#soldier boy x ofc

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Let Me See Inside Ch. 4

Series Summary: Can Rae help Ben save himself, by finding his true self?

Chapter Summary: Rae interrupts a very particular memory of Ben's, and has to convince him that other memories are more important to focus on.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Oral (f receiving) Ben's nakedness and dirty talking, some angst, and as always with this story, twisty brain shit.

Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Rae Stewart (OFC)

Word Count: 3,220

A/N: Again I apologize for the wait for this update. I hope you feel it was worth it! Very light Spoilers for The Boys S3.

Series Master List || Soldier Boy Master List || Main Master List

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Rae settled comfortably into her chair, taking deep breaths and calming her mind; steadying herself for the coming confrontation with Soldier Boy. She hoped he'd remember her more easily this time, but that wasn't guaranteed. He was as likely to kill her this time as any other.

But she squared her shoulders and closed her eyes, letting her mind reach out and connect to Ben's. As though she was pushing through veils of gauze, she emerged into his consciousness, and screams echoed around her. Her immediate fear was that she was entering into one of his nightmares again, and her stomach dropped. His nightmares were devastating.

But within a few seconds it became clear that this was anything but a nightmare.

The woman in the bed let out another scream of pleasure and bucked her hips up towards Ben's face where it was buried between her thighs. He growled quietly and snaked his hand up to squeeze her pale, fleshy breast, bringing forth a deep moan from her throat.

He was very, very naked.

Rae snatched herself back to reality, her cheeks burning hot and her body flushed as she sat in the temperature-controlled room, and tried to catch her breath. She looked through the glass into the room where Soldier Boy sat across from her, strapped to a chair. He was shirtless, khaki green hospital scrubs covering his lower half. 

As she looked at his bare torso, she couldn't help but see the way his bicep and tricep muscles had flexed, corded and tight, as he'd moved his hand up the woman's body. Though she saw him half naked all the time, there was something incredibly alluring and sexy about the way his back muscles rippled beneath his skin as he shifted between the woman’s legs. 

Her mind now had much more vibrant images to associate with the beautiful, sculpted muscles she could see displayed right in front of her. Looking at him now, his body conjured up an image of him on the bed, the woman’s hand buried in his long locks, tugging at them as she writhed with pleasure - Ben’s mouth working her into a feverish delirium. 

Rae peered through the spotless glass to where Soldier Boy sat, no more than twenty feet away, and focused on the wide sweep of his soft lips, and lush, sensual mouth.

What would it feel like on my skin?

Rae shook herself like a wet dog, horrified by her unprofessional, and completely inappropriate train of thought. Determined to pull herself out of her ridiculous, desperate fascination, she cleared her throat and focused her mind once again on penetrating into Ben’s consciousness.  

Hopefully he’ll have moved on to a new memory by now. Rae thought.

But, unfortunately, he seemed to have spent a lot of time with this woman because as Rae walked through the veil of his mind, Ben was still stretched out below her, his big hands pushing her knees flat against the bed as his tongue flicked against her, doling out what sounded like slow exquisite torture, judging by the unholy sounds the woman was making. 

Standing at the foot of the bed, barely two feet away, Rae got quite the eyeful, front and center as it were.

Twisting her head away and trying to drown out the sounds and smells of sex and pleasure permeating the memory, Rae cleared her throat, and called to Ben gently. He didn’t hear her, or maybe he assumed it was just his partner calling his name. She tried again.

“Ben!” She called, sharper this time. 

Finally, his tousled head came up to look back over his shoulder at her. He wiped away the dampness that glistened on his beard and gave her a once over, before giving her an entirely too wicked grin. He raised his thumb and forefinger to his tongue to gently remove a hair stuck there. 

“Hey sugar. You next in line, or do you wanna come on in?” He dipped his head towards the panting woman. “Water’s warm.” 

Rae bit her lip and gritted her teeth, trying to call on some sense of morality to help her through this entire situation. She took a deep breath and shook her head. 

“No, Ben, it’s me, Rae, remember?”

He kept a sardonic smile on his face as he frowned at her, but then she saw recognition shift into his gaze and as it did the beautiful, naked woman disappeared and the room around them faded a bit. 

Ben’s head twisted back to where the woman used to be and he let out a small growl.

“Fuck me.” He grumbled before looking back at Rae with extreme frustration and annoyance. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Rae knew she was blushing and willed herself to stop it. “I’m very sorry to interrupt such a…a…an intimate memory,” she stuttered, “but, we really have a lot of work to do.”

Ben’s expression became heated as he rolled onto his back, his massive erection on full display. “Yeah, I got a job right here for you, sweetheart.”

Rae quickly looked away, but the image was burned into her brain and she swallowed, refusing to allow him to shake her, which was clearly what he was trying to do. 

“Please put your clothes on, or at least cover yourself.” She said, using her best school marm voice.

She could hear the shrug in his voice. “Why? I guarantee we could have a lot more fun if you strip off and join me.”

Rae kept her gaze directed onto a dark mahogany dresser that shimmered like a mirage in the construct of Ben’s memory. “Ben, please.”

She heard him sigh, and from the corner of her eye, she could see him shifting around. When she looked back, she saw he’d pulled a sheet across his lap; she tried to ignore the way it was tented. His head was tilted slightly and he was frowning quizzically at her. 

“Let me ask you something, doll -” 

“Rae.” She interrupted him.

He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Do you really look like this?” He said with a nod towards her.

It was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said slowly, “is this what you look like in real life? All strawberry blond curls, big blue eyes and absolutely fabulous tits?”

Rae rolled her eyes. “That’s not exactly how I would choose to describe myself, but yes, this is what I look like. It would take too much energy to hold onto a projected image of someone else while I’m here in your mind. I want to spend that energy on more important things.”

Ben studied her for a minute, his lascivious gaze roaming over her before he shook his head in disbelief. “A woman like you should be spoiled with fur coats, diamonds, and anything else your pretty little heart desires. Then you should be strapped to a fucking bed and ridden long and hard, till you can’t walk, and your completely fuck drunk.” 

He said it all rather matter-of-factly, and Rae was trying not to let her shock show, or the fact that her heart was racing and warmth was pooling at her center. 

“How the fuck did you end up as a scientist?” He asked with obvious disdain for the job.

Rae swallowed subtly and kept her voice cool. “I’m first and foremost a psychologist, actually, scientific research is a secondary interest. And I got where I am because of lots of hard work, kind mentors, and my big, fat, beautiful brain.” She frowned at him. “Oh, and by not being bullied into submission by assholes.”

Ben stared at her for a minute more before a slow, genuine smile spread across his face; she noticed the freckles that spread across his nose and cheeks. 

She nodded towards the heap of clothing on the floor. “Now can you please put on your damn clothes?”

Ben kept his smile but squinted at her. “If it bothers you so much, why not just zap clothes onto me, since you’re controlling all this?”

Rae shook her head. “I’m not controlling any of this, actually. I’m simply here in your consciousness. And I promised myself that I wasn’t going to zap anything, or control anything if I came into your head. You’ve had more than enough people messing around in here. So, I’m just following where you lead, and maybe helping you down a certain path or two with some directed questions and conversation. But all the images here are yours, all the memories will be yours.”

Ben looked slightly unconvinced, but he slid down the bed so his feet rested on the floor, and reached for his clothes. Rae turned her head away as he pulled a pair of green cargo pants up over his hips. 

Did he not put underwear on? Rae wondered and then was immediately grateful they weren’t inside her mind. Get a hold of yourself! She chastised.

“Kay.” He said, and she turned back to see him pulling a white t-shirt over his head. “I’m decent.”  He shrugged and threw her a cheeky grin. “Well, so to speak.”

“Thank you.” 

She smiled at him, trying to get her thoughts back on track and off of the way the t-shirt clung to every muscle. 

He clapped his hands. “Alright, Doc, let the head shrinking begin.” His expression was loaded with sarcasm. “What should we talk about first?”

“I’d like to start with your childhood. What was it like?”

Ben scoffed and shrugged, but he answered a bit too quickly. “It was fine, normal.”

Rae moved her hand in a circular motion to get Ben to continue. “And…?”

“And nothing.” He said. “My mother was dead, my father was an asshole, and I was a spoiled little prince of the kingdom.”

“I’m sorry you lost your mother.” Rae said softly. “When did she pass?” 

Ben answered harshly. “I don’t know. I was about six, I think.” He shrugged again. “I barely remember her.”

But as he said it, the space around them began to dissolve and reshape itself into a large room filled with dark wooden furniture, the smell of dust and lilies were heavy in the air.

Ben looked around a little furtively. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Rae shook her head. “Nothing, your consciousness is just shifting into another memory.” As she finished speaking, far down at the other end of the room, a closed casket appeared. “Do you know where we are?” She asked.

He was quiet for a minute before he spoke. “I think it’s my mother’s funeral. Didn’t know I remembered this much about it.” He nodded and inhaled. “But yeah, I think that’s why I hate the smell of lillies.”

Suddenly, thundering in from the next room, came the absolutely enormous figure of a man in a black suit; he was well over ten feet tall and his face wore a grotesque, disturbing sneer as he barrelled towards Ben.

“Enough, Benjamin, for god’s sake!”  He yelled harshly right at Ben, who took a step back from him. “Do you want to grow up to be a man or a bloody milksop! Stop sniveling and straighten up.”

Ben turned to glare at Rae. “What the fuck are you doing?” He raged again. “Why does he look like that?”

Rae shook her head. “This is your father?”

Ben spoke through clenched teeth. “Not exactly - why is he like this?” He asked, waving a hand at his father’s towering and twisted features.

Rae shrugged helplessly. “This is how you remember him. I swear Ben, I’m not doing anything. This is just a memory from your childhood. The further away the memory, the more shaped by emotion it becomes, the less ‘real’ it is.”

Ben’s jaw clenched and unclenched and he narrowed his lips into a tight line. “You’re telling me, I remember my father as a giant, twisted ogre?”

Rae bit her lip. “The child in you does.” She said quietly.

Ben turned back to the horrifying version of his father, his face set in stone. “How do I get rid of him?” He asked, but before Rae could say anything, the monster threw up his hands and stormed away, yelling. “Your mother always wanted a little girl, guess she got one.”

Ben stared after him for a long time before turning back to Rae. “Well, this has been great fun, Doc but how about we head to somewhere more enjoyable, huh? Say, Monte Carlo, 1956?”

Suddenly the space around them was consumed with color and noise. Shifting people moved all around them and the scent of cigar and cigarette smoke surrounded them. Ben was suddenly dressed to the nines in a sleek, rat pack era tuxedo and shiny shoes. His golden brown hair was much shorter, parted to the left, and slicked in place. He held a set of dice in his fist that he let roll down the green felt top of the craps table they stood beside. 

Rae felt her head swimming as she tried to adjust to this new memory; she also felt slightly out of place in her faded jeans and pale gray sweater. 

“Seven!” Shouted a disembodied voice from the other end of the table, and Ben smiled at her a bit manically. 

“See Doll, this is a lot more fun!”

Rae shook her head. “That may be, but it’s not what I’m here for, Ben. Now I’d like to go back to your mother’s funeral. I’d like you to tell me about her.” She had to yell to be heard over the cacophony of noise around her.

“What’s the point?” Ben shouted back, frustration etched into his flawless face. “What difference can going back there possibly make? She died almost a hundred years ago, what could I possibly get out of dwelling in that place?”

“Humor me!” Rae shouted into his ear, placing her hand on his forearm.

A heartbeat passed and then the deafening sounds stopped abruptly, the echo still ringing in Rae’s ears as they came back to the room that smelled of lilies.

Ben was still dressed in his tuxedo, and sat down heavily in a wooden pew that materialized behind him. Rae realized then, that they were in a church, as a high, arching ceiling formed above them.  She moved to sit beside him in the pew. 

“Tell me about her.” 

He was quiet for a few minutes, but Rae decided not to push him, and he rewarded her by sighing quietly and rubbing his fingers through his beard. 

“She was beautiful.” He smiled softly. “At least she was to her six year old son.”

Rae smiled too. “I’m sure she was. All mothers are beautiful.”

Ben hummed his agreement and continued. “I remember she used to sing all the time, never any words, just la-las and doobie-doos.” As he spoke a soft voice came up from behind them, singing gently. A ghostly pale hand ran across Ben’s shoulder and he closed his eyes at the remembered caress. 

He turned to look up at the woman standing beside him and then jumped back, nearly crushing Rae beside him. He stood up quickly and backed further away from the wispy, faceless woman who stood in front of him.

“Why?” He said, slightly horrified and pointing at her eerily blank face.

Rae stood up and moved beside him, taking up his hand and squeezing it. “Facial features fade from our memory over time. Like you said, it’s been nearly a hundred years; in your mind you remember your mother as someone soft, gentle, and loving.” She held a hand out towards his mother. “Those are beautiful things to remember, the rest are just details.”

But Ben was shaking his head and his voice was small when he spoke. “She should have a face. I shouldn't have forgotten her face.”

Suddenly he yanked his hand away from hers and stormed from the room, popping them both into a kind of gray, nothing space. 

“I don’t want to talk about this! I don’t want to be here!” He turned back to Rae and grabbed hold of her shoulders, shaking her like a ragdoll. “This is all pointless bullshit!” He screamed at her. 

Rae let him rattle her bones for a few more seconds before she calmly pushed against his forearms. “Let me go.”

Ben dropped his hands from her and spun away. “What is the fucking point?” He said, quietly this time, staring down at his feet.

Rae came to stand beside him and began to speak conversationally, just telling him a story, sharing, because she’d learned long ago that people gave more of themselves to people willing to do the same.

“When I was a kid, maybe about seven or eight, this jackass bully, Steven Fletcher, found me in the hallway after school one day, and shoved me into a supply closet. He jammed it closed with something, and I couldn’t get it open. I was only in there about ten minutes or so before a janitor heard me screaming and let me out. But it was pitch black, and it smelled dirty, and it terrified me.”

Ben looked down at her, and his usually confident, cocksure expression was long gone; he seemed tired.  “Kid sounds like an asshole. But what does that have to do with me?”

“I’m trying to explain why the memories from your childhood and the people in it are important. That happened to me more than twenty years ago, but I’m still terrified of small spaces, I avoid elevators at all costs, and I live in an apartment that has one whole wall of windows because I hate the dark.” She sighed softly. “We’re shaped by our childhoods, all the good and all the bad.”

After a moment Ben nodded, and Rae smiled at him. “I also kinda instinctively hate people named Steven.”

Ben arched his right eyebrow and then nodded. “Yeah, Steve McQueen was a dickhead. Good instinct.”

Rae laughed softly and then felt a slight shift in the space around them. She could tell that Ben’s consciousness would be fading soon, and she made a spur of the moment decision. She closed her eyes tightly and popped herself into a stunning, strapless, floor length gown - sapphire blue chiffon, with silver beading along the bodice; it was a dress she’d worn to a fundraising gala two years before. 

Ben’s mouth dropped open for a moment before he snapped his jaw shut and frowned at her, confusion evident. She smiled warmly. 

“You’re going to fall into a deep sleep soon, and I’ll be going, so I thought it would be nice to leave you with a good memory to sleep on.” She put her hand into the crook of his elbow and looked up at him. “So, lead the way back to Monte Carlo, Soldier Boy, and let’s have some fun before bedtime.”

Ben’s eyes got a dirty glint in them, confidence and cockiness sliding back into his expression. He moved his lips to the shell of her ear, his voice was low and suggestive as the noisy, colorful memory exploded around them again. “It would be more fun after bedtime.”

Rae rolled her eyes and shook her head as though her lower abdomen wasn’t full of butterflies at his suggestion. “Just roll the dice, big spender.”

[sayafics]

Little White Lies - Teaser

I have been thinking about this for an unhealthy amount of time, but I need me some Butcher angst and SMUT

When Soldier Boy had been handed back over to Grace Mallory, Billy thought it best to keep it hidden from her.

Aurora had grown close to the soldier - able to see past the facade that had grown under the eyes of the media and millions, had come so close to loving him even. Butcher knew it was better if she thought he was dead, never able to return, even if the others disagreed.

When quiet feelings, ones hidden and repressed over the months she had known the Boys, clawed their way to the surface in the midst of her grief, Butcher had found it hard to deny her.

Still, he told himself he did not feel guilty, even as his heart turned and twisted when Aurora looked to him for comfort; when she fell into his arms and into his bed, when she searched for his warm body any chance she could.

He would deny guilt pooling in his veins, even when he knew with every sigh and moan and breath she gasped against him, she wished it was Ben on top of her and not him.

He didn't feel guilty for lying.

He didn't.

He would have kept this secret until his death bed, which was not too far in the future anyway, if he was being honest.

But the truth always did have a way of coming to light.

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 20

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

AN: We’re almost to the end!

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Angst, peril, love triangle, a final showdown, character death, and a goodbye…

ASIG Series Masterlist

20: Father & Son

We’re probably gonna die, Helena thought, as M.M. pulled their off to a shaded side street behind Vought Tower.

Kimiko and Frenchie soon split off to get down to the lab, after Helena gave them precise directions on the best way to get there. While Hughie went to the Security control room to try and evacuate the building, Helena went with M.M. and Annie up several floors to find Butcher and Soldier Boy.

Once they got up to the upper floors, they came across a few stray Vought employees that were hastily making for the stairwell. When M.M. questioned where they were going in such a hurry, one of them answered, “Homelander’s about to fight Soldier Boy.”

Helena, M.M., and Annie continued at a faster clip down the hall, where they were able to hear familiar voices. M.M. slowed them to a stop in front of an office door, drawing his gun. Annie stepped in front of them protectively.

When she broke into the room, she raised a glowing hand. She soon dimmed it when she realized what was happening. Even M.M. stopped short, but Helena pushed through them both as her mouth fell open.

“Ryan!” she gasped.

He was with Homelander at the far end of the room. They, along with Butcher, Maeve, and Soldier Boy turned their heads at the intrusion. It was three on two, but Homelander had a loose and familial hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Ryan, a—are you okay?” Helena asked. She tried to step forward, but M.M. held her back. She glanced at him in annoyance, but he raised his brows at her.

She realized then he was just trying to protect her from making a potentially dangerous move forward, even though he was probably still angry at her. She was grateful, but still worried when she met Ryan’s blue eyes.

“I’m fine,” Ryan answered, though his voice had a slight shake to it. He seemed happy to see her (as happy as he could be in a moment like this), but Homelander’s hand kept the boy from taking a step forward. Helena softened, her heart aching. Homelander must have found him…and taken him.

She glanced at Butcher next. He was eyeing her in what the bloody hell are you doing here sort of way. She gave him a look he ought to know well. 

For you, you idiot. But her focus shifted back to Ryan.

Without Helena realizing, Ben’s gaze had drawn to her—at her panic-stricken face when she saw the boy with Homelander. Now that he knew who Ryan was, it made Ben look at her harder. She’d known what she was doing when she kept that information to herself, about her best friend’s son. His grandson. But Ben also begrudgingly understood why she kept that secret.

She was an idiot to come here though. His mouth firmed in a line when, unbidden, something she’d told him filtered back through his mind, on that first late night in her home.

“Why’re you up, anyway?” Ben asked.

“Well, I could blame it on the pain,” she replied, after downing two pills with her water. “But um…I keep replaying yesterday in my head, over and over like a bad movie. It always stops at the part where I look up at Homelander’s psychotic fucking eyes, and I just…I knew.”

Helena shook her head. Ben’s lips tugged downward.

“Knew what?” he asked.

“I’m officially on his hit list now,” she said. 

And the way she couldn’t help but look at Homelander in fear, like the supe was some kind of monster… Ben couldn’t help thinking (deep down), would she say the same of him?

“Don’t you see?” Homelander said. Once again, he commanded the attention in the room, even though it was Ben he was talking to, as if all the others didn’t matter. They were just specks in the realm of his existence.

Homelander smiled. “You have a family. You have him, and you have me.”

He nodded at Ryan, his hand tightening a fraction on the boy’s shoulder. Ben saw the kid tense up a little. Ryan’s eyes shifted from Homelander behind him, to Ben. And then beyond him, to Helena, and even Butcher. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to be, and Ben saw it.

Deep down, he could relate.

He stared back at Homelander, this thing that should’ve been his son. Ben’s lips quirked, and he stepped forward.

“It’s a shame that I’ve missed so much,” he said, in the face of Homelander’s burgeoning tears. “I wish I could’ve raised you, and taught you, father to son.”

“That’s okay,” Homelander whispered. “We’re not alone anymore. We have each other.”

Ben’s smile became more dry. He grasped Homelander’s shoulder. “Maybe if I’d raised you, I could’ve made you better. And not some weak, sniveling pussy, starved for attention. But there’s no fixing that now.”

“Weak?” Homelander echoed. His expression had dropped from tearfully hopeful, to shocked, and the beginnings of anger. “I’m you.”

“I know,” Ben said, hating the way his lips actually trembled at the admission. “You’re a fucking disappointment.”

He grabbed at Homelander’s face, tilting his laser eyes back. Butcher and Maeve came up on either side to secure the supe, but Ryan protested.

“Ryan, get out of the building, now!” Butcher told him. Still, the kid pushed back to try and help his father.

Helena broke away from M.M. and Annie in their shock to go to Ryan, but M.M. reacted at the last second to grab her arm.

“Let go of me!” she whipped back. M.M. stared down at her incredulously. She was human, the same as him, but unlike him, she wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t even have a weapon on her, let alone one that would work on Homelander or Soldier Boy.

“Are you crazy?!” he asked.

“Are you?” she retorted. She twisted out of his grip and managed to slip away from him.

By the time Helena turned back to the scene before them, Ryan’s eyes were glowing red.

He shot a laser beam right at Soldier Boy, knocking him through the far wall and onto his ass. When he got up, shaking rubble from his shoulders, he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

Fortunately, Helena reached Ryan just as Ben took a few intimidating steps forward.

“Ben, stop!” she shouted.

And it actually halted the supe’s steps. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a frown. His gait was tense, but she held her ground with her arms wrapped around Ryan. The boy’s fear made his eyes dim back to their normal hue as he glanced up at her, and then back at Soldier Boy. She was able to slowly tug Ryan behind her. 

“Please, don’t hurt him,” she said. Her tone was pleading, a hint unsteady. If he really wanted to get to Ryan, he’d have to go through her first.

Ben knew it…and found himself conflicted.

Meanwhile, Butcher had been mostly distracted with trying to help Maeve (and now Annie) keep Homelander held down. Now, he realized just how much this was all about to cost him. His eyes widened when he saw Soldier Boy’s threatening stance.

“Helena!” he called out, just before Homelander broke free. He punched Butcher down with a crack against his face. V24 was coursing through the man’s veins, allowing him to take the hit and deliver one right back.

“Scorched earth, eh William?” Homelander taunted. His red-hot gaze glanced in Helena’s direction. Butcher sneered and landed a blow right between the supe’s eyes.

Helena and Ben shared one last look.

Finally, he relented. He turned away with a surly frown, jumping back into the fray with Homelander. That was his real target, and she was grateful, blowing out a relieved breath before she turned back to face Ryan.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

She set her hands on his shoulders. “That’s my line, bud. Come on, let’s go.”

He resisted when she tried to pull him away from the warzone happening far too close for comfort, in an office that was not meant to contain a whole five-on-one super battle.

“No!” Ryan refused to move, shirking her grasp. “Homelander…he’s my dad. He cares about me.”

Helena let out a shaky breath. She laid more gentle hands on his arms.

“Ryan, he’s using you,” she said. “Whatever he told you, maybe he believed it…but I doubt he’s truly capable of caring about anyone but himself.”

“No, that’s…that’s not true,” Ryan shook his head in protest. When he pulled away from her, she tried to hold onto him a bit tighter so he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire of the battle. M.M. saw them both and was trying to get around the danger zone himself to help them, but Ryan wasn’t helping Helena at all.

In fact, he broke away from her with such strength, he actually pushed her to the ground. She gasped at the impact when she fell. Not just at the shock of it, but at the pain; it disrupted her still broken ribs…which she’d ironically gotten when Homelander shoved her into a wall back at Herogasm.

Fuck, she sucked in a pained breath. She also saw the shock and dismay cross Ryan’s face. He hadn’t meant to push her that hard, to hurt her. She knew it when she saw that look.

She held up a hand to him, “It’s okay. I’m okay—”

 But in his guilt, Ryan backed away from her. He bolted out of the enclosed office and towards the rest of the fight that had finally moved into the other room.

“Ryan!” Helena called, even as he was escaping her. With difficulty, she got back onto her feet.

She was startled half out of her skin when Ben was flung into a nearby wall, making her scream and duck for cover as debris and office supplies exploded as a result. She took another painful spill across the floor. And rolling out of her inside pocket of her jacket came a small, green vial of V24.

Her eyes zeroed in, just before her hand closed around it. She dragged herself off the floor and back onto her feet, and then towards Ben, who was growling and shaking the dust off. He was prepared to head back into the fray, where the rest of them were still fighting Homelander. Ryan was hovering at the edge, scared and worried, no matter who got punched or tossed.

That’s it, Helena thought. Fuck it all.

“Ben,” she said raggedly, earning his attention. “Can you do me a favor?”

She went to him and offered him the tail end of a syringe she’d been storing in her other pocket. It was a miracle that it hadn’t broken in her tumbles.

 “Out of the fucking way,” he barked, after he eyed her in irritation. Clearly, I’m busy, his face suggested.

She took one of the biggest chances of her life and grabbed his arm.

“Please! I need your help,” she said.

He looked down at her through furrowed brows, asking a silent question with his eyes. Why me?

Her hand was shaking. She really just couldn’t bring herself to inject her body full of poison…but she had to.  

“I don’t want to be anyone’s weakness. I don’t want to be collateral damage,” she said. “But more than anything, I’m sick of being afraid.”

She grabbed his hand and put both the vial and the syringe in it.

“Goddamn it, Ben, just do it!” she said, through tears.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her arm, found a vein, and did his best to inject her correctly. But when that vile shit hit her system, she nearly collapsed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, but he kept her upright. She shuddered, her eyes briefly closing. All the while, Ben’s grip remained steady. Inside, however, he didn’t know why the fuck he was doing this. 

It felt too close to being soft. But maybe it was because a part of him, deep down (a part he didn’t want to think about), wanted to prove he was still some kind of hero. Or maybe, it was because he felt like he was repaying a debt.  

When the pain subsided, her body hummed with chemical electricity in her blood. She breathed through it and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. After a short hesitation, his hands fell from her. Ben responded with a nod.

He turned on his heel and was about to head back into the battle fray, but was hit with a star bolt. It pushed him back a few feet but didn’t bring him down. His head snapped up with annoyance. Helena looked over with wider eyes to find Annie, now joined by Frenchie, Kimiko, Hughie. M.M. sideswiped Helena, forcing her out of the way while Kimiko and Annie surged forward against Ben.

With the temporary V coursing through her veins, Helena was finally strong enough to push back against M.M., making him stumble. He stared back at you in surprise.

“Are you on V?” he asked. “Did you just shoot the fuck up?”

Her lips pursed. She couldn’t deny it, nor would she.

“You know it’s fatal after a few doses, right?” he said tersely.

Helena’s eyes widened. She looked over at Butcher, who was still fighting Homelander and taking hot lasers to the arm, blocking his face.

She didn’t know how many doses he’d taken, but she could hazard a guess.

Too many.

Ben startled them both by tossing both Annie and Kimiko at opposite ends of the room. He stalked forward, ignoring her and M.M. in order to get to Homelander.

M.M. tensed up, like he was about to follow the supe, but Helena grabbed his arm.

“Look, I know what he did to you, but let him at least end Homelander, for fuck’s sake!” she snapped.

“Do you want the entire building to blow the fuck up?” he shot back. He gestured over at Ryan, still huddled against the wall. “Try to get him out of here first!”

On that, they could agree.

Just then, Homelander tore through the room with his laser vision, regardless of who or what he hit. When the beam swept across the middle and went for Ryan on the other side, Helena ran to him and had them both dive for the ground. She protected his head.

Meanwhile, Butcher grabbed the supe by the cape in attempt to bring him to heel. Ben came up on the other side and pinned him down to the ground while Homelander fought both of their holds.

Ryan turned onto his side after Helena raised off of him. He looked up at her with wide eyes, but there was guilt behind them, lingering from when he pushed her.

“Why…why are you and Butcher here? Why do you hate my dad?” he asked. His voice was so small and upset, it made tears well up in Helena’s eyes.

“I’m here because I care about you,” she said. “Homelander’s not your father. Not really. He’s the reason you and your mom were alone for all those years. He’s the reason she couldn’t be with Billy, and why you had to grow up alone. Your mom was protecting you from him.”

Tears stung at Ryan’s eyes as well. He bit his lip and shook his head; he didn’t want to believe her.

“You’re wrong,” he said tremulously. “He’s…he’s not mad at me for what happened to Mom. For…”

Helena had to try and swallow past a tight ball of emotion. She was about to respond when an iron grip tangled in her hair and grabbed her up. A shriek tore from her throat as she was yanked to her feet and almost off the ground. Her hands flew up to claw at Homelander’s.

Ryan’s eyes flew wide again. He scrambled onto his feet as well and faced his father.

“Stop!” he pleaded. “Don’t hurt her!”

Homelander tilted his head at his son, with a grim set to his face. “Don’t you see? They’re all cockroaches. They’re mud people. Ryan, they’re not like us.”

V24 didn’t take away her fear, Helena realized. It just magnified what was already inside. 

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch,” she hissed, regardless of the terrified, angry tears burning in her eyes.

Across the room, M.M. stared down at Butcher angrily. It was hard to maintain it when the other man had just saved him from getting pounded with Soldier Boy’s shield, but M.M. had a high threshold of “Fuck you, Butcher” leftover. 

Despite that, M.M. helped Butcher pick himself up from the rubble. Then he noticed something else. 

“Butcher,” M.M. said sharply. Butcher followed his gaze and landed on Homelander; he saw the supe’s killer grip on Helena’s hair, with Ryan pleading at him to stop.

Butcher’s eyes widened. He called her name from across the room. 

Slowly Homelander’s head turned. 

He smirked. The kind of manic smile that said he’d get to have his revenge twice. 

His eyes took on a red, glowing hue.

But a violet haze surged from Helena’s hands, not only disrupting Homelander’s concentration, but forcing him to let go of her entirely. It was a forcefield that threw him back across the far wall.

She stumbled to her feet and would’ve fallen if Ryan hadn’t reached out to steady her. She gave him a grateful smile, and she let her arm fall around his shoulders.

Butcher was shocked, relieved, and angry all at once. 

When and how the fuck did she take Temp V?

Despite the look of surprise on most faces in the room, Ben was the only one who remained stoic.

Homelander peeled himself from the wall with a growl. He stalked forward, but he was met with Butcher stepping in front of Helena and Ryan. 

Butcher blocked the first punch Homelander threw. He just couldn’t avoid the second brutal one that cracked against his nose. Homelander twisted his arm and wrenched, until Butcher was forced almost to his knees.

“You may be hopped up, but you’re just a try-hard, dick-sucking groupie,” Homelander taunted. “Real power is—”

Ryan stumbled forward and pushed Homelander hard in the chest, enough to make the other man’s grip on Butcher loosen. Ryan moved to stand in front of Butcher and Helena.   

“Son?” Homelander asked, with wide, confused eyes. 

All the commotion in the room paused. Even the fight against Soldier Boy came to a standstill, including Maeve, who was sporting one eye and a bloody hole where the other used to be (courtesy of Homelander). She propped herself up against the wall and watched Homelander intently.

Soldier Boy watched as well. If he lit up the nuclear power in his chest now, he could make Homelander powerless. But…it would be hard to control it in here. He glanced at Butcher and Helena kneeling on the ground. She’d come to his side and was propping him up, just as his arm was around her protectively. 

I don’t want to be collateral damage, she’d said.

Meanwhile, Ryan was scared with tears in his eyes, but he held his ground against his father with determination. 

“Stop,” he said. “Please just stop.”

Homelander couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His own son was protecting the one man he hated most in this world. 

“But…why?” he asked incredulously. “I’m your blood. I’m…I’m your family.”

Butcher grabbed Ryan’s jacket.

“Ryan, don’t,” he said. Ryan looked over his shoulder at them, at Butcher.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Butcher didn’t entirely know what that meant, but he couldn’t help but marvel when the kid turned back to face his father.  

“I understand you, Ryan. Better than anyone,” Homelander said earnestly. He probably even believed that.  

Ryan lip wobbled with emotion. He hadn’t realized it, not until Homelander grabbed Helena and threatened to kill one of the only people who’d ever been nice to him. Ryan saw it when Homelander had turned to Butcher next, with something evil in his eyes.

“You’ve hurt everyone I care about,” Ryan realized, with a small gasp of a sob. “You…you hurt my mom.”

Homelander’s eyes soon became glassy, angry, and insane.

“I think you took the fucking cake on that one, sport,” he retorted. 

Ryan flinched. Tears poured down Ryan’s cheeks as that blow cut into him. 

But he instinctively let those emotions fuel him. He hovered above the ground in flight, almost eye-level with Homelander. His eyes glowed red. 

Homelander smirked through unshed tears. He supposed it was fine; he’d been prepared to rule through fear before. 

You don’t need anyone, that voice deep inside whispered. Not even Ryan.

And here, Ben finally saw his chance. 

“Hey, Real Power,” he snarked, just before he grabbed Homelander by the edge of his cape and headbutted him. After throwing him off balance, Ben kicked him into a glass coffee table, making it shatter. He continued forward and grabbed Homelander by his collar next. 

Then he began to charge up that nuclear power in his chest. Homelander grabbed his arm and tried to twist out of his grip, but Ben held on in determination. Maeve helped him by kicking out Homelander’s knee. She and Ben briefly shared a grim look. 

“We could’ve taken on the whole world,” Homelander gritted out. Ben smirked. 

“Maybe. But I never took well to sharing the spotlight,” he said, and threw another punch that snapped Homelander’s head back. All the while, his chest continued to illuminate and become impossibly hot. 

If Ben let go of his power now, he could end Homelander for good. But if he did, he’d probably level the whole block. He glanced over Homelander’s shoulder. Butcher held both Helena and Ryan, waiting to protect them from the impending blast. 

Butcher kept Helena close with an arm around her waist. Deep down, Ben reluctantly felt a twinge of jealousy. Until Helena peeked up fearfully and found Ben’s eyes. Even with the power V24 gave her, he doubted it would do them much good. 

With that brief distraction, Homelander broke free with an angry shout.

“Goddamn it,” Ben growled. 

While the other supe tried to fly backwards to save himself, Ben rushed forward and leapt, grabbing the supe in mid-air. They both crashed through the far window out of the Tower.

Ben blasted him with everything he had.

Homelander tried to fight off his hanger on, but the power behind the blast disrupted his own, including his flight.

And from that great height, Soldier Boy and Homelander fell. Whatever wasn’t contained by the two of them grappling hit the rest of the Tower behind them.

Inside the building, Helena managed to draw up a forcefield that protected them all from the initial blast. Whatever she couldn’t cover was eaten away, leaving a giant hole in the side of the building. Butcher looked up at the violet haze, then at her with consternation.

“Oh, don’t even,” she snapped at him. “One dose of Temp V won’t kill me.”

His lips pursed, but he still helped her up to her feet, along with Ryan. Helena checked the boy to make sure he was all right. She brought her hands up to his cheeks and held his face.

“You okay?” she asked.

Ryan smiled a little a nodded. “Yeah.” 

She smiled back. “Good.”

Butcher’s lips twitched. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he also moved a hand down to the small of Helena’s back, earning her attention. For a moment, their eyes met. That look was charged with unspoken meaning, cutting through things like, “I told you so,” and “What were you thinking?” And, “You ass.”

But the common denominator of it all was this.

Butcher tugged her close for a hard kiss. His beard was rough, his grip was tight, but his lips were tender. She responded in kind, gripping the shorter hair at the back of his head and matching his passion with her own.

He pulled away after a moment, meeting her eyes with a silent request. She held his cheek, and she nodded. Later they would hash the rest of this out, but for now, this was enough.

Butcher then turned to Ryan and took a knee in front of him.

“You don’t hate me anymore?” Ryan asked, in a small voice.

Butcher sighed, wiping a hand over his tired face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for what I said last time. What happened to Becca, to your mum…it ain’t your fault, son.”

Ryan’s eyes glistened with tears. He sniffed, and Butcher squeezed his shoulder. 

“Look, kid. I’m not a good man. Christ, you’re already a better one than me. But, as long as you want me around…I’m here for ya.”

Ryan hugged him. Butcher was surprised by it at first, but slowly, he let himself hug Ryan back.

Helena teared up and laid a gentle hand on Butcher’s back. Hughie even came up on her left to nudge her shoulder. She smiled and patted his arm back. The others, though battered, bruised, and in some cases bloody, had gotten back on their feet. 

“Butcher, we gotta go,” M.M. reminded him. “Homelander and Soldier Boy damn dear exploded the block down there.”

Homelander’s crash landing had created a crater inside the ground outside of Vought Tower. Coils of smoke came off of his body, as most of his uniform was burnt off, along with a good part of his neck and torso. 

Butcher stood over him, creating a shadow that Homelander couldn’t escape. Homelander opened his eyes wide, as if to laser him, but nothing came out. 

His eyes widened in shock this time. “What the fuck…” 

He crawled out of the crater, his uniform in tatters. He managed to stumble to his feet and throw a punch at Butcher, who easily dodged. 

The blast had done its job. Homelander was a powerless mess. That realization dawned on the man, and soon had him frothing at the mouth in disbelief. Butcher pulled out a gun from his belt, a formerly useless gun, and shot Homelander in the head. Right between the eyes. 

Homelander’s body fell to the ground, just as Helena came out of the building with Ryan. With a gasp, she shielded the boy’s eyes.

“Don’t look,” she told him. Ryan allowed himself to bury his face against her chest, biting his lip as a few tears escaped and soaked into her shirt.  

Grace Mallory showed up minutes later with two SUVs of CIA agents for the cleanup—not only to set a perimeter around the crater, but to take Homelander’s body. Helena had Mallory steer Ryan away, though she promised to check on him soon.

Helena was going to join where Butcher, M.M., and the rest of them had gathered next, but she noticed something. There were drops of blood leading away from the crater, into a nearby alley.

With suspicion churning in her gut, she followed the trail into the alley. By now it was still dark outside, even with the sun starting to peek out from between the city skyscrapers. The deeper part of the alley was still cast in darkness.

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the waist, at the same time another covered her mouth. She gasped and was about to scream, when she came face to face with Ben. He shushed her.

She frowned at him with furrowed brows.

“Ben?! What the hell?” she hissed between his fingers and tried to pry them off. He eventually let her go. He still had a supe’s strength, so she could assume that the blast had only taken away Homelander’s powers, not Ben’s.

“What are you doing?” she asked, both incredulous and annoyed. “Are you okay?”

He gave you an amused smirk. “I’m fine.”

He hadn’t been sure what she would do when she saw him. Ask about his wellbeing wasn’t it, but it had smugness welling up in his chest. It seemed like she didn’t hate him too much after all.

“I know all about the Mob Squad’s genius plan to gas me up and stuff me in a goddamn box,” he said, less pleasantly. “That’s not fucking happening.”

Helena’s lips pursed. “So what are you going to do?”

Maybe she didn’t want to see him in a box either, and maybe he’d just done the entire world a solid by taking out Homelander, but that didn’t mean Ben wasn’t dangerous all on his own.

“I’m taking my well-earned vacation,” he said. His smirk deepened. “But two tickets to paradise could be arranged.” 

Helena sighed with a smile, shaking her head. 

“I don’t think so, Ben,” she said, though she tilted her head at him. “You could be a real hero, you know. If you did the work.”

He stared down at her for a moment. He eventually quirked a grin. 

“A lot of your friends would call that a lost cause,” he said.

“Prove your father wrong. Prove me right,” she said, raising a brow. “I dare you.”

“Hmm,” Ben said. He considered her as his smirk softened slightly, into a more sincere smile.

Instead of answering her, he slid a hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She gasped and held onto his arms on reflex. It gave him the opening he needed to steal a kiss.

Helena was too shocked to heed her first instinct, which was to slap him in the face. 

He soon pulled away, giving her another familiar smirk at her angry, blushing face. 

But after he stroked her cheek and finally let go of her, she realized that this was a goodbye.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart,” said Ben.

He backed away from her, deeper into the darkness of the alley. She couldn’t see him well, just the outline of his broad form, but she thought she heard the last bit of his voice.

“Goodbye, Helena.”

And then he was gone.

AN: Sigh. Thus ends Homelander, son of no one. How did you like Ben and Helena's goodbye? 😂

We're at the end, folks.

Next Time:

When his gaze found hers, they didn’t need words.

They were home.

His head bowed to greet Helena with a kiss, languid and unhurried.

His hand moved under the sheets to slip under her silky top, splaying across her lower back. Her arm twined around his neck in turn, her fingers slipping into his dark hair. Hers was already wild this morning; it both tickled his arm and fanned across her pillow.

She nipped his bottom lip and earned a pleased sound from him, deep in his throat. But before he could roll her onto her back, they heard quick footsteps coming up the stairs.

Butcher groaned, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. But a smile twitched at his mouth.

“Incoming,” he muttered.

Keep Reading: Epilogue

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Tag List:

@lauraaan182 @homielander @calizmor @haibara-ai-tsii @brujaporfavor @sleepyqueerenergy @adoringanakin @skyesthebomb @lunaticgurly @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso

@xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @emily-winchester @xxlaynaxx @kaleldobrev @jad3djay @jackles010378 @kishie8 @chriszgirl92

[winchestergirl2]

March Reading Recs

To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖

Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

2023 Reading Recs | 2024 Reading Recs

Supernatural

Sam Winchester

You're On Your Own Kid Part 2 @my-proof-is-you

Authors Summary: You’re used to being on your own. You’d been on your own as long as you could remember. Could Sam show you that it isn’t the only way to live?

Don't Worry About Me @my-proof-is-you

Authors Summary: Anon Request: hi! could you do a sam imagine where he’s been really stressed with work/researching for a big hunt, y/n can’t sleep and sees him still awake and tries to make him feel better? maybe some hidden feelings for both of them?? just really fluffy cute stuff please!! thank you! i love your work!

Requited Love @uhohnotthisagain

Authors Summary: Sam discovers his love for you in a not so clean dream, he doesn't realise his actions following the realisation would effect you so much.

10 Inch Hero

Boaz Priestly

The Miracle Man @zepskies

Authors Summary: The first time you met Priestly was both the worst and best night of your life. He gave you a Miracle.

Centerfold Dance Party @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms

The Boys

Soldier Boy

The Bet @quin-ns

Authors Summary: butcher leaves you to keep an eye on soldier boy and things become interesting when a deck of cards gets involved

Let's Dance @impala-dreamer

Authors Summary ~If there's one thing she knows, it's that she fucking hates Soldier Boy. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he can change her mind.~

I'm A Ruin Part I | Part II | Part III | @anundyingfidelity

Authors Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Billy Butcher

And So It Goes (Masterlist) @zepskies

Authors Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — and helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Big Sky

Beau Arlen

Take Me Home Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | @zepskies

Authors Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from. 

Jurisdiction @waynes-multiverse

I need your hand but I don't want to burn it Part 1 @thebiggerbear

Authors Summary: You receive a phone call letting you know a family member has passed. The news rocks your world, especially when you find yourself flying back home for the services, returning to a place you'd rather forget. As your best friend, Beau is trying to be there for you but you're determined to go it alone. But since you've known him, when has Beau Arlen ever not had your back?

[chainsawsangel]

love you. love you. love you. love you.....

Violent Dog, OC!Pup x Soldier Boy. Commission done by @red-nightskies.

-

AHHH, THEY'RE FINALLY HERE!!! I've been looking forward to this commission of these two so much just because of the vision I had for it and it's here! red-nightskies did such an AMAZING job on these two, they're such a bloody mess but love each other soooo much haha and WOW, I love this!

they did a commission specifically of my THE BOYS (werewolf) OC/self-insert, Pup alongside Soldier Boy, her partner and I LOVE HOW THIS TURNED OUT!!! obsessed.

[markofcastiel]

WIP - Soldier Boy x Castiel x Dean

If you want to be added to the taglist let me know. P.s.: blame @naughtystiel cursed event for this

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings from Austin

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Word Count: 2161

Warnings: a/b/o, J2 are married/mated, homophobia, bisexuality, biphobia, outdated beliefs, angst, cursing, jealousy, depression/anxiety, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility, IVF, surrogacy, subgender inequality

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

Square filled: Non-traditional Alpha Traits @spnabobingo Maid Au @spnaubingo

A/N: Here we go again with one my weird as hell dreams, series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

A/N III: thank you to everyone for hanging in there since it’s taken me ages to drop a new character, I’ve been doing rewrites/updating on all my series, more to come in future.

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @writeyourmindaway​​​​​​

*images found online

Part IV

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“DON'T YA’ BE YELLING AT ME, MR. MAN, EVEN IF THIS IS YOUR FUCKING HOUSE…”

“I gotta go,” tossing his phone on the bedside table, Jared, wearing his blessed socks, runs across the main room and slides on the hardwood floor into the kitchen and saw his husband standing three feet from Quinn as she’s vigorously gesturing with a paring knife while telling him off in her colorful language.

“Put the knife down!” The older Alpha’s voice resonates through the room, making Jared flinch, feeling the command’s power, watching Quinn set it on the counter and Jensen reach over, sliding it towards him.

She stood a bit longer before blinking in confusion, and then her demeanor shifted to madder than a wet hen, her natural lower voice dropped another octave, and the lilt became very pronounced. “Don’t ya’ ever use that fucking voice on me again!” 

“You were threatening me with a knife!” Jensen picks up the item, making her laugh, “Holy fucking shit, are ya’ serious? Ya’ could barely use it for a toothpick, let alone...” 

Jared stood there, mouth hanging open, have’n seen others take on his mate, wrongfully assuming he’d be the easier of the two to intimidate, but when let off its leash, Jensen's wolf made Dean Winchester look like a pussy cat.

“JARED!”

The younger Alpha's mouth snapped shut, “sorry, what?”

“I asked you what the surrogate is doing here?”

“The surrogate has a name.” 

 “What is Quinn doing here?”

 “So..uh..okay,” Jared slowly starts around the island doing his sometimes awkward, hesitant thing.  “A few days ago, I got a call from this number I didn’t recognize. It was about the ultrasound appointment scheduled while you were in LA.” 

He paused to see if Jensen remembered, and yep, his mate was wearing his get to the fucking point expression.

“They informed me she’d canceled it because she was leaving town.” 

Jensen's attention returned to the O, ”Don’t fucking start on me again, Ackles!”

“You know who I am?” 

“Duh, Sherlock!” 

Jensen would later try to justify it was jet lag and surprise finding their surrogate in their home, not her smart-ass mouth, for snarling at her.

“Och, save it for the cameras, drama queen. Ya’ put pants on just like the rest of us; the only difference is yours have designer labels.”

Jared interrupted the speeding downhill faster than an Olympic bobsledder situation, “I remembered her saying something about managing Mulroney’s Bookstore, so I called Clif to see if he’d get her to contact me and calls back saying some Alpha...” 

“...who’s a flaming jackass!”

“Yeah, that’s what Clif called him. Anyways, he claimed to be the manager and had no idea where she was when another employee said they knew where she was living...”

“... that’s when ya’ boy shows up..”

“…I explained about the mixup...”

“…Padalecki followed me to my room to get the new date, then he caused a scene...”

“...I couldn’t help my wolf freaking out at where my..our pups were living...”

“…told ya’ it was there or the I-35 underpass!”

Jared bristled at the reminder, “The door had three locks, a barely functional heater, and a broken fridge. Cockroaches wouldn’t even live there!”

Quinn raises onto the balls of her feet and loudly reminds him about putting her in the shitter with the manager and getting fired when Jared shouts back in his booming voice, “there was a guy by the ice machine offering to sell me heroin!!”

“ENOUGH!” Jensen's Alpha voice echoes throughout the kitchen, quieting them both.

“She’s right,” Jared opened his mouth to retort, but Jensen countered with, “And so are you. Quinn, couldn’t your family help,” the Alphas wrinkled their noses at her souring scent, so he attempted another approach. 

“I want to clear something up. I recall one of the stipulations for surrogates is that they reside in an appropriate domicile. Why were you living in a motel? Could you tell us what happened?”

“The flaming jackass tipped off the landlord I’m an O, and that fucker evicted me even though I never caused any problem or was late with rent.”

“There is a moratorium on evictions..”

“..that moratorium is a fucking joke!”  

“What a minute,” Jensen said, and at the same time, Jared remarked, “It protects people...”

“Newsflash, Mr. Wizard, was created by and for the protection of Alphas and Betas! Take a hot minute to read the fine print, and you’ll find loopholes granting landlords, to quote, discretionary privileges pertaining to the eviction of those designated with the sub-gender Omega. In other words, they can boot O’s for any damn reason!” She gave the Alphas a hard stare, “So, enlighten me as to why y’all didn’t know a fucking thing about that bit?”

The kitchen got quiet as the Alphas glanced at each other, trying to find a non-assholey-sounding response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought; since it’s well known you two prefer Betas.” Quinn addressed the older Alpha.

“Padalecki and I have an arrangement. I keep the house and do meals in exchange for temporary boarding. No need to fret that pretty head of yours, Ackles; I’ll do me damnedest to stay outta the way."

🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎

December 23rd                                                                                                   Late Afternoon

Quinn heard Jensen’s surprised greeting covering the stewpot of goulash, slid it into the oven to stay warm, and peeked around the wall and saw him in the foyer hugging a small, older O, then a tall, bald Alpha carrying several bags crossed over to them.

“Let me help you with those, sir,” she offered, taking them couldn’t help but overhear his not-subtle sniff, “Jensen, who’s this?”

“Umm,” Jensen scratched the back of his neck, fumbling for a response, “this is the housekeeper, Quinn.”  His mother-in-law peered inquisitively at the tall Omega before asking, “What happened to your boys' service?”

“I worked for it.”

Gerald Padalecki dubiously eyed the O up and down as she continued. “They pared down the staff, and Jared offered to retain me in exchange for lodging...”

“You live with them?” Gerald barked, “Jensen, that’s unwise considering...”

“Considering what Gerry,” his mate sharply asks, “the boys wouldn’t let someone stay they couldn’t trust.”

 “I normally wouldn’t question their judgment, but she's an unmated O.”

“Whoa,’ Jensen jumped in, “are you suggesting that Jared or I...” 

“Mama..daddy..what’re y’all doing here?” Jared couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, wrapping his long arms around his mother, “thought you were coming tomorrow.” 

“We decided to surprise you but got it instead.” Gerald’s gruff reply made Jared throw his husband a confused look, catching a whiff of his dad and Jensen, “What’s going on?”

“I bet y’all would like to freshen up after your trip.” Quinn blurted out, “Jensen, would you help me with their luggage, please.”

Taking the car keys, he follows her out the door, remarking, “you think fast, coming up with that story.”

“Ya’ were about to lose ya' shit on your father-in-law, and I didn’t precisely fib, just moved a few facts around,” Quinn shoots back, grabbing a bag while Jensen, fuming, retrieves the other, following her to the guest house.

How could the Alpha he considered his father even think, after everything they’d been through, found his dark thoughts distracted by two simultaneous acts; a deflating blow-up bed and his bewildered husband storming in shouting, “What the fuck was that?”

Jensen ticked his head towards the O and made the finger-in-hole gesture.

 “I’ve gotten that shit since I presented,” the pair look towards Quinn with confused expressions. “Loads of Alphas still carry antiquated beliefs about unmated O’s, and I’m…pick an adjective to fill in the blank.”

“So much for a peaceful holiday,” Jensen grumbled.

“Yeah, too bad ya’ boy stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, right?” Quinn's tone was caustic. “I don’t want to be a bone of contention with ya' family. I’ll figure somewhere else to stay.”

Jared’s wolf simmers under his skin, “How? You have $636.96 in your account. That won’t cover a security deposit, let alone fir..” 

“How the fuck ya’ know what’s in my account?!”

“Your laptop was open...”

“...and ya’ snooped...”

“...I happened to see it...”

“...still not your fucking problem...”

“...you’re carrying my..our pups, that makes it my fucking..”

“...ya’ are the most unfucking...”

“I’m tired of y’alls motherfucking bitching, so shut the fuck up!!” 

Jensen wrinkles his nose, “Dude, dial it down; you’re stinking up the joint! And Quinn, Jared screwed up...”

“I never asked...”

“...doesn’t matter! He's trying to make amends, for fuck sake!” Jensen felt the vein in his left temple throbbing again.

“There will be many people dropping in or staying with us this fucking week, and this is how we’re all going to handle our situation.”

🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿

January 15th

“Humph,” Jensen jerked awake, slapping a hand around, and found his phone before cracking an eye open.

7:18 A.M.

Groaning, he dropped face-first into his pillow and wrestled his mates over his head to muffle the noise, but the pearls of his pup's laughter signaled he wouldn’t sleep much longer.

His fuzzy brain's insistence that coffee was more imperative than a shower has Jensen sleepily shuffling around the oversized couches, once again grateful they’d decided to move their bedroom to the main floor, spots the group in the kitchen muttered too damn early.

“That’s a bad word, Daddy,” JJ says, her frown a replica of his, “you owe the swear jar.”

“Your right, Birdie, sorry,” dropping a kiss on top of her and the twins' heads, stepping around them, pouring himself a mug, “remind me to pay it later.” 

Hopping up on the counter, Jensen sips his coffee, savoring the black elixir rolling over his taste buds; he feels the caffeine penetrate his system, working its magic to turn his morning grumpyass into a civilized human watching his brood.

JJ and Arrow are busily festooning Quinn’s long, wonky braided hair with ribbons. Zeppelin and Icarus are sitting on the O’s lap, watching something on his iPad that's precariously balanced against her feet; felt his wolf purr in contentment, starting him when his mate materializes and gives him an odd look.

“Alright, y’all,” hopping off the counter, Jensen scoops up his son and flies him around, making airplane sounds, “Uncle Jeff and Aunt H/W/N will be here soon. What do all of you need to do before going?”

“Brush teeth and hair,” Arrow says, then looks at JJ, “grab our snacks from the fridge,” she reminds her, “and put them into our backpacks.” 

“And do bath break!” Zep giggles as Jensen hands the pup to his mate and quietly says, “I wanna discuss something with Quinn.”

Jared reaches through their bond and finds a placidity in Jensen he hasn’t had for so long, but before he can deduce the causation, he gets distracted by the twins' squeals and escorts the pups upstairs. 

Quinn eyes the older Alpha while securing a hair tie around her long braids, “what the fuck I do this time, Ackles?”

“Jared mentioned something about your leaving..”

“...I know ya' expected me gone before now...”

 “...ya’ know what I expect?” Jensen snaps, mimicking her subtle accent, “I expect you to stop interrupting and let me get something out for fucking once! Now, could we please discuss this without fighting?”

Sitting at the dining room table, she says nothing, watching Jensen refill his coffee, grab another mug, and drops in a spoon of honey before pouring the brewed tea from the kettle, “Ya’ know how I take me tea?”

“I’m not a completely unobservant asshole,” Jensen self-deprecates, “you make a damn good cup of coffee,” he said, carrying both mugs over. “And I’m astonished how you balance everything, working at Emmer and Rye while keeping up with our hectic schedules. And what did you do to Jared?” Quinn looked confused, “you got him to put his wet clothes in the laundry instead of leaving them all over the bath. You’re either a witch or a goddamn miracle worker!”

“I gave him two options. Leave’um in the laundry or find itching powder in his clothing.”

“He’d just borrow my stuff...”

“...he did, once.” 

“So, you?

“Clif said ya’ boy spent the day denying it was jock itch.” 

Jensen was still laughing when the quartet came back downstairs, so Quinn placed both forearms on the table, leaning forward, and spoke softly, “okay, Ackles, the fucks going on with this little tête-à-tête? Cause ya’ been freaked the fuck out the entire time, so,” nodding to her mug, “What’s with the buttering up?”

“It’s about not leaving...”

“Quinns not gonna leave?” Jensen whipped around to find Arrow bouncing excitedly beside him, then she suddenly raced towards the front door, yelling, “Papa Jared, Daddy’s got Quinn to stay with us!”  

Jared stood there scrutinizing the seated duo with an indecipherable expression.

“Looks like ya’ the one dropping me in the shitter this time, Ackles.”

tbc

Part V

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @b3autyfuldisast3r  @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl @siospins2

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest @ladysparkles78

[bejeweledblondie]

Simon “Ghost” Riley Headcannons

A/N: these are loosely inspired from real life experiences I’ve had living on a military base, these men have a on & off switch it’s crazy

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Warnings: NSFW

• Simon first saw you while he was in the States for a training exercise, he was out at one of the local bars with some of the other soldiers he was with

• Soap had actually asked for your number first & since he was so intoxicated you turned him down

• Simon apologized for Soap & that’s how you met

• he did have a heart attack when he found out there was a bit of a age gap between you two but quickly got over it when he realized how mature you were

• it was a long distance relationship at first (from personal experience it sucks in the beginning)

• there were times when he couldn’t talk due to the risk of potentially exposing his teams location so you had to write letters every now & then

• you cried constantly whenever you saw some horrific news in the paper about what was going on overseas, the anxiety was awful

• but when he returned the reunions were euphoric

• you have a bottle of his cologne & aftershave so you can always feel close to him

• and you’d spray your perfume on the letters you sent so he couldn’t always smell the paper when he was missing you

• it took him sometime to open up to you about what had happened to him in his past, & your respected that

• when he first met your family, he was shocked by all the support he had received from them

• he asked your parents to marry you the first time he met them & showed them the ring too (ofc they said yes)

• he proposed to you in private after a nice dinner, he got choked up during the proposal

• your dad specifically was elated, he got to brag at how bad ass his son in law is

• your mom if she’s a teacher, had her entire class send cards, candy, anything they’d need in care packages Soap nearly cried when he opened the sweetest letter from a little girl (this actually happened irl my mom’s class did this & one guy got really choked up)

• Simon always would be your fiercest protector

• since he’s like an freakin tree he will guide your head with his bear paw of a hand in crowds

•he CANNOT sit with his back facing the door it stresses him out

•this man is strapped 24/7 whether that be a knife, bear spray etc. he’s ready

•he has a trauma kit in his car because “you never know”

•Simon is 1000% one of those apocalypse preppers you have freeze dried food, medicine, water, etc. he’s always on edge

• he sleeps with a damn rifle next to y’all’s bed

• you have a whole security system too

• your guy’s apartment is impeccable like you could eat off of the floor

• hell your guy’s bed has damn hospital corners

• Simon adopted a cat so you don’t feel as lonely when he’s deployed

• He’s your chonky boy & you do send plenty of photos to Simon when he’s deployed

• Gaz & Soap tease him about him living his “cat dad” life

• you start trying for a baby two years into your marriage

• Simon does fall victim to the “curse of the infantry” (which is not a negative thing btw it’s a running joke that infantry soldiers have all daughters) he makes girls

• he was deployed during your pregnancy & was worried sick he nearly missed the birth of your daughter

• that little girl is the most well protected baby in the whole world, the Task Force gifted him not just baby stuff but damn security for the nursery

• He watches your baby from his phone in the nursery on deployment, he was silently crying once when he was watching you sing a lullaby to your baby girl

•Price had to comfort him father to father

•In reality Simon has a very hard cold exterior at work for the sake of keeping his mental health for the profession he’s in but deep down he’s always held a soft spot & your relationship just brings it out

✨NSFW ✨

• there is a big size difference between you two & it drives him insane

• the first time y’all had together he didn’t want to break you in half

• when he returns from deployment y’all go at it like rabbits for multiple rounds, your poor pussy was so sore afterwards

• has a massive corruption & daddy kink

• he’s an ass man I don’t make the rules here so any position where your ass if the focal point is his favorite

• y’all have made so many sex tapes for him when he’s deployed, he has a whole folder on his phone & jerks off to them in the bathroom or the porta potty (it’s a canon event, trust me) to them

• he lets your cockwarm him constantly when you’re on the couch, when he’s working, hell y’all had even fallen asleep like that

• I know people say he has a Prince Albert piercing but alas per army regulation that is safety risk I think it’s more likely he’d use a cock ring on you

• during a military ball you two snuck off & fucked in a supply closet

• he couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel room after seeing you in your gown, it was red his favorite color

• and he just looked so fucking good in his dress uniform, that was the night you totally conceived your baby girl

• he groans into your ear when he cums & he’ll use his body to just eclipse yours

• “one more baby girl” & “c’mon pretty girl use your words tell me what you want”

• is a sucker for babydoll lingerie it brings your innocence & triggers his corruption kink

• moral of the story Simon Riley fucks

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

[lovezella]

The Witch Westeros

CHAPTER ONE - sneaking in a castle

disclaimer:

I do not own House of the Dragon nor the Scarlet Witch and her powers. Credits to Marvel and Stan Lee.

gif not mine, I got it from pinterest.

this fanfic does not follow the plot of the series nor its books. storyline belongs to me.

note:

as promised, here's the chapter two! i am so sorry for leaving this ff discontinued but i lost my motivation in writing and continuing it, so i hope y'all forgive me😭 and ofc, the suggestions for the love interest is still open! that's all, thank you xx

warning:

mentions of wound and blood but that's all (i think) NOT EDITED!!

Rhaenyra Targaryen paced around her chambers with a frown on her face. She was angry, sad, and betrayed. Her son, Lucerys, has been missing for three days and no one knows where he is or if he is alive. His dragon, Arrax, arrived wounded at the castle without his rider this morning and Rhaenyra’s paranoia grew. Her eldest son Jacaerys wouldn’t rest and flew with his dragon all day to look for his brother. Rhaenyra had soldiers roaming around King’s Landing and where he was last discovered, in hopes that they would find him.

Her son Joffrey’s name day is to be celebrated tomorrow but she couldn’t find it in her to celebrate while her second born son was out there missing. Alicent had suggested to have a gathering in honour of Joffrey’s name day, despite the young prince’s protest of not wanting to celebrate without his elder brother. Her father, Viserys, couldn’t have a say about it since he’s currently bedridden because of some sickness— that her uncle Daemon seems so sure that it was the greens’ doing.

Rhaenyra sat on her bed and sighed. She hoped that her son was alive, if not, she prayed for the one who caused his death that would receive her wrath.

-x-

You were used to not getting enough sleep in the past. Often staying up, staring at the ceiling and thinking of your family and ‘what ifs’ invading your mind. However, tonight was different. You shifted on your side, pulling your blanket up to cover you more as you pondered the events that can occur tomorrow.

When you saw a floating body on the waters yesterday, you never imagined it would be a prince. Maybe a commoner, a soldier harmed from a war, or even a pirate—do they even exist in this world? Hell, you don’t know,— but a prince? If you were to waltz into the castle with the young prince who was declared missing, you might—no, you will get into more trouble.

You let out a groan, rubbing your face tiredly. There goes your plan to lay low until you find a way to go back to your universe. Sighing, you gave up trying to sleep and went down to the kitchen, hoping baking will help you ease your nerves.

Tomorrow is going to be fun.

-x-

Lucerys Valeryon woke up with the sun beaming on his face, the distinct sound of the waves from outside and the fresh smell of bread making him realize where he was. He winced as he sat up from the soft bed he laid, rubbing his torso and arm where a cloth wrapped around his wound. He looked down and softly sighed, seeing the blood seeping on the cloth. Lucerys mustered up the strength to stand up and walked to the kitchen, ignoring the shooting pain on his muscles each step he took.

The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, seeing the young prince you took in last night staggered in.

“Dear, you should be in bed!” You fussed, meeting him half way and guiding him on a stool. You tsked, grabbing another cloth to rewrap his wounds. “How are you going to heal if you are not resting?”

Lucerys shook his head, “I’m alright, my lady. I don’t think I can handle being in bed for too long.”

“Such a stubborn boy,” You sighed, focusing on your task in hand. Lucerys didn’t reply but stared at the dozen plates of bread and dishes on the table. You finished wrapping his arm and torso with a cloth and saw his gaze at your table.

Your face flushed from embarrassment, “I…I cook and bake when I’m nervous.” you explained, throwing the bloody cloth away, “It helps me get my mind off of things.”

Lucerys smiled lightly, thinking of his brother who does the same thing with training when he wants a distraction. “There’s no need to be ashamed, my lady. My brother does it too. He drowns himself in training to distract him from his duties or well…everything.” You stare at him with a light smile, seeing the warm look on his face as he talks about his brother.

You stood up to fetch him breakfast, grabbing two plates from the table which consisted of scrambled eggs and bacon and a piece of butter toast— all you made from scratch. Since this period is lacking supplies you needed to cook, you decided to just conjure some from your magic. No one would know, and if they do, you can just erase their memories. Easy as a pie. You placed the plates on your living room table since you can’t eat at the kitchen table, and pushed Lucerys’ food to his side. Lucerys stared at the plate in front of him with a confused look on his face.

“My lady, I do not mean to offend you, but…what exactly is this?” He asked, hesitantly picking the fork up.

You chuckled and waved a hand, “Don’t worry, Luke, you didn’t offend me. That is scrambled eggs, bacon and butter toast.” You hoped it was enough for him as you were sure he eats more grand foods growing up.

“That is quite…peculiar.” Lucerys raised an eyebrow, “I have never heard of such a meal.”

You paused as you were about to take a bite. Shit, you forgot people from this era are used to eating just bread, fruits, and wine in the morning. “It’s a traditional meal from my home.” you quickly came up with an excuse, “Meals like this are common when we break our fast.”

Lucerys accepted your answer and took a bite of his food, eyes widening as he chewed. “This is delicious!” he exclaimed once he swallowed. “I should visit your home country if the food is as delicious as this.”

Not knowing how to reply, you just chuckled and nodded. You both ate breakfast in silence, caught up with your own thoughts to make a conversation leading to an awkward silence. You cleared your throat, “I was thinking that we should visit the castle once they finished the celebration. In that case, we would not be causing a ruckus and you can get to your family safely.”

“My lady, if I may,” Lucerys started, “I…I want to attend my brother’s name day.” You purse your lips at his words. You had figured he would say that and already formed a plan to sneak you both in.

“I can make it happen—” You said, and the young boy’s eyes widened in delight, “—But we have to do it discreetly.”

“And how, my lady, are we going to do that? I thought only invited high borns are allowed to attend? Are you a high born, my lady?” Lucerys couldn’t help but ask. Your house doesn’t exactly scream noble or rich to him, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Although, from your looks, posture and manners, some can mistake you as one.

You chuckled, seeing the curious look on his face. You know he doesn’t mean any offense, he’s young and it’s normal for him to be curious. “No, but I can be very convincing.” You winked, subtly making your eye flash red. Lucerys didn’t seem to notice but trusted your words enough. After all, you did save him.

“We leave tonight, is that alright?” You asked, gesturing to his wounds. Lucerys nodded furiously, excited to see his family.

-x-

The moon shined bright and the streets were alive as ever for the celebration of the prince’s name day. Lucerys and you strode to the castle with hoods up to cover your faces. As you approached, a wheelhouse passed through the open gates before it snapped shut. Knights stood by the side; one was staring at you and Lucerys with a suspicious look.

Lucerys tugged your hand, “Perhaps we should just leave. We won’t be able to cross them.” his eyes nervously looking anywhere but the knights.

“It’s alright.” You squeezed his hand and walked confidently to the knights. “We’re here for the gathering.” you said with a smile.

The knight scoffed and said, “High borns only, lass. Your kind is not allowed here. I’m not letting you in.”

Lucerys glared at his offense but you tugged his hand, silently telling him to stay down.

“Oh, but you will.” You tilted your head, your iris turning red and with simple magic, the knight was under your control. “We are from House Maximoff, will you let us in?”

“Of course, my lady.” The knight said in a monotone voice. He shouted orders and before you knew it, the castle gates were open.

[oneofstarkskids]

saturn

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky just likes to spoil his doll. you shouldn't expect any less on date night

genre: do you even have to ask anymore? ofc it's fluff

*not my gif*

it was your favorite night of the week. date night. you and bucky promised to spend one night a week just for yourselves. no missions, no avengers, just the two of you.

you would switch off planning every other week. today it was bucky's turn, and he always had the most romantic ideas.

you always loved spending time with bucky, but you especially needed it today. you felt inexplicably exhausted and wanted nothing more than sweet kisses and soft whispers from your blue eyed soldier.

his hands were resting on your hips and he had this teasing grin that told you he was up to something. "sam's letting us borrow his truck and it's already packed up."

you arched a brow, "how long are we going to be gone?" he kisses your forehead, "just for the night. don't worry, doll. i've got everything under control."

his words melted your heart and a smile spread across your lips instantly. "you can't tell me anything? not even an itty bitty clue?" you asked with a pout.

he gave you a stern look, "no, because that would ruin the surprise."

you groaned, but bucky just wrapped you in his arms and kissed all over your face, "you can wait a couple hours. trust me, it'll be worth it."

you grinned and shook your head, but you believed him.

he set you down carefully, "now go pack an overnight, so we can get out of here." you laughed and started walking away, but jumped as you felt bucky slap your ass. you turned around and shot him a glare.

the drive down was long and unfamiliar. you practically sighed in relief when bucky finally stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine.

you stepped out to stretch your legs and look around, but there was nothing to see. nothing but miles of fields and distant trees.

"hey, bucky?" you shouted to him as he got out too.

"yeah?" he shouted back, digging in the cargo bed for something.

"did you drag me out here to murder me?" you joke bluntly.

you turn to meet his disappointed scowl. "really?" he asks as you walk towards him.

you laugh, "i'm kidding! but seriously, what are we doing all the way out here?

bucky starts unfolding blankets and making a pallet in the back of the truck, "well, ever since we watched the one movie about the girl who falls in love with the boy but doesn't tell him she's dying, you haven't stopped talking about how romantic star-gazing is. so..."

he pulls out a large telescope and has the cutest grin on his face. you can hardly contain your excitement, "bucky! that's so sweet!" he gently sets the device down before you run into his arms.

"anything for you, doll face," he chuckles and places a kiss on your temple.

you help him finish setting the scene before laying in his arms and talking for a couple of hours. and of course, he brought snacks. could he be anymore perfect?

once it finally gets dark enough for you to see the stars, you look up in awe. you'd lost complete track of time with bucky. he stands up in the bed of the truck and reaches for your hand to lift you to your feet.

bucky brings you close and positions the telescope just right for you. he stands right up against you as you gaze at the sparkling sky. every now and then you'll ask him about a constellation and he'll look at this book that he brought along to give you the answers.

one could say it was the perfect date, but what really made it perfect was him.

a/n: i low key rushed the ending but its fiiiine. it's 4 am, give me a break.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Catch up before I start posting again, so you can be ready to go. Chapter 5 should be out by October 4. ❤️

Let Me See Inside Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears. 

He dropped his hand. 

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home. 

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again. 

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here. 

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap. 

“You growing roots, old man?” 

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger. 

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar. 

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes. 

“You coming or going, cowboy?” 

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist. 

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.” 

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face. 

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him. 

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.” 

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb. 

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.” 

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses. 

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat. 

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.” 

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble. 

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends. 

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most. 

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass. 

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek. 

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down. 

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head. 

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return. 

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.” 

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.” 

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.” 

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.” 

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.” 

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.” 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her. 

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again. 

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head. 

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.”  She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down. 

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke,  the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.  

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him. 

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it. 

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?” 

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans. 

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile. 

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?” 

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter. 

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?” 

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.” 

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed. 

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet. 

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.” 

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged. 

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.” 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.” 

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head. 

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.” 

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was  trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him. 

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.” 

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.” 

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.” 

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private. 

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic. 

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon. 

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here. 

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy. 

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more. 

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it. 

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city. 

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet. 

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence. 

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else. 

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected. 

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.” 

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child. 

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child. 

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.” 

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it. 

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.” 

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped. 

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer. 

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 18

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Word Count: 5,600

Tags/Warnings: Love triangle, tension, more of Ben’s asshole behavior, angst, hurt/comfort, implied smut

ASIG Series Masterlist

18: Being Human

Maybe I really do have a death wish, Helena thought, as she let the most wanted supe alive into her home.

Butcher and Hughie joined him, with the latter taking in her two-story house for the first time.

“Nice,” Hughie said with a nod. “This place is beautiful.”

Helena gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Though she gave Ben a pointed look. “Try not to break it, please.”

He shot her a raised brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched her turn and show them one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on the curve of her ass in those jeans.

Butcher caught the supe’s lazy perusal with a sharp eye. Ben felt his stare and had the gall to shoot him a wink with his smile. Ben’s steps had a certain swagger as he followed Helena down the hall.

It succeeded in setting Butcher even more on edge.

Hughie glanced over at his friend with concern; he’d seen the exchange between the men and didn’t like the fact that Helena was caught in the middle. More and more, he was starting to question just what the hell they were doing.

“Are you sure about this?” Hughie asked.

Butcher didn’t even look at him. His ears were perked to the conversation Soldier Boy and Helena were having down the hall, about fresh bedsheets, of all things.

“There’s no turning back now,” Butcher said.

Hughie frowned. “I know, but…”

Butcher ignored him in favor of starting down the hall to follow Helena and the unstable supe he’d brought into her home.

After everyone had showered and changed and devoured a few pizzas Helena had ordered, Ben puttered through her living room, rummaging through her things. He opened drawers and surveyed her various picture frames, like he was actually interested in her life or something.

“Got any reefer?” he asked.

Helena rolled her eyes. There goes that theory.

Not that she wanted his interest.

“Fresh out,” she said wryly.

She watched him from her corner of the sofa while Hughie graciously did the dishes. Butcher was sitting at the breakfast nook with a cup of tea.

Helena knew he was monitoring the supe out of the corner of his eye, but she was now very careful in what she left on the TV. She didn’t think Dumb and Dumber should have anything triggering.

She eyed him more sharply when Ben started thumbing through her record collection.

“Hey, easy with my vinyl, please,” she said. “It’s vintage.”

He raised up one of your favorites: I Wanna Dance with Somebody.

“Sweetheart, I’m vintage. I think Whitney Houstonis safe with me,” he quipped wryly.

She rolled her eyes at him, but she had to fight a laugh. 

“I knew her, by the way,” he mentioned. 

Helena’s interest was piqued, with a tilt of her head. “Did you?”

“Yeah. Her and Bobby knew how the fuck to get down. That’s for damn sure.”

“Oh my God,” Helena giggled.

Butcher couldn’t fucking believe what was happening in front of him.

Well, technically, behind him. He was facing the kitchen, and it gave Hughie the vantage point to see Butcher’s irritation.

Helena was more amused than disgusted by the man’s ridiculous flirting. He was an old, old man in that 40s-ish, practically indestructible body. He was like a man out of time, complete with outdated sexism and hyper-machismo. His attempts were often so obvious, it was funny.

But, she also felt guilty for being able to laugh and be pleasant, when this was a man who had killed, and not just during his PTSD-fueled episodes over the past few days. This was the man who murdered M.M.’s grandfather.

The problem was, she had long ago become desensitized to asshole supes. And she couldn’t help her gut instinct…that there was more to Ben than met the eye.

Helena called it a night an hour or so later, when her eyes were starting to droop. She’d slept for a couple of hours in the car, but there was nothing like being back in her safe space, in fresh clothes, and soon to be in her own bed.

A knock at her bedroom door had her frowning in confusion. She put on a robe over her pajamas and opened the door. Her brows raised at finding Butcher there.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was deep and tired, full of gravel. He tried to slip past her inside the room, but she grabbed the doorjamb, blocking his way. She gave him a flat look.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. He gestured to the bed with raised brows.

“To sleep. I’m fucking knackered, love.”

Helena’s lips formed a thin smile.

“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall,” she said. For a moment, they just stared at one another, as one refused to leave, and the other refused to bend.

“Hel,” Butcher tried.

“You ended this,” she said, pushing him back with a hand in the center of his chest.

“Technically, that was you,” he returned. He backed up a step, but wouldn’t let her move him much farther. 

This time, her lips pursed and her expression tightened.

“You know what you said, Billy,” she said. “And you know what you did. You still don’t even have the decency to apologize.”

She stepped closer into his orbit, until her breasts barely brushed against his chest. He could feel the warmth of her skin under the thin cotton of her shirt, could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She leaned up on her toes and almost brushed her lips against his. She smelled minty fresh, along with the jasmine shampoo she often used.

“You…don’t get any part of this,” she said. “And you certainly don’t get to make some kind of claim on me just because you’re jealous.”

Helena pulled away. Butcher didn’t know what was more infuriating: not being able to touch her, or the deadly accuracy of her words.

“Jealous?” he said incredulously. “Of fucking what, might I ask?”

Instead of answering him, she smiled and closed her door in his face.

Butcher was left in the hall, teeth gritted and fists clenched. What the bloody hell just happened?

When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he trudged down the hall and into the second bedroom, where Hughie was already slipping into the queen-sized bed. Butcher yanked him out of bed, despite the younger man’s yelp and protest.

“Hey!”

“There’s a couch nice and comfy there for ya,” Butcher said, gesturing at the nearby sofa. It was little more than a loveseat. If Hughie was lucky, it would only be his legs hanging off the side.

He frowned. “Come on, man.”

Butcher shrugged off his jacket and boots, tossing them on a nearby accent chair.

“You can try your luck bunking with Soldier Boy downstairs, but that might be ill-advised,” he retorted.

And he got into bed, turning out the bedside lamp as he went.

Helena slept for maybe a couple of hours before her eyes opened in the dark, her heart racing. She groaned and covered her face with a hand.

She still saw flashes of manic blue eyes in her mind, a hand wrapped around her throat. She felt throbbing pain radiating from the side of her head and half her ribcage.

It forced her out of bed in search of her medication, which Butcher had somehow gotten for her without a prescription. She chose to ignore that fact, and she grabbed her pill bottle, put on her favorite robe over her pajamas, and ventured downstairs for a glass of water.

When she turned on the kitchen light, her bleary eyes made out a shape sitting at the breakfast nook.

She jumped halfway out of her skin, until she realized that it was just Ben, sitting there with two cartons of Mint Milano cookies and three empty beers from her fridge. He raised his brows at her.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he said, smirking when he eyed her fuzzy purple robe. “Cute.”

“Down, boy,” she warned. She laid a quivering hand on her chest and caught her breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She retrieved the jug of water from the fridge and asked him if he wanted some. He shook his head, leaving her to consider him as she poured herself a glass of water. She saw the familiar threads of self-medicating with the empty beer bottles.

“I can make you some tea,” she offered.

Ben frowned. “Piss water, you mean? I’ll pass.”

Helena rolled her eyes. She got out the chamomile anyway and started up the kettle. It was an electric brewer, so the water would be hot within minutes.

“It could help you sleep better,” she pointed out. She felt his hot gaze on her back as she went about her business in the kitchen. She set up two mugs and took out the bottle of honey.

“One of two things helps me sleep,” said Ben. “Good drugs or a good fuck.”

Helena paused. Her hand clenched on the honey bottle on reflex, and made a large spurt squeeze out in one of the mugs. She eyed him tartly over her shoulder.

“You’ll find neither in this house,” she said. Her tone was pointed. His sly gaze said he wasn’t too sure about that.

“What’s keeping you up?” she asked, and she put a cup of tea in front of him with honey already stirred in. He gave her a flat look.

“I don’t drink that shit,” he said. She smiled.

“But I made it especially for you,” she replied, saccharine sweet. “I thought guys like you were supposed to be chivalrous.”

Ben just stared at her, hard.

She stared at him right back and raised her brows.

“Just try it,” she cajoled. “You might like it.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he slowly reached out and took the handle of the mug. He brought it to his lips and took a reluctant sip.

He grimaced. It was everything he thought it would be: weak in flavor, but warm and a hint sweet.

Helena smiled in satisfaction, and he fought one of amusement, even as he considered how sweet she might be to taste.

She went to get her own mug and her bottle of pain meds. While her back was turned, Ben poured most of the tea into the sink.

“Why’re you in my kitchen, eating all my cookies?” she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder while holding up one of the empty boxes of Milanos. “These are my favorites.”

Ben’s gaze roamed down the length of her fuzzy robe. It hinted at curves he’d already seen and taken note of. She was the hottest young thing he’d seen in…well, a while. Still, he’d be willing to eat up Miss Chiquita Banana and leave no crumbs.

“I’ve slept long enough,” he said. She turned back around, and he tried to disguise his hunger (for now). 

Helena glanced up at him wryly. “Hmm. You’re allowed to say you can’t sleep.”

Ben didn’t answer, but he watched her struggle to open her pill bottle. She twisted and twisted the cap, applying pressure, but it refused to budge.

“Damn it. What, did they reinforce this with, titanium?” she muttered.

The pill bottle eventually broke free, raining little white pills onto the counter. A few of them rolled off to the floor.

Her shoulders deflated. “Of fucking course.”

With a sigh, she slowly bent down and gathered up the pills that fell. She grabbed onto the counter, but the sharpening pain in her ribs wouldn’t let her straighten up, let alone get back onto her feet. She looked up at Ben in annoyance. He was just sitting there, watching her in bemusement.

“Coño pero… Are you gonna help me, Mr. Chivalry?” she snarked. “Best generation, indeed.”

Ben raised a brow at her. “I might, if you ask a little fucking nicer.”

Helena gaped at him. What a dick.

But she expected nothing less, really. She let out a tense breath through her nose and through much effort, she angled a less pissed off face at him.

“Will you please give me hand off the damn floor?” she asked.

A smirk crossed his lips. He actually obliged her, sliding off his seat and coming her way around the kitchen counter. He bent down and helped her up with a hand on her lower back and her elbow. He didn’t back away from her until her feet were steady on the ground, and she nodded in thanks. He took a few pills out of her hand as payment, popping them into his mouth like Tic Tacs.

Helena sighed in annoyance. Unlike him, she actually needed those.

“Why’re you up, anyway?” Ben asked.

“Well, I could blame it on the pain,” she replied, after downing two pills with her water. “But um…I keep replaying yesterday in my head, over and over like a bad movie. It always stops at the part where I look up at Homelander’s psychotic fucking eyes, and I just…I knew.”

Helena shook her head. Ben’s lips tugged downward.

“Knew what?” he asked.

“I’m officially on his hit list now,” she said. 

She knew it was partly her own fault. She chose to follow Butcher, to keep making reckless decisions. But at least now she wouldn’t have to spend every damn second of every day looking over her shoulder. She could just turn around and accept whatever happened next.

Helena could admit it though. She was afraid.

“What’s it like, not being afraid?” she asked Ben, with a small sarcastic huff. His brow arched.

“When you’ve routinely pounded Nazis up the ass, nothing much bothers you after that,” he said, sipping at his mug of tea. Though he soon grimaced again at the taste and pushed the offending drink away.

Deep inside, however, he refused to acknowledge the darker chasms. Stolen years that were now blurred together in memory, and yet, certain moments rang painfully clear. His eyes were unseeing for a moment, before they glanced back up at Helena.

He nearly missed the way she chuckled.

“That shit isn’t fooling for a second,” she said. “I saw you lose your grip, Ben.”

His gaze sharpened. His fist clenched on the counter.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warned.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let me ask you a question. Do you really not remember M.M.’s family? Or was that routine for you too?”

He paused, his brows crunched in irritation.

“I don’t have to fucking justify myself to you. I was doing my fucking job. Sometimes—”

“What, shit happens?” She threw her hands up mockingly. “God, you’re just like Homelander. Like almost every supe I’ve ever met.”

He rolled his eyes, dismissive, but his anger was prickling just under the surface of his stoic front.

And on the off chance that it was a mask for any spark of shame he felt deep down, Helena was at least a little satisfied. For 100-something years of machismo and supe arrogance, that spark would’ve been well-won. 

“Regret is human, Ben,” she said. “So is fear. And pain. And love.”

His face remained stoic. “I’m a lot fucking more than human.”

She huffed at that. “If you say so.”

She shook her head and delved back into her pantry. As a peace offering, she broke out her secret backup stash of cookies, that she doubted even Butcher knew about. They were raspberry and milk chocolate Milanos. She subtly shook the box at Ben with a smile.

He tilted his head. “I don’t remember that flavor.”

“Ooh. Brace yourself,” said Helena. She dug out the first two sleeves of cookies and gave him one.  

“How come there’s five in yours?” he asked with a frown. There were only four cookies in his sleeve. 

“The Lord giveth, and he taketh away,” she joked. “I get the bonus cookie.”

Ben gave her a deadpan look, but he ate in silence. He looked all surly, and she had to hold in a laugh. What a man-child.

Instead, she tossed her extra cookie at him. He raised a hand to instinctively fend off a projectile.

“Hey,” he said, with his mouth full.

Helena ended up giggling at the sight of crumbs falling from his mouth and in his beard. Again, man-child.

She wanted to hate him.

She should hate him, on principle alone.

Perhaps she had a weakness for deeply flawed men with massive egos. But fleeting as they were, she saw the glimpses of humanity in Ben—rare moments that got swallowed up by Soldier Boy.

In the morning, Butcher aimed to work on the list of safehouses where one of his most paranoid of ex-teammates, Mindstorm, could be hiding out. This next one was a few hours north. He’d be gone for the day, at least.

He was forced to leave Helena and Hughie behind, but not without a warning for the latter. Butcher had pulled Hughie aside and let him know that he wasn’t to leave her alone with Soldier Boy again, under any circumstances. Hughie didn’t have to ask “or what.”

Butcher was gone early in the morning. It allowed Helena and Ben to make their way into the kitchen slower in the morning. She was dressed for the day with her coffee mug in hand, sitting at the breakfast nook while Hughie caught up on the news from her laptop in the living room.

Ben grabbed a cup of coffee and took a seat next to her.

“What do you say you get started on breakfast. Huh, baby doll?” he asked. Or more like demanded, by his actual tone.

Helena shot him a dry look. “There’s cereal in the pantry.”

“Come on, now. I could use a home cooked meal,” he said.

Her brow twitched in irritation.

“It might be nice, since I have cracked ribs at the moment, if you might make yourself something,” Helena replied.

Ben gave her a smirk as he eyed her. “Why would I do that when you look like a perfectly good cook.”

“Oh, I am,” she said. “But I’m neither your servant nor your maid.”

“You’ve got two working hands, don’t you?” Ben remarked, as he sipped his coffee. “God fucking knows you’ve got a working mouth.”

Helena seethed as she got up from her chair, but not to make anyone a damn thing. She went to the sink to dump her empty coffee mug. She turned back to Ben and opened her mouth to say something she would very likely regret, but Hughie interjected, perhaps seeing that an explosion was about to happen.

“Uh, why don’t I make us something?” he said, getting up from the couch and heading into the kitchen with Helena. “I can whip us up some scrambled eggs. Bacon, if you’ve got it. Ooh, looks like you’ve got bread to make toast.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Knock yourself out.”

She ate her eggs on the couch in simmering silence while the news played on the TV. Hughie sat with her, casting her a look of concern every now and then. She ignored it all, including Ben’s less than discreet grumpy staring.  

Apparently, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“I swear to Christ. What the fuck is wrong with women today?” he said.

What a good start, Helena thought sarcastically.

“My mom never kept my father waiting for a meal. Even when he came home at whatever goddamn hour of the night, she had a plate waiting for him,” he said.

Helena rolled her eyes and quipped dryly, “That plate must’ve been cold as hell.”

Ben eyed her as she got up from the couch and went to bring her plate to the sink. She had her back to him as she began to rinse the dishes and put them into the sink.

“When did women get so fucking lazy? And disrespectful,” he remarked.

Helena hit the lever on the sink closed to turn off the faucet. She turned around to face the man and crossed her arms.

“You want a fuckable maid, pay extra,” she said. “But if you want a partner you can rely on. Someone you can trust not to give you to the damn Russians, then you share the load. And you respect the woman who lets you into her bed.”

She turned back to the dishes so she wouldn’t have to look at Ben’s angry, brooding face. But the way she turned her back on him, along with her pointed words, irritated enough to spark his anger. He got up from his seat.

Hughie sensed the danger before Helena did. He stood and made a cautious approach to the kitchen.

Helena reached for a hand towel, and found her wrist encased with an iron grip. She gasped as Ben turned her to face him.

“I’ve put up with a lot from you,” he said. “I think I’ve been a gentleman, considering what a disrespectful little brat you are. But I really think you wanna get bent over my knee.”

His face told her that she wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Hey,” Hughie tried to intervene. “Let’s just calm down, all right?”

Helena let out a shaky breath, but she looked up at Ben and somehow managed to hold her ground, despite the iron grip on her arms.

“If it makes you feel better, go ahead,” she said. “Slap me around until I break.”

“Soldier Boy!” Hughie said in warning.

Ben ignored him. He stared down at Helena with cold anger in his eyes. His hold on her arms tightened, and it hurt. She failed to stifle a gasp of pain.

But she stared up at him defiantly, even though there were tears forming in her eyes.

“You want me to respect you? You killed my friend’s family, and you don’t even care,” she said. “I don’t see anything here that earns my respect.”

Ben reacted to her words, mostly with anger as his brows furrowed.

Hughie grabbed the supe’s shoulder. “Hey, man, just let her go!”

Ben shoved Hughie away so hard that it made the younger man slide across the kitchen and into the far wall, until he hit a bookshelf and fell to the ground.

Helena flinched in shock, and pain at the way he was still holding her. Ben saw it play across her face…and he let her go abruptly. He stared down at her for a moment, nostrils flaring with his heavier breathing. She tried to calm her own breathing as she met his gaze, wondering what he would do. Wondering if this was the moment she’d signed her own death warrant by being her smartass self.

But Ben walked away from her.

Well, stalked away, more like. He left through the front door and it swung open on its hinges.

Helena took in deep breathes of relief. Eventually she gathered enough of her wits to go to Hughie, who was still picking himself off the floor.  

“I gotta go after him,” he said with a sigh.

“Get that man away from my house. I don’t care where you take him,” Helena said, frowning tersely. Hughie couldn’t blame her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and touched her arm gently. She pulled away from his touch and held herself with crossed arms.

“I’m fine. Just go get him,” she replied.

He nodded and took off after Soldier Boy. It gave Helena the reprieve she needed to let out a long, tremulous breath. A tear fell down her cheek as she leaned on the kitchen counter.

She just couldn’t help taking her life into her hands.

Butcher returned to Helena’s house in the evening. Her car was still in the driveway, but when he let himself in with the spare key she’d given him, he realized that the house was empty, except for her.

She was washing dishes from a dinner she’d clearly made for just herself: a Lean Cuisine.

“Where the hell are Hughie and Soldier Boy?” he asked, approaching where she stood in the kitchen, dressed down in a long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants.

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” she said. “Hello to you too, by the way.”

Her voice had little energy in it, save for anger and sarcasm, and Butcher took notice. He frowned.

“You’re the one who brought ‘em here. Weren’t my fucking idea, remember?” he snarked back.

Helena finally gave up on the dishes and turned to him with angry tears in her eyes.

“But you’re the one who made it happen, Billy. You wanted to cut a deal with that ancient, unstable fucking asshole? Well, you got your damn wish,” she said. “You are the reason we’re in this mess.”

Butcher paused at the sight of her unshed tears. His jaw worked as he tried to make sense of why she was this upset, when just yesterday she was joking and laughing with the supe like he was the guest of honor.

His brows drew together. “What did he do?”

Helena refused to answer.

Butcher went to her and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away from him with a flinch. Her eyes flicked away from his.

Unbidden, it reminded him of the day he waited for her at her apartment. And she’d come home after work looking skittish and drained. She’d flinched away from his touch then, just like she’d done now. That had been the day Homelander nearly strangled her to death.

“What the fuck did he do, Helena?” Butcher repeated. She met his gaze. 

“You better find him,” she said, “before he blows up another damn building.”

Butcher stared hard at her, but she wouldn’t say anything more.

He fished out his cell and called Hughie, who told him that he’d brought Soldier Boy to the Legend’s penthouse apartment in the city.

“Good,” Butcher nodded. “Keep him settled there while I look for Mindstorm.”

He glanced at Helena, but she was already walking away from him to finish cleaning up her kitchen.

Butcher ended his call. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’ve gotta go,” was what he settled on.

She shrugged. Butcher nearly sighed. He went to her though, while she was wiping down the counter with a clean rag. His hand reached out to touch her back, but at the last moment, he thought better of it. His arm drifted back to his side.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

“Like you care,” she said. Her tone was one of both snark and exhaustion. “Just go.”

Reluctantly, he went.

Helena was angry, to say the least—at Butcher, at Soldier Boy, and even at Hughie. She was also angry at herself for not having been able to leave well enough alone when Butcher left the first time.

Which first time? She snorted.

But she was especially mad at herself when she allowed the three men to traipse back into her home, a week later.

“‘Ullo, love,” Butcher greeted at her door.

They were covered with dried sweat and dirt, like they’d been hiking. She only let them in because of how they looked—each a bit rattled by whatever they’d faced. Her house was safer than the Legend’s at this point, Butcher explained.

“Just one night,” he asked. “We’ll fuck off in the morning.”

“Fine,” she agreed, despite her better judgment. Again, it was that look in his eyes. Unsteady.

Ben gave her a predictable once-over of her pajama shorts and tank-top, but it seemed he didn’t have it in him to volley with her like usual, especially after what happened last time. He didn’t acknowledge that as he made his way to one of the guest rooms.

Helena followed Hughie and Butcher upstairs…but something made her grab Butcher and steer him away from the second guest bedroom.

He wasn’t sure what she was doing while she guided him into the bathroom in her room. There he leaned against the counter of the bathroom sink. She picked the twigs out of his hair and brushed the dried mud from his shirt.

“Did you take a dirt nap or something?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“What the hell happened then?”

He looked down at her. “Mindstorm is dead.”

She sighed at that, but something else was there, behind his eyes. Just under the surface.

“And what else?” Helena asked.

Butcher remained quiet, hesitating. She slowly took a chance by reaching for his scarred hand. She held it with both of hers.

He couldn’t help himself. He brushed his thumb over the back of her warm, tan, smooth hand, reminding himself that she was real and alive. And he wasn’t locked in his mind.

“When I left for the SAS,” he said, “I left my little brother behind…with our raging cunt of a father.”

Helena inhaled deeply; she remembered what Butcher had told her about Lenny, about how he died young. But somehow, Butcher had left out this detail. He met her gaze with tears forming in his red-rimmed eyes.

“I shouldn’t have left him,” he confessed.

Helena was half in shock as she watched the first tear roll down his cheek. She realized then that she had never seen the true depths of this man. Not until tonight.

Her eyes burned with sympathetic emotion as she reached for him and pull him into her arms. He held her back, burying his face in her neck and grounding himself in her as his body shook. Those brutal memories, along with the grief that had been locked deep inside had loosened, and the doors were now swinging open on their hinges.

“Jesus Christ, Helena…I’m sorry,” he said. His voice wavered, and his hand clenched in her hair. “For what I keep doing to ya. Dragging you down with me with every goddamn step.” 

He pulled back enough to see her, to be faced with her tears as she bit her lip.

“And for what I said…to you, and to the kid. I’m fucking sorry,” he said.

Helena broke down just as much as he did then. She nodded in acceptance, and she held his face in her hands. Then she brought him down for a tender kiss. Butcher gave into the soft warmth of her as he held her against him, unwilling to let go this time.

And she led him back into her bed.

In the late hours of the night, Butcher returned to Helena’s bed after a shower. She was already fast asleep. He slid in behind her, gently caressing the back of his hand up her naked back and over her shoulder, down her arm…

And he saw it. A purplish, yellow band around her arm.

It looked like a bruise, formed by a large hand. A man’s hand.

Butcher was damn certain it wasn’t his own, and he’d just finished tracing all the contours of her body tonight.

Though he was reminded of what happened a few days ago…

His brows drew together. “What did he do?”

Helena refused to answer.

Butcher went to her and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away from him with a flinch. Her eyes flicked away from his.

Soldier Boy. That old cunt.

Rage built and built inside him. That unfathomable rage that so often fostered lethal energy in Butcher’s blood.

Carefully he slipped out of bed. He got as far as the doorway before he looked back at Helena. He focused on her easy breathing, her messy dark hair splayed on her pillow.

The rage he felt began to simmer down, bit by bit, into self-loathing. Because he did this.

She’d been right before. Butcher made the deal with Soldier Boy. And Butcher brought this shitshow into her home.

So he forced himself to join her back in bed. He traced down the back of her neck, down the length of her lotus tattoo. It made her shiver in her sleep.

Butcher had failed his brother, and Becca. But he couldn’t fail this time. He’d keep Helena and Hughie safe, and alive.

Butcher’s phone was on silent, but the light from his phone on the nightstand illuminated the dark room and stole his attention. He grabbed it and frowned at the strange number on the caller ID. He took the phone into the bathroom and closed the door.

“Hello?” he answered.

“I need to talk to Hughie. Where is he?” Annie asked.

“Oh, Starlight. How delightful,” he muttered. And then he lied.“He’s just popped out for a bit.”

“Okay, well he’s not answering his phone.”

“Bit hard to keep a phone when you’re teleporting all day, innit, love? How can I help?”

“Temp V is going to kill you both,” she said.

“Well, it’s gonna have to join the queue,” he quipped.

“I was just in the lab. It causes lesions, okay? It turns your brain into fucking Swiss cheese!” she shouted. “So please be honest with me, and tell me how many doses have you taken?”

Butcher hesitated at that. His stomach began to churn.

“Just a couple,” he replied. Or a few.

“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Butcher, five to six doses kills you. Got that? You need to tell Hughie.”

Butcher hesitated. “Yeah…yeah, I will. I promise.”

“Okay, but I’m calling every five minutes until—”

He hung up on her. All the while, his mind was reeling.

Fuck, he thought. Fatal after five doses. He’d already had three. Hughie’d had two.

And they needed more, if they were going to face Homelander and Black Noir.

“Scorched earth” was going to come at a price. Butcher had known that going into this, but it suddenly took on new meaning as he opened the bathroom door and looked over at Helena, peacefully sleeping in bed. 

Butcher thought of Ryan, and all of his broken promises.

But come the morning, Butcher didn’t tell anyone of what he’d learned.

AN: Oooh, we're getting so close to the end here, folks!

Next Time:

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Butcher asked.

Her head tilted as she gave a wry smile. “What do you mean?”

His grip on her waist tightened a little.

“Why’re you staying with me?” he pressed. “Hel, you know where this ends.”

“Billy, I don’t have a death wish,” she told him. She squeezed his arms back. “But I don’t just want you alive for me. Ryan needs you too.”

Keep Reading: Part 19

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Tag List:

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[lowkeiloki]

Private is very smart, right? Hes great at using resources he has on hand to get himself and the penguins out of a sticky situation. He comes up with the idea to pretend to be skipper to take shot for him, he covers himself in cockroaches to use as a camouflage from officer X etc. Hes also quite inventive in times of crisis as seen in "the untouchable" and "when the chips are down" And hes really skilled in combat, arguably the best in the team besides skipper. He manages to fight all of the penguins off in "cute-astrophe" he saves the penguins multiple times through the show and in the movie, hes all around badass and its annoying when the fandom portrays him as a helpless uwu baby that cant defend himself and relies on others in everything.

but on the other hand some people avoid babifying him so much they go the whole other direction and try way too hard to make him some sort of bad boy that is secretly edgier than he looks and bla bla. Like thats a guy that genuinely believes unicorns are real and thinks badgers are the scariest thing on earth, his weapon of choice is a twilight sparkle toy and the worst insult he can say is "liar liar pants on fire". He can and will fight and hes good at it, but he'll almost always seek a peaceful resolution first. He makes excuses for characters when all evidence points to them being bad guys (savio and space squid). And ofc looking for good in everyone isnt inherently stupid, but letting all your guard down in those situations kinda was. The guy was literally gonna walk into savio's enclosure when he invited them, his absolute worst fear are badgers, yet becky and stacy got his trust just by offering him his favourote candy, he travelled alone with a leopard seal to the freaking antarctica specifically into the leopard seal territory. He will drop his guard on a whim at the opportunity to help or befriend someone. And you may not like it but he is the baby of the family and its an important part of his character. The penguins see him as more childish and clueless than he actually is, but he is not fully caught up with them. He passes a dangerous trial and gets promoted to a first class soldier just to read a joke he ends up not understanding. He wants to be taken more seriously by other penguins while also having very childish interest which is honestly so relatable [from a person who is writing the penguins of madagascar analysis instead of studying for their college finals]. He can be badass smart and skilled fighter while still being a genue sweetheart with bit of childish worldviews without anything dark behind it. God forbid a man is full of childlike whimsy.

[prettyboypistol]

It says requests are open but please feel free to ignore if not and ofc don't do it if you do not feel like it or don't have inspo but may I request the mercs (tf2) reacting to finding out the reader (male ofc) has a voice kink and got turned on hearing them talk? Thank you in advance! have a nice day/night !! - transleviathan

Tf2 Mercs Realizing You Have a Voice Kink! || x Male!Reader +/18

Scout

Oh God, he gets so turned on when you tell him.

He already dirty talk babbles, now it's a hell of a lot more intentional.

Pulls you close and whispers dirty things in your ears

"Hey there, baby boy, wanna have a quickie?"/"Hey there prettyboy, you doing anythin' later tonight?"/"I got a bucket of chicken-"

Jeremy HAS and will CONTINUE TO take this as a massive ego stroke that makes him feel high as a kite.

Has asked to see if just his voice can get you off. (embarrassed when it can)

MAFIA VOICE HOTSHOT SCOUT THO

Soldier

He's really confused at first, but understands it after you lay on the compliments about how manly and hot his voice is.

Likes viewing it as him being superior to you in an authority figure in a military sense.

Solly likes dropping his voice suddenly to make you scream in surprise. He likes how you tense up and blush.

High key wants to kiss you when you get embarrassed.

Thinks it's funny when you giggle eagerly when he insults you in a deep voice.

Demoman

He's kinda caught off guard that you find his voice hot, but takes it and sprints with it.

Absolutely turns up the Scottish pet names and slang terms to fluster you. "Attaboy, there's a good lad." Is his favorite way to praise you.

Think it's cute how excited you get when he mutters under his breath.

Tavish grumbles an exasperated "Jesus christ.." and suddenly he has a cute Lil boyfriend in his lap and trying to kiss his face off.

PINS YOU DOWN AND DIRTY TALKS

Engineer

Oh this man takes it and runs with it. As soon as you tell him you like, really, like his voice, he feels his heart flutter

High key wants to role-play a cowboy and outlaw scene where he catches you and you 'convince' him not to turn you in.

You get "howdy"'d a lot more lol

SO MANY SOUTHERN NICKNAMES

Can't help but drop his voice and feel you up, God, he loves the reaction you give. You better be prepared for hot hyperfixation rants

Pyro

Overjoyed that someone actually likes their voice- not in the invasive way. When you confess that you find the muffling of their voice from their gas mask.

They like that your Kink isn't more... explicitly their voice, moreso the muffling.

The heavy breathing and little whines that you can hear when you're close.. nobody else hears that but you, and it turns you on.

Pyro likes talking to you through little orders that are easy to understand. (mmt./sit, mhpay./stay, mm mny./good boy)

Likes grabbing you by your hair and pulling you close to make you listen to the hissing of air from the gas mask.

Heavy

GOD. DAMN. This man goes above and beyond with his accent and russian talk around you after you tell him

He's super flustered but also really happy that you find his voice attractive! He's always been insecure about how he sounds in English because he sounds stupid when he talks in English.

When you express attraction to Heavy's voice, he gets all happy and confident.

"Oh? You like Heavy's voice!" Heavy pins you against a wall, his laugh shaking you. "Good."

Medic

"Oh, but listening to me talking about vivisections grosses you out?" kind of teasing

HUUUUGE ego boost to him, def likes teasing you with his voice and gently touching you in little ways (grabbing thighs, petting stomach, rubbing neck) ALL TOUCHING FROM BEHIND JESUS CHRIST

Again, loves holding you from behind and growling things int your ear as he kisses your neck. (please introduce him to mirror sex PLEASE)

German. So. Much. Fucking. German.

Wants to teach you German so so so badly!!!!

Spy

he knew you had a voice kink as soon as he talked to you.

He loves sneaking up on you and whispering dirty french in your ear. You don't know exactly what he's saying, but you know it's said to make you blush.

Only translates the dirty talk to english to fluster you further with an "Oh, I'm sorry dear, let me translate.."

Spy loves making you flustered with different voices, especially with roleplay scenes (loves dressing up in elaborate roles i'll die on this hill)

Sniper

Pins you against a wall and whispers into your ear, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. "Oh, so you gotta thing for Aussies then? Right, I can work with that, darlin'~"

This man WILL bring you on a sniping mission and order you to get off as his eyes are trained on the target.

Likes how he can just order you to be aroused, just by a certain word or inflection in his speech. He grins like a predator when he realizes his power over you and God. You know it's over for you.

Has offered to dirty talk his way into getting road head