#already a few chapters on a03

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’d like to dedicate this Chapter to Eric Kripke. This one’s for you. Bitch. Chapter Title from Under Pressure By Queen & David Bowie.

Word Count: 21.6k (I'm crazy. I'm on a roll. I haven't slept more than 4 hours.)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben get's a phone, and Victoria Neuman undergoes big changes. Usual warnings. Also somnophilia? Kind of? You'll see.

Read on A03!

Chapter 12 - Chapter 14

This was going to be a very long, entertaining day.

You get up early in the morning, sneaking downstairs to grab the phones you’d left abandoned after last night’s fight and subsequent not-fight. Kissing. You’d kissed Ben.

A lot. 

It didn’t feel real. It had been real—you were sure of it—because you woke up on Ben’s chest and could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. It was real because his arms were wrapped around your waist, and his hands were slightly under your shirt so his fingers brushed your skin. He hadn’t done that before, touched you like that in his sleep. He’d mostly rolled up to you like a very large dog, never touching your skin unless you fell asleep with him already doing so. You’d never been sure if it was purposeful, subconscious, or just something you were overthinking. Just coincidental, simply a byproduct of how he’d essentially throw himself on top of you, tangling blankets and creating natural barriers between your bodies.

But this touch felt purposeful. This touch felt important. Careful and low on your back and different. It was undeniable evidence that last night had been real and not simply another dream.

It took a lot of effort to get out of bed. There was the physical game, where you had to remove yourself from Ben’s grasp without waking him up. It involved slow and measured movements, a lot of stopping and waiting when he shifted or snored a little too loud, and several reevaluations of your methods when Ben just pulled you tighter against him.

Then there was the mental game. Where the question wasn’t could you leave the bed, logistically, but did you even want to? Was it really worth it for two stupid phones? Here you had to convince yourself that you’d woken up to Ben holding you many times before, and this wasn’t any different. This was the same, really. Semantically. You’d be back soon anyway. It would barely be three minutes to go to the living room, grab the phones, and return. But he wasn’t making it easy. He kept bringing you closer, kept making disgruntled sounds when you got a little too far away, and his warm and rough hands on your skin made it hard to do anything that would take them away from you. At one point you were pushing yourself away from Ben’s chest—so close to being home free and able to roll out of the bed—and you brushed up against his morning wood.

You had to take a few deep breaths before you could start moving again.

After a tremendous amount of mental effort, some very strategic and well-timed squirming, and another quarter hour you’d gotten out of Ben’s arms and fallen down to the floor. You’d stood up slowly, tiptoed to the door, and all but ran down the stairs. The phones had fallen under the couch and between the cushions during last night’s events, and you managed to fish them out in only a few minutes. The mission was successful, because you’d gotten the phones in faster than you’d thought you would and Ben was still none the wiser to your absence. Sure, your phone was dead and Ben’s was covered in dust, but you had a charger on your bedside table and Ben would have to just be grateful he got a phone.

Now, you’re climbing up the stairs in soft steps, both phones in hand. When you open the door to your room you start a little, because you see Ben sitting up against the headboard and giving you a frown that borders on a pout, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Good morning,” you say cautiously, scanning his face as you lean against the now-closed door with your hands behind your back.

“Where did you go?”

You blink at Ben’s grumble. “Downstairs? I didn’t mean to wake you-” 

“Why,” Ben snaps, and you realize that—despite the sleep lingering in his eyes—he’s upright, hands clenched at his side, leaning forwards slightly. You can even hear something edged into his voice as he continues. “What the fuck were you doing.”

There’s a warm, humming feeling of need and comfort in your gut. It’s trying to move you towards Ben, to pull the frown off his face with your lips, but it’s not stronger than the spark in your chest. The little, bright desire that makes you feel light. That feeds off of Ben’s deep voice and surly behavior and just him.

“Aw,” you tilt your head at him with a mocking smile. “Did you miss me?”

His frown deepens. “No.” 

“I think you missed me. I think you’re grumpy because you woke up and I wasn’t there.”

His scowl is almost adorable. “I’m not fucking grumpy.” You raised your brows at him with a light, teasing grin on your face. “Shut up.”

You hum. “If you keep whining I’m not giving you your gift.”

“Gift?”

You give Ben a grin. “Guess who earned phone privileges.” You don’t wait for his response before pushing off the door and presenting the phone dramatically. “It starts with you and ends with cunt.”

You throw the phone to him, walking towards the bed as you do, and he catches it with ease. “Brat.”

“Just for that I’m not telling you what your passcode is.”

 “Passcode?” 

“Oh shut up,” you give him a flat look, dropping on the edge of the mattresses. “You know what a passcode is.”

“Phones don’t have passcodes. You open them with your face.”

You snort at Ben’s indignant expression. “Your face?”

“That’s how you fucking open yours,” Ben glances between the phone in his hand and you, holding his gaze as you slowly scooting across the bed to plug your own phone in. “I’m not a goddamn idiot-“

“Then open it.” You nod at the phone, clenched in Ben’s hand. “If I’m wrong, just open it.”

He gives you one last glare, tapping the screen roughly. The phone lights on, displaying a picture of his shield where it's still resting in your bathroom. Ben blinks at the screen, before looking up at you with a frown.

“That’s my shield.”

“I know,” you scan his face, trying to gauge his reaction without touching him. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to choose a wallpaper for Ben’s phone. A band logo felt weird, you’d considered just a stock photo of the Grand Canyon several times, and there was no way you were about to just put his face there. That would’ve meant scrolling through a lot of old Soldier Boy promotional photo shoots, and you had already missed him enough. That would’ve just been cruel to you. Eventually you’d decided the shield was a safe bet, and just taken a photo of it as a placeholder. He could change it later, but you still really wanted him to like it. Which was annoying, because it was just a photo, and he didn’t even know—nor did he have to ever know—how much effort had gone into it. You’d deleted several angles you deemed bad and shots you thought were blurry. He better like it, because that was fifteen minutes of your life you’d never get back.

Ben looked back at the photo with a frown. “How did you get that?”

You blink. “What, the photo?”

He grunts in affirmation, still staring at the screen.

“I took it?” You say slowly, and he looks up at you.

“With what. How did it get there.”

“With a camera? You’re not that old,” you meet Ben’s surly frown with a small smile, nudging his shoulder. A mistake, because his confusion runs through you with something rough and easy that sits in your chest. “You’ve definitely seen a camera before. You lived in front of cameras.”

 “Cameras are big. I’d have fucking notice if you had one.”

“Welcome to the wonders of modern technology,” you reach over his body, flipping the phone over in his hand and tapping the lenses. “Phones have cameras now.”

 You look back up at Ben with a grin, and find him still watching you. The rough and easy thing is growing strong through where you’re touching, and your faces are a lot closer together than you’d realized.

“So, um,” you can’t make yourself move, the intensity of Ben’s gaze locking you against him. “I took the photo. I can show you how-“ 

From the corner of your eye, you see Ben drop the phone just before he kisses you. His hand moves up, cupping your face to angle it where he wants you, and you let him. Because this is real, and it makes your head spin happily. There’s no noise in your head about trying to notice everything around you and fit it into a puzzle, no reeling about what Ben’s thinking. Because you’re falling against his back, leaning over his shoulder, and his lips are soft against yours. All you feel is Ben.

When he pulls back, he has a smug grin on his face. “I can’t believe it’s that easy to shut you up. I should’ve done this months ago.”

“Fuck you,” you try and snap, but the words come out breathless and lustful. “Stop trying to distract me-“

“You don’t seem to be stopping me,” he winks, and you knee him in the back.

“Shut it. Open the phone.”

He rolls his eyes, but picks it up from his lap. He manages to figure out that you need to swipe up himself, and you feel the tight frustration grow in him when the passcode display pops up. You wait several minutes, letting Ben glower at the screen as he aggressively taps it. That frustration builds in him and you feel it move to coil in your stomach from where you still lean over his shoulder. 

“Ready to admit defeat?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, hitting another set of random numbers with a rigid hand. The words too many failed attempts, try again in 1 minute cover the screen, and Ben’s grip on the phone tenses, enough that you’re surprised the screen doesn’t crack. “What does that fucking mean.”

“It means you don’t know the passcode, so the phone is locked for a minute. If you get it wrong four more times, all the data gets erased.”

He turns his head to glare at you. “Fix it.”

“Say you were wrong.”

“No.”

You shrug, “then I’m not fixing it.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Right back at you, Pretty Boy. Say you were wrong.”

“I was fucking wrong. Fix it.” His voice is low, gravely and annoyed with clipped words, but you can still feel the jagged affection in him. So you smile sweetly, grabbing the phone from his hand as the minute ends.

You’re hanging around him, body pressed right against his back, head resting on his shoulder, and arms reaching around his neck as you hold the phone up for you both to see. “It’s 696969,” you enter each number as you speak. “Easy to remember. I can set up the face thing for you later, if you want.”

He grunts, taking the phone back as you return it to his hand. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with it.”

“Whatever you want, I guess. I put in all the contacts you need, and downloaded some apps-“

“Apps? What the fuck are apps?”

“Jesus,” you mutter to yourself, fully realizing you’re going to have to walk Ben through this like he’s a toddler. “Apps are an abbreviation for applications. You put them on your phone for different things, like texting or entertainment or shopping.”

“I don’t need entertainment. I have you.”

His words, paired with the firm way he says them—like simple and obvious fact—make you feel warm and dizzy, but you just hum. “Then just don’t use it for that. It’s your phone, Ben, you do what you want with it.”

“What do you use it for?” His hand comes up to hold your arm around him as he frowns at you.

“My phone?” You have to clarify, because he’s so close and there’s no way he’s not touching you like that on purpose. Trying to make it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Fucking obviously.”

You whack his chest with your free arm. “Shut up.”

“Answer my question.”

You try to tune out how his hand is starting to rub against your arm, now certain he’s doing it deliberately. “I don’t know, what does anyone use phones for? Texting, music, photos, social media, porn-“

“Porn? You use this for porn?”

“Everyone does. There’s lots of porn on the internet, and the internet is on your phone.”

“What kind of porn?”

“All of it,” you shrug. “If you can think of it, it’s a safe bet it’s on there.”

“No,” Ben tugs you forward a little further, grinning cockily. “What kind of porn do you use?”

You gape at him like a fish. “I, uh, I dunno. Regular porn?”

“You can be more fucking specific than that,” his smile is growing, and you can feel his amusement growing with lust. You have to stop yourself drooling as you respond, because his hunger in your gut is making you thirsty, and his face is so unfairly attractive and distractingly close to yours.

“I am not sharing my porn habits with you, Ben.”

“Why the hell not?” He says your name and it vibrates through you. “I can promise you, it won’t be something I haven’t fucking seen before. If it’s porn, I’ve seen it.”

That makes you snort. “I doubt that.”

The hunger in Ben grows, moving down, down, down into you. “What kind of freaky shit are you into that I wouldn’t have seen, Sunshine?”

“No, that’s not-“ you take a deep breath, because you need to defend yourself, and that’s hard to do when everything feels hot and aching. “There’s like, a lot of porn on the internet. A lot. And I can promise you there’s some shit that even you’ve never seen.”

“Promise?” You can’t meet Ben’s eyes as he teases you, because you can feel the strength of his desire and that alone is making you feel faint and feverish. Looking at him would be counterproductive. “That’s a dangerous fucking promise to make, beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He hums. “I think you need to prove it.” You don’t answer, still refusing to let yourself look at him, and Ben tugs at your arm slightly. “Can you fucking prove it?”

“It is not my job to prove that the internet has porn,” you manage to mumble, and he chuckles.

“Maybe not, but I think we’re a little fucking past only doing things for our jobs.”

“Fuck you.”

Suddenly, Ben is pulling you around his body, using his hold on your arm to spin you into his lap. His other hand moves up, running through your hair and pulling your head up to look at him, and his whole face is alight with almost ravenous hunger. You can’t look away, even if you wanted to.  He leans forward, until he’s just a fraction of an inch from you, and whispers, “All you have to do is fucking ask, and you can.”

You can’t stop yourself from grabbing his shirt, forcing him forward to close the space between you. This kiss isn’t quite as brutal as last night, but that doesn’t mean it’s not just as desperate. Your legs wrap around Ben’s torso, trying to bring him closer as he tugs at your hair to make your head move further back. His arm is back around you, pushing you up against him as he groans into your mouth, and it makes you moan in response. You can feel him, growing hard against your ass as he sucks on your lower lip, and you’ve never felt a devouring need as strong as the one in Ben that’s climbing through your blood and up your spine. It takes every single sliver and bit of willpower you possess to not just give into him, let Ben just keep going until every part of you is flooded with just him and his body.

It’s just lust, a small voice ringings in your head. Not what you have. Only lust. 

But that sharp and loud feeling in Ben’s chest is still there. It’s pushing against the lust, making it bigger. And he’s right here, and breathing raggedly into your mouth. His muscles are rippling around you, and his whole body is controlled like he’s holding himself back. He feels so good, and all he’s doing is kissing you. It would be so easy to make him feel like this, to return all he’s giving you by touching him where he’s pushing into your skin.

But if you do that, you’ll just be falling further. You’d already failed to stop yourself just tasting him in the simplest way. If you reached down, even if you were just giving him your hand, that would be another thing you’d need to have forever. Another thing that made you need more.

So when Ben pulls back, first just taking a sharp breath before leaning back down for one last, wet, heavy kiss before resting his forehead against yours, you have to chose your words carefully, picking them out and saying them slowly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?“ You ask, your heart still pounding in your ears.

“Okay with what?” He grunts, and you almost moan just from his voice. Deep and hoarse and just as needy as you feel.

“This being it right now. Not, you know,” you glance down pointedly. “More.”

“Of fucking course I am.” Ben sounds offended, like the answer no is unfathomable to him. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be.” 

“Because, uh,” you lean back a little to fully meet his eyes, your voice unsteady. “You’re you.”

He scowls, and you can feel his frustration return like a train crashing into you. Tight and sour in his chest. “What the fuck does that mean.”

It’s hard to keep looking at him. “You founded herogasm. 40% of what you say is some sort of innuendo. It’s not bad,” your own voice is anxious, because you think, know, that you want Ben—just physically, not to mention the other part—more than he wants you. If this pushes him away, makes him stop kissing you until your mouth is slightly swollen and you’re aching, you’d hate yourself for taking that away from you. “It’s really not. But I just, I can’t do the uh, bigger stuff,” bad word choice, because you can still feel him against your thigh and now all you can think about is shifting to bring him closer. “So I just, I just want to make sure this is enough. For you.”

The sourness is still in him, but his voice isn’t bitter or angry when he speaks. It’s almost stern. “You fucking trust me, yeah?” 

“Of course I do.” The words had barely left his mouth when you answer, your response almost instinctual.

“Then believe me when I say that I’m more than damn fine with this.”

You shake your head. “It’s more complicated than that, Ben-“

“No it’s not. I want this, you want this. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t also want to fuck you, because I’m not a damn pussy and I really fucking do.” He pushes his hips upwards to emphasize the evidence against you, and you have to bite down a whine. “You don’t have a goddamn clue how fucking bad I want you. But I’m not going to make you do a damn thing you don’t want.”

“I do want,” your words are weak, and you can’t stop them falling out of you. “Want you. I want you. But it’s just, I can’t-“

“Is this enough for you?” Ben says your name, scanning your face with that look that strings every piece of you apart for him to have.

No.

“Yes.”

He nods roughly, moving you a little further up against his chest. “Then stop asking stupid questions.”

Being so close to him makes every part of you a little higher—a little—and it’s easy to say, “make me.” 

Ben laughs, and it’s loud and smooth and comfortable. “Brat.”

You open your mouth to say something, probably, but any and all words are forgotten when his mouth slams back into yours. In only a heartbeat his arms tighten under yours as his knee is pushing you further upwards by your ass, standing up off the bed with one steady and fluid movement. You can hear the sound of his phone falling to the ground, but can’t really bring yourself to care because Ben’s dropping his head to your neck and sucking at it as he walks you backwards, sitting you with surprising care against the dresser. He’s running his hands up your back, into your hair, holding you still while his mouth finds your collarbone. Kissing a line across it and making you moan right into his ear-

A small, annoyed sound escapes your throat when he pulls back with a lazy grin. “Yogurt and toast?”

“Wha…” You trail off, your brain struggling to return to speech in the fog of Ben still holding your thigh and tracing a thumb across your cheekbone. 

“Yogurt and toast.”

“I heard you,” you frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ben moves forwards just a quarter-step, and you’re made aware of the fact that he’s standing between your legs. “Breakfast. What the fuck else could I be talking about.”

“I don’t know, I just wasn’t thinking about breakfast.” 

“What were you thinking about?” 

You shove at his chest, and he doesn’t even pretend to be affected. “Fuck you.” 

“I could’ve guessed that,” Ben winks, and your whole face becomes heated. 

“You can’t just make that same joke every time I say that,” you manage to grumble. “It’s not going to get funnier.” 

“It’s not supposed to be funny, it’s supposed to make you horny,” he scans your body slowly, leaning into his, thighs pressed together, hands grabbing at his shirt. “And I’d say it’s doing its job real fucking well.”

“Fuck-“ you scowl as you cut yourself off. His eyes return to yours, glowing with the smug, satisfied feeling you can feel near his gut. You stick your tongue out at him as a backup plan, which immediately backfires because Ben nips at it quickly before kissing you one last time. It’s messy and long and the moment you completely give into it he’s gone.

“Get changed,” Ben tells you as he walks towards the hallway door. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“You’re a fucking tease!” you call after him, and his snort echoes through the house.

It only takes you a minute to change, time that is mostly spent collecting yourself and checking your now-charged phone. There’s a testing message from Mallory that you give thumbs up to, a simple hi from Kimiko you respond to with a smile, and a very long and detailed text from Annie about the details of Stand Edgar’s deal that you decide to read later in favor of Butchers more to-the-point words.

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Soldier Boy’s blasting Neuman for Edgar. Need a day to set it up, then we move. Can’t let word get to her.

You pick Ben’s phone up from where it had landed just under the bed, and make your way downstairs. Ben is waiting for you in the kitchen, sitting at the counter and glaring at the doorway before he sees you. His mouth opens to say something when you come into view, but before he can you’re throwing his phone to his face without warning.

He catches it—You’d hadn’t bothered to worry about if he would, because you’d see him catch a knife out of the air while stomping up the stairs—and gives you an annoyed frown. “You changed too slow.”

“You didn’t give me a time limit,” you walk around to sit beside him as you speak. “Butcher says they only need a day before we move on Neuman.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Lovely. Open your phone.” 

“Why,” he grumbles, and you shrug.

“To prove you were listening and remember the passcode.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but glares down at the device in his hand. You watch in amusement as his face draws into a focused frown, angrily smashing the numbers on the display with his forefinger. When it unlocks he looks at you with a self-satisfied grin. “Fucking piece of cake.”

“Uh huh,” you give him a mocking nod and smile. “Now send a text.” 

“A text?” 

“If you’re such a tech savant, send a text,” your smile becomes genuine and toothy as his eyes narrow at your teasing. “One, simple fucking text. Whatever you want, to whoever you want.”

Ben holds your grin with his glower before glancing back at the phone. “Whatever I want?”

“That’s what I said. I can help if you ask very nicely.”

Ben looks back at you, his expression remarkably determined. “I can do it my fucking self. Shut up and eat your breakfast.” 

Only as Ben’s pushing the food closer towards you—attention now entirely focused on the phone—do you see it. He’s put yogurt on a plate, something that he’s done several times before and seems to have no interest in stopping, no matter how many times you tell him it’s just plain weird. There’s a slight improvement in that he has made some sort of attempt to separate the yogurt from the toast, laying the spoon between them in an attempted barrier. The result is almost nothing, if anything now you just have to deal with a yogurt-covered spoon, but it’s still confusingly heart-warming. The gentle feeling that grows in your chest is only spurred on by glancing at Ben’s plate—hardly touched and forgotten in front of him—and seeing that he has just a little less yogurt than you and that there’s no jam on his toast.

“Ben?” you ask slowly, and he grunts in a signal to keep talking. “Where’s your jam?”

“What the fuck are you talking about. Is this slang I’m supposed to learn, because I’d rather you shove a fucking bomb up my ass-“

“It’s not slang, dummy. Your literal jam. That you always put on your toast. Where is it?”

“We ran out.” 

You stare at your own toast, almost drowning in red jam. “And the yogurt?” 

“What about the yogurt?”

“You barely have any.”

He’s not looking up as he responds, “Out of that shit as well.” 

You blink at him. “We got groceries yesterday.” 

“It’s not my goddamn fault Mallory’s a terrible fucking shopper-“ 

“No, I don’t care about that. I can just text her later. Why’d you give me all the stuff?”

“You need to eat.” Ben’s answer is flat and bored.

“So do you. You have the metabolism of a hummingbird-“ 

That makes him look up. “A hummingbird?”

“They have famously high metabolism, they have to eat two times their body weight daily. But that’s not the point-“

“Why do you know that?” He sounds bemused, frowning at you.

You give a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, why does anyone know anything. Ben, you need to eat as-“

“You know so much weird shit.” You can’t read his tone, and have to fight the urge to touch him and find out if he’s annoyed or bored or amused-

Shaking your head, you manage to move on. “You’re trying to distract me.” 

“Maybe.” Ben’s shoulder nudges yours. “But it’s not my fault it’s real fucking easy to do it.” 

You’re gaping at him a little—he’s looking at the phone again with a thin-lipped frown of concentration—because all you felt when your shoulders connected, arms brushing, was simple affection. Pure and sitting in his chest and head like air. It’s making the small voice reminding you not to try and make this go further harder to hear, making you need to know more. You’re about to say something, push him for what he meant by his comment, why he put the extra food on your plate, maybe circle back to the question pounding in your head of why are you okay with just this. I’m glad you are, I’m unspeakably grateful, but why. You shouldn’t be. Fucking hell, Ben, I’m barely okay with this. I haven’t told you why I need this, not really, so why in living hell are you happy with just this?

But your phone buzzes before you can. 

Ben looks up at you with a pleased, cocky smirk. “Check your phone, Sunshine.” 

You pick it up off the table—angling the screen away from Ben so he can’t see his contact name—and glance up at his straight, self-satisfied posture and smug face before you read his text. 

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You look hot when your being annoying 

You read it a few times before you look up at him. “You used the wrong you’re. It should have an apostrophe, it’s a contraction.” 

“That’s all you have to say?” 

“What am I supposed to say?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Thank you?” 

“Or that I’m hot. Return the fucking compliment. I worked hard on it, and texting is fucking stupid.” 

You roll your eyes. “Your compliment sounds like you're a teenager who just found out his dick wasn’t just for pissing.”

Ben frowns, picking up his phone again. You watch him type at little faster this time, still one finger at a time but with an almost zealous focus. Your phone buzzes again, and he looks up at you with an intense gaze and speaks with sharp words. “Read that one.”

You sigh, but do. 

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You are so beautiful that if I got to fuck you a thousand times it would only make you more beautiful so I’d keep fucking you forever 

You stare at it for a second, because it’s so shockingly sweet and graphic it’s making your body incredibly confused. Half of you is moved, and wants to kiss him gently and smile at him until he says something like that again. The other half want him to fuck you right here, then on the floor, then in the hallway, then on the stairs, and on and on until you’ve covered the whole house.

“Better?” He grunts, and you look up at him with a heated face.

“Yeah, um. Yeah.” You give a dry laugh. “And here I thought I wasn’t your type.”

That makes him scowl, and his voice is an annoyed grumble. “What made you fucking think that.”

“For one, all my teeth are real and I can walk without a cane.”

Ben’s face becomes a little lighter. “I fuck one old lady in front of Butcher and Cocksucker and all you dumbass idiot pussies think I only fuck old ladies.” 

“No, I just think it’s hilarious.”

“Well, you’re not a fucking idiot,” He mutters, and your smile must look downright insane.

“And your compliment game is getting better by the second,” you bite into your toast, speaking through crumbs. “Am I allowed to teach you about internet slang? Or are you going to shove a bomb up your ass.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you fucking want, Sunshine,” Ben shrugs.

“So that’s a yes?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

You roll your eyes. “Ben,” you exaggerate his name in your drawl, leaning forward as you swallow. “If I were to try and teach you about the internet, would you listen to me or be a huge fucking baby about it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I am not a fucking baby-“ 

“I said huge fucking baby.” 

“Shut the fuck up. And you couldn’t make me learn about internet slang if you cut off my dick,” Ben winks. “Which, as I’ve been damn telling you, would hurt you more than me.”

“I don’t think you know how pain works,” you mutter, taking another bite. 

“My point still fucking stands.” 

You examine Ben carefully. “What if I asked nicely? Would you listen then?” 

“No.” 

“What if I said please.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Why not?” You pout. “What if I said it’s important to me?” 

Ben snorts. “This isn’t fucking important to you.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yeah, I do.” Ben leans forward until he’s only a breath away. “You just want to try and teach me shit. Even though it never fucking works out for you.” 

“Really?” You hum. “Because you just sent me a text on a phone, Pretty Boy. Could you do that in December?” 

“You sure think mighty high of yourself, Sunshine. I could’ve figured it out my goddamn self.” 

“I think highly of myself,” you smile, moving close enough that your lips are brushing Ben’s but never fully touching. “Because I’m right.” 

Ben grunts, staring at your mouth like he can will it to be closer. “Brat.” 

You don’t miss a beat. “Cunt. You know, I wouldn’t just teach you about slang. I could show you where to find the porn.”

“I thought that wasn’t your fucking job?” 

“It isn’t,” Neither of you will close that final gap. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat from Ben’s body, hear his breathing turn heavy. “But I can see a few ways in which it could benefit me.”

Ben’s eyes shoot to yours, and his voice is a growl. “Like what.” 

“I could tell you, or just show you,” you twist your face in mock concern. “But that would be teaching you and that never works out for me-“ 

You know you’ve won—the game you’d fallen into and the argument—because Ben kisses you. Rough and consuming, pushing his mouth to yours with a feral sound and holding your jaw with a firm hand. You let him pull you closer, relaxing into his touch and taste and smell and everything. It’s all just Ben. Picking you up with one arm, standing without ever parting from you, letting your hands scratch at his back and neck as he only kisses you more. You might be grinding against him because he groans, and his grip starts to crush you into his body. You whimper when he bounces you further up his body, making you angle your head down to stay connected to his mouth. To keep that hunger eating you in the best possible way. To keep the roar in your heart climbing up into your head and making everything so simply Ben. Coffee and salt and strawberries and Ben. 

He pulls back so abruptly you whine, and scans your face with narrow eyes. “We’re going to try something.” 

“How specific,” your grumble is breathless, but your glare at least feels strong. “Are you going to tell me what that means?” 

“If you would be patient for once in your damn life, I’d have told you already.”

“Fuck yo-“ His splits into a wide grin, and you know you didn’t cut yourself off in time.

“That’s actually a part of this, Sunshine.” Ben starts to walk out of the kitchen, still holding you slightly above him. “Aren’t you just a fucking genius.”

You frown at him. “I thought you were okay without-“ 

“I told you to stop fucking asking that,” Ben snaps, squeezing his grip around your waist and on your thighs. You can feel the resolved stone feeling running around you with that same bitterness from before. “You told me you trust me, prove it. Stop asking stupid questions about if I’m okay with this when I obviously fucking am.” He stops in the middle of the dining room. “Understood?” 

“Understood,” you mumble, and Ben rolls his eyes before kissing you again. This one is quick, and even though it only lasts a second you’re still burning when he pulls away. 

“Try again, like you actually fucking mean it this time.” 

Even as you wrinkle your nose at him, your voice becomes louder and you believe you more. “Understood.” 

“Good,” Ben nods, but still doesn’t let you go. “We’re going to do a new reward system.” 

You blink at him—your head still in a little of a daze—unsure if you heard correctly. “What?” 

“No more favors. You keep using them for stupid shit like TV and making me read.” Ben’s face scrunches in disgust at the very memory of books. “This will be more effective anyway.” 

“You still haven’t told me what this is. It might be dogshit. It might get you burnt a lot today.” Even as you snark at him, you have a feeling you know exactly what he’s talking about. And you will never tell him that he’s right. If this is going where you think it’s going, it will definitely be effective. 

“It’s not,” Ben lowers you down his body, not letting go until your feet are steady on the ground. “And I’m not too worried about burns. We’re not working on that today.” 

That catches you off guard. “We’re not?” 

“Nope,” Ben leans down to your eye level with a wide, cocky smile. “You’re going to sing, whatever the hell you want, and you’re going to control it.”

“I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” Ben’s tone is firm. “You will. Even if it takes us a hundred goddamn years, you will.”

You want to argue. You might just literally not be able to control it. That might simply be a part of the power. But Ben also said a hundred years. A hundred years that you would get to have him. So you can only mumble a protest of, “I really can’t control it now. I might, uh, make stuff happen you don’t want to see.”

“What could I possibly not want to see,” Ben says, giving you an incredulous look. “Sex? Death? Torture? Which of those do you think would make me gasp like a pussy grasping their fucking Sunday pearls.” 

“That’s not what I meant, you dick. It might be emotional. More than just lights and dancing. Intim-“ You stumble over yourself, because that word might be too much. “It might just be parts of me you don’t want to see.” 

“I think I’ll fucking manage,” Ben drawls, and you sigh. 

“Benjamin-“ 

“Don’t Benjamin me,” Ben snaps your name. “There’s not a thing you could show me that would make me walk away now. You burn, I burn. Not controlling this is something that makes you more afraid Homelander.” 

Not a question, but you nod nervously. “I guess, yeah.” 

“Then we’re going to make it better.” Ben takes a large step back, and you tilt your head at him. 

“You still haven’t actually told me what the new reward system is.” 

He winks, “do one thing on purpose, and I’ll let you teach me two things about my phone.”

“You’ll let me?” You scoff. “That feels like it’s more beneficial to you than me.” 

“Well, I’ll also suck on your beautiful fucking face until you’re begging me to fuck you. And then I won’t, because I’m a gentleman. And you wouldn’t be of sound mind.” 

“Cunt.” You grumble, and he just shrugs with a smirk. 

“Brat.” 

“How will you know I did something on purpose?” You cross your arms, wrinkling your nose at him. “I could just lie.” 

“What a good fucking point,” Ben says your name, grin never dropping. “This is why you’re the brains.” 

“I thought I was the beauty. You were very bitchy about that.” 

“You’re all three, and I’m the pimp. Tell me what you’re going to be trying to make happen.”

You scowl. “I don’t fucking know, I didn’t have time to prepare an idea-“ 

“It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just whatever pops into your damn head.”

“But-“ 

“We can fight about this all fucking day,” Ben shrugs. “Or you can say what you’re thinking in three, two-“ 

“Strawberries!” You blurt, glaring at him. “Fucking strawberries.” 

His brows raise. “Strawberries?” 

“You said whatever pops into my head. I’m making a grocery list, fucking sue me.”

“You think you can make strawberries work?” Ben watches you, trying to pick you apart with slow words and a stupidly handsome face. 

“No. Because this won’t work.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Can you fucking try to make it work?” 

“Maybe.”

“Then get a move on.” 

You cross your arms. “What the hell am I supposed to sing?” 

“Whatever the hell you want,” he grins. “But could you let me know ahead of time if my clone will be joining us?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, and Ben laughs, leaning back against the wall. “Are you just going to watch me?” 

Ben shrugs, still smiling widely at you. You told me to shut up. Deal with the consequences, Sunshine.

You stick your tongue out at him, flipping him off at the same time, and he just snorts. 

It takes you a full minute to choose a song. Can’t do a sex song, can’t do a romance song, can’t do any that opens up the chance of Fake Ben showing up again. Not when Real Ben is watching you on the other side of the room and might explode if his ego gets any bigger. Can’t do a song about pain or abuse, can’t do Smash Mouth, can’t do anything that makes you think of Homelander. You could do a recession-type pop song, but that just feels weird.

There’s—as there always is—an easy and obvious solution. Moon River. You know, at least in theory, what will happen. Ben knows the song, knows about what it means to you. Moon River, plain and simple. 

You don’t bother trying to look at Ben when you start. You have no interest in seeing him, seeing his reaction or demeanor as you do this. So you chose a scorch mark on the wall, glue your eyes to it, and sing. Quietly at first, but you find a rhythm and it builds until your voice feels clear and strong. The instrumentals kick in faster this time, smooth guitar and strings and cymbals. The changes to the world are a little different this go, however. You’re not in your childhood bedroom, but a distorted version of the safe house bedroom. The horse paintings are blurred, and it’s not clean anymore—small signs of both you and Ben scattered across the area in shirts and towels, a book on your nightstand and a ben’s supe suit across the bed—but it feels more comfortable. More natural. The sky does open again, flooding the area with light from stars that are a little closer than they should be, and you can feel a warm breeze moving in from above. You can smell pine trees and rain and coffee and the ocean and strawberries- 

Strawberries. The song is almost over and you haven’t even tried to make strawberries appear. You could write off the smell as your attempt, Ben doesn’t know how this works and you could likely sell it, but you want to win. You don’t want to trick him and come out on top. You want to win and fucking earn it.

Which is really annoying. Cheating is easier.

You try to focus. Strawberries. Maybe a field of them, maybe just a large vine of their flowers that climbs up the wall. Anywhere they want to be, as long as there’s strawberries. But no matter how hard you think strawberries. All across the room, or on the floor, or sprouting out of your face, strawberries, nothing happens.

The song draws to a close, and the world fades back into you and Ben in the dining room.

“It didn’t work,” you say flatly.

“Go again,” Ben pushes off the wall, walking to sit in one of the less-than sturdy chairs in the corner of the room. “We’ve got all fucking day.” 

You sigh. “It’s only 10:30.” 

“And we’ll be here until you get this.” 

“You’re a fucking cunt.” 

“You love it, brat. Go again.” 

You scoff, even as your heart becomes a little faster in your chest, and start the song over. This time, you glare at Ben the whole way, and nothing happens. 

“Again.” 

It takes seven hours. You don’t bother changing the song, half because you’re stubborn and half because it’s established a clean pattern of events. Bedroom, instruments, sky, wind, comfort. Over and over and over, slowly becoming more solid, the images and sensations in less of a haze. It’s not purposeful, so you haven’t won, but the practice is—annoyingly—making you stronger. Ben notices, you can tell by his stupidly pleased smirk, but doesn’t say anything. Around 1, he leaves the room with only a short order for you to keep going and returns with two bagels. He passes one to you wordlessly, and when you drop to the floor—eating with your legs crossed beneath you—Ben scoffs. But he also lowers himself to your side, inhaling his bagel with his knee pressed against yours and a hand on your thigh. You can feel that content, smooth and effortless in Ben’s chest. Flowing in time with that stone resolve wrapping around you, around him. Neither of you speak—you don’t really feel like you need to—and when you finish your bagels within seconds of each other, Ben squeezes his hand once before standing and returning to his chair.

It’s 5:30 when it happens. You’ve been at this all day, you’re tired, but you kept going and going and now, when your illusions have become a clear and perfect replica of the world, it happens. A single strawberry flower, sprouting in a glowing rainbow mist on the mattress. You can hear Ben’s chair squeak when he sees it, even if the sound only echoes distantly over your orchestra, and you almost stutter to halt in shock. But when you push forwards—voice becoming a little frantic, a little off-pitched—the plant grows. Overtaking the bed, covering the sheets and pillows until it’s all green leaves and blooming red fruit.

When the song finds its natural conclusion, you look over at Ben with wide-eyes. He’s staring at where the bed was, now dissipated into a colorful mist through the dining room. 

“How the fuck did you do that?” His voice is gruff, looking at you with an intense, unblinking stare.

“I don’t know, it just sort of happened-“ 

“Can you do it again?” 

“I don’t know, Ben.” You rub your face, your eyes becoming heavy. “I’m tired-“ 

He stands so suddenly it almost makes you start. Without warning Ben crosses the room, picks you up, and carries you out of the dining room.

“What are you-“

Ben cuts off your mumbled protest. “You look like shit.” 

“Rude,” you grumble, shoving his chest. “You’re the asshole who made me work all day.” 

“And I’d fucking do it again,” Ben holds you a little tighter as you climb the stairs. “You got stronger. You controlled it. And now you’re going to take a shower, because you look like shit.” 

“Again, that’s rude-“ 

Ben kisses your nose, pushing the door to your room open with his foot. “Beautiful shit. But shit.” 

“You’re real lucky I don’t kick your ass, Pretty Boy.” You huff, and Ben chuckles against you. 

“I don’t think you’ve got the energy to kick anyone’s ass right now,” Ben drawls your name as he sets you down on the mattress. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

Ben ignores you. “Go shower, Sunshine. I’ll bring up dinner, and then you’re going the hell to bed.”

“You’re a dick, Benjamin!” Your voice raises to a half-hearted shout as he leaves the room, and you can hear the amusement in his voice when he shouts back.

“Fucking shower!” 

You roll your eyes—sticking your tongue out at the empty hallway—but stand and walk to the bathroom. Not because Ben told you, but because you’re sweaty and gross and somehow sore despite only standing. It’s a tight feeling running along your muscles, stronger under your arms and circling your forehead, aching behind your knees. You take your time with the shower, letting steam fill the room and simply standing in the hot, gentle fall of the water until you hear Ben’s loud steps re-enter the room.

When you leave the bathroom, changed into a sleep shirt and your hair wrapped in a towel, Ben’s standing tall and rigid in the middle of the room. There’s a plate of something that might be spaghetti in one hand, and your phone in the other. 

“You got a text from Hughie,” he grunts, passing you both the plate and the phone. 

“Oh, what did he-“ you stop yourself, looking up at Ben with a gaping smile. “Did you just say Hughie?” 

“Shut up.” 

“No, no. You said Hughie. You’ve never called him Hughie.” 

“Shut up,” Ben mutters, stomping past you to the bathroom. “I’m going to shower.” 

You set the plate down on the dresser, spinning to grab his arm. He stops, turning to look at you with a glare, and you push through the haze of his care and hunger and annoyance and there’s that strange tightness again- “Are you okay?” 

Ben scoffs. “I’m fucking fine. I’m not a weak-“ 

“Pussy, I know. You’re being grumpy again.” 

“I’m not grumpy.” 

“Uh huh,” you raise your brows at him, letting disbelief coat your voice and cover your face. “Why’d you call Hughie his name?” 

“Am I not allowed to call people their damn names?”

“Not when you’ve only called them Cocksucker before.” 

Ben yanks his arm from you, taking a long, labored breath before grumbling, “That kid is the only one of those pussies who seems to genuinely mean it when he says shit. I can respect that.” He walks into the bathroom, glancing back at you once. “Read his fucking text.”

You stare at the door for a second after it closes before picking up the fork Ben had stuck into the spaghetti, taking a large bite as you open your phone. 

Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy

Are you okay? Just wanted to check after all the Tek Knight shit.

I’m really sorry about that. I should’ve pushed Butcher.

Kimiko wants to know too, but she threw her phone at The Deep during a fight and it broke. 

You smile softly at the screen. 

I’m good. Really. I’ll see you tomorrow for Neuman.

Tell Kimiko I hope she kicked The Deep’s ass. 

“Ben!” you call, knocking on the door. “The shower’s not on, I know you can hear me!”

“What?!” He snaps, opening the door just enough for you to see his bare chest. 

“Um,” you swallow, trying not to look further down. “Do you want ice cream?” 

He scans your face. “Vanilla?” 

“Sure, old man,” you grin, and Ben scowls. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

He starts to close the door, but you stick your arm forward to stop him. “Thank you.” 

“You fucking volunteered to get me the ice cream, I don’t have thank you-“ 

“No, you dumbass.” You whack what you can reach of his shoulder. Mistake, because powerful heat and desire and something loud that makes everything sharp pieces through you. “I’m saying thank you.” 

He frowns, leaning forward a little. It takes active effort not to drop your gaze. “For what.” 

“The food. Bringing my phone up,” you give him a teasing grin. “Sitting with me tomorrow for internet lessons.” 

Ben snorts, opening the door to stand fully before you. By some sort of miracle, his pants are still on. He lets go of the door for a second, cupping your face in his hands and he examines your face. “Fucking brat,” he mutters, and you scoff. 

“I’m starting to you’ve forgotten my name-“

He all but picks you up off the ground, and this time he’s gentle. Every part of this kiss is soft, from his mouth to his hold on you. It’s long and careful and so tender it might break you. When he pulls back, he draws circles along your cheeks, smirking down at you. 

“Two things,” he says your name in that low, deep way that makes everything spin a little. “You get to teach me two things. If you try to pull three on me, the sucking face is off the table.”

He retreats back into the bathroom, closing the door, and you’re left dumbfounded in the bedroom, swaying slightly to nothing at all.

You go down stairs after inhaling your spaghetti, returning with two bowls of ice cream. You sit on the bed as you eat your small helping, having put practically the remainder of the pint in Ben’s bowl, which is waiting for him on the dresser. Taking the infinite amount of time provided by Ben’s shower, you run over the day in your head, trying to pin-point what had changed. How you had controlled it. Any small shift in the late afternoon that you could use. Implement further. But it only devolved into you playing Ben’s words and actions on loop in your head. How easy he was touching you, like it was the most absurdly natural thing for him in the world. How quickly he had, you had, fallen into the habit of it. Because it was natural. It was easy and everything, and you’d expected it to feel different. To be tense, or awkward, a strange dance you didn’t know how to navigate.

But it felt the same. Your thirst was stronger, trying to take root in your brain and make you pull Ben into you, but everything else felt the same. 

And that was terrifying. 

You hear the shower turn off, a chew at your tongue as you stare at the door. The moment it opens, Ben walking through with wet hair falling across his eyes and a bare chest, you speak. Because if you don’t blurt out your words now, you’d just get lost in him and his stupid face and stupid body and he smells so good- 

“What if I fucked a dog?” 

Ben stops in the middle of the room, staring at you in confusion. “What the actual fucking hell are you talking about.” 

“You said there wasn’t a thing that could make you walk away. What if I fucked a dog?” 

“Did you fuck a dog?” 

“No, that’s just an example.” 

“Why the hell is that your example?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head nervously. “That’s not the point. If I did fuck a dog, would you that make you walk away?” 

He snorts, picking his ice cream. “Are you going to fuck a dog?” 

“No, but that’s not the point-“ 

Ben says your name, bumping your thigh with his as he sits at your side. “If you fucked a dog I would have a fuck ton of questions. But I wouldn’t walk away.” 

“Really?” 

“I might check you into an asylum,” he shrugs, taking a large bite of ice cream. “But I’d make sure it’s one that offers conjugal visits.” 

You give a flat look. “I would not attend conjugal visits with the man who checked me into an asylum.” 

“You’re the one who fucked a dog in this scenario,” he speaks through his mouthful, and a little ice cream dribbles onto his beard. “I’m just being a responsible, upstanding citizen.” 

That makes you laugh. “Oh, fuck off. You’ve never been an upstanding citizen in your life.” 

“I work for the CIA, Sunshine.” Ben says smugly. “Not much more fucking upstanding than that.” 

“We both work for the CIA,” you try not to stare at where drops of ice cream are smeared on his face. You want to lick them off, but you are also not moving first. “And, as I’ve told you before, we don’t actually work for the CIA. We don’t get paid.” 

“We need to fucking talk to Mallory about that,” Ben grunts. “We’re carrying her whole pussy fucking team on our backs. We deserve to be paid.” 

“What part of legally dead still isn’t getting through to you?” 

“The part that means we don’t get paid. It’s fucking exploitation.” 

You snort. “Yeah, you’re really suffering in this arrangement. All you get is a free phone, free internet, free food, and a free house.” 

“And you,” he winks. “Free you.” 

That makes your whole body loose and hot. “Shut up.” 

“Are you going to show me porn tomorrow?” He muses, ignoring you. “I’ve well fucking earned it.” 

“Fuck you.” 

This time it’s purposeful. This time you can’t stop staring at Ben’s full lips, covered in vanilla, or stop leaning into his study, warm body. This time you’re setting him up, dangling the bait in front of him, daring him to take it. 

He does. 

Ben tugs you forward until you’re tucked right at your side, his arm around your shoulders so his hand can tilt your mouth up to his. You don’t hesitate to lick his lips when they find yours, taking the sweetness of the sugar combined with just him onto your tongue. Saltier, stronger, better than anything you’ve ever tasted before. He bites your tongue lightly when you do it again, pushing back with his own until you whimper, your hand darting to his face to try and get more. You’re vaguely aware of Ben setting the ice cream to the side, and suddenly he’s pulling you down, then over his chest once he’s flat on his back. You slide one hand into his hair, letting your weight rest entirely against him and grinding down on his abdomen until he groans your name. His hand grip your hips, stilling you completely, tugging you down just enough that you can feel him hard, prodding into your thigh. 

Ben looks down at you, eyes hooded, voice gravelly. “If you don’t want more right fucking now, you need to stop that.” 

Nothing is more difficult than nodding, trying to get a hold of your body and not just letting yourself crash forwards. Letting Ben take everything. “Sorry-“ 

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps, moving one hand up your back until it’s holding the back of your head, running fingers through your hair. “Never apologize to me.” 

You smile at him, toothy and careless. “Even if I fuck a dog?” 

He snorts. “Way to ruin the fucking mood.” 

“It’s a talent.” 

Ben lowers your head onto his chest in a slow movement, and you don’t stop him. When he speaks, you can feel his voice everywhere. “I think it’s bedtime for you, beautiful.” 

“Just because I ruined the mood?” You mumble a protest, but he’s warm and secure around you. Making you sleepy. 

“Because you’re actively fighting to stay the hell awake. Sleep.” 

You try to keep arguing, but all that comes out is an incoherent hum. This might become a problem, how if Ben just kisses you and holds you, your body will listen to him more than it ever listens to you. But it doesn’t feel like one now. It just feels safe, surrounded by the smell of pine and still tasting vanilla.

Just before your eyes close you feel Ben press one last kiss to the top of your head, and that’s all it takes for sleep to find you. 

You’re on the floor of the dining room, Ben above you, your hands scratch his back as he laughs against your mouth. 

“Ready for more, Sunshine?” His voice rolls through your whole body, and you nod almost manically. 

“Yes. Fuck, yes.” 

He pulls back, watching you lust-blown eyes, and everything is life and green and good and Ben. “Beg.” 

“You dick-“ 

He leans down so his nose is bumping yours. “Convince me you want everything. Beg.” 

“I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t. Try again.” 

Dignity doesn’t really feel important right now. Not when you want everything. Not when Ben is offering. Offering everything. “Please. I want this. I’ve wanted this. Just fuck me, you fucking cunt.” 

He chuckles, kissing around your mouth. “That’s not very nice.” 

“Please fuck me. I want you, Benjamin, you insufferable asshole. I want you, I need you, I-“ 

That’s all it takes. He’s falling back onto you, into you, almost eating you because he’s everything and why did you even bother trying to fight that. Who cares if you can’t go back. Why would you even want to? You just want him, and now you have him, and he has you. Right now he has you, and maybe he wants to keep you the same way you want to keep him. It’s just you and Ben, and nothing else is real except you and Ben. 

You’re woken suddenly by Ben bucking up into you. When you blink away the fog of sleep from your eyes, he’s fast asleep, still holding you with his head pressed back into the pillow. You’d somehow moved up his body in the night, finding your head on Ben’s shoulder, your face pressed into his neck. 

He’s not having a nightmare. There’s no building light or heat in his chest, no pain or distress moving from his body to yours. Only hunger. Vast and aching hunger that moves between your legs. A deep, growling sound leaves Ben’s mouth, paired with another rough jerk into the air and his hand fisting into the ends of your hair. Then he moans, right into your ear, and any lingering drowsiness is burned out of your body. Because that moan was long and borderline incoherent, but it sounded like a word. Like your name. And this time when he pushes his groin into the air you can feel him, long and hard, poking against the lowest curve of your ass. 

Someone is out to get you. Some hidden facet of the universe has an agenda against you, because Ben is having a sex dream and moaning—as far as you can tell—your name. Because his sex dream just woke you up from your sex dream. About him. And you’re still horny and wet and thirsty and he’s hungry and his cock is only inches from where your desire for him is becoming painful. And to top it all off, Ben’s holding you against his body with such a confusing combination of reverence and strength that not a single chance you can wiggle away without waking him. 

And if you wake him, there’s nothing in the world that could stop you from giving every single part of yourself to him. So you have to ride it out, unable to fall back asleep, as Ben continues to fuck the air against you. Making the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever heard, sounds that echo through your body from where you’ve pressed your face into his neck, and leave imprints in your gut and heart and head. This qualifies as torture, you decide, because right now if Ben asked you any question, you’d tell him whatever he wanted to hear. You’d do whatever he wanted you to do. Anything to make him give you relief. Anything to turn this into something you don’t have to endure, your brain running wild with fantasies of giving Ben everything and him offering you even half as much. 

You’re dizzy with lust and need—your thirst fed by Ben’s unyielding hunger—when he finally makes the best sound you’ve heard in your life and satisfaction crashes through your body like a wave. Ben’s grip on you loosens, and you frantically roll off of him, climbing out of bed and moving to the bathroom on long but quiet steps. Locking the door, you fall to the floor and shove one hand into your shorts as the other raises to your mouth, biting down to stifle your moans and breaths of Ben’s name. Your back presses to the wall—unable to care as the fire starts to seep out of your skin—fingers moving fast against your clit because there’s not time for anything else. Not when you feel like you’re about to explode, and the aftermath of Ben’s own desire is still planted in your body. 

You double over when you cum, knees shooting up to your chest as you stare at the floor, eyes wide and heart racing. When your basic cognitive functions return—the chorus of just Ben fading into the back of your head and the smoke clearing the room—you realize that’s never happened before. You’ve never felt someone’s orgasm like you’d feel anger or joy or fear. To be fair, you hadn’t been with anyone since the empathy had become a part of you. Except Homelander, and that didn’t count. 

Some evil, loathsome part of you still goes there though. Back to the lab, where Homelander would- 

You can’t think about it. But he’d done it. After the empathy. And you hadn’t felt it. 

You’d also never felt pain from someone. Not like when you touched Ben in a nightmare. But Ben’s emotions were weird. You couldn’t decipher them on a normal day. This probably wasn’t something to note or worry about. Not worth dwelling on at all, not when you were already tearing yourself apart trying to figure out what the massively repressed, ancient man-child in the other room wanted from you. What you could afford to give to the impossible, frustrating, perfect man you- 

It wasn’t something to worry about. 

Collecting yourself off the floor, you realized you couldn’t go back to bed. You were wide awake, and even if you weren’t Ben had definitely stained the sheets, enough that he’d notice when he woke up. Guilt started to stab into you, because Ben might not have meant you to be there. That was private, his, and you’d just jerked off to it. You’d tell him. You had to tell him. But not right now. When he woke up.

So you move silently back to the bedroom, grabbing your phone before creeping into the hall and descending into the living room. You fall onto the couch, reading the text from MM, telling you that they’ll be at the safe house around noon. You give it a little thumbs up, and try to distract yourself from how remarkably horny you still are.

It’s another hour and half before Ben wakes up and walks down the stairs, his hair messy and eyes blurry as he squints at you. 

“How long have you been up?” Ben’s voice is hoarse, and he’s not moving to the couch, standing rigid at the foot of the steps. 

You shrug, playing it off in the way you’d been rehearsing over and over. “A few hours.” 

“What woke you up?” He’s still watching you intently, looking slightly more awake.

“Um,” you can’t lie. It feels wrong to lie. You couldn’t have moved or stopped it, but he needs to know you had been there. “You?”

“Me?” 

“You had a, uh, a wet dream? And weren’t letting me go, and I would've tried to go, because you were asleep, but you’re really strong and weren’t letting me go. I’m-” 

“Don’t say sorry.” Ben grunts, and finally walks to sit beside you. “And I don’t give a shit. It was about you anyway.”

“Oh.” You hadn't expected him to just say that, but you probably should’ve. “That’s doesn’t mean I get to just stay though-”

“Maybe not. But you didn’t chose to, and I don’t give a shit.” Ben leans back into the couch. “I’d fucking tell you if I did. And it sounds like you didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m still sor-”

Ben says your name firmly. “You told me. That’s what fucking matters. No lies.”

You nod slowly. “No lies.”

“You done freaking out?”

“I wasn’t freaking out-”

“I get why you were, with the shit that happened to you.” Ben shrugs. “But if I was worried about you seeing that I’d sleep in my old room.” Suddenly his eyes narrow at you. “It didn’t hurt you, did it?”

You answer fast. “No, I uh,” you shake your head. “No.”

“If it did, you need to fucking tell me. I know you don’t want more-”

“I didn’t mind,” you mumble. “Really. Promise. And it’s more complicated than not wanting more. I kind of, um.” No lies. “I liked it.”

His eyes flash. “Liked it?”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t fucking apologize.” Ben looks you up and down. “What did you like?”

“All of it.”

“How much.”

Stupid fucking handsome man and his deep voice that makes you answer. “A lot. I um, took care of myself?”

His voice is somehow deeper, and he won’t look away from you. “Took care of yourself?”

“In the bathroom-”

“Did you cum?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Ben grins, and you think he’s going to keep pushing. “I changed the sheets.” 

“Oh?” You feel a little lighter—it’s a little scary how easy this all is, how fast you feel better—and your tone becomes teasing. “Without me asking? Who even are you?”

“Shut up. I’m not making you change my cum sheets.” 

You poke Ben’s side with your foot, grinning and the disgruntled sound that escapes him. “You kiss a man a few times and suddenly he’s doing chores without being a bitch.” 

Ben catches your foot, yanking you forward until your legs are across his, leaning down until his smirk is hovering above your slack jaw. “You didn’t kiss me just a few times. You just told me you liked me dreaming about you. And as far as I recall, I owe you one more. But a pussy fucking bitch wouldn’t give you what you want, Sunshine, would he?” When you don’t respond, just staring at him in some sort of horny shock, Ben leans just slightly forward. “Would he?” 

“Cun-“ 

Ben catches your words with his mouth, and you gain just enough control to snap at his tongue between your teeth. Not biting it off, but drawing enough blood that the metallic taste overtakes the taste of Ben. He pulls back with a hiss, and you cross your arms across your chest. 

“I told you I’d do that, Pretty Boy.” You taunt. “You have no one to blame but yourself.” 

He gives you an incredulous look, but you can feel his sharp amusement, and his hand has dropped to hold your thigh over his legs. Tracing small patterns on your bare skin. “You’re a piece of fucking work,” he says your name in something that sounds like awe, and something is leaving a mark inside you, on your ribs. 

“Would you have me any other way?” He snorts. “Fucking hell, no.” 

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and if the world ended right now you wouldn’t mind. Not when this is everything. “Good.” You lean back into the armrest of the couch, your eyes never leaving Ben’s. “Ready for your lesson?” 

“Right now?” Ben raises his brow at you. “It’s 8 in the goddamn morning.”

“And we have a long, busy day of internet lessons and hitting Victoria Neuman with your special sauce ahead of us. Might as well get started now.”

Ben glares at you. “Don’t call it special sauce."

“Hm,” you pause in mock thought. “No.”

“Brat.”

You knee his chest lightly. “Go get your phone, Benjamin.”

With a series of low grumbles and a strong pout on his face, Ben removes your legs from against him and stands, disappearing back up the stairs. You hum to yourself, foot tapping as you wait for his return, and don’t even realize what you’re doing until Ben’s voice sounds behind you. 

“Why does the whole room smell like vanilla.” 

You feel the flush of your face, freezing as you tip your head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “I dunno.” 

“Did you leave the ice cream out?” He walks back to his seat, glaring at your legs pointedly until you press them to your chest. “Because I could smell it upstairs as well.” 

You give an over exaggerated sniff. “Well, it’s gone now.” 

“No it’s-“ Ben pauses, scanning your body and face as his nose twitches. “You were fucking singing.” 

“Maybe,” you mumble, hugging your knees. “Shut up. Did you get your phone?” 

Ben scoffs, but shakes his hand, displaying the phone. “Your faith in me is astounding,” he grumbles your name, and you sit up a little with your shrug. 

“I know you’re being a dick, but yeah, it is.” You lean against your bent legs. “Open the phone.” 

He starts to enter the passcode, but looks up at you with a frown. “Are you going to stay over there?” 

“Um,” you blink at him, and shake your head slightly. “No?” 

He doesn’t say anything, just waiting expectantly for you to scoot over to him. Only once you do—thoroughly invading Ben’s space as he pulls your legs back up, making you half on his lap and half pressed into his side—does his attention return to the phone. When he opens it—after three tries, but who’s counting—Ben looks at you with a cocky grin. “That it?” 

“Nope,” you lean over him, taking the phone from his hand. “We’re going to learn about cameras.” 

“I fucking know about cameras-“ 

“Well, you clearly don’t, because you looked like you were going to have an aneurysm about your lock screen yesterday.” You swipe through the phone, keeping it in Ben’s view, and find the camera app. “That,” you point to the screen, finger hovering over the small, gray button. “Is the camera.” 

“That’s not a fucking camera,” he snorts. “That’s a button.” 

You roll your eyes. “And what, Benjamin, do you think the button does?” 

He scowls. “Shut up.” 

“Answer my question.” 

“Camera.” Ben’s answer is through gritted teeth, but—as far as you can tell from where you’re touching him—his annoyance is more for show than anything else. So you keep going, holding the phone a little higher up. 

“Press it,” you prompt him, shaking the phone slightly. 

Ben does so, his aggressive tap of the screen pushing your hand back slightly. The camera opens up, flipped to the self-view, and Ben starts backwards. “Why the fuck is it doing that.”

“It’s the front view.” 

“Why in living Christ would you need a front-view.” 

“For selfies.” 

“Selfies?” 

“Photos of one’s self,” you explain, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “It’s pretty self-descriptive.” 

“Why would you need that.” 

You sigh. “It’s not something you need to do. Most of this isn’t going to be stuff you need to do. It’s for fun.” 

“For fun,” Ben repeats slowly, still sounding like he doesn’t believe you. 

“Yep. And I think you’d like selfies. You get to pose, and stare at yourself. It’s right in your wheelhouse, Pretty Boy.” 

Ben huffs. “What would I do with them?” 

“Whatever you want,” you shrug. “Jerk off to them, print them out to hang around the house, post them on social media-“ 

“Social media?” 

“I am not explaining social media to you today,” you say flatly. “Cameras are already going to be a lot.” 

“It looks pretty fucking simple from here,” Ben grumbles, pulling the phone from your hand. “That big white button takes the photo, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah,” you try to push down a giggle as he presses the button repeatedly, taking a large amount of selfies from a low angle. He’ll still probably look hot in all of them, because he’s Ben and life is unfair, but that doesn’t make it less funny. “But there’s more to it.” 

He stops, giving you a frown. “What the hell do you mean more.” 

“Turn the camera.” 

Slowly, Ben angles the phone so you’re looking at your reflection on the display. 

“No,” you reach up, returning the screen to face him. “Turn the camera. It can switch between the front camera and the back camera,” you tap each one in turn for emphasis. “So switch them.”

He does. After almost eight minutes of swearing under his breath—and very much not under his breath—Ben finds the right button and flips the camera around. From there you make him stand, take several photos of random objects until he can do it without totally messing up the focus, then teach him about zooming. That takes a whole half hour, because he can’t seem to figure out how to get any sort of middle ground, either going all the way out or zooming in for far you can’t even tell what he took the photo of. You forgo filters, that’s a battle you don’t have the energy to take on today, and instead focus on flash—how to turn it on and off, when it needs to be on and off—and video. That one takes two hours. 

You start to wander the house, taking him to the kitchen and explaining how food photos work. 

“That’s fucking insane,” Ben mutters as you conclude your small speech. “Just eat the damn food.” 

“You’re still going to eat the food, this is for the memory of it. So you can look at it later and remember hey, that was a fucking delicious quiche.” 

“That dumb.” Ben snapped. “Just remember shit with your fucking brain.” 

You snort. “You’re going to hate Instagram.” 

“What the hell is Instagram.” 

You don’t explain or elaborate, simply linking your elbow through his and pulling him into the hallway, up the stairs. From there you spend a while in the bedroom, making Ben take photos in lower lighting to practice the flash and teaching him about mirror selfies. He takes that one a little easier, though it results in a lot of sex jokes about how mirrors are for two hot people fucking and how he’d be open to showing you what that means, beautiful, if you say please. 

When you enter the bathroom, making Ben take about three or four videos of the running water, you notice he keeps looking at his shield. Before you can ask what he’s doing it for, he looks at you in the mirror, “How did you put it on the screen?” 

“The shield?” You ask for clarity, even if you know what he means. He grunts, and you continue. “I set it as your wallpaper.” 

“How?” 

You pause, narrowing your eyes at his reflection. “If I show you, it doesn’t count as part of my winnings, because you asked.” 

“Fine,” Ben thrusts the phone into your hand. “Just do it.” 

You do, Ben hanging over your shoulder as you navigate to settings, then wallpaper, then slowly walk him through the functions. Eventually—after another hour or so of pointless photos and videos—you feel a little more comfortable in his capabilities, maybe even bordering on confident, and tug him back to the couch. 

“That’s thing one,” you take the phone back from Ben’s hand, scrolling to the app store. “Ready for thing two?” 

“That was more than one fucking thing,” he snaps. “That was a least damn fifty.” 

“Nope. That was just cameras. I get one more.” 

“Not if I just walk the hell away-“ 

“Ben,” you look up at him. “Just trust me. You’ll like this.” 

He scowls, but waits for you to return the phone to his hand. Ben’s eyes scan the screen for a second before he looks back up at you. “What the fuck is this.” 

“Candy Crush.” 

“What.” 

You scoot a little closer to him, resting your head against his arm as you look up at him with a smile. “It’s a game. Senior citizens everywhere love it.” 

“I am not-“ 

“Yeah, you are.” You dismiss him, drumming your fingers against his skin. “It’s a silly, stupid game with bright colors and an addictive design. It kills time, and-“ your grin grows until it’s toothy and covering your face. “If you spend money, it’s out of the CIA’s pocket.” 

“Spend money?”

“In-app purchases. You fail a level, pay to try again.” 

Ben says your name, a long drawl that sits in your stomach. “I am not playing this shit.” 

“Sure,” you shrug. “But if you change your mind, the app looks like that.” You return to the homescreen, pointing at the logo. 

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t fucking use it.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

You grin. “And I said okay.” 

“Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Cunt.” 

Ben drops his phone to the side, attention entirely scorching through you. “You want the second half of our deal?” 

“Yes,” you answer a little too fast, and your voice is suddenly weaker. You blame Ben’s lust, climbing into you, intertwining with your own, sitting happily in your gut and above your lungs. He’s almost on top of you, and you can see just a slight ring of green in his eyes. Watching you, coming closer. Closer, still closer. But not close enough.

You don’t think Ben could ever be close enough. Not when he finally touches you, not when he sucks on your mouth and tongue and neck like he’d promised, not even when he fully rolls on top of you. Because everything in the world is nothing compared to this. Just Ben. Touching you. Close, but not close enough. 

Your alarm from your phone barely breaks through your ears into your brain, because all your thoughts are being overtaken by just Ben. 

“Fuck,” you manage to pull back, grabbing your phone to turn off the repetitive ringing. “We need to get changed.” 

“Changed?” Ben frowns, still holding you. “The hell do we need to get changed for?” 

“Neuman,” you start to stand up, but Ben’s hand falls to grab yours, keeping you from leaving the couch. “The Boys will be here in like twenty, Ben. Probably more like ten with Butcher’s lack of respect for speed limits and police.” 

“And you’re coming on this one.” He scans your face, hand squeezing yours. 

“Yeah, I should be. We shouldn’t really be in public for this, so I don’t see why I can’t.” Ben nods, but still doesn’t let go, so you squeeze his hand back. “I’ll be fine. But we need to change.” 

That seems to get through to him, because he nods, rising from the couch. Still holding your hand. “You change first. I need to shit.” 

“Charming.” 

You start to move away, but Ben doesn’t let go of your hand, spinning you around into his chest. This last kiss is long. He’s taking his time, pulling you closer and closer, not stopping until you whimper, and then pulling back with a smirk. “You have seven minutes.” 

It takes a few seconds of blinking away the burn under your skin to understand what he means. When you do, though, you shove his chest and stomp up the stairs, yelling over your shoulder. “You’re a piece of shit, Benjamin.”

He doesn’t respond, but when you look back for only a second, he’s smiling after you. A toothy, content, easy grin that makes his eyes sparkle and face look like all he’s ever felt is joy. Never any cold Russian nights or sour, consuming revenge. Just joy. Warm, simple joy. 

You’ll never tell him. He’d hate that you used the word sparkle, because he’s a fucking man and not a glittery pussy, but it’s accurate. And it doesn’t matter, because you’ll never, ever tell him. You’ll keep him close, but not as close as you want, and touch him until he grows bored of you, and taste phantoms of vanilla and salt and strawberry forever. You’ll have him like this, and make it be enough. This will be enough. Because Ben is everything, and you don’t deserve everything. He wouldn’t give you everything anyway. 

So you’ll have this. You’ll have his joy and let it carry you everywhere. And that will fucking be enough.

————

Ben had never been so satisfied by just kissing. He didn’t think it was fucking possible to be this satisfied by just kissing. But it was Her. And she was perfect. Kissing Her was perfect. Hell, he’d even start to develop a strategy for how to kiss her. Ben was filing away every sound she made—the loud whines and quite whimpers and moans, and this one thing where she’d make a throaty, high noise that was half his name and half a squeal—and spending a lot of time trying to figure out what triggered each and every one. If he sucked on Her neck she’d make a hissing, needy sound. If it was her chin, the noise would become more breathless and she’d lean into him. If Ben was gentle the sounds were soft, when he let himself go just a fucking fraction, they were loud and desperate. 

He wasn’t going to stop until he had it all memorized. Until he knew every single thing that made Her tick and why. The why was fucking vital, because if Ben could figure out why She liked something, he could find a million new ways to do it. And keep going and going until She was singing for him, and he could play Her perfect mouth—and whatever part of her perfect body she’d offer him—like the symphony it was. Where he was the only conductor in the world that wasn’t a pretentious fucking pussy, because his orchestra was the most fucking perfect woman to ever exist. And then, unless She made him, he wouldn’t ever stop. 

Because kissing Her was addicting. Ben had thought that touching her was like a drug, but She had an annoying habit of making Ben look like a fucking idiot. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in touching Her before, he could’ve seen this coming. He could’ve realized that just brushing against Her skin was better than any kiss he’d ever had. He could’ve put together that kissing Her would feel like goddamn sex, hot and wet and savage, the most natural thing he’d ever done. Kissing Her made the Thing so big that it was no longer just in Ben’s chest. It was all over him, rooted where it had always been but burning through the rest of his body. 

If just kissing Her did this, made Ben become overtaken with an almost pious desire to keep going forever and ever, actually fucking Her might kill him. 

And he was okay with that. It would be a worthy death. 

She was still upstairs, and Ben could hear the even pattern of Her heartbeat as she changed, hear the shuffle of clothes falling to the floor and moving in the drawers. She was probably fucking naked up there, just a floor away. The Thing wanted to go to Her, just fucking offer more. But he wouldn’t because She didn’t want more right now. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why, not when She was kissing him back and fucking cumming to the thought of him. The Thing had almost exploded inside him when She’d told him that, and Ben was trying to just pretend he was very calm about it and not trying to figure out ways he could keep Her doing that without hurting her or pushing her away. Even if he couldn’t figure out why that was needed. She seemed almost as desperate for more as Ben was. Not as desperate, because that wasn’t fucking possible. Ben felt pretty fucking confident in saying that nobody had ever been this filled with need for another person in history. But everything he was throwing at Her, she was throwing back at him. Like she always fucking did.

Because She was perfect. 

The door to the safe house opened before She returned to the living room, and it occurred to Ben that he still needed to shit. That he’d been standing at the base of the stairs like a goddamn idiot, waiting for Her like a fucking puppy. He could only be more pathetic if he was right outside her door. If a single member of the Pussy Brigade commented on it, asked why he was just standing around like he was lost, he’d tie their tongue into a knot then cut it out. 

He heard Butcher first. “You two twats ready to go?” 

Ben glared at him down the hall. “Obviously we’re fucking not.” 

“Did MM not fucking text like I told him to?” Butcher’s eyes raked over Ben, taking in his sweatpants and wrinkled shirt. 

Wrinkled from Her, the Thing hummed in content. She did that. 

Ben told it to shut up. He was well fucking aware of that, and didn’t need the Thing to remind him, because it made him hard and he had no interest in explaining a boner right now. 

MM entered the safe house, saying Her name as he walked to stand beside Butcher. “Got the text. She even gave it a reaction.” MM scanned the living room with a frown. “The hell is she?” 

On perfect fucking clue—Ben was starting to think She had a fifth power that made her do everything better than anyone had any damn right to—the bedroom door opened and She descended down the stairs. 

“Ben, where the hell did you put my sunglasses? Because I definitely left them on the dresser and they’re not there anymore-“ She froze at the bottom of the stairs, spotting Butcher and MM. “Uh, hi.” 

“Afternoon, Love.” Butcher looked between Her and Ben, a taunting smirk tugging at his lips, and it took everything in Ben not to step forward and block Her from Butcher’s gaze. “You ready to rumble?” 

“Um,” She looked at Ben, addressing him solely, and it made the Thing swell through him. “Can you change fast?”

He nodded, shrugging. “Whatever.” Ben started to push past Her, but she caught his arm. Still only looking at him. 

“Sunglasses?” 

Ben knew exactly where those sunglasses were. They’d fallen under the bed yesterday morning when he’d swept half the dresser's contents to the floor to put her down, and he’d seen them this morning when he’d been cleaning up his mess. He’d cum in his sleep like a fucking teenager, and moved faster than almost any other point in his life to cover it up. But Ben didn’t say any of that out loud, because he didn’t know if She wanted the Pussy Brigade to know that he’d been eating her mouth like a feast for two days and fifteen hours. Ben didn’t give a shit if they did, he’d fuck Her in front of them if it made it clear to them that he wasn’t going anywhere. But this seemed like the type of thing She’d care about, and he didn’t want to risk her taking away what she’d given him so far. 

So he just said, “I think I remember where I put them.” And retreated to their room. 

Ben gets the sunglasses first, propping them back up on the dresser where he won’t be able to miss them when he leaves. He shits quickly, puts on his supe suit—if the Pussy Brigade had a problem with that they could suck his dick—and stared at his shield in the bathroom for a second before deciding to leave it. He’d just be blasting Neuman and leaving, no damn point in taking it where Cocksucker would try and pick it up again. He checked his hair in the mirror, and failed to not think about fucking Her against it. Or fucking Her on the bed. Or on the stairs. Maybe in the kitchen. Defiantly during training, and if she ever made good on Her promise to show Ben porn-

He grabbed the sunglasses and stormed back downstairs, shoving the Thing and his desires to let it—Her—keep consuming him deep, deep into him. Ben had a fucking job to do. She’d still be there to dream about fucking until the bed broke after. 

She was waiting for him, talking to Kimiko in silence with a smile splitting her face. MM had left, Butcher was watching them with a look like he’d tasted shit, and Ben didn’t think anyone would miss the asshole if he somehow got slammed, face first, into the wall over and over. Especially as She heard Ben’s step, looking up at him with the same smile she needed to stop giving him. The smile that Ben couldn’t stop himself from reading as oh, it’s you! Hello, Benjamin. I adore you and if you wanted to give me every fucking piece of you, covered in blood or not, I’d take them and keep them safe. 

But that didn’t sound like Her at all. For one, she’d never say every fucking piece of you. She might say every part of you, or all of you, good, bad, and ugly, but she wouldn’t say every fucking piece of you. Ben would say that. 

Also, She didn’t think that. She gave a shit about him, Ben knew that much, but she didn’t adore him. Not like he adored Her. She didn’t want to keep him safe, not like Ben needed Her to be safe. The Thing would keep every bloody and dark part of Her safe if she’d give them to him. It would hold them carefully until she wanted them back, and then care for the place She’d put them until they returned. 

So Ben just took Her smile as best he could when he wasn’t allowed to pull it up to his mouth, make it open into a moan, and keep going and going up he learned what Her orgasms sounded like.

If She ever let him hear what her orgasms sounded like, it would take a damn miracle of God to stop him from hearing them every single fucking day.

He took Her smile, returned it with his own, and passed her the sunglasses. “Found them under the bed,” he grunted, stopping at Her side. 

“Oh,” She frowned, opening them and placing them on her brow. “I thought I checked there.” 

“Did you say the bed.” Butcher’s voice was mocking and cold, but lined with what Ben pinned to be genuine, morbid curiosity. “Are you two sharing a bed.”

Ben is more than fucking ready to cut out Butcher’s tongue. Maybe stab him in the throat to finish damn the job. But She speaks first. 

“Yeah, we are. Because some of us have nightmares about Homelander raping us and feel safer when we're not alone. So shove it up your ass.” 

The Thing was boiling in Ben. Overflowing with warmth and power for Her. Her, Her, Her, it chanted, making the continuing conversation a little fucking hard to hear. Ben could see Her look at him from the corner of her eyes. Giving him the tiniest smile that says thank you for not leaving me alone. 

Ben couldn’t stop himself smiling back. Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. You’d be lost without me. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. You can’t even use a phone camera without my help. 

Not anymore, he winked. And you have not one to blame but your damn self for that, Sunshine. 

She stomped on his foot, hard enough that he sort of feels it, Ben had to cover his snort with a cough. 

Butcher wasn’t fooled. “Something funny, Gov?” 

“Not to you, you boring fucking pussy,” Ben drawled. “Are we going to actually fucking go or just wait for you to jerk yourself off?” 

“Suddenly his head is in the game,” Butcher sneered. “I wonder what fucking did it?” His gaze turns to Her. “Can I borrow your tits, Love? I think they might be bloody magic.” 

“Stop being a cunt, Butcher,” She snapped, just in time to stop Ben throwing Butcher out the door hard enough to break the Pussy-Mobile Ben could see in the driveway. “And Ben’s right, we should get moving.” 

Butcher muttered something that sounds like horny fucking bombs shouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of each other, and stalked out the door. Kimiko signed something to Her with a smile, and she signed back with a laugh. Before Ben could even ask what the fuck they’re saying, Her arm was linked through his and she started telling him. 

“Kimiko says my tits are magic, but not as magic as Butcher’s. Which proves he’s just a dick, because if it was about magic tits he’d have the game on lock.” 

“Huh,” Ben frowned, trying not to let the Thing overtake him with thoughts about how right it feels to be walking with Her looped against him. “I wouldn’t have pegged Butcher to have good tits.” 

“That’s because you,” She bumped her shoulder with his. “Are very unobservant.” 

“I’m incredibly fucking observant. I clocked your tits the first time we met.”

“I remember. You weren’t listening to Hughie because of it. Which is very unobservant.” 

“It’s not my fault you have such good tits,” Ben grumbled, savoring the way Her heart flutters as she tried to fight her giggle. Looking up at him with fucking perfect, happy eyes. “They’re fucking weapons of war.” 

She fully snorted. “I think your compliments are regressing again.” 

Ben rolled his eyes, just offering a hand to steady Her as she climbs into the van. She takes it with a grin, and doesn’t let go when Ben follows her.

“What’s the plan,” She asked, and the Thing hummed as she still didn’t drop Ben’s hand, pulling him into his place at her side. 

Butcher’s answer was short, clipped. “Blast Neuman.” 

She blinked, her body tensing against Ben. “And?” 

“That, um, that’s kind of it,” Cocksucker said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We don’t have a huge window before Vicky gets word we’re up to something-“

She raised a hand, and Cocksucker fell silent. “What, exactly, did you use yesterday for.”

“Getting Neuman’s schedule,” MM answered this time, voice stronger than Cocksuckers but still lined with fucking guilt. “Those motherfuckers run a tight ship, we needed to know where she’d be-“

“But you didn’t come up with a plan. For when you would, inevitably, know?” 

Nobody answered this time, and She gave a long sigh. Her heart was fast in her chest, but it wasn’t the stumbling, unordered beat that signals fear or panic. It was moving because Her brain was moving, her perfect face scrunched in thought, the machine that was her brain practically audible. The Pussy Brigade even had the nerve to look afraid, despite the fact that She wasn't smoking or making the air of the van wave with heat.

She turned to Kimiko—sitting at the French Prick’s side—who was the only one watching with plain curiosity. They started to sign at each other—the French Prick jumping in to add something that was received with a frown and a nod—and when She turned back to the group her face was drawn in determination. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” She said slowly, staring ahead at the wall with her brows knit. Ben pulled Her a little closer into him, and her heart slowed slightly. “We’re catching Neuman at home. Off-guard. Do we know if other people live in the building?” 

“Only some other bureaucrat fuckers,” Butcher answered from the front, and Starlight shook her head. 

“And their fucking families, Butcher.” 

“Okay,” She nodded slowly. “Frenchie, you burned off your fingerprints a while ago, right?” 

“Oui,” the French Prick holds up his hands for display. 

“Good. You’re going to pull the fire alarm. Hughie,” Her sharp gaze turned to Cocksucker. “I need you on the cameras. Make sure everyone is out. MM will be on standby if there are stragglers. Kimiko and Annie will cover the exits, Butcher,” She paused, and Ben could hear the gnaw of her lip. “Scratch all of that. Annie can’t be seen participating in this, she’ll be on the cameras, and Butcher will take her spot on the exits. Hughie, you’ll come with Ben and I. I’ll cover you when he goes off.”

There’s a second of silence, and then the van erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about how he’s not going to cover a bloody exit, he wants to see Neuman get fucked. Starlight whining about how she doesn’t want to be useless in the van, she can really help. Cocksucker fretting about how he’s not sure this is a great idea, and might be better staying on the cameras. The French Prick and Kimiko are silent, exchanging a look with subtle gestures at Her, Kimiko’s face determined, gestures growing and growing until the French Prick raised his hands in surrender. Finally, MM seemed to be trying to do what he considered reasoning with Her, that they couldn’t just go off with only Hughie, what if you need backup, what if Soldier Boy goes nuclear. 

Ben opened his mouth—ready to defend himself, defend Her—but She caught his eye and shook her head. I can handle this. 

He gave a curt nod back, not hiding the scowl on his face. Fine. But don’t be fucking nice to them. 

Shut up, Her eyes narrowed at him before she turned back to the group, who was starting to tire themselves out like the fucking children they were. When the van was quiet once more, She spoke in a clear, bored voice. 

“Butcher, we’re not killing Neuman, so you’re not invited. Annie, I know you want to help. Staying here is helping. You’ll draw attention, and if the public realizes you’re associated with Soldier Boy then we’ll be assfucked. MM, Ben won’t just go nuclear. We’ve got it under control. Hughie, you’re the only one Neuman won’t try to pop on sight. She’ll talk to you, and it’ll be good to have a friend there for when Ben’s done. And-“ She sat up a little straighter, glaring around the van. “If any of you don’t like my plan, I’d love to hear your alternatives.” 

“How do you plan on getting into the bloody building?” Butcher snapped. “They ain’t just gonna let you in.” 

“Fire escapes are very real, dumbass.” She retorted. “And Hughie can do that shit where he makes their cameras play the same video so they don’t see us. We’ll corner Neuman, then Frenchie will pull the alarm, and Ben will go off once it’s just us and her and Zoe.” 

“What’s your escape plan?” Starlight asked, giving Cocksucker a worried look. “You two can just leave, but Hughie-“ 

“I can redirect Ben’s blast. Make sure it doesn’t destroy the building. Hughie will be fine.” Ben stiffens beside Her, because as far as he fucking knows she’d only done that once. And it had ended in Her small and sad and broken, curled up into herself and alone. 

She has you this time, the Thing reminded him. If this goes to shit, she’ll always fucking have you. 

“Are we good?” She was asking the van, and Ben saw each of the fucking pussies nod. “Awesome.”

She leaned back into Ben, and he frowned down at Her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “You can redirect my fucking blast?”

She shrugged, starting ahead with empty eyes. “Hypothetically, yeah.” 

“And you’re going to risk Hughie’s life on hypothetically?” Ben didn’t give a shit about Cocksucker’s life, but She did. And Ben gave a shit about Her life, about her not breaking down and tearing herself apart about accidentally killing Cocksucker.

“It’s an educated guess, Ben.” She muttered. “It’ll work. It has to. And don’t you dare say-“ She shot Ben a glare, voice dropping into her dogshit impression of him. “But what if it doesn’t.” 

Ben scoffed. “I wasn’t going to fucking say that.”

“Yes, you were. You always say that.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben felt the Thing become a little lighter as a smile tugged at Her mouth. “Do I have to do anything in your plan besides hit Neuman?” 

“You have to not be a dick to Hughie, let me do the talking, and stand around looking pretty until I tell you to be useful,” She counted her answers off one by one on her fingers, and Ben chuckled. 

“Be pretty, huh?” 

“Don’t fish for compliments, Benjamin,” She teased. “It’s unbecoming.” 

“If I give you one, will you give me one?” Ben leaned forward a little, fighting every instinct in his body to soothe Her lips where she’d been chewing them with his tongue. Any marks were gone, so he couldn’t really fucking pick out where She’d been biting, but that just meant he’d have to cover all his bases. Soothe Her whole fucking mouth. “A quid pro quo?” 

She hummed. “Good use of quid pro quo.” 

“Is that a fucking yes?” 

“Fine,” she sighed. “You look very nice in your stupid suit.” 

“Nice?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she gave him a flat glare. “Handsome.” 

“Say the whole thing.” 

“My compliment better blow Shakespeare out of the fucking water,” she muttered, but looked up at him with batting eyelashes and an over-sweet voice. “You look very handsome in your stupid fucking suit. Your turn.” 

Ben started to stall, because he couldn’t think of anything good enough for Her. “We should get you a suit.” 

She snorted. “I am not wearing a costume.” 

“It’s not a fucking costume, Sunshine, it’s a uniform.” 

“If I can buy a semi accurate version of it at Spirit Halloween, it’s a costume.” 

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween.” 

“It’s a costume store. Stop stalling and give me my compliment.” 

Ben sighed, scanning Her face and trying to make the Thing come up with something a little more fucking poetic than you, you, you it’s just you and if you liked we can go right fucking now and leave forever and I’d keep you safe and happy and smiling and fuck you wherever the hell you want whenever you want because it’s you and you’re perfect. 

“You…” Off to a remarkably fucking shit start. “Are…” Ben was going to find it, if it was the last thing he fucking did. He was going to keep staring at Her until he figured out exactly what say that would make her face all flushed and thighs clench and heart stutter.

“I am?” 

“You’re good.” Ben settled for simplicity. Poetry was not his fucking strong suit, and that was more than okay by him. 

“I’m good?” She frowned at him, and for a second Ben wanted to bring her into his chest, just show Her what he’d meant. He couldn’t show her with just words, and she was frowning, and just fucking showing her would be more fun anyways. It would make Her smile, make her understand, he was goddamn sure of it. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“You’re good,” Ben repeated, shrugging and his hands fisted to stop himself from grabbing Her. “It’s pretty fucking simple. Your pretty brain should be able to figure it out.” 

“Well congratulations, you’ve stumped me. Can you please be just the tiniest bit less cryptic.” 

“You’re good.” 

“Yeah, I heard you the first two times-“

“No,” Ben said Her name, too lost in trying to make her get it to stop himself grabbing her chin. “You’re good. You’re not what these pussies say you are. You’re a lot fucking more than whatever Homelander thinks you are. You’re better and more important than any politician, supe or no. You’re good.” 

“Oh,” She whispered. “Thanks.” 

Ben’s hand was still against Her jaw, and she wasn’t pushing it away. If anything She was leaning into it, keeping Ben touching her as if she didn’t care about the useless fucking onlookers either. And She was staring at him, keeping Ben with her just by fucking looking at him, her mouth just slightly open. If he wanted Ben could move his thumb up, trace Her perfect lips, see if she’d let him push it into her- 

Someone who Ben was going to have to kill later said Her name, and she looked away. 

The Thing was so absorbed in Her, in try to get back to Her, that Ben missed the entire first half of the conversation. MM was crouching in front of Her—holding onto the seat at her side to steady himself from Butcher’s fucking terrible driving—and talking without sparing Ben a glance. 

“-Even if Butcher doesn’t tip her off, what makes you absolutely so goddamn certain Soldier Boy won’t blow his load early and screw us,” MM was hissing, and Ben scowled. 

“I never fucking blow my load early-“ 

She caught his eye, her own flaring slightly to tell him, Shut up, Pretty Boy. 

Ben grunted, but fell silent with a clenched jaw, shooting Her a look of, I don’t blow my load early. 

She rolled her eyes. Now is not even remotely the time to start measuring your dick. Let me handle this. 

Fine, Ben winked. But you’re welcome to help me measure it later. 

She kicked Ben’s shin, addressing MM. “He won’t. I’ve been working on it.” 

“You’ve been working on it?” MM scoffed. “Just because you’re all smiley and gross at each other doesn’t mean you can control this motherfucker’s PTSD.” 

“No, but my fucking healing powers mean that I can get rid of it.” 

MM blinked at Her, glancing quickly at Ben before speaking in a low tone that Ben, for one, didn’t fucking appreciate. “You've been healing him.” 

“Allegedly,” Ben muttered under his breath, and earned a dirty look. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve only blown your load once this month. So shut the fuck up.” She looked back at MM. “He can control it.” 

“It’s your ass if he can’t,” MM snapped, and She rolled her eyes. 

“I’m aware. He can.”

Both Ben and the Thing were big fans of how clear and final She said those words. Ben could control it, that was it, no room for discussion. She had faith in him, she trusted him, and if anyone had any issue with that she’d defend him. Just like Ben would defend Her. To the ends of the fucking earth, until they burned together.

“Do you know where we’re putting Neuman and Zoe after this?” She was still talking to MM, but Her voice had raised enough for the whole shit team to hear. “She can’t just keep being Vice President. Homelander will kill her.” 

“About that,” it was Cocksucker who answered, rubbing his hands together like an anxious pussy. “They’re going to the safe house.” 

“The safe house?” She repeated with a frown. “Like, our safe house?” 

The Thing liked Her use of our. Ben did too. He did not like where this conversation was headed. “I am not living with Head-popper and her kid.” 

“Well, I’ve got fantastic fucking news,” Butcher drawled, standing and turning as the van came to a halt. “You ain’t gonna. You two,” Butcher pointed between Ben and Her. “Will be moving.” 

“To a different safe house?” She asked, and Butcher shook his head with a snake-like grin.

“To the new FBSA HQ,” Butcher winked at Ben, and Ben wanted to sew his eye shut. “In Jersey.”

“I am not living in fucking Jersey either,” Ben snapped, and She sighed. 

“Why not a new safe house?” 

“Because.”

She snorted at Butcher’s useless fucking response. “What, does the whole CIA somehow only have one safe house?” 

“Listen,” MM grunted. “You’ll get an apartment. Just a little fuckin smaller than the house. You’ll have more freedom-“ 

“We both still won’t be able to leave the house.” She pointed out, and MM shrugged. 

“But you’ll be able to fuckin order food. Get packages delivered without texting me or Mallory about it. Have visitors. Anything you order will have to be under a fake name, and visitors will have to be approved, but it’s more than what you have now.” 

“Why now? That building was finished in January, I saw it on the news. Why move us now?” 

“Because,” Butcher crossed the van with a shrug. “We bloody said so. Now are we ready to get a move on? Time is of the essence in this shit plan.” 

“Okay,” She took a deep breath. “Hughie, can you-“ 

“On it,” Cocksucker gave Her a thumbs up, starting to tap of his little laptop. “I’ll let you know when I’m good.” 

“Thanks. Just so we’re all on the same page, Butcher, what are you doing?” 

Butcher rolled his eyes. “Watching the exit. Why am I getting fucking cold called-“ 

She ignored Butcher’s whiny bitching, and turned to Starlight. “Annie?” 

“Stay in the van, make sure the building’s clear.” 

“MM?”

“Standby to help Annie get people out.” 

“Frenchie?” 

“Fire alarm.” 

She signed at Kimiko, who responded with a smile. 

“Good,” She looked around the van, and Ben realized she hadn’t asked him. 

Because She trusts you, the Thing rumbled. She isn’t worried about you fucking it. 

“Any questions?” She asked, and when she was met with shaking heads she nodded. “Hughie?”

“We're good. Annie, do you need help-“

Starlight shook her head, taking the computer from Cocksucker. “I’ve got it.”

Cocksucker gave a small nod, and turned to Her. “I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Ben could hear the tap of Her fingers in the familiar pattern, her heart speeding up as she took another breath. “We’ll go first. Annie, find exits for Butcher and Kimiko, and send them fast. If Neuman sees us coming we need to have our asses covered. I’ll text when Frenchie’s good to pull the alarm.”

She stood on unsteady feet, and Ben’s arm shot out instinctively to catch her around the waist. He was rewarded with a grateful smile and Her heart slowing ever so slightly. “Ready?” 

The question was for Ben. He knew it, because She wasn’t looking anywhere but him and her voice was soft. “Fucking born for it.” 

She huffed a small laugh, dropping the sunglasses onto the bridge of her perfect nose, and Ben didn’t bother to remove his arm from her as he stood. The Pussy Brigade’s confused and judgmental stares could go suck each other off if they wanted. She gave a small gesture to Cocksucker, who left Starlight’s side to follow them out the van and into the cold alleyway. 

They were silent for a second as She took in the tall brownstone building before them. Cocksucker kept shooting them both anxious fucking pussy looks as Ben held Her against him—using his body to block her from the chills of the wind—and would look away frantically whenever Ben held his gaze. 

“Ben,” She looked up at him with sharp eyes, over the frames of her sunglasses. “You need to throw us.”

“What?” 

Ben and Cocksucker spoke in almost perfect unison, though Cocksucker’s words were more panicked in comparison to Ben’s disbelief. 

“I am not fucking throwing you,” Ben snapped Her name. 

“You have to,” She looked back at the building, pointing as she spoke. “We can’t go through the emergency exit, alarms will go off. That,” Her finger moved to the iron stairs and grates lining the building. “Is our best bet. You can jump, me and Hughie can’t.” 

“Then I’ll go first and lower the damn ladder.” 

Cocksucker nodded. “I second Soldier Boy, that’s a better plan.” 

“No,” She elbowed Ben’s ribs, shaking her head. “It’s not. That’s something people might notice. We need to leave as little a trail as possible. Ben’s going to throw us. Me first, then Hughie, then he’ll jump.” 

Ben wanted to argue—tell Her that there had to be a better idea that didn’t involve Her just being chucked into the fucking air—but She had already detangled herself from Ben, and was moving towards the building. So Ben followed, Cocksucker stumbling behind him, and stopped at Her side. 

“This is fucking stupid, Sunshine.”

“Uh huh,” She looked up at the fire escape. “Whenever you’re ready, Pretty Boy.” 

Ben huffed, but picked Her up carefully, locking his arms firmly around her body and balancing on one leg as he propped up a knee. “Don’t die.” 

“Couldn’t if I tried. Go.” 

Ben squeezed Her slightly, then threw Her up. The half-second before she grabbed the rails—where she was suspended almost fucking cartoonishly in the sky—sucked all the air from Ben’s lungs. But She was fast, finding a grip and hauling herself onto the platform with only a small grunt that was carried away by the wind.

“All good!” She called down. “Send Hughie up.” 

Ben looked at Cocksucker, whose face was like a fucking deer about to be mauled by a wolf. 

“Uh, I’m not sure this is a good idea-“ 

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, walking to pick the gangly fucker up. “I’m not going to fucking kill you. And she’ll catch you.” 

“But-“ 

Ben grabbed Cocksucker under his arms and tossed him into the air with a yelp. As promised, She grabbed Cocksucker’s hand in the air, holding him steady until the little pussy got a hold on the bars himself and pulled up to Her side. Ben sighed, rolling his neck and trying to measure the jump as he backed up. 

“Ben-“ 

Her call was cut off as he lept into the air, landing pretty damn perfectly on the platform. Right in front of Her. “Yes?” He winked, tone mocking, and She wrinkled her nose at him. 

“Show off.” 

“You fucking told me to do that.” 

“Fuck you,” She turned away, and the Thing started brainstorming ways to get her back later for those words. “Hughie, what floor is Neuman on?” 

“The top one, I think.” 

“You think?” 

“I’m like 98% sure.” 

She sighed. “Then we better start climbing.” 

The walk up the stairs was silent, Her leading the way, Ben at the rear, and Cocksucker moving in small, quick steps between them. The wind was biting, howling in Ben’s ears louder and louder the closer they drew to the top, drowning out the sound of Her heartbeat. When they stopped, one level from the roof, She crouched below the window. Cocksucker followed suit, and Ben gave Her a flat look.

“I’m not-“

“Benjamin, get your ass down before I make you.” 

He glared at Her, only because this is important, and hunched to the floor.

“I’ll go in first. Ben, I’m going to have to keep my eyes on Neuman, so you need to text Butcher.” 

“I don’t have my fucking phone-“ 

She tossed it at Ben wordlessly, raising Her brows. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled, and She stuck her tongue out. 

“Ready?” 

Ben grunted, and Cocksucker gave a barely perceptible nod. 

She exhaled through puffed lips, moving the sunglasses into her jacket as she looked at the window. “Here we fucking go.” 

Neuman’s apartment was nice. Cozy. If Ben didn’t have a fucking job to do, he’d ask for her interior decorator. Especially if he’d understood MM correctly and was going to be getting his own apartment soon. To share with Her. Their apartment. 

Would she like that carpet? The Thing was fixated on a deep blue, stupidly damn fluffy carpet thrown across Neuman’s floor. No, it’s blue. Fucking pussy color. She’d like the texture though- 

Job to do. Ben had a job to do. The Thing needed to shut the fuck up, because Ben had a job to do. 

A job that walked right into the hallway they were standing in. 

Neuman’s eyes widened, talking a stumbling step back as she yelped. “Hughie? The fuck are you doing here? In my home?” Nueman’s eyes darted to Ben, then Her. “With Soldier Boy and the Anomaly?” 

“It’s complicated,” Cocksucker rubbed his neck nervously. “You should, uh, you should get Zoe.” 

“Stay the hell away from my daughter. Whatever you’re doing here doesn’t fucking involve her.” 

“Vicki-“ 

Cocksucker’s pleading words were cut off by Her, tone firm. “Neuman, we’re not going to hurt you, or Zoe. We just need you both. Now.” 

Neuman laughed disbelievingly. “You’re not here to hurt me, but you brought Solider Boy?” 

“We’ll explain,” She answered, voice calm even as Her heart started to pick up. “But please get Zoe.” 

“Fuck no-“

“Neuman.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t pop me or Ben. You won’t pop Hughie. I swear we aren’t here to hurt you. Go get Zoe.” 

There was silence for a second, Ben could see Neuman looking around frantically, trying to find a way out where there wasn’t one, and eventually giving in. “Zo, baby? Can you come here please?” 

A girl, couldn’t be more than fucking twelve, entered the hall. “Mom, what’s-“ The kid’s words died with a gasp as she saw Ben, Cocksucker, and Her in the hall. “Mom?” 

Neuman moved the kid behind her, holding her hand with a white-knuckled grip. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

“What is Hughie doing here, with Soldier Boy?!” The girl's voice was frantic, and Ben could hear her heart race. “And Homelander’s girlfriend? What the fuck is happening-“ 

“She’s not Homelander’s girlfriend,” Ben hissed, and She slapped Ben’s arm. 

She’s just a kid, Her glare said. And you said you’d let me do the talking. 

You’re not Homelander’s anything, Ben glared back. She should fucking know that. 

Just a kid, Ben. She gave the phone in his hand a pointed look. Text Butcher that we’re good. 

Ben scoffed, but opened the damn phone to tell Butcher that the French Prick needed to move as Neuman continued to comfort her daughter. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I can’t explain right now, but we’re going to be fine. I just need you to stay behind me.” 

“Mom-“ 

“Zoe,” Cocksucker said gently. “We’re not going to hurt you, or your mom. We just need to talk.” 

“About what?” Neuman hissed. “I’d have taken a meeting, you didn’t have to resort to breaking into my home, Hughie.” 

“Well, uh-“ 

“And I fucking know you visited Stan on Monday. So don’t lie to me and say you’re not up to something-“ 

Neuman was cut off as a wailing, deafening siren rattled through the building. Turns out the French Prick moved impressively fast. Ben had barely hit send two seconds ago. 

“Ben,” She mumbled, eyes not leaving Neuman’s fearful expression. “Can you break the alarms?” 

Ben nodded with a grunt, walking to the red light above them as smashing it with his fist. That seemed to be enough, he could hear everyone’s breathing and heart again, so he returned to Her side. 

“Hughie, tell me when Annie says we’re good.” 

Cocksucker nodded, pulling out and fidgeting with his phone, and Neuman took a shaky step back. 

“Don’t try and leave, Neuman,” She said, voice tired and face bored. “I really don’t want to hurt you, so please just wait.” 

“Wait for what?! What the fuck is happening?!” 

She sighed. “As you probably figured out, we cut a deal with Edgar. He’s going to help us out, as long as we talk you and Zoe out of the game.” 

“Out of the game?” Neuman’s face twisted in determination. “You lay a hand on me, on Zoe, and I’ll blow Hughie’s brains up.” 

Cocksucker paled, “Vicki-“ 

“I phrased that poorly.” She addressed Neuman firmly, standing her ground. “We’re removing the V from your system. So you don’t have to be a part of this shit show. The CIA will keep you safe, and we’ll get what we need.” 

“No,” Neuman shook her head, taking another step back. “Fuck no. You’re not touching me, or Zoe, and whatever Stan said he’d give you I can give you as well-“ 

Neuman’s words choked him her throat as fire spread slowly along the floor. Controlled, careful flames that blocked the exits and never rose above a foot. 

“We’re not asking.” She said softly, almost fucking apologetic. “It might hurt for a second, but you’ll be fine. I promise.” 

“Um,” Cocksucker said Her name, looking up from his phone. “We’re ready.”

“I’m sorry,” She said to Neuman, and Ben knew She fucking meant it. Her heart was bouncing around in her chest, her breathing was labored, and her face was full of guilt when she looked at him. “Now, Ben.” 

Ben called the drums, pulling them as fast as he fucking could into his chest, into time with his heart. It was building, growing louder and brighter, and he angled his chest at Her right before everything fell in place inside him, and the world exploded. 

The Thing roared as the bomb caught Her, even if every conscious part of Ben knew she’d be fine. She was strong, she could handle it, she’d fucking told him to hit her. But that didn’t stop the Thing from trying to climb out of him, to get to Her as she floated off the ground, surrounded in golden light and fire with her eyes shut. Ben couldn’t hear Her heart, couldn’t read her face, couldn’t give shit about Neuman trying to run or Cocksucker backing up to the window. It was just Her, burning alone, impossible to reach. Impossible to help. 

She went out. For only a second all the light died, and Ben could hear Her heartbeat again. Then Her eyes opened, fucking wild and glowing, and everything exploded. Light shot from Her chest, hitting Neuman and Zoe head on, moving through their bodies as she levitated further off the floor. Ben even fucking stumbled, because the world shook. The ground moved and everything seemed to come to a screeching halt, suspended in time as She grew brighter. Time only resumed when the light—as fast as it had appeared—died, and She collapsed to the floor. 

Ben fucking dove to catch Her, grabbing around her chest right before she hit the floor. Her eyes were open, and Ben could see the exhaustion in them, hear the slowing of Her heart as the energy drained from Her body. He heard Cocksucker run past them, checking on Nueman,  but didn’t look away from Her. 

“Ben,” Her voice was weak, breathless. “I’m fine. Make sure it worked.” 

“I’m not fucking leaving you-“

“All you have to do is turn your head, check that Neuman and Zoe are alive, and tell me,” She gave a soft laugh. “Fucking drama queen.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered, but glanced over his shoulder to where Cocksucker was standing awkwardly as Zoe climbed her feet, Neuman pulling her into a hug. “They look fucking fine.”

“Okay,” She sat up slowly, not trying to leave Ben’s hold as she called over him. “Hughie, are they-“ 

“We are,” Neuman answered. “I can’t feel it. Your blood or hearts. Zo?” 

The girl’s hands moved to her face. “They’re gone.” 

Neuman nodded, and looked back at Her. Ben could hear the race of Neuman’s heart, almost smell her fear. “Now what?” 

“Butcher and Kimiko are on their way up,” Cocksucker said, glancing at his phone. “We’re going to get you somewhere safe.” 

“What about my life,” Neuman shook her head. “Zoe’s life-“ 

“You both wouldn’t have fucking lives if Homelander decided you weren’t useful anymore,” Ben snapped. “You’re fucking welcome.”

Neuman looked at Ben with a frown, her eyes scanning over how he was still holding Her, keeping her carefully upright. “What did Edgar offer you.” 

“Help,” Ben hissed. “And it's not your fucking problem now.” 

“We need to move,” She tugged at Ben’s shirt, voice even quieter than before. “Homelander will have noticed this, we need to go-“ 

Ben nodded roughly, and scooped Her into his arms. Ben turned to Cocksucker as She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tell Butcher you pussies better fucking haul ass to get Neuman out.”

Cocksucker nodded nervously. “Um, where are you-“ 

“The van. We still have shit at the safe house, we’ll need to get it before you move us. But I’m not fucking waiting here until Butcher arrives.” Until Homelander arrives. Not when She’s about to pass out. Ben spoke the last words through gritted teeth. “I did my job. Do yours.” 

Ben didn’t wait for Cocksucker’s response, climbing back out of the window and studying the drop down the alley. He could just jump—it would be faster and they’d both be fine—but it would be loud. Crack the pavement. 

Get more unwelcome attention. 

So Ben climbed down the stairs, keeping Her secure against his chest. He jumped down from only the last platform, making sure Her hold on him was firm before did he, and moved to van in long, fast steps. He vaulted through the doors, dropping against the walls—not bothering with pointless fucking greetings to MM or Starlight—and listened to Her breathing fall, becoming slow and easy as her eyes drooped. She passed out in Ben’s arms, and he rubbed small circles on Her back because he fucking could. Because they had done it, She had done it, so Edgar would come through and she’d be safe.

It took a few minutes, but the remainder of the team—now joined by Nueman and her daughter—returned to the van. The door slammed behind them and MM took off, hightailing it away from the alley, from where Homelander would surely arrive any minute. But Ben didn’t give a shit, didn’t bother to listen to Butcher, Starlight, and Nueman talk about next steps, because She was here. Holding Ben, heartbeat in rhythm with his own.

She leaned against Ben the whole way back to the safe house. Face smushed into his chest, hair tickling Ben’s chin as she climbed up just a little closer in her sleep. Curled in his lap, a little bit of droll falling from her mouth. Ben had never seen something so fucking perfect in his life. She deserved to be like that for the rest of fucking time, comfortable and peaceful. Against Ben, if that’s what she wanted. 

Ben moved slowly, careful not to disturb Her, and pulled out his phone. 696969 was a fucking stupid passcode, but he’d noticed Her fight a giggle every time he had to enter it so it would stay like that forever. It took him a minute to find the camera app—there had to be a better way to navigate this piece of shit—but when he did he raised his free arm, holding the phone down at Her perfect face, and took a photo. It might be fucking creepy, he might be getting weird looks from the Pussy Brigade, but Ben didn’t give a single fuck. If She ever decided to leave him, if he had to let Her go, at least he’d have a memory of this. Of Her just needing him, just wanting him. 

Something of Her, forever.

End Note: My wife (Victoria Neuman) is home from war (s4 of the Boys)

Thank you guys for 100 followers!!! I want to do something but have literally no clue what. If you want to throw a snack into my writer enclosure, leave a comment with any thoughts or jokes or angry words for me about cockblocking our favorite horny idiots again. And if not just being here is always more than enough!

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@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

[smolvenger]

In A World of Boys, He's a Gentleman (Professor! Tom Hiddleston x Reader blurb)

Summary: Collapsing into tears after a hellish week, your professor boyfriend confesses he loves you.

Warnings: cursing, some work problems (I may have used some of my irl experiences in here, oops) Reader liking Romantasy books, but other than that, some hurt/comfort and lots of fluff!

A/N: I decided to leave it ambiguous if Reader is a student or not, so that is personally up to you. From @holdmytesseract's request for the birthday blurbs! Thanks for your patience!

Word Count: >2K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

If the past week was purgatory, then today was utter hell.

Everything in your life was driving you so busy, you felt both stasis and panic at once. You got so distracted that you would zone out on your phone closing and reopening the same apps for hours. Then at work, people were driving you up a wall. Because you were a good employee who had to get things done in the order and way they trained you or else…less got done. The impossibility of productivity crept on you. Minutes became hours. You had to argue with someone in a conversation that should have been four minutes but lasted eight because she would not shut up, kept repeating the same things over and over, would rarely let you speak and when you did, never replied or added onto your responses. On top of that, your body decided that the buttcrack dawn of morning when it was still dark was a good time to be awake. And impossible to drift back to sleep even when you took cold medicine. Which then made you exhausted at work.

Thank god for your professor boyfriend.

He was your light in the midst of all this. You had dated for some time, and even the sight of him putting on glasses in a nice suit as he headed off ofr work still made you tingly inside. He would leave you little gifts at your place- flower bouquets, cupcakes, and the like. You were at a point where you didn’t have to have romantic dates all the time. You were now just in his place. Just hanging out. Simple as that. 

You could be quiet and not interact every second. As cats parallel played you could just be in comfortable silence together. Especially when it came reading- for you had something of a silent book club. You both turned off your phones and would sit devouring book after book. 

He was a Literature professor, so it was in his nature. It seemed though sometimes he was never off the clock!  He even challenged you- it was one thing that drew you to daring him. He was smart enough- he respected you as an intelligent being in your own right but was able to have questions and discussions. It was the academia in him. It made you grow into wanting to be a better person for him…and he for you.

Though today, your stress, anxiety, and semi insomnia was creeping up on you. You sat on the brown chair and he on his sofa. There was the same book in your hands. He was already rubbing a finger over his lips, pressing his glasses close. Enchanted by the spell words made. It was a well-reviewed piece of literature that won awards and was featured on the official lists of esteemed journals. He recommended this title to you and you were both reading it. 

As you sat with your own copy that he leant you, you cracked open the stiff spine from it’s newness and began to read…

You were spacing out on the first chapter. It was dense, poetic, and beautiful….but you had no idea what the heck was going on.

After a few more pages, it was starting to get sad.

What was it with these books? And it was not cheery- Was high literature just sad things happening like people having affairs on their wives or committing abuse or doing drugs or going to war or just being awful with no repercussions?

With a sigh, you reached into your bag and pulled out a different book- an escapist, spicy romantasy that all the girls on social media were losing their minds over. You replaced the high literature book, setting it down quietly, and opened it. Tom was so engrossed in the book he didn’t notice. You didn’t want him to notice.

You found this time you were understanding the words in front of you. And you found yourself drawn. Was it the best piece of literature to be studied in a professors class in the future? Hell no. But you were here for a good time, not a long time. And not to study human nature deeply, but to be in a different world, where you had a different name, a different look, and different problems, but far more magical and exciting than everything crashing down in your dull, grey reality. One where your clothes were beautiful with corsets and fine fabric instead of just jeans. One where you would have a sword with a name then a smartphone that sucked all of your free time. One where you could be a princess, a queen, an assassin, a fae lady, a vampire, a pirate, a goddess, a duchess… anything other than plain old you in a plain old life at a plain old job.

Tom looked up. He then eyed over your cover and back at you.

You looked up at him and grimaced. Then you shoved the book back into your bag.

“Please! Don’t judge me!” you cried.

“Why would I judge you?” he asked.

You gestured over to the book in his hands.

“I’m reading this silly trash book and you have all of your fine literature!” you cried.

He set his own copy down, but his blue eyes softened.

“My dear…Is something up?” he asked.

He knew you well enough he could tell the signs.

“Yes, my day was hell! It was this and this and this and…I try to handle it but..I’m overwhelmed so I can’t…I really can’t…I’m not even smart enough to read this book, because I try and try but I just can’t understand this stuff and I can’t get into it, like you…I’m an idiot…”

You burst into tears, and he came over, hugging and kissing your head in little pecks. 

“No…darling, no…” he murmured.

You leaned into his arms. You found yourself vneting and complaining the suffering long inside you.

“I know…I’m a mess…” you sobbed out. “And there was a lady at work who’s a bitch, and my job is so hard, and I can’t sleep at night…it’s just…I wish I could be smarter, nicer, better for you Tom, but…”

“How do you take tea?” he asked.

Looking up, you wiped your tears with your sleeve and answered him.

He made it for you the way you liked. It was the prettiest mug- white with bluebell flowers painted on it.  And returned with it. You sipped at it, it was perfect in it’s flavor and so warm, you felt it melt inside you. You placed both hands around it- science said it was like receiving a hug. Feeling the warmth inside and outside as you looked up at him. 

He scooted himself to be close, a gentle smile on his face and one of his large, beautiful hands rubbing your forearm in comfort.

“I know I’m a mess.” you said.

“I like you as a mess.”

You began to blink at him.

“No, I…but I’m…I’m trying, but I just…I know I complain and I read trashy books and I call people bitches and all that, you can say it, Tom. It’s the truth,” you replied.

“Set your drink down,” he requested.

You complied.

He cupped your face. A gasp aired itself in your throat. 

“My dear, you are perfect as you are. A mess, broken, crying…and I want nothing else than to be with you.” he confessed.

You nearly dropped your jaw.

“That’s…a…you’re saying that…”

“Well…I…yes, I never thought I’d run into someone like you, who’d change everything. Why should I care if you feel upset sometimes like every human being  or what you read to make you happy or that things aren’t always wonderful…I…I love you….there, I said it.”

Love. The little word that changed everything. And it was the first time he said it. It was…unspoken. Something you both felt for the long months you dated, but never confirmed. And here it was, materialized and as present as the furniture and mugs and books, for it was just as real.

“I love you too, Tom.”

You embraced him tight, and he embraced back. He then pressed his forehead to yours, squeezing hands.

He then let go, looking down at your mug.

“Here…your tea will get cold…” he said, offering the drink back to you.

“And…my book….” you murmured.

“Oh, I have no problems with you reading it with me! If it’s that good, I’ll make you another cup of tea and get us some biscuits as well! Then you must tell me all about it!” He gave a little laugh. “Who knows, I may even try it myself someday!”

Smiling with him, you gave him a kiss on his cheek. Then, you settled into cuddling him, sipping your tea and enjoying both of your books in a moment of pure bliss.

[starlingbite]

But God, I love the English

Graphic made by the very talented @skyhighrollins911

Read Chapter One on A03

Wordcount: 24.5k Chapter: 1/7 Rating: Teen & Up

“Finally,” Bobby punctuates the word by wedging his clipboard under his arm. “We’ve got a special guest joining us for the next six weeks. As you should all be aware, Chimney recently signed up for the LAFD/LFB exchange programme. He will be spending the next six weeks in England seeing how they do things over there, meanwhile, we have one of London Fire Brigade’s finest joining us. He’s already been up at the Academy for the past few days getting some extra training to learn how we do things over here before officially starting here next week. He’ll be shadowing us for the first few days and then he’ll be a fully-fledged part of the team until he returns home. I'm sure he’ll have lots of questions so please help him out. I expect you all to make him feel welcome.”

“Uh Cap?” Hen’s the one to ask which is great because Eddie’s coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, “Does this Brit have a name?”

Bobby frowns and retrieves his clipboard to peer at the name he has scrawled down at the very bottom of the sheet. 

“Evan Buckley. Send him my way if you see him, won’t you?”

Or: Buck is British, and Eddie has a big fat crush on him even though he knows he's only around for six weeks.

**** This is the British!Buck fic I've been banging on about for way too long! Hope everyone enjoys. The whole fic is complete and I will be posting each chapter every few days.

If anyone wanted to be tagged in updates for this, please let me know!

@calinaannehart, @thebestbooksaround, @devirnis, @spotsandsocks, @bigfootsmom, @dr-shortsighted-owl

[tarjapearce]

Regarding Stealing and plagiarism by Fangweaver99/Miorjah

WARNING: LOTS AND LOTS OF TEXT AND PROOFS OF PLAGIARISM.

For a brief context to those that don't know, on June 20th I was notified through this post that there was a story that contained awfully simmilar ideas of my fic, Of Flowers and Humminfbirds. An idea that has been out for almost a year both here and A03.

As some of you may know, plagiarism has been part of my stance on this website. Not once, not twice, but thrice now with my stories.

However, as I said before, I will NOT tolerate more of this disrespectful behavior towards my work. The user in the post provided some proofs as you can see. However I took the liberty to see with my own eyes that not only some ideas were copied/tweaked. but also, parts of my fic that revolves mostly on the events of chapter 1,2 and 3 of OFAHB were taken.

Also, this is NOT an open invitation to harass them. Mind you, before I get accused of it again.

To starters, I'd like to clarify some things that might not be clear to people. Fangweaver themselves told me they had NEVER read my fanfiction, only my other work, called Miguelverse. Their friend approached me first with this BIG fat lie.

"They haven't read your fanfiction"

Now, If they haven't read it, why their name showed up in my kudos notification mail on MAY 5TH 2024? And their fic A Minor Slip Up was posted on 2024-06-15? Proof A:

Proof B: (If you go to my A03 profile on my fic, you can see it for yourself that their name is there.)

2. False accusations of harrasment done by their friend qphelia : Proof A:

Which was the opposite, as my ask box got filled by the same people over and over. (You can see it in my profile if you scroll down enough, along some claims they've done)

Proof B: (Didn't you just say that they were getting harrassed already?)

Which I did, they reached out an hour later, saying exactly the same.

Now regret of not reading their outline, cause they did send it. I was too angry to look at it.

Now. The plagiarism.

As most of you know, Comic Miguel is a cheater. He cheated on Xina Kwan with Dana D'Angelo, but he NEVER cheats on Dana. Some may say, "Yes, that has been done before where Miguel cheats on Dana" and you're right. However, cheating SPECIFICALLY on her in a gala, hosted by Alchemax and having sex in a workplace space, Isn´t canonical nor generic. It's from my authorship.

Of Flowers and Hummingbirds Chapter 1, Miguel and Reader Meeting and mentions of cheating:

Proof A, B & C of Fangweaver's fic, on Chapter 2 & 4:

A not so subtle hint to my 'underpaid receptionist' reader.

The span of time working for Alchemax. I know it sounds stupid, but it's there. Even that got used.

OFAHB Chapter 1:

Fangweaver's fic synopsis and proof A:

The Smut. You might think this is getting ridiculous but, it isn't.

In OFAHB chapter 1 There is a fingering scene, and some other dialogues that got tweaked/cherrypicked.

Fangweaver's fic on chapter 3:

Now, you think that's it but, sadly no.

In the aftermath of the cheating sex, in my fic, OFAHB chapter 1, they share a moment where reader falls to the floor and look for her panties. Then, they clean themselves up.

in Fangweaver's fic on chapter 4:

The reader's pregnancy suspicion:

On chapter 2 of OFAHB, Reader is struck with a nausea wave she thinks its food poisoning at first, then she faints and goes to Alchemax clinic where she is handed vitamins and a pregnancy test:

In Fangweaver's fic on chapter 7:

The confession:

OFAHB Chapter 3: Miguel and reader share a heated arguement, hinting at the baby isn't his.

On Fangweaver's fic, chapter 6:

----

Update: They've changed the synopsis of their work.

I could name a few more but in truth, it's pointless when the obvious is there. Sadly I've been pushed to put disclaimers in each of my stories, cause of this. It shouldn't happen, since we're supposed to be adults, knowing what's right and what's wrong. And if you know thievery is wrong, why doing it?

Credits won't be given because they know what they've done. What truly angered me were the accusations of harassment, and the OBVIOUS cynism on their end. Which reminds me, these three people are involved in the creation of that fic.

Although I know that there is no way to protect my work from people like this, it's truly discouraging for me as a content creator to have this sort of experiences in the fandom.

CREDIT ALWAYS . Don't go for the easy way. Don't disrespect people just for dumb shit as views and popularity.

-T.

--

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 3

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Summary: You find out who Aldwin is, and you get the cleansing you deserve.

A/N: Mentions of taking clothes off, nothing further than that. Also, my hc is that the tarnished has short curls, but you don't need to imagine that if you don't want to.

A03 link

-

Chapter 3: Treatment

It is uncertain how long you were being dragged for, past winding corridors you couldn't remember, hallways seemingly going on forever, until you were pulled into a large room. You could only guess you were back on the ground floor, where Messmer mentioned the so-called Sir Aldwin. When the knights threw you to your knees, you hissed from the pain, panic rushing in your chest as you looked around your new surroundings.

The room is oddly clean for what you feared was the torturer's chambers, yet it seemed to be the opposite. Cleansed instruments decorated the walls, candles had been lit and an aroma so sweet yet husky filled the air, bringing a sense of tranquility to fill your lungs. Lavender, you noted, silent as you slowly rose to your height, waiting for when it was all a lie to bring you to a false sense of security.

"Ah, my Lord mentioned a Tarnished would be sent to me?"

A reedy voice called from behind you, jolting you into action as you turned to face him. You had not spotted him right away, tucked in the corner with books he was drowning in. He lifted his head to you, a white beard, long and uncombed was the first thing you noticed on him, followed by his silver-grey skin.

"You're Nightfolk?" you whispered, already feeling slightly in awe and uneasy. Nightfolk came from the City of Nokron, with few in numbers. Some say they were bred with humans or Nox to create human-like offspring. At closer inspection, Aldwin seems to glint his eyes, and when you look too hard, you realise his eyes are a pale silver. It was said they bled silver, and you could only imagine it may have been true just from looking at him.

Aldwin was slightly taller than you, with a spindly body, dressed heavily in robes you could almost compare to the robes of Raya Lucaria, but theirs were of blue with red sashes, his was black and grey, no emblem in sight. "I am simply just a man," he says earnestly. "I am Sir Aldwin, the healer and physician of this keep. Messmer asked me to look at your wounds."

"Messmer cares for me now? His prisoner." You scoffed, though you found unease as you picked at your nails. 

There is unease, no matter how the man in front of you tries to make you feel safe. Your first immediate thought is to find any weapon in this room to use to fight your way out, even if it means using it in self-defense against this man. He seemed old and weakened, but you could not trust what waited outside those doors. It would be simple enough, and it would also be a maze to find your way back to the previous site of Grace. But you knew Messmer was no fool, it would be easy to leave a knight posted outside this room, to sound the alarm if you dared overstep. No matter how tempting it was, you straightened your spine, trying to hide the discomfort from your pain, watching him cautiously. 

Ser Aldwin was gentle with you in your surprise, nodding wisely. "Indeed. He asked that I take a look at your wounds." Reaching forth with a hand, he pointed towards the cot, larger and more comfortable than the one in your cell," May I have a look?"

You hesitated for far too long, which brought the aged man to reassure you further, "I do not plan to inflict pain on you if you are concerned. My healing is far recommended by everyone in the keep, even his Lord himself."

You didn't question what he meant by that, but you had no doubt Messmer came to him when he was injured. Slowly inching your way to the cot, you sat on it, legs dangling as you watched the man move around you to find what he needed. You watched him for far too long, out of vigilance, silently too engrossed in what he was doing before you found something pressing into your wrist, checking your pulse.

You recoiled your hand quickly, expecting pain, yet none came. Aldwin looked at you calmly, as if he had all the experience and patience of a saint to deal with a patient as difficult as you. "I did not mean to scare you, milady." He responded, retracting his hands, waiting for you to accept rather than him continuing. It amazed you how kind he was, treating a prisoner to treatment far better than the kinder hands of allies who had helped you bind your wounds.

Aldwin worked beside you, humming a soft tune you couldn't recognise from the tune, rummaging until he found salves, cloth and glass cauldron already simmering on its own without the need for heat or flame. You watched in amazement, as he began applying a white ointment to your burns, wrapping them lightly to exposed areas of your skin. He paused, looking up at you, "I will have to look under your shirt to see for further burns."

Silently and begrudgingly, you removed your shirt, thankful for the breast band covering you up. It stung when he applied the ointment to wounds that were bigger and deeper, yet when he was done, you were silently thankful. It was when we shocked you, placing a hand to put over your burnt skin, he whispered an incantation, words foreign to your ears, but miraculously, you watched a burn that would've taken months even years to heal, disappear to become barely a visible scar.

"My mother was a sage," he answered as if he knew you would ask how he knew of magic, "she helped a great many, including against the purge done by the Hornsent." There was a sense of doom that could be present in his eyes. "My mother suffered alongside those of Queen Marika's village."

Messmer's mother. You thought, and it did indeed bring a sense of sympathy to fill your heart, despite him being a tyrant. Your family were destroyed by war, and being a sole survivor, you in time, forgot their names and faces, a relic in time to fade away. "Thank you." You murmured. 

When he was done, you could finally pull your shirt back on, looking over the content on his desk.  Jars of different sizes, salves and notes scattered in a language you couldn't recognise, scribblings that could belong to a madman. Aldwin noticed your curiosity, shooting a glance to his table before beginning to pour the content from the cauldron into a decanter.

"The oils I use bring great ease to some. It brings great relief to those who suffer in daily pain. They can be used in baths or body oils." Aldwin presented you with the cup, still bubbling with the heat. You could feel it press into your palms, a great relief to soothe your cold bones, but the smell seemed suspicious. "What is this?"

"Just something to help if I missed anywhere, it helps give you the much-needed strength." He chimed, "For example, having been in a damp call for three days, can do a lot to the human mind and body."

You had already brought it to your lips when you nearly spat it out. "Three days I've been stuck up there?"

"Indeed, and it was in those three days, that his Lord was not seen, keeping to his throne room."

You were silent, idly sipping on your drink which helped invigorate you greatly. There was a strong taste of ginger and pine, though you couldn't place any other ingredients.

It was only once you washed down the content did Messmer's knights entered the room, three you counted, all awaiting your next moves. You watched them back before Aldwin butted in. "Ah, milady, they're waiting to see if you're going to put up a fight."

"Right," you stood back up, feeling the strength come back to your legs, "I will be right with no need to be touched."

They formed a circle around you as you were escorted out, Aldwin waving his goodbyes before resuming whatever he was doing. An odd man, but a kindly one that was needed in these lands.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Strip."

Something scratched at the back of your shirt, almost ripping it from your body with enough force that made you jolt. Messmer's knights had escorted you into the bathhouse, with hooded willowy figures awaiting you. The bathhouse steam helped your pores, relieving your lungs. The much-needed relief was being cut short by the way Messmer's maids he assigned to you swarmed you like a pack of hounds. 

"Strip." The older of the women ordered again, and you did not like the way they watched, even if you could not see their eyes. You obeyed silently, thankful Messmer's knights awaited outside, not that they would care if you were to be attacked in your most vulnerable state.

Your body, now nude, could still feel the cold despite the heat and steam of the room, covering yourself best as you quickly waded your way through the water until it reached chest height. The bath you laid in was small and narrow, but there were a great amount of oils that helped you feel slightly more relaxed.

With a nod from the older woman, the two others gathered around you, suddenly grabbing you by your wrists, plunging their ashen hands into the water, and grabbing sponges that they used to scrub you to death.

"Hey!" You yelped, taken aback by their boldness as they scrubbed you as if you were incapable of doing so. The roughness of the sponges hurt your already healing skin, leaving it raw and almost as if aflame by Messmer's kindling once again.

The elder woman came behind you, grabbing you by your head, her long nails digging into the back of your helm, lifting it from your dampened scalp-

"Enough." Your voice cut the air like the cut of a blade. The women scrubbing you even stopped as they all three watched.

"The helm." One of the women spoke, but you were not sure which one. 

"I am perfectly capable of washing myself," you commanded, making sure to use a voice stern enough and direct. "Leave me."

They hesitated at first, unsure to trust you, as if you would disappear in a puff of the steam and make your escape, but you simply waited, "Leave me." You repeated louder this time.

The three left, their robes swishing as if they were floating, rounding the corner in what you thought was the exit, but you knew wasn't. When you felt you were alone, you slowly raised the helm off your face. The steam was making it almost hard to breathe, but you sighed in relief when you could finally feel your face getting the much-needed cleanse.

Your curls were short in a bob, and when you ran a comb through them, it took much of a struggle to get it through a few times. Using the hair oils provided, you cleansed your scalp, dunking your head beneath the water and pretending you could drown. 

You sighed, the warmth of the water felt like the hug you yearned for, enveloping you and leaving you with the feeling of safety. When was the last time you felt safe? Maybe never.

You rose your head out from the water, drying your hair as you cleaned the inside of your helm before putting it back on, sighing in defeat as you could feel the steps of the maids return for you.

-

A/N: Sorry guys, the helmet stays on during bath time.

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns. THIS IS A DEAD DOVE FIC PLEASE READ A03 TAGS BEFORE STARTING!!

Masterlist || AO3

Chapter 1 - Yin

Kid searches for a weapon, and finds something unexpected.

WC: ~6k

A/N: first of all, please read the tags on A03 before starting!!! There are some very very heavy themes in this fic! Second: this used to be a third person POV, so the first few chapters are low key riddled with typos/grammar issues. I am aware of them and I have a fix ready to go, but due to ny health I haven't had a chance to update on a pc. Please just ignore the mistakes thank you, you should only find them in the first 3 or 4 chapters I think?

Update: 9/9/24 - first 2 chapters have been corrected, so it should be more readable now!

To say the least, Kid was fucking pissed off. He'd spent months gathering intel on a weapon, tracking its movements between marine bases, researching each new location it was held at and following close behind so he could take it for himself, only for it to be moved again whenever he got close. Months of chasing, months of disappointment after disappointment as the weapon moved just as he was about to catch up to it. All his intel told him the weapon should be here. He punched the concrete wall of the marine armory with his metal arm in anger, blasting straight through the cement. His men had been swift in making their way through the marine base, but the armory held nothing but standard issue guns and blades, along with a few crates of cannon balls.

To top it all off, after months of the weapon being moved between smaller, easy to invade marine bases, this one was massive, covering the entire spring island. The base housed several thousand marines easily, along with hundreds more in training. It was a hub for all of the surrounding islands, heavily fortified and well defended, the Kid Pirates had already been here for hours to make it this far. His crew was strong, as to be expected when the captain and first mate are both supernovas, but fighting that many marines was tedious. He usually wouldn't have bothered with making trouble for himself here, the risk for a base this size was never usually worth the reward, but the weapon was supposed to be here. He had finally caught up to it, and he was more than sick of chasing his tail trying to catch it. He was going to get the weapon today, no more cat and mouse. At this rate though it would take all day to clear out the marines and search the rest of the island, and there was no guarantee it would even be here. The longer they spent here, the more he felt like his intel was wrong. He made a mental note to return to the last island and kill the weasel who sent him here, it was starting to feel like a trap.

He'd first heard of the weapon a little over four months ago, overheard in a conversation between a small, not-worth-the-effort-to-fuck-with crew in a shitty tavern on some sad shitty winter island the log pose had forced them to stay on for five miserable days. A weapon with ties to Vegapunk, capable of swift, targeted attacks, at both long and short range. But at the same time, also capable of large scale, mass casualty attacks that could clear hundreds of men in one swift motion. It immediately piqued his interest - a strong, versatile weapon to further his goal of becoming King of the Pirates. It tickled his curiosity, he wanted to know what made this weapon tick, maybe even pull it apart to figure out the mechanisms and duplicate it.

He didn't know much else about the weapon, except that it used something to do with shockwaves. Or vibrations, or something. The intel was unclear. All he knew was he wanted the weapon, and tracking it had become somewhat of an unhealthy obsession. If anyone on the crew had anything to say about the matter, he couldn't care less. He had to have the weapon, he deserved it. And it was supposed to be here. Other than that, all he knew was the weapon's codename: Project Yin.

He let out an angry growl as he turned to leave the armory. It had to be on this base somewhere, he just had to figure out where. Followed closely by his first mate, Killer, he moved back through the crowds of marines that continued to fight his men. He barely took notice of them as he moved to the next building in the complex, letting Killer cut down anyone who dared to approach and knocking down marines that stood in his way with his metal arm like they were nothing more than annoying bugs.

The next building they came to seemed to be some sort of main office complex. Maybe the weapon was held in the safe in the Commodore's office or some shit, at the very least he could find the cunt and torture the information out of him. The way this day was going, he was itching for some good old fashion torturing. He broke down the door with a heavy kick, letting it slam to the floor and walking over it, his heavy boots leaving bloodied footprints on the fallen door, which creaked as it threatened to break under his weight.

The first room he entered seemed like some sort of basic office setup, with desks arranged around the space in neat formations, papers and file folders and various stationary items arranged in tidy, disciplined setups over most of the desks. The walls of the room were lined with filing cabinets and bookcases, broken up by the occasional pot plant or commercial sized printer. The back wall had a sturdy looking door with a keypad-style lock. Experience told Kid that behind it was likely either something valuable, or some sort of holding cells. Either way he would find out.

He used his devil fruit to rip the heavy metal door from its hinges, directing it away from him and breaking apart several desks as it crashed through them. He stomped through the room, followed by Killer who's light footsteps were barely audible. To Kid's annoyance, it was in fact a holding cell. He let out a huff, and turned to continue his search elsewhere, pulling drawers randomly from desks and emptying their contents on the floor, when his first mate pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Someone is in there,” he told Kid, his striped mask turned in the direction of the holding cell, “I'm sensing a strong haki, and someone else as well. Strong one might be the commodore”

Kid grumbled but took heed, he knew Killer's instincts were always reliable, and his observation haki was exceptional, it was worth a quick look at least. He turned back to the cells with an annoyed sigh and made his way inside.

At first glance it was empty. A cold, dark cell with typical iron bars to his left, and a plain looking desk, for assumedly whoever was keeping watch over the prisoners, to his right. A small light hung above the desk, barely lighting the space with an orange glow. Killer strolled past him to the desk, moving behind it with swift movements and bending down. Kid heard a yelp as Killer pulled up a man by his uniform collar who'd been hiding behind the desk. ‘Tsk, fucking coward’

He had to laugh, looking at the man. Judging by his cowardice he had assumed the marine was some poor desk jockey grunt, out of his depth against actual enemies, but to Kid's amusement the coward's uniform revealed him to be the Commodore himself. The Captain gave Killer a sly smirk and a nod, and Killer quickly pinned the pathetic marine to the wall, the curved blade from one of his wrist gauntlets pressed to the man's throat. A thin line of blood dribbled down his neck as the blade pressed into it, breaking the skin with precise pressure to add to the intimidation.

Kid approached the man with his usual cocky demeanor, his smirk quickly replaced by a frown as he remembered why he was here. Fed up with the runaround, he wanted answers now.

“Where's the weapon,” he growled, “we know it's here, tell me where it is and we'll make your death quick. Hold off on the info, or lie to us, and my friend here will peel your skin inch by inch and feed it to you till you're nothing but bare muscle, then he'll really start to have fun with you”

“Don't you fucking dare,” a cold voice came from the dark cell behind him.

Kid's head whipped in its direction, rage bubbling quickly as he absorbed the clear disrespect. Without hesitation he ripped open the bars of the cell with his devil fruit, racing inside and grabbing the human within with his metal arm. He closed his fist around their neck, holding them up by it and letting them dangle.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He spat at the thin, tall woman in his grasp who stared back at him with cold eyes.

“I said, don't you fucking dare,” you replied with little emotion, “are you deaf or just fucking stupid?”

He slammed you against the back wall of the cell, holding you high against it so your feet dangled well above the floor. The faint light from above the desk revealed your messy purple hair that fell to your waist, your unhealthy complexion, scattered with small lilac freckles, and your dirty, torn, marine uniform that hung off your thin frame. Your hands hung limply in front of you, bound by seastone cuffs, the style that had no chain between each cuff. Under them were raw wounds from the constant rubbing of stone against skin.

“And why the fuck would I listen to a slut like you?” He laughed, tightening his grip on your neck, careful to leave just enough space for you to reply.

“Because that's my kill,” you replied nonchalantly, wheezing slightly, but acting like the metal hand around your neck was nothing more than a pretty necklace. You'd had worse. “I'm going to kill that rapist bastard myself, let me out of these cuffs or I'll fucking kill you too”

Kid didn't think for one second that this lanky, feeble looking woman in front of him could even scratch him, but his brow raised in curiosity, his metal hand loosening its grip on your neck ever so slightly

“This pig raped you?” He asked, his flesh hand pointing at the commodore. Kid was a murderer, the worst kind of blood thirsty savage, but he didn't fuck with rapists. That was sick, even by his standards.

“Every fucking chance he got,” your voice was laced with absolute venom. His hold on your neck retracted immediately as his rage quickly redirected back to the commodore, and he let you fall back to your feet. You wobbled a little as you regained your balance, but didn't even attempt to rub at the bruises that were quickly forming on your neck, your piercing eyes locked on to the marine who had caused you years of suffering.

“Let me out of these cuffs,” you asked flatly. Usually Kid wouldn't tolerate being ordered around, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. How the fuck could this skinny bitch possibly kill a commodore? He'd probably kill you first, but at least it'd be entertaining.

“Please don't,” the commodore begged, “please just kill me yourself, please for the love of the everything, please, I'll tell you everything I know, don't let her near me”

Now Kid was really curious, and he shared a look with Killer. His striped mask hid his expression, but he knew his friend well enough to know that under the mask was likely an intrigue that matched his own.

“The keys are in the desk drawer,” you stated with a strained voice, trying to move the situation along. You were eager to get started and it seemed like these pirates were going to give you what you wanted. You recognized them from their wanted posters, though given their reputation you were surprised at the captain's reaction to your rape allegations.

Kid flashed another brief look at you, then strolled to the desk, pulling open the drawer and retrieving a set of keys. He returned to you and opened the cuffs, his eyes scanning you carefully, while your eyes never left the commodore, who was shaking in fear now.

Before the cuffs even hit the ground, your eyes changed from [e/c] to a strange, unnatural pink-gray. There was no longer a defined iris or pupils to your eyes, only pink-grey sclera. A quiet trickling sound came as the commodore pissed himself, and Kid laughed in amusement. What the fuck was this skinny little girl going to do to him? He gave Killer a nod as he walked out of the cell, and Killer grabbed the marine by the back of his neck. He dragged the man to the cell, throwing him in front of you and standing back with Kid to observe with equal curiosity.

The marine scampered backwards, pressing his back against the wall as you smiled cruelly at him, twitching ever so slightly. You raised a hand slowly, leveling it in front of you like you were reaching out. The commodore spilled out a slew of apologies, begging for forgiveness and his life. It occured to Kid suddenly that you might actually kill him.

“Wait, fuck, don't kill him yet,” he interrupted, “we need to know where the weapon is”

“I can show you where,” you replied, a toothy grin on your face as you approached the commodore.

“I'm not talking about some piss poor gun,” he grumbled, “I'm looking for something more importa-”

“Yin,” you cut him off, “I'll show you where she is”

Kid almost killed you himself right there and then for interrupting him again, but he was startled at the same time by the fact that you obviously knew the weapon he was here for. Clearly you were more useful to him than the commodore. You turned your head slowly to look at him, and you could tell by the way his heart beat faster that the look in your unnaturally coloured eyes unnerved him to say the least. They were lifeless, yet somehow glazed over with a look he recognized as bloodlust.

“Alright,” he relented, just wanting those creepy eyes to stop staring at him, “go ahead then.”

You gave him a grin that sent a shiver down his spine, and much to Kid's dismay you maintained eye contact with him as the commodore began to scream. The scream quickly turned to shrill, blood curdling shrieks, and Kid broke the harrowing eye contact to look at the marine. You hadn't touched him, but he was red and sweating. His skin was blistering like he was boiling alive, and his hair began to shed from his scalp and fall to the floor in clumps. All of a sudden the redness faded, and his skin became pale and clammy as his lips turned blue and he began to shiver violently. Then red again. Then blue.

You began to laugh. If anyone were to hear it out of context, they would describe it as playful, pure joy. The laugh of an innocent girl playing in a field of bright wildflowers on a temperate spring day. You were enjoying yourself more than someone just taking petty revenge, it was clear to the pirates that you were a little more than fucked up in the head and entirely mercilessly as the marine writhed and screamed in pain. Kid swore he felt his dick twitch looking at you, a woman that mirrored his own fucked up bloodlust.

“Alright,” he interjected, before his dick could get any further, “we don't have all day, get it over with”

You flashed him a sweet smile and winked at him. “Here comes the big finish!” you laughed, “he always loves when I make him blow his load!”

The marine's head began to vibrate to the point of looking blurry to the naked eye, and with one last scream his skull burst open, sending blood, brains, and bone fragments flying in a horrific display of gory confetti. Kid braced an arm over his face to protect himself, but when he put it back down he found unexpectedly that he was clean. Some kind of invisible wall stood between him, and the now headless body that was slumping to the floor, blood spurting from the severed arteries as his heart made its last few feeble pumps. The strange wall released, and the pink mist that had adhered to it fell to the floor with a splash, forming a perfect semicircle around the body. You twitched and laughed maniacally at the sight, it had been so long since you'd had this much fun, and Kid looked at Killer with astonishment. ‘What the fuck kind of devil fruit did this girl have?’ they both thought to themselves.

After several minutes of manic laughter as the pirates stood in shocked silence, you finally settled yourself, wiping your tears of joy from your eyes and picking the seastone cuffs back up. You didn't put them on, just held them. It had the effect of making your eyes return back to the natural colour they had previously been, much to Kid's relief.

“Follow me,” you finally broke the silence, pracing past them with a near skip in your step and out of the room like nothing had even happened. The pirates followed you quietly, trying to process what they'd seen. They'd done some pretty fucked up shit before, but they'd never seen a woman act like that. Both of them were sporting half hard dicks at this point, but neither would admit it. Kid had already made the decision in his mind to offer you a ride to the next island, in the hopes he would get a chance to see what this ruthless, feral woman would look like speared on his dick. You may have been practically skin and bones, and had barely anything in the way of tits or ass right now, but the pure psychopathic energy radiating off you was enough for him to want to fuck you. Nothing quite like the thrill of a woman who could kill you in an instant to keep things fresh in the bedroom, he always did like a challenge.

They followed you back through the office, to a set of stairs on the left of the room. You'd been at this particular base for a few weeks now, often pulled to the commodore's office so he could have his fun with you, so you knew the layout well. At the top of the stairs was a smaller, private office with a single large, ornate desk. A large leather chair sat behind it, with two smaller wooden chairs to match the desk in front. You let the cuffs fall to the floor as you approached a painting of a quaint landscape on the wall, climbing up onto a small filing cabinet in front of it and ripping the painting from its hooks. You threw it to the floor with no regard, revealing the safe that had been hidden behind it. You'd seen it before when the commodore had used its contents to taunt you, he had a similar set up at every base he'd dragged you to, he was a man of habit. You pressed your hand to the cold metal, and the pirates heard it vibrate along with the sound of pins falling into place as you unlocked it with your fruit. You opened the door with a strained grunt, it was clear that physically you were quite weak. The starvation hadn't helped, but you'd never been very strong.

“There you are baby!” you squeaked, reaching for something in the safe and pulling out a puffy yellow and teal jacket. You quickly slipped it on, hugging yourself with a gleeful sigh and enjoying the familiar warmth and weight of the long loved jacket.

“Oi, quit fucking around,” Kid growled, “we're not here to play dress up, where's the fucking weapon”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumbled, continuing to rummage in the safe, “I'm working on it. Ah huh! There it is!”

You turned away from the safe, sitting on the cabinet with your legs hanging over the side towards them, and slid a helmet on to your head. It was almost like a set of large, white, over-ear headphones, with a shiny, clear visor stretching over the entire front, from just past your nose to the apex of your head where it met the band of the ‘headphones’. The ears of the headphones were rounded and trimmed in a periwinkle blue, with some sort of small antenna extending up from the left ear. You fiddled with the rounded parts of the ears, revealing that the outer segments were actually dials of some sort, and the visor suddenly tinted to a deep purple. You let out a contented sigh and relaxed, leaning against the wall behind you.

“That's it?” Kid huffed, “a fucking mask? Where's the fucking weapon, this is your last warning to quit fucking me around”

“No, you fucking idiot, the mask isn't the weapon,” you grumbled, “you're looking at her”

Kid was silent. He didn't at all understand what you were trying to say, and was about to absolutely smash this insolent woman into the wall till she was nothing but a thin layer of red paint. Killer shook his head in disappointment at his idiot captain, quickly connecting the dots.

“Yin, I presume,” he said gruffly.

“That's my name, don't wear it out,” you smiled. Of course, it wasn't your real name, but you'd been called Yin for so long that nobody even remembered what your real name was at this point, including yourself. It was the codename you had been given as a weapon, and to the marines that was all you were, so they never bothered with your real name.

“I don't understand,” Kid mumbled, his eyes flicking between you and his first mate. He felt like he was being left out of a joke, and was moments away from raging.

“I'm the weapon, dumbass,” you said, annoyed now. You looked at Killer, pointing at Kid with a boney finger, “is he always this stupid?”

Killer gave an amused huff in reply, and Kid scowled at him.

“Sorry but I'm finding it very hard to believe that some skinny little marine whore I just found in a prison cell is an army destroying weapon” Kid grumbled, crossing his arms.

You sighed and slid off the cabinet, pulling a few more seemingly confiscated personal items from the safe and tucking them into your jacket pockets. You strapped a gaudy lilac leather holster to your thigh and slid a dagger into it, before strolling across the room to a set of french doors that led to a small balcony. You opened them and stretched, enjoying your first taste of fresh air in weeks.

“Come see for yourself then,” you cooed, beckoning to him with a single finger in a ‘come hither' motion, leaning against the doorframe in a seductive manner with one foot raised against it. Kid grumbled and followed you out to the balcony. Once the two pirates were outside with you, you quickly scanned the battle ensuing below and pointed at a large mass of marines that were holding back, waiting nervously to jump in as the Kid pirates took down those that had come before.

“Any of your men over there?” you asked Kid, “I can show you the ‘army destroying’ move I'm known best for, but it doesn't discriminate” you explained, making mock quote marks with your fingers.

Kid glanced below the balcony at his men. All the ones he cared about were close to the building below them, if a few henchmen were out where you'd pointed it'd be no love lost. He gave a grunt and nod of approval.

“Alright then, see you on the battlefield I assume,” you replied, pausing for a moment as you remembered your current, less than ideal physical state, “it's not going to be as big as normal, and I'm only going to be able to manage the one burst so it'll be all manual labor after that” you explained, patting the dagger on your thigh, “they've been starving me pretty good so I'm a bit fucked up at the moment, but I think you'll be impressed anyway.”

Without another word you hopped up onto the balcony railing with one graceful jump, gave the men each a playful wink, and with a silent prayer that you were even still capable of moon stepping that far, you began towards the location you had pointed out, gaining height as you moved with impressive speed. It was hard work, given your state, but you managed it, fighting against the strong ache in your long-dormant leg muscles. As you approached the area you began shooting directly upwards, and when you felt you had gained the height you wanted, you paused, moon stepping in an even rhythm to hover in place and looking back at the balcony. Kid and Killer were watching you intently, and you gave a little wave and smile, then made one especially strong jump.

You flipped yourself midair, moon stepping upside down as you hit the apex of the flip, using the downwards force along with gravity to propel yourself towards the ground. You flipped back upright as you shot towards the ground, one leg extended and straight as the other bent up.

“METEOR WAVE!” you yelled moments before you made contact with the ground, adrenaline pumping as you unleashed your signature move for the first time in years.

Kid and Killer watched in amazement as wave after wave of marines screamed out in pain and fell lifeless in an increasing large circumference around you, forming a circle of corpses that grew wider and wider. The collective screaming increased in volume as the number of affected marines grew in proportion with the diameter, before it quickly died out altogether. In mere moments at least five hundred marines had been slaughtered, and now lay in piles forming a perfect circle around you, and you stood proudly in the center, laughing and waving at Kid and Killer like a kid that just made your parent's watch you go down a slide at the park. They could only imagine how large the circle would be if you were at full power, you truly were a human weapon.

A shocked silence rang out across the battle as the other participants registered the carnage. The marines, realizing what had happened, turned away from the Kid pirates to rush you, while you were already reaching for your dagger, a coy smile on your face as you prepared to engage them. You moved fast, it was clear to any onlooker that you made up for your physical weakness with speed and agility, but Kid was taking no chances with your safety given your current weakened state.

“Protect her,” was all he said to Killer, before swinging himself over the railing to join the battle. Killer sighed and activated his punishers before hopping up onto the railing and moon stepping towards your location.

Given how many enemies you had taken out, it wasn't long before the last scraps of marines were retreating to their ships and fleeing from the island. Kid gave the orders for the compound to be raided and any useful supplies and loot to be loaded onto the ship in preparation to set off. It was a well stocked base, so he was chuffed with the amount of medical supplies, food, weapons and treasure they were able to take, the ship would be filled to the brim. On top of that, he had his new weapon. The day had turned out well after all, and he was in a significantly better mood.

He looked around the battlefield, scanning the area for his new toy, and spotted you happily skipping towards him with a half eaten apple in hand, and a disgruntled looking Killer following closely behind you. He hadn't had to protect you at all, you had been more than capable of holding your own with nothing but a dagger and the last fumes of your energy. It was a strange sight, the two of you walking together. You both wore face-obscuring masks, both covered in blood with confident walks that spoke of your satisfaction after a good battle, and yet you were so different from him. You were tall by normal standards for a woman, but next to Killer, an absolute beast of a man, you were still a tiny, lanky thing, skipping along with such outward joy while his brooding frame followed close behind, devoid of visible emotion. Only your mouth was visible, and you wore a wide grin as you took another bite of your apple.

“So? Do I live up to the hype?” you giggled, taking another bite and relishing the fresh fruit. On the rare occasion you did receive food, it was usually old and stale, sometimes even moldy. A simple thing like a fresh apple was a delicacy to you.

“I don't say this often, but I'm impressed,” he admitted. He gave Killer a nod, and Killer quickly grabbed you, making you drop your apple as he restrained your arms behind your back. “Unfortunately that means you belong to me now.”

“Oh come on!” you grumbled, pouting at your dropped fruit, the bitten side now coated with dirt, “that was a really fucking good apple, you absolute dickheads. Besides, you can't just tame me like that.”

“Look at yourself,” Kid laughed in confidence, sure that you were too exhausted by now to use your devil fruit, considering you hadn't used it at all since performing the shockwave move, “Killer could snap you like a twig.”

You sighed, annoyed now. To be fair, you were exhausted, but the apple had been serving to replenish your energy, so you had a little left in your reserves, enough to defend yourself and make a point anyway. “One chance, let go, or I'll make you let go.” Killer made no effort to move, so you sighed again. “Alright then, hard way it is.”

Killer let out a sudden, deep groan and quickly released you, stumbling back a few steps and almost tripping. Even with the mask, it was clear from his exposed neck that he was bright red and flush with embarrassment.

“What the fuck did you do?” Kid yelled. He stepped towards you, metal arm raised, threatening to grab you himself in defense of his friend. You smiled sweetly back at him, your head cocked to the side in feigned innocence as you repeated on him what you'd just done to Killer.

It began as a small flutter in his abdomen, increasing to a strong spark that traveled further and further down, till it encompassed his entire dick. In mere seconds he found himself falling to his knees and letting out a deep, carnal moan as the heaviest orgasm he'd ever experienced rocked through him, and he came in his pants suddenly and without warning.

You laughed and closed the space between the two of you, sliding a finger under his chin and raising his face to look up at you as he panted. “Are you going to be a good boy now?” you cooed down at him.

Kid slapped your hand away and fell back on his ass, sitting on the dirt, his usually pale face now as red as his hair. He couldn't bring himself to look at Killer, who he realized now had similarly creamed his own pants moments ago. Kid made an annoyed huff and crossed his arms and legs like a scolded child.

“I'll take that as a yes,” you purred, “and you?” you continued, looking at Killer who was not so subtling making an attempt at hiding the wet stain on the front of his pants, shimmying the blue sash that hung around his waist till the loose ends were at his front. He grumbled and sat in the dirt next to Kid, admitting defeat. He had expected resistance, but he was used to violence, not… whatever the fuck that was. He couldn't even process it.

“Good,” you chirped, pulling another apple from the pocket of your oversized puffy jacket and sitting on air, having made a hard surface with your devil fruit the same way you'd made a wall earlier.

“The moment the commodore came hiding in the jail cos of you lot, I'd already decided I was going to join your crew,” you explained, taking a bite of the apple, “I'm sick of being a government pawn, and your crew has a reputation for being ruthless, it suits my needs. I'm not looking for some piss baby crew like the Strawhats, I like killing, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But as you know, I'm a human weapon. I'm a hot commodity, so I'm not just about to be your bitch. I could kill you both right now before you even had the chance to react, without ever moving from this spot, and that's while I'm half starved and out of practice.” You paused to take another bite of your apple, closing your eyes and swaying happily at the juices coating your tongue, before sighing and continuing your monologue.

“You have no sway with me whatsoever, so don't even think about trying to threaten me again. That was your warning, next time I'll just kill you, I no longer have no time or tolerance for assholes, the marines have taught me a valuable lesson about that. You both have my respect, due to your reputation, but you do not have my trust. I'll come with you, I'll be your weapon, I'll follow orders like a good girl. But I will not do grunt work. I don't do chores, I kill for you, and that's it. Otherwise I'll do as I please. You'll give me my own room, you'll give me a fair share of any loot, and above all you and your men will not touch me without my permission. I expect to be treated with the same level of regard as a commander, if not - higher than a commander. Those are my terms. If you want me to be your weapon then you'll agree to them, otherwise I'm walking away.”

Kid was silent as he mulled over your conditions. He had to consider how powerful you could be at full strength, even if you were fucking irritating. Your display today had been impressive, on its own it would have been enough to carry the weight of your demands. Really you weren't asking for much, just to be a kept woman really, it wouldn't take much effort on his part to have a storage room cleared and converted for you, and otherwise instructing his crew to keep their hands to themselves. They knew his policy on rape anyway, it would be a death sentence if they touched you without your consent, either by your hand or his. As for the no chores, it would be harder to convince them that it was fair, but he hoped your impressive display today would be enough to keep them quiet.

“Fine, but you have to go through initiation just like everyone else,” he finally broke the silence.

“That's fair I guess, what do you do for it?” you had butterflies and were doing your best to not let it read on your face how fucking excited you were to get out of here, you'd honestly do whatever it took to be part of the Kid Pirates if it meant getting your freedom.

“Seven days tied to the mast, no food, minimal water. If a storm hits, or we get attacked, that's a you problem”

“Bathroom breaks?”

“Once a day, toilet only. Piss on my deck and I'll make you clean it with your tongue”

“No seastone, rope or normal chains only”

“Fine,” Kid grumbled.

“Alright then, you got yourself a deal,” you stretched out a hand to him. He stood and clamped it with his flesh hand, sealing the agreement with a smirk that mirrored your own.

“Welcome to the crew, scrawny bitch” he laughed.

“Thanks Captain,” you laughed back. A bright future was ahead of you, you could feel it.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[a-babe-without-a-name]

Sister Lovers, Water Brothers

Chapter 1: The Champion

Masterlist

Steve wasn't happy with the way Munson was treating one of his kids. So unhappy in fact, that he forces himself into their club leader's van to see what he's getting up to with Chrissy Cunningham, and maybe it's a good thing he's so paranoid because it might just save her life.

Or, the one where Chrissy doesn't die in the Munson trailer, and, despite the world-ending, the king(former) and queen(current) of Hawkins High cannot take their eyes off Eddie Munson

---------------

A.N. I co-wrote this with my roommate! We are going insane, it's gonna be along one so if you want to read on AO3 the link is below, just like and then head over :)

Read on A03

Greta, or Ms. G for those faint of heart, was running behind as expected.

Eddie was waiting for her outside the cafeteria, but the drama teacher was notorious for running late at almost any given moment. He didn’t mind waiting for Greta to finish up her last class to let him on stage, mostly for the fact she let them use the stage for Hellfire, but also hers one was one the few classes he’s managed to pass with an A.

“Don’t,” she emphasized her warning with a wrinkled finger, “touch the curtains. Any of the ropes for that matter. The trusses and the legs are all weighted and if you mess with them they could fall.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the boys keep their hands to themselves.”

“I know, I trust you all, I just don’t want anyone getting hurt,” She waved him off and led him on stage, where she’d already cleared any of the theater’s work off to the sides. Pointing out a few for things not to touch and unlocking the lighting box.

He was not expecting, once she left him alone, for the cafeteria doors to bang back open only minutes later and for Steve fucking Harrington to clumsily push through the center of the curtains. As they fell back in place, he saw a glimpse of a girl lingering outside. What would the king be without a fan club?

“Don’t-” Eddie frantically reached up to stop him from fumbling with the fabric, trying to pull it closed behind him, but it was already too late. They both looked at each other waiting for the other to speak.

“Uhm, it's Eddie, right? Munson?”

Panicking at the sudden intrusion into his Hellfire set up he dipped into a half hearted bow, hands flourishing as they tended to when he was worked up, “‘Tis I.”

“I’m Steve.”

“Yeah I’ve got that much,” Eddie droned, when he didn’t say anything beyond introducing himself. “What are you doing here, man?”

“I wanted to talk to you…” Harrington ran a hand through his hair. His eyes bounced around the room, looking anywhere but Eddie, almost like he was nervous. “About Sinclair.”

“Lucas?”

“Yeah, look man, Dustin told me about the whole trying to find a sub for tonight but you gotta cancel, or at least let the rest of them make it too his game.”

“You want me to cancel?” Eddie laughed cruelly, arms crossing over his chest and pulling into himself only to push up into Harrington's personal space.

“For Lucas’s game, yes.”

“I’ve been working on this campaign for months! I’m not letting it go unfinished over spring break because Sinclair is a traitor!”

“So you know how it feels then?” Steve demanded, stepping back out of Eddie’s face to give the stance full effect as he leaned forward, hand on his hip, and glared with a force that could knock a weaker man down.

“What?” Eddie breathed, refusing to be that weaker man.

“He’s been practicing all year for this!” He shouted, bull dozing over Eddie's confusion, before cutting himself off. Taking a step back, he looked down at his shoes and mumbled “I wasn’t supposed to yell.” He let out a controlled breath then restarted, calmer. “ He’s been practicing all year. I helped him all summer get ready for tryouts. This is something he cares about and you are all mad at him because a schedule he did not make conflicts with your game,” Steve hissed out, one of his hands off his hip so he can wave a pointed finger in Eddie’s face.

“Well… he was supposed to be one of us, and now he spends half his time with douchebags that push his friends into lockers, and call us freaks!” Eddie pushed back, moving in tighter as he got louder.

“One of you, one of them, what does it matter?” Steve asked almost sadly, “He’s supposed to be your friend. He’s a kid, who doesn’t want to be treated like one of the freaks and wants to enjoy the game he plays with his friends, and you’re the only thing stopping him from having both. You, Eddie Munson,” Steve declares, the finger now solidly on Eddie’s chest a burning point of contact, “hater of conformity are forcing one of yours to… conform.” he finished lamely.

Eddie opened his mouth to argue that if Lucas just dropped the whole sports thing, they wouldn’t be having this problem, but Steve cut him off. “You think he’s going to want to keep playing with you if you keep treating him like this? It’s the big game, and you all are shitty friends for not showing up, I hope you know that.”

“It’s my last campaign,” Eddie said softly, feeling the fight go out of him.

“I hope no one shows up for you then, I’ll be cheering on Lucas.” Harrington shook his head and shot one last disapproving glance back at Eddie before turning on his heel and disappearing back around the curtain.

Through it Eddie could still hear Steve arguing with the girl that had been trailing after him.

“That was a little mean wasn’t it.” That must be the girl.

“He’s bullying Lucas!”

“You were a bully t-”

“Yeah thanks, Robin, I know but I’m not going to let him-”

“Yeah, yeah you gotta defend your kids.”

“They aren’t my kids I just-”

“They are too.”

“Are not.” “Are too.” They traded back and forth as they must have made their way up the aisle, and out of ear shot. Stumbling back and leaning on the set pushed to the edges of the stage, Eddie stood, still in shock with hands clasped over his mouth as he tried to process what had just happened.

The stage lights they used to during Hellfire meetings were off, leaving the fluorescent work lights glaring down on him. Under the acrid yellow, Eddie felt overexposed, even as he tucked himself smaller into the throne he commandeered from Mrs. Pearson’s last production– some Shakespeare thing he hadn’t bothered to go see. 

The problem was, Eddie knew Harrington was kinda right. He was forcing Sinclair to choose between basketball and Hellfire, and there wasn’t really opting out of games for organized sports. He also felt stupid for not even thinking about seeing Lucas’s game, he’d just let the other boys bitch about him, probably not making it off the bench. When the hell had he become such a champion for cliques?

He sat there for god knows how long debating whether or not he could handle admitting Steve Harrington might have known better than him. He’d come to accept at some point in the last year that Steve might be an alright babysitter, but this… he didn’t know how to reconcile the image of Harrington from his glory days and this strange, caring, and awkward figure before him.

By the time the rest of Hellfire arrived, his legs were cramping from being curled in a ball, his ass was numb, nothing was set up, and the work lights were still on. He had made his decision.

“What the hell, Eddie?” Gareth asked, as their fearless DM sprung out of his throne, tripping and catching himself in a dance against gravity, before finishing with a sigh and a flourish.

“Gentleman, there will be no hellfire today,” Eddie announced solemnly, and already anticipating the club members' cries of despair kept talking over them. “Another great adventure awaits… in the gymnasium.”

“We’re going to the game?” Dustin asked as he arrived with Mike and another child wearing an American flag as a cape.

“Yes,” Eddie declared, a smug smile spreading across his face. “We’re going to support Sinclair.”

“My loser brother?” the child sneered. 

“Who is she?” Gareth asked.

“Erica,” She answered for herself at the same time Mike and Eddie said “Lucas’s sister.”

“And yes,” Eddie continued, “Hellfire, and Lady Sinclair apparently, will be attending the game in support of our fellow adventurer.”

“But he never even makes it off the bench,” Mike whined, “and we brought a replacement, let's just finish the campaign.” Eddie, sick of all the talking, stepped up onto the table smoothly and stalked across to the gathering of nerds.

“Good luck playing without  a dungeon master,” he shrugged, hopping off the other end, and pushing past the bickering crowd back into the hallway and out towards the gym. 

He didn't make it very far before the rest of them were trailing after him, some content to go along with his scheming, others, namely Wheeler, still complaining about wanting to play all the way there.

Once they made it inside the crowded gym, Eddie could barely spot Steve in the sea of green and yellow, but Steve saw him right away. 

The whole club came in together after the clock had been started and grabbed the closest seat they could find. Over the rising din of the crowd and the game picking up, Steve raised a hand to wave in recognition. Eddie ducked his head and nodded back subtly, hoping none of the guys noticed.

*

The final buzzer went off and the crowd erupted as the team picked up Lucas, lifting him above their heads to accept the cheers for his score. The band picked up the fight song, loud and fast, and eventually everyone was clapping along. 

When the celebration died down the energy carried on as everyone picked up their own conversations, recounting the game and the winning basket as they rushed for the exits.

On his way to the locker rooms, Dustin managed to snag Lucas by the arm and pulled him into a hug even as he jumped around, babbling about how well he did. Eddie slapped him on the back, and told him it was a good game that it was nice to see him play.

“I didn’t think you guys would be here,” he said with a bit of awe, the adrenaline still running through him making everything more fantastical, “What about Hellfire?”

“We decided to wait for you,” Eddie shrugged, before moving out of the way to let the other members greet their star player; even Mike offered him a slap on the shoulder, mimicking their DM, and managed to not complain about postponing the game.

Eventually, the gathered crowd filtered outside, and began to dissipate as they piled into cars and made their way home. Groups of players and their friends lingered in the pools of light along the sides of the gym, waiting for the remainder of the team to make it outside.

The players and cheerleaders seemed to be debating who would be meeting up later, and who would be driving, while Steve tried to convince the gaggle of children that had ambushed him to find their own rides home.

“Get Nancy to take you home,” Steve waved toward Mike, already heading to join his sister.

“He had to be home five minutes ago,” Dustin rolled his eyes, like Steve should have all of their bedtimes memorized. “They don’t have time to drop me off, besides, looks like you’ve lost your date already.” The kid sounded almost scolding as he pointed out Steve’s failure to bring a girl home.

“She had her own ride, plus, I’m waiting for Robin,” He told Dustin for the third time, “Wasn’t your mom going to pick you up from dungeons and dipshits anyway?”

“Yeah, but you can just-”

“No! I told you, Robin has to change and deal with band stuff, so just go meet your… mom.” Steve’s voice trailed off as he watched Eddie wander away from the rest of his club, and gesture at someone coming out of the locker rooms, before turning back into the school. 

A minute later, Chrissy Cunningham carefully made her way toward the far corner of the parking lot. Whenever the basketball team let out another loud whoop, she looked back nervously and pushed further from the few lights in the parking lot. Steve watched her path, trying to convince himself that she wasn’t headed for the black van parked by itself. Today might have been the first time he’d actually spoken to Eddie, but everyone knew that van. Sure there were the typical rumors about who to talk to for weed, where to find him, but recently Steve had gotten used to Eddie tearing out of the parking lot as Steve arrived to pick the kids up from Hellfire. Every time it made him wonder how Eddie wasn’t already deaf, from how loud his music was blasting even in the parking lot.

“Steve! Steve!” Dustin was screeching at him trying to get his attention, but he shoved past the kid, close on Chrissy’s trail. 

The next time she looked back, checking to make sure no one near the gym had noticed her slip away, she did a double take as Steve came up next to her, just as she rounded the passenger side of the van.

“Hey Chrissy,” he greeted with faux casualty. “Crazy game right?” he laughed, letting her put space between them as she pulled her sweater closer around her, clearly off put. “You did a great job out there, you know, cheering everyone on.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Steve,” Chrissy shifted awkwardly, he hadn’t ever really spoken to her maybe in passing once or twice, but he had never approached her like this, “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, of course, Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Steve nodded, trailing off, “Huge night for the Tigers…uh Chrissy, by the way, where are you going?”

The question took Chrissy off guard, Steve seemed like a guy to mind his own business, this felt weird.

“Yeah, huge night…” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to avoid the question. 

“Yep…” He looked down at her awkwardly, “So, where ya going?”

“Why do you care?” Chrissy snapped, curling a lip at him.

“I don’t know, I mean,” Steve shrugged, heaving a sarcastic sigh, “Your boyfriend just won what was probably the best game of his career, and you're here, waiting like a puppy outside Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson’s van.”

“What’s your damage, man?” Chrissy flinched, becoming overly defensive “I barely fucking know you, didn’t you graduate, like, last year? Leave me alone?”

“Chrissy listen, I really don’t think-”

“And I really don’t care what you think!” Chrissy half yelled, she ducked her head, glancing past Steve towards the crowds by the school, anxious about drawing attention.

“Please Chrissy I-” Steve tried to plead, 

“Hey!” Chrissy’s view of Steve was obscured when Eddie reached the van, stepping between them, “She said fuck off,”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, taking a step back, “That’s not exactly what she said,”

“Jesus H. Christ Harrington, what is this fucking boner you have over me all of the sudden,” Eddie shook his head in disbelief, “Can you go back to ignoring my existence for like two seconds?”

Eddie turned, making a point to slam his shoulder into Steve as he did so, and opened the car door for Chrissy. She thanked him with a small nod and climbed into the passenger seat, fumbling awkwardly with the usually unused seatbelt.

Eddie left Steve fuming at the side of the van as he made his way to the driver’s side. He hopped into the seat, jamming the keys into the ignition and trying to stifle his irritation in front of Chrissy, worried about scaring her off. 

Before he could put the van into reverse, the side door slid open with a bang.

“Nope!” Steve announced, climbing into the back and sliding the door closed behind him, “I’m coming with.”

“Like hell,” Eddie whipped around, genuinely too stunned at Steve’s brashness to react physically, “Get the fuck out.”

“No, no way, I don’t trust you!” Steve jabbed a finger at Eddie, crouching between the two front seats, “If you can’t do whatever it is you plan to with me around, probably shouldn't be doing it.”

“This is trespassing,” Eddie offered, still caught off guard, “I could have you arrested.”

“Yeah, okay” Steve reached under Eddie’s seat, snatching up a ziplock bag of weed, “I’m sure the cops would love digging through your van.”

Eddie huffed, quirking his jaw to the side in irritation as he gave in.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie turned to Chrissy, soothing out the crease in his forehead, “If you want to do this another night…”

“No!” Chrissy interjected too enthusiastically, but she really felt like if she spent tonight sober she’d die, “I mean, it’s fine…. I really need this..” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, at Chrissy, suddenly unsure of what he stepped into. 

Eddie chewed his lip, he could see the desperation on Chrissy’s face. Fuck Harrington, Chrissy trusted him, he said he’d help her with this.

“Fuck it,” Eddie turned around and threw the van into reverse, “Buckle up Harrington.”

Chrissy sat back in the front seat, trying to stay out of view of the crowds in the parking lot. Eddie's reckless driving didn’t help keep eyes away from her as the Van sped through the parking lot, narrowly missing groups of highschoolers. When they were finally out of the post game traffic and away from the school, Chrissy let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She allowed herself to relax for a moment, forgetting about the uninvited guest in the back seat as she looked around Eddie's van. It  was…dirty, but not gross, and she could tell that he had swept up the loose items he usually kept in the passenger seat into a lidless shoe box on the floor by her feet. A pair of old concert ticket stubs were pinned in the visor above her head. A chain hung from the rear view mirror, a heavy oval locket hung at the bottom, and a few hair ties were wrapped around the mirror as well.

Chrissy glanced over at Eddie, one wrist draped over the steering wheel the other arm leaning against the open window. The parts of his hair closest to the side of his face whipped around in the wind, glancing off his cheek as he nodded his head along to the music, Chrissy wondered what he’d look like with his hair pulled back.

Catching herself staring at him, she jerked her head away choosing to instead look at herself in the side mirror. She looked tired, not from cheering at the game or classes all day, but in a way that made her look close to death. Movement on her left pulled her attention away from her own grim reflection. Eddie leaned over, ejecting the tape in his radio. He opened up the glove box in front of Chrissy, tossing the tape in with the others. 

“I’m sick of that album,” Eddie leaned back to his side of the car, he nodded towards the tapes in his glove box, “See if there’s anything you might like in there.”

Chriss hesitated for a moment before Eddie nodded at her again, encouraging her to look through them. She leaned forward, carefully sorting through the tapes, flipping them over and reading the names. Most of them were unrecognizable to her, the type of stuff Jason would call devil music. One stuck out to her though, the cover was unfamiliar, but she recognized the name. 

She put the tape in and turned the volume down, unsure of what this would actually sound like. The radio whirred for a moment before the sound of guitar on the first song began to play. 

“This is a good one,” Eddie laughed lightly, taking the case from her and looking at it, “This is Queen’s first album actually, their sound has changed alot since then. You listen to them alot?”

“I wouldn’t say… a lot,” Chrissy admitted, fidgeting with her necklace, “I used to listen to them more in middle school, but I haven't heard this one before. I think I like it though.”

“Yeah, it’s a good one.” Eddie agreed, “It’s been a while since I had it in, I’ll probably keep it on for a while…”

His words trailed off as he listened to the music. He nodded along to the beat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Oh, you did really well at the game, by the way.” Eddie piped up, glancing over at her. 

“You were at the game?” Chrissy was surprised he came and more surprised she hadn’t noticed him there.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie threw a pointed glance over his shoulder at Steve, turning sarcastic, “Tiger’s big game, wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“I’m glad I went. Really!” Eddie offered up, worried the bite meant for Steve was coming off like he meant it for Chrissy, “You do that cheer thing, like, really well.”

“Thank you,” She liked that he seemed to appreciate her cheering, even if the rest of the school didn’t sometimes, “I’m glad you were able to make it to the game.”

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek, “You’ll have to let me know what other things you cheer at, it was super cool, you looked great…”

“Oh, so you came to the game just to watch the cheerleaders?” Steve scoffed, “and now what you’re stealing Jason’s girl-”

Chrissy jumped, surprised at Steve’s sudden interjection. When she turned around to look at him, he was leaning forward in the tiny fold-down seat in the back of the van.

“Woah, woah!” Eddie laughed in disbelief, “First of all, you’re the one that coerced me into going to the game-”

“Cause you were being an ass to Lucas,” Steve sneered, but Eddie argued over him. 

“And you might think that women are property, Harrington, but not all of us only talk to girls who’s pants-”

“Hey!”

“Thought, it’s not like you’ve been getting any recently anyway, if Henderson knows his shit,” Eddie half regretted saying it, only for the fact he was betraying Dustin's trust, but the way it made Steve turn a deep shade of red, proving the statement true, was worth it. 

Chrissy watched the two bicker for a moment, confused as to whatever relationship they had. She assumed they had never had an interaction in their lives, but it seemed like they knew more about each other than just distant school peers. She turned away, deciding to be more interested in whatever was outside 

The town of Hawkins whipped by the open window, suburban houses giving way to dense forests as they got closer and closer to Forest Hills. The town she spent most of her life in felt unfamiliar tonight, darker and colder than it should on a night in March. Then the scenery began to slow down, unblurring until everything was still as the van rolled to a stop.

Chrissy waited a beat and then, realizing the boy's argument had petered out, looked forward. Confused to see the straight road stretched out in front of them, no stop sign like she expected.

“What are we-” Chrissy began, stopping when she realized Eddie was no longer on the driver’s seat, “Eddie?” 

She turned around in her seat, Steve also missing from where he just was.  She unbuckled her seat belt, kneeling in the seat to look further into the back of the van.

“Eddie?” She waited a moment, “Steve?”

Nothing, just the gentle rumble of the idling van. 

Chrissy opened the door, climbed out onto the street, and looking around. The road was empty, no sign of the boys she had just been in the car with less than a minute ago. She called for them again, feeling panic rise in her chest as she took a few hesitant steps in one direction and then the other. She could see the sign for the trailer park where Eddie lived up ahead, not far from where they stopped. She tugged the sleeves of her jacket into her palms, fidgeting with the fabric, unsure of what was happening but figured heading towards where people might be was a good idea. She was halfway towards the sign when an odd whirring started to ring out around her. Chrissy stopped standing still and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. She turned to see that the van was gone and in the place where it had been she could make out the silhouette of someone sitting at a table. Chrissy took a few steps towards the figure.

“Hello?” Chrissy called out.

Something was wrong. This was wrong.

She walked closer, unsure of what else to do. The whirring got louder as she approached, she began to recognize the figure sitting at the table facing away from her. 

“Mom?” Chrissy asked, confused as to why her mom was set up and sewing in the middle of Kerley at 10:30 at night. 

“Just loosening this up for you sweetheart,”  It was her mothers voice, but something was wrong. It didn't sound like her at all, “You’re going to look…absolutely beautiful.”

Chrissy took a step closer, reaching out to put a hand on her moms shoulder when her mom turned around in her chair. Except it wasn’t her mom at all, it was a horrible and distorted version of her mom. Chrissy screamed at the sight of her mothers glazed over eyes and rotting smile. 

She turned to run down the street, towards the trailer park and away from whatever this was. When she turned, though, she was no longer on Kerley in the middle of the night, instead she was in her own home. She was on the 2nd floor landing, right outside her own open bedroom door. She began to pant, her heart beating faster than it ever had as she felt the presence of something bad behind her. Coming for her. Calling for her.

Chrissy took off, sprinting down her stairs, taking them two at a time as she ran from whatever it was that was after her. She nearly tripped as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked around, hoping to see anything that felt right. Down the hall Chrissy could see her father sitting in his usual chair in the family room, the glow of the tv lighting up the room around him.

“Dad!” She shouted out, running to him like she was a little girl again., “Dad?”

When she reached him though, like her mom it wasn’t him. He turned in his chair to look up at his daughter, but his eyes and mouth were sewn tightly shut. Chrissy screamed jumping back as he struggled to speak, thrashing in his seat. Chrissy didn’t know what else to do but to run, she headed towards the front door. She couldn't help but to stop and gag when she reached the large dining room of her house. The long table that was rarely used was covered in plates and platters full of  slimy rotting food covered in thousands of spiders. Chrissy choked back the bile in her throat and sprinted past. She could still feel the presence of whatever was hunting her not far behind. 

She reached the front doors with a bang as she fell into them. Chrissy wasted no time in throwing open  both doors. Her heart sank at the sight of heavy boards crossing in front of the exit. Blocking her only way out 

“No… no!” She screamed, slamming her shoulder into the wood, she screamed as loud as she possibly could, “Help! Please somebody help!

She could hear the pounding of  footfalls approaching her. She continued to slam into the door, watching behind her as a tall figure stepped into the archway of the main hall. Slowly her struggle came to an end as a rough voice called out to her.

The almost human figure in front of her was grotesque. Tall and distorted with glazed over eyes and thick tendrils running all over its body like roots. With the light reflecting off its wet skin Chrissy could see the roots move over his body, like a separate alive entity. Its feet squelched into the hardwood with each heavy step.  It approached her slowly as she whimpered against the wood, pressing herself as far back into it as she could praying to a god she had never believed in to save her.

“Don’t cry, Chrissy.” It spoke, coming closer and closer. She couldn’t respond with anything aside from more fearful cries.

“It’s time for your suffering…” It was right in front of her now, close enough she could smell the earthy wet mildew scent radiating from its body. Slowly it raised a hand, its horrifyingly long fingers stretching out to hover over Chrissy’s face, “to end.”

 Chrissy whimpered, doing her best to prepare herself for whatever hell she was about to enter. She did what she had done years ago when she pictured her own death, she dragged the good stuff to the front of her brain. She had always known that whenever she died, however she died, whether she wished it upon herself or not, she’d want the good things to be the last things she thought of. 

She thought of her dad, of him helping her practice cheers and taking her out for ice cream afterwards. She thought of her brother, who had made it a point one summer to have breakfast ready every morning for Chrissy when she came down from her bedroom before going to her summer job and driving him to baseball camp. She thought of her friends on the cheer team, how much she loved being an athlete with them. She thought of Jason, how nervous he was to ask her to homecoming freshman year with a bouquet of flowers that made him sneeze in the middle of asking her. She even thought of Eddie today, the way he was the first person her age that actually noticed her in months. How he did his best to make her laugh earlier that very day. Her last day.

Chrissy could swear she could even hear him saying her name… calling her name. And she could hear a song she would never be able to name, but was sure she listened to as a kid with her father.

“Once I believed in everyone.” She could hear it faintly, far away accompanied by the muted strum of a guitar and then the beat of a drum as the voice sang on, “Everyone and anyone can see.”

She recognizes the voice, understanding now that it was the Queen tape Eddie had let her put in his radio.

“Oh, oooh, the night comes down,” Chrissy felt the world fall away, thinking about the unknown feeling of dying as she tipped back and fell into the music… 

*

In the rearview mirror, Eddie looked back to see Steve pouting down at his clenched hands. He was embarrassed, but took the time to calm himself and spoke softer, but still aggravated,

“Look man, I don’t trust you. Dustin might think you’re hot shit, but I’m not about to trust a drug dealer that hangs out with a bunch of kids, and makes off with the queen bee in dark parking lots.” Steve gestured at Chrissy, where she was keeping out of their admittedly petty argument. “What are you two up to anyway? You still haven’t answered me.”

“None of your business,” Eddie half-heartedly threw back, pulling his gaze in front of the road to look over at Chrissy. She’d been scared enough earlier in the woods alone, so he was sure that she was uncomfortable with Harrington sticking his big head where it didn’t belong. In trying to stay out of the argument she’d crammed herself as close to the window as she physically could. 

“I really want to like you, Munson. I do!” Steve continued, frustrated and gesturing in a way that if they weren’t stuck in the van Eddie was sure it would have been accompanied by pacing. “The kids seem to trust you, even if it is just because you lead their little game club, but I don’t know, man, it’s like you want to look like a bad guy- with the leather and the chains, and the loud music. And what am I supposed to think?”

Eddie was only half listening to Steve’s rant, instead focused on Chrissy, who had gone eerily still.

“Harrington, shut up a second would you?” He said and reached for Chrissy’s shoulder. He was sure to telegraph the movement, but she didn’t jump like she had been all day. In fact, she didn’t react at all, even as he shook her gently.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, I’m trying to”

“Harrington!” He insisted, using his momentary shock to address Chrissy without Steve babbling, “Hey, Chrissy? You okay?”

“What? What’s wrong?” he questioned, trying to lean up between their seats, but Eddie's arm was still in the way.

“I don’t know man, maybe she’s passed out?”

“Chrissy? Chrissy you awake?” Steve tried, shaking the passenger's seat. “Did you give her something?” He accused when she again did not react.

“You got to her first? When would I have given her something?” Eddie asked, offended at the notion.

“I don’t know! Look, just-” Steve caught a glimpse of Chrissy’s eyes in the side mirror, they were rolled back in her head and almost looked like they were flickering. “Shit, pull over. Pull over!”

“What? What’s going on?” Eddie tried to get a better look but was forced to return both hands to the wheel as he stepped on the gas, getting them the final half block to his trailer and skidding into their gravel driveway. Not bothering to shut off the van, he unbuckled himself and leaned in front of Chrissy, pulling her away from where she was slumped in the door. “Chrissy! Chrissy wake up!” He tried shaking her more, but nothing was working.

“Shit, is she having a seizure?” Steve asked before deciding it didn’t matter what was happening but he had to do something. “Unbuckle her.” 

Eddie frantically jabbed the button until it released and she finally began to move. For a moment a brief wave of relief passed between them, but she still wasn’t awake. Her eyes continued to blink and twitch rapidly as her head tilted back and she began to hover over the seat.

“What the fuck?!What the fuck?!” Eddie shouted, hands outstretched wanting to help, but clueless and scared. 

As if suspended by invisible strings she lifted toward the cabin roof, the seat belt still tangled around her provided some resistance, but the thing lifting her was stronger. The light flickered wildly. Rather than shutting off the intensity and frequency seemed to build indefinitely heightening the chaos of the situation. Continuing to rise, Chrissy slid free of the seat belt, her head threatening to reach the ceiling as both boys frantically racked their brains for something helpful. Eddie was mostly trying to form words, make sense of the scene before him, and keep from screaming, but Steve knew better. He was used to seeing weird shit like this, and he thought he'd gotten pretty good at dealing with upside-down crap at this point. 

The problem was nothing was attacking Chrissy, she was just slowly hovering in the car and it would be peaceful if it weren’t for the aching feeling of dread filling the air. Steve collected himself enough to move his hand between the crown of her head and where she was now pressing into the car. Eddie moved to stop him, still unsure of what his intentions had been all night long, but when Chrissy pressed harder and harder into the van ceiling he relented. He just hoped Harrington didn’t get his hand crushed.

“The heat!” Steve shouted suddenly, waving wildly with his free hand for Eddie to move. "They don’t like the heat, turn it up!”

“What!? They!?” Eddie struggled to look past Chrissy floating between them, her shoulders now hunching to bring her closer against the roof.

“Don’t ask, just do it!” Steve pushed, unable to reach up and do it himself. From the driver seat, it was muscle memory to flip the heat and fans all the way up, as he did so often during the winter, but the motion suddenly felt foreign to Eddie. Hot air blasted him in the face even as it was contracted by the cool night air coming in through the open windows.

“What the hell is that going to do?” Eddie asked, figuring he wasn’t wasting time anymore as the both desperately grabbed Chrissy and tried to drag her back down. 

The voice on the radio continued to sing on, accompanied by drums and guitars, though it was undercut by the lights still buzzing and flashing rapidly and the now loud fans whirring over the van's engine. Chrissy pressed harder against Steve’s hand and bent so that her shoulders and back were pushing against the thin ceiling threatening to dent it outward. Both boys were yelling desperately, begging Chrissy to wake up, to give any sort of indication that she was still there. Everything is built higher and higher. It felt like any moment the van would give out with the pressure of it all. Steve winced as his fingers bent uncomfortably, and then it all came crashing down.

It was only a short fall, but Chrissy’s legs caught on the seat and slid awkwardly back to the floor as Steve and Eddie’s desperate pulling finally gave way, forcing her down into the seat.

Chrissy gasped as her back hit the seat, nearly knocking the wind out of her as she frantically looked around. She was back in Eddie’s van, parked in front of what she assumed was his home. Hot air blew on her face as she began to hyperventilate and cry. She realized that Eddie and Steve were also back with her. Eddie had a hand twisted in the front of her sweater, the other wrapped around her forearm and Steve had a heavy hand pushing down on her shoulder.

They sat like that for a beat, all of them shaking as Chrissy sobbed. Steve took his hand away, sitting back on his heels as his mind raced. Eddie removed the hand still clenched around the font of her clothes and dropped his grip on Chrissy’s arm. Without thinking, Chrissy snatched his hand back, still shaking as she held onto him.

Eddie remained a cord of tension. Though he returned the grip Chrissy had on his hand, the other went back on the steering wheel as if the car might take itself out of the park and try to crash them into his house. Steve honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it did. 

From behind his curtain of tangled hair Eddie started up a steady chant of “fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck man,” until he was turning around to scream at Steve, “What the fuck!”

“Shut up!” Chrissy cut them off, trying to take a deep breath, wiping away the tears with her free hand. The sensory overload that was his car finally got to Eddie. He shut off the engine, cutting off Freddie Mercury mid-lyric, killing the hot air still blasting from the vents and regretfully taking his hand away from Chrissy’s. The silence settled over them, as they tried to separately piece together what had just happened.

“That was normal right?” Eddie asked, unable to move, even to look away from the wheel. “That was a normal seizure, and nothing weird happened. You weren’t floating, and my wiring is just shit-”

“No man, I don’t think so,” Steve shook his head, trying to shake a cohesive thought together. He let out one “Shit!” punctuated by his hands punching into Eddie's chair, before searching for his bag in the dark, only to realize he’d left it in his own car.

“What is going on dude?” Eddie asked with a warning tone, looking to Chrissy for answers but she shook her head.

“I don’t know what that was. I- it’s happened before, hearing things, but that- Was I floating?” They both turn to Steve waiting for an explanation he didn’t feel like he had.

“Look,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I know some things, but I don’t know what that was. The floating is new, it always has to be something new.” He started to trail off, mostly talking to himself under his breath, “Give me the dogs again, I can hit the dogs or burn shit, or punch a Russian.”

“Harrington, It’s starting to sound like both of you are losing it,” Eddie observed, panic rising in his voice again.

“I’m not crazy! There’s just like…magic… in Hawkins,” He attempted to explain, ignoring Eddie’s bafflement. “Well it’s not magic, there’s this girl with superpowers but she lost them, and I just need my walkie, we’ve got to tell Henderson.”

“Henderson! The child?” Eddie screeched, making Chrissy flinch again, leaning closer against the door. “Sorry, sorry” he breathed, raising his hands and shrinking into himself, making himself smaller and giving her room. “I just- what’s Henderson got to do with Chrissy having a seizure?”

“I would also like to know,” Chrissy interjected.

“He’s the one that got me dragged into all of this. It started when Will Byers went missing. Remember with the fake body and stuff?” They both nodded, how could anyone forget? “But you said this happened before Chrissy?” He continued,” Seeing things?

She nodded shakily, “just the past few days, but it's…been getting worse. That’s why I was- Eddie was going to…” she trailed off, unable to meet their eyes.

“You were seeing things, and decided drugs would help?” Steve condescended.

“Fuck off, man,” Eddie bit, and pushed Steve over where he was squatting between their chairs, leaving him sprawled in the back of the van and offering Chrissy some space. “Who the hell are you to judge?” Properly scolded, Steve ducked his head and mumbled an apology, but Eddie had already refocused on Chrissy. “What have you been seeing?”

“I was hearing my mom mostly,” she admitted, “But there was this clock? In the woods behind the school, I saw a clock in a tree and spiders came out of it. But this time was different. I wasn’t just seeing, or hearing something that wasn’t there, I thought- it felt like I was in my own house, and I could see it all so clearly.”

“What about vines?” Steve rejoined the conversation, having righted himself, “Any sort of creatures, or particles? Like in the air?”

“No, nothing like that,” Chrissy shook her head, brow furrowing as she tried to recall details. In the moment she had been too terrified to notice anything that detailed, but she tried to explain anyway, “I was on the road, but it turned into… my house? It was like a nightmare, but it was so real.”

She paused for a moment trying to organize her thoughts before speaking, “And my parents were there, but it was wrong. Like, my mom wasn’t my mom and my dad’s face was…”

She choked back a sob thinking about the grotesque version of her parents, “And I was being followed by… Something else? It was shaped like a human, but it was more like an alien or something. It was so tall and it had these roots,” She turned to look at Steve, “I guess they could have been vines, they were all over its body and they were moving like they were alive. I couldn’t get out of my house, I was trapped there, even when I got to the front door it was, like, boarded up. And this thing it was… calling to me?”

She looked up at Eddie, both boys waited for her to continue, “It said that my suffering,” another sob caught in her throat, cutting her off, “my suffering would end… It was so awful. I… I can’t… I don’t…”

Eddie squeezed her hand as she tilted forward and tried to stop herself from crying, her other hand covering her mouth. Steve put a hand on her shoulder, trying to do anything to calm her down.

“That… I’m sorry, that could be something, but I have no idea what it could mean,” He took his hand away and rubbed his forehead as if he could get rid of the stress lines growing there. Then something must have come to him because he looked up at both of them with horror. “I forgot Robin.”

*

Steve’s car was the only one left in the lot. The lights on the outside of the school were still on, thankfully, but even the janitor had locked up and gone home.

Robin sat on the hood of the Beemer, playing a game of tic tac toe with herself in the dust, not caring what Steve would say, because he had left her at school! It was almost ten, and she didn’t have any quarters left for the pay phone, so she was stuck waiting, hoping that whoever stole her ride home would return him. 

Sooner or later she would probably have started the long walk home, trumpet case as her only self-defense, and brave the lecture from her mom for being out so late. Fortunately, a black van came careening into the parking lot, not one minute after she finished filling another grid with no winner in sight. When it came to a stop next to her, She caught sight of Eddie Munson in the driver's seat, before her traitorous best friend came tumbling out of the side door.

“Where the hell-” She started to yell, sliding down the hood and dropping to her feet.

“We’ve got a code red,” He interrupted, grabbing her by the shoulder as if trying to physically hold her gaze and force her to take him seriously. “At least I think we do?”

“And you left me alone?! In the parking lot! To what? Fight another hell beast with Munson?”

“Hey, Robin,” the aforementioned Munson waved unsurely, before skirting around the van to open the passenger side door and help Chrissy Cunningham down.

“Look, I didn’t mean to leave you I just- Eddie- Fuck.”

“Steve-o here ditched you because I looked ‘kinda creepy’ and couldn’t be trusted with Chrissy,” Eddie informed her, crossing his arms and looking between the two of them for their reaction.

“And it’s a good thing I did!” Steve threw his hands up, exasperated.

“What is happening?” Robin whispered to herself as the strange trio came together before her. Eddie and Steve were still unsure of each other, carefully watching each other, while Chrissy kept Eddie between her and Steve.

Robin let out a panicked sigh, “Okay, what are we dealing with? Cause I need to be home,” she pretended to think and glanced down at her wrist, “twenty minutes ago, so if we need to save the world again we better do it quickly.”

“Save the world?” Chrissy piped up, moving out of Eddie's shadow.

“Mostly our own asses,” Steve corrected, earning himself a slap on the arm. Robin rolled her eyes as Steve rubbed at his arm.

“That’s for abandoning me!” She reprimanded, then turned to Eddie and Chrissy. “This one’s useless, so tell me what happened, and quickly! I want to get out of this stupid parking lot, it’s giving me the creeps.” She gave a full body shiver to sell it.

The two of them did their best to summarize the strangest car ride of their lives, with only minor interjections from Steve, and Chrissy tried to explain the recent episodes she’d been having. Eddie’s half-panic dramatic reenactment of Chrissy floating inside the van was more amusing than helpful, but it got them all to smile, and it gave him a break from anxiously twisting his rings and pulling at his hair while Chrissy described the horror show that had taken place in her head.

The whole time, Chrissy remained pretty much glued to Eddie’s side, though it seemed like she was warming up to Robin. She pointedly ignored Steve.

“The man, monster, thing, he had his claws around my face, grabbing me, and then it was like he pushed me backward, and I fell back into my body after I heard the music- Eddie's tape was still playing and I could hear it right before I woke up.”

“So what, the monster is some guy this time?” Robin asked.

“I mean we fought literal caves once so a guy would-”

“He wasn’t just a guy,” Chrissy interjected before their bickering could escalate, “You mentioned vines earlier? He looked like he was covered in vines, or made of… veins, and really gross. Just, wet and almost decaying.” She curled in on herself at the recollection, and Eddie wiped at his arms as if shaking off bugs, and hopped closer to her. 

They stood there for a moment, unsure about what to do next. Robin broke the silence.

“So… Now what?” She asked, looking around at the odd little group, uncomfortable with the silence.

“What do you mean?” Chrissy asked, looking over at Robin.

“Chrissy, you were just, like, possessed, or something,” Robing waved her hands around to make a point, “And we’re just gonna go home? Kick back and have a post-possession beer?!”

“No, no you’re right.” Steve groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Chrissy shouldn’t be alone. What if it happens again.”

Chrissy frowned, looking down at the ground and trying to stifle her panic. Blinking back tears at the idea of going through that again. 

“No, no that’s not happening again,” Eddie cut in, noticing Chrissy’s anxiety.

“You can’t guarantee that man,” Steve shook his head at Eddie, looking sorry.

“Then,” Eddie floundered for a second, trying to think of something, “Then, I’ll stay with her! I’ll stop it if it happens again.”

“You have no idea how-” Steve started.

“The heat, right?” Eddie cut him off, almost pleading, “The heat makes it stop?”

“You barely held it together the first time!” Steve argued, a hand on his hip, “Do you really think you’d be able to help her?”

“Hey, man, that was-” Eddie jabbed a finger at Steve, getting irritated.

“Hey!” Robin shouted, cutting Eddie off and making both boys look her way, “How about we all stick together? Me and Steve have handled stuff like this before, and Chrissy clearly trusts Eddie to some degree, so… let’s stay together?”

“Do you want to do that?” Eddie asked, looking down at Chrissy by his side.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Chrissy said. She opened her mouth to say more but stopped.

“It’s settled then!” Robin clapped, “Let’s head to Steve's house!”

“My house? Why my house?” Steve turned to Robin.

“Because you have the biggest house and no parents to freak out about whatever exorcism shit we might have to do.” Robin was already headed around the side of Steve’s car to the passenger seat. 

“That’s fucked up and you know it,” Steve pointed a finger at Robin, who just shrugged and pulled on the door handle in response.

“Just follow us!” Robin shouted towards Eddie and Chrissy over the top of the car before getting in.

Eddie and Chrissy stood there for a moment, taken off guard by Robin's quick decisions. He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” He asked, looking down at her and raising an eyebrow.

Chrissy shrugged, “Do we have a better option?”

[bellaxgiornata]

Hello! Could you please recommend some matt murdock x reader angst fics if you know any ? Thankyou 😄

Hey friend!! I notoriously am known for not reading much over the past year or so because I am always writing in my free time. BUT! I can try to recommend a few authors that I know have angsty fics! I'm guessing you already know that I have quite a few myself so I don't think I need to point you to my massive Matt Masterlist 😅

@mattmurdocksscars

@sunflowersandsapphires

@peterman-spideyparker

@souliebird has a truly painful angsty one shot called addict

Obviously @pastafossa has the amazing The Read Thread over on AO3 if you've somehow not heard of it/read it. I am so insanely far behind on the chapters but it's such a great fic. That's the fic that got me into writing for Matt in the first place because it's just sooooo good!

@shouldbestudying41 has a series on A03 called Break into My Heart that I have yet to start but it looks so great and seems angsty from the tags!

@courtforshort15 has quite a few wonderful fics including some hurt/comfort angsty pieces. Sadly I don't think she’s been active in awhile, but she still has some great Matt stories!

If you're open to OC fics (I know you asked for xreader), @hollandorks has a series called Saved that's sadly on hiatus (OMG I MISS THIS STORY SO MUCH 😭❤) that's soo good, too!

I'm sure I'm missing quite a few other angsty fic writers for Matt, these are just what immediately came to mind. And now I'm realizing even more how behind on reading I am....

[nico-di-genova]

In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 3

Alternate link to read on A03 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“He knows?” Lance manages to ask the night after he wakes up, motioning with his head to his dad who slept snoring deeply on a leather couch in the lounge. “About us?”

“I did a bad job of keeping it secret.”

Lance thinks he maybe had too, what with the ass grabbing played as camaraderie and the way he couldn’t stop staring at Fernando during debriefs. His father wasn’t a dumb man, but rather a very observant one. He’d known Lance was smoking pot at fifteen not because of the bloodshot eyes and the smell, though those would have been the obvious giveaways, but because his reaction time during training took a hit.

‘If you’re going to smoke weed, you better do a damn better job of hiding it,’ He’d demanded.

Lance never touched the stuff again, he knew he’d get caught.

But with Fernando he thought he had maybe been a little better. They had rules about it. No kissing in the paddock, the garage, not even their drivers rooms unless it was a special circumstance – the circumstance always ending up being Fernando was needy and Lance was bored. They didn’t go to each other’s hotel rooms until it was late enough that no sane fucker would be wondering the halls. Nothing obvious could be left above the neckline, because Lance had already gotten looks from his father after the weekend on Fernando’s ugly yacht where they spent half the time naked and the other half sipping champagne. All those rules seem to have been thrown out the window the moment Lance ended up in intensive care.

Intensive Care

The word makes him shudder.

Fernando sees the movement and presses a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, “Cold?”

“Kinda.”

It’s not really a lie, the AC is set on Ice Box and he’s got nothing but a thin sheet, a stiff blanket, and bare legs beneath a hospital gown to protect him.

“Here,” Fernando pulls the Aston Martin sweatshirt from the back of his chair and helps work it over Lance’s head. It takes an extreme amount of maneuvering, and gentle tugging, and he can’t put one arm through the sleeve because of the IV in his hand. It kind of sucks at providing any actual warmth, but it smells like Fernando so that’s a comfort all on its own.

“Thanks,” He rasps.

“Of course, Lancito.”

“I missed you,” Lance blurts out, which doesn’t really make sense because he was just with Fernando in the paddock. Just with him in his driver’s room. But Lance also thinks he maybe remembers the dark. The emptiness. The distant voices that sounded like they were right beside him and yet a world away all at once. He thinks he remembers being scared.

“I missed you too. Stop talking, you will irritate your throat.”

Lance wants to make a joke about Fernando not wanting to hear him speak, but that would take too many words and he already kind of feels like he’s breathing around fire. Instead, he accepts the water Fernando offers him and sips slowly through the straw to draw out the soothing effect. He has to be careful with how much he drinks, and he can’t have solid foods yet, which Lance chalks up to normal post coma recovery, but might also have something to do with the abdomen injury as well.

He knows it’s serious because when he’d asked the doctor how long until he could get back to racing she hadn’t given him an answer. And Fernando couldn’t look him in the eye. They don’t lie to each other, brutal honesty has always been their forte. That, or steadfast avoidance.

“Careful,” Fernando chides when Lance sips too quick and chokes on the liquid, some of it escaping his mouth to dribble in a cool line down his chin.

Lance rolls his eyes. Fernando should be used to the sounds of his choking by now, he’s certainly gagged himself on worse than a few drops of water.

“Brat.”

Lance smiles around the straw, all innocence and fluttering eyelashes.

“You are lucky you’re in a hospital bed.”

Which, he isn’t, far from it, but for the moment things feel almost normal so he ignores the remark.

--------

There is an argument about who Lance will go home with.

Lance’s Switzerland apartment is out of the question, his agency being robbed by the injuries his body is still trying to adjust itself to. His dad knows he can afford better around the clock care, people to help Lance with everything from changing his bandages to holding his dick while he pisses. Fernando knows Lance doesn’t want that, knows the humiliation of it would probably kill him faster than his car in the wall should have. They don’t ask for Lance’s opinion on the matter though as he sits silently in the bed between them. Watching them fight for custody of him, it’s familiar, reminds him of being small and wondering if he was going to have to have two bedrooms after his parent’s divorce.

“He needs help Fernando. Doctors, nurses, staff – not just you.”

“I have taken care of him before. I know what he needs.”

Healing from a head wound and a piece of carbon fiber tearing through his body isn’t really the same as a cold, but Lance appreciates Fernando’s commitment. He doesn’t say this of course, because neither one of them seem to really notice he’s there, just continues sipping slowly from the cup in his hands and picking at the starched blanket over his lap. His throat doesn’t hurt anymore, swallowing doesn’t take as much effort.

“You think you know better than me? I’m his father,” his dad states. As if it needs stating. As if Lance wasn’t born with Lawrence’s name over his head and a silver coated thumb in his mouth. As if there were any injury out there that would make him forget who he belongs to, down to the blood and marrow of him, the very making.

“I am his-” Fernando pauses. They never really put a name to it. There hadn’t been much discussion about what he and Lance were before he started bleeding out in Fernando’s arms. Not that he would remember that of course, doesn’t remember much about barreling into the wall at top speed. The doctors say that’s probably for the better.

“Boyfriend?” Lance supplies helpfully around the straw in his mouth. He’s continuing his bad habit of gnawing on the plastic, the taste reminiscent of the tube he had woken up choking on, but also of the bottle he would carry around during race weekends.

Fernando motions at him appreciatively, “Yes. This. I am this.”

His dad’s scowl deepens, “This isn’t a fever and some rest. It’s physical therapy, cognitive therapy. He will need someone 24/7.”

He is sitting right here, and he doesn’t necessarily agree. Lance is needy in the same way a cat is, he craves attention only as long as it is wanted, too much and he will probably begin scratching at you. But there hasn’t been much in his control since he lost the wheel at Silverstone.

“Okay. I will do that.” There’s not a hint of hesitation in Fernando’s tone, when Lance knows there absolutely should be. Whatever unestablished thing is between them, it’s far from stable enough to rest Lance’s entire laundry list of medical issues on, or at least Lance thought it was.

“I can hire someone too, Lawrence,” Fernando pushes, “You are not the only man with money. Lance has not lived with you since he was a child, yes? He needs familiarity. Routine? That is not in your mansion. Let him come home.”

Home.

Is that what Fernando’s place is to him? Most of his memories there are the sort that speak less of a home and more of the flat you wake up in after a one-night stand. Strewn clothes and half-finished bottles of beer on the kitchen counter, The warm press of Fernando’s body along his bare back. Would he be healing on the same sheets they routinely fucked on? Propped up on the pillows that know the shape of his teeth?

Is home where you have a drawer and your PlayStation hooked up in the living room? Or is it the childhood space where you keep a collection of Pokémon cards and karting trophies to collect dust? Lance isn’t sure, mainly because he’s never stayed in one place long enough to really understand the feeling.

His dad throws the last card in his arsenal, the thing they all three have been wondering at.

“And what about the season? You’re done then?”

Fernando bites his lip, thinks on it.

“I go back when he does.”

No one wants to state the obvious, least of all his father. Fernando has played the winning hand, deploying the same dirty tactics he’s fond of utilizing when behind the wheel.

Lance stops chewing on the straw. He stops picking at the blanket. Instead, he just stares blankly at the fabric and tries to tune their bickering out. He’s getting a headache, the kind of stabbing pain that only comes when he tries to think too hard about a memory that has escaped him. It’s easier to blame the pain on the bright fluorescent’s, or the way Fernando’s voice is starting to rise, instead of the crack in his skull.

In the end, he goes with Fernando. He asks to go with Fernando, because as much as he loves his father, he cannot stand the thought of trying to make himself fit in a space that no longer knows the shape of him.

“We did get along, so you know,” Fernando says when Lance is buckled into his passenger seat, groggy from the meds they’d dosed him with. Supposedly, they’re supposed to help Lance with the nausea, manage it during the ride.

“When I was ‘sleep?” Lance slurs, still not calling his coma by its name. He’s got his head resting on the car window even though the nurses had warned him not to do that. He’s supposed to be focusing on stationary things within the car, like the warm weight of Fernando’s hand on his thigh, not watching the trees whip by outside while his skull rattles against the glass.

“Yes,” Fernando says, focused on the road with an intensity Lance has only ever seen him possess when behind the wheel, and therefore does not realize the implication of his answer. That he and Lance’s father could only get along as long as Lance was the unconscious white flag waving between them. He tries to backpedal. “No, that is not-.”

Lance shrugs, lethargic, “S’okay. Go back to sleep for you then.”

“Querido no, that is not what I meant,” Fernando actually sounds pained, the nickname rolling of his tongue with an ease Lance did not realize could be familiar to them. Lance just feels exhausted. Consciousness actually takes a conscious effort these days.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that, yes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll probably forget the conversation by the time he wakes up anyway, memories leak out of him now the same way his blood had.

--------

Surprisingly, Lance has more at Fernando’s UK home than he remembers. Or, unsurprisingly, depending on how much you take his brain injury into account.

He’s got half a bottle of shampoo in the shower, a razor and toothbrush at the sink, most of his hoodies and a good chunk of his sweatpants. Somehow, his favorite pair of socks has even ended up here, thrown in with Fernando’s dirty clothes and discovered by the cleaners. He takes to padding around the place in the loungewear, hood pulled over his head and keeping his hands tucked into the hoodie pocket – subconsciously splaying a palm along his stomach as he always has, but now pressing at his healing abdomen with newfound curiosity.

Fernando will catch him doing it sometimes, grab him by the arm and then the wrist until he can pull Lance’s probing fingers away from the tender skin and entwine them in his own.

“It won’t heal if you pick at it.”

“Feels weird. Itchy.”

It also sometimes hurts so much that Lance finds himself crying silently into the pillow while Fernando sleeps soundly beside him. The phantom pain of an injury he does not remember. When Fernando checks that the healing is coming along nicely, Lance deliberately does not watch. He hasn’t actually seen the incision since he accidentally looked while a nurse at the hospital was cleaning the wound, and nearly lost his light lunch of applesauce and pudding at the sight. It’s ugly, disgusting, and Fernando seems completely unphased by it.

Fernando squeezes his hand, raises it so he can press a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, a quickly forming new habit for him, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

Apologies flow from him easily now. He apologizes for splashing Lance with water when they’re washing dishes. Apologizes for grabbing Lance when he slips in the shower. Apologizes for the simple way the words seem to flow off his tongue now. It’s strange to Lance, stranger than waking up choking on a plastic tube with your dad on one side and your long-term fuck buddy/partner/boyfriend/mentor on the other. Stranger even that it’s coming from Fernando Alonso of all people, who notoriously does not apologize.

Lance is used to arguments between them ending in mutual silence on either end of the couch, not Fernando pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brow and asking for forgiveness.

“Stop doing that,” Lance grumbles, for what must be the hundredth time.

“Sorry.”

“Fernando.”

“Sor- okay,” and then he kisses Lance’s cheek with the gentleness of atonement anyway. Lance misses when Fernando would just slam him against a wall, crowd him against the marble of the kitchen counters, and talk Lance into sinking to his knees. Not that it ever really took much talking to begin with.

Fernando doesn’t fuck him anymore, which he thinks is maybe the biggest travesty to come out of all of this. Instead, he trails careful fingers down Lance’s side, presses kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his jaw with a tenderness that should be considered foreplay. Then he pulls away, leaves Lance half-hard in his sweatpants, and pretends he doesn’t notice the pout on Lance’s lips. Lance doesn’t beg, at least not before Fernando has gotten him undressed, and he’s not going to ask Fernando to suck his dick while the man is on his knees making sure Lance’s abdomen is still healing properly. So it becomes another thing they just don’t talk about. Lance is worried he’s picked up his father’s habit for avoidance.

--------

Nearly three months after his crash, Lance’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him. His therapy is going well, all three of them. The physical therapy for his legs, because they’d gotten fucked up too, though on a much smaller scale, and for his hands and for – well, for every part of him, is almost familiar. He’d done a few rounds of physio for his wrists after his bike accident, though those had been high intensity because Lance actually had a deadline. The cognitive therapy is more of a challenge, because his memory is still shot to shit, but he can remember Chloe’s birthday again so at least there’s that. The therapy therapy is kind of annoying, only because Lance has never really seen the value of shrinks picking apart his mental state to begin with, but it’s easy. Sometimes they play Jenga, sometimes they talk about how Lance is scared he’ll never be the same again, sometimes Lance excuses himself to the bathroom and screams until his voice is as hoarse as it had been once the intubation tube was removed. It’s all a process.

But he still doesn’t remember the crash.

He can see the reflection of it in Fernando’s eyes sometimes, the fear, the shame. The guilt is the worst, usually brought on when Lance jerks awake from a dream he cannot remember and finds Fernando watching him in the dark with eyes shining.

“You okay?” He will ask, propped up on an elbow and tracing a finger along Lance’s spine. The touch sends shivers through Lance, want and need all bundled up in the foggy confusion as his brain tries to reorient itself.

“Fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Definitely.”

Talking was never their strong suit. But Lance has always been able to read people, an ability fine-tuned after years of rejection. He likes to know when people are planning to turn on him before it happens, doesn’t want to be blindsided by a journalist asking him some probing question only to see if they can get a response. He can see Fernando’s guilt, and eventually he caves and searches for the why.

F1 TV, or his father, or maybe the FIA have made a herculean effort to scrub the full footage of the crash from the internet. But Lance has grown up in the age of the digital, so it doesn’t take him long to find it on YouTube, under a video titled “Canadian Buries it in Wall – ’24”. Inventive.

What he remembers is this, sitting beside Fernando in the pre-race briefing. Both of them trying to listen to Mike explain the stacked pit strategy again, but also occupying themselves with each other. Lance, dick still aching from being teased in his driver’s room, was feeling particularly vindictive. He’d been inching his foot slowly up Fernando’s pants leg, his hand up the inside of Fernando’s clothed thigh.

Fernando hadn’t responded. Sat ramrod straight in his seat and kept his eyes glued ahead. Until Lance just barely brushed his knuckles along the bulge in Fernando’s pants and received a sharp pinch to his own thigh in response.

“Ow!” Lance had yelped, loud enough that a few engineers turned to look at him.

Lance had blushed, “Hit my- hit my knee, sorry.”

And then he’d woken up in the hospital. The irritation to his thigh replaced by the throbbing pain that occupied his entire body.

He wants to remember, and so he hits play. He watches himself drive like he’s analyzing onboards for where he can maybe improve, with the same detached feeling. There’s Fernando behind him, and Russel ahead, and Lance in the middle of it all holding his ground. Fernando’s given the order to back-off, told not to fight because Lance’s tire management has been better, and he’s got the speed and clean air for now. Their fight is with Russel, except that Russel was six ahead and Fernando wanted to play sooner rather than later.

The commentators say Lance is driving surprisingly well, he tries not to grind his teeth.

And then Fernando pulls out of the slipstream, makes a charge to overtake in the straight, and Lance sees himself move. Just a twitch of the car, a fraction of movement in an effort to defend, before Fernando’s front right tire clips his back left and Lance spins. He can see himself try to overcorrect, but then the car goes sideways, the tires leave the track when he skitters across marbles, and he’s flipping until there’s only the wall to stop him.

The red flag is immediate, so is Fernando’s stop when he pulls into the gravel and doesn’t even hesitate to book it to Lance’s on fire car.

“Lance. Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright,” Andrew’s voice comes through the broadcast, but Lance’s own response does not. It’s eerily quiet, especially in the empty space of Fernando’s house when the man isn’t there to bring life to it.

They play a message from Esteban who drives by, the Frenchman’s voice laced with worry as he asked, pleaded, for Lance to be okay. Lance understands now why Esteban had looked so pale when they’d spoken last. When Lance had been curled up on Fernando’s couch, shrouded in shadow because the lights hurt his head, and Esteban had been sat in the chair across from him. He’d thought it was maybe because they were in Fernando’s house, thought the strangeness of the setting might have just had Esteban on edge. He hadn’t realized it was because his best friend had seen his on fire car and thought for a moment he might not get out.

It's suddenly a little hard to breathe. He blames the tightness in his chest on his ribs, even though those have healed by now.

“Lance?” Fernando’s voice in the doorway, quiet, worried.

Lance jumps, winces when he pulls at something sore, and slams the laptop shut with enough force that he’s a little scared to open it again. His eyes dart to Fernando’s and-

Oh. The guilt. He’s drowning in it.

“Fer, I’m sorry, I- fuck. I just…I didn’t- I’m sorry,” and now he’s the one gushing apologies, wanting so badly to tear his gaze away from the tears building in Fernando’s eyes. He shouldn’t have looked. It was easier when he didn’t know the shape of his body in the wreckage, when he didn’t know it had been Fernando who ran to him, who crashed into him. Pandora’s box and all of its contents are spilling across the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, because Fernando still has not moved from the doorway and he’s not sure what else he could do. He can’t walk to him, his leg is still aching from physio, hence the whole curled up in bed watching his own life-threatening crash while Fernando was supposed to be out picking him up a ridiculously overpriced smoothie from his favorite place down the road.

“No,” Fernando chokes, “No. Lance. No. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I-“ Fernando chokes again and then he’s sobbing. Lance’s spirulina, coconut, gold flaked smoothie still clutched in one hand and his free one wrapping around himself as he doubles over in the doorway.

Lance does go to move then, sore muscles be damned.

But when he grabs Fernando, the man only sobs harder. He doesn’t pull away though, he needs Fernando for the support now. His thigh is killing him.

“Fer, Nano, baby, please. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, because Fernando doesn’t cry. He bottles everything up, ghosts Lance for a week, and then comes back as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Lance doesn’t know how to comfort him, and he doesn’t think that’s something to be blamed on the memory loss, he’s almost certain this is entirely new to them.

Fernando collapses against his chest, Lance stumbles under the weight of them both. His body protests the sudden movement, something sharp and hot spiking it’s way through him, starting in his leg and moving to the incision scar on his stomach.

He gasps, tries to breathe through the pain. It’s kind of like how his wrists were after a race, before he plunged them into a bowl of ice, he can manage.

“I’m okay,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too tense. There’s sweat breaking out along his brow. He kind of wants his smoothie. “I’m okay, Fer. I promise.”

Fernando’s tears are soaking the fabric of his hoodie. Lance cradles the back of his head, and ignores the damp feel of them against his chest, ignores the warm heat of Fernando’s breath as he tries to find air.

“An accident,” he wails, “I swear, Lance, I swear.”

“I know.”

He saw, just now, could clearly see himself moving and see Fernando slamming the brake to try to stop it. He sees Fernando running. Running to him. People who hurt Lance intentionally are hardly ever concerned enough to check on him afterward, some of them think he deserves the knife twisted inside him simply because he can afford the medical bill. He knows Fernando would never try to hurt him, but he also knows nothing he says could absolve the guilt.

“I know, dude. And I love you, but could we maybe move this to the bed? My leg is killing me.” Fernando, thankfully, lets himself be maneuvered until Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed and Fernando resting solidly in his lap, knees bracketed on either side of his thighs. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Lance woke up, it’s making him a little heady.

Fernando rests his cheek against Lance’s shoulder, cries into the crook of his neck, and Lance tries to soothe him as he takes intermittent sips from his smoothie that he’d pulled from Fernando’s grip before it ended up spilled across the sheets. He rubs a hand along Fernando’s back, a pantomime of how his dad used to calm him down when he had a rough race and had to blow off steam in his driver’s room. It’s not working very well. Lance is maybe bad at this.

“I shouldn’t have watched the stupid video,” he grumbles. Knowing the how has not brought him any peace, only made him realize the true severity of his injuries. His therapist might have been right in saying to stop pressing at the wound, Fernando too for pulling his hand away.

“I could have killed you,” Fernando cries, “I almost killed you. You- you were-“

“I know, Nando, I know. Please, just- just stop. Please.”

It’s too much too fast. Fernando’s guilt, his own brain trying to process it all, the headache forming at his temples and the exhaustion crashing down on him. He’s tired all of the time now. And not in the lazy way he once was, like a big cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, more like someone who’s been crumpled in their car and extracted without all of the pieces smoothed back out.

He wants to sleep. He maybe wants to cry himself.

“Thought I would lose you,” Fernando mumbles, miserable and quiet, his stubble rough against the soft skin of Lance’s neck when he speaks.

“You didn’t. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Lance hadn’t realized he was Fernando’s to lose, didn’t really put the pieces together until now that he maybe belonged to someone other than his family. He didn’t think anyone would ever actually want him. It’s a weird feeling, makes something beneath the scarring and the healing wound in his gut twist.

“You have me. I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m here.”

I’m okay, he thinks, and he starts to believe that it will be true.

[blossoms-phan]

will never pass up the opportunity, so! i am asking. what are your phanfic recommendations?

ask (honoured!) and you shall receive bestie! quick preface: i returned to the wonderful world of reading phanfic around the start of this year and have admittedly missed out on years of incredible work i am now catching up on! also in terms of what i read i generally lean towards current-era fics, canon compliant/fluff/smut- although i'm always taking recs from lovely moots/whoever, you may find this isn't the largest range (no aus/long chapter fics or whatever) but this is just a selection of what i've discovered/loved in the past few months and i hope to make more of these as i discover more writings!

shoutout to everyone on here for their recs, all the incredible fanfic writers and the peeps at @phanfictioncatalogue for their work and accessibility and being the reason i discovered so many new fics/tropes i now love <3 ok lets get into ittttttttt

"you look at my face a lot" by natigail: i credit this fic for getting me into reading phanfic again in 2024 <3 one of the first ones i read post-hiatus and i've returned to it countless times! it makes my heart jump, just so sweet and so them. the slittening(s) were such an iconic moment i can't believe it's been 6+ months since them but i love the little moments like dan describing phil's hair colour to a sephora worker, always wanting to know more about each other and the soft intimacy.

"the angel in the marble" by ivylakes: OHH MY GOODNESS this one is artttt. this one is my fave of the post-phlondeing fics i can just see and feel everything that happens, the loving, lazy intimacy, and following this week's t-shirt events it absolutely cements my HC that angel is a nickname for our philly. introspection, hair-kissing, body worship- i eat it up (im having a thing for mirrors in fics rn so there's also that)

"slumber party" by possumdnp: if i wasn't already clear reality-based fics really just do it for me and i love this one!! slumber party is one of my favourite recent-ish gaming vids and i just love the cozy comfort vibes of having a sleepover and getting a little flirty with your best friend/crush going on 15 years <3

"after the birthday stream" by trashcanfromgallifrey: the birthday stream ignited something in all of us but this is just such a perfect depiction of (possible) events after hehe. feels so them, just love the loving intimacy and shower activities and fluffy endings with cake <3 (shoutout hannah ily!!)

"lovers, keep on the road you're on" by possumdnp: another personal fave. japhan 2019 is EVERYTHING to me, this is so lovely and well-researched and i just go in between reading this and watching the stories from it when i want to cry and book a flight to tokyo

"welcome home! (never leave that long again)" by natigail: this one is just soooooo soft and sweet and fluffy. so heartwarming and one of the many wad reunion fics that has my heart <3

ok i'm going to end up including all 40+ of my bookmarks (not a lot. but working on it hehe) if i don't stop myself so as much as i could write paragraphs about all of these just know that my PPA test is positive and i was probably sweating/giggling/kicking my feet at all of these so here's a speedrun list of pure smut (sorry it's a lot of what i read lmao):

"juxtaposition", "slow down", "sensitive", "some kind of mood" and literally everything written by the force that is intoapuddle

"come light me up" by JudeAraya (perhap not pure smut but I loveeee the teasing and characterization in this so so dan ugh)

"appreciation" by Scuddleduck

"a little vitamin D" by Spring_Haze

"good for you, good for you" and "under my thumb" by dvp_95

"lucky" by iihappydaysii

i could keep going but for now i'm going to stop here! i'm sorry if this is messy i have no idea what i'm doing with linking and stuff but i hope this introduces at least one person to a new fic they end up loving! i lurked/read sooo many fics before finally creating an a03 account only a little over a month ago so i def might be missing some i've forgotten to go back and bookmark! shoutout to all of these writers (i could include multiple works from them all u ppl are amazing)- again i'm soo open to discovering more phanfic and want to expand my horizons, i've started to read some chaptered fics i didn't include on here but will reblog more current reads where i can! also if we're moots pls shamelessly promote your works i'd love to check them out! need to start commenting more too but ok ok wrapping it up

[demigods-posts]

Hi! I see that you're interested in Sally and Percy therapy. May I suggest Stars on the Water by liketolaugh on a03? It's really about Percy getting therapy for all of the first five books but there are a few chapters dedicated to unpacking the shared trauma and codependency between Sally and Percy! It's SUCH a good read and it does so much service to Percy and Sally's relationship. ALSO! It's got a sequel: Star Light, Star Bright. That one has Percy getting therapy for HOO! Gorgeous, gorgeous series.

Hi! I've read both stories already (repeatedly lol), but thank you so much for the suggestion! I'll go ahead and link the two stories here for those who'd like to read it (which I highly recommend btw)!

Stars on the Water by liketolaugh

Star Light, Star Bright by liketolaugh

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Chapter title from American Idiot by Green Day.

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Soldier Boy is woken up, and you have to deal with the pitfalls of your idea. Contains usual tags.

Read on A03!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

When he was forced into this type of sleep, Ben didn’t dream. This type of sleep was more like death, with no part of him alive in any way that mattered. But in the few seconds before he woke, with chemicals leaving his system and consciousness returning, he felt pain.

Borderline unbearable, exhaustive and consuming pain. The last few times he had been woken up, the pain had made the bomb in his chest start to tick, tick, tick, building up and up, off the beat from his heart until they found a rhythm, and he would explode.

It never relieved all that pain, but fuck him if it wasn’t cathartic.

Every time he had woken up in Russia, he’d fought the scientists like a fucking animal. When that assfuck, traitorous Brit and his cum guzzling team had found him, Ben hadn’t hesitated to use teeth and fire, hellbent on getting out, on getting home. This time wasn’t any different, the beat in his chest was already banging against his ribs, save for the stark exception of his surroundings.

He wasn’t in a clean lab or disgusting tube. He was in a suburban living room, complete with potted plants, one of those new and weirdly flat TVs, and some of the most boring paintings of roses he had ever fucking seen. Not a single person was in sight, no tubes were hooked to his body, and no cannon barrels or gas-filled vents sat in his vision. A small part of him hesitated, wondering if he was suddenly dreaming, his body having adapted to fight back and allow him some hazy peace. But the fever in his chest was growing, and there was no goddamn world where he would ever find suburbia and floral-patterned carpets peaceful. No, this was someone’s attempt to trick him, to make him compliant. Maybe Vought, maybe the Reds, maybe the CIA, didn’t matter. They all died the same.

The nuclear explosion from his chest lit the room, tearing out of him with a rush. Ben braced himself for bullets and grenades as his captors realized their little plan had failed, but none came. And as the dust cleared, he realized that not only were there no soldiers dropping from the sky or weapons hurling at his body, but everything was… exactly the same. Well, the plants had been burnt to a crisp, but that was the only evidence of his power having ripped through the room. The TV was still smooth and clean, the sofa hadn’t moved an inch, and the paintings hung evenly on the walls.

What the fuck.

He paused, the drum in his chest having stilled, and listened. Bird song, running water below the floor, electrical hums through the walls, and…

There it was.

Heartbeats.

Five heartbeats. All sped up, all bouncing around in the chests of their owners. Three moved heavily and quickly, one rapid and staggered—that one reeked of terror—and one beat only a single mark off from steady, almost as if it were devoid of any fear. Interesting.

Ben searched the room for a camera, but settled on looking in the direction of the heartbeats.

“I know you’re there,” he drawled. “I can fuckin hear you. Come out, you pussies.”

There was a pause, all five heartbeats having stuttered at his words, before a door creaked down the dark, sconce lined halls, and footsteps sounded towards him.

The people who stepped from the shadows into the living room should thank the Lord that Ben didn’t kill them the moment they were in the light. Grace Mallory, the thin-lipped bitch, watched him wearily, with the backstabbing Billy Butcher to her left. Only a step behind them was the blonde broad that had blasted him in the face at Vought Tower, accompanied by her and Butcher’s gangly cocksucker. The only one he didn’t recognize stood at the very front, a woman who was looking at him with sharp eyes, arms crossed in front of her body and legs planted apart. This was the holder of the steady heart, unsurprisingly given her collected stance and cold gaze. It was almost amusing, the way she was looking at him, like she was a lion and he was a gazelle, like if she glared her lovely eyes at Ben enough, he might drop dead. But he turned his eyes from her tiny fury to Butcher and Mallory, giving them a smirk that made his murderous intentions clear.

“What the fuck is this?”

It was Butcher who answered, returning the false smile. “This is an intervention, mate. You have a problem, and we’re here to help.”

“The only problem I have is you. If you had half a brain, you’d start running.”

“Really? Because to me,” Butcher’s smile didn’t falter as he gestured around the room. “It seems like you’re having some performance issues.”

“Don’t make him angry,” the cocksucker mumbled from the back. Butcher only rolled his eyes in response.

“This, Soldier Boy, is an opportunity. We’re giving you a second chance to help us with Homelander.” Mallory said, watching Ben carefully.

“A second chance?” It was Ben’s turn to roll his eyes. “You should be grateful that I might not kill you all when I leave.”

“I’d start playing nice, Soldier Boy.” The blonde stepped forward with a scowl. “You don’t have the upper hand here."

"Oh, please, you blast me down once and think you’re some sort of god? You caught me off guard that time, doll. This time, you won’t be so lucky.”

Blondie opened her mouth to retaliate, but Butcher snorted first, a newer, more twisted grin on his face.

“Starlight’s no god, but she is,” Butcher nudged the steady-hearted newcomer forward. “Meet your new babysitter. Go on, Love, say hello.”

The woman stumbled slightly at the push, her already strong frown deepening, and had barely turned her anger to Butcher when Ben started to laugh. All eyes fell to him as he gave a loud snort of amusement, a broad grin on his face.

“Jesus,” he wheezed. “Didn’t think you were funny, Butcher, but that’s a fucking riot.”

“We’re being serious,” Starlight snapped. “You answer to her now.”

“Yeah,” Ben rolled his eyes, giving his alleged keeper a once over. “Sure. Sunshine over here is going to stop me from ripping all your heads off your bodies. Fuck, she won’t even stop me leaving this room.”

“Wanna bet?”

Ben paused as the woman spoke for the first time. It wasn’t just her heartbeat that was level and even. Her voice was smooth, unbreaking and calm with not a trace of anxiety. Her eyes were still watching him coldly, her pretty face set like a mask.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like to bet that I can’t stop you?” She repeated slowly, as if he were a child.  “I’d advise you not to, but I don’t think you’d care for my opinion.”

“You think you can stop me, Sunshine? Are you fucking stupid?”

“No, but I don’t think my intelligence matters here. You’re not walking out that door.”

Part of Ben wanted to start laughing again. At her blatant lack of self-preservation to go up against him and not flinch. At her smooth claim of intelligence but painfully clear lack of understanding about the situation she was in. At her companions, who had all stepped back, undoubtedly realizing that their gambit had failed and leaving her in his line of fire.

Part of him wanted to be quick and brutal, make her an example before he left. But it wasn’t worth it, and her face was too nice to ruin, so he settled to just walk past her. He’d kill Butcher on his way out and figure out what he wanted to do from there.

He only had to take three long strides to reach the hall, making to just move past the woman, but she side-stepped, blocking his path. Ben looked down at her, finding his amusement at her misguided boldness fading into annoyance.

“Move, Sunshine. I’ll only ask once.”

She met his glare, no break in her resolve. “I’d say the same to you, Grampa.”

“I’m warning you. I’m not above hitting a lady.”

“I thought you were only going to ask once.”

That was it. Ben moved to grab her, to shove her aside and end her pointless little charade. He didn’t have time for her frivolous, self-indulgent bullshit, he had tried to warn her, and at this point her blood was really just on her own hands.

It happened fast. He reached to push her, she didn’t flinch, her face looking almost bored as Ben lunged, and his hand had barely landed on her arm before he let go, recoiling from her with a roar.

“What the fuck!” He looked at his hand, now raw and red, with blisters fading as soon as they had formed. His gaze shot to the woman’s unbothered face, she herself having neither flinched nor wavered. “Did you just fucking burn me?”

“I warned you,” she said. “I don’t play games I can’t win.”

Ben looked past her, where the small group remained, having retreated down the hall. Butcher’s face was painted with deep amusement as Starlight and Mallory held twin looks of satisfaction. Only the cocksucker still looked afraid, but his nervous eyes were trained on the woman, as though she might blow to pieces at any second.

“Somebody better start talking,” Ben growled.

“We tried to tell you, Governor,” Butcher said with an overly dramatic sigh. “She’s in charge here.”

“You think this will hold me? I-“

“You were unprepared, we got lucky, it won’t happen again. We all heard the speech you gave Annie.” The woman cut him off with a snort. “You need to start getting it into your head. You do not have the upper hand. The sooner you do, the sooner we can actually do something productive instead of peacocking like idiots.”

Ben stared at her, the drum in his chest growing loud once more, his anger serving as fuel. He didn’t bother to try and control it, simply letting it set to his heart and build and build. Just before the sound could drown out all his other senses, he heard the woman yell.

“Everyone out!” Her voice was slightly alarmed, but laced with no panic. And as the door slammed down the hall, Ben realized her heartbeat hadn’t retreated. She was still right in front of him. He hoped this hurt.

As the smoke cleared, Ben opened his eyes to, tragically and annoyingly, see the woman completely intact, unbothered, and in one piece. Most he could tell, she had only taken a step back.

“Are you done?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Bitch,” he said. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Lovely,” she sighed. “You just tried that. Didn’t work. Won’t work. Not on me. Like I said before you started acting like a toddler, the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can help each other.”

“How could you possibly help me?”

She grinned. “I’m so glad you asked. Hughie! You’re up!”

The skinny little coward appeared over her shoulder, anxiety painted over his face. “Can’t Mallory or Butcher do this?”

“Nah, Mallory has a powerful resting-hater-face, and Butcher would get himself killed all over me, which would be gross. I don’t need that right now.”

The cocksucker pouted. “Annie?”

“No, I don’t think he’s her biggest fan, especially after the whole tower thing-“

“Stop talking about me like I’m not right fucking here,” Ben cut in.

“Fine, you baby. Hughie,” the woman nudged Cocksucker forward. “Give him the pitch.”

Ben didn’t listen to Cocksucker as he rambled, catching only the beginning and electing to ignore him once the words “article B-55XP2 allows” were said. Instead, he focused on the woman, whose brow was furrowed as she listened to her companion talk. Small tendrils of smoke were rising from her body, and Ben noted the way Cocksucker stood off to the side, attempting to somehow paradoxically hold and elude both Ben’s and the woman’s attention. Her lips were in a tight line now, and she was hugging herself slightly, curving into her own body. The smoke from her had begun to choke the room, and though Ben could hear her level heartbeat, he could also hear her gnaw on her lower lip and the tap of her foot on the floor. When her gaze abruptly slid to his, Ben held it unblinkingly, and the crease in her brow only deepened.

Before Ben could figure out what sat behind her sharp eyes, Cocksucker let out a cough and said a name that made the woman turn.

“Can you turn it down, please?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Hughie,” she mumbled, taking another step back as Cocksucker gave a nod of thanks.

“So the big thing to know…” Once again, Ben didn’t hear whatever it was being said. No, he was now fully staring at the woman, her name playing in his head. It wasn’t a supe name, like how Butcher had referred to Blondie. Almost every supe Ben had known preferred being called by their fancy little brand name, but he hadn’t even learned if this bitch had one. Fuck, he hadn’t even heard of her. Last time he had been introduced to a large number of new players, most of them weak, whining pussies with pathetic powers, but this woman was far from pathetic. He hadn’t heard anything about a fire-supe, let alone a doll faced, angry, bitchy one who had to have the resting heart rate of a whale. He bet he could pick it up to match the Cocksuckers, if he really tried. He bet he could make her scream, maybe from being ripped limb from limb, maybe from cumming her brains out all over him. A smirk started to grow on his face as he imagined it, her ice-queen demeanor crumbling from his irresistible charm-

“Are you fucking listening?” The woman herself broke him from his thoughts, her fingers snapping in his face.

“No,” Ben sneered. “Why should I?”

“Well, if you’d pay Hughie half the attention you seem to be paying to my tits, you’d be able to answer your own dumb question.”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself-“

“Please, I’ve been told you stick your dick in anything with a hole.” She cut him off again, an action that, if she kept it up, would result in her being punched. “Tell you what, I’ll get you a real nice watermelon to play with if you just fucking listen.”

“Fine.”

She paused, but was thrown for only a second. “Ok, great, Hughie-“

“But you do the talking.”

She almost snorted. “Are you that fucking crow-brained that you can’t listen unless it’s something shiny?” She paused. “Sorry Hughie. No offense, you’re plenty shiny.”

The Cocksucker, Ben knew his name was Hughie at this point but couldn’t find himself fucked to use it, just shrugged. “No offense taken.” His attention shifted back to Ben. “Will you really listen if she talks?”

“She talks like a person. You talk like a boring army manual.”

“Could’ve just said book,” Cocksucker said with a frown, but stepped back nonetheless.

“This is fucking stupid,” the woman said with a glare that was somehow stronger than before.

“You wanted me to listen to your stupid little sales pitch, Sunshine. This is what will make me listen.”

She rolled her eyes further back than Ben had ever seen before, but started to speak, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Here’s the deal. You help us with our Homelander problem, we give you immunity for all the definite war crimes you’ve committed and keep you from being Sleeping Beauty for a third time. You’ll stay here, with me, until we have a clear and safe shot at Homelander. You’ll do your little Oppenheimer magic trick, and we’ll take care of the rest. After Homelander's dead, you’ll be free to leave America for good, and live out your shitty immortal life on some stupid island where no one knows who you are.” As she came to the end of her speech, Ben grinned at her.

“See? Wasn’t so hard.”

She didn’t even blink. “Any questions?”

“Questions? Nah. But you should know, this is fucking stupid, and I’m not participating in it. All I’ll get is a vacation, and I could have that right fucking now.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you can’t leave this room, let alone go on vacation. And I’d say what you’d ‘get’,” she used air quotes, and Ben wondered if he could throw her out a window. “Is us not knocking you out right now.”

“Also immunity,” Cocksucker piped up.

She nodded. “Also immunity. We’re offering you this once.” She gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “Act now and we’ll throw in a second watermelon.”

“I’ll fucking break out.” Ben snarled.

“Take your best shot. This safe house is more durable than a cold-war bunker, inside and out.”

“I’ll kill your team.”

“Try it. I’ll burn off your money maker.”

“I’ll heal.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”

“I’ll go back to Vought.”

“Please, you hate them almost as much as me.”

“I doubt that.”

Her voice was coated in visceral, hot rage when she answered. “Don’t.”

Ben paused at that, squinting at her. “Why do you hate them?”

She shrugged. “Not your concern. But for the record, if you did try something that ass-brained, I wouldn’t just burn your face.”

Ben almost flinched when he saw her eyes flick down.

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.” Her tone made it clear that there wasn’t room for debate.

“What if I want to stay here after, then?” Ben snapped. “I just spent forty years away. I’m not going again.”

“Fucking earn it.”

Ben let out a slow breath. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew when he was backed into a corner. But he had been against walls that were far more dangerous, and far more painful. He would play this little game until he figured out how to take her, the only player aside from him that mattered, out. But he wasn’t going to make any of this pleasant. If they wanted pleasant, they shouldn’t have crossed him in the first place.

“I want my fucking shield and suit back.”

She smiled with teeth for the first time. “I’ll see what I can do.”

——-

This had been a mistake. Now that everyone had left, you could admit—to yourself and no one else—that this was a stupid, arrogant mistake.

The first day had been… rough. There were three bedrooms, all with identical queen beds and equally generic decor. Solider Boy had insisted on laying on all of them to “test their durability." When you had told him they were all the exact same, he had called you an “uncultured hick." You had explained that you were from Boston and currently lived in New York, two urban areas that rendered “hick” an unsuitable title for you, offering “street trash” as a replacement. He told you he’d call you whatever he wanted, utilizing his nickname of “Sunshine” once again. You reminded him of your threat to burn off his favorite part of himself, he said that you would be only depriving yourself of it, and you left the conversation before you could make good on the promise.

Eventually he came down the stairs and gruffly told you that the bedroom with the attached bathroom was his, before stomping back into the said room to do something undoubtedly disgraceful .

Day two was only worse. You had collapsed in the bedroom with the five horse paintings, as it had been closest to the stairs, and you were exhausted from a day of verbal sparring and worrying if you’d have to go back to MM, tail between your legs, and admit you’d been wrong. Now, having gotten a whopping 4 hours of restless sleep, you just wanted coffee. Mallory told you she would send someone to drop groceries overnight, the safe house door having a bank-like slot for packages, and she had made good on her word. You had been able to tell this because when you walked into the kitchen, it looked like a food bomb had detonated.

“What the shit is this?” You said, your voice more tired than angry.

Soldier Boy, sitting at the counter, glared at you. “You’re up late.”

“It’s 7am. In nobody’s world is that ‘late’.”

“I’ve been up for 2 hours.”

You shrugged. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“I had to eat a sandwich.”

“Yeah, that happens.” You survey the mess for anything that you can use, hoping to see a box of cereal buried somewhere. You find what you’re looking for, along with some coffee that you put into the filter and stare at with blank exhaustion. In your sleepy haze, you block out Soldier Boy’s ramblings of hunger and shitty, crunchy peanut butter, hoping he tires himself out and leaves you alone. 

You were startled out of your head by the sound of your name.

"Huh?"

“Whatever you’re making, I want some too.” That gets through to you, and your head snaps up.

“How do you know my name?”

"Cocksucker said it."

"Cocksucker?"

"The little puppy that follows Butcher and Starlight around."

"Hughie?" 

"Sure." He rolled his eyes. “So, what are we eating?"

"We?"

"I asked you, very nicely, to cook me some of whatever you're making too. Or are you fucking deaf?"

“I’m not cooking anything.”

His brow knit in confusion. “You’re not going to eat? I thought all the feminist shit stopped that.”

“I’m going to eat, Jackass. But I’m not going to cook anything, I’m just going to throw cereal and milk into a bowl. You can do that yourself.” You decided not to touch the feminist comment, focusing on pouring your coffee instead.

“Well, what are you going to cook for lunch.”

“Well, if Mallory followed my list, I’ll heat up chicken tenders.”

“Dinner?”

You tilt your head. “Not sure. That’s like, twelve hours away.”

“But you’ll. You’ll cook something.”

“No.”

“Why?”

You sighed. “I don’t know how to cook.”

“What?!” He looked horrified now. It would almost be funny, if it were any other circumstances. “How?”

“I never learned.”

“But you’re a woman!”

“Yeah, no. We’re not having this conversation.” You turned on your heels to leave the room, coffee in hand, trying to ignore the hot feeling bubbling under your skin. You paused only to call back over your shoulder. “And clean up your fucking mess!”

Thankfully, after that, the morning was uneventful. You avoided Soldier Boy, he avoided you. All the way into lunch, you were almost able to forget your situation.

Almost.

“Fuck!” You tripped over a bag of apples on the floor, your eyes having been glued to your phone as you entered the kitchen. You looked around, seeing the mess from this morning sitting just as you’d left it.

“Keep it down!” Soldier Boy’s voice carried down the stairs. You ignored his request, raising your voice to a shriek.

“Get your manwhore ass down here right now, before I make you!”

You stepped further into the room, the bubbling feeling returning, and surveyed the area that somehow looked worse than before. Picking through the melted frozens, scattered produce, and loose cans and boxes, a dirty knife and plate on the counter.

“What the fuck is a manwhore,” he grumbled as he walked through the door.

“What the hell is this?” You ignored his question, gesturing around you.

He frowned. “The kitchen.”

“No, you ass. Why is all the food still out.”

He glared at you. “Because I’m already doing enough for your sorry ass, I’m not cleaning too.”

“You didn’t even put away your dishes!”

Soldier Boy just gave you an annoyed look, turning to walk away. Your vision went red.

“Shit!” He howled, running backwards into the room before turning with a glare. “You bitch!”

It took you a second to understand what he was talking about. You only managed to clue in from the fading scars on his face, and the realization that the feeling in you had boiled over.

If you were a better, less tired and angry person, you might have apologized. Thank god you weren’t.

“I am not going to spend the next who-knows-how-many months cleaning up after you. If you want to make this as difficult as possible, turn this house into a shithole, feel fucking free. I won’t stop you.”

“You don’t know how many months we’ll be here?”

“There’s a lot of moving parts to this operation that don’t concern you, and-“ You held up your hand as he started to interject. “That’s not the point. Clean up.”

“You should be thankful I’m even still here, you bitch. If it matters so much to you, do it yourself.” He growled back.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, or did you not just hear me say that this is not my mess to clean?! Either you do it, or it doesn’t get done.”

“You couldn’t make me with a million dollars and a blowjob.”

“Good thing I’m not offering either.”

A cold silence settled in the room, your arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep yourself from exploding once more. His glare had developed a murderous glint in his eyes, his fists clenched at his side.

“Bitch.”

You raised your chin. “Cunt.”

“You know, if I didn’t think it’d be a shame to ruin such a nice face, I’d slam you into the oven and burn yours off.”

“Oh, so you are that stupid.”

“Watch yourself.” He said your name in a low voice, taking a rough step forward.

“Sorry, for a second there I thought you said you believed you could burn a supe with fire powers. I must’ve misheard you.”

“I could make this very painful for you.”

“As opposed to your cheery compliance so far?”

“Do you think I’m just going to roll over?” He hissed, taking another step forward. “Be you and Butcher’s little lap dog?”

Something grew taut in your gut, but you held his gaze. “I think that if you don’t back the fuck up, I won’t make you roll over so much as physically harm you until you’re crying on the floor.”

"You're fighting a war you can’t win, Sunshine. I’ll kick your ass.” He sneered. “I’ll make you sob back home to Daddy Butcher.”

Your blood felt cold, your jaw almost cracking from the pressure in your chest. “So do it. Or move.”

Soldier Boy’s face was a portrait of rage, and you felt like he was dissecting with his cold green eyes. Looking for any weakness, any exploitable fallacy on your mask, any crack in your head that he could pry open and fill with poison. Make your lungs collapse into your ribs, make you claw and claw in desperation-

“Hm,” he grunted. He pulled himself to his full height before turning and leaving, leaving your anger sizzling at nothing. You watched as Soldier Boy, with controlled and rigid movements, stepped away from you, leaving the room without another word. Leaving you in the slop of the kitchen. He was getting further and further away from you, too far you to do anything about it, except maybe-

Before you could stop yourself, your hands were wrapped around the knife on the counter and the knife was flying across the room. It bounced off of Soldier Boy's back with a pitiful sound, but he stopped in his path, turning slowly. He glanced down, eyes finding the abandoned utensil on the floor before he dragged his gaze back to you.

“Did you just throw a fucking knife at me?”

“Clean up.”

He stared at you with the same eyes as before, the only betrayer of his emotions the twitch of a muscle in his jaw.

“It’ll take more than a bad throw to make me pussy enough to be your maid, Sunshine.” With that, he was gone.

———-

Ideally, the woman Ben would be forced into a lockdown with would be fun. She would give him sweet smiles and syrupy words, laugh at his jokes, and sprout similar ones. She wouldn’t be a sulking, useless, bitter prude whose greatest talent seemed to be finding issue with every word out of his mouth. Every time they had spoken, he had felt that beat in his ribs grow and grow, and it was nothing short of a fucking miracle it hadn’t gone off.

He hadn’t cleaned the kitchen, and he wouldn’t. It was beneath him, and she was the one who had chosen to be here, not him. In a brief moment of weakness, the stench from the rotten produce almost breaking his resolve, Ben had eyed a vacuum cleaner, only to realize he couldn’t use it if he wanted to. There were far too many buttons, weird twisty things lining the handle and bag, and he would take the first flight to Russia before he asked her for help.

They skirted around each other with success for two days after the knife incident, sneaking into the kitchen at odd hours to look for somehow edible food and leaving every possible door in the house locked behind them. A beautiful and well executed arrangement, broken only by her sudden appearance in the living room a few days later, standing behind him as he watched TV.

“We need to talk.” When Ben didn’t answer, she walked around the sofa, and grabbed the remote, turning off the screen. “Now.”

Ben scowled. “I was busy.”

“Watch a re-run of Jeopardy? With categories you don’t even understand?” She crossed her arms in front of him.

“I understood enough.”

She snorted. “One of the categories was ‘Celebrity-Inspired Products’. Name one modern, non-supe celebrity.”

Ben paused. “Marlon Brando.”

“Marlon Brando died in 2004.”

“Gene Wilder.”

“2016.”

“That one funny guy who was on the rise. In that stupid book movie.” Ben frowned. “William Robinson.”

She titled her head. “William Robinson… Do you mean fucking Robin Williams.”

“I was close,” Ben said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, not really, cause he died in 2014. Now can we please talk.”

“Are you here to apologize?”

“Yes, actually.”

That got Ben’s attention. “Well then. Go on."

She had started to chew her lip again, her nose wrinkling like she smelled something bad. Though, to be fair, she probably did. The milk in the kitchen had become a problem. “I am sorry.” She took a needlessly labored breath through her nose. “I shouldn’t have thrown the knife at you. It was childish.”

Ben waited for her to continue, and when she didn't, he leaned forward. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“So you’re going to clean the kitchen?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Nope.”

Ben lounged back. “Then your apology is worthless.”

The now-familiar look of anger had returned to her face. “I am not your maid.”

“And I’m not yours.”

“I didn’t make the mess. And I’m not going to clean it just because you think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you,” He retorted. “I am better than you.”

“Because you’re a man?” She jeered. “A big whiny baby with muscles?”

“Because I built up the company that gave you your little sparkle show. I am Vought. Those ungrateful backstabbing assholes wouldn’t be anywhere without me.”

She fell silent at that, the victory pumping its fists inside Ben’s head slowing the drum in his chest. If he had observed one thing about her, it was that there was almost never a time she lacked in words. Also, she listened to her stupid music deafeningly loud and had an impressive arm. He had felt that knife hit him, sharp end first, right on his spine, still burning from the heat of her touch. Another deep breath escaped her, a fog that had formed on her face clearing.

“Power and greatness have nothing to do with cleaning. Vought won’t hear about your refusal to run a dish washer and grovel on their knees for your forgiveness.”

“Because when I’m through with them, they won’t have knees.” Ben smiled at the fanstasy on a wheel-chair bound Stan Edgar.

“No, because they couldn’t give a shit about it. I don’t love being here any more than you, but I have to be. This is a marriage of convenience, so we-“

He snorted. “I'm not marrying you, Sunshine. You’re pretty, but too much of a bitch for my taste.”

“It’s an expression, you fucking idiot. It means a weary alliance hinging on a favor. We don’t need to like each other, but we can’t kill each other, or this will be a net loss.“

“Sure.” Ben gave her his cockiest grin. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“You couldn’t handle me, Grampa.” Despite her mocking voice, her small step back didn’t escape Ben’s notice. Though her heart was steady, he dismissed it as anxiety. Obviously, nobody had helped her relieve any of that clear, needless stress plaguing her in a while. He would. Make this whole situation a little more bearable. Maybe, once she had a good fuck, she’d turn out to be just half as pleasant as his fantasy.

“I fucked Marilyn Monroe. I almost made her leave that pussy, Kennedy. You’d be lucky if I looked at you.”

“I’d say I’m lucky right now. You’re too busy trying to fuck your own reflection to look anywhere else.”

“And my reflection thanks me every fucking night.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” she gave him a toothy, arrogant smile. Ben knew she thought she’d won.

“If you ever want someone to pull that stick out of your ass, I’d be happy to help.”

Her smile faltered quickly, but was plastered back onto her face just as fast. “I’m sure it’ll fall out on its own.”

“In case it doesn’t, my door is open.”

“Thought I was a bitch?”

“You said we didn’t need to like each other to get hitched-”

“Never said hitched.”

“So if you ever want to ‘not like each other,’” he winked at her. “As hard as possible, my door is open. I’m a gentleman, you’d have fun.” He reached to take her, and he had hardly brushed their fingers when she jumped back, recoiling like he was covered in warts.

For the first time, Ben thought that the look on her face might be fear. She rubbed her hand like it had been burned, a part of him thought she might bite through her lips, and her heart had become erratic. But when she spoke, her voice was just as level as always.

“Clean your dishes, and keep your door fucking closed. Or next time I throw a knife, I’ll aim for your eye, and I won’t miss.”

She stomped up the stairs, the room lingering with smoke long after she left.

[hallowxiu]

Gentle Monster

part 1

i will be posting this as a chaptered series on my a03 linked here.

characters: zombie!Beel, gn!mc

word count: 4.8k

Summary: You're living in a zombie apocalypse where your current struggles have brought you to a small town where you meet a strange zombie.

"The zombie, which hasn’t immediately attacked you, strikes you as odd. It doesn’t seem violent, but you know that can’t be true. If anything, it seems startled by your presence."

Autumn leaves rustle on the ground, the wind blowing them down the streets as you walk hurriedly. You’d left your house, your very own sanctuary that you built with your own hands, to run into town to look for supplies. You were stocked on most things, but you found yourself running low on medical supplies (you had a bit of a nasty run-in with a handful of zombies a few nights ago) and ammunition (for the same reason you ran low on medical supplies). 

For the last year, you were nearly sure you were one of the last remaining humans in your town. You hadn’t seen or as much as heard a peep from people, which was somewhat uncommon. If there were groups of armed people holed up somewhere, you would have eventually run into them when out on supply runs. 

The echo of your steps is the only source of sound in the otherwise quiet town. You can hear the faint grunts and groans of zombies in the distance, but the sounds aren’t close enough to draw any sense of alarm. Still, you had your hammer ready in case you were surprised. 

You weren’t feeling hopeful today with the potential outcome of your supply run. Medical supplies and ammunition generally were rare to find, but in a town where most humans were wiped out? Yeah, fat chance. You felt a growing pit of anxiety forming in your stomach. Never run low: that’s what you drilled into yourself whenever it came to medical supplies and ammunition. How could you let yourself get so careless? You should have never put yourself in this situation to start with.

Your eyes scanned over the abandoned and ruined buildings, moss and vines covering the exteriors and forcing their way inside through broken windows. Damaged bricks lay discarded and forgotten on the ground. Most places had already been ransacked by both you and other survivors. You knew markets had little to provide, and long-forgotten homes had been stripped of anything valuable they once had. There was, however, one place in town that most people avoided. The feeling of anxiety grows larger within you, threatening to break out. You didn’t want to go to that section of town, but you were low on options. You needed medical supplies and ammunition desperately; if you wanted to survive, you’d have to take calculated risks. Running a dirty hand through your hair, a shaky exhale forces itself past your lips as you head toward the town’s police station. 

The police station was a place to avoid for several reasons. However, the most pressing one was that it was located right on the outskirts of town. You tried to avoid the outskirts of town as much as possible. Zombies always seemed to linger in groups that could easily overpower someone traveling alone. The police station also had a small jail toward the back of the building, which became an issue once people started dropping dead and turning. Many of the prisoners were still in their cells, turned years ago. It was just a place you didn’t like to be around, but you also knew many survivors shared that sentiment. If you wanted to get the supplies you were so desperately in need of, you knew the police station would more than likely have it. However, there was a risk that you may end up using all the supplies just trying to get back out of the station. 

You stop short in front of the station. The building looks the same as the rest of the infrastructure in town. Something, likely a herd of zombies, had pushed in the front doors that were now barely attached to the hinges. Bloody handprints had been smeared on the remaining glass, and from what you could tell from where you stood, the inside didn’t look much better. You could see the center of the reception room, papers discarded and dumped on the tiled floor. Inhaling and giving yourself a false sense of confidence, you step inside the station. 

The first thing you noticed was how quiet it was. No grunts, no moans, no shaky breaths. Your dominant hand grips the hammer tighter. It was rare for the police station to be empty; there were almost always zombies roaming around the building. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding away as you scan the room for any threats. The air held a musty and metallic smell, and you could see thick layers of dust on the plastic chairs that sat haphazardly in the room. Slowly, carefully, you walk behind the receptionist's desk, looking for anything useful. Nothing, but that didn’t shock you. Survivors brave enough to break into the station usually only made it to the receptionist area. Not many were brave, or for lack of a better word, stupid enough to push further. Luckily (or unluckily), you were stupid enough to do such a thing. 

Moving through the reception area and toward the back of the station, you knew the likelihood of finding supplies increased. You swallow nervously, glancing around as you push through the building. Somehow, it became more nerve-wracking the longer you went without running into anything. The lights are out, thanks to the power outage from the outbreak. Still, you weren’t anticipating just how dark the building grew the further you pushed. You knew you had to be getting close to the jail based on the lack of windows. 

You blink several times, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You hated being in the dark, something you didn’t initially have a fear of until you found yourself living in a world full of blood-thirsty monsters. Your mind would play tricks on you, conjuring up distorted images of things lurking in the shadows, hiding behind every corner. Whenever you found yourself in the dark, it became incredibly difficult for you to stay focused, to separate reality and hallucinations. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to stay grounded in the moment. Losing yourself to panic would only cause more trouble. Opening your eyes again, you grab a flashlight in your bag. Once on, the flashlight illuminates the room with a narrow tunnel of light, giving you an idea of where you’re at in the building. You had been right; you were in the jail portion of the police station. Lifting your flashlight, you freeze when seeing the outline of something right in front of you. 

Disorientated from the darkness, it takes your brain a moment to process that you are staring directly at someone or something’s chest. Before a scream can erupt from your lungs and you lose yourself completely to panic, you throw yourself back, trying to put as much distance as possible between whatever’s in the room with you. You aim your flashlight, the light revealing a zombie in the corner of the room, visibly startled by your sudden movement. You glance from the zombie to your hammer, noting that it’s of significant size for an ordinary zombie. It didn’t seem like a Griever, the deadliest zombie from the outbreak. That relieved you; you didn’t think you could take on a Griever of that size without a gun. It was the risk you carried when traveling into town; the sound of a gun firing could attract all types of zombies from all over. You were exposed enough as it was in town; you didn’t need to make it worse for yourself. 

You didn’t want to fight the zombie with your hammer. It was large and could easily overpower you. Your pistol is in your bag as a last option, but you couldn’t risk alerting more zombies to your location. The palm of your hand is sweating as your grip around the hammer tightens, your knuckles turning white. Cautiously, you take a slow step back, desiring to add more space between you. The zombie, which hasn’t immediately attacked you, strikes you as odd. It doesn’t seem violent, but you know that can’t be true. 

Without warning, the zombie lunges for you, its hands outstretched as it runs toward you. You force a scream down as you stumble back, unthinkingly swinging the hammer out in front of you, striking at the air. You back into something, feeling cool metal pressing against your back. It’s bars to a jail cell. 

Making a rash and sudden decision, you yank the door to the cell open, darting inside and slamming the door shut behind you. You stumble back against the wall as you watch the large zombie trying to squeeze its arms through the gaps of the cell door. Your chest rises and falls, eyes dilated and wide as you try to make out your dark surroundings. You must’ve dropped your flashlight in the struggle because you were again thrown into darkness. You place a shaky hand on your chest, trying to calm your nerves. You were away from the zombie, but now, admittedly, you were trapped in a pitch-black jail cell. The full gravity of your decision begins to settle over you. You have no medical supplies, you’re low on ammunition, you’re without a light source, and you’re trapped in a jail cell with limited food and water on your person. Feeling panic welling inside you, you struggle to keep it at bay. Throwing yourself into a jail cell has to be the most impulsive decision you’ve made, and it may just cost you your life. You’re only lucky that you managed to pick a cell that wasn’t already holding a zombie.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, watching wearily as the zombie continues its assault on your cell. You had no idea how long it would take before the bars would give out under the zombie. Sure, it was a heavy metal door, but this was also a larger-than-average zombie. You had no idea the strength it held. You watch as the zombie begins to slowly lose interest, another thing that strikes you as odd. Typically, even if a zombie couldn’t reach you, it’d try to get to you as long as it could see you. Hunger was not something that ever went away with zombies. It was what drove them to survive, what drove them to keep going. You were a free ticket to a hot meal as far as this zombie was concerned, and yet… 

You observe how it still lingers by the door, its hands wrapping around the cool metal of the cell bars. It’s watching you closely, its eyes following your every move, no matter how small—the zombie’s groaning, something that sends a shiver up your spine. Regardless of how long you’ve been stuck in this hell, the sounds of zombies never stopped creeping you out. The zombie pulls weakly at the bars; odd. Why would it pull so weakly when you both knew it could easily apply more strength? You were at the mercy of this zombie, and surely you both knew that. Your eyes narrow suspiciously as you feel backed into the wall behind you, your back pressed flat against the cool, bricked surface. 

You needed to plan your escape, but escaping while this monster hovered around your cell wouldn’t do you any good. You lost your flashlight, and while your eyes have been slowly adjusting, you were still at a steep disadvantage. You still have your hammer, but you ultimately knew it wouldn’t do much in a fight against this guy. You could lodge it in its eye and run for it, but then you’re without a weapon. As morbid as it was, your only hope would be if another poor soul wound up here and took its attention off you. You never prayed on the downfall of another human, but if it was the only thing standing between you and getting back home, then you just might. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you see movement in front of you, watching in curiosity as the zombie slowly sits down in front of the cell door. It wasn’t like zombies to sit and wait for their prey; they usually just continued to groan and pound away at whatever was blocking them. This zombie was nothing like one you’ve encountered, and its odd behavior was only stacking up in front of you. “What are you?” You find yourself asking, knowing you won’t get anything in response. And true enough, you don’t, except for a grunt. If you weren’t so hung up on how to get out of this situation, you’d probably be taking notes on this zombie, trying to learn about its behavior and unnatural size and classify its type. 

It’s still quiet in the jail, something that hasn’t gone unnoticed by you. You wonder if the zombie in front of you is the reason for the lack of other zombies in the building. That thought sends another shiver up your spine; if this zombie could keep other zombies out of this building, how strong was this beast? Your grip on the hammer tightens as you try to keep as much distance as possible despite the cell door acting as a barricade. You chew on your bottom lip anxiously, your stomach already growling. Pushing the thought of food aside, you look down at your left ankle. It was swollen, ballooning in your shoe. Your ankle was the main reason you were out for medical supplies. During your last run-in with zombies, you sprained it when fleeing. However, with the current state of your ankle, you’re starting to suspect that you might be suffering from a sort of fracture, and you’re even more sure that trying to escape this zombie earlier only made it worse. You should have waited until your ankle healed more; patience in a zombie apocalypse was vital, but it seems it was something you lacked. 

Your ankle was throbbing as you sat, and you started to wonder just how fucked of a situation you landed yourself in. You glance back up to see the zombie still staring at you. It’s strange, but what’s even stranger, you think, is how you aren’t unnerved by its stare. You don’t feel anything. You shake your head, trying to steady yourself. If you get lost in your thoughts now, if you let your panic consume you, you are dead. There was no other way about it. So, instead of letting yourself get wrapped up in your head, you needed to focus on-

“H…el…p.” 

Your head snaps up, and your eyes widen as you scan the area as best you can while stuck in the dark cell. Was someone else in here with you? Was someone also stuck in a cell? A prisoner, maybe? Or someone in a very similar situation to yours? “Hello? Who’s there?” You didn’t bother hiding your voice, you were nearly positive that there was only one zombie back here with you, despite you not fully understanding what kind of zombie this was. “Are you injured?”

You were met with silence, and you felt your eyes narrowing in the darkness as you tried to pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from. “Hello?” You try again, waiting on bated breath. After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear a response. 

“Not… injured.” You’re confused by this. They’re not injured, but why are they replying as if they are? “You… injured?” 

“What?” You’re straining to hear the person, and the more you strain, the more you’re uncertain that you might be going insane and hallucinating the entire conversation. You’re so absorbed in this conversation that you inch yourself closer to the cell bars, your fingers wrapping around the rusty metal, the zombie the last thing on your mind. 

Suddenly, the zombie’s face is blocking your view, pressed against the cold metal bars. You let out a surprised yelp, throwing yourself away from the bars and zombie and back against the brick wall. The overly large zombie is pressing itself into the bars with its hands outstretched towards you. You notice it’s not moving aggressively but slowly and curiously. “In…jured.” Okay, now you know you’re going crazy because there’s no way you just saw and heard a zombie attempting to communicate with you. There’s just no way. The zombie points at your swollen ankle with its outstretched hand as if to prove a point. 

“Yeah… injured.” You repeat slowly, not quite believing that this thing is speaking to you. Or that you’re responding to it. There’s a beat of silence as the zombie stares at you, its head tilting. You’re unsure if it's trying to speak or thinking of eating you. 

“Why?” The zombie’s voice is rough and raw. You assume this is because its vocal cords are damaged, and possibly because it hasn’t spoken in who knows how long. You look down at your ankle, bruises blooming across your skin. 

“Because I sprained it. Maybe fractured it. I don’t know.” You offer lamely. Why are you talking with a zombie? Are you really that desperate for some kind of human interaction, even if it comes in the form of a bloodthirsty monster? You look up when hearing the zombie grunt. You’re unsure if that was a response, or just the zombie grunting for the sake of grunting. It’s still pitch black, but your eyes have somewhat adjusted. You can see the outline of muscles and the torn fabric on its dirty and bloodied clothes. It looks like a type of uniform, but you couldn’t figure out what. The zombie has shaggy hair and strands of grown-out bangs covering its eyes. Its hand is still out stretched toward you, the other clutching onto a bar of the cell. There’s dirt packed under its broken and chipped nails. You spot what looks like a nametag on the monster’s chest. “What’s your name?” You don’t know why you’re asking. Maybe to give the zombie some human element, to make it less scary. Or maybe you’re trying to prove to yourself that this whole situation isn’t made up. 

The silence stretches out, lasting so long that you almost forget the zombie is there. You begin to wonder if you did imagine the scenario. “B…Beelze…bub.” Huh. Odd name. You rub your hands against your face, crouching over as you try to comprehend everything. Odd name aside, the zombie answered your question. You asked for a name and it gave you a name. Which meant the zombie understood your question and has been asking you questions and responding in kind. 

“How is this possible?” You ask out loud as you lean your head against the brick wall behind you. You’ve never heard of this happening; you never imagined this happening. A talking zombie that isn’t immediately trying to kill and eat you? It’s as if you fell into a completely different world. Were there others like it? Was it possible for a community of zombies to exist? The zombie, or Beelzebub, only stared in response. Perhaps it was letting you think things over, or maybe its vocal cords were on the verge of giving out. You could also be crazy.

You lean back against the wall again, your swollen and throbbing ankle nearly forgotten. “Will you eat me if I get out of here?” It was a question you did but didn’t want to be answered. You were stuck in this situation because of it, and it did try to attack you earlier. You also figured you’d ask this before asking if it would help free you from your cell. 

“Y…es…” 

Solid. You managed to find the only talking zombie in town, maybe even the world, and it still wants to eat you. You’re not sure how to feel about that. You needed to think of a way out of this. “What if you let me out, you know, find a key or something, and then you don’t eat me?” Beelzebub stares at you with an expressionless face. You’re fairly sure you see it blink one eye at a time. However, a lightbulb goes off in your head; bargaining with it might work. “Uh, if you get me a key and get me out of here, without eating me,” you find yourself emphasizing, “I’ll help you find animals to eat or something.” You haven’t seen humans in town for a long time, so you don’t know the last time Beelzebub ate. Could zombies last for periods without eating? “So? What do you think? Pretty sweet deal, right?” You fully intended on ditching this zombie as soon as it lets you out. Hopefully, it can’t tell. 

Still, you don’t receive anything in response. It’s still staring. “Key? You know, the shiny metal thing that unlocks doors? Cells?” You make a gesture with your hand in the air, mimicking unlocking a door with a key. “You know? Key?” You’re starting to sound desperate; you’re also stuck in a cell with a talking zombie for company. Is desperation really that bad of a look? 

The zombie grunts before pushing itself away from the cell bars and standing up. It turns its back to you, shuffling away quietly. Either it’s looking for a key, or it got bored of you. You’ll gladly take either option at this point. 

You sit for several minutes, trying to brainstorm ways of escape with your near-useless ankle, while also being located in the back of the police station, possibly the most dangerous place to be in town. You were also without a weapon other than your hammer, and missing your flashlight. Maybe you could brute force your way out of here? Bang on the bars enough until they give way? No, that’s ridiculous. You could try lockpicking your way out; you’ve seen it done in movies before. Maybe if you found something like a paperclip or even your fingernail-

Clank.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel something hard and cold bounce off your forehead. You look to the ground to see a shiny metal key by your hand. Looking up, you see Beelzebub staring at you from the other side of the cell bars. “Really? You threw it at my head?” But most importantly, this zombie fetched you a key. You asked for a key and it retrieved a key for you. Whether it’s the proper key or not is yet to be seen, but still, you find this astonishing. 

“Key.” It grunts out and leans against the bars again, its expression unreadable. 

“Key.” You repeat and slowly lean forward to pick up the small object. “And you’ll let me unlock the door? Without trying to eat me?” You cast a suspicious look the zombie’s way. It only grunts in response, and you struggle to decide how to take that as an answer. Regardless, your options are limited, and you don’t have much in the way of supplies when it comes to food and water. Inhaling deep, you push yourself off the ground and force your way to the door. If it tries to attack you, you can always try to outrun it. Doing so might prove slightly challenging with your ankle, but adrenaline can do wonderful things for the human body. “Can you take a step back?” You ask as you approach the cell’s bars. Unlocking the cell with your hand outstretched, a feeling of unease washes over you. The thought of it potentially seizing your hand at any moment kept you on guard, emphasizing the need for caution. It could grab your hand at any moment and bite down, why wouldn’t you be hesitant? 

You watch in slight relief as Beelzebub takes a step back, and you quickly reach your hand between the bars to unlock the door with the key. With a loud click the lock opens. You swiftly slide the door open and run for it. You don’t bother looking for your flashlight or even checking for other zombies. You just run. Your feet feel heavy as they hit the ground and a searing pain swiftly travels up your ankle with each step. How long you could keep going remained unknown as you raced away from Beelzebub. It was a relief to know that Beelzebub wasn't a Griever, but its true nature remained a mystery. Could it match the speed of a Griever? Possess greater strength? These were questions to which you had no desire to find answers.

Running down the hall, you suddenly hear loud footsteps approaching from behind. The light from the reception area is just starting to become visible. You refuse to look back and instead pick up your pace. Your ankle is screaming in agony, but you couldn’t afford to stop now. This entire thing was a bust, and you knew you’d be getting out of this situation more fucked up than you were before. 

The light is an overwhelming assault on your eyes the moment you step foot into the reception. Your vision is white as you stumble blindly, your hands outstretched as you try to grab onto a nearby item for support. You had to get your shit together and fast. The police station was always a hot spot for zombie activity and you were completely exposed. You were blinded, your ankle was an absolute mess, and you only had a hammer to defend yourself with. As your vision slowly returns, a rough hand lands on your shoulder from behind, and you struggle to suppress a blood-curdling scream. You spin around, your ankle nearly going out in the process, only to be met with Beelzebub’s fogged-over eyes. 

“Human… lied.” You swallow the growing lump in your throat as you stare up at the monster before you. Now in the light, you can see just what you’re dealing with. The zombie’s tall, but not taller than a Greiver. It’s muscular too, which oddly enough, brings some comfort. Grievers were not known for being muscular, but that didn’t mean this zombie couldn’t seriously mess you up either. 

You noticed the uniform it had on was that of a police officer, and the nametag did in fact display the name Beelzebub. So, your zombie friend was once a cop and this is likely where it died and became a zombie. Interesting. “Human prom…ised… food.” You can feel a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin as its eyes bore down into you. Hopefully, it doesn’t consider you to be the food. “Human ran. Human left. I let… human out.” It seemed angry, that much was clear. Your throat was running dry, and any and all words in your head died as soon as they reached your tongue. 

“I, uh…” Could you seriously not think up any excuse? “Forgot?” On second thought, maybe it would’ve been better to stay quiet. The look on Beelzebub’s face tells you it doesn’t quite believe your words either. “Alright, look. I was nervous. Can you blame me? You’re a talking zombie and I’m your five-course meal. How am I supposed to believe that you won’t try to eat me the second my guard is down?  What if you call your zombie buddies to tell them you found the hottest meal ticket in town?” 

“Zombie… budd…ies?” There’s a look of confusion on Beelzebub’s face as it stares down at you. 

“You’re missing the point entirely.” 

“B…Beelze…bub hun...gry.” A sigh leaves you as the insistent zombie stands before you. You briefly check your surroundings. It was a risk standing in an area as open as reception. You were no stranger to the types of zombies that lingered by the police station, and you didn’t want to draw a crowd. You needed to hurry this up. 

“Look, if I feed you an animal or something, will you leave me alone?” You don’t know why you’re even trying to bargain with this thing; possibly because you want to get out of here and can’t outrun it. The zombie nods its head, or at least the best it can. “Fine, fine. Follow me and I’ll lead you back to my home. I have food there. Meat.” The word meat seems to do the trick, as the zombie’s eyes widen and it seems overall more aware. “Attack me though and I’ll kill you.” It doesn’t look very intimidated by your hammer or you. 

Once you two agree (if you can call it that), you look around the reception area. You don’t see any zombies lingering outside. It was just as clear as when you first came in. That was weird. Normally there are at least a dozen, and the fact that there were none when you first arrived or even now leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Uneasiness aside, you didn’t want to wait around for more to show up. “Alright, follow me. Stay close behind,” you turn around to narrow your eyes suspiciously at the zombie, “but not too close, and don’t get lost because I won’t come looking for you.” You couldn’t believe you were actually considering bringing a zombie home with you. 

You couldn’t see this ending well. 

[starlingbite]

But God, I love the English - Chapter Four

Graphic made by the very talented @skyhighrollins911

Read Chapter Four on A03

Total Wordcount: 24.5k / This Chapter: 3493 / Rating: Teen & Up

Eddie trudges into the firehouse next shift, unsure what he’s walking into. Despite Buck agreeing to remain friends, he’d seen the disappointment in the man’s eyes, and the last thing he wants is for things to be awkward at work. 

Buck is already in the locker room when he enters, sitting on the bench tying up his boots. He glances up at Eddie briefly as he enters, not saying a word. 

Thankfully, they’re the only ones in the room so there’s no one to overhear Eddie as he asks. 

“Are we okay?”

Buck tugs a little rougher on the laces. “Why wouldn’t we be?” He asks, refusing to meet Eddie’s eyes.  “Buck-”

“You’re right, I’m only here for a few more weeks, what’s the point in starting something.” 

Eddie’s never witnessed someone tie their shoelaces with so much intensity before. 

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

Finally, Buck looks up at him. “Why would things be weird? Nothing happened, right?”

“Right,” Eddie replies weakly. 

@calinaannehart @thebestbooksaround @bigfootsmom @spotsandsocks @dr-shortsighted-owl @devirnis @queerweewoo

[bloo-the-dragon]

Heads and Tails

This took me way too long to write. Hah...

A small follow up to the first (two) chapters of In Our Dreams written by my good friend @emrystheblue please go read it first if you havn't already!

Anyways - Ruin suffers from chronic pains due to a crooked tail a result of a badly healed break from long ago. Today the pain is a little worse than usual and Eclipse tries to help. Little over 4k words be prepared should you hit that read more!

(Also on a03!)

~~~

A thump and a crash followed by a sharp squark was the oh so wonderful alarm Eclipse had to wake him that morning.

Or afternoon. Evening? Something along those lines. How long had he been asleep?

He blinked blearily at the wall, his fuzzy processors struggling to boot up fully and leaving him briefly disoriented. For a split second his memory glitched and he forgot where he was and who he was- but a small refresh quickly fixed the issue, leaving only a small log in his files as the only evidence something had occured despite him not recalling it. Eclipse simply ignored it though. He was more than used to it.

Once his processors finally finished booting up, Eclipse raised his head sluggishly to regard the doorway, squinting as he tried to remember what had woken him up. Another small thump and an annoyed sharp chirrup from across the apartment slotted the jigsaw piece of memory into place and the dark orange robot deadpanned. Ah. Ruin.

The hell was that fish up to now?

Resisting the strong urge to flop and sigh into his pillow, Eclipse grumbled, sitting up and swinging his legs around to stand. A short bout of dizzyness had him placing a hand on the desk to keep his balance, and the other against his head, displacing the rays that crowned it. After taking a moment to gather his bearings and for the dizzyness to subside, the dark coloured animatronic wearily trudged the short distance across the small bedroom and into the main living area.

The immediate first thing Eclipse noticed was Ruin was on the floor next to a toppled over table lamp. Panic flared within him briefly but then the mer let out an annoyed growl as he tried to push himself up from the floor. Eclipse caught a glimpse of the mers legs trying to form but failing causing hm to flop back down again with a loud thump.

Well that explained the noise.

Eclipse leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms in an unimpressed manner. 'What the hell are you doing?'

Ruin clearly hadn't expected Eclipse was behind him as he squeaked in surprise and turned his head toward the orange and black animatronic, a sheepish look crossing his features and the yellow frills that crowned the mers head pressing back a little.

'Oh! Eclipse! He- hello I didn't see you there' a nervous laugh followed by a small cheep, 'I um... did I wake you? I'm sorry! I was just trying to get to the couch you see and... Well.. ' The mer trailed off and Eclipse followed his gaze down toward Ruins crooked tail that was now partially coiled around him. Ruin gave it a small flick when he realised Eclipse was looking too but winced as he did so.

Eclipse frowned. Shifting himself off the doorway, he took a few steps forward and crouched down with a small grunt as he begun to inspect the mer. Ruin had since stopped trying to form his legs which Eclipse was internally glad for as seeing them form always weirded him out. But going by how the fish was trying to form them combined with the obvious sound of him falling over before, they must have disappeared without the mers input.

He glanced up and raised an eyebrow at Ruin. 'So what happened to your legs? Did they run away or something?' 

Ruin chittered in a way that Eclipse couldn't tell if was amusement or annoyance. 'Ahh very funny. But hmm... i've mentioned before it does require some ah... effort on my end to keep them extended yes?'

Eclipse nodded. 

'Yes yes! Well- Umm..'

The mer trailed off again suddenly becoming a lot more sheepish as he glanced away from Eclipse who's frown deepened. 'So... what? You lost focus?'

Ruin whistled quietly, and he winced as he shifted himself. 'In a manner of speaking...'

Eclipse's gaze returned to the tail, taking note of the faint tremors running across the scaley skin and how curled in and guarded Ruin appeared to be with it. He tilted his head thoughtfully, rays slowly spinning before halting with a click as he came to a conclusion.

'It's hurting again isn't it.'

It wasn't a question. Ruin let out a nervous laugh followed by a small whistle, drumming his webbed fingers on the floor.

'Aha... Well, yes but you needn't worry yourself dear I'm pretty used to it at this point as you know-'

Eclipse gave him a look and Ruin shrank into himself a little, mismatched sky blue and scarlet eyes flicking downwards as he became very interested all of a sudden in the carpet. 'Anyways enough about me, how are you feeling dear? Did you sleep well?' A pair of white pupils appeared which looked up to meet Eclipse's. 'No nightmares i hope?'

Eclipse gave him a sour look at that question but opted to ignore in favour of reaching his hand out to hover just above the shivering scales but refraining from touching. 'Why the hell didn't you tell me about this? And just how long has it been hurting for?'

The mer's tail twitched and he huffed with a small fishy pout. 'It's very rude to ignore someone you know-'

'Answer the damn question Ruin'

Ruin's head fins flattened back at the sharp tone in Eclipse's voice and the robot felt a tiny spark of guilt at his small outburst. He took in a simulated breath and followed it with a softer, 'please.'

There was a few seconds of silence from the mer before Ruin let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping in clear defeat. 'A few days..'

Eclipse snapped his head up to stare at Ruin in disbelief. 'A few days?! You've been in pain for days and and you didn't fucking tell me?'

Ruin's head fins flattened back again very briefly before flaring out and flickered in clear irritation.'I didn't want you to fuss! You've not been well yourself dear-'

'I'm fine Ru!'

'No you have not been fine Eclipse!' Ruin cuts him off with a sharp click, and his tail thumped the ground behind him. However doing so was clearly a mistake as the mer let out a pained hiss, coiling in on himself as he chittered out some explicitives in his own tongue. This immedietely alarmed Eclipse but Ruin held up a hand before he could do anything, gritting his sharp teeth as he continued, his voice laced still with soft hissing and chitters.

'You have not been fine. You have been sleeping restless for the past few days, but that's not even the worst of it! You- You've been...' Ruin paused, drawing in a deep breath. His eyes fall away from Eclipse, his claws gripping and digging into the carpet in clear distress.

Eclipse sat a little stunned, simply observing Ruin as the navy blue mer continued to claw at the carpet. He then releases an exasperated sigh and imitating a habit Ruin had done with him many times before, reached out and somewhat awkwardly placed his hands on top of the mers webbed ones who went very still at the contact. He didn't pull away though, and a small cheep brought Ruin's eyes back to meet his.

'I've been what Ruin?' Eclipse prompts his tone a touch softer than before.

Ruin was silent a lot longer this time. His head fins twitched, flattening back and flaring out again multiple times betraying his inner emotions. Eventually he huffed a small sigh followed by a soft whistle. 'You've been forgetting things dear.'

Eclipse tensed. 

Oh.

So that's what it was. 

...Well shit.

Eclipse looked away from Ruin, his rays retracting a bit. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't already aware of it. He knew that since a few days ago his memory has been acting up again, and while he hasn't been losing huge chunks there have been spotty moments he can't recall. Ruin had been helping to fill in the blanks for him though, and in fact now Eclipse thought about it, the mer had been hovering around him a lot more than usual lately.

Eclipse tolerated the clinginess even if it irked him a bit at times. But it had helped on a couple occasions. Small moments where he'd wake up from a nap and forget where he was who he was, but then he'd get a face full of yellow frills or a tail flopping over his stomach and it'd bring him back again.

Even today, when his memory began to fail him after waking up the sounds of Ruin in the house kept him grounded. Speaking of, he must have fallen silent for too long as Ruin cheeped softly and Eclipse felt his thumbs gently stroking his hands that still lay atop the mers. He lifted his eyes up to meet the mismatched pair of sky blue and scarlet ones that were focused on him in concern.

Eclipse huffed, giving the mer's hands a gentle squeeze. 'Alright. Fine. So my memory is shit it always has been and some days its worse than others' He notes how Ruins claws dig into the carpet again but he chooses not to mention instead continuing with 'but right now I'm fine. I'm managing. You on the other hand-'

He glanced thoughtfully at the mers tail. 'I'm going to assume you can't walk or move much right now, because of the pain right? That's why your legs disappeared too. Too much pain to focus or whatever.'

Ruin was silent for a moment before he sighed and then nodded. 'Yes. That is correct unfortunately.' 

The dark animatronic hummed, wracking his broken brain for remedies on pain relief. They didn't have any painkillers in the house as Eclipse hardly saw the need to stock up on them as they did nothing for him. He wasn't even sure if they would help a magical creature like Ruin but he made a mental note to buy some next time he went to the store anyway. Granted he didn't forget that too.

The mer seemed to realise what Eclipse was thinking and he perked up a bit, 'If you'd like to help, some ice from the- the...' Ruin paused a moment muttering something in his own language before continuing with 'freezer yes! Some ice from there should be enough to help ease it a little!'

'We only have so much ice right now Ru and not enough to cover all of' Eclipse gestures to Ruin 'that.'

'...Are you calling me fat?'

Eclipse ignored him, his brow furrowing as he considered something. 'I wonder...'

The animatronic goes silent for a moment that is just long enough that Ruin begins to worry that he's zoning out again. He jolts slightly when Eclipse suddenly leans back and smacks his hands on his legs as he comes to a conclusion.

'Alright Ru. Bathtime.'

Ruin blinked, taken off guard by the sudden change in subject. 'What?'

Eclipse didn't give the mer any time to fully process before he moved forward and slipped his arms under Ruin who cheeped in alarm.

'E-Eclipse wait wait WAIT- '

Ignoring the mers protests, Eclipse grunted as he hoisted the mer up who released a rather undignified squeak. As Eclipse took a moment to adjust his hold on the mer and maintain his balance, Ruin warbled out a mix of words before finally managing something understandable.

'E-Eclipse, dear please is this really necessary-'

Ruin was cut off by Eclipse shooting him a glare and he shrank down a bit, giving a nervous chuckle.

'Ah... This isn't up for debate it it?'

Eclipse said nothing simply turning and heading toward the bathroom. Ruin signed flopping in his arms. 'As you will then.'

Eclipse pushes open the door to the bathroom with his foot, shuffling himself and the fish inside being careful not to bump the mers tail on the doorway. He set carefully Ruin down on the mats and the mer let out a questioning chirrup as Eclipse leaned over the bathtub. The animatronic cheeped back put of instinct but said nothing as he turns on the faucets. Once the tub reached just above half full, he turned off the taps before turning to Ruin and pointing at the water.

'Get in.'

Ruin blinked looking between Eclipse and the half filled tub. 'Pardon?'

Eclipse gives him a deadpan stare before sighing and bending down to pick up Ruin again.

'Ah- ah- Eclipse wait what are you doING-'

Ruin cuts off with a small alarmed squeak when the tip of his tail comes into contact with what turned out to be surprisingly cold water. Normally this would not be an issue for the mer as he's swam in cold waters before but going from relatively warm room temperature to rather chillingly cold water was a bit sudden even for him.

As such he coiled his tail up best he could despite the sharp aches shooting through his tail and pressed himself closer to Eclipse, glancing between him and the cold bath. It doesn't take long for Ruin to catch onto what Eclipse's intention here is and while it is very sweet even so...

A nervous laugh escapes him. 'Ahh.. Eclipse dear while I'm sure the intention here is well meaning are you sure this is... a good idea?' The mer eyed the bath tub warily, curling maybe just a bit closer to the robot holding him. 'It does seem a bit.. excessive does it not?'

Ruin trailed off, his nervous gaze meeting Eclipse who simply stared back with a half lidded gaze. 'No.' He deadpanned and Ruin yelped as he was plopped straight into the icy water.

Ruin splashed about a bit and Eclipse had to take a couple steps back to avoid the worst of the cold water as some sloshed over the side of the tub. Finally Ruin righted himself, poking his head up out of the water and looking quite bewildered. He locked eyes with Eclipse and an annoyed pout crossed his fishy features followed by a small hiss.

'Proud of yourself are you?'

Eclipses deadpan stare cracked as a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. 'Very.'

The mer rolled his eyes and sank more into the water in defeat. 'Of course you are.' He sounded exasperated but there was a small chirrup added to the end of his words that told of him not being genuinely mad.

Eclipse settled down beside him crossing his legs beneath him. 'How do you feel now?'

Ruin grumbled, though it was more a soft low warble. 'Adjusting. Still sore but it is easing up a bit. However' He shot Eclipse a bemused look, 'I would appreciate not being dunked straight into cold water without warning next time dear.'

Eclipse huffed and crossed his arms. 'I'm not apologising. You needed this.'

Ruin hummed followed by a gentle whistle. 'I know dear. I.. I know.'

They sat in silence as Ruin relaxed more into the tub. Eclipse notes he still looks tense and he watches how Ruins tail quivers. Maybe he made the water a bit too cold, and he asks Ruin who waves him off. 'No it's fine dear. I'm just sore still. Give it a bit and i'll be fine.'

Eclipse wasn't fully convinced however. He knew the cold would help but it clearly wasn't working as fast as he hoped. Should have expected this, of course with flesh wounds the pain couldn't simply go away that easily. Made him glad for once he was made from metal and wires instead of flesh and bone.

Eclipse wracked his mind again for anything else that could help ease the pain more for his fishy companion. There was something he could try, something he'd known about for a while. In fact he'd considered it already before the cold bath thing but he wasn't sure how well Ruin would feel about having a sore and sensitive area touched. Another shudder and a small subdued hiss from Ruin was all the prompting Eclipse needed though, and he tapped the side of the bath with a single finger to get the mers attention.

'Can I.. try something?' Eclipse asked, gesturing his hand toward Ruins tail. Ruin tilted his head curiously, his tail twitching but he doesn't move away.

'I.. suppose? What was it you were wanting to do?'

'Something I've seen humans do. It's meant to help ease pain' Eclipse added on when he noticed how Ruins head fins flattened back slightly.

The mer seemed a little unsure but he nodded. 'I trust you dear. Go ahead'

Alright. Now he's just not gotta mess this up. Tentatively Eclipse extends his hand toward Ruin' tail, half expecting the dark blue mer to shift away but he remained still, simply watching as the animatronics fingers made contact. Eclipse very slowly and gently applied pressure as he begun to run his hand across the scaled skin, being careful to avoid the torn fins.

The scales were cold under his fingers, thanks to the water but it wasn't really a bother. He continued to run his fingers across the area applying gentle pressure as he moved his hands across the mers tail. He could feel the uneven shape under his hands reminding him of the crooked bones that lay beneath the flesh. He tried not to think about it too much, lest the anger of what those humans did to the mer cause him to accidently unsheath his claws. That would certainly not be of any help here.

'Is this... helping?'

Ruin who had been leaning his head contentedly against the bath side opened a sky blue eye. 'Hmm?'

'This is it.. helping at all?'

Ruin hummed followed by a soft whistle. 'It is! The pain is lingering still I'm afraid but this is helping make it more' another small whistle as he closes his eye again 'manageable.'

Eclipse hums but says no more, continuing the movement as he let's his thoughts wander, specifically to earlier when Ruin said he'd been having memory trouble again. Eclipse was still aware of it of course, infact he knew when it had started, ever since he woke up that night with Ruin laying on top of him and the mer had refused to shift for a couple hours after. Not that Eclipse could complain, the extra rest had been well needed afterall. 

He frowned, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles in the mers tail. Now he thought about it... he didn't recall anything from that night. At all. And while he had later found Ruin had been rummaging through the freezer again, he had also found some of the furniture had been knocked over or moved. Eclipse hadn't thought much of it at the time being too tired to bother, but now...

A chilling revelation runs through his endoskeleton spine. Had he... had another episode? Had he chased Ruin through the house but he didn't remember it?

Usually his episodes were nothing more than moments of sudden aggression but they were usually just angry snappish words and insults directed at anyone in the near vicinity. Nothing ever physical, and Ruin knew well enough to leave Eclipse alone whenever those happened. 

But now he was wondering... what if it changed that night? What if it got worse and he chased Ruin down?

His fingers go still as Eclipse stares down at the yellow lined tail, turmulous thoughts overloading his mind and not realising his fans beginning to speed up.

Did he do this? Did he hurt him?

'Eclipse?'

Eclipse jolts not realising how still he had become and looks to Ruin who now has both eyes open, looking at him with concern.

Ruin cheeped. 'You were zoning out again sweetheart. Are you alright?'

'I'm-' Eclipses voice box glitches and he takes a moment to reset it before trying again. 'I'm fine... but.' He looks to Ruins tail again, conflicted emotions swirling around inside of him, making hm feel sick. He didn't want to ask but at the same time he had to know.

'What happened that night? Did i...' the words die in his throat. Eclipse doesn't know if he has the mental capacity to hear the answer.

The mer tilts his head, his eyes scanning Eclipses face. 'You mean the one from a few days ago, yes?' A silent nod. Ruin sighed, resting his chin on the edge of the bathtub as he reached out a webbed hand to brush Eclipse's rays. 'No it... it wasn't anything you did if that's what you're worried about. I... you.. you were calling for me.' A small sheepish chuckle followed by a small sad cheep, his thumb tracing a pattern on the dark orange ray. 'I might have panicked a little.'

Eclipse would have snorted at that but all he could manage was a half hearted huff from his vents, too focused on leaning against the gentle petting of his rays. 'Because of the fish? The very ones you know you're not allowed to have?'

A stuttered chirrup 'w-well yes! But...' Ruin trailed off with a whistle, sinking into the water a bit and withdrawing his hand much to Eclipse's internal dismay. 'You... you were panicking too dear. And when I made it to you you didn't.. '

'Didn't what?'

'...you didn't recognise me.'

That makes Eclipse freeze, his hand that had begun massaging the scales again going still.

'..What?'

Ruin sank even more, a low whine escaping him. 'I don't know why. But you looked at me and.. it was as if I were a stranger. But you kept calling out so... I kept calling back.'

Eclipse stares at Ruin, not knowing what to say and any words that he does attempt to form die before they can even be processed in his voicebox. He tried to access the memory files from that night but nothing came up either. The files were non existent. They must have corrupted and his systems deleted them during a reboot which means he must have crashed again. He hadn't had a crash for a long while so that was concerning.

And the fact Ruin had witnessed it too. Eclipse felt guilt knaw at him on the inside, and he released a shuddery vent. 'I.. I didn't mean to scare you.'

A soft chirrup. 'I know dear. I'm just glad you came back to me.'

This time a distant thought in the back of Eclipses head poked up but he immediately shut that thought out. No he was not going back into that line of thinking again. Not now. Not now...

However he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Knowing that he was experiencing crashes again was already in and of itself a great concern. He knew what those meant. And he could only hope it was just a one off this time.

'Do you want to watch a movie?' Eclipse suddenly blurted out. Ruin blinked at the sudden change in subject, and Eclipse himself was surprised by his own suggestion. But before he could backtrack, Ruin perked up with a small grin.

'Certainly! That would be nice!'

Eclipse felt his frame relax a little. 'Alright. How's the tail?'

Ruin hummed, flicking his tail a bit and sending a small water splash at Eclipse who hissed and swiped at the water droplets. Ruin trilled in amusement. 'It's feeling a little better!'

Eclipse huffed, wiping water from his face. 'Good' he stood up with a grunt, 'well when you're ready hop on out and we can go put one on.'

Ruin chirruped in reply and he rolled around in the tub a bit before hoisting himself up and slipping out and onto the mats. He released a small trill when Eclipse threw a towel over his head and began to playfully growl and hiss as he swiped at the offending soft material. Eclipse snorted at the dramatic display, and knelt down again to help dry the wriggling mer whos energy quickly waned and Ruin releases a soft warble as he leans back against Eclipse letting him finish drying him off. He still nipped a bit whenever the towel brushed his nose.

Once done, the dark orange and black animatronic tossed the damp towel into the laundry basket and grabbed a fresh dry one to wrap around Ruin before hoisting him up into his arms. Ruin doesn't complain this time, instead hooking an arm around his shoulder and pointing dramatically to the doorway.

'To the couch we go! Onwards my noble steed!'

Eclipse rolled his eyes but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged the corners of his mouth. He takes them to the living area and sets Ruin down onto the sofa, who let's out a small chirrup and curls up onto the pillows under the soft towel with a content trill. Eclipse meanwhile goes through the selection of dvds from the drawer under the TV. 

'Alright what's it gonna be Ru? You can pick this time.'

A small hum followed by a click 'Shrek if you wouldn't mind dear!'

'Again? We've watched it three times already.'

'And we shall watch it a fourth time! It is a good film. But we could always watch anime instead-'

'No no Shrek it is' Eclipse mused, deftly plucking the disc out of the casing and slotting it into the player. 'We're not watching another twelve hours of One Piece.'

An amused chirrup. 'Very well then!'

As the movie starts up Eclipse plops onto the sofa beside Ruin who quite quickly shuffles up and crawls onto Eclipse's lap. Normally Eclipse would not permit such close cuddlyness but this time he allows it. In fact he even wraps an arm around the mer and helps pull him up a little more so Ruin's head is tucked under his chin, the yellow frills brushing against his neck. Not an entirely unpleasant feeling Eclipse finds.

'Could we watch the other ones too?' Ruin asks as he snuggles into the comfortable hold.

'Yeah we can do that. Except the third film. That one's shit.'

A small chuckle, 'it's existence is well ignored i assure you.'

The two fall into a comfortable silence, with Eclipse holding Ruin close with one arm while his other continues to gently and half mindlessly massage the mers tail. Ruin does not seem bothered by it, and going by the faint rumbling emitting from him seems to be enjoying it still. Ruin likewise keeps one of his webbed hands over the one Eclipse has wrapped around him, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of his metal hand.

As the movie begins, Ruin tilts his head back a bit to regard Eclipse who raises an eyebrow. 'What?'

Ruin chirruped before gently nuzzling his head against Eclipse's chin. 'Thankyou dear.'

Eclipse's fans sped up a little and he simulated a cough to hide it. ''Yeah sure. Don't mention it.' 

Ruin whistles but says no more, and the two continue to watch the movie.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 2

MASTERLIST

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Summary: You are greeted in your new surroundings, questioning what will be done with you next.

A03 link

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Chapter 2: Caged

The first thing you could feel when you came back to your surroundings was the foul stench of dried blood, heavy and pungent in the air. It had been enough to bring you to heave, sitting up with great effort, trying to keep what remained in your stomach down. There was a dull ache not just across the entirety of your body, but especially in your head, ringing like a bell. Instinctively, your hand traced the outline of your belt in hopes of using a flask, to no surprise to find everything on you was completely gone. Weapons, pouches, flasks; even your whistle to summon Torrent.

If all my things have been taken? -- Blinking through your watery eyes, your fingers ran over your face in a panic, relief filling your chest to know they had kept your helm on you to hide your identity. 

Pain raked through your muscles, certain you had something fractured, a rib or two just from the discomfort you felt every time you tried to breathe. It wasn't the worst set of injuries you had gotten, and it certainly seemed some of the stabs Messmer had inflicted on you had been healed by something already.

You had remained in your shirt and trousers, in a small damp room, cold and lifeless. You only had a bucket and cot you were currently lying on, an itchy thin blanket draped over your legs you seemed to have tangled around yourself. 

Lying back down carefully curling up to keep the warmth, you counted as many times you could hear footsteps come through or pass your cell, concentrating for what felt like forever, endlessly listening. Nothing came past you for some time, and when you felt the tiredness begin to seep into your mind despite the dulling pain, you were abruptly awoken when you heard the sharpness of a door swinging open, many footsteps following.

Trying to look as if you had been up this entire time, you sat up to the edge of the cot, just in time to ease your nerves as you saw the figure pass by the bars, standing by. Four fire knights you could count until a final figure emerged from the left, tall and willowy, red and daunting as the rest of them.

Messmer had appeared the same, his face taking in you before observing your cramped surroundings. "Leave us." He commanded, albeit in a whisper, held still as much authority. It had been enough for his knights to hear, bowing their heads to their superior as they marched off, leaving you face to face with the redhead with nothing but the bars as a barrier or so-needed protection.

His unblinking gaze stared down at you for quite some time, and you didn't know if it was intentional to make you feel uneasy. His one eye, golden and unsettling, held no emotions for you to help interpret. It worked enough to make you feel discomfort, asking the first question that was waiting to spill out. "Do you stare down all your prisoners?"

He did not find amusement in your words, rather ignoring the coldness you held for him. It only deepened the already present scowl on his ashen face, "Thee findeth thy imprisonment comical, tarnished?"

"No, I would rather be surrounded by the flames of a fire, keeping me warm."

Messmer unblinkingly observed you, before pulling forth his thin arm to stick in between the bars. From the dim light that was casting through from the barred windows, he presented his forearm, a ghastly gash you had given him from the katana slash, imbued with the freezing grease. The skin was blistering, and swelling as it already looked to be healing slowly.

"Rememb'r doing this to me?" He sneered, pulling it back as he continued his glowering down towards you. "T tooketh a lot to not endeth thy wrtech'd life."

You wished you could laugh from imagining what you had looked like, littered with pokes he had given compared to a few slashes you had given him. it would've been a mercy to be given death by flame, for you would've ended back at the site of Grace outside his throne room, equipped and dressed in your armour once again. 

"I have no doubt," you said, making sure to use the right words, "but it seems you may believe what I said about Miquella."

"Miquella doest not gallow me," Messmer scoffed, "he may cometh with his army of lightless creatures.  I shalt happily embrace those with my own flame."

You don't think you believed his words, nor the 'promise', but you didn't feel in the mood to argue with him. Instead, you brought up something he mentioned many times. "You mentioned your mother-- Marika? Where is she in all of this?" It was more of a test, to see if he knew what was happening outside the realm he seemed to be kept in. Was it intentional?

That seemed to agitate him, "Yond is none of thy concern, Tarnished. I waiteth for her to returneth."

"You do all this whilst you wait?" It had made no sense if it was pride that kept him from continuing, even when it seemed he had lost contact with Marika. Some sort of way of seeking her attention? You didn't want to tell him how foolish he was, what had happened to Marika and of her whereabouts in the Lands Between.

"T doest not matt'r mine own feelings," he commanded, "I doth t all, in the nameth of mine own moth'r."

It ends in the name of your mother. The thought crossed your mind. You don't know why, but rather than feel the frustration of it all, you felt rather sympathetic for his situation. His mother had moved on, baring other children and losing control of the Golden Order. He was a tyrant in a realm where none knew of his name in the Lands Between.

"All I doth, I doth for her," he continued, "Those not beareth the lighteth of grace, I gaveth only mercy."

Your anger bubbled up suddenly before you could stop your words. "Was it merciful to incinerate the innocent?"

The bar slammed enough to jolt you backwards, your legs finding the back of your cot. Messmer had reached the bar in a swiftness you couldn't imagine from where he had been standing, gripping it so tight you could see his knuckles turning pale. "Careful Tarnished, watch thy tongue." He did not raise his voice, but the sharp correcting made you quieten your thoughts. You realised from his guarded expression, that something flashed across his features, not anger, but... hurt?

"A lord liketh thyself hast done the same across these lands."

"I do it to survive."

"Survive," he sneered, "thee doth not knoweth the meaning of survival." It was only when he looked to be leaving did you finally asked him the dreaded question. "And what would you do with me? If death is not to be welcomed."

He did not look back at you as he gave his answer. "Doth what thee tarnished doth most wondrous, survive."

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You don't know how many days have passed, but hunger gnaws at you as if you are a beast. 

You shiver with the clothes on you, the blanket does little to help, and when you do sleep, you find yourself in a place you do not recognise:

Beings clawing at your flesh, some red or gold, others horned, calling you a monster. Congealed amalgamations of beings beg for your mercy to kill them, with many faces and arms clinging to you in hopes of you saving them, dragging you down into an abyss you can't escape. It is only when you are consumed in darkness do you see a large serpent, staring down at you, before swallowing you whole, screaming yourself awake.

Before you're visited again, you can't remember the last time you slept.

It is when you're greeted by Messmer, that you can only wish he has finally changed his mind in keeping you alive. Four of his fire knights unlock your cells, making their way to you. It is this time, that you do not fight, which silently pleases Messmer.

"Taketh her to Sir Aldwin. Then bringeth h'r to the bathhouse.  Beest did rid of the putrid odour."

You wish to scream out to him for death, but instead, you avoid eye contact with him, wondering if he will be sending you to an even worse fate.

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A/N:

'Gallow' means frighten lol