#where Annie is screaming and sobbing on the floor

[cadaver-moss]

Sorry I haven’t been posting my art as much, depressive episodes take a lot out of me

[chvoswxtch]

part two: the secret

[series masterlist] | [part one] | [part three]

pairing: billy russo x fem!reader

summary: if the police can't help, who can you turn to?

warnings: swearing, heavy angst, mentions of murder, conversation about past domestic abuse, mentions of alcohol, billy once again being a cocky lil shit

word count: 3.8k

a/n: y'all never fail to blow me away with how lovely & kind y'all are. i'm so happy you're all enjoying spooky slutty season so far. it's getting heavier in this chapter, but we're one step closer to the goods. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Annie was looking at you in a mixture of concern and apprehension. When she heard your scream piercing through the silence of the apartment, she’d immediately rushed into your bedroom, where she’d found you on your knees on the floor, hyperventilating as panicked tears rushed down your cheeks. She had desperately begged you to tell her what happened, but you couldn’t speak through your choked sobs. You just kept pointing to your phone that was face down on the hardwood, but when she picked it up, she didn’t see anything except your lock screen.

For the past twenty minutes, you’d been sitting on the edge of your bed, almost completely catatonic. It felt as though your body had gone into shock and just completely shut down. Your brain seemed to slip into a mental panic room, locking itself away behind steel soundproof walls those traumatic memories couldn’t break through. But you knew you couldn’t stay there, as badly as you wanted to. You had to come out, and you had to come clean.

Annie slowly reached out and placed her hand on top of one of yours that was in your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

A fresh wave of helplessness built up along your bottom lash line, and your voice was weakened with defeat when you finally spoke.

“He found me.”

Annie tilted her head to the side slightly as she looked at you, a crease of confusion forming between her dark brows.

“Who found you Y/N?”

Closing your eyes, stray tears slipped down your damp cheeks. You had hoped this day would never come. The fear of your past catching up to you had been in the back of your mind for the last three years, but you never thought it would rear its ugly head in such a horrific way. Letting out a shaky breath, you opened your glossy eyes and turned to look at Annie in despondency.

“I need to tell you something.”

You hadn’t told a soul the truth about who you were since you moved to New York. No one here knew that you’d come here to completely start over with a brand new identity. No one knew what you had run from. You thought it was safer that way. 

Annie looked at you warily, her dark brown eyes searching your own as she waited for you to speak.

“My real name is Cassia. I’m not from New York, I was born in California. I grew up there. I…I do have a family. I lied about that. But I haven’t seen or spoken to them in three years.”

“I don’t understand-”

“I had a boyfriend. He-”

Closing your eyes, you felt your anxiety start to crest again. For the past three years, you tried so hard to push it out of your head. You told yourself that was someone else, that those memories belonged to someone else. You weren’t her anymore. That girl…she was gone. You’d burned every trace of her and rose from the ashes someone new. Those painful memories, those emotional scars, you’d buried them in the deepest, darkest part of your mind, but they wouldn’t stay dead.

Annie’s puzzlement broke apart into sympathy as she heard the grief in your voice. She could see it in your eyes, the reason behind your painful secret. She gave your hand a light and reassuring squeeze, speaking in a gentle voice.

“Was he…?”

Swallowing the lump that had lodged in your throat, you nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, a few more tears slipped down your face as you ripped open your own wounds that had never seemed to heal, letting all the lingering shame and sorrow bleed out.

“I should’ve left the first time it happened. I knew it then. I just…I didn’t want to believe it had happened. I didn’t want to believe that I was like those other women…that I was like my mother. I knew what an angry man looked like. I knew how he spoke, and how he acted, and what his footsteps sounded like. I told myself that was never going to be me, you know? It wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I…I knew better. I watched my mom go through so many of them, I knew what the signs looked like, and I just…I missed them somehow…and then I ignored it. I made excuses, I tried so hard to convince myself…that it was different…that I was different.”

You never wanted to be a victim, and you never thought you would be. For the first nine months, Roman had been an almost perfect boyfriend. He was sweet, and funny, and he always looked at you like you were the only person in the room, even from the beginning. He always knew exactly what to say, and what to do, and you had thought you’d found someone that just…understood you, in a way no one else ever had. He was just so incredibly goddamn charming.

But most psychopaths are.

He’d lured you into a false sense of security, manipulated you into letting your guard down, and you’d foolishly gifted him your trust. He didn’t just break that, he broke you.

Roman’s apologies were always so sincere, and you got trapped in the cycle. He would confess to his problems, promise to get help and stop drinking, and swore things would change. And it would, for a while. The calm before the storm was so peaceful, you couldn’t see the ominous clouds darkening over your head. He swore that he loved you, but his version of love was controlling and manipulative, and it was intense. It became obsessive and violent, and his volatile temper left your heart and spirit maimed and your body bruised. He said that he loved hard, but he hit harder. 

The night you finally decided to leave him was the night that permanently altered everything. It didn’t just change your life, it changed you.

“The last time I saw him, he almost killed me. Our neighbors had heard me screaming. They were the ones that called the police. I had already blacked out when they arrived. I woke up in the hospital with a concussion and a crushed windpipe. And you know what’s fucking crazy? He only did two months in jail, because it was his ‘first offense’.”

A bitter and dry laugh left your lips that sounded more like a scoff. You’d been too terrified to feel anger back then. At that time, all you could feel was immense relief that he was locked away somewhere that he couldn’t get to you. But now, anger was all that you felt. The more you thought about the situation, the more white hot searing rage had the blood in your veins sizzling. 

“I got a restraining order, but it didn’t stop him. The only reason I was even able to get it was because the cops walked in on him choking me to death. As soon as he got out of jail, he was back. And he didn’t just threaten me, he threatened everyone around me. I was scared. I didn’t know what else to do, so I ran. I ran as far away as I could get. I changed my name, I changed everything about myself, and I started over. I had to cut everyone out from my old life in Woodsboro, to keep them safe.”

Three years ago, you’d just vanished. The terror he instilled in your bones had run deep into the marrow. You couldn’t even say goodbye to anyone. All you’d been able to part with was a hastily written note containing a heartfelt apology to your mother, and you’d fled to sanctuary across the country. New York was home to millions of people, and you thought you’d be safe as a ghost in the bustling streets. You thought you could be invisible.

“I just…I don’t even know how he found me. I’ve been careful, I haven’t told anyone about this. I just…I don’t understand. And now Adam’s dead-”

“Wait, you think he killed Adam?”

“He told me he did. He was the one who called me on the phone. I know it was him. His voice was different…but he said my name, Annie. My real name.”

Annie was staring at you in a mixture of shock, fear, and a hint of pity. You hated that look. You hated being on the receiving end of it. And you hated that you were now a dangerous burden, a liability to her otherwise peaceful life. If you weren’t safe, that meant she wasn’t safe, and you could see in her eyes that she knew that. As she glanced down at your phone, you could see her swallow thickly. 

“We need to go to the police.”

»»———　　———««

“What do you mean you can’t do anything? Did you hear any of what I just said?”

“Miss Y/L/N, the restraining order is in California, and it’s not under your current name.”

Detective Craven met your incredulous gaze with an expression of pity. His partner, however, did not share his condolences.

“Why didn’t you mention this two days ago?”

Turning your attention to Detective Williamson, the outrage you felt at his underlying accusation was clear on your face and in your sharp tone.

“Because it’s not your fucking business. You told me Adam got mugged-”

“We theorized it was a robbery gone wrong-”

“Theorized, confirmed, what fucking difference does it make? Those were your words. You said that’s what happened, so I had no reason to think it was connected to my psychotic ex boyfriend, who now not only knows where I am, but fucking called me to confess to murdering Adam. And now, you’re telling me you can’t do a goddamn thing about it because of, what? Red fucking tape?”

Detective Craven raised both of his worn hands in a placating gesture as he looked between you and his partner.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just take it down a notch.”

He shot his partner a warning glare, and Detective Williamson held his hands up in a show of surrender as he let out an irritated exhale through his nose. Turning his attention back to you, Detective Craven placed his hands on his hips.

“Miss Y/L/N, listen to me. I don’t want you to think we’re not taking this seriously, alright? Unfortunately, our hands are tied though. We don’t have any evidence from the crime scene, and the call on your phone came from an unknown number. We don’t have anything concrete to link this to Roman Walker.”

Just hearing his name out loud for the first time in three years was enough to make you feel like someone had just pressed the steel tip of a cold blade to the back of your neck. Detective Craven could see the raw paranoia in your eyes and the way you physically reacted to Roman’s name. Letting out a deep sigh, he reached out and placed both of his hands on your shoulders and spoke in a calming voice.

“Y/N, you did the right thing coming to us. You gave us a suspect with a motive, that gives us a lot to work with now, alright? Just because we don’t have any evidence right now doesn’t mean we won’t find any. Now we know who we’re potentially looking for, and that’s a step in the right direction. So please, trust me when I say that I will do everything I can to keep you safe. Until then, please just be careful.”

You rubbed both of your palms down your face in a stressful manner, a deep exhale of frustration blowing through your flared nostrils. Throwing your hands up in exasperation, they both dropped to your sides with a light smack against your jeans as your body physically deflated.

“So what am I supposed to do? Wait for another threatening phone call? Another person near me to get killed?”

“Just take some precautions. Be vigilant, don’t go anywhere alone, maybe look into a security system in the meantime.”

A light scoff left your lips at his suggestions and you shook your head in complete disbelief. As you stormed out of Detective Craven’s office, you slammed the door shut behind you with a little more force than necessary at your exit. Annie quickly jumped up from where she’d been sitting outside, looking at you warily.

“What did they say?”

“To go fuck myself, essentially.”

Meeting Annie’s disapproving look, you sighed and placed one of your hands on your hip while your other ran through your hair stressfully.

“There’s no evidence, they can’t trace an unknown call, and the restraining order isn’t in my name or in this state.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. So that’s it?”

“Yeah, their advice was pretty much to do everything I already do as a woman just existing.”

Annie let out a frustrated exhale of her own, glaring at the door of the detective’s office before brushing her golden blonde hair away from her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, fuck that. We’re gonna figure something out.”

In the midst of your outrage at the situation, one of Detective Craven’s suggestions suddenly stood out in your head.

“Maybe look into a security system in the meantime.”

You didn’t know anything about security or even where to start, but you knew someone who did.

“Actually, I think I know who can help.”

»»———　　———««

“You know, four months is a hell of a long time to make a guy wait for a second date.”

Glancing up from your drink, you watched as Billy took a seat at the bar next to you, flashing you his signature charming smirk. Rolling your eyes, you fought to contain your amusement as you lifted the beer bottle to your lips.

“That was not a date, and this isn’t one either.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle, signaling the bartender over with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, you called me. And, you brought me back to the place we first met. That’s pretty romantic, even if this is a shitty dive bar. ”

Billy turned on the bar stool to face you, a glint of mischief in his dark brown eyes as the edge of his lips curled into a smirk. Giving him a quick once over, you noticed he was dressed a lot more casually. You almost swore it was the exact same outfit he’d worn the night you met him.

“I thought someone as high maintenance as you would be a lot harder to please.”

Shaking his head at your quip, Billy grinned as he brought his own beer to his lips.

“Careful, you keep sweet talkin’ me like that, I might think you actually like me.”

“Oh well we can’t have that.”

Your lips were spread in a faint teasing smirk as you took another sip of your beer. Billy set the bottle down on the bar, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He eyed you curiously as he gave you his full attention.

“Alright, so if this isn’t a date, what is it then?”

Your eyes flickered towards Billy’s before glancing down at the green glass bottle in your hand. The edge of the gold label was peeling on the top right corner, and you gently smoothed it down with your thumb, spreading a drop of condensation over the cold glass.

“What kind of security does Anvil do? I mean, I know it’s mostly military stuff, but…what about private protection for civilians?”

Billy’s amusement quickly faded into a more serious expression at your question. He didn’t miss the way your voice had become quieter, no trace of your usual dry sarcasm or sharp wit. He cocked his head to the side slightly, noticing that you wouldn’t look at him.

“What’s going on, Y/N?”

“I was just curious-”

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve never spared my feelin’s before, don’t start now. Talk to me.”

Turning your head to look at Billy reluctantly, you got a glimpse of the Marine that lingered dormant within him, hidden beneath the designer clothes and CEO title. Serious Billy was a completely different Billy. The intensity of his stare was almost unsettling. You weren’t sure what to do with this version of him. A part of you secretly longed for the cocky smartass side in this moment, wishing he’d slip another flirty quip into the conversation to bring levity to the heaviness settling in your chest.

He had a point though, you’d always been blunt with him, and if he was going to help you, you were going to have to tell him everything.

Glancing down at the bottle in your hands again, you let out a deep sigh of resignation. At least with Billy, you didn’t have to pull your punches. You didn’t have to dance around your words and take caution with how you laid this all out, not like you had to with Annie. Lifting your head, you turned to look at him again.

“No bullshit?”

Billy gave you a faint nod of his head, confirming that he wanted nothing but the raw, honest truth.

“No bullshit.”

Waving over the bartender, you ordered two double shots of tequila. You needed a little liquid courage to ease your nerves, and to ease the shake of anxiety in your voice. Billy watched you in curiosity tinged with concern as you downed the first with unnerving ease and set the empty shot glass down on the bar before turning to look at him again. The burn flowing down your throat and into the pit of your stomach like molten lava was a welcome distraction from the chilled fear that made your hands tremble. 

“Alright. Adam was murdered by my ex boyfriend, who’s the sole reason I moved across the country three years ago and changed my whole identity. He called me last night and confessed, but the police can’t do anything, because apparently they can’t trace an unknown call. Oh, and they can’t do anything about my obsessive stalker turned murderer ex boyfriend, because New York’s finest doesn’t have any fucking evidence, and my restraining order, which only ever seemed to be a really goddamn expensive piece of paper that meant nothing, can’t be enforced because we’re not in California, and it’s filed under my real name. So basically, I’m fucked.”

Downing the second shot, your face scrunched slightly as the clear alcohol started to burn in your lower stomach, the heat rising to flush in your cheeks. It made you feel a little lighter, melting that solid block of terror that had been weighing you down. Setting the glass down harshly on the bar, you licked the remaining tequila off your lips and turned to look at Billy, arching one of your brows.

“Questions? Comments? Concerns? More tequila?”

Billy’s dark brows rose slightly up his forehead as he stared at you silently for a moment. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, you couldn’t tell. 

“So, just to…make sure we’re on the same page here…you have a psychotic ex that forced you to move across the country, change your name, and he’s the reason the guy you went out with is dead. And you think you’re next.”

Blinking a few times, you opened your mouth to correct him, but there was nothing to correct. 

“That’s…a gross oversimplification, but yes.”

Taking a swig of your beer, your dark brows furrowed slightly as you set it back down and glanced at him with a faint scowl.

“I didn’t say I thought I was next though, asshole.”

“Oh, so the rant about NYPD being unhelpful and askin’ me about security for civilians is just small talk, then?”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, and the barely concealed sass in his voice made you want to slap him. As if sensing your thoughts, Billy let out a deep exhale through his nose as he regarded you with a more sympathetic expression.

“C’mon sweetheart. We agreed, no bullshit. You’re scared, and you got every reason to be. You need help, and you ain’t gettin’ it from the police.”

You had expected Billy to be far more smug about this. To bask in the fact that you needed his help, to hold it over your head, maybe even barter it for a date. It was almost a little unnerving that he was being so sincere and caring. You were just so used to him being an arrogant dick.

“I’m not gonna get on my knees and beg.”

Billy let out a light chuckle at that, giving a shake of his head before glancing at you with a familiar smirk.

“I’d never expect you to, sweetheart.”

Taking another swig of his beer, a look of contemplation crossed Billy’s sharp features.

“I guess it’s a good thing this isn’t a date then.”

Glancing at him in puzzlement, a crease formed between your brows as you set the green glass bottle down on the sticky wooden bar top.

“Why?”

Without missing a beat, Billy raised the bottle to his lips and shrugged casually.

“I’d hate to end up gutted in some alley.”

Billy had said those words so nonchalantly, with a deadpan expression on his face, that for a moment you were in shock. You should’ve been incredibly offended, or horrified by that crass comment, but instead, you were holding back a surprised laugh that threatened to escape. Your lips were puckered in an attempt to scowl as you slightly narrowed your eyes. Billy turned his head to look at you with faux innocence on his face and in his voice.

“Too soon?”

Seeing the way you were trying so hard to conceal your amusement, Billy’s lips slowly spread into a wolfish grin. Shaking your head, you brought your beer bottle to your lips to hide the way you were trying not to laugh or smile.

“You are such an asshole.”

Billy’s shoulders subtly shook as he snickered. His dark brown eyes flickered down to the green glass bottle in his left hand, and then he lifted his head to wave the bartender over again.

“Whiskey, neat.”

Turning his attention back to you, Billy could see the lingering look in your eyes that gave away how worried you truly were despite the front you were attempting to put up. He cleared his throat and leaned in a little closer, resting his arms on the bar as he gave a nod of his head in your direction and spoke calmly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Start from the beginning, tell me everything.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @ferns-fics @danzer8705 @to-thelakes @simonsgirl @sweetserendipity65 @zomtart @day-dreaming-goddess @caroblogsthings @thomasshelbyswife @snowkestrel @hallowedtangerine @ameliaswife @dreadfulxives18 @ebsmind @lllla717 @slumnit @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @nolita-fairytale @oliviaewl @r1kk @unlikelystarlightcowboy @imperihoe-writes

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’m really hoping you guys still like the long and fluffy chapters, because this is the longest and fluffiest chapter yet. Call this a calm before the storm, but the calm is tooth-rotting fluff and the storm is... a secret. Chapter Title from Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face

Word Count: 23.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone goes into lockdown, waiting for Stand Edgar to come through. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

It wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. You were burning and burning and burning, and Homelander was laughing. Holding you by your neck to make you watch as Neuman and Zoe and Hughie burned. Crushed under falling bricks, unable to escape Homelander, escape you. The longer you looked, the more people appeared. All burning. Butcher and Annie and MM and Frenchie and your sisters and brothers and father and- 

You couldn’t find Ben. Where was Ben. He didn’t leave you, he wouldn’t leave you, so where was Ben. You must have groaned his name, called for him, because Homelander yanks you back further, hissing in your ear.

“Soldier Boy won’t save you, because you don’t need to be saved. You belong here, with me. I love you, not him. He left, and I’m still fucking here.”

You shook your head. Ben wouldn’t leave you. Homelander must have found a way to kill him because Ben wouldn’t leave you.

“Are you sure about that,” Homelander sneered. “Because I don’t see him anywhere. But maybe I missed him. Here.” He lasered through the bodies and stone, guts and blood flying through the air and turning to ash. “Hm, nope. Still no Soldier Boy.”

You start to scream, and everything is just fire. Ben didn’t leave. He was somewhere, in pain, and you couldn’t find him. He couldn’t find you. And you were burning everything as Homelander laughed, because that’s what you were for. Homelander’s amusement, to help him burn the world, and you couldn’t find Ben-

Your sweat is cold, and evaporating around you. Scorching heat is drowning the air of the room, and the only thing that isn’t uncertain—isn’t melting or only drifting away in smoke—is something strong and powerful around you. Something grounding you in a world where your screams are becoming sobs, everything is hot but not burning, and Ben is there. He’s the thing around you, caging you against him as the dream faded and reality became sharp once more. It hadn’t been real. This was real. Ben was real.

He’s humming, and you can feel the sound in your bones. His voice really is terrible—he’s off key and offbeat and for someone who speaks in such a natural baritone his voice sure does crack a lot—but it’s more than enough. It rolls through you, and you don’t care how awful a rendition of Moon River this is, it’s Ben doing it. And that’s what brings you back down. It’s Ben who's humming, Ben whose hand is against your head, combing fingers through your hair. Ben who you can feel the warmth of as your fire dies out, and Ben who you can smell all around you. Pine and salt and gunpowder, not blood and barbecued flesh. Ben.

You pull back slowly and meet his eyes. His mouth is tight, jaw clenched, and he’s waiting for you to speak first. It takes a second, and your voice is hoarse from the screaming, but you find breath and croak, “How long was I out?”

“Almost thirteen hours. It’s 3am.”

“Did I wake yo-“

“No,” Ben grunts. “I was up. Working.”

You blink at him. “Working?”

“Making myself damn useful.”

You tilt your head at Ben, eyes quickly scanning to room for what he could mean. All the drawers and dressers are open, clothes are scattered in heaps that seem patternless across the floor, and Ben’s shield has been moved to the bedroom. The answer clicks, pushing through the exhausted haze of your brain, and you look back at him.

“Were you packing?”

Ben nodded curtly. “Starlight said they could keep Neuman in temporary lockdown, but they’ll be here in the morning to move us out.”

“Do you need help?”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Ben detangles from where he’s holding you, pulling the blanket up over you as he stands. “Rest.”

“I just slept for thirteen hours.” You say with a flat look, pushing the blankets away, and Ben glares down at you.

“And you’ll sleep for thirteen more.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you snap. “I want to help. I want to be useful-“

“You can be useful, and fucking rest,” Ben retorted, not budging. “I can pack my damn self.”

“Can you?” You look around the room again, at how he’s tried to sort everything into piles that you couldn’t make sense of if you tried. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you threw everything onto the floor and called it a day.”

He scowls. “I have a system.”

“Well, teach it to me, and I’ll help.”

“No.”

“Ben, please, I want to help. I need to help.” Any anger is quickly flooded by fear. Fear that you’re not useful, a burden, he’s not letting you help because you’ll just fuck it up and blow everything up-

“I told you, you’ll be helpful by fucking resting.” Ben leans down, holding your face gently between his hands. “You just took on a nuclear blast alone. Even for you that’s a shit ton of power, and you need damn rest. You're tired.”

He's right, you are tired. Your whole body is aching, and your eyes are heavy. Everything is heavy. But you still shake your head weakly.

“I just need to help,” you reach up to hold his arm and squeeze. “I’ll sleep in the van, and when we get to Jersey. Please.”

Ben sighs, and kisses your forehead. When he meets your gaze again, he’s searching your face for something, lips drawn in a frown. For a terrible moment you think he’s going to tell you just to sleep. That he’ll take care of it and that you’d be of more use asleep than helping him-

“If you stay in bed,” his voice is low and quiet. “I’ll be your arms and you can sort things your own stupid way.”

“Oh,” you nod, his hands still against your cheeks and jaw. “Yeah. Deal.”

He grunts, standing once more and walking to the center of the room. He turns, giving you an expectant look, and you survey his mess.

“So was there a method to your madness? Or were you just talking out of your ass when you said you had a system.”

“There was a goddamn system,” Ben grumbles, and you raise your brows at him. He sighs. “I can’t fucking remember what it was.”

You feel your mouth tug upwards. “Old man-"

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re no fun,” you’re smiling a little more, and he rolls his eyes. “We’ll start with two piles. Stuff that's yours and stuff that's mine.”

“How will I be able to fucking tell-"

“Do you wear bras, Benjamin?” You drawl, and he huffs.

“Brat.”

“I’m not the one who doesn’t know what his own clothing looks like. Two piles.”

Ben starts to shuffle through the room, throwing your things onto the bed and his next to his shield. You watch him move silently, hands fidgeting in your lap, and thank the universe that both of your wardrobes have been designed to withstand nukes. The way Ben is ripping everything from the floor and chucking them to their place he’d have probably torn everything he’s touched otherwise. At some point you realize that you’re wearing the same jeans and shirt from yesterday, and though they’re still technically intact the fabric is thin. One wrong movement from tearing. 

You start to stand, and Ben’s head snaps up from where he's been glowering at a pile of his boxers, your shirts, and mismatched socks. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“Going to the bathroom?” You give him a flat glare. “Am I allowed to do that, your highness?”

He grunts, attention returning to the pile. “Be fast.”

“I’m going to take the longest shit you’ve ever seen in your fucking life.”

You take several, slightly unsteady steps, and suddenly Ben’s arm is wrapped around your torso.

“I can walk-“

“I have fucking eyes,” he snaps. “You almost fell over.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“No, it’s not,” Ben scans over you, then around the complete mess of your room. “I’m going to carry you to the bathroom, you’re going to shit, and then you’re going right back to the fucking bed.”

He doesn’t leave time for argument, dropping down to hook his free arm under your legs and pulling you upwards.

“You know, I think you carry me more places than I walk at this point.” You mutter, and Ben rolls his eyes.

“I don’t see you fucking complaining about it.”

You shrug, “it doesn’t feel like a battle worth the effort.”

“Because you like it.”

“No, because it’s a stupid fight to have.”

Ben nods, winking as he lowers you onto the toilet. “And you like it.”

You glare at him as stands. “Fuck you.”

He chuckles, leaning down to quickly kiss you, and you lean forward into it. When Ben pulls away with a long suck of your lip, he’s smirking again. “Not until after you shit.”

“Wait,” you grab his arm as he moves to leave. “Can you get me some clothes?”

“Clothes?” Ben frowns. “For what?”

“Wearing?” You giggle at his scowl. “I need to change, these feel like they’re about to fall off my body.”

“I don’t see the issue with that.”

You whack his shoulder, pushing him out of your grip and back to the bedroom. “Shut up, you horny old man. Get me clothes.”

Ben leaves the bathroom with a grunt, closing the door behind him. You listen to him move around the room, tapping your foot in restless bounces, and right when you’re flushing a knock sounds on the door.

You stand, your legs a little steadier than before, and open the door. Ben is holding a large pile of shirts, pants, and underwear, still frowning as he looks down at you.

“This shit smelled clean,” he grumbles, thrusting the clothing forward. “Take what you want.”

Humming, you sort through your options. Ben seems determined not to let go of anything you don’t explicitly request, making this a little difficult, but you manage to turn through the pile without removing things from his arms. Most of the underwear is lacy and thin—you didn’t even know you owned anything like this—and you give him an amused look.

“I am almost positive I have clean underwear that isn’t lingerie.”

“You might,” he winks. “But I seemed to have missed it.”

“What if I just don’t wear underwear?” You tease, and Ben’s whole body stiffens. “Because I am not wearing,” you hold up a black pair made from the most itchy fabric you’ve ever felt, lined with bows. “These.”

“Promise?” He growls, staring at you with a gaze that’s far too intense for this early in the morning. You throw the underwear at his face, and he doesn’t even flinch.

You giggle, and he glares at you through the sheer material. Returning to the pile, you pull out a large, white t-shirt. “This is yours.”

“You’d look better in it.” Ben snaps his head forward, causing the underwear to fall back to the pile, and grins at you. “And just it.”

“Uh huh,” you wrinkle your nose at him, but still take the shirt anyway. “Pants?”

Ben nods at a single pair of shorts, and you glare at him.

“It’s the middle of February.”

“And? You’re a damn living furnace.”

“I can still feel cold.”

“We’ll get you a fucking blanket. You’re resting on the ride anyways.”

You sigh, but take the shorts, along with one of the slightly less lewd underwear options. “I’m never trusting you with clothing again.”

“Thank fuck.” Ben looks at the clothing in your hands. “You done?”

At your nod you think he’s going to close the door, but instead he drops all the clothing to the floor and reaches up to grab your face, pulling you towards him. You let out a small squeak of surprise, and he chuckles as your mouths meet.

It’s a long, gentle, lazy kiss. Sloppy and all tongue, one of Ben’s hands gliding into your hair as the other drops to wrap around you. He keeps going and going until you’re all but falling into him, and the moment your moans become his name he’s gone. Leaning back, smirking down at you as you try to catch your breath. You can feel him, all of him, the powerful thing in his chest and the hunger in his blood. It’s so painfully familiar, and it’s everything.

“Cunt,” you mutter through your teeth, and he laughs.

“Get changed, then get your ass back in bed.” He moves back down to kiss the scrunch of your nose, and then closes the door with a wink.

You flip him off through the wood, and hope he feels it. You have to lean against the wall of the bathroom to change—something you will never tell Ben—but you manage, and when you return to the bedroom it’s a little cleaner. Ben’s succeeded in separating the clothing into piles, and is glaring at your pile like it’s just insulted his mother.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, walking up behind him.

He doesn’t look away from the clothing. “You have too much fucking shit.”

“I’d say I have a pretty average amount of shit.” You hum, glancing at Ben’s own, much smaller pile. “It’s just a lot in comparison to your shit.”

Ben follows your gaze. “I have exactly as much as I damn need.”

You shrug. “As long as you’re happy with it. But don’t shit on my parade just because yours is tiny and pathetic.”

“As you’re aware,” Ben says your name with a smirk, arm slinging around your shoulders and tugging you into his side. “Nothing about me is tiny or pathetic.”

“I don’t think I am aware,” you meet his eyes, letting your challenge show across your face. “I think you need to prove it.”

He makes a deep sound that moves from somewhere in his chest to yours, and the lust almost explodes inside him. Inside you. Ben picks you up—your legs scrambling to wrap around him—and kisses your neck, then your jaw, then tugs at your ear with his teeth. He’s everywhere, crossing almost every part of your face with his mouth, holding you with one arm as the other roams your body. The only place he isn’t is where you need him the most, against your lips, pressing your tongue, inside you in the only way you can allow without completely shattering for him.

You fall back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress as Ben all but eats you alive, and your hands start to scrape at his back, up his neck, trying to leave some sort of impossible mark that proves he was here. That he did this to you, so the world will know that at some point he wanted you half as much as you need him. He still won’t just kiss you, biting and sucking and licking every single inch of your face except your mouth. If you could control yourself a little more, you’d stop moaning and whining his name to tell him to just kiss you.

“Ben,” you try to hiss or snap at him, but it’s just a breathless whimper against his ear. You’re starting to grind up into his body, and the groan that leaves his throat only spurs you on. “Fuck, Ben, you di-“

That does it. His mouth crashes into yours, burying you between the bed and him, just Ben, Ben, Ben, tasting like coffee and bruising you with his hands and the hunger and strength of everything in him. You think you scream his name into his mouth—you can hear a needy and loud sound but can’t really tell what’s happening to you save for the thirst and fervor for Ben—but he just keeps going, pressing his hips down until you’re pinned beneath him. You could live like this, you decide. Safe and desired under Ben’s body, nothing to worry about except trying to show him that he’s everything, no pain to feel except the ache all over you for him.

When Ben sits up, grinning down at you, he might be glowing. It might just be the haze and feverish heat he’s planted in your head, but you could swear he’s glowing. You try and pull him back down, but he just hangs above you, not ever moving an inch.

“Get your ass back down here, Benjamin,” it’s supposed to be a firm order, but even to your own ears it sounds like a plea. “You can’t just fucking do that-“

“Do what?” His voice is mockingly innocent, especially given the feral look in his eyes and the rumble of want you can feel from his chest. “You’re gonna have to be a little more fucking specific, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

He doesn’t take the bait this time, remaining right above you but still too far away. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ben leans down so he’s whispering in your ear. “All you have to do is fucking ask.” 

You almost do. You almost beg, give in, tell Ben to do whatever he fucking wants to you as long as he’s doing something. Anything. Everything. Just as long as it’s him. But that cruel voice that lives in the back of your head creeps forward, reminding you the truth. Too much. That’s too much. This will have to be enough because if you go any further you just fall into Ben forever. You’ll give him everything, because he’s everything, and when this is over you’ll have nothing. So you can’t give him all of you, and he doesn’t want it anyways.

You’re silent for a second too long, and you feel something confusing and rough pierce in your ribs from Ben’s body. But he just leans down, giving you one last gentle kiss before standing. Leaving the air around you cold and empty without him. He’s gone from view, and when you sit up you find him hauling out boxes from the hallway.

“Where did those come from?” You ask, still a little breathless, and Ben shrugs.

“The French Prick and Kimiko dropped them off around midnight. Said to use them for transporting shit.” Ben looks up at you. “The French Prick said Kimiko wants you to text her when you’re awake.”

“Oh,” you smile slightly, looking around the room. “Where’s my phone?”

“Left it in your jacket,” Ben jerks his head to the dresser. When you start to stand, he drops the boxes and shoots you a glare, stomping over to your jacket. “Sit the fuck down,” he grumbles, fumbling through the pockets. “I’m the fucking arms.”

“You need to pack, I can get my phone myself-“

“No,” Ben pulls your phone out, stalking to your side. “You need to sit there, be beautiful, tell me what to do, and stop fucking moving.”

You snatch the phone from his hand, sticking your tongue out at him even as your face heats. “I’m helping you unpack in Jersey, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“We’ll fucking see,” he grumbles. “Fucking Jersey.”

You snort as he returns to the boxes, watching him kick them across the floor. “What’s your agenda against Jersey? What did it ever do to you?”

“It’s a shit state for fucking pussies.”

“You say that about every state that isn’t New York or Pennsylvania.”

“That’s because those states are fucking worth something.”

“I thought your whole thing was loving America,” you cross your arms, tilting your head at him. “Only liking 4% of it isn’t very patriotic of you, Soldier Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ben grunts, attention still on the boxes. “And I don’t only like 4% of America.”

You hum. “If we go by state, 2 out of 50 is 4%. If we go by population, you might be just breaching 10%.”

“I like more than two states.”

“Really,” you give him a bored, disbelieving look. “Name one more state you like.”

“Massachusetts,” he looks up and winks. “It gave me you.”

“Kiss ass,” you mutter, and Ben chuckles.

“Yep.”

“Name one more,” you lean forwards a little, watching him hunch down to the clothing. “And divide them into smaller piles.”

“What?”

“The clothes, divide them into smaller piles. Pants with pants, shirts with shirts, etcetera.”

Ben shoots you an exasperated look, but starts to chuck his clothes around into slowly building bundles on the floor. “Fucking bossy,” he grumbles, and you scoff.

“You told me to be,” your tone is annoyed, but you can feel the smile stretching your face. “Name another state. California? That will get you a big population grab.”

“I fucking despise California,” Ben mutters. “Bunch of fake pussies with plastic tits taking boner pills.”

“What about Washington? First state to legalize weed. You love weed.”

Ben snorts. “Weed not being legal never fucking stopped me before.” He looks up at you with a frown. “MM said we could order shit now, right?”

“Yeah?” Ben opens his mouth, and you cut him off. “We are not ordering you drugs.”

He scowls. “Why the fuck not.”

“Because we’re literally moving to a federal building. We’re going to be living in the FBSA Headquarters. They’ll notice if you DoorDash cocaine.”

“What the hell is DoorDash.”

“Food delivery service,” you watch Ben start to throw clothing into the bins. “Are you not going to fold them first?”

“We don’t have time to fucking fold them.” He mutters, and you blink.

“Ben,” you say slowly. “What time are they coming by to pick us up?”

“Five.”

You look down at your phone, the clock reading 4:45, and look back up at Ben. “Benjamin-“

“I got fucking distracted,” he grunts. “You’re just as much to blame as me.”

“As I,” you correct, and he rolls his eyes. “And if you had told me-“

“You would’ve tried to help, and passed out on the floor.” Ben snaps, slamming the lid over the first box. “And we’ll be fine. We’ve got time.”

“But-“

Ben moves back to the bed, dragging the remaining boxes behind him. “I can fucking handle this. Text Kimiko.”

You glare at him, but open up your phone and poke through your messages. There’s one from MM—telling you about the van coming at 5am—two from Butcher that you don’t look at, and one from Mallory, asking you to clean the house before you leave. You would’ve, or at least tried to, if you’d gotten more than a day’s evacuation notice. So you send her an apology, and move onto the last unread message. 

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Are you ok?

I told Soldier Boy to make sure, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention

You glance up at Ben, who’s violently throwing your clothes into different piles.

“Can you please not rip my clothing,” you watch as he chucks a bra across the mattress.

“Your shit is built to withstand the goddamn sun. It won’t fucking rip,” Ben grumbles, but does throw the shirt in his hands less like he’s trying to pitch a fastball.

You look back down at your phone, responding to Kimiko.

I’m okay. Just tired.

You pause, watching Ben pick up the pile of pants at your side and dump them in the bin.

And Ben did tell me. He just has a resting bitch face.

The response comes almost immediately.

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Good

I’ll see you at the apartments

You blink at your screen, about to text back and ask why she’ll see you—because the team should be laying low after Neuman—and what she means by apartments plural, but Ben’s head shoots up, looking out the door and down the hall.

“Wha-“

Ben raises his hand, and you fall silent with a frown. His jaw clenches, dropping a pair of your jeans back into the bin, and says through gritted teeth, “There’s someone downstairs.”

“Ben-“ He’s walking out the door, and you hiss in a hushed tone after him. “Ben, it’s probably just Butcher-“

He glares back at you. “No it’s not. I know what Butcher fucking sounds like. Stay here and be quiet.”

“Benjamin-“

He’s gone, and your finger starts to tap anxiously. He said to stay here. And you trust him. But he’s also a paranoid ass, and might be about to attack Butcher or Hughie or MM because of it. But he said to stay here, and it might not be just one of your team members-

An unfamiliar voice shrieks from downstairs, and you don’t even think before you sprint out of the bed and down the stairs, skidding to a halt when you see Ben pointing a gun at an unfamiliar woman. She’s frozen in fear, shaking as Ben shouts at her.

“Who the fuck are you! Who do you wor-“ Ben looks up at you with a scowl, snapping your name. “I told you to fucking stay upstairs.”

“What the hell-“

“Take, take a step back and put your hands up,” a shaky voice interrupts you, and you look up to see another man—dressed in the same black suit as the woman—pointing a gun at you with a shaky hand. “Your behavior is hostile, and I will, I’ll shoot. I’ll do it.”

You sigh, realizing what’s happening. “Oh my god-“

“You shoot her and I’ll rip your fucking spine out and shove it up your goddamn asshole,” Ben roars, and the woman on the barrel end of his gun makes a weak sound.

“That’s, that’s a crime sir-“

“See if I give a single goddamn fuck-“

“Holy fucking shit,” you shout, raising your hands up. “Everyone calm the hell down, now.”

“Ma��am, I have been authorized to use force-“

“Fucking Butcher,” you mutter, before raising your voice and giving the man a glare. “I bet you have been. But shooting me will only make him,” you point to Ben. “Angry.”

“He, uh, he already seems pretty angry-“

“Angrier. Just put the gun down. That means you-“ you turn to Ben with a glare. “As well.”

“Not until they tell us who fucking sent them-“

“The FBSA, dumb dumb. They’re here to transport us, not try and kill us.”

Ben returns your glare. “You don’t fucking know that-“

“Yeah, I do.” You cross the room, over to the shaking man. His gun raises a little higher, aiming at your forehead, but he lowers it when he sees your bored expression. You stop in front of him, stepping to the side to give Ben a better view, and jab a finger at the man’s jacket. At the clearly displayed Agent Moore, FBSA badge pinned to it.

Ben scoffs, and lowers his gun. “How the fuck was I supposed to see that.”

“With your genetically enhanced vision?” You snap, and give the woman an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him, he’s not house trained.”

“Shut up,” Ben grumbles, and you stick your tongue out at him as you return to his side. “They could’ve damn knocked.”

“And you could’ve asked questions first and shot later.”

“I fucking did. Do either of them look dead?”

You look between the agents, both trembling in fear but very much alive. “No.”

Ben gives you a smug grin. “Who’s unobservant now?”

“Still you.”

“Um,” the woman—squinting at her chest you can make out Agent Cortez on her badge—looks between you and Ben nervously. “We’ve been told by Director Grace Mallory and William Butcher to collect you both and bring you to the FBSA headquarters.”

“We’ve fucking figured that out-“

“We,” you raise your brows at Ben. “Who’s we?”

“Christ on a cross,” Ben mutters, only loud enough for you to hear, and you smile sweetly at him. “She,” Ben gives you a pointed glare. “Figured that out.”

“Will you, will you be compliant?” The man—Agent Moore—fidgets with his gun, and you feel Ben tense against you.

“Yes, we will be.” You elbow Ben. “Right?”

“Whatever.”

You roll your eyes, and look back at the agents with a close-lipped smile. “He’s grumpy.”

“Stop calling me fucking grumpy-“

“Stop being grumpy. And give the agent her gun back.”

Ben scowls. “No.”

“Ben-“

“I’ll be compliant,” his face twists at the word, lips curling like it’s disgusting on his tongue. “But I keep the fucking gun.”

You sigh. “Fine. Do you need help with the clothes-“

“No.” Ben shoves the gun between his pants and body and glares at the FBSA agents. “Wait here. And if they try anything-”

“They literally can’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.” You give him a slight pout. “But if you’re really worried, I’m sure I could come with you and help-“

Ben snorts, and turns to climb back up the stairs. “Nice try, brat.”

“Cunt!” You call after him, flipping off his back.

His laugh echoes through the house, and vanishes into your bedroom.

You glare at the spot he vanished, and turn back to the living room and to see the agents watching you with wide eyes and pale faces.

“Uh, I’m really sorry about that. But he’s kind of…” you sigh. “Vigilant. And I think we were both expecting someone from our team-“

“Is it true that you’re more powerful than Homelander?” Agent Moore blurts, and your blood turns cold.

“I, uh, I don’t-“

“Jerry,” Agent Cortez hisses at Moore, still looking at you wearily. “Director Mallory said not to talk to them-“

“But you saw her file!” Moore whispers back, also not looking away from you. “And we watched the Firecracker videos together-“

“Shut up,” Cortez snaps, voice dropping to an almost panicked, hushed tone. “We’re just supposed to get them and go. Not ask questions about their powers.”

“But her powers are confusing! She has like a million!” Moore wrings his hands, gun waving in the air. You should probably be worried about that, but you’re more annoyed with the whole conversation. You can understand why Ben was so whiny about this in December. It is annoying having people talk about you, in front of you, like you’re not there. And you do not have a million powers. You have—if you count the whole immortality thing—five.

“And there’s the whole weird thing with Homelander saying Soldier Boy kidnapped her!” Moore continues, still practicing terrible firearms safety. “But she doesn’t look kidnapped-“

“Shut up! Soldier Boy has super hearing!”

“But she doesn’t! This is weird, Lily! Yesterday the news is saying that Soldier Boy forced her to kill Vice President Neuman and Homelander arrived too late save them, then we’re getting a text at 1am saying to take them to HQ, and now-“

“I can hear you, you know,” you sigh. “And Ben didn’t kidnap me. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.”

Both freeze, watching you like you’re about to attack them. Cortez stutters out, “We’re sorry, we didn’t-“

She’s interrupted by Ben shouting your name down the stairs. “Where the fuck is your phone!”

“In my hand!” You call back. “Are you almost done?”

“Can you ask the FSBI pussies if they have blankets?!”

You frown. “Blankets?!” 

“For the ride!” Ben’s face pokes out of the door, drawn in a stupidly handsome glare. “You’re fucking napping on the way to Jersey, Sunshine.”

“Oh, piss off.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You can’t make me nap, I’m not a child-“

“I won’t have to make you, you’re going to sit down and pass out right the fuck out. You always pass out.”

“I don’t always pass out.”

“How many times have I carried you into the house?” Ben drawls, and you scowl.

“Fuck you.”

Ben winks, not with company over, Sunshine. You’ll make them deaf with all your damn screaming.

I’m going to fucking strangle you. You glower, and he chuckles, vanishing back into your room.

“Ask about the fucking blankets!” He yells, and you turn back to the agents with a sigh.

“We don’t have blankets,” Agent Cortez says nervously, looking past you, up the stairs. “Is he going to be mad?”

“He’ll whine like a little bitch,” you raise your voice to make sure Ben hears you. “But he won’t hurt you.”

“I am not a little bitch.” Ben appears back at the top of the stairs, somehow carrying three of the four large bins at once.

“But you whine like one.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, descending back into the living room. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re comfortable, is that a damn crime?”

“Not on its own, but if you murder a bunch of FBSA agents about it, yes.”

Ben drops the boxes on the floor, glaring at the agents. “You pussies think you can handle carrying these outside?”

“Um,” Cortez blinks at him. “That will restrict our view, and we’re not supposed to let you out of our sights.”

“Well, you already fucking failed there.” Ben snaps, and you stomp on his foot. “What?”

“Don’t be a dick, they’re doing their best.”

“If this is their fucking best, I’d hate to see their damn worst.”

You ignore him, turning back to the agents. “Can you please help us bring our stuff out to the car?”

“I guess…” Moore mumbles, and Ben nods sharply.

“Good,” Ben grunts, marching back up the stairs. “And if she tries to help you, shoot her.”

You sigh. “Please do not shoot me.”

“Then don’t try and fucking help!” Ben’s voice carries down the hall, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not made of glass, you asshole! I can carry a box!”

“Maybe,” Ben appears once more, holding the last bin and his shield, your jacket tossed over his shoulder. “But you shouldn’t goddamn have to.”

“I don’t have to,” you snap. “I want to help. I’m wide awake right now, and I feel fine. I’ll use a favor, Benjamin, don’t test me.”

“Fine. One box. The suits can carry the other two.”

You smile at him, wide and easy, and he just grunts. As Cortez and Moore awkwardly pick up their boxes you pull your jacket off of Ben and shrug it on. He doesn’t stop watching you—lips pulling down as you pick up your box—knuckles white on his own box.

You nudge Ben’s shoulder with yours as you walk to his side. “No sentimental goodbyes?”

“Goodbyes?” Ben’s voice is sharp, and you feel something contract in his chest. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“No, goodbyes to the house.” You blink at him, following the agents to the front door. “I’m going with you.”

“Good.” The thing loosens, and you could swear you hear Ben let out a small huff of relief. “And I’m not saying goodbye to a fucking house.”

“What, no emotional attachment to the sofa or the stove?” You tease, and Ben gives you a glare.

“Those are just fucking things. I don’t give a shit about a sofa. I can get a sofa anywhere.”

You hum. “Not at a McDonalds. Or a Sephora.”

“What the fucking hell is a Sephora.”

“You have a phone now,” you grin up at him. “Google it.”

“Why would I do that when you can just fucking tell me.”

“Because I won’t get to laugh at you trying to spell Sephora.” Ben scoffs, and you examine his bored, neutral face. Whenever your arms brush you can feel something that’s lazy and warm rooted in his chest, so it’s not like he’s bored of you-

Yet, the bitter voice reminds you. Bored of you yet.

“You really don’t give a shit that we’re leaving?” You ask softly, a little afraid of the answer. Afraid that he doesn’t give a shit about the house because it’s meant nothing to him. That’s he’s happy with this—with you—because of the lust, or because kissing you is just easier than trying to kill you. But he hasn’t been trying to kill you for a while, and the kissing only just started. But maybe that’s less about you and more about the convenience. He’s horny and you’re there. But he hasn’t pushed you, and if it was just about the convenience he would’ve fucked Drug Boobs at Frenchie’s weird club. Why didn’t he fuck Drug Boobs? If it’s about convenience why did he leave Drug Boobs? To find you, before the kissing had even started? Why did he go out of his way to get you home? Not home anymore, and why doesn’t he care about that? That it’s not home anymore? He doesn’t have to care, but why doesn’t he? Why doesn’t he care-

“It’s just a fucking house. We can get another.” Ben’s grumble pulls you from your spiral, and you frown up at him.

“But-“

“You’re coming with me.” Ben says your name, voice firm as he exits through the door. “That’s all I give a fuck about.”

Your whole body becomes warm, even as you follow him into the chill of the winter dark and wind. “Okay,” you whisper, and Ben looks down at you. His face is cast in shadows, and golden light of the street lamps makes him glow. It’s not just the haze of your thirst from before. He’s shining.

“Are you going to get fucking mad at me if I kiss you?” he grunts, and the shake of your head feels frantic.

“Never-“

Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping his bin and shield and crashing into you. His warm hands holding your face, calluses rough against your skin, making you feel holy. Making you feel so safe under the wide night, because all of the sky and its stars could fall and collapse onto you and it would still just be Ben. The gravity of him would keep you close, and he’d hold the sky, and you’d worship him for it. Give him everything you have and more for making you feel this. For touching you like you’re not broken and shattered and missing pieces that are covered in ash and blood somewhere in upstate New York. For holding you like he could fill the cracks lining your head with gold and fire and him. That’s what makes you drop your own bin—your hands shooting up to sink into his hair and rest on his beard as his own arms drop to circle you—and push back into him with every single part of you that’s still worth something. Worth half as much as the zealous way he’s touching you, worth a quarter of the enormous and consuming ardor that’s climbing from Ben into you. Making every part of you beat against your body, telling you to maybe just carve your soul out of wherever you keep it and give it to him.

When you’re both breathless—your body alert and electric and that powerful thing in Ben like thunder—you separate in unison. Ben rests his head against yours for a second, one arm tight around you as its opposite moves a hand to your face, tracing your cheekbones lightly. He’s watching you, you’re locked into him. His eyes and smell and body and Ben. It’s when his hand moves a lock of your hair, plastered to your forehead from sweat, that you feel the weight of it crash into you. This is everything. This is the whole world, this is more than the whole world. This is you and Ben, and you-

One of the agents coughs, and Ben’s head snaps any from you, jaw clenched with his arm around you. “What the fuck do you want.”

“Um,” when you manage to look away from Ben, you see Moore looking between you with a blush. “Mr. Butcher just asked us to please hurry up.”

“Butcher said that?” You frown, and Moore scratches the back of his head.

“He used some other words too. And didn’t say please.”

“Other words, as well,” Ben corrects, and you feel a rush of pride through him. Through you—something dangerous and close to breaking out of your body swelling—even as you sigh.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“And that’s your fucking cross to bear, Sunshine.” Ben presses a kiss to the top of your head and peels himself away. Picking up his shield, his box, and your box. “Now get your beautiful ass in the car.”

“Give me back my box-“

“I can’t hear you,” Ben starts to walk away and you can hear the cocky smirk on his face as he says your name.

“Yes you fucking can. Don’t play dumb with me, Pretty Boy-“

Ben drops his shield and the boxes in the trunk of the agent’s SUV. “You’re tired.”

Your whole body suddenly feels like there's a weight on it, your head falling to a sleepy daze. “Stop fucking doing that.”

“Doing what?” Ben’s face is a picture of mock innocence as he returns to your side. “I didn’t do a damn thing.”

“Fucking cunt-“

“Brat.” Ben scoops you into his arms, carrying you into the car. The concrete, unyielding care and protection of Ben wraps through you, dragging sleep closer.

“I could’ve walked,” you mumble against his skin, your head buried in his neck.

“But you fucking didn’t, so here we are.”

You hum a muffled, faint insult—even you don’t know what it’s supposed to be—Ben chuckles. It rumbles through your guts and sits comfortably somewhere in your hips, and Ben’s grip loosens just enough for you to slide down his body as he sits. You can feel his warmth, smell the pine and gunpowder of him, and he’s humming again and god it’s terrible, but it’s somehow the best sound you’ve heard in your life. His hands start to trace patterns against where he’s holding you, and your whole body goes limp as your mind clears to Ben.

You don’t even know where you are. You could be buried in the sand of a desert, or floating through somewhere far in space, or dropped in the middle of the arctic circle, but it wouldn’t matter. Because Ben is touching you, kissing you until you can’t think about stupid things like where you are. It’s just Ben, it’s just you, and everything else is temporary. This is sacred, and could destroy the universe if you wanted it to. And when everything else was gone, it would still just be you and Ben.

He’s everything beautiful that’s ever existed. He’s the ocean in the summer, vast and consuming and the more you look the more you realize there’s no end. He’s the stars you prayed to as a child, so rare and peaceful when the city's blaring car horns and glowing billboards always drowned out the sky, such a small solace to see from the roof when your eyes were blurred with tears. He’s the songs you loved to sing when it was easy and uncomplicated—in the car and in the shower and into a microphone until drunk frat boys bought you a drink—making you feel like a little more than just a heart in a wide world, making you feel like there’s something you can shape with your will as your voice called like a siren to passers by. He’s every drop of sugar that’s ever hit your tongue, every soft patch of grass under your feet, every single smile and laugh and victory.

He’s above you, and kissing you, and touching you on every part of your body and in some spaces between. He’s growling filth into your ear, but it’s all just a blur of deep sounds that fall in time with your moans. Grinding against you and sucking your upper lip. Nose bumping yours and strong hands kneading your skin and ass and breasts. Knee pushing between your legs and tongue tracing your teeth. It’s all just Ben, and he’s yours. He’s not leaving you to rot in this fever. He’s grown something in you and you’ve grown something in him and now they need each other. You need each other to keep them alive. These wrathful and bloody and forgiving and luminescent things inside you. That you could survive without, but don’t want to. You have them now, and if you have any sort of power over your life you’ll use it to keep them. Keep Ben.

Your eyes blink open, and the first thing you hear is a too happy, over-saturated ding. There’s the rumble of the engine, the beat of Ben’s heart where your head rests against him, and another ding. You raise your head up—rubbing your face and letting your eyes adjust a focus in the dark car—and Ben squeezes your hips where he’s still holding on his lap.

“Go back to sleep,” he grunts your name, and you look up at him through bleary eyes. “We’re almost there.”

“How do you know that?” You mumble, and he shrugs.

“We’ve been driving for a million fucking years, we have to be close.”

You twist around slightly to see the front of the car and raise your voice for the agents to hear. “Excuse me-“

“Soldier Boy is correct, ma’am,” Cortez answers you before you can even ask the question, and you feel the smug satisfaction run from Ben into you. “We have approximately seven minutes until arrival.”

“Thank you,” you turn back to Ben, and are met with his smirk and overly pleased expression.

“Fucking told you.”

“Shut up,” you hit his arm, wriggling around so your back is pressed to his chest, using him as a very large, annoying chair. “And don’t tell me to go back to sleep.”

Ben scoffs at the drop of your tone and grunted words at the end, and you grin into the air. “Your impression of me is fucking terrible.”

“No, it’s not. I think I could’ve made it as a Soldier Boy impersonator at Voughtland if college fell through.”

“You would’ve been the worst fucking Voughtland impersonator in the world, Sunshine,” Ben’s chin drops to rest on your head, and you can feel every word he says through your blood.

“Why, because I’m a lady?”

He snorts. “You are not a fucking lady.”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, and a flash of hunger carves into your lower stomach. “And if they painted a beard on me, put a banana in my pants, and gave me a stupid helmet nobody would’ve known the difference. I’d have thrived.”

“They would’ve given you their shit corporate script to memorize and you’d have quit on the spot. No swearing,” Ben says your name mockingly. “You’d have exploded.”

You shrug, tapping your fingers where his arms wrap around you. “You seemed to manage. And you swear a lot more than I do.”

“I have better self control than you.”

That makes you snort. He has no idea how good your self control is. Every single second you’re in his presence alone you’re restraining every single instinct to just fuck him. To ride him or let him bury inside you, to damn every single piece of you that will never be able to recover from it. “Oh, fuck you.”

“When we get there, I’d be more than happy to.” Ben’s mouth is pressed into your ear as he taunts you, and he’s actively proving himself wrong. His deep voice is rolling through your body, his lips are taunting your skin, and you’re exercising godly amounts of self control to not jump his stupid bones. “I’d even be willing to do it here, but I didn’t take you to be an exhibitionist-“

The car stops with a jerk, and Ben’s hold you tightens as you slide forward against his legs.

“We’re here,” Moore’s looks at you in the rearview mirror, and you can see him fidget with his gun. “We’ve just been told to drop you off and move your belongings inside. Mr. Butcher will show you your…” He trails off, eyes flicking between you and Ben. Folded into each other, almost every part of you touching. “Apartment?”

Ben doesn’t think twice about Moore’s anxious guess—nothing in him twisting with disgust or annoyance—and starts to adjust your body so he can carry you out of the car.

“I can walk inside,” you slap Ben’s arm, squirming away from him. “You don’t have to carry me everywhere.”

“But I can-“

“But you don’t.” You roll off his body, and he scowls down at you.

“Just let me fucking help-“

“Ben,” you reach up to hold his face from where you’ve landed, head in his lap and feet hanging off the back seats. He stills completely, still glaring, something bloody and desperate running around inside him. “I am a grown woman. I will tell you if I need your help with anything, and right now I don’t.”

He’s still frowning. “Fucking swear it.”

“I promise I don’t need help walking the ten yards to the building.”

Ben’s scanning your face, something building taut against his chest. “If you even fucking stumble-“

“Then you can carry me everywhere for the rest of time and lord it over my head.” Your words are meant to be sarcastic and bored, but they come out a little too breathy, a little too hopeful. That Ben would be there for the rest of time, insufferable and annoying and right at your side. The bloody thing coursing through him becomes forceful—pushing up into his brain—and his hands cover yours.

“Deal.”

Ben pulls you upwards without a warning, and the small sound of the surprise that escapes you is swallowed into his mouth. He rolls you over in seconds, pressing you deep into the seats, and you really hope that the agents left the car at some point. Because nobody should have to witness the way he’s making you unravel, hear all the wet and lewd sounds from just the way Ben kisses you. With tongue and teeth with his body strong against yours and your legs hooked around him-

“Well, good bloody morning to both you twats.”

You start a little, Butcher’s sneer barely pushing into your brain enough to take you away from Ben’s mouth sucking against yours. Ben draws back first, looking over his shoulder to where Butcher’s voice came from. He’s blocking Butcher from view, not shoving you away from him, and one arm even pulls you a little off the seat so your head buries into his chest.

“Couldn’t fucking pick us up yourself, you pussy?” Ben drawls, and you hear Butcher’s laugh.

“Well, I’m sure as shit regretting that now. Could’ve gotten a front row seat to the sex show.” Butcher’s twisted smile appears in your vision as he ducks down. “Ready to admit you’re fucking him now, Love?”

Ben answers before you can. “She’s not a fucking liar. She hasn’t.”

“I just caught you two snogging like rabbits-“

“Well, we haven’t fucked.” Ben’s words are harsh and cold—the sour feeling returned—and the only thing that stops you from being overtaken with guilt is the stronger, almost overpowering steel like care that pulsing through him.

Butcher doesn’t seem worried or off put by Ben’s angry, defensive words, but you don’t think Butcher is capable of being worried or off put by anything. The only sign that he understands the unspoken, violent promise of Ben’s tone is that he raises his hands, palms up, and stands back out of your sight.

“Bit touchy, ain’t we,” Ben tenses against you, and you can hear Butcher’s scoff. “Well, you can keep not fucking later. Let’s get a bloody move on.”

He grunts, and starts to pull you up with him, but you whack his shoulder, dropping your legs to the floor of the car.

“I’m walking.”

Ben glares at you, and removes his arm from around you slowly. He doesn’t leave though, just looks down at you with none of that steel waning from inside him. Like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go.

You smile at him. “You should haul ass before one of the agents touches your shield.”

“They wouldn’t fucking dare,” he grumbles, but moves off you all the same. You grin after him, and avoid meeting Butcher’s eyes as you scoot out of the car.

The FBSA building is more or less what you expected. Tall, broad, black steel and long windows that reflect the rise of the sun. You’re parked around the back at what looks like a shipping dock, and Ben was, in fact, just in time to stop Moore from trying to pick up his shield. You see the chronically nervous man jump back as Ben rounds the car to the truck, his hands raising up shakily as Ben glares at him. You start to follow—if Ben tries to stop you from carrying a box he’ll get one thrown at his face—but Butcher shoots out an arm, stopping you in your path.

“Someone took their job of looking after Soldier Boy very seriously, didn’t she?” Butcher says lowly, and you glare at him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t get to pull any sort of morality card on me, Butcher. I know what I’m doing, and it’s not your business.”

“It’s my fucking business if you’re compromised.” Butcher hisses. “If you’d choose him over the mission, because you’ve got a bloody school girl crush on the fucker.”

You wouldn’t choose Ben over the mission. You wouldn’t let it come to that. You’d make sure that, at the end of the day, what needed to be done was done.

What if it did come to that? Something small and fearful whispers in your ear. What if it was Ben or the mission? And there wasn’t a trick or a move out of it? What would you do then?

It’s terrifying how quickly and against your will the entirety of you goes Ben. You’d choose Ben. It wouldn’t ever matter, because you’d fight tooth and nail to make sure you got both, but if it came to it, Ben. Every time you’d choose him. He might not choose you, but you burn the world to keep him awake and smiling with casual ease. You’d promised, and for some reason that’s more than just a school girl crush, that’s what matters. You trust him, he would keep you safe, keep you free, and so you’d always choose Ben.

But Butcher doesn’t get to know that, so you just say, “Fuck off, you dickwad. I’m not fucking compromised.”

“What are you going to do when he leaves?” Butcher growls. “When we’ve knocked Homelander off the map, and he’s shipped off to the fucking edge of the world? You think he’ll write you letters? Sweet little sonnets?”

No, because he’d said you could go with him. But Butcher doesn’t get to know that. “That’s not your fucking problem.”

“I’m just reminding you, Sunshine.” You loathe the way Butcher says that. Cold and angry, harsh in his mouth and screeching against your ears. “He’s not a bloody white knight, swooping in and saving the princess from the evil Vought Tower and the Homelander dragon. He’s just another, older, bigger fucking monster collecting a prize to keep on his shelf.”

Fury might blind you. Might eat you alive. The world becomes all bright white, closing in on you, pressing on your chest until it snaps.

“Butcher,” you say slowly, clearly. “I let you say a lot of fucking shit to me. I let you mock me and throw me to the wolves for the sake of the mission you claim I don’t care about. But if you ever-“ you spit the word, letting a bit of the fire that lives under your skin turn to smoke in the air. “Tell me how to fucking feel or think about something again, I will burn you alive. You don’t know anything about what it was like. What Homelander did to me.”

“Fucking tread lightly,” Butcher’s jaw is clenched, teeth gritted. “Becca-“

“Was the one he hurt,” you snap. “He hurt Becca. Not you. And he hurt me the same fucking way he hurt her. For years. But you only remember that when it’s convenient for you.”

“You better shut your mouth-“

“Or what?” You take a step forward, and Butcher flinches back. You hate it, it makes your skin crawl at how fast he retreats, but you don’t care that you hate it. The words are rocketing out of you, and you have no desire to stop them. “You can’t kill me. You can’t even fucking hurt me. You can’t do anything to me that won’t break me more than Homelander already has.” Something is wrapping around your throat, and your words become choked. “He fucking broke me. He broke Becca. And you might have gotten hurt in the fallout, but that’s fucking nothing compared to being the one that he actually hurt. On purpose. So never fucking tell me what to feel again.”

Butcher’s silent, staring at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him before. You don’t get time to read it—to try and figure out if he just started plotting your disappearance or might be feeling remorse for the first time in his life—because Butcher starts to speak again in clipped, frosted words.

“It's the twenty-first floor,” he chucks a lanyard at you, a badge with the name Jane Smith at the end. “Go left, then right, and you’ll be in one long hallway. You’re the last door when you go left. You’ll be expected in the dining hall at 7pm. Don’t be fucking late.”

With that he whips around, and stomps into the building. You’re stuck in place, watching him walk away as the world starts to spin around you. Everything feels big and hollow and you’re afraid. You’d blown up, and they already didn’t trust you. They barely even liked you. And you’d just threatened Butcher when he already thought you were dangerous. And you were dangerous. He was right. You were a walking volcano, a living hurricane, more powerful than Ben, more powerful than Homelander. You were the dragon, you were the monster-

You’re pulled back to the ground when Ben’s arm slings around your shoulders, and when the world becomes clear again you look up to see him glaring at where Butcher had slammed the door into the building. “About fucking time.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That Butcher gets his ass handed to him,” Ben looks down at you. “Don’t you fucking think about apologizing to that pussy. I’ll put tape over your mouth.”

“You’ll what?!”

“You’re going to feel damn guilty, and you’ll try to tell Butcher you’re sorry, and I’ll fucking gag you so you don’t.” The bloody steel is back inside of you—inside of Ben—and his words are simple and firm. “The asshole deserved that. He’s no fucking better than me, and he’s not ever goddamn close to being better than you.” 

Something warm blooms in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s yours or Ben’s. It’s familiar—like it belongs there—where others' emotions usually feel foreign and strange. But the line between you and Ben has started to blur, might have been blurred for a while, and you can’t always tell anymore. But the warmth makes the world lighter, and Ben’s arm around you makes the fear that Butcher will toss you to the curb seem less daunting. He couldn’t touch you, because Ben was here. He must see the look on your face—the gentle way you can feel it relax as a small smile crawls over your mouth—because he pulls you a little closer into him.

“Got your shield?” You ask softly, and Ben jerks his head back to the car.

“The FASI chucklefucks are bringing everything else up.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re refusing to say FBSA on purpose.” 

“They should come up with a better goddamn acronym,” he mutters. “Maybe then I’ll be fucked to learn it.”

You laugh, and try to shrug him off your shoulders. “Go get your shield, Pretty Boy. I want to go inside.”

He didn’t move away, remaining heavy around you, and when you look up at him expectantly he’s watching you carefully, studying your face. “You’re not mad about Butcher seeing us in the car.”

“I wish you’d ask questions like a normal person,” you mutter, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sunshine-“

That sounds better. The way Ben says Sunshine—long and low, lined with some sort of care even when he’s glaring at you—makes time slow a little and your heart flutters in your chest. “I’m not mad,” you tell him, and it’s easy to do so. It’s the truth, and Ben makes the truth simple. “He would’ve seen it eventually. And he was going to be pissed off no matter what.”

Ben nods slowly, and something wired scratches under your jaw. “And if I kiss you in front of the rest of them?”

“As long as you’re not gross about it-“

His hand draped near your neck grabs your jaw, holding you still as he leans down. He kisses you so lazily, as if time is something he could pull to a halt or simply didn’t matter. Time could turn and the world could go with it, but Ben would stay here and keep kissing you. In the light of the morning, with both of you wearing casual clothes, with Ben’s arm wrapped around you, with the air clean and cold, this feels like it could be normal. Like if someone passed you on the street they wouldn’t think twice about it, because there’s nothing strange or violent or complicated about two people kissing like this. About one of them holding onto the other’s shirt to pull them closer, or the other tangling their hand in the hair of the first, because why wouldn’t they? Nothing’s odd or notable about you chasing Ben’s mouth when he starts to move away, nothing’s remarkable or worrying about him laughing when you do and giving you just that little more you wanted.

When Ben eventually does pull back he’s smiling, and everything in him and around him is comfortable.

“Ben?” You whisper, and he raises his brows at you.

He hums your name, and you can feel the warmth of his breath when it leaves his mouth. He says it in a teasing, drawn out manner, and you smile at him.

“If you ever put a gag on my mouth, I’ll burn it off and bite you.”

Ben laughed, that big chest laugh he does when there’s nothing to stop him, and it carries away into the wind. “Is that a promise?”

“Fuck you.”

“If you want,” Ben winks, starting to guide you over to his shield, arm never dropping from your shoulders. “I’d let you bite me without all the trouble of a gag.”

“Cunt.”

“Brat.” He picks up the shield, and glances back to the building. “Let’s get a move on before Butcher finds his excuse for balls.”

Getting into the building is worryingly easy. Ben pushes through the steel doors that hopefully will just lock behind you, and there’s nobody waiting when you walk inside. There’s an elevator next to the stairwell, but the stairwell says floors B-20, no roof access, so you step into the elevator and pray. There’s no 21st floor button, but there is a scanner that you press the Jane Smith badge against, and the elevator starts to move.

Ben leans over you, frowning at the badge. “Who the hell is Jane.”

“It’s a movie reference,” you frown at the photo Butcher chose for you, because you recognize it as your school id photo and can’t imagine how he got his hands on it.  “They can’t put my real name there.”

“Because you’re dead.”

“Legally dead,” you grin at him as the elevator slows. “As you well know, I’m very much alive.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to fuck you if you weren’t,” Ben grumbles as you walk off the elevator. “I’m into some kinky shit, but that’s just fucking disgusting.”

Your face heats, now plagued with thoughts of the kinky shit Ben might be into, a spiral not aided by the words want to fuck you playing on repeat in your head. In order to distract yourself, you focus entirely on finding the apartment. “Butcher said to take a left-“

“I heard him,” Ben starts to herd you down the hall, and you let him. “He practically fucking screamed it.”

“That might just be your super hearing, Ben.”

“Or Butcher’s a loud fucking ass.”

You snort, and let Ben continue to move you until you stop in front of a tall, metal door with no handle or visible lock.

“How the fuck are we supposed to get in,” Ben grunts. “Dumbasses forgot to add a doorknob.”

“You know, it’s really amazing you were able to get anywhere when you left Russia, let alone to America,” you hum, raising the badge for Ben to see. “You’d really be lost without me holding your hand through the maze of the modern world.”

“I keep you around for a lot of fucking reasons, beautiful.” He mutters, squeezing your arm. “But the modern world isn’t one of them.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “Tell me what I’m going to do with this.”

Ben’s brows knit, eyes darting between the badge in your hand and the sleek door, eventually finding the scanner. “Put it there.” 

“And would you have been able to figure that out if I hadn’t done the same thing in the elevator?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You laugh, and scan the badge. The door slides into the wall with a pleasant whirring sound. Opening up to the apartment. Your apartment. With Ben. It hits you hard, right in the chest, that this is your apartment with Ben. Not a safe house that you’ve been locked into for the sake of a plan. This is purposefully for you and Ben, with one bedroom and one bathroom for you to share. With Ben.

It’s nice. Almost empty—completely devoid of the generic suburban decorations of the safe house—but nice. Really nice. High ceilings, large windows, polished floors. The type of apartment you used to dream of having, that would cost a small fortune if you were actually paying for it. From the door you can see a small kitchen area, fireplace, a flatscreen TV, and a staircase. There’s a staircase. That goes up to a loft strip.

That spurs you into action. You grab Ben’s hand and pull him through the door behind you, gaping around you.

“Jesus fucking Christ woman, slow the hell down-“

“Holy shit.” You breathe. “This place is fucking awesome.”

“It’s okay-“

“No, Ben, it’s fucking awesome.” You point up at the loft strip that leads to a single door. “Look at that shit. That’s awesome.”

“It’s a normal fucking apartment-“

“Maybe for you, rich boy.” You say, nudging him lightly, a wide smile still on your face. “Some of us lived with rats and radioactive mold for most of their lives.”

“Radioactive mold?” 

You shrug. “That’s what the inspector said.”

“Why wouldn’t you just fucking move?” Ben sounds genuinely confused, like he can’t possibly fathom why you wouldn’t just leave. You can feel it, as well. The almost naïve confusion. “Go somewhere that doesn’t have radioactive fucking mold.”

“I have terrible news for you about how much an apartment in New York costs and how much the average waitress gets paid.”

“Waitress? When were you a fucking waitress?”

“I have more terrible news about how expensive college tuition is,” you shrug. “It’s like this for most people, Ben. So can you please acknowledge that this is fucking awesome?”

He’s watching you, his jaw clenched, and you can feel something rolling around in him, pushing into his throat before dropping to his stomach and bouncing all the way up into his brain. It takes root there, and he swallows heavily.

“This is fucking awesome.” His tone is bored, but when you grin at him you can see his face soften in time with something against his ribs.

“Thank you.” Ben only grunts, and you tug at his hand. “If you put down your shield we can go look at the bedroom.”

The shield has barely crashed to the ground when Ben is picking you up, getting a steady grip under your legs as he makes beeline for the stairs. He climbs them two at a time—your nails digging into his shoulder less for grip and just because you can—and kicks the door at the end of the strip open.

You’ll look around the bedroom later. Right now it’s all Ben, kissing you before he’s sat on the bed with an already open mouth, running his tongue over the roof of your mouth. Releasing your legs so you can use them to drag your body closer to his, using his now free hand to drop around your hips and rub the skin of your thigh. Releasing you for only a second to pull your jacket off to touch your bare arms and drop a hand under your shirt—his shirt—to rub your back. But not higher, or lower. Right where you’ve asked him to stay.

It gets harder to keep him there every time. When he’s groaning and growling into you and taking every single moan and whine you give him like he’s starving. When you can feel that he is starving. You can feel the hunger growing larger after every moment like this one, feel the rough and consuming thing that’s devout and savage push closer to the surface. It’s harder to pretend it’s not everything when it is, when you can feel every part of him against and around you. To pretend you don’t also want him inside you, making your head empty and the world just Ben. It’s harder to remind yourself that you can’t give all the way in, because fuck it would be so easy. Easier than pretending you’ll be fine like this. Easy to worship him and make him burn and burn with him.

After what might have been only a second or a whole decade, Ben leaves you for breath, dragging you up the bed with him to rest at the headboard. He seats you between his legs, your face against his neck, and just holds you. For another year—or what feels like one—Ben just holds you as you drift in and out of the rest of the world. Eventually you tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s staring at you, mouth slightly parted and inches from yours.

“What time is it?” You ask quietly, some part of you afraid that you’ll speak too loudly and wake up from this dream.

Ben’s voice is steadier than yours, but still low. “Noon.”

You press your face back into his collarbone. “We should probably do something.”

“Like hell we should,” Ben mutters. “I think we’ve earned one goddamn day not doing everyone’s jobs for them.”

“But-“

“One day, Sunshine. You can panic and plan all you want tomorrow, but today you’re not doing jack fucking shit.” He glares down at you, and you’re melting into him. Into the sturdiness of him, into the smell of him, into the feeling of his determination on your shoulders. “You can do whatever the hell you want, as long as it’s pointless.”

You glance nervously around the bedroom. Just like the rest of the apartment, it’s nice, but in a bland catalog way. The sheets are gray and cotton, the walls are eggshell white, and there’s a very sad plastic plant in the corner of the room. “What about a list for Mallory?”

Ben narrows his eyes at you. “A list for what?”

“Our apartment. Things we need or want.”

He tenses, and for a second you think he’s going to throw you off his body and run. That the word our made him catch a hint of your need for him, and he doesn’t want to deal with it. The only thing that keeps apologies and backtracking rationalization from falling out of your mouth is the content in him growing. Merging with the hunger.

“Fine,” he grunts. “But you stay in bed.”

You nod, craning your neck away from him. “Where’d you put my jacket?”

“Probably on the floor.” His grip on your tightens. “Why.”

“It has my phone in it.” You start to stand, but Ben keeps you against his chest. Kissing you one last, quick time before relaxing. He doesn’t fully let you go until you’re out of his reach, and watches you intently until you’ve grabbed your jack and returned to his side.

You empty the contents of your pockets—Ben hand resting easily on your hip as he watches silently—which ends up being the blue sunglasses, your phone, and a tube of lip gloss that had appeared out of thin air. You set the sunglasses carefully off to the side, leave the lip gloss thoughtlessly on the mattress, and pick up your phone to set to work.

You kill six hours like this. Leaning against Ben, who silently watches and holds you the whole time, and typing up a list for Mallory. You start simple, obvious. Basic groceries, with extra strawberry cream cheese and malt vanilla ice cream. A few durable cookbooks. Shampoo and conditioner, whatever’s cheap for you and a very specific brand you go out of your way to look up for Ben. Lots of toilet paper, a spare fire extinguisher, and a coffee machine. Maybe a laptop. You like sitting like this—In bed with Ben all around you and both of your bodies relaxed and spread out—but you also like watching TV. And you just saved the president, if you speak in very broad and hypothetical terms. You think you’ve earned a laptop. Then you start to have fun with it. With asking Ben stupid questions about colors that he entertains with one word answers—you don’t bother to ask about green or blue because you already know the answers will a yes and no respectively—and trying to find decorations get any sort of reaction other than a bored grunt. So far you’ve only garnered reactions of disgust, courtesy of a Deep life size cardboard cutout, a truly horrible leopard print bed set, and limited edition Soldier Boy set of china with his smiling face printed on every plate and cup.

“If you buy those, I’ll smash them.” He growls against your ear, and you look back at him with amusement.

“I’d have thought things with your face on them would’ve earned a resounding yes from you, Pretty Boy.”

“You get my face for free every fucking day,” he snaps. “Vought can suck my dick, turning a profit after they fucking stabbed me in the back.”

You pout at him, “but they’re collectibles.”

Ben snorts. “If you just want to eat off my damn face, all you have to do is ask.”

You slap his arm against you, attention returning to your phone. After several more attempts that prove fruitless, Ben squeezes your thigh.

“That,” he grunts, pointing at the screen. “Get that.”

It’s a carpet, dark green and fluffy. It’s so simple, such a common thing to see in any house that Ben’s concrete focus on it throws you.

“The carpet?” You clarify, and he nods with a low sound of affirmation. “Okay.”

His eyes shoot to you from where he’d been staring at the carpet. “If you don’t want it, just fucking say that-“

“No, I want it,” you stop him quickly. “If we want to give a shit about aesthetics I’ll have to change a few things, but that doesn’t really matter.”

“I’ll fucking live if you hate it-“

“Ben, this is the first thing you haven’t been either apathetic about or actively hated. I’ll live if I have to change the color of a pillow or some shit.”

He pauses, then gives a rough nod. “Fine.”

You give him a small smile. “Fine.”

When 6:45 hits, it takes a lot of work to get Ben to please just come to dinner. What eventually gets him is telling him that you’re going, with or without his ass, and he can either sulk like a child about it or just fucking go with you. Then, even as he glares at you, Ben hauls himself out of bed and follows you out of the bedroom. At some point the agents had dropped off the bins, along with Annie’s Nightmare Makeup collection and the same toiletries from the safe house. Half-empty bottles of shampoo, your body wash, and Ben’s stiff toothbrush. If you had more time you’d start sorting through the bins—you have very little faith in Ben’s ability to have properly organized them—but dinner. And you’ll have time later. Lots of time, here, with Ben, to throw clothing at his stupid handsome face and yell at him about pointless things. All the time in the world.

It takes a while to find the dining hall. There’s not a map of the floor or building, or a large neon sign pointing in the right direction. Ben drags you around for about eight minutes of attempts to just figure it out our fucking selves, and you’re a second away from caving and texting Kimiko when Ben stops abruptly and you slam into his back.

“What the hell-“

“Found it,” he grins down at you, gesturing to a door with a plaque by the side that reads Dining Hall. “I fucking told you I could.”

“Yeah, we’re only,” you glance at the time on your phone. “Ten minutes? Fuck, Ben,” he doesn’t budge as you slap his chest with a glare. “We’re late. Butcher said not to be late-“

“Butcher can suck my fucking dick until I get off,” Ben mutters, pulling you forward by your hand. “If the pussies were so fucking worried about us being late they should’ve done something about it.”

You’re going to protest, but Ben pushes the door open roughly to reveal a room that qualifies less as a dining hall and more as a middle school cafeteria. Tile floors and basic kitchen appliances, an unattended food service area, and low tables with benches. The only people in the room aside from you and Ben are grouped around one of those tables in a deep conversation. You can see almost everyone. Butcher is standing at the head of the table, and doesn’t look up or acknowledge you as you enter. Annie and Hughie are sitting on one bench with their backs to you, and Kimiko and Frenchie are across from them as they all poke at plates of varying food in front of them. You walk across the room slowly, Ben trailing behind you, and when Kimiko sees you she smiles and gives you a wave.

Did you see the rooms? She signs with a grin. They’re huge!

You laugh, and pull your hand from Ben’s hold. Does yours have stairs as well?

And a rain shower! She nods. We should’ve moved here months ago.

Before you can respond, we moved echoing in your head, Butcher’s voice cuts through the air. “Glad you could be fucked to join us, Love.” 

“You didn’t tell us where to go, you ass,” you mutter. “We had to find it.”

“Sure you weren’t just too busy fucking-“

“Can we not do this over dinner, Butcher?” Annie sighs. “It’s late, and it’s been a long week. I just want to do the briefing and go to bed.”

Butcher scoffs, and glares at you. “Sit the bloody hell down so we can get this over with.”

You flip him off, and round the table to sit beside Kimiko. Ben follows, dropping with a grunt beside you and placing a hand on your thigh, and you glance around the table.

“Where’s MM?”

“Getting dinner,” Hughie points to the empty food service bars. “You have to go all the way back into the kitchen, everything won’t be fully operational for a while.”

“So we’re all living here?” You ask with a frown. “Everyone gets their own apartments?”

“Well, me and Annie are together,” Hughie looks nervously at Ben, silent and stiff at your side. “Like, uh, you guys. Butcher and MM each have their own, and Kimiko and Frenchie have a two bedroom.”

“How did the FBSA even get the budget for this?” Annie wonders. “What could they possibly plan on doing with it after?”

MM appears behind Butcher, a tray in his hand. Not looking at you. “It’s going to be for supes who want to jump off the Vought ship.”

Hughie nods. “I sat in on the pitch when it happened. The idea is that maybe if we protect them, house them, we could contract the less, uh, violent supes. For better stuff.”

“Better stuff,” Butcher snorts. “Ain’t no supes doing better stuff.”

Ben’s hand tightens against you, and you feel your own body tense. At your side, Kimiko glowers at Butcher, and across from you Hughie pulls Annie a little tighter against him.

“Butcher,” MM says with a glare, dropping at Annie’s side. “Read the fucking room, asshole.”

“I can’t believe I let go this fuckin far,” Butcher mutters, surveying the team with a scowl. “Bloody one to one ratio.”

“Yeah,” Annie rolls her eyes. “Because going up against Vought with just four random guys was going really well for you at the beginning.”

“At least I didn’t have to put up with a bunch of whining, overpowered cunts-“

“Butcher,” MM snaps. “Can we just get this shit over with without anyone shooting or punching anyone else?”

“Whatever, but Starlight fucking started it-“

“No I didn’t you dick-“

Butcher raises his voice over Annie. “We’re waitin on Stan Edgar to come through, and until then we’re on lockdown. No quick trips to a bodega, no walks around the block, no nothin. Vought’s on high alert, the government's on high alert, you two twats-“ He points at you and Ben. “Got your faces all over the news. There’s a damn man-hunt, hashtags about freeing Homelander’s girl from Soldier Boy and avenging VP Neuman.”

“Avenging?” Frenchie asks with a frown. “Madame Neuman is alive, no?”

“Not to the public,” MM shrugs. “Easiest spin, fastest way out, was to make it seem like Bonnie and Clyde nuked her. Fits in with the whole terrorist narrative.”

“So why do we all have to be on lockdown,” Annie crossed her arms. “If it’s just them taking the fall?”

“Because Homelander’s about to go on a bloody rampage,” Butcher drawled, and everything becomes cold inside you. “He just lost a major ally, missed the Anomaly and Soldier Boy by a hair, and is feeling the pressure. So until Stan Edgar comes through, Mallory’s benched us.”

“What do we do if he finds us?” You ask softly, blood pounding in your ears, fire scratching at your skin. “If someone tells him where we are?”

“Nobody knows except us, Mallory, and some agents Mallory handpicked.” MM says firmly, still not fully looking at you. “This place is designed to protect people from him. We’ll be fine.”

“And we’re just supposed to sit around on our fucking asses until Edgar makes good?” Ben glares around the table. “Jacking each other off and pretending everything’s just dandy?”

“I’m not happy about it either, Gov.” Butcher sneers. “I’d like nothing more than to fucking rip Vought a new one while they’re in crisis. But unless you’re willing to go nuclear and flag Homelander down for a bloody one on one, we’re waiting.”

You can hear Ben’s jaw grind, and his grip on you is like iron. Hot and violent anger is flooding through him, and his voice is cold. “Fucking watch it.”

“You fucking watch it, Soldier Boy,” MM hisses. “We’re all stuck here because of the deal you made. Don’t act like you’re some sort of victim or hostage. You can leave whenever you fucking want, and we won’t stop you.”

Ben stands suddenly, and Hughie flinches backwards across the table. Annie catches him from falling, and MM doesn’t even twitch.

“I’m not fucking going anywhere,” Ben hisses. “And that deal is the only thing that will help you with Homelander. So fucking watch it.”

MM doesn’t back down, holding Ben’s glare, and you grab Ben’s arm. Holding him at your side. “Is that it, Butcher?” You ask, leaning slightly over to meet Butcher’s cold gaze. “We’re waiting for Edgar, no leaving?”

“Yep,” Butcher drawls. “Now call your dog off.”

You ignore him, tugging at Ben’s arm slightly so he looks down at you. Can we just go?

Ben examines your face—his anger not fading, but becoming wrapped in the stone resolve—and nods. Whatever.

You address no one in particular. “Is there anything we have to do while we wait?”

“I was thinking we could do dinners together,” Hughie mumbles, voice a little unsteady as he looks between Ben’s braced stance and MM’s expression of twisted anger. “But, uh, that seems like a bad idea now.”

“No, it’s good. Team building,” you stand slowly. “Good idea. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

You start to drag Ben away from the table, away from the violent tension building in the air.

“I am not doing fucking team building with those pussies.” Ben mutters in your ear as you walk back down the hall.

“It’s just dinner, Ben.” You sigh. “You’ll only have to sit, brood, and not kill anyone.”

He grunts, but drops it, moving his hand into yours. He’s silent as you return to the apartment, dragging you up to the bedroom before you can start to unpack.

“We’re not going fucking anywhere for a while.” He snaps when you start to protest. “You can unpack in the morning.”

And he’s right. That’s what makes it so easy to leave the bins downstairs and just go to bed. You aren’t going anywhere for a while. You’re going to be here, with Ben and his stupid fluffy rug you’re going to ensure Mallory buys. You’ll spend the days with Ben the same way it’s grown to be, easy and simple and good. He’ll hold you at night, make sure the nightmares don’t come, and keep touching you. He won’t leave. You won’t leave. And the bins will be there in the morning.

The days blur together. Unpacking only takes one morning, and things from the list start to appear in the hall outside your door. In only three days, you have almost everything, and the apartment feels like yours. Yours and Ben’s.

The time is filled without thought. Training your fire and singing, holding Ben’s head in your hands as he grumbles about not needing this—though he’s stopping saying he never fucking had shell shock in the first place—and teaching him everything about the internet. By the end of the week he sort of understands social media but thinks it’s fucking stupid, and can passably navigate a browser by himself. You don’t stop trying to get him to play Candy Crush, but every time you try and grab his phone Ben shoves it in his pants, giving you a glare that says I fucking dare you, Sunshine.

You always flip him off, because you won’t cross that line. You’ll touch him everywhere he lets you, but not there. Not unless you want to explode. The more days pass, the more Ben touches you everywhere but there, the more that becomes certain. If you let him do more than kiss you, more than have you grind on him in silent desperation as he grows hard against you, both of you never finding relief together, you’d turn into a beacon of fire and undying desire. You’ll never recover. So you don’t cross the line, and try to pretend you can’t feel his own strain for you whenever you’re touching him. Because it’s not the same as yours. Maybe more than lust, you can admit, but not the same.

You’re getting stronger. Ben is still pushing you, albeit with more underhanded, horny tactics that leave you aching when he pulls away with a mocking grin, but it works. Because you’re stronger. You still can’t fully control the illusions, but they’re never hazy anymore. And you can make things happen. If it’s a sad song you can’t stop the rain, but you can make it blend with sunlight until a rainbow mist fills the room. A bubblegum pop song will still be over-saturated and feverish, but you can choose to add something more concrete than just a strobing flash of lights. Moon River still opens the sky and brings in cooling wind, but the room is covered in blooming strawberry flowers. And your fire is powerful. Becoming less like an uncontrollable parasite and more like a muscle. A phantom limb you can move in time with the rest of your body. It’s no longer a part of you that you wish you could remove. It sits under your skin, humming softly, and only comes out when you tell it to.

Dinners are weird. Every night everyone slowly gathers in the dining hall, exchanging small talk and discussing everything except the looming threat of Homelander and Vought and the possibility that Edgar could fail. Ben silently sticks to your side and rarely engages in conversation, but nobody makes any attempts to make him do more than that. It’s the only time you see MM and Butcher, but some afternoons you’ll watch TV with Kimiko while Ben sulks upstairs. Then Ben calls Hughie his name instead of Cocksucker during dinner, and the whole table falls silent. Staring at him with wide eyes and frozen faces.

“What the fuck are you pussies looking at?” He grumbled, poking at the broccoli you’d dumped onto his plate.

Annie blinks a few times before speaking. “You just-“

“Nothing!” Hughie yelps, and you have a feeling he doesn’t want to call attention to it and cause Ben to backtrack.

“It’s clearly fucking something-“

You cut him off with a swift kick to the shin, shooting him a look of I’ll tell you later. Just let it go.

No, they’re being fucking weird. He scowls, and you roll your eyes.

If you don’t drop it, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.

You’re bluffing, because if Ben sleeps on the couch you’ll wake up screaming and alone, but you sell your glare well enough that Ben scoffs, this is fucking blackmail, and doesn’t say anything else.

After that, Annie and Hughie will text you to eat lunch. Then Annie stops looking at Ben judgmentally after another week, because she stops by to collect you and Ben answers the door before you can.

“I’m not here for you,” she snaps, and Ben glares at her, but steps aside. Revealing you, in shorts and one of Ben’s shirts. You’ve started to develop a habit of just taking them, and if Ben’s noticed he hasn’t stopped you. You think he might have started to leave them out on purpose, because every time you wear one he coughs and walks very quickly into the bathroom.

“Sorry.” You’re shuffling around the room, turning over pillows and crouching down to look under furniture. “I lost my phone-“

“It’s upstairs,” Ben grunts. “It died. I plugged it in.”

You nod, and start to move to the stairs, but Ben’s legs are longer and he gets there first. Stomping up to your room without a word, and returning with your phone. When you and Annie leave—Ben grumbling a goodbye and kissing the top of your head—Annie coughs as you walk down the hall.

“Um,” you look at Annie, who’s watching you carefully. “You two seem comfortable.”

“We are,” you say softly, and Annie nods.

“And you’re really not fucking?”

“Despite Butcher’s constant bitching, no.”

“Why?”

That makes you gape at her. “Annie?”

“You’re wearing his shirt,” she says your name slowly. “He seems like maybe 10% less of a violent ass. It’s not my business, but, I don’t know. He called Hughie his name. I’d have been comfortable betting you two were fucking like a month ago. Now it feels insane that you aren’t.”

“It’s complicated,” you sigh. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

She nods, and drops it. That night, she still doesn’t talk to Ben, but also passes him salt when he asks you for it. Two days later, she brings Hughie with her to your apartment, and suggests you eat there instead.

“Is that okay, Ben-“

“I don’t give a shit,” he grumbles. “It’s your fucking apartment as well. Do what you want.” 

“Will you eat with us?”

Ben looks between Annie and Hughie, still in the doorway. “Fine.”

It’s a slightly awkward meal, Ben sitting next to you, only answering questions with one worded snaps. But nobody explodes, or makes cruel comments, so you count it as a victory.

They still don’t let you touch them, but Ben touches you more than enough to make up for it. Butcher is still crude, making snide comments about you and Ben, but it’s been almost two weeks of this and he hasn’t mentioned your outburst. His remarks remain in the realm of mocking and vulgar, but there’s no mention of you being compromised, or Homelander. MM still won’t fully meet your eyes, and you don’t blame him. You try not to think about it, but something small keeps gnawing at you. It grows quiet when Ben holds you, because he does it so carefully and gently. And you tell yourself that this Ben isn’t that Ben. That was Soldier Boy. Ben won’t even let you say Soldier Boy anymore.

Would he still do that? The small thing asks, and you don’t really have an answer. In December you would’ve said yes. In December you would’ve pictured the callous, sadistic man you threw a knife at and not hesitated to say yes. Now you picture him smiling at you, calming you after a nightmare, holding you tightly when the cracks Homelander left on you start to open. And that Ben wouldn’t. Your Ben wouldn’t. And what scares you more than the certain faith in that statement is the your part. How smoothly your brain calls him your Ben. Like he’s as much of a part of you as the fire has become. How even when you try to double back and correct yourself, reminding you he’s not your anything, every part of you just goes no. Your Ben.

That’s a thought that will have to wait a while to fight. Until after this is over. Hopefully you can keep pushing it down until this is over.

It’s something that starts to creep over everyone. That if Edgar comes through, if everything somehow falls into place, this could be over. By the end of March, this could be over. Flowers could start to bloom and the sun could start to herald spring in a world without Homelander. This could all be over.

“I miss my drugs,” Frenchie grumbles over dinner. “When we finally are allowed outside, I am getting all my drugs back from Madame Mallory and having a very good day.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, but gives you a look of I’ve been missing drugs from fucking months. Don’t see me whining about it.

You literally do nothing but whine about it, Benjamin. You wrinkle your nose at him. After one week in the safe house you’d started asking me for drugs every day. We weren’t even friends.

He rolls his eyes, and tugs you a little closer into his side. We’re friends now. Can I have drugs.

No. You elbow him, and your attention returns to the group.

“I think I’m going to eat a whole donut shop,” Annie is saying. “I miss donut shops.”

“I’ll second that,” Hughie nods. “And I’m never wearing a hoodie again. Or a baseball cap. Or anything that covers my face.”

Frenchie nods. “Oui. No more covering up. I’m going to streak in the park.”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“We ain’t out of the woods yet, cunts.” Butcher snaps over Hughie. “I wouldn’t start celebrating and bloody daydreaming before Edgar even comes through.”

“It’s good for morale, Butcher.” Annie shrugs. “Gives us something to look forward to.” Butcher grunts, and Annie looks at you. “What about you? Will you go back to Boston?”

You pause, because you don’t know. You don’t have anything, really, in Boston. Or New York. Even if Mallory gets you declared alive, you’ll have to spend a lot of job interviews explaining the three year gap in your resume. Your old friends might not be able to talk to you without pity or morbid fascination. You could go with Ben. A very large, hard to ignore part of you really wants to go with Ben. But you haven’t told anyone about that offer, and now doesn’t feel like a great time to breach the topic. Not when you haven’t even decided yourself.

Ben speaks before you can answer Annie. “Is your sister in Boston?”

“What?” You blink at him.

“Your sister.” He repeats through a mouthful of food. “She in New York, or Boston?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t really matter-“

Ben shoots you a glare, you said you’d stop saying things don’t fucking matter, Sunshine, and says aloud, “you need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.” You snap. “I’m not bringing her into this. Fucking drop it, Benjamin.”

“You said you’d think about it-“

“And I did, and I won’t. So drop it.” You turn back to the table, which has fallen into nervous silence. The conversation picks back up slowly, and Ben is filled with that sour tight feeling against you. You tap his leg lightly and he looks at you with a frown.

What.

Are you mad? You blink at him, and he rolls his eyes.

Don’t be fucking stupid. His face relaxes a little. You can’t start to rely just on your looks, beautiful.

You smile lightly at him. Worked for you.

Ben snorts into a cough. Brat.

Cunt, you’re grinning fully now, and when you glance at MM he’s watching you with a frown.

That night there’s a knock on your door while Ben is in the shower, and you gape in surprise when you open it to see MM on the other side.

“Soldier Boy was right,” he grunts, and you stare at him.

“What?”

“You need to talk to your sister.”

You sigh. “MM, it’s really complicated-“

“No,” he snaps. “It’s not. Rocket science is complicated. This is real simple. That motherfucker isn’t right about almost anything, but he’s right about this. You need to tell your sister you’re alive.”

“Please don’t-“

“A second chance at shit like this is real rare,” MM says your name firmly. “I’d kill for it. Butcher would kill for it. Almost all of us would do real dark things to get another shot at family. Don’t waste yours, not when it’s being offered.”

“What if she gets hurt?” You whisper. “What if I bring her into this and it gets her killed.”

“Well, considering she was still calling the Starlight Fund every day before the number went out of service, I’d bet that’s still a fucking danger right now.” MM shrugs. “At least now she wouldn’t be in the dark.”

“She kept calling?” you feel the blood drain from your body, your skin starts to itch. There’s no smoke, and the fire is secure inside you, but you’re still staring with a tight face at MM. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t think you’d listen to me.” He mutters. “But for some fucking reason you might listen to him.” MM jerks his head up to the loft strip. “I’ll text you her number, it’s still in my phone.” 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

MM nods tightly, and starts to leave. You almost reach out to stop him but jerk back at the last second. You can’t touch him. The movement still catches his eye, though, because he turns back around. “What?”

“I’m,” you take a deep breath. “MM, I’m really, really sorry about-“

“You don’t owe me shit.” He stops you with a raised hand. “But remember that you don’t owe him shit either.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

MM sighs, looking you up and down. “Just, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

The words echo around in your head as MM walks away.

You know what you’re doing. Butcher said you don’t, MM says he hopes you do. You do. You’re walking upstairs, and you know why. To wait for Ben.

Your phone buzzes only a minute later, and you stare at the number MM texted you. Violet’s one tap of a screen away. Right there, just a centimeter from your thumb, is the ability to hear your sister’s voice for the first time in years.

The shower turns off, and Ben enters the bedroom in only sweatpants. On almost any other night you’d be fully distracted by it, his bare chest and damp hair and the smell of his drifting around in the air, but you’re still staring at the phone.

He notices. “What’s wrong with you.”

You watch him as he drops on the bed. “I need your help.”

“With what.” Ben’s whole body grows rigid, his hands fisting as his eyes start to dart across you, around the room. “Who the fuck-“

“I’m fine,” you reach out to place a hand on his knee, and the consuming paranoia in his body hits you in the chest. You make your words a little more firm. “I’m really fine. I,” you take a heavy breath. “MM gave me my sister’s number. I’m going to call her.”

“Oh,” Ben relaxes slightly, but is still frowning at you. “The fuck do you need me for.”

You shrug. “Emotional support?”

“Emotional support?”

“Like if I need to hit someone. Or cry.”

“Oh,” he nods, looking you up and down. “Fine. Go.”

“Now?” You chew at your tongue, head shaking slightly. “I can do it tomorrow, it’s late, she might not even pick up-“

“Now,” Ben scoots a little closer to you, holding your eyes with his. “Or I’m not doing that support shit.”

The world starts to spin, and it must show on your face because Ben’s hand covers where yours still rests on his body. He’s silent, warm and real against you, and everything feels sharper. You take another large, long breath and Ben nods slightly, looking down at the phone number displayed in blue light on your phone. Waiting for you.

Your thumb presses it, and the ringing echoes through your room. The only thing that keeps air moving in and out of your body is Ben. Still touching you, making the tight anxiety around your throat loosen just enough to keep breathing.

The ringing stops suddenly, and a static hum fills the room for a second before a voice replaces it.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounds the same. It’s a little deeper, and a little more tired than you’d heard it before, but she still breathes the heh in hello. There’s still the slight hint of a Boston accent in her tone—because she’s the only one of you and your siblings who got that trait from your father—sitting in an odd combination with the slight southern lilt she’d given herself from watching old cowboy movies.

“Violet?” You breathe out, because that’s all you can manage.

“Who is this?”

You swallow, glancing at Ben as you say your name. He’s watching you, completely still save for his thumb, rubbing a circle on your hand. The line is silent for just long enough to think it dropped.

“That’s not funny,” Violet finally hisses. “I don’t know who this is, but screw you. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, or why you’re doing this, but screw you.”

“No!” You yell, voice high and panicked. If she hangs up, you’ll lose her. She won’t pick up a call from your number. You can’t lose her again. “It’s me! I swear, Violet, it’s me. I’m alive. You were right, I’m alive.”

“This is just cruel-“

“Please, please just-“ You scramble for some sort of proof, something that will convince her. “You were five. You were five and I was thirteen, and we were at one of Mom’s parties. I sang Tommy Dorsey, and my dress gave me a rash. You did a ballet routine, and Mom made you wear a tutu, and you gave it to the senator’s dog to eat the next day.”

The line is silent again, and you’re staring at Ben with wide fearful eyes. What if that didn’t work?

He shakes his head. It fucking will.

He’s right. Violet breathes your name through the phone. “If this is you,” her voice is cautious, but still there. Still on the line. “What was the last thing you said to me? Before you disappeared.”

“We were on the phone,” you say frantically. “I told you that if I got my PhD tomorrow I’d break you out of mom’s house, drive you to the Cape, and we’d spend a week getting drunk on the beach. You told me you were sixteen, and I said I’d pavlov you into thinking you were drunk. Then I said it probably wouldn’t happen anyways, because I’d only been working on my PhD for three years and normally it takes at least six, and you told me being normal never stopped me before.” You take a strangled breath, and wait.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “Where the shit have you been? What happened? You just completely vanished,” she says your name, voice growing louder and louder. “You disappeared off the face of the earth for like two years and then you’re all over the news with a different last name and you’re Homelander’s girlfriend. People are saying Soldier Boy mighta kidnapped you and nobody will give me a single straight answer-“

“It’s complicated,” you say, feeling Ben’s tense. “Where are you?”

“In New York, I’ve been crashing with a friend. What the shit is going on?“

“I can’t say much over the phone. If you text the address to this number, I can send someone to get you. I might take a few days-“

Violet shouts your name, crackling over the speaker. “Someone to get me?! Where are you?”

“I can’t say that either.”

“Well, what can you say?”

Ben snorts, and you glare at him. “It’s-“

“Is someone else there?” Violet interrupts you. “Who else is there? Are you in danger? What’s going on-“

“I’m safe,” you don’t hesitate to say it, even as you scowl at Ben. “I’m fine. Violet-“

“Who was that, then?”

“Ben,” your words are half answer, half a hiss at the man himself. Because Ben is grinning at you and being very distracting as he starts to move closer.

You wanted me here, he winks, and you hit him.

“Who the hell is Ben.”

“Uh, Soldier Boy.”

“Soldier Boy?!” You wince at the volume, and Ben laughs again. “What do you mean Soldier Boy?! He’s there?! Right now?!”

You take Violet off speaker, even though you know Ben will still be able to hear her. It’s about the principle. “I really can’t explain over the phone. Soldier Boy didn’t kidnap me, I’m safe, and I can send someone to get you. Please.”

“Fine, but I want answers.”

“And I’ll give them to you. In person.”

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence, and Violet says your name softly. “I’m real happy you’re alive.”

“Yeah, I am as well.” You smile softly, because that’s the truth. “Thank you for not hanging up.”

“Is Soldier Boy really even hotter in pers-“

“I’ll see you soon,” you say loudly, because Ben definitely heard that. He’s smirking at you, and you can feel his smugness through where his leg is now pressed against yours. “Text me the address. I love you.”

You can hear Violet huff. “I love you too. Killjoy.”

The line drops, and Ben leans forward.

“Well? Am I hotter in person?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Fucking rude,” Ben drawls your name. “After all I did to help you.”

You scoff. “You just sat there, Pretty Boy. I did all the talking.”

He shrugs. “And you did a damn good job. I’m proud of you.”

The thing you’ve shoved deep, deep into you, the bigger thing you keep trying to ignore, flashes bright and hot through your body. “Thank you,” you whisper, and Ben grunts. “Do you, would you be okay if she came here?”

“Of course I would be.” He frowns. “I’m not going to get on your ass about this and pussy out when you finally fucking do it.”

“Would you stay here? Or go wherever we have to go to meet her?”

Ben pulls you fully against him, kissing the space between your eyes. “I’ll go wherever the hell you want me to, beautiful.”

It’s so difficult to just gently pull his mouth down to yours in thanks, and not climb on top of him and let him bring you the one place you need him to go. Into you, and against you, and with you forever.

But you manage to keep your senses, and smile against his lips. “Even Florida?”

“Don��t fucking push it,” he mutters, and you laugh. He lowers you onto the bed, keeping you tight between his body and the mattress, and you’ve never felt so calm and safe. Every time he does this, it somehow gets better. Every time he chuckles and it echoes through you, every time you can feel the hunger—now indistinguishable from the affection and what you’re afraid to call devotion—and every time his beard scrapes against your skin, rough and real, it gets better.

Butcher had been right. Ben isn’t a white knight. But you didn’t need a white knight. You didn’t want a white knight. A white knight would just put you in another, more golden cage. Would try and make you smile like you hadn’t been locked in a tower with a dragon. A white knight would try and save you, make you better. Ben didn’t need you to be better. Ben just made you better, in his own fucked up little way. You smile because he’s there, not because he told you. You scream and he screams with you. You need him and he doesn’t leave because it’s inconvenient. You burn and he burns with you. And he would never put you in a cage. He’d—if you were lucky—keep holding you like this and making everything better.

And that was just another reason, another thought, that made the thing you’ve pushed away rise to the surface. Closer and closer to breaking out. Flooding everything. 

Ben made things better.

————

She was a live wire. Scrambling around Ben, waking him up in the middle of the night to ask him how she was supposed to face her sister after everything. She’d given Mallory the address the same night of the call at Ben’s insistence—waiting until morning was fucking insane—and hadn’t stopped tapping Her hands or climbing up the walls since. It was making Ben wired. He could almost feel Her fucking anxiety, and he wasn’t even that annoyed by it. He was more pissed at the FBSI, because why the fuck couldn’t they just go faster? After all She’d done for them, asking for too fucking little in return, they could at least pretend to give a shit about her. Mallory had told them two days, and if forty eight hours passed by even a single extra second, Ben was using the gun he’d stashed under their bed to break out and go get Her sister. Anything to make Her stop asking stupid damn questions and looking so nervous.

“What if she doesn’t like me anymore?” She asked him as he entered the bedroom, foot tapping as she sat crossed-legged on the bed. “What if I tell her everything and she doesn’t understand?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said,” Ben crossed the room, saying Her name. “You’re too fucking smart to be saying something so damn stupid.”

“But-“

Ben leaned down and kissed Her, holding her perfect face gently with his hands. It was an easy, effective, mutually beneficial way to shut Her up when she started to go into overdrive, when Ben could hear the gears of her brain start to grind and still not manage to move faster than her impressively quick mouth. She always let him, too, because Ben had worked out when She was mad at him for something fucking stupid—like when he’d kept carrying Her around and she’d yelled about treating her like a fucking doll—and when She was mad at Her.

The former She was always, annoyingly, fucking right. Ben had been treating Her like she was delicate, when she might be the least delicate person he’d ever met. But he’d wanted to help her. Give her one fucking thing that she didn’t have to do for herself. And it was so easy to carry Her, because Ben was doing something for her and he got to touch her. Hold her against him. He hadn’t told Her that, because he wasn’t an emotional pussy, but he’d settled for asking before he picked her up and letting her rant at him about modern media and how to navigate the internet. It always made Her look alive as she’d spiral adorably into the most off-topic, complicated rant about something Ben had never heard of and didn’t need to know. But that was something he was doing for Her, and she’d smile at him the whole time. So he let her.

The latter, She was always wrong. When she was mad at Herself it was always over some sort of stupid shit that she seemed to know was stupid, because she’d let Ben swallow her words and make a small sound when he pulled back.

“She’ll understand,” Ben grunted, still holding Her face. “And you’re impossible not to like, it’s one of the worst damn things about you.”

A smile tugged Her lips, but she still looked so fucking sad. “I hurt people. I killed people-“

“They all fucking had it coming. And I would rather you kill a million people and get back to me than keep your hands clean and I never see you again. I’m sure your goddamn sister would feel the same.”

“Yeah,” She’d finally relaxed a little, leaning forward as she held Ben’s wrists. Heart beating a little faster, but not in panic. “But that’s because you’re insane, Benjamin.”

“You like it.”

She laughed—full and light and the best sound Ben had heard in his life—and leaned up to kiss him again. Ben crawled over Her, pushing her further into the mattress with his mouth and hands, and practicing fucking astronomical amounts of control to keep it that way. To not fuck Her stupid until the bed broke, to not worship her until she proved his theory that the only sound better than her laugh in the whole world was his name, moaned from Her lips as she came.

The Thing was quiet lately. Such a normal part of everything, so deeply ingrained into Ben that at this point he’d accepted it wasn’t going away. As long as She was alive, somewhere in the world with her heart beating, the Thing would sit in Ben and try to keep her safe. If She left him he’d still let her, because he’d always let her. But the Thing would never stop clawing at him to get back to Her. And Ben was going to have to find a way to live with that.

He’d started to take photos of Her wherever he could get them and not be caught. He was fucking good at it now too, and he wanted to show Her. The only thing that stopped him was that she’d ask questions about it, and he’d be exposing the Thing to the air, so he didn’t. But he’d filled up his whole camera with Her. He’d filled up his fucking life with her. Stupid songs were more beautiful because She liked them. Food tasted better because She’d given it to him. Movies Ben would’ve hated even a year ago were better because She’d mouth the lines and tell Ben pointless facts about the production. Mamma Mia wasn’t annoying because she knew all the awful songs by heart, and Kung Fu Panda 2 was, in fact, the best movie ever made because she said so. She’d explained shit about art and allegories and doomed narratives the whole way through, and even though Ben didn’t remember a single thing she’d said he’d never forgot the way she’d smiled. Looking between him and the screen with frightening intent, her words too big and her tone too fucking serious with such a wide grin on her perfect face. Even the stupid off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses she wouldn’t just throw in the fucking trash made blue a not completely dogshit color. Because She wore them.

And as Ben stood with Her in the elevator the next morning—watching Her taps and gnaw into herself—she was so fucking perfect it might be killing him. She had barely slept—rolling around above Ben until he’d locked his arms around her and kissed Her until she was tired—and it had given her bags under her eyes and a manic look across her face. Her hair was messy and she was wearing his shirt again and she smelled like flowers. Ben had never seen something so fucking beautiful in his goddamn life. That was true every single time he saw her. She managed to outdo herself every fucking time.

He wrapped an arm around Her, and the Thing hummed softly in Ben as she stilled quickly and leaned into him. Her hand shot up to hold his, and her whole body relaxed when he kissed the top of her head. Ben held Her steady as she took a sharp inhale at the elevator’s ding, and her nails dug into his hand as the doors opened.

The similarities between Her and the woman that steps into the hall are immediate. The woman is a little shorter, and She has slightly sharper features, but their noses are almost identical, and their hair has the exact same texture and color. The woman walked the same way too, long and careful steps off the elevator. Staring at Her.

The woman said Her name softly, and her voice was a little higher than it had been over the phone. But Ben liked the name the woman says Her name. Long, clear, and with the care that should be used to say it.

“Violet.” She breathed, taking an unsteady step forward.

They just stared at each other for another second, and it occurred to Ben somewhere from the back of his brain that She might not touch her sister. That it might have been ingrained into Her not to touch people so deeply that she wouldn’t touch anyone but Ben. He was about to tell to just damn do it because if Ben wasn’t able to touch her for a fucking week—let alone three whole years—he’d lose his mind, but before he could She made a choking sob, ran at the woman—Violet—and pulled her into a hug.

They both just stood there, Violet started crying too after barely a second, and Ben started to feel like he should maybe go. She could handle this—She could handle anything—and maybe she’d want a moment alone with her sister. Ben would rather shoot himself than interrupt this, so he was going to just back away and text Her that he’d be in their room.

Ben took a single step back, and Violet’s head shot up to meet his eyes. “Oh my god, that’s Soldier Boy.”

He nodded curtly, frozen as he waited for Her to explain it, because he sure as shit didn’t know how. Ben had no fucking clue how to explain what was going on, between them or with the whole fucking shit show their lives were. He would let Her, because she loved talking and explaining shit—she real was fucking good at it—and it wasn’t Ben’s story to tell.

“Yeah, it is.” She pulled back with a sigh, looking at Ben over her shoulders with a small smile. Her eyes scanned over him, brows raising slightly. Going somewhere, Benjamin?

Ben scowled. No. Shut up.

“What the shit is going on?” Violet gaped at Ben as they detached, and he felt a little bit like a fucking zoo animal. “You promised answers,” Violet said Her name again, giving her a glare. “I want them now.”

“You would like them now, please, Vi.” She grinned, tone teasing. “I’m gone for three years and suddenly you’re forgetting all your fucking manners. Not very lady-like of you.”

“Wow, you’re exactly the same, you sarcastic cunt.” Violet muttered, and She laughed.

“Cunt isn’t a very polite word-“

“You taught it to me,” Violet grumbled. “Give me my explanation now, please. You bitch.”

“Fine, but first.” She pulled Violet back into another tight, long hug, and Ben waited until She spoke again. “I really fucking missed you.”

Violet smiled, and Ben watched her squeeze Her back. “I missed you as well.”

They returned to Her and Ben’s apartment silently, Ben didn’t miss any of the confused looks Violet kept shooting him as he trailed after them. When they reached the door and She scanned the badge, Violet shook her head but still didn’t speak, and when they entered their apartment, Violet gaped around as she was led to the sofa. It was a little less wide-eyed awe than Her gape had been, and more completely confused.

Violet turned around, and gave Ben one last look before she spoke, “can you start talking very soon? Because this is crazy. Batshit crazy.”

“You might, uh,” She sighed, looking back at Ben nervously. “You might want to sit down. It’s a long story.”

“Is he,” Violet nodded at Ben. “Gonna be here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Her answer is immediate, and Ben is filled with stupid goddamn pussy warmth at the firmness of her tone. He was going to be here, because She wanted him here. The whole fucking time.

“Fine.” Violet dropped onto the sofa, and looked at Her expectantly. “Go.”

“Okay,” She sat down slowly, voice a little hoarse, and Ben didn’t even think as he crossed the room. Sat silently at Her side, pressed his leg against Hers. He ignored the baffled look from Violet, because nothing was more fucking important than the way She had let out a steady breath once Ben was touching her.

She glanced at him with a small nod. Thank you. Before she turned to fully face Violet. “Ready?”

Violet nodded, and She took one last long breath.

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Violet frowned. “Like your suicide?”

“I didn’t commit suicide. I mean, obviously, but I didn’t try to either. I got kidnapped.”

Violet glanced at Ben. “Kidnapped?” She repeated slowly. “By-“

“Not by Ben. He’s still in Russia at this point. And I kind of kidnapped him a lot more than he kidnapped me.”

“You kidnapped Soldier Boy?!”

“Nobody fucking kidnapped me,” Ben grumbled at the same time Violet shouted, and She gave him a flat look.

“You are not being helpful.” She shoved him slightly with her thigh. “And it’s complicated Violet. We’ll get there, but I have to actually tell the fucking story.”

Violet nods, and She continues.

“Homelander. Homelander kidnapped me. He kept me in a dungeon for two years, and um,” She swallowed, staring at the floor, and leaned back slightly into Ben. “Hurt me. He’d just found out he had a son, Ryan Butcher, and he wanted more. So he hurt me. Then he wanted to be immortal, so he started testing a new compound V variation on me. He moved me into a lab for the scientists and they tested the V on me. I escaped, and the CIA kind of recruited me. William Butcher, you’ve heard of him?” She stopped, glancing at Violet, who nodded.

“He’s the dude who killed Madeline Stillwell. The same night you vanished.”

“Yeah, well, kind of. I think technically Homelander did that. But you’ve got the right guy. He’s the one who recruited me to his team, to kill Homelander. It’s Butcher, Starlight, Starlight’s boyfriend Hughie, this French dude who’s pretty chill, Kimiko, who’s mute but super sweet, and um, MM. Big guy, probably OCD but a really good dude. And me.”

“Cause you’re a supe now,” Violet says slowly. “You got shot with V.”

“Four times, yeah.”

“What powers did you get?”

She stared a little more intently at the floor. “I’m immortal. I don’t have invulnerable skin like him,” she nodded at Ben. “Or Homelander. But I have a regenerative healing factor that’s really powerful. I can survive being hit with a nuke. It helps with my healing power.”

“Healing power?”

“I can transfer wounds from others onto myself. I have a theory that it’s less about the wounds and more about the biology, though, because I can do mental stuff as well.”

Ben tensed at that. Because it made more fucking sense, sure, but She hadn’t mentioned that to him. That Her healing his alleged shell shock might just be biology manipulation. She’d said she was fine though, and it had been a few months-

“Is that it?” Violet asked, pulling Ben’s attention. “Can you explain Soldier Boy now?”

She gave a small, huffed laugh. “No. Not even close. Each shot of V added something, immortality and healing was just the first. The second was, um, empathy.” Her hands started to tap in Her lap. “I can feel people’s emotions when I touch them. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you first-“

“I don’t care,” Violet snapped, and Ben decided he liked her. “Keep talking. Second shot was empathy. Third shot?”

“Sensory manipulation. But I’m kind of terrible at controlling it, and it only happens when I sing.”

“You’ve gotten a lot damn better though.” Ben muttered, and She shot him a dirty look. “You fucking have, Sunshine. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Fine, I can control it a little. But not completely.”

Ben nodded with satisfaction, and Violet gave him another confused frown before looking back at Her. “Fourth shot?”

“Pyrokinesis. Really strong pyrokinesis.”

“How strong?”

She answered slowly. “It alone makes me stronger than Homelander.”

“Oh,” Violet’s eyes widened. “That explains the CIA.”

“Yeah, and him.” She pointed to Ben, and Violet’s eyes followed. “I’m stronger than tall, dark, and stupid here. So I made the genius pitch to wake him up and use him against Homelander.”

Ben scowls. “It was a genius pitch. And I’ve been a fucking delight.”

She grins at him. Don’t be a baby. I’m teasing you, Pretty Boy.

He rolled his eyes. Shut the fuck up.

Make me. She stuck her tongue out at him, and turned back to Violet as the Thing pushed inside of Ben. “We lived in a safe house for a while, and after Neuman we’re here. The FBSA’s new supe compound. That’s it.”

She’d glossed over a lot of shit, but the explanation seemed to satisfy Violet. She nodded slowly, looking between them, and asked. “You’re friends? You and Soldier Boy?”

“Um,” She looked at Ben, and he shrugged. Whatever She said he’d take. He’d take and let it feed the Thing, because at least it was something. “Yes. We’re friends. Good friends.”

“Good friends,” Violet repeated slowly. “And you live together.”

She narrowed her eyes at Violet, and the room was silent for a second. Ben felt like he was missing something, especially when Violet just sighed and moved on.

“Just to recap,” she said slowly. “You’re a supe now. You’re more powerful than Homelander and Soldier Boy. You’ve been working with the CIA to kill Homelander. Soldier Boy didn’t kidnap you, you’re friends with him,” Ben didn’t like the way Violet said the word friends, like it was a fucking lie or joke. “And you can’t leave this place, which is a government supe compound.”

She nodded. “I know it’s scary and dangerous, but I can ask my boss Mallory to keep an eye on you. I don’t know if it will be better or worse to put a detail on you-“

Violet says Her name firmly. “I’m gonna be fine. I don’t need a detail, that’s crazy. Just,” she smiled sadly. “Can you not do the fix it thing for only two hours so I can talk to my sister?”

“I don’t do a fix it thing,” She muttered, and Violet gave Her a flat, bored stare that was uncannily similar to the one She always gave Ben.

“Uh huh. Do they feed you here? Is there a bell to ring?”

“We have a kitchen, Vi.” She snapped, gesturing over the couch.  “I can make something.”

“I’m not tryin to die-“

“I can fucking cook now, bitch.” She said proudly, and Ben felt the Thing hum again. “So I’m going to make something, and you’re going to eat it, and then apologize for being fucking rude.”

Violet scoffed, but followed Her when she stood and walked to the kitchen.

Ben trailed after them and watched. Watched Her, completely at ease, with someone that wasn’t him. Laughing about Her childhood, telling stupid stories, still brushing against Ben comfortably whenever she passed him. Letting him see this piece of Her from before. Still fucking wanting him there, with her, when it wasn’t about death and violence and the dark. Still fucking perfect, casually telling Ben to get the stuff he’d put on a shelf too high for Her to reach. Sitting across from him as they ate but keeping Her foot pressed against his. Talking to Violet about movies Ben hadn’t seen—but She gave him a look that promised they would watch them—their mother still being a bitch, and Violet’s life in the past three years. She was, apparently, a dancer. Going to some fancy fucking school for it.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing that as a career,” She said, shaking her head. “Ballet?”

“Of course.” Violet shrugged. “I want to use my talent. Unlike someone.”

She laughed. “I didn’t need lessons for my talent like you did. It’s not my fault I’m just a fucking natural.”

“At least I can carry a tune. Kid me blindfolded could dance better than you now.”

“You don’t know that,” She muttered. “It’s been three years. Maybe I’ve gotten better.”

“Have you?”

She scowled at her plate, and Violet laughed.

“You can dance,” Ben frowned at Her. She could definitely fucking dance. The memory of it was carved into his brain. “I’ve seen you dance.”

Don’t help me, Benjamin. You’ll make it worse. She glared at him Violet snorted.

“Did you see her dance at a club or something?”

Ben looked between Her and Violet, deciding the numb feeling of Her kicking him under the table would be well worth some fucking answers. “Yes.”

“Ah, that’s not the same.” Violet grinned, and her voice turned to the haughty, mocking impression of their mother they'd been doing all morning. “She can dance like a slut, not a lady.”

“Fuck off,” She snapped at her sister before turning her glare to Ben. “And not a single word from you.” She didn’t kick him, but threw a crumpled napkin at his face. Ben caught it and winked at her.

I like that you’re not a lady, beautiful.

She scoffed. You would.

Violet hummed, looking between them, and She sighed. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you do that with someone who’s not family.”

“Shut up,” She muttered, but Ben leaned forward.

“Do what?” He grunted, because if he didn’t find out what the fuck Violet was talking about he might explode.

“That silent communication thingy she does. I’ve only seen her do it with me and our siblings. And a few of her closest friends.”

“Violet-“

“It’s a creepy talent.” Violet ignored Her, still addressing Ben. “Me and my brother tried to recreate it together once, but it only works with her.” 

“My brother and I,” She corrected without missing a beat. “And it’s not a talent. It just happens.” 

“But I’ve only seen it happen with people you-“ Violet was cut off as She threw another napkin.

Her face was tight, glaring at Her sister, and before Ben could demand more answers for what the fuck Violet was talking about, the door slid open, revealing the one pussy agents from their move.

“I’ve um,” the agent, it was the woman—the one Ben had taken the gun from too easily—looking at Ben, Her, and Violet grouped at the table. “I’ve been told to escort your guest out the front. For her safety.”

“It’s been three hours?” She asked with a small, sad frown that made the Thing riot.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Fuck,” She swore, standing slowly. Ben remained in his seat as Violet did the same, but moved his hand to the back of Her leg when she rounded the table. So he could just fucking touch Her. So She looked a little less like the damn world was spinning and her heart slowed just a little.

She paused a foot from Violet, arms tense at her side. “I don’t know if you want me to-“

“Can it,” Violet closed the distance, pulling Her into a tight hug. “I just want to hug you.”

Ben liked how fast She gave in. Comfortably, easily, muscles relaxing further where Ben’s hand rested. Because there was at least one other goddamn person on earth who saw that She was perfect, and just wanted Her. Not quite as much as Ben wanted Her, because that was simply fucking impossible. But still just wanted Her.

“You can’t visit frequently,” Ben heard Her say softly. “We can write off once, say you were just looking for more answers. But you can’t keep coming, or tell anyone, or really call, or text-“

“I know you’re not dead.” Violet squeezed Her. “I know I’m not crazy. Everything else is good by me.”

She looked over Violet’s head to Agent No-Gun. “Make sure she’s safe, please.”

Agent No-Gun nodded. “Of course, Ma’am.”

The hug lasted a minute longer before Violet pulled back, and gave Her one last smile. “Kick Homelander’s whole butt.”

When the door closed behind Agent No-Gun, She was swaying slightly. Her heart faster, her eyes glued on the door like it might open, or explode.

“Are you going to cry.” Ben asked, because if She was he needed to be ready. Figure out a game plan now.

She just sighed. “I’m not going to cry. I’m just. I didn’t-“

Ben stood and pulled Her into his chest. She’d stay there until her heart became even again. He’d hold her until she made him stop.

When She pulled back to look at Ben she wasn’t smiling. But her features weren’t too controlled, like something was being held barely fucking together inside her. She was looking at him, with a wide, open, soft, perfect face.

“Thank you,” She said softly, and Ben blinked.

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

“You were here.” She buried her head back against him. “I’m just really fucking glad you’re here.”

“I’m not going a goddamn place without you,” he muttered, scowling at the air. “That’s that. So don’t fucking thank me.”

“Good luck stopping me, Benjamin.” Her words were muffled against Ben’s body, and he could feel her smiling into his chest. “Thank you.”

“Brat.”

She relaxed even further into him, and it made Ben smile like a fucking pussy into the air. She tilted her head up, staring at him with a gentle, simple perfect fucking smile. Looking at Ben like he was something she wanted.

“Cunt,” She whispered. And kissed him. She wasn’t horny, or mad, and Ben wasn’t doing anything except fucking standing there. Ben hadn’t asked, or initiated it because he was being mauled inside by not touching her. She kissed him, slow and so fucking easily. When She pulled back her whole perfect face was lighter, her smile bigger, and Ben returned it. Because why the hell wouldn’t he, when She was looking at him like that.

“You can’t fucking dance,” Ben drawled Her name, because he needed her to laugh a little. Be a little brighter.

She shoved at his chest, but didn’t try to get away from him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I could teach you,” he leaned down a little, bringing his eyes to Hers. “I’m a goddamn king of waltzing.”

“Wow,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That is such fucking bullshit.”

“I fucking am.”

“You’re going to kill us both.”

Ben scoffed. “With dancing?”

“You’d find a way,” She shrugged, but was still smiling. “It’s one of your many skills.”

Ben started adjusting Her in his arms, dropping one hand to her lower back and moving the other into her own hand. “Sing.”

“Sing?”

“Something slow. No fast shit.”

She gaped at him. “You’re being serious.”

“Of course I am, I’m not a-“

“Pussy fucking liar,” She stuck her tongue out at Ben’s glare. “If you drop me-“

“I’m not going to drop you.” Ben snapped. He’d listen to Butcher talk for fifty straight years before he fucking dropped Her. “Sing.”

She watched him a little more apprehensively than Ben liked, but did. A slow song that sounded like wind and sunlight, with guitar and gentle symbols. Ben recognized it, he wasn’t sure from where but he was positive he did. He’d ask Her later, but right now it was about this. About holding Her like she deserved to be held, spinning her around and making her smile. Guiding her legs as he moved into the four-step waltz his mother had taught him, that had only been used for stupid fucking Vought parties or boring galas with pointless themes he’d hated attending. Making Her keep looking at him like that. Her perfect lips parted slightly, eyes clouded with something that wasn’t panic or lack of control. Just staring at Ben, touching him, wanting him there. Her voice was making the world fill with sunlight, making her somehow more beautiful, making an ocean breeze carry through the world and everything become just them. Together.

The song ended too soon, and She didn’t move away. She rested her head back against him, and Her heart was uneven again. Ben couldn’t figure out why, why the fuck was her heart like that when she looked so peaceful, but when She looked back up at him she was smiling. So he let it go.

“Thank you.”

Ben didn’t tell Her to shut up this time. She never fucking listened anyway. So he just kissed Her. Made her open for him as far as she could go, made her moan into his mouth. He’d mastered using every part of her body he was allowed to touch, worked out how to get her happy and wrecked in his hands from just kissing her. He’d stay here forever. As long as She was doing whatever fucking thing turned Ben into a weak fucking pussy that was consumed by just Her, he’d stay right here. He’d ask Her to sing again, because she sounded like a fucking angel, and he’d learn every way to keep Her there. With him. If She told him she’d go with him, when this was over, there wasn’t a single fucking thing that would keep him away. Mallory could threaten him, Edgar could call in his favor, Butcher could mock and hunt him, but Ben would stay with Her.

He’d follow Her anywhere, and listen to her rants, and put up with all Her insane shit because she was fucking perfect. Because She did the same, for him, for almost everyone, and there wasn’t a goddamn person who deserved the world more than she did. So, if She let him, Ben would give it to Her. The world was fucking shit, but every part of it was more beautiful when she was around. 

So he’d find a way, bombs and fists and blood and gunpowder, to give it to Her.

End Note: I can’t believe I Avengers Tower 2013ed the Boys. Also for everyone going “gross where did the plot go” do NOT worry. It is coming. It is very much coming. We're about to CRAZY.

If you want to, leave a comment! Every single one makes my day and fuels my soul, so if you have any thoughts at all, share them!

Taglist

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@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

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@sadpods

[pretty-purple-pages]

sinner not a saint - percy.j

synopsis: is percy jackson going to be okay?

content (genre and warnings): angst angst angst, suicidal and thoughts about dying, hurt/comfort, romantic!percabeth not implied.

word count: 0.6 k

Percy Jackson was not okay. And that was terrifying.

He sat under the shower, the water falling around him in a dome-like shape; never touching his skin. As if the water didn't want to cleanse him. Maybe he had so much blood on his hands that even the water couldn't clean it.

Get up. He tried to will himself. Get up, everyone is waiting for you. He wish they didn't. He wished they saw what kind of monster he was; a sinner and not the saint everyone thought he was.

On some days, Percy wished Annabeth didn't fall into Tartarus with him. Maybe if he was alone in that pit, he'd wouldn't be alive right now. Maybe everyone would be happier.

His mom wouldn't have to worry herself over whether he was alive every few days. His sister won't have to live with a murderer of a brother. Annabeth won't have to stay with a person who could lose control at any moment now. Grover won't have to call a freak his best friend.

Most they'd do is cry. Mourn. Few days, Few years at most. Then they'd move on. Camp half-blood would get another hero, Annabeth would get another partner, Grover would get another best friend. Sally would still have one child.

"Seaweed brain? you in there?" He heard Annabeth's voice from outside the door, slightly muffled. He didn't want her to see him right now. So broken. No, he was supposed to be the strong one.

"Y-yeah. In here!"

"You okay? Can I come in?" Annabeth saw right through him. Dammit, why did she know him so well?

Taking the silence as an answer, Annabeth slowly twisted the door knob, muttering a small 'coming in', peeking into the bathroom.

What she saw, broke her heart into shards, every one of them poking her uncomfortably. The shower glass was fogged and her Percy was on the floor, knees to his chest, staring at gods know where.

His eyes were a unsettling shade of green.

Not his usual sea-green; the shade that was more comforting to her than any home she had. No, this was a horrifying shade. Blank, dark and void of his usual cheerfulness.

"It won't touch me," he looked up to the shower-head "The water won't touch me." his voice was hoarse, like he had screamed too much, cried too much. "Do I have so much blood on my hands that I don't deserve to be cleaned?"

Annabeth wanted to sob. Hold him and sob. Tell him that no, it wasn't his fault. Nothing was his fault. It was the gods and their stupid plans. It was the gods, always.

Instead she turned off the shower, helping him stand up and brought him to sit on his bed. She soaked a towel in some water, carefully wiping the blood off his face.

This time the water touched him. Cleaned him.

"I'm sorry, Annie" he mumbled quietly; words she never wanted to hear again.

"If you say 'sorry' one more time, I'm going to eat all of Sally's cookies" she chuckled, teasing him, even though tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

"It's not your fault, seaweed brain. Never. It will never be your fault."

"It is though. I'm a murderer, a monster, a freak. I scared you in Tartarus. I've killed more people than my age. I don't deserve what I have"

"You didn't choose to kill people, did you? The gods, the fates, they made you do it. I know that you'd never choose to hurt people if your had a choice. But you didn't Percy. And its not your fault. And in Tartarus, even though I was scared, I know it was necessary. I know you did it to save us. And I know because you promised me, you won't do it again. You're not a murderer, a monster, a freak; you're a kid, Percy. A kid who's gone through too much shit."

Warm tears stained both of their faces, as they sobbed together, Percy on the bed, Annabeth kneeling on the floor. Her arms' were wrapped around his torso and his, around her neck.

Maybe not right now, but Percy Jackson was going to be okay.

©reyna-obsessed | Not to be reposted, translated or copied on any platform

tags: @moondust-on-the-hijabi @thx-sunsxts-addrxss @rxsewqter

@queenie-blackthorn @txna-blxckthorn @lxstletter

@hijabi-desi-bookworm @itadori-yujiii

[saibug1022]

Revelations

Word Count: 1332

Castor Athantis (ILW MC) x Abel Flint

A/N: I've had this written for a bit and forgot to actually post it on here. Wanted to hop on the It Lives Within angst train that was the Chapter 16 ending (thanks @itlivesproject). As such MASSIVE spoilers for Chapter 16 under the cut.

Castor had never heard the cabin this silent. In the three weeks they'd been living there, there always seemed to be some sort of noise. Connor out back in the shed, Noah in the kitchen, someone in the living room watching TV or reading, everyone laughing at the table, Val's ghost humming outside, Amalia breathing next to them. 

But now it was like the woods itself was holding its breath. Castor stood at the front of the living room, arms folded around themself and with a bruising grip on their upper arms. Their friends sat and stood throughout the room facing Cas and every single one of them was wearing a blank look of shock. Castor had no idea how any of them were feeling because no one would meet their eyes. 

"How can you be sure?" Connor asked, his voice quiet but in the silence, it cracked like a whip. 

"I just am," Castor muttered. "I doubted it at first too, I mean Fake Annie was the one to confirm it and I don't trust her at all. But after what Val said when he was freaking out I figured it out on my own. And once I did it all just…clicked. I just knew it was right, I could feel it."

"So you're not…" Amalia's voice shook and she cleared her throat but it still broke when she spoke again. "You're not Castor?"

"I am but I'm not," Castor sighed. "I am Castor, I have all their memories, I think like them, I feel like them, I look like them obviously. But in the sense of like, having their soul, no. No, I'm not."

"Oh God," Amalia buried her face in her hands and Castor took half a step toward her to comfort her before thinking better of it. "What happened to them then? Are you possessing them?!"

Cas hesitated. They all had the right to know, Amalia better than anyone. But how could they just admit that they'd unknowingly stolen someone's life after they died, leaving no one to grieve them because no one even knew they were gone? How did they justify that?

"Answer the question," Jocelyn snapped and Castor flinched. They dropped their arms but their hands were clenched into fists so tightly they wouldn't be surprised if their nails managed to break the skin. When they answered, they stared firmly at the floor. 

"Castor Athantis is dead," They finally confessed. "I didn't know until now. But they died with the rest of their family."

Amalia finally let out a sob and Castor squeezed their eyes shut against tears of their own. She probably hated them now. And who could blame her? They were walking around puppeteering her best friend's corpse. They'd stolen the life the real or first Castor should have been living! They stole Castor’s best friend, their future, their potential for love, their hopes, their dreams, their grief, their memories. 

But even if they weren't Cas they were. They stole those things but it wasn't on purpose! They didn't even know! And now their best friend who may not even really be their friend was sobbing and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it because it was their fault in the fucking first place!

Or was it?

They didn't know! They didn't fucking know who they were anymore! All of this was messy and fucked up and confusing and they just wanted to scream and cry and throw things because none of this was FAIR! They finally start rebuilding a life where they're happy after five years only to learn it was never theirs to rebuild.

They looked up at the sound of footsteps, expecting to see Amalia leaving or approaching or something but instead, the person silently leaving the cabin was…Abel? Castor glanced at Amalia only for her to lean away from them and Castor made a strangled noise from trying to swallow a sob.

"I'm sorry, Amalia," Cas whispered before they turned and left the cabin, with only the hope that they'd be allowed to come back. 

When they got outside they saw Abel standing in the middle of the yard, running his hands through his hair. His shoulders were a tense line, every muscle tight. Castor couldn't see his face but they weren't sure they wanted to. 

Amalia's rejection made it feel like their life was falling apart. Not in an "Oh I might not get into the college I wanted" way, but in the same way they felt, no, the way they remembered the real Castor feeling while their family was being ripped apart. Their entire world shattered around them, leaving only Castor's cyan eye in broken glass. When they had nothing, less than nothing, they still had Amalia. They always had Amalia. And now…they didn't. She was just gone. She'd rejected them.

They couldn't handle Abel rejecting them too. 

"Abel?" Cas prompted quietly and Abel stiffened even further. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Abel admitted. "I don't even know if I can tell you."

"Of course, you can," Castor promised and Abel finally turned to look at them. "I'm still your Cas. You've only known me as me. Everything I've ever told you was real. Everything I feel is real. I-I'm still a person. A person created by the Power, but a person."

"But you aren't just some person the Power gave life to or brought back," Abel argued. "You are the Power. You are literally the Power incarnate. How am I supposed to just suddenly accept that? The Power has been destroying my family's lives for generations. It killed my grandmother, my parents, it almost killed me!"

"Abel-" Castor tried but Abel interrupted them.

"How am I supposed to see anything else when I look at you?"

It was like Castor’s heart stopped beating.

"I'd never hurt you," Castor swore. "Th-that wasn't me, Abel, I swear. The Power isn't sentient it didn't want to hurt your family. It isn't malicious. I-I don't know why exactly it did the things it did but it's a neutral force. And even then I'm just a piece of the Power, not the Power itself. I don't want to hurt anybody. I don't want it to hurt anybody. I'd never hurt you, Abel, I swear on the Power itself. You have to believe me, please-"

In some sort of desperation, Castor reached for Abel's hands as they had a million times before. It was a safe thing for both of them, something reassuring and warm and loving. It was something so personal to their relationship that was just instinct for Castor to reach for his hands, both to reassure him and to reassure themself. But Abel's hands moved and he took a step back, stopping Castor in their tracks. No. No, please. 

"Abel?" Castor breathed and Abel didn't meet their eyes.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Abel muttered and Castor felt the tears finally spill over.

"Oh," Castor tried to take a breath as their hands fell, returning to fists at their sides.

"I'm sorry, I just can't right now," Abel apologized again and Castor shook their head.

"I understand," They replied. "I think maybe…maybe I should go." 

After all, they had nowhere to be. They couldn't be at the cabin with Amalia. They couldn't go to Abel's apartment and they doubted they could go to Lincoln or Jocelyn's. They didn't have the money for a motel and Westchester Community College didn't have dorms.

So for now, they turned and just started walking in a random direction, following their instincts until they realized they were heading right for the heart of the woods. But maybe that was where they should be. The source of the Power. They didn't belong here, not really. They never did. So, until they were needed, they'd just…go.

"Where are you going to go?" Abel called to them as they reached the tree line. Castor stopped.

"I have no idea," The Anchor answered.

So, with nothing left to say, they returned to the woods.

[idontdohappyendingz]

When the World Caved In {S.B.}

[Part One: Jesters in Their Own Right]

A/N: Hi, y'all! It's been a minute, I know. This is a new series with Sirius Black x OC! Anathema le Fay (face claim is Liv Tyler). Enjoy!

Warnings: Injuries, Mental distress, depression, not beta-read.

Word Count: 1095

[1975]

“Anathema le Fay!” bellowed Professor McGonagall from down the hall, her straight black hair fraying from her usually tame bun. Anathema, always the quick thinker, dove behind the statue on her left and held her breath. She sincerely felt awful for placing that stink bomb under the professor’s table but their reactions were priceless. Anathema had bolted as soon as Professor McGonagall made eye contact with her. She just hoped the boys had escaped unscathed. The dauntless Ravenclaw peeked out from her hiding place and rested her hands gently on the rough stone pedestal.

“Miss me, princess?” a low voice teased. Anathema tensed and whipped around, almost punching the notorious troublemaker in the nose. She somehow was able to pull back a mere centimeters from his face.

“Sirius!” Anathema screeched in surprise.

“Merlin, Annie! Keep your voice down, you’re going to give us away!” Sirius whispered with a smirk. Anathema crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes.

“Oh fuck off,” she chided. Sirius chuckled softly and pulled her in close. Anathema hid a smile in his robes as she squeezed back. She loved the feeling of his arms around her. It felt like home.

“Siri?” Anathema asked softly, her violet irises meeting his gray eyes, as courage surged through her veins.

“Yes, Annie?” he said quizzically.

“I-”

“Wait, quiet. We have to get out of here before Minnie comes back,” he winked, an award winning smile across his cheeks as he led her into the darkness.

[1981]

Anathema let out a shuddering breath, her teeth clenching.

“Come on, le Fay. We both know that you won’t last very much longer,” the looming Death Eater taunted. He leaned in next to her ear and whispered, “they’re not coming to save you. It’s only a matter of time,” his raspy voice echoed in her head. She grit her teeth and repeated her mantra aloud.

“My name is Anathema le Fay. I was sorted into Ravenclaw in 1971. I finished Hogwarts in 1978 and I have nothing to say. My name is Anathema le Fay. I was sorted into Ravenclaw in 1971. I finished Hogwarts in 1978 and I have nothing to-”

“Oh, bite your tongue!” he yelled, “Just tell us who the Potters’ secret keeper is, and this will all end,” he promised. Anathema suppressed a sob as thousands of scenarios ran through her head.

“No,” she shuddered, her throat dry and scratchy from how much she had screamed already. How long had she been there? A few days? A week? Where were they?

“Oh dear, it seems that you’ve forced my hand. Again,” the man said, the unmistakable zeal laced in his voice didn’t escape her.

“Do your worst,” Anathema challenged as she spit on his shoe. He grabbed her neck and forced her to look at him, a mangled grin sat crookedly on his shabby face. Anathema struggled against the ropes tethering her to the old dining room chair.

“Oh, Rosier,” a sickeningly sweet feminine voice from behind Anathema, “that’s no way to treat our guest.” Rosier’s eyes flicked up and a muddled expression spread across his features. She couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or excited. He backed away, his eyes still transfixed on the woman who had entered. The sound of a long robe slithering across the floor grew near as the clicks of some frighteningly distinct heeled boots struck the cracked tile.

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Anathema spat as soon as the vile woman came into view.

“The one and only,” Bellatrix cackled. She raised her arm to touch Anathema’s face and, much to Bellatrix’s delight, her captive instinctively flinched. Something cold and metallic nipped her cheek, followed by a trail of blood. Bellatrix tsked disapprovingly as she pulled the ornate dagger away.

“Jumpy, now. Aren’t we?” she jeered delightfully, “undo her restraints, Rosier.” The other Death Eater eyed Anathema uneasily, but waved his wand with a flick of his wrist. The ropes receded, leaving raw and painful burns behind. Anathema seethed silently as her skin bled. As much as she wanted to strangle the woman before her, Anathema found herself unable to move, as if her limbs were filled with lead.

“Now,” Bellatrix continued, “the real fun begins.”

[1981]

Sirius Black thought he knew what it was like to feel paranoid. But nothing compared to those past few days. Remus was acting strange, Peter kept disappearing, James and Lily were in hiding, and Anathema had yet to return from her last mission. Sirius had hounded Dumbledore for answers only for the headmaster to brush him off, insisting that he give Anathema more time. Aside from himself and Dumbledore, nobody outside of the Potter’s knew that Peter was the secret keeper. Sirius would worry himself sick, knowing that if they got her… she wouldn’t get out alive. Anathema was strong-willed and he knew that nothing would break her.

It had been four days. Four days of no contact, no answers, no Anathema. Sirius wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on before he snapped.

The living room was dimly lit leaving an eerie sense of gloom in its wake. Sirius sat on the sofa Anathema had enthusiastically brought back to the flat the day after they moved in. She could not believe that someone had been so eager to rid themselves of a perfectly good piece of furniture. Sirius cracked a smile and tried to ignore the spring digging into his arse.

“Annie… where are you?” he whispered to himself. He waited in silence as the sun sank behind the nearby buildings. Sirius knew it was absurd to expect something to happen. But deep down, he pleaded that she would apparate in front of him and call him an imbecile for being so worried. He wanted her to be okay, to run her fingers through his hair and kiss away his fears. Sirius let out a shuddering breath and dragged himself to the master bedroom. He twisted the silver ring Anathema had gifted him for his sixteenth birthday. She had gotten it especially made for him from one of her father’s muggle friends. Sirius ran his finger over the Latin engraving, Vivamus, moriendum est.

“‘Let us live, since we must die,’” she had explained. Anathema was never one to shy away from the dark and morbid. But Sirius thought it was beautiful. He slipped it off his left ring finger and set it onto the nightstand. Sirius let his gaze blur with involuntary tears as he stared at the ceiling.

He drifted off into a dreamless sleep that night.

[bcdwhcre]

“Betrayal,” Levi x Reader

Summary: The 3 Titan shifters (aka Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt) had stolen the last Titan serum and you end up getting framed. While you get tortured by the military police to reveal the truth, Levi tries his best to prove your innocence.

Idk if this would end up being a series, it just might bc even tho this was requested, I’m thinking about having a spin where after the reader gets tortured, they have like a life changing moment (kinda like Tokyo ghoul where after Kaneki gets tortured, he turns into an actual ghoul) kinda like that so bear with me🤧

Warnings!: abuse and torture!!!!

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It was a normal day, the only day off the scouts had and they all spent it relaxing and talking with each other. You had sat next to your boyfriend, Levi, while having a few drinks when the military police had stormed inside the place.

The sudden harsh grabs of their hands on your body, slamming you down on the hard table was enough to cause pain through your body and you had let out a wince from the impact.

Their actions had made Levi jump up and try to shove them off your body, his anger boiling at the sight of you being put into handcuffs without them barely saying a word.

“Back up, Captain and let us do our job.” The guy ended up punching Levi clean in his jaw and made him stumble back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Armin had shouted, all the scouts ready to fight with the guards as they yanked your small body off the table.

“Y/N is under arrest for stealing the Titan serum and helping the traitors get away.” They spoke coldly, making your eyes widen at their words and Levi had looked surprised.

“That’s not true! I didn’t touch it!” You shouted, trying to resist their attempts of shoving you out the door and you had looked back at Levi.

“It’s not true, you have to believe me!” The last look he had given you was disappointment and that had made your heart shattered as they put you on the carriage.

The ride back to their station was quiet, except their disgusting words that they shot at you to make you feel guilty and even a guard mentioned how beaten you were going to be after they were done with you.

Your heart ached and your body shook from the amount of rage you felt running through your veins. You were sure you already had bruises forming on your skin from the rough pushing and shoving against the table.

Levi had stood in the middle of the room, watching you get taken out the door with the small of blood running down his nose and everyone stayed quiet, looking at the Captain.

He didn’t want to believe it but why would they suspect you? Out of all people? It had made him overthink about it but the look of terror on your face as you looked at him one last time had made him feel deep down in his gut that you were telling the truth.

He was your boyfriend afterall, he knew you pretty well and have been for over a year so he was positive he would know if you were a traitor and if you stole something as big as the Titan serum.

As you were shoved inside the cell, being locked away, you were left to your thoughts and the tears threatened to stream down your face as you tried to think of everything- how did you even end up here? What led you here?

It was a painful topic to think about, to even think about being a suspect, to think about being a traitor. There was no room for you to be a traitor even if you tried.

It had taken hours before the guards came back to bring you into a empty room, tying you to a chair to ‘ask you questions’ but in reality, they put you here to enjoy the torture they’re going to do to you.

“Where is the Titan serum?” One asked, making your sad tear filled eyes to look up at them and before you could even open your mouth, he had swung his fist to strike you across the face.

The rough impact caused blood to spit out of your mouth and onto the wooden floors, coughing it up as you tried to take steady breaths but it was far too difficult.

Levi had finally went up to the station with everyone, trying to reason with the military police and talk to them about the fact that their thoughts on you were completely false.

They had surprisingly let Levi through considering he is a scout but when he got through the area he wasn’t supposed to be in and had seen you in the room, the way you were breathing heavy and the way you face was already beaten to the point where he could barely recognize your face because it was covered it blood- it made him angry.

“Have you even done your actual fucking jobs or have you been beating her this entire fucking time?!” He shouted at them, making you raise your head at the sound of his voice and your heart began to break more if that was even possible.

“We are doing our job, you’re not even supposed to be this far back here. Get his ass out of here.” The mp ordered the guards to drag Levi out and he had looked at you with a pained look, shoving the guards off of him and walking out of the room by himself.

He didn’t want to leave you there but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do except talk to the higher ups and try to prove your innocence to them but that’s a lot harder than it sounds

Throughout the night, the guards didn’t let you sleep one bit. The long hours of them beating you whether it was with a stick, a whip- it didn’t matter. They had even used knives to cut up your skin, they didn’t care- for all they know you were a traitor to them.

The amount of blood that had covered your entire uniform was sick, you could barely even keep your eyes open and handle everything. You stopped crying, you stopped screaming, you were just emotionless.

And inside your head, you had zoned out enough to not think about the pain and think about the harsh beatings they were giving you. It felt like you had changed into a whole completely different person and gave yourself a new mindset from all this torture.

And it took two days.

Two days for Levi to find proof, two days for Levi to run up to the station and slam the proof on their desks along with bringing the scouts for evidence to show them that the people who had stole the Titan serum was no one else but the two Titan shifters, Reiner and Bertholdt.

The way Levi had rushed up to the chair you were still tied in, the rope digging in your skin from how tight it was- leaving dry blood stains from head to toe.

The guards still didn’t feel bad, shit, they still thought you did it but by their boss’ commands- they had to let you go.

Your eyes barely opened when Levi stepped in the room, all you could hear was muffling of voices and a blur of his face come into view.

He wanted to kill them desperately. The way he would enjoy watching his blade slice through their skins like butter but he kept his cool, he kept it together but deep down he wanted to scream at the sight of you. You were awful.

He had scooped you up in his arms, you could barely see his face from the blood but you ended up passing out eventually.

When you had regain consciousness, Levi had barely made it back to the base. All the scouts had looked at you in complete shock and even Armin had shed a few tears while Eren threatened to kill all the MPs.

“Just leave her be for a couple of days guys, she’s in bad shape.” Levi mumbled, he didn’t want to think about it too much- he didn’t want to stare at your bloody state or else it’ll send him off the deep end.

He didn’t know what to do but simply clean you in the bath tub. He had undressed you and sat you in there, making sure to sit you up so you wouldn’t fall. You held onto the edges of the bath, your eyes staring down at the clear water that soon was dark red from your blood.

You remained quiet which worried him, he knew it must’ve been traumatizing but he thought you would at least speak up by now.

“Y/N?” He whispered, running the cloth over your body ever so gently and this is when he got full looks of your wounds.

Deep cuts and slashes on your skin, from your back to your arms and legs. It was painful for him to look at it, he knew you would need stitches for them.

“Will you be okay for a few minutes? I need to go get the first aid.” He stared at you but your eyes stayed on the water, your head tilted down and your eyes barely even blinking.

Levi had sighed, standing up from his spot and left the room to hurry to the infirmary and come back so he can stitch you up himself. While he was gone, your eyes had moved around the bathroom and the bloody cloth he was using to wash you.

Once you had catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you stared at it for what seemed like forever- looking at the cuts that covered your pale body. Soon you started to laugh while tears filled up in your very eyes and even a few slipped down your cheeks as your laugh grew louder.

He had finally walked in the room, looking down at you and had felt a huge weight pin down on his heart. The mixed bloody tears on your cheeks and the laughter coming out of your mouth had him frozen in time until you finally caught his gaze, your laughing coming to a stop and your sobs started leaving your lips.

Levi rushed over, dropping the box and leaned over the tub to hug onto you but not so tight, making sure to watch your wounds. Your sobs had grown so loud that the scouts down the hall heard your crying, the pain escaping your throat was painful to their ears.

“Hey, shhh.” He had tried to comfort you, the guilt he felt had made him want to punch himself for not helping you sooner, it was his fault you were like this.

He stroked your hair back, tilting your head up to look at him fully and he couldn’t help but cry with you. The whimpers that escaped your busted lips had made him want to break down here and now.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.. you’re safe.” He repeated until your breathing had gone back to normal, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

He had resumed what he was doing. He grabbed the needle and thread, slowly starting to stitch you up while you silently cried in the tub, the water growing cold as your body ached. He had stitched you up in so many places that he could barely count, they completely went overboard with torturing you and he felt like it was on purpose.

When he finished cleaning off the dry blood off your naked body, he lifted you up and wrapped a towel around you. He watched the dark red water go down the drain and he cursed under his breath at the mess around the bathroom, blood everywhere.

You were silent again, numb to everything you had felt throughout the last few days, emotionless but felt the need to scream again but your throat was dry and empty and sore.

He was careful to dress you in comfortable clothes, mostly his t-shirt and some sweatpants after he made sure to put bandages over your stitches and cuts. He tugged his blankets back, laying you down and tucking you in.

Once your head had hit the pillow, your eyes shut and he sat at the edge brushing his fingers through your hair, watching you for a while.

“I’ll make sure they pay for this, I promise..” He mumbled, more to himself than to you before he pressed a kiss to your bruised cheek.

“I love you.”

Throughout the night he had slept beside you but made sure to keep his distance, he didn’t want to hurt you in any way and he knew you haven’t slept the whole time you’ve kept by the military police.

As you slept, all you dreamt of was nightmares and to you they felt so real. The way they would hit you, it felt like they actually did and when they had walked up to your bloody corpse, leaning down and even threatening to cut off your fingers.

The way their plyers had gripped onto your fingernails as they ripped it out with no remorse- it all felt too real. Your body would shake, jolt and even whimpers would fall from your lips as you slept. It had taken a while for Levi to even wake up from your movements.

“Y/N.” He tried to be as gentle as possible, placing his hand on your arm and that’s when you jolted awake, sitting up and panting.

He had removed his hand when you shot up, hesitating before he reached out for you again and when you felt his fingertips- you flinched hard, looking over at him like he was a stranger.

“It’s me.” He mumbled, your eyes adjusting to the dark and you looked at his pained expression and that made your breathing start to calm down.

“Sorry.” You whispered, wiping the sweat off your forehead and you looked down at your arms wrapped in bandages, seeing the blood start to leak through.

“Don’t be.. do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” You said coldly, moving to lay back down in bed and had your back facing him as you stared at the wall.

Levi wanted to desperately take your pain away, he wish he could trade spots and take all the damage instead. But as he sat there staring down at you for what seemed like an hour, he was afraid of losing you and afraid that you were slowly slipping away from his grasp.

He thought about comforting you, would that even be a safe option? He thought. You flinched at his slight touches and he didn’t want you to become afraid of him, he loved you more than anything.

He decided to scoot closer to you, carefully kissing the back of your head and rested his hand on a safe part of your upper arm, making you tense underneath his touch.

“Look, I know what you went through was traumatic.. believe me but please don’t push me away, I can’t lose you.” He said softly, making your eyes water instantly from the flashbacks that flooded your head, every slap, kick, punch, everything.

“Levi,”

“I just want you to be able to talk to me, you’re not alone, at all.”

“I know.” You simply said, not knowing what else to really say about the situation. You were beaten senseless, out of pure hatred, it changed you.

You decided to gently turn over to face him, scrunching up your nose at the pain that followed as you moved. Your eyes looked at his, your bruised face had made his heart hurt more than he could explain.

As you two sat there staring at one another, you carefully brought your weak hand up to caress his cheek and rubbed your thumb over his skin slowly.

He leaned his face more into your hand, the most affection he has gotten out of you and even then, you hesitated, you wanted to pull away. You didn’t want to be touched, talked to, you wanted to be left alone but you had to think about Levi’s feelings too and what he did for you.

“Thank you, for everything.” You mumbled, making his eyes instantly move to look at yours with a hint of hope in them.

“No need to thank me.”

“But I want to, for cleaning me up and trying to support me.. can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

You sat there for a moment, trying to think of a better way to put everything and you sighed, your lips pressing into a thin line and even that had made the pain shoot through your busted lips.

“I just- I’m not comfortable speaking about the details but what I will say is, I’m not the same.”

“Ive noticed.” He whispered, moving his hand to brush the strands of your hair back from your face and he gave you a weak smile.

“No matter what, Y/N, I’m here.. to love you, to take care of you, all of it. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.” This time you cracked a smile, squishing his cheeks playfully as you leaned over to press a quick kiss to his lips but even that caused you pain in your body.

“I love you, Lev.”

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Soooo idk whether to make a part 2

But if I was, I was thinking of the reader going crazy from the traumatic experiences and even going as far as to killing the guards in cold blood— no one knowing who did it except Levi. Blah blah.

Tell me what you think

Also this one is longer and I’m actually glad and proud how it turned out. So this is why I wanna start pacing myself, it turns out better that way❤️ but my requests are ALWAYSSSSS open, just be patient with me. Mwah. Ps, if you read all that, I love you.

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

( tag list: @levis-odm-gear )

[abbatoirablaze]

Running From A Dream, Chapter 1

Word Count:  896

“GO AWAY!” you screamed.  Your hands rushed to cover your ears as you rocked back and forth, your eyes squeezed tight.  Your heart raced as the sounds of your father started fading away, and your mother’s voice grew even louder, “STOP!  PLEASE!  STOP!” 

The nightmare only seemed to grow around you, feeding off of the scared energy you were giving it.  The shadows grew larger around you, and he projected the haunting vision of your mother in front of you.  She kicked at your side, knocking you to your hands and knees.  He frowned, upset that your nightmare had become powerful enough to where he could actually hurt you.

He hated when it was like that.

“Not real,” you uttered, trying to pull yourself out of it all.  Tears fell down your cheeks as you tried to rationalize it, “none of this is real.  None of it is real.”

“I’m real!” the woman shrieked into your ear.  The nightmare behind the projection cringed, and the image flickered.  Bucky’s heart ached as he watched you sob, “I know everything about you Annalise.  All your biggest fears.  I know what hurts you.  I AM WHAT HURTS YOU!”

And at that the projection of your mother kicked at you again.  Your stomach lurched and you rolled to your back. 

“You let me die with him,” she scolded you, “you took what you wanted and then ran away like a little harlot.”

“I didn’t want it,” you cried, sobbing against the floor, “I’m sorry, mom.  I didn’t want it to happen.  I’m so sorry.”

Bucky looked nervously to the door, where he knew his counterpart would come through any moment.  He personally always hated these moments; the ones where the nightmare got too intense…too vivid. 

But he was just a nightmare, providing the dreamer with the tools they needed to work through whatever their subconscious needed. 

“NOT SORRY ENOUGH!”

Another kick. 

Your pleas and cries were too much for Bucky to handle, the nightmare giving him too much power, and making his chest ache.  He hated doing this to you. 

The door burst open, and Bucky fell back into the shadows.  The projection of your mother faded as you sobbed against the floor. 

“Be gone.”

And Bucky was cast out of the nightmare, Steve’s electrifying eyes fading into his own darkness. 

Meanwhile, Steve looked at you, a sobbing, broken mess on the floor of your childhood home.  His heart ached for you.  Every morsel of his being craved your touch; craved to make it all go away so that he could lull you into a feeling of security. 

You hadn’t had a dream in a few nights, but this one…this was strong. 

Steve fell to his knees in front of you, cradling your frame against his. 

“I’m here, Annalise,” he whispered softly, his lips catching on your temple.  You gripped his shirt, fisting the material in your hands as your sobs became slow, uneven whimpers.  You blinked and suddenly your childhood home was gone.  In its place was your bedroom.  But your husband wasn’t sleeping soundly beside you in the bed. 

It was just you and Steve.  You looked up into his eyes, and he gave you the saddest of smiles, “I’m here, Annie.”

“Please don’t leave me,” you begged him, “please…”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he replied.  Steve laid you down softly and began to crawl in beside you, “I’m here, Annie…I’m here for you, my love.”

You nuzzled into his suddenly bare chest, your own heart racing.  Steve smiled softly as your lips found his chest, your hands exploring low on his abdomen.  You looked up, your eyes meeting the steely blue orbs of the man you felt a kinship with. 

“When-when did you-“

“Don’t worry about anything,” Steve whispered to you.  His hand grazed across your cheek, and you found yourself leaning into it, “I’ve got you, Annie.”

“Steve…I-I was so scared.”

“I know, doll,” he whispered once again.  His hand slid down your body, and you shivered when he reached your suddenly bare hip.  You looked down at yourself and your eyes widened when you saw that the both of you were entirely bare.  But Steve’s lips captured yours in a sweet kiss, “let me take care of you, sweetheart…”

“Steve-I-we shouldn’t,” you stuttered softly, “I-I’m married…”

“I’m just a dream…this is all just a dream, doll.  We can do whatever we want in here…let me take care of you, Annie.  Let me love you…let me make love to you again,” he reminded you.  You whimpered as his lips touched yours once more, and your eyes closed.  He could feel your evened out breathing, and he felt the anger bubbling in his chest when you disappeared, waking up in the real world.  He flopped backwards onto his back, the hard ground suddenly coming in contact with him as your dreams disintegrated, “god damn it.”

Steve sat up and looked at the last reflection of the projection in the mirror of your dream guy.  His jaw tensed and his teeth gnashed together as he threw the alarm clock at it, shattering the pieces.  But the frame held still, and the image of his best friend stared back at him. 

“Why does she want you?” he growled, glaring at the reflection until the image of his nightmarish friend disappeared and his own features reflected back at him. 

Tag List:  @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @lohnes16, @teambarnes72

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

Familiar Cerulean Eyes - Pt 14

Click Here for a full list of other parts! Part 15

Warnings: Fighting. Kinda mushy feelings? Dabi is a simp for you. 

Word Count: 2.4 K

If you were supposed to be tagged and I did not include you or I tagged you wrong please message me and I will get it corrected. Taglist is always open. 

TAGLIST:  @superblyspeedydragon​ @jparra4587​ @flyingowls​ @emrysaaryn​ @imuziawi​ @sheedaabee​ @peculiarinsomniac​ @littlelovebug98​ @plutoneu​ @giftofwonder​ @kitty-kat-ash​ @fukyouthink​ @anarchys-bnha-mess​ @threbony​ @orenjineki​ @toobsessedsstuff​ @bamf-barnes​ @x-a-delama-x​ @inanabsentia​ @reallyshey​ @godsblesstheboi​  @drownedbytears​ @emilymikado​ @fluidfandoms​  @mikasackrmann​  @bohica160​ @andrastesbeard​  @percabethismyotp14​ @celestiallustre​ @moon-spirit-yue​ @hecatve​ @bakugoshrimp​ @vanillanjin​ @toshiuwuu​ @rxinbowrena​ @therealwalmartjesus​ @callmepopcorn​ @xxdumb-bitchxx​ @medicinalkiwis​ @kat-unzel​ @headfirst-halo​ @capricorn-nightmare​ @annie-daetris​ @skumtrash​ @totorotoni​ @kst-chernish​ @itsmysticalmystery​ @the-occasional-artist1125​ @beautifulparisiangirl​ @stanzastic​ @helena-way07​ @aurorahoneybuns​ @cth-l​ 

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Dabi was quick to react, his phone dialing Kurogiri before you could even sit all the way up in your nest. There was absolutely no reason why anyone should be knocking on your door. The league members knew better. They could text you or have Kurogiri warp them here. So who is knocking?

You could smell the stress creeping into Dabi’s scent, unsure if he should mask himself or pump it out to cover your own.  You tried to mask your own scent and stay quiet but you knew with your heat it would be impossible to cover it all of the way. The scent blockers should make it so that no one outside of the small apartment could smell the two of you at all, but neither of you trusted it 100%.

The line went to voicemail, and you and Dabi shared a look, the worry obvious on your face. The knock sounded again and Dabi handed you his phone, the line already ringing again for Kurogiri as he got off the bed and made his way down the hall to the front door. You creeped out of your nest after him, staying in the hallway your eyes fixed on him as he tried to check through the peephole of the door. He shook his head, glancing back at you, before moving away from the door, pulling you behind him the memory of a similar trick being used back when the heroes came to rescue that explosive brat.

He was prepared when the outer wall caved in sending debris scattering everywhere, the red eyes of the rabbit hero Mirko latching onto the two of them, clearly being the one that kicked down the wall. She had to dodge out of the way when Dabi’s fire shot out at her, white hot and already catching the walls on fire as well as the furniture of the small apartment.  

Red feathers flew into the room aimed at you and you ducked behind Dabi to avoid them only for blue flames to engulf you both, incinerating the feathers immediately. You would need to watch out for those, you had seen how strong Hawks could be, if his feathers got you he could drag you out of here before you could even blink.  

The line against your ear connected and the calming voice of Kurogiri spoke into your ear.

“Dabi what is it?”

“Kurogiri help!”

Dabi shoved you out of the way just in time as a wall of ice erupted, separating the two of you. You barely had enough time to brace for the impact as you fell to the floor, the phone ended up being tossed several feet away, completely shattered from the impact. Your eyes flew up from your position on the floor to meet the half and half ones that you had grown so accustomed to over the last few years, guilt tugging at your chest at seeing his expression.

“Y/N…” The calming peppermint scent that he was pumping out was clearly tinged with distress his eyes latching onto your neck. Your exposed, freshly marked, neck. His eyes flicking back and forth between you and Dabi. The anger clear on his face at the later. You had never seen Shoto so full of hatred as you did in this moment.

He took several steps towards you, you scurrying back away from him and onto your unsteady feet, eyes focusing on his. You could hear the other’s fighting, the heroes desperately trying to fend off Dabi’s growing fire, only for Endeaver to scream at them to get out of the way, his red fire bursting through the hole meeting Dabi’s with just as much strength. Red and blue flames fighting for dominance, fighting to see who was stronger. The other heroes were yelling at Endeavor to stop or else he would burn the whole building down. Shoto had to build an ice wall to protect himself from the growing heat, completely blocking the two of you off from the others, distracting him long enough from you for you to turn and run towards the small bedroom, shutting the door behind you and locking it.

Your mind was reeling, your omega screaming out for her Alpha. You really hoped he was okay. You really hoped Kurogiri got him out, but you couldn’t focus on that. You needed to get out of here. Rushing to the window you felt yourself go cold. It was frozen over. Shoto had completely locked you in. There was no escaping this room. You could hear the frantic knocks on the door, Shoto’s voice ringing out in attempt to comfort you.

“Y/N, come out please! I promise no one will hurt you. No one blames you, it’s okay. I know he forced the bond on you. We can work it out. I promise I will protect you. That villain will get what he deserves. He won’t ever touch you again.”

You threw yourself into your nest, pulling the closet door closed as much as possible, tears streaming down your face as you buried your face into the hoodie covered pillow releasing several chirps of distress. You could barely hear your whimpering over the sounds of the fighting outside, or Shoto’s increasingly stressed voice.

“Y/N I’m coming in.”

You heard the fighting outside settle down, panic clear in your mind, as you heard the bedroom down break open with what you assumed was Shoto’s kick.

The soft whimper that released from your lips immediately let Shoto know where you were, his steps sounding extremely loud in the sudden silence seeping through the walls.

You wracked your brain for anything to say or do that would get him to let you go. To let you leave and never return. To let you go back to the league where you hoped your alpha would be. Where you had finally started being seen as apart of the team, where they cared about you even when they didn’t have to. Where your pack was. Where your home was.

You weren’t sure when exactly the villains had crawled into your heart like that, you hadn’t really gotten to spend a lot of time with them, but you knew you were right. They were your home.

You could hear his soft sigh of relief, like he was so glad to have finally found you, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and burry yourself farther into the scent of your alpha knowing that soon Endeavor would be in here and would destroy everything you had built and would force Shoto to scent you until there was nothing left of him.

This was it. You were going to loose everything you loved.

“Y/N… I’m sorry. I sh-“

The sound of Shoto’s voice cut off, his calming scent being replaced with the barely noticeable one of mist and raindrops. One that made you relax almost instantly, thankful that you did because all at once you were dropped harshly onto concrete flooring, majority of your nesting items cushioning the blow, spreading out across the floor.

You sat up letting your eyes focus on the scene around you, them barely adjusting before you were snatched off the floor into a bone crushing grasp. Dabi’s face burying into your neck rubbing along your scent glands, you releasing a sob of relief as you pulled him closer to you.

The tears streaming down your face stained his shirt, but you didn’t care, only pulling back to look him over and see if he was hurt, your hands flitting across his skin searching for damage.

He was okay. Scratched and bruised, his skin having a touch of frost burn where Shoto’s ice grazed him but he was okay. He was practically doing the same to you, checking you over and rubbing his scent all over you until you were dripping in it. The two of you couldn’t help but purr to each other, trying to calm the other down.

“This is kind of gross to watch.”

“I think it’s cute.”

The sounds of Toga and Twice’s voices made you pull away, Dabi letting out a soft whine that was covered by a cough it seemed, rushing over to Toga only to hear a soft squeak leave her lips when you caught her in your own bone crushing hug. She was frozen for a second before she gently patted your head with her hand, stroking your hair to sooth your sobs.

“I thought I lost you guys. I thought …”

“Hey, relax, you’re not getting rid of us so easy.”

“I apologize, Y/N, I tried to get all of your nesting supplies but I may have missed some.” Kurogiri’s voice sounded behind you, and again the tears spung out as you turned to face him.

“No, no it’s fine. Thank you so much. You saved me.”

Kurogiri simply nodded, Dabi stepping towards you, pulling you back into his arms. Glancing around the room it looked to be a small warehouse, Toga and Twice were leaning against some wooden crates and looked like they had just been woken up. Shigaraki and Spinner were talking off in a corner, and once they saw that you had settled down they made their way over to the group.

“What happened? How did they find you guys?” The words were out of Spinners mouth before Shigaraki could even get a word out. The concern was evident on his face, but quickly changed to something else, his hands coming up to cover his mouth and nose.

Shigaraki even wrinkled his nose, his red eyes latching onto your form, quickly grazing your bond mark before looking down at all of the nesting material scattered underneath you.

“That’s rather… pungent...”

The snort that left Toga’s lips and the growl that left Dabi’s had you tensing up. Would it be omega-ish to snatch up your nesting material right now?

“Wait what did I miss? I completely know what is going on.”

Everyone stayed silent for a minute, no one wanting to point it out, your anxiety spiking and you couldn’t keep yourself from stooping down to pick up the hoodie covered pillow pulling it close, feeling like you were going to combust when Twice took the biggest inhale you had ever heard in your life.

“Gross! Spicey.” He covered his mouth and buried his face against Toga’s shoulder inhaling like he was trying to rid himself of your oozing scent, only to let out a whine when he could still smell you. You couldn’t help but notice the way that Toga’s face turned pink and she hesitated before petting his hair soothingly just like she had done minutes ago for you.  

“Weren’t y’all in a scent blocked room? I doubt that is how they tracked you.” Spinner was talking through his hand that was covering his nose and mouth, you felt bad, wishing that your scent wasn’t so intense right now.

“Dabi did leave to go nest shopping for a bit. Maybe they tracked him from there?”

The glare Shigaraki sent the two of you had you pretending you didn’t exist, trying your best to mask your presence which wasn’t working.  

“Don’t start. She’s in heat, what was I supposed to do?”

“Well if that’s the case, we need to find a new place for the two of you to stay for awhile until this all blows over. The rest of us should move locations as well, just in case they located the other safe houses.” Kurogiri stood by Shigaraki, almost like he was trying to provide a calming presence, but Shigaraki still glared away.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we were all in the same location?” Toga’s voice rang out the question but Twice was quick to respond.

“And choke to death on her fumes?” The pitiful look on your face must have upset Toga somehow, as she shoved Twice off of her and moved off of the crate grabbing a broom that was leaning against the wall before she started to carefully shove all of your nesting material closer to you with it, for which you were grateful as you bent down and started to gather it all as much as you could.

“I just think it would be easier to protect them if we were all together. Sides we can’t do much planning if we aren’t together and I for one really miss Kurogiri’s cooking.”

This earned a comment from twice asking what about his cooking.

“I don’t need help protecting her.” The snarl that left Dabi’s lips tugged at your heart. Even though it sounded strong and loud, everyone could tell the hesitance behind it. He did need their help. If Kurogiri hadn’t of warped them out of there…

“Don’t be stupid-“ Shigaraki was cut off, Toga getting right up into Dabi’s face, a seriousness that you had never seen before on her features.

“We are a pack. Packs take care of each other. That means all pack members, no matter what their position is.”

A weird look crossed Shigaraki’s face, and you couldn’t help but notice his fingers were once again scratchy at his neck, tearing apart the empty bond mark.

“I agree with Toga, as much as it will be a hinderance to deal with … her scent, it might be better and safer for all of us to stick together. We haven’t had an issue sticking together until now. Why don’t we go back to the home base, I don’t understand why we left there to begin with?”

Shigaraki grumbled to himself in thought for a minute before looking at Kurogiri who nodded in agreement.

“Okay fine, we can go back to home base. We need to double up on the scent blockers though and be prepared for an attack. Who knows how they tracked you two but we need to be prepared in case they do it again… and Dabi,”

“What ashtray,”

“She needs to learn how to fight.”

Dabi glanced at you before nodding, stooping down and picking up the rest of your nesting material that you couldn’t carry yourself and you couldn’t help but feel your heart warm as everyone burst into discussions on different fighting styles they thought would work best for you. Toga immediately asking if she could teach you to knife fight. This was it. This was your pack.                                                                                                                                                                ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[ererokii]

Heyyyyy, so I just finished the Aot 2 game and was kinda messed up by the ending... sooo in honor of that, could you possibly write something about the reader sacrificing herself to distract the Titans so that everyone can get away safe and she doesn’t come back for a few years? I’d prefer something with Jean but it’s completely up to you! Thanksssss

Thank you so much for requesting, I had a fun time writing this and I hope you love it!

For those that don’t know, this is based off of the Attack on Titan 2 game! This contains some spoilers from the game!

Year 3, 850

Three years of intense training are now behind me as today is the long-awaited graduation. Unfortunately, I could not come in the top ten, but Shadis believes that I have potential. My goal from the beginning hasn’t changed. I plan to dedicate my heart to the Scouts and take out the armored titan myself. 

Y/N

XX, 850

Reiner and Bertholdt escaped, and we were able to retrieve Eren and Ymir. Not long after the fight with them, we gained insight that Wall Sina has been breached. This is it. Now or never. The battle to keep our human race alive was at stake. I will not let defeat take over my body. 

Y/N

Jean’s eyes scan over the series of letters in the journal that belonged to an assumed fallen comrade. Every day for the past three years, it has always been the same routine. 

Get up, train, socialize with comrades and read this journal. 

By now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have memorized the whole book. Each inked word seemed to lose its meaning, and its color as the pages began to fade away, just like his hope did. 

The tips of his fingers grazed the rough sheets of paper, a lump forming in the back of his throat. No matter how many times he has read this, he can never shake off the dull aching pain in his heart when he realized he had looked over the last entry once again. 

Currently, he’s sitting in his room, the window open that allows the cool breeze to wash over his body. Goosebumps form on the nape of his neck as he shifts his attention to the walls in the distance. The moon took its place in the sky, the light shining down on the walls as if it were mocking him. 

His tongue peeks out and swipes across his lower chapped lip, hoping that the wetness is enough to moisture them. His fingers continually flip through the pages after the last entry, staring down at the blank pieces of faded white sheets.

The vivid images replay in his mind on the day Wall Sina was breached. Reiner, Bertholdt, and the Beast Titan were all there. The Beast Titan was a surprise to everyone. Out of all the battles, Jean has fought, this one was by far the most blood-curdling. The thought of humanity dying out on that field was enough to ignite a feeling in all the soldiers. 

When Eren and the rest of the scouts defeated Reiner for the second time, there was enough time to take Annie’s crystal back to an underground cellar. But because it weighed more, the horses were at a disadvantage. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jean likes to think that you survived. Maybe you were residing in the new buildings of Wall Maria once the scouts took it back. Perhaps you didn’t want to be apart of the Scouts anymore— then maybe you would be safe. 

The slamming of the door catches his attention as the sound of pants and coughs are heard. 

“Jean!”

“What, Connie?” He sighs and slicks his hair back. “What could you possibly want at this hour?”

“S-Someone’s approaching headquarters! I think it’s Y/N!”

His body grows cold at the sound of your name. “Y/N..?” He whispers underneath his breath, thinking that his mind was playing games. “How are you so sure?”

“The person is wearing the Scout uniform with no horse! We haven’t been scouting outside! It has to be her! It can only be her!”

“That has to be impossible,” he stands abruptly from his wooden chair, stalking towards his comrade. “She’s dead.”

“Weren’t you the one who told us to have faith?!”

“I did. A year ago. It’s been three years, Connie. She’s not coming back.”

“Jean,” he whispers, unsure if he heard right. “We all know you were heartbroken when she sacrificed herself but—“

“She’s gone, Connie!” His arm swings out as his fist collides with the wall, a surge of pain shooting through his arm. “Because I couldn’t help, she’s dead! We were useless! Maybe we should have let Reiner take Annie back so she would be here! But she’s dead!” 

His voice cracks as a lump grows in his throat, limiting the use of words. His nails dig into his palms, nowhere near, causing the amount of pain he felt within his heart. 

Only a few minutes pass as Connie leaves his friend alone, not wanting to upset him further. 

Jean’s mind begins to flood with the memory of your departure. His eyes are squeezed shut as the clear liquid runs down his face, damping the wood of the desk underneath his arms that rest under his head. His grown out hair sways slightly from the cold air that sent shivers down his spine. 

“The horses can’t go as fast with that big thing in the cart! There’s just too much weight!” Connie yelled out as he and Jean steered the horses forward as Titans trailed from behind. 

You, Mikasa, Eren, and the crystal that held Annie sat in the cart. The horses ran at top speed. Your fingers gripped the leather of the journal, nails pressing against the material. 

Your eyes are trained on the hoard of Titans that seem to get closer and closer by the minute. 

“Any minute, they’ll be on us!”

“I know that, Connie!” Jean grunts and glances over his shoulder. The determination in his voice washes away as his eyes widened, face growing pale as he watches you slide the journal into Eren’s hand as he lies unconscious. 

He was no fool to know what you would do. The air is knocked out of his lungs as the faint noise of the gear rings in his ears. It’s like he’s living in slow motion. His mouth opens as he screams out for you, begging to keep you on the cart.

Your alluring eyes bore into his own as your lips curve into a small smile, mouthing something to him as a hook shoots out from its confinement and into a tree, shooting your body forward. 

A hoarse sob leaves his mouth as he sits up, covering his face with his hand as his shoulder shakes violently. Jean can feel himself washing away from reality and falling into the deep void that was his heart as he cries. Each waking second he knows he’s becoming insane.

As harsh as reality was, the man wanted to live in his fantasy world, where you were still aliv—

“Jean..”

His body stifled as he heard the sound of a voice he knew by heart and loved dearly. His pupils are wide in shock as he stares forward at the walls' chipping paint in his room. 

“Impossible,” he trails off in a whisper, hands beginning to shake in uncertainty. “It’s impossible..”

“Jean...turn around,” you whisper into the tense air, walking forward as the creaking of the floors alerted him of your presence. “Please?”

“Maybe I have finally lost it,” his voice comes out in a lower octave as he runs his hand through his hair. “I guess that’s what I get for not sleeping.”

“Jean, it’s me!” You plead as you place your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he was under your fingertips. “It’s me..Y/N.” 

“No, she’s dead. I saw her leave us. You aren’t even here. You’re just a figure of my imagination to make me feel better so I won’t wallow in my pity.”

Your heart aches at his confession as you suddenly wrap your arms around him from behind, burying your head in his neck as your hair tickled at his exposed skin. “I’m home now, Jean,” your voice cracks as tears well up, the liquid hitting against him. “I’m back..”

“How can you?” He questions, relaxing upon touch. From a face showing sorrow, it shifted into one of seriousness. “I s-saw you leave us. You can’t be alive..it has to be a joke.”

“I survived Jean..can’t you see?” You press your cold hand against his warm cheek, feeling his warmth radiated off of his face. “I’m here..flesh and blood. I’m alive...I came back to you.”

Jean tilts his head to gaze up at you; his mouth parted as he gazed into your eyes. All the words he had to say now left his mind as his lips became parched, peeling his tongue out to lick them. “You are here..”

“I am!” You laugh through the tears, cupping his face in your hands. “I was in a shelter in Wall Rose. I was injured for a long time before I was able to return here.”

Words couldn’t express how the boy was feeling, only actions. He abruptly wrapped his arms around your torso, bringing you flush against his body. “You’re here now..”

All of his worries and hidden thoughts could now be thrown out the window and buried deep underneath the earth, a place he would never have to reach. You were alright, alive and breathing.

And especially in Jean’s arms.

[nightfall-kachiniko]

yuhhh can i request annie accidentally slapping her s/o during an argument? ty!

Ah yes angst train here we come CHOO CHOO

“A promise that lasts an eternity” Annie accidentally slapping their s/o in an argument \/ Annie x reader Fan fiction /\

| “Y/N! YOUR NOT UNDERSTANDING!” The screams of the blonde haired woman filled the room as you went on your rant about how much she was hanging out with Reiner and Bertoldt.

“ACTUALLY YEA THE FUCK I AM!” Yelling back at you as you slammed your fist agaisnt the wall in anger. You two N E V E R fought like this. It was getting to the point where others were hearing and were worried that the argument would escalate to something more.

Further more, it was getting late, and most of the cadets were in their rooms, trying to get ready for sleep. “WHY THE FUCK WOULD I EVER CHEAT ON YOU? LIKE YEAH I HANG OUT WITH THEM A TON BUT YOU KNOW THEY’RE JUST FRIENDS!” The screams continued as the tensions got heated. Pure rage was going through your girlfriend and you could tell.

She had a shitty day that day and on-top of that Bertoldt tried hitting on her which made you upset. “I KNOW THAT BUT WHEN THE HELL WILL YOU EVER SPEND TIME WITH ME!? HUH!? YOU’RE ALWAYS CRAWLING UP THEIR ASS!”

“THE WHOLE REASON WHY THIS DAMN THING STARTED BECAUSE YOU HAD A SHITTY ASS DAY AND YOU’RE TAKING IT OUT ON ME!” Her eyes rolled at your hollers as her hand reached for the bridge of her nose, irritated. “no that’s NOT IT!”

“REALLY? THAN WHAT IS IT? BECAUSE ITS LIKE YOU NEVER TRUST ME ANYMORE! FOR WHAT ANNIE?! FOR FUCKING WHAT!”

You paced around the room annoyed at her. The thing is, she spend so much time with Bertoldt and Reiner that you guys BARLEY even talked the past week. And then she’d tell them all her problems and stuff and would ignore you.

“Y/N THIS IS WHY WE NEVER TALK SHIT OUT BECAUSE YOUR SUCH A BITCH!”

“OH REALLY? IM THE BITCH? YOUR THE IGNORANT FUCK WHO WON’T EVER OPEN UP BECAUSE YOUR SO INSECURE!”

“just shut up!” She spat out, getting closer to you.

“NO FUCK YOU!” You screamed, causing her to back up a bit.

“YOUR JUST THE SAME AS WE WERE WHEN WE WERE KIDS!”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

The harsh tone she gave you resonated with the same force she put into her movement. Her voice was cut off by a quick movement Annie made. Her hand in a fist as it hit your face with great force, sending you stumbling back as a sting of pain rose upon your cheek.

Disbelief shunned in your eyes as you tried to think of what the hell just happened.

She hit you.

She really, hit you.

Everything went quiet.

Annie’s face turned pale as she realized what she did. The thing you both were yelling and screaming about went away as soon as she saw her hand hit your face. It was so forceful that you thought you cheek bone broke. You both just stared in disbelief as you put your arm up to your bruised, and now swollen cheek.

Your sight became blurry as tears filled up in it. The person who was suppose to never hurt you, hurt you, and in the way you thought she would never. Your breath became shaky with tears as your knees hurt from hitting the floor after she punched you. “Y-y/n...” she breathed out, her hands covering her face as tears of her own built up in Annie’s eyes. “B-baby I...” Annie’s body shaking of fear to what she did to you.

She got on one knee, kneeling down. “I-I’m s-so..” all she could see was the large, dark, purple circle on your cheek. “H-honey I..” Annie’s body moved towards you, trying to hug you, but instead you flinched back and yelled, “I-IM SORRY P-PLEASE DONT HURT ME! ILL BE QUIET I-IM SORRY!..” you cried out, moving yourself away from her as your hands put up, protecting your face.

Tears streamed down her shocked face, as she pulled you into her arms. You tried screaming to resisting but to no luck. She wrapped her arms around you, in a tight manner. The Woman still couldn’t get over the fact of her actions. “b-baby.. baby I’m so sorry..” she cried out, griping onto you as if you were going to disappear. “W-why.. why did yo-“

“Baby I didn’t know what I was doing.. I- I let my anger out, it was like I wasn’t in control.” She cried.

“God i-I’m, I’m a monster... I.. I..”

All she could get out were studders, she couldn’t even believe of what she just did.

“N-no... I-I know yo-you *hic* couldn’t control yourself... “ crying out you said with small sobs.

“I.. forgive you..”

“No!”

“Huh?”

“I don’t want you to forgive me, fuck, I won’t ever forgive myself,” She burrowed her head into your shoulder, giving it a small kiss.

Annie wiped your tears as well as her own. “You know I love you to death.. and I understand that, you couldn’t control it..”

“But that still doesn’t make it okay” she added to your statement.

“Y-yeah of course not..”

“But I still love you..” you said, kissing her softly on the head.

“I- I love you too... and I promise that I’ll never do that again..” She cried.

“Promise?” You held out your pinky finger. “God yes”

[bluethespiai]

Fictober No. Twenty-Seven

Prompt: #23 “Not on my watch!” Fandom: Interview with the Vampire Characters: Claudia, Louis, Lestat Rating: M Warnings: violence, domestic abuse

The fist to her throat is not new, for all that it's never happened before. Nothing about Lestat is new.

When Claudia was 5 years old, she saw a man beat his wife on the street. It started with yelling, then a slap, and then he was beating her brutally to the floor. Some people had shouted, but most had looked away, hurried past. Only one man had cared, had run over and hauled him off.

"You don't treat my sister like that!" he had yelled, slugging the husband in the face over and over. "Not on my watch!"

And the husband had punched him back and the brother had thrown him to the floor and auntie had covered her eyes but the screaming and yelling and the crunching had been so loud, it rang in her ears long after she was dragged away.

*

She knew when Daddy Lou launched himself at Lestat to protect her that he was her brother. She knew when she threw herself on Lestat's back that she was his sister. Not on my watch. But Lestat threw her aside like she was nothing and she was left staring at her broken head in a broken mirror, listening.

*

She had said to her mother, "I wish I had a brother. Please give me a brother?" and her mother had smiled and stroked her forehead and said, "maybe one day, my sweet."

*

Claudia smelled the fear first and followed it to a dark alley, sandwiched between the college library and the gym. There was a group of boys crowded in it, but they smelt of testosterone, anger, and excitement. The fear came from the girl they had cornered.

She was shaking her head, desperate, begging, pleading. "But I didn't- I didn't -"

"You're a slut, Annie. A fucking whore," snarled one of the boys, the head of the pack, big and bulky in his varsity jacket.

Annie shook her head again, cowering, trembling, cringing at his feet "No, I'm not, I swear, he only walked me home -"

The lead boy reached over and slapped her, hard enough to force her head to the side.

Gasping, she reached up to caress the red mark on her cheek. "You're going to let him do this to me?" she said to one of the others boys, tall, with red hair like hers.

The brother looked at her for a long, horrible moment. "You shouldn't be a fucking slut," he said finally and turned away.

Annie gasped and cried, "No, no, Davie, please - !"

But the leader gripped her chin, pressing deep dents into her flesh, and forced him to look at her. "He knows you deserve it, Annie," he said, teeth gleaming white in his vicious smile.

*

She had prayed for a brother to protect her but when she saw Louis sobbing in the cemetery she knew what she was really praying for. And she had walked away from him.

*

Annie's brother didn't look as the other boys descended but Claudia did.

Not on my watch.

She cut through the boys like butter, not stopping to feed but letting the blood spring out like confetti. She saved Annie's brother for last, so he knew what he had done, so he knew how badly he had failed in his duty. And then she threw his limp, useless body down at Annie's feet and the poor girl had clutched at her dress and praised her as an avenging angel.

*

Lestat was not a puffed-up college boy, strong only because of the weakness of his victims. He was strong and Claudia was weak, too weak to do anything but cry and tremble and watch as he hit and hit and hit, not on my watch, but there was nothing she could do and he dragged Louis through the house, beat him to the floor, and then he took him away, to where she couldn't even see what was happening, and he hurt him and kept hurting him and there was nothing she could do.

Claudia never knew what happened to that man in the street, or his wife and her brother. Just that there was an ugly stain on the street the next day, and when she'd asked mama, mama had coughed and coughed and coughed until blood came out of her mouth and stained her dress and the sheets and everything was red.

*

She crouched over Louis's body and snarled at Lestat, an animal, a mongoose challenging the snake. A rat challenging the tiger. She would die if it would save Louis. She would kill Lestat even if it wouldn't. But Lestat did not let her try. He walked away and left them with the stains.

*

She asked her mama for a brother, and her aunt was shaking her roughly. "Useless child. Always dreaming."

*

But Annie only screamed and crawled away on hands and knees, begging "What have you done? What are you? Monster, monster!

And blood was dripping out her nose and the sweet smell filled the air and she was still afraid and even more so when Claudia leaned down over her, down to her neck, where her blouse was torn and her skin exposed. "No - no - please no -"

*

When Lestat came back, he started touching Louis again, like he always had: constantly, tenderly. She had used to think it was sweet, in a funny kind of way, but there was nothing funny about it anymore. She was older now and she saw it for what it truly was. There was nothing soft about it - it was an implacable grip. It was Lestat holding Louis close, holding him down, holding him to the floor. A touch was a grip was a slap. A box, a chain. Forcing Louis to stay at Lestat's side, to stay in his place. But Claudia was going to free him. She was going to free them both.

Not on my watch.

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 5

very pretty, very beautiful

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: intoxication, swearing, feelings, nightmare, fluff, mentions of a deadly car accident

AN: WHOAH OKAY. So I’ve been thinking about the last half of this chapter every second of every minute for the last two days. It has haunted my dreams, y’all. Thanks to that, you get this before the weekend! Yay! Special thanks to @ghostlightprincess, @anlian-aishang, @cant-spell-slay-without-lay, and @horseanon--simpforall for helping me edit and giving me many encouragements and compliments which, quite frankly, made my head the size of Jupiter. I love you all dearly. As always, let me know what you think in my comments/DMs/askbox!! Don’t be a stranger!! And be kind to yourself and others<3 ~valkyrie

—

(read chapter 4 here)

“I think you’re very pretty.”

I think you’re very pretty?

Fuck. Shit.

“I-I-I mean,” Levi feels his throat tighten and cheeks set ablaze, “You’re very, uh, very beautiful.” He says it because it’s true, and the truth is what Levi relies on when his brain is short-circuiting. You’re more than pretty, more than something as trivial as very pretty, you’re gorgeous and smart and funny and it makes his palms sweat. Recently, you’ve been everywhere: in his bed, in his arms, in the periphery of his life even outside of the apartment. It’s overwhelming, this is overwhelming, how his hands are on you and how you’re looking up at him with insecure, anticipatory eyes. They’re glassy and red-rimmed, pupils blown to saucers.

Oh. That’s right, she’s high.

Levi lets his hand drop from the top of your head. He tries to move his other hand away from your cheek, but you grasp his wrist to keep it there. He can feel his own pulse fluttering under your fingertips.

“Very beautiful?” It’s soft, hopeful.

He forces himself not to retract the statement (because it’s true) out of self-preservation.

“Very beautiful, kid.” He can say it without stuttering this time. It’s important that you believe him, and it’s equally important that this is as far as it goes.

You close your eyes against the pet name and turn your face into his palm for a split second, press a swift kiss to it and then drop your hand to your lap. His heart stutters. He drops his hand, too.

“Thank you,” the words fall past your lips, careful and distant, as he takes a step back.

He needs some space. To get his head on straight, to scream into a pillow, to talk some sense into himself. Can’t risk this, not with you, not with you.

“Your, um, your pajamas,” he points to the end of the bed where they’re sitting in a neat pile, then turns tail and strides out of your room, shutting the door behind him.

In his room, his jelly legs finally give out and he flops onto his bed.

Fucking hell.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

What kind of question is that? Do you not think you’re pretty? Do you care if he, specifically, thinks you’re pretty, or was it intended more generally? Very pretty, very beautiful. What does that even mean?

Levi may not be eloquent in the least, may not know how to confess that you make his every breath burn in his chest, but he does know how to paint. He stands up, wiping sweaty palms on his flannel pants and examining the painting on his easel. His mom stares back, her eyes sparkling, her hair tumbling over one shoulder in ebony waves. It had taken him the last few days to get the curls just right, and when he added the last highlights of shine, it’d finally felt complete.

“Sorry, mama,” he murmurs as he lifts her to set her against the wall under the window.

A new canvas procured from his closet finds its place on the easel. He sifts through his supply drawers for a moment, setting paints and brushes and charcoal neatly on his desk.

He takes a deep breath, situates himself in his wheelie chair, and leans forward to start sketching.

—

It’s 5 AM when you start screaming in a long, shuddering cry, causing Levi to jolt up in his seat, paintbrush poised over your left temple. It breaks off into sobs that make his gut twist and hands clench. A long moment, then you’re letting out another keening wail and Levi is out of his seat. Paint splatters from the brush where he drops it on his desk and his chair rolls back as he runs, ripping doors open and narrowly avoiding furniture in the dark.

You’re sprawled out, thrashing on the bed, sheets tangled with your legs. Levi sits on the edge of your bed, brows pinched in worry, and reaches for your shoulders. This is okay — he can touch you when you ask for his help. When you whimper and reach for him in your sleep, he can pull you close and smooth a hand across the planes of your back. It’s when you’re looking at him, all trusting and expectant for something, that he’s unsure.

He says your name, low and urgent, once, twice, before your eyes open mid-sob. They’re wide and terrified, your jaw tight, muscles clenched. “It’s me, kid, it’s just me,” he intones, “It was just a dream, you’re safe, it’s just me.”

Your heaving chest slows for a second, hitches somewhere in your sternum, and then you’re launching yourself forward and into him. He catches you there, steady against his chest.

“Breathe.” He sets an example with his own deep breaths.

It’s a long minute before he feels you relax at all, before he feels you sigh against his neck. Your arms are tight around his middle and you must be stronger than you look because after a while it starts to pinch. He doesn’t mind, though, just traces patterns on your back and stares at the pale wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He feels you shake your head.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

You hesitate before you whisper, “Only if you stay.”

Levi thinks about the wet paintbrush currently drying to his desk. He thinks about the mess of clothes on your floor. He thinks of the half-finished painting of you in his room. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You pull back, and he gets a look at your face in the near-dark. Your eyes are still acutely haunted, but they’ve regained awareness. He lets you take a moment to wipe at your cheeks as he reaches to gently disentangle the sheets and spread them more carefully over your legs.

He looks up at you again to catch your sad eyes with his. Your head is tilted quizzically, knowingly, sympathetically all at once as though he were the one who just woke up screaming. It makes him itch.

“What’s that look for?” he grumbles, toeing his slippers off and tucking them under your bed.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Come here, please.”

He blinks at you for a second. That’s my line. But he goes, crawling into bed with you and slipping under the covers. He lets you tug his arm gently so that he’s on your chest. He gets comfortable there, one arm thrown over your waist and head rested over your heart. Your own arms find a home cautiously around him. You exhale with the grounding pressure of his body on yours and let your mind sink into calm release.

—

The knock on your door breaks your attention from your laptop. You sigh, finish typing your sentence, and push your blue light glasses up your nose before standing up to answer it.

You’re not expecting anyone, but maybe Levi is. He’s been holed up in his room all morning, Chopin drifting lazily under his door, probably studying. Like you’ve been trying to. The second series of knocks on your door makes you jog the last few steps to pull it open.

“Hi—” the greeting dies in your throat when you see who’s standing there.

“Hi,” Annie says. She’s standing, nonchalant as ever, in her winter parka and leggings, holding two to-go cups and a pastry bag.

“What?” It’s a breathless question, genuinely confused. It doesn’t harbor the animosity you would expect — you’re not sure you can feel anything other than queasy right now.

“I got your voicemail.” 

You blink in confusion. She rolls her eyes and thrusts the to-go cups at you with a brief “hold these” before reaching into her pocket for her phone. You just stare at her while she taps and scrolls for a minute. She looks the same as before you stopped speaking: blonde hair tucked into a bun at the back of her head and hoodie peeking out of the collar of her jacket. Maybe a little more tired, though Annie always seemed to be tired.

She holds up her phone for you to hear as a voicemail starts playing and, to your further shock, your own tinny voice spills out. It sounds like you’re crying, and slightly muffled.

“Annie, hi, um, I know it’s late but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call, I just,” sniffle, “I know we’re not talking and I’m still mad at you, like REALLY MAD, okay? But I couldn’t think of who else to call and long story short I think I’m in love with Levi and he might’ve just rejected me but I just couldn’t tell—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut in across your own voice, stepping into the hall with her and toeing the door almost shut behind you. She stops the voicemail. “But why are you here?” You know why she’s here — Annie never backs down from anything, and you had started the conversation, even if you’d been drunk and high and half asleep and you don’t really remember doing it.

“You called, here I am. That’s what best friends do.” Her tone is even.

“Not best friends who fuck their best friends’ boyfriends,” you snap, anger finally bursting from your stomach and into your throat.

She closes her eyes impatiently, sighs, then looks at you again not quite pleadingly.

“Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m here now and there’s more to the story that you aren’t aware of.”

“What else could there possibly be?”

“Let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you,” she offers, then holds up the pastry bag. “I brought coffee and donuts. They’re jelly.”

Jelly donuts are your favorite.

You look down at the cups in your hand. You look back at her steady blue gaze. More to the story.

“Fine.” You turn and kick the door open a little too harshly. “Just let me get dressed.”

She follows you in, even though you don’t extend an invitation, and closes the door softly. You put the cups down on the coffee table and watch her sit in her usual spot on the couch to wait for you out of the corner of your eye. You scowl but say nothing.

It only takes you a minute to shuck off to pajamas and pull on jeans, a sweatshirt, and boots. You don’t bother with a bra.

You knock lightly on Levi’s door and call through, “I’m going for a walk, so make sure to lock up if you leave. I have my keys.” You jingle them as evidence and he grunts in acknowledgment. “Let’s go,” you turn and address Annie, who stands.

The walk down your street to the river is short and habitual, your feet carrying you while your mind races. You can feel the anger and hurt, visceral and stabbing, in your chest. But there’s also something tender there, too, something that acknowledges how you missed your best friend. Something that screams at you to tackle her to the ground and feel her stoic comfort. Instead, you shove your hands deeper into the pockets of Eren’s jacket and kick a pebble, sending it skidding down the sidewalk.

The pair of you reach the walking bridge over the river and pause at the railing. The sky is overcast, threatening a snowstorm. A car beeps downtown, reaching you distantly. Annie hands you a coffee and a donut. You lean against the railing and avoid her gaze.

“So. You wanted to talk. Talk.” You bite into the donut.

She sighs through her nose. “I know what you saw. We… we did kiss, but we didn’t do anything else. We never had sex.”

“Hmm.” A sip of coffee.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. I’m guessing you didn’t exactly listen to Reiner when you broke up with him?”

“I didn’t have time for his bullshit excuses.”

She breaks off a bit of her donut and stares at it contemplatively for a moment, “I know you don’t owe either of us anything, and this isn’t meant as an excuse, but will you listen to why, at least?”

You press your lips together, sneak a look into her devastatingly blue eyes, and nod. What harm can it do? And you have to admit there’s a large part of you that’s been wondering at the why, even if you’ve refused to hear it.

“Okay. Tell me why.”

She takes a deep breath and leans her elbows on the railing before starting to speak, low and pensive.

“I’ve known Reiner and Bertholdt a long time, since we were kids. We’ve always been this… this odd group. You wouldn’t think we were close if you didn’t know us. But it wasn’t always just us.” She pauses, looking distant. “Do you know Porco Galliard?”

Galliard… “He’s a sophomore on the lacrosse team, right?”

“Yeah. Do you know what happened to his brother?”

“He has a brother?”

“Had. Marcel. He was a year older than us but somehow ended up in our little group. And a couple of years ago, senior year of high school, we were all in a car accident. He was home on winter break and we’d all had a little too much to drink, and we convinced him to take us to Denny’s for midnight milkshakes. And, well, there was a winter storm coming in and it’d been freezing rain that week, and we crashed. Marcel died. It was… I hadn’t…” She pauses, tilting her head back to the sky, blinking away tears. “It was horrible.”

Your eyes have gone wide, cast downriver. You don’t know what you’d expected when you walked down here, but it certainly wasn’t this. It wasn’t Annie, only rivaled in her stoicism by Levi, choking back tears and wiping snot from her nose.

“Hey,” you start, voice gentler than it’s been all day. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I want to, just... give me a second,” she interjects, wringing out a hand. She takes a deep, purposeful breath.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking back out across the water.

“It, uh, it hit us all really hard, brought us really close together. That’s why we all ended up at school here, actually. It kinda made us realize that, like, time is limited, you know? We don’t have forever. And Bertl, he…” she smiles, watery and reminiscent. “When he asked me out, it felt like a long time coming. It was just about perfect. He felt safe and like home, and… well, you know how in love we were. But I could see that it alienated Rei, at least a bit. He tried not to show it, but I could tell he felt like a third wheel. He was already drifting away from us, still struggling with all this guilt.”

Your breath catches in your throat. That’s a familiar feeling. Guilt. And yet, you’d never noticed it in Reiner, apparently never got close enough to shine a flashlight into his darkest shadows. He’d always seemed so… sunshiney. You clearly hadn’t given him enough credit to dislodge the aura of jock frat boy he projects so brightly.

Soft dough squishes under your fingertips where you’ve resorted to playing with your food instead of eating it as Annie continues.

“And then he met you and fell in love so fast. I was so relieved, I mean, you and I were roommates and it was just perfect, right?” You look at her and see a flicker of hopefulness still there. “I thought maybe you two getting together would bring him back to us, that maybe we’d be alright after all. And at first, it did. But then you moved off campus for sophomore year and he started drifting away again, though he was at least anchored to you, this time. It scared me, it really did.”

She kicks the bottom of the railing lazily, as if to expend the sadness there rather than in her words. The first fat flakes of snow drift down around you. One dances away on your exhale.

“He’s so withdrawn, sometimes, in his own head, and I never know how to reach him there. I didn’t know if he had told you about Marcel, or anything, so I couldn’t go through you. I don’t… I didn’t know what to do, so I just... let it fester. That night, when we kissed, I hadn’t seen him physically for a month. It hurt.”

She looks at you imploringly, like the weight of everything she’s saying lies on deep hurt. You can relate to feeling as though there’s nothing but hurt and guilt and drifting.

“So I figured out where he was from his Snapchat story, abandoned my group project, and went over there to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say or do when I got there, just that I had to get him back, somehow. He was already plastered, you know how he gets, and he wasn’t listening to me, so I just… kissed him. I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t know you were there, I didn’t even know you saw until he called me the next day after you broke up with him to chew me out.

“So, long story short,” her voice breaks on a mournful, almost hysterical laugh, “I fucked up the three most important relationships to me in one night because I couldn’t use my words.” She wipes at wet cheeks, not looking at you. “So, um. Yeah, that’s the why, I guess. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or him, but I just… I needed you to know. It wasn’t like, this elaborate affair.”

You aren’t sure how to right your brain from the way it’s tilted off kilter. It’s so much, so different from what you’d built up in your head. There’s no conspiracy, no grand intention to break you.

Even with all this new information, what stupidly slips out first is, “Did he kiss you back?” You blanch, turn to her with wide eyes, “Sorry, that’s not exactly im—”

“No, it’s fine,” she meets your eyes. “He did kiss me back.”

“Oh. Okay, um…” you trail off, bite your lip. You don’t know what exactly to say. Your skin is tight with the urge to forgive her immediately and wholly, but logic holds you back. Now that you know the truth, you need time to heal and get some perspective. You straighten up from where you’d been slouching against the railing. “Okay. You’ve been honest, so I will be, too.”

She stands up fully as well, facing you with one hand on the railing.

“I don’t know how I feel right now,” you start. “I think I need some time and perspective. But, I… I can see now where I went wrong, too. I assumed the worst, didn’t let any communication happen.” You swallow down the lump in your throat threatening to choke your voice. “And, I wasn’t there for Rei like I should have been. I had no idea — no idea! — what he was going through.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly tell you—”

“And why is that?” Your voice breaks, squeaks with the question. “Did he feel like he couldn’t confide in me? Did I make it too much about me and my trauma? I wasn’t exactly shy about telling him my shit.” You take a long draw of coffee. “Anyway. I should probably talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

She nods. “He’d like that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, watching the sparse snow flurry around you. Annie finally starts eating her donut.

“I’ve missed you,” you confess into the storm. “A lot.”

“I missed you, too.”

Your chest aches with both the cold air and the conflicting feelings of relief and regret.

“Why, uh… why didn’t you tell me all that stuff about Marcel?”

She leans on the railing again, takes a sip of coffee before answering. “I was still working through it. Still am, rather. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or that it was relevant.”

You hum, nodding. “I get that.”

There’s another silence, but it feels lighter, less charged. There are still questions bouncing around your mind, but you decide it’s better to process through them on your own rather than blurting out something stupid. Perspective.

“So,” she shoots you a look under blonde eyelashes, “what’s this about you being in love with Levi?”

“Aw, shit,” you laugh, leaning your elbows back on the railing and giving her an imploring look. “It really snuck up on me.”

“Is that so? Can’t say I’m shocked.” Her tone is dry, a little amused around the last bite of jelly donut. She wipes her fingers on her leggings and faces you. “And you think he rejected you.”

“Well, I…” you cringe, thinking back to last night. “He called me very beautiful.”

“Doesn’t sound like a rejection.”

“It was the way he said it! Like it physically hurt him to admit, and then he just ran out of the room,” you whine, scrubbing a hand down your face.

“I think that’s just his emotional constipation.” 

You look at her sharply, mouth agape, to catch her eyes dancing and the corner of her lip curling upward slightly. “Annie!”

“What? I’m right.” She finishes off her coffee, tilting back the cup to catch the last dregs of it. “He likes you, or he’s an idiot if he doesn’t.”

You narrow your eyes in doubt, mirroring her half-smile. “Hmm. We’ll see.”

“Yes,” she promises, crumpling up the pastry bag in her fist and stuffing it in her pocket. “We will.”

—

(read part 6 here)

[thesightstoshowyou]

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hoyt issues an ultimatum and Thomas is the perfect gentleman.

Warnings: Dubcon, “fuck or die,” blood, gore, swearing, fingering, creampie, manipulative reader

 ~~~

             The surface beneath you is cold and hard, like steel left to sit in a dark room. This is the first thing you notice when you wake. Next comes stronger sensation: Pounding headache, sweat sliding down your face, your chest, aching muscles, burning knees. Then comes sound. You hear talking, but it sounds as though your ears are stuffed with cotton or the speaker is three rooms over.

             Your fingers twitch. You can move them, at least. That’s a start.

             “And I can see why! Look at those legs!”

             The volume turns on all at once and you flinch. It’s a man speaking. He’s close, and loud. A heavy thwack follows his words.

             “I woulda kept a pretty thing like that too. Can’t blame ya for that, Tommy.” The man’s tone is condescending. He sounds as if he is speaking to a child. You don’t even know who he is but you already dislike him.

             Your forehead head feels wet and sticky. Sweat? No, its thicker than that.

             “Tell you what, Tommy. I’m feelin’ generous today, what with this bountiful harvest. I’ll let ya’ have a go at her, huh?”

             You swallow thickly. Is he talking about…you? Sloshing water, another noisy thwack. Blood pumps furiously in your ears.

             “You ever did that to a girl, Tommy? Huh?” Laughter. Thwack, THWACK.

             You’re beginning to feel pity for this ‘Tommy.’ It takes monumental effort to crack your eyes open. For a second, you panic. Your vision is halved. You can’t see out of your left eye. Then, you wipe your face across the back of your hand, clearing your eye of the blood caked into your eyelashes. That explains the sticky feeling. What happened?

             “Oh, look-y there! Here’s yer chance!”

             Your head feeling as though it weighs a thousand pounds, you lift it and glance around. The room spins. You snap your eyes closed once more, waiting for everything to right itself. When you open them again, it takes a moment for everything to come into focus.

             You’re in a poorly lit room, like a cellar. The dirt floor is flooded, a few inches of murky water covering most of the floor. Seated on a rickety wooden table directly in front of you is an ancient sewing machine. Along the cracked and chipped walls are dusty shelves filled with dingy bottles. The whole room smells musty, air thick with humidity and something rancid, like old meat. Glancing down, you find yourself on a rusty metal table stained with—

              Movement pulls your attention to a man standing near your feet, hands on his hips. He is dressed like a sheriff and he’s leering at you. Something is tugging at the back of your mind, a memory, something urgent. It’s about the sheriff, but try as you might, you can’t bring it to the surface.

             “What’dya think of that, girlie? Wanna give ol’ Tommy a try?” You flinch away when the sheriff squeezes your calf. There’s red splattered across the front of his uniform. You hope it’s paint but instinct tells you its not.

             “Where am I?” Your words are slurred, your dry tongue thick in your mouth.

             “Bonked yer noggin real good, didn’t I?” The sheriff says with a harsh laugh. You focus on his face, on his dark eyes and his cruel lips pulled back in a sneer over yellowed teeth.

              Another noisy thwack makes you crane your neck to look behind you. Instantly, you wish you hadn’t. There’s another man there, his back to you. Tommy. His shoulder length hair is dark and his shirt, wet with sweat, clings to his broad shoulders. He’s huge, menacing even when he’s not looking at you. He’s hacking away at a mangled body, suspended in the air by chains and missing several limbs.

              Chainsaw. Screaming. Shredded flesh. SMACK goes the shotgun butt to your head.

               Memory returns like a punch in the gut and you suck in air through your teeth. You recoil, clawing at the edge of the table to pull yourself away from the monster behind you. These murderers, these animals killed…oh god, your friends…oh god, Annie….

                The scream is out of your throat before you register it’s coming. You shriek and cry, scrambling across the table toward the stairs behind you, but you’ve forgotten about the sheriff. One of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your jaw roughly to hold you in place.

                 You writhe in his grip, but freeze when Tommy finally turns around. He wears a leather mask over the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hidden under his brow, too hard to see in the poorly lit room. You whimper, sweaty hair sticking to your tear streaked cheeks, heart hammering against your ribs.

               “Honeymoon’s over, huh?” Another mean laugh and the sheriff wiggles your head playfully back and forth, “Who’ll it be, Tommy? You or me?”

                You sob, the real reason you were kept alive now out in the open. Panic rises and you grasp his wrists, attempting to wrench yourself free. The sheriff grunts, squeezing your jaw painfully in retaliation.

               “Ya’ like that, honey? Wanna give Sheriff Hoyt a taste?” His breath reeks of stale chewing tobacco when he breaths out across your face.

             The loud clang from across the room startles you both. Tommy has set his cleaver down hard on a nearby table. He’s facing away from you again, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths.

             “Weh-hell, Thomas Brown Hewitt! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yer jealous!”

             You blink. Panic subsides, replaced by rational thought. The gears in your head whirl at top speed. Maybe this isn’t the end for you, not just yet. A plan drops into place.

             If Hoyt—if that’s really his name—gets his way, he will fuck you, kill you, and that will be that. But Thomas…. You bet that mask he’s wearing is hiding something, maybe a deformity, maybe something else. You’ll also guess not many people have been kind to him throughout his life. People are cruel and if you don’t look normal, most are quick to point it out. Perhaps, if you can win Thomas over, you’ll have a chance at survival. Who would dare challenge a chainsaw-wielding behemoth?

             It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s a gamble you must make.

             “Alright boy, alright.” Hoyt relents, releasing your head and standing up straight. “I’ll give ya’ twenty minutes. If she’s still dressed by the time I get back, I’m putting my foot down.” He laughs, long and loud as he turns and stomps up the stairs. You’re glad to see him go, but now you’re alone with Thomas.

             He still isn’t looking at you. He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time either. Maybe he can’t. You might just have to do the talking for him.

             You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steeling yourself. You push down the revulsion and fear and grief, shoving them deep in your heart to be revisited later. You must be calm. This is your only option.

             “Um, Tommy?” You try, keeping your voice as level as you can. You swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat. “Is…is it okay if I call you Tommy?” Thomas half turns, glancing at you over his shoulder and giving a curt nod. You scoot to the edge of the table and let your legs dangle over the side, hiking your dress up as discreetly as you can.

             “Um. The…the sheriff…Hoyt…. He didn’t really give us much time. Um, if it’s…I mean, I know I’m not—not in charge here, but…if it was up to me, I would…I, um, would want it to be y-you.” You glance up at him under your eyelashes, dipping your shoulder so the strap of your dress slips down your arm.

             Thomas turns further toward you, staring. You wish you could see his eyes through the gloom or know what he’s thinking. Did you guess wrong? Is he going to pick up that cleaver and bury it in your skull for your trouble? Desperately, you will your racing heart to be calm.

             Finally, he looks away. Reaching behind him, he unties his gore-soaked apron, lifting it over his head and draping it on a shelf. He begins to move toward you but pauses, turning quickly and plunging his hands into a bucket of water near the corpse dangling from the ceiling like a macabre marionette. Hastily, he scrubs his palms and fingernails. Seemingly satisfied, he wipes them on a dirty rag before turning back to you.

             Cautiously he approaches, like you’ll spook and run if he moves too quickly. He might be right. When he’s close enough for you to reach out and touch him, he stops, hands moving to his pockets, then behind him, then in front of him again. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, you realize. That thought is almost a relief. Almost.

             You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark blue, deep and expressive. You can see his hesitance in his eyes and his body language, in the way he’s almost half turned away, as though he might run instead.

             You bite your lip and reach for his hand. Your trembling fingers close around his and you pull him closer. He lets you tow him, helplessly, until he’s standing between your legs. This close, you can smell him; sweat, coppery like blood, and something pine scented, like cleaner or cheap soap.

You place his palm on your bare knee. Christ, his hands are enormous, palms and fingertips calloused and rough against your sweaty skin. You’re sure he could crush your knee like a soda can with just one firm grasp.

             He doesn’t move, simply staring at the hand on your leg like he can’t believe this is happening. A twinge of annoyance burns under the fear. You don’t have time for this. Hoyt could come back at any minute.

             You reach under your dress, hooking your fingers in your panties before dragging them down your legs. Thomas jerks his hand away like your skin has burned him, awkwardly clasping and unclasping his fingers as you set the garment on the table next to you. Again, you reach for his hand, pulling him back, scooting closer to him until you can feel the heat from his body between your spread legs.

             This time, you guide his palm up the expanse of your thigh, under your dress. He sucks in a breath when you press his fingers to your cunt. You meet his gaze again and find him searching your face. He’s looking for something, maybe fear, or disgust, something….

             “It’s—it’s okay, Tommy,” you whisper, voice quivering, “Touch me, please.”

             He does, slowly, gingerly. His thick fingers explore the skin at the apex of your thighs, then trace between your lips, learning you. You’re sure it’s unintentional when he teases your opening before moving higher. You can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from your trembling lips when he brushes against your clit.

             Thomas, ever observant, does it again, then applies more pressure, circling the calloused pad of his thumb around the sensitive bud. Your eyelids flutter and, unbidden, your hips buck into his hand. All the while Thomas stares, hardly blinking, watching for your reactions.

             Heat curls through your gut, surprising you, at Tommy’s ministrations. He keeps a steady, maddening pace that soon has slick leaking from your neglected cunt. Half-whimpers climb up out of your throat, barely contained behind your teeth.

             Thomas eases up and you’re almost disappointed, but then his fingers slip down your slit to find your soaked entrance once more. Testing, searching, he pushes a finger past your folds, slipping into you. Another gasp tumbles from your mouth. Just his finger, thick as it is, is almost enough.

             You grasp his forearm, urging him to move his hand. He catches on quickly and soon he’s pumping his finger in and out of you. Pleasure blooms through your core and you grind your hips down into his hand.

             “Tommy, can—can you use another finger, please, I need—

             You choke on a moan when he wastes no time in obliging, slipping another finger in next to the first. This is ridiculous, you think deliriously. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. You can feel it dripping down your thighs to pool under your ass and into Tommy’s palm.

             The coil of lust within you tightens and you realize with shock that you’re going to cum. This huge, deranged murderer is going to make you cum on his fingers. And you’re not going to help him.

             You rock your hips once, twice and then stars explode behind your eyes, knees clamping shut around his arm. Thomas groans above you, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you seated on his fingers when you try to pull away.

             Are you sure he hasn’t done this before?

             You pant and shudder, finally peeling your eyes open to meet Thomas’ heated gaze. His own chest heaves, the hand on your neck shaking. You swallow, intimidated by him all over again. You think he might bore a hole through your head with his gaze alone. Does he look at all his victims like this?

             You shake your head, ridding yourself of your tumultuous thoughts. You have no idea how much time you have left. Hurry, you must hurry.

             Thomas must be thinking the same thing because he gently pulls his fingers from your heat. They drip, little droplets splashing into the water covering his boots. He releases your neck to adjust himself and your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge in his pants.

             It’s your turn to watch his face as you reach out and unbuckle his belt. Slowly, you pop the button, slide the zipper. He releases a shaky exhale when you run your thumb along the long length of the overheated cock hiding behind his briefs.

             “Oh fuck,” you whisper when you free him from his underwear. Of course, his cock is huge just like the rest of him; girthy, long, one massive vein running along the underside. You’re unsure if you can handle him.

             Thomas frowns at your words, but you’re quick to reassure him, “I’m sorry, I’m just…you’re, uh, really big so I was just, um….” Your words trail off into nervous laughter, “Will you go slow?” you plead, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

             Thomas nods earnestly, reaching out as if he is going to cup your face. He pauses, fingers inches from your cheek, and the hand withdraws, settling nervously next to your hip. You take another deep breath. No time, no time.

             You scoot forward, spreading your thighs wide to accommodate his hips. You grip him, hard and hot under your palm, and guide him to your slick entrance. Thomas tenses when you hook your leg around his hip, using it to ease him toward you.

             Sweat beads along your forehead as he inches forward, taking the lead once you release him and lean back on your palms to brace yourself. Thomas grips your hips with shaking hands, pulling you forward, stuffing you full with his cock.

             The uncomfortable stretch is there, certainly, quivering muscles straining around Tommy’s generous girth, but your slickness eases the passage and you feel warm pleasure winning out over pain. Before long, he’s fully seated within you, his haggard breaths washing over your sweaty forehead.

             Thomas moves and you gasp, one hand flying to grip the front of his shirt. The drag of his cock along your overstuffed walls is unreal. You sigh, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep the embarrassing sounds safely in your mouth.

             A strained groan leaves Tommy and he jerks his hips forward, wrenching a surprised mewl from your own mouth. That noise, or the way you clench around him must destroy his resolve. The grip on your hips turns bruising and Thomas begins pounding into you with enthusiasm.

             All you can do is clap a hand over your mouth, your other hand white knuckled and braced against the table. Each harsh thrust sends a jolt of pleasure up through your gut, causing you to lose control of your words.

             “Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you chant, not even sure what you’re begging for, your mind hazy with desire. You can barely hear yourself over the noisy slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of your battered cunt, and the creaking of the rusty table under you.

             Thomas trembles, his thighs tensing under yours. He grunts and you can tell from the sound that he’s gritting his teeth. He’s trying not to cum. How he’s lasted this long is beyond you, but he isn’t going to have to wait much longer.

             That tight coil has returned, burning hot pleasure zinging up your back and racing across your skin. Thomas moves one hand up your hip to dig his fingers into your waist. He’s so strong, so ruthless in the way he pulls you onto his cock. He could break your spine with little effort.

             The coil snaps and you cry out, your body tensing and arching. You grip Thomas’ shoulders for dear life, pleasure pulsing through you in powerful waves as tears spill down your cheeks. At the same moment, Thomas buries his cock as deep as he can, groaning and rutting against you as he fills you up. It sits warm in your belly before trickling down your ass to make an even bigger mess of the table beneath you.

             You pant together as though you’ve both just finished a marathon. You glance up to find Thomas studying you again, searching your eyes and face. This time, he does cup your cheek, rough thumb stroking your flushed skin. The action is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—

             The door at the top of the stairs bangs open and you nearly leap out of your skin. Thomas jerks away from you to quickly button up his slacks. You reach for your underwear but don’t have a chance to put them on before Thomas scoops you into his arms, cradling you protectively against his broad chest.

             “Well, well, well, what have you lovebirds been up to?”

             You don’t hear Hoyt’s antagonizing question. You don’t hear anything but the blood pumping in your ears and your own ragged breathing. The way Thomas is holding you, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it, your cunt dripping with his cum, you know.

             You know he’s never going to let you go.

[dancingazaleas]

𖨆. 03 / all for us

summary: you’ve been gone for a while and haven’t been replying to any of your texts messages. you’re friends suspect something might be up.

note: the reader has been left alone continuously ever since she has been kidnapped. erwin and levi are the only ones who see her, and it’s usually only for an hour or two. this is because of her reluctance to be around them.

taglist: @voltairelesecond @the-sun-baby @uniquepickle @baelo80

word count: +3.0k

warnings/notes: cursing, vomiting, your friends are looking for you

PIECK knew something was up whenever bertholdt said you weren't answering his texts and hadn't been showing up to work before you even went on vacation. she knew you were on vacation and that you were pissed with her, but even so you never ignored texts from bertholdt.

her suspicions only rose whenever porco and reiner told her the same thing, that you'd suddenly gone awol on the two of them out of nowhere.

they were confirmed when zeke came back into town and said the same thing.

she sits on her couch, shoulders shaking as she cries with porco's arms wrapped around her. reiner, bert, zeke, and annie, who reiner and bert brought for some reason, stare at her in complete worry.

you went awol just this sunday, telling each and everyone of them that you were going on vacation and wouldn't be in town for a little while. bertholdt hadn't seen you at work for almost three weeks now, two and a half of them after your sudden vacation.

"she can't be on vacation," pieck sobs, "she always answers your guys' texts. no matter what!"

"maybe she's just in a different country? she might just not be able to get reception," porco seems unsure as he says this.

"she can't be. she would've told me, pieck, or even bertholdt. god, she would've told all of us," zeke's head is in his hands while his teeth grind together.

"okay, so where would she be if she were still in paradis," annie speaks up while gesturing her arm in a circle.

"who fucking knows," reiner sighs, "when'd you last see her, babe?"

"at work before she stopped showing up. she said she was gonna get coffee at that one café she loves going to. other than that, she didn't say anything about plans or going out with anybody," bertholdt is laced with confusion and his arms are crossed.

"we got into a bad fight that night," pieck sniffles, "she left the house a few hours later, i just thought she was going to stay with one of you guys or yelena."

"what'd you even argue about?"

she grips at her hair with tears rushing down her face, "i can't even remember. it was probably so petty and stupid. the only thing i remember is her telling me that she hated me and me telling her that she was a fuck up."

"i'm so sorry, pieck," porco squeezes her shaky form tight to his chest.

"wait," zeke's standing up abruptly and pointing at bertholdt, "she went where?!"

"oh my god, she went to café scout!!! maybe the workers heard something," reiner perks up along with everyone else.

"holy shit, maybe that one girl is there!! she probably saw something," porco smiles.

"louise! she definitely knows (name)! she probably saw something! let's go," pieck jumps off of the couch and stumbles towards the front door of her house.

the rest of them follow after, all deciding that bertholdt's van, he's usually the designated driver, is the car they'll get into. they all yell at a fumbling bertholdt to hurry up and unlock the car as they stand at the car. he does so while screaming, jumping into the driver's seat and starting the ignition. reiner's jumping in the passenger seat and annie's in the first row of seats behind bert.

before porco can even close the door behind him, bertholdt is driving off towards the café. porco is screaming along with pieck as they're thrown around the van due to their lack of seatbelts and the both of them standing to sit in their seat. their screaming has everyone else screaming as bert speeds up the car despite the oncoming speed bump. bertholdt and reiner hit their heads against the roof of the car, a loud bang resonating throughout the vehicle. pieck and porco's back hit the roof as well, but luckily for pieck she lands on the first row of seats next to annie.

porco, unfortunately, lands on the floor. zeke would've laughed if it wasn't for his own head slamming against the carpeted roof of the van. annie holds onto pieck's arm whenever she's in a sitting position, screaming along with reiner for bertholdt to slow the car down as they see another speed bump.

he doesn't.

porco is once again thrown against the roof.

bertholdt is speeding, even as he gets onto the freeway with other cars. he's stressed out.

when they get there, they all wonder how the fuck bertholdt didn't even get pulled over and how the hell they even managed to survive. bertholdt cries out apologies as reiner and porco puke their guts out in the huge parking lot while annie gags and tries not to vomit at watching reiner and porco do it themselves. pieck is holding her hand and trying to cover her eyes while zeke manages to cover her ears and cringes at porco and reiner.

bertholdt's now sobbing at annie, profusely apologizing, even getting on all fours and begging for her forgiveness.

"how are you gonna get on your hands and knees for annie but not for your boyfriend," porco coughs before he spits out saliva to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

reiner follows behind him in a grimace, hand grabbing at his now emptied stomach and the other going to wipe at his mouth.

"dude, gross!! don't wipe it off with your hands!! pieck and bertholdt usually have tissues on hand," porco shouts to reiner, who drops his hand halfway.

pieck and zeke comfort the emetophobe annie all while bertholdt gives reiner and porco tissues and a breath mint. he gives them hand sanitizer as well, and throws a pack of peppermint frost gum at the two of them, clogging his nose up.

they scoff but oblige, both now looking somehow decent and also smelling it. pieck's calming down a shaking annie, who's buried herself in pieck's warm arms, and zeke stands to the side awkwardly.

porco and reiner rush to the order counter when they all step inside, ordering instead of asking the cashier for the employee they were looking for. annie, who's now calm, pushes them aside harshly.

"ignore them, is that girl louise working today? we need to talk to her," she asks and the poor cashier is terrified at annie's deadpan face.

"n-no!! sh-she should be at home!!"

"give me her address," annie starts to lean her front over the counter, almost pushing the poor girl into a heart attack.

she grabs a napkin and a pen, hurriedly scribbling down louise's address and running off into the back.

"we can get food on the way there," annie shrugs nonchalantly, "preferably wendy's or something."

————

bertholdt and pieck almost feel bad for the poor girl whenever she answers the door.

with annie's glare piercing into her and zeke's towering over her, they were sure she'd pissed herself.

"y-yes... what do you need," she digs her nails into the door.

pieck shoves them both aside and steps forward, louise lights up with recognition.

"don't worry, they aren't gonna hurt you," she waves her hand, completely ignoring how they both still glare at louise even over pieck's shoulder, "i just need to ask you something."

"what is it?"

"have you seen (name) lately? the girl who usually come in with me."

"last time i saw her was around a few weeks ago," louise shrugs, "wait, did she go missing?!"

"yea, we're trying to figure out where she was last on the night of her disappearance. did she say anything to you...? anything at all," pieck steps forward with a desperate hand on her heart.

"she said something about going drinking with two friends... something about them being blonde and short," she scratches at her temple, slight pout on her face, "that's all i can remember."

"did she say what bar," pieck steps closer again, putting her hand on the door frame.

louise shakes her head sadly, eyes dropping down to their feet.

with that, pieck broke into tears again and was led away by porco and annie. the rest of them followed behind, leaving louise inside her home.

"she has to be somewhere," pieck cries into her hands, "she has to be!!"

zeke's got a hand on his forehead while he loosely holds onto his glasses with his other hand. he lets out a choked out sob, and everyone turns to him.

"zeke... are you... crying?" reiner turns to look at zeke over his shoulder.

"fuck.. yea. it just doesn't make sense. she's gotta be somewhere," he rubs the bridge of his nose.

"maybe the guys louise mentioned know something...," bertholdt inserts as he looks in the rear view mirror.

the statement has pieck shouting at the meek boy, "we don't know what they look like!!! all we know is that one is blonde and one is short! we're at a dead end! we're fucking stuck!!!"

bertholdt visibly flinches in his seat while his throat clogs up, hands gripping at the steering wheel. his eyes are welling up with tears that he doesn't let out. reiner's hand is on his arm in comfort, eyebrows bunched up in concern.

pieck wails once more, "god, i'm so sorry bertl. this isn't your fault. you were trying to help."

he sniffles, "it's fine. i understand. we're all just upset and desperate to find (name)."

"we'll find her soon enough."

————

the loneliness is getting to your head.

you're in the secluded dark even during the day.

you just crave to be with someone, so much that you're getting desperate.

a tug at erwin's sleeve has him stopping and turning back to face you. you've got tears spilling over your cheeks and snot running into your mouth while you lean on an elbow to hold onto his sleeve for dear life.

it's not even nighttime, it's early afternoon. erwin had just come into the room to feed you lunch and to just leave after that. but you couldn't handle it anymore. being alone made everything dark and silent.

even if the lights and televisions were turned on.

"please," you beg and rest your forehead against his arm, "please don't leave me alone."

erwin's cheeks are lighting up while his eyes widen. his hand comes up to stroke the back of your head as it now rests on his hip. he doesn't mind the wet spot forming on his pants, this was the first time you ever initiated anything.

"i won't, darling. i need to go put the tray in the sink and let levi know i will be in here," he's taking a step away from you, jumping at your sudden loud sobs and tugging.

"no! no! please, i don't want to be alone," your eyes are squeezed shut while you grip onto his pants for dear life.

"but i need to go put these dishes away. after that, i can—"

"no!" you scream and push your head harder against his leg, "no! please don't leave! i don't want you to leave."

he sighs, putting the tray of empty dish onto your bedside table. he grabs the room key out of back pocket before he picks you up bridal style.

"you run, levi'll break your legs," his fingers dig into your skin, but loosen at the frantic nod you give.

he manages to unlock your bedroom door in a complicated way, which you don't feel like questioning, and strolls outside of the room.

he goes out of your quarters, it's the furthest you've ever been. you're in a large room that connects into other rooms, the amount of doors is slightly overwhelming to you even as you look at them.

to your shock, you pass by people. living people.

they all seem to be staff, and the only sort of acknowledgement you get from them is a wide eyed stare with a dropped jaw.

"levi is still in his study, correct," he asks while shifting his hold on you.

a girl with ginger hair and auburn eyes speaks up, "yes sir! he requested no one to enter."

erwin nods and walks past the girl, who gives you a small friendly wave whenever you look out from erwin's arm.

you turn your attention back to erwin whenever you hear the sound of a door opening and closing.

you're in a new room, which is assumed to be levi's study, that's lighted up by the cloudy and grey natural light that shines through the blinds and windows. there are bookshelves on both sides of the room and you notice that on both bookshelves the order of the books goes from largest to smallest. levi sits at a desk in the middle of the room, facing the door, as his hand holding a pen runs across the paper.

"what do you need," levi looks up for a brief moment, but snaps his head up once more.

"what's the brat doing here," he motions to you in erwin's arms.

erwin's sitting you on a leather couch in the office, wiping away some tears with his thumbs. he steps away from you and takes ahold of levi by the arm, essentially dragging him to the door of the study.

the dawning realization that they're going to leave you alone has you tripping over your feet as you run to the door. your hand grips onto levi's shirt and you tug him towards you, pulling him away from the door.

"i don't want to be alone," you cry while shoving your face into levi's chest, he cringes at your snot and tears soaking through his shirt.

"oh," he blinks, awkwardly rubbing your back with his hand, "why'd you bring her here?"

"because she wouldn't let me leave to put her tray away, which i now need you to do. i'm going to get in the bath with her, which you are welcome to join if you'd like."

"i don't like baths, sitting in your own filth," he scrunches his nose up.

"to each their own," erwin shrugs, giving levi a kiss on his temple and grabbing ahold of your hand.

"come along, darling," he smiles at how quickly you intertwine fingers with him and join his side.

he leads you into a different bathroom than the one that you use. there's not much of a difference besides it size, the tub's size, and the long counter built for two.

"undress for me, love," his giant hands are massaging your shoulders before he pulls away and walks over to the tub.

you look to the bathroom door, only to find a doorknob with a keypad, something you didn't notice when you walked in, and frown. you just sigh and slip off the the pastel pink nightgown you were wearing, the fabric pooling around your feet as it drops to the floor.

you look up into the mirror, and you almost want to cry. you look nothing like yourself. you barely had any life behind those (eye color) eyes and your eyebrows were now naturally furrowed in sadness. you've got fading bruises on one side of your body, trailing downwards all the way to your calf.

you decide to take off your panties before you let your thoughts roam, stepping out of them after they've dropped to the floor.

you hear the door open, to which you and erwin look to. only it's not levi.

it's a young boy with ebony black hair and emerald green eyes that stands at 5'10.

you instinctively cover yourself up and turn your back towards him, embarrassing washing over you in waves.

erwin scrambles to block the boys view, who is seemingly enjoying it, and furrows his bushy brows.

"who are you and what are you doing here? where is levi?!"

"levi sent me sir. he gave me clothing for the girl and then said you would be in here," his eyes try to take a peek over erwin's shoulder.

erwin snatches the clothing out of his hand and slams the door shut in the boy's face. he scoffs in annoyance while he puts the clothes onto the counter, now focusing his attention onto you.

"i'm sorry about that, dear. are you alright," he puts a hand on your back and guides you to his chest.

"i'm okay," you sniff, "just wanna get in the bath now."

he smiles a bit, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead before he steps away. you watch him rid himself of his white button up and try not to let your eyes bulge out at his body. however, you can't exactly resist the urge whenever erwin is finally naked.

erwin's stomach has abs carved into it, a well groomed happy trail leading to his cock. the thighs in his muscles and back are almost screaming out at you whenever he turns and lifts his hand to ruffle his hair.

you look down to his feet, feeling ashamed for even staring for so long.

he gets into the bath after a moment, knees spread wide for you to sit between. his arms are resting on the rim of the tub while he sighs at the hot temperature. you get in, goosebumps running up and down your body as the heat invades your colder body. you settle in between his legs and lean back against his chest, closing your eyes.

his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him than you were before. you put a hand over his arm, silently giving him a message to keep his arms where they were.

his lips kiss at the crown of your head, and it seems sweet enough to where you think you might be able to smile. but you don't.

watching your eyes flutter, he mumbles into your hair, "the hot water make you tired?"

"yeah," you hum, "don't really like the hot outside of this. i prefer the cold."

"so does levi," erwin chuckles as he draws circles into your skin.

"does that mean you like summer?"

"no, i prefer fall or spring. both usually have the adequate temperature," he sighs.

"erwin," you ask after a few seconds, "why is levi so cold?"

"why are you only now asking?"

"i meant to ask sooner but i was never really... given the chance," you say bitterly.

"well, levi has been through a tough life. he almost went to jail before i met him. but it isn't my story to tell," he smiles at the memory.

you nod and finally let out a yawn, "i'm going to fall asleep soon."

from then, erwin washes the two of you so you both can get out of the bath. during this, you find out he's actually quite playful. he gathers up bubbly soap in his hands and blows them into your face, hearty laughs following immediately after.

he stands before you once you're out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist and one around your shoulders. you look up at him while he brushes your hair and puts on a few drops of lotion on your face.

you're trying to ignore the voice in the back of your head that maybe he really does care. because at the end of the day,

you still have a collar and chain on.

[let-love-run-red]

Broken but Healing

ART BELONGS TO ARCOIRIAS ON DEVIANTART

TW: child abuse, child neglect, attempted rape, domestic violence, this is an angst fest but it ends happy I promise

Female reader insert

Summary: Basically Garcello is a good protective older brother to Annie

AO3 link

It was dark, but you still heard her shuffle into the room. Annie was Garcello's younger sister. Not by blood, but they had grown up in the same foster home and they bonded. She had been living with her boyfriend, but something had happened. Something she refused to talk about, so Garcello had talked to you and of course you said it was ok for her to move into your apartment with the two of you. It had two bedrooms after all, and the second was just being used for storage.

She was usually ok to sleep in her own room but sometimes, when she was having a bad night, she would drag her pillow and a blanket into the room you shared with Garcello and sleep on the floor next to his side of the bed. You didn't mind it, there was no way she could snore louder than Garcello did. Sometimes you barely noticed she was in the room when you woke up. But tonight was different.

"Garcello!" Annie suddenly screamed. You shot awake, sitting bolt upright.

"Garcello! Garcello where are you?!" She shouted again. Garcello was on the floor in an instant sitting next to Annie and holding her against his chest as she clawed at herself and him.

"Annie, Annie I'm right here." He said, smoothing her dark hair down and holding her tightly as she scratched at his arms.

"Annie, you're still asleep Annie." He said, gently trying to shake her. She screamed again and tried to bite him.

"Annie!" He said, a bit more forcefully. Annie calmed as she woke up, holding Garcello's forearm tightly. She was breathing heavily and there were tears streaming down her face. You watched as Garcello pulled her into his lap and she buried her face in his T-shirt. He shushed her gently, rocking back and forth as he stroked her hair. She sobbed into his chest and you locked eyes with Garcello. He gave you an apologetic look and you shook your head. He didn't have to be sorry, Annie didn't have to be sorry either.

You reached over to the night stand and turned on the lamp, illuminating the room with a soft glow. Annie pulled away from Garcello, reaching up and wiping her face. She hiccuped and cleared her throat.

"Sorry." She said, sliding back onto the floor. Garcello stayed cross legged on the floor with her and looked to you. You took the hint and left the room so they could talk. He had told you when she was younger she suffered from night terrors, and Garcello was the only one who could calm her from them.

She had been abused by her biological parents before she was taken from them and placed in the same foster home as Garcello. She hadn't allowed anyone to get near her or touch her. She would lash out, biting and kicking and screaming. He said the foster parents had almost reached their breaking point. Until the day Annie climbed onto the couch next to Garcello and handed him a hair brush. He didn't understand why, and Annie said he just seemed nice. He had taken the brush and she sat in his lap while he brushed the knots out of her hair. She fell asleep, eventually, and since then she had stuck to him like glue.

Garcello walked out of your room carrying a sleeping Annie who was wearing one of his hoodies, taking her to her own room. He walked back out and fumbled with a cigarette and his lighter with shaking hands. He was angry, you could tell from the way he paced and the way the vein in his neck jumped as he worked his jaw. He had been crying. You waited for him to tell you what was wrong, it was never good to push him when he was this worked up.

"Garcello," You said gently, resting your hand on his bicep as he sucked down the cigarette. He barely paused to exhale the smoke before turning to you and pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

"He hit her." He growled, his voice low. You rarely saw him this angry.

"He fucking hit her." He said with a clenched jaw. You rubbed his shoulders, trying to keep him calm enough not to yell. He settled for whispering harshly.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." He said, turning to face you. He placed the cigarette back between his lips with a shaking hand and took a long drag. You could see him relax as the nicotine filled his lungs and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw.

"Garcello." You said softly. He shook his head and pressed his fist to his chest, letting out a small cough. He took the cigarette from his mouth and used his opposite hand to thump his chest as he coughed again, and again, until he was in the midst of a coughing fit.

You steadied him as he coughed, trying to keep quiet so he didn't wake Annie. She didn't know he had been having breathing problems. He didn't want to worry her. He ended up doubled over, the hand holding his cigarette on his knee and the other on the arm of the couch to steady himself while you rubbed circles on his back. There was nothing you could do to stop these, you just had to ride it out with him.

"Fuck." He said when he stopped coughing. He stood up slowly, eyes watery with tears.

"You wanna know the first time it happened?" He said. You stayed silent, willing him to continue.

"That day we had lunch for her birthday." He said. He stubbed the cigarette out in the ash tray on the side table and took a deep breath.

"When we had lunch then, and she said she wasn't feeling good, he broke her ribs." He said. He buried his hand in his hair and tugged on it. He sank down onto the couch with tears streaming down his face. His shoulders shook as he tugged on his hair and you stepped forward to stand between his knees, looping his arms around your waist and pulling him against you so his head was pressed against your stomach. He cried quietly as you ran your fingers through his hair and scratched his back gently.

"How did I not see it?" He asked, pulling away and looking up at you with broken eyes.

"Sometimes you can't tell baby. It's Annie, she's always kept things to herself." You said softly. He shook his head.

"I'm her brother. I'm her Garcie, she usually tells me everything. But even if she didn't tell me I should have seen it, seen something." He said. You sat next to him on the couch and scratched his back as he hung his head and stared at the carpet.

"No matter what happened she's safe now. She's here with us, with you. You can protect her." You said. He swallowed and nodded.

"She left, finally." He said. You nodded and opened your mouth to speak when he interrupted you.

"Because he tried to rape her." He said. You were shocked. Violence was one thing, but rape was a step further. Your heart dropped for Annie.

"She left in the middle of the fucking night and slept on the street because he tried to rape her and she got away." He said, clenching his jaw so hard you feared his teeth would crack.

He took a deep breath, sitting up and rubbing his palms against his knees, then scratching at his cheek and sucking his lip the way he did when he was craving a cigarette. He covered his face with his hands, taking another breath before wiping the tears from his cheeks and clearing his throat.

"She said that so many times she considered calling me to pick her up." He said, staring down the wall.

"She thought about it, she had my number on the screen, she just didn't hit the button." He said. "Why didn't she just call me?" He turned to look at you, lip quivering as he tried not to cry again.

"I wanted to be there for her, I wanted to be the good older brother that she could come to whenever, but she didn't call me." He said. You pulled him against your chest and he buried his face in your neck.

"Garcello sometimes it's hard to admit that something like that happened." You said.

"It can feel embarrassing, sometimes it's scary because what if the person finds out? And a lot of the times you try to make up excuses for them, they didn't mean it, it won't happen again. There's a lot of reasons." You said. You lifted his face so he was looking at you.

"But she did come to you." You said. "She felt comfortable enough coming to you that she showed up here at 5 in the morning." You said. Garcello swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah, that's true." He said, letting out another small cough. It didn't escalate this time, something you were thankful for. You were silent for a moment, just taking comfort in the presence of each other when Annie screamed again.

"No! Get off of me! Don't touch me!" She yelled. Garcello shot up from the couch, sprinting to Annie's room and throwing the door open. You could hear him talking and heard Annie's sobs again.

She had been broken when she came to that foster home. She was 6 and ripped away from her parents with broken bones. Garcello had been broken too, 13 with a nicotine addiction from his dead mother and neglected. He hadn't been touched for a year before ending up in that foster home. Annie had been the first one to try to hug him, and he was the first person she had let help her heal. Watching her broken like this was breaking Garcello all over again.

You walked down the hall and peeked into Annie's room. Garcello was laying on the side of the bed facing the door on his back. Annie was curled up next to him holding his arm as tightly as she could while she slept. Garcello was staring up at the ceiling and you cleared your throat.

"I'm gonna stay here tonight." He said without turning to you. You nodded, you had expected nothing less. He was her big brother, he wanted to protect her. You had no problem with that.

"She needs me." He said as he finally turned to look at you.

"Try to get some sleep, we can work things out tomorrow." You said.