#which is the canon name but i like snap better

[logansbaby]

DIET PEPSI | Logan Howlett

❥ summary: stuck in a place of unspoken desire and longing, the limousine drives only further ignite the spark between logan howlett and you. months of built up lust and emotions bubble over when you take control.

word count: 8.1k (im unable to write short smut scenes)

pairings: old man logan howlett x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), masturbation, messy kissing, spitting (im so sorry but it’s my weakness), oral (fem!receiving), begging, humping, pussy pronouns (it’s sooooooo) unprotected sex, gagging? it’s just once, car sex, feelings, logan being self destructive, pet names (baby, honey, princess ITS CANON SOOOO) let me know if i missed anything!

❥ a/n: soooooooo…. this took forever im SO sorry! life is absolutely insane and chronic illnesses are not for the weak. anyways think of this as a gift from me to all you sexy people for 2k!!!!!!! thank you so much, i could kiss you all<3 i hope you enjoy, let me know what you think

—˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

‘When we drive in your car, I'm your baby (so sweet)

Losing all my innocence in the back seat

Say you love, say you love, say you love me (love me)

Losing all my innocence in the back seat’

Diet Pepsi - Addison Rae

—˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

TENSION simmers in the air of the limousine as the driver and passenger engage in a silent staring contest through the rearview mirror. The cool air blasting from the air vents does little to dismantle the heat bubbling in the small space.

Though nonchalance is painted on your face, a darker, seductive glint glimmers in your eyes, a challenge settling within them. You tilt your head, tongue slipping out to glisten your lips with saliva.

There's no shame evident in your gaze; your body is thrumming with pure, hot need and you could cry out with how bad you need the man in the driver's seat.

Logan isn't faring much better— fists gripping the steering wheel tight enough that his healing knuckles turn white, a frown etching deep in his features. He’s desperate to hold onto the tiny sliver of control he has left, mind working to come up with anything to keep him away from giving into this, into you.

This thing between you both started the minute you settled in the backseat of his limousine all those months ago and the unspoken desire has only grown since then.

It’s like there’s something tethering you to him— it’s why you keep coming back to him, calling for his car services despite the fact that your car has long since been fixed. You find yourself craving him, unable to think about anything but him in the early hours of the morning. No matter how many times you come thinking about him, the ache and desire for the man only grows. Though, you haven’t even had a taste.

Yet.

You won’t give in first, though. As much as you want to climb over the seat and suck his cock right then and there as he drives, you’ve held back, just barely, for months.

Logan is a man of very few words and he prefers actions to speaking his feelings. He’s shown you he’s softened to you in the way he hums to show you he’s listening to your rambles. He’s shown it in the way he shows up when you both know you don’t need his car anymore. He doesn’t say it, but you know he wants you as much as you want him, and you’ve been waiting for him to finally give in, to make you his.

As soon as you sat down tonight, fresh from the club, you knew something was bound to happen, especially with the way Logan’s been eying you the entire drive.

Which, it’s important to note that your destination leads to nowhere, you just craved to see the man that badly.

You lean back against the seat, eyes speaking a thousand words as they meet his once more. God, he’s so handsome. His pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the salt and pepper stubble stretching across his cheeks. Oh, how you want to feel the burn against your—

“Stop that.” Logan’s grunt snaps you from your thoughts.

“Stop what?” You go for innocence but really, your tone is saturated in lust and it gives you away entirely.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what, Logan?” You’re challenging him, and though you can’t see it from the backseat, his dress pants get considerably tighter at the defiance in your voice. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Bullshit,” He counters, eyes flickering to yours and you choose then to bite down on your glossy lips. His knuckles flex with the urge to release the claws piercing beneath his skin; is he crazy for being jealous that he’s not the one biting into the plush skin? “You’re staring at me like you want me to fuck you.”

Vermillion warmth spreads from your chest to your cheeks at his bluntness. It’s completely true, but the dirty truth makes you flush, and your panties to dampen at the thought.

“It’s not gonna happen, baby.” His tone is confident, sure and it pisses you off. “It’s not, so knock it off.”

You roll your eyes, turning to stare out the window. You’re not sure when it started raining, but the water droplets hit the glass pane harshly with its momentum. The pitter patter of water should distract you from Logan, but it just sends you further spiraling.

How dare he deny your feelings and then call you baby?

Blah, blah, blah! His reasons for keeping you apart are pathetic. You couldn’t careless for the years he has on you, you’re a grown woman, and fully capable of what you want. You don’t care what kind of a man he was before he met you; your feelings for him defeat any sense of logic your mind can muster.

You remember how it felt the first time you saw him. Wild, untamed butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach the moment Logan’s eyes met yours. You remember how your name sounded on his lips, a rough voice rendering chills across your skin.

That day had been a shitty one, your boss scolding you for tiny mistakes and everything had seemed to go wrong. Even more so when your car broke down and your then boyfriend refused to pick you up, instead sending you a link to a limousine service. You were sure nothing would get better from that point on.

But when you sat down in his car, Logan’s presence made you feel safe, and it wracked your brain as to why a stranger made you feel so comfortable.

Evidently, you kept calling the limo service (if you silently praised your ex for leading you to Logan, no one had to know).

You remember how you began looking forward to seeing him. You remember how talking with him, rambling on about whatever, felt normal. You remember how being in the vicinity of him felt like taking a breath of crisp, cool air after months of no oxygen.

Logan has picked you up from the bar, carried you up to your apartment door when you were too drunk to do it yourself. Logan has veered off course when your stomach audibly rumbled during a drive to work, insisting you needed to eat. He even grabbed you a milkshake when you told him how you dumped your ex.

He’s been there in every way that counts, but not close enough.

Somewhere along the way, you’ve become love sick, reduced to a yearning mess each time you see him, each time only furthering your feelings. All you want is for Logan to accept this spark between you and let you in, let you ease his troubles and care— because you do, so much.

And, you might want Logan’s dick deep inside you, his strong body hovering over yours as he fucks you dirty, hard, and rough.

“Whatever, Logan.” Huffing, your eyes roll to further showcase your opinion. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs and the action causes the tiny, black dress to slip further up your thighs.

And because Logan has a staring problem where you’re concerned, he sees the roll of your eyes, the expanse of thigh that’s showing. Whenever you’re like this, so unashamed of your need for him, it makes him want to let go of any morals. It makes him want to throw your legs over his shoulders and devour you, lick up the slick he knows is there. He’d like to finally shut your mouth up, finally stop those bratty comments as he fills you up.

Instead, he stays quiet and focuses on the empty road ahead. He can do this, resist your hazy eyes and luscious lips long enough until he gets you to your destination. The radio is switched on then, some pop song filtering through the vehicle in an attempt to lessen the thick, sexual strain permeating the air.

Though, that little action seems to unravel any little bit of control either of you have.

His indifference annoys you; here you are, adorned in a black, lacy dress that does nothing to cover your thighs and grips your curves deliciously. And, you even turned down an attractive man at the club in favor of having Logan pick you up; just the thought of him made you immune to another’s charm.

How embarrassing are you? Staying loyal to a man that has decided the course of your relationship without your input. You would’ve walked away if it were any other person, but you’ve seen the way he eyes you each time you get inside his car, seen the way his fingers go white as he grips the steering wheel, seen the way his cock goes hard at the sight of you.

And that’s when you decide you’re sick of this. Sick of Logan denying you both mind altering pleasure, sick of him pushing you away, sick of him deciding what’s best for you when you can make your own decisions.

A noisy clink! resounds as you unbuckle your seatbelt, and move towards the front of the car. You feel a prickling gaze at the side of your face as you fit yourself over the console, hand reaching to turn off the radio knob. You let your fingertips just barely graze Logan’s arm as you do so, and you’d think he’s unfazed had you not been so close to see the shudder rack through him, to hear the gruff inhale that has a shaky lilt.

In the corner of your eye, you see his mouth part, but before he can scold you, you remove yourself and land back against the cushion. If you’re going to do this, you want his entire attention on you, not some shitty song filtering through the radio station.

You adjust yourself, wiggling until you’re comfortable. Parting your thighs, you feel your confidence soar as you note how Logan’s eyes track your movements.

The dress is bunched up around the tops of your thighs and with the way your legs are open, stretched enough that your ankles lean against the opposite sides of the leather, the lacy thong is on display.

One hand trails down to the spot between your legs, where you’re slick and wet with want. You don’t touch yourself right away, instead petting the supple skin of your inner thighs. The other hand moves to caress your breasts as they threaten to spill from the confines of the dress. You sigh, a shiver racketing through you as nimble fingers brush your most sensitive spots with a mere graze.

“What are you—“ Logan starts, but you cut him off because you’re in charge here, not him.

“Shut up, Logan.” You’re trying to sound stern but with the way you’re softly petting your nipples through the fabric, it’s more breathy than authoritative.

“Fuck,” Logan spits out, trying really hard to not crash but it’s proving to be a bit impossible with the way he can see you teasing yourself. What’s worse is the fact that the intoxicating scent of your pussy is assaulting his senses. He feels high on your smell, on the way he watches through the mirror as you pinch your chest. “Fuck.”

“You know…” You start, but it’s interrupted by a sudden inhale as you finally touch your tender clit through the thin material, pads rubbing softly until that familiar, hot feeling fills your stomach. “I wish I stayed at the club a little longer.”

“Is that right?” If your eyes were open, you’d see how unhinged and feral the man looks. The skin of his knuckles split open as his claws peak out.

A whimper rings loud into Logan’s ears and fuck, that angelic noise will haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. His eyes snap back to see you slowly rolling your hips into your hands, fingers playing with your clit lazily.

“Mhmm, I shouldn’t have called you. Not when you constantly ignore me.” You whine, spreading your legs further apart than before, feeling a rush you’ve never felt before blossom across your entire body at the show you’re putting on. “You pretend there’s nothing here, you pretend you don’t want me, and it pisses me off.”

He’s trying so incredibly hard to force the words ‘knock it off and cover yourself up’ out, but he can’t.

He can’t when it’s the furthest thing from what he actually wants. He can faintly see the wet spot on your underwear, and he wants to scream at you to remove the material all together— he’s that desperate to see your puffy, pretty cunt glisten in all its glory.

“I don’t ignore you, baby.” It’s grunted out, the pain of his claws only aiding in his desire as his cock grows uncomfortably stiff in his pants. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

Another roll of your eyes sends a shiver down Logan’s aching back. Oh, if you don’t knock it off, he’s going to make you cry as he fucks you dumb.

Happy thoughts… Logan thinks.

“There was this guy in the club.” By the tiny smirk on your lips, he knows he shouldn’t take the bait. He knows you’re trying to push him, trying to get him to let go and take what you both desire. He knows he shouldn’t fall for it.

Too bad hes never been good at listening.

“What?”

The lethal, cold depth of his voice has your eyes flying open and you have the audacity to fucking moan. You’re usually not this… bold? Perhaps Logan just turns you into a feral, needy thing.

“Yeah, he was cute too!” You hum, bubbles of laughter tumbling from bitten lips at the way Logan stares at you, at how he gives you a warning look. “He offered to by me a drink, said he wanted to dance.”

“He’s a dick.”

“No, he said I’m pretty.”

“You are pretty.” It’s angry, the way he forces it out, not because it’s untrue, but because the idea of another man trying to make a move on you, his girl, sends anger boiling beneath his skin.

“He was nice, I don’t know why I bothered to turn him down.” It’s through a moan, the way the words are murmured because your fingers are now rubbing circles over your sex in a motion that has your hips jolting, legs shaking, and lips shiny with spit as you bite at them.

“He’s an asshole, only wants one thing from you.”

“I don’t care, what if I want only one thing from him too?”

“Careful.” He practically growls, the limousine swerving slightly before he gets control over the wheel again.

He’s not sure when you’ve become so fucking obscene, but he aches to bend you over the hood of the car and teach you a lesson. He’s so overwhelmed with the turn of events, of how so many feelings jump about beneath his ribcage.

He knows he’s been pushing you away, ignoring the connection you have, but fuck? The knowledge you can slip away from him at any moment makes him feel agonized.

“Jealous?” You taunt, the material of your underwear darker with the slick pooling there and you both know Logan can see it.

“No.”

“I gave him my number, you know.” It's spoken so nonchalantly that a snarl threatens to escape deep from Logan’s throat. “He said to call if I need anything…”

“Watch it,” it’s calmly muttered, but Logan’s anything but. He’s torn between actually focusing on the road and watching your fingers roll your clit in the rear view mirror. That, and anger rolls off him in thick, daunting waves because of a man he doesn’t even know.

You’ve got him wrapped around your pretty finger and he’s a fool to think anything else. He’s a fool to think he’s been successful in the suppression of his feelings.

“Maybe I should call him,” You suggest, your hand slipping beneath the sodden mesh and finally touching your clit properly. “He was hot.”

Logan’s so wrapped up in your euphoric face and honeyed voice that he’s struggling to remember why he’s so riled up.

“Stop tryna piss me off. You’re on my last fuckin’ nerve.” He’s stern, but you just smile wide and slip the pads of your fingers down to swipe up the arousal dripping from your hole, your whiny pants making his spine go rigid.

“I’m not doing anything, Logan.”

“Bullshit. Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not gonna work. This can’t happen.”

He’s trying so hard to convince himself as much as you. His words don’t bother you though, because the smile on your face morphs into a satisfied smirk.

“You don’t want me?” You challenge, and you stare him down as your fingers retreat from your cunt. You lift your hand up to your mouth, never once looking away as you stick them past your lips and suck.

Your body jolts when the car swerves wildly, but instead of fear, blistering lust fills you and burns your cheeks. Logan looks so incredibly distraught with how your lips wrap around your fingers, a soft ‘hmmm’ falling from you at the taste of desire blooming across your tastebuds.

“Shit, honey. Of course I want you. You don’t know how bad I need you.”

“Please.” You cry out, voice high and dripping with want. Your fingers part from your wandering tongue, traveling down the path of your curves to find your pussy again. “Please, please—“

“No.”

“Logan!” You’re so overwhelmed with your blatant need for the man that actual tears pool at your lashes.

“No.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Don’t give me attitude.” He commands and you must be sick because the stern, finality of his tone has your hole clenching around nothing. “You know why.”

“—oh my god, Logan. Not this again, the ‘I’m not a good guy,’ and ‘I’m too old for you’ is absolute shit! I don’t care, I want you to fuck me.”

You’re so forthright that he can’t be blamed with how his stomach churns with intense hunger.

“You deserve so much more, more than I can give you.”

Logan seems to forget that as much as he’s come to know you, you’ve also picked up on his own habits. So, you know he’s full of shit by the twitch of his hands on the wheel, the tightening of his lips, the way he’s staring at you like a man starved.

“You know what? Fine, that’s fine. I’ll just call Nate and—“

“Who?” The cold note in his words should scare you, but it just sends another wave of slick to seep down your thighs.

“Nate! The guy from the club,” you say, one hand reaching for the phone hidden in your purse, and the other rubbing slow circles on your neglected clit. The mixture of your spit and wetness is noisy as you rub yourself, the sound driving Logan fucking insane.

“I told you, the guy sounds like a dick. The fuck kind of name is that?” Logan���s patience is running out and you both know it, the string tearing with each tug you give. His eyes widen when you wiggle the phone in his eyeline.“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Why? At least he was willing to fuck me.”

And, oh.

You’re not sure what causes you to say that, but the atmosphere turns tense, filling with anticipation, something dark and dangerous enough that chills run across your exposed skin.

It’s silent. Astonishingly silent as Logan tears his gaze from you, his eyes only forward now. You don’t back down; you know you’re driving the man crazy and it feels fucking good.

Without tearing your eyes from him, you hit the call button.

The sound of the phone dialing has Logan snapping. The car tires screech loudly as Logan slams on the breaks, yanking the wheel to pull of to the side of the road.

Your hands fly out to catch yourself from the swift, jerky motion. A sense of accomplishment bubbles inside your chest when Logan shuts the car off, his body frantic and quick before he’s out the driver's door.

You’re jittery with nerves, despite the fact you were just rubbing your clit like a madwoman in front of him. You were tempting him, sure. But now that he’s finally snapped, you’re nervous.

You gasp as chilly air hits you in the face when the back door opens. In an instant, he’s in the back with you, slamming the door shut. His presence is so intimidating and powerful that you shiver, arousal licking at your back as he crowds into your space.

He glares at you, and just as about you’re about to speak, a rough, large hand grips your chin tightly. He squeezes your cheeks, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. His other hand yanks the phone from your fingers and chucks the device in the front seat.

“So fucking stubborn and bratty, always fucking pushing me. Never stop talking, do you?”

“I’ll have you kno—“

Logan slams his mouth onto yours then, effectively shutting you the fuck up.

It’s like fireworks are set off in your stomach, a trickle of mind numbing pleasure tingling every inch of you. You’ve imagined this moment for months, wondered how it’d feel, but nothing your imagination conjured up could ever compare to the real thing.

Logan’s kisses are passionate, eager. He lifts your entire body into his lap in one, quick motion. The causal display of his sheer strength causes your body to melt into him. Your choked gasp is swallowed by his lips, his tongue licking at yours and oh, the wetness of it sends a wave of flutters straight to your cunt.

His mouth is harsh, the scruff of his beard scratching at your chin with a tasteful burn. His rough hand leaves your thigh to snake into your hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers until a messy ponytail forms. Without warning, he tugs firmly to pull you from his mouth.

He watches as your eyes fly open, as a string of saliva connects from his lips to yours. He feels pride thrum within his chest as you try to lean in immediately, chasing the taste of him, his kiss, his tongue.

Logan doesn’t allow you though, yanking at your hair to keep you in place.

“Not speaking now, are you?” Logan grunts out, tugging your head back so he can lick a hot, wet stripe up the expanse of your neck. He sucks at the skin there, hips threatening to thrust up at the moans spilling from your open mouth. “Finally found a way to keep you fuckin’ quiet.”

“Logan—“ you start, mind cloudy with the overwhelming feeling of his wet mouth on your skin, but he just smashes his lips on yours again.

And holy fuck, the way he’s kissing you, like he’s been starved of a meal and you’re the only thing edible, like he can’t get enough of your taste, has your panties growing even wetter. You snake your arms around Logan’s neck tightly, hips swiveling down in his lap so you can rub yourself over his bulge.

Your moan tangles with the surprised groan from Logan when your center grinds down on his cock, the feeling indescribable, utterly intoxicating and above all— right. It feels so fucking right.

His hand releases your hair in favor of grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing, guiding your hips as he licks at the roof of your mouth.

Its almost embarrassing how riled up you are with just kissing and humping, but you can’t be blamed, not really. Not with the way Logan’s dragging your cunt along his hard cock as he sucks your tongue— it’s so fucking good that his pants are wet with your lust, even through your panties and his pants.

When you finally pull back, it’s with his bottom lip tucked between your teeth, enticing a hiss from the man as you bite down. You lose your hands in his messy hair, tugging until his eyes open and fuck— his pupils are huge, dark with need for you.

Cradling his cheeks, you release and lick at his lip, soothing the sting your teeth left. You startle as Logan thrusts up in reaction, the head of him tapping your clit, and despite the barriers between you, it feels fucking amazing.

Logan catches your lips in a messy, slick embrace. There’s no gentleness, only pure sensuality leading his bruising kisses. You get so wrapped up in the pleasure of Logan’s mouth on yours, his cock rutting into your clothed center so delectably, that time is lost.

When you push Logan’s face away, it’s because your lungs burn with the need for oxygen.

Logan’s unfazed, lips moving down your throat and leaving wet kisses across your neck. You’re sucking in oxygen desperately, hands shaky as they stroke up and down Logan’s back. You want to remember every inch of him, that’s how addicting it is to touch his skin.

“Fuck, I can smell you.” He mutters against your collarbone, rough hands roaming all over your body, as if he needs to memorize the feel of you.

“Yeah?”

You’re a fucking mess— hands wrappped tightly around the back of his neck, leaving scratches that stay for longer than they would’ve decades prior, and you’re still rolling your hips in his lap, trying and failing to ease the ache in your cunt. It only further intensifies the achy throbbing with each grind of restless hips.

“Smells so fuckin’ sweet. Gonna let me have a taste, baby?”

“Yes! Please, Logan, please.” You’re far too gone, too drunk on the feel of his lips on your chest to care how pathetic you sound.

You lean back, grabbing Logan’s face to meet yours, sighing softly as your wet lips melt together once more. He groans, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair, tugging hard as he turns your head any way he pleases, using you. It’s then you realize you’d let him do anything to you.

You’re not sure how much time passes as Logan devours your mouth, it could be mere minutes or hours, but you’ve been too tangled up in his to care. What you do know is that you feel as though you’re going to explode if you don’t relieve the pressure in your pussy soon.

You’re whining, pawing at Logan’s chest and rubbing your wetness on the pant of his thigh, trying to get the man to touch you moremoremore.

But Logan’s too occupied with sucking on your tongue and biting your bottom lip meanly. He uses the grip he has on your hair to keep you there, rendered useless as he messily kisses you breatheless.

“Logan, Logan, Logan.” You moan and even though it’s mumbled into his own lips, he hears you all the same. “Need you. Please.”

And then, it’s like Logan’s realizing the current situation— you, a whimpering mess and rubbing your cunt along his lap as your spit soaked lips mesh with his own in a delicious, salacious embrace. You, who he knows he can’t afford to lose, and if he continues touching you, you’ll fade away like everything else good in his life.

He pushes your face back, but makes no move to remove your weight from his body. A frown settles over your blissed out features, dread replacing the butterflies fluttering about inside you.

“Logan?”

“You don’t want this.” He’s refusing to look at you, his hazel eyes blown out with pleasure wondering around the interior of the limousine as if he hasn’t seen it before.

“I do. I want this. I want you.” You cradle his bearded face in your hands, thumbs caressing the prickly grays scattered across his cheeks. “I do.”

“No, baby. You don’t, you deserve so much better—“

His words are lost in the air as you connect your swollen lips with his. You bully your tongue inside, swiping along his, sighing when his hips buck up at your boldness. The action has his cock rutting your covered clit in such an angle that you could probably come just like that.

“Can’t you feel how badly I want you?” You whisper, peppering sweet kisses along his cheeks, nose, eyelids. Staring into his eyes, so muddled with conflict and something sweeter, you kiss him again.

“Shit,” he groans into your mouth, tongues dancing in a pace that has you dizzy, whimpering inside mouth as your lace covered mound ruts at his thigh. “Can’t baby. You deserve someone better, not some old fucking man who’s done more harm than good.”

“I don’t need better, I need you.” You emphasize the point by grabbing his hand and shoving them down your panties.

A symphony of your shared moans ricochets through the small space; you, at the feel of his rough, thick fingers finally touching your slit. Logan, at the feel of your sweet, sweet arousal soaking your cunt slippery.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to find any excuse as to why he should push you away when kissing you, touching you feels this fucking good. Even as his brain works, his fingers tease your fluttering hole and collect your wetness and dragging it to your clit.

“See? I need you, please. Logan, please.”

You stare up at him, eyes wide with so many feelings that cause his heart to pump faster and his cock to jerk.

He seals his fate then and there— Logan’s sick and tired of all the bad in his life, and he doesn’t know much, but what he does know is that you make him feel like he’s good, like he’s fated for something other than drowning in whiskey. And he’s sick of denying himself of you.

“Fuck it.” He mutters, eyes on your lips before melting into you, lips meshing together wetly.

Your moan is loud and sweet, hands leaving his face in favor of gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the crisp white of the fabric there.

He pulls back, ignoring the need washing over him at the mewl falling from you at the sudden removal of him.

“Shh, baby.” He soothes, a large hand finding purchase on your chin, his fingers teasing your lips and rubbing the saliva there. “Open up.”

The quickness at which you obey him makes him want to impale you with his cock then, but he just barely restrains. Your lips are parted, tongue peaking out and waiting; the picture you paint will be a reoccurring dream for him, forever.

Logan leans over you before spitting onto your tongue, watching as the saliva glistens in your mouth. You gasp, the act so incredibly dirty and carnal that you shiver in his lap.

“Swallow.” He commands, squeezing your cheeks together, nearly getting lost in the dazed, euphoric look in your eyes. And you do, because of course you do. ”Atta girl.”

A sob nearly escapes you at that you’re so turned on beyond belief that you’ll burst into tears if Logan doesn’t fuck you soon.

Almost like he can read your mind, he moves you around until your back hits the cool, chilly leather of the seat. He settles himself on the floor of the limousine before you, ignoring the aches he feels stinging his lower back. The pain lingering in his bones becomes a background noise when he looks at you— as if just one look from you heals wounds deep within him.

Logan runs his hands along your legs slowly, teasingly as he presses a kiss on your upper thigh.

“Been dreaming of this pussy for so long.” He starts, leaning until your covered mound is warm with his breath. You’re trembling, suspense hot in your stomach as you wait for him to do something. “Everytime you get in the car, I can smell you. And everytime, I want to fucking eat you out.”

“Logan, please.” You cry out, his filthy words making you dizzy with desire.

And seeing you, someone who’s so unabashedly themselves and talkative be reduced to a withering mess, has a grin threatening to grace his face.

“I got you, baby. Gonna take care of you.”

And he does.

Logan presses a soft, barely there kiss to your lace covered slit before licking a slow, warm path from your hole to your aching clit.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, thighs trying and failing to clench closed as Logan’s hands keep them spread open. He groans at your taste, the hint of something so entirely you.

He grabs each thigh and wraps them around his neck before pulling the sodden material aside with his thumb to finally expose your pussy to him.

And at the sight of your cunt glistening with slick, with unsuppressed desire, makes him fucking lose it.

“She’s so wet, fucking dripping everywhere,” groans, and it takes your muddled brain a second before realizing he’s talking about your pussy.

A moan falls from you, deep from your chest and full of need and hunger as Logan’s tongue swirls over your slit, dipping into your dripping hole. He’s messy as he eats you out, completely driven by a primal urge to completely devour you in the most intimate sense. His movements are rash, his appetite stronger than anything else.

Logan leans back a bit, eyes flickering to yours to ensure you’re focused on him before he spits directly onto your pussy.

A gasp sounds, your chest heaving at the warmth of his saliva coating your center, and it’s so dirty, so insanely hot that it only causes more slick seeps from you.

Logan leans back, ignoring your whine as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy wide open, your sex bare to him. Its obscene, the way he stares at the mixture of saliva and slick glistening your slit. It’s a sight, your cunt crying for him and clenching around nothing as your hips try to buck at his mouth.

Logan laps it all up, tongue flat as he greedily licks up and down your sex. And you’re losing it— not only is his tongue fucking you, going as deep as he can, but Logan’s nose is also bumping against your clit with each thrust of his mouth. Warmth swarms in your stomach and your thighs shake with a promise of an orgasm in the distance.

“Feels so good!” You manage, your hips thrusting up into his face.

You were right— the beard feels fucking amazing rubbing mean and unforgiving against the sensitive skin of your thighs, against your slit.

“Tastes so good, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” Logan moans, replacing his tongue with two fingers. His cock hardens even more with the way your cunt swallows his fingers right away, your warm, wet walls squeezing around them.

That familiar burn swelters in your pelvis, pure heat sizzling through your veins and for a moment, you forget to breathe. It gets worse when Logan suddenly wraps his swollen lips around your puffy clit and sucks.

The pleasure of it all is so sudden that it smothers you entirely— your back arches off the leather, your pussy convulsing as Logan’s fingers and tongue work you to an orgasm quicker than you ever have before.

“Logan, Logan.” You pant, hands tugging the graying tufts of hair, and you’re unsure if you’re trying to push him impossibly closer and away at the same time.

He only releases his suction on your clit when tears prickle your eyes, when you shake on his fingers from the stimulation of it all. He gently places a kiss to your clit, smiling when you jolt. His lips travel along your sweaty thighs, hands stroking your calves as you struggle to breathe.

“That’s it, honey. I got you.”

“Come here,” is all you have the strength to muster, needing his lips on yours instead of your trembling thighs.

Logan obliges, because if you asked him to get you the moon, he’d do his damn hardest to get it.

“Hi,” you whisper once he’s level with you, body slotted between your limp one. Your arms move without your knowledge, wrapping comfortably around his nape.

“Hi, baby.” His voice is deeper, almost as if he’s completely blissed out on the taste of your pussy and come.

It’s then you see how insane he looks— his chin, lips, and the tip of his nose is wet, completely soaked with you. His eyes are wild, hazy with need and his hair is messy from wandering fingers. He looks so incredibly handsome right now, in your arms, covered in you that you can’t be blamed for the moan that escapes.

You tug him close, lips locking in a newly familiar kiss. The taste of you envelopes over your tongue as you lick along his mouth, a satisfied hum vibrating from your lips to his.

What starts as a sweet, lazy kiss turns heated quickly, and though you’ve just come, your sex aches to be filled. It’s a mess of tongues and saliva, teeth clashing as your lips interlock and wrap around one another.

Your hands begin to unbutton his shirt, marveling at the feel of muscle that’s revealed with each pop of a button. You shrug the fabric off and grab at his shoulders, nails digging into the skin and trailing down to the middle of his back.

“Fuck!” Logan groans, biting your bottom lip as you scratch at him.

Instead of responding, you push at his chest until he falls into the seat across yours before throwing yourself in his lap again. You’re crazed, an unsatisfied hunger clinging to every inch of you and threatening to overtake your senses.

“Always so damn bossy.” He’s taunting you, but with the way his dick jolts as you yank your dress off, you know you’ve got him right where you want him.

You gaze at him, guiding his hands from your hips to your chest, urging him to take off your bra.

Logan’s too impatient to actually remove the fabric though, because he simply pulls at the cups until they give way to the pressure and your breasts pool over the band.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, leaning down and taking a pebbled nipple between his lips. You whine as he sucks, his fingers rubbing and pulling your other nipple. He switches his attention between both for a while and desire pools in your stomach, heat tingles across your skin, and you can’t wait any longer.

With quick hands, you work to undo his buckle before yanking down his boxers and dress pants in one motion, leaving them in a mess at his ankles. Logan releases your chest in favor of watching you nearly drool at his cock.

He’s huge. The tip is flushed, red and swollen, dripping pearly white bubbles from the slit. His shaft is thick with veins leading down to a patch of short, curled hair at the base. Even in the dim light of the limousine, you note how the vein on his lower stomach connects to the ones decorating his cock. Fuck, you suddenly want to feel the heaviness of him on your tongue and you’d ignore your own needs to choke on the entirety of him. You crave his taste, his come, and—

“Next time, baby.” Logan startles you from your filthy thoughts, and you actually whine at his words. “As much as I’d like to fuck your pretty mouth, I need to be inside you.”

And despite the fact that the man has eaten you out and stolen an orgasm already, you flush with warmth.

Logan finds you amusing, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock and yanking you until your hole is kissing his tip. Your hips move forward, and a whole body shiver wracks through you when your clit brushes his shaft.

“C’mon, princess. Show me how bad you want it.” He emphasizes his taunt with a squeeze of your waist, his lips brushing yours. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

With a glare, you push his hand away and wrap yours around his cock, guiding it to your wet, slick hole. Logan merely raises an eyebrow as your other hand grips his shoulder to lift yourself up enough. Without warning, you sink down onto the the tip of him, nails digging into his shoulder at the overwhelming feel bubbling over you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head leaning forward onto your shoulder as you squeeze around him purposefully, cunt sucking him down bit by bit as you lower yourself, only stopping when he fills you to the brim.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” You huff, a grin on your flushed face as you repeat his previous words back at him.

Logan doesn’t respond, to focused on not coming immediately— you’re so fucking tight, so wet and warm that he’s struggling.

The stretch is painful, but not unpleasant as you adjust to his size. When the burn fades away and instead comes a delicious thrum, you unleash.

You lift your hips up, enticing a broken moan from Logan as you move up and slam back down in slow, articulated motions.

“Feel so good, baby. So good.”

“Yeah?” You say, hands creeping into his hair to pull each time his tip brushes that spot inside you.

“Yeah.” The kiss he presses to your cheek makes your heart flutter, an act so pure in the midst it all.

You continue your torturous pace, pride warming your chest when Logan’s hands tighten on your hips, urging you to go faster.

You could go faster, but you like the way Logan looks like he’s struggling to suck in oxygen each time his cock returns to your hole.

You catch his mouth in an open, wet kiss. He grunts, and before you can even think, Logan moves his hips upwards and you cry out.

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, Logan’s stripped you of control and thrusts his cock deep inside you in quick, harsh movements. You’re fucking dripping, desire slicking your thighs and Logan’s. He feels so good and he’s so deep and he’s holding you in place so you have no choice but to take it, take the assaulting pace he’s set.

“Shit,” Logan grits out, arms tightly wrapped around your midsection as he fucks you from below. “This is what you wanted?”

You’re so overcome with euphoria, so deeply gone in the waves of pleasure, that you can only nod. Each time he’s fucks up into you, his pubic bone brushes your swollen, pulsing clit in a delicious graze that has tears gathering at your lash line.

“This is what you wanted? For me to fuck you dumb?” He mutters between clenched teeth, his hips moving in a deadly way now. “You just wanted to be fucking full of me, huh?”

“Yes!” You mewl, mouth falling onto his as your tongues messily swirl around, moans and groans mixing with the wet kisses.

The pressure building in your abdomen is almost too much, teasing you each time his cock slams inside. Despite being as close as physically possible, you ache to be closer.

You stop Logan, lifting yourself off him with a hiss. The sudden absence of him leaves you feeling uncomfortably empty and unconsciously, your hole clenches as wetness drips from you and onto the leather seats.

“What’s wro—“ you cut him off by pushing him until he’s laying back on the long seat. Once he’s settled down, as shock paints his expression, you climb shakily back onto his lap.

Sighs of relief echo through the air as your cunt sucks him down and a filthy squelch sounds. With him like this, he’s somehow deeper. You’re so incredibly full, it feels unreal.

The tingling, sweltering sensation in your cunt has you grinding across his lap, the base of his cock rubbing your clit delicately.

“Fuck. Doin so good for me.” Logan bends an arm behind his head so he can watch the way your eyes roll back with each grind, the way your tits jostle with each thrust and hump. “That’s it, baby.”

His praise has you finding a delicious, intoxicating rhythm as you lift up and down, up and down. The ridges and veins of his shaft kiss your walls and your thighs tremble with the feeling. Your hands reach back and grip your asscheeks to pull them apart further, needing his cock to go even deeper.

Logan is enamored by the sight before him— his pretty girl desperately splitting her cunt onto his cock, eyes rolling back with spit-slicked lips resembling an ‘o’.

His hand wraps around your throat tightly, pulling you down until your chest is flush against his. The action has you clumsy, arms swinging out to grip whatever is nearest to steady yourself. He places both hands across your ass and lifts you like you weigh nothing, mimicking your previous thrusts with more force, more speed.

A harmony of ‘uh, uh’s’ filter through his ears as Logan uses you and fucks you down onto his cock. You’re a whining mess, latching onto him tightly as his hips start to thrust upwards, his hands slamming your hips back down.

Suddenly, he wishes that he had his phone close because seeing you like this is a sight he wants to capture forever.

“C’mon, baby. Can feel how close you are.” He grits out between thrusts. One hand leaves your ass to cradle your slackened jaw, gripping tight enough as he forces your eyes on his.

Logan pushes his thumb past your lips and a deep moan falls from him as you suck at his finger. With your gaze never leaving his, you mimic a blowjob as you suck and swirl your tongue along his thumb.

“Mine.” Logan moans, his digit pressing down onto your tongue. He feels a sick sense of pleasure envelope him as you gag at the pressure, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “My fuckin’ girl.”

You nod instantly, a sweet, gooey feeling spreading across your chest at his words, at his voice. You pathetically grind down as Logan fucks upward, spit glistening your lips and his thumb as you messily suck on him.

An overbearing urge to get you to climax surges within him, and he sighs mockingly when you groan as his thumb slips from the confines of your pretty mouth. With a new vigor, Logan fucks you harder, faster, dirtier. He slips a hand between your sweaty bodies and when his fingers swirl over your clit, you explode.

The roughness of his hips, the precision of his fingertips on your clit, and the intensity of the moment catches up with you and you’re coming abruptly. It’s intense, the way a maddening bliss coats your entire body and soul. It leaves you breathless and dizzy as your eyes prickle with spots along your vision.

You’re moaning, words unintelligible against the warmth of Logan’s chest, and your cunt squeezes around him in sharp, sporadic pulses.

Logan’s so close to losing it and you don’t even realize it, too busy trying to inhale oxygen into greedy lungs. Huffs tumble from you, but instead of really trying to breathe, you lift your face to pepper wet, open mouthed kisses across his torso and that does it for him.

“Fuck…” Logan moans, gutteral and rough as he slams your hips down onto his cock, his cock painting your walls with come as euphoria encompasses him entirely. “Fuck, baby.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire— clit throbbing with overstimulation as Logan’s cock continues to fill you to the brim with his orgasm. Tears of pleasure have spilled over the apples of your cheeks, the strands of your hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face.

You continue to gently kiss up his chest and neck before you move to hold Logan’s face. Eyes fill with astonishment as you take in the way his eyes roll with the aftershocks of his peak. Thumbing at his cheeks, you kiss his lips gently before pressing kisses all along his face. His cheeks, the slope of his nose, his chin, forehead, and even the furrow of his brows.

You don’t even notice Logan staring at you with complete adoration until he removes your hand to kiss your palm.

You smile at him, bashful even with his softening cock is still inside you, stuffing you full of his come.

“C’mere.” He says, pulling you close until your lips melt over one another’s in a sweet, passionate kiss.

With a sudden thought, you pull away and fix him with a stern stare. Unfortunately for you, the furrow of your brows and purse of your lips only causes his heart to beat faster beneath the adamantium ribcage. You just look so pretty right now, sitting atop of him breathless and sweaty, a glaze settled over your irises.

“What's that face for?” His brow is raised and a smile is teasing his swollen lips.

“No more pushing me away, Logan.”

His gaze softens then, reminded of his self sabotage and the way he’s been adamant in keeping you at arms length, despite his yearn for more, his need for you.

“No more pushing you away, baby.” His lips meet yours softly, finality in his tone that eases your worries and wandering thoughts.

You lay your head down in the crook of his neck and hug him, intent to never let him go. Logan’s heart clenches with an emotion he’s not quite yet ready to face, so instead he presses a kiss to your hairline as his fingers stroke your back.

The atmosphere is no longer tense, but rather peaceful as every single desire has finally been satiated to the point of calmness. Eventually, he knows he’ll have to pull away from you and actually drive you home (and he will be coming inside, he can’t wait to properly fuck you in your bed), but he wants to stay in your embrace a little longer. It’s a blissful moment, and the serenity of it is something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Logan?” You whisper, tired as you rub your nose along his neck.

“Yeah, honey.”

“I didn’t give that guy my number… I actually told him to fuck off.”

And when you say it with a slightly guilty tone, a laugh rumbles deep from his chest. He doesn’t care, because that little white lie caused him to finally say fuck it and allow you both to have each other, after months of built up tension and horribly hidden feelings.

The feeling you erupt in his chest is foreign and it scares him— but with the weight of you in his arms, he knows he’ll do anything to keep you.

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚ fin

[babyfoxflower]

The Hunter and the Hunted

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader

*Disclaimer: This story is an AU and does not follow Hellaverse canon. Alastor is pretty much just a hetero, if this offends you in anyway, then I suggest you block me and go on your way.*

Synopsis: This the story of Alastor and the love of his life, his huntress, the charming Y/n Rosier. A rare beauty out on the bayou, his heart is instantly stolen by her. He’ll do anything for his beloved, even if that includes murder.

Story Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Violence, Blood, Hunting, Murder, Mentions of Child Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, 1920s Attitudes Towards Women

Chapter One Next

Alastor looked up at the now darkening sky. It was getting late and the only thing he managed to find on his hunt were a few measly rabbits that he stuffed into his hunting sack to make carrying multiple of them easier.

“At least we can make a stew out of these,” the disappointment clear in his voice.

He was hoping he’d find a nice big stag to bring home. His mother was quite fond of venison, and even had a special jambalaya recipe that included it. But he knew what ever she made would be delicious.

He took off his glasses and gave them a quick cleaning, he forgot his cleaning cloth at home and had to use his shirt. A bad habit he knew, but it was better than nothing.

He straightened them back onto his face, “Alright, time to go home.”

He started his way back, humming to distract himself from the lousy feeling in his chest.

“GOD DAMNIT!!!” A voice yelled from deeper in the forest.

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks.

That sounds like a lady. I wonder if she needs help.

His gentleman nature would not allow him to ignore a damsel in distress, so he set off in the direction of the voice.

“FOR HEAVENS SAKE! MOVE YOU DAMN STAG!”

Alastor was taken aback when he finally found the source of the noise. It was a woman alright, but a woman who did not match the voice that was coming from her mouth.

She was so beautiful, that Alastor almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He had never seen such a lovely creature in all of his twenty-three years of living. He blinked his eyes a few times to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Please, move,” a little whimper escaped from the lady, which snapped him back to reality.

She seemed to be trying to pull a stag with what looked like a makeshift pulling device made out of rope and twigs.

“Excuse me, Miss. Do you need some help with that?” Alastor asked her, while approaching slowly as to not frighten her.

She jumped at the sudden noise before quickly turning her head around to see who was there.

“Oh, thank god! Yes please, Mister. Could you please help me if it’s not too much trouble?” A look of relief on her pretty face.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I’m always willing to help out a lady,” he smiled kindly.

“You’re too kind, Mister! I was scared that I would never be able to get this thing back, haha.”

“May I ask how you ended up in this predicament? Did you find this stag dead?” He queried.

“I shot this stag myself,” she motioned her head to the rifle in her hand that he somehow managed to not notice until she pointed it out.

Hmm, must have been too distracted by her beauty.

“Ah I see. Please forgive me, Sweetheart. I didn’t notice your gun. And might I also ask about this contraption?” He pointed to the device.

“Oh! I just threw it together, I thought it would make it easier for me to move this damn thing, but it did nothing,” she glared at it.

Alastor shook his head, “You ladies are quite clever, far more clever than men. But sometimes, however, you need a man’s strength,” he said while easily lifting the large animal over his shoulder.

She blushed, marveling at him, at how strong he was, “I can’t argue with that.”

She led the way to her house, making small talk.

“So, what’s your name, Mister?” She asked, smiling softly.

He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to introduce himself, his mother would scold him if she was here.

“Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt. And what might your name be, my dear?”

“Y/n Rosier. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alastor!”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I assure you that the pleasure is all mine,” he replied.

Y/n blushed, she had rarely been called beautiful by anyone outside of her family.

“You’re quite beautiful, yourself! I’ve never seen anyone with such a pretty complexion before, and your eyes, they’re such a lovely light brown, not to mention your chestnut hair…did I just say that out loud?”

Nice going, Y/n! You probably freaked the gorgeous man out!

Alastor was the blushing mess now, his heart pounded inside his chest. He even nearly dropped the deer.

Me? She thinks I’m beautiful? Why does that make me feel both so happy and shy at the same time? Pull yourself together, Alastor!

But he quickly regained his composure, “You did, haha! Thank you, my dear, most people don’t compliment my appearance.”

“Well, they should! Such a handsome man deserves to know it.”

They continued to converse. He told her about his mother and her cooking, how there was no one who could make better food. She told him how she had to do all the cooking and housework, because of how frail her mother was.

She talked about her three little sisters, how much of angels they were. Though she admits that it’s hard having to act almost like their mother.

“I’m their big sister, not their mother. I just sometimes wish that Mama would feel better enough one day to actually be our mother again. That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it? I’m sorry for going on about my problems.”

“No, your feelings are valid. And you’re correct, you’re not their mother. I understand your frustration. My mother sometimes treats me like I’m still seven years old.”

“Are you her only child?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s it then. You’re her baby! Of course she doesn’t want to let go of your childhood. But I also understand your frustration.”

He knew that. But it was nice hearing out of her mouth, she made it sound all the sweeter. He loved his mother. She was a kind soul, not a gentle soul by any means, but a kind one. Y/n seemed to be both kind and gentle.

“I want to be my Mama’s baby again, but I haven’t been that since the first of my little sisters were born,” she looked thoughtfully out into the distance.

“Well, one day you’ll have a husband to take care of you.”

“Yes, until I have a baby and then this whole thing will just repeat itself.”

“You don’t have to have a baby.”

“Hmm, what do you mean?”

“You can be married without having to have children. I know if I ever get married, unless my wife really wants children, we’ll probably never have them. Not that I don’t like children or anything like that but I can’t see myself as a father.”

Y/n stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. But then she smiled, “I don’t want children either! I wish more men thought like you, Sugar. But I know once I get married, I’ll be expected to birth many children and keep my husband’s blood line going.”

Alastor looked at the tops of the trees, “That’s the thing, I couldn’t care less about ‘continuing my blood line.’ In fact, I think it should just die with me.”

“Why?”

“I hate my father.”

“Oh. I didn’t care for mine either.”

Y/n then changed to more lighthearted topics. Going on about her hobbies outside of doing housework. It turned out she played the piano and sang just like he did. Of course, her piano was an old hand-me-down going back generations. But it played just fine.

His heart wouldn’t stop pounding as walked beside her. He was so charmed by her. Her looks, her kindness, the way her nose wrinkled up when she laughed. It was actually kind of overwhelming. Sure, he interacted with beautiful women before, but something was different about her.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost like she had bewitched him in the best possible way.

Little did he know that she was equally as charmed by him as he was by her. She loved the formal way he spoke, how much of gentleman he was, how bright his smile was. It gave her butterflies in her stomach.

Finally, they reached her house. It was a one-story cabin with a little picket fence surrounding it. Suddenly, three adorable little girls came running to Y/n. She got on her knees and embraced them.

“Why were you gone so long, Y/n?”

“We were worried.”

“We missed you.”

“I know, I know I was gone for far too long! I missed you little ones too,” a motherly tone in her voice.

Alastor smiled, “What cute little girls.”

They looked up at him and then back to their older sister, their eyes asking if it was okay to talk to him.

“My little darlings, this is Mister Alastor. He helped me bring home that big stag,” she pointed to the dead animal.

They turned to him and smiled, “Thank you, Mister Alastor!”

“It was my pleasure, dears.”

Y/n got up, “Come on, I’ll show you where to put the deer,” she turned to him.

She led him to a shack behind the house, it was full of tools for gutting and skinning. In the middle was a table, she told him to place it on there.

“I cannot thank you enough! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to feed my family. Thank you so much, Alastor!”

“Please, Sweetheart, again it was no trouble at all! I’m glad I could be of assistance to you and your family.”

The tallest of the little girls came up to him, “Excuse me, Mister Alastor. Will you be joining us for dinner?” Her eyes full of sweet innocence.

Y/n’s face lit up, “Yes, why don’t you join us! It’s the least we can do to repay you.”

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I have to get home to my Mother. She’s also counting on me to get dinner home,” he motioned to the sack tied to his belt, “Perhaps another time though?” He looked from the little girl over to Y/n.

“Of course! Stop by anytime! You’re always welcome here now,” her smile couldn’t possibly be any sweeter.

Alastor tipped his cap, “Adieu, my dear. And adieu to you, little dears.”

“Adieu, Alastor!” Y/n waved to him.

“Adieu, Mister Alastor!” The little girls said in unison, waving their little arms.

I hope I see him again soon.

“He was handsome, are you going to marry him, Y/n?” Her littlest sister asked.

“She’s not going to marry someone she just met, Louise!” The middle one said.

“Now, Marie don’t shout at Louise. But no, I’m not going to marry him.”

“Awww. You two would be so cute together!”

Y/n pinched the girl’s cheek.

“Annalise, come help me prepare for supper.”

“Yes, Y/n!” The oldest came running to her big sister’s side.

Alastor got home just before sunset, much to the chagrin of his mother.

“Boy, you better have a good reason for being home so late! I was getting worried,” she looked at him sharply from her rocker.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I brought home some rabbits for dinner,” he kissed her cheek.

“It took that long to catch some rabbits?” She said teasingly, taking the sack from her son.

“I met a girl,” was all he said before going upstairs to wash up.

———————————————————————

Alastor lay awake in his bed that night. He stared at the ceiling, counting the wooden panels. He often had insomnia that caused him only to get three to five hours of sleep.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

I wonder if she has trouble sleeping. Or is she someone who sleeps like a baby? I wonder if she snores, I bet it’s cute if she does.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? He had just met her that day but already she was causing him to lose sleep.

Is she a side sleeper? Would she mind if wrapped my arms around her waist and hold her close? What if I stole a kiss or two? Would she wake up with an adorable annoyed face?

Alastor grinned just thinking about what it would be like….

What if I kept kissing her all the way down from her lips to her neck? Would she moan at the sensation? What if I nibbled and sucked at her neck? Would she like it? I bet she would. I bet she would beg for more.

What a sight that would be. But he had to stop such thoughts, since did not feel like cleaning his sheets the next day.

He turned to more wholesome thoughts. Like what kind of food did she like? Would she like it if he cooked for her? Did she like venison or did she just hunt it out of necessity? Does she like jambalaya?

What a silly question, everyone in Louisiana likes jambalaya.

He thought about what it would be like coming home to her everyday. Her sweet smile, her warmth. Her wonderful laughter.

“Alright, I have to see her again soon. Or else I’m going to go mad.”

He decided to visit her next week, he figured it would be enough time in between. He didn’t want to come off desperate.

Finally, he rolled over on his side and managed to get a few hours of shuteye. In the morning, his mother would shake him awake and tell him to get ready for church. Then he’d tell her that he’s a grown man and doesn’t have to go to church. She would then do the sign of the cross, and cry out to the Holy Mother to please bring her sweet little boy back.

He loved his mother a lot, however the devoted Catholic side of her was something he could do without. But of course he would go to church with her, because again he loves her. And would do anything for the people he loves.

[barcaatthemoon]

mascot || leah williamson x reader ||

you and leah have a talk about expanding your family after your nephew is leah's mascot.

"There's a canon on my shirt," Max, your nephew, proudly announced to the car. You felt bad about leaving Leah on her own for the morning before a game, but Max was supposed to be her mascot for the game today, and you wanted to personally deliver the boy. Your family would be down later, but you got to keep him to yourself for the morning and afternoon leading up to the game.

"It's the Arsenal canon. Pretty cool, right?" you asked him. Max nodded enthusiastically. You smiled as you turned your attention back towards traffic. It was a dreadfully long drive from your brother's place to London, but this was worth it. Besides, after the game, Max would get to spend some quality time at your parents' place for a bit.

You generally had busy days for most of Max's visits, compliments of your girlfriend. Leah loved having the boy over, and usually had a bunch of little things planned for the three of you to do together. Today, it'd be a chill day of brunch before you went to the game. Max was careful in keeping his Williamson jersey clean, which you thought was quite the feat for the boy.

"Is that my favorite bench buddy?" Alessia asked as she saw you in the parking lot. Max's face lit up as he saw the blonde. He was fond of all of the Lioness players. Since he had lived in England his entire life, he thought of himself as a proper little Englishman. You and your brother were absolutely besides yourselves trying to correct that, but it was a losing battle.

"Where's Leah at?" Max was hugging Alessia, but his focus was on your girlfriend. Alessia laughed, promising to bring Max to Leah once they were inside. You left took Max back so that Alessia could get dressed, unsurprised when Leah and Kim came out to see Max.

Leah went straight to you, giving you a big kiss while Kim had Max distracted. She handed him a little Scottish flag, something you knew that would end up as a decoration on your brother's desk. Max didn't care for Scottish stuff, but that wouldn't stop any of you from trying with him.

"Do you like my canon Leah?" Max asked. Leah nodded as she picked him up. You stepped back to let her have a moment with Max.

"Williamson, huh. I'm surprised that you didn't put your last name on there," Kim said. You shrugged at the comment, currently out from Arsenal for a bad injury. You knew that your whole career was at stake, but you had been trying not to think about it too much. You didn't want to freak yourself out too badly about things.

"Don't tell her, I want her to notice on her own. Also, Max insisted, claimed that he had enough of my stuff. I swear he loves Leah more than me," you huffed. It wasn't true annoyance, in fact, you were glad that Max loved Leah so much.

You wanted a family with her, but you didn't know if she wanted that too. Leah had been nervous at first around Max, claiming that she wasn't great with kids. You knew that was far from the truth now. She had a better maternal instinct than you did, and you had dreamed of being a mother since you were a baby yourself. A large part of your family had always been very traditional, so for a long time, you thought it was your only option. You were older and knew better now, and it was seeing how the world changed made you feel good about bringing a new life into it.

"Alright little man, we've got places to be," you told Max. He gave Kim and Leah big kisses goodbye, and made them promise to give Alessia and Beth some too. Max happily followed you over to where the other kids and their parents were waiting. He was a social butterfly, so he managed to make friends with several of the children around him.

He was lost in his own little world until Leah and the other players came. Immediately, he flocked to your girlfriend. Leah held his hand in hers, and you knew she wouldn't let go for anything. You stood back a bit, and snapped a picture of them talking to each other as both teams began to line up. You wouldn't post it, but you'd keep it for yourself and Leah to look back on later.

"Oi, Max is gonna stay on the bench, okay?" Leah shouted. You gave her a thumbs up. You found your spot in the friends and family section right by the bench just in case Max needed something. You filmed Leah walking Max out, and just how obvious it was that she cared for him. Those videos did go to your story, but it didn't seem odd for you to post Leah in the lineup. Everybody knew about your relationship, and a few dedicated fans even knew about her little adventures with Max whenever you managed to get him for an off weekend.

…

"We probably could have taken him for tonight," Leah said as she watched your parents drive off with Max. She had held onto him all throughout the post-game celebrations. Leah even managed to talk your parents into going out for dinner just so that she could stay close to your nephew.

"Leah, I'd hate to burst your bubble, but we're second to my parents. That boy loves his Nanny and Papa," you told her. Leah knew that it was true. He may have asked to sit with Leah, but he had been talking your parents' ears off all night. Still, you hadn't missed the way that both Max and Leah seemed to lean into each other for comfort.

"Do you ever think that we'd make good parents?" Leah asked you. She leaned her head against your shoulder, eyes fixed on the night sky ahead of you. You could hear the apprehension in her voice, like she was afraid that you'd reject the ide of becoming a mother with Leah. Since the two of you had gotten serious about each other and your relationship, there wasn't a single person in the world that you could think to have a child with other than her.

"I don't know about myself, but you'll be a great mother. Nobody will do everything right, but I think that you'd probably come the closest," you told her. Leah lifted her head up and turned you around to face her. "I think that you could do good enough for the both of us."

"You sound fucking mental to me right now. Seriously, you're the most loving and caring woman that I know. If it's about Max, he just thinks that I'm cool. I can't even take care of myself without you, but you'd be fine without me," Leah said. She sounded so sure that you had to believe her, even if it was just a little bit. "I'd have a baby with you right now if I could."

"Well, I will be out for quite a while. There's still another whole surgery that I need and the physical therapy for it. What if we waited until the last surgery and then started trying?" you asked. Leah seemed a bit surprised, but you could tell that it wasn't a bad thing. "There's no rush to even think about it. I just thought that maybe it was something to throw out there."

"Yes," Leah answered quickly. Now, it was your turn for the shock to settle in. "I want to have a child with you, and this seems like the way to go. We don't have to tell anybody until it takes, and I mean, it's kind of perfect anyway. And if you decide that you don't want to go back at the end of your injury, you won't have to scramble around trying to find your place. I'll even step back from some things to really help out because I don't want you to feel alone for a second."

"Leah, this is a big step. Promise me that you won't get cold feet." You didn't mean to sound to scared, but Leah comforted you anyway.

"Never, I'd be an idiot to even consider it. You don't even know how lucky I feel to wake up next to you everyday. And the idea of having you and a baby? Babe, I'm over the moon already. Now, let's get home so that we can start on the process," Leah said as she grabbed your hand.

"I'm not sure that's gonna work," you laughed as Leah pulled you along.

"Simulation, it's very important!" Leah exclaimed. You continued laughing as she just scooped you into her arms and sprinted to get you into the car.

[tojisun]

cw: smut (mxm-centric at first); mentioned pegging; poly!!; i fucked up the canon but it is what it is; this is just smthn short and super rambly :(( // divider by @/plutism

poolverine fucking in the odyssey, but they (mostly wade) keep taunting each other by name-dropping you because before this, before anything, you are the only unifying connection they both have—you are a friendly coworker of wade’s, and you are the only one with enough patience to listen to logan’s drunken musings.

you are the only thing they want to come home to. wherever home that would be.

(wade wants to protect you; logan wants a reality where he makes things right. somewhere along the way, this mission found its centre piece and it’s always you.)

it starts with wade. he’d been quiet for all the three seconds that he’s gobbling up all of logan’s cock, before he tips his head up with a manic giggle. it would have exposed the column of his neck if it wasn’t for his mask, and logan’s gums itch with the need to bury his teeth on wade’s skin; he wants ro dig them enough that they’d tear through, and leave a long-lasting mark to get him and wade by.

he twitches, muscles rippling as he prepares to pull him close, but then wade rasps out, “peanut wouldn’t believe ‘er eyes if she’d been here.”

it punches the air out from logan’s lungs and he snarls, blood jumping at the reminder of his failure because it is, otherwise you would be here by his side right now.

“shut yer mouth.”

wade hums, unperturbed, and raises his hips just enough to drag logan’s cock out, before fucking back down on it. it makes logan hiss, pleasure blinding him, and wade moans in tandem.

logan enjoys only a handful of blissful moments—wade is warm and perfect on top of him—until wade begins to babble mindlessly again.

“but she’d—ah!—love to hear this,” wade trills, sounding so giddy. “she’d be so excited—hn!—to know we’re gettin’ along!”

“she won’t know,” logan snaps, threatening. “because you won’t tell.”

(tthey both know that the anger and the growling are just a front because logan has been so unbelievably gentle with wade ever since their last duel. his touch is ever so conscious now as he holds onto wade’s waist, and he rubs soothing nothings on whatever patch of skin he can reach with his thumbs.

wade is—

wade is the one good thing in logan’s life right now; the closest one he can hold and protect because you’re somewhere he can’t reach. wade is the reminder that there is something worth fighting for, worth living for, and so he holds him like the gift he is.

he lo—

he cares for wade, which is why being soft to him comes easy.)

wade lets out another manic giggle, and presses close to nuzzle the muzzle of his mask on logan’s chin.

“but don’t you want to me to show her how you fucked me? maybe we can even recreate it before you fuck her because this—” wade clenches around logan’s cock, “will ruin her pussy. let me prepare her for you, huh?”

logan doesn’t reply—he doesn’t think he can, not with wade’s words swirling in his mind. the thought of wade teaching you how to please logan; of wade fucking you wet and loose for logan; of wade breaking you in for logan has him moaning, his own restraint snapping as his pleasure bloats.

he fucks up, matching wade’s bounces, and wade trills a breathy laugh, the sound of it curling into a drawn-out moan.

“oh, so you liked ‘at, huh?” wade purrs. “‘cause i did too.”

.

logan leans back to his seat, his cock twitching underneath his pants in interest because this? this is better than he’d imagined. he knows it’s better than what wade was expecting too, if the whimpered groans of his pleasure were to be used as points of reference.

“you ready for me, baby?” you croon as you rut the length of your strap against wade’s cock—the size differences comical, especially as it has wade stuttering in apprehension.

“uh,” wade says, blinking at you owlishly. “yeah?”

you hum, endeared. “good boy.”

logan watches, his throat parched, as you begin to fuck wade. it is hot, truly, but guess he’d have to break you in himself, huh bubsy?

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green

WC: 1329 Masterpost CW: stitches, blood, canon typical violence, history of experimentation, bad (lbh evil) parent Fentons “I need to get to Bruce Wayne.”

“We should be able to arrange a conversation,” Tim said immediately. None of the shock and concern that Tim must have been feeling seeped through into his words. Jason always admired how even keel Tim could seem.

The kid’s eyes snapped to Tim, brow furrowed in confusion.

Tim just shrugged. “He does good in the city, so do we. Besides, his kids are targeted a lot and sometimes we get involved to help out with that. There’s a line of communication that we can use.”

“So what?” They rasped. “You let every kid who wants to talk to Bruce Wayne get to just ‘cause they’re bleeding out?”

“He’d say that was a good enough reason,” Jason said with certainty. He knew how much money and effort Bruce poured into Make a Wish and the children's hospital.

The kid squinted at him before glancing away. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him… like this…”

“Then a safe house for right now,” Tim insisted. “Just like the name says, it’s safe. We can get you patched up and you can rest somewhere you don’t have to look over your shoulder. When you’re feeling better, we’ll set up that meeting.”

“You’ll let a stranger stay at your safe house, just like that?”

“Kid,” Jason said with a sigh. “I don’t think you’re getting it. You’re a very hurt kid. You’re exactly the type of person that we’d do that for. We’re the Bats of Gotham and we protect her people.”

There was that ugly laugh again. “I’m not even from Gotham.”

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters in Gotham,” Jason said. He took the risk and held out his hand. Jason didn’t pray anymore, not since his mother died, but he still silently hoped that the kid would take it. Jason felt certain they wouldn’t make it if they didn’t take it.

The fingers braced against the grimy cinder block wall twitched. Then the hand reached out. The kid collapsed forward into the motion and Jason lunged to catch them. He lifted them gently, worried about how light they were.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

The kid hid their face against Jason’s jacket. Their words were almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Never underestimate what a stubborn Bat can do, Kid.”

-

The kid passed out halfway to the safe house. It was probably for the best. Their injuries were… extensive would be too kind of a word.

Tim laid down a plastic sheet on the bed before Jason deposited the kid down on it. The hoodie, which couldn’t be the kid’s at that size, had to be practically peeled off. The main wound that must have been the blood splatter he noticed was the immediate concern, but it was everything else that worried Tim more.

This was more than signs of abuse, this was torture or experimentation. Those scars and wounds cut into the kid’s arms and torso was far too even and controlled. There were other, messier scars that looked like burns and stab wounds. The inside of their elbows were littered with track marks and their hands bruised from what must have been IV ports. The worst for Tim was seeing the metal collar around the kid’s neck, but he knew that wasn’t what was getting Jason. He didn’t need to see Jason’s eyes to tell they were glued to the track marks.

“Go take five and fill a bowl up with warm water,” Tim said.

“Red—”

“Hood,” Tim snapped, cutting off Jason’s growl. Tim had suffered Jason’s bite, the bark didn’t scare him anymore. Besides, they understood each other these days. They were the Bats will willing blood on their hands. “Go take five. They’re not going anywhere and I need your help to patch them up, so go take five and get your head on, okay?”

The fight drained out of Jason like a string had been cut. He nodded and stalked off to the tiny kitchen that was basically an afterthought to the living room. It was hardly their most glamorous safe house but it was close, had two bedrooms, and was secure, despite it’s shoddy appearance.

Tim had the old bandages and scraps of cloth peeled off by the time Jason came back to start cleaning away the green blood.

“We need to get antibiotics for them from Leslie,” Jason said after the worst was cleaned up.

“Definitely. This new wound is from a knife and some of these were wrapped with what I think was an old hospital scrub.”

“Lends credence to…”

“Yeah.”

Jason nodded stiffly. “This needs stitches.”

“Luckily I think bandages are fine for everything else,” Tim said.

He snapped off the nitrate gloves and put on a fresh pair. He carefully numbed the skin around the wound while he waited for Jason to be in a spot to hold the kid down should they wake up. The first few stitches went fine. Tim took the time to be extra neat. The kid didn’t need any worse scars because of his sloppy work.

Tim had just started on the forth one when the kid started to stir. They twitched and whimpered in their sleep. Jason pressed down carefully to keep them from moving too much.

“No, Mom, please, I’m your son! I’m not— Don’t… not again. I’ll be good…”

Tim looked up at the impassive red helmet.

“I’m good. I have him. Just keep stitching so we can get him tucked in to bed.”

“Okay,” Tim said and got back to work. It was hard to ignore the whimpered words and everything they implied, but Tim needed to focus. There would be time to start looking into everything after.

It was as he was cleaning up that Jason threw a wrench into things.

“Don’t run his DNA.”

“What?” Tim hissed, rounding on Jason. “That is clearly Bruce’s kid in there!”

“Exactly. It’s obviously his kid, there’s no doubt in that with the way he looks. And just as obviously he’s been tortured or experimented on. Don’t you think he’s been stripped of his privacy enough?”

All the fight bled out of Tim an instant. “Fuck. I didn’t think… I just wanted to…”

“I know. You wanted to help by solving this, but that’s not what this kid needs right now. So hold off until he feels safe enough to consent, okay?”

“Okay, no, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Red,” Jason said, ruffling Tim’s hair with a wet hand. “Creepy stalking is just your way of caring, I get it. Just pull back a little this time. You can focus on that collar he’s wearing right now.”

Tim shuddered. “That thing needs to go. Am I staying on watch then?”

“If you’re fine with that. I’ll get Oracle to call the others to the Cave.”

“Sure,” Tim said. He didn’t want to miss that conversation, but someone had to stay with the kid and he was a better choice to get the collar off. “Just make sure I have a comm line in.”

“Of course. Can’t have you missing out on us discussing the old man’s sex life.”

“Ugh, never mind, I don’t need a comm line!”

“Too late!” Jason called out with a laugh as he headed for the door.

Tim flicked him off just to do so.

After double checking that the place was secure, Tim pulled out a tool bag. At least he could start by testing the collar for explosive residue or other traps that would keep Tim from taking it off. The thought of the collar being rigged made him sick to his stomach, but it fit too well with the canvas of scars that the kid bore.

“Who did this to you, Kid?” Tim asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t get a response. “And how soon can Hood put a bullet in their head for you?”

--- AN: So here's a little more of this for Trauma Tuesday! The Reds are very concerned! I'm still having fun writing a Jason and Tim who get along and understand each other in a way the other 'we don't kill' Bat's don't, threats of murder and all.

Sorry if there are lots of mistakes (I don't need them corrected, ty), it's been a bad fatigue spell here. Still hope you enjoyed it and stay delightful, darlings!

(Oh, and there's another continuation to the OG threaded to it by chroma if you want a different take!)

Masterpost you can subscribe to, as I no longer tag people!

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 2]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

4.2k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

A single moment can change your life, change the world. Everything only seemed to get worse. The quarry was a group of survivors that had formed. You and the Dixons were outcasts, at least it felt like it. The girls seemed to see you in low regard being pregnant. The men were no better. They saw you as a burden. The feeling of people talking behind your back stressed you out. Being pregnant also didn’t help. You felt tired all the time, also being plagued with morning sickness. Which is a stupid name when it happens all day. Throwing up in a world were food is now limited also leaves you uneasy.

You also see that stress weighing on Daryl. It wasn’t long ago he struggled with the fact of having a kid. Now seemed even more terrifying. He was becoming short tempered, to his credit only snapping at you once but regretted the way he almost made you cry. “No! I won’t take a break I have to keep going out there for food! You’ve been throwing up half the shit I’ve already gotten for you!”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like your wrong for doing so, he knew you couldn’t help it. He saw the glassy film come to the corner of your eyes. His heart tugged. You were in your tent you shared, sat on the sleeping bag with your head shamefully down. “No, no. Come on…” he angled your face back up to met his. He sank to his knees in front of you. “I know you can’t help it. M’ just trying to say you need more. I just want to make sure you’re gettin enough.” You had asked him to stay because he was rarely around. He was out alone looking for food and you couldn’t help but see every time he came back a little more on edge. He was getting into his head to much out there.

He knows you’re having a hard time. With being pregnant at this moment in time how could you not. You had tried to talk to the mothers of the camp for advice on anything, they didn’t bat an eye to you. You had looked for support and were denied it. He saw that you were being treated like a Dixon. Something he was familiar with, and something Merle also understood. Merle became more chill around you. No more sexual comments or sexist remarks. Doesn’t mean he is any less better to be around. He treated you like a sister you thought. He still was an ass. Making mean comments or complaining about something you did. But he had become family.

Andrea was your biggest pain. She seemed like she had something to prove. She hated the traditional female roles that had been pushed onto the girls. You understood her disliking for Merle but she attached that to Daryl and you as well. She didn’t say outright mean things but subtle jabs. Week after week it was chipping at your demeanor.

So here you are now, you think almost 3 months pregnant. Seeing Daryl was the highlight of whenever he appeared. You sat in your tent with him getting ready for his 2 day hunting trip for a deer he knew was near by. He sighed feeling your eyes on him, “Yer breakin my heart with that look.” Your smiling face replacing your sulking one, “I’m just missing you already.” You stood up, “You should see something before you go.” He turned to you questioningly. You pulled your shirt up over your stomach and turned to the side, “I know I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for a while but, I think I’m showing?” You looked up from your little bump that you could see spotting the surprised face he was making. He gulped before talking, “Ya sure are…” he walked closer placing a hand to your tummy. You saw his teeth were clenched. He felt the weight of pressure crushing him,

“We are doing are best, that’s all I could ask from you.”

He left for his hunt a little less stressed. You also saw Merle off later into the day with the first group run to the city. “Hey do me a favor and don’t get yourself killed.” Merle turned to you, “And have those freaks naw on m' sweet ass?” You chuckle as you walk away, “Let’s just hope you remember your ass from your elbow!”

The day progress like any other. It had just become the afternoon when the sound of the radio chirped on. It cause some disagreement about making a sign to warn others about the city. You just went back to minding your own business. You helped boil water taking notice of Lori trimming her son’s hair. You spoke up noticing the displeased look on Carl's face, “Going for a mohawk Carl? Or maybe you’re thinking bald.” His nose scrunched up at the thought. You laugh at the reaction, “Bald people run faster.” Carl smiled, “Nuh-uh!” You shook your head and shrugged, “How do you know if you won’t try.” He looked to his mom, “I’d rather have hair than be faster!” He said it to his mom like he tried convincing her to not make him bald. Lori smiled at her son, “Ya me to, but if you keep moving you might be bald at the end of this.” He straightened and stilled, but he still spoke, “I hate haircuts…”

Shane came and sat down looking at you briefly. “One of these days you’ll be missing your mother’s hair cuts.” Carl rolled his eyes, "I'd like to see that day!" It had initially shocked you that Shane wasn’t Carl's dad. You always assumed for how close they were and how often they would walk into the woods together. Then it put a gross feeling into your mouth that his father had only recently died. Shane was his apparent best friend and coworker. But it wasn’t necessarily wrong, you just didn’t like to think about it often.

After finishing with boiling water you handed it to Carol. You felt sweaty and all around unpleasant. You needed a nap. You said to Carol that you were going to lay down if they needed to find you. You woke up to arguing. The group that went out had radioed saying there was a problem. Everyone was scared for their respective family that had gone to the city. You felt a pit form in your stomach. The hormones in your body already swarming causing you to be unable to control them. You picture what happened to your Aunt in front of you. Sometimes it still feels as if the blood was still on your face. The thought of knowing she was one of those things walking around somewhere. Maybe they all were already dead like her. You weren’t exactly thrilled about Merle as a person but, you knew deep down he was another person to help protect your baby.

You decided there was no use in stressing yourself, so you went and distracting yourself with chores. Laundry, moving fire wood to our fire pit, took a walk near the perimeter, which now leaves you here at the waters edge. You used the cool water to help with the swelling in your feet and ankles. Week after week you had the sense that being pregnant is going to really suck farther down the road. You fiddle with your knife while swaying your feet in the water. Lost in your own world when an echo starts to ring out throughout the quarry.

The car alarm got louder so you slipped your shoes on and walked back up to the camp. You saw a red car and Glenn standing outside of it. Shane opening the hood and pulling something to stop its beeping. People were yelling at him for answers when a van appeared, ‘so everyone made it back.’ It was a relief to stop the constant thought of the worse. You couldn’t help but notice Merle nowhere to be seen. But that thought was pushed aside when you heard Carl scream,

“DAD!”

You watched with a smile at the reunion of the Grimes family. Also taking notice of Shane making a weird face. He probably was feeling sick to his stomach and you thought it kinda deserved. He did persuade his grieving wife. The thought was interrupted by T-dog coming toward you with a concerned face. You clicked something was wrong, then started to look around. Merle was still no where. The sinking feeling of realization hit you. T-dog watch as understanding washed over you. A hand over your mouth, “W-where is Merle?” A few others turning at the mention, Lori’s husband taking the most notice. T-dog spoke first, “He was putting all of us in danger. He was cracked out of his mind.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ‘I told him to behave.’ You inhale trying to calm yourself, “He dead?” T-dog shook his head. You nodded looking at all the pears of eyes on you. Your eyes were shiny but nothing fell. You huffed and walked back to your tent. While you were upset about Merle being gone it wasn’t about that. It proved how fucked this new world was becoming. A world your child would have to be in. Suddenly being pregnant with them seemed like the safest place for them. Your thoughts of how it would suck later in pregnancy and 'couldn’t wait for it to be over' stopped. Your child is the safest it will ever be in its life. That terrifying thought scared you.

It wasn’t until later when the sun began to set that you had calmed. It was cold and you wanted to sit by a fire. People were surprised when you appeared and sat with them. You had over heard parts about what happened to Rick. But at the sight of you got them talking about Merle. It was Dale who brought it up, “Who is going to tell Daryl Dixon about his brother?” Rick glanced to you then back to Dale, “I will. I’m the one who handcuffed him.” Then T-dog shook his head, “Nah I dropped the key, makes this one mine.” Based on that information you started to piece what happened on the run. That thought stalled to a stop when Glenn stated, “Not to make it about race but maybe a white guy should tell him?” Is that what they thought about Daryl? They just assuming he is like his brother? You huff in anger, “Really Glenn? He is not racist. He’s only the person that, you know, been feeding all of you.” Glenn turned sheepish at your harsh tone. You stood, “But you know, leave his brother for dead seems like a good trade for how much he has been doing for all of you people!”

You visible deflate mood switching on a dime. You move a hand to your small bump, “Sorry I know you probably had a good reason, Merle is a hard ass.” You sunk back down enjoying the fire too much to go to bed. Rick’s voice spoke calmly, “Your pregnant.” He stated it more as a realization. You look to his shocked face, clearly thinking of how unlucky a timing it was to be. You chuckled speaking sarcastically, “Keep up with those observations and you’re sure to make detective.” His eyebrows drawn in by thought, “Merle was the father?” Disgust washing over your face, “Ew. God I take it back.” Everyone was surprised at your blatant dislike for Merle. They knew Daryl was the dad. You start to clarify, “Daryl is the dad.” You took notice of there original reaction, “Look I don’t like Merle anymore then you probably do. Half the time I don’t think Daryl does either! But he is still at the end of the day my family now.”

Peoples lack of trying to talk to you has put there own version of you in there head. They thought you were quiet and jumpy. Questioning if they did talk to you they would do more harm then good like with Carol. Now the few talks they’ve had or heard from you made sense. You were out spoken and just tired from being pregnant. You stood up again feeling awkward. “I’m going to bed, figure out what to say to Daryl. Maybe watch out for a punch or two.” So you walked off to bed. You were happy you could see Daryl in the morning, but the thought of him learning of his brother broke your heart. You tossed and turned most of the night with the thought.

The light shining through your tent lead you awake. Still trying to cling to as much sleep while feeling drowsy. Then you heard Carl and Sophia screams. You sat up and tried to get to your feet causing a wave of dizziness. The shuffling of stomping feet telling you people were running over there. You slip on shoes taking a moment to become alright with gravity again. Amy and Andrea walked away when you walked over a voice caught your attention, “Its gotta be the brain, don’t youall know nothing?” You smiled glad Daryl is back. When you turn the corner however you weren’t expecting a walker and deer to be sprawled out dead on the floor. You made eye contact with Daryl when the smell of the walker pulled a gag from you. The smile being wiped from your face as a hand comes to your mouth. You immediately turned back around and walked away.

Daryl was well aware of how sensitive your senses have become. You can’t handle anything raw at the moment. He noticed a week into the quarry how you would look at something raw, something that never bother you before, and it would make you queasy. Speaking of raw he should probably get the squirrels ready. He sighed watching you walk away with a love sick hopelessness washed on his face. Something that people have never taken notice of before. So he called for his brother to help, so he could get to you sooner. That's when all hell broke loose.

You heard the calls for Merle hearing Daryl walk back. Then you saw all the guys surround him. Then you watched him pace back and forth. You knew that was a coping thing he did so you decided to stand closer. By the time you had walked over he threw the squirrels he’d caught at Rick. You didn’t even have a moment to yell his name when the former policemen jumped him and pinned him. Shane putting him in a headlock and Rick getting in his face. You yelled in displeasure,

“Get the hell off him!”

It was the loudest anyone has heard you, also the angriest. Shane had glanced to you before releasing his hold on him. Daryl sprung back up frustration clear on his face. When he turned to make sure you were behind him you caught a glimpse of his eyes becoming glassy. T-dog chimed in from the earlier conversation you didn’t hear, “It’s not his fault, I dropped the key.” Daryl’s voice strained, “You couldn’t pick it up?!” T-dog looked down guilty, "Well, I dropped it into a drain. But before I left I chained the door shut." Daryl shook his head and started to back up, "That supposed to make me feel better! Hell with all of y'all, just tell me where he is so I can go an get him." You hated to see him upset. You weren't expecting Lori to pipe in and volunteering her husband to take Daryl there. Rick said he was planning to go back anyways saying it was wrong for anything to suffer like that. Shane being the typical hard ass and self employed leader strongly disagreed. With a few others joining it was decided, they were going to get Merle back.

You were finally alone with Daryl again. He still seemed riled over everything but also you could see he was getting emotional. He was turned around facing away from you. You slowly wrapped you arms around him, holding him from behind. He slowly turned into you resting his chin on your head and arms going over your shoulders. You felt him release air, sinking into you. He try's to hide it but you see he is exhausted. You saw he felt like he had to prove something to you, or maybe just to himself. He released you with avoided eye contact. He took a moment with you and collected himself but, he was still a man on a mission.

You watch as Daryl throw things into a bag and refusing to met your eye to avoid whatever look that would break his heart. They were about to take off back to the city and into danger, so you stopped Daryl by putting your hands to his chest. He spoke before you could, "Look I have ta go get him, I know you don't want me goin-" You cut him of by grabbing his face, "When you see him again you tell him I warned his dumb ass, and when you get him back here I'm going to chew him out for this!" He looked at you stunned. You use your grip on his face to drag him into a kiss, "And you better comeback here without a scratch!" He smiled at you, eyes soft, he kissed you again.

"Yes Ma'am."

They had left hours ago and you had that uneasy feeling again. You respected Rick more then anyone else at the camp and he just got here. He was a decent guy but feel bad watching Carl's worried expression. Lori even flipped that he was going right after she herself said he was. Mood swings on that girl, and your the one whos supposed to be pregnant. Jim was off digging which concerned a few. It led to him tided to a tree for his own safety. Granted it was the only eventful thing that would probably happen today. Unless a swamp monster dragged itself out of the water you and all the girls were doing laundry in. Although Ed was a close to one. It was a welcome distraction all the same. To have girl talk again was essential to any girl and none can say other wise. Most of the girls seemed like they could now talk to you and it was a relief.

Although Andrea kinda still sucks the life out of fun, "So how did you end up pregnant?" Most girls look over to her wet laundry in hand and displeased looks by the question. You tightly rung a shirt and looked at her in the eye, "Well, I think your a little old for the birds and bees talk." That gained an eye roll from her but chuckles from the others. You smiled before giving her the answer you are sure she was trying to dig for, "I found out a day before the fall." The thought making you think of your Aunt. You continued on anyways, "Daryl and I hadn't been dating that long I'll be honest, so it wasn't exactly planned. Then I thought it was the end of the world." You look around to the thoughtful faces around you and shrugged, "Turns out I was a day off on that though." It was lighthearted from there, mentions of things that they missed from before. Carols unexpected and less then innocent choice sent waves of laughter throughout the lady's. That fun was crushed by the swamp monster known as Ed.

It lead to something you didn't expect. His sexism rubbing everyone the wrong way. Making Andrea questioned what he did instead of sitting on his ass doing nothing. Which while true and agreed with it lead to him to try to take Carol away and most likely go hit her. When Andrea challenge Ed in doing so it left a sinking feeling in you. You were uncomfortable with confrontation, probably do with the way your parents had treated you. Even with the sinking feeling you try and pull Carol behind you. The exaltation of his action were unpredictable, "Think I won't hit some pregnant whore?!" That was the first swing. It almost fully landed grazing your cheek. Carol had used the arm you had on her to tug you back before he swung. The frightened yelps and yells grabbing the attention from those farther. Carol now stood slightly in front of you, your cold damp hand moving to your warmed cheek he clipped. Ed now focused on his wife slapping her and trying to drag her away but the other girls now stepping in and clung to her. You didn't even see Shane before he pulled Ed backwards and began to lay punch after punch into him. Everyone but Carol were stunned into silence. Carols cry's and the grunts coming from the men filled the air. So maybe Jim wasn't the only thing that was going to happen today.

Everything was tense after that. With the amount things gone wrong and the still missing members that went to the city, moral was low among the group. Later in the evening Amy and Andrea had gone fishing catching dinner. The sun drifted closer to fully set as the fish was cooked with one question still in there minds, 'Where were they?' The smell of the fish left you gagging and need for fresher air. You found you way back to the water to dip your swollen feet in the water again. It wasn't a unusual thing you did, you did it often. Knife in hand and legs swaying in the cool water. The light dissipated making you aware you should get back soon. You had heard laughs by the camp so moral was rising from the stressful day. You used your cold hands to press to your reddened face from almost getting flattened out by Ed. Daryl would will not be happy about that. You had pulled you feet from the water shaking the water off them to put your shoes on. Then the day got even worse. A scream ripped threw the air making you turn to the sound. You see outlines of figures in the dark. You feel fear crash into you.

'Walkers...'

There were even two coming closer to you from the woods to the side of the water. They had almost snuck up on you if you hadn't looked around because of the scream. A tremble was in your hand as you gripped the knife you had. You slowly back away, hearing gunshots off in the air. Daryl had taught you this for this moment. He had grilled this into you in fear that maybe he wouldn't be around to protect you. The first walker was a thin women, the other a male missing its arm and limping. You lunged the knife into the women's eye. Your knife breaking by the blade as the women fell over dead. The snapping of the metal was like slow motion, the other walker steps away from you. You step back bare feet getting hurt by the jagged rocks. You had looked down spotting a larger rock and hurriedly pick it up.

You remember the motions Daryl had showed you for self defense but had never practiced them with him. He didn't really like the idea of rough housing with his pregnant girlfriend even if it was for your defense. You reached and tugged the one arm the walker had and tripped the thing in the motion. It was flat on the floor about to get back up and grab at you. However, rock in hand you threw downward blows one after another even after the thing stopped moving. Blood splatting all over you shirt and down your arms. The buzz of adrenalin causing your hands to violently shake when you stopped swinging. The urge to cry was strong but you notice the now slue of gunshots that had increased stop. The silence broken by the yell and worried cry for your name.

"Y/N!!!"

Your body fluttered at the sound of Daryl. Still bare foot you ran up the gravel hill and yelling back to him with emotion in your voice, "DARYL!!!" You had made it to the top getting to see him wipe around to your voice. His crossbow dropped to the ground as you both booked it toward each other. He didn't know what to think when he couldn't find you after the last walker fell. The inability to find you cracking a desperate hole into his chest. When he heard you and saw you running to him relief flooded him. As he ran panic rose again seeing you dripping in blood. Inches apart he heard your desperate sobs before crashing into one another. He pulled you off your feet lifting you into him. His voiced stuttered out, "Are you bit?! Are you ok?!" You voice quivering as you sucked in a breath. "I'm alright-t." He felt you shaking like a leaf and whispered into you, "I've got ya, nothin is gonna hurt ya." You had barred your face into his neck now crying in relief. Daryl helped you get cleaned up, that night you clung to him while everyone 'slept'. A moment can change everything, and it was clear to everyone after today.

They were no longer safe here and things were only going to get worse.

Part 3

Feedback welcome and requests open!

taglist

@daryldixmedown @aureolinb @the1eyedmonster16 @lettersfromyourlove @felicisimor

@daryl-dixons-left-hand @sokkasimp101 @darylssextoy69 @ddixon99 @itwasntaphasema

@iluvme9 @lunajay33 @twisteduniverse5 @thestonedwriter

[armysantiny]

-[Xavier; soft bf headcanon

P: Xavier x gender-neutral reader | G: fluff, headcanon | Inc: canon-compliant, nap times with Xav, Xav being a supportive office bf lmao| Wc: 456 | W: some under the shirt touching but nothing much| R: PG-13

Usually, I start off these headcanons with how I think the pre-relationship bond formed

But the game does already that for me, so thank God for that

I will say, the moment he became your boyfriend, Xavier has this cute ass smile sorta just etched onto his face for the next 24 hours

He’s so unbelievably happy he gets to have a romantic relationship with you in this timeline

All that backtracking was worth it because you can both be together

He adds a cute heart emoji to your contact name (which is already a nickname <33) and makes his profile picture a selfie of both of you

Suddenly his camera roll starts filling up with candid pictures of you

Not mentioning all the times you nick Xavier’s phone to take snaps of him sleeping to tease him with later

He gives you a copy of his apartment key and a little galaxy keychain

“So you can come in whenever you want”

Doesn’t tell you that he hopes you’ll be over all the time, if not just move in permanently

He’s given you full jurisdiction of his kitchen

By which I mean you have forbidden him from making anything that requires extensive use of cooking equipment

For all his cooking ‘skills’, Xavier has a concerning track record of blowing shit up in his kitchen

That aside, you do get pulled into nap times with him pretty frequently, whether you’re also sleepy or not

Xavier likes having you in his arms <33 helps him sleep better or so he says

His favourite place to wrap his arms around is your waist

Just holding you close while he powers down for a few hours

Not to mention how he likes slipping hands under your shirt every now and then <3

Sure, he’s getting his much-desired sleep, but teasing you is definitely on the table, and all in good fun

Especially when the way your breath hitches echoes in his ear~

Boosts his ego just a little, but shh~

Moving on!

Xavier isn’t one to broadcast your relationship to everyone in your office, but he’s definitely not going to hide it

Why should he?

He brings coffee and snacks to your desk when you’re filling out reports and paperwork, patting your back with a good job midnight before returning to his own desk

Gentle fleeting touches when you’re battling Wanderers together

The occasional hand kiss when you’re walking home

Xavier is very adamant on you not overworking yourself

So, he may or may not have convinced Captain Jenna a few times to hand him some of your missions when he sees you looking under the weather

Can’t be Linkon’s best hunter if you’re burning yourself out, now can you?

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @kyuzuberri | Taglist Form

[ellie-r2]

Musical Curtis brothers hcs

Darry:

-Felt insecure and jealous of Dally because of his closeness to Pony and it got worse after Pony leaves and Dally says that thing of seeing Pony more than Darry has.

-Like Ponyboy he blames himself for their parents' death because of it being his birthday and they were going for the frosting for his cake.

-Post musical whenever things get too much he goes to Soda and he cries but will quickly stop and hide it when he hears Ponyboy nearby (he doesn't want Pony to see him break)

-Despite that when they reunited in the hospital after the fire just like in the movie he did cry when going to hug Ponyboy.

-He does go easier on Ponyboy about his daydreams/emotions and his grades after reading the story because he saw how Ponyboy viewed him.

-Even though he is only 6yrs older than Ponyboy the role of brother is starting to fade into father ("stuck between the role of a brother and a father")

-Tucks in the boys each night but after they're already sleeping totally not based off of Melody's live.

-Whenever he misses his parents he sleeps in their room instead of his own.

-Used to care what his hair would look like now it's a miracle if he even takes time to brush it.

-On his days off instead of relaxing he still tries to keep working (washing dishes/laundry/cleaning random parts of the house) until Soda has to force him to just sit down and rest.

-Still tries to play football whenever he can but waits for someone to suggest it first (it's Soda who does it because he knows Darry wants to play).

-When Soda has a long day at work or Pony has a test coming up Darry tries to make their favorite food for dinner.

Soda:

-He has his own room but still sleeps with Pony because of the nightmares (pretty sure this is canon but I don't remember for sure).

-Tried to read Great Expectations for Ponyboy when he and Johnny were gone because he missed Pony.

-He, Ace, and Steve are the most chaotic trio when they're together. (sometimes he catches Melvin the soc staring at Ace and finds it hilarious) Inspired by Melody's tiktok of Melvin looking for Ace's digits

-He folds all the laundry when he sees Darry has had a hard day at work and even offers to cook.

-Was allowed to cook once nearly set the kitchen on fire and was never allowed to cook again.

-He really did try in school just couldn't do it no matter how hard he tried so when Steve told him there was the full time position open at the DX that was his reason/excuse to drop out.

-During the 2 weeks that Pony was disassociating Soda was terrified of losing both Pony and Darry (because of throwing in the towel) to the point that he wouldn't sleep some nights which is what also leads to him eventually snapping.

-Would sleep in Darry's room on the nights Darry would fall asleep by the telephone so he would feel at least one brother close by.

-Watched the cartoon's Darry mentioned in throwing in the towel to keep himself from worrying too much but it never worked.

Ponyboy:

-Kept both Dally and Johnny's jackets and wears them when he misses them but never actually lasts long with them on because he starts crying.

-Panics if multiple people accidentally touch him because he gets flashbacks to being grabbed and almost drowned.

-Which he now also has a fear of being in water too long.

-The first night after the church burning he asked both Darry and Soda if they can share the bed with him because he missed them.

-Sometimes dreams of the house with the garden he wanted with Johnny after his death and he wakes up screaming and sobbing because he knows now all it will ever be is a dream.

-Tries to quit smoking because he genuinely believes he caused the fire that killed Johnny and eventually Dally.

-Used to be ashamed of his name and would get bullied for it until Johnny would tell him how original it was.

-Still believes death's at his door but he tells both his brothers of it and how he's been feeling so it's getting further and he's slowly trying to get better.

Now for all 3 brothers (I only have 2 tbh):

-Their train related trauma isn't lessening especially after Dally.

-When nights get bad for them they have a sleepover in the living room and watch cartoons.

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ HEADLINES ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. following the success of the recruitment process and their first concert, this odd combination of a band becomes busy these days. thus, they hired a manager to keep track of their schedules. and to an extent, deal with their shenanigans that may or may not feature on the news.

CHARACTERS. argenti, aventurine, jingliu, kafka, robin

CONTENT. gn!reader. celebrity au, musician au, modern au. comedy, fluff. 1.1k wc. inspired by the concert animated commercial: “before the show begins”. canon elements (jingliu - powers; aventurine - cake cats; robin - halovian features). reader’s the straight man in this chaos. cameos from yanqing (argenti, jingliu), stelle (argenti, jingliu, kafka) and caelus (aventurine, robin). brief mentions of ruan mei (aventurine) and sunday (robin). word vomit for the most part.

VERA. happy pride month, bitches. what a good way to start off the month watching the haikyuu movie, seeing volleyball boys stare at each other intensely and metaphorically stab their friends in the neck. all i can say is that the animation was insane. speaking of insane, the hsr concert was released to celebrate the game’s first anniversary. “sway to the cosmos” is my favorite out of the setlist, and i even made it as my train jam. imagine seeing it live though… i die. i had to look up what instrument jingliu plays and i strongly believe it’s an erhu based on how it looks. i kinda don’t like this; i have no idea what i wrote. it’s my worst attempt at being funny lol.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ARGENTI

drummer argenti preaches ‘scripture of beauty’ to fans

“hey! what’s the ‘scripture’ supposed to be? actually, who is idrila? look, you can’t spout names like that and not expect a scandal to not happen.” argenti seems to be in the zone while dancing with his fans at the park, so he most likely didn’t hear what you just said. you glance at stelle and yanqing to get him to snap out of it, but they’re completely drained, on the floor from being dragged into the spotlight earlier.

“my lovely manager! since you’re here, you must be interested in being a follower?” not at the very slightest, but the name argenti throws out and about drives news outlets and his fans up on the walls. that may put the drummer at risk of being a subject of misunderstandings and fanwars, which is why you’re here in the first place. you can feel the stares of his audience burning into your skull, so you extend your hand to “express” your interest.

“wonderful. now, let us dance under the name of beauty!” throughout it all, everything blurs out. not even five minutes in, you’re exhausted out of your mind, unsure if argenti has given you useful information about his charade. in the end, you gather more questions than answers, and practically leave the drummer to handle the potential messy aftermath. he’s an enigma; anyone can tell you he’s the eighth wonder of the world, and you’ll believe it.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. AVENTURINE

guitarist aventurine adopts scientist’s ‘sweet’ creations

“rise and shine. your cats won’t stop bothering me until you wake up, by the way.” all the feline pastry lifeforms on your head, shoulder, and feet mew in agreement. caelus somehow has collaborated with the scientist who created them, making some that resemble his friends, one of which is aventurine. the guitarist adopts his lookalike for fun at first, and now his house is their haven, which makes his issue of organization worse.

“hey, pretty boy! you better wake up, or i’ll sit on your face and suffocate you!” the synesthesia beacon in your phone picks up a translation from under aventurine’s arms. there’s a cake cat that resembles you, but do you actually sound like that when you’re upset? never mind that; the most important question here is why does he have a cake cat version of you here? well, he’s already behind schedule, so out of curiosity, you try out its suggestion. 

“okay, okay. i’m up.” the cat cake version of yourself huffs at him taking forever to get ready, but seems proud of making its threat happen with your help. aventurine sees five pairs of eyes staring at him, with one in particular full of disappointment for being inconsiderate. he promises to keep track next time, but you aren’t sure he’ll truly follow through if he’s convinced to expand his cake cat kingdom.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. JINGLIU

erhu player jingliu unleashes ice blades at passersby

“for the last time, the people who watched you perform gave you strales because they appreciate your talent. this is the fourth time this week of scaring them with your sword.” you note a careful distance between the passerby and jingliu, who resumes playing her erhu like it’s none of her business. stelle has learned it the hard way so luckily she has you to deal with the erhu player. the first victim of her powers slips out from a tree to wish you luck with a thumbs up.

“ah, has that young man come yet? i would like to have a spar with him.” jingliu’s referring to yanqing, another swordsman. he loves competition, so this entire street, or the entire city even, is screwed into becoming an icy wonderland. telling her that he’s not here, she returns to performing. you notice a brilliant idea coming into fruition as soon as she stops her bow halfway, and it already doesn’t sound good.

“manager, why don’t you spar with me? let’s see who will fall first.” you immediately refuse without a second thought. jingliu would win anyway as she’s more skilled with the sword and you have no powers, so it isn’t a fair fight to begin with. you’re just relieved that she didn’t unleash her icy blades for the fifth time, and that you make it alive throughout the confrontation.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAFKA

violinist kafka sends many clothes stores bankrupt

“listen… i get that you look great in everything and all, but do you think this is way too much?” you gesture to the cart overflowing with concert outfits. kafka hums in contemplation as she examines her next purchase in the mirror, then nods in approval which seals the deal.

“oh, you think so too? alright then, i’ll have stelle handle all payments as usual.” stelle averts her gaze away to avoid your temper, pretending as if she didn’t enable the violinist’s unlimited shopping spree. you can sense the employees fearing for their livelihoods that are at stake, and you can feel like yours will be at the state soon if this keeps up. scolding kafka to unload everything in the cart, the wave of relief in the staff washes away when she reveals a special trick up her sleeve.

“what about your wardrobe? surely you can’t wear the same exact thing everyday, don’t you think?” kafka jabs into one of your weaknesses: the lack of variety in your closet. it’s important to appear presentable as the band manager, but your uniformity gives you not a lot of room to try out different combinations. the only hope of this store is gone, and so is the store itself as soon as the credit card is swiped.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ROBIN

singer robin disappears once again from photoshoot

“when your brother finds out you snuck out again, he will kill me in the most painful way possible.” whenever you bring that man up, always in the worst case scenario, robin responds with a smile as reassurance that he won’t hurt you when she’s around. but it’s more like she won’t get in trouble, leaving you to shoulder the blame.

“don’t worry! caelus will take care of everything. ah, i hope i wasn’t too late.” the self-proclaimed master of stalling strikes again. knowing that man, robin’s confidence in caelus is astounding. because sooner or later, he’ll find out that she’s at a toy store with you to buy the limited edition of a clockie figurine. the singer will be happy, and you’ll end up dead in a ditch probably.

“oh no, photographers are here. can you cover for me?” robin tucks her wings beside her face so they can fit under her mask. while she browses through the aisles, you direct the photoshoot team outside, hopefully far enough from the store to remain off radar from her brother’s watch. you pray that caelus comes back in one piece as well as yourself. the cost of making a halovian’s day brighter, especially if she’s a famous singer and has a control freak of a sibling, is quite risky.

[lotusbxtch]

The Best Ride In The Galaxy - Pt. 2

Pairing: brat-tamer!Poe Dameron x f!Reader Rating: M - 18+, MDNI! Summary: You and Poe play bedroom games, but who comes out the winner? Word count: 4732

Warnings: smut with barely plot, language, name-calling (bitch, asshole, cockslut, slut) but you’re both into it, pet names (my Poe speaks Spanish which is not canon but it’s my fic damnit), brat-tamer!Poe, D/S dynamics, safeword usage, physical restraints (handcuffs), mild humiliation, “she” pronouns in reference to vagina, very brief mild physical bullying, brief light slap to the face, panty sniffing, one (1) love bite, oral (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex (be smart, be safe!), rough sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, brief fainting, creampie, established relationship, no use of y/n

a/n: I didn’t intend on writing a part 2 to my one-shot, but Poe said otherwise. Thank you to my dear sweet @for-a-longlongtime for beta reading! If you like my work, please comment and reblog! It would mean the world.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 

Sometimes you don’t even know why you do it.

Maybe it’s the smirk he sports when he reads your mind, knows you better than himself. Maybe it’s that self-assured confidence and cockiness that gets him into trouble but is also the reason why he’s co-general of the Resistance. Or maybe it’s just because he does the exact same thing to you – pokes at you, annoys you, until you snap and he gets to play with fire.

You can’t remember how it got started, but that simmer of irritation was already burbling under the surface when he told you that he had to do a hands-on demonstration of advanced defensive maneuvers to the novice pilots in the squadrons.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? You just have to? Or is it because you, Poe Dameron, cannot pass up a single opportunity to show off?”

Poe huffed and shook his head, a small smile blooming on his face. “You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s because you know I’m right, you idiot,” you retorted, folding your arms across your chest. The move unintentionally pressed your breasts together, enhancing your cleavage, and you saw Poe’s eyes dart to them. 

“Oh, sure, it’s not your fault that you have correct opinions and great tits, isn’t that what you always say?” he chortled.

“Fuck right off, Dameron,” you groused as you dropped your arms immediately. “Come back when you’ve stopped being a dick.” You turned on your heels and walked away, not even knowing why you’re giving him an attitude.

“At least you know I’m not unintentionally lying this time about when I’ll actually be back, baby,” he yelled in your direction as you stomped off. “I love you, you brat!”

Without turning around, you flipped him off. “Love you too, you fucking asshole! Come back in one piece!” You didn’t see him shaking his head and chuckling as you rounded the corner out of sight.

Two days later, Poe returns, right on schedule. By then, you’d spent enough time out of his presence to actually miss him unironically. You’d been going about your normal duties on base but sleeping in his empty bed at night, his scent still clinging to his sheets and helping you fall asleep without the warmth of his body next to you. When his pod door slides open, you lift your head from where you lounge on the bed.

“Hi baby!” you greet him, a warm smile on your face. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, hopping to your feet wearing nothing but one of his shirts and your lacy underwear. Those two nights had also been spent with nothing but your own fingers and toys to sate your sex drive, and much to your chagrin, it couldn’t compare to the way Poe was able to make you fall apart. 

When he walks through the pod door, you feel desire flare up warm in your belly. He’s still wearing his flight suit. He knows how crazy it makes you.

Poe tracks your movements with warm chocolate eyes as you saunter over to him, putting an extra swirl in your hips to entice him. But as soon as you get close enough to feel the heat of his body, he doesn't let you go further.

“Uh-uh, bebita,” Poe says as he puts a hand out. “You were being a brat before I left for whatever reason, so you don’t get what you want so easily this time.” You pout, but don’t press the issue. He wasn’t wrong; you had been absolutely insufferable for no reason.

Shaking your head slightly, you bite your lip and let out a huff of air from your nose. “That’s funny. Judging by that tent in your flight suit, I’d say what I want also seems like what you want, flyboy,” you retort, smirking at the obvious erection at Poe’s crotch.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” he purrs, keeping his hand on your chest. “You forget that out of the two of us, I have far more patience than you.”

“Hmm, that’s not what I remember about three nights ago,” you mock-thoughtfully muse. “If memory serves me correctly, I think you were begging? Something like, ‘oh Maker, please, baby, please let me fuck your –”

“That’s fucking it,” Poe suddenly growls and grabs your hips, crushing your lips to his. Moaning, you lean into the kiss, smiling quietly to yourself that you broke his resolve.

That is, until you hear a smooth metallic shick behind you and feel your wrists suddenly encased.

You pull away from him, eyes wide. Wriggling against the restraints, you realize that he’s –

“Handcuffed you? Yes, baby,” Poe confirms to you with a smirk. “You want to be a brat? Fine, but I’ll treat you like one then.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “If you want to come, you’ll have to be my good girl.”

You scowl at him in response, but simultaneously a shudder ripples involuntarily through your body. Poe’s smirk widens at your conflicting non-verbal messages. “That’s right, honey,” Poe teases, voice syrup-sweet and thick with amusement. “You like to play-pretend that you hate being made to behave, but your pussy says otherwise.” With that, he shoves his hand up your - his - shirt, immediately coming into contact with your drenched panties.

Poe tuts mockingly. “Already so wet for me, bebita? What a little cockslut you are. Couldn’t handle seeing me in your favorite outfit and you immediately wanted me to fuck you, huh?” He slips his fingers under the elastic of your panties, smearing the tips with your slick.

“Fuck you, asshole,” you grit out, trying desperately to not grind down on his fingers, needing to chase even the slightest friction to ease the ache between your legs. 

Poe chuckles darkly, a wicked smile gracing his lips. “Later, baby,” he rumbles, “only if you do what I say.” He pulls his hand back out from under the hem and slips his glistening fingers into his mouth, locking his eyes on yours as he groans at your taste. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet. Can never get enough of you,” Poe murmurs. That infuriating smirk returns to his face.

You huff. “If you like it so much, why don’t you use your mouth for something other than sweet nothings?”

Poe’s eyes darken in a flash. “You’re gonna regret that.” He rips your panties off, the sound ricocheting around the room.

“Maker-damnit, Poe, those were my favorite ones,” you pout. They cost you more credits than you usually spend on frilly underthings, but the thought evaporates from your mind when you notice Poe bringing the lacy scraps to his nose and inhaling deeply, eyes closed. A whine snakes its way out of your chest.

His eyes flutter open. “What was that, sweet thing?” Poe croons, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

“You’re fucking filthy,” you manage to squeak out. He drops to his knees, pulling your right leg over his shoulder, lining up your dripping slit with his mouth as he drinks in the sight of you.

“Oh honey, I’ll show you filthy if you let me,” Poe whispers. “But right now you have to do what I ask you to, okay? Because if you don’t, you won’t like what happens.”

Your chin juts upwards defiantly. “Do your worst, Dameron.”

Poe smirks. “Stay quiet for me. Not a peep until I tell you that you can make noise. And if you start moving your hips against me, I’ll stop.” You nod, but you know it’ll be a challenge. He knows exactly what to do to make you squirm. 

“Do you remember our safe word?” he asks.

“Mandalorian,” you respond. He nods affirmatively.

“Let’s see what you can take, baby,” Poe rumbles, moving to trail kisses up and down your legs and thighs. You breathe in and out slowly, trying to control the nerves he’s currently setting on fire. He drags the tip of his tongue slowly in decorative little swirls across your inner thighs, locking eyes with you. Slick continues to pool in your entrance.

“How does that feel?” Poe murmurs, biting your thigh softly. You press your lips into a line, shuttering any words or noises rising in your throat. You knew better than to disobey him — the retribution would be hard and swift.

Poe chuckles. “Oh, it seems like my little slut is following directions for once. I’ll grant you a reward.” Suddenly he licks a slow, thick stripe through the very center of your soaked core, from twitching pussy to swollen clit. You swallow a whine, biting your lip. Poe’s smile turns predatory. He sucks your clit into his mouth with a lewd slurping sound, and the sudden firing of thousands of nerve endings forces your eyes closed. Poe bites your thigh in warning.

“Look at me while I lick your pussy,” he commands. You lock to his gaze immediately. “If you close your eyes again when my mouth is on you, you’ll be punished.”

You nod and Poe dips his head back down to your center, holding you up with his hands on your upper thighs, his grip firm. He licks, sucks, nuzzles, and gently nips at you, coaxing more slick to slowly drip from you as you fly closer and closer to your orgasm. Just before you can reach your crest, however, he backs off, nearly making you whine with frustration. 

Poe continues to torment you like this for what feels like hours. After a particularly delicious swirl of his tongue, your eyes involuntarily roll to the back of your head and you let out the tiniest moan. Your eyes pop open just as Poe lets go of your thighs and allows your balance to waver. You feel your body lurch side to side as you desperately realize you can’t use your arms to counteract your body’s momentum, and almost fall over, but he grabs you just as you tilt dangerously sideways. 

“I wasn’t joking, bebita,” Poe says menacingly. “I’ll have no problem letting your pretty little ass fall over if you refuse to follow directions.”

Nearly out of your mind with arousal and anger, you spit out, “I wouldn’t have such a problem if you would just put your fucking cock in me already like we both know you want to do!” 

You both stare at each other in silence for a few moments, your face flushed pink with exertion from all of the botched orgasms, and a storm of emotions flickering across his face. Suddenly Poe gets up and drags you with him to the bed. 

“You want my cock that badly, huh, you little slut?” Poe grits out, gently shoving you towards the bed. You stumble and fall sideways toward the mattress, your upper body and face bouncing off the surface humiliatingly since you have no ability to brace with your hands. You stumble back up, mouth ajar in shock. Poe’s never been this mean; you must have really pissed him off before he left for his trip. And for whatever reason, it’s making you even more wanton for him.

“Get on the fucking bed and kneel. Now.” Poe rumbles, his voice deep and authoritative. You stumble a bit to climb up without hands, having to shimmy to move your body. You kneel, sitting on your heels, your shins pressing into the soft surface as you wait for your next instructions.

Poe slowly, teasingly, walks towards the bed, stripping out of his flight suit slowly. The obnoxiously orange suit drops away, his shoes and socks long gone, and he’s left in nothing but his undershirt and boxers. He lifts the hem of the undershirt up as his biceps ripple while pulling the piece of clothing off his broad chest. He stops when his thighs hit the bed, cock lined up with your torso, and looks down at you.

“Take them off with your teeth,” he orders. You quickly comply, gripping the waistband of his boxers with your teeth and lips, pulling them down his body carefully. They peel off slowly, the task made more difficult without the use of your hands. After having to nearly fold yourself in half to get the boxers down, Poe’s cock finally springs free, achingly hard. The tip is red and angry looking, coated in a sheen of precum. You lick your lips and open wide, moving towards it. Suddenly, a warm palm is pushed into your forehead, blocking your advance. You actually growl and look up at the man holding you back.

“You think I’d give you my cock to suck as a reward for being such a demanding brat? Try again,” Poe mutters, pulling his cock away from you. You whine, your mouth watering embarrassingly. 

Poe shoves the rest of his boxers down his legs and gets onto the bed. Sitting with his back against the headboard, he grabs your hips and yanks you over, forcing you to straddle his lap, his hard dick pulsing under your dripping slit. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Poe warns. Then he starts to lower you down, and your mind gets hazy the closer his cock is to making contact with you. When you feel the tip of him brush against your labia, you let out a breathy moan and try to sink down onto it. Poe grabs your hips and pulls up while pushing his down into the mattress, evading you. His smirk widens.

“Are you seriously going to make me chase your cock, Poe?” you pant, trying to force your hips down onto his to no avail. 

“Brats don’t get to decide when they get what they want,” he says, “or if they even get it at all.”

He teases your drenched entrance like this another two times. After the third, you let out a frustrated huff. “Stop fucking around, Dameron, just give me your –”

Your sentence ends in a scream as Poe grips your hips and shoves harshly up, bottoming out nearly immediately. A wave of pleasurable pain hits your body like a freight train.

“I said, be careful what you wish for,” Poe grits out, his eyes flashing nearly black with desire. You whine, words unable to form in your mouth, your cunt stretched and stinging from the sudden intrusion. Poe usually warms you up by making you come at least once before fucking you, and the fact that he fucked into you without warning is also new. You eye him, your vision swimming with arousal and wariness. He keeps his hands on your hips, letting you adjust to his thick girth inside of you.

“Now, as punishment, we’re going to play a little game,” Poe explains. “You’re going to sit on my cock, and neither of us are going to move besides breathing. I can’t thrust up, and you can’t clench down. Whoever moves first, comes last.”

Your eyes flick to the ceiling as you take a deep breath. Maker, he’s going to kill you like this.

“Are you fucking serious, Poe?” you say, trying to egg him on. “You won’t ever shut up about how good it feels to be in my pussy, you’re not going to last 30 seconds before you start thrusting.”

“Are you game or not?” he snaps. “Or I could just pull out of you and leave you here high and dry.”

“Stars, you’re so sensitive today,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Fine, I’ll play your silly game even though I know I’m going to win.”

“Oh-ho-ho, bebita,” Poe chuckles. “Little do you know, some friends of mine just taught me a new technique I’m gonna try out. They said it helps them tune into The Force, but that it’ll help me from getting distracted.” You peer at him questioningly.

“Since when did you turn into a believer?” you scoff. “You know what? Game on, flyboy.”

And with that, the cockwarming games begin. 

At first, it’s relatively easy. The lack of movement allows the burn from his intrusion to fade away, and the fullness is comforting. Your eyes are closed, your breathing slow. The seconds tick by. Then minutes. 

Eventually curiosity gets the better of you, so you open your eyes. Poe’s handsome face comes into view, and at first you think you’re seeing things. He sits, eyelids shut softly, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. You don’t believe it, so you count his breaths to confirm your suspicions. 4 seconds in, 4 seconds holding, 4 seconds out.

Poe motherfucking Dameron is meditating.

No fucking way could the impulsive, cocky, impatient Poe Dameron actually have learned meditation and well enough to allow him to win this game. So you sit there, pussy wrapped around his cock, and wait for him to crack.

Except he fucking doesn’t. The silence and stillness begins to get to you; you feel the impending sense of doom of losing the game crawl up your back and across your collarbones. You wrack your brain to try to find a loophole… and then you do.

“Poe, baby,” you croon at him. Poe keeps his eyes closed, but murmurs an “Mhm?” in response.

“There wasn’t any rule against talking, was there?” You bat your eyes innocently.

Poe opens his eyes suspiciously. “No, but now I’m thinking I may be regretting that. What are you planning, hmm?”

You sigh, doing your best to keep your pussy from fluttering while you weave your web of entrapment. “Oh, nothing. Do you want to know what I was doing while you were gone?”

“Let me guess,” Poe responds. “Did you think of a thousand new ways to torture me or provoke me?”

“Stars, no,” you say, falsely shocked. “I was just laying in your bed, because it smelled like you, and I missed you.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Poe says warily. “What are you trying to do?”

“What do you mean?” you play along. “I’m just telling you about how my last couple of days have been and what I did to fill my time… since you weren’t around to fill me.” Still maintaining the innocent facade, you meet Poe’s eyes. He already looks wrecked. A wicked smile blooms on your face.

“Oh fuck you,” Poe grits out.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking about while I laid spread open in your bed, baby,” you whisper, staring him down. “My pussy was so fucking wet imagining you with me, your head between my legs, lapping at me like you love to do.” You hear a strangled groan escape Poe’s mouth, and you know you have him hooked.

“I was tracing my fingers gently around my clit,” you continued, “teasing it just like you do, and then rubbing it in circles. Didn’t feel as good as your tongue does though.” You let out a little moan but hold your muscles in place, pleading with your cunt to stay still. It obeys, but the slick starts seeping out of you, pooling around the base of Poe’s cock. He moans at the feeling, looking like he wants to fuck you or kill you, but unsure of which.

“I had to stuff myself 3 fingers full, fucking them hard and fast, to even get close to what you make me feel,” you whine to Poe. “I came, but it was just a little flutter, not like when you give me one.”

You look down at where your bodies are joined, and then back up into Poe’s eyes through your eyelashes coquettishly and smirk. “But you said just cockwarming tonight. So I guess I’ll just have to sit here, drenching your dick, and not rock against you, massaging you with my pussy.”

Poe’s face looks blank, and then suddenly his eyes darken. Your pulse quickens because you might have just won the game, but you also might be in danger.

“You fucking unfair little minx,” Poe growls and suddenly grips your hips hard enough to bruise. That smirk is wiped off your face a split second later as Poe lifts you slightly and then thrusts into you with all of his strength, spearing your cunt on his cock.

“You wanna play unfair? Fine. But you get to suffer the fucking consequences, you insatiable little bitch,” he sneers, fucking into you deep on the last word. Your mouth pops open in a silent scream. Of course this is what you wanted, but now? Now it’s brutal and all consuming.

Poe starts pounding up into you with no mercy, lifting your hips and slamming you back onto his lap as his cock keeps parting your channel, making you feel as if he’s splitting you in half. When you finally catch your breath, a ragged moan comes screaming out of your throat, and you throw your head back in ecstasy.

“Is this what my little slut wanted?” Poe asks rhetorically, never slowing his pace. “Needed to get this pussy pounded ‘til I rendered you stupid? Listen, baby, she’s so fucking wet, feels like she’s crying for me.” You do your best to listen to the obscene squelching and slapping sounds swirling around the room. No words leave your lips, just another loud and pathetic moan.

“Aww, poor baby can’t even say words now,” Poe chides mockingly. “Can’t tell me how good I’m making this pussy feel.” He rams in even deeper, feeling like he’s in your throat. Your cunt clenches as he hits your g-spot, sending you further into orbit. All you can utter are high pitched little mewls as he drags you kicking and screaming towards your orgasm.

“Do you feel me deep in you, baby?” Poe grits out, his thrusts continuing to devastate you. “I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard that you’re gonna pass out. You’re gonna take what I give you and you’re going to say thank you.” He punctuates the last two words with sharp thrusts that punch your cervix, adding a twinge of pain amongst the pleasure. Your head spins and your breath stutters, right on the edge.

“Please, Poe,” you beg without telling him what you need. But he knows. He drags his calloused thumb over your swollen, hard clit, drawing all of your muscles tight around him. His other hand remains tightly gripping your hip.

“Come for me. Right now,” Poe grunts, and you come with a long, whining scream. Your orgasm explodes in your core, shimmering out through your extremities, your face flushing immediately. You feel yourself creaming all over Poe’s cock. The sensation rips a growl out of his throat. “That’s fucking right, sweetness.” 

You lean against his chest, sated, eyes closed. His thrusts slow down, and he moves his hands from your hips to your shoulders. Bringing you upright once again, Poe trails kisses across your face, and then suddenly, he spears his cock deep into you again. A surprised moan rattles from your chest.

“Poe!” you exclaim, abruptly pulled from your post-orgasmic haze. He continues to sink into you over and over again, hard as steel.

“You thought I’d stop at one?” Poe tuts, lip curling as he punches his dick into you particularly harshly. “No way. You’re going to give me two more before I let you rest, since you were so hungry for this cock.”

“Oh Maker, Poe,” you slur, his slick-coated shaft stretching your walls. You try to rest your forehead against his, but he smacks your cheek gently to get your attention.

“Hey, uh-uh baby,” Poe chastises. “Keep your eyes open. Who's giving you the cock you so desperately needed, huh?”

“You, Poe. Only you,” you half-sob, mind dizzy with pleasure feeling another wave begin to build inside your belly. He continues to work you open, the squelching sound of your pussy around him filling the room. Your breath comes faster and shallower as you approach your second crest, shattering into a million pieces with a squeal. Poe groans at your wet release, but he doesn’t stop hammering into you.

Tears slide down your cheeks as you struggle to keep your eyes on Poe, the pleasure nearly unbearable. Swaying slightly, your head lolls to the side. Suddenly the world is shifting as Poe flips you off of his lap and onto your back, your hands still shackled together against your back. The position puts a bit of strain on your shoulders, but you hardly care. You’re barely conscious of Poe rearranging your legs on the bed, spreading you wide before shifting you up onto his kneeling lap and sliding home once again. Low moans escape your mouth as he pushes in, hitting that soft spot deep in you that only he’s been able to find. You clench down, slightly pained.

“I can’t, baby,” you whine, Poe unrelenting in his rhythm. He looks down at you with the cockiest smirk.

“Do you need to use your safeword?” Poe asks softly, pressing deep and holding himself there. You gasp and meet his eyes. Brows furrowed, you answer, “No.”

“Okay, then hush,” he responds with a chuckle, resuming his motions. Against your belief, you feel your body working itself into a knot again with an approaching third orgasm. But this one feels different.

“Poe…” you whimper. His thrusts speed up, the opposite of what you were going to ask. “No, Poe, I think… I think —” He looks down at you with concern crossing his face, then presses down on your belly, right above your pubic bone. You squeal, feeling the pressure mounting. His smile darkens. 

“Is my baby afraid of wetting the bed?” Poe teases in a singsong voice. You nod rapidly.

“Are you going to use your safeword?” He waits for a response. You just keep staring at him with wide eyes. His smile widens. “That’s what I thought. Shut the fuck up and take it.”

You keen over and over again as he keeps pounding into you. Poe slips his other hand down to your clit, thumbing it once again. His breathing is getting harsher, his thrusts sloppier. Pushing your limits creates a potent, arousing cocktail for his brain, and he rockets towards his finish.

“I’m gonna make you squirt all over yourself when you come, and then I’m going to fill up that pussy with my cum instead of the inside of my fucking flight suit,” he grits.

The filthy dialogue pushes you over the edge, and Poe feels your pussy clamp down on his cock as a strangled scream escapes your open mouth. As he pulls his cock out, you gush milky fluid all over yourself, the bed, and Poe’s lap. He hastily shoves himself back in and out, pushing another release of liquid from you each time. Poe suddenly shouts, burying himself against your cervix and painting the inside of your cunt with his cum as the world goes dark for a few moments, your hearing narrowing as if you’re in a tunnel, your breaths loud against the inside of your ears.

You come to as Poe is shaking you gently, his brows knitted together with worry. When you blink your eyes open, a sigh of relief leaves his lips. He presses soft kisses across your face, stroking your jaw with his thumbs. Rotating your wrists, you notice he freed you from your restraints.

“You did so well, bebita,” Poe croons. “Such a good girl, coming so hard for me.” You smile gently, your mind still hazy.

“I guess you didn’t reneg on your promise this time, Dameron,” you murmur cheekily. Poe huffs, a tiny smirk on his face. “You really did fuck me ‘til I passed out.”

“And you liked it, huh?” Poe teases. You nod your head. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his body. You sigh happily, burrowing your face into his sweaty chest. Legs intertwining, the two of you share breaths as you come down from your highs.

“Do you even remember why you were being a brat?” Poe suddenly asks. You look up at him and shake your head, laughing.

“No, I fucking do not,” you giggle, “but if it gets you to fuck me this hard again, I might have to be irrationally grumpy with you another time.” Poe rolls his eyes and starts tickling your sides, causing you to shriek and wiggle away, and his cum to seep out of your pussy deliciously. 

Now you remember why you act up with Poe for no reason.

Tags (it’s here yall!): @clemdango04 @agentjackdaniels-blog @alltheglitterandtheroar @qveerthe0ry @mermaidgirl30

@luxurychristmaspudding @mountainsandmayhem @campingwiththecharmings @penvisions @itwasntimethatdidit40

@beezusvreeland @nerdieforpedro @dizthemonster @alltheirdamn @lu62

@musings-of-a-rose @h4untedsp3ctor @ghotifishreads @admiralackbarssugarbaby @purelyoscar @survivingandenduring

@julesonrecord @atticrissfinch @burntheedges @carusolikey

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @steven-grants-world @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @reallyrallyauthor

[nocturnesmoon]

Safety Nets

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader Wordcount: 6k Tags: Polyamory, established relationship, Hurt/comfort, a LOT of comfort, the guys take care of you, that's the fic CW/TW: Military inaccuracies? canon typical violence, insecurities, heavy self doubt and self blame, minor character death, A/N: This is probably inaccurate mission and military wise but idc i wanted to write something like this for so long- though i am open to constructive criticism if you got some notes. (Read on Ao3)

-You come back from a mission that shook you to your core, the boys help you back on your feet as they always do-

The wind raged like a storm in your ears, despite the heavy earmuffs which sat too tight on your head, you could hear it clearly. When you closed your eyes, you could imagine it being a hurricane, a wind so strong it would scoop you up and carry you to who knows where. One that would tear you apart and leave no remnants of who you were.

The thought seemed nice, to be taken away and to never return. To be freed from not having to face your own failures in the disappointed stares, that awaited down on the rapidly approaching platform. Your body rocked with every little swerve of the helicopter, no longer having the strength to go against the motion.

"Lieutenant?" Your head snapped up to the soldier in front of you. You ignored the crack in your neck and the ache that pooled into your muscles. He'd been calling on you a few times now, his concerned eyes searching your face for an answer. "We're about to land sir," the soldier let you know, you couldn't muster up a verbal response, only a nod to acknowledge you'd heard.

Ever since they had picked you up on the site, they had that look of pity. It made you squirm, feeling all too self-aware of the way your clothes were caked in mud and blood. Your bones hurt, and your joints felt like snapping in half. You had spent the majority of the mission running, believing that you wouldn't make it out. You had fled, and you had left them behind.

The size of the heli was too big for just you, the soldier, and the pilot in the front. The space felt like caging you in, reminding you of your failure, of who you had lost. Your eyes threatened to shut, the exhaustion whispering in your ear that it would all feel a little better if you let yourself drift away into sleep.

Except every time your eyes slipped closed it wasn't darkness you saw, it was their screams, their blood, and their gore. The cracks you heard when one of the bullets pierced someone's skull echoed in your ears, as if you were still down there on the battlefield.

You were pulled back into your own head, your mind running laps to go through the mission once more. Every single second accounted for so you could dissect your failure. How each one of them had fallen, one by one they dropped like they were nothing. How you had ran with what was left of your team, until one got caught in a bear trap and pulled under falling debris, and the other was shot in the stomach.

You had hoped your head would fill with fog, that it would help you forget and suppress the last few moments of that soldier’s life. His name had been Jacob, his callsign Wisp, he had been difficult to deal with but his progress under your guidance had been noticeable. You hated how it was only now you could remember every little thing about him. Before you didn't care, you did your job in training him, guiding him, but you never made an effort to know him. You wished your brain would stop remembering every little thing now, making you feel all the more guilty.

You wished your brain would do that thing it's supposed to do, block out the traumatic memories so you didn't have to deal with them. Yet they were there still so fresh in your mind, like an open wound, his last words repeated over and over in your mind. You'd think someone's last words would be scared, or sentimental or a sweet last wish. Not his, no he decided his last wish was to let you know just how much you had failed them all.

Over and over again you replayed that memory, how his blood had mixed with the dirt and gravel under you both. You remember how his hand had clutched onto your arm, digging his nails through your sleeve and into your skin. He had pulled you down with him in his final moments, uttered those words into your ear with so much disdain the tone would have rocked your core on its own.

"This is your fault, you led us here."

There was more to his words, you were sure there was but maybe your brain was doing part of its job now. You could only cling to every part of the memory you could before it slipped away into the fog. It was only when someone gently nudged you that you snapped out of your own mind once more. "Sir?" your body went rigid at the touch and the voice, and you fought the distinct urge to disarm the person that was in front of you.

It was the same soldier that had been with you ever since they found you. He had been careful around you ever since he saw the casualties, walking on eggshells around you as if you were a loose cannon, maybe you were. "Sir?" he repeated, being a little more patient now that he had your attention, "We're here."

You felt your stomach drop, nodding slowly and glancing towards the opening doors, the platform outside. You could already glimpse at the two people that were waiting for you, they had probably been on edge for days. It only made you more guilty how you must have worried them, ever since your call for immediate evac. You weren't even sure you could reassure them once you got down there, you weren't sure you wouldn't just collapse to your knees the moment you were within their vicinity.

"Do you need help Lieutenant?" the soldier in front of you hadn't moved, it surprised you slightly, having been sure he would be just as eager to get off and way from your stench of death. For a moment you want to say yes, tell them to get someone to carry you, because your knees would give out the moment you went to stand, but how would that look for you. A new promising Lieutenant, the first op you led after you got your new rank and it turned out like this.

You didn't dare look up at the soldier, too afraid that your own eyes would give you away. You considered for a moment, to tell the soldier to go get the only two people who would know what to do. The only two people you would trust enough to become vulnerable with. "No..." your voice barely comes through, but he seems to register it, his legs moving quickly to get down on the platform. It was time to face them.

It had been a long few days ever since you said goodbye to the two of them. 72 hours since you had left on the plane with the promise of being back sometime the next day. 24 since Johnny had started complaining about your absence. 6 since Simon had been alerted of the fact you had called for immediate evac, that the supposedly simple mission had gone wrong in every way possible.

He hadn't relayed all the grueling details to Johnny, just that the op had gone wrong and that you might come back a little rattled. Simon wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong either, he just knew there was casualties, and the team wasn't coming back in one piece. The scot next to him was restless, practically jumping in place from anxiety, watching intently as the heli descended and the doors opened.

Simon kept one step in front of him, knowing the man all too well, and even though his eagerness is shared within Simon's own veins, he knows that you might not be in a state that could positively receive that. He knew the both of you inside and out, the years he had spent with both you and  Johnny allowed him to know you in ways he didn't think possible.

He was quick to find out exactly what made you both tick, what set you off, what made you happy and what would comfort you. He didn't like the uncertainty; it was a rocky start when he was still mapping out your emotions. By now you all knew each other well, like three puzzle pieces that fit together, you had found each other and filled out the holes in each other’s lives. Certainty was assured when he was with either of you because you both knew he needed it.

This was new, this was an uncertainty he didn't like. He had no idea what you would be like when you came down to the platform, down into their arms once again. Not to mention the fact you and nobody else had come out yet only churned that unsettling anxiety in his stomach further.

"L.T?" the sound of Johnny's accent filled his ears, his shoulders managing to relax just a little. He wasn't alone in this, he reminded himself, Johnny would be here to figure out how to help you as well. Johnny's pinky curled around Simon's, his urge to pull them both away from the public area would have overpowered if it wasn't for the fact, they were waiting for you.

The pilot had gotten out almost as soon as they landed, but you were still nowhere. He could just peak inside, trying to look for you or anyone else he would recognize. He only caught a glimpse of your form, hidden behind another soldier who was speaking to you. "What's taking 'em so long," Simon mumbled quietly, his mask obscuring his already quiet speech.

Johnny let out a heavy sigh, the hold his pinky finger had was surprisingly strong. They shared the anxiousness, the uncomfortable knowledge that you weren't okay. "Ah dinnae ken" he answered, trying to angle himself so he could get a better look at you. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot he could see at the distance.

They waited, as patiently as they could, the inconspicuous grip they had on each other also served to hold themselves back. Their resolve was wearing thin, and they both knew it, that soldier was talking to you about something, something they didn't know about, and they didn't like it. Simon almost completely lost it when he saw the soldier emerge without you, but his attention was quickly turned when you appeared not long after.

Your walk was slow, in no hurry to get back to them, it should've been the first sign. You looked around as if you were confused, as if you hadn't walked down this path a hundred times before. Johnny wasted no time bolting forward, closing in on you with the clear goal that you were his target. It startled you and Simon almost wanted to berate Johnny in that moment for being so quick with his movements.

Though what Simon saw almost made him want to have a little more time to prepare. The look in your eye rattled something foreign in his bones. It was something familiar, something he had seen in himself once upon a time. Something terrifying he'd never have wished upon you, how it felt when his bare soul had been chipped away at. He looked behind you, expecting some other members of your team to perhaps clue them in on the horror that had occurred.

The hit felt even harder when he realized, you were the only one.

By the time they had gotten you inside and settled in the tub you were a little more present. Your awareness a little higher from when they were on the platform. You had barely spoken a word to them, so vary of threats on every corner that you didn't even let your guard down for them as you usually did.

Only when they had managed to drag you inside, convinced you that your report could wait for later, and gotten you safely inside the space of your own quarters, did you settle. Johnny had carefully helped you out of your clothes, taking the task of cleaning you up and settling you into the safe atmosphere that was them.

He had whispered soft praise in your ears as he removed layer after layer, meanwhile suppressing the want to berate you for each little wound he found on your body. He knew you didn't need the extra scolding, the pure shock from the mission would be enough for you. However, he still felt that sting of hurt in his heart, knowing that neither he nor Simon was there to look after you, to take care of you.

He was well aware that you were capable on your own, you wouldn't have made it this far if you weren't good at what you did. If your rank wasn't enough to go from, then your other various accomplishments on your resume was. But when he saw you like this, with the silent knowledge that you could've been wiped out along with the rest, it put a dark cloud over his mind.

He helped you slowly lower yourself into the bath Simon had previously prepared. You winced in pain when the warm water touched your wounds. None of them were severe enough to cause major worry, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt just as much. Your movements were sloggy, relying on Johnny to not lose yourself completely.

"There ye are," Johnny mumbled quietly, forcing a soft smile on his lips in hopes you soothing you. You let out a shuddering sigh, doing your best to relax into the warm water. You pulled your legs close to your chest, resting your tin atop your bruised knees. "Oh leannan," he gently presses his lips to your temple, cradling your head in an attempt for comfort.

It feels like you're not fully present, watching the world from a third person view that doesn’t exist. You have half of your comfort with you, his hands grabbing the washcloth and slowly moving it over your skin. You look around the small bathroom, trying to locate the other half of your comfort, the missing equation.

"Si..." You're taken aback on your own voice, the croak and soreness of it all leaving you wondering whether you had yelled or screamed more than you thought. You tried to think back on it, settling your mind into the mission again but it made a headache form.

Johnny's motion came to a slow stop, his eyes catching your pleading ones. He knew what you wanted, but he wasn't the one that could give it to you. "He's comin' soon," he does his best at keeping your calm, "S'ok jus' relax." His free hand finds your cheek, making you focus your vision on him.

You lean into it, your body trembling slightly beneath his touch. It was warm and safe, two things you hadn't felt ever since you left. He moved the washcloth over your face, rubbing at the dirt that had infested itself on your skin. His eyes never left your face, his attention and devotion completely yours. His eyes fell on your trembling lips, before quickly flickering upwards to see the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"S'ok love, yer okay" He lets the washcloth rest on the edge of the tub so he could take your face in both hands. His forehead leans against yours, bringing you close and gently coaxing you into more contact. "Just breathe with me aye, he'll be back in no time" your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his instructions, glad that you were able to let go of the part of your brain that needed to make decisions.

Fortunately, he was right, as he often is.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and then the creak of the door, it made you snap your eyes open, their searching beginning once more. They landed on the tall brute, Simon's eyes fixated on you since the moment he made his way into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards the tub, planting himself on the toilet seat right next to it.

He was still wearing his mask, tired eyes searching your body and gliding over the wounds in your traumatized state. He lets out a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to his mask and slowly sliding it off. You had seen his face so many times, by now it shouldn't affect you anymore, yet still you can't help that feeling you get when you see him shed the mask in front of you and Johnny. The trust he has in the two of you makes your heart flutter.

The look he's giving you almost makes you feel ashamed, even though you know that he's just concerned. He's always been, that's why he's so harsh on you, on Johnny, even on occasion Garrick. You're pretty sure the only reason he isn't like that on Price as well is because of his higher rank and better experience. He's trained you hard so you could overcome anything, but no amount of training could prepare you for this kind of thing.

Johnny leans back, allowing Simon more space to move closer. You move before he does, leaning your body slightly to the side. The sound of splashing water went deaf on your ears, even as Johnny yelped from some of the water going overboard. Your chin ended up nestled atop Simon's thigh, his eyes never leaving you as you moved. His hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

"How we doin' pet?" his voice of gravel is like a blanket for your soul, the years of smoking giving him a voice that makes you shiver. In truth you don't feel like speaking, you don't feel like answering at all. You know you have to; you can't hide forever but you still hope they won't inquire about the mission just yet.

You let out a huff, almost hoping that the answer would suffice for Simon, but he keeps looking at you with those expectant eyes. "I don't know," you whisper quietly, letting your eyes fall, your body going slack against the side of the tub.

Simon nods in response, a hum of understanding going out to you. "S'fine, you don't have to know right now," he tells you, giving you the peace of mind to just have a non-conditional existence between them.

Johnny picks up the washcloth again, guiding your arms in his direction so he could continue his work of getting you clean. They're both quick and efficient with cleaning you up, Simon's rough voice filling the room as he updates you on things that's happened since you were gone. It's not much, mostly trivial things you don't care about and will likely forget, but it keeps your calm, giving you something else to focus on.

"Ye should've seen Cap he was livid," Johnny's laughs and you muster a smile, hearing about his latest misadventures, and the dumb thing's he'd rode Gaz into. His hands run over your scalp, working in the shampoo and grimacing when he takes out a small clump of dirt. "Aye darling, how the hell did ye get so caked in mud anyway," he sighs, parting your strands to get to the nape of your neck.

You bend your head down to allow him to work through your hair without straining his arms. "I..." you do your best to think back, but the number of times you fell down and scraped against things were a blur. "I think i tripped a lot...it was a muddy area," You held back a pleasured groan, as Johnny worked his fingers over your scalp, small goosebumps going down your back and arms.

"I don't really remember," you admit and let out an exasperated sigh. Johnny finishes up your hair, going for a little longer than necessary in hopes of keeping your enjoyment going awhile longer. When he pulls back to reach for the shower head, he boops your nose, leaving some soap on your face. His mischievous grin is infectious, and it manages to tug the corners of your lips upwards. The way his eyes light up when he sees your half smile makes your heart hurt, you've worried them so much, you're still worrying them.

As soon as they got you out of the water you were clinging to them like a leech. Refusing to let go of the precious contact you've already established with them. They move you around between them, molding you to them as they do the teamwork of getting you dry. Simon peppers soft kisses to your lips and cheeks while Johnny moves the towel over your back.

Even after they're done getting you as dry as they can, they keep you there. Sandwiched between them they hold you tight, and in tune each other. Johnny's head nestled in the crook of your neck and Simon's chin resting on top of your head. It's a stance that squeezes you tight, your own head getting light from the amount of love they try to squeeze into your bones.

It makes your heart burn, and your eyes sting with tears. Your breathing coming out in small gasps, as you end up choking back on a sob. Every single little thing coming crashing down on you now that you know you're safe in their arms. They've always got you, ready to catch you in case you fall. That hasn't changed, and being so subtly reminded by them brings it all out.

"Breathe," you aren't sure who says it, the disorienting feeling not alleviating even as they accommodate you. "Good Good," you recognize Simon's praising voice when you manage to take a few deep breaths. The tears never manage to fall but you don't doubt that they both know just by looking at your pathetic state.

"Love, we need to treat your wounds," he starts off quietly, not having any haste to move you, "Johnny'll go get you some food, and then we can get you settled into bed, okay?" He's making it sound more like a question, but you know it's just to make you aware of their next movements.

Even so you can't help but cling to Johnny's presence as he starts to unattach himself from the cuddle. You look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would stay if you just used puppy eyes enough. You almost think he'll budge as he moves closer to you again, his lips descending onto yours for a chaste kiss. Reluctantly he pulls away again, "Be back soon, ah promise ye."

Before you can protest and force him to stay, Simon scoops you up and places you on the bathroom counter. Distracting you from Johnny's quest of finding food that will be easily digested. He holds your face in his hand to keep your eyes on him, while the other one rummage through a cabinet.

You had gotten extremely lucky all things considered, the worst of your injuries the long scrapes on your back from sliding down a hill with sharp rocks. The rest included rough bruises, sore joints, and jumbled mind. Your other teammates had been much less fortunate, led right into their death by your own incompetence.

You're softly called back to reality, Simon gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek and calling your name. You don't know how long you were zoned out, but it was long enough to give him that worried glint in his eye. "Sorry..." you croak, swallowing thickly to hold it all back but this time it's not as easy.

The tears come slow and quiet, the shake in your body forcing them out of your waterline and down your cheekbones. He gently wipes them away, pulling you in closer to his body again and cradling you against his chest. "You survived," he reminds you, "You're still here."

You want to nod along with him and take in his words to keep close. But you don't know if you agree with him, you survived but should you have? Why did you survive and not Jacob, not any of the other soldiers who trusted you to see it through.

Simon placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then leaned over you to get a look at your back. He gave no reaction to whatever he saw as to not make you panic, though from the bleeding warmth in your back told you it probably wasn't looking the best.

"Lean back for me pet," he instructs you, slowly plucking you from his chest. With a reluctant sigh you lean back and look down at yourself. Your eyes trailing over every little bruise that littered your body. Simon was silent as he took care of you, giving you gentle squeezes over small kisses after every little wince you made.

When he was done treating the visible wounds, you could hear Johnny rustling around outside the bathroom. The only thing left was your back, the one you dreaded the most out of all your wounds. Simon leaned back just as Johnny came back into the room, a set of your clothes hanging over his arm. He places it on the counter and picks through it, handing you a fresh set of underwear, sweats, and t-shirt.

"Wait with the shirt, need to check over your back," Simon reaches over for the underwear and sweats, helping you into it and lowering you back to the floor. You stretch out your limbs, groaning as you feel the exhaustion in your body, your joints popping when you stretch your arms above your head.

Johnny takes your hand in his own, smiling at you and leading you into the bedroom. "Ah found ye some soup, there wasn't a lot to choose from at this hour," he told you as you crawl onto the bed. You glance at the nightstand, the soup bowl steaming and looking good enough to make your mouth water. The little chocolate bar next to it makes you smile, just until Simon guides you to lay on your stomach.

The real pain is about to start, you think. His hands smoothe over your back, avoiding the ridges of your wounds and grabbing the salve. "It'll be quick, am sure" Johnny lowers himself onto the bed next to you, mimicking your way of laying. His head right next to yours, his loving eyes staring into your own and the giddy smile he wore made you huff out the air in your lungs.

"Hi"

"Hi"

His hand reaches out and caresses your cheek, gently running his fingers over your scalp. He does his best at distracting you from the pain in your back. "How ye feelin'?" he asks quietly, his thumb running over your cheek and fixating on your lip.

"Like shit," you scoff and turn your face into the mattress. You feel Simon's hand run over your back, the aching pain making you whine into the sheets. His hands hesitate, smoothing over unscarred skin as an apology before going back to his work.

The work on your wounds is tedious, and when he finally pulls away your eyelashes are wet. The clutch you have on the sheets beneath you is starting to hurt your knuckles. Simon's touch leaves you, but you don't take any action to turn or move. Someone else guides you to move, the difference in touch leading you to believe it's Johnny.

He moves you closer to him, slowly turning you up so you're sitting and leaning against him. He gently helps you into a t-shirt before moving you around like a ragdoll once more. You're settled between his legs, your back to his front and his big forearms wrapped around your waist. He buries his head in your neck, squeezing you and inhaling your scent as if it's the only thing he ever needs.

"C'mon, you need'ta eat," the bed dips as Simon gets back on it, this time having the bowl of soup in hand. He settles in front of you both, reaching forward and gently rubbing your calf. "And we need to talk," he knows you don't want to, that you'd rather bury it deep. Unfortunately for you, he also knows where that will lead you, and the sooner you put it into words for them the easier you'll be able to process it.

You take the bowl from him, agreeing to at least eat something. You couldn't remember when you last had gotten something nutritional, your stomach felt like a gaping hole that was trying to eat itself. You brought the spoon to your lips and savored the taste. Despite the limited options Johnny had still managed to get the things you liked.

"Don't wanna talk," you mumble between your bites, trying to ignore the look Simon is giving you by staring into your swirling soup. "There's nothin' to talk about," You swallow thickly, ever since you had been back you had been fighting the thoughts that urged to trap you. They were just waiting for you to trip in your careful state, they would pull you under the bridge, drown you into the water until you couldn't breathe through your panic.

Simon didn't let go of your leg, rubbing slow soothing circles into your calf. His full attention was on you, and there was nowhere to hide from the man in front of you and the man behind you. Johnny placed a soft kiss to your neck, and mumbled into your skin, "We know ye don' wanna, Leannan, but when ye came back ye were like a Ghost."

When you didn't answer they elected to let you eat in silence for a while longer, unaware to the emotional storm inside your body. You knew that you would have to make that report eventually, that they would hear about the details eventually. But actually, being met with the demand was something else entirely.

You didn't know if you could bear their reactions, the thought of them being disappointed in you made the anxiety roar. You didn't want them to realize that all the time they had spent being proud of you for your achievement had been wasted. That you were nothing of what you promised to be.

You only realized how shaky your hands had become again when you raised the spoon to take another bite. Simon let out a soft sigh, before taking the spoon and bowl from you so you didn't spill on yourself or Johnny. "Darling?" the question was laid bare for you, he gave you the opening to start talking, to confide in them like you always did.

Your hands fall to your lap, right along with your sight. You try to calm your own nerves, trying to rationalize the stirring thoughts in your head. After an elaborate breath, that is more like an exhausted sigh, you find your words. "It was supposed to be a simple op, and it was in the start, find the target and neutralize him," you start quietly, grasping your own hands together.

"But once we were there and set up, nothing went as planned," you lightly shake your head along to your words, "They knew we were coming and hunted us like dogs." You swallow thickly, noting how the shakiness had nestled into your voice. "I tried to reroute our objective; we tried getting out of there, but this was unlike anything I had ever been up against."

Johnny's hand came to encapsulate your own, stilling your shakiness and you freeze up. Feeling all to self-aware all of a sudden, how the attention was on you, as they listened like you were the most important thing in the world. It was both a warm and agonizing feeling, their protectiveness was nice, but it was also scary.

"We were so close to getting out but...they were faster and I...I couldn't..." you choked back on your own voice, feeling the hotness burn on the back of your eyes. "They were better..." you admitted in a whisper, "If I had taken a different route maybe we could have avoided the trap, maybe we could have gotten the drop on them before they got to my team but...."

The feeling of Simon's hand cupping your cheek made you halt, teary eyes meeting his in temporary shock. "It wasn't your fault love," the sincerity in his voice rocks something deep in you, "There was no way anyone could've known." You tilt your head to the side slightly, you wanted to argue, to tell him you could've done a thousand things better.

"Aye, ye acted just how ye were supposed to, ye kept a level head and guided the rest to the best of yer ability," Johnny briefly took over. His voice was hot on your ear, his quiet whispers just as reassuring as the hand on your cheek, "Ye did everything ye could, and ye survived because of it."

"But they didn't..." You sank further into Johnny, sniffling as you held his thumb inside the little cocoon, he made of both of your hands. "They died because of me," you try to argue, despite being grateful that they didn't seem mad you almost wanted them to lash out, to give you right, to let you feel like a monster.

"They didn't die because of you, they died in action, trying to complete the mission they were given," Simon's voice turned a tad harsh, the determination to get through to you all the more prominent. "They knew this was a possibility when they signed up, you did everything you could for them, and the way you make it up to them is to keep going," he told you sternly.

"I know what it's like, to have people fall under your command," he sighs, "S'never not tough, and it's all too easy to fall into the spiral of whose fault it was." You paid close attention to him as he spoke, he always had a captivating way of speaking, just like when he dished out orders, he commanded authority in his mere presence. "It's somethin’ that happens love, it's important to mourn and assess," he looks you directly in the eye, "But it's also important that you know, it makes you neither monster nor failure."

You never knew whether to love or hate the way he could read your brain like had he telepathy, or personal access to your every little fear and sorrow. "It doesn’t make it feel any better," you said quietly, tilting your head into his palm, nuzzling against his skin.

"I know" he puts the half-finished bowl on the nightstand, "Gonna hurt for a while, but we'll be here with you through it." He gave you a half smile, moving closer so he could place a kiss to your forehead. "We're not going anywhere, ain't that right Johnny?" he glances to the man behind you.

"Aye," Johnny's chest rumbles with a hum, his lips placing a trail of loving kisses over your neck. "Not gonna let those nasty thoughts get to ye," he whispers and slowly moves you as Simon directs. Johnny gets you on your side in the bed, your back pressed even further into his chest. Simon gets out of the bed but only for a brief moment. The lights turn off above you, and soon after the bed dips.

You sigh when you feel Simon's skin on your own, his lips find your cheek as he settles in with you and Johnny. His arm supporting both you and Johnny's heads, his other hand coming over you to hold onto the man behind you after moving your hair out of your face. Compressed between them like this always felt like heaven, the pressure they put on your body was grounding and reminded you that you weren't alone.

"Sleep now," Simon's voice rumbled, "We'll be here when you wake up, and we can try again."

They were always here for you, even when you didn't know you needed the extra support. They had worked with you for so long, you had changed a lot with them and for the better. You felt safe with them, no matter how many times you would fall, they would always be there to catch you and get you back on your feet.

Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated<3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 25 - All I Know

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Finally accepting that this story is just a very horny, romantic rewrite of the Boys. Like we will be doing much plot and thesis, but the biggest theme is that the world could be exploding and these two would still find a way to be horny and in love about it.

Chapter Title from The Fall by Imagine Dragons

Word Count: 26.8k (my hand slipped, sorry)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben take a trip to Red River. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

The gun range is wrapped in glittering lights and colorful bubbles that bounce off the walls, and when the bang of the gun echoes through the room, you turn around, glaring at Ben’s determined, insufferably handsome face.

“It’s not working.” 

“Keep fucking try-“

“Benjamin, I swear to God, if you tell me to keep fucking trying, I’ll cut off your left ballsack.”

He frowns. “Only the left one-“

“It’s my least favorite.”

“What the fuck is better about the right one-“

“Personal preference is a thing, Pretty Boy. Maybe it’s hairier, maybe it’s less hairy, and I’m never telling you which is which.” 

“You’re only hurting yourself,” Ben drawls, leaning back against the wall. “If you tell me, I can start doing the same thing with the left one, and you’ll love both my ballsacks equally.”

“I already love them both equally,” you shrug, a grin creeping onto your face as you reload the gun in your hand. “If you don’t believe me, we can go home and I-”

“No.” Ben snaps, closing the space between you in two steps, grabbing your shoulders physically turning your body back to the target. “We’re going until you get it. Now.”

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes with a fake pout. “If you’re turning down my blowjob, am I allowed to shoot you-”

“Not turning it down, Sunshine.” Ben winks before grabbing your chin, moving your gaze back to the gun range. “Delaying it, until you fucking get this. Go.”

You sigh, and raise the gun. This is your sixteenth attempt to get this right, to fully control what Ben is calling your brain tricking shit. You’re supposed to fire the gun without Ben seeing or hearing, as he stands right behind you.

Of the many issues with this plan—you’re not sure you can fully control the sensory manipulation, it’s weird singing in a gun range, and Ben keeps being very distracting—the main one is that you’ve barely gotten better with a gun. You don’t stumble when you shoot it anymore, but it still takes a lot of focus to hit the target. Focus that you can’t spare.

Ben is convinced you can do it. That you’re perfectly fucking capable of doing this, Sunshine. You’re smart and strong and hot as fuck, and if you need motivation, I’ll eat you out when you get it. And fuck you. I’ll fuck you as well.

In a way, it’s comforting to know that love is making both of you idiots. Because Ben’s wrong—you won’t be able to control this, no matter how vulgarly and aggressively he believes in you—and you’re a lot more encouraged by the promise of Ben eating you out than he’ll ever get to know.

Overall, though, it’s probably a detrimental incentive. Ben’s still pressed against your back, and he’s correcting your form in an unnecessarily hands-on manner that’s making it simply impossible to focus. His arms are around you, and all you can think about is them pinning you down, caging you against your bed. His beard brushes against your cheek as he tells you something you don’t hear, and you want to feel it between your thighs. His hands are grabbing at your body, adjusting your stance and hold on the gun, and you want them everywhere. In your hair, rubbing patterns on your skin and your clit, slapping your pussy once before he pushes big, rough fingers deep inside of you and grumbles your name against your-

“You are not fucking paying attention to me.”

You blink at him, feeling your face flush. “Yes, I-“

“Don’t fucking lie, Sunshine.” Ben drops his face to being level with yours, a wide smirk on his face. “I can hear your heart racing, and you’re looking at me like you want to fucking eat me.”

“Shut up-”

“I want to fucking eat you, beautiful. Watch you squirm under me, hear you moan my fucking name.” He leans forward, lips brushing against your ear, breath sending a shiver down your spine. “That what you want? Want me to fucking ravish you?”

Ravish? Who taught you ravish?

You did, smartass. Ben drops to your neck, kissing a light trail across your collarbone. Answer my fucking question.

Yes, please. You take an uneven breath, and when Ben nips at that one spot, your whole body shudders. A soft, golden mist is filling the room, and just as the idea is forming in your head, Ben draws back.

“Then earn it-“

His smug words are cut off as you reach up, pulling his stupid, handsome face back down to yours. Kissing him with every piece of that unending thirst, sucking on his lower lip until he groans. Ben’s hands fly up—cupping your face and tugging you a little off the ground—and you can feel the hunger in him flare, overriding any resolve to finish training.

Not a fair fucking play, he grunts in your head, even as he jams his tongue down your throat, walking you backwards into the dividers. You think you’re really goddamn clever-

I am clever, you smile against him, keeping your hand carefully off the gun’s trigger. And you can just push me away-

Not a chance in fucking hell. Ben pushes his knee between your thighs, angling your head back and leaving sloppy kisses down your throat. I’m going to fuck you right here, clear that smart, pretty fucking head of yours, and then you’re going to finally goddamn focus.

The golden mist is growing stronger, starting to glow and cast the room in a soft, warm light. You tangle a hand in Ben’s hair, urging him further as you grind against his leg.  Do I still get eaten out after?

His chuckle rolls through your body, clearing your brain to a pure, natural bliss. If you’re real fucking good, we’ll see.

You moan, leaning further into him, following the urge in you of Ben. The chorus of Ben, Ben, Ben, better than food and laughter and the sky and the ocean. Better than the sun and the stars and the earth and the music. Ben. His hands kneading on your waist, his teeth scraping on your skin, the smell of pine and gunpowder and coffee invading you everywhere. Light dancing off the walls, the world a little easier and better because the song of Ben is filling your body, making everything just good. So simply good.

Somewhere in the haze, you manage to raise the gun and pull the trigger. And when Ben doesn’t even flinch, you grin.

Did it.

His movements against you falter. Did what.

Earned it.

Ben draws back to his full height, frowning down at you. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

You gesture to the gun in your hand, then point to the range. To the small, still-smoking hole in the mattress-padded far wall.

Ben blinks at it, then looks back at you with narrowed eyes. “You missed.”

“I didn’t have to hit the target, I had to fire the gun without you noticing.” Your grin widens, all teeth and straining at your face. “So I fucking did it.”

You feel something charged and bright swell in Ben’s chest, and his thumb runs over your cheekbone with a careful touch as he scoffs. “I didn’t hear you singing-“

“Didn’t need to,” you shrug, dropping your head against his body. Burying your increasingly warm face where he can’t see it, muffling your words against his body. “Found another way.”

“What other way.”

It doesn’t help, how the low rumble of Ben’s voice is all around you, echoing off the walls of your ribcage, making something inside you fuzzy and wired. Doesn’t matter-

He grunts your name, and you sigh.

When, um, when I get turned on, I kind of-

You do the brain trick. I’ve noticed. He tugs on your hair, just enough to pull you back and meet his eyes. That worked for this shit?

Yeah. Your whole face is flushed, and your breath is already becoming shallow under Ben’s gaze, pulling you apart with a reverence that makes you swallow. It, um, it did. How did you know-

I’d have to be real damn stupid not to notice, Sunshine. You look like you’re made of fucking stars when you cum. 

Oh

Don’t get fucking shy on me. Ben lifts you up into a soft kiss, and smirks against your lips. It gets me going. Could get there myself just by watching you. He pauses, and his hands drop under your thighs, pulling you up his body without ever fully taking his mouth from yours. Let’s do that. 

Your arms wrap around his neck as you hum into him. Do what.

You’re going to fucking cum, and I’m going to watch-

“Ben,” you lean back, giving him a flat look. “You have to meet with Ryan right after this.”

“Then we’ll be quick-“

You snort. “We both know that’s a lie. We’re never quick. We say we’ll be quick, that I’ll just suck your dick and then we’ll go to dinner, and then you’re fingering me on the floor and I’m riding you until Annie calls us to ask why we’re twenty minutes late-“

“I am not going to feel bad for fucking you,” he grumbles, squeezing your ass as he hauls you further up his chest. “It’s your goddamn fault, you never stop me. You’re supposed to be the brains-“

“I am the brains,” you drag your hands over his back, rolling your hips against his torso, and Ben makes a low grunt that vibrates through your blood and bones. “Which is why I’m telling you that we’ll fuck later. After you train with Ryan.”

Ben scowls. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You kiss his cheek, and Ben sighs, all his love in you furiously devoted, the world sharp as he leans into your touch. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he mutters your name, and you pull back to watch him, a wide, almost instinctual smile on your face. “We could be quick-“

“Nope.” You start to squirm out of his arms, and his grip on you tightens. You give him a sharp glare, and he shrugs.

“We’re not fucking done here-“

“Benjamin, what else could we possibly have to do-“

“You can’t only control the magic brain shit when you’re horny,” he snaps. “You have to do it with the goddamn music, or we have to find other ways-“

You sigh. “I know, but,” you shake your head, moving your hands to trace along his jaw, running the hair of his beard between your fingers. “It’s going to be a long day. We’ve got Red River, and we don’t know what to expect, and I don’t want to-“

“Fine.” Ben’s grunt is low, but it’s fueled by all the solid, zealous care in his body. Wrapping around your skin and heart, keeping you safe in his arms. “But tomorrow-“

“I’ll try it with the music.”

“You’ll fucking do it with the music-“

“Okay, Yoda.” You start to wiggle away once more, and this time Ben helps you down, keeping an arm around you under you’re on steady legs. “Thank you.”

“Don’t-“

You wrinkle your nose at him, folding your hand into his. “Let me thank you, or the ball cutting is back on the table-“

Ben tugs you forward—affection and amusement rushing through him at the small yelp that leaves your body—and spins you until you’re tucked at his side, his arm over your shoulders. “You won’t cut my balls, Sunshine.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, muttering the words into your hair. “You love me too fucking much, it would hurt you a lot damn more than it would hurt me.”

He’s right. You do love him too much. Ben’s eyes are electric on yours—holding you up into a light you’ve never felt before him, boring into a deep part of your body that only he’s seen—and you know you love him a little more than you should. Not because you shouldn’t love him—you’re meant to love Ben, nothing feels more natural and simple than loving Ben—but because you’re growing more and more certain that it’s not just a romantic notation you’ve invented in your Ben-addled brain, that you love him more than anyone’s ever loved anything. You do. Your love for him is bigger than the ever-expanding universe, stronger than every force that moves the world. It’s like gravity. Your love for Ben is solid and vast and everywhere. It’s inevitable, and permanent, and dependent, and so innately part of you that it’s in every breath and heartbeat. When Ben kisses the space between your eyes and lets you guide him out into the hall, mumbling a goodbye against your lips, he’s alight and warm in your chest. Humming and steady with his arms around you, all the same as when he turns and leaves to the gym, and you set off down the hall alone.

We’re fucking when I get home. We set aside specific time so I could fuck you before we left, and we’re goddamn using it. Ben’s words echo in the silence, and you smile into the air.

I think I can live with that. Deal.

Deal. There’s a pause, Ben’s love in your body sitting in ease at the top of your ribs, and then, what the fuck are you doing while I’m gone.

A-Train, I need to talk to him before we go.

The hell do we need from that pussy.

That’s not very nice, he’s been helpful-

He has not been fucking helpful-

Yes, he has.

How.

You pause, and squint at nothing. Technically, A-Train has provided incredibly useful information, if this was a year ago. If you were fighting a pre-Sage Vought, a pre-Sage Homelander, knowing Vought passwords and company secrets would’ve been helpful. But the game changed, and what constitutes helpful did as well.

You don’t have a goddamn clue- 

Fuck you, he’s trying. And he can help with this.

What the fuck are you asking him.

Don’t you have to train Ryan-

He’s stretching. Answer my question.

You sigh. Red River. I want to know what he’s heard about it, if he has any idea what the fuck the Cornucopia is.

Annie didn’t-

Annie wasn’t in the tower for as long as A-Train was. And it can’t hurt to ask him.

Whatever. Be safe-

It’s just A-Train-

Be fucking safe anyway.

Can you tell Ryan I say hi.

I already did, tell me you’re going to be fucking safe-

I’ll be safe, Benjamin, you cunt. I love you. 

Good. I love you too, Sunshine.

The presence of Ben fades into the static of the world around you as you continue down the hall, looking for A-Train’s apartment. You probably should’ve done this a few days ago, but you’ve been busy. Despite the perpetual news from Mallory that Singer was working on it, so be patient, you still had work to do.

You’d finally told Ben about the Soldier Boy V you’d given to Butcher. You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret, but you kept getting distracted. You’d remember that you needed to tell him at all the worst possible moments—the thought flashing through your head only moments before Ben was picking you up and dropping you onto the bed, burying himself between your thighs and making everything else seem less than important—so you’d done it over dinner, where that wasn’t a risk. Ben had said something old—it had probably been about music, because Hughie had looked like someone had shot him, but Ben had some sauce on his upper lip that you wanted to lick, so you weren’t really paying attention—MM had muttered someone needs to figure out how to make you look like the ancient asshole you are, and you’d remembered.

As the groans and glares had died down, you’d nudged Ben’s shoulder with your own, keeping your gaze passively on Frenchie as he talked about the various merits of French Rap.  I need to tell you something.

What. What the fuck is wrong. You’d felt Ben’s eyes on you, the weight of his concern and care pressing on your lungs, and given a small shake of your head.

I’m okay, Ben. I did something, though, and I need to tell you. But you need to not break anything when I do.

He’d paused. What did you fucking do.

Promise you won’t lose it.

No. Tell me.

Benjamin-

I’m not swearing a single goddamn thing, Sunshine. You have the worst goddamn track record for secrets, and they always fucking hurt you. He’d paused, and the ache had flared slightly over his head and heart. They fucking hurt me.

You’d sighed, leaning your head onto his shoulder. This won’t hurt me. You might not like it, but I promise it won’t hurt me. I just need you to tell me you won't kill anyone.

He’d grumbled your name in your head. Just fucking tell me-

Please, Ben-

I won’t kill anyone. The fuck did you-

The V didn’t break. The V I took from the tower, our V, it didn’t break. I gave it to Butcher.

He’d gone rigid at your side, but both the table and Butcher had remained intact, so it felt like a victory. What.

I gave the V to Butcher-

And why the goddamn hell would you do that.

I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to chose what to do with it-

So you gave it to fucking Butcher?! The fuck is Butcher going to do with it?!

You’d shrugged, looking up at Ben’s scowl with raised brows. Use it, probably. I’d bet he’s going to use it.

Yeah, I fucking got that, smartass. Ben had rolled his eyes, hand fisting on the table as he shot Butcher a glare. Who the goddamn hell could he use it on. It doesn’t exactly have a perfect fucking success rate.

It doesn’t? You’d frowned, tugging Ben’s shirt until he looked back down to you. What do you mean.

I mean you and I are the only fucking survivors. I went into Dr. Vought’s trials with almost one-fifty other fuckers, I’m the only one that lived. You survived yours as well, and that’s it.

You’d blinked, glancing back at Butcher. Oh, shit. I didn’t know that.

Fucking obviously-

I don’t think he’s going to use it on just anyone, though. It’ll probably be himself. Probably.

Ben had sighed. Fine. But that was a stupid fucking move-

Or maybe it was genius-

Shut the fuck up, it was dumb as shit and you know it.

It had been dumb as shit. Of all your many hazardous and less-than-ideal plays, that one had been born of exhaustion and stress, of being cracked and tired and in pain, and not wanting just another fucking thing to deal with. But you’d still done it, and you weren’t going to take it back. You really don’t think Butcher will shoot up anyone but himself, because there’s no reason for him to use it on anyone else. He won’t create another random supe, he won’t want to make Ben more powerful, and every week he seems to want you dead just a little less. He might be dangerously close to trusting you, even.

So you’d managed to talk Ben into leaving it, and letting it play out. If Butcher doesn’t use it, it never gets used. If he does, he’ll have to live with the consequences of that action, and be stuck with you and Ben for the next million years.

It’s not your problem anymore. And, if you’re being honest, you don’t really regret it. You might not make the same choice again, but this way you can focus on what’s in front you. On figuring out why your step-father is in Singer’s cabinet, and what you’ll do if he screws you over. On how the Boys had silently sided with you over Mallory, but you haven’t told them about Edgar’s possible leak. It’s not safe to do here—where you’re almost certainly under surveillance by the very people you don’t trust—but you’ll have to do it eventually. And then you’ll have to figure out who the leak is, and if there’s anything you can do about it. And if there isn’t, you’ll have to figure out what to do about that.

Today, though, is about Red River. About finishing Ben’s deal with Edgar, and praying that the Cornucopia is just an expensive statue or painting, or maybe even a bucket.

It’s probably not, but it could be. It would be so fucking easy if Edgar just wanted a very fancy bucket, and had decided to be as stress-inducing as possible about it. You have fifty dollars on the Cornucopia being a collection of classified Vought documents, but you’ll gladly lose that money to Frenchie’s bucket bet. You’ll do almost anything to lose that money, and just have to pick up a bucket. 

It was really the best possible option, and a lot easier to live with than Butcher’s very unhelpful bet of child, or MM’s bet of supe-killing weapon.

You were starting to think constant betting on life-ending events wasn’t a great way to run a CIA private-ops team. But you also didn’t have much else to do, and it was your only source of income, so if Butcher slams a fist on the table and yelled thirty quid that Sage and the Deep are fuckin, and that’s the only reason he ain’t dead, you’ll take that, amending your bet to they were fucking, but he gave her a fish-based STD and they stopped.

And it’s better to joke about these things, because the other option is dwelling on how truly fucked your life is. How much of the world hinges on you and the Boys getting this right, no fuck ups, no loose ends, no debts to Edgar or stupid mysteries to solve, just a dead Homelander and a bankrupt Vought.

Which is why you probably should’ve talked to A-Train as soon as MM told you Red River was a go. There were things you did have to do, like tracking Sage’s movements and speeches, keeping up with the various news and theories about your disappearance, preparing to meet with Singer and Muller, and working out a plan to get the V into Homelander, but you still had free time. You used a fair amount of it to help Ryan do his homework, or visit Annie and Hughie, or talk to Kimiko, but the majority of it was dedicated to Ben. Watching TV with him, training with him, cooking with him and laughing with him and fucking him. Sitting half on his lap when you made him and Ryan lunch, visiting them in the gym and talking to Ryan about books as Ben traced patterns on the skin of your leg.

Some of that time could’ve been sacrificed to visit A-Train. But you hadn’t wanted to. You’d wanted to let Ryan show you his progress, and feeling the undeniable pride flash and inflate over Ben’s chest. And it wasn’t like A-Train was going anywhere. Most of his time was spent sulking in his apartment, attending occasional dinners and refusing to participate in conversation. You didn’t judge that—it wasn’t like Ben was any better, you’re pretty sure that if it wasn’t for you and Ryan he’d be a hermit—but it did make talking to him feel less urgent. He was always in the same mood, annoyed, so you never had to worry about catching him at the right time.

It’s dependable. How when you knock on his door, it opens in a second and A-Train watches you with a weary, uneasy glare.

“What are you doing here.”

You frown, crossing your arms with a shrug. “Visiting you.”

“Why.”

“Am I not allowed to-“

“We’ve barely spoken since you got back,” A-Train snaps. “So why now. What do you want.”

“I don’t-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, guilt sparking in your gut. “Can I come in? To talk?”

A-Train looks you up and down, and for a second you think he’s going to turn you down. To tell you to eat shit and fuck off, let him wallow in peace. But he steps back, and jerks his head into the apartment, waiting for you to step inside before almost knocking you over with a gust of wind as he runs to sit at his dining room table.

You move to join him, glancing around the apartment and realizing it’s bare bones. Everyone has done something with their space—even Butcher’s black and white, cold-war akin minimalism has improved with Ryan moving in—but A-Train’s only has the basics. The generic, catalog type furniture the CIA provided to start with, nothing on the walls or floor, no plants or blankets or small pieces of evidence that someone lives here. If it wasn’t for the crumb-covered plate on the counter, you’d have mistaken it for one of the empty apartments.

“This isn’t my home,” A-Train mutters, and you realize you’d been staring. “It’s temporary. Until you dumbasses do your jobs and this shit is finished, then I can go home for real.”

“Is that what you want to do?” You tilt your head at him, lowering yourself into the seat opposite him. “When we’re done? Go home?”

“What else is there to do?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “You could try the hero thing for real-“

A-Train scoffs. “We both know there’s no world where that works. If it’s not another Vought, it’ll be the government fucking things up. They’ll build more places like this,” he nods to the wall and ceiling, giving you a flat look. “And turn supes into weapons instead of celebrities. At least with Vought they had to worry about approval ratings and quarterly sales. The CIA won’t.”

He’s right. You know he’s right, deep down, because you don’t have a retort or argument in your head that doesn’t circle back to being in his favor. It’s why you don’t trust Mallory, because in the end her loyalty isn’t to you, it’s to the government. To an overall, subjective greater good. In a careful order with minimal damage to the least people, without elimination of the problem altogether. Homelander’s death, Vought’s downfall, won’t fix the supe problem.

“What would you have the supes do after?” You ask A-Train, tone slow and cautious. “They won’t go into retirement, but we can’t just kill them. I mean, this has been your whole life-“

“I didn’t want it, though. I mean, I did want the money and the fame, but everyone wanted the money and the fame. I didn’t ask for this shit, it’s not my job to make it better.”

“You still did things you didn’t have to, though.” Your fingers tap against the wood of the table as you frown at him. “You’re not innocent, just because you didn’t start this. Whether or not you asked for it, you still benefited. You could’ve walked away at any point-“

“What, like Annie?” A-Train rolls his eyes. “Use my powers for good, fight against the system?”

“Maybe, yeah-“

“You can’t fight against this system,” A-Train hisses your name, and leans over the table with a scowl. “I just gamed it, and you can’t fucking blame me for that. I’m helping you because it’s the right thing, but that’s it. I’m not cleaning up the mess after.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you snap, your patience fraying. You don’t want to fight, but you’re still really tired, and you’re getting more and more sick of people just telling you they’ll only help on their terms. “I’m just pointing out that you’re not a victim. And yeah, you left Vought, and you’re helping us, but only because it’s convenient to your bottom line. If you really want to make up for everything, you’ll do something that’s not easy for you.”

“This shit isn’t-“

“It is. For you, it really is. Your family is safe and you’re not in any real danger. You’re hiding, not fighting. And I know you want to do something more-“

“No, I don’t.” A-Train sneers. “You don’t want to do this. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about picking up with Soldier Boy and just leaving, letting the people who actually fucked the world up put it back together. Hell knows I want to-“

“But you haven’t. You’re still here, just like I am, because you know that the people who fucked this won’t fix it. We have to-“

“We don’t have to do anything-“

“We do. There’s no after until we’re done. And nobody’s going to finish this but us. And us includes you.”

A-Train pauses, examining your set, taut features. “You thought about after?”

“A little, yeah.” You pause, taking a long breath and focusing on Ben’s love, still beating in your chest. “I will say you were right about that. It helps.”

“You going to make a life with Soldier Boy?” A-Train watches you carefully. “Or keep working for a bunch of ungrateful government dicks?”

“I’m not sure,” you mumble, letting a little bit of your frustration leave your fingers and stomach. “But a life does sound nice.”

“With Soldier Boy?”

“With Ben.” Always with Ben. Whether or not you’re dealing with the aftermath or living a peaceful, happy life far away from the mess in your wake, you’ll be doing it with Ben.

A-Train nods, and grunts, “Congrats on that, by the way.”

“Um,” you sigh, giving him an apologetic glance. “Look, I’m sorry about the whole you have to keep it a secret thing-“

“I was fine. It was annoying as shit, but mostly because he was so clearly fucking obsessed with you.” A-Train shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “You can’t sit in a room with that guy for ten minutes without the conversation somehow becoming about you. So good work.”

You flush, and Ben’s love hums inside you. “Oh. Thanks?” 

“No problem.”

“Do you have an after? Will you go back to your family?”

“They won’t take me,” A-Train mutters, eye dropping to glare at the table. “My brother won’t forgive me, and that means I won’t get to see my nephews. I’ll probably just fuck off.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I always wanted to go to those huge fucking mountains, the Rockies.”

“You’ve never been to the Rockies-”

“For press shit, yeah.” A-Train leg stops bouncing, his frown deepening. “But I wanted to go for myself.”

You hum. “So home will be Colorado-”

“Home,” A-Train mutters. “Will be any shit hole in the world that’s not here.”

You understand that. For the rest of your life, no matter where you go, there will always be a small part of you that’s afraid of the New York skyline. Even when it’s irrational, you’ll hate skyscrapers that Homelander could be watching you from, and billboards that could slide to his cruel, cold, evil smile watching you with teeth like eyes. You’re going to be haunted by the small things for a while. Even when Ben is there, you’re going to be crippled by leather and coconut and blue and the hum of a ceiling fan. It will get better, time and love will make it better, but it will always be a scar that follows you everywhere. It’s part of what’s making you tired, being here. Where Homelander and the CIA are still an ax over your head, looming closer and closer as you near the end.

“Would you want to go back to your family?”

Your question is measured and slow, and A-Train huffs. “Of course I fucking would. But Nate-“

“Forgiveness is earned.” You shrug. “You can’t just take it. It has to be given.”

“Whatever.”

You glare at him. “I’m serious. If you ever want there to be a chance for your brother to forgive you, you’ll have to prove you’ve changed.” 

He snorts, expression bored and flat. “And you’re going to tell me the only way is to step up, be a hero.”

“Wrong.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You don’t know me. Or what I’m going to say. And I don’t know your family, so I was done there. Maybe you’ll have to be a hero, maybe you’ll just have to be selfless once, and that will be it. But I don’t know.”

“Fine.” A-Train mutters, his eye roll not subtle, but also not filled with toxins. “You want to tell me what you’re here for now?”

You could keep pushing, but you don’t. It’s not your job to fix A-Train, so you leave it. Taking a long breath, chewing on your lip and studying A-Train’s passive frown. “Red River.”

A-Train blinks. “What?”

“The supe orphan-“

“I know what Red River is. Why are you talking about it?” 

You swallow. “Has anyone mentioned the whole Stan Edgar thing to you?”

A-Train’s eyes widen. “No. Nobody tells me shit, what did Edgar do-“

“Technically nothing,” you mumble. “Ben sort of owes him a favor. We have to get something for him, from Red River. And I wanted to ask if you have any idea what it might be.”

“He didn’t tell you?” A-Train frowns, and you’re grateful he doesn’t dwell on the Ben owes Edgar a favor thing. To be fair, it’s probably because he doesn’t care, but it still makes this a lot easier.

“Nope. Just said to pick up the Cornucopia and bring it back to him.”

“The Cornucopia? Like one of those weird horns?”

A-Train either has genuinely no clue what you’re talking about, or is an incredible actor. You don’t think it’s the latter, because his look of such pure confusion is hard to fake.

“We don’t know,” your brow draws together as you try to remember every idea for what the Cornucopia could be, and how likely a literal cornucopia was in comparison to Kimiko’s pitch of just a lot of money. “Maybe. But it sounds like a codename, and I wanted to know if you had any sort of idea about it. Or anything about Red River that we might not know.”

“You ask Annie?” 

You shake your head. “She knows just as much about it as the rest of us. But you were there longer-“

“I also got kicked out for a year, in case you idiots forgot. And I wasn’t exactly Edgar’s best friend-“

“If you don’t know anything, just say that and I’ll leave. You don’t need to be a dick.”

A-Train blinks. “Really.” 

His voice is flat, disbelieving, and you sigh. “Yeah. Really. I’m not here to fight, I just had to ask. If you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“I,” A-Train hesitates, and he shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know. About the Cornucopia, I’ve never even heard of it. But Red River. I know some stuff about that.”

You’re silent, giving him a sharp nod to continue as you go still in your chair.

“It’s not just Vought that funds it. It’s subsidized, by the government.”

“How do you-“

“Ashley told me.” A-Train says, shifting slightly in his chair as his legs start to shake the table. “After you guys pretended to kill Neuman, she had to go through all their records and make sure nobody could figure out the connection. And she found records from the past thirty years, massive tax write-offs without explanation, that essentially pay for half of that place.”

You nod slowly. “And she didn’t know before.” 

“No.” A-Train gives a dry snort. “They tell her less than they told me.”

“So,” you bite your tongue, picking out your words carefully. “It’s a federal sponsorship. The IRS would have to approve the write-offs.”

“I guess-“

“It makes sense why they would. Don’t want rogue, unstable parent-killing babies running around with the general public. And the government has to have known about compound V for a while, they sponsored the Soldier Boy trials as well.” You frown into the air, rising to your feet as your brain continues to turn. “Um, thanks,” you glance back down at A-Train, still in his seat. “This was helpful.”

“Are you-“

“I have to go. But, really, thank you.” You give him an awkward thumbs up, walking backwards to the door. “I just need to figure something out. Now.”

You half run into the hall, and don’t wait for the door to close behind you to shout down your line to Ben.

Red River is government funded.

There’s only a split-second pause before he responds. What.

A-Train says Red River gets huge tax write-offs, for no reason. Enough to cut the cost in half.

How the fuck does he-

Ashley told him. This isn’t good, Ben. Red River covered up compound V’s less than ideal results, and the government has to have had a reason to cover up V. It can’t just be the kindness of their hearts. There has to be some sort of deal.

The government and Vought were real fucking tight in my day. Maybe it’s just a roll over from then, and none of these dumb fucking pussies have noticed.

No, it’s only the past thirty years. That’s in the nineties, after Vought and the government drifted away from each other. And it’s millions of dollars, someone would have noticed.

Well that’s all I fucking had, Sunshine. What do you-

I don’t know. You sigh. I’m worried though. We’re going there this afternoon, and if it’s government sponsored-

No telling who the fuck will be waiting for us.

Exactly. We need to-

You yelp as someone filled with tension across their body and a bitter, foul hollow in their chest grabs your arm, and yanks you into a dark room. Your fist makes contact with something, you hear a crunch, and then a shout of pain.

“The bloody hell is your problem?!” You hear shuffling—a few things falling over and several more low grunts—and a light flicks on. You’re in a cleaning supply closet, and Butcher is glaring at you like he wants to kill you, holding his bloody nose with one hand. “You ain’t allowed to just fuckin punch people-“

“I’m allowed to punch people who drag me into dark closets! For the second fucking time!” You snap, keeping an eye on Butcher as you turn inwards to Ben, pounding in your chest as his voice roars your name in your head.

God fucking damnit, his voice is strain, his love pulling tight over your chest. Fucking answer me-

I’m okay, you glare at Butcher, who’s shifting through the shelves for some paper towels, blood dripping on the floor. Butcher pulled me into a closet, instead of just asking me to talk like a normal fucking person.

A weight dissipates from your lungs, and something loosens from around your throat. Fucking Christ, Sunshine, you nearly gave me a heart attack.

You can’t get heart attacks-

Shut the fuck up, I’m serious. Don’t do that.

You sigh. He’s getting better about the overprotection—you haven’t fought about Red River again, and he’s not trying to push against you going to the next Singer meeting—but it’s never going to fully stop. He’s Ben, worrying over you and caring about you is how he shows you he loves you. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t adorable, that it didn’t make you love him all the more. The darker side of it breaks your heart, the fear—though he’ll never call it that himself—that eats at Ben, that he’ll fail you again. But in better moments, it’s Ben wrapping himself over your body, shoving food in front of you with a scowl, and kissing you like he’s just returned from war when you’ve only been apart for two hours. 

This is born from the fear, though. So you make your voice soft, gentle and soothing. I know. I’m okay, I promise.

Good. There’s a pause, and then, what the fuck does Butcher want.

Don’t know yet, he’s mostly just being a massive bitch about me breaking his nose.

You broke his nose?

I think. You squint at Butcher, trying to tell if the crooked shape of the bridge was you, or one of the countless other people who also decided his face was punchable. Probably.

Ben glows in your chest, his voice smug. That’s my girl.

Thank you. Your face flushes, and his chuckle bounces around your ribs. Are you done with Ryan?

Just finished. He told me to tell you that he finished reading Percy Jackson, and I told him to tell you himself-

You just did tell me, Ben.

Shut the fuck up.

Did he really finish already? The books arrived yesterday-

It’s not like he’s got a fuck ton else to do. It’s just reading those damn books, and training with me. He’s getting fucking good, by the way. Did a clean cut on the target today, so get ready to hear about it for a damn year at dinner.

You smile into the air, something so incredibly bright and strong easing over your heart. We won’t be at dinner, Ben. We have Red River.

Fuck. There’s a pause, and then, We do. Forgot to tell him-

I’ll have Butcher do it. And tell that we’ll have breakfast with him tomorrow morning.

We-

Yes, we. You’re making pancakes. Talk when I’m home?

You hear his grunt, and can perfectly picture his small, rough nod. Fine.

I love you.

I love you too, Sunshine. Tell Butcher to eat my fucking taint.

You have to know I’m not going to do that-

“You done bein all fuckin lovey-dovey with Soldier Boy? I ain’t got a million damn years, Love, and I’m sure he’ll be all laid out and ready to fuck when we’re finished.”

I’ll see you at home, Benjamin. You glare at Butcher—the bleeding has stopped, plugged by two tissues stuffed in his nostrils—as Ben turns back into a warm imprint near your heart and a faint smell of pine around you. “You kidnapped me-“

“This ain’t a kidnappin-“

“And I’m busy, what’s so urgent that-“ You cut yourself off, swallowing down your words as you look around the closet. “Do they bug the storage spaces?”

“Nah, I did a real tight sweep before, ain’t nothin in here but spiders and windex-“

You whirl around, locking the door. “I need to ask you something.”

“I’m the one who’s askin you-“

“And if you want an answer,” you turn back around, glaring at Butcher and crossing your arms. “You’ll answer my question.”

“I thought you were in a fuckin hurry.” Butcher sneers. “Suddenly you got the time when I can be your question whore-“

“Shut up. Did Mallory approve Red River?”

Butcher coughs. “She, ah, she ain’t aware we’re going.”

You blink at him, gaping slightly. “At all?”

“She thinks we’re still in-fighting. Deliberatin. Hughie gonna drive you lot in my car, she won’t even know you bloody left-“

“Yeah, that’s not what I’m worried about.” You sigh, narrowing your eyes at Butcher. “Why. Why haven’t you told her.”

Butcher shrugs. “Same fuckin reason you gave me the V and not her, I reckon.”

There’s a silence for a second as you and Butcher glare at each other, neither of you willing to say it first.

You don’t have all day, though, so it’s good that Butcher breaks when he does.

“I don’t trust her with Ryan. She still wants to use him against Homelander, but he’s ain’t ready for that. Becca,” Butcher tugs one of the tissues out of his nose, crumpling it in his hand. “She wouldn’t have wanted that. She’d have fuckin loathed the idea.”

“Okay.” Your fingers start to tap against your arm, and you lean back against the door. “Why don’t you trust her on Red River.”

Butcher drops the blood-stained tissue to the ground, kicking it under a shelf. “You don’t trust her on Red River.”

“You don’t trust me-“

“I trust you with Ryan.” His words are clipped and shot, and he holds your glare. “You ain’t gonna put him in danger, and he likes you. Thinks you’re fuckin sliced cotton candy and coke. Grace don’t trust you, but she thinks you ain’t able to see the bottom line-“

“Because of Ben.” You mutter, nails digging into your skin, and Butcher scoffs.

“We don’t got to keep pretending, Love. You’ll blow the whole fuckin world up for that cunt.”

“I-”

“But you’d do that shit for Ryan, too.” Butcher’s glare doesn’t soften, but it wavers. And you realize it was never hateful, just guarded. Like Butcher’s still trying to find a reason to hate you, and it’s frustrating him that he can’t. “And you’re still fuckin here. You’re still fightin, and I ain’t gonna police you if you’re gettin results. You and Soldier Boy hurt my fuckin eyes with all your damn moonin over each other, but are less bleedin unstable cock-twats when you’re together, so I ain’t gonna compromise that either.”

“Compromise-“

Butcher gives you a flat look. “We both know if Grace knew what was really up with this Red River shit, she’d cut it off at the bloody head, and Edgar wouldn’t be real fuckin pleased with Soldier Boy. Think of it as an olive branch. I’ll keep your back if you don’t fuckin stab me in mine.”

You extend a hand. “Deal.”

Butcher hesitates, glancing at your bare skin, then back up to your bored, neutral face, his expression uneasy. And just when you think he’s going to tell you to take his word, his hand shoots out. His grip is like iron—as if he thinks he can keep the empathy away from his body through sheer, brute will—and a rush of that same, souring and shadowed feeling rushes through your body. It’s tired, but not like you. This tired isn’t cold and cracked, it’s like a tornado. Pushing and pushing and pushing, tearing through the world in just a little more until it’s forced to drop.

The feeling is yanked from your body as Butcher releases you, taking a step back and rubbing his hand like you’d burned him—you hadn’t, you’d been very careful not to burn him—and you run your tongue over your teeth, raising your brows at him.

“You wanted to ask me something.”

Butcher nods—hands sliding into his pockets as he looks you up and down—and his words sound forced, like he hates saying them. “What was it like. Bein made into a supe as an adult.”

You’ve tried not to think about that. You’ve locked that memory—of the V being pumped into your body—far, far in the back of your head. It had felt like death, and every time after the first had only been worse. It had been everywhere, ripping apart your body and searing into your bones, boiling your blood and freezing your organs and muscles and nerves. Your whole body had only been pain. You can’t pass out because you’re being kept awake by this pain. It’s not blinding or numbing or deafening, it’s consuming. Everywhere in your body had been pain.

“It,” you pause, taking a long, steady breath. “It hurt. A lot.”

“How fuckin long.”

“It changed every time. First shot was the longest, but the ones after hurt more.”

Butcher shifts slightly on his feet. “Does it feel different. Than bein human.”

“I’m still human-“

“You know what I bloody meant-“

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m fucking correcting you.” Butcher almost flinches at your tone—sharp and cool—but doesn’t break your gaze as you continue. “I’m still fucking human, Butcher. I didn’t turn into a monster, or an animal, or an alien. I’m a human, and that’s it.”

Butcher’s lip curls. “We both know it ain’t that fuckin simple. I got a career in callin supe bullshit, Love, stompin them out when they stop pretendin to be human-“

“Nobody’s pretending to be anything, they’re just human-“

“I’ll believe that when I’m shown some fuckin evidence-“

“You have seen evidence,” you hiss, a slight itch under your skin but no smoke curling from your fingers. “You live with the fucking evidence. Kimiko’s evidence, Annie’s evidence, I’m fucking evidence. If I wasn’t human anymore, I’d have never even bothered working with you. You would have cornered me in the graveyard, and I would’ve just killed you. At any given point in the past year, I could’ve just fucking killed you. But I didn’t, because murder makes me feel bad. And you’ve killed a fuck ton more people than Annie and I combined.”

“What about your beloved Ben?” Butcher sneers, back straightening as he returns your glare with a mocking tone. “He ain’t any better than I am, I’d wager he’s got the blood of fuckin hundreds on his hands. Blood that wouldn’t be there if not for the V.”

That’s not the shot at you Butcher thinks it is. You’d spent hours fighting with yourself over that, and you’ve always drawn the same conclusion. You don’t care. As long as Ben keeps trying, keep proving to you in a thousand different ways that he cares—really, really cares about you and Ryan and, to a certain degree, your friends—you don’t care who he was. It’s not your job to forgive him, he’s never actually hurt you, but you don’t hold who he was against him. 

But you also know everything sadistic and crude that Ben did still wasn’t the V, it was him. He was a byproduct of his father, of Vought, of that razing and obliterating anger you’ve felt in him from the start, but it was still Ben who put the blood on his hands himself. 

Just like it’s Ben who’s wiped the stains of blood off of yours. Ben who’s been the first person to tell Ryan that none of this fucking shit is your fault, kid. Your dad’s an ass-leeching cock-pulling pussy, and you’re not. That’s fucking it, so don’t feeling guilty about something you didn’t do. Sins of the father, right Sunshine? and have Ryan believe it. Ben who kisses the space between your eyes and makes you smile and picks you up when you’re too tired to make the small walk up the stairs. Ben who gave Ryan an awkward, well-meaning pat on the head when Ryan had managed to hit a moving target for the first time, and made a wide-eyed, adorably confused face when Ryan had hugged him right after, but still returned the hug without hesitation. 

“He’s better,” you keep your voice bored and passive, angling your chin up to look down at Butcher, even as he stands above you. “He’s being better. I’ll never pretend he hasn’t done horrible things, but he’s changed, and that’s proof that he’s still human. Homelander’s a human as well, he’s just a horrible one. The V doesn’t turn people evil, Butcher, it’s their actions and choices.”

Butcher’s silent, and when you examine his face in the florescent light of the closet, he’s paler than you've seen him before, and his nose keeps twitching with his jaw, as if he’s trying to fight down a bad smell or taste.

“Why are you asking?” You know why he’s asking. You’re just testing if he’s willing to tell you. See how far this deal of got your back goes. You think Butcher is going to tell you to mind your own fuckin business.

He doesn’t. And you trust him a little more.

“I ain’t shot up yet,” Butcher grunts your name, whole body tenses like he might make a break for it at any second. “So get the fuckin thought out of your head-“

“You’re thinking about it though, aren’t you.”

He scowls. “That’s not your bloody business-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I gave the V to you because I don’t want it to be, so I’m not going to make this choice for you, Butcher-“

“I ain’t askin you to-“

“But,” you continue, ignoring Butcher’s protests. “I can tell you it hurts. It really hurts, and you feel like you’re going to die, and you might. This V isn’t the stable, mass-produced V. Ben says he and I are the only survivors. And if we count Stormfront, that’s three out of a hundred and fifty-two users that survived. Your odds aren’t great, but they’re not non-existent, and nobody’s allowed to make that gamble but you.” You tilt your head at Butcher, at his bloodless features, washed out in the light of the closet. “I can also tell you it won’t make you evil. If you take the chance, and it pays off, you’re still going to be you. And if you go on a rampage, killing anyone in your path, that will still be you. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. Got it?”

Butcher looks like he wants to yell at you, or taunt you, or maybe punch you. His jaw grinds as he nods, hands jammed almost violently into his pockets, and when you turn to leave he makes a low, strangled cough, pausing your hand on the door knob.

“I die,” he grunts, eyes resting uneasily on yours. “What will you do with Ryan.”

“Take care of him.” You don’t even have to think before you answer, the words almost falling out of your mouth. “We’ll make sure he’s safe. Just like now.”

“You and Soldier Boy.”

“Yeah. And tell him we’ll have breakfast with him tomorrow.” You give a tight nod, turning the handle slowly. “We done?”

Butcher makes a low huff, and you take it to be one of affirmation. And if it wasn’t, Butcher doesn’t try to stop you from opening the door and stepping out into the hall, leaving him alone in the flickering light of the closet.

It’s not your problem how this ends for Butcher. If he has an after, if he wants an after. He has his hand to play, and how he uses it isn’t within your control. But he’s got your back now, and you won’t stab him in his. Mostly because your back is your after—if this could be over before summer ends, A-Train was right, you really need to think about an after—and your after involves Ryan. Every fantasy and thought of a world with no Homelander. A world that’s still in ruins, but the storm has passed and now you can dedicate yourself to rebuilding, is you and Ben—always you and Ben—and Ryan. And Annie, and Hughie, and Kimiko and Frenchie and MM. Butcher is, against your better judgment, welcome as well.

But Butcher’s back is only Ryan. Your back is something better. A lifetime of smiling and watching Ben’s face light up with a pride you can feel in his ribs, of Ryan getting a real childhood, of having conversations with your friends that aren’t overshadowed by the constant fear that plagues all your lives.

So you have Butcher’s back. If he has his own back isn’t your problem.

You have enough problems to worry about as it is. There are two hours left until you, Ben, Hughie, and Kimiko leave for Red River. If Mallory doesn’t know you’re going, then you’re probably in the clear, but you still have to figure out some precautions.

You, Hughie, and Kimiko will have to turn off your cell-phones. There’s going to have to be a very strict no murder rule, as opposed to the usual, looser maim if necessary, and if that kills them, they should’ve tried harder not to die, rule. Someone will have to keep an eye on the door, and any Red River employees who might identify your identities. Ben won’t be able to wear his supe suit, and he’s not going to be happy about that.

He’s waiting for you when you walk into the apartment. Sitting at the dining table, fists curled on the wood and already glowering at you when you walk through the door.

“The fuck did Butcher want.”

You cross the room to Ben’s side—it’s half on instinct, your legs moving without thought—and wrinkle your nose at him. “No hello? Just straight to business, not even going to wine and dine me?”

“If you want me to wine and dine you right fucking now, Sunshine, all you have to do is ask.” He grins, turning his chair out and pulling you between his legs, letting your hands brace on his broad shoulders. “But you’re always on my damn ass about priorities-“

Ben’s words fall into a deep hum as you lean down—taking his stupid, smug, unreasonably attractive face between your hands—and give him a long, soft kiss. His hands tighten on your hips, tugging you down until you fall forwards, straddling his lap and leaning onto his chest.

You separate in harmony, Ben kissing your brow as you take a long, ragged breath, running your fingers through his beard, sitting in the feeling of his love. Warm and focused and alive in your body, paired with the gentle patterns his hand is tracing on your upper thigh, and the way that—when you look up to meet his eyes—he’s watching you the same way he always does. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen, and you’re only getting better with time.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Ben’s grin overtakes his whole face, sending something in your brain in a haywire of Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben.

“Hi, my love.” He bumps his nose with yours, and you can’t stop the easy, bright giggle that escapes you. Not when it makes the love in him start to roll around, beating against his chest to move further into you. “You want business later? Because I have a few fucking ideas for the pleasure-“

“You always have ideas for that. I’m pretty sure half your thoughts are just ideas for fucking.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, and the movement makes his cock—half-hard in his sweatpants—brush against your thigh, causing your thighs to push together slightly. He notices, he always notices, the asshole, and winks at you. “And you fucking love it.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble, dropping your head to rest of his neck, his chuckle rumbling through every part of your body.

“I will, right goddamn now if you want.” Ben’s arm around your waist drops, letting him squeeze your ass once as he lowers his mouth to brush over your ear. “But we won’t get any fucking business done, beautiful. Once you say the word, we’re going for the rest of the goddamn afternoon. So get all your lecturing and thoughts out now, before I fuck them out of you.”

You swallow, hugging his torso and squirming a little further up his body. He gives a low groan, and you smile against his skin. Think you’ll be able to pay attention, Benjamin? Sure you can focus on something other than fucking for fifteen minutes?

Ten.

We’re not negotiating-

The fuck we aren’t. You get ten minutes, then I get started.

We have two hours before we have to go-

And we’ll have to shower all the fucking cum off of you, and I’ll probably fuck you in there as well. Nine minutes.

You sigh against him, force yourself not to think about how he’s all sweaty from the gym—how you can taste the salt on his skin and feel his arms flexing around you—and start running through the highlights. I was right, Butcher’s going to use the V on himself. He wanted to know what it was like, when they injected me with it.

What did you tell him.

That it hurt. A lot.

Ben nods, his chin resting on the top of your head. I remember that shit. Felt like someone was fucking flaying me alive. He pauses, and you can hear the hitch of his breath in his throat. Did it hurt every time. When those science pussies did the other shots.

Yeah. More, actually.

You feel that sore ache, solid and wrathful and bloody, flare over your skin—Ben’s skin—and sigh into him.

There’s nothing you could’ve done about that, Ben. We didn’t even know each other-

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to fucking kill the cock-heads that did it. His love and care—all made of stone and zeal—rumbles through you with his voice, and his arms tug you a little closer. Nobody should fucking hurt you-

But they did, and it’s done. And I killed them already, so don’t throw a temper tantrum.

I’m not throwing a fucking temper tantrum-

Yes, you are. You kiss Ben’s throat, and a low grunt escapes his chest as you smile against him. But I love you for it, you giant fucking man child.

Shut the fuck up. His words are grumbled between your heads, but you can feel the glow in him start to spread over his every muscle and bone. Five minutes. What about A-Train. Red River.

Mallory doesn’t even know we’re going, so we’re good. We’ll have to be careful, though. No powers, no murder, no going off book.

What fucking book, we’re always just making this shit up as we go-

You look up, giving Ben a flat look. Let’s say the Genova conventions and call it a day. No war crimes.

It’s a goddamn orphanage-

Extra reason to be careful. We’re going in, getting the Cornucopia, and leaving. That’s it.

Ben rolls his eyes, but nods. A-Train got any idea what the fuck we’re getting, or is he still being a useless fucking pussy.

Nothing. You sigh, leaning back in Ben’s arms and tapping your fingers against his chest. Said he’d never even heard of it.

Because he’s fucking useless-

He’s trying, Ben. And Annie hadn’t heard of it either, I just wanted to cover all our bases. We’re going to find out soon anyway.

If it’s another fucking kid-

It’s not going to be another kid. Butcher’s just dramatic.

But if it is, we should keep it. 

You blink at him. What?

I don’t trust Edgar with a kid, and Ryan needs friends who aren’t fucking us and Kimiko. Like Neuman’s kid, he said they were friends. We should bring them here-

Are you trying to start a new orphanage? You give him a look of disbelieving amusement, tracing a hand over his jaw. Soldier Boy’s home for wayward baby supes? Am I going to come home one day and we’ll suddenly have a bunch of stray children?

That sore, itching embarrassment starts to crawl over Ben’s skin. Shut the fuck up, I’m just saying that if it’s a kid, we shouldn’t just fucking give it to Edgar-

We won’t, I promise. But I really don’t think it’s going to be a kid, Ben.

He sighs. Yeah, you’re holding out for the fucking bucket still.

It would make things easier-

Things are never fucking easier, Ben mutters your name in the silence, searching your face carefully. And I’ve fucking got you, but this might backfire. You need to goddamn swear to me you’ll be ready-

I’m ready for anything, Pretty Boy. You give him a kiss on the cheek, pressing your brow to his. And if it’s a kid, we’ll figure out what to do. Together.

You open your eyes, and find him still watching you, and if you couldn’t feel his adoration, you could see it. It’s painted all over his face, glazing over his eyes as he looks at you. He’s everything, and the whole universe feels trapped between your bodies, floating around somewhere near the place where that part of you—alive in him—calls you back home. To Ben, every time.

I love you, Sunshine, his hand has drifted up your back, tangling in your hair. Christ, I really fucking love you.

I know. You smile, and all your love for him explodes through every part of the world as he grins back. I love you too, Benjamin. And I’d very happily run a supe orphanage with you. I’d happily do most things with you, you massive fucking cunt.

Good. Ben gives a small nod, his face suddenly falling into an intense concentration. Time’s up. 

You yelp as Ben’s hold on you becomes firm, and he stands up in one, smooth movement, your body barely shifting against him as he marches you up the stairs.

“Ben-“

“I was goddamn serious earlier,” he grunts your name, glancing down at you with a smirk. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. You’re always fucking beautiful, but when you cum you’re a fucking wonder of the world. And I want to watch.”

“You, um,” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the rush of smug satisfaction blurring in with Ben’s hunger, and how it makes the heat between your legs start to throb. “You always watch me-“

“Not like I’m about to,” he grunts, kicking the door to your room open. “I want to see the whole fucking thing.”

“The whole thing-“ 

“You’re going to touch yourself,” he mutters, lowering you carefully onto the mattress. “And I’m going to watch. Cum just from fucking watching. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, shivering as Ben traces careful fingers over the waistline of your pants. “That’s, yeah. I can do that.”

He huffs a small laugh, and kisses you. Long and deep and rough, his tongue pushing down your throat within a second, sucking on your lips as he lowers you onto your back. “I know you can. You’re so fucking good for me,” he hums your name onto your skin, leaving sloppy kisses over every single part of your face he can reach. “So fucking pretty, fucking perfect. It’s a goddamn threat to my health, how much I fucking love you. Ready?”

Your nod is frantic, and just as you start to grind up into him, Ben draws back up to his full height, and pulls his shirt over his head. You might be drooling a little bit, but you have the right to. Ben’s huge, and muscular, and his hair is already messy, his whole body already covered in sweat he hadn’t bothered to wash off—he probably knew the benefit of keeping it, based only on the cocky glint in his eyes as you take him in—and you want to touch him. This man is yours. He’s everything, he loves you, and every part of him is for you. His defined chest and abdomen you want to trail your fingers over, his handsome, stupid face you want kiss, his soft hair you want to tug at and his big, calloused fingers you want him to push inside of you, or tease you, or stick in your fucking mouth-

“Words, my love,” he growls, and you can’t manage to drag your eyes back up to his, away from where he’s pulling off his sweats, and boxers and-

“Ready,” you’re definitely drooling, in at least two places. He’s already hard, his cock standing at attention, and massive, and thick, and you need him. “Please-“

Ben pushes you lightly back down as you try to sit up on your elbows, reaching for him. “Whole point of this is we don’t fucking touch, Sunshine. Think you’re going to live?”

He’s teasing you, but you might not. Ben’s started to stroke himself slowly, his eyes blown out with lust, and you’re not even undressed. Every nerve of your body is wired and electric, howling for you to just jump on him, let him relieve the pounding need between your legs, ram into you until you’re dizzy and the world is just a haze of Ben. He might be a drug, because you’ve never chased someone like this. You’ve never felt so hopelessly desperate for Ben to just fucking touch you, just a feather-like brush of his skin over yours, anything-

“Clothing off,” he grunts your name, and you start to move before you even fully register his words. You don’t think you’ve ever undressed so fast—rolling around the mattress as you tug off your pants and underwear, unclipping your bra and squirm to tug your shit over your head—and you can feel Ben’s eyes on you the whole time. Hear the small grunt leave his mouth as you fall fully back onto the sheets, entirely naked before him.

Look at me.

Your gaze drags back up to his eyes, your hips almost buck off the bed at the full sight of him. He looks starved, borderline animalistic. He’s still moving his hand so slowly over his cock, the head dripping with pre-cum, and his jaw clenches as your legs tangle in the sheets, squirming around them to try and chance some sort of relief. Your mouth is hanging open, your whole face already slack, and you can’t tear your gaze away from him. It’s like he’s locked you in place, and you can’t do anything but roll your hips on the mattress for friction.

Ben-

Touch that perfect pussy of yours, darling. Make yourself fucking cum.

Your hand shoots between your legs, moving over your clit in fast, tight movements, and you whimper as his nostrils flare.

Legs open. Let me see you.

A low groan leaves him as you spread your legs, his hand starting to beat against his cock in an unrelenting pace.

“Please-“

“Have to give it to yourself, Sunshine,” he grunts, every muscle of his chest flexing, and you start to grind onto your own hand. “Christ, you’re so fucking good, I can fucking smell how wet you are, hear your fucking heartbeat, so fucking perfect-“

You moan, your free hand moving up to pinch at your nipple. “Keep, fuck,” you throw your head back, trying to keep your eyes on him as your back arches off the mattress. “Keep talking, Ben, please-“

“You like me talking to you? Like when I tell you how fucking hard you make me, how fucking hot you are, how you drive me goddamn crazy with how fucking perfect you are, how all I ever think about is you?”

“God, yes-“

“I don’t know how I ever fucking lived with without you,” He growls your name, and your movements against your pussy grow rapid, three of your fingers pressing down and rubbing back and forth in a blur. “Everything you goddamn do makes me hard, because you’re so fucking good and hot and fuck-“ He takes a ragged breath, and you palm at your breast, spreading your legs until your thighs ache. “You’re my whole fucking world, darling, your fucking voice gets me going, turns me on when you hit me, when you walk, when you fucking smile and laugh, and I’ve never-“

“Please,” you cut over him, your toes curling in the mattress. “I, Ben, need to-“

“It’s damn killing me not to touch you, beautiful, but fucking Christ, you have no idea what you do to me-“ He cuts himself of with a groan, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “Need you to fucking cum for me, need to see you fucking cum-“

“Ben-“ His hips buck against his fist, and you whine. “Ben, please-“

“Cum, Sunshine-“

Your orgasm rips through your body, every part of you wracked with a high and blissful heat, a high, desperate moan falling out of your mouth as you thrash in the sheets. Your eyes never leave Ben’s, though, trapped by the hunger and love and devotion on his every feature. You’re just coming down when he groans, rutting into his fist, and falls over you as he finds his own release. His kiss is demanding—all teeth and spit and insatiable want—and you whine as he paints your stomach white, your hands tangling his hair as a second orgasm crashes into you. Cresting with Ben’s own until your whole body is loose under him, your breaths in an unsteady, even harmony with his.

Ben gives you one last, almost chaste kiss, and hauls himself off of you, scanning over his handiwork. He runs two fingers through the mess he left on your skin, using his free hand to pin you against the mattress when you squirm under his touch.

“You know what you did that time?” He hums, glancing up at you with a smirk. “You looked like one of those crystal fucking things, with the rainbows-“

“Prism,” you mumble, and his grin grows.

“Of course you know what the fuck I’m talking about.” He shakes his head, and you feel the glow inside him wrap around every inch of his body, running through his blood and over his skin. “Too fucking smart for your own good, Sunshine. Too fucking smart and perfect. You looked exactly like a goddamn prism, full of fucking light and color. So fucking beautiful, my love, drive me out of my goddamn mind.” He brings his fingers up to your mouth, raising a brow. “Taste.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your jaw drops open, and when Ben presses his broad fingers onto your tongue, you close your lips around him and suck. Scraping with teeth, swirling your tongue over the pads of his fingers, drinking his cum like it could possibly quench the undying thirst and desire for every single part of Ben, as close to you as he can possibly bring them.

“Good girl,” he grunts, pulling his fingers away and hauling you up to his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Fucking love you, Sunshine. More than anything.”

You smile at him, all of your blood still trading between your bodies as you crane your neck up to kiss him once, mumbling against his lips, “I love you too, Benjamin. We should shower-“

Ben’s arms drop below your thighs, and he cuts you off with another, slower kiss as he stands, carrying you to the bathroom without ever pulling his lips away.

In the end—despite Ben’s attempt at timely sex—you’re still late to meet Hughie and Kimiko for Red River. You’re in the shower for about two whole minutes before your chest is pinned to the tile walls, and you become lightheaded from both the steam and the way Ben is pounding into you, his hand mimicking your own previous movements on your clit until your legs give out as you cum. You can feel yourself squirt that time, but you’ll never tell Ben because it gets washed away in the water without him seeing. From there you take about forty five minutes to get dressed—you tell Ben he can’t wear his supe suit, and immediately distract him by jerking him off, which somehow inevitably leads to him fingering you—and when you’ve convinced him to leave the shield and just please follow you to the elevator, a gun in his pants and your sunglasses on your brow, you’re fifteen minutes past the agreed upon time.

Fortunately, Hughie and Kimiko are a lot more forgiving of your habit for taking schedules as a suggestion rather than a strict guideline than MM or Butcher. Your apologies are meet with a nervous shrug and two thumbs up, and by the time you’re in the backseat of Butcher’s car—leaning into Ben’s side as Kimiko takes shotgun and Hughie drives—you’re pretty sure MM might have accounted for your chronic tardiness when he’d told you when to leave, because you’re only going to be five minutes late.

Ben?

He grunts, tugging you a little further into his side, squeezing your shoulder in a silent instruction to continue.

What if it is a kid.

Then we’ll deal with it-

How, though. If it’s a kid, we can’t give it to Edgar. But you can’t stay in his debt-

Ben’s hand cups your chin, and he carefully guides you to meet his eyes. We’ll fucking deal with it. I can take of the Edgar shit, we’re not hurting a kid.

What if it’s a baby. We can’t keep a baby in the compound-

It won’t be a baby, Sunshine. Edgar said he’s been keeping it there for a while-

Maybe the V made it into a permanent baby. A permababy, Ben, I don’t know how to take care of a permababy-

What’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong-

Ben mutters your name in the hum of the engine, scanning over your face. Something’s wrong. You’re freaking the fuck out, for no goddamn reason. You don’t even think it’s going to be a kid, let alone a fucking baby-

But it could be-

It’s not going to be a fucking baby. What’s wrong.

You take a deep breath, holding onto his wrist and letting the stone resolve and concern steady your thoughts. I’m not freaking out, but I’m nervous. No matter what it is, it’s important. If it’s a weapon, we can’t give that to Edgar either. If it’s documents, what type of fucked up shit is worth hiding at this point? What if it’s just a box, and we can’t open it, so we don’t know? Fuck, Ben, what if it’s just a box-

He leans down, giving you a slow kiss to your lips until your body is relaxed against his, and your breathing is in an even pattern once more. I can break a fucking box, Sunshine. You can break a fucking box. Christ, Kimiko could break a fucking box. We’re going to deal with this, no matter what it is. Together.

But-

No. We’ll deal with it. That’s fucking that. Ben kisses your brow, tugging you onto his lap, your back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped over your middle. If it’s a box, I’ll break it. If it’s documents, you’ll figure them out. If it’s a kid, we’ll deal with it together. I’ve fucking got you, darling. You burn, I burn. 

You burn, I burn. You sigh, taking one of his hands between yours, turning it over in your fingers like you can find some sort of way out this, written on his knuckles or palms. Thank you.

Don’t. He squeezes your waist, guiding your hand—tangled in his—up to press a kiss on the back of it. I love you.

You smile, and Ben’s love wraps over your skin, keeping the world clear and safe in the smell of pine, the warmth of Ben’s body and devotion. I love you too.

“Hey, um,” Hughie coughs your name from the front seat, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. “I know Annie didn’t know anything about the Cornucopia, but she said you were going to try and talk to A-Train-“

“He didn’t know anything either. I think,” your fingers start to tap against Ben’s arm as you frown at the passing road. “It might be a good idea for someone to stay in the car. In case it’s something that’s… not great.”

Kimiko raises her hand, offering you a smile when you glance at her and signing, I can. Hughie’s been here before, and Soldier Boy won’t want to be separated from you.

You frown, signing back, Frenchie says you can’t drive.

I can drive, she shrugs, twisting in her seat to fully face you. Just not legally.

At this point, you’re past legality. Ben has to go in, you have to go in with him, and it’s probably smarter to bring Hughie than Kimiko, if only because Hughie has the best customer service persona out of all four of you.

Okay, you give Kimiko a small nod, before looking back to Hughie in the rearview. “Kimiko can stay in the car. You, Ben, and I will go in, get the Cornucopia, and get out.”

“Can Kimiko,” Hughie pauses, glancing at Kimiko with a weary frown. “Can you drive?”

I’m pretty sure, yeah. Gas, break, horn, headlights. I’ll get it.

“She says yeah,” you translate, deciding it’s not worth giving Hughie an anxiety attack. If things go south, Kimiko will be able to get you away from Red River, and probably do it fast. Things like the fact that she pointed at the wipers lever for the headlights aren’t that important. Sunset isn’t for a little while, and if it starts to rain, you’ll be set, so you let it go. “How much longer until we’re there?”

Hughie glances at his phone, propped in a cup holder. “Ten minutes.”

Kimiko gives you an eye roll. It would be five, but Hughie drives like a blind old lady. She gives him a glare. We already commit so many crimes, what’s speeding to murder?

You snort. I’m just happy it’s not Butcher. He has nothing to lose and he drives like we don’t either.

Does he, Kimiko points to Ben, and his arms tense slightly around you. Drive like an old person?

I don’t know, actually. The only time I was in a car while he was driving, I passed out. You glance up at Ben’s stoic, too passive face, giving him a soft smile as you continue to sign to Kimiko. He does a lot of things like an old person though. He won’t admit it, but I think our electric AC is confusing him. He always makes me change it for him.

He’s like a hundred, right? I’m impressed that he can use a phone.

Hundred and six. You look back to Kimiko, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. I know it’s weird, I try to ignore it.

Why, because you’re, Kimiko’s hands still, and she looks between you and Ben with a confused expression. Dating? You’re dating him?

Yeah. I mean, yeah to the weird. I think to the we’re dating. You shake your head, trying to physically clear your thoughts. Ben said we were, to Neuman, but we haven’t really talked about it.

You should talk to him about that. Annie told me talking about relationships is good. And I don’t think it’s that weird.

Really? You tilt your head at her, signing slowly. I mean. He’s a dinosaur. I love him more than life and he’s a grumpy old dinosaur.

Kimiko gives you a toothless, almost apathetic smile. Would you rather he date an eighty year old, break her hip during sex, and there is only a twenty year gap? At least this way you’re both happy.

I guess. You look down to Ben’s arms, a smile tugging at your lips when you realize he’s started to draw patterns over the skin of your stomach, and you’re not sure he even knows he’s doing it. He does make me happy. You sign, looking back up at Kimiko. And I think I make him happy.

You do make him happy. He’s an asshole, but he’s sort of okay now. He did call Frenchie a cowardly cigar pussy when Frenchie tried to take the ice cream in the freezer, but then he told us about MM’s donut stash.

Was it the malt vanilla? That Frenchie tried to take?

I think so.

You feel a rush of affection for Ben, and know the smile on your face is downright pathetic when you sign back to Kimiko. He loves that shit. Old fucking man.

You love him a lot.

You blink at Kimiko’s blunt phrasing, and forgo your many internally rehearsed speeches about why you love Ben. How he’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you trust him with anything, and every time he shuffles up to you, grumbling about how it’s really fucking hot, Sunshine. Why is it so fucking hot, it should never be this goddamn hot inside. Go hit the stupid buttons so I don’t leave a fucking sweat-stain on the couch, you love him a little more. Instead, you sign, yeah. He’s, he’s good. And he cares about me, a lot.

We all care about you, Kimiko gives you an amused look, pointing at Ben. He’s like a puppy. Or one of those airport dog videos MM loves. It’s good. You smile a lot now.

You do. It only hits you right then, how your lips and cheeks are almost always pulling in a wide, toothy, real and full smile. And not only for Ben—mostly for Ben—but for your friends. It’s easier to smile at them now, because you’d smiled at Ben and he’d returned it. It’s easier to do a lot of things now. For every item and experience that will always have a Homelander shaped shadow casting over it, there are two that will always be washed in a warm light that smells like pine and tastes like coffee and vanilla.

Thank you, your signing to Kimiko is cautious, careful. For giving him a chance. I know he’s not easy-

Kimiko shakes her head, and your hands freeze as she responds. He’s easier than before. With you. You’re both easier with each other, it’s obvious to us. She makes a quick gesture between herself and Hughie. Even if it’s not obvious to everyone else.

Mallory?

Yeah. Kimiko’s brow draws into a glare, and you know it’s not directed at you. She’s a bitch.

Yeah, you grin. Was she always a bitch? Or do I just bring that out in her?

I think she’s getting sick of us making messes. Kimiko’s glower deepens. I’d like to see her try to clean up blown up dick and follow the FBSA’s guidelines-

Kimiko’s gestures are cut off as the car slams to a halt, Hughie flinching and looking back at you and Ben with wide eyes.

“Sorry, the breaks are, uh, touchy. We’re here.”

It’s almost immediate to you—as Ben helps you out of the car and your eyes adjust to the sunlight—how painfully similar Red River looks to a prison. There’s no guard tower, but the large, brick building is blocked by a high, chain-link fence with barbed wire, and there are surveillance cameras on slow swivels, covering almost every bit of dirt and pavement.

Fuck, there are surveillance cameras-

Several loud bangs cut through the air, followed by a yelp from Hughie and a huff from Ben as he tucks his gun back into his pants.

“Shit!” Hughie shakes his head, gaping at Ben with an almost fearful indigence. “What the fuck was that, dude! We can’t just fire guns on private property-“

Hughie’s words falter as Ben shoots him a bored glare. “You should be damn thanking me, you dumb cockfuck.” Ben points up to the sizzling, cracked cameras, wires still slightly sparking. “We need to move, now.”

Hughie glances at you, and when you give him a small nod he returns it—giving Ben one last, anxious look—and leans into the window to hand Kimiko the keys.

Benjamin. You slap his arm over your shoulders, looking up at him with a dry expression. What did I say about being subtle-

We can’t have cameras see us, Sunshine, you fucking know that-

I do, you cross your arms, holding his glare with mostly just exasperation. Which is why I’m not mad. But there was probably a better way to do that, and now we’re on a timer. So please be careful. No yelling at the workers if they piss you off, no murdering people who piss you off, no inflicting any sort of disabling harm on people who piss you off-

Ben catches your hand—raised up to count each item on your list—and squeezes it once, grumbling your name in the breeze of the wind. I’ll follow your lead. But if I think there’s any sort of fucking danger-

You take over, I know. You bump his shoulder with yours, offering a small, light smile. I trust you. No calling any children pussies or dumb fucking cockheads.

I would never. He grins at you, a look of faux indigence painted over his handsome features, and your smile grows wider—more authentic—as his amusement runs through your blood and muscle. That shit doesn’t sound like me in the goddamn slightest. I’m a fucking gentleman, my love, you know that-

You reach a hand up to tangle in the back of Ben’s hair, pulling him down into an easy, gentle kiss, teasing your tongue over his lips and letting a content sigh when he hums against you. I love you, Benjamin. And you can be a gentleman, when you want to be, but you also called Frenchie a cowardly cigar pussy. So forgive me for making sure no children get told their legos look like fucking dogshit.

Ben chuckles, tugging you a little closer as he deepens the kiss. That what you and Kimiko were talking about? How Frenchie is a fucking whining pussy ice cream thief.

Maybe. Maybe we also talked about how you told Frenchie about MM’s donut stash. You’re going soft, Pretty Boy-

I am not going fucking soft. Ben bites your lower lip, smirking at the small, breathless moan he draws out of you. Ryan was there, and you’re always trying to teach him about that fucking kindess shit-

You pull back, giving him an amused look. Kindness would’ve been sharing the ice cream, dumb dumb.

Ben rolls his eyes. I don’t share my ice cream, it’s fucking mine-

You share with me.

That’s not the same. I love you.

It's such a simple sentence, and he’s said it so many times, but it’s yet to stop your body from filling with a bright, natural light. Ben says I love you like it’s obvious, and everything becomes a little sharper, all your thoughts a littler loud and cleaner in your head, no longer stained with blood or a muck of fear. You lean your head onto his shoulder and watch as Hughie and Kimiko finish their slightly disjointed exchange about the car. 

I love you too, Benjamin. Should I go help them-

You cut your own thought off in Ben’s head as Hughie stands back up, turning at you and Ben. “Kimiko’s all set, so I guess we’re up.”

When you look around the street, it’s almost deserted. You’ve parked on the curb, and there are a few, empty cars up and down the block, but you’re the only people in sight.

“Do we just” you nod to the gate, glancing at the barbed wire. “Jump it?”

Ben’s immediately on board with your plan—nodding and starting to back you both up a few paces—while Hughie goes pale, shaking his head and moving to try and block your path.

“There’s a doorbell!” He half-shouts, arms reached out, glancing over his shoulder to the wire. “We don’t need to jump anything-”

“No,” you tug yourself away from Ben’s hold, scanning over the wired fence. “If we ring the doorbell, they’ll ask who we are. We’d have to lie, and they’d try to check the cams, and we’d be fucked. There might be a back entrance, but we don’t have the time to look for one.”

Hughie watches you with an uneasy gaze, looking between your frown and your fingers, flexing as you approach the gate. He mumbles your name, scratching the back of his neck. “I know you guys are immortal, but I’m really not, and I really like life-“

His words trail off as you press your hands—palms up and fingers spread—to the wires, and they start to sizzle and melt away, moving over the metal until you’ve created a large hole that will fit you all easily, and pulling away without smoke or any exploding buildings.

You look back to Ben with a grin, and he winks at you.

This is why you should fucking listen to me, Sunshine, I taught you how to do that-

You wrinkle your nose at him, still smiling. You stood behind me and made grumpy faces, I did this myself.

And I helped, brat.

Something bright and almost elated is rising in Ben’s chest, swelling across his muscles as he gives you a wide, toothy smile, and you give in easily. He did help, and you want him to keep making that joyful, content face.

Fine, cunt. You’re an excellent teacher. 

Damn right I am-

Hughie coughs, hovering at your side as he examines the fence. “Sorry, I know you guys were, uh,” he trails off, mouth twitching as he gives you a confused look. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to call it.”

You give him a shrug, dropping your voice to a fake whisper. “We haven’t come up with a name for it yet, someone keeps vetoing all my amazing ideas-“

“You’ve tried to get me to call it the fucking Ben’o’phone,” Ben drawls your name, suddenly right behind you, causing you to smile up at him and Hughie to flinch. “I’ll goddamn eat glass and suck Hughie’s dick before I call it that.”

“You don’t, uh, you don’t have to do either of those things-“

“Well, until you start pitching ideas, I’ll call it whatever the fuck I want.” You stick your tongue out at Ben before turning back to a still-blushing Hughie. “We should move, though, can we talk on the way?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” Hughie watches you start to climb through the fence, Ben following, before ducking after himself. “I just want to go over the plan before we go in-“

“Get in,” Ben grunts, wrapping his hand in yours, a concrete, firm and unmoving care and concern settling in your body. “Find Vanessa. Get the Cornucopia. Get out.”

“Vanessa?” 

“Edgar said to ask for her.” You examine the building as you approach, raising your voice to carry on the wind to Hughie. “We’ll have to find her though, we can’t exactly just walk in the door without some recognizing Ben and I. Hopefully she has an office, or they wear name tags-“

“I’ve met Vanessa,” Hughie interrupts you, and you turn back to see him stopped a few feet from you and Ben, frowning as he thinks. “Last time I was here. I think, maybe-“

“Hughie,” you tap your fingers on Ben’s arm, letting him keep a vigilant eye on the sky and yard as you hold Hughie’s nervous gaze. “On a scale of one to ten, how sure are you that you know Vanessa.”

“Maybe eight?”

You’ll take those odds. “Will you recognize her?”

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

“Awesome. You’ll lead.” You turn away from Hughie’s nervous nod, tugging slightly on Ben’s arm until he frowns down at you. “Can you throw me up there?”

Ben looks to where you’ve pointed—a window ledge two stories up, the blinds open and the room empty—and back down to you with tense glare. “Why.”

“I’m going to melt the glass, you’re going to throw Hughie up, and then jump up yourself.”

“Why do we always have to throw me up,” Hughie’s voice is higher than usual, his eyes on your slightly pleading. “Can’t we just use one of the windows in front of us to trespass?”

“Suck it up, kid, if she says I’m throwing you, you’re getting fucking thrown-“

You raise your hand up, and Ben falls silent with a grumbling protest and glower you can feel in your stomach. “Hughie, we can’t go in on the first floor, we can’t tell if any of these rooms are empty-“

“There are the basement windows,” Hughie gestures past your feet, and you turn to see the ground-level half-windows. No blinds, each room inside empty. “You can fit through that, then let us in-“

“No.” Ben snaps, shooting Hughie a glare that makes him flinch, arm tightening around you. “There’re not a fucking chance you’re going in there alone-“

“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, glancing back at Hughie’s pallid features. “It’s a good idea, and I can handle myself-“

It is not a fucking good idea. What if things go south while you’re inside and I’m goddamn stuck out here. What if you get lost, or someone fucking recognizes you-

I’ll be really careful. You scan his taut, angered face, the mold growing back over his heart and something made of a heavy iron wrapping around his lungs and throat. I promise to be careful. You’ll know where I am the whole time, because we’re like pigeons, and we can talk and check in on the Ben’o’phone. His frown deepens, and you trace over the lines on his face with light fingers. If things go south, you can smash right through the front door, and we’ll find each other. I’ll be okay, just don’t kill Hughie while I’m gone.

His hands move up to hold your face, running his thumb over your lips and cheeks, examining you with that gaze where you think he can see inside you. See all your blood flowing into his, the hum of your fire under your skin—entirely within your control—and every single thought running through your head. Trying to calculate every risk of going in alone, every possible thing that could go wrong and work out how you’ll deal with it, still mulling over what the Cornucopia could be, and always circling back to Ben. How much you love him, and how you won’t be that worried while you’re searching through the halls of Red River, because you’ll feel him somewhere in your orbit and resting in your chest, and know you’re safe.

Whatever Ben sees in you, it makes him relent. He presses a firm, almost tender kiss on the top of your head, and tucks your hair behind your ear as he gives you a short nod. Be fast, and stay alert. If you hear anyone, fucking hide, and if there’s a single goddamn threat remember to keep your weight even when you throw the punch-

I won’t punch, you rest your brow against his. I’ll burn. Someone really grumpy and mean taught me how to control it, but he’s really handsome. I like it when he’s grumpy, it makes me love him a lot.

Brat. His words in your head are low and gruff, but the thing around this throat has loosened, and the mold has started to wane, replaced by the small, soft glow, pulsing between your bodies. I love you. Ben stands back to his full height, glancing to the side at Hughie, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he waits. “While she’s gone, you listen to me. If I tell you to fight, you fight, if I say shoot, open fucking fire, and if I-“

“I didn’t bring a gun-“ 

“Why the fuck didn’t you bring a gun, are you going to fucking talk your way through the damn bullets-“

You deal a swift kick to Ben’s shin. “Hughie, if you need to run, run. Ben and I will be fine, and you’re actually, you know. Killable. Ben can steal us a car, and we’ll meet you at home. But that’s if worst comes to worst, and it won’t.”

It won’t come to the worst. You keep reminding yourself, over and over, that it won’t. It can’t. You won’t let it. Ben won’t let it.

Still, you take a long breath as you crouch down, laying your palms on the glass of the window and letting it melt under your touch. Ben stands over you, blocking you from the view of the sky, and when you look up his jaw is clenched, hands fisted at his side, and you think you can hear the drums. You reach up silently, and Ben drops down on his knees—still hunching over you—and pulls you into a bone crunching hug, running his hand through your hair and holding your face to his neck.

Swear you’ll be safe.

I promise. You lean back, kissing his cheek. I’ll be right back. Don’t kill Hughie.

The moment you drop down—onto a carpeted floor in a room full of random pieces of furniture but no people—you can feel Ben start to strain in your chest. Beating against you, telling you outside. On the grass. This room is so damp and dark and cold, and life is outside. 

You push through it. Stuffing your sunglasses in your jacket and pulling the hood of it over your head, you creak the door open, peek out into the hallway, and start to pad down it, looking for stairs. You need to find stairs.

Ben.

His response is instant, stirring at the top of your ribcage. What, are you okay-

I’m fine, I need you to ask Hughie something.

What.

If he saw any stairs, when he was here before. Or passed an elevator.

There’s a few beats of silence, before he said he did.

Where.

I don’t fucking know-

You roll your eyes, checking every door as you make your way down the hall. Ask him, dummy.

Shut the fuck up. There’s a low rumble from Ben’s Thing, a little more quiet, and then, he says near the front door. Not too deep into the building.

There’s a hall branching off, further away from the rooms lining the building’s wall, and you glance behind you with a frown. Can you ask if it was on the side I dropped into?

He said it was.

Okay. Thank you. You start down the new hallway, looking for any sort of exit sign.

Ben’s Thing inside you starts to bounce around, and you think he’s begun to pace. This is fucking stupid, I can fit through that hole-

Do not leave Hughie alone, Ben, I’m fine- Your heart jumps in your chest when you see it, glowing green and mounted high on the wall, and—with a brisk scan of the still deserted hallways—you take off, half sprinting to the stairs. I’m okay, you send down the line before Ben has the chance to freak out and start tearing apart Red River’s brick foundation. Found the stairs.

Good. Are you-

I’m okay. You pause at the base of the steps with a frown. I need you to go around the side of the building. I’ll find an empty room, far from the entrance, and let you in.

Ben grunts in your head, and he fades into a hum that rings through every part of your body, filling up every in-between around you. You start up the stairs—keeping a little bit of your attention on the instinct of home, home is that way, Ben is that way—and push out into a slightly less horror movie-like hallway. It almost looks like a public high school, with white bricks and paneled ceilings. Fluorescent beam lights and fake wooden floors.

You hear voices, and duck back into the stairwell, pressing your back to the wall until they pass. They’re small voices, children’s voices, but—although you can’t make out what they’re saying—they don’t carry the light joy they should.

It hurts something in your stomach, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. When a door slams and you poke your head back out the door—the hall deserted once more—you start to hum. A slow, sad song, trying to let your brain fade into a harmony with the world around you. When all that happens is some flickering lights and a glass-like bending of the hall—everything becoming glossy and almost transparent—you add in words, trying to relax your body, mold your own thoughts, and find that same easy, natural feeling you’d had in the gun range.

When you look down, your hands are gone. So are your legs, and torso, and any visible evidence that you exist.

It’s not foolproof. You’re not actually invisible. Someone could bump into you, or hear you, or you could falter in your song and be completely revealed. But you’re shocked it even worked, and it’s better than just ducking into a room every five feet, so you start to creep down the hallway, keeping your singing to a low, half-mumbled volume.

You can feel Ben, waiting a little bit around the back, and you follow that gravity like tug to him, twisting through hallways with careful, measured, silent steps. 

He’s past this door, a few more steps calling you home.

But the room is occupied. You can hear voices, and shuffling movements, so you’ll have to adapt.

You start to walk just one more down—Ben and Hughie have legs, one window over won’t kill them—when the door swings open, and your heart almost stops. You barely manage to keep your song going as you come face to face with a dark haired, middle-aged woman, her eyes worn with bags and staring right through you.

“Hopefully that will help until we get someone to look at the AC,” the woman calls behind her, to a room full of teenagers, sitting in a circle. “I know it’s hot guys, but it’s July. Not much else to do.”

“We could get someone with ice powers in here,” one of the girls mutters, hunched over in his seat. “Or like, wind powers.”

One of the boys nods. “All we have to do is kill their parents, and we’ve all got experience killing parents.”

A few of the kids laugh, and the woman sighs the boy’s name. “You know our rules on darker humor during group sessions-“

“C’mon Vanessa,” a different boy, sat next to the first, crosses his arms, and you freeze in the doorway. “That was fucking hilarious-“

“And you know our rules on swearing. Let’s just keep going, guys-“

The conversation continues, and you’ve found Vanessa, but you’re almost stuck in place. You recognize the look on every single one of the faces in that circle. An expression of exhaustion and almost hollow, numb fury at nothing. A sadness that becomes a disease, becomes a part of you as you start to believe that nothing will—nothing could—get better.

It’s tearing something inside you in half. Something near the broken part of you still twisting and flailing in your gut, that’s still trapped and alone and tired. Clinging onto unfair. This is so unfair, what did you do to possibly deserve this, and why you, why does it have to be you, this is so fucking unfair.

You’ve gotten lucky. You have Ben. You have someone who will always pick you up and remind you that this is unfair, but you’re okay. Someone to stand by your side and hold you as you crawl back to okay. Really, truly okay, and with enough time, happy. These kids don’t have that, and it’s boiling that thing inside you into a fury. A white-hot, avenging fury of not fucking fair. Not fair of their parents, to shoot them up as babies. Not fair of Vought, to lock them up after the parents paid the price. Not fair of the government to help hide it, no matter what they’re getting in exchange. All of this is so fucking horrible and unjust, and there’s no one person to blame.

There isn’t. You want there to be, it would be so much easier if there was, but Ben’s right. It’s never easy. You can blame Homelander for a lot of it, but most of this predates him. He didn’t open Red River, he’s probably never even thought about this place. You can blame Edgar as well, but he didn’t make compound V, he just mastered its marketing. You could blame Fredrick Vought, but he’s long dead and didn’t create the government that bought V, that sponsored its creation. There’s no one person to blame in the government either. It’s a system, made by countless people, laying it out brick by brick over 200 years. This is so unfair, and you can’t really fix it. This isn’t a wound that will heal easily, it’s something festering deep under every single piece of tissue, wound into the nerves and impossible to pull or carve out. It’s going to take a long, painful time to repair, and it’s still going to be so fucking unfair.

Where are you.

You blink, refocusing on the pound of Ben in your chest. Sorry, the room is full, give me a second-

“It’s so hot,” the first girl is whining, fanning herself dramatically. “The door didn’t do shit-“

“No swearing.” Vanessa gives the girl a tired, empty glare, and shakes her head. “We can open a window, too, get some fresh air. Marie-“

“On it.” One of the teens, a shorter girl with dreads, stands up, chair scraping on the ground, and you stop singing. Stumbling off to the side as you yank on that line between you and Ben. Move. Benjamin you have to move, now, fucking run or hide-

Ben grunts your name, flaring in your chest. What the fuck is happening, what’s wrong-

Someone’s opening the window, they can’t see you or we’ll be fucked-

Ben is still beating inside you, but he’s not talking anymore. He’s probably moving Hughie, it’s probably fine, but you don’t take a full breath until you hear the chair scraping on the floor and feel a breeze flowing into the hall.

Are you-

We’re set. Ben rolls around in your chest—pulling you just a little further down the hall—and his voice is rough and clipped. You’re okay.

I’m okay. You duck into a room, where you can feel Ben past the wall, and lock the door behind you. Don’t move.

You open the blinds, revealing an out of breath Hughie and a scowling Ben, glaring at you through the glass.

You smile at him. Hi.

Hi. He grumbles your name between your heads, keeping his eyes narrowed as his mouth twitches. That was too fucking long.

It was like, ten minutes. You wrinkle your nose at him. I’m going to get rid of the window, step back.

Through the glass, you hear Ben’s snap to Hughie—repeating your words—but he himself stays planted in front of you, watching as the glass melts under your fingers.

You’ve barely finished when he’s barreling forwards, half picking you up off the ground as he holds you, running hands over your body like he’s looking for a newly-formed scar or cut. Your arms wrap around his torso, and you let Ben kiss at your neck, pulling you as close as he can without climbing into your body.

You hear Hughie stumble into the room, and raise a silent finger from one of your hands, resting on Ben’s back. You can feel the mold slowly burning completely out of Ben’s body, and—even though you’re still on a slight timer—you don’t want to disturb it. It’s a little selfish of you—of your love and affection for Ben, and how the feeling of his ache and pain rips your heart in half—but the last time you’d walked away with a promise of coming back, you hadn’t. 

So you wait until Ben peels himself away before turning to Hughie, making a silent gesture for him to follow you deeper into the room, away from the window.

“I found Vanessa,” you keep your voice low, just in case the wind carries it to an open window, or someone passes in the hall. “She’s in the room that you just ran from, doing a therapy group or something. We just have to wait until they wrap up, I can keep an eye on it and call you when they’re done.“

“How are you going to keep an eye on it?” Hughie frowns at you, staring very intently at you and not Ben, who’s gone rigid at your side. “If it’s just hiding in a room, I’m sure I can do it-“

“Nope.” You grin, stepping a few paces back, and spreading your arms wide. “Watch this.”

You start to sing—the same song from before—and you it’s worked when a jolt of shock flashes from Ben and Hughie’s mouth falls open.

“Holy shit,” Hughie mutters. “You haven’t always been able to do that, right? I’m not going insane?”

“No, it’s new.” You reappear in their vision as you stop singing, and give Ben a wide, unrestrained smile. You have to eat me out now. You promised.

He snorts, and the ardor and affection you can feel everywhere in him exposed in his chest, climbing up to show in his eyes. Locked onto yours, dilated and full of a powerful awe that makes every nerve in your body start to itch for him. I have to fuck you, as well. He winks. And if you want to add another reward, I think I could live with it.

You flush, forcing yourself to turn back to Hughie. “I got through the building like that. If I just stand in the hallway, I can tell Ben when she’s left the room, and we can talk to her.”

Hughie nods, and you look back to Ben. “I’ll be right outside, open the door and grab me if something happens.”

He grunts an affirmation, and doesn’t try to talk you out of it, but you still cross the room and hold his face between your hands, smiling up at him. I love you. Thank you.

Don’t. His scowl softens slightly as you kiss his jaw, his hands moving up to cover yours. And I love you too. Always fucking love you, even when you’re being a fucking brat.

I think especially when I’m being a fucking brat. You move to kiss his lips, soft and firm, his beard scraping against your skin and so real. Ben and warm and solid and real.

You pull back—giving Ben one last smile—and start to sing again, slipping out into the hall and keeping a careful eye on the still ajar room.

It’s only a handful of minutes before you hear the scraping of chairs, and the various teens start to filter out. A few walk in your direction, and you have to drop your singing to a whisper, but soon they’ve all passed and Vanessa shuffles out, looking down at her phone and swaying slightly in the hallway.

You wait until she begins to walk away—her back facing fully to you, her steps brisk—before you reach out to Ben. Let’s go.

If you weren’t already a little haywire from how much was going on, you’d probably have realized that trying to follow Vanessa to her office with Ben and Hughie wasn’t the best plan. Hughie’s practically skittish—jumping at every distant footstep and echoing slam of a door—and Ben might as well be waving a flag that says we are up to suspicious activity. He’s light on his feet—you’re not sure if it’s his training, or his secret talent for dancing, but he’s amazingly silent—but he’s also massive and incredibly attention grabbing. And it’s not your love for him, clouding your judgment and blowing this out of proportion to a thought of you always see Ben, so everyone else does as well. He’s looking at everything like it’s going to come to life and start stabbing him, he’s taken the lead—he can follow Vanessa’s heartbeat, and she’s moved out of your sight—and is making a face a little like a bloodhound, and is overall very obviously a strange, grown man sneaking around an orphanage.

Ben raises a hand, stopping you and Hughie in your tracks. That’s it. He nods to a closed door, a few steps away. She’s in there. Just her. 

Do we just break in? 

Yes. Ready.

Hold on. You look over at Hughie, point at the door, and mouth out she’s in there. It takes a few seconds of confused staring, but eventually Hughie nods, and you turn back to Ben. Let’s do this.

Ben raises his leg, fully prepared to kick the door in, but you’re faster. Grabbing Ben’s arm to move him back a step, you place a tentative hand on the door handle and slowly test it.

Unlocked.

You raise three fingers for Ben and Hughie to see, glancing over your shoulder to ensure they’ve gotten the message, and drop them one by one.

Three. Two. One.

You push the door open with full force of your body, and Vanessa barely has time to drop her jaw before Hughie and Ben are running in after you and you’ve slammed the door, locking everyone inside. 

Vanessa looks frozen in shock—face slack, eyes wide and filled with terror—and it sends a small pang of guilt up your spine and into your fingers as you jump into action. No risks.

“Hughie, can you check the desk for a panic button? And,” you sigh, tapping your fingers where you’re still holding the door handle. “Take her phone. Just put it in your pocket, we’ll give it back after.”

���Who,” Vanessa’s started to stutter, and you nod for Ben to close the blinds as you move to stand before her desk. “You’re, are you really, you look like-“

“Yeah, I know. I’m the Anomaly, that’s Soldier Boy,” you incline your head to Ben, smiling at the half-pout of his face, and move on to Hughie. “And he’s, well he’s just kind of a guy-“

“Mr. Campbell?” Vanessa's face grows blanched, staring at Hughie and shrinking into her seat as he tucks her phone into his jeans. “I remember you, you’re dating Starlight, and you visited us last year and we never heard back-“

“Yeah, um,” Hughie looks to you for help, and you offer him a grimace and shrug. “Sorry. It didn’t pan out. You know, with the economy.”

You give Hughie a flat look, and he returns it with a sheepish one as you sigh, turning back to Vanessa. “Listen, we’re not here to hurt you. We just need something, and then we’ll be gone. Nobody will even know we were here-“

“Why are you here?!” Vanessa squeaks, and you sigh.

“I’m getting there-“

“He’s,” Vanessa points to Ben. “A terrorist, and you’re missing! Crap, I’m supposed to report any sightings to the tower, it’s mandated, and why are you together, was Starlight telling the truth?!” She turns back to Hughie. “Are they really dating? Is Starlight here, because I’m supposed to report her too-“

“I’m, um, Annie’s not here, and Soldier Boy’s only mean, he’s not really a terrorist anymore, but I’m not sure if they are dating-“

“Hughie,” you raise your brows at him, shaking your head. “Shut up.”

“And I’m not a fucking terrorist,” Ben grumbles, moving to your side. “I got pardoned. And we are dating, you pussy fuck-“

Benjamin-

“Does that mean the other stuff is also true? About Homelander?” Vanessa’s looking at you with wide eyes, and you take a shaking breath. The adrenaline is fading, you didn’t miss the mandated reporting thing, and a chill is starting to creep through your blood, blurring the world.

You feel Ben’s foot press to yours, and the world moves back into focus.

Thank you. You meet Vanessa’s eyes—feeling Ben’s arm wrap around your waist, steadying your feet—and set your features into a pleasant, neutral boredom. “It is. But that’s not why we’re here.”

“Why-“

“We’re here for the Cornucopia.” You cross your arms, examining Vanessa’s faint expression. “That’s it.”

“I, um,” Vanessa looks around between you, Hughie, and Ben, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“ 

“Cut the fucking bullshit-“

You elbow Ben’s stomach, holding Vanessa’s gaze. “We know you do. And I promise we won’t hurt you, but we’re also not leaving this room until you give us what we need.”

We don’t have the time for that, Sunshine, Vought’s probably noticed all their fucking cameras are out-

It’s a bluff, Pretty Boy. You keep your attention on Vanessa, pulling Ben’s arm a little tighter around you. I know we’re on a limit. She doesn’t.

Vanessa’s still silent, shooting the least subtle looks you've ever seen at the door behind you, and you sigh. “Don’t try to make a break for it, please. He’ll,” you jerk your head to Ben. “Catch you. Easily. All we want is the Cornucopia.”

“You don’t understand,” Vanessa whispers, looking over Ben with fearful eyes. “I can’t, nobody’s even supposed to know about that-”

“We were sent by someone who does,” you say carefully, treading around Edgar’s name, unwilling to show all your cards. “And they want it back.”

“Who.”

Of course it’s not that easy. Vanessa doesn’t seem stupid, just afraid. You hold her narrowed glare, and shrug. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

You chew on your tongue, unable to find a way around this, and keep your answer measured and short. “Edgar.”

“Why would he send you-“

“Don’t worry about it,” you lean forward, placing two hands on Vanessa’s desk and trying not to let her flinch make your gut twist. “I get that this is confusing, but we both know you don’t want to cross Edgar. Let’s call him our friend for now, think of this as a favor, and start over. Nice to meet you, Vanessa.” You introduce yourself, keeping your hands braced on the table, and nod behind you to Hughie and Ben. “That’s Hughie Campbell. This is Benjamin, and he doesn’t have a last name. We have all day to wait in here for you to come around, and Ben shits like a horse, so I’d just give us what we need so we can all go home and nobody's office becomes a toilet.”

“I,” you can see the uneven rise and fall of Vanessa’s chest as she speaks, her protests growing weaker. “I’m really not, I mean, what will you do with it?”

It. Not a child. Some tension that had been strung through your whole body relaxes as you respond. “Bring it to Edgar. That’s it. I promise.”

Vanessa looks you over one last time, her hands shaking slightly as she stands and moves around the desk. “I, um, he added something to it last year. Before he was arrested. Does he want that too?”

You have no fucking idea. “Yeah, he does.”

“Okay.” As she crouches down to the floor, Vanessa looks up, around your group, and pauses. “Vought doesn’t know you’re here, right?” 

You shake your head, and Vanessa starts to pull at a loose wooden panel. Her body is blocking the view of what’s inside, and you can feel Ben’s grip on you start to grow tight as you wait.

When Vanessa rises up, facing you once more, her fists are closed and the panel is closed once more. “If I give you these, I need you to promise you’ll just leave, and you won’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want the kids caught up in anything, and if Homelander finds out-“

“Homelander’s never going to know anything about this.” It’s the easiest promise you’ve ever made. “No matter what.” 

Vanessa lets out an unsteady breath, and extends her hands, uncurling her fists.

You blink, taking the items from her hands. A key and a vial of green liquid.

Green liquid. You almost shove the keys into your pockets, turning the vial over to find the label you already know will be there.

Project Anomaly, Trial 5.  

“Fuck.” You look up at Vanessa. “When did Edgar give this to you?”

“About a year ago?” She mumbles, fidgeting with her hands. “He said to keep it with the Cornucopia, but that’s it.”

You look up at Ben, who’s watching you with a concerned, stone-like gaze, mirroring the concrete resolve in his body. If the Cornucopia is the keys, why the fuck did Edgar have this-

We’ll deal with it. He squeezes your waist, giving you a short nod. Together. But we have to fucking move, he mutters your name between your heads, holding your gaze. Now. 

You nod, tapping your fingers on the V and shoving it in your pocket with the keys. “Thank you,” you give Vanessa a small, toothless smile. “We’re going to break your window, and you can say it was random criminals. They must have shot out the cameras as well.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen. “You shot out the cameras?! Why would you-“

“We aren’t exactly fucking buddies with Vought, lady.” Ben grunts, and you sigh as he pulls you with him to the far side of the room.

“He’s right, we aren’t.” You crack your neck, examining the glass panes. “Also, you’re going to be missing two other windows. One in the basement, one near that classroom you were just in. I’d get them fixed.”

Before Vanessa can freak out about that as well, you lay your hands on the window, and it melts away. You turn to Ben with a grin, and he winks.

You really fucking like that trick. He grabs your still scorching hand in his, kissing your knuckles without a flinch. I could’ve just fucking punched it in.

Two vanished windows and one broken window is a lot more suspicious than three vanished windows, Benjamin. Consistency is key.

We’d be confusing the fuckers-

You shake your head, dropping your sunglasses onto your face as you lean out the window, checking for a clear path. We don’t want them to be confused. We want them to think it was just a weird break-in, that’s it. No extra reason to really investigate. Let’s go.

Ben follows you out the empty window pane without hesitation, and you hear Hughie give Vanessa a few more, stumbling apologies before following himself. It takes a second to orient yourself to the outdoors—to figure out where you’ve ended up in the yard around Red River—but Ben beats you to it, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him, taking large, long steps in a direct path to the hole you’d burned in the gate. 

Kimiko is waiting for you, leaning against the car and waving to you before signing, good thing you’re back, I need help.

You frown at her, stepping back through the hole in the fence as you sign, with what?

Something kind of happened, while you were gone. Kimiko gives you an apologetic look as you stop in front of her. Don’t worry though, I handled it.

“What’s she saying,” Ben grunts, leaning over you to glare at Kimiko. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong-“

You cut yourself off as Kimiko shakes her head, signing to you with a sheepish expression. Things are wrong. It’s not good.

“You said you handled it-“

I did. She shrugs, pushing off the car and walking around to the trunk, gesturing for you to follow. It’s better if you see.

You chew on your lips, and don’t bother to shrug Ben off as you move to Kimiko’s side. Wait, you sign to her, looking to where Hughie has frozen on the curb, watching everyone with a bemused expression. 

“What’s going on-“

“Kimiko handled something,” Ben snaps, his eyes trained on the trunk. “In the trunk.”

Hughie blinks. “In the trunk? What’s in the trunk-“

“She hasn’t shown us yet,” you cover Ben’s mouth with one hand as he opens it to yell, beckoning Hughie over with the other. “Do we,” you look back to Kimiko. “Should we get ready to fight?”

Kimiko pauses, glancing at the trunk, then signs, No.

“Are you sure?”

Yeah. Ready?

You nod, pulling your hand down from Ben’s mouth and crossing your arms, tapping your fingers against your jacket. “Ready.”

Kimiko pops the trunk, and Hughie stumbles backwards, rubbing his face and pulling at his hair with frantic movements.

“Why the fuck is Ashely in our trunk?” He’s half shouting, and you see Ben—out of the corner of your eyes—shooting him a sharp glare.

“We all fucking see it,” he hisses. “Shut the fuck up before someone goddamn hears you.”

Hughie continues to protest, and you squeeze Ben’s bicep in a silent request for him to handle it. You’re a little preoccupied, your brain moving a mile a minute to adjust for this new, less than ideal development.

Ashley is indeed in your trunk. Completely knocked out, hands tied in a haphazard knot with some rope—you assume Kimiko found it in Butcher’s less-than-secret weapons compartment—and her wig slightly askew.

“Kimiko,” you sign with your words, tearing your eyes away from Ashley and up to her. “What happened.”

I saw her park over there, Kimiko points a little down the block, to a fancy, silver sports car. And start to walk to the gate. We made eye contact, and she tried to run inside, so I jumped her. She’s really weak, it was easy.

“Okay,” you take a heavy breath, looking back to Ashley’s body, double checking for the shallow movements of breath. “Thank you,” you shoot Kimiko a small, tired smile. “I mean, this is a fucking mess, but it’s good she didn’t make it inside, especially if she saw you.”

Kimiko returns your smile, taking your hand and squeezing it, and you feel a rush of her own gratitude, mixed with an almost natural trust. In you. Kimiko really, fully trusts you to deal with this, and it chases away a little bit of the tight, doubting cold in your body. You can fix this. This is something you can fix.

“Ben,” you turn around to where Ben and Hughie are still arguing in half-hushed, half-shouting voices, and they both look up at you with a stare of concern—lined with affection—from the former, and pure, unbridled anxiety from the latter. “I need you to hold the Cornucopia.”

Kimiko’s eyes widen, waving her hands to get your attention before signing, you found it? Is it a bucket? 

“No, it’s keys.” You hold them up quickly for her to see, before chucking them at Ben’s face, not bothering to see if he catches them. He always catches them, and you need to talk to Kimiko. “Can you restrain her without knocking her back out? She probably already has a concussion, and we don’t want to give her permanent brain damage.”

Kimiko nods, flexing her arms and moving to stand right at your side, glancing down at Ashley. What are we doing with her?

“I’m working on that,” you taste a tang of blood in your mouth, and realize you’d bitten through your cheek. “But we need to get her tracker out now. Ben?”

You can feel him behind you, and glance back to find him watching you with a clenched jaw, his legs in a wide stance, as if he’s ready to punch anything you point to. He gives you a sharp nod to continue, so you do.

“I need you to listen for when I’ve fried the tracker. Kimiko will keep Ashley down, and if you can make sure nobody sees us-“ 

“Got it,” Ben grunts, turning around to watch the street, hands fisted at his sides. “Go.”

You swallow, and look back to Ashley, reaching down to touch her arm where the tracker had been in A-Train, feeling only a quiet, empty buzz in her sleeping body. Kimiko’s braced at your side, Hughie’s pacing somewhere behind you, and Ben’s got you. You’re blocked from the view of the sky and street, your blood is cold but all your own, and you can deal with this. You’re not strong enough to fight Homelander, but you can easily deal with Ashley.

It takes a few seconds for the pain to wake her up. You’ve already seared through the first two layers of skin when her eyes shoot open, red and unfocused, and she doesn’t get a chance to make even a strangled sound of panic before Kimiko covers her mouth. From there it’s harder. You can feel every ounce of Ashley’s raw, unbridled fear. It’s all that in her body, and it’s so fucking exhausting and painful and you hate this. When Ben finally nudges your shoulder, muttering fried down your connection, you pull your hand back like you were the one that had been burned, shaking it like you can make Ashley’s mind-numbing fright leave you faster.

Ben, you look over your shoulder, waiting for him to glance back at you before continuing. Can you gag her? I don’t want to knock her out again, but we can’t have her screaming-

Okay. Ben nods—ripping off part of his sleeve without missing a beat—and moves around you to work as you turn to face Hughie. Later, you’ll have to hold Ben’s face between your hands and kiss his whole stupid, handsome, amazing face for letting you take care of this without question. Repeat to him a million times how much you love him, and show him on your knees and under his body and riding him until he groans.

Right now, you’re on borrowed time. There’s still smoke curling from your fingertips, and even though there’s no itch under your skin, your thoughts are moving too fast and there’s bile in your throat. You have to move, right fucking now, and if you pause for even a second you think the cold will take over your bones and blood, and you’ll fall over as a sickening, crippling weight drops onto your shoulders. You’ll fall apart later, and sit in Ben’s warm arms until the cracks stop spreading, beginning to seal once more.

“Hughie,” you turn, and your voice is harsher than you mean it to be, but he’s still panicking and it’s not helping at all. “As far as you know, did anyone but Butcher have access to the safe house cams?”

Hughie’s steps falter as he thinks, his whole body tensed. “No,” his voice is shaking slightly, but raised enough for you to hear it. “He installed them himself, I think. Before you and Soldier Boy even moved in. He might have told Mallory, but only we have the actual software to use them.”

“Okay, good. Kimiko,” you return to the trunk, where Ben is securing Ashley’s gag and Kimiko is holding her down. “I need the keys.” 

Kimiko looks between her occupied hands and you, giving you a slight grimace as you realize the problem.

“Fuck, um, I’m going to list off places and you just nod or shake your head, Okay?”

Nod. 

“Are they on you?”

Shake.

“In the car?”

Nod.

“On the seat?”

Shake.

“Cup holders?”

Shake.

“Ignition?”

Nod. You barely see the bob of confirmation before you’re moving, reaching into Ben’s pockets and grabbing your phone.

“I’m driving.” You watch Ashley carefully as you recite your plan for Ben and Kimiko, knowing one of them will grab Hughie when everything is set. “Double check the knot on her hands and lock the trunk when you’re done. Ben, I need you in shotgun. Kimiko, maybe find Hughie a paper bag or something, I’m worried he’s going to pass out. Ashley,” she goes still, meeting your eyes with her own glossed in a too familiar, rabid look of fear. “We are not going to hurt you. I had to burn out your tracker, but I fucking swear we won’t hurt you. We’re taking you somewhere safe, to talk, and if you want to leave after, you can. But we have to talk first.” 

She nods, a tiny movement you barely catch, and it does almost nothing to sooth the vile, twisting and disgusted feeling in your gut.

But you have to keep moving. You’ve already lingered too long with the cams shot out and the Cornucopia in your possession—whatever the fuck it actually is, because your money’s not on just keys to an empty storage unit—and someone’s going to notice Ashley’s missing soon. You’d rather not be here when they send someone to check her last known location.

When you drop behind the wheel, it occurs to you that you haven’t actually driven a car in four years. After you’d gotten out it had been all walking and buses, nobody ever trusted you enough to drive the van, and Ben had driven that Lexus you’d stolen at the Renegade Room. But it’s like riding a bike. A huge, metal bike that can kill someone. It’ll be intuitive, you’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

You don’t enter the safe house address into the GPS, instead opting for the grocery store Mallory had been using for your supplies. You’ll orient yourself from there, and, just for safety, shut down your phone before you arrive.

Ben opens the shotgun door within a minute, and when you glance up you can see Kimiko tugging Hughie off the street from the rearview mirror. 

When Ben sits down his hand immediately finds your thigh, kneading on your skin and slowing your heart as his firm, permanent, unshakeable resolve wraps through your body. 

You’re okay. He grumbles in the silence, and you are. This is horrible and you feel ill, but you’re dealing with it. And Ben is grounding you, slowing down your brain from every single possible thing that could go wrong, from how many consequences there are going to be for this. You’ll fix this. You can fix this. 

According to the GPS, it should take you about 20 minutes to reach the safe house. But Hughie and Kimiko are barely in the backseat before you’re driving, and you’re no better than Butcher. You’re violating countless traffic laws, and the speed limit is really more of a suggestion, and everyone who’s honking at you can shove it up their ass, because they don’t have Vought’s CEO in their trunk, and you’re doing your fucking best. It’s a miracle you don’t get pulled over, but you go just slow enough to not be an outright danger to other drivers, so when you pass the grocery store—telling Ben to turn off your phone—you’ve made the trip in 11 minutes flat.

It was a silent, tense ride, with Ben keeping his grip tight and solid on your thigh, Kimiko awkwardly patting Hughie on the back as he calms down, and all of you pretending you can’t hear Ashley pushing at the trunk.

You park on the street, yank the keys out of the ignition and drop your head to the steering wheel. You can hear some shuffling around you, and a few, grumbled orders from Ben to Hughie and Kimiko, but there’s a high ringing in your ears and every inch of your body feels cold and vile. The whole ride, when you’d turned the wheel or pressed a button or changed the gear, you could’ve sworn there was blood on your hands. Sticky and red and horrible, horrible blood.

You’re so tired. You’re growing more and more certain that you can’t keep doing this. You don’t feel on the brink of collapse when you’re at home—wrapped in Ben’s arms, laughing with him or your friends, making fun of Butcher and talking to Ryan until looks a little less haunted and a lot more comfortable—but right now you’re so fucking tired. You can still deal with this, but you’re also still weak. Someone strong wouldn’t have crack lining their lungs from the fear. Someone strong would be unwavering, and you’re about to scream and collapse in the car.

Ben tangles his hand in your hair, running it through his fingers as he remains at your side. Always at your side.

Breathe.

I am-

Slowly. Your heart sounds like it’s about to damn pound out of your chest.

You let out a shaking breath, keeping your head down. Maybe that’s just my natural heart rate, you don’t fucking know-

It’s not. Ben’s hand still its movement, something stirring and stuttering in his chest. I’ve gotten yours memorized. It’s too fast right now, so fucking breathe.

You turn your head to the side, and see Ben’s harsh, angered features relax slightly as your eyes meet. I didn’t know that. I thought you could just, I don’t know, hear it.

No. He searches your face, a slight, wired soreness running over his skin. It’s not a big fucking deal-

I have your grunts memorized.

Ben pauses. What.

You give him a small smile, barely a tug of your lips but still genuine. It’s for Ben, so it’s genuine. When you go like this, you mimic one of Ben’s grunts, and his fingers tense on your head, a flash of sharp adoration and amusement pulling something heavy out of his heart. It means you agree with me, but you’re too much of a bitch to admit it. This one, you make another grunt. Means you agree with me, but you’re too grumpy to just use words. This one means you’re about to wake up, this one means you’re listening to me, and this one means you’re listening to someone you don’t respect. This one, you make one last grunt, your smile widening. Is my favorite. It means you’re about to cum, or tell me you love me at a very inopportune moment.

Ben makes that exact grunt, and his hands resume their movements on your head as something vast and easy settles in his body. I do fucking love you. That’s why I have your damn heartbeat memorized.

I know. I love you too, Benjamin.

He’s everything, and nothing you’ve ever said has been more true. Ben is still pulling you apart under his gaze, making the whole world safe and your breathing steady, and you love him. He’s igniting a warmth that spreads through your chest and burns away every thought of can’t fix this, what if you can’t fix this, what if you’re weak and you can’t fix this from where they’d been festering in your gut and mind, and you love him.

When he asks, Better? down your connection, you are. Because he’s here, and you’ll deal with this together, and you love him.

Better. You sigh, pressing your head further onto the leather of the whee, holding his gazel. I hate this, Ben. I really fucking hate this.

I know, he mutters your name in your head, and there’s something holy about the way he says it, that makes you feel just a little stronger. We’re going to figure it out. Fucking swear it.

I kidnapped someone. A small whimper leaves your throat, and something gets caught in its wake. I kidnapped Ashley, I hurt her-

No. Ben’s brow draws into a glare, and there’s a spark of wrath in him that doesn’t drive into you, but wraps over you. Like a barrier, trying to keep you safe. Don’t fucking do that. You didn’t kidnap Ashley. She’s got a direct damn line to Homelander, she knew we were at Red River, and she’s not fucking innocent in this shit. You thought real fucking fast, saved everyone’s damn ass, and we’re going to fix this. You think he can see the doubt and anxiety painted across your face, because he continues. Hughie and Kimiko are getting her inside, you’re going to fucking talk to her or whatever, and then she’ll be free. It’s not kidnapping if you set her free.

You give him a flat look. I don’t think that���s true. 

No. It’s a fucking hostage-

Hostages are for negotiation, we’re not negotiating for anything.

Yet, Sunshine. He winks. Night’s still real fucking young.

You might cry. A soft laugh pushes out of your lips, and your thoughts are clear and focused—get Ashley inside, figure out why she was at Red River, convince her to not tell Homelander or Sage about any of this and adapt to whatever comes up—but you’re still going to cry. You’re tired, and Ben is so warm, and you want to climb into his lap and stay there for a while. Maybe forever.

But you have work to do. You can’t cry these tears—born from a confusing storm of love for Ben and exhaustion and unfair—now, but you’ll cry them later. When it’s only you and Ben in the whole world—on your bed, a lamp light casting his handsome face in a soft, golden glow—you’ll climb onto his chest and wait until his warmth seals a few more cracks, and you’re a little less tired.

Ben sees the determination set onto your face, and presses a kiss to your brow before climbing out of the car, moving around to your side and helping you onto the street. Ready?

Ready. You nod, and glance up the driveway to see Kimiko holding Ashley over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes, and Hughie’s back to you with a hand hovering over the code-pad.

“We need to get inside-“ 

Hughie cuts you off as you approach, turning around with a sheepish expression. “I, um, I can’t remember the passcode-“

“Christ on a Cross,” Ben jerks his head for Hughie to move, stomping up to the keypad and jabbing the numbers in with his thumb and low grumbles of, “fucking mouse-brained pussy.”

Hughie blinks, shooting you a look of confusion. “Has he, um, always known the code-“

“Yes,” Ben snaps, stepping back to your side as the door unlocks and glowering at Hughie. “You idiots are goddamn terrible at your jobs, I figured that shit out before two months in this place.”

Hughie opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then shakes his head and closes it.

“We should, uh,” you glance at Kimiko, barely affected by any of Ashley’s weak thrashing. “It’s not smart to stay outside.”

Kimiko nods, hauling Ashley through the door with everyone else following behind, and you’ve barely closed the door when Neuman’s in the hallway, gaping at the scene before her.

“What the fuck are you guys doing-“

“We need to use your office,” your voice is apathetic, filled with measured boredom. You don’t have time for Neuman to argue, or the energy to dance in circles about why here and what the hell is wrong with you idiots, so you only offer Neuman a semi-apologetic face as you continue. “Sorry.”

“Does Mallory-“

“No. Don’t tell her.”

“Hughie,” Nueman turns to Hughie, who flinches. “What the hell is happening? Why are you guys always up to something insane-“

“Ashley showed up at Red River,” he mumbles. “And saw us. We’re, um,” Hughie glances at you. “I’m not actually sure what we’re doing-“

“We have questions for her,” you supply, holding Neuman’s irritated gaze. “This place is safe.” 

Something strange that you can’t read flashes in Neuman’s eyes, and she gives you a clipped nod. “Fine. Don’t get blood anywhere-“

“There won’t be any blood.” You nod for Kimiko to carry a slightly more struggling Ashley up the stairs as you speak, and with a shrug to Neuman, she does. “Thanks.”

“I want to sit in on this,” Neuman snaps. “I don’t-“

“Okay.” You shrug, and Neuman blinks.

“That’s it? I can? You’re not going to try and stop me-“

“I’ve got a lot to deal with, Neuman.” You link your arm through Ben’s—standing over you, letting you deal with this while he stares daggers and promises of violence at Neuman—and don’t bother to look at Neuman’s expression as you walk past her, up the stairs. “I’m picking my battles, and I don’t really give a fuck about that one.”

Kimiko had dropped Ashley in a chair—keeping her in her seat with a hand on her shoulder—and you haven’t even fully removed the gag when Ashley starts shouting.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?! Why did you keep me in the trunk, where did you fucking take me, what the fuck is,” Ashley goes pale as Neuman enters the room, locking the door behind her. “Why the fuck is the ghost of Victoria Neuman here?! Where am I?!”

You take them one at a time, ignoring the what’s wrong with you question, because you simply don’t have the time. “Well, we couldn’t exactly keep you in the backseat, we took you somewhere safe, and Neuman isn’t a ghost, she’s just not as dead as you might have been led to believe.”

“What?!”

“I’m alive,” Neuman makes a sarcastic, sweeping gesture. “Surprise.”

Ashley’s face twitches, and she looks back to you. “You faked her death.”

“Obviously-“

“Fake mine.”

Ashley’s words are firm and assured when she cuts you off, and it makes your own voice falter. You look over to Ben, and even he looks confused. You expect Hughie's shock, Kimiko’s blinking, and Neuman’s slightly open mouth, but Ben never looks confused. He looks annoyed or grumpy or pissed, but never so obviously slack jawed and thrown off. It’s almost disturbing.

Hughie clears his throats, words uncertain. “I, um, we don’t just fake deaths-“

Ashley scoffs, all of her evident fear—or self-preservation—having abandoned her as she says, “Oh, fuck off, Campbell. You fake deaths all the time-“

“No, we don’t-“

“I know about A-Train.”

Hughie’s protests die off, and he looks to you with a hopeless expression.

“Ashley,” you tap your fingers on your leg, keeping your voice steady and neutral. “Why do you want us to fake your death.”

“Because I’d like to make it past forty,” she snaps. “Sage and Homelander are insane, the Deep is an idiot fish-fucker, and I want out. I know A-Train was thinking about leaving, and you helped fake his death. Help me too.”

“No offense, Ashley.” Hughie says, his frown unsure as he fidgets with his hands. “But why should we help you? I mean, you’ve been loyal to Vought forever, and you were just at Red River-”

“I was there to help you guys!” Ashley’s voice fills with desperation, pleading anger. “I got the call that the cams had been blown, checked the last footage, which I deleted before Sage could see, you’re fucking welcome, and realized this was my out!”

“Then why the fuck did you run from Kimiko,” Ben grunts through teeth, and Ashley looks almost offended by the question.

“Because she’s fucking psycho! I mean,” Ashley wiggles in the chair, and Kimiko winces. “She knocked me out and tied me up-“

“She’s not psycho,” you cut Ashley off with a hiss, and Kimiko gives you a grateful, tentative smile. “You’re not trustworthy. We have no reason to trust you-“

A loud, sudden chorus of music and buzzing cut through the air, and Hughie almost dropped his phone as he fumbles it out of his pocket.

“Shit, sorry,” he says your name with a flinch, and turns the screen for you to see. “It’s MM, can I-“ 

“Yeah,” you gesture your head to the hallway, keeping your attention on Ashley. “Hughie?”

He pauses with his hand on the door. “Yeah?”

“Tell MM we’re still at Red River. I’ll tell him when this is cleaned up, but we don’t need to give him a heart attack.”

Hughie hesitates, glancing at Ashley, and nods. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”

“What do you mean cleaned up,” Ashley squeaks, the door closing behind Hughie. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me-“

“We won’t,” you chew on your cheek, looking over Ashley with a heavy, frustrated sigh. “But we still don’t trust you-“ 

“You have to trust me, I’m on your side!” Ashley’s eyes on yours are hopeless, her voice growing distraught. “I even, look, I brought you something! It’s in my pocket, I stole it from Sage to prove you can trust me-“

Check her pocket, you sign to Kimiko, saying aloud to Ashley, “What is it.”

“Information! You guys need information, right, you’re really stupid-“

If this wasn’t such a dire situation, you’d have laughed at how Ben and Kimiko have almost identical expressions of indignation, Ben’s hot anger flashing through you and Kimiko looking up at Ashley with a scowl.

“Hot tip, Ashley.” You say, tone dry and gaze flat. “Don’t call the people you’re trying to defect to really stupid. What is it-“

Your words die in your throat as Kimiko rises back up from Ashley’s pocket, holding up a fluffy pink pen.

Neuman huffs in disbelief. “How the hell is that-“

“Shut up,” you snap, and don’t bother to think about Neuman’s shocked expression. “Ashley, where the fuck did you get that.”

“I told you, I stole it from Sage. I recorded one of our meetings, and I got some of Sage’s fucked up plan! It's a peace offering, you have to fucking help me, I’m done, I want out, I promise.“

You don’t trust it. This is an exact type of play Sage would make. Take advantage of you and your team's morality and desperation, give you one reason to trust Ashley and then stab you in the back.

Play it, you sign to Kimiko, who’s eyeing the pen with weary confusion. You have to click it-

Your movements falter as Kimiko follows your instructions, and Sage’s voice fills the room. It’s still cold and crude and almost robotic, and that broken thing in your gut cowers at the sound. 

“We’re still waiting on our federal asset to report back, but I have faith they’ll block any of Butcher’s plans for the V.  They’re also working on the remaining supplies, I don’t know what Edgar was thinking with that deal, but it should remain a non-issue. Most of them don’t have the cognitive skills to connect any dots that might prove dangerous to us, except,” Sage says your name, and you swallow. “And she’s-“

“She’s missing, Sage,” that’s Homelander’s voice. Annoyed and callous and hateful, making every part of your body shrink into itself. “She’s not working with those fucking idiots, they probably took her again-“

“You saw the tower, and my coma, that was-“

The audio cuts out, and you take a long breath. “Who recorded that.”

“I did,” Ashley’s answer is nervous, but not quick. Not rehearsed. “I stole the pen from Sage, and recorded it. I couldn’t use my phone, they’d have tracked me on it-“ 

“Homelander thinks I’m still on his side?”

“He fucking lasered one of the writers.” Ashley face contorts in disgust. “When they suggested moving the narrative to you being a heartbreaking slut.”

Ben’s arm shoots out, as if he can feel the slightly dizzying cold climbing up your spine—he probably can—and steadies you on your feet. If Ashley has an opinion on that, her eyes dropping to Ben’s hand resting on your hip, arm around your waist, holding you tight against him as his fingers rub patterns on your skin, she’s smart enough not to say it.

“What’s the federal asset.”

“Sage has a contact or leak or something,” Ashley’s voice is growing eager as she answers you. Still authentic, and you don’t remember her being a great actress. “I don’t know who, but I think it’s in the CIA or another fucking important government place.“

Your hand moves to cover Ben’s, keeping him there—warm and holding you on earth—and tapping your fingers on his knuckles as you continue. “And the Red River deal. What’s that.”

“Red River is funded by the government, I think it was in exchange for their own V supply, but I’m not sure-“ 

“Fuck,” you hiss, turning to Neuman. “When you were in the White House, did they-“

“They did,” Neuman mutters. “Off-site, not involved with the Pentagon. It was an executive backup, but I don’t know where we got it-“

“It’s from Red River. Ashley’s not lying about that, it’s half-government funded with tax breaks.”

Ashley frowns at you. “That was a big fucking secret, how did you-“ she cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. “A-Train?”

You give a curt nod, giving up on trying to gloss over that question. There are more important things to worry about. You can taste blood again, and you’re too wired to focus on anything but what now. You have to figure out what the fuck to do now.

“So he is alive-“

“Yeah, he’s alive, shut up.”

“I knew it, that piece of shit-“

Ben tugs you closer to his side, shooting Ashley a deadly glower. “She said to shut the fuck up.”

“How long have you wanted out,” your question is slow, tired. You’re tired, and you do want a reason to trust Ashley. You can’t give her to Mallory, she can’t just go back to Vought, and fucking hell you’re going to scream. “Because we can’t just fake your death-“

“You faked A-Train’s death-“ 

“Well, despite what you think, we aren’t in the business of witness protection. And with that,” you point to the pen. “We can’t give you to the CIA. So what do you think happens here.”

Ashley goes pale. “You keep me safe? And I help you fuck with Vought?”

“We can’t take you with us, Ashley.” You rub your face, trying to push all the tension out of your body. “This is really fucking complicated-“

“She can stay with me.” 

You turn to Neuman, and find her face settled with a resolved certainty. “What?”

“I want this whole thing to be over as well, and if keeping Ashley safe will help, I can do that.” Neuman sighs. “Zoe needs to go to a regular school, and I miss coffee shops. Mallory never visits, so that’s not a danger, and you’re right, she,” Neuman jerks her head to Ashley. “Can’t go back to Vought. As long as she promises to not be a bitch, she can stay here.” 

“I won’t be a bitch,” Ashley jumps in, words frenzied and expression hopeful. “And I’ll help wherever you need-“ 

You raise a hand, and Ashley’s words stutter off as you examine her. You shouldn’t trust her. She might still be working with Sage and Homelander, this could so easily be a trap.

But fuck, you’re sick of being vigilant. And Ashley’s fear is still lingering in your throat, and it tastes like grime and leeches off your own terror, making the cracks inside you spread. You’re tired, and you don’t want to be angry and cold and bitter anymore. This might be a trap. It might be smarter to lock Ashley up somewhere, or kill her right here.

You have no interest in being smarter right now. Locking Ashley up is a line you won’t cross, and the thought of killing her makes your hands feel wrong and evil.

“Ashley,” you say, words clear and sharp. “If we leave you here, you listen to Neuman. Her word is your fucking law. Got it?” 

“Yes,” Ashley nods, and something relaxes in her face. “Got it. Thank you-“

“Don’t,” you exhale, leaning back into Ben’s body. “Just don’t fuck us.”

“I won’t.”

You want to believe her. More than anything. So you give her a half-smile, and nod to Kimiko to release her.

The door bangs. “Can someone let me in-“

Hughie falls forward as Neuman opens the door, regaining his balance in stumbling steps. His gaze flicks to Ashley—untied and rubbing her wrists—but it doesn’t linger, shooting to you with a wide, anxiety filled expression.

“We, uh, we have to wrap this up-“

“We did, Ashley’s staying here.” You frown. “Hughie, what-“

“Singer wants us all in DC. And we were supposed to leave an hour ago, but MM couldn’t reach you.”

“Fuck, okay. Neuman-“

“I’ll handle it,” she gives you a curt nod, keeping her eyes on Ashley. “Good luck with Singer.”

You should apologize for barging in and dropping Ashley on her without notice, but it feels like an insult. Neuman’s smart, and she knows what she’s doing. So you return the nod, take the pen from Kimiko, and slide your hand into Ben’s as you pull the car keys out of your pocket, tossing them to Hughie.

You turn back to Ashley before you follow Ben out the door, and know you’ve made the right choice. There’s no one to blame for this, and if there was, it wouldn’t be Ashley. She’s just as afraid and tired as you are. You’re starting to think everyone might be just as afraid and tired as you are, and you’re just the only one weak enough to crack and break and show it.

Not weak.

You’re not weak. You fixed this. And Ben’s hand is holding yours, big and warm, with rough fingers holding you in a gentle grasp. There’s still atomic, zealous, focused love in his body, all for you, and it’s so strong. There’s still that mold lining his heart, but it’s being pushed out and replaced by that blooming glow, and you think you’re fueling it. That it’s fertilized by that piece of you that’s alive inside of him, that’s twined into his body and permanent. Weak things aren’t permanent. Weak things don’t grow.

Everyone is tired. This is all fucking unfair and everyone is tired. But Ben’s hand is in yours. Ben loves you, and not every other exhausted, wronged person in the world. He’s staying with you, and never leaving you in the darker spaces that are only cold and hollow.

Not weak. You are not weak. You are not fucking weak. You’re still exhausted, but you’re not fucking weak. There are a hundred more battles to fight in this war, and you’re not faltering. You’re tired, but you’re still fucking fighting, and you’re not fucking weak.

And you’re going to figure this out. With Ben at your side, you’re going to get to the end. Together.

End Note: As we near the third and final act of this story, an extra thank you! I don't think I'll ever fully express how grateful I am for everyone, and the love you've shown this story means everything to me. These two haunt my everyday life, and I'm so happy you guys adore them as well. Thank you so, so much, and I'll see you soon for an all Ben chapter!

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli

[queers-gambit]

Alpine

prompt: in an effort to help your boyfriend with his trauma, you rescue a furry feline together - a white cat named, Alpine - who rescues you both in return.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 6.9k+

note: been seeing a lot of Alpine recently and got inspired.

second note: no, it's not comic / canon compliant so just have fun. author did some research but there's not a LOT written / known about Alpine, so, again, just have fun!

warnings: post Endgame, pre tfaws; cursing, Lord's name in vain, small angst, mostly hurt and comfort, Nick Fury calling reader a bitch playfully, Bucky's trauma responses, small spoilers, Dr. Raynor / therapy.

other works with Widow!reader and Bucky NOT necessary to read

read here: Damage Done

"Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Disappointed? Annoyed? Frustrated?"

"No, doll."

"Then why won't you talk to me!?"

"Nothing to say."

You wiped a hand down your face, lifting it only to pinch the bridge of your nose. Your head shook to shake away your thoughts, sniffling emotion, sighing when you dropped your hand to slap against your thigh. "I'm really trying here, Bucky, I swear to you, I am. But I can't help if you don't talk to me," you softened your voice, beginning to understand this was a losing battle.

"I never said I needed help."

"You never have to ask me for help, Bucky, I just give it because I want to! Because I love you! That's part of being in a relationship!"

"Maybe I don't want it!" Your boyfriend snapped, rounding on you with unfiltered emotion in his eyes. The horrors swam in his baby blues, vivid memories he was unable to escape haunting him, terrorizing him; creating a shell of a man who could no longer hide his avid pain. "Did you ever think about that? Ever consider that I don't want your help because I don't need it?"

"Everyone needs help sometimes, Buck."

"No, not everyone - I'm not one of your pet projects, you don't get to treat me like a broken thing that needs fixed! I certainly don't need your pity - not yours."

"I don't pity you! Fuck's sake, Bucky, I love you and want to see you heal. I know you better than anyone - "

"You don't," he sneered, cutting you off. "You don't know me, not really, not as well as Steve - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Steve isn't here! He's not coming back!" You snapped, instantly regretting it when Bucky's eyes coated with glassy emotion he fought vehemently to keep down. "I-I'm sorry, that was - that was really mean of me and totally out of line," you apologized, both sighing deeply. "All right, look, let's just talk this out, please."

"There's nothing to say."

Your hip cocked, arms crossing, "She called me, you know."

"Who?"

"Dr. Raynor."

"Fuck's sake," he growled. "Why would she do that?"

"Maybe because today's session was, apparently, supposed to be a couples session. She thought I was refusing, called to say I was impeding on your progress and if I want to help you, I'd have to show up to your appointments. Which is really funny because you never told me about today, so I had no idea what the hell she was talking about - but that didn't stop her from tearing me a new asshole!"

He frowned, avoiding your eyes. "I didn't need a couples session. Not today, I just - I wanted today to focus on other shit."

"And I can respect that, but you're not doing yourself any favors by hiding shit from me. To get the best results from therapy, you have to actually do the work, and not just do what Dr. Raynor says, but actually listen to her advice - "

"I don't need you on my back about this, Raynor does that enough for you both," Bucky growled. "I do the fucking work - I'm the one in that room, I'm the one applying silly little rules to my life - "

"Obviously not if you didn't even tell me Raynor requested my attendance! You should've told me, and then you should've said you weren't ready! I would've respected that, but I can't do a Goddamn thing if you don't talk to me!"

His jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, skin twitching and distinct muscles tightening. "Like I said, there's nothing to talk about," he practically spat, shaking his head at you before grabbing his sneakers from the closet.

You didn't mean to sound harsh, but demanded, "Where are you going? We're in the middle of a conversation."

"No, we're not, 'cause I'm ending it," he scoffed, sitting on the corner of your shared mattress, exchanged his shoes. "And I'm going for a run, need to clear my head."

You shook your head before leaving the bedroom, "Absolutely unbelievable."

Bucky left your shared apartment a few minutes later, somewhere you've only lived five months - the time it's been since Tony Stark, Iron Man, snapped the other half of living beings back into existence. He lost his life in return, the ultimate sacrifice, but he managed to reverse the damage Thanos created five years prior. Five months of living in this apartment without a lick of warmth, personal touch, or real sentiment; it being dreary, dark, and mostly empty. Hell, Bucky didn't even feel comfortable in bed, so he camped in the barren living room, giving visual to the way your relationship was beginning to fray, unravel, crack.

He didn't want anything personal in your apartment - thinking it was ridiculous to settle down after all you two have endured, witnessed, and fought for. You agreed to keep things at the bare minimum, only stocking what was necessary, knowing this was part of his healing process and didn't want to drum-up further anxiety. It made everything impersonal, boring, bland, and down right depressing - but it was a small accommodation you could provide your lover.

You hated the distance. Hated how alone Bucky felt after Steve. Hated how reclusive he became, the anger he projected. Hated how no matter what you did, you weren't enough - not this time. For years, you've loved him despite his flaws, his brainwashing, his trauma responses, but whatever he was enduring now was something you weren't equipped to handle. Didn't mean you weren't willing to try, but Bucky was the one pushing you away; thinking his demons were his sole responsibility, never letting you be the pillar that helped support him. God, you hated the distance.

You left the apartment, too. Nick Fury had employed you for creative, solo, high profile missions; wanting to utilize your Widow training, especially now that Natasha Romanoff was deceased. And you wanna know what? Bucky hadn't even asked about her, never tried to offer comfort, only quietly attending the funeral service you hosted with the remaining Avengers to give her a proper sendoff - despite there being no body. Bucky knew you and Nat were as thick as thieves, family without blood, two lost souls who leaned on each other in trying times; bonded by trauma, encouraged by resounding bravery, disciplined by strength. The fact that your boyfriend never even checked in with you after Nat's passing obviously hurt your feelings but you remained silent.

Again, to avoid generating more anxiety for Bucky.

You met the one-eyed man at a local, bustling coffee shop, finding the sight of the hardened, burly man eating a scone amusing. "Got you one of these," he nudged a dessert plate to your side of the table when you sat down with your desired coffee, "know you like 'em."

"Blueberries are my favorite," you half-smirked, regarding the moist muffin and sighing sadly. "All right, sir, what's on the docket?"

He stared at you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully before leaning back in his chair. "The fuck's going on with you?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You look different today."

"Mh," you nodded, joking, "got a hair cut."

"No, it's your aura. Something bothering you, kid?"

"You do realize I'm a fully grown adult, right?"

Nick shrugged, "I don't see age."

"You don't - nobody sees age, Nick, Jesus."

He took a sip of his green tea. "There's still something bothering you. Not sure if you should go on this mission if you're wound tight."

"I'm just dealing with shit at home."

"Oh, right, the cyborg. How is the hundred year old psycho?"

"You you want me to stab out your other eye? 'Cause I fucking will," you threatened with a fork clenched in your grasp, perking your brows up your forehead. "Say that shit again, see what the fuck I do, Nick, I absolutely dare you."

He chuckled, hands held in defense, "Sorry, sorry, that was uncalled for. What's wrong with Sergeant Barnes?"

You shrugged, "It's complicated."

"Bitch, aliens opening a wormhole in space and time to invade Earth is complicated - relationships aren't. Try me."

After an amused chuckle, you told him, "He's struggling right now. You know? After everything, it's been a lot for him and now that things are relatively back to normal, he's having a hard time trying to assimilate himself back into the populace. You know, learning to live in this day and age - a man out of time, outside his comfort zone, forced to adjust himself after living as a weapon of mass destruction for so long. Add in the fact that his best friend passed, marking another forceful adjustment he's unprepared for..."

"Hm," Nick nodded, "heard he's got a full pardon."

"He does."

"Which has a contingency he's gotta go to therapy, right? Part of rejoining society?"

You nodded, "Right, again."

"So he's in therapy and still struggling?"

"It's not like there's an on-off switch, Nick, therapy takes time and dedication. I just don't think he feels at peace, calm, in control - like he deserves any of this; the pardon especially. Think the stress, fear, and confusion is eating at him."

"Well, he's got you."

"I'm not his mother."

"No, you're his girlfriend, and it's a girlfriend's responsibility to support him, ain't it? Help him through this?"

"I can only do so much, Nick," you scoffed, "I'm just one person and he's a stubborn jackass - he just pushes me away. I'm sure I don't help the situation by accepting your contracts."

Fury considered your words for a long moment, then asked, "You said he's lonely?"

"Wouldn't you? Given his situation? He won't say, but I know losing Steve caused a part of him die."

Nick shrugged, "So get him a dog."

You never wouldn't guessed those words could ever pass Nick Fury's lips, head cocking, eyes narrowing, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm sorry, do what now?"

"It's obvious, ain't it? Dude needs company when you're gone, a sense of purpose, to feel like there was something - or someone - depending on him. Might help whatever limbo he's lingering in."

"A dog?"

"A dog. He can take it for walks or whatever."

You considered his recommendation, asking again, "A dog?"

"Do we need to get your hearing checked again? You lose the last functionality of your ears? Yes, a dog."

"I don't know..."

"It's just a suggestion, might promote his peace, help him process grief and guilt. Telling you, a dog would do him good. Now," he took another sip of tea, "onto business."

"You give me whiplash," you chuckled. "What's this job?"

"Simple and easy," he pulled up a tablet from the chair beside him, tapping it three times and handing it to you.

"None of your jobs are simple or easy, Nicky-Nick."

"I told you, don't call me that. Look, I just need you in London to investigate a string of potential terrorist activity. Just some recon, you won't be gone more than a few days - if you behave and stay on task."

You scanned the document, "When do I ever do that?" He chuckled briefly, you wondering, "Flagsmashers? Jesus, what a name. C'mon, you can't be serious. These guys are just radicals - you know, trying to vouch for those displaced after the Blip. It's actually kinda endearing, I mean, they're trying to give a microphone to those without a voice."

"They're escalating - too quickly," Fury informed. "They haven't raised any international flags yet, but something ain't right about them. I just need you as eyes and ears, maybe report if you think they're worth the worry."

Little did you know, in only about a month, you would join forces with Bucky and Sam Wilson - The Falcon - to dismantle the organization.

"When do I leave?"

"Tuesday would be ideal. But I can push it to Friday if you wanna go get that dog."

Your laughter was endearing, handing the tablet back over.

Bucky liked holding hands, though, he often wouldn't ever voice it. It made him feel tethered, anchored to reality; instilling a sense of pride to have such a gorgeous lady - such as yourself - at his side. However, the part he liked most, was being reminded he wasn't alone; even when on crowded, overpopulated streets, he didn't have to be afraid because with his hand in yours, he looked just like everyone else. You protected him even without intending to or without even knowing what you were doing.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he sighed, people on the street sidestepping and avoiding running into you two. "I was upset, stressed out, you know how I get after seeing Raynor."

"It's okay, baby," you assured, ever the patient, loyal, and supportive girlfriend he needed. "I'm not holding it against you, but just promise me, when you're ready, you'll tell me."

He nodded, "I will - I mean, I promise." You hummed and pet his bicep with your other hand, giving his arm a hug. "Now are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"I told you, it's a surprise."

He was ready to reply when a small commotion echoed from the alley you were passing, Bucky coming to a jarring halt that yanked on your arm, swinging you around. You were ready to ask what was happening when you clocked one of Bucky's "friends", an older man named Yori Nakajima, arguing with one of his neighbors.

"Hey, hey, Yori," Bucky intervened, you watching from the mouth of the alley, "woah, hey, what's going on?"

You couldn't hear whatever Yori was saying, but Bucky turned to the other man and growled something at him that made the neighbor scurry off. He glared at you, lip curled in a sneer, disappearing amongst patrons of the crowded sidewalk. You frowned and approached Yori and Bucky, your boyfriend still trying to calm his friend - well, 'friend' was a very generous term. See, Yori was the father of a young man that died by the hand of the Winter Soldier, being a name on Bucky's list he needed to make amends with.

However, when you took your place beside Bucky, Yori was waving you both off and shuffling down the alley, towards one of his apartment building's doors. "What was that all about?" You asked softly, taking note of the disgruntled expression your boyfriend usually wore these days.

"Just," he sighed, shaking his head, "Yori's upset with some of his neighbors - thinks they're encroaching on being disrespectful."

"When doesn't he?" Bucky sighed, you wondering softly, "You think you're ever gonna feel ready to tell him?"

"I'm working on it," he sighed sadly. "All right, c'mon - "

You both paused with furrowed brows when there came a series of shrill meows from under a couple of soggy, cardboard boxes beside a dumpster. "Did you hear that?" You asked.

"Uh-huh."

Another elongated meow was heard, Bucky curiously approach the discarded trash coated in sewage sludge. He slowly squatted, you approaching his shoulder when another meow cried out. Now, normally, you'd never investigate animal noises out of fear they were feral and carrying disease, but something just felt sad about what you heard - apparently, to Bucky, too. Gingerly, he reached out and lifted a piece of dripping cardboard, seeing a bundle moving under the next piece. He moved that one, too.

"Oh, my God!" You cooed when a tiny kitten was revealed. White fur was stained with dirt, sludge, and other nasty juices; nose pink, eyes a piercing, clear blue with brownish tear stains rimming them. The kitten mewed in greeting, pacing a tight circle before trying to back up in the brick wall; hunching its back and hissing slightly when you lowered yourself into a squat beside Bucky. "Baby, it's all alone, should we help?" You pouted.

"I don't think it wants our help, doll," he sighed. "It looks scared of us. Bet the mother's around somewhere, be a shame to move it if she's coming back."

"It looks too skinny, maybe it's alone?"

"Or maybe it's not," Buck countered. "C'mon, sugar, we can't take it."

After a bit of back and forth, you finally relented and had to walk away. You frowned for at least two blocks, but upon your halt at a crosswalk, you were greeted by another shrieking meow. Whipping around, you and Buck both looked down to discover the wee little kitten had followed you and was practically yelling for your attention. You grinned.

"Well, now we really have to help it," you told Bucky.

"How?"

"We take it to a shelter," you answered, shrugging, "good thing I know where one is."

"What's it doing?" Bucky asked nervously, the kitten dancing around your legs; brushing up against you both, meowing the whole time.

"I think she wants you to pick her up," you smirked.

He sighed and stooped to scoop the little creature in hand, regarding it carefully; weighing it, checking paws and other vulnerable spots. Bucky muttered, "All right, yeah, fine, let's take him to a shelter. Little beast needs some food it feels like, definitely a flea bath and some fresh water."

"You big softie."

"Lead the way to the shelter, princess, c'mon," he ignored your jab, tucking the kitten into his chest protectively. "He feels fragile," Bucky worried, "maybe you should carry him, I might crush him."

"You've got the little babe, Buck," you assured, "you're not gonna hurt him - I mean, if it's even a him."

"By the attitude, could be a girl," he joked, making your heart lighten. He'd been in such a funk that you missed his teasing, soft words; the little jokes he cracked, his smile - God, you missed seeing his smile. During your time on the run after DC, while seeking refuge in Bucharest for a couple years, you grew accustomed to seeing his radiant smile; remembering how easily he offered it when just the two of you. For a moment, you considered how your relationship was no longer just you and Bucky - but his trauma, too.

Arriving at the shelter, it was like an assault on the senses. Dogs were heard barking from the kennels, the pungent smell of urine and wood chips smacking you in the face, and a sort of humidity lingering in the air - a sharp contrast to the crisp outside.

"Hi," you greeted the receptionist, offering a kind smile.

"Hi, there. How can I help you two?" The man with long hair asked.

"Well, uh, two things," you explained, "one: we'd like to tour your kennels, we're interested in adopting a dog - "

"We are?" Bucky gaped.

" - and two: we found this little fella in an alley," you pointed to the kitten curled protectively against Bucky's warmth. "We wanted to make sure he was okay, maybe leave him here for adoption?"

"Oh," Man Bun blinked, regarding both Bucky and the kitten, "wow, uh, yeah, that's really nice of you guys, rescuing the little guy. You know, since everyone came back few months ago, there's be an influx of strays. A lot of people gave up their animals when their loved ones came back."

"Well, that's super fucked up," your eyes rolled.

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "Look, I'd love to help you guys out, so, tell you what. I can let you back in the kennels - no problem! Help match you to your new companion, but, uh... I don't think I can help you with the cat. You see, we, uh, we've had to start euthanizing the overflow animals or the ones who don't get adopted in a timeframe. We're at our max capacity, so... If you wanna leave him here, uh, I can't promise he'll have a place."

"You'd put him down?" Bucky growled.

"It's not what we want to do," Man Bun swiftly explained, "but it's just necessary - we don't have the room or resources to take him."

"Do you know of any no-kill shelters? Maybe one that has room?" You asked, feeling Bucky's disgust rolling off him in waves.

"Not in the area," Man Bun frowned. "Honestly? I think the closest no-kill shelter's in Maryland. Maybe Virginia?"

"Jesus," you frowned, looking at Bucky.

"Look, my best advice?" Man Bun offered, "Take the little tike home, clean him up, and call around to other shelters to see if they have space. But if you intend to adopt a dog, maybe bringing back a kitten isn't the best timing. If you give him up to us, he'll probably be sent directly to overflow..."

"We'll take him home," Bucky instantly decided, shocking you.

"We will?" You asked softly, lips curling in a small smile.

"Why not?" He sighed.

"I would've thought you'd be more of a dog person..."

"I'm not an animal person, but we're not leaving this little guy here just for him to be euthanized. We can handle him for a few days, you know, until we find a shelter with room."

"I think that's a great idea," you grinned.

"But was this your plan? For us to adopt a dog?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Why?"

You shrugged, "Just thought a dog would be nice company when I'm outta town for work. You know, could go on walks or runs together, you'd have someone looking out for you, maybe a dog would help with your stress levels?"

He eyed you for a moment, sighing, "I appreciate that, doll. Maybe another time, though? At least let us find somewhere or someone to take this guy."

The kitten gave a prolonged squeak - seemingly agreeing. "All right, noisy, we hear you," you chuckled, giving the kitten's head a scratch. You asked Man Bun, "Do you guys have the means to check him over, you know, before we go home? Make sure he's not injured or something?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "let me go get one of the technicians."

After the tech's exam, you were given the paperwork from that day's visit, the name, number, and address of a recommended vet, and before you knew it, found yourselves at the local pet store. You would've been ashamed by the absurd amount of money you spent, but Bucky rationalized the need because you weren't sure how long your new companion would stay with you. So, you ransacked the store, buying a sizable litter box, 50 pounds of actual litter, a bag of kibble, case of wet food, several different treats, a balm for the baby's feet, too many toys and stimulation activities, a carrying case in the event of transporting the kitten, and a tiny collar - if you decided to keep the little noise machine.

The sight of Bucky with the little fuzz ball warmed your heart. He still seemed hesitant and stiff, as if afraid to hurt the kitten, but he wasn't so tense anymore. However, he handed the pet over for you to hold while he carried the supplies back home; biceps bulging to support the weight. In that moment, walking familiar streets with his arms full of cat supplies, he questioned how he got here - to feel all domestic and out-of-place. He was Bucky Barnes - a Sargent in the Army, prolific hitman, something of an Avenger now. He didn't adopt cats and buy toys!

However, watching you talk to the kitten softly, he smiled - something small at first that grew like a germinating seed to split his face. You seemed so... Bright, excited, rejuvenated, even. He knew the past five months since the Blip had been rough on you, what with losing Natasha, fighting Thanos and his army of aliens, then ricocheting into 'normal life' only to deal with his emotional baggage. Watching you walk down the street with a fuzzy white ball of energy, pointing out different things, cooing and narrating the city to the kitten as if he could understand was refreshing after seemingly seeing nothing but a frown on your lips recently.

To Bucky, as long as you were happy, he was happy - and it seemed you were very content with your new little buddy. So, he was happy with your new little buddy and figured a dose of domestic life wasn't the end of the world. In fact, he actually felt... Intrigued by the newest addition to your little family.

When you returned home, it was to an empty apartment. Bucky dropped the supplies in the living room, hands to his hips, looking around, "Well, uh... At least there's room to run around, right?"

You nodded, "And no risk of ruined furniture."

"Yeah," he sighed, watching you set the kitten down. "All right, pip squeak. C'mon, lemme give you the tour - pay attention. So, in here," he moved around the wall, kitten following and listening intently, labeling, "this is the kitchen, this is where you'll get your meals - and no, you're not allowed on the counters." He pointed a warning finger, "Don't let me catch you up there or there's gonna be hell to pay. I don't wanna find your hair in my morning bagel."

"Buck, you don't eat breakfast."

"Fine, then I don't wanna hear my girl found hair in her bagel."

The kitten mewed loudly, trotting to keep up as Bucky walked around the barren apartment - giving a literal tour. You unpacked the supplies, setting up a raised food bowl beside a full water bowl. You left the treats in an empty cupboard, the litter box ready to use in the bathroom, and tossed some toys around the open, empty living room floor. You meandered, stashing other supplies, hearing the scampering thuds of excited little feet.

When your head popped out of the kitchen, you grinned at what you saw. Bucky was sat on the floor, flicking a feathered stick over the hardwood floors for the kitten to race around and try to catch. The longer you watched, the more defenseless Bucky seemed, and dare you say it, he looked calm - maybe even happy. His eyes were locked on the animal's antics as if he didn't want to miss a single movement he made; small smile making him look younger and brighter.

You made a mental note to thank Nick Fury for his suggestion. Sure, he actually said to get a dog, but this kitten seemed to have the same effect.

"Hey, baby?" You called, hanging up your phone after calling the recommended vet. "So, uh... Listen, you know how I have to go outta town on Friday?"

"Yeah?" He glanced up, letting the kitten wrestle his booted foot.

"So, I managed to get a vet appointment but it's for Friday. Is that okay? Or do you want me to reschedule for when I'm back so we can go together?"

"Oh, uh, no, that's all right, sugar, keep the Friday slot. I can take him, it's not a big deal."

"You sure? I hate having to saddle you with this responsibility."

"I'm sure," he nodded, "I can take him, it's okay."

For the rest of the week, you had a front row viewing of an incredible bond being formed. The kitten liked you, you two had many moments together, but it was obvious the little guy adored Bucky. He was stuck to your boyfriend like Velcro, following him everywhere, shrieking for attention when Bucky was preoccupied, liked being held when he cooked, even tried to get in the shower with Bucky. They played together, Bucky's laugh warming the entire apartment; positively obsessed with one another, the little guy even sleeping between you and Bucky.

It was as if you both forgot to look for the kitten a permanent home, the lack of furniture providing wide space for play and entertainment. Bucky even got one of those cat trees, couple individual scratching posts, and a laser pointer that drove your furry friend up the wall. There was some unspoken rule about naming animals - where if you named them, they were yours officially. So, one evening over dinner, you proposed a few names, Bucky giving his opinion; but then you began to consider "theme" names. Because your little buddy was white, you mused over names like Noelle or Snow, but finally settled on Alpine after narrowly beating out Aspen.

The day you flew to London, you warned both Bucky and kitten to behave themselves. Later that night, while you were sat in a tinted SUV for surveillance, your phone rang with Bucky's contact. "Hey, baby, how's it going?" You answered, refocusing through your advanced camera lens to snap necessary photos.

"Good, yeah. Uh, how's London?"

"Pretty dreary, it's been raining all day. Hey, how was the vet appointment?"

'Oh, yeah, no, it was, uh, yeah, it was good. Gave Alpine a buncha shots, microchipped her, started her on antibiotics - "

"Did you say, 'her'?"

"Yeah, that was the other thing - turns out, Alpine's a girl."

You chuckled, "Well, I'll be damned. How're you feelin', Buck?"

"I'm... Okay."

"I'm sorry I'm not there," you sighed. "Nightmares again?"

"Yeah."

"Sleeping in the living room?"

"You know it."

"TV on?"

"Reminds me I'm not where I dreamt I am."

"Well, I'll be home in a few days."

"What's this mission?"

"Just a little recon, I'm only to observe. Nicky told me to keep an eye on some suspicious activity."

"Don't tell me you're sitting in a white van?"

"No, sir, it's a Rolls Royce this time," you chuckled.

True to your word, you were home by Tuesday night. The transatlantic flight was long and tedious; a storm creating steady turbulence, making it absolutely impossible to get any shut eye. When you landed, you made a beeline to the Starbucks and got the largest coffee possible with an added 2 shots of espresso before exiting the bustling airport. Outside, waiting at the curb, Nick Fury himself stood before a sleek and shiny car that probably cost more than a 4-year education at an American university.

He smirked, "Welcome back, kid."

"Nice of you to pick me up, Nicky-Nick."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me 'kid'."

"Get in the Goddamn car, I'm not having this argument again."

After storing your luggage, Nick drove you back home while listening to your mission report. You didn't think the Flagsmashers were extreme enough to warrant intervention, but all Nick heard was that now was the time to strike before there came the need, before a chance for escalation could occur. You left the tablet full of notes, observations, photos, and data with the one-eyed man, and before you fully departed the car, paused to lean in the open window.

"Hey, uh, I've been meaning to thank you."

"What for?" Nick asked, face hardened in a permanent look of disagreement. You never took it personally - Nick Fury having professional Resting Bitch Face (RBF).

"Your advice about getting Bucky a dog."

"No shit," he chuckled, "you actually got him a dog?"

"Uh, well, no..."

"What'd you get?" Nick asked in suspicion, watching your lips roll between your teeth to restrain your smile. "Ah, hell no! You didn't! A cat? A fucking cat?"

"I know you don't like them - "

"Bitch! One scratched out my eye!"

"But our cat didn't."

"Doesn't matter - fuck all them felines."

You laughed and slapped the metal door, "Well, thank you anyway for the idea of a companion animal. Bucky's a lot calmer it seems."

Nick Fury sighed, waving you off like a pesky insect. "I'll call you when I got another job. Have fun with the little demon."

"You talkin' about Bucky or Alpine?"

"The cat - wait, Alpine? The fuck kinda name is that?"

"You know, Alpine... Like the Alps?"

His head shook, "I know what fuckin' alpine is."

"Why don't you head off - looks like you're gonna give yourself a stroke. Didn't realize getting a kitten would stress you out this bad."

"Get out my Goddamn window and I can leave."

You grinned and dropped a wink, again, patting the car and stepping back onto the sidewalk. Nick peeled off, leaving you alone to shoulder your duffel bag and head inside your apartment building. When you got to your desired location, the door opened without the usual creak, Bucky obviously WD-40'ing the hinges. "Hello?" You called softly, hanging your keys on the little peg in the foyer, toeing out of your shoes, glancing around the empty apartment.

Ready to call out again, you actually almost choked on air when you inhaled but stopped abruptly. You pouted your bottom lip at the sight of Bucky sound asleep in his nest on the floor, TV's lighting flashing and creating shadows, giving clear sight of Alpine curled in a tight ball on Buck's chest. His flesh hand was raised to rest on his chest, keeping Alpine cuddled to his warmth.

Quickly, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, snapping an adorable picture of your boyfriend before silently tiptoeing away to dispose of your duffel and purse. You sent the photo to Bucky's phone, positive you were keeping the kitten. After a long, hot shower that washed the travel from your body, you changed into loungewear, pulled your hair back, then reentered the living room where you knelt at Bucky's side. In-sync, your presence made both Alpine and Bucky flinch awake - your boyfriend jerking away from your warmth as the kitten hopped off his chest.

You winced, "Oh, shit, I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to wake you."

His head shook, "No, it's all right, doll, I wasn't sleeping."

"You were, don't deny it," you grinned, settling on the mound of blankets.

Bucky chuckled gently, "I tried to stay up for you. C'mere," his arm opened in invitation, smirking gently. You settled down and turned into his side, his arm now coiled around your form, constricting to pull you closer so his lips could plant on your forehead. "How was London? Your mission?"

"Easy peasy," you sighed, "nothing too strenuous or stressful. The most 'complicated' part of the whole thing was using a different car each day to avoid suspicion."

"Hmm... Who was the target?"

"Some radical group," you sighed, head resting on his pectoral. "How was it? Just you and Alpine?"

"It was pretty good, nothing to complain about. She's nice company."

As if understanding she was the topic of conversation, Alpine mewed several times in a row as she walked up the seam of your body pressed to Bucky's. She turned in two circles before settling down between you; your grin authentic as a manicured fingernail extended to scratch her head.

"Actually, sweetheart, I've been thinking..."

"Hmm? About what?" You mumbled, eyes drooping with each passing second.

"About how we should keep her - Alpine, we should keep Alpine."

"You're just figuring that out now?" You teased, sluggishly lifting your head to smirk at him. "I knew she was ours the moment you picked her up. It'll be nice having her around, don't you think? I know she's not a dog you can take on walks but with Alpine, you don't have to be alone."

He nodded, "I like that idea. She's a good cat."

"Check your phone in the morning."

"Why?"

"Mmmh, I sent you a picture, you'll see - but it's just confirmation that Alpines part of us now, part of our crew."

"Our family," Bucky agreed softly. He watched you resettle on his chest, spending the following couple hours in the glow of the TV, watching you and Alpine. Bucky's heart warmed to a degree he's never known, making the comparison of himself to Jim Carrey's, the Grinch - a movie you made him watch. Eventually, exhaustion outweighed his domestic thoughts; falling asleep with you safe in his arms and Alpine curled up between you.

"Well, this certainly is a surprise... I was beginning to think James made you up."

"Oh, please, nobody could make me up - I'm too complex, nobody's got that kinda imagination," you smirked, legs crossed, seated beside Bucky on a sofa; both facing his therapist.

"I'm glad you could finally join us - I've been asking James to bring you for a while now," Dr. Raynor's eyes darted between you and Bucky, making you feel as if she was seeing right into your soul. However, her tone was accusatory, as if scolding Bucky.

So, you swiftly defended, "Well, I'm happy to be here. Bucky's one of my top priorities, I'd do anything for him - including attending any of these silly mandated sessions. Which are bullshit, by the way, because he's not the Winter Soldier anymore so why is Bucky being crucified? Why is this being pinned on him when he technically didn't do anything? The Winter Soldier did."

"Well, healing often takes time and dedication, and must be done in a series of steps. That's how you see real progress. These sessions are a condition of his pardon - "

"I can't believe your government would even enforce these silly little rules considering Bucky's assistance. He fought against Thanos, he fought on our side, and by all means, helped restore what was lost. I just find it pretty dehumanizing to force him to jump through hoops. I mean, for Christ's sake, half the universe was snapped away, you'd think after that, there wouldn't be need for pardons or contingencies - or for holding onto grudges."

"This is simply how we keep order in a post-Blip society. Everything changed in those five years, it's necessary to keep balance amongst all worldly citizens."

You scoffed lightly, "Ever consider these sessions might be doing more harm than good?"

Raynor frowned, "Despite the Winter Soldier being decommissioned, James still has trauma to process and skeletons to clear out of the closet. Yes, the Winter Soldier is gone, but the man remains - and James needs to focus on healing that part of himself. Whatever he did as the Winter Soldier wasn't Bucky's doing, but he still remembers all he did, which creates a heavy toll on the mind. That's part of the reason these sessions are mandated - because the assassin might be gone, but the residual effects still linger."

You hummed, "Well, let's get into it, Doc."

"You know... I've heard a lot about you. James paints you in a very bright light, says your bark and bite are equally as vicious."

"Hm," you nodded, brows perked, "yet I don't know shit about you."

"Perfectly natural. Typically, most people don't gossip about their therapists. It's nice that you could join us for this session."

"Nice to be invited."

She clicked her pen and settled her pad securely on her lap, just staring at you and Bucky for a long moment. You were ready to snap at her when she opened her mouth, "So, I hear you adopted a cat?"

"We did," you confirmed.

"Alpine," Bucky supplied, body rigid with tension and nerves.

"Right... Alpine," Raynor nodded, leaning her elbow to an arm of her padded chair. "How did this cat come into your possession?"

"We rescued her from a dumpster," Bucky answered stiffly.

"Really?" Raynor perked both brows.

"She was under some pieces of cardboard, screamin' her li'l head off," You chuckled. "Though, I think it's safe to say she chose us, adopted us as caregivers."

"How's that?"

"She wouldn't let us pick her up and we were afraid to take her in case her mama was lingering around. Turns out, she followed us. We were at a crosswalk when she caught up, demanding we pick her up and take her home."

"Is that so?"

"I'd like to think so," you nodded. "We were already on our way to the shelter, so, we took her with us, got her checked out."

"Why were you heading to the shelter to begin with?"

"Oh, uh, to adopt a dog. I had a colleague recommend an emotional support animal - or a companionship animal - to help Bucky feel less alone."

Raynor made a note of something. "You work often?" She asked.

"Often enough that I feel guilty for leaving. Figured getting a dog would instill a sense of dependence, you know, help Bucky feel like there was someone depending on him. Help usher in comfort and stability, help keep him calm, focused, distracted. But Alpine does the same thing - no dog necessary, apparently."

Raynor nodded, her wrinkles dimpling as she frowned and wrote down another note. When her eyes lifted, so did her lips; a smirk on display as she praised, "I actually think that's a wonderful idea. You know, there's been a lot of research about soldiers with PTSD benefitting from an emotional support animal. You're right, they promote peace, stability, distraction - gives patrons a tangible purpose, taking care of another life not their own."

"For sure, again, anything to help," you agreed, holding Bucky's gloved hand he kept covered by leather - only worn in public.

"Although, I wonder, why get a pet? I ask because James speaks highly of you, credits you for keeping him stable and on-track. Do you feel as if she's not enough, James? Is that why you kept Alpine?"

"No," he answered instantly, "she's my best girl and will always be enough. Watch your mouth, Doc."

"But sometimes extra help is nice," you tacked on, tightening your hand in Bucky's. "But for what it's worth, Dr. Raynor, Bucky keeps me sane. I keep him balanced. We keep each other safe. Alpine's just an added bonus, a quiet menace to help quell the business of our brains."

Raynor smirked, "I must say, you surprise me, Miss."

"I'm no stranger to mental health. But as I said before, I just want to help." You looked up at Bucky, finsihing softly, "He deserves peace in this lifetime - and if a little ball of fur can help, sign me up..."

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

[voldkat]

RAIN WORLD : ROLESWAP !!

i wanted to explore an au where pebbles is swapped with sig , instead of the usual pebbles-moon swap :3 i hope you enjoy this au i accidentally created because i listened to laplace's angel for too long and was plagued by visions during the tender hours of 10 to 11 pm

the main focus of this au !! yeay !! sig accidentally kills suns out of desperation to reach A Goal ( i don't know what it is yet ) and pebbles attempts to save them by sending a care package . sig is much younger here and his personality reflects that , being bitter and stubborn and a sarcastic little shit , though he ends up calming down and resembling his canon self a little more as his can slowly rots . he was built as a sort of backup iterator in case suns' cooling systems were to fail entirely . pebbles is calmer and more level-headed , showing the same warmth and kindness he did during his canon rivulet campaign state , but ends up snapping from stress anyways and isolating himself permanently .

moon becomes an outsider to the local group , yet retains a close friendship with pebbles and being a mentor figure to sig . she sends sig illegal information during his time of need and quickly regrets it . suns becomes the group senior , built in a naturally cold environment to combat their subpar cooling tech . sig's excessive heat output threw the nearby climate into chaos and caused suns to collapse from overheating .

this one's a bit of a weird one !! hunter is now the cancerous growth slowly killing sig from the inside , his very own version of rot . it looks the same as pebbles' rot in canon , but with pinkish accents instead of dark blue accents . pebbles' rot is now a carnivorous slugcat messenger named the outlaw (?) , created by pebbles to send aid to suns . their creation process was rushed which led to them developing a terrible illness , locking them into an unfortunate demise .

spearmaster is now a random wild slugcat , weirdly mutated by natural means somehow . they stumble into sig's decaying can and retrieve his last rarefaction cell to give to suns , later becoming suns' companion . rivulet is now a genetically engineered messenger made by moon to be swift and nimble , their gills and swimming expertise letting them traverse moon's watery surroundings with great ease . they were used once to deliver the illegal information to sig , and once again to send an apology to him , which he angrily denied .

the green pup ( yet to be named ) gets separated from their family because of a scavenger-related incident . the blue pup , now named the scholar , bravely sets off in search of them . the two are related to artificer as colonymates . survivor and monk both perish from a terrible storm , getting carried away by the rain and doomed to drown . the two are related to gourmand directly .

artificer is now the leader of the slugtree colony , depicted in legends as a fierce brave warrior capable of taking on any challenge . their journey involves searching for a pair of lost pups , dodging hits from suspicious scavengers along the way . gourmand is now the unfortunate parent of survivor and monk , losing two of their pups to the unforgiving rain . they run down the path of greed and bind themselves to gluttony , endlessly searching for power so they can never lose anything again .

AUGHHHH !!!!!

i haven't thought of what to do with saint , sliver , wind , or innocence yet !!! i might swap wind and innocence if i don't see any better options . and if i feel silly enough i might swap saint with sliver

idk if i wanna add nightcat and enot into this au , but if i do they'll probably get swapped with each other too unless i run into any cooler alternatives

gourmand's story is a little bit scuffed BHJDSHF i'm sticking with them getting locked at karma 4 like arti's canon karma lock but i don't have much that builds off of it right now . oopsie

their ages / spots in the timeline have been swapped around too ! pebbles and moon are now both gen 2 , while suns and sig are gens 1 and 3 respectively . the slugcats follow the timeline of whoever they're swapped with ( rivulet is the first campaign , gourmand goes right after , then the outlaw (?) , etc )

i WILL be tweaking the designs for these guys ( especially the iterators since i have specific generation-based design conventions for them and All Of Them would be breaking those conventions if i let them keep their usual designs ) but i am Not That Good at spontaneous character design so i will be doing that !! later !!!

if you guys wanna send asks about this au or talk to me about it then go ahead bc it's been rotating in my head like crazy pleasepleaselpaseplepalseplaseple /silly

[starry-bi-sky]

more about og tue timeline twins danny and dan/jamie

very touchy with each other. you might even say. ccclingy. its to be expected, they're two halves of a whole after all and all they've got of each other. worryingly co-dependent. do not separate. ever.

Danny was really weak and sick after the initial separation, and was for a while after. Jamie knew internally that if Danny died, he'd take the whole world with it. He was the one sole caretaker for him while he got better -- not for lack of trying on Vlad's part, but without his ghost powers he was nothing more than a feeble (albeit handsomely rich) man, and James looked ready to bite his head off if he got within ten feet of either of them.

Vlad is intimately aware that James (or Danny, if he tried) could snap his spine in half like a twig, and is uncomfortably aware of his own lack of ghost half now. It makes him feel self-conscious and exposed, so he never fully returns back to "cocky and self-assured billionaire Vlad Masters". Making deals with other brands feels a lot harder now that he can no longer possess them anymore.

Speaking of, he very quickly has to come up with a cover story as to why there's now a James Daniel Fenton to the public, when no records whatsoever of him existing existed prior. Lots of forging false government documents on his end. James and Danny do not help because it's his fault this happened in the first place.

(Regardless of whether or not Danny actually willingly chose to rip out his ghost half/humanity in canon is true, or if that was Vlad Masters speaking out of his ass, a large part of the blame still falls on Masters.)

(As his primary caretaker and guardian, it's his responsibility to ensure the health and safety of his charge, and since Danny was in clear emotional duress at the time, it can be argued that he was not in the mental state to make such a decision. And, allegedly, couldn't do it on his own which is why he asked Vlad for help.)

I chose "James" as Dan's name since it's a popular fanon middle name for Danny, and since he's half of Danny, it felt like it just made sense lol. Also because of the ensuing comedy of the two of them introducing themselves as "James Daniel Fenton" and "Daniel James Fenton". It's got the same energy as "danny with a y" and "danny with an i" and it's the exact kind of name bullshit you expect parents to give their twins.

I don't have their exact personalities down, but something I am actively writing into this au's bible is that I think Danny should be the quiet and (ig technically) meaner one. There's a lot to go into about interpretations for ghosts, halfas, and the incident itself, but TL:DW; Danny is technically soulless, or at the very least missing half of his soul (altho Jamie is too just in a different direction).

Pair that with the trauma of losing his family in front of him + having his ghost half ripped out + all the trauma he would've sustained as a hero, and he's not doing too hot mentally! i think if the twins met good timeline!Danny, Danny would've mistaken Danny for Dan and Jamie for the original half.

He comes off to others as pretty apathetic and indifferent to a borderline terrifyingly calm degree. He doesn't go out of his way to insult people, but he also doesn't care enough to consider the other party's feelings so he doesn't filter himself, which makes him come off as rude. The only times he looks truly comfortable is when he's near Jamie or talking to him.

His standoffish, ice prince demeanor makes Jamie look like a saint in comparison. When really he's not all that much better? He's more outwardly emotional than Danny, whether that be positive or negative, but at the end of the day he doesn't trust or care about anyone else any more than Danny does, and he's got a bit of a sadistic streak. Danny reigns him in when he starts becoming too destructive.

(Which I think makes sense. Danny asked Vlad to rip out his ghost half specifically so he could stop feeling his human emotions. Dan, despite his monotone voice, does exhibit emotions. He's smug when he asks Valerie if he likes his ghostly wail, sardonic when he reunites with Sam and Tucker, annoyed, shocked at Danny's ghostly wail, etc. He enjoys wreaking destruction and chaos.)

(If Danny had survived his encounter with Dan and if Vlad was successful, then I imagine he'd be rather apathetic to his other half as a whole. That'd be interesting.)

Overall though they're both hurt, bitter, and distrustful of the world around them, with abandonment issues a mile wide. They can get better and they can heal, but it takes time and patience and proper support.

On the DPxDC side of things, they do genuinely hold some kind of respect or regard for Bruce. They also don't become vigilantes for a while. Neither of them are jumping at the bit to enter heroism again, not when it was heroism that killed their family in the first place.

In fact when they find out Bruce = Batman they think he's foolish for it. They think its a fool's errand, and they've been so spurned by their time as Phantom that for a few weeks, Jamie even refused to call Bruce anything but Sisyphus. Danny called him Tantalus, and the two of them had a faux-argument about which one was more accurate.

Bruce does, though, worm his way into both of their hearts, and that's like, the main reason they become vigilantes to join him. So that they could keep him safe and not because of any desire to return to the heroic life. Relearning to care and finding satisfaction in helping others was an unintentional side effect.

(Bruce is so very smug)

Essentially:

The Twins: this is our squishy and fragile adoptive father. If anything happened to him, we're becoming mass extinction events.

Bruce: Nnno.

[maxdibert]

Hello!

Fistly, I love your content <3

Secondly, do you think there were other reasons besides the difference in wealth, class and power as to why James and Sirius treated Severus the way they did?

They mock and humiliate him and reduce him to a toy, a doll to have fun with. But if that's all there is, they should torment him and leave, right? However, that does not happen. And this is the part I find odd. The way they watch him during the exam in the flashback (what business do they have watching someone write their paper?), the way Sirius' eyes follow him like a preditor to a rabbit when he spots Snape under the tree. James promises Lily to stop pranking people, but goes behind her back to get to Severus anyway. He dies for the tiniest chance that this woman may leave, but he betrays her trust that easily just to torment Snape more? It seems a bit obsessive to me, not just the typycal bullying,worse, something a bit off. Obsessive from James' side and then Sirius would follow his lead in any case. Ofc, I could be wrong about all of this.

What do you think?

<3

Oh, this is such a juicy question, and thanks for the kind words! ❤️

Buckle up, because we're diving deep into the murky waters of school bullying dynamics and why James and Sirius’s treatment of Severus isn’t your average schoolyard torment. (I love to made these type of meta because analyze violence is my cardio lol) This is gonna be looooooong:

At its core, bullying thrives on power imbalances. James and Sirius had every advantage: wealth, status, looks, charisma, magical talent—you name it. Severus, on the other hand, was everything they weren’t: poor, socially awkward, a loner, and unkempt. People like James and Sirius often prey on someone like Severus because he represents a threat to their sense of superiority. He’s smart, talented, and doesn’t bow to them, which means they can’t control or dominate him the way they can others. For people like James, that’s an itch they have to scratch.

But with James and Sirius, this goes beyond garden-variety bullying. It has this weird intensity to it that’s worth unpacking and as you said before, there’s something almost compulsive about the way James and Sirius target Severus. This isn’t just "let’s embarrass the nerd for laughs and move on." It’s fixated. Watching him during an exam? Catching sight of him under a tree and zoning in like a predator? Going out of his way to break his promise to Lily just to torment him again? That’s next-level, and here’s why that might be:

Severus was different: Beyond class, wealth, and upbringing, Severus was a challenge. He didn’t back down, didn’t beg, and he didn’t play the role of the "grateful victim" who might humor them to escape more torment. Instead, he fought back (verbally or with magic), which probably pissed James off even more. Bullies hate it when their victim refuses to crumble.

Insecurity masked as dominance: James, despite his wealth and privilege, could still be deeply insecure. Think about it: someone like Severus, who came from nothing, could rival him in magical skill and intelligence. That’s a big bruise to James’s ego. Bullying might have been his way of proving to himself—and everyone watching—that he was "better."

Additionally, let’s not forget that canonically, James’s animosity toward Severus began because of his relationship with Lily. It’s likely that, until he managed to date her and ensure any bond she had with Severus was completely severed, James experienced jealousy, anger, and even the insecurity of thinking they might have something more.

For someone like James—accustomed to being handed everything by his doting parents, who gets what he wants with the snap of a finger, and who’s probably never been told “no”—insecurity wasn’t something he’d know how to handle. The idea that someone like Severus, from a rival house, who held beliefs James had been taught were “wrong,” who was poor, scruffy, unattractive, could possibly achieve what James wanted, or spend endless time with the girl he liked, must have been inconceivable. Unthinkable.

Once again, class and status come into play: the wealthy kid who’s had everything can present himself as a fighter for social justice, but deep down, in certain situations, that intrinsic sense of superiority and entitlement always surfaces. After winning Lily over, James probably thought he had every right to treat Severus however he wanted. By that point, he’d dehumanized him to such an extent that he no longer saw him as a person.

On top of that, if you consider that James likely justified his bullying by convincing himself it was legitimate because Severus was hanging around with dark wizards, it all makes sense. It’s the classic psychological mechanism of rationalizing harmful behavior: “I’m not doing anything wrong; he deserves it.” It’s actually a pretty logical progression when you think about it.

Sirius’s role: Sirius is a complicated mess of a character. Growing up in a family where dominance, control, and punishment were the norm, Sirius might have channeled that energy into his dynamic with Severus. If James was leading the charge, Sirius probably saw joining in as a way to solidify their bond while also exercising some of his own unresolved issues. But the predatory way you describe Sirius observing Severus? That’s chilling, and it checks out.

I’ve mentioned this in another post, but Sirius is a Black, and his rebellious persona and attempts to distance himself from his family rested on two fundamental pillars: being a Gryffindor and defending Muggle-borns. However, at the end of the day, Sirius was still a boy raised in an aristocratic family that believed they were superior to others for absurd reasons. This superiority complex led them to treat an entire group of people as “the other,” dehumanizing them to justify their marginalization and even their extermination.

These are the values Sirius grew up with, and like many rich kids who rebel without bothering to deconstruct the behavioral patterns they’ve inherited, he thought that simply rejecting blood purity and getting Sorted into another house was enough to absolve him.

But Snape’s presence challenges that belief. Sirius’s relationship with Severus reveals that, deep down, Sirius isn’t so different from his mother or his cousin Bellatrix. Sirius sees Snape as “the other.” He dehumanizes Severus in the same way his family dehumanizes Muggle-borns—but for being a Slytherin and for desiring the things Sirius himself has chosen to reject. This cognitive dissonance makes Sirius feel justified in tormenting Severus, much like his family feels justified in their bigotry.

In the end, Sirius is just another hypocrite with a different spin—like so many others.

I’ve also pointed out several times that Sirius has a sadistic streak. Maybe not to the same degree as Bellatrix, because she’s clearly far more unhinged, but Sirius does have that violent, bloodthirsty impulse typical of the Blacks. Since he can’t channel it the way his family does, he chose an easy target—someone disliked by many, someone who didn’t fit in, who was isolated, and, most tragically, someone who no one cared about, not even his own parents. Sirius used Severus as a means to vent his anger and sadistic tendencies, fully aware that no one would step in to defend him.

Furthermore, as a wealthy boy from an aristocratic family with progressive ideas, it’s no surprise that Sirius relied on James as his moral compass when he struggled to discern right from wrong. If James believed it was entirely justified to bully and torment Severus, why would Sirius think otherwise?

James embodied everything Sirius wished he could be: a boy with the same privilege as him, but from a family without extremist beliefs. James’s parents treated Sirius like a son. They believed in “good” things. They were the “good” ones. If James was convinced that bullying Severus was the right thing to do, then Sirius had no reason to question it.

It became a way for Sirius to justify and validate his own awful behavior—a pattern that’s sadly all too common among bullies.

When we look at how James and Sirius treated Severus, it’s clear they didn’t just see him as someone to mock and forget; they actively sought to dehumanize him. This process of dehumanization is deeply rooted in power dynamics. Severus wasn’t just the “nerd” they bullied—he was someone who challenged their place in the social order. He dared to stand up to James over Lily and, as a highly capable student, constantly reminded them that they weren’t untouchable. Even if they had reached the top of the social and academic hierarchy, Severus was proof that someone outside their circle could match or even surpass them. In their eyes, Severus became the "other," someone who had to be eliminated to keep their world intact.

Dehumanization in bullying has devastating effects on the victim. It’s not just about causing temporary physical or emotional harm—it’s about erasing the person’s identity, reducing them to nothing more than an object for entertainment or a pawn in a game of power.

In Severus’s case, James and Sirius didn’t just want to make him miserable—they wanted to strip away his dignity, his individuality, and his sense of self-worth. They needed to prove, not only to Severus but also to themselves and their peers, that he didn’t belong. This is why their actions go beyond mere pranks or teasing—they were asserting their dominance and ensuring that Severus could never challenge the status quo they benefited from.

The relationship between James, Sirius, and Severus is a reflection of how power dynamics, insecurity, and the struggle for control can lead to psychological abuse far more complex than simple schoolyard rivalry. Throughout the story, James and Sirius don’t just try to humiliate Severus—they do it to prove something about themselves, about their place in the world, and about the relationships they maintain with those around them. This isn’t just bullying; it’s a demonstration of how children raised in a dysfunctional value system, with a limited understanding of others, can wield destructive power over the more vulnerable.

That’s why, when we look at Severus and understand what he endured, it’s not just a matter of “he joined the Death Eaters because he was bad.” There’s a context of pain, abuse, and a desperate search to belong to something or someone. What James and Sirius did wasn’t just cruel—it was one of the cornerstones that pushed Severus down the path he later followed.