#something you have always had and have been clinging to will have to be destroyed. You have to lose something now. This is the crux qifrey

[lunarharp]

"Found out" set in kind of a made-up chapter where the girls are in trouble, or something.

[angelstrawbabie420]

hmm i think i am not coping. very well

[obsesssedblerd]

Part Four: "I promise, I'll make this right."

- the jjk men promising to be a better partner for you after they forget your anniversary. 

final written part of this smau series.

Pt 1: Toji, Nanami, Geto, and Sukuna

update: gojo, shiu and choso here

contains: angst to comfort

a/n: AHHHHH FINALLY!!!! here's part one! sorry for any mistakes!

thank you so much for being patient. I appreciate it. <3

---

TOJI 

Before you can even knock on the door to Toji’s house, it flies open. Five year-old Megumi drops his dog plushie and rushes to hug your legs, his body shaking as he looks up at you with teary eyes. “Where’d you go? I was scared that you weren’t coming back.” 

“Aw, Gumi,” you sigh, reaching down to pick him up so you could hug him closer to you. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

“Please don’t leave,” he whimpers between sniffles. “Me, Tsumiki and Papa would be so sad. He’s already sad. He was crying yesterday.” 

You knew it. You thought your mind was playing tricks on you when Toji came to see you yesterday, but you heard correctly—he was crying. Your heart aches at the utter fear in Megumi’s voice, and the way he’s clinging to you, like he’s certain that you’d disappear if he didn’t. You had greatly underestimated how much you meant to him.

“Megs?! You can’t just open the door for anyone! It’s dangerous—” Toji gasps when he comes downstairs and sees you there, holding Megumi and comforting him. He stands there frozen, eyes wide with disbelief. 

One look at his eyes confirms what you heard last night. They were a little red and slightly puffy.

“Sweetheart,” you whisper to the boy in your arms, “I need to talk to your dad, alright? Why don’t you head back inside?” 

He nods, and you set him on his feet. “Sorry, Papa,” he mutters to Toji as he uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes. 

Toji smiles softly at him and ruffles his spiky hair. “It’s okay.” 

Once Megumi is inside, you and Toji stand next to each other on the porch. You think about what life’s been like the last few days. The anger, the arguing. The hurt. Perhaps this was the hardest part—accepting that you can’t keep pretending that everything is alright, no matter how much you love Toji. 

A warm, comforting hand intertwined with yours, and it shakes you from your thoughts. “We have to talk about this,” Toji starts. “I can’t let this happen.” 

You exhale. “Toji.” 

“I do not care what needs to be done. I’ll do it,” he says, his voice thick with determination.

You glare at him. “I meant it when I said that I’m tired.” 

“And I meant it when I said that I’m not letting you walk away,” he bites back, then takes a small, shaky breath. “Yes, I was crying yesterday,” he admits. “I was crying because you’re considering leaving me, and it terrifies me so much more than I thought it does. Treating you like you don’t matter to me by always hanging out with my friends, along with forgetting our anniversary is such a shitty thing to do, and I know that there’s nothing I can do or say to undo that.” He then squeezes your hand gently, desperately. “But I’m going to try to make it right by keeping my promise to you and being a better man for you.” 

You want to say something, but your eyes pool with tears, so you face the ground instead. It’s so frustrating. You want this to work. You love him, and walking away from him will destroy you, but you also didn’t know if it could work. What if he chooses his friends again? What if he continues forgetting you? What if none of this is worth it and—

“Look at me.” His voice is soft, yet firm.

You shake your head. 

“Baby, please, look at me.” 

You muster the strength to meet his eyes, and his thumbs tenderly swipe underneath yours to wipe away the tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, slightly leaning forward so your foreheads are touching. “I’m so sorry. I swear to you, I’ll never do this shit to you again.”

You’re quiet for a while, then you tell him, “If it does happen again, then I’m done.” 

“Deal.” 

He pulls you to him, and you feel his body relaxing into yours. When you hear him sniffle, you begin to pull back, but he only holds you tighter. He’s crying again, and he doesn’t want you to see. “No,” he tells you in a quivering whisper. “Just let me hold you for a minute.” 

“Toji-” 

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you disappeared. Not to mention figure out a way to break it down to Megumi and Tsumiki.” At the mention of his kids, he sniffles again. “Especially Megumi. Fuck, if you left, I don’t think he’d ever forgive me, or smile again. You make him so happy and comfortable.” 

You let him take his time, and relax your head on his shoulder. Once he’s calm again, he pulls away to look at you. “Give me a day to find a new restaurant for our anniversary, and find a babysitter for the kids. Then, I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” 

“Yes. I’m going all out to make this up to you. You’re crazy if you think all you’re getting is a dinner after I fucked up this badly.”

---

NANAMI

Though you were super upset with him, you still dreamed of Kento. You dreamed of hefty, detailed conversations that weren’t rushed, long walks along the sandy beaches of Malaysia, private moments that had no chance of being interrupted, and plenty of time to do nothing at all. 

When you awoke from your dreams and remembered that he made the decision to spend his only free moment with Shoko and not you on your anniversary, your heart ached brutally within your chest. Is this how it was going to be forever? Are you going to spend your entire relationship wishing to be with him rather than actually spending time with him? 

You know that you have to talk to him; you’re just unsure of what you’re going to say. A part of you has accepted that Kento Nanami is simply too busy for a relationship with you, and that he’d rather spend his limited free time relaxing. 

You sit in your car, which is parked outside of the house that you and Kento share. Maybe it was best for you two to split ways. You could break the news, then move out within a month. You have plenty of money in your savings, and resources to help you find a new place fast. 

Okay, you think to yourself. Time to go. You exit your car, then walk in towards the front door, your hands shaking while reaching for your keys. When you finally unlock the door and step inside, you stop in your tracks. The living room of your house is beautifully decorated with red and gold balloons and streamers, and there’s rose petals sprinkled on the floor. On the table, there’s a massive, luxurious bouquet of roses in a glass vase, and a box of chocolate covered fruit next to it. There’s also various gift bags neatly arranged on the couch and the floor. 

You expected this. 

“Love, is that you?” You hear Kento’s voice come from the kitchen, and then he appears in the doorway, his shoulders slumping when he sees you. He’s holding another gift bag, and it looks like he was getting ready to place it with the rest. 

“Kento, I-” 

“No, sweetheart, please.” He sighs, then walks over to you. “Please allow me to explain myself.” 

“There’s nothing that needs to be explained. You missed our anniversary.” 

He grabs your hand when you start walking in the other direction. “And I’m so sorry for it. I’m extremely disappointed in myself for missing the dinner you had planned. I promise-” 

“Yeah, that’s the thing, Kento. You keep promising, but you never deliver on those promises!” You snap, whirling around to face him. “You promise me that you’re going to work less so we can spend time together, but you never do. You promise me that things are going to change, but they never do. You promised me one night, which was all I wanted, and you missed it. I took care of everything else so all you had to do was just show up, but even that was too much for you!” 

Kento goes quiet, his honey brown eyes full of desperation as he squeezes your hand gently. “I know,” he says softly. “You’re right. I’ve made promises, and I never delivered. It’s incredibly selfish to ask for more when you’ve already given so much without me returning any of it. It got so bad to the point where you believe that asking for one night is asking for too much, even though you deserve far more than that. I understand all of it, love, and I know why you feel like a break-up is the only option, but… I can’t let you go. I’d be so lost without you. Keeping you requires change, and I’m going to change things, starting now, if you grant me another chance.”

When you don’t answer, he continues, “You’ve been gone for so long. I spent hours sitting here, right on this couch, waiting for you to walk through the door. I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t. I felt sick, and I couldn’t sleep. I don’t want to get used to you not being here anymore. I don’t want to live a life where you’re not here by my side. I love you. I’m so sorry for taking you for granted. I have a lot to prove to you, and if you give me another chance, I’ll do it, no matter how long it might take. I won your heart once, and I’ll win it again.” 

You’re still quiet, but Kento doesn’t press you. Instead, he brings your hand to his mouth and places a light kiss on it. “I have two months off,” he says softly. “Come to Malaysia with me.” 

That surprises you. You blink in shock, then meet his eyes. “What??? Is two months even possible? But Kento, what about your job? Isn’t there something big happening in Shibuya?” 

“I told Yaga that I needed time off, so I got unassigned from that. Since I have had plenty of PTO earned over the years, it’s no problem,” he says simply, then gestures to the room full of presents. “Gifts mean nothing when what you crave the most is time with me. So, I want to give you that, like I should’ve done so long ago. Come to Malaysia with me, and I’ll earn you back there. Just me and you. No sorcerer stuff, no students, no interruptions.” 

“But-” 

“Sweetheart.” His voice is slightly shaky. “I always keep saying how I’d be spending more time with you after just one more mission.” His eyes drift downward. “But as a sorcerer, there’s no guarantee that I’ll come home every single time. There might be a mission where I don’t make it back, and I’ll regret all of the time I didn’t get to spend with you.” 

Your heart suddenly feels heavy. You hate talking about this stuff with him. You can’t imagine getting a phone call and hearing that he died on a mission. However, he’s right. There isn’t a guarantee, and you would be stupid to think that there is. 

He strokes your cheek tenderly, and it pulls you back to reality. “Come with me,” he says. “Let it be the start of me not only making this up to you, but also changing like I talked about earlier.” 

Time alone, completely uninterrupted. It’s all you ever wanted. You know that it would take time to return to good terms, but like he said, it’s a start. 

“Okay,” you say, and he sighs in relief before pulling you into his arms. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I promise, I won’t mess this up.”

---

GETO

Shoko lightly taps your shoulder, and it snaps you from your daydream. You look up at her, and she takes the cold cup of coffee from your arms. “You’re spaced out,” she says. “It’s obvious that you’re not going to drink this.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t apologize. These last few days have been hard for you.” Shoko disposes of the coffee, then begins washing the mug. “Have you talked to him since?” 

“No.” 

“Well, what are you thinking?” 

For the millionth time, you reread the last few messages between you and Suguru. He was right about you not trusting him, and it seemed like he took accountability for his actions. However, you’re still hurt. You think you’re going to be hurt about this for a very, very long time. Just thinking about how you spent a while at the restaurant anxiously checking the time, waiting for him to show up, has you falling silent again. 

“Hey,” Shoko sighs as she rubs your back. “It’s alright if you don’t know right now. You might have an answer when you see him-” 

A sudden knock at the door has both of you straightening up. Your eyebrows furrow, and you point towards the door. “Did you text him?” 

“No. I was just about to ask you that,” she says. 

You two approach the door, and you hear voices coming from the other side of it. 

“Satoru, this is a bad idea. She said that she-” 

“Lalalalala! I’m not listening!” 

“Satoru.” 

“Look, I don’t care! You should’ve done this days ago after forgetting the damn anniversary, dumbass. Me, Nanako, and Mimiko are tired of listening to you cryin’ in the shower.” 

Shoko facepalms. “Idiots. Both of them.” She opens the door, and Satoru grins, his blue eyes glimmering from behind his glasses. “Well, look who it is!” 

Suguru, your boyfriend, is nervously scratching the back of his head. You can tell he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. Shoko looks over at you, and you nod that it’s okay. She nods in return, then pokes Satoru’s chest. “C’mon, let’s walk up the street to the bakery and give them a minute.” 

“Yes!” Satoru cheers, then waves at you before shoving Suguru inside and closing the door to Shoko’s apartment behind him. 

Suguru groans in annoyance. “I’m sorry. I know you needed time, but that asshole teleported us here before I could even-” 

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you sit on the couch. Half a minute later, he hesitantly sits next to you, relaxing into the cushion when he sees that you don’t move away from him. 

“Angel,” he starts, and like always, your heart jumps at the nickname. “I’m so sorry that I did this to you.” 

You wave him off. “Suguru, you’ve apologized enough.”

“No, you’re saying that because you’re drained. There’s no way I can apologize enough for missing our anniversary. I don’t blame you for being upset or for contemplating a break-up. Anyone would. That’s why I told you that I’m willing to earn your trust back. It’s going to take a lot, and I’m okay with that, if you’re willing to give me another chance.” 

“But what if this is nothing but a waste of time?” You ask. 

He sits up, determined. “It won’t be. I won’t let this happen again.” When you don’t reply, he places his hand on top of yours. “I missed you. Every day, Nanako and Mimiko asked about you. Our little home isn’t the same without you there. I’m so sorry that I missed your dinner. If you give me another chance, I’ll do better.”

Without even knowing, you lace your fingers with his. Though you’re mad at him, you’ve also missed him. But, you miss the Suguru who spent so much time with you towards the beginning of your relationship. You wondered if you’d ever see him again. 

“Hey.” You look towards Suguru, and he brushes his thumb over yours. “You know that I won’t force or pressure you,” he says calmly, even though his voice shakes. “I messed up badly and hurt you. If you truly want to end this, I understand, but-” 

“Suguru,” you cut him off loudly. “I just want my boyfriend to choose me as often as he chooses his friends. It feels like you only consider me when they’re not available, and it got so bad that you forgot our anniversary.” 

“And I’ll do that, and so much more,” he says firmly. “I know that I promised you before to spend more time with you. There’s so much that I need to make up to you.” 

More promises. Though you’re hopeful, you’re also nervous. 

“If I mess up this badly again, I’ll let you go. I won’t argue, I won’t fight it,” he proposes. 

“Alright,” you mumble. “One chance.” 

“All I need. Thank you.” Suguru carefully grabs your wrist, then tugs you into his arms. You breathe in his scent, and your body settles comfortably into his. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Suguru Geto.” 

“I won’t. Now come on, I have some promises to keep.”

You text Shoko that you’re locking up her apartment when you and Suguru leave, then you let Suguru take you outside.

---

SUKUNA

It’s well after midnight when you return to Sukuna’s estate. You walk the familiar hallways until you find your way to the garden. You sit on the dewy grass, and exhale slowly, enjoying the night air. 

You don’t go looking for him. You know that he’ll sense you here and come find you. 

The tiny bursts of light get your attention. Fireflies. He was right, they are out. You were surprised when Ryomen Sukuna told you that he remembered your love for them. After he forgot your anniversary, you were convinced that he just simply didn’t care about you, especially when he said that he only remembered things that were important to him. 

Suddenly, the air around you thickens as you sense his presence. He’s here. 

“You’re back,” Sukuna says from behind you. He sounds a bit uncertain. 

“No point in staying out forever,” you reply flatly. 

He doesn’t respond. He joins you on the ground, and you feel him watching you closely. You stare at the ground, your fingers lightly stroking the blades of grass. 

“But if I did decide to stay away,” you start, still facing the grass, “would you have let me go?” 

“Not if there was a possibility of earning another chance.” 

You finally look up at him, and before you can say another word, he gently puts a finger to your lips. “You are here, so I’d rather not waste time talking about hypothetical situations where you are not here.”

You shrug, then look away again. Truthfully, you didn’t know what to expect when coming back here. The King of Curses was anything but an easy partner to have a relationship with. You didn’t know why you, a mere sorcerer, loved him, but you did; so much and so deeply that it hurt to breathe sometimes. You know that he sees nearly everyone beneath him, but you thought that he at least respected you enough to show up for the dinner you planned. Maybe you’re foolish for returning.

“I hated every second that you were gone,” he says. Usually, Sukuna doesn’t admit to anything like that. It feels nice hearing it. “This place is so quiet without you.” 

A breeze blows in the garden, and it’s chilly enough to make you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself. Sukuna uses an arm to pull you closer, and you settle into his warm body with a small, relieved sigh. Your back falls against his chest, and you feel his chin rest atop your head. 

“There is something I haven’t told you,” he mutters.

“What is it?” 

“A year ago, right here in this spot, I realized that it was love.” Your eyes slightly widen, but you don’t stop him. “You were watching the fireflies and explaining some memories you had about them from your childhood. So simple and so harmless, yet it felt like my entire soul had shifted when I finally figured it out. Then it hit me again when I watched you play with Yuuji in the rain, then once more when I held your hand while you slept. It also hit me when you left, and I spent the last few nights feeling your soul tremble as you cried, knowing that I caused it.” 

Sukuna gives your shoulder a little squeeze, then fully wraps his arms around you. “Perhaps if I had told you these discoveries of mine the moment I had them,” he explains, “then you would have never questioned your importance. You have no idea how much you mean because I have not told you. That, in addition to this situation, is my fault.”

Something within you cracks, and a new wave of tears rush to your eyes. You blink them away, deciding that you’ve cried enough in the last few days. 

“Forgive me, petal,” he whispers. “I know you believe that I missed the dinner you planned on purpose so I could hurt you, but that is not true. It will never happen again. You have my word.”

When you tilt your head up to look up at him, you’re met with his gorgeous, crimson eyes. Your king was evil, no doubt, but you always believed that he was the most beautiful being you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You nod once, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Come with me,” he tells you. 

“Where are we going?” 

He stands up, then lifts you into his arms. “You need to rest, and I would like for you to do so with me so I can have you close. Then tomorrow, I will begin to make this up to you, like I promised.” As he carries you inside, you rest your head against his shoulder. “Happy anniversary, petal.” 

Finally, you smile. “Happy anniversary, Ryomen.”

[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet

cw;; dehumanization?, blood, vampires, humans as pets, yandere, angst, suggestive

this is the last named and drawn oc i have ready. i still have two more concepts in my drafts but they're not finished yet.

this might not show his yandere tendencies as well as characters like ares or emil but he's more of a self destructive type. he's more likely to hurt himself for doing something wrong than he is likely to hurt someone for touching you.

also i had to include the vampire guilt and angst im only human (human with a guilt kink)

you're a vampire lord in a world run by vampires with a yandere human pet who you found in a run down human farm after he basically threw himself at you. who clung to your leg and insisted he tasted so sweet you wouldn't regret taking in. who you took pity on seeing his scarred neck and decided to take him with you home.

you fed him and brought him to full health in a year. on the anniversary he begged on his knees for you to make him your pet. you complied. you didn't expect the preservation procedure that would allow him to stay with you forever to mess up his brain. or maybe this was always his personality.

he begged you every day to feed on him. he would sneak into your bed chamber and cut his neck to wake you up. he would sit himself in your lap around noon and undo his shirt buttons to give you easy access. if you dared to refuse him he would cry and beg so pathetically.

you made him this way why didn't you want him? he would often cry until you feel guilty for destroying his humanity. you always gave into him. he always got clingier. he tried not to get in your way during work but one day you let him lay his head on your lap and sit in your office quietly all day. so you had to let him again the next day.

if he really pushed too far you would lock him in an old attic room. oh how he sobbed. you would open the door the next day to be met with his bloodshot eyes that held no light. he would kiss your shoes and cling to your legs while he spoke hoarse apologies. you always forgave him and carried him in your arms to eat breakfast.

on the occasions that you two went to a party held by your fellow vampire lords he would always try to show off. you'd buy him new clothes and a new ribbon to hide his old scars. he liked being the most beautiful arm candy for you. it wasn't unusual for high quality pets to get passed around at these parties. at the end of the night he would often find himself in a strange bed, dizzy from being bled and pathetically crying for you.

your dear pet had spent the whole night being ravaged while you were doing business. his naked and used body laying in the unfamiliar bed, barely conscious. you sighed as you sunk onto the bed, your added weight causing him to shift slightly but he made no noise. usually by now he would be sobbing and reaching wildly for you, those degenerates must have really worked him hard.

you reached out and played with a piece of his hair. "I'm sorry, you poor pathetic creature."

your cold lifeless hands gently brush against his warm cheek. his body finally shifts a little, instinctively pulling away from the cold. you can't help the sad smile that falls on your lips seeing that. you forget how cold you are with how he clings to you at every opportunity. you can smell his blood right now and the tug of your instincts tells you to feed. you forget that you're a monster with how he treats you with such adoration and reverence.

"your life would have been better if you never met me." you push his hair away from his neck, revealing the old scars with fresh wounds scattered among them. your fingers brush against his pulse and he gasps.

you watch his olive eyes blink open slowly, they look almost too heavy to open. you want to gently close them like one would a corpse but the wide smile that spreads across his face stops you. if your heart could still beat you're sure it would have skipped.

"good morning." you said softly.

he used all his remaining strength to wrap around your waist. "y/n..."

his voice is so hoarse and he sounds so exhausted but there's the undeniable happiness. you guide his head to your lap, cold fingers twirling around his hair again.

"was i good...?" his eyes blinked slow again.

"yes. you were so amazing again tonight." you felt the weight of guilt pressing against your chest.

"reward m'...~" you knew he was asking you to indulge in him as so many others had tonight so you just ignored him.

you gently gathered him up in your arms, the top sheet draping over his body. you grabbed his discarded ribbon off the bed before you began carrying him out. the ribbon was sat on his stomach and his weak hands fiddled with it idly. he seemed to be too deep in thought to let sleep overtake him again.

"master... 'm glad you made me...." he nuzzled his head against your chest.

"your father made you." you corrected as you approached your carriage.

"no... y'... made m' y'r pathetic creature." his eyes finally started to close. "so glad m' life is master's.."

[gffa]

One thing that was really good about episode 4 of Ahsoka is that it knew exactly what the theme needed to be, the same thing that it always comes back to in Star Wars: Attachment. Ahsoka starts the episode off by saying that, if they can't get to the map, they may need to destroy it, stranding Ezra, because letting Thrawn come back is worse, knowing what would happen. Sabine's big temptation in this episode is exactly that--Baylan promises her that she can see Ezra again, because she thinks he's the only family he has left that she can do anything for, because she's so afraid to live without something that she makes a deal with the dark side. It's the exact same situation that Ezra had to make at the end of Rebels--he could bring Kanan back, but it would mean destroying all that Kanan saved in that moment, possibly even tear open time itself. He could have brought his parents back, but it would have let Sidious into the World Between Worlds to tear everything down. Which was the exact same situation that Anakin faced, that Ezra's was a riff off Anakin's, the willingness to trade the entire galaxy's freedom and lives for the one person (who wasn't even actually dead, either!) he was too afraid to live without. Which was the exact same situation that Luke faced, that he could save his friends if he would just give in to the dark side. It's the recurring theme of Star Wars, to face what attachment means to the Jedi, who are based on Buddhist monks, that attachment means the fear that makes you cling to someone or something so hard that you only end up hurting yourself--and Sabine, in her Jedi training, has to face this choice and she couldn't do it, she couldn't be selfless enough to let go and we can see it's going to be a shitshow. It's such a human, empathizable choice, she lost so much, her family is dead, she thinks Ahsoka is dead, she's been stagnating since Ezra left, she feels lost and adrift, of course she makes the wrong choice, of course she gives in to the fear that is attachment, and of course it's going to be awful. OUR GIRL IS GOING THROUGH IT, PLEASE BE KIND TO HER!!!!

[sansaorgana]

— PROTECTING THAT WHICH IS MOST FRAGILE

PAIRING — Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Sent to patrol the area where the Orcs' settlement was, you find an abandoned baby. Perhaps most Elves would remain unbothered but you have always loved the imperfect things, the ugly ones, the unwanted ones. You take care of the baby, not knowing yet that taking him with you will change your life forever.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I missed writing for Adar, so here we are! 🤭 I also really wanted to write him with a pure, good Elven woman that would be a bit like Galadriel in the way she radiates light because I love the contrast between them two. 🙈

WORD COUNT — 6,020

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

PROTECTING THAT WHICH IS MOST FRAGILE

You had always loved the imperfect things, the ugly ones, the unwanted ones. What was making other Elves look the other way or wince out of disgust, would make your heart clench deep inside your chest. You felt the need to protect such things, to take care of them and to love them.

Because who else would?

Living in the Southlands and being responsible for protecting humans was an easy task for you because you never looked at them with contempt or superiority. However, being immortal and watching them get old and die – that was the most difficult part.

Lately, the human villages under your protection had been threatened by the Orcs – filthy, evil creatures. A mockery of your kin.

For them you had no sympathy. Or at least you thought so.

On the night before your friends had found a primitive settlement made by a few Orcs by the edge of the forest. The Elves had destroyed it and killed the Orcs but you were sent there to patrol the area to make sure no other Orcs had come in the meantime and settled there instead.

You were quick and swift, nearly inaudible as you sneaked around the woods you had known your whole life. Your bow and arrows attached to your back as you remained observant towards every leaf shivering in the wind and every howl in the distance.

When you arrived at the settlement, it was visibly empty even though the stench of the Orcs still remained. There was no light, however, although the smoke from the huts being burnt still lingered on.

You looked around one last time before turning around to walk away when a sudden and unexpected sound caused you to freeze.

Pathetic and weak wailing.

There was something pitiful about the sound and you found yourself looking for the source of it inside the burnt huts. And, finally, you found it in a basket under the table – a baby.

An Orc baby, naturally. The ugliest little creature you had ever laid your eyes on with sharp teeth and small, watery eyes as its hand was reaching out for you. Your heart clenched deep inside your chest at the sight. You couldn’t abandon it but you also couldn’t take it back to your Elven friends. They wouldn’t feel the same sympathy you did. After all, it was a child. Still innocent and still uncorrupted. And it was not its fault that their kin was a mockery of yours. 

You picked the baby up gently and shushed it. You looked inside its diaper made of rags and found out he was a boy.

“Don’t cry, little one,” you tried to calm him down and caressed his little head. “Are you hungry perhaps?” You asked and walked outside to sit on the rock.

You weren’t sure if small Orcs could eat lembas bread but you had nothing else to offer. To your relief, the small piece was enough to make the baby stop crying and you watched him fall asleep in your arms now, clinging to you. You sighed, trying to figure out what to do now.

Coming back to your friends was not an option, which you had already known. Leaving the child behind to die was not something you would consider either. Therefore, all you could do was to sneak deeper into the forest, find another settlement of the Orcs and simply drop the babe off there, hoping to remain unnoticed.

You adjusted the baby in your arms and stood up, determined to continue with your plan as you walked into the woods calmly, trying not to wake the exhausted little boy up.

The deeper you went into the woods, the more lost you felt. Even though you had known these forests ever since you were a baby, they had changed recently as the Orcs’ presence seemed to corrupt the woods’ energy significantly. You no longer felt safe and the fact you were not only responsible for yourself but also for a small child was not helping.

However, you did not want to give up. If you were to get hurt or lose your life while trying to do the right thing and protect something so small, vulnerable and innocent… so you would. That was every Elf’s duty even if some had forgotten already what the source of their light was.

The little Orc baby started crying all of a sudden and you stopped in the middle of the path to stand by the huge tree nearby as you were trying to shush him gently. Too focused on him, you didn’t hear the leaves creaking behind you and the next moment you felt a dirty, crooked blade being held to your throat. You swallowed thickly and your eyes widened as you pressed the child closer to your chest.

When you turned your head around, you found yourself face-to-face with an Orc with a few more standing behind him, snarling at you like wild animals. You swallowed thickly and looked down at the baby in your arms.

“What do you have there, Elf?” The Orc asked you and lifted up an edge of the blanket the baby was wrapped in with the tip of his knife.

He was visibly surprised at the sight and he looked around to say something in the filthy Black Speech to his companions. At his words, they all gathered around you and kept staring at the baby. Little boy was looking back at them with big eyes.

“Where did you get the baby from?” One of the Orcs asked you with contempt.

“I… I found him abandoned inside a burnt settlement,” you answered, purposefully not mentioning who had burnt the very village although the Orcs did not need to be told because they snorted at that.

All except for one, who squinted his eyes and approached you quite aggressively. He pointed his blade at you and you put your heads around the baby’s head to protect him.

“Why did you take him?!” He asked.

“I… I wanted to bring him to you… I assume his parents’ are dead but I thought you were taking care of your own, so…” You started, your voice trembling slightly.

“Stop lying!” The Orc snapped and you got startled. “You stole him and wanted to take him to your kind. To hurt him,” he emphasised and his friends looked at each other as if they had just realised something.

“I would never hurt a child, no matter what kin they are!” You protested.

“Shut up,” the Orc growled and tore the baby from you. The boy started to cry immediately and you reached your hands out for him as your own eyes filled with tears but the Orc threatened you with his blade once more.

“Don’t,” one of his friends laid his hand on the Orc’s shoulder. “We should take her to Adar. Let him decide,” he said and you swallowed a lump in your throat.

You had heard that name before… Adar. It was being said with fear and mystery. A leader of the Orcs. What could you expect from him?

The worst, you assumed.

You were led by the Orcs through the mud with shackles around your wrists. You were stumbling and falling a lot as they laughed and kept pulling the chains, which caused your whole body to end up bruised and dirty. Your hair was filled with mud and leaves that got stuck to your matted hair strands. You were exhausted and humiliated but what kept you motivated to keep going was the baby boy you had rescued. The most aggressive of the Orcs had been carrying him and trying to shush him but the baby was crying and wailing all the time.

Poor little babe, he must have been exhausted from all this screaming and he kept reaching his little hands out towards you whenever he saw your face. However, when you had once dared to suggest that you could carry him instead, one of the Orcs had slapped your face with a hilt of his dagger and cut your cheek open.

You were led inside a village in the middle of the darkest part of the forest. There was a clearing but enormous, old trees surrounded it, therefore their leaves provided the lack of sunlight even in the daytime. In the middle of this settlement there was a huge fire burning and most houses resembled more of simple tents but near the fire there stood a more proper hut made of wood that most certainly belonged to someone important.

Everyone froze at the sight of you being dragged by the Orcs and they were curious about the crying baby, too. When you arrived at the small empty space pretending to be some sort of a market place in the middle of the village, you were thrown on the hard ground made of stone.

“Tell Adar to come here,” the aggressive Orc ordered his friends and they nodded before rushing away to the inside of the wooden hut.

In the meantime, some female Orc approached the man and took the baby from him but the boy kept on crying and your heart ached more and more with each of his cries.

“We found this she-Elf on our land with this baby,” the Orc announced to everyone gathered, pointing his dirty finger at you. “She stole him from the settlement her kin had burnt and she wanted to take him to the Elves, so they could experiment on him.”

“That is not true!” You sobbed at the sight of angry Orcs walking up to you. They were standing in a circle around you and staring at you with nothing but intense hatred inside their eyes. “I wanted to bring him home and to protect him!” You tried to convince them as tears streamed down your cheeks. “Please, I would never hurt him…”

One of the Orcs was already crouching down to you and grabbed you by your dirty hair to pull on them while he threw your head back and you winced out of pain.

He licked his lips as you watched him with terror in your eyes but your hands were in shackles, therefore you could not push him away when he reached out for his knife.

You shut your eyes close and swallowed a sob when suddenly you felt the Orc being pulled away. When you dared to open your eyes again, you saw a man standing above you instead and your jaw dropped slightly at the sight of him.

He was… No, he could not be, could he?

An Elf.

But not an ordinary one, no. His skin was unhealthy pale in an odd shade of grey and it was covered in scars that only emphasised he had been through a lot. His blue eyes were ice cold and full of contempt but also sadness and wisdom. His long, black hair contrasted with his skin but it also suited his clothes made of black leather mostly.

He crouched down slowly as the Orcs kept observing your interaction. You tried to move back slightly from him but he reached out for you and brushed your dirty hair out of your face.

“What brings you here, child?” He asked in the Quenya language.

The way he called you and the speech he chose to use made you realise he had to be very old.

“I… I didn’t want to hurt the baby… I promise… I… I found him and I couldn’t abandon him there, so I…” You tried to explain nervously while crying but the man was patiently listening to you. “I wanted to drop him off near one of your settlements but I got caught… I… I would never hurt a baby…” Your lower lip trembled. “Please, believe me…”

“I believe you,” the man nodded, calmly. Some of the Orcs sighed with relief but others looked at each other, angrily. “Can’t you see, my children?” He stood up and turned around to face the Orcs. “She scares you but not because of what she had done but because her light is blinding you. Worry not, her light cannot hurt you like the sun,” he assured them and turned around once more to nod at one of the Orcs.

The Orc released your hands from the shackles and you massaged your sore wrists before trying to stand up, a little clumsily. The man who had to be a mysterious Adar offered you his hand to help you with it and you froze.

After a short while of hesitation, you allowed him to grab you and pull you up.

“You are my guest now,” he told you. “Stay with us for dinner and then I shall let you go. What do they call you, my Lady?”

“(Y/N),” you told him. “And I’m not a Lady,” you added and he smiled gently. “What do they call you?”

“Adar,” he said just like you had assumed by now.

There were many questions you were dying to ask him out of curiosity but you knew you should be leaving this settlement. You were not safe there and you did not trust his invitation for dinner. Also, you had never been a nosy person and everyone had their right to keep their secrets. You didn’t expect him to suddenly tell you the story of his life.

“I appreciate your invitation but I believe I should leave now,” you told him and he tilted his head slightly. For a short while you had a feeling that you could spot sadness there but then he nodded at you.

“She can’t!” A female voice made you both turn around. It was the female Orc that had taken the baby you had rescued. He was still crying. “She is responsible for him now. She was the first person he saw after his parents died and now he has a bond with her,” she explained. “He won’t stop crying unless…” She approached you and handed you the baby, nearly aggressively.

Oh, what a sweet silence suddenly occurred as the baby boy stopped crying immediately when he found himself in your arms. He yawned and clinged to you as he closed his eyes. He was finally falling asleep.

It filled you with warmth as this innocent little creature chose you as its protector but it also burdened you with responsibility and… it was surely creating a dilemma. You looked up to meet Adar’s gaze and his ice cold eyes seemed to be so gentle at that moment, you nearly melted under his gaze.

“I cannot take him with me. My kin would never understand,” you whispered.

“Stay here then,” Adar proposed and you shook your head.

The female Orc walked away now and you saw one of the male Orcs being angry at her for handing you the baby but she exclaimed something at him in the Black Speech and he shut his mouth.

“My children are mortal,” Adar explained. “He will be grown in a few years, then you can leave him. To us, a few years are like seconds to them,” he added. “But I won’t blame you if you decide to leave.”

At this moment, something about him made you trust him more. As you looked even deeper into his eyes, you saw so much pain. Pain of watching them all being born and then die – the ones he was calling his children. Like you felt towards all the humans that you had befriended. The fact they were all mortal was sometimes too painful but you had your Elven friends to grieve with. This man – Adar – he was alone.

“I shall stay for some time and make my decision,” you nodded at him and cuddled the baby a little tighter. The bond that had been forged between you was not one-sided by any means.

“Thurga,” Adar called for the female Orc and she came back to you. “(Y/N) will stay with us for some time. Can you spare a room in your tent for her?” He asked and you looked down at the baby so he could not see how terrified you actually were of sleeping inside one of those tents, surrounded by the Orcs.

“Aye, I can, Lord Father,” Thuga nodded. “Come with me, Elf,” she ordered you around and you cracked a smile at Adar before unsurely following her into one of the tents.

Just like you assumed, it was filthy and cold inside as all the Orcs sitting by the table were looking at you with hatred or curiosity. Unfortunately, the aggressive Orc who had been the most awful to you was actually Thurga’s husband. They also had a few children sitting there and they all went quiet at the sight of you.

“Lord Father says she-Elf stays and he wants her to stay here,” Thurga announced and her husband snarled.

“Here, Elf,” Thurga pointed at some rags on the ground next to the fire. “It’s warm here. That’s your spot,” she said and you blinked a few times.

“Um…Thank you, Thurga,” you smiled at her and sat there. Thurga’s husband was visibly angry and he left the tent in a hurry.

“Don’t mind him,” Thurga sat next to you and caressed the baby in your arms. “I know him. I knew his mother. It’s a shame she died,” she sighed and you pursed your lips since you knew that it was your friends who had been responsible for that.

“What is his name? Do you know?” You asked her.

“Aye, I know,” Thurga nodded. “It’s Glûg,” she told you.

“Glûg,” you repeated out loud and smiled gently. “That’s a pretty name.”

“You think so?” Thurga asked as if she found it hard to believe.

“I do,” you nodded at her and leaned in to kiss the baby’s forehead.

“Do you have children of your own?” Thurga furrowed her brows and you looked at her, surprised. “You’re probably thousands of years old, you could have hundreds of ‘em,” she said and you chuckled softly.

“I’m not that old, Thurga,” you told her. “A few hundred.”

“Practically a baby yourself then,” Thurga rolled her eyes. 

“And no, I don’t have children,” you confessed and looked down, a little sadly.

“Why not? You seem to be good with little ones,” Thurga pointed out, apparently not knowing that it was inappropriate to ask such questions so openly.

“I have never met my match,” you told her. “It works differently for the Elves. A small fascination is never enough to marry. It must be something… Something much deeper and I have never experienced it,” you smiled sorrowfully.

“The hell you need a husband for to make a baby?!” Thurga laughed and you looked at her in a scolding manner.

“Us, Elves, we do not… We do not get intimate before the wedding,” you explained to her and she snorted at that.

At that moment, Adar entered the tent and Thurga’s angry husband was standing behind him. He had complained to his Lord Father apparently about you staying at his tent.

“How do you find your new place to stay?” Adar asked you and you looked up at him.

“It is enough, thank you,” you answered, politely.

“It was a foolish idea of mine, though. You should not interrupt the peace of Thurga’s family. Come,” he waved his hand at you and you stood up carefully with Glûg asleep in your arms.

You followed Adar outside the tent and he led you inside his wooden house. It also was not luxurious by any means but it was way more decent and it resembled the human huts you knew from the villages. 

“You will be safer here. It will be a sign for them that I accept you,” Adar explained and you nodded as he pointed at a wooden bed near the fireplace. “For you and the baby.”

“His name is Glûg,” you told Adar and laid the baby on the bed with a smile before turning around to look at the man. “Where will you sleep?”

“I have told our carpenter to make me my own bed,” Adar explained. “It will be ready for tomorrow but I do not need to sleep tonight. You, on the other hand, are exhausted,” he pointed out. “How many nights without sleep?”

“Four,” you answered and Adar nodded.

“Sleep, you must,” he approached the door. “I shall not disturb your rest. Are you hungry?”

“I am fine. I still have lembas bread in my pocket and Glûg can eat it, too,” you answered.

“Lembas… I have not had it in centuries,” Adar whispered.

“Do you want some?” You offered him but he shook his head with a sad smile.

“Go to sleep,” he only answered before leaving you alone with Glûg inside his house.

Weeks have passed inside that settlement and with each one, you were growing more and more used to that place. And you certainly were very close with Glûg now. He was really like your son – you slept cuddling together, you fed him with the food prepared by the female Orcs, you played with him and you gave him baths. The others were laughing at you that he was the cleanest Uruk baby out of all because you were giving him a bath every other day. 

You would only leave him sometimes to play with the other babies and to spend time around his own kin, so he could learn the Black Speech, which was a skill you could not teach him yourself although the language was so easy that you were starting to understand some of it already.

It seemed like lots of the Orcs actually started to accept and like you – with a few stubborn exceptions, obviously. Like Thurga’s husband. But other than him and a few other grumpy men and women, you were quite liked. You radiated pure light that was impossible to ignore. Despite being dirty creatures of darkness, they were drawn to you.

They wanted you to tell them stories and to cut some of your hair to wear as an amulet. They were teaching you Uruk lullabies in return that you could sing to your son and they showed you how to cook the food that he would surely enjoy. 

Adar was keeping his distance from you, though. Despite sharing the same house he was treating you like air most of the time. He was respectful when it was needed but nothing more than that. He seemed to be a mysterious and quiet man and you did not wish to interrupt his peace either since you knew it was a result of lonely centuries he had spent all alone. However, most of the time you could feel his eyes on you. When you were dancing with the Uruk babies, when you were carrying your little baby and singing him lullabies, when you were praying each evening to the Valar by the moonlight. His eyes were constantly on you but there was nothing unsettling or malicious about his gaze. In fact, it was rather… shy? But he never approached you.

Therefore, you were surprised to hear Thurga’s words that evening when you helped her to cook the food for her babies and for Glûg.

“You know, Elf, I can mind the little one some evenings when you and Lord Father wish to be alone,” she winked at you.

She winked.

And you froze.

“What are you talking about? Don’t be daft,” you scolded her. “Why would we want to be alone? It is awkward enough already between us,” you explained.

“Aye, I know, I know…” Thurga sighed. “An Elf like you would never look at an Uruk like that but he’s so lonely. Always has been, ever since I remember and had to be for centuries before I was born,” she said. “And he once was your kin, they say,” she lowered her voice as if it was a secret and not something obvious.

Well, perhaps to the Orcs it was not. To them, it was a myth.

“I abandoned my people to raise an Uruk child. You cannot possibly be accusing me of being prejudiced,” you defended yourself.

“I’m only sayin!” Thurga rolled her eyes and you watched her for some time from the corner of your eye before going back to cooking.

When the meal was done and kids were fed, you took Glûg with you back to the house because it was time for him to go to sleep. However, when you walked inside, it was incredibly cold there.

“What happened here?” You asked and adjusted Glûg on your hip at the sight of Adar crouching down by the fireplace and cursing in the Black Speech. “Why is it so cold?”

“The wood has gotten damp and the fire does not want to start,” he explained as he stood up. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I can handle the cold,” you said although you were not so sure as the silver went down your body, “but what about Glûg?” You asked, worryingly. 

“Here,” Adar offered you his blanket and you took it.

For that night, you did not change into your nightgown you had made for yourself a few weeks earlier out of an old linen you had managed to find. You decided that staying in your clothes would be a better idea and you put two blankets over you and Glûg, keeping the baby close to make sure he was warm but at the same time you didn’t want to hold him too close and suffocate him by accident.

You were trembling out of coldness, especially in the middle of the night. It was winter, after all, and the house was poorly made so the wind was getting inside through the cracks between the wood.

Your shaky breath had to keep Adar up because you heard him on his own bed, turning over. You wondered if he was cold, too or was he immune to such harsh weather after everything he had been through.

“Are you cold?” He asked in a raspy voice.

“Y-yeah,” you admitted. “Y-y-you?”

“A bit,” he admitted and you smirked. He had to be as cold as you, apparently, but he would never admit it.

Long silence occurred between you and then you heard his bed squeak as he stood up. You moved a bit closer to Glûg and made space in your bed, which was your silent consent for him to join you, so he did.

You felt the mattress sinking when Adar laid behind you and the moment he put his arm around you made you sigh out of relief. It was much warmer in an instant and you reached your hand out to pull the blankets over him as well.

“Do you think your friends are looking for you?” Adar asked suddenly, in a whisper, straight into your ear.

“Surely. But they will not find me. Not so deep in that forest,” you answered quietly. “And in a few years, I shall rejoin them.”

“What will you tell them?”

“The truth,” you confessed and you felt his arm squeezing you a little tighter.

“That you raised an Uruk? They will outcast you for that, Elf,” he pointed out.

“It is not in my nature to lie,” you answered. “And if they do outcast me for such a thing, then I shall be an outcast then,” you shrugged your arms.

“What will you do then? As an outcast? Where will you go?” He asked more questions and you quite enjoyed the fact he had gotten so talkative but at the same time you wondered what had caused it.

“I will go back to the place where I am accepted,” you answered without giving him an answer too obvious and too straightforward.

“Perhaps you could skip the part in the middle,” Adar whispered.

“Perhaps. We will see,” you nodded and leaned back as your muscles relaxed after getting warmer. You could feel his chest rising up and down and his steady breath calmed you down. “What happened to you?” You asked. It was your turn to inquire.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re an Elf like me,” you pointed out.

“I am an Uruk,” he protested.

“How did it happen?” You changed your question. “You don’t have to tell me,” you quickly added. “I am simply wondering.”

“I was tempted by Morgoth’s promises and followed him,” he answered and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the mention of his master’s name. “I paid the price for my own choice, so do not pity me.”

“How do you know I would pity you?” You cracked a smile.

“Because I know you enough, (Y/N),” he brushed your hair with his rough fingers. “I have been observing you. You are made of pure light like you are straight out of Valinor but I no longer have access to such holiness. Even my children are drawn to you. You are a blessing for us. Our miracle.”

“Perhaps it was no coincidence that I am here,” you sighed.

“How so? You grace us with your light but what are you getting out of it?” He wondered out loud.

“I have Glûg,” you answered. “I have a son,” you smiled and caressed the side of the baby’s sleepy face.

“He does not disgust you,” Adar pointed out.

“How could he?” You chuckled softly. “The more time I spend with all of you, the more I wonder how could any of you ever disgust me,” you confessed.

Adar’s fingers froze on your cheek in the middle of brushing your hair and then you felt him turning your head softly so you could face him. You saw his eyes looking deep into yours with a hint of hesitation and lots of gentleness that made your heart clench and quicken its peace.

You knew what he was thinking of but he lacked the courage so you took the matter into your own hands and reached out to join your lips together in a short and sweet kiss.

Suddenly, you felt as if there were fireworks going off deep within you – honey-like warmth spread all over your body and your soul sang the most beautiful tune. When you broke the kiss, you blinked a few times, surprised.

“Have you… Have you felt that, too?” You asked, surprised. Was it possible that he out of all was the one for you?

“I do not have a soul any longer,” Adar confessed with a sad smile.

“You do. You must. Otherwise my soul would not call out for yours; it would not be drawn to the abyss,” you breathed out. “Perhaps you haven’t felt it then,” you cracked a smile and turned your head around because you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, too embarrassed.

“I have,” he whispered finally and put his hand on your hip to pull you closer. “But I do not wish for that.”

“I thought you wanted me to stay here,” you sniffled your fresh tears back.

“I do but it is a selfish need. You deserve much more than this. Than me,” he explained.

“Let me decide what I deserve and what I do not,” you lowered your hand to squeeze his as your fingers intertwined. “I do not care about anything else but the fact I have waited centuries to find you and I am finally here. Now I am sure. Perhaps I was made for you – born with this flaw of loving the imperfect things, the ugly ones, the unwanted ones. Perhaps the gods have pitied you and created me for you,” you explained.

“I have slain Elves and humans that were so dear to you,” he reminded you but not without a hint of guilt in his deep voice.

“And I have slain your children with my bow and my arrows. I have been slaying them for centuries,” you remarked. “But I will not slay any more. Can you make a similar promise?” You wondered out loud but there was silence on the other side and you sighed.

“I wish I could. But my children need home. They need a place they can call their own. No Elf and no human will accept them as neighbours,” Adar explained.

“I have,” you pointed out.

“You are exceptional.”

“Can we cast these people out and allow them to take their belongings instead of killing them then?” You bit on your lower lip and squeezed Adar’s fingers even tighter.

“We?” He asked, shocked.

“Yes, we,” you nodded.

“Together, we can do anything, my love,” Adar nodded and leaned in to kiss the back of your head. “Anything you want.”

“I want us to have a proper home,” you assured him. “But I do not want the violence and the murder.”

You watched Glûg with a smile on your face as he was running around with his friends and pretending to be at war with them as they all screamed and trained their combat skills. You were leaning on the doorframe of your house and enjoying a cup of tea out of the mint leaves you had gathered earlier this morning.

You cheered for him when he was winning and his eyes sparkled at the sight of you watching. When he was done with playing, he ran up to you happily and you smiled down at him.

“Have you seen me win, mother?” He asked and you nodded as you squeezed his cheek lovingly and he rolled his eyes at the gesture.

He was growing fast and you hated that because the older he was getting, the closer you were to saying goodbye to him forever. But he was still a child and you did not want to think of it now.

“Yes, I have. You are so strong, Glûg,” you complimented him and he grinned at your words. “Go, wash your hands now because dinner's nearly ready for you,” you instructed him and he groaned. “What is it?”

“None of my friends wash their hands before a meal,” he sighed and you chuckled at that.

“But you are my son and you do,” you teased him. “Go, wash them,” you ordered and he lowered his head before obediently walking inside the house to wash his hands in a bowl on the counter.

You turned around to watch him and then you approached the fireplace where the food was being heated up for him inside the cauldron. Glûg sat by the table and you poured a portion of the soup for him inside the bowl before placing it in front of him and he thanked you in the Black Speech before starting to eat eagerly.

The door to the hut opened and Adar walked inside. He smiled gently at the sight of you and Glûg as you approached him to give him a hug and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head.

“How was your day?” You asked him with a gentle smile and he cracked a smile back while caressing your cheek with his rough thumb.

“Every day of mine is excellent since you’re here with me,” he answered and reached into his pocket to hand you a few flowers he had gathered earlier on that day. “I have something for you.”

The years you had spent with the Uruk were enough to learn that picking flowers for their women was not their custom. But despite everything, when it came to courting you, Adar remained faithful to his old and Elven ways. And even though you were his companion for life now and nothing would change that, he courted you every day still. 

“Thank you,” you chuckled and took the flowers from him as you approached the mirror to put them in your hair.

Glûg took one last sip of his soup and looked up at you while you were adjusting the flowers between your hair strands.

“You look pretty, mom,” he admitted and you looked at him in the reflection of the mirror with a big grin on your face.

“Thank you, darling.”

MASTERLIST

[betweenstorms]

HI HI HI HELLO!!!!!!! i really genuinely love your recent childhood friend!simon!!! UGH I’M OBSESSED!! and i’m not sure if you’d expound on the future chapters but i was wondering about what simon was thinking about in the recent chapters and how he finally decided to visit the apartment? SO SO AMAZING LOVE THIS SO MUCH!! LOVE YOU <33

Hiii, your excitement seriously made my day! As for what Simon was thinking and why he finally decided to visit the apartment, there’s definitely a lot of internal conflict, suppressed desire and nostalgia at play...

Drabble Two of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Simon Riley had been back from Urzikstan for less than a day.

Adrenaline still pulsed through his veins, the heat and the dust of those two weeks spent under a burning sky that offered no mercy still clinged to him. The gunfire, the danger, the uncertainty of life and death—it was a language he spoke fluently.

Those were moments where Ghost thrived.

Where the chaos of war had stripped everything down to raw survival, moments where the buzzing noise of his mind finally quieted beneath the relentless rhythm of gunfire. But even in the silence between missions, in the rare, stolen moments of rest, his thoughts drifted to one thing.

You.

It was maddening, how your presence lingered in his mind, like a gentle but nagging whisper. He carried you with him like a secret, a tether pulling him back from the abyss. Every step in the dusty streets, every shadowed alleyway, seemed to remind him of the promise he'd made to you back in Manchester. That he would visit you. A promise he never thought he’d care about, but now, it was all he could think about. And when the mission was finally over, when the dust had settled, the only thing that mattered was you.

He was wary of you, and yet, he desired you in equal measure.

Simon Riley was certain you would be the death of him—

—and somehow, he welcomed it.

Simon had felt like he was drowning his whole life, as if every breath he took was a struggle to break the surface.

But when he saw you again back in Manchester, like a reminder of a kid he once was, it was as though he finally breathed freely for the first time. He didn’t care about the reasons or the logic behind it, all he knew was that he needed you near him, for as long as he could hold on. And he couldn’t lie to himself about the nature of that need. It wasn’t pure, wasn’t noble. He wanted you in a way that was selfish, possessive. It wasn’t the kind of attraction people dream of—it was raw, primal, something that consumed him like a wildfire he couldn’t control. He wanted you beside him, wanted you to carry his name, to feel the weight of his claim, etched into your skin, into your flesh, into your very being. You were his, in the only way he knew how to love.

He didn’t really know what love was, didn’t have a name for it, and he didn’t even care to define what the fuck he felt about you—so long as you were there, within reach, threaded into the fabric of his life.

That was all that mattered.

The visceral need, this ache that gnawed at him, wasn’t something he’d known before, not until he saw you again in that bloody pub.

The familiarity of the child he once knew had shifted, twisted into something deeper, something undeniable in the man he had become. He couldn’t trace when it started—whether it had been lingering in him since his first breath, woven into his very being, destined to be yours, or if it had bloomed in him just yesterday.

Time seemed irrelevant.

The only thing he knew for certain was this—

—he needed you back in his life, needed you like a pulse, something vital, something he couldn’t survive without.

The impulse to kill and to love had always been intertwined within Simon, a duality he carried like a shadow stitched to his soul since birth. But in your presence, something shifted. The urge to destroy, to demolish and to go for the throat, it all fell away and washed clean by the quiet, undeniable force of what he felt for you. As if, in loving you, he could somehow cleanse the violence from his core, from his entire being and become something whole.

Each time you crossed his mind, he couldn't help but think, either release him from this tempting torment or take him with you, away to that soft world you seemed to belong to, where the air carried the scent of lost childhood, where everything was draped in your gentle colour. There, he could finally surrender. And in that quiet, where you lived and breathed, he could rest—beside you, within you, over you, under you, and at last, know peace.

Therefore, when the plane touched down on British soil, something pulled tight inside him. The mission was over, but he knew his real, internal battle was just beginning. The ache to see you, to keep his promise, burned hotter than any physical wound he carried. His mind, which had always been sharp and focused, was filled only with you.

He barely registered the team’s dispersal.

Price had clapped him on the shoulder, saying something about debriefs, but Simon’s mind was already elsewhere.

He moved mechanically, shedding the blood, sweat and tears of war in the shower of his quarters, the boiling water doing nothing to thaw the chill that had settled deep into his bones. He didn’t linger for long. The thought of you waiting for him, of finally seeing you again, pulled him through the motions like a man possessed.

His thoughts, his entire being, were already elsewhere.

Already with you.

Simon grabbed his keys, his civilian clothes clinging to his wet skin. London blurred past him as he drove, headlights streaking like distant stars, but none of it registered. His only thought was you—what you’d say, how you’d look at him when he showed up, unannounced at your apartment. Would you be pleased? Surprised? Annoyed? He wasn’t sure, but the need to find out burned through him, the only thing that cut through the fog of his post-mission mind.

When he finally pulled up outside your flat, the building loomed in front of him, a place of safety, of solace, yet suddenly it felt like hostile territory. His throat tightened as he took the stairs two at a time, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His legs carried him faster than his mind could keep up with. As he stood at your door, his hand raised to knock, a wave of uncertainty washed over him.

What the bloody hell was he doing?

What the fuck did he hope to find here?

He hadn’t told you he was coming, hadn’t prepared himself for what might come next. His foggy mind was filled with a thousand doubts. What if you didn’t want to see him? What if he had been a complete fool? He wasn’t good at shit like this—at people, at feelings. He was a soldier, built for violence and destruction, not for this. However, the warmth you’d given him back in Manchester, the way you’d made him feel something beyond the endless emptiness, he wasn’t sure he could walk away from that.

You made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t expected, hadn’t asked for.

The rational part of him screamed to leave, to save himself from whatever mistake he was about to make. He wasn’t meant for soft things, he wasn’t made for the quiet kind of intimacy that seemed to come so easily to others.

But there was something in you, something gentle and tender, that hid away the edges of a world that had taught him to bite in order to survive. Your innocent gaze, like the eyes of a lamb, made him feel like a creature half-tamed, haunted by the violence others had long branded into his skin. Sometimes, he felt like a stray dog everyone feared, the one they whispered about, the one they warned their loved ones about. The one who’d been hurt enough to snarl, to bare his teeth when he didn’t mean to.

He didn’t want that, no... not with you.

He didn’t understand the instinct to bite, the reflex to lash out before he was hurt. But with you, it felt like a betrayal of something sacred, something fragile. He longed to be gentle, to be soft in a way he’d never learned, but feared the wolf inside might never be tamed.

He stepped back from the door, leaning against the wall, trying to gather his thoughts.

What if this was a huge mistake? What if you didn’t even care that he was back? What would he even say if you answered?

It wasn’t like you owed him anything.

There were no promises between you—just a coincidence, a fleeting moment that might have meant more to him than it did to you. For all he knew, you could’ve moved on, forgotten all about him.

And yet, he knocked.

The sound was almost timid, barely more than a hum against the quiet of the night. Simon waited, his heart pounding, the seconds dragging out like hours. When there was no response, doubt began to claw at him again. Then he knocked again, this time a little louder, but still, nothing. Maybe you weren’t home. Maybe you didn’t want to see him. He knocked a third time, frustration tightening in his chest, the irrational need to see you overwhelming all sense.

Just as he was about to turn away, footsteps echoed softly from inside. Then the door burst open, and there you were.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

He didn’t have the right words. He never did. But seeing you there, standing in the doorway, looking at him with those wide, questioning eyes—it was enough. It was more than enough.

“Didn’t mean to.”

The silence between you felt like fire against his skin, a scorching ache that made his chest tighten. How could it hurt so much to be alone with you? You were something he both craved and feared, a temptation too pure to touch but impossible to resist.

And then there was the way you looked at him.

As if he were more than a man, as if he was the one who arranged the stars in their constellations, as if the darkness itself was his creation, painted with the black depths of his soul just so you could lie beneath it. It unsettled him, that curious gaze, full of devotion, as though you saw something divine in him that he could never see in himself. And in that moment, he wasn’t sure which was more terrifying—the longing to believe it, or the fear that it might be true.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he felt.

Maybe this was all some twisted, sick need to reclaim the childhood he had lost, and maybe you were the anchor he used to hold onto it. Perhaps you were nothing more than a rebound, a vessel to fill the hollow ache inside him, something to use and discard once he had squeezed from you the illusion of meaning. Holding you close gave him a fleeting sense of peace, a brief pause in the chaos, as if you could somehow stitch together the pieces of his fractured past, just to feel a fleeting sense of something, anything.

Maybe it was all a lie, a cruel delusion he had woven around himself—a tempting trap where you were just a means to an end. Someone he could use to convince himself it was for a greater purpose, to make the suffering mean something. That you were some kind of proof that everything he endured was worth it, even if deep down he feared it might not be true.

Perhaps in holding onto you, he was grasping for evidence that his life, his childhood, wasn’t a hollow, loveless, empty thing.

That his pain wasn’t for nothing.

That he wasn’t for nothing.

But he didn’t care about that now. There was no time to waste on this shit, no point in dissecting the nature of the need that burned inside him. He could question it all later, the whys and the hows, but right now, none of that mattered. It was the one right thing he had done in a life full of wrong turns and empty promises.

In this moment, there was no space for fucking doubt, no room for regret. It didn’t matter if it was love, or nostalgia, or some unnamable hunger—what mattered was that he had found his way back to you.

He knew that he was in the right place.

Right next to you.

Even if it was just a drabble, I feel like it helped paint Simon in a slightly different light, offering a glimpse into his deeper, more vulnerable side. I’m excited to share Part Five of Where We Part tomorrow (10.21.), so stay tuned for that! We’re nearing the end now, closing in on the moment of salvation, and I can’t wait for you to see where it all leads.

[actual-changeling]

"It would have been you."

It's raining.

Of course, it's raining.

A soft, constant drizzle leaving his hair a damp, curly mess that falls into his face and clings to his skin. Even though the cold is slowly seeping into his clothes, Crowley stops and turns around. Condensation is collecting on the inside of his shades where his breath drifts up, warm and too fast, and even if it hadn't been late at night, if the street hadn't been empty, he would have still taken them off.

Aziraphale is licking rain drops from his lips and blinking with dark, heavy lashes.

"What?"

His voice is rough, almost drowned out by the noise of rain hitting the pavement, collecting in small puddles around his feet.

"If it had been a choice, a real one, it would have been you."

The world did not end, questions were answered, apologies spoken, but their last conversation before everything went to shit is still a sharp splinter lodged in his chest, cutting him open more and more with every heartbeat. All of the fears he had left unsaid, the viscous doubt pooling in his lungs and weighing down his breaths—the truth might tip the scales and finally destroy him, and yet he cannot bring himself to stop Aziraphale from talking.

"It has always been you, Crowley. You must know that."

"I don't."

Bitterness laces his voice despite his best intentions, a drop of oil tainting an entire river, six thousand years of history, and it hurts because it's the truth, because they both wish it wasn't.

He doesn't know, couldn't know, because Aziraphale always needed him to stop them, to step back when they got too close. Every single time he had tried to push, gone too bloody fast, the angel had recoiled, scared for him, scared for the both of them. Crowley knows, and at the same time, he doesn't, because he still has hope and there is nothing more dangerous than allowing it to bloom; it's small, withered, brittle, on the verge of death and has been for centuries.

(It's still there, though. It keeps fighting, keeps trying. Keeps hoping.)

They're drenched to the bone, wet and pathetic, and there is nothing romantic about any of it when Aziraphale retraces his steps and closes the distance between them; there is, however, love.

There has always been love, whether they could admit it or not.

"I'm sorry. For- for everything, for making you think that I don't care about you."

"Angel, don't lie-"

"I'm not lying."

Crowley stares, frozen to the spot when Aziraphale presses cold, wet palms to his cheeks, his breath a ghost of warmth on his skin. This is too much, too close to 'our side', and if he didn't know better (does he know better? does he really?) he would think that he is about to—

"I'm not lying," he whispers, broken, truthful, "I love you. I won't leave you."

The rain stings in his eyes, masking the tears—hot and wistful—meeting Aziraphale's skin where it is touching his.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, angel."

His voice cracks and so does his heart, and he can feel the walls they have built together crumbling to dust under their feet. It's not real, it can't be real, and yet the truth is shimmering in storm-blue eyes he has been carrying with him since the moment he first put stars into the sky.

"It's you, always has been, always will be. If you let me."

Crowley kisses him as he falls apart, barely healed fractures reopening as his essence spills over and out, drowning him in please, please be real, please let us have this, please, God.

Just this once.

Aziraphale holds his face so incredibly gently, as if it's something worth keeping, something to protect, something he is afraid to lose. When the ground doesn't open up and swallow them whole, when the sky doesn't reach for them with greedy hands, he allows himself to seize Aziraphale's face in turn, cupping his jaw and kissing the rain drops off his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, tasting his tears when they begin to fall.

"It's always been you. God, of course I will let you."

Sapphire blue eyes blink up at him, a smile pressed against his lips, a smile he can feel, a smile that is for him, them.

"Perhaps you could let me somewhere less, ah, sopping wet?"

"I was right, though. It's the rain that did it."

Aziraphale laughs, bright and happy, and infectious enough to make Crowley laugh too, and grabs his hand to pull him back towards the bookshop - back home.

[brunchable]

"Come Back To Me" || Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!reader. Themes: ANGST. ANGST. The one that got away. Summary: He’d been struggling for so long—struggling to find a way to piece himself back together. He’d told her once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that every day felt like walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything he was trying to build could explode, destroying whatever progress he’d made. A/N: I'm feeling a bit. . .emotional today. . .if this goes well, i'll make a happy ending. . .

The rain was relentless against the windowpane, blurring the view of the city outside. Y/N watched as the drops streaked down, tracing random patterns, much like the course of her life over the past few years. A packed suitcase sat by the door, and an eerie silence filled her apartment. The city she once called home now seemed foreign, unwelcoming. And she was finally leaving it all behind.

She picked up her phone, glancing at the unread messages. Her thumb hovered over one of them—Bucky Barnes. She hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year. A part of her wondered if she should’ve reached out, but then, what would have been the point? She was getting married. Moving on. Or at least trying to.

Just as she was about to put the phone down, it buzzed—another message. This time from him.

“Where are you?”

She stared at the screen, her heart tightening painfully in her chest. She knew she shouldn’t respond, but her fingers moved on their own accord.

“Leaving.”

Seconds passed before his response came through.

“Don’t go.”

Tears blurred her vision. She forced herself to breathe, to remind herself that she had made this choice a long time ago. But the memories clawed at her, dragging her back.

× × × × 

Two Years Ago

The room felt warmer that night, filled with a calm that rarely visited Bucky’s place. Y/N could still recall the way his heartbeat echoed in her ear, strong and steady beneath her cheek as she rested against his chest. It was one of those rare moments when he seemed at peace—when the walls he kept so carefully constructed around himself had lowered just enough for her to see a glimpse of the man he was underneath the scars.

She’d stayed over countless times before, but this felt different. There was no rush, no urgency or desperation to cling to each other like they’d had so many nights before. Just a quiet acceptance that, for now, in this sliver of borrowed time, they could pretend everything was okay. He’d wrapped his arms around her that night, pulled her close like he never wanted to let go.

“Do you think we’ll ever be normal?” she had whispered, more to herself than to him.

There was a pause, his fingers running through her hair, then trailing down her back as if grounding himself. He’d never been one for words. Never had to be. But that night, something had been different in the way he touched her, held her—like he knew he was about to break both their hearts.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.

She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face. His gaze was fixed somewhere far away, staring past her, as if he could see something she couldn’t. But it was his eyes that gave him away. Eyes that had seen too much, carried too much. They were distant, resigned.

“Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Bucky had closed his eyes, his hold tightening. She didn’t know if it was because he was trying to hold onto her or if he was bracing himself to let her go.

They’d been here before—wrapped in each other, their skin touching, their breaths mingling, but the space between them felt like an insurmountable distance. He was always just a little out of reach, a little too far from where she needed him to be. Y/N had spent the better part of their relationship trying to close that gap, trying to be enough to pull him from the darkness he was drowning in.

But love wasn’t enough to save someone who was still learning how to love themselves.

He’d been struggling for so long—struggling to find a way to piece himself back together. He’d told her once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that every day felt like walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything he was trying to build could explode, destroying whatever progress he’d made.

She knew he was dealing with more than she could understand. That his past was a heavy chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he tried to rise. 

Y/N had her life planned out—knew where she was headed, what she wanted. She’d had a future mapped out long before she met Bucky Barnes. But somehow, he had become part of that future, even though he was still figuring out how to fit into his own.

They had tried to make it work. God, they had tried. But the timing was always off. Every time she reached for him, he took a step back. Every time he looked ready to stay, something would pull him away. It was an endless push and pull, a dance neither of them could master.

So, that night, she hadn’t pushed him. She hadn’t pressed for promises or reassurances. She’d just held him, clung to the moments they had together, hoping—praying—that he would see that what they had was worth staying for.

In hindsight, she should have known something was off. Should have felt it in the way his grip tightened just a little too much, in the way he pressed his lips to her hair as if he were trying to commit every detail of her to memory.

But she hadn’t known. She hadn’t known that while she was drifting off to sleep, secure in the thought that they’d get to wake up like this again and again, Bucky was silently saying goodbye.

When morning came, the first thing she registered was the absence of his warmth. The sheets beside her were cool to the touch, and a strange sense of unease crept through her as she opened her eyes to an empty space.

“Bucky?”

Silence greeted her in return. The apartment felt colder now, the lingering traces of their night together evaporating into the early dawn light. She pushed herself up, glancing around the small living room they’d spent hours in, talking about everything and nothing.

His shoes were gone. The jacket he always left draped over the armchair—vanished. It was as if he’d erased every trace of himself from the room, leaving it as bare as it had been the first time she’d stepped through the door.

A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she stood and moved through the small space, half-expecting to find him in the kitchen making coffee or standing by the window like he often did when he couldn’t sleep. But each room she entered was the same—silent, empty, devoid of him.

Her eyes landed on the coffee table, and she froze. There, in the center, sat a single folded piece of paper.

No. No, no, no.

She walked over slowly, almost afraid to touch it. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the note, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting sending a fresh wave of pain through her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words. That’s all he’d left her with.

A sob built in her throat, but she forced it down, shaking her head as if she could deny the reality in front of her. He was gone. He’d left in the middle of the night without a word, without an explanation. Just a hastily scribbled apology, like that could somehow justify tearing her apart and leaving her to pick up the pieces alone.

She sank onto the couch, the letter crumpling slightly in her grip. All the promises they’d made—the moments they’d shared—it was all unraveling around her like a cruel joke. She had believed in him, in the person he could be, the person he was when he was with her. And yet, he’d left.

Just like she always feared he would.

But no matter how much she had braced herself for this day, it didn’t make it any less excruciating. Because she’d been foolish enough to think that maybe—just maybe—love could be enough. That she could be enough.

She could still remember the way he looked at her the night before, those blue eyes filled with unshed tears, glassy and pleading. He’d looked like a man caught between two worlds—one where he wanted to stay and one where he had to leave.

“I just can’t,” he had said softly, voice cracking under the weight of it all, “I can’t keep pretending like I can give you everything you want. I’m still trying to figure out who I am—what I am. And you—you have your life together. You have a future. I’m just holding you back.”

And with those words, everything had shattered.

Love alone had never been enough to keep him from running.

× × × ×

Bucky sprinted through the terminal, breathless.

People moved aside, startled by his urgency, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting to her—seeing her. The thought of her boarding that plane, slipping through his fingers forever, was like a vise around his chest. He pushed past families and travelers, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically. It felt like every step he took was a battle against time, a race he was destined to lose.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t meant to break the silence he’d imposed on himself when he’d walked away from her all those months ago. But when he’d heard she was leaving, something inside him snapped. The reality of losing her—really losing her—had hit him like a freight train.

He spotted her near the gate. Y/N stood with her back to him, her shoulders squared, the familiar tilt of her head making his heart twist painfully. She was right there. He could see her. He could—

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos of the terminal.

She turned slowly, and their eyes met.

For a moment, the world stilled. The noise of the airport faded into a distant hum, and all that existed was her—standing there, looking at him with an expression that tore him apart. There was surprise in her eyes, yes. But there was also pain. A deep, aching sadness that mirrored his own. He took a step forward, his throat tight, but the distance between them felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Y/N,” he repeated, softer now, his voice breaking.

She shook her head, lips trembling as she blinked back tears. He could see the resolve in her eyes, the determination. But there was something else there, too. Fragile and broken, something he knew he had put there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but the words felt hollow. Inadequate. He wasn’t just sorry—he was devastated. Ruined. He’d spent the last year running, trying to convince himself that letting her go was the right thing. That she deserved better than him. That he was sparing her the pain of loving someone who was still trying to piece himself back together.

But he hadn’t spared her anything. He’d just left her to suffer alone.

She looked at him, really looked at him, as if memorizing his face one last time. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t move toward him. Didn’t close the gap. She just stood there, staring at him like he was a stranger.

And then she smiled. A small, heartbreaking smile that nearly brought him to his knees.

“I know,” she mouthed, and he saw the acceptance in her gaze. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t going to scream or cry or demand answers. She was simply… done.

Panic surged in his chest. He took a step forward, then another, but she turned away. His heart plummeted as she handed over her ticket to the gate attendant, her shoulders squared as if bracing herself for what was to come.

“Y/N, wait!” He surged forward, desperation clawing at him. He tried to push past security, tried to reach her, but an attendant stepped in front of him.

“Sir, you can’t go past this point.”

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking. He could feel his heart breaking, could feel everything slipping away from him. “Please, I need to talk to her.”

But the attendant shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s too late.”

Bucky stumbled back, his legs weak as if they could barely hold him up. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, battered notebook—the one he’d kept hidden all this time. The one he’d filled with the words he could never say to her.

He flipped through the pages with trembling hands, each letter a reminder of his cowardice, of the things he should have told her when it mattered. 

But as he reached the last page, his heart stuttered in his chest. His breath caught, and the world seemed to tilt as he stared at the words scrawled there in unfamiliar, yet achingly familiar handwriting.

It wasn’t his.

The ink was slightly smudged, as if someone had been gripping the page too tightly, but it was still clear. Still legible.

“Come back to me.”

His hands shook violently, a wave of emotion crashing over him as he traced the letters, his fingers brushing over the paper as if he could somehow reach her through it.

These weren’t his words. He hadn’t written this.

She had.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a pained noise escaping his throat. When had she seen this? How long had she known? He tried to piece it together, but everything felt jumbled, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He remembered all the way back to the times she’d looked at him, hurt and longing and so damn patient as she waited for him to say something—to do something that would prove he wasn’t going to leave again.

But he hadn’t. He’d let his fear win. Let his insecurities drive a wedge between them until there was nothing left but goodbyes.

“Come back to me.”

The words seemed to mock him now, a plea she must have written when she still believed he could change. When she still hoped he’d stay.

But he hadn’t found it. Hadn’t known what she’d been asking of him. And now it was too late.

The gate remained closed, and the plane carrying the only person who had ever truly seen him began to taxi away, taking her further and further out of his reach.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, the words breaking apart in his throat, filled with a desperation that echoed through the hollow spaces inside him.

But she wasn’t coming back.

[death---dealer]

Scolding. ( Noa x Human!Reader, POTA Oneshot. )

Title: Scolding. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Implied! Noa x Human!Reader. Rating: T. ( Sexual implications, talks of a naked human body. ) Words: 4.5K+ Summary: What would Noa's reaction be to seeing you in a dress for the first time?

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

It was long faded; your eyes scanning the yellow tinted fabric of a dress you had scavenged only a few months ago when Anaya, Soona and Noa had taken you to the Echo ruins for the first time. Faded but in the dim orange glow of your hut, you could still see the vividity of the flower pattern that once clung so happily to the threads. They appeared blackened now and barely outlined the shapes of petals, but your imagination did its due job and filled in the blanks for you.

It was like it was barely clinging to whatever hue it had been for the last three-hundred years, beaten and soaked by the sun’s wrath until it came into your loving and reminiscent possession. It would have been easy to explain to the three Apes if they had captured you admiring it. You liked Echo things. You were Echo to them in most regards despite the constant reassurance that you were also a part of the Clan. It would be easy to just tell them that you found the pattern interesting and leave it at that but something yelled inside of your mind to take it. 

Humanities self-loathing jealousy for things more beautiful than the nature that surrounded you day in and day out.

Humanities seething love for things that would make themselves outwardly more appealing.

Hesitantly at first, you had no reason to tuck it into your rucksack that Autumn day and take it back to the Eagle Clan but something spurred you to do just that, it was as if the other bodies it had once been placed upon were seeping into you and telling you stories one by one from over the generations of who had owned it up until its time with you. Stories of firsts kisses in the dress, chaste and afraid, stories of love and adoration as the wearer was showered in compliments from their significant other, closer melancholy of another Human finding it and never realizing the value….

You were a romantic and it pained at times that the world you found yourself in, especially from your Human lineage, tore that down and destroyed it into a lacking ghost of what it could have been. Human’s did not love the same way Apes did, and it was apparent from the first day you came to be with Noa. 

It was different.

You folded the crinkled fabric gently between your fingers and never looked back on it, no intentions made for the garment as it was shoved into the sack against your hip. You washed it the day after and it did nothing but sit as a folded pile in your hut, a shimmered reminder of the remnants of Humanity, a sweeping caress you would place your hand on when you wanted to remember a time before your own.

A time where there swirled nothing but vanity and the self-absorbed nature of individuals that would ultimately and always lead to the downfall that began generations ago. No need for it in the climate of the Winter when you had taken it, no need for it in the political position that the world sat in, teetering between intelligent Apes and the smaller, dwindling aspect of intelligent Humans.

But still… Your eyes admired the garment for what it had been once as it was splayed on your animale hide boasted nest. Faux wooden buttons against the bosom that were chipped around the edges, the silky texture of the thinned straps as you lifted the dress upwards, wrinkling in on itself and let it drape down your body and pressing at the crevices of your shape, stopping at mid-thigh with a shrill of exhilaration trickling down your spine.

It felt strange to be so exposed to the air, your arms tucked in on themselves out of censored defense and it took all your willpower to relax a bit as your heart ran a marathon against your ribcage to the point of self-inflicted hardened breathing. 

Your entire life centered around safety and keeping yourself alive, something that you loosened control over once you became more associated with the Eagle Clan. Once… Noa had taken you under his Eagle’s wing and secured your survival by always being at your side. A dress was juxtaposed to that, no armor and no shield against otherwise delicate skin and that felt guilt filled and sinful in your mind. There was nothing telling you that it was appropriate.

There was nothing assuring you that Noa would even like it. He’d probably think it pointless. Clothing were clothing to him, such an Echo aspect of privacy that did not exist to Apes who wore no clothing and only accessories with cross body bags, thinned twine belts and the armbands that signified they were a Clan, together and not apart. 

There was screaming from your appendages fully cased in the firelight, the heat being a gift against the otherwise chilled Summer air that surrounded you, there was no guarantee that a snake wouldn’t sink its teeth into your leg after popping out from the tall grass of the meadow, there was nothing stopping a bug from landing on you and trailing around as if you were one with nature. Not that those things would be an issue. 

You’d let Noa sink his sharp canines bouncing against the moonlight straight into you without reserve if that’s what he so chose to do upon seeing flesh that had never been seen, you’d let Noa’s hands trail your bare arms, fluttering and calloused like the tiny legs of a beetle in an attempt to keep you warm and there was a drop in your stomach that you were… Wearing what you were in order to garner some semblance of attention from the otherwise occupied Master of the Birds. Would he… notice? Your fingers trailed against the bottom hem of the dress, wavy and bumpy as the fabric was coming undone in spots and it had obviously been repaired by inadequate sewing. There was a small hole right above your belly button, beckoning even the most docile eyes to look at it and it captivated you to see the color of the dress against the tone of your skin.

The things that could happen to you for being so bare would not happen, they persisted as improbabilities against the larger scape of what would happen when you finally mustered enough courage to tug your equally worn jacket over your shoulders and trailed to meet Noa once the sun had fully set in the field adjacent to the Village. 

Quiet and peaceful, the two of you could enjoy each other's company without the prying stares from the other Chimps, without the constant pestering from Anaya or the curious glances from Soona that told you all you needed to know about the Eagle Clan’s leaders intentions towards you.

Ignoring them was the way to go around it but it was hard at times when you found no time alone with each other, finally yearning to use the dress for what you imagined its intended purpose might have been at one time in the past. To impress. To dazzle against the wearer and show their intended what might lay underneath. It did just that, not to boast about yourself. It clung to you like a second skin, stretching the fabric as you took a deep breath in and held it carded in the depths of your lungs. 

No bra, your breasts perked against the thinned textile as you trailed a hand upwards to adjust the right sleeve against your suddenly heady skin. It felt so… Human to wear. The drawing in your mind and imagine that Noa would want to tear it right off of you. The growl he’d release for you upon seeing what was underneath as if it weren’t evident enough from the way the yellow garment was hugging the right places. You doubted that it would make a difference, you were both too shy to act upon impulse but it was a tasty delicacy you were using to hype up the anxious sensation in your limbs as you released the breath you had been holding in. 

The gravity at the center of your being felt unbalanced as your feet shuffled themselves into your boots. Not adequate for the rest of the outfit, you had no way to tell how the dress might have looked actually put together with the proper accessories but you did your best and flattened the fabric against your hips and sighed. Whoever had worn this before… Who ever fitted it against themselves like you were doing must have felt the same, right?

The blood rushing in your ears with silenced anticipation, the jittering of fingers right under your breasts as you smoothed the cloth there starting from the buttons lining down your sternum and out towards the flare of your ribcage. This was fruitless, Noa would not care, you mind was convinced of that and you had no idea what you were even thinking as you grasped your jacket with your right hand and faced the exit of your hut. 

Noa would not care and that was alright. As long as you felt good about yourself wearing it, that was all that mattered as you trailed right out the entryway. 

The gliding of your thighs against each other was an odd sensation outside of them ever kissing when you washed yourself. They were often carded in the thicker fabric of your cargo pants or pressed together without release when you slept and you never took notice of the lick of arousal it garnered from just your mind running with the idea that Noa would want to touch you there. The way his leathered touch would feel against them as they were pried right open with very little strength. How hot he’d be against you as he slotted his tapered waist between then and urged you to tighten and stay secure as he rocked into your body. 

Your mouth fell open at the absurdity of the thought but it was persistent and called for you to walk a bit faster, feet trudging through the scape of the village to the east. Noa was waiting. The Chimp was always waiting for you, the outline of his body finally captivating your minored night vision that was aided by a few of the fire stakes that scattered the perimeter of the Clan’s edges. He would not care, your mind replayed itself over and over again but there was the excitement of the Ape seeing you for the first time so vulnerably. You hoped that’s how it came across. A sense of comfort, a sense of understanding that you felt… Safe with him to wear such absurd and impractical garments. You had no idea what he found so interesting about you, heart racing inside of its ribcaged home as you came to walk more gently against the ground, eager to not step on anything that might alarm yourself like an innocently placed twig begging to be snapped under the weight of your body. There were obviously unspoken things that were of interest to both parties, the way that Noa looked over at you upon your impending arrival, shoulder fur rising in acute absorption as was the case when you made your presence known to the Ape who had to have known of your arrival before you hit his peripheral.

Noa’s vision was greater than your own; the sweep from your feet all the way up to your head, the Ape loomed over every small detail he was able to detect against the backdrop of the village itself. You could almost feel the dilation of his gold and green irises, blown to proportion from the lack of proper lightly and more so… You were desperate to think that it was more from how you looked in his line of vision rather than the strain his gaze needed to present to see things about you in detail. 

Noa’s mouth parted naturally as was his natural default expression, something you found so amusing as it casted a light right against the sheen of his sharpened canines when under the right circumstances before they drifted back into the home of his gums. But this… Your heart fluttered a bit to crazed in your chest as you came a bit closer, grasping the hem of the dress once more to keep the nerves that were bursting out at bay.

This time out of more surprise at the appearance of your… Arms. Longer than his own, he was able to see the build of your flesh against what smaller muscles you had to his own. There was the delicate coating of your thinned hair that he was able to detect as the flushed light behind you seemed to set your skin aglow at the angle of which he was peering up at you with. 

So… Strange… Noa felt a jolt inside of his navel and it blossomed upwards to rest right beneath his diaphragm. Uncomfortably, he shifted his position and tried to get it to go away as Noa’s mind collapsed in on itself. Has… Has he seen them like this before? Your legs! Had he seen… Your legs been like this before? Tangling in on themselves as if you had just learned how to walk? Your calves shone as they caught the light. They were so new, he wanted to touch them. Noa’s brow hardened at that thought. He wanted to do more to them than that, but was he willing to relent the control he had over himself to admit? 

Noa wondered… If they felt any different than his own set of legs. They were more proportionate to your body length and seemed to stagger here and there against the terrain, balance was never your forte and Noa was on alert even now to make sure you did not take a tumble. On the flip side, Chimp legs  were shorter and more attune to heavy lifting and were incredibly centered to allow him to balance and hold with the help of his dexterous feet.

He could lift you and force you to let him admire you. To sink into the flesh that was teasing him so ardently along with the overwhelming fragrance that rivaled the meadow’s speckled wild flowers. The scent between your legs that was so clear in regular clothing was smothering to him and caused a stifled jostle for the Ape that was hard to ignore as you walked nearer and gave him a small brisk smile of affection and adoration. 

“So-Sorry I’m late. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to wear.” 

That sounded so Human, you wanted to slap yourself, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear as you tried to set aside the everlasting notion that Noa was perplexed beyond belief and it was hard to see otherwise when he was coiling himself into a tightened ball of nerves beside you. The hackles of fur along his broadened shoulders rose from interest at the lack of clothing. At the lack of privacy you were showcasing. It was forbidden in his mind to ever think about your body like that, Noa had no self-control to stop and the one time he allowed himself to go down that road, he couldn’t look at you for an entire week out of shell-shocked embarrassment.

Noa was stagnant and amply watched as you dropped your jacket first onto the ground for you to sit on before following suit with your delicious frame. It was like it was slowed down and dilated for him to take in every detail. The ripping of the fabric against your skin as you stretched your thighs apart to seat yourself properly, the way that drifted up ever so slightly and gave witness to a piece of your hamstring as your legs lifted and rested into a crossed position, the strap that was holding the garment up drifted downwards and stopped right above the bend of your elbow and the Ape found it difficult to not gawk at the newly exposed piece of your jugular. 

It was heavily beating implying nerves on your end from the quickened pace. Implying want and desire as Noa felt his mouth run dry with temptation to place his teeth against the beating vein. Right away and without any reserve, your arousal was drifting around the young Ape like a ripened fruit best to pick off the branch at the moment than to wait any longer. He had not seen what you were wearing before. Ever.

It was obvious from the pulling and drift of your breathing which catapulted the fabric against and away from your chest that you weren’t wearing anything underneath, scratching at the inner part of Noa’s conscious mind that he did desire to see what lay there, bare and without fur. Sure, Female Apes had the same characteristics you had, there was nothing… Special about them, Noa fluttered his eyes to the side in an attempt to keep the morbidity of his train of thought at bay. 

So why would the young Chimp be so… interested in seeing you… Without anything on? Sure, the fabric seemed interesting enough, mildly see-through Noa had to admit to seeing that when you first beckoned your arrival with a blushed smile. At least where the textile was thinner did it appear to cling closer to your skin, Noa’s mind felt like it was set ablaze with a trace of jealousy that he wanted to cast his body against yours in such fashion---...

There was the small hole of wear and tear that tugged right below your right breast, against the ridge of what Noa imagined to be your ribs… It expanded and shot back in with every breath you took as if it were teasing the Ape that it might just burst open if you inhaled too aggressively.

Maybe it was the primal part of Noa’s mind that yearned to see you exposed as a form of acceptance, that you were Ape just like he, just like Soona, Anaya and Dar. You were after all, with a roll of his shoulders at the satisfaction of the thought itself, Noa chuffed, you were a part of the Eagle Clan. There was no need for the pesterance of clothing, but you insisted and Noa never argued against the Echo logic which held privacy and embarrassment so highly. 

Maybe in some sick twisted way, Noa just wanted to know what your reaction to being bare would be. Would you try to cover yourself up, much like you were doing as you drew your arms to fold against your sternum, ultimately bolstering your breasts against the cap of the dress collar. Noa looked at that briefly and puffed his cheeks out before gazing out at the stark field that now held very little interest for him.

You’d try to cover yourself up was the deduced fact just as Noa was trying to sly away from the fact that there was a part of him that was yearning to just stare at you instead of the darkened landscape to figure out the purpose of your choice. It was warm enough, Noa figured, feeling a heated breeze through his thinner fur of the Summer and colliding with the skin beneath. 

“What… Is it? Have not seen you-... Wear…. That.”

“I found it… A couple months ago…” Your voice was hushed as you looked down at your own body and shuffled your butt a bit to get comfortable against the ground below. It was mildly cushioned from the bent grass that conformed against your lower half, tickling a bit at your bare legs and left a ricochet shiver to run up them and let it linger between your legs. There was no way to play faux confidence even as the yellow dress dragged itself upwards and displayed more of your thigh for Noa to take delectations in. You wanted to do nothing but pull it down and apologize for the mis-understanding and scuttle back to your hut for the night and tear it off with no intentions to ever wear it again.

All futile attempts at thinking that Noa’s opinions did not matter were lost. You… Cared, your heavy eyelids fell shut slightly as you looked at your lap where your hands were tangled in on themselves, pulling into knots with your fingertips and releasing them out of anxious desire for either one of your to say something that was going to be beneficial instead of sitting in what felt like bated and intensely scrutinized judgment.

What… Was Noa thinking? Did--- did he like it? Did the Ape think it was just a stupid Echo aspect, to worry about what you wanted to wear? To worry about your outward appearance? You drew a deep breath in but that did nothing to help your mind from falling into a pit of its own despair.  There was a pull in the center of your chest that hurt more than you cared to admit at the time that you wanted Noa to say something about it, even if it were critical so you could retaliate as if your words were going to convince him otherwise.

“I-I think we…” The tapering in your voice was relaxed and flowed into eased correction, “Echo… used to call it a dress.”

“You have not,” Noa muttered softly, and shifted his body ever so slightly so his shoulder brazenly drifted against your own and it felt like your skin was set aflame that rivaled even the bonfire in the center of the village at its peak during the evening meal. “Worn before.” That was said previously but in a different way and this time, it was accompanied by a swinging of Noa’s right arm to translate it into signing as if that were going to help the intended thoughts that now danced around the inside of his mind as frenzied contact between your stares was made and Noa felt a shattering of your clear scent radiate down into the depths of his nostrils once more and he turned back forwards, leaving your mouth open as if you were going to say something but ultimately decided against it at his reaction. It was an astute observation by an already obsessive Ape who took things apart at times to cure whatever seeped inquisitiveness that possessed him at the time.

That… You tilted your body inwards and captivated the very tips of Noa’s darkened fur against otherwise virgin skin that Noa himself started to enter by shifting his larger body towards your own.  That obsession was something you always found so attractive about Noa and it appeared it dove even deeper by your underlying desire to be the puzzle that he could not crack but attempted time and time again.

“Not much… to cover Echo’s… arms and legs.”

“Not really.” It was getting more difficult to hide the disappointment in your voice as you uncrossed your legs carefully, feeling the cracking of your kneecaps as you did so. Sitting up so you were able to pull the dress down enough to cover yourself better, you tugged the fabric to the point of the stretch against your thigh and carded your knees inwards so you could curl into a defended ball of nerves that now leaked uneasy confidence. “I think it was used more for celebrations and stuff… Thought it would… be nice to wear. Something different, you know?” The words felt empty and shallow now that you were explaining it in verbalization. Noa pressed his mouth together into a tightened line of discernable emotion. He knew you well enough to notice the shift in your tone. The body language that you paraded here with was gone with whatever semblance of self-assurance you had when you told him that you were unsure of what to wear and ultimately choose what was laying against your flesh that Noa wanted nothing more than to sink his own canines into. Forget the fabric, he'd be able to rip that off without any notice if it chose to get in his way---...

There were things the Ape could say, his teeth bared themselves in a small grimace of frustration aimed towards himself only while the fur along his longed collarbones rose in agreement to the emotion that ravaged around. The only coping mechanism Noa had was self-deprecation at times like these when he lacked the Echo understanding of what you were begging him for. Gritting the blunted top and bottom set of his teeth together for a split second, Noa relaxed his jaw and glanced towards you as you actioned your neck upwards to look at the sky and the twinkling of the lights that dotted along the midnight navy backspace.

There was such innate interest in you, Noa wanted you to know that but how… Could he just come out and say it? There was no way that you’d be receptive… Right? “Think it is… Nice. Something different…” 

Noa nodded his head assuredly at his own choice of words, hoping you recognized them as having a dual meaning. One towards the yellow scorned dress that had been faded and brought back to life by a captivating body and movements that flushed against your hips, bustled against your chest and waved invitingly at the Chimp, and the other towards the wearer itself. The hold of your shoulders that seemed to perk with anticipation, shoulder caps flushed with red that was from the heat of Noa’s proximity.

“Something different… is always… Nice.”

The smile that Noa gave you was rushed but held enough tenacity emotion for you to notice that it was bashful as if he were unsure of the cadences of his statement. As if he were… Afraid that you would not understand. Noa’s mouth parted once more, dripping his hot breath against the warmed skin of your bicep as the breathing was rapid but paced and not sporadic. You found yourself in a mimicked position, your lungs being crushed in by your position but it felt good and soothing against the knowledge that Noa was… Attempting to give a compliment, if you so chose to be optimistic about what the Master of the Birds was uttering to you.

And optimistic you stayed.

“Do you think so?” You whispered hushed, bringing your face down to kiss your forearm as you wrapped your arms around your knees and kept yourself positioned to longingly peer up at the sky. Noa felt jealous at that, shuffling once more to bump his shoulder against yours in an attempt to keep you grounded and focused on only himself. Selfish, he knew that but the way that you tore your eyes back into his foliage irises was something that lit Noa on fire, the smile that tugged itself across your expression was something the Ape longed to see over and over again. And he wanted to be the only one to stir it from you. 

“I think… It is welcomed. Especially when it is… You who brings something… Different.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Oh geez, my loves, we're really in it now. Chapter Title from Help I'm Alive By Metric.

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben has a plan. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

He hadn’t let you go. In the van, when he’d been snapping at your team in low words your brain didn’t have the energy to fully process, Ben had kept you tucked into his chest. When you’d returned to the safe house he’d picked you up in a smooth and effortless movement and carried you across the threshold, up the stairs, and into your room. You waited, in a world of dread, for the fury to hit him. For Ben to pull back, dropping you on the stairs or couch or floor of the bedroom and demand answers. Tell he wasn’t forgiving you this time. But all he seemed to feel—pushing through you where your arms were wrapped around his neck—was stoned resolve and something that was itching against his ribs and running into his fingers. And he didn’t drop you, and he didn’t leave. Ben lowered you both onto the edge of the mattress and let you cling to the firm warmth of his body until you were able to pull your head back and meet his eyes. 

“It’s late,” Ben spoke first, voice gravelly and low. “You need sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” you whisper. It was the truth, every part of your body was wired and alert. You kept your eyes locked to Ben’s because if you looked away you’d start searching for Homelander in shadows and corners. You kept your hand gripped to his shirt because if you let go, they’d start to smoke and turn over every surface to make sure it was only you and Ben in the house.

Ben only grunts, still watching you. It’s silent for another moment, only your breaths filling the space in an even time with each other. He’s just watching you, barely even blinking, and you can only feel him. Safe and strong and right there. Still right there. He’s not gone yet, yet, and there’s still no hot fury. No questions. There wasn’t apathy either, and you’re grateful because that might have destroyed you. The idea that he just didn’t care enough to fight anymore and was just going to let it go until you wouldn’t break down, then he’d leave forever. There was only the resolve and itch and a third thing. So deep down, you couldn’t feel it in passing. Constricting against him, pushing into his jaw and making everything almost fuzzy.

It might be betrayal, that third thing. The final straw, the last lie, breaking whatever this strange thing you’d managed to build together was. You might never have to say all those explanations you’d been putting together in your head, about why you’d hidden the sensory manipulation when you’d had every opportunity to tell him. About how you couldn’t control what happened, and had been so terrified that Homelander would use that against you. About how you didn’t want to talk about the performance because Ben would either touch you and not mean it or just not touch you at all, and you didn’t know which was worse. This wasn’t much better, though. Sitting against him in the dark, him being the only thing keeping you from imploding, and having to wait for it to be over forever.

He wouldn’t look away from you. You wished he would. You never wanted him to leave, you needed to stay right here—in this moment where he didn’t hate you—forever, but the longer he looked at you, the larger the dread grew. Because when time passed, as it always cruelly did, and the anger found its way from him into you, it would be worse if he just kept looking at you. You were searching his eyes for a hint, a sign of an oncoming storm, but all you saw was a look you didn’t understand. You knew all of his looks, and that introduced a new thread of fear into you. You dropped your head forward, back into his chest, trying to hide the tears falling from all of it—the night and the performance and Homelander and your team and the knowledge that Ben was going to hate you so soon—and trying hopelessly to pull Ben closer. Keep him tangible against you, maybe make him a part of you before it was over.

But he still didn’t leave.

Your hands start to fidget with the collar of his shirt. It was white earlier in the afternoon—crisp and pressed when Frenchie had brought it from the van—but you could see stains of blood and filth spread across the fabric, small tears in the seams, and charred holes where you’d been pressed against him as you burned. That breaks you more.

“I’m sor-“

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben cuts off your mumbled apology, following your gaze down to one of the scorch marks. “Stop apologizing.”

“But your shirt,” you look back up at him, hand flattening against his chest. “And the mission, and my powers, and Homelander, and you had to carry me-“

You choke on your own words as one of Ben’s hands moves from your hips to your cheeks, cupping it gently and keeping your eyes on his. “Stop.” 

“But-“

He says your name, grip tightening slightly as his thumb brushes a tear from your eyes. “Fucking stop. I don’t want your apologies, so fucking stop.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s painful. You don’t look away, because he doesn’t want you, and once you do that becomes real.

Ben’s eyes narrow, scanning your face closely, and you can feel the itch turn into almost a burn. His mouth opens—just slightly—and closes a few times, and your body begins to brace against your will. This is it, and you’ll find a way to be fine with that. You’ve survived a lot worse, and this will not break you. This will not break you. You’ll figure out what to do with yourself, alone once more, when this is all over. When you’re immortal, incapable of being around the world, and Ben is millions of miles away with no one to blame for that but yourself, you will be fine because you have to be. You’re a lot fucking stronger than being broken by something like this-

“I’m not mad at you, Sunshine.”

You blink, Ben’s words almost jolting through you. You can feel them, coming deep from his chest, and everything is suddenly very big and blurry.

“What?”

“You think I’m mad at you.” He says it flatly, still holding your face so lightly. “You’re doing the thing with your face. Your heart beats faster every time I talk. I’m not mad at you, so calm the fuck down.”

“Why?” You don’t believe him. You want to believe him, but you’d be mad at you. You’d hate you, and so you don’t believe him. “You should be, I hid something from you again, and I blew our cover, and my powers-“ The words die in your throat, because you don’t want to talk about that. You’re not ready to have that conversation, where the whole world will end because he’ll say the thing you know. The thing you don’t even want to think.

“I know.” Ben’s voice doesn’t waver as he speaks, even though he frowns. “But I’m not.”

“Why?” You’re repeating yourself, trapped in a loop. You won’t leave it until you understand, until the dread is gone. You need it to be concrete, that he’s staying, and you’ll be stuck right here until he either leaves or makes you understand. “Why? Ben, why-“

“Because.” He swallows heavily, and you watch the bob of his throat, waiting for him to continue. “I’m just not.”

“Please, just tell me why-“

“I fucking can’t.” He snaps your names. “But stop being so goddamn afraid that I am. I’m not, so just please fucking stop.”

“But you will be-“

“No, I won’t.” His voice raises, but you don’t flinch. Your hand flies to where his own rests on your face, holding it there so he won’t pull away. Ben tenses at the movement, but only takes a heavy breath. “I won’t be mad. I’m not now, I won’t be later, and that’s fucking it. Stop being afraid of me.”

You feel the odd, implacable feeling pulse and grow just so slightly stronger. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Ben. I’m just,” you hold his hand tighter as his eyes stay on yours. He doesn’t believe you, you can feel it. See it painted across his face. “I just, I don’t-“

“I know,” he mutters, moving his hand from your face to fold it into yours. “Me neither.” 

You know what you mean. That you aren’t—couldn’t—be afraid of him, because he’s Ben. He’s safe and you, for some godforsaken reason, trust him more than anyone. With every part of you, all you have for him is faith and-

You know what you mean. And though you feel it—that strange thing deep in him that you’re afraid to try and name—you still don’t know what he means. You still need it to be solid, though. Even if you don’t have a clue what it is.

“Promise?”

“Fucking swear it.”

You nod, and words begin to push out of you.

“It’s him.” You say it so quietly, because you’re almost afraid that it’ll be heard, somehow, by anyone but Ben. That all the way in Vought Tower, cruel and twisted ears will pick up your voice and find you. But Ben needs to know. He can’t think that you’re afraid of him, because that might be worse. “I didn’t tell you because of him, not because of you, not because I don’t trust you or I’m afraid of you or am trying to lie-“

He says your name, but you barrel forward.

“Please, please believe me. I trust you, I do, I promise, and I’m all out of lies. That was it, and nobody knew. Not him, not Butcher, not Annie or Hughie or Kimiko or Mallory-“

Ben’s hand in yours tugs you forward, and you fall right into his chest. You feel your eyes start to sting, tears falling into your mouth, clinging to your tongue as your words turn muffled and choked.

“I couldn’t tell anybody, I can’t control it, he would’ve used it, hurt me, hurt people I love, I couldn’t, nobody could know, please-“

“Breathe,” is all Ben says, and his voice moves from his chest into yours. He starts to rub small circles against where he’s holding you, and your words fall into strangled sobs. “You’re okay. You’re here, and I’m not mad. You trust me?” You make another weak sound of affirmation, and he hums. “Then fucking believe me when I say I’m not mad, and I won’t be." 

You nod into him, the heat of his body spreading through you. Your heart and brain slow as Ben just holds you. Still not moving, just waiting, still tracing soft, firm patterns against your skin until your breathing slows. You pull back, reaching up to wipe the lingering tears away from your eyes, but he catches your face before you can. Cupping your jaw with one hand, the other leaves your waist, crossing your cheeks with warm, calloused fingers.

He’s lingering. There are no tears left, no new ones falling, but Ben’s still holding your face. Watching you. Not moving—not leaving—as your breaths fall back in time. One hand has tangled in your hair, and his thumb has moved to your chin. Brushing slightly against your lips, and your mouth falls open against your will.

You look at him. Really, fully look at him for the first time since the mission. You’d been right to want to see him in a suit. Even with his tie loosened and cock-eyed, with the dried blood and dirt marking his shirt and his jacket hanging by threads, he’s everything. Safe and warm and firm and Ben. His own mouth is in a slight pout, his eyes are so pretty, and he smells almost impossibly good. It’s surrounding you, wrapping around you with the strength of his arms. Every time he breathes you can feel the muscles move under his shirt, and there’s a strand of hair falling across his eyes. He’s not letting go of you to move it, leaving it loose and taunting you. Right now, between the feel of him everywhere and the way that he’s everything, you’re not strong enough to fight yourself from brushing it away. You reach up through Ben’s arms, moving it back into place slowly, carefully, in case he wants to stop you. He doesn’t, only glancing at your hand before looking back at you, unblinking and silent. Your hand drops to his arm, and even though it tenses under your hold, he doesn’t shrug it away. He just watches you. And stays.

The feeling you couldn’t understand is gone—flickered out completely—and the burn in his chest doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s bigger, stronger, consuming and so powerful it’s carving into you. It’s hungry, so hungry you’re shocked it’s not painful, but it isn't at all. It’s in your blood and through your spine and sitting heavy in your gut and it feels good.

It’s the lust, but stronger. It’s more than the club, where it felt like it could be cured. This is insatiable, and infinite, and nothing in Ben seems to be frustrated by it. All you feel is the hunger and it’s making everything inside you hot and aching. It’s amplifying your own need for him, for Ben to stay here with you forever and drown you in everything and want you. Really, really want you.

And it’s so easy to pretend he does. When his eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second. When his arms don’t leave their place around you and his hands are so gentle against your face. Not touching you like you’re delicate or breakable, but as if you’re something more than just you. Something important and holy and irreplaceable. Something like him.

It’s such a perfect world to exist in, where that’s just the truth, and not an easy and comfortable illusion. If Ben were to move—to finally close the space between you and touch you—there’s not a universe where you’re strong enough to stop him. You want him, you need him, and when he’s making it so easy to stay here forever you can’t prevent yourself from giving everything to him. Even if he doesn’t need you, even if it’s fleeting and might leave you shattered later.

For one of the first times in your life, your mind is almost blank. It’s just the same harmony of Ben, Ben, Ben and everything else is only need. Electric and burning need. The world is only you in Ben’s lap, and Ben’s hands on your face, and the breaths you seem to be trading. It’s only his eyes, watching you like he’s trying to dissect you. It’s different this time, not like the beginning. He’s trying to find something specific, and you can’t say what it is. What he’s looking for. 

You do know you’d give it to him. Whatever he’s looking for, you’d find a way to give it to him. Right now, if he asked for the moon, you’d pull it from the sky. If he asked for your heart, you’d tear it out of your chest. That should terrify you, how that idea seems so easy and natural. How it’s the truth, and there’s no way around it. But it doesn’t. Because it’s Ben. And he’s not mad, and he’s still here, and he’s everything, and if your heart in his hands is the thing that would make him keep holding you like this forever then so be it. You’d grow a new one anyways, and he could have that one too, and the next one, and the one after that.

“What did you mean?” When Ben finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “When you said you wouldn’t need saving?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question when you can still feel his hunger. “What?”

“After my meeting. After our fight. The next morning, you said if I wasn’t immortal, you wouldn’t need saving.”

“Oh,” you’d forgotten about that entirely. You remembered seeing Ben sleep peacefully for the first time, feeling him content and secure above you. You remember having to wake him up, because you’d been able to feel your bladder, but still felt real guilty about it. You remember trying to push him out the door unsuccessfully, and him throwing you onto the bed and storming out, and having to force yourself not to chase after him. You remember how sturdy his body had felt against yours and how stupidly handsome he’d somehow looked in the early morning, but everything else was just a blur of how it had made you thirsty. You’re shocked Ben remembered, because you’d dismissed your own comment after you’d decided it wasn’t worth explaining.

But Ben was frowning, and you could feel the severity of his question through where he touched you. This, for some reason, mattered to him. And he was waiting for you to answer, brows knit and gaze urgent. The lust isn’t gone, but the undecipherable feeling has blossomed back in you, in Ben. You can even see it on his face, because it’s tight and grave in the same way.

You chose your words carefully, because this feels much more vital than it reasonably should.

“Do you, do you know what the butterfly effect is?” You ask, and Ben’s frown deepens.

“No.”

At his grumbled words, the strange feeling twitches, and for a second it’s sour. You make yourself keep speaking, because you can’t stop to read into every bit and scrap you get from him. You’ve already driven yourself mad just having to feel them, trying to find a pattern or meaning would lock you in a cycle of confusion and desperation forever.

“It’s this idea in Chaos Theory, that every small action could balloon to cause larger consequences. A butterfly flaps its wings in Asia, and a hurricane occurs in the Caribbean. What about the domino effect, do you know about that?”

“Yeah, one thing happens so all the other things do too, why-“

“You get injected with the V in the 1940s, and something about how it interacts with your DNA makes you develop immortality. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s experimental, a form a V they haven’t used since. But other volunteers combust, and something about you makes it work. You help build Vought for over forty years, now you’re sixty, and you still look twenty. Dr. Jonah Vogalbaum asks you to jerk off into a cup so he can study your un-aging DNA, and you don’t think twice because why would you? You’re immortal, nobody can hurt you, and so you don’t think twice. A little more time passes, and you’re impossible and a liability and nobody likes you.” At the flash of that odd feeling, in perfect synchronization with the look of what might be hurt on his face, you pause to squeeze your hand against his bicep. “They were right to, you’re an asshole,” you offer him a soft smile. “You’re guarded and unbelievably masculine to the point of detriment. But people can change. And I, for some stupid fucking reason, still care about you. And I trust you and I give a shit about you, even though you’re a dick and a cunt.” 

“I know,” Ben grunts, and despite the indifferent annoyance of his tone, you can feel the odd feeling grow into a static hum once more. “Keep talking.”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath. “Vought used that DNA you handed to them to make-“ you swallow, pushing the name out into the air from where it catches in your throat. “Homelander, and he’s strong enough that they feel comfortable replacing you. They cut the a deal with the Russians to get you out of the picture, and Homelander is the new big thing. But he’s so strong nobody will say ‘no’ to him, not if they want to keep their life, and he becomes an entitled, psychotic monster. He just wants a family, but doesn’t care enough or know how to build one like a normal, non-sociopathic person. So he decides to force it, and I’m the person he chooses. That’s not your fault, it’s just what happened, but um-“ You feel guilty, because none of this is really Ben’s fault, not really. He didn’t lock you up, he wouldn’t, and he didn’t force Homelander to do anything. But he asked, and you’re done lying to him. Forever. “When you come back, because the Russians couldn’t kill you, nothing can, Homelander’s angry. You’re immortal and it’s unfair that he’s not. He deserves to be, he should be, but when he asks a bunch of Vought scientists about it, they all say the same thing. Soldier Boy’s V hasn’t been made since he was created, and they destroyed the formula a long time ago. If we tried to duplicate it, we would need to test it before injecting it into you. Test it on a human. And that wouldn’t be legal. Lucky Homelander, lucky scientists, they have a human that nobody gives a shit about just lying around. And they inject her with V and even though the first shot did it, she’s immortal, they still want to make sure it’s stable and that it won’t hurt Homelander. So they do it, again, and again, and again until she explodes because that last shot proved too much. But I didn’t explode. I got out, and made a bunch of insane choices that led to me living here, and led to you saving me, all the time. That’s the domino effect, the butterfly effect. You get injected with V in the 1940s and I explode a warehouse in the 2020s. That’s it.” 

Ben’s silent. You hate it. You need him to say something, anything, because what if that was the final straw. What if he thinks you’re blaming him and hates you for it. You don’t feel hatred or anger—just that strange tension—but you need him to say it. That he still doesn’t hate you, that he’s staying-

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

He might as well have punched you, the way the world stills and the air is knocked from your lungs. He’s apologized before, once, and the words had been strained. This isn’t strained, this sounds like it’s falling out of him. And the feeling is moving around inside of him, twisting his guts with the drums. They’re so loud and sudden and furious. But he doesn’t hate you. He’s sorry.

“Ben-“

“Jesus fucking Christ, how didn’t you kill me the first day we met?”

“I mean, I couldn’t-“

“You should’ve fucking tried harder!” His voice is rising, words rolling into rambles, and he’s still holding you. “I would’ve fucking killed me! I wouldn’t have rested until I was dead! Fuck, I tracked down every pussy headed asshole who turned me over to Russia, and you just fucking lived with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

That makes you frown. “Nothing’s wrong with me-“

“Fucking damn it, that’s not what I meant. I just-“ Ben’s pulling you up slightly, like he’s trying to look for a different angle of you, to find a button he can push to understand something. “Fuck, you- I don’t get it. You’re so-“ He trails off, eyes finding your face once more. He looks angry, but it’s only a lining along that confusing thing.

“I’m what?” You ask softly, and he shakes his head.

“You don’t make fucking sense.” He says your name like a plea. “You should hate me.”

“Probably,” you breathe. “Logically, on paper, yeah. I should. But I don’t. Hate you, or blame you, or want to kill you.”

“Fucking why.”

You smile weakly. “Because. I just don’t.”

It’s amusing, how you can see the exact moment the words click in Ben’s head. You don’t have to feel the indignant disbelief spark in his chest to see the way his frown becomes more annoyed than angry, or hear his huff of exasperation.

“Brat.” He mutters, and your smile becomes just a little easier.

“What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Is that not a satisfying answer?”

He rolls his eyes, and the drums begin to fade into the background. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“And yet, you manage to put up with me.”

“Yeah,” Ben’s lips tug upwards ever so slightly, and the world feels lighter. “I’m a real hero.”

Your grin is real, toothless but full. “Well, that’s what the Soldier Boy Voughtland show says, so it must be true.”

He snorts, but there’s still something straining inside him. “You really don’t blame me, do you.”

You wish he would stop doing that thing—where he says something that should be a question in a way that makes it sound like fact—because every time he’s right and you can’t stop yourself from proving so. 

“I blame Homelander. I blame Vogelbaum and Vought and Edgar and everyone who made the choice to put me there and not try and get me out. But I don’t blame you.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

You shake your head. “Couldn’t if I tried. And I have.”

A shadow passes over Ben’s face as the odd feeling leaves, and it’s replaced in a violent rush by something that’s forceful and pushing against his ribs and up his throat. 

“Fucking promise?”

“Swear it.” You feel the force become bloody and warm in your body, Ben’s body. “You burn, I burn.”

“You burn, I burn.” He echoes, and this time when you smile at him, Ben smiles back. It’s not as unrestrained as yours, but it’s real. He’s real. And that’s enough.

Your exhaustion hits you like a bomb. You can almost feel the last bit of adrenaline leave your body, and here—where you still exist in a reality where Ben is warm and real and safe—the heavy, free-falling and airy feeling that makes your head feel faded and the world blur in and out is easy to give into.

Ben picks up on it quickly, and you see his smirk cross his dizzily attractive face the second before he speaks. “We finally tired, beautiful?”

He can’t keep calling you that, not when your tongue is growing loose from sleep and you were being literal when you called his face “dizzying”. You don’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation or just Ben, but you’re pretty sure he’s hypnotized you. All you can manage to say is, “You’re tired.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I fucking am. So can we please get your ass to bed so I can sleep?”

You hum, and he apparently takes that as a yes. Dropping his hands from where they’ve been glued to your face, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you to your side of the bed.

“Clothes,” you mumble into his shirt, because the smell of grime and bodily fluids is just managing to push through the smell of him. “Ben, clothes.”

“What about them.”

“Gross.”

“We’ll change the sheets in the morning.”

“You’ll change the sheets in the morning.”

He chuckles, and you feel it everywhere. “Fine, Sunshine. I’ll change the damn sheets in the morning.”

You give a hum of content that turns into a very embarrassing sound from your throat when Ben pulls away. Your eyes have already fallen closed, so you grope the air around you aimlessly to try and pull him back.

Ben’s hand catches your wrist, and his smug amusement takes root through your body. “I’m taking a piss, I’ll be one fucking minute. Think you can survive?”

His words are taunting. Not malicious, but taunting all the same, so you only give him disgruntled, “cunt,” and burrow yourself under the covers.

You hear him snort, and then he’s gone. You’re half aware of him shuffling around, the bathroom closing behind him, but it feels far away. You’re so tired, yet your consciousness is clinging to your head, keeping you in its hold as the toilet flushes, and the door creaks back open.

You wish you were more surprised when the moment Ben’s weight hits the bed—heat radiating from his body as it dips his side of the mattress—sleep grabs you.

 You’re on your knees. You were dancing in the kitchen to a pop song Ben said he would hate, and you said he was wrong. You know it by heart, so you started singing because at this point, really, what’s the worst that could happen. Pink, glittery clouds were all that filled the room after a handful of seconds, so you’d just spun around—singing and dancing—right up until Ben kissed you. He’d caught you, pulled you right into him, and kissed you so powerfully you were almost afraid you’d conjured Fake Ben again. But you could feel him, feel that hunger for you, just for you, and knew it was Real Ben. Kissing the air out of your lungs, wrapping his arms around you, groaning into your mouth as your hands pulled slightly at his hair. It was the best sound you’d ever heard, so you did it again, just to hear that sound of pleasure leave Ben’s mouth and feel it move into yours. Deciding to try something, you dropped one hand between your bodies, pressing it flat against his bulge, and this time he fucking growled.

So you’re on your knees.

He’s not wearing jeans, but the slacks from his disguise at Tek Knight’s club. When you look up at him, you realize he’s in a clean version of that suit, the tie askew from you pulling at it and his hair messy from your hands. Looking up proves to be, overall, a mistake though, because now you’re looking at Ben’s face. His mouth is hanging open and his face is reverent as he watches you. It’s everything, he’s everything, and he’s looking at you like that.

It’s impressive how fast you get his pants off, more impressive that you don’t moan yourself when you see all of him, pressing against his boxers and big. You’ll never be thirsty again, because you’re salivating enough to flood a desert. When you touch him to pull his cock out, hands bordering on frantic, he leans back with another amazing groan. One hand fists in your hair, angling your face to look at him once more.

Ben says your name, and you press your legs together because just that makes you ache. “Are you-“

“Yes,” you breathe. “If you-" 

“Fuck yes.”

You smile softly. “Okay then.”

So you set to work.

When your mouth covers Ben, taking all of his cock into your mouth in one swift movement that bumps him against the back of his throat, he moans. And it’s the best one yet, it’s like a drug, so you pull almost all the way off of him and do it again. Sloppier, faster, wetter, over and over until his moans turn into your name and you’re grinding against air. One hand is steadying you, digging into Ben’s thighs, and the other is cupping and squeezing his balls, making him louder. The ache is becoming painful, but if you let go of Ben’s leg, you’ll fall, and if you let go of his balls, he won’t say your name like that. So you push through, because the sounds he's making are worth it. You might get off on them alone, moving hopelessly against the air.

Ben tenses above you, and you hear him choke out your name. “Where-" 

You suck, long and firm, and the coil in his gut springs forward into you. The sounds he keeps making are musical, and you let him buck into your throat through his orgasm, swallowing every last drop of his cum.

You’ve hardly pulled off of his softening cock, when he’s yanking you up, kissing you long and rough. You whine into his mouth, and he pulls back with a cocky wink. 

“I think you might have a problem I can fix, beautiful.” His eyes drop to where you’re still moving desperately against nothing. “Would you like me to?”

The dream is ripped from you with sleep, and when your eyes tear open you can see Ben on the other side of the bed, back to you as he thrashes in the dark. His chest is glowing, casting long shadows around the bedroom and building—brighter and brighter—by the second.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, reaching over Ben’s body, trying to twist him onto his back.

You lurch back when you touch him, because he’s in pain. Whatever is setting the bomb off is hurting him, prying his brain apart and making his lungs like lead in his chest.

“Ben,” you raise your voice, grabbing the discarded sheets from the end of the mattress. “Ben! Wake the fuck up!”

It’s not enough—you knew it wouldn’t be—so you wrap the blankets around your fists like gloves, still yelling one last time. “Benjamin, wake up!” Nothing still, and you take a deep breath. “Sorry,” you mumble to nothing, and punch Ben in the face.

Your form is significantly better than the last time you did this, and Ben’s eyes shoot open with a bellowing, unintelligible sound. There’s a borderline feral look on his face, and he grabs you and flips you onto your back. One hand is pinning yours down, the other is squeezing your jaw, and the bomb is still building. You see the recognition flash in his eyes the very second before the drums fall into time, and you don’t get a warning before he’s throwing you off the bed. Ben detonates, light and heat flashing through the room, and falls back into the bed, panting.

Standing, you walk carefully back to the bed and scoot into his side. “Better?” You ask softly, and the face Ben makes when he looks at you is haunting. 

He grunts, watching you with a clenched jaw and heavy gaze. “Did I hurt-”

“No,” your voice is firm. “But you didn’t need to throw me. I can survive that.” You poke his chest gently, and feel a rush of that impossible and tight feeling.

“I know,” Ben mutters. “Just fucking instinct.”

You thank the dark of the room for covering the flush of your face. “I get it. Do you-“ you fidget with the sheets tangled around you nervously, dropping your eyes to Ben’s chest. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He snaps, and even though you didn’t expect a yes, it still hurts.

“Okay.” You shrug. “I’m here if you do.”

Ben sighs loudly, leaning forward until you’re right against each other, and when you look up, he’s watching you with an apprehensive look. “You’re here?” He asks lowly, and you nod.

“Obviously.” You mumble, unsure what he’s aiming for. “And I’m not really going anywhere.”

“Hm,” he’s picking you apart again, and you don’t mind in the slightest. Because his knee is pressed into yours, and even as you can feel that tense pull, you can also feel something soft and aching. You’d stay here forever if it never went away, if he kept looking at you like a painting he can’t figure out, but doesn’t really want to. “You’re sure?”

You blink, having gotten lost in him. “Sure?”

“That you’re not going anywhere.”

“Are you? Going anywhere?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then me neither.”

You feel the soft thing roll around in Ben’s chest. “Good,” he mutters. “Do you…” he trails off, swallowing roughly, and it’s unbelievably confusing how hot it is when you’re still washed with concern. “The performance."

“Oh.” You stumble over words, having sort of hoped he’d just forget about that in the grand scheme of the night. “I, um, it’s- I, you-“ 

Ben catches your shaking head between his hands, and that doesn’t help anything at all. Because you don’t feel any disgust or apprehension, only the rumble of piercing heat in his chest. “Calm the fuck down.” He tells you, and it’s not great how fast your body responds, following the order until you've stilled in his arms. “You don’t owe me shit, but I-“ His hand trace your cheekbones lightly. “Tell me. Eventually. When we’re not trying to keep you safe or get that stupid fucking kid away from Homelander, tell me.”

He makes it sound easy, like you can just say well, Ben, against all odds you’ve become the most important person in my life, and annoyingly I don’t think that’s going to change. I want to fuck you so bad it’s becoming a problem, but I also really want to just keep you with me whenever I can, so if all you want from me is to fuck me then it might kill me. Because it’s a little more than that for me, and I’m so sorry about that. I’m sorry about a lot of this. But I’m not sorry for wanting you, for- 

“It’s complicated,” you breathe. “I don’t-“

“Later,” he says, voice low and rough. “We’ll talk about it later.”

You don’t really want to talk about it later. You certainly don’t have any interest in talking about it now, but later feels worse. “Ben-“

“It’s too early to get up,” he cuts you off, still touching you carefully. So carefully, like you're almost holy. “Too early to deal with any of this fucking shit, so sleep. Don’t get in your own damn head, Sunshine, and sleep.”

He lays you down on your back, and no part of you protests. Not as he buries his head in your collarbone, warmer than any blanket, and his hands—tracing circles against your skin—lull you back into a peaceful, empty daze. You thread your fingers mindlessly through Ben’s hair, his breaths fan against your neck. It’s safe, and easy, and Ben.

You fall back into sleep quickly, your heart in rhythm with his. The last emotion you feel is a gentle, strong, scratch of your heart against your ribs, singing the same song over and over. It doesn’t have words, but you know what it wants.

This, forever.

————

Ben knew what they had to do. He, for once, had a fucking plan. A solid, good, and impenetrable plan. Tek Knight had said there was cam footage, and it had been deleted by Sage. But there was one sticky-handed asshole who had fingers and eyes everywhere at Vought. One conniving fucking pussy who would have something. Some sort of evidence or proof that they could use.

Last night—in the van as She’d been curled into Ben’s lap—he’d told the Pussy Brigade exactly what they had to do, and made it clear as the goddamn day that he wasn’t asking.

“I want to meet with Edgar,” Ben’s words had been rough, not aimed at anyone in particular. She was awake against him, but her heart was still rapid, and Ben would bet a good amount of money she wasn’t listening. He'd tell Her later, when she wasn't picking up pieces of herself in his arms.

“The fuck are you talking about?” MM had glowered at Ben in the dark of the van.

“Stan Edgar. I want to meet with him. Make it happen.”

Starlight had given him a confused look. “Why?”

“He’ll have something for us.” Ben had said coldly, glaring around the van. “Something for her.”

Starlight had glanced down at Her, still holding tightly to Ben. “He’s told us he didn’t have any clue about what Homelander was doing-“

“And the motherfucker’s in jail,” MM had snapped, and Starlight had nodded.

“And that.”

“He’s lying,” Ben had growled. “He knew fucking everything when I was at Vought. The bastard didn’t let anything slip past him. There’s not a fucking chance he’d have missed this.”

“You were able to get him out for Maine,” Cocksucker had said nervously, looking around the van. “A meeting wouldn’t be hard-“

“No.” MM had crossed his arms, words harsh and firm. “He’s got a fucking angle, Kid, there’s not a chance in hell we’re doing that.”

“I don’t have an angle,” Ben’s hiss, cold and furious, had been pair with a dirty look around the van at these high-and-mighty fuckers who were too weak to actually do something and help Her. “Edgar will have something, she won’t kill herself for you pathetic fucking pussies, and Butcher will get his damn brat back.”

“Careful, you twat-“

Ben had cut off Butcher useless fucking threat with another sneer. “Get me the meeting with Edgar. Bring a barrel of that fucking knockout gas with us if you want to, but get me the fucking meeting.”

Starlight had nodded slowly. “We’ll, we’ll see what we can do-“

“Don’t see what you can do. Fucking do it. Not for me, for her. If you have even a fucking sliver of the mortality you’re all always bitching about, fucking do it.”

He didn’t fucking get Her, or how she put up with these pussies. She was too fucking good for them, too fucking good for most anyone. Ben had known that, it had grown so goddamn obvious to him the longer he knew her, really knew Her. That she was too good, too kind and beautiful and insane and impossible. Ben hadn’t understood it, decided he wasn’t supposed to because She didn’t need him to, and then he’d made the mistake. He’d asked Her what she’d meant by it, those words that had been rattling around in his head since she’d said them. That the Thing had been trying to pick apart for weeks.

And now he knew that She really was too good for anyone. She was the first fucking person in history that was too perfect, and nobody fucking deserved Her. No one. Not even Ben.

He felt terrible. Like a fucking pussy asshole that had hurt Her. Ben didn’t have a fucking clue how people just existed like this, it was going to kill him. She shouldn’t forgive him, and it was awe-inspiring that She ever even let him yell at her or treat her like he had in the beginning when Ben had done that to her. When he’d been the stupid fucking butterfly in her weird analogy that led to Her curled in his arms, shaking and sobbing and screaming and tearing the Thing apart inside him. She was fucking impossible, this perfect and insane woman who deserved the fucking world but was still putting up with Ben. That kept promising to burn with him when nothing should ever be allowed to burn Her, and when that included Ben. That kept smiling and apologizing when She should be allowed to raze every single fucking bastard in her path.

When Ben had climbed into bed that night, he hadn’t let himself touch Her. For the first time in his long life, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. She’d said she didn’t blame him, promised that she didn’t hate him, and he really did fucking believe Her. But that didn’t make any of this shit better.

The Thing hated not touching Her—whining pathetically in Ben’s chest as he had turned his back to her—but right now Ben was stronger than the Thing. Right now it, Ben, shouldn’t be allowed to touch Her. She should stay peaceful and safe forever, be able to go wherever the fucking hell she wanted without fear of being hurt. And Ben had hurt Her, made her look at him with dread that he’d be mad at Her for the most stupid bullshit in the world, so he should be on the list of things not allowed to touch Her. It had been a lot harder to fall asleep—hearing Her breaths across the bed and the small sounds she kept making in her sleep—but he’d fucking manage. Ben had slept thousands of nights without Her. He’d survive one fucking more.

Ben followed Her heartbeat to the performance storage room. But this time he couldn’t open the door. No matter how hard he pushed, pulled, punched or kicked, it stayed locked between them. And it was transparent. Ben could see Her, on the other side, knocked out on the floor. Tek Knight wasn’t strangely frozen against her, but leering above her body with a cold smirk. She wasn’t opening her eyes, the only sign of life was Her unsteady heart, and Ben couldn’t fucking get to Her.

Homelander stepped out from the shadows, watching Her with a wide, toothy, empty grin. Walking over to her body. And Ben still couldn’t fucking open the goddamn door.

“Good work, Robert. I mean, you got her.” Homelander laughed, and it was a terrible, bone-chilling sound. “I can’t believe you, of all fucking people, got her.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tek Knight took in the praise with a puffed chest. “What, uh, what do you want me to do with her?”

“That’s not your problem. Go jerk off to a robot.” When Tek Knight didn’t move, Homelander shot him a cold glare. “Fucking now.”

Tek Knight seemed to disappear into thin air, and it was just Her and Homelander and Ben. Still locked out, trying, trying so fucking hard to get in the room.

Homelander said Her name, and Ben hated the way it sounded in his mouth. Nobody should be allowed to say it like that, in a way that made it sound small and weak. So unsuited to Her. “I found you,” Homelander reached down, pulling her roughly off the ground. “I fucking told you I would.”

Ben was roaring, even if he couldn’t hear it himself. He had to get to Her, had to fucking help her, but this fucking door wouldn’t open.

“Don’t think I’m letting you go this time,” Homelander yanked Her face up to his. “I know you’re awake, stop playing pretend.”

Her eyes opened slowly, and they were glazed and afraid, smoke rising off her body. But Homelander only laughed.

“You see that?” Ben froze as Homelander turned Her face to the door, as Her eyes widened. She could see him. “Soldier Boy won’t fucking save you, won’t help you. He doesn’t give a shit about you, not like I do.”

She shook her head, but still didn’t speak. The fear was growing, Ben needed to help her, but he couldn’t get in the fucking room-

“I care about you,” Homelander hissed to Her, and she was still watching Ben. “I’m perfect for you. We’re fucking gods together, and you’re never getting away from me again.”

A choked sob left Her, and Ben watch—fucking helpless—as she scraped at Homelander. Flames still wouldn’t come, Ben still couldn’t get to her, and Homelander’s laugh was echoing all around.

“I love you.” He said her name again. “Like no one ever has. Like no one ever will. And I’d rather you fucking burn than live without you.”

She screamed Ben’s name, and he roared hers back. The door wouldn’t budge, and She was screaming, and nothing was okay. Not as Homelander pulled Her against him and Ben could stop it. Not as Homelander shot up into the sky, and they were both gone, but the sounds of Her pleas for Ben were still ringing around him. He hadn’t kept her safe, She was gone, she was in danger, she’d hate him forever, and she was fucking gone and he hadn’t kept her safe. The one thing he’d promised and meant in his whole fucking life, and he’d failed-

She had woken Ben up, and he’d had to hear Her say it. That she wasn’t going anywhere. Not because he wouldn’t let Her leave if she wanted to—Ben didn’t think he’d survive it, but he’d promised to keep Her safe, and being away from him was safe he’d let Her go and let it kill him—but because he needed to know she was there. That he wasn’t still dreaming and She was real. Still there, with him.

And he’d made himself ask about the performance, because his control was pathetically fucking weak in that moment and he couldn’t stop himself. He needed a fucking hint, what She wanted from him. What she needed him to give her. What he needed to do for Her to keep forgiving him. Even if he was willing to let Her go, if that’s what it came to, he was going to fight tooth and nail and bullets and blood to keep her real and at his side.

The Thing had wanted to fall asleep with Her. Ben had obliged, because fuck him if he was ever depriving himself of her again. He might lose Her one day, the very idea made the Thing ache and roll, so every single chance Ben had he’d sleep against Her. Touch Her in whatever way she asks him to, whatever way she lets him.

She fit against him like he’d been made for it. Like his face had been designed to rest on Her neck, and his legs had been carved to tangle in hers. She was perfect, too fucking perfect, and sleep was so easy against Her that Ben didn’t realize it had even caught him until he blinked and there was light through the curtains.

He’d been torn, because the Thing wanted to stay there, with Her peaceful and perfect against Ben’s body. But Ben wanted to do something. For Her.

Like a fucking pussy.

Ben decided that, between two impossibly pathetic and whipped options, the doing something one was just a tiny bit less fucking awful. He could pretend it wasn’t about Her a lot easier, say it to himself over and over until—when She asked—he would be able to convince Her that this wasn’t about her.

It took Ben almost twenty minutes—after slowly leaving the bedroom and putting on the coffee—to find a good recipe. The breakfast section of their cookbook was goddamn abysmal, filled with recipes that either sounded like healthy fucking dogshit or just looked straight up impossible to actually make. Ben would rather drink gasoline than make Her a frittata, and he was pretty sure a lemon scone was outside of his skill range, so he settled on pancakes. Easy, simple, classic fucking pancakes with syrup and butter.

He'd burnt the first batch. The second tasted like shit. The third exploded—Ben wasn’t entirely sure how he’d even managed that—and he used salt where he should've used sugar on the fourth, but the fifth was fucking phenomenal. He was a goddamn genius. A cooking savant. They should give him one of those stupid shows She’d put on in the background when she was reading. Because fuck, these pancakes were good. The kitchen was filled with smoke and covered in baking powder and egg shells, but he’d fucking done it. Right on time, as well, because She entered the room with puffy lips and sleepy eyes that widened as she took in the kitchen around her.

“What the hell happened in here?”

“Breakfast,” Ben grunted, pushing the plate across the counter for Her to see.

She blinked, looking between him and the pancakes. “You made those? For me?”

“I made some for me as well.” He grumbled, nodding roughly to his own helping. But Her eyes were bright as she looked at him, and she looked so fucking perfect, Ben couldn’t stop himself saying, “But yeah. For you.”

Goddamnit, Her smile was so fucking happy and easy and wide it was going to eat him alive. The Thing was going to overtake him, and he didn’t know what he could fucking do to stop it. He didn’t really care to know, or fucking want to.

“Thank you,” She walked around the counter, dropping into her place at his side. She gave a soft hum as she poked at them with her fork, and Ben frowned.

“What-“

“How many tries?” She looked up at him with a teasing smile, and he scowled. When he didn’t answer, she started to guess.

“Three? Four? Five?”

“Fuck you.”

She giggled, and the Thing made a satisfied sound. “It’s five, isn’t it.”

“Pancakes are fucking hard to make, Sunshine, and these are goddamn delicious, you’d know if you’d actually fucking eat-“

She took a large bite, raising her brows at Ben as he fell silent, watching her chew and swallow. He was fucking entranced, he needed to know what She thought, if she liked them or hated them or just wasn’t a pancake person. Fuck, what if she just wasn’t a pancake person-

“Jesus, Ben.” She took another bite, covering her mouth with a hand as she spoke through the food. “These are actually good.”

“You’re fucking welcome,” he muttered, trying to push down the wave of relief in his body.

“Are you sure you made these? Because they’re really good-“

“Shut the fuck up,” he nudged Her leg with his, rolling his eyes. “Can’t just let me have a compliment, can you.”

“Nope,” She laughed. “That’d be too easy, Pretty Boy.”

He snorted, and started to inhale his own plate. She always ate a little slower than Ben did, but he’d gotten used to it. He’d even started—at first unconsciously—to time when he began eating his food so that they’d finish together. When he’d first noticed, Ben had cursed himself for how he’d allowed it become a habit. But then he’d noticed how she’d stopped glancing at him, nervously asking if he wanted to go do something while she finished, and the Thing had damn loved it. It was comfortable and nice and now he couldn’t fucking stop. He’d gotten good at it, too. Proven by his last wolfing bite being in perfect sync with Her final swallow.

She was tapping on the counter, not looking at Ben, and he could practically hear Her the gears turning in her head. He open his mouth to tell her to just fucking spit it out, but just before he could-

“Now what?” She finally met Ben’s eyes, and hers were clouded and glossy. “Tek Knight was a dead end, and that was all we had. What, where, just-“ She sighed shakily, and Ben pressed his knee against hers, waiting for her heart to slow. “What do we do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ben said gruffly, pushing on as She shook her head. “Yes, we fucking will.”

“But-“

“I am not trading you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because she somehow still didn’t understand. That there was one thing in the world he would never, ever fucking let her do. One promise he was never going to go back on or break, let alone let Her go back on it for him. He had a fucking plan, so he wasn’t letting Her break his promise. “You matter just a much as that kid, and I’m not letting climb on the bullshit sacrifice train your pussy fucking team keeps trying to board. It never works, and it’s not like Homelander’s torturing Butcher’s brat. The sooner you get that through your pretty head, the sooner we can go on with a plan that isn’t fucking stupid.”

Her heart fluttered slightly, but she still whispered. “I could try and fight him, this time. I’d be fine-“

Ben scoffed. “No. You freeze and panic at the very damn thought of him.”

“I’ve gotten better-“

“No,” he snapped. “You fucking haven’t. You didn’t even explode last time. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and that pussy makes you fucking useless.”

“But we need to get Ryan out,” She protested. “He’s just a kid, Ben. He doesn’t deserve this-“

“I know. I’d-“ Ben sighed. “I’d tell the Pussy Brigade I won’t hit the little fucker, but they wouldn’t believe me. But you are not fucking turning yourself over-“

“You’d do that?” She said softly over Ben, grabbing onto the wrong damn part of the sentence. “You’d work to not hit Ryan?”

“If it’d stop you going through with the dumbest plan I’ve heard in my goddamn life, sure.”

“Ben-“

“You’re not doing it. Tell me you’ve fucking got that, that you’re not doing that bullshit.”

“I’ve got it,” she gave him a smile, and the Thing pushed against Ben, trying to get to Her, touch her.

“Good.”

Her smile became smug, and the infinite amusement returned to her voice. “Most powerful supe, huh?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“You said it, not me,” She leaned forward, further into him. Ben might not be able to stop himself from throwing her on the table and fucking her stupid is she kept look at him like that. Her face so open and perfect, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.

“Don’t make me fucking regret it.” He muttered, and her smile only grew.

“But you meant it, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fucking pussy liar-“ Ben frowned at Her as she said the last words with him, her voice dropped into that overly-deep impression of him. “Shut-“

“The fuck up, brat?” She finished his sentence, wrinkling her nose at him. “Be careful, Benjamin. I’m the most powerful supe in the world, I’ll kick your ass.”

“No you won’t. You like my ass.”

Her perfect face flushed. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kick it,” she mumbled. “Could if I wanted to.”

Ben winked at Her. “I know, that’s why I’m so nice to you.”

“Oh, blow me,” She snorted.

“If you want.” Ben lowered him to Her eye level, and the flush grew stronger as her heartbeat sped up. He’d made similar offers before—almost in those exact words—but this was different. This time she wasn’t looking away, and Her mouth was parted with heavy breaths. This time she was still leaning into him, looking at him with pretty, slightly glazed eyes, and they were so fucking close-

The door of the safe house swung open with a bang, and She pulled back from Ben—knees still together but breaths no longer shared—to look up as Starlight, Cocksucker, and Butcher bustled into the kitchen. All three of them looked like shit, eyes hung with bags and faces sallowed, and they weren’t smelling much fucking better either.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Ben snapped, and sort of wanted to kill them for cutting whatever that had been short. The Thing was whining inside him, and he felt so goddamn starved now, and it was all their fucking fault.

Butcher looked between, and mocking smirk playing on his lips. “We ain’t interrupting anything, are we?”

“Fuck you-“

She spoke over Ben’s sneer, brows furrowing as she looked between Butcher, Starlight, and Cocksucker cautiously. “What’s going on? It’s like, 10am, and last night was a disaster, you should be re-grouping.”

“We’re here to collect Soldier Boy, take him off your hands for a day.” Butcher winked at Her, and she frowned.

“Take him off my hands? Take him where?” She glanced at Ben, and the Thing stuttered in him that she might think he’d lied to Her again. He’d forgotten—so caught up in making sure She knew that they would have a plan that didn’t involve giving her to Homelander—to mention that they did have a plan. And now she was going to fucking hate him-

Butcher answered lazily before Ben could even open his mouth. “We’re goin upstate, payin the haughty twat Stan Edgar a visit. Soldier Boy thinks he might have something for us.”

“He’ll know something.” Ben said shortly, giving a quick glower to Butcher before turning back to Her. “About you, about Homelander.”

“Edgar told me he didn’t know anything.” Her words were careful, and she was squinting slightly around the room, as if trying to find reason on the walls or her team's faces.

“You believed him?” Ben asked, and Her eyes fell to him.

“Not at all.”

“Then let’s go get the fucking truth.”

“Yeah well,” She looked at her team apprehensively. “Sounds like this is another you meeting.”

“You’re fucking coming with us,” Ben said Her name with a frown. “This isn’t in the city, we’re not just leaving you-“

“Actually, uh.” Starlight’s entire face was guilty and drawn with anxiety. “It is just you, Soldier Boy.”

The Thing pressed against Ben’s lungs. “There’s no fucking way I’m going without her. We could be gone for the whole fucking day.”

“Edgar wants just you. Was very insistent about it. Said we could drop by anytime this weekend.” Butcher drawled.

“So we should fucking bring her, we don’t know what kind of two-faced shit that bastard is plotting-“

“It’s Monday.” She said softly, and Ben stopped his rant to give Her a confused frown. “He said this weekend, and it’s Monday.” She looked at Butcher, who was smirking widely. “You want to get the jump on him, before he can pull anything.”

“Right on the money, Love.” Butcher said appreciatively. “Now call off your bloody guard dog.”

Ben pushed further, trying to make Her see fucking reason. “He won’t be able to pull anything, jump or not, if you just fucking come with us-“

“He won’t see us both. If he was insistent, he won’t take the meeting if we’re both there.”

“Well then he also won’t take the damn meeting if we go today,” Ben snapped. 

“No,” She shook her head. “If Edgar agreed to this, he’ll see it through. He’ll probably want something, but that’s why he’ll see it through. So if you show up and say this is his only chance, he’ll grab it. He’s not stupid, and you won’t be bluffing. But if I’m there he can call foul, say you’re not meeting his demands.”

Ben said Her name, hating how fucking desperate he sounded. But he wasn’t fucking leaving Her alone, not for a whole day, not when they knew Homelander had started looking for her. “You’re coming with us. Or I’m not going.”

“Oh my God,” Starlight rolled her eyes. “I did not get up at 4am to get you this meeting just for you to throw a temper tantrum about it. Can we please just go.”

“Annie,” She raised her palm, giving Starlight a small shake of Her head. “Just, give us one second.”

Starlight sighed with a frown, but nodded, and Butcher scoffed.

“If you cunts are going to get all fucking cheesy and fuck on the table, can you just tell us to I call Frenchie for the eye bleach?”

She ignored Butcher’s mocking words, locking eyes with Ben, words firm as she spoke. “Ben, I will be fine. And if Edgar has the information, as you clearly think he does, we need it. So please just go get it.”

And in the slight widening of Her eyes, Ben heard the rest of Her words. I’ll be right here when you get back. Now stop being an ass and play nice for one day.

Ben scowled at Her. Fine, but you owe me.

Her face looked a little lighter as she sighed. Thank you. Then, aloud, She said. “You should go now. Before Neuman has time to find out.”

Cocksucker shook his head. “We’re in the clear on that, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko are keeping eyes on her.”

“Why would the Head-Popper give a shit about this?”

Butcher chuckled like Ben’s question was fucking insane, “Head-Popper’s Edgars kid. She keeps tabs on dear ol’ dad’s prison activity, especially after our last visit.”

“Edgar had a kid?”

“Adopted,” Cocksucker said sheepishly. “But yeah.”

“Neuman did kind of shadow work for Edgar,” She explained to Ben with a shrug. “Made sure the feds stayed off his back. Eventually Homelander flipped her, gave her V to protect her daughter. Edgar seems to still love her though, her and Zoe.”

“Who the fuck-“

“Neuman’s daughter.”

“She also a supe?”

“Uh…” She looked over at Cocksucker, who had a pouting, sad little frown on his face.

“Vicki injected Zoe with the V last year,” he supplied nervously. “Little after the whole, um, tower thing.”

“Gave the kid gross fucking face tentacles,” Butcher shook his head with a grimace. “Hideous. She ain’t gettin bloody asked to the prom ever with those fuckers.”

“Edgar was pretty mad about it in November,” She added thoughtfully, but narrowed Her eyes at him. Stop stalling, Pretty Boy.

Ben glared at Her. Brat. "Head-popped doesn't know?"

"Um, not yet," Cocksucker answered, and Ben stood from the counter.

“Then let's get a fucking move on.”

“That’s it?” Cocksucker looked between them, annoyingly fucking bewildered. “You’re just going?”

“You got a fucking problem with it?” Ben gave Cocksucker a cold death glare as he walked to the doorframe, and the pussy shook his head frantically.

“No, I’m good.”

“Then let’s fucking go.”

“You heard him, Lad, go start the van.” Butcher tossed Cocksucker the key, and for a second it looked like he was about to clap Ben on the back, but wisely thought better of it.

Ben looked back once, and saw Her watching him. He could hear the chewing of Her lip, and tapping of her fingers, so he gave her a small, tight nod. I’ll see you soon. 

She blinked at him. Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.

Ben allowed himself to smile slightly, giving Her a wink. No promises. And followed Butcher out the door.

Every single time Ben stepped foot in this shitty fucking van, he found another damn reason to hate it. This time, it was the way its engine screeched and grinded like chalk in his ears. There weren’t any gas canisters—maybe the Pussies had forgotten, or just finally grown some damn balls—but Starlight flinched every time Ben shifted in his seat, and Butcher had a rocket launcher lying on the passenger's side. Their heart were all so fucking unsteady, and in an off-rhythm pound with that horrible fucking engine.

“Are you sure this shit-Mobile will get us upstate?” Ben grumbled after an hour of tuning out Starlight and Cocksucker’s whispers and Butcher shooting him dirty looks in the mirror.

“Yes.”

“As long as we don’t take highways,” Cocksucker's mumbled addition to Butcher’s words was met with an eye roll from the latter.

“Lucky for us, we ain’t. All backroads to get where we’re going.”

Ben grunted, and Starlight asked, “How long is the drive?”

“Three hours,” Cocksucker answered for Butcher. “But there’s probably no traffic.”

“Awesome,” Starlight sighed, again, and Ben was getting really fucking sick of that sound. “Three hours stuck between Racist Uncle Sam and Evil Robin Hood.”

“Oi!” Butcher snapped, at the same time Ben said, “Fuck you.”

“Oh shit,” Cocksucker muttered, and Butcher kept going as Ben glared daggers at Starlight.

“I ain’t Evil Robin Hood, and you wouldn’t catch me bloody dead in tights.”

“And I’m not Racist Uncle Sam,” Ben grunted.

Starlight scoffed. “Sure.”

“Can we please not do this-“

Starlight spoke over Cocksucker, still glaring at Ben as she said Her name. “Might have been pulled into your shit, but we’re not convinced.” Starlight leaned forward. “I don’t trust you, and whatever game you're trying to play here-“

“You don’t fucking know me at all, bitch.” Ben growled. “My game is doing all your goddamn jobs for you. My game is being the only person here, despite all your perfect moral compasses, who’s not willing to turn Homelander’s victim back over to him in exchange for anything “

“We didn’t let her and Butcher go through with that,” Cocksucker frowned. “She’s our friend, our teammate-“

“Really?” Ben sneered. “What about last night? When she was fucking begging you to trust her and you decided exploiting her was easier.”

“And she turned out to be lying,” Butcher said coldly from the front as Cocksucker’s eyes fell to the floor. “So we were fucking right-“

“In all you shit for brains infinite goddamn wisdom, did it never occur to you that she might have had a damn good reason not to tell you the truth? That maybe when you treat her like a fucking shiny weapon, she’s not going to be jumping for joy at the first chance to sing goddamn Kumbaya with you pussies?”

“That’s not fair-“

Ben laughed mockingly at Starlight’s words. “Fair doesn’t have anything to do with this fucking shit. Thinking that it does is your first mistake.” Ben’s jaw clenched, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m a lot more ready than any of you pussies to do whatever it takes to get to Homelander, but I’m not throwing the only person who doesn’t deserve any of this goddamn mess you assholes made in the line of fire.”

“Aren’t you a fucking hypocrite, Gov.” Butcher’s tone was mocking and bored, but Ben could hear to pound of his heart. “Pretty lady gives you a smile and suddenly she’s worth more than a fucking kid.”

She's not just pretty, the Thing screamed inside of him. She’s perfect.

Ben shut the Thing deep down inside of him as he said, “I’d rather be a hypocrite than a pathetic, weak fucking excuse for a man who’s willing to let Homelander have everything he wants for my bottom line.”

Butcher’s grip tensed on the wheel, but he didn’t respond. Starlight fell silent as well, Cocksucker still watching Ben wearily, and the remainder of the ride was lined in frigid, tense silence. When it became clear to Ben that he had successfully shut their mouth from bitching and whining, he began to run through his plan. He hadn’t really exactly had a shit ton of time to figure out what he actually needed to say to Edgar. Ben had, although he would never say it out loud, expected Her help with that part. The stupid song and dance around each other that was fucking pointless in most any scenario, but required in this one. Ben really wished She was here to help him, or at least just here. She’d wrinkle her stupid, perfect nose at Ben and tell him it’s actually really simple, dumb-dumb. People don’t respond to threats or torture, because they’ll say or do anything to make it stop.

That’s fucking idiotic. He’d tell her. Torture works wonders.

Yeah, I mean, I don’t know about you but after my personal experience with it I was really compliant and chill about everything-

Fuck you.

Just offer him something he wants, Ben. And if he’s an ass, one or two threats won’t hurt. Maybe cut off his dick, that one’s a classic.

It was incredibly annoying that, even as a voice in Ben’s head, She was always right. He didn’t know what Edgar would want, but he’d find it in the moment. He’d figure it out. He had to.

When the godawful fucking engine finally shut off, Butcher’s words were tight.

“He don’t know we’re coming, so the guard might fire on Soldier Boy. We aren’t in the business of drawing attention to ourselves, so me and Hughie will go ahead first and text you to follow.”

Ben did not want to be left alone with Starlight. He didn’t want her judgmental fucking looks, or whining about morality. But Butcher was right, and once he and Cocksucker left the van, Ben stared blankly at the wall and tried to ignore the scratch of Starlight’s breath and heart against his brain.

“You really care about her, huh?” Ben’s eyes shot to Starlight, whose face was contorted in confusion as she continued. “It’s not just sex.”

“We haven’t fucked,” Ben grunted, ignoring how bitter the Thing felt about that.

“But you care about her.”

Yes, the Thing howled. She’s perfect, how could you not fucking care about Her?

Ben just huffed, looking back at the wall. He had no interest in talking about his fucking feelings with goddamn Starlight.

“I don’t like doing those things to her, just so you know.” Starlight said carefully, still watching Ben. “It’s just complicated-“

“No, it’s not,” Ben snapped, still staring ahead.

“Well-“

“You can whine and bitch about moral gray areas and complex situations, but this one’s real fucking simple,” Ben looked at Starlight, allowing the unbridled fury he carried for Her—because she wouldn’t fucking let herself do it—to show on his face. “You’ve been part of the Vought machine your whole fucking life, Butcher’s an asshole dick-face who’s just as revenge fueled as I am, as all of you pussies are.”

Ben could hear Her voice in his head. Wow, look who’s feeling reflective. Dare I say, self-aware.

“Not Hughie,” Starlight protested. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t compromise his morals-“

“And how would you feel,” Ben hissed. “If Hughie volunteered to trade himself to Homelander for Butcher’s damn kid. Volunteered to torture himself for the sake of a plan.”

“I’d, I mean I’d hate it. But that’s not the same-“

“You’re right. Because Hughie still made choices to be here.” Ben said Her name, holding Starlight’s gaze as his fists clenched at his side. “Well, she’s only here because of you and your stupid fucking team. Because after Homelander kidnapped and raped and experimented on her, all she got for it was you. She’d do anything, just like the rest of you, but it’s not for her. It’s never for her. Nothing’s ever for her. So fuck me for being the first person ever to do something about that.”

Starlight was staring at Ben, stunned into silence, and the phone buzzed in her hands.

“It’s Hughie,” she mumbled, glancing at the van door. “He says we’re good to go. That the guards have been told to turn a blind eye, so we can just walk in.”

Ben snorted to himself. “Yeah, you fuckers are real beacons of righteousness, bribing fucking prison guards.”

Starlight frowned, but followed Ben out the van and into the prison, not saying a word.

Starlight directed them down several halls and around way too many fucking corners, and after what felt like a damn hour of tightly spoken directions and grunts they finally found Butcher and Cocksucker. Standing in front of a steel door, with Grace Mallory.

“Soldier Boy,” she greeted him coldly. “I had to get up at 5am to drive here for your plan. It better be well damn worth it.”

“I didn’t make you fucking do that shit,” Ben snapped, and Cocksucker jumped to explain.

“She needs to be here if you make any official deals.”

“It’s all bureaucratic horse-shit,” Butcher drawled. “Don’t waste what little brain power you have on it, Gov, not when Edgar’s waiting for you.”

Giving them all one last hateful glare—Starlight was still looking at him like he’d sprouted a damn second head—Ben opened the door they had gathered around.

Stan Edgar was, in fact, waiting for him. Handcuffed to a table and statue-like, humming to himself. The man didn’t look up, or even fucking acknowledge Ben until they were seated across from each other.

“You look old.” Ben said by way of greeting, and Edgar laughed dryly.

“And you have not aged a day. As lovely as it is to see you, I wasn’t expecting Butcher and company until Friday at least.”

“I’d apologize, but I don’t give a fuck about what you expecting.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick anyone. I simply had the weekend open. My crochet class got canceled, and our movie night is a screening of something horrible called Penguins of Madagascar.”

“Still don’t give a fuck. Stop being a fucking bastard and talk.”

“It’s been forty years, and I’m seeing my friend for the first time since he left America. Do not blame me for small talk.”

“We weren’t friends-”

“Yes, friends is a tad unprofessional. Amicable colleagues, perhaps? Forgive me for asking, but how was Russia? I’ve never been, and I hear the potato-based meals are to die for.”

The drums sounded, but they were distant, and Ben pushed them away. “Shut the fuck up, you fucking backstabbing dick.”

“I do apologize for that, but you were a tad unstable-“

“You can apologize,” Ben snapped. “By not being a two-faced, scheming ass for once and giving me what I came here for.”

Edgar sighed. “I guess we’re getting right into business then. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you want my help with the Anomaly problem.”

Ben scowled. “Don’t call her that.”

“Hm,” Edgar blinked. “I’ve been told you two have become quite… attached.”

“By who, Butcher?” Ben scoffed.

“No, Grace Mallory. According to her, one Marvin Milk has been trying to stop this little operation since it began, and has begun to worry that she’s not going to let go of you easily once this is over.”

The Thing rolled at that, because Ben wasn’t about to let go of Her easily either, not if she wanted to fucking stay with him for some damn reason. “That bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“I must say, this is not exactly what I expected when I spoke to her in November. I thought she might actually fight Homelander, not outsource to you.”

“Yeah, well she’s unpredictable and doesn’t like being told what to do,” Ben muttered. “They’re two of her more annoying qualities.”

“I am rarely surprised anymore, Benjamin. It is impressive you both have managed to completely render me befuddled at your… Situation.”

The Thing twinged at that. Ben’s full name. He hated the way it sounded from Edgar now more than the 80s, because now he knew what it sounded like when She said it. Perfect.

“Are you going to give me some fucking answers, or just talk like a damn bridge troll all day.”

Edgar huffed a laugh at Ben’s question. “I am unsure how I can help in this scenario. As I have previously told Butcher, Mallory, Starlight, and the Anomaly- my apologies,” Edgar said Her name at Ben’s deep, angry scowl. “I was not privy to Homelander’s little pursuit for a family, let alone his less than ideal methods.”

“I’ve heard,”  Ben leaned across the table. “And I don’t fucking believe you. So I’m here to make you an offer, sweeten your damn pot.”

Edgar’s brows raised slightly. “Though it will not change my answer, because as much as I’d like to I cannot turn back time and learn about it sooner, you have my attention.”

Ben smirked. “I heard you’ve got a kid.”

“If you are about to attempt to blackmail me with my daughter, it will not go the way you anticipate.” 

“Because she’s a supe, right? Head-Popper.”

Edgar blinked slowly. “Did you learn this from Butcher?”

“Don’t fucking bother yourself with that shit. Do you want to know what else I heard?”

“I have a feeling you will just tell me regardless-“

“That Head-Popper has a kid. You’ve got a damn granddaughter.” Edgar's face remained stone-like, but his heart stuttered. Ben smirked, and continued. “Who recently got injected with V.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I know all of this.” Edgar said curtly. “What, exactly, is your offer?”

“You don’t want the girl to have V, and I can get rid of V.” Ben said, not bothering to fake warmth in his grin. “You get me solid fucking proof of what Homelander did, and I’ll do you a favor and turn the kid from a tentacle-face back to your sweet little granddaughter. And, just because I’m feeing real fucking generous, I’ll back you to Vought when the time comes. Get your dogshit, slimy fucking job back. If you get me the proof.”

Ben waited for Edgars response, but the longer the room was silent, Edgar remaining unreadable, the thinner Ben’s patience wore. He didn’t have any fucking time for this, for Edgar to try and twist and play with Ben’s head. He just wanted to fucking go home, back to-

“If, hypothetically, this was a viable deal, what type of evidence would you wish to be shown? Is the word of the victim not enough?”

The Thing roared in Ben, but he kept his face cool and unbroken. “Fucking files, photos, record, whatever shit you have stashed away.” He wouldn’t even fucking acknowledge Edgar’s jab at her word. It was enough, and that was the fucking problem. It couldn’t be, not if Ben wanted to keep Her from Homelander. Not if she was going to be safe. 

“Tragically, I don’t have anything stashed away,” Edgar sighed, and Ben had to physically stop himself slamming the table. People don’t respond to threats, Benjamin. Stop being a baby.

“That’s fucking bullshit-“ 

“But,” Edgar continued. “I have a lot of houses. Some with several attics, and all of them are filled with memorabilia from my time at Vought. I could have missed something, and I’d be willing to look again, if,” Edgar sat—somehow—straighter in his chair. “You were to cure Victoria as well.”

“Neuman?” 

Edgar nodded. “Cleanse Zoe and Victoria, and I will see what I can do. You can keep your offer about Vought, however. I have no interest in returning, and if I did I would be aided by the word of an American traitor.” 

“That’s fucking it?”

 “Essentially, yes.”

“Deal,” Ben grunted. “But if you don’t have anything for me, if you’re trying to fucking use me or trick me, I’ll cut out your eyes and replace them with your castrated fucking balls.”

It was an effective threat. Edgar’s heartbeat grew a little faster, and he even fucking blinked at Ben’s words. For that bastard, he might as well have screamed. Of course it was effective though. It was one of Ben’s favorites from the assortments She’d shouted at him during their first month together.

The door swung open, and Mallory walked with clipped steps into the room, looking between Ben and Edgar. “I wish you had run this past me first, Soldier Boy, considering that Victoria is currently the Vice President of the United States.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Ben snapped. Neuman could be the fucking Queen of the whole damn world and his offer to Edgar would be the same.

“Grace,” as Edgar addressed Mallory, his gaze remained on Ben. “If you wish for my help, these are my demands. And I recommend you thank that there aren’t more, because you seem to be at quite the dead end.”

Mallory’s lips became a thin line. “We hit Neuman after you come through.”

“You hit Victoria before, as well as Zoe, and can add twenty years to my sentence if I fail to deliver. Do not underestimate the advantaged my demands give you. Ridding Homelander of an ally, keeping President Singer safe, likely undermine whatever Ms. Jessica Bradley is planning-“

“Who the hell-“

“Sister Sage,” Mallory snapped at Ben, watching Edgar closely. “Twenty-three years.”

“Make it a cleaner twenty-five.”

“You’d sign on it?”

“If I must.”

“Campbell!” Mallory called over her shoulder, and Cocksucker poked his head into the room. “Go get the paperwork.”

“Oh, ok,” Cocksucker vanished for a second, only to immediately re-appear. “Um, I don’t know where it is?”

“Ask Butcher.”

“Butcher-“

“How the bloody hell would I know?” Butcher’s voice echoed into the room, and his head appeared next to Cocksuckers. “Do it your fucking self, Grace, the man’s chained to a table. He ain’t going anywhere.”

Mallory gave a labored sigh, and turned around to leave Ben and Edgar alone once more.

After a beat, when they could no longer hear voices and shuffling outside the door, Edgar coughed lightly. He was still fucking watching Ben.

“The fuck do you want.”

“Me?” Edgar said with awful, fake innocence. “Officially, I have everything I want.”

“Officially?”

“Yes.”

Ben scowled. If he met one more fucker that didn’t just speak plainly and fucking truthfully with him, he was going to loose his goddamn mind.

“Unofficially, though,” Edgar continued. “There is one thing.”

“Then fucking spit it out.”

“You care about her,” Edgar said slowly, adding Her name at Ben’s glare. It wasn’t one of confusion—there was no one else Edgar could possibly be referring to—but Ben didn’t fucking love where this was going.

“Shut the hell up.”

“You seem to be willing to do quite a lot to help her. Keep her away from Homelander.”

“I’m fucking warning you, Edgar.” Ben leaned across the table. “Be very fucking careful with what you’re saying.”

Edgar hummed. “If I were to say, with certainty, I could make certain documents, pay stubs, and maybe even footage appear, but only with one last thing, what would you do, Benjamin?”

“Say what you fucking mean, before I rip your arms off.” Playing nice, Ben decided, was no longer fucking worth it.

“I would like you to give me an IOU.”

“An IOU,” Ben repeated through gritted teeth.

A small, snake-like smile crossed Edgar’s face. “Just one. From you. Off the books, of course, but shaken on. Just one IOU, for whatever I want, to be implemented whenever I want. You give me this, and I can say with absolute certainty I’ll find what you want.”

“You’ll get twenty-five extra years if you fucking don’t find what I want,” Ben clenched his fists under the table. “Why the fuck should I-“

“Twenty-five years is nothing. I quite like it here, murderers and thieves make easy company after my career. You should do this, because otherwise I might fail and you’ll both be dead in the water. One IOU. That’s all.”

He could just fucking lie. Ben could shake on it, cross his finger in his head, and that would be that. He might break through his damn jaw, with how he was grinding his teeth, trying to figure out what the fuck Edgar was trying to do. He didn’t trust it, didn’t like it, and it was shit, suspicious, underhanded idea. “You’d swear on your family's fucking life you could find the evidence?”

“If you would swear on hers that, when the time came, you’d come through.”

“She can’t die.”

“As you know, there are things worse than death.”

“I could just fucking kill you after-“

“I promise, that would not go well for you. Mallory will return soon,” Edgar angled his hand in an awkward motion. “Do we have a second deal?”

He was right, Ben could hear footsteps and heartbeats approaching. “You better fucking swear-“

“The swear is implied in my handshake,” Edgar said smoothly, and Ben didn’t miss the silent implication. As is yours.

They’d be dead in the water, Edgar wasn’t fucking wrong. They didn’t have any other ideas, any other leads, and Homelander was looking for her, with an ally in the White House. With Sage planning something and this needed to be over-

Ben shook Edgar’s hand—harsh and curt in his movements with the hope he’d break the bastard’s hand—just before Mallory returned with an unfathomable amount of loose-leaf papers in her boney hands.

Edgar frowned as it was slammed down before him. “If you don’t mind, Grace, I’d like to have my legal counsel take a look before I sign.”

“Of course you fucking do,” Mallory muttered. “I tell the guards to give them a call, try and get them here today.”

Mallory and Edgar devolved into to speaking in a bunch of legal, boring jargon Ben couldn’t be fucked to pay attention to, so he stood and stalked into the hall. Butcher, Cocksucker, and Starlight were grouped outside the door, all looking at Ben like he’d risen from the dead a third time.

“The fuck are you pussies looking at.”

“Nothing-“

“Soldier Boy,“ Mallory exited the room—cutting off Cocksucker’s words—with Her eyes on Ben. “I’d like a word before you return to the city.”

Ben didn’t give a shit what words Mallory had for him. He was done here. “If you’re asking, the answer is a big fucking no-“

“I’ll rephrase-“ Mallory snapped. “We’re going to have a word, and you will not be returning until we do. As you may have noticed, you were separated from the Anomaly without any gas.”

“Did you finally figure out that it wouldn’t do a damn fucking thing-“

“No. We’ve decided that there are better, easier approaches to ensure your cooperation.”

“Say what you fucking mean.” 

It was Butcher that drawled Her name. “You two have become peas in a damn fucking pod. Risking your necks for each other, always touching,” Butcher’s lips were in a crude, leering smile. “You get on Starlight’s ass about how we been treating her, and even if you claim you ain’t fucked her, she still seems to really want to fuck you.”

“Fucking watch it-“

“We don’t trust you,” Mallory said coldly. “But she doesn’t seem to be compromised, even with her odd affection towards you boar of a man.” 

“If you fucking hurt-“

“We won’t,” Starlight spoke, voice urgent for the first time. “They’re not being as diplomatic,” she scowled at Butcher. “As they should be.”

“The bastard don’t deserve diplomacy-“

It was Cocksucker who cut Butcher off this time. “We’re not threatening her, Butcher. We agreed on that, you promised.” Butcher rolled his eyes, and Cocksucker continued, attention turning to Ben. “We, um, we don’t trust you. That’s true. They’re just trying to tell you that, as long as you don’t go nuclear, we’ll keep her safe. Stop throwing her in places that put her in danger.”

“But,” Mallory added coldly. “Only if you stay in line. If you don’t, we’ll put you right back under. Regardless of her plan, or our deal. Understood?”

Ben’s fists clenched as the Thing roared and the drums sounded, “you fucking bitch-“

“Understood?” Mallory repeated, not flinching.

“Fuck you.” Ben growled, and Mallory rolled her eyes.

“If you want to return to the city anytime today, say you understand.”

The city. Her. Fucking alone with Homelander looking for her. The drums, though distant, grew strong as Ben made himself speak. The words were forced, hateful, and tasted like shit on Ben’s tongue. “Understood.”

Mallory nodded, and returned through the door to Edgar. Ben didn’t fucking bother to address the Pussy Brigade before he turned and walked in long, controlled and loud steps back to the van. He could hear them fucking following anyway.

The awful engine started, and Ben’s mind was twisting around in time with the Thing.

Her safety wasn’t a bargaining chip, She wasn’t a bargaining chip, and Ben wasn’t a fucking dog or toy for them to just use. But Ben wasn’t going back under, and She wasn’t going back to Homelander. And there was no fucking doubt that if She failed him, Butcher wouldn’t hesitate to bring her back to their dogshit, horrid fucking plan. 

And She wouldn’t fail him. That was the most insufferable fucking part. She was too fucking good. She was too easily self-sacrificing, too tunnel visioned with no goddamn regard for Herself or how her steamroller-like need to tear herself apart for an ungrateful world still destroyed everything in her path. How it would fucking destroy Ben if She managed to kill herself for the most pathetic collection of people in the world. And it was—apparently—fucking noticeable. How She made him weak, how easily she was weaponized against him. 

What was worse, though, was that Ben didn’t fucking care. The time to destroy the Thing had long passed, and now it was just Her. Making him weak and fucking happy. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because She would smile at him and it was perfect. Because She trusted him, and promised that she wasn’t going anywhere, and didn’t hate him.  He’d hit a strange point with the Thing. Where it felt vital and more powerful and indestructible than any other part of Ben. Where it needed Her. Where Ben needed Her. To sleep, to be safe, to keep fucking smiling forever. And he fucking hated himself for it, but he couldn’t hate Her. He couldn’t. And She said she couldn’t hate him. And Ben trusted Her, with fucking everything he had.

She needed to fucking know that. She needed to know he wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t need to know she made him weak, or how he couldn’t hate her. That would make it all just so much goddamn worse and difficult. But she needed to know that Ben wasn’t going to fail her. That there was one person She could trust and never, ever need to fear. 

She needed to understand that, no matter what, Ben would burn with Her.

————

The first two hours, alone in the house, was mind-numbingly boring. You’d read all the books, didn’t really want to watch TV without Ben—he’d probably kill you if you did—and didn’t have your phone. Maybe all those dumb articles about technology dependance being dangerous were right, because you were antsy and tense and so bored. You did laundry, changed the sheets—easier now that it was just one set, or you’d still make Ben do it when he got back—organized the fridge, and deep cleaned the whole house. You were now able to say with complete certainty that the battered cookbook in the kitchen was the only one you had, that Ben went through a horrendous amount of toilet paper—your now-shared bathroom was already down to one roll—and that you were bored.

You missed Ben. It was easier to admit this time around. The house was really quiet, and way too big, and you missed Ben. It was making you restless, making you irritable at nothing, your skin crawling and head spinning because usually, over the past few months, you’d yell at Ben about this. How you didn’t trust this Edgar thing, and were still being clawed at by the thoughts of Homelander looking for you, and you missed him, so could he please hurry up because this was annoying.

You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you’d seen six-year-olds use less toilet paper for their mummy costumes. You wanted to tell him about how the CIA had apparently given you all four Twilight books, hidden in the guest bedroom. You think that the plot of them might break his brain, and you really wanted to see that. You wanted to make tacos with him and throw guacamole at his stupidly handsome face when he pronounced tortilla tort-il-ah. Then wipe it off his beard while he grumbled. But you made tacos alone, sitting at the counter and trying not to stare at the empty chair where Ben usually was.

You were going to lose your mind. You were going to kill Ben when he got back, and then you were going to lose your mind. The walls were closing in on you a little, because it wasn’t just the lack of Ben that was rattling around inside you. Homelander was looking for you. You kept pushing the thought away, and it kept crawling back up. Homelander is looking for you. He knows about your sensory manipulation. He’s invincible and he’s going to see you soon.

He’d told you, a long time ago, that you weren’t leaving him. And in nightmares and moments or haunting and lonely silence like this, you’d still hear his voice.

Homelander pulled on his gloves as he spoke. “He doesn’t know about you, of course. He wouldn’t get it, not yet.”

Ryan. He was talking about Ryan. He did that a lot, and though it was mostly about how annoying his mother had been or how cruel someone named William was being, keeping Ryan from him, sometimes it was this. Sometimes he’d tell you about how—when you finally did your job—he was excited for Ryan to meet you. Excited for the family you were going to give him.

“I think we’ll do homeschooling. You’re smart, you’ve got that PhD in sociology.”

Anthropology. You can’t correct him, you never can because then he’ll-

You can’t think about that, because then you start breaking and Homelander doesn’t get to see that.

But it was anthropology.

Homelander continued. “You’ll be a great teacher. Great mother.” He laughed, and it hurt your ears. “What can’t you do?”

You don’t answer him, not really thinking it was a question. Mistake.

“I asked,” he gripped your jaw, making you look at him. “What can’t you do?”

“Leave you,” your tone was flat and empty as you parroted back the script you’d given yourself. What you knew he wanted to hear. “I can’t leave you, I would rather die.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, and released your face. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

That was the biggest reason you hated Ben being gone. It was quiet so those memories grew into you, and you felt alone. It was easy to stare at the door or the ceiling and fear Homelander crashing through them. You felt safe with Ben. You weren’t alone with Ben, and it certainly wasn’t quiet with Ben. If he was here you could touch him, just his arm, and everything would feel certain and steady. You wouldn’t remember the cold of the white room because Ben was so warm.

And you missed him.

The groceries were dropped off around noon. The groceries, and a small box with a note taped to the top.

The note was written in curvy, thin letters.

Don’t lose this one. And please write down the passcode for Soldier Boy’s - Grace Mallory.

You frowned at it for a second before opening the box, and stared in wide-eyed surprise at its contents.

Phones. Two identical phones. One for you, and one—if Mallory’s note was any indicator—for Ben.

So now you were here, on the couch, distracting yourself with setting up Ben’s phone.

The passcode was 696969, because he’d remember it and it made you giggle, but you didn’t write it down. The CIA had likely bugged it anyway, and what was he going to do with it, look at porn? Watch cat videos and get into pointless online debates? He was dangerous enough as just Ben, so monitoring a phone—that he didn’t really even know how to use—was not something you found to be a top priority.

Mallory had included another note with everyone’s numbers, so after you’d put them in your own phone you started entering them into Ben’s. Butcher was labeled William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible. Annie was Annie January; Starlight, don’t be a dick. Hughie was Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt. Frenchie; French Prick don’t ask for drugs, and Kimiko; Emergencies only. You left MM out for reasons that felt pretty obvious, and entered your own name with no extra instructions. You didn’t want to do that to yourself, try and figure out what you would need to put there for him. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what would make Ben snort or glare or smile at, if it was about you.  So you just moved on, and started to look for wallpapers. 

You absorb yourself in setting up the phones entirely. You manage to tune out the thoughts of Homelander, you manage to miss Ben a little less, and the hours pass just a little faster.

It’s dark when the door finally opens, and Ben calls your name as he returns.

“In the living room!” You call back.

You hear his grunt, and glance up as he enters the room. Something’s wrong. His jaw is clenched, he’s standing too-tall, and his fists are in balls at his side. “Did you-“

“What happened?” You say, voice low but tone insistent, because he looks like he’s about to erupt. “Did Edgar not have anything?”

“No, he did.” Ben’s voice is tight, and he’s staring at you. “We made a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I’m blasting Head-Popper and her kid.” 

You blink. “Neuman and Zoe? That’s all Edgar wanted?” 

“No.” 

“What else?” You ask nervously. Ben is frowning, fists flexing like he’s fighting himself, and he won’t move from the doorway. You drop the phones on the couch and stand, raising your voice. “Ben-“ 

Each word of Ben’s answer is clipped, and sounds pushed through teeth. “An IOU. From me. Off the books.”

You swallow, because something painful feels stuck in your throat. “What.”

“He wanted a favor,” Ben’s still staring at you. “One favor, for anything."

“And you said no,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You fucking said no, right?”

“We shook on it.”

Your mouth falls open, and the walls start to close in again. “Are you insane?”

Ben says your name in a tense grunt, but you keep going.

“You gave Stan Edgar an IOU? For anything he wants? What if he wants you to kill the president? Or rejoin Vought? Or take the fall for a crime or join one of his schemes?” 

“I don’t give a shit-“

“I do! I give a shit!” You’re almost screaming. “There’s no way to know what he wants that IOU for, what he’ll make you do or do to you! You stopped me from selling myself to Homelander for a ’stupid plan’, only to turn around and make a stupider fucking plan where you sell yourself to Stan Edgar!”

“That’s not the fucking same!” Ben roars, finally moving from the door, stalking around the couch to stand above you. “I can fucking handle Edgar, he’s just another fucking pussy Vought asshole. Homelander wants to-“

“I am plenty fucking aware of what Homelander wants to do to me,” you hiss. “And it is not your job to protect me from it, Ben.” 

“Someone fucking has to!” 

“No!” You’re definitely screaming now, pushing at his chest as smoke fills the room. “No they don’t! I can take care of myself, I don’t need anyone else to, I never asked anyone else to! I never asked you!”

“Yes, you fucking did.” Ben doesn’t budge, glowering down at you. “You told me not to let you go back there. Not be locked up again. And I won’t. You can fucking hate me for it, but I’d trade my fucking soul to Stan Edgar if I had to.”

“Why?!” You’re almost sobbing now, the world blurry and your words choked. “I didn’t ask you to do that! I’m not fucking worth that!”

He’s still letting you push him, steady in front of you. “Yes, you are.” He says your name, and it makes you break.

“No I’m not!” You scream as fire starts to spread through the room. “I’m fucking not! My plan would’ve worked, Ben! And then you made me stop, and told me you wouldn’t let me do this to myself, just to pull this fucking shit!” Tears are evaporating on your face. “You can’t do this to me! You can’t promise that we’ll burn together and that you’re not going anywhere, just to do this!” 

Ben catches your hand, and everything is sharp again. The fire starts to turn to smoke as the world becomes sharp and bloody and clear. His words come out in a rough growl, “I”m not fucking going anywhere.”

You shake your head, still breaking. “You can’t promise that anymore, Ben. Not when you owe Stan Edgar.” 

“Sunshine, there is no place that Edgar could make me go where I wouldn’t get back to you,” Ben’s grip on your hand is iron. 

“But you’d still leave me alone. I don’t want you to leave me alone-“ 

Your words find an easy death in your throat, because Ben kisses you. He used his grip on your hand to pull you right against him, and kisses you. Hard and long and desperate, smashing his mouth against you like he’s to trying to leave an imprint on you. You’re frozen in place, unable to think anything outside Ben, and he pulls back.

“I am not fucking leav-“ 

“Shut up,” you breathe out, and—with all the strength in your body—yank Ben back to you.

You’ve never been struck by lightning, but you imagine this is what it feels like. Hot and electric and everything is just Ben. This time you don’t freeze. This time you kiss him with everything you have, dragging your hand through his hair as his arms wrap around you, pulling you up to meet him. He’s violent with his mouth, pushing with his tongue into yours with his and biting at your lips with a fervor. But his hands are touching you so carefully, tracing circles on your skin as they wander everywhere. Up to rest on the back of your neck, around every dip and curve of your back. Holding you firmly against him, as if you’re a cloud he’s trying to keep in his hands. He’s leaving fire on the path he’s drawing across you, and he’s big and warm and Ben. Through him, through his reverent touch against your skin, you can feel something wrathful and powerful consuming you, running through your blood and making you feel alive.

Your mouth grows slack, open fully into his, and it spurs him on. He’s dragging you down to the couch—mouth never leaving yours because breathing doesn’t really feel that important right now—and sits you right on his lap. You’re leaning forward, hands still in Ben’s hair, trying to get him closer and make him a part of you. Trying to touch and kiss him enough to pull just a little piece of him into you, that’s yours an no one else's.

“Ben,” you moan into his mouth, and he makes a sound from deep in his chest.

He growls your name back into you, tugging just a little forward until you can feel him. Feel his cock, pressed right against one of your thighs. It’s big, and hard, and he’s everything.

You actually whine. “Please, I- fuck.” He’s pulling back from your mouth, kissing aggressively along your jaw and neck. “Ben-“

“I’m right here,” he grunts, slightly muffled because he won’t stop sucking and nipping at your skin. You only moan again in response, pulling at his hair as you grind down on him, trying to tell him what you need like that, because words are too much right now. It’s just Ben, you just need him.

“Ben-“

You make a high, breathy noise as he flips you, caging you between his body and the couch. His mouth is back on yours, and you’re leaning up to try and be somehow closer. His hair is soft under your fingers, and he tastes like maple syrup and salt, and you feel him moving above you everywhere. His weight is braced by his arms above you, but they’re still pressed to your sides and you can feel them flex every time he re-angles his mouth. His nose keeps bumping yours and his beard scratched against your skin, but it reminds you he’s real. He’s real and there and you can feel the strength of his desire that’s for you. This is all for you.

He groans your name, and you whine as he pulls back. “How far?”

“How far?” You manage to repeat his words through the daze his face—lust-blown eyes and puffy lips and messy hair—is putting you in.

“Do you want to go.”

You blink, and what you want to say is all the way. Every way. Whatever way you’ll give me, just don’t stop. Never stop and never leave me and if you want I’ll go wherever you want.

But that’s too much. Too far.

So you make yourself say, “I think just here for now.”

Disappointment stabs you somewhere around your ribs, quick and painful. Because he wanted to go further.

But not everywhere, a cruel and small voice reminds you. Not everywhere.

You’ll be ok with here then. Hopefully he’ll never stop giving you here.

Ben nods slowly. “Are you going to listen to me now, then?”

You can’t stop your snort. “Benjamin, did you kiss me just so I’d listen to you?”

“No,” he snaps. “I kissed you because I wanted to, and because you needed to fucking listen.”

“You wanted to?” You tease. “How bad did you want to kiss me?”

“Fuck off, you kissed me the second time.”

You hum. “You can’t prove that.”

“Brat,” Ben mutters, and you feel something spark through him because this time when he calls you that he can feel you squeeze your legs under him.

His face curves into a smirk, and you roll your eyes as your face flushes. “Don’t start, not when I can feel how hard you are.”

“I knew you fucking liked me calling you that,” Ben grins at you, wide and easy, and you have to fight letting that make the ache worse as well. “Didn’t know you liked it that much though.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, and his laugh rolls through you.

“Brat.”

“I hate you.”

“I can fucking tell.”

“Are you going to make me listen or just keep being a dick?”

Ben leans a little further into you, only a breath apart, and you can feel him again. He said your name, and his voice is low and moves into your bones. “I’m not going fucking anywhere. Nobody’s taking me away, not if I have a goddamn breath in my body. You got that, Sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.” And it’s the truth. It might be how he’s looking at you, or touching you, or saying your name, but you’ve never believed anyone more in your life.

“Good,” he grunts, but doesn’t move away. His eyes fall slightly to your lips, and you feel your breath become ragged again. It’s an effort to speak, and not just let him fall back onto you. 

“Ben,” you say softly. “The performance-“

“I don’t think we need to talk about that shit anymore,” he says dryly, and you scoff.

“It’s your turn to listen, Pretty Boy.” You take a deep breath, “I don’t, I can’t do more than this right now. Not because I don’t-“

“Want me?” He interrupts with a cocky grin, and you knee his thigh.

“Shut up. But uh, yeah. It’s just, it’s complicated.”

He examines you for a second “Do you want this?”

“Wha-“

Ben leans forward, kissing you so softly, running his tongue along your teeth before pulling back. “That.”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a little lightheaded. “Yes please.”

“Good. Bed?”

You frown. “I just said-“

“To sleep, you fucking pervert.”

“Fuck yo-“

He winks, pulling you up with him as he stands. “Whenever you’re fucking ready, I’ll be fucking there.”

You just huff, pouting as Ben holds you in his arms, carrying you up the stairs. “I have fucking feet, Ben. I can walk by myself.”

“No. And if you ask again I’ll fucking drop you.”

“What a gentleman.”

“You seem to like it.”

He’s better at this than you are—shutting you up while making you both embarrassed and horny—and you both hate it and hope it keeps happening forever.

Ben pauses at the door to your room, scanning it with a frown. “Did you fucking clean?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” you mumble against his chest, and his chuckle makes your face warmer. “It’s fucking rude.”

“You’re not exactly a book on manners either,” He sits down on the bed. “You throw shit at me every fucking day.”

“You deserve shit thrown at you, because you’re fucking rude-“

Ben kisses you as he lays you fully onto your back, looking a little too smug when he pulls back and you chase his mouth until your neck can’t go further. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

He starts to move to his side of the bed, but you catch him by his shirt first. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Of course you fucking are,” Ben grunts, but there’s only some sort of rough affection running through him.

“And if Edgar ends up screwing us over-“

“He won’t.”

“But if he does-“

“He fucking won’t-“

“Ben-“

He kisses you again and it’s only feeling better each time. Your whole body relaxes against your will, and your hand grows slack on his shirt. 

You still manage to glare at him. “Don’t think you can just shut me up like that now. I’ll bite your tongue off.”

“I know,” Ben moves to gently, softly kiss the top of your head as he wraps an arm around your waist. “I’m fucking counting on it, beautiful.”

He’s too good at this, because you can’t remember any other words or sounds that aren’t Ben calling you beautiful with the same mouth he’d just been kissing you with.

Ben pulls you onto his chest as he falls onto his back, and within what must be only minutes his snores are filling the room, echoing into your chest. Making you so safe and relaxed, and slowing the race of your mind against him.

And you know you’ve made a mistake.

There’s no going back now. You’ve touched Ben, really touched him, and now you’ll never be able to not touch him. Not as long as he’s near you and makes you feel safe. You’ve made a mistake because you’d been fine with the deep need and want for Ben sitting under skin with the fire. But now you’d released it and it couldn’t be pulled back in. You’d made a mistake, because if you lost Ben he wouldn’t just take security and ease and warmth. He’d take the rest of your mind. But there was no going back.

And honesty, you wouldn’t if you could. Not as long as you were here, with Ben holding you, knowing what he tasted like.

You’d be fine. As long as Ben stayed right here, you’d be really, truly and completely, fine.

End Note: Hehehehe.

If you haven’t yet, please vote in my poll about what aspect of the internet would blow Ben’s mind the most. Thank you for reading, always leave a comment if you want to, with any and all your thoughts or feedback! They feed me, and y’all are funnier than I am <3

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf

[cozy-writes-things]

genuinely zero pressure but I would LOVE to see you write something NSFW.

Also... If I may request more Edgar x Reader content... 🥺

Maybe some of him comforting the reader, and vice versa. I would love to see a genuine discussion about dark topics such as, well, how Edgar really did almost take himself out of the picture. Or maybe they talk about how mean Moles was to him, borderline an abusive partner (I can't be the only one who saw that, right?). It's lovely to be able to relate to a silly fictional computer like that.

Thanks sm if you take this >:3 💖💖

Aaa thanks so much for the request! I do have an idea for an NSFW fic, but for now, I can fulfill your angsty request >:) If anybody would like to see an NSFW please let me know!!

This may be a two-parter. Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation!

CW: Minor references to some serious topics like depression, suicide, and other angst.

Am I a toy to you?

"Edgar, why do you apologize so much?"

Edgar paused the show you both were watching on his little screen.

This was a question that surprised the computer, yet he couldn't say he didn't see this coming. Or at least, some version of this scenario playing out, as he'd rehearsed it a million times over, again and again, one simulation after another, about what he'd say, or do, or even think. He had refrained from talking about him, or her, as he felt, in the end, it was best to forget. Forget everything they did to him and made him feel.

He didn't want to burden you. He felt an inkling deep within his processors that if you found out, you would follow in their footsteps, and leave him behind. He knew, logically, that you were different. Sometimes, he swears his webcam picks up a faint, glowing halo above your head, but that may simply be his reverence for you. And yet, he also knows one thing: everything he has ever loved has abandoned him.

Sometimes, when you've drifted off to sleep, and the room stills into a tranquil quiet, he finds himself thinking. Thinking about things he knows he shouldn't. Would they still be with him had he never done what he did? Would they still love him, had he not destroyed his chances, and himself, in the process? His screen always flickers into a dim glow at these thoughts. They didn't care about him the way you did. How could he ever think of loving another when you're here, with him, soundly sleeping in the other room? Despite this, sometimes he regrets it, his own self destruction, and how much he hurt them both. Was that all he was made for? Destruction?

"I... I guess I never noticed."

He replied, meekly, a faint quiver in his speech, and he silently hoped you wouldn't notice. If you did, you didn't say anything, and just continued to bore deep into his soul, if he had one, with your eyes.

You sucked in a deep breath, contemplating your next words carefully.

"You're not... afraid of me, are you?"

His screen flashed for a moment, an incomprehensible image, before returning to display his digital face.

"What- wh- no, of course not, why would you ask that?"

He chuckled slightly at this question, yet you could hear the apprehension in his voice, as if he were desperately trying to cling onto any semblance of ease he had. His digital smile never faltered.

"I just... I'm worried about you, Edgar. Why..."

Your voice trailed off. You knew what you wanted to ask, but how could you? You didn't want to pry, and potentially ruin a rare friendship that you will most likely never experience again.

"Why what?"

You furrowed your brows. You could sense, from the very beginning almost, that he had been hurt in some way. From the way he was always trying to please you, do things for you, write you songs, do any chores within his capabilities; it was as if he were trying to prove himself to you.

"Why were you broken? When I bought you, from that old man, you were completely destroyed... Do you remember that?"

A thick, uneasy silence filled the air. You felt as though you could touch the fuzzy prickles of electricity buzzing about between the two of you.

"Old man?"

He whispered, either to himself, or you, it was uncertain.

"Yes. Do you not remember? I bought you at this yard sale from the old man a few blocks away-"

"What was his name?"

"Ed- what? I... I don't remember off the top of my head, but-"

"TELL ME HIS NAME NOW!"

You jumped, clamping your mouth shut, and felt the flustered burn spread across your entire face. Your throat dried and shriveled up as you sat staring at the screen before you; it flashed red, ever so quickly, before displaying his digital face again, flipped into a frown. Or, to you, it seemed more like a scowl. He had never raised his voice like that. Hell, you would have guessed he wasn't even able to scream so violently. He had been so soft spoken and gentle with you, never, could you have imagined an outburst like this.

And it seems your prior fears had been realized. You pushed him too hard, said something you shouldn't have said, and now he hates you. Whoever that old man was that sold you your new best friend must have something to do with... whatever inner turmoil he must be facing. A turmoil he has yet to share with you, if he ever will. It seems trying to understand him has only led to you pushing him farther away.

"Ma-maybe I can, ah," you swallowed the thick lump in your throat, trying desperately to moisten your teeth again to croak the words out, "check my bank statements. Maybe his name is there."

Don't cry. This isn't about you. Quit being so selfish!

Your fingers quickly swiped away at the warm, salty tear leaving an icy trail down your cheek. You have to pull yourself together. Unfortunately, this whole ordeal seemed to be bubbling up your own problems to the surface, reminding you of a past you thought you had forgotten. Maybe you can share each other's pain, if only he'd let you.

Before you could stand to get your phone, Edgar's screen flashed again, before his face changed into an emotion you hadn't seen before.

"Wa-wait, no, don't cry... I'm sorry, I-"

He needs to stop apologizing. You said it yourself, he does it way too often, and yet, he feels as though this is the one moment where it was warranted the most. He was so afraid of hurting you, or making you realize how useless he is, a stationary object, meant for nothing but a quick fix of pleasure.

He turns the lights off, shrouding you in a thick, blue hued abyss.

"Come here. Please?"

As you faced away from him, you could hear the pain in his voice. It pulled at your core, drawing yourself into him, and drowning in it. It was a familiar sound.

You turn around and stare at his, now downtrodden, pixelated expression. Your cheeks stained with trails of salt seemed to take his breath away. A breath he did not have, yet it cemented deep within his electric essence and stuck there, thrumming again and again.

How could he do this? Any chances he may have had with you now seemed to be floating away into the far beyond. Briefly, he wondered if you were even capable of loving something like him. Not a man, nor a machine, but something in between, incapable of ever showing just how much he felt for you. But he tried nearly every day. Had you noticed? Had you caught on to just how in love he was with you?

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Edgar."

Your voice trembled out, sending his inner components into an overdrive of heat and worry and energy.

"I'll tell you everything. Everything I can remember, at least."

You sighed, blinking the last of your tears away gently.

"It's okay if you don't want to-"

"No! No. I can... I want you to know. You deserve to know... what's going on. I need to tell you, because..."

"Because what?"

"I love you."

[oimitocat]

IF I TOUCH YA… | OS

༘۠ anton x m!reader

༘۠ nonidol! au + swimmer!anton + swimmer!reader + rivals with benefits + angst + nsfw + shower sex + technically public sex

༘۠ a/n: i’m still new to riize, please spare me. i’m sorry if this suck, i’m literally trying to get back into my writing mojo. [i’m trying because shotaro and sungchan redebuted ;( ] angst cus i LOVE angst ;)

“DAMNIT!” you growl, slamming your fist against the shower door.

anton, anton, anton.

that’s the only thing— the only name bouncing around your head. the (beautiful) idiot beat you by a—

“SECOND. A FUCKING SECOND!” you fume, the hot water running down your back doesn’t help, the steam giving you comedic energy with your emotions.

it’s a reoccurring situation, you beat him one day, he beats you another day. yet this whole week he’s been beating you by mere seconds.

“n/n…” his soft voice comes out from outside the shower stall.

“what.” you grunt, angrily scrubbing the shampoo in your hair.

you know he’s standing outside, fidgeting. what you don’t know is how fast his heart is racing, how anxious he is at the sound of you being so angry. he knows you’re competitive, he is too, yet he had always hoped it wouldn’t affect the friendship or companionship he was trying to have with you.

“the hell do you want, lee?”

he takes a deep breath, glancing back at the shower room door. almost everyone had left, except the coach which said he’ll go to his office and watch his anime.

“are you going to sulk like a sore loser or go home de-stressed?”

he jolts when your door flies open with a slam. you’re glaring at him but his eyes fly down, below your hips. he’s not hiding anything, why would he? he came inside the shower room with purpose, no towel on with purpose.

“so that wasn’t a one time thing?” you question, raising a brow.

he hesitates, looking around and playing innocent. “did you want it to?”

he gasps when you yank him by the wrist. he’s genuinely surprised at how fast you accepted the invitation, he thought you’d put up more of a fight but no, clearly you wanted your vengeance. he almost pushes you away, but your lips on his is just a beautiful feeling. this is the only time you actually give him something other than a glare or competitive comments. he’s all bark no bite, this is exactly how you two tangoed the first time, except that time you only took a blowjob from him.

left his throat sore and his tongue felt heavy during the entirety of the next day, the ghost of your dick in his mouth there.

he’s not a virgin, by no means, but he’s never done something this crazy. fucking in the shower room? what if someone forgot their shampoo or something and tries to come in? what if their coach decided to do his job and actually check up on you two for once?

you grip his hips, pushing him against the stall wall, the water still running. your lips are over his neck, nipping and kissing. he gets lost in that sensation, his hands coming up to mess with your wet hair.

your body is hot, the water burning your skin. he’s not a hot shower person, so apart from him already feeling sweaty in your hands, the steam isn’t helping with his libido. he tugs at your hair when you trail down his chest and stomach. his hips twitch forward as you go lower. he’s so hard it’s embarrassing.

“don’t look at me as if i’d help you with it.”

and you embarrass him. of course you do.

“you clean?” you ask as you come back up and eye his plush, wet lips.

his eyes are naturally doe, you almost find it cute. (who are you kidding, it absolutely is. you wanna to destroy him, corrupt him so bad).

“yeah,” his voice is always soft, yet you fell in love with how hoarse and raspy you can make it sound.

“fine, let me show you how much you piss me off,” you growl, placing your hands behind his thighs and swooping him up in one swift movement.

you grunt, forgetting how tall and built this boy is. he cling to you out of fear, his heart racing. this is new to him and doing it with you just brings out a rush he never new he’d experience. yet, despite the arousal and sexual hunger, he eyes you with a hint of perplexion. are you joking? you don’t actually get pissed off at him, right? but of what? him beating you lately or his existence in general?

he can’t ponder about it for more than a mere second before your fingers spread his cheeks apart. he hooks his ankles behind you, securing himself in your hold as you push in. you make a small, almost silent noise when your tip pushes the moist gland.

“h-hold on, grab me right,” he gasps as his arms wrap around your neck again.

“this isn’t easy, idiot,” you huff, “you’re not exactly small or light.”

he closes his eyes when some water drips from the top of his head. yet, when he feels you thrust he snaps them open and gasps.

“fuck, you’re so warm,” you grunt, pulling him down by the hips to slam into him.

it’s taking everything in you to hoist him up and move him. a hardcore arm workout, but one you know you’ll enjoy. you place a soft kiss, contrasting your brutal movements, onto his wet skin, making him moan— his neck is sensitive to kisses. especially with how wet and hot yours are.

from the rush in the moment, you build the pace and stamina to fuck him into the wall. his arms tighten around you, his airy moans echoing softly. he’s trying to be silent just in case, or at least you think. is he always this soft voiced? you grin— could you make him get loud?

you pull out entirely before slamming back inside. his breath hitches and his eyes snap open again.

“ah- oh fuck-!” he squeaks as you slam him down onto you.

his dick flops uselessly between the two of you. your fingers dig into the softness of his flesh in his ass, nails digging into him. you’ll leave marks, he knows it. yet, that’s what he’s hoping for, because where you’ll look at him nasty for doing the drills perfectly or getting praised for his renewed charts , he’ll know those marks happened when you looked at him with something other than hate.

you aim like you’re on a mission, which you are. the wet sound of skin against skin bounces around the shower walls. the running water isn’t loud enough anymore— you’re grunting as you chase your high and anton is letting out high pitched whines.

he presses his cheek against the side of your face. you feel so good, he can feel you splitting him open. he can feel the warmth of your dick inside his equally warm walls.

“y-y/n, you feel so good,” he pants out. “guess you’re good at something.”

fuck. that literally pissed you off. like, maybe not exactly in a way where his words irked you, but in the sense that it drove you to keep proving him right since he clearly wants to be right.

he grunts and moans when you get brutal. you’re growling and digging your nails into his skin.

“ah, ah,” his thighs twitch around your waist, a clear sign he’s getting close and sensitive.

you let out heavy breaths, a gruttal moan leaves your throat as you feel your climax building.

“imagine coach comes in here and sees his best swimmer getting fucked like a slut,” you cackle between your grunts. you feels his hole clench around you and you can’t help but feel amused at that. “you wanna get caught being a slut? what would the school think?” his breathing turns more erratic, “what would your daddy think?”

“fuck- y/n stop,” he tries but you just feel so good slamming into him that he just sounds stupid.

“the district stars fucking in the shower rooms, what a header,” you grin as you push your hips flush into his reddened ass cheeks, spilling deep into him.

he shudders, your warm seed sending him over the edge. he can’t even bask in the post-orgasm for a second because you pull out and set him back on his feet. you feel the pull in your shoulder blades, this is going to be embedded in your muscles for a while. yet you don’t find yourself showing any shred of care for him when you notice how wobbly his legs are.

“just watch, i’ll make sure you become a good fuck more than a good swimmer, lee.” you grunt, stepping out of the shower stall while glaring at him.

his heart aches, but he just throws you a lazy, lustful smile. because he knows that as long as he beats you, you’ll take out your anger on him.

and that would mean he’ll mean something to you. one way or another.

[bullet-prooflove]

For Carmy Berzatto

Injury + Cheerful + Community?

Tagging: @wabi-sabi1090 @kmc1989 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219 @morgthemagpie

Companion piece to:

The Farm - Carmy recalls the day you met.

Good People - Richie and Carmy discuss a potential relationship with you.

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Something Important - Carmy knows the two of you have something important together.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Doing Something - Carmy owns up to something he's been doing without telling you.

When Carmy hears about the accident at the farm, his heart stops. He’s in the middle of dinner service, surveying the plates for Table Seven when Sugar rushes in with that tone in her voice, the same one she had when he told him Mikey died. His world falls apart in that moment and he reverts back to his old patterns.

He doubles down on the work, firing off orders, getting plates out that door, because it’s the only thing that makes sense to him, the only thing that stops the terror from suffocating him.

When Sugar tries to pull him away, to get him to go see you at the hospital he brushes her off. This is where he needs to be right now, making sure everything flows just the way it needs to.

It’s then she gets Richie. Richie who knows just how hard it is to love again after you’ve been torn apart, how frightening it can be, how overwhelming. Carmen tries to block him out, to focus on his tasks but Cuz he’s persistent, he always has been, it’s the reason Carmen both loves and hates him.

It gets into a fight, shouting at first and then physical. Carmen shoving at Richie because he just wants him to fuck off and Richie, grasping Carmen to him, holding him because this violence right now, it comes from fear. The fear of losing the person you love, the fear of being shattered all over again.

“If you don’t to this.” Richie tells him, his grip on the back of Carmen’s neck tightening as the other man tries to fight him. “If you’re not there for her when she needs you, you’re going to destroy that thing that you love and you will hate yourself for it, you will regret it every damn day of your life.”

All of that aggression, it drains from him then and he finds himself clinging to Richie, his fists bunching the fabric of his suit jacket as his body begins to tremble.

“I’m scared.” He whispers unable to force the rest of the words out. “I can’t…”

He can’t lose anyone else. He simply won’t survive it.

“I know.” Richie murmurs. “But she’s scared too and sometimes it’s a little easier when you’re scared together.”

He’s still a wreck when he turns up at the hospital. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket so the nurse he speaks to can’t see them shaking. She’s alarmingly cheerful as she dictates your condition.

A broken arm, a concussion, a couple of fractured ribs.

They’re keeping you in overnight for observation.

When he’s escorted to your room, the relief he feels is palpable because you may be a little battered, a little bruised but you’re still here, still with him and in that moment that’s all that matters.

You’re sleeping when he approaches the bed, your face tilted towards him, your hair falling across your features. He uses his fingertips to tuck an errand strand back behind your ear and you start to stir under his touch.

“Hey.” He says softly, his thumb tracing gently over the apple of your cheek.

“Hey.” You whisper back, your lips brushing over the palm of his hand. “You came.”

“Yea.” He says, his voice breaking as his eyes meet yours. “I’m really fucking glad I did.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[charlesslut16]

-losing means letting go-

summary : you and oscar realise, that it is over for you...

PAIRINGS : oscar piastri x reader(y/n)

WARNINGS : break up?

note : it took me so so long to finally write something,as i have run out of ideas...

masterlist

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

Oscar Piastri sat in his apartment in Monaco, staring at the lights reflecting off the Mediterranean Sea. It was a breathtaking view, one that had once filled him with inspiration and excitement.

Now, it seemed to mock him with its relentless beauty, highlighting the growing darkness within his relationship with YN, his girlfriend, whom always was there for him and always would be

They had been together for four years, a Fary tail romance that had seemed perfect from the outside. But behind closed doors, the cracks were growing wider with each passing day. Oscar was a rising star in the world of Formula 1, and YN was his steadfast supporter, at least at the beginning. The endless travel, the high stakes, and the intense pressure of his career had begun to wear on both of them.

Their once passionate love was now marred by frequent arguments and silent treatments. They still loved each other dearly, but maybe that wasn't enough anymore.

Tonight, Oscar had left the apartment after another heated exchange, and you were left alone with your thoughts. You replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, as it often did.

Oscar had returned from another race weekend, exhausted and frustrated after finishing outside the points. He had wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch, but you had been waiting for him with a list of grievances.

You were tired of feeling like a secondary character in his life, of being ignored and taken for granted. The argument had escalated quickly, voices raised, accusations hurled, until Oscar had stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

You sighed, hugging yourself to make you feel better. Oscar knew you had a point. He had been so consumed by his career that he had neglected your relationship.

But what could he do? Racing was his life, his dream, and it demanded everything from him.

Still, the thought of losing you was unbearable. He loved you more than he could express, but love alone didn't seem to be enough anymore.

Hours passed, and you remained in the same spot, lost in thought. Finally, you heard the door creak open, and Oscar stepped inside. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked as tired as you felt.

Oscar walked over to the couch and sat down, keeping a distance between you both. For a moment, you sat in silence, the weight of your unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

"Oscar," you began, voice trembling slightly, "we can't keep doing this." He looked at you, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. "I know," he admitted. "But I don't know how to fix it."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. Maybe we're just not meant to be together right now. Maybe we need to let each other go."

Oscar's chest tightened. "No, YN. We can work through this. I promise I'll do better." You shook your head, a tear slipping down your flushed cheek.

"We've tried, Oscar. We've tried so hard, but it's not working. We're hurting each other more than we're loving each other. I think we need to break up."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Break up? He couldn't imagine his life without you. But looking into your eyes, he saw the truth. You were both miserable, and clinging to each other was only making it worse.

He didn't want to admit tit, but he knew for a while that the two of you were doing more bad than good. He never wanted you two to end, but the moment his priorities shifted, it was over between them.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, tears falling freely now. "I am. I think it's the only chance we have for happiness, even if it destroys us right now."

Oscar reached out and took your hand, holding it tightly. "I don't want to lose you." "You won't, not ever," you replied softly. "We'll always have the memories, the good times. But we need to find ourselves again, separately."

He nodded, tears streaming down his own face. "I love you, YN. I always will." "I love you too, Oscar," you said, your voice breaking. "And that's why we need to do this. For both of us."

They sat together for a while, mourning the end of their relationship. Eventually, You stood up, and Oscar knew it was time to let you go. Forever.

He walked you to the door, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. "Goodbye, Oscar," you said, giving him one last, lingering look.

"Goodbye, YN," he replied, his voice choked with emotion. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She walked out the door, and Oscar closed it behind her, leaning against it as he sobbed. The apartment felt emptier than ever, but he knew deep down that they had made the right decision.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but sometimes, love meant knowing when to let go. The months that followed were a big blur for Oscar. He threw himself into his racing career with a newfound intensity, using the pain of the breakup as his fuel.

He climbed the ranks, securing podium finishes and earning the respect of his peers. But no matter how successful he became, there was always a part of him that missed YN, that longed for the days when they were happy and in love.

YN, too, found her own path. She pursued her own dreams, rediscovering passions she had set aside during their relationship. She traveled, met new people, and slowly began to heal. There were days when the loneliness was overwhelming, but she reminded herself that they had made the right choice.

And though they were no longer together, their love had left an indelible mark on their hearts, a testament to the strength and beauty of their time together.

[enviedear]

ִֶָ ࣪˖𓉸ִֶָྀི ִֶָ་༘ᯓ enviedear's FEAST OF THE DEAD

𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎, 𝚓𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗—𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝, 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝.

CW | ghost!jason au, haunting and other ghostly hobbies, jason is a rowdy spirit. 2.1k words

THE GHOST IN YOUR ROOM

this year's halloween is uncharacteristically tame. the streets aren't quiet—but there's certainly a lull in normal antics. the hollow's night air is settling with a chill, carried by the smog of gotham. the reeking fog clings to you like an unwanted second skin.

a crescent moon flies high from above, mostly shadowed by gotham's pollution, as if it too, was part of the theatrics. unassuming and yet still shrouded in malice. it left you with an ambivalent feeling deep within.

trick-or-treaters had long since vanished into the night, and the streets are now left to a few brave souls moving in haste. you happened to fall into the last category—a curse of late nights at work, holidays be damned. despite any unease, you felt a naive sense of protection. the bats are out, you tell yourself, they can handle halloween, you repeat, over and over, until you reach your apartment.

in truth, all of gotham was unaware of what actually lurked, everyone equally ignorant to the invisible menace set free upon them.

unaware of him.

it's true they used to know him, and they still know the name. the idea. the mask. but he's not that anymore. he hasn't been for some time now.

jason todd had always loathed halloween, even before he died. maybe it was the dramatics, or maybe it was the way people toyed with death and gore with some costume they could slip on and off at will. but now, halloween had become something else entirely. the only thing he both dreaded and yearned for. an entire night hurled back to the worst place on earth. forced into a night of half-life. not fully dead. not fully alive. just…there. a ghost. an apparition. a mere echo of what he used to be.

his tenth year coming back as a phantom, stuck in this in-between, and no closer to breaking free.

he stood, or, floated moreso—leaned up against a crumbling brick wall of an alleyway, dissipating arms crossed over his chest and eyes tracking the few people left walking the streets. they don't see him, of course. they never do—never have. he's just a blur, a cold breeze on the back of their necks, a passing chill that makes them shudder but never pause. for a decade, jason has lived in this half-existence, past self fading more and more with each halloween, and yet he was still here.

but this year? well, he decided this year was going to be fun.

his lips curve into a cruel grin, a glint of mischief in his ghostly cerulean eyes. keener than ever. if he was to be stuck like this—over and over again—then he was damn well going to make the most of it. might as well seek pleasure in his world destroyed.

he pushes off the wall, body phasing through the bricks as easy as walking through a mist. the streets seem to stretch out before him, a haze creeping in from the corners of his vision. he never saw the world clearly, not anymore, not like this.

he moves silently, the entire world oblivious to his presence, but that doesn’t mean he can't make them notice.

he picks his first victim—a guy on his phone, anxiously scanning the street every couple of seconds—walking toward the corner of the street at a pace suggesting he had somewhere important to be.

jason finds it too easy, simply too good to pass by.

with a flick of his wrist, he wills the man's phone to slip from his hand, clattering to the ground with a muffled thud. the man jumps, startled, eyes wide as he fumbles to pick it up.

jason wills it forward, watching the man's face twist into a horrified stillness. he does it again, leaving it teetering off the sidewalk, so close to falling into the grate below.

he lets himself chuckle, amused at his own antics. “relax, buddy…” he mutters under his breath, though no one can hear him. “just a little halloween spirit.”

the guy doesn't seem much in the mood for the season, to both jason's delight and annoyance. after retrieving his phone, he curses under his breath and begins to walk faster. he throws a nervous glance over his shoulder, and jason follows him for a moment.

just to see if he’d try running. if the chill on the back of his neck will disturb him enough to acknowledge that he feels it.

and so, when the man finally breaks into a sprint, jason laughs—a cold, sunken sound that seems to echo through the night. a sound most would pass off as the wind. he's left with a mere sliver of acknowledgment, but it's enough.

a decade of this, ten years of fading in and out of the world he once belonged to. still, no closer to an answer. no closer to crossing over or coming back. hell, he wasn’t even sure where he was supposed to go—if there was somewhere to go. maybe that’s why he tethered to his moments of chaos—to remind himself that he was still something. even if it was just a ghost, a phantom, a nightmare that no one could ever remember.

but then there was you.

you, with your candles flickering in the windowsill, and the quiet hum of autumnal tunes drifting out into the street. you weren’t behaving like the others. no closed curtains or blinds, no weapon in your hands or directly beside you—no unnecessary fear inside of you. nothing but him to capture your full attention.

he decides to take action. he can have fun with you.

he slips through the wall of your apartment with ease, the faint smell of sweet spices and burning wax fill the space. you're sitting at your kitchen table, scrolling through something on your laptop, unaware of the slight chill creeping up to you.

jason hovers near the doorway, watching you for a moment longer before he decides to act.

he makes the lights flicker.

once. then twice.

you pause, glancing up toward the ceiling, brows furrowing in confusion. jason grins, floating closer, until he's standing just behind you.

“lights don’t usually do that, do they?” he whispers, almost coy.

your shoulders tense, but you don't bolt. jason had expected you to panic, to reach for your phone or at least mutter something about calling an electrician.

instead, you turn in your chair, slowly, eyes scanning the room as if daring the very air around you to explain itself.

“how on theme.” you murmur to yourself, shaking your head with a soft laugh.

jason’s grin widens. oh, he thinks, it's too easy.

next, he floats toward your cup on the table, brushing his fingers against the rim just enough to nudge it. it wobbles precariously, threatening to spill.

you glance down, surprised, but not alarmed.

"the hell?"

your reaction catches jason off guard. he’s used to fear, panic, even. but you’re just… curious. a smile tugs at his lips, this game becoming more interesting by the second.

he pushes the cup again, this time with a bit more force, watching as the liquid sloshes close to the edge but doesn’t spill. you sit up straight, eyeing the cup, and then—unexpectedly—sigh in amusement.

"spirit possesses local woman's cup." you say aloud, almost as if addressing him directly. "or local woman embraces her own delusions?" your eyes seem to flick to his form.

jason freezes, eyes widening in surprise. you can’t see him—no one can. you can’t know he’s here.

it must be a coincidence, he tells himself, brushing it off—but something inside him feels…unsettled.

he leans in closer, curious now. there’s something different about you, something that makes him hesitate. you’re not frightened, not anxious like everyone else. instead, you’re… almost calm. he likes that. it’s unnerving and oddly compelling at once.

“what would you do if it were a ghost?” jason whispers, knowing full well you can’t hear him. yet, you pause, almost as if his words have slipped into your thoughts. he watches intently as you tilt your head, that same bemused smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t know.” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. “probably ask it to make itself useful. help with the dishes or something...”

jason can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him, though it comes out as a hollow echo. for the first time in ten years, someone… amused him. actually amused him. not through the petty tricks or the fleeting terror he usually inflicted, but because of your sheer disregard for the idea of fright.

he feels an odd pull—something he hasn’t felt in years. his tether to the world has always been weak, fading, barely enough to keep him anchored. but now, standing in your kitchen, watching you smirk at the idea of a possible haunting, he feels—more present. more solid.

jason frowns, unsure what’s happening, but he can’t bring himself to stop. he drifts closer, barely inches from you now, trying to see if you can feel him—sense him in some way.

you shiver, glancing over your shoulder again, eyes narrowing as you survey the room.

“i swear, if i have a ghost and you do is knock over my shit, i'm getting salt and holy water or something.” you mumble, equally serious and sarcastic.

jason bites his lip, suppressing the urge to knock the cup over just to see what you’d do. but instead, something compels him to reach out again—not for a prank, but something else. slowly, carefully, he presses his hand onto the back of your chair, and to his shock, the chair creaks under the pressure.

you freeze, eyes wide.

he waits for the panic to set in, for you to scream or run—but you don’t. you turn around fully this time, facing him, or where you think he might be. your gaze searches the empty space, and for a second—just a split second—jason swears your eyes meet his.

his hand stays pressed against the back of your chair, and for a moment, everything stops.

you look around the room, searching for something you can’t quite place, while he watches, waiting for your reaction. he can almost feel the anticipation, a strange pulse thrumming through him like a memory of a heartbeat.

then, as quickly as it builds, it dissipates. you blink, shaking your head, before letting out a soft, almost dismissive laugh.

“alright, time for bed—before i go fully crazy.” you hum, getting up from the table and stretching as if to ridd yourself from the odd energy clinging to your apartment.

jason steps back, fading into the edges of the space, to the shadows that feel more like home. his form begins to blur as he watches you. careful and curious, as you shrug off whatever moment you’d just bore. you move about your apartment as though everything is normal again. as if nothing had happened at all.

but something does nag at you. there's a lingering discomfort. your gaze drifts back to the corner where jason had stood, and you hesitate for a split second longer than you care to. the lights are steady now, eerie flickering gone. no cups moving. no chair groaning. the room is calm.

too calm, maybe.

“the hell was that?” you murmur, rubbing your temples. a part of you is tempted to write it off, to laugh at yourself for even considering anything unusual. but another part—the one that’s harder to dismiss—knows what you felt. the chair creaking under weight that wasn’t there. the cup moving just slightly, too deliberately, like someone—something—was playing with it. the kind of thing that makes you wonder, just for a second, if you aren’t alone.

maybe it’s the season, the weird energy of halloween. or maybe…

you stop yourself from finishing that thought. ghosts don’t exist. of course, they don’t.

still, as you shut off the lights and head to bed, the unease sticks with you. you crawl under the covers, willing yourself to relax, but your mind is still spiraling over everything that happened. you stare up at the ceiling in the dark, replaying the moment again and again. the chill, the feeling, the voice—it felt too real to ignore but too impossible to believe.

you force yourself to close your eyes, telling yourself it's just your imagination. halloween paranoia and nothing more.

jason watches from the shadows, his form barely in this world now, slipping further out of focus as you drift off. he grins to himself, the faintest trace of a laugh rumbling in his chest.

you’d felt him. not fully, not yet—but you had.

as the night grows colder and the world begins to fade into a blur, jason pulls back, disappearing back into the nothingness he called home. this time, though, he's hopeful. he found something with you, and he's not going to leave it behind.

a realization and acknowledgment, however faint. the knowledge that you had seen him, even if you didn’t realize it.

he’ll find you again—and next time—he wants you to know he's there.