#they canonically meet When They Are These Ages

[luvvyouforever]

i am my father's daughter - declan o'hara x rupert's daughter!reader

synopsis: you knew you shouldn't be doing this, flirting with your dad's friend and business partner. but he's so irresistible!

content: age gap relationship (ages not specified), maud doesn't exist au, not very canon compliant just ignore it, nsfw themes, dbf trope, accidental tense switching (ignore it)

author's note: declan is sooooo hunky #needthat also this is a rather short piece but if you'd like to see a continuation of dbf declan, i would absolutely provide <3

you're quite positive that nobody has looked as good in a t-shirt as declan o'hara does now in the front of the priory's living room, leading an open discussion about what is next for the budding production company. his biceps flex underneath the thin material when he lifts his arm in a gesture and despite your efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, it's difficult when all you've been able to think about since he moved in is declan.

for a month or two after he and his two daughters moved in, he had been the sole object of your daydreaming. he was so strong, so intelligent, so witty on the television, so...everything.

however, there was little that you could do on that front, considering the last name that appears on your birth certificate and the fact that rupert campbell-black, your father, and declan hated each other. it was a rather difficult watch, the night declan interviewed him, but with rupert bonding with declan over their love for their small families, it became much easier to slink your way into his presence. thankfully.

then, it became regular to see declan in your home, or to see you and rupert in his. he was hard to depart from, what with his deep, thick accented voice and his wavy hair he kept running his hands through, and that t-shirt, that damn t-shirt. you lived in pure, unending agony for a while, having to be so close to him all the time without being able to give in to this torturous desire.

but then he started blatantly running a large hand over your back as he passed behind you and then he started making eye contact with you across the room and then he helped you with car troubles where he stood tantalizingly close behind you while showing you how to check your oil.

your father doesn't need to know that you've kissed and made out with and sucked off his friend and business partner. right?

when declan finishes his speech in the front of the living room, he makes his way through the crowd to the table in the back with a few drinks and refreshments laid out by taggie where you just so happen to be standing.

his eye contact with you is unwavering as he comes closer and closer to you and there's a smirk growing on his lips.

"could you be any more obvious with your ogling there, dear?" he says quietly once he reaches your side.

you scoff, but you know what he's saying is true. "i wasn't doing anything of the sort, mr o'hara. i'm just admiring your leadership and passion for venturer, is all," you whisper.

he leans against the table, then, watching as the crowd before him mingle with each other, completely oblivious to the conversation happening between you and him. even your father seems to be swept up into conversation on the other side of the room. he turns his neck side-to-side, clearly aware of the way that his shoulders and back tense underneath the tight shirt. your eyes betray your previous statement as they immediately flick to the sight, then flick downwards.

he chuckles and takes the smallest of steps closer to you. "so you like the shirt, then, i take it?"

a small blush overtakes your cheeks and you refuse to meet his eye. suddenly, you feel his body tilt towards yours, lips just before your ear.

"i can let you take it off me if you come over tonight."

his deep voice reverberated through your body, sending chills down your neck and spine. subconsciously, your back arched from the table you were learning on and he let out another laugh.

a few hours later, you found yourself slipping quietly out of penscombe, positively giddy. the walk to the priory was one you had done plenty of times and you knew it like the back of your hand, really. slowly, the centuries old building came into view and several feet up the wall was a window with its lights still on. declan's.

as he'd done before, he met you at the back door of the home, one that leads into the kitchen, a smug look on his face.

"you took my offer quite readily," he said. his big frame leaned against the door and he crossed his arms. still adorning him was that damn t-shirt.

"as if you weren't kicking your feet waiting for me," you retort, then come to stand before him.

he shakes his head then and a sly smile tilts the corners of his mouth up. he removes his body from the frame and steps to the side to let you inside. as you pass him, a firm hand comes down on your ass, making a small yelp escape your lips.

you turn suddenly and shoot him a glare. he just pats you again, a gesture to keep you moving forward. "get on up there, little minx. before your daddy realizes where you've gone, huh?"

you turn then and head for the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. declan didn't have to tell you much twice.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 27 - Just a Shot Away

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Being pointlessly confident and saying that we're going to finish with 31 chapters. See you on the other side of this one! <3

Chapter Title from Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones.

Word Count: 27.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The team drives to DC for a meeting with Singer. Usual warnings, with a little extra violence and gore.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 26 - Chapter 28

“Can I drive?”

“There is not a fucking chance in Christ’s blue balls I’m letting you drive, Sunshine.”

She pouted at Ben, propping her chin on his shoulder and being a fucking hazard to Ben’s very good, very safe driving. “Please?”

“No.”

“But-“

“I’m really fucking like my life.” He gave her a side-eyed, flat look as he said Her name. “So no.”

She stuck Her tongue out at him, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat as she muttered under her breath. “You can’t even die, you cockfuck asshole.”

Ben snorted. “You know I can fucking hear you, brat. And you’d figure out a way to kill me, you’re real damn smart like that.” 

“Kiss ass.”

“Only for you, darling.”

She flushed at his wink, thighs pressing together with a small squirm—like She was trying to move Ben’s hand up from where it had found an easy home near her knee—and he’d fucking won. Ben didn’t even try to stop the triumphant grin from crossing his face, because he never fucking won these arguments. They usually ended with Her moaning as Ben fucked her in an attempt to regain some control and dignity after she’d convinced him eat lunch with Her, Hughie, and Annie, or do the laundry, or thank Kimiko for brownies, or read a fucking book. But she wasn’t pushing further, cutting right to watching Ben with lust-blown eyes and a pretty, gaping and slack expression, so he’d fucking won.

“Need me to pull over?” He dragged his hand up Her leg, smirking at her small gasp. “Take care of you on the side of the fucking highway?”

“Fuck you,” She mumbled, grabbing Ben’s hands and turning it over between hers in a way that was somehow lot more fucking distracting than her pout. “Horny old cunt-“

“I can hear your heart,” Ben drawled Her name, twining his fingers into hers. “You want me to fuck you, and I haven’t even done anything-“

“It’s the driving.” She shrugged, but Ben didn’t miss how Her hand tightened in his. “You look hot when you drive.”

He chuckled, glancing over at Her beautiful, fake sulking face. “Driving fucking does it for you? Should I get a car, just to turn you on-“

“Shut up, Benjamin.” She wrinkled Her nose at him. “You get turned on when I’m good with Ryan, Mr. Breeding Kink. I’m allowed to think you’re sexy when you’re driving a car.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I am not going fucking apologize for loving you and wanting fuck you until your full of me-“

“Well then I don’t have to apologize for looking at your hands and muscles when you drive!”

“You have a damn obsession with my hands, Sunshine.” He grinned at Her, lifting her hand up in his to kiss Her knuckles. “I’m starting to think you like them more than my cock.”

“I’m allowed to like multiple things, Pretty Boy. I don’t know if old age is getting to you, but I also said muscles-“

“How about this.” Ben held their hands in Her lap, looking between her pretty, dramatic, perfect fucking fake-scowl and the road he had to not crash on. “After Edgar, I’ll let me give you a blowjob right fucking here, in the car.”

“Oh, you’ll let me give you a blowjob-“

“I wasn’t fucking done, brat.” Ben guided their hands between Her legs, cock twitching in his pants as her thighs squeezed around them. “Then, I’ll finger you all you goddamn want. Use my hands how you like them, make you cum on my fingers. Deal?”

She swallowed. “Deal.”

“Good girl.”

Ben laughed as She hit his arm, half grinding onto him at the same time. “Shut the fuck up-“

“You love it.“ Ben felt that strange, radiant thing burst alight in his body. “You love me.”

“Against all my better judgment,” She sighed. “I really do. Can we go over the plan again?”

He nodded, but there wasn’t really that fucking much to go over. They’d made practically negative progress on what the keys could be for—Frenchie had tried to duplicate them, only to discover it was a magnetic skeleton key, and whatever the fuck that meant had caused Her to let out a long, exhausted sigh—and everyone’s bets on the answer seemed to live in the realm of just fucking praying that it wasn’t another problem for them to deal with. Or, if they were all being real damn honest, for Her to deal with.

“It’s probably not something perishable,” She’d said, everyone gathered in the dining hall and glaring at the keys on the center of the table. “Given how long it sounded like the keys were at Red River.”

“That is why my bet is on a weapon,” Frenchie had nodded along to Her words, looking to Kimiko for agreement. “Right, Mon Coeur? Guns and bomb are not items that perish-“

Kimiko had signed something, and both Her and Frenchie’s faces had fallen.

“It could be that.” She’d muttered, voice raising as She translated for the rest of the team. “Something that is perishable, but Edgar doesn’t care if it perished.” 

“Well, why’d he want you and Soldier Boy to get it now-“ 

She’d shrugged, cutting MM off with a tired, almost bitter look at the keys. “Maybe it’s value isn’t dependent on it being, um-“

“Alive.” Ben had grunted, and She’d swallowed. 

“Yeah. Alive.”

“Or just ripe?” Hughie had offered, voice practically fucking desperate. “It doesn’t have to be living, they could be hiding something from the government like they did V, like food or-“ 

“I ain’t puttin money on Edgar stashin pears,Hughie-“ 

She’d shaken her head. “No, Butcher, Hughie’s actually got a point.”

“I do?”

“No he don’t-“

She’d turned Her eyes up to Butcher and Hughie, tone bored and amused. “Yeah, he does. The keys are to the Cornucopia. In Greco-Roman cultic practices, cornucopias were often depicted with agricultural gods, and copia literally means abundance in Latin-“

Butcher has snapped Her name. “Tell us like we’re fuckin idiots, Love-“ 

Ben had frowned, because he’d been following along just fine. But She was also literally alive inside of him, so he’d either adapted to Her smart talk so well he didn’t get phased by it anymore, or She was physically making Ben more intelligent. He hoped it was the former, because then it could be another testament of his love for Her. How he really fucking listened when She spoke, even if his primary motivation was how fucking hot she could be when she was talking about things she was passionate about. And given that She was somehow passionate about every single fucking thing in the universe, Ben would never make her stop talking or dumb it down for his sake. He got to learn shit, and have a boner that She usually ended up fixing. Everyone fucking won.

He’d almost told Butcher to fucking shove it and let Her speak, but She’d been faster, frowning at Butcher as she’d continued.

“Cornucopias are symbols of Greek and Roman food gods. The word means Horn of Plenty in Latin.” She’d looked back to Hughie with a small smile. “So food isn’t that insane of a guess.”

Despite Her reassurance, nobody had ended up putting money on food. The keys were now a slight weight in the pocket of Her jacket, and they’d agreed upon keeping the V from Edgar. If he asked about it, they’d either playing real fucking stupid and telling him they’d only received the keys, giving him a vial of water She’d put green food dye in, or saying they’d broken them. Ben was pretty damn sure Edgar would buy that last one, because the man seemed convinced their team was made up of complete fucking idiots.

It might be. In the past two days they certainly hadn’t been a bunch of fucking geniuses. Mallory had attempted to brief with them about Singer and potential new avenues for V, and Ben had witnessed some of the worst fucking acting performances of in history. For a group of people whose whole fucking job was murder and espionage, they hadn’t managed to be fully capable of looking Mallory in Her hypothetically compromised face and just goddamn lie. Hughie had been all goddamn sweaty, MM and Butcher just kept grunting and glaring, Annie wouldn’t stop staring, and Frenchie had been talking at a damn near inhuman pace. If it wasn’t for Her and Ben, Mallory would’ve clued in on how they’d all finally fucking realized that She was a bitch and couldn’t be trusted.

“Maybe,” MM had muttered as they’d returned to Jersey, the air in the limo tense and wired. “We could tell, Grace, and she’d side with us. She didn’t seem to be Muller’s biggest fan-“

“No.” She’d shuffled further into Ben’s side, leaning into him with a sigh. “Mallory’s primary allegiance is to democracy. If there’s even a chance Singer might think that she’s just trying to sabotage Muller’s as a VP candidate, she won’t actually help us. And she’s not stupid. She might put together that we’re going after federal V, notice the documents are missing or something, and try to stop us. We can’t risk it.” 

Ben had expected more pushback, but Butcher, of all goddamn people, had taken her side.

“She’s right, Mate.” He’d looked at them through the rear-view mirror, a sour and tight-lipped expression on his face. “We ain’t able to take big gambles on anything right now. What Grace don’t know ain’t gonna hurt her, so she’ll be stayin in the dark on this one.”

And that was the fucking plan. Keep Mallory in the dark about the leak, let Her and Ben get the keys to Edgar, and meet the team in Boston for the V. Then they’d fucking kill Homelander—no loose ends for him to know it’s coming, Annie had even bought Her a private, non-CIA funded phones—and deal with the mess it left when the pussy was a million goddamn feet under. 

The mess that included those two original formula V’s, one being kept wherever the fuck Butcher kept things, and one in Ben’s jacket.

They’d agreed not to give it Edgar. There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell they were giving that V to Edgar. When this was over, they’d likely just fucking flush it down the toilet.

But they hadn’t. And Ben had looked at it in Her underwear drawer before they left, and decided that there was no goddamn way he was just leaving it here. In the FBSA Headquarters, where Mallory could just walk into their apartment with her seemingly unlimited jurisdiction and find it.

And he’d forgotten to tell Her. It was really just fucking occurring to him now, as She outlined what to do if Edgar asked them for the V, that it was something She’d probably want to know about. This seemed like the type of shit he’d get yelled at for keeping from Her, even if it wasn’t at all on purpose.

He grunted Her name before he could forget again, and She cut off her own lecture, frowning at him.

“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something, and you’re not allowed to lose your damn mind about it.”

Her tone raised into a slight warning. “Ben-“

“It’s not fucking bad,” he muttered, risking a look at Her expression. She mostly just looked concerned, and it was a lot fucking worse, so Ben had to just say it. Lock his eyes back on the road and just goddamn tell Her. “I brought the V.”

There was silence for a second, and when Ben looked back, She was only blinking. Her head had tilted slightly, and her fingers were trying to tap in Ben’s hold, but her heart was natural and even, so she wasn’t mad.

“Okay.” She sighed, leaning Her head back in her seat and squeezing Ben’s hand. “I mean, it’s not ideal, but I’d rather have it with you than leave it at the compound. Next time tell me before we leave,” She whacked his arm lightly. “But I can work with it.”

Ben nodded slowly, and muttered, “you’d rather have it-“

“With you.” She repeated herself, and Ben could hear the smile in Her voice. “I trust you, Pretty Boy. And you’re even safer than an underwear drawer. You can yell at people, and hit them into a wall if they try to take things from you. You’re very dramatic, Benjamin. It’s one of your best qualities.”

He snorted, running his thumb over the skin of Her hand. “Brat.”

“Cunt. I need to pee.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me that-“ 

“Because you,” She nudged his shoulder, and Ben turned to see that pretty pout on her lips. “Won’t let me fucking drive, and I am not peeing in the woods, so you need to get me to a gas station.”

He rolled his eyes, but grunted for Her to find one on the map and listened to her directions, parking and turning to watch Her move at his side. 

“I’ll be back,” She smiled at him, fumbling with her seat belt. “Put some gas in the car while I’m gone, we’re low.”

Ben scowled. “No, we’re not-“

“Yes,” She leaned over him, pointing to a small, flashing light on the dashboard. “We are.” 

“That means Butcher’s low on washer fluid-“ 

“Nope. Gas.” She turned to grin at him, their faces barely a fucking inch apart. “Old man-“

Ben tangled his hand in Her hair, pulling her into a long, soft kiss. Shut the fuck up, Sunshine, I am not goddamn old- 

You’re so old. She let out a happy sigh into his mouth, pulling back to meet his gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.” He kissed Her cheek, and her eyes on his were so fucking full of adoration and want it might kill him. “Go piss. Be fast.”

“I always am. Fill up the gas, please.” 

“With what damn money-“

“Butcher gave me a hundred to use on gas and whatever fuckin lube you and the old cunt need, as a gift.” 

“Jokes on that pussy, we don’t need lube.” Ben winked at Her. “You get plenty fucking wet for me, all by your damn self.” 

“Fuck you-“ 

“If you insist-“ 

She bumped his nose with Hers, brushing hair out of his eyes. “After I pee, Benjamin, my love, you can fuck me all you want. But only after you let go of me, so I can pee.” 

Ben grunted, releasing where he’d subconsciously grabbed Her waist, but holding onto the sound of Her heartbeat as she climbed out of the car. She’d passed him the money from Her jacket, and now Ben had to fill up the gas tank, because Her saying Benjamin, my love, was some sort of goddamn override to his brain that made body move to Her will more than his. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have gotten Her gas—She’d asked him for something, and Ben would be damned if she didn’t fucking get it—but he might have pushed for them to go somewhere else if she hadn’t added that one fucking phrase.

But now he had to get gas here. At this backwater fucking washed up parking lot, with a pump that might have been installed before Ben was even taken to Russia. This whole fucking place was disgusting, even by the real damn low standards of gas stations in upstate New York. Ben wasn’t even sure it was genuine establishment and not an abandoned building that some hicks has started selling dogshit coffee and stale candy bars at. If this was Ben’s car, which it fortunately wasn’t, he’d probably have flat out fucking refused to put their alleged “gas” in the engine. They were selling it for a million damn dollars—She’d explained the rapid increase of cost of living and inflation to him several times, but $4.50 for gas had to be a crime—and if he wasn’t able to lean against Butcher’s car and keep a very careful eye on every single pussy moving around the lot while she took a piss, he would’ve damned it and gone into the bathroom with Her, just to make sure she was safe.

But She probably would’ve killed him for hovering, and it wasn’t like Ben couldn’t feel Her—easy and content and humming a soft, natural song—everywhere his head, or hear her heartbeat slightly muffled, but steady, across the parking lot. And it was just them, three truckers, the store workers, and a family on some sort of weird fucking road trip at the station overall, so things would be fine. And if they weren’t, Ben had a fucking gun. They were going right to Boston after this shit, so even though he wasn’t allowed to bring his suit, Ben had dropped his shield in the trunk of Butcher’s car and packed one of the gun ranges better pistols in his pants, along with the one Butcher had given him when She’d return in his pants. So if that bouncy fucking five-year-old tried anything, Ben would be ready.

The five-year-old wouldn’t try anything. It was a little girl, rolling in the grass like a damn dog, giggling to herself as her mother watched her with a tired, joyful smile, and neither of them seemed to be plotting anything. A man joined them with a slightly smaller boy, passing the woman a coffee with a kiss as the boy half-tackled the girl, and something Ben fucking became radiant and soft and aching and hungry in his chest and head and gut.

He’d never fucking gotten that. Ben couldn’t ever remember being that carefree as a kid, and he’d certainly never fucking played in the grass, looked up at his father, and gotten a thumbs up and smile of approval. She’d never had it either. Ben would place real good money that Her parents had never watched her with content, easy expressions, and then shared low laughs with each other about a joke Ben could fucking hear, and wasn’t that damn funny. Those assholes across the parking lot seemed to think it was fucking hilarious, leaning on each other and watching each other with expressions that would’ve made Ben scoff and make a face of like he’d smelled something foul forty years ago.

He wouldn’t now. He hadn’t gotten that before either—real, raw, powerful fucking love—but Ben fucking got it now. That together didn’t just mean at someone’s side most days, and in name, with acknowledgments through teeth. Ben had thought the most together had to offer was a show. Someone he didn’t like that much, but could half-tolerate for a few hours, to flash and shine with him so everyone went fuck, they look good. They’re smiling for us, so that’s love.

Ben had been a fucking idiot. Together meant together. It meant at Her side, always matching Her step for step, but a fuck ton more than just a name. Together meant just them, no need to stray and no way out, because Ben didn’t want a way out. He loved Her—he couldn’t stop telling Her, and it almost fell out of Ben like when he exhaled it would always come out as the words, I love you, Sunshine—and together meant Her and Ben, burning at each other’s sides, no matter what every other pussy fucker wanted. And all the best parts of this weren’t for any single camera or crowd, they were for Ben. They were how She looked wearing his shirts and sprawled over his body, a weight he could easily throw off but never wanted to. They were watching TV shows and Movies with Her, and watching her smile in the glow of the screen. They were trading smirks and winks and jokes, and bumping shoulders or walking with Ben half holding Her up as he made dirty promises he’d always keep. They were dancing with Her in the haze of colorful light provided by her beautiful, fucking enchantingvoice, and saying shit like enchanting because that seemed like a word She’d use.

He really fucking got that together wasn’t a performance. Ben liked Her—She was fucking hilarious and mean and smart and perfect—and when he smiled it was for Her. Not a single other pussy fucker mattered when Ben smiled at Her, because it was something that he couldn’t help, and acted as another piece of evidence that Ben loved Her. Further proof that she’d never have to be afraid of anything again, because Ben would keep her safe, and she’d never have to want for anything because Ben would find whatever she asked for.

So Ben couldn’t scowl at the man across the lot, half-hanging over his wife, because Ben knew that he probably looked that fucking stupid when he looked at Her. But anyone would look that stupid if they got to love Her. If She’d turned them into a fucking pussy who thought about things like would they take stupid road trips? They could. After this was over, She and Ben could do whatever the fuck they wanted. Ben’s whole goddamn brain had been turned into a place to figure out what else would She want. A road trip probably wasn’t the best idea, if Ben wanted to keep his sanity. Given how frequent and intense their sex was, they’d have to pull over two or three times a day and Ben was never going to fuck his wife in a flea-ridden, stiff mattressed, peeling-paint motel room. He could—Ben could fuck Her anywhere—but She deserved all the comfort the world had to offer.

She’d want to see beautiful things. Not have them, but see them. Ben would need to take Her to places that held half the beauty she had in Her own body and heart and head, just so She could see what he got to look at every goddamn day. Ben needed to show Her things like waterfalls and mountains and oceans, find Her a place where the sun was almost as bright as She was, and he could hold Her just to hold her. A place where there were soft breezes and music and good food and flowers.

There were flowers here. As gross as this place was, there were still flowers. Off the side of the lot, past where the family had been standing and where everything turned overgrown and green, there were light pink flowers.

She was still in the bathroom, and the tank was full, and Ben couldn’t stop staring at the flowers. It was just him and two truckers now—shorter men with baseball caps and slightly tattered clothing—and they were looking over at Ben with weary frowns.

But Ben still just fucking stared at the flowers.

And that was the type of fucking love-sick idiot pussy She’d turned him into. The type that stomped across the parking lot, glaring daggers at the other men in a silent dare to say something—because Ben would throw them right through their stupid trucks and not break a sweat—and grabbed some flowers out of the ground for his wife.

She’d like them. She’d get pretty, wide eyes and smile at Ben and it wouldn’t matter that he’d just picked flowers like a fucking child, because She’d be happy.

He returned to the car, scowling at where he could still hear Her heartbeat through the walls of the gas station.

You’re not being fucking fast, Sunshine.

There was barely a beat before she responded. Take it up with my asshole, Pretty Boy. I’m shitting.

Are you almost done.

I think? Maybe five or six more minutes. Ben heard Her amusement bounce around his head, and he could fucking hear the smile on her face. Think you’ll make it? 

Shut the fuck up. Ben glared at the flowers, still in his hands. Do you need anything. 

Like what? 

I don’t fucking know, what do gas stations sell now-

Probably the same things they sold in the 80s. Gum, candy, condoms, snack, soda, energy drinks- 

What the fuck is an energy drink.

Like, a Red Bull or a Monster. There was a pause, and then, have you had a Red Bull? 

Bulls aren’t red, they’re brown or some shit-

No, dummy, it’s a brand name. Like Doritos, but caffeine and sugar. Go get a Red Bull, Benjamin.

Ben frowned. Why. 

Because I want to watch you drink it.  

He looked down at the remainder of their money. Are you hungry.

If I say yes, will you buy the Red Bull.  

He grunted Her name between their heads, and Her soft laugh echoed through his mind.

I’ll take whatever else you get.  

What the fuck do you want, Sunshine-

We’ll share. Go get the food and I’ll find you after I’m done.

Ben nodded to no one and put Her flowers in his pocket, taking one last assessing look around the lot—one more person had parked a white van, but that was it—before heading into the gas station convince store.

These things hadn’t fucking changed in the slightest. Still flickering blue, washed-out fluorescent lights, dirty floors and walls, and messily stocked shelves. Ben stalked over to the drink fridges lining the walls, scanning the shelves for whatever the fuck a Red Bull was—figured out it was a silver and blue can, and decided to get the black and green one a few shelves instead on fucking principle alone—and moved on to find Her some food.

The newer man, with the van, had walked into the store, joining Ben and the acrylic-nailed woman behind the counter, and was studying all the sandwiches and donuts near the register like he might actually find one that didn’t taste like fucking shit. Ben decided to go for the snack isle instead, because he could kick the pussy out of his way, but She’d be eating whatever he ate. Ben wasn’t that fucking hungry, and he knew if he tried to just give Her food and not take any himself, she’d go on a strike and refuse to take a bite until he took one as well. That meant he had to figure out something that they’d both eat, but She’d love more, enough to eat most of it without pawning half off to Ben. And Ben would not take a single fucking bite of a Styrofoam, gas station hot dog, so snacks it was.

He grabbed things he recognized. Potato chips and Rice Krispies and Oreos and Pop Tarts, and then a large bag of chocolates he could insist was only for Her, because he had this stupid fucking energy drink for himself. She needed to drink as well, actually, so Ben returned to the drink isle and scowled at the options. Colorful bottles and over-priced water and juices designed for children that Ben wouldn’t be buying his wife- 

Fuck. He kept doing that. Since DC, Ben’s brain had decided to turn against his own interest of waiting and doing it right to just call Her his wife. She would be—he’d fucking kill the proposal, and make every other romantic thing in history look like a World War—but she wasn’t yet. So he needed to get a goddamn hold over himself, grab one of those fancy fucking water bottles, and pay for everything so they could keep going before Ben did something stupid like asking Her to marry him in a parking lot.

He sensed Her before he even realized her heartbeat had moved. An innate feeling of closer, She’s getting closer, good things are getting closer, and then a ring of a high bell as the door opened. Ben had made his way over to the counter—waiting as the cashier scanned everything in the slowest way goddamn possible—and turned to see Her walking over to him with such a perfect fucking look of ease on her face, a small smile pulling at her lips as she assessed his picks.

She opened Her mouth—eyes meeting Ben’s and full of a fucking light and sheer goddamn happiness that made him high—and that pussy fucking van idiot, mouthful of a sandwich he hadn’t damn paid for yet, stepped between them.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here, honey?”

She froze, and Ben felt his hands curl into fists as something started to twist and flail in his gut.

“I, um, I don’t,” She looked over the man’s shoulder to Ben, and he jerked his head to the Van-Pussy.

Do you want me to kill him-

“You up here with anyone? Nah, no way someone would leave you alone if you were, they’d have to be a fucking cuck.” The man laughed to himself, and Ben took a jerked step forward to rip off his goddamn head.

No murder, Benjamin. 

He halted, keeping his attention on Van-Pussy’s every shift and breath. Some small murder can be fucking justified, he’s got it coming-

I’ve got this. If you need to start punching holes in people, I’ll tell you.

Ben was going to break his own fucking teeth, his clenched jaw becoming slightly strained and almost painful, but he gave a small, curt nod. Swear it-

Promise. “I am actually. Here with someone.”

Van-Pussy laughed again, but this laugh was dismissive, like she was stupid. “Please, honey. I don’t see no one-“

She shrugged. “Then turn around.”

Ben coughed to cover his laugh, and Van-Pussy whipped around to meet his glare.

Then the fucking idiot rolled his eyes. “You could do better than him, darling, you’re way too pretty for him. Come with me, and I’ll show you a real good time.”

That was an insane fucking statement. Ben had issues, but he also knew what his face looked like. He might be the only asshole alive who was close to being as attractive as she was. It was another reason he was fucking built to love Her right, because She deserved to fuck and smile and love someone who could hold even a tiny, flickering candle to the massive, consuming and cleansing inferno of life and beauty that she was.

Ben probably would’ve broken Van-Pussy’s face for that statement alone, then his ribs for calling Her darling, and then his knees for how he’d started to reach for Her, but she was a fucking wonder of the universe and moved faster. Side-stepping Van-Pussy in a smooth movement, reaching a hand out for Ben to wrap his own around on instinct, and let Herself be tugged right up to his side, under his arm, where they both goddamn belonged.

“I’m good, thank you.” She gave Van-Pussy’s wide, almost thunder-struck expression a sweet, toxic, toothless smile, and turned herself and Ben around, back to the counter.

Ben kissed the top of Her head as she fully assessed his choices, the cashier somehow not finished scanning. “I can still fucking kill him if you want-“

She cut off his words, muttered in Her ear, with a turn of her head and full, long, kiss. “No murder, Benjamin, my love.” She hummed into his mouth, and pulled away to rest her head on his shoulder, looking back to the food. “No weed, huh?”

He blinked, frowning between Her and the counter. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

“Weed is legal in New York,” She shrugged. “And a lot of gas stations sell it now. It might not be regulated weed, but that doesn’t really matter to you-“

“Are you fucking with me-“

“Nope.” She bumped their shoulders, and turned to the cashier. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you have any cannabis products-“

The cashier looked up at her with a flat, almost dead-eyed stare. “We got joints, $40 for the bag.”

“Can you add that as well-“ 

The woman turned around to the wall of cigarettes and condoms behind the counter, and She smiled up at Ben.

“See? Weed-“

Ben cupped Her chin, holding her still so he could kiss her as deep and rough as he could manage without starting to fuck her on the disgusting floor of the gas station. She was fucking perfect, and amazing, and all Ben’s and fuck he loved Her so goddamn much-

They only broke apart because the cashier cleared her throat, slamming a bag of weed on the counter and looking at Ben expectantly. “Fifty-five bucks.”

Ben paid—his instance that they didn’t need a bag, because he could fucking carry everything without an issue being shot down by Her sharp glare—and guided Her out of the store, back to the car. Ben winked at Van-Pussy as they passed him, because She was his. She’d chosen Ben, and was tucked at his side with a smile and perfect fucking look of happiness on her beautiful face. She knew Ben, and got him weed, and loved him so much that Ben could see it everywhere. In the trash littered around the gas station and smudges of dirt on the windows of Butcher’s car. In the woods surrounding them and the and the sparkles of glass in the parking lot, in the reflection of rainbow in some stray oil pooling out of the pump, and Her smile as they climbed back into the car.

“No weed now,” She glanced up at him as she pulled items out of the plastic bag, a tone of apology in her voice. “Just because we need to go, and can’t afford to be pulled over if a patrol cop sees the driver smoking a joint.” Her eyes lit up, and Ben knew exactly what she was going to say before her mouth even opened. “Or-“

“You are not driving, Sunshine.” Ben drawled, fighting his smile at the pretty wrinkle of Her nose. “Don’t even fucking try to convince me otherwise.”

“Cunt,” She mumbled, tossing the joints into the back of the car. “What do you want first?”

“Whatever you don’t want.” 

She nodded, frowning at the bag. “Chips?”

“I don’t give a fuck-“

The bag of chips was half-chucked at his face, and Ben looked over to see her holding up the green can, her brows raised.

“Benjamin, this is not a Red Bull-“

“It’s the same shit, isn’t it? And it’s green-“

“Holy fuck, Pretty Boy.” She giggled, passing him the drink. “You’re like a toddler who won’t eat chicken nuggets because they’re not shaped like dinosaurs-“

“Shut the fuck up-“

“I think it’s adorable.” She leaned forwards, propping her chin on his shoulder. “And I love you, you old grump. Drink the Monster.”

Ben scowled, glaring down at Her as he popped the can open. “This is dumb as shit-“

“Yeah, it is. Do it, you pussy-“

He kissed Her once, just to turn her words into a soft moan, and pulled back with a smirk. “Brat.”

He took the drink in one gulp, and almost spat it out over Butcher’s dashboard. 

“Fucking Christ, this tastes like ass-“ He glared at Her, head buried against him and absolutely failing to contain her laughter at his suffering. “People drink this shit on purpose-“

She nodded, her grin wide and toothy and unrestrained as she looked up to meet his eyes. “They do, yeah. It’s like dogshit coca cola, but also helps you finish an essay two hours before it’s due. It has its merits.”

“It’s fucking disgusting,” Ben grumbled, slamming the can into the cup holders for Butcher to throw out later, and She giggled again. “You think this is fucking funny-“

“I do.” She pulled herself up, kissing along Ben’s jaw and taking his hand in Hers. “I think this is hilarious.” 

“You’re so fucking mean to me, Sunshine-“

“You love it.”

He rolled his eyes, but squeezed Her hand and only muttered, “I do, you fucking brat.”

“Thank you for trying that for me-“

“Don’t.” Ben sighed, glancing Her as she settled back into her seat, their hands still tangled together. “I got you something.”

“You got me lots of things.” She looked back to the bag, pulling out the chocolate with a smile. “Very good boyfriending, Benjamin.“

The radiant thing coursed through Ben’s whole body, blooming over his ribs and warming his gut. It was damn near impossible to keep frowning—to keep his brow drawn and face neutral—when she was so contagiously happy. Like disease Ben wanted to,fucking needed to catch.

He shoved his hand into his pocket before he could pussy out, and coughed to regain her full attention. “I got you something else, as well.”

A small frown crossed her face as she titled Her head, scanning over Ben’s very fucking serious expression. “What?” 

He pulled the flower out, extending it for Her to take with a stiff arm. He didn’t have any fucking words for it, because it didn’t need words. This flower was for Her. Ben had picked it for Her, and that was all he goddamn knew how to do. Ben knew how to do things for Her, because it was easier than breathing, and that was it, and it would have to speak for itself.

She was gaping between him and the flower, the whole world almost fucking drowning in the feeling of Her—infinite and good and made of fire and life and love and honey and music and something golden Ben didn’t have a name for—and when she reached out with a slightly shaking hand, her voice was soft.

“You got me a flower?”

Ben grunted an agreement, trying to figure out what the fuck Her exact reaction was. Why she sounded so fucking nervous, when She was electric and overflowing inside on Ben’s body.

“Where-“

“Woods.” He muttered, jerking his head in the vague direction of where the family had stood. “There were fuck ton of them-“

“You,” She swallowed, glossy eyes moving to fully onto Ben’s. “You picked it for me?”

“Of course I picked it for you, who the fuck else would I pick it for-“

She practically launched herself out of Her seat, crashing her mouth into Ben’s, and his words died with a groan as she straddled him. She was kissing Ben like she’d fucking die if she didn’t, grinding down onto him with moans of his name and sounds of want that made his cock grow painfully hard. Her hands were tangled in his hair, their bodies molded perfectly together, and fuck she smelled good, felt good, everything about Her was so fucking good-

“I love you,” She whispered, voice slightly unsteady as she pulled back to watch him, and Ben realized he could taste the salt from her tears. She was fucking crying, why the fuck was she crying-

“You-“

“I love you so much, Ben.” She gave him one last, tender and sweet kiss, smiling against his lips. You’re amazing, and I love the flower, and I really fucking love you.

Ben realized—as he chased Her mouth back to his, feeling how every piece of Her was coated in pure fucking joy—that the tears were happy tears. She was so goddamn happy it was making him feel fucking alive—alive in a way that only She knew how to be, where everything was beautiful and had meaning and somehow Ben was still everything to Her—and he couldn’t fight the grin from crossing his face and She settled back into her seat, fully taking the flower from his hand and looking at it like it she looked at him. Adoring and soft, Her whole face relaxed and not an ounce of pain or fear over her perfect features. She looked at the flower like it was a piece of Ben he’d carved out to offer Her, and that made the stupidity of picking his wife a flower feel more than goddamn worth it.

He’d fucking done it again. Not his wife, yet. Ben could, probably, ask right fucking now and get it right, but they were on a time limit. They had an hour left to go before they reached Edgar, and couldn’t afford to use time for Ben to pull her back over him and tell Her to fucking marry me, Sunshine, because I love you and I’ll give you a whole fucking garden if you ask me to. I’ll kiss you stupid on the grass, surrounded by as many flowers as you want, then fuck you stupider until you’re this happy all the goddamn time. I’ll buy you all the damn snacks you need, and drink a million more of those shit fucking cock-drinks if it always makes you giggle. Just fucking marry me, and I’ll love you however you ask for the rest of our lives. Forever. I’ll love you for fucking ever. 

But stupid things like not letting America fall and crumble under Vought and Homelander made Ben have to start the engine and keep moving. His hand had returned to its home on Her thigh as she rambled about every single, pointless, perfect thought that popped into her head. She loved the color pink, and Ben wasn’t allowed to call it stupid or girly, or she’d put pink and blue glitter in his shampoo and then kick him in the balls. She loved flowers as well, and was proud of Ben for not killing Van-Pussy, and he’d somehow managed to grab her favorite Pop Tart flavor. She made him share her water, and threw an Oreo at his face when he grumbled about how he should’ve fucking killed Van-Pussy, and started reaching between his legs to grab chips as she spoke, which didn’t fucking help him focus on the road at all.

Ben had apparently gotten her a rose milkweed, which was a primary attractor of Monarch Butterflies.

“How fuck do you know that-“

“I went to butterfly garden when I was a kid.” She shrugged, still smiling at the flower and twirling it between her fingers. “They had these everywhere.” 

He grunted—of course She’d just have fucking remembered that—and let her continue on a tangent about butterflies and flowers and whatever the fuck else she wanted to talk about. She was distracted from the meeting with Edgar— drawing closer and closer the longer they drove—and Ben got to hear her voice, so he was good. He could glance at her every few minutes and feel his mouth twitch at the eager, bright expression on her face as she spoke, and wonder if She’d want to go to a butterfly garden again. If that would make Her keep smiling like this, if She might tackle him and call him amazing again.

He’d gave to figure that out later. Right now, they were parking in the back lot of Edgar’s prison, and had a fucking job to do. She’d slowly fallen silent as they’d driven through the gate—her hand tapping against Ben’s and teeth visible as she gnawed on her lips—and when the engine turned off, Ben waited. Stay right at Her fucking side, holding and watching her until she took a long, heavy breath and met his eyes.

“The plan-“

“Go in,” Ben grunted. “Give Edgar the keys, but not the V, and clear my debt. Try and get him to tell us what the fuck the keys are for, and let you take the lead if he asks about the V. No talking to anyone but Edgar and MM’s contact, no lingering and fighting if shit goes south. If hell breaks loose, get the fuck out and don’t look back.”

She nodded slowly. “If another guard asks who we are?”

“Let our insider take of it.”

“And if someone recognizes us-“

“They won’t,” Ben grinned, reaching over and dropping Her sunglasses from her brow to her nose. “Because we won’t be around long enough for a single fucking pussy to realize who we are.”

“Do you-“

Ben grabbed the stupid fucking Red Sox cap she’d bought him from the backseat, glowering at Her as he dropped it over his hair. “There is no goddamn reason it had to be Red Sox-“

“The reason is that I think you look very handsome,” an infinite, sharp light danced in Her eyes, and she leaned up to kiss Ben over his beard, holding his jaw with a gentle touch. “When you’re so grumpy about a hat.”

“It’s fucking blue-“

“You’ll live, you massive fucking baby.” She dropped back, giving her own body—wearing her sunglasses, Ben’s green shirt, and a green jacket Annie had gifted to her—a dramatic gesture. “And I’m wearing enough green for both of us. Let’s haul ass Pretty Boy, so we can get it over with.”

Ben scowled, but climbed out of the car, half-running around the car to get her door before She could even fucking think to do it herself.

She smiled up at him—taking Ben’s hand and letting him help her out of her seat—and pressed Her palm to his chest as she gave him one last kiss. Barely a brush, just enough for Ben to have time to wrap his around fully around her waist and hold her face, dragging his thumb over her lips as they separated.

“Such a fucking gentleman.”

She was teasing him, but the words still made Ben’s heart almost pound out of his goddamn chest, made his whole fucking body wrathful and illuminated and fall in time with Her. Her, Her, Her, Ben fucking loved Her, and nothing was could have been better than this, be better than this, be better than them, burning together fucking always.

“Shut up, brat.“ Ben rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore how she could obviously fuck see—and defiantly fucking feel—how everything in his body was made of rough, permanent, immoveable affection and love for Her. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Her hand fisted in Ben’s shirt, her head dropping to take long, steady breaths against him before looking back up, her face set and focused. “Let’s do this.”

MM’s contact was a surly, uptight man who worked for the prison and grunted more than Ben did. He’d looked them up and down, muttered a request for proof of identification—neither of them had that, so She set her hand on fire and Ben snapped the man’s baton in half—and then nodded, gesturing for them to follow him. If he thought it was noteworthy how Ben’s arm was resting on Her hips—held there by her hand over his—the man was smart enough not to say a fucking thing and only lead them long, twisting, empty halls to a steel-doored room, identical to last time.

“He’s in there,” the man—he’d said his name, and Ben hadn’t been fucked to remember it—told them, looking Her and Ben up and down with a frown. “You got an hour before he needs to be back in his cell.”

“Got it,” She was braced at Ben’s side, every word coming out careful and neutral. “Thank you.”

The man just shrugged, moving to stand against the wall and keep guard. “MM wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious as shit, so don’t worry about it.”

She sighed, nodding, and looked back to Ben. I’ve got the keys, is it okay if I do most of the talking-

The talking is your shit, Sunshine. Ben kissed the space between Her eyes, dropping his head until their brows were pressed together and he could study Her pretty, sharp eyes. I’ve got you, but you’re doing the damn talking.

Okay. She took another, grounding breath, and Her heartbeat grew a little more natural before she pulled back, and pushed the door open.

Edgar was indeed waiting for them, handcuffed to a table and humming bland tune that halted as they entered the room.

He said Her name first, eyes not even fucking darting to Ben. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Is it?” She dropped in one of the two metal chairs across from Edgar, pulling Ben with her. “I’d say it’s mediocre at best.”

Edgar huffed a small laugh. “I suppose the circumstances could improve vastly, but at least you have Benjamin.”

Ben got a nod, and before he could snap at Edgar to stop fucking calling him that, She did it for him. 

“Edgar,” She leaned over the table, eyes on Edgar’s a dry, silent threat. “For both our sakes, don’t call him that.”

“Ah.” Edgar hummed Her name. “I never took you for the territorial sort-“ 

“I’m not. But every time you call my Ben Benjamin, you’re in danger of getting your head ripped off, which would be a real bummer for you, and I’m in danger of visualizing things I have no interest in visualizing.” 

“Would I be able to hear an example of such a thing-“ 

“Do you have a guess as to what three times I call him Benjamin the most are?” She barely waited a second for Edgar to think before she continued a lazy, edged smile on her face. “Never mind, I’ll just tell you. When I’m pissed at him, when I’m telling him I love him, and when he’s fucking me. So forgive me if I don’t want to imagine my boyfriend’s cock in your mouth, Stan. I think I’m doing us all a favor with that.”

Ben might have made sour, lip-curled face at the idea of Edgar giving him head if his brain wasn’t spinning around Her calling him her boyfriend again. Husband would sound better. My husband was almost as fucking good as my Ben, and they did very fucking similar things to his whole fucking existence. Reduced everything to Her, a riot and song of Her.

Edgar didn’t have the same thing weighing down his disgust, though, because the pussy just sighed, shaking his head. “Your very disturbing point has been taken. Shall we move to business?”

“What else are we even here for?”

“Indeed.” Edgar looked between them, Ben rigid at Her side and her fingers tapping a quick, unyielding pattern of Moon River on the table. “I trust you managed to fulfill my request without issue?” 

Ben wouldn’t call Red River without issue—between Her having to move around a Vought Facility by herself, Ben being unable to do a single fucking thing but wait and try not to punch Hughie in the throat as he offered attempted words of comfort, and the whole fucking Ashley thing, it was a little damn insane nobody had died—but She nodded, giving Edgar a passive shrug.

“Everyone made it out in one piece. Consider your request,” She reached into her pocket and held up the keys for Edgar to see before tossing them onto the table. “Fulfilled.”

Edgar barely fucking looked at the keys, just enough to acknowledge their presence before returning his gaze to Her. “I’d hazard that you’ve speculated on their nature with your delightful band of misfits?”

“We’d be terrible at our jobs if we didn’t.”

“Most of you are quite awful at your jobs. But you,” Edgar said Her name with a thin-lipped smile. “Seem quite capable. Would you mind sharing with me your conclusions?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Would you tell me if I hit on anything correct?”

“I’d offer one better, and share their home and use with you. All you have to do is tell me what you believe my answer will be.”

She paused, blinking at Edgar, and Ben frowned. They hadn’t expected Edgar to just fucking volunteer that information.

I don’t fucking trust it, Sunshine-

I don’t either. She glances over at him, and Ben could see a little hint of quickly drying blood as she chewed through her lips. But we have to play his game, and get this over with.

“Whenever you care to begin-“

“Fine.” She turned back to Edgar, cutting him off with clipped words. “I think it’s for a house, or some other form of private property.”

A small, snake-like smile played on Edgar’s lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s a skeleton key, but it’s also magnet based, which means it’s meant to unlock multiple, potentially high-security doors. It’s an intricate design, complicated, which means it’s probably not just as house, but all the same it’s yours. Not Vought’s. Vought would’ve sprung for a smart key. You chose not to.”

“Did I?” Edgar hummed, his face and tone still insufferably fucking unreadable. “Perhaps it is simply not that valuable-“

“Wrong. It is.” She poked at the keys on the table with a shrug. “If it’s a house, it’s a house with a name. Only rich assholes name their houses, and only weird cryptic fucks use fancy master keys. It might not be something dangerous, but it’s valuable. Important enough for you to hide.”

“Impressive.” Edgar nodded, his tone sounds almost fucking delighted. “Would you like to hear the real answer?”

She didn’t dignify Edgar’s words with anything but a half-passive shrug, Her eyes on him still sharp and clear.

“They are mine, but you were wrong in saying that they were not Vought’s as well. Before they came into my possession, they were the property of one Dr. Fredrick Vought. I’m sure you’ve heard of his unfortunate history-“

“You mean the Nazi thing?” She said, voice flat. “Yeah, I might have.”

“Do you remember who the Nazi’s were allied with, during Vought’s time within the party?“

“The axis powers were the Third Reich, Italy, and Japan. But I don’t-“

“Smart girl.” Edgar’s smile twisted further over his face. “See, Dr. Vought may have lost faith in Germany’s capabilities and defected to America, but he returned to Europe many times after the war’s conclusion. He’d made several friends within Mussolini’s party, and paid them a visit from time to time. It was a retreat for him, a time to enjoy like-minded company and get extra eyes on his various projects. Even after he’d perfected compound V, Vought still made many trips back to Italy, if only for leisure. Around the 60s, he went so far as to have a villa built in one of his favorite spots, and named it the Cornucopia. A villa I inherited when he stepped down, and passed me the mantle of Vought CEO. These,” Edgar nodded back to the keys. “Serve as the master key, for the master of the house. Myself.”

She frowned. “Wouldn’t that technically mean they’re Ashley’s? If the villa is traditionally passed down from CEO to CEO?”

“It would,” Edgar sighed. “I’m afraid it absolutely slipped my mind into the chaos of my arrest to alert my successor of its location or existence. However, given that Dr. Vought and I are the only two owners, I wouldn’t quite call it tradition, which is why I am more than comfortable skipping over Mr. Barrett altogether and gifting it to you.”

Ben had very fucking rarely seen Her purely shocked. Gaping and wide-eyed, her beautiful face a picture of confusion, looking at Edgar like he’d just started speaking a different fucking language.

“I, um, I don’t-“

She stuttered and tripped over words when she was short-circuiting. When Her brain was overloaded with fear or lust, and had worked itself into a fucking overdrive Ben usually knew how to fix—holding Her until she was happy again, or fucking Her until she was stupid and glossy-eyed, and managed to kick herself back into gear—but didn’t have a goddamn idea how to help now.

“What the fuck do you mean, gifting it to her.” Ben took over, squeezing his hand on her hips in a silent reassurance, and fucking prayed that some answers would help bring her back down. 

“I mean what I say. The property and all its contents now belong to you,” Edgar angled his head to Her, saying her full name.

“Why.”

“Because, Soldier Boy, I like her. A feeling I am sure you will not take issue with-“

Ben scowled. “You’re not the gifting type, you dick, so tell us why-“ 

“I am afraid it is no more complex than a simple an affection and well-wish. I’ve been feeling more generous,as of late, and no longer have use for a villa halfway across the world.” Edgar turned away from Ben, back to Her. “You are clever, with a hopefully bright future, and I believe you may find worth in it.”

That seemed to pull Her back down enough to respond, thought Her voice softer, more uncertain, than usual. “Worth? What kind of worth?” 

Edgar dismissed Her question entirely. “You may also keep your V. I do not doubt that you’d simply forgotten it,” he looked between Her and Ben with a raised brow. “But it was never fully mine to begin with. I trust you won’t be foolish with such a volatile and dangerous drug, and if you are, please keep it far away from me.”

She blinked, glancing back down to the keys. “I can’t take these-“

“Take them or not, they’re now yours.”

“But-“ 

“It is a gift,” Edgar said Her name, voice slightly more edged. “It cannot be returned. Should you leave the keys here, they will be your lost property. Your responsibility.”

“It’s,” She cleared her throat, raising her still voice to a steady tone. “It’s in Italy?”

Edgar nodded. “Rome. The northern area, I believe. Forgive me, I only had a chance to see it once.”

She swallowed slightly. “And it’s mine?”

“Correct.”

She pulled her gaze fully from the keys, onto Edgar. “Is that, that’s all? No hidden plans or debts or secret terms?”

“If you are asking about Soldier Boy’s debt, it is forgiven.” Edgar’s cold smile had returned, his attention moving to Ben. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, and I’d shake your hand, but as you can see,” he pulled slightly on his cuffs. “I am otherwise occupied.”

Ben just grunted, and she took a long breath.

“We’re done here, then?”

“Tragically, yes.” Edgar sighed. “Our time has run out.”

“Awesome.” She stood up, Ben’s arm half supporting her, and gave Edgar a small, tight nod. “Have a good life, I guess. And, uh, thanks.”

“Gifts do not require thanks,” Edgar said Her name with a bored smile. “And I am sure we will be seeing each other again.” 

“Yeah, well.” She grabbed the keys off the table, returning them to her pocket. “Here’s hoping we don’t.” 

Before they left, she found Edgar a piece of paper to write the address on, Ben giving Edgar a long, angry glare—just for the fucking sake of it—until She tugged him back into the hall. MM’s contact was waiting, and barely looked at them before he grunted to follow his lead out. Ben looked down at Her as they walked, a grin tugging at his face.

You got a fucking house.

Villa. She corrected him in Her head with a sigh, leaning further into his side. And it’s a Nazi villa, so I’m not exactly thrilled.

Who gives a fuck what it was, Sunshine. Ben nudged Her shoulder, waiting for her to look up before continuing. It’s yours now, and you can do whatever the hell you want with it.

She blinked at him as they exited the prison. Like what?

Fill it with bugs and rat shit. Or baby animals and chocolate-

That’s dangerous, Ben, a lot of animals can’t eat chocolate-

He rolled his eyes. Then make it a fucking hospital, smartass, or an orphanage. Live in it or blow it up. Whatever the fuck you do with it, it’s yours.

Ours. She smiled at Ben, and the radiance bloomed around his heart and along his spine. We’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected, Benjamin, so the villa is your problem as well.

He should do it now. Ben should just fucking pin Her against Butcher’s car, kiss Her until she was fully relaxed in his arms, drop to his knees, and do it. Tell Her that they’ll be fuck-buddy-brain-connected forever, and he’d never call them that aloud, so they should just get fucking married so she could say you’re my husband, Benjamin, so the villa is your problem as well, and Ben could kiss Her softly and mutter that nothing with her was a problem. She was the best thing in his fucking life, and she couldn’t be a problem if she tried. And She certainly fucking had. Also, just as another damn bonus, Ben could call Her his wife to anyone who was around to hear it, and they could have world-ending engagement sex in Butcher’s backseat, until the pussy couldn’t drive without smelling Ben’s cum and Her squirting.

And Ben probably would have actually gone through with that plan, had they not reached the car to find Sister Sage in the driver’s seat, sorting through their remaining snacks with The Deep at her side, his feet up on the dashboard.

Ben grabbed his gun—half shoving Her behind him as he yanked open the door—and pressed its barrel to Sage’s temple. “What the fuck are you pussies doing here.”

Sage didn’t even flinch, turning her head to meet their eyes and moving the gun to her brow as The Deep started to climb over, shouting protests Ben could barely hear over the ringing in his ears.

“Hey, dude! That’s not cool-“

“Deep,” She’d moved back to Ben’s side, a light hand on arm in a silent request not to yet shoot. “Shut up-“

“No, you shut up, you traitorous whore bitch-“

Ben re-aimed the gun at the Deep, who cut himself off with a swallow. “You watch your fucking mouth when you speak to her, fish-fuck.“

“Or what.” In a remarkable act of sheer fucking stupidity that was impossible to mistake for bravery, the Deep kept talking. “What’s so magic about her blowjobs that she’s got every fucking guy who gets one obsessed with her-“

Ben clicked off the safety, raising the gun slightly higher. “I warned you.“

“Hey, dude, woah, calm down.” The Deep raised his hands, cowering like a fucking pussy. “I didn’t know you were serious about-“

Sage raised her hand, and the Deep fell silent.

“Call off your hound,” Sage said Her name in a lazy, almost annoyed tone, and Ben’s grip on the gun almost snapped it in half. “We’re here to talk.”

She looked between Sage and the Deep with weary eyes, and didn’t tell Ben to lower the gun. “How did you know we were here.”

“We received a tip that the Anomaly and Soldier Boy were alone together in upstate New York, only an hour away from Stan Edgar’s prison.” Sage gave Here a flat look. “It doesn’t take genius to connect those dots. And I am a genius.”

She glanced at Ben. Fuck, someone must have recognized us-

Van-Pussy.

Who-

The asscuck that tried to hit on you. Nobody else but the cashier saw us, and she was high as tits.

Damn it. Light danced slightly in Her eyes, even as her expression remained set and passive. I should have let you kill him.

Ben knew She was joking, but that didn’t stop his grunted, smug response of, damn right you should have.

She wrinkled her nose at him and turned back to Sage, who was watching them with a titled head. “What do you want.”

“What was that?” Sage looked between Her and Ben with a wolfish smile. “What did you two just do?”

The Deep frowned. “They didn’t do anything, they just stared at each other for like a minute

“Exactly, you fucking idiot.” Sage rolled her eyes. “But something still happened. Can I guess?” 

“No.” She snapped, glancing back to the Deep. “What’s he doing here?”

“I got the tip, I fucking caught you-“

“You thought it was nothing.” Sage shot the Deep a cold glare. “And only told me because you’re mandated to pass on any report of the Anomaly’s actively.”

Ben heard Her heart pick up pace in her chest as the Deep turned red, stumbling over his words. “Well, I’m the one that had the helicopter idea-“

“And I flew it. You’re only here because you’d have gone to Homelander if you didn’t.” 

“You,” She looked between Sage and the Deep. “You haven’t told Homelander.”

“Of course not.” Sage dismissed Her with a shrug. “I’m here to talk to you, not monologue and blow you up.”

Her nails dug into Ben’s arm, and Her words were slow, careful. “That’s not interesting, is it.”

A smile that Ben didn’t fucking understand, but made Her lean further into him, crossed Sage’s face. “Exactly. Homelander’s a fucking idiot. I can’t have him messing this up.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my man Homelander like that, I could still tell him what you’re up to-“

“No, you can’t.” Sage didn’t look at the Deep as she cut him off, her attention locked between Ben and—primarily—Her. “Go to him now, and you’re an accomplice. You kept this from him, and he won’t be forgiving of that.”

The blood drained from the Deep’s face, and She cleared her throat. 

“Why are you here, Sage. What do you want.” 

“Like I said before, to talk-“ 

“About what.” 

Sage’s wolfish grin returned, cruel and jeering and fucking annoying as shit. “You’ll see.”

Ben kept his eyes on Sage and the Deep’s every movement as he spoke, low and gruff, down the line to Her head. I can just fucking shoot them, and we can go-

No. She sighed, squeezing Ben’s arm once. The only way out of this is to talk to them.

Or kill them-

Sage will have a failsafe for that. And I think she really is just here to talk.

Ben scowled. Why.

She knows she can’t kill us. Homelander, She took a heavy breath, and Ben risked a glance to see her face hollow and tired. Homelander isn’t here. He’s not the wait and hide type. And Sage won’t call him until she and the Deep are far away from whatever happens after he arrives. She has something to say, or she’d have just sent Homelander to start with. And I want to hear what it is.

They make single wrong fucking move-

And you shoot them. “Get out of the car, and we can talk.”

“Good choice.” Sage climbed out of the driver’s seat, crossing her arms as the Deep scrambled out behind her. “I’m sure we could all build a little more trust if I didn’t have a gun pointed at me for the duration of our conversation.”

“Tough fucking shit.” Ben growled, tracking the Deep’s stumbling steps to Sage’s side. “Talk.”

“Fine.” Sage sighed, turning to Her. “I believe you have something I want.”

Her features remained passive, but her body was half falling onto Ben’s. He shot an arm around Her waist—gun still set on Sage—and her hand held him there as she resounded with bored words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, as I’m sure Ashley has told you-“

“I haven’t seen Ashley since I left the tower-“

“Please.” Sage gave Her a pointed look. “Ashley’s last known location was Red River, the same day that hours of camera footage were erased, and several windows were melted away. I know she’s defected, but it’s fine. I’ve accounted for it. But she may have mentioned to you that I’ve been hounding Stan Edgar for months, and you might be able to help me get what I want.”

“Why the fuck would we ever help you-“

Sage’s words were dry but firm over Ben’s. “Because everyone has something they want. And I could help you, if you helped me.”

“How,” She paused, studying Sage’s face. “Why would you help us?”

“I wouldn’t be helping you, I’d be exchanging a good for a service.” Sage looked between Her and Ben—Ben’s arm around Her body, Her finger’s tangled in his—and smirked. “If you give me the Cornucopia, I’ll help you get out.”

“What’s the Cornucopia-“

“What I’m looking for.“ Sage shrugged. “Edgar told me he had someone retrieving it, and now you’re here. When you find it, bring it to me instead, and you’ll be done. Forever.”

Ben caught it that time. The slight stumble of Her heart tipped him off, but he hadn’t missed those words. When you find it. Sage didn’t know they had it now.

They had a fucking advantage.

Sunshine-

I know. “What do you mean done.” She asked aloud, eyes narrowed. “How is that our end.”

“Because you’ll be gone.” Sage said, a glint in her eyes. “You’ll leave New York, leave Butcher and his cohort of idiots, leave Vought and Homelander and this whole fucking country, and never look back. And I’ll ensure nobody ever finds you again.”

Ben went rigid. Out. Really fucking out, with nobody to ever bother them again. She’d be safe, and Ben would be with her. Nobody would ever try to take him away from Her, and nothing would make her cry anything but happy, easy tears for the rest of their fucking lives.

“Why.” She frowned, fingers tapping on Ben’s hand. “If Ben and I go, that’s it. No more games, or battles. It’s not interesting.”

“It could be.” Sage grinned, and it was fucking blood-curling. “You could make one last statement, really fuck up everything up, and leave. You could affirm Starlight’s story, tell Homelander you’ve never loved him, and I’d have to clean that up. You could shoot Butcher up with that V you stole from Homelander, and let them go scorched earth while you’re far, far away from it. Fucking your boyfriend and never thinking about any of this again. You could make it interesting, however you want, and get out. I’m sure you want out. Wouldn’t it be so nice for you to just be done?”

It would be the be best thing in the goddamn world to be done. To leave, and never look back. To just be at goddamn peace together, and fuck on a beach or in a forest, and let some other sorry fuckers deal with the fallout of this whole goddamn thing. Ben had faith in Her ability to deal Sage one last blow that would be difficult to fix, and their team would be able get the V and kill Homelander themselves. Sage might fucking stab them in the back, but they could take extra precautions themselves. Measures to make sure that it was just Her and Ben forever.

But no Ryan. None of the rest of their team, and no freedom. Ben could hear Her heart—stuttering and rapid against him—and knew that this would just be locking Her up in a new goddamn way. And Ben wouldn’t be fucking worthy of Her. He’d be pulling her away from every single other thing she loved—and a few things he tolerated more than others—just to have her to himself. And he’d never fucking do that to her. She deserved to have the whole fucking world, not just a small sliver Sage offered them. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone, and She needed to help, or she’d go fucking insane. They’d both be away from Ryan, and the kid was just starting to calm the fuck down and stop blaming himself for everything. Christ, She was just starting to stop blaming herself of everything. And Ben, Ben was still repenting.

He was repenting. He was fucking repenting, and this war was part of that. His whole goddamn life was about Her, and he knew that if he told Sage he was in, She’d love him enough to follow him. She loved Ben, and it still wasn’t something he’d ever fully deserve—how infinite and powerful and intoxicating Her love was—so had to keep goddamn earning it.

“Shove it up your evil fucking ass with the stick, Sage.” He grunted, his hold on Her hips tightening. “We don’t need your goddamn help. We can get out ourselves, after we kill all you spineless fucking pussies.”

Sage gave him an almost amused look. “The offer wasn’t for you to decide on, Soldier Boy-“

“His answer is my answer.” She cut Sage off with a shrug, and Ben felt something hot and prideful and loud grow near his heart. “No.”

“You’d let a foolish, violent man speak for you?” Sage scoffed Her name, and Her hand grew warm in Ben’s. “Even if you love him, I’d have expected better-“

“Why?” She snapped,  the look of pure fucking blood and exhausted wrath on her face one Ben knew to mean danger. “Everyone keeps expecting better of me, but they really fucking shouldn’t. I’m going to let Ben speak for me, because he loves me, and he knows me. We’ll pass on your offer, but thanks.”

Sage’s face was drawn in a tight frown and analytical glare, probably trying to figure out how to talk them over to her side—she wouldn’t fucking succeeded—but the Deep was gaping. Looking between Her and Ben with wide, confused eyes.

“You,” The Deep cleared his throat, voice uncertain. “You dudes are like, in love love? Not just fucking?”

Something sparked in Her eyes, and she leaned forward slightly as she answered. “Yep. Love love. But we do also fuck. A lot.”

The Deep swallow. “Oh.”

“Real nasty sex as well.” She shrugged, a smirk playing over her pretty lips. “He’s good with his hands, and his dick is huge. I mean, the sex would be good regardless, I love him more than life, but he has a massive dick. It helps.”

Ben frowned, glaring down at Her. What the fuck are you doing.

Trust me. We need to rile him up.

Why the hell-

Sage can’t stand stupidity. If we can get her to fight with the Deep, the dumbest person I know, then one of them might slip.

Ben looked back to the Deep, and if that was what they needed to do, it was working. The fish-pussy had turned red, and his eyes seemed like they were going to pop out of his goddamn head.

“Uh, congrats. Sage, we should like, tell Homelander that-“

“Do not tell Homelander anything, you fucking idiot.” Sage hissed. “And shut up-“

“But if they’re like, really serious-“ The Deep cut himself off, looking back to Her. “Is it serious-“

“Yes.” Ben’s words were short and firm, because he’d been five fucking seconds from proposing to Her before these two goddamn fuckheads had shown up. She looked up at him with a small smile and sharp amusement, bumping their shoulders.

It’s serious, Pretty Boy?

Shut the fuck up. Ben rolled his eyes at Her pretty, perfect, teasing face. I love you, or course it’s fucking serious.

She hummed, a little light blooming in Ben’s head, even as Sage and the Deep continued arguing. We are fuck-buddy-brain-connected. 

Brat- 

“If it’s serious,” the Deep was still fucking whining, and Sage looked two seconds from punching him. “Homie should know. He thinks she still loves him, but she’s clearly with Soldier Boy-“

She snorted. “Did you just fucking call Homelander Homie?”

“Yeah, I did.” The Deep’s chest puffed out, and he shot Her a glare. “He’s my bro, and I’m not going to let some hot piece of ass string him along when she’s in love with his dad-“ 

Ben moved to gun to the Deep, and the pussy’s words stuttered off. “Fucking watch it.” 

“Hey man,” the Deep raised his hands, palms up. “I was like, fucking around before, but her head can’t be that good. Homie deserves better, and you’re like, a man man. Don’t let some chick control you-“

“I don’t control him.” She snapped, and Sage fucking laughed. A dry, empty laugh that made Her swallow and Ben feel fucking sick as he re-aimed the gun at Sage’s head. 

“Doesn’t she?” Sage looked between them, voice dripping with a mocking, fake sweetness. “I remember Soldier Boy being an honorable, strong gentleman. But here you are, pointing a gun at a vulnerable woman when you’re at a clear advantage, letting to your girlfriend tell you what to do like a pathetic little dog.”

Ben didn’t fucking care about Sage’s mocking words. He was being honorable, because he was protecting Her. He was fucking helping her, and listening to Her because she fucking had this, and Ben trusted her. He wasn’t listening to a woman, he was listening to his woman. The most perfect one in history, who was half hanging off his arm with glazed eyes, her breathing mechanical as something loose and hollow writhed around in Ben’s—Her—gut.

And that was what Ben fucking cared about. How Sage’s words had made everything fucking horrid and vile because She was hurt by them, and nothing was fucking allowed to hurt her. Not when Ben could fucking do something about it.

“You are not a vulnerable woman,” Ben hissed at Sage, something like bile on his tongue. “You’re an evil, conniving bitch.”

Sage didn’t even goddamn waver, continuing as if Ben hadn’t even fucking spoken. “It’s not healthy, your little arrangement. Love or not, you’re going to be lost and alone when she eventually leaves you.” Sage’s jeering, skin-crawling smile was covering her whole fucking face. “And she will leave you, Soldier Boy. She’ll realizes that you’re not a white knight, come to save her and the world from Homelander, and she’ll leave you.”

“Watch your fucking mouth-“

“You’re not an angel. You’re not good enough to heal what Homelander did to her, and she’ll realize that soon.” Ben’s vision was lined with red, his body goddamn frozen as drums sounded far, far in the distance, and Sage kept fucking talking. “That Homelander gets all his anger from somewhere. That you’re no better than he is, because when she tries to leave you, you won’t let her go. You’ll grovel like a child, and when she says no, you’ll force her to stay. Lock her up and keep her just for yourself-“

She was moving before Ben even fucking registered that She’d let go of his arm. Her smoking, flame-wrapped fist flew through the air and collided with Sage’s face, and a hiss echoed through the air as Sage let out a shriek of pain. Ben saw a flash of something metallic—the Deep shouting and flying at Her with a raised fist—and shot. The fish-fuck landed in the dirt at Sage’s side, the bullet wound on his shoulder more than fucking effective as he whimpered in pain. It wasn’t enough to kill the pussy—She hadn’t killed Sage, so Ben had followed suit—but enough to bleed out if no aid arrived.

“You manipulative fucking cunt.” She was a step in front of Ben, glaring down and Sage and the Deep on the pavement. “Ben might not be a white knight, but he’s nothing like Homelander, and you fucking know it. He’s certainly a better fucking person than you are.”

Sage’s words were unsteady and strained, but still crude. Still fucking hateful. “If you really believe that, you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for-“ 

“And I don’t fucking care.” She hissed. “Next time you say anything like that to him, I’ll burn your fucking brain out of your skull.”

“We’re not done here-“ 

She huffed a dry, empty laugh. “Yeah. You are. Ben and I are going to leave, and you’re not going to follow us. And if you try to call Homie, then it will be over. I’ll kill everyone, and that will be it.” 

Sage scoffed Her name. “You can’t really think I’ll fall for such an obvious bluff-“

“I don’t need you to, because it’s not a bluff.” She leaned down slightly, holding Sage’s glare. “Homelander shows up, I kill him, and you, and the Deep. If that somehow kills me, then fine. At least it we’ll be done. Really fucking done. No games. Not interesting.”

Sage spat out blood, eyes narrowed on Her’s. “That’s cheating.”

“Maybe,” She shrugged, rising back up and looping her arm through Ben’s. “But I don’t care.”

Something was still fucking aching and toxic in Ben’s body and she pulled him back to the car. It hadn’t been a bluff. Ben knew how to read Her bluffs, and that hadn’t fucking been one. And She wouldn’t have killed Ben. He would’ve been left to wait in a scorched forest for the rest of goddamn time, waiting for Her to walk out of the smoke and smile at him again. She’d have burned out without him, and he’d never be able to fucking hold her again.

Sage doesn’t know what the Cornucopia is. She slid into the passenger’s seat, letting out a long breath. But she’s still looking for it, which isn’t good-

Ben grunted Her name between their heads, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled, bending the metal under his hands. You know I’d never fucking do that shit to you-

Of course I know that-

And I’ll never let Homelander hurt you again. Ben started the engine, holding Her attention with a glare. If he ever fucking comes for you, you’re not fighting him alone. You burn, I burn, Sunshine, that was the fucking deal. We’d kill Homelander and Sage and the Deep, together. Got it?

She gave Ben a soft smile, and nodded, her voice in his head low and gentle. I got it. Ready?

Ben grunted. Ready. You’re good.

I’m good. She sighed, leaning her head onto Ben’s shoulder as he began to drive. I’ve got you, Benjamin, my love. I’m good.

Even as they drove away from Sage and the Deep on the pavement, with a whole new fucking problem that was made of what the fuck do they do about the Cornucopia now on their hands, Ben grinned. That radiance covered his chest and gut and skin, and nothing really fucking mattered but Her, and finishing this. Finally being free of this dogshit circus, and being a little more worthy of Her hand in his, forever.

There wasn’t really that much shit left to do before they could be free, and together, forever.

—————————

It’s been a long, shit fucking day, and you’re only halfway done with it. Your blood is yours, and your skin barely has an itch beneath it, but you’re so fucking tired.

And you’re not sure if it’s that piece of your brain inside of him, or just how well Ben knows you, but the asshole has started to coddle you. His hand has returned to rest on your thigh—it’s there so often you’re starting to think his palm has developed some sort of magnet to your leg—and he’s very obviously doing everything he can to distract you from how this is your last shot. That this might end with blood in gutters and covering hands, but—if you do this right—it will all be done. This has to be done. There are too many other battles to fight for this truly critical one to not be wonsoon.

And Ben won’t let you think about that. He seems to have decided for himself that his job is to drive you around—because he’s a dick who has flat out refused to ever let you behind the wheel of a car on account of it being dangerous to everyone on the fucking road—and keep your brain everywhere but they imminent threat of Homelander. Sage. The CIA and Mallory, what will the after look like and who gets to have one, why would Edgar just give you a Nazi villa, and what the fuck does Sage want with it when she doesn’t even seem to know it’s a villa-

“You’re hungry.”

You look over to Ben, his eyes set on the road ahead of you. “What?”

“Your stomach,” he mutters. “It growled. You’re hungry.”

You are hungry. And it might just be Ben’s deep, firm, certain voice and how your body obeys it more than you, but it doesn’t really matter because suddenly you realize that you’re hungry.You’d eaten breakfast this morning, before you’d left for Edgar, and then the snacks Ben had bought you close to noon, but that’s it. It’s late afternoon, the sky turning red and gold on the horizon, and you’re really, really hungry.

“There’s a rest stop in a few miles-“

“No.” Ben snaps, glancing at you with a scowl. “Not a fucking chance.”

You sigh, because he’s right. You can’t risk being recognized again, and this wouldn’t be a sketchy, overgrown gas station. This was a rest stop on an interstate highway.

“So what should we do?” You watch Ben carefully, because you can feel his resolve ripping in half, and you think he’s fighting with himself about something.

“They still got McDonalds on highways?”

You smile, propping your chin on his shoulder. “Are we in America?”

Ben snorts, and the resolve settles back into itself. Firm and concrete and all around you like a hot, stone shield. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Are we getting McDonalds?”

He gives you a curt nod, eyes darting to meet yours and the glow inside him crossing over your ribs and blooming in your heart.

He’s so fucking handsome. The sunset is making him look golden—dark hair and defined features and eyes that follow you in the earth and fill you with life—and it’s not making it easy for to you remind yourself that he’s not an angel.

It helps to remember that angels aren’t real, and Ben is very real. He’s warm under your touch, and strong and careful in his natural hold on you. His thumb is rubbing circles on your skin, and his arm muscles keep flexing as he drives, and you want them around you, holding you to his chest as his cock hits that deepest spot inside you. You want to see his beautiful eyes watch you unravel under him, want to hear his low, teasing, affectionate voice make your stomach warm as he calls you good and beautiful and darling-

“Are you going to answer me, Sunshine, or just keep fucking drooling?”

You blink, and see his smirk, feel his whole body rushing with a cocky, bright pride. “I don’t-“

“You were staring, and it’s real fucking rude,” He drawls your name, squeezing his hand against you. “I’m not a piece of meat for you to objectifine.”

“Objectify.” You correct, even as your face grows warm. “And I don’t feel that bad about objectifying you, Pretty Boy. You’ve objectified me.”

“When the fuck-“

“What was the very first thing you noticed about me?”

Ben pauses, brows drawn, and you realize he’s actually thinking about it. You’d expected a small grunt of how the fuck am I supposed to remember that, Sunshine, it was over half a goddamn year ago, but his fist is clenched on the wheel, and he’s glowering at the road, so he’s really trying to give you an actual answer.

“Heartbeat.”

You tilt your head at him. “Heartbeat?”

“Your heartbeat was normal,” he grunts, his jaw set and words low. “When you woke me up. Mallory, Butcher, and Annie were all being anxious pussies, and Hughie was going to fucking piss himself, but you weren’t afraid. Of me.”

Ben glances at you as he finished, something so bloody and powerful inside of his body, and his gaze filled with it. A twisted and pious awe that’s all for you, that ignites your blood in a way that makes you feel seen. Seen and really fucking alive.

“I,” you swallow, fighting your urge to climb on top of Ben and kiss him all over his stupid, handsome face, if only because that’s not very safe driving. “Oh. I thought you’d say my tits.”

“I noticed your tits as well,” he shrugs, winking at you. “But that’s only because I’m not fucking dead, and you’re the most beautiful woman in history.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, and try to ignore how you need to touch him, or else you might explode into a mess of Ben. Loving you and always being so sweet at the worst, most inconvenient time. “Shut up-”

“No.” Suddenly, something is tight and sore over your lungs and around your throat—Ben’s lungs and throat—and when he speaks again, his voice is low and tense. “What did you notice about me.”

“Honesty, I don’t remember.” You sigh, a little guilt eating at your heart and gut when Ben’s frown deepens. “I was a little, um, out of it. I didn’t really think I’d like you all that much, let alone, uh, love you.”

You swallow, because even though Ben knows you love him now, this feels strange to say. Like you’re mostly rolling your eyes at your past self, who had truly believed she’d be able to wake up Soldier Boy, keep him in line with powers she could barely control, live with him in a mutual contempt, and leave him without a second thought at the end. She had been a real fucking idiot, because you’re never going to leave Ben. He’ll have to peel you off of him and snap your heart in two, and even then you might try to crawl after him and beg him to change his mind.

But that’s another reason why you love him. Ben wouldn’t ever hurt you, let alone like that. He’ll keep you against him and hold you carefully and reverently for the rest of time, and if you fell to your knees and begged him to stay with you, he’d pick you up, kiss you, and call you fucking stupid for thinking he’d ever leave you.

Right now, though, he’s just nodding with almost a pout on his face, and you can feel the soreness inside him grow.

“But,” you push forward, offering him a soft smile that you mean with all your heart, which belongs to Ben. “I think I know when I started loving you.”

Ben glances at you again, almost wearily. “You said that didn’t matter to you.”

“It doesn’t,” you shrug. “I feel like I’ve loved you forever, and that’s all I care about. But if you want to know-“

He gives a quick grunt of affirmation, the soreness pounding and clenching over him—growing slightly electric, almost wild—and you take a long breath.

“The club. That we went to with the team. I, um, I liked being near you, and I didn’t want to stop being near you.” The soreness starts to ease away, but Ben’s grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, and your body is still sore and tensed, so you continue. “Just the, um, just the thought of you calmed me down. And you looked really handsome, and I liked when you laughed and smiled at me, and holding your hand felt good. I didn’t ever want to stop holding your hand, and that was scary, but not because of you, because I’ve never been scared of you, just because I didn’t want to leave you, and I’d never felt that before, I didn’t think I’d ever feel it at all, after Homelander, and I think that’s why I didn’t immediately realize I loved you, because I’d never been in love like this before. I mean, it was really confusing, because my job was to make sure you didn’t go rogue, but I was mostly just thinking about you and boob-drugs-“

Ben cuts off your rambling with a scowl. “Why the fuck were you thinking about boob-drugs.”

“You liked her,” you mumble, burying your face in his arm. “And I didn’t want to care, but I did-“

“I didn’t like her.”

You shake your head against him. “You don’t have to lie, Ben-“ 

“I don’t fucking lie to you,” he snaps, and you chance at look up at him. Still golden in the light of the sunset, impossibly handsome with an almost confused scowl and deep words you can feel in your chest. “She was an annoying bitch, I didn’t give a fuck about her.”

“But you were, um,” you force the words out, chewing on your tongue. “You were hungry.”

“What-“ 

“For her. I could feel your hunger for her, and it’s your lust-“ 

“That was for you, smartass.”

The whole world because blurred and sharp all at once—like it does when you’re under Ben, with some part of him inside you and getting you high on just his touch and smell and feel—and you realize Ben is better than an angel, because he’s yours. This stubborn, grumpy, impossible man is all yours, and you can feel his love hot and focused in your chest.

“Oh.”

Ben snorts slightly, and you can feel an airy, smug disbelief in his head. “Have you seriously been thinking I was trying to fuck Boob-Drugs this whole time-“

“Fuck you-“

“I wanted to.” Ben grins, and the soreness is obliterated by a swelling, hot and bright feeling in his chest and spine. “I wanted to pick you up and fuck you on that table, Sunshine. You were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m never going want to fuck anyone but you again.” He turns his head, eyes still on the road, and kisses your brow. “I told you my dick is yours, darling, and it has been for a damn long while. I love you, not some fucking coke whore in a club.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you press your head back into his body, moving one hand to tangle in his. I love you too. And if it helps, my pussy is yours.

Ben chuckles, and it rolls through your body, leaving everything soft and calm in its wake. Good.

You nod, a little stupidly, and start to wonder if Ben asking you to marry him hadn’t just been a half-dream created by all your love for him that lived with your head. That it hadn’t just been a wishful haze born from the smell of pine and taste of salt, or the feel of warm safety around you and constant loop of Ben, Ben, Ben that was everything good. If the deep words you’d felt in your bones weren’t just created by your cock-drunk, Ben-drunk brain.

You don’t get to ask, though, because Ben’s pulling into the rest stop and demanding your order before repeating it in rough words to the drive-thru speaker. You put on your sunglasses, just for safety, and Ben leans his body forward to half-block any view of you from the cashier and serving windows.

From there, the rest of the drive is impossibly easy. Things with Ben are always easy, but you know that he’s working harder than usual to keep it that way. He lets you put on music to cover the rumble of the engine, and gives you pointed glares when your food starts to be forgotten in your hands. He’s indulging in your every rant about nothing, pulling you out of any spiraling thoughts of three hours to Boston, three hours until you’re either one step closer to killing Homelander or dead in the water with such skill that you’re starting to wonder if he’s studied for this. If Ben’s trained himself to keep your head clear, and your smile on your face instead of fading into the haunting thoughts of soon. Soon you may have to fight-

“Ryan told me you got him a bunch of fucking books.”

You nod, and your smile spreads a little wider, a little more naturally. “I did. He read all of Butcher’s.”

“Butcher reads?”

“Allegedly, yes.”

Ben snorts. “That pussy doesn’t have the damn patience-“

“Benjamin, my love, you don’t have the patience. You have the attention span of a toddler.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, but every inch of annoyance on his face is fake, because you can feel all his affection and care in your body. Warm and innate and permanent. “I am not a toddler-“

“No,” you hum, giving him a sweet, teasing smile. “But you are a massive fucking man baby. My massive fucking man baby, who I love very much and takes very good care of me.”

He rolls his eyes, and the glow moves up his spine. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Do you think Ryan’s okay?”

Ben’s frown deepens. “Of course he’s okay, he’s got us. The kid has finally started to fly and laser at the same time, and you’re real fucking kind to him when he gets all sad about his pussy-fuck father-“ 

“I mean with everyone away.” You cut Ben off with a sigh, even as his words make the world around you soft and vivid and lined with a light you never want to lose. “This is all hands, and he’s all by himself-“

“He’s strong.” Ben squeezes his hand in yours, voice firm and everything in him made of an unwavering, concrete care. “He’s a smart kid, who’s gotten through a fuck ton more than one day alone. We’ll be home soon, and you can fuss all over him-“

“I do not fuss-“

Ben chuckles, shaking his head as a flash of amusement runs between your bodies. “You fuss all the damn time. Christ, you fuss over me,” he grins down at you as he says your name, and it makes everything in you a little electric. “But you’re a fuck ton meaner about it.”

“Well Ryan’s nicer to me,” you stick your tongue out at him. “And you’re an asshole.”

“But you still fucking fuss.” Ben winks at you, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “Because you love me.”

“I do love you,” you mutter. ”But I don’t fuss. You fuss.”

“The fuck I do-“

“You always make me eat.” You lean forwards, kissing his jaw. “And you make sure Ryan’s doing well in school, And you never let us push ourselves, and you’re always making sure we’re okay, and you love us-“

“Whatever.” Ben grumbles, glaring at the lamp-lit road, and you giggle.

“Grumpy-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He rolls his eyes, frown twitching as you lean into his side. “You’re lucky I love you-“

“I know.” You turn your face to nuzzle into his shoulder, ensuring that every breath is Ben. Pine and salt and gunpowder and Ben. “I really am.”

The glow returns in a full, brutal force, and it’s like a sedative. The world starts to blur in a way that you don’t want to hide or run from, and Ben is muttering low words that you can’t hear but still feel in your body. Soothing your head and easing you into a molten warmth that’s just too good to fight. Your eyes start to droop, and just before everything turns into a dark, simple daze of sleep, you feel a big, rough, warm hand brush hair from your face, and rumble of words that you don’t fully understand but, still make you know that everything is right here. That voice is Ben’s—everything around you is Ben—and he loves you, and nothing bad can really happen as long as that’s true.

And it will always be true, and that knowledge pulls you all the way under, into dreams of sunlight and green and something perfect that’s just out of reach, but still yours. Still everything, and made of love so strong you feel it a little beyond your body.

It’s all you feel until a finger you recognize as everything good brushes over your lip, and you drag your eyes open to find Ben watching you. His gaze is attentive and devout, and when you smile at him everything becomes ardor and a zealous wrath of love in your chest. Feral and watchful and protective, in a perfect time with the song in your head of Ben. The night is dark, but you can still see light everywhere because Ben.

You know you’ve arrived—there are horns blaring in the distance, and you can smell the pungent, briny ocean of the Boston docks—but you’re still breathing without thought because Ben is here, and you can fucking do this.

You’re okay.

I’m okay. You take a heavy breath, grounding yourself in Ben’s solid, strong body against yours—fingers holding your chin with a firm, gentle touch, an arm wrapped over your shoulders with a hand rubbing patterns in your skin—and his determined, concrete feeling of care. Are we ready?

Whenever you are.

You nod, peeling yourself away from where you’d slump and molded into Ben’s hold, but lean back to give him one, soft kiss on the cheek. I love you.

I love you too, he mutters in your head, tangling at hand in your hair and gently moving your mouth to his. We’ve fucking got this.

You hum into Ben’s kiss, holding his face between your hand, keeping his brow against yours when you separate for breath. We’ve got this. 

Ben had parked right next to the limo, so you shed your jacket and sunglasses before climbing out, replacing them with a black hoodie that will hopefully lend you some stealth, and follow Ben out of the car.

When you knock of the driver’s window, it rolls down to reveal a scowling Butcher, his arm hanging out the window as he looks over you and Ben with contempt.

“It’s nine fucking thirty.”

“Congratulation on being able to read a clock, asscuck-“

“We said eight forty-five.” Butcher cut off Ben with a snapping hiss “You horny fuckin twats are late. Again.”

“These roads are fucking dogshit.” Ben shrugs, holding Butcher’s glare with an indifference. “Let us in the damn limo so we can get this over with.”

Butcher lets out a huff of annoyance, stands out of the driver’s seat, opens the back doors, and lets you and Ben climb in before following and locking the door behind him.

“You’re late-“

“Someone wouldn’t let me drive,” you give MM an apologetic look as Ben pulls you half onto his lap. “We’d have been here two hours early if he did-“

“I don’t let you drive,” Ben drawls. “Because you’re a fucking criminal behind the wheel.”

“No, I’m not-“

“You are, Sunshine. Christ, Hughie and Kimiko have seen it,” Ben turns to them, brows raised. “She’s a fucking menace when she drives, isn’t she.”

Kimiko just signs I don’t care, it’s fun, but Hughie’s eyes widen, his facing turning red.

“I, um, I’ve only seen it once, and it was kind of an intense day-“ Hughie’s stutters are cut off by Annie, placing a hand on his shoulder and glaring at Ben.

“Don’t do that to him, Ben. He’ll have a panic attack about picking a side and we’ll have to wait until he calms down.”

Everyone freezes, and you know it’s not just you that heard it.

“Did you,” MM clears his throat, eyes narrowing at Annie with a frown. “You called him-“

“C’mon guys.” Annie gives a flat look around the dead quiet limo. “I mean, he’s clearly here for the long term, and it’s been getting weird to call him Soldier Boy when I talk to you,” Annie nods in your direction, saying your name with a bored tone. “About how much you love him and how good his dick is.”

Your whole face flushes as Butcher lets out a sputtering cough, Frenchie gives Ben a nod of respect, and MM’s gape almost unhinges his jaw.

Ben himself isn’t at all helpful, kissing the top of your head and wrapped in a smug, blazing feeling of energy that—when you lean back to glare at him—makes him look almost boyish. He’s looking down at you, nothing but want and love and adoration in his eyes, and you almost whimper at how effectively he’s pulling you apart under his gaze. He looks so happy—even with the mission only one strict reminder to remain on track away—and nobody’s but Ben has ever looked at you like that before. Like he’s proud just to be at your side, as if you’ve given him something just by loving him. You think you have, because his grin is so wide and handsome and cocky, and his words in you are so certain you can feel it settle in your veins and nerves.

Christ, you must really love me if you’ve got Annie calling me my damn name-

Fuck you, Benjamin-

You want to. You fucking love me. He squeezes his arms around you, eyes dancing with cocky, comfortable light. You really damn love me.

You know I love you, you asshole. Shut up. 

No. I’m allowed to brag about my woman loving me as much as I goddamn want-

MM let out a long, half-groaning sigh, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw. “You know what, we don’t got the time for this. Let’s do this shit, and then Soldier Boy can be Ben to you motherfuckers all he wants, as long as I never have to hear about his dick again. Hughie-“

“The warehouse should be clear, I didn’t see anyone on their cams.” Hughie glances at Annie, who’d dropped her hand from his shoulder to rest over his own. “Annie, can you-“

“I can fry them.” Annie frowns into the air. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to only fry the cams, I might take out the lights too-“

“We got that fuckin covered, Starlight, don’t worry your blonde little head.“ Butcher nods to Frenchie, who pulls a bag out from under his seat.

“I have made them solar powered,” Frenchie pulls a flashlight, displaying it for the whole team to see. “And left them in the sun for several hours. Should we be plunged into the darkness,” he makes a dramatic gesture, grinning around the limo. “There will be light.”

Annie leans backward with a relieved expression, and you tap your fingers on Ben’s forearm as you speak.

“We all know what we’re looking for?”

MM nods. “If those papers were up to date, six to seven crates label RRD.”

“Red River Donations,” Butcher mutters. “Bloody cunts not even tryin to hide it.”

You swallow, pushing on. “And the plan? Everyone got that?”

“In and out, Madame.” Frenchie says your name with a solemn tone, chest puffed. “No messes, no trail, no fuckery.”

“No fuckery.” You nod, chewing on your cheek until you taste metal. “No evidence. Annie, if you can, try to fry out a few of the other warehouses, so it looks like a circuit blew. And no matter what, we’re just getting the V.” You give Butcher a firm glare. “Got it?”

“I’m all fuckin in, Love.” Butcher gives you a sarcastic—but not crude or mocking—grin. “Like Frenchie said, in and out, and all you cunts can be home to jerk each other off by midnight.”

You flip him off, and look back to the rest of the group. “MM, you’ve got-”

“Groupings, after we all get armed. Look alive motherfuckers, here we go.”

“Here we go.” You echo, looking around this limo with a tight, close-lipped smile that hurts your face. “Make it quick, stick together, and no fuckery.”

Everyone makes various sounds of agreement, shuffling out of the limo in silence. Ben keeps his arm around you as you separate from the group—weapons being passed out and Butcher lecturing Hughie about how to drive a limo, and to not throw a fuckin raver while we’re gone, Lad—so you lean into his body, forcing your breathing to stay in time with his.

I’m sticking with you, Ben grunts, popping Butcher’s trunk to grab his guns and shield. And if MM tries to pair me off with someone else- 

He won’t. You’re stuck with me, Pretty Boy. Get used to it. You watch Ben’s stoic expression carefully, reaching up a hand to trace over the deep lines on his face. When he looks down at you—all his concern and care like armor over your skin—something softens in his eyes.

Good. Ben leans down, kissing the space between your eyes. I like being stuck with you. Even when you’re a fucking brat.

I like being stuck with you too, cunt. You wrap your arms around torso, burying your head in his chest and just breathing in Ben. Pine and gunpowder and Ben. Strong and certain and yours, holding you until you rest your chin on his chest, studying his narrowed, concerned frown you can feel all over your skin and like lead in your heart. If there’s no V-

There will be. His voice is almost stern grunt in your head, and his brow drops to yours. We’ve fucking got this.

You nod, and stay here—with Ben—until it’s not an option anymore. Until holding his face between your hands and sharing his breath doesn’t fully stop your brain and heart from racing, but solidifies the instinct of Ben just a little bit more. It’s already carved into you, already permanent, but it keeps growing stronger. Keeps finding its way into deeper parts of you that might have just not existed before, but are now pulling open for Ben to have. And finding a new place for Ben to be a part of you—this one somewhere across your skin, bitten by the chill of ocean wind and beginning to come down, down, down into something green and warm—will have to be enough.

You and Ben return to the group—one of his arms over your shoulders, and the other holding his shield at his side—and you take in how everyone but seemingly you and Annie is armed. Even Hughie has a gun, even if he keeps glancing at it like it might try to run away from him. But you don’t think Annie knows how to shoot, and you don’t need a gun. The fire is all yours under your skin, and Ben’s at your side, so you’ll be fine. The night air is wired and suffocating, and every distant city noise sets off a cold flare in your body, but you’ll be fine.

“We’re splitting in half,” MM grunts. “Two supes per team, Hughie holding down the fort. I’ve got Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie.” MM says your name with a short nod, and something lights up over your bones when you realize you’re in charge of group two. “Is taking Soldier Boy and Butcher. And if anyone tries to fight me on this shit, I’ll shoot them, so don’t fucking test me.”

Butcher glowers, slowly closing his mouth with an eye roll, and you look up at the blue-tinted sky, not a star in sight.

“Annie, can you-“

The words barely leave your mouth before the world starts to fry, crackling and sparking around you. For a second, everything is blinding light, scorching into your eyes and lingering for a painful second before you’re able to see the dark harbor and warehouse, visible in the distant lights of the city and sky.

You got lucky. Your eyes healed within half a second, but most everyone else is still rubbing and blinking, and Annie’s looking around the half-blinded group with a guilty expression.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry guys-“ 

“They’ll be fine,” Ben snaps, face slightly scrunched as his own eyes recover. “A little light isn’t going to goddamn kill the pussies, Annie, don’t fucking whine.”

Annie nods slowly with a little less shame in her eyes, Kimiko places a reassuring hand on her arm, and you bump Ben’s shoulder with yours.

That was very sweet of you, Benjamin, my love-

Shut the fuck up. Ben grumbles your name between your heads, raising you a little off the ground as he kisses the side of your head. Feeling guilty is only going to slow us down-

You twist your head, moving Ben’s mouth to yours for a simple, easy, gentle kiss. I know. But you still made her feel better. So thank you.

He just grunts—deepening the kiss until his tongue is tracing over your teeth and his hand his kneading at your skin—and you let out a soft, airy sigh. You can fucking do this, and then your whole life will get to be moments like this. Where Ben’s glaring at you, but you know he doesn’t mean it because you can feel him wrathful and fond and rough, rolling around in your chest and humming with an affection and love that’s more real and tangible than anything else in the world.

You can do this.

Kimiko and Ben open the doors of the warehouse—blackened and filled with cold, drafting winds—as Frenchie passes out the flashlights and Butcher stomps to your side, a scowl on his face you can feel searing into you.

“I got somethin you need to answer, Love.” He mutters, and you drag your gaze from Ben to meet his eyes.

“Butcher, we don’t have time-“

“Edgar.” He hisses, glare narrowed and firm. “You and the simpin cunt better have gotten some answers for me-“

You give Butcher an amused look. “Did you just say simping-“

“Love, I’ll call that puppy dog of yours whatever the bloody hell I want. Tell me what Edgar told you.”

Ben-

I know. I can hear. What the fuck is a simping-

I’ll tell you later. I’m going to tell Butcher about the Cornucopia, but not the extra V. I need you to back me up on what-

I always back you up, Sunshine, don’t be fucking stupid.

Your face flushes slightly as you return your attention to Butcher, and you have to fight the small smile tugging at your lips from how annoyed Ben sounded at the very idea that he’d ever stand against you.

“We’ve got to move,” you tell Butcher, flexing your fingers slightly. “I’ll tell you while we look.”

Butcher’s jaw twitches, but he nods. “Fine. Let’s get this shit over and fucked out.”

Ben returns to you—and now Butcher, both men glaring at each other like if they stop their dicks will fall off—and you look over to MM’s team with a tense, grim smile.

“If you find it first, get it back to Hughie and have Annie send out a signal. If we get it first, I’ll send the signal. Annie-“ 

“Long flash for regrouping, short for,” Annie swallows. “Emergencies.”

“Okay, good.” You look into the seemingly infinite darkness of the warehouse, chewing on your lower lip as you speak. “We’ll take left, you guys take right. No wandering, and don’t be stupid.”

MM nods. “Good luck, motherfuckers. See you on the other side.”

They go in first, Annie’s hand lit up and everyone else holding guns and flashlights. For a second the daunting, long shelves and halls of the warehouse are illuminated, and when they’re cast in shadows that fade back to pitch black once more, you light a small fire in your palm and take a long breath.

“Shelf by shelf.” You don’t bother to look at Ben or Butcher as you speak, because Ben always listens and Butcher’s a dick, but not an idiot. “Try and be subtle, and keep each other’s backs. Ready?”

You hear two low grunts, and roll your eyes.

“Can I get a verbal affirmation, testosterone representatives?”

“Stop wastin time, Love, and just bloody go-“

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that.” Ben sneers, and you turn to glare at them both.

“Rules.” You snap, eyes narrowing and the fire in your hand growing a little brighter, feeling a little more inlaid and pure in your body. “Benjamin, you’re the love of my life and I adore you, but if you spend the whole time pissing off Butcher you lose blowjob privileges for a month, and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“In the doghouse Gov, tough fuckin luck-“

“And you.” You turn your glare to Butcher, and he falls silent with eyes wider than you’ve seen them before. “If you antagonize him, I’ll kill you myself. Got it?”

You get a crude, huffed agreement from Butcher and take it, turning back to the warehouse.

“Let’s do this.”

For the first five rows, you search in silence. Ben and Butcher keep their guns raised—the former directly at your side and the latter a pace behind—and you realize that Butcher’s shock and compliance hadn’t just been from your words. Your fingertips are wrapped in a white flame that casts long shadows on the floors and walls when you move, and when you turn to look at Ben around the end of shelf four, he’s watching you with an awe.

Fucking Christ, Sunshine.

You frown at him. What?

Your eyes. They’re burning.

They don’t feel like they’re burning. Your vision is clear, and your fire is controlled like an extended muscle as the ghost-like flames light the warehouse, so you shake your head slightly. No, they’re not-

The fuck they’re not. “Butcher.” Ben grunts, his eyes still on yours, hitting something deep in your body and unraveling it with a care you feel along your spine. “What do her eyes look like.”

Butcher glances at you and scoffs. “The fuck am I supposed to say, fire? She got fire-eyes?”

Ben gives you a pointed, smug look, and you wrinkle your nose at him. “Shut up.”

“Looks hot.” Ben shrugs, winking at you. “I wouldn’t be mad if you broke that out later.” He pauses, then adds. “For sex.“

You snort. “Yeah, I got that part by myself, Pretty Boy-“

“Can you twats not eye-fuck each other right in front of me?” Butcher sneers, poking at a crate with his gun, glaring at it like the box is personally responsible for you and Ben. “I ain’t a prude, but it’s bloody disgusting, keep it in your fuckin brain connection shit-“

“The Ben’o’phone.” You nod, not bothering to fight your smile at Ben’s adorable, grumpy glare.

“We agreed not to fucking call it that-“

“I didn’t agree to anything, Benjamin, my love. And you haven’t pitched anything else-“

“I’m not pitching fucking shit, but I’ll eat Butcher’s ass before I call it that-“ 

“Come near my ass, Gov, and I’ll fuckin shoot you.” Butcher grunts, his glare turning back to you. “And you still need to get real bloody specific about Edgar-“

“The debt is cleared.” You cut Butcher off with short, well-chosen words. “Edgar is, hopefully, not our issue anymore.”

“And the Cornucopia-“

“He,” you sigh, bracing yourself for Butcher’s reaction. “He gave it to me.”

Butcher freezes, looking you up and down with a taut, deep glare. “The fuck are you talkin about. The bloody tits were the keys ever for-”

“A villa in Rome.” Your fingers start to tap on nothing, and you keep your voice neutral and even as you continue. “It was Fredrick Vought’s, then Edgar’s, and now, apparently, it’s mine.”

“In Rome.” Butcher repeats, shaking his head slightly. “Dr. Vought had a villa in Rome and Edgar is just handin it to you? Nah, Love, that ain’t trackin-“

“Well, it’s the truth.” You snap. “I don’t understand it either, but it’s all we’ve got to go on. Now can we please keep moving-“

Suddenly, Ben goes rigid. Standing slightly taller, looking around the shelves with an almost feral attention you can feel raging in your chest, wrapping over your lungs.

Ben-

You hear the click of Ben’s gun, and he takes one stride to stand in front of you, the barrel pointed in the direction of the warehouse entrance. Stay quiet.

Benjamin, what’s-

“The fuckin hell is wrong with you-“

Ben cuts Butcher off with a hiss. “Shut the fuck up, you pussy. We’re not alone.”

Your blood goes cold, a chill hitting your body that makes everything suddenly far too taut and electric around you. “Ben,” you whisper. “How many.”

“One.” He grunts, taking a half-step back so he can glance at you. His jaw is clenched, voice low. “Fast heart. Not Homelander.”

The world stops blurring, but you’re still on edge. Nobody should know you’re here, and if a single person catches you, this whole thing could blow. “Who-“

“William!” A cool, angry voice echoes through the warehouse. “I know you and the Boys are here. Are you a fucking idiot?”

All three of you become rooted in place as you recognize the owner of the shout, sharing wide-eyed expression of shock.

“What the fuck is Mallory doing here,” you whisper, words pushed through your teeth. “How did she even know-“

“This is remarkably risky and stupid, even for you dumbasses.” Mallory continues yelling, and you see Ben’s grip on the gun become white. “Stealing government property is a felony, and I can’t let you-“

Butcher hisses your name, nodding to your still burning fingers. “You have to turn the nightlight off, right fuckin now-“

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to pull the fire back under your skin, but it keeps itching and scraping its way back out as Mallory’s words ring through the warehouse.

“I know you’re here, and unless you want to fucking abandon Campbell for me to arrest-“

“Hughie!” That’s Annie’s voice, and it’s frantic, in a sizzling time with the wires above your head. “Mallory, this isn’t his fault-“

“I don’t care whose fault it is, I need you all to come out so we can talk like adults and not petulant children!”

You feel Ben’s body press slightly into yours, and open your eyes to see him watching you. They’re moving. What’s our play.

I don’t know. You shake your head, your nails digging into your skin as you try to pull the fire back down. Ben, how did she know we’re here. Who else-

Someone’s calling your name, and the fire flares up your arm. It’s a nervous, softer voice, and it’s Ryan’s.

Your name echoes around you once more, and then, “Ben? Butcher? Aunt Grace said you’re in trouble, I want to help-“

You start running to the entrance of the warehouse, the ringing in your ears only just quiet enough to still hear Ben and Butcher barely steps behind you.

“Ryan!” You’re half-screaming, not caring that Mallory can hear you. “Where are you?!”

Ben overtakes you in a second, his voice in your head urgent and low. Front entrance-

You don’t bother to listen to the rest, breaking into a full-on sprint until you can see the break of the skyline, dark over the ocean, and seven silhouettes in the door. You skid to a stop—Ben catching your arm to prevent a stumbling fall—and take in MM, Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie in tight stances off to the side, Hughie with a sheepish, anxious expression trying to slowly inch closer to Annie, Ryan a pace outside the warehouse, and Mallory at his side, gun raised and aimed right at your head.

“Don’t move,” Mallory warns, the gun clicking. “I will shoot.”

You feel Ben’s hand tighten on your arm to an almost bruising grip, his own wrath moving the earth under your feet, but your fury is hotter and brighter, zealous and unforgiving as you narrow your eyes at Mallory.

“What the fuck did you do,” you hiss, flattening a palm on Ben’s chest in a silent signal not to move. “Did you bring Ryan-“

Mallory scoffs. “Of course I didn’t bring Ryan, he must have followed me-“

“I wanted to help,” Ryan whispers, his whole face pale, his body curling into itself slightly. “I’m getting stronger, I can help-“

“Ryan, this ain’t something for you to do.” Butcher grunts, taking one, slow step closer to the entrance. “And you, Grace, are you out of your bloody mind? Tellin the kid we’re in danger just to fuckin one-up us-“

“I am doing my job.” Mallory snaps, re-aiming the gun at Butcher. “You are disobeying direct orders from the president-“

“That order was wrong, Grace.” MM mutters. “And you know it-“

Mallory sighs. “This isn’t the time for that, Marvin. We can’t afford to lose sight of order right now, and you are still CIA employees-“

“We’re not.” Ben grunts, rising to his full height as he glowers at Mallory. “You don’t fucking pay us. We can do whatever to goddamn hell we to get the job done-“

“Soldier Boy,” Mallory warns. “I’d advise you remember the conditions of your deal-“

Ben snorts, raising his own gun. “Fuck your deal. Ryan, get inside.”

“Ryan, don’t move.” Mallory holds Ben’s glare, her gun moving to not him, but you. “You’re all going to come peacefully, or I’ll shoot-“

It’s your turn to laugh. A dry cackle that you hate the sound of, because it’s fueled by something hateful and cruel. “Go ahead. I’ll live and you have to know that he’ll,” you tilt your head to Ben. “Kill you. Immediately.”

“You’re not the type to make threats,” Mallory says your name, even as her gaze flits to Ben. “And you overestimate your importance to this operation-“

“Do I?” You shrug. “I don’t think I do. I think you’d be fucked without me. Without Ben. Ryan,” you look past Mallory, your heart straining and turning over at the pure fear on Ryan’s face. “Please come here, it’s not safe to stay outside right now, this is dangerous-“

“He’s a supe.” Mallory snaps, and Ryan starts to lean forward, like he wants to run but can’t. “He’ll be fine-“

“He shouldn’t have to be.” You stretch out a hand to Ryan, the fire starting to dim. “Ryan, I know you want to help, but this isn’t the place. We’re not in danger now, but we can’t risk lingering here. Please-“

Ryan takes a tentative step forward, and Mallory’s face twists into a sneer in your direction.

“You are not his guardian,” she says your name, taking a side-step to block Ryan’s path. “Neither you nor Solider Boy have any claim to him-“

“He’s my fucking grandson-“

Mallory cut’s Ben off with a scoff. “Who you tried to kill-“

“You ain’t better, Grace.” Butcher mutters, and you realize his own gun has risen back up, aimed right a Mallory’s chest. “You’d use the kid as a fuckin weapon against his psycho cunt father-“

“Homelander?” Ryan whispers, watching Mallory with a slack, almost tragic expression. “You want me to, to fight my dad-“

“You’re stronger,” Mallory snaps, her voice flat, words spoken as if they’re inherent. As if it’s obvious that Ryan must fight Homelander. “You’d kill him, and we wouldn’t have to waste time with the V-“

“But the V would work, right? Ben said it would work-“

“Soldier Boy,” Mallory shoots Ben a daggered glare. “Has lost sight of the mission. You are our best bet, Ryan, as the Anomaly has failed to stand against Homelander.”

Annie’s mouth falls open, and you feel relief flash through you as you realize Hughie has made it back to her side. “It’s not her fucking job to fight her rapist, Mallory-“

“If it isn’t,” Mallory’s gaze returns to you, and you feel something start to bubble over between your joint and in your muscles. “Then the responsibility falls to Ryan.”

“I, I don’t want to fight him.” Ryan stutters. “I’m sorry, I don’t, I know what he’s done, but I can’t-“

“You won’t.” Ben snaps, jerking his head in your direction. “Go to her, Ryan.” There’s a pause, long and heavy in your lungs, and then Ben grunts, “please,” and it dissipates as Ryan starts to move.

“Ryan-“

“I don’t want to fight, Aunt Grace,” Ryan mumbles, walking slowly past Mallory. “I just want to help, without anyone else getting, getting hurt because of me.“

Ryan reaches your side, and the flames waver almost instantly into smoke as he wraps a hand around your arm, clinging to you like he might drift away if he doesn’t. Almost on instinct you pull him a little closer, wrapping him in a hug as Ben shifts his body to fully block you and Ryan from Mallory’s gaze.

“Soldier Boy, watch yourself. I will not hesitate to return you to the box.”

Your hands tense slightly on Ryan’s head, and you try to keep your breathing steady for his sake as you hear Ben’s drums, watch the muscles of his back tense at the words.

“Walk away, Grace.” MM grunts, and from the corner of your eye you see his gun raise as well, and hear Mallory’s noise of disbelief. “We’re going to take the V, take Ryan, and leave. You’ll see us again when the dust settles, but I’d advise you take a leave of absence right fucking now.”

“Marvin, have you forgotten that this asshole killed your family-“

“No.” MM’s words are certain, resolved and flat. “I haven’t. But I’m practicing some motherfucking forgiveness, and no matter what I’m not letting you put the kid in the line of fire. Last warning. Leave.”

There’s sounds of shifting, and when you glance around you realize that everyone has raised their weapons. All aimed at Mallory, all paired with solemn, grave expressions as they move like a wall in front of you and Ryan. At Ben’s side.

And—between the space of Ben and Butcher’s bodies—you see Mallory lower her gun with a thin lipped, cold glare. 

And you smell coconut.

And something is wrong.

Ben-

You hear him first. Behind you, with stiff steps and humming an off-key, patriotic tune. And when you whirl around—keeping Ryan steady against your body, his face hidden from full view—your veins bite with frost, and something broken wails and twists in your gut.

“Well, well, well.” Homelander’s smiling is wide, all white teeth, made of a rage that’s in every tense muscle on his face, and there’s a glint of something like poison in his eyes. “What a lovely coincidence to run into all you here!” His eyes scan over your group, and you don’t have to look back to know they’ve all frozen. You can feel Ben’s eyes looking between you and Homelander, hear the drums drawing closer as that part of him inside you begins to riot and bang on your ribcage.

Ben grunts your name in your head, and you realize you’ve started to lean back. Closer to him, further from Homelander. You need to get behind me right fucking now-

I can’t. Your breathing is forced, in and out of your body as you try to stifle the horrible, artificial, sickly smell of Homelander. Try to pretend he’s not close enough that you can see the slight wrinkles on his suit. If I move, he’ll move.

“It really is all of you, isn’t it?” Homelander sounds delighted, and you feel sick. Cold and vile, suffocating and unable to draw in any new air. “The whole gang is here! Oh, this is too good, we can be done in ten minutes tops!“

“How the fuck did you get here, Homelander.” Annie hisses. “How did you find us-“

“I followed Ryan, of course.” Homelander’s turns back to you, his smile growing manic, and you hold Ryan a little closer. “Good flying, son, but let’s work on getting a little higher up in the air next time, huh? Don’t want satellites to track you again.”

He laughs—continuing to taunt Annie with words you don’t hear—and Ryan looks up at you with a panic in his eyes you feel scratching at your skin and heart, making everything too sharp and bright, filling the world with a terror that lives in Ryan’s chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ryan whispers your name, and his voice pleading. “I didn’t mean to, I promise, I just wanted to help-“

“I know you did.” You run a hand over his brow, forcing your voice to be soothing as your eyes darting between every rise and fall of Homelander’s chest and Ryan’s pallid features. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“I, I’m sorry-“

“I know.” You repeat, swallowing down a bile in your throat that’s made of either Ryan’s fear or yours. It’s hard to really tell the difference. “You’re going to be okay, Ryan, I promise.”

There is no guarantee you can keep that promise. But you will do everything in your fucking power to make sure Ryan gets out of this, and you know Ben—alive inside you, alert and wrathful behind you—will do the same.

Then Homelander says your name, you have to meet his eyes. You have to keep Ryan against you, and try not to just scream as blue, cold, hateful and evil eyes carve into your head, violating and invasive and wrong.

“Thank you, honey, for getting Ryan for me. Come here. Now.”

“I,” you take a long breath, and a shaking half step back. “No. You’re not touching him.”

“Fine, you can hold him.” Homelander rolls his eyes, extending a red-gloved hand. “I mean, I’m glad you’re finally getting into that mother bond shit, but he’s still my son. I’ll want him back eventually, and we’ll get you another one once this is all just a funny story to tell our it.”

“No.” Your voice is a little louder this time, and the cracks over your head and heart are starting to leak something like venom into your teeth, spitting with every word. “You’re not touching either of us. Ever.”

Homelander’s eyes narrow. “Are you still throwing this temper tantrum? I got it the first time,” he snaps your name, and you can feel Ben roar inside of you. “I’ll let you outside more, and you can do, let’s call it 50% less TV appearances. But I can’t kill these fucking idiots until you’re over here, and this is a family affair, so let’s get this over with and we’ll talk about it more at home-“

“They ain’t goin anywhere with you, cunt.” Butcher snaps, and you see his move forward in your periphery. “And you don’t got a family. You’re just a sorry, lonely fuckin murderer who don’t got no one.”

Homelander’s jaw twitches. “That’s cruel William. And wrong.I have my son, with your lovely wife, may she rest in peace, and my fiancée and I-“

“She is not your fucking fiancée,” Ben growls, and you can feel him move a little closer. “She’s not your anything.”

“What, do you think she’s yours, Soldier Boy?” Homelander sneers. “She’s using you to get back at me! She’s a lying, manipulative bitch-“

“Shut your pussy fucking mouth.” He’s another step closer, and you risk another inch back. “Don’t ever fucking speak about my wi-“

“Your what.” Homelander clicks his tongue, looking between you and Ben with disgust. “Your whore? Did she turn around spread her fucking legs for you, again? Are you so pathetic that you’d pick up your son’s scrappy seconds-“

“I am not yours.” You whisper, leaning back a little further, until you can feel the warmth from Ben’s body. Kindling something inside you that makes you raise your chin, holding Homelander’s glare. “And Ben isn’t pathetic. At the very least, he’s never had to make me do anything.”

Homelander’s eyes flash, his neck flexing spits his words through teeth. “This isn’t cute anymore,” he sneers your name, and you have to force a long breath so that smoke doesn’t curl from your hands. “We’re going home, and all will be forgiven. Fucking my father, being weak and letting these rats manipulate you, every childish stunt you’ve pulled to try and hurt me when I love you. It will all be behind us, if you come home now.”

“No-“

He shouts your name, and you flinch. “I have.” Homelander’s head jerks, and he lets out a long, harsh exhale. “I have done everything right for you. I have loved you, turned you into a god, ensured that our marriage will be fruitful by asking your mother for fucking permission to marry you! We could be fucking Olympians. I could be a king, and you could be my queen, and we could fill the fucking world with children like Ryan! Stronger! You could be Madonna, the world will remember and worship you for a million years-“

“They’ll remember me for this.” You whisper, making sure your grip on Ryan is firm, your body wrapped over his. When you run, you aren’t going to drop him. “For killing you.”

“Well,” Homelander’s mouth draws into a sour, scoffing line. “If that’s what this is about, here you go.”

Homelander’s eyes glow red, and you realize what’s going to happen a second before it does. Your mouth falls open—maybe to bargain, maybe to beg, maybe to scream—just as Homelander turns, and lasers right through the warehouse. Shelves crashing down, boxes breaking open, a fire setting off deep, deep in the falling building and starting to spread before Homelander’s even moved back to face you.

“There.” He spreads his arms wide, half-gesturing to the wreckage behind him. “No more V. No killing me. Now stop playing these childish, annoying fucking games and come here.”

You’re frozen. You can feel Ben rolling and bellowing inside you, just a slight falling movement away from you crashing into him, and when you chance a look at the rest of your team—their faces washed in the dancing shadows and lights of the fire—they’re like statues. Ryan is still clinging to you, his fear everywhere in your body, his breathing shallow and rushed, and you don’t know what to do. Everything is moving too slowly around you to process, and there’s only fire that’s not cleansing but bloody, air that’s choked in artificial coconut, and earth and pavement cracking under your feet as the warehouse start to fall.

Then you hear the soft click of a gun, and vaguely register Mallory, pushing forward to Homelander, emptying her rounds into his chest. Bullets that fall to the floor with a rattling sound of metal, off-beat with the drums drawing closer to Ben, off-key with the ringing in your ears, and Homelander’s eyes glow red once more.

You feel something that’s heated—but foul and sticky and foreign—on your skin, Homelander’s eyes return to blue once more, and everything speeds back up.

Everyone is shouting around you. Plans are being made to get out, to find a way to survive this, but you’re not listening. Ben is grabbing you from behind, turning to so his body blocks you from Homelander’s view, and grabbing your chin with his free hand.

Run. Get Ryan the fuck out and run.

Ben-

I’ll find you, I’ll always fucking find you. You feel something rotten and aching start to cover his heart, but it’s not as strong as his wrath. As the hot, resolved, concrete fury in Ben’s body, that’s wrapping around you and making the world sharp as he searches your face with an almost desperate gaze. I swear I’ll find you, Sunshine, but you need to fucking run-

You lean forward, this kiss is feral. Savage and hopeful and made of pure, raw love. He’s everything, and you’re making sure he feels it. I love you, Benjamin.

I love you too. Ben grunts your name, running his thumb over your cheekbone with a soft, reverent touch. Run.

You nod, and don’t spare more than a glance at the scene before you—Mallory’s body split open on the pavement, Ben, Annie, Kimiko, and Butcher fighting Homelander as Frenchie, MM, and Hughie mostly just dodge and try to land blows where they can—before you take Ryan and go.

You hear Homelander roar your name behind you, and you don’t look back. There are flashes of light and heat ripping through the sky, and bangs and clatters as the warehouse begins to fully cave in, but you just keep fucking moving.

It’s useless to go for the limo—you hear it implode only moments after you pass it—so you pull Ryan deeper into the harbor, past more and more warehouses, trying not to drag him but unable to afford a single broken pace. Hiding is your best bet. Ryan’s shaking in your arms, sobbing and half-falling as you pull him along. Everything in his is made of pure, crippling fear that takes every single fiber of your will to push through, and you’re not faring much better. When you crumble against the wall of a warehouse that hides you in shadows and the crashing sound of the ocean, it starts to catch up with you.

How everything is cold, and you can’t fucking breathe. Everything is crashing and shattering around you, and it’s constricting over your lungs, plunging you into a white-hot pain that would be numbing if it didn’t feel like something was bruising and beating and searing into your skin. It’s holding you awake by your throat, and it’s made of wrong. Ben is in danger, and the drums keep falling in and out of time, and everything is wrong. Everything is thrashing and pulling and brutal inside you, trying to pull you back to Ben, but you have to stay here.

You have to stay here. With Ryan. It’s awful and you hate it, but you can’t leave Ryan. Another blow leaves an aching, denting pain on your skin like a phantom is trying to beat you into the ground, but you have to stay here, with Ryan.

He gasps your name, and you try to curl over him a little more. You can’t flinch when something hits you in your gut, or shout in pain as a foreign burn scratches over your skin. You have to keep a quiet as you can, and stay with Ryan.

“I didn’t mean to,” his words are choked, and his hold on your body might crack your bones. “I, I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I wanted to help-“

You let out a soft shush, running your hand through his hair and over his brow. “I know, I know.” You sigh, and gently pry Ryan off your body. He goes with ease, letting you move him back just enough to meet your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Ryan, I know. It’s okay.”

His eyes are glossy with tears, and you think that it might be blurring your own vision. That, or the devastating pain that crashes through your chest—like someone’s hit with you with a bomb—or the way you swear you can hear Ben’s roar of pain somewhere on the wind.

“I’m sorry-“ 

“I know.” You don’t bother to try and smile at him, but you let your gaze grow soft, forcing down a sick, rotting and mold-like feeling that’s spreading over your chest. “This isn’t your fault, Ryan. It’s not.”

“Ben-“

“He’s strong.” You whisper, and he is. Ben is still alight and bloody and unforgiving inside of you, and the drums haven’t faded. They’re pounding louder and louder in your ears—never quite close enough, but drawing closer—and Ben is strong. “And he won’t blame you either. He knows this isn’t your fault, he won’t even think to blame you.”

“My dad-“

“We won’t let him hurt you.” That’s a promise you won’t let yourself break, so you pull Ryan a little closer and let him bury his head in the top of your chest. “I promise, he won’t hurt you.” 

“Can you,” Ryan lets out a shaking breath, and his fear doesn’t fade, but becomes a little less like a disease. A little easier for you both to breathe through. “Can you keep talking? It’s, it’s really loud, I don’t like it.”

“Of course,” you push down another feeling of pain, pain inflicted on your skin by something evil and crushing against  your head like a boulder. “Is there anything-“

“How did you meet Ben?” Ryan leans back a little, watching you with nervous, almost child-like eyes. Like maybe this is just a horrible nightmare, and he’s seeking easy comfort so he can go back to sleep. “He’s told me, but he kind of swore a lot, and he, um, isn’t a great storyteller.”

“No, he’s not.” You huff a soft laugh, and even as something slices over your skin, there’s a warm feeling humming in your head that’s always made of love for Ben. “I mean, he can be, but he does swear a lot. He’s a very vulgar old asshole.” You let out an almost dreamy sigh, and something crashes into the side of your head as you whisper, “I love him so much.”

Ryan’s nod is small, and he’s still watching you with wide eyes. “Did you, was it love at first sight-“

“God, no.” You keep your fingers combing in even patterns through Ryan’s hair, and raise your voice just a little more when he flinches at another too-close bang. “I thought he was the worst. He was crass and rude and mean, and I’d only been told that he was an asshole. And he is an asshole. But he’s also caring and honorable and determined and protective and reliable and loyal and rational and good. And he loves us.” The smile that tugs on your face is real, and Ryan returns it tentatively. “He loves both of us. A lot.”

“What’s his favorite color?”

“Green,” you hum, your smile growing a little bit more. “And he hates blue. Thinks it’s a pussy color.”

Ryan nods. “That, um, I think I’ve heard him say that.”

“You probably-” you cut yourself off with a slight groan, something beginning to beat into your face. And then it’s gone, and you hear a shout of your name. It’s from a voice that makes cracks line your vision, and it’s far too close. “Ryan, fuck,” you start to pull yourself up, taking Ryan with you as your whole body becomes sore, stinging and throbbing with that strange pain. “We need to move-“

Something cracks on the ground, wind rushing past you, and you shove Ryan behind your body as the cold sets in. Reducing everything to Homelander. Nine paces away and looking at you with a callous, hateful face.

“It’s over,” he hisses your name, hands locked behind his back as he takes you and Ryan in. “Your precious Ben isn’t strong enough to kill me, nobody is strong enough to kill me, now stop being a fucking bitch and come home.”

“No.” You whisper, and it’s more of prayer. A plea for something to help you, because you’re too weak. Your fire has gone dormant, and your blood has begun to try and climb out of your body, but you can’t control anything enough to not hurt Ryan. “Please, Homelander, please just leave us alone-“

“You’re fucking mine, I made you both, and no amount of prancing around and showing off your little party trick is going to change that you belong to me. You will always fucking belong to me-“

He takes a step forward, and the air feels like lead. “Please, just, just leave Ryan-“

“Nope.” Another step, and a disapproving tsk. “You’re both coming home, and we’ll get through this as a family. Don’t you want a family,” he says your name, and you feel so small. You can’t draw yourself up, can barely look him in the fucking eyes because they haunt your worst nightmares with how they butcher and chop and destroy every part of you that’s yours. “I mean, fuck, you can’t think Soldier Boy would give you one? He doesn’t care, and he’ll probably just, you know,” Homelander slices his hand over his throat with a click of his tongue. “You when you try to leave him. He’s not patient like I am. Also, let’s face it, your options are limited. You’re a fucking bitch, you’re lucky you’re pretty enough for me to put up with all your fucking tricks and manipulation and how annoying you are-“

“I’m sorry, I’ll, I’ll try to be better, just please leave Ryan-“

Another step. You’re trying to think of a way out, but there isn’t one. You don’t want to go back, you can’t go back, you’ll fucking shatter if you go back, and Ben is roaring your name somewhere in the distance but Homelander’s too strong. He’s malignant and unkillable and there’s no way to kill him now. You know Ben is trying to get to you and Ryan—you can feel him getting closer, alive and nuclear in your body—but he won’t be fast enough. He’s closer—and you feel something tear open in the crook of your elbow—so you can try to delay Homelander until he gets here, but it’s a slim shot.

Then, just after another step, something kills you before Homelander’s even at an arms distance. The whole world turnsto agony. Pure fucking pain and horror and anguish and you’re dying. It’s shredding you apart, and your whole body is wrapped in an unending explosion of pain. Your lungs feel like iron and your bones are burning and your skin is being flayed and ripped open and death would be better than this. You’re screaming—you only know because you can hear shrieks of pain that sound like yours—and your vision is clouding with black spots as your head caves in on itself. Your blood is made of lightning, and every nerve is trying to fly off your body as this feeling pulls you apart, as your organs and muscles are thrown around inside your body, being pried open and filled with something atomic. And then they seal shut and you take a desperate, ragged breath as the world clears.

You’re leaning against the wall, half slumping onto Ryan, and the pain is still lingering in your body. But Homelander is four steps away, and starting to reach out, and you can hear something good bellowing your name.

You can’t move—everything moving too slow and too fast all at once—but you still see Ben running behind Homelander, to you. Closer, so fucking close, but Homelander turns and sees him and it’s not close enough.

You’ll have to protect Ryan. Homelander is turning back to you with a crude, violent smile, and you know you’ll have to protect Ryan. Take every bullet you can so Homelander doesn’t ever hurt Ryan. And you’ll hold on to Ben, and you’ll fight and scrape your way out, figure out a way to get both you and Ryan home.

Ben says your name again, and it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s aching and tormented, like he, deep down, knows he won’t reach you on time. Your eyes lock onto his over Homelander’s shoulder, and try to smile at him. He’ll fight to get you. And you’ll always find your way back to him.

Homelander takes a lunging step, and you’re going to fucking survive this, and you’ll let the sound of Ben roaring your name haunt you in every dream until you get to hear him say it with a soft, easy devotion instead of a rabid, dreadful, wild desperation.

You keep your eyes on Ben’s as Homelander takes that last step, and then the world washes in gold. Everywhere around you, solid in a way that feels so familiar, and warm. Grounding you back in your head, clearing to world into something sharp and tangible and safe.

Homelander isn’t touching you. He’s punching against the layer of gold around you, and then flinching back with wide eyes and a strangled sound.

Then Ben comes up behind him, and smashes Homelander’s face right into the wall of light and energy around you before yanking him away, and tossing him halfway down the ally.

You press your hand against the gold, and realize it’s Ben. It’s so familiar because it’s simply just Ben. It’s humming at your touch—a little extra light growing where you’ve placed your hand—and you meet Ben’s firm, tense gaze with wide eyes.

Benjamin. What did you do.

Took the V. He glances down to where Homelander is groaning, starting to rise back up. Don’t let Ryan touch it, it feels like the nuke or some shit.

Are you fucking insane-

No, Ben looks back to you, and you feel him roll in your chest. It worked, and you’re safe. I’m fine-

You could’ve died, you dumbass-

But I fucking didn’t. Homelander’s on his feet against, and Ben’s body braces, his fist clenching at his side. Stay here.

You glance back to the wall—molding into and around your touch—and realize that if you pushed it a little more it might simply let you past. As if it counts you as a part of itself the same way your empathy counts Ben as a part of you.

“What, what’s going on-“

You wrap your arm back around Ryan, trying to shield his view as Ben deals the first punch and Homelander goes flying into a wired, barbed fence. “They’re fighting,” you whisper, unable to tear your eyes away as Homelander staggers back up, lasers Ben right in the chest, and a searing pain pulses in the exact same spot on your body. “Ben took some V. Don’t,” your gaze flies back to Ryan, and you catch his hand as it raises to the gold around you. “Don’t touch it. It could be dangerous.“

“But you touched it-“

“That’s,” you sigh, your body jerking as Homelander lands a blow on Ben’s gut. “That’s different. Ben and I are, um, we’re connected. It can’t hurt me.”

Ryan’s eyes widen. “Butcher told me you put your brain in him, and you can read each other minds-“

“Yeah, I,” you take a heavy breath as Ben doges Homelander’s next punch, and lands five in return. “I did. Plant my brain in him. But it’s not mind-reading, it’s more like texting. I send him thoughts, he-“ you make a choked sound as Homelander’s hand wraps around Ben’s throat, and a frantic gasp as Ben kicks Homelander back, his whole body seeming to glow through the haze of gold. The drums are clearer, falling into time faster. “Fuck, Ryan, cover your eyes.”

“Why-“

“Please,” you squeeze your arm around him, letting your gaze flick back to search over Ryan’s open, frightened expression you fell across your skin. It’s not the paralyzing fear from before, it’s heavy. Uncertain and head-wrecking. “You don’t need to see this, I promise-“

He just nods and buries his head in your arm. You hold him there, forcing your breaths in and out as the drums get closer. So close, Ben’s staring to illuminate the whole fucking world, and Homelander’s just fumbling on the ground-

He’s not fumbling. He’s groping at his own suit, trying to grab something.

No.

You don’t know if it’s just in your head, or called out to Ben aloud, or traded between your minds, but Ben looks up. At you.

Homelander throws something at Ben, it breaks on his chest, and you feel his panic—feral and animalistic and raw, covering every single part of your body and trying to rip out of your chest—right before his eyes widen, and then close.

Ben falls to the ground, the golden barrier around you fading away, and he’s quiet inside you. Not gone, never gone, but darkened.

Asleep.

And you’re not afraid anymore.

You’re angry.

You’re screaming Ben’s name, Homelander is standing up—dusting himself off and turning back to you—and you’re furious.

The whole world is made of fire. Your whole body is racked with it, building and churning under your skin, sealing over cracks and making breathing so fucking easy. The air is filled with smoke, but breathing isn’t an act of labor at all.

It’s a way to focus.

Because you’re going to kill Homelander.

He doesn’t see it coming. He’s an overconfident, narcissistic, monstrous pussy, so he doesn’t recognize that he did break you. A vital, impossibly powerful piece of you just snapped in your body when Ben crumbled on the ground, and your own voice sounds far away when you tell Ryan to run. To find Butcher, and go. 

And then you’re moving. Half-flying to Homelander, and savoring the parasitic, hostile fear that rushes through you when your flaming fist collides with his face.

You’re in complete fucking control. Homelander stumbles back, and you don’t even fucking flinch. Your whole body is burning, your clothes turning to scorched ash under the white-purple flame, and you’re standing tall. Looking down your chin at Homelander as he collects himself, looking at you with an almost confused expression. 

“What is this,“ he says your name, running his hand over where his skin has twisted and burned, and you don’t bother to hide your sneer as you answer.

“This is it, you cunt.” You hiss. “You’re never touching me, or anyone else I love again.”

“Oh, please, you do not love Soldier Boy-“

“You willing to bet on that?”

Homelander blinks, looking between your burning body and Ben’s sleeping one, and scoffs. “You can’t be fucking serious. You’d really leave me for him-“ 

“I’m not leaving you. I was never yours.” You take a step forward, the pavement cracking under your feet. “I do love him. I really, really love your father, because he’s a million fucking times the man you are. He’s never,” the fire building in your fists grows brighter. “Hurt me. He always fucking respects me. He loves me.” You slash an arm through the air, and the wave of fire that rolls from it sends Homelander scrambling back. “And after I kill you, I’m going to marry him. And then I’ll have his kids. And it won’t because I’m his fucking vessel, it will be because I want to. And they will never,” the air around you is waving and electric and Homelander’s eyes widen. “Even know your fucking name.”

It clicks. In Homelander’s horrid, amoral, evil mind, it finally clicks. His eyes narrow, beginning to glow red, and he’s finally fucking got that you hate him.

“Fine.” He spits your name, rising off the ground and sneering down at you. “Have it your way, you ungrateful bitch.”

You don’t care for banter, or taunting. You just want to finish this. So when he lasers through your chest you bite down on your tongue, but both heal over in a second—skin and muscle and organs reforming so fast you don’t even stutter a breath—and your face curls into a smirk. He can’t hurt you.

And then you’re moving.

Homelander is strong than you. Physically. In terms of brute force, Homelander has the upper hand.

But you’re burning the fucking world, and it’s singing for you. The fire inside you is a hurricane, it’s volcanic, it’s world ending and city leveling, and it’s all fucking yours. And it’s not razing the ground or ocean, because it’s all focused on Homelander. Your vision is lined with red, and you’re going to kill him.

You dodge almost every blow Homelander attempts to deal you, and your technique—thanks to Ben—is perfect. Every hit you land is measured and powerful, wrapped in fire that sizzles and twists and boils Homelander alive. He lasers through you twice more, and it’s just as ineffective as the first time. If anything you brush it off faster, because it kicks your adrenaline up and the pain barely jolt through you for more than a second.

You have the upper hand. Homelander’s falling back as your fire grows hotter, and he’s almost covering is hideous, still smoking scars. You explode in fire, hovering off the ground from the pure force, and it knocks him to the ground.

You yank his head up—golden hair singeing black under your fingers, skin bubbling and growing marred beneath your touch—and hold his slightly fogged gaze, letting every inch hatred and loathing and fucking wrath in your body push back on whatever fear or anger lives in him. Allow every bit of your blood into Homelander’s body like a poison, digging your nails into his skin.

You lower your face down to Homelander’s, and hope he feels your every word.

“I hate you.” You search every inch of his pathetic, weak fucking face, your words easy but still spoken through teeth. “I fucking despise you. You’re a monster, Homelander, and I am never going to do anything better in my life than making sure you never hurt anyone again.”

His eyes flash, glowing red and cutting through your body, but your grip only tightens. The smoke is choking his air-pipe, he’s burnt and mauled from your flame, and the roar that builds in his throat is primal.

Cold, leather hands grab your wrists, but his grip slightly slack as he gasps for breath, and he can’t push you away from him.

Homelander’s eyes on yours are frenzied, and suddenly he’s surging up. Not to his feet, but to you. His mouth moving to yours, and your hold on him loosens as you push away from him on an instinct of no. No, never again, cold and wrong and horrible and no.

There’s an echoing boom, and then he’s gone. Homelander blasts up into the air, and you’re left naked on the ground.

And Ben’s still asleep.

You sprint back to him–body still ablaze—falling to his side on the ground, grabbing his face in your hands. The weight and terror of what just happened is crashing into you, and Ben’s asleep. Homelander said Sage’s gas would last for three days, you can’t wait three fucking days, you need Ben now. You need to feel him in your chest, to tell him you love him and adore him, to hit him and shout at him about how fucking stupid it was to shoot up the V, how thankful you are he did because you’re still here, and everything is going to be okay because you’re still together.

His face is completely neutral. Not peaceful, but blank. And when you try to shout between your heads, for him to wake up, please wake up, Benjamin, I need you to wake up now, it’s like screaming into the sky.

You know you’re crying because of the sobs that shake your body, but the tears are evaporating into your flame. You’re weakly slapping Ben’s face, trying to get his eyes to just flutter, but it’s pointless.

Hitting him is pointless. You can try one more thing.

You drop your brow to his—you’d worry about his skin burning, but it might wake him up, and you aren’t actually seeing any blisters form where you touch him—and pray to a God you don’t believe in that it can be this easy. That, as you start to grow lightheaded and the world fades in and out, it’s because it’s working and not because you’re hyperventilating and screaming choked sounds of Ben’s name.

Then you feel strong, steady arms wrap around your body, and you collapse against him with strangled, pathetic noise.

He grunts your name in your head, and your fingers tangle in his hair. You’re okay.

I’m, you nod, even as you try and pull Ben closer, try to climb into his body so you can break in the safest place in the world. I’m okay.

Sunshine-

I’m okay, really, I’m just tired. I just, Ben pulls you fully onto his lap, and you wrap your legs over his torso with another sob. I love you, please don’t do that again-

Ben doesn’t push back about how it wasn’t at all in his control, or how you’ve pulled a lot of similar stunts that might have left him as broken as you feel. He just squeezes you, moving your head to rest in his neck, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

I won’t. And I love you too.

You nod, and there’s more to deal with, but you can’t make yourself move. You have to find the team and regroup, to figure out what to do with Mallory’s body, and work out Ben’s exact new powers, but you’re so tired, and those will still be issues in ten minutes. You have one last gamble to take—Homelander won’t face you head on, and you can’t risk Ryan like that ever again—and Sage’s next move to worry about, but right now you’ll just stay here. Sobbing into Ben’s body, letting him hum an off-key tune that’s meant to be Rainbow Connection until you’re only letting out shaky breaths, only feeling his warmth. He smells like pine and salt and gunpowder and something potent that’s mostly just Ben, and it’s invading your sense and bringing you down.

There will be more to do.

But you’re just going to stay here, with Ben, for a while.

End Note: Babe wake up, new Soldier Boy powers just dropped.

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

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 @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli @imsiriuslyreal

[runnning-outof-time]

If It’s Meant to Be | John Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: John Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: John and (Y/N) were friends when they were younger. Life, as life does, pulls them apart for some time before they find each other again while (Y/N) is helping someone who happened to be lost.

Warnings: season 4 spoilers…maybe?? (I’m re-writing canon to make things better), language

Word Count: 4450

A/N: if I’m being honest I quite enjoyed following your prompt/request, anon! I hope I was able to add everything you were hoping into it and that it turned out along the lines of what you were imagining! I’m sorry that it’s taken ages for me to share. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

comment/message me if you want to be tagged!

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. That phrase gets thrown around so much. John Shelby always thought that he and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were meant to be. But things didn’t quite work out that way…at first.

They were practically inseparable as teens. All it took was one meeting near the cut for the two to know that they wanted to be in each others lives for as long as possible.

Wherever (Y/N) was, John was to be found close by. If John was out doing something, nine times out of ten (Y/N) was helping out in some way.

Family members often joked that the two were attached at the hip. Ada even went as far as to conspire with (Y/N)’s younger sister, the two saying that they were excited to become future sister-in-laws.

But things don’t always work out to plan.

The dream of the families uniting as one through John and (Y/N)’s union crumbled slowly rather than it just being one, major blow.

(Y/N) started delving more into her studies; having big dreams of graduating and going further in schooling so that she could make something of herself. She’d always wanted to have more than just the lower-level jobs that Small Heath had to offer. She still tried to see John as much as she could, but the nights that were once spent gallivanting around the streets together had now been swapped for study sessions.

John couldn’t be completely mad at his friend. He wanted her to succeed and have the life that she was dreaming of. Sure he missed her company, and truly relished in the time that they were still able to spend together, but to say that he was now left completely in his lonesome would be a lie.

John met Martha Davies when she and her family moved to Small Heath.

Unlike how he was with (Y/N), who he tried so hard to hide his deeper feelings for behind the mask of friendship, John immediately went forward with expressing his desire to get to know Martha better.

While (Y/N) was busy with studying, John was busy with Martha. It was easy to tell how quickly the two had fallen for each other.

The news - though it really shouldn’t have given how quickly the two became…acquainted with each other - came as a shock just only six months into John knowing Martha. Hell, (Y/N) had only met her a handful of times before John was excitedly telling her the news that Martha was pregnant and he was going to be a father.

(Y/N) should have been happy for him. And on the outside she tried her best to present her emotions that way. But deep down, her real feelings that she’d been harboring towards her friend for years now were being crushed. She always pushed them aside for fear that he only purely saw her as a friend; for the fear that her revealing them would cause him to run from her life forever. Now there was no way that he’d ever know of them.

John, who was just a few months shy from his final teenage year, was now going to be a husband and father — he felt it was only right that he marry Martha given the fact that they’d now share a child.

If John was going to grow up this suddenly, (Y/N) felt that she should to. Her prelininary studies were finished and she was ready to go and make something of herself.

And so she moved to London, one step closer to her dream but many miles away from the person who grew up alongside her.

— 1924 —

Ada was the first to learn that (Y/N) was back in town. She didn’t waste any time in inviting her to what the Shelby woman promised would be ‘an amazing evening’.

Many things had changed since (Y/N) had last seen the Shelbys. One of the more major ones was the fact that they had quickly rose into wealth and power.

On this particular evening, Tommy and his new wife, Grace, were holding one of their regular events; where people of power and prospective business partners gathered to shake hands and attempt to make deals. It was a circle that (Y/N) felt she was so far removed from.

Ada’s persistence was hard to ignore though. She kept focusing on the fact that it was a different sort of event for the family invovled, and that everyone would be thrilled to see her again. (Y/N) couldn’t deny the fact that she, too, would be overjoyed to see the Shelbys again…even if it meant that her heart might break.

She made sure to wear one of her more sophisticated outfits and that her appearance was as perfect as it could get. When the time to leave arrived, she checked over herself in the mirror one last time before grabbing her clutch and heading down to the car that was waiting for her.

The manor she pulled up to left her in awe. Never did she expect to be welcomed into a place as grand as this. But if there was anyone in her life, past or present, who could be capable of obtaining this sort of grandeur, it would no doubt be Tommy Shelby.

“(Y/N)!” Of course Ada was the first person to find her. “I’m so happy you came!” the brunette exclaimed as she hasitly pulled her into a hug.

“You doubted I would?” (Y/N) asked, trying to focus on her friend rather than the crowd of people present in the grand foyer area of the manor. If there’s this many people in the entry room, how many would be in the banquet hall? she thought to herself.

“Never,” the other woman shook her head, “come with me. The others will be so excited that you’re here!” she then said, taking hold of (Y/N)’s forearm so that she could lead her into the banquet hall. (Y/N) hesitantly followed, not quite wanting to see the man she used to call ‘best friend’ just yet.

Thankfully Ada pulled her to Polly first. (Y/N) was happy to see her. Polly was just as much an aunt to her as she was the Shelby siblings. And, much like Ada had promised, the older woman was thrilled to see her again.

Time quickly slipped away and (Y/N) truly felt like the tiny group that had been assembled were the only ones in the room. She quickly slipped into a comfortable state, the crowds of people truly disappearing as the women caught up on everything they’d missed out on in the others’ lives.

Ada was the first to be pulled away. She was found by one of the house’s staff — which blew (Y/N)’s mind…Tommy had staff now?! — who needed her because Karl was becoming restless and ready for bed. She promised that she’d only be gone briefly and that she’d find Polly and (Y/N) again as soon as she was finished.

Polly got pulled away too. Tommy needed her to meet a prospective business partner. He greeted (Y/N) warmly — after he realized it was her — and expressed his gladness to see her before asking his aunt to join him for a moment.

Now (Y/N) was alone in this crowded hall of people. She stood and did some crowd-watching for some time (people just being people truly fascinated her) before deciding to go and find some refreshments to indulge in.

But she didn’t make it to said refreshments table…and it seemed that she wasn’t the only person who was alone at the party.

Although there were people moving all around, it seemed as though she was the only person who noticed the small boy who was cowering into himself with fear present in his eyes.

Cautiously, and with a friendly smile, she approached the child, whose bottom lip was quivering. It was evident that he’d been crying. “Do you need help, sweetheart?” she asked him, keeping her voice calm and level in hopes to not spook him any more than he already had been.

The boy only nodded his head, his wide eyes matching hers. The desperation present in them nearly broke (Y/N)’s heart.

“Are you hurt?” she asked a question.

The boy shook his head, ringing his small hands together.

(Y/N) inwardly sighed in relief. At least he’s not hurt, she thought to herself, now what could be the matter? After racking her brain, she asked another question, “are you looking for someone?”

The boy nodded this time. More relief filled (Y/N)’s body. He said nothing in addition to his nod, though, so she still had some more questions to ask.

“A friend?” she asked, remembering that she’d seen several children running around the room earlier.

The boy shook his head.

“A grown up?”

The boy nodded.

Ok, on the right track, (Y/N) thought, nodding along with him. “Your parents?” she asked.

“M-my dad,” the boy finally spoke, his mouse-like voice breaking (Y/N)’s heart. What he said next shattered it even further into pieces, “my mummy’s not here anymore. She…my aunt said she went to heaven.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” (Y/N) gave her condolences with a frown. “How about we go find your dad, hmm?” she then asked, offering another friendly smile.

“Ok,” the boy nodded, reaching his hand out for (Y/N) to take. The woman smiled as she accepted it, and the two began walking, searching through the crowd for his father.

“Let me know if you see him, ok?” (Y/N) said to the boy. She’d just realized that she had no idea who his father was.

“Johnny there you are!” a young girl exclaimed, her eyes set on the boy (Y/N) had been helping.

“We were looking everywhere for you!” a second girl chimed in.

(Y/N) looked down at the boy, whose expression hadn’t changed. She crouched down slightly to be more on his level. “Do you know them?” she asked him.

The boy nodded. “They’re my sisters,” he answered, his eyes still focused on the girls, who were now approached them.

“Who are you, miss?” the older of the two girls asked once they stopped in front of (Y/N) and the boy.

“My name’s (Y/N),” the woman introduced herself with a smile, “your brother was lost and needed some help finding your dad.”

“Well we don’t know where dad is either,” the younger of the two girls stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “but Johnny can come with us. We’re dancing.”

(Y/N) looked to the boy, who had calmed down significantly now. “Is it ok if you stay with your sisters?” she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

The boy nodded his head, the slightest of smiles now present on his face. (Y/N) smiled back, happy that he was no longer upset. But he caught her hand before she was able to stand up straight again. “Will you stay with us, Miss (Y/N)?” he asked in a sweet voice.

The question really wasn’t up for decision in (Y/N)’s mind. She knew her answer right away. Hell, she had nothing else better to do, or no one else she needed to see…so why not pass the time with these kids? “Of course,” she answered with a smile, laughing softly as the three children all cheered in joy. The little group wasted no time falling into beat with the music and dancing with smiles on their faces.

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), Polly and Ada had regrouped and were now watching her and the children as they danced.

“I wonder if she knows,” Ada queried out loud, watching her friend dance with her neices and nephew with a small smile.

“I don’t think she does,” Polly answered, shaking her head. A tight-lipped smile was also present on her face.

“You two seen any of the kids anywhere?” the voice of John Shelby came from behind the ladies, “ran off a while ago…haven’t fucking seen them since.”

Ada and Polly shared a look, both biting back smiles. John was able to catch said look.

“Well go on…share it,” he pressed them, his brow furrowing in annoyance. He didn’t have time for this…there were drinks to drink and ladies to charm. If they thought he’d be spending the entire evening chasing after his children, they’d be dead wrong.

“Your youngest was up with Karl. He was asleep when I went to attend to him,” Ada shared some information about Maxwell Shelby, John’s four year old.

“And the others?” John’s brows were now raised.

“They’re right over there,” Polly answered, pointing a finger in the direction of the dancing group.

John wasted no time following her finger and when he did, his world stopped. No. That…that couldn’t be her…could it? Questions raced through his mind as memories flooded back. God, she looks more beautiful than the day she left me, he was so entranced that he just about forgot how to breathe.

“John?”

The voice of his aunt brought him back to reality, and he shook his head as he snapped out of the trance she put him in. A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck instinctively, and he hoped that he could play off his staring. The grins on both of the women’s faces told another story.

“He didn’t hear a word you said, Pol,” Ada snickered, loving the fact that she was able to poke fun at her brother.

“Oh fuck off,” John grumbled, trying so hard to keep his focus on his family and not the beautiful woman that was still playing with his children. A silence fell between the trio and John took it to do just what he was stopping himself from moments ago. “I…I, uh, I should…” he stopped his babbling, clearing his throat and trying to regain his wits. Christ, just the sight of her had him babbling like a fucking child. “I should probably uh, probably go over and see how they’re getting on,” his statement sounded more like a suggestion…which was weird because he was essentially suggesting for himself to go and do it.

“Go on then,” Polly wasted no time in agreeing with her nephew, motioning over to where (Y/N) and the children still were.

“Yeah,” John agreed, like it wasn’t even his idea in the first place. He didn’t move though.

“Grow a pair and get on with it, John,” Ada snapped him out of the trance he once again fell into, still grinning at the fact that John was very much acting like a lovesick fool at the moment. In fact she hadn’t seem him like this since…well since he was around (Y/N).

With one last glare, John finally heeded to their nudges and started off in (Y/N)’s direction. Her back was to him as he approached, and she was dancing with his eldest son, Johnny. His daughters, Jane and Katie, did see him coming though, their eyes lighting up when they realized he was there.

“Daddy!” they exclaimed in unison.

The yelling of the girls made (Y/N) stop what she was doing and turn. Seeing the person who they’d addressed made the breath get caught in her throat. No. It can’t be, she thought to herself, her heartrate quickening by the second.

John was - also - back to staring again. He still couldn’t believe that she was standing right in front of him.

“Dad…dad, did you hear me?” the sound of Katie’s impatient voice brought him back to reality. He focused in on his daughter as he heard the sweet sounds of (Y/N)’s giggles. They made it feel like there was heat being placed on the back of his neck.

“I…I didn’t, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he sheepishly answered his child.

“I was telling you that this is (Y/N). She found Johnny and then agreed to stay and dance with us. She’s really nice,” Katie explained again.

Her being referred to gave John the go ahead to look at (Y/N) again. This time he willed himself to stay focused and not get lost in the memories they shared together, or how beautiful she looked.

“She helped me because I was crying and didn’t know where anyone was,” Johnny shared, “she’s really friendly. I think we could all be friends.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle a little as he watched (Y/N) stiffle her laugh. “Yeah, Johnny, I, uh…I—” God you look like a babbling fool right now, get ahold on yourself, John-boy, was ringing out in John’s mind.

(Y/N) watched him intently, waiting to hear how he would address the past between them. Would he address the past between them?

“I used to know (Y/N)…we used to be best friends when we was younger,” he finally shared with the children, feeling silly for holding his breath as he waited for their response.

There was a moment’s pause as the three little Shelbys looked at each other. It felt like eternity to the two adults, who looked as if they wanted to say so much to each other. Soon smiles formed on the children’s faces.

“That’s great that you’re already friends with her, daddy!” Katie exclaimed, beaming up at John.

“When can she come over?” Jane eagerly asked, her question making (Y/N) laugh as her heart bursted with love.

“That’ll be up to her,” John answered, laughing at his childrens innocent questions, the heat still creeping up his neck.

“Your father and I will have to talk about it,” (Y/N) added her own response, a sweet smile present on her features. She then looked at John, her expression telling him that they’d have to find each other later to catch up.

“Please talk about it later, daddy!” Johnny exclaimed, a pleading look present on his face.

“I will, Johnny, I will,” he assured the boy, nodding both to him and to (Y/N), silently accepting her invitation.

(Y/N) was resting against one of the balconies on the side terrace of the manor later that evening when she heard footsteps approaching her. She didn’t bother to turn and look; having a good idea of who could be coming.

“You followed through with the invitation,” she commented as John came to a rest beside her.

“Always do, angel,” John responded, his usage of her old nickname making her heart flutter.

It was one that he frequently used when they were younger…she was always doing the right thing; always acting like an angel. John loved to call her it in a teasing manner and though she’d wrinkle her nose up when he used it, she secretly loved it. Tonight, however, he used it in a sincere manner, and it just about made (Y/N) weak at the knees.

“You don’t know how surprised I was when I saw you with me kids,” John admitted then, looking out at the grounds his brother owned.

“The surprise was pretty clear on your face, John,” (Y/N) responded, giggling as his eyes shot to match hers; wide in surprise.

“Never was good at hiding stuff from you,” he said in a sheepish tone, shaking his head. “How’d you find out about this?” he asked then.

“Ada found out I was back in town. She invited me,” she answered. John made a mental note to thank his sister later. “It was nice meeting your kids,” she said with a smile.

“They’ll probably talk about you for days,” he said with a laugh, looking away from her for a moment. “Only good things I’ve left,” he mused, his tone sounded solemn.

Silence fell between them as (Y/N) chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should offer her condolences or not. She didn’t know if the wounds were still fresh, or when it had even happened. “I’m sorry about Martha, John,” she finally said.

“I am, too,” he responded, looking down at his feet as he took a deep breath, “feel bad for those kids most of all. They didn’t really even get to know her.”

“That must’ve been tough,” (Y/N) mused.

“It was…” John agreed, “it has been,” he then corrected.

“I’m home now, so I’m…”

“You’re home?” John cut into her statement, his eyes widening as they found hers again.

“I am,” she affirmed, smiling softly before continuing, “I’d be happy to help you with your kids if you need at all.”

John smiled as he heard what she said. He couldn’t lie, he was suprised by how gracious she was being. There were a thousand words he wanted to say, but all he was able to get out was: “thank you, (Y/N).”

For her, it was enough.

Silence fell between them once again as (Y/N) wrestled with yet another thought; one that she’d been wanting to say since he joined her outside. After a few moments, she finally took the leap and said it.

“You know, I always thought we’d end up together…I always thought that it’d be us,” she made sure to train her eyes on the darkened landscape as she spoke. She couldn’t handle seeing John’s expression as it changed.

“I…” John hesitated.

“That wasn’t me trying to insert myself into anything. I’m sorry if it sounded that way,” she scrambled to cover up, not even thinking of how he could have taken her admission. “I just…I wanted that to be known. I spent too long dancing around it without saying what I felt,” she took a deep breath, debating on whether to add anything more. There was one more thing she was burning to say, “I had-have a lot of love for you, John.”

It took a few moments for him to digest what she had said. Never did he think that she’d be admitting these feelings to him. He always thought that he’d have to keep his boxed away for the rest of his life. But now she’d put hers out in the open, it would be silly of him to withhold his.

“Hey,” he started, wanting to get her to look at him before he shared his confession. His one word statement succeeded in getting her eyes to match his. “I’ve always loved you, (Y/N),” he admitted, his voice holding a sincereness he hadn’t used in a while.

“You’re being serious?” she asked, the corners of her lips twitching as she wanted to smile so big right now.

“So serious,” he whispered, smiling as he spoke.

“I…” she paused to let out a laugh, feeling so silly for what she was about to admit to him, “I really wanna kiss you right now, John Shelby.”

“Then kiss me, (Y/N),” he wasted no time in agreeing to what she was suggesting, slowly moving to rest his hands on her waist. He was gentle in his touch, silently letting her know that she could break away if she wanted. She didn’t.

(Y/N) reached to take hold of his jacket’s lapels before leaning in slightly. John got the message, meeting her halfway so that their lips could—finally— meet. The — what felt like — lifetime’s wait for this moment was most certainly worth it.

— Three Years Later —

“Katie!” (Y/N) called out, knowing that the eldest child was in the next room over. Her joyful scream was a distinctive one, and the woman was able to hear it amongst at least two others. It didn’t take long before the girl appeared in the archway of the room John and (Y/N) were sitting in.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. It was obvious that she’d been playing.

“I need you and your siblings to try and keep your voices down, ok?” (Y/N) kindly asked.

“Why’s that, mum?” the young girl inquired.

(Y/N) froze before she could give her answer, her mouth agape. Katie had just called her ‘mum’.

Thankfully John was able to step in and continue the conversation—because it had became obvious to him that (Y/N) couldn’t. “Because mum’s just gotten Ella to sleep. We don’t want her to wake again,” he explained, motioning to the baby that was sleeping on (Y/N)’s chest.

“Ok, dad,” Katie conceded without a fight. Both John and (Y/N) gave a soft thanks and watched as she went to leave. She’d only moved from the arch for a second before returning to say one last thing, “you should know that it’s really Max who was making all of the noise.”

Her statement made both adults laugh. “Go on,” John waved her off. The girl gave one more toothy smile before running off to her siblings.

“Did she…?” (Y/N) finally got out, surprise laced into her words.

“She did,” John grinned as he looked at his wife, “mum.”

It may have seemed like nothing special to someone looking on, but to (Y/N), what just happened was monumental. This was the first time Katie Shelby had called her mum.

(Y/N) and John hardly spent a moment separated since the night they rekindled their friendship…which quickly turned into a relationship…which quickly turned into them getting married and having a child together.

With their dear little Eloise being born just five months ago, both felt that their family was now perfect. But even though (Y/N) took on the role of mother to John’s four children in every sense of the term, she never forced the kids to address her by the name. Martha was their mum, and not even her being gone could change that.

One by one, though, the kids began calling her mum. Katie was the last to hold out. The eldest girl would always address her as ‘(Y/N)’, and (Y/N) was perfectly fine with that. Which is why when the girl used the ‘m-word’ just now, she froze in her tracks. She couldn’t help but blush as she looked at John, who was grinning like a fool.

“She called me mum,” she whispered again, more to herself than anything.

“She did,” John repeated, his voice soft as he smiled at his wife.

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be is the phrase that always gets thrown around. Luckily — thankfully — for John and (Y/N), it was meant to be.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

@zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx

@red-riding-wood @padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @everythingelseisextra

@kmc1989 @papichulo120627 @brummiereader @adaydreamaway08 @justrainandcoffee

@peakyltd @johannelis2302nely @ce1iat @wildheartsalwaysburn @dragons-are-my-favorite

@jessimay89 @slaymybreathaway @mysticalfuncollectorus @sleepyycatt @novashelby

[ferg0s]

Kunigami with a bookworm reader who he meet by accident but kinda starts to like after a while.

Pre wild card Kunigami cuz he’s bbygrl

Canonically has an older sister, I imagine her being an English major. Someone who got him into comic books In hopes of getting him into literature and that’s how he got his dream of being a hero-esque figure.

You’re her friend. A lil younger than her but the two of you met a book store and became friends after going for the same book, paid half and half and decided to take turns reading it and eventually made a lil book club to talk about said book.

Came back after practice to see you in the living room having tea with his sister, deep in conversation about the book in question.

Initially thought you were cute but out of respect for his sister he kept his distance.

Would say a polite hello and go to his room. Maybe come down to get some food, but even then, let the two of you talk without interruption.

You and his sister began to become closer, mostly due to your love for books. Coming together at their house to talk about the recent books you’ve read, but it slowly just began the two of you hanging out.

Kunigami knew of you; if he saw you at the house, in the living room or kitchen he wouldn’t blink twice. Initially thought you were his sisters classmate. but after talking to you when his sister asked him to walk you to the busstop cuz she didnt want you walk alone, he found out you were his age. you told him how you and his sister met, exchanged some friendly conversation and found out he was on the soccer team.

"yeah im a striker-" he said, looking at the path ahead. “Oh- that’s cool!” You reply. He knew that tone, the one his sister had - where they didn’t know what that meant but they were supportive. “It means I’m the guy who’s in charge of scoring the points-“ he adds. You nod. “I guess that’s very important,” you chuckle, looking at the ground.

Did you find his hot? Yes! Oh my god when he first walked in - you saw the resemblance right away - but the way his sister had described him you thought he was a toddler. I guess all older siblings do that, and they seemed to have a very close relationship. She still saw him as a child despite the fact that he was almost an adult. So when he walked in, holding his gym bag and greeted you, you tried to remain cool.

You weren’t the most social. So it was like fighting a life or death battle when he would come down to the kitchen while you and his sister were baking or making a quick snack. He was polite, always kept the conversation to a minimum before retreating to his room.

You wouldn’t dare let your cooler older friend know that you thought her brother was hot. But you figured that she had figured it out, she was very observant. So when you were getting ready to leave, saying your goodbyes, you froze up when you heard her call Kunigami to walk you to the stop.

You had walked there plenty of times, even later in the night in some cases. But she insisted that it would be safer for you to have someone to walk with. “There’s been an increase of muggings-“ she said. Conveniently leaving out the part that she was talking about the city and not their neighbour hood. Technically she wasn’t wrong?

Despite only talking to him a hand full of times, you felt pretty comfortable around him. He was polite. Asking the small talk questions that didn’t steer into anything awkward. Telling you about his games and such. He was a sweetie, which made your crush on him even more worse.

He was a gentleman. Waiting with you until your bus came, waving you goodbye as it departed. The one off thing soon became a regular occurrence, due to the insistence of his sister. He thought you were cute, but then again, he thought a lot of girls were cute. It was a given for guys his age. But the more he talked to you the more interested and invested he became. He was used to his sister going on tangents about books, passionately talking about every aspect of it - so he figured he’d do the same with you. Given you two had the same interests. It seemed to break you out of your quiet shell.

The walks began to consist of you describing your favourite books and stories to him. He was used to tuning it out and nodding his head. But something about you made him want to listen. “So he turns into a bug? Like a bug bit him? Like Spiderman?” He asked. You came to find out he liked spider man a lot. “No- he just woke up. It’s supposed to be a metaphor…”

But he really couldn’t keep up with the nuances of your literary likes, so he tried a different approach

“Do you like comics? Like marvel and stuff?” “Oh yeah- who doesn’t?”

His eyes lit up. Finally something he could relate too.

“Who’s your favourite super hero?” “Hmm… that’s a hard one.” You say as you look at him. “I like super man to be honest. It’s corny and lame but I like how he’s just this beacon of hope and just… nice? I don’t know how to say it. He could be evil but he just chooses to help people instead of like world domination-“ you explain. He smiled. “You know - i completely agree.”

Super heros became the things you talked about on your walks together. To a point where he genuinely waited for the sound of his sister door opening so he could rush out and get ready to walk with you. You looked forward to it too. He liked how you added a different perspective to it - digging in deep, finding the deeper meaning to each thing you two talked about. He felt a little embarrassed for saying he liked the hero’s cuz of their powers. But you didn’t seem to mind, smiling and telling him “me too,”.

For a while it seemed that the only thing the two of you talked about was that. He was happy - until he realized how rude it must seem. So he tried his best to steer the conversation to something that you might like.

Que him borrowing his sisters copy of the books you mentioned and trying to read them. It was the first time anytime anyone in his family saw him deeply invested in a book since… well… ever.

“So I read that book you talked about-“ he said as the two of you got out the house. “Oh? Which one?” You ask. When he told you the name of your favourite book, your stomach did a flip. “Y-you read that?” You asked uncertain. “Yeah - honestly I liked it.”

Que the whole walk being about said book, you talking with more passion than he had ever seen. To a point where the two of you watched the bus leave infront of you without caring, too engrossed in the conversation. Did you wait for the next bus - a full hour - on the steps of the nearby convenience store while sharing a bag of chips? Yes.

It seemed like the conversation had no end. Books, then his soccer, then back to books, somehow spider man, back to soccer. It was this chemistry that didn’t have an end.

Leading him to trying to slyly ask his sister if there was any bookstore cafes near by - and her happily giving an answer.

She didn’t question when you came over to visit, despite not making plans with her.

She didn’t question why he came up to her asking her if hard covers were better or soft covers.

______

Kunigami is a spider man fan. Thats not my head cannon, thats literally cannon. Argue with a wall.

[vampiresbloodx]

Enemy. chapter one.

pairings: Jinx x reader, vi x caitlyn, v x reader, various characters.

synopsis: when you, a tired full time bartender who gets paid shit and lives in a small one bedroom apartment gets sucked into the world and battles that are happening around you all at once, you just wish you could remain blissfully unaware, you'd prefer not to know others business, as it's never good, then you meet a girl named jinx, and you grow more and more attached, which has always been an issue for you, to make things worse, you not only have to make sure neither of your friends kill each other while being stuck in the middle.

word count: 907.

warnings: fluff angst suggestive themes, adult jinx still canon season 2 but not really I fear idk her confirmed age so just putting it out there, canon typical violence, found family, PTSD, pain, alcohol, reader is a bartender, mutual pinning, hurt/comfort, arcane season 2 spoilers!!!!.

Jinx. 

The name you are starting to hear a lot as of late, you’ve always heard whispers of her, some call her silco’s daughter, you could honestly almost believe the story yourself when you look at them standing by each other. 

But you know the truth more than others know. 

You weren’t even sure of your own part in the story here, in everyone else’s lives, Jinx stuck around you because she wanted to, and she claimed to like you, a lot, so much so that you ended up one day coming home and finding her laying on your bed, like it was nothing, knowing you did not mention where you stayed at all to really anyone. 

“Is this your place? Cool.” 

Jinx murmured, unbothered as there was a curious look in her eyes as she looked everywhere, going through your stuff without asking for permission, as you rolled your eyes in annoyance at her. 

“Do you have to be any more of a creep?” you asked, slightly disappointed but not surprised by this. 

It's not like the two of you sit down and discuss your feelings to each other, how the other makes the other feel, what you really mean to another, nope, none of that. Anytime you even ask Jinx about anything she gets pissed and walks off in a huff, having an attitude towards you, blaming you all of a sudden, you see how her cheeks get red as she stutters her words more than usual, its cute, but you just wish you two would fucking talk. 

“Yup.” 

You watch as Jinx goes through your clothes, pulls out some underwear and your sports bras, holding them up as she winks at you, you stare back dumbfounded. 

“fucking put that back-” 

Then it became more frequent visits to your apartment, well the one shitty bedroom apartment you could afford in this hole, for a while, you worked as a bartender, still do, you were good at your job, making customers happy as you made their drinks and put a smile on their face, you met so many people, that’s how you’d regularly see Jinx. 

She’d come to your bar just to talk shit and complain about everything and everyone, but you always ended up enjoying her presence the more she came, she didn’t even ask when you will be off or when your shift started, she didn’t care about those details, because she knew that already, you called her a stalker and she laughed loudly like it was the funniest thing she’s ever heard. 

Some days, Jinx bothered you more than anyone else could, you were so used to the solitied life that now you were longing for the connection of others. You hated it. The feeling that ate away at you, eating at your soul, your body, your flesh, your mind, heavily. And the one face you always saw that was a constant was her. 

And so, you grew attached. 

Unwillingly so.

She knew that, which is why she stayed around on purpose, because she knew how lonely you were deep down, you’d never admit it, but you like having her around, hearing her stupid jokes and her loud ass laughter, her non stop talking and rambling, it made everything less quiet, and it took your mind of a lot of things. That was kind of nice. 

You wondered if you were that to her as well. In a way. You weren’t sure. 

If you could grab her face by your hands and scream everything you wanted to say and more to her, you would. You just didn’t want to lose her. She could easily walk away and leave you behind, you couldn’t handle that. 

For a while, Jinx would randomly leave without a word for a couple of days, weeks even, you got sick of waiting for her, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, wanting to hear her voice again, it never came, until you woke up one night at three am, trying to get a decent sleep in when you felt warmth next to you and arms wrapping around your body, you freaked, almost stabbing the girl with the knife you always hide underneath your pillow for safety reasons, she chuckled, “my girl, so feisty, just the way I like them” she murmured. You stared confused at her, this isn’t the first time she’s invited herself over for the night, but something about tonight felt different, instead of wanting to cuss her out, you watched her fall asleep, she looked so at peace, it was strange. 

The next day you woke up to her trying to cook you breakfast as you threw your pillows at her, still annoyed as she acted like nothing happened, laughing. 

Then she found out you were friends with a certain pink haired girl and her blue haired lover. 

What a small world it is. 

It was hard though, and still you were going to do it regardless, you didn’t care what happened to yourself, you care too much, too little, it was all consuming, overwhelming you, that Jinx hopes even she doesn’t break you. 

Before you even do that to yourself. how much of a mess you were in between choosing your friends, being on their side or Jinx’s side, watching them chase after each other like crazy, as there was you, in the middle, making sure neither of them get too close for your liking. 

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Nov 14th

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1. Hello, I am looking for a fic that I think is wangxian. It was based on the ballad The Highwayman, and it ends tragically. It should be a complete work. Thank you!

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2. I hope you can help me find this one. It was a Twitter threadfic. In that LWJ proposed to WWX but WWX said no because he didn’t believe in marriage. They go to a wedding and the groom gets cold feet but LWJ helps him. Seeing that made WWX want to marry him but by then it was LWJ who changed his mind and WWX was heartbroken .

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3. There was this fix where wwx was a funeral arranger? Or something like that and lwj and wwx established relationship but then madame yu and her husband died and it focused on like grieving and stuff, there was also yanli and jiang Cheng and showed like the sibling bond I can’t find it I been trying for ages now

FOUND? grave goods by luckymarrow (E, 28k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Modern AU, mortician!wwx, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Marriage Proposal, abrupt tonal shifts, Tragicomedy, Comedy, Romance, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Adoption, Implied/Referenced Abuse, for lan parents, it’s not described and is all backstory, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Married WangXian, brief daddy kink, the barest hint of consensual non-consent, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, BDSM)

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4. Hello! I'm looking for a couple of fics I lost sight of a long while ago!

A) The first one took place during the Cloud Recesses Arc: all the swords are stolen at night by 'Wei Wuxian' who is later found badly injured in the forest. He had been attacked by the future Wei Wuxian/ Yiling Laozu.

B) The Second One took place after the Siege, and I'm pretty sure the spirits of the Wen Remnants attacked others? I don't remember much about it, I'm sorry.

Thank you in advance and I appreciate your service a lot

4A)

FOUND? For the Dust and the Dirt by Nyxelestia (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, Cloud recesses study Arc, It gets worse before it gets better, WWX Whump, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending)

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5. Ok hi sorry can’t remember much but school in tilling WWX is teacher there LWY moves there to teach also become friends a misunderstanding make WWX not speaking to LWY after LWY follows a Yao and finds WWX fighting it on a rooftop they defeated the Yao and LWY asks WWX “you’re wearing crocks?” WWX is that what you are going with …, or something like that

As always THANK YOU for all that you do for us 😁 @bkpmystinen

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6. Heyy! I'm looking for two fics:

A) Omegaverse, modern au, wei ying is an omega and jc is an alpha and wy lives w the jiangs and i think there's this sort of expectation that he's gonna marry jc or atleast that's what jc wants, but wy gets pregnant by lwj and moves out after a fight then yeras later lsz and jl go on a date and that's how wy and jc meet again, cos jc's there when wy goes to dinner to meet jl's parents and uncle and turns out its the jiangs obviously, and basically jc's really stalkery and jealous after that but lz protects him.

B) modern au, omegaverse, lxc goes to pick up lwj from school and finds out a kid jc is his mate. he's disgusted and goes away for a while. when he comes back jc is older now. i don't remeber much but wy and lz are the side couple and wy is a beta as far as i can remeber, and there's a scene where jc wakes up in the hospital and wy and lz are kisisng and jc's kinds like fucking finally yk but yea!

Thank you! Love you guys!!

@body-inabyss-heart-inparadise

6A)

I recognise the fic though I can't remember the name. The author deleted all their works from AO3 a few months ago, if I recall correctly. I know it's also been on other fic finders.

~*~

7. Hello,

Ficfinder request.

Modern but with magic or cultivation. LWJ is a magical creature(?) hunter working for some kind of agency to protect humans.

The rest of the sects(from my memory) are families of magic creatures(?) but WWX has some kind of ‘half-breed’ status so when he goes through the magic/darkness detectors at LWJs work he doesn’t set them off.

Much of the fic is from LWJs pov but there is a great chapter from WWXs pov when he fully lets his powers out and we get badass WWX.

I feel like it was mdzs+ some anime but i don’t know which anime. 🥺 @empiresprince

FOUND? our reflections as seen (when the water stills) by chatonnerie (E, 121k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern, Tokyo Ghoul Fusion, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, This is a ghoul au, but everyone is also in university, so dumb energy is peak, Gore, Body Horror, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Biting, our reflections as seen (when the water stills) [PODFIC] by Opalsong) OHHH 7 IS THE TOKYO GHOUL AU IT’S SO GREAT AND ALSO THERE’S A PODFIC WHICH IS ALSO ABSOLUTELY AMAZING (I was too excited sorry for a million replies, but) It’s so good that there’s absolutely no tokyo ghoul knowledge needed, reads like a fun creature!modern!au kinda this way, has been one of my comfort listens for several years now

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8. Hello, I am looking for a fic, where Wei Wuxian runs away from Lotus Pier, right after he was brought there and Jiang Cheng kicked him out and threatened with dogs (when they were children). I think that Wei found his father? Not sure, but I have a feeling that this fic was found here and I forgot to save it. Thank you in advance.

FOUND? 🔒 the world wags on by justdoityoufucker (T, 5k, WCZ & WWX, WCZ & LQR, WCZ/LQR, canon divergence, pre-canon, not everyone dies au, not Jiang friendly, past child abuse, canon Jiang family relationships, parent-child relationship, not YZY friendly, pre-relationship) has elements of the world wags on but it isn't a perfect fit.

FOUND? In Another Life by SingingInTheRaiin (M, 21k, wangxian, time travel)

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9. Hi, I’m looking for a fic where after wwx is found during the sunshot campaign Jiang Cheng pretends his demonic cultivation is just the Jiang clan’s secret technique and uses that to keep the other sects off their back. I’m pretty sure it was from jc’s pov, and compared wwx, jc, and jyl to different bodies of water at the start of it (though I could be wrong about that part)? Thank you for the help

FOUND? Three kinds by apathyinreverie (T, 7k, wangxian, JC & WWX, canon divergence, protective JC, twin prides of yunmeng dynamics, soft WWX, smitten LWJ, worldbuilding, fix-it, golden core reveal, fluff, siblings) 

~*~

10. Hello! I'm looking for a wangxian reality TV fic. It's a dating show and lwj is a participant while wwx is his camera man. They try to keep their relationship a secret but by the end the crew discovers them and has wwx brought in as lwjs partner. I think lwj proposes to wwx at the end and that Mo xuanyu was involved as the participant who stayed the longest

FOUND? After the Final Rose by azurewaxwing (E, 55k, wangxian, modern, reality show au, secret relationship, fluff & angst, happy ending, bachelor LWJ, cameraman WWX, smut)

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11. Hello! I'm so sorry to bother you but I've tried doing all my own searches and just can't find it. There's a fic series where Madame Yu cut off Wei Wuxian's hand before the fall of lotus pier and the Wen siblings took him in to help him recover. He ended up leaving the Jiang sect and starting his own and he and Wen Qing became amazing at making spiritual prosthetics. I know it's a series and I know I loved it but I can't find it anywhere! Thank you for your help! @queerlyloud

FOUND? 🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

FOUND? 💖 from the other side of sorrow by Sour_Idealist (E, 127k, JC & WWX, JC/WQ, JC & WWX & JYL, JYL & WQ, WangXian, WWX & JYL, JYL/NHS, LXC/JGY, JGY & NMJ, JGY & WQ, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Fix-It, Golden Core Transfer, canon-typical family dysfunction, Torture, secondary character death, Canonical Character Death, Comfort Sex, Femdom, Choking, Cock Slapping, Cunnilingus, Series Context Provided, Under-negotiated Kink, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Clan Leader JYL, Sunshot Campaign, JYL POV, spiritual weapons, Sect Leader WQ, Biased Narrator, Slow Burn, sect politics, Trauma, D/s elements, Reconciliation Sex, Reconciliation)

FOUND? 🔒💖  in payment, a hand series by justdoityoufucker (M, 10k, wangxian, not jiang friendly, amputation, injury recovery, self reflection, abusive YZY, families of choice)

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12. Hello! I started reading a Tangled x MDZS fic which I remember being pretty long. It was with lwj as Rapunzel and wwx as Flynn Rider. I started reading it but then decided I don't want to and now I regret it 😭. The part that I read was exactly like the start of the movie, with wwx complaining about how his wanted poster looked and all that jazz.

FOUND? we sit in the sunset glow by moonsteps (T, 36k, WangXian, Tangled AU, Fairy Tale Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Curses, Sharing a Bed, Minor Violence, Traveling, Falling In Love) for the tangled AU, it sounds like it could be it starts just like the movie with Wei ying complaining to lil apple abt how he looks in his wanted poster😂

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13. Hey buddy, Hope you are doing well!

I'm searching for a fic. The only thing I remember is just a scene. The cloud recesses is hosting lectures and and guest disciples from all sects are visiting. I think it is after the war with the wens. It's a cannon divergence I think. The scene I'm referring to is, two of the disciples are from Su She's (Su Minshan, I think the full name is) and the sect heir is just a kid below 10. At some point others makes fun of him and his sister when they present gifts at the beginning of the lectures and LWJ kinda defends them, I think....

That's all I remember. Thanks in advance! @grrumpywoof

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14. Hello , I am looking for a fic where Jang Cheng dies instead of Jang Yanli at nightless city. Then she moves back to Lotus Pier and becomes sect leader, and lan wangji ends up living there too. Also, wei wuxian is brought back to life earlier, and by xue yang. lan wangjis back takes longer to heal.

Thank you!

FOUND? picking up the pieces by KouriArashi (M, 111k, JYL & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Alternate Canon, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Regret, Family, Kid Fic, Families of Choice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, canon typical political bullshit, Eventual Happy Ending)

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15. I'm in search of two time travel fics: A) WWX has traveled back to CR. LXC hears him playing dizi (wangxian among others) and recognizes it as something LWJ composed (possibly same fic, though I may be conflating details, he realizes in lessons WWX is pretending to be less skilled at the dizi than he actually is). B) LWJ travels back in time from right after the 30 lashes and ends up in the burial mounds early w/the wens, still seriously injured and bleeding through his robes. Thank you guys! @moku-youbi

15B)

FOUND? The Cottage Amongst the Gentians by Enigmatree (T, 5k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Time Travel, LWJ and WWX time travel from post nightless city to before jin ling's celebration, or, I give WWX back to 13-years-grief LWJ like he deserves, Hurt/Comfort, Feat. LXC being a good brother who'd love to know what the fuck is happening, WWX goes to Gusu with LWJ after time travel; the fic, Domesticity) maybe?

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16. Hi I'm looking for a arranged marriage fic where lwj and wwx both are in love with each other but the marriage is arranged by their families. On the wedding day wwx overheard a conversation between lwj and his best friend who also have initials of ww the best friend had found a letter addressed to ww written by lwj confessing his love and think lwj is in love with him and he is trying to convince lwj to not marry and give him a chance. Their married life is full of misunderstanding.

FOUND? A Marriage Story by DeviyudeThoolika (E, 38k, wangxian, NMJ/LXC, married wangxian, but there are some complications, because it’s marriage, Sex is complicated, Angst and Pining, Pining while fucking, Mature elements, Mutual Pining, HEA, Arranged Marriage, Sort Of, Misunderstandings, of epic proportions, One True Pairing, Good Sibling JC, Good Parent YZY, Fluff and Angst, in that order, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Loves WWX, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

17. Hello! I would like to ask for help in finding a wangxian fic:

Modern with magic

I remember that Wei Ying got injured in Xuanwu cave together with Lan Zhan. In the Lan hospital he was denied help because he was fired (?) from the Lan org and later received a bill to pay for expenses.

He is saved by Wens.

Few years later Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen seek his help in some kind of case. Wei Ying says something along the lines of "I don't work with Lans".

Later Lan bros find out it was Su She's fault in how WY was treated.

I would really appreciate your help in finding it! ❤️‍🩹 @popugaj-ara

FOUND? 🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)

~*~

18. hi there thank you for finding fics for us

there is a fic where WWX is a teacher in Yilling and LWJ accepts a teaching job at the same school, they become friends and then a misunderstanding (not uncommon btwn them) WWX ignores LWJ LWJ follows a trail of a yao sees WWX fighting it on top of the school roof when landing he sees is WWX and then asks "Are you wearing crocs?" I think WWX tells him is a comfortable wear

please/thank you @mysticalyunique

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19. hi this is for the fic finder! i remember the fic so well but i fear it may be deleted bc i just can’t find it in my bookmarks? so wwx after dropping off the face of the earth due to Wen Drama is a folk punk (?) musician along with wen ning and they live in a van, and jingyi is a huge fan, he drags sizhui to a show where they realize this guy might be lwj’s long lost best friend <3 call lwj over and they reunite, lsz is actually wwx’a bio child whom lwj adopted, they get to know each other etc

FOUND? your heart is a muscle by howodd5ever (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pacific Northwest, folk punk, Adoption, WWX is LSZ's Parent, as in bio parent, WQ is LSZ's bio mom, brief mention of past wwx/wq hook up, chosen family, ljy and lsz are best friends, wwx is a folk punk singer, wn is a folk punk singer, Getting Together, Eventual Smut, fan boy ljy, protective big brother lxc, Happy Ending, I promise)

~*~

20. Hi! This is fic finder. A ghost WWX after the first burial moubd sige. His ghost is in YMJ. JWY makes WWX to teach. WWX trains JL. And then there are a conference in lanling where WWX goes too. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND? Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Mutual Pining, Parental WWX, BAMF WWX, he is a beast and I love him so much, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Ghost Sex)

~*~

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ [1, 2, 3, 4] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 9.8k

There isn’t any conversation surrounding Pepper’s visit, or the divorce, but it’s all around you regardless.

Random items disappear from the penthouse–a Pollock (your present takes its place), some throw pillows from the study, and a few Turkish ceramics you never knew existed. The phone rings far more than you care for. Tony has far more meetings than you care for. A bespeckled lawyer and his blonde associate nearly become housemates, spending hours behind the frosted glass door. Natasha makes a few appearances as well, which confuses you the most. You find the spice in her perfume too bold.

On her third exit in as many weeks, you question Tony on it. He absently traces patterns on your calves, seemingly not paying attention to you or the film on screen. 

“Should I be worried?” you hide your sincerity behind a glass of wine, twirling the stem between your fingers. The red liquid mirrors the motion inside, spidering against the walls.

“About Natasha?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” you draw out, “and you–all of it, really.” 

“Now why on Earth would you be worrying about me?” 

You would love to point out the obvious and address the building-sized elephant in the room that says  ‘you’re recently sober and just got a divorce’ but the look on his face tells you it’s unnecessary. 

Tony finds a way to answer the unasked anyways. 

“It’s a shit ton of paperwork, and signing things, so it’s annoying, yes but I am fine. Scouts honor.” 

He kisses your hand and grins with all the confidence in the world. It’s so fucking arcane each time–close to magic in how it undos every worry and mirrors his gleam. 

You wished it had more permanent effects. Something long-lasting and memorable. Easy to spread over the evening and into the early morning hours, when he’s inconsolable in your arms. You could turn it back into magic words. Banish whatever miasma racked his body and go back to peaceful nights (because you had those at some point, right?).

Being able to ask the hard questions doesn’t mean shit if the answer’s always a dismissive work of fiction. You never learned what caused their separation, or sent ‘everything to shit’ as Tony put it. Not because you didn’t ask, no that question came the same night Pepper did.  Apparently it’s the same driver of every modern American divorce–money. Tony summarizes the event as a fatal disagreement over corporate shares, though like always you feel you’re being told an official story. Clean cut with all messy details chopped away. 

“You don’t have a signature stamp at this point?” you joke.

“Oh no,” Tony’s hands brace your ankles to pull you closer, “ every squiggle needs to be authentic and fresh.”

“Right, how could I assume anything less.” Your eyes roll but you let your legs drape over his lap. 

“Seriously, I’m doing fine–things will calm back down soon.” A gentle squeeze drives the point home. 

A thought crosses your mind. An insecurity, really, but one you haven’t let go since meeting Pepper.

“If it’s like, I don’t know,” you hesitate under Tony’s raised eyebrow, “–I can head back to my apartment if it’s too much.”

Stark Industries was still footing the bill even though you spent less than 10 hours there in the last two months. There’s a fear in overstaying your welcome, or whatever it is you were doing here. Either way, you figured it was less than ideal to have your girlfriend around during a divorce. 

“If what’s too much?” 

“I don’t know, if you need your space right now or–” you answer exasperatedly.

“Honey,” he gives a hearty laugh, “if I ever start asking for space, call a doctor.”

All resistance becomes futile.

You keep your apartment (for unnecessary security), but more time lapses between visits. You issue a long overdue farewell to bartending. Even being driven, the commute to that side of town is hellish and the whole thing got more pointless with each day. You drank in the fruits of this life, but not without a tiny bit of unease. It’s unease that you bury down under all the other feelings. The affection, the simplicity, the serenity. So you swap mixers for paintbrushes and solitude for the man you love. 

Other subtle changes require a quicker adjustment, but you’re getting dangerously good at adapting. With Tony’s birthday past, you recognize a pattern to Harley’s visits. Every three months like clockwork. You begin to anticipate them well enough, and start appreciating his occasional presence during your early morning tea. By his third appearance, you brew two cups.

On the first visit he barely utters a word. You were ready for some witty insult that never came, and offered him a cup in silence. You want to ask why he arrives so early just to sit in his father’s kitchen, but opt for peace instead. 

Once Pepper’s placard is gone in the parking garage and Natasha stops showing up (at all hours of the day, atleast), he’s there a second time. 

“How he’s doing with the,” he trails off, peering at you over an empty mug as the sun starts to break. He doesn’t need to motion at the empty space for you to pick up his meaning.

The official story is dancing on your tongue. The one you’ve told two times over at this point (Jarvis, Natasha). He's perfectly fine, better even. It was a piece of cake then, but now you can’t seem to look Harvey in the eye and speak in half-truths. 

“Honestly,” you sigh, “Good–not good, I don’t know.”  You were dying under  the irony of it all. Consoling Tony in the darkness of morning and then watching him make million dollar deals by noon. You don’t know how he’s managing any of it, and if any of this qualifies as okay. 

Green eyes blink slowly through an overgrown fringe. Barbers were clearly scarce in the last three months, wherever he spent them. Exhaustion forces a yawn before he speaks again, pinching his nose. 

“Figured as much.” Harley stands for the sink.

He goes through the labor of washing the ebony cup, a rare quirk amongst the obscenely rich. You’d learned they are very reliant upon their quiet servants. You wondered if he did it out of modesty or good manners.  

“Do you know why they separated?” If he was in the mood to talk about Tony, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“Uh, something with the company, her share or whatever. Always about the money with them.” he answers casually, tossing a look over his shoulder. 

It’s genuine enough, but all too similar to the rehearsed lines. You half-expected him to call you nosy. 

“No real loss there.” Harley adds, a hint of disdain in his voice

“Not a fan I take it?” The flimsy tag finally crumbling under your ministrations.

He chortles as he slumps back into the bar stool. 

“Pepper can be, uh,” A yawn and an eye rub take precedence, “overbearing, yeah that’s a good word for it.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine that worked well for Tony.” You murmur into your tea.

“Oh it most definitely did not.” Harley laughs again. “Not for a guy that does the opposite of whatever you tell him.”

His laugh is infectious (like father like son), and you smirk even though instead the mental picture makes you cringe. A lull passes between you. Outside, morning traffic begins, trickling upwards to interrupt the quiet. It cues Harley to get back to whatever it is he comes here to do, while you move on with the day. 

As an advantage of all the free time, you get to invest more time in your estranged friendships. Being around old friends turned out to be surprisingly good. You had anticipated more awkwardness, but there was something comforting about not having to wear a mask for once around someone besides your boyfriend. 

At this point, you slowly filled in a few close ones about your relationship with Tony. Clearly you were in this for the long haul, and keeping things under wraps was becoming futile. The general consensus was positive, thankfully. Obviously, that’s due to a great deal of details being omitted. The act left a sour taste in your mouth. Not from the content–how easy it was. You hated to repeat such behaviors, but it was less complicated this way. You wouldn’t have to labor through justifying your relationship, or hear concerns you didn’t already have. 

Tony’s reception was, oddly, less positive. He didn’t care much for your old ‘starving artist’ clique. He thought you should take advantage of his access to New York’s greatest–the real pioneers. It took little arguing from you for him to drop that thought entirely, and he conceded to just be happy to see you happy. 

Like good friends, they tease about your newfound love. One asks when they’ll get to meet ‘Mr. CEO’ and you have to brush it off casually. You like your worlds better separate. 

A sweltering autumn soon becomes frostbitten winter. This gives you less light to work with, resorting to find shuddering shoulders in complete darkness. You don’t think it’s worth searching for warmer pastures or a simpler life. No, you order a cashmere robe and get used to seeing by touch. 

Late nights in the tower turn out to be a great place to hone such skills. The halls are narrow and void of any windows, so you ghost the pads of your fingers around for customary shapes. A cushioned nook and a neglected book lull you into a nap one evening and you wake past the sunset. If you were able to sleep so late undisturbed, Tony must be preoccupied. You planned to tiptoe into the kitchen without a sound, but your ears catch words murmured behind the glass. The door is cracked slightly, just enough to let a streak of light breaks across the hardwood floor

“–fifteen, ten, maybe if we’re lucky.” 

The bespeckled man’s words are measured, precise as usual. You can almost picture his lips barely parting to utter syllables behind round-trim frames. 

“Jesus christ–the fuck am I paying you for? Because I am paying you, like a metric shit ton” 

At Tony’s voice, you press closer. 

“I’m not the idiot getting a divorce.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just stay focused here.” Natasha raises her voice above the two men, and you hear a chair drag across the office.

“Uh-uh, don’t think you’re getting off scot free–we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you did your job a tad better too.” 

“I will say it was ‘lot easier to spread the financials between two people.” 

Social norms concerning privacy start to get to you, urging your feet to pivot and take you back upstairs. Your escape goes undetected, and you seek refuge in the shower. 

You wash the day away under warm jetstreams. Part of your mind is stuck replaying everything, wondering how he was handling it all, trying not to indulge in the urge to check the sink drawer. In a flash, you toss the thought away. It’s easy to not overthink at this hour. Especially when coconut vanilla soap tugs you back towards exhaustion. You make it back out to the bedroom, where you find Tony removing his shoes at the end of the bed.

He smiles at the crack of light from the bathroom. Tony’s days were getting longer while the rest of the hemisphere’s got shorter. He would say he missed when life was simple, but he can’t remember such a time. Life growing up was anything but simple, then the older he got the more it sucked out every ounce of his energy. Everything after became, well, everything after.

Picturing a new future keeps him going. One in a coastal city, something global like New York but much, much warmer. He fights the urge to picture your silhouette amongst the waves. It’s not guaranteed. He might find himself in this dreaded cycle all over again. Then his coconut scented fantasy would be tarnished. 

No, it’s better to cherish the present with you. Like right now, watching coconut scented water droplets descended down your legs and shoulders. Even though he knows he won’t be here long. Truly, he’d wish you weren’t awake,  knowing he’d have to leave soon.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You teased, abandoning your towel as you pulled the dresser open.

He’s easy to rile up, and you know exactly what you’re doing–bending over slowly to pull your panties above your hips. You can’t help it when he stares like it’s his first time seeing you, every time. 

“Please don’t tempt me.” 

Tony’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. He’s unmoving on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside his thighs as his eyes follow the movements of your hands around lacy black fabric. Truly he’s perplexed. Who knew watching someone get dressed would be just as much of a turn-on. Or maybe it’s just you.

You toss one of his faded band tees on, and he thinks this might actually be better than any sun-soaked dream (it’s definitely just you). 

You cross the bedroom, the loose cotton brushing against your skin with each step. As you approach, you snake your arms around Tony's neck and straddle his lap. His large hands ghost up the smooth skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of warmth as they make their way to your back. The moment your skin touches his, Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, but you can tell his focus is elsewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, raking your hands through brown coils.

You assume his mind is still on the conversation downstairs, but the grin spreading on his face says otherwise. His lips move to pepper your exposed neck with kisses, still smiling.

“Really wanna know?” 

“Sure, hit me.”

The ghosts across your veins turn into full blown grazes. 

“You, in a bikini, drinking margaritas somewhere with no extradition laws.” 

You chuckle at the notion and swat his shoulder when his teeth find your pulse point. 

“Hey, you asked,” he laughs into your skin, gripping your hips tighter, “besides it’s your fault–’smell like I’m damn near there already.” 

Tony’s mouth turns hungrier and hungrier, moving feverishly across every exposed inch until the flesh is tender and you're panting in his lap. It’s just encouragement, so he doesn’t pause for a moment as his fingers slip behind your lace. They work at the wetness already ruining the fabric, dragging it across your length and making your shiver. 

Okay, sure, maybe another period of minimal alone time was getting to you, maybe. Sue me, you thought. Honestly, Tony should be more grateful to have such a willing partner–and you told him as much. Unfortunately, this elicited a need for Tony to instill a sense of gratitude in you.

In the next second, you're tossed onto your back, wrists pinned tightly above your head. His other hand pulls your panties down your legs and you try not to make a joke about the futility in getting dressed. Instead, you soak his weight against you, the roaming hand between your thighs and teeth on your neck. 

Marking you is the obvious goal-sucking harder with each breathy whimper. He wasn’t kidding earlier, either. You smelled good enough to devour and he intended on doing so. His danced along your folds, a cufflink scratching the supple skin at the top of your thigh.  They are never anywhere long enough to give you any real pleasure. Just to take more breath from your lungs and feeling from your legs. 

You squirm against vicuna dress pants, trying to gain more friction on his hand. Instead of catering to your needs, he stops all together and the noise you make is almost pathetic. Who are you kidding, it’s fully pathetic–it couldn’t have been over two weeks, and pleas can hardly form on your tongue for more. 

Tony reels back with a smirk that flips your stomach. A scheme is brewing behind darkened pupils. His eyes stay on you as his hand returns to your center, slow and heavy over your clit. 

He doesn’t relent when your wrists strain and hips buck against him. No, a tighter grip and knee over your hip hold you steady enough for his fingers to work faster. You want to chastise yourself for how much you missed this–then two fingers slide into you and there isn’t room to think of much else.

He moves quickly and silent, like a serpent, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your eyes flutter. Your soft moans fill the quiet space. He’s too steady, not changing a muscle as your peak comes closer. The most desperate you get, writing against his palm to get even one extra inch of depth, the slower he moves. 

“Did you have fun sneaking around?” 

Your eyes flutter open in the dim bedroom, Tony’s sly grin shining above you. It cuts straight through the fog of pleasure taking you over. 

“I don’t know what you’re–” you start to bluff. 

“You’re not very sneaky, you know? Or a good liar. That’s a particular skill set that you, my dear, sorely lack.”  Slow and teasing, he slides two fingers back into you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was eavesdropping a little.” He finally moves with purpose again, but of course not enough.

“A little? Let’s not start underrepresenting things, hm?” 

Before you can debate him further, he withdraws and you think you might honestly cry if this continues.

“Okay, point taken, would you please stop torturing me now?” 

“Now, why would I reward bad behavior?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“If it helps, I wasn’t trying to.”

“It doesn’t.” 

His palms grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your waist upwards. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, searching for balance on your forearms until they’re pulled behind your back. 

“You know exactly which nerve to press, don’t you?” he breathes into the base of your neck, chest flush to your back as he hands work at his zipper.

How ironic, considering he spends the next hour tuning your body like an instrument. Knowing exactly where to press, where to ease off, until you finally unlock, bare and moaning into the mattress.

Afterwards, you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart. 

You’re half way to sleep when Tony slinks out of your arms. At first, you don’t bother stirring. Then, the soft draw of the dresser catches your ear. 

You flip over onto your stomach to get a better view. You watch Tony’s shadowy figure attempt to quietly dress. For a rare sight, he abandons the tailored suit for dark Levis and a t-shirt. It hardly looks like him, in the best way possible (ignoring the obvious question of where the hell he planned on going in that. Less larger-than-life, more real. This, now this was someone you can imagine running into at the grocery store. The sharp edges of his suits always added a degree of gravitas to everything.

“Where are you off to?”

“Going to see a man about a horse.” 

He leans down for a bright smile and a quick kiss before he leaves, and you let sleep suppress any thoughts about what that could possibly mean.

You awake to a sun that has long outran the horizon. The sheer curtains were already pulled back, with the smell telling you Jarvis made a feast for breakfast. Tony’s side is empty. Which is no surprise there, but you don’t expect him at the kitchen table. 

He grins behind a newspaper as you approach. Jarvis is busy with the espresso machine, muttering curses under his breath. 

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on cyclamen–oo, or actually, narcissus, yeah, that’s better.” Tony asks like you've been having some sort of conversation before five seconds ago.

Jarvis clicks the tamper in with a satisfied click as you stare back confused. You’re two blinks away from falling back asleep and desperately craving something stronger than green tea. 

“What are you-Is-Are those restaurants?” 

“Oh, morning ma’am. Shall I prepare you a tea, perhaps breakfast?” Jarvis turns at the sound of your voice, wiping damp grounds from his hands.

“Good morning, but no, just some coffee, please.” You try to sound natural. It’s weird giving someone else orders. 

“Nope, flowers. We could do something simple like a peony but I don’t think that matches the whole vibe with the satin garlands.” Tony continues. 

“Tony, hon, I have no idea what you’re on about right now.” you groggily slouch in the chair beside him. 

“We, my dear,” the newspaper is folded and plopped onto the table for dramatic effect, “are having a Christmas party. The proverbial ‘we’ in this situation being the company, of course.” 

“A Christmas party?” you muse with a laugh.

“For tax purposes, a gala. For my purposes, and therefore to make it fun, it is indeed a party, yes.” 

Espresso warms your veins as you listen to Tony ramble through plans for catering, guests, decanters and a whole bunch of other shit you can hardly keep up with. Good thing that responsibility falls to Jarvis, who jots away on a worn notepad. Once your eyes fully open, the thought starts to excite you. Your yearly festivities normally boiled down to a bottle of chardonnay and some loosely Christmas film like Die Hard. “Plus, if I auction some art, it works out even more.” He punctuates his brilliant plan with a bite of a muffin. 

“That’s not like a massive trigger for you?” 

High-volume social events dropped off the radar recently, for good reason, you assumed (not that you minded a break from fake smiles and cold handshakes) . Instead, Tony dragged you along to more intimate dinners with whatever broker or councilwoman he needed to charm. Your role as plus-one never went anywhere, but doing so at Tony’s your home would give you more confidence. 

“What are you, my sponsor?” he teases but you're less amused at the thought. 

“You don’t even have a sponsor.” You know so, because Tony believes Narcotics Anonymous is a, quote, ‘sad-ass glorified tea party’. 

“I have Jarvis.” He’s completely serious, and Jarvis hides his laughter behind a stack of plates.  

You don’t want to point out the obvious cognitive dissonance. That a man who spends his nights in petrified somnolence might crack under the pressure of dozens of inebriated colleagues. Not now, in a moment of peace. Not in front of Jarvis. You’re not sure how much sound slips out into the hall.

Tony watches the worry creep over your face from the edge of his newspaper. With a sigh, he abandons it again.

“Look, all you have to do is look pretty–which is no sweat for you, maybe drink a few apple cider cocktails, and relax. I’ve got everything else perfectly handled.”

He gives you a look, both reassuring and decisive. It’s a simple message meant to be taken without debate, ‘trust me’. 

You get one more peaceful morning drinking tea in the dark with Harley before the holiday season.

The event overtakes your life from Thanksgiving onward. You really don’t know how this sudden festive fervor spawns, but it slowly creeps into everything. From the elevator music, to miniature elves by the door, to candy canes everywhere, and more Christmas ties than days in December (you can’t be sure he’s not switching them multiple times a day). 

You weren’t a total Grinch, not by a long shot. Tony just so happened to be creeping into that weird overly festive zone reserved for suburban moms and kindergarten teachers. 

“Tony, what’s all of this?”

Vivaldi plays faintly on the record player. There’s a delicately placed mistletoe just off of the elevator, accompanied with a haphazard trail of roses leading out onto the balcony. You navigate through a candlelight kitchen juggling a heavy box of resin. 

“Tony?” you call out again once the box makes contact with the counter,

“Out here!” 

You follow the voice and rose trail to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, he’s donning a god awful Christmas sweater, grinning and pointing to the wool like it’s runway fashion. A small table holds two covered silver platters, and a tall bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice. It’s the kind of overtly romantic display you’d gotten since night one, but it never fails to sink your breath straight in your heart. Something about the way he’s standing there, beaming like a nervous, lovestruck fool, tells you this isn’t just a normal gesture of affection.

Still, your lips part to thank him, but he stops you instantly. 

“Just wait–” he pleads, “I got like thirty minutes of practice into saying this and I can’t fuck it up.” 

His voice is rushed enough that you believe. Clearly the words were threatening to jump out of him. It sets you a bit on edge, trying to anticipate what this was about. You indulge him anyway and nod. 

Tony crosses the balcony to take your hands in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Okay, I know things haven’t been copacetic around here. And I know I’ve asked for a lot–more than I ever thought I would–and you know sometimes it feels like I’ll never be able to return what you’ve given to me, but I swear I’m going to make this worth it.” 

He squeezes your palm, tired brown eyes searching yours for something, any sign that his words meant a single thing. It’s a fast-winded speech that makes you wanna laugh at the irony. Tony, the man who’d move the stars if they had a price tag, somehow feeling the need to repay you.  Yet his voice is raw like a frayed nerve. Exposed to the cold winds whipping against the tower glass. 

“Tony, you’ve made it more than worth it, everyday.” You smile, though it’s worth wondering what’s driving him to say all this. The words ring true regardless.

“Not nearly enough,” he says softly, “but I’m going to–I’m going to give you the world.”

In that moment, you see it: the weight of everything he’s been carrying. Your ribs seem to tighten inside your chest. That unspoken fear you’ve both been trying to avoid–it was far easier twenty seconds ago when you thought it was yours alone. You realize now that the fearless man you saw in fact was scared of something (losing you, primarily). Yeah, you comforted him through nightmares, but even then he managed to carry an aura of control.  

This wasn't about  holding onto the life you’ve built together, the one that’s felt so fragile lately. And for the first time, you see how much that matters to him, too.

He starts to say something else, dropping your hands. His fingers fiddle behind his back, seemingly nestled in his back pocket. He stares like he intended to say something else, lips parting and closing right back. In the next second, he seems to shift gears, pulling you into a hug. 

You welcome the warm embrace, as the chill has started to gnaw at your bones. He plants a kiss to the top of your head, and you want to stay in that feeling for the rest of your life.

Sadly, he does eventually pull away to admit dinner on the balcony would be quite miserable, and the two of you move inside. 

You could spend the rest of the evening overthinking about what all that meant, but you don’t bother. Why go through that mental labor, when instead you could drink $500 champagne, carefree while your handsome boyfriend flirts with you like it’s the first date. 

You don’t think about it then, or later in the night when your legs are pressed to your chest and you can’t recall a single thing he said. You focus on what he’s saying then–filthy words about who you belong to, and exactly where you belong–a whimpering mess underneath him.

Even when it turns possessive (more so than usual), when your throat is littered with marks and his hand stands to leave another on his hip, you don’t think of it. But it’s the only thing on Tony’s mind. When another orgasm rips through you, all he can think about is how much he needs you. He whispers ‘you’re mine’ over and over and over as you fall apart just so your broken moans can still echo–so he can hear just how true it is. How could you, with such a dutiful guide at the helm?

Afterwards, when you’re drained of every ounce of life, it still doesn't bother you. You don’t wonder if tonight might be another night he slips into plain clothes and disappears until sunrise. You can’t muster a single thought as his arm slinks around your waist to pull you closer. 

You simply close your eyes, and let sleep take you. 

Eventually the days tick by to the gala, and you’re somewhere between impressed and overstimulated with all the ensuing holiday glamor. 

Though, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out. 

The first floor of Stark Industries is transformed from a cold minimalist space to Ebenezer Scrooge's worst nightmare. A makeshift stage sits at one end, complete with enough tinsel to suffocate a horse and twinkling garlands. Piles of fake snow anoint the corners, and a particularly large one sits beneath a 12-foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. The open bar even serves drinks in frosted holiday glasses. He even has the guards wearing reindeer ears. 

By ten p.m. the vast floor seems smaller than a shoebox, packed with guests in evening gowns and tailored tuxedos. Initially, you’d planned on wearing a new piece for the gala–something to make the overwhelming festivity Tony demanded. Once it came time to get dressed, your eyes caught the sanguine dress. You hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it since your first date. It had felt too exquisite for any other occasion, but for some reason you were drawn to wear it tonight. 

You wish you could say Tony had a good reaction–or a reaction at all. From sunrise until the doors opened, he’s caught up in planning and preparations. Matter of fact, you were two hours into the gala and had only seen glimpses of him shaking hands in the crowd. It takes away from the expected familiarity. You imagined this night to be simple, easy for you to blend it with Tony on your arm, in his home your home. Instead, you wander like a lost gazelle, feeling every pair of eyes on you. You want to blame the dress. Revealing and bright red.

In the blurry swarm of faces, bright auburn stands out. Natasha wouldn’t be your first pick, but she’s the only familiar face and you need a respite.

You squeeze in next to her at one of the corner tables. The spice of her perfume permeates your nose but you can look past it for the moment. She pays you no mind at first, legs crossed and head turned to the crowd. You don’t mind one bit. It’s quieter towards the back, and you have no issue with it staying that way. 

Natasha sighs deeply, almost in boredom, maybe annoyance, but not with you. 

“I don’t know how you stand him.”

“How do you figure?” you respond absently, picking apart at a stray piece of tinsel.

“One of the richest men on Earth-I know he’s got the ego to match it.”

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” you answer. You’d gotten the sense Natasha and Tony back way further than him and Pepper a while ago,

“Touche, but I’m not dating him.” she shifts to take another sip from her glass, “though, I’m not really sure why you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really love him, or are you just after a family fortune?” Emerald eyes points like knives, her tone blending from casualty to scorn.

“W-what,” you stammer, “Of course I love him–Tony pursued me.”

“Please, he’d pursue anything with a pulse,” Natasha chuckles, “and relax, I’m just finally getting around to doing my due diligence.” 

“Your ‘due diligence’ is being a cunt?”

“Ooh! I see you’re a feisty one–you did sit here after all, you know.” she muses.

“Just needed a break from the crowd,” you mummer, rising. 

“Stay then–relax, like I said.” she gestures towards your now-empty seat. When you sigh and retake your place, she smiles. “I like you, you know.”

“We’ve barely spoken.” you declare, a dry chuckle spewing alongside. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know a smart person when I see one.” 

“Smart?”

“Smart decisions, going out with Tony, not screwing that up, though I’ve been told you’ve come close a few times.”

“Who–”

“This isn’t an interrogation, like I said, I like you–I don’t really care what happens between you two.”

“Then what is this?” you flag the nerdy tuxedoed waiter for a glass of water. 

“You said it yourself, we’ve barely spoken. My job is to keep Tony’s business running smoothly, and that’s become a lot harder since he won’t make a single decision without considering the ‘y/n’ of it all.” 

You scoff, unimpressed. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Oh, I know,” Natasha remarks, “A bartender has no idea how to run a billion dollar corporation, and even less of an idea how to advise one.” 

“This is the part where you tell me I have no business being with him, right?” The waiter drops off a tall pitcher of water for you both. Once your glass is full, he passes along a message that Tony’s speech starts soon. 

“Dear god no,” Natasha laughs, “I imagine you’ve heard that enough–and he’s much more pleasant since you came around. Besides, you’re living the dream.” 

“Is that so?” You have to give a laugh of your own (considering you had a bit of jealousy buried for her). 

“Oh yes, filthy rich, live in a penthouse, never work another day in your life, loving husband–maybe not my dream, but still a dream.” 

You don’t know if she’s trying to be funny but your next laugh is genuine, and she joins in.

“What is your dream, then?” you question.

Natasha’s grin stiffens, surprised. Contemplation passes for a second and you worry that you’ve underdone the last three minutes of camaraderie. 

“Ballet teacher–but that stays at this table.” She gives you a matching pointed look.

“My lips are sealed.” You do try not to giggle, but it’s odd to imagine her frigidity in a warm lit studio surrounded by tutus. 

“Did you mean it, what you said about Tony? That things are...okay?” Natasha asks, referring to Tony’s sobriety. It’s weird how everyone dances around it, especially someone so usually straightforward as her. 

It was weeks ago when you parroted that claim. And you only call it that because the question annoys the fuck out of you. It’s entirely subjective, and you give in to the optimistic look in their eye and tell them what they want to hear. He’s fine, better even.

Maybe it’s because she’s being nice, or because you already gave up this facade with Harley, but you can’t be bothered to pretend you know what’s going on with him all the time. Besides, clearly you weren’t doing a good enough job for her to ask you about it again

“I want to say yes, but I don’t know, I guess?” you admit, staring into the crowd. 

Natasha’s mouth parts to speak again, only to have the microphone’s feedback interrupt her. The host–some Nobel prize winning chemist Tony invited to pull donors–clears his throat before starting his introduction, and the noise draws to a lull. Natasha excuses herself, presumably to find Tony before his speech. You decide to stay at the back of the lobby, with a good enough view of the stage. 

Supposedly this entire sordidly festive affair had a true business purpose, some big announcement Tony was making on the ‘future of the company’. He didn’t explain much more than that, and you’re certain the technical logistics were beyond you anyway. 

After a long, boring welcome, the mic is passed off to Tony. It’s the first time today you’ve been able to see him fully–draped in a jet black tuxedo and bright red bowtie. 

It whines again in his grip, and Tony pauses once the cheers die down, glancing at the expectant faces below. Thick cards press into his palm, each written meticulously inked by Natasha last night He clears his throat, glancing out past the lights into the crowd. He hopes they can’t see how heavy the stillness starts to weigh on him like before. The sudden quiet, all that attention. Including yours, somewhere out there. His heart stalls at how must look to you up here. Larger than life probably, or maybe you weren’t looking at all (he hopes you aren’t). A hundred odd pairs of eyeballs, and he hides from yours. 

Tony knew what he had to do, and was quite confident in his choice. But he can’t risk looking you in the eye while he does it. Ironically, his decision had very little to do with you, and everything to do with Pepper. The edge of his mouth still twitches. 

“Tonight…” he starts, turning the twitch into a warm smile, “…I’ve asked you all to be here in celebration, to celebrate Stark Industries, and talk about the future of the company,” He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen knot.

There’s a small, brief ripple of confusion among the front of the room, murmurs. Something shifts in his expression—just a flash—before his eyes catch something and harden. A gesture is made to the guard at the end of the stage. His hand tightens around the mic.

“To keep things transparent,” he says, stuffing the cards into his pocket, “the real reason I threw this party, asked you all to be here, is because I want everyone to see how much this means to be.”

Your ears perk up. Natasha swears under her breath, glancing at you before sharply leaving the table, tapping away at her phone. Tony can’t hide from your gaze anymore, and he finds your confused face in the back corner. Before you think about a path to escape, the crowd follows his attention, taking their eyes from the billionaire to the nobody fiddling with tinsel alone.

“I want to celebrate the love I have for this woman, and take this opportunity to share it with everyone.” 

What the hell is he doing?, you think. He can't be doing this here, like this. 

“The truth is,” he pauses, feeling his phone buzz off the hook (most certainly Natasha telling him to stop), “I’m getting married, and Stark Industries will be welcoming a new partner in its operations.”

The room erupts in a chorus of oos and awes, all to the tune of your racing heart. It takes you a second to process. He means getting married to you. You never even talked about marriage, the future, anything like that. Yeah, maybe in passing the idea came up, but at no point did you accept a marriage proposal. 

Everything feels nauseatingly blurry after. Random individuals come over with their congratulations, while half the crowd stares and the other half still bothers to listen to the rest of Tony’s speech. It’s a bunch of nonsense about restructuring and profits, and you’re too confused, pissed, and too fed up with fake smiles to bother standing around to listen. 

You suffer through two more superficial conversations about the marriage you were only made privy a few minutes ago. Finally, you escape to the restroom. You find an empty stall to hide in, trying to process what was going through Tony’s mind.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? This wasn’t real–it was some ploy or tactic. He didn’t genuinely intend to marry you. You didn’t like to think of the long-term for the same reasons you didn’t think about the short-term. This was unpredictable, you learned that. You learned to be okay with that. You could soak in the pleasures indefinitely without ever worrying about how it might all end. This, this brought it into a sharp focus you weren’t ready for. 

You’re not even certain he’s fully divorced yet. 

Once your palms finally dry, and the threat of a panic attack fades, you step out of the restroom. You don’t even know what to think, and the sterile walls weren’t helping. Glancing back toward the gala, you spot Tony scanning the room—until his eyes find yours. You don't hold his gaze long; instead, you turn sharply toward the elevator. You hear your name faintly called from somewhere behind, but you keep moving down the hall, ignoring it.

He breaks into an awkward jog to catch you. You keep your eyes forward.

“[Y/N], look I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I can explain I just need–” he starts,

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Stark,” Natasha heels stomp angrily down the hall, stepping in front you to point her finger in Tony’s face, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Alright, alright, not you right now–cut it out!” He smacks her hand away flippantly, “I’m not entirely sure you and Matt haven’t been drinking the kool-aid either.” 

Tony huffs and straightens his bowtie and you step back from Natasha’s heat. Behind the three of you, someone gets their hands on a karaoke machine and a terrible rendition of Santa Baby follows.

“The whole point of this bullshit was to go public and get out of this shit so explain to me how this gets us anywhere closer to that?” She grits.

Tony throws his hands in the air, “Maybe it doesn’t, but your dumbass plan wasn’t any better.”

“You think marrying her is going to help you? You know I was joking when I said that, right?” 

Suddenly, a spotlight seems to beam over you. Neither party stops their death glare to fully acknowledge you. That wasn’t a proposal–you were just some pawn in their game.

You don’t even know what the hell they’re playing for.

“This is a great time to remind you who signs your checks.” 

Only then do her eyes bother to glance at you. 

“This isn’t gonna end well, and you know it.” She concedes, still stern. After that, she stomps back off into the crowd. 

Tony turns towards you, but you're already back at the elevator, watching the buttons finally reach L.

“[Y/N], please–” 

The doors ding open and you don’t stop to hear anymore. Despite your feverous attempt to close the doors, Tony makes his way inside. The door just barely misses his coattail, to your annoyance.   

Even worse, and completely on par for the evening, the jingle bells elevator music plays the moment the doors shut. 

A hard, awkward beat passes. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, sparsely emptied of any more energy for this night (mentally or otherwise). 

“You look fucking stellar, by the way, love that dress–”

“Tony.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.”

Neither of you spare another word from the elevator to the bedroom. Tony follows behind, closing the door softly as you toss your earring onto the dresser. You’re waiting for him to speak again. Explain, deflect–hopefully just explain, but he doesn’t. He sits at the end of the bed, eyes trained to you in the mirror. 

“Why didn’t you ask me? Alone? Before today?” you sigh, “

“I wanted to, I was going to, the other night on the balcony I just–” he answers quickly, but trails off in a way that has you turning to face him instantly.

You don’t doubt that for a second. Truthfully, the level of effort and random heartfeltness of the night gave you some clue. But, when it never came you just chalked it up to Tony being Tony. Painfully romantic in most conditions. 

“You just what, didn’t want to?” There’s anger, though you know it's hypocritical. 

“No I just,” he exhales, dragging his fingers through slicked back hair, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You knew I’d say yes? What the hell does that mean?” Your necklace joins the rest of your jewelry with a loud clink. 

“This is coming out all wrong–”

“You think?” The six inch heels are the next thing to go, throwing haphazardly in the closet. Tony rises to cut you off in front of the door, eyes pleading for understanding you’re not sure you have. 

“I saw the look in your eye, I’d done so much to make sure you’d say yes in that moment because I needed you to–not because I wanted it and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

“You don’t know that I’d say yes.”

“You would,” he says with that practiced charm, all sunny but hollow. A trademark Stark move—confidence teetering on arrogance. When you hesitate, he’s ready with another word, a gaze intense enough to hypnotize. “You know you would.”

You laugh, looking away as if it’s absurd. “Are you really so sure?”

His hand slips into yours, gentle but firm, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that makes it seem like he’s talking to you, only you, and not the thousand voices in his head screaming at him to get this done. 

“I know you’re scared, but” he says, leaning into your warmth. “Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“You sound so desperate, it’s kind of sad.” 

But there’s a softness to your voice now, a hint that he might be getting through. For a moment he was worried he wouldn’t be able to get away with this again, that you’d learned all his tricks since the boutique. 

It’s enough of a crack in your resolve for him to keep pushing. He slips closer, voice low. 

“Look, I know I keep asking a lot of you, but, There’s a pause, just long enough to let the ache in his voice sit, before he adds, “this could fix everything, everything can be okay.”

There’s a sliver of doubt in your eyes, and that’s what he clings to. 

“And when was the last time everything was okay, Tony?” You watch him in the bureau’s mirror. 

 “It could be. All I need for you to do is say yes, so I can fix this,” He squeezes your hand, the hint of desperation all but veiled now. 

And when you finally exhale, when that flicker of sympathy slips in, he knows he’s won.

It’s good enough. Better than he hoped, honestly. The relief slides into him like a tonic, loosening the tight lines in his jaw. He keeps his hand on yours, knowing the warmth of it will serve to distract from the creeping dread, from the hollow pit that’s been widening ever since the stakes got so high he couldn't see the top of them.

For Tony, this is all still just a means to an end. One step closer to true liberty and the life he was supposed to have. If he had to lie and disappoint–cheat and charm, then he’d do it. It would be worth it. In the end, the sum of his achievements would outweigh his sins.

He reminded himself of that a month ago, the night before he decided to have the gala. When the bedroom door closes, a sigh of relief escapes. He was lucky that you didn’t catch the conversation with Matt and Natasha in full. What he had in the works was sensitive, and he couldn’t have that ruined by anyone knowing the details in advance. He couldn’t lose you again, not when he needed you most. 

There is a shred of guilt as the elevator whirs down to the garage. You’re probably thinking the worst, understandably, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Only to pray his love was enough to placate you for now. 

Especially when he doesn’t even want to fucking do this. Each day seems to come at the loss of his autonomy, another suit on his payroll telling him what’s best for his life. It’s more deplorable when the people closest to him come up with the shittiest ideas to fix this. He can truly thank Pepper for his recent migraines (and a bunch of old ones). Filing for divorce was quite a move to try to get what she wanted, and throw him to the mercy of the Securities and Exchange Commission at the same time. If you listen to Matt, Tony’s mere minutes away from a cold cell. If you listen to Nat, Tony’s plummeting stock will be the sealer of his fate. And as of right now, two of the smartest people he knows can��t come up with anything that doesn’t come at the cost of you or his company. And he can’t live with either. 

Since, both their solutions arguably suck, he tells a lie or lack thereof to find a third opinion. Or a hail mary. However it’s called, it’s a long shot that he can’t be certain won't jeopardize him even more. 

The drive to Hudson Valley is peaceful, to the point he forgets his world is on fire. It’s late, or early, depending on who you ask. Few cars grace the road and he finds solace in the solitude. The radio is ignored for the repetitive rumble of the tires, until paved tar turns into rough gravel. 

When Pepper sent over the address, he wasn’t too surprised. She always rambled about moving out of the city, dreaming of cabins in the woods and sprawling hills. Tony could never wrap his head around living anywhere else. In retrospect, that was another early omen. They never even shared the same dream. 

He can’t say it doesn’t look impressive. A dark a-frame that strikes beautifully against the earthen spruce. Maybe that is why she had him drive all the way out here and not somewhere in the city. Part of masterplan to show him what she presumes he’s missing out on. 

The porch lights flicker on once he parks, and he makes his way up the stone path to find Pepper sitting just outside the door. She’s preoccupied with a thick novel, acknowledging Tony with the raise of a finger. 

It’s strange, being alone with her for the first time in years. She’s not dressed in Valentino but tattered college sweats he had forgotten about. Seeing her at the penthouse all those months ago was troubling, but this was different. Here, it’s too quiet. Even though he’s a few paces away from the table, he can hear the tension of her nails against the pages–the swirl of wind through her hair. Sure, she can’t control the environment but he knows this is a calculated move too. To make him wait, make him uncomfortable. Every other sense sharpens in the absence of constant noise. Norway spruce and duplicity. 

He’s losing his nerve and he needs this over. 

“Why the hell’d you make me drive this far out anyway?” He tries to keep a level voice, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to use his irritation against him. 

“It’s the one place I’m certain your little spy hasn’t found yet.” she murmurs.

Okay, fine, so he’d used his son to spy on his ex-wife. Big deal, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t doing the same. Plus, Harley had offered to keep an eye on her. It was a matter of security, not personal (mostly). 

“Can we get on with this?”

“I suppose,” she sighs, tossing the book onto the table. The thud reverberates, stark against the stillness of the valley. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me–you did call me after all.”

“I did.” And he’s regretting it every second.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by accepting the deal Murdock sent, and let this be over.” 

Pepper chuckled, crossing her legs. “What are you playing at, Tony?”

“I’m not playing at anything–this needs to be over, you need to move on.”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs, “this is all very rich considering you’ve held me in litigation for months, you rejected my offers over and over, so why the sudden change of heart?”

A cold chill and burning annoyance pull him closer to the table. 

“Yes, because I should just give you forty-five percent of my company–I can get it gift-wrapped too if that makes it all the better.”  

“That’s right, your ego won’t let you admit I’m the only reason you have a company to speak of.”

“Can’t you find an ounce of compassion in that gaping pit you call a soul, for me?”

“Such harsh words from someone who needs something from me.” Pepper smirks and stands once the heat recedes from Tony’s face. 

“Take the twenty percent, finalize the papers, and end this, or else there won’t be anything for either of us.”

She circles the table to stop in his view. Tony wishes he had a time machine.

“Let me guess, someone’s under a little heat.” she muses, voice high and dripping in sugary venom.

“Little is an understatement.” He steps back, hands tight in her pockets.

“And why would I give up my shares to help you?”

“This entire thing started with you, and the second it wasn’t convenient you ran. The least you could fucking do is help me out of it.” Tony snapped. 

“Right, and if I don’t?” 

She still laughs, because it’s all a good game to her. Entertaining to see him against the ropes–desperate enough to reach out to her. For once though, it’s calming. It soothes his anger and reminds him why he agreed to this at all. This time, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll tell just that to whoever needs to know–you know I have the evidence. You’ll go down right alongside me.”

In the quiet solace, for a moment, she’s outplayed. Her smile falters and brows crinkle. Truthfully, as much as he’d love to, he could never sell her out. But she had a terrible tendency of assuming the worst of him, and he was banking on that. 

“Please do, I’m sure they’d love to hear what I know about Obadiah.” 

Oh, so that was her ace.

A soft buzz vibrates his back pocket. He doesn’t need omniscience to know it’s you. He can picture it clearly–you, traipsing around the penthouse looking for signs of life. He knows you hate that feeling, and he hates to cause it. 

There’s a more pressing issue; not giving Pepper the emotional reaction she wants.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Spare words from some forgotten bin. 

“Not if you don’t force my hand.” 

A painful pause ensues. The valley’s fauna recognize the tension, silencing out of respect for the sound of Tony’s plan shattering. A true stalemate. Not what he came for, but his throat swells thinking about the aftermath from a war of attrition. 

He can’t let that get out, above all else. That’d be his dissolution. Stark Industries, everything he worked for would vanish. You, without question. You never see him the same again. The crafted image he sought, the life he was creating with you for you, it’d be wasted effort. 

“What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”

After another migraine-causing conversation, Tony slumps into the driver seat, shoulders heavy and eyelids even heavier. Fifteen minutes have passed since your text, and he wonders if it's better not to answer at all. 

[ everything okay?  ]

[ be home soon ]

Ignore. Deflect. Move on.  

The drive back to the city is less pleasant. Actually, it’s a nightmare that he disassociated through the moment he entered the garage. He was, tragically, fucked. There was no telling if he had the capital to replace whatever Pepper took, and he certainly couldn’t risk everything by going public. And if he didn't give Pepper what she wanted, he might be looking at a depressing future behind bars. And that was not an option. 

So he’s at the mercy of the ginger Judas who put him on the path in the first place. Go figure. There’s self-blame for entertaining this option at all. For not guessing she’d snake her way into the upperhand like always. This wasn’t a beast he could defeat with regular tactician and planning. No, he needed to surprise her–usurp her. Piss her off the way she pissed him off. Go against the grain and act in a way that she couldn't predict. Something she couldn’t maneuver around. 

So, when the mic graced his hands, and the coached words on his marriage, the marriage  he never asked you about. The marriage he couldn’t ask you about because he wasn’t ready either. 

He said fuck it, and did it anyway. 

He knew you would’ve said yes then, so you obviously would answer the same afterwards. Even if you were predictably, and understandably pissed, you loved him, and he intended to use that. Grand gestures were his thing after all. A huge public soiree was more on brand than some private dinner. And, he was Tony Stark. The man who got everything he wanted. Why would your hand be any different? Certainly it fell under the same bracket (and really, an argument could be made that he had your loyalty regardless–this was just a title). 

It was justified in his mind the moment the words hit the mic. It just sounds right– Y/N Stark. Like he should have made it that way a long time ago. For a second, the ceaseless pit of vengeance is taken over by something more. 

It;s even easier to justify when he gets a wave of childlike excitement over it. Imagining the ring on your finger, the life he could have with you. Palm trees and salt waves on a remote coast. No more Stark Industries, no more nightmares about cold federal prisons, just you and him. 

Then, in the crowd, he spots what must be Pepper’s lookout. A short, brayish man stays still while dozen roar in congratulatory apologize. Pepper should’ve coached him better, a clear sore loser in a room full of winners. 

The real reason he’s doing this comes back. Tony makes a quick signal to the guard behind him, and moments later the man is escorted upstairs. He used to hate doing this. But he soon learned that humanity gets you nowhere in this business. Still, he almost tells his team to go easy. Then he remembers the cold look on Pepper’s face at the valley while he plead for mercy like a sad dog. 

Fuck that. The man knew the risks. It’s not Tony’s fault they didn’t play in his favor. 

Out of whatever kindness was left, he makes a note to have his body dumped somewhere nice. 

PART SIX SOON

[capitalisticveins]

Seeing as how you're doing headcanons again i'd like to request hcs of Gavin,Milo,Sam,Vincent,and Guy( btw here's a thought for ya Guy as Hermes dangerous has stuck in my head for the past couple hours send help) also your previous hc were also great!(you could say they were ruthless ha ha ha im sorry that was bad lol)

~ Deviant anon （⊃◕ω◕(´ω｀*⊂)

idk if you can tell but I really like Guy

also I wrote headcanons for some character recently so characters like Gavin, Sam, and Milo have them a lil short than Vincent and Guy since it takes a while to think about possible in-character hcs for them. Sorry :(

Lots of Headcanons #3

Gavin

Believe it or not, Gavin’s social media accounts are usually blank. Save for Instagram. He just has them to comment under the group’s posts.

Despite never reading a book, Freelancer has told him he’d do best in the writing industry.

He does not know how to hold a baby. If you give him a baby for any reason he’d hold it with both of his hands under its shoulders.

The worst he’s been scared was when he played a horror VR game, but he didn’t scream or anything he really just jolted and went “shit” and moved on. Freelancer was not amused.

He likes being the big spoon when he and FL cuddle because he gets to breathe in their scent, hold them, and remind himself that this is real, and not just a dream he’ll wake up from.

Milo

You can’t beat him in cup pong. Digitally or physically. You just can’t.

The only reason David is considered a better cook than Milo is because Milo uses a lot of seasoning and the pack is full of babies who can’t handle oregano or sazón.

Whenever the pack goes somewhere tropical he has to wear a shirt or Sweetheart will constantly attempt to latch onto his torso.

Milo and cats have always gone together like peanut butter and jelly. He had a cat toy when he was a toddler, his first cell phone had a stray cat as his wallpaper, he’d feed the stray cats around his home, etc. So when he learned that he and the people around him could turn into “dogs” (wolves but still) he was DEVASTATED. Got over it after a day tho.

He likes juice boxes.

Avid Apple Juice “tastes like piss” hater, although he also says mint ice cream tastes like toothpaste so take that as you will.

Sam

Sam fucking hates cowboys.

Sam had braces from the ages of 19-21 and the only upside he had to being a vampire when he first turned was that he didn’t need his retainer anymore.

Sam always reads manga wrong and no matter how many times anyone explains it he’ll read it from left to right and never understands what’s going on.

The closest Sam has gotten to riding a horse is when he flopped on top of Darlin’s back while they were shifted and they walked around his house like that…he’s never been on a horse.

Sam has a lot of existential crisises, compared to like Vincent or Porter.

If something's flying and he can't figure out if it's a plane, helicopter, animal, or any identifiable flying object, he just believes it's an Alien UFO and moves on.

Darlin' gave him a wheat head for Christmas once. He was not amused.

Vincent

Wanted to be a youtuber for a brief period in time in 2010.

Had a weird obsession with those traced anime characters dancing tiktoks in 2020, a little after meeting Lovely.

He canonically has multiple cars he likes showing off to Lovely, but he also nearly never uses them and it’s Lovely who showboats them and takes them on joyrides.

He didn’t believe William at first when he was first told he’s a vampire now and was the only one who survived The Surge incident, until they both saw his funeral take place and see his grave, which took place a long time after the accident because his parents refused to believe he was dead.

He had 3 tomodachis at once and they all constantly died because he forgot feeding them was a thing.

He commonly "regrets" asking William to make him unable to lie to Lovely because they like to ask him embarrassing questions on purpose and he can’t help but answer them, even though he could just stay quiet.

His favorite memory as a kid was roller skating with his parents on his 7th birthday. Even though he fell on his face, sprained his ankle, and had a loose tooth fall out. Still his favorite day.

Guy

GUY IS SO HERMES CODED UR RIGHT

Turned a fanfic he wrote as his college essay and got in just because of it.

Was very afraid of Honey when they first met, they kept staring at him like he was the scum of the Earth. They just wanted to talk to him about the Animal Crossing pin on his backpack.

Whenever his friends order from Max’s, and he turns out to be their delivery guy, they make fun of him so much (playfully) and give him a 10 dollar tip

He borrowed his friend’s motorcycle to impress Honey

Cried over Gnomeo and Juliet

Dressed up as the Thomas Jefferson Miku Binder drawing in 2023.

He almost gave himself a buzzcut once when he was drunk, he had to be held down because everyone knew he’d regret it so hard later, not matter how funny it’d be.

[ikeasharksss]

also: in tlt, percy meets other young people in the lotus hotel & they're still Young. here's an excerpt from my Literal Physical Copy of the book, pages 261 & 262.

so from here we know that, no matter how long you spend in the hotel, you're aging process stops, or at least slows down so significantly you don't notice. percy says darrin was "about 13," & then darrin says the year is 1977. going off percy's assumption, darrin would be born in 1964. and Then, going off publishing years, darrin would (chronologically) be 41 at this moment, since 2005 - 1977 = 28, & 28 + 13 = 41.

But Darrin Is About 13. There Is Nothing 41 About Him, even though he has been in the hotel for 28 years.

additionally, bianca goes into the lotus hotel at about 13, too. but when percy meets her in ttc, he doesn't go "wow look at that 70yr old woman." bc bianca barely aged!!!!!

so, no, there is no canon evidence saying that nico is anything other than a teenager. the only thing you can argue that makes him older is irrelevant to the plot & his character. you're right, @bugwolfsstuff & @luvingsolace

OH MY GOD IT FINALLY HAPPENED

SOLANGELO GOT PUT ON ONE OF THOSE AGE GAP SHIPS SLIDESHOWS

I KNEW ONE DAY IT WILL HAPPEN

PEOPLE ARE FUCKING STUPID, I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN ONE DAY

AND IT DIDDDD!

This is the happiest day of my life

[your-unfriendlyghost]

i love your matt dillon-se hinton-verse au where dally is tex and mark’s half-brother but i was wondering is rusty-james also a part of this au? (since he’s also played by matt)

Good point. Honestly, I haven’t thought much about that- which is weird cos I really like Rusty-James honestly. Idk, for some reason to me, Rumble Fish feels like a whole other world compared to the one of Tex, TWTTIN, and the Outsiders. I blame the movie for that, since it’s so art house and surreal.

If Rusty-James is in this AU, then he’s the same age as Tex. If they ever meet, it’s at Buck’s place- Tex is there ‘cos that’s where Dally lives, and Rusty-James is there to try and fail at hustling pool. They’re both impulsive rule-ignore-ers with a penchant for chaos- so they get along great.

Meanwhile, Mason hates the Motorcycle Boy’s guts. He’s never met the guy, but he hears what Tex’s weird little hood friend says about how tough the Motorcycle Boy is- and Mason thinks he’s a bad influence on Rusty-James. Who, in turn, is a bad influence on Tex. This hatred is one sided, as the Motorcycle Boy isn’t aware of Mason’s existence.

Idk if anyone ever finds out that Rusty-James is another half-brother. Maybe Dally has a passing suspicion, but he doesn’t think hard about it. Rusty-James has a dad. Dally’s not gonna bother pursuing it. His dad was a whore- if Dally adopted every half sibling he has out there, he’d have enough kids around to start his own gang bigger than any of the gangs in Tulsa.

TL;DR- Rusty-James and Tex briefly are friends, for like a summer maybe. Rusty-James probably doesn’t even remember Tex by the end of Rumble Fish. Tex remembers tho, and sometimes wonders about that kid who looked and acted so much like himself that he hung around with when he was twelve…

If they ever meet again, Tex won’t see any resemblance to himself anymore, and Rusty-James won’t recognize Tex at all. Sorta a bummer, but hey, Rumble Fish is sorta a bummer too (love it tho)

Slightly unrelated random hc- At this time (like 2 years pre-Rumble Fish canon) The Motorcycle Boy is really into local author P.M. Curtis’s book “The Outsiders” and relates a lot to the character “Dean Marlboro” who totally isn’t Dallas Winston, killed off for dramatic effect. He has no idea that his kid brother is hanging around with his hero’s kid brother.

[laiqualaurelote]

writers ask from ages ago! 9, 10, & 11 🖤

thank you for the asks! (from this ask game, never too late to play)

9. What is your favourite line/interaction in your fic?

I'm really fond of this exchange from gig officially gigged:

That said, Crystal has zero clue what’s actually transpired between Edwin and Thomas, and Edwin certainly isn’t telling.  “If you must know,” he informed them primly, “he asked me to play for him. That is all.” “Oh yeah?” Crystal demanded while Charles seethed. “What’d you play?”  “Just the classics. Clair de Lune, that sort of thing. It was hardly a chore.” “Huh,” said Crystal. “Guess you really put your whole Debussy into it.” Charles put his fist through the drywall. “Oops, innit,” he said balefully when they turned to stare.

10. What is your favourite AU? Have you written anything for it?

My dream AU is a noir AU and I have never successfully written a full one! the closest I've ever come is the saviour of the broken, the beaten, and the damned, in which Edwin as a noir detective is the framing narrative for the time travel AU. I would love to do a proper one someday though.

11. Is there anything important in your fic you think readers have missed/overlooked?

I would like to talk a little bit about Maren in still my heartbeat with your bare hands! she is the only female character (my bad - that said, question mark over the gendering of Edwin's Hell-forms?) and she is acting as a cup-bearer and most likely a peace-weaver (a woman from a warring tribe pledged in marriage to prevent further bloodshed), in the way the queens Wealhtheow and Hygd do in Beowulf. (Maren trying to give Charles the torc is a reference to the necklace Wealhtheow gifts to Beowulf after he kills Grendel, which he then regifts to Hygd). I thought it would be fitting for Maren to be a cup-bearer in this AU because in canon that is sort of what she is, and also it is how she manages to poison Brad and Hunter, because she is expected to be the one pouring their drinks.

Maren is the one name that I would not have had to change, had I Anglo-Saxonified the characters' names (Ceorl, Ēadwine, Sæmund, etc). One etymology of the name links it to the Proto-West Germanic 'mari', from which you get the Old English 'mere'. Another suggests it is a Danish variant of 'Maria', which is related to...you guessed it! Mary-Ann. So I like that even though she and Edwin do not meet in this AU, there's this connection between his canon death and his AU dwelling, woven together in her name.

[juneboat]

glad to see on Twitter of all places that i'm not the only one that dislikes frans ( frisk x sans, for the uninitiated ). it's always been weird to me and it is most definitely just selfshippers who are too cowardly to take the "i have a heterosexual crush on sans" bullet so they make the Child Protagonist take it instead

[deonideatta]

Happy new year besties, here's modern au Loid with baby/toddler Anya

[dat1angel]

When Ra's needed an heir, Talia impregnated herself with The Detective's DNA to give him the perfect offspring. When she delived fraternal twins the boy was raised to one day take over the League and the girl was kept around so that she might one day provide the LoA with new recruits. When she came of age and learned that the only reason she was kept around was the idea of her future children, she fled. They never found her.

Years later, Duke Thomas introduces his family to his new boyfriend, Danny Fenton.

[bmpmp3]

finding out ur coworker is way older than you thought and having to very quickly reorient how you talk to them

[sesamenom]

silmaril-gazing, maglorath (peaceful) vs maglorath (dagor dagorath)

plus a version with the same palette on both sides