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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 days

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Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Happy fake season 5 premiere. Now are you ready for some SAD? Chapter Title from Pavlove by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 21.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You want to go home. Usual Warnings, and also just so sad.

Read on A03!

Chapter 16 - Chapter 18

It had been one month, one week, two days, five hours, thirty-seven minutes, and thirteen seconds since Ben had lost Her. Failed Her. Held Her and heard her voice say his name.

The Thing kept time for him. It had forbidden him to forget for a single second that She wasn’t there. Because of him. She was gone, he’d broken his promise, and now the Thing’s only job was to look for Her in corners—in strange shadows and oddly placed objects that might be Her—and beat every part of Ben bloody with an anguish for Her. To remind him, as another second passed, that he had failed Her. That She wasn’t at his side, where she belonged. That She had trusted him, and now she was in danger.

The first week had almost killed him. He’d barely slept—and when he did nightmares of Her, just out of reach and screaming, would carve into his chest as the drums overtook him—so he’d wait until he was about to fucking collapse and then do it on the couch. Never on the bed. He didn’t go into the bedroom except to get to the bathroom. And every time he did, he had to fight the sick feeling in his body that She wasn’t there. He’d almost wrecked the apartment in wrath as well, smashing two chairs against the wall and shattering the TV. Then he’d been furious with himself for losing his fucking control, because She’d be upset the TV was broken.

How the fuck is that helping anything, Benjamin? She’d cross her arms and glare at him. Then make him clean it up while She watched, cross legged on the couch. Still not really that mad at him, because Ben would grunt and glower at Her but do it all the same. Then he’d steal Her chocolate from the cafeteria in a silent apology, and even though she’d already forgiven him She would smile at him and tease him for being a grump as he watched Her eat.

She was haunting him. Ben knew Her too well, She’d planted herself so deep in his every thought that She was everywhere. Not just scattered through the apartment—clothes in drawers he had to pretend he couldn’t see, unfinished books on tables, and an empty coffee mug in the sink—but plaguing his every move. He couldn’t eat or cook without hearing Her frown at instructions and ingredients.

What does “crisp up the edges” mean? Like, burn lightly?

Ben had to stop cooking. It was wrong when Her voice was there but he couldn’t kiss the top of Her head or wrap his body around her own, hugging her into him as they both frowned at the stupid recipe.

As such, at first he’d only left the apartment to get food—stalking back immediately after because if the Pussy Brigade kept looking at him with fucking pity he’d kill them all and that would defiantly make Her pissed—and to attend briefings. Boring, pointless fucking briefings where Butcher would say they still didn’t have a lead—at that point they didn’t know anything except that She was with Homelander and Vought said she was in “recovery”, so nobody had even fucking seen her—and Ben had to find another way to live with himself. With how he’d failed Her.

The Pussy Brigade had been pissed with him. MM’s glares had become somehow damn angrier than before, Annie and Hughie kept fucking sighing, Frenchie looked at Ben like he was about to rip everyone’s heads from their shoulders at the smallest word in his direction, and Butcher and Kimiko were acting like Ben was the fucking asshole. Like they weren’t the ones sitting on their fucking asses, and Ben was slowing them down. He had been attending their stupid fucking meetings and managing not to kill anybody when every single fucking one ended the same way, with Her not any closer to coming home. So every single one of them could go fuck themselves until She was.

Then he’d been called to the dining hall for another meeting, and found only MM and Annie waiting for him.

“You need to talk to her sister,” MM snapped. “She needs to know what happened.”

“No.” Ben’s grunt was meant to be final. He didn’t want to talk to Violet. He didn’t want to be reminded of Her, he already had to see Her perfect face whenever he opened his phone. He had no desire to see her in all the similarities and mimicked expressions on Her sister’s features, or hear her in the way they both always spoke with a frantic pace, as if the words might get away from them.

“We’re not fucking asking-“

Annie had stopped MM with a hand, looking at Ben carefully. “She’d want her sister to know.”

She would. She’d be pissed Violet didn’t already know. But Ben couldn’t. “One of you pussies fucking do it then.”

“It has to be you,” Annie had said Her name gently. “She would want it to be you.”

Ben had wanted to kill Annie. To tell her she had no fucking clue what She would want him to do, but she was right. Ben had to do it. This was a fitting fucking punishment for failing Her.

They’d called Violet. Annie had wanted Ben to see her in person, but MM had decided it was too dangerous. So they’d called her, using MM’s phone.

She’d asked Ben what the hell had happened, and he’d told her.

The line had gone silent for a long, painful minute before Violet spoke again.

“You’re going to get her back.”

Even though it felt like the words were clawing at his throat, Ben had parroted what he’d been telling himself since he’d lost Her. “Like I fucking said, we have to kill Homelander-“

“I don’t give a shit about Homelander,” Violet had snapped. “You’re going to get her back.”

“You think I don’t fucking want to?! You think this isn’t fucking killing me?” Ben had almost roared into the phone. He knew he’d failed, he didn’t fucking need this. Nobody needed to tell Ben he’d lost Her. He’d never be able to goddamn forget it if he tried.

“I know this is fucking killing you. And I don’t goddamn care.” Violet’s response had been cold. Furious. “She’s my sister, and I want her back. And if you care about her even a quarter as much as I think you do, you’ll want her back too. So go get her back.”

It hadn’t been a question or a plea. It had been a command. Ben was going to get Her back. Fuck Homelander, fuck Butcher and MM and Mallory. Ben cared about Her, more than he’d ever cared about anything, and if he didn’t get Her by storming the Tower he’d rip the world apart until he found Her and brought her back. Brought her home.

Violet had hung up the line, Ben had chucked MM’s phone back at him, and turned to stomp back to his room. To get his shield and fucking bring Her home. He’d spent a week doing it the team’s way, fucking sitting on his ass like a pussy, and that was fucking it. He’d get her back, his way, no matter fucking what.

MM had stopped him. Planted himself in Ben’s path with a glare.

“Move.” Ben had hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. He had to do something. Get Her back right goddamn now.

“Stop being a fucking child,” MM’s words had been blunt. Furious. And Ben’s vision had gone red.

“The fuck did you just say to me-“

“You’re being a whiny, pathetic, sulking child.” MM hadn’t flinched, and Ben had been certain he had a death wish. “I sure as hell understand why Violet’s angry. But she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We’re going to get her back, but when it’s safe.” MM had said Her name, and Ben had almost broken the teeth in his own mouth. “She’s strong. She’s smart. She wouldn’t want us to compromise the mission for her.”

Of course She wouldn’t want that. She was always fucking throwing herself in the line of fire, taking bullets meant for everyone else because she could. But she shouldn’t fucking have to. Ben didn’t give a shit how strong She was, she shouldn’t keep fucking doing this to herself. He couldn’t keep fucking allowing everyone to just let her do this to herself.

“I don’t give a single fucking ass’s ballsack.” Ben had hissed. MM needed to be crystal fucking clear where his priorities were. Not with the Pussy Brigade, not with the mission. With Her. Always with Her. “I’ve already fucking wasted too much goddamn time pussyfooting around for you-“

“This isn’t for me, you dense motherfucker,” MM was still in Ben’s way, and Ben had been more than ready to fucking move him. “Or for Annie, or Hughie, or even fucking Violet. It’s for her.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know what the goddamn hell you’re talking-“

“She hasn’t broken out,” it was Annie who spoke, and Ben had turned on her with a scowl. “She’s still there-“

“I’m well fucking aware-“

“For a reason, you fucking asshole.” MM’s sneer had been cold. “We all know how strong she is. She could’ve broken out-“

“Her fire wasn’t working.” Ben’s fists had been curled at his side, and he’d felt fucking sick. “It just stopped. She can’t break out, she fucking needs me-“

“We haven’t damn seen her. We don’t know even if she’s in the fucking tower or not. And no matter what, we have to play this like she would.”

That had halted Ben. “What in Christ’s fucking asshole are you talking about.”

“We can’t play this like Homelander. Or Butcher.” Or you. Annie hadn’t said the last words, but Ben knew they were implied. “She’s the one who’s there. Who knows what is and isn’t possible, what precautions Vought does and doesn’t have. What they’re planning with Her. Right now we’re in the dark, but she isn’t. So we have to play this like she would, like she’d tell us to do if she were here.”

Ben had been silent, trying to find a good reason to not just fucking killing Annie and MM and storm Vought Tower to get Her back. He didn’t care about the mission or plan anymore. He just needed Her home. With him.

It’s not about us right now, Ben. Her voice had echoed in his head, gentle but firm. Don’t throw a temper tantrum, I’ll come home soon. Once this is over. Trust me.

She’d play it smart. He’d known that immediately, that She’d play it smart. She’d play it underhanded and unfair—with sharp words and dirty tricks—but fucking smart, and She’d get the job done. At any cost that She deemed truly unavoidable.

Ben really fucking wished She’d start realizing that she wasn’t an unavoidable cost.

But that’s how She’d play it. She’d use herself like a weapon and then crawl back to Ben with Her guts falling from her body. She’d be planning something. Ben knew Her, he knew that she’d be planning something. But She was so fucking afraid of Homelander. There was no certainty that she was Her right now, that her mind was currently capable of finding a way out of this.

“We don’t know where she is,” MM had said slowly, and Ben had remained silent. “And we don’t have a way to get her safely, except killing Homelander. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you asshole.”

“We won’t rest until she’s back,” Annie had added, tone a hell of a lot more soft than MM’s. “I promise.”

Ben had stormed past them, uninterested in their fucking promises, and tried to find a way around this. A good reason that he could just go get Her.

He could go to the tower. Demand Her back.

And I’m sure they’d be super chill about that. Homelander would just hand me over and apologize for the inconvenience.

He could just fucking kill Homelander right now. Stop waiting for whatever pointless fucking shit Butcher and Mallory were planning and kill Homelander now.

He’s not going to fight you. Not after we kicked his ass on the lawn. He’d see you and fly off.

He could bribe someone-

With what money, Pretty Boy?

If you’re so fucking clever, Ben had hissed at the voice. Then what would you do?

I’d play it out. I’d make a plan and then I’d play it out.

You always shut the hell down when you’re afraid, no plans, barely even full goddamn sentences. And you’re fucking terrified of Homelander.

Wow, I wonder why.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben had snapped that last part aloud, and Her laugh had carried on the wind.

He’d sat in it, arguing with Her voice in his head for hours until his phone had buzzed on the table.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible.

Emergency. Dining hall, right now.

Don’t make me fucking drag you.

They’d all been waiting when Ben had arrived. Huddled around Hughie’s laptop with wide eyes and mouths hanging open like fucking idiots.

“Unless the emergency is you pussies doing a fucking circle-jerk-“

“It’s not,” Hughie had spoken over Ben, and his eyes had widened slightly as he saw Ben’s murderous scowl, realizing what he’d just done. “Uh, I mean you’ll want to see this. It’s important. It’s uh,” Hughie had opened and closed his mouth like a fucking fish, and Annie had taken over.

“It’s her. It’s-“

Annie said Her name, and might have been about to say more, but Ben hadn’t fucking cared. He’d crossed the room in two steps and ripped the laptop up from the table. Ignored the protests of the group as he’d stared at the screen.

They had been watching some fucking cable channel, with BREAKING NEWS written in bold letters on the bottom of the feed. It was a fucking interview, where a charismatic haircut in a suit was behind a desk, smiling at Homelander. Smiling at Her.

Her.

Alive. In public. In immeasurable fucking danger, but within an arms reach. She wasn’t speaking, just smiling and looking between Homelander and the host as they spoke. Laughing on a perfect fucking cue when Homelander made a horrible joke.

But Her eyes were fucking empty. That wasn’t her real smile, or real laugh, and no part of Her body was relaxed. She didn’t look harmed, but it was impossible for Her to look harmed. Her hair was styled perfectly, but she never wore it like that. She wasn’t speaking, even as Homelander compared them to Romeo and Juliet and called it the best love story ever told. She hated Romeo and Juliet. She’d lectured Ben at least twice about how it was a fucking cautionary tale, a tragedy, not aspirational. She was laughing at jokes Ben knew she wouldn’t find funny, and Her eyes were fucking dull. She was sat with her hands on the table, and he could see Her middle finger, tapping slightly.

“Unfortunately, Soldier Boy got away. What are your plans going forward to bring him to justice?” The Haircut had been asking Homelander, and She’d blinked. The only sign she’d heard.

“Well, I was so focused on saving the love of my life,” Homelander had placed a gloved hand over hers, and She given him a too sweet smile. “That Soldier Boy managed to run away. I could’ve caught him, of course, but she needed me. So I stayed. But we’re working on a way to find him, and eliminate his threat all together. Permanently.”

The Haircut had nodded, and looked at Her. “The public is dying to know more about you and Homelander’s plans, now that you’re reunited. What can you tell us?”

She hadn’t even opened her mouth, letting Homelander speak for Her. “Right now we’re just focusing on each other. Building a strong foundation for our future together. You’ll hear more when we’re ready to share,” Homelander had given a shark-like grin. “And it will be juicy. Right, honey?”

She’d nodded. No words, only a nod.

Ben had been about to smash the laptop and leave. Go fucking find Her. This was live, she was somewhere in the city right fucking now, and he’d made up his mind. She wasn’t herself, her eyes were vacant and she was never fucking silent. She needed him, and he was going to find her.

But then She’d looked right into the camera. For only a half-second—he’d almost fucking missed it in his anger—She’d made eye-contact with Ben through the camera. And her face had morphed. Twisted into one Ben recognized for just that split moment, before growing blank once more.

I’m okay, Benjamin. Trust me. I’ll see you soon.

She’d see him soon. And when she’d stood up—hand clasped in Homelander’s without fingers tangled, without touching him beyond his glove—she’d been wearing green. It had been a hideous dress, fucking frills and bows and lace and one size too small. But green.

And Ben understood.

She was playing this her way. She was asking him to trust her. She’d see him soon.

He fucking hated this. But She was asking him to trust her, and he did. She was still Her, perfect, and she was wearing green.

She’d see him soon.

Ben had chucked the laptop back at Hughie, and glowered around the table. “What’s your fucking plan.”

“We, uh, don’t really have one-“

“Then fucking make one.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. At all of them. “Now.”

Annie had frowned at him. “I mean, I don’t think that’s important, not when she just-“

“It’s the only fucking thing that’s important.” Ben had hissed. “If you goddamn pussy idiots want to play it like her, do it fucking right. No fucking room for error, or doubt, or goddamn hesitation. If we’re getting Her back by killing Homelander, then let’s fucking kill Homelander.”

Butcher had nodded. “Welcome back, Gov. Whatever it fuckin takes.”

Ben had left. He hadn’t answered Butcher, because he’d have just killed him. Split his face open in fury. The pussy didn’t fucking get it. Butcher’s whatever it takes was about the job. Ben’s whatever it takes was about Her. Getting Her back, making her safe. He was a goddamn fucking hypocrite, and he didn’t fucking care.

Whatever it takes.

Not Butcher’s whatever it takes—what Ben had once meant, a lifetime ago—where he was really saying at any and all costs.

Her whatever it takes. Where she was saying at my cost. At my sacrifice.

Her sacrifice was giving every part of Her. Letting Her worst fears and nightmares become reality.

Ben’s sacrifice was going to be his fucking sanity. His peace of mind traded for the torture of failing Her. Of having to let Her do this. But she’d done it, and he’d be fucking damned if she did it for nothing. She was playing this how she wanted, and Ben knew a lot better than to stand in her way. He’d play fucking nice, and do what the Pussy Brigade told him to, because She’d come home to him.

He’d failed his most important promise to Her. That was broken, shattered, gone into the fucking past.

Now he had to let Her do what she needed to do. And then everything would be keeping Her safe.

She’d need to be safe when she came home. Ben had to keep himself the fuck together, so he could hold Her when she came home. So he could be Her home, and make sure she still trusted him to touch her, care for her, and-

Ben had nearly run straight into the Kid.

He didn’t look like Homelander. There wasn’t anything evil on the Kid’s face, anything deeply gut twisting and skin crawling. Homelander’s face was fucking wrong. Weak. Inhuman. The Kid just looked like a damn kid. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes that Homelander did, but a lot of fucking people had blond hair and blue eyes. Fucking Annie had blonde hair and blue eyes. And, to keep it damn fair, Homelander didn’t look like Ben. Homelander wasn’t Ben. So the Kid probably wasn’t Homelander.

But Ben had lost Her for the Kid.

So he didn’t really give a shit about if the Kid was Homelander or not. Butcher had what he fucking wanted, and She had given it to him. Butcher had traded Her for the Kid. And Ben didn’t want a goddamn thing to do with either of them.

The Kid had been about to say something. Maybe call Ben fucking grandpa again. She’d have loved that. She’d have fucking fallen over laughing and then kissed Ben’s scowl, calling him an old grump.

Something hurt deep inside Ben’s chest. He might be doing this Her way, might have resigned himself to sitting on his fucking ass and working fully with the Pussy Brigade, but he didn’t need another fucking reminder that She was gone. Not when the Thing was keeping time. Not when Ben couldn’t escape Her voice.

He’d shoved past the Kid without a word.

It took Ben two whole fucking weeks to find a rhythm without Her. To pull his shit together for Her.

He didn’t sleep in the bed. He wouldn’t sleep in the bed, not if She wasn’t there. He changed the sheets because she deserved them to be clean. He brushed his teeth because she’d notice if he didn’t. He fucking perfected pancakes, so he could make them when she got home. He fixed the TV. He called Mallory to fix the TV. The TV got fucking fixed, and it didn’t really goddamn matter if it was Ben or Mallory or Hughie who did it. The TV was in one piece, and She’d be able to use it when she came home.

He found small ways to torture himself until She returned. Ways to remind himself She was gone, fucking gone and alone, while still holding Her as close as he could. Ben used Her stupid fucking flower shampoo once a week, just so he could smell her like a pervert. He watched all the movies and shows she adored and tried to learn all the goddamn million songs she loved. For such an intelligent person, She liked some stupid fucking shit. The music was slightly harder for Ben to get through, mostly because of the sheer goddamn whiplash. Bright pop to heavy guitar to—fuck him—showtunes. He managed to get one song down to a key, which brought his total up to two whole songs that Ben knew and could sing to Her. Moon River and Rainbow Connection. He’d have to learn a third, because the fucking banjo made him want to shoot himself. For TV, he could’ve watched all the movies and shows She liked because they were good—The award winning ones made by a bunch of pretentious whining art pussies—or he could watch the ones She loved because she was a fucking enigma of a woman. A low-budget film about a hot woman and the worst fucking “dread pirate” Ben had ever seen. A fucking movie about pageants and the FBI. A goddamn cartoon about talking cars and spies. Another fucking cartoon with a billion damn episodes about a family who made burgers. Another too long show about monsters and hunting them and being a self-righteous pussy all the time.

Ben didn’t actually hate that one. He liked how much they decapitated people, and that he could almost hear Her talking through the whole thing. He couldn’t see any deeper meaning in any of this fucking dimly-lit shit, but She’d find some. And he wanted to try and look for something so that when she inevitably made him watch it, Ben could blow her fucking mind with some sort of stupid observation or metaphor. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and her eyes would widen—half with disbelief and half with delight—and She’d be so fucking happy.

And that was where the torture part began. She wasn’t smiling at him. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t even fucking safe. She was with Homelander. She was doing fucking everything for fucking everybody instead of resting against Ben and telling him about all Her perfect, strange, and pointless thoughts. Ben wasn’t holding Her, laughing with her or fighting with her over nothing. She didn’t even have a fucking way to know how much this was killing him. How every movie he watched and song he listened to made every part of Ben just fucking miss Her. He missed Her so fucking much.

That was the worst part, really. It wasn’t that Ben had to put up with Butcher’s fucking lectures or Annie and Hughie’s goddamn sympathy. It wasn’t seeing the Kid or having to play nice with the Pussy Brigade and their terrible ideas. It was that he fucking missed Her. Mallory and Butcher would start fucking bitching about plans and intel other boring shit and Ben couldn’t look to the side and roll his eyes at Her. He had to eat alone—Ben was pretty goddamn certain he wasn’t welcome at dinners without Her—and she wouldn’t throw food at him or talk to him through large mouthfuls. He had to go into the bedroom to get changed and see Her clothing, still mixed in with his. Static. Never fucking moving from place unless Ben touched them. Because She wasn’t fucking here. If She was here she’d know what to fucking do with all of this, she always knew what to do, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t smiling at him with a pretty mouth and adoring expression. She wasn’t snorting or giggling at him with that same perfect smile. She wasn’t watching the world with sharp eyes that became soft when She looked at Ben. She wasn’t looking at Ben at all, except through the camera. All he had of Her were moments where the mask would drop. Where Her eyes would flash with confirmation through the screen that She was still Her, but nothing more. She never had enough time for anything more.

Homelander was fucking parading Her around. After that first week—where nobody had even known if She was still in the damn city, or state, or country—She was everywhere. Red carpets and interviews and rallies where She’d stand, silent and empty, and Homelander’s side. Never speaking or moving, only smiling as Homelander guided her with a hand on Her lower back. She didn’t flinch when Homelander touched Her, but that wasn’t where She was supposed to be touched. She wasn’t meant to be herded around like a fucking sheep by Homelander. She was meant to be wrapped in Ben’s arms, safe and tucked into his side while she held his hand on Her shoulder. She was never supposed to be fucking silent. All She fucking did was talk, and when she didn’t it was because Ben was touching Her the right way—carefully and devotoutly—and all she could say was pleas of his name. But those were still goddamn sounds. Perfect fucking sounds. Ben didn’t even hear Her goddamn voice until around the third week, when everyone had been gathered around Hughie’s laptop in the dining hall to watch a film premiere for Fish-Boy’s movie and Homelander had dropped down from the sky with Her in his arms.

She’d looked fucking terrible. Still perfect, always perfect, but not Her. Ben couldn’t miss the slight gray lines under her eyes the makeup wasn’t covering, or the sheer fucking emptiness on Her face. She kept tapping her finger on the ridiculous fucking dress they had Her in—dark blue with lace and velvet that made Her face twitch almost imperceptibly whenever she looked at it—and Her cheek was being pulled into her mouth. That had almost been it. Ben had almost decided to just goddamn fuck it and go get Her now. She wasn’t fine, Homelander was still goddamn touching Her, and fuck it all Ben was getting Her back.

But She’d spoken. For the first time in three weeks, one day, nine hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen seconds, Ben heard Her voice. It had been mechanical, over-saturated, but Her voice.

They’d asked Homelander another useless, brown-nosing question about Fish-Boy and supporting sea animals, and he’d met them with too many teeth and cold eyes. And told Her to answer it.

“Marine wildlife and its safety and preservation is a cause that’s very important to us both,” She’d smiled at Homelander, and it hadn’t reached her eyes. “Which is why, after the premiere tonight, me and Homelander will be donating 2 million dollars to the Timothy Foundation!”

“We really care about octopi,” Homelander had kept talking, and She’d still been fucking smiling at him. “And squid, and ocean slugs.”

She’d blinked, and Ben saw the words flash across Her face.

Slugs aren’t cephalopods, you fucking idiot.

She’d said me and Homelander. Not Homelander and I. She was tired, and being fucking used like a puppet, but still Her. They were letting Her speak now, and when the pussy interviewer had asked Her to spin so they could see her full dress, Ben had seen it. A jewel hair pin, completely out of place. Too fucking elegant, too fucking Her for whatever the hell they had her wearing. Green.

So Ben had to keep waiting. It was fucking killing him—especially as they let Her speak more and more and he had to keep hearing Her voice speak words that weren’t hers—but he fucking pushed through. He wasn’t a pussy, he was a goddamn man, and if She could keep herself together then Ben could as well. For Her.

But it was still fucking destroying him.

The nightmares got worse. The longer She was gone, the less Ben slept. Half because the couch was not meant to be slept on—Ben’s legs kept dangling uncomfortably off the side and he could only fit one arm at time—and half because he couldn’t fucking sleep. Not without Her there, not when she was in fucking danger and that thought was chasing him into his sleep. His nightmares weren’t about Russia anymore, they were of Her, screaming and screaming and begging Ben to help Her. And Ben never could. He’d run and turn the fucking world upside down but he could never fucking save her from Homelander. He’d drop at Her side, give Ben a cold grin, and they’d both fucking vanish.

And Ben would wake up with the drums tearing out of his chest.

At one month, one long, horrible, mindless and suffering month of being without Her, the Thing became painful. It had been painful, reminding Ben of everything he’d lost and how the whole world was fucking shit because She wasn’t there, but now it was starting to grow bloody. It hadn’t gotten weaker with Her absence, if anything it was becoming a fucking monster. Stronger, angrier, more goddamn insistent to tell Ben that one fucking thing. The one he couldn’t figure out, the one he had needed to tell Her and had never been able to. It couldn’t use words, so it used memories to try and fucking kill him. To try and make Ben understand what he just fucking couldn’t. To make him rip himself further apart because She wasn’t fucking there. The Thing only offered him good memories, which was worse. The horrible ones—the images flashing in his head of Her fear and terror that would climb into Ben and make him want to kill whatever was making Her hurt—were justified. Ben had fucking failed her. And they reminded him to just keep fucking going until she was gone.

The good ones made him want to die.

The memories of Her legs tangled in Ben’s or wrapped around his torso. Of Her smiling at him with so much joy and Ben kissing her when she laughed because it would turn into a moan and those were the two best sounds in the whole fucking world. Of Ben touching her, casually and always, and her leaning into him and pressing her head into his chest. Of watching Her—he always watched her, she was like a fucking star and he couldn’t look away—and how he’d memorized every perfect fucking detail of Her face. Of how her eyes would light up when she looked at him, and She’d tell him she adored him. He fucking adored Her. She was fucking perfect, still fucking perfect, always goddamn perfect. And every single piece of Ben that mattered, his will and resolve and care and mind and blood, was trapped in the tower with Her. Leaving only his body and the Thing, wrathful and desperate, to ache. His whole world fucking ached because She wasn’t there.

And Ben couldn’t fucking do shit to get Her back.

The Pussy Brigade was working on it. Whenever Ben would yell at them or demand updates, they’d always say they were working on it. They’d leave for meetings and missions that they’d brief Ben on, but never let him just fucking help. Let him bring Her home. Ben couldn’t go out in public, not after the tower, not when he’d been declared Public Enemy #1 by Vought and was a threat to America in the eyes of the general population. So he was fucking benched.

“We’ve got another lead,” MM had been giving a briefing, and Ben had been half-listening. All these meetings always amounted to the same thing. Ben stayed behind, the Pussy Bridage found nothing, and She was still fucking gone. “It’s on Sage, old member of Teenage Kix’s might know some sort of fucking psychological weakness we can use against her.”

Most of the fucking missions were about Sage. Trying to figure out what she was planning, what her long-game was, how they could get her out of the picture for an easier shot at Homelander. The pussy had locked down all of the Seven, and was taking goddamn precautions. Limited press, limited public appearances, all the focus on Her and Homelander’s fake fucking love story. On how Vought was trying to take Ben down for justice, to avenge Her. Fucking protect the country.

“I don’t think she has psychological weaknesses,” Annie had frowned. “I think we need to be focusing on what her plan is-“

“Or we could just bloody kill her,” Butcher’s glare had been around the whole table, even at Ben. Which was stupid, because he was entirely in fucking favor of killing Sage. “Take her out permanently. Blow a hole in her fuckin chest that she ain’t gonna heal from.”

“If you find an actual window for that,” MM had snapped. “Then let us know. Until then, we’re following the lead.”

“It ain’t even a good lead, Mate.” Butcher had grumbled. “It’s fuckin useless. We’re not makin any progress chasing leads.”

Ben agreed. He might have even spoken up and told MM that Butcher was, for once, fucking right about something, but the asshole never knew when to shut his mouth.

Butcher had said Her name, and Ben had seen red. “Still with fuckin Homelander. And we don’t know what type of shit he’s doin to her while we sit on our asses-“

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking asswipe of a pussy.” Ben’s hiss had been a promise. A threat of blood on the tiles and Butcher’s brains scattered across the table. Butcher didn’t get to talk about Her. Didn’t get to say what she’d want, or imagine what pain Homelander was inflicting upon her, or even fucking think about her. She was lost because Butcher made her think she was worth less than the Kid, was worth less than all of them, was better off as a fucking pawn. So Butcher didn’t get to fucking say Her name.

“I’m fuckin defending her, Gov.” Butcher hadn’t stood down, because he was a goddamn self-assured idiot. “We’re all tryin to get her back-“

“I said,” Ben had pushed back the bench, standing with his fists clenched. “Shut the goddamn fucking hell up. You’re the piece of shit who said we had to wait. And you don’t get to fucking defend her, she’s not yours to fucking defend.”

“But she’s yours?” Butcher had sneered, rising as well with tensed arms. “She’s your fucking woman? Your Sunshine? You think she feels like you’re fucking defendin her, when she’s trapped with Homelander?”

She was Ben’s. Ben was Her’s. They didn’t fucking own each other, but She was Ben’s. To protect, to make happy, to hold and touch and-

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Ben could hear the drums somewhere in the distance. “Or I’ll fucking kill you. You’re a weak, pathetic, excuse for a man, a manipulative, lying, backstabbing pussy. You couldn’t defend her if you fucking tried.”

Butcher had been about to hit him. Ben had seen his fist curl, seen the flash of violence in his eyes, and fucking prayed Butcher was going to hit him. To throw a fist at Ben that he’d let land, to fucking feel it. Real, physical pain, instead of this never ending fucking ache. Then he’d fucking kill Butcher. It would be justified, the pussy would’ve thrown the first punch, so Ben could cover his hands in Butcher’s guts as he tore them out and nobody would say shit. He’d have proof, real fucking evidence, that he was fighting for Her. That he was doing goddamn something.

But Butcher hadn’t hit him. He’d just glared, and Ben had stormed out of the dining hall. Back to exile in their apartment. Without Her.

Hughie had tried to follow him. To fucking apologize.

“Soldier Boy!” His weak, nervous voice had called after Ben, and he’d felt fucking sick. He had never hated his supe name before, it had been his whole fucking life. He’d been fine with the Pussy Brigade using it, because to them he was Soldier Boy, and he got to be Ben to Her. But She hadn’t called him Ben in a month. He’d only heard his supe name. And now he fucking loathed it.

He’d kept walking, and heard Hughie’s heart speed up as he chased after him.

“Wait, please just,” Hughie had taken a large gasp. “Holy shit, you walk fast. I just want to talk-“

“Go fucking talk to Annie,” Ben hadn’t turned around. “We’re not fucking buddies, Kid. I don’t have shit to say to you.”

“It’s not about me-“

“I don’t fucking care.”

“It’s about her!” Hughie had stopped running, just yelling Her name after Ben. “I want to talk about her!”

Ben had turned. Not to talk. He didn’t have single fucking interest in talking about Her with anyone. But he’d needed Hughie to see his face when he spoke. “Don’t fucking say her name.”

“She’s, she’s my friend too-“

“I don’t give a fucking flying shit what she is to you!” Ben had roared, closing the space between him and Hughie with furious, long steps. “Or Annie, or Butcher, or fucking anybody. She’s fucking-“

“She’s something to you.” Hughie had, in an act of bravery Ben hadn’t imagined him capable of, cut him off. “She’s something really important to you. Something more to you. I, uh, I don’t really know what, but I know she is. And I just, I wanted to ask if you were okay. With her not here. You haven’t really talked to us-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben wasn’t about to talk about his fucking feelings. Not with Hughie, not with fucking any of them. Ben’s feelings weren’t important right now, and they weren’t for the Pussy Brigade to ever fucking see. Let alone fucking talk to him about.

“I’m, I think she wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.” Hughie had stood his ground, and Ben was almost impressed. “She cares about you. Like a lot, a kind of insane amount. And we all care about her, but she really, really cares about you. And like I said, she’s kind of more to you. So I just, I want to help.”

She was more to Ben. She was the whole fucking world to Ben. Fucking perfect, and she wouldn’t want Ben to feel guilty. She’d probably fucking apologize to him, or get pissed at him for being a dick to Hughie.

You’re being a baby, Benjamin. Her voice ran through his head. This isn’t anyone's fault. Not Hughie’s, not yours. I mean, a lot of things are your fault, but this isn’t one.

Ben didn’t fucking care. He’d still lost Her. He might miss Her, and it might be destroying him that She was gone, but he’d see Her again. Soon. And he wouldn’t fucking break, so that She could. When she was safe. With him.

“I’m not a fucking pathetic pussy who needs you to jerk me off about my goddamn emotions.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. “And she’s not fucking here. So don’t pretend you’d know what she’d fucking say or do or want.”

None of them fucking knew Her like Ben did. None of them had any clue what She’d want, they barely had a grasp of what She fucking do, and they wouldn’t let Ben tell them. They knew he wouldn’t leave, not until She was home, but they still didn’t trust him. Not like She trusted him. Not like Ben trusted Her. And any care they had for Her was worth nothing compared to how She was fucking everything to Ben. How he was fucking devoted to Her, how he-

“What would she want?” Hughie had asked, taking a slight step back but not leaving. “What do you think she would do?”

“She’d talk to Neuman.” Ben had shocked himself with the words, because they’d fucking fallen out of him with certainty. She would talk to Neuman. And She wouldn’t bother asking about Sage. She’d look for breaks in Vought, or Homelander.

Sage is too smart to leave a leak. Her voice mused in Ben’s head. We need an in. A way to pull Homelander’s attention and trust away from her, or find a breach that Homelander is responsible for. He’s not a fan of being told what to do. You need to exploit something she can’t control or predict. Neuman worked with them both. She’d have an idea what they clashed about, and we can use that.

Hughie had stared at Ben. “Neuman? What would Vicki-“

“She worked with Homelander and Sage.” Ben had echoed his imagined words of Her, saying Her name and trying not to let it hurt. “Would think chasing after Sage’s weaknesses was stupid. She’d think it’s a waste of time, especially after a fucking month with no result.” It’s the definition of madness, Benjamin. This door isn’t opening, you can’t brute force your way through it. Find another entrance. “She’d want to talk to someone reliable. Find another fucking way, that actually works.”

Ben had left Hughie gaping in the hall, and marched away. Back to the apartment. Alone.

Another week passed, and nobody had called Ben for a meeting. He was running out of patience. They were nowhere fucking closer to Her. He had to keep fucking watching her on the TV, watch Homelander touch her incorrectly and repulsively, watch Her smile in a way that wasn’t hers. He was kept from insanity by those small moments that proved She wasn’t gone, just not safe, but Ben was at the end of his fucking line.

He was about to do something. Every day he’d been getting closer to doing what he should’ve from the fucking start, because the Pussy Brigade kept saying they were playing this like She would, but they fucking weren’t. Ben knew how she’d play this, he’d even damn spelled it out for them, and they were still doing it fucking wrong.

He was going to do something. Today. Now. Ben was going to just fucking risk it, and everyone could hate him and he couldn’t give a single shit about that. He was getting Her back, his way, today-

His phone buzzed. Lighting up with a message from Hughie. It stabbed Ben’s chest to have to read it, because he had to look at Her face on his lockscreen and see the name She’d entered for Hughie’s contact. But he did anyway. He wasn’t a fucking pussy. He could read a damn text.

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt.

We’re having a meeting.

Please come ASAP.

When Ben arrived in the dining hall, everyone was gathered around Hughie’s laptop again. He was starting to think this was some sort of fucking mating ritual of theirs, with how damn often they did it.

“Oh, you’re here.” Hughie sounded surprised. As if he hadn’t fucking told Ben to come. “You’re uh, on time. The call hasn’t started.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“We’re calling Neuman,” MM snapped, meeting Ben’s eyes with a glare. “Congrats, motherfucker. Looks like your idea might actually work.”

Ben scowled, but stalked around the table. He didn’t gather in their little fucking herd—standing off to the side as they all shot him glances—but waited. They were finally fucking being half as smart as She was, so he’d put up with their weird looks and goddamn attitudes to make sure they didn’t fuck this up.

Neuman appeared on the screen after five minutes of heavy silence. Ben immediately knew where she was. His old room, in the safe house.

For her sake, he hoped someone had fucking cleaned it before she arrived.

“Hi, guys.” Neuman’s voice crackled slightly, but the video remained smooth. “Mallory said you had some questions for me?”

“How are you, Vicki?” Hughie asked, apparently with no fucking sense of urgency. “Have you and Zoe settled okay?”

“We’re good,” Neuman shrugged. “I mean, a little stir-crazy, but good. I heard about the Anomaly, I’m really sorry-“

“This is actually about her.” As Annie spoke, Ben’s fists tightened at this side. “We’re, uh, we’re trying to find a weakness in Homelander. Kill him faster, get her back. And we were wondering if you had any ideas.”

“Ideas?”

“You worked with both the cunt himself and Sage,” Butcher drawled. “You can’t be fuckin clueless as to what they might be plannin.”

“I mean,” Neuman frowned. “I remember Sage was trying to develop a gas to use against Soldier Boy-“

“We got that already,” MM leaned forward, slightly over Hughie’s head. “We’re thinking more long term shit. Something we can use against Homelander, something that might make him turn away from Sage. She’s the real threat right now. We’ve got Soldier Boy to blast Homelander, but we can’t get a shot as long as Sage is keeping him in check.”

“Huh,” Neuman’s face twisted in thought. “I’m not sure. In November, right before Maine, I heard Homelander and Sage fighting about something. Homelander had gone somewhere and not told her. She said if word got out it could ruin everything she’d planned, and he said she wasn’t his boss, he was hers, and it had been for his own health.”

“Health?” Annie frowned. “He’s invulnerable.”

“Mental health,” Neuman corrected herself. “He said he needed closure. That he’d gotten it, and now he could move forward.”

“The hell would that asshole need closure about?” MM and Butcher exchanged looks. “He kills everyone he hates, everyone who threatens him. He doesn’t have a family-“ Ben didn’t miss the pause, or everyone’s quick looks in his direction before MM continued. “Or at least one that matters. No childhood, no friends, no past. The fuck-“

“He was made in a lab, no?” It was the French Prick who spoke up, looking around at his team for confirmation. “That is his childhood. Maybe that is what he needed to move forward from.”

Butcher nodded slowly. “Prick is bloody obsessed with family. That was his whole fuckin thing with Ryan and-“

Her. That was Homelander who fucking thing with Her. And Ben wasn’t going to let Butcher fucking say it. He stormed forward, into Neuman’s view.

“Where the hell is Homelander’s lab. Where they fucking grew him, or raised him, or any of that fucking shit.”

Neuman gaped at him, shaking her head slightly before speaking. “It was, um, I don’t really know. Sage said he couldn’t just disappear right now, and Homelander said he hadn’t even left the city. So he was in New York, but I don’t know where.”

“It’s a big fucking city,” MM muttered behind Ben. “I don’t think we’ve got the time to comb it for one lab.“

Kimiko was signing something to the French Prick. Fast, with a determined face and a lot of nods.

“What the fuck is she saying,” Ben snapped, and could feel MM’s glare through his skull. He didn’t fucking care.

“She said that sounds similar to where they kept her,” the French Prick said Her name for clarity, watching Kimiko carefully. “That we found that by looking for the dead scientist. That the Homelander probably was not paying his childhood home a visit for fond memories.” He looked over Ben, at Butcher. “She wants to tell Monsieur Butcher that when they made her into a monster, they tried to find weaknesses. She thinks they might have done the same for the Homelander.”

“MM,” Butcher said, and Ben looked back to see him frowning. “Call Grace. Tell her we need any records of Vought scientists she’s got. Lad,” Hughie turned as well, blinking at Butcher. “Keep talkin to Neuman. See what else she’s got while we work this.”

Butcher started to walk away, and Ben followed. Blocking the asshole in his path.

“The bloody hell is your problem-“

“I’m going on this one.” Ben snapped. “There’s not fucking shit you can do to stop me. We won’t be in public, this is the best fucking lead we’ve gotten in a goddamn month, and I’m fucking going to check it. Make sure you pussies don’t fuck it up.”

He thought Butcher would argue. Tell Ben to shove it, that he was still benched. But he just looked Ben up and down with a scowl and narrowed eyes, and shrugged.

“Your fuckin funeral, mate.”

Ben let Butcher walk around him, and stalked back to the table. Sitting silently off to the side as Hughie, Annie, and Kimiko all spoke to Neuman. The French Prick had left with MM, leaving Kimiko to type her thoughts on Her phone, but Hughie always repeated them aloud for Neuman, and Ben had fucking ears. Nothing interesting happened—New Noir was weird, Neuman was pretty sure Ashley was bald, and something called a Believe Expo was happening in a week—until the end of the hour.

“How are you guys holding up?” Neuman asked, and Hughie shrugged.

“I mean, we’re fine. Can you, uh, repeat the thing about the Deep-“

“What, that he’s an octopus fucker?” Ben couldn’t see Neuman’s face, but she sounded exasperated. “You already knew that Hughie. I’ve told you everything I have, I just want to talk to my friends.”

“We’re okay, Vicki,” Hughie glanced across the table to Ben, watching silently. “I mean, it’s rough, but we’re okay.”

“How is everyone, with the whole Anomaly thing?”

Ben really fucking wished they’d all stop looking at him like that. Like he was about to start fucking crying.

“We’re mostly just worried about her,” Annie said slowly. “I mean, we miss her. It’s weird without her here. But there’s not much we can do until we kill Homelander.”

“That sounds like Butcher talk, Annie.” Nueman said flatly. “That doesn’t sound like you guys.”

“It is Butcher talk,” Hughie admitted, rubbing his neck. “But he’s not always wrong-“

“I didn’t say he was,” Neuman interrupted. “I just wouldn’t trust his judgment with this. I mean, he’s being a hypocrite.”

Annie frowned, glancing up at Ben again. At his hands, curled into white-knuckled fists as he listened. “About what? Like, with Ryan?”

“No,” Hughie shook his head, giving Annie a sad look. “Becca. That’s what you’re talking about, right, Vicki?”

“It is. I mean, this is almost exactly like Becca. And you told me he was doing anything to get her back. But Soldier Boy-“

All eyes shot up to Ben, and he held their weak, nervous fucking gazes as Hughie cut off Neuman with a stutter.

“He’s, uh, Vicki he’s here. Soldier Boy, he kind of, uh, he’s listening.”

Neuman didn’t falter. “Good, he should hear this. Butcher had a wife, Homelander did to her what he’s done to the Anomaly. And Butcher did pretty much anything he could to get her back. Searched for her, killed for her, whatever he could to get her back. I mean, Stan even told me they cut a deal for it. If Butcher wasn’t such a heartless asshole, he’d care more about Soldier Boy and the Anomaly. About how Becca didn’t seem like the type who would want him to let what happened to them happen to anyone else.”

Hughie swallowed. “I don’t think he doesn’t care, or isn’t trying to help her. I just-“

“Hughie, don’t make excuses for him. I saw how Soldier Boy was about her. Like Butcher was for Becca. And if he’s still there, then that old asshole should know that Butcher did whatever it took for Becca. He might even be right, but he’s still a hypocrite.”

Ben left. If they all kept looking at him like that, with all that fucking pity, he’d lose his goddamn mind. He already fucking knew about Butcher’s wife. The Kid’s mother. He’d learned about her on the first go. She’d had Homelander’s son, got killed, Butcher had made her some sort of fucking promise, and Ben hadn’t given a fucking shit about any of it.

But he’d never known Becca Butcher. He’d heard Her talk about Becca, when she’d yelled at Butcher about Homelander and when they’d been planning to trade Her in for Ryan, months ago. But he’d never known about Becca outside of those sparse details. He didn’t know the lengths that Butcher had gone to. Lengths he wasn’t allowing Ben to go to for Her.

Ben was going to fucking kill him.

Jesus, Benjamin. Were you even listening to Neuman?

Shut up. His voice in his own head was a growl. Ben didn’t need Her voice to tell him off right now, because even in his head she was always fucking right, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being talked out of this.

You shut up. Butcher’s a dick, but he’s not an idiot.

He’s a fucking hypocrite, Sunshine. You’d be fucking home if he wasn’t such a goddamn cold-hearted pussy. I’d have gotten you day one if Butcher hadn’t stopped me.

You wouldn’t have gotten me, though. Butcher’s, for once, right. Homelander would’ve hidden me the moment you stepped foot in the tower.

Homelander hid Becca. Butcher still fucking fought to get her back.

Becca died, Ben. She’s like, really dead.

Ben faltered for a second. Becca had died. That doesn’t fucking mean anything.

I’d say it’s kind of important. If I’m really Becca two, then maybe Butcher’s just trying not to get me killed as well.

You can’t fucking die. And you’re you, not Butcher’s fucking dead wife.

I know that. All I’m saying is maybe Butcher just doesn’t want you to lose me, like he lost Becca.

I don’t think he gives a fuck about me that much, Ben drawled Her name in his head, and could almost fucking hear Her sigh.

He’s not heartless, Ben. I mean, he’s a cunt. But he’s not Homelander. He’s capable of thinking of others, sometimes.

Ben wasn’t a fan of how, when She was just a voice in his head, he couldn’t shut Her up by kissing her. He had to listen to Her, and she was always fucking right. She was too good, too kind, but right.

Ben didn’t kill Butcher. And, when he was called to the dining hall two days later for a briefing, there was finally a fucking plan.

“We’re heading to Queens,” MM was stood at the head of the table, Butcher a pace behind him. “A group of known Vought scientists and a handful of chem and bio majors at NYU interning with Vought all went missing round November, and they all got cars that were parked in Queens. Mallory found a building that’s getting electrically wired underground, and we’re going to check it out. Got it?”

Annie raised her hand, and MM nodded. “Do we have a way in? If it’s a Vought building-“

“Ain’t nobody been seen entering it since all those fuckin nerds vanished,” Butcher shrugged. “I’d wager we’ll just walk right in.”

“What about security, Butcher. Keycards. Locks.”

“We’ve got America’s strongest cunt comin with us,” Butcher shot Ben a smirk. “You think you can open a locked door, Gov?”

Ben scowled at him. “You fucking know I can, you pussy.”

“That’s the bloody spirit.”

“Do we, uh, what are we looking for?” Hughie glanced nervously between Ben and Butcher as he spoke. “Is it just kind of a pray we find something situation, or is there like something specific?”

Butcher didn’t stop glaring at Ben as he answered. “A weakness, Lad. Anythin that Homelander or Sage wouldn’t want us to see or know.”

Hughie nodded. “Like a weapon? Or a drug?”

“We’re not sure yet, kid. But I’m sure there will be something.” MM sighed, then muttered under his breath. “There better be fucking something.”

“Oh, okay. So it’s all of us, or-“

“Me, Soldier Boy, MM, Kimiko, and Frenchie. You and Starlight will stay and hold down the fort.” Butcher clasped Hughie on the back, and Hughie gave a sputtering cough. Idiot had just put water in his mouth. “Try not to fuck on the tables while we’re gone.”

“We’re not going to fuck on the tables, asshole.”

Butcher winked at Annie. “Long as you clean up after yourselves, I don’t care where you twats fuck.”

“It’s not your business-“

“As much as I’d love to have another long and graphic conversation about my co-workers sex lives,” MM cut Annie off with a glare at Butcher. “Can we get our fucking asses up and into the van?”

“I’m not the one who can’t keep it in my fuckin pants, Mate-“

“We all keep it in our pants!” Annie was almost shouting. “Everyone keeps it in their pants, it’s not our fault we’re capable of love, you lonely, bitter asshole!”

“Love ain’t lust, Starlight-“

“Can we please fucking move-“

Ben stood up, and the Thing was trying to fucking kill him. It was Her, she had to know that unspeakable fucking thing Ben couldn’t goddamn understand-

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” MM shouted after him, Butcher and Annie still locked in their pointless fucking argument that was making the Thing go feral.

“I’m fucking getting ready.” Ben snapped, not bothering to turn. “And I want a gun.”

He didn’t wait to hear MM’s response. If they wouldn’t give Ben a gun, he’d take one. And there was not a fucking world where they could stop him from bringing his shield or wearing his suit. This was fucking important, and their bitching and moaning about protocol and safety wasn’t going to help with fucking shit.

I feel like you just really want a gun, Ben. Her voice hummed, carrying through the silence of their apartment.

I do want a fucking gun. It’s a goddamn useful weapon.

You’ve done fine without one before.

No, I didn’t. I gave you my gun and I fucking lost you.

And how the hell would the gun have stopped that?

I don’t fucking know. But it would’ve.

You can just want the gun, you know. You’re allowed to just want something.

I only fucking want you. Ben's jaw was going to crack. The gun will help me get you. I don’t want the damn gun, I want you.

Aw, I want you too, Pretty Boy.

You as well.

Fuck you.

“I wish I fucking could, Sunshine.”

He’d spoken aloud again. He had to fucking control that better, or the Pussy Brigade would start asking questions Ben didn’t want to answer.

They were taking the Pussy Mobile. Butcher’s car only fit five—a limited they’d tested once and had no interest in testing again—and nobody seemed thrilled with Ben’s pitch of just leaving Butcher behind, so he found himself in their awful fucking van, pressed up against the wall without Her at his side. The ride was silent, and Her ghost—not a fucking ghost, she wasn’t fucking dead—whispered in his ear the whole goddamn way to the Bronx.

Do you think they ever clean this thing?

No.

I mean, they have to. They all get shot and beat up way too much for it to not be a biohazard.

It doesn’t fucking smell like they clean it.

But MM’s like, obsessed with cleaning. I don’t think he’d step foot in here if they didn’t.

Maybe this is where Butcher jerks off. MM cleans it and Butcher jerks off right after.

Her giggle rattled around Ben’s head. What type of porn do you think he watches?

Hentai.

How the fuck do you know what Hentai is, old man.

There was fucking hentai in the 80s, Sunshine. I’m not a damn dinosaur.

See, I don’t believe that.

Doesn’t fucking matter what you believe. You’re the one who’s going to fucking benefit from my years of experience and study.

Ben could see the flush of her face somewhere behind his eyes. Could just fucking hear Her heartbeat pick up, a million miles away.

Shut up.

Someone backs down real fucking fast when she’s horny.

I’m not the one who just promised to fuck me with tentacles.

I never said shit about tentacles.

Fuck you.

I want to.

You’re impressively horny, Benjamin.

It’s all for you, beautiful.

Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve always aspired to be an old man’s spank bank.

Brat.

Cunt. And you’re wrong. Butcher is actually into femdom.

Ben snorted aloud, and the French Prick gave him a strange look.

He was losing his fucking mind. He missed her, and he was losing his damn sanity over it.

This better fucking work.

Butcher had been—fucking annoyingly—right. They all but walked right through the front door, down into the basement, and found the elevator. Without any damn buttons.

Butcher hadn’t been right. Good.

“What the fuck are supposed to do now?” MM scowled at the sealed metal doors. “We don’t have a keycard, and there aren’t any more stairs-“

“I’m fucking thinking, MM, calm the bloody hell down-“

Ben’s attention was pulled away when Kimiko tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What the hell do you want.”

She waved the French Prick over and began rapidly signing, occasionally pointing between herself and Ben.

“Mon Coeur,” the French Prick frowned, glancing at Ben. “I am not sure that this is a good idea.”

She shook her head, and repeated a lot of the same signs once more.

“But-“

She covered the French Prick’s mouth with a hand, pointing at Ben again before removing it.

“Very well,” the French Prick addressed Ben with a twitchy gaze. “She says both you and she could go down the shaft. Send the elevator up after you. But,” the French Prick looked back at Kimiko. “Mon Coeur, what if you cannot send the elevator-“

“That’s a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped. “Tell her that’s a goddamn good fucking idea.”

Kimiko flipped Ben off, and the French Prick sighed.

“She can hear you.”

“I don’t give a shit what she can and can’t hear. We’re doing that.” He turned over to MM and Butcher, still fucking arguing. “Me and her,” Ben pointed to Kimiko, still glaring at him. “Are going down.”

“The fuck are you on about.” MM grunted, looking between them wearily. “Frenchie-“

“Kimiko wishes for Soldier Boy to open the doors, then they will both jump down the shaft. They will survive, and send the elevator up for us.”

“Ain’t no way in Satan’s fucking taint we’re letting you out of our sight, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Me and MM will figure it out, and you’ll follow our fuckin orders-“

“Fuck you, Butcher.” Ben marched over to the elevator. “I’m not going to fucking run or betray you. I’m not a fucking backstabber, and if I wanted to pull something I would’ve already.”

As Ben pulled the metal apart, ripping the doors open with ease, he still fucking heard MM’s low mutter to Butcher. These fucking pussies kept forgetting he had super hearing.

“He’s not lying, Butcher. If he was going to betray us, he’d have done it in fucking February. When she went soft of him.”

“MM, you of all damn fuckers-“

“I know what I’m fucking saying.” MM’s voice had gone cold. “I goddamn know who I’m defending. And I also know he’s not going anywhere. Not until Homelander’s dead.”

Not until She’s back. MM didn’t have to say it. He knew, just as well as Ben knew, that he was fucking stuck here until She returned to him. Technically he could run. He could fuck the whole lot of them and break out, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t leave Her—with Homelander or just in fucking general—so he wouldn’t go anywhere until She could go with him.

And Butcher fucking knew it as well, so the asshole fell silent, and let Ben pry the doors fully open.

Nobody ended even fucking needing to jump down, making the whole goddamn argument pointless. The elevator was stuck right at their level, and didn’t require a keycard to operate, so they were able to all fucking ride it down the normal way.

When they finally halted after far too goddamn long and the doors opened with a pleasant ding, the smell hit Ben’s nose first. The whole lab, tubes and equipment and computers, was covered in a goddamn horrible smell. It was rotten, and fucking disgusting.

“Merdre,” the French Prick spoke first, the group filtering off the elevator. “I am not the only one who is smelling this, non?”

“I sure as shit do,” MM glanced around the lab as they spread out and spotted the brain-crushed, pantless, very dead man who had a clean hole right through his fucking dick. “But it’s fucking putrid, it can’t just be Dick-hole.”

“If someone finds a candle or somethin,” Butcher drawled. “We’ll light it. Until then we’ve fuckin work to do.”

Ben stared around the lab, and his eyes landed on a large, red door. Sealed shut, burn marks scorched around it. It took only five seconds to open it. One to wish he hadn’t fucking bothered.

“Christ on a fucking Cross.” Ben muttered. “It’s not just Dick-hole.”

It was blood. Fucking bodies and blood and rotting flesh smeared and torn across the room. A slowly decaying body of a woman—untouched save for being tied to a chair and half her face having fucking fallen off in death—was in the corner, but everyone else had been ripped limb from fucking limb.

“Bloody hell,” Butcher muttered, a few feet behind Ben. “I’d say it’s a safe wager that Homelander’s visit wasn’t a happy fuckin reunion.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Ben turned to find MM’s face twisted in a nausea, hands raised like if he blocked the view it might vanish. “Some warning might have been fucking appreciated-“

“We ain’t got time for warnings, MM.” Butcher started moving around the lab, poking over papers and frowning at folders. “Faster we find what we’re fuckin lookin for, faster we get out of this place.”

It took four hours. Four whole goddamn hours for four grown fucking men and Kimiko to tear apart the whole goddamn lab and find absolutely nothing of use. Ben took half of the room—he moved faster than all four of the pussies combined—while MM and Kimiko searched their half closer to the elevator and the French Prick and Butcher searched closer to the door. Files and papers and records and half-finished experiments all amounting to goddamn zero. They overturned tables, ripped plaster off of walls, and shouted at each other to keep fucking looking. Still finding nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Kimiko gave up first, around hour two, and turned on the old TV in the corner of the lab. Squatting down next to Dick-hole and watching the only channel the piece of shit seemed to get, Vought News Network. The French Prick joined her almost immediately, and around hour three MM stood off to the side—away from Dick-hole—and watched with them.

By hour four it was just Ben and Butcher. Destroying whatever was fucking left. Finding nothing.

Butcher grabbed Ben’s shoulder, and Ben nearly fucking punched his face in on instinct.

“Calm your bloody shit, Gov, I ain’t tryin to fight.”

“Then what the fuck-“

“Nobody’s cleared the office. It’s the last check on our list.”

Butcher was right. Nobody had stepped foot in the maggoty, fly ridden and foul smelling office. They’d all shot it looks of repulsion, but nobody had actually set foot in the guts and innards.

“I am not fucking going in there, Butcher.” MM called from the TV.

“I ain’t askin you, but someone’s fuckin gonna have to-“

Ben didn’t wait to hear any more of their pointless arguing. He spun around and stomped into the room, ignoring how everything smelled so much goddamn worse when he had to be surrounded by it. He turned over severed legs, marred torsos, and one face still twisted in a scream, looking for fucking something. Anything. A single goddamn thing that could help them-

There’s a desk, Benjamin. Maybe check the desk.

Shut the fuck up.

I mean, it’s pretty obviously right there-

I said shut up.

Cunt.

Brat.

What would you do without me?

Fucking die. Ben would fucking die without Her. He was fucking dying without Her. Nothing fucking mattered, nothing was beautiful anymore. He was losing his mind, but it didn’t matter because She wasn’t here to lose it with him.

You’re just a voice in my head, Sunshine. I’m the one who saw the desk in real goddamn life.

Maybe. He could fucking see Her shrug. But I’m the one who pointed it out.

Ben rolled his eyes as he searched through the desk, and tried to ignore the wrath of the Thing inside him. How much he fucking missed Her. How he was dying without Her. How he was pretty fucking sure that’s why the Thing was growing so agonizing. He was simply just going to die without Her.

There, Ben. Files.

They’re covered in fucking blood.

Literally everything’s covered in fucking blood. Get the files.

It was a simple manila folder with CLASSIFIED written large black letters but no other apparent precautions to keep it classified. Ben thumbed through them, not really fucking sure what he was actually looking for.

It’s like porn, Pretty Boy. You’ll know it when you see it.

Half the files were redacted, the other half were full of a bunch of fucking science words Ben didn’t understand. But one, stained in rusting red and typed in faded, small letters, looked important. Ben squinted at the words, and he’d found it. He’d fucking found it.

He stomped out of the room, shoving the papers into Butcher’s hands.

“The bloody shit is this.”

“Read it.” Ben snapped. “Use your fucking eyes and read it.”

Butcher’s brow furrowed, scanning the page, and looked back up at Ben with a wide grin. “Well fuckin done, Gov.”

“What is it?” MM called, pushing off the wall. “The hell did you find.”

“Homelander’s fuckin recipe.” Butcher smirked back down at the paper, reading it aloud in a gleeful tone. “Due to the nature of the donor,” Butcher winked at Ben. “The boy will be immune and unaffected by the original formula of compound V. His DNA had been engineered to engage with specific elements of the drug (i.e. strength, durability, enhanced hearing and vision) and ignore others (i.e. immortality, complete healing factor) and as such additional shots will be null.” Butcher looked up at MM with a childlike grin. “Cunt ages no matter what. If we don’t get him, fuckin time will.”

“Butcher, we can’t just wait fifty fucking years for time-“

“Don’t lose your pants, mate, there’s more,” Butcher’s attention returned to the paper. “Comparatively, the compound V used in other super-abled subjects will overload the boy’s body, sending him into a temporary vegetative state. Unlike the original formula, modern V shots act as only an enhancer on the subject, and his body is designed for an exact amount, blah, blah, lot more of the same shit.” Butcher looked around the room, and Ben had never seen him look this genuinely fucking happy. “We’ve fuckin got it. We’ve finally fuckin got it.”

MM shook his head slowly. “You’re telling me, this whole goddamn time, all we’ve had to do was shoot the motherfucker up with V?”

“Occam’s fuckin Razor,” Butcher shrugged. “We’ll need to get a real bloody sharp needle, and some V, but then we’re fucking golden. Sage won’t matter if we can turn the cunt into a coma patient.”

“We could go to the Believe Expo,” the French Prick had turned away from the TV, but was still sat next to Kimiko and Dick-hole. “That is where they were previously transporting the V, it is a good start.”

“Bloody good idea, Frenchie,” Butcher nodded, a maniacal grin still plastered across his face. “Let’s head out, we’ve got some fuckin work to do.”

The French Prick started to rise, but Kimiko grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

“Mon Coeur-“

She grabbed his head, physically turning the French Prick’s eyes back to the screen. Ben’s followed, even as MM and Butcher moved to the elevator, and he froze in place.

It was Her. In that same stupid fucking news room Homelander had been dragging Her to, wearing a fucking costume. An all red supe costume that she’d have made fun of. Called frivolous and gaudy and other pointlessly big words. It look ridiculous and out of goddamn place on Her body. On Her—too fucking perfect to be wearing so stupid—across from the Haircut, smiling.

No Homelander.

“Oi, Gov, let’s fuckin move-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben stomped to stand behind Kimiko and the French Prick, unable to rip his eyes from the screen as the interview began.

The Haircut spoke first. “Anomaly, thank you for joining us today.”

She smiled. No teeth, no light joy. Fucking empty. “Thank you for having me.”

Her voice was too high, too sweet, with no edge or amusement. It made Ben’s skin fucking crawl.

“Now, this is your first interview since you’ve returned from Soldier Boy’s captivity. How have you been recovering?”

“As well as I can be,” She wasn’t even blinking. Like a damn robot. “Homelander has been incredibly supportive and understanding, but it’s been hard to keep it in.”

The Haircut leaned forward. “Keep what in?”

“The truth,” Her face was a portrait of sadness and confliction. Her pout too large, her eyes too doe-like, timidness slathered on every feature. “It’s been so hard to recover, fully recover and move on, when nobody even knows.”

“What the fuckin hell is she doin?” Butcher and MM had walked up behind Ben, and Butcher’s grunt was low. Almost worried.

On the TV The Haircut, still smiling at Her, was blinking in surprise, shooting looks off the camera. “Um, that sounds very difficult-“

“I mean,” She gave a pained sigh. “I just can’t believe they’ve tricked you.”

Nobody in the lab was breathing. Ben wasn’t fucking breathing, trying to just focus on Her words over the rapid heartbeats around him.

“I’m not sure I’m following-“

“Starlight!” Her voice had gotten desperate. Turned into packaged, too loud, exaggerated desperation. “She’s been lying to all of you, working with Soldier Boy since the start! The CIA, they woke,” she gave a choked sound. “Soldier Boy, he never died, and they woke him up to use against Homelander. They’ve forgiven all his crimes against this great country and have been trying to use him to kill Homelander! And Starlight’s been helping him keep me away! They were going to use me as bait, because they knew he’d always save me, and then kill him!”

She broke down in tears as the Haircut gaped at Her. Pretty tears, with no sobs or screams or gasps. Just pretty, pouting tears.

“What the hell-“

MM’s words were cut off by the Haircut, giving Her a comforting, nervous part on the arm as he spoke. “That’s, wow. I mean, you heard it here first, folks. Soldier Boy isn’t in fact a terrorist, but a CIA plant, working with Starlight to kill our great heroes. I, uh,” the Haircut looked back to Her. “Is there anything you’d like to say? To Soldier Boy?”

She fanned Her face, wiping away one stray tear. “If he's listening, I just want him to know I’m not broken.” The Haircut pointed down the camera, and She turned to stare into it. Through the screen, right at Ben. “You tried to burn me, but I’m not broken. And I’ll see you soon.”

“For justice?”

She smiled at the Haircut weakly. “Of course.”

As the Haircut moved onto a commercial break, Ben stared at Her through the screen. In Her stupid fucking costume, giving the Haircut a fake fucking smile. And Ben’s blood felt hot.

When the TV clicked off, Butcher spoke first. “What the bloody fuckin shit was that.”

Ben turned to Butcher with a glare. They were not even going to entertain the idea that She’d flipped. Not when she was such a fucking genius. “She just fixed a lot of your fucking problems for you. Like she always fucking does.”

The French Prick frowned. “I do not see how this helps us-“

“The best lie is made of the truth,” MM watched Ben carefully, his brain clearly moving a lot goddamn faster than the rest of them. “And she just said all the right things, in the wrong way.”

“In a way that saves your fucking asses,” Ben snapped, and Butcher scoffed.

“If anything She just fuckin damned us-“

“Butcher,” MM shook his head. “He’s right. She just did us a huge favor. Nobody already aligned with Starlight will believe the whole kidnapped narrative. We can flip this easy to Soldier Boy aligned with Starlight and to protect the public, and she was just as dangerous as Homelander. We didn’t kidnap her, she was detained for crimes. Or we can let people start to look further into who she actually is. The footage of her and Soldier Boy fighting Homelander will resurface, same with Firecracker, and we’ll just tell the fucking truth. The ball is in our court now. The CIA can distance themselves, or not. That’s up to Grace. And he,” MM pointed to Ben. “Can go in public. He’s not a terrorist anymore.”

Butcher nodded, and as he and MM continued to talk about responses and how to play this, Ben could only fucking see Her.

Still Her. Playing it like Her. Planning something, fighting in Her own insane, fucking sacrificial way. With carefully chosen words and broken metaphors She’d never normally use that told Ben it was Her.

He couldn’t go get Her. He was certain now, because the crack in her voice had been real when she’d said he’d always save me. Ben would always fucking save Her, and she was telling him not to.

She was telling him She wasn’t broken. That they’d still burn together.

That She’d see him soon.

——————

It was going to take two months, three days, fourteen hours, eleven minutes, and forty-two seconds for—if everything worked—you to go home. Back to Ben.

But everything had to work.

The first week, they lock you up. You only see Homelander and Sage, asking you questions you couldn’t answer because they won’t take the gag off of your mouth.

Then Sage sits down across from you, leaning forward and speaking like you were a child.

“I am going to give you one opportunity for this, understood?”

You glare at her, and she sighs.

“I am going to proceed as if you confirmed. As you know, physical threats and acts of torture are not viable for long-term cooperation. So instead I’m offering an incentive. If you work with us, cooperate fully, then we refrain from actively targeting Butcher and his associates. We can kick the can down the road, make threats, but never actively pursue action.”

You look up at Homelander behind her, eyes narrowing, and he waves you off.

“Please, I can fucking control myself enough to not kill them, even if they deserve it for poisoning you against me.” Homelander steps forward until he’s leering over your body. “Until you say you’re ready, I won’t kill any of them. We’ll work on us. I’ll even, look I’ll pinky promise.”

You give him a flat look. Your hands are still wrapped and cuffed and you can’t pinky promise, even if you trusted him. Which you didn’t.

“We’re serious,” Sage says your name, and your attention returns to her. “Until you’ve come to terms with their treatment of you, we will ensure they remain physically unharmed.”

Sage was lying. Not about the promise, about the come to terms with their treatment part. She knows what Homelander had done. She knows you had chosen to leave. She knows about you and Ben, and even if she doesn’t fully get that you loved him she knows you’d never turn on him. Ever be ready to kill him.

She’s feeding Homelander’s delusions. She has a plan, one that even Homelander wasn’t privy to. But you need the gloves off. Your plan needed to be set in motion.

So you nod.

From there, time is long. You don’t wander through the tower, or see anyone Homelander doesn’t want you to see. They’d taken off the gag and handcuffs, but you’re still locked in Homelander’s room. You’d never actually been in Homeland’s room at Vought tower before this, because he’d kept you secret. In the white room, or the lad. You’d known he had one, just from knowing generally about the Seven from the news and media and billboards everywhere, but you’d never imagined it being real. As far as you’d been concerned, he didn’t sleep. He was mechanical, monstrous, and something as human as sleep wasn’t something he was capable of.

But he did. Homelander always, for at least an hour a night, would sleep. In the bed you were forced to use as well. He hasn’t touched you. By some miracle, Homelander hasn’t touched you. He makes you sleep in his bed and smile at him and say all the right things, but he hasn't touched you. Not like that.

Because he’s afraid. Of you. It’s the only thing that helps you hold down your vomit, allows your fire to stay under your skin. The knowledge that Homelander is afraid of you. It’s so easy to miss, how he won’t look away from you for more than two minutes at a time. How when you move he watches you far too closely. He won’t touch you with bare skin unless he has to for the camera, and even then it’s brief flashes of something like fear. The room is kept cold, and you know it’s meant to quell your fire. It doesn’t—and you still think Sage knows that—but Homelander seems to be unwilling to take you anywhere warm. TV sets are cold, ice is offered in large cups at outdoor events, and when you’re eventually allowed out of the room, the tower is almost numbingly air-conditioned.

It took another two weeks for them to let you leave the room. Two weeks to prove that you would behave, to make Homelander think you were coming around. Time spent being choked by artificial coconut, receiving PR training, and making small, careful moves. Carefully calculated smiles at Homelander off of the camera, small, fake flinches into his hand when someone else would come near you.

Play the part. Play the role you’d been given and fall apart alone. Let Homelander show you off wherever he could and ask all the right questions about his life and fame.

“Are all these people here for you?” You ask him in a too soft voice. You know they were all here for him—they were literally holding Homelander is America’s True Hero signs—but the question makes him laugh like you were a silly, stupid child, and that’s what you’d been aiming for.

“They’re here for us,” He says your name, grinning around at the crowd, and waving at the gathered people like he was the Queen of England.

Fucking pussy might think he is the Queen of England. Fucking bitches and moans like it.

That made it easier. Ben’s voice would mutter in your ears, and make this all easier. Easier to look around in awe, give Homelander one of your rare smiles, and get through this.

Then—when Homelander locks you back in his room and leaves to do who knows what—you fall over the toilet and hurl your guts of disgustingly fancy food, sobbing until it was all out. Covering your mouth with a hand so you wouldn’t scream, swallowing and drowning in your own tears. A small period, every day, where you just broke. Where you let yourself mourn and hate this and miss Ben. Wish you were anywhere but here, wish you could just go home. You just want to go home.

But you always pick yourself up, and amble through the apartment until Homelander returns.

He has food delivered to you. It’s pretty much whatever he wants—you think he’s not actually sure what food you like and can’t really be fucked to find out—and he’ll make you eat it with him, making sure you eat it, before informing you he’s going to bed.

Which means you’re going to bed.

You don’t sleep. You can’t sleep. Not when Homelander is on the other side of the mattress and everything is so cold. He hasn’t touched you, and that gets you through the night, but you’re not stupid. You know better than to try and predict what Homelander will or won’t do. To trust him to follow a pattern. Which means you lie awake at night, eyes closed and breathing controlled so Homelander thinks you’re sleeping, and try to drag your fire further up into your body.

The cold isn’t harming it. But it keeps going numb. All your fear and pain and hatred and anger keeps washing over you, feeling like it’s going to burst out of your body, and the fire grows dormant again. And when Homelander’s too close, when there are too many cameras, when you have to smile and laugh and pretend you’re not dying, the fire falls further away.

Ben would say you have performance issues. You’d try to punch him, tell him if anyone has performance issues it’s going to be the hundred-year-old man, and he’d laugh and remind you that you know he doesn’t have performance issues, and you miss him. You miss him so much. Because if you looked at him and said I miss you, and I love you, and I’m so sorry I should’ve just come home because I miss you and love you and you were right we should’ve just left and I’m so, so sorry, he’d just hold you. He’d pull you into his big, warm, safe body and let you scream until your voice was hoarse.

I was right. His voice still rumbled through you, even when he wasn’t there. Even when he was just a piece of you that was always dedicated to missing him. To loving him, all the time. I was absolutely fucking right, but if you keep trying to apologize, Sunshine, I’ll lose my damn mind. So shut up.

And you miss him more, as you became more certain you can’t let him get hurt. That your two jobs right now are to do this right, and do this careful, and never let them hurt Ben. Play your role and never let them hurt Ben.

When you were given a choice, a say in your outfit or hair or makeup, you always chose green. It made everything in your guts and lungs painful, because it always moved your brain from I have a plan to Ben. Ben, I love you, but you have to. You have to keep telling him you were fine, you have to tell him you hadn’t broken, without actually saying it. The only sign he’s seen you and understands was that he still hadn’t appeared in Vought’s lobby, demanding they return you to him with roars of your name and a lot of violence.

But you worry. You worry Ben will notice the days when you were just exhausted, when the cracks are starting to show because everything in you hurts. When a strange sort of beast that has started to wake in your blood wants to make everything hurt the way you are. Every time that happens—every time Homelander drags you somewhere and you have to smile and swallow down strangled noises and a vile taste when Homelander’s hand finds your body—you worry that Ben will come. You want him to come, you want more than anything in the world for him to just grab you and take you far away, but he can’t. Because this doesn’t work like that.

You resort to allowing him to follow you. For your love of him to walk a pace behind you, a phantom nobody can see but you.

In the first three weeks, locked in Homelander’s room and in front of cameras, it’s just you and that phantom. Nothing in Homelander’s apartment is Ben, he’d call the whole thing fucking pathetic—over-expensive bullshit, and that coffee table is too fucking ugly to even do coke off of—but he’s still there. Everywhere around you, but still just a figment of your love. In the air and thumping with your heart, and you love him.

But not real.

They keep asking you questions about your relationship with Homelander—you’re still not allowed to actually speak and Sage doesn’t think that’s sustainable—so they sit you down and run over the backstory.

“So, the story is you’re Homelander’s sweetheart,” a skinny man wearing plaid—you can’t remember his name, you’re pretty sure it starts with an S—is pitching you a life story, like you’re going to make it into an Oscar-bait coming-of-age story. “Childhood best friends to lovers, star-crossed, soulmates, made for each other.”

“But fate has other plans. Thing’s weren’t going to be so easy.” The shorter, bald one jumps in over… Sam. Sean. Steve.

It doesn’t fucking matter. Call that one Bald Pussy and that one Skinny McBrown-Nose.

You’ve been introduced to about a hundred different Vought employees’ dedicated to selling Homelander and Sage’s lie over the span of today alone. Bald Pussy and Skinny McBrown-Nose it is.

“You’re torn apart at every turn. He’s in the Seven, but you don’t want the fame.”

Bald Pussy makes a sad face, picking up again from Skinny McBrown-Nose. “You just want him.”

“You’re an independent woman, you want a career.”

“But he wants a family.”

“Fights, compromises, making up because whatever happens-“

“You’ll always find each other.”

They’re still bouncing off of each other, and your blood is trying to burst out of your body. You feel like something is killing you, ripping apart your head and heart and tongue and you miss Ben-

You think they fuck each other while they rehearse this bullshit?

The phantom is behind you. Whispering in your ear with a low, gravely, voice that—just within itself—pulls you down and holds you together.

I’d hope this doesn’t require rehearsing. They’re just saying words people vaguely associate with love. Soulmates and made for each other mean essentially the exact same thing.

I can’t believe this is what Vought has fucking come to. Paying a bunch of pussies to talk. Goddamn anyone can just say words about love.

Really.

Are you doubting me? I can be fucking romantic.

Uh huh.

Remember when I made you hot chocolate with all those weird pink marshmallows?

I had to walk you through that, and you got mad the marshmallows weren’t, and I quote, “proper fucking marshmallow color. They perfected marshmallows damn decades ago, fucking idiot pussies didn’t need to make them pink and add fucking candy canes.”

Shut the fuck up, I still did it. I’m a goddamn gentleman.

You are not a gentleman, Benjamin.

I fucking am, and I’m romantic. I can say shit about romance like those pussies, fucking watch me. Love, chocolate, flowers, orgasms-

You just said orgasms. That’s not romantic.

I can make it fucking romantic. And you fucking love the orgasms I give you. You love me.

I do. The pain is becoming softer, something that’s sitting where it shouldn’t be. A part of you that knows all of this is just plain fucking wrong, to be here—be anywhere—without Ben. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say.

You must really fucking love me. All you ever do is talk.

Sage snaps your name. “You aren’t listening.”

Show time.

Knock them fucking dead, Sunshine.

Shut up and let me focus.

“Is it,” You give Homelander the most pathetic, nervous look you’re capable of. “Is it important for me to listen to them? I’m really tired, and I have a lot of downtime. You could give me a file, I promise I’d read it.”

“It is important,” Sage watches you carefully. “You need to understand-“

“I understand,” you sigh, and let a little bit of your genuine exhaustion show. “I’ll say whatever I need to for this to work for you. I’m just tired, I want to go home-“

That does it. You called it home, and Homelander turns to glare at Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. “You two have written this down.”

Skinny McBrown-Nose stutters out a response, “Uh, Seth, you said you were going to-“

“I told you I couldn’t, Evan, because I had that thing-“

“You mean your fucking dick replacement surgery?” Homelander sneers, and Seth—Bald Pussy had the S name, not Skinny McBrown-Nose—flushes and stares at the floor. “I do not care who writes it down, as long as you give it to her tomorrow.” Homelander’s sharp words make them both nod nervously, and he offers you a hand.

You take it, slow, tentative, and deliberate, and trying not to jerk it back and scream when cold leather wraps around your hands. This is working. Everything is where it needs to be right now. Not where it wants to be, not where it should be, but where it needs to be. You can scream when it’s safe to do so, when you can muffle the sound into Ben’s skin.

After that, Homelander tells Sage that you won’t be doing PR training anymore. You don’t hear the conversation—or, more likely, argument—but when Sage tells you she’s watching you through narrow eyes with a sour expression. She passes you a large stack of papers, tells you to memorize them fast.

That afternoon is spent flipping through the pages, trying to focus on the words and not rip them to shreds. Most of it is information you already know, just from the PR campaign Vought’s been pushing since January. Homelander’s secret lover. Two supes from the same small town, one stronger than any before and one who's very pretty. He loves her, because she’s sweet. She loves him, because who wouldn’t?

You have to take a five minute break after that. Five minutes of heavy breathing, thinking about happy things before you can keep reading.

As a supe, you have fire, but it’s not well controlled, and this you can only heal herself. You’re no longer immortal. Your name, Anomaly—there’s a footnote that says you’re dropping the the part of the Anomaly, to match Homelander—is because you have absolutely no control of your powers when you use them, which is why you don’t. You finished high school and never went to college, but you got experience in marketing from following Homelander around. Your parents were married for almost 30 years before a truly tragic car accident killed them both. You had them cremated, no gravestones or other possible evidence, and decided you wanted to start a family with Homelander. Then Soldier Boy kidnapped you, and your plans were put on hold.

Another five minutes. Happy things.

You—this you that’s been manufactured and designed to wear your face and not be you—aren’t a real person, with interests or hobbies or anything important to say about you except you love Homelander. The personality section calls you sweet and gentle, nice and loving. You enjoy cooking, clothing, and books. That’s it. Cooking, clothing, and books. You’re an independent woman, but you love Homelander, and you gave up everything because you love Homelander and he asked you to, and you’re smart but not smarter than he is, and you’re also a girly girl but you’re still smart, but still not too smart, not enough to be alienating or off-putting or annoying, and you’re not that funny but you’re really pretty, and you love cooking and clothing and books and Homelander-

Music. City Lights. Ben.

Music. Ben. City Lights.

Ben. Music. City Lights.

Ben.

Sitting with him. Eating with him. Laughing with him. Talking with him. At him. To him. Real and safe.

Music. City Lights. Pine trees and strawberries and malt vanilla. Movies and TV shows and music. The color green and city lights and Ben.

The tears fall, slow and silent, and your hand is itching to your throat. You still can’t breathe. This is lonely and you’re tired and you miss Ben. You’re not breaking. You won’t break. But you’re cracking. You can’t think outside of the cold, outside of your blood trying to spill into everyone else.

You're trapped. Homelander will come back and he might not touch you but you can’t be sure, you have to get on stage and pretend to be this half-person in the morning, and you don’t love Homelander, you love Ben. And he isn’t coming to save you, because you’ve been making sure he doesn’t, but you miss him. You want to go home. Not here, never here. This isn’t home, this is an execution room. Cold and dangerous and everything is wrong. Home is warm and safe and everything is yours. None of this is yours. None of this is you. You can’t break, you’re not allowed to break. You can’t go home if you break, but you can’t go home now, and all of this hurts. It just hurts, and you want to go home, and all of this hurt is trying to burst out of you and it’s so cold-

Fucking breathe. The phantom hums your name around your head, into your body. Breathe.

You can’t. You can’t breathe. You don��t know why, but this is it. This is the thing that’s going to make you collapse and not get back up. You’re going to fail because of something so pointless, that doesn’t even matter-

It fucking matters, Sunshine. All of this shit isn’t you. You’re a fucking pain, but you’re you. Not this weak fucking hussy bitch. Breathe.

Breathe. You’re you. You’re cold and alone but you’re you.

When you get home, because you will fucking get home. Don’t think for a goddamn second I’m going to leave you here, you will come the fuck home. And when you do, you can cry all you damn want.

You’ll break when you're home. You’ll go home soon, and you’ll break when you’re home. Ben was going to be angry, so fucking angry you were doing this to yourself. But he’d stay. He’d always stay.

You memorize the script, memorize the role, and play it well. Smiling. Don’t break. Say the lines they’ve given you and don’t break and spend a half hour of the Deep’s 90 minute movie throwing up in a bathroom stall. Alone.

It takes another week for them to let you roam the floor. You’re not allowed off of 99, or into actual meetings, but they unlock the doors and you’re officially introduced to the Seven. Sage knows you, and won’t stop watching you with narrow eyes. The Deep nods at you, and tells Homelander you’re smoking hot. Noir II nods in agreement, and then starts to talk before the Deep whacks him upside the head. Ashley—who is apparently a part of this—pretends she doesn’t know you, but when your hands shake you can feel her anxiety. A-Train just gives you a nod and a nice to meet you.

You have your first real conversation with him a day later, when he speeds into Homelander’s apartment in the middle of the day.

“We need to fucking talk.”

You yelp, jumping back slightly. “Please, I’m not-“

“Cut the bullshit. You’re not Homelander’s girlfriend, no matter what they’ve been telling us to say.”

You watch him carefully, not fully dropping the mask. “It’s, I don’t know. I’m confused, I’m not sure-“

“I said cut the bullshit.” A-Train snaps. “They don’t put cameras in Homelander’s room, he’s not going to find out about this. You can drop the act.”

You pause. He might be lying. He could be baiting you out, but he doesn’t seem like the type. If he didn’t trust you, he’d probably just keep yelling until you confirmed his suspicions. And, based on the way he keeps looking at the door, pacing back and forth, A-Train’s not supposed to be here. Talking to you.

“Fine.” Your face falls from nervous anxiety in exhaustion. Every fiber of your features is barely held together over the exhaustion. “What.”

“What are they planning. Your team.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been preoccupied. You’re the one who’s allowed to leave.”

“They’ve locked us in since you and Soldier Boy’s little show outside. Sage is cracking down on our downtime, she’s still convinced there’s a leak.”

“There is a leak.” You hold A-Train’s glare. “And Ben and I’s little show got Ryan Butcher out.”

A-Train blinks at you. “Ben?”

“Soldier Boy,” you mutter. “I call him Ben. He’s my…” You trail off. He’s not your boyfriend. Or, technically, lover. But you do love him. He’s everything, and you love him. “Friend.”

“Friend?” He frowns at you. “Back at the diner-“

“It’s complicated.”

A-Train halts in front of you. “Whatever. I don’t care about your complicated relationship with Soldier Boy. I need to know what Starlight and Hughie and MM and the rest of them are planning.”

“And I told you, I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“I can’t,” you hiss. “They might be planning to kill Homelander. They might be planning to kill Sage. Maybe just focus on Vought. I’m not exactly able to talk to them, so I don’t know.”

“What about you?” A-Train glares at you, hands on his hips. “Are they not going to try and come get you?”

“No. They’re not.”

“I thought those assholes were all about teamwork and morality-“

“Morality,” your voice is softer than you want it to be. “Is relative. In this scenario, it would be immoral to focus on one person in exchange for an opportunity to kill Homelander.”

A-Train gives you a look of disbelief. “You’re not being serious.”

“I am not the priority.” Your nails are digging into your skin, and something in your throat has become like a stone, but you keep going. You have to keep going. “I am doing what I need to do. They are doing what they need to do. Right now, that’s what this is about.”

“What, you think being some kind of self-sacrificing hero is going to help anyone.” A-Train scoffs. “Grow up. This is the real world, the big leagues. You’re not going to get a parade just because you did the stupid, selfless thing.”

“I don’t want a parade.” I want to go home. “And I am well aware of the real world. The real world is expensive and tiring and lonely. I have nothing, I’m exhausted, and I’m completely fucking alone. This is hell.” The anger is trying to leave your body through your throat. “I’m not making the hard choice for glory. I’m making it for the real world.”

A-Train glares at you for another long second, and then he’s gone in a whoosh.

Three days pass. Three days of being alone and missing Ben and trying not to break. You’re in front of a camera almost all the time now. They won’t stop putting you in the ugliest dresses known to man, but you make sure they’re green. You make sure to look into the camera and give Ben signs. Something else that tells him you’re okay, that keeps him from trying to save you. That you miss him, but you’re fine. You’ll see him once this is over. Once all the pieces fall into place, once it’s safe and will be simple.

You hope they’re trying to kill Homelander. Whenever you think about it you become a little lightheaded, because what if they're not. What if they’re trying to kill Sage, or the Deep, or Noir II. What if they just haven’t come for you because they’ve spent the past month planning to get you. A lot of this relies on them finding a plan to kill Homelander. Without you they’re not strong enough to keep him anywhere, and Ben can’t just ask him to stay still and take the shot. They’re going to need to keep him down, keep him still or trapped. They need to be looking for something, because all of this will be pointless if they aren’t.

When A-Train finds you again—in another marble bathroom, and another awful gown, throwing up into the toilet—you swallow down what’s left and speak before he has the chance.

“I still don’t know what they’re planning. But you need to find out.”

You’re met with a blank stare for only a second as A-Train takes you in. Still knelt before the toilet bowl, tears falling, cracks appearing at the surface. “Holy shit, what are you-“

“I’m vomiting. You need to go to MM and tell me what they’re planning.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I can’t risk it. They’re watching our every fucking move, they even know I’m in this bathroom.” He freezes, staring at you. “Shit, they know you’re in this bathroom-“

“No, they don’t.” Your words are fast, sharp, said just before A-Train takes off. “They couldn’t put the tracker in my body. It kept burning and short-circuiting. They don’t know we’re talking.”

A-Train nods curtly. “Fine. But I still can’t fucking risk taking a trip to talk to MM right now.”

“You need to.”

“I can’t, I have a family that they’ll hurt-“

“I’ve got a family that they’ll hurt,” you snap, standing on shaking legs. “We’ve all got families that they’ll hurt. People we care about that we have to keep safe. I’m not asking you to kill Homelander yourself, I’m asking you to find out what my team is planning.”

“Why the hell do you need to know?” A-Train rolls his eyes. “You can’t help them, and you’re obviously having some sort of mental break that’s stopping your powers-“

“I am not having a mental break,” you take a rough step forward. “I’ve just been fucking kidnapped, again, so I’m crying. And I need to know so I can adjust.”

“Adjust?”

You laugh. It’s not a real laugh, it’s cold and tired and angry, but it feels good. You’re angry, and it’s not trying to explode from you because you can show it. “I’m working on something. I need to know what they’re planning so I can change my plans to match.”

A-Train frowns at you. “Your plans… You mean you’re-“

“Not just sitting on my ass? Actually trying to help? Yeah, I am. I may not be a hero,” You jab a finger into his chest, and he flinches. “But at least I’m not a fucking pussy.”

He’s gone again. It’s getting really annoying. But you don’t let yourself dwell on whether A-Train will help you or not. Because Homelander finds you the next day, and your timeline has to move up.

“You’re going on TV again. Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” your voice is soft, and something foul and molding is rooting in your gut. “Where are we going-“

“It’s just you.”

You blink at him with a parted mouth, and most of the fear in your voice is real. “Just, just me?”

“Well, obviously I’ll be going with you.” He waves you off with a hand, rubbing his forehead. “But just you on the TV. Sage wrote you a script, you’ll read it during the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“We’re making you a supe outfit. You fucking need it. You’re a hero, you’re my partner, putting you normal fucking human clothes give the public the wrong idea.”

You wait for him to continue. You know better than to try and interrupt, or ask questions.

“You’re not human. They can’t think just anyone can have what we have. If people keep seeing you dresses like a fucking actress they’ll think you’re just like them. That we’re just like them.”

The silence is long enough for you to nod. “Okay.”

Homelander’s look of surprise at your compliance lasts only a second before turning into satisfaction. “Good.”

You’re going on TV, alone. You have a chance to knock the first domino down. You sit through the meeting and all the pitches and don’t speak or scream or vomit. Your costume is red, because Vought employs geniuses who understand that red and fire are often associated with each other. It’s revealing, there’s a corset and lace and high leather boots that hurt your feet. The script is bland, blatant propaganda, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t really need to memorize it anyway.

Homelander’s gone again that night, and you’re not sure this will work, but you give it a shot.

“A-Train?”

Silence. He’s not an on-call angel, you’re not sure why you thought he’d respond-

“What.”

You turn to find him glaring at you. “I need your help.”

“Why.”

“I can’t tell you.”

A-Train shrugs. “Then I’m not helping you. Nice talk.”

“Wait!” He’s not gone, just glowering at you, so you sigh and push the words out of your mouth.

“I’m going on TV tomorrow. Alone.”

“Good for you.”

“A-Train, I’m going on TV. Without Homelander. To give an interview.”

“I don’t give a shit-“

“I’m going to do something.” You snap. “I need you to pull Homelander away, so I can do something.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Do what.”

“I can’t tell you. But it’s important.”

“Is it,” he pauses, looking around the empty apartment like Homelander might jump out and laser him. You understand the instinct. “Part of your plan? For them?”

“Yes.”

“To help them.”

“Hopefully.”

“Huh.” A-Train crosses his arms. “Why should I help you.”

You scoff. You don’t have time for this. “Because if you don’t, then we’re all fucked.”

“I’m already fucked. I put my skin on the line for your team, and got put in lockdown. And they still haven’t done shit-“

“They’re working on it.” They have to be. “I’d know more if you would just do what I asked.”

“I told you I can’t-”

“And I told you need to, if you want to actually do something. But I’m not asking for that right now.”

He frowns at you. “What are you asking, exactly?”

“To pull Homelander away.” You repeat, sighing. “Just distract him from the studio.”

“Why.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m still not going to tell you. All I can say is it will help them if I do it. But I have to do it.”

A-Train is silent. Examining you before speaking slowly. “You think they’re going to win.”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Why.”

“Because, there’s not another option.” You swallow. “Please. All you have to do is make sure that Homelander leaves the studio. That he’s gone and busy.”

“And this,” he finally takes off that stupid visor, meeting your eyes. “This will help those idiots? Really help them?”

“It will.” You make your voice firm. It will help. It has to. “But I can’t do it with Homelander there.”

“You’re really not going to tell me what exactly you’re going to do?”

“Nope. It gives you plausible deniability.”

“Not if I’m the one who calls Homelander away, Sage already doesn’t trust me-“

“So make the Deep do it. Or Noir, or literally anyone else that deserves it.” You frown into the air. “I’d go with The Deep, though. He’s too fucking stupid for them to think he planned anything.”

A-Train takes a long breath, still glaring at you. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work-“

“It will.”

“For both our fucking sakes,” he puts the visors back on, shaking his head. “It better.”

It does. By some miracle, you get every single one of the words you’d been rehearsing for weeks out on live TV, and Homelander—pulled away for a PR crisis in which the Deep publicly admitted to fucking another octopus—doesn’t stop you. The cameras go off, the show goes to commercial, and you blink into the darkness of the studio. You have to trust they’ll understand what you said. Why you said it. That Ben or Butcher or Annie or someone will know what to do with it. That they’ll take your opening and use it, that Ben will be able to help them.

One step down. One step closer to going home.

You’d expected Homelander and Sage to be mad. You hadn’t slept last night, knowing that whether or not this worked you were going to have to think fast, act quick, and hope you’d done enough to make Homelander think you were just confused. Just a nervous, confused girl coming around to understand what he’d done for her, what his enemies had done to her. All you had to do was have convinced Homelander. When it came down to it, Sage’s opinion of you wouldn’t matter, not if you’d really, truly convinced Homelander.

At first, you thought you had. He drops into the silent studio, everyone’s hushed and nervous whispers falling dead as Homelander marches up to you and yanks you up. Your mask is still on, and some of the tears are real. A small allowance of grief, for yourself. For saying everything that was true, for having to say he would always save you and know who you were speaking about. But not be able to scream Ben. Ben, I love you, into the camera and just go home. You know Ben will understand what you were telling him. He’ll have heard your words, the one explicitly for him, and understand.

You weren’t broken. You were breaking but not broken. He hadn’t been able to burn with you, but he hadn’t failed you. Ben could never fail you. You’d see him soon. The words you've been staring into cameras since you’d been able to. You love him, and you’ll see him soon.

He won’t understand that you love him, because you’ve only ever thought that part. You’ve stared into countless lenses and thought Ben, I love you and I’ll see you soon while only letting your face say I’ll see you soon.

When Homelander drops you back into his apartment, that’s what will get you through whatever comes. One step closer. You’ll go home soon.

You put on your most meek face and soft voice, and start apologizing before Homelander can even say your name.

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I was just thinking about what they did and I couldn’t stop,” you shake your head and fall backwards onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to, please don’t hate me, I’m so sorry, please-“

It’s not Homelander that cuts you off—he looks annoyed but not angry—but Sage, stomping into the apartment.

“What did you just try to fucking pull?” She sneers, stopping above where you’ve curled into yourself. “You think you’re smart? That was insurmountably idiotic, I thought you’d know better than to try and go off script so blatantly.”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” you double down. You make yourself look pathetic and scared, try to push yourself into the cushions. “I swear, I just couldn’t stop, I keep thinking about what they did-“

Homelander grins, clapping his hands together. “Finally, some fucking progress.”

“This isn’t progress, you idiot,” Sage snaps. “She’s tricking you.”

“Look at her, she’s sobbing,” Homelander gestures to you, and it takes all your effort not to flinch. “So she messed up, this is still good. She’s coming around, and now people will know about what a bitch Starlight-“

“This is not good. Soldier Boy is a threat now. A real threat to your image, a threat to her,” Sage points at you, and something twists in your upper gut. “Staying where we want her. We both know that not a word of what she said was true-“

“I’m sorry-“

Homelander silences you with a raised hand. “Don’t apologize to her, she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We can deal with Soldier Boy, and he’s got nothing to do with her.”

“Really,” Sage’s voice is dry and bored. “You’re sure about that.”

“Of course I am, he’s Butcher’s fucking lapdog right now. They haven’t come to get her back, he’s not going to do it. They don’t care about her, and she’s finally getting that-“

Sage says your name, and your blood runs cold. “Would you like to tell him, or should I?”

It’s all you can do to stutter and shake your head. “I, I don’t know what you’re-“

She gives you an annoyed look. “Fine. But I expected better from you.” She turns back to Homelander, and all your fire is gone. Replaced by something feral, that’s trying to make everything else just as afraid and dreadful as it feels. “She and Soldier Boy are fucking.”

Homelander scoffs. “Please, don’t be fucking insane-“

“They are,” Sage’s gaze snaps to you. Looking you up and down. “Or at least she wants to fuck him. But he’s the only real threat to you right now, because he’s probably going to try and get her back.”

“I, I’m not, I don’t understand-“

“Yes, you do. You can’t be trusted right now, not while you’re still Soldier Boy’s pet.” Sage shrugs. “I personally don’t think you’ll be able to pull off that leash, but we’ll see. Now,” she looks back at Homelander, whose face is blank, jaw ticking. “I have to go deal with one of your other mistakes. Find me when you decide what to do with her.”

Sage leaves, something smug flashing in her eyes. She’d been waiting. This is what she’d been waiting for. Your move, so she could retaliate.

And now Homelander is speaking your name, slow and cold. “Did you fuck Soldier Boy.” You open your mouth, and he raises a finger, grabbing your jaw and forcing your eyes onto his. “And don’t you dare fucking lie to me again.”

You didn’t. You never actually fucked Ben. But you don’t think Homelander is going to care about specifics. “Yes.”

“On purpose.”

“Yes.” You can’t breathe. All your words are forced out of your body, and the feral thing inside of you is everywhere in your body. Trying to get out.

“Do you still believe that I hurt you.”

You’re going to scream, but his grip becomes tighter. “Yes.”

His eyes flash red. “After all I’ve fucking done for you? You’d turn around and fuck my father?”

“I didn’t-“

“No more fucking lies!” Your jaw might break. “I turn you into a supe, a god, and this is how you repay me?”

“Please-“

“I love you,” he pulls you up off the couch, and your hands fly instinctively to grab at his arm. “I fucking love you. I made you. Do you think anyone would want you like this? Weak? A fucking weak, ungrateful, lying bitch?”

“No-“

“Exactly,” Homelander hisses, pulling your face closer. “Nobody else. You’re strong, I made you strong, but don’t forget your place. Mine. You belong to me, just like everything else. You don’t love Soldier Boy, you love me.”

“I don’t-“

“I chose you because you’re nice.” Homelander sneers. “I chose you because you’re sweet. You were so pretty and nice, singing on that sage, and I fell in love with you right there. You’re just pretty, nice, and sweet. I made you a supe because I was tired of women who thought that their words made them worthy of me. Don’t think your fire, that you can’t even control, makes you my equal. You’re more powerful than Soldier Boy, but you’re not more powerful than me. Don’t get caught in the taste of someone weaker, and think that’s what you need.”

You speak on instinct, the words falling from you before you can stop them. “Ben’s not weak.”

“Ben?” Homelander face twists in hatred, and you think he’s going to kill you. Or try to, or just lock you up forever again. “Did you just call Soldier Boy Ben?”

“I, I’m-“

“I thought you were getting better.” Homelander drops you back into the couch. “But you’re still too human. Too weak. Too easy for them to manipulate, make you think what those roaches want you to.” His eyes narrow. “We’re going to have to fix that.”

You don’t hear the call he makes. You can’t hear anything over the blood, pounding in your ears. You want to go home. You should’ve just ran when you could, not taken a brief moment of Homelander’s fear and taken it as a reason to stay. You should’ve just run and gone home and now you can’t. Now you’re never going to go home. You’ll never see Ben again. Never be safe again.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?”

You don’t recognize that voice. You can barely focus on it, because the fear in your body hurts. It’s stabbing and snapping everything inside you, and you’re going to shatter into a million pieces.

Homelander’s guiding someone in front of you. Noir II, the one that talks. The one Homelander didn’t kill.

“Stand right there. Don’t move or I’ll fucking laser your brains out.” He turns back to you. “Kill him.”

You make a sound from your throat, and Noir II becomes rigid.

“Uh, sir-“

“I said don’t move,” Homelander snaps, still looking at you. “You know who he is?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “He’s Black Noir.”

“You know that he and Ben worked together? He was in on the Russia deal?”

“I, uh, I’m just playing a role,” Noir II stutters. “I don’t know who Ben is-“

Homelander whips around, eyes glowing. “Don’t move.”

You can hear Noir II’s swallow. “Yes, sir.”

Homelander says your name. “He wanted to kill Noir for that. Like he’s going to kill you, for betraying him. For staying with me.”

You can’t breathe again. Ben knows you didn’t betray him, you’d never betray him. He’d never hurt you, you trust him with your whole life to understand that you weren’t still here because you wanted to be. You’d always chose Ben, you love him.

“So you’re going to kill Noir here,” Homelander steps aside. “And stop these pathetic delusions that Soldier Boy gives a fucking shit about you.”

“I can’t,” you whisper. “Please, Homelander-“

“Yes, you can. Use your fucking fire or something. Kill him now.”

You shake your head. “I can’t-“

“Christ, stop whining and just do it.” Homelander pulls you up again, dragging you across the room. Right in front of Noir. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all move on.”

“Please-“

“Now.”

You can’t move. Every single muscle and tendon and blood vessel wants to leave your body. Everything is freezing, trying to spread like mold around you and you can’t breathe.

“If you don’t do it.” Homelander’s body is pressed against yours, shoving you forwards. “I will. But no matter what, you’re going to stop lying to me, stop trying to trick me, and understand what your role in this is. You’re not Maeve, or Stormfront, or Starlight. You’re not a hero or bitch who’s going to try and control me. I made you for me. Now kill him.”

You just choke on the air, and Homelander grabs your jaw again. “You can even do that fucking singing. Just kill him.”

He rips off Noir II’s mask, revealing a young man. He grabs your hand, pushes it onto Noir II’s face, and he’s afraid. You didn’t have to be touching Noir II to know he’s afraid. You can hear his heavy breaths, you can see the way he’s frozen, and you can’t. You can’t kill him, you won’t.

Noir II makes a sound that might be a plea, and your heart falls into your gut.

“I-“

Red flashed through the room, and Noir drops to the ground. Body sliced in two.

“You were taking too long,” Homelander moves in front of you, pulling off a glove that’s been splattered in blood. “I’ve got things to do. You’re still going to the Believe Expo next week, but you’re going to stop being a little girl and start telling the truth. Understand?”

You nod, still staring at Noir’s body.

Homelander sighs. “Don’t think I like being mad at you. But you need to stop trying to be something you’re not. You’re the first woman that hasn’t tried to fucking control me, and that’s one the reasons why I love you.” He turns your head to look at him. “I forgive you for Soldier Boy. You weren’t yourself. But never,” his hand moves lower, sitting against your throat. “Forget your place again.”

You hate him. You hate him so fucking much, but every part of your body feels far away. The whole world is just pure hatred and fear and it’s everywhere.

Homelander’s face twitches, hand tightening on your neck—your fear feels bigger, it almost makes you collapse—and he pulls his hand back as if you’d burned him. You couldn’t have, because everything is just fear and hatred and making the fire numb, but Homelander is staring at you like he’s seen a demon or a ghost. Then he’s gone. Leaving you alone again, with only a dead body for company.

You don’t have anywhere to go. You haven’t felt small like this in a while, this useless and pathetic. But you don’t have anywhere to hide, anywhere safe to just fall apart. So you sink to the floor, gripping your arms with nails and cold hands, and scream. For the first time in over a month, you just scream.

You want to go home. You can’t do this anymore, you just want to go home. You’re crawling up the stairs, away from the body to the bathroom where you can lock the door and break. Alone. Homelander wasn’t afraid of you anymore, he knew you were weak, and this might be your last time alone.

I’ll come get you. Ben’s voice is everywhere, but still not real. You just want it to be real.

“You can’t,” you whisper into the air, because it just doesn’t matter anymore. You’d lost everything already, the world is a blur, and there’s no point in trying to keep your sanity. “They’re ready for you. They’ll put you back to sleep.”

I don’t fucking care.

“But I do.”

Sunshine, I will come get you. Say the word and I’ll get you right fucking now. I’ll fucking destroy the tower and you’ll come home. Back to me.

“You don’t love me, Ben.” It hurts to say, but it’s the truth. Ben cares about you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him.

Shut the fuck up. Don’t doubt for a fucking second that you’re everything to me. Homelander’s a fucking pussy, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

“But you don’t love me.” Everything is cold. Everything hurts and Ben doesn’t love you and you’re never going to see him again. Never going to tell him that you love him. You’re shattering, breaking, falling into something monstrous that can’t be put back together. Nothing is good, you’re not safe, and you’re weak. You’re exactly what Homelander says you are, weak. You’re not smarter, or stronger, and you’re never going to feel anything but cold again.

When Ben’s voice sounds through the air again, it’s louder. Almost like he’s right in your ear. You can almost feel him. You’d recognize him anywhere, in any form, and this feels like him.

He says your name, there’s something warm and powerful in your chest. I’m waiting, because you told me to and I trust you. But it’s fucking killing me. Whatever you’re fucking doing, it better bring you back. I don’t give a shit about Butcher or Homelander or any of this but you. I’m playing nice because you’ll be home soon. But you better fucking come home.

I will. You don’t say it aloud, because all of the world suddenly feels far away. The only thing that feels real is Ben’s voice. Deep and warm.

Fucking swear it.

Promise.

Good. The voice is silent for a second. That’s never happened before. I miss you.

I miss you too.

Something around you sparks and flashes. It reminds you of Ben’s amusement in your body, rough and bright.

Don’t try and correct me, Benjamin.

I wasn’t going to say shit.

Yes, you were. I meant to say ‘too’. Statements that begin with an I are better suited to end with too.

Smartass.

I hate you.

No, you don’t.

The voice doesn’t remind you that you love him. It always reminds you that you love him. Instead it just keeps going.

If you hated me, you wouldn’t be wearing green all the time.

It’s a signal, Pretty Boy. I wear green so you pay attention.

I’m not a damn toddler, I don’t need you to flash a color in front of my eyes to pay attention.

Sure.

Shut the fuck up.

I agreed with you.

We both know you fucking didn’t.

Sure.

Brat.

Cunt.

Silence again. Then-

For the record, I’m always paying attention to you. You’re fucking impossible to ignore, even when you’re gone. It’s damn inconvenient, I’m starting to look like a goddamn mental patient. And I fucking miss you, more than I’ll ever be able to tell you.

Something rages inside your chest, something that feels bigger than the whole world and more valuable than oxygen, and then the warmth is gone. But you’re not screaming anymore, and all that’s cold is the floor of the bathroom and the air around you. Your vision clears with your head, you can feel the fire. It’s weak, not nearly enough to tear through Vought and escape, but awake.

You’ll survive this. You’d get through this. You’ll adjust, adapt, and keep moving. You will not break. You trust Ben, and you’ll feed the fire until you can make Homelander afraid again. He needs to be afraid again, to understand that he won’t fix you to what he wants, make you into anything. And when your plan works—in two weeks, two days, twenty-two hours, fifty-six minutes, and seven seconds—you’ll go home, and Ben will hold you. And you’d be safe. Soon, you’d be safe.

End Note: Big thanks to everyone who’s sticking through the rough so we can get to the happy. You’re all amazing <3

Thank you all for reading, and please leave if a comment if you are so inclined! Every single one is the highlight of my day, from your jokes to your thoughts and feedback!

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arctrooper69 · 7 months

Text

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 9:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Jealousy, hurt feelings, tiny bit of sexual tension

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The flight back to Ord Mantell was silent. Hunter sat stiffly in the cockpit after checking on Omega. The rest of the team sat in silence under the dimmed lights.

The situation played over and over again through his brain.

Omega dropping from the vents alone. Without you. It was so hard to dispel the fear that flooded his veins like ice water.

Were you hurt? Captured? Dead!?

Then you’d entered the room with that staff, that blaster bolt so narrowly missing your head.

Why was it so important to grab that staff? Why risk your own life and Omega’s just for a few lousy credits.

I thought I knew her better than that.

Then there was that all-consuming guilt-laced horror when the pair of you fought the guards so viciously and he could do nothing but watch. Powerless. Afraid. Angry at the smugglers. Angry at you for being so reckless. Angry at himself for being able to do nothing but watch it happen.

---

The others seemed to know better than to bother Hunter right now, but you had to know why he was so upset.

Part of you knew it was you - your reckless plan that could’ve gone wrong in so many different ways.

But how was it any different from one of his plans that always seemed to turn to chaos? That tiny thought voiced defiantly, only serving to fuel the anger and frustration that boiled through your veins.

Against your better judgment you strode into the cockpit.

“Hunter, I…” you stopped as he held up a firm hand.

“Go sit down, we’re about to land. We’ll talk about this later.”

No, I want to talk about this now! The impatience rattled around inside, barely able to be contained.

“But…”

“Now.” He commanded, pointing to the seats. “I’m giving you an order, try not to disobey this one too.” His words were sharp and impossible to argue against.

“Yes sir.” You answered harshly, matching his tone.

There wasn’t much discussion upon landing, either. Nor was there any argument when Wrecker and Omega took off to celebrate their Mantell Mix tradition.

Echo and Tech disappeared soon after. The bitter taste in your mouth festered as you watched Cid carefully place the staff in her back room. You stood and walked out of the parlor.

We got the staff, we got paid, and nobody got hurt. It sounded fine to you. In fact, it sounded like success, yet you couldn’t shake that growing hurt of disappointment and shame.

That should’ve been enough. I should’ve been enough. Maybe I could’ve done more. Maybe I should’ve done less.

But the reality of it all only served to solidify the nagging knowledge that you really didn’t belong here.

Sighing, you walked faster down the street away from the figure you knew was following you.

"What the hell was that!?" Hunter growled from behind you as you stalked back to the Marauder. Clenching your jaw, you purposely ignored him, just wanting to shower, grab some food and forget about the whole thing. You were starving and could definitely use a good long nap.

“Hey!” Hunter grabbed your arm, forcing you to face him. “No. You don’t get to ignore me when you nearly got Omega and the rest of this squad killed!”

You jerked your arm free with a huff which just seemed to aggravate him further. “Omega is fine.” you snapped. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. I got the job done. You got paid. What more do you want from me!? You wanna hold hands and talk about our feelings?”

Heavy, angry breaths forced themselves from your heaving chest. You were fully aware that Hunter could easily hear how quickly your pulse thundered in your ears without a chance to easily reign it back.

“I gave you a direct order and you disobeyed it!” he snapped.

You scoffed, “You all do it all the kriffing time! I don’t see you shouting at Omega when she plays by her own rules! So what’s so different when I do it!? Huh?”

Hunter was silent. You could feel the anger simmering beneath his skin. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, sounding more like a groan of frustration. "For once in your life would it kill you to use your damn head!? You almost got yourself killed out there, and I…!” He stopped himself.

“What do you care?” You spit venomously, spinning around to face him again. “According to you lot I’m just a ‘useful asset’!”

“What?” Hunter ran a hand through his hair, visibly confused.

You took a breath. “I heard you talking to Tech!”

A look of realization began to appear on his face as you looked down. “That's not - “

“No!” You interrupted angrily. “You think I'm reckless and irritable and only useful when you need me.”

“No! I didn't mean it like that. I was - “

You held up a hand to stop him. “It's fine, Hunter.” You said coldly. “At least I know my place now so thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

“But I…” Hunter stuttered, looking completely bewildered.

“Stop.” You commanded. “I said it's fine. It hurt, but I forgive you. Everything's fine.”

He could only watch as you stormed down the ramp, leaving him in a cold silence as it hissed closed behind you.

He sat unmoving for what seemed like hours.

The hatch opened again after a few minutes and for a brief second, Hunter felt his heart race raising a hopeful gaze as the ramp slid down but it was only Wrecker clamoring up the ramp with a crate of thermal detonators. He set them down and raised an eyebrow sticking a thumb out behind him towards the open door. “What’s with her?”

Hunter sighed, “Don’t ask.” Shoulders slumped, he turned and headed into the cockpit. Maybe he could convince Tech to let him help with one of his projects. He could use the distraction.

Tech glanced up as Hunter all but fell into an empty chair. He raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”

“She heard us talking the other night,” said Hunter.

A look of confusion flashed across his face for a split second before quickly realizing what his brother was referring to. “Oh!” Tech looked up, “So then, I assume she now knows how you feel, and judging from your facial expression and closed off body language, she does not reciprocate those feelings.” Tech paused and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry.”

Hunter shook his head. “No, she only happened to hear you say that she’s a ‘useful asset’!” He glared at his brother as though to blame him for the entire misunderstanding.

“Ah..” Tech put a finger to his chin in thought. “That is most unfortunate.”

Hunter slumped lower in his seat. “Yep… and what’s worse is that she heard me agree with you and now she thinks that’s how we all feel about her.”

“But that was only a small sample of our conversation and very much taken out of context. If she had stayed and listened a bit longer she would have realized this.”

“Well she didn’t, and now she thinks I hate her.”

Tech frowned. “Per our conversation, that is quite the opposite of the sentiments you expressed.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Perhaps you should speak with her about it. Explain to her that what she overheard when she was eavesdropping, was entirely incorrect.”

Hunter shook his head.

“Or I could tell her if you prefer,” Tech continued helpfully.

“No!” Omega leapt from her room, bypassing the ladder entirely, and landed on her feet with a thud, nearly tripping over Gonky as she slid into the cockpit in front of them.

Hunter’s head snapped up in alarm.

“No.” She repeated adamantly, “Do not. Please do not. The last thing she needs to hear from us is blaming her for the miscommunication!”

“Speaking of eavesdropping…” Hunter crossed his arms, looking at his sister who responded with a sheepish grin. He rolled his eyes, not able to help the smirk that pulled at his lips at her antics.

“What? It’s a small ship. I can hear everything.”

“I wasn’t blaming her.” Tech said defensively. Hunter’s face fell again as Tech brought their attention back to the matter at hand.

“Well she’ll probably think we are if you say it like that.” Omega told him.

“She won’t talk to me.” Hunter shook his head, “Besides, she left after I yelled at her.”

Omega looked up at him with a grimace, “You did sound really mad…”

Hunter winced at the blame that flashed nearly imperceptibly through her eyes. “She almost got both you and herself killed during that last mission!” His voice grew hard again. “She’s reckless and I hate it!” His voice grew softer, “I can’t wa- ”

A scoff interrupted his lament as both Tech and Omega sported alarmed looks. Hunter turned to see you leaning against the bulkhead, face contorted in a mixture of anger and hurt. He could see the telltale shine of unshed tears you fought so hard to hide. Hidden from the world but not from him. Hunter noticed everything - especially when it came to you.

You chuckled dryly. “Nice to know how you really feel.” Your voice cracked, desperately straining to hold back tears. “I came to apologize and hear what you were going to tell me before I left. I gave it some thought, you know? I thought, ‘maybe I did misunderstand him’.”

You shook your head, “But no…. I guess I was right.” You spun around, heading to your bunk, pushing past Echo who’d returned just in time to witness your words.

“Wait…” Hunter stood up, calling after you but you did nothing to let him know you’d even heard him.

Quickly taking a few steps forward, fueled by a burning need not to let you slip through his fingers again, he grabbed your arm, spinning you around.

You let out a gasp as your back hit the cold of the wall, feeling a strange warmth sink into your bones as he pressed you in place.

No. You didn’t want to be here. Hunter didn’t want you to be here.

But yet…

All was silent as you found your eyes drawn up to his. A painful longing drove a wedge in an ever widening crack in the wall you’d so carefully thrown up to protect yourself from him.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Please…” he was practically begging now. Then he froze.

There it was again. That scent. The one that drove him crazy. The one he’d smelt on you when you’d come out of the fresher just a few days ago.

“Hunter!” Your voice had an edge to it.

No matter the hurt, leaving was the best option. You couldn’t stand how these mixed signals, sending you spinning one way and then the other.

He groaned, “Will you please calm down and let me explain!?”

"Calm down!?" The moment was broken and the anger returned, hot and fierce, sending rivers of steel to reinforce the shoddily crafted walls, turning it into a fortress. He would not break through so easily.

Not now. Not ever. He made his choice.

You ripped your arm from his grasp and spun around, anger blazing through your eyes. “Go kriff yourself, Hunter!” You turned to leave but spun back around, eyes blazing. “Actually, no. Go kriff Tara!”

The anger and hurt bubbled over. If he wouldn’t be honest with you, at least he could be honest with himself.

Conscious thought was gone. Emotion spewed like venom. “I saw you getting cozy with her at Cid’s so you obviously have feelings for her!” You spun back around, forcefully grabbing your go-bag from the foot of your bunk and strapping your blasters tightly around your thigh and another at your side. Without a second glance, the ramp hissed open and you strode out, missing how Hunter’s mouth fell open in a confused, but reluctant understanding as the ramp hissed shut behind you.

Oh. The realization soaked him to the bone as if he’d been woken up by a bucket of ice water.

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starillusion13 · 2 years

Text

FRIENDS !? [MASTERLIST]

M.Masterlist

Pairing: poly!ateez x f!reader ( A Yandere Ateez Office Au)

Genre: Mature, Angst, Yandere

Warning: The upcoming events in the story will contain themes like stalking, violence, obsession, manipulation, possessive behaviour and restraining acts. Do not kill me for not warning you. This is an Yandere story so you are well aware of what to expect more.

Well just a glimpse of a new upcoming series. This is just a fictional work which doesn't represent them originally as stated here. I am too friendly *wink wonk*so you can interact with me.Network: @cultofdionysusnet

Taglist: (open! dm me/send ask/reply here)

Alone!? Oh we can’t survive like this in the rush of searching for a beautiful life. So we make friends on different occasions like some childhood friends while studying in a school, online friends, friends during family gatherings, friends on entering a new university, friends at our workplace and many more.

We remember the only friends we get attached to more and become close and the others just remain part of our memory staying in a little corner of our mind eventually.

"So you are telling me, we are .....friends?" You eyed the boy with a still confused face as why he is so much eager to help you and trying to convince you as his old friend.

"Yes cupcake! now please come with me for the interview to this office and to submit your resume. I am more than happy that they are looking for a new worker and apparently you are also searching for a job to start after this semester ends." The boy with so much of excitement and eagerness is waiting for your reply.

"okay, but look I still can't remember you and still trusting you. So how come you think they would react to my plain resume for this big company?" You are not sure of your capability for this company where so many highly qualified well-beings apply but still get rejected and this random boy claiming your bestfriend from old town is urging you to apply there.

'Why?'

You looked around the streets to take a final decision with a calm breath releasing,"I will apply but don't get high hopes of me getting into it. I am sure they are not going to take me in."

The boy in front of you smirked and put his hand firmly on your left cheek slightly brushing the lower lip for a blink," Oh trust me, they will love you to join their company."

But what happens when some people suddenly come to your life and claim to be your old friends but you can’t remember them. So, brace yourself because they are here to make your life a living hell. You are no one to build your paradise because they will make sure you to be their puppet. How you wish to be alone now!

“The pretty heaven of yours is going to turn into hell, sweety.”

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

Chapter 1 Chapter 9 Chapter 17

Chapter 2 Chapter 10 Chapter 18

Chapter 3 Chapter 11

Chapter 4 Chapter 12

Chapter 5 Chapter 13

Chapter 6 Chapter 14

Chapter 7 Chapter 15

Chapter 8 Chapter 16

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #yandere ateez #yandere #yandere hongjoong #yandere seonghwa #yandere yunho #yandere yeosang #yandere san #yandere mingi #yandere wooyoung #yandere jongho #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff

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messedupfan · 5 months

Text

Chapter 17

Summary: Wanda looks over her plans for her future after standing up to Vision. You discover something shocking about your friend on a night out. And the kids join you for a special haircut as Wanda collects her prize.

A/n: Hello! I didn't plan on posting this so soon but eh what the hell. Hope y'all don't kill me. Enjoy!

Masterlist | All Stories Taglist | All Chapters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wanda stands in the middle of the large empty property that she now owns. She walks around the area as she visualizes a house. She sees the walls and the windows. She thinks about where the kitchen would be and the kitchen table for breakfasts and intimate family meals. Then she walks into a dining room where she’ll host holidays and birthdays. She pretends to climb a beautiful staircase as she envisions the separate rooms for her boys. A couple more rooms, maybe one of them is a guest room and the other is an office space. Then she sees a master bedroom. The image of climbing into bed after a long day has her heart racing as she pictures collapsing into your arms.

Her phone ringing breaks her away from her fantasy world and back to the land with overgrown grass. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and sighs. “Hello Vision,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“Mom?” Tommy's voice has Wanda softening her tone almost instantly.

“Tommy, hi, why are you calling me with your dad's phone? Is everything okay?” She asks as she starts to fill with worry.

“Dad says he has to go out of town for something… for work! I mean um… I mean he has to go out of town for work. Can you come pick us up?” Wanda sighs when she can hear Vision correcting their son. She doesn't understand the man. He is constantly making a big racket about being in Tommy and Billy’s life but this is the third time in the last couple of months that he has had her pick up the boys halfway through the week.

“I'll be there soon,” Wanda says in a soft tone. She does her best to not let her frustrations with his father affect her tone. Vision is being harsh enough as it is. “I love you, sweetheart. Let your brother know that I love him too, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Tommy says. “Bye, mom.”

Wanda hangs up the phone. She takes one last glance around the empty land and sighs. One day, she will be able to fulfill her dream. But that is years away.

“Vision, you can't keep doing this to them,” she says quietly once the boys are in her car.

“It's my work, Wanda. It's what pays the bills,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh I'm very familiar with your work,” Wanda retorts. “Who is she this time? Another TA? No, that pairing has to bore you by now. Besides, you don't need a dating profile in order to date a student.”

“You've been stalking me?” He asks, he's more intrigued than anything.

Wanda makes a face, “Gross. No. That would mean I gave a shit about your personal life. I have friends that use dating apps. And you weren't exactly discrete about it on your profile.”

Vision’s face starts to get red and Wanda knows that she has struck a nerve. Not only did she reveal that she knows he isn't being faithful in his current marriage, she revealed how she found out. She is almost certain that the mention of her friends being involved has painted a mental picture of her having a laugh about him with them. She’d put good money on Vision picturing you as the friend, causing him to grow even more upset.

“Vis, I don't care what you do in your free time. I care that it affects my kids,” she states firmly. “Either end the affair or give me full custody. Because I will not allow you to keep hurting them with this deadbeat father act you have going on.” She starts to walk towards her car expecting him to slam the door shut but instead, he follows her.

“Oh you'd love to have me out of the picture, wouldn't you? So that you can live happily ever after with, Y/n! That's it, isn't it?” He shouts behind her. Wanda stops and spins as she lets out a malicious laugh.

“What is with your obsession with Y/n? They have been nothing but kind to our boys when you fail them time and time again. They are always there for the twins when you've abandoned our boys. Y/n has covered for your ass over and over,” she takes steps towards Vision as she defends her friend to him. “They do nothing but try to make you look better to those boys. You should be thanking them instead of threatening them! You have no idea the kind of person they are. And it's not their fault that you are such a sorry excuse for a father. Gosh, your own family finds it difficult to be related to you.”

Vision shakes his head, “You are a vindictive cunt.”

“Call me all of the names you want. You can't hurt me anymore,” Wanda glares at her former husband defiantly. She scoffs. “You're a pitiful man. I hope karma gets you one day.” She walks away and doesn't turn back once as he continues to shout profanities at her. She does, however, raise her middle finger at him.

“Mom, are you okay?” Billy asks from the backseat once Wanda has joined her boys in the car. She turns back and reaches out to hold his hand. She smiles at him and squeezes his hand.

“Mommy is more than okay,” she says confidently. She doesn't recognize herself at this moment and it's a fantastic feeling. “Are you boys ready to go? You didn't leave behind any important homework or school books right?”

“Right,” the boys say at the same time.

“Okay, let's go home then,” she smiles at each of her kids before starting her car and driving away from Vision’s house. When she pulls into the driveway of her current home she can feel the ghost of the person she used to be. The woman that once believed living a life on eggshells was normal. That she was always meant to be careful around her husband. That her children were to be completely obedient and quiet. That woman and that life haunt every corner of the house. They start to hide when the boys laugh loudly at something that happens in the movie they’re watching. But when you stop by to return the tupperware, the ghosts seem to disappear instantly. As if they were never there.

“You know, Y/n,” Wanda starts as she closes the door behind you. “We are friends, you don't need an excuse to see me.”

“Okay, you caught me but we never really got a chance to ourselves last week and I thought since,” you are cut off when the boys come running towards you and wrap their arms around you as they crash into your body. “Oh! Hi guys! What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with your dad this week?” You keep your tone light, you would hate to ever make them feel unwanted. You hug them back just as tight.

“Dad had a work thing,” Billy answers with a smile. “What are you doing here? Rachel isn't here.”

You look at Wanda, not sure how to answer. “That’s right, Rachel is not here. But Y/n had my container and I asked them to bring it back,” Wanda answers for you. “Come on boys, I'm sure Y/n has to get back home and you two need to get ready for bed.”

“Can you stay and read us a bedtime story?” Tommy asks with wide eyes filled with excitement as he steps back.

“Yeah? Can you?” Billy asks as he jumps back, just as excited.

You hesitate and that causes the two kids to start begging. “Please? You and mom tell the stories really well together!” You look at Wanda as you reminisce about the couple of times the two of you read bedtime stories for the three kids when you and Rachel were staying here.

“I thought you said bedtime stories were for babies?” Wanda says as she messes with her son's hair.

“They are but not when you and Y/n tell them,” Tommy defends. Wanda gives you a look that says ‘I tried,’ and it makes you laugh.

“Okay boys, go finish getting ready for bed and I'll join your mom for story time,” you agree and the kids cheer as they run up the stairs.

“Thank you for that. You know, you don't have to stay,” Wanda says as she tests the waters and puts her hand on your bicep. You shrug as your arm warms up from her touch.

“They think we're good together,” you say with slight innuendo. “Besides, it won't be long before they despise my presence. I'm sure their dad will poison them against me as soon as puberty hits. I have to enjoy their praises while I still can.” You smile at her as you maintain eye contact and stand a little closer to her.

Wanda bites her lower lip as her eyes travel to your lips. It's been a week and a half since the two of you kissed. You had been by every day since but neither of you have had a moment alone long enough to discuss anything. She had so much that she wanted to tell you that she couldn't. Not when the kids are so close. She would hate it if the kids got excited about something that may or may not happen. “I wish their father thought about the fact that we only have a few precious years left with them before they become moody teenagers. But,” Wanda shrugs. “I guess that's my fault for falling for a selfish man before my frontal lobe developed.” Wanda’s eyes meet yours again as she flashes you a sad smile.

You reach out and hold her shoulder. You open your mouth to say something but you're interrupted by a loud screech of, “We're ready!” from Tommy and Billy. You laugh.

“I guess that's our cue,” you say as you drop your hand from her shoulder.

“You go first, I have to put this away,” she holds up the tupperware and you nod then you climb the stairs and warn the boys that you are on your way. Wanda takes a deep breath as her body craves your touch. It was an innocent touch but it made her mind wander to not so innocent thoughts and she needed a second. She serves herself a cold glass of water and chugs half of it.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” She hears you chanting with the boys and hearing you call her that almost makes her spit out her water from laughter.

“Okay! I'm coming!” She shouts as she gets to the bottom of the staircase. The chants don't stop until she walks through the door. You and the boys clap and cheer as she comes in. Wanda stops for a moment and poses. You start whistling as the boys cheer louder. “Alright, settle down. Settle down. What story are we reading tonight?”

The boys fall asleep halfway through the story. You were so engrossed in the storytelling that Wanda had to stop you in order for you to notice that they had fallen asleep. You shut the book and the two of you carefully snuck out of the room. You waited for her in the hallway as she shut off the lights and closed the door.

When the door was shut she turned to face you. The two of you stand there, both wanting to embrace each other. Maybe even share another sober kiss that would intoxicate each of you. Wanda wants to thank you for helping her find her strength. You want to thank her for always being there for you and your daughter. You want to tell her the deep feelings you've developed for her over the months. You want to hold her in your arms and never let go.

“Can I show you something before you go?” Wanda whispers.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you answer, feeling a little awkward. You clear your throat and gesture for her to lead the way. Wanda takes your hand and laces her finger through yours as she guides you to her office. You were a little surprised that she led you here but you were more surprised with yourself that part of you anticipated her taking you to any other room. Especially with her kids here.

Wanda lets go of you and walks around her desk to shuffle through her files in the drawer. When she finds what she's looking for she looks up at you with a grin. “Close the door and come closer. It's a secret,” she says with a playfulness to her voice. You smile and shut the door to her office before joining her side. “So I have a plot of land,” she starts as she opens the folder. “And I want to build my dream house on it. These are some of the ideas that I have so far.” She shows you printed-out mood boards and detailed sketches along with images and measurements of the land.

“Wow, I think this is great,” you say as you flip through the pages. You look at her with a curious glance. “What inspired this?”

Wanda shrugs, “I'm tired of living under someone else's guidelines of what my house is supposed to have or not have. I'm a very overqualified architect, I know what I can and cannot do.” Her confidence makes you smile. “Besides, this is Vision-free land. He's never owned it. He's never lived on it. He's never traumatized me or the kids here. It's a land that is free to have an unlimited amount of good memories and none of them have to be tarnished by him.” Her grin widens and her shoulders relax at the thought.

“That's wonderful,” you tell her softly. “So, why are you sharing this with me?”

A blush appears on Wanda's cheeks and your heart picks up speed in anticipation for her answer. “I um, I could use your expertise in building it. Not anytime soon. I still have to get the money to fund the project but, there isn't anyone I'd rather have build it for me than you,” she smiles up at you.

You lick your lips as you consider kissing her. But you think better of it. Billy or Tommy could walk in at any moment and catch the two of you. It's enough to make you stand up straighter instead of hovering close to her. “I'd be honored to build your dream house for you, Wanda.”

Wanda rises from her chair and pulls you in for a warm embrace. “Thank you,” she says against your chest.

“Of course,” you respond quietly as you wrap your arms around her. You close your eyes as you embrace the moment. “I should get going. It's pretty late,” you state without letting her go. Wanda hums in agreement as she also makes no motion to break away.

Eventually, the two of you do break away and she offers to walk you to your car. You feel giddy as you remember the night of the kiss. Wanda’s mind is thinking about the same thing as she walks with you arm in arm.

“I don't know if this is weird to mention but we did make a bet on it so I feel as though I kind of have to tell you about this,” you ramble nervously as the two of you get close to the car. “Uh, you win the bet. That volunteer texted me the other day.” Wanda's smile drops and her demeanor shifts a little.

“Oh? And what did she have to say?” Wanda asks as she starts to feel her positive energy waiver.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” you say in an attempt to let her know that you're not interested in Nebula as you reach your truck. “Anyway, I'm thinking about getting my haircut on Sunday after I pick up Rachel. Should I give you a call?” You lean against the door as you watch Wanda. She gives you a tight smile and you know that whatever you thought might happen isn't going to.

“Yeah, I um, I think I have a few ideas ready. Just let me know where to be on Sunday,” she doesn't look at you as she speaks and you want to slap yourself for even mentioning another woman.

“Okay, I'll make the appointment and text you the details,” you fiddle with your keys awkwardly. “I'll see you on Sunday,” you say as you climb into your truck. Disappointed in yourself. This was not at all how this was supposed to go. It was starting to feel like there are forces out there trying to keep the two of you apart.

On Friday night, you stare at the message from Nebula as you consider responding while you sit at a booth with Darcy. It's becoming a common occurrence, hanging out with Darcy, Steve, and Bucky. Your coworker is typically the one inviting everyone out. You're surprised that he doesn't invite his girlfriend. In fact, you don't think you've seen Natasha since Wanda's New Years Eve party. And Steve hasn’t talked about Peggy in some time either. But you don't think about it too much.

“I know that face,” Darcy says as she steals a couple of fries from your plate.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” you put your phone in your pocket.

“You have many faces, Y/n. That face is one of regret and frustration,” Darcy continues to steal your fries. You shake your head and look around the bar to avoid looking at your friend. “Come on, lay it on me. Is Wanda seeing someone finally? Did your former child-bride reach out to you?”

“Daisy wasn't that much younger than me,” you defend as you take a sip from the beer bottle. “Besides, you never got to meet her. You don't get to judge.”

Darcy leans in closer with wide eyes, “She dumped you when your kid was in the hospital! What more do I need to know about her?” You shake your head. Then your eyes widen as they land on Steve and Bucky kissing. Your eyebrows knit together from the shock. “What?” Darcy spins around to search for what you could be seeing. Then she sees them. “Oh, yeah. That,” she turns back to you with a shrug. “I've known about that. Now back to you.” Darcy snaps her fingers in your face and waves until you look back to her. “Hello? What's going on with you?”

“What do you mean you knew about them?” You ask instead. “They both have girlfriends! They're cheaters! I didn't know I was friends with cheaters!”

Darcy sighs and rolls her eyes. “Calm down. The way I understand it, Steve and Peggy broke up sometime after that party at Wanda’s place. And Bucky and Natasha have an understanding. I don't know if it's an open relationship situation or a throuple or what. I don't ask them questions because I don't care. What I do care about is you. So, what's wrong?”

You shake your head before running your fingers through your hair and sigh. “I fucked up,” you go on to explain the bet you made with Wanda about Nebula. “Then we kissed and before I could get a chance to talk to her about the kiss, I mentioned that she won the bet and she completely pulled away. I haven't been able to get a hold of her since. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just, she likes to win. I thought she'd like to know that she won and she gets to choose my next haircut.” You shrug then shake your head and then rub your face.

Darcy reaches across the table and holds your wrist as a way to provide some sort of comfort. The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Darcy hasn't gotten to know Wanda enough to be able to explain her behavior. But she's known you for some time now and she knows that sometimes all you need is support. No encouraging words. No solutions to your problems. Just someone's presence.

Steve and Bucky rejoin the two of you. Steve sits next to you and Bucky sits across the table next to Darcy. “What’d we miss?” Steve asks as he throws his arm around your shoulders. You shrug in response.

“I'm an idiot,” you mutter.

“Oh come on, I asked what I missed. Not what I already know,” he teases and with her free hand, Darcy throws some fries at him. “Ow, hey!” She snaps her fingers and points to you and you start to feel a little ridiculous. “Oh, I'm sorry Y/n,” he says once he is paying attention. You shake your head and stand up muttering something about leaving. “Hey, no, come on. It was a bad joke. Stay, Y/n,” he tries to call you back to the table.

“You're so full of yourself, Steve!” Darcy says before she catches up with you. “Hey, lets-”

“No, it’s fine. I'm fine. It wasn’t about Steve. He's always like that. I’m just…” you shake your head. “I need to go home.” You tell her calmly. “I won't do anything stupid, I promise.”

Darcy sighs then nods, “Yeah, okay. I'll see you soon. Oh! That reminds me, I will be moving to Germany to join a research team for a year. I leave in three months.”

“Oh my goodness! Way to bury the lead!” You pull her into a quick hug. “Congratulations! That sounds like an amazing opportunity!” You pull away and admire her for a second. “You are possibly the coolest person I know.”

Darcy closes her eyes, tilts her head, and smiles. “I know I am,” she says happily. She opens her eyes and pats your arm. “Get out of here. And tell Wanda I said hi.”

You make a face, “Why would I tell Wanda-”

“Oh please, you think I actually believe that you're going to your apartment? She is your home. And I better be receiving an invitation to the wedding by the time I come home from Germany.”

You shake your head as you give her a final hug goodbye. You get in your car and consider driving to Wanda’s house. Her boys are with her so you try to not think about it. But as you're driving, you suddenly realize that you're close to her neighborhood. You sigh as you think about what Darcy said. Wanda is your home. You take the turn into her neighborhood and start to think about what you're going to tell her when you see her.

As you pull up, you notice the time and frown as you see that the house is dark. You put the car in park and stare at her house. It was pretty late. You shouldn't have expected that she would be awake just because it was a Friday night. You don't even let Rachel stay up past eleven at night. But you know that sometimes Wanda likes to enjoy a glass of wine and catch up on her favorite reality show before going to bed.

So you take your chances and call her. The phone rings a couple of times before you finally hear her voice. “Hey you,” she is speaking softly. You wonder if her boys are near her. Awake or asleep, there's a reason she is so quiet.

“Hey, did I wake you?” You ask as you start to regret being here.

“No, no,” Wanda says, her voice still low. “I’m catching up on my show. But um Billy had a nightmare. He’s sleeping next to me and I'm trying to not wake him.” Your eyes travel up to her window as you see the faint glow of the television through the blinds. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”

You don’t respond right away. You just think about her. “No, I'm okay. I just,” you sigh. “I never responded to that volunteer. I want you to know that. I’m sorry if I-”

“Y/n I don’t think now is a good time,” she interrupts.

“I’m parked in the driveway. If you don't want Billy to hear,” you tell her quickly. You watch the shadows of the curtains move and the blinds open after a couple of minutes. Her silhouette stands in the middle of the window. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Wanda is quiet as she stands still. You hope that she accepts your invitation. “Go home, Y/n. It's late and,” she trails off as she closes the blinds. “We don't have anything to talk about.” Your heart breaks at her words.

“Wanda please,” you beg, “let's talk about this. Maybe not tonight but soon.”

“Y/n, I,” her words seem to fail her as she goes quiet. You sit in your truck patiently waiting for her to continue. To say something. Anything. After a while you wonder if she hung up so you lift the phone off of your face and are slightly relieved to see that the call is still going. Then you watch the call end. Your eyes travel to the front door as it opens.

Wanda walks out and you step out of the truck to meet her halfway but she holds her hands up to stop you. You stay close to the truck. “Wanda, can you explain to me what I did wrong? Because I don't feel like I-”

Wanda waves her hand to cut you off, “Stop, you didn't do anything wrong. It's me. I'm… I wanted our friendship… I want us to…” she closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I practiced this speech to myself since Wednesday but,” she sighs as she runs her fingers through her hair. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “When we kissed, I did want us to explore the possibility of more between us. Hell, I deleted all of the dating apps I was on and blocked every person I hooked up with that night. I thought I was ready. But I'm not. And it's not because of you. You are great. You're great to me, you're great to my kids, to my entire family actually.” She opens her eyes and you can see the tears building up. “I'm in a better place than I was when we first met but I’m not ready for anything more than your friendship. At least not right now.”

You cast your eyes down to the ground for a moment to allow your heart to break. You bite your lips to keep from letting the emotions show on your face. Then, when you feel ready, you swallow your feelings and you nod. “Okay, yeah,” you look at her as you try to hide your sadness. “I can do that. I can be your friend. It’s okay, I understand that you still have a lot of healing or whatever to work through. It's okay, Wanda. I lo-”

“Don't,” Wanda cuts you off and you nod with your mouth shut. “I know that you care about me. A lot. I care about you too. A lot. But I… I don't expect you to wait for me to be ready. No. Let me rephrase,” she steps closer and holds your hands. “Don't wait for me. Don’t put your life on hold for me.”

You want to argue and fight for her but if this is what she wants then there isn't much else that you can do. You look her in the eye and ask, “Are you sure this is what you want?” Wanda nods. “Okay. I won't um I won't wait and I won't bring this up again. Not until you do. I understand.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“Will I still see you on Sunday?” You ask as you think about the bet again. “You still have a prize to collect,” you remind her playfully.

“Yeah, I'll be there,” she flashes you a small smile that drops as fast as it appears. You drop her hand and shove your hand into your pockets.

“Darcy wanted me to tell you that she said hi. I was hanging out with her before this,” you tell her.

“That's nice, how is she doing?” Wanda crosses her arms over her chest to keep her body warm as a cool breeze comes by.

“She's good, she'll be gone for a year. She got a big opportunity in Germany. But she's got three more months of being stuck here,” you inform her conversationally. Trying to move past the emotionally heightened moment.

“Wow, that sounds fascinating. I'll have to reach out to her. I liked meeting her,” Wanda says.

“I'm sure she'd love that,” you nod then you look at your watch. “I'll let you go back inside. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

“No, I'm glad you did. I'll see you on Sunday,” Wanda kisses your cheek before she walks away. “Goodnight, drive safe,” she shouts over her shoulder as she continues walking to her front door. You climb back into your car and drive to your apartment.

You allow yourself to cry and feel the heartbreak. You don't drink alcohol to forget it or make it easier. You don't smoke from the pack of cigarettes that you purchased on the way home. You just lie on your bed and clutch a pillow to your chest.

On Sunday you pick up Rachel from her mom's house and tell her that you lost a bet to Wanda and that she is going to pick out your new haircut. Rachel giggles with excitement.

“A mullet? Really?” You look at Wanda like she is crazy. “Are you trying to sabotage my dating life?”

Wanda laughs with a shrug, “It's not my fault your hair is long enough for it. Besides, I hear it's a very popular style for the They/Thems of the world.” You shake your head as she plays with your hair. The hairdresser laughs at the request as well before promising that the style is coming back. You tell him to just get it over with.

In the end, you don't completely hate it but you still don't feel like it's your style. However, Wanda's boys love it. “Mom, I want my hair like Y/n's! Mom, can we get our haircut too?”

“Oh, I'm sure that the schedule is busy and we didn't make an appointment for you two,” Wanda tried to tell them.

“Oh we have a couple hours free, I don't mind giving them a cut. The kids want to match their parent,” Clint says.

“Oh I'm not,” you stutter.

“We’re just friends,” Wanda corrects.

Clint nods as he eyes the two of you with a knowing smirk. “So am I cutting the kids' hair or not?” he asks a little loud, drawing the attention of the boys. The twins begin to beg over and over until Wanda caves. They cheer as they each hop into a chair. Clint disappears into the back to collect his wife to cut Billy's hair while he works on Tommy.

You sit next to your daughter and Wanda sits on the other side of her. “What about you? Do you want to get a haircut?” Wanda asks.

Rachel shakes her head with a scrunched-up face. “No, I'm okay.”

“Her hair doesn't grow back fast. It took a while for it to get this long,” you explain. “That's her mom's genetics,” you say lightly as you mess with Rachel's hair. She swats her hand away and goes back to playing games on your phone.

When the boys are done with their haircuts the group of you decide to grab some ice cream together and enjoy the treats at a nearby park.

Wanda is messing with your hair as you watch the kids play on the playground. “Why are you suddenly so obsessed with my hair?” You ask with a laugh.

“I don't know, I've never seen a mullet in person. It looks so… touchable. I don't know. I can't explain it,” Wanda replies as she continues to move her fingers through your hair. “Business in the front,” she touches the front of your hair and then moves her hand down to the back, “party in the back!”

You shake your head slightly, “You're insufferable, you know that right?”

“I know,” she says. As much as you are giving off the impression that you don't want her to touch your hair, you're happy that she is.

“I'm starting to rethink this whole friendship thing,” you grouch with a playfulness to your tone.

“Whatever, Uncle Jesse,” she pulls her hand out of your hair and holds her phone up. “Say cheese!” You roll your eyes as she takes candid pictures of you. Then she calls her boys over to pose with you. The three of you show off your new haircuts.

After going to a fast food restaurant for dinner, you and Wanda decide it's best to split from each other so that the kids can get ready for school on Monday. Everyone hugs each other goodbye.

“Baba?” Rachel asks for your attention as you're driving home. You hum to let her know that she has your attention. “When you do fall in love again. I hope it's with someone like Wanda.” You don't say anything as you keep your eyes on the road.

Chapter 18

Taglist: @princessprudy @sayah13 @agaymilflover @awkwardmandalorian @bentleywolf29 @thatshyboy1998 @artisannat @thisischaismagic @wqndanat @madamevirgo @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @the-writer-arcane @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff @aloneodi @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @jovialsublimecomputer @natasha-maximoff @iliketozoneout @doudouneverte @druggedduck @notbornbutforged @when-wolves-howl @lifespectator @justyourwritter69 @wandaromamoff69 @awesomelygayasf @nekoannie-chan @diaryoflife @wuwu96 @wandanats-goodgirl @sincerely-indi @blueredg52 @sisiofthemultifandom @fuzzyuniversityeclipsefriend @arcturusseer @scarlettwidow34 @chasethemoon @raven-ss @canyonyodeler @sokovianbaby @alexawynters @bittysworld @hopeless-romantic17177 @spongebobtentacles @the-ox-fan20

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff au #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader #wonderstruck series #wonderstruck #messedupfan

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leafyaa · 1 year

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I think I fell in love with you again

Kunikuzushi x fem! reader

Summary:

You've dated Scaramouche in your high school and college years but just as you wanted to announce your pregnancy to him he broke up with you without any reason. He left you to be a single mom for 7 years. But now that your daughter has been missing and abducted for a year and you've not been doing well and out of a sudden he showed up into your life again trying to apologize for his past mistakes..?

Genre:

Modern au, friends to lovers to ex's to lovers again lol, slight smau (actually almost none bc I'm too lazy), Thriller?

Warnings:

Angst, fluff, romance, stalking, killing, death, cursing, self-blame, death threats, murder attempts, missing child

Files:

⇢ File 1 ⇢ File 2 ⇢ File 3

Memory bubbles:

⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Met ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Fell In Love ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Were Tricked ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Were together ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time Their life changed ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time She Left ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He Lied ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He Fled ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He hated ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He promised ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He Left

Chapters:

⭒ prologue ⭒ chapter 1. ⭒ chapter 2. ⭒ chapter 3. ⭒ chapter 4. ⭒ chapter 5. ⭒ chapter 6. ⭒ chapter 7. ⭒ chapter 8. ⭒ chapter 9. ⭒ chapter 10. ⭒ chapter 11. ⭒ chapter 12. ⭒ chapter 13. ⭒ chapter 14. ⭒ chapter 15. ⭒ chapter 16. ⭒ chapter 17. ⭒ chapter 18. ⭒ chapter 19. ⭒ chapter 20.

Notes:

Hii! This is my first fic on Tumblr! I've written fanfics before which are on Wattpad but I'm not used to the way how to write on Tumblr bc it's a different platform so I hope I'll get used it soon ps. this is my new account where I'll be writing bc apparently you can't reply with a secondary blog smh

Status:

Ongoing, but also under editing (chapters until 10 are kind of weirdly written compared to the others so I'll have to rewrite them to the past tense as I've decided to switch that up again and I want to redo the file with profiles bc it's cringe wtf)

Taglist (open):

@swivi @kichiyosh1 @wwwrizchan @k1t0 @killumeow @pinkdreamerbailifflawyer-blog @samarill @xiaotopia @aqualesha @eattingshits @omoriaddict @mave-in @sketcheeee @xiaossocksniffer @elernity @ohmyfinggod @luvkvni @kunikissr @meadowofdarts @kaorieee @scaramochies @ekriis @rizakari @xxrexx @lovingveliona @magica-ren @lilybythevalley @theflatdoorkicker @lazy-sanns @reixtsu @fullw0rld @kunikuzushis-darling @childesgingerhair @kochothehoe @mercy-not-merci @ash1 @skyvella

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact au #genshin impact modern au #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin au #modern au #ITIFILWYA

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sterekunhinged · 5 months

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LET'S GOOOOO Thank you to everyone who participated and became unhinged with me <3

tumblr fic here! by @cantgetoversterek

Worth Fifty Thousand Words by Definitively_Different_Drivel T | 344 words | tags: crack treated seriously, rated T for language/references to porn

Summary: Stiles gaped after Mrs. Brooks. Derek stood beside him, eyebrow raised. Stiles pulled out his phone, searching frantically. "You're not looking that up." Stiles typed away. "Fuck off, do you really think I can just- ignore that possibility?" Derek grimaced, scraping his fingers through the back of his hair. Stiles sputtered beside him. "Holy shit I found it! Oh my god, this was a bad idea, Derek, why didn't you stop me?"

In which Stiles hears some interesting information about his father's past career aspirations and proceeds to makes literally the worst decisions possible.

It kills me to love you by TalesoftheEnchantedForest E | 5958 words | graphic depictions of violence | tags: canon divergence, a hint of dark!Stiles, Pack Alpha Derek Hale but the pack's not in this fic, Getting Together, A bit of stalking, freak4freak, Cum drinking, brief armpit and feet kink, Jealousy, Marking, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski ,fucking on corpses, Breeding Kink, Mating Bond, Angst and Porn, Stiles is 17 at the beginning but it's not explicitly stated

Summary: "How did you know?" Derek asks because he didn't mention the date to anyone, and maybe that was a mistake he shouldn't repeat in the future. "I put a tracker on your phone," Stiles says casually, and yeah, that sounds like him. Stiles and Derek's relationship might not be the healthiest, but it works for them, so does it really matter?

Trading Ties by Definitively_Different_Drivel E | 4181 words | tags: Porn With Plot, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Accidental Knotting, Manipulative Stiles Stilinski, Dubious Consent, Kanima Venom (Teen Wolf), also acts like viagra because fuck it it's smut, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, spell for instant lube/prep, Topping from the Bottom, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Bondage

Summary: "You're awake." Hazel eyes bore into him as he cursed his luck. Stiles frowned, heaving his head up to rest against the back of the chair. He must be getting sloppy. "So," he eyed the man, took in the classic posture and subtle nostril flaring that lay beneath all that leather and gratuitous muscle. He cracked out a brittle laugh, playing the victim. "big bad wolf thought he could waltz in and steal the weakest link, eh?" The man eyeing him scoffed. "Bullshit. You're the linchpin." In which Laura and Derek return after Scott's pack is well established and they're stupid enough to kidnap Stiles as a test. Little do they realize that the guy they thought was the cowardly human strategist is actually a terrifying magical enigma. He's also disturbingly horny, which may be the key to avoiding Derek's impending demise.

Wolf Kissed by Gia279 E | 69,565 words | 38 chapters | tags: Mates, Mates by Choice, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, Original Characters - Freeform, Scarification, Stiles Stilinski-centric, animal consumption, werewolf violence, Werewolf Culture, Gore, Violence, Biting, Full Shift Werewolves, Alternate Universe, Pack Dynamics, Hunters, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Torture, scars are important in werewolf culture, Explicit Sexual Content, Serious Injuries

Summary: Stiles has been smothered under the weight of running his dead mother's tavern for years. When the wolves return from the mountain, when Derek Hale strolls into his tavern and offers him a way out, he leaps at the chance. His abrupt departure fractures his town and turns everyone against his new pack. He's determined to set things to rights after he discovers that the Argents have twisted his choice to leave into something more sinister.

Bring Your Hunger by lanalua M | 2110 words | tags: Magical Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Getting Together, Nemeton Stiles Stilnski

Summary: Derek was used to tragedy. Used to waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was tired. This, he decided to enjoy.

#sterek #unhinged boyfriends event 2024 #bamf sterek #masterlist #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale

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cupidkenji · 5 months

Text

Virginia vampire - 1/2

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x vampire!fem!reader Cw: SLOWBURN BRO, descriptions of hunting/blood consumption, angst, fluff, non-descriptive mentions of an abusive dad, cursing, typical criminal minds violence, possible ED trigger (more in disclaimer), idk bro you tell me Summary: You escaped your scientist father when you were 17. When requested by Quantico PD to deal with a stemming serial killer, you realize you recognize the wounds. You used to be the one inflicting them. Disclaimer 1: Reader is chubby! She's not physically described here at all but a fat woman is always the MC. Disclaimer 2: Reader lives strictly on blood. This story discusses themes of intense bloodlust/hunger, UNINTENTIONAL avoidance of blood (food), and physical consequences due to not eating (more so in the next chapter). This is NOT pro-ana or anything like that, and while these themes are explicitly negative, they are still there and may affect those struggling. Please look after yourself, this is all fantasy and is not meant to trigger you. That's all <3 WC: 9.6k - read part 2 here Like I said, please head the disclaimer as I would hate for anyone to feel negatively about this. I personally have struggled with a restrictive ED and would not write/publish anything I felt would trigger/contribute to pro-ED rhetoric. I'm actually rlly proud of this one I think it's cool and neat and I'm excited to share. I also looped eat your young by Hozier while writing this so would recommend as ambiance. Enjoy <33

The Quantico streets seemed to get darker the more you came out. It was late - technically early, as midnight had passed two hours ago - but still a time of pungent heathenism. Nobody out at this hour had good intentions. You knew yours were certainly questionable, discreetly following a man decked in club attire as he stumbled his way down the street. This was the worst part - having to stalk behind them, giving you nothing but time to humanize them in your head. He was probably going home, back to safety. The process of hiding a body is one you could recite with your eyes closed. It’s bitter and metallic, but familiar, and you seemed to project that harbored guilt onto him. It wasn’t as though he’d never see that safety again, you didn’t kill people anymore. Your unusual diet required this type of robbery, but you’d busted your ass for almost three years to figure out the perfect amount. The amount that keeps you just on the cusp of living, closer to death than most but still able to function effectively. The number of times you felt a heart cease it’s beating against your lips because you went too far would strike envy in the evilest of individuals. The amount you took was pure necessity - a full syringe, never a drop more. It would last you about half the week when rationed out. It was livable, doable, only ever being a problem if you couldn’t get more the exact night you needed to.

You hated preying on drunks, the alcohol in their blood making it taste rancid, but this was the easiest target you could ask for. Beggars can’t be choosers. He took a moment to catch his breath after he nearly toppled over, and you saw your opportunity on a silver platter. Contrary to the movies, stealth was not an inherent trait you get when you live on blood, you’d gained yours from experience. You never liked being so good at this, but as you rendered the man unconscious and silenced his fall to the ground, you relished in the fact that you were. The days of amateur hunting were long over, and the cries of people as the blood rushed from their necks are ones that echo - ones that sit with you.

You dragged the man to the innards of the closest alley, propping him against the wall and rolling up his jacket sleeve. You took off the bag hanging from your shoulders, removing a syringe and a flashlight. Since you hunted at night, it was impossible to find a vein without lighting. It was something you realized quick when you made the switch from neck to wrist. You turned the thing on, clamping it between your teeth and angling it down at his arm. Growing up with the world’s cruelest biologist as a father, you were well versed in the world of human anatomy per his insistence. You watched the vial fill with liquid, cursing your entire situation for being so despicable. The only way to properly describe your father was Frankenstein, eagerly allowing his only child to grow into the role of his monster. He’d handcrafted your DNA in a petri dish, ensuring that malice was weaved throughout your most instinctual needs. He was a well off man, respectively referred to as the brightest mind in our current age. He’d gained fame after presenting his magnum opus - the invention of literal vampirism. Somehow, something only he knew how to do, he’d made a string of DNA that derived the body’s energy from the nutrients in blood. He started with insects, impregnating beetles with the specific code, making embryos that fed purely on blood of the same species, which manifested into a hostile blood lust once the thing was born. He’d reached rodents and promised he would be ending his tests there, not wanting to breach the topic of morality and push forward with mammals. Unfortunately, your father was as honest as he was kind, so here you were.

You finished the extraction and pulled the needle from the man’s flesh, apologizing profusely under your breath. You patched him up, a bandaid over the small hole, and hid him amongst some garbage bags. Nobody out at this hour had good intentions, and you weren’t about to offer them a possible victim for whatever desire they may be looking to express. You hated that you had to hurt him at all, no matter how minimally. The least you could do was shield him from the people who truly intended harm. You tossed the now full syringe back into your bag, the flashlight following a second later, and exited the alley. The only thing that kept your feet moving was the few days of peace you would get now that you had food. Your head pounded with the feeling of blood just sitting in your bag, the body full of blood laying defenseless just a few feet away. It was a battle you fought everyday, seeing those closest to you as two separate entities - one was a person you loved, one just a plethora of functioning veins and arteries. Their lifeforce was the closest thing to ambrosia you could imagine. It’d taken you years to get control, though, and you refused to undo that for a couple minutes of gratification. You couldn’t. Losing control would grant your father the victory he ached for, and you would die before letting that happen. You rushed to walk away, choosing to propel yourself with the image of his disappointed face rather than the breathing blood bag leaning on a dumpster. He’d killed your mother before you even got to know her, you refused to be the reason someone didn’t get to know their parent.

–

The BAU was an unwelcome sight when the time was five in the morning instead of your usual seven. You’d been ushered to the building by a sleep deprived JJ, spouting off different remarks of remorse for the early hour but needing the team there immediately. The whole table seemed to share in the disdain, as half of them could barely hold their eyes open and the other half were practically chugging shitty break-room coffee. Aaron was, surprisingly, the last to walk in. Greeting everyone with attempted normalcy while visibly fighting off his own exhaustion. His hair was messy, his torso lacking the coverage of his uniform baggy blazer. The sight of him slightly unkempt from the spontaneity of the gathering caused the air to flee from your lungs. You’d had a bit of a staring problem since you started working here, but his appearance now displayed a casualness that was making you dizzy. The deviation from his standard presentation felt strangely intimate, a more personal version of him. You looked away quickly, you had to. He took his spot next to you, having reserved that place for himself when you were first hired. He greeted you personally once he sat down, something for just the two of you. You had looked at him, about to reciprocate when JJ officially started the meeting.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry for the early start but we’ve been urgently requested by our local PD. They think we’ve got the start of a serial killer, three bodies were found last night with the same MO.”

“Three bodies?” Morgan’s words were laced with bewilderment. “As in three people were actually killed or three bodies were dumped?” The table knew what he was getting at. Three murders in a single night was quite the task. Especially considering the police had to find the bodies, meaning no pedestrian had seen anything worth reporting.

“They’ve left the crime scenes untouched for us, but they’re betting all of them happened in the same time span.”

As if he could read your mind, Hotch asked the main question that’d been circling your mind. “How are they being killed?”

“That’s why we’ve been asked for.” JJ started distributing files containing the crime scene details. “All the victims so far have the same stab wound in their carotid. Nothing had been stolen, and they were all found in alleyways. For the amount of blood that comes with puncturing an artery, there wasn’t a drop found at the scene.”

“No signs of torture?” Morgan was looking at the photos as he asked, double checking the information he was reading in the file.

“All of them were basically untouched from the neck down. There weren’t even indications of defense.” JJ shook her head as she spoke. “This guy definitely gets the jump on them.”

“A blitz attacker.” Prentiss concluded, closing her file as she reached the end of it. “Any witnesses?”

“None.” The worst answer JJ could have. “Police found them while on patrol.”

“Alright.” Hotch stood from his seat. “Prentiss, Morgan, I want you at the first scene.” The agents nodded at the orders, exiting the room to complete the task. He looked towards Spencer, drawing his attention away from the file as he addressed him. “When Rossi gets here I want you guys at the second body.” The man just uttered a “got it” and looked back down, waiting on Rossi’s presence to start moving. Aaron’s eyes made their way to you. “I want you with me. We’re gonna go meet the officers at the latest discovery.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, feigning preoccupation with closing your folder and simply muttering a noise of agreement before standing.

“I told the press to keep it quiet. Last thing we need is word of a mini spree leaking to the public.” JJ informed the remaining people of this on her way out, peeking her head back through the door to say it before returning to her office. You watched Rossi finally show up and retrieve Reid from the conference room as you were leaving, heading to the car with Aaron close behind.

Once you were buckled into the passenger seat, you started talking. “Three bodies in under twelve hours. Haven’t heard those numbers since the Barly Butcher in ‘64.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that.” His eyes, although you couldn’t see them, went slightly vacant at the thought. He couldn’t imagine dealing with that level of killer in the modern age - he certainly didn’t want to. “One was too many. God knows we don’t need a Quantico butcher.”

You couldn’t imagine either. “No kidding.” The drive wasn’t shaping up to be a long one, seven minutes went by and you were already approaching the flashing lights of cop cruisers. You got out of the car, the sheriff swiftly coming over to talk. She had thanked you for taking the case, grateful that her precinct wouldn’t be dealing with this one alone. There were CSI already there, but you slid gloves on your hand and headed towards the body regardless. They were respectful, allowing you control of the scene, walking away as you got closer to give you space.

You turned the woman’s neck slightly to get a better view of the injury, the image shaking the ground beneath your feet and causing the water in your tear ducts to form a haze over your eyes. There were teeth marks around the incision. Such a minor indent that it was no surprise it went over looked. You could see it because you’d once been the cause of such a thing. The closer you examined, the more parallels you drew to your beginner days. The skin around the wound was curling upwards, a sign of applied suction. No wonder they couldn’t find any blood, it’d been sucked out. You nearly fell off your feet from where you were crouching. The unsub clearly knew enough about the human body to inflict such a precise cut, pair that with the obvious motivation to feed and you got the bone-chilling realization currently seeping through you. He’d made another one. You had a sibling, and he was hungry.

–

When the regroup was called back at headquarters, you lead an uninformed and slightly confused Aaron to meet the rest of the team. He’d noticed your determination at the scene, questioning your findings and being eager to get back when you made him wait to hear about it. You wasted no time as you entered the room, pulling up the image on the big screen to properly show them your theory.

“The unsub is drinking their blood.” Looks of defeat and absurdity were present in all of their eyes, but you continued explaining, zooming in so close that the image went slightly blurry. “If you look close enough there are teeth prints around the wound, not bite marks, but the type of print you get from resting your teeth around the wound and applying pressure. The edges of the wound are curling in and up, so it can be assumed some type of suction followed the stabbing.” Most of the team was squinting at the screen, absorbing the details you pointed out and already trying to form a timeline, a motive - something. “That’s why they couldn’t find any blood. It was consumed.”

“So we’re dealing with a vampire?” Morgan sighed, his eyes detailing a reluctant belief. He couldn’t argue with your theory yet, it was the only logical thing they had. “Maybe we should visit your dad, Y/n.”

You scoffed at the quip, images of the man throughout your early life flashing through your head. “Funny.” You furrowed your brows at him. “You’d have to find him first.” You had slipped from his grasp when you were seventeen. The home you spent your childhood in was vacant a few years later, effectively severing all your remaining knowledge of his life. You’d never had any way to contact him, only the relics of his stories that refused to leave you. The only thing he ever spoke about was himself, and most of his tales were burned into your memory like a branding. If you were honest, you’re surprised he’d never physically branded you, he’d surely thought about it. The dread started to build in your gut. You handled most cases with a healthy distance, some could regard it as a coldness but you preferred the simplicity of your process. This, however, was impossible to deal with impersonally. This threw you headfirst into a situation you had never bothered to prep for. Not only would you be seeing how your team feels about what was essentially an early version of you, but you didn’t want to prosecute this unsub. His path was one you walked for years before acquiring the life you have now. You hadn’t been a villain, there was a high chance he wasn’t either. The bloodlust was controllable, he just needed someone to teach him. Pursuing him with the vigor of a typical unsub would wreck you. You felt protective, almost maternal. Your father had made another monster, but that didn’t have to mean they live a life of his design. You could get him out.

“Can I speak with you?” You hadn’t even noticed the analytical gaze Aaron held, too focused on your own internal spiraling. “Outside?” He motioned his head towards the hallway, instructing you to follow him.

You always felt like a kid in the principal’s office when he called you away from the team. “What’s up?” You hadn’t even waited for him to fully shut the door before you prompted the conversation. You were fully prepared to raise hell and high water to find your unsub, and you needed all the time you could get.

“Is something going on?” He always took extra time to check on your wellbeing. You figured at first it was pity, some type of undermining or an indication he thought you were less equipped for the job than others. He’d never hinted at any of those, always showing genuine concern for you, and eventually you stopped thinking he had ulterior motives. “You’ve been skittish and antsy since you saw the body. You’re speaking faster and can’t look me in the eyes. You’re nervous. Why?”

“Hotch.” You sighed his name, and he tilted his head, leaning in slightly as though pulled in by the sound. “I am nervous. There were three people murdered last night. If this guy is drinking the blood of his victims seconds after he kills, there’s no predicting how long the cool-down will be. He could strike again tonight or he could be gone for weeks. I don’t want more people losing their lives because we waited around too long. I need to figure this out.”

He could tell you were withholding something, you saw it in the way he looked at you. Thankfully, though, he allowed you to keep your secret. Breathing out a sigh of his own and just nodding. “You know where to find me if you want to talk.”

You held back the look of pure adoration you wanted to send his way, settling for the appropriate neutrality. “I know.”

You both rejoined the team shortly after, ignoring the curious looks of your coworkers and instead inserting yourself into the conversation. Reid went over the typical blood fetishists, along with the multiple philias and phobias associated with blood consumption. All of them falling flat in one way or another. You suggested swabbing the victim’s neck for traces of saliva, Prentiss calling to request the task be performed the second you’d said it. With hours going by and the promise of lab results by tomorrow, you all said your goodbyes. You said a silent prayer under your breath for a body-less night and drove home with a plan. If he was like you, he’d be out again tonight, and you had every intention of finding him.

–

This was the first time in your life you’d ever felt thankful for your knowledge of nightlife. Patrol was amping up, tonight it was one too many cop cars on the street. Tomorrow it could be officers searching the area on foot. With no way to predict the criminal, there was also no way to predict the response, and that was scary as hell. Any attempts they were making to stop him from feeding would affect you just as bad. There hadn’t been a single event since you started hunting more ethically that you’d had to break routine. You wanted to help him, but you also needed to stop him from fucking up your regimen. You were wandering, aimless and anxious. You tried connecting to whatever energetic wavelength you might have with him considering your partial relation, getting nothing but a firm reminder of why that stuff wasn’t considered fact. You ducked away from the second police cruiser of the night, just barely evading the lights before their illumination painted your face red and blue. The alley was a welcoming partner, allowing her shadows to drape over you and create a solitude unique to that darkness. You’d heard the noises a second later - panting, consistent and ragged, followed by a period of silence before resuming. You clicked on your flashlight, shining it maybe ten feet ahead of you and feeling like someone threw sand in your eyes. He was here, dressed in jeans and a black zip-up, hood over the back of his head. You wouldn’t have been able to see him even if his hood was down - he was crouched over a woman, shoulders hunched and mouth greedily stealing what little life she had left to give. He was so small, you physically felt your lips curl in sorrow when you realized he couldn’t be more than fifteen. The woman’s fingers were still flexed, and you assumed she’d died less than a minute ago by her arm placement. They were crooked at the elbow but weirdly resting on the assailant, as though she’d been gripping his shoulders before her strength blew out with the wind.

You waited, just a moment, stilling to see what move - if any - he would make. He was completely entrenched in his task, but you were surprised your light hadn’t set him off yet. It was only when the river ran dry that he seemed to notice your voyeurism. His head snapped in your direction so fast that you jumped on your feet a little. You thought back to how volatile you’d been in his shoes, deciding the best way to approach him would be that of a rabid animal. You inched closer, seeing him mirror you with a slight back-step.

“Hey.” You talked quietly, breathily, trying to subdue any dominant undertones you could be carrying. “I need you to listen to me, ok?” You crouched, hoping to put the two of you on the same level. “I know you’re not trying to hurt anyone. You’re hungry, yeah? You’re hungry and I know it fucking hurts. Worse than you ever imagined it could.” You thought back to the days of captivity. Your father made you the absolute pinnacle of gluttony, feeding you even when you finally didn’t want it, engorging you with the only thing you could sustain yourself with. Going from a state of constant overflow to barely a drip-feed was agony, causing fits of hunger so extreme that it was a miracle he hadn’t hit double digits by now. “I can help you, alright? I’ve been there. It doesn’t have to be this way - I promise it’s manageable.” You really should have planned some sort of script for this, you were winging it and from the accusatory look he was wearing, you didn’t think it was working.

You asked if he knew your father, hoping to establish some reputability in his mind and prove you knew what you were talking about. The name, though, seemed to hit him like a bullet. He took off running and blew past you so fast it knocked you over. You jumped up as quick as you’d been put down and set off after him. The kid was fast, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you lost him. He had the advantage of being half your height in a city full of narrow shortcuts. You pleaded with him in between breaths to just listen to you, promised you didn’t want to hurt him, all of it was futile. He ducked into a subway and slipped from your grasp before you even knew you had him. Your eyes teared up from frustration, so close to being the saving grace you were desperate to be but just managing to graze it before it leaped away from you. You felt the toll of such a run immediately sodden your legs and weaken your lungs. You didn’t have nearly enough fuel in the tank to give chase, but what were you supposed to do? You’d seen him, almost had him before the acidity of your fathers name melted all the progress you were making. Fitting, you thought. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, you were still an agent who had just found a body. Another victim in a string of serial killings; if you didn’t report it and were traced at all back to the scene you could be fired - or arrested. Hotch’s contact burned a hole straight through your pupils. How the fuck were you gonna explain this? You just happened to be on a classic midnight walk alone as a woman in the city currently housing a vampiric serial killer. You could almost hear the crease of his eyebrows as you told him where you were, requesting the team be awoken and the local PD be sent to you. You’re sure he could hear the ball in your throat as your vision got watery again. He promised he’d be there soon, telling you to hang tight. He was comforting, but there was a determination in his voice that told you he wasn’t letting it go this time. You didn’t know how to prepare for whatever that meant, but you knew some worms would be leaving the can.

Ten minutes later and you heard the familiar shout of your last name. “What the hell happened?” Morgan seemed worried you’d been attacked, scanning over you to check for any signs of injury. He wouldn’t find anything but your rapidly rising chest.

You watched the EMTs wheel away the woman in a body bag, locking your gaze on Derek when you started to feel nauseous. “I’m fine.” You crossed your arms, rationalizing that maybe a physical security would grant you the strength needed to conceal this mess. “I live right up the road. I go out walking sometimes when I can’t sleep. I just saw the body in the alley, guy was gone by the time I found her.”

He seemed relieved at your avoidance but also completely floored by the stupidity of walking so late. “Stop walking alone at night.” He was clearly protective. “That's why some of these cases are even possible.” He looked at you, taking your story as truth without a second thought and letting a sense of mourning flood his irises. “I don’t know how I’d cope with having to put you in one of those bags.” How charming. “You get me?”

You looked at him, putting on a face of regretful understanding and simply uttered back a quiet “I got you.” to hopefully dodge all the attention he was giving you.

He chuckled, looking behind you and gaining a sort of cringe in his smile. “Good luck with that.” He nodded towards whatever was approaching and joined the congregation of other agents and officers, essentially isolating you with the thing you’d been dreading most. Aaron Hotch.

“Aaron-” You turned around to face him but stopped talking when you saw the look he cast at you. Something so curious and pleading for the knowledge you withheld, he seemed to manually dim it with the aspect of his authority. He was your supervisor, but he cared for you as something deeper than that.

“We’re heading back to the BAU. I want you in my office when we get there. We need to talk about this.” He waited a second, letting the unusual professionalism sink into you before seeking confirmation. “Am I clear?” He was gentle in delivery, but the fear you’d betrayed him weighed heavy on you.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, looking at him. He wasn’t mad, and you didn’t regret the decisions that got you here. Your mind was simply racing with any plausible lie you could tell him to escape this situation unscathed. He knew you better than you were even aware of, you didn’t know if you could get away with lying at all, let alone lying in excess. You just prayed he was feeling particularly forgiving, along with hoping he was especially tired due to the hour. If you lucked out, you might only have to relinquish your integrity instead of the truth.

–

The sound of his door closing felt like the final sign of your demise. He hadn’t slammed it, he’d shut it gently and moved to sit opposite you in his office chair. You couldn’t remember a time he’d been genuinely angry with you. Right now he simply reeked of desperation, of empathy, and it was that notion that kept your eyes from meeting his.

“What’s going on, Y/n?” He was so soft, the tone of his voice combing through your ears like hypnotism. You were so fucking guilty.

You stared at his name card and wondered immaturely how it would feel to share a surname with the man. “I told you what happened.”

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. “You told them what happened.” You begged him internally to just leave it alone. “Now I’m asking you to talk to me. You can’t even look at me. You seem to think that because you can conceal the standard signs of lying that nobody can tell. You slip past their radar because they don’t know your tells, Y/n.” Your heart sped up, he’d probably known you were keeping something from him before you’d even made the choice to. “The top of your middle finger covers your index when you’re lying or when you’re not telling me something, you know that? Every single time. You haven’t held a conversation in the past week without doing it.” He clasped his hands on the table, readjusting to really focus on you. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Something about him always had a way of wearing you down. You’d been smothering the feelings you held for him for years, so when he showed such devotion to you, he could wring you out like a sponge with just a sentence. You visibly deflated, shoulder slumping forward. “I saw him.”

He straightened, assessing how to tackle a statement like that. “You saw the unsub?” You just nodded. “Do you know how important that information is?” He seemed bewildered, even a little angry at the fact you didn’t tell them. “You know better than most how significant every sighting is. Why would you ever keep something like that from us?” He was speaking slightly faster, confused frustration filling his words as he continued. “It’s a miracle you weren’t hurt, Y/n. This was extremely reckless, I don’t understand how you could-”

“Hotch.” You’d never had to speak over him before. “He’s my family.” The words were coated in bile as they left you - this was a steep slope. You hadn’t anticipated sharing even that piece of information, your family history was far too close to your less than common genetic misfortune to ever be talked about.

“...What?”

Your eyes teared up. You were going to tell him, and you were also going to cry. “I have to tell you something.” You felt the quiver of your lips, heard the shake of your voice as it circled the air. What the fuck were you thinking?

“My father - um…lied to the public about his testing. He promised everyone that he would stop at mice, but he didn't plan on actually doing that.” You shook your head in tune with your words, speaking slowly as you thought of how to drop this bomb and cause the least amount of damage. “He kidnapped a woman, my mother. At that point he’d figured out a way to implement the DNA strand he was using on rodents into human sperm, and he managed to get her pregnant with it.”

His face went slack, an emotion reaching far beyond shock, beyond disbelief. “You mean…?”

“It’s not vampirism in the cinematic sense, Aaron. We don’t burn in the sun or have heightened senses or speed. It’s just a cruel mutation. Human blood is the only substance our body can process.”

“You - you keep saying ‘we’.” He was frantic, you didn’t blame him. “Are there more?”

“Just the unsub.” The look in your eyes was begging for acceptance, for empathy and tenderness. You hadn’t even expected him to believe you, but now you feared the possibility of him running for the hills and spilling your secret to anyone he came across. “He’s the only one I know of. I didn’t expect my father to do it again.”

“Jesus Christ.” You concealed a laugh at how expressive the confession was making him. You knew it was the worst possible time, but you’d never seen him so human. “Is this - I mean how do you live, Y/n? Are you killing people?” You understood the accusation, but that didn’t dilute the sting of it as it hit your ears.

“No, Aaron. God, no.” You rushed out a denial before he could think too hard on it. “It took me years to figure out the bare minimum I could live on, ok? It’s two full syringes a week, nobody ever dies. Ever.” He seemed out of it, you didn’t know how to gauge whether this was a good or bad reaction. You’d never told anybody. How did you even proceed in a situation like this? “Look, I know, ok? This is fucking crazy, but you can’t tell the team.” He widened his eyes at you slightly like the thought of not telling them was wilder than anything you just told him.

“You can’t seriously expect-”

“Aaron.” You were on the brink of losing your breath. “I’m not a threat. I’ve worked here for years. I’ve lived with this my entire life and I have control. We need to focus on finding the boy and that won’t happen if they know.”

“Boy?” He furrowed his eyebrows deeper than you’ve ever seen. “He’s- It’s a kid?”

You thought back to the encounter. You could cup him in your palms. “He has to be. He’s tiny, fourteen or fifteen I’d say.” You nearly broke as you thought of the child he’d never get to be.

“There’s no protocol for this, Y/n.” This was one of the first times you’d seen him speak with his hands. “I don’t even know how to approach it anymore. It’s hard enough dealing with a child unsub when they’re human. How do you suggest we deal with a vampire?”

“Hotch.” Your eyes held disappointment. He was coping with the situation, and you knew that, but his words still didn’t sit right with you. “He is human. A very scared and lost human boy. My dad overfed me as a kid, wanting to disable the signal that tells you when it’s enough. It’s why he’s killing so many, he must have recently broken out. You get…I don’t know, insatiable. You start and don’t know when to stop, it's just blind instinct. He doesn’t want to be hurting people.”

“You speak from experience.” You didn’t want to tell him he was missing the point, but there certainly wasn’t a mutual focus between the two of you.

“Nobody’s perfect, Aaron.” You spoke with tears lining your eyes, your past was the most shameful thing you carried with you. “I need to find him. I can help him.”

He sighed, baffled and exhausted at the entire situation. He nodded soon after. “I won’t tell them.” You felt the increase in oxygen as you practically gasped in relief.

You stood up, stopping with your hand on the doorknob. Were you running? Yes, most definitely. But he wasn’t speaking and you couldn’t imagine he wanted to stay in your company. “I promise I’m not a monster.” You didn’t quite know if you were trying to convince him of this, or if you were hoping to affirm what he was already thinking, but it was the only thing you could think to say.

He just stared at you, eyes vacant but clearly attempting to imitate the warmth that would normally reside there. “Goodnight, Y/n.” It was such a familiar phrase that it nearly made you puke from the comfort flooding your body. You scoffed at the casual nature of the remark in the face of such an unusual time, but were still unfathomably thankful for it.

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

–

Three days later, and you were really feeling the distance. He stopped the routine of checking in - he stopped speaking almost entirely. He spoke of you, giving you orders or assigning your assistance to others but never talking directly to you. He used to pull you aside sometimes just to ask about your day, now he wouldn’t even look at you. The bodies had only been piling, patrol increasing night by night all hell bent on catching the so-called ‘virginia vampire.’ The absolute last thing you needed was a media wave of infamy to drown the boy, but there was no stopping the press once they were off and running. You doubted it made a difference, internet access was fully forbidden within the iron fist that was life with your father. You were hopeful some type of DNA could be pulled from the bodies, as the clean up was nonexistent and some of the necks had still been wet upon police arrival, but you got nothing. Or rather, nothing within the system. Garcia had compared the results of the sample to every database in the country - sometimes branching beyond that - but nothing proved useful. It was foolish to be disappointed, obviously your father wouldn’t have registered the baby of his hostage with the required legal standards. You hadn’t even known what you wanted to find, but the presence of absolutely nothing was crushing.

With the new surveillance demands your local PD wanted to meet, the BAU ended up pitching in to night monitor with them. It wasn’t difficult by any means - just tedious. You sat in turned off cop cars for most hours of the night while trying to ignore the persistent burn of hunger that was lighting up your stomach. You knew it’d been too long since you went out, but you were out of luck. People weren’t on the street hardly at all, and even if there was a small population to prey on, the cops breathing down your neck made it nearly impossible. You’d been paired up with Morgan for the last two nights you’d done this, time moving faster with him there to entertain you. Needless to say, sitting in the dead silence of the Quantico pm with Hotch was not what you were anticipating when you came for your shift tonight. You were only two feet away from him, but you could almost gaze into the sinkhole that sat between you two. Cold and dark, brutally reminding you that you’d volunteered for this abyss when you spilled your guts. You stopped yourself from shifting in your seat as another contraction of hunger pulled at your abdominal muscles. You knew that if someone were looking, they’d be able to notice the decline in your recent performance. You were slower, more zoned out, antsy, irritable. You were good at suppressing those things, confident in your ability to conceal them, but you had a feeling the man beside you could tell. He’d been looking at you all night, analytical and lukewarm, letting the start of a conversation sit just on the tip of his tongue. The silence, though, was taking it’s toll on you. It seemed to morph into a ringing that bounced between your ears like it was determined to slip into your skull and bury itself there. You realized you would take the most awkward conversation over a night of partnered solitude.

You wrestled with what to say, deciding to stick with your streak of brutal honesty. “Will you ever wanna talk to me again?”

He sniffed, continuing to stare forward like he was expecting the question. “I don’t know what you want from me, Y/n.” You didn’t know either.

You took a moment to mentally gawk at his words, tripping over them in your attempt to process the answer and decide how to respond appropriately. “Anger?” You felt yourself ramp up slightly, your hands moving as you spoke. “Resentment? Sadness? I mean… you’ve just been cold and I can’t work with that, Aaron.” You looked at him, mouth slightly open as you laid your helplessness out for him to see. “I need something.”

“I just-” He shrugged, shaking his head while figuring out the words he needed to say. “You can’t expect me to adjust to that information in three days. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.” It was deeper than that. You both held a sort of mutual understanding that these lumps weren’t as surface level as confusion. The woman he’d been infatuated with for years had confessed she lived on the blood of her fellow man, how the hell do you act after learning that?

You tried your hardest to be empathetic towards his situation. You’d lived with this arrangement your entire life, so it was hard to put yourself in the shoes of shattered expectation, but you tried. It hurt to hear him refer to you like you were a different entity all of a sudden - but to him, you were. “So ask me. Ask me any question you can think of. If you want to know something, I’ll tell you. I just can’t stand the silence, Aaron.” You put your hand to your forehead as you relaxed into your seat. “I miss you. I’m the same person I was a week ago.”

You heard him sigh and shift to be leaning forward slightly. “Do you have a…” He trailed off for a second, searching for the way to put it that would ensure you understood his question. “You know, a bloodlust? Do you feel what the kid is feeling?”

The air solidified in your lungs. Yes, you absolutely fucking did. However, you weren’t going to sit there and profess your never ending homicidal urges to a man who was already struggling to accept your bare minimum. You weren’t going to scare the man you cared for more than you already had. “Um…you could call it that, I guess. I do know what he’s feeling right now, but I don’t live in his mindset anymore. It gets less the more you live with it.” You weren’t lying, per say. It truly did get easier to manage, you were simply omitting the follow up of still being a bottomless pit for the substance. Just because you weren’t enslaved to it anymore didn’t mean the constant possibility wasn’t a part of your very being.

He looked over at you, and in the dim glow of the street light his eyes seemed fuller, pupils rivaling puddles of tar. “What does it feel like?”

Your lips parted to let out your breath as it elevated slightly. The car seemed to humidify in the moments between his last question and now. Was he actually asking that? “It feels like…this-” Jesus Chist how did you even put words to it? “this constant…pulsing…in your gums.” You thought back to the haze it used to cast over your mind. You could barely think clearly when you first got out, focused on stealing the life force from beneath the skin of others. “Your whole body just fucking aches for it.” The eye contact between you and him was searing past your eyes and sinking into your soul itself. It was different than any way you’d looked at him before, so full of remorse and pure want that you’re surprised he didn’t laugh at your patheticism.

You caught quick movement draped in a shadow from your peripheral and were knocked back into your actual purpose. You and him both exited the car, creeping up to the spot previously occupied by the figure. You didn’t see him, simply felt the force of him pelt past you and crash into your shoulder. You, to your surprise, held your footing and were running after him a second later. Hotch was just behind you, both of you sprinting desperately to catch the boy. But, just like the last time you’d walked this path, the nimbleness of his smaller frame won almost effortlessly against the two of you, and you lost him. This time, you’d lost yourself right after. You felt the nonexistent padding of concrete on the sidewalk bruise your body before you even registered you’d fallen over. The world wasn’t fading, you were very awake and very aware of the pain spreading to your entire right side. You determined - rather quickly - that your legs had just given out from lack of proper energy. The embarrassment of doing this in front of Hotch severely trumped the pain of hitting the ground.

“Jesus.” You heard the concerned mumble come from him as he crouched down to your level. “Are you ok?”

You said you were fine, but oxygen seemed to adopt the weight of a semi-truck and it got harder to accept the necessity into your body. You simply told him to stand up, following his lead and rising from your position with difficulty you hadn’t faced before. Your legs failed you for the second time, though, and you fell back onto your knees with a small sob of exertion being expelled from your chest. He crouched back down, stabilizing himself on his knees and letting you lean against him when you couldn’t hold yourself up.

“Y/n.” The shame of your current situation kept your eyes from his, only looking at him when he forced you to. “When was the last time you ate?”

You just shook your head, weakly trying to free yourself from his hands but failing. “Patrol’s been so high I just couldn’t - “ You sniffed slightly, gasping lightly as breathing became harder to do than the chase you just gave. “I couldn’t get out.”

He muttered ‘ok’ under his breath a few times, seemingly coming to terms with something, looking around in all directions before rolling up his shirt sleeve. The implication of the action registered instantly and you began squirming away from him. Mumbling words of disagreement that you knew he could hear.

“I can’t, Aaron. I can’t drink straight from the source - I can’t stop.” You felt your lips tremble as you recalled the feeling of impending doom clashing messily against the rush of excitement that coursed through you at the possibility. You hadn’t known that specific cocktail in years, you thought you’d go the rest of your life without feeling it again. “I can’t - please.”

“Well -” He started, pulling up his pant leg in search of the small switchblade he started carrying after being disarmed one too many times. “If we don’t do this, you’ll lose consciousness. That means they’ll take you to the hospital on an IV and you’ll have to explain why none of the nutrients are helping you.” You were so fucked. He was right, a rock and a hard place didn’t even break the surface of your situation. This was hell.

Your vision went blurry as the water in them doubled in quantity. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” Bastard.

“Aaron-”

“You’re practically catatonic, Y/n.” He let energy surge through the response, saying it more as an exclamation than a statement. “I’m not watching you die and I’m not letting you out yourself to some random workers because you’re scared. You need blood.” He positioned the knife away from any major arteries and dug deep, exhaling slightly at the sting. Softening his voice, he looked to you again, and moved his wounded wrist slightly closer to you.“Just let me help you.” You watched it run off his wrist and swore you felt the impact of the drops as they fell like a phantom pressure lighting up your skin. He was breathing heavy, you didn’t know if you were breathing at all; only being able to gauge the depth of your existence by how badly you needed what he was offering. You hadn’t felt yourself accept the invitation, only tasted the poison of it all once it bypassed your lips. You wondered if this was how Eve had felt when she succumbed to the serpent. If so, you didn’t blame her. You would have condemned all of humanity for this feeling too. It hadn’t ever felt this personal, this euphoric. You fed on strangers, never on someone who held as much importance as him. This trampled the idea of simply knowing him, this was a bond you could never backstep. It was done, and it was terrifying. The warmth he always seemed to emanate infested in you from the inside-out, beaming through your entire body and fending off any destruction being done by the famished vines winding around you. He held you against him as it happened, safe and welcoming, and it made a heat line your stomach with such intensity that it teased the idea of burning right through you.

He wallowed in the feeling for a few minutes, only stopping the exchange when he felt his head become too heavy for his neck to hold. “Enough, enough.” His way of tapping out, the words making you detach immediately with a slight gasp that prompted your panting breath. You realized he was panting too, eyes slightly wide and skull resting uncomfortably against the brick wall that sat behind him as he recovered. You assumed your face was painted with the horror that was flooding your system, but he couldn’t see the extent of the expression in the darkness surrounding you. “Does it always-” He was cut off by the approaching vehicles of your team and other officers. It was time for a shift change, and you felt a small sob intertwine with your exhaling breath and extend to the air around you. With your newly acquired strength, you got up and limped to the closest cop car. You forced away the urge to cry as you asked the officer to take you home, claiming an urgent need to check on your pets. Just add lying to an officer to your list of sins committed in the last 24 hours. You watched your team congregate around the still bleeding Hotch and bit your tongue. His actions had been so instinctual, so automatic in the way he rose to the occasion. He’d given you something nobody ever had, and you weren’t sure you would ever be looking at him again.

–

In the week that had dragged by since then, bodies were being found significantly less than they were. You’d successfully halted all interaction between your boss and you - which is much easier said than done - and had essentially treated him as though he didn’t exist. It hurt him - visibly - and you despised being the one to instill such a wounded haze to his eyes, but you couldn’t help it. No amount of oral hygiene procedures could singe the taste of him off your tongue. If you let the thoughts linger in your mind too long, you could almost feel the flow of his blood cascading down your throat. It threw you so effortlessly back to your freshly escaped fledgling days that it fucking horrified you how badly you wanted it. You really should have assumed that consuming the blood of someone you treasured would dramatically increase the craving. You weren’t prepared, not even slightly, and that would certainly manifest into some less than work appropriate advances should you acknowledge your boss again.

The lack of frequent bodies unfortunately didn’t reduce the amount of cops on the street, but you’d managed to slip back into your routine. It was about ten times harder than it used to be to both evade officers and find people outside but you were fed, and that was all you chose to focus on. You had left tonight’s guy under a park platform a couple blocks over, having to resort to unconventional means when hiding them post-theft. You hadn’t stopped your search for the boy, having been out every night since it started. Sometimes on the clock, sometimes off - always trying to think outside of the box. Clearly, that all proved futile, as there was a boy sitting on your front steps practically consumed by the surrounding shadows when you arrived home. You simply continued your trek, stopping maybe five feet away and giving him the space to control the situation. He looked up at you, pulling down his hood and standing to his full height. He was practically gleaming in the dim porch light, his skin seemed to reflect the moon in a way only rivaled by the finest china.

“What did you mean?” He was as timid as a mouse, looking at the ground as he spoke. “You saw me that night in the alley and you said you knew what was happening. What did you mean?”

You couldn’t say you were surprised your father didn’t inform him of your existence. Knowing the man, he would most likely deny your relation if questioned directly. “I’m like you, buddy.” You slowly let the bag on your back swing forward to a place of accessibility, grabbing the vial of the inky substance and flashing it slightly before returning it to your bag. “I’d offer you some, but I can’t imagine you’re needing it.” You swung it back to rest behind you again, settling the straps comfortably on your shoulders.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused but apprehensive, as though the motion might upset you. “You live on that?”

You chuckled at his innocence, barely being able to comprehend the pure dichotomy you were talking to. You understood it fully, but such a sweet boy holding such intense homicidal capabilities was an absurd notion. “Took me a while.” You nodded as you confirmed his question. “But yeah, about two of these a week.”

Disbelief quickly befriended the features on his face. “You aren’t…hungry?”

You looked at the boy with undiluted sympathy, you knew the feeling he hinted at well. If you were him right now, you’d have probably lashed out in a jealous rage at such an ability to control consumption. You hadn’t believed it was a livable amount until you’d contained yourself within it’s limits. “A little, I won’t lie to you. But it’s well worth it to avoid killing someone. You get used to it after a while.” He simply looked down, and you realized you might have made him slightly guilty with your wording. In an eager attempt to pivot the conversation, you told him your name, hoping to get a proper introduction from him.

“I’m Daniel.” You crouched down after he said that, wanting to open him up a little more by shrinking below his height. “You know my dad?”

You smiled at the ignorance, it wasn’t often somebody didn’t know exactly who resided on your family tree. “I do. He’s actually my dad too.” You preyed with everything in you that you were coming off as comforting, docile. You wanted him to trust you. “How old are you, Daniel?”

“Twelve.” Jesus Christ.

You tried not to let the shock ricochet along your face. You wouldn’t earn his alliance by being wobbly, you needed to be a dependent structure for him to lean on. “You’ve got me beat, kid.” He tilted his head, the meaning of your statement lost on him. “I was seventeen when I got away. Quite an impressive thing for someone your age.” Praise, you hoped, would solidify you as a place he could receive affection. He definitely wasn’t getting it from your father.

His eyes went wide, lips parted as you saw his head lean forward in response. “You escaped?” His breathing sped up, microscopic, something you wouldn’t have noticed had you worked in a different profession. “How?”

You felt the bottom of your stomach rip and release every ounce of hope you ever carried. Something wasn’t right. “How?” You questioned him rhetorically, mentally pleading that he wasn’t about to confirm your suspicion. “Are you still with him?”

He nodded his head with such casualty it broke your heart. You knew it was all he’d ever known, but seeing him have such peace with his predicament was a sight made of pure devastation. “Yeah.” He sighed out the response. “He says there’s no use in running away. That if I decide to just stay out one night, he knows how to find me.” You notice his averted eyes, a sudden embarrassment becoming evident in his stance. “I’ve…kinda been too scared to see if that’s true or not.”

“Why don’t you come in?” It took all the effort you had to suppress the desperation begging to penetrate the look you were giving him. “I can protect you, Daniel. He’s not as tough as he pretends to be.” In all honesty, you didn’t know if that was true. He’d never sent you out on hunts when you were younger. He gave you any indulgence you wanted, absolutely trampling your hunger cues and making you a nightmare on anyone with a pulse once you finally broke out. You figured it was a fail safe for if you were ever on your own. He couldn’t have you, but you would start piling bodies and would eventually be put down when they traced it back to you. You didn’t understand his game plan here. Why did he suddenly want a high body count? Had he been starving Daniel out just to set him loose like some feral bull?

He frantically shook his head, stepping away from you slightly and waving you off. “No, I need to go back.” He started tearing up, remembering the true reason he’d stepped foot on your lawn at all. “I need you to help me, Y/n.” He swiped at his nose as he bit back the tears. “You have to get rid of him.”

You felt your own eyes go watery at the ask. “I’m gonna get you out of there.”

He chuckled, light and short, puzzling you for a moment at what he could be finding humor in. “It’s not even about me.” He looked down. “I just wanna stop hurting people.”

You covered the tremble in your lips in a pathetic attempt to mask the sadness that poured from you at his declaration. “I’m so sorry.”

He returned his head to the safety of his hood, refusing your apology with a shake of it. “It was nice meeting you.”

You stared at him, every instinct you had sparking with the urge to shield him. Absorb him into the atoms that made you up and let live through your screen of security. But you couldn’t, so you just sniffed, reigning in any emotion that slipped from your grasp during the conversation and sealing it back inside. “I’ll see you soon.” And then he was walking away, turning slightly to offer a wave before resuming his role as part of the abyss around you. Only one thought remained in your head - You were gonna kill your dad.

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ladykailitha · 11 months

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Royal Pain Part 25

I make two promises about the end of this chapter. It's not what it looks likes, and that it WILL be fixed in the next chapter.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24

****

Steve was keeping busy. He was! Running a shop full time and his apprentices were only half way through their training, he didn’t have time to moon over Eddie.

But as much as he wanted to lie to himself he knew that there were too many times that he spent checking his phone for text messages, voicemails, and IG DMs. It was lame. And worse?

He had to watch this.

Vickie walked up to Robin. “Hey, babe. Can you show me how to do the multiple scheduling again? The time I tried, I accidentally scheduled all the way out to the year 3025. Which really, really shouldn’t be possible.”

Robin giggled. “I think they had to put in an end date and went as obscene as possible thinking that they wouldn’t have to update it in their life time.”

Vickie blushed and ran her hand up and down Robin’s arm. “Thanks for showing me again.”

Robin nearly fell out of the chair. Vickie quickly grabbed her and barely managed to prevent her from taking a nosedive.

“Right,” Robin said, ducking her head to hide her flush of embarrassment, she showed Vickie how to do the scheduling again.

He turned to Chrissy. “Please save me from this disaster, Duchess. It’s killing me.”

“You wish is my command, my liege,” she purred and stalked toward the reception desk.

Her outfit was barely this side of professional, but considering what other artist wore in their shops, he couldn’t call her out on it. It was pretty much the preppy pastel version of those other shops. Tight, light blue, skinny jeans with a baby blue tank top and white suede jacket, draped artfully on her elbows to show off her tattoos.

She leaned over the desk giving Robin and Vickie an eyeful of her perky breasts. She reached over and curled one of Robin’s loose strands of hair around her finger. Robin turned absolutely red.

‘You coming to Club Rainbow tonight?” Chrissy simpered, using the easier to say nickname for the Rainbow High Club.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said, glancing over at Steve and then back to her. “With E–with it being so quiet lately, I figured we weren’t going.”

Chrissy smiled. “I’m always down for bright lights, pumping music, free flowing booze, and...” she leaned closer, “pretty girls.”

If Robin had been red before she positively scarlet now.

Chrissy twisted so she was leaning back on the desk. She flicked a long nailed finger under Vickie’s chin. “How about you, green-eyed girl? You coming, too?”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

But it worked.

Suddenly Robin was tripping over her feet to say that of course she was going clubbing tonight, that of course she was. And that she was clearly out of her head to even think to stay home.

“Good,” she said, tilting her head back to look at Robin upside down. “Now convince your boy over there to join us.”

Steve gasped. “Traitor!”

Chrissy laughed. “Come on, Steve, you need to get out and feel the earth move under your feet for a night!”

His phone rang and suddenly his was on his feet in an instant.

“Hey, Eds...”

“Baby,” Eddie breathed into the phone. “You sound tired, you okay?”

“No, I’m good.”

“That’s good to hear, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “You doing anything fun this weekend?”

“We were thinking of going to the club tonight,” he murmured. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“Go, have fun, babe,” Eddie said. “You deserve it.”

“I guess.”

“Hey, while I’m thinking about it,” Eddie said nervously. “Did you find someone to fill my tattoo slot?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t,” Steve replied, pained. “I wouldn’t just have someone come in and fill your spot, Eds. That’s your three hour block of time, because you’re coming back, right?”

“Of course, I am, Stevie,” Eddie said gently. “I just worry about you losing money you could be making.”

“I know it’s twelve hours I could be making more money, I know that. It’s just–”

“Hey, babe,” Eddie said. “I’m being rushed out the door. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“No, of course. Miss you lots.”

“Miss you more.”

He hung up feeling worse than before he got the call. It had only been three days, but he felt his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

He walked back to the reception area, rubbing the end of his nose. He cleared his throat. “You guys go on ahead without me tonight. I don’t feel so good.”

The three girls shared glances but nodded.

Argyle took a deep breath. “Why don’t Jonathan and I come over with pizza while the girls go to the club?”

Erica came out her room with a grin. “Did someone say club?”

Chrissy cheered. “Hell yeah, girlie. We are going to have so much fun.”

Steve thought about the offer while the girls made plans, then nodded. It was better than being alone and he was really starting to like Jonathan now that he had broken it off with Nancy.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

The entire shop breathed a sigh of relief.

The club would have been better with its loud music, lots of people, and free flowing beer, but pizza night with the guys was good, too.

“Wait!” Steve said, his brain catching up through his fog of misery. “Erica is only eighteen!”

“Buzzkill.”

Sunday was awful. Dustin and Suzy kept gushing about how cool it was that they knew someone who was playing with Metallica.

He was thankful when his phone rang. He walked out to the front porch to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid,” came the warm voice on the other end of the line.

“Wayne?” Steve looked at the time on his phone. It was a little after seven.

“I figured since we were both missing our boy, I’d give you a call.”

“I didn’t really think about it,” Steve murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but yeah I guess he can’t call you if he’s on stage.”

“This is alright, yeah?”

“No, course it’s okay, I appreciate you thinking about me.”

“How have you been holding up?”

“It’s only been four fucking days and it’s liking I’m missing a limb. I can’t imagine what you felt when he moved to Indy.”

“That’s different,” Wayne murmured, “I knew it was coming. This was sprung on ya, it was bound to feel like shit. What’s eating ya?”

“God, I don’t even know. It’s just when we were finding our feet, the rug got pulled out from under us and I feel like I’m the only one that fell on my ass. And I know that’s not fair to Eddie. I get to live my dream, but he’s not allowed to live his? What kind of shit boyfriend would I be?”

“A hurt one,” Wayne muttered. “I always tell Ed when he gets like this he has two choices with me. You do all the talking and I listen. Or I do all the talking and you let my voice wash over you like a warm, comforting blanket.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks and he hurried to scrub them away.

“You talk, I just need a kind voice on the end of the line.”

Steve listened to him talk about the book club and a used car he bought recently when his truck finally gave up the ghost. He let the warm slow Southern drawl just wash over him and soothe his soul.

Finally Wayne ran out of things to talk about, but by then Steve was feeling better and they said their goodbyes.

And somewhere in Hawkins Wayne stood his kitchen with tears of his own streaming down his face, missing both of his boys.

Steve’s heart leapt every time he got a call, a text, a voicemail. He tried not to sound disappointed when it wasn’t Eddie. He made doubly sure he didn’t sound like that when Wayne called. They were both missing Eddie and he wasn’t about to take it out on him.

Robin was getting more and more concerned. She knew that he wasn’t sleeping, that he was barely eating enough to function and was pretty much living off Monsters and coffees too large to be sane.

She really got concerned when he ordered a six shot espresso and downed it in one gulp.

“Steve...” she said warningly.

“I took it slow like everyone wanted,” he spat out bitterly. “I respected his space and his pace. I rescued him from his evil ex. I dotted all the Is and crossed all the Ts and I’m stuck here wondering if he’s going to find someone better than me. Someone who likes metal, not just go to his concert because he’s the playing. That he’ll find another tattoo artist. A better one. One that will really let him fly. That he’ll pack up and move to LA and I’ll be here with a broken heart and shop I will learn to resent.”

“Oh.” Because what else could she even say to that. Because sure, he could do what Max did and just follow Eddie to LA, but he couldn’t do it immediately. He still had at least four months mentoring Chrissy and Argyle. Eight months on the outside. And by then what would be the point of moving out there.

If Steve was like this after a week, six months would kill him.

“You don’t know what’s going to happen,” Robin said. “You just have to trust him to talk to you and do what’s best for both you. How has he sounded when he calls?”

Steve frowned for a moment. “I guess like me, happy to hear my voice, sad that we’re apart. But there is this tiredness underneath and a hint of anger.”

“At you?” she asked, putting her arm around him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think so, but he won’t talk to me about it.”

“He probably doesn’t know how to say it,” she said wisely. “Just give him time.”

Steve nodded.

Steve made the first impulsive decision he’d made since deciding to be Hop’s apprentice.

He was going to get a tattoo. He made the appointment with Hop and calmly explained what he wanted and where.

Hop leveled him with a glare. “You sure you want this? You’re an artist yourself, Steve. You know how hard it is cover up a mistake. If I do this there is no going back.”

Steve nodded. “I want it because even if it doesn’t work out, even if we go our separate ways, I want something to remember him by.”

Hop took a deep breath and started his work. It didn’t take long. It was a small tattoo, simple enough in its design. He would have done it himself if Robin hadn’t stopped him.

Soon it was done and Hop scooted back on his chair. He cleaned Steve up, bandaged it, and wrapped it in plastic wrap.

“There you go, kid,” Hop said. “I hope it’s what you wanted.”

Steve nodded. “It is. I promise I won’t regret getting it.”

Hop sighed and got to his feet. “You’re smart man, Steve. A good tattoo artist, too. You’ve been through so much in such a short time. I think you need to take a break and just think. About the shop, your apprentices, your employees, friends, Eddie. Decide what you want and then go for it okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s just I’m the only full artist at my shop, I can’t take time off without closing it.”

Hop nodded back. “I’ve been there. I just worry about you.”

Steve sighed. “I worry about me too.”

Steve was vibrating out of his skin. The band was coming home today. He was going to see Eddie today.

But when the bus pulled up to the depot and they all filed out, there were only three of them.

Miranda and Jeff were hugging and kissing, Brian and Cecil were hugging. Even Gareth was getting swamped with hugs from his twin and mom.

But–

“Where’s Eddie?” Robin asked first. And Steve was grateful that she was there.

The other three members of the band looked at the ground, around them, anywhere but at Steve.

“He made us stop in Hawkins,” Jeff murmured and even Miranda was starting to look concerned.

“He wanted to spend a couple days with his Uncle Wayne,” Gareth said.

Steve heart plummeted to his stomach. “He’s not coming home?”

“It’s just for a couple of days,” Brian hurried to explain. “The tour just gave him a lot of things to think about.”

“Oh.”

Steve turned on his heel and ran out of the depot, shouts of his name following him out.

****

Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

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ecstasyhighway · 6 months

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YOU & I | an ellie williams fanfic series

this is a fic that will be posted and mostly updated on wattpad @ecstasyhighway this ff is heavily based off of you the netflix show and inspired by a ff on here which i cannot remember who wrote it but if yk lmk so i can give proper credit.

there is not smut in this little part here but its a filthy ah fic that will become darker as it goes on.

MEN DNI - 16+ i fear (im 17 so if u feel uncomfortable reading from a minor who will be 18 at the end of the year then u dont have to read this i really dgaf.)

ch 1 ch 2

silly story and more ff info under the cut

Ellie had seen you walking around the music store she worked at... her attention automatically shifted from the customer in front of her to you. Your hair, your curves, your eyes. Everything about you was just...

"hello? did you hear me?" the woman raised her voice slightly to get her attention,

Ellie snapped out of her thoughts and focused on the clearly irritated woman in front of her.

"yea my bad, what was that..?"

The lady rolled her eyes and started asking questions about guitar lessons for her son or daughter or some shit, she wasnt really paying attention to the nonsense floating from her mouth.

"yeah, im not the one you go to about that, uhhh my buddy Jesse is in the back, he can help you"

"thanks" and with that, she headed towards the back, muttering words under her breath.

Ellie's attention quickly turned back towards you. She examines you closely. Watching you grab a vinyl from the shelf, Call Me If You Get Lost, is what you had grabbed. Ellie wants to walk over to you, and talk to you but shes scared. What if she says the wrong thing? What if she freaks you out? What if you think shes a weirdo.. She turns away to stop looking at you, her cheeks are red and shes shaking, she is just so nervous and she's not even planning on talking to you... She puts her face in her hands and begins to calm herself down.

"Hi! hello"

A voice chimes from behind her, she turns around and a lump forms in her throat.

Its... you.

———————————————————————————

YOU & I | ellie williams.

this is a DARK fanfic. Based heavily off of the show you on netflix and inspired by a fanfic I saw on tumblr. This story has adult themes, sexual themes, stalking, thoughts of killing (no actual killing just thoughts), themes of hate, ellie has slight mental issues (obv shes stalking) age gaps (only 3 years and they're adults). idgaf how old u are this is dark and you have been warned, i am not responsible for any type of reaction you may have to this as ive given you a warning. I will give warnings at the beginning of chapters that might be too dark. again you have been warned.

important - ellie might be a tad ooc, shy!ellie, switch!ellie if you squint. this is a lesbian ff.

MEN DNI I WILL FIND YOU.

reader is afab and 20

ellie is 23

modern au

jessie, dina, joel, tommy, maria, most of the main tlou cast is in this (not everyone will be mentioned or even really have a place in the story, just know they are present)

based in New York (obv)

i am not a professional writer, im simply a girl who writes shit when shes bored, do not expect me to have an upload schedule. I get drained v fast and i want to enjoy writing, its not a job with deadlines. so with that my grammar might be bad, spelling might be ass and if there is any math it will probably be wrong, it might be written in third, or first person i be fuckin up with that but yall will be fine.

YOU & I | ellie williams.

story created and written by @ecstasyhighway

tlou and the characters belongs to Neil Druckmann and Naughty Dog

the story of "YOU" belongs to Netflix

Story was ib by a ff i saw breifly but i don't remember who wrote it so, if yk pls lmk so i can give proper credit

THIS IS FICTION. DO NOT DO THIS SHIT IRL BRUH ITS ACTUALLY WEIRD ASF. AGAIN THIS IS PURELY FICTIONAL. thank yew

uhhhh yeah enjoy ig and i do appreciate any supportive criticism as i am not a professional writer and shit could just be wrong.

also im new to tumblr fanfic writing so yeah 😭.

#ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie smut #ellie x you #fanfic #ellie is so hot #i need her so fucking bad #lesbian #ellie williams smut #ellie williams series #new to tumblr

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winxanity-ii · 5 months

Text

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 17 Chapter 17 | primal protection⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

When you finally regained consciousness, a wave of disorientation washed over you. You blinked, trying to focus in the dim light. You were alone, sprawled on what felt like rough concrete.

The air hung thick and heavy, a metallic tang stinging your nostrils. The distant rumble of something far below made your balance a bit unsteady. Your gaze swept the environment, taking in the barren landscape. Molten rock glowed faintly in the distance, casting an eerie red light across the desolate terrain. The heat, almost suffocating, pressed down on you.

Suddenly, the faint memory of Thirteen's voice, muffled and distorted, flickered back—about the "training zones." Ah, that's where you were.

For a fleeting moment, a strange comfort settled over you. The heat, the barrenness—it stirred something deep within, a forgotten memory from your past life.

Images flashed across your mind—ruling over realms of fire and brimstone, wielding terrifying power alongside your sisters, the other three Horsemen: Yoru—the War Devil, Fami—the Famine Devil, and Death with her chilling touch.

The nostalgic memory was shattered by a whoop that echoed through the desolate landscape. You snapped your head to the left, spotting a hulking figure emerge from the shadows. His head was a grotesque parody of a hammer, molten metal replacing flesh and bone. A cruel grin split his face, revealing rows of jagged, brown teeth.

"Well, well, well," he boomed, his voice a gravelly rasp, "look what we stumbled upon. Seems the League scattered more than just heroes." His eyes, two glowing embers recessed deep within his metallic skull, narrowed as they scanned you up and down.

Another figure emerged beside him, a wiry woman with forearms that looked like they were carved from obsidian. Black spikes, razor-sharp and glistening in the dim red light, ran along her arms from wrist to elbow. "Looks like a new toy for us to play with. How generous," she sneered, her voice a sibilant hiss.

The two villains cautiously circled you, sizing you up like a predator stalking its prey.

"Ya' don't look so hot," the hammer-headed villain chuckled, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Make sense. Unless you're some kind of fiery chick, you're toast in this zone."

The spiked-arm villain snorted. "She don't look like much, probably just a useless tag-along," she scoffed. "Maybe we can use her as bait to draw out the real fighters and have some fun."

You met their approach with a measured tilt of your head, a single eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

The heat seemed to intensify around you, the air crackling with unspoken power. These weren't worthy adversaries, but a small spark of amusement flickered within you.

Perhaps this little game would be a good way to pass the time until a more interesting challenge presented itself?

The hammer-headed villain, emboldened by your apparent lack of resistance, lumbered closer. He reached out, a massive metal hand engulfing your chin in a vice-like grip. He cackled, the sound echoing through the desolate landscape. "Hahaha! Well aren't we lucky? Got us a sassy one! Maybe Shigaraki wouldn't mind if I took her back to base as a little... pet project instead of killing her off now?"

Your eyes narrowed at his audacity, his words like a slap in the face. Your irises narrowed to pinpoints, a predator glinting within their depths. Your nostrils flared, releasing a hiss of raw power.

"Pet?" The word dripped from your lips, laced with venom. A sneer twisted your features, chilling the already scorching air. "You dare put your filthy hands on me and dream of a future where I am your inferior? Don't make me laugh. If anything, your place is beneath me. Where you belong." The amusement you'd felt earlier vanished, replaced by a cold, simmering fury.

The villain seemed momentarily taken aback by your sudden shift. But that hesitation was fleeting, replaced by a cruel amusement that twisted his already grotesque features.

A backhand swung across your face before you could react. The impact sent a jolt of pain through you, splitting your bottom lip and filling your mouth with the metallic tang of blood.

You hung your head, hiding the inferno building in your eyes as a primal rage began to boil within you, threatening to erupt and incinerate everything in sight. The villain, mistaking your posture for submission, seized your chin once more, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Oh yeah," he cackled, a sound that scratched against your already frayed nerves. "We'll have some fun back at base. Just look at those eyes." He leaned in closer, savoring the fear he thought he saw flickering on your face.

Just as you were about to unleash your wrath, a foreign sound cut through the air—a powerful explosion followed by a furious shout.

"Get your hands fucking off of her!" The shout was a primal roar, laced with a fury so potent that it sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up in time to see a blur of blond hair and crimson eyes. Bakugo had arrived, his entire form radiating a barely contained rage. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now wild and feral, fixated on the villain who dared to touch you.

Without a moment's hesitation, Bakugo launched himself forward. A massive explosion erupted from his gauntlets, propelling him like a rocket towards the hammer-headed villain. The villain, caught off guard by the sudden attack, was sent flying backwards with a surprised yelp, the force of the blast sending him sprawling across the rocky ground.

You stared at Bakugo, he looked like a man possessed, his rage a tangible presence in the scorching air.

With the hammer-headed villain on the ground, unconscious, the spiked woman rushed to his side, her eyes blazing with fury. "You'll pay for this!" she snarled, her voice laced with venom.

"Quit your yapping and fight me, you overgrown pincushion!" Bakugo barked as he ignited his gauntlets, explosions crackling around his fingertips.

The villain's face contorted in a snarl and with a scream, she lunged at him—her forearms extended, the razor-sharp spikes glinting menacingly in the dim red light. "I'll kill you!"

For a tense few moments, they became a blur of motion. Bakugo, fueled by rage and his explosive quirk, managed to hold his own against her relentless attacks. He dodged and weaved, countering her strikes with well-placed blasts. The air grew thick with the smell of burnt caramel and sweat.

But the spiked woman, despite her smaller stature, was surprisingly agile. She pressed her attack, eventually finding an opening. With a swift maneuver, she managed to trip Bakugo, sending him crashing onto his back. He grunted in pain, momentarily stunned.

Just as the spiked woman raised her arm, prepared to deliver a finishing blow, a crimson blur slammed into her side. Kirishima, with his entire body hardened into his unbreakable form, had arrived in the nick of time. The force of the impact sent the spiked woman flying several feet away.

She tumbled through the air, narrowly missing a molten rock wall, only to be caught by the hammer-headed villain who had regained consciousness. He groaned, rubbing his head with a metallic clang.

Bakugo, still on the ground but slowly regaining his bearings, let out a scoff. "You haven't had enough, huh, Hammer-Head?" he sneered at the hammer-headed villain.

The villain, his eyes burning with renewed anger, let out a guttural growl. "Games over, brats," he roared. With the spiked woman back on her feet, the two villains charged forward, a formidable duo fueled by vengeance.

Bakugo propelled himself forward once again, explosions erupting from his gauntlets. Kirishima followed close behind, a determined glint in his eyes.

The scorching air crackled with anticipation as the fight was about to reach its climax.

You, on the other hand, found yourself strangely unfazed by the impending brawl. Instead, you settled onto the edge of a nearby rock, a safe distance from the unfolding battle. Crossing your legs, you rested your chin on your hand, humming a soft tune under your breath, a stark contrast to the chaos before you.

The clash was a brutal ballet of explosions and hardened steel. Kirishima managed to deliver a powerful blow to the spiked woman, sending her sprawling unconscious onto the rocky ground.

Bakugo continued to hold his own with the hammer-headed villain, who, emboldened by the earlier fight, seemed to have shed his daze-inducing fury and replaced it with a condescending smirk instead.

"Heh, what a waste," he rumbled, his voice a metallic rasp. "You, with all that power, wasting it in this pathetic excuse for heroism." He circled Bakugo, his massive hammer glinting in the dim light. "Join us, kid. With us, you could be something truly great."

Bakugo scoffed. "You think I need your lectures, you oversized scrap heap?" He ignited his gauntlets once more, explosions crackling around his fingertips. "The only greatness I need is your ass destroyed!" he roared, lunging forward with renewed ferocity.

Seeing his words fail to sway Bakugo, the villain shifted his focus. "Once I flatten you and your little red buddy, I'm taking little Miss sweet thing over there back to the base," he boomed, gesturing toward you, "I'm sure the League will have a lot of fun breaking a fiery filly like her."

Bakugo froze mid-stride, his crimson eyes snapping towards you. In that split second, he saw the fresh bruise blooming on your cheek, the split lip that stained your face. The raw fury that had simmered down moments ago reignited with an explosive intensity.

A primal growl ripped from Bakugo's throat, his entire form trembling with rage. Before anyone could react, he was a blur of blond hair and fury. Explosions erupted with a deafening roar as he launched a relentless assault on the villain. Bakugo's attacks were brutal, fueled by a white-hot rage that seemed to consume him entirely.

Kirishima, ever the voice of reason, watched in growing concern. "Whoa, BakugBro! Chill, dude, he's already down!" he shouted, rushing forward to intervene.

But Bakugo was a force of nature at that moment. He rained blow after blow on the already defeated villain, the ground trembling with each detonation. Specks of blood misted the air around them, some landing hot against Bakugo's cheek. Just as Bakugo, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity, raised his hand for another explosion, Kirishima managed to grab his arm.

"That's enough, man!" Kirishima yelled, his voice strained. He forced Bakugo's arm down, the explosions subsiding with a final hiss. The hammer-headed villain lay sprawled unconscious in a crater of his own making.

Bakugo, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing with a feral intensity, slowly turned towards Kirishima. For a tense moment, their gazes locked, a silent battle of wills transpiring between them.

Finally, with a ragged breath, Bakugo seemed to regain some semblance of control. He ripped his arm free from Kirishima's grasp and stalked towards you, his expression unreadable.

When Bakugo reached you, he said nothing but held out his arms. Gently lowering yourself into his strong arms, you were deposited back onto the rocky ground.

Standing beside him, you allowed your eyes to take in the scene of destruction. The once desolate landscape was now marred by craters and scorch marks, a testament to the ferocious battle that had just transpired. Humming a low tune, a habit that surfaced whenever you were deep in thought, you turned towards the edge of the volcanic zone, the exit beckoning.

Without a word, you began to walk, Bakugo following close behind.

"Hey, wait up!" Kirishima called out before jogging over, catching up to you and Bakugo. "What a fight! Especially you, BakugBro. Even if you did went a little wild there for a second, it was super manly." He grinned, nudging Bakugo playfully.

Bakugo, still fuming but clearly regaining his composure, mumbled a grumbled response under his breath. "Yeah, yeah.. Whatever ya' say Shitty-Hair"

As the three of you navigated back towards the central plaza of USJ, you allowed your thoughts to drift over Bakugo's actions.

A slow smile played on your lips.

It seemed the instinct to protect you, once solely present when you held direct control over someone, had evolved.

Back on the playground in your youth, his fury had ignited when you were challenged by his ex-playmates. But here, the mere suggestion of you being taken had triggered a similar, albeit more controlled, outburst.

A fascinating development. Perhaps frequent exposure, like a well-trained pet, had instilled within Bakugo a possessiveness you hadn't anticipated. The thought sent a soft chuckle bubbling up from your chest.

"What's so funny?" Kirishima asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he glanced over at you.

You shook your head, the playful glint in your eyes a secret held solely between you and the volcanic landscape. "Nothing," you replied, your voice light and carefree. "Just enjoying the scenery."

The walk back was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional rumble from the depths of the earth and the rhythmic crunch of boots on rock. As you emerged from the scorching zone, the sight of the familiar plaza filled your eyes. There, in the distance, you spotted the rest of Class 1-A, a jumble of concerned faces huddled together, seemingly relatively unharmed.

But just beyond them, you saw it.

Aizawa, Class-1A's ever stoic and capable teacher, lay crumpled on the ground, his face contorted in pain. His head was propped at an unnatural angle, a sickening scene made all the more horrifying by the figure looming over him.

It was the monstruous creature from earlier with the exposed brain.

There, the creature held Aizawa's head in a vice-like grip, and with a sickening crack, slammed Aizawa's head against the unforgiving ground once more.

Even from where you were, you cold hear the horrified screams from the students below, their faces etched with terror.

Kirishima didn't hesitate, immediately rushing down the plaza towards the horrifying scene, determined to protect his friends and teacher. Bakugo followed after him with a quick "Stay safe" to you over his shoulder.

A slow smile played on your lips, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding below. This turn of events was unexpected, yet undeniably thrilling. With a glint of amusement in your eyes returning, you took a single step forward, ready to play your part in this unfolding drama.

The heroes, the villains, the fear, the chaos—it all fueled a dark anticipation within you.

A/N: AHHHH! Someone trade places with me i dont wanna live my life 😩 y'all so much shit just happened to me frfr. not only did I just unexpectedly become an aunt, but i have to move out my dorm, as well as complete 3 assignment papers and also take an Anatomy and Physiology exam 💀💀💀💀 AJSBHWKDS i'm tweaking y'all. anyways, i'm not gonna lie, i lowkey don't wanna write out the next scene 😭😭😭 we'll see, either i do it, or imma do a sort of time skip and do a small summary of what went down 💀 aslo, sorry for not updating these last few days, as you can see a bit ealier in this note i'm in fact not okay ❤️❤️❤️ but fr see y'all soon and thanks for the love 🥹

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nico-is-typing · 11 months

Text

"Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation", a guide

Notes:

The chapter summaries were written by the author and translated by the staff at the Mo Dao Zu Shi Wiki. This "guide" serves as a simplified overview.

To make it easier to access the information, this is divided into novel volumes. Aside from the list of chapters, and respective summaries, at the end you can find ALL FLASHBACKS (for people who, like myself, dislike flashbacks and need a previous warning).

Volume 1

Prologue

Wei Wuxian has died!

1. Reincarnation

Wei Wuxian is reincarnated into someone else's body.

2. The Intractable

Part 1: Wei Wuxian makes a scene in front of Gusu Lan disciples. Part 2: Evil spirit comes Part 3: Battle corpses

3. The Prideful

Part 1: I have a little donkey that I never ride Part 2: Wangji's long-awaited arrival Part 3: After washing my face, found out I was actually pretty handsome Part 4: Soul-eating woman Part 5: I am taking this person back to the Lan Clan

4. The Elegant Flirt

Part 1: Overbearing Hanguang-jun's crazy little escaping wife??? Part 2: Inviting death by crawling into his bed Part 3: First meeting as schoolmates Part 4: I hate you Part 5: Inviting death by provoking him Part 6: Teasing this Goody-two-shoes Part 7: Water spirit, loquat, muahh! Part 8: Rabbit, taking a beating, bye-bye!

5. The Sunny Pair

Part 1: Leaving the mountain to elope!!! Part 2: The husband duo leaves the mountain Part 3: Caressing your hand, huzzah! Let's go to a darker place together...╭(′▽`)╭(= =)╯ Part 4: Man-Eating Ridge

6. The Malevolent

Part 1: Rotten luck Part 2: Coming out alive Part 3: Nonchalantly shedding fake identity + princess carry Part 4: Unveiling the secret of the Man-Eating Ridge of Qinghe Part 5: Aaaahhhhh! What else is buried in the walls?!

7. The Morning Dew

Part 1: Come~~ be happy~~ let's drink wine~~ Part 2: "Sir, what's your last name?" "It's... Lan" Part 3: The extermination of the Chang clan, gravedigger, summoning Wen Ning again Part 4: Lan Zhan... is drunk......... Part 5: "You were so wild last night, Hanguang-jun"

Volume 2

8. The Stalk of Grass

Part 1: Foggy ghost city Part 2: Paper effigies Part 3: Paper effigy shop and sticky rice porridge Part 4: Who's outside the door? Bamboo pole clacks Part 5: Who are you, and who are you? Who the f**k are you guys really? Part 6: Secrets start unveiling Part 7: Yi City's story Part 8: Frost Blood Parts 9: Trash Yang incites the wrath of heaven and people Part 10: The husband duo decapitates Trash Yang, Xing-Lan-Qing gets sorted out, Yi City Arc complete

9. The Allure

Part 1: Wangji drunkenly hits Wen Ning, Xiao-Wanjun binds Wei Ying at night Part 2: Special program: "Drunk" by Lan Wangji, "Interrogation" by Wei Wuxian, "Kiss" joint performance Part 3: Take off my headband, you become mine!!!

10. The Beguiling Boy

Part 1: Headless man Part 2: Secret room, head Part 3: The Venerated Triad Part 4: A mutual fan-turned-anti story Part 5: A mutual fan-turned-anti story, complete

Volume 3

11. Supreme Courage

Part 1: Previous life Part 2: The beast at the end of the deep cavern Part 3: Wicked beast and biting Wan-jun, piggyback leads to heart aflutter Part 4: Tease. Flirt. Escape. Bite. Yell. Wail~ Part 5: Kill after finishing teasing, tease after finishing killing.

12. Sandu: The Three Poisons

Part 1: A storm is brewing Part 2: All hell breaks loose. A great slap Part 3: Upheaval at home Part 4: Wen Ning Part 5: Dead end

13. Ill Winds

Part 1: Rise of the evil and charming wickification Part 2: Continuing that rise of evil and charming wickification

14. Soft

Part 1: Inseparably in love Part 2: Sinister melody Part 3: Set out Part 4: Pouncing into a grass pile is a type of romance Part 5: Dig graves and eat melon Part 6: Crusade against

15. Peony for the Soon Departed

Part 1: Everyone, I like flashbacks Part 2: Shadow Part 3: Tossing flower from the balcony

Volume 4

16. The Unruly

Part 1: Crashing a feast Part 2: Defect

17. Distance

Part 1: Two people taking care of a little one together Part 2: Goodbye my love

18. Night Flight

Part 1: Wei Wuxian, lifelong anti-fan of Jin Zixuan, says "I won't troll Jin Zixuan for a year" Part 2: Wickification maxed Part 3: Die with her, everyone!

19. Core of the Truehearted

Part 1: Flashback ends, back to the present Part 2: Unmask Part 3: The crowd of corpses at Burial Mounds Part 4: Battle against the fierce corpses Part 5: A-Yuan, A-Yuan Part 6: Blinding the children by showing off Part 7: Spilling secret Part 8: Don't you know? Once you have a boyfriend, you must take him to see where you grew up Part 9: Pay respect towards heaven, saving mutual salute between couples for later Part 10: The truth behind the golden core Part 11: Jiang Cheng is shook

20. Day and Night

Part 1: Stealing lotus pods Part 2: One inn, one room Part 3: One is handsome, one is charming, therefore they should do something Part 4: Drunken Ji Part 5: Stealing jujube and chicken Part 6: Love bathing Part 7: Overthink Part 8: Now Wei Wuxian can't leave Lan Wangji

Volume 5

21. Hensheng: To Hate Life

Part 1: Time to beat Yao-meimei Part 2: Discipline whip scars Part 3: Confession Part 4: Rescue failed Part 5: I'm sorry. I broke my word. Part 6: But, those are all things in the past Part 7: It is all you guys' fault Part 8: Boss's dignity Part 9: All gathered in one hall

22. Hidden Edge

Part 1: Everyone fights older Nie together Part 2: Nie Mingjue f**k you #%@&#*&@ Part 3: Seal the coffin Part 4: Everyone has their own path

23. Wangxian: Forgetting Envy

Part 1: Every day is every day Part 2: Sweet Part 3: The ballad of Wangxian was as long as the journey here, now the song has ended but the couple are together at last

Extras

Family Banquet

Part 1: Honeymoon, going back to check up on Hubby's family (○｀3′○） Part 2: Honeymoon, day-to-day accounts Part 3: Daily lives of the lovey-dovey husband duo

The Incense Burner

Part 1: Let's gather around and watch Er-gege's () dream Part 2: Yiling Patriarch Xian vs Young Wangji, KO

Villainous Friends

The daily lives of the evil duo, committing crimes and wiping evidence

Gate Crasher

Part 1: A small night-hunt after Wangxian goes into seclusion Part 2: Catching creatures with Sizhui Part 3: You're a virgin? :P

The Iron Hook

Part 1: Patriarch's night-hunt course Part 2: Second night-hunt notes

Lotus Seeds

Summertime of youth

Yunmeng

A dream among clouds, a dream come true

From Dawn till Dusk

Cuddling and grading papers

Flashbacks

Vol. 1

From "The Elegant Flirt, Part 3" to "The Elegant Flirt, Part 8"

Flashback to the beginning of the Cloud Recesses' Arc. Includes: Wei Wuxian and Lan Wanji's first meeting at around fifteen years old.

Between "The Morning Dew, Part 2" and "The Morning Dew, Part 3"

Lan Wangji (re)tells the story of Xiao Xingchen and the massacre of the Yueyang Chang Clan.

Vol. 2

From "The Stalk of Grass, Part 6" to "The Stalk of Grass, Part 9"

Past memories, from performing Empathy on A-Qing (ghost) Includes: The expanded story of Xiao Xingchen, A-Qing, Xue Yang, and Song Lan; What is really happening in Yi City.

In "The Allure, Part 3"

Minor flashback to the archery contest, at the Qishan Wen Clan's Discussion Conference. Includes: One of the first forehead-ribbon incidents

From "The Beguiling Boy, Part 3" to "The Beguiling Boy, Part 5"

Past memories, from Nie Mingjue (non-consensual Empathy) Includes: Meng Yao's back story; A look into sworn-brotherhood; What really happened to Nie Mingjue?

Vol. 3

From "Supreme Courage, Part 1" to "III Winds, Part 2"

Flashback to Wei Wuxian's first life. Includes: Nightless City Arc (Wen Clan of Qishan); Burial Mounds, the first appearance; The demise of Wen Chao; Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji realizing Wei WuxIan has changed.

From "Peony for the Soon Departed, Part 1" to "Peony for the Soon Departed, Part 3"

Flashback to Wei Wuxian's first life. Includes: Archery competition, the full story; A sneaky kiss; Jin Zixun being the worst.

Vol. 4

From "The Unruly, Part 1" to "The Unruly, Part 3"

Flashback to the "The Downfall of Wei Wuxian". Includes: Crashing the Jin banquet; Qiongqi Path (freeing the remnants of Qishan Wen Clan); Turning the Burial Mounds into a home; Cultivation World leaders start scheming; Jiang Cheng wants to fight.

From "Distance, Part 1" to "Distance, Part 2"

Flashback to the "The Downfall of Wei Wuxian" continues. Includes: Lan Wangi visiting the Burial Mounds; Accidentally adopting a child together; "Rich-gege"; Jiang Yanli is a bride now.

From "Night Flight, Part 1" to "Night Flight, Part 3"

Flashback to the "The Downfall of Wei Wuxian" continues. Includes: Wei Wuxian tries to be a good uncle; Ambush at Qiongqi Path; R.I.P Jin Zixuan and good-riddance Jin Zixun; The Wen siblings surrender; Wei Wuxian says goodbye to his remaining sanity (Yanli deserved better); Bloodbath of Nightless City ensues.

There's no actual flashbacks in Vol. 5. Still, some of the Extras take place in the past.

#grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mdzs #mxtx #wangxian #mxtx mdzs

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rainbow-crane · 4 months

Text

I'm feeling like being controversial today. Here, take some DR character opinions. Clutch your pearls besties

17- Makoto. I feel nothing for this character, in any positive or negative direction. To me, he's only ever been the vessel for which THH takes place for the player. That's kind of it. Bro is just chilling. (Note: these opinions are exclusive to the THH game.)

16- Leon. He suffers from what I like to call chapter 1 syndrome. Not only was he killed extremely early, but he had no plot or character significance before or after the fact in-game. I think the idea of a character that hates their talent is really interesting, and his design slaps, but he just didn't have any sticking power for me.

15- Yasuhiro. He's got funny moments here and there (the ghost bit in the ch 5 trial never fails to make me laugh) but he has no story. They don't do anything with him besides 'stupid occult man' jokes, and I can't help but feel like there was wasted potential to do something with his fortune-telling talent that was only ever used as another gag of his stupidity. Disappointing as a character, but at least he was around longer than Leon.

14- Byakuya. Asshole characters are always hit-or-miss for me, and Byakuya missed by a ton. I know he *technically* got showed up during the chapter 4 trial, but getting upstaged once and acting like nothing happened afterwards isn't enough of a character arc for me to find him surviving over so many others in the cast worth it. He's also just pretty weak as an antagonist in comparison to the others in the series(not to mention there was an objectively better option for antag in this very cast). He's the type of character I'd probably like way more in like, Ace Attorney, but here I just got so sick of hearing him speak.

13- Hifumi. I can appreciate the attempt to make a subversion of the 'perverted nerd' character, but they failed the second they actually made him a perverted nerd, even if they gave him that bare minimum ideal of rape being bad. Fanon interpretations of what could've been prop him up for me a good bit, too.

12- Mukuro. Similar to Makoto, she feels like a character that exists to serve a narrative purpose, and we never really meet her as herself in-game. Unlike Makoto, we actually got FTEs playable in the post-game that allude to a greater story with her and her doubt in despair that makes her retroactively more tragic and adds both to herself and her sister.

11- Toko. They just didn't do enough with her in THH to warrant me placing her any higher than this. I think the differences between her and Genocider are interesting, and I wish they'd been given more growth in the game instead of spending the entire game post-chapter 2 pining over and stalking Byakuya. Toko gets ranked lower because she wasn't as fun to have onscreen and I got sick of her insisting people disliked her for being ugly, even though she's pretty conventionally attractive beyond having glasses.

10- Junko. She was an incredible mastermind twist and had a ton of charisma and presence in the final trial, from her sprites to the VA's performance, but they just didn't use her enough to warrant putting her any higher than the characters above.

9- Mondo. I like the characters he's attached to more than I do Mondo himself. I like the 2-sided coin of toxic masculinity they write between him and Chihiro, and I love his relationship with Taka, but I just don't care much for him outside of what he provides for those characters. He's fine.

8- Genocider. Basically everything I said with Toko, but she's way more entertaining from her cheery and violent personality and is just more expressive and fun. I got excited whenever she came onscreen because I knew I was about to have a good time.

7- I don't think you could change Kyoko's role in the story much at all without drastically altering the game as a whole. Makoto may be the POV, but Kyoko is undoubtedly the main character of THH and not only is she the most capable member of the class, but her growth as she opens up to Y/N Makoto and puts her faith not only in the absolute truth, but also hope is beautiful to watch, especially as we get to learn the mystery of who she is and where she came from. In another world, she'd be my #1, but I've never actually shed tears for her so she ends up as low as 7th.

6- I'd say from an objective standpoint, Sakura is probably the most well-written character in THH. Her internal conflict as she's forced to play the role of spy paired with her rapidly growing relationship with Hina as she finally, finally finds someone that sees her as the woman she so desperately wants to be acknowledged as, growing past her greatest weakness- her fear- to stand up to Monokuma, and having to take the role of a fighter on for a class of people that hated her to be both victim and killer, freeing her classmates from having to become either- I think I've made my point. I still wish we'd gotten that 3rd-person fighter about Sakura.

5- When I went into THH, I fully expected Hina to be a dumb blonde character for the entire game, with no substance beyond her character design. Maybe that low expectation was what made her shoot so high up my list. She wasn't the smartest character, sure, and the game definitely focuses on her body an uncomfortable amount, but she still has an incredible arc in her relationship with Sakura. Her depiction of grief is so deeply emotional, and her sense of justice, which up until then had been alluded to but never put into her hands, became a weapon that almost took down the entire class with her tears. Not only does she lose her best friend, but she's then manipulated by Monokuma to make that pain so much worse by pinning the blame for her loss on everyone around her and herself. Her attempt of a murder-suicide of the entire class followed by the reading of Sakura's real will and her guilt and regret afterwards is one of the strongest moments of the series. I've always thought if Makoto didn't exist, Hina would've been a great choice for a protagonist for this game, since she starts with that same optimism and easygoing ability to make friends that Makoto does, but is a strong character in her dedication to her sports and fierce love of those closest to her.

4- As a trans man, Chihiro's story was a lot like looking in a mirror, especially when I was playing the game as someone who'd only just started opening the closet door. His insecurities due to his body and his attempts to forcibly feminize himself to receive acceptance and masquerade as something he wasn't was something I was intensely familiar with, and the tragedy of his finally gaining enough confidence to open up to a close friend and seek out help to try and become his true self, only to be betrayed by said friend and killed before he ever got the chance, was one of the best personal gut punches I've gotten from this series. Regardless of the transphobia and misogyny written into said storyline, he's a character I'll never not relate to. There's a ton to dive into with Chihiro's character writing, and he's one of those characters I can tear into like a raw steak and go not only into how he's treated by the show, but also by how many ways there are to write him better than the game actually did and all the different ways different corners of the fandom have treated him. (Also, to be clear, I'm not opposed to transfem Chihiros hcs, I'm using he/him bc that's what's canon.)

3- Taka. My beloved boy, underrated outside of his relationship with Mondo. I'll defend this man until the day I die, and will always believe he should've been a member of the surviving cast over Hiro. His constant uphill battle with trying to connect with and protect his classmates only to fail at every turn from his lack of understanding of social norms, going as far as to rationalize hobbies as a form of studying in his first FTE, and his pure joy in finally connecting with someone being decimated by the reality that that man went on to be a killer is so powerful. Watching him completely snap and go near comatose, only being pulled out of stasis by the news that an AI of Chihiro still exists and begging for forgiveness for not being able to prevent his death was shattering, and his fusion with his perception of Mondo pushing him over the edge only to be killed unceremoniously in the background of Celeste's plan was infuriating. This man struggled and clawed his way through the first half of the game for whatever scraps of screentime the creators would leave him, and then they tossed him out when they couldn't think of anything better to do. Justice for my man!!!

2- Celeste. Remember when I said there was a character more well-suited for the role of antagonist than Byakuya in this game? Well, this is she. Not only would she have worked as a narrative foil to the player, as Makoto and Celeste are both in the class for their luck-based talent, but she would've had a much more powerful and thematic rivalry with Kyoko, the girl who seeks out absolute truth, as the girl who wraps herself in a veil of lies. I already found her fascinating as she was, having a character that's unashamedly a bad person and follows her own ideals with no regard for the effects on the rest of the class beyond how easy it'd be to manipulate them, but her lack of regard for the class trials and refusal to cooperate could've been how she functioned as an antagonist, refusing to help the group when it didn't immediately serve her or intentionally leaving out details that put her in a bad position. Essentially, she'd function as an antagonist in a way inverse to how Kokichi functioned, which not only would've been phenomenal for THH, but for the parallel storytelling V3 later goes on to employ. That said, that's all hypothetical, but even without all of that, she's still an intriguing character that I can't stop thinking about.

1- Sayaka. I hated Sayaka when I first started playing, not because of anything she was doing, but because I didn't like how the game was seemingly gluing her to Makoto's hip. I didn't like having to slough my way through tutorial after tutorial going through her to talk to the entire rest of the class, and I didn't like being forced to burn my first FTE on her when there were other characters I wanted to learn about. I cheered when I found her body because it meant I wouldn't have to jump through hoops to speak to the other characters anymore. All that hatred dissipated as the first trial took place. Taking the cutesy sidekick girl and making her not only the first victim (something that was huge for the genre at the time) but also going on to reveal that she was actively betraying us and plotting to frame us for murder to save herself and her fellow idols was a genius move. Since then, Sayaka has become a stronger presence in my mind for this series, and her impact on the series as a whole can't be overstated. She put the first killing game into motion. She carried with her the first despair, and inspired the first hope from Makoto. Her desperation for a dream she had to fight tooth and nail for, that desire to hang onto her dream that'd kept her going for so long pushes forward everything. 11037 became a staple point for the series and the fandom, not just because of the poor western translation, but also because that was her point of regret, the guilt that stopped her from killing Leon successfully and ultimately saved everyone, her final moments being to save Makoto and the others. Every moment spent with her at the beginning is designed not just to make her seem like the desirable sidekick girl, but also to weave into your perception of her the darkness she carries on the inside, the dedication and determination to remain liked and retain her fame by any means necessary, feigning being agreeable yet still unwittingly developing genuine feelings for someone who's nothing but genuine. The money I'd pay for a prequel anime about Sayaka's rise to the title of SHSL Idol is unreasonably high.

#danganronpa #trigger happy havoc #opinions #sayaka maizono #celestia ludenberg #kiyotaka ishimaru #chihiro fujisaki #crane-talks

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fizzyxcustard · 7 months

Text

Covert Eyes (22)

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

Amy has now gone missing; will Lucas get her back home safely?

Official soundtrack list: here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

Key words/terms which people may not understand:

DVLA - "Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency' which is a government department in the UK and handles all driving licences, registrations and car tax.

ANPR - "Automatic numberplate recognition"

Amy was bound at her wrists and ankles and perched on a chair, with the rope around her wrists, binding her to the chair. She grimaced and squinted as the bag was pulled from her head and an intense light was shone in her face. Had she been knocked out? She couldn’t quite remember what had happened once she’d passed The King’s Head and felt someone drag her down the adjoining backstreet. Everything turned black and then she woke in this place. There was a dull thump in the back of her head and she had a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Amy Holland,” a voice came.

She could see the outline of someone from behind the light and they began to move closer towards her. By now and the light was hurting her eyes; every time she blinked and it felt like a stab of raw pain behind her eyelids.

“If you co-operate then you’ll be fine,” the voice came again. It was an American man’s voice. “I want Lucas North. He’s the reason my sister is dead. She tried to warn you against him but, of course, you wouldn’t listen. So maybe this will wake you up.”

“Wake me up to what?” Amy replied. “How horrible of a man he is? It’ll take a lot more than that to make me think anything but that Lucas is an amazing man and I love him. You can’t take that away from me.”

“He’ll definitely come and look for you though, won’t he? Play the doting fiancée and the hero so he can impress you.”

“He’s already impressed me,” Amy hissed. “What exactly is your plan here?”

“See how far Lucas will go for you, and then I can kill him with my bare hands.”

“I think you underestimate…”

“I don’t think you’re in the prime position to tell me I’m underestimating MI5. I have far more experience with the British security services than you. You started in November, and you seem to think you know everything about them. I’ve worked in intel for most of my life, and I know how your team work, darling.”

The adrenaline was pumping in Amy’s body as she looked up into the grey eyes of Sarah Caulfield’s vengeful brother. Her fight or flight system had come online, ready to push her into further danger or pull her from it. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. Her heart was racing, but she inhaled deeply, trying hard to somehow relax herself. Pulling against the bindings was of no use.

‘Caulfield’ as Amy referred to him in her mind, soon left her alone in the darkness again. All she had was her thoughts of Lucas, whom she knew would have realised she was missing. Their living arrangement and schedules was something both of them had become so used to now, that Amy knew Lucas couldn’t have overlooked any changes or slight deviations.

In the darkness and she replayed the times when they laughed together in bed, and he would tickle her under the duvet. But it would soon turn into a more serious moment and they would eventually make love. Caulfield surely could only go by what his sister had disclosed to him, and had no idea just how loving and gentle of a man Lucas North really was behind closed doors. She knew with her whole heart that he would get to her. Nothing would stop him fighting to save her. She had no place for doubts at this point. She kept her mind focused on Lucas and the words dum spiro spero: while I live, I hope.

***

Back at the grid, Lucas had been working constantly for nearly two days. He was running on pure adrenaline now, unable to let any kind of fatigue take over. All that mattered was Amy. He hadn’t showered, shaved, changed his clothes and barely eaten. All he had managed to eat was a chocolate bar out of Amy’s desk drawer.

“Lucas, go home tonight,” Harry said, coming to his desk. “And that is an order. We’re all on this.”

“Harry, how can I?” Lucas said, looking up at his boss with dark circles growing around his ice blue eyes. “I know Sarah’s behind this, or at least someone connected to her.”

“At least go and have a shower, change your clothes, get something to eat.”

Lucas travelled back to his and Amy’s flat upon Harry’s final demand. He entered the quiet flat, sighing as he did so. Everything made him think of her: the Disney figurines, the Tinkerbell mug which was still on the coffee table, the pair of pink, fluffy slippers which had been left in the hallway. The hallway – the place he’d made love to Amy for the first time. He could feel her gripping onto him, hear her gentle moans against his ear, feel her soft skin and smell her honey shampoo.

If she dies, what else do I have?

Lucas sat down on the edge of their bed and picked up a jumper of Amy’s, and as he lifted it to his nose, he could smell her perfume on it: Olympia by Paco Robbane. It was the very thing that made him aware of her presence in the coffee shop over a year ago. The sweet scent had hit him suddenly, and he turned to see her, sitting alone in the back corner of the café, doodling in her notebook. Then it was her green eyes that attracted him first; large and bright. For a few days and Lucas had battled in his mind with why he had become interested in her. She was not the kind of woman he would have normally become interested in or involved with. Sophisticated, independent and sharp women were the ones he normally found himself in relationships with. Amy was independent, yes, but she didn’t possess an obvious air of sophistication and was not sharp tongued, unless angry. She was softer, non-assuming, and unique.

Lucas bowed his head and wept. His one chance at a normal life, and it was being ripped away from him again, threatened by someone who could not let go of the past.

***

Amy had no idea how much time passed. She was left in a dark room, with her captors only coming to her to allow her to relieve herself in a bucket, or to offer food and drink. Lucas’ face was the main thing that Amy saw in her mind; he was smiling at her, his voice wrapping around her, telling her how strong she was. She held on to that, knowing that he would come for her. One way or the other, Lucas would come.

Caulfield came back to Amy, and once again, she had no idea how long it had been since he last spoke with her. As soon as he spoke, she felt her ears prickle as her hearing had become heightened due to the lack of light. The only noise she had had as company was the odd tap of someone from another room, or the sound of her breath.

“MI5 should be aware of your disappearance by now, Miss Holland. And no doubt your boyfriend will sweep in to save the day, giving me the opportunity to take him down. This is personal, and it’s just a shame you got caught in the crossfire.”

Amy remained quiet. Nothing she said would be of any use; this man seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, spilling his revenge talk bullshit.

***

Everyone on the Grid worked long hours to get Amy home. It had been two days now since she was last seen. Lucas was quiet, with his jaw clenched constantly. No one dared approach him, unless it was something helpful to the case.

On the afternoon of day two, Lucas’ phone rang. ‘Unknown number’ flashed on the screen.

“Yes?” Lucas asked, inhaling sharply. This could only be in connection with Amy. Why else would an unknown number call his work mobile?

“Lucas North.” Not a question. A fact. Whoever was calling was only stating that they knew they had the right number. “Will send coordinates. Come alone. If anyone else comes with you, we’ll shoot her. Leave your phone behind; we’ll know if you have it.” The accent was American, and the voice male. This was someone connected to Sarah Caulfield. He knew it.

Before Lucas could muster words, the line went dead.

Lucas rushed into Harry’s office, relaying the details of the call. “I need to go on my own, Harry.”

“We need to make sure you can be tracked,” Harry demanded.

“This is the CIA. I know they’re connected to Sarah Caulfield. Whoever was calling, is American. They’ll have metal detectors and know if I’m being tracked. This is between me and them.”

***

Amy was sat in darkness. The bindings had started cutting into her wrists and her arms ached, being pulled behind her back. The pain had been getting worse in the last hour or two and it was beginning to spread up her back and into her neck. The only time she was free of the bindings was when she needed to relieve herself or was eating, and even then, a man sat directly in front of her wearing a balaclava, making sure that she couldn’t run.

She let out a groan and tilted her head back. Her eyes focused on the darkness, her gaze falling further into it. In her imagination, she could feel Lucas stood just behind her, his lips trailing down her cheek and his arms wrapped around her middle. “I love you, angel.”

Time continued to pass. People came and went; that much she knew from the sound of doors opening and closing. There were muffled voices from the other side of what she felt was a metal shutter door. Whenever there had been any light shone toward her, she’d made out what seemed to be a factory-type environment. Voices in the room echoed, signalling that she was in a large space. More than likely she was still in London somewhere, stuck inside a factory unit.

More waiting. Food was served to Amy; porridge, later followed by a cheese sandwich. She’d had at least two lots of breakfast now, so she’d been in this place for two days.

Suddenly, a door opened from behind Amy. Voices drifted through into the open space and one of them she immediately recognised. “Lucas?!” she called.

“Amy?” he called back.

“Shut up, Superman!” Caulfield snarled. “Just get the fuck in there.”

Lucas cried out in pain, his calls echoing.

Amy whimpered for him.

A light was shone again, blinding Amy. She gasped and lowered her gaze away from the light. Slowly she opened her eyes again, wincing against the ache. She could hear scuffling, grunts and could see the very vague outline of figures, all haloed by the light.

Lucas was dragged to a seat and bound to it, just like Amy was. He could see Amy sitting a short distance away from him, and as the men walked away, he pulled himself up, the chair hanging against his bindings and he scooted over to her.

Amy heard him whisper her name and just before the light disappeared, she saw the outline of his features, immediately recognising that profile. She pulled toward him and drew her cheek against his, immediately beginning to weep. Just the sound, touch and smell of him made an innermost peace wash over her. His cologne wafted up her nose and she felt the tickle of his growing stubble against her cheek. Unable to embrace, Lucas and Amy kissed in the darkness.

As Lucas kissed down her face, he could feel her tears against his lips. “I promise to get us out of here, angel.”

“He said he wants you,” Amy said. “But don’t you dare play some heroic so we get split up. We’re getting out together, or not at all.”

Pride and love swelled inside Lucas’ chest. “I love you so much,” he replied.

***

Back on the Grid, Malcolm and Tariq had been going over every piece of CCTV footage they could find, piecing together a partial vehicle registration number from a white van that was seen one street away from Amy’s abduction point. That was all they had to go on. Lists of vehicles with that same description and last three letters on the plate were run through all DVLA databases. This line of enquiry came to a dead end. Until Ros noticed a small van, only just visible at a junction in a southerly direction from the street where Amy disappeared.

“There! I can just see the very edge of a light from the back of a vehicle. Malcolm, try and get footage from the angle looking down the junction and straight at the back of the vehicle.”

“On it,” Malcolm said.

A short while later and Malcolm had found that it was a small van which was registered to a window cleaning business. Also, it was noted that five minutes after Amy disappeared from view, the van moved. Two men, wearing all black clothing were seen getting into the van.

Malcolm continued digging into the details of the vehicle and the paper trail that it was leaving behind. “The van is registered to Ace Window Cleaning, operated and owned by Robert Anderson. I’ve mapped out through ANPR data where the van has been and which properties it’s been seen doing business with. One of them was the ground floor flat of Martin Page. And with a little more magic, I can confirm that Martin Page is an alias that is used by CIA agent Randall Blanchard, known colleague and field partner of Simon Caulfield, older brother of Sarah Caulfield.”

“Lucas was right,” Ros said simply. “Track the ANPR data of that van. Get everything you can on where it’s been the last two days since Amy was last seen. One of the agents obviously paid off Robert Anderson for use of the vehicle, hoping it wouldn’t be traced back to either one of them. Little do they know, we’ve got a lot of fancy tricks up our sleeves.”

***

Amy rested her head against Lucas. Every now and again, she would feel him kiss her head.

A night vision camera was hovering above them, and in another part of the building, in a sterile-looking white room, Simon Caulfield watched on. He stared at the monitor and then turned to his partner, Randall Blanchard. “Have you sent the package yet?” Simon asked. “First class?”

“All done,” Randall replied, taking a mouthful of bitter coffee from the paper Costa cup in his hand.

“We all know how doting Mommy and Daddy are with their little girls.”

“What exactly do you want to do with them?” Randall asked.

“Play with them a little, I guess. And then kill him. We’ll both get our revenge for what he did to Sarah.”

***

Forever tag list: @lathalea @xxbyimm @linasofia @knittastically @middleearthpixie @meganlpie @asgardianhobbit98 @rachel1959 @luna-redamancy @mrsdurin @quiall321 @missihart23 @lemond57 @evenstaredits @catthefearless @glassgulls @sazzlep @court-jobi @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @albionscastle @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @bookworm-with-coffee @danzalladaggers @ourlonelymountain @phantomessangel @estethell @windb3ll @protosslady

If you would like to be added to my tag list please let me know. Likewise, if you wish to be removed, please let me know!

#Lucas North #Richard Armitage #MI5 #Spooks #Lucas North x Original Female Character #Lucas North x OFC #Original Female Character #Fanfiction

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senashenta · 2 months

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Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: NC-17 (in future chapters)

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: This is my first time writing Destiel OR SPN (though I have written SPN AU in other fandoms) so please bear with me while I get my footing.

Also HH was originally supposed to be like a 10-page one-shot and the next thing I knew it was 79-pages-of-11-pt-Arial-and-counting and I was looking for places to divide it for chapters so. Yeah. This storyline kind of just took over my brain and became a THING.

Top Dean and Bottom Cas which I know is the reverse of how 90% of the fandom writes them, but I am tentatively planning a sequel to HH (depending on how well it does or doesn’t go over) that will flip them around so be patient shhhh.

Cas is younger than Dean in this AU by like… six months. Dean’s official birthday is January 24th, and I used Jimmy Novak’s birthday for Cas, which is July 10th. Since they’re both in the same grade that makes Cas younger. Just accept it and move on.

I have never been to Jacksonville or Florida, so everything contained within this fic is completely fictitious; business names, street names, school names, place names, everything except Jacksonville, Florida itself. :D

ALSO, before anyone corrects me on stuff, I am CANADIAN and I know the CANADIAN high school system/curriculum. I really have very little idea of how the US school system/classes work so like. I’m just making it up as I go. :D;; (Literally how many classes do US high school students have in a day?? Up here it’s FOUR.)

Please excuse my interpretation of jorogumos, I took a LOT of liberties.

Chapter Two will be posted next Friday, if you're into that sort of thing. You can also read this HERE on AO3.

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter One By Senashenta

Dean Winchester crept up the steps of Caspar High School in Jacksonville, Florida, and ducked under the line of police tape that marked off the area, heading for the little tent that had been erected just to the side of the building, near the bushes. The whole scene was theoretically being guarded by the police—but the officer they had left behind was asleep in his police car out front.

Bang up job, Jacksonville P.D.

That aside, Dean was good at his job, so sneaking into a crime scene was no big deal for him, guarded or not. And this was just your basic body check, there wouldn’t be any fighting or anything to wake the cop up—or that was the theory, anyway. (Even if there was, it wouldn’t be his first time being caught and or arrested, either, but they would probably just chalk it up to him being a nosy kid regardless.)

This was the first time his Dad had trusted him enough to drop him in a town to take care of a case alone. Of course, Sam was in Jacksonville with Dean while their Dad headed to Utah to look into a recent spate of killings there, but Sam was pretty much confined to school and the motel on this outing, as per their father’s orders. Still, Dean was going to be keeping a close eye on him: Sam had been known to rabbit in the past and he didn’t want to have to call his Dad and explain that he had lost his little brother (again.)

Now, Dean stealthily unzipped the tent flap and stepped inside, letting it fall closed behind himself.

What he was confronted with when his eyes adjusted to the darkness wasn’t a body so much as a cocoon, an oblong, rounded object the size of a person and wrapped in layers and layers of what looked almost like off-white cheesecloth or gauze. Dean leaned down and tapped at it with his fingers. It was soft, like silk.

Well that would explain why the police hadn’t taken the body away yet; there was no body, per se.

“Let’s see what’s inside you.”

Dean pulled the buck knife out of the back of his jeans, unsheathed it, and got to work cutting the cocoon open. The wrapping, though soft, was tough and sticky, hard to slice through, but eventually he hacked a seam lengthways along the cocoon, at which point he set his knife aside to pull the damned thing open.

Inside was the actual body; male, probably, and curled in on itself, shrivelled and desiccated and dried to a withered husk. At least it didn’t smell. Dean still made a face, even as he released the cocoon and picked up his knife, tucking it away again before exiting the little tent and heading off down the street, making for the motel he and Sam were staying at.

The Seafoam Motel wasn’t exactly high-class, but then none of the places they stayed at ever were. But it had walls and a roof, good locks on the door, it was cheap, and nobody asked too many questions about the occupants of the rooms, and those were all the important things. The Seafoam Motel ticked all the boxes for a financially strapped Hunter—and for his kids, too. Not that you would know it from Sam’s complaining.

At least it had wifi, the kid would have pitched an absolute fit if it hadn’t.

When he got back to the room the door was predictably locked (good job, Sammy), and Dean banged on it a couple of times, calling out, “Sammy, it’s me, open the door!”

After a moment of silence there was the sound of the chain lock and deadbolt being unlocked, and then the door was yanked open. Sam stepped aside to let Dean in and then closed and locked the door behind him, just like it had been drilled into him so many times in the past. “What’d you find?”

“Cocoon.”

“Come again?”

“Cocoon.” Dean repeated as he crossed the room, pulling his knife out and setting it on the little kitchenette table, then dropping into one of the rickety chairs. “You know, like the movie? The body was inside it. Wrapped up in this tough, sticky… I don’t know what. But it sure looked a hell of a lot like a cocoon to me.”

Sam was already heading for his laptop. “That gives us a place to start, at least.”

“Oh no, no no.” Dean headed him off at the pass, practically diving over and snatching the computer before Sam could get to it. “You’re not doing research all night, we have freaking school in the morning.” And then, “…I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Yeah, because you care about school.” Sam rolled his eyes and made a grab for the laptop, but Dean held it over his head where he couldn’t reach. “Dean.”

“I care about the girls at school.” He informed his brother with a grin, then added, “and it’s nearly two a.m., we’re going to bed. Research tomorrow. Sleep now. Besides, I have to check out the school some more anyway, just a cocoon isn’t going to give us much.”

Sam grumbled, eventually agreed, but still held his hand out for his computer. Dean deposited the laptop safely into his grasp and then started stripping down, falling into bed once he was in just his boxers and a t-shirt. “Get the lights, Sammy.”

Sam flicked the lights off with a long-suffering sigh.

-- --

Castiel Novak wasn’t having a great first day at Caspar High. He was relatively used to being the New Kid, his father’s job had them moving around a lot so he switched schools on a regular basis, but the hazing at Caspar was particularly mean spirited, he was finding, not to mention the building itself was an absolute maze, and he had been late for literally all of his morning classes simply because he hadn’t been able to find them and no one had been willing to help him out.

Now he was seated in the cafeteria, by himself but surrounded by the rest of the bustling student body, unsure what to really do with himself.

This wasn’t his first time being the New Kid. He and his father moved around a lot for his father’s job and Caspar High was the third school he’d transferred to since September. It was now January. His father promised that the moving would slow down, though; he could see how much it wore on Cas, even if the boy never said anything about it. He was going to start travelling for his seminars, instead, now that he felt Cas was old enough to stay home on his own. So Cas could potentially be at Caspar for a while.

He probably should have been worried about making friends. For most kids his age that would have been top priority, but Cas had always been a little different, and he thought he was fine on his own, if it came down to it, especially considering the first impression he was getting of the other students so far. It figured that the High School he was likely to actually graduate from would turn out to be full of nothing but jerks.

He was also possibly a little jaded from all the moving around he’d done in the past.

For the time being he just dug his lunch—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water—out of his backpack, unwrapped the sandwich and began to pick little pieces of it off and eat them, rather than taking proper bites as he usually would. He wasn’t really all that hungry, considering there were at least a hundred pairs of eyes on him at the moment.

And then—

“HEY NEW KID!”

When Cas looked up, a basketball was flying at his face and he had no time to duck out of the way—but at the last possible second hands shot out of nowhere, snatching the ball out of the air before it could hit its’ target. Blue eyes blinked, and his head swivelled sideways to take in the stranger that had just saved him from a black eye at the very least.

The guy wasn’t overly tall—probably around Cas’s height, give or take—with short, tousled brown hair. He was sporting a t-shirt and a flannel button-up under a worn black jean jacket. He was also wearing ripped jeans. But Cas was most taken by his eyes, which were a sharp, beautiful forest green. As he watched, the other boy eyed the kid across the cafeteria who had thrown the ball to begin with—then abruptly pitched it back at the offender. The ball slammed into the other kid’s head, sending him flying backward out of his seat and causing laugher to erupt all across the cafeteria.

Then his rescuer just looked down at him for a moment before dropping down to sit next to him, straddling the bench. “They tried that on me my first day here, too. Same thing happened then. You’d think they’d learn.”

“Thank you.” Cas offered with a blink.

“No problem.”

“I’m Castiel.”

“That’s a mouthful. I’m Dean.” And then, “the fact that you’re wearing a tie right now isn’t going to help your popularity. Also,” he reached over to physically pull the tie off Cas’s neck and dropped it on the table in front of them. Cas allowed it, somewhat baffled. “You had it on backwards. Honestly, dude, just wear t-shirts like the rest of us.”

“I can do that.” Cas agreed. He owned t-shirts. He grabbed his tie to stuff it into his backpack. Then he returned to looking at Dean, taking in his features and mannerisms. He was exceedingly good-looking, Cas decided almost absently. At the same time, Dean was looking him over as well, seeming to take stock of him, gaze alert and analytical. Scrutinizing.

Eventually Cas shifted a little and asked, “are you new, too?”

“New-ish.” Dean shrugged, “I transferred in two weeks ago.”

“That’s why you’re nicer than...” Cas trailed off and glanced around the cafeteria.

“Literally everyone else here?” Dean suggested with a laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it, but yes.”

“It gets better. After a few days they forget. They’re dumb like that, the masses.”

“Zombies.”

“Uh,” Dean hesitated, but then allowed, “yeah, sure, kind of.”

“You don’t sound very certain, Dean.”

“Well, Cas, I just think zombies are probably different than in the movies.”

Wait. “Cas?” He called himself ‘Cas’ in his head, but no one ever called him that out loud except his father.

Dean gave him a little amused look, “’Castiel’ is a lot.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“As long as it’s fine with you, that is.”

Cas nodded and offered a smile. “It’s fine with me.”

Dean gave him a little grin back. “Great.”

The rest of lunch hour was spent with Cas actually eating his lunch properly while he talked with Dean and they got to know each other a little. No one else bothered them for the rest of the time they were in the cafeteria, and Cas was hoping he would have at least one of his afternoon classes with Dean, but when they compared their schedules, it sadly wasn’t to be. Cas resigned himself to hazing throughout the day for at least the next week or so—until the rest of the student body moved on.

It was a novelty to talk with someone who overlooked his innate strangeness. Cas was so used to people giving him odd looks that Dean chatting with him as freely as he was now, was… almost baffling. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who could be popular, have tons of friends easily, and instead here he was wasting his time with Cas. It was… weird. Not that Cas was complaining.

When the bell rang to signify the end of lunch hour, Cas was mildly disappointed that their conversation had to end. He shifted in his seat a bit before asking tentatively, “you could sit with me again tomorrow, If you wanted?”

“I’ve already got a spot where I spend lunch hour, usually. Not in here.” Dean replied casually, making Cas wilt a little, then; “but you can join me if you want. Meet me by the gym tomorrow at the start of lunch, okay?”

Cas brightened again, nodding. “Okay.”

“Cool.” Dean stood up and brushed the nonexistent dust off himself with a grin, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas.”

Cas smiled back. “Mm, see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t know where Dean was going, but he was off to calculus class—assuming he could find it.

-- --

“Hey, New Kid.”

Cas was really getting tired of being called that, but at least this time there had been no malice behind it. More curiosity, if anything. He was seated in calculus, having found it with (relative) ease, trying to keep his head down and out of trouble when the voice spoke up from in front of him. He reluctantly lifted his head.

The girl in the seat in front of him was twisted around in her chair to face him, a wide smile on her face. Her hair was the reddest red that Cas thought it could possibly be. She gave him a little wave. “I’m Charlie. What’s your name?”

Cas hesitated before offering, “Castiel. But just Cas is fine.”

“Wow, yeah, ‘Castiel’ is…”

“A lot.” Cas echoed Dean’s words from earlier in the day. He was starting to relax now that Charlie was turning out to be friendly. He sat up a little straighter. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Charlie glanced around, “I know most of the population of his school are jerks, but calculus is a pretty safe class, so you can relax a little. Oh!” She gestured to the side at another girl, “this is Jody,” and then to the boy sitting in the seat beside Cas, “and this is Garth. They’re cool too.”

Jody had short brown hair and dark eyes, and almost a maternal smile; Garth was tall and lanky, kind of goofy looking but gave him a greeting grin that Cas couldn’t help smiling back to. He was definitely feeling more comfortable now, in this class, at least.

“I saw what happened at lunch,” Charlie said, pulling his attention back to her, “Dean Winchester saved you, which, like… what was he even doing in the cafeteria? He always vanishes at lunch time. No one knows where he goes. It’s a mystery.” She wiggled her fingers a little, “he must like you, ‘cause he usually just keeps to himself, or he has since he transferred in, anyway.”

“Mn, he said he was new, too.”

“Yeah, by a couple weeks. No one dares pick on him, though, he’d kick everyone’s asses.”

Cas coughed out a little laugh. “I got that impression.” Then, after a slight hesitation, “he said I could sit with him at lunch tomorrow. So.”

“Ooh, exciting! You’ll have to tell us where he eats lunch, then!” Charlie grinned at him, then rolled her eyes slightly, “aaaaaaall the girls have a crush on him. He’s handsome and mysterious and blah blah blah.”

“You think he’s over-rated.” Jody informed flatly, though her expression was amused.

“Over-rated?” Cas questioned.

“Charlie is gay.” Garth explained. “Like, so gay.”

“So gay.” Charlie agreed.

“Oh.” Cas shrugged. It didn’t bother him. “I’m not entirely straight myself.”

Charlie just grinned. “So you don’t think Dean Winchester is over-rated.”

He cleared his throat and glanced down a little. “He’s not unattractive.”

“Yeaaaah that’s what I thought.”

“I like girls, too, though, I just… I like who I like. I don’t care about their gender.”

“That’s valid.” Charlie gave him a reassuring smile, then just changed the topic entirely; “where’d you move from?”

Cas blinked. “Wichita, Kansas. My Father and I move around a lot for his job… or we did. Now that I’m older I guess he trusts me to stay home alone so he’s going to start travelling instead. So I’m stuck here.”

“It’s not so bad here once you settle in,” Jody reassured him.

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded, “and you’ve got us now, so it’s not like you have no friends.”

“You just have weird friends.” Garth laughed.

Cas couldn’t help the little grin that crept across his own face. He was actually perfectly okay with having weird friends.

-- --

In history class, after calculus, somebody tripped him on his way to his seat and Cas fell flat on his face. The rest of the students laughed. Cas just got back up and continued on, pretending nothing had happened. That was the best way to deal with bullies, he had learned, over his long and sordid history of transferring from school to school. Ignore them until they give up and go away.

Or, alternatively, have Dean Winchester throw a basketball at their face. That apparently worked, too.

In any case, after the incident in history, the rest of the day passed easily enough, until Cas found himself standing outside the school after final bell, just taking deep breaths of the fresh air and looking up at the sky—soaking in the fact that he was free, at least for the rest of the day.

“You going left or right?”

Cas blinked at the familiar voice and turned his attention to Dean, who had come up beside him while he was distracted with the general out-of-doors. He glanced toward the route he had to take to get home. “Right. Why?”

“Me too. I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh. Okay.” And then, “thanks.”

“Don’t gotta thank me. I’m walking that way anyway.” Dean nudged him to get him moving, and Cas headed off with the other boy by his side.

“No, I mean,” Cas waved one hand in an absent sort of gesture, “I mean for earlier. In the cafeteria. You really didn’t have to do that. And one of the girls I was talking to later said you don’t even usually go in the cafeteria, so I just… thanks. For going out of your way. I appreciate it.”

“You were gossiping about me?”

“I—” Cas began, then clapped his mouth shut again and shook his head in a quick negative. When he spoke up once more it was to mutter, “of course not.”

But Dean was already grinning, looking overly amused. “It’s fine, Cas, I’m used to being gossip fodder. What was she saying about me?”

“That all the girls here think you’re handsome.” Cas told him easily, but conveniently left out the part where he agreed with them. There was no sense in telling a guy he’d just met that he was already developing a crush on him, especially when he might be moving again any day. He really wasn’t sure he trusted his father’s promises that they were going to stay put this time. “And that no one knows where you disappear to at lunch time, apparently it’s a big mystery.”

Dean laughed. “Well you’ll know, starting tomorrow.” He pointed out, “you’re still gonna join me, right?”

Cas actually gave him a surprised look. “I didn’t think you actually—”

“—meant it?” Dean finished for him. His smile softened for just a second before returning to his previous jovial expression. “Mmm… I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. And besides, you’re different from all those other assholes, I can tell.”

“I like to think I am, anyway.” Then, “you are, too.”

Dean grinned again. “I think we’re going to be friends, Cas, I really do.”

Cas offered up a smile of his own, “I’d like that, Dean.”

They walked together for a few blocks, until they got to James Street, at which point Cas paused and gestured down it. This was his turn off, he had to walk down James to get to King Street where he lived, and it was… well, the term “sketchy” came to mind. James Street was all run-down houses, broken fences, guard dogs and probably drug dealers. Dean looked down the street, giving it a thorough eyeballing, before declaring—

“Nope!” He gave Cas a little push toward the street, but then followed him, falling into step beside him as they headed down James. “No way are you walking down here by yourself, dude, that’s just asking to get axe-murdered. Or worse.”

“Worse than axe-murdered?”

“Oh, trust me there are so many worse things than being axe-murdered.”

Cas would have to take his word for it. He couldn’t personally think of any, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. For now he was just going over and over in his head how this guy he had just met was walking him all the way home through a dodgy part of town, even though he didn’t have to. His tiny, newborn crush on Dean Winchester was probably growing teeth already, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Huh?” Cas blinked back to reality at the question and actually had to fumble for a response before managing, “July.”

“January.” Dean was paying very close attention to their surroundings while also trying to maintain a conversation and that was obvious. “So I’m older.”

“Only by six months.” Cas pointed out.

“Still counts. Means you have to do what I say.” Dean grinned at him fleetingly, “those’re the rules!”

“I don’t like those rules.” The younger teen gave a token protest. “I think you made those rules up.”

“Possibly, but they’re important.”

“Why?”

“Could save your life one day.”

Cas laughed softly at that, but Dean didn’t, instead falling silent until they were past James Street and out of the sketchy area that Cas had very much walked through unescorted on his way to school that morning. Dean relaxed visibly as soon as they were back to “normal” neighborhoods, his steps easier and his shoulder slouching a little, where they had been tense and taut only a moment before.

Honestly, Cas wasn’t entirely sure what was up with Dean, but clearly something was going on inside his head. He would love to have picked Dean’s brain about it, but he really didn’t think Dean would be up for sharing. Maybe he had an incident in his past, something to do with a neighborhood like James that had him acting like he was now. Cas thought possibly once they got to know each other a little bit more, he might ask, but for now…

“I live on King.” He gestured down the street in question when they neared it, “I really can walk from here, I… um. But thanks. Again.”

Dean’s steps slowed to a stop and he glanced around, as if checking the surrounding neighborhood before deeming it safe. “Okay, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Be careful walking that way on your way to school in the morning.”

“I will.” Cas gave him a little smile, “thanks, Dean. See you tomorrow.” Then he turned and headed across the street to King, where his father was likely waiting to hear a rundown of his day.

-- --

Lunch time the next day found Cas nervously waiting outside the gym, half expecting Dean not to show—that it had all been an elaborate prank.

Cas’s morning had gone alright, though, everyone seemed to be steering clear now that it had circulated that Dean Winchester was looking out for him. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Dean had done to garner his reputation, but whatever it was it had been effective.

“Hey.” A hand clapped into his shoulder and when Cas glanced up, Dean was standing there, “c’mon.”

Cas just stared at him. “You actually came.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean gave him an odd look, then gestured for him to follow and headed into the gym. It was empty right now, except for them, and Cas trailed after Dean as they walked around the side of the bleachers—and Dean ducked into the back of them, then dropped down and settled with his back against the wall. He waved a hand for Cas to join him.

Cas clambered in behind the bleachers as well, taking a seat beside Dean and setting his backpack beside him. “This is where you spend lunch?”

“Yeah. It’s private. Quiet, usually.” Dean shrugged, “I don’t mind you being here, though.”

Cas blinked at that, not quite sure what to say. “I—thanks?”

Dean tossed him a grin. “You don’t have to thank me for everything, Cas.”

But it was the polite thing to do. Cas opened his mouth—then closed it again. After a moment he just shrugged almost awkwardly and dug in his backpack for his lunch, unwrapping his sandwich and beginning to eat. He was so severely unused to having friends that this was difficult for him—socializing. He didn’t really know how to do it.

“Hey, what’s your family like?” Cas glanced over when Dean spoke up. The other boy had his head leaned back against the wall, his hands laced over his stomach and his eyes were staring off somewhere into the middle-distance.

“My family?” Cas swallowed a bite of sandwich and resisted the urge to shrug again. “It’s just me and my Father. He adopted me when I was five, but I don’t remember anything before then. It’s always just been the two of us.”

Dean smiled a little and looked at him. “I’ve got me, and my Dad, and my annoying little brother. But we get by okay.”

So neither of them had Moms. That was interesting. Cas took another bite of his sandwich and asked, “how come you transferred here? Does your Dad move around a lot for work or something?”

“You could say that.” Dean agreed, “what about you?”

“Same.” The younger teen nodded, in-between bites of food, “my Father is a motivational speaker, and he does series of seminars all over the place. The last couple months we were in Kansas, and Oregon before that. Now we’re here.” Another bite of sandwich and he continued, a little muffled, “he says we’re going to stay here, though, now that I’m old enough to stay home on my own. He says he’ll start travelling for his work instead.” A shrug, “I don’t know if I believe him or not.”

“Your Dad lie to you often?”

Cas sighed. “No, it’s just… I think it’s a stretch. That he’s suddenly decided all this.”

“Mm.” Dean seemed sympathetic, though Cas wasn’t entirely sure why. “Sucks that it’s this school that you’d be stuck at, after everything.”

“That’s what I was thinking yesterday.” Cas admitted, balling up the wrap from his lunch and dropping it back in his bag. Then he hesitated before offering, “but then I met you, and… things got better.”

Dean grinned again. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be good friends, Cas.”

Cas found himself smiling back—and then Dean lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair and Cas’s eyes caught on a tear in the cuff of his jacket. He tilted his head curiously. “What happened to your jacket?”

“Huh?” Dean lowered his arm to peer at the rip. He shrugged. “I don’t even know, honestly, half my stuff has holes in it and I never know where they came from.”

Cas was already digging through his backpack again, and this time came up with a spool of black thread and a needle, much to Dean’s obvious surprise. He waved one hand toward the older boy, “take it off and I’ll fix it for you.”

Of all the ways this lunch hour could have gone, this was not one Dean would have predicted. He looked at Cas almost blankly for a moment, then let his eyes flick down to the other teen’s backpack. It was covered in vibrant patches—a cartoon PB&J sandwich, a pizza box, an LGBTQ flag, angel wings, etc.—all obviously hand-sewn on. And oh. So sewing was a thing with Cas. Okay.

Dean pushed away from the wall just enough to shrug out of his jacket and handed it over, watching curiously as Cas measured out a length of thread, then snapped it off with his teeth, threading the needle and knotting the thread a second later. He was obviously practiced at this particular skill. So was Dean, but for different reasons.

A few minutes of concentration later and Cas was finished with repairing the rip in his jacket, knotting off the thread and snapping it with his teeth again, then tucking the needle and thread away before sheepishly handing the jacket back to Dean.

“It’s not perfect, but it’s much better, right?” He asked almost shyly.

Dean gave him a genuine, grateful smile. “Thanks, Cas. It’s great.”

Cas watched him pull his jacket back on, smiling himself now. “I like to sew. It gives me something to do with my hands when I’m feeling… I don’t know. Antsy, I suppose. Like some people play with pencils or fidget toys, I have a needle and thread…”

Dean was inspecting the newly-sewn spot on his cuff, and looked up with a grin, “I play with knives.” He informed Cas, only half-joking.

Cas, not knowing any better, laughed anyway. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… being nice to me. Thanks for this. For… being my friend.”

Dean almost told him he didn’t need to thank him again. Instead he just smiled, almost fond, and said, “you’re welcome, Cas.”

-- --

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell us where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”

This was from Charlie, who had one hand clasped to her chest and a positively shocked and scandalized look on her face. The entire thing was an act and Cas knew it, even having only known Charlie for two days. “Charlie.”

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell me where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”

“Aaaaaand there it is.” Jody drawled. Garth chuckled.

Cas just smiled apologetically. “It’s kind of a secret. I don’t think he wants people to know.”

Charlie pouted, “you just want him all to yourself, that’s what I think.”

Cas coughed and glanced down at the same time as Garth commented, “as if you care. You couldn’t be less interested in Dean Winchester if you tried, Charlie.”

“Not true!” Charlie insisted, “he is, indeed, a mystery that I am interested in solving! Just… not in, like, a romantic sense. Because ew.” Then she paused before adding, “I mean, objectively I can see where you would find him attractive, Cas, but just… no thanks.”

A soft laugh from Cas, faintly embarrassed. “Sorry, Charlie. I’m still not going to tell you.”

The girl heaved a suffering sigh. “You disappoint me, Castiel Novak.”

Again. “Sorry, Charlie.”

“You are not.”

He wasn’t even a little.

-- --

It became habit that Cas met Dean outside the gym every day at lunch and they spent lunch hour behind the bleachers, talking and laughing and becoming better friends, Cas’s minor crush on Dean growing into a huge monster of one very quickly.

Dean never had anything to eat at lunch and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cas, though he had thus far neglected to say anything. But the longer he knew Dean and the more time he spent with the other boy the more it bothered him. He wasn’t bringing anything from home, obviously, and never bought anything from the cafeteria, he just sat through lunch hour watching everyone else eat and going hungry himself, scribbling in a battered notebook that he carried in his inside jacket pocket.

And that didn’t sit right with Cas because some days it was obvious Dean was hungry from the way he watched Cas eat out of the corner of his eye. But why he never had food was probably a sensitive subject and Cas didn’t feel he had the right to ask.

He could, however, do something about it.

So the next time Dean plunked himself down on the ground behind the gym bleachers at lunch time, Cas sat down next to him, then swung his backpack around and fished out not one but two sandwiches, each individually wrapped in cling-film. He blinked at Dean and held one out. “Here.”

Dean just stared at him. “Dude, what are you doing?”

“Feeding you.” Cas stated matter-of-factly, and when Dean didn’t immediately take the offered sandwich, he just set it in the older boy’s lap and returned to his bag, digging out two apples and setting one next to Dean’s sandwich. This was followed by a pair of bottles of water. Then he shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”

“But—I—you—this is—”

Cas could sense where this was going. He headed it off at the pass. “It’s not charity, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s as easy to make two sandwiches as it is to make one.” He was already unwrapping his own sandwich, and paused to glance sideways at Dean before taking a bite; “we’re friends and friends help each other out, right?”

“We are, yeah…” Dean continued looking at him rather oddly while he started to eat, like he was having trouble with the idea of someone doing something so nice for him and not wanting anything in return. Eventually, though, he glanced away, as if suddenly shy, and carefully picked up his own sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite right off the bat. He was obviously starving. Once that was chewed and swallowed, he cleared his throat and offered, “uh… thanks, Cas.”

Cas shrugged again but gave him a smile. “As long as you don’t mind peanut butter and jelly, I don’t mind sharing with you.”

“…I am not eating the apple. Apples belong in pies.”

The next day Cas started bringing him a fruit cup instead. “It’s close to pie.”

“It’s not even.”

Despite his protests, Dean ate it anyway.

-- --

On top of eating lunch together, it had also quickly become habit for Dean to walk Cas home—mostly because he was very suspicious of James Street and that neighborhood in general, and he didn’t want his only friend to be snatched up by some monster, or even a common-place serial killer. A life of being a Hunter’s son had made him more than a little paranoid when it came to things like that.

Usually Cas made it outside first, and just waited around by one of the retaining walls until Dean emerged from the school a few minutes later, at which point they set out. Cas kept telling Dean he really didn’t need to walk him home, and Dean kept doing it anyway.

Because aside from his paranoia, he really did like Cas, and enjoy spending time with him, possibly too much, really—but walking Cas home also got him away from the crappy motel and his annoying little brother for just a little while longer, which was always a bonus. He was a Hunter, and he had a job to do, his dad drilled that into him all the damn time, but he was also not-quite eighteen and needed distraction every now-and-then.

“You’re quiet.” Dean was always quiet when they were walking down James Street. Cas always tried anyway. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking it’s going to rain.”

Cas glanced up. It was severely overcast, with storm clouds overhead and the humidity was through the roof. Dean was probably right. “Yeah, probably.” He agreed. “Hey, do you want to walk all the way to my house today? I could introduce you to my Father, if he’s in. We could hang out.”

Dean flashed him a little smile. “I can’t. I’ve gotta get home to Sammy.”

‘Sammy’ was Dean’s younger brother, thirteen from what Dean had told him, and attending Bedwin Junior High. Bedwin was Caspar’s affiliated Junior High, so if they were around long enough, Sammy—Sam—would go to Caspar as well. Dean seemed to feel that they wouldn’t be around that long, though, which was… disappointing. Upsetting, even.

Cas was used to moving around, himself, and in the beginning he had been young and hadn’t known better, he had made friends wherever he went, and then inevitably had to leave them behind. When he got a little older, he started purposefully avoiding making friends, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing them.

Now, at Caspar, he had dropped his guard again, and even if his father kept his word and they didn’t move again, and he was able to stay friends with Charlie, Jody and Garth, Dean… he and his brother were in the same boat as Cas had been in previously. So, Cas had gotten to be friends with Dean without even meaning to, gotten close to him, developed a huge crush on him—though he never let it show—and Dean could be leaving any day. It was only a matter of time, really.

Cas had thought that he had hardened himself to the reality of losing friends, considering how he’d grown up, but the thought of Dean taking off just… put a lump in the pit of his stomach. He really had it bad for the older boy, had since Day One, probably, Charlie was right about that much.

But Dean was funny and smart and so attractive, so of course—

Something heavy slammed into Cas’s back right at that moment, the blow cushioned only by the fact that he was wearing his backpack, and Cas yelped out a startled noise even as he tumbled to the ground, landing roughly on the hard pavement.

Whatever had crashed into him was still on top of him—a person, he thought—and scrabbling at him, one hand holding him down by the chest while the other grabbed at his hair and shoved his head to the side. Then they lunged forward and bit into his neck—Cas gave a sharp cry—and abruptly Dean’s voice shouted something unintelligible and he yanked the person off, flinging them away.

When Cas looked up, the person who had attacked him was standing a few feet away, wiping at his mouth and spitting. Dean was between him and Cas and had a huge buck knife in one hand (where had that come from?), holding it at the ready. When the stranger stopped gagging and lunged toward Dean, Dean braced himself and full-body tackled the man, knife flashing—first silver and then red—as he stabbed it into the man over and over again.

After that onslaught, though, and despite being stabbed several times, the stranger wrenched himself away and took off, fleeing into the oncoming storm.

Dean stood where he was for a moment, heaving, before wiping the knife on his jeans and tucking it into the back of his waistband, where Cas assumed it had come from to begin with. Then he hurried back over to Cas and crouched down, hands hovering uselessly. “Shit, Cas, are you okay?”

Cas brought one hand up to the side of his neck where he had been bitten, wiping there before dropping it again to look almost blankly at the blood on his palm. That was about when it started to rain. Dean reached to help him up, and together they got Cas back to his feet. He actually didn’t feel too bad, all things considered.

Dean was already checking out his neck, ignoring the fact that rain was pouring down on them now. “It doesn’t look too bad. It didn’t get you too deep. Could’ve ripped your throat out, you’re lucky.”

“It—what—he bit me—and—you stabbed him and he didn’t even—"

“Cas,” Dean looked him in the eye, deadly serious, and told him firmly, “that was a vampire.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #shut up sena #sena writes #horror high by senashenta

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