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dollgxtz · 3 months ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, kidnapping, syringes, hitting, bloodshed, attempted rape, lots of blood, sylus goes a tad bit crazy, pet names like kitten, sweetie, doll, little mouse, stalking,

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel

AN: I decided to make this chapters theme red since it fits the bloodiness of this chapter. This is on A03 as well! Also YALL I'm so sorry, apparently my taglist hasn't been tagging people correctly. It should be fixed now! I’ll go back and fix it on the other lists as well!! Per usual, heed the warnings and enjoy! Next chapter is definitely going to have lots of smut, I’m already writing it 😌

"Your tears, your pain, your misery," Sylus whispers, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy as his hand moves gently to your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hasn’t yet fallen, his touch both tender and terrifying. "It all belongs to me."

“I am the only one who gets to see you cry”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.6

The darkness had swallowed you whole. When you blink your eyes open, the world is a blur, as though you’re caught between waking and a nightmare. Cold, sharp and biting, is the first thing you feel, seeping into your skin from the damp concrete beneath you. Your nightgown is soaked, sticking to your body, the freezing water from the shower still dripping slowly from the showerhead, an eerie rhythm to the otherwise oppressive silence.

It takes a moment before the memories resurface, and when they do, they crash over you like a wave. The basement. Reese. The other man. The betrayal. Your heart clenches painfully as you recall the way Reese had looked at you when he led you here, his guilt ridden face made you scowl.

How dare he have a conscious when he had led you to your very demise? You had trusted him. Told him about your kidnapping, your escape. He had listened with kind eyes, nodding in all the right places, making you believe he was different—that he was your salvation in a world that had turned cruel. He had seemed so genuine, offering you a place to stay, a promise of safety. But now, that memory feels like poison, a twisted mockery of the trust you had so willingly given him.

How could you have been so naive?

You groan as you try to sit yourself upright, every muscle in your body protesting with sharp pain. The cold has seeped so deeply into your bones that it feels like your limbs are made of lead, heavy and uncooperative. Your fingers dig into the rough concrete as you push against it, your nightgown clinging to your skin, wet and miserable.

Your head spins, the pounding ache a reminder of everything you’ve been through, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to move. Lying there, helpless, isn’t an option. Not anymore.

Each breath is a struggle, shallow and ragged, as you steady yourself against the wall behind you. The dampness of the basement, the steady drip of water in the corner, the faint musty scent of decay—it all feels suffocating, as though the walls are closing in. You blink hard, trying to focus, to ground yourself in the moment, but the betrayal still burns in your mind, cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Reese's face flashes before your eyes again, his soft voice promising safety, and you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a shaky exhale. Safety. What a cruel joke.

You had simply traded one prison for a colder, darker one.

You look around the basement, squinting in the dim light. Your legs ache as you try to move them, pins and needles shooting through your feet as you attempt to stand. Your body feels battered, but the deeper pain—the one rooted in the betrayal—hurts far worse. Reese wasn’t some random passerby, some kind stranger. He knew what he was doing, and worse, he had listened to your story of suffering and seen you as an opportunity to fulfill some promise.

As you lean against the wall, trying to steady your shaky breath, Reese’s words echo in your mind, gnawing at your already fragile sense of reality.

“I promised them a girl.”

The phrase rattles around in your skull, unsettling and cryptic. What did he mean by that? Who was them?

Your stomach turns, the bile rising in your throat as you replay the memory over and over. Reese had said it shakily, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with barely concealed fear. But his words were soaked in something far darker, something that made your skin crawl the moment they left his lips.

Promised them a girl.

The weight of it sinks in deeper, heavier with each passing moment, like a noose tightening around your neck.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging sharply into your palms as you struggle to suppress the rising wave of nausea and panic. Every breath feels like a battle, the air thick with dread. You want answers—need answers—but more than anything, you need to get out of here. Every second you spend trapped in this basement feels like a countdown ticking away to something far worse than anything your mind can conjure.

Whatever Reese had promised them, whatever twisted deal he’d made, you won’t let it come to pass. You won’t be some pawn in this dark, twisted game he's playing. You refuse to be reduced to a bargaining chip for them, whoever they are. They might have Reese tangled in their web, but they won’t have you.

Your eyes drift toward the dingy mattress settled on a metal frame, barely visible in the dim light. A tattered towel, a folded pair of sweatpants and a white shirt lie haphazardly on top of it. You hesitate for a moment, the sight catching you off guard. Did Reese leave these here for you?

The thought sends a wave of conflicting emotions through you—anger, confusion, even a twisted sense of pity. Despite everything, despite handing you over to whatever fate awaits, had he still tried to offer some small gesture of comfort? Or had this been planned, just part of the sick arrangement, a way to keep you alive long enough for them?

You shake the thought from your mind. It doesn’t matter.

The cold clings to you, a constant, suffocating presence in your wet nightgown. Your teeth are still chattering, your skin icy to the touch. Without thinking too much about it, you rush over to the mattress, snatching the towel and the sweatpants. The rough fabric of the towel is worn, but it's warm enough as you rub it over your chilled skin, drying the water that’s soaked through your night gown.

With shaking hands, you strip off your wet, heavy dress and quickly pull on the dry sweatpants and t shirt. The warmth is immediate, a small, fleeting relief that feels almost like a luxury in this basement. You wish they weren't so loose, but it’s better than nothing.

Your body is still cold, still trembling, but the damp heaviness has lessened. You feel lighter, a little less trapped by the elements, even if the air around you remains heavy with the weight of everything that has yet to happen.

Reese’s face flashes in your mind again, his nervous, guilt-ridden eyes, and you can’t help but wonder—was this his attempt at an apology? His way of making up for the unforgivable?

Abruptly, you hear it – footsteps above, faint but unmistakable. Your entire body tenses as you freeze in place, straining to listen. The whispers that follow are barely audible through the thick ceiling, but you can catch snippets of words, just enough to recognize one of the voices: Reese.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage as you make your way towards the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, every step agonizing from the cold and strain. You push through the pain, desperate for more information.

You press your ear against the frigid metal, the voices growing clearer yet still muffled. Reese's voice is shaky and filled with nervous energy, like when he made that dreadful promise to "them."

"She said she was kidnapped," Reese's voice trembles, sending a wave of chills down your spine.

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin. A lump forms in your throat as you strain to listen, your mind racing. You had trusted him with everything, thinking he would help. The other voice – deep and calculated – interrupts.

"By who?" he demands harshly.

"I don't know," Reese replies, panic evident in his voice. "She didn't give names…I didn't ask…I didn't think…"

"Idiot," the man hisses angrily, cutting off Reese's rambling. There's a moment of silence before heavy footsteps approach closer. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

You hear something unmistakable—a faint scraping sound. Your blood runs cold as you slowly realize what’s happening.

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

It’s a slow, deliberate movement, the iron grinding against itself with a low, ominous creak that makes your breath catch in your throat. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening as you stare at the hatch, watching the handle twist further, the tension of the lock giving way with a soft, metallic click.

Panic floods through you as the realization hits like a punch to the gut—they’re about to open the hatch.

The handle continues to turn, and with a surge of panic, you pull away from the hatch. Your body moves before your mind can fully process, instincts kicking in. You scramble down the creaky wooden stairs, your legs protesting with every movement, but you push through the pain.

Each step feels like it takes an eternity, the sound of the hatch above grinding against your nerves. You reach the bottom, your breath ragged, and without a second thought, you make a desperate dive under the bed.

You scramble under the grimy mattress, your heart pounding as you press your body flat against the cold floor. The space beneath the bed is cramped, dark, and thick with dust, but you force yourself to stay still, biting back your panic. Your breathing comes in short, shaky bursts, but you try to control it, barely daring to inhale as you listen to the creak of the metal hatch swinging open.

The footsteps echo louder now, descending the wooden stairs, each step making your pulse race faster. You watch from your hiding place, the dim light casting shadows across the room as the first pair of feet—Reese's—comes into view. His sneakers shuffle nervously against the floor. Right behind him, heavier boots thud down the steps—boots that belong to someone much more imposing, someone far more dangerous.

You peek through the gloom, barely daring to lift your head.

Reese speaks first, his voice shaky. “I-I swear, I don’t know who kidnapped her. She just told me she was running, that she escaped. I didn’t ask for details.” There’s a tremor in his voice, thick with fear.

The other man’s voice is low, cold. “And you didn’t think to get more information? You were too busy playing hero.”

You didn't recognize this voice. He wasn't the one from earlier that had helped Reese bring you down here.

Reese mumbles something incoherent, but you can hear his terror. The other man clearly isn’t buying it. The booted footsteps hit the last step, and the man takes a slow, deliberate step into the basement.

You curl up tighter, heart racing, your body nearly paralyzed with fear as you catch sight of him. He’s taller than Reese, broader, with an intimidating presence that fills the room. His voice cuts through the tension. “Where is she, Reese? You promised us a girl. So, where is she?”

Reese stammers, his anxiety palpable. “She’s—she’s here, I swear, I locked the hatch. She couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

The man lets out a slow exhale, clearly unimpressed. “She better be. Otherwise, you’ll have hell to pay.”

You can feel the weight of the man’s presence shifting, scanning the room, and you shrink further into the darkness, praying that the shadows will keep you hidden. The dread mounts as the sound of their steps grows louder.

Your heart races, every muscle tense as the heavy boots come to a stop right beside the bed. You can feel the air shift, the man's presence looming dangerously above you. His shadow stretches over the mattress, and for a second, you think maybe—just maybe—he'll move on. Maybe he won't look under here.

But then, in one swift motion, he crouches down.

His eyes lock onto yours, blue and calculating, a cruel smile playing at the edges of his lips. Your stomach drops, panic surging through you like wildfire. You try to scramble backward, to escape deeper under the bed, but it's too late. His hand shoots out, iron-tight fingers wrapping around your ankle.

"No more hiding, little mouse," he growls, his voice thick with menace.

You kick and thrash, but he’s far too strong. With a brutal yank, he drags you out from under the bed, your nails scraping uselessly against the concrete floor as you try to find some kind of grip. Fear pulses through you, sharp and overwhelming, as you're pulled out into the open.

"Got her," the man says, his grip on your ankle tightening painfully. He hauls you upright, forcing you to stand even as your legs buckle beneath you.

Reese is standing off to the side, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with guilt and fear. He doesn’t say a word as the man forces you up, his cold fingers digging into your arm now, holding you in place.

The man looks you over, his smile fading as he studies you with dark, unreadable eyes. "This is her?" he says, glancing at Reese, his voice a mixture of disbelief and something far more dangerous.

Reese stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yes. I swear. She’s the one."

The man turns back to you, his expression hardening. "Good," he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your arm until pain shoots through your shoulder.

You bit back a cry of pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The man's grip tightened further, his fingers digging into your flesh like steel talons. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as you fought to keep your composure.

"Let. Me. Go." You hissed through clenched teeth, each word dripping with venom.

The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Feisty, are we? Hilarious. Won't last long though".

He released your arm abruptly, causing you to stumble. As you regained your footing, you noticed Reese had retreated to a corner, his face a mask of guilt and fear. The betrayal stung, but you pushed the feeling aside. There would be time for that later. Right now, survival was your only priority.

The men turned toward the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, drawn to the sound of heels clacking against the wooden steps. You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling with anticipation as another pair of legs appeared, descending with an air of confidence. A woman stepped into the basement, her dark hair swinging with each precise step, her sharp brown eyes surveying the room with calm, calculated detachment. She was dressed in a crisp, business-casual outfit, perfectly put together, every detail deliberate.

Her heels struck the floor with a final, authoritative click as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locking onto you immediately. There was no warmth in her eyes, no recognition of you as a person—only cold assessment, as though you were an object, a piece of inventory.

She didn’t speak right away, her expression unreadable as she glanced at the man beside you, then at Reese huddled in the corner. Her presence demanded attention, a silent command of the room that made your skin crawl.

“Is this the girl?” she asked at last, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of impatience.

The man nodded, his smirk never faltering. “She’s the one boss.”

The woman’s eyes swept over you again, lingering on you for a moment longer than before. You felt her gaze like ice, sharp and invasive, as if she could see through you, past your fear, right down to your core.

“She doesn’t look like much,” she remarked, almost casually, though there was a quiet menace in her tone. “But she’ll do hopefully.”

Your heart dropped, dread pooling in your stomach as her words hung in the air. Whatever Reese had gotten you into, it wasn’t just a betrayal—it was something far more dangerous. And now, you were caught in the middle of it.

Your mind raced as you tried to think of a way out, but the walls felt like they were closing in, your options shrinking with every second that passed. You had to do something—anything—before it was too late.

You certainly couldn't fight your way out of here. It was 3v1, and the days of little food and constant stress had weakened you significantly. Your limbs felt like lead, and any attempt to resist would be useless, not against these people—especially with the woman’s calculating gaze locked onto you.

"Wh-what is this?" you stammer, trying to sound calm, but the tremor in your voice betrays you. "What do you plan to do with me?"

The woman turned toward you, her expression cold, detached. She raised an eyebrow, as though mildly amused by your question, but there was no kindness in her eyes—only a chilling indifference.

“Does it really matter?” she replied, her voice smooth but laced with cruelty. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor with each deliberate step, her presence looming over you. “You’re not in a position to negotiate or ask questions, are you?”

You felt your pulse race, panic swelling in your chest. You tried to stand straighter, to show some semblance of strength, but your body betrayed you, trembling from exhaustion and fear.

The man who had grabbed you before let out a low chuckle. “She’s already scared. Good. Makes things easier.”

Reese, from his corner, shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. The guilt was written all over his face, but he said nothing, didn’t even try to stop what was happening. He had already played his part in this nightmare.

The woman tilted her head, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve been promised to someone very important, and it’s best if you cooperate. Things will be... easier for you.”

Your stomach dropped at the implications of her words. Promised? You were no longer just a person—you were a transaction.

Your mouth went dry as you forced the question past your lips, your voice shaky. "Promised for what?" You had to know. Every terrible possibility ran through your mind, but the uncertainty gnawed at you even more.

The woman paused, a brief flicker of something—pity, maybe?—crossing her face. She sighed softly, like she was indulging a child who didn’t know better. “I guess it couldn’t hurt for you to know,” she said, her tone almost bored. “Won’t make much difference in the end.”

She stepped closer, crouching down so she was eye-level with you. Her gaze softened slightly, but the words that followed made your blood run cold.

“You’ve been promised to a very wealthy man,” she began, her voice calm, detached. “His wife...she’s dying. Organ failure. They’ve tried everything—medications, various treatments—but nothing’s worked.”

Your mind raced, struggling to process the meaning behind her words. Organ failure? The realization hit you like a sledgehammer, a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach as her words continued.

“He’s willing to pay any price for a match,” she explained with chilling indifference, her eyes boring into yours. And if you're a perfect match for her...” She paused, letting the weight of the situation sink in before she added, almost with a shrug, “Your organs will save her life.”

A sickening silence followed, the air thick with your disbelief.

They were going to harvest your organs.

Panic clawed at your throat, and your body felt like it was in freefall. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The cold, brutal truth hung in the air between you and the woman, her pitying gaze cutting you deeper than anything else.

“You should feel honored,” she added, her voice devoid of any real sympathy. “You’ll be giving someone like her a second chance at life.”

Your heart raced, blood pounding in your ears. Your survival wasn’t just threatened—it was already decided.

Your body went numb as her words settled over you, the realization of what they planned twisting your stomach into knots. But as the silence stretched on, the woman seemed to catch herself, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” she admitted, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

She reached into the pocket of her crisp jacket and pulled out a syringe and a small vial. The sight of it made your blood run cold. Your heart hammered against your chest, each beat a sharp reminder of how close you were to losing everything.

“I need to take a blood sample,” she said, her tone almost professional now. “Don’t bother resisting. We’ll get what we need, one way or another.”

Your limbs froze, panic surging through your veins. You wanted to run, to scream, but your legs felt like they were locked in place. The walls of the basement seemed to close in tighter around you, and for a moment, all you could focus on was the needle in her hand.

The woman’s dark brown eyes flicked toward you, assessing your reaction. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just a small test,” she said, almost like she was coaxing you into compliance. “If you’re not a match, maybe you'll get lucky. You're a woman after all, you at least have other parts you can use to gain your freedom."

She stepped closer, the syringe gleaming under the dim basement light. Your body tensed, the urge to fight back bubbling up inside you. But you were weak, outnumbered, and utterly trapped.

“Hold out your arm,” she said softly, like she was giving you a choice.

Your breath caught in your throat as the syringe gleamed ominously in her hand. Your heart hurt as you glanced toward Reese, who stood in the corner, guilt-ridden and pale, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t help you—he wouldn’t help you.

You glanced back between her and the syringe, the world closing in tighter with each second. Your mind raced for a way out, some escape, but it was futile. Even if you refused, they’d force you—there was no other option.

You took a shaky breath and slowly extended your arm, the gesture more out of survival instinct than anything. Live long enough to find another way out, you told yourself, trying to cling to that sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was still time.

The woman smiled, satisfied, as she knelt beside you, her movements smooth and practiced. “Smart choice,” she said, wrapping a rubber band around your arm to prepare for the blood draw.

You winced as the needle pierced your skin, but you forced yourself to stay still. The vial began to fill with dark red blood, and the woman worked with a cold efficiency, as though she’d done this a hundred times before.

After what felt like an eternity, she withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball to your arm. “There,” she said, standing up and eyeing the shiny vial filled with your blood. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You wanted to lash out, to scream, but your body was too drained, your mind too scattered. She was right—it didn’t matter if it was easy or hard. What mattered was what came next.

The woman turned to the man with the heavy boots. “Get this to the lab,” she ordered, her tone brisk. “The results will tell us everything we need.”

He nodded and took the vial, disappearing back up the stairs without a word. The metal hatch closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the basement fell back into tense silence.

The woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

You swallowed hard, dread pooling in your stomach. The blood had been drawn, the wheels set in motion—and there was nothing you could do but wait for your fate to be decided.

Reese shifted uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes downcast, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

The woman glanced at him, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “I suggest you keep her in good condition until we know for sure. We wouldn’t want her damaged, would we?”

Reese flinched but nodded, his guilt written all over his face.

And with that, the woman turned on her heel and left, her heels clacking up the stairs, the metal hatch sealing you back in the basement.

You were alone again—alone with Reese and the suffocating weight of your uncertain future.

As the metal hatch slammed shut, trapping you back in the dim, suffocating basement, something inside you snapped. The overwhelming dread, the helplessness, the betrayal—it all collided at once. Your chest tightened, and your blood boiled with the rage that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Your eyes locked onto Reese, who was still slouched in the corner, avoiding your gaze. His entire body trembled, but all you could see was the man who had led you into this nightmare. The man who had stood by and watched as they drew your blood like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

You trusted him.

"You," you spat, your voice cracking with fury. "I trusted you, Reese."

He flinched at your words, but he didn’t look up. His hands were shaking, balled into fists at his sides, but that didn’t matter. He had made his choice.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Reese's lips trembled, and he finally raised his eyes to meet yours, guilt etched deep into his pale face. "I... I didn't have a choice," he stammered, his voice weak, barely audible. "They—they would've killed me if I didn’t—"

"Spare me!" you snapped, cutting him off. "You sold me, Reese! You handed me over to them like I was nothing!" The weight of his betrayal hit you all over again, the pain of it cutting deeper than any physical wound. You had told him about your kidnapping, he had watched you sob over Xavier, had you thinking he was someone you could trust, someone who cared.

Tears of frustration burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t —not now, not for him of all people. "You knew what they were going to do to me," you continued, your voice trembling with anger. "You knew, and you did it anyway."

Reese shook his head, his voice cracking as he mumbled, "I—I didn't know they'd—about the organs. I thought..." He trailed off, as if the excuse could somehow absolve him. But it didn’t.

"Thought what?"

"I'd thought they'd just...rape you. And then dump you somewhere..." he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like the others.."

"Like the others?!" you said, your voice rising. "You...you've done this before? You're...sick! Fucking sick!"

He shrank back, visibly cowering under your words. "I didn't have a choice," he repeated weakly, like it was the only thing he could cling to.

"You always have a choice!" you shot back, your voice cracking from the strain. "You had a choice to be a good person, and you chose to betray me."

The room was silent after that, the air thick with tension. Reese had no response, nothing to say that could possibly justify what he'd done. He just stood there, looking more like a frightened child than the man who had so easily handed you over.

You swallowed hard, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions. "I hope it was worth it," you said coldly, the anger fading into something far more painful. "I hope whatever they promised you was worth selling me like this."

Reese remained silent, his eyes cast down, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but it held no weight, no real meaning. Before you could respond, he suddenly rushed past you, his footsteps heavy on the cold floor. He didn’t look back.

You watched, stunned, as he hurried up the wooden stairs, his movements frantic, almost as if he couldn’t bear to stay in the room with you a second longer. The old wooden stairs groaned under his weight, the sound harsh in the suffocating silence.

You stood frozen in place, your mind whirling with a mix of anger, disbelief, and the crushing weight of betrayal. His retreating figure disappeared through the metal hatch, and the sound of it slamming shut echoed through the basement like a final punctuation to his cowardice.

The room fell eerily quiet, the air thick with everything left unsaid. You were alone again, left with nothing but the cold, the dull ache of exhaustion, and the horrifying knowledge of what awaited you.

You slumped against the wall, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all at once. The basement felt smaller, colder, and more suffocating than before.

Days blurred into each other, each one indistinguishable from the next. The cold, damp basement became your prison, a place where time felt meaningless. Your mind drifted constantly, a mixture of fear, anger, and hopelessness gnawing at you from all sides. You found yourself thinking about Xavier—wondering if he was still out there, still searching for you. He had to be, didn’t he? You tried to cling to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d find you before it was too late.

You wished you had listened to him when he said he had a bad feeling about you going with Reese. How could you have been so stupid?

Reese came in and out of the basement sporadically, never staying for long. He kept his distance, barely making eye contact, as though seeing the consequences of his betrayal was too much for him to handle. He left you basic necessities—pads, water, a couple of small meals—but nothing more. Every time he disappeared, it felt like another thread of hope was being pulled away, leaving you more isolated than ever.

You pondered attacking Reese when he came down here next. He seemed fidgety and not as strong as the others. But still strong nonetheless. And in your weakened state, he could still take you down, or threaten you with the gun again.

At some point, you drifted off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking you in the cold dark. Your period had finally subsided, and so did the awful cramping, allowing you to rest at least somewhat peacefully. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sound of the metal hatch creaking open startled you awake. Instinctively, you didn’t move, thinking it was Reese again—another silent, guilty visit to drop something off before fleeing.

But then, a deep, gruff voice pierced the silence. A voice you recognized, but not in the way that brought comfort.

“Well, look who’s sleeping like a baby,” the voice sneered, low and menacing.

Your heart sank, and fear surged through you as you realized it wasn’t Reese. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, and your breath caught in your throat when you shifted to look at the voice.

It was the man—the one who had helped Reese bring you down here in the first place. His heavy boots clomped against the wooden stairs as he descended, and his shadow loomed over you, large and threatening. His expression was cold, his eyes calculating as they swept over you, like he was assessing just how broken you’d become since last seeing him.

“Thought maybe you’d die of boredom or despair by now,” he muttered, amusement tinged in his voice. “Guess you’ve got a little more fight in you than I thought.”

You swallowed hard, your body going rigid. You stayed still, instinct telling you that any sudden movement might provoke him. The air around him seemed darker, more dangerous than Reese’s jittery cowardice. This man was different—he was in control, and he wasn’t afraid of you.

“What do you want?” you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky but defiant.

He stepped closer, his boots thudding against the concrete floor, the sound making your skin crawl. His smirk widened, and without warning, he crouched down, bringing his face level with yours.

“What I want,” he said, his voice low and mocking, “is to see if you’re worth anything besides your organs doll.”

The threat in his words hung heavy in the air, and you knew with chilling clarity that whatever came next, this man wasn’t here to make things easier for you.

The man crouched in front of you, his smirk growing wider as he watched the fear flicker across your face. You tried to keep still, to steady your breathing, but your body betrayed you—a small shiver ran through you, and you knew he’d seen it. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, feeding off your discomfort.

He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his hot breath on your skin. "Reese might be too soft to touch a woman, but I’m not." His voice was a low, rumbling threat. "You’re property after all. But it'd be a shame to let sweet pussy go to waste before they cut you open."

You recoiled in horror at his depraved words, bile rising in your throat. The man straightened to his full height, towering over your prostrate form with an air of malevolent authority.

"So here's how this is going to go," he said casually, as if discussing the weather rather than your impending ravishment and dismemberment. "I'm going to have my fun..." He smirked cruelly. "And you are going to lay there and take it. Use any teeth and I'll rip them out of your head. Got it?"

Your mind raced, desperate to find some escape from the waking nightmare. But with Reese too cowardice to come down and interfere, and this sadistic brute clearly intent on violating you in the most degrading ways imaginable , you knew you were utterly at his mercy.

A strangled cry escaped your lips as tears streamed down your face. Despite your best efforts, the man's lecherous gaze only widened at the sight of you in distress. His grip on your arm tightened, filling you with pain.

"Go ahead and cry," he mocked. "It only turns me on even more, doll."

You screamed, desperately trying to free yourself and escape his grasp, but he was too strong. He slammed you back down onto the dirty mattress as you fought to kick him away. But he easily overpowered you and forced your leg back against the bed.

"Stop! Please!" you pleaded, horrified as he reached for the waistband of your sweatpants with his rough, calloused hands.

Panic surged through you as his fingers grazed your skin. In a burst of desperate strength, you twisted violently and managed to wrench your leg free. You kicked out hard, your foot connecting solidly with his jaw. He reeled back with a pained grunt, momentarily stunned.

"I said, lay there and take it" he growled, bringing his palm down against your face in a deafening slap. Angry hot pain radiates against your face and you cry out, tears spilling out faster now.

He wastes no time flipping you around, pinning you on your stomach against the bed. You sobbed loudly as he finishes pulling your sweatpants past your rear, rubbing his cold hands against the cloth of your underwear.

"Nice butt, smooth skin..." he growls, tugging off your underwear past your legs despite your struggle. "Oh this is gonna be so much fun."

Your underwear hits the concrete floor with a soft patter and your mind goes numb. There was truly no way out of this. Maybe the struggle was futile all along.

It was time to accept this.

Your body goes limp as you try to dissociate from the sound of the man unbuckling his belt. The sound of him shuffling with his underwear. The feel of his rough hands as he grabs your hips and raises them towards his groin, forcing you onto your elbows. You notice his breathing gets heavier as he takes in the sight of your exposed cunt.

"He shuffles in his pockets for a bit, looking for something. Your mind drifts off as he does so, thinking of the time Sylus had you in a similar position.

The morning he had promised to only do it once that day if you didn't fight him. You had picked the position yourself, not wanting to see him enter you again. At least that's what you told yourself.

Truthfully, you hated the way your face would heat up and your cunt grew wetter at the sight of his toned chest and stomach. The deep rumble of his voice in your ear as he praised you for taking him in all the way. You didn't know why your body reacted the way it did to him but it scared you. You had chalked it up to it just being an involuntary bodily reaction.

But there was no wetness when this beast touched you, no warmth or aching heat in your core.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

Ah, he brought a condom. At least you wouldn't have to worry about catching any diseases before you were hacked to pieces.

You almost laugh at the thought but nothing was funny truly. The man grumbles a bit and rolls the condom onto his thick shaft gently, his knuckles popping as he slides it down. The smell of latex and lubricant fill the air momentarily. You wish you could gag at the smell of it, but you're too scared to move anymore. He positions himself, aligning his tip with you. You brace yourself for the pain that is sure to come, your heart pounding in your chest as he presses forward.

"If you make a sound, I'll beat your ass stupid. Got it?" he growls.

You say nothing as he begins trying to push into you, but he had clumsily misjudged where your slit was and kept missing. You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh, this guy clearly didn't have much experience with the female body. You feel his hand slam down on your head, causing you to cry out.

"Ain't. Shit. Funny..." he snarled, gripping the side of your face even harder. You stifle another sob, trying your hardest to breathe against the mattress.

Still, he kept trying to force his cock inside you, every clumsy miss rubbing salt in the wound of your complete helplessness. He leans back momentarily to try and balance his cock against you. Your head throbs under his grip and you feel your eyes starting to gently close, sticky tears threaded between your lashes.

Your mind, desperate for an escape from the current nightmare, drifts back to Sylus. Memories of him rise to the surface, unbidden yet comforting in their own strange way. You recall his gentle gaze, the way he’d look at you when you opened your eyes in the morning—those moments when everything was still, and his presence felt like a soft cocoon of warmth around you. You’d never once seen him fall asleep before you. No, Sylus clearly only slept when it was "morning". Your circadian rhythms had always been completely opposite, and you knew, deep down, that he was likely watching over you as you slept.

It had never really felt invasive though. There was something about the way he looked at you that made you feel... cherished. As though, in his world of shadows, you were the one light he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

No one had ever looked at you with such adoring eyes—not even Xavier. Though Xavier had cared for you, and there were moments where you saw glimpses of that same tenderness, it was different with Sylus. Something deeper. Something more intense, as though you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

The thought made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected. Even now, locked in this nightmare, it was Sylus’s gaze that haunted you—not Reese’s guilt, not Xavier’s concern, but the way Sylus had seen you, like you were fragile and powerful all at once.

Despite everything, he had shown you the most kindness out of anyone in this horrid place.

"Sylus..." your voice escapes in a broken whisper, a fragile plea lost beneath the weight of fear. Silent tears streak down your face, and your body shakes uncontrollably beneath the man's looming presence. His grunting had finally stopped, but the air between you buzzes with his barely-contained fury. His body is tense, frustrated—still unable to force himself into you.

With a snarl, he suddenly flips you onto your back, his hands rough and merciless. The room spins for a second, and your breath catches in your throat. He looms over you, his eyes dark and burning with a cruel light.

"What the hell did I say about talking?," he growls, voice low and dangerous. His hand rises, fist clenched, muscles rippling as he prepares to strike. Your heart lurches, and a terrified squeal slips out, unbidden. You squeeze your eyes shut, body curling in on itself instinctively, trembling as you wait for the blow to fall.

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

Instead, the air shifts—thickening, buzzing with something far darker than the man hovering above you. His fist, still poised to strike, halts mid-air. His breath stutters. Eyes wide with shock, he suddenly clutches at his throat, his face twisting into something grotesque, panicked. His mouth opens as if to scream, but only a strangled gasp escapes.

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right—red mist, thin tendrils coiling through the air like living smoke. It winds around him, constricting. His body spasms as if in a silent scream, but no sound comes, only those terrible, wet choking noises.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting second, wide with horror, before his body jerks violently. With a force that seems inhuman, he’s wrenched from above you, flung across the room like a rag doll. The impact as he slams into the far wall is sickening—bones cracking against stone, the wet sound of flesh collapsing under the blow.

He screams in agony, his body convulsing violently on the hard concrete as his cries echo through the space.

Your breath comes in shallow, rapid gasps, the red mist still hanging in the air, pulsing like it has a life of its own before it slowly starts to fade. The air grows colder in its absence, the immediate threat gone, but the tension in your chest refuses to ease. It's over, but the chaos is still fresh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Then you see him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his white hair touched with streaks of silver, and those unmistakable crimson eyes—sharp, intense, but not as lethal as they were a moment ago. There's no mistaking Sylus, even through the haze of confusion clouding your mind. You blink, trying to process it all. He’s here, finally, but the emotions swirling inside you are a tangled mess.

He steps toward you, slow and deliberate, his gaze softening the closer he gets. Despite the relief that comes with his presence, something else churns beneath the surface—frustration, maybe even anger. He’s here, but it took so long. Too long.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Sylus smirks, his voice low and teasing, as if the sight of him towering over you like this is the most natural thing in the world. He tilts his head, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as he studies your expression. "You called my name, didn’t you?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. Relief washes over you, but it’s tangled with confusion and resentment. Part of you wants to collapse into his arms, to finally feel safe, but another part of you burns with anxiety—why doesn't he look angry at you?

Sylus’s smirk softens into something more genuine, as if he senses the storm inside you. "I’m here now," he says, his voice quieter, almost gentle. But it doesn’t calm the whirlwind in your chest. You don’t know if you want to yell at him or thank him. Maybe both.

All you know is that the sight of him, standing there like he’s always been, stirs something deep within you that you can’t quite name. You're suddenly aware again of your half-nakedness and you rush to put back on your panties and sweatpants, much to Sylus's amusement.

“Wh-what took you so long?” you finally quip, a sharp edge to your voice as you lift your chin, deciding to meet his presence with defiance instead of relief. The condescension rolls off your tongue, even as your heart still pounds from the aftermath. You can feel the tension in your own body, a mix of trauma and pent-up frustration, but you mask it behind a cold stare.

Sylus moves toward the hyperventilating man still writhing on the ground, his gaze briefly flickering with something unreadable before a low chuckle escapes his lips. The sound reverberates through the room, rich and deep, completely unbothered by your biting words. His crimson eyes flick to you, amusement dancing in them, as if your sharp attitude was exactly what he’d anticipated.

“Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” he muses, his tone playful, yet carrying that underlying edge he always seems to have. A teasing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he towers over you, utterly relaxed, like your defiance is nothing more than an amusing game to him.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" He raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

The comment, laced with a playful challenge, lingers in the air. He seems utterly unaffected, like your frustration has only fueled his amusement, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell whether you want to snap back or let your guard down. That smirk of his—so infuriatingly calm and knowing—pulls you deeper into the whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Before you can spit out a retort, the sound of scuffling and harsh footsteps echoes down the stairwell. Your attention snaps toward the noise just as Reese is unceremoniously dragged down the steps, his pleas and panicked protests filling the room. The twins, Luke and Kieran, have him by the arms, hauling him down with little effort. Reese stumbles on the last step, crashing face-first onto the concrete.

Luke and Kieran exchange satisfied glances, snickering as they stand over him, a mixture of triumph and mockery in voices.

"We got him, boss," Luke announces with a smirk, nudging the groaning man with his boot. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese winces in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he slowly lifts his head. His gaze darts frantically around the room, his face paling as he realizes who surrounds him. His eyes widen in terror, flitting between you, Sylus, and the man still crumpled on the ground beside him, writhing in pain.

"S-Sylus..." Reese stammers, his voice barely a whisper as it cracks with fear. His entire body begins to tremble, the weight of what he’s done crashing down on him. "You ran away from Sylus...?" The disbelief in his own voice is palpable, as if fleeing from someone like Sylus was a death sentence all on its own.

Sylus’s crimson eyes narrow as he watches you closely, his expression shifting to something darker—something possessive. He takes a deliberate step toward you, the casual ease he held moments ago now replaced with a quiet intensity. His gaze flicks to Reese, then back to you, and though his smile remains, there’s no warmth behind it.

"So," Sylus begins, voice smooth but tinged with something uneasy, "seems the two of you have gotten well acquainted?" The question feels loaded, not out of curiosity, but something more. His eyes bore into yours, as if searching for answers beyond your words. The smirk on his lips falters just slightly, betraying the irritation he’s trying to mask.

The tension between you grows thicker, his posture subtly shifting as if he’s placing himself between you and Reese. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t so much as glance at the trembling man on the ground. His focus is solely on you, as though the possibility of friendship with someone, especially another man, unsettles him more than the danger you just faced.

You shake your head immediately, the denial spilling from your lips without hesitation. "We’re not close!" you say quickly, the firmness in your voice leaving no room for doubt. "He’s no one to me."

Sylus’s eyes remain locked on yours, his crimson gaze intense, but you don’t falter. "Reese… he tricked me," you continue, the words coming faster now. "He’s the reason I’m down here in the first place. I didn’t come down here willingly. I followed him, stupidly thinking he was going to help me."

Your last words are filled with malice as your eyes flick to Reese, who cowers on the ground, unable to meet your glare. You shoot him a look of pure disdain, your anger boiling over at how easily he had deceived you, how he had dragged you into this mess.

Before you can say anything more, Sylus reaches out, his hand cool against your hair as he rubs the top of your head with an almost unnerving gentleness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the smug look on his face that catches you off guard.

“I know, sweetie,” Sylus says, his voice smooth and dripping with that signature arrogance. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches you closely, his smirk deepening. “I watched you disappear into this house. I saw everything.” He speaks as if he had been in control of the situation from the start, his tone laced with confidence, as if he was always one step ahead.

"You were following me the entire time?" you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief as you try to piece together how much of this Sylus had been controlling from the shadows. Sylus merely chuckles, the sound rich and full of amusement, like your confusion was a source of entertainment for him.

"Something like that," he replies casually, his smirk widening. "I had Mephisto follow you."

As if on cue, swirl of red mist begins to materialize on Sylus's shoulder. The mist condenses around the form until, with a sharp, eerie caw, a large black crow appears, its wings flapping beside Sylus’s head. The bird’s eyes glow faintly, a reflection of the same crimson hue in Sylus’s gaze.

"Mephisto?" you and Reese say at the same time, your voices overlapping in disbelief.

You take a step back, staring at the bird in shock. "Mephisto... he's been that bird this whole time?" The revelation hits you like a slap in the face. You'd seen the bird before—many times, in fact—but you’d never thought it was more than just an ordinary creature. Now, the sight of it perched so confidently on Sylus’s shoulder, surrounded by that ominous red mist, makes your head spin.

Reese, still on the ground, stares up at the bird and then back at you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I thought your name was Meph—" he begins, his voice trembling as he looks between you and Sylus, but his words are abruptly cut off.

Sylus’s expression hardens instantly, the playful amusement evaporating as he glares down at Reese with pure disdain. His eyes darken, the malice in them palpable as he takes a step toward Reese, who shrinks back, trembling.

"Don’t talk to her," Sylus snaps, his voice cold and sharp, dripping with venom. The possessiveness in his tone is undeniable, a clear warning that Reese’s mere presence, let alone his attempt to speak to you, is unforgivable in Sylus’s eyes. The tension in the room grows suffocating, the danger swirling around Sylus like a storm barely contained, and you can’t help but feel the weight of his protectiveness—both unsettling and strangely reassuring.

Mephisto caws again, the shrill sound echoing through the room as if punctuating Sylus’s command.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground. Your head spins, barely able to process what's going on here. You suddenly feel dizzy, as if the room was getting smaller and smaller.

You hadn't truly escaped from him. Not once, the entire time you had been gone. He had been watching. His influence here stretched farther than you could ever imagine.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground, clearly too terrified to challenge Sylus any further. His presence becomes insignificant in the midst of everything else crashing down around you. Your head spins, the room seeming to close in on you as the weight of the situation presses against your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, as if the air itself is suffocating you. You try to steady yourself, but a dizzying realization takes hold.

Every step you’d taken, every move you thought was yours alone—he had been watching.

Mephisto.

Sylus had seen everything, every moment you thought you were free, unraveling in front of your eyes now like a cruel illusion. His influence, his reach—it stretched farther than you could have ever imagined.

The invisible leash you thought you’d slipped off, the one you were so sure you'd broken, had never left your neck at all. It had been there the whole time, just waiting to tighten when he decided.

Your pulse quickens, panic settling in as the walls seem to close in tighter, the room shrinking around you. The thought of being watched, controlled, all while you believed you had any autonomy—it sends a cold wave of dread down your spine. Sylus’s smirk, the way he speaks so casually about it, only amplifies the feeling that you were never really out of his grasp.

He knew. He always knew where you were.

And here he stands, calm and possessive, like he’s merely reclaiming what was his all along.

The weight of it all becomes too much to bear, and your legs give way beneath you. You crumble to the floor, feeling as though the world has closed in around you. The realization sinks deeper, suffocating you with the cold, hard truth—despite all your efforts, all your fighting, you’re right back where you started. The leash had never been cut. You hadn’t escaped. And now, the path ahead is one you thought you'd left behind.

Your body trembles, you let out a sob, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions—fear, frustration, resignation. But before the panic can fully take over, you feel a hand brush against your shoulder, light and reassuring. Sylus crouches down beside you, his presence filling the space, his voice low and deceptively soothing.

"Shh, kitten," he murmurs softly, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a caress, though it only twists the knife deeper in your chest. "It’s alright. I’ve found you, its okay." His tone is affectionate, but there’s something twisted lurking beneath the surface, a dark possessiveness wrapped in that comforting voice.

"You're mine again," Sylus whispers, his voice soft but laced with an iron-clad certainty. His fingers delicately trace small circles on your back, sending involuntary shivers up your spine. You don't look at him, unable to meet his eyes. Your chest tightens, and you can feel the threat of tears building, teetering dangerously close to spilling over.

As much as you wanted to leave this wretched place, to escape the nightmare of it all, the thought of being trapped with him—completely under his control—felt just as suffocating. Maybe more. Yet, despite that suffocating feeling, your body betrays you. You’re not pulling away from him. You’re not resisting.

Why weren’t you leaning away from him right now?

"Don't cry," he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your skin, drowning out the cold, damp air of the basement. "Not now. Not in front of them."

Before you can process his words, the room fills with a new, horrific sound. Reese and the bleeding man on the ground suddenly scream, the agony ripping from their throats. Red tendrils of mist swirl violently around their bodies, coiling like snakes ready to strike. The sound of broken bones echoes sharply through the space as Reese is slammed into the back wall next to his fallen comrade, the impact brutal, unforgiving. The sight sends a fresh wave of horror washing over you.

You instinctively shift your gaze toward the carnage, wanting to see what’s happening—but Sylus’s hand shoots up, his fingers gripping your chin firmly. With a gentle yet unyielding force, he turns your face back to him, refusing to let you look anywhere else but into his crimson eyes.

"Look at me," he commands softly, his tone dark but calm, as if the violence behind you was nothing but a trivial distraction. His fingers are warm against your skin, his touch disturbingly tender despite the chaos around you.

His crimson eyes lock onto yours, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a vice. He leans in closer, his bourbon cologne enveloping your senses, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

"I’m the only one," he murmurs, his voice a possessive, almost dangerous softness, "who gets to see you cry."

The declaration sends a chill down your spine, and your heart clenches at the weight of it. There's a dark finality in his words—a twisted claim over every ounce of your suffering, every emotion that was once yours, now his to control. The room feels smaller, the air thinner, as if everything in this moment is solely for him, as though the very act of your tears belongs to him and him alone.

You can feel the tears threatening again, but now even that feels like giving in to him—another part of yourself slipping through your fingers, taken by the man who holds you so tightly in his grip, both physically and mentally. And as his thumb lingers on your cheek, his gaze never wavering, you realize just how much he's wrapped himself in every aspect of your life.

The screaming in the room builds to a deafening crescendo, filling every inch of the space with the sounds of agony. Reese’s voice cuts through the chaos, desperate, pleading.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!” Reese begs, his voice cracking, raw from pain and terror. His broken body trembles against the wall, red mist still coiling around him like a vice, squeezing the life out of him with every passing second. He looks at you, eyes wide, desperate, his fear palpable.

"I-I helped you! R-remember? I'm sorry!"

For a moment, you hesitate, frozen in place, the weight of his suffering tugging at some distant part of your conscience. Should you take pity on him? The thought flickers briefly in your mind. But then you remember. The lies, the manipulation, how he had dragged you into this nightmare without a second thought. Your heart hardens.

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. Reese’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can speak another word, Sylus moves with a calm, terrifying ease. Without a second thought, he reaches into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. The room falls eerily silent for a brief second, the chaos holding its breath.

And then, without a word or hesitation, Sylus points the gun at Reese and pulls the trigger.

The shot rings out, and Reese’s body goes limp, his head lolling to the side as blood pools beneath him. The life drains from his eyes in an instant. The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of what just happened settling heavily in the air.

You stare at the scene in shock, unable to fully process how quickly it had all happened. Your breath catches in your throat, your mind racing as you look to Sylus. But he simply shrugs, completely unfazed, his expression calm and even slightly amused.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,” Sylus says casually, tucking the pistol away as if nothing had happened. His voice is smooth, disturbingly nonchalant, like this was just another task to cross off his list. His eyes, however, flicker with something darker—satisfaction, perhaps, or just a quiet thrill at doing what he believed you wanted.

Your stomach twists, a mixture of shock and disbelief churning inside you. Sylus turns his gaze back to you, his smirk still present, as if waiting for your approval or reaction. You say nothing, just watching as Reese's once lively body slumped to the floor.

Sylus then turns his attention to the last man still clinging to life, his crimson eyes narrowing with cold calculation. Without a word, the red mist surrounding him begins to swirl, thickening and intensifying with an ominous hum. The tendrils of mist snake their way toward the man, wrapping around him like a tightening noose.

The man’s breathing becomes erratic, desperate gasps for air as his body convulses. He tries to scream once more, but no sound escapes his throat as the mist constricts further, crushing the last remnants of life out of him. His limbs jerk, his eyes wide with terror as the pressure grows unbearable.

Sylus watches with a dark, detached satisfaction, his hand slightly raised as if guiding the mist with an almost casual precision. Then, Sylus clenches his fist. And with a final, sickening crack, the man’s body gives way. The force of Sylus’s power snaps through him like a vice tightening too fast. His chest caves in, bones splintering as the red mist crushes him entirely.

A grotesque splatter erupts as his body meets the tiled shower wall behind him, his carnage painting it in violent shades of red. Blood and tissue streak down the wall, dripping in a slow, macabre trail, the remnants of his existence.

You flinch, your breath catching in your throat at the brutality of it all, but Sylus remains calm, lowering his hand as the mist dissipates, his expression indifferent to the destruction he’s caused.

"Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

The room is deathly silent now, save for the slow drip of blood from the walls, and the overwhelming finality of it all settles in your chest. You can't tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene, the shock numbing your senses as Sylus steps in front of you, his presence once again wrapping around you like a suffocating mist. His dark eyes bore into yours, a predator sizing up its prey, his calmness only amplifying the terror that gnaws at the edges of your mind.

You flinch as the squelch of his shoes on the blood-soaked floor breaks the silence, your heart pounding in your throat. Every instinct tells you to run, but your legs refuse to obey, frozen in the icy grip of fear. Sylus tilts his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile.

"Woo hoo! Boss is so cool!" Luke chimes in, his bubbly voice shattering the eerie stillness. He gives Kieran a high five before erupting into a fit of laughter. The contrast between his cheerful tone and the grotesque scene feels jarring, almost surreal. You glance at him, baffled by the carefree attitude, as if the carnage before him was nothing more than an impressive show.

He bounces on his feet, voice shrill with admiration as he watches Sylus with the same excitement one might have for a favorite hero. The dissonance is unsettling, pulling you deeper into the spiraling nightmare, where the boundaries between reality and madness blur with each passing second.

Sylus doesn’t react to Luke’s enthusiasm, his focus entirely on you.

Sylus, now visibly more at ease after the extermination of the two men, steps forward with a calm confidence. His eyes never leave yours as he crouches down and effortlessly grabs you from the floor, hoisting you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. The abruptness of it sends a jolt through your body, and you instinctively try to push away, but his grip only tightens—firm, yet almost playful, like a cat owner gently restraining a stubborn pet.

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with dark amusement. "Ah ah, I won’t let my kitten scatter off a second time."

Your body begins to tremble uncontrollably in his arms, the weight of the situation finally crashing over you like a wave. You had escaped—however briefly—and now you were trapped again. The suffocating inevitability of it wraps itself around you, a crushing reminder that there was bound to be a punishment for trying to flee. Your mind flashes with memories of him slicing open your arm, the cold, detached precision of it, and you wince as the old wound aches in response.

"Please... I'm sorry," you whine, your voice barely above a whisper as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Don’t hurt me again, don’t punish me."

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes watching you with that unsettling mixture of amusement and something that borders on tenderness. "Sweetie, it’s okay," he whispers, his tone disturbingly gentle. He reaches up to brush a bit of dirt from your face, his fingers cold against your skin. "Do you really think I’m going to hurt you? Am I that scary?"

Despite the soft cadence of his voice, the dissonance between his words and the twisted affection in his gaze only amplifies your fear. He holds you securely as he begins to ascend the stairs, leaving the bloodied carnage in the basement to rot, a gruesome memory that would never wash away.

As you both make your way out of the metal hatchet you spot various bags filled with small white powdery substances settled on the couch and tables.

Drugs. Reese had been tricking girls and trading them for drugs.

The air grows cooler as you pass through the broken, dingy living room and out into the crisp, suffocating night of the N109 Zone. With a shrill caw, and a flatter of his wings, Mephisto takes flight and disappears into the night sky.

A dark car with blacked-out windows waits for you at the curb, its ominous presence sending your heart racing again. You think about making a run for it—just for a fleeting second—but that hope vanishes as the twins scatter hurriedly to the front seats, and Sylus pushes you both into the back with an effortless shove.

The car roars to life, and the world outside begins to blur as you realize the inevitable: you were headed back to your cage, the one you had fought so desperately to leave. Sylus keeps you firmly straddled on his lap, his grip unyielding, as if he thought you’d vanish into the night if he let go for even a moment. His eyes, sharp and predatory, stay locked on you, unblinking and watchful.

For a while, the only sound is the hum of the engine as it cuts through the night, the silence between you as suffocating as his hold. Then, suddenly, Sylus lets out a long sigh, breaking the quiet as he leans forward, his face burying into the curve of your neck. The unexpected closeness makes your skin prickle. He nuzzles into your skin like a bird seeking warmth, though you doubted you smelled like anything but blood and grime.

"I missed you," he whispers, his voice soft but strained, as though it carries a deep weight of worry. He shifts, tilting his head up to look at you, his gaze surprisingly gentle, like someone gazing at something precious. His eyes search yours, a strange vulnerability flickering behind the usual cold dominance. "So, so much."

Something tightens in your chest at the sight of him looking at you this way, as though you were his treasure, something he had longed for. The sincerity in his expression shakes you, confusing your thoughts even further. Could he possibly mean it?

"Did you miss me?" he asks, his lips curling into a small, almost playful smile.

You just stare at him, uncertain how to respond. The words lodge in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn your head away, avoiding his eyes. The truth is, you don’t know what to feel. Had you missed him? Or were you just desperate to be saved, no matter who?

He chuckles softly at your reaction, resting his head gently against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "You don’t have to answer."

As the car speeds deeper into the dark, your mind begins to spiral, thoughts tangling into knots you can’t unravel. As his arms tighten around you, keeping you pinned in place, you ponder a persistent thought.

Sylus had said he wouldn’t hurt you—but he never said he wouldn’t punish you.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus #sylus x reader smut #l&ds smut #lads #love and deepspace x reader #love and deep space x reader #loveanddeepspace #lnds #l&ds #love and deep space smut #lads smut #love and deep space sylus #l

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godmadeaterribleerror · 12 days ago

Text

To Need Somebody

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won.

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. “Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side.

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.”

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh.

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.”

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk.

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.”

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.”

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.”

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.”

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.”

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

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

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nocasdatsgay · 20 days ago

Text

A Lesson in Heartbreak

2 of 3: Words are Painful Weapons

Rating: T | Word Count: 3983 | Pairing: Azris/Reader

Summary: Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist| Read on A03| Part 1| Read Below

Warnings: Angst, Eris has a sharp tongue, alcohol, drunk!Eris

A/N: HI so… yeah… I am alive. Sorry this took so long. A second shout out to @daycourtofficial for inspiration with Azriel and his comments when he comes back.

Tagging: @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @paleidiot @div94 (if you are tagged by accident or want to be tagged in the future, let me know)

“There. A letter to Tarquin and a letter to her.” Eris sent them with a flick of his wrist.

Azriel calmed enough to sit while Eris penned the letters. They needed you to come home so they could talk with you in person. Deep down, Eris was thoroughly embarrassed over the whole situation. Not only at himself but for you leaving to another court. He wondered if this was how Tamlin felt all those years ago, when Feyre ran off to the Night Court. Eris suddenly had empathy for him in retrospect.

He slumped back in his chair and sighed. He needed a stiff drink. But he wanted to be sober if you came home. Azriel sat across from him, arms crossed against his chest and brows furrowed like he did when he was deep in thought. His eyes were still rimmed in red from earlier. The Shadows were nowhere in sight.

“What?” Eris looked at his mate.

Az cut his eyes to Eris, still frowning. “I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I’m surprised your shadows didn’t already tell you.” Eris didn’t hold back his eye roll or his sigh. “I don’t fully remember.”

Everything was a blur from earlier. When he got like that, he never remembered what he said.

“Well think fucking harder.” Eris could see Azriel’s fingers dig into his sleeves.

“She came in screaming at me about missing dinner.” It reminded him too much of his mother. The way she would yell at his father when he was a youngling. Eris tried to focus, to put that aside. “I told her the high lord meeting was more important. We were hosting, and.”

After a moment Az said, “And what, Eris”

He cursed under his breath. “I said she would understand that if she had bothered to help. Since she isn’t helping, she doesn't get to complain that we are busy. She knew what she was getting into when we mated.”

Azriel recoiled where he sat. “How could you say that to her?”

“It’s the truth, Azriel.” Eris brushed back his hair with his hand. “This is what it’s like to be mated to a High Lord. We have responsibilities. Yes, I was wrong for implying she didn’t want to help because she asked and I told her she didn’t have to. I admit that.”

Shadows came out as Az replied. “And we made promises we didn’t keep.”

“I know I did. It eats me alive that I broke them but what else am I supposed to do? It’s our first time hosting, I’ve only been High Lord for a decade and a half. She’s worked for multiple courts. She knows these things have to be perfect or others will talk.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to have dinner with her.” Az countered.

Eris glared at him. “Do not act like you are any better. You weren’t there either.”

He winced. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” Then he glared back. “But maybe I would have been there if you let other people do their job instead of making it our problem.”

“Oh you’re going to blame me?” Eris was on his feet. “By the gods. I’m always your scapegoat because it’s easy to blame me than for you to look in a fucking mirror.”

“Eris.” A warning, as shadows built around him.

“Am I wrong?” Azriel didn’t answer. Eris and his sharp tongue kept going. “You blamed me for centuries when it came to Mor. To this court. To my father. Let’s just add this to it.” He paused. Before he could stop himself he added. “It wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if it was just us.”

Eris felt the shock through the bond from Az before he shut him out. Even the shadows recoiled from around Az.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have to repeat myself. We work well together,” he gestured between them, “because we know what to expect from each other. She wants so much more than either of us are capable of.”

Shadows shrunk back again. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Then words spewed from his mouth like viper venom. “I wish Elain never told us. I wish I never let you get your fucking hopes up, looking for a third bond in every fucking fae you brought to our bed. But I love you, so I let you do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Azriel was on his own feet, siphons on his hands flashing. “I always got your consent, you said it was fine. You brought your own-”

Eris’s mouth ran away from him again. He didn’t raise his voice; his tone did the work for him.

“Maybe I lied. I only took other lovers so you wouldn’t feel guilty. I was just trying to make you happy because I was never enough for you. Even the Mother herself knew. She knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent us her.”

Az looked like he’d been struck. Guilt and insecurity Eris had buried for decades laid out on full display. At that moment Eris hoped Azriel hurt just as much as he did. The silence between them was heavy and loud. It was finally Azriel who spoke, his own words sharp and stinging.

“I never asked to be mated to you. You say this is easier for me and you, but it’s only easy for you. What’s easy is loving her. It’s not my fault you’re too fucked up to know that too.”

Shadows grew thick around him and he winnowed out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You showered and changed into a soft seafoam colored nightgown, given to you by Samira. She was sitting by a small side table reading when you came back into the bedroom. She set her book down and got up from her seat.

“Did you tell him, Tarquin?” You asked.

In your haste to get away, you didn’t think about the implications of your actions. Namely as High Lord’s mate seeking refuge in another court. You liked Tarquin a lot. He was kind and you were so happy when Samira and him hit it off. But he was still a High Lord of another court. Samira didn’t look you in the eyes from where she had sat on the edge of the bed.

“I only told him what you told me.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. You got onto the bed and crawled up beside her. “I understand. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

“That said,” she put her hand over yours. “You’re here as my guest. Any correspondence will come directly to me unless there is a threat to the court.”

You winced and she gave you a sympathetic look. Your mates were both known for their tempers. Azriel was well known for his impulsive behavior. You prayed to the Mother that neither of them acted irrationally. A hard thing to hope knowing you sealed this room the moment you entered.

“Did you want some tea or do you want to rest for the night?”

“Tea. I need to talk if you’re willing to listen.”

“Always,” she smiled.

You grabbed a light robe and moved into the small sitting room. She waited as Samira had tea brought to the room. She fixed you a cup, and then she sat down and took her own in her hands.

“So what happened?”

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to figure out where to start.

You explained the best you could. How they both made a promise to go to dinner and neither showed. You explained how distant they’d been for months. You explained how Eris told you that dinner wasn’t as important as whatever he was working on with the upcoming summit.

“He said I knew what I was getting into when we mated. As if I’m not managing his court while his nose is stuck in itinerary lists.” You added bitterly.

She winced. “And Azriel? What did he say about all this?”

“He said he was sorry. He lost track of time. Conveniently he was silent when I asked why his shadows didn’t remind him.” You stared down at the tea in your hand. You could feel your eyes water again. “He hasn’t- he has always been more physically affectionate than Eris. Out in public, at least. But he hasn’t even-“

You stopped yourself, your face burning. Samira didn’t need to know how Az hadn’t even called you by a specific pet name in weeks. Eris even longer. And how was you supposed to explain they even stopped just casually touching you? It was childish, to be upset about something so silly. Yet thinking about it just made you cry again.

You wiped your eyes. “It just feels as if they don’t want me anymore.”

“They're your mates, of course they want you.”

“Mates doesn’t always mean love, Samira. They did just fine without me for what? Two decades? Maybe longer. Maybe they miss it just being the two of them.”

“Now you’re talking nonsense. Stop it,” she gave you a pointed look.

“What if it’s the truth?” You were so sick of crying. You sniffled and wiped your eyes. “They know each other so well. What do they need me for?”

They didn’t.

That was your whole issue. They didn’t need you. Eris and Az could practically communicate without words. They moved around each other seamlessly. Eris knew exactly how Az liked his tea. Az knew to move papers closer to the inside of the desk when Eris was on a rant, his hands moving about as he talked. Eris knew when to make the spare room without even asking Azriel if he needed it. You tried to watch, to listen. Five years and you still weren’t in tune with them.

Samira shuffled in her seat, drawing your attention back to her.

“Eris wrote a letter to Tarquin. I got it while you were bathing. It wasn’t much, just him requesting to know if you were here and if so, that you get this.” She held up an envelope with his seal on it. “I wrote back that I would handle communication and you’d be staying the night.”

She laid the letter on the table in front of you. Your chest ached, begging you to open it immediately. You shoved it down.

Samira added, “I informed him that if you want to stay longer, I can’t make you leave. Tarquin has already agreed to allow you to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and stared back down at your tea again.

“Sleep on it. You can have breakfast with us and decide what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded. Sleep sounded nice now that the adrenaline of the evening had crashed. You drained the rest of your tea and bid Samira good night. You left the letter on the table. You’d read it in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris poured himself the stiffest drink he’d had in decades. The shame and embarrassment of everything was still burning in his chest. He downed his drink in one swing and poured another. Both his mates were gone. He walked over to his desk where the correspondence with summer sat. Your friend had written back instead of Tarquin. He downed his second drink.

To make things less complicated, I will be handling correspondence until this is resolved. Unless there is a threat to the court, I will not involve the high lord. I promise I will give her your letter in the morning. She was distraught when she arrived and I’ve just gotten her calmed. She’s currently bathing and I will get her some tea to help her sleep.

There was a break in the letter and she added.

She has yet to tell me what happened fully, but as her friend I am warning you both that you two better make this right. I will try to convince her to return in the morning, but she is a grown female. If she requests to stay, Tarquin has already told me she may.

Eris tossed the letter back onto the desk. He doubted once you found out Az left too that you’d come home. It’s what he deserved.

He was a fool to think he could do this- have two mates. To think he could be any better than his father. Three years mated to you and he still couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t toe the line between work and leisure. Fifteen mated to Az and he still spewed venom in his direction the moment he was cornered. And Eris finally got a taste of his own medicine when Azriel spewed it right back.

With a heavy sigh, Eris pulled out more parchment and ink. There would not be a high lord summit- not with all of this happening. He’d draft the letters and send them in the morning. If he could sleep at all, with no one sharing his bed. He went and made a third drink. He opened his bonds and see if you or Az would respond.

Still shut out. The urge to down that third drink was strong. He needed to be sober in the morning even if he didn’t want to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Azriel flew until his emotions settled. Eris’s foul words rung in his ears still. ‘I wish Elain never told us’ he’d said. ‘Even the mother herself knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent her.’

His eyes watered and it wasn’t from the wind in them. There was an ache in his chest- both bonds were shut out. He and Eris fought plenty, before and after they reconciled and the bond snapped. Somehow this was still the worst. He ignored his own words that spewed like venom in response to what Eris had said.

Azriel was angry and hurt. He left- if he stayed any longer the whole Forest House may have been burned to the ground. He circled the border between Autumn and Winter. He couldn't go back, not tonight. He landed in a clearing, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in. He didn’t want to go to Valeris. He had one other option. His shadows seemed to agree, as they circled him and he winnowed.

He landed outside the wards of Rosehall. The fae lights shown through the window.

She is awake. a shadow whispered.

He thought about turning back. He didn’t want to disturb his mother, to bother her with his problems. Yet his feet carried him forward, the wards rippling around him. He tucked his wings in tight and walked to the door. He didn‘t have to knock; the wards were designed to let only few in and to notify her when someone arrived. He could hear the rush of footsteps inside and braced himself as the door opened.

“Azriel?” His mother answered the door, a navy shawl you made for her wrapped tight around her shoulders, sides shaped to accommodate her wings. “What has happened?”

”I had a fight with my mates.” He said quickly. “They’re fine; I just- I couldn’t stay.”

His mother brushed back loose hair to tuck it behind her ear. He realized her hair was half braided. She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

”Nonsense, come in. I just made tea.”

His shadows swirled past him, one or two weaving around his mother. They always loved her; probably more than him if he was honest. He stepped through the frame and looked around. He had visited two weeks ago and already things had changed. His heart skipped, looking into the sitting room. Feyre had taken to decorating his mother’s house with portraits and paintings. The one above the fireplace was of him and his mother. It was a new one on the wall to the left that wasn’t there two weeks ago that made him stop in his tracks. It was of his mother, himself, you, and Eris. From your mating ceremony, based on the clothing and how close together you all were.

“The High Lady spoils me,” his mother said from his right. “Says my house is too empty. You should see the garden painting she had mounted in the hall a few days ago. Come.”

He felt her hand grab his own. He could only grip back loosely. He didn’t realize how cold his fingers had gotten from flying. If she noticed, she didn’t say. She led him to the kitchen where a kettle sat on the stove. He sat at the small table and watched almost numbly while she gathered cups and poured the tea.

“Zemër, tell me what happened.”

Az looked down at the cup as she sat it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it, letting the warmth ease the stiffness in his hands. If he was home, Eris would do it for him. He pushed that thought away. He took a few sips, relishing in how the warmth flowed through his chest. His mother waited patiently across from him, braiding the rest of her hair for bed.

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His shadows nudged him on the shoulder. “I made a promise and didn’t keep it.” She hummed and tied off her hair. His voice cracked a little when he added. “I don’t know if I can fix it.”

There was a beat of silence and his mother took a sip of her tea. “Why do you think such a thing?”

“Because she left!” He snapped. His mother flinched and shadows hissed at him for raising his voice. “I’m sorry. She left and he- we’ve been so busy and she asked for one dinner and neither of us went. Then she left. And Eris said things. So I said things back.”

He hated that hot tears fell down his cheeks. And that his mother was looking at him with pity. She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in her own.

“Words are painful weapons and you are the best warrior in all prythian.” That made Azriel snort and she smiled softly. “This is a fight. Not a war. You haven’t lost yet. They are your mates. You love them. If you haven’t given up your love for them, what makes you think they have so easily given up their love for you?”

She had him there. He gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture of thanks. Then a shadow swirled up his arm quickly.

We must go. He furrowed his brows. He walks to our balcony. We must stop him. We must go. Go.

“Shit.” Azriel winced at himself. He hated cursing in front of his mother. “Mama, I have to go. Thank you. For the tea.”

She watched him stand, not letting go of his hand. “Be careful, my love.”

Despite the tugging of the shadows he gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I promise.”

She nodded and he winnowed away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point, Eris wasn’t sure when; he grabbed the whole bottle instead of pouring himself a glass. He couldn’t sleep. Not alone, with his thoughts and past memories hovering around the edges of the bed. They we’re waiting in the dark to grip him when he was most vulnerable. So instead he drank. Drank to numb the emptiness like he used to in the days before.

One minute he was in his chambers and the next he was stumbling up stairs. There were several balconies in the forest house but there was only one nearest to the roof. He built it for Azriel. It had no railings, just a place for him to take off when he went flying. Az swore he didn’t need it; but he still used it. In Eris’s mind, Az would use the balcony when he came back home.

Because he had to come home. You both had to come home. Eris didn’t think he could bear it if you didn’t. It took him a moment when he reached the door to focus enough to grab the handle. Gods, he hadn’t been this drunk since his youth. Pushing into the room, it was bare- save the single old couch, rug, and unlit fireplace. His gaze fixated on the double glass doors that led to the balcony. If he could just get out there, he could wait.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Eris nearly fell over, balance upended by Az’s voice behind him. He grabbed Eris by his shirt to pull him steady. Shadows that had been absent swirled in his vision, grazing his hair and neck as if checking him over. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning and his focus fixated on the male before him.

“You came back,” Eris whispered.

“Of course I did.” Azriel’s nose crinkled at Eris’ breath. “You're drunk.”

“Can’t sleep.” He felt his eyes water. He reached for Azriel’s shoulder but Az held him in place. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Look at me,” Az’s hands were cold as they cradled Eris’ face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“Your hands are cold.” He muttered, his own reaching up to cover them. He wasn’t sober enough to focus his magic like he wanted to.

“They are.” Az gave him a soft smile. “I’ll live.”

Eris frowned. “Why did you come back?”

To Azriel’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked at the question.

“I came back because I love you.” And Azriel meant it.

“But you said-“

“I said it’s not easy.” He paused for a moment. “It’s not easy but I choose you. I will always choose you. Because I love you.”

There was silence between them for a moment.

“She’s not coming back.”

Az grimaced. “Eris, it’s late. She’s safe in Summer and probably sleeping. Like we both should be.”

“But I need her here.” Eris could hardly bear it. He needed you back. He needed to apologize. “Can’t we go get her?”

“So you want to start a war with Summer?” Az’s face was serious but there was a tilt in his voice.

“You’re laughing at me.” Eris replied solemnly.

“You’re drunk. It’s hard not to.” He sighed, his wings slumping and shadows buzzing about them. “Let’s go to bed and sleep this off.”

Eris was silent but seemed to concede. Az guided him out the room and back to their chambers. He would have winnowed if Eris hadn’t been so inebriated. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up vomit.

“You’re too good to me,” Eris muttered as they made their way down the hall.

Az tightened his arm around him. “I could argue the same.”

More silence passed. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

Azriel didn’t reply. He could only hope. His shadows whispered as much as he helped Eris undress in their chamber and get him to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Summer, you tossed and turned. The air was too warm even with the cool magical breeze that floated through the open windows. The bed was too small. Too empty. You finally cast a spell on your blanket and pillows, making them colder. How funny you’d gotten used to Autumn's colder climate.

The spell worked too well. You were suddenly too cold, too cold without Eris and Az’s body heat to keep you warm. Tears fell on your pillow. They were probably sleeping fine without you. Your mind went to the letter you left in the other room. You were too afraid to open it. They probably only wanted you home until after the High Lords’ meeting. Or maybe they never wanted you to come back. You pulled the blanket tight around yourself. Whatever the letter said could wait until morning.

You sighed and tried to go to sleep.

Part 3

#neapolitan bonds #eris vanserra #acotar #azriel #azriel/eris/reader #reader x Azris #part 2 #a lesson in heartbreak

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writeyouin · 10 months ago

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Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

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starrierskies · 24 days ago

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! Creepypasta fanfic recommendations !

Here's a list of some cool fics I've come across and liked, I'd even say some of them have defined me as a person, and some have been with me since childhood lmfaooo

There are a few dark fics on here, I will tag them in case that's not your thing, but by all means, check all the warnings listed on the fics as well if you're still interested!

Taken by RoverRose (Quotev, Dark, JTK)

Laughter by LittleDreamer (Quotev, LJ)

FORGET THE SUN by Doll (Quotev, Dark, JTK)

A Hapless Endearment (Quotev, Multi)

Betray and Degrade by Slashy (Quotev, Multi)

Madman's Requiem by terrakion (Quotev, Dark, JTK)

mErcy by XWillow (DeviantArt, BEN)

Destabilise by Memento Mori (Quotev, Hoodie)

Deception by Memento Mori (Quoetv, Masky)

Damnation by Memento Mori (Quotev, Toby)

Unfaithful by Fizzlicious (Quotev, Toby)

Nuance by tomathepervert (AO3, Dark, JTK)

Coincidence by Ghostwrit3r (A03, Dark, JTK)

Behind Doors by CrystallizedInsomniac (A03, Dark, JTK)

RAMPAGE by Hystixia (A03/Quotev/Tumblr, Dark, JTK)

The Smell of Iron and Decay by Hystixia (A03/Quotev, JTK)

The One Where They Scream by Cloxworth (A03/Quotev, Dark, JTK) There's more but I've grown tired and lazy i fear. I'll keep updating this or I might just make a second post idk we'll see <3

#creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #x reader #creepypasta x reader #fanfic reccomendation #fanfic #i favour jeff if you can't tell

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peachesofteal · 2 years ago

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Dead Disco / Chapter 3

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.8k words - A03 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, established throuple, relationship issues, eating issues, depression, anxiety, angst, reader is bad at feelings, caretaking, bathing, blow jobs, face fucking, praise kink, emotional hurt/comfort. The guys find you at the hotel.

When you open the door, Johnny’s heart breaks.

It’s obvious you haven’t been well. The circles under your eyes are sickly and off color, worse than when you stay up to wait for them to get home, and you look weary, overwhelmed, exhausted. Your hair is stiff, pulled out of your face but heavy around your forehead, and your skin is dry, an easy tell that you haven’t been drinking enough water. Johnny suspects that your clothes are dirty as well, judging by the stain on the front of your shirt above your breasts, and his heart skips when he realizes it’s his old t shirt, the one you usually wear around the flat. It all makes Johnny’s head spin, makes him feel like he’s got a thousand pounds sitting on his chest and when he looks closer, he can just see the broken capillaries spreading across your cheeks like spider’s webs. Did they do this to you?

“Oh, love.” He whispers. Your eyes water, and he feels the weight of his own fear, his own sadness tenfold. You’re hurting. You’re hurting so badly. How did they not see this?

“Let us in.” Simon demands, and you chew on your lip. “Please. Whatever it is, we can fix it darling. Just let us in.” Simon’s voice softens, slipping into something he only reserves for you, and Johnny reaches for your hand, it’s ice-cold chill startling against his own.

When you don’t pull away from him, a small seed of hope blooms in his heart.

Something wakes him from his sleep. Maybe it’s the low drone of the television from the living room, or the fact that the middle and left sides of the bed are completely empty. He sits up, groggily, straining to listen, but all he hears is the laugh track of a sitcom.

When he enters the living room, he raises an eyebrow. Simon is sitting in his boxers, on the floor, back against the couch, remote in one hand, and your hand in other. Your fingers look so small intertwined with his, your arm draping down over his shoulder from where you’re lying on your belly, mouth open, dead asleep. He rubs his eyes.

“What’s this?” He keeps his voice low.

“She couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want ta wake you, but she was keepin’ me up, thrashing around.” Johnny frowns. He traces a thumb across your forehead, moving a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Simon strokes his fingers up his thigh, rubbing the back of his leg, his skin hot in the thick of the summer night. He glances at the clock on the stove before settling on the rug too, notching his head next to your arm, and Simon shifts to accommodate him before turning to press his lips against his forehead.

“Was it a nightmare?”

“She’s still havin’ em.” Simon whispers, and he leans to pull him closer. “Didn’t want to talk about it.” He sighs.

“What’re we watchin’?”

You settle on the edge of the bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, eyes unmoving from the floor. Simon stands against the dresser directly in front of you, arms crossed, body stiff and thrumming with concern, strung tight with stress. The room is quiet, lit only by a small lamp that you have flicked on, and he tries not to look too closely at anything, at this place you’ve been living in when you should have been at home.

“Love?” Johnny clears his throat, sitting down next to you, tilting his head to catch your gaze. He avoids looking at your blood crusted cuticles, or the crescent moon marks that are imprinted in your palms. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrug.

“Yesterday.” Simon shifts his weight, as in tune to the waver in your voice, the tell of the lie, as Johnny is. He shoots Johnny a look, before going down on a knee in front of you, hands gentle, a palm cupping your calf and giving it a squeeze before releasing. You don’t pull away. A knot of tension releases between the two of them.

“Will you tell us why you left?” Johnny tries to keep from pleading, but he knows he will beg you if he has to. Beg you to tell him why, beg you to come home, beg you to let them back in. Your eyes dart back and forth between them, your fingers nervously pulling at the ends of your hair, and Simon cuts him a stern look, a very clear message: Slow the fuck down. Don’t push her. Tears drip over your cheeks onto your knees and then your voice cracks.

“You were g-gone for almost thirty days. What if, what if you never came back? What if you just picked up and left? Started over? You ha- have each other… you don’t need me.” A chasm splits open inside Johnny, splintering across the three of you, the weight of your fear and doubt bubbling to surface, pushing past the truths they’ve worked so hard to make you see.

“We could never do that. You’re a part of us.” Simon’s tone is serious.

“You mean the world to us, darling. We don’t want to live in it without you.” Johnny says, fingers grazing along your shoulder.

“Don’t lie.” You croak, and he frowns.

“He’s not lying.” Simon says but you don’t respond.

“We love you.” Johnny whispers, and your eyes slam shut, tears spilling out between your lashes. “You know that, don’t ya?”

“N-no.” you cover your face with your hands.

“Yes, you do.” Simon pulls one of your hands away from your face, taking it in his own. “I know it’s hard, when we’re away-”

“No you don’t!” you sob as you cut him off. “You have each other! You always have each other. I f-feel… I feel like I’m on the outside.” Your breath hitches. “I always feel like that.” You tell them miserably and Johnny’s heart breaks for you.

“You’re supposed to talk to us, when you’re feelin’ bad about things.” Simon’s voice is gentle, as he tries to soothe you, tries to ground you. “Look at me, darling.” You turn your head, eyes up and full of trust, searching between the two of them.

You still trust him. You still trust Simon. There’s hope.

“I know.” You whisper.

“It doesn’t work unless we’re honest, and we tell each other how we’re feeling, even when it’s like this.” Johnny keeps his tone soft, but it’s heavy with emotion, drowning beneath your own sadness, the feeling of your despair.

"I know that. I do… but it doesn’t change anything.” Panic erupts through his veins like he’s been doused with cold water. Doesn’t change anything? Doesn’t change what? That you left? “It won’t change the fact that I’ll always feel like this… like I’m separate from you.” You blink furiously, tears trickling down your cheeks, chest heaving with shallow breaths, and Johnny feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Alright, darling. That’s okay.” Simon settles you, and Johnny gives him an incredulous look. Alright? Alright?! On a base level, he knows what Simon is doing, but it does nothing to quell the storm of feelings rising inside of him. They could lose you. What if they can’t fix this? “Johnny’s gonna get ya some food.” He grimaces and pulls his phone free to search for the room service menu, looking for something that will be easy on your stomach without overwhelming you. “D’you think you could manage a shower while we wait for it to be brought up?” He holds his breath. You could say no. You could tell them to get out. It took your deepest level of trust, to let them care for you like this, and in this moment, it felt like it wasn’t there.

When you don’t say anything in response and nod instead, he lets the air leak from his nose slowly.

“A bath.” You whisper, eyes still trained on the floor. You look at them intently for a moment before you get to your feet without another word and disappear into the bathroom. When the door clicks shut, Johnny whirls.

“I want to take her home. She’s not thinkin’ clearly.”

“We have to go at her pace, you heard what she said.” Something sad flickers across Simon’s face before he smooths it away. “She needs time, to remember. That’s all.” He tries to reason, and Johnny knows he’s right, but he can’t fight the burning sensation in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve been alone, in this room, for the last week and half, falling apart without them.

“Si. She…” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

“I know, Johnny. I know.” His partner’s fist is clenched around the balaclava, eyes tight with worry. They both look towards the closed door, and then Johnny glances down to the glaring light of his phone.

“There’s no soup.”

“Toast?”

“And a fried egg, if she can get it down.” Simon gives a curt nod of agreement, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get it sorted. Yeah?” Johnny presses his nose to Simon’s neck and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“Yeah.” He motions to the bathroom. “Join ya in a minute.”

By the time he has the food ordered, you’re already sitting in the tub, water thundering from the faucet, knees pulled back up under your chin, skin dotted with goosebumps. There’s enough room for him to get in behind you, like he usually does, but he doesn’t want to push you, so he reminds himself to be patient. Simon is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, murmuring something softly that you’re occasionally nodding at until you speak.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You croak.

“It’s alright, darling. We’re just happy you’re safe.” Simon reassures, and when you don’t say anything else, panic swirls in the pit of Johnny’s stomach. Be patient. He needs to be patient.

He can be patient, but he doesn’t have to fight fair. Not when it comes to you.

“Can I wash your hair?” he asks you sweetly, and you nod almost immediately. Later, he hopes, once you’ve pulled out of this and you’re all together again, you’ll give him shit about using your weakness against you like that. He hopes.

You tilt your head back eagerly, eyes slipping closed while the tips of his fingers massage your scalp, and he alternates between soft and firm pressure, making sure he gets the lather as deep into your roots as gently as he can.

“I missed you.” It’s barely a whisper, a light whistle on your lips, but they both hear it, and Simon reaches for your hand, large fingers folding over yours, his touch gentle and slow while Johnny rubs the pad of his thumb along your shoulder blade before he speaks.

“Not as much as we missed you.”

“Oh shit.” You giggle from where you sit between Johnny’s legs and he presses his palm to your mouth playfully, lips grazing along your shoulder. Simon’s footsteps thunk down the hall, his voice calling both of your names.

“Shhh.” Johnny murmurs, the warm bath water wrapping the two of you in a soft, sublime feeling that’s gone straight to his head. When the bathroom door swings open, you raise an arm like you’re dancing, and beam.

“Welcome home!” Johnny tries not to laugh at the serious expression on Simon’s face, and he snakes an arm around your middle to pull you all the way back into his chest.

“Having a relaxing day?” Simon dead pans, and you nod, back of your head against Johnny, face turned upward to stare at Si who’s dressed in uniform, no doubt completely exhausted after a long day of travel to the ‘local’ office and back. Water beads off your skin when you push off from Johnny to rise to your knees, and he can’t help but reach out and trace a line across your hip while your palm slides up the front of Simon’s pants, leaving wet spots in its wake as you lick your lips. Johnny leans all the way back, fitting into the curve of the tub, arms on either side, and watches you pull the zipper down to free Simon’s cock from his briefs. When you glance back at him, he gives you a smile in return, excitement settling in his stomach as he watches you, his own hand sinking beneath the surface of the water to palm his cock, his eyes never leaving where you’re stroking Simon, your head tipped backwards and eyes up.

“Darling…” Simon grunts, the word a harsh exhale, and your mouth cracks into a smile where you’re wrapped around him, your tongue flat against your teeth, jaw relaxed as you work. His hand drifts down to the top of your head when your lips part around length of his cock and a shiver runs down Johnny’s spine, the weight of love, of adoration vibrating in his bones.

His. This was his. You were both his.

Your free hand reaches for him in the water, and he laces his fingers in yours with a reassuring squeeze before sitting up on his knees himself, his body pressing against you, gentle fingers wrapping around your throat to still your motion.

“Hold still, darling.” He coaches, reaching for Simon’s belt loop to pull him closer, folding his grasp along his hip until he’s pressing into the back of your mouth. “Fuck her throat, love. That’s what she wants.” You try to nod enthusiastically, and Johnny chuckles, brushing a kiss across your cheekbone. “Isn’t she sweet?” He asks, and Simon’s hand tightens in your hair, just a tad, enough to hold you steady as he begins to rock his hips back and forth. “That’s it.” He encourages, hand never leaving Simon’s hip, the other still gently cradling your throat. He talks Simon through it the entire time, his own cock hard against the curve of your ass, his thumb occasionally smearing across your lower lip. “Fuck, Si.” He marvels, “Doin’ so good for her. Givin’ her what she wants.” He releases Simon’s hip and strokes a finger down your lower belly and across your thighs before teasing your clit, and your breath stutters through your nose when he presses against the swollen bud, your body tensing against his. He noses along your jaw while he works your clit in a circle, matching his rhythm to Simon’s pace. You make a strangled sound in your throat when Simon slows, and Johnny smirks, mirroring the speed until you’re whimpering, throat stuffed full and your thighs trying to rub together around his hand. He’s not going to let you come, not yet, so he pulls away and you whine, eyes widening in protest, but you stay steady, jaw lax to accommodate Simon, and Johnny praises you. “Good girl. Takin’ him so well.” Simon grunts, and then his mouth drops open as his hips begin to thrust unevenly until he’s coming, a little moan slipping from you when he spills down your throat.

He bends to kiss you afterwards, swiping his tongue into your mouth, lavishing you slowly until you’re pulling at his belt loops again.

“Want to get in?”

“You know I won’t fit, darling.” He perches on the side of the tub, leaning down to brush his lips against Johnny’s, fingers dipping into the heat of the water.

“Well?” Johnny prompts, and Simon grimaces, watching you as he speaks.

“Tomorrow. Sixteen hundred.” He feels your muscles go tense, your languid state draining from your body, tension running through you in its place. He squeezes your arm affectionately, pressing a kiss above your ear.

“It’s alright, love. Won’t be too long.”

“It’s the apartment.” You say quietly from where you’re now laying on the bed, wrapped in a robe with your hair twisted into a towel. You eye the pieces of toast that are on the tray with a sigh. He holds one out to you, like an offering, and your lower lip trembles. “My stomach hurts.” you protest.

“I know it does, love. But you’ll feel better after this, I swear it.” Your hand reaches for his, and his heart soars, but he tempers his relief quickly. “Please? For me.”

“What about the apartment?” Simon interrupts and a shadow moves across your face.

“It was yours, before. It feels like I don’t belong there, sometimes.” Like you don’t belong? The contrast startles him, forcing his spine straighter and he considers your words. How could you possibly believe you don’t belong?

“Then we’ll get a new one.” He blurts, without even fully thinking it through. He only knows he’s desperate to reassure you, desperate to show you that they’d do anything for you. Your face shifts, from forlorn to hopeful, surprise crinkling the corners of your eyes as you glance between them.

“We’ll get a new one.” Simon agrees, and Johnny presses your knuckles to his lips. “You do belong, darling. You belong with us.”

#dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #peaches writes #ghostsoap #john soap mctavish x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap

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shiorimakibawrites · 3 months ago

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Mo Ghrá (Kin Fan Fic)

Words: ~1500 Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Summary: You're on your period and you miss Mikey. Warning: Period symptoms, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff, pumpkin obsession Masterlist / A03 Tags: @bellaxgiornata, @shouldbestudying41, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92

This little story interrupted the writing of "Bound". Guess Mikey wanted a little attention.

Thanks to @shouldbestudying41 for the title suggestion.

Mo Ghrá

You were on the couch, trying to find a position that was comfortable. It was a struggle. Your abdomen was in favor of the fetal position. Your lower back disagreed. Vehemently. Right now you were seeing if on your side, pillows supporting your back and heating pad pressed against your belly, would work.

You hoped so. You were so tired. You had gotten, maybe, two hours of sleep last night. If you added it all up. Yesterday hadn’t been much better. You had called off work, knowing there was no way you were hauling your ass into the office. Not today.

After failing for umpteenth time to find a comfortable position on your bed, you had given up on it. The couch wasn’t much of an improvement. Best thing you could say is that it wasn’t covered in sheets that smelled like stale sweat. You needed to change your bedding but that sounded like far too much work today . . . maybe, if you got lucky, you’d find the energy to fix that before attempting to sleep tonight.

You wished Michael was here. You wanted to bury your face in his chest hair while he rubbed your back with those large, warm hands. You wanted his voice softly murmuring into your hair. But you stayed at your place last night and yesterday night. Like an idiot. You didn’t know what Past You had been thinking. Probably some nonsense about needing to spend some time at your own place since you were still paying rent . . .

But you were also glad that Michael wasn’t here. Because you felt gross. You had scrapped up just enough energy for a shower this morning. But it was the second day of your period. When you had the worst cramps and the heaviest bleeding. So it didn’t take long for the refreshed, clean feeling to disappear.

You whimpered when another cramp ripped through your abdomen. The painkillers were wearing off. Granted, the ibuprofen was barely dulling your cramp pain. And it did absolutely nothing for your headache . . . But it was all you had. In a minute, you would get up and take more. Refill your water bottle while you were up. In a minute . . .

The knock on the door startled you. You weren’t expecting any company. Michael had mentioned something about running errands when you had called him to cancel your lunch date. Another disappointment, you had been looking forward to that date . . . you weren’t going anywhere special. Just the little cafe that you two had discovered that had really good coffee. Really good everything actually. Anna liked it too . . .

Another knock alerted you to that you had gone woolgathering instead of getting up and answering the door. It was tempting to pretend not to be home. But curiosity won out. Reminding yourself that you needed more medicine and water anyway, you wiggled out of your blanket cocoon and stood up.

Your abdomen protested the loss of the heating pad with an enormous cramp. The kind that made you double-up and brought tears to your eyes. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. You slowly straightened back up, then shuffled just as slowly toward the door. You reached it just as a third knock came. Whoever this person was, they were persistent.

You unlocked and opened the door to discover Michael standing here, a soft smile on his handsome, bearded face. “There ya are, pet. I was startin’ to think I had missed ya.”

“Mikey!” you said, torn between delight and embarrassment. You were happy to see him, of course, but you were also a mess. Crazy hair still wet from the shower, wearing old sweats, oversized tee shirt, and one of his hoodies. The one that you had shamelessly stolen from his house the last time you were over there.

Your unattractive messiness felt especially stark today. Michael’s hair and beard was neatly combed. He was wearing jeans, the ones that displayed just how fine that very fine ass of his was. And that sage green sweater that you had bought him, that really brought out those little flecks of green in his eyes, peeked out from under his jacket.

“I thought you were busy today?” You said.

“Just a few things,” he said. “Can I come in, pet? The coffee's gettin’ cold.”

“Coffee?” you repeated, suddenly realizing that one of his hands was occupied. In it was a drink carrier with two coffees in it. Coffees with the name of the little shop written across the cups. You also noticed a small white bag with the same logo dangling from that wrist. A bag that smelled like fresh-baked pumpkin bread.

Your mouth watered. You hadn’t eaten much today. Just lacked the energy and had been vaguely nauseous. You had nibbled on a cereal bar with some tea hoping that it would stay down. It did. But the nausea remained and nothing sounded appealing . . . not until your nose caught a whiff of that pumpkin.

“Pumpkin bread?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “And yer pumpkin spice latte.”

“Really?!”

“I know ya love yer pumpkin,” he said.

He was right. You loved pumpkin. Pumpkin bread. Pumpkin pie. Pumpkin cookies. Pumpkin spice coffee. One of your favorite things about autumn was all the pumpkin things you could find. Michael had teased you about it, said it was very American. You had retorted that his snobbiness about whiskey was very Irish of him.

Remembering that he was still standing on your doorstep and it was a rather brisk autumn day, you moved to the side and ushered him inside. You watched him move through your living room. Particularly when he bent down to put the coffees down on the little table. As predicted, his ass looked incredible in those jeans . . . you felt a spark of irritation at the universe. If only you weren’t on your period right now . .

As if to remind you of that little fact, you got another cramp. It wasn’t quite as bad as the last one but it still had you pressing your hands against your abdomen in a vain attempt to stop the pain. A pointed reminder that you needed to take that ibuprofen and put the heating pad back on. While Michael sliced off a few pieces from the loaf of pumpkin bread, you slipped off to the bathroom to take those painkillers.

“How are ya feelin’ pet?” Michael asked as you settled back on the couch.

“I’m grand,” you said. “Why do you ask?”

While his lips did give an amused twitch at your borrowing of his phrasing, his eyes flickered over to the heating pad and the blanket piled on the couch. “Ya were wincin’”

Of course he had noticed. Michael was nothing if not attentive.

You fidgeted. He had never exhibited any disgust for periods. Never made any crude jokes, reacted with calm practicality every time it had come up. Anna had been more embarrassed by her dad buying her tampons than he had been going to shop to buy them. But your period wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about. You really didn’t want to talk about it with Michael.

For some reason, he seemed to think you were beautiful. And you didn’t want anything to destroy that particular delusion of his.

On the other hand, you didn’t want to lie either. You and Mikey were trying to build something solid here. Something that would last. Honest communication was key to that goal. And . . . well, your periods weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

“It’s just my period,” you muttered, staring at your feet. Your socks didn’t match. One was a bright pink. The other was black. You hadn’t even noticed before now. Tears filled your eyes. Couldn’t even dress yourself properly. You really were a disaster.

“Pet?”

His voice was closer than you expected. It startled you into looking up. Seeing your tears, the concerned frown deepened. “Can I sit with ya?”

You nodded. He sat down next to you, then turned so he was mostly facing you. He held his arms open in clear invitation. One you couldn’t resist. You slide into his arms, borrowing your face into his chest. The sweater might not have been the chest hair you had been craving earlier but you still had his strong arms around you. You had his cologne that smelled like a blend of whiskey, coffee, vanilla along with notes that you couldn’t describe as other than Mikey in your nose. Which was pretty damn good.

It got even better when one of those wonderfully warm hands began massaging your lower back while the other helped maneuver the rest of you into a more comfortable snuggling position. Michael was so warm. He was just as good as your heating pad. Better. Because your heating pad couldn’t murmur sweet nothings into your ear.

One of these days you were going to have to ask him what mo ghrá meant. Everyone had refused to tell you. Just smiled and told you to ask Michael.

You did eventually manage to drink your coffee and eat your slice of pumpkin bread, followed by more snuggles with Mikey. You felt your eyes getting heavy as the combination of comfort and warmth lulled you into sleep. The last thing you felt before you drifted off was lips pressing against your forehead with another soft mo ghrá.

END NOTES

mo ghrá is Irish for "my love".

#fan fiction #kin rte #kin bbc #kin amc #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella hurt/comfort #fluff #hurt/comfort

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ghost-in-the-hall · 9 months ago

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Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part VI

Why hello there! I am finally back with an Eepy Boi update!! Sorry it took me so long to get around to posting this, between the holidays and my work schedule being all over the place and a heap of other junk it took me a bit, lol. We're taking a little jump back? Forward? In time this chapter, the Fall Festival is finally upon us... Maybe a little bit of tension starts to occur? This is going to be a very fun chapter hehe. Thank all of you so so much for your continued support during my hiatus, I see every single note, reblog, and kudos on this fic, I read every single comment I get, all of you are absolutely wonderful, again, thank you. If you would like to be added to my tag list for this fic, please let me know! If you ever want to come be crazy over the Sleep Token boys with me, shoot me an ask or a message! Now onto the good stuff, I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: None, fluff, not proofread

My Masterlist! ~ A03 Link!

Part V - Part VII

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Absolutely not.” Vessel responds blankly as he flips through one of the magazines by the register.

“Ves, come on.” You groan. “It's one night.”

“Yeah, one night with a whole group of people that want to run us out of town.” He retaliates in the same bored tone as he turns another page.

“Everyone's going to be wearing costumes, no one will know it's you.” You offer as you start bagging his purchase.

“They've seen pictures of us, love.”

“What? Those blurry, grainy sasquatch looking photos from the paper?” You sigh, handing him the bags. “Listen, I know you're worried. I know you just want to keep everyone safe, but you hiding yourselves away is only going to make people more suspicious.” You could feel his eyes studying your face.

“I get the slightest feeling that something is wrong we leave, do we have a deal?” He sticks out his hand to you, you clap your own into his without hesitation, giving it a firm shake. “I agree that people might be more comfortable with us being in town if we can exist in the same space without an issue… I just hope you're right about this.”

“I'll be right by your side the whole time.” You exchange a soft smile.

“Are you closing early that day?” He asks.

“Of course, I have to get into costume myself.” You giggle. “I'll be closing at noon that day, but I can always reopen if you guys want to stock up afterwards.” You offer.

“It’s not that, I wouldn't want to trouble you.” He chuckles. “I was thinking maybe we could meet here before the festival.”

“I'd like that.”

“Then it's a date.” He bows his head slightly in dismissal before pushing out the door.

The next day the store was abuzz with excited children picking out glow sticks, mother's buying ingredients for their bake sale items, and last minute costume necessities for all the town's residents. “Miss (Y/N)!” You can't help but smile as a young boy with messy brown hair and a gapped tooth smile rushes up to the counter.

“Daclan, she's busy-” his mother starts, a bubbly school teacher you had gotten to know quite well since she had moved to town.

“Don't worry about it, Siobhan.” You chuckle, pulling the bucket of candy out from behind the counter and discreetly offering it to him. You lean down slightly, “if you don't tell the other kids I'll let you take two.” You whisper with a wink. He shoves his hand into the bucket before quickly and triumphantly retrieving his candy.

“Miss (Y/N), are you coming to the Fall festival?” He asks excitedly.

“Of course I am, I wouldn't miss it for the world.” You smile. “What's your costume going to be this year?” He starts rambling on about his skeleton costume as you ring the two of them up.

“Woah! Mom, look at him!” Your attention flashes over to the door to see Vessel frozen in place as every pair of eyes in the store land on him. As quickly as he caught their attention it was gone, the bustling energy returning once more as everyone continued their shopping. You motion him closer with a wave of your hand. Declan stared up at the large masked man in amazement. “What are you supposed to be?”

Vessel gives you the briefest of looks, not exactly sure how to respond at first. But, seeing the boy's bright smile and lack of fear, it warmed his heart. He leans down, resting his elbows on the counter to bring himself closer to eye level. “The Grim Reaper, pretty scary, right?” He says with a grin.

“Awesome!” Declan exclaims in response. “Mom, can we make a costume like his next year?” Vessel chuckles at the young boy’s excitement.

“Sure thing, honey.” She ruffles Declan’s hair. “Come on, let’s let Miss (Y/N) close up so she can get ready.” You exchange goodbye’s with her, Declan telling you that he hopes you get to see his costume before hurrying out the door.

“So far so good.” You remark as you lean against the counter, you and Vessel shifting to more easily face each other. “I promise tonight will be fun.” You reach out, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, if you talk so highly about this festival, I can't see any harm in giving it a shot.” You wait for your last few customers to file out of the store before locking up.

“Where's everyone else?” You ask, looking out in the empty lot for their truck.

“They're in back, I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” You click off your open sign with a smile, motioning with a nod for Vessel to follow you out the front door. Your keys jingled in your hand as you struggled with the lock. “You'd think after all this time I wouldn't mess this up.” You sigh. The front door had a tendency to not shut fully unless things were maneuvered a certain way; the keys had to be slid into the lock a certain way, you had to push the door fully shut with your shoulder, you felt your cheeks start to burn as you struggled with something so simple in Vessel’s presence.

“Mind if I give it a try?” He offers quietly. You shuffle out of his way, the heat of his body noticeable against yours as he slid a little too close behind you. He jiggles the key slightly, slamming his shoulder into the glass pane’s metal frame, managing to slide the deadbolt into place. He pulls on the handle a couple times, making sure it's fully secure, before turning to you with a proud smile. “There, that should do it. He follows you out back, the other three members of the usual group lounging in the cab of the truck. IV was the first to notice you, perking up in his seat when his eyes landed on your approaching form. He nudges II, who looks up immediately from the book he was reading at the mention of your name.

“Where's your costume?” III asks in mock annoyance. He hops down from his place situated in the bed of the truck, his long strides allowing him to approach you quickly and pull you into his arms. He pulls back slightly, his blue eyes finding yours and making you freeze under their warm gaze. “Promise me I'll get you to myself for at least a little while tonight.” You could hear the smile he was wearing under his mask lace it's way through his words. Before you had a chance to respond the passenger door of the truck was kicked open, IV practically falling to the ground as he scrambled out. Your eyes darted up to three, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gazed down at you. He gives you a quick wink before he steps back, satisfied with your flustered state.

IV bounds up to you, excitedly taking your hands in his. “I can't wait to see your costume.” You jump slightly as a warm hand if placed against your lower back, you caught the sight of II in your peripheral.

“Well we have to let her go get changed into it first.” He chuckles. “It's good to see you, love.”

“Come on guys.” You chuckle, motioning for the four of them to follow you. “You can hang out upstairs while I get ready.”

It always made your heart swell every time they were all together in one place. The warm, me jovial energy that filled your apartment had you practically skipping to your room to get changed. You could hear the four of them continue to talk in the living room, just quiet enough to make it so you couldn't hear. You opened your closet, pulling out the neatly packaged bag that contained your costume. You shimmied into the tight dress, the stretchy fabric hugging all of your curves just right. Was this the most original costume in the world? Absolutely not. But, considering you were hoping to catch the attention of some masked men in particular this evening, you figured it wouldn't hurt to be a little cliche. You did your makeup as quickly as you could, a dark smokey eye that was finished off by you drawing a little black nose at the tip of your own with eyeliner. You grabbed the headband from your vanity, adjusting it perfectly atop your head before giving yourself one final once over in the mirror and heading back out to your waiting guests. The room fell silent the second you stepped through your door, four pairs of eyes locked on your small form. All of the sudden attention made you feel self conscious about your costume choice, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. You wrapped your arms around your torso, your cheeks warming as you looked between the four. “Does it look ba-”

You didn't have a chance to finish your question before they were all scrambling out of their various seats towards you. All of them reassuring you that you looked fantastic and apologizing for staring. Your small group prepared to head out, III hung back to wait for you, his monstrous form taking up most of the doorway. You smile up at him as you straighten up from pulling on your shoes. “You look beautiful.” He compliments you softly, making your cheeks warm.

“Thank you.” He slips his hands into yours, his lips warm through his mask as he places a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Ready to get going?” You nod, letting your hand reluctantly fall from his.

You piled into their truck, you were currently squished in between Vessel and II, III and IV curled up in the bed. “So, you're all excited about this festival, what are we even going to be doing?” Vessel asks suddenly, breaking the silence in the truck.

“Well,” you start, “there's going to be a lot of food, hay rides, a costume contest, lots of vendors from around the town, a few rides, a haunted house. It's nothing spectacular, but I’m hoping it will make you guys feel more at home here.” You noticed him and II exchange a look over your head. It wasn't long before you pulled into the bumpy dirt parking lot of the fair grounds. III vaulted out of the truck, his heavy boots landing on the ground with a loud thud. You notice II shove him back slightly as he holds out his hand to help you out of the truck. He gives your hand a soft squeeze before dropping it, you were quickly surrounded by the four men, all of you chatting happily as you made your way up to the festival. The four froze, taking in the chaotic sight before then. IV reached out, slipping his hand into yours.

“There's a lot of people, huh?” He asks, startling back slightly as a child rushes past his legs.

“The whole town’s probably going to show up.” You explain. You lean on closer to him, “you alright big guy? We can always turn around and go back to my place if this is too much.” You squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“I think I can handle it if you're by my side.” You noticed his features soften as he smiles under his mask. Your cheeks warm, your eyes darting to the ground in an attempt to try and hide your flustered expression.

“Where should we start?” III slips an arm around your shoulder, you instinctually lean into his side.

“You're the expert, love, lead the way.” Vessel shoots you a sharp grin. The group stayed close to your side, forming a buffer between you and the rest of the crowd. You wandered from booth to booth, letting the boy's childlike wonder take over as they excitedly showed you small trinkets and hand made gifts they stumbled across. The booth of old ladies selling goat milk soap cooed over how adorable all your costumes were, slipping sweets into all your hands as you made your way out. You paused in front of a vendor selling handmade jewelry, you jumped slightly as a hand came to rest on your waist.

“That would look very pretty on you.” II’s gentle voice meets your ears.

“You think so?” You ask through a flustered giggle. II asked to see the necklace in question, the beautifully wire wrapped crystal sparkling in the gradually setting sun. “It is really pretty.”

“How much?” He asks without hesitation. The young woman running the stand told him the price, to which II shocked you by immediately purchasing the necklace. He steps behind you, your hand raising to the unfamiliar weight as it falls around your neck. “A beautiful necklace for the most beautiful woman in the world.” His warm breath bounces off your cheek as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine. You glance over your shoulder, your eyes immediately finding his bright blue ones.

“You know you didn't have to buy me anything.” You see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

“What if I wanted to?” You didn't miss the teasing tone that had laced its way into his words. You traced a finger along the cool metal wire, fully turning yourself to face him. You glance up at him through your lashes, struggling to find the right words to say to thank him. You pushed yourself up onto your toes, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Well, I think that’s very sweet. Thank you, II.” You perk up at the sound of one of the others calling your name, III appearing at your side and slipping his hand into yours.

“Mind if I steal her from you?” He quickly asks II.

“Not at all.” He holds up his hands with a soft chuckle. “I'm sure I'll manage to snag her back later.” He winks at you, making your cheeks grow warm.

“What a shame,” III leans down to murmur quietly in your ear, “looks like I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick to get you to myself.”

“Careful, you're all going to make me think you have a crush on me or something.” You tease in response, shooting him a playful smile of your own.

“Only a pretty little thing like you could handle something like that.” He winks. “I want to make sure you eat before IV gets over excited and drags you off to the rides.” He jokes with a smile. He tucks you safely into his side, helping you avoid the bustling crowd that surrounded you.

“Are you having a good time?” You ask him softly. He glances down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Yeah, I’m spending time with you, of course I’m having a good time.” You let out a bashful giggle, quickly turning away as you feel your cheeks grow warm.

As the evening carried on you couldn't help but notice II grow more fidgety with every passing hour, occasionally leaning into Vessel to whisper something only for the taller man to clap him on the shoulder and give him a reassuring grin. You were currently sat in a circle on the ground, finding a nice place in the open field to settle down and have some good together. You laughed as IV expertly stole a bite of your corn dog faster than you could comprehend what had happened. “What's your favorite ride?” II suddenly chimes in from his position sitting across from you.

“I'm personally a big fan of the haunted house, I think all the cheap jump scares are fun.” You respond with a laugh.

IV makes an intrigued noise. “We should all go on!”

“Only two people can ride together, unfortunately.”

“Well, how about you ride with me then?” II winks at you, making you blush.

“If you think you can handle it.” You tease in response. II stands, offering you his hand which you eagerly accept. He hoists you from the ground, pulling you into his side and slinging his arm across your shoulders. Vessel tagged along with IV, knowing it would be the only way to stop him from complaining about how he wanted to go too, III elected to stay back to save your spot. You all chatted happily as you stood in line, the slow creeping pace allowing them to see a little of what the ride had in store for them.

Brown metal buggies horribly painted to look like wood creaked along the track, bat shaped hood ornaments were barely recognizable after years of dings and chipped paint.A repeating track of over dramatic screams and ghoulish moaning looped from the speakers. “Next in line, please!” The ticket collector barked, IV and Vessel stepped up first, IV practically vibrating with excitement as he waited for the all clear to get on. II’s arm slid around your waist as you stepped forward, waiting patiently for the next cart to wheel itself into place. “Y’all have fun.” He waves you on. II helps you step into the cart, your body thudding against the thin, leather covered padding on the seat.

“You’re not going to get all scared on me now, are you?” You ask in a playful tone.

“Oh, don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll be right here to protect you.” He returns with a smirk. Your body lurched slightly as the buggy started to move. You were hit with a blast of cold air as you crept into the dark space, II’s arm wrapping around your shoulders, you found yourself instinctually snuggling into his side. You jumped slightly, giggling over being startled by the second air cannon you had rolled past.

You rolled past a growling werewolf, “Look, you can see the wires.” You nudge him slightly, pointing upwards.

“I personally think it adds to the experience.” He chuckles, you can’t help but laugh yourself. “You’re so beautiful.” You feel your breath freeze in your lungs at his compliment. You clung to him as something shot out of the darkness at you, it took you a moment to recognize the plastic skeleton’s limbs rattling at you. Your eyes are drawn back to him as you feel a warm hand slip over your cheek. “And you thought I was going to be the one getting scared.” He chuckles, his eyes flashing briefly to your lips. “Cute.” He fidgets with the edge of his mask for a moment, stretching the black fabric away from his neck. “Can- can I, um…” He swallows thickly, his confidence immediately crumbling as you continue to cling to him for comfort. “Can I kiss you?” You nodded, your wide eyes glimmering in the dim light. Without hesitation II lifts his mask, his lips slotting perfectly against your own. Your hand slides over his chest, you could feel his heart pounding under your palm. As quickly as the kiss had started it was over, II’s mask already neatly back in place by the time your eyes fluttered open. You hide your face against his neck, hoping he hadn’t noticed your flustered appearance. “That was nice.” He suddenly chimes in, making you giggle. You both reluctantly shuffle away from each other as the exit opens in front of you, squinting under the bright lights. II offers you his hand to help you from the cart, your eyes meeting his as he smiles. Your pinky wraps around his as he lets his hand slip out of your grasp. You hear him laugh softly at your actions, allowing your fingers to stay linked.

“That wasn’t even scary.” IV groans as you approach.

“I never said it was scary, I just said I liked it.” You respond. Vessel smiles down at you.

“How was riding with II?” He asks with a chuckle. Your cheeks immediately warm at the question.

“We had fun.” You get out through a nervous giggle.

“Well, look who’s back.” You can’t help but smile at III’s cheerful tone. He hoists himself up from his position on the ground with a soft groan. “How was it beautiful?” Your eyes trailed after the people that were starting to gather in the open field.

“It was fun.” You felt a pang of guilt in your chest as you thought about kissing II. “See anything interesting while we were gone?”

“There’s a pretty good band playing over there.” He nods somewhere behind you. “Want to go check it out?”

“Sure.” You can’t help but smile as you feel the warmth of III’s hand brush against yours. The two of you lazily strolled in the direction of the music that floated through the air. A local folk group was currently performing under a gazebo, a small dance floor set up in front of the stage. You laughed as III took your hand and spun you around in time with the music, pulling you to him and swaying you in his arms.

“Do you know how to dance?” He asks with a grin.

“Not very well,” you giggle in response, “but I feel like with you that won’t matter too much.” You found yourself easily falling into a rhythm with him, every small misstep and teasing comment from him made you both crumble into fits of laughter. You both paused, looking up at the sky with the rest of the crowd as fireworks started going off overhead. III continues to hold you close, your arms sliding over his shoulders as the two of you watch the display. He fully encircles your waist with one arm, his hand sliding over your cheek, turning your face in order for his warm lips to find yours. Unlike the kiss with II, III took his time letting the sensation of kissing you sink in. You felt so small in his arms, the gentle dominance he had over the kiss allowing your body to fully relax into his embrace as your eyes fluttered shut. He traces a thumb along your jaw before hesitantly pulling away.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He rushes to apologize, his body relaxing at the sight of the soft smile that had laced its way across your lips. Your eyes meet his, bright blue irises scanned your features with an adoration you had never seen. “I really like you.”

“III-”

“There you guys are!” He jolts back from you, the sudden lack of warmth making you shiver. “We’ve been looking all over the place for you!” It was IV, he jogged up to you. “Vessel wants to get going.”

You found yourself in the cab of the truck between Vessel and IV, II and III electing to sit in the bed for the ride back to your place. Your mind raced as you played over both men kissing you over and over again in your head. You didn’t know what to do. On one hand there was II, his silent charm and the undeniable intimacy the two of you have has drawn you in from the beginning. But then there was III, who made your heart race and dominated every aspect of your senses whenever you were with him. Who, despite his monstrous size, was always so gentle with you. You were absolutely torn. You rumbled into the store’s parking lot, Vessel parking the truck around back. You stood at the bottom of your stairs in a small circle. “Well, I hate to admit it, but that was pretty fun.” Vessel grins at you, there were murmurs of agreement amongst the group.

“Do you guys want to come up for a bit? There’s, um, there’s kind of something I need to talk to you about.” You fidget with your hands as you nervously put the statement out there. You were going to deal with feeling conflicted the only way you knew how, by facing the problem head on.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tag List: @spookyghostjelly @herripinkle @thepoisonedchalice @saturnhas82moons @wingsofeternitysstuff @creamwhxre @itsyagirl-snowflake @themultiverseofmars @bookishpenguino @m0cha-bunny @madsthenightowl @dangerkittenclaws @rainy-darling @shad0wcast @amara-among-the-stars @v3nu5s @dontpercieve-me-pls @ripleyswife @thepityscene @lipstick-and-lycanthropes @vmpireskiss @savaneafricaine @sanekiii @ajordan2020 @diditgirl13 @sodomizerrrrr @mishaglass @thisbicc @chewbrry @backwards-readings @popppylove @lovelyan @asianchic-44 @littlemiss-sakura @sleepy-time-dreamy @xdarkcreaturex @deltottoro @chewbrry @thisbicc @miss-multi45 (If I missed you or you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!)

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

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BAD DECISIONS - SMUT INDEX

BD MASTERLIST | WATTPAD Ver. | A03 Ver.

pairing: bartender!jungkook x female reader | strangers-friends-lovers, fwb

synopsis

it's simple: write your deepest darkest fears on origami birds and string them up on jungkook's ceiling. when they fall—which they inevitably will, thanks to his cheap daiso washi tape—you have to face the fear. set it free. the issue? you've a fear of intimacy. jungkook, a fear of rejection. and you've both got the capacity to make some incredibly bad decisions.

note from holly: ask and you shall receive!! i was asked about a list of all the smut chapters in bd, so figured it'd be easier for me to make a masterlist - this took hours because I had to go through the entire story (which is like 450k words LMAO), but if you notice any missing, let me know!! all chapters linked will take you to the wattpad ver.

minors dni

Bad Decision #2 – Park Jimin

tags/warnings: jimin lol, drunk hook-up, slight dom jimin, bratty oc, spanking, fingering, protected sex, fully clothed, no orgasm for oc

Bad Decision #11 - Perry

tags/warnings: first shower, no smut but a lil nakedness

Bad Decision #12 – An Agreement

tags/warnings: mutual masturbation birdie, jk gets himself off in the bathroom sink <3 oc gets herself off in his bed <3

Bad Decision #13 – Work of Art

tags/warnings: Jungkook discovers boobs <3, breast play, nipple play, mirrors, paint (?), shower, mutual masturbation (for realsies this time), he finishes on her tummy <3

Bad Decision # 14 – New Rules

tags/warnings: mirrors, pussy worship, jk has the biggest boner known to man, fingering, one, two, three fingers! Orgasm for oc!!

Bad Decision #15 – Paper Planes

tags/warnings: cockwarming (that escalated!), hand job, fingering, protected penetration (safety first!!), oc on top, mirrors (they love them!), nose nudging!!!, clitoral stimulation, ‘good girl’, both finish <3

Bad Decision #17 – Jeon Jungkook

tags/warnings: cockwarming 2.0, oc is bad a maths!, touching each other up above their clothes <3, mirrors lol ofc, nipple play, spanking, tittie sucking <3, fingering, neck kisses, unprotected (!!) penetration, cockwarming that accidentally becomes fucking! Oops! Jk on top, multiple positions, finishes on her back

Bad Decision #20 – Park Jimin… Again

tags/warnings: oops (kinda wild seeing the progression from 17 to 20 like this lmao), drunk hookup, blowjob, no oc orgasm <;/3

Bad Decision #23 – Cherry Picking

tags/warnings: most read chapter! Fun facts! tipsy hook up, oral (f receiving), pantie sniffing?? lmao, panties in oc’s mouth??? Lol, tittie sucking, spitting, jks nose <3, fingering, oc orgasm!! FIRST KISS!!!! Unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he finishes on her tits <3 and licks it up <3

Bad Decision #24 – Resolutions

tags/warnings: hangover sex, shower sex, slight degradation, use of the word slut in a sexy way, praise, temporarily withheld orgasm (f), switch dynamics, unprotected sex, orgasms (f, m), he finishes in her mouth <3

Bad Decision #25 - January

tags/warnings: fingering, f orgasm, mentions of the erotic accordion lmao

Bad Decision #26 – January, Still

tags/warnings: the tie chapter <3 what he does with the aforementioned tie I shall not get into but it’s pretty self-explanatory, oral (f), fingering, lil spanks, rimming (f receiving), spitting, unprotected sex, doggy, finishes on her back!!

Bad Decision #27 – Keeping Quiet

tags/warnings: this ones a lil angsty!! ‘if you’re here to fuck me, then fuck me. If not, you can go.’, they’re fighting but theyre needy! And tipsy! Bad idea!!!! Unprotected sex, kisses ☹ many kisses ☹ she wants him to finish inside ☹ he doesn’t ☹ mmmm rereading this one made me so sad lol! Sad smut!

Dad Decision #28 – Avoidance

tags/warnings: a lil? Lap sitting?? Dry hump??? Not really smut lol

Bad Decision #29 – ‘Daddy’

tags/warnings: the first of the polaroids, slut (affectionately <3) not smut as such, they’re just sorta working each other up

Bad Decision #31 – The Photo Booth

tags/warnings: all the build up for a blowwie without there being an actual blowwie lol (payback for the daddy thing), cute little lick of dick <3 lil precum swap <3 jk outrageously horny for the rest of the day, the photobooth pictures!!!!

Bad Decision #32 – Question…?

tags/warnings: jk’s parents kitchen, freckle kissing chapter!!!! <3 <3!! He finally gets that blowjob!! Fingering, he calls her baby sooooo much ☹ interrupted!!!!!! Nearly caught! Spend the day horny AGAIN, the conversation in a chicken shop is not the kind of conversation you should have in a chicken shop, jk quite literally wants to drown in you <3 TO THE LOVE MOTEL WE GO! Very needy, very desperate, very good <3 unprotected sex! Missionary! Tittie sucking! Ankles over shoulders! He’s going to town! CREAMPIE ! WE CHEER! Brief mentions of fucking again and him finishing inside her AGAIN

Bad Decision #33 – Boundaries (Or Lack Thereof)

tags/warnings: kisses ☹ so many ☹ ‘last time’ energy ☹ ‘chess’ ☹ against their better judgement, and despite their earlier restraint…. Oops! Shagging! Tittie sucking, dry humping (so not dry), 69, ass eating (f receiving), edging, fingering, clit spanks, squirting, unprotected (v quick!) sex, creampie, happy customers all around (until the next bird falls!)

Bad Decision #37 – Faking It

tags/warnings: angsty!! They are annoyed!!! Dominant jk!!! Arguing in a janitors closet at an art gallery!! Over her ex!!! He’s sooooo mm mm mmmm 😊 lots of ‘good girl’, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, tittie sucking, he wanks himself into her underwear!! While she’s wearing them <3 ‘gonna cum in ur panties, and then ur gonna wear them all night’ <33 they have a show to return to after all!!! He’s being like… so possessive but in a sexy way!

Bad Decision #40 – Spinning Bottles

tags/warnings: sex toys!! M & F !!! solo masturbation for oc, jk hears lol (floorboards are thin!), mutual masturbation, but like way hotter than normal, he’s soooo needy!! Beggy!!! Kisses!!!! Fleshlight creampie lmao, oc cleans it up for him 😊 with her tongue!! Cum swapping <3 so kissy, so lovely <3

Bad Decision #41 – Locked Doors

tags/warnings: shower sex, he like… fucks the little gap at the top of her thighs? Lol, kissy kissy mwah mwah, jk is like… totally in love! Mmmm he compliments!! Pretty standard shagging mechanics, emotion heavy, he finishes inside <;33

Bad Decision #43 – Circles

tags/warnings: dominant oc!! The neediest, whimper-iest handjob known to man!! She calls him a little slut <3 edging!! Oral (f), fingering, his hand is a necklace! Dominant jk! Oc rides!!! Seven had just been released! Sue me!!! Hair pulling, are they fucking or fighting idk, power struggle but sexy, kisses <3 cum! Everywhere!!! Titties and mouth <3 many seven references

Bad Decision #44 – Skinny Dipping

tags/warnings: pretty standard shag tbh, there are people in the rooms closeby but jk simply doesn’t give a shit, creampie, fingers in creampies lmao, eating creampie, too!!, finger sucking, multiple orgasms

Bad Decision #45 – The Rule of Five

tags/warnings: sofa shagging in lieu of speak about feelings! Kissing but v important kissing!! A little bit of cockwarming, unprotected sex, bed sex, creampie, all the good stuff you usually get with bd <33 squirting, jk is so lovely <3

Bad Decision #47 – Time Out

tags/warnings: a lil dry hump <3

Bad Decision #48 – Bickering

tags/warnings: mutual masturbation <3 sex toys (f), he fucks her with it <3 then licks it clean <3 kinda deepthroats it actually lmao, cums on her tummy <3 more polaroids <3

last updated: 20230914

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missrosegold · 11 months ago

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I've got a blood trail red in the blue

Synopsis: Vampire!AU You moved to the quiet, costal town to escape from your ex, only to find yourself entangled with a man with fiery blue eyes, and a grin that’s slightly too sharp.

He may or may not be an immortal gang leader to a bunch of other blood-sucking degenerates, but you’ll worry about that later.

Word count: 20k

Pairing: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)

Warnings: Mentions of murder, Blood and gore, Smut, Mentioned past toxic relationships, Smoking, Smut and additional warnings listed below so Minors or Ageless blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+

Playlist: Take Me To The Sun - D4VD + The Summoning (the ending. if you know, you know) - Sleep Token

For @kimkaelyn Thank you for all of the encouragement you’ve shown me when I needed it most – this one’s for you. Also, thank you for making this beautiful banner for me!! It looks so good!!

Title is from The Summoning by Sleep Token

Inspired by The Lost boys

Happy Birthday Dabi - I'm so pleased I was able to finish this for his birthday. He deserves all good things.

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works to my A03 account!

Tagging: @vambirezz @dabisqueen @little-red-insomniac @sunaraii @touyasprettydoll @touyas-back-lover @cloudsz04 @faetheral @impulsivethoughtsat2am @whitemochabunnie

You sigh loudly as you move the last box of your things into your new bedroom.

Dusting off your hands, you stand up and look around the small room, giving it an approving once over, before heading out into the living room to continue putting the rest of your things away in your new apartment.

Opting to take a quick break, you crack open the sliding glass doors leading out onto your small patio and step outside into the evening air. Closing your eyes, you breathe in the balmy, salt laced air, as a cool breeze combs through your hair, sending pleasant chills down your spine. You stay like that for a moment, before the sound of seagulls cawing overhead draws your attention to the surrounding view.

The sight of the small costal town spread out before your balcony greets you, as you look outward. You’d just moved to the town of Ashikita a few days ago, leaving your life in the busy city of Tokyo behind you. You scowl even thinking about the place.

You’d loved your life in Tokyo. It was the person you shared your life with there you’d hated.

You purse your lips as your thoughts trail back to your ex-boyfriend, despite your best efforts. He was the sole reason you’d moved all the way out to this small town in the first place. Your relationship had been on a downwards spiral for a while, and had gradually become unhealthier the longer you’d stayed with him. He had become progressively more controlling and manipulative whenever you’d tried to leave your shared apartment for anything else aside for work, and his behavior had only become worse by the day.

Eventually, things came to a boiling point when he decided to try and lock you in the bathroom when you’d told him that you were going out to see a friend, and that had been your breaking point. You had packed your things up when he’d left to go to work, and that had been that. You had taken up residence at your parent’s place for a few months while you’d searched for a new apartment and a new job, far away from your ex’s grasp, all the while dodging his incessant calling, before blocking him all together.

You had settled in Ashikita, a small costal town in Kyushu, known for its attractive beaches and coastlines. It was also quiet during the off season, deeming it the perfect place for someone who was trying to escape from the city.

Perfect for someone who didn’t wish to be found.

You allow your gaze to sweep through the sights spread out below your balcony. Your apartment was located near the coastline, and had a nice view of the nearby beach and wooden boardwalk that wrapped around it, much to your inner delight. The twinkling of lights from the few carnival rides you can see on the old wooden platform catches your attention, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you recall old childhood memories of when your parents used to take you to the small country fair that used to come by your hometown in the summer.

You sigh as the multicolored lights gradually become brighter as the sun slowly sinks behind the watery horizon in the distance. Glancing back into your dark apartment, you decided to go down to check out the boardwalk after night falls – not wanting to spend more time in your lonely apartment then necessary.

You slowly slink back inside, and force yourself to continue to unpacking as the outside becomes darker. Once your apartment looks somewhat like your own space, you quickly change into something a little warmer to explore the boardwalk, before making your way out of your apartment.

The boardwalk, as you discover, is only a ten-minute walk away from your building, and you use the time to lightly explore the surrounding area as you make your way towards the beach. The distant crashing of the ocean waves against the shore makes your heart pound excitedly in your chest, and the sounds of the boardwalk rides echoes through the air around you, only adding to your growing excitement.

You make your way onto the old wooden boardwalk and look around at the rides and other various vendors set up on both sides of the platform. You slowly make your way around the brightly lit area with the crowds of other people taking in the sights and sounds like you, before a gentle musical chime accompanied by soft twinkling lights in the coroner of your eye catches your attention.

Turning to your left, you gasp in delight as you find yourself looking at a vintage merry go round. It’s old, older than you by probably several decades, but it’s no less charming than it would’ve been when it was brand new. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on one, and before you can think about what you’re doing, you’re in the short line to buy a ticket.

The teen running the ride looks entirely uninterested as he takes your money before passing you a ticket and waving you on. You slowly make your way around the merry go round, taking in all of the old wooden animals – most of their paint old and dull – before settling on a sleek black horse wearing a blue saddle and bridle.

Not long after choosing your mount, the voice of the teen operating the ride crackles to life over the loud speaker and announces the ride was starting, before the squealing of gears and the hum of hidden electronics signals the start of the ride. You grip the pole as your horse slowly moves up and down, giggling in spite of yourself.

The world spins around you slowly and you lose yourself in the tinny sounds of music blaring out of the ancient speakers scattered around the ride. As you glance out at the boardwalk outside of the merry go round, something catches your attention.

No, not something, someone.

You catch a fleeting glimpse of a tall man dressed in various shades of dark blue and black, standing just outside of the fence blocking off the ride. You have to wait for the ride to do another full circle before you see him again, this time in clearer detail.

He’s standing still as a statue, allowing you to get a better look at him as you come around once again. He’s imposing looking, with his dark attire, save for a white shirt draped loosely around his gangly frame. He’s wearing a long dark blue duster and stitched pants, tucked into black combat boots – a strange choice of clothing considering the warm weather. He’s tall and lean, but you can tell he’s well-built underneath the loose clothes he wears; but his unique choice of clothing isn’t what draws your attention to him.

He is without a doubt, one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

His spiky black hair is as dark as night, and his skin is pale and flawless, drawing attention to his high cheekbones but you notice a slight roundness to his cheeks, giving a gentle softness to his otherwise edgy features.

As you pass him once more, you lock eyes with the intriguing stranger and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are as blue as the surrounding ocean. You don’t think you’ve ever seen any one with eyes that particular shade of blue before.

As you slowly pass him again, he smirks at you, and you feel your heart flutter in your chest involuntarily.

The crackling sounds from the old loudspeakers snap you out of your trance as the teen from before announces the ride was over, and to leave at the nearest exit point. You slide off your horse and make your way to the exit, speed walking back to where you first saw the dark-haired man, only to find he’d seemingly vanished.

You look around the area, confused as to how he could’ve disappeared so fast, only to hear deep laughter echoing a little further down the boardwalk. You turn in the direction of the laughter, only to see the dark-haired man standing in the middle of a group of four other men.

They’re an interesting looking group if you’ve ever seen one: a silvery, white-haired man with vibrant red eyes is standing next to your handsome stranger, snickering at something he said, drawing your attention to the odd amount of scarring under his eyes and around his mouth. Beside him, a man with what you can only assume is box-dyed pink hair, dressed in a black hoodie is leaning slightly on him, listening intently to what he’s saying. On the other side of the ravenette; a taller, slightly older looking blonde-haired man with a long scar running down his forehead, is smoking a cigarette, and beside him, a well-dressed brunette who looked to be about the same age as his scarred companion, is fixing his tie, smiling and nodding with whatever was being discussed.

You smile to yourself as you take in the group. As much as you would’ve liked to talk to the dark-haired man, you didn’t want to interrupt his time with his friends. You turn around, ready to make your leave, only to feel a sudden weight draped around your shoulders. Startled, you whirl around only to find yourself staring up into the deep blue eyes of handsome stranger from before.

Now that he’s up close and personal, you find yourself unable to look away from the unique blue of his eyes. There’s something about them that has you completely entranced, and suddenly, the rest of your surroundings seem to fade away until it’s just you and him. You’re stuck in his orbit and he’s pulling you in simply by looking at you, pinning you in place where you stand. The stranger suddenly blinks, and just like that; he releases you from whatever hold he had you in, abruptly snapping you back to reality.

You don’t even have time to wonder how the hell he was able to catch up to you so fast, before you feel your throat dry up and close up involuntarily as he shoots you a dark smirk.

“’Sup sweetheart?”

His deep voice startles you. It’s smooth, with a slight rasp to it, sounding like he’d smoked recently. He’s warm as well – it’s almost shocking how hot he is, as you feel the heat from his body leaching into your side through the barrier your clothes provide.

You struggle to come up with a response to his greeting, and you can tell by the way his grin grows slightly, he enjoys the effect he has on you. He squeezes your shoulders again, almost teasingly.

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy on me now? I saw you checking me out on the merry go round. Thought you wanted to say hello.”

“You saw that?” you ask before you can stop yourself, fighting to keep the flush you feel creeping up your neck under control, as the man throws his head back and laughs, allowing you to catch sight of clean white teeth that seemed slightly sharper than the average person’s.

“Yeah, I saw. Gotta say, I’m flattered. Haven’t seen a cute thing like you around here for a while. You new here?”

“I… Yeah.” You finally manage to sputter out, “I just moved here.” causing him to grin again.

“Yeah? Where are you from?”

“Tokyo. I got a new job down here. It’s a lot different than the city. Nice though.”

The dark-haired man nodded. “I bet. Why did you move here? This isn’t exactly a major city. I’m surprised you’d want to come here of all places.”

You freeze. Memories of your ex come flooding back, and you chew on your lip as you struggle to figure out what to tell the handsome man. You didn’t want to divulge your shitty dating history to a total stranger, when you yourself were trying to move on. Thankfully, the longer you remain silent, the more the grin seemed to slide off his lips, seemingly understanding what you were thinking, without you having to say a word.

“Someone there made you want to leave?”

You nod soundlessly, causing the man to kiss the back of his teeth.

“Well, that’s a shame. Dunno who the jackass is who made you feel the need to come to a remote shithole like this, but fuck ‘em.”

His brunt comment makes you snort in spite of yourself. You turn in his hold so you’re facing him more directly, offering him a half smile. “I don’t even know your name. What is it?”

The man grins salaciously at you as he stoops down to your level. “Dabi. And you, gorgeous?”

You know there’s not a chance in hell that’s his real name, but you decide not to press him on it. Maybe you’ll ask him about it later, if you ever run into him again.

You tell him your name, and he straightens back up, rolling your name off his tongue, causing you to flush gently under the intensity of his piercing blue gaze, He jerks his thumb back at the group of young men behind him. “The guys and I were just hanging around the boardwalk. Wanna walk with me pretty girl?”

You look over his shoulder to see the other four men staring you down intently. There something about the way they’re looking at you that makes you uneasy, but you can’t place what about it makes you uncomfortable. Instead, you smile up at him and shake your head.

“That’s okay, I don’t want to interrupt your time with your friends. I just wanted to explore a little bit. I’m still unpacking my apartment, so I should probably get back to doing that.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.” Dabi sends you another grin, teeth glinting like knives in the carnival lights. “I’m sure you’d be better company then those jokers always.”

“I’m good.” You tell him, gently removing his arm from around your shoulders, watching as his smirk falls slightly at your gesture. “Maybe next time, if you’re around.��

“My boys and I live close to the area. I’m sure we’ll meet up at some point.” Dabi takes a step back from you, shoving his hands into his pockets, and sends you another smoldering grin that makes your heart speed up to dangerous levels.

“See you later sweetheart.”

“Bye.” You tell him with a timid wave, watching as he sends you a knowing wink, before turning on his heel and making his way back to his friends, who are already at his throat.

“What the hell was that, Dabi? Thought you were going to bring her back for sure.”

“Dude, I can’t believe you didn’t take her out. You always manage to pull—”

“Shut the hell up you psychos.”

Your roll your eyes as at their conversation as you shift your purse on your shoulder and walk in the opposite direction, away from the interesting group and back towards your apartment. The sound of the roaring ocean overtakes the sounds of the boardwalk as you make the trek back to your apartment alone.

You wake up the next morning to the sound of your phone alarm going off.

You get up with a groan, and slowly begin your morning routine. You shuffle around your apartment as you get ready to start your new office job. You pack your lunch with what meager items you have in your fridge, before heading downstairs to where your car is parked. Hopping in, you quickly plug the coordinates into your car’s nav system, and make the twenty-minute drive to your new office.

It’s small building, and your job is an entrée level position, but it pays decently well and is still more than enough to cover your living expenses – it’s part of the reason you took the job in the first place, since you’ll have to pay the entirety of your rent by yourself now.

Still, you’d much rather struggle by yourself then crawl back to your ex.

You day is uneventful, and you spend the majority of your day filling out new employee paperwork and getting to know the rest of your new colleagues. They’re nice and seemingly keep mostly to themselves, something you’re not used to after working in Tokyo for the last several years.

Still though, you can’t complain. Honestly, you think it might be good to keep your head down for a while as you get settled in. There’d be plenty of time to get to know the rest of your new coworkers later.

Your day passes quickly, and before you know it, you’re pulling into your parking space at your apartment building. Soon enough, you find yourself shutting the door to your apartment with a sigh as you kick your shoes off, before heading into your bedroom to change out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable.

As you make your way back out into your small living room, you’re hit with how bland your new apartment looks in comparison to your old one, and suddenly you don’t want to be in your tiny apartment. You glance out the living room window that’s pointed towards the beach and you know where you want to go.

Grabbing your keys, you find yourself making the short walk to the beach as the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting golden reflections on the water’s choppy service. You spend an hour on the beach, relaxing and breathing in the salty air, before getting up and making your way over to the boardwalk where several food vendors are setting up.

After paying for some cotton candy, you walk around the darkening boardwalk, nibbling mindlessly on your food as you explore several areas you hadn’t been able to look at the night before. As the numerous strings of fairy lights decorating the rides gradually get brighter as the sky grows darker, you decide you head back to your apartment before it get’s too late.

Before you can turn around to make your way back to your home, you feel a presence behind you and a sudden heat washes over you.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon sweetheart.”

You whirl around at the familiar voice, only to see the dark-haired man from the night before standing behind you with a sharp grin. You note he’s wearing the same clothes from the night before, but he’s switched out his long duster for a shorter leather jacket with a ripped collar, adding to his intrigue.

“Oh hey! Dabi, right?” you ask him, prompting him to nod with a wicked smirk.

“Sounds nice, coming from you.”

You roll your eyes at his flirtatious comment, instead asking what you wanted to ask him last night. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

Dabi’s smirk only grows wider at your question, his bright blue eyes seemingly growing brighter. “No.”

“You ever going to tell me what it is?”

The dark-haired man clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Maybe later, if you stick around long enough.”

You shrug, not seeing any point in pushing it further. “Do you live around here?”

Dabi nods after a moment. “Yeah, I rent a place near here with a few guys. They’re tolerable.”

“Oh, your friends from last night?” you ask, thinking back to the group of men with him last night. You can’t help but grin as the man’s handsome face twists into a grimace at your comment.

“Wouldn’t go as far as to call them my friends, but we’ll go with that.” His dry response causes you to laugh.

“So, you’re more of a lone wolf, huh?”

Dabi snorts, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Absolutely. Up until those idiots wormed their way into my life years ago, I was fine with being on my own.”

You laugh at his comment before asking: “Have you lived here long?”

At your question, Dabi seems to pause. You watch as he chews on his bottom lip before carefully responding.

“I’ve been here a while, yeah.”

You nod, “Well, it seems nice here from what I’ve seen so far. It’s a lot different from Tokyo, but in a good way, I think.”

Dabi snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks away from you. “If you’re saying that, then you clearly don’t know what actually goes on around here.”

You frown at his cryptic reply, not sure how to feel about what he’s telling you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dabi only gestures for you to follow him, and you do without much resistance. He ends up taking you further down the boardwalk to a spot you hadn’t yet been to, and stops in front of a large bulletin board plastered with several layers of white filers.

He taps the board. “Welcome to the missing person’s capitol of Japan.” He tells you flatly, allowing you to get a closer look at the papers rustling in the breeze.

You feel your heart sink into your stomach as you take in the layers upon layers of printed paper faces and their basic information printed out under them. From what you can see, some of the missing person fliers are months old, and others are as recent as a week ago. The missing people seem to be of every age and ethnicity, but the number of people plastered on the bulletin board is shocking.

You turn to Dabi, flabbergasted. “What the hell is this?”

Dabi shrugs nonchalantly. “An open secret.”

“I checked out the area before I moved here. All the websites I looked at painted this place as quiet and safe. I never saw anything like this.” You protested, causing the dark-haired man to nod.

“That’s because the authorities do whatever they can to cover it up. This has been going on for a long time. Years, honestly. These are the most recent ones.”

“The most recent?!”

“Like I said, years, babe. Didn’t you ever wonder why the rent around here was so cheap?”

“I—well, I mean, yeah, but—” You run a hand through your hair nervously. “I came here to escape from the chaos – not get involved in a different kind.”

Dabi pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and puts one in his mouth, but doesn’t light it, instead opting to nudge your shoulder gently. “You’ll be fine during the day. No one’s going to steal you away sweetheart. It’s night time you have to be worried about. Just keep your head down and don’t go looking for trouble, you’ll be fine.”

You hum in response, but you must not look very convinced, because he sighs around his cigarette, taking it out of his mouth and flicking it into a nearby trashcan. “Tell you what; how about I walk you back to your building. Will that make you feel better?”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you—”

“You’re not.” Dabi interrupts you as he brushes past you gently, his abnormally warm fingers ghost the skin of your arm as he passes you. “Come on. I’ll take you back home. Can’t have someone snatching you away now, can we?”

He winks at you, laughing lightly as your face flushes against your will, yet you find yourself tailing after him, leading him back to your apartment. Normally you’d be very against allowing a near perfect stranger to know where you live, but the news of the missing people has shaken you more then you’d like to admit, and right now having some extra company doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

You walk slowly back to your apartment side by side with him, and in that time, you end up talking about anything and everything. Conversation seems to come naturally with him, and your guard slowly drops. The more you talk to him, the more he seems to loosen up in turn, though he keeps a polite distance when you try and find out more about him, instead, re-directing the conversation back to you.

“So, you never told me why you left Tokyo.” he drawls, heavily lidded eyes finding your own. “This isn’t exactly near there. I’m just trying to understand why you’d wanna leave your family behind to come here. You don’t strike me as the type who likes being alone for long periods of time.”

You stop short and mull over his question in your head. As much as you didn’t want to get into it, the raven-haired man was the closest thing you had to a friend here, and if you continued talking to him as you were, the question was bound to come up eventually. Instead, you exhale loudly through your nose before answering.

“Your original guess wasn’t far off.” You admit quietly, watching as his dark brows rise slightly at your subdued response.

You elaborate. “I left Tokyo to escape from my ex. The relationship had been bad for a while, and I should’ve left sooner then I did, but it was really hard. He was so possessive at the end, I felt like I was suffocating. It never got physical between us, but it probably would’ve if I stayed longer.”

You look up at your companion, only to see that his normally bright eyes are dark, and there’s a prominent tick in his jaw that hadn’t been there earlier. Dabi catches you staring at him, and sighs.

“Does he know where you are?” You shake your head.

“Not that I know of. I didn’t tell many people I was moving here aside from my parents. Most of my friends know I moved, but don’t know where to. I wanted to keep it quiet since he’s still trying to find ways to contact me. I don’t want him knowing where I am.”

Dabi hums in agreement as you approach your building. “So, you don’t have any friends out here, huh?”

You shake your head as you approach the main entrance. “I’m all by myself.”

You both stop a few feet from the door, and to your surprise (and relief), Dabi makes no move to invite himself in. You were worried he’d insist on walking you to your actual apartment, and as handsome as he was; you weren’t sure you wanted him knowing what apartment was yours… yet.

You’re just about to bid him goodnight before he suddenly speaks up, catching you off guard.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“No plans as far as I know. Just working during the day. I should be free past six. Why?” You sputter, not expecting him to ask.

Dabi shrugs, sending you a relaxed grin, and once again you note how his teeth are oddly sharp. “It’s Friday night. If you’re not busy and you want to make some new friends, the guys I room with are having a night in. If you want to join, you can. Our place isn’t far from here.”

You’re slightly shocked at his offer. He doesn’t seem like the type who enjoys more people hanging around him then necessary, but then again, you’ve been wrong about people before, and now that he’s offered, he’s right: you don’t have any friends out here, and you are becoming lonely. Maybe meeting some new people wouldn’t be a terrible thing.

Before you can think about it any longer, you hear yourself agreeing. “Sure, that sounds great.”

Dabi smirks at you, broadcasting his pearly canines. “Excellent. I’ll let them know you’re coming. I’ll come pick you up back here when the sun drops. My place is about twenty minutes by car.”

You nod with a small smile. “That sounds good. Thanks again for walking me back Dabi.”

He only waves you off. “It’s nothing, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bye.” You tell him as you open the door to your building, watching as he shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets and heads back in the direction of the boardwalk without another word. You watch him leave until he’s all but swallowed up by the surrounding darkness, before smiling to yourself and heading inside.

Dabi sinks his fangs into the man’s neck faster than he can scream for help. He holds him locked in a death embrace until the man’s frantic thrashing grows weaker, before completely stilling as his body grows limp in his hold.

It’s only when the man’s colour pallet has gone a deathly white does Dabi finally release his grip on the man, letting him collapse onto the sandy ground underneath the boardwalk. He wipes his bloodied mouth on the back of his sleeve with a grimace as he stares down at his victim.

Sour. Too sour for his liking. Clearly the man wasn’t in the best health before he got his hands on him, but beggers couldn’t be choosers, and he was hungry.

That’s the biggest downside to being what he is: the insatiable thirst for blood couldn’t be ignored for long. He would know. He’s tried to fight against his unsavory appetite in the past, but the end results are always the same, and he not about to starve just so a few lost souls could be spared. He’s no saint – in fact, he’s damn near the opposite of one.

Vampire.

The title is branded into him, even if only he can see it. He has to feed regularly in order to keep his more monstrous tendencies at bay, but he can go a few days without a meal. Any longer than that, and the real him becomes visible to all. The last thing he needs is anyone finding out what he really is.

Dabi feels his fangs slowly retract into his gums as he cooly observes his latest kill. It wasn’t anything personal, he didn’t even know the guy’s name. Just like the rest of his victims, he prefers not to know anything about them – it makes draining their blood harder later on. The body laying before him was just some random man he’d seen wandering the boardwalk by himself half drunk, making him an ideal target. It was all too easy to lure the man to a more secluded spot before jumping him, but he’s had years of practice perfecting his craft. He’s done it so many times he doesn’t feel much of anything anymore.

The missing person board can confirm that much.

Once he’s certain most of the evidence has been cleaned from his face, he snaps his fingers, and the corpse before him suddenly bursts into bright blue flames – consuming the unnamed man until there’s nothing left of him except for a pile of blackened ash, and the horrid smell of burnt meat.

Dabi sighs as he turns away from the remains and slowly trudges out from the wooden underbelly of the boardwalk above him, kicking at sand carelessly as his thoughts drift back to you.

You smell so good. Your blood practically sings to him. Walking you back to your apartment had been a challenge to him, as he had to fight every urge screaming at him to whisk you away and drain you dry, just like he’s planned to when he’d first laid eyes on you. But the more he talked to you, and the more you’d let him in on certain parts of your life, the less he wanted to do so.

You were… different. You stuck out from the other humans he’s forced to be around. You were sweet, if a bit withdrawn, but it added to your appeal. Your personality was refreshing, and it made him want to keep you around, and figure out just who you really are.

It helped that he found you to be rather… pretty, to say the least.

He wouldn’t bother trying to deny you were a good-looking girl. He’d seen the way you’d looked at him on the merry go round, and if that meant anything, then you found him to be just as attractive.

Well… at least you found his current face to be handsome. He’s not sure how you’d react to his real face, but he’d cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

He feels the corners of his lips upturn at the thought. Now the real test would be if you could handle him and his boys.

The next day is uneventful. You continue your training at the office, and slowly get to know some your co-workers past a first name basis. You finish up your work load at the end of the day and bid your co-workers good-bye, before making your way back home.

The sun is just starting to dip down in the sky by the time you get back into your apartment. You toss your keys onto your tiny kitchen table, taking a seat and scrolling through your phone mindlessly.

You respond to a few texts from your friends who know where you moved to, letting them know that you’re doing okay, and how you were going to meet with some of the locals later, before one of your friends texts out something that sends a chill down your spine.

Your ex had reached out to them asking them where you went.

Your friend assures you they didn’t tell him anything before you can ask, but you still feel a heavy weight building in your stomach. You end up putting your phone down after promising you’ll text them later, before getting up and moving into the living room, breathing heavily as you fight to control your nerves.

The sun has just sunk behind the horizon as you peer out your window, only to balk as you see a sleek black car parked beside yours in the parking lot, and a familiar man lounging on the hood, smoking a cigarette.

You swear to yourself as you grab your room key and bolt out of your apartment and down the staircase to the main floor. You make your way out into the parking lot, waving at the dark-haired man, who straightens up upon seeing you.

“Hey.” Dabi rasps, tossing down his cigarette and stomping it out.

“Hi.” You tell him with a slight smile. “I didn’t expect you to come by so soon.”

“I told you when the sun sinks.” The blue-eyed man retorts, but there’s no venom behind it. “You ready?”

“Let me get changed first.” You tell him, gesturing down to your work clothes. “You can come in and wait in my apartment if you want. I’d feel bad if I left you out here.”

Dabi looks hesitant at first, but he nods and follows you stiffly towards the entrance of your building. You wave him through, and he passes you with a slightly uncomfortable look on his face, before following you up the stairs to your front door. You open it and step in, expecting him to follow you, but he doesn’t. You shoot him a questioning look, and he cocks an eyebrow at you, giving you a tiny smirk.

“Gonna invite me in doll?”

“Oh, sorry, you can come in.” You laugh, and that seems to be the invitation he was waiting for, since he glides through your doorframe easily, shutting it behind him.

You can’t help by notice how glaringly out of place he seems in your minimalist apartment. He sticks out against the light colours like a sore thumb, and you have to bite back a giggle as you watch him take a seat on your small living room couch.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you ask him as you make your way towards your room. Dabi only shakes his head as he leans back into your sofa.

“I’m good doll, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll be out in just a second.” You tell him as you dip into your room, shutting your door behind you. You quickly throw on some casual but nice clothes and run a brush through your hair in an attempt to rid yourself of the tangles. You don’t know what kind of night you were in for with a bunch of men who looked to be in various stages of their twenties and early thirties, but you still wanted to look presentable. The last thing you wanted was to be accused that you were trying too hard, or turning Dabi’s invitation into something it wasn’t.

Once your satisfied with how you look, you make your way into your living room where Dabi is waiting for you. You don’t miss how he eyes you up and down as he stands up and makes his way over to you. “Ready?”

“All set.” You confirm, watching as his fiery blue eyes seem to light up as he grins at you. Twirling his car keys on his finger.

“I’ll drive.”

You follow him downstairs to his car, and surprisingly, he holds the door open for you. You slide into his passenger seat with a stammered thank you, allowing him to close the door behind you and get into the driver’s side, starting the car with a low roar. He puts the car in gear and pulls out of the apartment complex, before turning onto the road that leads back towards the beach, chatting you up all the while.

Your nerves about meeting the rest of his roommates slowly fade away as he assures you that his roommates where alright (even though he claimed they were still annoying), and while some of them were quieter than others, they meant well.

He steers the car past the boardwalk, causing you to raise an eyebrow at him. Dabi catches your look and chuckles. “I rent a house on the other side of town with a few guys. It’s more secluded.”

You nod as you watch the multi-coloured lights from the rides pass you by as Dabi continues on down the road. You learn very quickly he wasn’t kidding about his house being secluded, as he pulls off the main road and onto a dirt path leading into the trees that line the left side of the road. You can’t help but inwardly sweat at the change of scenery, but the passive look on Dabi’s face doesn’t change as he focuses on the road.

“You plan on murdering me or something?” You half joke, only for him to snicker.

“Naw doll, not tonight. You’re too pretty for that.”

He must see how flushed your face is reflected in the mirror, because he laughs openly at you and reaches over to squeeze your knee with a hot hand

“Kidding. Relax, we’re here. Probably should’ve told you I live in the middle of nowhere.” He chuckles as he pulls into an old driveway and puts the car in park. “Welcome to my house.”

You find yourself looking at a large traditional-styled home that looks like nothing’s been done to it since the turn of the past century. There’s moss and dead leaves littering the roof and front yard, and some of the white paint on the front of the house is cracked and pealing. If you had stumbled across the house on your own, you would’ve thought it was abandoned – if not for the two other cars parked on the other side of the driveway, signaling the house was inhabited.

Dabi must see your apprehensive look as he gets out to open your door again despite your protests. “I know, it looks like a bit of a dump.” He admits as he jerks a thumb towards the house. “That’s what happens when you have five guys who all work nights living under one roof. Rents cheap though. It’s why we’ve been here for so long.”

“You all work nights?” you ask as Dabi leads you towards the front door. He hums in agreement as he opens the door, exposing a dark inside interior.

The more you think about it, the more it makes since. You’ve never encountered him during the day, and every time you’ve run into him it was always near the boardwalk.

“What is it that you do?” you ask him as he flicks on a light near the door, illuminating an old mudroom and part of a dark hall. He shuts the door behind you as he kicks off his shoes, prompting you to do the same.

“I work near the docks.” He tells you vaguely as he gestures for you to follow him further into the house. “I do some operational work. Shipping and receiving. All that boring shit. It’s not very exciting.”

“What do the rest of your roommates do?” you ask him as he takes you towards a closed off room near the back of the house. You can hear different voices echoing behind the door as well as what sounds like a TV playing in the background. Dabi only shakes his head at you as he opens the door, exposing the room inside.

“You can ask them yourself.”

You step inside and are greeted to the sight of the four men from the boardwalk lounging around a large flatscreen TV. The man with the pink dye job and silver haired man with the odd scarring on his face are huddled around the screen playing a fighting game, while the two older looking gentlemen are sitting on the worn leather couch behind them, providing commentary. The blonde one with the scar running down the front of his face is smoking another cigarette, while the brunette dressed in well-tailored clothes is sitting on the other side of the couch, away from the smoke.

The pink haired man lets out huff of annoyance as his on-screen character dies. He turns around, only to freeze as he locks eyes with you.

“Oh shit.” He breathes, “She came.”

His comment causes the other men to turn around and stare at you, their facial relations ranging from a mixture of surprise to slight distrust. You don’t know why some of them are looking at you with slightly guarded expressions, but you don’t get to dwell on it for long, as Dabi comes in behind you and lightly drapes an arm across your shoulders.

“These are the guys.” He announces, nodding at each of them in turn. “The two idiots on the floor are Tomera and Iguchi. That’s Jin,” he nods to the blonde who breaks out into a grin, waving at you. “—and last but not least is Atsuhiro.” The aforementioned man stands up to greet you, giving you a polite handshake.

“I apologize for the mess.” He tells you, gesturing around the crowed room. “We seldom get guests. We weren’t sure if you were actually going to come.”

“That’s alright. I didn’t notice.” You tell him as Dabi steers you towards an empty couch to the side of the one Jin and Atsuhiro are sitting on. You notice he keeps his hand on your frame as you sit down with him, and he doesn’t remove it afterwards, almost as if he’s guarding you. It’s not uncomfortable, but you notice the same uneasy feeling you had when you first met him and his motley crew is back. There’s something about them that unnerves you, but for the life of you, you can’t place what it is.

They seem alright at first glance though. Tomura and Iguchi resume their game, but make a point to talk to you while they play, as Jin and Atsuhrio engage you in conversation, all the while Dabi observes you, not really adding anything to the conversations, and seems content just listening to you talk to his roommates.

You find out that Tomura and Iguchi are streamers – their online tags being Shigaraki and Spinner respectively – while Atsuhrio works as a street performer using the stage name Mr. Compress. Meanwhile Jin (who insists you call him Twice, for reasons he doesn’t get into), does deliveries around town during the evening, on top of working with Dabi at the docks when it’s slow, but has the night off tonight.

As you slowly start to relax, the conversations gradually become easier until you’re questioning why you felt so uneasy in the first place; that is, until Tomera makes an off-handed comment to you.

“M’surprised he brought you back here.” He jerks a thumb back at Dabi, not looking up from his game. “Most girls don’t last that long with him—”

“Tenko,” Dabi seethes out through gritted teeth beside you. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“Don’t call me by that name.” The red eyed man snaps suddenly, pausing the game to glare at the man beside you. “That name is dead, and you know I’m right.”

“Don’t be an ass.” Dabi snarls back as he pulls you towards him. “I told you to behave tonight while she’s over.”

“Fuck you, you’re not my father.”

“No, but I can torch your ass—”

“Alright, maybe we shouldn’t have this fight in front of her.” Iguchi suddenly speaks up, cutting them both off. “I don’t know about you guys, but I like her, and I want her to come back.”

“Thank you, Iguchi, I like you too.” You tell him sweetly, causing the tips of his ears to pinken, as he mumbles something intelligible under his breath and turns back towards the TV. Tomura rolls his eyes and resumes the game. Jin only chuckles as he turns towards you.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jin tells you with a genuine smile. “Himiko’s going to love you.”

You shoot Dabi a questioning look, but he only rolls his eyes. “You’ll meet her shortly.”

“Her? But I thought only you guys lived here—”

Before you can get another word out, the distant slam of a door, accompanied by the sound of footsteps rushing towards the room interrupts you. As the light footsteps grow closer, you feel Dabi tense up beside you, as he leans over to whisper something to Atsuhiro that sounds suspiciously along the lines of, “I swear, if she’s just getting back in from one of her nightly rampages, we’re going to have a problem-“ Before a blonde girl who looked to be no older then eighteen, with two hair buns on either side of her head, bursts into the room with an almost manic grin on her face.

“Guys, you would not believe what I smelled coming back up here.” She cackles. “I think there’s a—” she cuts herself off as her abnormally golden eyes find yours. Before you can blink, she’s tossed herself over the couch that Jin and Atsuhrio are sitting on and plops herself down right in front of you.

“Hi! You’re really pretty! I’m Himiko Toga! Who are you?” she questions you with a smile that’s almost too wide for her face. You introduce yourself with a breathless laugh at her animated introduction, only to hear what sounds like a rumble coming from Dabi.

You turn to him only to see his insanely blue eyes are locked on the girl sitting in front of you and realize that he is, in fact growling at her.

“Back off Toga.” He warns her, but she ignores him.

“God I’m so happy another girl is here – I’m stuck here with these smelly boys every day and it get so boring! Do you know that you smell really, really good by the way—”

“Okay, enough.” Dabi hisses through gritted teeth. “Jesus, you don’t need to come onto her that fucking strong.”

Himiko gapes at him in mock shock. “Oh, come on. I could smell her all the way from outside the front door. You know she smells good. We all know!” She points around the room, but for some reason none of the other men meet her eye. In fact, they seem to be trying incredibly hard not to acknowledge what she’s saying.

Odd. You don’t remember putting on any perfume before you left.

“Thanks… I guess.” You tell her, unsure of what to say in response. Before the younger girl can respond, Dabi swiftly interrupts her.

“It’s not a bad thing. This psycho just doesn’t know how to give a compliment like a normal fucking person.” He shoots her a pointed look, but he’s not snarling at her anymore. Himiko seems to get the point, and sticks her tongue out at him, settling into the space between Jin and Atsuhrio, chatting excitedly with the older blonde, while occasionally sneaking glances at you.

The earlier tension fades away and you spend the next couple of hours with the odd group, chatting with each of them. Some of them have more to say then others such as Jin and Himiko, while Tomura and Iguchi are more on the quiet side, but still pleasant to talk to none the less. Dabi remains quiet for the most part next to you, never saying much, but you can tell he’s pleased with how you interact with his roommates.

Still, even as you grow more comfortable around them, there’s still a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something is off about them. You have no proof to back up your unease though, so you try your best to ignore it, and focus on having a good time. After all, the seemingly mismatched group was the closest thing you had to actual friends here, and made you realize how badly you missed your group of friends back home.

You quickly end up losing track of time, and it’s only when Dabi checks his phone besides you, and muffles a curse under his breath, do you realize how late it is.

“Shit, it’s already five, I gotta take you home, sun will be up soon.” He mutters as he stands up, offering a hand to you, which you accept.

“Gotta keep up your sleep schedule?” you ask, hearing Tomura snort in the background at your comment. Dabi only nods as he heads towards the door.

“Something like that.”

You wave at the rest of the group. “It was really nice meeting you all.” You tell them sincerely. “Hopefully we can do this again sometime.”

“Come back anytime!” Himiko chirps, waving at you enthusiastically. “You better bring her back!” she crows at Dabi’s retreating from, and he waves at her without turning back around.

He leads you towards the front of the house where your shoes are, before walking out into the dewy morning air towards his car. Once again, he holds your door open for you, ignoring your protests, before getting in himself and starting the car, pulling out of the old driveway, and heading back down the dirt path towards the main road.

The sun is just starting to peak out from the horizon, painting the coastline in soft pinks and purples as Dabi steers the car past the old boardwalk, before you finally ask the question that had been on your mind for the last couple of hours.

“So, what’s the deal with Himiko?”

The dark-haired man only grunts. “You mean why is she so unhinged? Beats the hell outta me princess. “

“No, not that.” You wave him off, smacking his shoulder playfully at the nickname as he sends you a shit-eating grin in response. “I mean… you didn’t tell me about her initially, and I’ve never seen her with you before. Does she live with you too?”

Dabi mulls over your question for a moment, keeping a careful eye on the horizon which is slowly growing brighter, as he turns onto your street. After a moment he nods.

“Yeah, she does.” He confirms. “I know how it looks: one high school girl living with five guys in their twenties and thirties, but trust me, it’s not like that.” He’s quiet for a moment before elaborating.

“Toga has a shitty past. She ran away from her folks years ago – bad homelife from what she told us – and she had nowhere to go for a long time. I found her wandering the boardwalk one day and she never left after that. She took to Twice immediately, and she’s basically like his little sister. He’d do just about anything for her.” He exhales through his noes as he begrudgingly admits; “Hell, we all would.”

“Damn, how much did it hurt to admit that?” you tease him, prompting him groan.

“Shut up.” He grumbles as he pulls into your building’s parking lot. He parks the car and turns to you. “So, did we scare you off?”

“Not yet.” you tell him with a smile as you unbuckle your seat beat and open your door, posed to leave. “You guys are definitely interesting, I’ll give you that, but honestly; this was really nice. Thank you for inviting me over. I hope we can do it again sometime soon.”

Dabi shrugs his shoulders, “Well they seem to like you, especially Toga and Twice, so you’re welcome to come over again if you want. It’ll have to be during the evening though, since we all work at night.”

“Noted.” You tell him as you slide out of the car, only for him to suddenly grab your arm. You turn to stare at him quizzically, only for him to nod at your purse.

“Gimme me your phone for a second.”

You unlock it and pass it to him wordlessly, only to see him open a new contact in your phone and type something into it before passing it back to you. “My number.” He tells you before you can ask. “It’s easier to get a hold of me this way, rather than running into me at night at random.”

“Good call.” You agree, “I’ll text you later?”

“I’ll be waiting.” He sends you a knowing smirk. “I’ll see you later sweetheart.”

“Yeah… later.” You tell him, closing the door behind you. He waits until you’ve made it inside your building’s lobby, before peeling out of the parking lot and taking off towards his house like hell on wheels. You find it a little strange, but you loose track of your thoughts when you glance down at your phone, only to see he’s labeled himself as Dabi with a little flame emoji and a winky face next to his name in your contacts.

You feel yourself blush involuntarily as you stuff your phone back in your purse and climb the stairs to your apartment.

You definitely had a crush on him, you couldn’t deny it. Yet there was something off about him you just couldn’t place. There was something he wasn’t telling you – you just couldn’t figure out what it was.

The next several weeks come and go, and for the most part, they’re uneventful.

Work is going well, and you finally manage to find the time to finish personalizing your apartment so it looks more like home. Your friends still message you occasionally, giving you updates about what’s going on back home, and your ex pops up in conversation with them once or twice on how he’s still asking about you, much to your dismay. Aside from that, everything in your life is shockingly normal.

It feels almost odd being able to say it out loud. This is the most at ease you’ve felt since breaking up with your ex. Being on your own, away from him and his obsessive tendencies, makes you question why you didn’t do it sooner.

It feels nice, being able to breathe for the first time in almost two years since calling it off with him. Your life is calmer, maybe a bit slower than you’re used to, but it’s peaceful and stable. You’re happy.

The only major thing that’s changed recently is how you’re spending a lot more time around Dabi now.

Ever since he gave you his number, you’ve been texting back and forth frequently. You’ve gotten to know him better in that time (even though he still refused to tell you his real name), and you can safely say; he has his quirks.

For starters; he only messages you at night. He’s radio silent during the day, and only texts you back once the sun has set, or whenever he gets up. You’d blame it on him working nights, but he’s always quick to respond to your texts late at night, and always seems to be free whenever you message him asking if he wanted to get together, making you wonder what kind of work schedule he runs on.

Another thing you find peculiar is how you don’t think you’ve ever seen him eat before. You’ve offered to make him dinner a few times or to go into town to get something, but he always waves you off politely, telling you he’s already eaten, or giving you some other reason why he doesn’t want to get food with you. It’s not a deal-breaker by any means, and he doesn’t strike you as the type to have issues with food, but you leave it be just in case.

He's also weird about coming into your apartment even though he’s been in it multiple times by now. You’d initially thought he was uncomfortable being in your space, but it seems to be more of a politeness thing than anything else. He’s definitely not as stiff about entering like he was when he first came to visit, but he still makes a show about you inviting him in, even though he claims he could waltz right into your unit if he wanted to, but he never does.

Finally, you’ve noticed he isn’t particularly well-liked by the locals. In fact; none of the people in his house seem to be, but it’s especially bad with him.

It’s glaringly obvious. He’s taken you into town a handful of times so you can walk around together, only for people to glare pointedly at him and start whispering as soon as you were both out of ear-shot. If it bothers him, he doesn’t let it show, but you know from how his jaw tenses up, he’s aware that people are talking behind his back.

You tried to ask him about it once, but he shrugged you off, saying something about how there was some bad blood between him and some of the older locals, but refused to dive into it, stating how it was old news, but some people didn’t like to forget the past. His tone had given you the impression he wasn’t going to tell you any more than that, so you’d left it alone, not wanting to get into it.

There were somethings people didn’t feel comfortable sharing. You could relate; your rocky relationship with your ex was one of those topics for you.

To his credit, Dabi doesn’t pry into it, but it’s come up a few times – it’s inevitable, you knew it would eventually – but he doesn’t force you to say more then what you want to tell him. You don’t think you’d have to say much anyways; he seems to be able to piece together what happened in your past relationship on his own, without you having to say much of anything.

“Guy’s a dick.” He’d told you bluntly one night as you were taking an evening stroll around the boardwalk. “Seriously, he sounds like a tool. You should be glad you got out of there when you did. I wouldn’t waste your time crying over someone like him.”

“Easy to say that now – it wasn’t so easy when I was living with him.” You’d told him calmly. “We had joint banking. It’s hard to get out when you have to pay rent and buy groceries. I saved up enough to move out and get my place here eventually, but it took time.”

He’d fallen quiet at that, shifting his piercing blue orbs from your figure to the wooden boards beneath his feet, before nodding and muttering mostly to himself; “Yeah. I get that.”

For some reason, your heart had swelled in your chest upon seeing him vulnerable for a moment – a far cry from his usual fiery and cocky self.

In that moment you knew you were screwed; you were down bad for a man whose real name you still didn’t know. Somewhere along the lines, he had wormed his way into your heart without you noticing, and made a place from himself there.

Yet, you couldn’t say you minded. He was different from anyone you’d ever met, but in a way you found refreshing.

Currently, you find yourself walking with him on the boardwalk once again, admiring the blinking strings of fairy lights. Dabi doesn’t hold your hand, but he walks stride for stride with you, your shoulders bumping occasionally at the close proximity. Suddenly, a loud wail interrupts the usual fair noises permeating the warm evening air around you.

You both turn in the direction of the cry, only to see two middle-aged women standing in front of the massive missing person’s board. One of the ladies is sobbing unconsolably, while the other one is trying to console her.

Ah yes, you’d been so wrapped up with moving into your place and hanging out with Dabi on top of work, you’d almost completely forgotten about the town’s dark underbelly.

You can see Dabi’s lips pull downwards slightly as he takes them in, and he reaches out to try and steer you away from the scene, muttering under his breath about not wanting to get involved, but you gently pull your arm away from his grasp as you take a hesitant step towards the ladies who are slowly moving away from the old wooden board. You manage to overhear the last bit of their conversation as they leave, and older woman’s cry’s pull at your heart.

“—I don’t understand, where could he have gone? I saw him that morning, but he never came back home!”

“—We’ll find him dear. Maybe he’s visiting your friends on the other side of town.”

“—He would’ve called! It’s been three days! Three days since I’ve heard any word from my husband!”

You creep closer to the old corkscrew board and feel your heart sink in your chest as you find yourself looking at a fresh photo of a middle-aged man, presumably the woman’s missing husband. Now that you can see the board in its entirety, you notice there’s several new fliers posted among the sea of other missing faces, presumably never found.

You hear the heavy tread of Dabi’s combat boots behind you. “There’s more.” You tell him sadly without turning around. You hear him exhale loudly through his nose.

“Told you there would be. I wasn’t lying. This place is the missing person’s capitol of Japan.”

“I don’t understand.” You turn to face him, only to see that he has a blank expression on his face, giving nothing away. “I’ve never seen anything suspicious when we’ve gone out at night, and you told me that’s when this stuff usually happens.”

“The difference is; you don’t go out looking for trouble.” Dabi tells you smoothly, his insanely blue irises meeting yours, locking you in place. “Trust me, these people probably went out of their way to stumble across something they weren’t supposed to see, and they paid the price for it. Bad things happen all the time sweetheart, whether you see them or not.”

“You seem pretty confident about that.” You murmur finally, holding his gaze. “Had some experience with trouble in the past?”

For once, Dabi doesn’t have anything to say to you. Finally, he sighs and rakes a hand through his inky spikes. “Maybe.”

You want to ask him what he means, but in that moment, you feel your phone vibrate from inside your purse. You fish it out, only to see a text appear on screen that has your blood turning to ice in your veins.

???

Found you.

There’s no name attached to the text, only a random number you don’t recognize, but you think you already know who it’s from.

It has to be him. There’s only one other person you can think of who would text you something so innocent but so sinister, and it has you feeling like you want to puke.

Your ex-boyfriend.

Your eyes dart around the packed boardwalk wildly, trying to see if you could spot the familiar face of your ex in the crowd, but thankfully, you don’t see him anywhere.

How in the hell did he find you? There were only a few friends aside from your parents who knew where you’d moved to, and you highly doubt any of them would tell him where you’d gone. It was possible he’d simply gotten a new number and found a way to text you just to scare you, and if that’s what he wanted, he had accomplished his goal.

Your panic must be written across your face clear as day, because the next thing you know, Dabi has a hand underneath your chin, lifting your face up to meet his concerned expression.

“—I asked if you were okay doll. I’ve been calling you, but you didn’t respond to me.” He tells you. He glances down at your phone, a frown pulling at his lips. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know.” You tell him truthfully, shoving your phone back into your bag. “A really sick joke, I hope.”

His eyes narrow, the fire burning in them shines brightly, even though they’re more lidded then usual as he narrows his eyes at you. “What’s going on sweetheart?”

“Nothing—I—” You croak. You can’t stop looking around, hoping, praying, you don’t see the one person you were trying to escape from staring back at you. “—I gotta go.”

A look of concern passes over Dabi’s face, and you feel a flash of guilt for lying to him, but you don’t want to get him involved. You don’t want to bring anyone else into your mess. It’s not fair.

“If this was about earlier, I can—”

“It’s not!” you cut him off, already backing away from him. “I’ll text you later. I just—I just gotta go. I’m sorry.”

You don’t give him time to respond, before you pivot on your heel and book it down the boardwalk, away from the blinding lights, and away from him.

You don’t look back, and you don’t stop running until you’re in your tiny apartment – slamming the door behind you and locking it – even though it feels suffocating. It feels like the walls are closing in on you, and you’re finding it hard to breathe as you collapse onto your bed and cry.

You don’t know what to do.

You awake to the sound of furious pounding on your door.

You don’t know when you passed out; probably sometime after you managed to calm down slightly, but you can feel the dried tear tracks covering your cheeks as you slowly sit up and shuffle hesitantly towards your front door. The pounding continues, and you can’t help but wonder what time it is, and if you were going to receive a noise complaint from one of your neighbors, before you hear a horribly familiar voice just outside your door:

“I know you’re in there. You better open up right now or I’ll get your whole building involved!”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins as you hear the unmistakable sound of your ex-boyfriend’s voice snarl threateningly from the other side. You feel like someone’s dumped a bucket of freezing water on you as you start to panic. Tears flood your eyes involuntarily as you try to process what’s happening, but nothing’s making sense.

You have no doubt he’d wake the rest of your apartment building to get at you – if he hadn’t already woken up your neighbors. You know what he’s like better than anyone. Your ex has always been a big guy, and once he has his mind set on something (or someone), he’ll stop at nothing until he’s gotten it.

You have no idea how he got in the building in the first place, or how he figured out what apartment was yours, but that doesn’t matter as you watch your doorknob start twisting violently. You bolt forward and grab it with both hands, trying to keep it from unlocking as you listen to your ex-boyfriend grunt outside the door, no doubt trying to pick the lock from the outside.

After a few moments of back and forth struggling with the door; you hear the tell-take click of the door unlocking. You don’t stick around to watch it swing open – you know you won’t be able to hold it closed against him for long if he tries to force it open – and you sprint to your bedroom, slamming the flimsy door shut and locking it behind you.

You can’t calm down; you hear him in your kitchen, treading around the tiny space, calling for you, before his heavy footsteps slowly make their way towards your bedroom door.

You have limited options; if your apartment was closer to the ground, you’d consider escaping out your bedroom window, but you’re several stories up and you don’t want to do something that may cause you to break your leg, putting you at even more of a disadvantage against your ex-boyfriend. You have no idea what he wants from you, but if he’s so desperate that he’s willing to stalk you and break into your apartment, it can’t be good.

The police will take too long to get to you, you already know this. In the past, they hadn’t been helpful in these kind of situations – you know from experience. You can’t call them… but there is someone you can call.

You dive for your purse and pull out your phone just as your ex starts pounding on your bedroom door. Your finger hovers over Dabi’s contact in your phone, as he starts yelling at you through the door. You don’t want to involve Dabi in your personal troubles, you really don’t… but right now, you don’t have a choice.

Even though you don’t want to call him… you know he’ll help you.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you’ve hit the call button, and scoot yourself into the farthest corner of your room from the door, as you listen to the phone ring. It only rings twice before he picks up.

“It’s three in the morning sweetheart, what’s going on? Are you okay—”

“Dabi please help me!” you interrupt him, whispering frantically as your ex starts to rattle your doorknob. “I’m in trouble. I don’t know what to do!”

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Immediately, his voice deepens, and you can tell he’s on high alert. You can’t see him, but you can hear rustling on the other end, and the tell-tale jingling of keys in the background.

“I’m in my apartment—it’s my ex—I don’t know how, but he found me. He broke in, and now he’s outside my door!” You hate that you’ve starting crying again, but you’re terrified, and Dabi can tell.

“Is he in the room with you?” Dabi rasps on the other line. “I can hear shouting in the background, that him?”

“Yeah, that’s him, and no he’s not, but he’s trying to force his way in!”

Dabi hums and you hear a door slam in the distance, followed by the sound of what you assume is his car starting.

“I’ll be there in less then ten. Just stay on the line with me. Everything’s going to be okay doll, I promise. I don’t know what he wants, but he’s not going to hurt you, I promise—”

At that moment, your bedroom door flies inward, causing you to scream and drop your phone, ending the call, as your ex rushes towards you. A surge of pure adrenaline hits you, and you drive your foot into his stomach and kick him back, giving you enough time to push yourself to your feet and make a mad dash for your door, only for him to grab you around the middle, and throw you down onto your bed, climbing on top of you and pinning your hands before you can recover.

“Get off me you freak!” you screech as you thrash in his hold. You manage to knee him in the sternum, briefly knocking the wind of out him, but it only serves to make him angrier, as he presses his knees into your thighs, and grips your wrists so tightly you know you’ll have handshape bruises adorning your arms for days after.

“Hell no, I finally found you, you little bitch—there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go again.” Your ex seethes above you. “It took me weeks to track you down. Your friends were no help, so took me longer than expected to find you.”

“I didn’t want you to find me, that was the point of me moving here!” you wail as you desperately try to free your legs. “I never want to see you again! What part of that is so hard for you to understand?!”

“Bullshit. You and I aren’t done until I say we’re done.” Your ex snaps. He looks around your bedroom and scoffs.

“I see you’re trying so hard to build a new life without me. Ungrateful brat. You moved on fast.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Your ex-boyfriend dips down so your noses are almost touching. “I saw you on the boardwalk with that guy earlier. Who the hell is he? Your fuck-buddy? Your new boy toy?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he’s on his way here so I suggest you leave before he makes you!”

At your threat, your ex throws his head back and laughs. “I know what he looks like. He’s not even half my body weight. I’m not fucking scared of him—”

The abrupt sound of your front door being kicked in aggressively stops him mid-sentence, and the sound of heavy boots stomping towards your bedroom causes him to freeze. Your ex shifts so he’s more upright and looks behind him, giving you a clear view of your doorframe; only to see Dabi standing in it, looking absolutely feral.

His dark hair is wilder then usual, obsidian spikes sticking up every which way, and he has on the dark, torn duster you’d first seen him in over his usual dark pants and white tee-shirt, giving him a an almost deranged look. He has a mean glint in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and he looks almost predatory as your bedroom casts odd shadows across his face. You’ve never seen him this pissed before, and all of your instincts are screaming at you to run as you take in his disheveled appearance.

“You’re not scared of me, huh?” Dabi chuckles, but there’s no humor to it. His voice is as cold as ice, but his eyes are like blue fire, and are locked on your ex.

“You should be.”

It’s the only warning you get before he lunges at your ex. The sudden tackle rips him off of you and Dabi wastes no time taking him to the floor as you bolt upright. You look on in shock as both men wrestle on the floor before it turns into an all-out slug fest between them. You leap out of the way as they make their way off the floor and crash into your walls, never once taking their hands off of each other as they yell obesities and filth that you’re certain your next-door neighbor can hear through your shared wall.

Honestly, you’re shocked at how well Dabi is handling himself – you didn’t think he was weak, but he’s much leaner then your ex and not as tall – yet, he’s clearly got the upper hand as he cracks your ex across the face in rapid succession. You freeze as his nose explodes into a mess of scarlet, splattering across his face and your wall as he yells out in pain, taking his hands off of Dabi to hold his nose in a pathetic attempt to stanch the bleeding. The sudden display of gore has the opposite effect on Dabi.

He stares at the blood flowing from your ex’s nose like a faucet, before shooting you an almost apologetic look.

“Sorry you have to see this doll.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he means before he seems to shift right before your eyes. The shadows of your room seem to warp and twist around him, and you think it’s just a trick of the moonlight streaming in from your window; until you watch his obsidian hair turn stark white.

You feel your eyes widen as his form shifts – you ex is too busy trying to keep his nose together to pay attention to what’s happening in front of him – but you notice a horrible burning smell wafting through the room as his once pale, flawless skin morphs into a patchwork mess of dusky, wrinkled burns, held together to the few patches of visible healthy skin by what looks like silver surgical staples glinting wickedly in the pale moonlight.

You have no idea what’s happening to him or who or what he is, but you feel your knees give out as he flashes you a nasty looking grin, giving you a full view of the wicked sharp fangs sliding down past his burnt lower lip.

“You—” you whisper, but you don’t manage to say anything more, before Dabi turns back to your ex, grabbing him by the hair and yanking him down to his level, before sinking his razor-sharp fangs into the side of his neck before the larger man can even register what’s happening.

Your ex tries to fend him off, but Dabi is stronger. He ends up relinquishing his hold on his hair in favour of wrapping his arms around him in a death embrace. You can’t pull your eyes off of the scene in front of you, as your ex’s struggling gradually grows weaker, while Dabi laps at the blood flowing freely from the deep puncture holes in the side of his neck.

You hear your ex gargle wetly in the back of his throat before he goes completely limp in the white-haired mans grip. After a moment, Dabi retracts his fangs from his neck, before tossing his motionless body to the floor. You whimper involuntarily as you cover your mouth, staring at the lifeless body of your ex-boyfriend as Dabi whirls around to face you, his piercing eyes finding yours.

“You killed him.” You whisper. Dabi only glances down at the still-warm corpse on your bedroom floor for half a second before locking eyes with you again.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“He was assaulting you.”

“Oh.” You croak lamely. You try not to stare at the red coating his lips and dripping down his chin, staining the white of his shirt.

A moment of silence descends on your room. The only thing you can hear is the frantic pounding of your heart in your chest – it’s so loud in the resounding silence, you’re sure Dabi can hear it. The air is so tense you can cut it with a knife, but neither of you make a move. Finally, you clear your throat.

“I think I’m going to call the police.”

“You’re not going to do that.”

When the ivory-haired creature speaks, his voice is low and quiet, but you can tell just by looking at his eyes, he means business. You swallow thickly and nod to the corpse behind him.

“There’s a dead body in my apartment Dabi, I need to call the police. I—” you cough, trying to reason with him. “I’m not going to tell them about you. I won’t say anything. I know you were trying to protect me, but I can’t just ignore a dead body in my bedroom—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dabi interrupts you, waving a hand at the corpse dismissively. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What do you mean you’ll—”

Dabi snaps his fingers, and before you can blink, the corpse of your ex-boyfriend bursts into bright blue flames. You scream as you scramble backwards, pressing yourself further against the wall, as the flames rage and quickly consume the body before your eyes. Dabi only grins savagely at your reaction.

“Don’t be scared sweetheart. He’s trash. The least he can do is become fuel for my flames.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, watching as the cobalt flames extinguish themselves, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. “What are you?”

Dabi only stares you down as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think you already know the answer doll.”

You do. But you don’t think you can voice it out loud. You don’t know what it means for either of you now.

Dabi licks his mismatched lips, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his red tinted fangs. “You’re coming with me.”

You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’m not giving you a choice sweetheart.”

He’s on you faster than you can blink. He slaps a brunt hand over your mouth before you can cry out. He grabs your chin with his free hand as he presses you up against the wall, forcing you to stare into his burning irises.

“Sleep.” He commands.

You feel a wave of sudden fatigue pass over you, and your eyelids flutter shut against your will. The last thing you remember is feeling his insanely warm arms wrap around you and a sudden feeling of weightlessness, before sleep takes you.

You wake up with a pounding headache.

Blinking away sleep, you slowly sit up with a groan and rub at your eyes, wincing internally as you feel your eye makeup smear even further. You slowly look around, only to freeze as it suddenly dawns on you have no idea where you are.

You’re in what appears to be a bedroom, but it’s hard to tell since it’s so dark. The window coverings block out any form of light from outside, keeping you quite literally in the dark. You have no idea what time it is or (more concerning), who’s bedroom you’re in, until the events from before you passed out come flooding back to you.

Your ex. Blood everywhere. Dabi. Scars. Blue flames. Fangs.

You shudder at the last thought. Had you hallucinated the whole thing? It didn’t seem real. You think back to feeling the heat of the flames that had consumed your ex-boyfriend on your skin, and you rub at your arms involuntarily.

No, they had definitely been real. Which means everything else was real too.

Currently, you were certain of two things:

One: your shitty ex was dead. Drained of his blood before being incinerated to a crisp before your very eyes.

Two: Dabi wasn’t human.

Before you can sink too far into your thoughts, you’re suddenly aware of a prickling sensation dancing along your skin. You know the feeling all too well, and as groggy as you might feel in the moment, you’re painfully aware someone’s watching you.

You’re not alone.

A slight shuffling noise from the far corner of the room catches your attention. You slowly turn in the direction of the sound with baited breath, only to see an abnormal looking shadow faintly outlined in the surrounding darkness of the room.

You already know who it is without him having to say anything.

“Dabi?” you call out to him timidly. A deep sigh answers you.

“Good, you’re awake. You’ve been out for a while.” He rasps quietly.

“Where am I?” you ask, squinting at his outline. The more you try to make him out, the more he seems to try and blend into the pitch of the room.

“My room. Back at the house. I drove us back here after you passed out.” You hear him kiss the back of his teeth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sleep for so long.”

“Wait, how long have I been out?” you question, as you feel around your surroundings, only to realize that he’s put you on his bed.

“About an hour. Dawn’s coming soon. I couldn’t leave you alone after you saw all… that.”

He doesn’t need to clarify what he means.

You both laps into an uncomfortable silence, before you finally gather up the courage to ask him the question that’s plagued you since he took you.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Silence answers you, and you feel yourself start to shake as every horrible scenario you can think of races through your head. Almost as if he senses the what you’re thinking about, you hear Dabi take a hesitant step forward, only to catch himself at the last second.

“…No.” he finally admits. “No, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” you sniff, as you try to control the tears you feel pricking at the corners of your lash line. “Why do any of this. What are you? Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer you. You squint into the abys of the room where you know he is, and you can faintly see his deep blue eyes gazing back at you, looking like twin flames in the gloom. You swallow hard and try a different approach.

“It’s too dark in here… can I have some light?”

Dabi sighs, but you hear him snap his fingers, and suddenly a candle you didn’t know was nearby, bursts into blue flames. The wicks hiss and sizzle before settling, casting an eerie blue glow around the room, illuminating it slightly. You glance to the corner where you know Dabi is, and you can see him a little better, though he seems to be trying to keep himself out of the light as much as possible.

You frown slightly. “Come here.” You tell him quietly, patting the space beside you on the bed. You know you’re tempting fate, but you believe him when you say he won’t hurt you. He had multiple chances to kill you, and yet; you’re still here.

You hear Dabi snort. “I don’t think you want that.”

You shake your head. “I do. C’mere. We need to talk.”

Dabi falls silent, but you see him turn towards you, and slowly makes his way over to you. The flickering blue light the candle provides casts twisted shadows over his lean frame as he stops just in front of you, and bends down so he’s eye level with you.

You find yourself face to face with a mess of painful looking burns covering the majority of his face, held together with countless surgical staples. The burns are everywhere; under his eyes, his neck, the entirety of his lower jaw, and even his ears. Now that you’re up close, you can see he even has some staples decorating his ears much like regular piercings, and he even has three studs dotting the right side of his nose. They suit him in a way, and you can’t help but find him handsome, even with half of his face completely ravaged by burns.

Dabi’s eyes glint savagely as you take him in slowly, his two-toned lips pulling back and exposing the deadly sharp fangs inside his maw. “Not pretty, is it?”

“What happened to you?” you whisper, hesitantly reaching up to touch his burnt lower jaw. Dabi seems to want to flinch away from your touch, but he forces himself to stay grounded as your fingertips gently brush his destroyed skin.

He laughs breathlessly and rakes a burnt hand aggressively through his now very white hair. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He agrees, pulling away from your gentle hands reluctantly. He trudges over to a small loveseat pushed up against the wall opposite to his bed and sits down on it, shrugging off his torn duster, before putting his head in his hands with a sigh, giving you a painful view of the long wine-coloured burns tracking down his arms and ending at his knuckles.

You try not to focus at the dried blood that’s still decorating his shirt and hands.

After a moment he props his head up on his hands, fixing you with his intense gaze, but still doesn’t say anything. You realize he’s waiting for you; but now you’re at a loss for words. The agitated vampire across the room from you sighs, and you can see the veins in his neck become more prominent as he forces himself to try and relax.

“I know you have questions, so ask.”

“So, you’re really a—” you cut yourself off and swallow thickly. Even though you know what he is without him saying it, you still can’t quiet bring yourself to say it out loud. He leans forward, smiling meanly as he rests his forearms on his knees, eyeing you with his burning stare of his, that suddenly seems so cold.

“Go on, you can say it.” He prompts you, finally getting you to unfreeze.

“—A vampire.” You finish lamely. He nods, leaning back and draping both arms over the back of the loveseat.

“You got it sweetheart.”

“But how?” you prod, finally finding your voice. “I thought they were myth?”

“So did I, until one bit me.” Dabi snickers unkindly across from you, before quieting down, allowing you to ask your next question.

“How did you become one?”

“I died.” Dabi tells you flatly, avoiding your gaze for the first time since he brought you here. His nose scrunches up after he says it.

“Well, I almost did. Technically I was walking the line between life and death when the old fucker found me.”

He sighs and runs a blood-stained hand through his spiky white mane, leaving faint russet streaks behind. You force yourself to maintain eye contact with him as he speaks again.

“When I was alive, my name was Touya Todoroki.” He admits softly, giving you his real name for the first time since you met him. “I was taking a walk in the woods near my family home when a forest fire broke out, burning everything. I got trapped in the blaze and I ended up with these.” He gestures to the dark patches of gnarled skin covering the majority of his visible skin.

“I’m not sure how I managed to survive, and I don’t know how long I was left there for; but it was the vampire who ended up turning me, who found me in the aftermath. I was in bad shape and probably would’ve died if he hadn’t given me his blood, turning me into this.”

He says it so scathingly. You know he’s frustrated without him having to tell you. Still… the horrific burns that mar his skin tell you a story of unspeakable agony. There’s no way a normal person would’ve been able to survive what he went through without help. His help just happened to have come from an unexpected source.

“He saved you.” You murmur quietly, causing Dabi… Touya… whatever his name was, to snort bitterly.

“He didn’t fucking ask, he just did, consequences be damned. Believe me, there was plenty of days at the beginning where I wish he hadn’t and just let me die.”

His bluntness causes a deep ache to bloom in your chest as you take in the vast amount of damage covering his body. You can only imagine how much worse the burns had been when he’d first been turned, on top of dealing with becoming what he is now. Before you can say anything, Dabi continues on, still refusing to look at you directly.

“After he turned me; my sire brought me back with him to recover. I ended up staying with him for a few years while I was figuring out my new body before I eventually left. Found my way here a while ago and never ended up leaving. Been here ever since.” He looks at you pointedly. “Don’t ask me how old I am. I stopped keeping track a while ago.”

Normally you’d be content to leave it there (honestly, now that he’s said it, you’re not sure if you want to know exactly how old he is anyways), but he has a car, which means he must have a license of some kind, which then begs the question how he was able to get one in the first place.

“Wait, so if you’re a vampire and you’re… older than you look, how have you been able to get a drivers license, or any I.D. for that matter?” Dabi snorts.

“Remember how Compress works as an entertainer?”

“Yeah…?”

“Turns out he’s really good at forgery too.”

“Oh.” You furrow your brows at his explanation.

“So… Compress knows about your… condition?” Dabi smirks at your hesitance.

“Oh yeah. Fully aware.”

“Is he… I mean… is everyone in the house a—”

“We’ll put it this way doll: nobody in this house has a heartbeat except for you.”

Well, this just kept getting better and better. Not only was your crush and his friend’s part of the undead; they were also committing fraud. You definitely knew how to pick them.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are upon hearing the rest of Dabi’s roommates are also vampires. All of them operated at night, and they definitely had quirks that set them apart from other people. Not to mention it would also explain the feeling of unease you always experienced around them. You’re more shocked at how many there are, which brings you to your next question:

“So, your sire—” you look at him questionably, waiting for him to explain. Thankfully, he provides you with an answer.

“—is a term referring to the one who turns you, yeah. Mine happened to be a particularly old bastard. Strong as hell, but old as time. He had a lot of influence over my kind back in the day. Pretty sure he died some years back. No idea who killed him, but I’d thank them if I knew.” He pauses before laughing lightly.

“Come to think of it; Shigaraki and I share the same sire, but he stayed with him way longer than I did. I left as soon as I could.”

Well, that was interesting news. “Why?”

“He played favourites.” The snowy-haired vampire grins at you from across the way, but there’s no warmth behind his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure he turned me first, but I was already gone by the time Shigaraki came into the picture. We knew of each other, but our paths never crossed. He sought me out a year or two before our sire bit the dust, and I’ve been stuck with him ever since. As for the others…” he waves his hand dismissively. “Hell if I know. They just sort of showed up one day, one after the other. I don’t know how they found us, s’not like I was broadcasting we were here, but they still came regardless, and then they never left.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened to your sire.” You tell him. “It must be hard, loosing your mentor like that.” To your surprise Dabi only laughs, waving off your concerns.

“Don’t be. In fact, I’m not. I’m glad he’s gone. Shigaraki was more torn up about it then I ever was, but even he got over it. There’s a lot of perks that come along with your sire dying. Powerful perks.” He leans forward, pointing to the blue flames chewing away at the candle wicks.

“When it comes to vampire hierarchy, the most powerful vampires are the older ones who create the majority of newer vampires. The vampires they turn are basically their pawns – never to get any stronger – unless, their creator dies. Then they can inherit some of their former sire’s abilities through succession.”

He grins darkly at the confused expression you know you must be wearing on your face, because he elaborates before you can ask. He taps the marred skin of his lower jaw.

“If you haven’t noticed, I can shift between my real face, and the one you’re used to seeing; minus the burns. I didn’t used to be able to do that. Do you know how fucking difficult it is to go out in public when your face looks like this? Even at night, all people do is stare. It’s fucking annoying.” He shakes his head, allowing the dim candle light to reflect off his pale hair, giving it a blue tinge. “There’s a bunch of other things I can do now, but this is the most useful.”

“Like the flames?” You ask. Surprisingly, Dabi shakes his head.

“No, that I’ve always been able to do since I turned. My own special ability if you will. Normally you get one when you become a vampire. Shigaraki can decay shit; Toga can transform herself into a different person if she’s drank their blood; Twice can create multiple copies of himself; you get the picture. there’re some weird ones out there. Mine’s a sick fucking joke, considering it’s what killed me in the first place, but it’s powerful, so I can’t complain too much.”

“Oh.” You mumble, still trying to wrap your head around what he’s telling you, but you know you’re failing miserably. You’re not worried about him killing you, but you still don’t understand why he’s telling you all this.

“So… you don’t want to kill me.” You clarify gently. Dabi only shakes his head.

“No. Wouldn’t have bothered tell you all that if I did.” He confirms softly.

“Then what do you want with me?” you ask him again. Dabi sighs.

“I don’t think it’s a secret that I like you princess.” He tells you with the faintest hint of a smirk, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “—and I know you like me too.” He adds after a pause.

Your mouth twitches and you nod slowly before looking away. “I do, it’s just... this is a lot to take in.”

A thought occurs to you suddenly, an awful thought. One that you wish you didn’t think of, but now that you have, you have to ask.

“All those people… the missing ones from the boardwalk… that was you, wasn’t it?”

His silence is telling.

“Oh my god Dabi…” you whisper, running a hand through your hair as you let out a breathless laugh. “There’s so many people… how long have you been doing this for?”

“To be fair, not all of them were me.” He corrects you, but his answer lacks any of his usual fire. “There are five other vampires here. I can’t drain over a hundred people by myself. Besides, I don’t need much to survive. I can go two or three weeks without feeding, but the longer I go without blood, the worse the thirst is.”

“Over a hundred?” you sputter. You think back to all the faces you’d seen posted on the bulletin board. Some postings had been quite old while others had been days old, and there had probably been more before them – many more.

“Like I said; we’ve been here a long time. We never get old, and we basically never die… but we have to feed. That’s the trade off.” Dabi tells you solemnly.

“We normally try to go for people who won’t be missed; drunks, the occasional asshole who pisses us off… and some piece of shit abusers.” He growls ominously, and you know that he’s referring to your ex without him having to say it.

“… But some people just end up coming across us at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He admits after a moment. “We try to be selective about who we feed off of, but if we’re starving, we have to feed, otherwise we would go feral.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” you hate that you have to ask him, but you need to know. “To feed off of?”

“Hell no.” Dabi reaffirms. “Of course not. Your blood smells incredible, and I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t thought about drinking from you...” He bites his burnt lower lip as you visibly cringe in front of him, before quickly adding: “But I’m not going to feed off you. I enjoy having you around too much. You’re different from the other humans I’m forced to be around. Besides, I’m not hungry anyways.”

You try not to read too much into that.

“So then what are your plans for me?” you finally ask, as you pull one of the blankets you were laying on over your legs. “Why bother telling me any of this? Do… do the others know I’m here?”

“They know. If you’re worried about them getting at you, they won’t. They’d have to go through me, and I’m not someone they want to fight anyways. I’d light their asses up if they got within ten feet of you. But they don’t want you harmed either, so don’t worry about them.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Dabi scoffs. “Shigaraki isn’t happy that I brought you back here, but he’s a miserable bastard on a good day. I couldn’t very well leave you back at your place anyways.”

“So then what happens now?” you ask quietly. “I don’t think things can go back to the way they were before.”

Dabi shakes his head; his ivory spikes sway sightly at the motion. “No. They can’t. I figured if I brought you back here and tried to explain what was going on, you’d understand at least a little. I wouldn’t have bothered saving you from that piece of shit if I didn’t somewhat care for you, you know.”

“I know.” You pause before averting your eyes, and mumbling bashfully; “Thank you for saving my life. I have no idea what he was going to do with me, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I was… so scared.” You admit as you drop your gaze to your hands.

You ex had never acted like that before in the past – even when things were at an all-time low between you, he’d never physically assaulted you. The look he’d had in his eyes could’ve fooled you into thinking he was possessed by a demon. You don’t want to think about what would’ve happened had Dabi not intervened.

At your silence, Dabi stands from his spot and slowly makes his way over to you, giving you plenty of time to stop him if you wanted, but you let him approach. He cautiously kneels on the bed in front of you, and slowly takes your hands in his large, scarred ones.

“Look;” he tells you softly, but firmly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I like you. There’s something about you I find irresistible – and it’s got nothing to do with how I find the smell of your blood intoxicating either. I want you to stay… with me, that is.”

You feel yourself soften at his admission and he groans in the back of his throat, squeezing your hands. “Look. I’m not good at this shit. I’ve been around a long time and I’ve never been good at it – never needed to be – but ever since I met you, I’ve wanted to keep you all to myself.” He bites out a laugh at his admission.

“It’s selfish of me to say that; especially considering everything that happened with your ex – but you make me want to be.” He licks his lips before quietly admitting;

“I may be a monster, but I certainly won’t treat you like one.”

You mull over his words for a moment. His eyes convey nothing but sincerity, and you find yourself believing what he’s saying to you. You squeeze his hands back.

“I feel the same way about you.” You admit, watching as a variety of emotions flicker through his eyes. Shock. Surprise. Acceptance, and something else you couldn’t quite place—

“Can I kiss you? He suddenly blurts out. You blink, realizing he’d gradually gotten closer to you, invading your space and crowding you in. If it’d had been anyone else, you’d be uncomfortable with how close they were to you; but it’s Dabi, and even with the knowledge of what he was, you don’t feel anything but calm.

Odd, considering you’d watched him murder a man right in front of you not too long ago – but even knowing that, you know he won’t hurt you.

You nod, your eyes slipping closed, and he leans in and presses his two-toned lips to your own. The texture of his lips is unlike anything you’ve ever felt; his upper lip is soft while his bottom lip is rough and chapped from the burns, but the contrast is nice, and you feel yourself sigh into the kiss, giving him further access to your mouth. The scarred man takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, as you feel his hands leave your own to cradle either side of your face. You realize how big his hands are when you feel his fingers splay out across your lower jaw and sweep over the pulse point in your neck, keeping you tethered to him as you fist your hands in his shirt.

You only pull back when air becomes too much of a necessity, but not before you boldly run your tongue over the too-sharp teeth hidden in his mouth, causing Dabi to laugh slightly as he watches you regain your breath. His hands never leave the sides of your face, as you reach up to cover the backs of his stapled covered hands with your smaller ones.

“You’re playing a dangerous game sweetheart.” he chuckles, slowly rubbing circles onto your face with his fingertips. “Keep doing that, and I really won’t be able to control myself around you.”

His statement makes you blush and you squeeze his hands. “Dabi I—"

“Touya.”

“What—?”

“Touya. My real name. It’s Touya.” He tells you breathlessly. “You asked me when we first met what my real name was. It’s Touya. Just call me Touya.”

“Touya.” You test his real name out gently, and a pleased rumble escapes the back of his throat.

“Fuck, it sounds good coming from you.” He tells you, eyes half-lidded. “Really good.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as he closes the gap between you again, pressing his lips to your own, only this time, he’s bolder and allows his hands to wander down your body until they settle on your hips, hot as a brand.

“Shit.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck. Touya chuckles against your lips before tilting his head so his head his mouth is right next to your ear.

“If you want to keep going, just know I’m not going to stop.” He rasps as he squeezes your hips. “I won’t force you, but if you don’t want to then you have to tell me now—”

You cut him off by turning your head and pressing your lips to his again, prompting him to pull you closer until you’re practically straddling his lap.

“Fuck.” He snarls as he shifts and pins you down on his bed. “Here I was trying to be nice. Trying to be good for you, but you had to go and rile me up—”

“Touya.” You whimper as you feel something hard pressing into your inner thigh. “Touya please. Don’t tease.”

“Fuck sweetheart, I know. Don’t worry I’m going to take care of you.” He hisses as he paws at your shirt. “Fucking—take this shit off. I want to see you.”

He helps strip you out of your clothes in record time, and suddenly you find yourself bare before him. You move to cover your exposed breasts but Touya swiftly pins your hands. He doesn’t bother to try and hide his unapologetic gaze as he takes in the sight of your naked body on his bed.

He looks at you as if you’re a work of art, you realize, and he seems to be completely lost in you. You call out to him gently, snapping him out of whatever trance he’s fallen under.

“I can’t believe you’re letting someone like me do this to someone like you.” He admits. “Even after I told you what I am. After you’ve seen what I can do. What I’ve done.” He shakes his head, but his eyes light up as a wicked smirk overtakes his features, allowing his fangs to peak out from under his lip.

“Think you might be as fucked up as me, pretty girl. No woman in their right mind would let a monster like me fuck them after watching me kill their shitbag ex. You’re a sick little thing, aren’t you?” he teases you, but you only shake your head.

“You’re not a monster.” You tell him sincerely. “I don’t think you are.”

Touya only smiles down at you as he touches his forehead to yours. “Think you might be the only person in the world who thinks that sweetheart, but thank you.”

You fist your hand in his bloodied shirt. “Take this off.” You tell him, and for the first time, he hesitates slightly.

“It’s not pretty underneath.” He warns you. “The burns go all the way down.”

You help him out of his shirt in response.

He’s not wrong: his torso is a mosaic of dark purple burns and staples crossing over his shoulders, stomach and back. His legs aren’t much better once you shimmy his pants down his legs, but you couldn’t care less once you see his cock.

It’s beautiful and pale like the rest of his unmarred skin, it’s a good length, and decently thick. The tip is flushed red and you can’t help but swallow in anticipation as he kneels between your legs again. Touya grins as he hovers over you.

“I can hear your heart about to burst out of your chest princess. You might wanna calm down; don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Shut up.” You mumble sheepishly, prompting him to laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve—well…”

Touya chuckles at your hesitance. “Me too.” He admits, and for some reason, it makes you feel better. Touya’s eyes rake down your exposed form, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drags his eyes up to your neck. “You smell so good.”

“Do you want to?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head slightly to the side. “I could let you—”

“No, not yet.” Touya murmurs, bending down to kiss you. “Let me try something.”

You don’t get the chance to ask him what he means before he’s bent down between your legs, and licking a long stripe through the middle of your pussy with the flat of his tongue.

You let out a load moan and throw your head back as he begins to lap at your pussy like a man starved, his large hands hold your thighs open as he licks at your center. You whimper and moan as he eats you out with vigor – your cries only increasing in volume as he introduces his fingers to where you need him most.

He starts with one pushing deep into your core, but it isn’t long before he’s adding a second digit, scissoring you open as he eats you out like he’s biting into a ripe fruit, and you feel divine.

It’s not long before you feel yourself teetering on the edge, and you close your eyes as you prepare to fall – only for your eyes to suddenly snap open as you feel something sharp digging into your inner thigh. You bolt up with a gasp only to see your vampire’s fangs buried in the meat of your thigh as he continues to pump his long fingers in and out of you.

Your blood dribbles down his chin as he continues to suck on you – moaning around your leg – and some sick part of your brain thinks it’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. You reach down and fist your hand in his hair, tugging on it slightly and watch his eyes close as he groans something that sounds suspiciously like “harder.”

His fingers brush up against your sweet spot when you tug on the blood-streaked strands again, and you buck up into his hand, causing him to stroke the spot again and again has he drinks your blood. You’re getting light-headed and you can’t tell if it’s from your impending orgasm or the blood loss, before Touya pulls away from your leg, and twists his fingers just right, causing you to fall over the edge with a loud gasp as you feel yourself come undone.

“Fuck me.” You hear Touya snarl, and suddenly he’s looming over you again, caging you in with both his arms on either side of you, mouth dripping red with your blood. He grins down at you sadistically, elongated fangs streaked red with your blood. “That’s so fucking hot.”

You only moan in response as you feel for the puncture wounds he’s left in your thigh, but he swats your hand away as he lines himself in with your entrance. He pins both of your hands above your head with his free hand, and swoops down to press a heated kiss to your neck before slamming himself home – filling you up in one fluid motion.

You feel your back arch off the bed, and your mouth drops open in a silent ‘o’ as you struggle to adjust to his size. Above you, Touya hisses, as he struggles to keep himself in check.

“I can feel you squeezing down on me.” He pants. “You keep doing that, I’m not going to last long.” He warns you, but you shake your head.

“Don’t care. I just—I just want to feel you Touy—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s moving within you. His movements are deep and deliberate, leaving your breathless as he snaps his hips against yours at a brutal pace. He’s relentless, almost as if he’s trying to make a home for himself in your depths. You notice that his pupils are dilating and shrinking rapidly as he struggles to hold himself back break completely breaking you.

“Fuuuck.” The white-haired vampire groans as he slides his hand down to your hip, holding you in place as he pounds into your gummy walls. “You’re perfect. I knew you would be. I wanted you. I wanted you from the moment I smelled your blood. I’m glad I didn’t—” he cuts his ramblings off, and buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as you moan his name.

You feel his fangs ghosting along your neck, and it brings you back to reality. You weakly tap at his hand holding both of yours prisoner with your fingers, and he quickly releases you. You opt to wrap your arms around his burnt neck – being mindful of the staples holding his skin together – trying to keep him as close as possible, as his other hand finds your free hip, and grips you hard enough that you know you’ll have handshape bruises by the time you’re done.

But that doesn’t matter, not when he’s trying his damnedest to rearrange your insides.

“I’m close.” You murmur in his burnt ear, and he grunts in acknowledgment.

“Me too.” He rumbles, pressing his warm body to yours. “Need you to come for me doll. Need to feel it—” he sneakily reaches down to rub at your clit, and that does you in.

You come with a choked scream and he follows you with an almost feral snarl. You feel his cock twitch and are rewarded by the warm stream of his dead seed deep within you. It’s too much stimulation, and you try to move away, but he follows you, holding you down with his body weight. You feel the press of his fangs like a whisper against your neck, but he doesn’t bite down, much to your surprise.

You stay glued together for what feels like an eternity, only for him to pull out of your body with a huff and flop down next to you on his bed. He doesn’t go far though, and opts to pull you close to his scar-ridden body so you’re practically laying on top of his chest; not that you mind though.

It’s funny, now that you’re so close to him – it’s only now that you realize he doesn’t have a heartbeat.

It should be concerning. It should have you running for the hills. You should be panicking at the knowledge of the literal undead roaming around, draining unsuspecting victims of their life blood – and while you’re still not sure what to think of the last part – you also know the vampire next to you wouldn’t hurt you. He’s protected you in his own gory way, and while you know you probably shouldn’t; you feel safe around him.

You trace the seams of his scars, and feel him hum contentedly in the back of his throat as he shifts you slightly against him. Peering at the dark window coverings, you can see the faint traces of dawn light trying to break through. Touya follows your gaze through heavily lidded eyes.

“Guess you’re staying here doll; I’m not going out in that. I’ll take you home later.”

“What, so you can make me do the walk of shame in front of your roommates?” you ask him, causing him to laugh.

“They won’t say anything. Not if they don’t want to get turned to ash.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and flashes his fangs at you, glinting wickedly in the low candle-light. You tap them hesitantly.

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Bite me. You could’ve.”

“Your leg says otherwise sweetheart.”

“Not that.” You brush him off. “I mean my neck. I know you wanted to. I could feel you.”

Touya exhales loudly through his pierced nose. “I did.” He admits. “The problem is, if I did, I probably wouldn’t stop.”

“Ah.”

You lapse into silence for a moment more, before you go back to tracing seams of his broken skin. “Can you turn people? Into what you are?”

He only nods, closing his eyes gently. “I can.” He confirms. “Never done it before though. Never had the need or want to.”

You feel your heart speed up in your chest, and you know he must be able to hear it as you force yourself to ask; “What would you do, if I asked you to turn me one day?” Touya only chuckles.

“I’d turn you into my own personal thrall. Keep you by my side.”

“Oh, so like some sort of slave?” you tease weakly, but Touya only shakes his head with a slight grimace.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Dracula’s Bride sort of arrangement actually. I wouldn’t put you through the shit I went through when I first turned.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air between you, but he doesn’t make a move to take it back. You twist and prop yourself up on your elbow so you’re looking him dead in his eyes, only to see he’s deadly serious, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

“You mean that?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” he tells you gruffly, placing one of his large hands on your head and pushing you back down to his chest. “Don’t ask me shit like that unless you’re actually serious though. It’s a one-way street. The change is permanent. You’re this forever.” He warns you.

He must see the hesitation in your eyes, because his voice softens, and the hand that’s currently holding your head down switches to lightly combing through your hair.

“Live your life for now sweetheart. My offer still stands: If you really want to toss your mortality out the window. I’ll be the one to take it from you. But for now, just think about it. You can give me your answer when you’re ready.”

“…and what if I decide I’m never ready?”

Touya chuckles. “Then you’ll have my undead ass as a boyfriend when you’re an old lady up until the day you die.”

“A boyfriend huh?” you tease, grinning up at him softly. He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I just told you I’d make you my thrall, that’s all you’re getting from me pretty girl.”

“You basically said you’d make me your wife. Dracula’s bride, remember?”

Touya rolls his eyes, and you swear you see the faintest dusting of pink flash across the parts of his cheeks that aren’t brunt, but it’s gone as soon as it came, prompting you to giggle, and you both fall into a comfortable silence.

He squeezes you once after a heartbeat. “I’d take care of you, you know; if you wanted me to turn you. I’ll take care of you now, but I’ll look after you if and when you decide you want me to change you. You know my secret so you’re stuck with me now. It’s not like I can let you go. You don’t have a choice.”

You laugh in spite of yourself and snuggle closer to him. “I could think of worse things.”

“You say that now…”

“and I’ll mean it later.” You tell him as you reach up to stroke the burnt flesh of his jaw. “Really, I do.”

You feel Touya press a light kiss to the crown of your head, “Yeah I know.” He confirms, murmuring into your hair. “Now, sleep. I’ll take you back to your place once the sun has set. We’ll figure out what to say to your landlord about the scorch marks I left behind. Worse comes to worse, you can just move in here with me.”

You feel your eyelids droop at his words and you snuggle into his burnt flesh, trying your best not to apply any more added pressure to the sutures keeping him together, as you feel his arms settle at your waist, keeping you close to him.

You weren’t sure what the future held for you now, but you were sure that whatever it decided to throw your way, your vampire wouldn’t be far behind you.

FIN

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cod-imagines-fanfiction · 10 months ago

Text

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend part 9 *final chapter* (4.9k words)

Summary: Final chapter! Valeria thinks of the past as you're released from custody. She wants the two of you to move on but she can't shake the feeling that there's still danger to be faced. Warnings: lesbian smut Note + tag list at the end Link to A03 Link to masterlist with all the parts

Valeria thought of the moment you met. Or rather, the moment she met you because you hadn’t noticed her.

It was many years ago when she was a soldier of the Mexican Army, when she was younger and lost. When she would wander the streets of Las Almas on her days off, unsure of what she was looking for. Back when her skin was tighter, her voice quieter, when she used to follow other people’s orders. It was another hot day when she got sent out of the headquarters to fetch some lunch for her squad – her most loathsome task. She hated how she’d run into other female soldiers her age during the lunch run and feel the burdened femaleness of the task. Hated having a male squad leader who found every chance to shove her in the kitchen by making her fetch something from one. She felt like an armed waitress. And worst of all, she hated the conversations that would happen when she was not there, when the team was finally ‘free’ to speak its mind without having to worry about offending someone. But she bit her tongue and said nothing. It was like a rite of passage for people like her. The go-to kitchen was one run by old Renata, an aged woman who ran a tiny thing in the corner that was able to produce an incredible amount of delicious food. Renata was a small, capable woman who sped around the place fulfilling everyone’s orders. There were never any complaints, and it was close enough to the headquarters that most soldiers used it as their prime takeout spot. She was open from noon till late and was favoured enough that Renata never had to worry about security because there were always soldiers there. Renata winked at Valeria as she approached the kitchen, which was already steaming with food. The restaurant was on the ground floor of a blue building; the restaurant dwelled on the ground floor and the upper floors were for residents. The outdoor part of the kitchen included a counter with stools and some outdoor fridges full of drinks and lollies. Large pans cooked steamy food at the front whilst a narrow, dark hallway led to an area in the back where the rest happened. The smell of spiced food and the loud sound of the fridge containing ice cold drinks were delightful to Valeria’s senses. She held a piece of paper in her hands.

“Valeria, my sweet. What can I get for you?” Renata asked with that warm, maternal glow that some old women had. It made a painful lump emerge in Valeria’s throat; she swallowed it down. Valeria slid the note to her. “Just the usual, Senora. Thank you.”

Renata glanced at the paper and smiled as Valeria took a seat on one of the stools by the counter. “I’ll add it to the tab,” said the woman and vanished to the other side of the kitchen. It was a hot day yet still busy, even with regular civilians eating or picking up food. Valeria’s mind wandered to things that were occupying her at the moment when she saw the flash of a hair ribbon flicker from the hallway. A shadowed figure moved around hurriedly, moving cartons of stuff per Renata’s instructions. The old woman emerged again with packaged food to give to someone. There was nothing interesting about a hair ribbon, plenty of girls wove them in their plaits. But for some reason, Valeria’s eye stayed fixated on the spot, waiting to see that colour flicker again.

“It’s my granddaughter,” said Renata whilst wrapping something in plastic. Valeria looked around only to realise that Renata was speaking to her. “You have family?” Valeria asked before she could stop herself. But Renata only laughed, the sound was like the jingle of bells caught in the wind.

“Oh yes, plenty. I just don’t like to share my business, but that one’s good. She’s helping out for a bit.” Renata bagged some drinks and held them out to Valeria.

The ribbon flickered again, the colour shone from the few specks of light that fell on the shadows. It was a soft purple colour and attached to a long length of hair. There was something in the way that it glided amongst the darkness of the hallway, how it followed the curve of your movements. It danced like a fallen flower petal and although Valeria was not particularly feminine, there was something that drew her to it. But before she could see more, she had her bag of food and had to return. Curious to see more, Valeria returned right before Renata closed up the place with the excuse that she came to cover the tab.

And that’s when she saw the rest of you. Your skin glistened with sweat underneath the lamp lights, Valeria saw you at work from afar before she approached. A girl with quick hands bobbing her head back and forth between pans, a fistful of paper orders leaking from her front pocket. Large, beautiful eyes that fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. You shone a polite smile at Valeria, acknowledging her as a customer whilst you finished serving someone. Valeria knew from that moment that you would be hers, pure intuition told her so. And so she enjoyed this moment where you were still complete strangers, because soon enough you would be more than that. There was something about the tense line of your mouth as you concentrated, the way it hid your lips that made Valeria want to reach in and remove what ailed you.

“Sorry, what can I get you?” You asked, your hands reaching for a plastic container, waiting for the name of a food. Instead, Valeria outstretched her hand.

“Valeria Garza. Sergeant.” It was something about the way Valeria’s way of speaking that made you look up and see her properly. She had that look soldiers had, that straight back and tone of authority, no matter what their actual rank was. You saw plenty of her people every day who just wanted a service and nothing more. But this one spoke to you. Something fluttered in your stomach when you shook Valeria’s hand. Her hand didn’t hold itself against yours for a few seconds the way that polite handshakes did. It fit your palm perfectly and as Valeria removed her hand, you felt the ends of her fingers caress the length of your palm as if hesitant to lose your touch.

“Y/N,” you said.

Valeria remembered this as she saw you changing your clothes right before your release. The ‘day’ of your release was actually a night as a matter of safety. It was thought best to release such a high-profile person as Valeria when the prison was closed for the night, to avoid the traffic of visitors. The two of you were the only ones in the room but you still covered parts of you whilst changing. Valeria looked at your hair wistfully. “Why don’t you wear ribbons anymore?” She asked.

You looked at her confused and shrugged. “I don’t know. One day I just stopped.” You continued changing. Many years had passed since you met; your body and your hair had changed. When you met, you were young enough to not have quite filled into your womanly features. Those last remnants of puppy fat that cling to women in their early 20s were gone, parts of you were plumper than they used to be, and your hair had changed too. But none of that changed how Valeria looked at you, that twinkle of adoration.

“Yes, but why?” Valeria sat there, staring.

“It’s like the last day you went to play outside. I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t realise it in the moment. But I just never did it again.” You saw how Valeria looked at you in that moment, her dark eyes taking in your body, a hunger. Her lips were pursed. “Is it because you used to do it for Diane?” Valeria saw your movements falter for a second. You scoffed lightly. “When did you remember her?” You mumbled to yourself and stood straight, brushing down your clothes. “Did you though?” Valeria asked. You folded the prison attire and left it in a box. “I told you, baby. I don’t know.” There was a nervous impatience creeping into your voice that Valeria didn’t like, but it was understandable. The closer you got to freedom, the harder it was to stay in there. Valeria knew her question was provocative and frankly unnecessary, but she couldn’t stop herself. She could sense a change in the wind, but Valeria could not yet understand what was happening “I miss them,” said Valeria softly, thinking of the ribbons. She had changed to her usual attire, a black turtleneck clinging to her upper body with her classic chain around her neck. Her work belt was waiting for her past the upcoming security check and she felt its absence on her waist like a phantom limb. Visions of the past had started haunting her recently, creeping up in her waking moments. She wasn’t usually this sentimental and spaced out, but something had changed recently – you could tell. She was becoming…not softer, but wistful of things that were no more. Her fuss about the ribbon was just the latest. She would randomly ask you about what happened to that old garment that you wore on your first date. Or what happened to that bracelet she got you on your first anniversary? And what about that dessert you stopped making?

“What do you think old Renata is up to now?” She asked and you just about lost it. You breathed carefully to calm yourself before turning to your wife, who was now rising from her seat. You caught her hands and placed them on your cheeks, and it snapped Valeria out of her trance.

“Val,” you said in no more than a whisper. “We’ve talked about this.” Your eyes held Valeria’s dark ones, silently pleading for her mercy. Valeria nodded and looked away.

You thought about this change in her behaviour as you left the facility. It was not lost on you that Valeria was getting older and had an atypical, queer life. The regular marks of life were lost to the two of you; you had no children, no ‘regular’ income with Valeria’s operation, and no holidays with family. The two of you were your own unit and were happy. But recent events had pulled the rug beneath Valeria’s feet, and you wondered if she was starting to question the point of all this. The heavy metal door of the entrance opened up to the darkness of the outside world. It was a cloudy night with no moonlight and no stars, but the fresh country air brushed your cheeks blissfully.

Security was tight, you made out the shapes of guards everywhere you looked and there was a cacophony from the barks of police dogs. Harsh white lights were set to guide you towards the helipad where Valeria’s helicopter rested. And there, amidst the harshness of the yard, was an unmarked vehicle and a woman leaning on it. Her eyes were set on the pair of you as you stepped out. Valeria tightened her hold on your hand.

“What is it now? She whispered to herself as you walked forward. More was visible of that woman as you got closer. She was a middle-aged white woman with a neat, prim appearance. Her hair was a pale colour, somewhere between blonde and white, kept in a neat bun. And her eyes were a piercing blue colour. In fact, she could’ve been older. Her eyes never left Valeria. This usually happened on the rare occasion that you were introduced to someone in Valeria’s presence – they spoke to both of you but really, they spoke to Valeria. Valeria let out a strange noise as she recognized the woman.

“Valeria and Y/N Garza,” she said and glanced at you momentarily. “Congratulations on your release. I wanted to personally apologise on behalf of Task Force 141 and Los Vaqueros for the terrible mishandling of your extraction.” Those pale, disconcerting eyes turned to you. They reminded you of a snake. “And I want to personally apologise to you, Y/N Garza, for your terrible treatment during custody. I want to assure you that the person responsible has-"

“Speaking to my wife is a privilege,” Valeria’s cold voice interjected loudly. “No one has it, and especially not you, Kate Laswell." The woman, Kate, pursed her lips together and nodded. She seemed like a powerful woman to you; the way she stood with perfect posture, the neatness of her appearance. And most of all, that shiny American badge handing off her heck. And yet she allowed herself to be scolded by Valeria. "I understand you’re upset, and you have every right to. I just wanted to affirm the terms of our agreement-" “If you want to communicate with me, you have my lawyer’s details. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a home to return to.” Valeria said and nodded her head towards the helicopter, which was now moving its fans rapidly. “Come on,” she mumbled to you. The two of you started walking around Kate, but that woman turned to you again. “I would have done the same for my wife,” said Kate. Valeria stopped and glanced back at Kate with disdain, it was a glance so full of disgust that it made you look away. “You’re nothing like me,” Valeria spat out.

Valeria turned and helped you up the helicopter, then entered herself. There was something about the desperate gesture of goodwill from another woman-lover that felt too precious to allow to disappear. This woman didn’t have to do this, but she still chose to be here, like a daffodil emerging of out of deep snow at the beginning of spring. Unexpected, but welcome. You turned to look at the woman one last time, but Valeria saw what was about to happen and slammed the door quickly before you could say anything. The helicopter lifted off the ground immediately. You turned to her sharply.

“I wanted to thank her,” you complained. Valeria said nothing as she put on her headpiece and began handling the helicopter’s navigation. You gazed out of the window as the world got smaller. Kate didn’t take her eyes off you until she became just another tiny thing on the ground. You wondered what all this was about and tried to release your curiosity. It was probably to do with whatever Valeria did to have you released, that terrible thing she wanted you to stay out of.

After what seemed like forever, you could see the familiar shape of your estate come into focus. You all but leapt out of the aircraft when it touched the grass of your home, which you noticed was trimmed. Valeria must’ve had the place cleaned up and maintained during your time in custody. You noticed Valeria’s frantic scrambling for anything that might have been mailed in, and soon enough the ‘business’ part of the estate was in full swing. Men ran around per Valeria’s loud orders, her shouts echoing down the many hallways. You tried not to feel hurt when she entered her study and locked the door behind her. You headed for your golden bathroom and filled the tub with hot, soapy water.

You immersed yourself inside and tried to clean yourself of all that happened. You washed off the cold looks from the man with the skull masked, scrubbed off Alejandro’s threats, and rinsed off the old skin of a body that dwelled in confinement. You then lathered your body with all the scented creams you could combine until you smelled like a flower nymph, you dressed your body in the silkiest garments you could find. Anything to return to the woman you were before Alejandro had leapt inside yours and Valeria’s bedroom.

You were almost asleep by the time Valeria returned. Her steps were so quiet that she startled you when she suddenly slipped inside the sheets, coming to spoon you from behind. She burrowed her face in the nook of your neck and inhaled deeply, you felt the softness of her skin on your back as she held you close. As she exhaled, you smelled the faint linger of nicotine in her breath and grumbled. “Just for tonight, baby. I’m sorry.” She said and gave small pecks to your jaw and then the back of your ears. “You smell so good,” she mumbled and tugged at your ears with her teeth. One of her hands roamed the length of your figure and you leaned back towards her body, feeling the soft and hard parts of her. The softness of her chest and tummy, the firmness of her upper arms, the strength of her legs as they snaked around yours and held you in place. You turned and shared a big, long kiss. You tasted the faint linger of smoky nicotine in her mouth mixed with the tangy sweetness of alcohol. She had celebrated your return home in her own way.

Valeria pulled back from you. “What if we left?” she asked, her lips almost touching yours. Her eyes were closed as she said this, and you nuzzled your face to hers. Suddenly, you felt how cold she was: she must’ve been smoking outside. It was something she did rarely because you hated the smell and you had always warned her about how it would yellow her teeth. It was a hard habit to break and although she was mostly clean, there were moments where she just needed a smoke.

You cupped the back of her head, the softness of her hair awakened something inside of you. A hunger, a warmth that glowed within you; you felt the same thing linger in Valeria’s body, down her legs and in her abdomen. The silence of the estate reminded you of your returned privacy. “I’d follow you anywhere,” you whispered and kissed her. Valeria moaned into the kiss, that delightful sound buzzed on your skin. She held your face with her hand, deepening the kiss until your bodies were desperately crashing into each other. Sloppy, wet kisses were interrupted by the shuffle of your bedsheets as you clawed at each other’s layers, begging to see and feel the other’s skin.

“You’re so cold, my love,” you whispered as Valeria pulled down your nightgown. Your breasts came into view and the sight elicited a soft noise from your wife. Valeria’s eyes darkened as she looked at them. She removed her final layer and tossed it across the room. “Come warm me up,” she said and pulled you on top of her. Your body fit onto hers and you enjoyed how similar yet different the two of you were. Two soft bodies pressing into each other; one cold, one warm. The tantalizing softness of your chests being brought together; the way she pressed you down onto her as she sought your warmth and softness, wanting to desperately feel your wetness onto her own. You kissed and allowed Valeria’s greedy tongue into your mouth, one of her hands kept travelling further down your back and she slowly inserted one of her fingers inside you. The kiss broke and you moaned weakly. Valeria moved her head higher to steal your lips again. Her finger stretched and curled, teasingly lingering close to your sensitive spot.

“That’s what you were thinking about. Right, princess?” Valeria asked and made you look at her, her finger exited and caressed your special spot on the outside, wetting your clit with your juices. “Yes,” you mewled, and she rewarded you with two fingers.

“You’re so warm,” Valeria whispered, and you kissed again. She slowed down and pumped weakly in and out of you, making you move your lower body desperately for more. You felt Valeria chuckle beneath you, she found it amusing when you moved yourself onto her hands; Valeria wanted to feel imperative to the path of your desire. She was the keeper of your pleasure, an instrument to your love making, your path to bliss. She urged you to keep going and just watched you dance to the song of your passion, watched as you moved to straddle her. The sight of your breasts bouncing up and down as you rose and lowered yourself onto her hand.

“Be loud for me, baby. I’ve missed it.” Valeria said as you bit your lip. Arousal made you bold and when Valeria moved her hand so it pumped into you, you spread your legs and moved frantically to your climax. Your cries of pleasure mixed with Valeria’s commands to keep going, to keep clenching onto her like the desperate, lovely thing that you were. To be good and open your legs more so she can see you come prettily, like you always did. You closed your eyes as the sensitive, hot spot within you erupted and the heat reverberated across your body. Valeria sighed satisfyingly as she pumped a bit more into you, making you jolt in your place as she sought the last scraps of your orgasm.

You looked down and found Valeria smiling to herself. “You’re glistening like a diamond, my love.” You huffed and breathed out from your slightly swollen lips, then lowered yourself onto her again. Valeria made a small noise as your ground your wetness all over hers, shivering as you rubbed onto her clit. Your hand reached into a drawer of your bedside table as you continued this movement until you found what you were looking for. “My love…” Valeria trailed off as she noticed this.

“You missed your favourite, no?” You said and brought her favourite toy in sight, a lengthy vibrator. You wanted her to have a truly special moment now that you were back home and safe to express the true potential of your eroticism. And there was one thing in particular that you felt she needed, something that was more than just the gratification of her senses: words of love. “Let me speak my love to you,” you said. Valeria’s eyes were dark with lust, and she flushed at the sight of the toy. But beneath that passion lay something vulnerable. Something that needed to be gently caressed. Valeria’s recent ramblings had concerned you and the way she mentioned your ex today was the nail in the coffin. Valeria, you felt, was feeling insecure. Intimacy is more than just sex, it is the tenderness of sweet words whispered between kisses and licks, it is found in the gentle touch of a lover who sees behind the desire within your eyes and speaks to the person in there who is desperate to unify with their partner. Who wants to reach true intimacy, to embed their soul unto yours. Sweet words were necessary with Valeria, but you couldn’t do that when using your tongue for other things. Valeria was quiet, she tugged at your lips with her teeth and opened her legs.

“You know how much I love you, Val.” You said whilst gazing into your eyes. Valeria nodded and you kissed, your hands positioned themselves close to Valeria’s core.

“I want to be with you forever,” you whispered and caressed the clean plastic onto Valeria’s wetness, you felt her sigh shakily.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” you pecked at her neck in between your words. Valeria’s little noises hummed out of her as you tugged at the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, the spot that made her squirm. “Y/N…” she whimpered your name pleadingly and the toy came to life. “I love you more than anything,” you said as you made love to her. The toy vibrated tantalizingly on her clit and rested there as you inserted a finger inside. Valeria moaned out your name and pleaded for kisses with her eyes, which you granted.

"Does my love feel good?” You asked her and she nodded whilst biting her lip. Valeria threw her head to the side with ecstasy. She cried out for more, which you delivered. You increased the toy’s setting and slowed down with your fingers so she could enjoy more of her pleasure. “You’re so beautiful,” you moaned and busied yourself with your wife’s throat, licking and kissing and biting it. Seeing Valeria like that turned you on and you lowered your core onto hers, feeling the second-hand vibrations bounce from Valeria’s skin onto yours. Valeria’s hands trailed down your back, making you shiver. The sounds of wet skin slapping, of moans and gasps filled your marital bedroom, the bedframe creaked as you made passionate love. “Come on, come on,” you mewled and pumped into her faster than before. You could tell she was close from her movements, her fingernails were digging into your skin almost painfully, but the discomfort got lost amidst the high of your sex. “Show me your love, Val. Come for me.” You took one of her nipples in your mouth and pinched it with your teeth and it sent Valeria to her climax. “I’m here, baby. I’m here,” she moaned as she started to erupt in orgasm. You saw a glimpse of insecurity flash her eyes as she wet the bed, but you drew out all of it with your fingers. “It’s natural baby, give all of it to me.” You said and she released it all.

"I’m so proud of you, baby. You haven’t done that in a while.” You said and kissed her forehead. Valeria huffed out and gave you a small smile, her cheeks were flushed with colour.

You cleaned each other in the bathroom with the shy smiles and looks of people who were happy but slightly embarrassed in hindsight. “It’s normal, my love,” you kept saying and washed off Valeria’s skin. The two of you lay in bed for a long time after that, not falling asleep but caressing each other’s skin in the darkness.

“You want to leave?” You asked and heard Valeria sigh next to you.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” She said finally. “He won’t leave us alone.” Fear tugged at your heart as you listened to her. “You think he’ll come after us again?” Valeria nodded next to you, she didn’t need to ask to know who you meant. “You saw how much he hates me, Y/N. And now he hates you. I know Alejandro well enough to know this: he will not stop. I don’t know how he’ll do it, but I know it.” You lay there in silence for a bit as you thought it out. Those people know where you live now – Alejandro’s team and the people he worked with. And who’s to say that the rest wouldn’t want revenge too. You remembered that masked man who removed you from the container, the one with the skull face. You remembered how his partner got hurt when you fled, maybe worse. What if he also wants revenge for what happened? You got him in trouble, didn’t you?” You asked her and felt Valeria turn to you sharply. You spoke quickly before she could jump to any conclusions. “I haven’t inferred anything more, I promise. And I won’t ask. But I can tell that much. You think he’ll want revenge for that?” Valeria shifted next to you and, for the first time ever, she let you to a part of her that was carefully guarded. The mastermind behind everything. “Yes.” You turned and softly pressed your forehead onto hers. The smell of soap on her skin mixed with her natural smell and as you inhaled it, you felt how badly you wanted the moment to last forever. “Let’s leave, Val.”

For the rest of the night, whispers of forgotten dreams and giggles over potential occupations turned your bedroom into a portal of the wildest parts of your imagination. What if you retired early by the seaside? What if you finally wrote that cooking book that you sometimes daydreamed about when setting the table? And what if Valeria became an art collector with the rest of her money? What if you vanished into thin air?

It was many months later when someone visited that estate again. A figure jumped over a wall in the middle of the night and shuffled around the bushes. Their eyes scanned the perimeter with the movements of a predator that sought its prey. That person slowly arose to their full height in disbelief: the place was entirely deserted. Only some scraps of light from lampposts illuminated whatever was left behind. The house was a shell of its former self, dark and devoid of people. Gnarly bushes of roses and overgrown weeds desecrated the once carefully maintained garden, they stretching out their green, thorny limbs to tear at the man’s uniform. Alejandro cursed loudly as he looked around, he called out to someone. And somewhere far away, two women danced in their warm kitchen, swinging their hips and laughing as their dinner cooked. In the living room, a fire was going in the fireplace, and they would later sit and sip their wine whilst watching a film. And then, they would go to bed. Because your life didn’t end when you were stolen from your wife. And her life didn’t end when she lost you. You would find each other over and over again just so you could dance like this. This moment was infinite. There was only one way things could have ended, and this was it. In Valeria’s arms, hearing your food bubble in the pot. Life didn’t have to be about money and blood and fear. It could be about dancing in the kitchen with your love late at night, seeing Valeria’s eyes twinkle beneath the light.

Note: Final chapter y'all we did it! Thank you so much for reading my story, I hope you liked the ending. This is the first fanfic I've ever finished omg. I got very attached to Valeria and Y/N's story so of course they needed a happy ending :) Writing this series has been so fun for me, thank you for all the comments and likes!

tag list: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit @00ops1e @lesvii @therapyneeds @lez-zuha @starre-eyes @7smexy7diva @hello-kitty-festival @konigmeu @cassiecasluciluce @gay-ass-country-boy @starwars-theclonewhore @bi-witch-bxtch @somnoslvt @ashthepillow @b3ns0ne @idiotwrites @danart501 @deakyspuff @mistresssiri @angethehimbosimp @@sae1kie @00ops1e @yaebaal @p3arlier @xreals @coffeeandtealol

#cod mw2 #cod valeria #valeria garza x reader #valeria x female reader #cod imagine #call of duty #valeria garza #call of duty valeria #valeria x reader

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smolvenger · 2 years ago

Text

The King of Asgard (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: As the wife of Prince Loki of Asgard, you suddenly discover that Odin and Thor are gone. You are made queen and your dear husband is king. But a king needs an heir...

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: SMUT Y'ALL!!! 18+ Breeding Kink and Vanilla P in V sex and dirty talk. Some angst in the beginning but lots of hurt/comfort regarding his discovery about being a Frost Giant. Some married fluff. I use the canon events in Thor 1 but stretch out the timeline because it's my fic and I can do what I want. References to fairy tales because I'm a slut for literary references.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Since seeing Thor 1 in its completion this has been in my head. I don't usually write for the big man Loki himself too often- but it's a treat to do so! Maybe I will do more of this stuff if I get more ideas! REBLOGS, COMMENTS, DMS, AND ASKS ABOUT MY WORK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED! Also, I don't know if Frigga is also Freya the goddess of love and sex in this universe when I wrote this but her character is clearly more FRIGGA than Freya...so yeah...mea culpa

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @littlespaceyelf @superficialdomina (since all the way back you asked to be tagged! Ta da! Here it is!!)

You had many regrets in your life. But marrying Prince Loki was not one of them. When he asked you, you threw your arms around him and kissed him repeating one word- “Yes!”

You never regretted the day you wore a jeweled veil and walked down that aisle. You never regretted vowing before all the gods that you were his and he was yours. You never regretted becoming Princess of Asgard. Not if it meant the love of your life could become your husband.

Some whispered that your choice was unusual. That it was the wrong prince. That you should have married Thor. After all, it seemed obvious he was going to be the heir. But things did not happen in your heart the way they did. Thor was jovial and friendly to you. But before your betrothal, he liked you as a sister. No more, no less. Even if Odin commanded it, Thor would object to the match. If Thor learned to reign in his arrogance someday, you thought, he would make a fine lover to some lucky person!

Other than being the most beautiful man you had ever beheld, Loki was intelligent. Full of elegance as well as guile. Well-read, polite, patient, and charming, but could hold his own in any battle. It seemed you were one of the few people who recognized that. That was one of many reasons why he loved you.

You both attended feasts side by side. He would flirt with you even though you were still about a year into marriage.

“Why, it is too bad that such loveliness is sitting by herself tonight! May I have the seat next to her?” Loki would croon as he sat in the chair next to you.

You danced every dance together at balls. You especially loved spending free hours exploring the Asgardian library together. Reading works from all Nine Realms. Sometimes until you both fell asleep by the fireplace. Not to mention his finesse in the bedroom.

Loki confessed of his wedding day nerves to you in private. He feared…displeasing you on your wedding night. But your mutual passion and reverence for each other won over all else. Every time you coupled, you brought each other to Valhalla and back again. You learned about each other’s bodies like studying maps. Each minute of lovemaking was both exploration and worship of each other.

Lately, the two of you were careful. You had your own special tea to drink before or after it happened. At most, he would spill his seed somewhere that wasn’t between your legs. You knew so much was happening. Becoming a parent would put more stress on both of you. Especially considering Odin was about to name his heir.

Though you both did hope someday to have a child. You knew Loki would be a wonderful father and you wanted to be a mother. You wanted a family. You wanted to have a sweet baby (or two) of your own to cuddle and kiss. To hear it laugh when you tickled it. To welcome their first steps with open arms. To watch it grow. To leave your own mark- a person who was both Loki and you.

Now wasn’t the right time, both of you knew it. When you would sigh about it, he would hug you.

“We will wait, my love…time is our friend…” he’d assure you.

There were worse things in life. And you might as well enjoy what you had now before it was too late. You were lucky to have him. Many couples lived happy, long lives together without children. You were fortunate to have a man who you could confide anything to. And he in turn confided all his worries to you.

The ceremony arrived. And it was not Loki who was named heir as he hoped. It was Thor.

As you stood next to Loki, you felt him stiffen. Thor smiled and held up Mjonir as the kingdom cheered for him. Looking at your husband, you took his hand. You heard him take in a deep sigh through his nose.

“I know you wanted it…I’m so sorry…” you whispered to him, rubbing a thumb over his palm.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One evening when you walked about the garden. The sun was setting and while there was some light, you wanted to admire the roses Frigga grew. Dressed in your golden dress, you knelt to sniff a few red ones. Admiring her work and the peace of the place. You jumped when a guard ran over to you.

“The Prince Loki requests your presence immediately in the castle vaults,” he reported.

Picking up your skirts, you hurried there.

“Loki, where are you? Are you hurt?” you asked as you entered.

He was standing on the steps before the Tesseract’s section. He looked up at the sound of your voice. There were tears in his eyes.

“I…I just spoke with father…” he said.

“What did he say this time?” you asked.

He took a step towards you. More tears fell down his cheeks.

“Y/N…I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have married you, shouldn’t have made you my prisoner…” he said.

Pain curled up in your chest at the words. Their grip tightened your throat and your eyes watered as well as his.

“Prisoner!?! What are you talking about, Loki? You cannot believe every word Odin says! I will talk to him myself right away! How dare he say such cruel things to you! You do deserve me! You do!” you cried.

You reached over to grab his hands and he jerked them back.

“No Asgardian maiden deserves to be sold and made wife to a Frost Giant!” He blurted.

You paused.

“Frost Giant?” you repeated.

All your life you heard whispers of the land of the Frost Giants, or Jotenheim. And they were always violent tales of terror. The large, ice creatures were longtime enemies of your kingdom. It was typical for Thor to boast about how much he would slay if given the chance.

“Stay here…and watch…” Loki instructed.

He put his hand on the Tesseract. Upon contact, his skin turned blue and his eyes red. A frost giant if you ever saw one.

Your eyes widened and you gasped in response, a hand flew over your mouth. Shock made your body lock in place. But you did not turn your eyes from him.

“Oh, Loki!” you cried.

You did not flee. No, you would not. Instead, you ran up and embraced him. He felt cold to the touch. As his hands released the Tesseract you felt him warm up in your arms as his skin turned back to ivory. They curled around your back, and he buried himself in your touch. You felt him shaking. Despite your own surprise, you would not abandon him. Never.

“It’s alright…it’s alright, I’m right here…this is a lot, I know…” you consoled as he cried.

He explained to you that years ago, Odin found an abandoned Frost Giant baby in Jotenheim. He took in the infant to be raised as one of his own. But never telling that young prince the truth about his parentage. Not until an accidental discovery. In a recent battle a Frost Gant touched your husband’s arm, changing your prince’s skin to blue beneath his grip. And blue skin could not lie.

“Do you know what I am, Y/N? I am a monster! That’s who you are married to! A monster!” Loki mourned.

You glanced at the door, then back to him. An idea from a recent library read growing in your head.

“Are you familiar with Midgard Fairy Tales? The ones for children?” you asked.

“No,” he answered.

“You don’t?” you asked.

“Midgard never interested me before…”

Taking him by the hand, you led him back to the library. You found a collection of Midgard Fairy Tales left on your favorite chair. You brought it to him and opened it up, flipping the pages. You then pointed to one story. The first page was illustrated with a ship on the ocean, then a rose, and a grand castle.

“You should read this one right here. It was written years ago by a lady. It is a Midgard Fairy Story called La Belle et La Bete or Beauty and The Beast…” you explained.

Loki took the book. He then flipped the page to see a picture of the eponymous beast.

“I know enough of fairy tales. They’re all the same. There’s some giant or creature who’s always the villain. Kidnapping unwilling maidens and hoarding gold. That is until a prince skewers them. Then there’s great celebration over the killing,” he dismissed.

You placed a hand on the page before he could close it.

“You’re right about one thing. There is a beast in this one…” you continued.

“Oh, and he’s there to do those things so babes will grow up learning to hate me,” Loki complained.

“No! Not in this one he’s not!” you objected.

You turned the page. It showed the Beast smiling with a lady in a rose garden.

“Yes, he is a beast. But do you know what he also is? He is the prince in the story! He might look frightening to some, but beneath it, he is kind and generous! He falls in love and marries a woman who sees that in the end! She doesn’t focus on what makes him monstrous and different- she accepts who he is!”

You set the book down and cupped his face.

“Because she loves him!”

His jaw dropped, speaking nothing. He leaned into your hand.

“A Frost Giant? Yes. I will learn to adjust to the blue skin…but you are my husband. I could not ask for a better one. And I love you. No matter what…” you said.

He embraced you again and you both cried. Tears of happiness and of sorrow. Blue skin or white. Yellow eyes or blue ones. He was Loki. He was your husband, and you would always stay with him. Besides, it’s what he would have done for you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you went to bed that night, you expected tomorrow to be a day like any other. But instead, you were shaken out of sleep.

“Loki, what is it? It’s too early…” you murmured, half-awake.

You felt your bedside but did not feel the lump of his body.

Wakefulness creeping on you, you saw the guards and a few servants in your bedchambers. You jumped to sit up. You held onto the blankets, your knuckles popping in your grip.

“Where is my husband? Is he alright? What’s going on?” you questioned.

Their eyes were all wide. One servant stepped forward and spoke with gravity.

“The prince Thor is banished. And Odin has fallen into his Odinsleep. Loki is now King of Asgard. And you are it’s Queen.”

It was only four sentences. But it felt like something from a dream. You jolted out of bed to stand. You barely opened your mouth to respond when the servant knelt before you. He took your hand and kissed it in reverence.

“Your highness! Queen of Asgard!” he announced.

All bowed before you in your room.

You expected many things when you married the god of mischief. Just not this! It felt like one of those Midgard Fairytales happening to you.

When you dressed and hurried to your husband in the throne room. You forgot your new role and froze your steps. He sat on a throne, legs deliciously apart. He took up space now. The throne was entirely his and he was going to use every inch of it. He was decked in the robe of a ruler, not a prince destined to wait in the wings all his life. He had power in him, and you had to confess the aura of it was…. doing something for you. Your legs were buckling beneath your dress. There was that infamous, mischievous smile on him. It made you shiver. Already morning and desire swirled inside you. When his head turned to see you, he lit up. He got up from his throne and walked down. Per habit, you curtsied low. Then, placing a finger beneath your chin, he led you to standing. Your sex beneath your legs clenched at the gesture.

He then grabbed you and lifted you up in a hug where your feet didn’t touch the ground.

“Y/N…darling!” he greeted.

He put you down and placed a kiss on your lips.

“But…are you ready to rule? It won’t be easy…” you worried.

“It will not. But at last, think of everything I could do…lead armies…unite kingdoms…”

Even Jotenheim and Asgard if he decreed it so, you noted. You then smiled at him. He was glowing from pride and joy. He took your hand and kissed it.

“If we’re together through this…we can handle it…” he said.

They placed you to stand by his side on the throne.

Frigga entered. She bowed to you. Your own knees bucked a little out of habit. Usually you were the one bowing to her! You walked down to her, taking her shoulders.

“Queen mother…I…I’m speechless! …I don’t know how I could ever be a queen as well as you!” you confessed to her.

She kissed your cheek and gave you a patient smile.

“Don’t worry, I will help you. Day by day, step by step, you will learn how.”

“Thank you…what do I do now?”

“You will be crowned this afternoon. The kingdom will be watching. Look at them, your people. And show them you care…” she advised.

The hour arrived for them all. Swarms of people broke in like a flood to the throne room. You felt every eye as a golden crown was placed on your head and as his familiar helmet was placed on Loki.

Remembering Frigga’s advice, you looked down on them. You allowed a smile to grow on you. You smiled as you heard your name being chanted along with your husband's name.

They cheered and bowed to you. Flags were waved and confetti fell like snow across the palace. Loki got took your hand and lifted it up before them. They began to cry out.

“Hail the King Loki! Hail the Queen Y/N!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When the sun began to set, a familiar servant ran up to you.

“The King sends his regrets that duties require his immediate attention. He asked for the cooks to go ahead and serve you dinner in his absence,” she announced.

“Thank you,” you replied. An attempt at a regal tone of voice new to you.

The servant bowed and left. She didn’t do that as reverently when you were a mere princess. You ate your dinner alone and then took a rosewater bath right after. You noticed several stray petals floating around in the tub.

Once you finished, you returned to your chambers. It seemed they would stay the same for now. The King’s room was for the Odinsleep. Drying yourself you picked a nightgown. Tonight, it was a white one with a silvery tone to it. It had long sleeves that draped down and had beautiful beading around the bodice. The neckline dipped down to the clasp that secured it. Some might consider it immodest, but it was too beautiful for your resistance. It gave you some very sensual cleavage that you loved (and so would your husband). The skirt then dipped down to the floor, making it feel like a robe, but the material was not so thick that it felt too hot.

If you dressed more like a queen, even at night, you would feel more apt to the role.

What a day it had been. Part of your body ached after such excitement. You sat by your vanity on a cushion. Flowers (including the roses you liked) from the gardens in vases bedecked it. By the candlelight you checked your hair. Sighing in, you relaxed on the seat, admiring the glimpse of the kingdom at night from your curtains. Enjoying a moment of peace.

You then heard his voice outside the door.

“I am now going to bed. Do not disturb us unless there is an emergency,” Loki ordered the servants and guards. Already he was speaking more like a king.

The doors creaked as he opened it and walked inside. Though he was in his own green bedrobes, there was a bounce and urgency to his step. Then he approached you as you sat on the cushion before the vanity. Though his blue eyes did wander hungrily to your low neckline. They then returned up to your face in the mirror’s reflection.

“How is my pretty queen tonight?” he asked.

“I’m good…” you answered.

“Are you tired?” he asked with a tone of concern.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, fingers drumming in anticipation. Was there some old prank he was going to pull that he wanted you to see? What was he going to say?

“Only a little…I’m still taking it in…” you replied.

He embraced you from behind, nuzzling into your neck. You smiled at the contact of feeling his nose against your skin. He smiled as he looked at you in the mirror.

“You always were a queen to me, my dear….” He said.

He kissed your cheek and then lowered his lips to your neck. You smiled, enjoying the increasingly amorous gesture. You felt the tickle of his breath. His soft lips made another kiss in between your neck and clavicle. You melted into it.

“My, Freya has gotten someone enchanted…” you teased.

“It’s not Freya who enchants me…” he husked.

He then turned you around and led you to stand. And laid a desperate kiss on your lips. You wrapped your arms around him. He slid in his tongue. A hand of his crept to hold your back to him. You groaned into it. Already, arousal began its long, sinful climb with its wet signal between your legs. You released lips with a satisfying smack.

“If you continue this, I’ll ring for that tea…” you said.

“No…” he voiced.

“Hmm?”

He held your hands down.

“You won’t need that tea tonight. Or for a while…” he said.

You blinked.

“How come?”

He gave you a smile, looking in your eyes.

“I must tell you…the council has given me much advice. To secure myself as king, there are a few things I can do. Enact laws. Silence any rebellions or refusals. And, since I’m already married...”

He paused.

“Sire an heir.”

You felt your breath stop in your throat. Your eyes widened. His smile went down to a smirk. A glint in his eye as he went to you. His eyes roaming down your exposed chest. His hands wandered down, staring to hike a little of your skirt.

“So, you’re saying…” you stuttered.

“Y/N, I…I need you tonight…tonight…I’ll give you a child, an heir, someone to carry on my reign, and keep me as king…Would you like that?” he asked.

He leaned closer. Wanting to kiss you, then pausing. You could feel his breath just on your lips, making you dizzy. He placed his hips against yours. You felt a moan shudder out of you. Your answer was an easy one.

“Yes, yes I would.”

He swept you up in his arms, strong despite his lean frame. Your heart raced so hard you felt it would burst out of you. He laid you on the bed then crawled over you. You felt yourself trembling like it was the first time. He cupped your cheek and leaned over to kiss you.

“My queen, my darling…”

You wrapped your arms around him.

“And my Prince made King,” you said back.

Intuitively, he ground his hips on yours. A small shudder went through you, coming out as a sigh. You reached a hand to run it through his hair as he kissed you again. Combing through those dark curls you loved so much. Because they were a part of him. His crown that never left him. You gave him another, harder kiss. He then looked down at your robe. He slid a hand over the beading, over your chest.

“A lady beautiful as you could doesn’t need such …embellishments…” he growled.

He removed his hand to lift it in the air. He flicked it and a green light began at the tips of your toes and then worked its way up your legs and through your body. Your evening robes for sleeping vanished and instead was your skin. He wetted his lips at the sight of your nakedness.

“I’ve longed to see this, to touch you for hours…”

He went up to your bare breasts. You gulped as he began to kiss it. Your back arched on impulse, tensing already. As he worked his way to the center, you felt yourself tensing already. Smiling at the pleasure as he used his tongue, swirling your nipple. Chills ran over you. He released his mouth to whisper.

“I’ve missed your breasts. The shape. The softness. Feeling you…”

He replaced it with his large hand. He gently squeezed and groped both around. You exhaled out another sound coming out of you. Not a polite one.

“Perfection-perfect for my hands. And perfect to nurse my heir…”

He then lowered himself down, kissing your stomach. Tracing your hips. He then kissed your bellybutton, dipping his tongue into the hole of it. Only a symbol of what was next. A delicious forewarning. Preparation. You grew wetter with the feeling of something soft and wet inside a hole of yours.

“Loki…Loki, my dear…husband…” you whimpered.

He held your hips down, tracing it and feeling them again. How they curved up to where they made your waist. His fingers sprawled possessively over your flesh. Then back down to your hips. Looking down, there was a bulge getting bigger against his green robe.

“And these…perfect. Perfect for what I put between them. For my mouth, my fingers, my cock, and my child…”

He pulled his head up, then you put your finger to his lips. Giggling lightly, as did he.

“You talk so much. But you’ve yet to bare yourself too, my love,” you teased.

With a cocky half-smile, all he did was tilt his head. The seidr ran down from the forehead to the toes, and the smooth robe was replaced with his warm skin. He was so beautiful. Every time he took off his clothes, it was everything in you not to stare. He had a broad, ivory chest so large and enveloping. It was like a blanket when you rested your head on them or when he thrust on top of you. You put a hand to explore the crevices, going through the patch of hairs on him. His muscular shoulders, perfect for digging your nails in. His abdominals-both soft and strong. For he was both at the center of his heart as well. Thighs made thick from running, jumping, and everything a warrior did.

He ground against you. His cock, already hard, teased your stomach. He leaned up to kiss your neck in its small soft spot. A hand returning to your breast.

“You will look wonderful engorged with a babe…a child…a part of you that will always be there, a trace of us together.”

“Loki…my dear husband…I love you…” you voiced.

He smiled, inching close.

“And I love you when you’re screaming beneath me…”

With one long, beautiful hand, he took the outside of your legs. He traced his fingers down from thigh to knee. Ghosting against the upper flesh of your skin. As tenderly as if you were the brightest, most precious jewel kept in his treasury. In seas of coins, rubies, and diamonds…it was you, you out of everything else, that mattered to him.

He took his large, beautiful hands and then moved them to the inside of your knees. You bit back a moan, leaning your head into the pillow as you felt it.

Using both his hands, he then spread you apart, wide open. He looked down at you and grinned. He had seen, felt, penetrated, and tasted your pussy like an addict. Always hungry for more. Even if you were poison, he would consider it the sweetest way to die. He placed himself back up. The tip just teasing your entrance. Every nerve inside you screamed. It brushed against you, never plunging in.

“You’re a banquet all for me, my dear…now…are you ready?” he whispered.

“Oh, please…. stop tormenting me… I want a child…and I want you…give me…give me one, Loki…” you begged.

“Let me…let me feel your sweet warmth and take your king’s shaft…” Loki husked.

He plunged into you slowly. Part of you panted through your nose. You felt him climb inside, inch by agonizing inch. This was a ceremony, sacred as any other rite in a royal bedroom. As if everything had to be right. Yet there was beauty-there was divinity. An ecstasy of reaching something otherworldly in between each other’s legs. You let out a loud gasp when he placed all of you inside him. You grabbed onto him.

He then retracted his hips, and he began to thrust into you. Grinding you right into the bed. Writhing as you accepted his largeness like it was new. Each gasp from his breath, each pant from each thrust. You could feel one muscular arm of your husbands touched the headboard, keeping him steady against you. You felt your back and ass slide against the silk sheets. He was slow, but eager.

“Yes…I promised you… when we married…I’d give you-nrgh-I’d give-give you everything-fuck-everything you’d ever want-gods…yes, gods, yes!” he whimpered as he thrusted.

You let out a moan with each thrust, your own breasts bouncing slowly with the movement. He looked down, releasing the hand on the headboard to slap them.

You let out a gasp- “L-Loki-you-you-you beast!”

“I thought you figured that out already, darling…” he whispered with a chuckle.

You felt his other hand wander to touch your back. You writhed under him. He then slid his hand under his hips guide you up. His strength held you steady. He hit a different angle and you let out a cry-it was deeper, and his cock had found it’s way to your bud. Already sensitive and shaking.

“L-Loki! There! Please! There!” you begged as he kept thrusting.

“As my queen commands…”

You saw the veins in his neck tightening as he kept on. His black curls messed around him- wild and free. A creature claiming his prize for the night. How beautiful he looked. You returned a hand back up and pulled him down. You kissed him with such fervor as he thrust that he stayed for only a second inside you, pausing, catching a breath. What breath there was, anyway.

Then he picked up the pace slightly. You were starting to see stars. That sweet angle where he got your clit. You felt pleasure rise in you. Yes, it was arriving. You moved your hands down from his shoulders, down his triangular back. Once you found his soft, perfect ass you pushed him in again.

“Loki I’m…I’m…I’m close…oh norns- I’m…I’m going to cum!” you pleaded.

“So…am I-nrg-Call me king, call me king again and…and…I’ll-I’ll drive you there with me …”

He lowered his voice. Guttural and demanding.

“Call- me- your- king.”

He even got his free hand inside, speeding you up as he too sped up. You felt it-the breaking point.

“Yes-please-my- my king! My king!” you cried.

He let out a shout and you felt his hot seed spurt inside you. Your own climax then broke upon you. Thw words repeated out of you in a whisper.

“My king…my…my…”

It was the climax where it spun inside you. You felt your whole-body lock. Your quim felt as if it was spinning, sputtering with the pleasure. As well as his seed. You groaned as it washed you down and you felt it. Your eyes teared up. His stayed inside, spurting like mad. Free and plentiful after starvation. A broken dam. He stayed inside. Not wasting one drip of him. You accepted it, every bit of it. Not one drop would go to waste. You felt your body buzz. Vibrating on the inside though you were still. Still except for your own breasts heaving with the breath you caught. You felt him catch his breath on top of you too.

He then cupped your cheek. His curls fell before his face. But his smile and blue eyes glowing from them.

“I couldn’t have asked for better. A better broodmare. A better wife. A better queen by my side…” he said.

Playfully, you went up and kissed the tip of his nose. He grinned at it and then embraced you. Arms flinging around each other. His own sweaty, earthy scent mixed with the rosewater bath you had earlier.

His cock still twitched inside you. Then you felt a final hot release of him and there was no more. He pulled out. Once it left you, you felt a cold space in your quim. Like it was an empty niche, something that needed filling. So much was he a part of you. You reached up your hand to brush his curls back. Seeing his face. Seeing him.

He then went down to your stomach, kissing it.

“I think if it’s a boy…we should call him Tuck…and if it’s a girl...Idona…” you then told him.

He rolled over to lay his head on the pillow. Then he turned over. You hummed at the sight of him- oh Hela, his beautiful profile was art itself!

“And what if we have twins?” he asked.

“I’ll figure it out, later!” you replied with a small laugh.

You placed your head on his chest and looked up and he down.

“I hope you’ve forgiven me for missing dinner…we’ll eat together tomorrow night; I’ll make it up to you…” he said.

“Of course, I forgive you. You had duties of your own…” you whispered.

He then gave a smile with the familiar, delicious darkness in his eyes.

“It might take more than once. We will try for an heir no matter how many times it takes. I’d like to have you on that very table like a meal of my own to devour. And I’ll have you on the library walls. On each rug. On each column. So, rest well…you have several duties of your own tomorrow.”

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I love you guys <3

Chapter Title from Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco

Word Count: 25.7k

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

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

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

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

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

Ben.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t give a fuck.”

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

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

“I missed you.”

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

“I’m sorry-“

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d like to see you fucking try-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you. Let me go.”

“I said-“

“Please, Ben. My arm hurts.”

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

“Fine.”

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

“Bedside manner is for pussies-“

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t fucking bullying the nurse-“

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

He grunts. “You’re not scared of me.”

Not a question. You’ll always answer.

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

“I am not a fucking softie-“

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

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I see-“

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “What kind of tests?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What got you here.”

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

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

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

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

Where are your clothes.

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

“What-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were about to.

Shut the fuck up.

Not until you promise to calm your ass down.

I am fucking calm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you please go get her?”

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

“Thank you-“

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

“Benjamin.”

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

“I told you to stop bullying.”

“I didn’t even goddamn say anything-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a man-child-“

“Then stop throwing a temper tantrum.”

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

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

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

“It’s a little funny-“

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

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

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

“More?”

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

“Fucking words-“

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

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

“You’re such a fucking asshole-“

“You’re into it.”

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

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

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, but doesn’t move. “Good.”

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

I love you. Ben, I love you.

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

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why the fuck do they all have to be here.

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

No.

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

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

Yep. Move your ass, Benjamin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You asked me to.

You nod, and smile at him. Thank you.

Ben frowns. Don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That might not be an option-”

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

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

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

Weak. Nobody stays because you’re weak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it hadn’t only been you screaming.

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

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

“Nobody saw me come here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben-“

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

“I was just asleep for a day-“

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

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

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

“I’m fine-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, maybe 36 hours?”

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

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

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

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

“Hughie-“

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine, Ben. You need to eat-“

“I’m not about to goddamn leave you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should fucking eat.

Ben, please.

He sighs. Fine.

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

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

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

“Then fucking do that.”

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

“There’s not a chance in hell-“

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

Brat.

Cunt. Go get the food, please.

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

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

He frowns. Tell me you’re okay.

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

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

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

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

You grin at him. “Deal.”

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

“Why me?”

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

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

“That’s a smart lady-“

“Shove it up your ass, Butcher.”

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

You blink at him. “Safe?”

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

“Cars?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hysterical.”

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

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

“Or when I’m, um, emotional.”

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

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

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

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oui?”

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

“I did.” He frowns. “Why?”

“How long does it last?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like last time.

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

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

“Even Soldier Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mallory coughs. “Is it-“

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

“What the fuck did they-“

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

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

“What’s wrong.”

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

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

“Then why is there fucking blood everywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the deal.

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

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

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

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

What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that about?”

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

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

“Shut the fuck up.”

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

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

“So is Butcher-“

“Butcher doesn’t have friends.”

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

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

You frown. “An understanding? About what?”

“The Kid.”

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

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

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

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

“Shut-“

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

“I didn’t fucking do jack shit-“

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, you like it.” I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben frowns at you. “What about him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-“

“No.”

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

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

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

You’ve survived a lot worse. Not fucking Ben will, in the grand scheme of things, be simple. You just have to not fuck him. You’ve managed to do it for all your life, you can keep it up for two more days.

Then you see the apartment, peaking around over Ben’s shoulder as he carries you upstairs, and you were wrong. Not fucking Ben is going to kill you.

Your apartment is clean and this is going to kill you.

You don’t get to see everything—catch every single detail or small change—but you see enough. Everything is clean. There’s a dirty dish in the sink, a cardboard take-out box on the counter, and the coffee pot is half full, but the rest of the kitchen is spotless. There are two new chairs at the dining table, there’s a part of the wall that’s a different color than the rest of it, but nothing’s broken. There’s not even any trash. The remote is on the coffee table, next to your laptop—right where you’d left it, plugged in—and Ben’s empty mug. The couch has a blanket and a pillow—the cushions look more beaten in than you’d last seen them—and you lean back to frown at Ben as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

He just nods, and you sigh.

“Ben-“

“No.” Ben gives you a small glare, and his throat and stomach feel sore. “Shut the fuck up.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t even say anything-“

“You were going to tell me I should’ve slept in the bed, because I’m not a small guy and it couldn’t have been good for my old man back.” You gape at him slightly, because Ben’s impression of you isn’t your teasing, overly-gruff and still too high-toned impression of him. It’s shockingly accurate. “But there wasn’t a chance in damn hell I was sleeping in our bed without you. That’s that, no fucking fighting-“

“Okay,” you say, and Ben pauses at your bedroom door, a hand raised to push it open. “That’s that.”

He frowns, and for a second you think he’s going to fight with you. Ask why the fuck you’re giving in so easy, even if the answer is simple. You love him, you missed him, and you understand. If the positions had been switched you wouldn’t have been able to sleep in your bed either. You’d have stared at the door at night and spent wasteful hours of the night just hoping Ben would open it and walk out. That he’d only been taking one of his long showers, and was going to come pick you up and carry you to bed like he was now.

Ben drops it, though, and you’re grateful. There’s no real way to explain it that doesn’t end with you slipping and saying you love him. So when Ben nods—he keeps looking at you with that strange expression and you don’t have the guts to ask him what it means—and opens the door to your room, you smile at him. And right before he looks back up to carry you inside, Ben smiles back.

You don’t get to see much of your bedroom, but you catch Ben’s shield—resting near the door—and your scorched and bloody clothes laid on the dresser. The only light is in the bathroom, and Ben doesn’t stop to turn on another before he lowers down onto the bed. Dropping you down his chest, but not removing you from his hold. Dropping his forehead down to yours and staying. Always staying.

It’s several minutes like that—just Ben holding you, lips brushing as you breathe but nothing more—before he speaks.

“You need to shower.”

You nod, lips twitching against his. “I am covered in blood.”

Blood. All this blood, on your hands and under your nails and no shower will make you clean again-

“You need help.”

It’s not a question, it’s one of his statements that should be question but comes out like a fact or order. The only thing that stops you from just humming in agreement, letting Ben win this and having him carry you into the shower, is the knowledge of how that ends. You can still feel him, and if he touches you like that he’ll feel you. Ben can’t feel you, or how your love for him is everything in you. Trying to hang off of his Thing in your chest and give it whatever it wants.

“I,” you sigh. You’d practiced. You can do this. “I can’t.”

Ben frowns, pulling back to examine your face. “You can’t? Can’t what, fucking shower?”

“No, I can shower.” It’s so hard to look at him right now. To feel all of Ben’s concern and something sore and bitter in his body that’s for you, but not at you and keep searching his eyes for his reaction as you speak. “I can’t, I can’t do more.”

“More.”

If he didn’t look so genuinely confused—if you couldn’t feel the fog of befuddlement in his head—you’d be pissed at Ben for making you say it.

“Sex, Ben.” You swallow. “I can’t have sex with you right now. I’m really tired, and I just, I need time.” He says your name, but words have begun to fall out of you. “Only time. I really, really missed you, and I still want you,” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I do still really want you, a lot, but I need time.” His voice is louder this time, but you can’t stop talking, stop explaining yourself. “Please, just time. I still want you, I just need time, I’m so sorry-“

Ben kisses you, and your words turn into an unsteady, desperate breath. He’s understood. You know Ben’s understood, because his mouth rests against yours until you nudge your tongue between his lips and he takes over. Deepening the kiss with a grunt, squeezing your hips, and not rutting up into you when you moan. He doesn’t flip you over and cage you between his body and the bed, or drop his hands any lower than they’d been when he’d started. Ben just cups your face and traces patterns on your skin until you sigh—light and content—into his mouth, and he slowly pulls back.

“Stop apologizing,” he mutters your name, and you nod. “I think I’ll fucking manage to survive, don’t lose your damn mind.”

“I still want you,” you mumble, because it’s important Ben understands that. “I promise I still want you. I’m-“

He kisses you again, one, small, almost innocent kiss. “You’re home. You trust me.”

“I do,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

“Then fucking believe me when I say that’s what matters. You’re fucking home.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Homelander didn’t-“

“No,” you shake your head, cold growing near that broken part of you. “He just kissed me.”

“He what-“

“Only once,” you say softly, staring at where your fingers have dug into Ben’s body. “At the end. But I’m okay.”

Ben glances down at your mouth, and you feel the sore, bitter thing in his muscles before his arms tighten around you and he speaks in clipped words. “I-“

“You can still kiss me,” your voice is borderline panicked, because Ben can’t stop touching you. Not while all you can have is the feel of his skin on yours, the feel of Ben invading over your every sensation in the best way possible. “Just not more. Not now.”

He nods, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s right not to, you’re not okay—you’re broken and exhausted and something in you has begun to fray—but if Ben leaves you alone for some stupid, noble reason of letting you be, you’ll fall and not get back up.

But he, once again, lets it go. Ben’s jaw clenches as his hands grip on you grows a little rougher—before loosening and becoming far too gentle—and you can feel his Thing in you ache, but he drops it. Scanning your features like he might find the truth written somewhere on your face, moving a hand to the back of your head so he can angle your forehead against his lips.

“You’re okay,” he grunts against your skin, and you will be. Ben is staying, so you’ll be okay.

“I am.” You look up at him, and he’s so handsome. He looks so tired, and his lips are pressed together in a frustration that matches the knit of his brow, but he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’d hate that you called him beautiful—he’d grumble and scowl about it—and just that thought makes you feel a little less heavy. You’re home, and you have the ability to make fun of Ben and call him beautiful. You get to see his glower, and touch warm lips with yours, and run your fingers through the soft hair of his beard and over the certain strength of his body. Ben is staying, so if you piss him off you can just kiss him as an apology, make him dinner if that doesn’t make him stop being such a bitch, and—if all else fails—watch a documentary or ESPN with him until he smiles again. And that makes everything better. Ben is here, so everything is just a little better.

“Then shower,” Ben’s eyes are softer on yours, his hands on your body are warm. “And we’ll eat, then you’ll get some goddamn sleep.”

“Can you,” you pause, unsure of your own idea, but you trust him. You trust Ben, and you don’t want him to leave you tonight. Tomorrow you can be a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone to help her survive. Right now you need Ben to keep talking to you, keep making things easier, keep crashing into your orbit until you’re just a little more certain this is real. Until Homelander’s voice hissing weak and flashes of blood lining your vision are gone forever. Until you never smell coconut again because all you can smell is Ben. Pine and gunpowder and salt and strawberries and vanilla and coffee and Ben. “Can you please stay here while I shower? I’m not that hungry, we can eat after I sleep, and you’ll just be on the toilet-“

Ben stands up, taking you with him. He doesn’t speak, but his answer isn’t in his words. It’s in how he carries you to the bathroom, closing the door behind you both and letting you slide down his body. Keeping his arms around you until your legs are steady before turning to face the wall.

“Ben, you’re allowed to look. You’ve seen me before.”

“No.” His back is straight, shoulders tensed, and when you lean around to try and look at him it’s like the wall is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “I’m a fucking gentleman, Sunshine, and-“

You snort. “Benjamin, you are not a gentleman. You’re an obtuse, vulgar asshole, and that’s why I-“ you swallow, and know you need rest. That was too close, and you barely manage to finish the sentence smoothly. “Trust you. I know you, I don’t think you’re going to do anything. It’s really okay if you look.”

Ben’s eyes drift from the wall, meeting yours. “Fine. But if-“

“If I start to freak out or get uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You know, I don’t always lie about how fucked up I feel.“

“Yes, you do.” Ben mutters, still half-facing the wall. “You think it doesn’t matter. But it fucking does. You fucking matter, you matter more than any-“

You kiss Ben once, enough for him to shut up, and pull back with a smile. “You’re being an idiot. An honorable, overprotective, gentlemanly fucking dumb dumb. If you look at me, my head won’t fall off my shoulders. Okay?”

He scowls, but twists to face you. As you take off your clothes you see him scan your body, but it’s an assessment. He’s checking you for marks or scars or visible wounds, even though you both know there wouldn’t ever be any. Ben keeps his hands curled in fists at his sides, his eyes watching your every moment for you to falter or stumble, when you disappear into the steam of the shower you hear him shuffle closer to the door. To stand guard. You can feel his Thing rumbling around, tearing itself apart inside you, and when you speak it’s mostly just to hear Ben’s voice. You know he’s still there, but you just want to hear him. To let him distract you from the way the water’s turning red as it runs over your hands and under your feet.

“This shampoo is full.”

“What.”

“My shampoo,” you turn the heavy bottle over in your hands, and a large glob of soap falls into your palm. “It’s full. It was almost empty when I…” You still can’t say it. It’s over and you’re home, but you still can’t say it.

“I bought more.”

You smile into the steam at his low, short words. You can see him on the other side of the fogged glass, shifting where he’s pressed his back against the door. “All by yourself?”

“Shut up. I used that Amazon shit, it’s not fucking hard.”

“It took you three hours to understand what they were selling. You said it was fucking pointless, can’t people these days just walk to a store with their damn legs.”

Ben’s Thing in your chest hums. “Well, you didn’t tell me I could buy a fucking knife or spend the CIA’s money on pointless shit-“

“I definitely did.” You add more shampoo into your hair until there’s soap falling in your face and the smell of shea butter and rose overpowers the tang of metal. “My entire pitch was wasting the CIA’s money on clothing and decorations. You just weren’t listening.”

There’s a pause, and you see Ben tense before he responds. “I was distracted.”

You hum, the soap covering your mouth, and wait for him to continue.

“You were sitting on me,” Ben mutters. “And you kept fucking moving. Your tits were right in my face.”

The steam of the shower begins to make you a little dizzy. “Oh.”

Ben grunts. “I got your stupid shiny hair shit as well. Should be in there.”

“Stupid shiny…” you trail off, eyes finding an unopened bottle in the shower caddy. “Conditioner?”

“Sure.”

He got you conditioner. Ben got you conditioner, and shampoo, and when you step out of the shower he’s there with two towels. Holding them out for you, grumbling that you always use two when you blink at him. Once you dry off, Ben pulls off his shirt and shoves it into your hands, tells you to wear it and waits for you to tug it over your head before giving you one last kiss on your brow. Guiding you into his arms and holding you against his distractingly bare and warm chest, letting you bury your face into his body, and you can feel him all around you, and this is going to be impossible. You love him so much, and he’s being so good to you, and it’s only two days but you’re not sure you’ll make it. You need him to be closer, or to climb into him, or for him to live against you like this forever.

But you have to let him lead you out of the bathroom and onto the bed, and tell you he’ll be back in a second, you look like you’re about to fucking collapse, and watch the door close but not shut—left just enough ajar for steam and pine to fill the room around you.

Your clothes are still on the dresser. Fabric charred and stained red, not worth salvaging but still waiting there.

The V.

Your steps across the room aren’t silent as you cross the room. Ben would hear them no matter what, and as much as you want him to burst out of the bathroom, pick you up, and throw you back on the bed—laying on top of you so you can’t go anywhere, grumbling about resting until you kiss his cheek and he makes a grunt of affection that means you win—you’ll also cut his balls off if he tries to treat you like glass. The shower keeps running, and if Ben notices your movement he doesn’t react to it, so you stop in front of the dresser and shift through the clothes with tentative hands—blood, dried but still wrong—to pull out the vial. Green V, that’s in your and Ben’s bodies, that’s completely fucking useless.

You should throw it out. Dump it down the toilet or the sink, smash it and let it evaporate with the heat of your fire, sitting easily under your skin once more. At the very least, you should give it Mallory. That’s what you do with illegal paraphernalia, you turn it into the government. But you don’t want to. You can’t destroy it. Your excuse will be it’s a marvel of science and sort of yours—it even says Anomaly on it—but really it’s feeling. A tug in your gut that says useless against Homelander, but not useless period. It’s the same tug that tells you don’t give it to Mallory. She’s your ally. Not your friend. She wants Homelander dead, but a lot of people want Homelander dead. Wanting Homelander dead is not a benchmark of mortality.

It’s so small in your hand. Barely bigger than your ring finger, barely wider either. It fits right in your underwear door—between a bra and some socks—and when you close it your eyes land back on your clothes.

Blood. There’s just so much blood.

You feel like you’re going to vomit. Something is crawling on your skin, sticking to it and seeping into your body. Your steps back to the bed are hesitant, because your vision is lining with red and your head feels like something is flooding you. Choking you and dragging you down, down, down. Blood.

The shower turns off, and you barely hear it. You can feel the pounding of Ben’s Thing—growing louder and starting to become painful—and when Ben opens the door he’s frowning. He’s surrounded in the steam from the shower, covered by only a towel, and the light of the bathroom around his frame makes him look like some sort of furious, vengeful angel.

You’re really tired, and you can never tell Ben you thought for even a second he was an angel. Even now, in your head seconds later, it sounds stupid, and he’d snort and tease and kiss you. Maybe you should tell him, later, when he’s fully dressed and you can touch him properly.

“What’s wrong.” He’s still frowning at you, and his eyes are darting around the room, resting in sharp shadows and deep corners. You blink at him when his gaze finds yours, watching your every movement carefully.

“Nothing’s wrong, are you-“

“I thought you-” his brow furrows, and he’s scanning over your body, curled back into the sheets of the bed. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods tightly, moving to stand over you, reaching down to hold your face between his hands. “Fucking positive.” He bends over, giving you one, long kiss before muttering against your lips, “Sleep well, Sunshine.”

You grab his forearm right before he can pull away, the words fully registering. “Wait, I-” you try to pull him back, but he doesn’t even stumble. Just looks down at you with a neutral face, with an overwhelming combination of care and resolve and adoration moving from his body to yours. “Please stay.”

“You said-“

“To sleep. I don’t-” you swallow, trying to fight down tears of exhaustion and desperation and fear. “I don’t want to be alone. Ben, please-“

“Fine,” he grunts, and you feel his Thing stab you somewhere near your heart. “But I’m staying on the floor.”

“You need sleep as well-“

“And I’ll get some.” Ben doesn’t waver, just glaring at you. “On the fucking floor.”

“Why.” Your words are strangled, you just want him here, why won’t he stay here. “It’ll be uncomfortable, and I’m okay with you in the bed. I mean, if you’re not okay with it, you can tell me-“

“It’s not you,” he mutters his name, and it’s so gentle. His voice is low and gentle. “You need sleep, and I’ve been having nightmares again. I’m staying, but there’s not a fucking chance I’m risking waking you up.”

You nod, but you must still look as hollow as you’re starting to feel, because Ben bends down again, tilting your head up between his hands to make you look at him.

“Listen to me. It’s not fucking you. And I’ll be right there,” he jerks his head to the floor beside your bed, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m not fucking leaving you,” this time your name is firm. Almost an order, trying to make you understand something. “I’m never fucking leaving you, not again. Got it?”

“You didn’t leave me,” you mumble, and Ben’s mouth twitches.

“Whatever.” He kisses the top of your head one last time, his words against your skin resonating around your skull. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’m not going to a goddamn place without you.”

You nod, and try to. You really, really try to get some rest when Ben pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, trying to move silently around the room and failing massively. You try to calm your body when he grabs a pillow off of his side of the bed and a single, thin, spare sheet before dropping down and sprawling out across the floor. You try to sleep, but your brain won’t rest, echoing screams and taunts into your ears. You try to close your eyes, but when you do they’re restless. Trying to keep watch for something that you know won’t be there, but your body doesn’t. And when you open them the light of day moving through your curtains casts shadows over Ben’s scowl and tight brow, and you want to touch him.

When you drop your hand off the side of the bed, it’s mostly just to hang it there. Closer to Ben, further away from these sheets that are soft and clean and smell like nothing. Not like coconut, but not like pine. Just bland, stale nothing. No concrete proof that thing is real.

You don’t jerk back in surprise when you feel Ben’s fingers fold between yours. It just feels like something returning. Sliding right back where it belongs, filling your body with an assurance that he’s there. Warm and safe and certain. You keep trying to sleep but your head won’t rest. Your heart is beating too fast, and a small, unhelpful and horrible voice won’t stop telling you blood. This might, somehow, still not be real, or Homelander might find you, and there will be more blood. Can’t rest, you’ll drown in blood if you’re not alert, not careful, not running.

When you open your eyes, Ben’s already watching you. Flat on his back, resting his forearm against the side of the bed as he reaches up. Everything in him is affection and concern, and the expression on his face is that one that’s impossible to understand.

You don’t really care to understand it. Not word for word. You know it’s important, and for you, and good. Whatever Ben’s trying to tell you—even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it—is good.

His hand tenses in yours when you climb off the bed, pushing away the sheets of nothing and practically rolling down onto the floor. Onto Ben. He catches you, moving your hand—still locked in his—so that it doesn’t get crushed between your bodies, and raising his free arm to hold you against him, even as he glares down at you.

“What the fuck are you-“

“I don’t care about nightmares,” you whisper, even though it’s only you and him, and Ben lets out a long sigh.

“You need to rest-“

“I will.” You scoot a little further up his body, burying your head in his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. Real. “I want to sleep next to you, Ben. Please.”

There’s a rush through Ben’s body, and it’s loud and hungry and powerful and glowing, but you don’t really care right now. Not as he relents, moving his arm higher up to get a firm hold of your back. Keeping you almost unmoving as he slides his hand up in yours, moving your grip onto his wrist, sitting up and slowly pulling a larger blanket down from the bed. When he lies back down he rolls onto his side, twisting you around carefully so your back is pressed to his chest, wrapping his arms around you with one hand splayed on your stomach and the other sliding back down to hold yours. His head is above yours, and when you bend your knees his legs follow. Tangling between yours, and he squeezes your hand once before muttering words that you feel more than hear.

“Go to sleep.”

You nod, your eyes suddenly heavy and breathing easier. When you speak, your words are barely a breath. “Thank you.”

He pulls you a little further against him, and whatever’s been aching inside of him eases. Turns bright and wide and clear. “Welcome home, Sunshine. Sleep.”

You hum, and you’ll never tell him you missed that. How he could tell you sleep and your body would listen. Trust him to know it’s safe, that you can rest and nothing bad will happen, because Ben says nothing bad will happen and he wouldn’t lie. If he’s decided you’re safe, you are. If he’s here, you can sleep.

Ben’s strong and safe and everything and you love him. And right before you fall under, into easy, sedated darkness, every rational and reasoning part of you that reminds you don’t tell him. You can’t tell Ben you love him, not now, is washed over with pine and warm and Ben, and you’re going to tell him. Your mouth even opens, the words forming in your throat without effort. Ben. Ben, I love you.

If they come out, they’re an incoherent mumble. If Ben hears them, let alone understands them, you don’t get to know. You’re asleep—really, easily, completely asleep—in the next second, and there are no nightmares. Only an easy dream of walking through the forest in the sun, Ben’s hand in yours, safe.

——————

Ben was up before Her. Watching where their hands were still connected, where the lingering light of the day was casting shadows across her perfect, beautiful face.

She was here. She was home, and Ben was holding her while she slept with a slow heartbeat and soft breaths. He could’ve moved them up, off the floor and onto the bed, but every time Ben shifted Her eyelashes would flutter and she’d lean further back into his body. All he managed to do—in the name of comfort—was figure out how to half-roll his body so she was laying more on him than the fucking floor.

She was home. Ben loved Her, and she was home. She’d need things, things Ben hadn’t managed to remember in her absence. A phone—if Mallory said no he’d buy a shitty burner for himself and give Her his—and some toothpaste. Ben had used about three tubes himself, and there was hardly enough left of the fourth for both of them. He’d gotten shit for her hair, and body wash, and a weird fucking tub of hard gel shit that looked like rocks and smelled like Her. He’d kept a steady flow of groceries—She needed to fucking eat, and the moment she woke up Ben was going to heat up the leftovers—but he wasn’t good at it. There were empty spots in the fridge that had defiantly been filled before, and Ben was pretty fucking sure he was buying the wrong type of apples. They were tangy and hard, and the ones she’d been buying had been crisp and soft. She’d tell him how to fix it—later, once she was rested and Mallory was off their fucking asses—and Ben would so she didn’t lift a single goddamn finger.

He wouldn’t be able to keep Her from working. She needed to feel useful, and she’d punch him if he tried to tell her what to do. It would be hot—she would glare at him and get that wild look in her eyes that made Ben want to see just how feral he could get her—but Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her right now. He was fine with that, because as much as every instinct in his body was roaring at him to pick Her up and tell Her you love her. Hold her perfect face and tell her she’s your whole fucking world, and you love her more than you need goddamn oxygen, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about Ben loving Her, it was about Her sleeping easily against him. About him being there when she started to look empty and sad and hopeless, when she started to scream and it made his whole body tighten in pain. If Ben told Her he loved her now, she might not be ready to hear it. Not when She wasn’t even ready to fuck him. He needed to tell Her when she could smile at him when he said it, when there wouldn’t be any looming threats or possibilities they could lose each other. If She turned him down, decided that Ben wasn’t worthy of loving Her—he wasn’t—She needed to be safe on her own. If Ben lost Her he needed to be fucking positive she’d be okay.

She said she was okay. But she said that all the fucking time, and it didn’t mean anything. She said she was fine, but she kept crying. She said she was good, but her eyes kept flashing with pain and distress. He’d been certain that when he was in the shower he’d heard her voice, strained and alarmed, saying blood. So much blood, and it had made him feel fucking sick. She said she was fucking okay, but she’d lost her goddamn mind when she’d woken up. It might haunt Ben for the rest of fucking time, how she’d been screaming that he wasn’t real, and her nails had been scratching at him, trying to get him away with rabid, desperate movements. She hadn’t known it was him. She’d trusted him, because once he’d convinced her she’d started crying and fucking apologizing and falling into him, but she’d been so fucking afraid. And She’d, again, said she was okay, and Ben fucking knew it was a lie. He knew Her—he knew how good and selfless she was—and he loved Her more than fucking anything, and there wasn’t a single person in history who was better than she was. And Ben didn’t trust anyone less to honestly tell him they were okay.

She thought she was a burden. Ben was goddamn certain She wasn’t telling him because she didn’t want to make him worry about her, but he already was fucking worried about Her. He’d always fucking worry about Her. If she was happy or safe or needed anything, if She was okay when he was gone, if Ben loving Her could be enough for her to stay with him forever. If it wasn’t, what he could do for Her to make it enough. And it wasn’t a burden, because everything Ben did for Her made her smile at him and nothing in the fucking universe was worth more than that. But he couldn’t tell Her that, because every form of that conversation started or ended with because I fucking love you, Sunshine, and it’s damn killing me that you won’t just admit you’re in pain. I can’t fucking help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, tell me how I should hold you, or if I should sit with you, or what I can bring you to fucking make you happy again.

And this wasn’t about Ben, or him fixing Her. It was about Her feeling okay, and saying it in a way Ben believed. In a way that wasn’t just a soft smile and words, but actions. Where she’d stop looking so fucking afraid, and Ben could protect her from normal things. He didn’t know what normal things would be—maybe a clogged toilet, or an argument with Butcher, or staying with Her when she eventually met with her family—but it wasn’t fucking this. It wasn’t Her saying Homelander hadn’t touched Her, only kissed her—Ben was going to rip off the pussy’s fucking mouth and shove it up his worthless dickhole—but that She couldn’t touch Ben.

He’d wait. Ben had waited his whole fucking life, over a goddamn century, for Her. He could wait another century, a whole fucking millennia for Her to be ready to touch him. At least this time he was able to look at Her, smile with her, laugh with her, love her and love her and love her in silence until one day she told him she was ready and Ben could say it aloud. Tell Her that he loved her, and he’d never fucking stop loving her, and then fuck her until they broke the bed and cracked the walls and she believed him. Ben would ensure it was worth waiting, that when she was ready he’d blow her perfect fucking mind and make her look at him with nothing but fucked out bliss on her beautiful face.

He just had to wait.

It took another hour before She stirred in his arms. An hour of watching Her look content and peaceful, of Ben savoring the way she fit fucking perfectly against him and listening to the beat of Her heart. At some point his phone—resting on the dresser—buzzed once, twice, three times with news that was probably urgent. Ben couldn’t see who was texting him, but night was creeping into the sky and he guessed they were near dinnertime, and everyone should’ve been able to fucking guess they were busy. If he was getting texts, they were either Mallory being a fucking bitch about something, or MM, Butcher, or Annie trying to tell him something important. Ben didn’t care, because to check his phone he’d have to move. He had no goddamn interest in moving, not until She rolled over with an adorable, disgruntled sound, right into Ben's chest. Their hands became smushed in the little remaining space between their bodies, and Her arm—that had been resting over Ben’s—flew up to his face. Almost slapping him, landing and resting on his jaw with a slack palm and fingers near his ear.

He loved Her so fucking much.

She made a sound that might be a mumbled word or just a grunt, and Ben smiled down at Her, squeezing her waist gently. Whispering Her name onto the top of her head. “I know you’re awake.”

Her response was just that same noise, and Ben chuckled.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“It’s fucking nighttime.”

He shrugged, and hoped She couldn’t hear the skip of his heart when she looked up at him with a pout, Her whole face tired and still so fucking beautiful. “Who gives a fuck. You hungry?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Just stared up at him with half-open eyes and a slightly parted mouth, and fucking hell She was perfect. She was smiling at him—he didn’t even do anything—and the limits of Ben’s will didn’t extend to not smiling back. To not giving Her a wide grin that made her whole face light up and her eyes turn from glazed with lingering sleep to glossed with something Ben didn’t recognize. She was staring at him with blown out pupils, and a pretty fucking smile, and her knee was dangerously close to Ben’s cock. He knew She could feel him—Her eyes darted down and she swallowed heavily—but she didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into his body, mouth brushing against his neck as she spoke.

“What are the leftovers?”

“Burritos,” Ben muttered. “They’re not fucking good.”

He could feel her smile. “You’re still going to eat one, Benjamin. I’ll go on a hunger strike if you don’t.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.” Her words were hummed with breath fanning across Ben’s skin, and still neither of them made any efforts to stand and move. “What time is it?”

“I don’t fucking know, I’m not a damn clock.”

She gave a small laugh, and Ben’s heart nearly fucking exploded. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hm,” she leaned back, looking up at him in mock thought. “No.”

He kissed Her. Ben was allowed to kiss her, and he was going to take every single fucking opportunity to do so. To suck on her lower lip and trace her teeth with his tongue, to hear a happy, breathless sound leave her body when he nipped at her pretty mouth. To roll Her on top of him and let her lead this, because he knew She would have some sort of fucking line and Ben needed to find it. Let Her show it to him, so he could keep walking right up to it and never, ever fucking cross it.

It wasn’t where he’d have guessed. She was above Ben, falling onto him with sloppy, wet kisses and his hard cock pressing into her thigh, and she still didn’t stop. Then she ground down onto him once, and almost lept off of him. Ben had to shoot out an arm to catch Her, keep her from landing awkwardly on the hardwood floor.

She blinked at him, scanning his face with a look he didn’t understand. It wasn’t guilt, because she wasn’t fighting a pout. It wasn’t anger, there was nothing fierce in her gaze. It wasn’t negative—Her hand was resting easy on his arm around her waist—but it was still making his heart twist. There was something she wasn’t saying, and Ben needed to fucking hear it. To hear her say she was okay again, even if he knew it would still be a lie.

“Your phone is buzzing,” She mumbled, and Ben had to drop it. They were up, and they had shit to do. Ben would have a fucking lifetime with Her to make sure she was okay.

“The burritos are on the counter,” he grunted, keeping an arm around her as he sat up. “I’ll throw them in the microwave-“

“I can do that,” she shifted onto her knees, but didn’t stand. Studying Ben’s face with careful eyes. “You check your phone.”

“No. It’s probably not fucking important-“

“Benjamin.” She gave him a flat look. “Who would be texting you about nothing.”

He glowered at Her. “The Kid. Sometimes he asks me questions, and I’m usually at dinner. I’m not a goddamn hermit-“

“If it is Ryan,” Her eyes were so bright. Teasing and happy and full of light. “Shouldn’t you answer it.”

Ben couldn’t fight with Her. Not even about something stupid that didn’t matter. Not when she was looking at him with such adoration, and there were no shadows on her face. “Whatever.”

Her smile—somehow—got fucking wider. Full and joyful as she leaned forwards, a hand on Ben’s arm to steady herself as she gave him a small kiss and spoke against his mouth. “I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Be careful-“

“I can walk down some stairs, Ben.” Her voice was dry, but she wasn’t moving away and she was still fucking smiling against him, another hand rising to run fingers through his beard. “I’m a big girl, with legs.”

“Still,” he muttered. “Go slow.”

“I will.” She stood up, and Ben’s hand flew to her calf. Still touching Her. He had to keep fucking touching her. “Go check your phone, Pretty Boy. I’ll heat up your burrito for you.”

She didn’t walk out of the bedroom until Ben rose up himself. She even let him give her one last kiss, hanging against him a second longer than she probably needed to, like she couldn’t fucking bear to leave him either. She didn’t close the door behind her, and Ben watched her walk away until she disappeared down the stairs, keeping his attention on Her heartbeat as he walked to the dresser.

Almost all the texts were from Butcher. There was one from the Kid—he’d convinced Butcher to buy him an old block of metal and buttons that was technically a phone—asking if She was okay. Asking to meet her. She’d want to meet the Kid, so Ben just told him Ask Butcher before opening up the rest of his messages.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Tomorrow round noon, team meeting, all hands

Ryan wants to know if you can start training

He also wants to meet her. Answer the boy’s messages you cunt.

Whenever you twats wake up, the shrink’s ready

He’ll come to you

Just gotta fucking wake up and tell me to send him

All of those could’ve been one fucking text. Ben said as much in his response, along with that he’d train the Kid after the meeting, he could meet Her before they started, and that the shrink could come in an hour before shoving his phone in his pocket and joining Her downstairs.

She hadn’t started eating without him. Ben’s burrito was waiting for him, placed in front of his usual seat, and her fingers were tapping on the table as she stared at it with a frown. Her face shot up to Ben before he’d even fully exited the bedroom, and he fucking loved Her. He loved how her face relaxed when she saw him, how she’d put three large napkins next to his plate, how when he reached her at the table she smiled at him and leaned her head back to let Ben give her a small kiss before sitting down. He loved how She leaned forwards until their knees were pressed together under the table. He loved how she tilted her head at him, studying his expression before taking a careful bite of her burrito. How she didn’t swallow until Ben rolled his eyes and took a bite from his own.

He loved the smug look on Her perfect face, and the small, pleased sound she made when Ben swallowed.

“What were the texts about?” She didn’t look away from him as she took another bite, and Ben shrugged.

“Butcher’s sending the shrink. The Kid wants to meet you.”

“Ryan?” Her voice was soft, nervous. “Can I?”

Ben snorted. “Of course you fucking can, don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Hey-“

“He’s only here because of you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because it was fucking insane she thought anyone would stop her. That—if anyone tried to—Ben wouldn’t shoot them. “You want to meet him, you will.”

She nodded, giving Ben a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

She giggled, taking a slightly larger bite from her burrito and speaking through a mouthful of food. “Is he okay?”

He frowned at Her. “What?”

“Ryan,” she swallowed, watching Ben with soft, pretty eyes. “Is he doing well? Are you, do you really think he’s okay?”

Ben had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Her he loved her. To lean over the table and find a way to pull her into his lap, to hold Her and tell her of course he’s fucking okay. You gave everything, more than you fucking should’ve, and I’ll be fucking damned if it was for nothing. You were right, you’re always fucking right, and he’s good. I started talking to him because you told me to, because I love you, and he’s a good kid. He’s smart like you are, and you’re going to like him. I’m going to watch you talk to him and it’s going to be fucking worth all of this shit, because I love you and you’re going to light up about how this worked out and now the Kid is safe and happy. I’m going to be happy because you’re home and I love you and you’re going to be fucking happy and I fucking love you. I love you, Sunshine, and the Kid is good.

He managed to hold it in—through sheer, brute will—and only nod. “He’s good. You’ll like him.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, you will,” Ben muttered, taking another bite. “He likes you.”

She frowned at him, and Ben realized a second too late what he’d just said. “He’s never met me.”

“Well, he knows about you. And he thinks you’re cool-“

“But he doesn’t know me,” She protested, and Ben didn’t understand the distress in her voice. As if there was a fucking world where someone would not like Her. “He knows about me, not me. He might hate me-“

Ben drawled Her name, and decided his pride wasn’t worth holding onto over the strain of her words and how they were making his heart tighten. “We’ve told him about you. He fucking likes you. Wouldn’t stop asking me every goddamn question about you. Stop being fucking nervous about it, he likes you.”

“Oh,” She blinked at him, shaking Her head like she was trying to clear a thought. “What, what did you tell him?”

“Everything.” Ben muttered, unable to look away from Her wide eyed, perfect face, continuing when she just gave him a confused expression. “Your work before this, what you liked, what shit you hated, all the fucking things you do for everyone.”

“And he likes me?”

Ben scoffed. “Of course he fucking does.”

“Even when you told him everything?”

“Well, almost everything.” Ben smirked at Her, winking. “I didn’t fucking tell him how you taste, or look under me, or how you sound when you moan my name.”

Her face flushed, and her gaze dropped to her plate. “Would be a weird thing to tell him. We’d have to call CPS on you.”

He snorted. “I don’t think CPS gives a fuck, Sunshine. And I don’t tell anyone that shit, it’s fucking mine to know.”

It was. Ben was figuring out how to walk a very careful line with his love. One on side was everyone needed to fucking know. Everyone needed to understand that he loved Her, and that nobody was capable of loving her like he was, and nobody fucking deserved her—Ben himself was sure as shit not worthy—but his whole life was about earning her. About loving Her, and worshipping her, and doing whatever she asked him because Ben fucking loved her and everyone needed to be crystal fucking clear about that. Even if she didn’t want him, Ben wasn’t up for grabs. He was Her’s, and he didn’t have any interest in being anyone else’s. If She said no and left him, Ben would watch her go and fucking live with it because he wasn’t a pussy, but she’d also take his fucking heart with her. People should know that, because Ben didn’t want his time wasted by other women who could never be Her trying to charm him. And if She, by some miracle, decided she did want Ben, he would fucking kill anyone who tried to take him away from Her. If she accepted Ben’s love, nobody was ever going to take it away from Her. Ben was fucking Hers, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that.

On the other side of the line was Ben loved Her, and she adored him, and that was fucking sacred. Nobody should be allowed to see the parts of Her she reserved for Ben, because they were given to him and him alone. If She wanted the world to have them, she’d say their names like she said Ben’s and she looked at them with the same ease in Her eyes when she looked at Ben. She’d kiss them like they were everything, and cling to them like she was always touching Ben. But she fucking do any of that, because those were vulnerable, secret parts of Her she’d offered Ben and he’d fucking go back to sleep and be tortured a million goddamn years before he betrayed Her. Before he exposed them or let them shatter, before he let anyone hurt them. Ben was Her’s, but she was also Ben’s. These pieces of Her were Ben’s to care for, and she trusted him to do it right. He was going to fucking do it right, so She never had to worry about him leaving.

Some part of Her must know that—know how fucking serious he was—because she just gives him a small smile and strange, peaceful look from under her eyelashes and changes the topic.

“Have you seen all the rumors about me?” She grinned at him, and a little bit of sauce fell out of her mouth. Ben wanted to lick it. “Do you think I’m Edgar’s daughter, or Singer’s?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fucking insane dogshit. I’d have thought the world would move on from pointless, hounding fucking gossip. Let people live their goddamn lives.”

“What a champion of public figures’ right to privacy,” she teased, tongue flicking out to catch the sauce. She was trying to fucking kill him. “Tired of the tabloid lies, Pretty Boy?”

“If one more pussy says you’re fucking Butcher, I’ll kill him.”

“I can’t imagine he’s loving that either,” She shrugged. “And Butcher couldn’t handle me.”

Ben chuckled, but some sort of bell rang in his head. Something familiar, that made him pause and look at Her. Perfect, glaring at the stray beans on her plate. His mouth opened—he wasn’t even fucking sure what he was going to ask—and someone knocked on the door.

She started to rise, but Ben managed to make his glare firm enough that she dropped back down and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re not fucking-“

“I know, you’re going to get the door, I’m going to stay here and rest.” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not fucking delicate, Benjamin-“

“I don’t think you’re fucking delicate.” He snapped. There wasn’t a less delicate woman on the planet, and he fucking loved that about Her. “I’m being a goddamn gentleman. Stay in your chair.”

“Asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and Ben grinned at her.

“You fucking love it.”

She flipped him off, face flushing a pretty color, and Ben just winked before walking to the door and opening it to find a small, weedy man with the beady, reptilian eyes and the tiniest glasses Ben’s seen in his goddamn life.

“Hello,” Lizard-Eyes looked Ben up and down with tight lips and a twitching nose. “I am here for an evaluation of the Anomaly’s psychological status, at the orders of Director Mallory. I take it you are Soldier Boy?

Ben scowled. “Of course I’m fucking Soldier Boy, who the hell else-“

“Ben,” She called from over his shoulder, and Ben shifted his body to block her from the view of Lizard-Eyes. “Just let him in.”

Ben twisted over his shoulder, shooting Her a glare. He looks like a fucking haughty pussy. This is fucking pointless.

Maybe, She shrugged. But we still have to do it. Might as well do it now. Please, Ben.

He sighed, and turned back to Lizard-Eyes, looking him up once and down before stepping to the side.

Lizard-Eyes walked past Ben without a second glance, his eyes locked on Her. Looking at Her like she was some sort of fucking puzzle or trophy.

“Lovely to meet you,” Lizard-Eyes said Her name, giving her a smile that made Her flinch. A tiny, easily missable movement that Ben caught with ease and Lizard-Eyes missed entirely as he extended his hand.

“Um, hi.” She glanced up, over Lizard-Eyes, gaze finding Ben’s. What is he doing?

Ben shrugged. Fuck if I know.

Lizard-Eyes turned around, frowning at Ben. “If you, sir, could find leave for us to begin-“

“He stays,” She said quickly, eyes falling to Lizard-Eyes’ still outstretched hand. “And you shouldn’t touch me.”

Lizard-Eyes’ head whipped back to Her. “Why ever not? Will it trigger a trauma induced reaction-“

“She’s an empath supe, you fucking idiot,” Ben muttered, walking around the table to stand behind Her. Placing a hand on her shoulder and savoring the way she leaned back into him.

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes nodded, voice far too fucking fasciated. “That must be quite a burden, to feel and shoulder the emotions of others.”

“I manage,” Her voice was dry, and Ben snorted.

“Will he,” Lizard-Eyes lowered himself into a chair, glancing back up at Ben. “Must he be here for our session?”

“Yeah, he must.” Her voice was firm. Final. Ben was staying, no room for arguing. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lizard-Eyes pulled a large stack of papers out his goddamn ass, looking at Her over his stupid fucking glasses. “Let’s begin, at, well, the beginning.” He chuckled to himself, and he sounded like a fucking horse. “Why would director Mallory believe you may be in need of an assessment?”

“Probably because I was just held hostage by my abuser for almost two months,” Her voice was bored, but her fingers had begun to tap on the table. Lizard-Eyes didn’t even fucking notice. “And I didn’t exactly return peacefully.”

“Your abuser?”

There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell Lizard-Eyes didn’t know who Her abuser. Even if he’d only just been presented with the case, She’d been all over the goddamn news. And Her face wasn’t forgettable, it was perfect and beautiful and seared itself into your goddamn eyes.

She sighed, and Ben could hear the resentment in her voice. “Homelander.”

Lizard-Eyes hummed, writing something down. “And what forms of abuse did you endure under him?”

“Rape,” Her voice was soft, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “Kidnapping. Emotional abuse. Unethical medical experimentation.”

Lizard-Eyes’ nod was fucking eager, and Ben was going to break his stupid pencil, then his hands, then rip out his tongue. “And during this second time? Were there repeated offenses?”

“I,” She swallowed. “I don’t-“

“From the first occurrence. During the past two months did you experience,” Lizard-Eyes checked his notes. She’d just fucking told him, and he made a dramatic show of looking over his glasses and frowning at the paper. “Rape? Kidnapping? Emotional-“

“How the fuck is this helping,” Ben snapped, because Her heart had begun to pick up her fingers were tapping faster, in time with the chew of her mouth. “Just do your goddamn job and clear her. Now.”

“My methods are not for you to understand,” Lizard-Eyes angled his chin up, giving Ben a thin-lipped frown. “But they are proven. I must hear, in her own words, what we are facing. Now,” his eyes returned to Her. “Please continue.”

There wasn’t a fucking we. This was Her, doing everyone’s work for them and better than they possibly could, and Ben staying at her side until she gave him something to do. Lizard-Eyes wasn’t a goddamn part of this.

She was full of a lot more fucking grace and forgiveness than Ben was, because she just kept entertaining the fucking idiot, even her whole body tensed under Ben’s hand. “No rape, just, um, one kiss. Emotional abuse, he tried to make me kill someone. This was kind of kidnapping again, and he choked me a few time-“

“He fucking what.” Ben hissed, glaring down at her. “You said he didn’t fucking touch you-“

“He didn’t, Ben.” She leaned back, giving Ben a tiny, weak smile that was probably meant to fucking reassure him. “Not like that.”

“Like what?” Lizard-Eyes’ question drew Her eyes away from Ben, but her head remained slightly tipped back.

“Um, rape. He didn’t rape me this time.”

“Excellent,” Lizard-Eyes gave a short nod, looking down at his papers. “Who was it you killed? Was there an emotional attachment?”

“I didn’t kill him, Homelander did. I couldn’t.” She let out a long breath. “And I’d never really talked to him.”

“Interesting. Is that all?”

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “That’s all.”

She was fucking downplaying it. Ben knew Her, knew there was probably some other fucked up shit Homelander had done to Her or made her do. Christ, she’d had to stand in front of a camera and lie about her whole fucking life, had to pretend she loved Homelander, and she’d come home screaming. There was more, there was always fucking more She believed didn’t matter. Lizard-Eyes was just nodding, consulting his goddamn notes and looking at Her over his glasses.

“How have you felt since your return?”

“Tired,” She mumbled. “I’m just tired. I got some sleep, but I’m just really, really tired.”

“And have you been given, ah, the opportunity to sleep?” Lizard-Eyes glanced up at Ben, and She shook her head.

“Yes. I took a shower, ate, and slept. It’s just been a day,” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Lizard-Eyes looked Her over, squinting like she was a goddamn specimen. “Have you had any violent outbursts? Felt any form of bloodlust?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Lizard-Eyes made another fucking note.

“Have you had any nightmares, or dreams in which you enacted brutal vengeance on your abuser?”

“No.”

“Have you felt as if your actions were outside of your control? Heard any voices that are not usually there, or maybe tell you to do things you may not normally do?”

“Um,” She swallowed, heartbeat skipping as leaned further back into Ben. “No.”

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or ending your life?”

“No, but it wouldn’t work-“

Lizard-Eyes smiled at Her, and it was fucking disgusting. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”

“I don’t think so.” She frowned, glancing up at Ben with a confused expression. Is that it?

Ben looked over Lizard-Eyes—consulting his stupid fucking papers with an over-dramatic expression—before rolling his eyes at Her. Damn seems it. Pussy.

Her mouth tugged up slightly. Do you think those things actually help him see?

Ben failed to cover his snort. Not a chance in fucking hell.

Lizard-Eyes, oblivious to their exchange, looked up with another horrible smile. “I am happy to say I feel comfortable clearing you. You’re not displaying any worrying behaviors that would compromise your safety to yourself or others.”

She blinked. “Oh, okay. Is that-”

“I will recommend that you take it easy,” Lizard-Eyes continued, attention returning to his notes. “Maybe take up mediation. It’s been a pleasure, and should you need any more aid, know that my door is always open.”

“Wait,” She reached across the table, not touching Lizard-Eyes but placing a hand on his papers, drawing his gaze to Her. “You work in medical, right? For the agents?”

Lizard-Eyes gave a hum. “Third floor, room twenty-six. If you would like to meet again-“

“No, I’m good.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t happen to have the change of contact forms on you? I kind of forgot them earlier.”

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes shuffled through the pile, pulling out three poorly-stapled pages. “Will you need time to complete them?”

She shook her head, taking the paper and looking backward at Ben. “Phone?”

He frowned. “What.”

“Your phone, Ben.” She reached a hand up, palm open. “I didn’t memorize your number, I need to see it for the form.”

Ben tried not feel so fucking smug about it. About Her making him her emergency contact, especially because there weren’t really any other fucking options. It sure as fuck shouldn’t be Butcher, and the only two out of their team Ben would trust to take care of Her properly—listen to Her, not let her do stupid sacrificial shit, and protect her like the goddamn perfect work of art she was—were Kimiko and MM. They’d both drop their shit to take care of Her, they’d both be pissed if she put herself in danger, and neither of them would get all fucking moral about it. MM might lecture Her about it later, but it was better than Annie's goddamn judgmental looks. Kimiko liked Her, and would get her hands bloody to help Her, and Ben could fucking appreciate that. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect Her—MM was all about that no man left behind fuckery, and Kimiko adored Her—but they weren’t as good options as Ben was. For one, MM was always busy and had his own family to worry about, and Kimiko couldn’t fucking talk. But Ben was still better. He’d drop the fucking sky off his back to go to Her, he fucking loved Her and there wasn’t anyone who knew her perfect, insane fucking brain as well as he did.

Lizard-Eyes certainly fucking didn’t. As She filled out the form with her neat, scrawling handwriting and an adorable focus, Ben just glared at Lizard-Eyes. He didn’t fucking get it. How you could never trust Her to say she was in pain, or that her pain was the worst fucking thing in the world. Lizard-Eyes could clear Her now—in this moment when her voice was clear and steady and her eyes were sharp—but he’d never seen her screaming or crying or trying to escape her own goddamn body, all while insisting she was fine. She wasn’t fucking fine, and it made everything wrong.

Ben had known that from the start. Before he’d loved Her, before he’d even fucking liked her, Ben had known that Her being small and broken and afraid was just fucking wrong. She was supposed to be happy. Everything was better when she was happy. Men should be going to fucking war to keep her happy. She deserved it. She deserved happiness and light and love and fucking everything, and Ben didn’t care if it took the rest of goddamn time, he’d do whatever she needed to make her happy. If it was things, he’d get her things. He’d buy her all the fucking things in the world. If it was vengeance, he’d walk by her side and do the dirty work for her. If it was for everyone to leave her alone, Ben included, he’d do it. He’d walk away and wait forever for Her to return.

It wouldn’t be that. She stood up, showing Lizard-Eyes to the door and saying kind words the pussy didn’t deserve, and Ben knew she’d just want time. She’d want Ben to stay and hold Her while she’d tried to fix everything wrong in the world, and then she’d want to laugh and talk and tease him. So Ben would stay, and when she asked him to stay he’d remind her that nothing could fucking make him leave her. He’d do what She asked, fix what she told him to, and then kiss Her until she was just happy. Ben just wanted Her to be fucking happy. And he loved Her, so he’d trade the whole fucking world to make that happen. Then give it back, because She wouldn’t want the world. She’d just want Ben.

She was closing the door and walking to Ben, and She was smiling, and this was the whole world. She’d smashed Her face into his chest, and relaxed into his arms, and Ben fucking loved Her.

“Is it late?”

Ben glanced at his still-open phone on the table. “Past ten.”

She hummed. “I’m not that sleepy.”

Ben muttered Her name, and she pulled back to glare at him.

“Don’t tell me I am,” She snapped. “I’m tired, not sleepy. There’s a difference, and I’m not sleepy. So shut up.”

Ben raised his brows at Her. “I didn’t fucking say anything.”

“You were going to-“

“And those words mean the exact same thing, Sunshine, don’t bullshit me.”

“They don’t,” She scowled. “Tired is exhaustion. Strain and fatigue. Sleepy is heavy eyelids and woozy.”

“Smartass.”

“You’re the one who fucking doubted me, I just-“

Ben kissed Her, soft and slow and She was home. She was fucking home, in Ben’s arms, and he was never going to lose Her again.

“If you’re not sleepy,” he muttered against Her lips. “Then what do you want to do.”

She sighed into him, and it was a light and breathy sound that made Ben’s whole body relax. “Can we watch TV?”

“Of course we fucking can.” Ben dropped down, just enough to pick Her up, and rose fast enough to swallow her yelp in his mouth. “We can do whatever the hell you want.”

She smiled at him like he was everything, resting Her head on his shoulder, and Ben wasn’t sure how he’d managed two months without this. Fuck, he didn’t know how he’d gone a hundred years without this. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

Ben had glared at Her and grunted the words, but she clearly didn’t take him fucking seriously anymore, because she giggled. She goddamn giggled, and buried Her head in his neck, and gave a hum of content that made Ben’s whole world light up. He fucking loved Her. He had to keep gnawing off his tongue through the movie—Her pick, a cartoon about jazz and frogs that Ben allowed because he was a fucking pussy who loved her—because he was hardly able to stop himself from telling Her. She didn’t climb off of him when they sat on the couch, and Ben almost told her. She hummed the words of all the songs—it was goddamn musical—and the whole room filled with lights and smells and Ben almost told Her. She smiled up at him during random scenes, and Ben almost fucking told Her.

“You look sleepy, beautiful.” Ben murmured into Her ear, halfway through, and she shook Her head, voice slightly slurred when she spoke.

“Fuck you.”

Ben chuckled, and adjust Her in his arms so she could have an easier time breathing—and Her lips would brush Ben’s skin more, but who the fuck was going to yell at him about that—and Ben almost told Her.

The movie had hardly finished when she passed out. Her whole body went loose and her heart fell into an easy rhythm, and Ben carried her upstairs. Carefully, gently, watching Her face, easy and perfect and beautiful in the dark. Setting Her on the bed and pulling the covers over her body, brushing stray hairs from her face and smiling down at Her. Perfect. Still so fucking perfect.

Ben wasn’t strong enough to stop himself from climbing on the bed himself and pulling Her back to his side. He shouldn’t. He might wake up with morning wood and it might freak her out, or he might have a nightmare and disturb her. But She’d begged him to stay, and Ben could watch Her and protect her like this. Keep Her safe, never leave, make Her happy. Fuck Mallory and Homelander and the media and the mission and Sage and the government and Vought. She just needed to be happy, and everything would be right.

Whatever it took, Ben would make Her really, truly happy again.

End Note: For those of you who are mad they didn’t IMMEDIATELY fuck, all I have to say is fair. Yeah, that’s fair. Although you SHOULD know better by now. They WILL fuck, we’re real close to them fucking, but let them get there themselves, their way. (the hardest and most inconvenient way possible).

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

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