#they almost kill all of their friends so there’s still plenty of angst

[cloverkingsmith]

If by some multiverse magic they got to see each other again, just once, this is what they would say to their sister 💜

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 16 - Let It Flood

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This feels like a good time to tell you guys we’re only halfway done and that I pinky promise there’s a happy ending.  Chapter Title from Foundations of Decay by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 22k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: It's time. Usual Warnings, with big smut and bigger angst.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 15 - Chapter 17

“What about Paris?” 

She leaned around the bathroom door to frown at Ben, toothbrush muffling her words. “What about Paris?”

“For where they ship us off to after this shit.” Ben glanced down at his phone, displaying a generically fucking boring postcard picture of the Eiffel tower. “It’s full of fucking art and shit.” She loved stupid fucking art and shit.

“I don’t think they’re going to let us choose where we go, Ben.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And you’d hate Paris. You hate France.”

Ben scowled. “It’s a stupid, useless, cowardly country full of-“

“Fucking pussies,” She smiled at him—so bright and happy—and Ben couldn’t bring himself to do more than roll his eyes at her dogshit impression of him. “I don’t think you’d make it a week in Paris. Someone would offer you food and you’d try to kill them.”

“What about,” Ben glanced at the next recommendation on the Ten Best Romantic Vacation Cities list he’d found online. It wasn’t total fucking shit, even if the website kept trying to tell him the Ten Best Ways to Use a Vibrator with a Partner. He’d save that tab for later. “Havana?”

“Cuba has a strained relationship with the CIA.” She shrugged. “I don’t think they’d agree to take us in.”

“Hawaii?”

“Well, I’d be fine with Hawaii, but I don’t think you would.” She retreated back into the bathroom, and Ben frowned.

“I’d fucking love Hawaii. It would be full of damn beaches to fuck on-”

“No,” She reappeared, walking over to stand between Ben’s legs. Looking so fucking perfect there—wearing his shirt and hair still messy from his hands and holding his face between her palms—that Ben almost missed what she was saying. “They wouldn’t put us in a resort, they’d put us in a town. Probably away from the beach, definitely without the infrastructure it should have. Just a real bummer of human rights. You’d hate it.”

She said those last words so simply that all the fancy, brainy shit she’d been telling Ben felt pointless. She thought he’d hate it, and she was always fucking right, and was smiling down at him with so much adoration on Her face that—even if she was somehow wrong—Ben was now certain he’d hate it.

“Fine,” he grunted, dropping his phone to his lap and tugging Her further forward with hands on the back of her thighs. “Where the hell would you want to go, if you’re so fucking smart.”

She was so fucking smart. And She knew it, because she was grinning when she said, “Rome.”

“Rome?” 

“It has a bunch of art and history and culture for me, and some very good fucking food for you. Plus, everyone there is stupid hot.”

Ben winked at Her. “You’re stupid hot enough to power a country, beautiful. I don’t need anyone else.”

“Thanks,” She mumbled, looking very firmly away from Ben as her face flushed that pretty fucking color. “But I was talking about for our escort business.” 

“And that’s why you’re the damn brains.” Ben rubbed circles on Her skin, and she fell a little further into him, hands tightening on his face. “Always fucking planning. We’re going to need to find some people half as damn hot as we are, because we’re only fucking each other.”

She scoffed, and Ben thought Her heart might beat right out of her chest. “How sweet of you, to keep your dick in your pants at even the prospect of money.”

“We’ll earn plenty of goddamn money. My dick is yours, Sunshine.” 

She hummed, and her hands started to play with Ben’s hair in a way that made him feel like a goddamn puppy. What was worse was that it felt fucking good. Her perfect fucking hands, touching him because she wanted to, because she liked touching him. “Even if someone offered ten million dollars?” 

“Yours.”

“That’s financially irresponsible.” She mumbled, still incredibly fucking determined to not meet his eyes. “We could buy a house with that money.” 

“If I was offering my dick for money,” Ben drawled. “We could buy a fucking island. But it’s yours,” he said Her name firmly, and she glanced at him with wide eyes. “So get damn used to chasing customers off.” 

“Chasing customers off?” 

“I’m going to have to do it for you,” he grinned at Her. “Fucking pussies who think they can fuck you the way I will.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him, but Ben didn’t miss the smile she was failing to fight. “Horny fucking cunt.” 

That was enough. Just that was a good enough reason for Ben to pull Her all the way into his lap, let her straddle his thigh, and silence her small sound of surprise with his mouth. For Ben to tug and touch Her skin in time with all the ways he’d learned to play her mouth until she was limp and moaning against him. Until he could bite Her lower lip and trace his hand along her spine and she’d throw back her head and arch against his hand. Until Ben could suck that spot on her throat and trace a hand across her ribs as she’d start grinding down onto him. 

“Ben-“ 

“Horny fucking cunt,” he echoed Her words against Her skin. “Your horny fucking cunt goddamn wants my dick, doesn’t it? Brat.” 

“Fuck you,” Her words were said through gasps, hands clawed and scraping at Ben’s scalp, and he chuckled.

“Afraid that’s not on the table right now, beautiful.” He pulled back to grin at Her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything about how fucking wet you are.” 

She whined something that might have been a plea, might have been a curse or vulgar phrase aimed at Ben, or might have been just one of the many pretty fucking sounds she made, but it all would’ve achieved this same effect. She was needy, She wanted Ben, and she was trying to fuck his thigh. Rolling her hips on it desperately, trying to chase relief against him. Making smaller, more desperate noises every time Ben’s hands brushed against her tits, every time his teeth or tongue found a new place to worship her skin. 

This was all they could do right now, and fuck it was torture. It was so goddamn painful to have Her grabbing at him and moaning and saying his name in that perfect fucking way—pleading and adoring in Her breathless voice—and not just be able to fuck Her. To know he had to goddamn wait another day, to feel his pants become tight like they had before and force himself to hold off when She wanted him to fuck Her. She wanted him. He had been given the image of Her slight drool when she’d jerked him off and knew she would look at him like that again. Look at him with more fucking care and want, because Ben would fuck Her until she wouldn’t ever think another weak fucking asshole could fuck her like she deserved. He’d fucking ruin Her. He’d have Her bounce on his cock like she was bouncing on his leg, and he would make her feel so fucking good. Make him worth something to Her, one fucking thing that nobody else would be able to give her.

Ben pulled back for a second, needing to just fucking see Her. See how fucking beautiful she was, wanting him, get a goddamn glimpse of how it would look when she rode his dick instead of his thigh. He’d never seen anything better. He’d seen mountains and waterfalls and the goddamn Northern Lights and they might as well have been fucking dumpster fires and car crashes compared to this. If anything, the car crash would be the only half-worthy comparison. Because She was destroying herself against Ben, staring at him with dazed, pretty fucking eyes, and all the bliss and pleasure on her face was from Ben. He was doing this to Her.

And he couldn’t look away if he tried. 

She’d made a small whine when Ben had pulled away from her throat—pushing down on him harder and hand scraping along the nape of his neck—but he pressed his head against hers and She moaned. 

“Ben, please-“

“So fucking good,” he growled, and She moaned again. “You want to cum, beautiful?” 

She nodded. “Yes.” 

“Beg.” 

“Fucking ass-“ She leaned forward, trying to capture Ben’s lips against hers. “Ben.” 

“I need you to fucking beg,” he kissed all across Her face, everywhere he could without bringing her any closer to the edge. “You want your horny fucking cunt to cum, then beg.”

“Please,” She was smoking. Her skin wasn’t growing warmer, but a glowing smoke was clouding the room as she tried to pull Ben closer. “Fucking please, Ben-“

He kissed Her, and she screamed into his mouth, clawing at his hair and skin. Bucking off his leg so that Ben had to grab Her hips and keep her still, had keep her from continuing to bump against him because he’d cum in his fucking pants. He had to pull himself the fuck together, he wasn’t a goddamn virgin pussy, but fuck She was so perfect. Ben might have almost cum just when She’d smiled at him, standing between his legs and touching him so easily.

As Ben looked at Her come down—beautiful and perfect and torn apart all over him—and she looked at Ben like he’d seen her look at the city skyline from the window, with the face she had when she listened to a song she loved. The Thing became painful. It had been trying to tell him something. Since the night before it had stopped trying to remind Ben how perfect She was, stopped trying to push him into her. Ben was well fucking aware how perfect She was. And since he’d crashed into Her there wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to pull away.

So now the Thing was trying to tell him something. On repeat over twelve hours it had been rioting in Ben, trying to tell him something so fucking important. Something critical, that he needed to know so She could know as well.

And when She started to slide off of Ben—falling to her knees before him—the Thing felt like it might tear him apart.

“Hi,” She smiled at him, face so fucking bright and happy. Looking at Ben like he was everything.

He was. To Her, he was fucking everything. And weaker men than Ben would’ve cum just from Her saying that. Weaker men wouldn’t fucking survive Her. She’d look at them with sharp, infinite amusement on her beautiful face and fight with them over nothing and they’d simply goddamn die because fuck she was perfect. But She wouldn’t look at them like this. Like they were everything. That was—by some fucking grace of a god Ben was starting to be indebted to—a look She reserved for him. With adoration and care and something that was alive and powerful sitting deep in Her perfect eyes. Thank fuck Ben wasn’t a weaker man. He’d have never earned Her, on her knees before him with her hands on his thighs. He still hadn’t earned Her, but fuck him if he wasn’t going to dedicated the rest of his goddamn life to trying to. To showing Her that he was worthy of her looking at him like that, that he could keep up with her and protect her and-

Ben grunted Her name, because her hand was starting to trail up his leg and any and all thoughts were becoming just Her. “What are you doing.”

“Being an altruist,” She hummed, palm resting over Ben’s fully hard cock, still fucking smiling. “Giving back.”

“Sunshine-“ Ben cut himself off with a hiss, because she just fucking squeezed him. Her heart was stuttering around inside her, but Ben couldn’t tell if it was from desire. He didn’t need, didn’t want, Her to do this because she thought she had to. It had to be from desire. He wasn’t fucking Homelander. If She touched him, he needed her to need it. To want him. It wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if she didn’t. If She touched Ben without looking at him like he was everything. “If you don’t want to-“

“I want to,” Her answer was fast, a little too fast, and Ben smirked. There it was.

“You want to?” He drawled, leaning over her, tilting her chin between his fingers. “How bad do you want to suck my dick, beautiful?”

“Bad,” She whispered. “But less and less by the second.”

Ben snorted. “Smartass.”

“Do you want me to suck your dick?” She blinked up at him, voice a little softer. “It’s just an offer, you don’t have to take it-“

Ben pulled Her face up between his hands, kissing her until her words name needy sounds and she was grabbing at his arms. When he was satisfied with the way she was moaning, Ben lowered her back down between his legs and grunted her name. “If I ever tell you not to suck my dick, fucking shoot me.”

“Yeah,” She nodded, glancing down at the outline of Ben’s cock, pushing against his pants that were still fucking on for some reason. “Okay.”

He muttered Her name, and she looked back up at him. “How much work do you want to do?”

She didn’t answer. She just started moving, pulling Ben’s pants down and taking him in her hand so quickly Ben would’ve thought she’d practiced. Stroking him once, twice, a third time, looking at his cock with pretty, lust-clouded eyes. Ben twitched in Her hand, and had to force himself not to rut into her, to just groan as Her thumb ran over the angry, red head of his cock. His job was just to watch Her—how she was so fully entranced in fucking torturing him—and let her do what she wanted. But it wasn’t fucking easy, not when she was so fucking beautiful, not when Her mouth was hanging slightly open and Ben didn’t think he could wait another second not being at least somewhat inside of Her.

Thank fucking hell and heaven and everything between that She didn’t go slow. Thank goddamn Christ that She took all on him at once, in a long movement that bumped him against the back of her throat, and set a brutal, torturous fucking pace. Found a beat, fast and rhythmic, where She’d pull up, up, almost all the way off with her hand trailing behind her, and lick the very tip of his cock before dropping back down. Down until Ben could feel the tightness of Her throat, squeezing his balls once before repeating it all again. Over and over, sucking with her teeth grazing him and her moans—loud and needy fucking moans—making Ben wonder if this was heaven. That was the only way that this—that She—was real, if he’d died and somehow managed his way into fucking heaven.

But Ben’s hand in Her hair that he’d tangled between his fingers to just touch her, was real. The small jerks of his hips into Her mouth—when her moans would vibrate around him and echo in his ears so he couldn’t help himself—were real. Her warmth and beauty and the feeling of Her was real. And fuck She was so fucking beautiful and perfect and-

Ben said Her name through strained teeth. “Where-“

She went faster. Moaned louder with a whine, her hand in time with the beat of her heart. Leaned into him, the wettest and most fucking sinful sounds Ben had ever heard escaping her. She was grinding down on air, so fucking pretty and focused, but looking up at him under eyelashes with want. Managing to take him deeper.

What did Ben in was Her. Fucking Her, groaning his name around his cock, looking up at him like he was everything.

He tried to pull away. He’d fucking swear he tried to pull away. He’d tried to paint her face or tits or any other perfect part of Her she’d allow, but she held him. She kept a firm grip on Ben’s leg for just a second—only long enough to tell him what she wanted—and he’d given in. He’d fucked Her face through his orgasm, and She hadn’t flinched as he came down her throat. Swallowing and letting Her tongue brush him all the way until he was done, then pulling off of him with a popping sound, and giving him a soft smile.

The amount of self-control Ben was capable of needed to be fucking studied. Every part of him needed to fuck Her. Anyone with half a fucking mind would need to fuck her if they were allowed to see her like this. Flushed and breathing heavy, eyes slightly unfocused with a want, cum dribbling out of her mouth. Allowed to see Her wipe it off with her fingers and suck them dry. Without hesitation, like it was something she didn’t even have to think about doing. But only Ben was allowed to see this, and that made it a million times more impressive that he was able to not throw Her onto the bed and fuck her until some stupid mission was the last thing she cared about.

The mission. The stupid fucking mission they had been supposed to be getting ready for. When it was over, he’d have all the time in the world to fuck Her like she deserved. But they’d have to actually do the mission first.

“What time is it?” She was looking around the room, still kneeling in front of Ben. “MM said we had to be in the dining hall at noon.” 

Ben couldn’t be fucked to stop staring at Her, let alone know the fucking time. “Check your damn phone, Sunshine, I’m not a fucking clock.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him. Her tongue that had just been wrapped around his cock. That had just been tasting his cum and she was still on Her knees-

“Mine’s dead, and like,” She waved vaguely past him. “Way over there. Give me yours.”

That snapped Ben out of it. Her palm was extended, she was looking at him expectantly, and he could not give her his phone. “You’ve got legs,” he grunted Her name, trying to look at her and remain completely fucking unaffected her flat glare. “Fucking use them.” 

She scoffed. “When have you ever been in favor of me using my legs.”

“I’m always in favor of you using your legs. They make excellent fucking handles.” Ben winked at Her, and her heart fluttered slightly. “And you’re always on my ass about letting you walk yourself. Here’s your fucking chance.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” Her voice was bored, unwavering. “Phone.”

“No. Get your own damn phone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so weird.”

“I’m not being fucking weird-“ 

“Yes, you are. What’s wrong with you.” 

“Nothing, it’s my phone-“ 

“Benjamin.” She snapped, and he was in trouble. He knew that voice, that was Her I’m fucking onto your shit, Pretty Boy, voice. “Is it porn? Because I won’t give a flying fuck-“

“It’s not fucking porn,” he scowled. “I wouldn’t hide porn from you, that’s fucking stupid.” 

“So you are hiding something.” 

Shit. “Shut the fuck up.” 

She dove forward, hand jamming into Ben’s pocket. Where She knew he kept his phone, because she knew fucking everything. Insufferable, brilliant, perfect fucking woman. Thankfully, Ben was just faster than she was, and slammed his hand down to trap Her hand against him.

“Ben-“

“I’m not fucking hiding anything,” Ben said Her name firmly. It was incredibly fucking important she didn’t think he was keeping secrets from Her, because he wasn’t. This was worse than that. “I just value my goddamn privacy-“ 

“Oh, shove it up your ass, Pretty Boy.” She tried to tug her hand—now wrapped around Ben’s phone—from his grip. “I leave the door open when I shit and you spent an hour last week telling me about what Baseball games made you hard. I just sucked your dick. There’s literally nothing on your phone that could shock me.” 

He doubted that. Ben almost wanted to just let Her have his phone, to prove her fucking wrong. His pride managed to win for now, but if She kept talking about how she’d sucked his dick his will might dissolve real damn fast. “I told you about the baseball in fucking confidence-“

“I didn’t tell anyone.” She wrinkled her nose. “How would that have even come up? Hey, Annie. You know how you’re not Ben’s biggest fan? Wait until you hear about how he got a boner when the Phillies won the 1980 World Series, I’m sure it’ll completely reverse your opinion of him.” 

“Brat-“ “Can I please just check the time?” She had stopped trying to pull away from Ben, only frowning up at him with her pretty fucking eyes watching him carefully. “I won’t look in your phone, I just need to see the clock. Please.” 

Ben didn’t love how well that worked. How Her saying please and somehow trusting that he really wasn’t hiding anything from her made Ben crumble completely in only a second. Worse, he didn’t hate himself for it. He couldn’t call himself a fucking pussy because goddammit, anyone would’ve given into Her. Anyone with eyes and a brain would be willing to give Her anything.  

“Fine,” he grunted, loosening his hand from pinning Her’s in his pocket. “But I don’t want to hear a fucking word out your mouth, got it?” 

She blinked at him, but nodded. “Uh, sure.” 

His whole body was tense as She pulled out his phone, tapping the screen on, still on her fucking knees. She needed to stand up, needed to stop being so fucking perfect that Ben couldn’t look away, because now he had to watch Her look at his lockscreen as his teeth ground enough to break. Ben had to watch Her eyes widen, hear her heart skip a beat, and soft lips fall open in surprise.

She looked up at Ben, and he couldn’t avoid her gaze if he wanted to. “Ben-“ 

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “You promised. Not a fucking word.” 

“I did not promise,” She pushed. “I agreed. You should’ve made me promise, because I-“

“Fucking promise then. Not a word.” 

“Well, that ship kind of sailed, Benjamin.” Her voice was dry, and Ben couldn’t figure out what that face meant. How She was looking at him—still like he was everything—but with something pushing up behind her eyes. That powerful thing, the one Ben couldn’t name. “So now we’re going to have several words about it.” 

Ben scowled, remaining silent as he realized there wasn’t a way out of this. She was sitting straight, one hand planted on Ben’s knee to balance herself, and had placed her body right where Ben would knock her backwards and onto the floor if he tried to move away. He could try and kiss and fuck his way through it, but She had the sharp look in her eyes that told him she’d either bite him, burn him, or let him fuck her before immediately getting on his ass again after. 

She sighed, and turned Ben’s screen so he could see it. “That’s me.” 

It was Her. She didn’t need to be fucking showing it him, he well knew that it was her. It was his favorite picture of her, the first one he’d taken that wasn’t a blurry piece of shit. It showed her downstairs, watching the TV with a focus Ben could only describe as violent. He remembered what they were watching, that she’d been tapping Ben’s arm along with the soundtrack, and that it had been close to midnight, because he could recite every detail of the photo—in picture and out—backwards with his damn eyes closed. She was wearing Ben’s shirt and shorts that had been small enough for the shirt to completely cover. It gave the impression that she was only wearing Ben’s shirt. She was frowning at the TV—perfect face cast in a green light from its glow—and leaning against Ben’s shoulder with his hand on her thigh. She had been half asleep, and the drawn frustration on her face and intensity in her eyes had been because she was fighting to make it through the movie. The fucking Muppet Movie, that she’d used a favor for Ben to watch with Her. He hadn’t watched it, he’d watched Her watch it, but there was no reason she had to know that. She’d seemed thrilled he was just there, and he’d been satisfied watching Her struggle to stay awake, feeling her fall further and further into his side, and listening to her mumble about the Muppet’s fucking cultural importance right up until the credits rolled and she immediately passed out.

Ben fucking loved that photo. How She could’ve just watched it alone but used a whole favor just for Ben to sit with her. How She’d been so determined to stay awake she’d been trying to inch away from him, but Ben would pull her back gently and she’d just sigh as her eyes drooped further. How at one point She’d started singing along with all the damn puppets, and the room had filled with a colorful, misting light. How She looked so much like his, how anyone glancing at the photo would see that she was choosing him and know that he had chosen her. How fucking beautiful she looked, even in the dark from the higher angle. So fucking perfect. 

He didn’t have any justification for it. The photo or why it was his lockscreen. It had taken Ben a whole hour while She was with Annie and Hughie to figure out how to set it. She’d told him, and he’d listened, but phones were a goddamn terrible, dogshit technology. But he’d done it. By himself. And fought the urge to brag to Her after. Because She didn’t need to know that it was his lockscreen, and Ben didn’t really know to explain why it was. It made him fucking happy. He liked seeing Her pretty face every time he used his phone. 

And he wasn’t sure how to tell Her that without sounding like a fucking idiot pussy.

So he just glared at Her and grunted, “Obviously.” 

“Ben,” Her words were slow, and she wasn’t looking away from him. “Why is that a picture of me.” 

“Because the camera was pointed at your damn face.” 

“Benjamin.” 

“It’s a good fucking photo, okay?” Ben snapped. “You look hot.” 

She glanced at the photo. “I do not look hot.” 

He scoffed. “Get your fucking eyes checked, Sunshine. You look hot. Every photo of you looks hot.” 

Her eyes somehow grew wider, her heart picking up speed, and Ben was going to chop off his tongue. “Every photo of me?” 

“That’s enough,” Ben lunged forward, but She swatted his hand with just enough heat for him to pull back with a hiss of Her name. “Give me my fucking phone.“

“Tell me what you mean by every. Every photo of me.” 

“No.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, you stubborn, grumpy ass. Have it your way.” 

Before Ben could stop Her, she was swiping his phone open and entering his password. Hunching down so Ben could see her face, covering the phone protectively with her body. 

“This is violation of my fucking privacy.” He grumbled. “I’m going to report you to HR.” 

She shot him a flat look from under her lashes. “You didn’t even know what HR was until Mallory made us all sit in on that seminar because I called Butcher a hussy fucking cuntwad bitch and one of the regular agents overheard. And I could report you to HR for taking photos of me without my knowledge.” 

“They’re not damn pervert creep photos-“ 

“Ben,” She looked up at him, thumb hovering over the Photo Library app icon. “As your closest thing to unqualified legal counsel, I’d advise you shut the fuck up.” 

Ben scowled at Her, but snapped his jaw shut, watching her wearily as she opened his photos. 

They were all of Her. The only ones that weren’t of her were something called—according to his very thorough internet research—screenshots, that Ben didn’t know how he was taking, let alone how to stop taking. But the rest was Her. There wasn’t another fucking thing worth taking photos of in this stupid damn compound. In the whole fucking world. She was scrolling through them way too fucking slow, heart stuttering against her ribs, and Ben thought he might be fucking blushing. He didn’t fucking blush, he wasn’t a ditzy fucking schoolgirl or embarrassed pussy asshole who blushed- 

She surged upwards, yanking Ben down by his shirt to kiss him. Gently, sweetly, and so fucking soft, humming into Ben’s mouth with a smile. Leaning against his chest until She was hanging off him with her arms around his neck. When she pulled back Her eyes were burning with that strange fucking look, and she was chewing her lip and she studied him. Looking for something Ben didn’t know how to show Her. Mouth opening and closing, heart beating fast, and the Thing needed to tell Her something- 

“You’ve been playing Candy Crush,” She said with a small, smug grin. “I saw the screenshots. They go back like, three weeks.” 

“Shut up,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, and She just shook her head. 

“No, I’m going to rub this in your fucking face so hard-“ 

It was his turn. To kiss Her and hold her and hope that was enough for the Thing to just stop screaming at him. It wasn’t—it made everything worse when She relaxed against him with a happy sound—and the Thing grew impossible to ignore. Drowning everything out with Her, Her, Her, Ben had something she needed to have too, She needed to understand. The only thing to keep it at bay, from bursting out of Ben and into Her, was touching her. Setting his mouth deeper against Hers, hauling her over him as he lay flat on the mattress, letting her whines and breathless sounds run right through him. Let them satiate his undying need and hunger for Her. 

She pulled back first, and Ben let himself be slightly cocky about how her thighs were squeezing around his chest. About the fact that She just rested her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath. Warm breath fanning over his neck, heartbeat slowing right until Ben started to sit up and She mindlessly ground against him at the movement. 

The Thing had to tell Her about this indescribable, unending fucking something. But the Thing didn’t have words. It was a part of Ben, and Ben couldn’t get a goddamn fucking clue what was so apparently fucking crucial for Her to know. But She had to know, whatever it was she had to know, she needed to get it, get him, get why, Ben needed to tell Her- 

“It’s almost noon,” She whispered against Ben’s skin. “We need to go.” 

Ben nodded, and picked Her up against him, turning them so she was resting on the bed as he stood. “I’m wearing my fucking suit.” 

“Okay,” Ben could see her watching him in the mirror, still only wearing a shirt and underwear. He tossed her some pants and bra over his shoulder, and didn’t move until She started pulling them on. “You should bring your shield as well.” 

He frowned at Her. “What about you.” 

“What about me?” 

“You need a fucking weapon. I still have that pussy agent’s gun-“ 

She rose from the bed, padding over to Ben side with a small smile. “I’m the weapon, Pretty Boy. And I have you.”

Any protests Ben might have had about how She might be a walking, breathing weapon of mass destruction but Homelander always made her freeze were killed by those words. She did have him. She’d always have him. She didn’t need a weapon because she had him. She was brilliant and quick and made of fire, but if all that managed to fail, she had Ben. She was standing here, with him as he changed—stealing looks that he wasn’t fucking missing at his bare chest—and She had Him. 

“What wrong,” he grumbled, and She shook her head, hands roaming through one of the top drawers. 

“Socks.” 

Ben rolled his eyes, and grabbed out a simple black pair from the top. “I want my fucking phone back.” 

“Why, to play Candy Crush?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben muttered. “I’m fucking winning. I’ll delete it when I fucking win.” 

She snorted. “You can’t win Candy Crush, Benjamin.” 

“What the hell are you talking about.”

“There’s like a million levels. And they’re always adding new ones. It’s not a winnable game.” 

“Well I’ll make it fucking winnable.” 

She snorted. “How.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben frowned, watching Her as she continued to search the drawer. “And I just gave you perfectly good fucking socks-“

“I need underwear,” She mumbled, face flushing. “Mine are, uh, I can’t wear them.” 

Ben grinned—wide and smug—at Her reflection, “Why not?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Ah,” Ben winked at Her when she finally met his eyes. “You’re welcome for that.” 

“Shut up,” She chucked a stray bra at Ben, glaring back down. “Go get your stupid fucking phone, you cunt.” 

Ben ran his hand up Her back, into her hair, and gently turned her head to look at him. He kissed Her one last time because she was so fucking perfect and no one could damn stop him. Long and wet, until She said his name in that perfect fucking way. “Brat,” he whispered against Her mouth, and she shoved his chest lightly. 

Ben took a steady step back, chuckling at Her glare, at the way her sharp eyes were still full of want for him. At the way Her dramatic pout was just a little bigger because he’d made her lips swollen. At Her. Just Her. So fucking simply Her. 

As She changed, Ben ducked under the bed and frowned at where he’d stashed the gun. Carefully between the mattress and frame, unloaded with the rounds beside it. He wouldn’t need it. The plan would work, and he wouldn’t need it. There was no need to bring it—to show the team he had it—and not need it. 

But it couldn’t hurt. He could stash it in his suit, hide it from Butcher and Mallory and Annie, and nobody would have to know unless he needed it. And then they wouldn’t try to take it away, because Ben would’ve just fucking saved their asses- 

“Just bring the gun, Ben.” 

His head bumped against the metal frame of the bed as he pulled out from under it and found Her standing above him with her arms crossed. “What-“ 

“You should bring it,” She shrugged. “I mean, it won’t hurt Homelander, but guns don’t weigh nothing. You could throw it at his face, if you needed to. Catch him off guard.”

Fucking Christ, She was perfect. Ben didn’t need to be told twice, and as he returned under the bed to retrieve the gun he heard her steps move away from beside him. When he stood back up, Ben saw that She had moved to her side of the bed, and was placing her sunglasses up on her forehead before turning to Ben with a grin. 

“Ready?” 

Ben shoved his gun into his pants, hauled up his shield, and gave Her a rough nod as he tossed his arm over her shoulder. “Fucking born ready.” 

For once, She and Ben weren’t the last people to arrive at one of these stupid fucking meetings. Butcher and Mallory were there—Ben didn’t think they had lives outside of fucking up everyone else’s—huddled along with MM at the head of the table. The French Prick and Kimiko were in a silent conversation on one of the benches, but Hughie and Annie were late. Ben tried not to feel too smug about it, but next time Annie tried to berate him about keeping his dick in his pants and his mouth to himself because he was making Her late, he’d shove this in her fucking face.

Seeing them, Mallory gave a curt nod and ushered Butcher and MM through the steel kitchen door as She guided Ben to drop down at the bench. Kimiko smiled at them both, the usual, toothy and broad smile for Her, and a small one with a nod for Ben. As She and Kimiko launched into an exchange of gestures, the French Prick gave Ben a nervous nod. 

“Good morning, Soldier Boy,” the French Prick was watching Ben carefully. 

“It fucking isn’t,” Ben grunted, and She kicked his shin under the table. 

Play nice, She shot him a quick glare before returning her attention to Kimiko, and Ben rolled his eyes. He was saved from the French Prick trying to continue engaging with him by Annie and Hughie’s arrival, Annie walking over to join the group of conniving dickheads in the back and Hughie halting at the bench, glancing nervously at Ben. 

“Just sit your pussy ass down, Kid.” Ben snapped, and braced for another hit to his leg. It didn’t come, and when he looked over at Her—expecting a glare or scowl—the only sign she’d heard him was her knee, pressing into his. 

Hughie sat, fidgeting at Ben’s side and trying to look at the doors without anyone noticing. With quick, weak glances and jerked head movements. Ben was about to tell him to just stand the fuck up and join them when he felt Her nudge his shoulder, and looked over to see her blinking at him. 

Kimiko said they were arguing about splitting us up. 

Ben scowled at Her. The fuck do you mean splitting us up. 

Mallory wanted you to go to the tower. MM didn’t. 

That was, genuinely, a fucking shock. MM hated him, there wasn’t a world where he’d stick up for Ben fucking staying with Her. It must have shown across Ben’s face, because She shrugged.

He apparently thought this wouldn’t work if they separated us. Said you’d just be a giant fucking whiny manchild without me. 

Did they decide? Ben decided to ignore MM’s manchild jab, because She’d just find a way to turn it on him with a joke and that fucker seemed to be the only one with a damn working brain. Because there’s not a fucking chance in hell you’re meeting Homelander without me. 

They’re still arguing. Butcher hadn’t voted yet, and they were waiting for Annie. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Who damn died and put those four pussies in charge of us. This is fucking democracy, Sunshine, we deserve a vote. 

Well, we’re both technically dead, Kimiko and Frenchie aren’t citizens, and I think Hughie just doesn’t want to deal with them. 

They’re talking about our fucking lives. We should get a goddamn say. 

Take it up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. 

I’m not taking shit up with Mallory. She can suck my dick if she tries to separate us. 

She pouted at him. I thought your dick was mine to suck alone. 

Ben snorted, pulling Her closer towards him and kissing the top of her head. Before he could growl something in her ear that would make her fucking horny enough to ditch this whole stupid goddamn plan and take off to Rome with him, the doors were swung open and MM stalked back into the room with Annie close behind him. Butcher and Mallory followed after a few seconds—Mallory having pulled a huge fucking poster out of her damn ass at some point—and they stopped at the head of the table as Annie dropped next to Hughie and MM sat beside the French Prick. She hadn’t tried to pull out from under Ben’s arm, and until she did she’d stay right fucking there. 

“Look alive, cunts.” Butcher glared around the table. “We’re moving out as soon as all our bloody ducks are in a row. Grace?” 

Mallory nodded, spreading the poster across the table. It was a blueprint. Ben recognized it immediately. He’d seen it far too many fucking times. It was a Vought Tower blueprint. 

“Butcher, Marvin, Frenchie, and Kimiko will take this door,” she tapped the blueprint, and something around Ben’s throat loosened when he realized he wasn’t going to the tower. He was staying with Her. “Into the building. It’s used for the Seven’s housekeepers and more illicit guests.” 

Hughie frowned. “Illicit?” 

“Hookers, lad.” Butcher winked. “It’s the hooker door.” 

“Oh. Uh, good for them.” 

“And we have access to it?” Annie leaned forward. “MM, you said A-Train-“ 

“He’s leaving it unlocked for us.” MM tapped the map, near where Mallory had just done the same. “And making sure someone conveniently loses their badge.” 

“Someone?” 

“Don’t worry your pure little bleedin heart, Starlight.” Butcher drawled. “We’ll be keepin the lady on lockdown. Best fuckin witness protection package the CIA’s got.” 

Hughie frowned at MM. “What about A-Train? Are we, are we just going to trust him?“

“He’s got his own ass on the line as well now.” MM’s voice was firm. Not leaving room for argument. “And after the Diner, he and Ashley both got skin in the game. I trust him.” 

“And he’s just leaving the door unlocked? Giving us an opening?” 

“He said he’d try and keep The Deep and New Noir distracted. Can’t account for Sage though.” MM looked away from Hughie, back to Mallory. “As long as there hasn’t been any leaks, it shouldn’t fucking matter that Sage is in the tower though. If she doesn’t get the drop on us, she’s a non-issue.” 

Mallory nodded tightly. “Agreed. And none of my men are stupid enough to say shit to anyone, so we’re in the clear. Team Butcher will take the elevator up, find Ryan Butcher on 99, and extract him. Butcher has the Becca and Anomaly files on his phone, and hopefully that will be more than enough to make Ryan go willingly.” 

Ben tensed, and when She spoke her fingers were tapping against his arm. “And if it’s not?” 

“Then Frenchie creates the diversion, and we leave empty handed.” 

She nodded slowly, examining the blueprints. “Frenchie?” 

“Oui?” 

“What exactly is your diversion?” 

“I have detested the billboard of Firecracker in the Times Square for several months. She is dead, she will not miss it.” The French Prick beamed with pride, and She glanced up with a frown. 

“Times Square?” 

“It will be controlled, Madame.” The French Prick assured Her, shooting Ben quick pussy glances. “Only just enough.” 

She nodded, narrowing her eyes back on the blueprint. “We’re taking two separate cars, right?” When nobody answered, She looked up. “Mallory?”

“You’ll all be transported in the van.” Mallory frowned. “It’s more effective-“ 

“No,” She shook her head, attention returning down once more. “It’s more dangerous. We’re already risking a lot by Annie coming with Ben and I. We can’t also have one group unable to make a quick getaway.” 

“I suppose,” Mallory’s lips drew in a thin line. “Butcher could take his car-“ 

“We’ll take Butcher’s car.” She tapped the blueprint, near the door. “There’s cameras. If they see Butcher’s car, they’ll know something’s up. You have,” She looked up, scanning the table with sharp eyes. “You’ve taken care of the cameras in the building. Right?” 

“We’ll shoot them as we go,” Butcher grunted, and She gaped at him. 

“As you fucking go?” 

“They won’t be entering the tower until after Homelander leaves it.” Annie leaned across Ben and Hughie to look at Her. “And they won’t be wandering. It’ll be fine.” 

“Speaking of Homelander,” Mallory crossed her arms. “Starlight, Campbell, Soldier Boy, and the Anomaly will,” she sighed. “Take Butcher’s car to the Starlight Fund. From there, Soldier Boy will call Homelander with Campbell’s phone. Once Homelander arrives, Starlight will alert Team Butcher, and they’ll begin. Do not-“ Butcher received a withering look. “Proceed with the extraction until Team Starlight has given the green light. Understood?” 

Butcher shrugged. “We’ll see.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“We’re playin real bloody fast and loose with a lot of this, Grace.” Butcher snapped. “I’d be more fuckin worried about what we’ll do if Homelander doesn’t take his bait.” 

Everyone looked at Her, still frowning at the blueprints. Ben squeezed her thigh lightly, and she glanced up at him a frown. “What-“ 

“What’s your plan, Love,” Butcher drawled. “For if Homelander don’t fall into your trap that easy.” 

She swallowed, and Ben could hear the rapid beat of her heart. “He will.”

Her voice was steady, every part of her controlled, but under the table her leg pressed into Ben’s, and her hand drummed against his leg. Ben grabbed it, stilling her movement, and She glanced at him.

You’re going to be fine, he glared at Her. This is going to fucking work, and you’ll be fine.

She smiled at him with sad fucking eyes that carved something open in Ben’s chest. I know. She tilted her head at him. And I thought you hated this plan.

I do. Ben scowled. I fucking loathe this stupid goddamn plan. But it will work, and tonight I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll stop making such fucking idiotic plans. 

She pouted at him. But making idiotic plans is one of my best qualities. 

Ben rolled his eyes. I’m well fucking aware of your best qualities. That’s not one of them. 

Really, She gave him a flat look. Because I think it’s in the top three. It’s stupid plans, my tits, and my ability to put up with your shit. 

Smartass, Ben bumped his knee with hers, grinning down at Her. You’re not even fucking close. 

Not even the tits?

Your pussy is better, Ben winked at Her. Trust me, Sunshine. You’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever fucking seen. 

She flushed, wrinkling her nose at him. Have you been ranking all the pussies you’ve seen? 

Had to pass the damn time somehow. 

I feel like there had to be other options. 

Maybe, Ben shrugged. But I don’t really give a shit. And now I can be fucking certain when I say your pussy is my favorite. 

What are my best qualities, if you’re such an expert? She was watching Ben carefully, and he almost scoffed at how nervous she looked. Like he might not be able to give an answer. Ben could list Her best qualities for fucking years, if someone let him. 

You’re a goddamn genius. You’re fucking kind, kinder than you should be. And you’ve got the best fucking pussy of all time. 

I don’t think I’m kind, She frowned, and that definitely made Ben scoff. 

You’re the kindest person I know. It’s fucking annoying. Ben studied Her soft, tight features. She didn’t believe him. You’re not nice, Sunshine. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth and a damn attitude. But you’re kind. 

She nodded slowly. And you don’t hate that? 

Ben blinked at Her. Why the fuck would I hate that. 

Kind people are pussies, Ben. 

Nice people are pussies, He glared Her name at her perfect face, watching him intently. They’re weak, lying, insufferable fucking holier-than-thou assholes. You’re not any of that. 

She smiled at him, without teeth but real. That was her real, comfortable smile that made the Thing so fucking loud. You’re not a pussy either. 

I fucking know that. He was trying to glare at her, but it wasn’t damn working. Not when She was smiling at him like that, and that deep, infinite thing in her eyes was so clear. Aimed at him. And the Thing had to fucking tell Her something- 

Butcher coughed, and Ben realized the whole fucking Pussy Brigade was staring at them. “You twats paying attention?” 

“Does it fucking matter if we are?” Ben drawled. “It’s her damn plan, and I know everything I’ve got to do. Not our fucking fault you dumbasses need a whole meeting.” 

“Then could you please repeat your instructions, Soldier Boy?” Mallory glared at him. “For our own peace of mind?” 

Ben held Mallory’s glare with his own. This was a fucking waste of time. “Go to the Starlight Fund, call Homelander, distract the pussy, then leave.” Protect Her. Don’t let her out of your sight, or Homelander within a fucking arms reach of her. Keep Her safe, at any fucking cost. 

“With whose phone, Gov?” Butcher sneered, and Ben rolled his eyes. 

“Mine, you fucking-“ 

Butcher made a loud buzzer sound. “Afraid that ain’t the right answer. Would you like to try again for double Jeopardy?” 

“That’s not how fucking Jeopardy works.” MM frowned, and Butcher shot him a glare. 

“That ain’t the fuckin point, MM. The cunt got it wrong-“ 

“Whose fucking phone should I damn use then?” Ben snapped. There would be time for Butcher’s fucking bitching later, right now Ben’s patience was about to fucking snap. This needed to be done. “Mine works fucking fine-“ 

“Your phone is a registered CIA number,” Hughie looked at Ben nervously as he explained. “Mine isn’t. Vought won’t take a CIA call, it’ll get screened on the first ring. And they probably won’t take a call from Annie, either. If we call the tower with my number we’ll get past the first checkpoint, and then you speaking will get us to Homelander.” 

This shit wasn’t worth arguing about. It was barely worth fucking talking about. “Fine. Are we actually going to do this, or just goddamn sit here like a bunch of assholes.” 

“We were just waiting on you and the missus to rejoin us, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Everyone’s been clear for a hot fucking minute while you twats were eye-fucking.” 

Ben glowered at him, clenching his fist under the table. When this was over, Ben was going to kill him. It was going to be so fucking satisfying, and then he’d run away with Her to goddamn Rome. But this had to be finished first. 

As everyone started to filter out—tight nods and wishes of good luck being exchanged—Ben stayed at Her side. She was still looking at the blueprints, frowning as her eyes scanned slowly over the paper right until Mallory pulled it away. She started to stand, and Ben wrapped an arm around Her waist. Keeping her steady and at his side. 

“Team Starlight will leave first,” Mallory's voice was curt as she nodded at Annie. “Butcher-“ 

Hughie let out a high yelp as Butcher chucked the keys at him. Somehow, the pussy managed to catch them. 

“Lad, if you wreck my car, you’re buyin me a new one.” 

“Um, yeah. Okay.” Hughie nodded nervously. “Do I have to drive-“ 

“Yes, and any of those cunts bloody touch the wheel-“ 

“Your car will be fine Butcher.” Annie cut him off with a glare. “It’s just a car.” 

Butcher looked like he might kill her, but MM cut off any violence—fucking unfortunate, because Annie probably would’ve killed Butcher and then Ben wouldn’t have to—with a snap of, “We don’t got time to waste on this shit. The kid will drive, Butcher, and your car will live. Let’s fucking move.” 

Ben held Her against him out of the building, helping her into the backseat of Butcher’s car and pulling her back into his chest when he sat at her side. She let him, leaning against his body and burying Her face in his shoulder as her heart became uneven. Not fast, but arhythmic. Her breathing was controlled, steady against Ben’s skin, but her heart betrayed the fear in her. Ben fucking hated this. He hated that she was doing this to herself. He hated that the only thing he could really do about it was hold her, at least until it was over and he could kiss and fuck all the worries out of Her perfect brain. 

He could try to distract Her. He wasn’t sure it would work, not when she was hugging him so tight and so fucking afraid, but goddamnit he had to do something. He couldn’t just fucking sit here, in the back of Butcher stupid car, and do fucking nothing like a fucking weak goddamn pussy. 

Ben squeezed her against him once, and She hummed into his body. Not looking up at him, or speaking. So Ben turned forward, attempting a different strategy. 

“What the fuck were you pussies talking about in the kitchen?” Ben grunted, and Annie sighed in the shotgun seat. 

“It’s not that important.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “So you weren’t trying to goddamn separate us?” 

Annie shot Hughie a glare, the kid’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Hughie, did you-“ 

“Kimiko told us,” She turned slightly in Ben’s hold, voice soft. “And they didn’t separate us, Ben. Don’t be an ass.” 

He glared at Her. “I’m not being a fucking ass-“ 

“Benjamin.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and Ben felt a little lighter. She was pushing back at him, she was less afraid, and that’s all he could fucking ask for. “Shut up.” 

“Uh,” Hughie glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Are you, is he-“ 

“He’s fine.” She slapped Ben arm, and he scoffed. “Just grumpy.” 

“I’m not goddamn grumpy.“ Ben muttered. “I’m just trying to get some fucking answers. Figure out what shit they were saying about us behind our fucking backs.” 

“It’s really not that interesting,” Annie shrugged. “Mallory said it would be better to take you with Butcher. MM said it would be worse. Butcher and I voted with MM, and that was it.” 

She frowned, twisting around fully to look at Annie. “Butcher voted with MM?” 

Annie nodded, and She looked up at Ben. That’s weird right? I’m not insane? 

No, it’s fucking weird. Ben glared at Annie, and said aloud, “The fuck did he do that for.” 

“I don’t know,” Annie turned to look back at them. “I mean, would you rather he hadn’t?” 

“It’s just, it’s surprising.” She shrugged. “He hates us.” 

“I don’t think he hates you,” Hughie said slowly. “Butcher doesn’t like being wrong. Or challenged. You,” he said Her name, nodding to Her in the mirror. “Specifically, do both. I think when we found you he thought you’d be like either Annie or Maeve, and you weren’t.” 

“Annie or Maeve?” She gave Ben a confused look, and he shrugged. He didn’t have a fucking clue what Hughie was talking about, or how anyone could possibly be annoyed by Her not being Annie or Maeve. She was fucking perfect, and Butcher was lucky to be damn graced with her presence. 

“Like, completely against everything he does or completely for it.” Hughie looked to Annie for help. “Right?”

“I mean,” Annie frowned, nodding. “I guess. None of us were sure what we were looking for with you. Maeve said you were powerful, and hated Homelander. We all kind of took that as you’d been burned by Vought or something, not what, what actually happened.”

“And Butcher kind of got an idea that you’d be just, easy to work with. And after we did find you, I think he was sure you’d just be willing to do whatever he wanted to kill Homelander. And you weren’t.” Hughie shook his head, hands tapping on the wheel. “So I don’t think he hates you. I think he just doesn’t like that you’re um, not what he expected.” 

That was completely fucking insane to Ben. She wasn’t what anyone expected, that was one of the best damn things about Her. She was too damn forgiving and kind, but still a clever, vindictive woman who never fucking backed down. She didn’t ride any sort of fucking high horse, but also cared about people. It would be fucking annoying and insufferable if She wasn’t so fucking genuine about it. If her money didn’t live in her pretty fucking mouth when she said she’d do whatever it takes and understood what that meant for Her. She wasn’t easy to work with, not by a fucking long shot, but that was because she was goddamn resolved, so certain of what She thought had to be done and what She deemed unnecessary. She was always fucking right, she never fully broke, she never fucking faltered, and the whole goddamn world was better for it. 

“So he, he voted in our favor?” She was still looking at Annie, head tilted. “No conditions?” 

Annie shook her head. “I voted with MM, and he followed. Told Mallory he was with us.” 

She nodded, and gave a small sound of agreement. Even as he wanted a fucking reason—for Butcher’s goddamn attitude and cruelty to her, for why’d this was where he backed them up—Ben decided he would drop it for now, no how much this all made him want to pummel Butcher into the curb. There would be time for that later, now was about keeping Her here. With him. 

Ben kissed Her shoulder, because he fucking wanted to, he could, and she was starting to look damn sad again. She leaned her head back into Ben, and smiled up at him. Hi. 

How fucking far is this place. Ben met Her gaze, fighting his mouth tugging upwards to return her smile. This was serious. Fucking serious. He had to glare so She knew that. We’ve been driving for a million damn years. 

It’s been twenty minutes, Benjamin. We’ll be there soon. She gave him a teasing grin. You fucking toddler. 

Ben rolled his eyes. I am not a fucking toddler. I’m a fucking grown man, who’s doesn’t have the goddamn time for this shit. 

Really. She raised her brows, still grinning. It was getting a lot fucking harder to not grin back at Her. We have the same schedule, and I’ve got time for it. 

No you don’t. He winked at Her, and knew she figured out where he was headed when her finger dug into his arm and her face flushed. I’ve set aside our whole night to fuck you. And I’d like to get started as soon as goddamn possible. 

She stuck her tongue out at him, and Ben stopped trying to fight his smile. Cunt. 

Brat. He kissed her, pulling her fully into his lap and leaning over her body. She smiled against Ben’s lips, making a small sound from her throat, and the Thing was going to fucking explode and kill him. The only way out was to tell Her. Ben still wasn’t sure what the fuck the Thing thought he needed to say, but he was positive it was something for Her. Absolutely fucking certain that She needed to know that Ben- 

The car halted, the rumble of the engine going dead, and She pulled away from Ben to look around. 

“We’re here?” 

Hughie nodded, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Is everyone, uh, I guess ready?” 

“As we can be,” Annie unbuckled herself, taking a deep breath. “We should go inside. Fast.” 

She nodded, Her hands on Ben’s arm growing heated. Searing into his skin, smoke curling up into the air. 

Ben said Her name lowly, because this needed to be aloud. She needed to hear him. 

She looked up at him, her small smile not reaching her eyes. “Ben.” 

“You’re going to be fucking fine.” Ben hissed, turning Her body in his arms so she faced him fully. “I’m not going to leave your side. I’m not going to let him fucking near you. And then we’ll go home.” 

“I know,” She leaned forward, kissing him so fucking sweetly, pressing Her forehead to his. “I trust you.” 

As She started to slide out of the car, every part of Ben was telling him to grab her. To pull her back against him, commender a plane from any shitty fucking cargo airport, and leave. Get the fuck out now. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the knowledge that she’d hate him. She’d never fucking forgive him for making her leave, she’d never damn speak to him again, and Ben didn’t think he could live with that. He didn’t think that he could live without Her. He honestly wasn’t sure how he had lived without her before. He’d never needed someone like this, he’d never needed fucking anything before. He’d never cared so much what someone else thought, been so willing to do anything for just one person. One perfect fucking person. Ben had lived a whole lifetime, and then some, alone. And he’d been content. Not happy, but content. Now he was happy. Now he had Her, and she was perfect, and he never wanted to go back to just content. 

So he followed Her out of the car, shield in his hand. He’d follow her anywhere. Out of a car was barely anything when he’d move mountains and burn cities to follow her. Actually, he’d clear the cities first, then burn them. Ben was pretty certain She’d be pissed about him burning a city with people in it. Looking down at Her—beautiful and pulling his arm over her before he was at full height—Ben decided he’d probably follow her even if she was pissed. She’d probably be justified anyways, as she was rarely genuinely pissed at Ben anymore, so he’d always fix whatever he did and keep following Her. Right into hellfire, where he’d still be happy, because She’d be with him. 

The Starlight Fund was a completely desecrated fucking shithole. There was a truly fucking terrible amount of pro-Homelander graffiti—one even depicting every member of the Seven shitting on a group of Starlighters—and Ben was pretty goddamn sure the scraping he was hearing was rats. 

“This is gross,” She muttered at his side, and he snorted. 

“Lot of fucking doodles on the walls,” Ben pulled Her closer into him, speaking into her ear. “That one,” he pointed to a drawing of Fish-Boy ripping his shirt off to display disgustingly ripped gills. “Is my favorite.” 

She hummed. “Because of the gills, or the muscles?” 

“Because he looks like he just shat his damn pants.” 

She gave a small laugh, and Ben wished this could be it. That they had come here to make fun of something stupid and now they were leaving. But Hughie turned around, offering Ben his phone with a shaking hand, and Ben had to set his shield down and take it. Had to feel Her tense again, and hear her chew her lip as Ben frowned at the screen. 

“I already entered the number,” Hughie rubbed the back of his next, words soft and nervous. Part of Ben wanted to hit the idiot, because it wasn’t fucking Hughie who was in danger. If She could hold herself together, this fucking pussy should be able to as well. But Ben just grunted—hitting Hughie wouldn’t really help anything, and She’d probably just get more tense—and let him continue. “You just have to call it. Say you’re, uh, you, and ask to speak to Homelander.” 

“And no fighting, once he gets here.” Annie added. “We’re just distracting him. We can’t fight him, not now.” 

“Why the fuck not,” Ben scowled. “We’d be doing the world a damn favor, killing him-“ 

“He might leave,” She said, finger’s tapping against Ben’s own. “He might just blast into the air and go find Ryan and this would’ve been for nothing. Ben,” She looked up at him, eyes desperate. “Don’t fight him. Promise you won’t fight him.”

“Fine.” 

“Ben-“ 

“I swear I won’t kill Homelander right now, as much as he fucking deserves it.” Ben grunted, still looking at Her. “This is fucking stupid.” 

“I know,” She gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for doing it anyway.” 

“If shit starts to even look like it’s headed south-“ 

“Then we can leave and you can tell me about how you were right for a whole decade.” 

Ben nodded, still holding Her gaze. In Rome? 

In Rome, She squeezed his hand over her body. And you can fuck me every day for that decade as well. And the one after it. 

Ben kissed Her, long and slow, not giving a fuck that Hughie and Annie were watching, or that they were surrounded by rats, or that the awful graffiti and awareness of Homelander arriving soon was hanging over their heads. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. 

“I’m ready,” She whispered against him. “I’ll be okay.” 

He didn’t move for a second, just sharing Her breath. But she pulled back first with a deep sigh and buried Her face into Ben’s chest, arms wrapped around him. Waiting. 

Ben called the number, and it picked up on the third ring. 

An overly sweet woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Thank you for calling Vought International’s Crime Tip Line! All of our operators are currently busy, please stay on the line until one becomes available! You are seventh in line.” 

The voice was sounded fucking robotic when it had said seventh, and Ben wasn’t sure that the lady had been real either. “What the fuck was that.” 

Annie sighed. “We’re on hold.” 

“The tip line?” She twisted around, still leaning against Ben, to give Hughie an exasperated look. “Really?” 

“I couldn’t find Ashely’s phone number,” Hughie muttered. “Apparently she kept getting protest calls from Starlighters, and it overwhelmed their servers.” 

“Mallory couldn’t get it?” 

“It’s being kept secret. We’d have to do a freedom of information request, and that would’ve tipped them off.” 

“Please stay on the line, your call is very important to us. You are sixth in line.” The voice disappeared again, returning so sort of too-happy fucking elevator music. She sighed, slumping slightly against Ben.  

“I guess we’re waiting.” 

It took fifteen fucking minutes. Ben’s shield was still on the floor, and he’d pick it up when he had to but right now was about holding Her properly. At some point Butcher called to yell about where the bloody hell the signal was, and Annie had to explain what was happening. Butcher called them fucking cunt idiots, and hung up. She stayed against Ben the whole time, tapping against his arm over Her stomach, staring into the distance. When that goddamn music finally came to an abrupt halt the whole room froze, Hughie and Annie looking up from where they’d been sitting against the wall. 

“Thank you for calling Vought’s crime tip line, my name is Gavin. How can I be of service.” “I’m Soldier Boy,” Ben said bluntly, ignoring Her flat look of Really, Ben? “I want to speak with Homelander.” 

“Sir, this line is not a joke. Our policy requires me to report prank calls as crimes themselves-“ 

“This isn’t a goddamn prank.” Ben hissed. “I am Soldier Boy. I need to fucking speak to Homelander now, and if you report me as a crime I will find you and fucking kill you.” 

“Sir, may I please have your location-“ 

She had turned to stand in front of Ben, tugging his arm, pointing a finger to herself. Me. She gave him an urgent look. Say you have me. Use my supe name. And my real name. 

“I have the Anomaly.” This was fucking annoying, they shouldn’t be doubting him. He grunted Her full name, and she nodded at him. “She’s with me. And I want to fucking talk to Homelander. Now.” 

The line was silent. Ben glared at Her. That didn’t fucking work. 

She shook Her head. Wait for it. 

The line clicked, and a new voice—less bored and uninterested and a lot more fearful—spoke through the speaker. “This is Ashley Barrett, CEO of Vought International. I understand you’re claiming to be Soldier Boy?” 

“I fucking am Soldier Boy. Let me fucking speak to Homelander now.” 

The line was quiet again. “And you have her?” 

“Christ on a cross, fucking yes.” Ben scowled at Her. This is goddamn stupid. 

She shrugged. I’m just impressed you haven’t totally crushed the phone yet. 

Ben looked back to his hand, and found that his grip on Hughie’s phone was starting to cause cracks to form in the screen. He glared at Her. Shut up. 

The line clicked again, and everyone froze. Her heart was going to push out of her chest, and when the static sounded again Ben wasn’t sure it was even beating anymore. 

“Soldier Boy.” Homelander’s voice was so fucking weak. Even crackling through the phone and making Her freeze, he was a fucking pathetic pussy. “Is she really there? With you?” 

Ben looked at Her, face full of goddamn fear. He could stop this. Ben could hang up and Homelander would never have to step foot near Her again. She wouldn’t have to be afraid ever again, because Ben would take her as far away as he fucking could, and She’d be safe. 

He’d never hated anything more than having to say, “Yes.” 

“I want to talk to her.” Homelander snapped. “Give me to her. Now.”

She extended her hand, and blinked at Ben once. I’ll be fine.

It was a bold faced fucking lie. Her heart was going a goddamn mile a minute, and her face was blank, eyes glazed slightly. 

Ben glowered at Her. If anything goes wrong, if he say one fucking thing out of damn line, we’re leaving. 

Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. It was barely a smile, closer to a sad, anxious grimace with upturned lips. I know. Then her face grew gentle, with adoration painting her every feature. For him. Something unending and almost dangerous crossed Her eyes, and Ben couldn’t look away from her. I trust you. 

Ben nodded. You burn, I burn. It wasn’t what the Thing wanted Ben to tell her, but it was close. Better than telling Her nothing. 

You burn, I burn. She wrapped her hand around the phone, taking it from Ben as he picked up his shield. Let’s fucking do this. 

“If someone doesn’t say something-“ 

“Homelander,” Her voice was stronger than Ben expected. Her face was painfully empty—every piece of light in her gone as she became hollow—but her voice was even and controlled. “It’s me.” 

Homelander breathed Her name, and Ben’s blood went cold. He shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Not fucking ever, not like that. “Where the fuck are you. What have they done to you? Why have you been hiding-“ 

“I’m okay.” She wouldn’t look at Ben, gaze fixed on the floor. Fucking empty. “They haven’t hurt me. Just, I wasn’t allowed to see you. Or talk to you. They said just this once.” 

“Tell me where the fuck they’re keeping you,” Homelander hissed Her name. Ben was pretty sure she was going to throw up. “I’ll come find you, you can come home, and we’ll be together.” 

“I can’t,” She whispered, fingers starting to curl with smoke. “They’ll get mad-“ 

“So I’ll fucking kill them! I can do whatever I want, and it’s not like people will miss them! Just tell me where you are and I’ll come save you.” 

They needed to leave, right now. Her face was bloodless, Her breaths were mechanical, and Ben knew they needed to leave. She shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t have to do anything for these fucking pussies, they should just fucking leave- 

Homelander said Her name again, and his voice had gone cold. “If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll find your pretty little sister and have her tell me. I know they’ve been making you hide. I know they’ve been hurting you. And if your sister loves you half as much as I do, she’ll want you to come back to me. Where you’re safe.”

Her eyes snapped up to Ben’s. She wasn’t trying to tell him anything, just looking at him. Her brain was turning, spinning, moving faster and faster with Her heart. Trying to find something, somewhere, that Ben didn’t understand. A way out, a way forward, some sort of fucking plan to get through this. He��d promised he’d let Her do this. No matter how much he hated it, Ben had swore. She’d do what she needed to do, and—as long as Homelander never fucking touched Her again—he’d stand with her as she did. 

Ben’s jaw clenched, and he held her gaze. I’m here. I’m right fucking here. 

There was more he needed to say. There was so much fucking more Ben needed to tell Her. But that was enough, because She nodded. I know. 

“They took me to the Starlight Fund-“ The words had barely left Her mouth when the line clicked dead. The room was silent, so painfully fucking silent, and She was staring at Ben. He needed to tell Her now, the Thing needed to get its fucking shit together and be damn clear about what it fucking was Ben needed to tell Her, so he could tell Her now- 

The roof crashed open, and Homelander dropped into the middle of the room. Cape and suit and so fucking weak. 

He breathed Her name, not even looking around the rest of the fucking room. “I fucking found you.”

Ben almost scoffed. Homelander hadn’t fucking found Her. She’d goddamn called him. Told him where she was. He must have made some sort of sound, because cold blue eyes shot to him.

“Soldier Boy. Thank you for bringing Her back to me.” 

Never in his fucking life had Ben hated someone more. She wouldn’t look at him, staring at Homelander and taking shallow breaths. Not touching Ben. Her back was too straight, all the smoke was gone from Her body, and Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. Like it has just fucking stopped.

“Homelander,” Annie stood up from the wall, a truly violent glare on Her face. It almost made Ben respect her, the contempt with which she spoke and the loathing in her eyes. “You’re not taking her. You can talk. That’s it.” 

“Oh, shut up, you boring fucking Girl Scout.” Homelander dismissed Annie with a hand, still not looking away from Her and Ben. “This is a family matter, you and Campbell can go fuck in a closet for all I care.” 

“We’re not going anywhere-“ 

“I don’t care,” Homelander finally shot Annie a bored glare. “But if you even try and interfere with this, I’ll laser Campbell’s dick off. Now,” he looked back to Her. “Let’s go.” 

She shook her head. She wasn’t fucking breathing. “I- I cant-“ 

“Yes you fucking can,” Homelander hissed. “You’re not mortal anymore, you’re a god like me. None of these weaklings could stop us. Soldier Boy,” he jerked his head at Ben. “Could even come with us. We could be a family.” 

“I’m not going fucking anywhere with you,” Ben could hear the drums. Distant, in his control, but building in time with his heart. “And we are not a fucking family.” 

“But you’re my father,” Homelander shook his head—as if he thought Ben could forget—and whined like a pathetic fucking child. “Don’t you want to meet your grandson? Be there for the birth of our,” he gestured to Her, and Ben was going to rip his fucking hand off. ”Next child? You’d never have to miss anything again. We’d be together.” 

“Homelander,” She was whispering, she was afraid, and Ben couldn’t do more than press his foot into Hers. Show Her he was there. He wasn’t going fucking anywhere. Slowly, her breathing became audible again—even if she remained frozen—and Ben didn’t take his eyes off Homelander. “Please. I just want to talk.” 

“We can talk at home.” Homelander took a step forward, and She flinched. 

“No. Please, I don’t-“ 

“What have they been telling you,” Homelander whirled on Annie and Hughie. “Have you been turning her against me? Poisoning her damn brain against me?” 

“They haven’t,” She pleaded, and that was it. Ben took a long step forward, until he was right at Her side. Homelander was too close, she was fucking breaking, and he’d stay right here until this was over. Then he’d hold Her until she smiled again, even if it took a hundred fucking years. But Homelander wasn’t going to make Her weak. Nobody was allowed to make Her weak, not as long as Ben was fucking alive. “Homelander, I just want to talk-“ 

“Fine,” he turned back to Her, face tight and furious. Glancing once at Ben, now right at Her side, before continuing. “Let’s talk. You’ve been hiding. I’ve been looking for you, and you’ve been hiding from me. They-“ a gloved hand pointed to Annie and Hughie. “Have been hiding you from me. It’s time to be a big girl and stop hiding. Time to come home so I don’t have to keep fucking cleaning up bodies while I look for you.” 

She swallowed. “Bodies?" 

“None of the workers at Tek Knight’s stupid fucking sex club would tell me where you went, so they all had to die. A bunch of fucking Firecracker supporters were demanding justice, so I had to kill them too.” 

“No-“ 

“Please,” Homelander rolled his eyes, taking another step. “It was for you. To protect you. They wanted to fucking draw and quarter you and I stopped them! I saved you, again.” 

“You didn’t save me,” She whispered, taking an unsteady step back. “You hurt me. You-“ She was shaking her head, voice growing louder. “You hurt me. You hurt me.” She was screaming, and Ben had never heard a worse sound. It was shrill, and unsure, and fucking terrified. “You hurt me-“ 

“Oh, grow the fuck up,” Homelander sneered. “You were nothing. You had no one. You’re lucky I even fucking looked at you, let alone saw something of worth! I made you everything you deserved to be, I fucking trusted you with my heart, and you just pulled it out and stomped all over it!” 

“No-“ 

Homelander raised his hand, and She fell silent. She was never fucking silent. “But I forgive you. I’m going to be the bigger person, and forgive you. We both made mistakes, I’m not blameless here, and I forgive you. We’ll get through this,” Homelander lowered his hand for her to take, saying Her name. “We’ll get through this together.” 

“No.” She breathed out. “You hurt me. I’m not going anywhere with you. Ever.” 

Homelander scoffed. “Stop being a fucking whining child,” he said Her name again, and moved forward, She moved back, and Ben blocked Homelander in his path.

Homelander blinked, but the shock on his face barely lasted a second. “You could come with us, Soldier Boy. You don’t have to keep working with those fucking idiots,” he jerked his head to Annie and Hughie in the corner. “Working for William Butcher. He betrayed you before, and he’d do it again. I’d never betray you. I’d make you fucking proud. We just have to leave together.” 

“I will never,” Ben spat, fist clenching at his side. “Be fucking proud of a pussy like you. A weak, spineless, pathetic fucking excuse for a man.” 

Something like hurt flashed across Homelander’s face. He’d thought Ben would agree. He’d thought Ben would fucking hand Her over. Homelander had truly fucking believed that Ben would ever let him fucking near Her again. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” Homelander looked past Ben, and said Her name. “Let’s fucking go. Now.” 

She must have shaken her head—Ben couldn’t turn and look, he couldn’t take his eyes off Homelander for a fucking second—because Homelander’s jaw ticked. 

“Now.” 

“Never.” She hissed. “I’m never fucking going anywhere with you again.” 

“This is your last chance to do this easy.” Homelander snapped. “We can be civilized about this. It doesn’t have to go this way.” 

“You fucking heard the woman,” Ben sneered, and Homelander looked back to him. “No.” 

Homelander sighed. “I didn’t want to do this. I told Sage it wouldn’t be necessary.” 

“Sage?” Her voice shaking. Ben hated not touching her, he hated that Her heart still was weak in her chest, he hated all of this stupid fucking shit plan. 

“I’m going to have to tell her she was right,” Homelander continued, frowning into the air. “She’s such an annoying fucking bitch when she’s right. But if you’re not going to chose the easy way, then let’s do the fucking hard way.” 

Annie was moving slowly from the corner, keeping Hughie behind her. “What the hell are you talking about.” 

“In January, after we found out you,” he gestured at Her. “Were alive, Sage said we’d need a way to eliminate Soldier Boy. I told her that was dumb, that when it came time you’d come back to the right side, to me, your son, but she was a real fucking pest until I agreed to her stupid idea.” The pussy was fucking monologuing, glaring around the room with his hands on his hips and sharp, exasperated movements. “She scheduled the meeting, said it didn’t fucking matter what actually happened as long as she got what she needed. I said you wouldn’t be that stupid, but you were. You told her exactly what that French asshole was using to stop you from going all boom without your leash there with you, and she locked herself in a lab for a whole month. It was unbelievably inconvenient. When she finally came out, she gave me this.” Homelander reached back somewhere, pulling out a small, seemingly empty vial. “And said to use it first chance. I don’t want to use it, but,” he sighed, shaking his head. “If you won’t listen to reason, I have to.” 

“Homelander,” Annie hissed. “What’s in there. What the fuck are you going to do-“ 

“Gas. It’s fucking gas. I was getting there.” Homelander rolled his eyes at Ben. “Women. Always so pushy.” 

The drums were louder. Homelander was only a half step from Ben. Holding gas. His head was pounding, hitting only a half-beat out of time with Ben’s heart. Over the rush of blood in his ears—vision stark and violent and red—Ben could barely hear Her speak. It was under her breath, and barely audible regardless. 

“No.” 

Homelander ignored Her, giving Ben a toothy, awful fucking smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in,” he paused, glancing back down at the vial. “Three days? I honestly just couldn't pay attention to Sage’s fucking lecture.” 

Time moved slow. Homelander’s hand went to the vial, the drums were a fraction away from taking over but still too far, and She screamed. A high, loud, raw scream that tore through the world. It might have been a word, or Ben’s name, but it didn’t matter because it was Her. Screaming, fucking breaking. 

The world broke with Her, and something exploded. A bone-rattling sound of destruction echoed through Ben, through Homelander, through everything as the room was almost blindingly lit. The vial cracked open, glass melting in Homelander’s hand, but Ben didn’t pass out. A small wisp of steam pushed into the air, Ben felt faint, and then it was gone. For a split second he could see all of Homelander’s face, with slight wrinkles and lines and wide eyes. Afraid. Homelander was afraid. Frozen, with a parted mouth and a slack face of terror, his gaze fixated just beyond Ben. 

At Her. 

Homelander was blasted backwards—fire arcing through the air and into his chest—and right through the dust-covered, paint-peeling wall. The building rumbled, the air was waving around Ben, and the whole world was electric. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Her. She was burning, and the whole world was singing for Her. It was alive, the air crackling and everything illuminated for Her. 

Ben had never seen anything like Her. All these fucking heroes pranced around like dancing fucking monkey’s, bragging about god-like power and being chosen. Homelander called himself a god. Said nobody was like him, nobody was as powerful as he was. Moaned about how nobody was his equal, how even Ben only just matched his power. Ben could wipe out Homelander’s powers, Homelander could knock out Ben, Ben could punch him and make him bleed and Homelander could leave a temporary cut on Ben’s skin. They could keep trading blows, measuring their dicks, and stand around all fucking day to argue like pussies about who was more powerful. 

Or they could just look at Her. 

Because She was a fucking god. 

Bathed in white flames tinted purple, floating off the ground, and burning. This wasn’t the bomb in Ben’s chest, running through her body like electricity in a wire. This wasn’t heat that lived in Homelander’s eyes, focused and hot but limited. This fire, bright and hot like a hurricane, ripping through the world and everything between it, was Her. Only Her. It wasn’t nuclear, or artificial, or confined. It was wild and feral and pure fucking power. Her. 

Ben had to fucking move. 

“Go!” He shouted the order to Annie and Hughie, still pressed against the wall. “Fucking move! Go!” 

Annie nodded, grabbing Hughie arm and pulling him with her to the exit. They’d start the car, but they wouldn’t leave Her. They might leave Ben, but they wouldn’t leave Her. Nobody with a heart would leave Her. Not ever, not here. Not with Homelander. 

And Ben had to fucking get Her out. Fast. 

Homelander was staggering to his feet—a few yards from the building in the broad daylight—and She had hurt him. She’d fucking marred him. Blond hair was tinted black with ash, one blue eye was milky, and his cruel face was half-melted. Twisted with scars and fucking hideous. 

And She wasn’t done.

She had landed on the ground and shrugged off her jacket—whole body still alight as the world bent and burned around her—before vaulting past Ben, out into the street. He roared Her name after her, but she didn’t look back. Homelander was almost fully stable, touching a hand to where She’d hit him, and Ben had to fucking go.

He followed Her in long, sprinting bounds, and reached them just before Her fist landed. Right on Homelander’s burns, blasting him back another twenty fucking feet. 

Christ, She was fucking perfect. 

Ben reached Her, grabbing her arms and ignoring the pain of the fire against his skin. He healed fast—faster than Homelander—and in the adrenaline he wasn’t able to be certain, but the flames felt duller than usual on his hands. Not meant to hurt him. 

He hissed Her name, trying to pull her with him. Back to the car. “We’ve got to go, right fucking now.”

She yanked Her arm from his grip. “Ryan’s not out.” 

“Ryan?” Ben gaped at Her. “What the fuck-“ 

“The signal didn’t go off. Everyone’s still in the tower. If we leave he goes back to the tower, and we’re assfucked.” 

“I don’t give a shit-“ 

“Ben,” She grabbed his face between Her burning hands, and Ben was goddamn sure it should’ve hurt. But it didn’t, it just felt warm. “This is it. This is what I need to do. And I’m fucking doing it.” 

He couldn’t stop Her. She wasn’t breaking anymore, she wasn’t in danger now—not like She had been before—and Ben was never going to fucking leave Her. “You burn, I burn.” 

She nodded. “Let’s fucking burn.” 

Ben needed to tell Her. She was dropping her arms, turning away, and he needed to tell Her. He was so fucking close to knowing, to being able to recognize that- 

Homelander blasted forward, landing only a few feet from Her and Ben. His words were low, cold. Angry. “You fucking bitch. We’re going to have a very long conversation later about trust-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben pulled out his gun and shot Homelander right in the fucking mouth. 

It didn’t kill him—they weren’t that lucky—but it worked goddamn wonders in making his words die in his throat. In giving Ben a chance to punch him in the throat, making him cough the bullet out and giving Her a chance to kick him square in the chest. It was a smooth hit, not strong but wrapped in fire that seared right through Homelander’s stupid fucking suit. Ben slammed the blunt end of his shield right into the exposed skin and revered in the sickly crunch of its contact. 

Homelander roared as his eyes began to grow red, aimed at Her, and Ben’s fist was just fucking fast enough to clock Homelander’s jaw. Hard enough to turn his head, to make the laser cut through the air into a glass building. 

She realized it at the same time Ben did, exchanging a simultaneous look of Fuck. We’re outside. 

No casualties, She narrowed her eyes at him. I back Homelander up. You blast him. 

Ben frowned, ducking under a weak punch, thrown by Homelander at what he imagined was supposed to be Ben’s face. You said not now. He didn’t know why the fuck he was arguing with Her. This wasn’t something at all damn worth it. But Ben still waited for Her answer, and the moment She gave the clear, he was going to fucking kill this pussy. 

We’re improvising, Benjamin. Her face was set, determined. Ready? 

Ben nodded, and turning to see Homelander right in his fucking face. Up close, even as the lasers built in Homelander’s eyes, the state of his wound was fucking disgusting. 

“I fucking-“ 

There was no chance to find out exactly what Homelander was fucking, because She dove at him—face wrathful, a fucking inferno—and they went flying through the air. Over the street, away from the gathered pedestrians, onto the manicured lawn of Vought Tower. People were screaming, scrambling away, and those already on the sidelines were watching through phones, flinching as Ben stalked past them. She could hold Her own, but he needed to get there. Get to Her. 

The grass of the lawn was smoking, and Ben felt like he was walking through a goddamn swamp as he approached them. She had twisted around—onto Homelander’s back with Her arms locked around his throat—and was growing brighter and brighter as his bellows turned strangled and choked. The pussy still had to fucking breathe like anyone else, but smoke was curling into his lungs as Her arms burned through his throat. 

Good. 

The drums were back, building and building, and light was starting to shine in Ben’s chest. He had a shot. A clear fucking shot. He’d hit Her, but she’d be fine, and then she’d be safe forever. 

Any hesitation—weak and fearful for Her at the top of Ben’s chest—was killed when She looked at him. 

Do it. 

The drums fell into time, and Ben’s vision went white. Homelander’s roar sounded through the air, and the world became something far away as the bomb went off. Ripping through Ben’s chest with a vengeance, through the air with an atomic boom. 

When the world became clear, Homelander wasn’t ash or a mortal body on the floor. He was gone. They were both gone. 

Ben screamed Her name. It wasn’t a roar, or a bellow, or a growl, or anything other than a scream. Where the fuck did She go. Why wasn’t She here, with him. Ben had failed Her, he had fucking failed her, and he couldn’t hear Her heart or see her beautiful face and where the goddamn fucking hell was She-

He could hear his name. Her voice, carried on the wind, was yelling his name. Ben looked up, just in time to see Her falling from the sky, a quickly dying comet, just a few feet to his left. 

Ben caught Her, shield clattering to the ground. He’d always fucking catch Her. And when their bodies collided, Ben could feel Her. Afraid. Every fiber and cell of Her body and mind, made of pure, unbridled fucking fear. Frozen fear, hollow and frigid in Her body. 

When She spoke, Her voice wasn’t full and furious anymore. “He took off, took me with him. I burned his dick and he dropped me, but he’ll be back-“ 

“Let’s fucking go,” Ben didn’t release Her, turning back to the Starlight Fund. If he was fast, fucking ran, they could get the fuck out now because Ben wasn’t going to survive another goddamn second of there being a chance he could lose Her. Not when he was certain this was Her fear in him. 

But She tugged at his arms, trying to get out of his hold. “Ryan, we need to make sure Ryan’s out-“ 

“No-“ 

“Ben, please.” She squeezed his bicep, and Ben looked down at Her. Safe, unharmed in his arms. He couldn’t fucking lose Her- “We just need to keep him occupied. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re out of fire-“ 

“It’ll come back,” She didn’t sound sure. “I’m fine, he didn’t get me-“ 

“That was too fucking close-“ 

“Ben,” She was pleading, tugging at his shirt. “We have to. You promised-“ 

He snapped Her name. “You’re in danger-“ 

“I’ll go. I’ll go find them in the tower, and you keep Homelander here. Please. We don’t have time to argue-“ 

He wanted to tell Her no. Ben wanted to tell her that’s fucking insane, stay here, or don’t goddamn leave, don’t fucking go where I can’t follow you. But she was so fucking stubborn. It was one of the infinite things he loved about Her, but fuck it was pissing him off. She wouldn’t leave—be useless as She’d call it—and Ben couldn’t let Her fight Homelander. Not when he could feel her painful fear, and there wasn’t even smoke in the air. So he grunted, lowering Her onto the sidewalk. 

“Thank you,” She whispered, and that deep thing in Her eyes was back. It was in Ben, now, and it was peaceful and eternal in his brain. It was so strong, and wrapped around Ben’s every sense, making the world clear and everything alive. 

“Wait,” Ben grabbed Her arm, stopping her just a second. “Take this.”

She blinked at Ben’s gun, shoved into Her hand, before looking back to him with a nod. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Stay safe.” He muttered, and She gave him a small smile. 

“I always do, Ben.” 

The thing he couldn’t understand inside of Her was bigger than the world. A world that, for a second, was just them. Her, fucking perfect, and Ben. With Her. When She started to walk away, into the tower, the whole world was going with Her. 

She looked back at him once, and Ben realized that the Thing had said it. Somewhere, when She had been in his arms, the Thing had found words and he couldn’t fucking remember what they were. He had to focus, to grab them back to him so he yell them after Her, so she could hear- 

Homelander dropped with a crack on the pavement, and the Thing’s moment of clarity was gone.

Now Ben had a fucking job to do. 

He was brutal. This wasn’t the fucking time to pull punches, to feel anything outside of hatred or a thirst for blood. Ben had to keep Homelander here, and he would. He would beat him fucking bloody until he was just a pathetic, whimpering fucking pile of bones and skin. People were filming, and he’d let them. Everyone should see Ben paint Homelander’s brain across the street with his shield—back in his hand—and there should be evidence of Ben peeling Homelander's burnt face off his skull. Everyone should witness how fucking weak Homelander really was, how fucking useless and desperate and evil. Homelander tried to jab at him—tried to mock him or ask where She’d gone—but all of Ben’s already thin patience was gone. He wanted Homelander to hurt, hurt the way Ben had felt Her hurt. He couldn’t take Her pain and put it into Homelander, so bashing his head open was the second best option. 

And Ben was winning. Homelander landed a few weak blows and Ben got scorched with one or two lasers he wasn’t able to dodge, but Ben was fucking winning. He’d have to thank Her, later, for how thoroughly she’d ruined Homelander’s face. Ben was pretty sure the fucker was—at least temporarily—blind in one eye. He was slower to block, turning his head more than he should, and it gave Ben a few extra hits right into his ugly fucking face. Homelander kept trying to grab something, scramble for a gun or some shit, but it wouldn’t matter. Ben was fucking winning. He’d knock the pussy unconscious and go home. Maybe even fucking kill him- 

Homelander’s mauled face shot up, and he was gone. Fucking blasting into the sky, fleeing like a goddamn coward, and Ben let him. He could’ve grabbed Homelander’s cape, pulled him back down, but the job was done. People were scattering away with screams at the remaining rumbles of an explosion Ben could only assume was the French Prick’s signal echoed through the city. He’d heard it go off, only a minute ago, but hadn’t fucking cared. Not when he could just keep hurting Homelander. And now Ben was left in the crowded street with a bunch of fucking idiots filming him. Flinching and scrambling away when he turned back to the Fund as part of his brain still looked for Her. In the crowd, somewhere off to the side, or in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He was searching for Her smile, her sharp eyes, just some sign she was there. 

Ben saw Her sunglasses. That was the only evidence that She had been here. There was smoldering wreckage and burnt grass, small fires clustered around the ruins and on the street, but this was evidence of Her. Of the perfect woman who laughed with him and never fucking faltered. 

They were broken. Tinted blue glass on the floor and bent frames. She was going to be really fucking pissed about that. For reasons Ben didn’t understand, She loved those stupid sunglasses. 

He’d buy Her new ones. He’d make sure Mallory finally started paying them, and Ben would buy her a million fucking off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses. 

Annie and Hughie were in the car. Nobody had followed Ben into the ally—one very stupid kid had tried, but scrambled away at Ben’s glare—so Ben dropped into the backseat of the car. Alone. 

Hughie looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Uh, where-“ 

“She went after Butcher.” Ben snapped. “She’ll meet us there. Fucking go.” 

Annie and Hughie exchanged looks, and Annie pulled out her phone. Swiping through it, glancing up around Ben nervously until she found whatever the fuck she was looking for. 

“Butcher says they’re out with Ryan, and everyone’s heading back.” She showed the screen to Hughie, and he nodded. “We should go.” 

“That’s what I fucking said.” Ben muttered, and tried not to look at the place beside him. Where She’d usually be, rolling Her eyes or calling him a grump. 

The car ride back was long. Fucking longer than the car ride there. Time was stretching, fucking crawling so slow without Her there. Ben had been away from Her for less than a damn hour, and he missed Her. He missed Her so fucking much. A year ago, he’d have called himself a pussy. He’d have scoffed, sneered that he was fucking Soldier Boy. He shouldn’t miss anyone. People should miss him, and be thankful he ever looked at them in the first place. But Ben a year ago hadn’t met Her. He didn’t get it. That She was beautiful, and brilliant, and had the smartest fucking mouth he’d ever heard. That She felt like heaven and hell and Ben didn’t want to exist without Her. If being a pussy for this one perfect woman was the price Ben had to pay to have Her, he’d pay it. He’d pay anything. 

She wasn’t answering Ben’s texts. He’d messaged Her, asked her if everyone was in one piece or giving her shit for going off book, and She hadn’t answered. But that didn’t mean a fucking thing, because She kept her phone in Her jacket, which was currently smoldering ash in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He’d buy Her a new phone as well. And fucking punch Mallory in her wrinkled, sour face if they got any shit about Her destroying another phone. 

Annie and Hughie weren’t trying to talk to him. At some point Annie had put on Billy Joel, and Ben let her. He hadn’t hated his music, in the 80s, and knew that She just liked music. Any music. So it made it a little easier to pretend She was here. To pretend something wasn’t growing sick inside of Ben. 

Even as it started to rot. As everything started to feel wrong. 

Ben didn’t wait for the car to fully stop before opening the door. He didn’t even bother to grab his shield. Nobody else could pick it up anyway. Hughie gave a weak protest as he stepped out, but Ben saw Annie shake her head in his periphery and Hughie’s mouth snapped shut. It was a smart fucking choice. 

She’d had the keycard. The door was locked and She had taken the keycard. So Ben had to wait—glowering at the parked Pussy Mobile a few spots down from Butcher’s car—for Annie and Hughie to let him in. Stand behind them stiffly in the elevator with his arms crossed, and just fucking wait. 

“Butcher said we’d debrief in the dining hall,” Hughie mumbled. “I don't think he's happy with us. With the whole, uh, fighting Homelander thing.”

Butcher could fucking suck Ben’s dick. 

The doors opened, and Ben shoved his way out of the elevator, not waiting for Hughie or Annie to keep up. His steps were long, stomping, and fast—almost a full run—but there was no fucking time. He needed to see Her. He needed to see Her right fucking now- 

He shoved the doors open, marched into the dining hall, and froze. 

Butcher and the Kid were at the table, MM and Mallory sitting across from them, their backs to Ben. Kimiko and the French Prick were at the other end of the table, in a silent conversation. There were four empty seats between them and the larger group. Two for Annie and Hughie. Two for Ben and Her. 

But She wasn’t fucking there. 

And Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. 

“Where is she,” Ben growled, and Butcher looked up at him. 

“Good work to you too, you dumb fucking cunt-“ 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. “Where the fuck is she.” 

MM turned, frowning at Ben. “Who the hell-“ 

Ben roared Her name as Hughie and Annie pushed into the room, their hearts faltering behind him. Seeing what Ben saw. “Where the goddamn fucking hell is she!” 

Mallory was looking at him now, lips in a thin line, words clipped. “She was supposed to be with you-“

“I fucking know that!” Ben’s voice might be shaking the building. “She went inside the Tower, to find you fucking pussies. Where the hell is she?” 

“We,” MM blinked at him. “We haven’t seen her. She was supposed to be with you.” 

“Oh, shit.” Hughie whispered, and the room fell silent. 

The world was fucking ending. This was the judgement day, or apocalypse, or end of days or fucking something, because She was gone. She was gone. She’d disappeared into the fucking Tower, and she was in danger. Ben had let Her go into the tower, Ben had fucking failed Her. He should’ve gone with Her, he should’ve kept Her there and trusted her to fight, he should never have let Her go alone. She’d told him not to leave her alone, Ben had promised to keep Her safe, and now She was fucking gone. He’d failed. And nothing fucking mattered expect getting Her back. 

Ben turned roughly around to Hughie, extending an arm. “Give me the fucking keys.”

Hughie blinked at him. “Uh, why?” 

“To drive the damn car.” Ben snapped. He didn’t have the goddamn time for this shit. She was in fucking danger. “I’m going to get her. Fucking keys. Now.” 

Hughie was fumbling in his pocket—apparently not a complete fucking dumbass—but froze at Mallory’s cold words. “You’re going to stay here, Soldier Boy, until you receive further orders.” 

Ben didn’t bother to turn around. “Shove it up your ass, you fucking bitch. Keys.” 

“We don’t know where She is,” Annie said carefully. “She could’ve left the tower, could be coming back here-“ 

“Or she could be in fucking danger.” Ben’s voice was rising to a shout. “Give me the fucking keys-“ 

“Lad, if you give Soldier Boy my fuckin keys, I’ll shoot you.” 

Ben whirled to Butcher. “Shut the fuck up, you useless fucking pussy. Does fucking nobody,” he scowled around the room. “Give fuck about her but me? Do none of you care that you just fucking abandoned her?” 

You abandoned Her. It echoed in his brain, twisting around his throat. You failed Her. You left Her. 

“Of course we care,” MM snapped. “But I have to be with Butcher on this. She could be anywhere-“ 

“So fucking find her!” Ben bellowed. How could none of them fucking get it, fucking understand that She was lost, gone, alone, afraid. In fucking danger. “If you care, get off your asses and fucking find her!” 

“Frenchie,” Butcher stood, glaring at Ben. “Take Ryan to his room.” 

Ben looked away from Butcher just long enough to see the Kid watching him with wide, fearful eyes as the French Prick herded him past Ben, out the door. He glanced at Kimiko—still sat at the end of the table—and she was frowning at him. Signing something Ben didn’t fucking understand. She’d have understood. 

He looked back to Butcher, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m finding her. Good luck trying to fucking stop me.” 

“We will bloody find her,” Butcher snapped. “But we ain’t going to do it in a day. She’s probably fuckin fine-“ 

“She was in the fucking Tower. Are you that fucking stupid-“ 

“I ain’t stupid. I’m a realist.” Butcher held Ben’s murderous glare. “Like she is. We’ll find her, now sit the fuck down.” 

“Don’t pretend like you fucking know her. Like you’re fucking buddies and you know what she’d want-“ Kimiko was waving at Ben, trying to get his attention as he roared, and he shot her a withering glower. “What fuck is wrong with you?” 

She pointed to her phone, and reached it out for Ben to take. He snatched it from her hands���slightly thrown by the seemingly genuine sympathy and worry across her face—and looked at the screen. 

BREAKING NEWS: Vought Announces that the Homelander’s girlfriend has been recovered from Soldier Boy’s captivity.

He’d failed Her. In the worst possibly way, Ben had compelety fucking failed Her. 

The glass cracked in Ben’s grip, and he chucked the phone at Butcher. “Is that fucking enough to get you to move your pathetic fucking pussy asses, and fucking save her?” 

MM leaned over Butcher’s shoulder, reading the screen. “Fuck.” 

“What’s-“ 

Hughie’s confused words were cut off as Annie shuffled behind Ben, “I’ll check-“ Ben heard her swallow. “Oh, shit.” 

“Jesus,” Hughie whispered, and Ben’s skin crawled. Why the fuck were they just standing here. Why weren’t they moving. Fucking saving Her. 

Butcher only stared at the screen with a scowl, and Mallory stood to read the headline as well. 

“Butcher,” she said slowly. “This is-“ 

“Changes nothing.” Butcher tossed the phone back to Kimiko. “We keep on the fuckin track.” 

Ben’s whole world froze with wrath. Locking him in place. Spinning him around, stabbing into his chest, making the world painful. 

“Are you fucking insane?” Annie shouted from behind Ben. “She’s-“ 

“Nothing.” Butcher snapped. “We’ll get her back when Homelander’s in the bloody ground.” 

“Butcher, even for you-“ 

“This ain’t about me.” Butcher hissed over MM. “It’s about her.” 

“She’s not going to be our man on the inside, you psychopath!” Annie shouted. “She a fucking victim-“ 

“If we go now, Starlight, the bloody hell you think will happen?” Butcher leered at Annie, over Ben. Still unmoving, unable to move as the drums echoed in his head. “We’ll storm the fuckin castle and Homelander will just hand her over?” 

“We could,” Hughie protested, voice weak. “I mean, that’s kind of how we just got Ryan-“ 

“Homelander ain’t stupid, he’s not fallin for that trick two times in a row.” Butcher turned back to Ben. “If you’re that much of a whipped fucking idiot, Gov, we can go right now. I’ll even bloody drop you off. But they’ll see us comin, and Homelander will blast her far, far away. You wouldn’t ever even fuckin see her again.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“Let the man answer Grace.” Butcher held Ben’s gaze. “We ain’t going to stop him if he leaves, or goes after her. It’ll be her bloody funeral. Not ours.” 

He could. Ben could leave right fucking now, and find her, and then they’d leave together. He’d keep Her safe forever, do fucking anything to make her forgive him for failing her.

But a voice that sounded like Hers echoed through his brain. 

Don’t be a dumbass, Benjamin. Butcher’s right, which is annoying because now he’s going to be a cunt about it. But he’s right. 

You’ll find me. You’ll always find me, I trust you. 

I’ll see you soon. 

Butcher read Ben’s answer on his face, and nodded. “Right choice, Gov.” Something passed over Butcher’s feature, something a lot more human than Ben had ever seen. Almost understanding, almost pained. “She’s a clever lady. She’ll get through this.” 

She’ll get back to you. 

And Ben would be here. He’d get Her back, and be here to hold her and burn with her when she returned to him. 

He’d kill Homelander, and never fail Her again. 

——————

Something is wrong. 

Something is very, very wrong. 

Your eyes are closed, but nothing around you is warm. Everything is freezing, the blankets are silk instead of cotton, there’s a strange smell of factory-made coconut in the air, and you’re alone. Ben isn’t here. 

That’s what’s wrong. 

Ben isn’t here. 

You’re suddenly afraid to open your eyes. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t know where you are, and Ben isn’t here. Your mind is moving slower than you need it to, trying to pull back bits and pieces to figure out what happened. Rolling a loop of where are you, why isn't Ben here.

Why does everything feel so wrong. 

You ran into the Tower. You know that much, Ben had given you his gun and you’d ran into the Tower before Homelander could return. You’d almost said it, he’d looked at you like you were his whole world and you almost let yourself say Ben. Ben, I love you. But that had felt final. You didn’t want final, you wanted Ben. So you’d just left. 

You’d told Ben you’d find Butcher. You’d meant to find Butcher. You swear, now, in this strange cold place, that you’d really meant to just find Butcher. But you hadn’t. The blueprints of Vought tower had flashed in your head, along with a small, persistent voice asking you Where was Sage? In all of this, with you and Ben destroying the front lawn, where was Sage? 

There was a security room on the first floor. Actually, there were two security rooms on the first floor. One was labeled such, with faded notes about electrical wiring scratched onto the copy Mallory had shown everyone. The other was identical, with no notes but the same design, labeled office 2. 

You hadn’t been able to find an office 1. Only an office 2. 

So you’d headed there first. 

The door was locked, and your fire wasn’t coming. Homelander had taken you into the sky, higher and higher and away with hands gripping your arm around him, and everything had frozen. It wasn’t the chill of the high wind, it was your blood, your skin, your head. Everything became cold and the fire had started to flicker, all your control over it waning. You’d told Ben you’d hit Homelander’s dick, but he’d just dropped you. He’d made a surprised sound from his throat you’d never heard, and his arms had grown slack around you. You’d pushed off of him and fallen, any fire left dying as you’d dropped through the air. And now it was asleep. Not gone. Still under your skin, still running through your body in the way you’d come to trust, but dormant. Unwilling to come out, even when you’d desperately needed it. 

So you’d shot the handle off. 

You remember that clearly. You’d looked around the hallway, empty as people either hid from Ben and Homelander or went to watch them, thought fuck it, and shot Ben’s gun. 

The door had swung open, and Sage had been right where you expected her. 

She hadn’t turned from the monitors, and said your name in a bored tone. “You’re early.” 

“I’m early,” you’d repeated, raising the gun to a mediocre aim at Sage’s head. You remember wondering if Ben would cum on the spot if you asked him to teach you how to properly use a gun. “There’s no possible way you planned this.” 

Sage had shrugged. “It was more of an outline. A hypothetical. One of many. I honestly didn’t think you’d go with this option, but here we are.”

“Which one did you think we’d go with?” You’d been unable to help yourself from asking. You’d had to know just how predictable your plans were, so you could adjust. Be more erratic. Maybe you’d put Butcher in a dress, really have fun with it. 

She’d turned, spun in her chair to look at you with a small, cold smile. “My money was on you sacrificing yourself, trading yourself in. Didn’t anticipate Soldier Boy stopping you, but I’ve adapted. And now we’re here.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” Your hands had been shaking, and you’d looked behind Sage at the monitors. You could see Ben and Homelander on the lawn, and—running through a polished hallway—your team. With Ryan Butcher, failing to shoot at a single camera. You'd yell at Butcher about that later, when this was done. This was almost done.

“In January, when we met for the first time, you confused me.” Sage had tilted her head at you. “That’s impressive. Nobody confuses me. Once I’d found out who exactly you were, Homelander selectively filling in pieces as I figured out the rest myself, I still didn’t fully understand. Once again, impressive.” 

“Oh, gee, thanks.” You’d kept your eyes on Sage, but clocked every movement on the monitors. So close. “You really know how to make a girl blush.” 

“I’m serious. I couldn’t figure you out. You should’ve run when you got out. You’re a smart woman, you should’ve run. But you didn’t, which displays remarkable stupidity. You’d aligned with William Butcher, but seemed to hold qualms with his methods. And your deal with Soldier Boy, the cherry on top. In January you were,” She’d paused, frowned at you before continuing. “Strange. Not friends, not quite, but not simply hateful. Certainly not apathetic. Enough for me to worry about Soldier Boy truly being a problem. And then, by the end of the same month, he seemed to truly care for you. If anything, you managed to baffle me more.” 

“If you say impressive again,” you’d snapped at her. “I’ll fucking shot you.” 

“And you’re much more violent than I anticipated. Yet another thing that threw me, because all signs would point to you being a pacifist. But I figured it out. I found the thing I’d been missing. The club-“ She sighed at your shocked expression. “Please don’t get caught on that. I was separated from Vought for over a decade, I am well aware of the Renegade Room. I haven’t told Homelander about it, I won’t, but I’m aware. Of the club, and your plan with Butcher. That helped me figure it out. You care. About humans, about everyone. No matter how they treat you, how they collectively wrong you and fail you, you care.” 

You’d shrugged. “Kant said never to treat people as means to an end.” 

“Kant also said man must be disciplined.” Sage had shot back. “But you’re not interested in that. You’re forgiving. You tried to discipline Soldier Boy, but then you let him stop you. I didn’t think anything would stop you. I’m still trying to piece that part together fully, but I know how to adapt to an empty picture. I know, for all your care, something with Soldier Boy is different. And you can stop looking at the monitors.” 

You’d blinked at her. “The monitors-“ 

“I know Butcher has Homelander’s son. I’ve sent people to collect them. Right now this is about you. You, Homelander, and Soldier Boy. See,” she’d looked at the monitors with narrowed eyes. “Sometimes I outdo even myself. When I developed the gas for Soldier Boy, I didn’t think it would be this important. But, fuck, those months in the lab around about to pay off. Because-“ 

Hindsight coming to you now, you probably should’ve let Sage finish her speech. Figured out how this was going to pay off for her, and how it probably wasn’t in your favor. But you remember hearing people to collect them and gas for Soldier Boy and a ringing sound starting in your ears. So you’d shot Sage in the face. 

This part was harder to remember. This part felt painful. 

You think you’d sat in the chair. Pushed Sage’s body to the floor and sat. Or maybe you’d just stood at her side. Or behind the chair. 

No matter what, you’d looked at the monitors. You’d seen Noir and The Deep. Not being distracted by A-Train, but running through a hall that looked far too similar to the one your team was in. You’d stopped them. Somehow you’d stopped them because you remember the relief when they turned around. It might have been a phone call, maybe there was a walkie talkie, but it didn’t matter because you’d stopped them. And Ryan had gotten out. 

Then you’d seen Ben and Homelander, still fighting. Ben throwing steady, powerful punches and slamming his shield into Homelander’s body. Then you’d see Homelander reach for something. 

The gas. 

Homelander had been reaching for more gas. And Ben hadn’t been seeing it. 

You’d screamed. You’d grabbed Sage’s phone, or walkie talkie, or just screamed louder. Loud enough to be heard. 

You were in the Vought building. Alone. Homelander could come find you.��

And then Sage had stood up, and you’d been confused. You’d definitely just shot her. 

She’d pulled out a vial. 

And now you were here. 

In Vought Tower. Or a warehouse. Or a lab. Or underground.

Cold. 

Alone. 

You aren’t chained to anything. Your mouth has a gag around it, so you can’t speak, but you can move. You’re dressed. No shoes, but a shirt, loose pants. Underwear. You can’t hear anyone, only the hum of a fan. A lot of fans. It’s really, really cold. 

If Sage sent you here, she should know better. She should know cold doesn't matter. Your fire came from you, not the air around you. You could, if you tried, burn all of the arctic circle while standing at the north pole. But it was still so cold. 

And bright. When you peel your eyes open, blinking and wiping at them—your hands are cuffed and wrapped in big red mittens, so you can’t really accomplish much with them—the room is almost blinding. It might be because of how long you were out, how your head was pounding and aching when you’d woken, but it was so bright. 

You don’t recognize the room. Your eyes adjust quickly, the pounding is already gone and your exhaustion is leaving fast, but you can’t figure out where you are. It wasn’t the white room, or a new lab, but an apartment. A truly awfully decorated apartment, where everything was glossy marble and silk and sleek furniture that didn’t look usable in any way. The bed you’re on is low, the frame made of iron and the mattress feeling like it’s sinking into the floor. It’s not bright anymore, not as the effects of Sage’s gas—what you were assuming was Sage’s gas—were dissipating by the second. It’s low lit, too low lit. Everything is cast in a yellow glow, and the lamps and ceiling lights feel like they’re more for pure decoration than actual practical use. Another part of this hideous, unnerving picture. There’s a lot of red. A lot of white. A lot of blue.

Your heart drops. Deep into your stomach where it churns around with bile and fear. You know where you are. You know exactly where you are. Everything is too clean, too modern, and too impractical. Like it’s been designed to be gaudy, high-brow, and ostentatious. There’s a white marble statue of a bald eagle, and a painting of George Washington on the Delaware that you hope isn’t an original. 

But it could be. Because this is Homelander’s room. 

You need to run. Your hands are confined and your fire is asleep, but your feet aren’t chained. So you can run. Or jump out a window. Homelander’s room is on 99—you remember from the blueprints: floor 99, south facing quadrant, next to Maeve’s old room and Noirs’ current one—but you’d survive the fall. You’d survive anything. But you have to go. You have to push through the sick and crippling feeling that’s growing like mold in your body, through the sheer cold in your blood that’s trying to root you in place, and run. 

Rolling off the bed is easy. Getting your legs to stop shaking is harder, and taking steps without collapsing is near impossible. But you have to run. You can break when you’re home, when you’re safe and Homelander can’t find you again. 

You can fucking do this. You steady your body, and take a long breath. You’re strong. You’ve escaped him once before. And done a lot of other, crazier shit. At this point it’s just another Tuesday. 

It’s a Friday. A small voice—bored and petulant—reminds you. And you were in a lab upstate. This is Vought Tower. You’ve never escaped Vought Tower.  

Shut the fuck up. This voice isn’t yours. It’s deep, and always a little gruff, even as it encourages you. You’re strong, Sunshine. You’re a spiteful, brilliant, angry pain in the ass. You can fucking do this. 

You’re strong. You can fucking do this. 

You’re going to jump out the window. 

Getting out of the room is simple but difficult, and getting down the stairs is fast. You fall, tumbling down the steps and landing on the floor with a crunch, but the adrenaline makes it painless and whatever broke is already healed. You half-crawl, half stumble to the windows. Wide, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. You can’t really see the street below you. 

This is going to really fucking hurt. 

Two steps back. Actually, four steps back. Enough to get a running start. Breathe in, out. You’ll be fine. And if it kills you, it kills you. 

Anything would be better than this. 

You’ve taken three steps when something grabs the back of your shirt, halting you. You scream into the gag, and a red gloved hand covers your mouth. 

“It’s just me,” Homelander hisses in your ear, and you stop fighting. Your whole body shuts down into the cold, and you can’t scream, or sob, or do anything but let Homelander drag you back and throw you onto the long, stiff couch.  

You can’t look at him. Looking at him makes this real. 

He notices, and jerks your chin to force your eyes to meet his. Colder than the room, full of malice and something that might be his version of hurt. Blue. You fucking hate blue. 

“You weren’t going to try and jump?” Homelander’s voice sounds genuinely disbelieving. “I mean,” he laughs your name, and you want to throw up. “Even for you that’s drastic.” 

He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what’s drastic for you and what’s not. But you can’t even glare at him, because all your energy is starting to fade, weighing you down like stones filling up your lungs. 

Homelander sighs. “I mean, you’ve already hurt my feelings enough for today.” His grip on your face might crack bone. “Stealing my son,” he gestures to his face, still bubbling with burn scars. “Doing fucking this to me. I mean, what did they do to you? To make you do this to me?” 

He sounds like he’s going to cry. You don’t care.

“Well,” he stands up, releasing your face and frowning down at you with his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ll fix it. It’s fine your little plan worked, because it brought you back to me. And we’ll get Ryan back, together, once you’re less,” he sighs, waving a hand. “Fucking broken. This time will be different, I won’t keep you two apart. That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

You just look at him, and his face twists into a sneer. 

“I said I’m sorry. It’s your turn.” 

You have a fucking gag over your mouth. And, even with the fear making everything too loud and bright and blurry, you’d never apologize to Homelander. He’ll have to kill you first. 

His glower fades in a second when he remembers the gag. “Oh, well, I’m going to pretend you apologized, because I can’t really take your gag off. Not while you’re still,” he spins a finger around near his head with a whistle. “Cuckoo. You get it, it’s just a precaution. I mean,” he laughs. “We can’t have you doing your little reality warping trick when you’re still loosing your fucking mind!” 

It’s not reality warping. It’s sensory manipulation. And for some reason that starts to set steel in your body. You’re not losing your mind. You’re not unstable or drastic. It’s fucking sensory manipulation, and your plan worked. Homelander had said Ryan was gone, and you’d done that—ruined Homelander’s picture perfect, all-American face—because you hated him. The fear wasn’t leaving, but it wasn’t growing anymore. And you could glare at Homelander. Let all your hatred, your hatred, not anyone else’s but yours, show across your face. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Homelander huffs with an eye roll. “It’s temporary. Just until I can trust you again! We’re going to do this right this time, we’re going to do us right this time, and once we’ve rebuilt our trust I won’t have to take these kind of precautions. They’re fucking annoying for me, too. This isn’t just about you.” 

You just glare. 

“I mean, you can’t be that mad. You’d do the same thing, if you were in my shoes.” Homelander leans over you, studying your face. “I’m not letting you go this time. Everyone’s going to know you fucking belong to me. I mean, we’re made for each other.” He laughs again, and it’s horrible. It’s joyless and mocking and scraping around your insides painfully. “I mean, you were a good option for me before the V. Smart, pretty, good genetics, more compliant than Becca Butcher, less annoying and weird than Stormfront. You’d never be as mean to me as they were. For Christ’s sake, Stormfront killed herself on my fucking birthday! Did I tell you that? How fucking mean!” 

He’d told you that. Homelander had visited you that day, and asked you if you’d ever do that him. You’d said you would, because you had to and part of you had hoped he’d just leave. He hadn’t. 

“But you’d never do that to me. And after the V?” He grins at you, and it makes the scars look uglier. “You’re almost as strong as me! All those fucking nerds said one shot was going to kill you, but you survived four!” He leans over you, making you crane your neck with a rough hand. “Did I ever tell you that? One V shot should’ve killed you, and you definitely shouldn’t have lived through two. One of those scientists kept trying to tell me that you were growing more powerful and unstable each time, that we should fucking quit while we’re ahead, but I believed in you. And now look at you. My equal.” He shrugs. “Or at least fucking close to it. Closer than Maeve, closer than Stormfront, closer than anyone. Which is why I forgive you, and now I’m going to do this right.” 

He keeps saying that. Keeps saying he’s going to do this right. You don’t know what that means. 

“Sage already announced you’ve come home. I would’ve done it, but,” he gestures to his face, and some sort of twisted satisfaction runs through you. “I could just wait it out, but you’re up before we thought you’d be, so you can fix it.” He grabs one of your hands and starts to undo the cuff, but pauses. “If you need an incentive to behave, let me just remind you that you won’t make it out the door. You’re strong, but I’m fucking stronger. You can run, but I’ll knock you down. You’re staying with me. All the fucking worms who tried to keep you away from me won’t be able to this time. Butcher can try and come get you, but I’ll just kill him and his whole merry band of idiots. They send Soldier Boy, and we’ll knock him out. Sage has wired the whole building for it, just in case. You don’t have to worry about that, but you should know. Trust.” Homelander pulls off the wrapping on one hand, raising to his face. “You’re never fucking getting away from me again. Now fix what you did.” 

The fire is back. It’s woken up—not at full power but more than enough—coursing through your whole body as Homelander words rattled around your head. They’ll knock Ben out. They’ll kill your team. 

You could run. Homelander’s moving your hand against his skin, and you could burn him and run. 

But you touch him, your skin on his, and suddenly you’re afraid. 

It’s not your fear. Your fear is freezing, made of panic and memories. This fear is foreign, hostile in your body, made of something vile and strange. This fear is buried deep, deep down, and strong. This fear is parasitic. This is Homelander’s fear. 

Homelander’s afraid. 

Of you. 

And in a split second, you make a choice. 

You had a plan for this. In the back of your head, you’d buried a plan. You’d never wanted to use it, you’d never told anyone you had it, you’d even pretended it wasn’t there so you could sleep at night. 

You could run. You could leave and go back to Ben and warn him that they had more gas, warn Butcher that Sage was planning something, because you were certain she was. But you didn’t know what. 

And you had a plan. 

Ben was going to kill you. You were going to kill you. As Homelander’s face healed under your hands and your own face grew raw and painful, you hated yourself. You wanted to leave. You wanted to go home, back to Ben, and just leave. But the fire was settling quietly back into your body, silent and cold once more as your choice became set. 

Homelander was right. This wasn’t about you. This was about the world, and making it safe. This was about trusting that Butcher wouldn’t let Ben come find you, as much as you wanted him to. Every part of your heart wanted Ben to burst through the door, pick you up, and take you away. Anywhere that wasn’t here, and you’d tell him you loved him and he wouldn’t leave. But you’d promised to keep him awake, and if he came to save you he’d go under. He wasn’t going under. And, as much of a prick as Butcher was, he’d know to keep Ben away. And you’d get back to Ben. Soon. But right now this wasn’t about you. 

Here were the cards you’d been dealt. Here was your shot at the devil. 

You weren’t going to miss.

End Note: I know y’all hate me now, but please let me cook. I swear I'm not a sadist and this is going somewhere. Remember the agreement we made that you didn’t know about; you GOTTA trust. 

Please, please, please leave a comment if you want to! Never be afraid it’s too long or too short and think I won’t read it. Every single one means the whole world to me, whether it’s a thought on an older chapter or a predication about the next one. No matter what you’re telling me, feedback or jokes or opinions, you will ALWAYS make my day. Cuss me out for this chapter, ask my why the hell I hate love, tell me about your day, no matter what I want to hear it <3. See you in Angst-town USA, population us, for chapter 17.

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <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 @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox

[lynnlovesthestars]

The sun, the moon and the stars.

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Synopsis: with the solution in your hands, you give back Astarion all he has lost.

Genre: fluff, a tiny bit of angst, kinda smut but not graphic?

Warnings: mentions of insecurities and self doubt, mention of past abuse, death. Extra warning: Astarion being so loving and caring. Tav/reader taking risks for Astarion. Post act 3.

WC: 5k

Alternate name: Curses, Undead, Deseases.

Author's note: Hello everyone, before i posted "One and only" I didn't expect it to be loved so much, but after seeing the love it received, I took it to my heart to grant your wish. So here it is, the part two of One and Only, which I'll link down here.

One and Only.

Taglist: @skittleabyss

Cure for vampirism: kill and resurrect the vampire with a scroll of true resurrection or, use a scroll of wish and hope you won't fuck it up.

Finally the scroll was in your hands, the legendary wish.

The great Mordenkainen spoke plenty of this spell, the inevitable results of using it and the power it held.

The risks were great, like being sick and weak for weeks, and the chance you might never be able to cast the spell ever again. It was a one shot enchantment, and you would have done it in a heartbeat if it meant your Astarion would be free from vampirism, even if it meant not being able to control the weave ever again.

You were all on the floor, weighing the situation while you read and reread the spell.

Astarion sat next to you, his hands shaking as he kneaded your thigh. The adrenaline from the fight was still cursing through your bodies, even though you were all eagerly to get over with this, you knew that it'd be better to cast the spell in the safety of your home, where you could rest right away.

Gale spent the whole trip explaining the hows and whats of the spell, especially the risks, trying to remind you that there could have been other ways. nevertheless your mind was set. You would risk it all for Astarion.

Everyone scattered around the living room, tea cups were all over the place to ease everyone's nerves as you mentally repeated what you were going to ask.

Shadowheart protected your home, making sure you could feel safe as you rested afterwards.

Wyll was sitting close to you, in case you would pass out and needed to be carried to bed.

Gale was reading and rereading Mordenkainen's tome to make sure there was no trap.

Karlach was trying to cheer everyone up, offering hugs to everyone.

When she planted herself in front of Astarion, ready to beg him to be hugged, he took her by surprise.

He was shaking ever so slightly, the pure anxiety was ebbing through his veins, he was not going to back away from an hug.

"Can you stay next to me? I trust you" He smiled weakly as she squealed happily.

"Of course" She beamed. She took the spot next to Astarion and opened her arms to wrap the pale elf's body in her warm embrace.

When you finally raised your eyes, ready to cast the wish, you locked eyes with everyone one at a time.

All your friends were gathered there because they loved you and Astarion, and were not going to miss the moment. Even Lae'zel was uncharacteristically sweet, even in her harsh and bitter words. "Tck, you better not come back as a zombie, cause I don't know what zombies need" She scoffed. "And you already reeked like this, I can't stand zombie stench at all". She said scrunching her nose.

You took a long breath and lastly locked eyes with Astarion, exchanging a nod as the silence fell around you.

The knot in your throat was tight, your words almost were strangled out of your lips.

"I wish.." You could feel the air being knocked out of your chest. "That Astarion Acunin" the words wrapped around your throat tightly, the magic vividly ebbing from your body for everyone to see. "Could be" The soft blue-purple glow flowing out of your body, wrapped around Astarion's throat, making him breath harder. "Cured.." You felt the word drain you almost completely. "From vampirism and" You breaths were heavy, worry in everyone's eyes while you didn't stop. "Could live his life as elf" You were shaking, threatening to hit the ground, but no one had to intervene, you had to endure it all alone, for him.

"Like before being turned" As you spoke the last word, the magic that was holding you in a chokehold suddenly released you. The magical flow disappeared in Astarion as you fell to the ground, and him with you.

Everyone scrambled around the room, checking for pulses and bringing you to your shared bed.

They tucked you under the comforter, as they planned turns to take care of you both.

They didn't know how long it would take for you to wake again, but they concentrated on things they had power to do.

Your body was heavy with an inexplicable tiredness. Your eyelids felt like bricks as you fought to open them.

The soft light of the sunrise filtered through the curtains of the room, almost blinding you for a moment.

You were in your bed, tucked in and warm. An arm was wrapped around your waist protectively as you could hear the faint chatting coming from the other rooms.

You turned to look around you,then it hit you.

The arm around you, it was warm. The complexion was still pale, yet it looked like it was almost a very faint shade of pink.

You almost jolted up, if it wasn't for your limbs, that grounded you, startling the sleeping Astarion next to you.

He gasped as he awoke suddenly, his eyes squeezing for a moment before opening wide at the realization that you were awake.

He didn't change much, his body at the end of the day was mostly the same, if not for the color that he regained.

His hair was a mess from sleep, the soft white curls were all over the place, untamed. His cheeks, nose and lips were warm with a pinkish blush, and his eyes.

Oh his beautiful scarlet eyes were still there, but softer. A shade that was more pinkish blue, than red. A color so soft that swirled peacefully. His canines were still slightly vampiresque, but way duller than before.

And when you leaned in his arms, you could feel it. His heartbeat, fast in the beginning, probably from the scare, but then rhythmic as it calmed down.

Astarion's arms wrapped around you, pushing you tightly against him as he sunk back in the comfort of the bed.

Your eyes filled with tears, before you could even process the elf in front of you.

"We did it" You sobbed in his tight embrace, relishing the newfound warmth.

"No my love.." He whispered as his own eyes were teary, threatening to spill any second. "You did it" He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "You cured me and I will be forever grateful for this gift" He lulled you, gently tapping his fingers on your skin.

You sobbed harder, your arms wrapping around him as well as you allowed the realization to completely hit you.

You weren't quite sure what day it was, or how long Astarion has been cradling you close to him, but you didn't care anymore.

Only when you finally regained a bit of your control, your head started filling with questions.

"How long have i been out?" You asked, before yawning.

"So.. if i did the math correctly" He counted on his fingers before beaming. "You sleep for a whole week. I fed you and hydrated you as you rested. The wish literally drained you" He gently raised your chin to look at you, a tender smile spread over his face, along with the warmth of a blush.

He took in your beauty, gently tracing the tip of your pointed ear to your cheek, resting his palm on it.

Your body chased the warmth of his touch, leaning into it.

"How long were you asleep instead?" You asked as your body was melting.

"The thing is, I didn't sleep" He shrugged. "Gale gave me a long and boring explanation of what happened, but I'm going to take out all the useless informations he added" He explained, waving his hand in the air. You couldn't help but snort at the remark.

"Anyway, making it quick, you killed me" He blurted out, making you jolt up confused, your mouth hung open and your index finger pointed up as you were about to ask something. Then you curled back your fingers and closed your mouth, thoughtful.

"Basically the cure for vampirism involves killing the vampire and using true resurrection on the body or soul" In a way it made sense, cause a vampire is a dead person turned into undead, reason why restoration spells and curing curses wouldn't be effective. You didn't have to remove a disease either, but revert the body back to its original form. And the only way was true resurrection.

"Oh, cause the spell would be able to bind your soul back to your body completely, reversing death instead of just raising you as undead as vampirism does" You whisper shouted as you connected the dots. "But your death was way past 200 years ago" You remembered.

"I'm glad you remembered how long it's been since my first death" He tucked a stray hair behind his ear. "But apparently that's where the wish spell comes in aid" He kissed the top of your nose.

"It erased the time clause from the spell, since it was a wish" He smiled.

"Mhmh makes sense" You whispered as you tapped a finger on your chin and slowly eased again in the silence.

There was so much you wanted to say in that moment, like the fine print of the spell, whether he could already walk in the sun freely now, how did he feel, and so many more questions about this new story you were going to start together, but your body started growing heavy and thick again, drawing you back in your sleep, but this time you were lulled by Astarion's steady heartbeat.

Hours later you woke up still in Astarion’s lap, though now he was using a magic hand to read a book that you couldn’t quite recognize.

“That’s a very smart use of a magic hand” You stretched your arms, squinted and yawned loudly.

“It is, and this book has been very enlightening as well” He flips pages quickly, getting back to one that had a bookmark.

“Really?” You asked mindlessly as you rested your head on his shoulder.

He nodded, skimming through the page looking for a specific paragraph.

“I always wondered why you choose to sleep every night, aren’t you bothered by the weird dreams?” He asked. He never thought about it until he started reading this guide he found with the wish scroll. It was a book by Mordenkainen himself which spoke of his studies of all the races he encountered. He picked it up to read about what he missed through the decades about his culture and habits, just in case elves grew a new horn at a certain age or something. Dying so young, really cut off a huge chunk of his youth. At the time he was still considered young by his family, he was looking forward to that 100 birthday so much. At least he was glad he kept his youngish self for a little longer than his peers. if that really mattered.

“Mh, no I like them” You mumbled, another yawn escaping between one word and the other. “I found meditating boring, what even is the point of relieving past experiences when most of the memories are negative?” You shrugged, slowly stretching your legs.

“I never thought about that” He was definitely contemplating ditching meditation, if he had to see less of the memories, and more of.. anything but that. He usually slept when you happened to fall asleep next to him, or while you were traveling, and everyone would take their sweet time in the morning. He didn’t need to be up for 8 hours so why not just sleep, he always thought.

“You should do it more often” You smiled at him as you crawled out of his embrace, already missing the warmth of his chest, but you needed something to eat, a whole week asleep really took a toll on your stomach.

The house was still crawling with friends lounging all over, even withers found a corner for himself, in case a resurrection was needed, funny since the conditions of this party, you thought.

Whoever allowed Gale in your kitchen would pay the price. You walked slowly towards the chair in the kitchen, making sure you could hold on to the wall, in case your body decided to be too tired to move.

Gale didn't notice you joined until he turned and unexpectedly saw you sat with your arms crossed, staring stoically at him.

The most satisfying part? The squeal he let out, though it didn't last long. In an instant he was next to you handing you a glass of water.

"How are you feeling?" He asked as he sat in front of you, playing with a peanut he got from your nuts basket.

"Groggy" you mumbled. "Tired" You took your time stretching a little more. "It truly drained me" You leaned on the table wondering what to fill your stomach with.

"I cannot even imagine" He patted your back. "Though actually i could since the netherese orb whole ordeal" He mumbled.

"The price a man must pay to seduce a goddess" You rolled your eyes jokingly.

"Ehy, if you knew Mystra, you'd do the same" He poked your shoulder before handing you a fruit that was laying nearby.

You rose from the table, taking a bite from the apple he gave you. "No, I don't think I would. I'm more the whole I will fix your vampirism I promise, person" You shrugged before taking another big bite.

"I would have never guessed" He laughed.

"Oh so I'm a type, you did this for other spawns?" Astarion chimed while wrapping his arms around you, and placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Yeah, don't you know?" You took the last bite from the fruit before attempting to throw it in the trash. "I've kept a diary with all the names of the spawns I saved" You picked up a piece of paper nearby and scribbled a few names all over the paper, and handed it to Astarion.

"So, we got: Astarion, the annoying one, the mysterious one that almost cut my throat, the one that almost sucked me dry, the one that I recently casted a wish spell for" Astarion counted on his fingers. "Damn that's a lot of people right there, you must be an expert" He joked as he folded the paper.

"Of course, don't you see?" You pointed at yourself, sluggish on the chair. "I'm so good at it, I'm not even tired" You jokingly dropped your upper body on the table, faking to be asleep.

"Well, this is my time to leave the room" Gale awkwardly said before standing up and quickly escaping the kitchen.

"I've got sad news for you, my dear expert" Astarion took the seat in front of you, and took your hand in his, absolutely ignoring your friend. You didn't even wait to raise your head, you were already lost in his eyes. "You don't have all the names of the spawns you freed." He poked your nose.

"Mh, who's missing?" You smiled at him as the sly grin appeared on Astarion's lips.

"You will know in due time"

When was the due time? You had absolutely no clue. A few days passed by, everyone left when they were sure you were at least able to move on your own, and Astarion was remembering his physical needs. For so long he only drank blood, and for most of his life, it was very inconsistent as well, so they just made sure he had all the necessary to stay hydrated and well fed, while you were still recovering.

One afternoon you were sitting outside on the porch, the chirping of the birds and the whooshing of the trees was the only sound around you. You enjoyed the warmth of the sun as you waited for Astarion to join you. You had planned a nice picnic in your garden, so together you could enjoy your first sunset since he was a normal elf again.

Astarion just appeared from the door, mittens in hand as he carried out a tray. You could still see the steam coming from it as you were eager to know what he had been fumbling with in the kitchen.

"My darling, they might look wonky, but I promise you, they are way better than what they seem" He smiled, as he placed the tray on top of the low table you set up outside for the two of you.

They did indeed smell delicious, though the cookies looked like they lost their shape.

You couldn't hold back your smile as you picked one that looked like a disfigured kobold.

As you took a bite of it, Astarion joined you. "Wow that's how you treat our dear Wyll uh?" he asked, trying to not laugh at his own joke.

"That was Wyll?!" You took another bite of it, the look of fake surprise on your lips was adorable.

"Didn't you notice the detail of the fake eye and the horns? I thought it was pretty obvious" He joke-scoffed as he relaxed.

For a moment you couldn't believe this was real: the soft breeze lullying you and Astarion as you had a late afternoon snack together. You no longer had to worry about the sun burning to ashes your other half, or to eat alone, though Astarion always sat at the table with you. You didn't have to worry about excuses or mirrors that wouldn't dare to reflect Astarion's beauty.

Just the thought of mirrors brought you back two memories you held dearly: the night you helped him read his back, and the first time after 2 centuries that he could see himself with his own eyes, rather than through yours.

It was the same night you finally awoke after a whole week. He had waited through that week eagerly, as you recovered. All those things that he lost the habit of doing, he wanted to experience them with you.

So you both stood in front of the mirror, you were behind him, your arms tightly wrapped against his hips and your head on his shoulder, as he stared wide-eyed at his reflection.

"See?" You twirled one of those curls that fell in front of his face. "This is what I mean" you gently twisted his head so he could see better his ear and the way his curls wrapped behind it.

He was speechless as you guided him through all those things you always swore to love, but sounded silly for him.

You even ended up telling him a joke about kobolds and goblins to steal a smile from his lips, just enough you could show him those creases that made your knees like jelly.

But the more he'd look at the reflection, the more he'd notice also the details he always dreaded would forever haunt him: like the bite mark on his neck, so deep that it never healed properly, or the scar he never knew was on his shoulder. It was a cold shower while you were trying to cheer him up, and he was so sad because he thought he ruined such a lovely moment between the two of you, focusing on the wrong details.

The one thing he was truly afraid of though, was looking at the rest of the body, the back in particular, terrified of what gruesome scars might have harbored between his shoulder blades, so he didn't dare yet.

He wore his best smile as he turned your way, placing a tender kiss on your lips before muttering—

"My love, are you alright?" He asked, sitting closer to you, and placing a hand on your thigh, drawing slow circles, bringing you back to your picnic and away from memories.

"Yeah, sorry" You muttered, still half lost in the memories. "I just remembered your smile, and I couldn't stop. '' You said softly, your cheeks warming up at the look on Astarion's face. His eyes were wide and soft, so beautiful as the sunset light started to reflect in them. The now softer red of his irises danced and swirled with the soft shades of pink that twinkled reflected. His lips were turned in a grin that he couldn't wipe away even if the world would be crushing on him. Even his ears had a cute reaction as the tips twitched for a moment.

Lastly his cheeks flushed, a sight that was so unique, as they took the colors of peaches.

He wanted to kiss you now that you were so close, but then his mind connected the dots, and he couldn't help but yelp ever so slightly at the realization.

"My love" He called lovingly, his gaze not leaving yours as you admired him. It was not about the admiring itself, but the love those eyes were shining with. Eyes that twinkled like that only for one, him.

A soft hum was your answer as you just enjoyed the little corner of peace you were sharing.

"In the beginning I thought me and you were like the sun and the moon, destined to chase each other and never meet in the middle. Even before we knew each other, deep down- very very deep down I might point out- I would dream of a love like this, of being rescued by a kind soul that would teach me what I never had the chance to experience." He didn't stop, he poured it all like a river during a high moon. "And even in those dreams, you were a fleeting presence, you'd run around kissing everyone's cheeks, and meeting with me in those small moments when the sun and moon would be next to each other"

You could see the raw emotions seeping through his eyes as he just let it all out, while you listened devotedly.

"I wonder if in those two hundred years, we met accidentally down the roads of Baldur's Gate. If by any chance we stumbled upon each other as we were running for errands. If the universe tried to bring us together earlier but failed over and over again" He sighed, taking a long breath before starting again.

He didn't notice your hand reaching for his and cupping it with your fingers, until the pads of your thumb brushed delicately against his knuckles.

"But then we met, and you were no longer running away. Yet I was so afraid that I ended up being the one who did, and you chased me" He smiled ever so softly.

"I was truly awful to you if I think back. I initially planned to toy with your feelings to have a safety net, and instead I had you there, poking with your dexterous fingers where no one ever did. You came every morning, before leaving camp, to say hi. You offered your neck to me and trusted me, it was so new. All of it."

He unclasped your hand, bringing it to your cheek, and caressing it.

"Then I saw it. We were no longer the moon and the sun. We became the moon and the stars. You were there in all that darkness. You listened to a story that would make anyone weep in pity, and yet you offered me a shoulder to cry on and ears willing to hear. You offered a heart to share the burden with, willing to help me carry it. You were my moon, the light that I couldn't help but yearn for. So I became the stars, lingering around you and taking in all those little things you'd do." He could feel his chest tighten as he went on, seeing the way your eyes would soften by the minutes.

"You taught me all. With you I didn't have to be afraid of being myself, I didn't need to be afraid cause you had my back. I didn't have to charm my way through you, and despite the fact that I could give you nothing, you still managed to patiently give me your everything. You taught me love, something I've never thought I could feel, in any way" He leaned forward, placing a ever so soft kiss on your forehead before sitting back.

You were still there where you leaned as well, your eyes yet to open. Then he spoke again, his voice low yet delicate.

"And I will be forever grateful for it, my love. I will forever be grateful for you to be in my life. I will be grateful of the gifts you made me, giving me a second chance at life" It was something he couldn't fully explain, and neither could you, how naturally you two fit together. How the universe made sure his arms would perfectly wrap around your waist, or how he could shake you like no one ever could. The fates truly took their time threading you two together, and you both were grateful for it.

A calm was between you two, silence filling where words could have been, silence where you allowed your eyes to say it all. Yet that silence was abruptly stopped.

"So my love." He took a long breath, mustering all his love in his heart before gifting it to you. "I was wondering if you'd like to share the night sky with me forever, until the end of time." You smiled, and he swore he saw the universe in your irises.

"I thought it was obvious, my star." You brushed your thumb along his cheek. "I'd cross the nine hells if it meant staying by your side. I'd sail the elemental planes and even at the edge of the universe if it meant to kiss you" You leaned in, your lips barely caressing his in the most delicate and pure kiss.

He hummed, closing his eyes at your warmth, but quickly brought himself back to the reality around you.

"So" He cleared his throat, swiftly reaching into his pocket. "My moon, will you marry me?" His words came out so full, like he wanted to scream the question into the void, and yet so gentle, like he was holding a single flower in his palm, out for you.

Warm tears traced your cheeks as your heart swelled. You wanted to say it out loud, to yell it. Yet the words were stuck in your throat behind the trembling lips as you were so overwhelmed.

Your head did it all for you, nodding before you could control the rest of your body.

Your touch was delicate against his chest, even when you were pushing him to have him lay down.

You towered over him, as you gripped the collar of his shirt, and crushed your lips together.

You poured every drop of you to him, cause you were his and only his.

He didn't let go of you, or of your kiss. He basked in the slow dance you were making together, while the cookies and the ring laid forgotten on the table. You don't know how or when you moved back inside, your bodies still flush against each other, and your lips still tangled.

It was something so harmonious, the way you'd moan in his lips, as he grazed your skin. You were one as you made love over and over again. So tender, slow, emotional.

Sometimes tears would swell on your eyes just for a brief moment as you'd profess your love to each other between those choked moans.

You were truly the other piece of him. The only one that would fit perfectly wrapped around his hips, and still perfect when he'd be tangled in your limbs, coaxing those sweet sounds that drove him insane. You were perfect when your arms held him to you, and perfect when he filled you to the brim.

He wanted to say so many things as you showed him the stars, as his head rested in the crook of your neck while he could feel his body lose control over and over again. For you, with you, in you.

"I'll be yours in every universe" He'd kiss your shoulder.

"L-love you in every life" He'd lock your leg on his hip.

"M-my moon" He'd moan as he'd spill in your warmth.

He was glad they were alone, secluded away from any prying ears, cause all he wanted was to drown in the sweet sounds of the love you'd give to each other.

And then you laid in his arms. Your head pressed against his chest as your bodies grew tired, as your legs were still tangled with his while he'd whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

"I'll never love again the way I love you" He'd let his fingers trace the hills and dips of your body, and for a moment he'd indulge in thoughts he always feared to cross his mind; like his hands cradling your swollen belly, or the tiny life you'd protect with every fiber of your beings. The byproduct of your love asleep in his arms. He dared to dream about growing old by your side, and for a moment he dared to imagine meeting you in his next life, but this time he'd waste no time.

Like that, he'd also forget about that folded piece of paper in his pocket where he added one more name to the list. He wanted to finally uncover the mysterious person you saved: your husband.

[captainsophiestark]

We're Good

Kol Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: TVD/TO

Summary: Kol meets Davina and finally seems serious about someone, so his best friend convinces herself to finally let go of her secret crush. But when Kol gets jealous of her paying attention to another guy, what once seemed settled might not actually be finished.

Word Count: 3,092

Category: Angst, Fluff

A/N: Title is lightly inspired by the Dua Lipa song, although the fic doesn't totally fit it.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I tried not to scowl as I watched Kol from the second level of the Mikaelson compound. He was down on the dancefloor, in the middle of the latest party he and his family had decided to throw. I knew Nik or Elijah had some ulterior motive for hosting, but I hadn't cared because this time, I'd had my own ulterior motive. I'd put on my absolute best outfit and made sure I looked like a knockout, all so I could finally tell Kol Mikaelson, my longtime friend and crush, how I really felt about him.

And now, before I could, he was standing at the edge of the dancefloor trying to make a move on Davina Claire.

I should've known. Kol and I had been friends for a long time, and despite pretty regular flirty moments between us, he'd never taken any steps to make us something more serious. Instead, he flirted with, hooked up with, and even dated whatever mortal he'd most recently fallen for while I stood by pretending not to get my heart broken.

This time, I was done with it. For good.

I set my jaw and squinted, refusing to let the tears fall as I turned from the balcony. I almost made it into a hallway off the Mikaelson compound where I could disappear from everything, but of course, I couldn't quite get that lucky.

"He's a bloody idiot, you know."

Rebekah Mikaelson, my best friend in the world, stood before me with her hands on her hips, blocking my exit.

"Rebekah-"

"I'd love to have you for a sister-in-law, but you deserve better than one of my idiot brothers. As a boyfriend and as a friend."

"Bex, I don't want to hear it right now."

The sympathy on her face almost killed me, but she stepped aside. I thought that would be it, but then she called out to me just before I could turn the corner and escape this whole mess.

"Mourn all you like tonight, but tomorrow we're going out! There are plenty of men in this city to help you forget all about Kol!"

****************

Rebekah gave me exactly one day before she started hounding me about going out on the town to forget her "idiot brother". And honestly, I might've ignored her, except for the fact that Kol spent the entire day after the ball with Davina.

I'd always known he was a flirt, but this time, he actually seemed to mean it. So I gave him more space than usual, for my sake as much as his, and spent more time wih Rebekah. We baked and went on walks, and after a while, I stopped shooting her down when she tried to drag me to bars. Kol kept hanging out with Davina, but slowly, seeing them together was starting to hurt a little less. I always thought if he found a girl to get serious about, it would be me. And a tiny little part of my heart still tore to shreds when I saw how wrong I'd been. But unlike those first few days, the heartbreak wasn't eating me alive anymore.

Which is how I ended up out at a bar with the entire Mikaelson family, dancing my heart out on the dancefloor without a second thought for whether Kol would join me.

We'd first started a montly tradition of the firve of us going out and just having fun a few years ago, and despite various dramas and the siblings scattering to the winds, we'd more or less managed to keep it up. We always picked a place a few hours from where any of us were living and planned to stay the night, so we could well and truly forget everything but having a good time together. Normally, I spent the night orbiting Kol, to the point that Nik usually had a field day giving me shit about it. Tonight had been a little different.

I'd joined Nik in dragging Elijah out of the house, gone with Rebekah to order all of us some truly strange, fun cocktails, and danced the night away on the dancefloor with all of them, without my mind or gaze constantly circling back to Kol. He didn't seem to even notice the shift, and I was surprised to find that it didn't really bother me. Kol was a good friend, after all, and with a little more time to process, maybe we'd even be better off.

"Hey!" Rebekah shouted into my ear, still barley making herself heard over the music around us. We'd been here for hours, but none of us showed any signs of slowing down just yet. "That guy at the bar has been staring at you all night!"

I turned to follow her gaze and found a handsome guy looking back. He smiled, a little sheepish, and I returned the gesture before whipping around to Rebekah.

"Why are you so fixated on setting me up with somebody?"

"Because it's fun! And I haven't got to do it once in all the time I've known you because you've been so hung up on Kol. So come on, let me have my fun!"

I made a face. I wasn't sure I wanted to take a chance on the random person Rebekah had found, regardless of me finally being over Kol. She huffed, then leaned in to speak in my ear again.

"Just trust me! I compelled him and asked him some questions, and he seems like someone you'd get along quite well with!"

I closed my eyes. "You compelled him, Rebekah? Seriously?"

"Well how else was I supposed to make sure he wasn't some sleezy werewolf or something? Go on, just talk to him!"

"Fine! Fine, but it's still our Mikaelson Family Fun Day, so I'm just going to talk."

"That's fine with me! Although I promise not to judge you if you don't come back to the room tonight-"

I picked up the nearest thing I could find (a stack of napkins) and hucked it at her, which she easily dodged. I did my best to ignore her laughing behind me as I headed for the bar.

The guy smiled as I approached him, and I smiled back. I headed for an open spot standing next to him at the bar, and he started speaking as soon as I came within hearing range.

"Hey! I've been hoping you'd come over and say hi all night."

I smiled. "Why didn't you come over and say hi yourself?"

"Didn't want to interrupt you and your friends if you didn't want to be bothered," he said with a shrug. "Although, that girl Rebekah tried awfully hard to get me to come over once or twice."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, Rebekah loves nothing more than meddling, especially in my life." I paused. "I'm glad she convinced me to come over and talk to you though."

"So am I! I-"

He broke off at the same time as I felt someone slide up to the bar behind me, chest almost pressed into my back. I started to turn around to tell whoever it was to back off, but a familiar voice spoke up before I could.

"Why don't you go find someone else to bother, mate?" said Kol, his tone laced with the slightest undercurrent of a threat. Apparently, he'd decided to make sure he got what he wanted, because a moment later the guy whose name I hadn't even been able to get yet turned on his heel and walked away.

I rounded on Kol with a furious scowl, but he just grinned back at me, still very close and in my personal space. Normally, the proximity would've left me with butterflies, but right now all I felt was anger growing in the pit of my stomach.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked, an edge to my voice that I'd really never directed at Kol before. His eyebrows shot up, but otherwise, he didn't seem bothered.

"I was getting rid of that creep who was bothering you. Come on, darling, I thought you'd be thanking me-"

"Thanking you? Kol, he clearly wasn't bothering me! I came up to him, for God's sake!"

"Well I'm sorry, it just looked like you might want me to step in-"

"How? How did it look like that, Kol?"

My voice was getting louder now, enough that a few people were starting to take notice, but I didn't care. I was furious at my so-called friend and he was going to hear about it.

Kol cleared his throat. "Love, maybe we should take this somewhere else-"

"Knock it off with the pet names! Kol seriously, what the fu-"

In a split second, the bar disappeared around me. Instead, I found myself thrown over Kol's shoulder as he vampire-sped out of the bar. When we finally stopped, it was just inside the front door of the house we'd all rented, with Kol's back to me as he closed the front door.

I took my opening and hurled the nearest pillow at his head. It hit its target dead on, and I got halfway through picking up another one when Kol used his vamp speed to close the distance between us and grab my wrist.

"Hey! Knock it off, alright? What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? Are you kidding me Kol?" I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or all three, but I focused on the screaming part as I faced a bewildered Kol. "You absolute hypocrite, how dare you pull me out of that bar, and how dare youstep into my conversation like that!"

"What? Is this seriously all about me scaring off that one guy? You hardley knew him!"

"Obviously it's not completely about him, although that move still sucked, Kol! It's about you thinking you have some right to barge into my life and scare off a guy who might be interested in me! Because that's what it was, right? There's no way you thought I wanted him gone, so you did all this because you wanted him gone, right?"

"...I- I guess I didn't really like seeing him with you, but-"

"But nothing! Kol, we've had just a kind of flirty friendship forever. And whenever it seemed like we might be heading into something else, you were always the one to bail out. And last month, when you found Davina and got serious about someone else, it ripped my heart out. But I forced myself to take some time and get over it! Because that's your choice, and I care about you regardless of if you want to date me. But Kol, you have been clearly, specifically going after Davina lately. Which means you have absolutely no right to come tell some guy at the bar to back off when he's flirting with me."

"Darling, come on-"

I held up a hand to cut Kol off. The storm of emotions had finally started calming, hardening into something more manageable. I'd let myself struggle in this relationship without ever having an up front conversation for far too long. We were going to set some boundaries and have it all out, whether or not Kol wanted to. I was done with the rollercoaster ride.

"Kol, I know you call a lot of people 'darling', but if you want to stay friends with me then I'm going to need you to stop calling me that."

Kol just stared at me for a few moments, blinking and apparently processing everything I'd just said. His eyebrows knit together and he looked seriously distressed, but I refused to back down. After a moment, he took a half step towards me, his hand reaching out slightly towards my own.

"...And what if I don't think I want to be friends anymore, darling?"

I scoffed, another overwhelming wave of anger rising up and over me. I shook my head and turned around, walking a few steps away and hoping the space would help me cool down.

"You better not be flirting with me right now, Mikaelson, after everything I just said and everything you've been up to with Davina lately."

"Davina and I aren't together, love. We went on a few dates after Nik's little party, but we've hardly seen each other since then, and I don't intend to keep anything going. You might have noticed, but you started avoiding me after the ball and I had no idea why."

I turned to face Kol at last, scanning his face for any hint of something that might help me make up my mind on how to feel about all this. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, and I scowled.

"I wish you'd said something earlier about this little crush of yours, honestly. I didn't think I had a shot in hell with you. It would've saved us both some time."

I shook my head, slowly at first and then much much faster. Before I completely realized what I was doing, I crossed the room and smacked Kol in the chest. He was one of the oldest vamipres to ever live, so it didn't have much of an impact on him, but it definitely made me feel better.

"Kol Mikaelson, you jackass! You do not get to use this as an excuse to confess feelings for me!"

He laughed, holding up his hands and clearly fighting a beaming smile. I slowly tapered off my assault, instead opting for crossing my arms and absolutely fuming at him.

"Seriously, Kol, this isn't funny. I show interest in someone else for the first time in our friendship, and all of a sudden you're dropping everything to come and confess feelings for me? You get why I don't feel like that's completely sincere, right?"

Kol sighed, the smile finally falling off his face. He moved to close the distance between us again, and this time, I let him.

"I'm sorry. I'm not joking because it's a joke to me, I promise. I've had feelings for you as long as I've known you, darling, but I didn't think I had a chance with you. And you've been important to everyone in our family for just about as long as we've known you. If I made things complicated, or made you want to stop spending time with all of us, my siblings would've literally killed me."

I snorted, looking down so Kol wouldn't see me fighting a smile off my face. No matter what, Kol always seemed able to make me smile when I least wanted to. Normally, it was one of my favorite things about him.

"What can I do, hm? What can I do to prove I mean what I'm saying?"

I sighed, crossing my arms and at last looking up at Kol. With wide eyes and no hint of the sardonic smile I knew so well, he looked more serious than I'd ever seen him before.

"...If you're really sure about this, Kol, that you really mean this...?"

"I do. Darling, I swear I do. I promise you, I won't waste the chance if you give me one."

"Okay, then prove it. I've never seen you go more than a week without flirting with some human, witch, vampire, werewolf, or whatever other sentient beings we come across. Make it a month, and maybe I'll believe what you said about being serious about this."

"...And will we be dating for that month?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "No. I want to, Kol, and I want that to be where this goes, but... I need to see that this is real first. I want to believe it is, so badly, but after centuries of meaningless flirting and dancing around each other without a conversation, of seeing you have flings every chance you get and watching each one of those burn out... I can't just take it on faith."

Kol sighed, glancing down at the ground before meeting my eyes again. He didn't say anything, just closed the little remaining distance between us as he brought his arms up to circle my waist. He pulled me to him, leaning down with a glance at my lips, and I didn't stop him as he pulled me into a kiss.

Fireworks exploded in my chest. My knees went a little week as I leaned further into Kol, resting my hands on his shoulders. After a few long moments, just as my common sense started returning to tell me what a mistake this was, Kol pulled back with a grin.

"Sorry, darling. But I couldn't wait a month to do that."

I snorted and shook my head, stepping carefully out of Kol's grip. He watched my every move with a smile, and my heart did a backflip when he licked his lips. I told my heart to calm the hell down.

"I... certainly didn't mind the potential preview," I admitted.

Kol laughed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at me.

"This is going be the longest month of my life... but if that's what it'll take, I'll make it through. I know it'll be worth it, especially now."

I rolled my eyes, but this time, I couldn't quite keep a smile off my face. Finally, my heart started returning to a normal pace, and I managed to meet Kol's eyes again without having a cardiac event.

"Alrlight, so... what do we do now? I don't know about you, but I don't particularly want to go back to the bar."

"Is that a joke, darling?" He raised an eyebrow at me, but I just shook my head. His mouth dropped open like he couldn't believe I was serious. "I may not get to do the activity I most want to do right now for another month, but I did just get my best friend back after extensive radio silence. We have so many episodes of our favorite shows to catch up on!"

"...You didn't watch them without me?"

"Of course not! Did you watch them without me?"

"Of course not!"

"Well then, there you have it! That's our evening. You make the popcorn, I'll turn on the tv."

I laughed as Kol turned on his heel, getting immediately to work. I still wanted to wait the month I'd made him promise; I still wasn't confident his romantic affections wouldn't wander. But despite all that, a massive weight lifted off my chest as I headed into the kitchen for snacks. I had my best friend back, and finally, after a ridiculous amount of waiting and dancing around each other and poor communication, we were actually getting a shot at our happy ending.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[marchsfreakshow]

Withdrawals And Heartache [Kai Anderson]

Angst / smut teasings

Your friend got you into a cult when you moved back into town for a bit. Not that you knew it was a cult. But, the leader...looks oddly familiar.

Request for anon who suggested a part 2 to 'A Drug For His Heart' !! Ur request honestly gave me so many ideas so thank u for that.

Some warnings: smut implications has non-con, reference to hitting, Kai himself. Mentions of religion/corruption. Ultraviolence references but the roles are reversed. We got everything here at MarchsFreakshow

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

"look just come to one. It'll be worth it."

"Hm.."

You looked at your friend with distain. Being back in this town, knowing the possibility that Kai still lived here tugged at you. Well...you hadn't seen him so far, what was the possibility of seeing him at this... meeting you were suggested? You figured 100% you wouldn't see him.

The man's voice was lower, his face darkened by the shadows. You almost clung to your friend when you walked into the room with them. This place looked familiar. But you didn't put it past you, plenty of houses in this town looked similar to one another. Maybe it was your ditzying memory. 2 years away and a job that paid you well. There was not much here for you apart from family.

"Finally."

His voice rung through your ears. Your friend sat you down with them at the back. Why that voice...like the one that whimpered your name so long ago? Despite those lingering thoughts, his face was still hidden by the shadows. Quick, lingering glances to you. Like he knew you. His eyes on you had you slightly squirming. Adjusting your legs casually, pulling your coat sleeves down. He took notice of it all.

"You. Stay sat." His finger pointed directly into your eyes. Silently eyeing your friend, begging them to stay. Yet, they left in the crowd. Eyes meeting eyes. His footsteps, calculated, short and sour.

Standing up, you left your chair, to stand in front him. The stringy, greasy blue hair, the boba black eyes, the nose. The hands.

Kai.

"Kai.."

He repeated your online name. It made you cringe slightly. "You looked familiar. Why are you back in town?"

"Family."

"Tell me something...your real name. The one people use to devote their time to you."

Slightly stuttering, you got out your real name.

This wasn't the incel, nervous, shaky loser you met on Reddit over 2 years ago. Kai stood taller. Still had terrible hygiene. Atleast one thing never changed. He was more confident in himself, proud and ready to kill. And..the blue hair. It almost confused you. Why blue? He looked perfectly fine the way he did with his natural hair.

"It suits you." A moment of almost awkward silence between the two of you. "Why did you move? Was it me?"

"It wasn't you." It was him. Another step towards you, and his hands confidently found the small of your back. Not reminiscent of his shaky, nervous hands on your waist and your back when he held you close, when he pulled you flush against his chest. Yet that heartbeat stayed the same. Picking up it's own pace once he had you in his arms once again. "Ha...Kai." You breathed out, sprawling your hands over his chest, almost an instinct to push him away.

No. He couldn't have you push him away. Not after what you put him through. "I missed you."

"...I didn't."

Those dark eyes, somehow darker when Kai stared his soul into your soul. Rage. Confusion. Why didn't you miss him? He poured his heart out to you when it was so long ago. Shouldn't you've taken it all to him when you noticed it was him? The dim light over you flickered like a horror movie, a horrible cliché. His fingers digging themselves into your coat fabric, holding himself back from doing something that could drive you away from him.

Kai missed you. He had back in his arms. After so long. He held himself back. His true love. His love for you wasn't enough. Was it? It never was enough. Why was loving you hard? It was so easy...when you were the same person. "I'm different now Kai." Like you knew what he was thinking. "I'm healthier...not wasting away in front of a-"

His hand struck you. A quick, hard slap over your cheek. The reddening skin covered just as speedily with your own hand. "Kai-!"

"Do you really think you're that much different from when you were depending on me?"

"..what the fuck Kai?!"

Meeting your gaze, levelling himself. This definitely wasn't Kai. Whoever it was, you wanted out. Now. "..Still a pretty one. I suppose you're one with a rosary on your bedstand. Hoping for a better world."

No retort after a few minutes. Steeling silence with a unclear gaze, your hand still soothing the sting of your cheek. It almost earned a huff of a chuckle from the blue haired man. Why blue? "Believe yourself to be a lamb? Innocently following the word of god?" Well...you wouldn't go so far as to call yourself a lamb of god. But maybe you read a few verses on Sunday. Visited the church and made a donation when you felt you needed some time away from your own head. Not a full puppet to the landscape of religion. Silent still. Not giving up yet? Kai had seen that. Seen how you were digging your stare into those eyes of his.

"Your god has only let you down." Taking a step around you. Breathing out a sigh, putting his hands on yours and wrapping them around you. Pressing his cheek to the side of your head. Like he was taking you in. "If god...truly loved you..why has you lead you here?"

Your lips were sealed. No response. There was no way you were giving into his stupid tauntings. He was doing this on purpose. Riling you up. You ached to lay your hands back on him. Yet, not wanting to give the desperate man an inch of your time. Such a different man to the one you knew, but still the same. Needing your attention, and your touch at all times like the loser in his mom's basement.

Now that was mentioned...you were here. In the basement. This..was infact Kai's house. How could you be so stupid? Of course this was Kai's place!! You knew the hallways looked familiar. The whole house. "fuck."

"There we go... can't keep yourself quiet for long. Even when I begged you to stay quiet." He lead you over to a table. Even if that did include a bit of thrashing and refusals. Attempting to get yourself away. Such a pitiful thing. So pitiful. The stinging of your cheek had lessened by this point, but it was still there. Never backing yourself down however. You'd gotten this far. Such a pretty thing. "I've missed you..Even if you haven't missed me."

Not particularly wanting to give into your fate, you continued to struggle. Attempts to get away from him; cut your trip short and go back home.

As much as you would never admit it, Kai did appear in your mind once or twice after you moved away. How could he not? For one, he took your virginity. You took his. That was something important to you, and you yanked it away from eachother.

Like how he yanked your jeans away from you. The cold air hit your thighs before you could respond. Both of you stayed silent. His belt hit the ground. You still felt the same. Gripping onto you. Playing with your skin as he got used to how you felt around him again. Whimpering your name again. But your actual name this time. Not your online name.

Somehow become his again, even though you'd leave again in a week or so.

"fuck..mine.."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @coentinim / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @marchsfreak / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47 / @lemoniiiiiii / @xrag-dollx

[harmonicakai]

Look After You

Part 2 of the "Anyone Else But You" series

Pairing: Huening Kai x Reader

Summary: You tag along to the club in the hopes of finally confronting Kai for his weird behavior, but things don't go as planned.

Tropes: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, angst

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sexual tension/references to sex (mdni), reader is insecure

“I'm nervous, couldn't tell you why Touching me, hands warm on my thighs And I know I could turn a blind eye Afraid of what I'm gonna find” —North, Clairo

Somehow, someway, you were standing outside of Yeonjun and Kai’s apartment complex in the tiny dress he had picked out yesterday. 

Earlier, Yeonjun had texted to check in and assure you that he wouldn’t make fun of you if you decided not to come. Still, yesterday with Kai was just so unbelievably strange and now you’re hellbent on getting to the bottom of things.

Getting into this dress was way more complicated than you were willing to admit. Before you left, you had stared at yourself for almost ten minutes, your reflection unrecognizable. Usually, you’d cover up as much as possible, but tonight, everything is so… bare.

As you wait, you worry that it doesn’t fit you right, or that your makeup looks ridiculous. You don’t like when others look at your face, nor your body. That’s why you use your clothes to distract people. If they can’t see, they can’t notice everything that’s wrong with you.

When the guys finally come down to meet you, Soobin’s there too. He greets you with his dimpled smile, picking you up and twirling you around like you weigh nothing. It almost makes you forget about Kai, had he not been sulking in the background. 

It’s like every time you’re around, you somehow manage to suck all of his energy away. Clearly, last night was a fluke and he’s back to normal now.

“Hi, Y/N, it’s been a while,” Soobin says, running a hand through his short hair.

It’s true. You haven’t been assigned to styling the boys in almost three months, and only ever see Yeonjun outside of work or when he manages to track you down and bother you during a shift.

“It’s really nice to see you,” you reply, your hands running up and down your bare arms.

“Are you cold? Here, take my jacket,” Soobin says, stripping it off and handing it to you before you can politely decline. The material hangs off you like a tent, covering the dress completely.

“The car should be here any second now,” Yeonjun says, his shirt barely buttoned, exposing his smooth chest. 

You glance from him to Kai and note the stark difference in their outfits. Whereas Yeonjun is dressed to kill, Kai doesn’t even look like he knows where you guys are going.

He’s wearing an oversized black hoodie, baggy jeans, and skating shoes. It was something you would’ve seen him come to a photoshoot in before stepping into the clothes you meticulously laid out.

When the cab arrives, it becomes obvious that your driver is the grumpiest man in all of Seoul. You open up the front door on the passenger’s side.

“No room up here,” the driver huffs. You glance to see the seat full of ramyeon packages.

“There’s not enough seats,” you say, backing away from the taxi door. “Maybe I should just go home.”

“No, Y/N, you should come,” Soobin says, “I can go home if it’s an issue, or just meet up with you guys there.”

“Guys, there’s plenty of room for all of us,” Yeonjun diffuses, “Y/N can sit on Huening’s lap.”

“What!?” you squeak at the same time as Kai. The two of you lock eyes for a brief second before looking away again. His face is beet red.

“From what I’ve heard, the two of you just need to kiss and make up already. Plus, Hyuka’s so big and strong. It’ll feel like nothing to him.”

“Hey, I don’t have all day,” the driver reminds your group. You sigh and gesture for the boys to get in, Kai going last.

He gives you a look that reads “Are you sure?” before you climb onto his lap, doing your best to sit closer to his knees than his crotch.

Unfortunately, the ride to the club is a bumpy one. With each sharp turn, you jostle around the backseat. Your hands are pressed against the roof, searching for some stability.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Soobin asks. You’ve almost tumbled into his lap after the driver ran a red light.

Kai reluctantly wraps one of his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You nod to Soobin.

You’ve never been this close to a guy before, let alone one who's made it very clear he doesn't like you. Not as a friend, and certainly not as anything more than that. Still, the way his head nests itself over your shoulder feels… nice.

You shift in his lap before a pothole sends you flying. His grip tightens to keep you from bumping your head.

“Y/N,” Kai whispers through gritted teeth. His breath is hot against your ear. “Please. Try to stop moving.”

“Just a second.” You keep squirming as his arm wraps tighter around your waist, trying to adjust so his bunched up clothes don’t feel so lumpy underneath you. Why is he wearing so much damn fabric to the club?

Suddenly, your eyes widen as you realize the real source of the problem. Kai is hard.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment and regret. 

“No, I should’ve been more careful,” you reply, staying as still as possible. You have to remind yourself that it's a purely physical reaction. Heat radiates off of his chest, growing warmer by the second.

Right, Yeonjun, it sure feels like nothing to Kai.

“What are you guys whispering about?” Yeonjun asks, leaning over Soobin. This was probably his master plan all along.

“Nothing,” the two of you say in unison. The rest of the ride is silent, but you catch the other two grinning out of the corner of your eye.

As soon as the cab comes to a stop, you practically leap out of Kai’s lap and into the parking lot. He follows shortly, pulling the hem of his hoodie down to hide any evidence of what just happened. 

Based on Yeonjun’s snicker, it doesn’t work.

The boys don’t even have to wait in line or show their IDs at the door. They introduce you to the bouncer, although he’d hardly recognize you again without the makeup or outfit.

The club is humid and packed, music blasting much louder than you’d ever willingly subject yourself to. You do your best to trail the boys, but get lost in the crowd.

A large hand reaches out and wraps itself around your wrist, guiding you forward across the sticky floor. It’s Soobin. You have never been more thankful for his constant devotion to being a gentleman towards you.

The group settles into a booth in the back corner, Yeonjun throwing his jacket down in preparation for finding his target for the night.

He locks his eyes on a girl with red hair. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he yells over the music, stalking back into the crowd of bodies.

“Do you guys want to start off with a round of drinks?” Soobin asks. 

“Nah, I’m good for now,” Kai says, sinking into the cushions of the booth. Did he actually bring his Nintendo Switch to the club?

“What about you, Y/N? Care to join me?” Soobin continues, extending his hand.

You’re not much of a drinker, but maybe with a little liquid courage, you’ll finally be able to confront Kai for being weird all this time. You nod and follow Soobin to the bar.

That was eight shots ago. 

A squeal from behind you catches your attention, and you watch as Arin leaps into Soobin’s arms, their reunion straight out of a K-drama.

Before he can introduce you, she drags him by the hand to the center of the dance floor, pressing her body against his. Soobin doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe the rumors were true.

Without anybody to distract you, the music grows louder and your head starts spinning. You stumble out into the hallway, desperate to get home and change out of the tight dress before you throw up all over it. 

“Do you like him?” a familiar voice says from behind, startling you. You turn to see Kai standing next to you with a glass of dark liquid in his hand.

“What? Like who?”

“Soobin. I… I see the way you look at him.”

“No, I don’t like him. I’d probably look at you the same way, too, if we were friends.”

“We are friends,” he says softly, although you can tell even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Don’t make fun of me. Everybody knows that you hate me,” you whine, your words slurring together.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. I promise.” He’s staring at you so intensely that you can’t help but notice how warm his brown eyes are. The blue contacts he’s constantly being forced to wear don’t do his features any justice.

“Do you remember the first time we ever met?” you start again, snapping out of your trance. “You were in your dressing room fumbling with a harness, and it was only my second week. I came over to help you and you flinched away from me. Told me you didn’t need my help and walked away.”

Kai stares at the floor, no longer interested in his drink.

“And you always go straight into your room whenever I’m over. Or make up an excuse to go home early if you find out I was also invited somewhere. We’ve never even had a real conversation until now!” Your voice breaks, and it takes all of your strength not to let any tears fall.

“Okay, I get it,” he concedes, throwing his hands up. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. But I promise that I don’t hate you.”

“Then what’s your problem? Why do you act the way you do?” You were getting more and more frustrated. Apparently, this whole time, you and Huening Kai were just the best of friends. “How can you actually look me in the eyes and tell me that I’ve gotten everything wrong?!”

“God, Y/N, you just—you make me so nervous!” His breath hitches, as if he wants to say more. Your face shifts from anger to confusion.

“What? What do you mean?” you ask, your knees buckling. Now really isn’t the time to be having a heart to heart.

“Y/N, I’m going to take you home,” Kai says, steadying you. The back of his hand presses itself to your forehead, recoiling at the burning temperature. You slump further into his chest. “Where the hell are Yeonjun and Soobin? Fuck!”

Kai lifts you up, his long arms wrapping around your body as you nuzzle your head into his neck and groan. The last things that cross your mind are raindrops soaking your skin and the faint smell of peaches.

—————-

It had been a couple of days since the club incident and all you got out of it was a really bad cold and some paid time off. 

Your head still aches, further exacerbated by the incessant ringing of your doorbell. 

“Y/N, it’s Yeonjun. Let me in,” your best friend’s voice calls from the speaker. You buzz him in, hoping he’ll be able to tell you what happened the other night. All you remember is waking up in his bed to him sleeping on the couch.

Less than a minute later was his signature rhythmic knock at your door. You open it, greeted by not one, but five smiling faces with their hands full of gifts.

“You didn’t tell me all of you were here,” you groan, slumping back onto your bed.

“We thought you might not want to see all of us right now. But we heard what happened and we wanted to check up on you. And bring you some fun snackies,” Taehyun grins.

“And also, to apologize for making you come in the first place,” Soobin adds.

“We’re sorry,” they say in unison, even though Beomgyu and Taehyun weren’t even involved.

Kai avoids your gaze, coughing into his elbow.

“Are you sick too?” you ask, handing him a tissue to deal with his sniffles.

“Of course he is, Y/N. He carried you home in the pouring rain! Our Hueningie is a total hero,” Soobin says.

“He even cleaned your throw up off the bathroom floor,” Yeonjun adds, his voice tinged with both disgust and respect. “And got that dress dry cleaned and returned to the building before anybody noticed it was gone.” 

You turn to Kai, unsure of whether or not they’re making this stuff up. “Did you actually do all of that?”

“Yes,” Kai answers, head down and twiddling his thumbs. You do your best to recollect the other night.

“I guess that does make sense. I remember your cologne smelling really good.”

“What? I don’t wear cologne.”

“Oh… then I guess you just smell good.”

“You know, Y/N,” Beomgyu starts, “When somebody likes somebody else’s natural scent, it usually means they’re attracted to them. Maybe you and Hyuka are soulmates and just never noticed.”

All of you stare in awe at Beomgyu’s lack of a filter. Taehyun elbows him in the side. 

Every time you and Kai have been brought up recently has been a joke, but he seems so genuine that you wonder if there’s something you don’t know. 

“Could you guys go pick up some breakfast from the café around the corner? I’m really hungry,” you say, doing your best to change the subject.

“But we brought all this food with us!” Taehyun complains, shaking the gift bag in the air.

“Just go. Kai can stay behind and fill me in.” The boys exchange knowing glances. 

“Fine, but give me your keys,” Yeonjun says, hiding a smirk. It takes all of his strength not to make a joke about how much Kai would love to fill you in.

“And 20,000 won,” Beomgyu adds.

“Here,” you say, handing over your Miffy keychain and a bill from your wallet. Beomgyu pockets the cash with a smile, clearly not intending to put it towards breakfast.

“We’ll be back before the two of you can make a baby,” Yeonjun winks.

“You’re such a pig,” you scoff, the boys filing out of the room one by one.

“A handsome pig! Bye!” he calls, shutting the door behind him.

It’s just you and Kai now. When his eyes finally look at you, you find yourself looking away.

“So, you really don’t remember anything else from the other night?” he asks.

“I mean, I think we talked, but I don’t know what about.”

“Oh.” He decides not to press any further on that part of the story. “Well, yeah, basically… you got sick and I brought you home. You threw up twice and then I helped you change and waited until you fell asleep in Yeonjun’s bed. I DID NOT look at you naked by the way. I slipped a t-shirt over you and you just went on autopilot and shimmied out of the dress on your own. Guess you wanted to get out of it pretty damn bad, huh?” 

This is by far the most you have ever heard him talk outside of interviews. The way he rambles is actually kind of cute.

“I also kind of had to watch and make sure you didn’t roll onto your back and choke on your own vomit, but other than that, I just sat on the floor next to you and played Pokémon. You snore in your sleep, by the way.”

He has a big smile on his face now, satisfied with his storytelling. You smile back. The moment is quickly interrupted by Kai having a sneezing fit.

“I’m sorry you’re sick because of me,” you apologize, handing him another tissue. When he reaches for it, he holds onto your hand for a split second longer than necessary.

“It’s okay. I’m just happy that I was there to help you,” he says, sitting at the edge of your bed. He’s much quieter without the other guys around to riff off of.

“Thank you for that, by the way. I really don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

“Let’s not think about that.”

“Agreed,” you say, searching for a cosmic sign of how to continue the conversation. “Yeonjun tells me you’re quite the ladies man.”

A blush spreads across Kai’s face. You’ve made him flustered. “Uh, I, uh… No! I don’t think so? Maybe. Did he really say that? Because if he did, he literally sleeps with a different girl every night. Sometimes more than one! And one time he even asked if I wanted to join—”

“Kai! He didn’t actually say that,” you interrupt, hoping to stop him from revealing anymore of Yeonjun’s life in the bedroom. “I was just messing with you.”

“Oh,” he chuckles sheepishly. “Right. But, uh, that girl from the other morning. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, although part of you wonders if it actually is. “So, is that the type of girl you usually go for?”

“No!” he replies. He mulls over his next words, “You’re going to laugh at this. Basically, the guys were making fun of me at the club because I always sit in the corner and play games, and Yeonjun tried to make a bet that I probably wasn’t even capable of bringing a girl home, let alone someone that looked like her.”

Someone that looked like her. Even if he says that she’s not his type, how are you supposed to feel when you look the complete opposite way? Did every guy have those kinds of standards?

Kai can tell by the look on your face that he’s said something wrong. He decides to change the subject. “I only ever see you when you’re all dressed up.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think anybody would be seeing me right now. Sorry if it’s not the best sight.”

“You look nice. I like your pajamas.” He gestures at the bespectacled teddy bear on the front of your shirt. “It’s Beomgyu.”

“Thanks,” you laugh awkwardly, looking down at it. “I guess it does kind of look like him.”

“Is he your bias?”

“Maybe. Don’t tell Yeonjun.”

“My lips are sealed.” He smiles and pretends to turn a lock and throw away the key. Your gaze lingers on his lips until you turn away, unsure of what to say next.

“I feel like we don’t know anything about each other,” he says, breaking the silence.

“We don’t.”

“Right. I guess that’s my fault.”

“It is.” You have no idea why you’re being so short with him. Weren’t the two of you just smiling at each other? It’s like you were used to playing defense and couldn’t figure out a way to switch it off.

“Y/N, can we start over? I’d really like to be friends.” He hesitates on the last word.

“I probably won’t be dressing you any time soon, so I don’t know when we’d get to know each other.”

“Let me take you out! We can do whatever you want.” 

“Whatever I want?” It’s a tempting offer.

“Yes.” There’s an earnestness to the way he’s speaking to you that you’re not quite used to.

Yeonjun usually decides your hangouts because he knows how stressed planning makes you, but it’s nice to pick every once in a while. You mull over your options.

“Do you want to go watch the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra perform this weekend?” you offer, a little apprehensive. You had only purchased one ticket, thinking you’d be going by yourself. Kai’s eyes light up.

“I’d love to! Hopefully we’ll both be feeling better by then. Though I do think the red nose works for you,” he says, brushing his hand across the blush spread across your face.

The other boys burst in with even more food than before, wearing grins that tells you they’ve been listening from the other side of the door. Kai quickly pulls his hand away.

“We’re back!” Taehyun sings, setting a large bag of pastries onto your lap. “We didn’t know what you wanted, so we got one of everything.”

“Are you guys official yet?” Soobin asks, mouth already full of a cream donut.

“Yes, Soobin, Y/N and I are getting married tomorrow. Will you officiate?”

Huening Kai is making jokes around you. He’s laughing and smiling and being the bubbly guy you’ve always seen from afar. The only difference now is that he’s finally within your reach.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[brucewaynehater101]

I'm so glad you like it and I love all your feed back. Tim would 100% have plenty of trauma that he just. Is *refusing* to address due to starting that identity when he was likely still a teen. Tim having the identity if Jane Doe is also 100% going to help him with coming to terms with all the shifty stuff his family did.

As for Jason, I think he would see Jane refusing to be near him as Jane being skittish, likely due to the many guns he is visibly wearing. He knows he has a reputation as a protector, but he also knows that part of that reputation is that people do fear him. He'll just. Need to give Jane time to relax around him, yeah?

Though I do have a version that ends much worse for everyone. The Bats aren't the first to find out who Jane Doe is. No, Tim makes a mistake. To calm down someone he's friends with after they almost got mugged and he saved them as Red Robin, without thinking he made a joke referencing an inside joke which made the two ladies laugh. Only one problem. Only they and Jane Doe understand that joke because no one else was there. It was just those three. Meaning Jane Doe is Red Robin. Which would logically put N as Nightwing, H as (Red) Hood, and R as Robin with B as Batman.

This also means these two now "know" how the Bats treat Red Robin and they spread word *fast*. Within a week all the Sex Workers who were worried about Jane know and help Jane sneak away whenever they know a Bat is going to be coming by. This also means that almost over night all of the Sex Workers, Bar Owners, and most of the homeless (at least the ones in Jane's area who know him) are refusing to work with any Bats but Red Robin.

They are full on *scared* of Robin because they know he carries a sword, they know he uses it on criminals, and if he's willing to use that sword to nearly kill his own older brother multiple times? Whats stopping him from hurting them if he thinks they're up to something? Batman? The guy who they now believe either used to or still does beat up his own kids? No, they saw what happened before Tim became Robin they *remember*. The ones who flirted with Nightwing are suddenly shunning him or full on sneering at him. They believe he stole his own younger brother's first time (Tim only said N stole something precious that he could never give back and that it hurt very badly. He meant Robin but he couldn't tell them it was Robin) after tricking his younger brother into falling in love with him (Tim told them that Dick was the first person to make him feel truly loved and adored, because this is 100% bad parents Jack and Janet who told him "do whatever it takes to succeed")

There is so much miscommunication in this AU. It's funny and devastating at the same time.

Them finding out before the Bats reminds me of the fics that explore the street kids finding out that Red Hood beat up Robin (a child) even though he promised to never harm kids and to protect them. This causes them to instantly distrust him, and Red Hood is never able to earn their trust again.

I imagine that the sex workers would probably react similarly to Red Hood. Instead of being greeted warmly, suddenly everyone is treating im with caution. That's so much fucking angst for Jason (especially if he finds comfort/support from sex workers due to them helping him when he was homeless).

Also, there might be a time when the sex workers are mad at Red Robin (and some probably stay mad). They see taking a persona of a sex worker as insulting and making light of their situation. Some of them would never do that work if they had choices, which RR obviously has.

Then they start to logic how old he was when he started (he was doing this when he was Robin), how he is actually still selling himself because he performs the work, and that he probably does view it as a necessity. I wonder if there's any misconceptions that Batman knew/knows about RR's activities and whether they would compare that to pimps.

But yeah. They would become almost hostile to all Bats and RH.

[i-starcreamed]

Hi hi friend I have a request for you :)

can you do a bumblebee x reader where the reader was like his partner back on cybertron and they like bumblebee thinks their dead until like their pod shows up on earth

can be any pronouns please and thank you

idk if this is in character and perhaps this is mostly angst but...partners reuniting. i hope this is what u meant!!

TFP Bumblebee x Cybertronian!Reader

The Groundbridge swirled with a green color as it opened in a deserted area. The bot's surroundings were covered by trees and Earth's greenery, despite being beautiful it was not the type of terrain that was easy to travel in. Ratchet had caught a new energon signal on their scanner, it was no deception signal or raw energon, but it was rather a sign of another cybertronian.

It was a mystery as to why they landed now if most of them had landed years ago, but the entire team went to investigate the mystery pod nonetheless.

There buried in the ground, was the escape pod. Optimus Prime was in front as the team had his back, all held their blasters and aimed it at the pod in case danger was near. As they neared, they could almost let out a sigh of relief to see that it wasn't a deception pod, but they still didn't know who exactly was inside. The team slowly dropped their blasters as they neared the pod.

"Who could it be?" Arcee crossed her arms as she tried peering inside the fogged-up glass. Optimus still held his blaster as Bulkhead neared the pod, using his strength to open the latch.

"I am not sure yet, Arcee. But everyone, stay alert." He took a step closer to the pod, and everyone cautiously followed suit. The latch was lifted off it's hinges to reveal a [color] bot, a couple scratches, and dents littered their frame as they lay unconscious. While the rest of the team wasn't phased, Bumblebee nearly malfunctioned right on the spot. It couldn't be...could it? He thought it was impossible, that he would never see you again. The last time he saw you, your hideout on Cybertron was raided by Decepticons and you had stayed behind. The amount of guilt that troubled him even on Earth was unbearable, he thought you had offlined. He thought he had lost you.

"Bumblebee?"

Optimus' voice snapped him out of his thoughts, he didn't realize he was still staring at you as his servos slightly shook. Optimus looked at him expectedly with a concerned look across his faceplates. He faced the Autobot leader and responded with a series of beeps.

"I know them! They're Y/N, m-my partner. I thought they were dead, I thought I got them killed, I thought-" Bleeps and beeps came out jumbled and were barely discernible by even those who understood him. His servos gestures all around before he looked at you again. He tried to reach for your body before Optimus placed a firm servo on his shoulder.

"We should get them to base first, Bumblebee. It is not safe out here for them, the two of you will have your chance to talk once Ratchet tends to them." He sent him a hint of a sympathetic look, he knew how much Bee wanted to hold you and speak to you again right now, but Decepticons could be near. In the end, Bumblebee nodded and carefully took your body from the pod, carrying you all the way back.

Bumblebee fussed about you all while Ratchet took care of your minor injuries and as you were waking up. In a room full of bots you didn't recognize, a bright yellow mech caught your optics as soon as you onlined. Even you couldn't believe it, your optics locked and you swore you felt so young again, if only just for a split second. Suddenly you were staring at the same Bumblebee you thought you lost, the one who you thought you would never see again. Also the same bot who you had fallen in love with when everything was okay on Cybertron. You were both different now, having plenty of experience in a war that was ongoing and uncompromising. That seemed to not matter as you both embraced each other, your grip tight as you wrapped your arms around him. You expected to hear his voice greeting you, but instead, bleeps and fragments of cybertronian came out of his vocalizer.

"Oh, Bee..what happened?" You gently asked as you still held onto him, it still felt impossible for you to be reunited with him again, and yet he felt the same way. He shook his helm and held your servos in his.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you, Y/N." The beeps whined as he gazed at you with his bright blue optics. Despite all the years he'd gone without you, you were the only bot that he held dear to his spark. It would be a tough adjustment, getting used to Earth and having to know about the still ongoing war; but being with Bee would make it better. A lot better.

[jasntodds]

Penance [1]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,340

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, a little blood, a little bit of violence

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: It's finally the last book!! I'm honestly so excited lol You don't have to read the previous books to read this one but if you want context, feel free to ask!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Everything is different. Somehow, everything has changed so much over the last month and a half everything that happened before almost feels like some sort of sick fever dream. It's all very real and all of it happened but everything is different today. At least, to Jason it feels different.

Gotham itself is pretty much the same. Bruce has been back and doing his whole Batman thing. The only difference is he doesn't have a Robin now but his methods remain the same, it's the same routine for him, same big bads. It's the same for him. The businesses that were boarded up during Crane's reign are up and running, everything looking to be the same just as it was before. The air around the city is still smoggy and the rain is still cold and wet. The streets sound the same just as they always did and the gargoyle keeps Jason company just as it did before. So much is the same but he feels like everything is different.

Instead of him and Bruce butting heads over him being Robin, they're butting heads over his methods. Bruce has no issue with Red Hood but he does have a problem with the killing part of it. And Jason won't budge. He swears he's not bitter about what happened but he is firm in his belief that change needs to happen. It stops with him and Bruce can either fight him or get on board. They are trying to come to some sort of agreement which is significantly better than how it would have went before. Bruce keeps the Robin suit in the case. He won't tell Jason why.

Their relationship is different now. Jason thinks it might be for the better.

He hopes it's for the better.

His living situation is different than it was before. He has his own place, the main safe house he used while Crane ran the city. It's not anything too special yet and Jason doesn't have too many things that are his but it's coming along. And that is his. It almost feels like it did when he was on the streets but this time, it is his choice. It is his choice to be alone here. And he owns it. No one can come and kick him out, no one can come and arrest him for trespassing and breaking and entering, it is his. It might feel lonely sometimes after living with Bruce and the Titans for so long but it is his and it brings him some sort of pride in a way.

He works with Barbara mostly now. Whenever something a bit more dicey pops up or Bruce is busy, she calls Jason. It's his literal job now and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. Him and Babs get along better now. Actually, him and the Titans get along better now. There's still plenty of work to be done but his relationship with them has been on the mend, something he is eternally grateful for. He still owes them.

Then there's you.

Things are different with you.

"I will be back as soon as the threat is taken care of." Bruce states as he grabs a few things from the Batcave. "Are you sure you can handle this?" Bruce asks, not because of his lack of confidence in Jason's abilities but rather his general mental health.

"I got it, man." Jason brushes him off. "Nothing I haven't done before. You've gone with the Justice League plenty of times." Jason holds back his snippy attitude, trying his best to level with Bruce and not let his anger get the best of him.

"Before you were..." Bruce trails off in a way that makes Jason shift his weight off his bad leg. "Robin." He nods once, sternly and hard. "That was before."

"I'm fine." Jason nearly whines, desperate to not get into that. They don't talk about it. "I got it." He gestures his arms out casually.

"Okay." Bruce states with a sigh. "Do not blow anything or anyone up again." Bruce warns.

The touch of a smirk pulls at his lips. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

There may have been an explosion near Harbor last week with some gun runners inside. Jason may or may not have been in the area patrolling. And that group may or may not have been the group Jason had been tracking over the last few days. Jason does think the explosion really helped though. They got all the guns and all the people involved in one sweep. Seemed efficient.

"I know it was you." Bruce states easily.

"Nope." Jason shakes his head but the grin is tugging at his lips, knowing damn well he's guilty.

Bruce lets out a sigh, not bothering to argue with him over it. "Just...keep it down, Jason." Bruce states and he's gone out of town a hundred times but something about this being the first time since Jason died and has been brought back almost makes him nervous.

Jason can handle himself. He's been doing it. This is only his second time in the Batcave over the last month and a half and only his third time back at the manor. He's doing well on his own, all things considered, but he is Bruce's son and Bruce does worry even if he doesn't show it.

"It'll be fine, just go. I got it all handled. Pick up your job you're working, almost got the one from Babs and..." Jason pauses feeling his mouth run dry. "Molly said y/n's got a few she's working."

Bruce eyes him, knowing very little but knowing enough about the situation between the two of you. "You should call her." Bruce tries to say it casually.

"No." Jason states simply. "And you're not allowed to give me advice here. The one that got away? Seriously, man?" Jason lets out a scoff.

Of all people, Jason does not want relationship advice from Bruce. Bruce had a solid chance with Selina and apparently, he's still hung up on her and is doing nothing about it. He could have had something great with Talia, too but that didn't end well. Jason is not looking to take advice from Bruce and he's thinking he shouldn't be taking much relationship advice from anyone he knows. No one seems to be getting that department together anytime soon. The way he sees it, this is fine.

It's fine.

"How did Tim know that?" Bruce questions Jason plainly.

"He stalks us." Jason nearly chortles.

"Well, that is all my advice. Call her, Jason." Bruce nods once at him.

"I'm good." Jason shakes his head. "Now go before Clark shows up and drags you back with him."

Bruce lets out a sigh, making his way through the living room. Bruce offered to let him stay at the manor which Jason declined. He's on his own. He can't come back here. If he's even being honest, he's only thinking Bruce called him to "look out over his jurisdictions" just to check up on him, make sure he feels useful as if Jason doesn't have his own work he's doing. Somewhere in his chest he wants to be mad and fight back over it, swear it's because Bruce doesn't think he can handle it so he's setting him up to prove a point to get him back. But Jason bites it all back, deciding to tell his mind to shut up for fucking once and let this just play out.

He sees Leslie once a week and that helps. He thinks he'll just tell her about it.

Jason finds himself back at the place he's calling home, enabling the alarms once he's safe inside. It's messy and somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear the echo of your voice telling him he should clean because he's not busy now. And he looks at the stuff on the floor, almost willing himself to listen, and then he heads upstairs anyway.

If Jason Todd is good at anything, it's being alone. He's been alone almost his whole life. Even when his dad was around, he was drunk or mean...so he was alone. Even when his mom was alive, she was usually high. She wasn't really with him very much. He adapted to what it's like to be alone. To fend for himself always and somewhere deep in his broken heart, he wishes it weren't this way but he's good at it. He has always pushed until he was alone. He is a natural disaster ripping through the hearts of people who love him so maybe being alone has always been better for him. At least the only thing left to destroy is himself.

Even if being lonely is some of the worst kind of hurt. But this is his penance.

One day, he swears, it won't be like this. That's the point of talking to Leslie and getting along with Bruce and being himself today. One day it won't be like this. A day will come when he won't have to punish himself for all the hurt he's caused. He won't have to punish himself for all the scars he bears at the hands of others and himself. One day he won't have to punish himself for the person he could have been. It just has to be like this today. So, Jason goes up to his room where he keeps his training equipment and monitors and he starts to work on the cipher until it's time for patrol.

The city is warm tonight. Cars are crowding the streets while people walk home from their Saturday night out and a smile pulls at your lips from under your mask as you watch the people below you. Patrol has just started and you're mostly waiting and listening, knowing something is going to happen because it always does on Saturday nights. But, you'd be lying if you said you don't like the view from where you are. Something about Gotham always being pretty at night.

The smog isn't visible, it doesn't look dreary as it usually does during the day. It's just street lights and busy people walking about. A part of you can't believe just a few months ago you were terrified of heights and now you actually enjoy the view.

Things have changed a lot since then.

You live with Molly now, probably how it always should have been. You share a small apartment, this one has better locks on the doors and windows. And every night you teach Molly some self-defense, just in case. If you've learned one thing, it's that you cannot save everyone but you can help them. At least if Molly is somewhat prepared, she has a chance though you could tell by how she moved and certain things she already knew that Jason had taught her a few things before San Francisco. Living with her is nice though. She understands you and there is no judgment. You aren't alone.

Gar and Tim talk to you every single day, updating you with whatever is going on. At first, it was fun stuff on the road trip like sightseeing and museums and bowling. Now, it's the hell Metropolis is currently under. You've never been so happy you stayed behind. You do not want to fight a demon. You'll never admit it, but you wouldn't stand a single chance against Rachel let alone Mother Mayhem and Brother Blood. Though, you are disappointed you missed the whole zombie situation. You're just glad the boys keep you up to date with everything and you talk to Dick and Kory all the time, too. That doesn't feel too different. It feels almost like it did when you first came back to Gotham and you like it this way.

And then there's Jason.

Things are different with Jason.

"Robbery in progress in the East End, convenience store." Molly says through the comms.

"Got it, send the address." You grin wildly behind your mask before you use your grappling hook to lower yourself down the backside of the building.

Molly helping out has been new. You aren't too happy about that part but...Molly was insistent and to tell her no would make you a hypocrite. Molly stays back and is youe eyes in the skies kind of deal which has been very helpful when it comes to patrol. At least that's nice.

You take the bike and head to the address Molly sent you. Patrolling is different now, too. You've always patrolled with Bruce or Jason or the Titans. Even when Jason died, you weren't patrolling. You had set targets and that's who you went out to grab. This is patrol. This is different. You're alone with Molly in your ear. You thought maybe you wouldn't like it, Iike maybe you'd actually be really bad at it being alone. But, if you were being honest, you're really enjoying it this way. You're good at it. And it's fun and you don't have to worry about anyone else. It's just you. Your life. That's it. And you like the thrill a little bit.

Jason shoves the last of four men to the ground, his hands zip-tied behind his back and the man lets out a groan. He glares up at Jason with blood streaming down his nose, his friends all a bit battered but have learned to keep quiet. This one is annoying.

"You broke my fucking nose!" He screams up at Jason.

Jason never quite understood why people committing crimes who get caught, like in this instance for example, are confused by their injuries. They showed up to rob a local small business and expected to get away with it. They're here to possibly ruin something that someone has earned and worked very hard for just because they can. A broken nose seems to be a pretty good deal.

He's not even a stranger to robbery but these guys walked in there armed and prepared to shoot anyone who wanted to get in the way. Jason was also a teenager and desperate. These four men don't seem to be in the same boat and the way Jason sees it, there was no reason to hold a gun to someone's face for a hundred dollars in a cash register. These are not master criminals.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood or your nose would be the last of your worries." Jason says casually through the modulator.

"Good mood?!" The man yells back as if he's the real victim in this situation.

"Yeah, good mood." Jason echoes back about to make another smart comment until he hears the sound of a motorcycle pulling up.

Jason turns around just in time to see it stop and he'd recognize the bike anywhere because it's the same one as his. He'd recognize the blue and black suit anywhere because it's yours.

You pop the helmet off and Jason swears his very heart just burst into flames into his chest and it might just burn through his ribcage. The corner of his lips starts to tug into a shielded smile at the sight of you and his only thought is that he misses you. He asks about you to your friends, not too often but...often enough for them to know. All of them say the same things, you're doing okay but they're worried. You're working with Barbara, too, running different jobs for the PD and you check in on Tim's parents every single day.

Molly always says the least about you.

Every single bone in his body feels hollowed seeing you. But when you lock eyes with him and you don't look happy, the guilt comes back baring its teeth and digging them right into his jugular.

It has been a month and a half and he is trying his best. It hasn't been easy and some days he doesn't try but generally, he's trying. It's hard whenever every breath he takes is haunted by the day he took his last. It's hard trying to figure out his footing. Jason Todd is Red Hood. He knows that. He is Red Hood. Red Hood protects innocent people and uses any means necessary to make sure they stay safe. But he is not a hero. He is doing what must be done and that is all. Jason Todd is Red Hood but outside of that, he doesn't know yet. Instead, he wraps himself in a straightjacket of guilt and remorse and agony and hopes that'll be enough to repay his debts to misery and happiness.

You eye him and it's like you're being exposed to the entire city in an instant. It's as if your suit and mask have been ripped from your body and every scar and insecurity and vulnerability is being displayed in some sort of sick museum as you see him. You have separate sections of the city. You, him, and Bruce. This is Bruce's section but he's out of town with the Justice League. It would have been Jason's to pick up but you didn't even question it when Molly mentioned it.

You wish you would have questioned it.

It is almost a relief he wears a full-face helmet because you aren't entirely sure what you would do if you saw his face, saw his expression. Would he be happy to see you? Disappointed? Mad? Would there be anything left at all or would he just look at you like he would any other vigilante showing up a little too late to help? You aren't sure which of those would be easier to swallow.

Something builds in the space between you, something hard and damaged, sucking the air out from between you. It snarls back at you both almost daring you to go ahead and try to move. Try to make the space less and see just how badly the teeth of grief will hurt this time. Go ahead and tempt death for old time's sake and guilt. Go ahead and try to mend this and pretend it's some sort of coincidence, as if fate has any hand in this. It bites and gnaws at you both as water brims in your eyes, every emotion bubbling over to the surface and grief screams out to you both.

Go ahead and try again, see just how badly this will all end again. It will only end in bloody hands and shredded agony. Guilt laughs in your faces, a devious crackle as if you are not worth the other. The both of you do not deserve forgiveness for the torture you've caused the other. Walk away. You both can hear it over and over again, guilt and grief and resentment and loneliness, walk away.

So, you do.

You pop the helmet back on your head just as Jason turns back to the robbers.

"Where are you going?" Molly asks through the comms as she watches the tracker on her screen start moving.

"You can see him here." You seethe. "I know you can see him, too."

Molly has all of your locations. She shares them with Bruce. It was part of an agreement with her doing this eyes in the skies thing and you being able to keep patrolling. It's how you all keep your sections of the city. Molly knows Jason is here.

"He wasn't when I sent you, I swear." Molly defends softly. It's not a lie, she just didn't mention when Jason happened to be moving towards the robbery. "He showed up but you were already on your way—"

"So you didn't tell me?!" You yell. "Seriously?"

Somewhere in the last month and a half, grief has metastasized into something resembling resentment. It's not him. You know that. But, seeing him just now brings back too many feelings you've yet to deal with properly, you're trying but you haven't gotten that far yet.

Grief bubbles back and transforms into something like resentment because you should be together. You should fucking happy and you aren't. You are, generally, but there is this void echoing in your chest. A burning pain right on your heart where his name was stitched. It sucks to be blind-sided into seeing him even if the resentment is towards yourself. You just would have liked some fucking warning about it.

You need to be prepared if you're going to see him and you aren't entirely sure you're ready. There's still a lot of shame even if missing him makes you feel like Atlas. Half the damn time it takes everything in you not to call him. Something will happen and he is still the first person you want to tell. But, you're not talking. Instead, you get updates about him through Molly and Gar and Tim. All of them have said he seems okay while sounding worried about him. It's hard not to worry about him. He's Jason. You think that's your only relief, knowing he's at least doing okay.

You just wish you had it in yourself to check in but he said space and you said space. You agreed and guilt and shame suck the very air out of your lungs to the point where you think this is your way of punishing yourself for everything you've done to him. Forcing yourself to not contact him first and check-in. You're punishing yourself but keeping to what you know and staying away from him. Maybe it was him who was always better off.

Molly sighs. "You have to talk to him eventually." Molly rolls her eyes on the other end and decides to drop it. She can hear the engine of the bike roaring louder than usual. This conversation is not one to have at the moment. "Mugging two blocks from you, take a right."

She is thankful the two of you have not put her in the middle. The most that happens is you both asking about each other. Other than that, you don't ask. You don't mention each other. It's as if you only know of each other through your mutual friends. Molly thinks that might actually be worse sometimes.

Jason gets back to his safe house and strips from the Red Hood gear. He heads right for the shower. Seeing you tonight, it feels like a lot. He never tried to kill you but somehow, you're the person he betrayed the most and dealing with that has been a lot harder than most of the rest of it. Your dedication and loyalty to him he thinks has made it so hard. To have someone so loyal and love him the way you did, sends his head fuzzy with regret knowing the pain he caused you.

At first, Jason thought it'd be a week or two. You'd both cave and talk again and then one thing would lead to another. Maybe it wouldn't be the healthiest way to deal with your shit, but you'd be together and you'd figure it out. But then a week or two turned into three and then four and then six. The more time that passes, the harder it gets to pick up the phone. Maybe that's why he asks Gar and Tim and Molly about you. They all say you're good but they're worried about you. They're always worried about you. But at least you've been good and Jason is grateful for that. He just wishes he had it in himself to suck it up and just call you. But, he doesn't so he showers away the thoughts of you and drowns himself in his guilt and regret.

By the time he's out of the shower, his phone is ringing and he's drying his hair with a towel, the white streak staring back at him in the mirror and he's still mad Dick didn't get the same thing he did.

"Yeah?" Jason answers the phone.

"I need your help." Dick states on the other end.

Jason pulls the phone from his head, looking at the caller ID before he puts the phone back to his ear. "With?"

"Training Tim." Dick states.

Jason almost laughs at the very statement. It's not that Dick is asking for help in the training department, he has before. That's fine. It's that Tim is supposed to be Robin out there and Jason knows they are actively fighting demons and zombies. Tim should absolutely be getting trained in between all of that.

"You haven't trained him yet?" Jason scoffs in surprise before he walks out of the en suite and into his bedroom.

"We've been busy." Dick scoffs back knowing damn well Jason knows what's been happening. Dick has mentioned it and Gar gives Dick updates about Jason meaning Gar talks to him plenty. "Between everything that's been going on since we got to Metropolis, we haven't had time."

Jason chuckles softly on the other end. "Yeah, uh, Gar was telling about me about the zombie shit. Fucking Deathstroke? Glad I wasn't there." Jason laughs softly and he can't see it but there might even be a faint smile on Dick's lips. He sounds good.

"Yeah," Dick huffs, running a hand through his hair. "You gonna be able to help?" Dick asks.

"Yeah, I owe you anyway." Jason agrees. "Not gonna go easy on him though. I'm gonna make sure he's ready when he comes back."

It doesn't take Jason long to have his decision. There's something...weird with someone replacing him in a way, as Robin. But, if someone is going to be Robin, they have to be prepared, more prepared than he was. Jason doesn't want someone else to end up like him and he knows Tim, kind of. He owes Dick for everything Jason has put him through and Jason did always like helping with the training. It's not a difficult decision.

"Good, that's what I expect." Dick nearly chuckles. "If he's going to be Robin, he needs a good teacher."

"Wouldn't go that far, man." Jason shakes his head, still getting used to Dick being nice.

"You trained y/n and look at what she can do. That is mostly on you. Do the same for Tim. I'll have him in Gotham tomorrow."

"You just gonna send him to me?" Jason's brows pull together as he puts a hand on his hip.

"No, I'm going to send him on a mission that is all just a ruse to get him there. You'll find him and go from there. Don't tell him." Dick explains simply as if Jason should have known Dick would have a...ruse?

"So, you're gonna send him here on a fake mission with no training as Robin?" Jason lets out a laugh. That's ridiculous and somehow Jason finds himself not entirely surprised. "Why not just fucking tell him, man?"

"I want to instill confidence in him." Dick states, almost defensively. He's trying his best and he also knows that Tim is very confident and maybe he needs to see he needs the help. "Should have done it with you guys. Not making the mistake again."

Jason clears his through. "Yeah, okay, deserved that." Jason shakes his head. "Alright, just let me know when he's on his way and where I need to be. I'll get him ready to actually be Robin."

"Thanks, Jason." Dick's voice is sincere.

"Yeah, don't mention it." Jason lets out a sigh before he hangs up.

He plops onto his bed, his eyes falling onto the helmet resting on the dresser on the opposite side of the room. Right after leaving the manor from talking to Bruce, this is not where he saw Red Hood being. Being a vigilante is now something Jason feels like he has to do, he likes it but he is trained to do it. He's trained to help people and if no one else is going to help them, Jason might as well. It's taken a little getting used to, rebranding Red Hood in a way. Red Hood is not a murderer. He kills really horrible people for the greater good. He targets people like Black Mask and Penguin by working his own circle to steal their business. He sabotages their work and steals their shipments. That part is always a bit fun. Red Hood patrols Crime Alley. He helps them. He is not a murderer.

He's still getting used to it but it's better than it was. Even if the blood on his hands burns from time to time.

This is kind of nice though, the ability to train Tim. He does miss that part a bit, training with someone. Training alone only does so much sometimes. Jason liked helping train the other younger Titans. It made him feel important and now he gets to train Tim. He'll never tell Dick, but it means a lot for him to ask for help here even if it's just because the Titans have been busy.

This is the last one for the night. You've been tracking this group of people who work for a pretty bad pimp in the city. You've gotten a couple of the women to turn and Barbara has put them into protective custody, immunity from any and all charges. It's not them they want anyway. It's the pimp and his right hand but when women stopped showing up, he got wind and went into hiding. So, did most of his men and women. Until tonight when Molly grabbed one of them on a camera in Gotham Heights. You wasted no time in trailing him.

The second this guy sees you, he takes off like a bat out of hell and the only thing you can do is roll your eyes and go after him. They always run. It's like they really think running is going to work for them. Between the cardio and the grappling hook and the bike, why do they think they'll actually get away? They always run.

The guy thinks he's smarter and quicker. Well, maybe he's quicker but he is not smarter. Molly is tracking him through every traffic camera he hits while you stay a good distance behind him until the opportunity comes for you to get onto a rooftop and continue the chase that way. He's heading somwhere, it won't be toward his boss. There's no way he's that stupid but he is heading into the perfect spot for you to grab him.

You turn off and then jump a few more buildings before ducking down into an alley. You walk to the very end and then wait a few seconds for the running footsteps to come closer. You grab a knife from your belt and then just as he goes to run past, you grab him, spinning him and pinning him against the alley wall.

You hold the knife to his neck and press it into his skin, not enough to cause serious damage, just enough to let him bleed. Blood gets people talking quicker and you're tired and hungry.

"Where is he?" You demand.

The man gulps and the blade presses into his neck further, his breathing heavy and shallow. "I don't know who you're—"

"Your boss. Yes, you do. You're all in hiding but you came out and for what? Where he is?" You question again, not in the mood to even let him think for a second he's smarter than you.

He looks at you with terror. Somehow, he wishes it were The Bat that grabbed him and yet he finds himself thankful it's not The Red Hood. The Bat won't kill him but Red Hood would make sure his death was painful if he really wanted to. You're not one to be messed with either. But his boss? That's just signing his death certificate.

You pull the knife away, kneeing him in the stomach before you land a punch to his face. You don't want to kill him. You read his record. Wrong crowd at sixteen. He was probably manipulated into this, too. He's a victim, too. But, he needs to give up his boss.

The man groans, sliding down the wall as he holds his jaw. "Fuck!"

"Tell me." You grit your teeth.

"He'll fucking kill me! I'd rather you just send me to Arkham or Blackgate! I'm not a fuckin' rat." The guy seethes but there's a quiver in his voice.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I'm aware he'll kill you."

"What the fu—"

"So tell me and give me a reason to make sure he doesn't." You offer. "You think I'm here to kill you? If I wanted you dead, I'd kill you myself. Tell me and we'll protect you." The offer is genuine even if it comes out snippy.

"I don't believe a damn thing you say." The man gives you a weak scoff and diverts his eyes to the street.

"That's a you problem then. I'm trying to help you while you help me." You offer. "It's a real offer."

"Immunity then." The man fires back without even thinking.

You scoff. Does he not realize that the whole vigilante thing is still a crime? You can't promise that. "No. And I don't have the ability to promise that anyway. Work out with the DA. I can get you into protective custody though if you give him up."

Barbara has you working this case involving some sort of ring with sex workers. It's definitely more than just some guy calling the shots and dividing up money. Missing women, bodies turning up, drugs, it all seems to lead back to him. Your argument was that half the people working under this guy are victims, too. Some of those people are given the opportunity to flip and if they do, they're given protection. Barbara said the DA isn't too happy about it and some of the civilians will probably be pissed but you don't care. Not all of them have to go down with the ship.

"Look, he's going to find out you were with me and he's going to think you flipped or you're thinking about it. You're a dead man the second you walk out of this alley if you don't help me and we both know it."

The man lets out a sigh. "Crime Alley." He finally caves. "I don't know exactly where. I heard there are only a few women who know and then his right hand, that's it."

You nod accepting the response. It's way better than nothing. "Thank you."

"You're really gonna help?"

"Yeah, of course." You get to your feet.

"Why?"

You shrug. "You're not the big problem here." You answer casually. "My advice though, take whatever punishment is dealt to you and serve it and then get out. There's a program. The commissioner will give you information about it if they decide to try you."

"Thank you." The guy nods.

"Mhm." You hum, pulling out your own zip ties before you zip tie his hands together but before you get Molly to call Barbara, Molly comes in through the comms.

"Hey, I've got Dick on the other line, you wanna take it?" Molly asks.

"Yeah, actually, I'm done here. Let the commissioner know he flipped and I got info on him so he's good." You answer.

"Got it." Molly answers before she patches Dick in.

"I need your help with something." Dick starts without wasting a single second.

Your brows pull together. "Uh, hello to you, too?" You question as you get back to your feet. "The fuck do you need my help with? I do not want to go to Metropolis." You let out a chuckle before you look out onto the street and then back back into the alley.

"Superman?!" The guy on the ground yells.

"No, Nightwing." You scoff. "Shut up. You're done talking."

"Are you on a job right now?" Dick almost yells and at this point, he expects nothing less.

"Oh, yeah, just wrapping up." Your voice is almost cheery on the other end.

"Okay..." Dick holds the bridge of his nose, not even wanting to unpack that. "I need you to help train Tim."

You cackle on the other end. "Okay, hold on, let me wrap this up. This shit needs my attention." You laugh looking back to the guy. "Alright they'll be here in a few to arrest you but I gotta head out so...sorry about this." You pull your fist back, punching the guy and knocking him unconscious. "Anyway," You start before you shoot your grappling hook at the roof and start your jumping and walking to your bike. "You need me to do what now?"

"I need you to help train Tim to be Robin." Dick repeats.

"Is that not your job?" You quip back with a laugh.

Dick sighs, seeing as he is clearly going to have the same conversation twice. "We've been busy."

"Yeah, Gar and Tim said something about Zombie Deathstroke. Sounds fucking insane. Glad I'm not there." You laugh before jumping onto a neighboring rooftop. "Wait, okay hold on." You shake your head. "You're gonna send Tim here?"

"Yes. On a fake mission to build confidence." Since he's already had this conversation, Dick knows exactly what to cut out and include in his response to get this conversation over quickly.

"Uh-huh." You nod, getting the feeling there's a bit more to this than Dick is leading on. "Right, yeah, got it. Fair enough, I guess. And why are you asking me?" You ask knowing Jason is right there in Gotham City as well.

"You're good at this, you're the newest member besides Conner but well..."

"Superboy." You finish. "Unfair fight."

"Exactly. You also have your combat clairvoyance. Jason always said you were a good sparring partner because you fit." Dick's voice is casual and simple, you know there's something he is not telling you. He's nicer than he was before. The stick is no longer up his ass, but he's being too nice.

"Yeah, he did." You roll your shoulders before jumping to the next rooftop. "And uh, why are you not asking Jason?" You ask before it goes completely silent. And you know immediately. "Oh, you did." You state.

"I did." Dick answers simply.

Of course, Dick asked Jason first. You aren't offended or hurt by it. Asking Jason to train Tim is smart. But, not immediately telling you means one of two things. Either Jason said yes and Dick is setting you both up which makes you want to jump off this rooftop or Jason said no and Dick just wasn't going to tell you. Unfortunately, you're betting on the first option just because you know Jason wouldn't send Tim to the wolves.

"And he said yes, didn't he?" Your voice is a little snippy this time.

"He did." Dick keeps his voice level, unsure if you're going to start yelling or not.

"Okay so you're asking me to help Jason train Tim but Jason doesn't know you're asking me and you weren't going to tell me but because I asked you were obligated not to lie to me in fear I'd be pissed off enough to walk out and so would Jason?"

"When you put it that way." Dick states. "Look, I know it's complicated right now." Dick tries to reason with you.

"We're not fucking talking, Dick like..." You let out a breath. "He probably doesn't want to see me, ya know?" You nearly whine at the thought because you really believe it.

You hurt him.

"I know but this is for Tim." Dick urges.

You might be giving Dick a hard time but you both know you'll agree. Not only is Dick asking for a favor but it's also Tim. You would never not help Tim especially with everything that's happened. You owe Dick and Tim for everything. But, that doesn't make the situation any easier for you.

"Jason is gonna be pissed if he finds out, ya know?" You ask.

"Yeah." Dick answers. "Tim will get the best training from the both of you though."

"Yeah." You roll your eyes. "Fine. Yeah, I'll help and I won't tell Jason. Just when and where?"

"Tomorrow, I'll text you the rest." Dick answers. "Thank you."

"Mhm." You hum.

Dick feels bad for you and Jason. You've both been through a lot individually and together. It's two of the things that brought you together in the first place. You two always seemed to make each other happy and you actually seemed really good for each other. Dick knows first hand it's not easy and it is always complicated. It's always going to be painful trying to work out the romance department while being a vigilante. It's why it didn't work with him and Barbara. It's why it didn't work with him and Dawn. It's not easy. But, he feels bad for you both. It feels like you weren't given a chance.

"Talk to him." Dick states carefully.

You groan as you look to the sky. "You're not giving me a fucking choice are you, Dickolas?"

"You know what I mean." Dick says right back.

While you appreciate the sentiment, you are not taking dating advice from Dick Grayson. As far as you know, Dick's been in love with Kory for almost a year, at least and he has not said a single word to her about it. At least you told Jason. The way you see it, Dick should be taking dating advice from you.

"You tell Kory how you feel about her and I'll have a conversation with Jason." You offer in a higher-pitched voice, offering a bit of bite in your words.

"Okay no—"

"Yes." You quip back. "Don't give me advice if you're not going to take the same advice." You jump to the last rooftop. "She feels the same way anyway." You mutter softly.

"Alright, thank you." Dick cuts you off. "Talk to him. Tim won't know you're helping him."

"Gathered. Just let me know. I know to keep my mouth shut. I got it." You assure him.

"Thank you."

"You owe me." You laugh softly on the other end before ending the call.

After the run-in earlier tonight, you weren't sure when you'd want to see Jason again. At first, you thought about it all the time. Maybe you'd run into each other just as you did earlier and he'd make some quip about you being in his territory and you'd make fun of him for needing your help. Something would click and you'd be back to normal and it would feel good. The void in your chest will fill again and it would be normal. But that's not what happened because more time passed and you think about how maybe he's mad at you. He should be mad at you still. The more time that passed, the more you convinced yourself it was what you deserved. So, you keep your distance on purpose from him. Maybe that's your penance.

But now, you have to face him.

So, you head back to the apartment to mentally prepare. Jason Todd is still the Jason you always loved and you have to act like you're fine. You have to act like it is not eating you away inside to think about him. Everything has been going okay and you're finding yourself in this city. You think your feet are starting to land on solid ground for once. But, the thought of seeing Jason makes you feel like the earth is being pulled from under your feet. It's the one thing you have deliberately not dealt with. So, you know you have to act like it's all normal. If you're going to be able to do this with him, it has to feel normal. You have to feel normal otherwise it'll be sad and awkward and painful. Maybe he won't want your help anyway.

In no way did you expect your first time speaking to Jason again would be because Dick asked for help. But, it looks like that's exactly what's going to happen. And maybe your bones are starting to vibrate with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. You might feel guilty and you might be worried but you miss seeing him. You miss the way his voice sounds. You miss him more than words could ever describe.

Maybe you hope he misses you, too even if you don't deserve it.

Maybe as the night goes on and you get ready for bed and tell Molly about it, maybe you can't wait to see him.

next chapter

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[redheadspark]

Hawuuuu can I suggest 21. "I'm so happy to have you by my side." With Druig

A/N - HAWUU! Thanks for requesting this, friend! I love writing some Druig!

Seed

Summary - Druig knows how to bring you back from being inside your head.

Warnings - Just angst and floss mixed together.

“Hold still!”

“I am!”

“You’re not!  You’re fidgety as hell!  Enough and hold still!”

Druig huffed, moving some of the ointment along his bare shoulder and near his neck where some wounds were still raw.  The one on his cheek was already healing, thanks to his Eternal energy.  But the rest of his wounds were still fresh and lingering, even when you all were far away from that beach and in a safe space at Ajak’s farmhouse.  The cool wind came through the front porch where you had Druig perched in a rocking chair, you behind him and tending to his wounds.  The rest of the family was inside, talking about the plans for the future and what they were going to do.  As much as you wanted to be part of that conversation, you had other priorities.

Your husband of 2,000 years was your priority.

Seeing him walk up to you amongst the surf along the beach made you both sigh in relief and cry at the same time.  You remember seeing Ikaris hoist him high up in the air, Druig being defenseless and unable to defend himself, it made your stomach drop.  But you let out a blood-curdling scream as Ikaris launched Druig to the ground, pelting him with his beams from his eyes with fury and intention to inflict pain on the one Pacifist in the entire group.  You’ve never felt so much anger and rage towards another person, a member of your family that you have known for centuries on end, but it was the simple fact he was trying to kill Druig and take him away from your life.  Your source of life and happiness, your husband and better half.

You would go through hell to make sure Druig stayed with you.

Now that there was peace again, along with the world being safe again from Tiamat which was now frozen as marble, you were focusing on Druig and bringing him peace.  Maybe you needed the peace too, tending to him and getting him the treatment he needed.  It was merely scrapes and a nasty bruise on his chest thanks to Ikaris, but there was a decent First Aid Kit that was in Ajak’s bathroom for you to skim through.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as you got the last of the ointment on his cheek, feeling him squint a bit as you leaned back a bit to look at your handiwork as you stood in front of him.  He was now in a loose shirt and pants, his leather jacket hung on the back of the chair and his bare feet touching the hardwood floor below him while his brown hair was flowing in the wind a bit.  He looked up at you with his piercing blue eyes, a soft smile on his face while he cocked his head at you.

“Better now, thanks to ya tendin’ to me,” He said lightly, almost trying to make it nonchalant.  You simply smiled, though Druig could see past it as he reached over to lace your fingers together.  You knew the feel of his palm against yours, the calloused fingers from building your village in the Amazon, the smoothness of his palm that showed the dips and curves that reminded you of the Milky Way, even the soft scent that he carried on his skin that was now engrained in your body and within your soul.  He was your center, your safe space.

In one word: home

He’s been your home since he first kissed you so long ago, admitting his feelings towards you one night during feasts.  You were of course surprised at the confession of his feelings, never thinking that he would look your way at any time since you were a wallflower.  But you saw the glimmer in his eyes, heard it in his tone, you even felt it in his touch as he pressed his lips against yours.  Instantly, you were a goner for him, all from a simple kiss.  It took 2,000 years, plenty of growth from the pair of you, to finally be in the spot where you were.  To read each other like a book, to know the other better than one’s self.  

“You okay?” He asked you tentatively, searching your eyes and seeing that you were a bit lost in your own mind.  You blinked, only squeezing his hand on yours and nodding slowly.  

“I’m just glad you’re here,” You replied, making it simple enough that Druig understood what you meant.  You were not one to express your emotions really well, especially when it came to how you felt about Druig.  He was more of the partner you thrived on Words of Affirmation, he would tell you day in and day out how much you meant to him and how much he loved you.  It warmed your heart to hear it, and it never got old over the centuries.  You wished you were like him when it came to expressing your feelings, but Druig never minded it.  You showed it in your actions and gestures, holding his hand and wrapping him in your arms when he seemed lost in his own mind.  

Druig got up from the chair and wrapped you close in his arms, his hand holding the back of your neck and his other arm around your waist as you clung onto him tightly.  Neither of you said a word; the only sound heard was the wind chimes and the soft grass swaying in front of the house.  Even the soft chatter from the others was evident, but not as a distraction as Druig tucked you In his arms and refused to let you go for one moment.

“I’m so happy to have ya by my side,” Druig said against your head as you tucked your head into his neck, “I’d be lost without ya, m’darlin’.  These 2,000 years have been wonderful because of ya,” 

“I feel the same way, and I almost lost all of it on that beach,” You muttered, Druig squeezing you a bit tighter as he kissed the top of your head lovingly.

“Don’t say that, it’s in the past.  I’m here, and I’m not goin’ anywhere without ya.  I swear, luv,” He swore to you as you both held each other on the porch.  You were no longer thinking about what happened on that beach, or how close you were to losing Druig.  Druig brought you out of that darkness and those worries, planting small seeds of comfort and affirmation that he knew you needed at that moment more than ever.  

He will forever sow those seeds of love for you, and you will take every piece he will give. 

The End

April Prompt Session

[skzbinniebang]

“It hurts me, just how much I ache for you.” B.C

“It hurts me, just how much I ache for you.”

Pairing: Chan x fem! reader

Warnings: angst, implications of violence, cursing.

Word count: 988

(I have posted this short story before, I did want to rewrite it to change a few things!)

It was always up and down with your boyfriend. Always fighting, crying constantly on your end, and harsh words, maybe, occasional violence on his. Nothing too crazy in your eyes, but others would think differently. Especially your closest friend, fuck, your only friend at this point; Chris.

You and Chris have been inseparable friends your whole life, growing up in the same neighborhood and going to the same schools together. Now you’re both graduated from high school and taking an off year from university. Every time you had a fight with your boyfriend; you’d either call Chris, crying, and he’d pick up the phone and let you spill everything out on him, or calm you through the phone of course. Or you’d high-tail it to his house, if it was far too late in the night, you’d crawl into his room through his window.

The tear-streaked face would shatter his insides, he couldn’t help but grow feelings for you some time along the way in your guys’ friendship. He felt nothing but hatred for your boyfriend, hatred for how he could be hurting the one he was supposed to love, cherish, take care of, protect. If he had the opportunity, he was sure he could kill him. He didn't deserve you, and you didn't deserve to be treated the way you were. Each time you’d come into his room crying over him and what he’s said or done to you, he’d simply sigh and bring your fragile frame into his embrace. Chris had stopped saying anything about it a while ago, knowing you’d get upset with him over voicing his concerns or telling you that you need to break up with the loser.

It was a Sunday night, meaning Chris’ parents were already sleeping in preparation of work in the morning. That didn’t stop you from sliding his cracked window open and climbing into his bedroom with frequent sniffles. When you look around his room you frown noticing his absence, getting ready to leave he walks inside, right out of the shower. Oh, he is home.

Water droplets fell from his hair onto his chest and back, his towel clinging around his waist, holding on for dear life. You feel ashamed that your eyes wandered along his fit body, Chris stops once he notices you in his room and lets out a soft sigh while walking past you and slips a t-shirt on, quickly putting himself into sweatpants before you have the chance to turn to him. “What happened?” He asks you gently, sitting on the edge of his bed, patting the spot beside him. You sit next to him, letting out several hiccupped breaths, sobbing into his shoulder, “H-he…I-I found him with another girl!” Chris moves an arm around you, comfortingly rubbing your arm, “Y/n…this isn’t the first time you’ve caught him with another girl…” he starts out, speaking almost hesitantly, nervous that you’d start to get upset with him as you’ve done plenty of times before this.

Of course, he felt for you, the girl he had feelings for being mistreated in so many ways. “You just need to leave him y/n, I’m serious, he doesn’t deserve you, think about all the times he’s wronged you- “you cut him off with a huff, sitting up “He’s still my boyfriend Chris, you can’t talk about him like that.” You say a little too quickly, your face showing a deepened frown.

Chris scoffs and moves his arm off of you and shifts, now turning towards you, “What do you mean I can’t talk about him like that? Like hell I can’t, y/n are you serious? How many times are you sneaking into my room at night to fucking complain about your relationship? How many times are you in here, crying yourself to sleep? Every single time we hang out or talk, you bring him up, how unhappy you are, how he hurts you, we don’t even talk about other things anymore. It’s painful y/n. to sit here, listening and consoling you over some other guy. A guy that doesn’t even deserve you in his life. He is no good for you y/n, why can’t you see that?” Chris empties out his thoughts, fists clenching so tight his knuckles turn white from the pressure, not once looking away from your eyes, even as his own grow watery.

“Why are you saying this to me, Chris? You’re supposed to be my best friend, you’re supposed to- “Chris quickly cuts you off from finishing your words, “because I can’t do this y/n. I can’t pretend anymore, I can’t pretend like I’m okay with being your friend, having to hide my feelings for you, and listening to you become so consumed with this guy that doesn’t even treat you with the respect and love you deserve. It hurts me, hurts just how much I ache for you y/n. For years I have yearned for you, in secrecy and in silence y/n. All because I didn’t want to lose you, but I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t take the tears and the constant complaints over him when you do nothing to change it, to get away from him.” He pours his heart out, eyes threatening to let go of the fat tears in his eyes, bottom lip trembling.

You stare back at him with a look he’s never seen before, not speaking a word after his confession, his word vomit. “Please…say something,” Chris says desperately, letting out deep, ragged breaths as he stares into your eyes pleadingly. “I-Why would you say this to me now Chris…I‘m sorry, I don’t feel the same for you. You’re just a friend to me, you always have been. I have to go. Goodbye, Chris.” You finally find your voice again before leaving his room, leaving him standing in the middle of his bedroom, not once looking back as you leave his home, not returning again.

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

see how it shines

day 19 whumptober prompt: blood trail | abandoned cabin |  “is there anybody alive out there?”

day 20 whumptober prompt: emotional angst | giving permission to die | “it’s not your fault”

now, andrew is sure that there are plenty of residual side effects to his special fucking drugs despite not being on them for years now

but he’s sure that hallucinations is not one of them (he memorized them)

so it makes no sense for there to be blood in the porch of bee’s family cabin in the middle of the woods

“bee, there’s blood on your porch”

there’s a thud, the sound of hasty footsteps and bee’s right next to him in a frenzy in no time at all, looking worried as she tries to look for the mentioned blood

andrew would absolutely never admit his relief at bee’s eyes widening when she sees the reddish-auburn-brown marks on the wood, stark in the brightness of the midmorning sun

it’s not a hallucination

“oh my- oh no, oh help me look around the terrain–”

“i’m not looking to see if there’s anything or anyone bleeding nearby”

bee looks at him in exasperation, “the odds of it belonging to a person are minimum andrew, but there could be an animal bleeding out needing our help, and even if it was a person, we should help out if we can”

right, a doctor through and through

before andrew even replies, bee is moving down the steps, walking forward into the fucking woods as if there aren’t bugs and animals and serial killers and fuck knows what else out there

“bee”

“hello?” she fucking yells at the fucking woods, “is there anybody alive out there?”

“bee, get back here”

she looks back at him in confusion

god, does she not know there could be serial killers out there?

he walks down a few steps in her direction, and is about to tell her just as much, when her features soften morphing into something sad and pitiful unlike anything he’s ever seen her look like

“oh you poor thing”

andrew follows her gaze, sees the blur of auburn fur hidden between some shrubs to one side of the cabin

andrew is closer than her, so he walks in the creature’s direction before her

yeah, there’s more blood this way, a trail of droplets and bigger patches the closer he gets to it

the poor fox is covered in bullet marks

bee gasps as she catches up to him and catches the full extent of its injuries

he knows what’s hitting her

this was supposed to be a hunting free forest, a national park where all life was valuable and meaningful and precious

whoever killed this fox wasn’t trying to just kill it to hunt it and keep it for its meat or its fur or its value

it was sadism through and through

there was no need to have to shoot the fox these many times

andrew crouches next to the thing, paying no mind to bee’s soft sniff, and moves the leaves a bit in order to find its face

its eyes are still glistening, and its chest rises once, a gastly pant leaving its snout 

bee sobs softly, and she crouches next to him, trailing a hand over the fox’s body once to test its reflexes, but when the creature doesn’t move, she places her hand on its fur

“shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re going to be just fine”

its chest rises again rapidly, something like a high pitched whine resounding through the forest

its blue eyes are fearful in a way that seems almost human and they pierce through andrew with its pain

wildly, they remind him of neil

(neil, his neil, before he had to run; his neil, before staying was more dangerous than leaving; his neil, who andrew had not heard of for almost 4 years

neil, who had left the moment one of their friends got hurt when they tried to come for him

his neil, who meant more to andrew than he ever told him out loud)

andrew takes a deep breath, places his shaky hand on top of his head

“it’s okay little one, you can rest, you can sleep, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry sweetheart,” bee sobs again, breaths coming in harshly, “you didn’t deserve this”

its terrified eyes are still trained on andrew, and it takes everything in him to keep his composure

he could see himself in that stare and it frightens him

this isn’t neil

he breathes deeply, brushing through the creature’s fur softly, far more softly than he would in any other occasion

this isn’t neil

the thing pants again, something pitiful and sad and trying

this isn’t neil

and god if it doesn’t remind him of neil regardless, neil who andrew has no fucking idea if he is even alive, neil who left before any of them got hurt, neil who had so much hurt and who had suffered so much and who had looked just as fearful and sad and scared when they first met at 19 and–

andrew’s heart aches

he’s been aching long since coming here

andrew has ached since he realized he had no choice but to love neil, despite knowing that one day he was going to have to leave

all his love and terror is balanced right there in the creature’s eyes

“it’s not your fault,” andrew hushes it, placing his hand over what should be its neck, “rest little fox”

its chest doesn’t rise again, its fearful gaze gone out in an instant, staring lifelessly at the sky above them

birds are chirping somewhere above in the trees around them, and bee is unable to stop her sobs any longer, her tears bright under the light

his eyes burn, but refuses to let the tears fall

this isn’t neil

he closes the foxes eyes

wonders if it will find some endless meadow in the afterlife, with no hunters, no psychopaths, no one who finds joy in hurting harmless creatures

andrew hopes it does

(he hopes that wherever he is, neil josten finds his peaceful heaven too)

____

neil josten’s last breath burnt on the way in, and his last view was that of the blond angel who owned his heart asking him to rest

no, not asking, allowing him to

through all his pain, through all his terror, who was he to deny his andrew?

ngl i fucking cried writing this akkj yes neil is the fox title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

[coraniaid]

3 + Fuffy

(Angst/fluff prompt list)

OK, I'm a few months late, but at least I managed to get this finished in the right calendar year. I couldn't decide which season I wanted to set this in so I went with: well, basically all of them.

I

"I've got you," Faith almost blurted out once on patrol, like the worst kind of idiot. 

They'd been talking, the way they used to back then, about nothing in particular.  Just filling in the time between the next vamp nest, really, as they walked from one cemetery to another. Buffy had been complaining about something terrible her kid sister had done: borrowed her lipstick or torn an old pair of jeans, or lost something she’d been reading for school, or something ridiculous like that.  Faith hadn’t really been paying a whole lot of attention, at least not to anything Buffy was saying. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Buffy had finished.  “I love Dawn.  I do.  She’s just … she kind of drives me crazy sometimes.  Or all the time, actually.”

(And yeah, years later somebody will explain to Faith that Dawn wasn't ever really there, that some weird old monks just made her think she was for some reason.  This conversation never really happened.  Whatever. It's how Faith remembers it. It’s real to her.)

“Do you … uh.  Do you have anyone like that, back home?” Buffy had asked her.  Hadn’t asked her.  Whatever.

Buffy used to do that a lot, in those early weeks in Sunnydale, before everything had gone wrong.  Ask her about things “back home”, as if Faith had had a home to go back to.  As if she hadn’t counted herself lucky to get out of Boston alive with the clothes on her back.  As if her mom would have even noticed she was gone back when she was alive.  As if the only person in Boston who’d ever believed in her hadn’t gotten torn to pieces for being such an idiot. 

And yeah, Faith hadn’t really ever sat Buffy down and filled her in on things, but she’d dropped plenty of hints.  More than plenty.  They’d just all fallen on deaf ears.  It was like Buffy didn’t understand there were people out there who had it worse than she did.  Like she couldn’t quite grasp that Faith didn’t have some perfect little nuclear family of her own hidden away somewhere.  Like she didn’t realize just how lucky she was to have her Mom and her sister and their perfect house in the suburbs.

As far as Faith was concerned, the Sunnydale Motor Inn was the closest thing to home she had.  Which was … well, it was a good thing she had plenty of vamps and demons to take her anger out on. But there was someone she cared about, sure.  A reason she was still hanging around in town, even with the creep who killed Diana dead and no sign of any new Watcher arriving to try to tell her what to do next. Buffy wasn't exactly wrong about that.

I’ve got you, Faith hadn’t said.  You drive me crazy enough for anyone, but you’re mine.  You’re the only reason I didn’t clear out of town while Kakistos’s dust was still warm.

She’d almost said it, but she'd managed to restrain herself.  Hadn’t quite been that stupid. Hadn't ever been quite that naive. 

Things with Buffy were complicated. Complicated enough that she hadn’t been totally sure they were even friends.  Not really.  It wasn’t like they really hung out much when they weren’t on patrol.  She was hardly inviting Buffy over for sleepovers at her crappy little motel, and she could count the number of times she’d been invited over to Buffy’s place on the fingers of one hand.  On the thumbs of one hand, even.  Maybe they didn’t have much else in common.  Buffy had her Mom and her sister, and her Watcher, and school, and Red and Xander and all her other little hangers-on, and Faith … didn’t.  

Maybe she only wanted to think she had Buffy because, if she didn’t, she had jack squat.

The thought of Buffy staring at her blankly while Faith muttered awkwardly about what she meant to her, before making some kind of excuse to leave and then laughing at her later behind her back with all of her real friends …  she just couldn’t stand that.  Better by far to leave it all unsaid.  Better to be alone than to be a loser.

Besides, you couldn’t trust people.  She’d been starting to forget that, after running a timber beam through Kakistos’s dead and rotten heart.  Getting a bit soft, maybe.  A bit too comfortable. 

No matter.  Buffy had helped teach her that lesson again soon enough.  Her supposedly dead vamp boyfriend had been alive all this time. The other Slayer had been rushing off to make out with him in the dark when she’d told Faith she was heading home, probably laughing herself sick at how easy she was to fool. And all those moments Faith had thought they’d shared on patrol meant nothing after all.

II

I’ve got you now, Faith had thought weeks later, dancing side by side with Buffy in the Bronze,  The real you. All to myself. 

She’s not sure, looking back, why she’d only thought the words. The music was deafening enough that Buffy wouldn’t have heard her even if she had said them out loud.  Probably not even if she’d shouted it.  Maybe that’s the answer.

Maybe she was never going to be part of Buffy’s inner circle.  Maybe she’d never be invited to secret little Scooby Gang meetings at the school library; maybe she’d only ever be grudgingly let into the softer parts of Buffy’s life.  The big suburban house; the dinner table and the kitchen where Buffy still pretended to just be a normal girl.  The kind of good little girl who followed orders and played nice with others and who could ever be satisfied by a craving for low-fat yogurt.

Maybe, for a while, that had made her angry.

But now, with the music loud and the other Slayer next to her, maybe that didn’t matter. The crowd around them didn’t matter.  All that mattered was that, when it counted – in the dark, out on patrol, outnumbered and surrounded, with adrenaline flooding through them, with their hearts racing together in tandem – she and Buffy were the same.  Two Slayers, when everyone said there was only supposed to be one.  It didn’t matter that only one of them got the Watcher and the Mom and the simpering little gang of school friends.  Not really.  When it really mattered, Buffy was hers.

Because she and Buffy were the same, she’d always known that.  She’d been sure of it.  Sure that, deep down, Buffy felt it too.  And now, finally, Buffy was starting to admit it.

She’d not even minded when Buffy had run off to climb all over her pet vampire, wrapping her in her arms the way she never would hold Faith.

(Sure, she’d been kind of pissed when Buffy had abandoned her at Christmas to go and make up with him.  She could admit that much, to herself if nobody else.  But it didn’t matter.  It didn’t. If she danced a little harder with the remaining boys, and smirked in Angel’s direction when Buffy marched back to pluck her out of the crowd … well, she was just having fun, right?  Just trying to make the big guy jealous.)

Days later, on their way to deal with another demon creep, she’d almost worked up the nerve to say it out loud.  To try to put it all into words, the way she wanted to.  She’d been sure, this time, that Buffy wouldn’t be able to deny it.

Just one more vamp to dust, and then, maybe–

(“Faith, no!” she’d heard Buffy shout at her, just a few seconds too late. And she'd keep hearing it  ever since, night after night, year after year.)

III

“I’ve got you,” Faith gloated out loud once, when she thought she’d managed to surprise her.

That was supposed to have been her big moment. Her moment in the spotlight. The big dramatic reveal.

“Bondage’s a good look on you,” she’d told Buffy approvingly once Angelus had gotten her chained up.  “‘Course, the outfit’s all wrong, but …”

She trailed off, waggled her eyebrows suggestively. No point trying to be subtle now.  Besides, she’d have been lying if she pretended not to be enjoying this. She’d never really fit into Buffy’s life the way she’d wanted.  Never been convincing playing the part of the little loyal sidekick.  Always chafed a little at the role of watchdog. Maybe this town wasn’t big enough for two Chosen Ones after all.

It was just like people had been telling her all her life.  She was a loser.  An embarrassment.  A bad influence, a bad daughter, a bad girl.  Why not a bad Slayer too?

Well, she’d show them bad, all right.  She’d show them real evil.   The world had treated her like crap for years before she’d gotten her powers, and maybe she was owed a little payback.  Maybe the next time the Mayor wanted one of B’s little friends taken care of, she’d volunteer for the job herself.  That’d impress him, wouldn’t it?  He appreciated her for the things she was good at, even if nobody else ever would.  If she was going to take orders from anyone, why not him? And that little witch Red had always made it clear how little she respected her. She was practically asking for it, wasn't she?

Thinking about it, maybe killing that poor sap Finch was the best thing that’d ever happened to her.   Sure, kind of crappy luck for the guy himself, but it wasn't like people like him really mattered anyway, in the big picture.  And it had helped to shake her out of her stupid little crush.  Helped her realize that Buffy was only ever going to treat her like shit.  Always going to look down on her, like she wasn’t quite good enough.  Like the other Slayer was just destined to be better than her, all along.

“I am better than you,” Buffy had told her coldly.  “Always have been.”

That was when things had started going wrong, Faith thinks later.  Even before the other Slayer had slipped out of her chains; even before that lousy vamp with a soul had revealed he’d been playing her the whole time.  She’d poured her heart out, thinking it was safe, and Buffy hadn’t followed the script like she was supposed to.  She’d been supposed to be scared.  She’d been supposed to be afraid.  She’d been supposed to be impressed.

Not that Faith could blame her for saying that, exactly.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dared her to do it. It wasn’t as if she was wrong.  Buffy wasn’t like her after all.  Not yet.

IV

Now I’ve got you, Faith had thought, as the knife had slipped up past her ribs, in a brief moment of clarity before the pain. You’re just like me after all.

Maybe she’d never matter to Buffy the way she wanted, but this was a moment that would tie them together forever.  Victim and perpetrator.  Murderer and corpse.  They’d both know, now, that there wasn’t much between them.  That Faith could have had it all if she’d just gotten a little bit more luck.  

It hurt, sure – it hurt worse than anything she could remember feeling for years – but it was a good kind of pain.  Because it meant she was right.  Had been right, all along.  It was proof.

Proof that their golden Slayer was a killer too.  Just like Faith.  That she enjoyed it; that she got off on it.  That there was something sick and evil inside her, something bad and dark and wrong.   Just like Faith.

In another life, it could've been Buffy slitting throats on the Mayor’s orders. Buffy lurking in the dark while Faith basked in the adulation of her own little Scooby Gang.  Everyone had to see that now.  Buffy herself had to see it.

(Not that Faith wanted that for herself. She'd been better off this way, whatever anybody else thought. Only … it meant something, that Buffy could've been like this too. That she'd only ever been pretending to be better than this.)

After she fell, she’d had one more glimpse of her – the other Slayer, looking down at her, just she’d always wanted – but she’d known that, whatever it looked like, she’d won.  She couldn’t keep her eyes open, couldn’t stop the world from going dark, but she’d felt herself smiling at the end.  She didn't have to fight anymore.  She’d won, whatever Buffy thought.

She’d been wrong about that though.  Buffy wasn’t just like her after all.  She hadn’t been ready.  She’d missed her heart.

V

“I’ve got you,” Faith had told the stolen face she saw looking back at her in the bathroom mirror.

She couldn’t quite believe it.  It didn’t sound right, coming out of that mouth.  It was missing something, some undertone or accent that she wasn’t quite pulling off.  Didn’t sound like she meant it.  She tried again.  Tried all sorts of things.  Over and over until she was laughing hysterically.  Until she was sick with it.

Because she’d won, hadn’t she?  The police were dragging Little Miss Perfect off to rot away in jail for the rest of her life – and why not, when you thought about it; wasn’t she an attempted murderer too? – the Council was going to leave her alone, and now, finally, she had it all.  The mom, the kid sister, the perfect house.  The perfect life.

And she’d fooled them.  Fooled all of them.  The mom, and the sister, and all of Buffy’s little friends.  They thought she was her.  The other one.  Which had to mean they were the same, didn’t it?

She just wasn’t enjoying it the way she knew that she should be.

Something must’ve gone wrong with the Mayor’s parting gift, she’d told herself. When she’d switched, something else must have come along with her.  Something dark and sick and evil.   It had to be the spell, didn’t it?  It couldn’t be her.  She was like Buffy.  She wasn’t like that.

She’d washed herself, in that stolen bathroom, over and over again.  So many times.  Enough, surely, that she should have washed away the dirt.  But why didn’t she feel clean?  What had Buffy done to her?  She’d infected her, that was it.  Done something to make her weak.  To make her wrong.

And somehow it all got mixed up in her head.  Her and Buffy; strength and weakness, victory and defeat.  When she’d saved that girl in the Bronze, she’d just been doing what Buffy would have done, right?  Just trying to keep her cover.  So why did she feel like throwing up when the girl had stammered out her gratitude?  Why did it feel so weird to have saved a person’s life?  When she’d made it to the airport, why had she turned back?  Vampires killed people in Sunnydale all the time.  That was why the boss had built the town in the first place.  Who had she thought she was fooling?  Had she thought anybody would be impressed if she got herself killed fighting some ugly vampire instead of slinking off into the darkness?

That little voice, telling her that it would be wrong to turn away, that she didn’t really have a choice about what to do: that hadn’t been her, had it?  She was better than that, smarter than that.  Wasn’t she?  She’d only ever been pretending.  Hadn’t she?

It was almost a relief, in the end, when Buffy had tracked her down, however disgusting it had felt to see herself looking at her in judgment.  It had almost felt better when she’d opened her eyes to find herself in her own body again.  She hadn’t been ready either.

VI

"I've got you," she’d whispered to herself in prison at night, one finger tracing the faint scar Buffy’s knife had left behind.  The mark Buffy had made on her, more than two years ago now.  It wouldn’t fade, wouldn’t heal.  She didn’t want it to.  Some things never go away, she’d told herself.

Not every night, of course.  But some nights.  The bad nights.  Most nights. It was … comforting, in a weird way.

Buffy was out there somewhere, probably not even thinking about Faith at all, but that was okay.  She’d made her mark on Faith already.  She’d given her something to remember her by.

There were never meant to be two of them.  She got that now.  She was only an accident.  An afterthought.  Maybe that’s why she was never quite good enough, why she was never able to make herself fit into the story the way that everybody told her she should.  However hard she tried, whatever she told herself, there was only one Chosen One – one girl in all the world, just like Diana had told her back in Boston – only it wasn’t her.  It never could have been her.

“This isn’t about Buffy,” Angel had told her, more than once.  He didn’t get it.  

Maybe it was true for him.  Sure, he'd loved Buffy, she knew that – hell, probably still did – but he’d been alive (or undead) for centuries before he ever met her, had done most of his most evil fucked up shit before ever laying eyes on her.  For him, maybe redemption really was more about brooding and posing in the shadows and thinking about the past and all the other things he told her about when he came to visit each month.  

But for Faith, those two things – the way she felt about Buffy and the way she felt about herself – were pretty much inseparable.

She’d thought they were going to be inseparable, for a while.  The two of them: her and Buffy.   And in a way, she was right.  When it got bad in prison – whenever the walls seemed too close or the other inmates seemed too loud or one of the new girls got it into her head to try something stupid –  Faith would imagine the Buffy in her head, and ask her what she would do about it.  That’s what doing the right thing meant, wasn’t it?  That was why she’d let them lock her up.  Because Buffy had said that this was where she belonged.

Buffy wouldn’t want her to hurt anyone else, so she didn’t, however easy and satisfying it would be.  When the guards pushed her around, she let them, and just thought about how she’d disarm them and fight back if she wanted.  When a new arrival looking to make a name for herself came out with a homemade shiv, Faith took the weapon away from her but let her keep the arm that held it.   Buffy wouldn’t want her to do anything else. 

And Buffy wouldn’t want her to leave, so she wasn’t going to do that either.  Nobody here could have stopped her, after all.  Not the guards, not any of the other inmates.  Not even Angel, if it came down to it.  Nobody could stop her.

(Except you, the Buffy in her head had whispered.  You can stop you.)

But sometimes – not too often, but more times than she’d have ever admitted to anyone – Faith let herself daydream about getting out.  Not escaping, but something else.  About showing up for her monthly visit from the outside world one day to see a new face waiting for her behind the glass. A familiar face. Not Angel, but Buffy. She used to let herself pretend that – if she just waited and worked hard enough – the other Slayer might smile at her again.  Tell her that she’d done enough.  That she was forgiven.  

Except that that Buffy – the Buffy she still talked to in her head sometimes, the one who knew anything about what she was going through in prison – wasn't real.  Faith knew that.

The real Buffy – the Buffy living it up on campus still, the one Angel never tells her anything about – she was never going to do anything like that.  She was never going to show up here wanting to talk like old times. She was never ever going to forgive her, no matter what Faith did with her life, and who could even blame her for that?  Faith wasn’t quite crazy enough to think she could ever earn any forgiveness.  Not after everything she’d done.

Still, the scar tissue on her skin was real, wasn’t it?  It proved something.  Maybe Buffy had moved on, but that didn’t mean she’d never cared.  They had a history, even if they didn’t have a future.  

They were connected, the two of them. Always would be.  Bound together by blood and scars.

VII

“I’ve got you,” she’d said without thinking at the end of the world. 

Buffy had been doing this a lot longer than she had by this point – though it hadn’t exactly been her first apocalypse either – but somehow Faith had gotten the sense that this one was different somehow for her.  Not necessarily because the stakes were higher (you couldn’t get much more serious than the end of the world), or the threat was more powerful (she hadn’t been around to see it herself, but Buffy had fought a god two years ago, which had to trump some mean old ghost with delusions of importance).  But just because Buffy was … older.  Tired.  Somewhere along the line Faith had realized that Buffy wasn’t expecting to make it through this one.

She would though.  That was why Faith was here.  Why she’d come back.  Why she’d broken out of prison and gotten herself into trouble with the law all over again.  Because Buffy needed her – because they all needed her – and it was the right thing to do.   The only thing she could do, after everything.

She’d spent so long as a kid looking up at Buffy – wanting her approval, her attention, her life – but coming back to Sunnydale she’d realized that she’d somehow never seen Buffy at all.  She’d seen the Mom and the sister but she’d never seen how afraid Buffy was of hurting them, or doing something that would make them reject her.  She’d seen the garden and the kitchen and the big childhood bedroom, but she’d never seen how fragile they were; how carefully Buffy had to step to stop herself from breaking them.  She’d seen how much Buffy had, and she’d ached with want for it, but she’d never asked herself how Buffy was able to carry it all without collapsing.

She’d tried playacting as Buffy once before – stealing her face, parroting her lines – but it was only this year that she’d tried to really become her.  To do what Buffy did, everyday.   And not because she was taking that away from her – whatever people thought, that little mutiny hadn’t been her idea, she’d never wanted that – but because Buffy had asked her to do it.  Begged her, almost. Whether you wanted it or not, she’d told her, their lives are yours.  Protect them.

So she’d tried.  Tried harder than she’d even tried before.

She’d hated it.  She’d been awful at it.  And she’d failed.  To nobody’s surprise, she guessed, she still wasn’t good enough.  She just couldn’t do it.  She wasn’t built to be a leader, to make plans or speeches or inspire.  That wasn’t her.  It never would be her.  And that was okay.  She didn’t want to be Buffy.  

If she was honest with herself, she’d never wanted to be Buffy.  Not really.  She’d wanted … well, she didn’t have the words for it.  She’d never had the right words to tell Buffy what she wanted.

But when she’d looked Buffy in the eyes, later, in those caves under the world, neither of them sure whether this was the end or not, she’d thought that maybe, for the first time, all of that was okay.  Maybe they didn’t need words.  Maybe they never truly had.

VIII

Now “I’ve got you,” Buffy promises when Faith wakes up in a panic in the middle of the night, briefly unsure of where she is or how many years it's been. “It’s going to be okay.”

She still has nightmares, sometimes.  About growing up; about Boston; about Diana; about prison.  And about all the messed up things she did.  Lester Worth, begging for his life.  Allan Finch, bleeding out in an alley.  If you’re a screamer, feel free and go on then, give us a kiss and  holding a blade to poor Joyce’s throat.  Still remembers the look on Dawn’s face when the kid – the same little kid who'd used to think she was some kind of badass superhero – had seen her for what she truly was.  An animal.  A monster.

And in her nightmares, that’s who she still is.  Who she’ll always be, no matter how much she plays at being redeemed.  Something broken and empty and unloveable.  Something the demons and vampires have their own nightmares about, not because she’s a Slayer like Buffy but because they can tell she’s something even worse than they are.  

In her nightmares – in the worst of them – she wins.  The Council lock Buffy up and let Faith step into her stolen life, and the Mayor ascends and Sunnydale burns, and Mrs Post tells her what a good job she did helping her kill Giles, and she sticks a kitchen knife in Joyce’s back and cuts Wesley's throat and Angel turns to dust in the rain in some dingy little alley.  And nobody dares look at her or question her or stop her from taking what she wants. Nobody tries to stop her. She wins, and none of it comes close to filling up the hole inside of her that grows and grows until it swallows up the world.

But when she wakes up, she’s safe.  Because then the nightmares don’t seem so bad.  Buffy puts her arms around her, in the big soft bed they share, promises to look after her, and she falls asleep listening to the other Slayer breathing.

She still has nightmares, sometimes, but it’s getting better.  She’s getting better.

And "I've got you," Buffy purrs again on other nights, when they make it back home late after patrol.  After she ushers Faith upstairs, arm curled possessively around her waist.  After Faith helps unbutton and unzip the other Slayer’s leather jacket, after she watches her pull her shirt over her head in one smooth graceful motion, silently gazing at the sight of the other Slayer in the moonlight..  Mouth gone dry, not wanting to speak in case she shatters the image of confidence and cool she’s sure at least the younger Slayers still buy into, the illusion a part of her still hopes Buffy sees.

Not that she had much chance of maintaining that image here anyway, kneeling as she is on the floor by Buffy’s bed, half-naked herself, staring up worshipfully at the other Slayer.  Fighting down the urge to pinch herself, not quite believing this could be real.  Feeling just like she had that first night, years ago now, not long after Sunnydale sunk into the desert, as Buffy stands over her and runs her fingers over her bare shoulders.

"I've got you," the other Slayer says once more, almost wonderingly, like she still can't quite believe it either, and all Faith can do is nod, trembling and eager.

Ever since Faith came to Sunnydale she’s been defined by what she isn't.  By not being Buffy. She’s been the second Slayer, the backup, the unnecessary spare.  The reckless one, the sloppy one. The mistake, the murderer. The bad Slayer.  The killer. The monster.

But now, after all these years, things are different.  They make sense of each other now, in a way they’d never managed then.

"Who's my girl?" Buffy asks her, voice low and husky, lips close enough to almost brush against her neck, and Faith can't help but shiver in anticipation. Can't help but be amazed, even now, that Buffy Summers is talking about her like this. That Buffy’s hands are touching her, that the other Slayer wants her the way that Faith’s always wanted - aways needed – Buffy, that she spends her nights after patrol in Buffy’s bed.  In their bed, together. 

 Buffy's hand slides down her cheek, tilts her chin up slightly so they’re making eye contact.  The other Slayer leans forward and kisses her gently on the forehead.  Reminds her, a little sternly now, that she asked her a question.

“Me,” Faith says, voice suddenly hoarse, suddenly almost shy, however ridiculous that seems. “I’m yours, B.” 

For a moment, watching the slow, satisfied smile that spreads across Buffy’s face, Faith thinks about how they ended up here.  About how impossible it had seemed to her, back then, that this could ever happen.  That anybody - but especially Buffy - could ever look at her, and know her, and really want her.  Not just for a quick fuck, not just because they needed her help for something, but like this.  To want her, the real her.  To want to be with her; to build some kind of life together. 

Then Buffy’s kissing her again – hungrily, greedily – and Faith stops thinking about anything else. She leans into the kiss instead, breathing into Buffy all the devotion and desire she’s never quite been able to articulate. 

She’s got her. Of course she does.  She has done since almost the night they met. Since the night they'd killed Kakistos together. She’s got her. She’s hers.  She’s Buffy’s. 

[pagesfromthevoid]

Can you do a drabble where the reader and Din Djarin are ex-lovers reunited and angst ensues bc they still have feelings for each other? lol

Like Old Times | d.d.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Some angst. Canon violence

Author's Note: Hope this is angsty enough lol

Celebrate 2.6k with me!

She stepped off the transport shuttle and looked around the bustling spaceport. She was here for a job –an actual job, too. Not a con that she was trying to pull; not a heist. She had long given up that life after what happened in Nevarro so long ago. She felt a pang of guilt as the memory of it flooded her mind. It was the job that had gone wrong, the one that had led to their separation. She had taken it too far, and she had paid the price for it. In the end, she was forced to make a choice and that choice hurt more than just her.

But now, years later, she found herself back in the same city, on the same planet, taking on a job that would lead her right back to her past. She had promised herself she wouldn't fall back into that life, but the pull of the familiar was strong. And when Greef Karga called on her personally –well, she couldn’t resist.

As she made her way through the bustling crowd, which surprised her since the last time she was here, Nevarro was not a trading post, she kept a close eye on the people around her. It was a habit from before, when she would run cons and pick up enemies instead of friends. However, as she rounded the corner for the address Karga had given her –she froze in her tracks.

Standing outside a new building –labeled as a school, of all places –was an all too familiar visor and cape. The shine of the beskar could have given him away too, but she recognized the helmet more than anything else on him. After all, she had spent plenty of time staring it down, trying to piece together anything behind it. For a moment, she considered simply turning and hightailing it out of there. Nothing Karga had for her was worth the awkwardness that was seeing someone she wronged –someone she loved, and put at risk.

But she wasn’t quick enough, and their gazes met as Karga stepped out of the school in his ornate robes. He followed Din’s gaze and smiled brightly, opening his arms to her as he called out her name.

“Karga,” she greeted with a small grin, reaching out to take his hand. Her eyes flicked to Din, giving him a simple nod in greeting. “Mando.”

He said her name –hidden behind the modulator –and for a moment, she wondered if he hated her. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. When things went south, she left him with a mess to clean up and a shitty note that said she was sorry. If he hated her, it was her own fault.

“It’s good to see you again,” Din offered carefully as she drew her hand back from Karga. 

She always knew where to look to hold his gaze. It took practice, and a lot of guessing, but she had a feeling she was always meeting his eyes when she looked up at him. So when she turned and looked at him, she knew she was looking right into his eyes. Her heart leaped in her chest, threatening to come out of her throat, and for a moment, she felt an inkling of hope.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up; I need to handle something for a moment,” Karga announced, slipping away from the two. It seemingly fell on deaf ears, as she remained focused on the Mandalorian in front of her.

“I…,” What was she going to say? I’m sorry I left you stranded in space? Sorry I let pirates almost kill you while I made my great escape? “I’m here for a job. Karga called on me.”

He didn’t say anything in response, instead looking towards the citadel which sat higher than the rest of the buildings. It must be where Karga ran the planet. “He called on me too. Said he needed all hands on deck.”

She nodded once, crossing her arms over her chest as she followed his gaze to the government building. 

“I still have your blaster,” he said suddenly, though his attention remained anywhere but her.

“What?” 

“Your gun,” he reminded her, as if she didn’t actually hear him. “I kept it. It’s on the Crest.”

For several moments, her eyes remained stuck on the Citadel, staring it down. If she stared any harder, it would burn to the ground. 

“Why?” She finally asked, chancing a glance at him.

He was looking at her, attention turned fully on her. “I thought you were going to come back.”

Something in her broke at his admission. Din was never one for giving up his emotions; he was terrible at it. And he was even more terrible to read. But him admitting that he kept her blaster, hoping that she would return, ripped something inside of her apart.

Her heart sank as she realized the extent of his feelings for her. She had always known that Din cared for her deeply, but this revelation made her see him in a whole new light. He had been holding onto a piece of her, hoping for her return, and she couldn't bear the thought of him waiting for her in vain. The weight of her own emotions hit her like a ton of bricks, and she struggled to keep her composure in front of him. She knew that she had to find a way to make things right, to ease the pain that she had caused him.

“Din, I –,”

As she opened her mouth to respond, blaster fire erupted from outside the building. Din immediately sprang into action, grabbing his pulse rifle from his side and taking cover. She followed closely behind, heart racing with adrenaline as she pushed a vendor stand over and ducked behind it, drawing her own blaster. Peering over the edge, a band of pirates –the same men that she had left Din at the mercy of all those years ago.

Din slid into the space she was occupying, resting his rifle on the edge and taking his aim. She took her aim as well, shooting at the pirates that tried to come from their blindspots. They worked together like no time had passed; like this was something they did every chance they had. It was a strange reminder of how well they fit together. 

“Feels like old times,” she commented as she took down the last pirate that was attacking. The rest had begun to retreat, refusing to lose any more of their men.

“At least you didn’t leave this time,” he offered, a biting tone clipping under the modulator.

She rested her back against the stall, holding her blaster against her chest for a moment. “I never should have –,”

“You shouldn’t have, you’re right,” he finished, standing up.

However, even with the bite in his voice, he held his hand out to her. She took it after a moment of hesitation, wondering briefly what the gesture meant. As he pulled her from the ground, she looked up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Din, I’m sorry, I –,”

“Come get your things,” he ordered, replacing his rifle once more. “I…I can’t keep them on the ship if you’re not coming back.”

“What if I did?”

Din hesitated for a moment, and she could feel his gaze looking her over. They couldn't ignore the past, but she also couldn't ignore the fact that she was standing right in front of him, and she still loved him. 

He took a deep breath before answering. "If you did, we would have to start over. I can't promise that things will be the same. I won’t promise they’ll be the same, because they won’t be.”

She nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I…I understand.”

[lounaticm]

What are your thoughts on a Redeemed!Actor AU? Do you have any headcanons on what that would look like, how that would come about, and especially how it would affect the egos? This is something that's been in the back of my head for a while, and I'm curious what your thoughts and feelings are (even if you outright dismiss the idea).

Oh, I cannot tell you just how much I think about Redeemed or Redeemable Actor. And quite frankly, I see it as not even necessarily being in the realm of needing to be classified as an AU. (Unless IRL Mark fully intends the Actor to just... be fully corrupt and shitty now...) ---

To start this off, I will admit that I used to follow along with (what seems to be) the popular view that the Actor is just the Worst with no true hope of redemption (though that's seeming less popular these days). But then I started thinking, and I've stated this elsewhere before, but...

Damien - and William and Celine - would not have been friends with him if he was truly a bad person from the start.

We've got plenty of evidence - and/or outright statements from IRL Mark himself - that the Actor was being influenced by the Entity. Undoubtedly for years. I have my own thoughts on the Entity's motives - since we've never been given one in canon - but it is in the source material that the Actor was manipulated into not only killing himself over and over again, but also into ruining his friends' lives. 'Putting thoughts into his head and making him think that he'd thought these things himself'.

So, with that in mind, I find there's potentially a very good chance that, if the Entity didn't go with the Actor (which is the logical individual for it to go with, if it left the manor at all) then the Actor might be able to recover from the Entity's influence. Assuming it's not something that's permanent or semi-permanent without outside interference to remove it.

The tragic thing about this, though, is that if the Actor does recover from the Entity's influence... he's going to have to face what he'd done. To the people he cared about. And he certainly strikes me as a severely self-loathing sort, so the angst potential there is off the charts. Made all the worse by the fact that he doesn't even know the Entity exists. He thinks he alone is to blame for all of that happening. None of them know the Entity exists. And so the scapegoat - the pawn - even blames himself.

I feel like, as the influence - the corruption - wore off, and as he started feeling more and more guilt over the wrongs he'd committed, the Actor would try to keep from thinking about it as much as possible. Trying to avoid the problems and especially the feelings. Very similar to Wilford. Except, the methods would be a bit different. He'd likely dive further into 'stories' he makes up... until he literally can't anymore.

He'd effectively disappear, hiding away somewhere. Similar to how he'd closed himself up in that house after the divorce with Celine. Except this time, there wasn't some horrible Entity spewing malice and vindictive thoughts into his ear.

Eventually, he'd have the thought to try to make things right, even though he doesn't expect for a second to be forgiven by any of the people he'd wronged. If he knows about the DA being trapped in the mirror, he'd go and try to pull them out, first and foremost because they were entirely unintentional collateral. He fears William still hates him, and so has never even entertained the thought of trying to approach him - and, in fact, has done his best to avoid him. Celine is asleep, but he's already seen (and felt) her reaction. He's had enough run-ins/almost run-ins with Damien to know how vengeful he is over all this.

It would have to fall to the DA, or - in a rather ironic twist - Wilford, to be the first to forgive him, whether by knowing it was actually the Entity's fault (as would be a potential for the DA) or simply from missing him and wanting to make amends (as would be Wilford's stance). Either way, he'd feel undeserving of it, but neither of them would back down.

Trying to get Dark to forgive him would be... both harder and easier than one might imagine. He'd have to watch the Actor for a while to determine if this was all just a ploy to hurt them all again... but with help from his Little Monster and Will, both directly and indirectly, he'd start on the path of making proper amends. (Which would be aided by being told about the Entity and what it can do - assuming the DA learned about that).

As far as affecting the Egos - assuming you mean in an 'all of them living together' sort of scenario - I imagine the Actor wouldn't hang around the Manor all that much at first, only coming back because Wilford absolutely insists that he 'not be such a recluse'. After a while of working through what happened, he'd stick around more, but would still feel like a bit of an outlier for a while. ---

@kiwibubbles5

[themurphyzone]

Honestly I think an evil Pinky counterpart would be a good change of pace (and no, I mean a separate character from Dark Pinky). Like, imagine a rodent so fanatically devoted to Brain’s cause that they literally don’t care about anything else except for whatever Brain wants. And the one thing standing in their way of being close to Brain is Pinky himself, and they get so jealous that they try to get rid of, or even kill Pinky and replace him as Brain’s loyal assistant. 

For the angst: Pinky misunderstood Brain’s instructions during a plan, and that mistake costs Brain the world again. Brain is furious, though his quiet disappointment and distance is somehow worse than if he’d just yelled at Pinky. Pinky starts to question if he’s blocking Brain’s progress while trying to help, and this is made even worse when another lab mouse approaches Brain while he’s working and asks to help. 

Though Brain isn’t interested at first and tells the mouse to go away, the mouse manages to connect several wires and attach several parts together. Brain snaps at the mouse, telling him to leave his invention alone, but as he snatches the metal piece out of the mouse’s hand, he realizes that the mouse had put everything together flawlessly without any instructions whatsoever. The mouse reveals that he’s been watching Brain work in the lab and picked up some mechanical knowledge from him. 

Brain is thoroughly impressed. Pinky can’t help but feel jealous of how quickly the mouse has befriended Brain, who realizes that this particular mouse can follow all his instructions perfectly without messing up once.  Pinky wants to befriend the mouse, he really does, but he can’t help but feel that something feels...off. Even though the mouse is perfectly polite to him. 

The mouse is happy at the praise, and Brain invites him along for a world domination plan. 

Pinky is shocked that Brain would even put that idea out. “But trying to take over the world is supposed to be our thing!” he protests.

“We’ve had plenty of assistance from third parties before, Pinky. But I must admit, none of them have quite listened to me as much as this one,” Brain says. “And besides, you’re still coming along so you can watch my ascension to power.” 

Pinky catches a strange look of disgust from the mouse. That same feeling is back, like the mouse is hiding something. But Pinky can’t put it into words, and he feels like a third wheel as Brain and his new friend implement the plan. 

Still, Pinky tries to be helpful. But maybe he’s being too helpful, and he only gets dirty looks when he misunderstands a piece of machinery and nearly throws a wrench into the scheme.

Despite that, the mouse is able to fix everything Pinky messed up. Everything else goes off without a hitch. 

And finally, they’ve reached a critical point in the plan. The world is almost theirs...with just one catch. 

Someone must descend into a very dangerous canyon to plant a piece of equipment onto the cliffside. At this point, it’s so dangerous that even Brain has second thoughts about this plan. 

Desiring to finally prove himself helpful, Pinky volunteers to make the descent. The mouse is fully supportive of this decision. Brain protests, but the mouse tells him that if Pinky is willing to do it, why stop him? 

Brain is silent, but since he’s outnumbered two-to-one, he reluctantly gives in. He spends a lot longer than necessary on making sure the climbing ropes are fully secured to Pinky’s body, and provides him with a headlamp, and gives a long-winded safety lecture to Pinky that kinda goes in through one ear and out the other with him. Pinky is just happy to be getting Brain’s attention. 

Finally, Pinky descends into the canyon. A nervous Brain attentively watches the ropes, calling out to Pinky every few minutes to make sure he’s okay. 

“Why do you even bother with him? He’s gonna mess this one up too,” the mouse says. “Just like all your other plans.” 

Brain gets defensive instantly, though his attention is split between manning the ropes and the mouse. “He doesn’t mess up every plan,” he says. 

“That’s one plan too many. You need a better assistant. You need...someone like me.” 

And the mouse bites through the ropes, the only thing tethering Pinky to the surface world. Brain instantly attacks the mouse for that action, punching him in the face for endangering Pinky. Despite that, the mouse doesn’t seem angry that he was punched, just disappointed. 

Even though Brain is furious that the mouse has endangered Pinky, he also feels oddly betrayed too. He genuinely thought this mouse shared plenty of interests in machinery too, and while he was blinded by this brand new friendship, he’d failed to recognize the hints that the mouse could’ve possibly wanted Pinky gone. 

Though Pinky can’t see what’s going on, he feels a pressure leave his back. Something is very, very wrong. He calls out for help. 

Brain instantly abandons his attack and the only thing on his mind is getting Pinky out of there. 

The mouse calls out to Brain. “I followed every instruction without fail! I put your machines together perfectly! Do you really think that idiot would’ve done such a thing? What does he have that I don’t?”

“A heart,” is the only thing Brain says before descending. 

He finds Pinky, they escape the canyon, but by the time they reach the top, they realize that the mouse is gone. Unbeknownst to them, the mouse has developed a seething hatred for Pinky for having Brain’s attention. 

Quietly, Pinky and Brain head back to the lab in defeat. Over thimbles of lemon and honey, they make their confessions. 

Pinky wants to be helpful while Brain is inventing his cool machines, and Brain had been blindsided to the mouse’s ulterior motives because he believed he’d made a friend outside of Pinky. 

 The night ends with cuddles. And the following night, Brain reveals his next world domination scheme, with just him and Pinky this time. Tonight, he’s going to steal the shoes and socks of the entire US Congress, then trap them in an enormous box made of LEGOS. And without shoes and socks protecting their feet, they’ll develop painful blisters because the floor is made of LEGOS. They’ll be trapped in there until they agree to recognize Brain as the one true leader of the world. 

There’s just one catch. Brain has ordered all these LEGOS and needs Pinky’s help to assemble the giant box to fit the entire US Congress inside.

Pinky happily accepts the offer, realizing that his dream to build something with Brain has finally come true.