⤿ synopsis: you help keep pittsburgh trauma orderly—until small, unsettling glitches hint at something ominous unraveling. whether the mystery—or your guarded heart—breaks first is the question that will decide everything.
⤿ warning(s): ⚠️ check chapters for individual warnings ⚠️
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: this is NOT a pregnancy fic you guys i promise also i didn't want to split this into two parts but tumblr deemed it too long so um two parts ig
credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 2
Theodore Nott had read enough books to know that the day his entire life changed was supposed to feel different.
The air would be heavier. The world sharper. Something—anything—would be off. A subtle wrongness, a warning. Foreshadowing of the wrench about to be thrown into his carefully ordered life.
He had felt it once before, when his mother died and left a hollow space behind that never quite filled.
But that was the thing.
Nothing felt wrong about today.
Had everything gone as it usually did, it would have been completely mundane—monotonous, even. Theodore woke up, ate breakfast, slipped outside for a smoke. Double Potions. Another smoke. Transfiguration. Lunch. Arithmancy.
And now he was stuck in Charms.
Professor Flitwick had been lecturing about advanced spell interactions—something about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intent—when the first spell fizzled.
Then another.
Then three more went wildly off course, sparks ricocheting off desks and dissolving into the air like fireflies gone wrong.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“Focus,” Flitwick snapped, wand raised, “Clearly someone here has—”
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Cracked—like reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and then—
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. Dark curls fell into her face, dressed in pajamas, and her small hands were clenched into fists as she looked around, eyes wide and terrified.
For exactly two seconds, she was quiet.
Then her lip trembled.
“—Papà?”
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobs—the kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
“Voglio il mio papà!” She cried, scrambling to her feet, “Voglio andare a casa!” (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
“…Did she just Apparate?” Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, “She’s a child.”
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, “Hey, it’s okay—”
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No! No, no, no!” She sobbed, shaking her head violently, “Non ti conosco! Voglio il mio papà! Voglio papà!” (I don't know you! I want my daddy! I want daddy!)
She spun in a slow, desperate circle, looking at all of them with pure, unfiltered fear.
“Papà! Dove sei?!” (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasn’t heartless—of course he wasn’t. There was something about the way she wailed, the sheer terror in her voice, that made his chest tighten painfully. And yet, he stayed where he was.
Blaise nudged his arm, “Oi, Nott. You speak Italian, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Everyone already knew—thanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses he’d hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
“Great,” Blaise said immediately, “Do something.”
Theo’s eyes flicked back to the girl.
She had dropped to her knees now, small hands pressed to her face as she cried, her breathing beginning to hitch dangerously. A Hufflepuff girl hovered nearby, concern written all over her face, but every step closer only made the child cry harder.
“Voglio il mio papà… per favore…” She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy… please…)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theo’s chest.
“I’m not exactly a baby person.” He muttered.
“Nott,” the Ravenclaw girl hissed, “She’s a toddler. She’s about to have a panic attack, and she can’t understand a word we’re saying.”
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
“Papà…” She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
“Cazzo.” (fuck)
He pushed his chair back and stood.
The entire classroom fell silent as he took a step toward her.
Theo approached slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture despite himself.
“Ehi,” He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, “Va tutto bene. Respira, sì? Piano, piano.” (It’s okay. Breathe, yeah? Slowly, slowly.)
The girl barely registered him.
She was still crying hard, hiccupping sobs shaking her tiny frame as she shook her head over and over, “No, no, no… voglio papà… voglio papà adesso…” (No, no, no… I want daddy… I want daddy now)
“Io so,” Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, “Ma sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farà male. Guarda me, piccola.” (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightly—then stopped, unsure.
“Come ti chiami?” He asked softly. (What's your name?)
She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, eyes squeezed shut as if refusing to look at the world around her. “Voglio papà,” She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, “Ho paura…” (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
“Papà non è lontano,” He said, choosing his words carefully, “Va bene? Respira con me.” (Dad’s not far away, Okay? Breathe with me.)
That was when she opened her eyes.
Really looked at him.
Her crying hitched mid-sob.
For half a second, her face went utterly still—eyes widening, breath catching like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—
“Papà!”
She surged forward.
Theo barely had time to react before a small body collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with desperate force. She buried her face into his robes, clutching him like he might disappear if she let go.
“Papà, papà, papà,” She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, “Ti ho trovato… non andare via… per favore…” (I found you… don't go away… please…)
Theo froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do as the child clung to him, shaking with leftover fear. Her tears soaked straight through his uniform as she pressed closer, like she was trying to crawl into him.
The room was dead silent.
Theo’s eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girl’s mouth hung open. Blaise had gone eerily still, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly in his hairline.
Theo slowly mouthed, Get this child off me.
No one moved.
The girl sniffed loudly and tightened her grip, small hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. “Papà.” She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at her—at the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be there—and felt his brain short-circuit.
“I—” He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, “Io… eh…”
She tilted her head just enough for him to feel the movement, her grip loosening slightly as the tension finally drained from her small body. Her breathing stuttered once more, then evened out, warm against his chest.
Theo looked down just in time to see her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Twice.
And then she was gone.
Fast asleep.
Her forehead rested against his collarbone, tiny fingers still curled tightly in his robes like she was afraid to let go even in sleep. A quiet, shaky sigh left her, the last echo of fear finally spent.
Theo swallowed hard.
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, but it did nothing to calm the chaos of the little girl in Theo Nott’s arms. Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape hovered nearby, wands and parchment at the ready, while a few house-elves scurried nervously at the edges of the room.
Theo wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—one hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legs—and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
“She appears… well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, “I’m not even sure what spells were cast. Perhaps someone transfigured an object into a child… though it seems highly unlikely. I did a head count, but maybe a student from another class managed to get de-aged? It will take me some time to get to the bottom of this.”
“During which,” McGonagall added crisply, “We need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.”
All eyes turned to Theo, still awkwardly seated on the bed. The green tie in her grubby hands was clutched tightly, her shirt streaked with snot from her tears. He stared at the ceiling, silently praying to whatever deity listened that this problem would disappear.
“All right,” Flitwick muttered, “We need… more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markers…”
He waved his wand carefully over a tiny strand of her hair, muttering under his breath. The result came up empty. Flitwick let out a frustrated sigh, before his gaze fell on the way her small body curled naturally against Theo. Her fear of strangers was… painfully clear.
He waved his wand again, more deliberately this time.
“It would seem, Mr. Nott,” He began cautiously, “that you are biologically related to her.”
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
“Excuse me?” He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, “I—I understand this is… unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.”
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, “Mr. Nott, we must consider all possibilities. Clearly, she has appeared here through some magical anomaly."
Snape, leaning against the wall with an unimpressed frown, muttered, “Magical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.”
Flitwick cleared his throat, “We may need to consider the… temporal aspect. Combined with the accelerated spellwork and residual transfiguration energy from earlier… it is conceivable that she has been displaced here from another point in time.”
Theo blinked, “…You’re saying… she’s from the future?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, “And until we can stabilize whatever magical interference brought her here, we will need to come up with a plan to care for her."
Theo exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between frustration and disbelief, "Alright then, take her."
Flitwick hesitated, frowning. The professors exchanged glances.
Theo’s heart thumped in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. The child pressed closer, nuzzling her face into his chest, hiccupping softly.
"Perhaps, it would be best for the child to stay with her fa—"
“I’m not her father,” He said firmly, “…And she is not my responsibility.”
“If you truly refuse,” McGonagall said quietly, “then the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.”
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, “Very well.”
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, “Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled—”
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest she’d been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theo’s arms, eyes flying open as she registered that the hands lifting her did not belong to him. Her face crumpled, breath hitching once before she broke into loud, panicked sobs.
“No—no, no!” She cried, voice high and shaking, “Papà! Papà, portami!” (Dad! Dad, carry me!)
She twisted against him, burying her face into his chest as if trying to disappear. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck with desperate strength, her small body trembling violently.
“Papà, per favore,” She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, “Ho paura… non voglio… non voglio…” (Daddy, please. I'm scared… I don't want… I don't want…)
Theo’s jaw tightened. He stared straight ahead, pulse pounding, every instinct screaming at him to hand her over and walk away. But her grip only tightened, her cries growing sharp and breathless.
She was shaking.
“Alright,” Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, “Stop—just—don’t—”
Everyone froze.
Theo swallowed and glanced down at her. Her face was blotchy and red, lashes clumped with tears, chest hitching unevenly as she struggled to breathe. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, like she was bracing for him to vanish.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
“…Va bene,” He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, “Va bene. Basta piangere.” (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stuttered—not stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder once—too stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
“Shh.” He said quietly, glancing around like he’d been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadn’t been oiled in years.
She sniffed hard, still clutching him, but the panic ebbed enough for her breathing to even out. Her head tucked beneath his chin, warm and damp against his collar.
McGonagall studied the child for a long moment, then Theo. Her expression softened—just a fraction.
“It seems,” She said evenly, “that she has made her preference quite clear.”
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, “Yes… yes, I’m afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.”
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, “…Unbelievable.”
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
“…Fine,” He said quietly, “Okay. She can—she can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.”
The walk back to the Slytherin dorms was… an experience.
Theo kept his pace measured, one arm secured firmly around the sleeping weight against his chest. She’d fallen back asleep somewhere between the hospital wing and the dungeon corridor, her curls tickling his jaw every time she shifted, breath warm against his collarbone.
He ignored the stares.
The whispers.
The way a passing Hufflepuff nearly walked into a wall trying to figure out why Theodore Nott was carrying a child through the corridors like this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
The Slytherin common room fell silent the moment he stepped inside.
Lorenzo blinked once. Then twice.
“…Is this some sort of social experiment?”
Mattheo’s grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, “Papa's home.”
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Say another word,” he warned quietly, “and I’ll hex you.”
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. “Congratulations,” He said lightly, “When were you planning on telling us you’d been leading a double life?”
Theo didn’t dignify that with a response. He adjusted his grip slightly when the girl shifted, instinctively tightening his hold, and turned toward the stairs.
Behind him came a chorus of barely-suppressed laughter and stage-whispered “Night, daddy!” that followed him all the way up.
He noticed the change in his dorm the second he stepped inside.
Not because it was loud.
But because it was wrong.
Sitting neatly on his bed were things that had absolutely not been there that morning.
Tiny clothes, folded with precise magical care. Soft socks. A small blanket charmed with a low, steady warmth. Even a stuffed creature—some sort of dragon, judging by the horns—rested near the pillow, its stitched eyes cheerfully oblivious.
Theo just stood there.
Staring.
This was real. This was happening.
He looked down at the small, sleeping child in his arms, her face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks. A living, breathing human being. And somehow—somehow—he was now responsible for her.
His stomach twisted.
This hardly seemed responsible.
Did the staff really just let him walk out with an entire child and no follow-up instructions? No pamphlet? No checklist? How was he meant to keep one of these things alive? What if she woke up hungry? Or scared? Or—Merlin forbid—started crying? Again.
Theo swallowed hard, dread creeping in like a cold chill down his spine.
He crossed the room slowly and carefully, as if any wrong step might shatter the fragile reality holding this together, and lowered her onto the bed. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake, curling instinctively toward the lingering warmth of his body.
He hesitated.
Then, with movements stiff and unsure, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in the way he vaguely remembered adults doing when he was small—firm but gentle, like it mattered.
He stepped back.
She looked… peaceful.
Completely unaware that she had just detonated his entire existence.
Theo dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the door.
He needed a cigarette. Immediately.
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, a small sound stopped him.
“Papà…”
It was barely audible—a sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
“…Papà.” She murmured again, softer this time, like she was reaching for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Merda.” He muttered.
If he left and she woke up—
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
“…Unbelievable.” He whispered.
Theo pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. He flinched every time she so much as twitched, every uneven breath sending his pulse spiking.
Just for tonight.
That’s what he told himself as exhaustion settled heavy in his bones.
Just until she woke up.
Theo woke to pins and needles.
A sharp, unpleasant numbness shot up his legs, like they’d ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shifted—immediately regretted it.
There was weight on him.
Warm. Solid.
Theo froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
She was asleep in his lap.
At some point during the night—at some point he did not remember authorizing—the little girl had migrated from the bed, curled herself into the space between his arms and legs, and settled there like she belonged. Her head rested against his bicep, curls splayed messily over his chest, one small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Theo stared.
His mind helpfully offered no explanation.
He vaguely recalled her stirring sometime in the early hours. A soft whimper. A half-formed Papà breathed into the dark. He must have reached out—must have pulled her close without fully waking, murmuring something useless and soothing under his breath.
Apparently, his subconscious had decided this was his life now.
He didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really—his legs were numb to the point of concern, and any shift risked waking her. Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fluttering faintly as she slept, utterly unbothered by the fact that she was using him as a mattress.
Theo let his head fall back against the chair with a silent groan.
“This is a disaster.” He whispered.
She stirred at the sound, nose scrunching slightly, fingers tightening in his sleeve as if anchoring herself. Theo went completely still, heart hammering like he’d been caught committing a crime.
He tensed, eyes snapping down just as she stirred properly, lifting her head and blinking blearily up at him.
For a long second, they just looked at each other.
Then her face brightened.
“Buongiorno,” She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, “…Papà.” (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoever—or whatever—had sent her back in time had at least had the decency to send an older child.
Because Merlin help him, she was competent.
She managed socks on her own. Shoes, too—wrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didn’t even have to supervise. He just stood there, half-awake, watching in stunned silence.
The only time he stepped in was when the shirt became her enemy.
She wrestled with it valiantly, tugging it halfway over her head before getting stuck, arms flailing wildly as she wobbled on the mattress like a headless chicken. For one terrifying second, Theo was certain she was going to pitch forward and crack her skull open on the floor.
Just as he reached her, hands already out, she stamped one socked foot and protested indignantly.
“Papà! Sono una bambina grande—faccio da sola!” (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waited—hands hovering uselessly in the air—until she finally relented with an irritated sigh and allowed him to tug the shirt the rest of the way down. She immediately smoothed it herself afterward, chin lifted proudly.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long day.
By the time they stumbled downstairs, the Slytherin dorm was already awake and in motion. Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were halfway through getting ready, bags slung over shoulders as they headed out for breakfast.
Theo was still in his pajamas.
He didn’t care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further notice—something he had accepted with a detached nod, too tired to even question how serious this apparently was.
He was already mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Quiet. Private. No gawking students. No questions.
He turned toward the common room—
And she bolted.
“—Oi, wait—!”
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theo’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Slow down!” He snapped, already moving after her, “You’re going to—”
She did not fall.
Instead, she hit the common room floor at a full sprint and beelined straight for Mattheo, slamming into his pant leg with the force and commitment of a homing missile.
Mattheo yelped, stumbling half a step, “What the—”
“Zio Mattheo!” She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like she’d just found a long-lost treasure.
The room went dead silent.
Draco stared.
Lorenzo choked.
Blaise pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking.
Mattheo looked down slowly. Very slowly.
“…Little girl,” He said carefully, “how do you know my name?”
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
“She can’t speak any English, you idiot.”
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, “I see recognition in those beady eyes—”
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
“Buongiorno!” She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, “Portami! Portami, zio Mattheo!”
Mattheo blinked. Once.
Then he looked up at Theo, eyebrow raised.
Theo sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the tips of his ears burning.
“She’s asking her uncle to carry her.”
Mattheo’s grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothing—slung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
“Oi—if you drop her, I swear to Merlin—!”
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, “Relax. I’ve got her.”
Blaise smirked, “Wow. Someone’s being all fatherly for a bloke who isn’t a baby person.”
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, “Yeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
“…I hate all of you,” Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheo’s arms, peering over his shoulder. “Papà!” she called brightly. “Voglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!” (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
“Non puoi chie—” (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t reaching for him.
She wasn’t clinging to his sleeve like the world might end if he stepped two feet away.
She was perfectly content. Happy, even. Nestled comfortably in someone else’s arms.
Theo’s brain stalled.
Then—click.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someone’s emotional anchor.
The synapses in his brain fired one by one like fireworks. Sweet, blessed relief bloomed so fast he was pretty sure he could feel tears—possibly drool—gathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
“You,” He said calmly, decisively, “are on babysitting duty.”
“What?” Mattheo barked, “Oi—wait—!”
Theo was already turning away.
“Feed her,” He called over his shoulder, “Don’t drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
“HEY!” Mattheo shouted after him, “That’s not how this works!”
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, “Ciao, papà!”
Mattheo looked down at her.
Then back at the hallway Theo had vanished down.
"Well, I hope you enjoy being an orphan. Take it from me it's better than having a shit dad." He said absently, carrying her toward the door.
Theo didn’t even remember reaching the usual alcove.
He only knew his hands were shaking by the time he lit the cigarette, breath dragging deep and slow as the smoke filled his lungs. The burn grounded him. Anchored him. For five blessed minutes, he was just Theo again—no professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papà.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for this.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasn’t even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and had—presumably—actively chosen to have this suctioning little tentacle of a child.
He exhaled, staring at the stone wall.
And yet.
She adored him. Wanted him. Chose him over everyone else without hesitation. Which meant—somewhere in the future—he must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future… I’m a good father.
The thought unsettled him more than the panic ever had.
He had never imagined children in his life. Never thought himself capable of it—not after losing his mother so young. How would future him handle this? How would he guide her, discipline her, protect her from the quiet, unrelenting cruelties of the world?
How would he keep her safe?
Theo exhaled again, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish.
Merlin, he needed that.
When he finally returned to the common room, the laughter hit him first.
She was being levitated up and down—up and down—by Mattheo, shrieking with unrestrained delight. Chocolate smeared her cheeks, and it was painfully obvious Mattheo had absolutely no sense when it came to not jostling a child who had just eaten her body weight in breakfast.
Theo stepped closer.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Papà!”
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesn’t screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theo’s arms.
And immediately—
“—achoo!”
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
“Ach—ah—choo!”
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, “Papà…?”
Theo’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? She’d been fine an hour ago—
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from her red nose to Theo’s ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
“…Go shower,” He said calmly, “I’ll skip first class.”
Theo blinked, “I—I didn’t know—”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in easily, “It’s all good. Go.”
Theo swallowed.
“…Right.” He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Papà?” She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, “Tornerò subito. Promesso.” (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returned—hair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ash—the little girl didn’t sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheo’s arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like she’d been waiting.
Theo caught her automatically.
She settled against him, warm and content.
And for the first time, the weight that settled in his chest had nothing to do with panic.
It felt a lot like guilt.
And something dangerously close to resolve.
Theo was collapsed across his bed, utterly defeated. The day had been… long. He hadn’t even gone to class, but that was before the small human currently treating him like a jungle gym had decided it was time for her daily inspection.
He didn’t even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let her—somehow, it was easier than trying to resist. Five minutes of relative respite came only when she discovered something else interesting: the top of his dresser, the ceiling, the corner of the bedpost.
Every so often, one of her “uncles” captured her attention—Blaise, Draco, and Enzo—each appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theo’s surprise. Somehow she recognized them, somehow she liked them, and somehow they had managed to reconcile the fact that she adored Mattheo more than all of them combined faster than Theo had reconciled her existence at all. He watched them all patiently endure, his mind boggling at how quickly they’d adjusted.
Currently, she had his hair in a death grip, determined to tug out every last strand with her clammy little hands. Theo winced as she yanked again, a protest lodged somewhere deep in his chest. She scrambled backward across his chest—kicking him squarely in the face in the process—then crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
“Oi. Cosa fai?” He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
“Voglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.” She declared, fumbling through the drawer. (I want a hair tie! Mom always keeps some here.)
Theo froze.
Mom? She has a mom?
The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water. All this time, he had assumed—stupidly—that she had appeared out of thin air, some magical anomaly he had to manage. Now the idea that she had a mother… a real, actual human mother… knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt absurdly unprepared.
She pulled something plastic-sounding from the drawer and held it up.
“Papà… cos’è questo?” (Papa... what is this?)
Theo’s heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughter’s hand.
“Oi! Restituiscilo!” He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
“Get that out of her hand!” He yelled again, spinning to intercept her, but it was too late. She dashed past Blaise, who was already doubled over laughing, and then past Draco, who had his hands pressed over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Lorenzo had tears in his eyes from the absurdity.
“Little girl,” Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, “wait a second—what is her actual name?”
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
“You… you don’t know her name?”
The little girl shrieked with laughter from the foot of the bed, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, while Theo felt like the universe was quietly reminding him that, yes he was an utter fool.
The little girl zig-zagged across the room, still clutching the condom wrapper like it was some kind of treasure. Theo lunged, arms flailing, but she ducked under his reach and squealed with pure delight.
“Papà! Prendimi!” She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
“Merlin’s beard, why am I even doing this?!” Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
“Oi! Watch it, Nott!” Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, “Maybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didn’t even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl, who had somehow vaulted onto the armrest of the sofa and was teetering dangerously.
“Oi! Scendi di lì, immediatamente!” He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
“Papà!” She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, “Guarda! Guarda!” (Papa! Look! Look!)
Before he could reach her, Mattheo appeared like a hero in the last second, levitating gently above the floor with his wand, and swooped in. “I got her!” He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the room—Blaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wall—and grinned, “You really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?”
Theo froze mid-lunge.
“You… you know her name?” He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, “You didn’t?”
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had tried—really tried—to delay it, holding out hope that the professors would have some sort of solution by now. But it had been three days. Three days of dungeon air, sleep-mussed curls, and the unmistakable stickiness that came with being a toddler. She desperately needed a shower.
And while Theo was getting increasingly comfortable handling her—some might even say paternal—he was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Bianca’s curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theo’s exhausted expression and immediately agreed.
Theo sighed in relief, already imagining a shower of his own. Or maybe collapsing onto a bed and stealing an extra hour of sleep. He didn’t understand why he was so tired—he was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised he’d come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore on—well. Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didn’t help.
She cried anyway.
Clutched his robes with tiny hands, face crumpling as she begged him not to leave, words tumbling out too fast and too panicked for him to catch more than Papà and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire time—but he couldn’t will himself to walk away while she was screaming like that.
Especially now that he knew the difference between her cries.
So, one of the girls’ bathrooms had been cleared out for the morning.
Pomfrey, Bianca, and Theo occupied it alone, the echoes far too loud for his liking. He stood just outside the stall while Pomfrey bathed her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiff—like a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped responding—
“Papà?”
—her voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
“Sono qui,” He called back immediately, instinctive, “Brava.” (I'm here. Good job)
She giggled and continued singing something that sounded vaguely like a nursery rhyme and vaguely like a direct threat to musical theory.
Theo leaned his head back against the tiled wall and exhaled.
My God, was she clingy.
Then again… he supposed he couldn’t fault her for it.
If Flitwick was right—if she truly had come from the future—then she’d been ripped away from her home. Likely somewhere warm and familiar in Italy. Dropped into damp, grey Scotland. Surrounded by strangers. Spoken to in a language she didn’t understand.
Clinging to the only constant she recognized.
Him.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Theo swallowed, fingers twitching as the familiar urge for a cigarette crept in—persistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
“Papà!” She called, sharper now.
“I’m here,” Theo answered immediately, softer this time, “Sono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.” (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumed—quieter. Sleepier.
Theo closed his eyes.
Unbelievable.
Bianca emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel with a warming charm woven into the fabric, her pajamas peeking out beneath it. Her curls were still damp, springing in every direction, cheeks flushed pink and clean, eyes already heavy with sleep. Madam Pomfrey handed her over with a satisfied nod and a stern warning about drafts, and Theo took her automatically, settling her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was now only dimly aware of how absurd this entire situation was.
They stepped out into the corridor together, the stone cool and quiet at this hour—
—and promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Whispers carried between classes, exaggerated retellings murmured in the Slytherin common room. Nott has a kid. From the future. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. There were more reasonable theories floating around—some magical accident that accidentally teleported a child here from outside Hogwarts walls. Others were more creative, claiming Theo had a secret child hidden away in Italy and the time-travel nonsense was just a cover story.
You firmly belonged to the former camp.
This—whatever this was—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into him—
“Mama!”
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theo’s already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
“Mama! Mama!” She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, “Sei tornata! Mi sei mancato!” (You’re back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You forced a smile, gentle and careful, lowering yourself slightly so you weren’t towering over her.
“I’m not your mama, little one.” You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—but he looked like a statue carved from pure shock, arms still locked around Bianca as though letting go might shatter reality itself.
Bianca frowned.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied you, head tilting to one side in confusion. Then she turned in Theo’s arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
He looked like a statue carved in shock, Bianca still tucked securely in his arms, as though letting go might shatter something irreparable.
Bianca’s smile faltered.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied your face, head tilting in quiet confusion. Then she turned slowly toward Theo, curls brushing his collar.
“Papà?” She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnest—
“Papà… ora che la mamma è tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.” (Papa… now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
“There is absolutely no way I’m her mother.”
Your voice echoed far louder than you intended in the hospital wing, ricocheting off white curtains and cold stone with humiliating clarity.
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-sentence.
Flitwick blinked.
McGonagall’s lips thinned—just slightly.
Theo, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Bianca curled against his chest, did not move. He looked like someone who had accepted his fate three hours ago and was now simply watching the universe pile on for sport.
It was hard to believe he’d been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadn’t had time to properly panic—not just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl he’d never given a second glance to. Someone who, in some unfathomable future, he had fallen in love with. Married. Chosen to have a family with.
Theo Nott. Married. A father by choice.
The thought felt so foreign he thought he might throw up.
“For one,” You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, “I would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
“And second,” You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, “there are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never done—” You pointed sharply at Theo, “—with him.”
Theo didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his grip slightly when Bianca shifted, instinctively tucking her closer as she sighed in her sleep.
Flitwick glanced down at his parchment, “…The magical diagnostics are, I’m afraid, quite clear.”
You stopped short. “So you’re actually telling me,” You said slowly, incredulously, “that this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?”
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, “Miss (Y/N)—”
“You’re joking, right?” You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, “I mean, everyone here can see that there isn’t even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would date—let alone get married, let alone have a child.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue—wanted to back you up, to scoff and insist this was ridiculous, that there had to be some enormous mistake, some elaborate cosmic joke with particularly poor timing. A week ago, he would have done exactly that.
But he’d been standing in this same position barely days earlier.
He knew now that arguing would get him nowhere.
Soon enough, Bianca would wake up. She always did. And when she did, she would cry—sharp, panicked, desperate cries that cut straight through stone and reason alike. She would call for you the same way she had called for him, voice cracking, hands reaching for something familiar in a world that made no sense.
And if you were even remotely a decent person, you wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
But Bianca only shifted in his arms, letting out a small, congested sniff as she rubbed at her itchy nose against his robes. Theo adjusted his hold without thinking, brushing his thumb gently along her back until her body went slack again, weight settling against him.
Theodore Nott was not a single father.
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t even a father if one wanted to argue technicalities—and frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasn’t considered a father, then you certainly couldn’t be considered a mother. It was only fair. Balanced. Logical.
And yet.
If he was being forced to look after a suction cup turned human child—day in and day out—then he didn’t see why you got to take the easy way out and keep avoiding her. Avoiding them.
It felt less like co-parenting and more like he was chasing you down for childcare payments.
So he handed Bianca off to Mattheo—who was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complain—and went looking for you.
He caught you just as Potions let out, students flooding into the corridor in clusters of laughter and complaints. Theo slipped through them with singular purpose and grabbed your elbow just outside the classroom doors.
You startled, turning sharply, “Nott? What do you need?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, “Go see your child.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “She’s not my kid.”
“She’s as much yours as she is mine,” Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, “and it’s not fair that I’m the one looking after her all day.”
“We can’t even speak the same language.”
“She’s three,” He snapped, “All you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws or—Merlin—something.”
“She doesn’t even want to come with me.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe she would,” Theo said, quieter but still sharp, “if you spent more time with her.”
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watch—hands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, “Oh, come off it, Nott. Don’t you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?”
Theo frowned, but you weren’t finished.
“She never comes to me first,” You continued, voice tightening, “Never asks me for help when she’s eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. You’re always her first choice. Have you noticed that?”
His mouth opened—closed again.
“And,” You went on, softer now, more brittle, “you know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, I’ve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.”
The anger he’d carried with him faltered.
He could see it then—the hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, “She’s just… not used to—”
“I don’t think that’s it.” You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
“What if,” You said, voice barely above a whisper now, “what if in the future… I’m not there?”
Theo’s chest went cold.
“No,” Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, “No. That’s—there are other explanations.”
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
“Like what?” You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, “Maybe we just—split up. In the future. People do that. All the time.”
Your mouth twisted, humorless, “Right. So either I’m dead, or I’m a deadbeat.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said,” You shot back, “Because if I’m alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesn’t she know my language? Why doesn’t she come to me? Why doesn’t she trust me?”
His jaw clenched, “You don’t know that she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t,” You said quietly, firmly, “And you know it.”
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “You’re making assumptions."
"I don't want to confuse her," You snapped, "What if I spend time with her now and she goes back to a future where she's confused that future me doesn't? Don't you think it's better for her to not be left with any painful memories?"
"Fuck this." He said harshly.
You stared at him, stunned, “Theodo—”
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didn’t look at you when you spoke.
“I thought I might find you here.” You sighed, stepping into the Astronomy Tower. The night air was sharp, the stars cruelly clear.
He only glanced at you once before turning back to the edge, exhaling smoke into the dark. The orange tip of his cigarette flared, then dimmed.
He hadn’t gone back before bedtime like he’d promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chest—but he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo would’ve worn her out enough that she’d gone down on her own. That she’d fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldn’t notice.
But he couldn’t go back now. Not like this. Not smelling like smoke and guilt and the kind of fear that hollowed you out from the inside.
You shifted, eyes flicking to the small graveyard of cigarette stubs at his feet, and visibly bit back a comment.
“You can’t seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?” You said lightly, like it was a joke you didn’t quite believe in, “After all, we aren’t anything to each other.”
Theo’s fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasn’t.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasn’t you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thought—Merlin help him—that he was doing something right.
Thought that maybe—maybe—this was him breaking the cycle. Overcoming his own childhood, his own grief, his own scars. The way she clung to him, trusted him, sought him out—he’d taken that as proof. Proof that he was doing something right. That he was raising her in a house full of warmth. Of love.
A home that wasn’t cold.
A father who didn’t disappear into silence.
A childhood that didn’t feel like walking on broken glass.
He had thought he was undoing the damage his own father had carved into him.
Breaking the curse.
And now it felt like he was watching history fold back in on itself.
Bianca would lose her mother. Just like he had.
She’d be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. She’d grow into something sharp and distant and unfeeling—just like him. Just like his father.
Would he turn into him?
Would he still be able to love Bianca if every time he looked at her, all he saw was you? Would he sit across from her in silence at meals, watching her struggle to eat in the tension, only to hear her throwing up later—alone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasn’t there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his hands—
Theo’s breath hitched.
He’d never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadn’t imagined it either. Not at first.
Perhaps he was driven to it.
He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the ember beneath his heel before reaching for another with trembling fingers.
He never got the chance to light it.
Your hand closed around his wrist.
Firm. Steady.
He stilled.
Slowly, his focus shifted—really shifted—to you.
For the first time since Bianca had seen you, since the world had tilted on its axis, he truly looked at your face.
And there it was.
Your eyes.
Or rather—
Bianca’s.
His throat closed, eyes flickering over your face as he began to compare the two of you when your nose began to twitch, the smell of the smoke finally getting to you.
"Achoo!"
Theo couldn't help but let out a dry breath of laughter.
“You should spend time with her,” He said finally, voice rough—scraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, “I wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.”
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
“She deserves that,” He added quietly, “And so do you.”
Morning came quietly in the Slytherin dorms. The others had already left the dorm to get breakfast and begin classes.
Theo had been awake long before it—again. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the small lump buried beneath his blankets. Bianca had twisted herself sideways sometime in the night, curls exploding in every direction, one chubby foot sticking out from under the covers like a silent rebellion.
“Bianca,” He murmured gently, nudging the lump, “È mattina.” (It's morning.)
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and promptly rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow tighter.
“No,” She mumbled sleepily, “Ho sonno…” (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep—just fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldn’t hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, she’d be feral by noon. No nap. No quiet. No sleep later. Which meant another night of pacing the dorm with a squirming toddler while his own body begged for rest.
He sighed. The deep, tired, fatherly kind—the one he was rapidly perfecting.
Just as he leaned forward to try again, there was a knock at the door.
Theo froze.
His mind leapt immediately to the all possibilities.
Professor McGonagall, stern and efficient, here to inform him they’d finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worse—here to say they couldn’t.
Another knock followed. Softer. Hesitant.
Theo stood slowly, smoothing a hand through his already-mussed hair, heart doing something distinctly unhelpful in his chest. When he opened the door, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You weren’t in your uniform—dressed casually instead—and floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theo’s brows lifted despite himself.
“Oh,” He said. Guarded. Careful. “…Morning.”
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
“I brought breakfast.”
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Bianca’s head popped up from the blankets, curls crushed on one side of her face, eyes still hazy with sleep.
She stared at you for half a second before her entire expression lit up.
“Mama!”
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
“Buongiorno?” You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, “I—uh. I’m hoping I'm pronouncing that right.”
Theo stepped aside as you entered, watching carefully as Bianca scooted closer, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. You set the tray down on the bedside table and sat beside her without hesitation.
Breakfast became a quiet, shared thing.
Bianca sat between the two of you on the bed, half-awake but cooperative, munching on cut fruit and toast while you worked patiently through the knots in her hair. She winced once, then relaxed when your touch stayed gentle.
“I used to have curls like this too.” You said softly, lifting a section of her hair.
Theo glanced over, wondering why you were saying this. Perhaps you were just getting sick of being out of the loop while Theo constantly reminded Bianca not to chew with her mouth open, “Really?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.”
"Oh." He muttered.
“And then,” You continued, amused, “I discovered Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and never really went back.”
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, “You sure you don’t want some?”
You shook your head lightly, “I already ate.”
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
“Mamma… stai male di nuovo?” (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, “…Cosa intendi?” (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, “A volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.” (Sometimes mommy gets sick and can’t eat.)
Theo looked at you slowly, something uneasy settling in his chest.
You tilted your head, confused, "Am I missing something?"
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet.
Theo had never realized just how quiet it could get when everyone was actually in class. On the rare occasions he skipped, he was usually surrounded by his noisy gaggle of friends—laughter, insults, the scrape of chairs. Now, with most of the students gone, the space felt cavernous, almost reverent.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting lazy rectangles of gold across the stone floor. The lake beyond the glass shimmered faintly, shadows drifting slowly along the walls.
Theo sat at one of the long tables, a textbook open in front of him. Beside him, Bianca occupied her own chair, perched atop a cushion to give her some height. Even then, she barely reached the tabletop—her upper body completely propped up on her elbows as she strained forward, tongue poking out in concentration.
A piece of parchment lay in front of her, covered in colorful scribbles, and a box of crayons sat nearby—formerly one of Theo’s cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into his—parchment and quills scattered between you, a textbook here, a notebook there. You leaned in to show him a particularly complicated potion formula, pointing at your notes with the tip of your wand.
“So yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,” You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, “I wrote the key points here—see? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.”
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
“What about this one?” He asked, “It doesn’t match the ratio.”
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, “Oh—okay, this one’s an exception. It’s considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.”
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like she’d uncovered a great secret.
“Papà! Mamma! Guarda!” She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawing—very clearly the three of you. Stick figures, yes, but unmistakable. One tall with dark hair. One beside him with longer hair. And a much smaller one in the middle, curls drawn in chaotic loops. Behind you stood a crooked little house, flowers floating inexplicably in midair, and a tiny sun tucked into the corner of the page.
You laughed quietly, “This is adorable.”
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothing—already basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, “What’s wow in Italian?”
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close you’d gotten—practically halfway into his seat. At this distance, you could see every individual lash, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
You froze.
Theo leaned in, lowering his head toward your ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and lazy, far too close.
“Wow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, “You’re unbearable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, “You asked.”
Theo hadn’t planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But you’d insisted—gentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
“Go,” You’d said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, “You haven’t been out in days. You deserve a night that doesn’t involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but you’d distracted her with some Jaffa cakes. That seemed to do it.
So he went.
There was music. Laughter. Too many people packed into a common room that smelled faintly of firewhisky and bad decisions. Mattheo handed him a drink almost immediately.
Theo stared at it.
Then thought of Bianca—overtired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that she’d decide midnight was an appropriate time to throw a tantrum and demand to be taken back to Theo's dorm only to be greeted by his drunk self.
He handed it back.
“No?” Mattheo blinked.
“No.” Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove he’d tried. Not to himself but to you. Who he knew would give him a teasing scold when he'd come back early, tail tucked between his legs.
And then—quietly, without much fanfare—he left.
The Slytherin dorms were dim when he returned, the corridors hushed and cool. He moved carefully, like any loud noise might break something fragile.
When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was the lamp.
Low. Warm. Soft golden light spilling across the room.
The second thing—
You were there, curled on your side beneath his blankets, Bianca tucked against your chest like she belonged there. One of your arms was draped protectively around her small body, fingers curled instinctively at her back. Bianca’s face was pressed into your collarbone, curls splayed wildly across the pillow.
Fast asleep.
Theo stopped just inside the doorway.
Something tight in his chest loosened. Something else replaced it—heavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
You’d kicked off your shoes, throwing off your jacket as well in favour of casting a warming charm over the two of you right as you had fallen asleep. Bianca’s tiny hand was fisted in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself.
Theo approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He studied your face.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, brushing your lips. In your sleep, your brow pinched faintly, nose scrunching in the exact same way Bianca’s did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefully—so carefully—he reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awake—just enough to shift closer to Bianca, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. Your hand tightened reflexively around her back.
Theo froze.
Bianca was going to lose this one day.
She was going to lose this—the warmth, the safety, the arms of her mother.
He was going to lose this someday.
He didn't want to lose you.
He wanted you for the rest of his life.
The thought hit hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his chest.
He swallowed, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of Bianca’s back. On the way your fingers curved protectively at her spine even in sleep, like your body knew the job before your mind ever caught up.
Then you shifted again.
This time more sharply.
Your eyes blinked open, unfocused and glassy with sleep, lashes fluttering as you took in the dim room. For half a second, you looked confused—then awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
“Oh—Merlin—” You whispered hoarsely, lifting your head an inch before immediately freezing again when Bianca huffed and burrowed closer.
You blinked.
You slowly sank back down, mortified.
Theo watched as realization dawned on your face.
Then, horrified, you wiped at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I—” You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually asleep.”
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, “Okay. That’s a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.”
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
“I was pretending,” You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, “I thought if I stayed really still she’d think it was bedtime and settle down and—well—apparently I fell asleep first.”
Theo huffed out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, “This is so embarrassing.”
Theo didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were careful—deliberate—as he unfolded it and drew it up over you and Bianca, tucking it in around her small shoulders before letting it settle across your waist.
“You can sleep here tonight,” He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, “If you want.”
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
“Here?” You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, “She’s already settled. No point moving her.”
You hesitated.
Then nodded, “Okay.”
Theo’s jaw loosened, just a little.
A few days later, Theo was running on fumes.
The bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave. The kind that made time blur and thoughts lag half a second behind reality. Between the staggered schedules, half-missed classes, and nights that never quite counted as sleep, he felt like he was permanently five minutes behind himself.
You weren’t doing much better.
The professors still hadn’t found a way to send Bianca back, which meant the two of you had fallen into a strange, grinding rhythm: one of you attending class while the other watched her, trading off half-written notes—if by some miracle you hadn’t fallen asleep mid-lecture. You were grateful the professors were granting you at least that much grace.
The rest of the time was spent cramming together right before bedtime while Bianca threw a tantrum of truly mythological proportions.
It turned out she’d woken up once to find the two of you studying together and had somehow come to the conclusion that whenever she went to sleep, you and Theo threw secret parties without her.
So now—despite being exhausted—she refused to sleep.
You hadn’t known children could get overtired before.
Apparently, it was a thing.
A loud, shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard thing.
Bianca was a small whirlwind. All limbs and laughter and boundless, feral energy that refused to burn out indoors.
So when you suggested a picnic by the Black Lake, Theo thought you’d finally lost your mind.
“You want to let her run free,” He said flatly, “near a giant squid.”
“She just needs to run,” You insisted, rubbing your temples, “Like—really run. Until her lungs give out.”
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
“…You’re a genius.”
So there you were.
The grass near the lake was warm beneath the afternoon sun, the water dark and glassy, the mountains reflected on its surface like a painting. A blanket was spread out behind you with food you’d asked the house-elves to make—and while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didn’t need sugar.
Who cared about Bianca?
You wanted a chocolate lava cake, damn it.
Bianca, meanwhile, had already abandoned the blanket entirely.
She shrieked with laughter as Theo lifted her into the air, spinning once before tossing her just high enough to make her squeal—then catching her easily.
“Ancora!” She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughed—really laughed. Not the tired, guarded version you’d grown used to, but something lighter, freer. He threw her again, caught her, bounced her once on his hip before setting her down just long enough for her to sprint off in a wild, crooked circle.
You watched from the blanket.
At first, it was just fondness. Relief. Gratitude that she was finally burning off that impossible energy. You couldn’t deny it—the sound of a child laughing so freely tugged a smile from you before you could stop it.
Then your gaze shifted.
Theo crouched when she spoke, his attention completely zeroed in on her. When she stumbled, he steadied her without thinking. When she reached for him, he went instantly—lifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory he’d never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadn’t expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy you’d never really noticed. The boy you’d fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, would’ve been nothing more than a footnote—if that—in the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhere—somewhen—years from now, a version of you would love him enough to choose to have a child with this man.
And now?
You got it.
You got the vision your future self must have seen when she decided to lock him down.
You supposed it made sense that you’d never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boy—how could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didn’t waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him now—watching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her back—your stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didn’t feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. “Alright,” You said, “My turn.”
You bent to lift Bianca—
“No!” She protested instantly.
She wriggled out of your arms with shocking strength for someone so small and darted straight back to Theo, wrapping herself around his leg like an anchor.
Your smile slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
“Oh—okay,” You said quickly, forcing it back into place, “That’s fine. Totally fine.”
You took a step back, suddenly unsure of where to put your hands, your weight, yourself. The breeze off the Black Lake felt colder now. You stared out at the water instead of them, swallowing the strange tightness in your chest.
Theo noticed.
He frowned, glancing between you and Bianca, then crouched so he was level with her. Gently, carefully, he loosened her grip just enough to look at her face.
“Perché non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?” He asked softly. (Why don’t you want mamma to pick you up?)
The word mamma hit you even before you processed it.
You turned away a little more, heart stuttering. You didn’t understand the rest of what he said, not really. You suddenly felt like you were standing on the edge of something sacred and private, like you’d wandered into a family photograph you didn’t belong in.
Bianca’s face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
“Mamma è troppo malata per portarmi, papà,” She said firmly, “Lo sai.” (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theo’s eyes flicked to you slowly.
You tilted your head, not knowing how spines began to claw up his hands and feet, making him feel cold, "What's wrong?"
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Author's Note: Alternate title for this chapter is : “I need him in a way that’s concerning to feminism”. Enjoy!! Chapter Title is from I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me by Fall Out Boy
Word Count: 20.8k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: You start to work of Ben's PTSD. Everyone takes a little break. Usual warnings
“Ben.” Her voice dragged through Ben’s head, pulling him from a strange, dark peace. “Ben, wake up.”
He groaned, and She started poking him. “Fuck off,” he muttered, unwilling to entertain even the fucking idea of opening his eyes.
“Ben,” Her voice was muffled, and she was squirming against him in a way that made the Thing start to rise into his head. “Ben, you’re really fucking big.”
The Thing was fully awake now, and if She kept moving around like that Ben might have to throw her across the room. The world began to creep into attention, lifting him further from the mindless, perfectly fucking numb state he’d been under as it did. There was light pushing under his eyes, a linen blanket lying across his back, something soft against his face, and Her heartbeat below his.
“I can’t fucking breathe, Ben. If I die from asphyxiation it’s going to mean a lot of paperwork for you.”
Something that wasn’t the mattress, with a lot more lumps and sharp points, was under him. And She was still fucking rolling around against his chest, making it harder to focus on whatever the hell else was going on.
“I’m giving you five seconds before I’m no longer accountable for my actions.” Her voice rolled through him, and he grunted.
This was comfortable. Ben hadn’t been comfortable in far too fucking long. His brain wasn’t alert, the world was undisturbing against his chest, and everything was warm. Really fucking warm. More like hot, actually. Fucking burning.
By the time Ben realized what was happening, it was too late.
“Fuck!” He launched himself upwards, off the bed, away from the furnace beneath him. “Goddamn it, woman! I was sleeping!”
“Sorry!” She was already out of the bed herself, the apology called over her shoulder as she sprinted to the bathroom, door slamming in her wake.
Ben rubbed his chest, the warmth of where She’d burned him already fading. “You don’t sound fucking sorry,” he grumbled, glaring at the door as the toilet flushed.
She opened the door, walking back into the room with her tongue stuck out mockingly. “You were on top of me. You’re not a small guy, Pretty Boy, and I really needed to pee.”
“You should’ve just fucking shook me awake-“
“I tried! For like, ten minutes!”
“Could’ve tried harder.” Ben snapped, and She rolled her eyes.
“You were out like a damn baby, Benjamin. It was either I piss on the bed and we both lie in it until your majesty deemed us fit to move, or I wake you up and we don’t have to do laundry a week early.”
She was—as She always fucking was because the universe hated him—right. And by the smug look on her stupid fucking perfect face, she knew it. The Thing was enjoying her pleased little smirk, transfixed on the way she was looking at Ben with small spark of satisfaction in her eyes, and it was making it really fucking difficult to fight with her.
“Next time you need someone to stop you from burning the damn house down, don’t expect me to fucking be there.” Ben’s low words sounded hollow to his own ears, and she just laughed. It was a damn unhelpful reaction, only making the Thing roll around inside him.
“But if I get locked up for arson, who will heat up your chicken tenders and oatmeal for you?” She teased. “Butcher will have to send you an old folks’ home, and it probably won’t be a nice one.”
“I can heat up my own fucking chicken tenders.” Ben scowled, and She giggled.
“How very manly of you.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
She hummed, ignoring him. “You can’t do oatmeal, huh?”
“Oatmeal is for orphans, widows, and pussies.”
She smirked. “And old men.”
“I’m not fucking old, Sunshine.” He snapped, and Her smile grew.
“You’re over a hundred. The fact that you’re not on viagra is a straight act of God.”
Ben scoffed, even as the Thing stared roaring to just fucking grab her and wipe that taunting grin off her face as he proved how little fucking help he needed.
“Not an act of any fucking pussy god, brat, just me.” He winked, and the Thing rumbled, pushing against him as Her heart fluttered and she wrinkled her nose.
“Sure, cunt.” She rolled her eyes. “You and all the scientists who thought you’d use immortality for more than just sex.”
Ben shrugged. “You’re benefiting from it.”
“What?” She looked back at him quickly, and her heart picked up in time with the flush of her face.
Feeling his mouth curl into a smirk of his own as Her’s dropped, Ben winked. “If those pussy scientists didn’t make me immortal, I’d be long dead. And there would be nobody to save your ass all the time.”
“Oh,” She blinked, her heart slowing as she tilted her head. “Well. If they didn’t make you immortal, I probably wouldn’t need saving.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
She looked Ben up and down, her face scrunched in the way that he could fucking see her brain moving.
But she only met his eyes, giving him a small smile paired with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”
He said Her name firmly, narrowing his eyes, but she just rolled her own and moved to the dresser.
“Go get changed, Ben. And shower, you smell like shit.”
“Sunshine, what the hell were you-“
“Dining room in fifteen. I want to get training done early so we can get started.” She began rummaging through the drawers, a small crease between her eyes.
Ben frowned. “Get started?”
“Yep,” She looked up, giving him a teasing grin. “You made a big mistake, Pretty Boy. You agreed, out loud, to let me work on that fucked up little brain of yours. We’re starting today, before you pussy out.”
“I’m not going to ‘pussy out’.” He grunted. “I’m a man of my fucking word. Which means we don’t have to start right damn now.”
“Maybe.” She pulled out a pair of leggings, bundling them under her arms as she moved to a different drawer. “But we’re going to anyways.”
“Why? No one’s fucking forcing us-”
“I am.” She turned to face Ben fully, crossing her arms against her chest with a glare. “So haul your fucking ass, Benjamin, before I make you.”
“I’d like to see you try, brat.”
She stuck her tongue out at him as her heart stuttered on cue. “Eat me, cunt.”
The Thing went damn feral, coming up with a lot of creative ways to eat her, many involving her tongue and her cunt and his tongue and her tits, and through the lingering haze of sleep Ben was finding painfully fucking hard to ignore its suggestions.
Fucking literally, the Thing taunted, and Ben—through an impressive amount of sheer will—ignored it.
“Sunshine, we just fucking woke up-“
“You just woke up,” she shrugged. “I’ve been up for hours.”
“Hours?” Ben blinked. “What the fuck do you mean hours?”
“Well, you see time is measured in sixty-second increments, which are made into minutes. Those minutes are added up, also in-“
“No, you fucking brat.” He rolled his eyes, fighting the small smile threatening his lips. “You know goddamn well I’m asking-“
“I’d never seen you really sleep, okay?” She muttered. “I didn’t want to stop it just because I had to pee.”
Ben started a Her, probably looking like a slack-jawed pussy as the Thing started to buck around inside him. It wanted to touch her and feel her and hold her and keep her right next to him all the fucking time-
His voice felt like sandpaper as he spoke. “Sunshine-“
She cut him off, pointing sharply at the door. “Nope. Go get changed.” When Ben only stared at her, she gave him a soft smile. “Don’t get soft on me now, Pretty Boy.”
“I’m not fucking soft,” he grunted, the Thing still fucking pushing at him. She let out a small laugh, her whole fucking face so light and happy, and Ben smirked at her. “I could always prove it to you by-“
“Nope, no time.” She gestured at the door again. “Out.”
“No time?” Ben taunted, very quickly deciding that getting changed was now the least important thing in the world. “So after?”
She wrinkled her nose at him, taking a few steps forward with clothes still tucked under her arm to open the door for him. “Out, Ben. Now.”
Ben didn’t move, grinning widely at Her. “We’re having a fucking conversation. Don’t you know it’s not polite-“
He cut himself off as She hurled herself at him, underwear and leggings falling and abandoned on the floor. Ben watched in amusement as she grabbed his arm and started to pull him, only to immediately think better of it and move behind him in an equally vain attempt to push his body towards the door.
“Jesus fucking Christ, what are you made of, bricks?” Ben felt Her slam her full body weight against his back, and grinned widely.
“I’ve been hit by a train and lived, Sunshine. I don’t think you’re going to have any more damn luck than it did.”
She paused, breathing heavily. “Steam engine or bullet train?”
“What the fuck is a bullet train?”
Apparently that was an answer to Her, because she started throwing herself back into Ben, strained noises sounding from behind him. “Goddamn-“ Her knee hit his thigh. “Fucking-“ Elbow into his side. “Bigfoot-“ Head pushing his back. “Ass-“ Two flat palms against his shoulders. “Man-” She paused for a second, catching her breath as Ben laughed. “You’re a dick.”
He chuckled. “I’m aware.” There was suspicious silence from behind him, and Ben turned—a little concerned that She’d passed out—right in time to be hit by the full force of Her body as she took a running start. Her arms wrapped around his torso, face pressed into his chest as she planted her feet firmly into the ground.
Ben didn’t even feel himself fucking stumble, but She was nothing if not dedicated.
“I fucking hate you, stupid fucking V’ed up asshole, built like a fucking mammoth-“ Ben snorted as She descended into bitter muttering, not budging from her hold.
“This is becoming really fucking sad, Sunshine.”
“I’ll show you fucking sad, Ben, I’ll make you fucking cry-“
He said Her name in huffed amusement, rolling his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I’m just as immortal as you, you fucking cunt-“ She paused, taking a deep breath through her nose as her brow rested against him. He looked down at her, and She raised her head to meet his gaze.
Her eyes were wide, dilated, and she was breathing heavily through puffed lips. The Thing started to riot inside him, and suddenly Ben was incredibly aware of how Her body was pressed into his, how her hands rested against his back and her chin was perched against his chest. How She was fucking leaning into him and he could feel the speed of her heartbeat, the warmth that radiated from her skin. The image of Her body, still smoking, utterly fucking bare, and just as insufferably perfect as the rest of Her flashed in his head, making the Thing start to bellow. Her hair was pressed against her forehead by sweat, and he wanted to run his hands through it. He wanted to move his hands to where Her neck was craning up a him, and pull her closer-
“That’s enough,” Ben grunted, and as he pulled Her off of his body she made a little yelp that the growing strain in his pants really fucking enjoyed.
“Ben-“ She let little gasp as he tossed her back onto the bed, and the Thing fucking whined like a fucking pussy. “What the fuck-“
Turning roughly, Ben stomped to the door, picked up Her clothes from the floor, and threw them to her side. Ignoring the Thing scrapping against him to stay—because just fucking look at her, so fucking perfect, sitting on the bed with pretty eyes and soft lips and she just made another little sound when she caught the clothes—Ben forced himself to walk in controlled and even steps down the hall to his room. He closed the door firmly but without a slam, locked it like any fucker who was about to get changed probably would, and fucking caved.
The Thing was getting a lot more fucking specific about its fantasies. Before it had been flashes of images, blurry hypotheticals. Now, as Ben threw his pants to some unimportant corners of the room and chased some sort of goddamn relief in his hand, everything was clear.
She was pressed against him again, looking up at him with blown out pupils and her mouth just barely open. This time he let his hand move up, holding the back of her neck as his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her so tightly against his body she might as well be just another part of him. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, and She opened for him. Easily, like she’d done it a thousand times before. His tongue moved into her mouth and she fucking moaned, hands gripping his shirt in fists as she tried to tug him impossibly closer. He dropped the hand at her hips lower, pressing his palm against her ass before dragging it forward to rest right between her thighs.
She whined, starting to grind against him, and he pulled back, smirking down at her as she moved to frantically pull the front of his shirt, trying to bring his mouth back to hers. He just moved to cup her jaw, running his thumb over her swollen lower lip.
“Ben,” she whimpered, breath heavy against his fingers as her hand gripped his wrist against her center, trying to make him move.
“What’s the matter, Sunshine? Need something?”
“You fucking dick-“
“You want my fucking dick, don’t you?” She moaned, head falling forward into his chest. “Tell me you want my fucking dick, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Ben,” she keened again. “You cunt-“
“Your cunt, brat. That’s what we’re talking about.” She fucking whined again, and he chuckled. “You know what you have to do if you want this.”
“Fuck-“ She let out a small, desperate sound. “Fuck you-“
“You will. All you have to say is-“
“Please! Ben, please. Please fuck me, you fucking asshole-“
Ben felt the metal taste of blood in his mouth, and realized not only had he covered the whole room in white, he’d bitten clean through his tongue as he came. By the time he had changed and cleaned his room—he was getting really fucking efficient—it had almost entirely healed, and Ben decided to just fucking hope She wouldn’t notice any lisp or slur in his words.
He should’ve fucking know a lot damn better by now.
When Ben entered the dining room, She was sitting cross-legged on one of the long abandoned chairs, holding a completely destroyed apple in one hand and her phone in the other. Her gaze was sharp as her eyes moved across the screen, a small frown on Her face. It took Ben clearing his throat loudly for Her to look up at him, and the Thing tensed at the drawn caution still lingering on her face.
“Took you long enough.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t shower.”
“You don’t fucking know that-“
“Your hair is dry.” She said flatly.
“Maybe I just don’t want to shower two goddamn times in one morning?” Ben snapped. “You think of that, smartass?”
He’d expected Her to glare at him, or bite back with her usual snark, but her head only tilted at him, brow furrowing. “What happened to your voice?”
“What are you talking about,” Ben snapped, cursing himself for not just waiting the one extra fucking minute for his tongue to heal.
“Your words sound weird. Open your mouth.” She took a step closer, eyeing his mouth as if she expected a fucking snake to jump out of it and turning the apple core over in her hands.
“I’m not going to fucking ‘open my mouth’, Sunshine.” Ben angled his chin higher, trying to hide his tongue as he spoke.
“Why?” She glared at him. “Got something to hide?”
Just a few more damn seconds. “I don’t have to do everything you fucking tell me to, brat.”
Heart-flutter. Scowl. Her arms crossing in front of her. “Are you pleading the fucking fifth, Ben?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, because I’m not damn guilty of any fucking shit.”
“That’s not how the fifth works.”
“Yes, it fucking is.” Ben turned his face down fully, feeling his tongue healed completely. “And I’m not hiding anything. My voice is fucking normal.”
She blinked, a surprised frown flashing across Her features. “You’re fucking impossible,” she mumbled, and Ben winked at Her.
“Can I hear an apology-“ Ben was cut off by the apple core hitting him square in the fucking face.
“No.” She looked him up and down. “It’s not my fault you were being weird.” She met his eyes again, a smirk playing on her lips. “And you were wrong about the fifth. Which is shocking given you were alive when it was written.”
He glared at her. “You know goddamn well I wasn’t.”
“Do I?” She said, fake innocence coating her voice as she gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You’d bet money on that Pretty Boy?”
“You think you’re fucking funny, huh?”
“I’m a goddamn riot.” She moved to her defensive stance. “And I’m going to fucking kick your ass for whatever it is you’re hiding.”
Ben scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything, Sunshine.” He reached his arm out. “You can always just fucking check for yourself.”
“I can’t read minds, Ben. Unless you’re feeling guilty, doing that won’t help me at fucking all.”
“I’ve never felt guilty in my goddamn life.” The Thing started spinning around in Ben’s chest, tight against him. Suddenly Her touching him felt like a bad fucking idea.
“Yeah,” She rolled her eyes. “I fucking know. It’s an issue.”
He frowned. “I get shit done, Sunshine. I said I won’t fucking apologize for doing my goddamn job-“
“Not asking you to. That’s a battle I know I won’t win.” She said, flexing her fists. “Now let me beat you to a pulp, Ben.”
“You’re real mouthy this morning, brat.” He sneered, and She glared up at him. “You really think you’re laying one fucking hand on me?”
“Oh,” she gave a dry laugh. “This is going be so goddamn cathartic, cunt, you have no fucking idea.”
Ben decided he had at least some fucking idea, because the first punch She threw landed square across the jaw, and the second slammed right into his gut. It didn’t hurt, he barely even felt it, but the crazed focus in Her eyes, the fact that he could hear the grinding of her teeth, and the way Her heart had taken on a heavy and uncontrolled rhythm was telling him at least a little about what She was feeling.
“Christ on a fucking cross,” Ben grunted as her fifth punch connected with his nose. “I thought we weren’t fighting anymore.”
“We’re not,” she grunted, kicking his chest.
“Sure feels like we goddamn are.” He managed to block her fist from his neck, and She stumbled slightly. “If you’re still mad at me, just fucking tell me.”
“I’m not,” She snapped, and Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m fucking not!”
“Don’t lie to me, Sunshine, you’re better than that.”
“Oh piss off,” She scowled, and Ben didn’t like the shadow that flitted across her face. “I’m not fucking mad at you, I’m just stressed, ok?”
“About what?” Ben frowned, dodging another punch. The Thing started to scrape at him again, desperate to reach out and smooth the crease in Her brow. “Nothing’s fucking happening.”
She just grunted, not meeting his eyes. This time, when her fist flew to his face, Ben grabbed it, holding it firmly as he glared down at Her.
“What’s wrong with you.” He demanded, and She just blinked, looking between his glower and his hold on her hand.
“Nothing,” She said, though her voice wavered, and the Thing started rising to Ben’s throat.
“Liar.” He lowered his hand, pulling Her arm with him. “What’s wrong.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s fucking wrong, Benjamin. I don’t need a single reason to be stressed, everything about our lives is fucking nightmare.”
“You’re being sloppy.” He watched Her carefully, listening for any change in her heart. “Our lives are nightmares every goddamn day. You’re never fucking sloppy.”
“I’m not sloppy, Pretty Boy.” She sneered. “I’ve landed almost every fucking punch.”
“In poor form.” Ben countered, not wavering. Something was fucking wrong with Her. The Thing was so damn loud in him, it needed to know, it need to make it better, make Her smile or laugh and just look less fucking tense. “If you’re still pissed at me, fucking spit it out.”
“Not everything is fucking about you, Ben!” She spat, trying to pry Her fist from his. “I’m just fucking stressed!”
“There’s nothing-“
“Are you stupid, or insane? Of course there’s shit to be stressed about! You met with Homelander and you didn’t even tell me what happened! We keep fucking fighting about stupid shit and I’m tired! We keep saying we won’t keep secrets but we both know we’re lying! Butcher is apparently watching us on cameras, and being just a fucking dick about-“ She took a deep, strained breath. “I just want to fucking have some sort of goddamn control over my fucking life, and sometimes that means punching someone I-“ She took a ragged breath. “I know can take it. Is that too much to fucking ask?”
He felt Her hand grow slack in his, her eyes growing cloudy. The Thing was pushing into him, and Ben wasn’t fucking strong enough to fight it. Not when She looked so goddamn exhausted, still somehow fucking perfect, and hollow in a way that made the Thing bloodthirsty.
He pulled Her hand forward, and as she stumbled into his chest, a small gasp escaping her, Ben wrapped his arms around her back and shoulders. He held Her tight against him, stroking her hair until her breathing steadied, and her body relaxed against his. Once it had, Her head resting against his chest and her heartbeat moving in time with his own, Ben pulled back slightly to look down at Her.
Fucking perfect.
“Go shower,” he said Her name firmly, and she blinked at him in surprise.
“But-“
“We don’t have to go for two hours every damn day, Sunshine. You’re going to go shower, we’re going to sit on the couch, and you’re going to get your fucking show on the road.”
“My show?” She frowned. “Do you mean-“
“The shell shock.” Ben grunted. “You’re going to try your little magic trick, I’ll tell you about the meeting, and we won’t fight.”
She sighed, watching him sadly. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” Ben tightened his grip on her body. “I fucking swear on it.”
For a long second, it looks like She might push him on it. Ben fucking meant it, they weren’t going to fight, even if it meant talking about stupid, vapid shit for the entire afternoon. She looked too goddamn exhausted, it would be like kicking a puppy. A perfect, sad, exhausted puppy that got on his every fucking nerve, but he would bite his tongue for. Part of Ben just wanted to pick Her up, carry her to bed, and hold her until she slept off the strain and anguish on Her face.
“Promise?” She breathed, and Ben didn’t feel any hesitation as he responded.
“Promise.”
She nodded slowly, and pried herself from his grip. “You better shower as well. I meant it when I said you smelled like shit.”
Ben snorted. “You’re not much better, Sunshine.” It was a fucking lie, she smelled like flower shampoo and salt and smoke, but the small smile on Her lips was more than worth the taunt.
“Don’t make me force you to bathe, because I’ll fucking do it. Don’t test me.”
“I’m sure you will,” he muttered under his breath, trailing after Her as they moved up the stairs. She laughed, looking over Her shoulder at him with a wide, perfect smile covering Her face, and the Thing ached.
“See you in thirty, Ben.” She closed the door behind Her, and he was left in the hallway alone.
Ben did shower. Not because She fucking told him to, or because he realized she was right—he smelled like sweat and charcoal and grime—but because he had thirty minutes to kill and nothing to do except shower.
It didn’t fucking hurt that he got to imagine Her in the shower with him, that same perfect smile on Her face as the Thing created an image of her kneeling before him. Of Her mouth around him, of Ben’s hand in her hair as it had been only minutes ago, of Her moans running through his body as he thrusted his cock between her lips.
This time, it was a lot easier to clean up after himself.
She was already on the couch when he got back downstairs, hair damp and knees folded into Her chest as she tapped on her phone. Ben dropped down at Her side, and nudged her shoulder.
“Feeling better, brat?”
She stuck her tongue out as she dropped Her phone into her lap, and the Thing rumbled. “I’m gonna heal your brain so fucking hard, cunt, you won’t know what hit you.”
“Or nothing will happen, because I’m not a fucking shell shocked pussy, and the world’s going to owe me a big fucking apology.”
“You still don’t think you have PTSD?” She frowned.
“No, because I fucking don’t.”
“Why are you letting me do this, then?”
Ben shrugged. “Who am I to deprive you of a chance to touch me?”
She scoffed, face flushing slightly. “We touch all the time, Ben. Try again.”
The Thing was loud in his ears, both grumbling about how She was right—they did touch all the time—but it still wasn’t fucking enough, and trying to grab his tongue and force the words because you said I couldn’t fix you if you couldn’t fix me, and if you had kept fucking screaming and crying and breaking right in front of me it might have fucking killed me.
The Thing needed to shut the hell up.
“You wanted some control, Sunshine. Here it is.” When She didn’t look entirely convinced at his words, Ben leaned down to hold Her gaze at eye level and said Her name firmly. “No fighting, remember?”
She narrowed her eyes, and nodded. “Fine. You’re telling me about the meeting, though. No fucking take backs.”
“Deal.” He said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “What do you-“
He cut himself off as She reached up, dropping one leg down to carpet as she folded the other beneath her, and placed her hands against his head. The Thing made a lot of satisfied sounds, and Ben had to bite down a groan and Her fingers tangled slightly in his hair.
“What the hell are you doing.” His voice was strained, a lot of fucking effort going into ignoring how She’d pulled him down further, so that her face was practically inches from his.
She wasn’t even fucking looking a him as she answered, attention trained on where she held him. “Can’t touch your brain. This is the closest I can get.”
“Should I be fucking feeling something?”
“Dunno,” She shrugged. “Never done this to myself, dummy.”
Ben grunted, and watched Her nose start to wrinkle, brows drawing into concentration. She somehow looked more perfect than before, when he could see glimpses of Her teeth as she chewed her lower lip, could look at every small movement of her eyes, could feel Her hot breath fan across his face. “Have you started-“
“Yeah.” She glanced down to meet his gaze, and something hot flashed across her face. “You can talk whenever.”
“Does it feel like anything?”
She shook her head, but Ben heard her foot start to tap on the carpet. “Do you feel anything?”
“No.”
Her eyes ran across his face, searching for something Ben didn’t have a clue about. She seemed to find Her answer though, and her focus returned to his forehead. “The meeting?” She prompted, and Ben sighed.
“What do you want to know?”
“All of it.” Her voice was firm. “Start from when you left, end when you got back.”
Ben frowned. “We took the van.”
“I figured.” She snarked, and he rolled his eyes.
“Do you want to hear about it or not?” She shot him a quick glare, and he continued. “The French Prick had gas. Fucking mustard and sleeping gas with agent orange.”
“Agent orange is illegal, it hasn’t been in production since, like, the 70s.” She said, and Ben scoffed.
“Asshole made his own. Carried it fucking everywhere like a pussy.”
She let out a huff of amusement. “Of course he did. You’re a scary guy.”
“I know.” He muttered, and something pulled at his lungs. Before he could think better of it, he was asking, “You scared of me, Sunshine?”
“Me?” She still didn’t look back at him, and Ben couldn’t fucking stand the seconds before she answered. “No.” She said it as if it was fucking obvious, and Ben wanted to know more, the Thing needed to know more, but before he could demand it She was looking into his eyes. “What else?”
“We went to the FSIB.” She frowned, and Ben knew his guess had been wrong. “Supe Bureau.” He said, before she could ask.
“Ah,” a small smile crossed her lips, gaze leaving his once more. “FBSA.”
“Sure, that.” He muttered, raising his voice after to continue. “Sage and Homelander were there,” Her grip on his head tightened slightly, and he had to fight the Thing trying to reach for Her. “Neuman too.” She opened her mouth, and Ben rolled his eyes. “Neuman as well. Butcher was pissed about it.”
She snorted. “Butcher’s always pissed about something. What did they want?”
“To know our plans. Sage fucking asked outright what they were.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep. Goddamn waste of time.”
“Hm.” She shook her head slightly, lips drawing in as she chewed at them. “You said Sage asked?”
Ben nodded. “Specifically about us. What Butcher was intending to use us for.”
“Sage asked that?” She glanced down at him again, frowning. “That sounds like something Homelander would ask, not Sage.”
“Maybe that pussy made her ask for him.”
She shook her head, voice slightly quieter. “Even if that’s true, Sage would have to see benefit in it. I don’t trust her to just give in to Homelander over something so plainly stupid. There’s something else. What-” She swallowed slightly, and Ben’s attention caught on the bob of Her throat. “What else was discussed?”
Feeling that She already knew the answer, Ben watched her carefully as he spoke. “You. A lot about you. Sage said you were a liability, which is fucking bullshit, and Homelander whined like a fucking pussy about you leaving him, about the food, about the V shot that didn’t take and how you wasted it, offered to trade you for Ryan-“
“He what?” Her eyes darted down, voice high.
“Asshole said he’d be willing to give Butcher his wife’s brat if Butcher gave you over.” Ben heard Her heart stumble. “We didn’t damn agree to it, Sunshine. If Butcher had even fucking considered it I’d have thrown him out the window.”
“But he offered it? To Butcher?”
Ben said Her name slowly. “I don’t think Butcher took it fucking seriously. Even that pussy knows Homelander would’ve just fucking taken you and kept Ryan.” He frowned as She nodded, blinking nervously before looking back up. “Sunshine.”
“Hm?” Her grip tightened again.
“You’re hiding something.”
“No, I’m not.” Her words were clipped, and Ben scoffed.
“Yes, you fucking are. Are you really fucking worried that Butcher will take his offer? Because I was being fucking serious-”
“I’m not worried about the offer, Ben. I promise.”
Ben examined Her face. She was still looking intently at his forehead, but Her heart was controlled with her breathing again, and the tapping was gone. “Are you upset about the kid? Brian?”
“Ryan,” she corrected. “And no. He’s going to be fine.”
“Because of your plan.”
“Because of my plan.”
Ben said her name slowly. “What is your fucking plan?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s something fucking stupid, isn’t it.”
She frowned. “No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is.” He glared at Her perfect face, trying to find any sort of tell for whatever insane thing was running through Her goddamn head.
“Fuck off, Benjamin. How the hell would you know if it’s stupid.”
He glared at Her. “Because all your plans are fucking stupid and insane.”
“And they all fucking work, Pretty Boy.” Her voice was smug. “You’ve said so yourself.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not goddamn terrible. All of them involve you throwing yourself in front of a train and just fucking hoping you survive.”
“Only one of us has thrown themselves in front of a train, cunt, and it’s not me.”
“A fucking metaphorical train, brat. And I know your plan is fucking stupid because you and Butcher don’t seem too concerned about how it might not work.”
She rolled her eyes. “If anything that’s a sign that it’s an amazing plan.”
“No, it means it’s fucking insane and probably going to blow up in your fucking face.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m being fucking serious, Sunshine.” Ben reached, grabbing one of Her wrists. “If you’re planning something insane, you need to fucking tell me.”
She glowered at him, her words firm. “Good thing it’s not insane.”
“Then just tell me the damn plan.”
“No.”
“I’m trying to help you, brat.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Fucking hell,” Ben snapped Her name. “Can you just trust me about one goddamn thing-“
“No fighting, Ben.” She cut him off, voice rising. “And I’m not telling you, not because I don’t trust you, or because it’s stupid and insane.” She was talking faster and faster, with less breaths between words. “I’m not telling you because nobody knows but Butcher and I, and it needs to stay that way because it’s really fucking precarious, and it needs to go perfectly because if it doesn’t you won’t get the fucking shot at Homelander and this will have been for fucking nothing because you’ll go back under-“ Her grip was like iron around his head. “And we fucking promised we wouldn’t let each other go back so I can’t-“
Ben yanked Her hands from his head just before they began to smoke. “Sunshine-“
“I can’t, I can’t tell you, I fucking can’t-“
He raised his voice using Her name as he grabbed her face in his hands. “Fucking breathe.”
She stared at him, her own hands flying up to his arms.
He repeated himself, lowering his volume, but keeping his words forceful. “Breathe.”
She nodded slowly, and Ben watched Her chest rise and fall, slowing in speed as her heart steadied. She was still watching him, eyes wide and lips parted, and Ben was suddenly incredibly fucking aware of how close they were. Closer than before. Her hands were still warm around him, keeping his hold on her face firm, a hold that had his fingers tangled in her hair and his thumbs so fucking close to her mouth. Her knee was pushed against his hips, dangerously close to the tightness in his pants, and he could fucking swear Her eyes had just fallen to his lips, her tongue running over her own-
Something buzzed, and Her head dropped down as she moved one hand to grab Her phone.
“It’s Hughie.” Her brow wrinkled as she read the screen.
“Cocksucker?”
“Hughie.” She corrected without missing a beat. “He says Annie is about to call, and not to say no to her, because it’ll be his ass if I do and she’s been trying to do this for a month.”
On perfect fucking cue, the phone started buzzing again, displaying a grainy photo what looked to be Starlight gloating over the French Prick’s body. Ben tried to read the words, which was harder than usual given that they were upside down, but his attention was pulled back to Her as she poked his leg with Her foot.
“Ben, I need to answer.” When he just raised his brows at Her—about to ask why the hell she was telling him instead of just fucking doing it—she looked pointedly at his hands, which were still gripping Her face.
He rolled his eyes, but released her.
“Thanks,” She mumbled, raising the phone to her ear. “What’s wrong, Annie?”
Ben kept his face passive as he listened to Starlight’s voice, muffled through the static of the phone. “We’re going out.”
She raised Her brows, frowning at Ben as she spoke. “What?”
“We need a break,” Starlight’s voice was firm. “So we’re going out.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Everyone. You, me, Hughie, Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, Butcher even if I have to physically drag him, and Soldier Boy because we can’t leave him alone.”
Ben scowled, and She rolled her eyes at him, giving him a glare of I know you’re listening Ben, but she doesn’t, so keep fucking quiet.
“Is this part of a plan?” She asked carefully. “Like a club full of supes that might have information-“
“No,” Starlight said Her name with a sigh. “We’re just going out, because if we don’t let off some steam we might explode.”
“Why do Ben and I have to come?” She said, and Ben could hear the gnawing of Her lip. “I mean, he’s still a fugitive, and everyone is going to think he’s kidnapped me-“
“Frenchie’s taking care of it.”
“Annie,” Her voice was flat. “I have no interest in going anywhere sponsored or endorsed by Frenchie.”
“Please,” Starlight said Her name in a desperate tone. “It’ll be safe, I promise. We all need this, and that includes you.”
“You don’t want me there, Annie.” The plain, factual way She says the words makes the Thing want to snap every member of Her team in half. “I might blow, it’s really not safe-“
“It’ll be fine, I promise.”
She sighed, and Ben could fucking visably see will begin to crumble “Annie, I don’t even have anything to wear-“
“Are your measurements the same from when we found you?”
“I mean, yeah, but-“
“I’ll buy you something this afternoon.”
“This after- Annie are we going today?”
“Yep. We’ll pick you up in a few hours.”
“Hours?” Her eyes were wide. “A few fucking hours?”
“Like three or four.”
“Annie-“
“See you then!” The hum of the line went dead, and She looked up at Ben with wide eyes.
“You heard her, right?”
Ben frowned. “You didn’t tell her to get me clothes.”
She blinked at him. “That’s what you’re worried about? What are you going to wear?”
He shrugged. “I mean, there’s not fucking much else to worry about-“
“What about the fact that you are a wanted criminal? Or that I am technically your hostage?”
“Starlight said the French Prick would take care of it.”
“Ben-“
“The lady is right, Sunshine.” He said firmly. “You need a break. I need a break. She sounded like she needed a break.”
“But-“
Ben said Her name, nudging her leg with his own. “Even Butcher is going,” his tone was teasing, trying to pull the goddamn worry from Her face. “Are going to be more of a stick in the mud than fucking Butcher?”
She scowled. “I’m not a stick in the mud.”
He gave her a cocky grin. “Prove it.”
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. No anger, no stress, just pure focus on his challenge. “Prove it?”
“Fucking prove it. Let go. Have some fun for once in your damn life.”
“I’ve had fun. I’ve had a shit ton of fun.” Her lips were slightly pouted. And so fucking close.
“Like I said, brat. Prove it.”
She stood abruptly, and the Thing start fucking pussying about inside Ben that Her body was gone. She moved around the couch, marching to the stairs, before pausing to look back at Ben once.
“I’m going have so much fucking fun, Pretty Boy. It’s going to blow your fucking mind.”
————
The thing about living in a CIA safe-house to babysit an allegedly dead hundred-year-old man—who you entirely and incorrectly anticipated hating with every fiber of your being for the duration of your time together—was that you didn’t spend a lot of time trying to look nice. Not for yourself, and certainly not for anyone else.
Every member of your team had fully supported this blatant lack of effort. You brushed your teeth, showered, and combed out your hair enough that MM wouldn’t start yelling at you about basic hygiene, but nobody was about to start telling you that self-presentation was important to self-respect. You, like all of them, didn’t have the luxury of self-respect. You hardly had the luxury of respect.
It was because of this that—looking back on it—hindsight was indeed a powerful thing. Hindsight would’ve been unbelievably helpful when Mallory’s bi-weekly grocery delivery had come a few nights ago, delivered with a grotesquely large box of makeup and hair products from Annie. You’d moved them into your bathroom—thankful that Ben was taking one of his long showers after training and wasn’t going to barge in asking questions—and read the note buried between hairspray and color corrector.
For later! I wasn’t sure what colors you liked, so I got all of them. - Annie.
A little heart had been drawn next to her name, and looking back at the box you realized she had, as promised, gotten all of them. The box was filled with a rainbow fortune of lipsticks, glosses, eyeshadow palettes, mascaras, liners—liquid, pencil and gel—highlighters, blushes, bronzers, contours, and at least at least twenty foundations and concealer in what you imagined was Annie’s best guess of your shade. That wasn’t even touching the sprays and gels and body glitter.
You’d thought she’d lost it. Or gotten sick of her blood money from Vought and decided to buy you an entire makeup store. You’d pulled out your phone, found Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion, and been about to call her and ask if she was ok and what “for later” could have possibly meant when Ben had started banging on your door. You’d left your phone in the bathroom, shoving the box under the sink, and ran to answer him. You don’t really remember most of the conversation, because Ben’s hair had been damp and looked soft and you’d wanted to touch it, there had been ice cream stuck to his lower lip and you’d wanted to lick it, and the Feeling had been incredibly focus on the slight rasp in his voice but apparently not enough to really hear him. You remember how it had ended though. You putting away the groceries as Ben watched unhelpfully at the doorway, save for a whole tub of malt vanilla ice cream that Ben had decided was too close to melting and felt personally responsible to take matters into his own hands. You’d told him it had been out for less than an hour, and if it was really about his commitment to lowering food waste he wouldn’t have let the caramel ice cream just die like he had. He’d said caramel was a shitty flavor for pussies and the senile, you’d told him that malt vanilla wasn’t really the ice cream of the youth either, he’d called you “brat” again, and Annie’s box of insanity had been completely forgotten.
Hughie’s text had said that Annie had been planning this for a month. If it wasn’t for the box, you’d have thought she was being blackmailed, tricked, or at the very least mind-controlled. Annie wasn’t someone who “went out”, let alone enlisted Frenchie for aid in finding terrorist-appropriate nightlife. You stared at the box as you pulled it out from under the sink—it was more daunting than you remembered—unsure if you should just fully lean into Ben’s prove you’re not a stick in the mud challenge, or be genuinely concerned for Annie and her sudden personality switch. The Feeling was in strong favor of the first option, replaying every single second on the couch over and over, reminding you that Ben had never seen you actually try to have fun—or at least what he considered fun—and maybe if you proved you could he’d touch your face again. Maybe he’d look at you with that hungry glint in his eyes and actually mean it the way the Feeling wanted him to.
He’d lose his mind. The Feeling protested. You’d prove you’re not a stick in the mud, and as a fun reward you’d get to see him lose his mind.
It was that exact train of thought that made you choose the second option, even as the Feeling whined about it.
You pulled out your phone—pushing the Feeling deep into the back of your head where it couldn’t influence your decisions—and forced yourself to call Hughie.
“What’s up?” Hughie sounded tired, more tired than normal.
“Is Annie okay?” You dove into the question headfirst, the words pushing the Feeling back further. This wasn’t about Ben, and how the Feeling hated the idea that he saw you as boring. This was about Annie, and if you needed to be worried about her.
“Yeah, um, I mean-“ Hughie stumbled over his words, and you could practically see the anxiety on his face. “She’s fine. Good. She’s good. Everything is fine and she’s good-“
“Hughie.” You said firmly. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I, uh, I didn’t say you were-“
“Do I need to be worried? Because you know just well, scratch that, you know better than I do that ‘going out’ is not regular Annie behavior.”
“I mean, it could be. Maybe it wasn’t regular Starlight behavior but it is regular Annie behavior. We don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me. You’re not good at it.”
Hughie mumbled your name. “It’s really not that much to be worried about.”
“Okay.” You sigh, glancing involuntarily towards the door to make sure Ben hasn’t suddenly appeared to ruin your bluff. “Then I guess it’s ok if Ben and I don’t go.”
“No!” You move the phone from your ear with a wince as Hughie yells the words. “You need to come, please, Annie will kill me-“
“Why, Hughie. Why will she kill you if it’s not something to be worried about?” Hughie was silent for a second, so you continued. “This is risky, you know this is risky. If you say it’s important to Annie I’ll do it, but I need to know that it’s actually important to her, and not something to be concerned about.”
“It is important to Annie,” Hughie’s voice was hushed. “You’re right, it’s not like her, but she’s still fighting with her mom, and Firecracker did a lot of damage-“ you wince at the mention of Firecracker, but remain silent. “And she just wants to do something kind of normal with the team. Something stupid that isn’t fucking life or death.”
“Okay.” You say, and you mean it. “Three hours?”
“Uh, yeah. Three hours.”
“See you then.” You hang up, and sigh at nothing.
Three hours. Three hours to remember how to look and act like the carefree, normal person you’d been three years ago. The person who had friends, and went out with those friends, and had simple, wild fun with those friends. You could do it again, even if those friends were now revenge fueled mercenaries. But you could have fun. You would have fun. For yourself. Not because the Feeling was starting to come up with all the ways in which you could prove that you weren’t a stick in the mud, and all the ways Ben’s jaw would drop when he was forced to eat his words.
You dump out the contents of Annie’s box—an immediate mistake, there was somehow more than there looked to be—and set to work. You tried all ten of the different perfumes, settled on a flowery one with an Italian label that you certainly butcher the pronunciation of, and took a shower. A long shower, that drowned out the Feeling reminding you of your last shower, where Ben’s sweat from training had been stuck to your body, and his touch had still been lingering on your skin, and his face was imprinted onto your eyes, and the sound of his voice was ringing in your ears-
You turned the shower knob until the water was freezing, and cursed slightly as the chill hit your body.
After you’d dried yourself off—two hours left—you set to work. Makeup first, a full face of powders and shadows and colors. You started over three times—muscle memory was not your friend and the more you sorted through the pile of products the less satisfied you were with your previous choices—and by the time you were done and semi-pleased with your handiwork, you were down to an hour. Hair was faster—there were less choices to be made—and by the time you looked in the mirror ten minutes remained. Ten minutes to not dwell on Ben. Ten minutes to remind yourself that this wasn’t about him, because this was about Annie. Ten minutes for the Feeling to work up from where you’d buried it, and provide unhelpful fantasies of Ben smudging your lipstick and messing up your hair and looking at you with the same hooded gaze from earlier-
Your phone buzzed, a text from Butcher flashing across the screen.
William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever
We’ll talk tonight.
Cold ran through your body, steeling you as your breathing became controlled. Tonight. Butcher was ready, he’d texted you this morning about “all the bloody pieces in place”, and you were going to talk tonight. This wasn’t about the Feeling, because the Feeling didn’t matter. It was gripping onto Ben for safety, a luxury it would soon no longer have. This was about having fun, before everything went to hell. This was about the fact that all of this was so close to over, you might as well enjoy doing something stupid for your friend. You gave the mirror a glare, the foreign woman in it glaring right back. This was the last time she’d make an appearance, because Butcher was ready tonight.
You heard a light knock on your door, took a deep breath, and went to answer it. Annie stood on the other side, holding a plastic bag with a white-knuckled grip.
“Oh good, you’re ready.” She held out the bag, and you took it tentatively as she continued. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a few different styles. Once you get changed, we’ll get going.”
You glance down, scanning Annie’s options. “Uh, where exactly are we going?”
“Some sort of underground speak-easy type club.” Annie frowned slightly. “I don’t remember the name, Frenchie was talking really fast when he said it.”
You nod nervously, fighting the lump in your throat. “Okay, give me, like, five and I’ll be ready.”
You were about to retreat into your room, starting to close the door, when Annie stopped you with a quick, nervous touch. You blink at her, trying to ignore the rush of anxiety and stress that buzzed through your body.
Annie said your name softly. “Thank you for doing this.”
You shrug. “Don’t.”
“I know you’d rather not leave-“
“Annie, seriously. It’s fine. You’re right, we all need a break.” You clear your throat, chasing off the grip that Butcher’s text had left on your lungs. “This will be fun.”
“You look nice,” Annie offers a smile. “Hot.”
You give her a half-forced, toothy grin. “You look hot as well. Hughie’s gonna lose his mind.” Maybe Ben will lose his for you, the Feeling said dreamily in your ear. You pushed it back into the corners of your brain, forcing yourself to focus on Annie.
“This will be fun.” Annie echo’s your sentiment, her voice firm. “I’ll see you when you’re ready?”
“In five.” You restate, nodding. This time, when you go to close the door, Annie doesn’t stop you.
Changing takes a little over five minutes, because even though you try to pick something fast, it’s impossible to ignore the Feeling as it tries to invent different scenarios about how that option will highlight one feature, but that option will highlight another, and Ben would probably like the third option because it’s green-
You pick the green option, because it shuts the Feeling up the easiest.
When you get to the living room, MM and Butcher are standing stiffly at the door, Kimiko is rummaging through the bookshelf as Frenchie watches with an adorably affectionate expression, and Hughie and Annie are huddled on the couch, exchanging low words. You clear your throat, and hold yourself steady as attentions turn to where you stand at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m ready.” You mumble, giving the room another quick sweep. “Where’s Ben?”
“Asshole was in the shower when we got here.” MM grumbled. “Still hasn’t come down.”
You snort. “In that case we might be here all night. That man takes long showers, he might not be half-way done.”
“Fucking rude, Sunshine.” You jump, spinning on your heels to see Ben coming down the stairs, a crooked grin on his face. “I care about my hygiene, is that a goddamn crime?”
“When it takes up all the hot water? Yeah, it is.” You avert your gaze as you snap at him, because the Feeling is starting to push up and up in your brain, almost consumes your thoughts about the fact that Ben looks good, really good, and he’s stopped right next to you, and you can feel the heat from his body-
Butcher’s voice snaps you away from the Feeling’s grip. “Well, don’t you two clean up well?” His tone is mocking, and when you look at his twisted smile and cold eyes, your whole body tenses.
“Wish I could say the same for you, you fucking pussy.” Ben drawls, seemingly unbothered. “You own any clothes that aren’t those ugly fucking Hawaiian shirts?”
“Nah,” Butcher winks. “Nothing else matches my thongs, Gov.”
Ben’s fists curl in your periphery, and you take a step forward. “Frenchie,” your voice is a little louder than probably needed, but it gets the job done. “How far is the club?”
Frenchie doesn’t look up from watching Kimiko as he responds. “An hour, Madame Anom-“ He cuts himself off, head shooting up to look nervously at Ben, and says your name instead.
“Then let’s get a move on,” MM grunts from the door, and you barely here his mutter of, “Fucking hell, Frenchie, couldn’t chose a place in a reasonable distance, could you?” because you’re blinking at Frenchie, trying to figure out why he’s still looking at Ben in not quite fear, but certainly not comfort.
Everyone filters out of the room—the air a little more tense than it probably should be for a group of people going clubbing—and you grab Ben’s arm before he can follow.
Mistake. Big mistake. The Feeling claws its way to the surface, because you’re fully looking at him and he’s fully looking at you, and everything is suddenly very sharp and very warm. Because, even if he was being a sardonic ass, Butcher was right. Ben cleaned up well. Really well. Unfairly well. The Feeling couldn’t pick a place to settle, because his hair was slightly mussed, and he’d shaved just enough for you to really see his lips, and his shirt was clinging to his chest in a way that you could see his muscles ripple as he breathed, and you were thirsty again, because your heart was rolling around inside your chest. Because he was looking you up and down, and the Feeling was so focused on trying to see if there was anything in the way he looked at you that you didn’t think you remembered how to breathe.
“You look good,” Ben’s voice is low and gruff, and does not help silence the Feeling at all.
“Thanks.” You mumble, and hope you sound a little less pathetic and breathless than you feel. You manage to blink a few times, pulling your head into the game and ignoring the pounding in your chest and head. “Uh, what was that about?”
He frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Frenchie looked at you like you were going to rip his head off.”
“They always look at me like that,” Ben shrugs. “So?”
“He didn’t call me ‘Madame Anomaly’, he used my name.”
“Yeah, maybe the prick finally realized that you’re no Madame,” his tone is mocking, but you can’t feel any malice or cruelty. Only the resolved protection wrapping around you.
It made the Feeling feral. It made you struggle to focus.
You must be looking as lost as you feel, because Ben’s eyes narrow, and he looks you up and down again. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sunshine?”
The Feeling wants to touch the lines of tension on his brow, run your fingers over them until they vanish, and you overpower it just enough to say, “What?”
“If you really don’t, I can tell them you’re sick and to go without us.”
“I can’t get sick, Ben.” You say flatly, pulling yourself forcefully from the Feeling’s grasp.
“Then come up with a better lie. And we’ll stay here.”
You glare at him. “I said I was going to have fun, Benjamin, and I fucking meant it. We’re going, I’m going to blow your fucking brains out with how fun I am, and you’re going to admit that I’m no a stick in the mud.”
He coughs something that’s either a laugh or a choke, and your heart squeezes. “Fuck me for trying to be helpful, brat.”
“After you, cunt.” You make a sweeping gesture forward, releasing his arm.
Ben rolls his eyes at you, grinning widely. “Ladies first, Sunshine.”
“I thought I was ‘no Madame’- hey!”
Ben loops his arm through yours, and before you know what’s happening he’s pulling you through the door and towards the van. The Feeling is dazed, crawling through you as everything becomes a very hazy cloud of warm and safe and Ben. He grumbles “don’t these pussies own any other goddamn cars,” and you can feel it hum through you.
You managed to detangle yourself from Ben long enough to haul yourself through the back doors alone, stumbling to sit down at Kimiko’s side as Ben follows you.
“Where’s Frenchie?” You ask her, signing as you nod at the empty spot where he’s usually found.
Butcher hates MapQuest Kimiko signs back with an eye roll. Frenchie has to give him manual directions.
You laugh, and feel the Feeling keen inside you as Ben drops next to you, his knee pushed into yours.
“What’s funny?” He grunts, and when you turn to look at him, you feel your heart buck in your chest. His face is a lot closer than you expected, and his lips are very pink.
“Butcher’s being an ass,” you manage to say plainly, and Ben snorts.
“I can fucking hear you, Love,” Butcher calls from the front, and you scoff. “We work for the bloody CIA, you should know better than to trust something with a GPS.”
“The phone has a GPS anyway, dumbass, you’re not combating a surveillance state by getting us lost.”
Butcher is silent for a second after you respond, and you can see his scowl in the rearview mirror. “That true Hughie?”
“Uh,” Hughie looks up, startled, from his place at Annie’s side. “Yeah? Most modern tech has some sort of GPS.”
“Huh.” Butcher grunts. “When we get back from this shit, you’re removing mine from my phone, got it?”
Hughie pales. “What?”
Before you can marvel at Butcher’s shockingly inept knowledge of how phones worked, the Feeling returns in a full, electric force, and you realize Ben is leaning into you.
His voice is a grumble near your ear, and it makes the Feeling burn. “What the fuck is a GPS.”
“Wha-“ you turn to face him, and cut yourself off when you find his face only inches from yours, his eyes watching you with a intensity that makes the Feeling painful.
“GPS,” he grunts, his breath fanning your face. “Cocksucker mention it last time, but nobody will actually fucking explain it.”
You blink. “It’s like a compass? Or a tracker? It tells you where you are on a map with satellites or something.”
Ben smirks. “Did I finally find something you don’t have the answer to, Sunshine?”
“No,” you scowl. “It’s just hard to explain.”
“Sure,” his smile is so wide, so teasing and light, the Feeling wants to make him do that again, just for you, and it takes strained effort to really listen to him. “You’re not scared to admit you’re wrong, are you, brat?”
“I’m never fucking wrong, cunt.” You scowl. “You should know that by now.”
An almost painful craving feeling runs through your heart, and Ben winks. “Of course, Sunshine. I’m not in the business of disagreeing with terrifyingly beautiful women.”
This time, you’re certain you’ve forgotten how to breathe. It really doesn’t feel that vital right now, not when the Feeling is everything and everywhere and writhing around and consuming you, because what does that mean and why did he say it like that and why is he looking at you like that and would he please stop looking at you because it’s very distracting and actually, if he looks away from you your heart might stop working so he needs to stay right there-
Someone says your name, a few times, and you’re forced to find a way to look away from Ben and live with it.
Annie is watching you with a strange look as Hughie stands to talk to Butcher in the front—the GPS argument apparently nowhere close to settled—but she clears her throat and says your name one more time, likely trying to verify your attention.
“What’s up?” Your voice is a lot more hoarse than you’d like, and you chalk it up to not drinking enough water.
“Butcher told us you could sing?” Annie’s voice is curious, and she doesn’t seem to notice how you tense at her words. “I mean, he seemed really mad about it for some reason, but he said you had a nice voice.”
You cough—feeling Ben’s protective, stone-like resolve run through you—and manage to answer in a steady voice. “I- I can. Kind of. It’s not a big deal-“
“She has the voice of the angels,” Frenchie calls from the front, and the fire starts to itch. “Like a bird song.”
“It’s really not-“
“Do not feel modesty,” oblivious to the edge of anxiety in your voice, Frenchie continues. “It is a rare gift, when we heard it-“
“We?” You cut him off, the itch running into your blood. “How many of you heard it, exactly?”
“Myself, Kimiko, Monsieur Butcher, and Soldier Boy.”
“You weren’t being quiet, Love.” Butcher says over Hughie’s low, exasperated explanation of how hardware works. “Not our fault we heard.”
“Not your fault?” You say incredulously. “Not your fault that you heard me over the cameras you didn’t tell me about?” The van is silent for a second as you glare around at your team, everyone avoiding your gaze. “Did you all know about them?”
“They’re just a precaution,” MM says your name tightly. “For your safety-“
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“It ain’t like we put them in the bloody bathrooms or bedrooms, Love,” Butcher snaps. “We use them to check on you and Soldier Boy once a week, make sure you haven’t bashed each other’s brains in, and that fuckin it.”
“It’s an invasion of fucking privacy!”
“It’s a CIA safe house,” Butcher sneers. “You expect privacy? Go to a Holiday Inn.”
Ben’s hand finds your thigh right before you can stand from your seat and throw Butcher into oncoming traffic. When you turn to look at him, his own anger moving into yours, he’s giving you a small frown of I’m not fucking happy about it either Sunshine, but you can’t kill Butcher right now.
You glare back at him. Since when are you anti-murder in any circumstance?
He rolls his eyes. Since it would result in you being locked up for murder and me going back in the box. He nudges his leg against yours once more and you realize you can feel the anger, but no drums. Get through all this, and I’ll kill Butcher however you want.
You huff a small laugh, and realize everyone is still silent around you, watching you and Ben with varying looks of confusion. You clear your throat nervously, and make an attempt to divert the conversation. “Frenchie, what’s the name of the place?”
“The Renegade Room,” Frenchie says smugly. “It is a hidden establishment, for those of our discrete nature.”
MM frowns, his voice exasperated. “I keep asking you what ‘discreet nature’ fucking means, and you haven’t given me a straight answer yet.”
“Those who have just as much to lose as their neighbor,” though Frenchie’s tone implies that his answer is simple—obvious even—everyone’s matching expression of confusion tells you they’re as lost as you are.
“Frenchie,” Hughie voices everyone’s concerns with a slow voice. “That doesn’t sound safe.”
Butcher’s voice is stern, angry. “Am I going to have to turn this bloody car ‘round? Because someone going to be made to pay all the fucking gas-“
“Not a car,” Ben mutters from your side, and you roll your eyes.
“Well, Gov.” Butcher sneers from the front. “Next time we’ll take the real car, and you can ride in the bloody trunk.”
“You try and shove me in a trunk, I’ll rip your fucking face off.”
You sigh. “Can someone figure out what Frenchie means before these two Alpha male each other to death?”
Kimiko nudges your side, and you stick your tongue out at Ben’s scowl before you turn to her.
He told me it’s other supes who have left Vought, other citizens who were burned by them, anyone in hiding. She glares over her shoulder at Frenchie as she signs. Don’t feel bad, he’s not good at explaining it.
You laugh, signing thank you to her before repeating her words aloud.
“Oh,” Hughie is the first to react. “That’s, that’s smart Frenchie.”
“Oui, Petite Hughie. Teach all you imbeciles to doubt me.”
Everyone slowly returns to their conversations, Hughie giving up on his argument with Butcher and joining Annie and MM’s discussion about acceptable club music, and Ben hanging over your shoulder as you turn back to Kimiko.
What did Annie do to get you here? You sign, and she gives you a smile.
She bought me a dress. She gestures proudly to her outfit. And makeup. With lots of glitter.
You laugh. I got a similar treatment. And you look very nice.
So do you. Kimiko glances at Ben, who’s attempting to both sit pressed against you—as if you might vanish into thin air—and look completely disinterested in you and Kimiko’s silent conversation. Did he tell you look nice?
You feel heat on your face, and you blink at her. No. I mean, kind of? Why?
Kimiko shrugs. Just curious.
For a second you consider mentioning the “terrifyingly beautiful” thing, but the van jerks to a stop, the engine shutting off as Butcher stands.
“Alright, ground rules Boys. No one gets drunk enough to cause a scene. Everyone stays close in case we need to make a quick exit. Frenchie, no drug dealing, this ain’t a business trip. MM, no cleaning the space, it’s a bloody futile effort. Hughie, try and let loose, or at least pretend you enjoy this. Starlight, keep your head down, we don’t need your celebrity status bitin us in the arse again.” Butcher says your name, giving you a glare the others didn’t receive. “No touching people, no going postal, either you or Frenchie are with the Female all the time, and keep your fucking boy toy in line. Soldier Boy, stick with her, and no explosions. Actually,” Butcher gives everyone a sharp glare. “That goes for all you cunts.”
You can feel Ben tensing at your side, his tight anger pounding with your heart, and the Feeling proves once more to be unhelpful as it decides to focus purely on how close he is to you.
“Does he always give such stupid fucking pep talks before everything these pussies do?” Ben mutters in your ear, and you kick his shin, failing to suppress your snort.
“Yeah, he does.” You look up in surprise at MM, who had stood to exit the van and apparently heard Ben’s comment. He doesn’t spare either of you a look, grumbling something about the Spice Girls as he continues on his way.
“Let us get the show on the road, non?” Frenchie stops before you and Kimiko, offering a hand down. “Mon Coeur?”
Kimiko smiles at him as she takes his hand, looping her arm through his, and they follow MM out of the van.
“Are they fucking?” Ben asks, watching them as they leave.
You frown. “I honestly don’t know.”
He snorts, standing up. “They look like they’re fucking.” You roll your eyes, ignoring the Feeling sulking at the loss of his touch. You’re about to give him a snarky comment—probably about how his perception skills don’t have a very high success rate, because for the first month you lived together he refused to hear that Hughie and Butcher weren’t married—but your words die in your throat when Ben extends his hand down, holding right before you.
You look up at him, blinking as Hughie stumbles past Ben in the background. What are you doing?
He glares at you. Don’t make a damn scene, Sunshine. Just fucking take my hand before Butcher yells at us for being too slow.
You wrinkle your nose at him, but take Ben’s hand slowly, yelping in surprise as he grips you firmly, pulling you to your feet. You fall right into his chest, and the Feeling is thirsty again, restless inside you, making everything feel very solid and secure and he smells good and his hand is rough around you and would it feel this nice against other parts of your body? What would you need to say to get him to touch other parts of your body? He looks hungry again, maybe if you just asked-
“Oi, we ain’t got all night!” Butcher calls from outside. “Some of us have shit we want to do.”
Even the Feeling, still desperate inside of you, falls silent at that. You have things to do. Butcher’s almost ready.
“We’re coming!” You call out, and don’t bother to remove yourself fully from Ben—you’re not sure the Feeling would allow you to—choosing to just tug him after you. The night air is cold, the wind is biting, and Ben’s warmth at your back makes it a lot harder to get the Feeling to calm down. There’s a harsh, putrid smell in the air that is completely covered by pine trees and coffee and Ben, and you’re so consumed by it, by the Feeling, you almost don’t realize the van is parked at the edge of a junkyard.
At first glance, the “club” looks suspiciously like an abandoned Blockbuster. There’s yellow caution tape all over the building, the windows are boarded up, and a Danger! Biohazard: Infectious Waste sign is hung on the doors. Frenchie ignores it, pushing right into the building, and everyone follows with apprehensive steps.
The inside doesn’t improve anyone’s faith. There’s dust, grime, mold, and cobwebs at every corner and turn, you hear a scratching sound beneath your feet, those are definitely cracks on the walls, and something smells like dead fish.
“Frenchie, you fucker,” MM looks like he’s about to vomit, and you don’t think you’re faring much better. “If this is a prank I with beat your ass so goddamn hard-“
“Have a little faith, mon amie,” Frenchie cuts MM off, ignoring the daggers MM continues to glare at his head. “It is just right-“ You jump as Frenchie topples one of the empty shelves to the ground with a loud thud. “Here. Mon Coeur?”
Kimiko rolls her eyes, but moves to pick up the shelf with ease and pulls it aside as Frenchie pushes at the wall, which swings open to reveal a staircase.
“This is some James Bond bullshit.” MM grunts.
“Take it or leave it, Mate.” Butcher peers down the staircase, where you can hear the deep sounds of a bass and see occasional flashes of light. “I, for one, am thrilled. Bloody good work, Frenchie.”
As you descend the poorly lit, steep staircase, you and Ben trail at the back, and it occurs to you around half-way down that he still has an iron-like grip on your hand, that the stone-like resolve hasn’t left him—left you—and may be the only thing keeping you upright at this point. You glance up at him, elbowing him lightly until he returns your gaze.
You raise your eyebrows at him, hoping he can still read your expression in the darkness. No drums?
He frowns slightly. No. How the fuck did you know about that?
Felt it. You squeeze his hand in reminder. I think that means my experiment is working.
He rolls his eyes. Or maybe I just don’t have shell shock, brat.
Or maybe I’m never fucking wrong, cunt. You stick your tongue out, and swear the shadows play a cruel trick where his eyes fall and linger on your mouth.
He winks at you, and your heart flails in its usual perfect rhythm with the Feeling. Before you can read his face is trying to tell you, he tugs you back slightly—right into his side—and you realize you’d been about to run head-first into Hughie’s back.
“Welcome, my friends, to The Renegade Room.” Frenchie does a wide sweeping gesture to the scene before you and you step a little further back, caught only by Ben’s arm around you.
If someone had asked you in the van to describe your expectations, you would have been dead on the money. Colorful, strobing lights, casting a neon glow. Sweaty, bouncing bodies crowded in the center of the room. The beat of the music carving deep, deep into your chest and running across your bones. Your’e clinging to Ben, half because he’s making no effort to remove himself from you, and half because if he does decide to let go you’re pretty sure you’ll freeze in a very inconvenient place. The Feeling tries to pull your body closer to him, even though his arm is slung around your shoulders and you’re still gripping his hand where it rests near your neck.
Frenchie leads the group to one of the velvet-seated booths, wrapped in a smoky haze and completed with a round table that has a few stains that cause MM to clasp his hand firmly in his lap, scowling at the surface.
You scoot in after Hughie, Ben following right behind you, never letting go. Annie remains standing, looking around the club before shouting over the music.
“Frenchie! Drinks?!”
Frenchie gestures to follow him, disappearing with Annie and Kimiko into the crowd.
“None of those fuckers listened to my ’stay close’ shit?” Butcher grumbles, and you sneer at him.
“We’re not fucking gazelle, Butcher, we’re people. People are going to wander.”
He glares at you, eyes narrowing as he looks you over, Ben’s arm still around you. Butcher snorts, shaking his head, and whatever cruel comment had been about to escape his mouth is cut off by Hughie’s nervous shouting.
“Are all these people fugitives from Vaught?” He’s leaning up, scanning the crowd. “Even, like, the bartenders?”
MM shrugs. “Probably. It works in our favor, kid, don’t worry.”
Hughie gives a reluctant nod, but doesn’t stop eyeing the patrons wearily.
“I’m getting a bloody drink.” Butcher stands, giving you own last scowl. “I'll see you lot later. MM?”
MM grunts, standing as well, and they disappear in the same direction the others went, leaving you, Ben, and Hughie alone at the table.
“Um,” Hughie looks between you nervously. “Thank you for doing this, I know it’s weird, but-“
“Hello. there” Hughie is cut off by a bright eyed woman appearing before you, smiling down sweetly. “You three are new. We don’t get a lot of new people.”
“Well, doll, let’s just say we know a guy.” Ben drawls, and the Feeling becomes tight and bitter.
She laughs, and the sound is sweet like a bell and grinds in your brain. “How did we all get here, hm?” She leans down, giving everyone a perfect, white-toothed smile. “What’s our story?”
Ben looks at you, Hughie follows his lead, and—you’re not sure why—apparently you’ve been volunteered to answer.
“Supes,” you point between you and Ben. “That Vought doesn’t like very much. Dude,” you point at Hughie. “Whose girlfriend got collaterally-damaged.”
“Hm,” she tilts her head, hair falling in perfect waves. “What kind of supes? Would I have heard of you?”
You answer before Ben can, sensing his wave of indigence wash through you. “Nope. Vought didn’t really have interest in making us public. I’m not very charismatic and I can’t lie.” Ben snorts, and you jab an elbow into his gut. “And this guy pees when he gets attention. Side-effect of the V, not very marketable.”
The woman blinks, and Ben gives you a fucking really, Sunshine? glower.
You give him a fake, wide-eyed look of innocence. What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Did I say something?
He rolls his eyes. Brat.
Before you can give him a sickly-sweet smile of cunt, the woman is speaking again.
“I can deal with a little golden shower. You only fuck supes, Handsome? Or do mortals like me get a chance?” Ben blinks at her, and she leans forward, a sultry smile that feels like toxins in your body playing on her lips. “How about drugs? You do drugs?”
Ben gives her a wide grin, something vile runs through your blood, and Hughie coughs.
“That’s my cue. I’m going to find Annie.” All but running from the table, Hughie vanishes into the fray as well, and it’s just you and Ben.
You, Ben, and the woman looking at Ben like he’s meat and she’s hungry.
“What’s on the menu?” Ben is smiling, and though it’s a colder smile than you’ve seen on his face in a while, it still makes the Feeling hiss inside you.
The woman pulls out small bags from the top of her dress. “Whatever you want, darling.” The Feeling hates that more than handsome. Ben is handsome, that was just a factual statement. It haunted you how handsome he was, because it made it harder to dismiss the Feeling as just Ben is safe. It made the Feeling thirsty, and you violent. Her calling him darling was like a grip around your head, hot and brutal and constricting.
“Fucking hell, finally.” Ben grabs the bag with his free hand, and starts to examine it. “Coke?”
“Cut with a little something special,” the woman winks, and gives you a once over. “Your arm candy want some too?”
“As well,” Ben grunts, still looking at the baggie, and you feel a rush of amusement run through him. “And she’ll probably want to answer that herself.”
The woman looks at you fully, and you give a half-hearted shrug.
“I think I’m good, thanks.” You shout, voice still hardly audible over the club. “I, uh, I’m not a huge coke person.”
She scoffs, turning her attention back to Ben. “You want some less uptight company, pretty boy?”
It’s not just the Feeling that hates that. Your teeth are clenched, you can feel your nails digging into your skin, you’re not sure if the smoke surrounding you is from you or just general club smoke. The Feeling is chanting something about throwing the woman across the room, punching out all her perfect teeth, and burning out her shining eyes. You’re on board with it.
“I’m good, doll.” Ben’s voice cuts through your gory fantasies, and his smile has returned down to you. “She’s plenty fun, aren’t you Sunshine?”
You blink stupidly, and make a weak sound of acknowledgment. The Feeling is still loud in your head, you can feel something shockingly strong running in your heart, and Ben is telling the woman he’s good but you can feel a hunger that doesn’t belong to the Feeling, a hunger you’ve only felt when the thirst had been unbearably strong. Lust. Ben was telling the woman he was good but he was feeling lust.
The woman just gives a simpering smile in your direction. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”
Only Ben’s arm, still around your shoulder as he dumps out the contents of the bag, stops you from leaping over the table and killing her.
You look back at Ben, still the lust still lingering as the woman disappears, and watch his frustratingly attractive side-profile as he examines the white powder on the table.
“Looks legit?” He grunts, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s a question.
“I mean, it looks like cocaine. But it could just be, like, drywall.” Ben snorts, and unwelcome pride rushes through you. “I don’t know why you’re asking me, I’m not exactly a drug expert, Pretty Boy.” You say the last words firmer than you mean to, likely because the Feeling needs to make sure he hears them.
He hums, glancing back at you. “You sure you don’t want some? I’m willing to share.”
“Aren’t you just a pillar of charity?” You mumble, and he gives you a flat look. “No, Ben, I don’t want cocaine that was given to me in a shady club by a random woman who was keeping it in her boobs.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “You always call it cocaine, Sunshine?”
“What else am I supposed to call it?” You frown, and Ben chuckles.
“Coke. Like every other fucker on the planet. Do you call meth “methamphetamine’?”
“So what if I do?” You snapped, and he just laughs, giving you a wink before removing his arm from around you and diving nose-first into the white pile. The Feeling whines from the loss of his touch, and your nails would probably have scarred your skin if you were still human.
He comes up, wiping the drugs from his face. “Shit, that’s good. You fucking sure you don’t want a hit, Sunshine? It won’t affect you now, not like any normal human pussy.”
“I like to keep a firm rule about the boob-drug thing. I’m good.”
Ben just shrugs, and you feel him press his thigh fully against yours. The Feeling is calmed by the action, and makes you watch him in a trance-like state as he leans back against the booth cushions. There’s still a little powder caught in his beard, and the Feeling wants to wipe it off and offer it to him on your fingers-
“I didn’t think of Starlight as a boob-drug club type.” He raises his brows at you. “What made her decide to be less of a prudish bitch?”
“She’s just stressed,” you answer nonchalantly. “There’s slim-pickings for venues we can all attend, and I’d hazard a guess that almost all of them would be clubs of the boob-drug variety.”
Ben laughs loudly, the one that always lingers in your chest and that the Feeling drinks like fuel. He takes another snort—thigh still firmly against yours—and looks like he’s going to say something when he comes back up, but his attention gets caught in front of you.
You follow his gaze and find Annie, a lot more smiley than you’ve ever seen her, watching you with wide-eyes.
“Annie are you-“
She says your name, her voice a bright and bubbly tone you’ve ever heard on TV. “Come dance!”
You frown. “I’m not supposed to leave Ben.”
“Oh, come onnn.” Annie’s words are slightly slurred, her smile too bright. “Everyone’s breaking Butcher’s stupid rules, if MM can start organizing the bar and Frenchie can hand out bathroom-pills, you can leave Soldier Boy for one dance.”
Ben nudges your shoulder, looking at you in mock hurt. “One dance, Sunshine. Do you not think I can behave myself for one dance?”
You wrinkle your nose at him. Unhelpful.
He gives you a teasing, lop-sided smile. You said you’d have so much fun it would blow my mind.
So? You scowl.
Dance, Sunshine. Have some fun. He looks back at Annie. “She’s coming.”
Annie squeals, and—giving Ben a dirty look as you do—you shuffle out of the booth. “This is peer pressure.” You mutter under your breath, and catch Ben’s huff of amusement.
You look at him as you stand, just long enough to see his wink of have fun, brat before Annie is pulling you into the throes of the crowd.
Everything turns into a flash of furious and lustful and mournful and guilty and elation as you’re rammed through the dance floor, and your skin becomes coated in stress, starting from where Annie grips your wrist.
She releases you when you stop at the bar, leaning over the counter to wave someone down. You rub where she’d been holding you, the anxiety still humming through you.
“Annie, if you need to talk-“
“What's going on with you and Soldier Boy?” She shouts over your attempt, giving you a dizzy smile. “Is Butcher right? Are you fucking?”
You stare at her. “Jesus Christ, no, Annie, we’re not fucking.”
“Do you want to fuck him?”
“No!” Your voice is high, and you ignore the Feeling spinning resentfully inside of you. “Annie, what is going on with you-“
“Hughie told me that you two keep making ‘heart-eyes’ at each other,” she pokes your shoulder, and the stress jolts through you. “And he was right! You totally make heart-eyes!”
“No, we don’t. Annie, you have to stop touching me, I think you keep forgetting-“
“I don’t keep ‘forgetting’,” her voice is exasperated as she says your name. “I just don’t care!” She giggles, and your concern grows. “And you’re trying to change the subject!”
“I’m not, I’m just worried-“
“Did he Stockholm synonym you? Is that it?”
“Stockholm syndrome,” you correct with a small frown. “And I think technically I Stockholmed Ben-“
“See!” Annie grabs your hands between hers. “You call him Ben. Like he’s a person!”
The Feeling doesn’t like that, and you tense defensively. “He is a person, Annie.”
She nods. “And you’re fucking him.”
“I’m not fucking him!” Your protests are growing weaker, and you chalk it up to Annie’s persistence.
“You let him touch you!” She squeezed your hands. “Like, all the time.”
“Because he doesn’t care.” You say firmly. “If you weren’t seven-plus shots into the night, you wouldn’t be touching me, Annie. Because I can feel that there’s something wrong with you. Please just talk to me-“
“No!” She shouts, her grip on you becoming slightly painful. “I just want to have fun! I’ve never gotten to have fun! I’ve never had normal friends and had normal fun so can we please just dance?!” She says your name in a pleading tone. “I just want to dance with my friend.”
You blink. “I, um, I didn’t know we were friends.” You glance back at her hands, still around yours. “You’re kind of, you act like you’re afraid of me usually.”
Annie’s face falters for a second, and you feel her guilt rush through her. She says your name a little sadly, looking at you with big eyes. “Your powers are scary. Really, really scary. You’re kind of scary. But I still want to be your friend.”
Your chest squeezes. “I don’t think most of the others agree with that sentiment, Annie. I don’t want to ostracize you any more.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You mean fucking Butcher? That asshole will get over it.”
“But-“
Annie says your name in the strongest tone you’ve heard her use since you arrived. “Everyone else is scared of you, because you’re scary.”
“Calling me scary isn’t a great way to tell me you want to be my friend-“
“But they don’t hate you. Kimiko loves you, Frenchie likes that Kimiko loves you, MM isn’t a huge fan of you and Soldier Boy fucking-“
“We’re not-“
She presses a finger to your lip. “But he still respects you. He thinks you’re okay. Hughie’s nervous because that man is always nervous-“ She sighs dreamily at nothing, words becoming slightly more slurred. “But he thinks you’re cool.”
You hum an acknowledgment through your lips, and Annie pulls back.
“Now can we please dance? Like normal people?”
You give her a smile, and it’s not forced. “Yeah, we can dance like normal people.”
Annie pulls you from the bar, right to the center of the dance floor, and starts dancing a little off-beat. Laughing, you grab her arms, moving her onto the rhythm of the song rolling through the club. Time turns into a blur, and you feel light. Everything is just the music and bubbly laughter and dancing in a way you haven’t in three years. You can’t sing, but you can move. Swaying and bouncing in time with the music, lost in the bass and the lights. You’re sweaty, and your hard work from the afternoon is probably ruined, and you’re a little breathless, but it feels just stupid and easy and fun. You’re not drunk—you can’t be anymore—but everything feels easy. The Feeling sneaks up on you, and suddenly you’re missing him again. You’re having fun, and the Feeling is suddenly painfully insistent that he be at your side, having fun with you.
You stumble away from Annie, stopping at the edge of the crowd as you look for Ben. It’s a little worrying how easy you find where he’s still sat, the white pile almost entirely gone from the table. Your brain is so full of the Feeling, repeating his name in a harmony of Ben, Ben, Ben, that you almost miss that he’s not alone.
The lady with the sweet smile and bright eyes is next to him, where you had been. You can see the pearl of her smile from where you’re standing, imagine the honey-like drip of her voice. Ben’s arms aren’t around her, rested on the table as he speaks, but you can’t see his legs, and the Feeling is kicking at your gut.
You’re frozen for a second, and you hear a voice from somewhere to your side.
“Ready for our chat, Love?"
You turn sharply, and see Butcher’s humorless, cold smile for only a second before he’s grabbing your arm, tugging you roughly away from Ben, past the crowd, and into a broom closet. He lets go like you’ve burned him—you’re certain you didn’t—and toss the rag he’d been using to the side.
“What the fuck, Butcher?!” You hiss as he shakes out his hand. “You couldn’t have just asked me to follow you?!”
“You were mooning over Soldier Boy like a damn puppy. Couldn’t risk him seeing us and asking stupid fucking questions.” Butcher gives you a smirk. “You two kiss and make up about your little lie?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Boy, he was bloody pissed.” Butcher laughs mockingly. “Was real fucking worried about you, Love. Made us put on the cam audio cause he was so fuckin worried.” He sneers the last words, and you cross your arms across your chest, violating shutting down how Butcher’s words make the Feeling warm with images of Ben and the woman with the perfect smile.
“Our conversation about cameras isn’t fucking over, you asshole.” You snap, and Butcher scoffs.
“Please, it ain’t going to even fucking matter soon, is it now?” He meets your glare with another crude grin. “And you’re the forgiving type, Love, aren’t you. You forgave Soldier Boy for his little lie about the meeting.”
You grit your teeth. “Yeah, I did.”
“And he forgave you about the singing shit?”
“Yep.” You hold his gaze, the itch of heat under your skin starting to build.
Butcher smile is all teeth and cold mockery and bored hatred. “He doesn’t know what he was really forgiving you for, does he?”
You can see smoke curling around you. “Shut the fuck up, Butcher. Let’s just get this over with.”
He rolls his eyes, but his face falls into seriousness. “Fine, Love, suck all the fuckin fun out of it. It’ll be ready in nine days.”
“Nine days?” You take a deep, jagged breath and the fire crawls around your head. “And you’re sure it will work. We only get one fucking chance, Butcher, you have to be certain—“
“I am certain,” he hisses. “Everything is lined up perfectly. The opening is in nine days, I’ll take the Boys on a wild goose chase, and this will fucking work.”
You nod slowly, and the air feels like poison in your lungs. “What about Ben?”
“Well,” Butcher jeers. “It looks like the little bloody bond you two formed is going to work in our favor. And if it doesn’t we’ll lock him in the safe house and figure out some sort of gas-gun. It won’t be your fucking problem either way.”
“What if Ryan doesn’t listen?” You whisper in a futile attmept to keep the fear from your voice. “What it doesn’t work-“
“That boy loved his mother.” Butcher’s voice is firm, and there’s something distant in his glare. “He’ll listen.”
“He doesn’t know me-“
“You getting fucking cold feet? On your own fucking plan?”
“No,” you snap. “I just want to prepare for every fucking hurdle so I’m not throwing myself in front of a train just for you to fuck me, Butcher.”
You pull yourself together with a too-long, too-heavy breath. “Nine days.”
Butcher exits the closet before you do, leaving the fire clawing through you, blurring the world. You close your eyes, desperate to regain some semblance of control.
City lights. Music. City lights. Music. City lights. Music.
Ben.
Your eyes shoot open, and the Feeling starts the chew through the fire. City lights, music, Ben. The itch starts to wane, so you let the Feeling take over.
City lights, music, Ben. City lights, and music, and Ben.
Ben.
You’re grounded. Everything is clear, the fire is gone—you’ll deal with the implications of what did those things later—and so you exit the closet. You can’t go back to the booth—not if Ben and the woman are still there, because it might make something rotten wake up inside you—so you wander, looking for Annie. You find her clinging to Hughie in a corner, arms around him with her head in his chest, and decide to leave them be. A few minutes later you see Kimiko, standing vigilantly outside the toilets, and a relieved breath escapes you. You start to duck and weave through the crowd, making a beeline for the bathrooms, and are intercepted by Ben as you run head-first into his chest.
“Ow!” You try to push back from him, but he grabs your arm with a firm look. You peer at the expression on his face, a lot more stoic than you anticipated, and you feel that concrete concern of his, along with something hard in your chest. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been looking for you for fifteen goddamn minutes, Sunshine.” He snaps, ignoring your question. “Where the fuck did you go?”
You give a loose shrug, trying not to let the Feeling and it’s need for Ben to keep holding your arm distract you. “Bathroom.” You say lamely.
“Bullshit, you’re going towards the bathroom right now.”
“They were out of tampons, there was a girl who needed some.”
He narrows his eyes at you as he scans your body, and it makes the Feeling feral. “Where are they then?”
“Huh?” The Feeling is starting to be a cognitive issue, because your brain feels fuzzy from Ben’s touch. “Where’s what.”
“The fucking tampons.”
“They were out. I’m going to tell her to do the toilet paper method.” You take a gamble that Ben’s prevalent disinterest in what he calls women shit will work in your favor. And it does.
Ben grunts, and though you feel the thing in your chest loosen, the concern prevails and he doesn’t release you. “Once you do that, we’re leaving.”
You blink at him in surprise. “What about boob-drugs?” Your voice is a little louder than it needs to be, and Ben just frowns with a shrug.
“Wasn’t interested,” he says gruffly, looking down at you. The intensity of his gaze, combined with this information, was not helpful to controlling the Feeling, which started to move in time with your heart once more.
“Okay,” you sound breathless. “I’ll just, um, bathroom.”
He nods sternly, and you clear your throat.
“Benjamin.”
“What.”
“You’re welcome to join me on my endeavor, but if you’re not interested in talking about the toilet-paper method with some random girl-“ You gesture pointedly to his hold on your arm.
He gives you a blank look for a moment, and you watch the pieces fall into place in his head. He releases your arms mechanically, and gives you a tense nod. As you walk to the bathroom Ben trails at your side, posture more rigid than you’ve ever seen it. Kimiko smiles when she sees you approaching, signing a greeting. You smile back, offering one of your own.
Do you need to pee? She glanced up at Ben beside you. Does he need to pee?
No, you glance at Ben watching you both intently. I just need to go in for like two minutes. I told Ben I was helping a girl that doesn’t exist.
She frowns. Why?
He lost me in the crowd when he was doing drugs. Got weird about it. A half-truth, you reason, it better than an outright lie. I’ll just be in and out.
“What are you saying?” Ben grumbles, glaring between you.
“Don’t worry about it, Pretty Boy.” You say aloud, signing damn man-baby to Kimiko, who giggles.
He scowls. “Is she going to let you go in or do I need to fucking move her?”
Kimiko flips him off, telling you just say I’m telling you it’s fine. You don’t want to go in there anyways, Frenchie’s doing drugs.She frowns. Or dealing drugs. Or both.
“Apparently someone already helped the girl, Kimiko saw her leave.” You give her a grateful nod, turning back to Ben. “We can go wait at the booth until everyone is ready-“
“No.” He snaps, and you blink in surprise. “We’re leaving now.”
“We all came here together, there’s only one car-“
“I don’t give a shit, Sunshine, we’re leaving. Even if we have to steal the shitty fucking pussy-Mobile to do it.”
You feel Kimiko whack your arm, signing when you turn to her. Do you want me to tell Frenchie to drive you home again?
You shake your head. No, it’s fine.
You can’t call a taxi, she signs your name with a frown. And he looks angry.
He’s being a child, he’ll be fine. As you sign to Kimiko, you say aloud to Ben, “we’re not stealing the van, Ben.”
“What about boob-drugs’ car?”
You look at him with a frown. “What?”
“She told me she had a blue Lexmus. We can take that.”
“Lexmus?” You tilt your head. “Do you mean a Lexus?”
“Is that a car?” You nod, and he shrugs. “Then fucking sure.”
“We’re not stealing a random ladies car either!” You protest. “And we can’t just leave-“
Kimiko grabs your attention again, signing I could cover for you, and I don’t think Butcher would care if you stole a car.
You wave her off, but Ben catches on. “She’s agreeing with me, isn’t she?”
“No, she isn’t.” Your insistence is immediately undermined by Kimiko nodding vigorously. What the hell? You sign, and she shrugs.
You look tired, and we might be a few more hours. Let Soldier Boy take you home.
You sigh, rubbing your face as you look back at Ben. “If I agree to this, if, I’m driving.”
He nods. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Sunshine.” He extends his hand, you shake it reluctantly, and before you can pull back he’s pulling you through the crowd and up the stairs.
It takes you shockingly little time to find boob-drugs’ Lexus, partially because it’s an electric-blue luxury car parked in a sea of sketchy vans and beaten down Honda Civics, partially because Ben says she parked it towards the back of the yard and is able to make a direct path to it. His hand is in yours the entirety of the walk, a fact that manages to push down the bitterness the Feeling has about him knowing where the car is parked. Ben removes his hand from yours only when you reach the car itself, and smashes through the glass on the window in one clean punch.
“Fucking christ, Ben, warn a lady!” You jump back as the glass flies through the air, the car alarm blaring through the night.
Ben leans through the window, gashes on his face and hands quickly healing as he unlocks the car. “Don’t be dramatic, brat.” He dismisses. “You heal just as fast as I do.”
You frown as he kneels down below the dashboard. “Are you sure you know how to do this? This isn’t some dogshit muscle car, this has like, actual security.”
“Looks the damn same,” he grunts. “I’ll figure it out, Sunshine. Don’t fucking worry.”
You rub your shoulders, looking around the junkyard anxiously. “Why do you know how to do this again?”
He just shrugs. “I’m from Philly.”
“That’s not a real explanation, Pretty Boy.”
“Wasn’t much to do for fun when I was a kid. We didn’t have all the shitty modern toys kids have today.”
“So you stole cars? Weren’t you rich?”
“That doesn’t fucking matter.”
“I mean, you could’ve just bought one-“
Ben looks up at you with a scowl. “You think my father would’ve given me money to buy a car?”
“No,” you mumble. “Sorry.”
He sighs. “Stop fucking apologizing all the damn time, Sunshine. Remember, you’re never wrong.” Though his voice is teasing, it’s not covered in a cold sarcasm, making the Feeling buzz. You’re about to push him for more answers when the engine hums to life, and Ben sits up, giving you a cocky wink. “Fucking told you. Never doubt me again, brat.”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever, cunt. Get out of my seat.”
“No,” Ben settles into the driver’s seat, looking up at you smugly. “I think I’ll drive.”
“You dick, you fucking shook on it-“
“You’re tired,” Ben says your name with a bored voice, and very suddenly exhaustion hits you through your body. He really needs to stop doing that.
“No, I’m not.” You manage to fight the urge to yawn as you protest. “And you can’t drive.”
He glares at you. “Yes, I fucking can.”
“Not legally.”
“Nothing about this is fucking ‘legal’.”
“Benjamin, the last time you drove was the fucking 80s.”
“So?”
“Cars aren’t the same.”
He gives the interior of the car a frown. “Looks the fucking same to me.” He turns back to you. “And I’m not letting you behind the wheel, you look like you’re about to damn collapse.”
“Oh, fuck off Ben, you don’t give a shit about safe-driving.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “You’re still not fucking driving.”
“You’re just being an ass-“ You cut yourself off, the yawn fighting its way to the surface. At Ben’s smug look, you scowl. “Shut up.”
“Get in the car before I have to make you.”
The Feeling likes that idea, and in your exhaustion it’s harder to resist it. “You don’t even know how to get home.”
“You’ll help me.” Ben’s tone lacks any doubt, and you hate that he’s right. “Get in the fucking car.”
You glare at him, but stumble around to the passenger’s side, practically falling into the seat. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open long enough to pull up directions—especially as Ben’s hand finds your thigh as you fumble with your phone—and almost the second after you explain that all Ben has to do it listen to the robot lady’s voice, sleep starts to tug at the corners of your eyes.
You hear a soft chuckle from Ben. “Sleep well, Sunshine.” And something soft runs through your body as his voice falls through your head.
Everything is covered in the smoking haze of the club, but there’s no music, no blinding lights, no one else in the area but you. You and Ben.
He’s grinning down at you, arm around you again, and you feel light-headed. Because all his attention is on you, and though there’s no one else in the club, you have a feeling it wouldn’t matter. He’d just keep looking at you.
“Terrifyingly beautiful.” His voice has an odd echo to it as he speaks. “Aren’t you, Sunshine.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Pretty Boy.” Your voice is confident, silky, and his smile widens.
“Not so bad, huh? Not frustratingly handsome?”
“Maybe. Not sure yet.”
Ben’s mouth is suddenly hovering right over your own, and it looks soft, curving into a smirk. “Anything I can do to convince you?”
“What do you have in mind?”
His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s perfect. It fits like it was made to be there, it moves like it’s been there a thousand times. You moan his name, and he just pushes deeper in, pulling you onto his lap like you’re made of nothing.
“Perfect,” Ben groans against your lip. “Fucking perfect.”
You whimper, and he chuckles as you start to grind against his thigh. “Ben-“
“Needy thing, aren’t you?” He moves from your mouth, starting to kiss sloppily down your neck. “Gonna beg, Sunshine? Ask nicely for me to fuck you?”
“I hate you-“
“No you don’t,” he nips at your skin.
“Ben-“
“Say please, beautiful. Tell me you want me.”
“Fuck you-“
“That doesn’t sound like please.”
You gasp, because his hands are everywhere. Tangled in your hair, tracing along your skin, running over your ass. His thigh is pushed fully into your core, but he’s gripping you too firmly, stopping you from chasing release. “Please,” the words are choked with desire. “Please, Ben, please.”
He laughs, a deep, satisfied sound that echoes everywhere. “A little more.”
You moan, clinging to his arms desperately. “Ben, please. Fuck me, please fuck me.”
He pulls back from your neck, grinning widely down at you for only a second before crashing his mouth back into yours. “Good girl,” Ben grunts against your lips, and suddenly you’re not in the booth anymore. You’re at home, in your bed, and he’s fully naked above you, smirking down at your body as he takes it in.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, and you’re flying. Ben is everywhere, everything. Nothing has felt like this, nothing will feel like this ever again. It’s so painfully hazy, like a cloud is over the world and every single touch along your skin and kiss against your lips or neck or cunt is wiped away, but you’re so high. It’s just Ben, Ben, Ben, with groans and hands and safe and warm and Ben. His face is above yours, watching you with hooded, hungry eyes as you feel full, and holding so gently in contrast with every other movement of his body. He kisses you again, and it’s deep and heavy and Ben.
Ben. Ben. You’re not thirsty anymore, you’ll never be thirsty for the rest of your life, because this is everything. Ben.
Ben.
Light leaks into your vision, chasing away the haze. You don’t really know how, but you’ve woken in your own bed, sheets clinging to the sweat of your body and sleep running away from your brain. You feel Ben before you see him. He’s asleep at your side, arm hanging loosely across your body. His head is pressed into the pillow, hair falling across his face, and you want to run your hands through it. The remnants of your dream linger, pushing to the front of your head, and you feel your face flush as you fail to pull your gaze from him. The Feeling felt so peaceful, Ben smells good, and he’s right here. With you. And you can’t bring yourself to move.
You simply lay in bed for an immeasurable amount of time, and realize that both you and Ben are in the same clothes from last night. You manage to grope around your bedside table for your phone without disturbing Ben, and sighing wearily as you see a barrage of texts and missed calls.
William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever (4) missed calls. Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions (2) missed calls. Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy (3) missed calls.
Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team
Told Frenchie
Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion
Frenchie said you and Soldier Boy left in a stolen car?
Are you safe?
Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy
Can you tell Annie you’re home?
She’s losing her mind.
Also Butcher.
He’s mad.
William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever
You and Soldier Boy have a fun joyride?
Fucking call me.
MM and Hughie are heading over to the safe house. Someone’s looking for you.
You blink at the last message. Someone’s looking for you. You swipe the screen, trying to see the time Butcher sent the text, and panic runs through you as you read 9:45 AM.
It’s nearly noon.
You poke Ben, and he grunts, arm around you tightening.
“Ben.” You hiss, shaking him. “Wake up.”
“Fuck off, Sunshine.” He mumbles, and the Feeling is comfortable in your chest.
You push through it. “Benjamin, wake the fuck up.” Nothing. You raise your voice from a hushed whisper. “I’ll burn you again, Pretty Boy, I swear to God.”
That gets him to open his eyes. “Will you never just fucking let me sleep?”
“I think MM and Hughie are downstairs.”
Ben frowns. “Why?”
“Because Butcher texted that they were coming over two hours ago.” You poke him with your foot, and it occurs to you that your legs are a little more tangled than you’d originally noticed. “Can you listen for them?”
“It’s too fucking early, Sunshine.”
“It’s noon.” When Ben only huffs, you give him a pleading look. “Please?”
He groans, closing his eyes. For a second you think he’s just going back to sleep, but he mutters, “Two people downstairs. Can’t tell who.”
“Thank you,” you mumble, and he makes a low sound from his chest that doesn’t aid your motivation to get up. “Ben, I need to move.”
“Why.” His voice is rough, and makes the Feeling flutter.
“I need to talk to Hughie and MM. They’ve probably been waiting a while.”
“Then they can wait a little fucking longer.”
“Please.” He doesn’t move, holding you tighter. “Ben, you don’t have to up get yourself. You can stay here.”
You feel something run through you—him—that’s taut and almost bitter. Your heart rumbles, and the Feeling wants to sooth the sleepy frown that flashes across Ben’s face, but before you can he’s rolling over, detaching his body from yours.
You hesitate to move, but your phone buzzes with another text that forces your body to roll off the bed.
Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions
Get your ass up so me and Hughie can fucking leave.
You shuffle unsteadily out of your bedroom and down the stairs, and rubbing your sleep-puffed face in a desperate attempt to pull any lingering sleep from your head. MM and Hughie are sitting stiffly on the couch, looking remarkably uncomfortable as they wait. You clear your throat, and they shoot to their feet in attention.
“Finally,” MM glared at you. “We’ve been waiting for fucking hours.”
You give a guilty cringe, still wiping sleep from your eyes. “Sorry guys, I didn’t know you were here.”
“How did you get home?” Hughie asks tentatively, and you blink at him.
“Ben stole a car. I know I shouldn’t have let him, but-“
Hughie interrupts your apology. “A car?”
“Um. Yeah. Blue Lexus.” You look between their confused expressions. “Is it not outside?”
“No,” Hughie frowns. “Are you sure-“
“Kid, we don’t have time for this.” MM gives Hughie a firm look. “They both got home, no one died, how it happened ain’t our fucking concern right now.” Hughie gives a small nod, and the quiet anxiety on his face sparks concern in your chest.
“What’s going on?” You ask nervously. “Is everyone ok?”
MM sighs. “Everyone’s fine. And we were hoping you could tell us what’s going on.”
You frown, but nod for him to continue. MM takes a large breath, looking at his phone as he speaks.
“Frenchie got a security alert at the Starlight Fund building early this morning. A lady had broken in, and was shouting at the security cams, demanding to speak to someone. We watched her on the cameras for a bit and it sounded like-“ MM clears his throat. “It sounded like she was looking for you.”
The fire starts in your throat, and you barely manage to whisper. “Me?”
“She called you by your name. Your full, legal name. Even got the last name right, not the bullshit one Vought’s been using for press about you and Homelander.”
The fire is against your teeth and under your nails as MM pushes on.
“Said she knew you. You you, not the Anomaly or your Vought persona. Wanted to talk to Starlight about it. Mentioned that Vought wouldn’t give her a straight answer, they kept insisting she had the wrong person, but she knew it had been you at the Firecracker rally.”
Hughie steps in, giving you a pitiful look. “She was really, um, aggressive.” He mumbles. “Made a lot of graphic threats.”
“Kind of sounded like you,” MM adds tightly, watching you carefully. “Looked like you too.”
Your voice is hoarse when you speak. “Do you- do you have a photo?”
MM nods, turning the screen of his phone to you. Your blood is white-hot as you stare at the photo on display. You knew that face. The last time you’d seen it there had been more baby-fat clinging to its cheeks, more light in its eyes, and the hair that had framed it had been longer, but you’d recognize it anywhere. It haunted you.
“Violet,” you breathe out. Your baby sister is frozen in the screen capture MM’s showing you, a crazed, furious expression on her features, teeth bared mid-shout.
MM coughs, and you tear your eyes from the screen. “So you know her?”
You nod heavily. “She’s my sister. Younger. I- I haven’t seen her since before.”
“She said you were dead.” Hughie said softly. “Said everyone thought you’d killed yourself, that they’d found a note but no body. That everyone thought she was going insane, but she knew it was you.”
“Homelander faked my death,” your voice is hoarse, the world is fuzzy and lined with cold something pushing into you. “I even have- Had a grave.”
MM catches your self-correction. “Had?”
“Butcher threw me into it the first night we all met.” You say flatly. “I don’t know if it ever got fixed.”
Both MM and Hughie look apologetic, but you don’t really care. Everything is painful, and you can’t breathe. “You-“ the words struggle out of you, driven by fear for Violet. “You said she talked to Vought?”
“Yeah, but they seemed to either screen her calls or insist she was just grief-stricken and looking for answers where there weren’t any.”
You nod to yourself at Hughie’s words, though they do little to alleviate the fire spreading into your bones and starting to curl in smoke around you. “What did- did you tell her anything?”
“Tell who anything.” Ben’s voice rumbles from behind you, and everything comes into a sharper focus as his arm is pushed into yours. “What the fuck’s going on.”
“This isn’t your problem, motherfucker,” MM snaps. “Piss right the hell off.”
Ben stiffens, and the stone-like protection runs through you.
“I- MM I need-“ You give a tight, strangled cough, not strong enough to fight the Feelings need to lean further into Ben. “Please let him stay.”
MM gives you a disbelieving look, like he might start to argue, but Hughie interjects.
“We haven’t talked to her yet. We wanted to see if you knew her.”
“Will someone tell me who the goddamn hell we’re talking about?” Ben snaps.
MM glowers at him. “Her sister,” he answers coldly. “Lady recognized her from the Firecracker incident. Want to make sure she’s safe.” The last words are sneered, and Ben’s arm wraps around you.
“She is safe-“
MM ignores Ben, looking back at you. “Well?” He says your name in a firm, impatient tone. “What are we telling her?”
You take a deep, heavy breath. “Tell her I’m dead.”
“What?” Hughie stares at you. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am completely fucking serious.” You force your tone to be strong, devoid of emotion. “I’m dead. She should stop looking for me, because I killed myself three years ago.”
“But you didn’t-“
“Hughie.” You snap. “I’m dead. That’s it.”
Ben’s hold on you is almost painful. He’s silent, fingers digging into your side, and you feel his stare piercing through you, feel something strained running through him.
Hughie says your name with forced gentleness, but MM cuts him off.
“You’re sure.”
You nod firmly. “Positive. I’m dead, MM. Please.” Your voice cracks at the end, and your heart starts to claw at your ribs.
“Fine, you’re dead. Let’s go, Hughie.”
“MM, you can’t be fucking serious.”
“Let’s go.” MM gives you one last, unreadable look before he walks into the hall.
Hughie stares at you, looking reluctant to leave, but MM shouts from the exit.
“Hughie, if you don’t haul ass right fucking now, I’m leaving you here.”
Then they’re both gone, and Ben’s hold is the only thing keeping you upright. You stand in silence for a second, your heart roaring in pain, before you pry yourself from Ben and try to move back up the stairs.
You barely make it five steps before he’s grabbing your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
“What the fuck was that.”
His voice is too cold, too angry. You’re so tired. “Please, Ben-“
“You’re not fucking dead, Sunshine. Your sister’s fucking looking for you, and you’re going to make those pussies tell her you’re dead?!”
“It’s for the best,” you say weakly, and he scoffs.
“Is this about your stupid fucking ‘protecting them’ shit? That why you’re fucking lying to them?”
“I can’t-”
“They need to know you’re fucking alive,” he says your name with fury lining his voice. “If they care so goddamn much to go looking for you, they fucking deserve it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I fucking do, Sunshine. You did your goddamn hero bullshit, tried to keep your family safe,” Ben’s words are stabbing through your chest. “But it’s too fucking late, so just tell them-“
“No!” You scream, yanking your wrist from his grip. “Shut the fuck up, Ben! You have no fucking clue what I’m trying to do. I’m not on a goddamn fucking high horse about saving them, or any other hero shit! Just shut the fuck up!”
He’s yelling too now, and something is fracturing in your body. “They need to fucking know!” He takes a step forwards. “They fucking deserve-“
“Why do you care so fucking much about this? They’re not your fucking family! You don’t even fucking know them.”
“Because I would fucking want to know!” He roars. “I would go fucking insane and they probably are too!”
The thing isn’t fracturing in your body. It’s split apart, into a million bits and pieces, and your legs give out as all the air leaves your body. It’s too much, it’s all too much, and it’s too late to stop it. You hear Ben shout your name, feel his arms wrap around your body, and all your fury is just pain because you’re so angry at him, but as he carries you up the stairs, no part of you wants to fight him.
Ben sits on the bed, making no attempt to let go. You hold onto him, clinging to his shirt, his smell, the feel of him, the sound of his voice as it hums a familiar tune, and breathing finds a way to no longer be an act of labor.
“I’m-“ you take a shaking breath. “I’m sorry-“
“Stop apologizing.” He snaps, before taking a heavy breath. “It’s me that should be-“ He coughs, and you pull your head from his chest.
“I’m-“
“Stop, just-“ Ben frowns at nothing. “I need to-“ His jaw clenches, gaze falling to yours for only seconds before he’s glaring at the space above your head again.
“Ben-“
“I’m sorry.” The words sound as if they’re falling out of him, and he's not looking at you. “I’m fucking sorry.”
You watch him glance back down at you, and you try and offer him a small smile. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s fucking not-“
“Please,” you whisper. “I don’t, I can’t fight. Please.”
He just grunts, but his hold on you tightens, and you decide that it’s victory.
“What-“ you take another, slower breath. “What happened to the car?”
You watch his lips turn down, and he looks at you from under his eyelashes. “The car?”
“The one we stole.”
Ben gives a dry laugh. “You didn’t do much stealing Sunshine, you just stood there looking pretty.”
You roll your eyes, pushing down the warmth running through you from Ben calling you pretty. “Don’t dodge the question, Benjamin. What did you do with the car.”
He shrugged. “Ditched it a few blocks away. Carried you to the house.”
“How-” you frown at him. “How did you get in the house by yourself?”
“I pay attention, brat. I’m not as fucking stupid as all you pussies think I am. I just damn copied what everyone else does.”
“Oh.” You know that you should probably tell MM or Butcher or Mallory that Ben knows how to work the safe-house entrance—and likely the exit as well—but you don’t want to. Some very stupid part of you, that’s not just the Feeling, trusts him.
“You were really fucking out of it, Sunshine,” he teases. “Clinging to me like a damn baby.”
You feel your face heat. “It was cold.”
“You have fire powers.” He snorts. “Try to lie a little better.”
You pinch him, and he shoots you a fake look of hurt. “Cunt.”
“Brat.” His voice is lighter, and as the room falls back into silence, neither of you make an attempt to let go over each other. He just holds you and when you lean your head onto his chest, you’re soothed by its steady rise and fall, the rhythmic thumping of his heart.
I would fucking want to know. His words echo in your ears. I would go fucking insane.
Guilt is eating you, because ringing over Ben’s shouts are Butcher’s cold words from last night. Nine days.
I would go fucking insane.
Nine days.
This is the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. But your sister’s face is etched against your eyes when you close them, and think the sound of Ben’s heart might start to haunt your dreams.
Nine days. Butcher’s voice doesn’t stop there this time. He doesn’t know what he was really forgiving you for, does he?
I would go fucking insane.
The right thing. The only thing.
You hold Ben a little tighter, and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just holds you tighter back. As you listen to his breathing, feeling the gentle, satisfied hum in your heart, you pray to someone, something, anything at all, that his heart will stay with you the whole way through. That Ben will forgive you when this is over. You don’t think it’s just the Feeling that won’t survive if he doesn’t.
End Note: Me, writing this chapter: god these two really need to fuck (I am completely in charge of when they do and don’t fuck)
Author's Note: This feels like a good time to tell you guys we’re only halfway done and that I pinky promise there’s a happy ending. Chapter Title from Foundations of Decay by My Chemical Romance
Word Count: 22k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: It's time. Usual Warnings, with big smut and bigger angst.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, heavy angst, smut, pining
Read on A03!
Chapter 15 - Chapter 17
“What about Paris?”
She leaned around the bathroom door to frown at Ben, toothbrush muffling her words. “What about Paris?”
“For where they ship us off to after this shit.” Ben glanced down at his phone, displaying a generically fucking boring postcard picture of the Eiffel tower. “It’s full of fucking art and shit.” She loved stupid fucking art and shit.
“I don’t think they’re going to let us choose where we go, Ben.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And you’d hate Paris. You hate France.”
Ben scowled. “It’s a stupid, useless, cowardly country full of-“
“Fucking pussies,” She smiled at him—so bright and happy—and Ben couldn’t bring himself to do more than roll his eyes at her dogshit impression of him. “I don’t think you’d make it a week in Paris. Someone would offer you food and you’d try to kill them.”
“What about,” Ben glanced at the next recommendation on the Ten Best Romantic Vacation Cities list he’d found online. It wasn’t total fucking shit, even if the website kept trying to tell him the Ten Best Ways to Use a Vibrator with a Partner. He’d save that tab for later. “Havana?”
“Cuba has a strained relationship with the CIA.” She shrugged. “I don’t think they’d agree to take us in.”
“Hawaii?”
“Well, I’d be fine with Hawaii, but I don’t think you would.” She retreated back into the bathroom, and Ben frowned.
“I’d fucking love Hawaii. It would be full of damn beaches to fuck on-”
“No,” She reappeared, walking over to stand between Ben’s legs. Looking so fucking perfect there—wearing his shirt and hair still messy from his hands and holding his face between her palms—that Ben almost missed what she was saying. “They wouldn’t put us in a resort, they’d put us in a town. Probably away from the beach, definitely without the infrastructure it should have. Just a real bummer of human rights. You’d hate it.”
She said those last words so simply that all the fancy, brainy shit she’d been telling Ben felt pointless. She thought he’d hate it, and she was always fucking right, and was smiling down at him with so much adoration on Her face that—even if she was somehow wrong—Ben was now certain he’d hate it.
“Fine,” he grunted, dropping his phone to his lap and tugging Her further forward with hands on the back of her thighs. “Where the hell would you want to go, if you’re so fucking smart.”
She was so fucking smart. And She knew it, because she was grinning when she said, “Rome.”
“Rome?”
“It has a bunch of art and history and culture for me, and some very good fucking food for you. Plus, everyone there is stupid hot.”
Ben winked at Her. “You’re stupid hot enough to power a country, beautiful. I don’t need anyone else.”
“Thanks,” She mumbled, looking very firmly away from Ben as her face flushed that pretty fucking color. “But I was talking about for our escort business.”
“And that’s why you’re the damn brains.” Ben rubbed circles on Her skin, and she fell a little further into him, hands tightening on his face. “Always fucking planning. We’re going to need to find some people half as damn hot as we are, because we’re only fucking each other.”
She scoffed, and Ben thought Her heart might beat right out of her chest. “How sweet of you, to keep your dick in your pants at even the prospect of money.”
“We’ll earn plenty of goddamn money. My dick is yours, Sunshine.”
She hummed, and her hands started to play with Ben’s hair in a way that made him feel like a goddamn puppy. What was worse was that it felt fucking good. Her perfect fucking hands, touching him because she wanted to, because she liked touching him. “Even if someone offered ten million dollars?”
“Yours.”
“That’s financially irresponsible.” She mumbled, still incredibly fucking determined to not meet his eyes. “We could buy a house with that money.”
“If I was offering my dick for money,” Ben drawled. “We could buy a fucking island. But it’s yours,” he said Her name firmly, and she glanced at him with wide eyes. “So get damn used to chasing customers off.”
“Chasing customers off?”
“I’m going to have to do it for you,” he grinned at Her. “Fucking pussies who think they can fuck you the way I will.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but Ben didn’t miss the smile she was failing to fight. “Horny fucking cunt.”
That was enough. Just that was a good enough reason for Ben to pull Her all the way into his lap, let her straddle his thigh, and silence her small sound of surprise with his mouth. For Ben to tug and touch Her skin in time with all the ways he’d learned to play her mouth until she was limp and moaning against him. Until he could bite Her lower lip and trace his hand along her spine and she’d throw back her head and arch against his hand. Until Ben could suck that spot on her throat and trace a hand across her ribs as she’d start grinding down onto him.
“Ben-“
“Horny fucking cunt,” he echoed Her words against Her skin. “Your horny fucking cunt goddamn wants my dick, doesn’t it? Brat.”
“Fuck you,” Her words were said through gasps, hands clawed and scraping at Ben’s scalp, and he chuckled.
“Afraid that’s not on the table right now, beautiful.” He pulled back to grin at Her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything about how fucking wet you are.”
She whined something that might have been a plea, might have been a curse or vulgar phrase aimed at Ben, or might have been just one of the many pretty fucking sounds she made, but it all would’ve achieved this same effect. She was needy, She wanted Ben, and she was trying to fuck his thigh. Rolling her hips on it desperately, trying to chase relief against him. Making smaller, more desperate noises every time Ben’s hands brushed against her tits, every time his teeth or tongue found a new place to worship her skin.
This was all they could do right now, and fuck it was torture. It was so goddamn painful to have Her grabbing at him and moaning and saying his name in that perfect fucking way—pleading and adoring in Her breathless voice—and not just be able to fuck Her. To know he had to goddamn wait another day, to feel his pants become tight like they had before and force himself to hold off when She wanted him to fuck Her. She wanted him. He had been given the image of Her slight drool when she’d jerked him off and knew she would look at him like that again. Look at him with more fucking care and want, because Ben would fuck Her until she wouldn’t ever think another weak fucking asshole could fuck her like she deserved. He’d fucking ruin Her. He’d have Her bounce on his cock like she was bouncing on his leg, and he would make her feel so fucking good. Make him worth something to Her, one fucking thing that nobody else would be able to give her.
Ben pulled back for a second, needing to just fucking see Her. See how fucking beautiful she was, wanting him, get a goddamn glimpse of how it would look when she rode his dick instead of his thigh. He’d never seen anything better. He’d seen mountains and waterfalls and the goddamn Northern Lights and they might as well have been fucking dumpster fires and car crashes compared to this. If anything, the car crash would be the only half-worthy comparison. Because She was destroying herself against Ben, staring at him with dazed, pretty fucking eyes, and all the bliss and pleasure on her face was from Ben. He was doing this to Her.
And he couldn’t look away if he tried.
She’d made a small whine when Ben had pulled away from her throat—pushing down on him harder and hand scraping along the nape of his neck—but he pressed his head against hers and She moaned.
“Ben, please-“
“So fucking good,” he growled, and She moaned again. “You want to cum, beautiful?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Beg.”
“Fucking ass-“ She leaned forward, trying to capture Ben’s lips against hers. “Ben.”
“I need you to fucking beg,” he kissed all across Her face, everywhere he could without bringing her any closer to the edge. “You want your horny fucking cunt to cum, then beg.”
“Please,” She was smoking. Her skin wasn’t growing warmer, but a glowing smoke was clouding the room as she tried to pull Ben closer. “Fucking please, Ben-“
He kissed Her, and she screamed into his mouth, clawing at his hair and skin. Bucking off his leg so that Ben had to grab Her hips and keep her still, had keep her from continuing to bump against him because he’d cum in his fucking pants. He had to pull himself the fuck together, he wasn’t a goddamn virgin pussy, but fuck She was so perfect. Ben might have almost cum just when She’d smiled at him, standing between his legs and touching him so easily.
As Ben looked at Her come down—beautiful and perfect and torn apart all over him—and she looked at Ben like he’d seen her look at the city skyline from the window, with the face she had when she listened to a song she loved. The Thing became painful. It had been trying to tell him something. Since the night before it had stopped trying to remind Ben how perfect She was, stopped trying to push him into her. Ben was well fucking aware how perfect She was. And since he’d crashed into Her there wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to pull away.
So now the Thing was trying to tell him something. On repeat over twelve hours it had been rioting in Ben, trying to tell him something so fucking important. Something critical, that he needed to know so She could know as well.
And when She started to slide off of Ben—falling to her knees before him—the Thing felt like it might tear him apart.
“Hi,” She smiled at him, face so fucking bright and happy. Looking at Ben like he was everything.
He was. To Her, he was fucking everything. And weaker men than Ben would’ve cum just from Her saying that. Weaker men wouldn’t fucking survive Her. She’d look at them with sharp, infinite amusement on her beautiful face and fight with them over nothing and they’d simply goddamn die because fuck she was perfect. But She wouldn’t look at them like this. Like they were everything. That was—by some fucking grace of a god Ben was starting to be indebted to—a look She reserved for him. With adoration and care and something that was alive and powerful sitting deep in Her perfect eyes. Thank fuck Ben wasn’t a weaker man. He’d have never earned Her, on her knees before him with her hands on his thighs. He still hadn’t earned Her, but fuck him if he wasn’t going to dedicated the rest of his goddamn life to trying to. To showing Her that he was worthy of her looking at him like that, that he could keep up with her and protect her and-
Ben grunted Her name, because her hand was starting to trail up his leg and any and all thoughts were becoming just Her. “What are you doing.”
“Being an altruist,” She hummed, palm resting over Ben’s fully hard cock, still fucking smiling. “Giving back.”
“Sunshine-“ Ben cut himself off with a hiss, because she just fucking squeezed him. Her heart was stuttering around inside her, but Ben couldn’t tell if it was from desire. He didn’t need, didn’t want, Her to do this because she thought she had to. It had to be from desire. He wasn’t fucking Homelander. If She touched him, he needed her to need it. To want him. It wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if she didn’t. If She touched Ben without looking at him like he was everything. “If you don’t want to-“
“I want to,” Her answer was fast, a little too fast, and Ben smirked. There it was.
“You want to?” He drawled, leaning over her, tilting her chin between his fingers. “How bad do you want to suck my dick, beautiful?”
“Bad,” She whispered. “But less and less by the second.”
Ben snorted. “Smartass.”
“Do you want me to suck your dick?” She blinked up at him, voice a little softer. “It’s just an offer, you don’t have to take it-“
Ben pulled Her face up between his hands, kissing her until her words name needy sounds and she was grabbing at his arms. When he was satisfied with the way she was moaning, Ben lowered her back down between his legs and grunted her name. “If I ever tell you not to suck my dick, fucking shoot me.”
“Yeah,” She nodded, glancing down at the outline of Ben’s cock, pushing against his pants that were still fucking on for some reason. “Okay.”
He muttered Her name, and she looked back up at him. “How much work do you want to do?”
She didn’t answer. She just started moving, pulling Ben’s pants down and taking him in her hand so quickly Ben would’ve thought she’d practiced. Stroking him once, twice, a third time, looking at his cock with pretty, lust-clouded eyes. Ben twitched in Her hand, and had to force himself not to rut into her, to just groan as Her thumb ran over the angry, red head of his cock. His job was just to watch Her—how she was so fully entranced in fucking torturing him—and let her do what she wanted. But it wasn’t fucking easy, not when she was so fucking beautiful, not when Her mouth was hanging slightly open and Ben didn’t think he could wait another second not being at least somewhat inside of Her.
Thank fucking hell and heaven and everything between that She didn’t go slow. Thank goddamn Christ that She took all on him at once, in a long movement that bumped him against the back of her throat, and set a brutal, torturous fucking pace. Found a beat, fast and rhythmic, where She’d pull up, up, almost all the way off with her hand trailing behind her, and lick the very tip of his cock before dropping back down. Down until Ben could feel the tightness of Her throat, squeezing his balls once before repeating it all again. Over and over, sucking with her teeth grazing him and her moans—loud and needy fucking moans—making Ben wonder if this was heaven. That was the only way that this—that She—was real, if he’d died and somehow managed his way into fucking heaven.
But Ben’s hand in Her hair that he’d tangled between his fingers to just touch her, was real. The small jerks of his hips into Her mouth—when her moans would vibrate around him and echo in his ears so he couldn’t help himself—were real. Her warmth and beauty and the feeling of Her was real. And fuck She was so fucking beautiful and perfect and-
Ben said Her name through strained teeth. “Where-“
She went faster. Moaned louder with a whine, her hand in time with the beat of her heart. Leaned into him, the wettest and most fucking sinful sounds Ben had ever heard escaping her. She was grinding down on air, so fucking pretty and focused, but looking up at him under eyelashes with want. Managing to take him deeper.
What did Ben in was Her. Fucking Her, groaning his name around his cock, looking up at him like he was everything.
He tried to pull away. He’d fucking swear he tried to pull away. He’d tried to paint her face or tits or any other perfect part of Her she’d allow, but she held him. She kept a firm grip on Ben’s leg for just a second—only long enough to tell him what she wanted—and he’d given in. He’d fucked Her face through his orgasm, and She hadn’t flinched as he came down her throat. Swallowing and letting Her tongue brush him all the way until he was done, then pulling off of him with a popping sound, and giving him a soft smile.
The amount of self-control Ben was capable of needed to be fucking studied. Every part of him needed to fuck Her. Anyone with half a fucking mind would need to fuck her if they were allowed to see her like this. Flushed and breathing heavy, eyes slightly unfocused with a want, cum dribbling out of her mouth. Allowed to see Her wipe it off with her fingers and suck them dry. Without hesitation, like it was something she didn’t even have to think about doing. But only Ben was allowed to see this, and that made it a million times more impressive that he was able to not throw Her onto the bed and fuck her until some stupid mission was the last thing she cared about.
The mission. The stupid fucking mission they had been supposed to be getting ready for. When it was over, he’d have all the time in the world to fuck Her like she deserved. But they’d have to actually do the mission first.
“What time is it?” She was looking around the room, still kneeling in front of Ben. “MM said we had to be in the dining hall at noon.”
Ben couldn’t be fucked to stop staring at Her, let alone know the fucking time. “Check your damn phone, Sunshine, I’m not a fucking clock.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. Her tongue that had just been wrapped around his cock. That had just been tasting his cum and she was still on Her knees-
“Mine’s dead, and like,” She waved vaguely past him. “Way over there. Give me yours.”
That snapped Ben out of it. Her palm was extended, she was looking at him expectantly, and he could not give her his phone. “You’ve got legs,” he grunted Her name, trying to look at her and remain completely fucking unaffected her flat glare. “Fucking use them.”
She scoffed. “When have you ever been in favor of me using my legs.”
“I’m always in favor of you using your legs. They make excellent fucking handles.” Ben winked at Her, and her heart fluttered slightly. “And you’re always on my ass about letting you walk yourself. Here’s your fucking chance.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Her voice was bored, unwavering. “Phone.”
“No. Get your own damn phone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so weird.”
“I’m not being fucking weird-“
“Yes, you are. What’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing, it’s my phone-“
“Benjamin.” She snapped, and he was in trouble. He knew that voice, that was Her I’m fucking onto your shit, Pretty Boy, voice. “Is it porn? Because I won’t give a flying fuck-“
“It’s not fucking porn,” he scowled. “I wouldn’t hide porn from you, that’s fucking stupid.”
“So you are hiding something.”
Shit. “Shut the fuck up.”
She dove forward, hand jamming into Ben’s pocket. Where She knew he kept his phone, because she knew fucking everything. Insufferable, brilliant, perfect fucking woman. Thankfully, Ben was just faster than she was, and slammed his hand down to trap Her hand against him.
“Ben-“
“I’m not fucking hiding anything,” Ben said Her name firmly. It was incredibly fucking important she didn’t think he was keeping secrets from Her, because he wasn’t. This was worse than that. “I just value my goddamn privacy-“
“Oh, shove it up your ass, Pretty Boy.” She tried to tug her hand—now wrapped around Ben’s phone—from his grip. “I leave the door open when I shit and you spent an hour last week telling me about what Baseball games made you hard. I just sucked your dick. There’s literally nothing on your phone that could shock me.”
He doubted that. Ben almost wanted to just let Her have his phone, to prove her fucking wrong. His pride managed to win for now, but if She kept talking about how she’d sucked his dick his will might dissolve real damn fast. “I told you about the baseball in fucking confidence-“
“I didn’t tell anyone.” She wrinkled her nose. “How would that have even come up? Hey, Annie. You know how you’re not Ben’s biggest fan? Wait until you hear about how he got a boner when the Phillies won the 1980 World Series, I’m sure it’ll completely reverse your opinion of him.”
“Brat-“
“Can I please just check the time?” She had stopped trying to pull away from Ben, only frowning up at him with her pretty fucking eyes watching him carefully. “I won’t look in your phone, I just need to see the clock. Please.”
Ben didn’t love how well that worked. How Her saying please and somehow trusting that he really wasn’t hiding anything from her made Ben crumble completely in only a second. Worse, he didn’t hate himself for it. He couldn’t call himself a fucking pussy because goddammit, anyone would’ve given into Her. Anyone with eyes and a brain would be willing to give Her anything.
“Fine,” he grunted, loosening his hand from pinning Her’s in his pocket. “But I don’t want to hear a fucking word out your mouth, got it?”
She blinked at him, but nodded. “Uh, sure.”
His whole body was tense as She pulled out his phone, tapping the screen on, still on her fucking knees. She needed to stand up, needed to stop being so fucking perfect that Ben couldn’t look away, because now he had to watch Her look at his lockscreen as his teeth ground enough to break. Ben had to watch Her eyes widen, hear her heart skip a beat, and soft lips fall open in surprise.
She looked up at Ben, and he couldn’t avoid her gaze if he wanted to. “Ben-“
“Shut up,” he grumbled. “You promised. Not a fucking word.”
“I did not promise,” She pushed. “I agreed. You should’ve made me promise, because I-“
“Fucking promise then. Not a word.”
“Well, that ship kind of sailed, Benjamin.” Her voice was dry, and Ben couldn’t figure out what that face meant. How She was looking at him—still like he was everything—but with something pushing up behind her eyes. That powerful thing, the one Ben couldn’t name. “So now we’re going to have several words about it.”
Ben scowled, remaining silent as he realized there wasn’t a way out of this. She was sitting straight, one hand planted on Ben’s knee to balance herself, and had placed her body right where Ben would knock her backwards and onto the floor if he tried to move away. He could try and kiss and fuck his way through it, but She had the sharp look in her eyes that told him she’d either bite him, burn him, or let him fuck her before immediately getting on his ass again after.
She sighed, and turned Ben’s screen so he could see it. “That’s me.”
It was Her. She didn’t need to be fucking showing it him, he well knew that it was her. It was his favorite picture of her, the first one he’d taken that wasn’t a blurry piece of shit. It showed her downstairs, watching the TV with a focus Ben could only describe as violent. He remembered what they were watching, that she’d been tapping Ben’s arm along with the soundtrack, and that it had been close to midnight, because he could recite every detail of the photo—in picture and out—backwards with his damn eyes closed. She was wearing Ben’s shirt and shorts that had been small enough for the shirt to completely cover. It gave the impression that she was only wearing Ben’s shirt. She was frowning at the TV—perfect face cast in a green light from its glow—and leaning against Ben’s shoulder with his hand on her thigh. She had been half asleep, and the drawn frustration on her face and intensity in her eyes had been because she was fighting to make it through the movie. The fucking Muppet Movie, that she’d used a favor for Ben to watch with Her. He hadn’t watched it, he’d watched Her watch it, but there was no reason she had to know that. She’d seemed thrilled he was just there, and he’d been satisfied watching Her struggle to stay awake, feeling her fall further and further into his side, and listening to her mumble about the Muppet’s fucking cultural importance right up until the credits rolled and she immediately passed out.
Ben fucking loved that photo. How She could’ve just watched it alone but used a whole favor just for Ben to sit with her. How She’d been so determined to stay awake she’d been trying to inch away from him, but Ben would pull her back gently and she’d just sigh as her eyes drooped further. How at one point She’d started singing along with all the damn puppets, and the room had filled with a colorful, misting light. How She looked so much like his, how anyone glancing at the photo would see that she was choosing him and know that he had chosen her. How fucking beautiful she looked, even in the dark from the higher angle. So fucking perfect.
He didn’t have any justification for it. The photo or why it was his lockscreen. It had taken Ben a whole hour while She was with Annie and Hughie to figure out how to set it. She’d told him, and he’d listened, but phones were a goddamn terrible, dogshit technology. But he’d done it. By himself. And fought the urge to brag to Her after. Because She didn’t need to know that it was his lockscreen, and Ben didn’t really know to explain why it was. It made him fucking happy. He liked seeing Her pretty face every time he used his phone.
And he wasn’t sure how to tell Her that without sounding like a fucking idiot pussy.
So he just glared at Her and grunted, “Obviously.”
“Ben,” Her words were slow, and she wasn’t looking away from him. “Why is that a picture of me.”
“Because the camera was pointed at your damn face.”
“Benjamin.”
“It’s a good fucking photo, okay?” Ben snapped. “You look hot.”
She glanced at the photo. “I do not look hot.”
He scoffed. “Get your fucking eyes checked, Sunshine. You look hot. Every photo of you looks hot.”
Her eyes somehow grew wider, her heart picking up speed, and Ben was going to chop off his tongue. “Every photo of me?”
“That’s enough,” Ben lunged forward, but She swatted his hand with just enough heat for him to pull back with a hiss of Her name. “Give me my fucking phone.“
“Tell me what you mean by every. Every photo of me.”
“No.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, you stubborn, grumpy ass. Have it your way.”
Before Ben could stop Her, she was swiping his phone open and entering his password. Hunching down so Ben could see her face, covering the phone protectively with her body.
“This is violation of my fucking privacy.” He grumbled. “I’m going to report you to HR.”
She shot him a flat look from under her lashes. “You didn’t even know what HR was until Mallory made us all sit in on that seminar because I called Butcher a hussy fucking cuntwad bitch and one of the regular agents overheard. And I could report you to HR for taking photos of me without my knowledge.”
“They’re not damn pervert creep photos-“
“Ben,” She looked up at him, thumb hovering over the Photo Library app icon. “As your closest thing to unqualified legal counsel, I’d advise you shut the fuck up.”
Ben scowled at Her, but snapped his jaw shut, watching her wearily as she opened his photos.
They were all of Her. The only ones that weren’t of her were something called—according to his very thorough internet research—screenshots, that Ben didn’t know how he was taking, let alone how to stop taking. But the rest was Her. There wasn’t another fucking thing worth taking photos of in this stupid damn compound. In the whole fucking world. She was scrolling through them way too fucking slow, heart stuttering against her ribs, and Ben thought he might be fucking blushing. He didn’t fucking blush, he wasn’t a ditzy fucking schoolgirl or embarrassed pussy asshole who blushed-
She surged upwards, yanking Ben down by his shirt to kiss him. Gently, sweetly, and so fucking soft, humming into Ben’s mouth with a smile. Leaning against his chest until She was hanging off him with her arms around his neck. When she pulled back Her eyes were burning with that strange fucking look, and she was chewing her lip and she studied him. Looking for something Ben didn’t know how to show Her. Mouth opening and closing, heart beating fast, and the Thing needed to tell Her something-
“You’ve been playing Candy Crush,” She said with a small, smug grin. “I saw the screenshots. They go back like, three weeks.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, and She just shook her head.
“No, I’m going to rub this in your fucking face so hard-“
It was his turn. To kiss Her and hold her and hope that was enough for the Thing to just stop screaming at him. It wasn’t—it made everything worse when She relaxed against him with a happy sound—and the Thing grew impossible to ignore. Drowning everything out with Her, Her, Her, Ben had something she needed to have too, She needed to understand. The only thing to keep it at bay, from bursting out of Ben and into Her, was touching her. Setting his mouth deeper against Hers, hauling her over him as he lay flat on the mattress, letting her whines and breathless sounds run right through him. Let them satiate his undying need and hunger for Her.
She pulled back first, and Ben let himself be slightly cocky about how her thighs were squeezing around his chest. About the fact that She just rested her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath. Warm breath fanning over his neck, heartbeat slowing right until Ben started to sit up and She mindlessly ground against him at the movement.
The Thing had to tell Her about this indescribable, unending fucking something. But the Thing didn’t have words. It was a part of Ben, and Ben couldn’t get a goddamn fucking clue what was so apparently fucking crucial for Her to know. But She had to know, whatever it was she had to know, she needed to get it, get him, get why, Ben needed to tell Her-
“It’s almost noon,” She whispered against Ben’s skin. “We need to go.”
Ben nodded, and picked Her up against him, turning them so she was resting on the bed as he stood. “I’m wearing my fucking suit.”
“Okay,” Ben could see her watching him in the mirror, still only wearing a shirt and underwear. He tossed her some pants and bra over his shoulder, and didn’t move until She started pulling them on. “You should bring your shield as well.”
He frowned at Her. “What about you.”
“What about me?”
“You need a fucking weapon. I still have that pussy agent’s gun-“
She rose from the bed, padding over to Ben side with a small smile. “I’m the weapon, Pretty Boy. And I have you.”
Any protests Ben might have had about how She might be a walking, breathing weapon of mass destruction but Homelander always made her freeze were killed by those words. She did have him. She’d always have him. She didn’t need a weapon because she had him. She was brilliant and quick and made of fire, but if all that managed to fail, she had Ben. She was standing here, with him as he changed—stealing looks that he wasn’t fucking missing at his bare chest—and She had Him.
“What wrong,” he grumbled, and She shook her head, hands roaming through one of the top drawers.
“Socks.”
Ben rolled his eyes, and grabbed out a simple black pair from the top. “I want my fucking phone back.”
“Why, to play Candy Crush?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben muttered. “I’m fucking winning. I’ll delete it when I fucking win.”
She snorted. “You can’t win Candy Crush, Benjamin.”
“What the hell are you talking about.”
“There’s like a million levels. And they’re always adding new ones. It’s not a winnable game.”
“Well I’ll make it fucking winnable.”
She snorted. “How.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben frowned, watching Her as she continued to search the drawer. “And I just gave you perfectly good fucking socks-“
“I need underwear,” She mumbled, face flushing. “Mine are, uh, I can’t wear them.”
Ben grinned—wide and smug—at Her reflection, “Why not?”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah,” Ben winked at Her when she finally met his eyes. “You’re welcome for that.”
“Shut up,” She chucked a stray bra at Ben, glaring back down. “Go get your stupid fucking phone, you cunt.”
Ben ran his hand up Her back, into her hair, and gently turned her head to look at him. He kissed Her one last time because she was so fucking perfect and no one could damn stop him. Long and wet, until She said his name in that perfect fucking way. “Brat,” he whispered against Her mouth, and she shoved his chest lightly.
Ben took a steady step back, chuckling at Her glare, at the way her sharp eyes were still full of want for him. At the way Her dramatic pout was just a little bigger because he’d made her lips swollen. At Her. Just Her. So fucking simply Her.
As She changed, Ben ducked under the bed and frowned at where he’d stashed the gun. Carefully between the mattress and frame, unloaded with the rounds beside it. He wouldn’t need it. The plan would work, and he wouldn’t need it. There was no need to bring it—to show the team he had it—and not need it.
But it couldn’t hurt. He could stash it in his suit, hide it from Butcher and Mallory and Annie, and nobody would have to know unless he needed it. And then they wouldn’t try to take it away, because Ben would’ve just fucking saved their asses-
“Just bring the gun, Ben.”
His head bumped against the metal frame of the bed as he pulled out from under it and found Her standing above him with her arms crossed. “What-“
“You should bring it,” She shrugged. “I mean, it won’t hurt Homelander, but guns don’t weigh nothing. You could throw it at his face, if you needed to. Catch him off guard.”
Fucking Christ, She was perfect. Ben didn’t need to be told twice, and as he returned under the bed to retrieve the gun he heard her steps move away from beside him. When he stood back up, Ben saw that She had moved to her side of the bed, and was placing her sunglasses up on her forehead before turning to Ben with a grin.
“Ready?”
Ben shoved his gun into his pants, hauled up his shield, and gave Her a rough nod as he tossed his arm over her shoulder. “Fucking born ready.”
For once, She and Ben weren’t the last people to arrive at one of these stupid fucking meetings. Butcher and Mallory were there—Ben didn’t think they had lives outside of fucking up everyone else’s—huddled along with MM at the head of the table. The French Prick and Kimiko were in a silent conversation on one of the benches, but Hughie and Annie were late. Ben tried not to feel too smug about it, but next time Annie tried to berate him about keeping his dick in his pants and his mouth to himself because he was making Her late, he’d shove this in her fucking face.
Seeing them, Mallory gave a curt nod and ushered Butcher and MM through the steel kitchen door as She guided Ben to drop down at the bench. Kimiko smiled at them both, the usual, toothy and broad smile for Her, and a small one with a nod for Ben. As She and Kimiko launched into an exchange of gestures, the French Prick gave Ben a nervous nod.
“Good morning, Soldier Boy,” the French Prick was watching Ben carefully.
“It fucking isn’t,” Ben grunted, and She kicked his shin under the table.
Play nice, She shot him a quick glare before returning her attention to Kimiko, and Ben rolled his eyes. He was saved from the French Prick trying to continue engaging with him by Annie and Hughie’s arrival, Annie walking over to join the group of conniving dickheads in the back and Hughie halting at the bench, glancing nervously at Ben.
“Just sit your pussy ass down, Kid.” Ben snapped, and braced for another hit to his leg. It didn’t come, and when he looked over at Her—expecting a glare or scowl—the only sign she’d heard him was her knee, pressing into his.
Hughie sat, fidgeting at Ben’s side and trying to look at the doors without anyone noticing. With quick, weak glances and jerked head movements. Ben was about to tell him to just stand the fuck up and join them when he felt Her nudge his shoulder, and looked over to see her blinking at him.
Kimiko said they were arguing about splitting us up.
Ben scowled at Her. The fuck do you mean splitting us up.
Mallory wanted you to go to the tower. MM didn’t.
That was, genuinely, a fucking shock. MM hated him, there wasn’t a world where he’d stick up for Ben fucking staying with Her. It must have shown across Ben’s face, because She shrugged.
He apparently thought this wouldn’t work if they separated us. Said you’d just be a giant fucking whiny manchild without me.
Did they decide? Ben decided to ignore MM’s manchild jab, because She’d just find a way to turn it on him with a joke and that fucker seemed to be the only one with a damn working brain. Because there’s not a fucking chance in hell you’re meeting Homelander without me.
They’re still arguing. Butcher hadn’t voted yet, and they were waiting for Annie.
Ben rolled his eyes. Who damn died and put those four pussies in charge of us. This is fucking democracy, Sunshine, we deserve a vote.
Well, we’re both technically dead, Kimiko and Frenchie aren’t citizens, and I think Hughie just doesn’t want to deal with them.
They’re talking about our fucking lives. We should get a goddamn say.
Take it up with Mallory, Pretty Boy.
I’m not taking shit up with Mallory. She can suck my dick if she tries to separate us.
She pouted at him. I thought your dick was mine to suck alone.
Ben snorted, pulling Her closer towards him and kissing the top of her head. Before he could growl something in her ear that would make her fucking horny enough to ditch this whole stupid goddamn plan and take off to Rome with him, the doors were swung open and MM stalked back into the room with Annie close behind him. Butcher and Mallory followed after a few seconds—Mallory having pulled a huge fucking poster out of her damn ass at some point—and they stopped at the head of the table as Annie dropped next to Hughie and MM sat beside the French Prick. She hadn’t tried to pull out from under Ben’s arm, and until she did she’d stay right fucking there.
“Look alive, cunts.” Butcher glared around the table. “We’re moving out as soon as all our bloody ducks are in a row. Grace?”
Mallory nodded, spreading the poster across the table. It was a blueprint. Ben recognized it immediately. He’d seen it far too many fucking times. It was a Vought Tower blueprint.
“Butcher, Marvin, Frenchie, and Kimiko will take this door,” she tapped the blueprint, and something around Ben’s throat loosened when he realized he wasn’t going to the tower. He was staying with Her. “Into the building. It’s used for the Seven’s housekeepers and more illicit guests.”
Hughie frowned. “Illicit?”
“Hookers, lad.” Butcher winked. “It’s the hooker door.”
“Oh. Uh, good for them.”
“And we have access to it?” Annie leaned forward. “MM, you said A-Train-“
“He’s leaving it unlocked for us.” MM tapped the map, near where Mallory had just done the same. “And making sure someone conveniently loses their badge.”
“Someone?”
“Don’t worry your pure little bleedin heart, Starlight.” Butcher drawled. “We’ll be keepin the lady on lockdown. Best fuckin witness protection package the CIA’s got.”
Hughie frowned at MM. “What about A-Train? Are we, are we just going to trust him?“
“He’s got his own ass on the line as well now.” MM’s voice was firm. Not leaving room for argument. “And after the Diner, he and Ashley both got skin in the game. I trust him.”
“And he’s just leaving the door unlocked? Giving us an opening?”
“He said he’d try and keep The Deep and New Noir distracted. Can’t account for Sage though.” MM looked away from Hughie, back to Mallory. “As long as there hasn’t been any leaks, it shouldn’t fucking matter that Sage is in the tower though. If she doesn’t get the drop on us, she’s a non-issue.”
Mallory nodded tightly. “Agreed. And none of my men are stupid enough to say shit to anyone, so we’re in the clear. Team Butcher will take the elevator up, find Ryan Butcher on 99, and extract him. Butcher has the Becca and Anomaly files on his phone, and hopefully that will be more than enough to make Ryan go willingly.”
Ben tensed, and when She spoke her fingers were tapping against his arm. “And if it’s not?”
“Then Frenchie creates the diversion, and we leave empty handed.”
She nodded slowly, examining the blueprints. “Frenchie?”
“Oui?”
“What exactly is your diversion?”
“I have detested the billboard of Firecracker in the Times Square for several months. She is dead, she will not miss it.” The French Prick beamed with pride, and She glanced up with a frown.
“Times Square?”
“It will be controlled, Madame.” The French Prick assured Her, shooting Ben quick pussy glances. “Only just enough.”
She nodded, narrowing her eyes back on the blueprint. “We’re taking two separate cars, right?” When nobody answered, She looked up. “Mallory?”
“You’ll all be transported in the van.” Mallory frowned. “It’s more effective-“
“No,” She shook her head, attention returning down once more. “It’s more dangerous. We’re already risking a lot by Annie coming with Ben and I. We can’t also have one group unable to make a quick getaway.”
“I suppose,” Mallory’s lips drew in a thin line. “Butcher could take his car-“
“We’ll take Butcher’s car.” She tapped the blueprint, near the door. “There’s cameras. If they see Butcher’s car, they’ll know something’s up. You have,” She looked up, scanning the table with sharp eyes. “You’ve taken care of the cameras in the building. Right?”
“We’ll shoot them as we go,” Butcher grunted, and She gaped at him.
“As you fucking go?”
“They won’t be entering the tower until after Homelander leaves it.” Annie leaned across Ben and Hughie to look at Her. “And they won’t be wandering. It’ll be fine.”
“Speaking of Homelander,” Mallory crossed her arms. “Starlight, Campbell, Soldier Boy, and the Anomaly will,” she sighed. “Take Butcher’s car to the Starlight Fund. From there, Soldier Boy will call Homelander with Campbell’s phone. Once Homelander arrives, Starlight will alert Team Butcher, and they’ll begin. Do not-“ Butcher received a withering look. “Proceed with the extraction until Team Starlight has given the green light. Understood?”
Butcher shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Butcher-“
“We’re playin real bloody fast and loose with a lot of this, Grace.” Butcher snapped. “I’d be more fuckin worried about what we’ll do if Homelander doesn’t take his bait.”
Everyone looked at Her, still frowning at the blueprints. Ben squeezed her thigh lightly, and she glanced up at him a frown. “What-“
“What’s your plan, Love,” Butcher drawled. “For if Homelander don’t fall into your trap that easy.”
She swallowed, and Ben could hear the rapid beat of her heart. “He will.”
Her voice was steady, every part of her controlled, but under the table her leg pressed into Ben’s, and her hand drummed against his leg. Ben grabbed it, stilling her movement, and She glanced at him.
You’re going to be fine, he glared at Her. This is going to fucking work, and you’ll be fine.
She smiled at him with sad fucking eyes that carved something open in Ben’s chest. I know. She tilted her head at him. And I thought you hated this plan.
I do. Ben scowled. I fucking loathe this stupid goddamn plan. But it will work, and tonight I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll stop making such fucking idiotic plans.
She pouted at him. But making idiotic plans is one of my best qualities.
Ben rolled his eyes. I’m well fucking aware of your best qualities. That’s not one of them.
Really, She gave him a flat look. Because I think it’s in the top three. It’s stupid plans, my tits, and my ability to put up with your shit.
Smartass, Ben bumped his knee with hers, grinning down at Her. You’re not even fucking close.
Not even the tits?
Your pussy is better, Ben winked at Her. Trust me, Sunshine. You’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever fucking seen.
She flushed, wrinkling her nose at him. Have you been ranking all the pussies you’ve seen?
Had to pass the damn time somehow.
I feel like there had to be other options.
Maybe, Ben shrugged. But I don’t really give a shit. And now I can be fucking certain when I say your pussy is my favorite.
What are my best qualities, if you’re such an expert? She was watching Ben carefully, and he almost scoffed at how nervous she looked. Like he might not be able to give an answer. Ben could list Her best qualities for fucking years, if someone let him.
You’re a goddamn genius. You’re fucking kind, kinder than you should be. And you’ve got the best fucking pussy of all time.
I don’t think I’m kind, She frowned, and that definitely made Ben scoff.
You’re the kindest person I know. It’s fucking annoying. Ben studied Her soft, tight features. She didn’t believe him. You’re not nice, Sunshine. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth and a damn attitude. But you’re kind.
She nodded slowly. And you don’t hate that?
Ben blinked at Her. Why the fuck would I hate that.
Kind people are pussies, Ben.
Nice people are pussies, He glared Her name at her perfect face, watching him intently. They’re weak, lying, insufferable fucking holier-than-thou assholes. You’re not any of that.
She smiled at him, without teeth but real. That was her real, comfortable smile that made the Thing so fucking loud. You’re not a pussy either.
I fucking know that. He was trying to glare at her, but it wasn’t damn working. Not when She was smiling at him like that, and that deep, infinite thing in her eyes was so clear. Aimed at him. And the Thing had to fucking tell Her something-
Butcher coughed, and Ben realized the whole fucking Pussy Brigade was staring at them. “You twats paying attention?”
“Does it fucking matter if we are?” Ben drawled. “It’s her damn plan, and I know everything I’ve got to do. Not our fucking fault you dumbasses need a whole meeting.”
“Then could you please repeat your instructions, Soldier Boy?” Mallory glared at him. “For our own peace of mind?”
Ben held Mallory’s glare with his own. This was a fucking waste of time. “Go to the Starlight Fund, call Homelander, distract the pussy, then leave.” Protect Her. Don’t let her out of your sight, or Homelander within a fucking arms reach of her. Keep Her safe, at any fucking cost.
“With whose phone, Gov?” Butcher sneered, and Ben rolled his eyes.
“Mine, you fucking-“
Butcher made a loud buzzer sound. “Afraid that ain’t the right answer. Would you like to try again for double Jeopardy?”
“That’s not how fucking Jeopardy works.” MM frowned, and Butcher shot him a glare.
“That ain’t the fuckin point, MM. The cunt got it wrong-“
“Whose fucking phone should I damn use then?” Ben snapped. There would be time for Butcher’s fucking bitching later, right now Ben’s patience was about to fucking snap. This needed to be done. “Mine works fucking fine-“
“Your phone is a registered CIA number,” Hughie looked at Ben nervously as he explained. “Mine isn’t. Vought won’t take a CIA call, it’ll get screened on the first ring. And they probably won’t take a call from Annie, either. If we call the tower with my number we’ll get past the first checkpoint, and then you speaking will get us to Homelander.”
This shit wasn’t worth arguing about. It was barely worth fucking talking about. “Fine. Are we actually going to do this, or just goddamn sit here like a bunch of assholes.”
“We were just waiting on you and the missus to rejoin us, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Everyone’s been clear for a hot fucking minute while you twats were eye-fucking.”
Ben glowered at him, clenching his fist under the table. When this was over, Ben was going to kill him. It was going to be so fucking satisfying, and then he’d run away with Her to goddamn Rome. But this had to be finished first.
As everyone started to filter out—tight nods and wishes of good luck being exchanged—Ben stayed at Her side. She was still looking at the blueprints, frowning as her eyes scanned slowly over the paper right until Mallory pulled it away. She started to stand, and Ben wrapped an arm around Her waist. Keeping her steady and at his side.
“Team Starlight will leave first,” Mallory's voice was curt as she nodded at Annie. “Butcher-“
Hughie let out a high yelp as Butcher chucked the keys at him. Somehow, the pussy managed to catch them.
“Lad, if you wreck my car, you’re buyin me a new one.”
“Um, yeah. Okay.” Hughie nodded nervously. “Do I have to drive-“
“Yes, and any of those cunts bloody touch the wheel-“
“Your car will be fine Butcher.” Annie cut him off with a glare. “It’s just a car.”
Butcher looked like he might kill her, but MM cut off any violence—fucking unfortunate, because Annie probably would’ve killed Butcher and then Ben wouldn’t have to—with a snap of, “We don’t got time to waste on this shit. The kid will drive, Butcher, and your car will live. Let’s fucking move.”
Ben held Her against him out of the building, helping her into the backseat of Butcher’s car and pulling her back into his chest when he sat at her side. She let him, leaning against his body and burying Her face in his shoulder as her heart became uneven. Not fast, but arhythmic. Her breathing was controlled, steady against Ben’s skin, but her heart betrayed the fear in her. Ben fucking hated this. He hated that she was doing this to herself. He hated that the only thing he could really do about it was hold her, at least until it was over and he could kiss and fuck all the worries out of Her perfect brain.
He could try to distract Her. He wasn’t sure it would work, not when she was hugging him so tight and so fucking afraid, but goddamnit he had to do something. He couldn’t just fucking sit here, in the back of Butcher stupid car, and do fucking nothing like a fucking weak goddamn pussy.
Ben squeezed her against him once, and She hummed into his body. Not looking up at him, or speaking. So Ben turned forward, attempting a different strategy.
“What the fuck were you pussies talking about in the kitchen?” Ben grunted, and Annie sighed in the shotgun seat.
“It’s not that important.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “So you weren’t trying to goddamn separate us?”
Annie shot Hughie a glare, the kid’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Hughie, did you-“
“Kimiko told us,” She turned slightly in Ben’s hold, voice soft. “And they didn’t separate us, Ben. Don’t be an ass.”
He glared at Her. “I’m not being a fucking ass-“
“Benjamin.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and Ben felt a little lighter. She was pushing back at him, she was less afraid, and that’s all he could fucking ask for. “Shut up.”
“Uh,” Hughie glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Are you, is he-“
“He’s fine.” She slapped Ben arm, and he scoffed. “Just grumpy.”
“I’m not goddamn grumpy.“ Ben muttered. “I’m just trying to get some fucking answers. Figure out what shit they were saying about us behind our fucking backs.”
“It’s really not that interesting,” Annie shrugged. “Mallory said it would be better to take you with Butcher. MM said it would be worse. Butcher and I voted with MM, and that was it.”
She frowned, twisting around fully to look at Annie. “Butcher voted with MM?”
Annie nodded, and She looked up at Ben. That’s weird right? I’m not insane?
No, it’s fucking weird. Ben glared at Annie, and said aloud, “The fuck did he do that for.”
“I don’t know,” Annie turned to look back at them. “I mean, would you rather he hadn’t?”
“It’s just, it’s surprising.” She shrugged. “He hates us.”
“I don’t think he hates you,” Hughie said slowly. “Butcher doesn’t like being wrong. Or challenged. You,” he said Her name, nodding to Her in the mirror. “Specifically, do both. I think when we found you he thought you’d be like either Annie or Maeve, and you weren’t.”
“Annie or Maeve?” She gave Ben a confused look, and he shrugged. He didn’t have a fucking clue what Hughie was talking about, or how anyone could possibly be annoyed by Her not being Annie or Maeve. She was fucking perfect, and Butcher was lucky to be damn graced with her presence.
“Like, completely against everything he does or completely for it.” Hughie looked to Annie for help. “Right?”
“I mean,” Annie frowned, nodding. “I guess. None of us were sure what we were looking for with you. Maeve said you were powerful, and hated Homelander. We all kind of took that as you’d been burned by Vought or something, not what, what actually happened.”
“And Butcher kind of got an idea that you’d be just, easy to work with. And after we did find you, I think he was sure you’d just be willing to do whatever he wanted to kill Homelander. And you weren’t.” Hughie shook his head, hands tapping on the wheel. “So I don’t think he hates you. I think he just doesn’t like that you’re um, not what he expected.”
That was completely fucking insane to Ben. She wasn’t what anyone expected, that was one of the best damn things about Her. She was too damn forgiving and kind, but still a clever, vindictive woman who never fucking backed down. She didn’t ride any sort of fucking high horse, but also cared about people. It would be fucking annoying and insufferable if She wasn’t so fucking genuine about it. If her money didn’t live in her pretty fucking mouth when she said she’d do whatever it takes and understood what that meant for Her. She wasn’t easy to work with, not by a fucking long shot, but that was because she was goddamn resolved, so certain of what She thought had to be done and what She deemed unnecessary. She was always fucking right, she never fully broke, she never fucking faltered, and the whole goddamn world was better for it.
“So he, he voted in our favor?” She was still looking at Annie, head tilted. “No conditions?”
Annie shook her head. “I voted with MM, and he followed. Told Mallory he was with us.”
She nodded, and gave a small sound of agreement. Even as he wanted a fucking reason—for Butcher’s goddamn attitude and cruelty to her, for why’d this was where he backed them up—Ben decided he would drop it for now, no how much this all made him want to pummel Butcher into the curb. There would be time for that later, now was about keeping Her here. With him.
Ben kissed Her shoulder, because he fucking wanted to, he could, and she was starting to look damn sad again. She leaned her head back into Ben, and smiled up at him. Hi.
How fucking far is this place. Ben met Her gaze, fighting his mouth tugging upwards to return her smile. This was serious. Fucking serious. He had to glare so She knew that. We’ve been driving for a million damn years.
It’s been twenty minutes, Benjamin. We’ll be there soon. She gave him a teasing grin. You fucking toddler.
Ben rolled his eyes. I am not a fucking toddler. I’m a fucking grown man, who’s doesn’t have the goddamn time for this shit.
Really. She raised her brows, still grinning. It was getting a lot fucking harder to not grin back at Her. We have the same schedule, and I’ve got time for it.
No you don’t. He winked at Her, and knew she figured out where he was headed when her finger dug into his arm and her face flushed. I’ve set aside our whole night to fuck you. And I’d like to get started as soon as goddamn possible.
She stuck her tongue out at him, and Ben stopped trying to fight his smile. Cunt.
Brat. He kissed her, pulling her fully into his lap and leaning over her body. She smiled against Ben’s lips, making a small sound from her throat, and the Thing was going to fucking explode and kill him. The only way out was to tell Her. Ben still wasn’t sure what the fuck the Thing thought he needed to say, but he was positive it was something for Her. Absolutely fucking certain that She needed to know that Ben-
The car halted, the rumble of the engine going dead, and She pulled away from Ben to look around.
“We’re here?”
Hughie nodded, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Is everyone, uh, I guess ready?”
“As we can be,” Annie unbuckled herself, taking a deep breath. “We should go inside. Fast.”
She nodded, Her hands on Ben’s arm growing heated. Searing into his skin, smoke curling up into the air.
Ben said Her name lowly, because this needed to be aloud. She needed to hear him.
She looked up at him, her small smile not reaching her eyes. “Ben.”
“You’re going to be fucking fine.” Ben hissed, turning Her body in his arms so she faced him fully. “I’m not going to leave your side. I’m not going to let him fucking near you. And then we’ll go home.”
“I know,” She leaned forward, kissing him so fucking sweetly, pressing Her forehead to his. “I trust you.”
As She started to slide out of the car, every part of Ben was telling him to grab her. To pull her back against him, commender a plane from any shitty fucking cargo airport, and leave. Get the fuck out now. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the knowledge that she’d hate him. She’d never fucking forgive him for making her leave, she’d never damn speak to him again, and Ben didn’t think he could live with that. He didn’t think that he could live without Her. He honestly wasn’t sure how he had lived without her before. He’d never needed someone like this, he’d never needed fucking anything before. He’d never cared so much what someone else thought, been so willing to do anything for just one person. One perfect fucking person. Ben had lived a whole lifetime, and then some, alone. And he’d been content. Not happy, but content. Now he was happy. Now he had Her, and she was perfect, and he never wanted to go back to just content.
So he followed Her out of the car, shield in his hand. He’d follow her anywhere. Out of a car was barely anything when he’d move mountains and burn cities to follow her. Actually, he’d clear the cities first, then burn them. Ben was pretty certain She’d be pissed about him burning a city with people in it. Looking down at Her—beautiful and pulling his arm over her before he was at full height—Ben decided he’d probably follow her even if she was pissed. She’d probably be justified anyways, as she was rarely genuinely pissed at Ben anymore, so he’d always fix whatever he did and keep following Her. Right into hellfire, where he’d still be happy, because She’d be with him.
The Starlight Fund was a completely desecrated fucking shithole. There was a truly fucking terrible amount of pro-Homelander graffiti—one even depicting every member of the Seven shitting on a group of Starlighters—and Ben was pretty goddamn sure the scraping he was hearing was rats.
“This is gross,” She muttered at his side, and he snorted.
“Lot of fucking doodles on the walls,” Ben pulled Her closer into him, speaking into her ear. “That one,” he pointed to a drawing of Fish-Boy ripping his shirt off to display disgustingly ripped gills. “Is my favorite.”
She hummed. “Because of the gills, or the muscles?”
“Because he looks like he just shat his damn pants.”
She gave a small laugh, and Ben wished this could be it. That they had come here to make fun of something stupid and now they were leaving. But Hughie turned around, offering Ben his phone with a shaking hand, and Ben had to set his shield down and take it. Had to feel Her tense again, and hear her chew her lip as Ben frowned at the screen.
“I already entered the number,” Hughie rubbed the back of his next, words soft and nervous. Part of Ben wanted to hit the idiot, because it wasn’t fucking Hughie who was in danger. If She could hold herself together, this fucking pussy should be able to as well. But Ben just grunted—hitting Hughie wouldn’t really help anything, and She’d probably just get more tense—and let him continue. “You just have to call it. Say you’re, uh, you, and ask to speak to Homelander.”
“And no fighting, once he gets here.” Annie added. “We’re just distracting him. We can’t fight him, not now.”
“Why the fuck not,” Ben scowled. “We’d be doing the world a damn favor, killing him-“
“He might leave,” She said, finger’s tapping against Ben’s own. “He might just blast into the air and go find Ryan and this would’ve been for nothing. Ben,” She looked up at him, eyes desperate. “Don’t fight him. Promise you won’t fight him.”
“Fine.”
“Ben-“
“I swear I won’t kill Homelander right now, as much as he fucking deserves it.” Ben grunted, still looking at Her. “This is fucking stupid.”
“I know,” She gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for doing it anyway.”
“If shit starts to even look like it’s headed south-“
“Then we can leave and you can tell me about how you were right for a whole decade.”
Ben nodded, still holding Her gaze. In Rome?
In Rome, She squeezed his hand over her body. And you can fuck me every day for that decade as well. And the one after it.
Ben kissed Her, long and slow, not giving a fuck that Hughie and Annie were watching, or that they were surrounded by rats, or that the awful graffiti and awareness of Homelander arriving soon was hanging over their heads. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world.
“I’m ready,” She whispered against him. “I’ll be okay.”
He didn’t move for a second, just sharing Her breath. But she pulled back first with a deep sigh and buried Her face into Ben’s chest, arms wrapped around him. Waiting.
Ben called the number, and it picked up on the third ring.
An overly sweet woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Thank you for calling Vought International’s Crime Tip Line! All of our operators are currently busy, please stay on the line until one becomes available! You are seventh in line.”
The voice was sounded fucking robotic when it had said seventh, and Ben wasn’t sure that the lady had been real either. “What the fuck was that.”
Annie sighed. “We’re on hold.”
“The tip line?” She twisted around, still leaning against Ben, to give Hughie an exasperated look. “Really?”
“I couldn’t find Ashely’s phone number,” Hughie muttered. “Apparently she kept getting protest calls from Starlighters, and it overwhelmed their servers.”
“Mallory couldn’t get it?”
“It’s being kept secret. We’d have to do a freedom of information request, and that would’ve tipped them off.”
“Please stay on the line, your call is very important to us. You are sixth in line.” The voice disappeared again, returning so sort of too-happy fucking elevator music. She sighed, slumping slightly against Ben.
“I guess we’re waiting.”
It took fifteen fucking minutes. Ben’s shield was still on the floor, and he’d pick it up when he had to but right now was about holding Her properly. At some point Butcher called to yell about where the bloody hell the signal was, and Annie had to explain what was happening. Butcher called them fucking cunt idiots, and hung up. She stayed against Ben the whole time, tapping against his arm over Her stomach, staring into the distance. When that goddamn music finally came to an abrupt halt the whole room froze, Hughie and Annie looking up from where they’d been sitting against the wall.
“Thank you for calling Vought’s crime tip line, my name is Gavin. How can I be of service.”
“I’m Soldier Boy,” Ben said bluntly, ignoring Her flat look of Really, Ben? “I want to speak with Homelander.”
“Sir, this line is not a joke. Our policy requires me to report prank calls as crimes themselves-“
“This isn’t a goddamn prank.” Ben hissed. “I am Soldier Boy. I need to fucking speak to Homelander now, and if you report me as a crime I will find you and fucking kill you.”
“Sir, may I please have your location-“
She had turned to stand in front of Ben, tugging his arm, pointing a finger to herself. Me. She gave him an urgent look. Say you have me. Use my supe name. And my real name.
“I have the Anomaly.” This was fucking annoying, they shouldn’t be doubting him. He grunted Her full name, and she nodded at him. “She’s with me. And I want to fucking talk to Homelander. Now.”
The line was silent. Ben glared at Her. That didn’t fucking work.
She shook Her head. Wait for it.
The line clicked, and a new voice—less bored and uninterested and a lot more fearful—spoke through the speaker. “This is Ashley Barrett, CEO of Vought International. I understand you’re claiming to be Soldier Boy?”
“I fucking am Soldier Boy. Let me fucking speak to Homelander now.”
The line was quiet again. “And you have her?”
“Christ on a cross, fucking yes.” Ben scowled at Her. This is goddamn stupid.
She shrugged. I’m just impressed you haven’t totally crushed the phone yet.
Ben looked back to his hand, and found that his grip on Hughie’s phone was starting to cause cracks to form in the screen. He glared at Her. Shut up.
The line clicked again, and everyone froze. Her heart was going to push out of her chest, and when the static sounded again Ben wasn’t sure it was even beating anymore.
“Soldier Boy.” Homelander’s voice was so fucking weak. Even crackling through the phone and making Her freeze, he was a fucking pathetic pussy. “Is she really there? With you?”
Ben looked at Her, face full of goddamn fear. He could stop this. Ben could hang up and Homelander would never have to step foot near Her again. She wouldn’t have to be afraid ever again, because Ben would take her as far away as he fucking could, and She’d be safe.
He’d never hated anything more than having to say, “Yes.”
“I want to talk to her.” Homelander snapped. “Give me to her. Now.”
She extended her hand, and blinked at Ben once. I’ll be fine.
It was a bold faced fucking lie. Her heart was going a goddamn mile a minute, and her face was blank, eyes glazed slightly.
Ben glowered at Her. If anything goes wrong, if he say one fucking thing out of damn line, we’re leaving.
Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. It was barely a smile, closer to a sad, anxious grimace with upturned lips. I know. Then her face grew gentle, with adoration painting her every feature. For him. Something unending and almost dangerous crossed Her eyes, and Ben couldn’t look away from her. I trust you.
Ben nodded. You burn, I burn. It wasn’t what the Thing wanted Ben to tell her, but it was close. Better than telling Her nothing.
You burn, I burn. She wrapped her hand around the phone, taking it from Ben as he picked up his shield. Let’s fucking do this.
“If someone doesn’t say something-“
“Homelander,” Her voice was stronger than Ben expected. Her face was painfully empty—every piece of light in her gone as she became hollow—but her voice was even and controlled. “It’s me.”
Homelander breathed Her name, and Ben’s blood went cold. He shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Not fucking ever, not like that. “Where the fuck are you. What have they done to you? Why have you been hiding-“
“I’m okay.” She wouldn’t look at Ben, gaze fixed on the floor. Fucking empty. “They haven’t hurt me. Just, I wasn’t allowed to see you. Or talk to you. They said just this once.”
“Tell me where the fuck they’re keeping you,” Homelander hissed Her name. Ben was pretty sure she was going to throw up. “I’ll come find you, you can come home, and we’ll be together.”
“I can’t,” She whispered, fingers starting to curl with smoke. “They’ll get mad-“
“So I’ll fucking kill them! I can do whatever I want, and it’s not like people will miss them! Just tell me where you are and I’ll come save you.”
They needed to leave, right now. Her face was bloodless, Her breaths were mechanical, and Ben knew they needed to leave. She shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t have to do anything for these fucking pussies, they should just fucking leave-
Homelander said Her name again, and his voice had gone cold. “If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll find your pretty little sister and have her tell me. I know they’ve been making you hide. I know they’ve been hurting you. And if your sister loves you half as much as I do, she’ll want you to come back to me. Where you’re safe.”
Her eyes snapped up to Ben’s. She wasn’t trying to tell him anything, just looking at him. Her brain was turning, spinning, moving faster and faster with Her heart. Trying to find something, somewhere, that Ben didn’t understand. A way out, a way forward, some sort of fucking plan to get through this. He’d promised he’d let Her do this. No matter how much he hated it, Ben had swore. She’d do what she needed to do, and—as long as Homelander never fucking touched Her again—he’d stand with her as she did.
Ben’s jaw clenched, and he held her gaze. I’m here. I’m right fucking here.
There was more he needed to say. There was so much fucking more Ben needed to tell Her. But that was enough, because She nodded. I know.
“They took me to the Starlight Fund-“ The words had barely left Her mouth when the line clicked dead. The room was silent, so painfully fucking silent, and She was staring at Ben. He needed to tell Her now, the Thing needed to get its fucking shit together and be damn clear about what it fucking was Ben needed to tell Her, so he could tell Her now-
The roof crashed open, and Homelander dropped into the middle of the room. Cape and suit and so fucking weak.
He breathed Her name, not even looking around the rest of the fucking room. “I fucking found you.”
Ben almost scoffed. Homelander hadn’t fucking found Her. She’d goddamn called him. Told him where she was. He must have made some sort of sound, because cold blue eyes shot to him.
“Soldier Boy. Thank you for bringing Her back to me.”
Never in his fucking life had Ben hated someone more. She wouldn’t look at him, staring at Homelander and taking shallow breaths. Not touching Ben. Her back was too straight, all the smoke was gone from Her body, and Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. Like it has just fucking stopped.
“Homelander,” Annie stood up from the wall, a truly violent glare on Her face. It almost made Ben respect her, the contempt with which she spoke and the loathing in her eyes. “You’re not taking her. You can talk. That’s it.”
“Oh, shut up, you boring fucking Girl Scout.” Homelander dismissed Annie with a hand, still not looking away from Her and Ben. “This is a family matter, you and Campbell can go fuck in a closet for all I care.”
“We’re not going anywhere-“
“I don’t care,” Homelander finally shot Annie a bored glare. “But if you even try and interfere with this, I’ll laser Campbell’s dick off. Now,” he looked back to Her. “Let’s go.”
She shook her head. She wasn’t fucking breathing. “I- I cant-“
“Yes you fucking can,” Homelander hissed. “You’re not mortal anymore, you’re a god like me. None of these weaklings could stop us. Soldier Boy,” he jerked his head at Ben. “Could even come with us. We could be a family.”
“I’m not going fucking anywhere with you,” Ben could hear the drums. Distant, in his control, but building in time with his heart. “And we are not a fucking family.”
“But you’re my father,” Homelander shook his head—as if he thought Ben could forget—and whined like a pathetic fucking child. “Don’t you want to meet your grandson? Be there for the birth of our,” he gestured to Her, and Ben was going to rip his fucking hand off. ”Next child? You’d never have to miss anything again. We’d be together.”
“Homelander,” She was whispering, she was afraid, and Ben couldn’t do more than press his foot into Hers. Show Her he was there. He wasn’t going fucking anywhere. Slowly, her breathing became audible again—even if she remained frozen—and Ben didn’t take his eyes off Homelander. “Please. I just want to talk.”
“We can talk at home.” Homelander took a step forward, and She flinched.
“No. Please, I don’t-“
“What have they been telling you,” Homelander whirled on Annie and Hughie. “Have you been turning her against me? Poisoning her damn brain against me?”
“They haven’t,” She pleaded, and that was it. Ben took a long step forward, until he was right at Her side. Homelander was too close, she was fucking breaking, and he’d stay right here until this was over. Then he’d hold Her until she smiled again, even if it took a hundred fucking years. But Homelander wasn’t going to make Her weak. Nobody was allowed to make Her weak, not as long as Ben was fucking alive. “Homelander, I just want to talk-“
“Fine,” he turned back to Her, face tight and furious. Glancing once at Ben, now right at Her side, before continuing. “Let’s talk. You’ve been hiding. I’ve been looking for you, and you’ve been hiding from me. They-“ a gloved hand pointed to Annie and Hughie. “Have been hiding you from me. It’s time to be a big girl and stop hiding. Time to come home so I don’t have to keep fucking cleaning up bodies while I look for you.”
She swallowed. “Bodies?"
“None of the workers at Tek Knight’s stupid fucking sex club would tell me where you went, so they all had to die. A bunch of fucking Firecracker supporters were demanding justice, so I had to kill them too.”
“No-“
“Please,” Homelander rolled his eyes, taking another step. “It was for you. To protect you. They wanted to fucking draw and quarter you and I stopped them! I saved you, again.”
“You didn’t save me,” She whispered, taking an unsteady step back. “You hurt me. You-“ She was shaking her head, voice growing louder. “You hurt me. You hurt me.” She was screaming, and Ben had never heard a worse sound. It was shrill, and unsure, and fucking terrified. “You hurt me-“
“Oh, grow the fuck up,” Homelander sneered. “You were nothing. You had no one. You’re lucky I even fucking looked at you, let alone saw something of worth! I made you everything you deserved to be, I fucking trusted you with my heart, and you just pulled it out and stomped all over it!”
“No-“
Homelander raised his hand, and She fell silent. She was never fucking silent. “But I forgive you. I’m going to be the bigger person, and forgive you. We both made mistakes, I’m not blameless here, and I forgive you. We’ll get through this,” Homelander lowered his hand for her to take, saying Her name. “We’ll get through this together.”
“No.” She breathed out. “You hurt me. I’m not going anywhere with you. Ever.”
Homelander scoffed. “Stop being a fucking whining child,” he said Her name again, and moved forward, She moved back, and Ben blocked Homelander in his path.
Homelander blinked, but the shock on his face barely lasted a second. “You could come with us, Soldier Boy. You don’t have to keep working with those fucking idiots,” he jerked his head to Annie and Hughie in the corner. “Working for William Butcher. He betrayed you before, and he’d do it again. I’d never betray you. I’d make you fucking proud. We just have to leave together.”
“I will never,” Ben spat, fist clenching at his side. “Be fucking proud of a pussy like you. A weak, spineless, pathetic fucking excuse for a man.”
Something like hurt flashed across Homelander’s face. He’d thought Ben would agree. He’d thought Ben would fucking hand Her over. Homelander had truly fucking believed that Ben would ever let him fucking near Her again.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Homelander looked past Ben, and said Her name. “Let’s fucking go. Now.”
She must have shaken her head—Ben couldn’t turn and look, he couldn’t take his eyes off Homelander for a fucking second—because Homelander’s jaw ticked.
“Now.”
“Never.” She hissed. “I’m never fucking going anywhere with you again.”
“This is your last chance to do this easy.” Homelander snapped. “We can be civilized about this. It doesn’t have to go this way.”
“You fucking heard the woman,” Ben sneered, and Homelander looked back to him. “No.”
Homelander sighed. “I didn’t want to do this. I told Sage it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Sage?” Her voice shaking. Ben hated not touching her, he hated that Her heart still was weak in her chest, he hated all of this stupid fucking shit plan.
“I’m going to have to tell her she was right,” Homelander continued, frowning into the air. “She’s such an annoying fucking bitch when she’s right. But if you’re not going to chose the easy way, then let’s do the fucking hard way.”
Annie was moving slowly from the corner, keeping Hughie behind her. “What the hell are you talking about.”
“In January, after we found out you,” he gestured at Her. “Were alive, Sage said we’d need a way to eliminate Soldier Boy. I told her that was dumb, that when it came time you’d come back to the right side, to me, your son, but she was a real fucking pest until I agreed to her stupid idea.” The pussy was fucking monologuing, glaring around the room with his hands on his hips and sharp, exasperated movements. “She scheduled the meeting, said it didn’t fucking matter what actually happened as long as she got what she needed. I said you wouldn’t be that stupid, but you were. You told her exactly what that French asshole was using to stop you from going all boom without your leash there with you, and she locked herself in a lab for a whole month. It was unbelievably inconvenient. When she finally came out, she gave me this.” Homelander reached back somewhere, pulling out a small, seemingly empty vial. “And said to use it first chance. I don’t want to use it, but,” he sighed, shaking his head. “If you won’t listen to reason, I have to.”
“Homelander,” Annie hissed. “What’s in there. What the fuck are you going to do-“
“Gas. It’s fucking gas. I was getting there.” Homelander rolled his eyes at Ben. “Women. Always so pushy.”
The drums were louder. Homelander was only a half step from Ben. Holding gas. His head was pounding, hitting only a half-beat out of time with Ben’s heart. Over the rush of blood in his ears—vision stark and violent and red—Ben could barely hear Her speak. It was under her breath, and barely audible regardless.
“No.”
Homelander ignored Her, giving Ben a toothy, awful fucking smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in,” he paused, glancing back down at the vial. “Three days? I honestly just couldn't pay attention to Sage’s fucking lecture.”
Time moved slow. Homelander’s hand went to the vial, the drums were a fraction away from taking over but still too far, and She screamed. A high, loud, raw scream that tore through the world. It might have been a word, or Ben’s name, but it didn’t matter because it was Her. Screaming, fucking breaking.
The world broke with Her, and something exploded. A bone-rattling sound of destruction echoed through Ben, through Homelander, through everything as the room was almost blindingly lit. The vial cracked open, glass melting in Homelander’s hand, but Ben didn’t pass out. A small wisp of steam pushed into the air, Ben felt faint, and then it was gone. For a split second he could see all of Homelander’s face, with slight wrinkles and lines and wide eyes. Afraid. Homelander was afraid. Frozen, with a parted mouth and a slack face of terror, his gaze fixated just beyond Ben.
At Her.
Homelander was blasted backwards—fire arcing through the air and into his chest—and right through the dust-covered, paint-peeling wall. The building rumbled, the air was waving around Ben, and the whole world was electric. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Her. She was burning, and the whole world was singing for Her. It was alive, the air crackling and everything illuminated for Her.
Ben had never seen anything like Her. All these fucking heroes pranced around like dancing fucking monkey’s, bragging about god-like power and being chosen. Homelander called himself a god. Said nobody was like him, nobody was as powerful as he was. Moaned about how nobody was his equal, how even Ben only just matched his power. Ben could wipe out Homelander’s powers, Homelander could knock out Ben, Ben could punch him and make him bleed and Homelander could leave a temporary cut on Ben’s skin. They could keep trading blows, measuring their dicks, and stand around all fucking day to argue like pussies about who was more powerful.
Or they could just look at Her.
Because She was a fucking god.
Bathed in white flames tinted purple, floating off the ground, and burning. This wasn’t the bomb in Ben’s chest, running through her body like electricity in a wire. This wasn’t heat that lived in Homelander’s eyes, focused and hot but limited. This fire, bright and hot like a hurricane, ripping through the world and everything between it, was Her. Only Her. It wasn’t nuclear, or artificial, or confined. It was wild and feral and pure fucking power. Her.
Ben had to fucking move.
“Go!” He shouted the order to Annie and Hughie, still pressed against the wall. “Fucking move! Go!”
Annie nodded, grabbing Hughie arm and pulling him with her to the exit. They’d start the car, but they wouldn’t leave Her. They might leave Ben, but they wouldn’t leave Her. Nobody with a heart would leave Her. Not ever, not here. Not with Homelander.
And Ben had to fucking get Her out. Fast.
Homelander was staggering to his feet—a few yards from the building in the broad daylight—and She had hurt him. She’d fucking marred him. Blond hair was tinted black with ash, one blue eye was milky, and his cruel face was half-melted. Twisted with scars and fucking hideous.
And She wasn’t done.
She had landed on the ground and shrugged off her jacket—whole body still alight as the world bent and burned around her—before vaulting past Ben, out into the street. He roared Her name after her, but she didn’t look back. Homelander was almost fully stable, touching a hand to where She’d hit him, and Ben had to fucking go.
He followed Her in long, sprinting bounds, and reached them just before Her fist landed. Right on Homelander’s burns, blasting him back another twenty fucking feet.
Christ, She was fucking perfect.
Ben reached Her, grabbing her arms and ignoring the pain of the fire against his skin. He healed fast—faster than Homelander—and in the adrenaline he wasn’t able to be certain, but the flames felt duller than usual on his hands. Not meant to hurt him.
He hissed Her name, trying to pull her with him. Back to the car. “We’ve got to go, right fucking now.”
She yanked Her arm from his grip. “Ryan’s not out.”
“Ryan?” Ben gaped at Her. “What the fuck-“
“The signal didn’t go off. Everyone’s still in the tower. If we leave he goes back to the tower, and we’re assfucked.”
“I don’t give a shit-“
“Ben,” She grabbed his face between Her burning hands, and Ben was goddamn sure it should’ve hurt. But it didn’t, it just felt warm. “This is it. This is what I need to do. And I’m fucking doing it.”
He couldn’t stop Her. She wasn’t breaking anymore, she wasn’t in danger now—not like She had been before—and Ben was never going to fucking leave Her. “You burn, I burn.”
She nodded. “Let’s fucking burn.”
Ben needed to tell Her. She was dropping her arms, turning away, and he needed to tell Her. He was so fucking close to knowing, to being able to recognize that-
Homelander blasted forward, landing only a few feet from Her and Ben. His words were low, cold. Angry. “You fucking bitch. We’re going to have a very long conversation later about trust-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben pulled out his gun and shot Homelander right in the fucking mouth.
It didn’t kill him—they weren’t that lucky—but it worked goddamn wonders in making his words die in his throat. In giving Ben a chance to punch him in the throat, making him cough the bullet out and giving Her a chance to kick him square in the chest. It was a smooth hit, not strong but wrapped in fire that seared right through Homelander’s stupid fucking suit. Ben slammed the blunt end of his shield right into the exposed skin and revered in the sickly crunch of its contact.
Homelander roared as his eyes began to grow red, aimed at Her, and Ben’s fist was just fucking fast enough to clock Homelander’s jaw. Hard enough to turn his head, to make the laser cut through the air into a glass building.
She realized it at the same time Ben did, exchanging a simultaneous look of Fuck. We’re outside.
No casualties, She narrowed her eyes at him. I back Homelander up. You blast him.
Ben frowned, ducking under a weak punch, thrown by Homelander at what he imagined was supposed to be Ben’s face. You said not now. He didn’t know why the fuck he was arguing with Her. This wasn’t something at all damn worth it. But Ben still waited for Her answer, and the moment She gave the clear, he was going to fucking kill this pussy.
We’re improvising, Benjamin. Her face was set, determined. Ready?
Ben nodded, and turning to see Homelander right in his fucking face. Up close, even as the lasers built in Homelander’s eyes, the state of his wound was fucking disgusting.
“I fucking-“
There was no chance to find out exactly what Homelander was fucking, because She dove at him—face wrathful, a fucking inferno—and they went flying through the air. Over the street, away from the gathered pedestrians, onto the manicured lawn of Vought Tower. People were screaming, scrambling away, and those already on the sidelines were watching through phones, flinching as Ben stalked past them. She could hold Her own, but he needed to get there. Get to Her.
The grass of the lawn was smoking, and Ben felt like he was walking through a goddamn swamp as he approached them. She had twisted around—onto Homelander’s back with Her arms locked around his throat—and was growing brighter and brighter as his bellows turned strangled and choked. The pussy still had to fucking breathe like anyone else, but smoke was curling into his lungs as Her arms burned through his throat.
Good.
The drums were back, building and building, and light was starting to shine in Ben’s chest. He had a shot. A clear fucking shot. He’d hit Her, but she’d be fine, and then she’d be safe forever.
Any hesitation—weak and fearful for Her at the top of Ben’s chest—was killed when She looked at him.
Do it.
The drums fell into time, and Ben’s vision went white. Homelander’s roar sounded through the air, and the world became something far away as the bomb went off. Ripping through Ben’s chest with a vengeance, through the air with an atomic boom.
When the world became clear, Homelander wasn’t ash or a mortal body on the floor. He was gone. They were both gone.
Ben screamed Her name. It wasn’t a roar, or a bellow, or a growl, or anything other than a scream. Where the fuck did She go. Why wasn’t She here, with him. Ben had failed Her, he had fucking failed her, and he couldn’t hear Her heart or see her beautiful face and where the goddamn fucking hell was She-
He could hear his name. Her voice, carried on the wind, was yelling his name. Ben looked up, just in time to see Her falling from the sky, a quickly dying comet, just a few feet to his left.
Ben caught Her, shield clattering to the ground. He’d always fucking catch Her. And when their bodies collided, Ben could feel Her. Afraid. Every fiber and cell of Her body and mind, made of pure, unbridled fucking fear. Frozen fear, hollow and frigid in Her body.
When She spoke, Her voice wasn’t full and furious anymore. “He took off, took me with him. I burned his dick and he dropped me, but he’ll be back-“
“Let’s fucking go,” Ben didn’t release Her, turning back to the Starlight Fund. If he was fast, fucking ran, they could get the fuck out now because Ben wasn’t going to survive another goddamn second of there being a chance he could lose Her. Not when he was certain this was Her fear in him.
But She tugged at his arms, trying to get out of his hold. “Ryan, we need to make sure Ryan’s out-“
“No-“
“Ben, please.” She squeezed his bicep, and Ben looked down at Her. Safe, unharmed in his arms. He couldn’t fucking lose Her- “We just need to keep him occupied. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re out of fire-“
“It’ll come back,” She didn’t sound sure. “I’m fine, he didn’t get me-“
“That was too fucking close-“
“Ben,” She was pleading, tugging at his shirt. “We have to. You promised-“
He snapped Her name. “You’re in danger-“
“I’ll go. I’ll go find them in the tower, and you keep Homelander here. Please. We don’t have time to argue-“
He wanted to tell Her no. Ben wanted to tell her that’s fucking insane, stay here, or don’t goddamn leave, don’t fucking go where I can’t follow you. But she was so fucking stubborn. It was one of the infinite things he loved about Her, but fuck it was pissing him off. She wouldn’t leave—be useless as She’d call it—and Ben couldn’t let Her fight Homelander. Not when he could feel her painful fear, and there wasn’t even smoke in the air. So he grunted, lowering Her onto the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” She whispered, and that deep thing in Her eyes was back. It was in Ben, now, and it was peaceful and eternal in his brain. It was so strong, and wrapped around Ben’s every sense, making the world clear and everything alive.
“Wait,” Ben grabbed Her arm, stopping her just a second. “Take this.”
She blinked at Ben’s gun, shoved into Her hand, before looking back to him with a nod. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Stay safe.” He muttered, and She gave him a small smile.
“I always do, Ben.”
The thing he couldn’t understand inside of Her was bigger than the world. A world that, for a second, was just them. Her, fucking perfect, and Ben. With Her. When She started to walk away, into the tower, the whole world was going with Her.
She looked back at him once, and Ben realized that the Thing had said it. Somewhere, when She had been in his arms, the Thing had found words and he couldn’t fucking remember what they were. He had to focus, to grab them back to him so he yell them after Her, so she could hear-
Homelander dropped with a crack on the pavement, and the Thing’s moment of clarity was gone.
Now Ben had a fucking job to do.
He was brutal. This wasn’t the fucking time to pull punches, to feel anything outside of hatred or a thirst for blood. Ben had to keep Homelander here, and he would. He would beat him fucking bloody until he was just a pathetic, whimpering fucking pile of bones and skin. People were filming, and he’d let them. Everyone should see Ben paint Homelander’s brain across the street with his shield—back in his hand—and there should be evidence of Ben peeling Homelander's burnt face off his skull. Everyone should witness how fucking weak Homelander really was, how fucking useless and desperate and evil. Homelander tried to jab at him—tried to mock him or ask where She’d gone—but all of Ben’s already thin patience was gone. He wanted Homelander to hurt, hurt the way Ben had felt Her hurt. He couldn’t take Her pain and put it into Homelander, so bashing his head open was the second best option.
And Ben was winning. Homelander landed a few weak blows and Ben got scorched with one or two lasers he wasn’t able to dodge, but Ben was fucking winning. He’d have to thank Her, later, for how thoroughly she’d ruined Homelander’s face. Ben was pretty sure the fucker was—at least temporarily—blind in one eye. He was slower to block, turning his head more than he should, and it gave Ben a few extra hits right into his ugly fucking face. Homelander kept trying to grab something, scramble for a gun or some shit, but it wouldn’t matter. Ben was fucking winning. He’d knock the pussy unconscious and go home. Maybe even fucking kill him-
Homelander’s mauled face shot up, and he was gone. Fucking blasting into the sky, fleeing like a goddamn coward, and Ben let him. He could’ve grabbed Homelander’s cape, pulled him back down, but the job was done. People were scattering away with screams at the remaining rumbles of an explosion Ben could only assume was the French Prick’s signal echoed through the city. He’d heard it go off, only a minute ago, but hadn’t fucking cared. Not when he could just keep hurting Homelander. And now Ben was left in the crowded street with a bunch of fucking idiots filming him. Flinching and scrambling away when he turned back to the Fund as part of his brain still looked for Her. In the crowd, somewhere off to the side, or in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He was searching for Her smile, her sharp eyes, just some sign she was there.
Ben saw Her sunglasses. That was the only evidence that She had been here. There was smoldering wreckage and burnt grass, small fires clustered around the ruins and on the street, but this was evidence of Her. Of the perfect woman who laughed with him and never fucking faltered.
They were broken. Tinted blue glass on the floor and bent frames. She was going to be really fucking pissed about that. For reasons Ben didn’t understand, She loved those stupid sunglasses.
He’d buy Her new ones. He’d make sure Mallory finally started paying them, and Ben would buy her a million fucking off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses.
Annie and Hughie were in the car. Nobody had followed Ben into the ally—one very stupid kid had tried, but scrambled away at Ben’s glare—so Ben dropped into the backseat of the car. Alone.
Hughie looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Uh, where-“
“She went after Butcher.” Ben snapped. “She’ll meet us there. Fucking go.”
Annie and Hughie exchanged looks, and Annie pulled out her phone. Swiping through it, glancing up around Ben nervously until she found whatever the fuck she was looking for.
“Butcher says they’re out with Ryan, and everyone’s heading back.” She showed the screen to Hughie, and he nodded. “We should go.”
“That’s what I fucking said.” Ben muttered, and tried not to look at the place beside him. Where She’d usually be, rolling Her eyes or calling him a grump.
The car ride back was long. Fucking longer than the car ride there. Time was stretching, fucking crawling so slow without Her there. Ben had been away from Her for less than a damn hour, and he missed Her. He missed Her so fucking much. A year ago, he’d have called himself a pussy. He’d have scoffed, sneered that he was fucking Soldier Boy. He shouldn’t miss anyone. People should miss him, and be thankful he ever looked at them in the first place. But Ben a year ago hadn’t met Her. He didn’t get it. That She was beautiful, and brilliant, and had the smartest fucking mouth he’d ever heard. That She felt like heaven and hell and Ben didn’t want to exist without Her. If being a pussy for this one perfect woman was the price Ben had to pay to have Her, he’d pay it. He’d pay anything.
She wasn’t answering Ben’s texts. He’d messaged Her, asked her if everyone was in one piece or giving her shit for going off book, and She hadn’t answered. But that didn’t mean a fucking thing, because She kept her phone in Her jacket, which was currently smoldering ash in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He’d buy Her a new phone as well. And fucking punch Mallory in her wrinkled, sour face if they got any shit about Her destroying another phone.
Annie and Hughie weren’t trying to talk to him. At some point Annie had put on Billy Joel, and Ben let her. He hadn’t hated his music, in the 80s, and knew that She just liked music. Any music. So it made it a little easier to pretend She was here. To pretend something wasn’t growing sick inside of Ben.
Even as it started to rot. As everything started to feel wrong.
Ben didn’t wait for the car to fully stop before opening the door. He didn’t even bother to grab his shield. Nobody else could pick it up anyway. Hughie gave a weak protest as he stepped out, but Ben saw Annie shake her head in his periphery and Hughie’s mouth snapped shut. It was a smart fucking choice.
She’d had the keycard. The door was locked and She had taken the keycard. So Ben had to wait—glowering at the parked Pussy Mobile a few spots down from Butcher’s car—for Annie and Hughie to let him in. Stand behind them stiffly in the elevator with his arms crossed, and just fucking wait.
“Butcher said we’d debrief in the dining hall,” Hughie mumbled. “I don't think he's happy with us. With the whole, uh, fighting Homelander thing.”
Butcher could fucking suck Ben’s dick.
The doors opened, and Ben shoved his way out of the elevator, not waiting for Hughie or Annie to keep up. His steps were long, stomping, and fast—almost a full run—but there was no fucking time. He needed to see Her. He needed to see Her right fucking now-
He shoved the doors open, marched into the dining hall, and froze.
Butcher and the Kid were at the table, MM and Mallory sitting across from them, their backs to Ben. Kimiko and the French Prick were at the other end of the table, in a silent conversation. There were four empty seats between them and the larger group. Two for Annie and Hughie. Two for Ben and Her.
But She wasn’t fucking there.
And Ben couldn’t hear Her heart.
“Where is she,” Ben growled, and Butcher looked up at him.
“Good work to you too, you dumb fucking cunt-“
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. “Where the fuck is she.”
MM turned, frowning at Ben. “Who the hell-“
Ben roared Her name as Hughie and Annie pushed into the room, their hearts faltering behind him. Seeing what Ben saw. “Where the goddamn fucking hell is she!”
Mallory was looking at him now, lips in a thin line, words clipped. “She was supposed to be with you-“
“I fucking know that!” Ben’s voice might be shaking the building. “She went inside the Tower, to find you fucking pussies. Where the hell is she?”
“We,” MM blinked at him. “We haven’t seen her. She was supposed to be with you.”
“Oh, shit.” Hughie whispered, and the room fell silent.
The world was fucking ending. This was the judgement day, or apocalypse, or end of days or fucking something, because She was gone. She was gone. She’d disappeared into the fucking Tower, and she was in danger. Ben had let Her go into the tower, Ben had fucking failed Her. He should’ve gone with Her, he should’ve kept Her there and trusted her to fight, he should never have let Her go alone. She’d told him not to leave her alone, Ben had promised to keep Her safe, and now She was fucking gone. He’d failed. And nothing fucking mattered expect getting Her back.
Ben turned roughly around to Hughie, extending an arm. “Give me the fucking keys.”
Hughie blinked at him. “Uh, why?”
“To drive the damn car.” Ben snapped. He didn’t have the goddamn time for this shit. She was in fucking danger. “I’m going to get her. Fucking keys. Now.”
Hughie was fumbling in his pocket—apparently not a complete fucking dumbass—but froze at Mallory’s cold words. “You’re going to stay here, Soldier Boy, until you receive further orders.”
Ben didn’t bother to turn around. “Shove it up your ass, you fucking bitch. Keys.”
“We don’t know where She is,” Annie said carefully. “She could’ve left the tower, could be coming back here-“
“Or she could be in fucking danger.” Ben’s voice was rising to a shout. “Give me the fucking keys-“
“Lad, if you give Soldier Boy my fuckin keys, I’ll shoot you.”
Ben whirled to Butcher. “Shut the fuck up, you useless fucking pussy. Does fucking nobody,” he scowled around the room. “Give fuck about her but me? Do none of you care that you just fucking abandoned her?”
You abandoned Her. It echoed in his brain, twisting around his throat. You failed Her. You left Her.
“Of course we care,” MM snapped. “But I have to be with Butcher on this. She could be anywhere-“
“So fucking find her!” Ben bellowed. How could none of them fucking get it, fucking understand that She was lost, gone, alone, afraid. In fucking danger. “If you care, get off your asses and fucking find her!”
“Frenchie,” Butcher stood, glaring at Ben. “Take Ryan to his room.”
Ben looked away from Butcher just long enough to see the Kid watching him with wide, fearful eyes as the French Prick herded him past Ben, out the door. He glanced at Kimiko—still sat at the end of the table—and she was frowning at him. Signing something Ben didn’t fucking understand. She’d have understood.
He looked back to Butcher, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m finding her. Good luck trying to fucking stop me.”
“We will bloody find her,” Butcher snapped. “But we ain’t going to do it in a day. She’s probably fuckin fine-“
“She was in the fucking Tower. Are you that fucking stupid-“
“I ain’t stupid. I’m a realist.” Butcher held Ben’s murderous glare. “Like she is. We’ll find her, now sit the fuck down.”
“Don’t pretend like you fucking know her. Like you’re fucking buddies and you know what she’d want-“ Kimiko was waving at Ben, trying to get his attention as he roared, and he shot her a withering glower. “What fuck is wrong with you?”
She pointed to her phone, and reached it out for Ben to take. He snatched it from her hands—slightly thrown by the seemingly genuine sympathy and worry across her face—and looked at the screen.
BREAKING NEWS: Vought Announces that the Homelander’s girlfriend has been recovered from Soldier Boy’s captivity.
He’d failed Her. In the worst possibly way, Ben had compelety fucking failed Her.
The glass cracked in Ben’s grip, and he chucked the phone at Butcher. “Is that fucking enough to get you to move your pathetic fucking pussy asses, and fucking save her?”
MM leaned over Butcher’s shoulder, reading the screen. “Fuck.”
“What’s-“
Hughie’s confused words were cut off as Annie shuffled behind Ben, “I’ll check-“ Ben heard her swallow. “Oh, shit.”
“Jesus,” Hughie whispered, and Ben’s skin crawled. Why the fuck were they just standing here. Why weren’t they moving. Fucking saving Her.
Butcher only stared at the screen with a scowl, and Mallory stood to read the headline as well.
“Butcher,” she said slowly. “This is-“
“Changes nothing.” Butcher tossed the phone back to Kimiko. “We keep on the fuckin track.”
Ben’s whole world froze with wrath. Locking him in place. Spinning him around, stabbing into his chest, making the world painful.
“Are you fucking insane?” Annie shouted from behind Ben. “She’s-“
“Nothing.” Butcher snapped. “We’ll get her back when Homelander’s in the bloody ground.”
“Butcher, even for you-“
“This ain’t about me.” Butcher hissed over MM. “It’s about her.”
“She’s not going to be our man on the inside, you psychopath!” Annie shouted. “She a fucking victim-“
“If we go now, Starlight, the bloody hell you think will happen?” Butcher leered at Annie, over Ben. Still unmoving, unable to move as the drums echoed in his head. “We’ll storm the fuckin castle and Homelander will just hand her over?”
“We could,” Hughie protested, voice weak. “I mean, that’s kind of how we just got Ryan-“
“Homelander ain’t stupid, he’s not fallin for that trick two times in a row.” Butcher turned back to Ben. “If you’re that much of a whipped fucking idiot, Gov, we can go right now. I’ll even bloody drop you off. But they’ll see us comin, and Homelander will blast her far, far away. You wouldn’t ever even fuckin see her again.”
“Butcher-“
“Let the man answer Grace.” Butcher held Ben’s gaze. “We ain’t going to stop him if he leaves, or goes after her. It’ll be her bloody funeral. Not ours.”
He could. Ben could leave right fucking now, and find her, and then they’d leave together. He’d keep Her safe forever, do fucking anything to make her forgive him for failing her.
But a voice that sounded like Hers echoed through his brain.
Don’t be a dumbass, Benjamin. Butcher’s right, which is annoying because now he’s going to be a cunt about it. But he’s right.
You’ll find me. You’ll always find me, I trust you.
I’ll see you soon.
Butcher read Ben’s answer on his face, and nodded. “Right choice, Gov.” Something passed over Butcher’s feature, something a lot more human than Ben had ever seen. Almost understanding, almost pained. “She’s a clever lady. She’ll get through this.”
She’ll get back to you.
And Ben would be here. He’d get Her back, and be here to hold her and burn with her when she returned to him.
He’d kill Homelander, and never fail Her again.
——————
Something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.
Your eyes are closed, but nothing around you is warm. Everything is freezing, the blankets are silk instead of cotton, there’s a strange smell of factory-made coconut in the air, and you’re alone. Ben isn’t here.
That’s what’s wrong.
Ben isn’t here.
You’re suddenly afraid to open your eyes. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t know where you are, and Ben isn’t here. Your mind is moving slower than you need it to, trying to pull back bits and pieces to figure out what happened. Rolling a loop of where are you, why isn't Ben here.
Why does everything feel so wrong.
You ran into the Tower. You know that much, Ben had given you his gun and you’d ran into the Tower before Homelander could return. You’d almost said it, he’d looked at you like you were his whole world and you almost let yourself say Ben. Ben, I love you. But that had felt final. You didn’t want final, you wanted Ben. So you’d just left.
You’d told Ben you’d find Butcher. You’d meant to find Butcher. You swear, now, in this strange cold place, that you’d really meant to just find Butcher. But you hadn’t. The blueprints of Vought tower had flashed in your head, along with a small, persistent voice asking you Where was Sage? In all of this, with you and Ben destroying the front lawn, where was Sage?
There was a security room on the first floor. Actually, there were two security rooms on the first floor. One was labeled such, with faded notes about electrical wiring scratched onto the copy Mallory had shown everyone. The other was identical, with no notes but the same design, labeled office 2.
You hadn’t been able to find an office 1. Only an office 2.
So you’d headed there first.
The door was locked, and your fire wasn’t coming. Homelander had taken you into the sky, higher and higher and away with hands gripping your arm around him, and everything had frozen. It wasn’t the chill of the high wind, it was your blood, your skin, your head. Everything became cold and the fire had started to flicker, all your control over it waning. You’d told Ben you’d hit Homelander’s dick, but he’d just dropped you. He’d made a surprised sound from his throat you’d never heard, and his arms had grown slack around you. You’d pushed off of him and fallen, any fire left dying as you’d dropped through the air. And now it was asleep. Not gone. Still under your skin, still running through your body in the way you’d come to trust, but dormant. Unwilling to come out, even when you’d desperately needed it.
So you’d shot the handle off.
You remember that clearly. You’d looked around the hallway, empty as people either hid from Ben and Homelander or went to watch them, thought fuck it, and shot Ben’s gun.
The door had swung open, and Sage had been right where you expected her.
She hadn’t turned from the monitors, and said your name in a bored tone. “You’re early.”
“I’m early,” you’d repeated, raising the gun to a mediocre aim at Sage’s head. You remember wondering if Ben would cum on the spot if you asked him to teach you how to properly use a gun. “There’s no possible way you planned this.”
Sage had shrugged. “It was more of an outline. A hypothetical. One of many. I honestly didn’t think you’d go with this option, but here we are.”
“Which one did you think we’d go with?” You’d been unable to help yourself from asking. You’d had to know just how predictable your plans were, so you could adjust. Be more erratic. Maybe you’d put Butcher in a dress, really have fun with it.
She’d turned, spun in her chair to look at you with a small, cold smile. “My money was on you sacrificing yourself, trading yourself in. Didn’t anticipate Soldier Boy stopping you, but I’ve adapted. And now we’re here.”
“What the fuck are you talking about.” Your hands had been shaking, and you’d looked behind Sage at the monitors. You could see Ben and Homelander on the lawn, and—running through a polished hallway—your team. With Ryan Butcher, failing to shoot at a single camera. You'd yell at Butcher about that later, when this was done. This was almost done.
“In January, when we met for the first time, you confused me.” Sage had tilted her head at you. “That’s impressive. Nobody confuses me. Once I’d found out who exactly you were, Homelander selectively filling in pieces as I figured out the rest myself, I still didn’t fully understand. Once again, impressive.”
“Oh, gee, thanks.” You’d kept your eyes on Sage, but clocked every movement on the monitors. So close. “You really know how to make a girl blush.”
“I’m serious. I couldn’t figure you out. You should’ve run when you got out. You’re a smart woman, you should’ve run. But you didn’t, which displays remarkable stupidity. You’d aligned with William Butcher, but seemed to hold qualms with his methods. And your deal with Soldier Boy, the cherry on top. In January you were,” She’d paused, frowned at you before continuing. “Strange. Not friends, not quite, but not simply hateful. Certainly not apathetic. Enough for me to worry about Soldier Boy truly being a problem. And then, by the end of the same month, he seemed to truly care for you. If anything, you managed to baffle me more.”
“If you say impressive again,” you’d snapped at her. “I’ll fucking shot you.”
“And you’re much more violent than I anticipated. Yet another thing that threw me, because all signs would point to you being a pacifist. But I figured it out. I found the thing I’d been missing. The club-“ She sighed at your shocked expression. “Please don’t get caught on that. I was separated from Vought for over a decade, I am well aware of the Renegade Room. I haven’t told Homelander about it, I won’t, but I’m aware. Of the club, and your plan with Butcher. That helped me figure it out. You care. About humans, about everyone. No matter how they treat you, how they collectively wrong you and fail you, you care.”
You’d shrugged. “Kant said never to treat people as means to an end.”
“Kant also said man must be disciplined.” Sage had shot back. “But you’re not interested in that. You’re forgiving. You tried to discipline Soldier Boy, but then you let him stop you. I didn’t think anything would stop you. I’m still trying to piece that part together fully, but I know how to adapt to an empty picture. I know, for all your care, something with Soldier Boy is different. And you can stop looking at the monitors.”
You’d blinked at her. “The monitors-“
“I know Butcher has Homelander’s son. I’ve sent people to collect them. Right now this is about you. You, Homelander, and Soldier Boy. See,” she’d looked at the monitors with narrowed eyes. “Sometimes I outdo even myself. When I developed the gas for Soldier Boy, I didn’t think it would be this important. But, fuck, those months in the lab around about to pay off. Because-“
Hindsight coming to you now, you probably should’ve let Sage finish her speech. Figured out how this was going to pay off for her, and how it probably wasn’t in your favor. But you remember hearing people to collect them and gas for Soldier Boy and a ringing sound starting in your ears. So you’d shot Sage in the face.
This part was harder to remember. This part felt painful.
You think you’d sat in the chair. Pushed Sage’s body to the floor and sat. Or maybe you’d just stood at her side. Or behind the chair.
No matter what, you’d looked at the monitors. You’d seen Noir and The Deep. Not being distracted by A-Train, but running through a hall that looked far too similar to the one your team was in. You’d stopped them. Somehow you’d stopped them because you remember the relief when they turned around. It might have been a phone call, maybe there was a walkie talkie, but it didn’t matter because you’d stopped them. And Ryan had gotten out.
Then you’d seen Ben and Homelander, still fighting. Ben throwing steady, powerful punches and slamming his shield into Homelander’s body. Then you’d see Homelander reach for something.
The gas.
Homelander had been reaching for more gas. And Ben hadn’t been seeing it.
You’d screamed. You’d grabbed Sage’s phone, or walkie talkie, or just screamed louder. Loud enough to be heard.
You were in the Vought building. Alone. Homelander could come find you.
And then Sage had stood up, and you’d been confused. You’d definitely just shot her.
She’d pulled out a vial.
And now you were here.
In Vought Tower. Or a warehouse. Or a lab. Or underground.
Cold.
Alone.
You aren’t chained to anything. Your mouth has a gag around it, so you can’t speak, but you can move. You’re dressed. No shoes, but a shirt, loose pants. Underwear. You can’t hear anyone, only the hum of a fan. A lot of fans. It’s really, really cold.
If Sage sent you here, she should know better. She should know cold doesn't matter. Your fire came from you, not the air around you. You could, if you tried, burn all of the arctic circle while standing at the north pole. But it was still so cold.
And bright. When you peel your eyes open, blinking and wiping at them—your hands are cuffed and wrapped in big red mittens, so you can’t really accomplish much with them—the room is almost blinding. It might be because of how long you were out, how your head was pounding and aching when you’d woken, but it was so bright.
You don’t recognize the room. Your eyes adjust quickly, the pounding is already gone and your exhaustion is leaving fast, but you can’t figure out where you are. It wasn’t the white room, or a new lab, but an apartment. A truly awfully decorated apartment, where everything was glossy marble and silk and sleek furniture that didn’t look usable in any way. The bed you’re on is low, the frame made of iron and the mattress feeling like it’s sinking into the floor. It’s not bright anymore, not as the effects of Sage’s gas—what you were assuming was Sage’s gas—were dissipating by the second. It’s low lit, too low lit. Everything is cast in a yellow glow, and the lamps and ceiling lights feel like they’re more for pure decoration than actual practical use. Another part of this hideous, unnerving picture. There’s a lot of red. A lot of white. A lot of blue.
Your heart drops. Deep into your stomach where it churns around with bile and fear. You know where you are. You know exactly where you are. Everything is too clean, too modern, and too impractical. Like it’s been designed to be gaudy, high-brow, and ostentatious. There’s a white marble statue of a bald eagle, and a painting of George Washington on the Delaware that you hope isn’t an original.
But it could be. Because this is Homelander’s room.
You need to run. Your hands are confined and your fire is asleep, but your feet aren’t chained. So you can run. Or jump out a window. Homelander’s room is on 99—you remember from the blueprints: floor 99, south facing quadrant, next to Maeve’s old room and Noirs’ current one—but you’d survive the fall. You’d survive anything. But you have to go. You have to push through the sick and crippling feeling that’s growing like mold in your body, through the sheer cold in your blood that’s trying to root you in place, and run.
Rolling off the bed is easy. Getting your legs to stop shaking is harder, and taking steps without collapsing is near impossible. But you have to run. You can break when you’re home, when you’re safe and Homelander can’t find you again.
You can fucking do this. You steady your body, and take a long breath. You’re strong. You’ve escaped him once before. And done a lot of other, crazier shit. At this point it’s just another Tuesday.
It’s a Friday. A small voice—bored and petulant—reminds you. And you were in a lab upstate. This is Vought Tower. You’ve never escaped Vought Tower.
Shut the fuck up. This voice isn’t yours. It’s deep, and always a little gruff, even as it encourages you. You’re strong, Sunshine. You’re a spiteful, brilliant, angry pain in the ass. You can fucking do this.
You’re strong. You can fucking do this.
You’re going to jump out the window.
Getting out of the room is simple but difficult, and getting down the stairs is fast. You fall, tumbling down the steps and landing on the floor with a crunch, but the adrenaline makes it painless and whatever broke is already healed. You half-crawl, half stumble to the windows. Wide, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. You can’t really see the street below you.
This is going to really fucking hurt.
Two steps back. Actually, four steps back. Enough to get a running start. Breathe in, out. You’ll be fine. And if it kills you, it kills you.
Anything would be better than this.
You’ve taken three steps when something grabs the back of your shirt, halting you. You scream into the gag, and a red gloved hand covers your mouth.
“It’s just me,” Homelander hisses in your ear, and you stop fighting. Your whole body shuts down into the cold, and you can’t scream, or sob, or do anything but let Homelander drag you back and throw you onto the long, stiff couch.
You can’t look at him. Looking at him makes this real.
He notices, and jerks your chin to force your eyes to meet his. Colder than the room, full of malice and something that might be his version of hurt. Blue. You fucking hate blue.
“You weren’t going to try and jump?” Homelander’s voice sounds genuinely disbelieving. “I mean,” he laughs your name, and you want to throw up. “Even for you that’s drastic.”
He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what’s drastic for you and what’s not. But you can’t even glare at him, because all your energy is starting to fade, weighing you down like stones filling up your lungs.
Homelander sighs. “I mean, you’ve already hurt my feelings enough for today.” His grip on your face might crack bone. “Stealing my son,” he gestures to his face, still bubbling with burn scars. “Doing fucking this to me. I mean, what did they do to you? To make you do this to me?”
He sounds like he’s going to cry. You don’t care.
“Well,” he stands up, releasing your face and frowning down at you with his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ll fix it. It’s fine your little plan worked, because it brought you back to me. And we’ll get Ryan back, together, once you’re less,” he sighs, waving a hand. “Fucking broken. This time will be different, I won’t keep you two apart. That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
You just look at him, and his face twists into a sneer.
“I said I’m sorry. It’s your turn.”
You have a fucking gag over your mouth. And, even with the fear making everything too loud and bright and blurry, you’d never apologize to Homelander. He’ll have to kill you first.
His glower fades in a second when he remembers the gag. “Oh, well, I’m going to pretend you apologized, because I can’t really take your gag off. Not while you’re still,” he spins a finger around near his head with a whistle. “Cuckoo. You get it, it’s just a precaution. I mean,” he laughs. “We can’t have you doing your little reality warping trick when you’re still loosing your fucking mind!”
It’s not reality warping. It’s sensory manipulation. And for some reason that starts to set steel in your body. You’re not losing your mind. You’re not unstable or drastic. It’s fucking sensory manipulation, and your plan worked. Homelander had said Ryan was gone, and you’d done that—ruined Homelander’s picture perfect, all-American face—because you hated him. The fear wasn’t leaving, but it wasn’t growing anymore. And you could glare at Homelander. Let all your hatred, your hatred, not anyone else’s but yours, show across your face.
“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Homelander huffs with an eye roll. “It’s temporary. Just until I can trust you again! We’re going to do this right this time, we’re going to do us right this time, and once we’ve rebuilt our trust I won’t have to take these kind of precautions. They’re fucking annoying for me, too. This isn’t just about you.”
You just glare.
“I mean, you can’t be that mad. You’d do the same thing, if you were in my shoes.” Homelander leans over you, studying your face. “I’m not letting you go this time. Everyone’s going to know you fucking belong to me. I mean, we’re made for each other.” He laughs again, and it’s horrible. It’s joyless and mocking and scraping around your insides painfully. “I mean, you were a good option for me before the V. Smart, pretty, good genetics, more compliant than Becca Butcher, less annoying and weird than Stormfront. You’d never be as mean to me as they were. For Christ’s sake, Stormfront killed herself on my fucking birthday! Did I tell you that? How fucking mean!”
He’d told you that. Homelander had visited you that day, and asked you if you’d ever do that him. You’d said you would, because you had to and part of you had hoped he’d just leave. He hadn’t.
“But you’d never do that to me. And after the V?” He grins at you, and it makes the scars look uglier. “You’re almost as strong as me! All those fucking nerds said one shot was going to kill you, but you survived four!” He leans over you, making you crane your neck with a rough hand. “Did I ever tell you that? One V shot should’ve killed you, and you definitely shouldn’t have lived through two. One of those scientists kept trying to tell me that you were growing more powerful and unstable each time, that we should fucking quit while we’re ahead, but I believed in you. And now look at you. My equal.” He shrugs. “Or at least fucking close to it. Closer than Maeve, closer than Stormfront, closer than anyone. Which is why I forgive you, and now I’m going to do this right.”
He keeps saying that. Keeps saying he’s going to do this right. You don’t know what that means.
“Sage already announced you’ve come home. I would’ve done it, but,” he gestures to his face, and some sort of twisted satisfaction runs through you. “I could just wait it out, but you’re up before we thought you’d be, so you can fix it.” He grabs one of your hands and starts to undo the cuff, but pauses. “If you need an incentive to behave, let me just remind you that you won’t make it out the door. You’re strong, but I’m fucking stronger. You can run, but I’ll knock you down. You’re staying with me. All the fucking worms who tried to keep you away from me won’t be able to this time. Butcher can try and come get you, but I’ll just kill him and his whole merry band of idiots. They send Soldier Boy, and we’ll knock him out. Sage has wired the whole building for it, just in case. You don’t have to worry about that, but you should know. Trust.” Homelander pulls off the wrapping on one hand, raising to his face. “You’re never fucking getting away from me again. Now fix what you did.”
The fire is back. It’s woken up—not at full power but more than enough—coursing through your whole body as Homelander words rattled around your head. They’ll knock Ben out. They’ll kill your team.
You could run. Homelander’s moving your hand against his skin, and you could burn him and run.
But you touch him, your skin on his, and suddenly you’re afraid.
It’s not your fear. Your fear is freezing, made of panic and memories. This fear is foreign, hostile in your body, made of something vile and strange. This fear is buried deep, deep down, and strong. This fear is parasitic. This is Homelander’s fear.
Homelander’s afraid.
Of you.
And in a split second, you make a choice.
You had a plan for this. In the back of your head, you’d buried a plan. You’d never wanted to use it, you’d never told anyone you had it, you’d even pretended it wasn’t there so you could sleep at night.
You could run. You could leave and go back to Ben and warn him that they had more gas, warn Butcher that Sage was planning something, because you were certain she was. But you didn’t know what.
And you had a plan.
Ben was going to kill you. You were going to kill you. As Homelander’s face healed under your hands and your own face grew raw and painful, you hated yourself. You wanted to leave. You wanted to go home, back to Ben, and just leave. But the fire was settling quietly back into your body, silent and cold once more as your choice became set.
Homelander was right. This wasn’t about you. This was about the world, and making it safe. This was about trusting that Butcher wouldn’t let Ben come find you, as much as you wanted him to. Every part of your heart wanted Ben to burst through the door, pick you up, and take you away. Anywhere that wasn’t here, and you’d tell him you loved him and he wouldn’t leave. But you’d promised to keep him awake, and if he came to save you he’d go under. He wasn’t going under. And, as much of a prick as Butcher was, he’d know to keep Ben away. And you’d get back to Ben. Soon. But right now this wasn’t about you.
Here were the cards you’d been dealt. Here was your shot at the devil.
You weren’t going to miss.
End Note: I know y’all hate me now, but please let me cook. I swear I'm not a sadist and this is going somewhere. Remember the agreement we made that you didn’t know about; you GOTTA trust.
Please, please, please leave a comment if you want to! Never be afraid it’s too long or too short and think I won’t read it. Every single one means the whole world to me, whether it’s a thought on an older chapter or a predication about the next one. No matter what you’re telling me, feedback or jokes or opinions, you will ALWAYS make my day. Cuss me out for this chapter, ask my why the hell I hate love, tell me about your day, no matter what I want to hear it <3. See you in Angst-town USA, population us, for chapter 17.
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Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: I think it’s high time I admit I accidentally gave Her a praise kink and both of them size kinks. Oops. That’s my bad y’all. Chapter Title from epiphany by Taylor Swift
Word Count: 30k (so long I had to combine paragraphs...)
Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone takes steps forward, and a few back. Usual warnings, with extra alerts on the smut. Just so much smut.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, pining
Read on A03!
Chapter 20 - Chapter 22
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Ben hadn’t even been that fucking tired, but his eyes had somehow closed and his brain that had been supposed to stay alert—focused on Her, her safety and every shifting movement she made against him—became glossed over and lulled into a haze by Her. In his arms, tucked into his body, with her breath hot against his skin and her heartbeat slow and steady in his ears. Safe and home, smiling slightly in her sleep and holding onto his shirt in the dark. Ben loved her, and when she’d hooked one leg over Ben’s hips and given a content sigh in her sleep he’d almost exploded. She was perfect, and clinging to him like he might vanish from her hands, and he’d made the mistake of kissing her brow.
She’d leaned into it. In deep sleep, without a single fucking thought about it, she’d pushed herself up Ben’s chest and made a small, happy humming sound that shattered all of Ben’s will and vigilance because it was just Her. So peaceful and calm, sleeping in Ben’s arms like nightmares weren’t even something to fucking consider. It was contagious. She’d used that stupid flower shampoo—it was better on Her than Ben, stronger and more potent—and her hands were still as her heartbeat rolled through him like a drug. Pulling Ben down, down, down without a fight, because she was in his arms and everything was right.
When Ben woke up, it was easy. Eyes pulling themselves open because he was rested, and the pillow against his face had blocked out all the light of morning pushing into the room. He’d rolled over in his sleep, but She wasn’t under him or at his side. There was a weight on his back that felt like Hers, and a soft sound of a piano that they didn’t own surrounding Ben’s head that Her voice floated over, smooth and controlled, brighter and warmer than the sunlight on Ben’s face when he turned his head. The whole room smelled like honey, and Ben could feel a soft wind coming from nowhere. He made a low sound—against his fucking will—and the music stopped.
“Hi,” Her voice was near his ear, and one of her arms was resting on his shoulders. She was on top of Ben, sprawled across his body with her legs half-straddling him and half-tanged in his, her hand fucking petting Ben’s hair. She was trying to fucking kill him. “You’re up.”
“Fucking obviously,” he muttered, and She just laughed into his neck. A light, joyful sound that made Ben’s whole body relax and his mouth twitch up. “Why are you sitting on me.”
Her hand trailed down the back of Ben’s head, resting on his neck. “You’re comfortable.”
“We’re on a goddamn bed-“
She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek with a small hum, and rolled off his body, onto the mattress beside him. Ben’s arms flew out to catch Her, stop her from getting too far away or falling off of the damn bed, and when her perfect, beautiful face landed in his view, she was smiling.
“Grumpy-“
Ben yanked Her forward, back against his body where she fit so fucking well, and kissed the small yelp out of her mouth. Let Her moan into his throat as he sat up against the headboard, pulling her with him until she was in his lap and was falling right onto his chest. Where she was fucking made to be. But, even as he fucking ate Her, Ben kept vigilant attention to her every movement and reaction. Every shift of her hips and small sound that escaped her throat when he squeezed her waist that drew them closer and closer to Ben having to stop, to reaching that unspoken limit of what he could take and take and take and give, and having to pull back so She could make that choice for him.
She ground down on Ben once with a breathless moan, and froze. Dropped Her head down to his chest and sighed, resting against him with nothing more. She was going to apologize. She was going to try and fucking apologize to Ben for this—he recognized that small, sad sigh that meant she was going to be sorry—and he didn’t want it. He didn’t want Her to keep apologizing for everything, to keep thinking Ben gave a shit what they were doing or not doing when he had Her back. All that fucking mattered was that she was here and safe, and if Ben had to be a celibate fucking monk pussy for the rest of his life so be it. She’d be there, and Ben loved Her, and that was enough. He wished he could just tell Her he loved her, and make her understand that if she said sorry for this again, Ben would lose his fucking mind.
But he couldn’t. Not now, not when She wasn’t ready. When she was ready Ben would make Her whine and moan and do whatever the fuck she asked him to. He might die on his knees for Her, just to try and make her get it. Finally fucking believe that She was the most important thing in the universe, and Ben was lucky she was just sharing oxygen with him. That he fucking loved Her, and she should never apologize to him. He would rather eat a goddamn bullet than have her think she ever needed to apologize to him. So he spoke before She could even try to.
“You were singing.”
She tilted her head up, watching Ben with a frown. “What?”
“Before I woke up,” he grunted, pulling Her a little higher up his chest. He wanted her closer, as close as she’d fucking allow. “You were singing.”
“Yeah, I,” She sighed, and her arms moved up to wrap around Ben’s neck. “I just wanted to see what I could do. If I’d regressed.”
Ben paused, examining Her sad expression, her soft words echoing in his head. “You didn’t sing at Vought.”
“No,” She shook her head. “They never even mentioned it. I don’t think they forgot, Sage wouldn’t forget. Homelander-“ She made a small, pained sound with the name, and that was enough of that fucking shit. “He-“
Ben kissed her, gentle and soft until she sighed and her nails stopped digging into his skin. When he pulled back—She was so fucking perfect, swollen lips parted and pretty eyes watching him—Ben said Her name, firm and slow. “Tell me what you were singing.”
She blinked. “But-“
“No.” Ben glared at Her, and she swallowed her own words. “Tell me about your fucking song, or shut the hell up.”
“Rude.” Her words were mumbled, but lighter. No strain in her voice, the pure fucking sadness in her eyes fading when she looked at Ben. “You’re not the boss of me, Benjamin, you can’t tell me what to do.”
He snorted. “You don’t even listen to your real boss, Sunshine. I don’t think that would change a single goddamn thing.”
“Well-“
“And,” Ben leaned down, bumping his nose with hers. “I don’t need to be your boss to tell you what to do. You like it when I order you around.”
Her face was flushed, breathing heavy against Ben’s mouth, and she was so fucking perfect. “Fuck you.”
He winked. “That’s the idea.”
“Horny old man.”
“It’s all for you, beautiful.” He kissed her nose, and she made a small, high sound that was going to make Ben cum in his pants like a teenager. “Tell me about your music, or admit you get turned on when I tell you what to do.”
“You can’t fucking prove that I-“
“Don’t need to.” Ben pulled back, grinning down at Her. “I know how fucking wet you get when I throw you around, or make you beg.”
“Ben-“
“If it helps,” he grabbed Her chin gently, holding her gaze to his. “I think it’s fucking hot when you tell me what to do.”
She swallowed, chewing on her mouth as she watched Ben with wide eyes. “You do?”
What he wanted to say was don’t be dumb, Sunshine, of course I fucking do. You get all bossy and loud, and it makes me want to throw you against a wall to see just how loud I can get you. It makes me fucking love you more, because you’re not afraid of me and trust that I’ll listen to you. Because you never fucking waver, and I love you, and I think you should keep telling me what to do for the rest of fucking time, because that means you’re with me for the rest of fucking time and I can fuck you and make you so goddamn happy and I love you. I fucking love you, and you’re a brat who thinks she knows everything, but you actually do and it’s so fucking hot. And I love you. But He can’t say that. Not now.
“I do.” Ben smirked at Her, running his thumb over her lower lip. “Just like you it when I tell you how beautiful you are, and tell you to say my name, and how good you are-“
She made a strangled sound, and something flashed through Ben’s body. Some sort of feeling that was consuming and vast and powerful, that rushed through him before being almost yanked away. She’d leaned back, away from Ben, and this was the line he had to walk. He didn’t fucking understand it, why She’d let him say almost every filthy thought he had aloud, why she’d let Ben tell her all the ways he wanted to fuck her, but wouldn’t allow him to just do it. Just fuck Her smart as shit brain empty and blissful, let Ben make her feel good like she deserved. Why when she peeled off of his body she did it like it was impossible, why she kept looking at Ben with a fucking want and adoration but wouldn’t just tell him what to do to help. He wanted to fucking help her, make this better for her, and she wouldn’t tell him how.
All he could do was stay, and wait, and keep finding that exact line between making Her smile and happy and heartbeat steady, and telling her he fucking loved her and having her moan into his throat while he fucked her until she was good. Ben didn’t want Her to be okay or fine, she needed to be goddamn good. Nobody deserved to be fucking good like she did. To feel as desired as Ben desired her, to have someone love them like Ben loved her. He’d do anything for her. The longer she was near him to more certain Ben became that he’d do fucking anything for her. Which was why he had to wait. He had to file away how She’d looked at him when he’d called her good and try to ignore his boner—making a poor attempt to shift it away from Her thigh—and just wait. She wanted him, Ben knew she wanted him, and now all he had to do was wait.
“I’m-“
“Music,” Ben snapped, because she wasn’t fucking apologizing to him. She’d stayed on the bed— leaning into Ben’s side with her head buried in his shoulder—and there wasn’t a single reason she needed to apologize. “Tell me about your music.”
“It’s not interesting,” Her voice was muffled against Ben’s body, breath warm on his skin. “I was just practicing. I don’t even really remember what I was singing-“
Ben knew what she’d been singing. It was one of the songs he’d tried to learn while she was gone, but had been so slow and long and tedious so he’d given the fuck up and moved onto something with a goddamn beat. And when he grunted the answer for Her, she looked up at him with narrow eyes.
“How did you know?”
“You’ve sung it before,” he muttered. “I pay attention, Sunshine-”
“And I’ve never sung that one.” She shuffled up, onto her knees, until her eyes were level with Ben’s. “Truth, Benjamin. Now.”
“That was-“
“Nope.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t.”
Ben scowled. This shouldn’t be so hard to tell Her. He’d missed her, she knew he’d missed her, and it wasn’t a big fucking deal. She might tease him, but she always teased him. And she wouldn’t figure out Ben loved her just from this. He wouldn’t lose his chance to tell Her the right way—holding her perfect face in his hands, when there was nothing to interrupt them or try to separate them, when Ben could fuck her immediately after—because there wasn’t a chance something this stupid would give him away.
“I listened to your music while you were gone.”
“Oh.”
“I missed you.” He grunted, trying to figure out if that was a confused oh, or a turned on oh, or a I’ve figured out you love me, Benjamin oh. “And I was bored as fucking balls. I listened to all your stupid songs, and that was one of them. It’s not-“
“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper, and her whole face was soft. Looking at Ben with that adoration in her eyes, tugging on his arm until his words trailed off. “I missed you too.”
“I fucking know that-“
“No,” She shook her head, hands running mindlessly up and down Ben’s skin. “I really, really missed you. And I’m-“
“Don’t say sorry,” Ben glared at her. “If you say sorry, I’ll never kiss you again.”
She scoffed. “Fuck off, Pretty Boy. We both know that’s not true.”
It was. Ben would probably die if he never kissed her again. But he wasn’t losing this argument. “You don’t want to take that bet, Sunshine.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Someone’s real fucking sure of herself-“
“Well,” She grinned, smug and perfect and Ben fucking loved her. “It’s hard not to be when I just had Soldier Boy say he listened to music because he missed me-“
“I told you not to fucking call me that,” Ben leaned forwards, letting their lips brush, savoring how her words died with the pretty flush of Her face. “And of course I missed you.” I fucking love you. “Nobody else moans my name quite like you do. Brat.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re such an asshole.”
“You fucking love it.”
She was silent, watching Ben like he was everything but with something heavy in her eyes. Mouth a small pout Ben couldn’t understand for his goddamn life. She’d looked at him like this before, and Ben never fucking understood what it meant. If it was just lust—her eyes were blown out, and Her heart was fast—or that adoration, or want or need or fucking what-
“I do,” She sighed softy, and Ben was fucking confused. “You’re a cunt, but I do.”
He grunted Her name, because she needed to stop looking at Ben like that or he’d tell her he loved her. If She kept staring at Ben with her hands warm on his arm and that small smile on her mouth that he couldn’t understand, Ben would damn any consequence or repercussion and say he loved Her.
“You didn’t have any nightmares.”
Ben blinked at Her, word dying in his throat. “What.”
“You were asleep for hours,” She tilted her head at him. “No nightmares.”
“What the fuck does that matter.”
“You said they were getting worse. I can start working on your PTSD again-“
“No.” Ben’s words were fast, firm, and rough. He hadn’t had a fucking nightmare last night, he’d slept like a goddamn baby, but She was with him, so everything was fine. And even if it wasn’t, Annie’s words kept fucking rattling around in his head. Don’t hurt her. “I’ve got a grip on it.”
“But-“
He said Her name, moving up to kiss her brow and hum words against her skin. “This isn’t your fucking problem. I’ve got it.”
“I want to help-“
“I know,” he sighed, because of course She did. Stupid fucking perfect and kind woman. “But I’ve fucking got it handled.”
She nodded slowly, rising higher on her knees until they were level once more. “Promise?”
“Swear it.”
“You’ll keep,” She swallowed. “You’ll keep sleeping in bed with me? Even with the nightmares?”
“Do you want me to.”
“Yes-“
“Then I will.” Ben shrugged, because it was that fucking simple. She wanted him here, this was where he would be. He still thought it was a dumb as shit idea—she needed to be able to always sleep peacefully, never be worried about Ben’s nightmares of blood waking her up—but he’d still stay. If all he could do was stay, he’d stay. “But you don’t get to waste time on my shell shock.”
“It’s not wasting time,” She frowned. “It helps you.”
“I’m fine, Sunshine.”
“But-“
“No.” Ben moved a hand into Her hair, stopping the frantic shake of her head. “I keep sleeping in the bed, you don’t work on the shell shock. Deal?”
She sighed. “Deal.”
Ben grinned, and kissed her once. It was long, biting her lip and running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, going until she was breathless and slack against his body. They probably had to fucking move, Ben could see the sun higher in the sky, and they both had shit to do. Soon, Butcher would start barging into their bedroom and demanding they attended the team meeting, and Ben was not going to allow that shit. This version of Her—where she molded perfectly against him and smiled at him so easily—was sacred, and Butcher wasn’t allowed to see. Nobody was allowed to see it but Ben, because she only showed it to him and he’d protect that with his goddamn life. So—in a display of restraint and sheer fucking willpower that should earn Ben some sort of medal—he pulled back. Ben gave Her one last tug of her lip between his teeth, sat in the needy sound that left her throat, and grinned down at her perfect, relaxed face. “Hungry?”
She nodded, and made a soft, heady sound that made Ben’s brain a little fucking foggy.
“Up,” he grunted, wrapping his arms around Her hauling her up his chest. “Let’s move.”
“What time-“
“Late.” He muttered. “And we need to eat before the meeting.”
“The meeting?” She frowned, arms tensing where they still rested around Ben’s neck. “What meeting?”
“Team meeting. At noon. It’s-“
“At noon?” She whacked his shoulder, and Ben tried to keep his gaze locked ahead as he stood, feeling Her glare burning into him. “Benjamin, why didn’t you fucking tell me-“
“I forgot,” he snapped. “I got fucking distracted, you’re just as much to blame-“
“Oh, fuck you.” Ben made the mistake of glaring down at Her, finding her sticking her tongue out at him and having to fight the urge to toss her back onto the bed and keep Her there forever. “I didn’t know. You did.”
“Well, if you hadn’t fucking sat on me, I wouldn’t have gotten off track and we’d have been downstairs a goddamn hour ago.”
“If you weren’t such a horny old cunt,” She grinned at him, kissing his neck and trying to fucking kill him. “You’d have been able to remember to do your job.”
“Brat.” He scowled into the air, trying to ignore how her pretty giggle rolled through his body, and she was trailing up to him jaw and driving him fucking insane. “I am doing my goddamn job, and we’re not fucking late to anything yet-”
“Yet,” She hummed. “I think you almost completely forgot. I think your memory is going-“
“My memory,” Ben found a better grip on Her body, using one arm to support her legs wrapped around his body and allowing the other to reach up and tug her face away from him, forcing Her to meet his eyes. “Is goddamn fine. You’re just a fucking needy, beautiful distraction.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching her mouth fall open and smirking at the small whine that escaped her. He wasn’t even fucking touching Her. “But next time, I’ll just ignore you. I won’t suck your pretty face, or make you feel good. Is that what you fucking want?”
He’s won. She’s scoffing and rolling her eyes, squirming out of Ben’s grip, and he’s finally won one of these stupid things with words.
“Shut up.”
“No, you fucking said I should do my job, Sunshine, so next time you climb on me, I’ll throw you off and leave-“
She shoved his chest, pulling away from Ben’s arm trying to steady her feet. “Fuck you.”
“I won’t, not it if you don’t admit-“
She pulled his head down, kissing him like he was water and she’d been lost in the desert for years. Ben understood that, because he’d nearly fucking died of starvation while she’d been gone. He hadn’t even been hungry before her, he’d felt satisfied and been completely fucking satiated, then he’d gotten her and now he’d crave her for the rest of goddamn time. She was fucking perfect, and Ben loved Her, and when she kissed him like this he had to growl against her and dive down to make Her whine so he didn’t say it. He could say it. She was kissing Ben like he was everything and maybe, if he said it now, She’d just keep going. She’d smile at him and say Benjamin, I love you too, and he’d tell Her I love you more, Sunshine. You’re so goddamn perfect, and I love you so fucking much. It’s not possible for you to love me more than I love you, because nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you. You drive me goddamn insane, and I’m going to fuck you until you get that. Got it?
Ben almost heard her response, breathless in his ear even as she moaned into his mouth. Got it. But I love you more.
The feeling was back. For a split second something flashed like lightning through Ben’s body, setting him on fire before vanishing. She pulled her mouth away and took a small step back, and all Ben could do was stare at her and bite his tongue so he didn’t say it. She’d moved away again, she wasn’t ready, and Ben couldn’t say it.
“We should get ready,” she mumbled, staring intently at Ben’s chest. Not meeting his eyes. “It’s 11:30.”
“You need to eat-“
“I’ll go get dressed,” she glanced over her shoulder, frowning at the kitchen. “And you make some food? I don’t know what we have-“
“I can do it,” Ben muttered, taking a careful step toward Her. Another when she looked up at him and didn’t move away. “Sandwich?”
She nodded. “That sounds good. Do you want your phone?”
Ben grunted in agreement, and she smiled at him.
“Thank you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
She took a small step, standing right before Ben without actually just fucking touching him. His back went straight, his whole body tensing as he waited. She’d tell him what she wanted, and this was fucking killing him but he’d let her. He wouldn’t pick her up and eat her out on the dining room table, or slam her back into the wall and make her cum on his fingers like before. He had to wait, and it was worth it. All she did was smile at him with teeth and pure goddamn joy on her face, reaching up and kissing Ben’s cheek, and Christ on a fucking cross it was worth more than anything in the world. He didn’t breathe until She pulled back, didn’t do anything but watch Her and swallow down a shout of I love you, I fucking love you, do that again because I fucking love you and it’s better than any fucking high or rush as she turned and walked back up the stairs.
Ben made Her a sandwich and coffee—stupid goddamn love was turning him into a pussy and he couldn’t even bring himself to give a fuck—and caught his phone when she reappeared over on the loft strip, leaning over the railing and chucking it at his face.
“Jesus fucking christ, woman-“
She scoffed. “Don’t be a baby, Benjamin, you caught it. You’ve got a text from Butcher.”
Ben frowned down at his phone, where William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible, 3 Messages was displaying in a small banner on his lock screen. When he looked back up She was already gone back into the bedroom—Ben could hear her shuffling around, hear drawers opening and fabrics shifting, and had to actively fight the image of her naked out of his head—so he returned his attention to his phone and read Butcher’s texts.
William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible
Mallory said she’s been cleared, so you both better be at the meeting
Ryan will meet you both in the gym after
You two twats need to stop reunion fucking long enough to get to the dining hall
Nobody had told Ben they had a gym. He’d been here for four fucking months, and not once had anyone said they had a gym. He’d have to yell at Butcher about that later though, because she was walking back down the stairs, frowning at him and glancing at the phone in his hand.
“Everything good?”
He gave a tight nod, looking Her up and down. She was dressed—that was Ben’s fucking shirt—and her fingers were tapping at her side. “What’s wrong.”
“Nothing-“
Ben said Her name flatly, narrowing his eyes and holding her gaze. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m fine, Ben.” She sighed. “Will Ryan be there? At the meeting?”
“After. We’re meeting him in the gym.” Ben frowned, hearing Her heartbeat stumble. “If you don’t want to-“
“No!” She shook her head, eyes widening. “I want to, I do. I’m just, what if he doesn’t like me? Then what?”
He loved Her. Her eyes on Ben’s were so soft and concerned and Ben fucking loved Her. He took one long step across the room, pulling her up into his chest and holding Her perfect face between his hands, kissing Her until that worried little frown vanished and was replaced by an open mouth for Ben to mutter into.
“Stop being fucking insane.”
She pushed his chest, but didn’t try to pull away. “Fucking rude-“
“I’ve already told you,” he grunted Her name, and her hands loosened on his shirt. “The Kid likes you.”
“You don’t know that-“
“I do.” Ben moved back, glaring at Her. “I’ve fucking talked to him about it, and he wouldn’t stop asking about you. Asking to meet you. He’s going to like you just fine, because he’s not a goddamn idiot.”
She swallowed. “You’ve really talked to him about me?”
Ben needed to learn when to shut the fuck up. His inability to not just tell Her everything he did and everything he thought didn’t bode well for keeping the fact that he loved her a secret. “I told you I did, and I’m not a fucking-”
“Liar pussy, I know.” She was grinning again, and her eyes were sharp, so Ben decided however she was about to fucking tease him for this was worth it. “You didn’t say what you told him.”
“I don’t remember.” That wasn’t a lie. Ben couldn’t fucking remember exactly what he’d told the Kid, because the Kid had asked a fuck ton of questions and Ben had answered all of them. He genuinely didn’t know what he had and hadn’t told the Kid. “But he already likes you. So don’t lose your damn mind worrying about it.”
“Okay.” Her voice was a whisper, and Ben kissed the top of Her head.
“You’re good.”
“I’m good.” She pulled back, tilting her head at Ben. “Did you say gym?”
“Butcher said we’re meeting the Kid there after the meeting.”
“Huh.” She frowned. “I didn’t know we had a gym.”
Ben snorted. Fucking Christ he loved Her. “They don’t tell us fucking shit, Sunshine.” He kissed the space between her eyes, light and soft and because he fucking could, and forced himself to step away. “I’m going to get changed. Eat.”
She wrinkled her perfect nose at him. “I was going to, don’t tell me what to do-“
“You like it.”
“Fuck you.”
Ben winked, starting to walk past Her to the stairs. “You’d like that as well, wouldn’t you.”
She flipped him off, stalking to the kitchen, and Ben laughed. Really, fully laughed, feeling his goddamn cheeks hurt from grinning at Her. He fucking loved Her, and he’d missed so many goddamn things about Her—Her beautiful face, her pretty smile, her big words and smart fucking mouth, the sounds she made when Ben touched her—but he’d mostly just missed Her. The way that everything was good when she was there. How Ben could laugh and it felt so fucking simple to do so, because She was there and it would be a goddamn crime to keep joy from her. The whole fucking apartment looked better with her in it. It wasn’t big, barely three fucking rooms, but Ben hadn’t even realized how hollow it had felt without her presence filling it up. Her heartbeat echoing around it, her soft cursing when she dropped something, her tapping on the surface of the table as she ate. The light leaking in through the windows was a little brighter, everything smelled like Her again, and when Ben opened the drawers of their dresser Her clothes had moved. Because she was home to move them.
Ben changed fast, and managed to get downstairs right before the clock hit noon. She was waiting for him at the door, arms crossed, glaring at him as he walked to meet her.
“We’re going to be late, Benjamin.”
“What the hell are you talking about, it’s noon right now-“
“The meeting is at noon, dummy.” She linked Her arm through Ben’s, tugging him into the hall. “We’re supposed to be there already.”
“They can’t fucking start without us-“
“Exactly,” she gave him a flat look over her shoulder. “So walk faster, Pretty Boy. And you’re taking all the blame when we get there.”
Ben’s glower and eye roll was a complete fucking performance. She was touching him and talking to him, so he’d do whatever she told him to. He’d take the blame—Mallory could suck his fucking dick if they got shit for being five minutes late—and if She was really upset about being late, Ben would make it up to her later. He’d steal her some chocolate, or watch a movie with her, or tell her about all the shows he’d watched while she’d been gone until she smiled at him. Then he’d eat her face until she moaned. He’d probably do all of that shit anyway, but she never needed to know that.
Everyone was waiting for them, giving them varying levels of dirty looks when they walked into the dining hall. Mallory seemed to be the only one truly pissed, because MM’s glower was probably about respecting people’s motherfucking time and Butcher’s was lined with a smug amusement at Ben being pulled behind Her like a fucking dog. A-Train looked nervous—Ben was a little fucking shocked he was even here—and The French Prick, Kimiko, Annie, and Hughie just looked happy to see Her. Everyone should always be happy to see Her, so Ben wasn’t going to award them any points for that. He would appreciate Kimiko standing up and crossing the room, though, signing shit Ben didn’t understand that made her smile. Point against Kimiko, She had to fucking let go of Ben to respond. Point back to Kimiko, they hugged. Without hesitation, Kimiko hugged Her, and that was what made Ben give the woman a small nod when they pulled apart.
“Look who finally managed to pull his bloody dick out-“
“Butcher,” Annie sighed. “Can you save the sex stuff for after the meeting? Please?”
Butcher looked like he was going to argue, but Mallory snapped over him.
“We’re working, William. Save the personal talk for your own time.”
“We fuckin live here,” Butcher muttered. “Ain’t no difference between our work hours and personal hours.”
“Well this is work,” Mallory’s glare turned to Her and Ben. “And I expect professionalism.”
Ben scowled, slinging his arm over Her shoulders as they walked to the table. “We’re not fucking in front of you, so shove it up your damn ass, lady.”
“You’re late-“
“By five damn minutes,” Ben snapped, dropping on the end of the bench, keeping her at his side. Fighting the instinct to hide Her from Mallory’s tight lips and angry eyes, because she’d want to handle herself and Ben wasn’t interested in her kicking his ass right now. “We’re not delaying fucking shit anymore, that’s all you.”
Mallory looked them up and down, eyes narrowing. “Next time, I expect you both to be five minutes early.”
Ben shrugged. “Make this worth our fucking time.”
“Mallory,” She injected, and Ben looked down to find her leaning forward, elbows on the table. “We’re sorry, but can we please just get started?”
“Fine.” Mallory crossed her arms, shooting Ben one last sneering glare. “We’ll start with new developments. Campbell, updates on the V?”
“Um,” Hughie glanced around the table. “There aren’t any. I’ve been going through all the shell companies, but half of them were dissolved. Two weeks ago, actually.”
“What about the offshore accounts?” A-Train frowned. “I gave a shit ton of them, Hughie, you should’ve been able to find something.”
“No, I shouldn’t have.” Hughie was actually glaring. Ben had never seen him glare. He looked like a damn angry mouse. “All of them were emptied into the shell companies, then the shell companies were dissolved.”
MM ran a hand over his beard, shaking his head. “That money didn’t just fucking vanish, Hughie. They put it somewhere.”
“I know, I just can’t find where-“
“Keep at it, Lad, you’ll come through.” Ben gave Hughie a nod, and Hughie leaned back with a sad look at Annie. “MM, any progress on Sacramento?”
“I reached out to my contact at the FDA, but they said that the port worked with pasteurized produce, not narcotics.”
“That was the cover,” A-Train muttered. “We were supposed to keep it off the feds radar. There’s V there, I swear-“
Butcher scoffed. “Just like you bloody swore ‘bout Atlanta?”
“Sage must have gotten there first-“
Ben felt a tug at his arm, and looked down to find Her frowning up at him. What’s going on?
We’ve been looking for the V. A-Train gave us a long as fuck list of locations and shit, but none of them worked.
She nodded slowly. What about the FDA? Or Military?
Ben blinked at Her. What.
After everyone found out about V, didn’t the government confiscate like, a shit ton of it?
I don’t fucking know, I was in Russia.
And I was underground. She gave Ben a flat look. I read about it, Pretty Boy. You could’ve as well.
Why would I read when I can just have you tell me everything? He winked, and She stuck her tongue out at him.
Cunt.
Brat. Ben glanced up, and everyone was still fucking talking about Atlanta. Tell them about the FDA.
She gave a small shake of her head. I don’t think Mallory will like it.
Mallory can go fuck herself with the stick up her ass. Tell them.
She sighed, and raised Her hand. When nobody noticed, Ben gave an aggressive cough that turned everyone’s eyes to them.
“What the fuck was that, are you sick-“
“I can’t get sick, dumb-fuck.” Ben cut MM off with a glare. “We’ve got an idea.”
“We?” She elbowed Ben’s ribs. “Who’s we, Benjamin?”
Ben scowled, and She just grinned at him. “Fucking Christ, she has a plan.”
“Well will you cunts stop bloody eye-fuckin and tell us?”
“We weren’t eye fucking Butcher. And it’s,” She sighed, fingers tapping on the table. “I’m not sure about it.”
“It’s better than nothing,” MM sighed Her name. “What do you got.”
“When I got out, I read about the V scandal.” She frowned, and Ben knew she was thinking, picking out all the right words to convince them. “I also read that a large amount of V was confiscated by the FDA, and the Department of Defense was granted a warrant by Congress to take some for ‘studies’,” She made small air quotes, looking around the table. “Sage probably has people in the Pentagon, but it would be harder for her to make V that’s under federal control vanish.”
“What, exactly, are you implying?” Mallory’s voice was cold, and She swallowed.
“MM has a contact at the FDA. We could ask if they still have any V.” She sighed. “Or we could meet with Singer? He kind of owes us, after Nueman-“
“The President doesn’t owe you anything.” Mallory snapped, and Ben’s vision went a little red as She gave a small nod. “Vought has international locations, it’s unlikely Sage has been able to flush all of them out-“
“This isn’t a horrible idea, Grace.” MM was watching Her, brows knit. “It’s a sure fucking bet, and a hell of a lot safer than raiding a Vought warehouse. I can reach out again, see what they’ve got for us.“
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask Singer either,” Annie added, nodding slowly. “Worst he says is no, right?”
Mallory’s lips somehow got fucking thinner. “We are not wasting his time-“
“It ain’t wastin’ time if he’s got what we’re fuckin lookin for.” Butcher drawled. “And if he do, we’ll all take turns suckin him off as a thank you.”
Hughie blinked. “I, uh, I don’t want to do that-“
“I’m not sucking anyone off, Butcher, you can shove that right up your ass-“
“Bloody hell,” Butcher rolled his eyes, cutting MM and Hughie off. “Frenchie will, then.”
The French Prick shrugged. “For America, of course.”
“Me and you, Mate, are the only cunts committed to the safety of this bleedin country, and we ain’t even citizens-“
“Butcher,” Annie sighed. “On topic, please.”
“Fuckin party pooper, ain’t you Starlight.” Annie’s scowl deepened as Butcher turned away. “MM, reach out to the FDA again. Grace, it ain’t gonna kill Singer or destroy America for him to meet with us for a bloody hour.”
“William-“
“If you don’t, I will.” Butcher’s eyes narrowed at Mallory. “I’ll even send Soldier Boy ‘ere to drag ‘im by the ear. We’re runnin out of options, now ain’t the time to be picky.”
Ben didn’t even bother to tell Butcher to shove it up his ass and stop giving orders. He would drag Singer by the ear, what the fuck could that pussy do to him anyway?
Mallory scowled, looking around the table and seeing the determined, set faces all siding with Her plan. Apparently Ben wasn’t surrounded by complete fucking idiots.
“Fine. Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda,” Mallory’s gaze rested on Her, saying Her name in a clipped voice. “Have you checked the news today?”
“No,” She mumbled, fingers tapping faster. “But I don’t have a phone to check it with.”
Mallory frowned, but gave a tight nod. “In that case, I recommend you pay attention. Marvin?”
MM leaned forward. Giving Her an apologetic look that made Ben’s skin crawl.
“Homelander gave an address.”
Her heart picked up, and her hand shot up to Ben’s arm around her shoulders, smoke rising against his skin. “What,” Ben pressed his thigh to hers, and she took a steadying breath. “What did he say?”
“I’m not fucking sure how to-“ MM cut himself off, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the table with a sigh. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself.”
It was a news article. A video playing of Homelander behind a podium with a sad, weak fucking pussy expression as he addressed the camera. Sage was standing behind him, with her face neutral and bored. The audio was off, but Ben didn’t even really fucking notice it. He read the headline above the video, and clenched his jaw so hard his teeth might have shattered.
Homelander Accuses CIA of Kidnapping Fiancée, Anomaly
Ben read the word once. Twice. A third time just to certain he wasn’t going fucking insane. Fiancée. Homelander’s Fiancée.
“What the fuck is this.” He growled, not addressing anyone in particular. Pulling Her further into his side, running his fingers in small circles on the skin of her shoulder as her heart picked up faster and faster. Her breathing was mechanical, and it was making Ben cold. She looked so fucking afraid and Ben’s whole body was cold. He felt fucking sick, and between Her every breath he could almost hear her voice going no. No, no, no. “Someone better start talking, right goddamn now-“
“It’s Sage’s move,” She whispered, staring at the table and shaking her head. “She’s giving herself jus ad bellum. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming.”
Hughie frowned. “Pretend that some of us don’t know what jus ad bellum is-”
“Right of war,” MM muttered. “Justification for further escalation. But how the hell would you have seen this shit coming?” MM said Her name, nodding at the screen. “It’s an insane gamble, even for Sage-“
“No, it’s not.” She looked up slowly, taking a long, unsteady breath that made Ben’s heart move into his throat. “It’s what she’s been planning. She knew I’d escape-”
“How?” Hughie leaned around Annie to look at Her, titling his head. “Sorry, I mean, how could she have known? Wouldn’t she have tried to stop you-”
“No, that sounds like Sage,” A-Train shook his head with a sigh. “That bitch plays 4-D chess, you won’t understand why she does something until it’s too late and it’s paid off for her.”
She nodded. “She told me a week ago I was going to propose to Homelander on TV, as a surprise. And if I didn’t, She’d-” Her eyes flicked up to Ben, and she swallowed. “Hurt people. She knew I wouldn’t, she knew I’d escape. I think I surprised her by telling Homelander I was going to marry him, though-“
Butcher gaped at Her, voicing Ben’s almost exact thoughts. “You fuckin what-“
“I needed him away from Vought. It worked, and it might be the only thing Sage didn’t anticipate. She probably thought I’d just run, and Homelander would give up on me.”
“No more hang ups,” MM muttered. “No more dealing with his obsession and erratic outbursts about you.”
“Exactly.” She swallowed. “But I told him I’d marry him, and now he probably just thinks I was taken from him again. So her move is to back us into a corner. We say I left of my own volition, and we’re ignoring the gravity of the situation. We admit I’m here, it’s because you took me.”
“What if we just ignore it?” Annie’s suggestion was hesitant. She didn’t even fucking believe in it herself. “Don’t even respond-“
“We have to respond,” She gave Annie a small, sad smile. “I’m too important to this now. I made myself important, and Sage doubled down on that. If the CIA doesn’t put out some sort of statement, Sage will say silence is complicity.”
“You got any ideas?” MM glanced at Ben, giving him a small nod. “Soldier Boy said you were working on something-“
“I was,” She whispered. “But I didn’t plan for this. I don’t-“
“We’ll figure it out,” Ben grunted, unable to stand the slightly strangled sound of Her words. “They haven’t fucking won, Sunshine, we’ll figure it out.”
She nodded, and when she leaned into his side Ben didn’t feel quite as cold anymore. “I know. I mean, I could try to distance myself-“
“That ain’t gonna fuckin work, Love.” Butcher muttered. “You’re America’s bloody Valentine, don’t matter what you say or do.”
“Butcher’s right,” Annie gestured between herself, A-Train, and—after a moment of hesitation—Ben. “We all know, these things get away from you. You’re more of a symbol, whatever people want to hear, they will.”
“What if,” She was chewing on her cheek, frowning ahead at nothing, and Ben knew she was about to say something fucking insane. “Everyone keeping in mind that there are no bad ideas in brainstorming, what if I kill myself?”
Fucking Christ.
“I think,” Hughie swallowed. “I think there might be bad ideas in brainstorming.”
“Just, listen-“
“No,” Ben snapped, trying to ignore the drums sounding far away. “Shut the fuck up, you’re not doing that.”
“I wouldn’t actually kill myself, Ben.” She leaned forwards, starting to talk far too fucking fast for how Ben’s heart was still pounding in his ears. “I mean, I can’t. But I need to be out of the picture, and this way you can say Homelander drove me to it-“ She cut herself off, frowning at nothing. “No. Wait.”
The room was silent, and Ben could fucking hear Her thinking. Hear her brain running through scenarios, her voice in his head going Sage will twist that. Say it’s a CIA cover up. It needs to be something she can twist, but not well. Not a red herring for our intentions or where I might be, but a placeholder. Make it static, make it ready for when we need it. Any attacks need to be easily deniable, implied, unactionable. Any response from Vought has to be suspicious, otherwise we’re just exposed. And I can’t be dead. That was stupid. If I’m dead, I’m too far removed, and it’s permanent. But I still can’t be here, that’s too easy for Sage to say I’m being held hostage. It won’t matter what I say myself, Annie’s right about that, so I need to be-
“I’m missing,” She said, and Ben blinked. That was aloud. “I’m just missing. Nobody knows where I am, and I’m certainly not here. The CIA is working to recover me, but you don’t have any leads. I left New York, and I’m missing, and,” she paused, tilting her head. “You’re praying for my safety.”
Mallory frowned. “Is that all you have? Just push the problem away-”
“No,” She was smiling, and it was manic and feral and a little fucking hot. A lot fucking hot. She had an idea, and it was one Ben could probably get behind, and she was fucking hot. “In the statement, say you’re not sure what happened, that it’s truly just a bipartisan tragedy, and mention that you’re not sure how it all got away from Vought. No matter what, I was in their care. That’s two people who Homelander cares about, Ryan Butcher and I, who have just vanished. You can’t say it’s because Homelander hurt me, but you can allude to it. You can say it’s so heartbreaking that I disappeared right after we got engaged. How odd.”
“It’s a non action,” MM nodded, watching Her carefully. “Walk the line. Keep Homelander going full fucking human genocide, dwindle supporters, bide time.”
She nodded. “Exactly. The CIA can’t be on the record with the rest, people won’t trust it.”
“The rest?” Butcher narrowed his eyes, looking between Her and Ben, as if Ben had a fucking clue what she was talking about. “There ain’t much more-“
“There’s more,” She took a deep breath, smile wavering slightly and falling into a determined, set look. “It’s time to tell the truth.”
“What fuckin’ truth.”
“About me,” She swallowed. “The truth about me. A few hours after the CIA’s statement, Annie’s going to tell the truth about me. And exposé on Vought, out of necessity. That I didn’t want people to know, but now I’m missing and people need to be aware.”
“How much of the truth?” Hughie rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head at nothing. “Like, what you’ve been doing with us? Or-“
“All of it,” She mumbled. “My real identity. What Homelander did. All my powers, how I broke out, how I’ve been working with you guys, with Ben, how Homelander took me. All of it.”
“Why not have the CIA make these accusations?” The French Prick frowned. “Make them official, or believable.”
“They need to be unofficial. We can’t incite legal action, there’s no telling what Homelander will do.” She sighed. “People will either go all in on the Homelander train, or finally realize what he is. His more powerful supporters, senators and representative and military officials, will want to distance themselves. It will slow him down from government power, and Sage will latch onto this. She’ll point out how there’s not any evidence, because technically it’s just speculation and I’m not here to testify. But it has to be the whole truth. And it has to be Annie.” She gave Annie an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”
“I’m okay with it,” Annie shook her head, giving Her a nervous look. “Are you? It’s going to be a lot-“
“I know. I’m ready.”
She was fucking lying. Ben knew she was fucking lying. Her voice was too steady, she was half on-top of him, and all her movements were mechanical. The picture perfect image of someone who was okay, the one she presented right before she collapsed, screaming in Ben’s arms.
He didn’t get a chance to call Her fucking shit, though, because behind them the dining hall door creaked open and half the table jumped up with their guns pointed at the intruder, Ben taking a large step to block Her from view.
The Kid yelped. “It’s just me! It’s Ryan Butcher! Don’t shoot!”
“Blood hell, Ryan,” Butcher glared at the Kid as everyone’s guns lowered, Ben not missing Mallory’s glower at him as he tucked his own back into his pants. “I told you to fuckin wait-“
“It’s 1:30,” the Kid mumbled, glancing at Ben. “They were supposed to meet me at 1:15, I just got nervous-“
Butcher frowned. “I told you they’d be there at 1:45.”
The Kid shook his head. “1:15. It’s okay, I can wait, I just wanted to make sure nobody had, um, forgotten.”
Ben felt bad. He hadn’t fucking done anything, but the Kid looked so fucking sad and now Ben felt like a piece of shit. It didn’t help when She bumped his arm, and he turned to find Her watching him with pretty, hopeful fucking eyes.
Can we go now, Ben? The meeting’s kind of over, and Ryan’s already here. We don’t even know where the gym is, and he can show us.
It was fucking amusing she was phasing it as a question. If she’d said Ben, we’re going now, it would have had the exact same goddamn effect. They were going, now.
“Wait outside, Kid, we’ll be there.” Ben looked up, glaring around the table. “Anyone got a fucking problem with that?”
“This meeting is not over-“
“Yeah, it is.” Ben snapped, holding Mallory’s glare. “You’ve got a plan, we’re done.”
Malloy crossed her arms. “I still have yet to receive a debrief about Vought Tower-”
“I don’t have much to say about it, Mallory,” She mumbled, sounding fucking guilty. “I mean, I was a hostage. You don’t tell hostage’s your evil plans for world domination.”
“Is that her?” The Kid piped up, still at the door, not in the hall like Ben had defiantly fucking ordered him to be. Looking at Ben with a small, nervous expression and wide eyes. “She’s still coming with us, right?”
“Yes,” Ben pointed at the door. “Hall.”
She was moving behind him. Ben could hear the scrape of the bench and the slight pick up of Her heart that meant she was standing up, and when he turned she was glaring up at him, pressed between his body and the table.
“Move, Benjamin.”
He scowled at Her, but couldn’t find a reason to even justify to himself keeping her hidden—The Kid wouldn’t hurt her, and moving himself over her had been more instinct than anything—and stepped to the side.
Ben was certain the Kid was going to like Her. She was perfect, everyone should like her, and people who didn’t were shit-headed dumb fucks. The Kid wasn’t a shit-headed dumb fuck. He was a fucking nerd, and talked all polite, but so did She. The Kid would like Her, and it didn’t really fucking matter if he didn’t because nothing was riding on this. Ben alone loved her enough to power the Eastern Seaboard, one random child not understanding how fucking amazing She was wouldn’t do any harm to anything. But Ben still felt something taut in his throat and around his lungs. It mattered to Her. Ben could feel Her hand warming up on his arm—starting to sear and smoke against his skin—and this felt like it mattered. She’d given her whole fucking life for the Kid, and Ben seemed to have somehow found himself important to the Kid’s life, and this might matter.
They were just fucking staring at each other. Everyone else was staring at them—even Mallory had dropped any protests—and this did matter. These two people needed to like each other. She needed to walk away from this with clear eyes and an easy smile, and the Kid needed to understand that She’d scarified to make him safe and—if Ben knew her, which he fucking did, better than anyone—would probably do it again. Then they’d both stop apologizing for their fucking existence, and whatever was choking Ben and tightening his fists would die a sad, withering death. If they didn’t start fucking moving, Ben was going to pick Her up and carry her over-
“Hi,” Her voice wasn’t a whisper, but it was quiet, gentle, unsteady. That was Her for once I don’t know what to say voice. “It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Ryan, I’m-“
She’d barely said her own name before the Kid was running across the room, slamming her into a tight hug. She froze, face slightly panicked—everyone in the room tensing but not launching forward to pull them apart—but when she looked down at the Kid it shifted. Became almost disbelieving, mouth parting into a small smile, eyes growing soft.
Whatever she was feeling from the Kid, whatever was making her so relaxed, was good. She hugged the Kid back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding tight, and she squeezed the Kid once in a way that Ben knew meant reassurance. The Kid liked Her—Ben had fucking known it, and now he’d get to rub that in her perfect face later—and she looked like she might cry. If she did start crying, Ben was going to have to push the rest of the team out of the dining hall so she could do it in peace. He wasn’t even sure why they were still fucking here, this was for Her and the Kid.
Butcher coughed, and Ben was going to rip out his throat. “Ryan, try not to crush the lady. She ain’t made of steel.”
“I’m fine,” She mumbled, shooting Butcher a glare over her shoulder. “And I’d live if he did.”
The Kid pulled back, looking up at Her with an admiration that Ben understood. She was admirable, she was fucking amazing.
“I, I won’t hurt you?”
“You can’t,” She shrugged, not peeling herself from the hug. “I have a regenerative healing factor.” She looked up, frowning at the group. “Did nobody tell you that?”
“They did!” The Kid shook his head, still watching Her. “But you’re not invulnerable-“
“No, but I’d live.”
The Kid nodded slowly. “Do you still feel pain?”
“Yeah,” She sighed. “I do. But you can’t control your strength, and I’d be okay.” She gave the Kid a smile, easy and content and real, and Ben fucking loved Her. She was so fucking kind and good. “It’s really nice to meet you, Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Me too,” the Kid was smiling back, because when She smiled you’d have to be fucking insane not to smile back. “I mean, I’ve also heard about you.”
“We all have,” Butcher grumbled, still watching Her and the Kid with careful eyes. “Soldier Boy wouldn’t shut his fuckin’ cake-hole-”
“Butcher,” MM sighed. “Don’t be a bitter motherfucker and ruin the nice moment.”
Butcher rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth. Smart move, because Ben was about to rip out his fucking tongue.
“What,” the Kid looked nervous, and Ben was starting to worry he might crush Her. “What have you heard about me?”
She huffed a small laugh. “A lot. Butcher over there’s a fucking hypocrite, because the first three months I knew him it was just Ryan’s a good kid. Smart kid. Bloody good kid.”
Ben had to cough to cover a snort, and Butcher scowled.
“That ain’t my fuckin’ voice-“
The Kid leaned around Her. “Did you really call me a good kid?”
Butcher shot Her a glare, and she returned it with a sickly sweet smile. “Yes.”
The Kid pulled away from Her, and walked over to give Butcher a hug. An awkward, tight hug that made Butcher freeze before returning it. “Thank you.”
“You’re like your mother, Ryan.” Butcher grunted. “Course you’re a good kid.”
She was smiling at them, and Ben fucking loved Her. He had to turn the words into walking back to her side and slinging his arm over her shoulder, kissing the top of her head and grinning at her when she smiled up at him. Fucking perfect. The whole world was better when she was here, because the Kid had been with them for months and Ben hadn’t actually seen him and Butcher hug. But she made everything good, because she was a goddamn miracle worker. She was a miracle herself, and Ben fucking loved Her.
“You got some trainin’ to do with Soldier Boy, Ryan.” Butcher was giving the Kid tense pat on the back, but not trying to pull back. “Better get started.”
“William-“
“Stuff it, Grace. It ain’t like they’re all gonna fuckin vanish, like I said we live here. Just go knock on the horny cunt’s doors later.”
“It’s okay,” the Kid pulled back, frowning. “I can wait if you have work to do-“
“We don’t,” Ben snapped, glaring at Mallory in a silent challenge, pulling Her closer into his side. “We’re fucking done with this shit, let’s go.”
The Kid looked at Butcher, who nodded, then Her. “Are you coming with us?”
“For a little bit, sure,” She glanced at Ben, and he gave a tight nod. Of course She was fucking coming with them, if it was up to Ben she’d go everywhere with him. “I might have to leave early, to help Annie with some stuff, but I can sit in on the start.”
Annie shrugged. “We won’t need you for the, uh,” she glanced at the Kid. “Thing. But if you want-“
“No, I need to be there. It needs to all be accurate, Sage will exploit any fallacies. Just text-“ She cut herself off with a sigh. “Ben, I guess. And I’ll head back here.”
“We’ll get you a new phone,” Hughie said Her name, giving her a reassuring smile. “They’re not that expensive, and you need one. I can work on that.”
Butcher frowned. “You worry about the V, Lad. Frenchie-“
“I will take care of it, petite Hughie. I can even find a discount from my suppliers.”
She blinked at the French Prick. “Frenchie, please don’t get me a crime phone.”
The French Prick shrugged. “Beggars cannot be choosers-“ Kimiko whacked his arm and signed something that made the French Prick sigh. “Fine. I will not get a crime phone.”
“Thank you.” She glanced around the group, then up at Ben. “Ready?”
Ben nodded, looking at the Kid. “Let’s fucking move, Buddy.”
The Kid started to walk over to them, and Ben felt Her elbow his side. When he frowned down at Her, she was grinning.
Buddy?
Ben rolled his eyes. What the fuck is wrong with calling him buddy.
Call him his name, Benjamin.
Why.
Because you shouldn’t call real people buddy. I call bad drivers buddy. I call my brother buddy.
Your brother is a real fucking person.
She shrugged. But I also call him by his name. Buddy is what I say when I’m doing an impression of a 1920s Chicago mobsters, not talking to someone.
Ben scoffed. Well your impressions are fucking terrible.
I’m sorry you can’t appreciate my talent, Pretty Boy.
I can appreciate a lot of shit about you, Sunshine. Ben winked at Her. And you’ve got a fuck ton of talent. Your impressions are still horrible.
She wrinkled her nose at him. Rude.
Yep. Ben kissed the top of Her head, turning as Ryan stopped in front of them, looking him up and down. “You think you can move in jeans?”
He frowned. “Yes?”
“Then let’s get a fucking move on.”
They gave a few nods to the team before leaving—Mallory still looking like a sour bitch—and Ryan led the way to the gym. This place was a lot fucking bigger than Ben had thought, but exploring hadn’t really been high on his priority list. Later—if the amazed expression on Her face as they walked through the halls was any clue—She’d probably pull them around to see every damn inch of this place, and Ben would gladly follow her. As long as She kept looking so fucking relaxed like she did now, a step ahead of Ben, walking at Ryan’s side.
“Do you like biology?” Ryan had been asking Her question after question, She’d been answering them all in the same genuine, serious tone—no matter how fucking stupid they were—and Ben had been watching, biting his tongue until he drew blood so he didn’t accidentally yell that he loved Her.
“I think it’s interesting,” She shrugged. “But I’m not great at science. I’m passible at it, but it’s never been something I excel at.”
Ben rolled his eyes at nothing, because she was fucking good at science. Her benchmark of passible was just way too damn high, because she was genius.
“You can do biology manipulation, right?” Ryan’s voice was almost goddamn bouncy. “That’s one of your powers?”
“I’m not sure,” Ben could hear the thoughtful frown on Her face. “It’s a working theory, but I’ve never really had my powers fully assessed. I didn’t even really know how to use them properly until a few months ago.”
Ben tried not to be too fucking proud of that. How She gave him a small smile over her shoulder at the words, how she was better at talking about and using her powers because of Ben. He’d done that for her. He’d made Her happy and comfortable, and now that was permanent.
Ryan followed Her gaze at Ben. “Did Soldier Boy teach you too?”
“Teach me as well-“ She stopped in her tracks, and Ben nearly slammed into her back.
“Goddamnit-“ Ben started to grunt out Her name, but she whipped around with a glare at Ben that told him he was in trouble. He hadn’t even fucking done anything-
“Why is he calling you Soldier Boy?”
Ben swallowed, glancing at a wide-eyed Ryan. “I don’t fucking know-“
“Don’t get mad at him, it’s what everyone calls him-“
She raised a hand, and Ryan cut himself off, giving Ben a nervous look.
“Benjamin.” Her eyes were narrowed at him, her voice smooth and firm, and fuck She was hot. Ben probably shouldn’t want to pick her up and fuck her against the wall as much as he did right now, but Christ she was so perfect, even when she looked like she was going to kill him. What did you promise me.
He frowned. I have been fucking nice to him. A name isn’t a big deal.
Yes, it is. She glanced at Ryan, then back at Ben. He doesn’t really have anyone, Ben. He has you and Butcher. Soldier Boy isn’t you, it’s the guy who tried to kill him.
He’s forgiven me for that, Sunshine. And what the hell else is he supposed to call me, because he’s sure as shit not using grandpa.
She gave him a small smile. He could call you your name?
Ben scowled. Smartass.
She’s won, and she knows it, because Her smile grows into a wide grin. Thank you.
Shut the fuck up. Ben turned back to Ryan, who was looking between them with wide eyes. “Fine.”
“Um-“
“You can call me Ben, kid. That’s it.”
Ryan nodded slowly, his facing turning a little brighter as he looked up at Her with nervous smile that she returned—less nervous, more encouraging—and Ben was going to fucking lose his mind.
When they arrived at the gym—a full fucking gym, Ben was going to yell at Butcher and Hughie later about a pamphlet or fucking something to tell people how big this place was—Ryan led them over to a large mat, and She grabbed Ben’s phone from his pocket and dropped near the wall with her legs crossed.
“Are you not,” Ryan glanced between them. “Are you not training with us?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “My powers are a little, um, different. My training is different.”
“But you said-“
“I did train her,” Ben grunted, walking over to Her to hand her the rest of the shit in his pockets. “It’s not the same as what we’re going to do.”
She leaned around Ben’s legs as she talked to Ryan. “I’m not strong like you and Ben. When I punch someone it’s really not that effective.”
“Fuck ton more effective than when we started,” Ben muttered, and she stuck Her tongue out at him.
“It’s your fire, right?” Ryan asked, and Ben could hear him shifting on his feet. “That you use to fight?”
She nodded, tilting her head. “What do you know about my powers?”
“Um, fire?” Ryan mumbled. “You said you can heal, like Kimiko. Right?”
“Kind of like Kimiko,” She hummed. “But Kimiko still ages. I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Ben and I,” She patted Ben’s leg, leaning forward to hang off his body, and Ben had to remind himself job. Job to do. Kid in the room and job to do. “Have the same V. Old V, more unstable, makes you immortal. That’s why he’s an ancient grumpy fuck that looks like that.”
“That?” Ben scowled at Her. “What the fuck is that?”
She grinned at him. “A Pretty Boy.”
He rolled his eyes. Brat.
Ryan coughed, and Her gaze returned to behind Ben. “You have that V because of my dad, right?”
His voice was so fucking sad. Weak and sad and nervous, and Ben didn’t know how to handle it.
She did. She was fucking perfect, so she did. She was watching Ryan carefully, words gentle. Honest and clear, but gentle. “Yes. I do. But don’t blame yourself. Homelander did it, not you,”
“But he’s my dad-“
“But you didn’t do anything.” She squeezed Ben’s leg, and his hand dropped to run through her hair. Let her handle this, never let her think she’s alone. “You aren’t responsible for his actions.”
“I’m still sorry-“
“It’s not your fault, Ryan.” Her voice was gentle, even as her nails dug into Ben’s calf. “None of this is your fault. Homelander deserves the blame, don’t take it for him.”
Ryan made a small sound, and Ben glanced back to see him looking at his feet. “I still feel bad.”
“I know,” She was smiling that soft, sad smile that meant she was being kind and forgiving and good. “Trust me, I know. But it’s not your fault.”
Ben gently tugged on Her hair, just enough for her attention to turn up to him.
What?
You should take your own fucking advice, Sunshine.
She wrinkled Her nose at him. Fuck you.
Ben grinned, and didn’t even bother to tell Her I would like to. As soon as you say the word, before it’s even out of your pretty fucking mouth, I’m carrying you home and fucking you until you scream. I’m going to fucking worship you, beautiful. Fucking ruin you. You’re going to beg and whine and moan and cum, and I’m going to fuck you until you’re dizzy. You’re going to smile at me, and I’m going to fucking cum from it, and we’re not going to leave the bed for a hundred years. I love you, and you’re going to goddamn get that when I fuck you the way you deserve. All he did—right now, when she wasn’t ready and didn’t know he loved her, when Ryan was still in the room with them—was lean over and pull her up to Her knees and kiss her, sloppy and deep. Going until she made a small sound only Ben could hear, and he drew back up to his full height.
She stared at Ben with a slack expression, and even Her glare of Cunt sounded breathless.
Ben winked. Brat. And turned back to Ryan, walking to meet him on the mat. “Let's get started, Kid. Show me what you’ve got.”
Ryan was fucking strong. It barely took ten minutes for Ben to understand that Ryan was strong. Not quite as strong as Homelander or Ben himself, but with a little practice, he could be. Fuck, with maybe five years of solid, consistent work Ryan would fly past both of them. They started by just trying to find the limit, but ran out of weights and started adding equipment from around the gym. Eventually, at about 85 tons, Ryan looked a little nervous and they moved on. He had to control it, and Ben was sure not to pussyfoot around the fact that Ryan’s strength was dangerous, real dangerous, but controllable.
“Do you think I’ll be able to?” Ryan was fidgeting with his hands, looking nervously between Her and Ben. “I’m not sure-“
“You will.” Ben snapped. “That’s what my fucking job is. You do yours and listen- Fuck!”
She’d thrown a plastic bottle at his head. Ben didn’t even fucking know where She’d gotten a plastic bottle, but while he and Ryan had been testing Ryan’s limit she’d wandered the gym, and Ben wouldn’t put it past certain fucking members of their team not to clean up after themselves.
“It’ll take time,” She didn’t even look at Ben as he glared at her, flipping him off behind Her back where Ryan couldn’t see. “But you will, Ryan. You’ll get there.”
Ben scowled. “That’s exactly what I said-“
“I was being encouraging.” She wrinkled her nose at him “You were being a grump.”
Ben just scoffed, and returned his attention to Ryan as she sat back against the wall, fingers tapping on the back of Ben’s phone. It was only a half hour later the screen lit up with a buzz, and She was called away. Ryan gave Her another tight hug, and Ben kissed the space between her eyes, muttering against her skin.
“You don’t fucking have to go. Annie knows everything.”
She sighed. “I do, Ben. This has to be done right. I’ll be okay.”
Ben didn’t believe Her. She didn’t believe her. Her hands were curled against his chest, and her heart was unsteady and stumbling, and Ben knew she was nervous. “Just stay the hell here-“
“No,” She pulled back, reaching up to give Ben one last, light kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, Pretty Boy. Play nice.”
He wanted to tug Her back. There was something hollow forming in her eyes when she pulled away from him, and Ben wanted to just yell I love you. I know you’re going to do this no matter what I tell you, because you never fucking listen go me, so just do it knowing I love you.
But she was gone, and Ben was left alone with Ryan, starting to feel fucking sick. Love was making him a desperate, whining pussy who felt nauseous when She was gone. And he still didn’t fucking care.
“I forgot to say thank you,” Ryan mumbled, and Ben frowned at him. “I meant to tell her thank you for getting me out-“
“She knows,” Ben grunted. “Trust me, she fucking knows.”
“Do you think she liked me?”
Ben snorted. “Yes. And she’s not fucking gone, she’s still on this same damn floor.” Those words were more for him. Ben trying to convince himself that she was barely a three minute walk away. That he was feeling worse and worse by the second, that something was sitting like a weight on his chest the longer she was gone, but if he was really that fucking pathetic without Her he could just go find her. She wasn’t gone, and she was fine.
They kept training. Ben tested Ryan’s grip strength, trying to see what could and couldn’t be crushed by accident in a hand, and made a note to tell MM they needed metal cups. Kimiko and Annie would sure as fuck appreciate it as well, and it would be a good placeholder until Ryan was better at controlling himself. From there Ben dragged out some mock targets—boxing bags that he drew large X’s on—and they worked on heat vision. Using it at will, trying not make the bags just immediately fucking explode.
And Ben still felt fucking sick. It was still getting worse and worse as the afternoon crept on, until suddenly it was gone. Fully vanished into thin air around dinner time, right when he and Ryan were wrapping up.
“Solid work, kid.” Ben muttered, giving up almost immediately on trying to rearrange and clean up the gym. MM would have a grand fucking time doing it himself later, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being told he’d done it wrong. “Here, next week, same time.”
“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled, and Ben nodded, picking his phone up off the floor. “Ben?”
He grunted, frowning up at Ryan’s nervous expression and waiting for him to continue.
“Are you going to dinner?”
“Maybe.” Ben sighed. “We’ve got some shit to deal with, but we’ll try.”
“We?” Ryan said Her name, watching Ben carefully. “Um, she’ll be there too?”
“As well,” Ben muttered, smiling to himself. “And if I’m there, yeah. She will be.”
Ryan nodded, and didn’t push further. They walked in silence back to the dining hall—which was fucking empty—and continued until they reached Butcher’s apartment. Ben knocked, loud in case Butcher tried to fucking ignore it, and the door opened almost immediately.
“Oi, Gov, ain’t not reason to fuckin break it.”
Ben scowled. “Looks fine to me. We’re done.”
Butcher turned to Ryan. “Good session? Worth bloody houndin me about?”
Ryan nodded, eager and sincere, and Ben felt something warm and prideful flare in his chest. “I hit the target.”
“The target.” Butcher repeated, glancing at Ben. “What target.”
“We worked on his laser eyes,” Ben grunted. “Can’t have him exploding the fucking building.”
“And I hit the target.” Ryan’s chest was puffed out, and Ben sighed.
“And he hit the damn target.”
“Well then, bloody good work, lad. Let’s get you in a fuckin shower, you smell like ass.” Butcher gesture for Ryan to enter the apartment, but Ryan turned to Ben and pulled him into a fucking hug.
“Thank you, Ben.”
Ben didn’t know what to do. The kid was squeezing his torso, and thanking him, and he was frozen, staring at Butcher. Butcher didn’t seem to know what the fuck to do either, but his glower at Ben a little too shocked for Ben to just push Ryan away. He didn’t want to push Ryan away, it felt fucking wrong to push Ryan away. Her words echoed in Ben’s head—he doesn’t really have anyone, Ben. He has you and Butcher—and Ben hugged Ryan back. It was tense, awkward, and weird, but Ryan didn’t seem to care. He just hugged Ben tighter before stepping back and disappearing into the apartment. Leaving Ben and Butcher staring at each other in the doorway, Butcher’s face looking as confused as Ben fucking felt.
Butcher spoke first.
“Don’t fuck this up,” his glare on Ben wasn’t hateful, it was weary. “That kid don’t got much. Don’t give him hope then fuckin turn away.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. I know what the hell I’m doing.”
Butcher didn’t waver. “I guess we’ll bloody see if you do. But know that if you drop the fuckin grandpa ball-”
“Call me grandpa again and I’ll fucking twist you like a pretzel and shove your dick in your mouth.”
“I ain’t joking-”
“I won’t fuck him up.” Ben grunted Her name. “She’d kick my damn ass if I did.”
Butcher sighed. “You seen her?”
Something tugged at Ben’s heart. “No. Why, what’s fucking wrong-“
“It’s been a real rough fuckin afternoon, Gov.” Butcher shook his head. “You should go find your woman.”
“Is she-“
“She’s okay. The media is full of cunts, and she’s on the blunt end of it now.” Butcher looked Ben up and down, face twisting into something tired and tight. “I’d just fuckin go. She might well need you.”
Ben didn’t bother with goodbyes, or even wait for the door to fully fucking close before he was tearing down the hall to their apartment. Butcher said she was okay, but everyone kept fucking telling Ben she was okay when she clearly fucking wasn’t. He seemed to be the only pussy in the whole goddamn world who had eyes, who was capable of hearing her say I’m okay and noticing how her smile wasn’t full and her eyes were too fucking empty for it to be true. Nobody seemed fucking worried about Her but Ben. Seemed to even think that maybe the was just a slim goddamn chance that after being kidnapped—fucking again—She wasn’t okay.
He pulled out his phone as he all but ran. The media was full of cunts, full of worthless fucking pussies whose jobs were make everyone’s life fucking hell. Full of idiots saying Annie was a liar, or speculating about Her life. Her real life. Her job and original address. If she’d asked Homelander to make her a supe, gone to that Vought party to stalk him. Why she’d left Her mother’s house so young, if it was really a coincidence that her step-father was a public figure, or if this had been engineered. Everyone had fucking something to say, and all of it was dogshit. Ben was mentioned. For the first time since this started, he could find articles where their names were the main headline. Saying Starlight claims that Soldier Boy and Anomaly are close, but what does that mean? and calling her a whore. A fucking gold-digger or power-chaser, saying she was jumping between powerful, older supes to get her what she wanted. Sinking her claws into Ben—just like she’d done with Homelander—and she was going to leave him the moment she was tired of him.
She was in the hall. Ben had the keycard, she couldn’t have gotten in herself, and she had tucked Herself against the wall outside their door. Staring at nothing, and from Her side-profile, her expression was slack. When Ben dropped to Her side, she didn’t flinch or start or even fucking look at him. He grunted her name, and She just hummed. He said it again, voice low and scraping his throat, and moved in front of Her body. She was flushed, and her eyes were hazy. He wasn’t even fucking sure she could see him for a second, but then her face lit up. It didn’t clear or focus, but a loose, happy smile crossed her face, and hands shot up to grab Ben’s face between Her hands.
“Ben,” She was trying to whisper, but doing a piss-poor job of it, pulling Ben’s face closer to hers. “You’re here. Wait,” She frowned, eyes narrowing at him as one hand started poking his nose. “Say something Ben would say.”
“What the fuck are you talking about.”
Her smile was back. Bigger this time, and she started falling forwards. Ben’s arms moved to catch Her, slumping against him, and she giggled. “You’re Ben. Ben frowns like that,” She traced a finger over his mouth, following the downward turn of his lip. “And he always catches me. And I can feel you.”
“Of course you can feel me,” he grunted Her name. “I’m fucking touching you. What’s-“
“No,” She shook her head, pushing herself up and half crawling up Ben’s body. “No, no. You don’t get it you handsome dumb dumb. I feel you here.” She jabbed a finger at Ben’s chest. “And it’s you. It’s big and strong and loud, and it’s very Benjamin.”
She looked back up at him, he studied Her face. Relaxed, completely relaxed, parted lips and glossy eyes, words falling out of Her mouth without thought. Her heart was slow, but her face was flushed and her breath was short.
He said Her name slowly, holding her face so her eyes stayed on his. “Are you fucking drunk?”
“Maybe.”
“Christ on a cross, woman.” Ben sighed, tucked stray hair away from Her face, dropping an arm under her thighs and hauling her up his body, standing cautiously. “How the fuck do you even get drunk.”
Her hands grabbed Ben’s face, pulling it to barely an inch from Hers. “Frenchie,” she whispered, staring at Ben with wide, serious eyes. “Is a fucking god. And very bad at hiding his experiments in the kitchen.”
Ben sighed, carefully prying her hands away so he could open the door. “What happened, Sunshine.”
“Nothing,” Her lips dropped into a pout. “Ben?”
He grunted, and She buried her head in his neck.
“Why do you like me?”
He paused in his tracks, frowning down at Her. “What.”
“Why do you like me?” She mumbled. “I’m the worst.”
“You’re being insane,” he mutters, adjusting his grip so one arm was under Her knees, the other holding her back. “You’re drunk, and tired, and talking fucking nonsense. We’re going to bed.”
“Ben,” Her voice was almost a whine. “I’m not being insane. I don’t have friends, why would you be my friend.”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be your friend.”
“Because I’m annoying.” She whispered, hands tightening around his neck. “And mean. And a whore.”
“You’re not a whore.” Ben pushed the door to their room open. “I’m a whore. You’re perfect.”
She wasn’t letting Ben lower her onto the mattress. “I’m not perfect. I’m a liar-“
“You’re not a liar.” Ben made his voice, firm, a little louder than he’d normally be with Her, but she needed to hear. “You just told the world the truth. That’s the opposite of lying, Sunshine. And you are fucking perfect. You’re a genius, and funny as shit, and kind, and powerful, and beautiful-“
She snorted. “I’m not beautiful.”
Ben scowled. “Yes you are. Shut the fuck up and let me talk-“
“No,” She squirmed out of his arms, falling on Her back onto the bed, head hanging off the side, reaching to Ben until he knelt at her side. “You’re beautiful, Ben.” She sighed, rolling onto Her stomach. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ben stood up, dropping at her side on the bed and watching Her scramble into his lap. “You call me Pretty Boy every fucking day.”
She shook Her head, falling onto his chest and placing one hand on each side of his head. “You’re beautiful, Ben. You don’t get it, it’s not normal.” She was staring at him with something burning and desperate in her eyes. “Nobody should get to have your face and be you. It’s mean to me.”
He watched Her carefully. “How the hell is that mean to you.”
“Because,” She was glaring at him. “You don’t get it.”
“Then fucking tell me-“
She’d shifted up onto her knees, guiding Ben’s brow to Hers, eyes burning into his body. “You’re so beautiful,” She whispered, shaking her head. “It’s not fair.” Her eyes were drooping, words growing more and more slurred as she fell further into Ben’s body. “Not fair.”
“None of this is fair,” he sighed Her name, cradling her head against him. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t have a fucking clue what to do to make this better for Her, and all he could do was stay. “But you’ve got me. And I’ve got you.”
She made a small sound that might be a sob, or a moan, or a plea. Her words were barely a breath. “Please stay.”
Ben leaned up to kiss her forehead, before pulling back to watch her eyes flutter, almost closed. “I’ll always fucking stay. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. That’s fucking that.”
“That’s that,” she whispered, a small, blissful smile crossing her face. She said something else, but Ben didn’t understand it. It was a noise from Her throat that sounded like words, but Ben didn’t have the foggiest fucking idea what words they could be. Then She was burying herself back into his neck, breathing growing steady, and something started to wash over him. That feeling, the one he’d felt a few times before that wasn’t wrong but fucking strange. It was so big, covering the whole world and circling around his head. Climbing into his every thought until everything was just this illuminated, boundless, earth-shattering feeling.
It was everywhere. When he looked around the room, trying to figure out if there was some sort of fucking gas leak or if this was an odd, weird dream, everything was washed with it. His shield at the door, the sheets on their bed, their reflections on the dresser mirror and the deep green, fluffy carpet on the floor. The whole word was fueling the feeling until it was sweeping through Ben’s body, making his blood hot and his head light. This was holy and ancient and fucking everything. This was wider than the ocean, and brighter than the goddamn sun. It was some sort of song that called Ben like a siren, morphing his body into something beautiful. It was peaceful and electric and thirsty and safe, and Ben wanted it to go and go forever. He wanted to create it and then devour it, let it care for him and make everything better. It was natural, it felt like something inevitable and fucking sacred. It made him feel stronger. It made his whole body along with something deeper, further down and intangible, fucking eternal and unstoppable. He could fucking destroy and rebuild the universe without faltering, because this would be with him the whole way.
She sighed against Ben’s neck, and the feeling was gone. Dissipated into thin air, slipping between Ben’s fingers before he could figure out what the fuck it even was. He wanted it back. She was fast asleep against him, heartbeat in perfect time with Ben’s, and he wanted that back. It had been some sort of fucking drug, making him high in a way he’d never felt before. He needed it back now, he needed to feel that for the rest of his fucking life, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t even know what it was, where it had come from, let alone how to get it back in him, around him, through him.
She made a soft sound against Ben’s skin, and he couldn’t stop himself looking down at Her and smiling. She was so fucking beautiful. It didn’t matter what the hell she’d said in her odd, drunken state, She was the most beautiful thing Ben had ever fucking seen. She was the fucking night sky in the wild, when it was more stars than actual darkness, and everything was washed the millions of colors of northern lights. Nothing could ever trap Her, not really, because she wasn’t something that could be trapped. Ben could watch Her, though. He could stay near her, and let her keep being beautiful while he destroyed anything that tried to mar that. She could handle herself, Ben knew she could handle herself, but fuck he wanted to help Her. He wanted to hold her like this every time something in Her broke, and keep calling her beautiful and perfect and good until she stopped fucking fighting with him about it.
Ben loved Her. He still couldn’t tell her he loved her, because this wasn’t at fucking all about him. But he could hold Her like this. He could carefully, steadily pull off her clothing and replace it with his own shirt, keeping his eyes trained only where they needed to be. He could pull them both—still pressed together—up to the top of the bed and under the covers, run fingers through Her hair and savor in the feeling of her body clinging to his. Ben could drift in and out of sleep and watch over Her. Take care of Her in this one way that she allowed him to. Love her and whisper it into the dark, where she couldn’t hear.
He kept eye on his phone on the bed beside him, and dawn was barely breaking when it buzzed, the screen glowing in the low light of their bedroom.
Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt, 2 messages.
Ben sighed. He really needed to change those damn contact names, he knew who fucking Hughie was. He’d ask Her to, because the only reason they’d stuck for so long was because She’d put them there, and Ben had no interest in changing them if she didn’t write out the new ones.
He swiped open the display, angling the light away from her closed eyes and reading Hughie’s texts.
Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt
We’re having a meeting in the dining hall in twenty minutes.
I think you’ll want to be there.
Ben frowned at the words. Hughie never told him there was a meeting. It was always Butcher or Mallory, sometimes MM or Annie, and they’d once sent Kimiko and the French prick right after he’d lost Her, when he rarely looked at his phone except to see Her perfect face in photos.
He peeled Her off his body in careful, slow, and measured movements to make sure she stayed asleep. Resting Her head off his arm and on a pillow, pulling his legs away from hers and replacing them with blankets. Adding an extra comforter from their closet, because Ben was heavier than a blanket and she seemed to sleep easier when his weight was on top of Her.
It was difficult to get changed and ready for whatever fucking meeting Hughie had been telling him about without waking Her. Clothes off then on one at a time, not bothering to go to the bathroom because he’d have to flush the toilet, and brushing his teeth with one eye on the door for any movement. She shifted mid-spit, and Ben went rigid. He had to wait for Her to settle before walking out, looked at Her beautiful, neutral face one last time, and whispered into the silent room, “I fucking love you, Sunshine. Sleep.”
She made a small hum, but her heart didn’t flutter and breathing did break rhythm, so Ben knew she hadn’t heard him. He left the apartment in silent steps, and the moment the door was cautiously closed behind him he stalked to the dining hall. Everyone was already there, except Mallory, A-Train, Ryan, Ben, and Her. Huddled around the table, speaking in low, tense voices, turning to see Ben push through the doors with wide, surprised expressions.
“Soldier Boy,” MM frowned at him. “You’re… up early.”
Ben scowled, looking around at their nervous, fucking guilty expressions. “Hughie said there was a meeting.”
A chorus of groans and sighs echoed through the room, and any pretense of silence was apparently thrown out the fucking window as everyone glared at a red-faced Hughie.
“Bloody fuckin hell, lad,” Butcher whacked Hughie upside the head. “You ain’t able to keep your mouth shut about this for one morning?”
Hughie rubbed the back of his neck, frantic words paired with gestures at Ben. “He should know! And he’ll help-“
“Kid,” MM shook his head. “We all fucking agreed he couldn’t be a part of this. He’s biased-“
“I am not fucking biased,” Ben snapped, voice loud enough to silence all the various protests and pussy fucking arguments. “And someone better tell me what’s going on, before I start chopping dicks of and shoving them down throats-“
Hughie said Her name, flinching as everyone’s glares grew sharper. “It’s about her. We’re, um, worried.”
Ben was worried as well. But he didn’t fucking trust that his worry, which was about how She was perfect and beautiful and needed fucking rest, matched their worry.
“Why.”
“As you know,” Annie sighed. “She passed the psych test. But she was really quiet last night,” Annie whispered. “She didn’t talk unless we asked her a question. And it wasn’t getting better, when we wrapped up.“
Ben studied their faces, and it was all concern. Granted, Butcher’s concern made it look like the emotion was physically fucking painful to him, but it was still worry. For Her. Just Her, not how she could help them or if she was a liability. He trusted them. Somehow, at least for this, Ben trusted that they at least fucking meant well for Her. And he could acknowledge that he was a little fucking biased. A lot fucking biased. He loved Her, and she was more important than the whole goddamn world, so he was a lot biased.
“She got drunk,” Ben muttered, stalking across the dining hall to stand at their table. “Last night, I found her outside our apartment. Fucking hammered.”
Butcher frowned. “She ain’t able to get drunk-“
“She said he,” Ben glared at the French Prick. “Hides his experiments in the kitchen. Fucking horribly.”
The French Prick’s mouth fell open. “Merde. That would, ah, that would be the V.”
Hughie blinked. “We have V in the kitchen?”
“No,” the French Prick ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I have been attempting to recreate V in the kitchen. But it has been trial and error, and I did not think it would, ah, have narcotic effects. It should not have narcotic, I must have made an error-”
“Frenchie,” MM grunted. “I want that shit out of my kitchen by this afternoon.”
“Just the V, or would you like everything else gone with it?”
“The fuck you mean everything-“
“MM,” Butcher grunted. “Bigger fish, mate. Frenchie, take care of it, before MM’s fuckin head flies off his body. Soldier Boy,” Butcher turned to Ben, saying Her name with a frown. “Is she alright? Frenchie ain’t killed her on accident?”
Ben gave a tight nod. “She’s sleeping it off.”
“What do you think we should do?” Hughie was looking at Ben with sad fucking eyes. “I mean, she can’t go in public right now, but we also-“
“Can’t fucking bench her,” Ben finished for Hughie with a sigh, because they couldn’t. She’d climb the fucking walls and yell at them until they let her do something. “She can work on the V. Help us go through the records. That’s it.”
He’d have to ask Her. Later—even though everyone else seemed willing not to tell her about this—Ben was going to ask her what she wanted. It was a lot fucking easier for them to keep secrets from Her. They didn’t fucking love Her.
Annie frowned at him. “Do you think she’ll be okay with that? I mean, she might try to do something else-“
“She will try to do something else,” Ben snapped. She’d always try to do more, even when it killed her. “But she needs rest. So she can do whatever the fuck she wants, as long as it’s far away from Homelander and Sage. Got it?”
That wasn’t something he’d waver on. She could make all their plans and tell everyone what to do, and she could do it right here. At Ben’s side, where if She cried he could wipe away her tears, and if she fell down he could pick her back up. Everyone was nodding, mumbling agreements, and Ben stayed at the table as the group wandered off. The French Prick and Kimiko into the kitchen with MM glaring after them, Annie and Hughie to the hallway as Hughie whined about meaning well, and calling Ben having worked out, leaving Ben with MM and Butcher, silently watching each other.
“You’re going to tell her about this, aren’t you?” MM muttered, and Ben rolled his eyes.
“Of course I fucking am.” I love Her, you pussy. “And if you try and stop me I’ll rip out your asshole-“
Butcher shrugged, giving Ben a look he didn’t understand. “No reason. Call it healthy fuckin curiosity.”
Ben scowled, but moved on. If Butcher wanted to be a weird, cryptic fucking dickhole, Ben wasn’t going to be the one that managed to force him to make fucking sense. “You dickhats seen the news?”
“Yep.” MM sighed. “They’re saying some fucked up shit. You think it got to her?”
“She was saying,” Ben paused, figuring out what he wanted to tell them. Not everything. Not how She’d called him beautiful, or passed out in his arms, or that strange fucking feeling. “Fucking weird shit. Things that only an insane fucking pussy would say.”
“Things Homelander would say?”
Ben nodded at MM, something rolling in his stomach. “Things fucking Homelander would say.”
“Keep an eye on her,” Butcher frowned, hands tucking into his pockets as he stood. “She’s strong, but that shit was bloody hell. Right now it’s about the V, so let all fuckin lock in on that. Get Homelander well and bloody buried, twenty feet under. Agreed?”
Even as Ben grunted an agreement, sitting at the table and combing through more and more worthless fucking records with MM and Butcher—the French Prick and Kimiko filtering in and out—he didn’t fucking mean it. This was about Her, not Homelander. This didn’t get to be about Homelander. He didn’t get to fucking take Ben’s attention and energy from Her, along with how’d he’d taken her life and happiness and fucking peace. Ben was already here—sat in the dining hall with the papers in front of him—so he’d keep working at it, but the moment she called for him he’d be gone. Doing whatever she needed him to do. He fucking loved Her. This was about Her. For Ben, this had to be about Her. Nobody else would make it about Her—the real Her, not the speculation or lies or fucking Vought persona—so that was Ben’s most important fucking job. Love Her. Silently, piously love Her. Watch Her bounce around with Ryan and listen to her make plans and kiss her and nip at her until he was allowed to fuck her stupid. Never do anything that made Her feel annoying or the worst or like a burden. Just fucking love Her. Sit in her light and love Her.
There were worse fates, Ben decided, than waiting for a perfect woman, sitting in Her light, and loving her forever. All Ben could really ask for now was to prove that he was worthy, really, truly goddamn worthy, of sitting in Her light forever.
——————
When you wake up, someone is banging on the downstairs door and Ben isn’t at your side. He was here. You’d gotten drunk, barely managed to keep the words Ben. Ben, I love you from falling out of your mouth, and he’d pick you up and carried you to bed. It wasn’t an exact memory, more of a clouded over flash of sitting in the hallway, alone. So alone. Everyone knows your name and they all have fucking opinions but you’re alone that turned into Ben. Ben’s here. He’s in front of you and real, and everything is warm now. Then you were on the stairs, then on the bed, then in Ben’s lap, then asleep. Not alone. Ben’s still here so you’ll never be alone. He’s so handsome and doesn’t know you love him, and this isn’t fair. You should be able to tell him you love him and it should be easy. Ben is so easy, so you should tell him you love him.
You hadn’t. You know you hadn’t because this part was clear in your memory. Not fair. This isn’t fair. Why you, why are you the one who has to be here and fix this. Why were you the one Homelander decided to take, why did it have to be you. You don’t want it to be someone else, you wouldn’t wish this for anyone, but it’s still so unfair. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t make this mess, but now you have to clean it up. It’s not fucking fair, but this isn’t about fair. Nothing’s fair, but Ben’s got you and you love him. He’s staying, you’ll burn together, and that’s that. You love him, and it’s not fair, but that’s that.
And then you’d fallen asleep. Deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep, that Ben had been here for. The bed smelled like him, and his Thing in your chest was just a little stronger than it had been yesterday. It was always strong—it was tattooed on a part of you that was far too carefully tended to and protected for it to fade—but when Ben was here it flared. Grew almost painful and loud. Like it was responding to his proximity, revitalized by the fact that Ben had been here. With you. You loved him, and he’d been here, so really nothing was that terrible.
The door bangs again, and you have to move. You were only wearing Ben’s shirt and underwear—it smelled like him, pine and salt and Ben—but whoever’s downstairs won’t let up, so you have to move.
When the door slides open, Frenchie almost falls onto you with a shout of surprise and a hand flying forward you narrowly manage to dodge.
“Fuck, Frenchie!” You watch him with a frown, regaining steady footing and looking around the apartment with curious expression. “Are you-“
“It is lighter.” Frenchie looks back to you, looking you up and down. “The apartment feels much lighter.”
You blink. “Lighter than what? What’s-”
“The last time I was here, it was heavy. Full of Soldier Boy’s pain. It is now light.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.” You sigh. It’s too early to decipher weird Frenchie sayings. “Can I ask why you’re here now?”
Frenchie nods eagerly, reaching into his pockets. “I come with gifts.”
“Gifts?”
“A phone,” he shoves a brand new, practically sparkling phone in your hand before returning to his pockets. “And your request, well and fulfilled.”
He holds up a small, plastic baggie filled with white pills, and you swallow. “The suppressant?”
“Oui.” Frenchie passes it into your hands. “Take two a day. They will run on a thirteen hour cycle, and grow less effective as the hours pass. If you start to take them with more frequency, I will make more. And do not let anyone else take them. It would not be good.”
You narrow your eyes at the pills, glancing at Frenchie with a frown. “What would happen?”
“Well, your empathy works as an extension of your limbic system beyond only your one self. It does not end with you, but connects beyond your body into others. Correct?”
“Sure.” You don’t have a single fucking clue about the scientific aspects of your power outside of V goes in, something happens, but Frenchie’s talking fast and you’re tired. That sounds right, and as long as the pill works, you don’t really care. “So?”
“This will destroy your limbic system. Bomb it entirely. For you, it will regenerate within the millisecond, fast enough that you will not even notice it was ever fully gone. Within the thirteen hours it will have returned to its previous capacity, and another pill will sever your connection to others emotions once more. Stop taking the pills, the empathy returns in a full force.”
“And for others?”
“Death.” Frenchie shrugged. “Immediate death. Their brains would likely leak out of their ears.”
You grimace. “Gross.”
“Oui, very much.”
“So, I guess I just take one?” You look between the bag and Frenchie. “And that’s it?”
“They will not work immediately, Madame,” he says your name with a sigh, glaring at the pills like they’d disappointed him. “Your body will attempt to fight them off. If I have been correct, after one pill they will have more of an instant kick.”
You nod slowly. “Two a day?”
“I would do every twelve hours. Should the thirteen pass, you will be made to start from scratch once more.”
“Okay,” you sigh. “Thanks, Frenchie. This really means a lot.”
“Do not worry, I enjoyed making them. Let me know if you die.”
You snort. “I’ll try not to, but sure.”
The door closes behind him, and you don’t bother to get any water to take the pill. Nothing happens—like Frenchie’d said—and now all you have to do is wait. For it to work, and for Ben to get back. You put the coffee on, hide the pills with the V, and take an inventory of what’s changed in your absence. The fridge is stocked better than you’d thought it would be, and all the dishes are clean. Most everything, actually, is clean and well maintained. You’ll have to tell Ben later that you were proud of him, because this was even more than you’d hoped for. You’re low on toothpaste, but toothpaste is cheap. There was a blanket and pillow still on the floor near the couch, and all that took to fix was carrying them upstairs into the hamper. Everything else was almost exactly as you’d left it.
Another reason to love Ben. He was a surprisingly good housekeeper.
I am not a fucking trophy wife, Sunshine.
You sigh into your empty bedroom, where everything still smells like him. Even when he’s probably just in the dining hall, he won’t stop haunting you, his voice rough and low in your ear. I didn’t call you a Trophy Wife, Benjamin. I called you a housekeeper.
And? Those are the same goddamn thing-
No. Trophy wife implies wealth, and we technically live on welfare. And a housekeeper is a job. So if escorts don’t pan out, I can start a sexy male maid business.
I am not a fucking maid.
No, you’re a sexy maid. Big difference.
You can hear his chuckles, rolling somewhere near his Thing. You think I’m sexy? Think I’m fucking hot?
Shut up.
I think you’re fucking hot. If you’d let me, I’d show you just how hot I think you are.
It’s not real Ben. It’s okay to indulge this, because it’s not real Ben, and he can’t feel all this love for him, swirling in with the thirst as something warm spreads through your body. How?
There’s a pause, and then a grunt. You want me to tell you?
Yes, please.
Silence again. I love you.
Ben, I told you-
I know what you fucking told me, his voice snaps your name. If you want to know what I’d do, I get to say I love you.
You sigh. You know him too well, love him too much, because even this phantom of Ben is a stubborn asshole. Fine.
Good. I love you. I’d tell you that first, until you got it. Then I’d kneel at the side of the bed, and pull you right onto my face. You fit real well on my face, Sunshine, like you were fucking made for it. Then I’m going to prep you. I’m not fucking small, beautiful, and I’ve felt how damn tight you are. I’m going to have to tongue-fuck and finger you until I decide you’ll take me easy. If it takes a whole goddamn day, that’s a whole day you get to cum for. A whole day I make you feel fucking good.
You almost fall over, because his voice is everywhere. Sitting around you and in your body, warm and deep and hungry. He sounds so fucking hungry, and he’s everywhere. Ben’s not even here but he’s everywhere. The whole room smells like him, and his voice is living somewhere in your skull, and every time you touch yourself—squeeze your breast or shove a finger into your cunt—it’s so easy to imagine it’s Ben.
If you get tired or need a break, you can suck my cock until you’re ready again. But once I get you in bed, we’re not leaving until I fuck you right. If you need to stop you’ll tell me, and I’ll take care of you, because I fucking love you, but if you’re just fucking sensitive we’re riding it out. We’re going until you’re ready, and once you are I’m fucking you until the bed breaks. Until you’re screaming so loud the suits downstairs hear you begging for me and saying my name.
Ben-
Just like that. Over and over again until I’ve fucked you so good you can’t even speak. All you’ll be able to do is make those pretty moans and whines, and I’m going to fucking eat them. The first time it’s going to be fucking romantic, because I’m a gentleman and I love you, and we’re going to do goddamn boring ass missionary so I can watch your face when you cum on my cock and devour all your pretty fucking sounds.
You swallow, and give up on standing. This is your apartment, your bedroom, and you’re allowed to fall backwards onto your bed and imagine your… Ben telling you how he’d want to fuck you. You’re allowed to slide a hand into your underwear and up your shirt—Ben’s shirt—and indulge this. The first time? How, being speechless in just a fantasy does not bode well for when this is real. How else do you want to fuck me?
Every fucking way.
Can you be a little more fucking specific-
After we’re romantic, you’re getting on your stomach and I’m fucking you from behind until you can’t hold yourself up anymore. You’re going to fall forwards, and I’m going to have to hold your perfect fucking ass in the air until you cum again and I finish on your back.
That’s specific. That’s really specific. Is that it?
It’s a taunt, a bait for the phantom to keep going until you manage to cum in real life. He takes it, because he’s a figment of Ben and that idiot doesn’t know how to shut up. You love him so fucking much.
Of course that’s not fucking it, brat. I think I’ll let you ride me, see how long you can keep yourself upright before you need me to take over and fuck up into you. Then you’re going to sit in my lap and I’ll fuck you and finger you until you’re fucking putty in my arms. We’ll try to clean up, but I’ll fuck you in to shower as well. You’ll probably suck my dick after, and then I’ll bend you over the table downstairs when we try to get food. We’re defiantly fucking doing it against the wall, and if Butcher tries to cockblock me again we’re not stopping. He’ll just have to watch me fuck you until you try to bite me again. That was real fucking hot. I want to see if that’s just a wall thing, or if it’s just something you do whenever I throw you around.
You’re so close. He sounds like he’s talking right in your ear, and you hear every wet sound your fingers are making as you go faster.
I’m going to throw you around, Sunshine. I’m going to get real fucking rough with you, because you like it. I know you fucking like it. And I love you, so every time I leave bruises on you I’ll kiss them away then fuck you slow to make up for it.
You can’t bruise me, Ben. It’ll heal.
Who gives a fuck. I’ll still fuck you until you’re scratching my back and bursting into flame then fuck you until you’re begging and dizzy. The, when this shit is over, we’re going to travel the whole goddamn world together until there’s not a corner of I haven’t fucked you in.
Even as you start to grind into your hand and your eyes start to flutter, you scoff. Romantic.
Only for you, beautiful. By the time I’m done with you, everyone will always be able to fucking smell me on you. Know how fucking good you are, how goddamn addictive and perfect you are, because I won’t be able to stop fucking cumming all over you. Fuck, I’ll never be done with you. The world will go to shit and I’ll just keep fucking you, Sunshine. I fucking love you.
That’s enough. That’s all the right things to say, said in Ben’s deep, firm voice, and you let out a small whine that he can never know about when you cum. It’s silent for a second, Ben’s Thing is still humming a beat in your body that carries you back down, and you smile into the air. Pull out method guy, huh?
Condoms don’t fucking work on supe jizz, Sunshine. It’s like trying to block a bullet with a damn window.
Did they not offer sex ed in the 1930s? Pull out method doesn’t work, Pretty Boy.
I don’t give a fuck. I’ll cum in you all I want, until you’re fucking full of me. And I’ve slept around my whole damn life, never knocked anyone up.
As far as you know.
You can almost see his scowl. That’s not funny.
What, don’t like the idea of a bunch of tiny Benjamin’s, running around telling their stuffed animals to shove it up their fucking ballsacks?
There’s a long pause, and when Ben speaks again his voice low. Low and careful and rough.
I like whatever the fuck you like. If you want an army of kids in a white picket fucking house, then you get that. If you never want to look at baby again, I’ll kick all of them into the fucking sun. But that’s a bridge we’ll cross after I fuck you like you deserve. Got it?
You don’t get to respond to the Phantom—remind it that it’s not real, and can’t really offer you anything—because the door opens downstairs and real Ben is home. He’s not talking or making any real noise except for heavy footsteps, but his Thing in your body flares and you know it’s him.
When you exit the bedroom he’s outside the door, frowning down at you. You’re about to ask him where the hell he went—your mouth already open and eyes narrowed at his stupid, handsome face—but he moves first. Pulls you against him and kisses you, long and heavy until your knees are weak and you can’t stop the moan escaping your throat. He takes it, mouth curling in a smirk against yours, and your blood is hot. Burning in your body and trying to push out of you, into Ben. Everywhere you’re connected to him you can feel his hunger, and when his arm wraps around your hips and squeezes your whole body almost caves in with an effort to keep all your love for him in you. You’re still a little high from your orgasm, and he’s kneading at your skin and dropping his head to suck on your neck, and it’s almost impossible to just push him away. Take an unsteady step back—keeping your fists in a tight grip on his shirt because you’re not that strong—and watch him carefully.
“Good morning to you too, Benjamin.”
“It’s fucking not,” he grumbles, hands covering yours against his chest, holding you there. “Better now, but still not good.”
You have to focus on the not good part, so that your heart doesn’t pound right through your ribs and out of your chest at the better now part. “What happened?”
Ben sighs, eyes scanning over your face, pulling you apart until he finds whatever it was needed. You let him. It always makes you feel safe, known, and a little more alive because Ben can look at you like that, so you let him. You sit in the concrete resolve wrapping around you, in the rumble of his Thing around your body, and wait.
“You’re hungry.”
You are hungry. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, unless you count whatever Frenchie had been hiding in the Kitchen that had gotten you drunk and the tiny pill in your system, still not kicked it. But Ben says it and suddenly you’re starving, and your stomach makes a bubbling, rolling sound. Ben hears it—of course he does, stupid asshole with stupid supe ears—and smirks at you.
“Shut up.”
His smirk widens. “I didn’t say shit.”
“It was a preemptive shut up.” You take a step further down the loft strip, and Ben follows, folding his fingers between yours as you walk down the stairs. “To keep you from saying something fucking dumb.”
He snorts, and you can feel his shrug jostle your arm. “Preemptive warfare is a crime, Sunshine.”
“I know that.” You turn with a frown, waiting for him to join you at the bottom of the stairs. “How do you know that?”
“I’m not a fucking idiot-“
“I don’t think you’re a fucking idiot.” You tilt your head at him, feeling that odd glow start to hum inside Ben’s body as his glare softens. “But when I tried to explain Bill Clintion’s impeachment, you started shouting about how fucking should never be a crime. I’m just never sure what you do and don’t know.”
Ben sighs. “I was there when the UN Charter was signed. I remember all the fucking peace-pussies arguing about that shit for three days.”
You grin at him. “Old-“
“Shut the fuck up and eat.” Ben starts to tug you toward the table, where he’s poured the coffee into your mug and set out a plate with a muffin that definitely hadn’t been in your apartment before.
“Where-“
Ben pulls out your chair, and all but shoves you into it before walking around to his own seat, dropping across from you with a glare. “Dining hall.”
“Why-“
“You like those muffins. And you need to fucking eat.”
You sigh. “No, I’ve got that. Why were you in the dining hall?”
Ben’s jaw tightens, and he glares between you and the muffin. “Working before I got kicked out. Eat.”
“Kicked-“
“Eat, and I’ll fucking tell you.”
You wrinkle your nose at him and take an exaggerated bite of the muffin. Ben nods, staring at your chewing as he answers.
“Got a boner. MM saw it. Fucking prude asshole kicked me out.”
“Out of-“ You swallow, covering your mouth with a hand. “Out of what?”
“Work.”
“Why were you working in the dining hall?”
“You’re not allowed to flip your shit.”
You glare at him. “No.”
Ben grunts your name. “You’ve got to swear you won’t fucking lose it-“
“If you don’t want me to lose it, dumb dumb, don’t lead with asking me not to. Why were you working in the dining hall?”
He sighs. “We had a meeting.”
“About?”
“You.”
He’s still looking at you. Watching you carefully, a foot pressed against yours under the table. There’s something sick in his body, made of that stone protection but wrapped in toxin. Worry. Ben’s worried.
You take a long breath. “What about me.”
“If you’re okay.”
“I’m fine-“
“No, you’re fucking not. You got drunk,” He snaps your name, but it’s not angry. It’s strained, and the sickness starts to wrap around his throat. “And you’re still throwing yourself in front of trains when you need to rest.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” you glare at the muffin on the plate, because you can’t look at Ben. If you look at Ben, you might start crying. “I’m here, Ben. I’m okay, it’s just a lot-“
“It doesn’t fucking have to be a lot. This doesn’t have to be your job-“
“Yes, it does.” You sigh, feeling blood draw in your mouth as you bite through your cheek. Blood. So much blood. “I have to fix this.”
He mutters your name, and when you look up he just looks sad. The toxin has settled into something that aches, and Ben’s eyes on yours are just tired and sad. “This is fucking killing you. You’ve done enough, you’ve fucking scarified all your goddamn privacy and peace for this shit, just rest-“
“No,” you give him a small, sad smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve bought us time, but we have to finish this soon. I’ll rest when we finish this.”
Ben shakes his head, the ache growing, but sighs. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Is anything I say going to make you, for once in your damn life, listen to me?”
“No,” you mumble, and it’s a half lie. The only thing that would make you listen is the one thing Ben won’t say, so, technically, the answer is no. “It won’t. I have to-“
“You have to fix this.” Ben mutters. “I know. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “No more fighting Homelander and Sage by yourself. No more risky, shit fucking plans that put you in the line of fire or make you afraid.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You don’t really want to fight Homelander and Sage by yourself again. Ever. You don’t want to see blood on your hands for the rest of your life, and agreeing to this makes something loosen around Ben’s throat, so it’s so fucking easy to agree. “Deal.”
Ben’s hand finds yours on the table, squeezing once. “Deal.”
“Ben?”
He repeats your name back to you with a frown, and you smile at him. This one’s real, and born from how he didn’t yell. You didn’t yell. He’s still here, and worried about you, and you love him, so it’s perfectly natural and easy to smile at Ben.
“You smell like shit.”
Ben scowls, but his amusement sparks in your chest and your smile widens. “Shut the fuck up. I didn’t get to shower last night, because someone was climbing all over me and wouldn’t let me fucking move.”
You feel the heat rush to your face. “Sorry.”
“Don’t-
“Apologize.” You sigh, poking at your muffin. “I know. I’m still sorry. I was out of it, I know you’re my friend, but it was, um, weird to see what everyone was saying-”
Ben grunts your name, and his Thing is aching. “You’re my best friend. I was fucking serious when I said you’re my best friend.”
“I know-“
“You clearly don’t,” he glares at you, and you can’t look away from him. His thumb is running over your knuckles, there’s a heat in his eyes that starts to make the fire push under your skin, makes something in your gut ignite. “I fucking adore you. Not some fake, plastic, marketable version of you. Nothing any sort of fucking Hollywood pussies and vultures say about you, nothing Vought says, and nothing fucking Homelander says matters, because I adore you, and know you better than fucking anyone. You’re not a liar, or a whore. You are mean, but I usually deserve it, and you’re also beautiful and kind. Got it?”
It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done to not launch yourself across the table and kiss Ben, tell him you love him, and that you know that. That any fear or doubt festering in your head is in the form of a cold, cruel voice calling you weak, and what pushes it away is an ardor and love and certainty that Ben will catch you. You manage to stop yourself. Bite your tongue and choking down the words, give Ben a smile that says thank you.
He sighs, scooting back from the table. “Come here.”
The muffin is forgotten as you stand and move around the table, falling into Ben’s lap and just holding him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your head into his shoulder. You can feel his every breath moving his body, and it makes an even harmony with his Thing in your chest.
“The media is full of idiot pussies,” he mutters in your ear, hands drawing circles on your back. “In the 60s, they said I couldn’t really shoot a gun. I can shoot a fucking gun.”
You smile against him. “I know. I’ve seen you do it.”
“And I hit the mark every goddamn time.”
“Sure.”
He pulls back, glaring at you. “I fucking do.”
“I believe you, Ben.” You grin at the adorable, frustrated frown and knit of his brow. “What am I supposed to say?”
Ben narrows his eyes at you. “I don’t know, something fucking encouraging. With Ryan you kept telling him he was strong-“
“Ryan is twelve. You’re a grown man.” You pull yourself further up his chest until your lips are brushing against his when you speak. “You know you’re a good shot, Ryan didn’t think he could hold more than three tons. What do you want me to say.”
He’s glaring at you, and his words are low and tense. “Shut up.”
“I’ll say it,” you mumble, falling further forward as that glow deep in Ben’s body returns, still not fully kissing him. It’s hard to keep teasing him, because his invading all your senses in the best way possible, but you manage. “I’ll tell you you’re stupid fucking handsome, and strong, and my, Benjamin, what nice hands you have-”
His Thing roars inside of you, and suddenly he’s moving. Picking you up and slamming you down onto the table, leaning over you and smirking against your lips without ever just fucking kissing you.
“Brat.” His words are a growl, and you can just watch him. Feel the hunger sweeping through your body, drowning out all the lingering fear and tension until it’s just Ben. Ben, I love you. “You’ve got a smart, pretty fucking mouth, Sunshine. You want me to touch it, all you have to do is damn ask.”
You don’t bother. Your nails are digging into the skin of Ben’s neck, and his grin is so fucking cocky, and the groan he lets out when you tug him down—pull his mouth onto yours—is the best thing you’ve ever heard. He doesn’t push it further—his hips pinning yours to the table so you can’t buck up into him—but it’s still too much. Your love is starting to get away from you. But you can hold it in a little longer, hopefully long enough long enough for Frenchie’s stupid fucking pill to do its job so Ben can just fuck you. He can’t keep looking at you and touching you like this—hungry and reverent and devoted—and expecting you not to fuck him. He needs to feel how much you love him, even if it’s just with hands and teeth and moans instead of soft confessions and whispers of Ben. Ben, I love you.
It doesn’t kick in though. Your blood is starting to burn in your body, and Ben’s thing is rioting in the spaces between your ribs. So you have to lean your head away and take a heavy long breath as Ben drops his head to your neck, kissing and sucking a wet, heavy trail up to and along your jaw, across your face, and stopping on your lips, pressing his brow to yours.
“Ben?”
He grunts, and you move your hands to hold his face, pulling him back to meet your eyes.
“You still smell like shit.”
He scoffs. “You didn’t seem to fucking mind.”
“I am capable of being distracted.” You grin up at him, running a hand up, into his hair. “Are you going to distract MM or Annie at dinner by making out with them when they say you smell?”
“Smartass.”
“You love it.”
Ben sighs, dropping his full weight back onto your body, pressing his head into your neck. “I do.”
That doesn’t mean anything. He means the words—Ben means everything he says, it’s one of the reasons why you love him—but they don’t mean anything. His breath is warm on your skin, and his hands tracing across your body like you’re sacred, but it doesn’t mean anything. His thing in your chest is pounding and roaring and trying to carve something crucial into you, but it doesn’t mean a single thing. Your blood is starting to leak out of your body, and that’s why he’s acting like this. It’s your love, crawling away from you, making you a liar. A weak, horrible liar.
You pray he can’t hear the strain of your voice when you mumble in his ear. “Go shower, Pretty Boy.”
He nods, hauling himself off your body with a strange expression that you can’t read, kissing you one last time. Slow and gentle, letting your hand curl into his hair before standing up—tugging you upright as he does—with a glare.
“Finish your muffin.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
You see his mouth twitch up, and can’t stop your own smile crossing your face as he rolls his eyes, and kisses you one last time before he walks away—up the stairs and into your bedroom—and you love him. You need this stupid pill to kick in now, because you love Ben and the longer you draw this out the harder it is to keep holding your ground. The more you walk right up to the line, the harder it is not to cross it. That had been too close, far too close, but it had still been impossible to stop it.
Because you’re weak. The words are bored, obvious, and crude in your head. You’re a weak, manipulative, lying bitch. Useless. Weak and useless.
You’re not useless. You can’t be useless. You might be weak—too soft, too kind, too forgiving—but you won’t allow yourself to be useless. Once your empathy is severed, you will be useless. You’ll have your fire—sitting comfortably under your skin—but if you have to face Homelander again it might go dormant, and you still don’t trust your singing enough to work in your favor.
You’d promised not to face Homelander alone again. And you’ll never go looking for it. But there will always be a chance. A single, hollow sliver of a possibility that no matter what you—or Ben—do, Homelander will find you again. You can’t be useless if that happens. You won’t be useless if that happens again.
The phone Frenchie gave you is already half set-up. The benefit of your phone being destroyed last time is that—unlike when Homelander had found it—you could just port in all your old data. Nothing’s been lost, nothing has to be redone. Ben’s contact is still pinned at the top of your messages, and your heart breaks a little when you see the last text he’d sent you.
Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt
If Butcher gives u shit for going off bok, tell me and Ill rip his face of
He texts like a child with two broken thumbs. The longer he’d had a phone, the more his grammar and sentence structure had regressed. You’d made the mistake of turning his autocorrect in the hope it would make him try harder, then the bigger mistake of explaining texting abbreviations, and now every single text he sent looked like that one. He’s an idiot, and you love him so much it might kill you.
I’m going to Annie and Hughie’s. I love you.
You type it without thinking, and barely catch it the second before you hit send.
I’m going to Annie and Hughie’s. I’ll see you in a few hours.
Ben’s phone lights up on the table next to you when you hit send, and you smile when you see your own photo, still his lock screen.
You can’t lose this again. It’s what carries your feet out the door and down the hall, makes you knock on the door of Annie and Huhgie’s apartment. You can’t lose Ben again, and if you’re useless, you might. I might be wiser to ask Ben to do this for you, but you don’t have the strength to explain to him why you need it. To see his face fall and feel his worry when you tell him that you’re still weak and afraid, that he’s your best friend and you adore and trust him, but you’re still weak and afraid. That his word means more than anyone’s, but it can only do so much to combat Homelander’s cold and the screams of the world that you’re a liar. A weak, useless, liar.
Hughie answers, and says your name in surprise. “Hi, are you-“
“I need you to help me.”
“Me?” Hughie blinks. “Um, with what?”
You take a deep breath, crossing your arms over your chest. “Teach me how to shoot a gun.”
Hughie stares at you, mouth slack, shaking his head and stumbling over words. “What? I mean, why? Why are you asking me, and not MM or Butcher or, uh, Soldier Boy-”
“Because you’re the only one who I trust to not be a dick about it.” That’s true. MM will try to be patient, but you’ll get frustrated with yourself and it will end up making you both tense and angry. Butcher will probably end up shooting you to make a point, and—on top of not wanting to explain to Ben why you need this—he’ll be a cocky fucking showoff about it, and you’ll get horny, and nothing will get done. “Please, Hughie. I don’t need to be an expert sniper, I’m just the last person left on the team who doesn’t know how.”
“But I’m, I’m a terrible shot. Butcher says I might as well be blind-“
“You know how to use a gun?”
“I mean, I guess yeah. I kind of have to, for this shit-“
“Then teach me.” You sigh. “Please.”
“Are you really-“
“I’m sure.”
“Then yeah,” Hughie takes a step back, pausing with a nervous smile. “Okay. Just, give me a sec.”
He’s only gone for a minute, and when he reappears with shoes on and his phone in his hand, Hughie closes the door and leads you down the hall.
You walk in silence for a while, before he clears his throat and frowns at you. “You’re really okay?”
“I’m tired,” you mumble, looking down at the floor. “But I’m okay.”
“And Soldier Boy-“
“He’s good.” You smile to yourself, because you’re a lovesick dummy. “He’s really good. He brought me a muffin.”
“A muffin?” When you look at Hughie, he’s frowning. “That’s, that’s kind of sweet.”
You nod, shrugging. “He’s a lot more like a puppy than you’d expect. I mean, I know you met him before I did and he was a dick-“
“I don’t judge you,” Hughie interrupts you with almost frantic words, and you blink at him. “I mean, he’s still a dick, and you know that, but, fuck, he’s isn’t calling me cocksucker anymore, and even Annie thinks he’s nicer-“ Hughie shakes his head, and you start to get a little worried he’s going make himself pass out. “Not nicer. But less, um, mean? Like he’s still a dick but more of a soft dick? That’s horrible, I-“
“Hughie,” you almost nudge his shoulder, but manage to catch yourself. “I get it. And I don’t think you judge me.”
“Oh. Good.” As you reach a door labelled Shooting Range—Ben was right, they don’t tell you fucking shit—Hughie stops in the hall, giving you an awkward smile. “Is there, uh, a reason you don’t want him to teach you?”
You breathe out a small laugh. “Not any you’d want to hear.”
“I don’t think that’s true, I mean you’re my friend-“
“We wouldn’t get through a lesson without being, um, less than PG-13.”
Hughie’s eyes widen, and his face grows red. “Uh, gross.”
You shrug. “I told you. Should’ve believed me.”
Hughie opens the door, and his smile is still embarrassed, but less awkward. “Learned that lesson, I guess.”
You grin, and follow Hughie inside.
The shooting “range” is more of a shooting hall. It’s not small—there’s at least five or six booths—but it’s narrow and tight, with the guns being kept in a large gray trunk that Hughie kneels down to unlock.
“This can’t be safe,” you mutter, watching him shift through the hopefully unloaded firearms. “You’d think a government building would have stricter gun codes.”
“They do.” Hughie stands back up, handing you a pistol similar to the one Ben had taken from the agent in February. The one you’d shot Sage with. “These are all ours. I don’t think we’re technically supposed to have them here, but nobody seems to really give a shit that we do.”
You hum an agreement, glancing down at the gun. “Now what?”
“Uh,” Hughie looks around the hall. “I guess you chose a booth, and I figure out where MM would’ve put the ammo?”
All the booths look the same. Headphone mufflers you won’t need provided, targets set up behind a steel counter that runs the length of the hall, floor to ceiling dividers between each area. The dividers have full length mirrors for some reason—though it is pretty easy to imagine Frenchie flexing into them to try and show off to Kimiko, or Butcher winking at himself when he makes a shot—and there’s a panel of buttons to adjust the targets. You chose the closest one, and watch Hughie shuffle around the area until he finds a small box at the booth closest to the door, filled with neatly sorted bullets.
He returns to your side, swallowing and giving you one last apprehensive look. “Ready?”
You nod. “Born it.”
The first thing you learn is how to load the gun. Hughie does it once for himself, then again to walk you through it, and you manage to do it yourself in one try. The moment the bullet is locked in the chamber, Hughie freezes.
“We probably should’ve done gun safety stuff before the bullet went in.”
“I think I’ll be okay,” you shrug, keeping the barrel pointed at the floor. “No pointing it at anyone, myself included, safety on until I shoot, finger off the trigger, don’t be a dumbass. Right?”
Hughie nods, and from there it’s all about how to shoot the gun. Logistically, it’s simple. In practice less so. Guns are loud. You don’t wear the earmuffs—your eardrums can’t shatter, so you hand them to Hughie—but the bang still echoes through the room and the blast makes you stumble back slightly. Over the hour you figure out how to plant your feet so you don’t fall backwards, Hughie gives you nervous, hesitant tips about aiming and stance and hand positioning, and you get better. You’re not good at it, not by a mile, but you’re hitting the target and stop flinching every time you fire.
“You want to try and move it back?” Hughie leans forward, frowning at ten foot space between you and the target. “I think you could manage fifteen-“
You feel Ben right before someone knocks on the door. His Thing in your chest spikes up along your spine, and you sigh as Hughie jumps. “Shit.”
He’s shouting your name, and the wall is barely muffling it. “Open the damn door!”
“Do it yourself, drama queen!” You yell back, and the banging on the door stops.
“I can’t, you took the fucking keycard!”
You had done that. It’s sitting on the counter, right in front of you, next to your phone. When you open the door to a glowering Ben—hair still damp, scanning you up and down—you sigh. “I forgot, sorry-“
“Shut up.” He marches past you, glaring around the room, eyes settling on Hughie. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell me we had a gun range.”
“Uh, I don’t-“
“And what the fuck are you,” Ben turns back to you with a scowl. “Doing in it?”
You give him a flat look. “Guess.”
“Brat.”
“Cunt. Why are you here.”
“I went looking for you, and Annie said you and Hughie went to the gun range that nobody fucking told me we had.”
“We didn’t think-“
Hughie’s mumble is cut off by a sharp glare from Ben. “Shut the fuck up. What have you taught her.”
“Ben, I asked him to-“
“Why him?” Ben’s Thing in you is aching and sour, and his face looks almost lost. “Why didn’t you fucking ask me?”
You don’t have a good answer that doesn’t either start or end with Ben. Ben, I love you, so you just give a lame, guilty shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you-“
“You never fucking bother me.” He snaps, and you feel the heat rush into your face. “I’m sure as hell going to be a better fucking teacher than he is.” Ben jerks his head at Hughie, and you frown.
“Hughie’s been fine, Ben, don’t be an ass.”
Ben scoffs. “I’d be fucking better.”
“I actually agree with Soldier Boy-“
You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you hold Ben’s glare. “I’m not try to join the fucking army, Benjamin, just shoot well enough to get by. And we’re doing fine.”
Ben steps to the side, gesturing back to the booth. “Prove it.”
Hughie all but stumbles back as you march to the counter—shoving past Ben and ignoring the heat rolling off his body into yours—and pick up the gun. You can feel his eyes on you, his Thing starting to scorch your lungs and heart, you pull the trigger. Hughie yelps—you hadn’t given him enough time to put the earmuffs back on, you give him an apologetic look when you turn—but Ben is silent. Stalking over and glaring at where you’d hit the target. A small, smoking hole right over the heart. You’d been aiming for the head. Ben didn’t need to know that.
“Good,” he grunts, leaning past you and picking up the gun. Loading it with rough, careful movements. “Do it again.”
“Do I, uh,” Hughie’s looking between where Ben is standing over you, glaring at the gun, and where you’re staring at Ben’s hands, trying not to drool, clinging to even a fake anger at him. “Do I have be here?”
“No.” Ben snaps, glancing up at you with a smirk flashing across his face. “Fuck off, kid.”
Hughie doesn’t wait to be told twice. He gives you a small nod, Ben an anxious look, and the door closes behind him.
“That was mean, Ben-“
“I don’t give a fuck.” Ben passes the gun back into your hands, taking a large step back. “Again. Knees further apart.”
You frown. “Why?”
“You won’t have to tense as much to stay up.”
“But-“
“Just fucking do it, Sunshine.”
You stick your tongue out at him, and turn back to the target. Knees further apart, raise the gun, shoot.
It’s really annoying when Ben is right. His handsome face gets all smug, and his eyes get all taunting, and the cocky grins that always pulls at his lips never goes away until you kiss it. “You going to admit I was right?”
“Fuck you.”
He snorts. “Do it again, and I might. You look fucking hot.”
You flip off, but do it again anyway. This time the recoil barely even shakes your body, and Ben’s grin grows.
“Arms higher up.”
“What?”
“Your arms.” You don’t get to turn to glare at him before you feel Ben behind you, wrapping around your body and moving your arms to level with your shoulders. “There. Again.”
You have to take a shaky breath before you fire, because even after Ben steps back his Thing keeps bellowing in your chest.
It goes like this for another hour. Ben adjusting you, muttering orders and standing behind you as you fire. His Thing in you becomes almost violent—clawing against you, making your blood rush and burn and try to reach Ben—but you push on. You won’t be useless.
“Even footing,” Ben grunts from behind you as you glance back at him, reloading the gun. “You’re putting more weight on your left. They need to be even.”
“Can you say please?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
You grins at him. “So you can’t say please.”
Ben lets out a long, labored sigh, and his Thing makes a long, feral sound, and pushes at the top of your chest. “Please. Brat.”
“Well,” you hum. “If it’s that’s important to you-“
“Shoot the damn gun, Sunshine.”
You wrinkle your nose at him. “Asshole.”’
When you turn back around and raise the gun, you freeze.
You can’t feel Ben.
He’s behind you, a foot away and watching you silently, and you can’t feel him. His Thing in your chest is gone. Not dormant, not quiet. Vanished. Frenchie’s pill had worked. You weren’t dead, and you can’t feel Ben.
You lower the gun and turn around, taking a deep breath when you find Ben staring at you, scanning your face with a frown.
“Are you-“
“I’m done,” your words are quick, frantic, and you rush past him. Unloading the gun, shoving it back into the trunk and dropping the bullets in MM’s box, and turning back to Ben. “Let’s go-“
“What's wrong with you.” He cuts you off with a glare, crossing the hall until he’s towering over you. His arms are brushing yours, and you can’t feel if he’s angry or annoyed or worried. You can tell he’s worried—he’s still studying your face, wrapping around you without touching you so he can block you from any possible threats—but you can’t feel it. He grunts your name, low and gruff and Ben, he’s saying your name and looking at you and he’s warm and- Fuck it.
You surge up, crashing your mouth into Ben’s and yanking him down by his shirt to meet you halfway. His hesitation barely lasts a second—a long, painful second of him tensing under your hands—before he makes a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest and spurs into action. Hands grabbing your face, angling it so he can deepen the kiss with his tongue down your throat, biting your lip as he presses his body against yours and walks you back into the wall. Groaning when you start to tug at his hair, dropping his head into your neck and sucking that one spot until you moan. A loud, desperate moan that makes Ben grin as he moves a hand up to support himself against the wall, dropping the other grab your hips.
He says your name again, and you can hear the hunger. It’s not in you, but Ben’s voice is deep and hoarse—his hand starting to squeeze and rub your skin as he nips near your ear—and you know he’s hungry. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay-“ You cut your own words off with a high, breathless sound when Ben starts to leave sloppy, open kisses along your jaw. “Fuck, I’m good. I’m really good, Ben, please-“
“You’re good.” He pulls all the way back, his fist curling on the wall near your head as he watches you with dark eyes. “You want this.”
You nod, not even bothering to pretend that you’re not desperate. That if Ben doesn’t touch you right fucking now you might die, or at least start crying. “Yes, please.”
He nods, but still doesn’t just move. “Say it.”
“Benjamin, please fuck me-“
You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s back on you. Bruising your mouth with his, growling your name down your throat as you start to try and climb up his chest with desperate hands scraping at his shoulders. Hands Ben grabs and moves around his neck, muttering an order against your lips that rumbles through your body and makes your knees almost buckle.
“Hold on.”
Ben’s knee pushes between your thighs before you’ve even had a chance to listen, and when you roll your hips onto it his hands hold you down. Stopping any movement, pressing your core right against him as his arms drop to hook under your knees. He pauses, rubbing circles on your thighs as he adjusts his grip and watches at you, still trying to grind down onto him.
“Please-“
“Tell me you want me. Fucking mean it.”
You nod, your nails digging into his neck. “I want you. Now, Ben, I want you now-“
This kiss is heavy. All of Ben’s weight is over you, and he’s eating your words, turning them into breathless, needy whines. You're a little dizzy when he pulls back, trying to chase his mouth and squirm higher up his leg, and almost squealing when your shorts are ripped off your body. He’s grinning at you, watching you with almost an amazement, and his chuckle makes you whimper. “You want me so bad you’ll fuck yourself on my knee, Sunshine?”
“Ben-“
You yelp when he hauls you up and over his body, your legs wrapping around his chest and your head leaning down to try and connect his mouth back to yours. It doesn’t take much effort, because Ben drops you down his chest just enough that you almost slam back into him. His nose is bumping yours, and he tastes like coffee and strawberries, and his beard is scraping the soft skin of your face as he takes more. His hands are squeezing and pulling at your thighs, and he won’t stop making low, deep sounds that cause his chest to vibrate and make you moan into his mouth.
“So fucking good,” he mutters your name, and you try to roll your hips against him. Try to do something about your whole body feels like it’s on fire, how every time Ben’s big, rough hands move against you, and every time he groans and sucks your tongue into his mouth, you can feel your heartbeat move down, down and the ache grows painful. “And so needy, beautiful. I haven’t even really fucking touched you, and I bet you’re dripping.”
“Please, Ben, you asshole-“
He pulls back, and looks up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever. With blown-out eyes, his nostrils flaring and his mouth half-open. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He growls, one hand moving up your thigh, running one, broad finger right over your pussy and sending a shiver through your body. “I’m going fucking ruin you. Fuck your beautiful fucking cunt until you can’t sit down, until you can’t walk for a week. You’re going to fucking soak my cock, I’m going to make you so fucking wet and desperate you’re going to fucking scream.”
You nod, and if you had any sort of thoughts right now that weren’t Ben. Fuck, Ben, I love you. I love you, please, Ben, I love you, fuck, please- you’d point out that you can’t be fucked enough to get sore, you can’t get sore, but Ben moves to rub your clit in one rough movement and you decided that it doesn’t really fucking matter. If he wants to take up that challenge, who are you to stop him.
“Words.”
“Do that,” you mumble, your whole body going slack as one of Ben’s fingers runs between your slit over your panties, before rising to flick your clit once. “Fuck, Ben, do that, that’s good-“
Your words turn into a whine when he starts to slide you down his body—an arm moving around your waist to keep you upright and pressed against him—and Ben hisses when you brush against his cock. Hard in his pants, long and thick, pressed against your thigh and so close and big and Ben-
He’s trying to sit you on one of the booth counters, but you lean your weight forward and keep going down. Ben doesn’t try to stop you, his hand moving up to your face as he watches you drop down onto your knees. Level with his cock, grinning up at his slack face. When he says your name, his voice is rasp. “Are you-”
“Yeah,” you move your hands up his thighs, holding his gaze. He needs to look at you like that forever—like you’re all the stars in the sky and the spaces between them—because combined with the way you can see his cock twitch in his pant and how you his chest is rising and falling in a heavy, uneven pattern, you might cum without Ben even touching you. “Do you want me to?”
He chuckles, leaning back against the divider and tangling his hand into your hair. “What are you supposed to do if I tell you no.”
“Shoot you,” you start to undo his belt buckle, glancing between your hands and Ben’s face. His jaw is clenched and his free hand has moved to grip the counter, leaving an indent on the metal. “I can do that now. I’m good at it.”
“You’re real goddamn confident for only a day of practice-“
“I have a great teacher,” you smile at him, and Ben swallows, glaring at you. “He’s a cunt, but really hot. I think I might let him fuck my face if he asks nicely.”
“Brat.”
You hum, pulling down his pants, boxers with them. At this point it’s really not worth fighting the small whine that escapes your throat when you see him, because that cock is yours. And you’re going to suck it, if it's the last fucking thing you do. “That’s not nice, Benjamin-“
He growls your name, and when you look back up his eyes on yours are feral. Pushing right through your body, making you grind mindlessly onto nothing and your nails dig into his skin. “Do you want me to fuck your face.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing back at where he’s only centimeters from your mouth. “I do.”
“Well,” he smirks. “Are you going to ask nicely?”
“You dick-“
“My dick, beautiful,” he keeps glancing over your head, looking between you and something behind you that you can’t see. “Is going to fuck your perfect, pretty fucking mouth. If you can’t take it, squeeze both my knees twice. Got it?”
You nod, and your voice is breathless. “Both knees. Twice.”
“I’m going to start slow,” his hands in your hair curls into a fist, pulling your head back until your eyes meet. “And when I cum-“
“Inside.” Your words are a little too fast, because Ben grins.
“You want to fucking swallow, Sunshine?”
“You know I swallow, asshole-“
“I don’t know shit,” Ben winks, and you grind down on to the air again. “But I know you’re going be a goddamn work of art with your lips on my cock. And I know you’re going to fucking prove that you can swallow all of me. Ready?”
“Yes-“
The word has barely left your mouth when he slams forward. His cock pushes into your mouth, the head resting at the top of your throat, and Ben’s hand tightens in your hair as he just sits there. His dick on your tongue and your nose brushing his hips, and a whimper leaving your body when Ben groans and you can feel it.
He pulls you off, keeping the tip right between your lips, and tugs your hair until you look up at him. “Good?”
You squeeze his thigh, hold his gaze, and run your tongue around the head on his cock, grazing it with your teeth. Don’t be a pussy, Benjamin. Fuck my face.
His eyes flash, and you hear the metal of the counter whine under his grip as he takes a deep breath, staring behind you again. When he looks back to you, he looks like an angel again. He’s so handsome, and he looks primal and powerful, and you love him. You can tell him that, in a long, desperate noise when his cock is muffling any real words he could hear. He’s looking at you like you’re the holy one, when he’s everything. He’s the whole world, and when he starts to move, all your thoughts just clear to that. Ben. Ben, I love you.
He’s not holding back. Ben’s hand is guiding your head up and down his cock at a brutal, unrelenting pace, and his hips keep bucking when he hits the back of your throat to the point that you give up on trying to do anything productive and just focus on keeping your gag reflex from choking on him. There’s smoke starting to curl from your hands and the whole world is growing blurry, but fuck, you don’t care. He tastes so good, and every hiss and groan that leaves him is like music, and he’s everything.
“You’re, fuck,” you suck on him once, just trying to contain the drool falling out of your mouth, and Ben’s hips jerk. “You’re so fucking good. So fucking good, Sunshine, you’re beautiful and perfect and I fucking-“ His words turn into a long, deep strained sound, and you start to grind onto the air. You can’t let go of his legs to touch yourself, you’ll fall over, so all you can do is whine and hope a pillow somehow appears for you to ride. “Fucking Christ,” Ben’s words are pushed between his teeth, and he somehow goes faster. “God, fuck, you’re beautiful. Your mouth was fucking made for my cock, so fucking soft and warm and perfect and, fuck-“
Ben’s hand flies off the counters, joining his other on your head, and he’s close. You can feel the head of his cock twitch when your throat squeezes around it, and his words are starting to slur.
“Fuck, you’re so good, you’re fucking beautiful, and perfect, and fuck, Sunshine, you’re beautiful, you don’t have a goddamn fucking clue how beautiful you are, how much I, fuck-“
You’re dizzy and your brain is clouded with lust, but you’d manage to move one hand off of Ben’s thigh to squeeze his balls. It works just like you’d hoped, and Ben’s whole body tenses as cum shoots, fast and hot, down your throat. You swallow—you’re not a pussy, and you love him more than anything—and Ben’s hands splay against your scalp and cheek. When you pull back your lips make a popping sound, and you smile up at Ben as he looks down at you, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and his breathing loud and ragged.
“Fucking Christ,” Ben mutters your name, and the devotion is back in his eyes. Devotion and heat and something else you don’t understand. “You’re… Christ.”
“I’m Christ?” You shift on your knees, trying to ignore how the ache is starting to become painful so you can just look at him. “Wow. Don’t tell Butcher, he’s a big god-hater-“
Ben pulls you upwards, leaning down to meet you halfway, kissing you until your knees start to shake again and you have to lean against him to avoid falling over.
“Brat,” his growl is paired with a long suck of your upper lip and squeeze of your waist, and you make a high, needy sound. “Want me to show you something?”
You have literally no idea what he might want to show you, but you nod because right now if Ben asked you to figure out time travel you’re pretty sure it would take you an hour.
He spins you around, pressing your back to his chest, and you realize what he’s been staring at. The mirrors. On the booths. You’d totally forgotten about the mirrors on the booths.
“See how fucking beautiful you are?” Ben’s muttered in your ear, the hot air of his breath making you shiver and try to push further back into his body. “You’re the most beautiful woman in goddamn history. Fuck, you might be the most beautiful thing in history. I don’t know how you ever expected this to be a fair fucking fight, for us not to end up here. Where I’m going to make you feel fucking good and you’re going to watch.”
“Ben-“
“I liked watching you suck my cock, Sunshine.” One of his hands has moved up to palm your breast, and the other has started to trail down, tracing patterns on your stomach. “You looked real fucking pretty, taking my cock all good and deep in your throat, letting me fuck your face and swallowing my cum. But you’ve got a little bit of a problem, don’t you.”
Ben’s watching you in the mirror, locking your gaze with his, a thumb rubbing over your nipple as his hand slides a little lower, resting right below your abdomen. All you can do to answer him is nod, and try to grind up so that his hand will drop further.
“You’re so fucking desperate for me to touch your perfect fucking cunt,” Ben says your name, and it rolls through your body and sets you on fire. There’s no smoke rising through your body, but everything smells like pine and the whole room is starting to dance with a misty, green light. “That’s your problem, isn’t it. You need me, need me so bad you’ve fucking ruined your underwear just from sucking my cock. I can fucking smell you, Sunshine, you smell fucking delicious.”
He hates you. You’ve made a grave miscalculation in how much Ben likes you, because this is torture. He won’t stop teasing you and calling you beautiful and good and not just fucking touching you. He must hate you, because you’re whining sounds that are meant to be pleas of his name and humping the air near his hand, and Ben won’t just touch you. Ben’s smirking at you in the reflection, and he’s such a cunt and he’s so handsome and you love him and if he doesn’t start doing something right now you’re going to punch him square in his stupid, smug, handsome face.
“You want me to fix your problem?”
“Ben-“
“I know, beautiful.” His hand moves out from under your shirt, moving up to your chin until you’re looking back at him and he can kiss you. Soft, gentle, deceptively innocent. “I’m going to take care of you. All you have to do is-“
He needs to stop being so sweet and good or you’ll tell him you love him. He needs to shut the fuck up and touch you. “Ben, please. Please-“
“Please, what?”
“Fucking touch me-“
His hand on your chin pulls your head back down, forcing your eyes back to the mirror right as he tears off your underwear. Ben grins at your reflections, thumb brushing against your lip as his hold on your chin loosens slightly, and his hand drops down, resting right between your thighs without just moving.
“God, you’re fucking wet,” he’s still whispering right into your ear, and it’s making you a little lightheaded. “Is this all for me, beautiful? All for me to take care of?”
You start trying to grind down onto his hand, and Ben’s free arm drops back down to pin your hips against him, muscles rippling when your try to squirm away and he’s kissing your neck and hie won’t move- “Ben-“
“No,” he grunts, hand moving back up your shirt to brush your tits, face buried into your shoulder where you can’t actually see him. “My turn. You’re going to relax, and I’m going to do this for you.”
“Please-“
He says your name, pulling back to meet your eyes in the mirror. “You trust me.”
Not a question. You both know the answer, and it’s more for Ben to hear it. You know that, because when you glare yes, at him through the mirror, he grins. You’re about him to just do something, anything, whatever he wants as long as he’s touching you, when he moves.
Ben’s finger pushes right into you, pumps once, twice, and then is joined by a second one. “Fucking tight,” he growls in your ear, still watching you. Always watching you. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are, squirming on my fucking fingers. I’ve barely even touched you, Sunshine, and you’re already fucking squeezing me.”
You make a loud, shameless moan as he starts to move faster, playing with your boobs with his hand up your shirt and muttering pure filth into your ear.
“So fucking good. Look at how fucking good you take me, beautiful, and this is just my hand. Just my goddamn hand that’s making you whine, whine like the perfect fucking brat you are, fucking soaking my fingers, covering me in how much you fucking want me. So goddamn perfect, you’re perfect, it’s not even a fucking contest. So fucking good and perfect, going to cum all over my fingers, look at how fucking beautiful you are with your perfect fucking mouth all swollen and your pretty fucking eyes watching me ruin you-“
He groans, because you’ve figured out that you can grind backwards, into him.
“God, fucking Christ, woman, you’re driving me fucking insane-“
Ben rambles start to turn into just low, deep sounds that roll straight through your body and down into your core. He’s still talking, and you know he’s saying words, but you’re high. Ben’s fingers are big and broad and rough inside of you, and they keep brushing against that one spot deep in your body, and he won’t stop scissoring them when they push all the way in. He keeps driving his fingers into your pussy, curling and twisting them with harsh, fast movements, and yanking them out until you can see them in the mirror. See your need for him falling off his hand, see them disappear back inside you, see his palm start to rise up to press against your clit and rub.
“Ben-“
“So fucking good,” He growls against your skin, half-pulling you off the ground. “I fucking adore you, Sunshine, fuck, see how goddamn perfect you are? Look at you, so fucking beautiful, all wrecked on just my hand-“
You do look beautiful. Ben is wrapped around you—he looks almost animalistic as you grind back into him with your head pressed into his shoulder—and you’re not sure if it’s the lights dancing through the room or the way that some sort of soft music seems to be playing in the distance, but you’re beautiful. You think, in the haze, that it might be how Ben’s watching you. That his eyes on yours are full of lust and hunger and affection, and you feel like something better than what you are. You’re barely in control of yourself, grinding back into Ben and countless, wanting sounds leaving your body, and you feel like wildfire. Like a star, burning and burning against the infinite way that Ben exists around you. Beautiful. But you look at Ben, watching you like you’re all the stars and planets and everything through and past the universe, and he’s better. You mold perfectly against him, and his dark hair is falling over his eyes as he ruts up into you. If you could think enough to make yourself move, you’d reach up and brush it away. But your hands are clinging to his arm over your stomach—you can see his muscles flex with every movement and it makes you squirm—and all you can do is meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching you whine and moan and writhe against him, and his jaw is slack, and he’s everything. Ben is everything, and he’s looking at you like you’re holy and crucial, so you’re beautiful. Ben doesn’t lie, so you’re beautiful.
Ben’s palm rubbing circles on your clit start moving in faster, smaller movements right as his fingers press down inside of you and he bucks up into your ass, you almost scream as you cum. He’s still just watching you—eyes blown out and jaw slack—and when your legs give out he scoops you up into his arms, tearing his gaze from the mirror and meeting your eyes. I love you. Ben. Ben, I love you.
“You’re okay.” When you nod, your brain still a little slow, he frowns. “Words-“
“I’m okay, Ben.” You smile at him, reaching a hand up to trace his jawline. “I’m going to have to buy you a thesaurus, but I’m good.”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, you clearly fucking liked it-“
“I wasn’t of sound mind, Pretty Boy. Corrupt testimony.” You shrug, leaning further into his body. “You need to learn a few more words.”
Ben grins at you. “Someone’s trying to talk herself out of a proper fucking when we get home.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“See if I give a fuck.” He kisses the top of your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s so warm. You can’t feel him, but Ben’s still so warm. “You want a proper fucking?”
You swallow. “Yes, please.”
“Then here’s how this is gonna go.” Ben leans back, holding your gaze. “We’re going to put on your shorts, and I’m going to put on my pants. We’re going back home, and cleaning up, then going to dinner because you’re going to need the energy. Then, the moment the door closes behind us, I’m fucking you. In our bed. Deal?”
Your voice is a whisper. “Deal.”
“Good.”
He helps you get dressed. Ben pulls his pants back on—shifting his body to block yours from the door—and let you use his arm as balance while you put your shorts back up your legs.
Your underwear has been effectively destroyed, and when Ben picks it up you think it’s going straight into the trash can, but instead he shoves it into his pockets and winks at you.
“Pervert-“
“Shut the fuck up.”
He tries to carry you. Ben bends down, and you have to whack him to stop him from picking you up and carrying you down the hall. He pouts—the grumpy, annoyed pout that means he being a little bitch about something—but settles for slinging his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into his side. He smells good. He’s big and strong and warm and Ben, and you can’t feel him. You’re okay. You can touch him, but not feel him, and you’re okay.
It’s later than you’d thought it was. Barely twilight—everything cast in a blue-purple glow—and Ben tells you you’re taking the first shower. Demands it, actually. Grumbles about how I fucking showered this morning, and you’re the one covered in cum, Sunshine until you relent, because you’ve lost stupider arguments with him and you are indeed covered in cum. Mostly yours, running a little down your thigh, but some of Ben’s had managed to escape your mouth and dried on your chin and shoulders. Ben walks you upstairs and into the bathroom, drops on the bed with a frown as you start to close the door, and you love him a little too much to leave him looking like a lost puppy dog in the dark. Especially when it’s really not that much effort to cross the room and stand between his legs, to give him one last gentle kiss until his hands relax on your hips and he’s grinning against your mouth.
Ben. Ben, I love you.
The shower is almost burning. Steam collects on the glass door and your skin is still sensitive from the gun range, the hum of the fan the only sound tangling in with the water.
It’s been coming in waves. It’s important for you to recognize that this is coming in waves. When you tell Ben you’re okay, you really are. You’re okay. Then. In that moment, when you’re smiling and laughing with the people you love and care about, you’re okay. When Ben looks at you—really looks at you, sees you in a way no one else does—you’re okay.
And then you’re not. Then it’s silent, and you’re cold even with the scalding water, and that fan is humming in the same key that ones in Homelander’s apartment did. And you’re so tired.
Something feels wrong in your body. It feels like a limb has been cut off, like something’s been taken out that’s vital to your existence. The longer it’s gone—the longer it’s just you, alone in your body—the worse it gets. The more you can feel that part of you that snapped in Vought tower, and all you can feel it is flailing around in your body, trying to find where it can fit back in. It’s making you sick, it’s making everything cold again. You’re broken, and afraid, and exhausted, and all this fear has to stay in you. All of this pain has to live and fester in your body, and you’re not strong enough to stomp it out. Weak.
You hate not feeling Ben. He’s not touching you, and you can’t feel that imprint of him in your chest, and you’re alone. You can’t control yourself, keep your shit together and keep your love or panic or pain in your body, so now you’re alone. Ben’s just outside—waiting for you to finish showering—but the fan is humming like you’re back in the tower and they had warm showers there as well. Weak.
Everything is wrong. You’re broken and exhausted and in pain and weak. Ben is staying and you don’t get why, and people aren’t giving up on you but they should. You’re making everything worse for everyone, and you’re so cold, and the whole world can see how weak you are but you’re tricking your friends and lying and you’re weak. Useless, lying, manipulative bitch. Nobody stays, because why would they? Unlovable, better alone, better never being touched or loved because nobody could love you, you’re too weak.
You can’t feel your tears falling, any evidence of them being washed away with the water and the steam, but your eyes hurt and your throat is sore. You can’t breathe, and you’re drowning and alone, and you must have started screaming because the door bangs open and Ben bursts into the room. You think you say his name, but it’s so loud. Your blood is pounding in your ears and it can’t get out, and the fan is suffocating you, and Ben’s here but you can’t feel him. You can’t feel anything but freezing, painful, cold.
He turns off the fan. His fist slams into the wall, the sound stutters off, and you still can’t really breathe but now you can hear him. He’s saying your name, pulling off his shoes and opening the shower door. His hands move to his shirt, but you make a weak, choked sob and he freezes.
“Fuck it.”
You hear that. You hear his grunt, and watch as he pushes into the water, let him pull your head against his chest and hold you. You’re shaking and making strangled, weak noises, but he’s holding you up and staying. You don’t know why, but Ben’s really, truly staying. He’s humming in a low, horrible voice that rolls through your body and slowly starts to clear your head, and when he says your name this time you can nod, so he continues.
“What’s wrong.”
“I, I can’t-“
“Breathe,” he mutters, hand running up and down your back. “I’m here, you’re safe, and this is real. We’ve got all the damn time in the world, so fucking breathe.”
It takes another minute, of uneven, heavy inhales and long, sobbing exhales, but you finally manage to whisper the full sentence. “I can’t fight him again.”
You can hear his frown, but he doesn’t ask who. You both know, and Ben doesn’t waste time on clarification. “There’s not a chance in hell-“
“There is,” you mumble. “There’s always a chance. And I can’t. If I have to, I won't be strong enough, I can’t fight him again.” Your words are vomiting out of your body, your head shaking against Ben’s chest like you can push the thought—push Homelander’s cruel, callous voice—out of your head forever. “I’ll lose, I can’t lose, I can’t go back-“
Ben snaps your name, and you let out a shaky, weak breath. “Fucking listen to me. You are never fighting that pussy alone again. Ever. That’s fucking it. End of story. You can cry all you goddamn want, as long as you understand that you are never fucking going back there, and as long as I’m fucking alive he will never touch you again.”
You make another soft sound, and nod. “I’m sorry-“
“No. You’re fucking everything to me, and if you’re burning, it’s not without me. So don’t fucking apologize.”
This time you just let out a breath, and wrap your arms fully around his body. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t push that one. Ben just grunts, and holds you tighter against him, shielding you from the water, still holding you like you’re sacred. Always holding you like you’re sacred. Like you can’t be broken, because the fire in your body will seal the cracks back together, and he’ll be here while it does. Words are coming a little easier, mumbled into his shirt, and you’re still broken but it’s not wrong anymore. “I’m tired, Ben. I’m so tired.”
“I know,” you can feel the heave of his chest as he sighs, and you think you might just fall asleep here. You’re safe, Ben would pick you up, and you’re so tired. “Sleep, Sunshine. I’m here.”
He’s here. Ben’s here, and saying all the right things, so right before you collapse against him, you smile. His heart is right under your head on his chest, and you can’t feel him but he’s real.
“You’re home.” Ben mutters onto the crown of your head. “That’s all that fucking matters.”
This time, when he’s warmer than the water and stronger than all the fear in your body, his heart lulling you to sleep, you believe him.
End Note: Big character centered chapter, I know, but we have to EARN the confession. Who do you guys think is gonna slip up and say I love you first. I know who I’m putting money on, but also that’s insider trading.
Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Summary: Two months have flown by since you've seen Rafe. New Year's came and gone, you've thrown yourself back into work, and nothing is good about your life anymore. You navigate as best as you could to move on. You didn't realize you'd need to see him one last time in order to.
Contents: sad rafe (who cares), sad pogue!reader, mentions of loss of parent, kinda a depressive episode but not really mentioned as one.
Words: 4k but not really proofread
Two months since Christmas. Two months since you’ve avoided Rafe Cameron at all costs. The end of February came in the blink of an eye, yet still felt like an agonizing wait. You didn’t want to be anywhere near the man who caused your favorite holiday, the one that already felt like a reminder of a nightmare you could never wake up from into something even worse.
You buried yourself back into the hole you’ve had yourself in over a year ago. A mental trap. One you’ve oh so desperately tried to dig yourself out of. The one he helped pull you up from. God, why can’t you forget about him?
Your friends helped after your parents' accident, sure. They helped ease the normalcy back into your life. Drop offs at work, lunch at The Wreck, surf days— even if you refused to get into the water. But they couldn’t do for you what Rafe did.
The way he could talk you down from spiraling. The way he related to the loss of a mother and her love. The loss of a father who stopped caring about your well being. It was a level of compassion and understanding that he only seemed to master and it fucked with you terribly now.
You spent New Year's Eve with the pogues drinking bottles cheap champagne around the bonfire once again. The fire crackled and the waves lapped against the shore behind you. It brought a slight sense of peace. You fought the sadness, you fought the tears, just for one night. Despite how hard it was to be surrounded by friends who had no idea what was going on inside your head.
As the clock hit midnight, you joined in for the cheers and confetti. A real smile crept up on your face seeing the ones on your friends. You loved that they were so happy. Life didn’t hand any of them the good stick but they make the most of what they have. You just wish you had the ability to do the same.
When those cheers died down, each couple leaned in to seal in the new year with kisses. It felt like your cue to disappear. You down the rest of your drink and slipped away. You climbed the porch and stepped inside, never noticing Sarah’s eyes following you as you retreated.
It felt hypocritical and selfish to say, but you couldn’t stand to see them like that. Not when you had become the group's third wheel again— even if it was unbeknownst to them. Any type of newfound happiness you had was ripped out from under you just a week earlier. You wished it could’ve been you. You and Rafe. Seeing them like that felt like a punch to the gut. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t stop it.
The rest of January, you worked. Timedragged when you were there but you threw yourself 110% into your shifts, picking up as many doubles as you could. One shift left enough time to head home, shower, change, and make your way to the next job.
You forced yourself to ignore the ache in your chest. You ignored the urge to slip into darkness and shut yourself away again. You kept going. You had to. Because if you slowed down, even the slightest facing the smallest bit of silence, thoughts of him would creep their way in.
Taking orders, running tables, the constant movement in your feet did just that. When you left the country club, the loud chaos of the biker bar at night did the job even better. The best part about it, you didn’t run into Rafe once.
Even when his friends came into the country club, he was nowhere in sight. He thrived in this environment and it was like he vanished. It was weird. The vengeful part of you hoped that he locked himself away and regretted the embarrassment he caused you Christmas night. But there was still a part in your heart that was held for him, that just wanted to see him once.
Still, even without him they would all stare at you. The center of their twisted attention. One of them would say something to the table that would make them all laugh and look back at you as if you were the butt of a very funny joke, just waiting to see if it could break.
If they showed up and found themselves in your section, you swapped their table with another waiter just to protect your peace.
It wouldn’t stop the whispers, but it kept you far from it. That was enough for you.
You knew that there was a weird sort of consequence that was handed to him for embarrassing the kooks by being with a pogue. And you knew that news most likely spread through figure eight like wildfire, but you force yourself to not let it get the best of you. No matter how hard his friends didn’t want you to forget that night.
You spent the first few nights wondering what he said to Topper when he found out. Your texts were personal, all things on a deeper level. Things that no one else deserved to know. How did he spin it? How did he save himself from it so it all landed on you?
You knew he had to, they all flocked after him that night. He turned it on you. That was something he was really good at. Getting his way out of trouble. Were you the obsessed pogue girl just trying to get the kook king to fall in love with you? Did he play it off to them as a way to get in your pants? The thoughts spun around like a tornado before you finally forced the basement door shut to keep yourself protected.
It— he wasn’t your problem anymore.
Sarah was the only one that you had confided in about her brother. She cornered you one night after another long shift. January 25th to be exact. One month after it all happened. She offered you a ride home when your car was in the shop. You were grateful to not have to walk, but you knew from the way she’d keep glancing over at you, this wasn’t just about a ride.
She sensed something, of course she could, she was amazing at reading people. She could see the difference in you again. You looked the exact same as when your mom died. Last year was better for you, she knew that much. She thought it was just the pogues helping you. But the way you shut down the same way again, but trying your hardest to pretend like you were fine was what caught her attention.
When the incident happened with your parents, you didn’t act as if your world had just shattered. You locked yourself away, you drank way too much, your sobs could be heard from the driveway. But this was different, too different. There was something her friend wasn’t telling her and it's a pogue code that when one is suffering they can’t stand by and watch it happen.
She had pulled into a lot at the line that divided figure eight and the cut. It pulled up right near the water. The waves were a bit choppier from the cold weather, still the sound of them calmed you. Shit, why did this girl know exactly what to do? The windows were rolled down, the salty breeze ran through the Twinkie. She turned in her seat, facing you.
“What’s going on with you?”
You look at her, mouth opening but the words refusing to leave. You knew it was coming but you still didn’t know if you could face the truth. Saying it out loud makes it too real. Saying it out loud brings it to the surface when you’ve tried so hard to drown it.
“I can see it, you know. You're quiet, you’re tired, you’re killing yourself at work. Something happened and I need to know. Please let someone in, you don’t deserve to feel like this again.”
Her words broke you. It was the final crack in the dam that you’ve been trying so hard to hold together. Sarah wasted no time closing the space between to wrap her arms around you. After a few moments you regained composure. You sat back, taking a deep breath, and began to tell Sarah everything.
Rafe finding you at the dock, the relationships that blossomed from there. The similarities that you both shared. How much he spoke about his mom in detail— something that Sarah never even does. How he became your person, the one who helped you most when everything felt too heavy to carry yourself, he helped lift that burden off of you. Finally ending with what happened on Christmas.
You could see all the emotions she’s gone through, they were written very clearly on her face. Anger, confusion, maybe a bit of betrayal. But when you bring up her mom it softens. Opening up is something that Rafe Cameron never does and she knows it first hand. They were never close, that divide grew when she became a pogue. But she knew for certain that if Rafe opened up to you that way then what you had was real.
She knew his appearance meant a lot to him. It’s something that their father instilled in all of them at a young age. The Cameron name carried on this island and any small inconvenience to it could ruin anything. Sarah never worried about it because she was his favorite and even with her leaving for a life on the cut, that seemed to fall into Rafe even more than her.
She saw what this has all done for you and now she was angry. Not at you— but at her brother and his friends. How could he be so stupid? How could he ruin the one thing that seemed to go well in his life. He had something so real, something that he could be so proud of. Then Topper got in his head and he threw it away.
Sarah did what she knew best. Be the person that you need. Be there for you when you felt no one else could. Distracted you from your thoughts. Had girls nights just the two of you. Show up to your work, just to brighten up your day. Cracked jokes just to watch you smile.
She knew that it probably didn’t amount to what Rafe had done. But it meant more to you than anything. February had passed with a bit more ease thanks to her. The thoughts lingered but they were more soft.
On the first day of March, you had the day off from the country club. Not voluntarily, not to use up some PTO. You were basically forced to by the manager, who needed to stop you from how much you were overworking yourself. You didn’t want this. The moment you woke up the voices in your head were already loud amongst the quiet.
Your feet padded through the house. Down the hallway Rafe had to lift you from when you had a panic attack and couldn’t get up on your own. Past the couch in the living room where he’d hold you and whisper nothings into your hair when thoughts of your parents consumed you. Into the kitchen where he’d cook for you when you could muster up the energy to do it yourself.
Your home, your safe space was nothing but a memory of what used to be. Photos of your parents, Rafe’s presence, there’s a reason you try not to spend too much time here. It’s a capsule for everything that you cannot stand to deal with.
Nevertheless, you walked over to the counter and brewed yourself a fresh brew of coffee. It’s not often that you get to enjoy it like this. You try to trick your mind that this was good for you— a break was good for you.
After enjoying your coffee, you took a look around at the state of the house. You had been on autopilot for so long, spending so much time working, avoiding being here, that you didn’t realize how messy it still was. The small Christmas tree you set up still sat in the corner, a little tilted, lights off but still plugged in. After picking up some stray clothing from around the room you made your way over to it.
You began to pluck off the ornaments one by one, making sure not to look at them for too long. Then, you unraveled the lights, they stuck to the branches, crinkling from how old the plastic was. Finally, you take the tree placing it neatly in the box on top of everything else. You felt clear, the space that was meant for a happy time, now cleaned up and away from you view.
That was until you noticed a glimmer of gold wrapping paper. A small box, left haphazardly behind, coated in a light layer of dust. You swallowed hard when you realized what it was. His gift. Something you couldn’t wait to give him, something you couldn’t wait for his reaction to see.
You honestly had forgotten about it. You tried so hard just to forget about him as a whole, you didn’t even think about the gift.
You placed it on the table, ripping open the paper, taking it out of the box. Your fingers held it gently. Not to preserve its state, but cautiously, as if it would burn your fingers if you held it too long. You grazed over the engraving, before slamming it down as the memories of your life raced through your mind.
Standing up, you take a shower and get dressed. Heading for the door you grab nothing but your wallet and the watch. You want absolutely nothing to do with it. The physicality and the meaning behind it. If it stayed with you, it would haunt you forever and you didn’t need that in your life anymore.
You drive into town as the watch sits in your passenger seat, taunting you. You know exactly how to get to the pawn shop, you don’t even have to think about the directions, you’ve needed to pawn enough in your life to get by, it’s practically a second home.
You paid roughly $350 for the thing, the engraving was extra and you know it’d probably be a deal breaker here. Something personally costs more for them to make purchasable for others. You'd take a low ball amount. For god's sake, you’d take a nickel to get this thing out of your life.
When you park the car, you step out into the cold air, you had to park quite a bit from the shop, which is fine, but the longer you have this watch in your possession the more you feel as if you could combust. Either way, you grab it with a little more force than usual and begin to make your way to Barry’s place.
With all thoughts consuming you, you’re spaced out as you walk. You can’t keep your eyes off the watch. It makes you want the sidewalk to swallow you whole. If anything, it just makes you angry now. You want it gone, you just want Rafe Cameron out of your life forever.
Before you could think about it anymore, your body collides with someone else, the watch slipping from your grasp and an arm reaches out to steady you. You’re already muttering apologies before you can even see the person you walked into. Your eyes are still on the watch as you watch the other person reach down and pick it up for you.
“Sorry about that. Hope this is ok—” he pauses once he examines it. You finally look up at who it is and of course the universe just has to be cruel to you on all days. Rafe. Why wouldn’t it be?
You stand there silently as he looks at the watch. He could see the engraving on the backside. He’s just as silent when he looks back at you. Neither of you say anything for a moment. There’s not much to say anyways. For two months you were able to stay away from him. Two months without having to speak to him. You were glad about it too.
You snatched the watch from his hand, ready to move around him, but he caught your wrist before you could make it anywhere. His grip was soft, gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking whatever fragile remnants still existed between the both of you.
You fought his grip, yanking your arm free. He put his hands up in a mock surrender. He didn’t want to hold you here, he wanted to give you the option, but he really wanted you to stay. “Could you please give me the chance to explain?”
The idea of it could only make your eyes roll. You weren’t a violent person. You’ve cleaned up enough of your friends' bruises to know that a fight wasn’t something you’d ever want to be involved in. But your anger got the best of you.
Before you knew it your hand was raised and smacking across Rafe’s cheek. The sound echoing through the street. He held his cheek but didn’t say anything, he knew he couldn’t. He knew he deserved worse.
“Explain?” You let out a short huff of a laugh. “Explain what exactly? How you embarrassed me? How you left me when it mattered most? How now I have to pawn off this stupid watch I spent months saving for because I can’t stand the sight of it?”
Your chest was heaving, you didn’t realize how much anger you were holding back. The sadness covered it all, you didn’t even think it was possible for you to be angry. The words just kept coming, you didn’t want to let him speak before you got everything out.
“You played me for a fool. I thought you cared about me. I thought you cared about the idea of us. That for once, you’d let these stupid island wars not get the best of you and actually love me. Instead you let me stand there and get humiliated. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
He nodded slowly. Taking in each word, they settled for him. Because in all honesty he hadn’t meant to do that. He didn’t mean for you to feel this. “I had my reasons.” It was spoken quietly and defeated. But loud enough for you to hear.
“Are you gonna elaborate or just stand there with your tail between your legs?”
He runs a hand through his hair, he paces a bit. Typical Rafe, having to rev himself up for anything that serious. He just can’t get it out normally. “Topper had the upper hand here. I need you to realize this.”
“What the fuck does that mean and what does that have to do with us?”
“It means that Topper’s dad was in the works of signing off on a deal with mine. A huge deal. One that my dad would’ve had my head for if I fucked over. So when he saw those texts, he held the deal over me. Said if I continued it, he’d find a way to get his dad to back out and let mine know it was all on me.”
His words hit you like a blow to the head. You actually think that might be a little easier to deal with than whatever kind of excuse this was. You’ve heard stories about his dad from Sarah. He’s confided in you about him himself and yet he still answers to him at any given cost. He still revolves everything around the man that makes his life miserable.
“That’s it? That's why you gave up on us so quickly? Because you’re scared of daddy?” You knew you were aiming for the jugular with that one. You knew it was a sensitive topic for him. But you were so far gone, it almost didn’t matter anymore.
He leans in a little closer, his finger violently pointing to himself in the chest. “I’ve hated this too, y’know. Your face that night haunts me in my dreams. Being awake doesn’t even help because all I see is you. I wish I could take that night back. I just want to be someone who could stand up to my father.”
“You can, Rafe. When you finally decide to start living for yourself. You’ve made it clear to me, many times, that you hate that man. Why do you let him have a hold on you like this still?” The weight of everything makes it a little harder to speak. The words come out more broken.
Still you find enough strength to get it out. You didn’t realize your body needed to vent to him like this. “I know that he makes it seem like you don’t matter and you believe him when he says it. But I had hoped that maybe I mattered a little more to you.”
He looked absolutely devastated. His hand twitched, like he was fighting every muscle just to reach out and feel you. To comfort you. But he wasn’t the one that could offer something like that anymore.
He lets out another defeated sigh. “I’m sorry. Really. I promise you this has been eating me alive just as much. I don’t know what to do without you.” He knows he’s lost. You, a future with you, another battle with his father. It’s all been crashing down on him too. You just couldn’t care to see.
“Yeah well I’m sorry for ever letting you into my life. Now, if you don’t mind I gotta go sell this. Probably not worth much now that it’s all scratched up.” You wave the watch in your hand carelessly, and move past him again. This time he lets you but you only make it a few steps before he calls out to you.
“Can I have it?”
You stop, turning towards him slowly. “Excuse me?”
“I want to have it. You got it from me. If I can’t have you, I’d like to have something of you. A piece of what used to be. Please?”
You take a moment to contemplate. The engraving, the scratches from when it just fell. You’d be lucky to get even $100 for it. You wanted it gone but money is still money and you were in no mood to barter with Barry today. “It’s $350.”
“Wha—”
“You want it so bad, you owe me what it costs. I’m not just going to give it to you. I spent months working to save for this. I got it engraved for you, because we— you made me think this was something real. Something worth living for. You don’t just get to take it.”
“You meant more to me than you’ll ever know.” He sighed looking down at his feet. It pained him to look at you and know he’s the reason you’re hurt.
“And now I’ll never know thanks to you. $350.”
Rafe’s fingers fumbled as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He quickly counted a few bills and placed them in your hand. You do the same with the watch. You watched as his hand held it tightly. He fought the urge to cry, but you caught a single tear slip down his cheek. “You know I loved you right?”
You vowed to stay away from him after he broke your heart, so with every little bit of strength you had thought turned and walked back to your car, leaving his question unanswered. The money in your hand felt like it was burning right through your skin. Counting it quickly so you could put it away, you see that he gave you $500. It cost $500 to officially say goodbye to Rafe Cameron.
summary: dustin wants to set you up with his other older male friend in an attempt to help you move on from your first love— or so he tells you. really, dustin wants your ex boyfriend to get jealous. luckily, it really doesn’t take much to make steve harrington jealous, especially when it comes to you.
warnings: events of season 5, blood, gore, panic attack, nightmares, injury, language, banter, sibling dynamics, jealousy, possessiveness, over protective ex. friend!eddie feature! not even a real love triangle, sexual themes, not completely cannon (it’s FANFICTION YOU’LL LIVE) 🤷🏼♀️
you stared blankly out the window, nursing a coke just to have something to do. you really needed to get out of the house… you could call nancy. you could call robin. you could take yourself to the movies, or to get ice cream…
you did none of that.
“holy shit, please tell me you haven’t been sitting there all day.”
“of course i haven’t.”
you had.
dustin groaned, “why don’t you just call him…”
“no.”
“you know he would come crawling back to you. literally on his damn knees…”
“dustin, drop it—“
“why don’t you? you have not given me a single reason why you broke up. i asked him and he wouldn’t tell me—“
“you asked him!? dustin! stay the hell out of it!”
“if you aren’t going to call him, if you don’t want him back, why don’t you at least try to move the hell on?”
god, he knew nothing.
as if you hadn’t tried.
as if it was possible…
“just shut up, will you?” your voice was soft, though felt tears coming on again, “i don’t want to talk about this.”
“just give me one real reason why you broke up. then i’ll drop it.”
“i couldn’t keep seeing him covered in blood, barely coming back to me. jumping in to every single fight and never once winning.”
“but he always makes it back to you!”
“yes. but i will not be the reason that he doesn’t one day.”
dustin didn’t bring it up again.
you had parked outside of the family video again. you knew it was damn stupid. you had never actually made it inside. just parked outside, hating yourself, missing him, hating yourself even more. dustin had been asking to rent all three star wars and have a marathon. maybe he wasn’t working today. maybe it was just robin and you wouldn’t have to feel that weird thing your chest did where it felt like you were dying, every time you saw him.
he was.
and it did.
your pulse leapt significantly as soon as you saw the head of hair over the counter. at least this job didn’t have him in a v-neck sailor uniform— where you could see the edges of his chest hair— or the stupid sailors hat— that really should not have been such a turn on for you.
steve stopped mid sentence with robin, eyes lighting up immediately and making your stomach flip. he hopped right over the counter, ignoring robin, ignoring the line of customers. you had half a mind to turn and run out the door, but you had promised dustin that this friday— today— you would finally have the damn marathon.
“hi…” every time he greeted you it was like he was sighing in relief.
“hey, steve…”
“how um— how are… what are you—“ steve wrestled with himself to not say something stupid and scare you off, “can i help you find something?” you were staring at him too much, you realized with horror and quickly looked at the nearest poster on the wall.
“i’m here for star wars… dustin has been wanting to do a marathon. and i’ve been putting it off—“
“because you have to see me?”
“no—“
yes.
“i’ve just been…. busy.”
you had read twenty eight books this month and thought about steve longer than any of them had taken to read.
steve nodded, not wanting to point out that he always knew when you were lying, “they are technically on hold right now.”
shit.
“but…” steve hoped over the counter, pulling out a brown paper back labeled clarke and shook the contents out of the bag. you looked around in concern, knowing he would most definitely get in trouble for this, and very much hoping mr. clarke was not around to see this. steve gestured to the pile of movies, including saturn 3, somewhere in time, blade runner, space raiders and multiple other sci fi movies that you were happy dustin had his friends to go see with. “i don’t think he’s lacking in his.. science fiction experience for the weekend. if anything, i’m doing him a favor.”
it was sweet, though you were rather concerned about him losing another job, “can’t you get in a lot of trouble for that?”
“probably.” he leaned in slightly, “i’ll blame it on the system. accidental double book. happens all the time…”
you really doubted that. even still, you stacked them in your arms and tried not to smile too much at him, “thank you, steve. dustin will be very happy.” steve eyed you as he rang you up, mouth twitched up in a smile, “as long as dustin is happy…”
you locked eyes with steve for far too long, feeling the air slowly trickle out from between the two of you. the video store seemed to shrink and suddenly you could not remember why you had even broken up with him. robin coughed, loudly, ringing the customer bell repeatedly until steve looked away from you with a murderous expression.
“what?”
“customers.” robin motioned vaguely, but the store was pretty much empty.
“there’s no one here—“ you shouldn’t have said it. robin was just trying to pull you away from each other— like you had once told her to do— and to keep you from once again becoming like two colliding supernovas who lost all sense of reality and regard for anyone else….
“then steve needs to finish stocking—“
steve did not want to. he continued to glare daggers at robin before turning back to you with those soft brown eyes, “let me know if they’re just as good the third time…” you had loved star wars. you and steve had gone to see all of them in theaters and were the only reason dustin got into them. watching these movies had always been—
“hey you should come too.”
what the hell was wrong with you?
“you and robin…” good save. “both of you— should come..tonight. i think the whole party is coming so it would be nice not to be the only grown up.”
you used that word lightly, as you had just sat outside in your car staring into the establishment out of anxiety of running into steve like he were a elementary school crush.
robin just stared at you from behind steve, accusingly, dumbstruck, wondering what the hell you were thinking.
you hadn’t been thinking at all…
steve was smiling, not even trying to play cool about it, “yeah… i’ll be there.” steve didn’t take his eyes off you, though his tone was mocking, “robin? will you be there?”
robin had plans. steve knew robin had plans. still, she took her role as best friend and interceptor very seriously, “i’ll be there.”
shit.
what the hell had you been thinking? you couldn’t handle steve coming over and watching several hours worth of movies in a dark room. you couldn’t even handle going into where he worked. in daylight. surrounded by people.
“shit—“ you tossed random things around the room as if the thought of a messy house was the worst of your problems. it wasn’t like it was a date. it wasn’t a date. you had company coming over— fourteen year olds and steve and robin, not the president.
“hey—“ dustin stopped just inside the door, “what are you doing?” you froze, having been scrubbing the couch cleaned, “nothing.” you stood up, arms at your sides guiltily, “cleaning. we have people coming over, you know…” dustin raised an eyebrow, watching you like he was concerned you were going insane, “right… um, about that.” oh no if he canceled, you might drop dead. “i saw steve today… and he said you invited him over?”
“and robin—“ you added very quickly, before pausing, “when did you see steve?”
“oh, i went to family video to make sure you got the movies.”
great. he didn’t trust you at all…
“yeah, mr. clarke was there, said he was missing star wars. steve said there must have been a mistake in the system—“
you eyed him in silence, “you know i’ve had them rented—“
“are you sure you didn’t just walk in there and steve jumped over the counter, asked what you wanted and then pulled them out of a reserved order?”
damn.
“i can always take them back…” your tone was warning and dustin went running into his room with a very wide grin, “oh by the way!” he paused to look back at you, “i invited eddie. thought it would make things interesting. wear something nice.”
you spun to look at him, mouth hanging open, “what—“ you had met eddie several times already, you liked eddie just fine. he was someone you could even— loosely— consider a friend— wear something nice?
“what the hell does that mean—“ dustin’s bedroom door shutting was the only answer.
steve showed up twenty minutes early, leaving you with no time to be a nervous wreck or rethink and change your outfit again. dustin let him in without waiting for you and you nearly ran into him, coming into the kitchen, “you’re early…” you weren’t upset. steve shrugged, never taking his eyes off you, “is that okay? i figured i could help with food or….whatever.” dustin looked between you and sighed— you were both pathetic.
a second knock came later, deaf to both you and steve, who were stumbling around in the kitchen in conversation, trying not to stand too close to each other. dustin opened the door and ushered eddie in, parading him through the living room and into the kitchen, where steve stood beside you, “you remember eddie, right?” dustin shoved him right between the two of you, eddie muttering apologies and swearing at dustin.
“hello—?” you nodded to eddie politely, “how have you been? how’s hellfire?” as if dustin didn’t keep you updated. eddie was still staring at dustin for an explanation but perked up slightly at the mention of hellfire, “good! hellfire’s been great. the campaign is really developing, the story, i think, is my best one yet.”
you nodded along, occasionally commenting— you did know some things about dnd. dustin had begged you to play an entire campaign with he, mike, will and lucas. you understood the basics. you knew the monsters… eddie was apparently floored that you, a girl, knew so much about dnd and the way his eyes lit up had been noticed. especially by steve. “isn’t that just, like, all dice?”
you glanced at steve and almost laughed at the look on his face. his cheeks were red, hand gripping the side of the table tightly, eyeing eddie like he was a demogorgan. oh brother.
“is what all dice?”
“dragons and dungeons…”
oh, he knew the right name. he was being an undermining little shit.
dustin was almost smirking, taking in the look on steve’s face like it was an accomplishment.
“dungeons and dragons.” eddie had taken offense to the wrong name and you held back a laugh. “you use dice. that isn’t all of it—“ you tuned the debate and argument that followed out, just watching the pair in silence.
“steve—“ you shot him a look, warning, exasperated, only slightly amused by his behavior.
“i’m just saying, it seems like a waste of time and it’s not theres any strategy—“ he would never say this to dustin, you knew.
“steve…” your tone turned more pleading and he snapped out of his smug droning and looked at you. “what?” his eyes were soft on you, tone innocent, “i’m just curious…” he was an idiot. and yet the thought of him being so jealous over you just talking to eddie... goddamn it, you didn’t hate it. you raised your eyebrows, just staring at him in disbelief. “what?” he said it softer, this time a dare, wanting you to acknowledge it. you narrowed your eyes slightly, turning back to eddie, “it’s good to see you again. make yourself at home, let me know if theres anything you need.” steve dropped a cup beside you and swore.
dustin had gathered blankets and pillows from your room and his, as the kids piled onto the couch. max had joined lucas, and you offered to take the floor. steve joined you without a word, handing you a soda silently, sitting just far enough so your knees didn’t quite touch. dustin kicked you from above, on the couch, and you grunted, “sorry, that was an accident.” he did it again and this time steve turned and acknowledged him with a glare. he wanted you to move over. closer to steve. eddie awkwardly sat on the other side of you, smartly avoiding steve.
“thanks again for inviting me, dude. and for having me,…. dustin’s sister.”
you corrected him with your name, smiling in amusement, “no problem, eddie. the more the merrier…” apparently. robin had almost been late, tucking in on the other side of steve. she had tried to sit between you, but steve had pushed her over, conveniently moving his knee so there was no room. robin punched him in the arm and the two began to argue in whispers.
“haven’t you guys seen these movies like a dozen times?” max got shushed, but lucas answered, “only two. i think dustin is at four. mike is at three.”
“we have seen them four times, not that it’s a competition.” steve chimed in and you thought about elbowing him.
“you are all nerds.” robin shook her head.
“i’ve seen them only once. i saw them all in theaters, of course. i just think there should be more fantasy stuff…”
steve opened his mouth to say something to eddie, but you beat him to it, “i agree! sci fi is cool, but when are we getting more dragons and swords? like why can’t we get lord of the rings movies? what about narnia?”
eddie almost jumped up, “yes! thank you! exactly!“
steve was appalled, staring at you with his jaw hanging open, gesturing in a frozen shrug, “what…“
robin was trying not to laugh, secretly wishing she had been here earlier to see more of this one sided competition for your attention.
steve nudged you, leaning in, “remember the halloween we went as han and leia?” you smiled despite yourself. you had taken the boys trick or treating, they had argued about who was luke, who was yoda and who got to be darth vader. mike had demanded that he was obi wan and no one argued. “we were…what? fifteen?” “fourteen.” it had been almost six years ago already. “you never did wear leia’s gold bikini…” you hummed, smirking slightly. he was in dangerous territory. reminiscing, his suggestive tone…
“i miss you.” you felt like a jolt of electricity went through you. “steve—“ you kept your voice quiet, but stern. warning. “no, i know. i know… we broke up. i get it. but it’s been a month now. can’t i miss you? can’t we just…try to be friends? at least be able to be in the same room as me…”
you couldn’t. there was really no universe where you were able to be in the same room as him and feel nothing. there was no casual friendship, there was nothing and no amount of time that had gotten rid of your feelings. really, there was no universe or dimension where you could ever look at steve as just a friend. you stood up, mumbling an apology for bumping into eddie on the way.
steve followed you. of course he did… you paced in the kitchen, arms folded across yourself as if it would keep you calm. “i’m sorry… forget i said anything, i’m sorry. just come back and watch the movie, i— you’ll miss your favorite scene— han solo is on…” you didn’t care about the movie. you didn’t care about han solo— not unless it was steve in the stupid costume again.
“hey—“ steve grabbed your shoulders and gently eased you to stop pacing. you were crying now. shit, you were crying again. steve swore softly and knelt slightly to look you in the eyes. you looked away. “i’m sorry. i didn’t—“ you turned, pulling out of his grasp and took a deep breath.
“i miss you too.”
god, still— so much that it hurt.
“okay… so then why—“
“i can’t steve! i can’t do it. it’s too damn hard to… shit, i miss you so much but i—“
“hey,” steve grabbed your shoulders again, now forcing you to face him, “i’m right here. i’m right here… standing in front of you. i haven’t gone anywhere. i’m not going to go anywhere. talk to me.”
you couldn’t.
“i can’t. i can’t do it again…”
“do what?
“steve—“
“do you still love me?”
you stopped short, breath ripped from your lungs.
“because i still love you. you know i still love you— tell me you don’t still feel the same way and i’ll drop it.”
god, now you knew where dustin got it…
steve had gotten closer now, eyes locked onto you like an anchor that held you in place. he searched your face, brown eyes expectant, hands holding your wrist to keep you from turning away again.
you couldn’t lie. not to him. not to him looking at you like that… not with him pleading for you to voice what he already knew— what you wouldn’t let yourself entertain.
stupidly, betraying the act of how strong you actually thought you were, you kissed him.
steve pulled you against him in one quick motion, snatching your wrist again and looping it around his waist. this was stupid. this was so stupid and so dangerous— the feeling of his lips on you again, his arms braced on either side of you, the way you had to tilt your head back to be level with his mouth—
“shit—“
shit!
steve stumbled when you pulled away, like his body had been completely dependent on you to stay upright. he said your name. softly, in question, pleading…
“no.” you ducked under his arm and began pacing even faster. he said your name again, this time a sigh.
“you realize you kissed me?”
yes. damn you…
“come back over here. hey— stop pacing, come on..” his voice was so soft, so pleading and so patient that you almost did go to him. but you stopped short, breath coming more rapid, chest constricting slightly. it wasn’t a new thing— the panic attacks. the over thinking and the flashes of worse case scenarios.
“hey, whoa—“ steve’s eyes softened further, eyes growing wide as he stepped towards you. he had always been the only one to talk you down. he had always been there for the worst of them… “breathe. look at me… hey—“ you did. his soft brown eyes locked on you in the same way they always had been, his hands gentle on your elbows, holding you in place, grounding you to him. you took a deep breath, letting your eyes drift from his own.
“i can’t….” steve’s soft expression only faded for a moment, guilt, disappointment, heartbreak flickering over his face briefly, “okay.”
“i can’t…. i can’t do it again, steve.”
“do what?” but he knew. you had been the one to end things, you had been the one to just kiss him, and now you were breaking his heart all over again. he understood. he didn’t agree and he hadn’t gone without a fight, but he understood.
i can’t do this anymore. you had said it to him just over a month ago, tears in your eyes, clinging to him like he were going to disappear. i can’t worry about both of you. i can’t keep seeing you covered in blood, i can’t watch you jump in front of the fights anymore. dustin was enough… you lost sleep worrying about losing both of them. waking up in a panic, covered in sweat, despite steve being in bed beside you. i can’t lose you.
“i can’t lose you.”
steve cupped your face in his hands, eyes searching yours with the softest expression. his mouth turned up just slightly, “you’re not going to lose me…”
you shook your head, hand on top of his, tears falling from your eyes, “you don’t know that… you can’t promise that.”
steve stepped closer, “i’m not going anywhere. when have i ever not come back to you?”
“i can’t be the reason some day you don’t…”
your name again, more pleading.
“can you promise me you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself? for me. for anyone else?”
steve hesitated, searching you, wishing you had asked him to promise anything else in the world.
you bit your lip, stepping back, letting go of his hands. you just shook your head, looking at him sadly, sick and relieved that he had proven your point.
“i still love you. that’s why i can’t…”
you disappeared into your room and steve left without another word.
the kiss was still stuck in his head, two weeks later. despite not having seen you, despite not having mentioned it and despite trying not to think about it. he could still feel you against him, he could still taste the coke on your tongue.
steve swore, dropping the stack of videos he had been carrying. robin eyed him, raising a single eyebrow. steve hated when she looked at him like that.
“are you going to tell me what happened at the movie night or are you going to continue being a liability in the work force?”
“liability in the work force? it’s a family video.”
“okay. this is the third stack of movies you’ve dropped since this morning.”
“nothing happened at the movie night.”
it was technically true… nothing had come of the kiss, at least.
“did you have a fight? did you piss her off?”
steve almost dropped the movies again, swearing and huffing in frustration, “no, robin– no. we didn’t have a fight.” that would have been better…
“okay well i’ve never seen you walk out of there so quickly and so quietly. and the way she just disappeared into her room—“
“robin—“
but they had both shut up as they looked out the window and saw you and dustin rushing towards the store. steve’s heart dropped, immediately rushing to worst case scenario. “—so majorly screwed—“ dustin looked slightly ill, already breathless from panic.
the paleness of your face and your frantic expression had steve jumping over the counter and rushing to you, half expecting you to be severely injured. “what happened?” his hands were on your face before he could even think, “are you okay?”
you put your hands on top of his, dwelling on the way he was keeping you grounded. you took a deep breath, “something’s..happening again… i don’t— i don’t know…. eddie— said that—“
“eddie?” steve’s hands moved from your face and he stepped back, “this is about eddie?”
“holy shit, dude, this not the time to be jealous!”
“i’m not jealous—! i don’t give a shit about eddie— i don’t care!”
“steve.” your tone brought him back, eyes locking onto you, “this isn’t about eddie.”
it was— kind of.
“this is about the upside down… something happened.”
steve floored it, trying to focus on the road and dustin’s many many holes in his story. “are you sure eddie didn’t just…” steve clicked his tongue and made a gesture over his throat.
“no, steve. eddie isn’t a psychopath murderer who snaps girl’s limbs and gouges their eyes out.”
steve turned to glance at you, eyebrows raised, unconvinced. “dustin’s right. eddie is eccentric but he would never do that… i don’t think he would hurt anyone—“
“oh i forgot eddie was your close personal friend! i forgot you knew him so well—“
“steve.” your tone was short now, glaring at him in disbelief. he was being ridiculous. insane, even. to be jealous now. “steve harrington, i need you to stop being so damn jealous and listen to me.” steve looked briefly like a scolded puppy, staring at you with a guilty expression, eyes wide that you had blatantly called him out.
“i need your help. okay? i do. i’m asking. because if this is what we think it is again, this will effect everyone. it has nothing to do with eddie.”
you didn’t really care about eddie unintentional being wanted for murder. but dustin thought the world of him and you cared about dustin. steve gritted his teeth, jaw clenched as he continued to stare at you. he swore again and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, “where am i going…”
“why would he tell you where he was hiding? if he’s actually in trouble—“ “he didn’t tell me! that’s why we had to hack into the family video system, to find—“ you shushed both of them, passing dustin the backpack as you dug through the trunk of steve’s car. steve leaned against the roof of his car, looking stuck between anxious and impatient. you wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for dustin. you knew steve would not be out here if you hadn’t asked him personally. you felt better knowing he was out here with you. as much as you hated to admit it…
you hesitated at the door to the boathouse. you knew it was stupid– but if things from the upside down were back, you didn’t want to go in blindly. “dustin, flashlight…” your brother passed you the flashlight and you exchanged an anxious glance with robin.
“i’ll go in first.”
“no you won’t.”
“just give me the flashlight—“
“no, harrington.”
steve pushed past you, glancing at you with an innocent expression. you huffed, grumbling to yourself and grabbing his wrist. steve looked at you cautiously and you entered the boathouse side by side. you held the flashlight and steve held a canoe oar, both bracing for worst case scenario. dustin had picked up a paddle, while robin held a second flashlight, “eddie?” she whispered, despite knowing they were alone in the woods.
“eddie?”
“eddie..?”
dustin poked at the tarp over a canoe with held breath.
“i don’t think he’s here, man—”
before the word was fully out of his mouth, steve was screaming, being shoved backwards, pinned to the wall with a knife to his throat. you screamed, running forward as panic took over.
“eddie!”
“whoa—!”
“eddie, whoa! it’s me! it’s us! it’s dustin—“
eddie’s head snapped backwards, eyes wide and jaw set like he was going to go through with it. “it’s us! you know steve—!” the knife was lowered from steve’s throat and you felt your heart start beating normally again and air fill your lungs once again. steve stumbled forward, out of breath and holding his throat. he nearly collapsed into you and you didn’t think twice when you wrapped your arms around him to steady him.
“sorry—“ eddie eyed you apologetically, eyes still wide in fear, “i’m sorry about that— thought you were…someone else…”
“yeah—“ steve wheezed out, massaging his throat, “-fine—“ you turned to steve, hand gently on his throat, relieved that eddie hadn’t drawn blood. steve’s eyes locked onto yours, breathing slowing, heart rate not decreasing as you numbly still rested your hand on his chest.
the eye contact broke and steve felt like he was falling. you turned to dustin, pulse rising as he urged eddie to tell the full story.
eddie was pale when he finished, a haunted expression that you had seen too many times to doubt. “i know it’s insane…” eddie’s haunted expression stared out, over the lake, eyes glossy and almost dazed.
it was insane. too insane to be made up… you had learned not to let hawkins surprise you. you had recognized the look of terror and disbelief in eddie’s eyes.
“we’ll find a place for you to stay… and we’ll tell the others.” robin had seen enough of her own horrors this last summer not to doubt— though a monster that possesses your mind and then eventually snaps all your joints, pops your eyeballs and levitates you was a bit too much for her. understandable…
“you can stay with us.” dustin was quick to volunteer your house, despite. being the smallest and one of the most obvious places the police would look.
“no. you’re a known friend. cops will be at your house searching tomorrow.”
“you just don’t want him with my sister!”
“henderson— no. that’s a stupid plan— maybe the stupidest plan i’ve ever heard, actually.”
you sighed, hoping this would not turn into another competition or metaphorical size comparison. steve wasn’t wrong, despite his very nonsubtle reasons for not wanting eddie at your house.
“can’t you just camp out here?”
you gave steve a glare, eyebrow raised, trying to silently remind him not to project his jealousy right now. steve met your eyes guiltily and sighed, “he can stay at my house…. it’s huge and my parents are never home… problem solved.”
steve sounded so excited.
your lip twitched up, reminding yourself that he would not even be out here if it weren’t for you.
“oh good,” robin breathed, “i was going to offer my house but i’m terrible at keeping secrets…” it was astonishing, really, how bad she was at keeping her mouth shut.
steve slowed his pace, stepping in stride with you and lowering his voice, “so it’s obviously connected, right? creepy monster snapping limbs? making people see creepy shit in their minds?”
it had to be. hawkins could only handle one other dimensional world of monsters at a time. you just shrugged, “just when you think it’s over… again. some creep with a clock comes along.” steve actually laughed and you did too, despite the seriousness of the situation.
now you were tromping through the woods at night, with a wanted suspect, laughing over another entry to the end of the world.
“dustin, i need you to go tell the others. robin, stay at our house tonight in case the cops come asking questions— just stay hidden.”
“and what about you?”
“i’m going with steve.”
it was a horrible idea, once again. steve still had the ability to cause all critical thinking to go spilling out of your head like it was a water slide. you sat with steve in silence, watching eddie finally stop pacing and then eventually fall asleep. you sighed, swearing quietly. “what the hell are we going to do?”
“i was hoping you would tell me. i mean my parents are going to come back eventually. and sooner or later, cops will be asking you questions about the club your brother is in. i don’t want you going down for this.”
“no one is going down for this. we just have to keep him hidden for now— either there’s never another attack again, or people will find out it has nothing to do with him.”
steve shifted beside you, hand still resting over his mouth in deep thought, “you’re sure going very far out of your way to protect him.”
“he means a lot to dustin.”
“only to dustin?”
you stood up, head snapping towards him accusingly, “i’m not doing this with you. yes, to dustin. dustin is the only reason i was out there, risking getting shot or becoming an accomplice.”
steve knew it was stupid. he knew he was being stupid and jealous, yet he couldn’t help it. dustin had found another older male friend and now he was getting close to you too. he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. he knew you were telling the truth. he knew dustin had probably begged you. and you had come to him…
“don’t think it’s anything more than what it is.”
steve nodded, though now he found it hard to look you in the eye, “i know—“
“and don’t think that i didn’t have anyone else to ask.”
steve looked up, eyes softening on you with a soft smile, “i know…” nancy wheeler may have even been a better choice, knowing his history of never winning fights.
you sighed again, “it’s late.” one forty five in the morning. “god, what has my life come to…” you stood up and steve followed, “you can have my room. if you’re tired…”
“i’m not.”
you woke up, still on the couch, completely wrapped in steve’s arms. shit. you had slept through the entire night without a single nightmare— and slept late. you hated that you knew why… you pulled yourself off of steve’s chest, looking around groggily. eddie was still passed out on the floor, awkwardly slumped against the wall like it had been just a normal night. the walkie was beeping constantly, dustin’s insistent “come in” repeating like an alarm clock.
“dustin— what is it?” you tried to wipe the exhaustion from your body, but you really wanted to curl back up on the couch and drift off again in steve’s arms.
“turn on the news. shit is serious—“
steve was moving to turn the tv on before you could process the weight of his words.
national news coverage of hawkins, indiana.
“oh, shit—“
“you’ve got to be kidding me…”
a serial killer, they said. a sick and twisted individual that gouges his victim’s eyes out and snaps all of their limbs. pictures of chrissy showed on the screen and you had to look away, swallowing the bile in your throat.
so much for letting it die down…
“can you be trusted to stay put while we are gone?” eddie scoffed, glancing up from the fridge, “i don’t need babysitters. i appreciate what you’re doing for me, but i’m not going to be stupid enough to leave.”
steve eyed him like he did not believe him, but he tossed him the extra walkie and crossed his arms, “if there’s a problem, you radio. me or her, not dustin. dustin stays out of this.”
you had to keep your legs locked to hide the way steve’s overprotectiveness of dustin effected you. eddie glanced between the two of you, eyes shifting back and forth like he was studying. “what’s the deal with you two, by the way?”
“there’s no deal with us— that’s not— that isn’t what we’re talking about!” you huffed and eddie almost smiled, “right… yeah, it’s just—“ he pointed between the two of you, “weren’t you guys together, like, forever or something…”
“five years—“
“since we were thirteen—“
“right…..” eddie sat back slightly, eyes narrowing, still studying the two of you, “and… and you’re not…now? for some reason..?”
“she couldn’t handle seeing me covered in blood anymore.” steve shrugged like it was no big deal.
“it’s not just— that’s—“ you tossed your bowl in the sink with a huff, “i don’t have time for this.”
the image of steve beat to a pulp flashed in your head again. it hadn’t even been the goddamn monsters that time— any time… but you had no clue where dustin was, where steve was, why no one was responding on the walkies. then your brother shows up, frantically pounding on the door with lucas’s little sister in tow and tears in his eyes.
“steve’s in trouble, it’s bad.”
those words had been enough to send you into a blind frenzy, flying out the door in pajama shorts and steve’s old swim team shirt.
and then when you finally saw him… more bruised and bloodier than you had ever seen him. eye swollen shut, blood covering his nose to his chin, coating his teeth. jaw fractured, cheek fractured, nose broken, more concussed than should be humanly possible. yet he was smiling, crashing into you with a hug, as if the world had not just temporarily stopped for you.
“i’m sorry—“
but he had made it back to you. broken and completely traumatized, but still alive.
“he was unconscious for most of it—“
steve had winced at the color leaving your face. he pulled you closer but you had lost all feeling.
“i can’t….”
you had said, hours later after the mall imploded, the town fell apart and the end of the world was temporarily put on hold.
“i can’t do this anymore. i can’t worry about you and dustin. i can’t watch you run off into danger like you’ll actually win the next fight. i can’t do it, steve. i can’t lose you. i can’t watch you sacrifice yourself and jump in front of every fist.”
now, as you looked over at him in his car, you realized he was the same person he had always been. selfless, despite what others may think, wanting to be the only one getting hurt, needing to protect the people he loved with a fierceness that would get him killed.
“steve, i—“
“steve—? harrington? henderson? are you there?”
“nancy?”
“i take it you’ve seen the news…”
“yeah.”
“i take it munson isn’t a psychopathic serial killer?”
“not exactly.”
“where are you?”
“on our way back to steve’s.”
“we’ll meet you there.”
“no— my house. not steve’s…”
dustin greeted you and steve before you had even parked. “what are you—“ “how’s eddie? is he okay? is he going to stay put?”
“i—“
“what are you doing home, henderson?”
“they cancelled school. you think they would let us back there with what’s going on?”
steve apparently did.
“national news, you know.” he was practically dragging you through the door. max was there too and robin likely had never left.
“what… were you two doing all day?”
you exchanged glances with steve, “we went back to eddie’s trailer. wanted to see it for myself… see if there was any…signs.”
“they just let you in?”
“i said i was eddie’s mourning sister. they didn’t question it.” brown henderson curls came in handy for once…
“they believed that?”
you shrugged, “i can be very convincing…” your lip twitched up and you saw steve smirk. “it felt like the upside down… there wasn’t any dust particles or…a tear… i don’t know…” you paused, fidgeting with your fingers.
“and where’s eddie now?”
dustin glared at max and she threw her hands up in defense, “i’m not going to turn him in! i just think it would be a good idea to talk to him. see if he saw anything.”
“you think we didn’t think of that?” steve crossed his arms, now giving max the same expression dustin was.
“we did talk to him. he didn’t see anything… just… chrissy getting snapped— and levitating and…. then blood—“ your stomach turned just thinking about the pictures. dustin was staring at the newspaper, the pictures blacked out more than they had been before.
“it just doesn’t make sense… the mind flayer hasn’t… well before, he didn’t—“
“i don’t think it matters. this is obviously still the upside down. do you know anything else that has possessed and killed and made bodies levitate?”
you were starting to get a headache, groaning as you took a seat. your heart rate jumped again, stomach twisting against the stress that was creeping in.
“hey—“ the conversation in the room faded and it was just steve. his hand was on your knee, kneeling in front of you with a soft expression. “i’m fine…” the blood. the broken bones… it was all back. the upside down, the death… steve covered in blood suddenly, unconscious on the floor— you jumped up, room spinning. you nearly tripped, disappearing through your room before the tears could start.
“hey, are you—“
dustin met steve’s eyes and steve just shook his head. max opened her mouth to voice her concern but dustin waved her off. “you should go. nothing i say matters. it’s you she wants, no matter what she may say…” steve’s lip twitched up, moving to follow you.
you fought to breathe in slow breaths, deep and even, hiccuping over the rapid hyperventilation threatening to boil over the surface. you didn’t know what had even triggered this— lately it had been nothing. you heard your door crack open and you didn’t need to look up to see who it was.
“i’m okay—“ you really weren’t.
“it’s fine not to be, you know. we’ve seen some serious shit…” steve stopped before he reached your bed, hand reaching out but not yet touching you.
you actually laughed, snorting despite the bubbling panic, “that’s one word for it…”
“you know what i mean. and you’re so.. fucking strong. god, most people who have seen what we have would go insane. people older than us— they wouldn’t be able to do it, you know. when dustin first told you about the upside down— god, you didn’t even question him, you just heard that he was in trouble and grabbed a gun. you didn’t even call me—“
“that was the first time you yelled at me…” in the byer house, with nancy and jonathan. steve had no idea what had happened, only that you were acting distant. you threw yourself right in as the bait and that was the only time you had ever seen steve scared, “you ended up getting involved anyway… all i wanted was you safe.”
“yeah, so much so that you pointed a gun at me.”
you cracked a smile, “i didn’t want you getting hurt.”
steve sat next to you, cautiously, as if he expected you to get up. he was smiling to himself, “as if i would let my girl stand in front of danger alone…” he turned to look at you, expression soft, “you just jump right in. never really caring if you got hurt, as long as everyone else was safe.”
well that sounded familiar. “i think the time you jumped in front of hargrove and pulled out that gun was the moment i realized this wasn’t going to just be a high school sweetheart phase. i knew i had always loved you… but right then i knew this was different. god, i don’t think i’ve ever been more terrified of you than i was then, either. hargrove had beat the shit out of me, and there you were, staring him down like he was just a disobedient lap dog.”
your lip twitched into a smile, “i think you were just delirious from the concussion and the fact that you could only see out of one eye.”
steve laughed, “that was definitely not the reason.” he shifted closer to you— just enough to be intentional, “my point is, you’re allowed to be scared. especially now. you’re allowed to show it, you’re allowed to let it out. you’ve kept it buried, covering it up and carrying on like this is all normal. it isn’t normal. nothing about any of it… we’ve lost people, we’ve been run thin, we’re exhausted… and i know we aren’t the same. there’s no possible way for us to be the same kids we were before all of this. i know that. i know this…. whole thing… isn’t ideal for a relationship. i know you’re scared. i know things aren’t…easy. but…”
your eyes met his momentarily and you blinked away the tears. he was right. you were scared. fir everything he just said. for keeping it all inside for all this time… you shook your head and let out a weak laugh, “you know, the worst part is i’m not scared. not of the upside down, not of the mind flayer or any other monsters he’ll throw at us.” it was ridiculous now that you voiced it. you should have been terrified to even get out of bed in the morning. “you want to know the only time i was ever truly scared?”
steve probably didn’t, but he shifted closer, breath held. “after the mall. when i still couldn’t find dustin. when i couldn’t find you. when i didn’t know where you had been for twenty four goddamn hours. and then you found me. stumbling into my arms, covered in blood, looking like you had been fucking tortured…”
steve looked away, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean—“
“no.”
“i didn’t think anything would—“
“that cannot happen again.”
steve looked back up at you, “i’m sorry.”
“it was bad enough when it was just you. but when it was both of you– and i didn’t know— i couldn’t get ahold of either of you…” steve moved closer, grabbing your hands in a sad attempt to stop your tears, “that cannot happen again. i can’t sit at home oblivious, not knowing that you were almost fucking killed! not knowing that my brother is involved and—“
“it won’t. it won’t…” steve held your face gently, “you know i would never let anything happen to dustin.” you did know that.
“that’s why it can never be just the two of you again.” it was like steve finally understood. the air was pulled from the room and all steve could do was look at you. “you are not sacrificing yourself for him. i will not lose either one of you.”
steve was silent, his stomach sinking, chest tightening. he understood now. you would rather it be you than him or dustin. losing him was worse than losing your life… his eyes were still locked onto you, more intense, eyeing you with a clarity that made his head spin.
“i can’t promise that we all survive this.”
“i know…”
“and i’m not going to promise not to act recklessly if you or your brother are in danger.”
you just stared at him. not good enough.
“i can promise to be careful. i can promise not to jump in front of every single bullet or fist or other dimensional deity.”
better… but still—
“can you promise to stay beside me no matter what? never in front of me. never again somewhere else entirely, where i have no idea if you’re alive or dead…”
steve was so close to you now. his expression soft, desperate as it searched your face. it all made sense now. you weren’t mad at him. you hadn’t hated him for protecting your brother… he scared the hell out of you. he was one of the only things in this world you cared about and he constantly wanted to swing for heroics.
“i promise.”
the breath caught in your throat, heat spreading throughout your body, tension building in the mere inches between you now.
“steve…”
“i know. you’re scared to lose me. i know i always jump in front of danger… i’m sorry for scaring you. i didn’t… i never stopped to think about how much me being beat up and bloody scared you… i was always just thinking thank god it wasn’t you. thank god it wasn’t dustin… i was always just so relieved to come back to you, to know you weren’t in danger and that i had survived to come back to you…” steve put his hand on either sides of your face, “i always came back to you.”
you were crying now— hating yourself and the way you let the goddamn fear swirl in and twist itself around your mind and squeeze, until it took control. “what if you don’t?”
steve took a deep breath, hesitating, searching your face once again, “i always have so far… a little bloody, a few less brain cells and a bruised ego, maybe…”
you wanted to laugh, but it never came.
“hell, i got tortured and drugged by russians and i still managed to only think about getting back to you. there’s nothing… not a single goddamn thing that will keep me away from you. not russians, not a million demogorgans, not a portal to another world, and definitely not some creep that snaps bones…”
you rolled your eyes, though the tears in your eyes and your smile showed that his speech actually hadn’t been cheesy at all.
steve almost laughed at himself, eyes soft as they locked onto yours. he brushed his thumb along your face, wiping the tears. “i love you. and i really fucking miss you…”
you sniffled, smile spreading, “i love you too…” it was like a parasite, really. no matter what you did or tried, there was no getting over him. there was no moving on, no finding someone else, no shaking steve harrington. it had been a month and a half since the breakup, yet now it felt like nothing had changed between you. now that he was inches away from your face, hands locked with your own, sitting beside you on your bed again, looking at you like he always had. he still never felt further away. it had been stupid you had been stupid. so goddamn scared, all because steve protected with a fierceness that turned reckless. and he had always come back… or— you knew, you would go to hell itself to bring him back.
steve leaned in, lips grazing against yours so delicately it was almost not there. he was asking, hesitant, wanting to see where you stood. your arm looped around his neck, fingers sliding through his hair to pull him closer. steve’s breath caught, eyes closing against the feel of you.
“i love you,” it was like a sigh of relief, and your only answer was to kiss him.
the kiss grew rapidly, soft brushes turned heavy, needy and desperate. steve’s hands found your hips, pulling you into him as you threw both arms around him. your pulse roared in your ears, heart hammering inside your chest. you had never forgotten the taste of him, the way he held you, the way his mouth felt against your neck. you muttered a curse, head falling back onto the mattress as he pinned you gently between his legs, mouth never leaving you.
the door burst open, and robin cursed, “you guys— shit—!“ steve dragged his head up, chest already rising and falling rapidly. you knew there was nothing robin could ever do to earn a more serious glare. if looks could kill, she would drop dead like a dropped doll. “you need to get out here—“ but the shaking in her voice and her frantic tone had you both jumping to your feet.
“we have company.” the entire group had ran into the kitchen, crouched behind the half wall. steve’s eyes shifted to you, cold and warning— reading for another goddamn fight. “lucas radioed and warned us. said they were looking for eddie…”
“shit—“
historically, people were harder to deal with than monsters. you straightened your clothes and pulled your most charming smile as you moved for the door. you opened it to a fraction of the hawkins football team, “can i help you?” it had come off as polite and casual— despite your tendency for panic attacks you were good under pressure. “hi,” the kid hesitated, eyeing you like he was surprised by you. he pulled himself out of his daze and smiled, “miss henderson…” oh brother. “is your brother home? my name is jason and i’m…” hell no was he talking to dustin. “dustin?” you had gotten out of most things by playing dumb, “i honestly don’t know where he is, he’s supposed to be home by now.” jason narrowed his eyes, not believing you. smart kid… “who’s car is parked out front?” your hold tightened on the door, “excuse me?”
“there’s two cars in the driveway… i’m betting only one of them is yours.” he stepped closer to you and you held the door handle, hand behind your back frantically motioning for the group to move. “i thought you were just looking for dustin? is something wrong? is dustin in trouble?” this kid was about to be.
“no, ma’am. of course not. we just need to ask him a few questions…” you shifted again, tenser, tone shifting in warning, “he isn’t here.” jason’s mouth twitched up and your eyes narrowed. “do you mind if i wait here until he gets home? you said he needed to be back soon…”
shit.
“if you insist. but he might not come back at all. he likes to stay over at friends’ houses.”
“mike wheeler. we were already there.”
fuck—
jason’s tone was flat now, cautious, warning.
“is there a problem?“ steve opened the door, hand above your head, arm out stretched against the door frame.
the team was momentarily silenced, the slightest flicker of anxiety crossing their face, “harrington?”
“yeah?” you knew steve’s mild irritation was greatly underplayed, “is there a problem?” now it was his voice, that held a warning.
“they said they’re looking for dustin? asked if they could wait here until he shows up…” steve took his eyes off you and turned them back to the new age of jocks, eyes narrowing further, “what do you want with dustin?”
a different kid spoke up this time, “what do you care? aren’t you only screwing his sister?”
jason– the ring leader in the front, shot his friend a glare, arm out to shut him up— but steve was faster. he grabbed the kid by his shirt and shoved him down the steps. steve harrington had mastered the role of overprotective asshole boyfriend. and he played it with pride…
“whoa, okay! easy—!” jason spoke again, realizing his chances of hospitality were vanishing. “i’m sorry about him— look, we just want to talk to henderson. i assure you it is important…”
steve let go of the kids shirt and turned his glare to jason, once again doing all the talking, “she told you he isn’t here.” it was not a suggestion to leave.
“do you mind if we just… take a look? not that we don’t believe you… it’s just— maybe we’ll find something that will give us some idea on what happened.”
“you’re here about the murder?”
“chrissy was my girlfriend… the cops aren’t doing a damn thing.”
steve could at least understand where he was coming from. unfortunately the cops would find nothing— and never be able to prove eddie’s involvement. “i guarantee you dustin had nothing to do with that. he was home. i was here.”
“no. of course he didn’t. i know that… he’s just a kid.” he was fourteen. two years younger than this kid. “but maybe he might know something about who did…”
steve had to stop himself from pacing, standing like a guard dog as he watched— only jason was allowed— him wander through the house like damn sherlock holmes.
“you won’t find anything.” your arms were crossed across your chest, hoping to hide their shaking.
“is this henderson’s room?”
shit.
“yeah?” the door was locked and your heart jumped into your throat. please be smarter than that…
“mind if i take a look?”
this kid thought he was the goddamn police. but the sooner he was out and realized there was nothing here, the sooner he would leave and never come back.
you just eyed him suspiciously and opened his door with a sigh. empty. thank god. jason looked surprised— like he knew you were lying but was really thinking that’s where he would be.
jason returned empty handed, jaw tight, “and this is your room?” the only place they would be. your throat felt tight suddenly and your chest constricted.
“you’re not going in there.” steve just eyed him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, daring him to argue. it was reasonable. what boyfriend would want a random boy snooping through their girl’s room— jason had a moment of clarity and seemed to come to his senses, “right… of- of course not. i’m sorry.”
good.
the front door opened and dustin stood with both of jason’s sidekicks hands on his shirt. dustin smiled at you sheepishly, hands up in surrender, “hey guys— what’s…going on?”
little shit must have climbed through the window.
“henderson—“
“get your hands off of him or you’ll leave here with more than just disappointment.” they seemed to be more scared of your threat than anything steve had said. they released dustin and stepped back.
“i haven’t seen eddie. i know that’s why you’re here.” dustin had even dropped a bag on the floor from his shoulder, like he was coming back from somewhere.
“you’re sure?”
“uh, i think i would know if i’ve seen or talked to someone, asshole…” dustin walked right past jason, moving for the fridge. god, you loved that kid so damn much.
jason desperately threw an arm out to stop dustin, “well do you have any idea where he might be?”
one glare from steve and jason lowered his hand from dustin’s chest.
“try the boat house in the woods. otherwise i don’t know what to tell you.”
they had already been there. lucas had told him the same thing. you all already knew eddie could never return there.
“we were already there…”
“then i guess you’re just shit out of luck.”
dustin stared him down without a flinch and it was like looking in a mirror. but steve’s reflection was also there and you realized startlingly that you and steve had unintentionally raised this kid to be equal parts both of your traits.
jason nodded, bowing his head, “thank you for your time.” he left without a word and steve fought the urge to slam the door on his ass. you looked at dustin with a fond smile, pulling him in for a hug, “gross— get off me.”
“you’re a damn genius, you know.”
dustin smiled up at you, arm around you in a sad embarrassed brother hug, “you would all be lost without me.”
it was truer than you would ever let him know.
steve had his hand on your thigh on the drive back to his house. it was innocent, just a reminder that he was there. your hand was over his, tired, half focusing on his words, lost in thought.
eddie greeted you at the door and you almost forgot he was there. “thank god, i’m starving.” the pizza was still fresh, though you and steve had eaten before you left. you stocked the kids up with pizza, robin promised to hold down the fort, and you had— only almost— forgotten about eddie and the sad lack of food in the harrington house.
“sorry it’s so late. something… came up.”
eddie froze mid bite, “were you two having an anatomy lesson?” you stared at him blankly, not wanting to correct him and say no, actually, that was interrupted.
“jason and his goons were looking for you.”
“oh shit.” eddie paled for a moment, looking between the two of you, “wait, who?”
“football team.”
“oh… scary.”
the way eddie was being so casual about it was getting under your skin, but you blamed it on stress, exhaustion and mild frustration.
“you know we’ve put our asses on the line for you.”
“steve—“
“no, you know what, dustin came to us because he was worried about you. we’ve been through shit too, we didn’t need this on top of it, alright?”
eddie had stopped eating and looked between the two of you, now guilty, “look, i’m sorry. don’t think i don’t appreciate it. i know the kid was worried, but i can take care of myself…”
you scoffed, only because it was too late for this fight. steve stood up now, so did eddie.
shit—
“oh really? you can take care of yourself? so why don’t you?”
“steve…”
“don’t talk to me like you’re better than me, man. we’re both social outcasts leading a meaningless life. i know you don’t give a damn about what happens to me and you’re only doing this so your dick seems bigger to your girlfriend—“
“oh, whoa—“
“i don’t think you should be starting shit with me, munson. i might not win in fights, but i’m sure the police will.”
oh, fuck—
“steve—“
“are you threatening me now?” eddie’s voice had dropped, “i really don’t think that’s a good idea, given your track record with fights and the fact that i’ve already held a knife to your throat once.”
your heart was racing, stomach bubbling as alarm bells went off in your head. they were both such goddamn idiots.
“eddie—“ your fingers twitched at your side, mentally noting how far away the knives were and being sure you could get to them first, “sit your ass back down.”
eddie’s eyes turned to you and for a moment you didn’t recognize him. you had pointed a gun at people before. you would not feel guilty about calling the police on a friend. dustin would eventually forgive you…
steve was tense, anticipating, just waiting to strike. “hey.” you stepped between them now, hand on steve’s shirt, voice like a growl. he was too tense. jaw clenched, arms flexed like a spring waiting to uncoil. adrenaline rushed in your ears and you tightened your hold on his shirt. eddie’s mouth twitched, glaring daggers into steve like it could actually hurt him. “sit. down.” you stepped towards eddie, once again preparing to go toe to toe in a screaming match. but eddie’s eyes found yours, expression still tight, eyes murderous. but he backed up, shoulders relaxing slightly, rubbing his hand like his clenched fist had hit something.
“you aren’t going anywhere. you’re both acting like goddamn feral animals. god—“ you looked between them and their now guilty expressions, “things are tense. things fucking suck. we are not going to start beating the shit out of each other. let’s save it for the real threats.” you looked between them again, expression scolding, eyebrows lifted in disbelief, “yeah?”
the way they both looked like scolded puppies was not missed. they both muttered agreements and turned away from each other. you shook your head, still watching them in disbelief. “damn idiots.” you muttered it to yourself, but they had both heard you.
“i’m sorry. things are tense… i just… sorry.” eddie couldn’t look you in the eyes now and it reminded you greatly of dustin’s guilty look when he was younger.
“sorry.”
you ignored both of them, including steve’s brown puppy eyes and just walked past them. “i’m going to bed.”
steve found you in his bedroom, not even a full minute later. his guilty demeanor would have come off as exhaustion if you didn’t know him so well. “i’m sorry…about that.”
you didn’t glance up from his closet, digging through it to find something more comfortable. steve stopped just behind you, eyes pleading, hand hesitant to wrap around your waist. he never did know what to do with himself if you were mad at him— and god, the silent treatment may as well have been exile. “i didn’t mean any of that… i wouldn’t turn him in.”
“i would have.” you didn’t look up, didn’t hesitate as you spoke. your tone wasn’t angry, it wasn’t accusing. it was casual, stating a fact, “if he attacked you.”
steve’s breath caught in his throat. hand snapping forward to your hip, stopping you before you took a step. you would have turned in a friend— a friend that meant a lot to dustin— for him. it seemed insane. it seemed excessive and yet you had pulled a gun on billy once for him too…
your eyes fell on his, breath catching at the look he was giving you. like he didn’t quite know what he was looking at, like it had been a long time since he properly looked at you.
“steve…” you weren’t sure why you said his name. maybe part of you wanted to make sure he wasn’t in a trance. or maybe you just had always liked the way his name felt on your lips.
the way he felt on your lips…
steve’s hand was still on your hip, his other arm now around your lower back, pulling you into him. you watched in slow motion, the softness in his eyes, the longing in his expression, the way he slowly leaned in. cautiously, like he was waiting for permission. you threw your arms around his neck, all decorum and poise thrown away. you stumbled into him, desperately clinging like he would disappear. steve caught you, already breathless from the adrenaline surging through him. his softness and caution was gone, now meeting your heavy, desperate kisses with the same enthusiasm.
your back hit the mattress, steve mumbling apologies against your neck for the roughness. you dragged him down with you, bed springs squeaking against the shifting weight. steve had somehow become an even better kisser. it was a stupid observation, you realized, as he was pulling his shirt over his head— but you hadn’t thought it was possible. he had been more desperate, more needy, more possessive, kissing you like he was out of time.
your vision started to blur as steve trailed down your collarbone, pausing every few seconds to suck on your skin. his fingers gentle circled under your shirt, gentle, affectionately. he dragged his mouth from your shoulder, pausing to look down at you, “god, you’re beautiful.” you ran your hands through his hair, watching him practically melt under your touch, smiling, “i missed you…” steve’s mouth twitched up, waiting to finally hear those words, “i missed you too.” he met your lips again, this time softer, still desperate, still longing and needy, “i love you…”
“i love you too…”
you woke up much later than usual. full sun was already creeping through the curtains, bright enough to tell you it was long past eight. you had been stayed out most of the night already, add on the almost fight and the extra— several— hours with steve and you hadn’t actually fallen asleep until after four o’clock in the morning. clothes were thrown across the room, and steve was curled up with your bra under his head. you snorted, shaking your head and watching him in adoration. his arm was still draped over you, nose nestled against your chest, mouth partially parted and somehow still smiling, even in his sleep. his breath was hot against your skin, causing goosebumps definitely not from the cold.
you shifted, tucking your arm under your head and taking him in. his grip tightened around you as you shifted, pulling you closer, tucking you right against his chest. you brought your hand up, thumb against his cheek. he hummed contently, leaning into your touch slightly. you ran your fingers through his hair, just taking in his sleeping form, letting your fingers linger against his messy hair. you missed the feel of his arms around you. you missed waking up next to him… you missed the way he fit so perfectly against you. you missed the content smile on his face afterwards, the one that would linger, sometimes even in sleep, until morning.
“good morning, beautiful…” steve placed a lazy kiss against your shoulder. then your neck. then finally found your lips. his hair stuck up in every direction— not having been helped at all by your fingers running through it.
“i love you.”
another kiss.
“i love you too…” you nestled your face against steve’s chest, arms around him once again.
“do you think if we just stay here the world will disappear? or at least slow down for a while…”
I’m Okay - You’re Draco’s sister and you’re dating Harry. When the two of them duel, you’re caught in the middle.
Dead - You’re Harry’s wife and believe him to be dead at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Patronus - While trying to make a patronus, you can’t conjure up a strong enough memory. Harry has an idea that might help.
So I’ve Heard - You’re a transfer student to Hogwarts and have no clue who Harry Potter is or why everyone is obsessed with him.
Nightmare - Harry comforts you when you’re unable to sleep.
Fred Weasley
Christmas - Christmas with Fred
She’s a Keeper - You are very shy and surprise everyone when you’re great at Quidditch.
Distraction - You get in trouble for kissing Fred, and he gets protective.
Love - A fluffy argument leading to Fred declaring his love for you.
Jealous - Jealous Fred
Jealous - Jealous Fred #2!
I Told You So - Fred comes to your rescue and quickly falls in love with you.
Safe - You attend Bill and Fleur’s wedding and stay by Fred’s side when all chaos breaks out.
Mama Ain’t Raise No Quitter - Protective! Fred and George come to your rescue after Slytherins get a little too close for comfort.
Right Here - After Umbridge punishes your for protecting Sirius, your father, Fred calms you down.
Panic Attack - You have a panic attack and Fred comforts you.
Long Enough - You and Fred confess your love on Christmas!!
Bludgers - Fred has a huge crush on you and can’t help but protect you.
Break Her Nose! - After being abducted after the 7 Harry’s, you promise yourself that you are going to break Bellatrix’s nose.
Close - You feel like it’s your fault that the team lost, Fred comforts you.
New Year’s Eve - A short New Year’s Eve fluff
Hate - You hear the opposite of whatever Fred says and angst ensues. Hufflepuff reader :)
Oblivious - You are oblivious to flirting. This, of course, isn’t a problem until you realize that both Fred Weasley and Draco Malfoy have been flirting with you.
You Left Me - You’re hurt when the twins leave Hogwarts without telling you - even more so when you realize you’re pregnant.
Hair Dye - Fred pranks you by replacing your shampoo with hair dye. He doesn’t care for the attention the new color brings you.
Home for Christmas - A fluff-filled Christmas Fred fic
Love Letters - A love letter Fred wrote for the reader when his future becomes uncertain.
Golden - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six - Soulmate AU in which everyone is born with a birthmark that turns golden when it first comes into contact with your soulmate. You have two - belonging to the Weasley twins.
George Weasley
Loss - After the war, you return home to find your pet has passed.
Gone - You were dating Cedric and didn’t allow yourself to mourn. George helps you let out your feelings.
This Christmas - You’ve been dating George for a while, so when Christmas rolls around you spend it with his family.
Saint-like - During the 7 Harry’s, you wait at the Burrow for George to return home.
My Fault - You ride with George during the 7 Harry’s and take all the blame when he gets injured.
Blood Purity - When Umbridge catches you and George flirting, she puts him in detention.
Walk-Ins NOT Welcome - Harry walks in on one of your make-out sessions.
Guessing - After it gets out that you have a crush on a Weasley, Ron won’t stop guessing until he gets it right.
Duel - After a duel with the Slytherins, you check up on your protective boyfriend.
Shy - You’re very shy and when George notices people being rude to you, he makes himself your personal body guard.
Mama Ain’t Raise No Quitter - Protective! Fred and George come to your rescue after Slytherins get a little too close for comfort.
I’ll Walk You Home - After you miss the rest of the students return to the school, only you and George are left in Hogsmeade.
Christmas - Christmas just isn’t the same without Fred.
Date - You’re constantly turning George down, but when he turns his attention to another girl, you realize that maybe you do like him.
Too Much to Handle - George is too shy to approach you, but after finding you locked out of your common room he has the perfect opportunity.
Christmas at the Weasleys - You spend your first Christmas with George and notice that he seems like keeping you around a long time.
Golden - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six - Soulmate AU in which everyone is born with a birthmark that turns golden when it first comes into contact with your soulmate. You have two - belonging to the Weasley twins.
Draco Malfoy
Slytherin? - You are Ron’s twin and fully expect to be in Gryffindor. When you are sorted into Slytherin, an enemy may become a friend.
Marry Me? - Draco gets hurt in a Quidditch game and you spend the day taking care of him.
Unsafe - Draco may love you, but with the upcoming war and Voldemort’s eyes on him, it’s unsafe to admit it.
Let’s Hope So - After denying feelings for each other, you both realize there may be something there.
Virtues - After Draco sees Slytherins treating you bad, he comes to your rescue.
Secret Santa - You and Draco get each other for Secret Santa and find it isn’t as easy as you hoped.
Blood Traitor - During a heated argument Draco calls you the worst thing he can - a blood traitor.
I’m Sorry - You were raised in the same situation as Draco and are expected to marry. You slowly fall in love, but after finding a note it appears that the love is one sided.
Not Your Fault - After Draco gets hurt in a dual, you tend his wounds. But, you find more than wounds on his arms.
Christmas - You love decorating the common room and all things Christmas, and Draco can’t help the pull he feels to you.
Worry - Draco is protective of Hufflepuff!Reader
Rival - You grew up in Pansy’s shadow, but Draco isn’t interested in her. He’s interested in you.
Love and War - At the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, all Draco can think about is you.
Nightmare - Draco is the only person who can calm you after a nightmare.
Banished - After suggesting that he make up with his arch nemesis, Draco has the nerve to banish you from your own bed.
Hesitant - After the war, you are weary of Draco. But, you find out he isn’t as bad as he appeared to be.
Strong - You try to comfort Draco, but first he has to tell you what’s wrong.
Oblivious - You are oblivious to flirting. This, of course, isn’t a problem until you realize that both Fred Weasley and Draco Malfoy have been flirting with you.
Boggart - Draco’s biggest fear is you hurt.
Where Were You - Draco wasn’t there when you needed him most.
Ron Weasley
Family - You’re Draco’s sister and Ron’s girlfriend. Your parents don’t react too strongly to your date.
Just a Dance - Fred and George know about your crush on Ron and make it their personal mission to set you up.
Now That’s a Game - Draco knocks you off your broom during Quidditch and Ron immediately comes to your defense.
Amortentia - After realizing you love Ron and he loves you, Hermione sets you up.
Stargazing - A fluffy trip to the astronomy tower with Ron
Ginny Weasley
Don’t Mention It - You’re Ginny’s best friend and find her snogging Harry in the middle of a war.
Hers - Your Ginny’s, and hers alone.
Charlie Weasley
Christmas in the Burrow - Charlie invites you to the Burrow with him when he realizes you stay at Hogwarts.
Romania - “Here’s my dreams and you’re with me!”
Anywhere - You’re a healer at St. Mungo’s who specializes in dragon-related injuries.
Marry Me - You’re marrying Charlie Weasley, and of course his family goes all out.
Mistletoe - Christmas pranks that end with you kissing your best friend.
Hermione Granger
Kiss Me - Hermione has never been kissed, but you are going to change that.
Pansy Parkinson
Unbreakable Vow - With the war over, you can finally marry your love.
Neville Longbottom
I Love You - You and Neville go to the Yule Ball, and he says he loves you.
Father - You and Neville have a toddler and raise him at Hogwarts. Turns out, Neville is a wonderful Dad.
Our Spot - A tree by the lake might be seen as mundane to most, but to you it held every memory you loved with Neville.
Cedric Diggory
Family - Cedric lives! And he marries you and has a family!
Lazy Sunday - Part 2 to Family
Stay With Me (Part 1) (Part 2) - You begged Cedric not join the Triwizard Tournament, but he did. And he died. You, however, aren’t going to let that be the end. The solution? Time Travel.
Pumpkin Juice - A sweet day with a sweet boy and kisses that taste of pumpkins.
Oliver Wood
Quidditch - You’re basically the mom of the Quidditch team and are there to support Oliver during wins and unfortunate losses.
Sirius Black
Brave and Mighty - Sirius never noticed you, until now.
Too Young - At 20 years old, you are married to Sirius, godparent of a baby, and in the middle of the war.
Loss - You and Sirius lose your baby.
Class of 1978 - You’re Lily’s best friend and you have made it to graduation.
Baby - You just found out you’re pregnant and have no idea how you’re going to tell Sirius.
Bother - You are living with Sirius at Grimmauld Place. You both hate it there, but you have each other (and hopefully a sandwich).
Son - You had a son with Sirius, and he’s a carbon copy of his father.
Apart - A touchy and jealous Sirius
Etch - With Death Eater parents, you’re expected to follow in the footsteps. When you are etched with the dark mark, Sirius comes to the rescue.
Santa, Baby - With a ton of students stuck at Hogwarts, it’s up to you and the Marauders to give them a good Christmas.
Animagus - Sometimes dogs are better conversationalists than people.
Crucio - Harry’s vision was right.
Remus Lupin
Untitled - Remus is the one bright light in your year.
Mama - Remus lives and you raise Teddy together!
Not All Scars - You were raised by Remus and notice that he may be hurting more than any of you realize.
Potions - After an awful potions class, you find a helping hand - Professor Lupin (not romantic).
Don’t Leave - Turns out the Marauders are awful at cheering you up. Except for Remus, that is.
I Insist - Sirius gets sick, so you step in to help Remus during a full moon.
Prefect (Part 1) (Part 2) - A flustered Remus confuses a flirty reader for a meandering student, when they are both on prefect rounds.
James Potter
Just Like You - You slowly becomes more like James.
First Time - You wake up after your first time with James and kind of regret it.
Newt Scamander
Scars - When one of Newt’s creatures attacks him, you clean the wound and notice the scars he’s covered in.
Nothing in that Case is Dangerous - You’re with Newt when he’s brought in to the Ministry. Newt does everything in his power to save you.
Accidentally, Of Course - Newt catches you as you’re changing clothes. Queenie reads your mind and realizes you may not have minded.
Obliviate - Newt is ordered to wipe your memories, but he has other plans.
New Additions - You’re pregnant!!!
Obscurus - You are Credence’s twin. Newt saves you and teaches Credence how to control his magic.
Christmas - Christmas with Newt
Letters - Newt misses you, but you keep in contact through letters.
How Could I Forget? - You marry Newt, but you’re hit by a curse and lose your memory.
Arranged Marriage - To merge the wizarding and muggle worlds, you’re in an arranged marriage to a prince. One that you do not want to be in. Thankfully, a familiar face comes to save you.
Thanksgiving Day Parade - While searching for Newt’s creatures in America, you find yourself caught in the biggest parade of the year.
Theseus Scamander
Together - You go to Theseus for comfort after a physical fight with your parents.
Sleep - Sleep was hard to come by when death could be around any corner. Thankfully, Theseus is there to help.
welcome to my blog! i'm currently obsessed with writing for rafe cameron/drew starkey, but always looking for suggestions! Right now my requests are open. If requests are closed and you want to talk or ask questions, please do! I am currently in college and writing as often as I can, so patience is much appreciated <3
this account is a safe zone! No rudeness or disrespectful language will be tolerated
so far i've only written for rafe cameron, marauders (hp), golden trio (hp), and twilight. I love writing new things so please please send in any requests you have!
i write oneshots, smaus, and fics so whatever you’re looking for, ask away!!
most of my work contains mature language
i'm open to writing fluff, angst, and smut
not comfortable with r*pe, noncon, incest, etc.
requesting doesn't always mean it will be written, but I will do my best! Be patient and kind <3
Hey! I love The Dragon's Bride so much, I must have read it like 5 times already. You have beautiful writing and the fact that it's 17k is even better.
If your requests are still open, I wanted to throw an idea your way. Seeing how isolated the Blacks are getting, with the Greens conquering everything around them by land, Rhaenyra is desperate to forge another alliance that will bring her more ground stability. The perfect lord that can bring this to her only wants one thing in return: for his grandson to be the future king. So she is forced to break Jace's engagement to Baela so he can marry the lord's only daughter instead. That angst because Jace has feelings for Baela before the fluff of him discovering his feelings for his new wife like fjehdhw
It's totally okay if you don't vibe with the idea and don't want to write it btw!!
Conspiracy of Hearts
jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader
words: 23k
notes: thank you sooooo much anon <33, i love long fics (as you can probably tell) and i'm so so glad you enjoyed it. non-canon events, jace x baela at times, a made up lord. a bit of angst?? - fluffy. unnecessarily long fic, i apologize. i am NOT proud of this one 😭
The air in the great hall of Dragonstone was thick with tension, the stone walls seeming to close in as Queen Rhaenyra paced before the ancient Painted Table. The room was eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth fire and the soft rustle of her skirts as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her fingers traced the carved coastline of Westeros, lingering over the territories that had fallen to the Greens’ hands.
"Your Grace," a voice called from beyond the heavy oak doors. "Prince Jacaerys has arrived."
Rhaenyra straightened, composing herself with visible effort. "Send him in," she commanded, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.
The doors swung open, and Jacaerys Velaryon strode in. At nine-and-ten, he was already a man grown, with the bearing of one much older. His hands rested on his sword as he approached his mother with calm.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head respectfully. "You summoned me?"
Rhaenyra's gaze softened as it fell upon her eldest son. "Jace," she began, then faltered. For a moment, the mask of queenship slipped, revealing the anguish beneath. "I'm afraid I have dire news."
Jace's posture stiffened, bracing himself for whatever blow was to come.
"The Greens have taken Tumbleton," Rhaenyra continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our hold on the Reach is slipping. If we do not act soon, all will be lost."
Jace nodded gravely. "What would you have me do, Mother? I can fly to Tumbleton on Vermax, rally our forces–"
"No," Rhaenyra cut him off sharply. "I need you here, Jace. What I ask of you... it is not a battle to be fought with dragon fire, but with words and... promises."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Jacaerys took a deep breath, straightening his posture once again as he nodded once at his mother, silently promising to fulfill his duty.
"Lord Redfort has offered his support," Rhaenyra said at last. "His armies, his gold, his influence in the Vale. With his backing, we could turn the tide of this war."
Jace's eyes lit up with hope. "That's wonderful news, Mother. Why do you look so troubled?"
Rhaenyra's laugh was bitter and hollow. "Because nothing comes without a price, my son. And Lord Redfort's price is... steep."
Understanding dawned on Jace's face, followed swiftly by a flash of fear that he quickly masked. "What does he want?"
"He wants assurance that his family's loyalty will be rewarded," Rhaenyra said, each word seeming to pain her. "He demands that his grandson be promised the throne."
The implication hung heavy in the air. He felt a tightness in his chest, knowing what this meant for Jace, for Baela, for the future that had been carefully planned since their childhood.
"But... Baela..." Jace's voice was barely audible, a mixture of confusion and growing dread.
"I know," Rhaenyra said, and for a moment her composure cracked entirely. She moved to her son, taking his hands in hers. "My boy, my sweet boy. If there were any other way..."
Jace pulled away, his face a storm of emotions. "There must be another way. We can offer Lord Redfort something else, anything else."
"Don't you think I've tried?" Rhaenyra's voice rose in frustration. "I've offered titles, lands, positions at court. Nothing will sway him. It's this, or we lose everything we've fought for."
Jace turned away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The firelight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the anguish etched there. "And what of Baela?" he asked at last, "What am I to tell her?"
Rhaenyra's shoulders sagged. "It is duty that will drive us to victory, my son."
"So I am to marry Lord Redfort's granddaughter," Jace said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"His daughter," Rhaenyra corrected gently. "She is but a year younger than you."
Jace's laugh was hollow. "As if that matters. I don't know her. I don't love her."
"Love?" Rhaenyra's voice hardened. "Love is a luxury we cannot afford in times of war, Jacaerys. You are a prince of the realm. Your duty is to your family, to your people. Sometimes that duty requires sacrifice."
Jace's jaw clenched. For a moment, Rhaenyra feared he would refuse outright. But then, slowly, the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped in defeat.
"When?" he asked simply.
"Lord Redfort and his daughter will arrive within a fortnight," Rhaenyra said, relief evident in her voice. "The betrothal will be announced immediately, and the wedding will take place as soon as it can be arranged after the war."
Jace nodded mutely, his eyes unfocused, staring at something only he could see. Without another word, he turned and strode from the room. The heavy doors slammed shut behind Jace as he stormed out of the great hall. His mind reeled, the weight of his mother's words pressing down upon him like a physical force.
Without thinking, his feet carried him to the one place he knew he would find solace – or perhaps, he realized with a pang of guilt, the one place he shouldn't go.
Baela was in the dragon pit, tending to Moondancer. The young dragon chirped softly as she ran her hand over the scales, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. She looked up as Jace approached, her expression shifting from surprise to concern as she took in his troubled demeanor.
"Jace?" she called, setting down her hand. "What is wrong?"
For a moment, Jacaerys couldn't speak. He simply stood there, drinking in the sight of her – the way the torchlight glinted off her silver-gold hair, the gentle curve of her lips, the strength and grace in her movements. Everything he was about to lose.
"It's over," he finally managed, his voice hoarse. "Our betrothal. It's... it's been broken."
Baela's eyes widened, but to Jace's surprise, there was no shock in them. Only a deep, resigned sadness. "I see," she said softly. "The alliance with Lord Redfort?"
Jace nodded, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Of course you've heard. Nothing stays secret for long in this damned castle."
“Her Grace mentioned she was working with sending ravens for alliances, I only figured.” she said softly, patting her dragon’s head one last time before taking two steps towards him.
"Jace," Baela said, her voice gentle but firm. "You know as well as I do that this war demands sacrifices from all of us."
Her calm acceptance only fueled his frustration. He began to pace, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Sacrifices? Is that what we're calling it now? Throwing away the betrothal made in honor of my brother’s heirship, everything we've planned for years, all for the sake of some lord's support?"
"It's not just some lord," Baela reminded him. "It's the key to holding the Vale. Without it–"
"I know it!" Jace snapped, immediately regretting his harsh tone. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I know what is at stake, Baela. But it is unfair."
Baela stepped closer, her eyes full of understanding and a pain that mirrored his own. "Our duty is to our family, to the realm. Personal happiness... it is a luxury we can't afford right now."
Jacaerys felt the fight drain out of him, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.
Baela reached out, taking his hand in hers. Her touch was warm, familiar, and Jace had to resist the urge to pull her close and never let go. Jacaerys looked at her, marveling at her strength, her composure in the face of this devastating news.
"How can you be so calm about this?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
A sad smile played at the corners of Baela's lips. "Because one of us has to be," she said. "And because I've always known that our duty might ask this of us one day. It doesn't make it easier, but... I've had time to prepare myself for the possibility."
Jace felt a wave of shame wash over him. Here he was, raging against the unfairness of it all, while Baela faced their shared loss with grace and dignity. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should be stronger. Like you."
Baela shook her head, squeezing his hand. "You are strong, Jace. But it's alright to be angry, to be hurt. Just... don't let it consume you. The realm needs you. Your mother needs you."
Jace felt a swell of admiration for her, mixed with a deep, aching sorrow for what they were losing. "I don't know if I can do this without you," he admitted.
Baela's expression softened. She reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. "You can," she assured him. "You must. And I'll be here, Jace. Not as your wife, but as your cousin, your friend, your ally. That will never change."
For a long moment, they stood there, the weight of their shared past and the uncertain future hanging between them. Then, slowly, Jace nodded. "I must ready for my betrothed’s arrival, then.”
The new use of the word felt bitter against his tongue, eyes refusing to meet Baela’s as he uttered the words.
Jacaerys took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. He knew Baela was right. It was time to face his duty, no matter how much it hurt. With one last look at the woman he had thought would be his future, he turned and walked out of the dragon pit.
The days leading up to Lord Redfort's arrival passed in a blur of mounting tension and barely contained dread for Jacaerys. Each morning, he woke with a heavy heart, the weight of his impending duty pressing down on him like a tangible force. His chambers, usually a sanctuary, felt more like a prison, the stone walls closing in as he counted down the days to the fateful meeting.
He threw himself into his work, training with his sword until his muscles ached and his mind was numb. The clashing of steel, the grunts of exertion, and the rhythm of his footwork became his solace until his hands bled in show of his efforts. But no matter how fiercely he fought, the looming reality of his betrothal was inescapable. His sparring partners, sensing his turmoil, gave him space, their concerned glances only serving to deepen his isolation.
Meals were equally oppressive. The great hall buzzed with whispered conversations and furtive looks. Jacaerys ate in silence, his appetite waning with each passing day. His brothers tried to cheer him with tales of their latest exploits, but their words fell flat, unable to penetrate the fog of his thoughts. Even the usually boisterous presence of his dragon, Vermax, did little to lift his spirits. The bond they shared felt strained, as if the beast sensed his master's inner turmoil.
The evenings were the hardest. As the castle settled into a quiet lull, Jacaerys found himself wandering the halls, seeking solace in familiar places. He often ended up in the dragon pit, watching the majestic creatures in their pens. Baela was always there, her presence a bittersweet comfort. They spoke little, their shared silence a testament to the unspoken pain that lingered between them. Yet he felt as if their bond had not changed one bit.
Often, Baela approached him. Her face was always serene, but her eyes held a sadness that mirrored his own. “This... brooding will only make things harder." she’d tell him. And everytime Jacaerys would nod and mumble about understanding what his duty is.
Her words, though comforting, did little to ease the ache in his heart. He’d squeeze her hand in silent gratitude, then turn away, retreating to the solitude of his chambers. Sleep was elusive, his dreams haunted by visions of a future that now seemed out of reach.
————
The fortnight passed agonizingly slowly, each day blending into the next. The castle was a hive of activity, preparations for Lord Redfort's arrival consuming everyone's attention. Jacaerys found himself caught in a whirlwind of fittings, rehearsals, and diplomatic meetings. His mother, ever the strategist, drilled into him the importance of this alliance, reminding him of the stakes with every passing moment.
Finally, the day arrived. The great hall was adorned with banners and finery, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and polished armor. Jacaerys stood by his mother's side, his expression a mask of stoic resolve. He fidgeted with his fingers, his chest heaving every time he would steal a glance at Baela, who would simply give him a small smile and a supporting nod.
As the hours passed, anticipation hung in the air like a heavy fog. Jacaerys stood in the great hall, the weight of his impending duty pressing down upon him. His armor gleamed under the torchlight, a stark contrast to the turmoil within. The arrival of Lord Redfort and his retinue was imminent, each passing moment marked by the echoing footsteps in the corridor beyond.
Rhaenyra, resplendent in her queenly attire, stood beside her son with an air of regal composure that belied the storm of emotions beneath. Her eyes occasionally flicked towards Jacaerys, a silent reassurance amidst the grand preparations, but he didn’t meet her gaze. The hall buzzed with whispered conversations and the rustle of silk as courtiers and advisors moved about, ensuring everything was perfect for the crucial meeting.
At last, the doors swung open with a resounding thud, and Lord Redfort entered with measured steps as the maesters announced his name and title. His presence commanded attention – a high lord of the Vale, his face weathered by years of governance and warfare. You walked beside him, your features bore a striking resemblance to your father. Your eyes, however, betrayed a hint of nervousness and curiosity as you glanced around the hall before settling on his.
Jacaerys's heart skipped a beat as his eyes met yours for the first time. You were beautiful, with cascading hair and a determined set to your jaw that spoke of your noble upbringing. He knew your name but little else. And yet, he knew you were not Baela.
Lord Redfort approached Queen Rhaenyra with a deep bow, which she acknowledged with a nod.
Your gaze finally settled on the figures at the far end of the hall – Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, regal and formidable, and beside her, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. Your breath caught in your throat as you studied your betrothed. He was everything the stories had claimed – tall and handsome, with the striking features of his bloodline. But there was something else, a tension in his stance, a heaviness in his eyes that spoke of inner turmoil.
As your father bowed to the Queen, you sank into a deep curtsy, willing your voice to remain steady as you spoke. "Your Grace, Prince Jacaerys," you said, "It is an honor to be welcomed to Dragonstone."
Queen Rhaenyra's voice was warm but tinged with an underlying steel as she replied, "We are most pleased to welcome you and your father, Lady Y/n. Your presence here marks a new chapter in the alliance between our houses."
You rose from your curtsy, your eyes meeting Jacaerys's once more. His mother turned to look at him, urging him to speak. For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw a flicker of curiosity in his gaze, quickly masked by the cool formality of his response.
"The honor is ours, we hope you find Dragonstone to your liking."
You couldn't help but notice the way Jacaerys's gaze occasionally drifted to a silver-haired young woman standing off to the side. The look they shared spoke volumes – a mixture of pain, resignation, and something deeper that made your heart sink. This, you realized, must be Lady Baela, the woman who had held your betrothed's heart until duty tore them apart.
The weight of the situation settled more heavily upon you. The challenge before you seemed insurmountable – to win the trust, perhaps even the affection, of a man whose heart clearly belonged to another.
You gazed up to your father, his serious expression settled on the Queen, arms stiffly linked and resting on his chest. “I assume my wishes were clear, Your Grace. I do not wish to impose but…”
“They were, Lord Redfort. And I assure you, your proposal is being given the utmost consideration.”
Jace’s eyes flickered to yours for a moment, his expression almost unreadable as he blinked at you, trying to gauge your own thoughts on the matter. You inhaled deeply as his eyes moved to Baela’s once again, you followed his train of sight.
Baela’s chest tightened once your eyes met, yours apologetic and Jacaerys’ hurt.
As the negotiations drew to a close, Queen Rhaenyra announced the betrothal formally. "Let it be known," she proclaimed, her voice carrying authority and finality, "that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Lady Y/n Redfort are betrothed in the sight of gods and men."
The words hung in the air, sealing the fate of all involved. Jacaerys glanced at you, his eyes conflicted yet resigned. You offered him a small, sympathetic smile, understanding the weight he carried upon his shoulders. He simply offered a tight-lipped smile before he followed after his mother.
Baela’s eyes traced his path down the hall, a sigh escaping her lips as she approached you. “I will walk you to your chambers, let you settle in properly.”
As you walked with Baela through the corridors of Dragonstone, her presence was a calming influence amidst the turmoil swirling within you. The castle walls seemed to echo with the weight of the recent betrothal announcement, yet Baela's gentle demeanor offered a brief respite from the tension.
"I hope your journey here was not too arduous, Lady Y/n," Baela said softly, her voice carrying a genuine concern.
You nodded, grateful for her kindness. "It was quite pleasant… I still have to get acquainted with the change of weather, though.”
She moved to link her arm with yours, the gesture surprised you, awaiting resentment and coldness from her after the broken betrothal between her and the prince.
"Dragonstone can be quite humid to newcomers", Baela continued as she led you through the winding corridors of Dragonstone. Her touch was reassuring, her smile sincere.
"You'll find the climate more forgiving as you settle in," she assured you, her voice gentle. "It takes some time to get used to the island's rhythms, but there's a beauty to it once you do."
Her words offered a small measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty. You glanced at her, noting the resilience in her demeanor despite the obvious sadness in her eyes. "Thank you, Lady Baela," you said sincerely. "I appreciate your kindness."
Baela smiled softly. "Please, call me Baela.”
As you walked alongside Baela through the corridors of Dragonstone, her arm linked with yours, you couldn't help but marvel at her composure. Here was a woman who had just lost her betrothal to the man you were now set to marry, yet she showed you nothing but kindness and understanding.
"Baela," you said softly, testing the name on your lips. It felt strange to address her so familiarly, given the circumstances, but her gentle demeanor made it feel right somehow.
She glanced at you, her silver-gold hair catching the torchlight as she smiled warmly. "Yes?"
"I hope... I hope we can be allies," you said earnestly, “Despite the circumstances.”
Baela's expression softened, a mix of understanding and gentle sadness in her eyes. She squeezed your arm lightly, her touch reassuring.
"Of course we can," she said, her voice warm. "In fact, I hope we can be more than just allies. Friends, even. We're in this together, after all, as family."
You felt a wave of relief wash over you at her words. The tension that had been building in your chest since your arrival began to ease slightly.
"I'm glad," you admitted. "I was worried... well, given the situation..."
Baela shook her head, a rueful smile playing at her lips. "The circumstances are what they are. We can't change them, but we can choose how we respond to them. And I choose to see you as a friend, not a rival."
She stopped in front of two big wooden doors, thick and heavy at the sight. “Here we are,” she said, reaching for the handles before getting interrupted by one of the handmaids.
“Allow me, Lady Baela.” the girl mumbled, pushing open the doors before you.
As the heavy wooden doors swung open, you were greeted by a spacious chamber bathed in warm candlelight. The room was adorned with rich tapestries depicting dragons in flight, their colors muted yet regal. A large four-poster bed dominated one wall, its dark wood intricately carved with scales and flames.
"These will be your chambers," Baela said, gesturing for you to enter. "I hope you'll find them comfortable."
You stepped inside, your eyes wide as you took in your new surroundings. A writing desk stood near a window overlooking the sea, and a cozy sitting area with plush chairs was arranged before a hearth. Everything spoke of luxury and careful craftsmanship.
"It's beautiful," you breathed, turning to Baela with genuine appreciation.
Baela smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "The servants have already unpacked your belongings," she said, gesturing to a trunk at the foot of the bed. "But if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."
You nodded, your fingers trailing over the smooth surface of a nearby table. "Thank you, Baela."
She stepped closer, her expression serious. "I know this can't be easy for you," she said softly. "Coming to a new place, betrothed to a man you don't know, in the middle of a war. But if you ever need someone to converse with, simply ask for my presence and I shall come to you."
With a final nod, she departed, leaving you alone in your new chambers. As the door closed behind her, you let out a long, shaky breath, the events of the day finally catching up with you.
As you settled into your new chambers, the weight of the day's events began to sink in. The journey from the Vale, the formal introductions, the palpable tension in the great hall – it all swirled in your mind like a tempest. You sank onto the edge of the bed, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved into the wooden frame.
Your thoughts drifted to Prince Jacaerys. His handsome features were etched in your memory, but it was the sadness in his eyes that truly captured your attention. You had known, of course, about his previous betrothal to Lady Baela. It was common knowledge throughout the Seven Kingdoms. But seeing the pain etched on both their faces made the reality of the situation hit home.
A soft knock at the door startled you from your reverie. "Come in," you called, smoothing your skirts as you stood.
A young handmaid entered, carrying a tray laden with food and a steaming pot of tea. "Begging your pardon, m'lady," she said with a curtsy. "Queen Rhaenyra thought you might prefer to dine in your chambers this evening, to rest from your journey."
You nodded, grateful for the consideration. "Thank you," you said softly. "Please convey my gratitude to Her Grace."
As the handmaid set up the meal on a small table near the window, you found yourself drawn to the view outside. Dragonstone was unlike anything you had ever seen. The castle seemed to grow out of the very rock of the island, its towers reaching towards the sky like the necks of the dragons it was named for. In the fading light of day, you could see the churning sea beyond, its waves crashing against the rocky shore.
"Will there be anything else, my lady?" the handmaid asked, pulling you from your thoughts.
You turned, offering her a small smile. "No, thank you. That will be all."
As the door closed behind her, you were once again left alone with your thoughts. You picked at the food, your appetite diminished by the swirling emotions within you. The tea, at least, was a comfort, its warmth spreading through you as you sipped.
Your mind wandered to the task ahead of you. How were you supposed to forge a connection with a man whose heart clearly belonged to another? The political implications of this marriage weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your father's expectations, the need for this alliance to succeed – it all seemed impossibly daunting.
You’d heard all about the making of a babe, about lust and love, you’d read all about it. But the thought of bearing the babe of a man in love with another made your stomach turn, making your throat tighten.
—————
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun's rays filtering through the windows of your chamber. You rose early, determined to start this new chapter of your life with purpose. As you dressed, choosing a gown in the deep red and white of your house, you steeled yourself for the day ahead.
A knock at your door announced the arrival of a servant, there to get you into your skirts and come to escort you to breakfast. As you made your way through the winding halls of Dragonstone, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach.
The great hall was already bustling with activity when you arrived. Queen Rhaenyra sat at the high table, deep in conversation with her advisors. Your eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Prince Jacaerys, seated at a smaller table with his siblings.
Taking a deep breath, you approached. "Good morning, Your Grace," you said, dipping into a curtsy. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Jacaerys looked up, surprise flickering across his features before he schooled his expression into one of polite neutrality. "My lady," he said, rising to his feet. "Please, join us."
As you took the seat he offered, you couldn't help but notice the curious glances from his younger brothers. Joffrey, the middle child, offered you a friendly smile, while the younger kids regarded you with wide-eyed wonder.
"Did you sleep well?" Jacaerys asked, his tone formal but not unkind.
You nodded, offering a small smile. "I did, thank you. The chambers are lovely."
An awkward silence fell over the table, broken only by the clatter of cutlery and the low hum of conversation from the surrounding tables. You busied yourself with your breakfast, stealing glances at Jacaerys when you thought he wasn't looking.
He seemed distracted, his gaze often drifting to the far side of the hall where Lady Baela’s seat was empty, next to her siste’s Rhaena. Each time, a flicker of pain would cross his face before he caught himself and returned his attention to his meal.
"Is it true you can ride a horse as well as any knight?" little Joffrey suddenly piped up, his eyes bright with curiosity as he stared up at you, his small hand reaching for your skirts before Jace pulled it away.
You blinked, surprised by the question. "I... yes, I suppose I can," you replied, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "My father insisted I learn from a young age."
"That's amazing!" he exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. "Can you teach me? Jace is always too busy."
Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably, but you saw an opportunity to bridge the awkward gap between you.
"I'd be happy to," you said, your smile widening. "If it's alright with your brother, of course."
For the first time that morning, Jacaerys met your gaze directly. Something akin to gratitude flickered in his eyes. "That would be... kind of you," he said softly.
Silence filled the air once again, awkward glances shared between you and Jacaerys as he quietly picked at his plate.
As the uncomfortable silence stretched, the door to the great hall creaked open, drawing everyone's attention. Lady Baela entered, her graceful presence immediately commanding the room.
Jacaerys's eyes lit up momentarily as he watched her approach, but the flicker of hope was quickly replaced by the familiar sadness. Baela's eyes scanned the room, locking onto his for a heartbeat before shifting to you. A small, serene smile graced her lips as she made her way to your table.
"Good morrow," she greeted, her voice as warm as the morning sun streaming through the windows.
Baela took a seat beside you, her presence a soothing balm to the tension in the air. She nodded to Jacaerys, lingering their locked gaze in silence, before turning her attention to you.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked, her tone genuinely concerned.
"I did, thank you," you replied, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "The chambers are lovely."
Baela's smile widened. "I'm glad to hear that. Have you had time to explore the place?"
You straightened your back, glancing at your betrothed and then back to her. You shook your head. "No, I haven't had the chance yet," you admitted, trying to keep your voice light.
Baela's eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm. "Then it's settled. I'll give you a tour after breakfast. There are some wonderful places I think you'll enjoy."
Jacaerys felt a surge of confusion as he watched Baela's calm and cheerful demeanor. Her willingness to extend kindness and camaraderie to you, the woman set to marry the man she once loved, was baffling. He had expected resentment, anger, or at least some form of cold distance. Instead, Baela seemed genuinely at ease, her smile unwavering.
His thoughts churned as he tried to make sense of her behavior. Was she truly alright with the broken betrothal, or was this a mask she wore to hide her pain? Jacaerys couldn't tell. He stole a glance at you, noting the slight relaxation in your posture as you engaged with Baela. The two of you seemed to connect in a way he hadn't anticipated.
Baela's strength had always been a source of comfort, but now it felt like a reminder of his own perceived weakness. His own frustration clouding his judgment as hers only brought her closer to you.
Breakfast continued, the conversations light and courteous. You and Baela exchanged pleasantries about Dragonstone's architecture, its history, and its dragons. Joffrey's enthusiasm brightened the table as he peppered you with questions about the Vale and your life there. Jacaerys found himself mostly silent, observing the dynamic between you and Baela as he ate small bites of his food, dreading his leave.
When the meal concluded, Baela rose from her seat, her eyes meeting Jace’s. "I hope you'll join us on the tour, Jace," she said softly, her voice holding a note of encouragement.
Jacaerys hesitated, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He glanced at you, noting the hopeful glimmer in your eyes, then back at Baela, who was giving him a look, telling him to go. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat.
“If I am not busy, yes.”
Again, with linked arms, Baela urged her twin to join you both as she talked your ear off about the halls. Rhaena quickly following suit and giving you a polite smile.
As Baela led you away for the tour, Jacaerys remained behind, his expression conflicted. He watched as you disappeared around a corner, arm-in-arm with Baela and Rhaena. A moment passed before he made his decision, quietly following at a distance.
Throughout the tour, Jacaerys kept to the shadows, observing the easy rapport developing between you and Baela. His brow furrowed as he watched Baela's animated gestures, her warm smiles, and your growing comfort in her presence. The lack of tension or resentment between you both stirred a complicated mix of emotions within him. He watched you laugh, hand holding onto Rhaena as she pointed at the dragon pit.
As the day wore on and you retired to your chambers, Jacaerys found himself restless, pacing the halls of Dragonstone. The sun had long since set when he finally sought out Baela, his emotions simmering beneath the surface.
You were about to drift off to sleep when muffled voices from the corridor caught your attention. Curiosity piqued, you crept to the door, quietly prying it open, the voices getting clearer.
"How can you be so... so accepting about all of this?" Jacaerys' voice, usually so controlled, trembled with barely contained frustration.
"What would you have me do, Jace?" Baela's response was measured, but there was an edge to her tone. "Treat her unkindly? Refuse to acknowledge her presence?"
"No, of course not, but..." Jacaerys faltered. "You act as if nothing has changed. As if our betrothal wasn't just shattered for the sake of politics less than two days ago."
There was a pause, and when Baela spoke again, her voice was softer. "Everything has changed, Jace. But that doesn't mean we must let bitterness consume us. She is not to blame for this situation."
"I know that," Jacaerys snapped, then sighed heavily, you could hear his frustration. "I know. But seeing you with her, so friendly, so at ease... it's like you don't even care that we're no longer..."
"Don't," Baela's voice was sharp now. "Don't you dare suggest that I don't care. We both knew our duty might require sacrifices. I'm choosing to face this with grace, for all our sakes."
"And I'm just supposed to accept that? To watch you befriend the woman I'm being forced to marry, while my heart..." Jacaerys's voice broke off.
"Your heart will heal, Jace," Baela said gently. "As will mine. But we must give it time, and we must not punish Lady Y/n for circumstances beyond her control."
The silence that followed was heavy. You held your breath, straining to hear more.
"I don't know if I can do that, Baela," Jacaerys finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You can," Baela assured him. "And who knows? Perhaps in time, you might find that Lady Y/n..."
"Don't," Jacaerys cut her off. "Please, just... don't. I could never."
You heard footsteps retreating, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely. Slowly, you backed away from the door, your mind reeling from what you'd overheard.
As you stood there, hidden in the shadows of the corridor, your heart sank with each word that passed between Jacaerys and Baela. Guilt gnawed at you, a bitter realization settling in your chest. You hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but now you couldn’t ignore the raw emotions laid bare before you.
Jacaerys’s voice, tinged with frustration and hurt, echoed in your mind. His words stung deeply, cutting through the uncertainty that had clouded your thoughts since arriving at Dragonstone.
Any chance of him growing comfortable, even forming an attachment to you, vanished before your eyes at his words.
Locking the door, you sat on your bed, knees to your chest as you felt your breathing break its steady pace. The rawness of Jacaerys's emotions and his adamant refusal to even consider the possibility of developing feelings for you left a hollow ache in your chest.
Rising from your bed, you moved to the window, gazing out at the rocky shores of Dragonstone. The sea churned restlessly, mirroring the turmoil in your heart. You had known this marriage was born of political necessity, but hearing Jacaerys's words had driven home the reality of your situation in a way nothing else could have.
A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. "Come in," you called, turning from the window.
Baela entered, her silver-gold hair catching the soft candle light. Her lips faltered as she took in your drawn expression. "I did not know you were awake."
For a moment, you considered confessing what you'd overheard, but something held you back. Instead, you forced a small smile. "Just a restless night," you said. "I'm still adjusting to the sound of the waves, I suppose."
Baela's eyes searched your face, and you got the sense she didn't quite believe you. But she didn't press the issue. “I… I cannot find sleep either, I figured I’d come to see how you’re holding up with your stay.”
As you looked closer at Baela in the dim candlelight, you noticed the telltale signs of recent tears. Her eyes were slightly puffy and rimmed with red, and there was a lingering sadness in her expression that she couldn't quite hide. Her usually perfect composure seemed fragile, as if it might crack at any moment.
Baela's shoulders were slumped ever so slightly, betraying a weariness that went beyond mere physical exhaustion. Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of her nightgown, a nervous gesture that spoke volumes about her emotional state. Despite her attempt at a smile, there was a vulnerability in her gaze that tugged at your heart.
In that moment, you realized that Baela wasn't just here to check on you – she was seeking comfort and companionship herself. The strong, graceful woman who had been your guide and support since your arrival now looked like she desperately needed a friend.
You took two steps towards her, offering your hand, which she hesitantly took, and guiding her to sit on the edge of your bed.
For a while, neither of you spoke. You sensed Baela struggling to maintain her composure, her facade of strength cracking ever so slightly. Her shoulders trembled imperceptibly, a telltale sign of the storm raging within.
Without a word, you moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Baela stiffened at first, surprised by your gesture, but then she leaned into your touch, a silent admission of her vulnerability.
“I’m sorry,” you spoke, “I do not wish for your burden.”
"It's not your burden to bear," Baela whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault. Jace is just… still adjusting to the idea."
Baela remained silent for a long moment, her gaze distant. Her fingers traced the intricate embroidery on her sleeve, a nervous habit betraying her inner turmoil.
"I've known Jace my whole life," Baela began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We grew up together, shared dreams of the future, of ruling Dragonstone side by side. Our betrothal... it felt like destiny."
You tightened your embrace, offering silent support as Baela's voice wavered and your guilt only grew in your chest. She leaned into you, seeking solace in your presence.
"I care for him, Y/n," Baela admitted, her voice trembling with unspoken emotion. "And seeing him in pain... knowing that our future together is no longer possible... I can't bear it."
Tears welled up in Baela's eyes once more, and this time she didn't hold them back. They flowed freely, silent rivulets down her cheeks, marking the depth of her sorrow.
"I would rather see him find happiness with you," Baela confessed in a choked whisper, her words heavy with resignation. "Than watch him cling to a love that can never be. He deserves that much, after everything. He deserves a love that is possible, that is as just and fair as it is real."
Her admission hung in the air between you, a bittersweet revelation tinged with heartache. You squeezed her hand gently, your own heart heavy with empathy for her plight. You watched as she curled up to the sheets of your bed, breathing steadying as she let sleep take over her.
You tried to push away the guilt that threatened to overwhelm you. After all, you hadn’t asked for this betrothal any more than Jacaerys or Baela had asked for their separation. Yet, here you were, caught in the middle of their lingering emotions and unspoken regrets.
—————
The following weeks unfolded in a haze of polite interactions and strained attempts at forging connections. You accompanied Jacaerys to meetings and gatherings, each moment underscored by the awkward tension that hung between you. His gaze, when it met yours, was distant and guarded, a far cry from the warmth you had hoped to find.
Meanwhile, Baela remained a steady presence in your life. She showed you the hidden corners of Dragonstone, regaled you with stories of its history, and offered quiet words of encouragement when doubt threatened to consume you. Her kindness was a lifeline amidst the uncertainty that gripped your heart.
Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in your own betrothal. Every smile from Jacaerys felt forced, every conversation a careful dance around the unspoken truths that loomed between you. You wondered if he saw you as a reminder of what could have been, or if he simply saw you at all.
Jace and Baela kept their distance, exchanging lingering stares, finding comfort in each other but maintaining their bond as a friendship, an impossible love threatened by duty.
You felt like a young girl with a crush on a soldier, as Rhaena and Baela attempted to bring Jacaerys closer to you. Yet, it ate at you that Baela tried to conceal her own feelings to prioritize yours and Jace's.
You found solace in unexpected places. Young Joffrey had taken to following you around the castle, bombarding you with questions about the Vale and begging for horse-riding lessons. His innocent enthusiasm was a balm to your troubled heart, and you found yourself looking forward to the time you spent with him.
One crisp morning, as you were brushing down your horse in the stables, Joffrey came bounding in, his face flushed with excitement.
"Please!" he called out, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste as he ran little steps towards you. He joined his hands in a plea. "Can we go riding today? Please?"
You couldn't help but smile at his eagerness.
Jace watched from the courtyard. His expression was unreadable, but for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of softness.
The moment passed quickly as he turned away, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it. Pushing the thought aside, you focused on guiding Joffrey through his riding lesson. With a hand on his lower back, holding his upwards, and another holding onto the leather leash, you guided the excited child through the gardens.
As you guided Joffrey's pony through the gardens, the younger prince's laughter filled the air.
"Look!" Joffrey exclaimed, pointing excitedly at a butterfly fluttering past. "Can we chase it?"
You chuckled, gently reining in his excitement. "Remember, my prince, we must always be gentle with creatures smaller than us. Let's watch it instead, shall we?"
As you stood there, Joffrey perched atop his pony and you by his side, observing the delicate dance of the butterfly, you felt a presence behind you. Turning slightly, you saw Jacaerys approaching, his steps hesitant but purposeful.
"Having fun, Joff?" he asked, ruffling his younger brother's hair affectionately.
Joffrey beamed at his older brother, reaching to hold his hand, almost tumbling off of the animal’s loin. "She is teaching me to ride, Jace! She says I'll be as good as you one day!"
A small smile tugged at Jacaerys's lips. "Is that so?" He turned his gaze to you, something unreadable in his eyes. "You're good with him."
You felt a warmth creep into your cheeks at his words. "He makes it easy," you replied softly. "He's a quick learner."
Joffrey huffed as he tugged on the leather leash in your hands, “When will I be allowed to ride on my own?”
Jace let out a soft laugh, the sound unexpected and somehow comforting. "In time, Joff. You need to master the basics first."
The younger boy pouted but didn't argue, his attention quickly drawn back to the butterfly that had settled on a nearby flower.
You looked at Jacaerys, noticing the shadows under his eyes, the lines of stress etched into his handsome features. The brief moments of kindness he had shown you lately had been few and far between, but they gave you a glimmer of hope.
"Would you like to join us?" you asked tentatively, unsure of how he would respond.
Jacaerys hesitated, glancing between you and Joffrey. Finally, he nodded, a small, reluctant smile on his lips. "I could use a break from all the meetings."
As the three of you walked through the gardens, the tension between you and Jacaerys seemed to ease, replaced by a tentative camaraderie. Joffrey chattered on about the lessons you had been giving him, his enthusiasm infectious.
You caught Jacaerys stealing glances at you, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. It was as if the presence of his younger brother had created a bridge between you, allowing him to lower his guard just a little.
Sadly, he’d stayed quiet the whole time, only nodding along and responding to his brother’s enthusiasm.
For a moment, the three of you stood there in comfortable silence, watching as Joffrey tentatively guided his pony a few steps forward. You fixed your skirts, arms dropping to your side as the small prince struggled to get down from the pony, refusing to get any help. Then, to your surprise, Jacaerys spoke again.
"I... I was wondering if you might like to join me for a ride later," he said, his voice low enough that Joffrey couldn't hear. "There's a cove on the far side of the island that's quite beautiful at night."
Your heart skipped a beat at his invitation. "I'd like that," you replied, offering him a small smile.
As Jacaerys nodded and turned to leave, you caught sight of Baela watching from a nearby balcony. Her expression turned into a supportive smile when she noticed your gaze. The guilt that had become your constant companion surged once more.
Later that evening, as you prepared for your ride with Jacaerys, Baela appeared at your chamber door.
"Here," she said, holding out a cloak with a smile. "The winds can be fierce near the cove. You'll need this."
As you accepted the cloak, your fingers brushed hers. "Baela," you began, your voice thick with emotion. "I–"
She shook her head, cutting you off. "Don't," she said softly. “Jace is trying, give him a chance."
“Baela,” you began again, your voice softer this time, “I just don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. I’m trying to understand where we all fit into this... tangled mess.”
She shook her head, “I feel no pain if you and Jace are well.”
"But I don't want you to feel like you're losing something," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
Baela's expression softened, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. "Jace and I... we were a dream of what could have been. But dreams change. Life moves on, and so must we. I can't hold onto something that was never meant to be."
You nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," you whispered, unable to find the words to express the depth of your appreciation.
Baela squeezed your hand one last time before letting go. "Go," she urged. "Don't keep him waiting."
With a heavy heart, you draped the cloak around your shoulders and made your way to the stables where Jacaerys was waiting. The night air was cool and crisp, just like Baela had said, the stars twinkling like distant beacons of hope in the inky sky.
Jacaerys stood by his horse, his figure silhouetted against the faint light of the torches. His expression was thoughtful, almost pensive, as he glanced up at the sky. When he noticed your approach, his eyes softened slightly, almost as if he had been trying to get his mind ready.
The moonlight cast a silver sheen on his dark hair, lending him an almost ethereal quality.
“I forgot to tell you to get a cloak,” he said, quickly noticing the cloth that covered your body, “you must have read my mind."
"Baela thought of it," you replied, mounting your horse. Jacaerys tried to hide the frown that appeared on his face for a second. The saddle creaked beneath you, and you patted the horse's neck, feeling its warmth through the leather gloves.
Why would Baela want to push him into another woman’s arms? The question echoed in his mind, gnawing at his thoughts like a persistent itch.
Jacaerys’s thoughts churned beneath his calm exterior. Why was Baela so insistent on pushing him toward you? He glanced sideways at you, taking in the soft glow of the moonlight on your face, the way you seemed lost in your own thoughts. There was a delicate vulnerability about you, a quiet strength that he couldn’t quite grasp.
You rode in silence for a while, the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the distant roar of the sea the only sounds breaking the night.
His gaze flickered over to you again. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he noticed your serene demeanor, your focus entirely on the path ahead. He couldn’t deny that there was something about you that stirred a part of him he thought was long dormant – a hope for something genuine amidst the political maneuvering and familial obligations.
Breaking the silence, Jacaerys spoke, his voice carrying a note of curiosity he couldn’t completely mask. “You seem at ease. Is the ride helping you clear your mind?”
You glanced over at him, the soft glow from your lantern casting a gentle light on your face. “It is,” you said, offering a small, genuine smile. “I don’t have siblings, like you do. I didn’t have much to be entertained by, growing up. I found solace in rides like this”
Jacaerys nodded, his curiosity piqued. "What else did you do to pass the time?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.
You chuckled, a hint of mischief in your eyes. "I used to sneak out to watch the soldiers train in the courtyard."
Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is that so?"
You nodded, warming to the subject. "Oh yes. When I was too bored to read I would hide behind the barrels near the training yard and watch the men practice their swordplay."
"Did you ever try it yourself?" Jacaerys asked, genuine interest in his voice.
You laughed softly. "I did, actually. I'd sneak a wooden practice sword from the armory and try to mimic their movements in secret. I must have looked ridiculous, flailing about in my chambers."
Jacaerys let out a low chuckle, the sound warming you more than the cloak around your shoulders. "I can picture it," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Did you ever get caught?"
"Once," you admitted, a blush creeping into your cheeks. "My father walked in just as I was attempting a particularly dramatic lunge. I nearly toppled into my dressing table."
Jacaerys laughed outright at that, the sound echoing in the night air. It was the first time you'd heard him laugh so freely, and the sound made your heart skip a beat.
"What did your father say?" he asked, still smiling.
You sighed dramatically, "He was scandalized, of course. Grounded me from sneaking past the courtyard for life.”
As your horses ambled along the moonlit path, Jacaerys's laughter subsided into a warm smile. You loved the sound, you realized, not having heard it often because of you, moreso because of his family.
"Well, if you're still interested in watching swordplay, you're welcome to observe our training sessions here on Dragonstone. No need for sneaking or hiding behind barrels."
You felt a flutter of excitement at his offer. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"
Jacaerys shook his head, his expression softening. "Not at all. In fact, I think the men here might appreciate having an audience. It tends to make them show off a bit more."
You chuckled, feeling more at ease than you had in weeks. "I'd like that very much. Thank you, Jacaerys."
He nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that hadn't been there before.
As the path curved towards the cove, the moonlight bathed the landscape in a silvery glow. The sea's rhythmic waves against the rocky shore provided a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. Jacaerys's earlier curiosity about Baela's motives still lingered in his mind, but for now, he chose to focus on the present moment. There would be time to unravel those thoughts later.
“Um…” you started, unsure whether your question was intrusive or not, Jace’s head turned to look at you again.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering… about the dragons,”
Jacaerys's eyes lit up with interest at the mention of dragons. "What would you like to know?" he asked.
“I’ve never seen one up-close.” you felt rather embarrassed as your cheeks flushed, quickly turning your head to look ahead of you as Jacaerys bit back a smile. “Would you like to?”
Your heart quickened at his question, and you met his gaze, your excitement barely contained. "I would love to," you replied, unable to hide the enthusiasm in your voice.
Jacaerys smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Then it's settled. We'll visit the dragon pit tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to Vermax."
The path towards the cove became narrower, the sea breeze carrying a salty tang that invigorated your senses. Jacaerys's expression held a mixture of amusement and anticipation, the weight of the earlier conversation lifting slightly.
As the cove came into view, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, Jacaerys turned to you, his eyes reflecting the silvery light. "Vermax hatched when I was just a baby," he began, his voice taking on a more personal tone. “We grew together. I am sure he will be kind to you.”
The connection he described stirred something within you. You felt a growing sense of anticipation for the meeting with Vermax, your excitement mingling with a hint of nervousness at the thought of standing near a dragon.
As you reached the edge of the cove, the waves crashed gently against the shore, their rhythmic sound creating a soothing backdrop. You dismounted your horses, your boots sinking slightly into the soft sand. The moonlight cast a silvery sheen over everything, making the scene almost magical.
Even after having spent long in Dragonstone, the cold breeze still hadn’t made peace with you, you held the cloak tighter to your body in hopes of warmth. The chill seemed to seep through the layers, but the beauty of the cove and the company beside you provided a warmth of their own.
Jacaerys led you to a rocky outcrop, a perfect vantage point from which to watch the waves crash and froth against the shoreline. His hand was holding the sleeve of your cloak as he walked you, not ready to hold your hand just yet, Baela still somehow present in his thoughts.
Jace’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. He seemed lost in thought, the earlier conversation about Vermax fading into the backdrop as he wrestled with his own internal conflicts. You could sense the weight of Baela's memory lingering in his mind, an echo of feelings that he was trying to reconcile with the present.
He turned to you, his expression softening. “It’s a beautiful spot, isn’t it? I’ve always found it calming here, away from everything else.”
You hummed, hands going back to pressing the cloak against your shivering body, regretting not having worn more skirts for the night. “It’s beautiful.”
A small smile touched Jacaerys’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He seemed to be searching for the right words, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a more introspective side.
“Are you cold?”
“A little, yes. I should’ve worn a thicker dress.”
Jacaerys’s eyes flickered with concern as he took in your shivering form, the chill of the night evidently seeping through your cloak. The warmth of his earlier smile faded into a more serious expression.
“Come with me.” he said, his voice soft with empathy.
He guided you away from the edge of the cove, leading you towards a more sheltered spot further inland. The sea breeze, though still present, seemed to lose its bite as you moved away from the open shore.
As you walked, Jacaerys began to explain. “The rocks here are a bit more protected from the wind, and they get the heat from the sun during the day, it retains some warmth even at night.”
You followed him, hopeful by the promise of warmth. The path became less rugged and more stable, leading to a small, secluded nook nestled between two large boulders.
Jacaerys gestured towards the alcove with a reassuring nod. “This spot should be much warmer. It’s better than standing out in the open.”
You stepped into the alcove, trailing behind him, feeling a noticeable difference in temperature. The wind’s bite was indeed diminished, and the moss underfoot felt soothing against your tired feet. The warmth was a welcome relief, and you sighed contentedly as you settled into the corner of the nook.
Jacaerys took a seat beside you, maintaining a respectful distance but close enough to share the modest warmth of the alcove. His gaze softened as he looked at you, his earlier concerns about the chill replaced by a more focused attentiveness.
"Do you miss your home?" Jacaerys asked, breaking the silence, his voice gentle.
You considered his question, your gaze fixed on the horizon. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But I've got good company here."
Jacaerys studied you for a moment, his gaze contemplative. The alcove, with its comforting warmth and shielded position, seemed to offer a haven for both of you – a temporary retreat from the complexities of the world outside.
A faint smile tugged at Jacaerys’s lips as he broke the silence. “Joffrey’s obsessed with you, you know?”
You looked at him, curiosity piqued with a laugh. “Is he?”
Jacaerys nodded, his fingers absently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “He always talks about you.”
“He’s rather taken with you, I would think.”
You laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet of the alcove. “He’s a very kind child.”
Jacaerys nodded, his expression warm and approving. “He’s always full of stories about you – how kind you are, how brave you seem. It’s quite endearing, really.”
A smile tugged at your lips, “That’s sweet of him.”
There was a comfortable silence between you, the warmth of the alcove cocooning you both in its gentle embrace. The night outside seemed distant, its chill muted by the sanctuary you’d found together.
Jacaerys broke the silence once more, bringing his knees to his chest and staring ahead at the sea. “Baela’s been kind to you,” you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement so you simply nodded.
“Very, she’s been really welcoming to me,” you replied, trying to match the sincerity of his tone. “I appreciate her kindness more than I can express.”
Jacaerys sighed softly, the sound barely audible above the distant crash of waves.
The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, the warmth of the alcove creating a peaceful setting around you.
Jacaerys’s mention of Baela lingered between you like a delicate echo, and you could see the concern in his eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, but it was clear he was wrestling with his own emotions.
“You’ve been a good friend to her since you arrived,” Jacaerys said again, his voice soft but edged with a tinge of regret. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
The sincerity of his words struck a chord, and though you had tried to offer comfort, the mention of Baela’s hurt still gnawed at you. You understood that Jacaerys’s feelings were complex, his history with Baela casting a long shadow over the present.
You searched for something comforting to say, but the silence that followed was soothing in its own way.
Jacaerys shifted slightly, his eyes softening as he glanced at you. “Sometimes it’s hard to balance past connections with the present. I suppose I’ve been struggling with that lately. For that, I apologize.”
“It’s never easy to reconcile what was with what is. I imagine it must be even harder when you care about the people involved.”
He nodded, a wistful smile touching his lips. “You are to be my wife.”
Jace’s admission hung in the air like a fragile, unspoken promise. His gaze held yours, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and resolve that seemed to shimmer in the soft moonlight. The mention of your forthcoming union brought a new layer of gravity to the conversation, the implications settling heavily between you.
“I know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Despite the complexities of… my past betrothal, my commitment to you is sincere. I promise to give you a happy marriage. I want to give you a future where you feel valued, cherished, and at peace. As any wife should.”
His words carried a gravity that made your heart flutter. The sincerity in his eyes, combined with the warmth of the alcove, created a moment of shared hope and promise.
Neither of you spoke until the breeze caught up to the warmer spot, indicating the deep hours of the night. “We shall get back. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.” he mumbled.
You nodded, the thought of returning to the comfort of the castle appealing after the night’s lingering cold. The promise of a future together still resonated within you, a beacon of warmth amidst the crisp night air.
Jacaerys rose smoothly, offering you a hand as you stood. The gesture was simple but meaningful, a small act of support that spoke volumes to you. His hand was warm against yours, a comforting presence as you prepared to return to the castle.
Together, you made your way out of the alcove, the cool night air greeting you with a gentle caress as you retraced your steps back to the horses.
The path to the castle was bathed in the soft light of dawn, the horizon beginning to glow with the first hints of morning. He led the way, his presence a reassuring constant beside you as the path darkened, the night making it harder to see.
Jace offered to guard both of your horses back, while you prepared for your chambers.
As you stepped inside, a lively chatter greeted you, echoing through the stone corridors. Baela and Rhaena, vibrant and full of energy, were waiting for you near the entrance hall. Their faces lit up with excitement, their eyes sparkling with curiosity as they spotted you approaching.
“There you are!” Baela exclaimed, her voice bright and cheerful. She hurried towards you, followed closely by Rhaena, who wore an equally eager expression.
“You’ve been out almost all night,” Rhaena added, her tone filled with a mix of teasing and genuine interest.
“We took a stroll to the cove,” you said. “It was a peaceful night. We talked, and enjoyed the quiet. It was... pleasant.”
Baela and Rhaena listened intently, their expressions shifting from anticipation to satisfaction. Baela’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she nudged you gently. “I hope Jacaerys was a good companion. We wouldn’t want you to think poorly of Dragonstone just because of a chilly night.”
You chuckled, feeling a blush of warmth spread across your cheeks at the attention. “He was,”
As you walked towards your chamber’s doors, Baela’s excitement seemed almost infectious. Yet, despite the outward cheer, you couldn’t shake a lingering uncertainty. Baela’s reactions were hard to read.
She turned to you with a smile that seemed almost too perfect. “I’m glad you had a good night, it is important for you two to spend time together.”
Her words were kind, but the subtext felt layered. You couldn’t tell if she was giving her blessing wholeheartedly or if she was still processing her own feelings about Jacaerys. The complexity of their shared past, intertwined with the new future you were all stepping into, made the situation delicate.
As you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it, letting out a long breath. The night had been full of unexpected moments and conflicting emotions. Jacaerys's promise of a happy marriage still echoed in your mind, filling you with hope. Yet, the sadness you'd glimpsed in Baela's eyes reminded you of the complicated web of relationships you'd stepped into.
You changed into your nightgown and slipped into bed, your mind whirling with thoughts of moonlit coves, dragon pits, and the promise of a future yet to unfold.
—————
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun's rays streaming through your window and gently rousing you from sleep. As you blinked awake, the events of the previous night came flooding back – the moonlit ride, the intimate conversation with Jacaerys in the alcove, and the promise of meeting Vermax today.
A mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in your stomach as you rose and began to prepare for the day. You chose a sturdy riding dress, practical yet flattering, and braided your hair to keep it out of your face. As you fastened a cloak around your shoulders, a soft knock sounded at your door.
"Come in," you called, expecting to see one of the handmaids.
Instead, it was Jacaerys who entered, looking slightly hesitant but with a warm smile on his face. His day clothes were already on, a red cape falling from his shoulders.
"Good morrow," he said softly. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all," you replied, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected presence, fingers struggling to tie the cloak’s strings, too focused on him. "I was just getting ready for the day."
Jacaerys nodded, his eyes taking in your attire. “Need help?" he asked.
You nodded, grateful for the assistance. Jacaerys stepped closer, his fingers deftly working on the cloak's fastenings. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and you caught a hint of his scent – a mixture of leather and something uniquely him.
"There," he said softly, stepping back once the cloak was secured. His eyes met yours, a hint of warmth in their depths.
"I thought perhaps we could break our fast together before we go, if you're amenable?"
His thoughtfulness touched you, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. "I'd like that very much," you said with a smile.
As you walked together to the great hall, you couldn't help but notice the change in Jacaerys's demeanor. He seemed more relaxed in your presence, the tension that had marked your earlier interactions noticeably diminished.
The great hall was relatively quiet, with only a few early risers scattered about. Jacaerys led you to a small table near one of the windows, where a spread of fresh bread, fruits, and warm porridge awaited.
"I hope this is to your liking," he said, pulling out a chair for you. "I wasn't sure of your preferences, so I asked for a variety. I hope it isn’t too much."
You sat down, touched by his consideration. "It looks wonderful, thank you."
As you began to eat, a comfortable silence settled between you. Jacaerys seemed lost in thought, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window and the view of the dragon pit in the distance.
"Are you nervous about meeting Vermax?" he asked suddenly, his eyes focusing back on you.
You considered the question, taking a sip of warm tea before answering. "A little," you admitted. "I've never been this close to a dragon before. But I'm more excited than nervous, I think."
Jacaerys smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Vermax can sense emotions, he'll know if you're afraid, but if you remain calm he will be as well."
You nodded, absorbing his words. "I'll do my best to stay calm," you promised. "And I truly am looking forward to meeting him."
Something softened in Jacaerys's expression at your words. He reached across the table, his hand coming to rest lightly on yours. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you found yourself lost in his gaze for a moment. The connection between you felt stronger, a fragile bridge being built with each shared moment.
As you finished your meal, Jacaerys stood, offering you his hand. "Shall we?" he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
You took his hand, feeling the strength and warmth of his grip. "Lead the way," you said with a smile.
As you made your way through the castle corridors, Jacaerys walking beside you, you couldn't help but notice the curious glances from passing servants and courtiers. It was clear that your outing the previous night had not gone unnoticed, and you felt a flutter of self-consciousness.
Jacaerys seemed to sense your discomfort. "Pay them no mind," he said quietly, his hand briefly touching the small of your back in a gesture of support. "They'll have something new to gossip about by midday."
His touch, though fleeting, sent a warmth through you that lingered even as you stepped out into the crisp morning air. The dragon pit loomed before you, an imposing structure that seemed to dwarf everything around it.
As you approached, you could hear the low rumbles and occasional screeches of the dragons within. Your steps faltered slightly, and Jacaerys paused, turning to face you.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
You nodded, forcing a smile. "Just a bit nervous," you admitted.
Jacaerys's expression softened. "It's natural to be nervous," he said. "But Vermax is kind, do not fret."
As you entered the dragon pit, the air grew warmer, filled with the scent of smoke and something distinctly reptilian. Jacaerys led you towards a large pen, where a magnificent creature lay curled up, its scales shimmering in the dim light.
"Vermax," Jacaerys called softly, his voice filled with affection.
The dragon stirred, raising its massive head. Its eyes, intelligent and piercing, fixed upon you, and you felt a moment of panic. But then Jacaerys's hand found yours, squeezing gently in reassurance.
"It's alright," he murmured. "Just breathe. Let him get used to your scent."
You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain still as Vermax's nostrils flared, taking in your scent. After what felt like an eternity, the dragon let out a low rumble that sounded almost... approving?
Jacaerys smiled, his face lighting up with pride. "He likes you," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "Would you like to touch him?"
Your eyes widened in surprise. "Is that... safe?"
Jacaerys nodded in a chuckle, gently guiding your hand forward. "Just here, along his neck. His scales are warm."
He mumbled words – commands – in High Valyrian, a language that you did not quite understand. As Jacaerys's gentle voice wove through the ancient words, you felt a strange calm wash over you. His hand steadied yours, guiding it towards Vermax's neck. The dragon’s scales were warm, surprisingly smooth, and a thrill of awe coursed through you at the touch.
Vermax's gaze remained fixed on you, but there was no malice in it, only curiosity. Your hand moved slowly, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the creature's skin. The dragon emitted a low, contented rumble, and Jace's smile grew wider.
With trembling fingers, you reached out, gasping softly as your hand made contact with Vermax's humid and warm scales. They were indeed warm, and smoother than you had expected. The dragon rumbled again, the sound reverberating through your entire body.
“There we go,” Jacaerys murmured, watching as Vermax responded to your gentle touch with a low, rumbling purr. It was like nothing you’d ever heard before – a deep resonance that seemed to echo within your very bones. The dragon's presence was overwhelming, a creature of immense power and grace. Yet here, in this moment, it seemed almost… gentle.
Jacaerys stood close beside you, his hand still lightly covering yours, offering reassurance through the contact. The dragon pit was quiet, save for the occasional shifting of massive limbs and the rustling of scales as Vermax settled more comfortably under your touch. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and warm metal, an atmosphere charged with both mystery and excitement.
"He's magnificent," you breathed, unable to tear your eyes away from the dragon's gleaming eyes, which seemed to hold a world of secrets within them.
Jacaerys watched you, his eyes soft with an emotion you couldn't quite name. "He trusts you," he said quietly.
He marveled at how quickly Vermax had accepted you, a bond forming almost instantly. In his experience, dragons were fiercely independent creatures, wary of strangers and cautious around those they did not know. The ease with which Vermax had welcomed you was rare, a testament to something intangible that Jacaerys could sense but not quite articulate.
Jacaerys had seen many attempts to win a dragon's favor and fail; it was a delicate dance of trust and mutual respect, often requiring patience and time. Yet here you were, a newcomer to Dragonstone, and Vermax was already responding to you with a gentleness that belied his formidable nature.
Vermax cooed, his big eyes closing as you ran your hand over his scales, Jace’s cautiously hovering over.
"He really does like you," Jacaerys said, a note of wonder in his voice. "I've never seen him take to someone so quickly."
You looked up at Jacaerys, a smile spreading across your face. "Is that unusual?"
He nodded, his eyes moving between you and Vermax. "Dragons are... particular about who they allow near them. It took some of our most experienced dragon keepers months to gain Vermax's trust to this degree."
A warmth spread through your chest at his words, you turned back to Vermax, continuing to stroke his green scales gently. "Thank you for trusting me," you whispered to the dragon.
Vermax rumbled again, the sound almost like a purr. Jacaerys chuckled softly.
"Does he understand?” you asked.
"To some extent, yes. He senses your sincerity."
You nodded, absorbing this. The dragon's massive head lowered slightly, its eyes fluttering shut as if enjoying the sensation of your touch. Vermax's breaths came in slow, rhythmic pulses, and you found yourself mirroring them, a sense of calm washing over you.
“He’s like a pup,” you said, a smile creeping to your face.
Jacaerys’s laughter was soft, a warm, gentle sound that seemed to blend seamlessly with the low rumbling of Vermax. “That’s a charming way to put it.”
You hummed a laugh, eyes focusing on the beast that grumbled beneath your hand. “Look,” Jace said, pressing his palm against yours to apply more pressure on the dragon’s neck. He moved both of your hands up to the back of the ear, you on your tiptoes as Vermax moved his head down, welcoming the touch.
Jacaerys applied pressure once again, and the dragon tilted its head, eyes half-closed in a state of pure contentment.
Jace smiled at the sight, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and affection. “He truly enjoys this,” he said, his voice a gentle murmur.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. You turned to see Baela entering the dragon pit, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you and Jacaerys.
She stood near the entrance, her gaze moving from you to Jacaerys and then to Vermax. There was a moment of awkward silence as her eyes took in the intimate scene – you, with your hand resting on the dragon’s neck, Jacaerys close beside you.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, surprised to have found somebody in the dragon pit, usually only the keepers being there. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Jacaerys’s posture stiffened, his expression slipping into a mask of polite neutrality. He took a step back, his hand reluctantly withdrawing from yours. The warmth of his touch, which had felt so reassuring moments before, was now a memory of something he seemed to regret.
“You’re not interrupting,” he said, his voice measured, betraying none of the emotions that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface. “We were just… introducing her to Vermax.”
Baela’s eyes flickered to Jacaerys, and for a moment, the weight of their shared history seemed to press down on the space between the three of you. The warmth in Jacaerys’s expression was gone, replaced by a hint of discomfort, as if he were grappling with a conflict of emotions.
Baela cleared her throat, attempting to bridge the gap. “I came to check on Moondancer and make sure she’s comfortable. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably, the strain of his previous joy now visible in the tight set of his shoulders. “I should–” he began, but the words seemed to falter. He cleared his throat and straightened, trying to regain his composure.
“I should let you be. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Jace offered a polite, albeit slightly strained, smile as he turned towards you. His eyes held a flicker of something unreadable, a mixture of resignation and lingering affection. "I should take my leave," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality.
You nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment at the abrupt change in mood. "Thank you for introducing me to him," you said, your voice sincere.
Jacaerys’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a fleeting smile touching his lips before he turned to Baela. "I hope the rest of the day treats you both well."
Baela's expression softened as she watched Jacaerys retreat towards the entrance. As he walked away, the tension in the dragon pit seemed to dissipate, replaced by an air of quiet contentment.
After a beat of silence, she spoke, breaking the awkward moment. Baela’s gaze softened as she approached you, her initial surprise melting into genuine warmth. “I’m truly sorry for intruding,” she said, her tone sincere. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
You smiled softly at Baela, trying to ease the lingering tension in the air. "It's alright, truly. You weren't intruding at all."
Baela approached, her eyes drifting to Vermax, who was still rumbling contentedly. "He seems to have taken a liking to you," she observed, a hint of admiration in her voice.
You glanced back at the dragon, feeling a mixture of awe and affection. "Jacaerys was kind enough to introduce us. I've never been this close to a dragon before, I’m quite nervous."
Baela chuckled softly, her laughter a soothing balm that eased your nerves. “That’s completely understandable,” she said. “The first time I was near Moondancer, I was shaking like a leaf. Dragons can be intimidating. But you handled it with such grace; Vermax is usually more reserved.”
Her words felt like a quiet reassurance, a bridge between your anxieties and the reality of the moment. You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine appreciation she held for this small triumph. It was as if she, too, was celebrating the bond that was beginning to form.
“Jace must have really taken to you,” Baela continued, her eyes twinkling with a knowing smile.
You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Baela's words, a mixture of pride and embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He's been very patient with me," you admitted, your eyes drifting back to where Jacaerys had disappeared. "I'm grateful for his kindness."
Baela nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "He's got a gentle touch, that one."
You found yourself curious about the history between Baela and Jacaerys, but hesitated to pry. Instead, you turned your attention back to Vermax, who was still rumbling contentedly nearby.
A gentle breeze stirred the air in the dragon pit, carrying with it the mingled scents of smoke and dragonhide. You watched as Vermax shifted slightly, his massive tail curling around him in a relaxed pose. The dragon’s contentment was palpable, a testament to the bond forming between you and the creature.
Baela cleared her throat, breaking the tranquil moment. “I should get going to check on Moondancer,” she said, her tone light and cheerful. “I will see you later? For our midday meal.”
You nodded, eyes trailing after her as she walked away from you. The moment with Jacaerys had been special, filled with a blend of tenderness and excitement. His departure had left a lingering sense of something unfinished, a space where his presence had been warm and reassuring. Now, as you stood alone with Vermax, you felt a pang of longing for the ease and connection you’d shared moments before.
You glanced towards the entrance of the dragon pit. Vermax rumbled again, a sound that felt almost like a fond farewell as you turned to leave.
—————
Days drifted by, each day settling into a rhythm that felt both comforting and, at times, monotonous. Driven by a restless energy, you found yourself drawn to the training yard one afternoon, eager for a distraction from the sameness of your daily routine.
Your eyes were drawn to the center of the yard when you arrived, settling to stand nearby. You watched as knights clashed their swords, a few of them sharpening them and others simply training. Finally, your attention drifted to the grunts and louder sharp sounds that echoed in the air, Jacaerys wore a makeshift armor, only covering his chest and part of his legs as he aimed for the man before him.
There was something different about Jace. His movements were charged with an almost palpable frustration, each strike of his blade carrying a weight of unspoken anger. You watched, entranced and a little concerned, as he danced with his partner, his footwork sure and purposeful.
But then, in a moment that seemed to unfold in slow motion, Jacaerys overreached. The blade slipped from his grasp and turned against him, biting into the flesh of his hand with a viciousness that made you wince. The clang of the sword hitting the ground was like a thunderclap in the sudden silence that followed, every eye in the yard drawn to the prince’s moment of vulnerability.
It wasn't until Jacaerys stumbled back, his sword clattering to the ground, that you realized what had happened.
Jacaerys grimaced, the pain evident in the way he cradled his injured hand. Blood trickled down his fingers, a stark crimson against his pale skin. You felt a sharp pang of concern, your instincts urging you to go to him, to offer aid.
"Your Grace!" The knight exclaimed, rushing forward as Jacaerys clutched his hand to his chest.
“Stay back.” Jace ordered, a grunt leaving his lips again as he looked down at his bloodied hand. The knight looked around, unsure of what to do.
You watched as Jacaerys waved off the knight, the young prince's eyes blazing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. It was clear that the pain was secondary to the frustration that now simmered beneath his skin, a potent mix of pride and self-reproach that made him bristle at the attention.
He stood, still cradling his hand, and straightened his posture, his expression hardening into one of determination. He nodded at the knights who had turned to look at him, his voice steady despite the obvious pain. “Back to your swords.”
The command seemed to snap the knights out of their shock, and they quickly resumed their practice, the sounds of clashing blades filling the air once more. Jacaerys remained where he was, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he fought to regain his composure.
You hesitated for a moment, torn between respecting his pride and offering the help he clearly needed. But the sight of his bloodied hand, coupled with the raw frustration etched across his features, propelled you forward. You approached him slowly, your footsteps deliberate and unthreatening.
"Jacaerys," you said softly, your voice barely rising above the din of the training yard. He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours. There was a distance in his gaze, a barrier that seemed to rise between you, but you pressed on, determined to offer whatever solace you could.
"Let me help you," you offered gently, gesturing to his injured hand. The words hung in the air between you, a lifeline extended across the chasm of his pride.
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, his gaze dropping to his hand, the blood now drying against his skin.
"I don't need help," Jacaerys said, his voice clipped and guarded.
"Let me see."
Jacaerys' jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration passing across his features before he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He seemed to weigh your words, the conflict evident in his eyes as he considered your offer.
Finally, with a reluctant nod, he extended his injured hand toward you. He avoided looking at you as you held his wrist, moving him to the inside of the castle as blood dripped down his fingers and onto the ground.
As you led him inside the castle, away from the watchful eyes of the knights, Jacaerys' frustration seemed to simmer beneath the surface, an internal tempest he struggled to control. His movements were rigid, his silence heavy with unspoken words.
The frustration that clouded his mind was more than just about the training. It was a culmination of several things – the complexities of his relationship with Baela, the unease and uncertainty that seemed to seep into his days since you arrived, and the pressures of his own expectations. The training had become his escape, a way to channel his pent-up emotions into something tangible, something he could control.
Your presence now was a stark reminder of that inner storm. The sight of you, coming to his aid with a genuine concern that cut through his self-imposed barriers, only intensified his sense of vulnerability. It was as if your intervention had torn down a carefully constructed wall, exposing the raw nerves he had been trying to shield.
Inside the castle, you guided him to a small room, a quiet space away from the clamor of the training yard. The sunlight filtered through a narrow window, casting a soft glow on the stone walls. You set him down on a bench, your movements deliberate as you prepared to tend to his wound.
With a deep breath, you took his hand gently, the blood now congealing into dark patches against his pale skin. As you cleaned the wound, your touch was steady and soothing, a balm to his troubled mind.
Jacaerys watched you in silence, the weight of his frustration palpable in the tight lines of his face. His eyes, though distant at first, began to soften as you worked. Each brush of your fingers against his skin seemed to draw out some of the tension that had gripped him.
Yet, he refused to speak.
The room remained quiet save for the soft rustling of fabric and the gentle flow of water as you cleaned and bandaged his hand.
As you finished bandaging his hand, you met his gaze with a soft, reassuring smile. The simple act of caring for him had forged a connection, bridging the gap created by his frustrations and the barriers he had erected. The walls he had so carefully constructed seemed to crumble, if only slightly, in the face of your genuine compassion.
"All done," you said gently, your voice a soothing murmur in the quiet room.
Jacaerys nodded, the simple gesture carrying a weight of gratitude and acknowledgment. His eyes, though still distant, held a trace of the vulnerability he had tried to shield. Unsure of what to do next, you sat in silence, his bandaged hand still sitting on yours, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the cloth.
With a sigh, you moved to stand. “I shall take my leave–”
“No.”
You looked at him, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your eyes. "Is there something else you need?" you asked, your voice gentle and open.
He hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if grappling with something he couldn’t quite articulate. The vulnerability that had surfaced during your care seemed to linger, a delicate thread connecting you both.
For a moment, Jacaerys remained silent, his expression a complex blend of contemplation and unease. It was clear that he was wrestling with the emotions that had surfaced – emotions that he had been trying to keep under control.
Finally, with a deep breath, he spoke. “I just… need a moment. Alone, but not alone. If that makes any sense.”
“I’m not following, Jacaerys.”
“Just… Just stay. Here.”
You studied him for a moment, the sincerity in his eyes and the depth of his request weighing heavily on you. His expression was a blend of vulnerability and longing, a quiet plea for comfort that he could not fully articulate aloud.
With a nod, you settled back into your seat, the minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds the soft rustling of fabric as he adjusted his position and the occasional sigh that escaped him, each one a testament to the inner battle he was fighting. You watched him with quiet empathy, allowing him the space to navigate his emotions without feeling pressured to fill the silence.
Jacaerys’ gaze drifted out of the window, his eyes lost in thought. The sunlight cast a warm, golden hue over his face, and you couldn’t help but think that he looked beautiful.
You could see the gradual softening of his features, the way his shoulders relaxed a bit more. It was as if the burden he carried had lightened just a fraction, if only because he had someone to share it with, even if only in silence.
Neither of you spoke of it since then, the needed company enough to ease the burden that Jacaerys had been carrying.
—————
Days had passed, marked by the quiet moments of solace you'd been sharing. Jacaerys seemed to carry himself with a bit more ease around you, a small but noticeable shift in his demeanor. Though the castle continued its usual rhythm, with its clattering armor and distant roars of dragons, the moments of companionship between you had become a gentle, sincere bond.
You'd often find yourself drawn to him during those moments. It was as if the space you’d created together in the few months you’d been there had left a mark – a subtle, lingering sense of understanding that hung between you, yet not strong enough to end the awkward moments where Jace’s brain reminded him of Baela, or when he’d get nervous around her still.
Though he didn’t have anybody to speak of it with, Jacaerys felt a stronger care towards you, slowly beginning to accept his duty and where his heart was taking him.
Whether it was through shared meals or the occasional chance meeting in the castle corridors, there was a new layer of connection that seemed to envelop your interactions.
One afternoon, as you wandered the castle grounds, you found yourself in the garden, little Joffrey laid next to you, a serene haven amid the chaos of court life. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden light over the flowering beds.
You had come to clear your mind, to find a moment of peace, and the small child had trailed behind you, desperate for some company.
Lost in thought, you almost didn’t notice Jacaerys approaching until he was almost upon you. The soft crunch of gravel beneath his boots alerted you to his presence, and you looked up, a smile forming on your lips as you met his gaze.
Jacaerys’ expression was relaxed, a stark contrast to the intensity you had seen in him before. He glanced at Joffrey, who was now busy examining a particularly vibrant blossom with wide-eyed curiosity.
“Hello,” the kid greeted, your tone warm and welcoming.
“Hello,” Jacaerys replied, his voice carrying a gentle warmth. His eyes flickered briefly to Joffrey before settling back on you. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
You shook your head, the soft rustle of your movement blending with the whisper of the wind through the garden. “Not at all. Joffrey’s just enjoying the flowers.”
Jacaerys paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the child. With a thoughtful expression and a small smile, he approached and gently placed a hand on Joffrey’s small shoulder. “Joffrey, why don’t you go find Rhaena? I believe she’s somewhere near the training yard.”
Joffrey looked up at him, his expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “But I want to stay with you,” he protested softly.
“You’ll find Rhaena much more interesting,” Jacaerys coaxed, his tone kind but firm. “And I promise I’ll see you soon.”
“Please?”
Jacaerys’ gaze softened as he looked at the little boy. His hand lingered on Joffrey’s shoulder, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes. With a gentle sigh, he turned to you, his expression easing into a more relaxed smile, letting you choose.
“It’s alright,” you said, chuckling. “If Joffrey wishes to stay, then let him. It’s not often we have the chance to simply enjoy the garden.”
Joffrey’s face lit up with a delighted grin, his initial reluctance melting away. He clambered back to his spot next to you, resuming his exploration of the flowers with renewed enthusiasm.
Jacaerys settled onto the ground, leaving his sword behind and nestling next to his brother, his posture relaxed as he observed the scene before him. The child mumbled flower names he’d learned about, picking some up to hold them up to you and Jace in pride.
As the three of you sat in the garden, the atmosphere was filled with a gentle tranquility. Joffrey's innocent enthusiasm for the flowers brought a lightness to the air, his excited chatter a soothing backdrop to the moment.
Jacaerys watched his younger brother with a fondness that softened his features. His eyes, usually guarded, held a warmth that spoke volumes about his love for Joffrey. As the child continued to explore, holding up various blooms for inspection, Jacaerys found his gaze drifting towards you.
There was something different in the way he looked at you now. The tension that had often clouded his expression in your presence seemed to have eased, replaced by a quiet appreciation. It was as if he was seeing you anew, through the lens of your kindness towards your surroundings and the gentle way you interacted with him.
He felt his chest tighten in nervousness as he reached behind his brother, who was too distracted by the flowers in front of him to notice Jacaerys’ hand itching towards yours.
“You seem more at ease,” you remarked gently, the words barely more than a whisper, yet carrying a depth of observation. “How are you finding things lately?”
Jacaerys shrugged a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’m well, I suppose.”
Jace shifted slightly, his fingers still hovering near yours, but he hesitated. His eyes flickered between you and Joffrey, who was now eagerly describing a particularly colorful flower to you with wide, innocent eyes. The child’s chatter filled the space between you, an unwitting barrier that Jacaerys seemed to navigate with care.
He found himself drawn more and more to your presence. The way you listened attentively to his little brother, offering gentle encouragement and genuine interest, stirred something within him. It was a softness he hadn't expected to feel, a warmth that seemed to spread through his chest.
His fingers, still hovering near yours, trembled slightly with indecision. The desire to bridge that final gap, to make that physical connection, warred with the lingering echoes of his past with Baela. But as he watched you smile at Joffrey, your eyes crinkling with genuine affection, Jacaerys felt something shift within him.
Slowly, cautiously, he let his hand move those final few inches. His fingers brushed against yours, a touch so light it could have been mistaken for a breeze. But then, with a surge of courage, he gently covered your hand with his.
The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of nervousness and excitement that made his heart race. He kept his eyes fixed on Joffrey, afraid to meet your gaze, afraid of what he might see there. But he didn't pull away.
You glanced at him, but his eyes were still focused on Joffrey, though you could see a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
With a final, enthusiastic show of a particularly bright bloom, Joffrey tugged at your sleeve and glanced up at you. “I want to go find Rhaena now,” he said, his small voice tinged with excitement at the prospect of a new adventure.
You looked at him and nodded, smiling at his boundless energy. “She’ll be happy to see you.”
Joffrey beamed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’ll tell her all about the flowers!” he declared, holding up the few flowers that could fit in his palm before scampering off towards the training yard, his laughter and light footsteps fading into the distance.
As the child’s presence disappeared, the garden seemed to settle back into its previous serenity, leaving just you and Jacaerys alone amidst the blooming tranquility.
Jacaerys shifted slightly, his hand still resting gently over yours. He finally allowed his gaze to meet yours. His eyes, now more open and honest, held a hint of the conflicted emotions he had been grappling with.
You could tell something ate at him, had he not wanted to talk about it with his brother present. Gazing at him, you offered a gentle, encouraging smile. “Would you like to talk about what’s troubling you?”
Jacaerys looked away for a moment, his brow furrowing as he struggled with his thoughts. His fingers tightened slightly around yours.
“It’s just…” he began, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “I’ve been feeling… left out. Disregarded, almost.”
You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to continue. “How so?”
Jacaerys shifted his position, the tension evident in the way he gripped the grass beneath him. “I feel like my mother… she doesn’t trust me to take on the responsibilities I believe I’m ready for.”
His words came out in a rush, as if the weight of them had been too much to keep contained any longer. “She hasn’t sent me to war, hasn’t allowed me to fly on dragonback to our allies or to attack the Greens. I understand that she wants to protect me, but it feels as though she’s holding me back, not giving me a chance to prove myself.”
You considered his words carefully before responding. "Your mother's caution comes from a place of love, Jace.” you moved to sit closer to him. “The realm is at war, and losing you would be devastating, not just for her."
His brow furrowed, a mix of understanding and lingering frustration evident in his expression. "I know that, but–"
"She's lost so much already," you continued gently. "The thought of losing you too must terrify her."
A flicker of understanding crossed Jacaerys' face. "I hadn't... I mean, I know she worries, but..."
He brought his free hand to his hair, pushing it back before. “I just wish she’d let me act. I only wish to help.”
“It might not feel like it, but sometimes being present and prepared is just as important as taking immediate action.”
He let himself fall back, hand still in yours as he laid on the grass. You settled beside him, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to offer comfort.
"You want to make a difference, Jacaerys," you said softly, your voice blending with the tranquil sounds around you. "That’s a noble desire."
He closed his eyes for a moment, the serene atmosphere providing a brief escape from his inner turmoil. "I want to prove that I’m capable, that I can be trusted with more than just the responsibilities here at the castle."
“I rather like having you here, at the castle.” you admitted, cheeks burning as he turned to face you, you avoided his eyes.
Jacaerys’ gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the warmth of his attention even without looking directly at him. The confession had slipped out before you could fully rein it in, leaving you feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability.
You could see him processing your words, the flicker of surprise in his eyes softening into something more contemplative.
“You like having me here?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. There was a trace of something in his tone – curiosity, perhaps, or a tentative hope.
You nodded, still avoiding his gaze as you looked out at the blooming flowers. “Yes. Your presence here has been… comforting.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he almost whispered, “I like having you here, too.”
The realization that had begun to dawn upon him – the understanding of his feelings and the recognition of your presence as something deeply significant – seemed to transform the way he’d been looking at you.
His eyes traced the contours of your face with a mix of awe and realization, as if seeing you in a light that was both startling and illuminating. The intensity of his stare spoke of a shift in his heart, a transition from the shadow of his past desires to the clarity of his present feelings.
His fingers moved to your wrist, softly caressing the skin as he stared. You felt your heart rate pick up, nervous under his gaze.
The realization that he had been holding back, that his past with Baela had obscured the thought of the potential of something new, seemed to now weigh heavily on him. Yet, despite the tumult of his emotions, there was a serene acceptance in his gaze as he watched you.
Eventually, he was shaken out of his thoughts by one of the handmaids approaching, hands together behind her back. “My prince, your presence is requested at the court.”
Jace’s hand reluctantly slipped from yours as he sat up, the moment of shared vulnerability giving way to the demands of his role. He looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and determination. “I suppose I must attend,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance.
You gave him a reassuring smile, though your heart felt a pang of disappointment at the interruption. “Of course. Duty calls.”
He rose to his feet, his posture shifting back into the prince’s armor of composure and authority. Yet, there was a softness in his eyes that lingered—a remnant of the moment you’d shared in the garden. He extended a hand to help you up, a gesture that was both courteous and intimate.
As you took his hand, you felt the warmth of his touch and the slight tremor in his fingers. It was as if the brief connection you had shared had made him more aware of your presence, more attuned to the quiet understanding that had passed between you.
“I’ll see you later?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty as he looked at you.
You nodded, trying to keep the reassurance in your tone steady. “I’ll be around.”
Jacaerys offered a small, genuine smile before turning towards the handmaid, his demeanor shifting back to the prince of the realm. He followed her down the garden path, his steps more measured, his gaze occasionally turning back to where you stood.
—————
The prince was nowhere to be found. The castle’s usual rhythm was disrupted as whispers of Jacaerys’ disappearance spread through the corridors. The once-familiar sounds of bustling servants and the distant murmur of courtly debates felt suddenly fraught with tension. You moved through the stone halls with a sense of urgency, the weight of concern pressing heavily on your chest.
It had been a restless night after Jacaerys confided in you about his plans. His frustration and the quiet desperation in his voice had painted a vivid picture of a prince caught between duty and desire. He had sneaked past your chambers at midnight and told you, in hushed tones, about his decision to leave the castle in search of allies, to rally forces in favor of his mother’s cause. He begged for it to be kept a secret, for his mother would not allow it if he was found out.
Now, as you scoured the castle, each passing moment felt like a lost opportunity to stop him. You had hoped he’d reconsider, that the gravity of his actions would weigh on him enough to stay, but now the absence of his familiar presence was a stark reminder of his resolve. You felt anxious at the amount of hours he’d been gone, his dragon with him.
As the days passed without any sign of Jacaerys, the castle's atmosphere remained tense, with whispered conversations falling silent as you approached. You couldn't shake the feeling of being an unwilling conspirator in the prince's absence.
To distract yourself from the gnawing worry, you sought out the company of Baela and Rhaena. You spent time with them in the gardens, listening to Baela's spirited tales of dragon-riding and Rhaena's quieter musings on history and lore. Their presence offered a semblance of normalcy in these unsettling times.
As the week drew to a close, you found yourself lying awake in your chambers, your mind racing with possibilities of Jacaerys' fate. The silence of the night was suddenly broken by a commotion in the halls. Heart pounding, you rose and moved towards the door, straining to make sense of the muffled voices and hurried footsteps.
Emerging into the corridor, you were met with a flurry of activity. Servants rushed past, carrying linens and basins of water. The air was thick with tension and an undercurrent of relief. As you made your way towards the source of the disturbance, you overheard fragments of conversation.
"The prince has returned..."
"...wounded, but alive..."
"...flew in on a weak Vermax..."
Your steps quickened as you approached Jacaerys' chambers. The door stood ajar, and you caught glimpses of the prince through the gap. He was seated on the edge of his bed, surrounded by maesters and attendants. His face was pale and drawn, with a bandage visible beneath his torn shirt and a bloodied gash on the side of his face, from his eyebrow to his cheek.
As you hovered uncertainly in the doorway, torn between relief at his return and apprehension about the consequences of his actions, Jacaerys' gaze met yours. He shared a small smile before the door was shut fully.
Hours later, when the halls had once again fallen silent, restlessness clung to you like a second skin. So, when you heard the soft knock at your chamber door, your breath hitched with a mix of relief and apprehension. You recognized Jacaerys’ familiar rhythm: two quick raps, a pause, followed by another. Without hesitation, you moved to open the door, ushering him inside and closing it behind him with a soft click.
“Jace,” you whispered, your voice a blend of concern and gentle reproach. “You should be resting. The maesters–”
“They exaggerate,” he cut in, a wry smile curving his lips. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were shadowed with fatigue. “I can walk just fine, and these”, he gestured vaguely to his face and torso, “are merely flesh wounds. They’ll scar, nothing more.”
You took a long, careful look at him. Despite the bravado in his voice, you could see the toll of the day’s events etched into his features. The weariness was palpable in the way he held himself, slightly hunched as though to shield his injuries from the world. His normally bright eyes seemed dimmed, burdened with an invisible weight that hadn’t been there before he left.
“What happened out there?” you asked softly, guiding him to sit on the edge of your bed. You remained standing, unable to find the calm to settle.
Jacaerys sighed deeply, his hand running through his disheveled hair, pushing it away from his face. He shook his head, the gesture heavy with unspoken frustration and exhaustion.
"It's... a long story," he said, his voice weary. "I wouldn't want to bore you with the details."
You moved closer, your eyes fixed on his face. "Jace, you could never bore me."
He looked up at you, a flicker of gratitude passing across his features. But then he shook his head again, more gently this time. "I appreciate that, truly. But right now... I just need a moment of peace. This past week has been..." He trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words to describe his ordeal.
"And I know that once my mother hears of my return, there will be no escaping her scolding," he added with a rueful smile. "I wanted to see you before that storm breaks."
Your heart softened at his words. You sat down beside him on the bed, careful not to jostle his injuries. "I'm glad you came," you said softly. "I've been worried sick about you."
Jacaerys turned to face you, his eyes searching yours.
“We all have been,” you added. “Baela… your mother…”
A flicker of acknowledgement passed over Jacaerys' face at the mention of Baela, but it lacked the usual undercurrent of pain and longing you'd grown accustomed to seeing. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance in his eyes, as if a weight had been lifted.
"I'm sorry for worrying you all," he said softly, his gaze dropping to his hands.
Jacaerys remained quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on his hands. Though he didn't voice it, the week away had been harder than he'd anticipated, not just because of the physical trials he'd endured. He'd found himself missing your presence more than he'd expected – your counsel, your companionship, the comfort of your familiar face in a sea of uncertainty.
When he'd caught a glimpse of you outside his chambers earlier, a part of him had wanted to dismiss all the fussing maesters immediately. He'd longed to speak with you, to see you, to share the weight of his experiences, to seek solace in your understanding.
His eyes lifted to meet yours again, “What have you been doing in my absence?”
You huffed, fixing your posture and faking a smile. “Queen-to-be training, apparently.”
"Queen-to-be training?" he repeated, his tone a mix of amusement and sympathy. "I can only imagine. Let me guess – the maesters have been relentless?"
You nodded, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "They were absolutely scandalized when they discovered I hadn't been taught to sew as a child. You'd think I'd committed some grave offense against the realm itself."
He shook his head, still smiling. Jace leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing as he listened to you. Despite his fatigue, he seemed genuinely entertained by your predicament. "And how are you faring with these... essential skills?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.
You gave him a playful glare. "I'll have you know, my stitches are only slightly crooked now. Though I fear my embroidered dragons look more like angry lizards."
This elicited another laugh from Jacaerys, louder this time. He quickly pressed a hand to his side, but the smile remained. "Well, I for one would be honored to have a tapestry of angry lizards adorning the castle walls."
You couldn't help but smile at Jacaerys' laughter, even as concern flickered in your eyes when he winced. It was good to see him in lighter spirits, despite his injuries.
"I'm glad you find my struggles amusing, Your Grace," you retorted with mock indignation.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
You couldn't help but smile at his fake offense. "Oh! And apparently, I've been pronouncing 'Targaryen' wrong all this time."
Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? And how have you been saying it?"
You demonstrated, exaggerating your previous pronunciation.
Jacaerys laughed loudly again, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose we can't have a future queen mangling the family name. Though between you and me, I think half the smallfolk say it differently anyway."
The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the genuine amusement that softened the harsh lines of his face, was a reminder of the boyish prince beneath the layers of duty and exhaustion.
You watched him carefully, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. “You really should rest,” you said gently, reaching out to adjust the bandage on his forehead, which had started to peel from the corner.
His hand came up to cup yours, linking your fingers together as he hesitated. “I suppose I should.”
As if summoned by some mischievous deity, a muffled voice filtered through the heavy chamber doors, shattering the intimate moment. The maester's call, though faint, rang out clearly in the sudden silence: "My prince?"
Jacaerys tensed slightly, his hand tightening around yours for a brief moment before he let out a soft sigh.
"It seems my reprieve was short-lived," he murmured, a note of resignation in his voice.
You both stood, reluctantly letting your hands fall apart. Jacaerys moved towards the door, his movements careful and measured to avoid aggravating his injuries.
The door creaked open to reveal the maester, whose expression was a blend of relief and professional concern. Behind him, the flickering torchlight cast shadows that danced across the walls, adding to the sense of urgency.
“My prince,” the maester began, his gaze flickering to you with a polite nod, “You must rest.”
As he turned to follow the maester, he glanced back at you, a brief, almost imperceptible smile passing across his lips. The door closed behind them, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room. The soft rustling of fabric and the distant murmur of footsteps were the only sounds breaking the stillness. After a week of restless nights, you finally let sleep take over you.
The next day dawned with a flurry of activity in the castle. You rose early, your mind still occupied with thoughts of Jacaerys and the events of the previous night. As you prepared for your daily lessons, you caught snippets of conversation from passing servants – apparently, the prince had been confined to his chambers on the Queen's orders until his wounds fully healed.
Your morning was filled with the now-familiar routine of "queen-to-be" training, barely having time to visit your betrothed. Every time you’d tried to sneak past the maester in charge, or one of the maids, you’d be given a stern look that made you sit back down to focus on your duties.
As you moved through the castle corridors between lessons, your path took you past Jacaerys' chambers. You slowed your steps, hoping for a glimpse or perhaps a chance to check on him. Instead, you saw Baela and Rhaena approaching his door.
You hesitated, watching as Baela knocked and then entered the room with a gentleness that seemed at odds with her usual boisterous demeanor. Through the briefly open door, you caught a glimpse of Jacaerys, propped up in bed, his face lighting up at the sight of his cousins.
A pang of something – jealousy? concern? – fluttered in your chest as you observed Baela's careful movements around Jacaerys, her hand resting on his arm, a small smile on both of their faces. But as you watched their interaction, brief as it was, you realized with a sense of relief that there was nothing more than friendship between them. The easy camaraderie, the lack of tension or hidden glances – it all spoke of a comfortable, familial bond rather than the romantic entanglement that had been haunting them for the past months.
As the door closed behind the sisters, you found yourself releasing a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The knot of tension in your chest loosened, replaced by a warm feeling of reassurance. You continued on your way to your next lesson, your steps lighter than before.
Throughout the rest of the day, your thoughts occasionally drifted to Jacaerys, wondering how he was faring in his confinement. You made a mental note to find a way to visit him yourself, perhaps under the guise of delivering some reading material or simply to offer companionship during his recovery.
—————
Three days had gone by, Jace’s absense from the castle’s halls feeling like a palpable void. The castle's routine continued its relentless pace, but each day felt marked by the absence of the prince, who remained in his chambers as per the Queen’s decree. The usual sounds of the castle – footsteps echoing in the corridors, the murmur of conversations, and the clinking of dishes during meals – seemed muted without Jacaerys’ vibrant presence.
Your lessons, though diligently attended, seemed to stretch endlessly. The repetitive drills and the constant pressure to perfect every task left you feeling drained.
On the third day, the weight of confinement began to bear down on you. The castle walls seemed to close in, and the routines felt increasingly stifling. You could no longer ignore the need to see Jacaerys, to offer him your support and comfort in person.
In the late afternoon, as the sun began to cast a warm, golden light through the castle windows, you decided to act. With a determined resolve, you gathered a stack of books, their leather covers and gold leafing catching the light, and made your way toward Jacaerys’ chambers. This time, you hoped your visit would be more than just a fleeting encounter.
As you approached his door, you took a deep breath, your nerves fluttering with anticipation. You knocked gently, the sound a soft reminder of your presence.
You were met with silence.
You were about to knock a second time when the door creaked open just slightly, and you caught a glimpse of Jacaerys himself standing on the other side. His disheveled hair and the faint smile that tugged at his lips betrayed a hint of mischief.
Before you could react, he grabbed your hand with a swift, practiced motion and pulled you into the shadowed recess of the large closet adjacent to his door. The suddenness of the action left you breathless and slightly disoriented, but the familiar scent of cedar and leather from the closet’s wooden shelves quickly grounded you.
The closet was spacious enough to accommodate both of you. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the small crack in the door, you saw Jacaerys leaning against the wooden wall, his face a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
“You,” he said in a low voice, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, “have impeccable timing.”
You let out a soft laugh, your nerves calming as you realized the nature of this unexpected encounter. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” you teased, trying to peer through the sliver of light to gauge your surroundings.
Jacaerys shrugged lightly, though the movement was cautious to avoid aggravating his injuries. “The maesters have been relentless. They’ve turned my chambers into a medical haven. And every time they think I’m alone, they come barging in.”
“This is not quite the secret escape I envisioned,” Jacaerys continued, his voice tinged with a playful undertone. “But I needed a moment away from the constant attention.”
You turned to face him fully, the dim light highlighting the fatigue etched into his features. Despite his light-hearted words, the exhaustion was evident. “I can imagine,” you said softly. “I’m sorry to intrude. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
He reached out and took your hand, his touch gentle but firm. Jacaerys’ smile widened, though his eyes remained shadowed with fatigue. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine relief. “I’ve missed our conversations.”
“I’ve missed them too,” you admitted.
“I’m sure they have gone to folly, they won’t let me stand from bed without making a fuss of it.” he nodded his head towards the doors, referring to the healers. Though the light was dim, you could still see some of the light hit his face, letting you see the wide smile on his face, and the less-reddened stitches on his brow.
You glanced around the small space, the closet’s confines feeling oddly intimate as you and Jacaerys stood close together, the warmth of his presence a comforting balm. You could still hear the distant murmur of servants and the occasional clatter of dishes, but the noise felt miles away from this hidden nook.
“You’ve been so diligent with your lessons,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “I was beginning to think you enjoyed them more than my company.”
You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Hardly,” you said. “If you could see the looks I get from the maesters when I try to sneak away, you’d know I’m barely enjoying myself.”
You heard the faintest sound of footsteps approaching, and your heart skipped a beat. The maesters, ever vigilant, seemed to be making their rounds again. The muffled conversation from outside the door grew clearer, and you could catch fragments of their voices discussing treatments and concerns.
Jacaerys tensed slightly, his hand squeezing yours for a brief moment before letting go. He brought his finger to his lips, telling you to be silent. He glanced towards the door, his face reflecting a mixture of concern and frustration.
“We should–”
Jace cut you off by pushing the door to the closet, creaking it open just enough to let in a sliver of light, and you heard one of the maesters call out, “My prince?”
Jacaerys’ eyes widened slightly, and he moved quickly, guiding you further into the closet’s shadows. You followed his lead, pressing yourself against the wall.
The maesters’ voices grew louder, and you could see their shadows falling across the floor just outside the closet. “He must be somewhere around here,” one of them said with a hint of irritation. “He can’t have vanished into thin air.”
The tension in the small, shadowed closet was almost palpable. You and Jacaerys huddled together, your breaths shallow and synchronized as you listened to the footsteps drawing nearer.
Jacaerys' hand, still warm from holding yours, rested lightly on your back, a comforting presence amid the growing anxiety. His face, illuminated by the narrow stream of light sneaking in through the partially opened closet door, reflected a hint of amusement.
The maesters' voices were now directly outside the door, their conversation laced with frustration. “He couldn’t have gone far,” one of them said with a note of exasperation.
“His Lady is also gone.” you recognized the voice from the maester that ‘helped’ with your duties.
The sound of the maesters' footsteps echoed ominously in the corridor, each step growing closer and more insistent. The air in the closet was warm and heavy, mingling with the faint scent of cedar and leather. You pressed yourself closer to Jacaerys, your heart pounding in sync with the increasingly agitated voices outside.
Jacaerys' attempt to stifle a giggle came out as a muffled snort, his shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. The sound was so unexpected that it made you bite back a laugh of your own, though you knew it would only draw more attention. You nudged him gently, your eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
“Jace,” you whispered fiercely, “this is not the time for laughter.”
He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of apology and suppressed hilarity. “I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper, his voice trembling with barely contained laughter.
"...The Lady must be with him," one of the maesters said, frustration evident in his tone. "It’s rather irregular for them both to be missing at once."
You could almost see the disapproving frown on the maester’s face. The idea of being found in such a compromising position made your cheeks burn with mortification. Your heart raced as you imagined the potential scandal that could arise from this misunderstanding.
“They must think we–”
Jacaerys, sensing your distress, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His eyes, despite their fatigue, held a mixture of amusement and tenderness. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “They’ve jumped to conclusions. Don’t worry.”
You covered your face with your hands, even though he could barely see you, he stifled another giggle. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of mortification at the thought that anyone might assume something dishonorable was happening between you. Without thinking, you reached for the doors, wishing to push them open and stop the gossiping outside that questioned yours and the prince’s ability to wait for the wedding.
Jacaerys let out a barely audible sigh, his hand still resting lightly on your back. “We should stay put,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ll leave eventually.”
You nodded, stepping back and pressing closer into the shadows of the closet. The cool, cedar-scented air was a stark contrast to the warmth of Jace’s body near yours. The narrow stream of light that filtered through the crack in the door illuminated the small space in patches, casting elongated shadows that danced around you.
Minutes felt like hours as you waited in the tense silence. You could hear the maesters’ frustration mounting, their voices rising in pitch as they grew increasingly exasperated. Jacaerys was still smiling at the distress.
The voices of the maesters gradually began to recede, their footsteps growing fainter as they moved further down the corridor. You exhaled slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. Jacaerys, still pressed close to you, let out a soft chuckle, though he quickly stifled it with a hand over his mouth.
You could feel the heat of his laughter reverberating through his chest, a sensation that was both comforting and endearing despite the precariousness of your situation. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. His smile, despite the exhaustion that lined his face, was infectious.
“You could try to find a more comfortable hiding spot, next time.”
“Noted,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. You hoped that by the time all the maesters were out of the room and you stepped out of the closet, the evident flush of embarrassment that showed in your stance and your face.
As the final echoes of the maesters' footsteps faded away, you and Jacaerys remained hidden in the closet, the silence now a companion rather than an adversary. The tension that had clung to the air began to dissipate, replaced by a more relaxed atmosphere that was punctuated by Jacaerys' muffled chuckles and your own quiet, relieved laughter.
You shifted slightly, careful not to jostle Jacaerys too much, and peered through the narrow crack in the closet door. The hallway outside was empty, the earlier disturbance seemingly a distant memory. You turned back to Jacaerys, whose face was lit by a smile that softened the lines of worry etched into his features.
“Are they gone?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.
Jacaerys nodded, his expression one of satisfaction mixed with residual amusement. “I think we’re clear. Though I doubt they'll stop their search anytime soon.”
With a final glance towards the partially open door, you slowly eased out of the closet, Jacaerys following suit with a careful, measured movement. The light from the corridor spilled into the closet, illuminating the room in a warm glow that made the shadows retreat. You watched as Jace made his way to his bed, patting the spot next to him for you to sit.
Jacaerys sank onto the bed with a sigh of relief, the weariness of his injuries evident in the way he settled. You sat beside him, careful to keep your movements gentle and unhurried.
“I’d brought you books,” you said, pointing at the pile of books that had fallen to the floor when he pushed you into the hiding spot.
“Would you read to me?”
The request was soft, almost hesitant, but you could see the faint hope in his eyes.
“Of course,” you said, your voice gentle as you began to gather the books from the floor. You selected one that seemed lighthearted, its cover adorned with an intricate illustration that promised adventure and whimsy. You settled back onto the bed beside him, the book open in your lap.
Jacaerys shifted slightly, propping himself up with a few pillows to make himself more comfortable.
The room seemed to grow quieter, the only sounds the gentle rustle of pages and your soothing voice. Jacaerys’ eyes, once shadowed with fatigue, now shone with a mixture of relief and contentment. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on you as if the story was a lifeline pulling him away from the distress of his injuries.
You paused occasionally, glancing up to see his reaction, and each time you were met with a smile or a look of fascination.
After a while, Jacaerys let out a contented sigh, his hand resting on the book as you reached a particularly gripping part of the story.
He cleared his throat softly, a subtle gesture that drew your attention away from the book. His gaze was momentarily fixed on your face, as if seeking the right words amidst the shadows and flickering candlelight.
He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “There’s something I’d like to ask,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.
You felt a flutter of anticipation in your chest. “What is it?”
Jacaerys’ gaze fell to the book, then back to you. “Would you… kiss me?”
The request was almost shy, a contrast to the bold stories you’d been reading together. But there was something incredibly sincere in his tone, a plea for a simple yet profound gesture of closeness.
You didn’t hesitate. You set the book aside, letting it rest gently on the bed. You moved closer to him, your heart racing with a mix of tenderness and excitement. Jacaerys’ breath was warm against your cheek as you leaned in.
You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, the touch delicate and affectionate. His skin was warm and slightly rough from the healing, but there was a softness that spoke of his vulnerability. As your lips met his cheek, you felt him relax, a sigh of contentment escaping him.
When you pulled back, Jacaerys looked at you with a smile that was both grateful and serene. His eyes were bright, the earlier exhaustion giving way to a peaceful calm. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
For a few moments, there was only the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing and the occasional crackle of the candle flames. The evening outside continued its slow descent into night, the castle settling into a peaceful hush.
The sound of the doors opening eventually broke the silence, you almost jumped from the bed, the thought of being found in bed, unchaperoned, with Jace.
Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of the doors creaking open. Panic surged through you as you glanced quickly at Jacaerys, whose own eyes widened in alarm. You barely had time to react before the intruder – a young maid, her face flushed with the energy of youth – appeared in the doorway.
You froze, every muscle tensing as she looked around the room with wide, innocent eyes. The maid's gaze fell upon you and Jacaerys, sitting together on the bed. Her cheeks reddened slightly, a mix of surprise and embarrassment flickering across her face.
“I–I’m sorry, My Prince,” she stammered, her eyes darting between you and Jacaerys. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Jacaerys, still propped up on the pillows, cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation.
The maid took a step into the room, her gaze flickering nervously. “The maesters are looking for you, my prince. They’ve been rather anxious, and I’ve been sent to see if you made your way back to your chambers.”
You could sense Jacaerys’ frustration at the intrusion, though he managed to keep his demeanor calm. He looked at you, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. You offered a reassuring nod, then moved to rise from the bed.
“I’ll go,” you said gently. “It’s best if I make my exit before things get more complicated.”
Jacaerys reached out, taking your hand with a brief but tender grip. “Thank you for being here,” he said softly, his eyes conveying the depth of his gratitude.
You smiled, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll see you soon,” you promised.
—————
The days that followed your clandestine visit to Jacaerys were a blend of anticipation and reflection. The castle continued its relentless rhythm, but now, each echo and murmur seemed tinged with the memory of your hidden conversation. Jacaerys’ recovery was progressing, and the tension that had initially surrounded his confinement began to ease. The maesters, though still vigilant, were less inclined to hover, and the prince’s rooms were gradually returning to a semblance of normalcy.
You had kept your promise to Jacaerys, visiting him regularly. Each visit was a delicate balance of light-hearted storytelling and quiet companionship.
Among the many who noticed the change was Baela. The shadows of the past days had given way to a hopeful light, and Baela could sense the shift. She had seen the glances exchanged, the shared smiles, and the subtle, unspoken understanding between you and Jacaerys. It was clear to her that something had deepened between you two, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness for her friend and his newfound joy.
Your months in Dragonstone, even while its halls were rumbling with conversations about the war, were a stark contrast to the familiar, yet isolating, walls of your own castle, where being the only girl and without siblings had left you feeling like a solitary figure amidst the vast expanse of family and duty.
After having spent every given moment with Baela and Rhaena, they had become your confidantes, your sisters of choice, each sharing in the trials and triumphs of your days with an openness that was both refreshing and comforting. And the enthusiasm for company of the small Joffrey made your heart ache with care.
Little Joffrey was fast asleep with his head on your lap, both of you sitting on the grass outside of the castle, under the dappled shade of an ancient oak.
Beside you, Baela and Rhaena lounged on a cloth spread out on the grass. They chatted animatedly, their voices a melodic blend of excitement and curiosity. Baela was gesticulating with animated gestures, her laughter bright. Rhaena smiled warmly, her gaze occasionally shifting to the slumbering Joffrey with an expression of affectionate amusement.
The halt of steps beside you made you look up, a small smile creeping to your face at the sight of your betrothed.
Without a word, Jacaerys stopped by your side, his gaze flicking to Baela and Rhaena, who had paused in their conversation, their curiosity piqued by his arrival. His expression softened as he met your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had grown between you.
He cleared his throat softly, a gesture that drew your attention. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” His tone was courteous yet carried an undertone of urgency that made you sit up slightly, careful not to disturb Joffrey’s slumber.
You nodded, glancing at Baela and Rhaena, who exchanged curious glances but remained silent, their interest evident. “Of course,” you said, rising gently and carefully lifting Joffrey to lay him down on one of the girls, ensuring he remained comfortable.
As you moved away from the blanket and the lively chatter, Jacaerys fell into step beside you. His presence was reassuring, though his demeanor was serious. He guided you a short distance away from the others, near a secluded spot where the oak's branches formed a natural canopy, providing a sense of privacy.
Once you were out of earshot, he stopped and turned to face you, his expression a mix of anticipation and something akin to nervousness. His hand moved to the small of your back.
“What is it?” you asked with a smile.
“I figured we could use a moment alone,” Jacaerys' demeanor shifted subtly as he faced you, his eyes softening with warmth. A hint of a playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He stepped closer, his hand still resting gently on the small of your back.
"Well," he began, his voice low and tinged with a hint of mischief, "I've been thinking about something for a while now." His gaze flickered briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. "I was hoping we might... continue where we left off the other day?" he murmured, his tone filled with gentle suggestion.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Jacaerys' fingers traced a feather-light pattern on your back, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, lingering there for a moment.
Jace smiled softly, his eyes twinkling with affection as he gazed at you. "You know what I mean," he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moved from your hair to cup your cheek tenderly. “I have grown to care deeply for you. You cloud my judgment.”
With a gentle tilt of his head, Jacaerys closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It was brief but filled with emotion – a tender expression of the growing bond between you. As he pulled back slightly, his eyes searched for yours, filled with hope and a question.
"Was that alright?" he whispered, his hand still cradling your cheek.
You felt a rush of warmth spreading through you, your heart beating a little faster. This moment, shared in the dappled shade of the ancient oak, felt like the beginning of something precious. The playful glint in Jacaerys' eyes mixed with genuine care, creating a connection that went beyond your formal betrothal.
In the distance, you could hear the muffled laughter of Baela and Rhaena, a reminder of the world beyond this intimate moment. But for now, wrapped in Jacaerys' gentle embrace, you allowed yourself to savor this new chapter in your relationship, full of promise and sweet beginnings.
taglist: @smurfelle @earth4angels @ @sillylittlepenguin181818 (taglist link is on pinned!)
And my, my love had been frozen. Deep blue, but you painted me golden.
Warnings: 18+, mdni! there will be smut in the future chapters. enemies to lovers, 'she fell first, he fell harder' kind of trope, allusions to unrequited love, mentions of death, injuries, allusions to self hatred, mentions of bullying, this story is set post s4, Vecna and the upside down are gone. slow burn. ‘hate’ sex. fwb kinda thing but they’re ‘enemies’. mean!reader, mean!Steve, hurt/comfort, happy ending.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?
♡
Prologue
Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room
Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I’m not around
Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me
Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
Chapter five ⭐︎'Cause you know it could never be
Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart
Chapter seven ⭐︎ Got a feeling your electric touch, could fill this ghost town up with life
Chapter eight ⭐︎ Say my name and everything just stops
Chapter nine ⭐︎ And I'll show you if you let me, girl
Chapter ten ⭐︎ Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning
Chapter eleven ⭐︎ Yeah, I know it seems surprising when there’s lipstick still on the glass
Chapter twelve ⭐︎ When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?
Chapter thirteen ⭐︎ For a moment, I was heaven struck
Chapter fourteen ⭐︎ Somewhere in these eyes, I'm on your side
Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around?
Chapter sixteen ⭐︎ Hold me, love me, touch me, honey
Chapter seventeen ⭐︎ What am I supposed to do? If there's no you.
Chapter eighteen ⭐︎ Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me
Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times
Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real
Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy
Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart
Chapter twenty three ⭐︎ And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me
Chapter twenty four ⭐︎ I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden
Chapter twenty five ⭐︎ Who could stay? You could stay
ferris wheel You, George, and the rest of the Weasley family spend the day at the summer fair. You realize there’s more to be won than just a carnival game; George’s heart is also up for grabs.
today There are only two times George Weasley has left you without him. Little do you know, he has more than a safe return in mind this time.
**on the table (NSFW)
The best time for a romp in the sheets? Flitwick's class.
coming home A couple weeks into your relationship, George Weasley calls you after a night out, and it's not what you expect at all.
F R E D ❁ W E A S L E Y
one-shots
fancy you Fred was certain you would be the one he’d go to the Yule Ball with, the Durmstrang boy flirting with you be damned.
tomorrow August 31st, 1996. A day spent savouring the last summer of normalcy with Fred Weasley.
**wildflower (NSFW) Your first time with Fred Weasley is full of surprises - on his end.
cots for christmas After moving out of the upstairs unit of 93 Diagon Alley, you and Fred are ready to embark on life as real married couple.
yesterday (angst) Time is not limitless as Fred Weasley would soon come to realize: what he puts off to tomorrow, he should’ve done yesterday.
miss black (1, 2): As you try to weather through your newfound lineage, Harry's trial, the Order, and growing pains in general, Fred shows you that love can be found even in the coldest of places - within the walls of Grimmauld Place.
series
time after time (7/7) Every summer like clockwork, Fred Weasley is paid a visit by a woman from the future. Every encounter is a chance to learn a little more about himself as he heads into adulthood. She divulges all he wants to know, but leaves one question unanswered: why is she here?
long hair & tattoos (fake dating trope) *malfoy!reader*
When your father, Lucius, puts down an ultimatum, you’re forced to find a lover for next week’s dinner. With his long hair, tattoos, piercings, and your father’s worst nightmare reincarnated in a man, who better to bring than a much older Bill Weasley?
**strawberry wonderland
Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice.
fly away on my zephyr
You and Bill make post-graduation plans.
CHARLIE ❁ W E A S L E Y
series
**sunburns and dragons (fake dating trope) *malfoy!reader*
Getting your parents off your back proves no easy task, and in typical (Y/N) Malfoy fashion, you get yourself in a predicament with your smart mouth. Now, you have to find a boyfriend in two weeks. With slim pickings, and a first-choice in Bill Weasley out of commission, his younger brother, Charlie Weasley falls into your lap.
baratheonpilled
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
ellievsbear
prguitarman
