben’s attention moved to Butcher, and he made his words a threat. A promise of violence if Butcher screwed this up for him, for Her, for the entire goddamn world. “If Homelander isn’t fucking dead by tonight because you decided to go all scorched earth instead of sticking the goddamn plan, I’ll kill you.”

“I ain’t lookin to fuck you, Gov. Didn’t bring any protection, and I’m more damn scared of your wife than I am of you. Don’t want her findin out about our little affair and flayin me alive.” 

Butcher’s words were casual and mocking, but Ben could hear the pussy’s heart over the rain—hammering at a fucking mile a minute—and see the almost imperceptible tick of his jaw, so he wasn’t fucking worried. Butcher understood that Ben would have his back, and if he got fucking stabbed in it, Butcher would die a nuclear, bloody, violent death.

MM coughed before continuing, giving Ben a short nod and starting to push the drills—along with small earpieces—out around the table. “One shot. No missing. Keep your coms on, and be fucking careful. Homelander’s got nothing left to lose, and he’s going to fight like it.”

“I still think I should be able to just, uh,” Hughie’s eyes widened as MM handed a gun to Annie, his voice growing higher with every damn word. “Watch the cameras without a gun? I’m not going to be out in the fight-“

“What if Homelander pushes through the door?” Frenchie suggests, loading up his own drill. “It is either boom, no more Hughie, or bang,” Frenchie made finger guns, shooting into the air. “No more Homelander.”

Hughie nodded, face bloodless. “Yeah, that’s. Okay. Shit. I’ll take a gun, please.”

“You’ll be okay, Hughie.” Annie gave a sweet, encouraging smile, and Hughie blushed. “You’re not a terrible shot.”

Ben grunted Her name, glowering at his own gun. “She had you fucking train her. And you didn’t do a total fucking pussyass job, before I took over. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, um,” Hughie swallowed. “Thanks, Ben.”

Ben just shrugged, focusing on putting in his earpiece in and not breaking the weapon in his hands. Ben fucking hated this. He hated just waiting for Homelander to arrive instead of going and finding the asshole, fighting him,and finishing this without any sitting on their goddamn asses. He hated that She was the one who told them to wait, and she was always fucking right, and Ben knew that waiting was smarter, but he still fucking hated it. He goddamn despised that She was out there with Ryan, without him, and there was still a whole goddamn hour until he could feel Her again, until Ben could be goddamn certain that she was safe-

He saw the light first. Out the window there was a flash of yellow light in the distance, then, over the storm, the bang of an explosion.

Everyone fucking moved. Seats scraping on the floor as they were pushed away, guns aimed at the door and the stomping of feet to cover their every goddamn vulnerability point. Frenchie and MM patrolling the upper halls, Kimiko in the attic, Butcher in the living room, Annie in the kitchen, and Ben in the entrance hall. Gun raised at the door, the drums completely under his control and more than fucking ready to burst out of his chest. Every fraction of light and fury in Ben’s body was humming and golden over his bones, dug inside his muscles, and he wasn’t goingtomiss. If Homelander was enough of an idiot to try and walk right through the door, Ben’s finger was set on the trigger, and the pussy would die in the fucking mud as Ben blasted him backward and ended this.

But all Ben could hear was the wind and rain. Banging at the doors and falling everywhere around him, loud but not enough to cover up another explosion or the shout of a teammate for aid. 

But neither of those things fucking came. And if Ben focused he could hear rapid, panicked heartbeats, but no bombs, and no blood.

Just the fucking wind.

“There’s,” Annie’s voice was quiet in Ben’s ear. “There’s nothing over here. No Homelander, no open fire. Nothing.” “Same here.” MM said, his voice a little firmer. “But stay alert, he could be playing some sort of game-“

Butcher cut over MM, a slight screeching sound cutting into Ben’s head that made him grimace. “Homelander don’t play games, Mate. Mighta just been a real bloody unlucky squirrel.”

“Non, the traps are calibrated to human weight.” Frenchie sighed over the coms. “Maybe a baby deer, though. I cannot be sure.”

“It’s pouring, a baby deer wouldn’t be outside, right? It would be-“

“It wasn’t a baby-” There was another static shriek as Hughie cut over Annie, and Ben could hear the chorus of groans through the house. “Shit, sorry guys. But it, um, it wasn’t a baby deer. I actually, I don’t see anything here. No dead animals, no people, no Homelander. Anywhere.”

MM hummed, and Ben could fucking hear his frown. “The motherfucker could be toying with us. Luring us outside while he waits in the sky-“

“I fuckin told you, MM.” Butcher didn’t apologize as the static cut in once more, and the next person who made that horrible fucking sound happen was getting their head ripped off. “Homelander don’t play with his food. Not when he’s real angry. He’s either gonna burst through the door and fuckin eat us, or he ain’t here and that was a squirrel.”

“It wasn’t a squirrel.” Hughie sounded urgent, and Ben could hear his fucking tapping at the laptop over the rain. “It was something, but not a squirrel.” There was another, softer, muffled voice through Hughie’s com before he continued. “Oh, uh, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

Ben scowled. “What fucking idea.”

“Annie said to look for what bomb went off. It was the…” Hughie trailed off, the sound of his typing growing rapid, then, “Seventh bomb. Down by the creek.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Annie cleared her throat into the speakers.

“I think we should send a team. Just to make sure it’s really nothing.”

“Fine.” MM paused, and Ben jumped in.

“I’ll go. I’m invincible, and if it is Homelander, I’ll just fucking shoot him.”

“No,” MM muttered, and even though no one could see it, Ben scowled. “It could be a play to get you out. You���re the one he views as a threat, it might be a lure.”

“Nah, I’m with Soldier Boy.” Butcher said, and Ben wished he would shut the fuck up. Butcher backing up a plan was never a good thing. “We all got drills, and Homelander don’t got a goddamn clue. If it is a lure, he ain’t ready for us to be ready for him. I’ll go out with the old cunt, and if it’s nothing, we’ll be right back in shake of a cock’s ass.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and could almost fucking see the wrinkle of Her nose. Almost hear Her say there’s literally no way that’s a real phrase. 

He couldn’t actually hear it—forty-five minutes—but he could imagine it.

“I can go too,” Annie added. “I can be a light source.”

MM still didn’t relent. “I don’t want to send two of my three supes out there. Not when we don’t know what the fuck that was.”

“Think of it like this,” Ben drawled, keeping his gaze on the door. “If it is Homelander, we can fight him. If it’s not, Butcher’s not a fucking idiot for once. He won’t be expecting you to have the guns, and you can shoot the stars and stripes pussy in his fucking mouth, I’ll come back, and he’ll die.”

There was a second of static, then MM’s grunt of, “Fine. But be fast, don’t be stupid, and keep on coms.”

“Aye fuckin aye, Mate. Lines on, be quick.” Butcher rounded the corner to the hall, winking at Ben. “Oi, Gov, you want anythin before we go out? Gonna put on your fuckin suit for the grand fight?”

“You want to eat my fucking asshole?” Ben snapped, because he’d very fucking purposefully traded his suit for normal, boring ass clothing. Homelander could wear a costume and fight like a fucking monster. Ben would dress like a goddamn person, and fight like an asshole who had something to lose, and people to fight for. Bloody and unforgiving, but still goddamn human. Not Soldier Boy, fighting for some sort of annoying fucking honor before. Ben was himself, and he was killing Homelander for Her. 

She’d say there could be symbolism in killing Homelander while dressed as Soldier Boy, and having that be his final act in the suit. And Ben would listen to Her, then kiss the space between her eyes and mutter that he didn’t fucking care about symbolism. He cared that She was fucking safe, and Homelander was dead. Half of his uniform was at the bottom of the fucking ocean, and when this was over, Ben would burn his Soldier Boy suit and be done for good.

But right now—Annie and Butcher a pace behind him—Ben had to wander out into the darkness of rain and try to remain vigilant when he couldn’t tell up from down. It was so fucking loud, and he had to fucking focus but Christ, it was loud-

“Hey, Ben.” Annie jogged up to his side, and Ben glanced at her with a frown.

“What.”

Annie said Her name, and it was like it set something off in his body that roared with love and care and focus. “She, um, she told me more about Rome. And I wanted to thank you-“

Ben’s frown deepened, and his words became curt. “Why.”

“Because you really make her,and Ryan, actually, happy.” Annie sighed, scanning over Ben’s face in the dark of the storm. “And I’m not going to apologize for the tower last year, you were being a dick and I’d do it again, but I will say I don’t regret listening to her. When she told us to wake you up. I mean, I didn’t think this would happen, but I’m glad it did. And I’m glad she has you, even if you’re like, so gross together.”

“Good.” Ben grunted, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. “Thanks.”

Annie nodded, moving to fall back another step, and Ben scowled. 

“I’m glad she has you as well.” He added, and it was Annie’s turn to look like a fucking idiot. “She deserves a friend who can’t shut her up by fucking her stupid.”

“That’s what I mean.” Annie muttered, but there was something lighter in her tone. “That’s disgusting, who just says that-“

Ben said Her name, and couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “She’d say that shit. She’s a horny fucking problem, Annie, I don’t know how she tricked you pussies, but she was fucking begging to blow me in a bathroom last week-“

Annie made a face, and Butcher laughed from behind them.

“I knew the lady wasn’t all fucking prim and proper words. Good on you, Gov. That ain’t a shit job.”

Ben whipped around, stopping dead in his tracks to glower at Butcher. “Fucking watch it-“

“Calm your bloody tits.” Butcher raised his hands in mock surround, rolling his eyes. “That was what we call a compliment. That woman was abused and tortured, and she’s a piece of bloody work, but you somehow make her all fuckin ditzy and dumb just by smilin at her.”

Ben scanned over Butcher—the words seemed genuine, even if Butcher always said everything in a way that sounded rude—and grunted before turning and continuing their march to the creek.

“You’re going to be her bridesmaid,” he snapped to Annie, because every moment of silence in the noise of the storm was driving him fucking insane. “She told me. And I get Hughie.”

“Oh.” Annie gaped at him slightly, then shook her head clear and nodded. “Okay. I mean, maybe be careful when you ask Hughie, he might turn all red and get really nervous-“

“I know.” Ben grunted, scanning over the trees as they approached the rushing water. “The guys a fucking mess, but he’s kind. Patient.” Ben scowled at a strangely shaped tree. “Good man.”

Annie let out an almost dreamy sigh, and Ben wondered if he looked that fucking stupid when people talked about Her. If he did, he didn’t fucking care, but it did make him worry about his face when She was actually there.

“He really is. I love that weird Billy Joel nerd so much- What the fuck?!”

They’d halted at the edge of the water—the creek overflowing and rushing between their feet—and Annie’s eyes began to glow, the air humming and buzzing, as the Deep grinned at them from a high rock on the other side.  

Ben frowned, scanning over the man’s tall, proud, over-fucking-dramatic hero pose. “What’s the fishfucker doing here.”

“I’m here to fight!” The Deep called over the rain, and even Ben could barely fucking hear him. “And defend America-“

“Speak up, you asshole!” Annie was half screaming, eyes growing brighter. “I can’t fucking hear you-“

“He said he’s here to fight and defend America.” Ben muttered to Annie, keeping careful attention on the Deep’s look of annoyance before raising his own voice to a shout. “Speak the fuck up, you pussy, we can’t hear you!”

The Deep nodded, looking slightly uncertain. “I, I am here to defend America from the terrorists, Annie January, William Butcher, and Ben. We, uh, we couldn’t find a last name for Soldier Boy-“

Annie’s eyes narrowed, and Ben could fucking taste the electricity through the rain. “Deep, get the fuck off my farm-“

“God, Annie, can you not be a bitch for five seconds so I can do my speech?” The Deep rolled his eyes at Ben, and Ben wondered if fish would find empty fucking eye sockets attractive. “She has been out to get me since the start, sabotaging me, trying to cancel me-“ 

“You assaulted me, you fucking-“

“What the hell are we stoppin-“ Butcher stomped up behind them, cutting himself with a groan. “Ah, bloody fuckin- The hell you doin here, Lad. I mean, ain’t gonna pass up the oppurtuiny to kill ya, but this,” he gestured around to the woods. “Ain’t your fight.” 

“Wrong, Mr. Butcher, this is Homelander’s fight, and he’s my bro, so it’s my fight too. And-“

“As well.” Ben snapped, mostly on instinct, and the Deep frowned at him.

“As well as what-“

“Proper fucking grammar, you fish blowing pussy.” Ben raised his gun, aiming right for the Deep’s head. “It’s your fight as well, and you’re going to die in it.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever grandpa.” The Deep scoffed. “Can I get through my speech now? I am here to defend America from the terrorists Annie January, William Butcher, and Ben. You have committed high treason against Homelander-“

“You ain’t able to commit treason against a person, cunt!” Butcher called over the river. “Treason gotta be against your country-“

“Well bloody fucking hell, I don’t care, you British weirdo!” The Deep stood a little taller, starting over. “I am here to-“ 

Ben had been fucking seconds from shooting and putting an end to this bullshit, but the Deep stumbled, fucking yelped, and fell into the water. 

“Well, fuckin shit.” Butcher leaned over the flooding river, frowning at the water. “Think he managed to kill himself for us?”

“He has gills, Butcher.” Annie’s voice was the harshest Ben had ever heard it, her hands and eyes still glowing. “And he’s like a fucking cancer. He’ll be back.”

Ben scanned over the river—crashing and rushing and so fucking loud—and didn’t see any evidence of the Deep. “Assfuck could’ve hit his head-“

“No. He doesn’t get to just fucking die like that, to have this be over-“

“Bloody hell, Starlight.” Butcher gave Annie a twisted smile. “Hughie know you’re so fuckin bloodthirsty and not just a pretty church girl?“

Annie flipped Butcher off, never looking away from the water. “Shut the fuck up, Butcher, you know exactly why I want him dead-“

“I ain’t mockin you, I appreciate it-“

“Well, don’t-“

Ben raised his hand, and Annie and Butcher fell silent.  

“There.” He hissed, pointing to an odd rippling pattern in the water. “Fish-fucker is alive, stop arguing and fucking focus-“

The Deep burst from the water, splashing Ben in the goddamn face, and landed on the riverbank in an even stupider fucking hero pose than before.

“Ha!” He shouted. “Bet you thought you’d gotten me. Well, I don’t go down easy-“

“You slipped, Mate.” Butcher drawled, raising his gun. “We all fuckin saw it. Now walk your sorry octopus-blowin ass away, and maybe we might let you live.”

The Deep scoffed. “Oh, c’mon, you guys won’t kill me. I mean, you’re just like, a bad guy with a gun.”He gestured to Butcher. “Like, oh no, bullets! I mean, that’ll barely even tickle, you fucking idiot.”

Ben’s hand tensed on his own gun, and he saw Butcher’s scowl grow taut and violent as they realized the same thing. They couldn’t shoot this asshole with their guns. The bullets were either useless, or made of fucking V, and the Deep wasn’t Homelander. The V would goddamn help him, make him stronger.

But the pussy didn’t fucking know that yet. He was still monologuing, his attention turned to Ben.

“And you’re just off your leash. Where’s your whore fucking girlfriend, bro? I’d say you finally grew some balls and kicked her to the curb, but she’s got her claws sunk right into your dick-“

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ben sneered, raising his gun higher as the radiant feeling in his body became hot and bloody. “Or I’ll-“

“What, kill me? That’s never worked for you guys before, and I don’t think your little slut would like that, Ben-“ 

Something atomic was going to explode out of Ben’s body, but Annie was right in the fucking path of it, so he did a warning shot instead. Aimed at a tree just past the Deep’s head, close enough to make him shout in fear and flinch.

“Do not fucking speak about my wife.” Ben hissed, taking a rough step forward. “Or I won’t kill you. I’ll make you wish I did.”

“Your wife?” The Deep shook his head with a tense, strange laugh. “Dude, you are way too fucking dope to be married to that manipulative ice queen bitch. I mean, I get it. I never got a blowjob from her, but Homelander told me they were good enough to fuck with his head. And like, I’m only a man, I’d probably have caved too. Fucking Annie over here gave me a shit one, and I still think about that-“

The whole world burst with light, and Ben couldn’t fucking see anything but white or hear anything but blood in his ears and a ringing in the air. It wasn’t golden light of the bomb—still held within Ben’s body—but a crackling and hissing white flash that made Ben’s hair stand on end and his skin hot and stinging. And when his vision cleared, Annie wasn’t blocking his shot at the Deep. 

She was down in the mud of the river, punching the Deep’s face raw and bloody with glowing hands. 

The rain was fucking wired with electricity, and that was the fucking sting. Every drop of water was filled with Annie’s power, humming through the air, but the Deep wasn’t fucking dead. He roared over the water, throwing Annie off his body and into a tree trunk. 

Ben lurched forward, the bomb growing sore in his hands, aching to launch from his body and just fucking kill the pussy—smashing Annie’s head against the roots of the tree—but Butcher caught his arm.

“What the fuck-“

“Starlight’s got this,” Butcher muttered, his gaze not leaving Annie, who grabbed the Deep’s fist and kicked him in the gut as another blinding rush of light burst through the air. “She needs this, Gov. Let her fuckin handle it.”

Annie did fucking have it. She was pummeling into the Deep’s gut with tight, even hits, and every traded blow just fucking drove her on, until she’d backed the Deep towards the river, her eyes glowing as the rain crackled with energy. Butcher flinched slightly at the electric water—bu didn’t fall—and Ben was fucking impressed. He’d never see Annie look fucking feral like that, and it made him like her all the more. He could have a friend like that. It was still Annie—a little too fucking nice, a little too fucking moral—but she wasn’t above blood and grime and mud like he’d thought she was. This Annie was vengeful and fucking angry, and the Deep didn’t seem to stand a goddamn chance. 

The pussy kept trying to talk to her—either to mock her or plead with her, Ben couldn’t tell and didn’t really fucking care to know—only to have Annie’s fist collide with his mouth and send him flying back. The Deep’s punches were growing weaker as Annie’s grew stronger, his nose was bleeding and his stand beginning to become unsteady, and Annie looked like she was being vindicated. Her expression was only focus, only fury, and when her body become blinding with light, Ben threw up a golden shield at the last fucking second.

A sound like thunder tore through the air around them as Annie exploded, and when Ben’s vision cleared the Deep was lying in the sizzling, electric mud.

“Woah, Annie, I, I got it, you win.” The fish pussy was crawling back as Annie advanced, twitching slightly as the rain continued to shock his skin. “Let’s talk about this, you’re not a killer, you’re like, a good person-“

“Maybe.” Annie kicked the Deep back, closer to the water. “But I’m not a saint. And I hate you.”

The Deep’s eyes widened, and he twisted to try and fall into the water and swim away like a fucking coward, but Annie was faster. Grabbing him by the neck, dropping on his back, and shoving his face into the creek.

Ben frowned, letting the barrier drop as the rain became just water once more—all of Annie’s focus and energy on keeping the Deep’s head in the flooding river—and didn’t look away from Annie as he muttered, “What the fuck is she doing.”

“Tryin to drown the cunt.” Butcher sounded fucking pleased, and Ben didn’t need to look to know he was smiling. “He breathes with fuckin gills on his torso, ain’t gonna be able to breathe if just his ugly fuckin mug is in the water.”

The Deep was pounding at the ground, trying to push Annie off, but he wasn’t faltering. His fists didn’t look strong, but they were firm. He wasn’t drowning.

Ben looked up to the darkened sky, then back to Annie and the Deep, and his fists curled. “The rain. Annie!” He shouted, and she glanced over at him with a frown. “The fucking rain! The fish fuck can breathe in the goddamn-“ Ben cut himself off with an eye roll and sigh, because Annie just looked confused. “Fuck it.”

He’d been practicing. In Rome with Her, waiting for Her and Sage’s meeting to be over, whenever he got a fucking opportunity, Ben had been trying to control the bomb. Move it through his body at will, let it glow and bang and roar in his body before focusing it and throwing it out on more than just fury and an instinct of protect.

It had paid the fuck off, because when he clenched his jaw and vaulted some of the nuclear energy built in his muscles through the air, Ben could narrow his eyes and hold it the fuck together in a way that was solid. It was the drums, tearing through his head and over his ribs, and not painful in the fucking slightest. Filling the air around them, all in a rhythm Ben could fucking control. The feeling was away from his body—golden and humming, holding Annie and the Deep in a bubble that blocked the rain—but still a part of him. 

And the Deep started to flail. Scraping at the air and Ben’s gold, trying to just twist away from Annie’s hold, and growing weaker by the second. 

Then he was only twitching, Annie pushed his head deeper into the river, and he stilled. 

Annie looked up to Ben, nodded, and the shield dropped away as the Deep went limp under her body.

“I’m pushing him into the river.” Annie muttered as Ben and Butcher approached, and Ben nodded, because as far as he was concerned, it was Annie’s body to dispose of.

“Make sure the cunts really fuckin kicked the bucket-“

Annie pulled the Deep’s head from the water, turned his swollen, slack face for Ben and Butcher to see, and snapped his neck.

“Good enough for you, Butcher?”

Butcher shrugged, and Annie threw the Deep’s weak, small corpse into the water. He was swallowed in the rushing, tumbling river, and vanished without a trace.

Ben reached a hand up to ear to radio MM, and nothing fucking happened. “Fuck.”

Annie frowned. “What-“

“Coms are fried.” He grunted, pulling out his earpiece and tossing it back into the river. “We need to get back-“

Ben’s pants began to buzz, and he pulled out his phone, the air filling with the ringing of MM’s call. 

He’d barely picked up when MM was shouting through the speaker.

“Where the fuck did you assholes go-“

Ben flinched, but didn’t pull the phone from his ear. MM’s anger was easier to focus on than the pounding of the rain. “We’re still at the creek. Our radios got fucked, but it was just the Deep-“

“We fucking know that, Hughie saw it on the cams-“

“Then what the fuck is your problem-“

“My problem.” MM hissed through the phone. “Is that we don’t have a fucking clue where Homelander is, and no one is responding to our texts.”

Something felt sick in Ben’s gut. “What.”

MM said Her name, and Ben heard the screen crack in his grip. “I texted her to check in, and I haven’t gotten a response.”

Annie approached Ben, her face drawn with worry. “What-“

Ben ripped the phone from his ear, putting it onto speaker. “MM.” He said, pushing the words through his teeth. “Where the fuck are they.”

Annie and Butcher froze, and MM’s labored sigh was almost muffled in a crack of thunder. 

“I don’t know. And we don’t think Homelander’s coming.”

Butcher’s hand shot to his coat pocket, and his body went rigid as Ben heard his heart begin to fucking race. Butcher’s heart never fucking raced. 

“Bloody fuckin,” Butcher tore off his jacket, turning it over and frantically shaking it. “Fuck. Where the fuckin hell-“

“Ben.” MM grunted through the phone, his voice urgent. “Hughie can’t track the car. You need to do that brain connection shit-“

“I can’t.” The words felt like fucking torture in Ben’s mouth. Like poison or bile, his whole body splitting open as everything in him became wrath, mauling his organs and spine, turning solid in his throat and making it painful to do anything. “She’s still on the fucking suppressant, I can’t fucking feel her-“

“How much longer until you can?” Annie’s question was a whisper as she glanced over at where Butcher had started to pull apart his drill. “Butcher, what are you-“

Butcher pulled out the bullet, pried it open with pure brute force, and dropped the shell to the ground as he took out the vial of V. 

“Butcher.” Ben warned. They didn’t have fucking time for dramatics. “What the fuck-“

“My V’s missin.” Butcher snapped, angling the V’s needle over his forearm. “I’m improvisin.”

“Holy fuck, Butcher, no, that’s a terrible idea-“

Annie started to run, probably to try and knock the V out of Butcher’s hand, but Butcher stabbed the needle into his arm, pushed down, and the vial drained.

“Jesus-” Annie halted as Butcher dropped into the mud, his body convulsing. “Fuck! Why are you such a fucking idiot, you asshole?!” She looked at Ben, expression almost desperate as she gestured to Butcher on the ground. “What the fuck do we do with him now?”

“What did he-“

“Shot up with V.” Ben snapped into the phone, because he didn’t fucking care right now. Not when She was fucking missing, and they didn’t have a goddamn clue where Homelander was. “He’ll live, it was just the regular shit. MM, where the fuck is my wife.”

“We’re working on it, but until you can do the thing-“

“I don’t know when it’ll come back, and I am not fucking waiting.”

“It could be nothing,” Annie mumbled, still watching Butcher and not even sounding like she believed herself. “They could just be in a dead zone-“

“I don’t fucking care!” Ben roared, and his whole body was trying to strain in every fucking direction. To pull Ben back to Her, when he didn’t have a goddamn clue where she was. “We don’t fucking know when Homelander is, we don’t know where anyone is but the Deep, who’s dead in the fucking river-“

Butcher groaned from the dirt, and when he looked up to Ben and Annie, his eyes were glowing. “Gov, we’ve got this. She’s strong, it ain’t gonna be an issue and Homelander will be ‘ere-“

“Are you insane?” Annie snapped at Butcher, whose eyes were still flickering with light. “You are not allowed to make plans anymore, you just shot up V-“

“I ain’t playin this clean, Starlight, Homelander ain’t-“

“We needed that V, you asshole! To kill Homelander, which we don’t need powers for-“

“Easy for you to fuckin say, when you got powers-“

“Which I didn’t choose! Nobody made you do that-“

“Ben.” MM said through the speaker, and Ben held the broken screen back to his ear. “Get back to the house, and we’ll figure out where they are. But until we’ve got confirmation they’re in danger, no going rogue. Got it?”

He might have agreed. Ben might have swallowed the feeling of wrong in his body and just kept fucking moving, kept fucking praying that She was fine and that—when the connection lit back up, any fucking minute now—he’d feel nothing but tight nerves in his body that was Her fear and love for Ben. Not aimed at anything in particular, not mind-numbing and vulnerable, just worry. Ben might have marched back to the farmhouse, ignoring Annie and Butcher’s fight about the V, and steeled himself to just fucking kill Homelander. The pussy didn’t exactly have manners, he might just be fucking with them, or late.

No part of Ben thought Homelander was late, but he could try to pretend that was it. For Her, Ben could focus on stupid fucking teamwork and trusting that she was okay. That She’d find a way to call for him if she needed it. He’d even taken a step back from the creek, grumbled an agreement to MM, and been about to hang up the phone.

Then the world lit up. And as Ben’s looked to the skyline, dark and gray and clouded with rain just a second before, the whole fucking world ended.

Not that far in the distance, ripping throughout the world with heat and light, the sky was an almost neon blue. And for a horrible, long moment all Ben could see was fucking blue. Blue fucking fire.

Everything was fucking blue, and She needed Ben.

—————————

The first half hour of the drive is the longest of your life.

For one, nobody in the car is thrilled to be there. Neuman is rigid and silent at your side—her arms crossed and her mouth in a thin, tight line—while Ashley and A-Train frown in the back, exchanging looks between themselves, and Ryan and Zoe stay in a hushed conversation about either dinosaurs or dragons. 

You’d check, or maybe dwell for even a second on how you’d manage to confuse yourself between the two, but you can’t focus on anything. Your body feels wrong—everything feels sick and slow and wrong—and you have to use all your energy to focus on driving. To get everyone to safety—or just anywhere Homelander isn’t—and not think about Ben. Not think about how he could be fighting Homelander now, how he’s going to win—he’s strong and immovable, so he will win—but it might still cost something.

You can’t think about how this might cost something. How Ben is unbreakable—sturdy and firm and made of pure fucking resolve that keeps you safe and warm and happy, your head on your shoulders and the world in focus—and Kimiko has a healing factor second only to your, but everyone else is mortal. It would be hard to hurt Annie, but it would still be possible. Butcher and MM wouldn’t go down without broken noses and bloodied fists, and Frenchie wouldn’t go down without explosions and rounds of bullets into Homelander’s unbreakable skin, but they can all still go down. 

And Kimiko can still get hurt. She can lose Frenchie and go insane, the same way you know you won’t recover if you lose Ben.

You won’t lose Ben. Not you can’t, you won’t. You’re not even going to entertain the fucking idea, because it makes your blood cold and your whole body feel all the more ill. It makes the silence in your chest unbearable, gets you stuck on hollow and quiet and wide it is where Ben is supposed to be. How you might already be going mad, just because you can’t feel Ben. You can’t feel if he’s in pain, or angry, or focused or tired or relieved or triumphant. You can’t know if Homelander is dead or if the world is burning. You can’t do anything but try to drive through the storm and push down everything instinct in your body that’s tell you to turn around. That you don’t want to see blood, and the plan is solid and well-made—you made it—but you want to go back. You want to run to Ben and tell him to come with you and Ryan, or send Ryan off with Neuman and fight yourself. You could fight. There’s fire under your skin and blood in your body that’s alive and all yours, and you could destroy Homelander, but you don’t want to.

You just want Ben. And you can’t have him right now. 

And the further away your drive, the more everything feels wrong. The more edged and wired and taut your whole body becomes, spiraling down into thoughts of blood and cold blue eyes before forcefully yanking your thoughts back to good things.

Ryan. Music. Stuffed Lions. Gardens. Ben. 

You develop a routine. The time passes as if you’re wading through mud—any small shift in a seat, or cough, or bump of the car or too loud pound of the rain on the metal roof sends you closer to screaming—and all you can do is cling to small things to keep going, and waiting, and desperately thinking of anything but blood.

Ryan.

He’s safe. He’s in the car with you, still whispering with Zoe, and he’s not unburdened and really that happy, but he’s not crying or panicking or apologizing, so he’s okay. You’d packed his clothing, and his books—along with a few extras he’s never read, that you’d bought for him at the airport—and a deck of cards in the likely event that Ryan tore through his reading within the first few hours. He has you, and he has Zoe—which is good, he should have a friends that aren’t, his grumpy, amazing asshole of a grandfather, his grandfather’s immortal wife, his impossibly British step-father, or their cool, mute friend—and, when this is over, he’ll have Ben. Ben will find you both, and Ryan can be the best man at your wedding, because you’ll threaten to punch Ben if he’s not.

Music. 

You have music. You’d put your phone on shuffle, and you had music. It filled the car with sounds that weren’t anxious and doubtful whispers or heavy breaths, and kept your attention within the world. You could tap your fingers on the wheel in time with every song, breathe in and out as if you were singing without any actual hums or vocalizations, and focus on that instead of anything else. You can pretend you’re dancing in strobing colorful lights during the songs with heavy bass and fast beats, and you can image that Ben’s arms are around your body during the slower ones. You start to skip the faster songs, just because anything that filled the air like honey or a warm, summer breeze means that you can pretend you’re pressed against Ben’s body and swaying in his hold, letting him guide you in a careful dance you could learn, but don’t really want to. You’ll spend a lifetime having Ben lead you in something so elegant and romantic and peaceful, and never want for anything ever again.

Stuffed Lions.

Ben’s was in your suitcase, right next to your white tiger. You’d give it back to him when he found you, and he’d scowl—even as you felt the glow consume his whole body—and you’d kiss him until he smiled then fall to your knees to just touch him. He’d place the lion carefully on the bed—if you told him you’d noticed he’d deny it, but he would—fist his hand in your hair, and guide your mouth up and down his cock. You’d show him how much you loved him, looking up though heavy lashes at how his throat bobbed and muscles flexed, growing wet frown every foul, vulgar praise that he offered you and every hissed groan of your name, and sit in the feeling of him everywhere. Big and strong and vengeful and all yours, cleaning you up when you were done, placing the stuffed lion on the dresser right next to your tiger, and refusing to ever let them be separated.

Gardens.

This one was harder, and easier. Right now you were driving through wilderness, and everything was green and overgrown, but it was also dark. The storm made the life around you hidden in the shadows and washed in almost too much water, made every flower and leaf hang down to the earth, made every warm patch of dirt become cold, thick mud. And so you thought of after, and that was the easiest thing to do in the world. To think of a garden after, that you’d grow in a yard that was all yours. That you’d sit in on sunnier days, and Ben would come up behind you and drop to your side, pulling you into his lap and kissing you until you were giggling, before touching you until you were moaning. He’d lay you down in the dirt, ignore your half-hearted protests of we’re outside, Benjamin, anyone could see us because he’d know that you didn’t really mean them—not when your every word after that would become either Ben or please—and then he’d touch you everywhere. Rough and long and slow and devout, before picking you up and carrying you to his part of the garden. And he’d refuse to call it his, but he’d also refuse to let you touch it, and it would be filled with butterflies he’d give threatening glares to never fucking land on him and flowers he’d pick and shove into your hands.

Ben. 

It was never an effort to think about Ben, because he was everything, and therefore everywhere. Even when he wasn’t alive and humming at the top of your chest, you could still see and feel him in the whole world. He was in the headlights, leading you through the shadows of the storm. He was in the forest, filling the air with the smell of pine and your vision with green. Ben was on your tongue—his taste of strawberries and coffee still lingering from your kiss—and over your skin. Warm and rough, fitting right over you in a phantom touch that had sunken into your skin and would stay there like a tattoo. Ben was in every note of every song, and every slow and careful breath, and every dim glow of a golden streetlamp. He was every beat of your heart, and every single thought that ended up finding its way back to Ben.

You always found your way back to Ben, and so you didn’t need to be afraid. You’ll still worry, and when you hold him again you’ll probably cry, but you don’t need to be afraid. 

You trust him. You trust your team. 

And all you can do is drive.

Then, in a very cruel twist of fate—but more likely simply an oversight in the rush and panic of the morning—a little yellow light starts to flash on your dashboard, and you’re low on gas. You haven’t quite made it to the highway, and you’d passed a station a few minutes back, so you make a U-turn, mumble apology and explanation to the group, and drive about five minutes back  to park the car at a pump and rush out into the rain. You can’t afford to linger—not for long, not when you’re still close to the farm—so you have to be quick and efficient. You’ll have to fill up the tank in the downpour, ignore how the rain is biting and cold on your skin, and go.

But the universe hates you. You must have wronged some sort of god in charge of luck, because yours is just so consistently shit. The’s a small sign taped to the gas pump with writing you can barely read—it’s a messy scrawl, and the bleeding on this ink isn’t doing anyone any favors—but still manage to decipher.

Pay inside.

You sigh, walk around the car, and rap on Neuman’s window.

She glares at you, and mouthing what and not moving from her seat.

“I’m going inside!” You over enunciate each word, pointing to the small, square connivence store. “The pump!” You point over the hood of the car. “Is fucking broken!” You make an X with your arms, Neuman just stares at you, and you sigh, yanking the door open.

“Hey!” Neuman leans back—away from the rain—with a glower. “What the fuck-“

“The pump is broken.” You glare around the car—not at Ryan and Zoe—as you make your words short and stern, mimicking Ben’s fucking listen, or I’ll feed you your balls voice. “I have to go inside to pay for gas. I’ll be back fast, don’t go anywhere.”

“Like you’d fucking let us go anywhere,” Ashely mutters, her eyes widening as your glower turns to her. “I don’t, uh, I’m-“

“Save it.” You sigh, turning your attention to Ryan. “I’ll be right back-“

“Can I, um,” Ryan’s pale, looking between you and the gas station with a frantic expression. “May I please come with you?”

“Yeah.” You give him a small smile and nod. “Let’s go.”

Ryan nods, wiggling past Zoe to the door, and you glance at Neuman.

“We’ll be back. Don’t try to drive away, because you don’t know where you’re going, and I’ll find you-“

“Yeah, you’ll track me down, we made a deal, whatever. We’ll stay here, now go.”

You swallow, draw back up, and close the door as you turn to Ryan. 

“Christ, Ry.” You pull off your jacket—technically Ben’s jacket, so it’s big and warm and feels safer than any other jacket—and pull it over Ryan’s smaller, shivering frame, his hair already stuck to his forehead from the rain. “Let’s go inside, we’ll try to get you something warm-“

“I’m okay,” he mumbles as you steer him towards the station. “It’s just wet-“

“Yeah, I know, but that’s how colds get caught.” You push the door open, and go directly for the pre-made food station. “You can’t drink coffee, and that doesn’t look like reliable hot chocolate-“

You’re mostly talking to yourself, so when Ryan tugs on your sleeve you freeze, all your attention refocusing from the gas stations dogshit options to him.

“I, um,” Ryan clears his throat, and you move a little more hair away from his face on instinct more than anything else. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going? When we get the gas?”

“You are,” you sigh, turning back to the counter and settling on hot water and very old looking tea bag. “But I can’t really give you an answer.”

Ryan’s face falls slightly. “Oh, I’m-“

“I don’t know where we’re going.” You cut him off with a gentle, warm smile. “MM just gave me directions, no final destination. He said the drive will be about six hours, so we could be going to Canada, Pennsylvania, or upstate New York, and I won’t know until we’re about halfway there. But,” you drop your voice to a whisper. “When I figure it out, you will be the first person I tell.”

“Okay.” Ryan nods, returning your smile with a nervous—but real—one of his own. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You start for the checkout counter—keeping your head bowed, because you’re not alone in this gas station and you don’t need one of these random drivers realizing the Anomaly and Homelander’s son are buying tea and gas—and bump Ryan’s shoulder with your own. “You are my favorite.”

Ryan’s smile grows slightly at that, and he remains almost stuck to your side as you wait in line.

You reach into your hoodie pocket for the beaten wallet MM had passed to you before you left, and freeze as your hand brushes of the small, cold vial. You’ve been pretending it’s not there. That you’re not always away of the weight of it, that—even now—you can’t feel the label you know reads Project Anomaly, Trial 6 brush against your fingers.

You’re not proud of the fact that it’s there. Of how you’d stolen it from Butcher,  how you’d swiped it from his stupid trench coat just like Ben had taught you to. Of how you’d gone back on your word, that it was Butcher’s to do what he please with.

And you know what he’d planned to do. You hadn’t been able to find it in your shared room with him, Ryan, and Ben because Butcher had been keeping it in a needle, on his body, for the entire day. You’d bet a small fortune that he’d been ready to shoot it up at any second, and that’s exactly why you’d taken it. Your final conversation with Sage had haunted you, and you weren’t sure you’d fully breathe again until the only V left in the world was that already flowing through bloodstreams.

You’ll have to burn the recipe. You should give it to Singer, or the UN, or some sort of authority figure, but you won’t. Because this isn’t just Homelander, it’s something rotting and brittle in the foundation, and this can’t be a power anyone ever gets to control or manufacture. It can’t be about being stronger or cleaner or better. It can’t be about winning anything, at all. 

If Ryan grows up and has children, if you and Ben have children, there’s a chance they’ll be born with powers. You’re honestly not sure how Ben hasn’t managed to have a dozen kids—you love the man more than life, and he’s a whore—but you have a feeling it’s the V. The unstable, strange V that’s in both your bodies, that could be too much for a normal body to handle, and may be a breeding ground for what Butcher would call little fuckin Soldier Boy kiddies. And that would be different, you’ve decided, in a way that you know is bias. You’re well aware that taking the V you’d given Butcher—taking away his ability to become a supe because you don’t want anyone to give themselves or anyone else that power again—is deeply hypocritical when there’s a high chance you’ll turn around and create a child born with this same V ingrained into its DNA. 

And you don’t care. You’ve earned being selfish, because you’re so fucking tired of all of this. You’ll look Butcher in the eyes when this is over and apologize—not caring if you really mean it—then fall right into Ben’s arms. You’ll burn all the V, and the formula, and there won’t be a second Homelander, or second Sage, or second anything. You’ll fix this past just killing Homelander, and no one will ever have to feel a pain like this again.

“Will the, um, place, will it have cards?”

You blink at Ryan, pulling out the wallet and forcing a smile onto your face. “I brought cards. They’re in the trunk.”

“Oh, okay.” Ryan studies your face carefully, his words slow and uncertain. “Um, I just wanted to know if you’d want to play go fish with me, or something-“ You raise your brows at Ryan’s nervous stuttering—he’s speaking like something very important is riding on this, when it’s just a game of cards—and find yourself unable to stop the real, peaceful smile from spreading over your face as you realize what’s happening.

 “I’m okay, Ryan.”

He gapes at you slightly, shaking his head in an almost frenzied movement. “I, I know, I just wanted to know if you wanted to play go fish-“

“If you want to play go fish, I’ll play go fish. But,” you give him a pointed, warm look. “If you’re just trying to cheer me up, you don’t need to. It’s not your job to help me, Ry, it’s my job to help you.”

“I, I wasn’t-“

“Ben told you to play cards with me, right? To cheer me the fuck up, or something?”

“Was that, um, was it supposed to be a Ben impression-“

“Yeah, I know it’s terrible, but don’t tell him I said that. Did he?”

Ryan stares at you blankly. “Did he what?”

“Tell you to play cards to cheer me up?”

“I, um, I don’t-“

In an attempt to stop Ryan from making himself overload or pass out, you make your voice a gentle whisper. “Because I know he does that. All the time.”

“How?” Ryan blurts, looking a little panicked. “I didn’t tell you, he said it’s a secret-“

You laugh. “He’s literally never beaten me. In any game. He loses war, Ryan, every time, without fail. It’s a game of chance, that’s almost statistically impossible.” You let out a sigh that’s probably dreamy and stupid, smiling into the air, and Ryan frowns.

“Why don’t you tell him you know-“

“Because he’s a massive dumb dumb who loves us very much, and he’s always very, very proud of himself. He’s adorable, and makes me dinner without me asking, and after we watch one of his dumb documentaries, which he does not pay attention to, he-“ You cut yourself off with a flush , because you’re going to draw the line of your odd pseudo-parenting tactics with Ryan at telling him that, without fail, every time you beat Ben at cards he becomes feral in the bedroom. You think it’s some weird, primal monkey-brain part of him taking over—getting all smug and cocky with how happy you are, how he’s the one that made you happy—but you have no plans to analyze it, because why meddle with perfection. 

Ben gets to glow with affection and love you can feel in your chest, looking like a wrathful angel who’s being rewarded with just you for his unrelenting devotion—strong and big and warm and Ben—and you get to scream and moan as he fucks you in a rough and unforgiving manner. Ad Ben turns you into a writhing, needy, pleading mess that only knows the word Ben, and uses it like a prayer. His lips bruise and bite every sensitive bit of your flesh, and his hands squeeze and rub your body until you’re just putty in his arms, and when you squirt over his cock he falls forward, and both of you get to rest in each other’s arms. 

You clear your throat, pushing on, and hope Ryan didn’t notice your stumble and can’t hear how your heart is pounding. “He’s just, um, really happy, after. And that makes me happy, because I love him, and I love that he’d do that just to make me happy, and I love that he’s so bad at lying to me I realized what he was doing almost immediately, but he’s still so proud of himself every time I makes me even happier.”

Ryan nods as you take another step in the line, starts to say something that’s likely a sweet and nervous question, and your whole word shifts into cold.

It was just a flash. A shifting movement outside—barely visible through the rain—that caught your attention, a crude and hateful face in the shadows, and you can’t remember how to breathe, or hear, or think. You can’t hear Ryan, only a faint ringing and overwhelming, dreadful sound of your heart. You can’t take the next step forward in the line, but you can’t keep looking. 

If you keep looking, Homelander will know you’ve seen him. And he’s far enough into the dark for you to know he doesn’t want to be seen. 

It lasts a second—the pure terror and wild, arresting sense of no. Wrong and bad and dangerous, no—because you only have that one advantage. You’ve seen him, he doesn’t know it, and you can’t afford to be frozen in pain. Not when Ryan is at your side, and you can’t feel Ben, you only have yourself. You’re the only one that can do anything here, and you’ll find a way to get through this.

Whatever it takes.

“Ryan.” You place your hand on his shoulder, angling him away from the windows, and take a careful, measured pace forward to block him from view. “I need you to be quiet, please. You can nod, and whisper, or talking to me in Kimiko’s sign language, but you cannot speak.”

Ryan’s expression falls into something nervous and weak, and you know he’s worried you’re angry. You can’t relent your focus or how critical it is that he listen to you, but it becomes just as vital that Ryan knows you’re not mad. That he hadn’t invaded your life, or crossed an invisible and always moving line, or become something you have to deal with. That all the joy and comfort is drained from your face because you will not let Ryan get hurt, and Homelander is outside, and nothing fucking matters except making sure you get out. You don’t care to shed blood and guts or to flay alive, you only need to leave this place with Ryan at your side.

You drop your hand to hold his, squeezing gently, letting your voice raise slightly. “I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong, or saying anything bad, and I am not angry at you. Squeeze my hand twice so I know you understand.” 

Ryan nods slowly, and his grip on your hand might crack your bones, but you get two squeezes, and continue.

 “Good. I have this under control, I promise but I need you to listen to me. Okay?”

Two squeezes, and you sigh, standing up a little taller as you reach the cashier, plastering a fake, bright smile on your face at their empty greeting. You’ll have to keep this vague, because you’ve lowered your voice, but the cashier is inside, and right in front of you. You’re taking the gamble that over the storm and through the glass, Homelander won’t be able to hear you. The cashier might, and you can’t afford any delays. 

“Your dad,” you pull the card out of MM’s wallet with one hand, refusing to let go of Ryan’s. “Is waiting outside. We’re going to have to run out into the rain, because we don’t want to get wet before we drive home. Ben’s expecting us, and we should get there soon.”

Ryan swallows, his expression only a pure, wide fright of What about everyone else? He’s going to kill everyone else.

You know that. The people in the gas station are already dead—or as good as it—and it hurts to keep smiling at the cashier when you know that. Know that the last thing they’ll ever do is chew gum behind a counter, and you can’t save them. You want to, and you’re going to be haunted by their screams for rest of your life, but you can’t save them. Homelander won’t spare them—he may go out of his way to kill them, just to prove some sort of fucked up point that starts with superiority and ends with worms—and all this time is borrowed, and can’t be used to figure out an impossible solution where everyone makes it out alive.

You’ll have to pay for everything after. Funerals and debts and family support. Some sort of worthless apology for not saving them, for trading their lives for yours and Ryans.

But it’s still a trade you’re going to make. You’re going to do everything you can—in this finite moment—to save the people in the car, the people who’d directly trusted you with their safety, and the people who may have a chance. Homelander will want to confront you, but he hasn’t even bothered to look behind him. At the gas pump, where you pray Neuman or A-Train have noticed his drenched, hollow figure in the rain and keeping quiet. You can pray that Homelander remains so focused on you and Ryan that they escape his notice, and get out. 

You can buy time. Take just a little more—to save the people that have a fighting chance, that you can tell them how to survive this and they’ll listen—and keep praying for it to be enough.

“Ry,” you glance down at Ryan’s face with your warmest, most-reassuring smile, and pray he can’t see your own fear rooted deep in your eyes. “Do you want some candy?” You put an urgency in your eyes to tell him I’ve got this, I just need a little help.

He mumbles a weak agreement, and shuffles off to the candy isle. You hold up the line—anyone who goes outside will die quicker, draw attention faster—and keep one careful eye on Ryan as you take out your phone and dial his number. 

Ryan had left his brick cellphone in the car, and when Zoe Neuman’s soft voice greets you as she picks it up, you almost fall over in relief. 

“Hi,” She whispers your name, her voice small and filled with fear, and you know they’ve seen Homelander. 

“Hi, Zoe. Can you give me to your mom?”

There’s a brief shuffling sound, and then Neuman is hissing your name through the speaker.

“What the fuck is Homelander doing here-“

“I don’t know.” You keep your word low and curt, and don’t leave room for something useless like argument. “But he is here, and I need you to listen. I’ll take care of getting Ryan to Ben’s, you tell Ashley’s boyfriend to pick you guys up. I’ll talk to him while you wait for the ride, don’t worry about it.”

Your code is crude—you’re don’t even know what the hell is going on with A-Train and Ashley, and you’re not willing to lend it nuance right now—but effective. You’ve got Ryan, A-Train will get them out, and you’ll distract Homelander. Neuman mutters an understanding, her voice dropping to a whisper the microphone barely picks up.

“I’ll tell him. Are you,” there’s a pause, the static humming until Neuman speaks again. “You got this.”

It’s only half a question, but you understand why. You need to have this—you cannot falter or break or crack—and Neuman needs you to know that. She needs her daughter to survive this—the exact same way you need Ryan to—and she is telling you that it is crucial you think you can do this. That there may not be an option, but you are still smart enough, angry enough, and more than fucking strong enough to do this.

“I’ve got this,” you repeat the words, just to make them real. You’ve fucking got this, and Zoe will be safe. You can save Zoe, you can save Ryan, and once they won’t ever need to be strong again. “Neuman.”

She hums, and you sigh.

“Tell, uh, Ashley’s boyfriend, to be fast. That this is what I’m asking, it’s all I’m asking, and if he’s fast, we both get an after. Okay?’

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

You nod, knowing Neuman can’t see it, and the line drops.

Ryan returns to your side, clutching a bag of gummy bears in a shaking hand, and you shove your phone back into your pocket, pulling off your ring and tucking it safely into Ryan’s jacket.

“Can you keep that safe for me?” You ask, and Ryan’s eyes widen.

“Yes, but I,” He mumbles your name, and you can hear the terror lining his every word. “I’m, I don’t, I’m not-“

“I know.” You sigh, pulling him carefully against your side and kissing the top of his head as his arms wrap around you. “I know. But we have to.”

Ryan nods against you, and you lean down, keeping your word low as the cashier scans the candy.

“Stay behind me, and don’t look at the car. You’re going to be okay, we all are, but you can’t draw attention to the car. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ryan’s voice is weak—even that one word is filled with fear—and it breaks your fucking heart. 

“Ryan,” you cup his face in one hand, holding his nervous gaze on yours, and you’ve never seen him look more like a kid. He is a kid, it’s often forgotten in the chaos and blood and violence of your life, but Ryan’s just a kid. And he can be afraid all he wants—fuck, you’re terrified, your blood still cold and your stomach turning and boiling—but you won’t let Homelander hold that power of inevitable, unstoppable, deadly and without a cure over either of you. Ryan can’t think you’ve already lost, because you haven’t, and Homelander won’t win. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to be okay. He’s not going to hurt you, he’s not going to even touch you, and once everyone else is out we’re going to run. I’ll knock him back, we’ll get to the car, and we’ll go back to the farm. Ben will meet us there, and it’ll be okay. Yeah?”

There are countless flaws in your plan. No car is faster than Homelander, least of all your stolen Honda Civic, and you still can’t feel Ben. Still can’t warn him what’s coming, still can’t scream between your heads for him to help. That you’re strong enough to do this, but you don’t want to do it alone, and you need Ben here now. 

It’ll be back soon. Thirty minutes, and Ben would find you anywhere. All you had to do was stall and run, and find thirty fucking minutes.

So when Ryan nods, still afraid and shaking—grabbing your hand and clinging to it like a frightened child, because that’s really all he needs to be right now—but taking deeper, more even breaths, you offer him a toothless, painful and sad smile, and hand him the gummy bears.

Neither of you speak as you walk to the door, and you put yourself a step ahead of Ryan as you push out into the rain. Wet and cold, small bombs of ice and water that hiss off your skin but focus you all the same. Your whole body is white-hot, but your fire is humming along the surface of your body and you’re not breaking. You’ve fucking got this. 

Homelander’s waiting for you with a crude smile and his hands behind his back—white teeth still blinding in the dark, everything about his posture and walk and face and movement so simply wrong—but there’s patch of hair near his brow that’s missing, one of his eyes looks milkier than the other, and there are still a few burn scars twisting near one of his ears. Between that and the rain, there’s a higher chance he won’t notice any of A-Train’s movements, and you can feel a small, bright bloom of something that’s bloodied and tired and furious in your chest. It might be hope. It might be certainty that you can do this.

You don’t have another choice.

“Homelander.” Your voice is bored and casual, and you don’t recognize it. It doesn’t sound like you—doesn’t feel like how your whole existence is ending in this very moment—but you can’t afford to be you right now. You have to be the Anomaly. You have to be the cold, manipulative, ungrateful bitch Homelander believes you to be, just until you’re certain everyone is out of the car. Just to hold his attention.

It’s working. His whole face twitches at your pure uninterest, and you see something that makes your heart curl and wither in your chest flash in his eyes. He says your name, and it’s wrong, and you don’t fucking flinch. “Give me my son. Now.”

You raise your chin, holding his gaze and not allowing any of your terror into your expression. “No.” 

Homelander scoffs, dismissing you with a hand. “C’mon, we both know how this will go! I’ll just keep killing everyone you love, you’ll beg me to spare them, and I’ll win. I always win, because that’s just how this works! I’m-“

“Better?” You raise your brows, and there’s a flash of moment in the background, and one person is out. Two to go. “You’re better?”

“Yes!” His hands move to his hips, and he looks mostly just annoyed now. “I am better. I mean, you idiots can’t even flee properly! I just saw you, walking in there,” he gestures to the station behind you. “With my son, and you didn’t even notice me! I’ll always win,” he says your name, his expression dropping into one of menace and a crazed short of rage he doesn’t seem to know how to hide. “Because you’re weak, and human, and I’m perfect.”

You hum, titling your head at Homelander as his eyes start to glow red. “You know, that’s almost exactly what Sage said. Right before I killed her.”

“You can’t kill me,” He hisses your name again, taking a slow step forward, his laugh making your skin crawl. “And I am tired with your games, you fucking slut. You did me a favor, though, with Sage. She was starting to outlive her use, so if you give me my son back now, maybe I won’t laser you in half.”

“No.” You let a crude, mocking smile that’s all teeth and hatred cross your face. “We might not be able to kill you, Homelander, but you can’t even hurt me, so you’re not getting to Ryan.”

Homelander laughs, and it makes your skin crawl. “Maybe I can’t physically hurt you, but I can make you cry like the weak little bitch you are when I kill all your friends. When I track down your family and fly them up to the atmosphere. Suffocate them like the breakable, useless worms they are, then go find your precious Ben and use Sage’s gas-“

“I’ll wake him up.” You shrug. The rain seems to be moving into your bones, and you’re so fucking cold, but there’s another rushed movement near the car so you raise your voice. Just one more. Just a little more time. “You knock him out, I’ll wake him up and fuck up your face even more.”

This scoff is less confident, but just as cruel. “You really think he’d be grateful? Letting some weak little bitch save him, like a damsel when he’s fucking Soldier Boy?” Homelander sneers your name. “He and I are strong, we’re fucking heroes, the epitome of human evolution-“

You snort. “You’re not evolution, you’re a product. You were designed, Homelander, like a fucking machine-“

“But I was chosen.” Homelander narrows his eyes at you, there’s another flash in the background, and you stand a little taller. This is almost over. “Just like my father, just like my son. Ryan,” Homelander tries to lean around you, and you move to block his view. “You’re strong. You’re not a pathetic fucking human like her or your mother, you belong with me-“

“You’re not touching him.” You hiss, holding Homelander’s glower. “You’re not touching anyone I love again.”

“What, like Soldier Boy-“

“Yes. You hurt Ben, I hurt you, and he won’t think it makes him weak. He’ll think it’s hot, and we’ll probably fuck after.” You’re taunting Homelander, but you need him to be so blinded by anger he doesn’t see your blow coming. “But you try to take him away from me with that stupid fucking gas, and I’ll destroy you.” 

“I’ll throw him in the fucking ocean, I’ll separate you ungrateful traitors forever-“

“And I’ll find him.” Your grin becomes almost manic. “I’ll always find him.”

“Fine.” Homelander’s tone is flat and curt, and he gives a stiff shrug. “Be all fucking dramatic and annoying. Let’s see how long you can stick to your whole romance thing with my father,” he looks over you with disgust, his lip curling. “When I lock you back up and he never, ever sees you again.”

Before you can speak, or move, or do anything, red cuts through your vision, there’s a boom behind you, and everything is burning. It’s not your fire—starting to riot and grow painful under your skin—because your fire is warm. Your fire feels clean and holy, because it was born from something worse than hell, but you’ve made it yours. 

This fire is hell. It’s made of screams and pleas for help, and there’s nothing you can do but try not to turn around. Force yourself not to look at the wreckage behind you—Homelander must have hit a generator, because you can feel the heat behind you and hear the building crumbling—that you should’ve tried harder to prevent. People are dying and you could’ve done more, could’ve been stronger, could’ve worked to save these people who have people that care about them, who cared about people, who had lives that are over because you weren’t strong enough-

“This is what you wanted,” Homelander calls your name over the storm and fire, and you can’t breathe. “Isn’t it? To fight? To be all high and mighty about love only to not have the fucking spine to kill me? I’d dare you to try,” he laughs, his face sadistic and amused and so cold. “But this isn’t David and Goliath. It’s Goliath and a fucking slut who thinks she’s more important than she is.”

Homelander takes a fast step forward, and you have to be stronger, but fuck, you can’t. You’re falling and breaking in barely a moment—a moment you’d fucking anticipated—and the rain is so cold, and you have to do this, but you can’t. You’re alone, and you’ve never wanted to be saved more, but you can’t feel Ben-

There’s a rush of air, almost knocking you backwards, and Homelander stumbles back as A-Train slams into him, pummeling into his stomach before speeding away again. 

Homelander begins to roar, his eyes glowing, and he’s distracted. A-Train is zipping in and out of the burning parking lot, keeping Homelander’s focus on trying to kill him, and the wind jumpstarts your whole body.

You grab Ryan’s hand and run. Half carrying him to the car—refusing to look back at the ruins of the gas station or the fight—and throwing him into shotgun before sprinting around to the wheel. Fumbling with the keys before slamming them into the ignition, and just fucking going. The tires skid and squeak on the wet pavement, you’re flooring the gas and breaking countless traffic laws, but you can’t care. You have Ryan, you have time, and you need to get back to Ben.

It’s almost impossible to see where you’re going. The rain is heavy and blocking your vision, you have to use the headlights in small bursts to avoid being seen, and every tree you pass looks the same as the one before it, but you know where you’re going. It’s not a long drive from the station to the farm—not at the speed you’re going—and it’s relatively simple, so all you have to do is go and go and go until you see the turn onto the dirt road, and Ryan will be safe.

He’s silent in the seat next to you, shaking and hyperventilating, and when you offer him your hand, he takes it and squeezes his eyes shut. Like this is just a nightmare he can wake up from, it will all be okay in the morning.

“Ryan,” you whisper, even though it’s just you in the car and the rain drowns out almost every sound. “It’s, it’s okay-“

“Do you think he’s going to die?” Ryan mumbles, and you tense. You don’t need to ask to know he’s not talking about Homelander. “Just because he helped me-“

“No.” You shake your head, keeping your eyes on the road. “I mean, I don’t know what will happen, but none of it is your fault. A-Train made that choice himself, we all made our choices, and this is not your fault.”

“I could’ve tried to fight-“

“It’s not your job to fight him, Ry.” You sigh, risking one, soft comforting look at Ryan’s pale face. “And this really isn’t your fault. I promise.”

Ryan nods, and you’re so fucking close. All have to do is get to the farm, and-

You barely have a second to register it as it happens. You flip on the lights at the exact moment Homelander slams down on the road before you, and you can throw your arm over Ryan’s chest, but you can’t slam on the breaks. You can try and swerve around him, but the road is wet, the car isn’t in your full control, and Homelander’s eyes are already glowing.

There’s a second where your whole body is pain. Where you falling or crashing or drowning, and you manage to keep your hold on Ryan, but your body is being shred apart and stitched together every other second. When the world comes back into focus you’re pinned under what feels like a mountain but is only metal, and Ryan’s half shielded under your body, but you can’t move.

And you still can’t feel Ben.

Homelander’s towering above you, grinning at how effectively trapped you are under the wreckage, and you can’t run, or fight, or pull yourself to entirely block Ryan from his view. You can’t even gnaw off your own leg like an animal in a trap, you can only scream in your head—between every roll of thunder and rush of chilling water—until Ben can hear you. 

“Well,” Homelander sneers your name, his grin growing. “Where’s all your fight? That little spitfire attitude all gone now that you get it?”

“You,” you groan, because trying to pull your leg out from under the debris just breaks it and heals it all over again. “You’re not going to win. You can kill A-Train, but you can’t kill me, and people will notice-“

“Don’t be dramatic, I did not kill A-Train.” Homelander rolls his eyes. “I broke his legs and left him to die by himself. And I have no interest in killing you, that would be such a waste.” 

Homelander scans over you, and suddenly you feel small. Any remaining resistance seems to be pulled from you as Homelander asses your body like it’s all you are, and for the first time he’s doing it without any guise. There are no declarations of a love you don’t want, for person who you’re not, you’re really just a vessel. Just a toy for Homelander to play with and use as he sees fit, and then break when he gets bored of. 

You wonder how long it will take him to realize that he can’t get what he wants from you. That whenever he touches you, hurts you, your body will remember and refuse to let any part of him live within you, ever. 

How long it will take before he gets rid of you somewhere cold where you can’t die but Ben can’t find you, and there will be no one left to protect Ryan. If Ben will blame himself, and burn the world only to not find you in the ash. He’ll keep looking after—he’ll be able to feel you and never find you and it might drive him mad—and you’ll keep trying to get back to him, and you won’t know how to do that or kill yourself, so you’ll become just a husk.

And you’re not strong enough to stop it. You should be, but you’re cold and there are screams echoing in your head and none of this is rational, so you’re not. 

“You might be a weak, whoring, lying bitch,” Homelander says, and you can’t tell if you’re crying or just breaking in a silent, long way that no one will be able to fix. “But you’re still pretty. Smart enough to get Sage, always healthy from the V, and maybe your V will make our offspring immortal. Then we can figure that out, and put it into me.” Homelander nods to himself, and you’re going to scream but you can’t find your voice.

“Please, Dad,” Ryan whispers from behind you, and Homelander’s attention shoots to him with a flash of surprise over his horrible face at Ryan’s soft words. “Please don’t hurt her, I’ll come with you, but please-“

“Ryan, quiet.” Homelander looks over your head, to Ryan, pointing a stern finger. “This is not your concern-“

“But I don’t want you to hurt her, please, please don’t-“

You have to be stronger, but Ryan’s pleading is going to make you sob, and you can only push your upper body to try and shield Ryan a little more from Homelander’s wrath, and you can’t- 

“Ryan!” Homelander’s shout rips through the air, over the storm, and right into your lungs. “I am your father, you will not tell me how to deal with my problems. And she is a problem.” His finger moves to you, and you choke on the rain. “She is weak, she is a parasite who tore our family apart, and parasites do don’t deserve to be happy. But I,” Homelander looks at you, his grin returning as he takes in the sight of you, trapped and useless and fucking broken. “Will be able to find a place for her. And we’ll figure out how to use her until she’s paid for what she broke. Until she understands that she is nothing, and you and Soldier Boy finally get she’s just good cattle, and fucking animals don’t deserve us-“

Something stabs and sears through your chest, carving you open and slicing your lungs in two and filling your mouth with blood. You hear a high, weak scream, and in the brief moment where everything is only pain—your vision blurred and body weak and head wrapped in iron and darkness—you don’t exactly what happened. There’s no weight under your legs anymore, the figure of Homelander is gone from your sight, and something that feels firm but touch you like it’s fragile is cradling you and calling your name in broken pleas.

“I didn’t mean to,” the sound is choked and barely audible, and you’re still lost in the daze of blood. Blood on your tongue and sticking to your skin and running the rain red. “I’m sorry, please don’t go, I don’t want you to go, I’m sorry-“

The voice says your name again, and something evil calls over it. 

“Ryan. Let’s go.”

That’s Ryan’s voice. Saying your name and pleading for you to stay. Begging you not to leave through the fog of something that’s close, but never reachable.

Then everything rushes back into focus—your body mending itself and yanking you back to earth—and you can see Ryan’s red eyed, sobbing face over yours. Feel the cold rain on your skin and the fire in your body start to bubble over. The iron taste of blood sharpens your head, drags you together faster, and then you smell coconut. 

You see a red gloved hand reaching for Ryan, feel your every instinct turn into no, and you have just enough time to throw Ryan off your body before you explode.

Ben will find you. You can’t feel him, but you know he’ll see the blue flame, vaulting from your body to the sky and burning away the rain, and understand what it means. What he has to do. 

You’re not too far from the farm. You can’t burn everything—Ryan is a part of everything, and keeping him safe is and always has been more import than killing Homelander—but you can do a fuck ton of damage with just your hands and your own, zealous fury.

You can really, really hurt Homelander. 

You can make him wish he’d never touched anyone before, and never want to touch anyone again.

It might be terror on his evil face, when you launch at him. And you understand that. The whole world is fire. The aftershocks of your explosion are still shaking the earth, and the rain may have begun to fall once more but it’s burning away around you. The air is hissing and waving, and you’re only flame. Your whole body wrapped in white fire, your hands curled in even, careful—just as Ben had taught you—and you might look like a monster. You might look like a demon, or vengeful spirit, or fallen star that’s refusing to burn out. 

But you’re worse than that.

You’re just a human that has power in her body that makes the world sing, and you’re angry. You’ve sealed up every crack in your own body, you’re strong and you’re no demon or monster or god, because they’re not real. 

You’re incredibly real.  

And Homelander’s going to feel it. 

The first blow of fire knocks him down the highway, the pavement cracking as he lands. He’s already stumbling—pushing up on shaking legs to glare at you—and there’s a hot, unrestrained anger in his laser slicing through your neck, but it does nothing. Ryan had just split you in two and you’d healed in ten seconds flat. If Homelander were smarter, less prideful and consumed by his own anger, he’d run.

He doesn’t, though. And you pull your punches to keep Ryan safe for your fire, but he’s still losing. His skin bubbles and twists when he tries to get close to you and land a blow, and every hunk of metal he throws at you explodes and melts as you blast right through it. You keep Ryan behind you—far enough to not feel the full force of your heat—and you never even trip.Homelander’s odd hit that strikes your face or gut sends a brief cracking sound through the air—leaves a dulled flash of pain through your body—but it fades and you repair and you don’t break. 

Your hand cover’s Homelander’s face, melting away the skin of his nose, and you can feel an unfocused, aimless, hollow and self-serving anger that’s twined with the most vile, gnawing and destructive feeling you’ve ever experience. Making your body eat the anger and turn it into glory that’s only a trophy to hold high over your head.

Your empathy is back. Ben’s roaring your name in your head and between the crackling of flames, and you’re going to win. Your blood is held in your body—Ryan’s already shaking and crying behind you, and you don’t know how to focus the vigilance of your emotions yet—but your fire is growing brighter, and Ben is coming. 

Homelander’s falling to the ground as you kick his tiny, worthless, hideous dick, and when you reach down with hands made of only fire, you’re smiling. Homelander is so fucking small and pathetic on the ground, at mercy you will never offer him, so you’re smiling like a fucking madwomen.

Then Homelander’s face flashes with a grin as well, and you’re not fast enough to stop his hand as it shoots up and stabs something into your bare arm. 

You see the flash of green as he pushes the head on the needle down, and when he half scrambles back—holding his burnt hand up to the rain—you don’t know what to do. There glass vial that held the V shatters and melts as your fire flares, but your skin has healed over the needle and it’s too late anyway. Homelander had moved with quick precision, and the last dosage of the Soldier Boy V is in your body.

There’s a split second where you’re only afraid, and then all you can do is wish you were dead.

Agonizing is too weak a word. Pain is far too weak a word. This is what death feels like. Like no part of your body belongs to you, like they’re all being ripped and torn into isolation for their induvial torture, then being sown back together in a way that’s brittle and volatile and one wrong breath from imploding. You can’t stand, because your legs feel like they’re running away from you but can’t get away fast enough. You can’t reach out, because your hands feel heavy like you’re carrying the sky and world and every single star. You can’t push your body away from where’s Homelander’s gripping your wrist, cracking your bones and dragging you through the wreckage to where Ryan’s crying and begging. You can’t do anything but scream, and be unsure if Ben’s roars are echoing through the world in response or just imagined in your head, so you can pretend he’s here with you.

It’s not ending. You can feeling everything, and this doesn’t feel like it will ever be over. There’s light and strength in your muscles, but it’s overwhelming and stretching you far too thin. There’s water in your lungs and ribs that might be the rain, but still drowns you and makes you feel buried in your own body. Your voice is empty, and your fingers are cracking and locking back together, and you’re too aware of everything but it makes the world around you feel so big and horrible and worthless. Your blood is burning and half yours but also everything else’s and wrong in your body, pumping through your heart and filling you with dread and hate and terror. There’s lighting stinging and stabbed and destroying your whole fucking head and soul, and it feels like there’s a fever behind your eyes that’s screaming to get out and spill gut for retribution. 

And then it all sinks deep, deep down into your body and becomes, so briefly, tolerable. Strange but peaceful in your body as something so, so strong wraps over every piece of pain and torture and soothes it into your body. Something golden and atomic, telling every other fiber in your body that this will be fucking fine, and that’s not an option. 

Your body listens. You take a shaking breath, and you’re alive again. You’re all blood and skin and bone, and you’re all you.

There’s a hole in Homelander’s glove, and his skin feels like plastics on yours wrong. Static and inhuman, without the warmth a body should have. And his odd, twisted fear and anger are still pushing through his veins, but they’ve been covered by his anger. 

And below everything else in his body, there’s something vital and horrible, but so, so powerful. It feels a little broken—as if it’s been molded and ingrained somewhere dark and wrong—but it’s still calling to you. Offering for you to grab a piece of it and pull it into your own body.

You’ve got nothing left to lose, so you bite your tongue and try to grab it. It comes willingly, and it’s only foreign and parasitic in your body for a second. Then it’s molding into a part of your body that’s fundamental and all yours, and everything is sharp. The rain is louder, your vision feels too focused—every line too pronounced, every raindrop bigger than it should be—and the smell of coconut is going to suffocate you.

But you also feel strong. Not in your mind or heart—which are the same as they’ve always been—but your hands. You feel like everything is breakable, and everything is soft, and you could flex your fingers and bring an empire to its knees. And there’s fire and fury living in your eyes, and you know exactly what’s happened. For a brief moment, you can’t help but understand why Homelander thinks he’s a god. If this was all you’d ever felt and known in your life—and everyone knew you were like this, and knew to fear it—you might think you’re better than you are as well.

You might have. You wouldn’t have, but you could have. Homelander’s powers might exist in your body—waning by the second until you take more—but you’re still you. And you’re not better. You’re exhausted and desperate, and you need more time. Just a little more time, until Ben finds you and this can be over. Until you can collapse and scream and cry and just fall all the way apart, when everything is safe.

You need more time. And you’re awake, and in pain, and so fucking angry and strong, so you’ll be able to buy it.

Homelander’s stopped dragging you along the road, and you can hear Ryan’s sobs, fueling every bit of resolve and will in your body. Building you higher and dragging you back to earth like an anchor. 

“What, what did you do to her-“

Homelander cuts off Ryan’s heartbreaking, fearful, choked words with a scoff. “That doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it does! She can’t die, I don’t want her to die, I need her-“

“No, you don’t. You don’t need anyone be me, Ryan. Look at her.” Homelander yanks you up, a hand wrapping around your neck to hold you where Ryan can presumably see. “All it took was one dose of V and she’s fucking done. I mean,” he laughs, and the fury begins to build up and up behind your pupils, lining your vision with red and your head with heat. “Carrying the original V into battle, letting it fall out of your pocket? That’s downright stupid, honey. I thought you’d know better, but no.” He clicks his tongue, and you screw your eyes shut. “You’re still just a stupid, weak little girl, and I will always fucking win-“

Your eyes shoot open, and Homelander can only stare in shock when he sees the red glow in your eyes. Can only open his mouth and try to drop you, throw you away from his body, but you’re fucking strong now. You wrap your hands around his on your throat—keeping him right in front of you as a manic grin pulls at your mouth and strains at your cheeks—and you laser him right in the fucking face.

He roars, and you’re fucking moving. Punching his melted, twisted, face—skin hanging off his body and sizzling—with all that new strength in your body. Homelander’s strength, that seems just slightly weaker in your body, but you’re still more powerful. Your fists are wrapped in your own fire, and your eyes are still glowing with the laser—slicing into his arms, not drawing blood or cutting limbs, but sending him stumbling away from you—and you’re a better fucking fighter. Ben trained you well, so you can absorb every hit to your body and deal even, measured blows that make sickening crunches when they land.

You’ve push Homelander down into the mud and debris—pinning his face to the wrecked pavement and his body to the ground—and you’re so fucking exhausted but you have to keep going. To focus the laser on his skin of his neck and burn a hole for the V. When Ben arrives—he’s close, you can hear him roaring in your head and feel him drawing closer—you need this to be done. The pain hasn’t left you, only been pushed aside by the adrenaline, and you can’t keep going. You have to, but you can’t. You’re tired and cold and covered in blood, and you’re starting to feel wrong. 

This feels a little beyond death. It’s eating you alive and pulling your body away from you, and you’re still fighting because Homelander won’t touch Ryan, but you don’t feel well. Homelander’s powers are volatile and horrible in your body, and the new shot of V is leaving a chronic feeling of being cleaved open and sliced apart and shoved back together every fucking second. The world is moving in and out of focus—your body feels like lead and your brain feels like it’s not your own—and when Homelander throws you off his body all you can do is drag yourself back up and keep being a fucking problem.

He won’t let you touch him anymore. Homelander’s not stupid, he can see you’re growing weaker, and he’s figured out not to touch you. You’ve moved to block his path to Ryan, you’ve thrown up a thin wall of fire to keep him at bay, but you’re so fucking tired. You’re dizzy and heavy and breathing is an act of labor, and you’re holding yourself awake by your throat. By nails in your skin and quickly drying blood in your mouth.  

And you’re going to fall down. You’re going to crack and break, and keep trying to fight until you’re dragged deep, deep under as your body implodes. Homelander’s face is so fucking hideous from your fight, but it’s coming into view as the fire flickers and hisses in the rain, and you’re going to collapse but you can’t-

You feel Ben first. Somewhere in the flame and blood and searing of flesh and snapping of bones, you feel more alive, and know he’s near. You feel something return to you that you’d longed for since it left, and it’s pious and loud and wrathful and aimed into you. Filling you up with just enough fight to keep going, more and more resolve and concentration, and sparking a fuel in your veins that’s calling you somewhere warm and safe.

Then there’s an ache and mold and wrath and love that’s stronger and better than anything else in the world, smell pine as your heart becomes something golden and fucking furious. 

Then, through the rain and fog, you see a blinding white light. Drawing closer and closer, screeching on the wet pavement, going so fucking fast and aiming directly at Homelander. 

He doesn’t realize anything happening until you grab Ryan will all the remaining strength in your body, and dive to the side. You see his fucking horrible smile falter, his head twist, and it’s too late. Butcher’s car crashes into Homelander with a burst of fire, and you think your scream stops the world.

Ben was in there. Ben was in the car and now it’s wrecked, and you can feel the pain in his body and you’re so tired. You can’t lose this, but you won’t be able to keep going if you lose Ben. There’s so much fucking pain in your heart and lungs and throat and skull and you’re not sure who it’s belongs to but you can’t do anything but scream.

You hear more explosions, hear Ryan calling your name, but you can’t fucking breathe and there are black spots covering your vision, and Ben. Where is Ben, you need him and you can feel him but everything fucking hurts and where is Ben-

“I’m here.” Something warm and familiar and safe pulls you up from the ground, and a deep, powerful, good voice says your name. “I’m right fucking here, Sunshine, I’m here.”

Ben-

You’re going to be okay. He mutters in your head, and you’re not sure if you’re crying or drowning, but Ben’s here so it doesn’t really matter. I fucking swear, beautiful, you’re going to be fine. 

You pull your face back from his chest, and he looks terrible. He’s still handsome—Ben couldn’t be ugly if he tried—but God, he looks tired and angry. You can see every line on his face and feel every stab of mold through his heart, and when you reach up a hand to trace his frown, he leans into your touch like he’s not sure it’s real. 

Benjamin, my love-

We’re fine. He grunts, kissing the top of your head. We’re going to be fucking fine.

There’s another explosion, and you flinch. Homelander-

Butcher’s got it. You and Ryan are safe, that’s all I fucking care about.

You blink around, Ben’s touch and existence in your body forcing the world into focus—even as you continue to fall—and you realize everything is covered in a golden glow. That Ryan is clinging to Ben’s arm—the one that isn’t holding you—and every bang and roar of Butcher and Homelander is muffled through the atomic feeling of Ben around you.

“Ryan,” you reach out to pull him closer, not allowing yourself to flinch when all his terror hits your body. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” He whispers, staring at you with an open, fearful face. “What did my dad do to you-“

It’s impossible to look at Ben when you answer, because you feel him grow rigid, his love and care alight and bloody in your body, and his pure fucking fury written all over his face before you even speak.

“He,” you take a long breath, forcing the words out as your head begins to wrap in a haze again. “He shot me with the last original V-“ 

“He fucking what.” 

You swallow, dropping your brow to Ben’s shoulder. “I’m okay-“

“I can fucking feel you,” Ben hisses your name, his voice lined with anger even as he runs his hand through your hair, his touch still reverent. “You’re sick, we need to get you out-“

“No.” You shake your head against him, pressing your palm to his chest. “Butcher can’t fight Homelander alone, he’s not a supe-“

“He shot the V.” Ben grunts. “The regular shit-“

Your gaze shoots up, your eyes wide. “He what-“

“When we realized Homelander wasn’t coming. He got laser eyes and strength, like last time, he’ll be fucking fine-“

“But he can’t kill Homelander, Ben.” Your words become frantic, your brain turning, but not fast enough for your tongue. “Even he gets the V in, it just makes Homelander vegetative. He needs to be hit with the nuke, he needs-“

You cut yourself off, your hand drifting to the exposed skin of Ben’s collarbone. Deep, deep down, in a fundamental part of his body—your body—he’s alive, and golden, and powerful. The V in him already feels like yours, and it’s so much better than Homelander’s. It might be because it’s the same as your V while Homelander’s is the overly perfect formula, or because Ben is simply good while Homelander is vile, or because Ben is yours and as vital to your existence as your own head and blood, but it’s right. You don’t need to take it, it already belongs to you, and it rolls into your body like a brilliant, peaceful storm. 

The pain doesn’t leave you, but it becomes distant. Pushed away where it’s only banging on your skull, dulled by the sheer feeling of Ben’s power. It’s radiant and atomic in your body, up your spine and blooming over your ribs. It’s focused and hot and so fucking strong, and it’s only building higher, until you feel invincible. You feel like the earth itself, all the way down to your core, white-hot in your muscles. It would take a force like the sun to destroy you, but you’re not even the slightly bit worried it will. The sun rests in your body—under your skin and over your brain—and it’s moving in harmony with what Ben’s silently and unknowingly offered you.

You meet Ben’s eyes—the best shade of green in the world and looking right into the deepest parts of your mind that sometimes you don’t even know how to reach—and you wonder if he can feel it. Feel his own power in you, sense that something has shifted and settled into your bones. 

“Ben-“

“No.” He cuts off your whisper with a stern hiss of your name. “There is not a fucking chance-“

“Butcher needs you. And you,” you glance at Ryan, still shaking and so small. “You need to stay here, my love.”

“You stay here, I’ll fight-“

“Please.” You move your hands to cup his face, and offer him a small, sad smile. “You said you’d let me do what I needed to do. I need to do this-“

“I did let you, and I lost you, so there is no goddamn way-“

“I need to do this. I, I don’t want to, but I need to. I have to. Please-“

“I’m the only one who can blast Homelander’s powers-“

“That’s not true.” You drop your brow to his, and let the power continue to climb. “Not anymore. I don’t know if you can-“

“I can.” Ben sighs, his hand squeezing the skin of your waist. “It’s, I felt all of it. And I can feel this. But you don’t have to do it just because you can fucking mimic me or some shit-“

“I do.” Everything hits a plateau of steady, unyielding strength, and you press a small kiss to Ben’s slack mouth. Please, Benjamin, my love. I can do this, please trust me.

He’s completely still under your touch, and you can feel that rot eating at his insides. It might drive you mad with guilt, but you need to do this. This has to end, and it needs to be you that ends it. You’ve never wanted it to be—you’d done everything in your power to make it so it wouldn’t be—but someone has to, and this feels unavoidable. All of Ben’s power is mixing in with yours, and you’ve never felt more alive, and it might be temporary but you’re going to use it to end this.

Ben will have to stay with Ryan. To keep him safe as you fight at Butcher’s side, to make sure he sees nothing that happens. And it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever asked of him, but you’ll spend a lifetime afterwards apologizing. Kissing him and touching him and doing whatever needs to be done for this to just be a ghost neither of you ever speak about. 

And he’ll forgive you. You’ll crawl back to him and splinter apart in his arms every single time, and you know Ben will forgive you. He understands you, he’s always understood you—even if he might claim otherwise—so when you feel the mold twist in his arteries it kills you, but you know he’s going to let you do this.

Maybe one day you’ll be strong enough to tell him that—even if he doesn’t let you do anything—if Ben had shaken his head and told you no, I’ll fucking do this and you’ll stay safe, you would have given in. But he doesn’t. Ben gives you a tense nod, his jaw clenched and his grip on your body bruising, and you’re going to do this.

You have to kiss him. You should go now—there’s not a chance Butcher is strong enough to do this himself—but if you don’t kiss Ben you’re going to die. And he must feel it too, in his bones and blood and every burning nerve of your bodies—or maybe he just feels you—because you’ll never know who moved first. 

You might dedicate a lifetime to describing this kiss, when everything is over. It’s hungry and angry and desperate, but coated with so much care and fear, and filled with love. It’s only really love, in the end. It’s a brief moment where it’s only you and Ben, and there’s fire on you lips that he doesn’t flinch from and a nuclear warmth in your body that only makes you dive deeper. It’s spit and teeth and fury, and so, so soft because at the core there’s a promise.

This isn’t a goodbye kiss. It’s a you’re not allowed to fucking say goodbye kiss. It’s you making a silent, final oath that Ben isn’t going to lose you, because that’s just not how this works. You’re alive in Ben, and he’s not something you’ll allow yourself to lose. 

This kiss finishes, but neither of you pull away. You live in one second longer, where you’re attached in every way possible, and warm, and safe in a way that feels permanent and older than the universe, even if it’s not. 

You burn, I burn, Sunshine. Ben’s voice in your head is hoarse, and his every exhale moves easily down your throat. No fucking burning without me.

I know. You smile, because Ben is here, so you’re not going to burn out. And you’re not fighting alone, because it will be Ben’s power—inside you and so fucking natural—that keeps you together and finishes this. I love you, Benjamin. You burn, I burn.

He nods slowly, and you have to pry yourself from his lips. Use every ounce of resolve in your body to stand, to give Ryan a reassuring smile as you steel yourself.

You take a long, deep, heavy breath that tastes like pine and gunpowder and Ben, and you can fucking do this.

The golden shield doesn’t need to drop, because you take a cautious step up to it and it begins to sing and glow in your presence. There’s a brief second—as you walk through it—that you’re stronger than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re all yours and Ben’s. You’re everything, warm and vast and bloody, and nothing will ever break you again.

Then the chill of rain falls on your brow, and the wind rushes in your ears, and everything comes into a sharp, brutal, unforgiving focus as you step into the ruins around you.

Butcher and Homelander are locked in the most destructive fight you’ve ever seen. Scorched earth is too light a phrase, because everything has been razed and wrecked around them. The car parts have been flung around, and there’s melted metal and gas fires and fallen trees strewn across the road, and the air feels like it’s calling forward judgment day. Heavy and hot in your lungs, all smoke and oil and ash down your throat.

Neither of them see you at first—marching through the wreckage and wrapped in flames that make this rain fade in a hiss—but they don’t need to. You make yourself know as you let out the most primal, furious sound that’s ever left your body, and a wave of fire crashes through the world, aimed right at Homelander. 

Butcher moves to your side as you advance on where Homelander had vanished in the flame, giving you a smirk.

“Bout fuckin time, Love-“

“Shut up.” You snap, not sparing Butcher a glance as you see a shifting, dark form emerging from the smoke. “You get him down, I blast him, no fucking games.”

Homelander roars as he charges toward you, his laser carving a hole in your chest, and you don’t even flinch. Something white-hot and in an easy rhythm with your heartbeat crashes through the air at your will, flashing gold and knocking Homelander back.

“Bloody Christ, how the hell-“

“I have new powers.” You mutter, shooting Butcher a daggered look. “Homelander shot me with the V that I took back. And you can be a fucking cunt about that,” you narrow your eyes, and Butcher closes his mouth. “After we kill Homelander.”

“Well, Love, I ain’t sure that your plan’ll work if I don’t got backup.” Butcher glances at Homelander, rising into the air, and doges a laser blast that had been aimed at his skull. “V made me strong, but the cunt-“

“I’ve got it.” You do. Ben’s power, thrown and focused, won’t wipe the V from Homelander’s body, but it will weaken him. Enough for Butcher to get his shot. “You just need to get the V-“

“Ah, that’s the thing-“

Butcher’s words are cut off as Homelander sweeps down, grabbing him and throwing him halfway down the cracked pavement.

“What are we chatting about?” Homelander turns to you, and fuck he looks ugly. His formally too perfect face has been marred and burnt and scarred, flesh falling off his skin and his nose half caved into his fucking head. “It’s not very nice to leave me out, you know-“

You have no interest in banter or conversation, so you punch Homelander right in his thin, mauled lips and send him stumbling backward.

“Fuck,” he roars, and when he spits out a tooth you don’t bother to hide your grin. “You evil little bitch-“

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, throwing out another rush of Ben’s nuclear energy. “You’re fucking pathetic, Homelander, you know that? You had to kidnap me,” a punch to his gut, fist wrapped in fire. “And rape me,” his jaw, blood splattering over your face. “And fucking torture me in order to control me. But here’s the thing.” You take a step forward, and the pussy fucking flinches, taking a stumbling step back and your whole body begins to glow with fire and energy. You’re not sure if this is your power, or Ben’s, and you don’t really fucking care. “You never broke me. Not permanently. Not in a way that couldn’t be fixed. And now I’m going to kill you, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

He tries to fly away, but you’re faster. The whole sky turns in a storm of fire, and Homelander crashes back to earth as he realizes there’s no way out.

You hear Butcher clear his throat behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder his nose is broken and there’s a large gash along his neck, but he’s still up. Still fighting.

“You still on that die like a human shit?” He asks, keeping his attention on Homelander’s stirring body. “Or you wanna just-“

“No. He dies like the human he is. Get the V-“

“That’s, ah, that’s the thing, ain’t it.“ Butcher coughs, and you’ve never seen him look nervous before. It’s unsettling. “We don’t got no V.”

“What-“

“Used mine.” Butcher muttered. “Rest shattered in the car wreck, or is back with the team. We just got each other, Love, which I ain’t thrilled about either, but-“

“Shut up.” You squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers tapping an inhuman speed against your palm as you try to fucking work your way out of this. “We need to keep him down, that’s what the V was for, and you could do it, but I’d need to blast you-“

“Do that.”

You frown at Butcher, examining his stone-like expression. “Butcher, that might kill you-“

“So?” Butcher shrugs, and the only sign of any care or fear in his body are his hands—fisted in his pockets—and his eyes. They’re flashing with something you don’t understand, but know is emotion, even if his face is set and blank. “Don’t pretend you think I got shit to live for, Love. You all got people, I got Ryan, and he’ll be fine without me. He’s got you, he’ll make it.”

There’s no disgust or resentment in Butcher’s words, but no defeat either. Just flat fact, like even if this isn’t the only possible way, he’s not looking for another. And you can only think of that last vial of V, meant for Butcher but in your body, and how he’d been so ready to take it.

You don’t think he wants an after. Butcher might really just believe that this is all he’s for, and after isn’t a place he belongs. 

And you’re not sure if you agree, because you don’t like Butcher, but he’s not Homelander. He’s not Ben either, but he’s something in the middle. Something just as angry as them both, but with just enough love and care in his body that he couldn’t be Homelander, and not enough will for something better to be Ben. 

He’s not lost. He’s close to it, but not quite. He’s a supe now—and you can almost taste his own hatred of that every time he scratches at his skin or grimaces at any step—and you might call that punishment enough. To be the thing he swore to destroy. 

But this will wipe the V from his body, and there will be no retribution.

But you don’t think you care for retribution, or reparation, or even an apology from Butcher. You just want this to be over, and you will offer Butcher this grace. He’s never been your friend, but he’s never tried to stop you. He’s never liked you, but you don’t really think he hated you either. He’s backed up your every plan, and never stood in your direct way. He’s antagonized you, but still had your back on your more fucked up plans.

He’s the reason you have Ben. He’d backed you up, and if he hadn’t, you’d still be alone. And this isn’t your choice to make for him, and it’s your turn to back up the one time he’s will to make a sacrifice that he’ll pay the price for.

“Butcher,” your words are soft, but firm. “Do you-“

“I got a gun.” Butcher looks you up and down, his face grim. “You still want-“

“Yes.” 

Butcher nods and that’s it. All that left to do is finish this.

Homelander’s flying at you, and when his hand wrapped around your throat you let all your blood out of your body. Every last bit of cold, paralyzing fear of him that existed inside of you is pushed out, into Homelander, and he barely gets you off the ground when he drops you with a pathetic fucking scream. Butcher’s waiting for him, lasering his gut and knocking him fully to the ground, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him to the pavement and you land on his chest.

He’s sneering and hissing hateful words you can’t hear, because you’re calling the drums. The start in the distance, so familiar and in a harmony and beat you’d recognize anywhere, and as they draw closer you feel like you’ve reached some sort of peak, and you’re only seconds from the plummet. Like the barrier of Ben’s power that’s been holding the pain at bay is about to collapse, and this split second is all you have. 

But you don’t break, or falter, or fail. 

The drums fall into time with your heart right as the sickness of the V returns. 

And you feel every bit of the bomb rip out of your body and through the world right before you fall to the ground and everything is only pain.

In the distance, or maybe right by your ear, you hear a gunshot go off. It might just be a delusion of peace—born from the way that everything is fading in and out around you and you can’t tell what’s solid and what an illusion—but then you feel something being to riot in your chest that’s more real than anything and you know you’re still awake. 

Your eyes flutter open, and everything is out focus and wrapped in a haze, but that Thing that’s only ardor and care is sinking into your heart and ribs, and it gives you a brief moment of clarity. A long moment where you’re warm and safe, and so, so loved. This love feels like the universe. This love feels bigger than the universe, and you think it might be all yours.   

You hope it is. It would be really nice for this existence of only pain to fade, and to wake up and be loved like this for a long, long time.

But right now you have to rest. There’s something soft and dark creeping at your vision, and you’ve never been this tired in your life, so resting feels like a good idea. It feels very simple, to just close your eyes and rest.

Peace starts to pull you, down, down down—into something warm and intangible, but somehow everything and made of ardor—and the last thing you hear is someone that sounds like everything good roaring your name.  

The last thing you see is cold, blue, lifeless eyes that will never hurt you again. 

The last thing you feel is clean.

End Note: I would say f's in chat for Homelander but I'm throwing a party to celebrate his death, so no respect. Also, this chapter is a direct fuck you to the “powerful MC loses her magic” trope. Fuck that. She’s MORE magical!

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

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[possessmedude]

Venom Muscle Possession - Part 1

Ryan was a hot young jock, but he wanted to make more progress on his body. He has been working out every day for over a year and can’t seem to make his muscles bigger. They were a good size, but he wanted them much bigger. He was getting undressed in the locker room when the Venom symbiote noticed him. Venom needed a new host and could sense the eagerness in Ryan. After observing Ryan’s tight body, Venom knew he would be a great new body for him.

Ryan had finished undressing and looked around to the empty locker room. He heard something behind him and he turned to see Venom manifesting into his humanoid form. His jaw dropped as he saw the large, muscular symbiote standing before him. Venom stuck his long tongue out of his mouth and into Ryan’s, going deep into his body. The feeling was euphoric and Ryan clinched his body and muscles. Venom’s tongue snapped back into his own mouth and he smiled. Ryan stumbled and looked back at Venom while admiring his huge muscles. He could feel a connection between his body and Venom’s, a yearning to be one.

“What do you want?” Ryan asked. Venom smiled saying “I need a new host to be my body and you’re the perfect vessel to host me.” “So you want to take over my body?” Venom licked his lips and said “Basically, yes. But it would be my body now.” “Why would I let you do that?” Ryan asked. Venom stepped closer to Ryan, grabbing his hands and putting them above his head and pinning him to the lockers. Venom put his head into Ryan’s pits and inhaled, breathing in his manly twink scent. “I see how you look at the other men in this gym with jealousy over their muscular bodies, and their big cocks. Let me inside you and you’ll be the alpha male, you’ll have all my muscles, and a huge dick.”

Ryan couldn’t believe it, but he looked at Venom with such admiration - he wanted every drop of him inside him. Ryan said “Do it, take my body” and then threw himself at Venom. Venom embraced Ryan’s body and started unraveling and wrapping himself around Ryan’s tight, muscular body.

Ryan felt Venom slithering over his body like a second layer of skin. It felt absolutely amazing, he reveled in bliss as Venom slithered his way up his torso, tightening around his biceps, then spreading to cover his cock and balls, all while caressing them while he spread. Ryan was so excited and loved the feeling Venom gave his body, he couldn’t wait. “Yes Venom, fucking take my body. Give me all of you - I want it all!” Ryan yelled.

Ryan’s body jerked backwards into the locker, with his hands above his head. He wasn’t in control of the parts of his body Venom has spread to. He involuntarily flexed his biceps then felt up his muscles which Venom was making even bigger. The symbiote was spreading up his neck and Ryan began smiling at the thought of another man controlling his body. “Come get me man!” Ryan yelled as Venom’s head hovered in front of Ryan’s face. Venom then shoved his head into Ryan’s face and his classic Venom face formed over Ryan’s.

“Fuck, you feel great Ryan, thanks for the body” Venom said while cracking his new neck. “This is only the first part to make sure you feel good, now comes the good part.” Venom started to turn into goo again and started flowing from all parts of Ryan’s body into his open mouth. With Venom still in control and Ryan in the backseat, Ryan’s body was chugging the symbiote down, even pushing as much as he could into his mouth. Ryan still felt everything and loved the sensation of the cool symbiote sliding down his throat and filling out his big, buff body.

He felt Venom sliding into his leg making them huge, filling his abs with chiseled definition, pumping up his big pecs, and sliding into his arms and making his biceps and triceps enormous.

Then Venom slid into his cock and caused it to grow to a full 13”, followed by pumping into his balls, making them huge and fall with a thud. Ryan’s body groaned and stretched as the remaining drops of the symbiote entered his body.

Ryan’s new incredibly buff body relaxed as Venom settled into his new host. He grabbed his jockstrap and took a deep whiff. “Fuck, you smell like such a man. Well…I smell like such a man.” Ryan smirked. Lifting his hairy armpit to his nose, he took a deep whiff and smiled, with his cock getting erect at the manly smell. Venom’s long tongue came out of Ryan’s mouth and licked his pit and biceps. “Delish” Ryan said, while flexing in the mirror.

Ryan decided to go lift weights in the gym to further bond the symbiote and human body by tearing and rebuilding their muscles together.

Ryan walked out onto the gym floor with manly cockiness. All the guys in the gym stared at him in shock and awe of how quickly he bulked up so much.

A jock named Brock, who used to be bigger than Ryan, approached Ryan in the locker room. “Hey man, what’s gotten into you? What’s your secret?” he asked. “A big boost, want some of it?” Brock responded with a “fuck yeah!” Ryan smirked and said “Open wide”. Brock, confused, did as instructed and opened his mouth wide open.

Ryan grabbed him and started shoving his tongue down Brock’s throat. Brock was confused and his initial instinct was to push Ryan off of him. But he continued to embrace Ryan, and then he felt something entering his mouth. He began to panic but Ryan had him locked in place. Brock felt a second symbiote slithering down his throat and beginning to fill out his body. It spoke to him in his head “You are my new body now. Accept me, let me in. We will be one. We will be as big as Ryan. You want this, you want to have his strength.” Brock was resistant but then started flexing and feeling the strength filling his body. “We will be huge together. Our body will be a beast among men. All men will crave your body, our body.” Brock’s cock started to grow at the arousal. Brock accepted the symbiote and chugged it deeper into his throat.

Ryan released his lips from Brock as the last of the symbiote spawn slithered down Brock’s throat. Brock’s body squirmed around while the new symbiote got adjusted in his body. Ryan watched his symbiote spawn take over Brock’s muscular body limb by limb and enjoyed every second of it. Brock’s body had grown in size and mass similar to how Ryan’s did. The last of the symbiote traveled up Brock’s throat ready to reach his brain and take complete control of his body. Brock was smiling as he felt the symbiote traveling to his head. “Fuck yeah man!!! I’m fucking huge! Give it to me!!” he yelled. Brock’s eyes rolled back into his head and he stumbled backward. A smirk slowly grew across Brock’s face as the symbiote was now in full control. Brock started flexing his muscles and feeling his body, rubbing his cock and balls. “How does it feel?” Ryan asked. Brock said “Amazing” as he continued to flex his huge biceps.

Ryan stepped toward Brock and began feeling his symbiote bonded body. The two began to make out, diving their abnormally long symbiotic tongues into each other’s mouths. Ryan took a deep whiff of Brock’s pits and licked them with his long tongue. Brock shivered in ecstasy at the feeling. Ryan slapped Brock’s naked ass and said “Come on, we have lots to do”.

To be continued…

[torturedreid]

Tomorrow

summary: spencer experiencing cravings & depression-induced isolation

warnings: drug cravings, death, depression

word count: 1574

a/n: so...this is my first time writing something longer than a bot since I was 14 on wattpad. I hope you'll like it because I sacrificed a lot of sleep writing, reading then rewriting/ Let me know your thoughts!

-----------

“Did you know the average person lies three times within the first ten minutes of meeting someone new? However, trained investigators can detect microexpressions—fleeting, involuntary facial expressions that reveal a person's true emotions—even if the lie is well-rehearsed.”

That's the first thing Dr. Spencer Reid ever said to you, and you were one of the few who listened to him, which is how he knew you saw through his lies when you’d asked if he was okay.

You had noticed the shadows under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands when he was flicking through case files. Spencer was good at hiding things, but not from you. You’d spent enough time with him to recognize the signs- restless fingers playing with the edge of his scarf, his tendency to ramble more than usual as if he were trying to fill a void he didn’t want to face.

The death of Ryan Phillips was what was playing on repeat in Spencer’s mind. His attempt at talking Jack Vaughn down from shooting him, how he’d asked ‘When does it end, Jack?’ and the chilling response as he had replied ‘Tomorrow’. That word taunted Spencer. Though he had a good handle on his addiction to Dilaudid and he’d been sober for a while, witnessing that kind of stone-cold brutality was causing cravings that he was struggling to keep suppressed. He’d attempted meetings, getting a sponsor but nothing was helping to subside them.

He knew he should talk to someone, about how isolation was dangerous. It was feeding the cravings and making the voice in his head louder, but the thought of facing anyone was all the more daunting. He’d begun shutting himself off from everyone, the team, you, and even his sponsor. He told himself he just needed time, time to sort through his thoughts and feelings but deep down he knew that he was lying to himself- it was merely an excuse.

It started when he’d stopped lingering around the bullpen after cases instead opting to retreat to his desk muttering about needing to catch up on paperwork. Then it extended to avoiding the team hangouts that Penelope always insisted on, citing headaches or wanting to read a new book. Even his long-winded ramblings, which you’d always listened to attentively, were few and far between now.

At home, he’d sit in silence on the couch for hours, the solitude -though suffocating- offered more consolation than discussing it with others. His gaze alternated between the stacks upon stacks of self-help books he’d obsessively scoured over the past few weeks and his journal, which he’d been using to document his recovery, that was now collecting dust on his coffee table.

The nights were the worst, the memory of how Dilaudid promised him relief, a numbing warmth against the harsh reality of his life, and now it was more than that, now it offered the illusion of reprieve from the guilt and relentless replay of Ryan’s death. Tomorrow, Jack Vaughn's words haunted him like a ghost in his mind, he couldn’t stop wishing it was him who’d been on the other end of that gun instead of Ryan, a child. He was utterly exhausted.

He loathed those thoughts, how easily and reflexively his mind turned back to the vials that had almost consumed and destroyed him before.

You’d tried to reach out to him, stopping him in the halls of work, hovering by his desk gently asking how he was doing. He’d seen the worry in your eyes and god it just made the guilt resurface tenfold. He couldn’t bear the idea of burdening you with this darkness inside of him, of the disappointment in your eyes as he admitted to you how truly close he was to falling apart.

So he pulled away.

One evening a few days ago, he’d ignored you as you knocked at his door, even though he knew you’d seen the light seeping from under it. He’d stayed perfectly still as you softly called his name, your voice full of concern, and he’d wanted to open the door, to fall into your arms and tell you everything. To cry, and to ask for help, but the thought of facing you and admitting his shortcomings was too hard. When you’d finally left he’d felt so lonely that he fell into a dissociative state that took hours to pass.

So Spencer did what he always did when things got too unbearable. He buried himself in his work, in the many books littering his apartment, anything to distract him from the chaos in his head. He avoided eye contact, deflected your questions with half-hearted jokes and reassurances, and drowned himself in statistics and theories to keep the cravings -and shame- at bay.

But no amount of isolation could stop the storm from raging inside of him and deep down Spencer knew sooner or later it would catch up to him, that he couldn’t outrun the truth forever.

He was broken.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The turning point came on a rainy Thursday night, after a long, draining case. The team had dispersed hours ago, but something was stopping you from leaving. Something about the way Spencer had disappeared into the conference room without a word made you loiter. You’d waited a while but finally dug up the courage to approach, when you’d gotten to the conference room, you found the door slightly ajar, and inside Spencer sat at the table, head in his hands, and his body full of tension- like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was crushing him.

“Spencer?” you said quietly, trying to avoid startling him.

You saw how his body language changed, straightening up his posture but remaining stiff. “I’m fine,” He said quickly, voice clipped, but you knew better. Everything about him was screaming to you that he was far from fine- his tone, his posture, the heavy slump in his shoulders.

You stepped further inside, closing the door behind you, “It's okay to not be okay.” You knew it sounded cliche but it was oddly fitting for this moment. You sit in the chair opposite him.

For a minute he didn’t respond, but when he finally raised his head his eyes were glassy, bloodshot and so full of pain that it made your chest ache. “I don’t know what to say,” he muttered, so quietly you almost missed it.

“Then don’t. Don’t say anything, just let me be here with you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, taken back by the simplicity of your answer, at how you didn’t push for more, and he nodded, darting his eyes away from you like he thought you’d see into his soul, reading into his deepest darkest thoughts just with a glance.

You waited for a while, the silence stretching yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. To him it just felt like a reminder that he didn’t have to carry this alone. Eventually Spencer's voice cut through the silence, shaky and hesitant.

“I swear I was doing okay,” He said, picking at the skin around his nails. “But after Vaughn, after Ryan, everything came rushing back. The cravings, the doubt…the self hatred. I keep wishing it was me he’d killed because this is so much scarier than death. The fear of it happening again, of me falling so deep into the darkness that it swallows me. The fear of not trusting myself.”

The honesty in his words broke something inside of you, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you put your hand across the table, offering it to him if he needed it, and you keep your voice steady and calm. “Then trust me. You’re strong, you’re still here and fighting. That’s the truth, and the truth matters more than ‘what ifs’.”

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I’ve been to meeting after meeting, read so many books, and nothing is helping. I feel hopeless. I feel stuck.” He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours, trying to determine if you were genuinely worried. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because you’re my friend,” You said without hesitation. “I care about you, Spencer. Not because you’re a genius or because you save lives everyday, but because you’re a good person. An honest to god good person. You’re a rarity nowadays, and good people deserve to have someone in their corner. Plus we all need help sometimes, there’s no shame in it.”

His lower lip trembled slightly, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know if I can let you in. I’ve spent so long building up these walls that I’m not sure if I can knock them down again. It was just easier that way.”

“I get it,” You say, getting up and walking over to his side of the table, sitting next to him and taking his hand gently. “But easier isn’t always better. You’ve been carrying this weight alone for so long, but you don’t have to. Not anymore. Let me help.”

For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything, then slowly nodded. “I don’t know where to start, though.”

“That's okay, we’ll figure it out together. One step at a time, alright?” You said, squeezing his hand.

He gave you a small tentative smile- a real one this time. It wasn’t much but enough to make you believe he’d be okay.

And for the first time in weeks, Spencer let himself believe it too.

[bullet-prooflove]

Three Things Prompt Game! for Ryan of Yellowstone

Ryan Yellowstone + fireworks, dog, blanket

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @ladychaos1525

Companion piece to:

Romantic Shit - Ryan and you talk about Texas.

Texas - Ryan and you see each other for the first time in three months.

Summer (NSFW) - Ryan enjoys a moment with you in the summer sun.

Ryan finds out the two of you have a dog when he gets home from his six month secondment in Texas to find a Belgian Malinois, snoozing in a dog bed near the fireplace, his blanket tucked over him. He’s not sure whose more surprised in that moment, him or the dog.

“Are we taking care of him for someone?” He asks you when you get home from work and the expression on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

“You did say you hated the thought of me being here in my own after what happened to Gina.” You remind him as he and Briscoe track you through the house, hovering in the laundry room as you begin to unpack your gear bag.

“I meant without me, your person.” He informs you, his arms crossed over his chest as you stuff everything into the machine. Briscoe sits alongside of him, head tilted up, watching the exchange between the two of you.

“Ryan…” You say firmly with your hand on your hip. “I know you’re not mad about the dog.”

“No, I’m…” He struggles to find the words as his palm rubs over the scruff of his beard. “…I’m worried about what comes after the dog.”

“After the…” You repeat before understanding dawns on you. “You mean a baby?”

“We never talked about having kids.” He reminds you as he reaches down and scratches behind Briscoe’s ears. “Texas came up and we decided to get married, we never really talked about anything beyond that.”

“Oh.” You say because he’s right. The two of you had been so focused on what was right in front of you, you hadn’t been looking five years, ten years down the line. “I don’t… they’re not really for me.”

“Oh thank fuck.” He mutters and you can see the tension flooding from his body as his shoulders relax. “I thought the dog was your way of telling me you were ready for one.”

“God no.” You tell placing a hand over your heart. “Briscoe was retiring and nobody else could take him, they were talking about putting him down and I couldn’t let that happen. He has canine PTSD from the shit he’s been through, loud noises like fireworks scare the hell out of him so they couldn’t have him in the field anymore.”

“Oh Briscoe.” Ryan says as he crouches down to the dog’s level and uses both hands to ruffle his furry cheeks. “Welcome to the family bud, we’re all a little bit messed up.”

Briscoe woofs his response to Ryan’s antics, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and you can’t help but smile, because this right here, this is your family, the only one you want.

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