#Eiffel would be saying eiffel shit

[glowofpurple]

I really need someone to draw Jacobi/Eiffel or the Time:Bombs crew doing that boom defusing game (Never Stop Talking so something like that?) and they're just doing a terrible job.

[pseudophan]

Hey so why are both bryony and pj/sophie in paris

pj was there for the nintendo switch experience thing but now that you mention bryony's there.. yes i can imagine dnp might also have gone, and now the timing of the cherry blossom tree story makes even more sense because "hey look we're at home. definitely. no, you didn't see us at the train station/airport. shut up" lmao

i assume they're home now cause bryony's story from yesterday kind of sounds like it's talking about a trip she just got back from ("my best trip to paris yet" is giving "i just got home/i'm about to leave"), which is also why i'm answering this at all cause while i love speculation i'm kind of hesitant to play 'where in the world are dan and phil today' when they just got back from tour and presumably just want to fly under the radar as much as possible at the moment 😭

[commsroom]

ideologically i don't agree with the fourth of july, but i know eiffel loves it. i know he does. guy who believes in the classic american cuisine of hot dog and hamburger in the park and the classic american pastime of stupid dangerous shit that makes loud noises.

[hephaestuscrew]

Pan-Pan, Boléro, and Minkowski's different responses to loss

I want to compare two key lines of Minkowski's which indicate very different responses to grief:

In Ep29 Pan-Pan, Minkowski breaks down and says "Doug Eiffel is gone! There was nothing we could do to save him. It wasn't anyone's fault. It's horrible, and pointless, and it just happened."

In contrast, after arriving at the funeral in Ep46 Boléro, she says "[Lovelace, Hilbert and Maxwell are dead] to make the fact that we're not gone yet important. They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here." 

TL;DR: In Pan-Pan, Minkowski expresses her unprocessed grief through despair and hopelessness. Whereas in Boléro, she is able to find hope in the loss and lead her crew in trying to move forward. I suggest a significant reason of the difference is the presence of Eiffel to force Minkowski to confront and process the sense of loss.

Pan-Pan: "It's horrible, and pointless, and it just happened"

In Pan-Pan, the whole episode is full of anger and despair, but Minkowski speaking about the horrible pointlessness of losing Eiffel is one of the most painful and hopeless moments. It doesn't feel like she's really speaking to the others. She's focused on her internal despair (as suggested by the fact that she goes on to talk about the cracks, which Lovelace and Hilbert aren't supposed to know about).

The only potentially positive thing Minkowski says here is her recognition that "it wasn't anyone's fault". When Hera and Hilbert have been blaming Lovelace, and Minkowski has been blaming herself, it's significant that she acknowledges that sometimes a horrible thing just happens without there being anyone to blame. 

But in this context, and in the tone of voice Minkowski uses, even the lack of blame doesn't really feel like a positive thing. If Eiffel becoming stranded was just pointless and random, if there was nothing any of them could have done to save him, then the next tragedy might be just as unpredictable and unpreventable. Minkowski strikes me as the kind of person who can sometimes fall into the trap of subconsciously wishing that the awful thing is her fault because then at least she'd have control over something. In her train of thought here, the lack of blame is followed by focusing on how horrible and pointless what happened to Eiffel was. The only conclusion she can draw is "it just happened". There's no sense of hope in those lines. Eiffel being stranded just happened, and so do the cracks, and the crew are at the whims of brutal fortune with no meaning to any of it.

Boléro: "They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here"

In Boléro, Minkowski can't even say that the tragedy wasn't anyone's fault. For each of the deaths, someone pulled a trigger. There is blame, and some of it lies at her feet. She didn't want to come to the funeral because at first she didn't know what she could say about the deaths she feels responsible for.

Yet even so, this time she finds something reassuring she can say to her crew, a grain of hope she can provide without attempting to diminish the loss: "[they're gone] to make the fact that we're not gone yet important. They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here."

In another show, or another context, this kind of line might have had an 'everything happens for a reason' tone, which is something I deeply dislike as a response to other people's loss. But it doesn't feel like that's what Minkowski is saying here at all. She isn't trying to make any grand philosophical statement about the ultimate beneficence of the universe, or about how mortality gives meaning to human life. What she says here is working on a much more personal level. It's more about finding something other than despair that the crew can take from what has happened. This tragedy may still be horrible, but it provides a reminder that they are still alive in a context where that's far from guaranteed. Minkowski emphasises that the fact the survivors are alive matters - her crew matters. I'd argue that this contrasts with the 'it just happened' outlook discussed above. 

I don't know how much Minkowski fully feels the importance of them still being there in the moment, but it's something that she can offer her crew, something that she can say in a situation that words can't grasp. I think the moment when she joins the funeral is such a key moment of her leadership. In the end, despite her doubts and struggles, she's there for her crew. Eiffel brought them together for a funeral, but he doesn't know what to say when Hera asks why they have to be gone. Minkowski enters just at the right moment to support her crew and she provides an answer to Hera's question. It's not a perfect answer, but it allows the funeral to move forward. It allows the crew to move forward (even if that emotional movement is somewhat thrown off by a dramatic change in the circumstances). Minkowski starts off the eulogies; she leads her crew in the acknowledgement of what's been lost.

Why such a difference in responses?

There's lots of ways you could interpret the difference between the outlook of these two moments, and there's probably more to say about it though the lens of Minkowski's character development than I'm going to say here. But for me, the main difference between these moments is that, in Pan-Pan, it feels like no processing or recognition of grief has really occurred. When Minkowski says "Doug Eiffel is gone!", it almost feels like the first time that Minkowski has fully confronted and acknowledged the loss. Eiffel has been lost in space for 116 days, but it's only at the end of this episode that Minkowski brings herself to say in her distress calls that he is "presumed dead". Whereas in Boléro, she's already eulogising the dead and thinking about what can be learned from the loss, not even a full day after the mutiny.

Obviously there is much less ambiguity to a body bag (or least there would be, if not for alien interference). But I can't help thinking that the difference between the attitudes towards loss which Minkowski displays in these two quotes is less about the difference in the kind of loss, and more about a situation that prompted and enabled the processing of emotions in Boléro: namely, the funeral. After Eiffel was stranded in space, I think Minkowski probably went months without looking her grief in the eye. But after the deaths of Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell, Eiffel's suggestion of a funeral forces Minkowski to confront her complicated emotions and provides a space in which she can offer direction to her grieving crew.

This is a good illustration of how I think Minkowski and Eiffel complement and support each other in a really valuable way. On his own, Eiffel couldn't provide the leadership that the crew needed for the funeral to work. But without Eiffel, and his determination to recognise the emotional weight of the three deaths, the funeral would never have happened and Minkowski would never have been in a position to provide hope and direction to her crew. When Eiffel was the one the Hephaestus crew were grieving, Minkowski couldn't offer much emotional direction to her crew beyond despair. But when Eiffel is beside her in the grief, saying that the grief deserves to be felt, then Minkowski can find a way for them to move forward emotionally. It's not the deaths that remind them how important it is that they are still here. It's the grief. It's the ability to confront that grief together.

[kkuras-gamer-gf]

Double (Daniela avanzini & Sophia laforteza)

Smut

Idk what overtook me, god please forgive me. Im so sorry for my sins. Not proofread so there are definitely mistakes.

G!p dani and sophia, threesome, blowjob, Eiffel Towering, degradation, praise, unsafe sex, use of mommy for Sophia and papi for dani because why not, cumming on face.

Movie night with your best friend and girlfriend, it started calmly. A mediocre drama on the TV, Sophia your childhood friend sat to your right a couple feet away while to your left was Daniela, your girlfriend with an arm wrapped around you.

You didn't even notice the looks they were sharing behind you, completely oblivious to their plan. Though you should've known, it wasn't a secret that you had a crush on Sophia and Dani didn't mind, in fact when you told her she was more than eager to suggest a threesome.

"As long as I'm there." Being her exact words. But you didn't think she would pre plan something. Not even when Sophia starts inching closer on the couch, until her legs touch yours, trapping you between the slightly taller pair. It was intimidating but it would be a lie to say it wasn't a huge turn on.

It started to click as Sophia's arm replaced your girlfriends behind you, her legs spread out a bit with a very noticeable bulge. Even the stretchy material of her sweatpants strained. You had known her since middle school, and contrary to everyone's beliefs you have never seen her naked, only fantasizing about how much she would stretch you out.

"What are you looking at?" Sophia's raspy voice breaks the hour long silence, a smirk evident in the tone of her words.

"U-uh" You can't help but look back to your girlfriend, who has her own smirk and just shrugs as if to tell you you're on your own, "n-nothing" You stutter when looking back at the brunette.

"Nothing?" Slightly mocking you, "You sure you weren't looking at my cock?" Her head tilts as she stares at you, your mouth open with nothing to say.

"Answer her." Daniela suddenly chimes in, "and don't lie." She adds as she sees the no forming in your lips.

"I- yes" You eyes search for a place in the room away from their gaze, but you can still feel the eyes on you.

Sophia laughs a bit, the kind of laughter that makes you feel pathetic but in a way that you rub your thighs together.

"What a slut."  Dani chuckles at her words, making your cheeks go pink.

You let Sophia's fingers wrap around your wrist, dragging your hand to her bulge, a sigh leaving her lips as she does so. Her lips now leave light kisses on your neck, biting and sucking as she goes definitely leaving a few marks highlighted with her lipstick. Her hands pull at the tank top you're wearing, revealing your chest to the air, not wearing a bra. Her fingers rolling your nipples between them in between her palms squeezing at your chest.

""Why don't you help mommy out?" Her red painted lips were now by your ear, a low and raspy voice.

Once again looking at Dani, who had hooded eyes that told you all you needed.

"Go for it." You girlfriend says, verbally giving you confirmation to fuck your best friend.

Upon hearing that, your hands are quick to pull at her sweatpants so they land on the floor, taking her boxers along with them. Her cock springing out, she was almost the length of your girlfriend, but the thickness made you hesitate as you wrap a hand around slowly not even able to connect your thumb to your other fingers.

"What? Can't take it?" She teases.

"Don't worry, she's trained." Daniela quips from besides you. You recall the beginning of your relationship and what she called throat training so your mouth could takes every inch of her.

"Oh yeah?" Sophia giggles condescendingly. "Gonna be a good girl and suck my cock?"

You answer by leaning down, your tongue licking a stripe from the end of shaft to her tip before wrapping your lips around her.

"Shit." The Filipino groans, head nodding back onto the couch, a hand instinctively going to your hair making a fist.

Your tongue makes quick work of collecting the precum that was covering her tip before taking a couple inches into your mouth, not even halfway down and your mouth feels full and her tip is poking at your throat causing a slight gag.

"Take it all, like a good slut." Sophia says accentuating her words by thrusting upwards, making you gag even more as tears prick at your eyes.

Now you can hear little pants and groans from besides you, that you recognize as dani, the sound of her hand slipping up and down her length at a slow pace. The idea of her jerking off to you fucking someone else making the wetness spread between your legs.

Your best friends hand tightens in your hair, and her hips thrust into your mouth quickly. Your nose repeatedly hitting her stomach, saliva dripping from your mouth.

"You're taking me so well, baby." She coos, "So good for mommy." Hips quickening with each word, you can hear each thrust echo off the walls, "Gonna let me cum down your throat, hm?"

You try nodding, even with her cock filling you, causing a smirk to form on the other girls face.

"Such a good fuckin girl." She spits with one last thrust and stilling in your mouth, her load going down your throat, "Swallow it all baby." She says, and you comply leaving nothing left and she pulls out with a pop.

Daniela is still stroking her own cock, seemingly close to a release, but now standing to be in front of your and tilting your head by your hair. Her eyes roll back with a bunch of swears leaving her mouth and holding her cock so her cum covers your face.

"Hands and knees for papi" She says as she recovers, pulling at your hair to make her point.

And now you were on the gray couch with your girlfriend in front of you while your best friend was behind you. Sophia rids you of your shorts and underwear as soon as your ass is in front of her.

Dani grabbed at your hair to make you look up, a smirk on her lips before she looks up to Sophia who you become way more aware of as she runs her hands down your back and ass, squeezing on her way and subtly spreading you from behind.

"Fuck, is she always this wet?" The Filipino groans, reaching a hand down collecting your wetness on her fingers.

"Mm, always ready for me right?"

"Yes papi."

Daniela wears a proud grin as she looks down at you, a hand wrapped around her shaft to put it to your lips, tapping against your slightly open mouth.

"Open up." A familiar dominance filling your ears, your mouth opens automatically, your girlfriend length quickly filling you as she doesn't wait to stuff the whole thing down your throat.

At the same time, Sophia's tip rubs up and down your slit and just barely pushing in. Teasingly only thrusting her tip into you a few times, you push back trying to get any more of her inside of you while you let out an audible whine around your girlfriends cock making her knees buckle a bit before she thrusts harder into you.

"Such a needy slut." Sophia ends her sentence by sheathing herself fully inside you, pushing you forward so you take Dani somehow even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck." Dani's hands fall from your hair to the sides of your face so she can comfortable fuck your face, essentially just free use for the both of them. "So fucking desperate, letting both of us fuck you at once."

You don't know if you moan at her words or the way sophia pounds into you from behind, definitely leaving hand sized bruises on your hips from the grip she has on you. Her own hips slapping into you at a rapid pace.

"So fucking tight." Sophia moans out, eyes closed in pleasure.

"Come on baby." Dani speaks, "Wanna cum in your mouth." Your girlfriend getting a bit whiny as she's closer to her release, hips getting quicker.

Sophia hand finds its way to the back of your head, pushing you down onto Dani's cock even more, the other on your back causing you to arch into her.

Your moans are loud even as your mouth is filled, the sounds of saliva and skin hitting each other fill the air and you pray for your poor neighbors.

"Sh-shit" Daniela finally cums in your mouth, nose squished against her stomach as both girls hold your head there, she drips down your throat pulling just enough to cover your lips in the white liquid so it drips down your chin, "So pretty with my cum all over you."

Sophias thrust get slow and lazy as she also gets closer.

"Want her to cum inside of you?" Your girlfriend asks, you nod, "Of course you do, slut."

"Want mommy to fill you up?"

"Fuck, yes, please, yes, yes." You rush out, voice raspy as your finally free to speak without a cock in your mouth, your own orgasm right around the corner.

"Oh, fuck" Sophias hips stutters before they still inside you, cum leaking into you, filling you completelty and mixing with your own arousal and leaking out of you as you both cum at the same time.

You fall onto the couch as she pulls out, exhaustion taking over. Dani puts on her boxers before resting your head on her legs, while Sophia does the same with your legs rubbing at them in a comforting way, maybe to ease the ache in the next morning.

You definitely miss the look between them that says this will most likely happen again.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (17/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: That's definitely not the goodbye you wanted.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, swear words

Word Count: 3.3k

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A/N: sorry for this shitty chapter and sorry for keeping you waiting! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

It's not long before Charles falls asleep next to you. 

You hear his soft breathing, the way the bedspread rustles as he slides his arm under the pillow and bends his right knee. Apparently he's lying on his stomach, snuggled tightly in the warmth of the bed you'll share for the second and last time. 

That Charles has grown so close to your heart in exactly three days is something you would never have thought was possible in your life.

After Raphael cheated on you and your friends let you down, you vowed to take better care of yourself and your heart and never let anyone into your life so easily again. You resigned yourself to the fact that you would spend the next time alone until you could put your trust in someone again. And that had been perfectly fine with you, as long as it had kept further pain at bay.  

But the brunette Monegasque, without making any particular effort, has walked into your life as if God personally had opened the gates for him, and has taken up residence with you as if he were a virus that is taking you over completely. 

You turn away from him, but you can still feel the warmth of his body through the many layers of fabric that lie between you. 

The fact that he will spend the next few days in Italy is a good start to building the wall that will keep your heart from great harm. It will create some distance between you, buy you more time in which to figure out your feelings. And if it really comes down to you feeling more than simple friendship for your roommate, you'll still have plenty of time to think of some way to handle the situation. 

You're about to press your face into your pillow so it can stop the whirlwind of thoughts in your head when your cell phone lights up. 

Lando: Did you know that the Eiffel Tower is about six inches taller in the summer than in the winter?

Confused, but grinning, you glance at the screen. It's the middle of the night - why is he sending you such a strange message at this late hour?

You cast a glance over your shoulder to make sure Charles is actually asleep before releasing the key lock, lowering your phone's brightness to its lowest setting, and starting to type. 

You: Didn't know that. Why is that?

The "seen" with the little checkmark appears directly under your sent message, and a few moments later the typical three dots that appear when a reply is composed flash. 

Lando: Due to thermal expansion, meaning the iron heats up, the particles gain kinetic energy and take up more space.

You have to smile, even suppress a giggle. 

You: You googled that for sure. 

Lando: You got me. I didn't know the best way to start a conversation. 

You: I'd say the middle of the night is generally not a good time to start a conversation. What if I had already been asleep?

Lando: Then you would have woken up confused for sure and blocked me right after the message. 

You: Then you're lucky I'm still awake. 

Lando: I'm definitely lucky. 

Behind you, Charles moves a little, but doesn't seem to wake up. You feel him scoot a tiny bit closer to you, as if he realizes you're still awake. 

Lando: Have you ever been to Paris?

You: Unfortunately not. I'd like to go there sometime, though. And you?

Lando: I've been there before. Maybe we can go there together? Then I can show you the most beautiful places. 

You have to grin. Straightforward guy he is. 

You: Do you really think I would just travel to Paris with a semi stranger?

Lando: You're right about that. But that can easily be changed. You and me, tomorrow, dinner at 8?

You feel Charles rest his hand on your bedspread. It's like he subconsciously realizes you're about to go out with one of his friends. He exhales deeply, but doesn't move any further. 

You: That was very smooth, Mr. Norris. 

Lando: So is that a yes?

Without giving it much thought, you answer the Brit with a "Yes, I'd love to," whereupon he responds with a "Great. I'll get back to you tomorrow. Don't stay up too late and sleep well" back. You press the key lock on your phone and put it back next to your pillow. 

Time you do have. Charles isn't around, and you don't have a job to go to every day, so your days are as free as the beach in winter. And for sure it will do you good to spend time with someone other than the Monegasque. Lando is nice and friendly and funny. And since the two of you don't live together, and the level at which you're getting to know each other is much more superficial than the one Charles and you are on right now, you shouldn't be in danger of taking him to your heart as quickly as your roommate.

Who by now has moved so close to you that you can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck. It's steady, coming in waves and brushing your skin like a warm summer breeze. For sure he is sleeping well, maybe even having a nice dream. He doesn't even know yet that it's the last time he'll sleep next to you.

You close your eyes, almost press your eyelids together and force yourself to fall asleep. With the ulterior motive that the person who is dearest to you right now is exactly the one with whom you will soon have to keep the most distance.

-

Something rustles. 

The sound is close, but not so close that it could find its origin right next to your ear. It also sounds muffled, as if there is a thick piece of soft cotton between the sound and your eardrum, so you can't really hear what exactly is making that sound. 

You press your face a little deeper into the pillow. 

The rustling becomes louder. 

Tired and with your eyes closed, you pull the blanket higher to your chin to cling to sleep. And for a brief moment it works, your mind slips back into a gentle slumber - until you hear a loud, unmistakable rumble. 

Annoyed and above all confused, you open your eyes. Your cell phone reads 6:15 a.m. Who's making that kind of noise at this hour?

You sit up abruptly, as if you've been electrocuted, and the covers fall into your lap. Charles.

For sure he is packing up the last things before he wants to wake you up. To say goodbye to you. You're surprised you didn't hear his alarm clock. For sure he only rang it once briefly before your roommate turned it off so it wouldn't wake you up. Very kind and considerate. 

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and slip into fuzzy socks so your feet don't freeze. As you tie your hair so it doesn't look like you've touched an electrical socket, you hear keys jingle. 

Charles wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you, would he?

Hesitantly, you go to the door of the room and open it slowly to make sure he's still there. And indeed, he hasn't left the apartment yet. 

But he has shouldered his travel bag, his feet are in shoes, and the apartment door is open, as if he is about to take the first step out. When he hears you, he turns around. 

Confused and still slightly sleepy, you stand in the doorway. You point your finger at the large bag. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" you ask him, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes. Damn, it's definitely too early to be awake. 

Your roommate steps unsteadily from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean to wake you." In his free hand, he holds his key. 

You screw up your face. "But you wanted to say goodbye." You cross your arms in front of your chest. "You said you'd set an alarm so you could get up on time and we could say goodbye properly."

The situation is strange. You're standing in the doorway to the room where Charles shared a bed with you, as he stands on the threshold that separates this apartment from the rest of the world. It feels like he's trying to escape from what's happening inside these four walls. Like he can't wait to leave and leave you here. 

He doesn't even want to say goodbye to you. 

"I know, but-" he begins, but doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence, which is why he just falls silent. His gaze wanders from your face to the room behind you before he lowers it to his shoes. He swallows once before looking at you again. "Can we talk about this another time?" he asks quietly. "I have to go."

What happened in the last few hours you were asleep? Did you do something to make him want to run away from here? To want to flee from you? The way he's standing there, he seems like he can't wait to finally leave the apartment. As if he had to quickly put as many kilometers as possible between you. 

The fact that he doesn't want to talk to you about it unsettles you more than you'd like to admit.

When you were with Raphael, there were many arguments, after which you both went to bed without clearing up the situation or talking things out. That oppressive, stomach-churning feeling was so devastating and caused such nausea in you that you told yourself that you will never again let an argument or difficult situation just stand.

You don't want to go to bed angry. And you don't want anyone to go to bed angry and mad at you either. 

"Did I do something?" you ask, letting your arms, which were crossed just a moment ago, fall to your sides. As a sign that you're ready to face whatever may follow. "Talk to me, please, Charles."

Of course, neither of you would go to sleep now. But the very thought that you won't see each other again for another four days, and thus parting, leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. Which you naturally want to get rid of as quickly as possible. 

Demonstratively, he glances at his wristwatch. "I don't have time. Let's talk about it another time."

"It's 6:25. I thought you didn't have to leave until 7?"

He clenches his teeth. "I want to drive now." He's visibly tense, his hand almost tightening around the key. Charles doesn't want to drive. He wants to run. From you. And you don't know why. 

Somewhere inside you, a small crack is opening up, uncomfortable, pressing on the pit of your stomach. Your discomfort worsens with each passing moment. 

"What have I done?" you try again to get him to talk. You cross the room until you're standing in front of him. "Whatever it was - I'm sorry. I don't know what it is that I could have done that upset you so much. But I don't want you to leave now and be mad at me when we won't see each other again for another four days. Let's talk about it. Please."

It's almost pathetic how desperate you sound. Your voice trembles like it's going to break at any moment, and you can feel tears gathering in your eyes. You try to blink them away. 

There have been countless situations like this with Raphael. It was always you who wanted to solve an argument. The one who tried harder. Who sacrificed more. And it has brought nothing. 

Even though you two have only known each other for a few days, this argument is much worse. Because you don't know what you have done, and therefore you can't change anything. You can't find a solution here. 

Charles doesn't seem to care that you are on the verge of crying. His gaze is hard and cold as he looks down at you. He looks at you as if you were a stranger just standing in his apartment.

As you reach out to him, he takes the last step over the threshold. The small crack inside you grows larger, now seems to have reached your heart, forming a great chasm. The wall that has been built so far has been of no use. It is completely useless. 

"If you really want to talk to someone, why don't you talk to Lando?" His tone is icy and his gaze sprays venom. 

Lando?

Charles seems to have picked up on your confused look. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes, which stings you further. "Now don't act like that. He texted me in the middle of the night asking what culinary cuisine you prefer for your dinner tonight." He raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd already had an extensive conversation about it. What was it again? Canned soup and BigMac?"

Your discomfort gives way to an even more rotten feeling. Anger spreads through you like a wildfire you can't stop it. How dare he?

"What are you trying to say?" you ask calmly, even though everything is burning inside you. Charles interfering in this matter when he has no right to do so makes your anger spill over, but you know better than to take it out on him directly. You pull yourself together. Even though you'd like to strangle him, you don't want you two to fight. 

"Come on, Y/N." His smile is spiteful and ugly - even though he's the most beautiful man on the planet. "We both know he's just trying to fuck you. So what's the point of dinner? It's just a waste of money."

Excuse me?

"What do you mean?"

He seems to think for a moment, as if he were struggling with himself to say the next words. "After all, what Raphael did to you doesn't seem to bother you much if you're going to date someone new right away. And you said yourself yesterday that you weren't going to meet anyone on this couch." He extends his free arm and waves it in a semicircle in front of him. "Let's do it, then. Monaco is full of rich men. Then you don't exactly have to hook up with one who's my friend."

Never in your entire life have you wanted to smack someone so badly as Charles at this moment. 

He knows what Raphael did to you. And he also knows why your ex cheated on you. The fact that he now assumes that you would just jump into bed with Lando like that upsets you so much that you're at a loss for words. 

You don't recognize him. The Charles who lets you stay with him for free, who makes you laugh, and who is so close to you at times that you have to consider how to protect your heart, has dropped off the face of the earth. 

Opposite you is a mean and ruthless man you can't get away from fast enough. His words hit you harder than any blow could, and the tears in your eyes no longer originate in discomfort, but in pure rage. 

You don't care what you did to make him act this way. You don't care what exactly happened between you that caused this argument to degenerate like this. And you don't care if you go to bed tonight mad at him. 

This argument is different than the one over his phone call with Raphael or the one at dinner with his friends. It's too close, too personal, and for Charles to think of you that way, after everything you've told him about yourself, chokes your throat and makes your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. 

"You can have the apartment," you say emotionlessly. Your fire is extinguished, your anger is suffocated. The only thing left is a dull feeling of grief. 

How could you think Charles would be any different? That he would actually be a friend to you? You even showed him your favorite place. That wasn't even twelve hours ago. 

"When you come back, I'll be gone." Your gaze is fixed on Charles, letting him know how serious you are. Something flashes in his eyes, but whatever it is - you don't care. "I hate you."

Without waiting for an answer, you close the apartment door. As you turn around, you feel like an intruder in your own home. 

Which, theoretically, isn't even your home. It's Charles' home, it's his apartment. He's just been nice and let you stay with him. And he didn't do that because he saw a friend in you, but because he felt sorry for you, as you must now realize. 

Did this "good deed" make him feel better? Did he let you stay here to prove to himself what a good guy he is after everything with Annika? Is he really that selfish? 

Who exactly is Charles Leclerc?

You would like to leave the apartment immediately, because there is nothing that doesn't make you remember Charles. The couch reminds you of the evening when you drank wine and watched Cars. The kitchen table is where you eat pain au chocolat and croissants. The bathroom is where you grin at each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth. Charles is everywhere. 

He's especially in the dark bedroom, too, when you return to lie down in bed. His sheets are still where you found them when you woke up, and his smell is all over the room, making it hard for you to breathe. 

Pulling your own blanket up to your chin, you lie there staring at the ceiling, racking your brain as to where exactly you took a wrong turn. But for the life of you, you can't think of anything. 

You turn on your side and take a deep breath. Charles' smell hits your nose and only now, surrounded by darkness and silence, do you allow yourself to cry. Tears roll down your skin and one sob after another escapes your sore throat, which feels as if it has been laced shut. Your body shakes like it's electrified and somewhere inside you think your heart has stopped beating. 

The person you trusted the most has let you down. Your closest friend has dropped you without explaining himself to you. 

But that's not what hurts so indescribably. 

It hurts so much because it's Charles. The Charles you saw as your best friend after only a few days. The Charles who didn't judge you. 

You slide to the other side of the bed and slip under Charles' covers so that you are now completely enveloped in his smell. You feel so close to him, even though he's so far away, and even though the warmth feels like a hug, you feel lonely. You cling to that hug that isn't a hug, because that's the closest thing you have left of him. 

Tomorrow you would look for another apartment, maybe even move away from Monaco. And then you would pack your things and leave, just like you promised Charles. And you wouldn't break that promise - that deal, the way he broke his. 

Not long ago, you didn't want to share the bed with him anymore, braced yourself for it to be the last time you'd be this close. You wanted to build the wall that would protect, should protect your heart. 

But it's no use building a wall when your heart hasn't been yours for a while.

next part

[smileysuh]

crossroads - TEASER

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. If one neighbour is a Doberman, then the other is a Golden Retriever. They’re like night and day, and yet, you’re drawn to both, as if some gravitational or celestial power is pulling you to them… it also helps that they both have motorcycles. How had it been so easy to ghost Wonwoo in the past, only to find yourself at a crossroads with his roommate seven months later?

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, big dick Mingyu, creampie, oral (f/m receiving), blow job, deep throating, hand job, Eiffel tower/spit roasting, breast worship, nipple pinching, nipple licking, panty kink, eating pussy through panties, fingering, squirting, pussy stretching, praise, dirty talk, ‘sir’, dom!Wonwoo, switch!mingyu, blindfold/sensory deprivation, voyeurism, listening to your neighbour have sex, masturbation, reader reads erotica, mutual masturbation, slight dacryphilia, blind fold/sensory deprivation, inklings of humiliation, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, baby. (Mingyu’s) gyu. (Wonwoo’s) sir. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.8k

🍭 aus. Biker!meanie, booktok!reader, neighbours!au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This was not supposed to be this long. I don’t know how this happened. 

You head back to your bedroom… which is where you find Mingyu flipping through the most recent book you’ve been reading.

Your heart lurches into your throat, body freezing in the doorway. 

“I didn’t know you read this sort of thing,” Mingyu muses, looking up at you.

“What?” you squeak.

“Erotica,” he responds casually. “This seems interesting though.”

You slowly approach the bed, joining Mingyu under the covers while he reaches to put your book back on your nightstand. 

“Uh…” you don’t even know what to say. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Mingyu laughs, pulling you close to his chest. “Why not? It’s not like I’m judging you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Why would I? I think I read somewhere that men like visual porn and women lean towards the written stuff, nothing to be ashamed of.”

He really is the perfect man.

“Plus, I keep seeing shit on tiktok about booktok girls needing their bikertok boy, I don’t mind filling that role for you.” Another nonchalant comment that makes your heart do somersaults. “Although… aren’t all of you booktok girls into masked men and threesomes and shit?”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.2k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday, April 12nd, 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

the link for the fic will be posted here when it's on tumblr :)

[bratbarzal]

Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

[the-kr8tor]

Hobat sneaking into your bag so now you have to keep a tiny bat safe and comfortable until classes end. You know the trope if bringing an animal to school? Either a puppy or kitten and everyone fawns over it and slowly finds out it's in the classroom. 🫡

Ahhhhh hobat my beloved!!! ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you like it, bestie!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Vampire au, hunter! Reader, established relationship, Hobat au, cw food mentions, lovestruck! Hobie, Jealous! Hobie, set in my vampire series (in pursuit of blood), fluff!

Navigation

You shouldn't have brought Hobie to night school if you knew he'd be a menace most of the time inside your bag. He insisted when he overheard you talking to Gwen about an old fling being a classmate of yours. He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he can't help his supersonic hearing when the walls of his home are older than the eiffel tower. To his credit, he did apologize when you sniffed out his lie of asking to come with because he heard that a fellow vampire could be your classic lit 101 professor. After a bit more convincing on his end, which is cuddling in the coffin while he whispers to you affectionately in a language that predates Julius Caesar, you let him come with you to class in one condition— Stay in his Hobat form and stay hidden inside your bag.

It was all fine and dandy at first as you showed him around campus while he told you small historical facts about the place. You even fed him cafeteria french fries while you studied. He didn't like it, but the way he was munching inside your backpack says otherwise. You liked the thrill, it was like you brought your cat to school when it's forbidden. Like Mary and her little lamb, but as the night continues and he gets bored inside your bag, it gets harder to hide the fact that you brought a bat to night school. It all sounds like the start of a joke.

Hobie wiggles inside your bag that's on your lap, squeaking inside as he reads your notes about Emily Brontë. With a telepathic line connected with you, he speaks in your head while you try to listen to the lesson in front of you.

“Your handwritin’ is shit, love. Didn't they teach you cursive?”

“Fuck off, Hobie.” You reply in your head, but your annoyed expression still shows. “I was homeschooled, and our elders didn't exactly teach anything beyond how to throw a knife or basic spells.”

“That explains a lot.” He snickers inside, the squeaking gets a few people's attention.

You fake a sneeze, looking at them apologetically until they turn their heads away from you. “Keep it down! They can still hear your rat noises! And what the fuck does that mean?!”

“‘m goin' to ignore the fact that you called me a rat, love.” You feel him move around inside your bag. “And I didn't mean anythin’ by that.” His sing-song tone would usually have you gazing at him gently, but with you paying an ungodly amount for night school, his behaviour has you more annoyed than endeared. He does however look cute in his tiny bat form, but that thought escapes you when he peeks his fluffy head out of the zipper of your bag, a q-tip in between his fangs. “Why do you have a used q-tip in ‘ere?”

Groaning audibly, the sound echoing inside the silent classroom, everyone, even the professor stops to look at you. “Sorry, I have to take a call.” Making up an excuse, you gather your things and shove it inside your bag haphazardly while ignoring Hobie's protests in your mind. “Sorry, excuse me.” Slinking out of the hall, you exit out with your head down.

“That fuckin’ hurt!” He rubs his tiny head, peeking through the opened zipper as you ignore him and find a quiet janitor's closet to hide in.

“Good!” You say audibly, flicking the light switch to show your anger towards the bat. “I told you that you can stay if you're quiet, Hobie!”

Flying above you, he matches your height. “I was! Until I saw your shit take about ‘Emma!’”

“It was my opinion! That was the assignment!”

Hobie's about to reply back with another quip, but his ear picks up the sound of footsteps outside. Immediately turning back to his usual form, black smoke fills your vision before you're gently shoved against the shelf. Jugs of cleaners and mops fall down as you feel his lips lightly press against your own. Your instincts tell you to kiss back, despite your previous anger, you kiss him like always, anger dissipating and fading to annoyance until his lips kiss back in tandem then you've forgotten what you were arguing about. You find that he always has that effect on you. Knowing that he'll never use vampire hypnotism on you or anyone, it's safe to say that it's just his lips and touch making you melt in his arms.

The door creaks open, light flooding inside. Hobie pulls away, pecking you once more before looking over his shoulder. “Care to knock, mate?” His hand cradles the back of your head while the other holds your waist. Gentle as he avoids his sharp nails from poking you.

“This isn't a motel.” A gruff voice says, you see him tapping his foot against the floor through Hobie's arm. “Get out or I'll call the dean.”

“Shit, yes, sorry.” Pushing Hobie off of you, the fear of getting suspended tamps out the need to kiss him. Tugging him by his belt loops, you couldn't look the stranger in the eyes as you lead him away. You don't let him go until you're out in the near empty courtyard. Sighing in relief, you lean against the wall and cradle your face in embarrassment.

“Love.”

“Stop.”

“I haven't even said anythin' yet.” Chuckling, Hobie taps your shoe with his.

“I know what you were about to say just from your tone.” Your muffled voice has him laughing more. “It's not funny. That was embarrassing.”

Gently, he takes your hands away from your face, meeting with your eyes as you gaze back to his wine red ones. “‘m sorry, ‘m a wanker.”

“You were.” Stomping your foot like you're throwing a tantrum, Hobie cups your cheeks, hands colder than the night air. “I know you were bored but you could've just said so and I'd take you outside so you could go home.”

“Nah, I wasn't bored.” His thumb traces your cheek. “And I don't want to go home without you.”

“Then why were you being annoying? You know how much this means to me.”

With a sigh, Hobie, a fearsome thousand year old vampire, places his head on your shoulder and exhales like a lovelorn school boy. He mumbles something incoherent and you have to nudge and ask him what kind of sound he just let out.

“Iwastryingtogetyourattention.” He says quickly, barely catching what he meant.

“Hobie, didn't your governess tell you not to mumble?” Joking back, he leans away, eyes narrowed at you.

“I never had a governess.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Throwing his words back at him, he tamps down a chortle, fangs peeking through his lips. “Come on, why do you need to get my attention when you have it almost 24/7?”

“I saw the bloke that you talked ‘bout with Gwen.” He rests against your clavicle, the position is awkward with his stature, back bent like a shrimp and his hand mindlessly playing with a string from your jumper. “He kept starin’ at you, lovie.”

“Aww,” you coo, hands rubbing along his back. “My big bad vampire is jealous.”

Hobie abruptly yanks himself off you. “I can rip him to shreds.”

“I know you can.” Smiling, you cradle his cheeks, immediately calming him down. “I didn't even notice him there. I was listening to the lesson.”

“You were?” He asks, hands gravitating towards your hips. “I thought—”

“Your jealousy knows no bounds, Hobie Brown.” Poking him, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. “I swear every full moon you're like this, you're like a werewolf but instead of transforming you turn into a green monster of jealousy. Seriously, not even Pav is safe when we drove out for two hours to get his wizard robes.” Maybe something in your ancient tomes says something about vampires and their monthly bouts of jealousy.

“Only for you, lovie.” Puckering his lips, he tries to kiss you but you block him with your hand.

“Nuh uh, you're not getting off that easily. Fly home, Hobat, before I take out my stake.”

“But—”

“Go, or I'll tell our housemates what you did.”

“Not even one—”

“Guess I have to sleep in my own bed tonight.” You fake a sigh.

With a puff of smoke, Hobie turns back into a bat, wings flapping loudly as he squeaks. “Already flyin’ away!”

Smiling as you gaze at his retreating form, you wince. “Now I have to apologize to the custodian. I hope he likes cafeteria cookies.” You think.

“We're still linked, lovie! I'd like some cookies!”

You're never bringing Hobie to class ever again no matter how much he flashes his puppy dog eyes at you and kisses you softly. Maybe, probably.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 16 - Let It Flood

Series Masterlist

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

Word Count: 22k

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 15 - Chapter 17

“What about Paris?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hawaii?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rome?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.”

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

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

“Chasing customers off?” 

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

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

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

“Ben-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he couldn’t look away if he tried. 

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

“Ben, please-“

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

She nodded. “Yes.” 

“Beg.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben snorted. “Smartass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Get your own damn phone.”

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

“I’m not being fucking weird-“ 

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

“Nothing, it’s my phone-“ 

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

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

“So you are hiding something.” 

Shit. “Shut the fuck up.” 

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking promise then. Not a word.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benjamin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“They’re not damn pervert creep photos-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned at Her. “What about you.” 

“What about me?” 

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

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

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

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

“Socks.” 

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

“Why, to play Candy Crush?” 

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

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

“What the hell are you talking about.”

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

“Well I’ll make it fucking winnable.” 

She snorted. “How.” 

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

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

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

“Fuck you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just bring the gun, Ben.” 

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

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

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

“Ready?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kimiko said they were arguing about splitting us up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take it up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie frowned. “Illicit?” 

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

“Oh. Uh, good for them.” 

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

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

“Someone?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oui?” 

“What exactly is your diversion?” 

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

“Times Square?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you fucking go?” 

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

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

Butcher shrugged. “We’ll see.” 

“Butcher-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not even the tits?

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

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

Had to pass the damn time somehow. 

I feel like there had to be other options. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kind people are pussies, Ben. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mine, you fucking-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not that important.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.” 

“Ben-“ 

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

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

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

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

Ben nodded, still holding Her gaze. In Rome? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie sighed. “We’re on hold.” 

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

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

“Mallory couldn’t get it?” 

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

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

“I guess we’re waiting.” 

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

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

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

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

“Sir, may I please have your location-“ 

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

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

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

She shook Her head. Wait for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If someone doesn’t say something-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not going anywhere-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please, I don’t-“ 

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

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

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

She swallowed. “Bodies?" 

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

“No-“ 

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

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

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

“No-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

At Her. 

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

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

Or they could just look at Her. 

Because She was a fucking god. 

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

Ben had to fucking move. 

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

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

And Ben had to fucking get Her out. Fast. 

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

And She wasn’t done.

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

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

Christ, She was fucking perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t give a shit-“ 

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

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

She nodded. “Let’s fucking burn.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucking-“ 

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

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

Good. 

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

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

Do it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No-“ 

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

“You’re out of fire-“ 

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

“That was too fucking close-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I always do, Ben.” 

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

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

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

Now Ben had a fucking job to do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Butcher could fucking suck Ben’s dick. 

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

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

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

But She wasn’t fucking there. 

And Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie blinked at him. “Uh, why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Butcher, even for you-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

“Butcher-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll see you soon. 

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

She’ll get back to you. 

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

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

——————

Something is wrong. 

Something is very, very wrong. 

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

That’s what’s wrong. 

Ben isn’t here. 

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

Why does everything feel so wrong. 

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

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

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

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

So you’d headed there first. 

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

So you’d shot the handle off. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The gas. 

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

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

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

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

She’d pulled out a vial. 

And now you were here. 

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

Cold. 

Alone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re strong. You can fucking do this. 

You’re going to jump out the window. 

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

This is going to really fucking hurt. 

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

Anything would be better than this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said I’m sorry. It’s your turn.” 

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

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

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

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

You just glare. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homelander’s afraid. 

Of you. 

And in a split second, you make a choice. 

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

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

And you had a plan. 

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

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

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

You weren’t going to miss.

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

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

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[bratzkoo]

barely yours | mingyu (end)

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: rockstar! mingyu x reader Word Count: 4.7k Genre: fluff, angst, smut-ish Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings/ Note: Thanks for being with me all through out this fic, thank you for loving mingyu and y/n even if they're little shit sometimes. To everyone that interacted and reblogged, thank you guys so so so much, you made me very happy. Till next fic! If you're a bts army and a doctor who fan (whovian), i hope you can check out my next series it's going to be doctor who! hoseok x archaelogist! reader.

Summary: you flirt, you fuck, but when you hint that you want to be more he dismissed it as if you’re joking... and when you decide to ignore him he comes back with flowers at your doorstep.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): ​​ @ca-clover, @junniesoleilkth , @gaslysainz , @darkerrdaze , @mansaaay , @childish-fear , @lixisoul99 , @cherrylovescheol , @yuyu1024 , @tacolombe , @black-swan-blog27 , @tulipndtale , @xuimhao , @cookiearmy , @gyuguys , @brownbunnyb

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Parisian morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of Y/N's hotel suite, casting a soft glow over the scattered suitcases and designer bags. Y/N stood by the window, gazing out at the city she had come to love, a city that had witnessed both her professional triumphs and, most recently, a pivotal moment in her personal life.

Her fingers absently traced the outline of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, her mind replaying the events of the past week. Fashion Week had been a whirlwind of shows, parties, and business meetings. But amidst the chaos, one moment stood out above all others – her unexpected reunion with Mingyu.

Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relive that night. The shock of seeing him across the crowded room, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. The electricity that had coursed through her body when their eyes met. The way her heart had raced as he made his way towards her, that familiar crooked smile playing on his lips.

She hadn't expected the rush of emotions that came with seeing him again. Five years of carefully constructed walls had crumbled in an instant, leaving her vulnerable and exhilarated all at once. And then, one drink had led to another, conversations had flowed as easily as they had in the past, and before she knew it...

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the memory of that night. The heat of Mingyu's kisses, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had whispered her name like a prayer. It had been passionate, intense, and achingly familiar. But it had also been tinged with a newfound maturity, a depth of emotion that spoke of the years that had passed and the growth they had both undergone.

The buzz of her phone on the nightstand jolted Y/N from her reverie. Probably another message from her assistant confirming the details of her upcoming skincare line launch. Y/N sighed, torn between the excitement of her career and the bittersweet ache of leaving... of leaving Mingyu.

The past week had been like living in a dream. After that initial night, she and Mingyu had spent every possible moment together. Late-night walks along the Seine, his hand warm in hers as they strolled past the twinkling lights reflected in the water. Early morning coffees at quaint cafes, sharing croissants and stolen kisses over steaming cups of café au lait. Afternoons spent exploring the Louvre, Mingyu's childlike wonder at the art bringing a smile to her face. And evenings... evenings spent tangled in hotel sheets, rediscovering each other, talking for hours about everything and nothing.

But reality was calling. Y/N had an empire to run, a new skincare line to launch, and a life waiting for her back in Seoul. And Mingyu... Mingyu had HHT, world tours, and a career that spanned the globe. They had talked about it, of course. Long, serious conversations about their feelings, their careers, the challenges they would face. They had agreed to take things slow, to see where this rekindled connection might lead. But now, with miles about to stretch between them once again, Y/N felt a familiar fear creeping in. Would distance pull them apart, as it had before?

A knock at the door startled Y/N from her thoughts. "Mademoiselle, your car is ready," came the concierge's voice.

"Thank you," Y/N called back, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll be down in a moment."

With one last look around the room, Y/N gathered her things. As she reached for the door handle, her eyes fell on a small bottle of perfume on the dresser – a sample of "Barely Yours." She hesitated for a moment before picking it up and tucking it into her purse. A reminder of what she was leaving behind, and perhaps, of what she hoped to return to.

The ride to Charles de Gaulle Airport was quiet, the streets of Paris still sleepy in the early morning hours. Y/N's mind wandered, replaying conversations she'd had with Mingyu over the past week.

"I've missed this," Mingyu had said one night as they sat on a bench in the Tuileries Garden, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I've missed you."

Y/N had leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent that was uniquely him. "I've missed you too," she had admitted. "More than I realized."

"What are we doing, Y/N?" Mingyu had asked, his voice soft but intense. "Is this... is this just a Paris thing? A trip down memory lane?"

She had sat up then, turning to face him. In the fading light, his eyes had been full of hope and fear, mirroring her own emotions. "I don't want it to be," she had said honestly. "But Mingyu, our lives are so different now. We're not the same people we were five years ago."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he had replied, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've grown, Y/N. We've achieved our dreams. Maybe now... maybe now we're finally ready for this. For us."

The memory faded as the car approached the airport. Y/N's heart felt heavy, the weight of leaving pressing down on her. They had said their goodbyes last night, both agreeing it would be easier this way. A clean break, a chance to process everything that had happened and figure out their next steps.

But as the car pulled up to the departures terminal, Y/N was struck by how wrong it felt. How could she just leave, go back to her life as if this past week hadn't changed everything?

Lost in thought, Y/N almost missed the commotion at the airport's entrance. A crowd had gathered, phones out, excited chatter filling the air. And there, in the center of it all, stood Mingyu.

Y/N's heart leapt into her throat. He wasn't supposed to be here. But there he was, looking breathtakingly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his eyes scanning the arriving cars frantically.

As Y/N's car pulled up, Mingyu's eyes locked onto hers through the window. The look on his face – a mixture of determination, hope, and unbridled love – took her breath away.

Before the driver could fully stop, Y/N was out of the car. She vaguely registered the flashing of cameras, the surprised gasps from onlookers, but all she could focus on was Mingyu.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she reached him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his touch sending sparks through her entire body. "I couldn't let you leave like this," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Not again. Not without telling you how I feel."

Y/N's heart raced. "Mingyu, we talked about this. Our lives, our careers..."

But Mingyu shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't care about any of that. Y/N, these past five years without you have been... empty. I've achieved everything I thought I wanted, but none of it means anything if I can't share it with you."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as Mingyu continued, his words coming out in a rush, as if he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't say them now.

"Be with me, please Y/N," he pleaded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you. I loved you 5 years ago, I loved you 5 months ago, I loved you five minutes ago, and I'll love you every second of every day for the rest of my life. We can make this work. Whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together."

Y/N stood there, overwhelmed by the intensity of Mingyu's words, of her own feelings. She thought about the life she had built for herself, the success she had achieved. She was no longer the uncertain young woman she had been five years ago. She had grown, evolved into someone she was proud to be.

And it was that realization that finally allowed her to let go of her fears.

"Yes," she whispered, a smile breaking through her tears.

Mingyu blinked, as if not quite believing what he'd heard. "Yes?"

Y/N laughed, the sound full of joy and promise. "Yes, Mingyu. Yes to being with you. Yes to facing whatever comes our way together. Yes to loving you every second of every day."

With a whoop of joy, Mingyu lifted Y/N off her feet, spinning her around as onlookers cheered and cameras flashed. When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears.

"I love you, Y/N," he said softly. "Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Y/N replied, her heart feeling fuller than it ever had. "I'm yours, Mingyu. Fully yours."

As their lips met in a kiss that promised a lifetime of love and happiness, neither Y/N nor Mingyu paid any attention to the commotion around them. In that moment, it was just the two of them, finally where they were always meant to be – together.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of activity. News of their reunion spread like wildfire, dominating entertainment headlines and social media. Y/N's phone buzzed constantly with messages from friends, family, and business associates, all curious about this sudden development in her personal life.

Mingyu faced his own challenges, fielding questions from reporters and reassuring fans that his relationship wouldn't affect HHT's future. But through it all, they stood united, facing each hurdle together.

Their first major test came when Y/N had to return to Seoul for the launch of her new skincare line. The night before her flight, she and Mingyu sat on the balcony of his Paris hotel room, the city lights twinkling below them.

"I'm scared," Y/N admitted, her voice small. "What if... what if distance changes things again?"

Mingyu pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It won't," he said firmly. "We're different people now, Y/N. We know what we want, and we're willing to fight for it. Plus," he added with a grin, "I have about a million airline miles saved up. I plan to put them to good use."

Y/N laughed, feeling some of her anxiety melt away. "I love you," she said, marveling at how easily the words came now.

"I love you too," Mingyu replied. "Always."

The next year was a testament to their commitment. Despite busy schedules and often being in different time zones, Mingyu and Y/N made their relationship work. Video calls became a daily ritual, no matter how late or early it might be. Mingyu surprised Y/N at product launches and important meetings, while Y/N became a fixture at HHT's concerts, cheering from backstage.

Their friends and family watched with a mixture of joy and amusement as the once-tentative couple blossomed into a powerhouse of love and support. Seungcheol often joked that he felt like a proud parent watching his children grow up.

It was during one of HHT's world tour stops in New York that Mingyu decided to take the next step. He had planned everything meticulously, with the help of the other members and Y/N's assistant.

After the concert, he led a blindfolded Y/N to the top of the Empire State Building, which he had managed to reserve for just the two of them. As Y/N removed the blindfold, she gasped at the sight before her. The observation deck was covered in rose petals and candles, the New York skyline providing a breathtaking backdrop.

"Mingyu, what is all this?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his heart pounding. "Y/N," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "five years ago, I let you go because I was too afraid to admit how I felt. I've regretted that decision every day since. But now, I'm not afraid anymore. I know exactly what I want, and it's you. It's always been you."

Dropping to one knee, Mingyu pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a stunning ring, a large diamond surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled in the candlelight.

"Hwang Y/N," Mingyu said, looking up at her with eyes full of love, "will you marry me?"

Tears streaming down her face, Y/N nodded emphatically. "Yes," she managed to choke out. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

As Mingyu slipped the ring onto her finger and stood to kiss her, the New York night sky erupted in a spectacular fireworks display, orchestrated by the ever-romantic Seungcheol.

The news of their engagement spread quickly, sending fans and media into a frenzy. But Mingyu and Y/N were in their own bubble of happiness, already dreaming of their future together.

The months leading up to the wedding were a blur of planning, fittings, and juggling their busy careers. They decided on a spring wedding in Seoul, wanting to celebrate their love in the city where it all began.

Finally, the big day arrived. The venue, a beautiful garden on the outskirts of Seoul, was transformed into a fairytale setting. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate petals dancing in the gentle breeze.

In a private room, Y/N stood before a full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her. Her wedding gown, a custom creation that perfectly blended traditional Korean elements with modern design, made her feel like a princess. Her hair was swept up in an elegant updo, adorned with small crystal flowers that matched her earrings – a gift from Mingyu's mother.

A knock at the door preceded the entrance of her bridal party – a mix of childhood friends and industry colleagues who had become like family over the years.

"Oh, Y/N," her maid of honor gasped, tears already forming in her eyes. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Y/N smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in her stomach. "Thank you. I can't believe this is really happening."

As her friends fussed over last-minute details, Y/N's mind wandered to Mingyu. Was he as nervous as she was? Was he thinking of her too?

Meanwhile, in another room, Mingyu was indeed thinking of Y/N. He stood still as Seungcheol adjusted his bowtie, the other members of HHT bustling around in various states of readiness.

"You okay, man?" Seungcheol asked, noticing Mingyu's distant expression.

Mingyu nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I'm just... I can't wait to see her, you know? To start our life together."

Seungcheol clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm so happy for you, bro. You and Y/N... you were always meant for this."

As the guests took their seats and the soft strains of music filled the air, Mingyu took his place at the altar. His heart raced as he waited, his eyes fixed on the entrance where Y/N would soon appear.

And then, there she was. As Y/N began her walk down the aisle, a collective gasp rose from the assembled guests. She was a vision in white, her face radiant with joy and love. But Mingyu saw none of it. All he could see was Y/N's eyes, locked on his, filled with a love so pure and strong it took his breath away.

As she reached him, Mingyu took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"So are you," Y/N replied, her smile brighter than the sun.

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of traditional and modern elements, reflecting the couple's journey and their hopes for the future. As they exchanged vows and rings, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Even the normally stoic Wonwoo was seen discretely wiping away a tear.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared. "You may kiss the bride."

Mingyu didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Y/N close, pouring all his love and joy into a kiss that seemed to stop time itself. As they broke apart, the garden erupted in cheers and applause.

The reception that followed was a joyous celebration of love, friendship, and new beginnings. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as guests mingled in the beautifully decorated hall. Soft fairy lights twinkled overhead, and the scent of flowers – carefully chosen to complement Y/N's signature perfume – wafted through the space.

At the head table, Mingyu couldn't take his eyes off his bride. Y/N was radiant, her eyes sparkling as she chatted with their friends and family. Every so often, she would catch him staring and give him a wink or a blown kiss, making his heart soar all over again.

The reception was in full swing, a perfect blend of elegance and fun that reflected the couple's personalities. In one corner, Mingyu's bandmates were engaged in an impromptu dance battle, much to the delight of the guests. Vernon, with his smooth moves, was giving Seungcheol a run for his money, while Wonwoo surprised everyone with a suddenly unleashed dance prowess that had been hiding behind his usually calm demeanor.

Y/N laughed as she watched them, leaning into Mingyu. "I see some things never change," she said fondly.

Mingyu grinned, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Once a group of goofballs, always a group of goofballs."

As the dance battle wound down, Vernon made his way to the newlyweds, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Y/N," he said, leaning on the table, "now that you're officially part of the HHT family, does this mean we get free skincare for life?"

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, I don't know. That depends. Do I get free concert tickets for life?"

"Deal!" Vernon exclaimed, holding out his hand for a high five, which Y/N gladly returned.

Wonwoo joined them, his usually stoic face softened by a warm smile. "I have to say," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "seeing you two together like this... it just feels right. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place."

Mingyu reached out to squeeze Wonwoo's shoulder, touched by his friend's words. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

As the evening progressed, it was time for the speeches. The tapping of a spoon against a glass drew everyone's attention. Seungcheol stood up, microphone in hand, his eyes already suspiciously moist.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "as the best man, it's my duty to give a speech. But I have to warn you, I'm a bit of a mess already."

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Seungcheol's girlfriend, Mina, pointedly raised her phone to record the moment.

"I've known Mingyu for... well, it feels like forever," Seungcheol continued. "We've been through everything together – trainee days, debut jitters, world tours. But I've never seen him as happy as he is with Y/N."

Seungcheol turned to face the newlyweds, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. "Y/N, you were our manager, our friend, and now you're family. Thank you for loving this big goofball and for making him smile like that."

Y/N reached out to squeeze Seungcheol's hand, her own eyes glistening with tears.

"And Mingyu," Seungcheol's voice cracked, "my brother, my bandmate, my best friend. I'm so proud of you. You fought for your love, you never gave up, and now... now you're finally fully hers, and she's fully yours."

By this point, Seungcheol was full-on sobbing, much to the amusement and endearment of the guests. Mina zoomed in on his face, barely containing her own laughter.

"To Mingyu and Y/N," Seungcheol managed to choke out, raising his glass. "May your love story continue to inspire us all. And may you always remember that you're not just 'barely' each other's – you're fully, completely, and eternally each other's."

As the guests echoed the toast, Mingyu stood up and enveloped Seungcheol in a bear hug, both men now openly weeping. Y/N joined them, wrapping her arms around both. Vernon stepped up to the microphone, his easy grin in place.

"Now, I know Seungcheol already gave the best man speech," he started, "but as Mingyu's self-proclaimed 'best friend for life,' I feel like I have some things to add."

The crowd chuckled, settling in for what promised to be an entertaining speech.

"I've known Mingyu for a long time," Vernon continued, "and I've seen him go through a lot of phases. There was the 'I'm too cool to smile' phase, the 'I'm going to dye my hair a new color every week' phase, and who could forget the 'I think I can pull off leopard print' phase?"

Laughter erupted as Mingyu buried his face in his hands, groaning good-naturedly.

"But through all of that," Vernon's voice softened, "there was one constant: the way he looked at Y/N. Even when they were just friends, even when they were apart, there was always something special there. And seeing them together now, it's like... it's like watching your favorite movie with the perfect ending."

Vernon raised his glass. "To Mingyu and Y/N. May your love story continue to be the blockbuster hit of our lives."

As the applause died down, Wonwoo stepped forward. Known for his quiet nature, many guests were curious to hear what he had to say.

"I'm not usually one for many words," Wonwoo began, his deep voice carrying across the room, "but for Mingyu and Y/N, I'll make an exception."

He turned to face the couple. "Mingyu, you've been my brother in everything but blood for years. I've seen you at your highest highs and your lowest lows. But I've never seen you as happy as you are with Y/N. And Y/N," he continued, his gaze shifting to the bride, "you've been a part of our family since the day we met you. You've supported us, guided us, and now, you've made our Mingyu complete."

Wonwoo's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Love like yours is rare. It's the kind of love that inspires songs, that gives hope to others. Cherish it, nurture it, and know that you'll always have us – your HHT family – supporting you every step of the way."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house as Wonwoo finished his speech. Mingyu stood up, pulling both Vernon and Wonwoo into a tight hug. Y/N joined them, and soon all of HHT was engaged in a group hug that spoke volumes about their bond.

The night continued with more heartfelt speeches, including one from Y/N's maid of honor that had everyone in stitches with embarrassing stories from their college days. Mingyu's parents spoke of how proud they were of their son and how happy they were to welcome Y/N into the family. Y/N's father, usually stoic in public, surprised everyone with an emotional speech about watching his little girl grow into the strong, successful woman before them.

As the formal part of the evening wound down, the dance floor became the center of attention. Mingyu and Y/N shared their first dance to a beautiful ballad written and performed by the members of HHT. As they swayed to the music, lost in each other's eyes, the love between them was palpable.

"I can't believe we're here," Y/N murmured, her head resting on Mingyu's chest. "Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up and realize this was all a dream."

Mingyu tightened his arms around her. "If it's a dream, I never want to wake up," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

As the night wore on, filled with dancing, laughter, and joy, Y/N and Mingyu stole a quiet moment on the balcony. The spring air was cool and fragrant with cherry blossoms. Under the starlit sky, Mingyu pulled Y/N close, humming softly in her ear.

"Is that...?" Y/N asked, recognizing the melody.

Mingyu nodded, smiling. "A new version of 'Barely Yours.' I'm thinking of calling it 'Fully Ours.'"

Y/N's heart swelled with love. "It's perfect," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

As they stood there, the Seoul skyline twinkling behind them and their future stretching out before them, both Mingyu and Y/N reflected on the journey that had brought them to this moment.

"You know," Mingyu said softly, "five years ago, when we decided to focus on our careers, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought success would be enough to make me happy."

Y/N nodded, understanding completely. "I felt the same way. I threw myself into building my brand, thinking that if I could just achieve my goals, everything else would fall into place."

"But it didn't, did it?" Mingyu mused, his fingers tracing patterns on Y/N's back.

"No, it didn't," Y/N agreed. "Something was always missing. I just didn't want to admit what – or who – it was."

Mingyu chuckled softly. "We were both so stubborn. It took us five years and a chance meeting in Paris to figure out what we really needed."

"Each other," Y/N finished, smiling up at him.

"Each other," Mingyu echoed, his eyes full of love. "Y/N, I promise you, I'm never letting you go again. Whatever challenges we face, whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together. You're not just my wife; you're my partner, my best friend, my soulmate."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes at Mingyu's words. "And you're mine," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Mingyu, you make me stronger, you make me better. With you by my side, I feel like I can accomplish anything."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, sealing their promises to each other. As they broke apart, the opening chords of "Shadow" drifted out from the reception hall.

"Shall we go back in?" Mingyu asked, offering his arm to Y/N. "I believe they're playing our song."

Y/N laughed, linking her arm through his. "Let's go, husband."

As they rejoined their guests on the dance floor, moving together to the song that had once represented their separation but now symbolized their reunion, both Mingyu and Y/N felt a sense of completion they had never known before. The journey hadn't been easy, but every step, every challenge had led them here.

In the years that followed, Mingyu and Y/N's love only grew stronger. They faced the challenges of their high-profile careers together, supporting each other's dreams while nurturing their relationship. Y/N's beauty empire continued to expand, with Mingyu often lending his face (and his social media influence) to her campaigns. HHT reached new heights of global stardom, with Y/N cheering them on every step of the way.

They learned to balance their public lives with private moments, cherishing quiet evenings at home just as much as glamorous red carpet events. They traveled the world together, both for work and pleasure, creating memories in every corner of the globe.

And when, a few years later, they welcomed their first child – a beautiful baby girl with Mingyu's smile and Y/N's eyes – their happiness felt complete. As they stood over the crib, watching their daughter sleep, Mingyu wrapped his arm around Y/N's waist.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Y/N looked up at him, curious. "For what?"

"For everything," Mingyu replied, his voice full of emotion. "For loving me, for never giving up on us, for giving me this beautiful family. You've made all my dreams come true, Y/N."

Y/N leaned into him, feeling overwhelmed with love for her husband and their child. "Thank you for the same," she murmured. "I love you, Mingyu. Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Mingyu replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always and forever."

As they stood there, a family united by love and strengthened by the journey that had brought them together, both Mingyu and Y/N knew that this – this moment, this life, this love – was what they had always been meant for. No longer "barely" anything, they were fully, completely, and eternally each other's.

And in that knowledge, they found their happily ever after.

[ivysangel]

Okay but a threesome with Dick and Jason. what would that be like? Are they competing to see who makes you come harder? Does each try to out do the other because he’s secretly jealous? Are they gonna Eiffel Tower? Is one really sweet while the other is being aggressive and rough? I need opinions.

-🧸

honey i am so so so so so sorry. this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and i hope you're still around to see it! i already wrote a lil smth smth about this a while ago here but allow me to elaborate.

i think the dynamic can get pretty crazy because dick can get wayyy nasty; not to say jason doesn't either, but i don't think jason would get crazy nasty in front of dick. dick's there to overstimulate you, tease you, play around with you, and bring you to the edge and back and then over, and jason's there to comfort you through it. i think they both could be "he talks you through it," guys, but in this specific scenario, i think it would be jason who sweet talks you, whispers in your ear, tells you you're doing so good for them, and quiets you down when you get too loud. i don't really know how to explain it, but he'd be the comforting presence out of the two of them, not even taking a submissive role or anything, just not as actively winding you up as much as dick.

dick, a menace as always, treats it like a game. how many times can he make you cum before you're begging for a break, and how many different ways can he make it happen. i think he'd be like that on a normal day, too, but i feel like it's very amplified in this situation because however this threesome happens, it's a very tense and intimate affair, out of character for both of them and, therefore everything about it is just different (?) i can't even think of a good way to explain it other than the next morning you're all kinda like woah. lost all inhibition the night before and don't really know how to go back to the way things were. he's quick to get nasty; he's the one eating you out while jason is kissing your neck and lightly grazing your skin, touching and squeezing, etc. the combination of both of them is really just insane, and both of their actions, in tandem, are what makes it so much more intense.

i do think they could be eiffel tower guys, but idk, i think (and walk with me here)…double penetration might be the way they go. like, you can't say, "dick grayson is an ass man," without admitting that he'd probably be into anal, so boom. and if your pussy is open, then yeah, ofc jasons taking it; it just makes sense TO ME. it's definitely a lot and not for the faint of heart, and you have to hold onto one (or both) of them while you get used to the sensation and while they find a nice rhythm, so it feels good for all three of you. during this part, the talking might die down just because you're all so in the moment; it's definitely out of character for dick because he's a D1 yapper, but it's cool cuz he was dirty talking so much during the foreplay, like lifting his head from between your legs just to look you in the eye and say something nasty.

i'm also ngl i could see the roles reversed where jason is eating you out or fingering you, and dick is the one whispering crazy shit in your ear. i could see it working both ways, but the first more so.

when i tell you this would be probably the best orgasm you've ever had, i mean that. there's just so much that went into it that there's really no way you aren't gasping for air and clutching your chest when it's over. damn near passing out, and they gotta shake you a little to make sure you're still kicking. and it's not even really over because if you show any semblance of energy after, they might try to go another round i fear.

[johns-prince]

if you don’t mind, what are some of your favorite soft mclennon moments?

JOHN: I used to try to get George to rebel with me. I’d say to him, “Look, we don’t need these fuckin’ suits. Let’s chuck them out of the window.” My little rebellion was to have my tie loose with the top button of my shirt undone. Paul’d always come up to me and put it straight. [x]

PAUL: There’s a story that I used to straighten John’s tie before we went on stage. That seems to have become a symbol of what my attitude was supposed to have been. I’ve never straightened anyone’s tie in my life, except perhaps affectionately.

The Times Profile of Paul McCartney - 1982 [x]

“And John and Paul thought back to the time they’d been in Paris before. Flat-broke, unable to afford a taxi, without funds for a decent meal. ‘Maybe we’ll buy the Eiffel Tower this time’, said John with a grin.”

“The Beatles in Paris.” Beatles Book Monthly Magazine No. 8 (March 1964). [x]

““Okay, okay,” I said, “don’t go on, John.” I felt a surge of embarrassment because my instrument was the cause of such hilarity. “Look guys, that’s enough. What have you two been doing while we’ve been struggling to get here? I hope you’ve done some practising and got the song list sorted out?” I was getting more and more annoyed as this episode was dragging on. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry Len. Paul and I have got it all sorted out. Haven’t we Paul? Paul! Paul! I said haven’t we Paul?” Paul McCartney looked up with a wry smile and paused. “Tonight will run just like clockwork. I am going to give the audience the best rendition of ‘Guitar Boogie’ they have ever heard this side of Garston.” “Hey, this is a new twist,” I said. “Paul just cracked a joke. He must have a sense of humour after all, John, shall we have him in the group?” John was enjoying the banter as ever. “Yeah, we’ll give him another try and if you don’t get it right this time, Jimmy,” Jimmy (James) was Paul’s first name, “then…” John waited to see the expression on Paul’s face. “Then we’ll,” again a pause, and by this time we were hanging on John’s next words, “then we’ll have to send him for some more guitar lessons!” Paul joined in the laughter and at that we were all back to normal.”

— Len Garry, John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles. (1997) [x]

“One of my great memories of John is from when we were having some argument. I was disagreeing and we were calling each other names. We let it settle for a second and then he lowered his glasses and he said: “It’s only me.” And then he put his glasses back on again. To me, that was John. Those were the moments when I actually saw him without the facade, the armour, which I loved as well, like anyone else. It was a beautiful suit of armour. But it was wonderful when he let the visor down and you’d just see the John Lennon that he was frightened to reveal to the world.” [x]

“Whatever bad things John said about me, he would also slip his glasses down to the end of his nose and say, ’I love you’. That’s really what I hold on to. That’s what I believe. The rest is showing off.” [x]

“I remember being shocked one day when John started worrying about how people would remember him when he was gone. It was an incredibly vulnerable thing for him to come out with. I said to him then, ‘They’ll remember you as a fucking genius, because that’s what you are. But, you won’t give a shit because you’ll be up there, flying across the universe.’” [x]

“If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?”  “In bed.” — Paul McCartney answers questions for Q magazine, 1998. [x]

“John and I grew up like twins although he was a year and a half older than me. We grew up literally in the same bed because when we were on holiday, hitchhiking or whatever, we would share a bed. Or when we were writing songs as kids he’d be in my bedroom or I’d be in his. Or he’d be in my front parlour or I’d be in his, although his Aunt Mimi sometimes kicked us out into the vestibule!”

— September 26, 1997, “Paul McCartney - Meet The Beatle” by Steve Richards [x]

“We were recording the other night, and I just wasn’t there. Neither was Paul. We were like two robots going through the motions. We do need each other alot. When we used to get together after a month off, we used to be embarrassed about touching each other. We’d do an elaborate handshake just to hide the embarrassment… or we did mad dances. Then we got to hugging each other.”

— John Lennon, The Beatles by Hunter Davies [x]

Q: “What musician and composer do you respect most?” Paul: “No, I don’t know, really... John Lennon!” John: *mock-shy* “...Paul McCartney.” [x]

conversations with mccartney, paul du noyer [x]

“It was 8:30. I could hear people talking about the likelihood of a storm later on that evening. I can remember hoping that it would clear up before my cycle ride back to Wavertree. Up to now it had been an eventful day but very tiring and as a group, although committed to playing, we all wished that we could pack up and go home. All of us apart from John Lennon. I think that meeting Paul had whetted his appetite and by the time we went on stage for our session at 8:45 he looked refreshed and seemed to have a new sparkle, as though he had had an injection of renewed optimism and enthusiasm as he played and sang through our usual repertoire that evening. […] I went outside for some air and a smoke; John and Pete decided to come with me. We stood outside pulling on our cigarettes, enjoying the breeze that had risen with the oncoming storm. “Do you know, John,” remarked Pete as we stood outside, “I’ve never heard you sound as good as you did just then. I know you’re going to say that I’m not very musical but I could hear the difference. I can see that something’s happened to you. Even the skiffle numbers which I know you’re not that keen on sounded good. You seem to have put more effort into them.” “Pete’s right, John. I couldn’t help noticing it as well,” I said. John was silent for a few minutes, just enjoying his smoke. “I guess someone took the trouble to share what he knew with me and it’s just given me a little encouragement for the future, that’s all.” “Oh I see, you’re getting a little sentimental in your old age, aren’t you,” joked Pete, who had never seen his life-long friend in that light before. “Don’t be thick, Pete,” replied John, who seemed almost back to his normal abrupt self. “Come on, I need a drink.”” — Len Garry, John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles. (1997) [x]

[x]

Paul's persistence and endless patience for John while he was dealing with the death of his mother Julia:

But Paul seemed to have limitless patience for John, sneaking away from his classes to drink coffee at the Jacaranda coffeehouse, or else spend the afternoon nursing pints and punching rock ‘n’ roll songs on the jukebox at Ye Cracke pub. Certainly, Paul preferred hanging out with his friend to grinding through lectures and assignments at his schoolboy’s desk at the Liverpool Institute. But the hours they spent together held an emotional significance, too. For even if they rarely spoke about the pain of losing their mothers, the mutual feelings of loss—and the rawness of John’s wound—gave them a connection that was as vital as it was unspoken. It was, Paul said later, a “special bond for us, something of ours, a special thing.” … “We could look at each other,” Paul said, “and know.”” 

…

John, however, had other things on his mind. Though the fall of 1958 and well into 1959, John was far too busy engaging in art-school life—if not exactly his studies—to think much about playing in a rock ‘n’ roll band. He had started dating another student, a quiet blonde from the relatively posh Hoylake district on the Wirral, named Cynthia Powell. She proved a warm, stabilizing influence, which helped mitigate John’s ongoing grief and rage.

He had also grown particularly close to one of the school’s most promising students, a blazingly talented painter named Stuart Sutcliffe, whose emotional portraits and densely wrought abstracts had already caught the eye of the university’s instructors, along with the gallery owners, artists and critics who orbited the bohemian section that bordered the campus. John had been drawn to Stu’s talent, too, and when his classmate invited John to move into his large, if downtrodden, flat around the corner from the college in a row of once-elegant homes on Gambier Terrace, the two art students became even closer. The flat became a hub for their college friends, a reliable address for drinking bouts and all-night parties.

 Nevertheless, Paul made certain not to be a stranger. He was a regular around Gambier Terrace, often toting his guitar to spur a little playing and singing, and if circumstance permitted, a bit of songwriting. John remained an eager music fan, and generally enthusiastic partner for playing and singing. But his disinterest in the band, prompted at least in part by his deepening friendship with Stu, frustrated Paul. 

…

John was moving on, and not in a promising direction. George, for his part, had grown sick of waiting and joined the jazz-and-skiffle centered Les Stewart Quartet, though he made it clear to Paul he’d be back with the Quarrymen whenever they resumed playing. Paul, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in playing with anyone else. For whatever combination of emotional or visceral reasons, he couldn’t seem to imagine a musical life that didn’t include John Lennon as his primary partner.

So he persisted, dragging his guitar to Gambier Terrace, making himself a fixture amid the empty beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays, shattered Vicks inhalers, and paint-splattered clothes.

If John didn’t evince any interest in being in a band, Paul would simply wait, guitar at the ready, until he did.

— Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life [x]

[sinning-23]

Twice the Fun (Zoro x Reader x Sanji)

Because i need them both in a way that is concern to feminism and they could literally do whatever they wanted to me (respectfully) ahem. This ones for my sick, freak, nasty, touch-starved bitches It's really just prn with A LITTLE plot yall and a little more attention to detail.

18+ DUH?!

Warnings: Tagteam, creampie, gagging, choking, biting, scratching, p in v, unprotected, degradation, teasing, praising, spanking, double penetration (holy shit this is a lot even for me lol)

Hope yall enjoy (smut is a bit of a specialty of mine)

PART 2 HERE

Ps. PLEASE EXCUSE ANY SPELLING ERRORS!

What were you truly meant to do? Turn down the pair to try and make yourself look like less of a slut than you really were? Well, slut was kind of harsh. We'll say, more sexually inclined.

Yeah, that sounds classier.

Anyway, when Sanji and Zoro approached you in a more physical than verbal way, you couldn't decide whether or not you should say no to try and keep up an image they already saw past, or simply let them Eiffel Tower you. How the hell did you end up in this predicament in the first place???

___3 days ago___

You sigh, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you nudge the man beside you. You didn't quite care if he woke up or not, you'd just go to your other 'friends' room to fulfill your insatiable need for dick...and love and affection...but of course, Sanji didn't know that...and neither did Zoro and hell you'd like to keep it that way.

Perfectly balanced...sorta. Part of you feels bad though, you do love him...and Zoro too but damn it you just had to have them both. And with the way that two bicker and act like they can't stand each other, there was a fat chance you'd get your wish.

You nudge Sanji again, pressing soft kisses to his temple, and brushing his hair out of his face. He stirs, eyes slightly opening to reveal a set of lovely blues.

"Good morning. Pussy put you to sleep?" You tease, seeing him smile in recollection of the events of the night prior.

"Its not nice to tease." He groans, sitting up on his elbows and forearms to kiss your lips.

Its sweet, your heart stuttering with guilt. You know he loves you but this whole thing was supposed to be no strings attached. You pull away, noticing a brief hurt behind those eyes you just stared so lustfully into hours ago.

"Hurry up, youve got breakfast to make and I'm pretty sure someones getting a bit suspicious. You chuckle, pointing to the alarm clock.

He swears, shuffling a bit faster to find his briefs, dress pants, and shirt in a hurry. He doesnt forget to kis your temple before he leaves though.

"Come to my room again tonight, yeah?" He asks, and you nod. How could you not?

When you're sure he's long gone, you hide your face in your palms, groaning deeply before gazing into the mirror. Shit...he marked you up worse than before. You roll your eyes, that funny butterfly feeling filling up your stomach again. Damn him for making you love him. This wasn't the first time you'd have to cover up hickeys and it wouldn't be the last.

Your shoes echo down the hall a bit as you pass zoro's room now, curiosity getting the best of you. You crack the door open and there he is, pulling on that same old tan shirt over that damn gorgeous body.

"Good morning." You hum, slipping in and closing the door behind you.

He doesn't respond back, only nods in your direction. Zoro was more...blunt with these things. He thought he'd almost gotten perfect at hiding how he was feeling from you, but you had already clawed your way up and over the walls he put up. Essentially you could see right through him.

Before he can protest about you not knocking, you've got your arms around him in a hug, one he definitely needed seeing as he missed your touch far more than he would admit out loud. In his head, you were his girl. All his. He knew it wasn't true, this...whatever this was, being nothing more than a beneficial friendship. You weren't really his and it tore him up inside. He knows he loves you, but damn it if he admits it.

"Missed me? I see that look in your eyes Roro." You tease, knowing the nick name bothers him in th best way.

"I wish you would quit calling me that." He responds, letting his arms wrap around you to return the embrace, his chin resting atop your head. He needed you bad.

"Coming here tonight? Or do I have to drag you from your quarters to mine?" He smirks, making you laugh and bury your face in his chest. Gods he loved your laugh.

"How could I not?" You respond, swallowing a bit hard, knowing you were wrong for that.

Double booking a dick appointment was a big NO-NO. This leaves too much opportunity for one to find out about the other. But in hindsight, would that really be so bad? You wanted and loved them both, and being sneaky was starting to weigh on your conscience despite not being in an actual relationship with either of them.

"You alright?" He asks, cupping your face with his free hand. You drank up moments like these, it was truly a privilege to see the softer side of Zoro.

You nod, kissing him quick before making your leave.

The rest of the crew is already up and working on odds and ins of the ship. You managed your end of the chores, first mopping, then tying knots, and lastly laundry. You chatted with Nami, hoping a village is coming up soon but no luck.

Damn, the day had really gotten away from you. The sun was already setting and your heart sank to the pit of your goddamn stomach. It's sunset...which means night is right around the corner...

Oh fuck.

You scramble off the front deck and head straight to your quarters, skillfully dodging both Sanji and Zoro, who you had managed to have run into each other instead of you. Bad idea, because if you knew anything about Sanji, it's that he had a funny way of letting things slip rather sneakily. And if you knew anything about Zoro, its that he would easily catch a slick comment, and match it.

You lock your door, pacing back and forth in hopes of coming up with a plan. The truth? Yeah maybe tell the truth! You swallow your pride, taking a deep breath, only to head a kock at your door. Oh god. Your hands tremble, that sickly nervous feeling seeping into your pores. Its hot in here.

"Hey honey, um, how about we reschedule to tomorrow?" Sanji hums, something...off in his tone.

You pull the door open, that same facade over your face. You swallow, nodding at him in response.

"I see. I mean yeah we can. Something come up?" You ask, eyes shifting all over. You can bring yourself to keep direct contact with him and damn he can tell. You could've sworn that you saw someone turn the corner...was that Zoro. Nevermind that. Apparently, Sanji had said something to you but you hadn't heard it you were panicking so damn much.

"Uhh sure. You okay?" He questions, more smug than anything. He knows...

__2 days ago___

It was far too quiet for your liking. Sanji seemed to avoid you...and so did Zoro. Well, not really avoid you. In all honestly you were paranoid and reading into everything. You had FABULOUS intuition so when the energy was out of wack it went straight to your head.

They know. They have to. There's no way they don't. The two of them had gotten a lot bolder you noticed. It was all so clear to you. They were...competing almost. Zoro would leave his hand on your hip, and Sanji would roll his eyes. Sanji would pull your hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of your face when you were cleaning? Zoro would scoff and move on.

Okay, so they definitely knew. Now they were playing the "She likes me more game." That was the least of your concerns. If anything you were drinking up the attention. What you really wanted to know, was how they had found out about each other...the ship is small so that doesn't help the situation.

Today, you managed to find yourself in the kitchen while both your blonde and green-headed sneaky links were ALSO in the vicinity. You swallow hard, bidding them a good day whilst making your way to the fridge, which Sanji usually keeps locked up otherwise Luffy would get in it.

"Sanji, um, the key please." You ask, clearing your throat as the two seemed to watch your every move.

He smiles, stepping beside you, his hand trailing from your waist to the curve of your ass. He's grinning the whole time, his eyes cutting to Zoro before squatting down, using your leg as a means to steady himself to retrieve the well-hidden, key. His fingers dance over your thighs and inwards, just barely brushing over the crotch of your shorts. You yelp, tensing when Zoro gives a slight 'tch'

Sanji stands, plopping the piece of metal in your hand before returning to the stove from whence he came.

"Thanks." You rasp, fianlly feeling a pinh at ease before oepenign the fridge.

Too bad the peace only lasted for two seconds, becuse right when you had cracked it open, Zoro was already behind you, reaching for his desnated bottle of alcohol, his hand right at your waist, just where Sanji's had been.

Instead of squatting however, down to more or less 'politely' show ownership of you, Zoro opts to wind his hand back as far as possible.

SMACK

You yelp louder, steadying yourself agaisn the fridge as you moan at the sting. There was no doubt there was a bit of a mark again toyu melenated skin now. Zoro only grins, all too smug at Sanji's enraged expression.

"Thats it. You just have no sense of respect do you." Sanji argues, Zoro standing a bit taller now.

If you hadn't been squeezed between the two now, they'd surely be chest to chest. Your body is beginning to betray you, heat flooding your face and between your thighs. This wasn't about them. This was about you and who you liked more...They each wanted your attention. Rightfully so, I mean not only were you a sweetheart with a smart mouth but that mouth could do a lot more than just talk shit. And either one of them would be happy to accept death between your thighs.

"If you knew anythign at all, youd kne she likes a little desrespect." Zoro shoots back, your eyes widening.

"If you knew anything you'd know she likes being treated like a princess." Sanji scoffs.

"Lets not talk about me like im not here-"

You're cut off when they shoot that same look your way. A look you'd seen one to many times, bent over, facing a conveniently placed mirror...or wit your back against the matress, one of them over you while your legs cramp up from being so close to your chest.

Damn fr two guys who seemingly didn't 'get alog' they sure had a lot in common.

In the heat fo the argument, you slide pst the pair and out of the kitchen. Unfortunetly for you, a head of orage just happened to be outside and heard part of the last three statements.

"I dont even want to knw what or how you're gonna get out of this. Youll figure it out." Nami half encourages as you groan.

Is that what good pussy did to a mf? Start wars?! It blew your mind but you had less than a few seconds process to the situation. Before you could even realize what was happening, Zoro exited the kitchen and scope you up. And right behim him was a very serious, looking Sanji....

oh you’re so screwed.

——————————————

Authors note: HI YALLL ok so this one’s been sitting in the drafts for literally I wanna say a half a year now lmao uhhhhh let me know if you’d like to be tagged for pt.2 that’s where all the HOT SHIT HAPPENS! Anyway love you all! Drink water lol

[gmuffinhead]

imagine, it's a random day in the hazbin hotel, everyone is sitting around the living room, and Lucifer and Alastor have been giving each other a death stare for nearly an hour now. Then suddenly Alastor and Lucifer break out in a dad joke war to show Charlie whos the better dad, but they get distracted and actually enjoy each others jokes.

*Everyone doing their thing. Alastorand Luciferare glaring at each other before Alastor opens his mouth.*

Al: I'm afraid for the calendar. Its days are numbered

*Everyone groans, knowing whats about to happen*

Luci: My wife said I should do lunges to stay in shape. That would be a big step forward.

Al: Why do fathers take an extra pair of socks when they go golfing?

*Alastor waits for an answer.*

Luci:...why?

Al: In case they get a hole in one!

Luci: Singing in the shower is fun until you get soap in your mouth.

*Alastor lifts an eyebrow.*

Luci: Then it's a soap opera.

Al: What do a tick and the Eiffel Tower have in common?

Luci: What?

Al: They're both Paris sites!

Luci: What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?

Al: Hmm?

Luci: Sofishticated.

*Lucifer snickers as Alastor chuckles.*

Al: Have you heard about the chocolate record player? It sounds pretty sweet.

*Lucifer is now laughing full on.*

Luci, hardly able to tell the joke from laughing: What did the janitor say when he jumped out of the closet?

Al, laughing at Lucifer laughing: What did he say?

Luci: Supplies!

Al: What do you call a factory that makes okay products?

Luci, losing his shit laughing now: What?

Al, also losing his shit laighing: A satisfactory!

Vaggie: Can you two knock it off?

Husk: It was better when you guys wanted to tear each other apart..

*Charlie overjoyed at them getting along.*

edit: i made a fanfic!

[lizzy019]

Hey hey!! I'm the anon who requested the poly Daniel Larusso and Johnny Lawrence fic, but if u wanted u could do a blurb just to get it off the list?

Also bc u have full creative freedom it might be nice

Idk, in my experience only writing other people's ideas for a while can lead to some killer burn out and I would hate if u got that :((

Ily, have such a nice day, drink water, all that stuff!! 🫶🫶

Thanks babe! I'll try 😭 I'm lacking motivation lately. I used GN reader for this, I hope you don't mind! <3

~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~

"Whimperin' and moanin', like a bitch in heat. Bet your little Danny just adores it, huh?" Johnny snarled as you gagged on Daniel's cock.

Locked in an Eiffel Tower position, you felt utterly useless but to succumb to the two men. You really were like a dog in heat, taking everything they so graciously handed to you whether it be given aggressively or kindly. You took what you got and were thankful for it.

"Oh fuckin'- ah shit! Oh baby! Yeah baby, suck it! Suck it real go-oh fuck!" Daniel was such a bloody mess, his legs were barely holding him up if it weren't for Johnny's rough hands holding him still.

Johnny was smirking like he'd accomplished the greatest thing known to man, pounding into your wee, puffy little hole with vigour as you practically ate Daniel's cock.

It was stupid, all of this stemming from who had the biggest cock and who could last the longest.

But could you really find it in you to care when you were being used like a sex doll? No, you were enjoying it too much to really find a reason to complain.

Your body was sore, your back hurt from the constant arching and moving to adjust for the sake of your comfort, but it was always overtaken by Johnny pushing a hand back against you to keep you from moving.

"They're so good for us, aren't they, Danny? Look at 'em, just takin' these two cocks like a bitch. Bet they like it too, huh? Don't you? Don't you? Come on, fuckin' say it!" Johnny was cold with his words, as if trying to keep his cool even if he was staggering too.

He knew you couldn't speak with your mouth full of Daniel's cock, he just wanted an excuse to give your ass a slap, albeit not hard enough to hurt you.

Without any warning, Daniel had moaned just a bit too loudly as his hot semen filled your mouth and slicked your throat. It tasted yummy, as odd as it sounded. Like salt, but creamy and tangy with just a bit of sweetness to it.

Daniel didn't even seem to feel bad about losing and cumming first, he simply collapsed and let you use his body as something to lean on.

And sure enough, Johnny wasn't far behind as his cum spurted out of his urethra and into the condom he wore to protect you from his children ruining your hole and undergarments.

Poor Daniel, he had to catch you when you collapsed on top of him, and make sure he wasn't crushed under the weight of Johnny on top of you both.

But it was cozy, and you had to admit that being with these two men was nice, warm, and enjoyable.

"Johnny... next time, you should moan like me too. It gets 'em off." Daniel teased, kissing your head to soften the embarrassment he so obviously brought you while Johnny only laughed.

"Pfft, that's gay." Johnny muttered, rolling over to lay on his back and away from you two.

"...Johnny, you are gay." Daniel laughed.

Johnny simply shot him a look before trying to close his eyes and get some sleep. However, you were already long gone into your little sleep.

I kept messing up Johnny and Daniel because Ralph Macchio plays Daniel but he also plays Johnny in The Outsiders, so I had to edit this six times 😭