#or when he’d come out to annie

[peach-pot]

so in my version of community that lives in my head jeff comes out as trans to britta in the first paintball episode, to abed in critical film studies (which I just decided), and to shirley (accidentally, but nonetheless) in the foosball episode. still need to figure out when he comes out to annie.

[emiliehornby]

when you get me alone, it’s so simple

pairing luke castellan x fem! child of aphrodite! reader

synopsis while luke is known for making people’s heads turn at camp, you finally give them a reason to stare after learning how much everyone seems to want him

warnings implied sexual content, descriptions of a make out session

author’s notes happy valentine’s day everyone!! the voices in my head were louder than usual, so i figured we could all use a sweet treat today!! mwah!! i hope y’all enjoy these headcanons

On a particularly slow day, the Aphrodite, Athena, Apollo, and Hermes kids decide to spend their free time around the lake. In a glimpse, Luke can be seen laughing with Chris. A radiant smile is plastered upon his lips while he takes in the sight of you. In the distance, Annabeth sits with Grover on a towel, letting her toes wiggle into the warm earth. She watches the water intently, making sure none of her siblings are in any imminent danger when the giggles from Apollo kids, Sadie and Caroline, drown out her thoughts.

“Gods, what I’d give to be in his arms right now.” Annabeth’s ears can’t help but pick up on the conversation taking place beside her. “It’s no surprise he’s taken. But you’d think as a Hermes kid, he’d go for someone more like…us.” Sadie sighs.

Grover leans in closer to Annabeth, his interest piquing when she rolls her eyes. He fears that the daughter of Athena is going to give them a piece of her mind when she stands, but Annabeth merely picks up the frisbee that lands near her feet. She throws it back to where it came from and sits back down to hear Caroline encouraging Sadie, “Come on, it’s only a matter of time before you’ll get your chance. The Aphrodite charm has to wear off eventually. I mean, it always does.”

This time, Grover can’t stop her from turning to them. “Look, you don’t know how things seem to work around here, so I’m going to explain something to you.”

“What Annabeth means to say is that-” The satyr attempts to soothe the situation, but she cuts him off amidst her stubbornness.

“Now, I know not all the Aphrodite kids are palatable, but Y/N is easily the sweetest one I’ve ever known. And there’s a real reason as to why Luke is so in love with her. But I guess you’ll never find that reason for yourselves if you continue to act like this at camp.” This effectively humbles Sadie and Caroline, who mumble to each other while they make their leave.

As if on cue, you walk up to Grover and Annabeth. You’re laughing with a Hermes kid that soon leaves to join the game of frisbee, but it dies down when you notice Annabeth’s hardened stare. You place a hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?” 

Grover stands and hands over your towel while insisting it’s nothing. But Annabeth cuts Grover off again to explain, “Sadie and Caroline were saying things about you…and Luke.” You understand what she’s trying to imply and give her a squeeze.

It was no secret that Luke was well admired among his peers. Most of the time, it isn’t even an issue, but there were campers who thought they could change the course of your relationship every now and then.

Sadie and Caroline easily fall under that category, seeing as they completely ignored your existence when Luke decided to take you with him during their initial tour around camp…then there was the time Caroline pretended to lose her way at camp as an excuse to get Luke away from you and alone with her. And just two weeks ago, Sadie feigned hopelessness during a sword skills session. As the instructor, it was Luke’s job to adjust her form. However, it was glaringly obvious the Apollo girl had an ulterior motive, especially when she threw a snarky smile in your direction when she thought you weren’t looking.

“Oh…You don’t have to worry about that, Annie. I can handle myself just fine.” You reassure Annabeth to the best of your ability. She nods and stands to settle herself into your side.

In your peripheral vision, Luke is jogging over to you with his shirt in hand. You don’t miss the way Sadie and Caroline ogle at the thin layer of sheen coating his flexing muscles and the lines running down Luke’s back that aren’t actually sparring scars, despite what you tell the curious kids that help him out in the infirmary. You smile when he pats Annabeth’s arm and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “Hey, is it time to head back already?” He asks, putting his shirt on as Annabeth checks her watch.

She huffs, “Unfortunately. We should get going if we don’t want to be late. I still have to grab my dagger.”

It’s a comfortable walk back, and when you reach the Athena cabin, Annabeth bids you two goodbye and runs inside. Luke’s hand is loosely intertwined with yours as you lead him to the Aphrodite cabin. He raises his eyebrows, asking, “Did you need something from your cabin? I thought you were working on archery right now.”

You push the door open, sheepishly admitting, “I am, but I was actually thinking of skipping out on lessons today.”

Luke’s tone is suddenly laced with concern, “Are you okay? Did something happen at the lake?” He drops your hand to check you over, but his touch doesn’t stray far from your waist to prevent you from moving away. But the gesture is welcomed and you take a step forward, a shy smile peeking through the corners of your lips.

His worry for you falters, mirroring your love struck expression, “Oh,” Luke pinches your side. You shove his chest with a shriek. “You’re awful.” He tells you, but he’s already got a hand tracing lightly over your cheek.

Your gaze switches from his dark eyes down to his lips, “You love me.” and that’s all it takes for Luke to dip down his head and meet you halfway. Your hands reach down under his shirt, feeling the warmth radiating from his toned torso. You bite down on his lower lip, and you know you’ve sent Luke’s head spinning when he lets out a short whimper. He attempts to deepen the kiss, but you pull away before he gets the chance.

Your eyes flutter open, whispering, “Do you want to skip lessons with me?”

Luke’s lips are lingering above yours when he responds, “Did you even have to ask?” and pulls you onto your bed. He settles his back against the wall and hums in content when you begin to pepper pecks on his jawline. 

After a moment, you pretend to move off of him, “I don’t know…you were pretty excited for combat training earlier. Maybe I should just let you go.”

In retaliation, Luke’s blunt nails dig into your waist, “Don’t you dare.”

A warmth flutters through your stomach when you hear the desperation in his voice. Your fingers itch to tangle themselves in Luke’s ravenous curls, lightly pulling so he can look up at you. A deceptively innocent smile paints your lips and you don’t skip a beat to get him back on you.

Heavy breaths. Discarded shirts. Whispered promises. This is how you spend the next hour in between your skipped lessons and the nightly bonfire. It’s nice, but you know it’s your cue to take a step back when the crowd of kids crawling outside the cabin becomes heavily audible.

You’re still on Luke’s lap when you say, “You look so pretty like this.” Your eyes flicker from his own to his kiss swollen lips and rowdy hair. There’s an urge to run your fingers through them, but you settle for lightly tracing over the fresh love bites that are scattered across his neck and collarbone.

Luke smiles dopily while you admire your work, “I think we should skip lessons more often.”

You finally get off of him, throwing his shirt to his chest while you smooth yours out, “Don’t be such a bad influence, you’re a camp counselor.” You can’t help but stare again when the marks heavily peek out near his collar, fading in between the orange fabric.

Luke notices your longing gaze and walks over to you, “You know, you’re not the only one with charm in this relationship. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go, lover boy.” You roll your eyes and take his hand. You stumble on your way out, but Luke is there to catch you. He chuckles and lets his arm rest over your shoulders while you reach up to hook your hand with his. He helps you find your footing until your legs wake up on the way to the amphitheater.

“Wait,” You halt just before you reach the steps. You grab Luke’s necklace, gently pulling him in. You let your hands rest on each side of his marked up neck and he hisses at the feeling of your fingers gently pressing on his sore skin. Luke bites down on your lip in response, savoring the hint of watermelon that seeps through until you pull away, “Just wanted one more.”

You’re satisfied once you see the hint of pink gloss smeared at the corners of his mouth. He takes your hand again, guiding you inside. You spot some of your sisters, greeting them with a wave. They giggle at you two in response, whispering frantically to each other while you find an empty space at the front of the bonfire.

“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” Luke asks Sadie, who happens to be standing to his left alongside Caroline. Chris, who’s sitting a step above them, unashamedly howls with laughter at the sight. He leans forward to clap Luke on the back, catching the attention of Grover, who sighs in embarrassment, and Annabeth, who’s trying her best not to giggle at the sight of a gobsmacked Sadie. She and Caroline shake their heads frantically, broken words bubbling from their throats as they take in Luke’s glossy, blissful smile that he throws at you.

They finally give you the time of day, noticing that the reason for his contentment comes from your own swollen lips. You look back at them with a smile and take your rightful seat next to Luke, who wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer, watching as they go back to their siblings to start tonight’s singalong.

If the fire glows a little greener as Sadie and Caroline lead the singalong, no one comments on it. They all know better than to mess with the insatiable charm you hold on Luke. After all, you are your mother’s daughter.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance³

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: long, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, suicidal thoughts, implied torture, violence, complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, and i involve finnick more in everything Words: 8.1K

Masterlist | Part 4

a/n: switching it up, so this part is from finnick's pov. it's basically mockingjay one, then i'll do one more part for mockingjay 2. ly guys!

Finnick Odair was not sure that love existed. Or, at least he wasn’t. He could barely remember what his parents looked like, let alone if they loved each other. But he had Mags; she proved to him that love existed because he loved her. It was the falling in love that he was unsure about.

And then he met Annie Cresta and it was like he suddenly understood. Yes, this was what the poets were talking about. This was love. 

But they couldn’t be together.

He was being sold off all the time, taking countless visits to the Capitol. He couldn’t endanger her like that, let her get involved in the fucked up world he lived in. So he didn’t. He loved her from afar, knowing they’d never really be together.

He thought it’d end there, but then one night, he saw you. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was all his own will, but he walked up to you. He’d seen you at these events before, back home, and on TV, but standing there so close to you, it was like it was just hitting him how beautiful you were.

You were a victor, too. But he realized just how alike you were when he watched as you left a hotel room, in the same state as him. After that, it was you who took a chance on him until he almost looked forward to coming to the Capitol, just to see you.

You weren’t Annie. You didn’t remind him of what poets had written. No, he couldn’t describe you or what you meant to him in just words. What he grew to feel for you over time wasn’t akin to anything he’d ever read. This was so much more than that.

He loved Annie, he always would, but being with you made him realize what it was like to be in love.

But he never told you this, never said any of it out loud out of fear that he’d lose you.

Now he lost you, anyway.

The doors to his hospital room opened. He knew it was Katniss, but he didn’t say anything, staring right at the ground in front of him.

If he looked hard enough, he could see your face.

“Finnick.”

He looked up from his feet, but still didn’t look at her. He already knew what she looked like, and it wasn’t much better than him.

She was mad at him. She’d barely spoken to him since they got to 13, but he knew that she couldn’t have been much more mad at him than he already was at himself.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. “I wanted to go back for them—for Peeta, and Johanna, and Y/N… but I- I couldn’t move.” He twiddled his fingers with the rope in his hands, wishing it was your hand he was holding, but he wasn’t. You weren’t there. He left you.

He finally looked up at Katniss. She looked both emotionless and so emotional at the same time, lifeless but alive. “I- I love her, y’know?” He looked back down at the knot he was tying, sniffling involuntarily.

He was trying to keep it together, but without you, that was like trying to fix a broken glass without any glue. 

You were the glue that held him together.

And now the Capitol had you.

The words left his lips without much thought. “I wish she was dead.” He chose to stare at a spot on the ground instead of looking at Katniss’ reaction. His chest tightened. “I wish they were all dead and we were, too.”

If they had died, then at least they wouldn’t have been going through this, having to live but feeling so dead, anyway.

Katniss was silent until he eventually heard her leave the room.

There were words she didn’t say that still floated around the room, agreement that she didn’t voice. She was just as broken as him, holding on for dear life. He hoped that she’d keep holding on.

He had to have hope. He had to have hope that he’d see you again, that this wasn’t all for nothing, that they could build a better world that you could both live in. He needed to hope.

That hope was the only thing that kept him holding on, too.

He was in the cafeteria, sitting next to Katniss and Annie when it happened. The fanfare started playing, Caesar Flickerman’s face coming to the screen. He scoffed, tuning out and looking back down at the food on his plate, swishing it around. Recently, it had been hard for him to work up an appetite.

He looked back up when Katniss grabbed his hand, hers trembling. He soon realized why.

It was Peeta, on the Capitol TV.

Katniss got up, walking to the TV and standing right in front of it, shocked. He would’ve gotten up and followed her, tried to console her, but it was as if he was paralyzed.

Peeta was on the TV.

And you were nowhere in sight.

He heard the conversation that had everyone on the edge of their seat through muffled ears. Peeta didn’t look exactly like himself, but he still looked like the golden boy Panem fell in love with. It was so obvious that the Capitol was using him, playing him like a puppet, but what confused him was that they were using him and not the much more powerful weapon they had in their arsenal.

You were the Princess of Panem. Plutarch and Coin knew that; that’s why they wanted you. Katniss could light a fire, but if they also had you, then together you could cause an explosion. If the Capitol wanted to sway public opinion, why wouldn’t they just use you, someone who the people trusted and adored?

Suddenly, his stomach fell.

If they weren’t using you, then it was because you weren’t in a condition to be shown to the public.

He felt a hand on his, turning his head to see it was Annie, looking at him with a sympathetic expression. As if she could hear his thoughts, the smallest of sad smiles grew on her lips.  “It’s gonna be okay, Finnick,” she whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

How the tables had turned. Now it was her assuring him.

In that moment, he understood Annie like never before.

Because he wasn’t so sure she was right.

After Peeta’s interview, Finnick didn’t leave his room much. He’d lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, pretending that you were there with him. He could withstand the silence if he had you by his side.

But now, the silence was deafening.

Sometimes, he didn’t hear a thing. Other times, your voice would fill the gaps, memories of you flashing before his eyes like a movie. Sometimes, they weren’t memories at all. Sometimes, he imagined a different life for you where you were both happy, in love.

And, sometimes, he imagined what they could’ve been doing to you in the Capitol.

Whenever these awake-nightmares got too vivid, he’d find Katniss and sit with her, knowing she must have been going through the same thing. It was what you would’ve done, what you did with him and Johanna.

You wouldn’t have wanted them to suffer alone.

The next time he was around everyone else, it was per Coin’s request. She announced to them all that Katniss agreed to be The Mockingjay and that, in return, she’d look for an opportunity to extract you, the victors that had been taken.

Katniss moved next to him. “Finnick, I made the deal for Y/N, too.”

It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Hope—this was hope.

“Good,” he said. For the first time since he left the arena, he smiled. “That’s good, Katniss.” A small chuckle left him.

Maybe he’d get a chance to make those dreams of his a reality.

With a newfound ardour, Finnick threw himself back into the ring instead of avoiding the fight like he had been, sitting in on meetings and doing whatever he could to make this work. He would see you again; he’d make sure of it. 

He went with the propo team to 8, watching as the Girl on Fire did exactly what they’d all been waiting for her to do. He wasn’t the only one that was hopeful—so were people in the districts, the people in 13.

They played her propo at the next assembly. The crowd cheered, but as he stood with The Mockingjay herself on the sidelines, she didn’t look so cheerful. Finnick understood this, he understood it well, but he couldn’t afford to think like that with your life hanging in the balance.

She shouldn’t have to either, he thought.

He leaned closer to her, quizzing, “You don’t like hearing a fight song at a funeral, huh?” She looked up at him almost in the same way she did when he made that joke in the arena. At the memory of your response, a small smile arose on his face. “The more people on our side, the closer we are to Peeta and Y/N,” he reminded her.

She nodded, muttering, “Yeah,” and then turning back to the crowd. She didn’t look so convinced, but he left it there, knowing she was coping with this in her own way.

If Katniss loved Peeta even half as much as he loved you, then he’d let her do whatever she felt comfortable with.

But at the end of the day, it was love that kept them both going.

The next time Peeta was on TV, it was a wake up call for everyone. He didn’t look so refined anymore, so clean. There were bags under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days.

If this was what Peeta looked like and they still had him on TV, then what about you? 

A bile rose in his throat. He ran to the nearest trash can and threw up whatever they served that morning for breakfast, your face flashing underneath his eyelids. You weren’t smiling like in the dreams he had, but screaming.

He knew you weren’t dead, that the Capitol wouldn’t kill you, but when he pictured your face, you didn’t look so alive.

Oh, he wished he could’ve made you smile more. But in the world you lived in, sometimes it was too hard to even do that.

That’s why we’re doing this, he reminded himself. We’re trying to build a better world. But there were no words that Coin could say to shake the guilt he felt, guilt for leaving you, guilt for being the reason this happened to you. There was no band-aid he could put over this wound, no pills that could kill this pain.

But he had to push through it, and he couldn’t do that by sitting in his room by himself; every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. So he went to Katniss’ room, finding her in a position so similar to his own.

That was the man she loved on TV, even if she hadn’t come to terms with her feelings. She must have been just as guilty as him, if not more so. Finnick could remember a time when he rejected his feelings for you, too, scared of caring for somebody, scared of this happening.

He went through the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell, being sold when he was only sixteen, but falling in love with you was the scariest thing he’d ever experienced.

If that’s how Katniss felt, then he didn’t want her to be alone, not when she reminded him so much of you.

So he sat next to her in silence, letting all of the words he wanted to say hang in the air, hoping that she heard them. They sat there wordlessly until Gale came in, telling them it was time to go, that they were going to 12.

It was only when he was about to leave that he finally spoke, deciding that these were words he had to make sure that she heard, words that he needed to hear, too.

“We’re gonna get them back, Katniss.” 

She looked at him, forming somewhat of a smile and nodding. After staring at her for a few seconds, he left the room, going to get ready.

She didn’t know it, but the entire hovercraft ride on the way to 12, he repeated those same exact words to himself over and over again.

We’re gonna get them back.

While nothing could really ease Finnick’s worries, seeing the people fight back certainly helped. The revolution was picking up traction. The videos they shot in 12 had moved people so much that they were willing to put themselves at risk, just out of hope for a better Panem.

If they could do that, then he could, too.

He wondered if you knew about any of this, if you were even aware of what was happening or if the Capitol was just keeping you in the dark. Did you know? Did you hear Katniss sing?

Did it remind you of him the same way it reminded him of you?

He had so many questions, and so little answers.

Rebels in district 5 bombed a hydroelectric dam, cutting power in the Capitol. Not long after, Peeta Mellark was back on TV, talking about it. He no longer even looked like himself. He didn’t look like a victor, but like someone who had lost.

But Finnick supposed that was what a victor was.

Beetee managed to get through the Capitol’s firewall, cutting Peeta off with Katniss’ propo. They watched as tears filled his eyes on screen.

That was the first time he looked like himself.

Are you, are you comin’ to the tree?

He faltered. “Katniss?”

Finnick watched as Katniss got closer to the screen, shaking her head. She saw it, too. She saw the man that went into that arena with them.

But then, like a victor would, his mask went back up so quickly. 

“The attack on the dam was a callous and inhuman act of destruction-”

Where a dead man called out for his love to flee.

Peeta inhaled shakily, his lips so slightly quivering. “Think about it,” he said. “How will this end? What will be left?” Finnick walked closer to the screen, like he was caught in a trance. Peeta’s previously calm façade had broken and was replaced with someone who looked stricken by panic. “No one can survive this. No one is safe now. Not here in the Capitol.” He shook his head. “Not in any of the districts.” 

He stopped, looking right into the camera as if he was staring into Katniss’ eyes. He may not have known it, but he was.

“They’re coming, Katniss. They’re gonna kill everyone.” They heard quick footsteps behind the camera as Peeta rushed to get his words out. “And in district 13 you’ll be dead by morning-”

Then the camera cut out.

Finnick didn’t know what to say, glancing over at Katniss to see her cupping her mouth in shock.

Haymitch was much more calm. With Katniss spinning out, he had to be. “He’s warning us. That was a warning.” Behind him, Boggs said something in agreement.

Katniss looked to have gotten over her shock, frantically turning and fretting, “We have to get him out before they kill him.” She was ignored.

What about you? he wondered. Where did this leave you? But right now, what they needed to worry about was where it left them.

Otherwise, you wouldn’t have anything to come home to.

“It’s time for an air raid drill.” Seconds after Coin spoke, an alarm went off. Everyone that’d been fixed to their spot in the room was up, like they’d been preparing for this for a lifetime, and from what he heard, they had been.

Katniss went running, searching for her sister while he went looking for Annie and Mags, grabbing them and descending down the stairwell as soon as he saw them. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his mind blank, just as it was in the arena.

If he let his thoughts take control, then he’d lose it, and he couldn’t do that right now. He couldn’t slip up right now with what was at stake.

It was your life on the line.

He couldn’t lose you.

But a part of him knew that, the second you were in Snow’s hands, the you that he knew was lost forever.

Down in the bunker, Finnick sat on the bottom bunk with Mags off resting by herself while Annie had fallen asleep at the top. Sometimes, with her episodes, it was easy to forget that she was a victor, too, that she had danced the same dance you had. But she was, and she was dancing like never before.

He could tell that she had been trying hard to keep it together, but with all of the panic and the noise, it was hard. She fell asleep easily. 

Although the bunker was pretty quiet, his thoughts were still so loud. The last time he saw you played out in his head. He could still taste your lips on his, still feel your soft skin, still see your beautiful eyes.

I’ll see you at midnight?

Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight.

But he didn’t. He never saw you again. He would’ve never let you go if he’d known then what’d happen. He would’ve held you longer, kissed you longer. He would’ve told you he loved you.

If he’d known this’d happen, he would’ve told you long before The Games. The truth was, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he fell in love with you. It had always been Annie for him, and you were just there.

But that was exactly it. You were there. You were always there. 

Maybe he started falling for you after the first time you slept together. Maybe it was after your fifth time mentoring together. Maybe it was after the time he had a nightmare and you let him hold you. Maybe it was after you smiled, and really smiled, for the first time since you decided to start pretending to be a couple. He couldn’t be sure, but somewhere along the way, you became so much more to him than just Y/N Y/L/N, Princess of Panem and victor of the 67th Hunger Games.

You became the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He just wished he could’ve told you that.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when someone walked up to him. “Hey.” He looked up, seeing Katniss. She looked beat, her voice quiet. “Can I sit?”

He nodded, moving over so she could sit next to him. She had her family down here, that’s why he hadn’t gone over to her, but he understood why she was coming to him. After going through what they went through, it was easier to be around people who went through the same thing, who were going through the same thing.

Like she was reading his mind, she asked, “Are you thinking about her?”

There wasn’t any need for further explanation. Truthfully, he answered, “Yeah,” looking down at the ground. Every moment he had that wasn’t dedicated to this revolution was spent thinking about you.

After a second, she spoke up again. “Snow’s using her to punish you. He’s taunting us with them.” She scoffed a little. “I didn’t understand that until just now watching that stupid cat.”

She was right. This wasn’t just about propaganda. This was about Snow’s little puppets misbehaving.

So now he was showing them that, even in 13, he still owned them. He still owned Finnick. He still owned Katniss. He still owned Johanna. He still owned Peeta. And he still owned you.

He was using you against him because he knew how much you meant to him, the same way he knew how much Peeta meant to Katniss, even if she didn’t see that herself.

Finnick sighed, debating on whether or not he should say what he was thinking or keep it to himself before deciding that he had held enough in, that holding his thoughts in had never done him any good. So he turned to Katniss and started, “I- Y/N and I, we hadn’t met until after she won her Games. We weren’t really friends, at first, but rumours start fast in the Capitol, especially when ‘royalty’ is involved.” He humourlessly chuckled. “People were saying that we were dating, and so she- she thought the best thing for us to do was to let them believe it, let them have their love story. The alternative, two people coping together- that was a lot darker than what the Capitol could handle.”

She tilted her head, furrowing her brows. He watched as she put it all together. “Wait, are you saying that…”

He nodded. “Yes. It was fake. Our love story was just that: a story.” Surprise was painted all over her face.

“But… you told me that you love her.”

A ghost of a smile came to his face. “I do. I love her. It wasn’t like that at first, but over time, I fell for her, Katniss.” He saw a look pass over her face: understanding. What he was describing wasn’t just you and him; it was her and Peeta. “Y/N and I, we learned how to play the game. If anyone could spot a fake relationship, it was us. After your first Games, we thought your whole romance was an act. We expected you to continue that strategy. But it wasn’t until Peeta’s heart stopped and he nearly died that… I knew I’d misjudged you. You love him.”

Katniss looked away, like what he was saying was something she’d never even considered. It was so clear to everyone that she loved him, everyone but herself.

“I’m not saying in what way,” he added, understanding her feelings so well because he’d right where she was. “Maybe you don’t even know yourself. But anyone paying attention can see it.” He maintained his stare, even as she looked away.

With the life they lived, you didn’t want to give yourself to love, to admit that to yourself, to allow yourself to be vulnerable. But you could only hide a love so strong for so long.

She swallowed, gaze still aimed at the floor. “How do you live with it?”

You’re asking the wrong person, he thought, but that wasn’t an acceptable answer. That wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Right now, Katniss was lost; he needed to point her in the right direction.

Even if he still had trouble doing that for himself.

He paused for a moment, searching for the right words to say. “I drag myself outta nightmares and there’s no relief in waking up,” he confessed. “But I- sometimes, when I’m awake, I let myself dream about her.” Finally, she looked over to him. “I dream that, one day, when this is all over, we’re living in a better world, happy.” The corners of his lips quirked up at the thought. “It’s hope, Katniss. That’s how I live with it.”

Katniss eyes were dull, red, tired, but even in the darkness of the bunker, he was able to see a tiny spark light up in her eyes.

Hope.

They’d fallen asleep in the bunker along with everyone else until Finnick woke up to Boggs shaking him, telling him that they had to go. Coin wanted Katniss to get in front of the camera, tell Panem that they were still standing after the attack.

But, as soon as they stepped outside, he watched her fall apart.

Roses.

A rose?

They’re a Capitol favourite.

You hated roses. Looking at them himself, he couldn’t even blame Katniss. He felt sick, too.

She couldn’t do it. She was almost hysterical, so of course Boggs let her go. They couldn’t put her on TV when she was like this. But they also didn’t have time to wait.

With Katniss gone, Haymitch and Boggs pulled him aside to a briefing room, getting started on a new plan.

“Okay, what are we doing?”

They gave each other a look, much like the look Plutarch and Haymitch traded right after the Quell, like they knew something he didn’t, like they were getting ready for him to explode.

“Finnick, the dam that went down in district 5 cut power in most of the Capitol,” Haymitch started. “Their defences are down—Beetee’s gonna be able to get in now.”

His brows furrowed. He already knew that. 

Sensing his confusion, Boggs cut in, “We’ve gotten word that the victors are in the Tribute Centre.”

Suddenly, it was like his heart stopped.

You were coming home.

He echoed his thoughts. “You’re going to get them?”

“Yes, I’ll be leading the mission-”

“Well, I’m coming.” Again, they both shared a look, like they were expecting him to say that, and why wouldn’t they? You were his girlfriend; of course, he wanted to be there to save you. 

“Finnick-”

He cut Boggs off a second time, repeating himself, “I am coming with you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

He scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Finnick-”

“If you’re going to get Y/N, then I’m coming with you-”

“You are too valuable to this revolution for them to let you go,” Haymitch said, but Finnick really couldn’t give a damn about whatever reason they threw at him. You were all he could think about.

“I’m not just gonna sit here and do nothing while they’re being rescued,” he retaliated. For over a month, sitting around and doing nothing was practically all he’d been doing, fantasizing about you, unknowing of when he’d see you again or if he’d ever see you again, trying to imagine what you could’ve been going through.

He couldn’t just stand by while you were in a live or die situation.

If you died- no, he cut his thoughts off, refusing to finish the sentence.

You couldn’t die.

Haymitch sighed, glancing away before looking back at him. His eyes were always hard, but at that moment, Finnick saw flashes of sympathy. “You won’t be doing nothing.”

His eyes slightly narrowed. “What do you mean?”

The two shared another look before he told him, “Katniss can’t record right now. But you can.”

Another scoff left his lips, an incredulous look on his face as his voice was laced with sarcasm. “You want me to film a propo while you save Y/N?”

Haymitch didn’t respond right away, just staring at him like he was trying to properly articulate his words. The way he was looking at him unnerved him, like whatever he was gonna say could shatter him into a million pieces.

“Not a propo, Finnick,” he finally said, hesitation evident in his tone. “It’s a lot more than that.”

And, as Haymitch explained to him what they wanted him to do, Finnick learned just how much more that was.

Finnick Odair. That was a name synonymous with royalty, luxury, desire. Before he even met you, that was the name he’d built for himself—or, rather, the name that was thrusted into his arms.

A sex symbol.

When you won your Games, he could remember listening to the Capitol chatter. Stunning, refined, intelligent: a princess. You both already had so much in common, both from the same district, both so young when you won, but suddenly, as he watched you leave that hotel room that night in the Capitol, he realized that you had much more in common than he thought.

You were one and the same.

Those nights you spent together in the Capitol, out in the cold, you were silent. And then, even as you spoke to big Capitol fishes and gave speeches, you were still silent then, too, never speaking out about the injustices you’d been faced with.

Now, Finnick stood outside in the darkness, cold, but this time, you weren’t next to him. You weren’t next to him, and that was because Snow took you.

So he wasn’t going to stay silent anymore.

You deserved better than that.

He glanced around, almost as if he was trying to tell if his surroundings were real, if he was really doing this. 

He looked back when Cressida called his name, a careful look on her face. “Yeah,” he said, conveying he was okay without saying it, even if he really wasn’t. 

She didn’t look very convinced, but she still responded, “Okay.” She paused. “Take your time. Just remember to keep talking and don’t stop.”

He lightly nodded, looking up in front of him, seeing his breath in the air. For a moment, he was silent, but that moment didn’t last long. 

He had been silent for far too long already.

“This is Finnick Odair. Winner of the 65th Hunger Games,” he introduced himself, even though he knew that anyone watching must have recognized him right away. “And I’m coming to you from district 13, alive and well. We’ve survived an assault from the Capitol,” he recited. “But I’m not here to give you recent news.”

What he was going to tell them was much more than news about this rebellion. What he would reveal was about a war that’d started long before this rebellion ever did.

“I come with something much more valuable.”

I haven’t dealt in anything as common as money in years.

Well, then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?

“The truth. The truth about being a victor, about being royalty.” Bitterness seeped through his tone. “Not the myths about a life of luxury. Not the lie about glory for your homeland.” He looked straight at the camera. “You can survive the arena. But the moment you leave, you’re a slave.”

We will never be free, Y/N.

He took in a breath before he spoke his next words, knowing that they held power stronger than a weapon. He may as well have been pointing the gun at his own head. But if he had to get burned to burn down the Capitol, then he would do it. He would do it a thousand times over.

And so would you.

“President Snow used to sell me. Or my body, at least. I wasn’t the only one.” Your face flashed in his mind. “If a victor is considered desirable, the President gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them. If you refuse, he kills someone you love.” Johanna.

It’s not fair. He killed her family. She said no, and he killed her family.

I know. It’s not fair, I know.

It was never fair. No riches or glory could ever be enough to compensate for that.

“To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry. But I found a much more valuable form of payment.” The corners of his lips upturned slightly to form a small, humourless smile. “Secrets.”

The secrets he knew had the power to rip apart the Capitol’s so called “peace” at the seams. For him, for Katniss, for Johanna, for Peeta, for Annie, for you—this peace had fallen apart ages ago.

Katniss was forced to become the voice of thousands when she could barely do that for herself. Johanna turned to rage. Peeta turned to charm. Annie lost her mind. And you… what about you? 

It was about time that this peace was destroyed. It was about time that people understood exactly what victors really lost. And that Panem’s monsters weren’t hiding under the bed.

They were sitting on thrones.

“See, I know all the depravity, the deceit, and the cruelty of the Capitol’s pampered elite. But the biggest secrets are about our good President, Coriolanus Snow.” The biggest monster of them all. “Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” He paused, looking right at the camera as if he was looking right into Snow’s eyes.

He hoped he was watching.

He hoped he was watching as they burned the Capitol to the ground.

“One word.” He lit the match. “Poison.” And then he dropped it.

“He stopped every mutiny before it even started. There are so many mysterious deaths to adversaries. Even to allies who were threats.” He could remember being at one of those dinners, watching a man fall onto his plate, his life over so quickly.

Once you were on the playing board, it didn’t matter how powerful you were. To Snow, you were all just pawns that he could knock off the board easily.

Not anymore.

“Snow would drink from the same cup to deflect suspicion. But… antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses that reek of perfume. Help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal.”

When Finnick learned this, he could remember the feeling he had, the satisfaction in knowing that a man who had spilled so much blood was bleeding himself. It was karmic.

How ironic was that?

“But he can’t hide the scent of who he really is,” he continued, remembering Cressida’s words. Don’t stop. “He kills without mercy. He rules with deception and fear. His weapon of choice is the only thing suited to such a man. Poison.” He scoffed. 

“The perfect weapon for a snake.”

Moments after Finnick’s last words, they were off the air. Cressida’s hand went to her ear, a dark look passing over her face. The Capitol air defence system’s coming back online, she said, and she didn’t get to say much else before he went running inside.

Much like every other day he’d spent in 13, your face came to his mind, but this time was different. This time, they went in to save you.

What if they couldn’t?

No, they had to bring you back- they had to.

He ran and ran until he got to ops, seeing Katniss crying in Haymitch’s arms. As soon as she saw him, she latched onto him and he reciprocated her hug tightly. He had to hold on. He had to.

He wouldn’t survive the fall if he let go.

He knows, he knows they’re in the Tribute Centre, she cried, and then for the second time that day, his heart stopped. He knew. Snow knew about the rescue mission.

His ears rang, eyes going blurry. And then things got a little blurry after that, too. Eventually, he ended up back in his room by himself. He didn’t know how he got there, but he did. All he could hear was your voices in his head.

No, you are coming home-

Finni-

We are both coming come. We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear.

He was supposed to protect you. He promised. He promised you that you would both make it home. But now where were you? You weren’t with him.

You never came home.

At one point, Annie came in, trying to be of some consolation, but she ended up leaving, unable to get through to him. He couldn’t hear her over your conversations that replayed in his head on a loop.

I told you. I’m not letting you die.

A tear raced down his cheek. He knew that you were maybe still alive, that you still had a chance, but that didn’t matter. It was never supposed to get to this point. He was never supposed to let it get to this point, a point where you could be dead.

He was supposed to bring you home.

Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight.

The doors suddenly slid open and Katniss walked in, breaking him out of his spell. He wiped the tears that’d fallen, clearing his throat. “Is there any news?”

Solemnly, she shook her head. “No.” He sighed as she sat down next to him, a big exhale leaving her lips, too. Both of them had passed the point of exhaustion, but it wasn’t like they could rest. Finnick wasn’t sure that he could sleep if he tried.

With this song playing so loudly, how could he?

Katniss was dancing the same dance as him, fighting the same battles. The man she loved was out there, too. She must have been just as scared as him.

They sat in silence for a while until she broke it, her voice raspy and just above a whisper. “Finnick?”

He turned to see her looking down at the ground. “Yeah?”

“I-” she stammered. It was only when she looked up at him that he saw the look in her eyes and knew why she was so nervous.

He shook his head. “It’s fine-”

She scoffed. “No, it’s not- it’s not fine-”

“Katniss-”

She cut him off. “I’m sorry.” Her words made him swallow. He knew she was going to speak them, but for some reason, hearing them was so different, surreal. She exhaled again, maintaining eye contact. “I am sorry.”

Finnick looked away. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her apology, but he felt uncomfortable, looking into her eyes and just seeing the pure sorrow, pity. No, Katniss hadn’t been through exactly what he had, but at that moment, looking into her eyes was like looking into a mirror.

He couldn’t handle that right now, not when he stood at the top of the tallest mountain in the world and had such a long way to fall, everything to lose. 

He nodded, accepting her apology without words. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know, she didn’t know him back then. She hadn’t been a victor long enough to know yet. If anything, he was glad that she didn’t get to know their world, that she wasn’t sucked up by the same darkness that took you and him.

He was glad that her and Peeta got time in the sun, even if it was only for a little while.

“Y/N…” At the sound of your name, he turned back to her, seeing her brows furrow, eyes glazed over. “When I met her, she said something to me.” Realization flashed across her face as she looked up. “Was- was she-”

He cut her off, “Yeah. Yeah, she was.” When he blinked, he saw you walking out of that hotel room, the look on your face. He’d never forget the way you looked at him that night.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

“There were more,” he admitted. “Any victor that the Capitol found desirable was taken. Annie only couldn’t because of her madness. Johanna-” a humourless chuckle left his lips. “Johanna refused, and her entire family paid the price.” He look back to Katniss to see that her mouth had fallen open, a look of horror on her face. “You and Peeta were spared because you were together. Hell, that’s the reason Y/N and I got together, to escape all this. And now look where we are.”

With you on the verge of dying and Finnick on the verge of losing everything.

You. You were his everything.

And you didn’t even know it.

“I never told her, Katniss.” He was breathless, like the wind had been knocked out of him. He’d realized this before, knew that he made a mistake, but now it was like he was realizing that he may never get the chance to correct it. “I- I never told her I loved her.”

I’m your girlfriend now?

Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t be serious right now.

I am so serious right now.

You had no idea. You had no idea that you were the reason he kept living, that you were the reason he kept going, even when it hurt so badly. He’d walk through Hell if he could get to Heaven and be with you.

But what if you never knew that?

What if you died without knowing how he felt about you?

Katniss grabbed onto his hand. He looked to see tears welling in her eyes. “You will,” she whispered. “Hope, Finnick. You need to have hope.”

“Hope,” he echoed. Just like how he saw your face, he was able to see a future just as easily. It was so clear. That better world that Coin went on about, the better world that they were fighting for… it was just within their grasp. He nodded, managing to form somewhat of a smile. “Hope.”

He needed that, now more than ever. If he ever wanted to make it to that better world, to live in it with you, then he had to have hope—hope for the both of you.

Katniss didn’t say much after that; neither did he. Both of them were reflecting on their own, still trying to process all the turmoil that the day had caused. He spent his time thinking of you, imagining that better world.

In a better world, you and Finnick would’ve never been sold. You would’ve met, and he would’ve gotten the chance to fall in love with you the right way. He wouldn’t have been so scared to tell you. You would’ve given back to the community, not taken kids to their deaths.

You would’ve been so happy together.

But that wasn’t the world you lived in.

In the world you lived in, you and Finnick were sold at ages far too young. First, you sold your souls by winning The Games, and then your bodies were sold to people who had no business touching you.

In the world you lived in, you were only brought together because of tragedy. You only dated to try and save yourselves from a much greater evil, not because you loved each other.

In the world you lived in, Finnick fell in love with you. But he couldn’t tell you that, not when his biggest fear became losing you.

But in the world you lived in, he lost you, anyway.

So he had to have hope that a better world was possible- he had to. Not having that was another blow he wasn’t sure he could take.

When imagining your better world turned into reminiscing over all that’d happened to you both, he cut his thoughts off. He couldn’t let himself stop and break down now, not when he was so close to the finish line, so close to you.

So he pulled rope from his pocket, tying the same knots over and over again, a habit he’d picked up at a young age. Focusing on the knots was able to take his mind off everything, allowing white noise to play instead of this song.

He didn’t want to hear it without you.

He did this until he lost track of time. It was only when the doors slid open again that he was broken out of his trance. Katniss perked up right away. It was Haymitch behind the door, looking as enthusiastic as Finnick had ever seen him. “They’re back.”

She gasped, getting up and running right away, but it was as if Finnick was cemented to his spot. They’re back. 

You were back.

Just like that, he was shaken out of his shock, standing and quickly catching up with them.

They ran until they were in the medical area. As soon as they got there, he saw Johanna, ripping an IV out of her arm. Her hair was gone, shaven off, bruises all over her pale, pale face.

“Johanna,” Katniss muttered, but Finnick’s attention was elsewhere, eyes darting around the room, searching for you, heart racing.

And then he saw you.

His eyes went wide. “Y/N!” Without waiting another second, he ran to you. After over a month, here you were, right in front of him.

But it wasn’t so simple.

You flinched as his hands went to touch you, making him retract them right away. Your eyes didn’t look in his direction once.

Like you were scared of him.

At the thought, his heart clenched. It was only then that he noticed you were shaking, even as you were covered in blankets.

Your body was littered with cuts and bruises. You were pale, too, so clearly malnourished and sleep deprived. But it was your eyes that really got him. Your beautiful eyes no longer looked so lively. They looked empty.

You looked like a ghost.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked simultaneously with his heart. Why weren’t you looking at him? “Y/N-”

He was cut off. “Mr. Odair.” He turned to see a doctor standing on the other side of your bed, a hesitant look on her face and a look in her eyes that made a shiver go up spine. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

He glanced back to you, seeing that you still weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on a spot on your bed. You hadn’t looked up once, even as the doctor spoke. Confused, he nodded, letting the woman pull him to the side, out of earshot from you.

But even as the doctor started speaking, he couldn’t get your eyes out of his mind.

That look in your eye was somehow worse than any of his nightmares combined.

“Mr. Odair, Ms. Y/L/N’s condition is… it’s quite complex,” she cautioned. He furrowed his brows, his worry increasing.

“What do you mean- is she okay-”

“No, I meant- physically, I’m not seeing much to be worried about. Of course, she could be better- much better, but this is what we were expecting.” She paused, glancing at you. “Mentally- I’m not even sure where to begin.”

He glanced back at you, too, to see that you were still staring at that same spot on your bed. He let the doctor’s words register in his brain. You weren’t okay.

“We’ve informed psych, but for now, you’re just gonna need to give her time.” Time.

He let out a breath, feeling his eyes getting wet as what she was saying really soaked in. “You’re telling me to leave.” Just as he got you back.

“Mr. Odair-”

“You’re telling me to leave.”

“Finnick.” She cut him off with a strong call of his name. “Your girlfriend’s mental state right now is unstable. She’s in shock; she’s not herself right now. It is going to take some time to get her out of this state, and it’s going to be hard for you to see her in it. In the meantime, the best thing you can do for her is take some time to collect your thoughts.”

She was telling him to go off and think. Did she know that’s all he’d been doing for hours, thinking and throwing himself into the worst possible scenarios, only to realize that one of them had become a reality?

But he didn’t tell her this, instead looking back at you. You were lifeless. When he looked back at the doctor, there was a pleading expression on her face. He didn’t want to leave you, but she made it sound like the best possible thing to do for you. So he did.

But the truth was, he just couldn’t bear to watch you when you were like that.

You were the love of his life. It was like his heart started beating again when he saw you there, alive, but then it dulled once he really looked at you.

You didn’t look like the girl he fell in love with, the girl that went into that arena, or the girl he said goodbye to. It only took a month, and now you looked like a completely different person, like you had seen things no man had ever seen.

In his haze, Finnick made it back to his room, but he didn’t make it to the bed, collapsing onto the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest as his mind spun.

You were alive. He thought that, when he finally saw you again, all of his worries would be erased, that everything would be okay again, that the world would go back to being in colour instead of this black and white that he’d been stuck in with Katniss.

But nothing seemed more colourful.

Nothing seemed better.

You were here. You were back, Y/N Y/L/N, the same woman he loved, the same woman he’d dreamt about for weeks. You were alive. 

But, oh, he should’ve known it couldn’t have been that easy.

Your heart was beating, your eyes were open, and you were there… but that didn’t mean you were alive.

I told you. I’m not letting you die.

Little did Finnick know, you were already dead. 

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons

[zepskies]

Calculated Risks

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse, friends! Did you miss these two as much as I did? Plus, get ready for a heavy dose of fan-favorite Frank. (And Lila, of course!)

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: Familiar bickering, a mission gone awry, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Catch up on the BMD-verse. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

In four years of marriage, one thing that had never changed between you and Ben was this.

“All right, you’re being a little too much right now,” you said in irritation. “Of course I’m not sitting this one out. I’m the one who found us the damn lead in the first place.”

The man was following you from the adjoining bathroom and back into your shared bedroom, where you began getting dressed for work in the blouse and pencil skirt you’d laid out for yourself.

Your husband had already donned his supe suit, sans helmet. He stood just behind you with his arms crossed, a familiar surly frown on his face. When you turned around, he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m being too much? You’re the one who’s not being fucking reasonable,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to find your shoes. For this skirt, you really needed heels. Your most comfortable black pumps would do. You grabbed the closet doorknob for balance as you slipped them on, giving him a look of exasperation.

Ben held firm on his stance, but inside, he had a feeling you’d chosen this outfit on purpose. You knew he liked this whole sexcretary look on you, with your hair let down around your shoulders. The skirt and heels just brought his eyes to the delectable curve of your ass.

But again, he was holding firm.

He’d been called in on this case partly because Annie was on maternity leave. She was due in just a few weeks. Which meant “Soldier Boy” was definitely needed to help out Butcher and his merry band of assholes. By now, Ben had gotten used to them.  

“Look,” you said, “Slingshot has been causing a lot of havoc, and the police haven’t been able to catch him. You heard Grace. This is an ‘all hands on deck’ situation.”

“She always says that shit. Doesn’t make it true,” Ben retorted.

“This time it is,” you said. “I’ve already put in tons of man hours on surveillance for this guy. I want to get him off the street.”

Ben held you by your arms. “That’s exactly my point. You’ve been putting in way too many hours.”

You shook your head. He just didn’t get it.

“If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this opening now,” you said. You gave him a smile to try and lighten him. “Now he’s all teed up for you and the guys. This should be in and out. Practically a milk run for you.”

“Yeah, but not for you,” he pointed out. “And not for Lila. You’re stretching yourself too damn thin. It’s not like we need the money.”

Ahh, now we get to it, you thought. Yet again, he was bringing this up. In his mind, you should’ve cut your hours at Supe Affairs after Lila was born.

You did take an extended maternity leave of an entire year and a half, which was much more than women usually got from their jobs. However, because of your relationship with Grace and the entire team, you’d been allowed to come back whenever you felt ready. 

Ben had often felt it necessary to point out that with his money, you didn’t have to work at all. 

He knew very well that for you, this work was more than a job. 

“I’m not the first working mom in existence, Ben,” you said, pushing out of his hold. “And I’ll remind you that Supe Affairs has a great daycare program. Lila’s very happy there.”

Plus, she was almost three and a half years old. In less than a year, Lila would be off to preschool.

“And look, it’s not about the money,” you added. “I told you before Lila was born. I am a mother, and I’m your wife. But I’m still me.”

Ben processed that for a moment, meeting your gaze.

“The situation’s changed,” he replied. He grasped your hips this time. His thumb gently brushed over your belly, which had a small bump under your high-waisted skirt. 

You were finally pregnant again. Three months, in fact, and you were having a boy. You knew that Ben had several reasons to be more protective than usual…but still. You thought you were already taking every precaution to keep you and your children safe, even with the occasionally extensive hours of your job.

“These cases can be long and difficult, not to mention dangerous,” said Ben. His green eyes met yours as he looked down at you through furrowed brows. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

You blew out a breath and tried to placate him, soothing a hand over his chest. 

“I’ve stopped doing field missions,” you pointed out. “And Supe Affairs is the most secure building in the city. Do you think I would bring Lila there if it wasn’t?”

The security team at the S.A. was bar none, not only because Loco was a part of that team. Frank was also your personal bodyguard; Ben hired him back when you found out you were pregnant with Lila.

In fact, Frank was coming to the house in a few minutes to pick you all up.

Ben frowned. “I think you’re being stubborn just to be fucking stubborn.”

That sparked at your temper. Again, you withdrew from his arms and crossed yours.

“I think you need to face the fact that I’m protected as well as I can be,” you said. “I also think that you’re trying to use this as a way to shoehorn me into some antiquated idea of what you still think a wife should be. I’m gonna tell you right now. That’s not me! It’s never been me. And you know that.”

He opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but you beat him to it.

“It’s like you don’t even care about what I want,” you snapped. “Just what you think is right—for me to be here waiting for you to come home, quite literally barefoot and pregnant, ready to rub your balls!”

Cliché as it might’ve been to say, if the shoe fit, then you were certainly not going to be the one to wear it.

“You know what, you can accuse me of being stuck in the fucking past all you want,” Ben said, raising a finger, as well as his voice. “But the problem here isn’t me. It’s that what you want is goddamn idiotic!”

Your mouth fell agape. “Excuse me?! I can’t even believe you right now!”

Ben fairly loomed above you when he shouted back.

“Well, that makes fucking two of us!”

His voice was loud enough to reverberate on the walls. You even flinched, but you held your ground with a glare…

Until you heard a whimper.

You and Ben paused, and turned to find Lila. The three-year-old was cowering a bit in the doorway to your bedroom. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she began to cry.

Your heart broke.

“Oh, honey,” you breathed. You were both apologetic and mortified as you quickly went to her.

Ben was close behind you, but while Lila was quick to melt into your arms when you picked her up, she shied away from his attempt to reach out to her. What would’ve been a placating hand on her head, turned into him pausing in surprise when she ducked.

“Lila?” he prodded.

He tried to mask how put out he was by his daughter hiding her face from him, burrowing into your neck instead. She was usually a daddy’s girl, through and through.

You shot him a knowing frown, while rubbing her back in comfort.

“It’s okay, baby,” you told her. “Your dad and I were just…talking. He didn’t mean to shout.”

When Lila only whimpered in response, Ben’s gaze dimmed in understanding. His lips pursed.

You saw that look on his face, and you wanted to sigh. Part of you felt bad for him, at the way Lila had flinched away from her father. In a way though, maybe it was a lesson he needed to learn.

Frank arrived a few minutes later in a black SUV, like he did every weekday morning to bring you all to work. Ben was quiet and taciturn climbing into the backseat on one side, and you clipped Lila into her car seat from the other side. He still made sure that she was strapped in correctly, and even tried to earn his daughter’s gaze.

She snuck a glance at him a couple of times, but quickly lowered it to play with one of her favorite stuffed animal toys (a little German shepherd that he had gotten for her).

Ben let out a long breath through his nose. He gave Frank a nod through the rearview mirror, and the other man peeled away from the house.

The four of you rode in silence away from your house in Scarsdale, towards New York City.

Ben’s mood remained grim, even when you all got to Supe Affairs. Frank held back while you and Ben stopped in the hallway with Lila. You were carrying her, and she was holding onto you and her stuffed animal like a lifeline instead of looking anywhere else—namely at Ben.

You sighed and tried to pull her back enough to see her face.

“Daddy’s gotta go to work now. Want to say goodbye?” you encouraged.

All Lila could manage was a shy look in his direction. Ben laid a gentle hand on her head, over her dark hair.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said.

Lila didn’t answer him. She just bit her lip and stayed withdrawn.

You and Ben shared a glance. He was hiding it well behind his usual stoicism, but this was hurting him. There wasn’t much either of you could do about it now, however. You both had work to do, and the mission would have to come first.

“I’ll be online in a bit,” you told him. 

First, you needed to take Lila up to daycare before Frank accompanied you to your office. There you’d be able to join the mission from your computer and put your headset on. Aside from surveillance, you were their virtual eyes on missions. 

So Ben tacitly agreed, and the two of you parted ways.

You went up to the second floor to drop Lila off at daycare, where you set her onto her feet. You could see that she was quiet and almost sad, not as bright and talkative as usual. And she was clinging to your hand. You bent down the best you could in your skirt, so you could meet her eyes.

“Are you still upset with your dad?” you asked. 

After a moment, Lila replied, “Daddy’s loud.”

You couldn’t help a rueful smile. 

“Yeah, he can be,” you nodded. “But he’s gonna work on that, okay? He loves you very much.”

She finally smiled a little when you pressed a few sweet kisses to her cheeks. You felt a little better about leaving her with Sarah, the woman who ran the daycare center. She was kind, but well-organized, and good at her job of wrangling fifteen or so toddlers on a daily basis.

And she was hovering off to the side with a smile, waiting to shepherd Lila over to where the rest of the group were starting at the arts and crafts table.

“Okay, baby. I love you. I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you said, caressing Lila’s cheeks, brushing her hair away from her face.

She nodded and waved goodbye. Sarah then stepped in and guided the girl over to the crafts table. The other kids were already drawing and coloring with crayons and markers.

With a sigh, you knew you had to get to work. You joined Frank out in the hall.

“Did something happen this morning?” he asked. You gave him a weary look.

“Something always happens. I’ll fill you in when we hit the elevator,” you said.

“Kids are resilient. She’ll bounce back,” said Frank, when you two got off the elevator down to the basement, under the first floor. This was where the “heavy stuff” happened at the S.A.

“That’s not the point, Frank. He hasn’t snapped at me like that in a long time, and he really scared her. That’s not fucking okay,” you said. “He needs to learn to control his goddamn temper.”

He sent you a knowing glance. You rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I know I don’t always help. But in this case, I was justified,” you said. “Ben was being an ass.”

“Right,” Frank nodded. “It’s not at all that he’s worried about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

The man remained silent, but his stoic face wasn’t fooling you. He’d been your friend for much too long, and he knew Ben just as well…which was why you found yourself reconsidering what happened this morning.

“You really think he has a point?” you asked. “Am I working too much?”

Frank shook his head and opened the door for you into the Surveillance Department. The two of you ventured to your office, where your quadruple monitor setup was waiting for you. He also had a desk for himself, since he often spent the long hours of your day with you.

“When you were pregnant with Lila, you were on maternity leave by now,” he pointed out.

“Because we had no idea what was going to happen,” you countered. You went to your desk and started up your computer. “I had to meet with Tonya once a week, ultrasounds and blood tests all the time, making sure Lila was healthy, that I was healthy. This time around, we have a better idea of what to expect.”

For example, you were experiencing bouts of super strength once again, but it was still intermittent. Although, you pretty much never needed coffee. Maybe the supe genes coursing through your system, thanks to your unborn son, was part of the reason why you’d been able to go such long hours for these cases.

He's already brightening up my life, you thought with a little smile, holding a hand over your lower belly.

“It’s your choice,” Frank said at last. “But it is possible that Ben cares about more than just making you a suburban housewife.”

At that, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with being a housewife, you knew. It just wasn’t…you.

Once your computer and monitors were booted up, you connected to the right channels and put on your headset.

Already you could hear M.M. bitching about keeping the weapons trunk organized, not just tossing things in haphazardly. 

“It’s a simple fucking system, Frenchie. You can at least abide by it,” M.M. said. “We don’t have time to be scratching our asses while you try to find a—”

“Hey, Bert and Ernie. Would you shut the fuck up already?” Ben groused.

Your mouth twitched at his grumpiness.

“A little testy this morning, ey guv?” Butcher remarked.

“Gargle my ball sack,” Ben replied, with an even grouchier deadpan than usual.

“Do you kiss your child with that mouth?” Frenchie teased. 

“Nah, just your mother’s French hole,” Ben slung back. You rolled your eyes. 

“All right, all right. Put the measuring tapes away,” you interrupted. “I’m online, locked on your GPS.”

“Well, if it ain’t Mrs. America herself,” Butcher drawled. “Got a lock on Slingshot’s location for us?” 

“You know it,” you replied. “Sending to the group chat now. Slingshot’s been spotted entering a strip club in Chinatown.” 

“Jeez. A little early for tits and booze. It’s 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday,” said Hughie.

You heard Ben huff in amusement. “It’s never too early.”

You snorted at that.

“Right. I’ll remember that next time you fall asleep watching Family Feud,” you clipped back.

You heard the other guys trying not to laugh as they got into Butcher’s van. Part of you felt bad for teasing Ben, knowing he was already in a bad mood, but you were feeling a bit petty about what happened this morning.

You had to bite your lip against a smile, as you could picture the ill-tempered face your man was likely sporting.

And we’re off.

Lila wasn’t having a good day. 

She didn’t feel like coloring, and the toys just weren’t fun today.

She just didn’t want to be here. The other kids smelled like old Cheetos and feet (especially the boys).

She missed you. And though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to you, she missed Daddy too.

Lila wanted to go home…she wanted her mom. 

“I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you’d said.

Lila had a kind of plan percolating in her mind, all through the morning, and even through lunch time. She didn’t want to get in trouble, but when she’d asked Miss Sarah if she could go see you, she’d said you were at work and couldn’t come get Lila until later. 

But that’s not what Mommy said, Lila thought.  

After lunch, she laid on the napping mat with her pillow and blanket, even though she was wide awake. She didn’t want to nap with the other kids, even though Miss Sarah told her it was time to sleep. 

Again, Lila didn’t want to be bad. She didn’t want to get in trouble either, but she really, really just wanted to see you.

And you’d said it was okay to go downstairs if she needed you, right?

Lila closed her eyes while Miss Sarah was looking, but she waited until the teacher went into her office to answer a call. Then, Lila carefully put Charlie, her stuffed dog, against her pillow, tucking the blanket up to his neck. 

She crawled off her mat and snuck over to the door while Miss Sarah was distracted on her phone. Lila reached up and was just tall enough to twist the doorknob. It led her out of the room, and out into the empty hall. She then looked both ways for a clue on where to go. 

She heard a ding, and looked over at a nearby pair of elevators.

The mission went more or less according to plan. Slingshot’s abilities allowed him to stretch every part of his body like elastic. It not only made him hard to catch, but even harder to maim without collateral damage. 

A whole block in Chinatown was wrecked in the takedown, but your idea of ripping the cables from a nearby utility pole to electrocute him let Ben finally subdue the elastic supe. Kimiko knocked him out, and Butcher slapped some tight-ass cuffs on him and dragged him into the van. They returned with the rogue supe in custody. 

You were mentally exhausted from helping them track down routes to pin down Slingshot, but you were relieved to be done. You were also satisfied that another danger to society was neutralized, for now.

You took pride in your work, and you didn’t think Ben saw that, or thought it was important. You supposed that was what upset you the most about that fight with him.

Sometimes, you wondered if he would ever truly change.

You grabbed your purse and made sure to slip in your gun and taser. You left your office and greeted Frank, who had just finished making his rounds in the building with Loco’s team. Frank joined you on the way to the elevator.

“I meant to ask you, how’s Alana doing?” you asked. Alana was his daughter, who was now in college.

“She’s changed her major yet again,” he said wryly. “This time to philosophy.”

“Philosophy? That’s interesting. What does she want to do with that?” you asked.

“No fucking clue,” he replied, hitting the button for the first floor. “I just hope she gets bored and picks something practical. Like…teaching, or dentistry.”

You shot him a bemused look. “Dentistry?”

“As much money as I put into that girl’s braces, it’d be good for her to pay it forward,” Frank said, in a surly tone that reminded you of Ben. You had to laugh.

You and Frank exited the elevator and started down the hall.

You planned to touch base with Grace Mallory on the safety measures of Slingshot’s containment before he was put into custody. The idea was to house him in a prison cell that could actually hold him until he went through the legal process. 

But you’d only gotten halfway down the hall before the supe in question literally stretched past you on unnaturally long legs—in a blur of his white and blue supe suit. Your eyes widened on a gasp as you watched him head toward the elevator you’d just come off of. 

“Fuckin’ hell, we’ve got a runner!” Butcher shouted from down the hall. He along with Ben, M.M., Frenchie, Hughie, and Kimiko were rushing your way. 

It all happened so fast. 

You registered Frank shooting out a protective arm in front of you. You turned back to see the elevator doors had opened back up, and Slingshot rushed inside. He made eye contact with you.

Then his arms shot out like rubber bands. One of them knocked Frank into the far wall. You gasped and froze on reflex. 

Ben shouted your name; he was running towards you, getting closer. You were able to meet his wide eyes for a brief moment. He reached out for you, but those stretching arms closed around you first. You gasped when they slung you backwards.

You cried out in shock when your back met a surprisingly solid chest.

Meanwhile, Ben barreled the rest of the way down the hall as the elevators closed just short of his angrily furrowed face.

The stretched arms holding you were tight around your torso, making your grit your teeth as you tried to pull away. They twisted you around so you could face your captor. Or so he could see you.

His natural height was around Butcher’s—dark hair, blue eyes, angular features. He gave you what was probably meant to be a suave smile as those baby blues dragged down your body.

“Hey, baby. Nice heels,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“So that’s why they call you Slingshot,” you said, still a bit breathless. The elevator started to move. He’d chosen the top floor. “Where do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snarked. “Anywhere but here. And you’re gonna help me.”

“How? Being a human shield?”

“For a start,” he smirked down at you. He backed up a step just to take another proper look at you, and he whistled lowly. He took your chin between his sweaty fingers, making you grimace when he stroked your cheek. 

“Down boy,” you said warily. “Trust me, you really don’t want to do this.”

This jackass hadn’t even realized you had a small, but noticeable baby bump.

“Why not, babe?” he grinned. “You’ve got the whole sexy librarian thing going on.” 

You heard a loud creaking sound outside the elevator doors. The compartment itself came to an abrupt stop, making the lights flicker. 

“What the fuck?” Slingshot muttered. His hold around you loosened. 

You had an idea of what just happened, with grim satisfaction. You also took advantage of his distraction and managed to slip a hand into your purse.

You pulled out your taser. Slingshot noticed and tried to grab you again, but the elevator somehow started to move in reverse, about a foot a time. It made both of you lose your balance and utter sounds of surprise.  

As soon as you regained your footing, you aimed the taser at the most sensitive place you could think of—the supe’s dick and balls.

His howls of pain were loud enough to reach Ben, Frank, and the rest of the team on the third floor. Ben’s face became edged with a smirk. 

He kept pulling the elevator cables down until the compartment’s doors were in reach. There he grabbed the doors and pulled them open with his bare hands, crunching metal under his fingers. The moment he saw you, the relief in your eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out, into his arms. 

Slingshot was angry, though he managed to recover, rip off the taser’s metal prongs and wires, and evade Kimiko, M.M., and even Butcher when he slithered his way out of the elevator and around their guns. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, and off his body as they followed him down the hall.

Ben focused on you. He brushed his half-gloved hands over your shoulders and sides while he quickly looked you over. There was worry in his eyes, disguised as anger. You caught your breath and held a protective hand over your lower belly out of reflex. 

“You okay?” he said, but you were already nodding before he asked.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just get him. I’ll get Lila.” 

Ben nodded. He shot one last firm look at Frank, who was back at your side. Frank laid a hand on your shoulder as Ben took off down the hall to find Slingshot. 

“The stairs are safer at this point,” Frank said. 

“I would have to agree,” you said, steeling yourself with a breath. 

While you and Frank went downstairs to the second floor, you didn’t see the second elevator ding, its doors opening to your daughter, who ambled out alone. She looked one way down the hall, but hearing her father’s voice carrying down the opposite way, she started venturing in that direction.

If she couldn’t find you, then she’d find her dad. 

“What the hell do you mean you lost her?” you shouted at Sarah, the woman who was supposed to be looking after your daughter. “How do you lose a three-year-old at nap time? What kind of incompetent fuck are you?”

Yes, Ben had unfortunately rubbed off on you. 

Sarah was in tears by the time you were not even halfway done, but Frank calmed you down with another touch to your shoulder. You had tears of panic stinging in your eyes when you met his gaze, your mouth trembling.

“I just radioed in and put Loco and the rest of the security team on looking for Lila. She can’t have gotten far,” he said. 

“Come on! Keep up with me, old man,” Slingshot taunted at Ben. His super flexibility allowed him to keep several steps ahead, dodging any attempts to grab him and any weapons fired with easy dips and playful deflection. 

“When I get my hands on you, you flaccid fuck, you won’t know your ass from your ball sack,” Ben growled. 

But he crashed into the wall when he took a corner too hard trying to tackle the other supe. He picked himself up from the debris of crumbled wall and plaster, ignoring Kimiko’s offer of a helping hand. 

“Big fucking talk from the walking AARP commercial,” Slingshot snorted. He turned around and once again prepared to run. “Try not to shatter a hip, asshole!”

He took off down another bend in the hallway. Meanwhile, Ben shook himself off and joined the others in running after this cocksucker. Ben looked over at Butcher.

“What’s your fucking plan?” he grated out. 

Butcher seemed to have an idea growing in his mind. “What’d she do to him in that elevator?”

“Tased his dick, by the sound of it,” Ben replied. He knew what weapons you kept in your purse, and that you'd know better than to fire a gun in an enclosed elevator. Butcher snapped his fingers.

“Electricity. Bloody brilliant,” he said. He pointed at Hughie and grabbed Frenchie by the collar. “You, with me. I’ve got an idea. The rest of ya, get him pinned down.”

“Easier said than done, motherfucker,” M.M. grumbled. But he followed Ben and Kimiko to find their errant supe. 

Slingshot played a cocky game, but inside, there was fear. 

They’d caught him once, and now, this building was crawling with security, let alone the assholes chasing him.

He was panting for breath when he nearly ran straight into…a kid? 

She was wandering around, trying to open a locked door. He skidded to a stop in front of her, and she looked up at him wide-eyed. He tilted his head. She was a cute little thing with brown hair and green eyes. She wore a blouse with cartoon ducks on it over her jeans and sunshine-yellow shoes. 

“Hey, cutie. Where you going?” asked Slingshot. “Are you lost?”

“Looking for my mom,” she answered, a bit timidly. The supe gave her an easy smile; inside, he knew he’d just found his collateral, and his ticket out of here. 

“Okay. What’s your name?” he asked. 

“L…Lila,” she said. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said, with all due charm. He struck a pose, with his fists held up to his waist. “I can help you, Lila. I’m a superhero.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Like Daddy?”

“Oh, yeah. Your dad and I are friends.” Never mind that he had no fucking clue who her daddy was. He offered her his hand. 

Now, Lila knew not to talk to strangers, but if he knew her dad… 

After a moment of reluctant indecision, she took his hand. Slingshot tapered a smirk into a more friendly smile. 

“Let’s go find him.”  

Ben was ahead of the pack, but he soon came to an abrupt stop with wider eyes. He finally found Slingshot, except he had Ben’s daughter by the hand. Slingshot wore a cocky grin as he took the child up into his arms. 

“Hey, guys. Who’s this little peanut belong to?” he asked. “Said she was looking for her daddy.” 

Ben’s breath turned to lead in his lungs. Lila’s eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him. 

“Daddy!”

Ben’s softer gaze shifted from her, hardening once it reached the other supe. 

“Let her go,” he growled lowly. 

Slingshot’s grin deepened incredulously as he laughed.

“Oh shit, she’s yours?” he exclaimed. “This’s just too fucking perfect.”

“Lila!” your shout came from behind Ben, and you stepped around M.M. and Kimiko.

Ben held out a hand to keep you at bay. He kept his eyes on Slingshot, but Ben heard your gasp. His stomach dipped, knowing your worry had to be reaching new heights as you took in the situation.

“Ben,” you uttered. 

“I’ve got this,” he said to you.

“You don’t got shit, old man,” Slingshot snapped. He shot you a smirk next. “She’s your bitch? Figures.”

“Just let her go,” you implored. You had tears brimming in your eyes. “We can negotiate your release if you promise to be more responsible.”

Ben shot you a glance then. He didn’t intend for this fucker to live, let alone walk the streets of New York again. But he supposed any bluff was worth it at this point.

Meanwhile, seeing the distress on her parents’ faces made Lila begin to break down into tears. She whined, pushing against the supe holding her, wanting to be let go. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Slingshot cooed. “You’re just gonna take a little trip with me.”

“No!” a ragged shout tore from your throat when he took a few backward steps down the hall. 

Ben held you back from following him, all while he tensed with rage. M.M. and Kimiko were also poised to try and stop the supe. But Slingshot tightened his hold on Lila in warning.

“Back the fuck off,” he demanded. “Once I get to JFK and get my ass on a plane, maybe, maybe you see your daughter aga—”

He had to stop short, as he sensed something just outside of his peripheral vision.

It was Butcher, coming at him to swing a baseball bat at the supe’s head.

You screamed in protest, but Butcher was relying on the supe’s reflexes to dodge the bat. He wasn’t disappointed. Slingshot dodged. Though in his distraction, it gave Ben the opening he needed to step into his orbit and land a solid punch across Slingshot’s face.

It not only cracked his jaw, but also caught him off guard enough for his grip on the child to loosen. Ben grabbed his daughter and turned her away in a protective embrace.

Then Frenchie brought Slingshot down with the prongs of a massive taser clipping onto his nipples. He jolted and screamed—and went down hard on the tile floor. 

While Hughie and M.M. ushered in the rest of the security team to swarm in and take the supe into custody, you raced forward to Ben and Lila in tears.

Lila was also crying and clinging to Ben’s neck, shaking like a leaf.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. Lila whimpered and burrowed tighter against his neck.

Tears streamed down your face, but you tried to breathe through it. You rubbed her back and checked her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt. 

For Ben, the force of his relief was pounding in his ears. He briefly closed his eyes as he held his daughter closer. 

When he opened them again, he met your gaze. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was grab onto his wrist for support. He gave that to you, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. 

“Frank,” he said. His voice was a sharp command. The other man was ready to carry out whatever Ben asked. He also looked relieved to see that Lila was all right.

“Pull the car around,” said Ben. Frank nodded, and went to do just that.

Ben turned to watch in satisfaction when Frenchie and M.M. hauled up a still twitching Slingshot. Butcher slapped a pair of electroshock handcuffs on him that would keep him better contained this time—courtesy of the S.A. armory. He nodded over at Ben, and the latter returned the gesture. 

You missed it all, as you were preoccupied with comforting your daughter.

“It’s okay, honey. We’re going home,” you gently whispered to Lila, who was still hiding her face in Ben’s neck. You shared a look with him, and he gave you a short nod. His hand moved to the small of your back, both protective and possessive as the three of you moved towards the garage exit. 

There Frank waited with the car that would take your family home.

You watched Ben with the beginning of tears brimming in your eyes. You managed to hold them at bay while he set Lila down in her bed. You’d just finished giving her a bath and helping her get into her pajamas after a quiet, somewhat tense dinner. 

Lila still seemed upset in her unusually quiet mood, which you knew was understandable. Ben sat at her bedside and soothed a hand over her head, brushing her cheek with his thumb. 

“You’ve had a crazy friggin’ day, huh?” he asked. Lila didn’t want to look at him, but he encouraged it with gentle fingers brushing her chin, teasing the tip of her nose. She hinted at a smile and finally met his eyes. He smiled back at her, if more reserved. But his expression turned serious again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He could see it. She had been more or less fine throughout dinner, but now she’d turned quiet and withdrawn again. She only got like that when she was upset about something.

Lila toyed with the ear of her stuffed animal, Charlie. Frank had retrieved it for her from the daycare.

“Sorry I talked to strangers,” Lila mumbled.

You had to bite the inside of your lip so you wouldn’t cry. You came over to sit on the other side of her bed. You sniffed and shook your head, but Ben beat you to what you wanted to say. 

“You’re not in trouble, all right? We’re not mad,” he said. 

Lila’s lower lip wobbled. Ben sighed and picked her up, plopping her down in his lap. She hugged him as tight as she could and he held her back, warm and secure.  

“You know I’m always gonna be there to keep you safe. You never have to worry or be afraid,” he said. 

You carded your fingers through Lila’s hair so she knew you were there too. Usually, the roles were reversed, where you were doing the comforting and Ben was the solid support. Right now though, you just didn’t have the words. Not when guilt was eating you from the inside out.

Fortunately, your husband did have the words, after he heaved a sigh. 

“I might raise my voice, sometimes, but uh…you never have to be afraid of me either. Okay?” he said.

"Mhmm," Lila agreed.

You laid hand on Ben's arm, gently squeezing. He met your gaze, and knew what you were prodding with just that look in your eyes.

Briefly, he hesitated before he looked back down at his daughter.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said.

Lila nodded against his chest. “It's okay.”

“Good,” he said, laying a kiss on her forehead. “All right, you ready to go to bed?”

She clung to him and made a sound of refusal. 

You were finally able to crack a smile. You leaned down by her ear. 

“You want Daddy to read you a story first?” you asked. 

Ben shot you a look at the way you volunteered him for that. He was tired and drained. 

But one hopeful, shiny look from his daughter, and he folded like a deck of cards.

Later, when Lila was asleep, you tucked her in one last time and Ben turned out the light. He kept the door cracked open, just in case she called for either one of you tonight.

Then, somehow, you and Ben ended up in the kitchen instead of the bedroom. As exhausted as both of you were, you needed this moment to decompress, with one of your old favorite pastimes…

He broke out the whiskey while you found an appropriate midnight snack, and then a seat with him at the breakfast bar. The two of you shared a companionable silence, as well as a large bag of sea salt and vinegar chips. 

That was sort of how you felt inside.

“Today can’t happen again,” Ben said, breaking the silence. 

You looked over at him, but he was looking beyond you. Maybe so he didn’t have to show you how deeply he’d been rattled. You knew him far too well for that. 

“Of course not,” you replied. And you released a sigh. “So here’s what I’m thinking. From now on I’ll work from home, so I can watch Lila until she goes to preschool.”

Ben got ready to argue, but you held up a hand. The other went to rest over your belly. You had scheduled an ultrasound with Dr. Tonya Baker tomorrow, just to make sure all was well after this ordeal.

“I already plan to take my maternity leave when this guy rolls into town,” you said with a smile. “Then, when I’m ready, and if it’s feasible, I can continue to work from home until all the kids are in school.”

Ben’s lips twitched humorlessly. He should’ve known you’d continue making this a negotiation. He set down his glass, and he reached out to slide a hand over yours, across your belly. He took in a deep breath. But when he let it go, you sensed you still hadn’t convinced him.

“Listen, I know you don’t want me to work—” you began.

“It’s not that,” he said. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said it. “It’s not.”

Despite yourself, you read the sincerity in his words. It had you pausing, waiting for him to continue.

“You know damn well…that just being around me is dangerous,” he said. “To you, and to Lila. But you being connected with Supe Affairs, working these missions, even from behind a desk, it’s a fucking risk. It’ll always be a risk.”

You considered that with new understanding. You took his hand with both of yours.

“Ben, this life, this work…it’s the same for me as it is for you. It’s all I know how to do. It’s what I’m wired for. So that’s why it’s hard for me to turn down that dial,” you explained. “But look, I understand what you’re saying. Believe me, I do. And today…today was…”

Your breath hitched as tears stung in your eyes. Ben shook his head and tugged you closer.

“Come ‘ere,” he said.

You left your chair to go to him. You stood between his long legs while he pulled you into a warm embrace. Logically, you knew that what happened today wasn’t your fault. However, part of you still felt like a failure of a mother for underestimating the risks of having your daughter at the S.A.  

You should’ve known better, you berated yourself. And yet, it was Ben’s words that stopped your train of thought.

“Today wasn't on you,” he said. "Get that thought outta your head."

He knew you well too, and this was one of those times. You wept harder against him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. He held you, comforted you until you began to calm down.

“Take your maternity leave early,” he said. His deep voice was a rumble. “You’re going to have your hands full with Lila when I’m not here. Unless we hire someone to help you.”

It was an idea you could consider, but who could you trust? That was the question. 

Maybe your mother? you thought. You knew she was thinking of retiring from her job in a couple of years anyway.

You sighed and slipped your fingers through Ben’s hair. Your hand came to rest on the back of his neck as you leaned against him.

When Lila came into your lives, you had been so excited to start a family that you hadn’t considered the non-physical side effects. Namely, the sacrifices you would have to make in order to keep your family safe. 

Before you met Ben, your job was your life. But today reminded you that your daughter…and your unborn son, were more important to you than your job. No matter how important that job might be for the rest of the world. 

“Let’s talk about this more tomorrow,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t think anymore.”

After a beat of hesitation, he agreed with a nod. Like so many battles before, whatever compromise you and Ben finally reached would be hard won. His hand found your cheek and caressed your skin.

“You still try my fucking patience, you know that?” he muttered.

You smiled tiredly. “Did you really expect that to change?”

He scoffed. Even so, he guided you off his shoulder so that he could claim your lips. His kiss tasted like the burn of whiskey. You met his demanding lips in kind, though you were the first one to part from him slowly. 

“I love you,” you whispered a reminder. 

Ben nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He lingered there for a moment, as if he could pause the world for a while. 

He eventually let out a breath through his nose and allowed himself to be honest.

“I love you too,” he said.

With that shared understanding, he stood from his seat. He drained the last of his glass before he bent to gather you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise, clinging to his shoulders.

“Time for some rest,” Ben said. There was a certain smile on his face, gentler than usual.

He forged a path towards the bedroom. You sighed and laid your head against his chest. 

For once, you didn’t argue with him.  

AN: I've been wanting to put this one out for a while now. 💚💚 I so hope you enjoyed this chapter of the BMD verse! Do you like how their little family is evolving? 😘

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[ma1dita]

trouble always finds me

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.7k 

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. Luke’s perspective on trouble & how they first met! think trouble’s origin story (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

warnings: none, fluff? Mr. D being a clueless dad lol also guys they’re 14 here

a/n: welcome back to the trouble!verse hehe i was inspired by Mr. D being a bit of a jerk to Percy so that the kid doesn’t off himself. Similar concept but with Luke after he first gets to camp— another version for why trouble!reader calls him angelface coming soon

(posted 1/19/24, erm unedited and not beta’d so forgive me in advance)

—

You were always trouble, Luke knew that from the day he met you. 

Walking into Camp Half-Blood, worn out and weary after days of trying to not become harpy food, his arm was slung protectively over Annabeth’s shoulder as they were led onto the campgrounds. So many pity-filled eyes were focused on them after hearing what happened to Thalia, but the camp seemed promising, filled with other demigods who can resonate with what they’ve experienced. Luke thought it was too good to be true, but anything’s better in comparison to the streets they came from. You, however, looked at them in interest from afar, a playful expression on a pretty face watching their every move like him and Annie were shiny new toys to play with.

He was so sure something was off with you. 

Had to be, from the deranged glimmer in your eye that would appear when something bad would happen at Camp. He’d seen it in action a couple of times before you set your sights on him— setting off fireworks during capture the flag, replacing salt with sugar in the kitchens, cutting Mr. D’s hair in his sleep; all of this causing campers and staff alike to run amok and figure out who to penalize. Each time he’d find you enjoying how it all played out, excitement brimming on the cusp of revealing yourself as the culprit as he watched you bite your tongue. But as a mischievous kid himself, he wondered why you hid it. You preferred to orchestrate the show, to make a spectacle for your personal entertainment, and with a smile too soft to be considered guilty, you were a convincing actress. 

The other campers in 11 told him you’d been unclaimed for half a year now, keeping to yourself and making a safe haven within the busy cabin. You were a klutz to say the least, bringing chaos to Camp Half-Blood with a cool disposition, and you hardly seemed interested the one time Luke tried to say hi as he took the bunk next to yours. 

So why the hell wouldn’t you lay off of him?

At first it was small, shoulder bumps and raised eyebrows whenever he piped up in a conversation. That, he could deal with. Luke’s a tough guy, having gone through more than a typical 14-year old would. 

But then it just got annoying.

Glitter in his shampoo, his laundry load dyed purple, and shoelaces knotted together to make him stumble— things meant to be more of an inconvenience rather than an actual problem. Luke wasn’t sure what to make of it, or what to tell you. No one wants to be the new kid creating trouble, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

Maybe you were a Hermes kid like him, but of that, Luke wasn’t so easily convinced—months of living in 11 would mean you’d learn all of the tricks of the trade, so it couldn’t automatically mean that you were related (a part of him also hoped you weren’t be half-siblings, or else the fact he couldn’t stop thinking of you would be slightly awkward). Perhaps a child of Apollo? When you weren’t being difficult, he’s seen you sprinkled in sunlight, usually humming a tune under your breath. Yesterday it was a song from the Sound of Music, and though he only remembers bits of a memory from a movie night with his mom years ago, he put his combat gear on slower just to hear you finish the song. 

Whatever you were, it was bound to be troublesome.

—

At this point in life, Luke hasn’t had many comforts while on the run. To him there’s no such thing as action without reason, without meaning.  Five years of running and not looking back makes this son of Hermes realize that he hasn’t had a chance to take a breath until he got here. It’s hard to let down your guard when you’re always supposed to be keeping watch.

He wriggles under his covers trying to relax himself before bed, purple socks sticking out of the scrappy hand-me-down blanket, and he hears a small giggle from the bed next to his. Luke shifts his weight onto his side, eyes darting to your direction in the quiet of the dark cabin.

“Nice socks.”

He blinks. Were you talking to him? His toes wiggle playfully, prompting more of your melodious laughter as he chews at his lip before he responds.

“Guess I’m getting used to them.”

“You’re getting used to a lot of things around here. That’s good,” you whisper, and thinks he can see you concocting something sinister in that brain of yours—he’s on the edge of the mattress hanging onto your every word as he realizes this is the most you’ve spoken to him.

“You did this. Why?” he says, more of a statement than a question. Why would you go out of your way for someone like him?

“Are you mad about it? Luke, right?” you mutter, a calm expression on your face shrouded in moonlight, and for a second he wonders if you actually don’t know his name until he notices the upwards quirk of your lip. 

Luke catches himself then, and the realization hits him like a blow to the chest— he’s not angry at all. If anything, he hasn’t had the time to feel anything negative with the antics you’ve been pulling. You’ve proven to be quite the distraction to his circumstances, and he can’t remember the last time he’s thought about Thalia or his mom since he got here. The melancholy falls on his countenance like a better-fitting blanket than the one he has on, and your words pull him from his thoughts before they can suffocate him again.

“Sorry about your sister. I lost someone right before I got here too. My mom.” 

This, he can tell, is not acting. Your eyes flicker to a polaroid strapped in the space underneath the top bunk above your head, two blurry figures huddled together in a memory.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what to say. In the silence that follows, he swallows audibly. Everyone’s been worried about Annabeth, including himself that he hadn’t even thought of his own emotions being on display for everyone to see. Luke never thought you of all people would notice.

You shrug, “S’not your fault. I know when people are acting though. If you know I’m the one who’s been starting shit, why haven’t you told anyone?”

Luke almost laughs at that, a rough exhale leaving his lungs as he watches your hands clutch your quilt.

“It’s pretty entertaining, I guess. You’re annoying, but I don’t mind it. Kept my mind off of things.”

He watches you smile in the shadows now, and it shines—all lips, teeth, and sheer mirth that makes his chest feel a little lighter. A real smile from you, one that doesn’t hide your true intentions.

“I’m glad. Mine too.” 

The next thing you do confuses him further, but from what he’s gathered you’re always full of surprises. You chuck your quilt across the space between your bunks, and the end of it smacks him in the face as he grunts.

“Here. Keep it,” you chuckle a bit loudly, the both of you hearing a Shhhhh… from somewhere in the dark cabin.

“What… Why? Are we friends now?” Luke mumbles jokingly, inhaling the soft scent of berries and fresh linen. His purple laundry load smelled like this too.

“No.”

“Then why are you giving me your stuff?” he says, but still curls up underneath the handmade quilt stitched from memories of a past life, of motherly love and gentle hands. He doesn’t have anything like this, so he settles into this feeling of comfort instead, even if it wasn’t his memory to hold. You go quiet at the sight of him, eyes fluttering and chin tucked into the pink and purple fabric, and he looks as soft as a normal 14 year old boy should.

“It’s getting boring in here. Gonna have to change it up soon, I think,” you mumble, turning away and shutting your eyes before he can say anything else.

—

The next day, you get caught putting a month’s supply of bubble bath into the lake, but Luke’s convinced you did it on purpose. All of camp is standing on the shore, watching you wave at them from a river tube as Chiron and Mr. D yell at you in exasperation—finally revealing yourself as the troublemaker they’ve been searching for.

“Get on the beach this instant, young lady! You have no idea how much trouble you’ve put us through!” Mr. D’s voice echoes across the lake, his immortal form almost filtering through his frustration before you laugh in his face, unthreatened by the Olympian.

“Good thing I get it from you. Hello, dad!”

Jaws drop as everyone turns to look at Mr. D, the realization hitting his face as he points at you, his brain moving a mile a minute. Though you resemble your mother, your actions are all him. You revel in the grand reaction, looking up to see a purple thyrsus surrounded by grape leaves float over your head.

“Nice outfit, kid. I don’t think purple is your color. She do that to you too?” Mr. D notes Luke’s wine colored cargos and socks clashing against the harsh orange of his shirt as he pushes past him, scratching his head at the idea of another kid. Poor guy said two was the limit in a lifetime and he gets a grinning teenage girl who dares him to do something about it. He hasn’t raised a lot of girls….

“I don’t know. I guess trouble always seems to find me,” Luke laughs lightly, watching kids of all ages jump into the bubbly lake water happily. The glowing ember of his eyes are relaxed for the first time in a while— an inviting flame catching your own as you stare at him from across the sudsy water. Trouble, he thinks, a smile settling onto his face—how fitting.

He’s spent a lot of time running. But perhaps this time, he’s finding reasons to want to stay.

—

"After all, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal." - Sylvia Plath

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[steddieas-shegoes]

Annie always knew there would come a day where Eddie got in bigger trouble than his charm could get him out of. She just didn’t think it’d be false murder accusations.

The explanation Hopper, who shouldn’t even be alive, gave her and Wayne seemed ludicrous at best, but who was she to argue with the Chief of Police if it meant her baby boy would avoid prison.

It still didn’t add up, even when the kids who visited him backed it up with their own witness statements, or when Steve Harrington of all people cried while explaining that he saved their lives and everyone should be thanking him.

And she loved her boy, thought he was a gift to her and the world, but she knew that he still had some of his daddy in him and those were stronger genetics than she cared to admit out loud. Wayne silently agreed.

When Eddie woke up, he couldn’t quite talk, the bites on his face and neck causing some minor nerve damage that the doctors assured them all would heal up just fine. He listened though, always smiled the best he could when the kids came by, silently held Robin’s hand in his when she would ramble on for what felt like hours. But he got squirmy when Steve visited.

Luckily, Steve didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything about it. And maybe he didn’t think it was unusual. Eddie wasn’t exactly the type to sit still before all this. Maybe this is just what Steve expected.

Eventually, Eddie woke up and tried talking and managed to move his mouth enough to be understood. It was still a little painful, and some words were harder than others to form, but he managed. Every day got easier.

But he also got squirmier.

Annie wasn’t around as much once he could talk, had to get back to work so she could start working on replacing their clothes and maybe Eddie’s guitar. She came by every morning, made sure he had people with him all day, and then came by after her shift to have dinner with him. He didn’t get to eat anything except soft foods, but she always made sure to bring his hot sauce to make it as edible as possible.

Steve was always there when she got there.

Always.

Sitting next to Eddie’s bed, relaxed, usually talking, but sometimes just sitting in silence as Eddie read his book silently to himself.

Eddie squirmed even while reading, but only while Steve was around.

“Okay, kiddo. What the hell’s goin’ on? Is Steve makin’ you uncomfortable?”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“No! He’s great. I’m glad he visits.”

“Then why the hell can’t ya sit still when he’s here?”

Eddie looked guilty, and the last thing she wanted was for him to feel cornered. Cornered people did stupid things in her experience.

“I just have to keep trying not to hold his hand.”

Now Annie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

“You mean…?”

Eddie nodded sadly.

“Does he…?”

Eddie shook his head.

“You sure?”

Eddie sighed.

“I think Robin would’ve told me when she came out to me.”

“Hm. Or maybe she doesn’t know.”

“Yeah right. I think she knows the last time he dropped a pen on the ground. They’re ridiculous. You’ve seen them.”

Annie nodded. She had. And she’d even considered at first that they were together until she really watched Robin talk, listened to the way she referred to Steve, caught on to what she was really saying.

“Maybe Steve doesn’t even know.”

Eddie changed the subject and Annie let him. It wasn’t her business in the end, not if it wasn’t hurting Eddie, and a little crush wouldn’t kill him.

But another few days passed, the doctor gave him a date for when he’d be able to leave, and Steve was quick to offer help with bringing him home.

Of course, home right now was a motel room with iffy AC and a shower that didn’t have enough water pressure to water a plant, but the offer was nice.

“I meant home with me. Until you guys find a place. You guys can get a spare key to visit and check in. I don’t have a job right now so I’ll be home anytime I’m not volunteering.”

Annie and Wayne shared a look as Eddie silently begged them to agree.

The crush would maybe kill him after all, but he was an adult and had to be trusted with his own heart.

“Okay, but we’re coming to help get you settled.”

Steve and Eddie nodded.

Steve patted Eddie’s hand, held it for a bit longer than what one would consider strictly friendly, before excusing himself to call Joyce to make sure he could borrow the wheelchair she still had from when Jonathan broke his leg years ago.

“That was awful nice of him.”

“Don’t.”

So Annie didn’t.

“I’d say the boy’s got a crush on ya, Ed.”

Eddie glared at Wayne.

“Don’t start either.”

Wayne held his hands up, smirked, and said his goodbyes so he could head to work.

Sure enough, when it was time to bring Eddie home, Steve went above expectations. He made sure he had a wheelchair and a walker just in case Eddie was stubborn, he’d made up his guest room with fresh sheets and posters Eddie would like, even arranged for the kids to set up some of their DnD mini figures on the desk for decoration.

Annie didn’t say anything.

When she visited, Steve was always busy cooking or cleaning or taking care of Eddie or making sure the kids had rides where ever they needed to go. He was a regular old mother hen and Eddie watched it all with a fondness Annie didn’t think could be hidden.

Three weeks after he got home, she stopped by to bring Eddie a new pair of jeans she’d found at the store, the last of his size.

The house was quiet, and it was almost enough to worry her.

She slowly checked the downstairs rooms, her heart racing at the thought that something could’ve happened to both of them.

She rushed upstairs, unsure of any room except for Eddie’s designated space. She took a chance on the door on the right and immediately felt a laugh bubbling up in her chest.

Steve and Eddie were both starfished across Steve’s bed, limbs overlapping and faces smooshed close together. She could see Eddie’s hand twitching every few seconds, a new thing that came with some of the nerve damage to his arm, and he eventually bunched Steve’s shirt up in his fingers.

Steve smiled in his sleep, scooting closer and draping his arm completely over Eddie’s back.

Annie back away and slowly closed the door behind her.

When she got back to Wayne, she just handed over the $5 bill in her pocket.

“In Steve’s room?” He asked, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

“In his bed.”

“Damn. Clothes on?”

Annie smacked him on the back of the head.

“Yes! And they better stay on until I approve of Steve officially.”

“Yeah, right. Good luck preachin’ that to your son.”

“What’s that mean?”

Wayne looked over the top of the newspaper for a moment before continuing to read.

“At least neither of them can get pregnant.”

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 12 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, allusion to smut, contractions, water breaking, labor and delivery, and Eddie wasn't there, epidural, medical emergency, lots of fluff

WC: 4.3k

A/N: I could not have written this piece without @the-unforgivenn 💚 everything accurate in this fic is because of her, and everything inaccurate is because of me. I love you, Annie. Thank you for asking my random birth-related questions at all hours.

Divider credit to @saradika

November 4, 1999

At nine months pregnant, everything hurts.

Perhaps that’s why when you wake up for work with an extra pinch in your back, you cast off any worries. Or maybe it’s because you still have over a week until you’re due, and first babies tend to take their time arriving, so there’s no possible way that today is the day.

You shrug on a sweater and your most comfortable pair of maternity jeans, your body heavy with pregnancy and fatigue. Your movements are sluggish, even more so than usual, and Eddie notices as he stands out the counter, shoveling a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into his mouth.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asks, tongue darting out to swipe a drip of milk from his lower lip.

Nodding, you massage just above your tailbone in a meager attempt to ease the pain. “Mhm,” you lie, grabbing two granola bars from the pantry. You unwrap one and take a big bite, letting the chocolate chips melt in your mouth. “Just ready to have this baby.” Another lie, or possibly a half truth; while you’re eager to have your body to yourself again, the prospect of labor and delivery terrifies you.

Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead, his palms gently rubbing your bump. “Eleven more days and then we’ll be a family of four.”

“Baby Brother is taking forever to get here,” Harris laments from his seat at the table, spearing a banana slice with his fork. He glances at your stomach with impatient eyes. “Can’t you do something to hurry him up?”

You cough as your husband’s cheeks flush pink; he rakes a ringed hand through his curls. No doubt he’s remembering last night when he’d innocently lifted your belly to relieve some of the pressure, only to find himself hard as a rock as his fingers lightly dug into your skin. I’ll go slow so I don’t send you into early labor, he’d remarked with a teasing wink. 

“Gotta be patient,” Eddie says now, seemingly having recovered from the brief flashback. He slurps the remaining milk from the bowl and stifles a belch, reaching for his jacket and keys. “Have a great day at work,” he kisses you, smiling against your lips, “and school.” He ruffles Harris’s hair, and just like that, he’s out the door. 

Harris finishes his breakfast, placing his empty plate in the sink and scampering to the door to put on his sneakers. You watch enviously as he ties them with ease; you’ve been relegated to slip-on shoes until your feet are no longer swollen. 

“Come on, Mommy,” he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I don’t wanna miss the bus.”

You silently pray that the short walk to the bus stop will ease your muscle tension, taking careful steps as you trail behind the far-too-energetic-for-8 AM little boy. 

Eleven more days. Only eleven more days, you tell yourself. The reminder has tears prickling along your lash line in a double-edged sword. You don’t think you can handle eleven more days of this discomfort, but will you truly be ready to have a newborn baby in less than two weeks? Once you give birth, you can no longer shield your baby from the world’s dangers and cruelties. Will your love be enough? Will you be enough? And how can you possibly figure it all out in just eleven days?

Your mantra of eleven more days turns out to be just six hours. Since Will became a teacher two years ago, the two of you have made it a habit to spend time together after the students’ dismissal. You’re preparing art materials for tomorrow’s class when you feel it—a trickle of liquid sliding down your leg. 

Your eyes widen, heat crawling up your neck and into your face. I peed myself at work. It had happened once last month, but it was preceded by a sneeze, and you were already in the parking lot about to go home. When you’d told Eddie that evening, the two of you laughed so hard that you’d wet yourself again. 

But this feels…different. 

“Oh, no.” There’s another small stream, but it isn’t accompanied by any relief on your bladder. Your worried murmur gets Will’s attention, and he looks at you with concern. “I think my water broke, but I don’t know…it might just be pee…” Your voice trails off before you can speak in circles. 

Will leaps to his feet. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” The pair of scissors he’s been using to cut out paper stars clatter to the table as he rushes to your side. 

“Call Eddie,” you mumble, gripping your bump as a cramp—most likely a contraction, you realize—squeezes at your pelvis. “Tell him to—shit—to get my bag from the apartment and bring it to the hospital.” You bite your lip to stifle a groan. “I’ll call Wayne and ask him to get Harris from the bus.”  

He nods, dialing from the classroom phone as you rattle off the record store’s number. You pull your own Nokia cell phone—a purchase Eddie had insisted upon after you got pregnant, wanting to make sure you and Baby Munson stayed safe. 

“So, um,” Will hesitates after you’ve hung up with Wayne, ending the conversation with a promise to let him know as soon as the baby is born, “Eddie was in the middle of a guitar lesson, so I left a message with one of his employees—”

Please don’t say Ev, you wordlessly plead. Anyone but the stoner who can barely remember to show up to work on time. 

“Ev, I think?”

Shit. 

Will hooks his arm with yours, providing you with the stability to stand up. “Let’s get you to the hospital, all right? Maybe it’s a false alarm or something.”

You nod, but deep down, you know that this baby is on his way. Call it mother’s intuition, you muse wryly. 

After a quick stop in Principal Sinclair’s office to explain the situation, Will helps you into his Chevy Impala, grimacing along with you when another contraction hits. “Should we be timing those?”

You grit your teeth. “Shit, y-yeah. I completely forgot.” All those birthing books you’d read cover to cover to prepare for this moment, and you hadn’t even remembered to time your own damn contractions. “We need to track how long they last and the amount of time between them.”

Will remains unfazed. “We’ll just start now,” he says simply, flicking his wrist to check his watch. “It’s 2:32. Let me know when you get another one.” He turns the key in the ignition, taking your hand before putting the gear shift into drive. “It’ll be okay. Eddie’s gonna get the message, and he’ll be here soon.”

It’s as though he can read your mind, and you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. He’s right; if you are in labor, it’s still early enough that Eddie won’t miss the birth. 

You hope. 

Your contractions are one minute long and twelve minutes apart by the time you reach Hawkins General Hospital, growing slightly stronger with each wave. Will relays the information to the receptionist, his voice wavering with nerves and excitement despite his best efforts to remain calm. 

Before you know it, you’re being wheeled into a room, a laminated bracelet with your personal details dangling from your wrist. The clock on the wall indicates that it’s just past 3 PM, which means that Eddie should be here in a few minutes. 

As if on cue, the cell phone in your purse chirps its familiar ringtone. Harris had insisted that you change it from the standard option, choosing one that sounds like birds chirping. It normally reminds you of springtime mornings; right now, you’re ready to throw it through the window. 

Will passes it to you, and you punch the answer button with an impatient, “hello?”

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Eddie’s carefree demeanor wafts through the speaker, “just wanted to check in and see if you’re feeling any better. Did you want me to pick up something from the store on my way—?”

Dammit, Ev. “Eddie, my water broke at work. Will called earlier and left a message,” you manage, maneuvering around the heart rate monitor to brace for another contraction. “I’m—ughhh, shit—I’m at the hospital.”

“What?!” You can hear his sudden shift to panic; the phone drops from his grasp and clatters on the counter before he retrieves it, uttering a slew of swear words. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Your bag’s at home, right? Oh, and Harris! Shit, let me—”

“Wayne’s on it,” you tell him, hopefully putting an end to his mile-a-minute thoughts. “I just need my bag and my husband.” 

There’s a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. “I can provide both.” His humor peeks through his fear in subtle reassurance. “Be there ay-sap. I love you so fucking much.” 

“Love you, too.” A soft click tells you that he’s on his way, probably simultaneously scrambling for his keys and shouting at his employee. 

Nearly an hour later, there’s still no sign of Eddie. Will blots the perspiration on your forehead with a cloth; out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching the clock as well. “He’ll be here,” he says as though reading your mind. Or maybe he’s scared that he’ll have to stand in for Eddie throughout the entire process. “In the meantime, I’ll flag down a nurse so we can get you that epidural.” His words are even, but his smile is uneasy, both of you well-aware that he is out of his element. Though he’ll deny it vehemently, you know you owe him. Big-time.

“Why don’t you grab yourself some food from the cafeteria?” You’d heard his stomach growling just before, and he can certainly use a break. 

Will nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you want anything?” he asks out of habit, cheeks tinged pink as you shake your dismal cup of ice chips. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He ducks out of the room as a nurse walks in. 

“Are we considering an epidural, Mrs. Munson?” she asks. Her bright smile is one you’ll be unable to return until after the pain medication takes effect. 

“Y-Yeah, please.” You shift uncomfortably while she examines you and announces that your cervix is four centimeters dilated. Part of you is relieved that labor is progressing at a pace where Eddie should arrive in time for the delivery; another part just wants this baby out of you, now. 

The nurse makes a note on your chart. “I’ll let the anesthesiologist know.” Another unreciprocated grin and she’s gone, off to poke and prod the next patient. 

Alone for a moment, you relish the quiet, save for the soft beeps of the machines you’re connected to. With great care, you caress the swell of your stomach where your son has developed from a microscopic speck to a full-term baby. 

“Your daddy will get here soon,” you murmur to your sensor-covered belly, “hopefully before you do.” You laugh for a second until another contraction squeezes you from the inside, shifting your expression from amused to pained. 

The anesthesiologist and Will arrive at the same time, the former pausing to let your impromptu birth partner enter first. He walks with more enthusiasm now that he’s eaten, though his meal threatens to reappear when he sees the doctor pull out the comically oversized needle. 

“Just lean forward,” she says to you, “you’ll feel some pressure, but once the medication kicks in, it’ll be worth it.” She offers you a kind smile before turning to Will and explaining, “you may need to help her.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Will mumbles, avoiding looking at the needle. You clasp your hand in his so you can sit up. The cool air raises goosebumps on the sliver of flesh no longer covered by the gown, but the chill is quickly replaced by a stinging sensation that has you gripping Will’s palm. You don’t realize the strength of your grasp until you hear him mutter, “ow,” but you don’t let go until the burning ceases. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, watching him shake out his hand. “About all of this. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your afternoon.”

He shakes his head and guides you back against the pillow. “Maybe not, but I’m glad I can be here for you.” Now that the threat of broken fingers has passed, he truly means it. 

5:46 PM. 

You’ve been in the hospital for nearly three hours, and there’s still no sign of Eddie. Will’s casually flipping through a copy of People magazine that’s so outdated, Nick Nolte was just crowned the Sexiest Man Alive. He’s visibly more relaxed now that the medication has eased your pain, chattering teeth a welcome replacement for your anguished moans.

Your concern that Eddie will miss the baby’s birth has hardened into pure fear that something has happened to him. What if he lost focus while driving and got into an accident? The weather was overcast when you’d arrived at Hawkins General; it could have started raining since then and created slippery roads, perfect for hydroplaning. The thought of him hurt while you’re unable to help him has your insides churning, and for the first time, you’re grateful for an empty stomach.

Maybe you should call Wayne and find out if he had heard from his nephew. But if he hadn’t, then both of you would be stuck worrying and answerless; even worse, if he had and didn’t want to relay bad news while you’re in such a vulnerable state–

“I’m here!” 

Relief surges through your veins, Eddie’s panting voice music to your ears. You roll from your side onto your back to see your husband standing by your bedside. Sweat drips down his temples and pools under his arms with the pungency of someone who’d just completed a marathon. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, a jacket haphazardly tossed over his shoulder and your bag clutched in his hand.

He swoops down and places his lips on yours in a series of frantic kisses, his free palm cupping your cheek as though ensuring that the moment is real. He only pulls back when you do, getting a glimpse of your face.

“Where were you?” Not an accusation, but a question threaded with genuine care. 

His nose nudges yours as he sneaks in another peck. “Did you know that Chief Hopper retired?” Your brows furrow in confusion at his non-answer to your question. “Well, he did, and the sheriff’s department decided to throw him a parade. Today. Closed off a bunch of the side streets and backed up traffic on the main ones.” He coughs out a terse laugh. “Glad I quit smoking, or my lungs would’ve given up before I hit a half-mile.”

You mull over his response for a moment before it finally clicks. “Wait…did you run here?”

He tugs at his shirt fabric in an attempt to create a breeze that will cool him down. “It was more like a walk-run combo, but…yeah.” He shrugs, no big deal. “Parked my car in a random lot and just…booked it.” His shoulder gently sag as the adrenaline from his adventure wears away. “I gotta sit.”

It’s then that he notices Will, rising from the chair and placing the gossip rag on the table beside him. “Byers, holy shit,” Eddie looks at him incredulously, “have you been here with her the whole time?”

“He has,” you answer for him, managing a grateful smile in your friend’s direction. “And I can’t thank him enough.” Will returns the gesture and pulls Eddie in for a hug, wishing you both luck before slipping out the door.

Eddie brings his full attention back to you, lacing his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes the side of your hand, bringing small but strong comfort with each gentle touch. “Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry–”

“Eds,” you interrupt before he can continue his apology, “you’re here now.”

“Yeah.” Soft, distracted, overthinking. You can practically see the gears in head spinning, His second child and the second time he’d nearly missed the birth. He clears his throat and shakes away the thought with a toss of his hair, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “How are you feeling?” He takes in the sight of you, his wife, the most beautiful being his cynical eyes have ever seen. “You look pretty damn good for someone about to have a baby.”

You laugh. “That epidural is a miracle from above.” You’ll gladly take the chattering teeth and the itchiness over the sensation of your pelvis imploding. Eddie doesn’t share in your amusement, still focused on his own shortcomings. “Hey,” you say quietly, pulling him out of his mind with just one word. “Don’t think about the missed message or the traffic. We’re having our baby today.” You bring his hand to the apex of your stomach in the final few hours that it houses the life you two created together.

“I love you.” 

His eyes shine with emotion. He’s here, not only in this moment, but throughout the entire pregnancy. He didn’t bury himself in music or booze or other arbitrary distractions. He’d read What to Expect When You’re Expecting cover to cover, had gone to all of the doctor’s appointments, made sure to keep the kitchen stocked with your cravings and free of your aversions. He’d picked up the household chores (and delegated some to Harris) to ease your workload and wiped your tears when you’d cried while watching two squirrels play in a tree. 

You never asked him to do any of it; you never needed to. 

“I love you, too.”

It all happened so quickly. 

One minute, Eddie’s watching the monitor spike with a contraction, utterly bewildered by the power of pain medication. 

“You really can’t feel that?”

“Just some pressure, but nothing like earlier. I told you; it’s a godsend.”

After hours of strategic breathing, a plethora of ice chips, and a steady outpouring of love between you two, you’re about to tell him that you feel the urge to push. 

And then a nurse rushes in. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson,” he begins, urgency evident even through his calm exterior, “your baby is experiencing late heart rate deceleration. We need to begin delivery immediately.” He glances at Eddie, then at you. “I’m going to check your dilation to see if we’ll try a vaginal delivery or prepare for a cesarean birth.”

 The blood drains from Eddie’s face as he processes the information, the lighthearted energy completely zapped from the room. “Is…is she…are they…”

The nurse finishes the examination, removing his rubber glove. “Ten centimeters,” he announces. “I’ll page the doctor.”

It’s a whirlwind, with almost no time for panic to set in. The doctor and the other nurses arrive immediately, and when Eddie takes your hand, you can feel him trembling. 

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be strong for you. Your face says it all: you’re terrified, and you need him to be your rock.

“You’ve got this, Sweetheart,” he whispers fiercely, pushing past the lump in his throat. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know, and I’m so lucky that you’re having my baby.” He kisses your forehead; out of the corner of his eye, he sees the medical staff preparing for delivery. His heart skips a beat, and the realization hits that he’s about to be a father of two.

You’re exhausted, a salty mixture of sweat and tears decorating your face. Gritting your teeth, you push while Eddie coaches you, reminding you to breathe and allowing you to swear at him without even batting an eyelash. It’s mostly a blur, with all of your energy concentrated on getting this baby out, but you vaguely recall telling him that he’s not allowed to even think about touching you again.

“Almost there,” he cheers, flashing an awestruck smile so wide that his cheeks ache. “C’mon, you can do it! Oh, my god, you’re a goddamn superhero.” 

Three giant pushes later, you hear the telltale newborn wail as a nurse coos, “Happy birthday, little man! Here’s your mama!” She gently places your tiny baby on your chest, quickly wiping off the vernix covering his body. 

“He’s here!” you manage through simultaneous laughter and cries. You carefully hold him against you, kissing the wisps of curls on his scalp. “Hi, baby boy!” Turning to Eddie, you blink away the mist coating your eyes. “We have another son,” you choke out.

He just nods, relishing in the wonder of becoming a father again. His pointer finger grazes the baby’s little half-closed fist, only looking away when the nurse asks him if he’d like to cut the umbilical cord. “Y-Yeah. Please,” he awkwardly adds, doing exactly as he’s instructed. 

As the baby is lifted from your torso to be assessed and measured, Eddie kisses you with a passion you’ve never felt before, even from him. You can see that he’s crying, too, and he wipes his cheeks haphazardly.  

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, punctuating the statement with another kiss. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for my kids.” His nose rubs yours tenderly. 

You smile at him. “Do you want to call Wayne? I won’t be up for visitors until the morning,” you add, “but I just want to let him know that the baby’s here, happy and healthy.”

“In a bit,” he murmurs, watching the nurse carefully swaddle his newborn son in a hospital blanket. “I just wanna hold him first.”

Eddie takes your baby from the nurse, shifting to support his head. “Hey, buddy. I’m your dad.” His body slowly sways as he rocks back and forth. “You gave us quite the scare just now. I see you’re following in your big brother’s mischievous footsteps.” He swears his heart melts when the infant opens his mouth to yawn. “Yeah, you’ve had a busy day. Same here. But it was worth it, huh?”

He wears fatherhood so naturally, so perfectly. You wish you could capture this feeling in a jar and save it forever. For now, you settle for watching him fawn over his newest son, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Eddie murmuring, “and let me tell you: you have the best mommy a kid could ever ask for.”

Morning arrives after a restless sleep. You know the nurses are just following protocol when they examine you every hour, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it. 

But the next knock on the door is one that you welcome willingly. Harris and Wayne stand there, waiting for permission to enter. You smile when you notice Harris shuffling his feet and shaking his hands in an attempt to expel some excess energy. 

“Come on in,” Eddie whispers, beaming, “there’s someone very special we’d like to introduce you to.”

Harris rushes to your bedside, peering at the bundle in your arms. “My baby brother!” he squeals, jumping up and down. 

Eddie puts a finger to his lips. “He’s sleeping, so we have to be quiet, okay?” He ruffles Harris’s hair as the boy nods. “Do you wanna hold him?”

“Yeah! I mean, yeah,” Harris lowers his voice, sitting down on the bed. You scoot over, careful not to move too quickly, and he melds into your side. He’s always been small to you, but compared to his baby brother, he seems so grown up. 

“Okay, hold out your arms like this,” Eddie instructs, demonstrating the correct position, “and you’re gonna make sure to keep his head nice and safe, because he can’t hold it up on his own yet.”

Harris sports a look of concentration as you and Eddie work in tandem to place the baby in his arms. “He’s got the teeniest nose I’ve ever seen.”

Wayne laughs at this, watching his older grandson snuggle his youngest. “Does this little fella have a name yet?”

“Oh, right.” Eddie chuckles. “Gentlemen, this is Hendrix William Munson. ‘Hendrix’ after one of the most talented guitarists to grace this planet, and ‘William’ after an amazing friend and substitute birth partner.”

“Hendrix,” Harris repeats incredulously, never taking his eyes off of his brother. “I’m Harris. I talked to you when you were in Mommy’s tummy, remember?” Hendrix lets out a long exhale, like he’s acknowledging the question. “I know you’re still too little right now, but when you get big, we’re gonna play together all the time. Except when I’m at school.” He looks over at you expectantly. “Can I bring him to school with me? Like for show and tell?”

“Maybe when he’s older,” you say, lacking the bandwidth to point out the logistics of his request. 

Harris wrinkles his nose, but his expression quickly softens. “Yeah, you’re right. He can’t even do any tricks yet.”

It’s quiet for a moment, everyone focused on the two Munson boys. Surprisingly, Wayne is the one who breaks the silence. 

“You two have one beautiful family,” he muses, an arthritic finger grazing Hendrix’s blanket. “Y’should be proud of yourselves.”

Eddie gives his uncle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Couldn’t have done it without ya, Old Man.”

Wayne knows this, accepting the compliment with a bashful grin but saying nothing further. 

Peacefulness surrounds the five of you, soft conversation seamlessly weaving its way into the calm. You can’t kid yourself; most days will be pure chaos, balancing spit-up and school plays, field trips and feeding schedules. And once Hendrix starts walking—and running—you’ll need all cylinders firing. 

But today, right now, you soak in the serenity. Just you and your boys. Your family. 

--

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

I Guess So

masterlist

summary: butcher is furious when he learns you’re a supe.

pairing: billy butcher x female supe!reader

rating: R for language

word count: 4.3k

warnings: language, butcher being a complete asshole, cancer

timeline: set in an au after season 3 — in a world where becca doesn’t exist and butcher got into supe-hunting when his sister went missing.

author’s note: when i reference the flash/barry allen i’m picturing grant gustin, not ezra miller lol

It was a quiet day in the office. Everyone was going through the several boxes of information on Vought that they had gathered at the last hospital they investigated.

“Jack pot!” Hughie exclaimed.

“What’d you find?” MM asked from across the room, head still down as he stayed focused on the box he was working on.

“There’s tons of names here of babies Vought dosed,” Hughie said. “And pictures of them now, looks like they were keeping tabs on the ones that didn’t go great.”

“Makes sense,” MM replied. “If one went off the rails they’d wanna know.”

“But why risk it?” Annie wondered out loud. “Why would Vought want these Compound V babies out there if they didn’t respond well to the serum?”

“Yeah, knowing Vought it’d make more sense to round ‘em up and put ‘em down,” Frenchie said.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Hughie’s eyes widened a little as his brows furrowed. “Uh, Y/n? Do you have a twin?”

“No, why?” you asked half-heartedly, buried deep in the box you were looking through. You had found some info on Temp-V and were hoping there was something in there that could help Butcher.

You were confused as to why Hughie hadn’t answered you so you looked up from your desk. Hughie was now standing at Annie’s desk as she read over the papers he’d just handed her. Frenchie and Kimiko looked up from their desks but didn’t bother going to see what all the fuss was about.

“Uh, MM,” Annie called him over. When he saw what Annie and Hughie were so freaked out over, his eyes widened.

“Holy fucking shit,” MM mumbled before he glanced at you. Annie tapped his arm a little and pointed at something written near the bottom of the page.

“What’s wrong you guys?” you asked, even though you had an idea about what they could be looking at.

You thanked your lucky stars Butcher had left to get lunch for the team, even though you knew you’d have to confront him about it at some point. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t mean to keep it from him! But you were putty in his fucking hands and when he said he didn’t like Supe’s you weren’t gonna tell him what you had coursing though your veins. And after the ‘I love you’s had been said it seemed too late.

“Anything you wanna tell us, Y/n?” MM asked.

“Please don’t tell Butcher,” you said.

“‘Don’t tell Butcher’? Seriously, Y/n? You’re sure that’s what you wanna say?” Annie asked, silently begging you to just come clean.

“Don’t tell me what?” Butcher stepped into the office and you stood up quickly. “What’re you guys all looking at?”

He put down the food and took a few steps closer to where MM, Hughie, and Annie were. Before MM could move the papers around and help you keep your secret a little longer, Butcher grabbed what he was holding and started reading. By the time he finished, angered tears were forming in his eyes before he looked at you.

“You’re a fucking Supe?” Butcher asked you through gritted teeth. You stayed silent, completely frozen as he stormed over to you, papers still in his hand. “Fucking answer me!”

“Y-Yes,” you said quietly, unable to look him in the eyes as he towered over you. (He wasn’t that much taller than you, but right now you felt about two feet tall and didn’t dare look up at him.)

“What’s this mean?” He pointed to a note at the bottom of the pages. “‘Full power unknown’? ‘Extremely dangerous’?” he read. “What the fuck are your powers, Y/n?”

“Billy, please-”

“Oh, no, no, no! Don’t fucking dare Billy me! Answer the goddamn question!”

“I can sometimes run really fast,” you mumbled

“The fuck you mean, ‘sometimes’?”

“The Compound V in my system randomly acts up and I can run like the Flash. It’s always temporary, never lasts longer than a day or two.” (You could’ve used A-Train as an example instead of Barry Allen, but given your audience you made the right call.)

Butcher looked at you and for a second you thought he might just pull you into a hug as tears slipped down your cheeks as well as his.

“Fuck you,” he spat. “How dare you fucking lie to me, about this of all fucking things!”

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Sorry don’t fuckin’ cut it, love,” he said, teeth clenching again.

“Please, Billy I love you so fucking much!” You tried taking his hand in yours.

“No!” He pulled his hand back. “You fucking lied to me.”

“I had to! You said you hated Supe’s and I didn’t want you hating me!”

“Good job with that,” he scoffed, hurt flashing over your features. “Fuck you.”

He turned away from you before leaving the office, ignoring the others as they asked him where he was going.

**

MM was the first to talk to you about the whole ordeal; he went to your apartment that night to see how you were doing.

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door. He pulled you into a quick but tight hug.

“You could’ve told me, you know,” he whispered before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry about Butcher, has he talked to you since?”

“No,” you shook your head, “but he, uh, I think he’s done with me.”

“I’m sure he just needs time,” he tried to assure you as you both walked to the couch before sitting down.

“He came by and got all his stuff, MM,” you said. “It must’ve been right after he stormed out of the office because when I got home all his shit was gone and the key I gave him was on the nightstand.”

“Fuck,” MM mumbled. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s my own fault, I should’ve fuckin’ told him.”

“Yeah, but he’s always saying shit about Supe’s,” he countered. “He has to understand why you wouldn’t tell him.”

“But I’m not even technically a real Supe! When I’m not fast all I get is the bad side effects of Compound V—headaches, nausea, blurred vision—it fucking sucks!”

“I gotta ask, did Butcher really never notice?”

“He did, I just never told him the real reason. He was worried about my headaches and even asked me to see a doctor. I told him I did and they said it was nothing serious. I think that’s why he’s so mad at me; it’s not the Compound V, it’s the fact I’ve lied to him so fucking much.”

“I think he’s gonna get over it,” MM said. “I think he’s gonna realize how fucking miserable he is without you and just how happy you make him.”

You scoffed a little, “Don’t give me false hope.”

“I’m serious! You didn’t know pre-you Butcher! He was a complete asshole! Now? He’s… Well, he’s still an asshole but he’s not as annoying as he used to be.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “I remember when I first caught on that he liked you; he’d try not to raise his voice, he’d make room for you to sit next to him on the couch, so many little things about him changed whenever you walked into the motherfuckin’ room.”

“He wasn’t like that before?” You smiled, feeling those familiar butterflies over the thought of Billy fucking Butcher having a crush on you.

“Never!” MM assured you. “You need to give him time and space right now, but I know he still loves you.”

**

The next morning you went to work, not knowing what else to really do. If Butcher didn’t want to see you, he didn’t have to come in.

When you got there and saw him at his desk (which was now moved a few feet further from your own) you knew you made a mistake.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Butcher asked.

“She’s part of the team,” Hughie said.

“Come off it! She fucking lied to all of us! She’s a fucking Supe!”

“And we get why she lied!” Annie came to your defense.

“A Supe defending another Supe, what else is new?” he grumbled.

“Butcher,” Hughie warned.

“Alright, let’s take a fuckin’ vote, how about?” Butcher suggested.

“Sure,” MM said. “All those in favor of Y/n staying on the team?” He raised his hand as Hughie, Annie, Frenchie, and Kimiko did the same.

“Five against one,” Frenchie commented.

“Supe’s don’t get a fucking vote,” Butcher said.

“Still three against one,” MM replied. “She’s staying on the team.”

“Butcher-” you started but he cut you off.

“Stay the hell away from me,” Butcher told you. “Don’t you fucking talk to me or touch me or even fucking look at me!”

**

It was a couple days later and you were pouring yourself a cup of coffee when Butcher walked up beside you, clearly wanting coffee as well. You decided you weren’t gonna move from where you stood in front of the little coffee station MM had set up a few months ago. If you stood your ground, Butcher would either have to ask you to move or push you out of the way.

He was getting impatient as you stayed and took a sip of your fresh cup of coffee. You let out a content sigh hoping it would further aggravate him and cause him to say something, anything to you—he’d managed to successfully give you the silent treatment since his angry voting speech.

“Get the fuck outta the way,” he said and you took a step to the side before he instantly went to pour himself a cup.

You were about to gloat a little but when you looked at his face you could tell he hadn’t slept the night before.

“How’d you sleep last night?” you asked, genuinely concerned as you furrowed your brows and turned to look at him more intently.

“Fuckin’ great, I didn’t have a Supe sleepin’ next to me,” he countered. “And don’t fuckin’ talk to me, if it was up to me you woudln’t still fuckin’ be here.”

“So you’d really be okay with me just getting the hell outta here? Never seeing me again?” you asked.

“Drop fuckin’ dead for all I care!” He shrugged a little and took a sip of his coffee before he finally turned to look at you.

“Huh.” You nodded, tears quickly flooding your eyes. “You know what,” you shook your head a little, “fuck you, Butcher.”

“What, now you bruise easy?”

“I have put up with so much shit from you. I have stayed with you through it all and I have proved to you time and fucking time again that I genuinely love and care about you. But this one thing you can’t let go? This one, stupid thing that was given to me without my fucking consent?”

“You lied to me, Y/n!”

“You’ve lied to me, too! You looked me in the eyes and said you weren’t gonna take Temp V then you fucking took it! And what did I do? I stayed up with you all fucking night as you hurled green shit into the toilet! Then you promised you wouldn’t take it again, but you did. And I was angry, but I loved you and I realized you were just doing what you thought was right so again I stayed with you as you puked. I even fucking kissed you after you barely rinsed your mouth out because I just wanted you to know I loved you!” You continued looking at him as his angered expression slowly softened. “And after you learned about the cancer?

“After you made me swear to just ignore it and act like you didn’t have a year to live? I stopped worrying about it in front of you. Instead I lost countless nights of sleep because I’ve been pouring through every bit of research Vought has on Temp V. I even managed to get files that only existed in physical copies kept at Vought Tower. I would’ve done anything for you Butcher because I thought you loved me too.

“The fact you can’t see why I felt I had to lie to you about the shit I’ve got pumping through my veins is ridiculous. And just so we’re clear—you can hate me all you want, but you better start acting fucking professional when we’re on the clock because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Did you have that whole speech planned just to try and get me to fold?” he asked, scoffing a little.

“Fuck you,” you said before brushing past him.

**

It had been nearly two weeks since Butcher and the others found out you were (kind of) a Supe. Everyone except Butcher had gotten over it by now and had even been asking you questions about your “powers”.

Hughie had asked you; “Can you tell when you’re able to run fast? Or is it you’ll be jogging and suddenly you’re miles away from where you meant to be?”

To which you had replied; “No, I can tell when I’m able to run fast; but I can’t predict when it’s gonna happen, you know? Like I have no control over it, I just sometimes know that if I were to try, I’d be able to go super fast.”

Kimko had asked you; “On the days you don’t have your powers, do you ever wish you did? Or are you relieved when you wake up and realize you don’t have them for right now?” (She had texted you while you were seated across from her.)

You had said aloud; “It tends to hurt on the days my powers don’t work. I get really bad headaches and sometimes they’re so bad that I actually puke. I’m happier on the days I can run, not because I’m fast, but simply because I don't have all the bad side effects.”

Butcher managed to ignore you since the coffee incident. He only ever spoke to you about work and never saw you outside the office. Not that you’d admit it, but you missed him like crazy. You hated sleeping without him, you hated waking up and only cooking breakfast for yourself, and you absolutely hated not being able to talk to him about all the random shit you two used to talk about.

He missed you too, though he never showed it. He was losing sleep over how he was treating you, but he figured you wouldn’t want him now. You both knew he only had a little over six months left (nine at most) and he wasn’t gonna go crawling back to you just to die. If he did, you would’ve welcomed him with open arms; wanting nothing more than to hold him while he ignored the inevitable.

**

“Everyone knows the plan?” Butcher asked the group, looking into the back of the truck from the passenger seat. “In and out, no fucking around and finding out what happens when we mess with this guy?”

You and the others beside you (Annie, Kimiko, Frenchie, and MM) nodded.

“I’ll keep the engine running,” Hughie said. “Once we see this guy leave you’ve all got twenty minutes until he’s back—but leave time for getting in and out, so safeside ten minutes.”

“Any questions? We all know what we’re looking for?” Butcher asked, earning nothing but nods. You raised your hand a little and he sighed with (what seemed like) annoyance; “What?” he asked.

“Uhm, not a question, more like a comment, my uhm, my powers just…turned on?” you told Butcher, and therefore the others in the car. “So just…”

“That’s actually great,” Hughie said. “Thank you for sharing, Y/n.”

“Whatever,” Butcher mumbled.

Another few minutes went by before the Supe left his house and you all broke in.

As everyone looked for what they came for (a file stolen from the office that detailed all the crimes this particular Supe had done with proof that would land him in prison) you noticed something strange in the corner of the living room.

“Is that a camera?” you exclaimed.

Before anyone could answer several shots rang loud through the house. Using your powers, you looked and quickly realized three bullets were headed directly for the back of Butcher’s head. He was looking under a desk on the other side of the room and if you didn’t hurry, he’d be dead in less than a second.

You ran and got between the bullets and Butcher; crouching down and letting them hit you square in the back.

“What the fuck!” the man holding the gun exclaimed. Before he could take another shot, Kimko tackled him and held him down.

Butcher looked at you, his eyes wide as you both realized what you’d just done. You looked down at your chest, fully expecting to be gushing blood.

“You’re fucking bulletproof?” Butcher asked, a sense of awe in his tone.

“I guess so.” You furrowed your brows a little, still looking down and not really believing you weren’t dying. As you stood up, the bullets fell off your back and onto the floor. “Wow,” you muttered, “I’m fuckin’ bulletproof.”

“You…” Butcher looked at you as he stood up as well. He put a hand on your shoulder, turning you so he could look at your back—three small holes in your jacket and shirt, but your skin unfazed. “You just…You were ready to die for me?” He turned you back and looked down into your eyes, keeping his hand on your shoulder.

“Well, I wasn’t about to let you die,” you mumbled, looking up at him. You then looked at his hand and smiled a little before looking back at him. You were prepared to make a snide remark about how he was suddenly willing to touch you, but you kept your mouth shut when you saw his eyes brimming with tears.

He wrapped one arm around your shoulders while the other went around your torso. It actually took you a moment to realize he was in fact hugging you but when you did, you put your arms around him too; one going around his shoulders, the other around his torso.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes to keep the tears from falling. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you mumbled, reveling in the feeling of him holding you. You sensed he was about to pull away so you tightened your grip, not ready to let him go just yet, which caused him to do the same.

“I hate to break up this long-overdue hug,” MM said, “but I found the folder, we should take this guy in.”

“We’ll meet you in the truck,” Butcher replied, not opening his eyes or moving a muscle. “Cuff him.”

When everyone was out of the room, you whispered; “I really do forgive you, Butcher.”

“Thank you,” he replied, matching your tone. “Still can’t fuckin’ believe you risked your life for a guy who’s got about six months to live.”

**

That night you went to Butcher’s apartment and when he opened the door, he seemed surprised; “What’re you doing here?” he asked, letting you walk in.

“A couple months ago, I broke into the labs at Vought Tower and stole a shit ton of files they had on Temp V. I got the name of one of the doctors that helped make it, and I found his address. I was ready to threaten him to get him to find a cure for the Temp V side effects but when I explained my situation he said he’d help me willingly. He said he was actually already working on a cure without Vought knowing, because he felt insanely guilty about the fact Temp V kills people. He succeeded. He found a cure and he’s used it to make a new form of Temp V that gives you powers for a day while healing you and at the end of it, you should be back to your old self.”

“Wait, what?” Butcher furrowed his brows. “Why didn’t you tell me weeks ago you’ve been working with this guy?’

“One, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Two, you told me to pretend you weren’t sick so we could enjoy the time we had left together. And three, he needed my blood for the new Temp V. Turns out I’m like the Ultimate Temp V Supe, and with my blood he was able to make the new serum. Also, I just came from his house, he perfected the new serum last night and texted me this morning. I was gonna come here tonight whether or not you wanted me near you, and I told the doctor if I didn’t meet up with him by the end of the week he should contact Hughie Campbell at Supe Affairs. I figured if something happened to me, Hughie would make sure you got the cure.”

“So…there really is a cure?”

You reached into your jacket pocket and took out the small bag containing a couple vials of the new Temp V and two empty syringes.

“It’ll either kill you quicker or you’ll be cancer free tomorrow,” you told him, handing over the bag before he looked inside. “You don’t have to risk it, but I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I didn’t one-hundred-percent believe it’s safe. If you don’t trust me, I understand and we can pretend-”

“Of course I trust you,” he cut you off. “And of course I wanna be fuckin’ cured, but this seems almost too good to be true?”

“I know.” You smiled. “The doctor tested it on himself and showed me the proof—he’s taken five doses over the last two weeks and he’s healthier than ever.”

“How long did he have powers?”

“Twenty-four-hours,” you said. “But he had the same side effects as the first Temp V; puking, headaches, all that shit. But, after everything, he was fine—no long term or deadly side effects.”

“If I take this…will you please stay with me while it lasts?” he asked quietly, not wanting to go through it all alone.

“I was planning to, whether you wanted me here or not,” you admitted.

“Thank you.”

You both sat down on the couch and you watched as Butcher took the serum, his eyes lighting up the same way they did before. He tossed the used syringe on the end table next to the couch and leaned back, allowing the serum to do its job and he could almost feel his strength come back.

“How’s it feel?” you asked.

“Fuckin’ hurts,” he said, “but I’m okay. It’s better than wastin’ away.”

“You can say that again,” you mumbled. “Can I scoot closer to you?” you asked, not wanting to be close unless he wanted you to be.

“Please,” he said and moved his arm to the back of the couch as you moved to sit right beside him.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, not really enjoying how quiet things had gotten.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he admitted. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot for how I acted, and you have every right to hate me, but thank you for not leaving when I told you to. Thank you for not walking out of my life for good.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Hm?”

“The only reason I didn’t leave was because I needed to know where you were when I got my hands on the cure. Once I knew you were healthy, I had planned to leave like you asked.”

He moved his arm from the couch and instead rested it on your shoulders; “Are you still planning to leave?”

“Only if you don’t ask me to stay,” you said honestly. “If you want to go back to the way things were a month ago, I’ll happily stay. But if you’re still freaked out about the fact I’m a Supe, I won’t bother you again once I know you’re okay.”

“Please stay,” he said. “I’m sorry about the shit I’ve said and done the past three weeks, but please stay.”

“Stay working at the bureau? Or stay…with you?”

“You can’t quit the bureau, you’re the smartest fuckin’ person there,” he said, making you laugh a little.

“I dunno, Hughie’s pretty smart too,” you teased.

There was another silent pause as Butcher thought of what to say. He couldn’t just ask you to take him back, that didn’t seem fair. He couldn’t just say he’d take you back, because that was even worse. He knew he fucked up big time, and any future the two of you had was entirely up to you at this point.

“Do you want to go back to the way things were?” you asked him quietly.

“I really, really do,” he whispered. “But I was too much of an asshole to deserve another chance with you.”

“After everything we’ve been through together, I’d rather just let all the shit we’ve done be water under the bridge, if that’s okay with you. Just let the lies we’ve both told slide and try to be more honest with each other from now on. Personally, I’ve got nothing else to hide and I know there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me stop loving you.”

“You still love me?”

“Of course,” you said. “Do you…love me?”

“Never stopped,” he mumbled. “And I’d really like all the shit to be water under the bridge too if you’re really willing to forgive me for everything.”

“So it’s settled then; all the stupid, fucked up things we’ve both done up until this point are forgiven and we can go back to normal?”

“I love you so much,” he said, smiling a little as he turned and kissed your temple.

“I love you too,” you replied.

[ilguna]

☼ clueless (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; with the help of his ex-girlfriend, Finnick realizes that the girl he's been wanting has been the one supporting him.

warnings; swearing,

wc; 1.9k

–

You’ve been friends with Finnick for over a decade now, long before he went into the Hunger Games. However, you’ve never quite seen him go through so many girlfriends in such a short span of time.

You two were next door neighbors in high school, making it impossible to escape him, not that you ever did. You’d hang out during school, and then go right home to do the same thing. And even with all the obstacles that were put in the way, and the time that’s passed, not a single thing has changed between you two. 

While he still goes out of his way to make time for you, considering you to be his best friend. You would drop everything and run, if he asked you to. You know everything there is to know about him, including the details you’d prefer to never hear, and the secrets that he would never tell his girlfriends but wouldn’t dare to hide it from you.

So watching him do this—burn through girl after girl—isn’t him. Finnick’s always been the person that looks for long-term relationships because he would rather settle down than hop from one girl to another. He’s not the image that the Capitol has forced on him. Finnick doesn’t want to be a casanova.

In fact, in the past, you’ve seen him break up with girls solely for the fact that they weren’t looking for anything serious yet, and he wasn’t going to go out of his way to change their minds. Finnick wants a girl that’s ready to spend the rest of their life with him, and will fight to stay together rather than let it fizzle out.

It doesn’t feel that way anymore.

Finnick’s always had a specific type when it comes to girls, but lately it’s been all over the place. It doesn’t matter what they look like, what they’re interested in, or what their personality is. It’s about how they make him feel inside. Every single time there’s a new girl, he swears that he likes them, because he gets that butterfly feeling in his stomach.

It was the case with one of the other victors in District Four, too. This time it was Annie Cresta. You’ve seen her at the reapings, she’s got long brown hair, and the typical sea-green eyes that many here seem to have. 

Finnick told you that it was easier to talk to her, because she understood what it was like to win the Hunger Games. She likes to spend time with him, and she could spend the entire day just being around him. She didn’t mind being around you, either, which a lot of his past girlfriends seem to be put-off by.

She was fun to be around, she wanted to do everything he wanted to do, no questions asked. In the times you were invited along, she went out of her way to include you in conversations, and half the time, Finnick would accidentally get shut out because you two were talking the entire time.

For the first time in several months, you thought that Finnick finally found one that he was going to keep. She seemed to follow most of the ideas that his previous long-term relationships had. He swore up and down that she would be the last one, and you believed him.

They lasted three months. Which doesn’t seem like a lot of time, but compared to the one month curse that he’d been a part of for the past year, it really is a feat. The difference between this break up, and the others, is that he was actually fighting hard to stay with Annie.

Finnick didn’t want to break up with her. When he realized that he was losing feelings, he tried going on more dates with her, spending time with her, buying her gifts. He asked you a couple times what he could do to fix it, and you didn’t have an answer for him.

As much as you hoped that he would stay with Annie so that he’d stop coming to you to cry after his break ups, there was a part of you that was rooting for their downfall the entire time. How could you not? You’ve had a crush on him for years, and he still hasn’t developed feelings for you.

You had your own phase where you dated guys to take your mind off of him, but the truth is that no one will ever know you as well as Finnick does. And you don’t want to go through the effort of teaching someone, when Finnick’s right there.

If you’re being honest, you don’t know how many girlfriends you can stand to hear about, meet and be around. If he’s going to end up breaking up with every single one of them, you don’t want to sit through it. You’ve tried to be supportive as long as you can stand it, but Annie might be your breaking point.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Finnick says, rubbing his face.

“Finnick, have you considered taking a break for a while?” You ask.

Finnick’s sitting on your front porch steps, watching as you water the garden in front of your house. He stops to look at you, “Take a break from what?”

“In general. You’re stressing yourself out, maybe you need some time to sort of your feelings.” You tell him.

And you’re thinking, maybe if he takes some time away from girls, he’ll think about you and what you said. How you’ve been there at his every call, comforting him, letting him sleep over, taking his mind off of things. You don’t know what else you can do for him. On one hand, you want to stop, because you don’t think you’ve ever been more miserable than you are now, but you know that if you stop, you risk losing his trust altogether.

You’d tell him how you feel about him, if it weren’t for the fact that you know he’d shut you down. He wouldn’t even bother hearing you out. He needs to be the one that comes to you, that’s the only way you’d stand a chance with dating him.

Finnick lets out a laugh, shaking his head, “Annie doesn’t think so. She says that I’ve already got it sorted out.”

Your face twists, you glance over at him, waiting for him to tell you more. This’ll be the first that you’re hearing that, and they broke up a few days ago. You thought that he unloaded everything on you already.

“What’d she say?” You ask.

“Forget it.” He mutters, “It’s what I told you yesterday.”

“That’s not true, you’re hiding something.” 

“It’s…” He starts, shaking his head. He ends up with his face back in his hands, and you swear that he’s going to start crying again, but he sighs. “She said something before I left that night.”

“Okay…?” You start watering your grass, hoping to bring it back to life. You think that you need to start over entirely and to spread more seed. That’ll give you a fair chance. “Is it about the other girls you dated? I think you told me that she knew about all of them.”

“It’s not that.” He says, you can see that his face is a slight shade of red, “It’s um—more of the fact of a girl I haven’t dated.”

“If you’re not going to spit it out, then forget about it.” You wave your hand, “I’m not going to try to read your mind, Finnick.”

“It’s not that, I’m just trying to figure out how to say it.” He takes a breath, “You know how Annie and I started fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“It was over you.” He admits.

You stop what you’re doing to look at him, and find that he’s watching you. “Did you really break up with Annie over me? You told me it was a mutual agreement.”

“It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, “Annie broke up with me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” You ask, resuming what you were doing, “I mean, that’s nothing new. Half the girls you date end up hating me one way or another, and most of the time it’s cause we’re so close. If that was the case, we could’ve stopped hanging out for a while.”

“It wasn’t for that reason, though. She um…” He clears his throat, “She said that I was comparing her to you too often.”

You squint your eyes at the ground. Why the hell would he do that? “Like, bringing me up in conversation?”

“No.”

You turn off the hose, coiling it up to sit next to your house in a neat pile. You don’t understand what he’s talking about, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, either way, before she made me leave that night, she said, ‘If you wanted a girl like (Y/n) so much, why don’t you just date her?’.” He says.

You take a breath to regulate yourself, because you understand what Annie meant, now. It makes perfect sense with a statement like that, but you’re not entirely sure if Finnick understands. If he was comparing you to her, then that probably means he was insisting for her to act like you in some way.

And if she said that, then that means he’s been thinking about it for almost three days now, deciding if she’s right or not.

You look at him, “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He asks.

“Well, I mean, it’s a bold statement to make.” You watch him, “But it’s obviously had an impact on you, if you didn’t tell me about it.”

“I was thinking about the other girls I dated and if it applied to them, too.” He tells you.

Oh. You did not think that this was going to be the way things happened.

You make a face, “So?”

“I think Annie’s right.” 

Of course, he’d come to that conclusion, he’s not stupid. You don’t know what you and all those girls had in common. Although, now that you’re thinking about it, it could’ve been anything. It didn’t matter to him , as long as they had some quality of yours, right?

You try to smile, but it doesn’t come out that way, “It’s a shame you don’t like me like that, huh?”

You look away, Finnick lets out a noise, “You knew the entire time, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. I knew that you were acting funny, because you don’t go through girls like you drink water. It’s not who you are.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” He asks, you can see him stand up from your peripheral.

“What was I supposed to say to you?” You ask him, looking over again, “That I’ve been in love with you for years? You would’ve turned me down.”

“You don’t know that.” He says.

“It took Annie for you to realize that you liked me in the first place.” You point out, “So what now?”

“We take it slow.” He leans against the railing, “If you want to.”

“I want you to take more than just a couple of days to think about it.” You murmur, “I don’t want to be a rebound because you don’t have your shit in order.”

“That sounds fair to me.” He says. Neither of you say anything for a long moment, while he watches you finish cleaning up your garden so that you can go inside. When you’re done, he stops you. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I put you through all of that, and I didn’t think about how you might’ve felt.” 

You place your hand on his shoulder, “I hid my feelings for you on purpose, Finnick. Don’t be sorry.”

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 2]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 2: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Mr. Rogerson has awesome dalmatians and his wife makes even better cookies. Meanwhile, Crewel continues to be an emotionally constipated mess, and Crowley is... himself.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

You were met at the door by a pair of over enthusiastic dalmatians—the chaotically cute duo sending you ass-first to the office floor in a merry greeting that was more of a graceless tackle than anything else.

“You brought Poe and Perdy!” you exclaimed, laughing past the face kisses.

“Well, they’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Mister Rogerson huffed good naturedly. “Do you know how much this little nutter cried when I came home the other day and he realized you’d been by? Ages, I’m telling you. Thought he was going to pout me into an early grave.”

You squished both of them affectionately and showered the lovely, spotted, beasts with every compliment under the sun.

“Oh! Before I forget…” the professor rustled around in his leather messenger bag and retrieved a neatly packaged pastry box all bundled up in a colorful, twine, bow. You accepted the treats happily and removed yourself from the dog-pile to take your usual place on the well-worn piano bench. “Annie made you some more cookies, seeing as you liked the last ones so much.”

“Did you help?” you asked.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

You held up the first treat from the pile—half-singed on one side and squishy with raw dough on the other.

“You caught me!” he laughed, and retrieved a second box. “These are from Annie. Those are my failures.”

“Such horrible lies,” you tutted, dramatic. “Trying to trick an innocent victim into ingesting poison just so that you can keep all the good ones for yourself.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” he defended, taking a large chomp out of one of the less charred looking of his creations. Immediately his cheeks went nearly green. “Or… maybe they are.”

You pushed a water bottle in his direction which he accepted gratefully. There was always a stash of them just to the left of his composer’s stand, and another hoard in a conspicuous looking storage cube closer to the piano at which you’d perched yourself. There were more sweets hidden in his desk drawers too, for when something stronger than water was needed to wash away whatever awful thing he’d tried to ingest. You knew where a lot of ‘secret’ things were in this room. It felt nice, to be so privy to all its little treasures.

“You know,” he smiled, finishing the last of his water with a final gulp. “Annie keeps pestering me to have you come by for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you hesitated, looking around the room where so many of your little odds and ends had already started to accumulate. Empty mugs, the patch that had fallen off your jacket, the thread which you’d intended to use to fix said patch. Just… little footprints showing you’d been by.  “Well, any more at least.”

“Nonsense,” Mister Rogerson laughed. “You’re more than welcome! But we don’t mean to pressure you, of course! Especially if you’re busy! Just something to think about if you’d like. Anyways, how has your day been?”

And thus began your afternoon ritual. You would sit and split Annie’s delicious cookies as you rambled about your various grievances. Mister Rogerson would inevitably come and take a seat beside you on the piano bench and start playing some gentle strains of this or that—‘just little things he was working on,’ he’d said. Occasionally you’d accidentally lean on the keys, throwing the whole thing into a cacophonous mess. But he would just chuckle and replay whatever the piano had just screeched, calling it a ‘fascinating addition’ and merrily jotting bits of it into his notes. It was nice. Better than nice. And you didn’t realize just how comfortable you’d become in your daily chitchats until you’d become perhaps a bit too comfortable.

“It’s just been so exhausting. And on top of all the other ridiculous things, I’m so sick of that fact that it’s like my job to be their personal punching bags or whatever when they’re Overblotting all over the place, and—”

The piano cut off abruptly.

Mister Rogerson’s hazel eyes had gone wide, as if he was spooked. Immediately you realized that you’d said something that you should not have.

“There are students at Night Raven College who have Overblotted?” he asked, slow, like he couldn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“What? No. Of course not!” you lied, like a liar.

“Kiddo,” he frowned, stern. “You just said—"

“—I mean, no one’s actually Overblotted, Overblotted,” you spluttered hastily, rifling frantically through your brain for every plausible excuse you could cough up. “It’s more that I’ve heard a lot about Blot, and how it becomes a—you know—Overblot. Which sounds really scary, and like something that I never, ever, want to actually see! And it’s just that everyone there is a mess, so I guess I should I have said that I’m more just worried about Overblotting.” 

A pause.

“Which, again, I’ve never, ever, actually seen.”

More silence.

“…Ever.”

Mister Rogerson sighed, apparently relieved by your bullshitting, and slumped forward over the piano keys.

“That’s… That’s good. You really scared me there for a moment, kiddo. Overblots are no small matter. They have to be reported to the proper authorities and dealt with accordingly. It’s a whole fiasco, and paperwork and legal proceedings aside, it’s dangerous.” He laid a gentle hand across your shoulder. “I’m just glad you haven’t been anywhere near something like that.”

You swallowed a chunk of wayward cookie, hoping you didn’t look horrifically guilty. But then some other part of what he’d just rattled off stuck in your head and that shame was wiped away by panic.

“They’d be taken away?” you whispered, something unpleasant and nervous curling in your gut.

Mister Rogerson looked down at you with a sympathetic wrinkle to his brow. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?”

You thought of Riddle, crying into his hands after years of emotional neglect—and then of the pair of you sitting in the Heartslabyul gardens after all was said and done, eating strawberry tarts with your fingers like little children. You thought of Leona, miserable and bitter as he was, finally breaking after an entire lifetime of feeling like nothing but a failure who slunk about in his brother’s shadow—and then how just last week the beastman had been lounging in the sun with his head in your lap, grouchily demanding your leftovers. You thought of Azul, and his bullies, and his stupid desire to take on the world just to prove he could. You thought of all the friends you’d made, and of just how many of them really needed a goddamn therapist. You thought about them being taken away to who-even-knew-where. Where you’d probably never see any of them again. And where you wouldn’t even know what was happening to them.

General grumpiness with the lot of them aside, your friends were the one, genuine, beacon of warmth in this miserable, cold, new world. Sure, they were all assholes. Mega assholes. But you knew that they’d stand by you through anything—do anything, if you needed the help.

 And the idea of giving up on them? Just like that? Because it was protocol?

Your stomach roiled and you set the cookies off to the side.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Mister Rogerson frowned, taking in whatever unpleasant expression was no doubt twisting your face into knots. “We shouldn’t talk about it anymore. It’s not a fun topic.” He slid a new page of sheet music across the piano’s sleek, black, shelf. “Here. I started writing this the other day. What do you think?”

Strains of upbeat jazz threaded through the room and Perdy and Poe came over to mouth playfully at your ankles—no doubt begging for crumbs. Soon enough you were laughing along, clapping off beat and making jokes at the expense of his nonsense lyrics. You still liked Mister Rogerson. You liked him a lot. And you didn’t doubt that he was a genuinely kind person.

You’d just… maybe have to be a bit more careful about what you let slip.

.

.

“It’s kinda like being in therapy,” you explained to a very frustrated looking Deuce. “Like, how you want to say just enough to get help but not enough for them to throw you into an asylum. You feel?”

“What in the fuck are you on,” Ace gaped.

“See, if any of you actually even knew what therapy was, you’d get it.”

“I still can’t believe that’s where you’ve been every afternoon,” Deuce frowned, poking at his lunch with a consternated sort of look on his face. “Don’t you—I don’t know…”

“What?” you asked.

“Feel horrifically guilty and maybe like you should be burnt at the stake?” Ace complained, reaching over to swipe a fry from your plate. Grim hissed and swatted at his fingers—his little mouth stuffed too full of your half-eaten burger to yell much of anything else. “You’re a traitor, that’s what you are. Prancing around with those goody-two-shoes in their stupid, shiny, building every damn day like a—like a—”

“A frog?” Deuce suggested.

“What, no. Dude—”

“Frogs prance!”

“Frogs fucking jump, you ingrate—”

A heavy box landed on the table with a THUD, sending the quarrelling duo into silence. A mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies stared back at them, nearly sparkling in their brilliance.

“Yes,” you intoned, stern. “It’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Grim and Ace agreed heartily, already busy swapping their lunches for sweets.

Deuce sighed and reached for his own cookie. “If you’re sure...”

.

.

Being called into the Headmaster’s Office was not something with which you were unfamiliar. In fact, Crowley not having summoned you into his gloomy chamber over the past few weeks was more of an anomaly than not. Normally he was hurling new jobs at you left and right—organize this event, Prefect. Pick up my groceries, Prefect. The main hall is looking a little dirty, Prefect. Go stop my students from committing mass murder, Prefect. Maybe your wave of insults had rattled him enough to leave you alone for that little while. Or maybe he’d just been biding his time until he could think of something equally as nasty to say back.

Of all the things you were expecting upon trudging back into that office, a scowling Professor Crewel was not one of them.

You blinked owlishly, taken aback.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

His lip curled, sour, and you fought the intense and suicidal urge to ask him just who’d pissed in his cornflakes that morning because damn. You hadn’t even done anything. That you could remember. Maybe. And besides, if either of you had any right to be acting all bitter and pissy it was you. Not Mister ‘I Have No Intention of Playing Parent to Anyone.’ The memory had your eyes stinging and your blood boiling all over again. When neither of the men deigned to greet you, you cleared you throat irritably and crossed your arms.

“Can I help you with something, Professor? Headmaster?”

“It has come to our attention that you’ve been sneaking off campus in the evenings,” Professor Crewel declared, with all the civility of an off-grid hermit. “Which I’m certain that you are fully aware is against school policy.”

Crowley just nodded, stiff lipped and robotic, and his silence immediately had you suspicious.

“Well?” Crewel snipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then another.

You smiled, icy. “Then I’m sure this is just another infraction to add to my file. Which I’m very sure totally exists. Right, Headmaster?”

Crewel’s dark glower swiveled in Crowley’s direction, and you watched the Old Crow audibly gulp.

“Because of course, you keep proper records on all your students here,” you continued, happy to push your luck. “Especially the ones in special circumstances, and whose documentation is therefore not automatically forwarded to you by their previous schools. Right, Headmaster?”

You’d never seen a more apt demonstration of the expression ‘sweating bullets.’ It was intensely satisfying. Professor Crewel looked like he was heavily debating turning Crowley into a feather boa. After a too-long moment where you were pretty sure you were about to witness a murder, the two-toned professor sighed and turned back to you with a stiff sneer.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and you gaped at him.

“What?”

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, practically grinding his teeth. “What were you even thinking? Leaving Night Raven when you know full that you have no other connections in this entire world! Running off with a complete stranger on top of that.”

“Mister Rogerson isn’t a stranger!” you defended, resentment bubbling beneath your skin. How dare he? Now he cared? Now you weren’t just a leech, or a brat, or—or—No. It wasn’t fair. “And it’s not like I ran off into the woods or something! I’m at another school!”

Crowley slammed his clawed hands down onto his desk with a metallic BANG!

“AH-HAH! YOU ADMIT IT!” he howled. “YOU’VE BEEN GOING TO THE ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY BEHIND OUR BACKS!”

“I left you a note telling you that was exactly where I was!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CONSORTING WITH OUR ENEMY! AND AFTER I’VE WORKED SO HARD TO RAISE YOU AS MY OWN!” He wailed, inconsolable. “ARE YOU TRADING OFF MY GRIMOIRE TO AMBROSE, TOO? WOULD YOU STOP AT NOTHING TO SHATTER MY POOR HEART?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I wish I was!”

“Enough!” Crewel snarled, cracking his pointer across the desktop. “Both of you!”

“But he—!” you defended.

“Detention!” he barked.

“What?! That’s no fair!—”

“Detention!” he snapped again. “Three weeks!”

“Are you joking?! I didn’t even do anything!—”

“Four weeks,” he growled.

You pressed your lips shut, feeling your mouth wobble and your eyes warm with frustrated tears.

“Yes, sir,” you finally managed to grit out, and then turned without another word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind you.

.

.

.

‘That may have been too much,’ Crowley had the gall to say to him, after Crewel had just watched the man have an entire meltdown in his desk chair and accuse you of outright subterfuge.

‘That may have been too much.’

The alchemist had watched, carefully stone faced, as your eyes had welled and you’d glared him down with a look that was a step or two past betrayed. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest, and he refused to put a name to it. Naming things gave them power, allowed them to grow and spread. Like a tumor. This was all your own doing, and the subsequent punishment was clearly for your own good. So, what? He steps a bit too far and says something that’s perhaps just a bit too cold, and you go running off to—to Cliff Rogerson of all people? Pettiness is not an excuse for making poor, stupid, unsafe, decisions. And he would have certainly responded to any other student in exactly the same fashion.

‘That may have been too much.’

Crewel grit his teeth and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally he could use Badun as a stress ball, but he’d stopped bringing the dogs to campus when you’d continued to refuse to show up to his office. It had stressed them terribly, and it was unfair to force them to sit through the same, dull, solitude that he had to endure just on the off chance that you may change your mind and come wandering in. Jasper hardly acknowledged him at all anymore—only grumbled at him miserably when he returned in the evenings before curling up by the fireplace for the rest of the night.   

‘That may have been too much.’

It… It really, probably, was. And he really should… apologize, shouldn’t he?

Divus Crewel could deny it all he liked, but he knew well and good that he wouldn’t have treated your classmates in such a manner. That unnamed twinge behind his ribs may have influenced his reaction a bit more than it should have, especially when he himself had so clearly relegated your place in his life to ‘by professional association only.’

So he forced himself to straighten his fur coat and start the trek to Ramshackle. It was a grueling walk, with broken pathways and rivers of mud. No wonder you were always running late to things. Perhaps he should bring this up to Crowley, and—

A familiar face stopped him in his tracks, and a wave of red-hot irritation worked its way through his veins as efficiently and viciously as one of the poisons he was so keen to brew.

“Oh,” Cliff Rogerson blinked back at him, “Divus! Good to see you.” It was not. It didn’t sound like Cliff thought it was either.“No need to call campus security or anything. I’m just here to pick up the Prefect for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Crewel repeated. It sounded bitter in his mouth.

“Annie’s making lasagna,” Cliff stage-whispered, like a secret.

“Can we get going?” you called and Crewel startled, noticing you off to the side for the first time. You looked so… small, for some reason. Hunched, maybe. Just, not your usual larger-than-life self—the Otherworldly Hero who showed up swinging to every fight, always armed to the teeth and ready to duel any monster, every horror. It made something in his gut twist unpleasantly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Cliff laughed and tossed an arm across your shoulders.

“How lovely,” Crewel interrupted, trying and failing to force the steel from his voice, “But I think that maybe you should reexamine your professional priorities. That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Oh, come now,” Cliff smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “It’s only dinner. And besides,” he chuckled, and gave your arm a fond squeeze, “Annie and I have always wanted kids.”

‘I have no intention of playing parent to anyone.’

A deep, cold, sort of dread rattled through Divus Crewel’s bones and settled all the way in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the sensation that had been slowly clawing its way through him these past few weeks—the very same unpleasantness that he had refused to name.

‘You know,’ Crowley’s grating voice swam through his head once more. ‘That really may have been too much.’

.

.

[goldessia]

MULTI!headcannons . . . how they fuck you, kinks

— - ft. levi, eren, mikasa, annie, armin, jean

warnings: p in v, smut!! overstim, edging, claiming, deepthroat, voyeurism, cum consumption, mentions of a strap on , oral (m&f receiving), risky, quickies, degrading, bdsm, pain!kinks

levi ackerman

. . he may be tiny (i say this with love), but boy does he make up for it. usually pretty rough; it’s just his personality, but sometimes he will go slow and make love to you.

their kinks. . .

over stimulation/post-orgasm torture

i am a firm believer he would enjoy overstimulation, but not really for the thing you think. he enjoys hearing your moans, your loud pleas for it to be the last one, yes, but he doesn’t do it necessarily to torture you, but he just can’t get enough—his endurance is the problem of that.

“just one more baby, i promise.. one more.”

three orgasms later

claiming

giving: will ALWAYS leave marks on you: your neck, collarbone, thighs, hips, waist—anywhere. he loves showing everyone that not only do you belong to him, but so everyone knows how fuckin good he is in bed.

receiving: adores when you leave marks on him. if you leave claw marks on his back, he’ll show them off by wearing a less covering shirt. you give him love-bites? you best believe he’ll be showing them off. when they fade, he asks for more.

eren yeager

. . an absolute menace in bed. rough, and merciless. anytime he fucks you, you know to cover yourself up the next day, because this man is absolutely feral. every morning, you have to struggle to get up because he’d practically left you bedridden the next day.

their kinks . .

edging/orgasm-denial

giving: loves seeing you squirming, and begging for your release. he’s relentless—he’ll deny you for hours, sometimes even leaving you without an orgasm, just to add some spice on top of the fire.

receiving: don’t get him wrong, he loves denying you your orgasm, but the second you get your revenge? he is a crying, begging, squirming mess, rutting his hips into your hand/mouth. he is a fuckin’ munch.

“fuh- fuck! please, baby, i’m sorry- i’m sorry, not again-“

deepthroat

loves seeing you choke and gag on his cock. a hand on the back of your head, clutching your skull so you can’t move. he’ll smirk, proud of himself when he sees tears stream down your face, making you a teary-eyed, messy haired whore with spit running down your chin. (he’ll let up, tho, and let you breathe if it’s too much. may be a bastard but he still cares for u)

“yeaahh, fuck. choke on it. you like my dick down your throat, huh?”

mikasa ackerman . .

. . super into degrading. loves calling you her whore, her slut, her prize jewel whenever you fuck. has a strap she uses occasionally (don’t ask how she got it), but she prefers to use her fingers or her mouth.

their kinks . .

voyeurism

absolutely adores watching you try to get yourself off. taunts you, watching from afar as you struggle to please yourself after you’ve gotten used to mikasa’s help.

“aww.. can’t even please yourself anymore, hm? you need my help, don’t you?”

consumption

loves licking her fingers off clean after she makes you come. or, she makes you lick your own cum off of her fingers. smiles, and praises you afterwards.

annie leonhart . .

. . super mean when it comes to your bedroom-life. degrading, rough, and sometimes into pain kinks. taunts you a lot.

their kinks . .

bdsm/restraints

loves typing you up so she can do whatever she pleases. after all, you belong to her. will be super mean about it too—tying the ropes up a little too tight, not only so you can’t move as much but to have that little bit of pain against your wrists that never fails to leave marks the next morning.

“aw, does it hurt, baby? too bad. you can take it, i know you can.”

oral/eating you out

this girl can’t get enough of you. drunk on your taste, your smell. she finds herself craving you all day. the best part of her day is when you’re finally home together and she has you all to herself.

jean kirstein . .

overall pretty vanilla. but don’t play w this boy.. if you really anger him, he won’t fail to make you bedridden the next morning. very handsy—while you fuck, his hands will go from your face, your breast, your waist, your hips, thighs, everywhere. he adores every inch of your body, and never fails to show it.

their kinks . .

risky/quickies

jean was never much of a horny person, but after he met you, his sex drive sky rocketed. he found himself horny at random times during the day, and sook you out nearly everyday. he loves the thrill of fucking in random, barely secure places—the idea of someone walking in on your obscene show excites him in the best way possible.

“you like when i fuck you like this? i bet— nggh, i bet you’d want someone to walk in on us. see how much of a slut you are.”

“you’re— you’re one to talk, kirstein—!”

oral

giving: loves seeing your expression as he tongue-fucks you. hands roaming up your body, soft mutters and hums against your core that sends vibrations through your body, making your pleasure infinitely better.

receiving: adores seeing your doe-eyes expression as you look up at him. usually, he lets you lead it when you suck him off, occasionally rutting his hips up when you tease him. but if he figures out your just messing with him, and teasing him, he’ll for sure take the lead and make you take his cock.

armin arlert . .

definitely a sub, even when he’s on-top. he’s such a munch for you, only you. definitely whimpers and moans rather than groaning, and is very vocal about it. multiple times, you two were caught because armin was moaning too loud.

their kinks . .

orgasm denial

receiving: something about it just ticks that spot in his brain. loves seeing you take the lead, and loves hearing your voice, your taunted and your teasing as you deny him of his orgasm.

“pluh- please! i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll be better— no more, please let me come!”

giving: he would never, tbh. everything he does when he’s not subbing is revolved around you, and your pleasure. if he’s on top, he’s making sure he makes it worthwhile and wants to make it a good experience for you.

spit play

absolutely adores when you spit on his cock. he loves when you make a mess, using your spit or his as lube as you fuck him or tongue fuck him.

copr. goldessia. do not steal, plagiarize, translate or share on other platforms without credit/permission.

[harlowsbby]

Still Yours

“He said one day he’s going to make me his wife.” You gushed with a grin plastered across your face. Annie and Mariah looked at one another with knowing looks.

“I think he really is the one for me I haven’t felt like this in such a long time.” You expressed and sat down from across the two of them.

Annie sighed and looked at Mariah trying to see if she was going to be the one to speak first but groaned when Mariah shook her head no.

“Y/N, look we need to talk to you.” Annie stated and you turned to her giving her your undivided attention. “What’s up?” You smiled.

“Uh it’s about Jack you know well Mariah and I have been talking and-.” She sighed and looked at Mariah for help.

She shrugged her shoulders and didn’t say anything you looked at the two of them with your eyebrows furrowed together. Mariah wanted to chime in and to say something but she figured staying quiet might’ve been the best option.

“Just spit it out Annie you know I get anxious.” You laughed.

“We don’t think Jack is the one for you if anything we just feel like he’s just using you and dragging you along and when he no longer needs you he’s going to dump you.” Mariah spat out and Annie nodded her head.

“Basically what Mariah said.” You frowned and shook your head at the both of them. “Both of you are wrong so very wrong about him.” You were immediately in defensive mode.

“We don’t mean any harm from what we’re saying to you Y/N.” Annie tried reassuring you.

“All we’re saying is whenever we’re out and about Jack acts like he doesn’t know you.” Mariah said.

“But when we’re at the studio or around select friends he’s all over you and you don’t need someone that’s going to love you behind closed doors.” Annie finished.

“He wants to keep us a secret.” Mariah scoffed. “A secret? Isn’t he a little to grown to be keeping you a secret and besides who gives a fuck what anybody has to say.”

“And now he’s promising you that he’d marry you one day? Or how he’s going to do this and this I feel like he’s giving you nothing but a bunch of empty promises.” Annie said.

“Yeah remember when he said he was going to introduce you to his parents last week? But then suddenly they had to leave Louisville, it’s bullshit he’s bullshit.” Mariah also added on to what Annie was saying.

You couldn’t believe what the two of them were saying to you right now. Jack was your man and he loved you and he meant it when he said it, at least you thought he did.

You thought Annie and Mariah were going to be happy for you because you finally found someone but instead they were acting like two bitter friends that couldn’t be happy for their friend.

“I can’t believe you two.” You said and stood up and grabbed your purse and flung it around your shoulder.

“Y/N, come on don’t act like this we’re just looking out for you.” Annie said. “Yeah we wouldn’t be good friends if we didn’t we’re just trying to warn you.” Mariah said.

“And look out for you.” Annie frowned.

“Warn me about what?” You spat. “I’m finally in love and here you two come along telling me all of this bullshit that I didn’t need to hear.” You stated.

“We’re just warning you from a future heartbreak but if you don’t want to listen that’s on you.” Mariah stated. Annie frowned and went to reach out for you but you pulled your hand back.

“I can’t with you two right now I’ll catch you guys around.” You mumbled and grabbed your keys from the coffee table and made your way outside.

“I can’t believe them.” You spoke to yourself. “Jack loves me I know he does.” You said and took out your phone and called Jack.

After a few rings he picked up. “What’s up babe?” He said and you relaxed at the sound of his voice.

“Do you think you can come and pick me up I’m at Annie’s house.”

“Yeah I’m on my way right now I’ll see you in a bit.” You smiled. “I love you.” You told him. “I’ll see you in five.” He said and hung up.

You frowned when he didn’t say it back but brushed it off, five minutes later he was pulling up in his jeep. You grinned upon seeing him and quickly made your way into the car.

“Babe!!” You squealed and pressed a kiss to his cheeks. “Hi baby.” He smiled. “I thought you were going to spend the day with the girls? What happened?” He asked.

You really didn’t want to tell him what happened at Annie’s house because the last thing you wanted to do was stress Jack out or make him over worry or look at the girls a different way.

But Jack could tell whenever you were upset or not feeling like yourself and with the look of distress and frustration written all over your face he knew something was up.

“It’s just Annie and Mariah they were talking about you that’s all.” You said. “Talking about me? Don’t they know I’m taken by you.” He joked and you laughed a little bit but you were still very much upset.

“Not in a good way.” You told him and he parked once he made it back to his house. “So talk to me tell me what’s wrong or what’s been going on?” He stated and grabbed ahold of your hands.

He gave you a reassuring smile that basically let you know that he was all ears and wanted you to go ahead and vent.

“They just think that you really don’t mean what you say when it comes to me.” His eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean?” He asked wanting you to elaborate.

“Mariah said that you have no actions basically behind your words.” You told him. “Like how you say you’re going to show me off one day and tell the world about me, and how you’re going to marry me one day.” You rambled on and on.

“The two of them just feel as if you’re lying and giving me empty promises they don’t like the way that you love me only behind closed doors.” You expressed to him and watched how his face harden.

“They said all of that?” He said and you nodded your head slowly. “I hope you know that none of that is true Y/N.” He spoke.

“I know it isn’t Jack.” You gave him a small smile. “You just know with me being famous and all that I just want to keep some things in my life private.” He said.

The two of you have had this conversation before you even agreed to be whatever the two of you are now. Jack had talked to you about keeping things between the two of you on the low and you had agreed.

“I know baby that’s why I had to leave I just couldn’t sit there any longer and listen to their lies.” You told him.

“You don’t need any friends like that in your life babe if they were truly your friends they’d be happy for you but it doesn’t seem like they are.” He said.

“I mean I know they mean well.” You told him even though you didn’t exactly like the way they acted earlier they were still your friends.

“Yeah but come on babe what friends are acting like that? You’re happy and that’s all that matters who gives a fuck what they think.” He said.

He was right who gives a fuck what they think because at the end of the day you knew what the two of you had was ‘real’ and that’s all that mattered. You couldn’t care less about the outside opinions of others.

“You wanna tag along with me for the rest of the day? Ima hit the studio and then hangout with the guys I know Urban’s been asking about you.” He suggested and put the car back in drive.

“I’d love to.” You said. Jack smiled and leaned over the seat and grabbed ahold of your face softly. “Don’t worry about them okay? For the rest of the day just focus on me.” He whispered and placed a tender kiss to your lips.

“I will.” You smiled. “Good now let’s get going.” Jack said and made his way to the studio but before Jack hit the road he glanced over to you and noticed you were busy scrolled through your phone.

He quickly logged into his phone and went to his messages and muted a conversation he was having and deleted the saved contact but before he did another message came through from the person.

- I’ll be in town for a few days hope to see you… I miss you hope to rekindle and lit up that spark again if you know what I mean 🙈❣️.

“Jack?” You said and he jumped. “Are you ready to go?” You laughed he nodded his head and put his phone down.

“Uh yeah let’s get going baby.” You smiled and faced the road again and sighed in relief you were thrilled to be spending the day with your ‘man’.

(Enjoy Part one of my Sorrows series!)

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— ALL I WANNA DO

SUMMARY : aka. part 2 of jump on into the fire. in which she finally makes a decision about ben’s previous offer to start a family together.

PAIRING : soldier boy x supe!reader (f)

CHARACTERS : billy butcher, hughie campbell

WARNINGS : nsfw (18+), smut, mutual masturbation, cum play, dacryphilia (Ben, *said scoldingly*), angst

WORD COUNT : 5.9k

A/N : title from splashh song. daydreaming is so fun, this is the birth of my imagination as i watched the boys. also, i chose the reader’s super name to be ‘guardian’ bc I play too much destiny 😔. edited this to be part two of jump on into the fire Xx

To say things were awkward and tense between her and Soldier Boy was an understatement. Even the rest of the team could feel the tension between them, but since Y/N tried to be as discreet as possible about their relationship, they chopped it up to her being upset at him. Especially after the events at Herogasm. 

She could have handled the situation better, but the implication that he liked her, as in enough to have kids with her, set alarms off in her head. He put her on the spot and she wasn’t ready for that for multiple reasons. 

For one, she didn’t always buy that pathetic, wide-eyed look he’d give them when he was talking about his mistakes, because he didn’t really feel all that bad about it. He’s a soldier, those were just collateral damage, casualties that occurred as he did his job, and so it doesn’t actually matter to him, and it probably never will. The problem wasn’t that he was evil, because he wasn’t, that was all Homelander. The problem was that Ben simply didn’t care. He’s a soldier meant to be ordered around, it didn't matter if he was right or wrong. 

 That night, just for a few seconds, she stopped seeing him that way. He said something sweet and instead of laughing it off or saying ‘shut up’, she actually liked the idea of being his, of starting a family. 

That realisation was terrifying. 

What would the rest of the team say? Even without MM, Annie, Frenchie, or Kimiko around, she could imagine their faces if they ever found out that she and Ben had a complicated relationship. Especially MM, and she empathised with him the most. She felt like she was betraying them, for what? A crush?

“You alright, Guardian?” Butcher asked, standing next to her. He was trying to analyse her, trying to get into her head and why she was now staring off past the glass door. She looked at him, eyes flashing up to his face and then to his posture, curiously tilting her head to the side at the sudden interest he had in her spaciness. 

“Yeah, why?” She asked, looking away from him to stare out the door again, the nice view from the Legend’s place. She knew he’d probably, finally, bring up the awkwardness between her and Ben, his sudden sour mood, and the way he hadn’t tried to make a move on her since that night. Or maybe Butcher was going to sweep it under the rug like he seemed to be doing these days, focusing mainly on the fact that both her and Ben were still getting the job done properly. At least she was. 

Ben seemed to have a lot of other stuff going on and what had happened at Herogasm made it clear that he wasn’t as okay or as in control  as he liked to pretend he was. She was there after all, when Ben had confessed to Hughie that he’d blacked out, with those wet, puppy-dog eyes, claiming to be a good guy. 

He was a bully, but more than anything, Ben was truly pathetic. He wanted to be the best, to stay at the top, to prove he was worth more than anyone else, and he hated it when anyone threatened that. It’s why he was on board with ending Homelander. It’s why he treated everyone around him like complete shit, especially if he felt they were trying to rise above him. 

“Soldier Boy don’t want you to come,” he said bluntly, gazing at her without much of a fuck about how she’ll react. She quickly turned to look at him, confused and irritated as soon as those words came out of his mouth. 

“What the fuck?” She glared at him, but mostly, she was pissed at Ben. Could he not tell her that himself? Then Butcher had the audacity to chuckle at her reaction and she narrowed his eyes. He only raised his hands with a smirk on his face when she shoved him for laughing. “Assholes!” She didn’t wait for him to say anything, just rolled her eyes and started to walk angrily to where Ben was now changing into his uniform. 

When she slammed the door open, the doorknob cracked a hole into the wall and she could hear the Legend shout asking what the noise was but she couldn’t give two fucks about answering. Ben turned around to look at her, his face was serious at first when he zipped up the front of his suit, but then he froze when he saw her fuming.

“Why the fuck are you benching me?” She heard some shuffling by the door and she glared at Hughie and Butcher who were being nosy, only catching Hughie scrambling away and pulling Butcher with him. 

“I’m not benching you,” Ben started, turning away from her unnecessarily to cover his chest with the heavy armour piece. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” 

“I’ve been doing this alone for years. I don’t need you to protect me.” She narrowed her eyes at his back, staring at him as he practically ignored her. This was probably the longest conversation they’ve both had since that night, but the room was still thick with awkward and even sexual tension that set her skin on fire. “I’m going, fuck you if you don’t like it,” she said firmly after a few minutes of silence. 

“The fuck you are,” he replied angrily, finally turning around to face her. 

She hated herself, the way her body was already reacting to his hard stare. With his stupid green eyes practically boring into her, trying to force her to listen to him rather than get in the way of his focus. Because he knew he’d be too busy worrying about her getting mind-fucked to actually focus on anything. He could get Butcher and Hughie killed, but actually he didn’t give a shit about them, he could get her killed. 

He couldn’t tell her that. If he did, she’d push him further away than she already had. To think he fucked up the one good thing he saw coming out of this shit mission, the one good thing in his entire miserable and disappointing life. He wanted her so bad and he wished he could take back what he said so things weren’t awkward between them. Because having her in any way that he could get her was better than this, but it was already out there. The implication of what he really wanted from her. 

He couldn’t force her to want it. He couldn’t force her to like him. Hell, he didn’t even like himself. He was a fucking disappointment, so why would she think he was more than that? He was a fool and she was better than him. She didn’t sign up to work for Vought, she didn’t wear some stupid fucking suit for a slut, or get paid for saving the lives of the people in her city. She doesn’t give a shit about fame. She’s just her. 

Y/N L/N, with a normal, boring job, and a secret life living up to the name her city gave her, the Guardian. 

“Give me one good reason why it’s too dangerous for me to go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly for him to give her something. She knew he’d have way too many things to list and that each one would mean nothing to her. So, all he did was glare at her, cursing softly under his breath knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument, but fuck if it didn’t make him like her more.

It hadn’t gone as bad as Ben had thought it would go. Y/N didn’t get injured or even have to fight at all. Whether he’d liked it or not, he has Hughie to thank for that. There was no struggle or any big fight that broke out when they found Mindstorm with Hughie and Butcher, who was now awake. 

Dan was distracted with Hughie and from a distance and at an angle, Ben threw his knife at Dan’s eye, preventing him from using his abilities on them. Y/N had been shocked, almost as much as Hughie when he’d bashed his head in with his shield, but the news he’d gotten from Mindstorm was something that left him feeling conflicted and angry, but most of all completely disappointed after calling Homelander. 

“Everything good?” He heard Y/N speak up from the doorway. He forced himself to smile at her, not because he didn’t want to see her and wanted her to go away, but because he didn’t want to show that anything was wrong. Nothing was wrong anyway, not necessarily, he just didn’t want to believe that Homelander was his son, but it all made sense. Homelander was as disappointing as Ben’s father thought he was. Basically, Homelander was not the son Ben would have liked to have had.

“Yeah,” he responded, eyeing her every move guardedly. She shut the door behind her and looked around the room at first, probably expecting him to have had some granny or a sexworker in the room. He rolled his eyes, but knew she had every reason to think that about him. When she saw no one, she walked closer to him and he straightened up a little since she clearly was here for more than just small talk.

She didn’t seem to be avoiding him anymore, but that didn’t make him feel any better. She practically rejected him that night and made him feel unwanted. He still remembers the sting he felt when she just brushed him off. Earlier, she’d been pissed at him for slapping Hughie, for abandoning Butcher, and for being insensitive about the nun and the priest he’d killed, and he knew probably other things he did made her angry, but she got over it quickly. Despite having seen him lose it on more than one occasion, she always seemed to see straight through him and he hated it. Like right now, she tilted her head to the side slightly and her eyes moved across his face, trying to and succeeding in easily getting a read on him. 

“Liar. You can’t hide that pathetically sad look on your face. You look like a kicked puppy,” she chuckled, looking away to trace random patterns on the surface of the table she leaned against. He narrowed his eyes at her and scoffed, looking away to stop her from doing that again, even though he missed hearing her and seeing her. “You’re not gonna tell me what Mindstorm said to you?” She bit her lip, watching his reaction to her question. 

“Stop doing that,” he warned, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth thoughtfully. He looked up at her again, really took her in because he missed her despite what she might think about him and despite the irritation she made him feel when she tried to get him to open up or talk about his feelings like he was some sissy. He couldn’t help his next actions, the expression on her face was so gentle and troubled that he found he’d somehow closed the distance between them and thoughtlessly pulled her into a kiss to ease all those things from her face. 

He expected her to hit him or push him away, hell, all of those things, but she just stood there for the fleeting moment in which he pressed his lips against hers. When he pulled away, just slightly, he tried to gauge her reaction and saw mostly confusion on her face. He licked his lips and gently held her face, frustrated and needy for her, but all he did was gently brush his thumbs across her warm and soft cheeks. 

“You don’t hate me,” he said quietly. It was the one thing he was sure of at this point. No one really treated him like he was a person. They were scared of him, for good reason, or they just needed his abilities. Not her. She wasn’t scared of him, not always, and she definitely wasn’t using him despite working with Butcher which she met through Maeve. 

His brows were furrowed, just watching her curiously as she gazed at his face, analysing every twitch in his face, every change in expression. Her mouth opened slightly to respond, but she mimicked his face, brows furrowing as she thought about why she just couldn’t hate him the way everyone else did or even why she wasn’t afraid of him. 

To be fair, she didn’t know anything about him except from what she��d seen of him getting tortured. Somehow, that meant more to her than all the people that died while he was doing his job. Somehow, her feelings for him seemed to sprout and bloom despite knowing how MM felt about him. She cared about the team, probably more than they cared about her, and that made Ben angry. They didn’t deserve her and neither did he.

She should have been afraid, she should hate him the way everyone else does, especially with knowing he’s killed dozens of innocent people, with his temper that would drive him to be unnecessarily violent, the toxic masculinity that exuded from him. He was everything she’d hate in a person, but for some unknown reason, she didn’t hate him. She wanted to help him get better and to be there for him every step of the way. As foolish as it sounded, she felt she could fix him or at least soften his personality because so far, she’s learned all the reasons why he is the way he is, and she thinks given the chance, he could actually change. Not that he’d ever let her help him. 

That was why she was so panicked when he’d shown genuine care and interest in her. What if she gave him the chance to be with her? What if she ended up falling for him only to be discarded once he was bored with her? What if he was incapable of changing and he treated her just like he treats everyone else? If he loved the Countess and he treated her the way he did, why would it be any different with her? 

He interrupted her thoughts with another kiss, a gentle and almost sweet kiss that was so unlike him. It was meant to put her at ease and it nearly did, she felt her stomach flutter either nervously or because it made her swoon. She felt how loosely he held her face, giving her an out, and easy escape from being anywhere near him. And even though her mind once again screamed at her to get out, her feet were planted where she stood and she started to kiss him back just as softly. 

HIs beard tickled the skin around her lips, but she didn’t mind. Instead, she had memories of other times she’d felt that when he kissed her, times where he worshipped every inch of her body with his mouth, and had his head buried between her legs. Her heart was beating quickly and roughly in her chest at the feeling of him kissing her so gently, for the first time, it wasn’t rough and careless. His lips moved tenderly and slowly against hers, stealing the breath from the lungs and making her knees weak. 

She’d never been kissed quite like that and she didn’t think Ben even had the capacity to give someone a kiss like that. He was gentle and he wasn’t pressing, but there was still a hint of desperation and need for her that made her cling to the straps on his thin waist. 

His warm hands slowly moved from her face to the hem of her shirt, which he played with contemplatively before simply moving them underneath it. He grasped her hips and tugged her forward until she was pressed tightly against his body with a quiet moan from her being muffled against his mouth. He could feel all of her even when clothed fully, but the soft and flimsy material of her sleepwear only triggered all the memories he had of her own body being trapped beneath his. The way she felt so perfect under his hands, every curve and every dip of her body felt as if it had been sculpted just for his touch. 

He pulled away from her plush lips just to pull her shirt up and off her body. Carefully and deliberately, he stripped her, dragging his hands and mouth along her form to replace every article of clothing removed from her. Her skin started to heat up the longer he took, her body tensed with each teasing touch of his, waves of shivers following every touch, kiss, suck, and bite. And soon, she was standing naked in front of him. Her skin was flushed and she was breathing as heavily as he was. Her eyes just stared up at him, filled with an endless conflict and desire that he understood, but it also hurt more than he’d like to admit.

Still, she was the one who slid her hand to the back of his neck to pull him back down for a searing kiss. Her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close as he busied himself with taking his suit off with her help. He was impatient with himself, undoing every buckle and loosening every strap, zipping everything down as swiftly as he could until he was as naked as she was. 

This was new for him. He wasn’t in a frenzy to fuck. He took his time, moved slowly, watching her desire for him bloom the longer he took. Suddenly, it hit him that it felt different and new.

He stared down at her, eyes sweeping over the expanse of her face as he slid his hands down her back and he bent his knees to reach the back of her thighs. Looking up at her and the way she looked down at him, it turned him on. Like he was worshipping her. It was short-lived when she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him control of her body. He moved forward with her in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and he kissed her neck and shoulder, nuzzling her sensitive skin and inhaling the clean scent of her skin. 

Her uneven breaths and the little sighs that slipped from her parted lips spurred him on the whole way to the bed he’d claimed as his own. He placed his knees on the soft mattress and carefully dipped her until she let go of him and let herself bounce slightly against the soft sheets. There was a little smile on her face when he gazed down at her, and for once, she wasn’t thinking about what her team would want or how anyone would feel if they saw her with Ben, she focused solely on what she wanted and how she felt. 

At that moment, everything seemed to click. When she reached out for Ben’s face, he leaned down to meet her resting his arm by her head. Her fingers once again tangled in his soft hair when he sealed her lips with his in a purposeful kiss, firm and full of promise before he moved his mouth down to her jaw. His teeth grazed her jawline, sliding down until he bit gently at her pulse point, drawing a gasp and a little moan when he swiped his tongue across the spot and sucked possessively. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her nails pushing into the muscle of his shoulder.

Heat flooded between her legs and she arched her back, his hand sliding up her side and under the curve to hold her in place. She couldn't decide whether to squeeze his legs in attempts to close her own or to open them wider for him. He pretended not to notice that and continued to kiss her neck, his lip lingered on her skin, proprietorial and ravenous as they trailed down her body. He took his time and made sure his mouth had been on every inch of her skin as he moved lower, biting at her collarbones and sucking on the skin above her breasts. 

Little by little, she became more impatient. His plump lips wrapped around one of her nipples, lapping and sucking so her breathing would pick up. He slid his hand up from the arch of her back to tweak her nipple and pinch it between his forefinger and thumb, on the edge of being painful and pleasurable. Her clit throbbed, desperate for him to pick up the pace or give her what she wanted, and she could feel just how wet she was as the air around them hit her core. 

She could have touched herself if she wanted, but she liked the torture, the ache that grew between her legs just waiting and letting him take his time with her body. It was hard to stay in control and she pulled roughly at the soft strands of hair that she clung to in order to stop herself from ruining the fun. Everything felt so sensitive and a million times more delicious, as if induced by drugs, but there was something about him that gave her that high every time. Maybe it was the fact that she’s never quite been fucked or touched like this before.

He’d look up at her every now and then, smirking occasionally at the sight of her with her head tipped back, moaning and squirming impatiently. He gently teased her skin with his nose, trailing his lips down the centre of her stomach, squeezing her sides when she wiggled her hips to get his attention. He smiled and nipped at her hip bones, dragging his bearded mouth across her thighs while avoiding where she clearly needed him. 

Eventually, there was no part of her body that was untouched by his mouth and hands--except for her aching and wet cunt. But when he got to it, he just huffed out a breath over her dripping cunt to watch her squirm and lifted himself back up her body. He pressed a hard kiss to her neck and then kissed her lips, his tongue easily entering her hot mouth. They both moaned into each other’s mouths as he practically devoured her mouth, firm and needy while holding the back of her neck and tilting her head so he could kiss her as hungrily as he wanted.

“You’re so goddamn delicious, doll.” He pulled away from her breathlessly, his lips wet and swollen. He sat back on his legs, enjoying the sight of her looking just as wrecked as he felt. She was flushed and warm and her hungry eyes were slowly dragging over his face and down his body. She licked her lips when she got to his cock, hard and throbbing and leaking at the tip. 

“Ben,” she murmured, a hint of neediness in her voice that made him smirk. Using her elbow to lift herself up, she reached over to wrap her hand around the base of his cock before he could continue to tease her. 

“Shit,” he groaned. His hips bucked into her hand and she slowly started to lift her hand up, thumbing some precum over the soft head, and squeezing all the way down until he let out a strangled moan. 

“Touch me,” she whispered, and even though he detected it being a command more than a plea, he complied. He dragged his hands up the back of her thighs and spread her legs, his hooded green eyes glued on her glistening folds. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart,” he praised, dragging two fingers from her slick entrance to her clit. He lifted the wet fingers to his face and she blushed when he inhaled the scent of her arousal before slipping the two fingers into his mouth with a satisfied moan. “Christ, you taste so good.” He brought his fingers back to her pussy, pushing his two fingers into her entrance, his fingertips curled to rub against her walls everytime he pushed them in and out, going deeper and deeper, slowly, and only going fast when he felt the way she expanded inside. 

“Holy fuck, Ben,” she gasped, her pussy squeezing his fingers and gazing up at him with her pretty glazed eyes. 

Even in her dazed state, she continued to jerk him off with quick, stuttered and uneven tugs. He could feel his own orgasm beginning to form with the way she was looking at him, his stomach tightening when his eyes flickered down to her hand, now wet and coated in his precum. 

She moved her hips eagerly against his hand and only stopped when he flattened a large hand on her stomach, a small cry leaving her lips when he added a third finger into her squelching cunt. “That’s right, baby, cum on my fingers,” he encouraged, lowering his hand to her pelvis to quickly massage her clit with his thumb.

“Shit… Ben,” she hissed, letting her orgasm wash over her, wave after wave of pleasure making her body shake. He groaned softly, shoving his fingers deep into her cunt to brush his fingers against the sensitive spot deep inside over and over until she collapsed onto her back, her hand becoming still on his cock to wrap around his wrist instead. 

“That’s my good girl,” he lauded, slowly slipping his fingers out of her. She murmured his name softly at the praise as he slid his hand up and down her sides comfortingly and stared down at his fingers. They were coated in clear slick and creamy cum that made his mouth water. “Shit, look at that,” he chuckled, licking his lips. He leaned over her, shoving a clean hand to the back of her head to grasp her hair. With a harsh pull, he forced her eyes open so she could watch him lick away her release from his fingers. “Make me cum and I’ll fill you up,” he promised, then shoved two of his saliva-coated fingers into her mouth, thrusting them in and out of her mouth the way he would if it was his cock. 

He scooted closer, close enough so that her thighs were thrown over his and his cockhead brush against her stomach with every quick drag of her hand on his wet cock. He purposely pushed his fingers deeper into her mouth, moaning softly when she gagged momentarily and closed her eyes to blink tears away when he kept shoving them as deep as he could into her throat. 

“No, no, look at me, honey. You’re so fucking pretty when you--oh, fuck,” he rasped, grunting softly in surprise. His cock twitched excitedly as hot tears flowed down her cheeks and she moaned softly when he tightened his grip on her hair. He came with a soft growl of her name, spilling hot and messy on her stomach and breasts, feeling an overwhelming intensity in his orgasm while gazing into her watery eyes. He didn’t know if it was the eye contact, or the way her eyes glazed over with tears with her lashes sticking together that pushed him over the edge, but whatever it was, it made him cum faster than they both expected. 

“Jesus, Ben,” she laughed softly, releasing his now limp cock. He just panted heavily, leaning back on his legs with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. He basked in the aftershocks of the mind-blowing orgasm he just had with his hands on her hips and she licked her lips while wiping away tears from her cheeks and eyes.

He looked back down at her once he recomposed himself, catching her playing with his cum splattered on her chest and in the middle of lifting her fingers into her mouth. She looked at him and snickered when she saw the look on his face as she started to lick at the cum on her fingers, his eyes darkening and his cock hardening all over again. 

 “I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss her roughly. She moaned softly, pleasantly surprised when he rocked his hips against hers, sliding his cock through her folds and over her clit teasingly. He reached between their bodies and lined himself up with her entrance, easily thrusting into her with a snap of his hips. 

He carefully rocked his hips against hers, lifting himself up slightly so they parted from the searing kiss to gaze down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, but she didn’t protest, just slid her hands along the hefty planes of his back, stopping only when she got to his broad shoulders to hold onto them. He stopped suddenly after letting his eyes drift over her face, then he hid his own in her neck and slid his arm under the small of her back.

“Homelander’s my son,” he mumbled against the connection between her neck and shoulder. She froze and her eyes widened when she deciphered what he’d said and slid her hands from his back to push at his shoulders, but he didn’t budge. “That’s what Mindstorm told me,” he added quietly.

“What the fuck, Ben?” She grumbled, yanking his hair in attempts to get him off her, but he just growled and swivelled his hips defiantly. “You’re gonna tell me that now?” She protested and he gave an unhumourous nod into her neck, lifting himself up just to kiss her to distract her from what he’d blurted out. She kissed him back begrudgingly with her eyes open.

“I knew you’d react this way,” he said softly against her lips. She bit his lip roughly and he hissed, pulling away to glare at her and was met with a fierce glare from her. 

“Yeah, fuck you,” she muttered, squirming angrily in attempts to get away from him. She felt used, as if he’d hide that from her just to get a quick fuck. 

“Please,” he whispered, pulling out when he realised she wasn’t giving him a chance to explain himself. 

“Please what?” She spat, shoving him away to think about what he just revealed. Out of everyone she’s ever met, Homelander was someone she truly despised. He was an utter piece of shit and he had a long list of vile traits that she despised in people, supe or not. He was a fucking child and he was out of control, no one ever having told him ‘no’ his whole life. “What the fuck do you want from me?” She asked, moving away to pace around the room or even to leave Ben the same way she had before.

“You know what I want,” he retorted, suddenly it wasn’t about Homelander. Fear of being left alone again made Ben grab her arm to stop her from getting out of bed. “You’re not fucking stupid, sweetheart,” he reminded, gently tugging her back to him. She didn’t budge, but she looked over at him when he let her go. She caught a glimpse of the resignation on his face, the vulnerability she’d rarely seen on his face, before he could mask it. She sighed in defeat, deciding to hear him out after all.

“Ben…” She sat on the bed, facing him and reached out to brush his hair away from his face. He moved away from her touch, sitting at the edge of the bed with his back to her. She dropped her hand in her lap and watched him, her eyes drifting to the large window in front of him that let her see what he could no longer hide from her.

“If you’re not gonna say what I wanna hear, don’t say anything and get out,” he said harshly, his shoulders slumped and overall, he looked defeated. She’d expected him to lash out or to hear how he didn’t want to kill Homelander, but it was probably worse to see him like this.

“Ben, it won’t work out.” She said it softly, but it hurt him like a million knives in the chest. In reality, the hurt he felt hearing her say that didn’t compare to the forty years of torture he was put through in Russia. 

“It could work… I could make it work,” he said quietly, “when we’re done with Black Noir and Homelander, and I will kill him… It’ll just be you and me, Y/N. Maybe… we can start a family somewhere else, far away from all this bullshit.” He looked over his shoulder slightly just to read her face when she remained quiet. 

She chewed on her lip, frowning as she considered his words. He was still willing to kill Homelander, his son. That should be worth something. He actually wanted something normal when he was done with this and she was more surprised than doubtful of his words. He spoke so softly, as if he’d had this plan all his life and finally found someone who could fill in the faceless mother of the children he wanted in his fantasy. He was willing to retire and he wanted that with her.

After spending years being an abusive and toxic asshole, then wasting decades more of his life being tortured, it made sense to her that he just wanted to cherish the rest of his time doing shit he’s always wanted rather than trying to prove he was worth something. In many ways, being a father could fulfil that need to prove he wasn’t a complete disappointment. After he’d been told that so much by his father, he was incapable of seeing himself as anything but a disappointment. This was his way out and she could easily open that door up for him.

Or she could slam that door in his face like a coward. She could continue to be too afraid to be hated by a team that didn’t give two fucks about her. Why she prioritised their opinions on her puzzled her as much as Ben being vulnerable right now. 

“Get out,” he muttered, staring at her with his face hard. She blinked and focused on him again, her mouth fell open to say something, but he turned away and was sitting straight. The walls he’d let down were up again, probably stronger than ever before, and she made her way over to him on her knees, sliding her hand up his neck to cup his chin and tilt his head back so he’d look up at her. 

He stared at her with steely eyes, but she kissed him, painfully squeezing his chin until he moaned and opened his mouth to let her tongue slip past his lips. He reached up to wrap his fingers around her wrist, silently telling her to loosen her grip and she did, kissing him firmly, saying everything she couldn’t say with the heated kiss. He melted into her, turning slowly until she had to pull away to accommodate the new position he was kissing her in. 

“I’m not gonna let you push me around and tell me what to do,” she murmured between kisses, moving up the bed with him until her head was settled against the fluffy pillows. 

“I won’t do that,” he promised, taking his soft cock in his hand and jerking it until he was stiff and ready again.

“There’s a lot more,” she murmured distractedly. 

“I can imagine,” he laughed softly, gently pushing himself into her, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

➥ your sword versus my dagger

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[dilfl0v3rss]

this was the eren and reiner fic with a the different ending. i felt like it wasn’t what y’all wanted so i changed it, but if you’re interested in reading it here it is🤷🏽‍♀️

caller blocked

“ian ready for no relationship.” the excuse of excuses. the words that were always thrown your way after you’d try to convince your little “fling” that you wanted to be more. eren stood up, zipping his pants before grabbing his hoodie and heading out your dorm room. your situation was…complicated. well not really. you grew very attached to this man, looking for him at parties, going to every single one of his games, giving him your notes so he wouldn’t fail and get kicked off the team, and letting him fuck you whenever he wanted.

you were practically dating. or that’s what you thought. eren seen you as just another pretty little thing to keep his grades up and his dick wet. using you constantly while labeling it at love to keep you coming back for more. “b-but why ren?” eren dropped his shoulders, sighing before he walked back to you and raised your chin with his fingers. “you know the rules pretty. cant be tied down worrying about a girl during the season. when all of this craziness is over then we can work sum out.”

a smile bloomed on your face as you looked at eren in complete adoration. you couldn’t wait for the season to end so you could finally be with the man you love. your friends seen you as a complete idiot, and they had no problem trying to shut down your delusions. “girl what don’t you get? as soon as the season ends he gon drop you like a bad habit.” “yea he’s lying to you baby.”

you shook your friend as your friends annie and sasha tried to speak some sense into you. “he wouldn’t do that to me. h-he lo-” “he doesn’t love you and m’gonna prove it.” before you could reply annie pulls out her phone, clicking historias instagram story to show you what she posted in her close friends. there eren was, laying his head on her stomach with his arms wrapped around her as the rest of his body laid snug between her legs. the caption reading ‘pussy put his ass to sleep🤣’.

your eyes instantly welled with tears as you watched eren, your eren be with someone else the same way he’d be with you. annie was contemplating telling you for awhile. hoping that you’d come to your senses on your own without having to get hurt, but she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. “why would he-” “because historias dumber than a bag of rocks and she doesn’t mind sucking and fucking a dick that’s been in half the campus.” sasha spit.

annie wiped your tears with a napkin from her purse before standing up with you on the quad bench. “fuck him furreal. there’s so many guys that have been tryna get at you, but you’ve been oblivious to them because of eren.” you nodded your head, acting as if you were agreeing but you were really heartbroken. the three of you said your goodbyes and you went back to your room. tears flooded your pillowcase as you thought about what you had just witnessed.

you were being played, but you weren’t about to just let it go. deciding that one day you’ll get your revenge, but right now you wanted nothing to do with him. weeks went by since you’ve last talked to eren. he wasn’t suspicious of it since he’d usually only talk to you when he needed something anyways. covering up his actions with “practice” to keep you from pestering him.

as annie said, a lot of guys have tried to get at you and instead of shooting them down like you usually did, you gave one a chance. you and reiner have gotten pretty close over the last few weeks. texting almost everyday, eating lunch together, and sharing your favorite books with each other in the library as you studied. he was sweet and charming.

always paying for your lunch no matter how many times you’ve tried to return the favor, walking you all the way to your dorm after a particularly late study sesh, and holding your hand when the two of you would cross the street. he mostly did that for his enjoyment, but you didn’t mind.

the two of you weren’t dating, but many people thought you were, given that one was barely seen without the other. “where’s your boo suge.” sasha would say when you finally hung out with your girls after three long weeks. “hush uppp. we just talking.” annie, sasha, and pieck busted out laughing before pieck leaked some information to you.

“girl you know we seen you getting your back blown out in the back of his jeep right?” your hands flew to your mouth as you gasped in shock. “yupp. saw him pulling your hair and allat right in our dorm parking lot.” sasha said as you covered your face in embarrassment before mumbling into your hands. “ooouuu yall so nosey i could strangle all three of you right now.” annie scoffed as she pulled your arms from your face.

“you think we’re dumb? you’ve been ditching us every chance you got. and when you do decide to finally hang out with us for a little, you come with a bunch hickies and a pimp walk.” all of you laughed at her last comment. rolling your eyes before checking your phone. speak of the devil.

rei🌻

‘got everything ready for movie night!’

‘waiting on you now mama💛’

you looked up from your phone, instantly getting pissed looks from your friends. “don’t even say nun. go be wit your man. enjoy it too because this weekend you all OURS. you hear me?” you giggled as you stood from your spot on sasha’s beanbag chair. “i hear youuu. love yallll!!” each of your friends replied with “love you toos” before you left to go spend time with reiner.

“aight i got nightmare on elm street and i got fri-” “princess and the frog” reiner chuckled as you looked up at him. sitting on his bed in nothing but his t shirt that you changed into as soon as you got there. “we watched that last time princess. you said you’d let me switch it up.” pink lip jutting out in a pout at he looked at you with sad eyes.

you laughed, watching this huge man with black ink dancing around his arms and chest being such a softy for you. his sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he situated himself under you on the bed. “okay then coco. i love un poco locoooo” a groan flew from his lips as he rolled his eyes at your choices. “no more disney. if i hear another song ima rip my ears off.”

the two of you ended up settling on john wick, but that didn’t really matter since it was thirty minutes into the movie where you found yourself plopping up and down on his thick dick. big veiny hand holding the back of your neck while his other arm was squeezing your ass. “how ya feeling princess.”

your moans flew directly into reiners ear as your hands gripped the pillow next to his head. “s-so good papa. real good.” his pace slowed as he started putting more of his inches into you. your hands flew to his hair, stroking and pulling his blonde crown with your eyes closed tightly. “that’s what i like to hear. love making my pretty girl feel good.” you were so out of it you didn’t even notice that reiners hand was no longer on your ass. instead he was texting your ex fling on your phone.

ren ren💚

‘yo. you up?’

he seen the name pop up and instantly got heated, knowing what he’s done to you. he grabbed the device without thinking as he made quick work to delete his number before replying.

you

‘yea what’s up?’

347-***-****

‘miss you mama🤧’

‘let me pull up on you’

‘the nerve of this guy’ reiner thought as a quick idea came up into his head. he quickened his strokes, laying the phone on the bed as the phone dialed erens number. “o-o-ooouuu rei you feel so good.” a smirk crept onto his face. “i feel good pretty girl?” you nodded your head, whining after you felt a hard slap to your ass. the sound bouncing off the walls as his one hand took up lots of space on your asscheek.

“use those words mama. like when you talk t’me.”

“y-you feel so g-good daddyyyy” reiner looked up at you in adoration before connecting his lips with yours in a sloppy kiss. smacking sounds ringing loud in the air as he practically devoured you. reiner glanced back at the phone to see that eren had hung up, a bunch of texts popping up as he scrolled through each of them.

347-***-****

‘wyd y/n?’

‘man you so lame for that fr’

‘how you just gon give my pussy away like that?’

‘he never gon be able to fuck you like i do’

‘cmon baby don’t pass up a relationship with me for braun…’

‘i swear i’ll never text historia again’

‘she could never amount to you ong baby’

‘baby?’

‘text me back y/n :(‘

‘at least still study with me…historia’s so dumb i’ll get kicked off the team fasho’

*caller blocked*

reiner threw your phone to the side before laying you on you your back. pulling out of you before moving his head towards your pussy. his pink lips wrapped around your clit before licking up and down your middle. “all mine right baby?” his green eyes met your brown ones. the two of you staring deeply into each other before you nodded you head slowly.

“all yours”

[zepskies]

Wake Me Up - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse! Let me tell you, I’ve had this mini series outlined for months, but now I thought it was finally time to get to it. If you’re not tired of the Break Me Down world yet, I very much hope you enjoy Wake Me Up.

**As a reminder, this story is set shortly after Love Actually, and will contain references from that three-part story. 

Song Inspo: For this whole series it’s “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers. (I pretty much listened to this on repeat.)

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Starting off strong in this one: with mature themes, show level violence, angst, kidnapping, PTSD, mentions of torture (not too graphic), and character death.

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 1: “Familiar Territory”

The start of a new year continued a steady rhythm for you and Ben. Namely, another successful mission for the Supe Affairs team.

While you were patched into the team’s communications line from the safety of your desk back at the S.A. headquarters in New York, your friends were a few states over in Denver, Colorado. They’d just arrested a supe that had been committing a series of bank robberies by literally slipping away from the police, thanks to his particular superpower.

“Somebody better get this shit off of me,” M.M. groused.

He wasn’t too happy about some questionable ooze this particular supe secreted as a defense mechanism. According to Frenchie’s research, it was the same shit that certain frogs could produce to repel predators.

“Need a good hose down, more like,” said Butcher. “You smell fuckin’ foul.”

“Like Satan’s ass crack,” Ben remarked.

You couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement.

“Let’s just get the fuck outta here,” M.M. said, his tone all surly, as per usual. You didn’t envy his plight.

“Good job, guys,” you said, to change the subject. “Now it’s just a short flight back to New York.”

“No layovers this time. I’m not being paid to rot in a fucking airport with a bunch of mouth-breathing assholes and their screaming brats,” Ben said.

Charming. You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips when you imagined his taciturn face.

“Okay, your majesty. I’ll make sure it’s a nonstop flight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

That last bit, you said with a hint of more behind your words. You drummed your nails on your desk and crossed your legs underneath it. A week was a long time for you and your boyfriend to be apart, and you’d been missing him.

“You better be,” Ben said. His voice was deep and cocky. He was smirking, you were sure, and you knew that he’d understood you perfectly well.

“Anybody else hearing this blatant foreplay?” Hughie quipped.

“I sense cheeks will be cracked tonight,” Frenchie muttered.

“Ugh!” you heard Annie shudder.

You knew she supported you and Ben, but you also knew that she didn’t want to hear about the gushy details. You laughed through your embarrassment. 

“Okay, guys. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” you said, before you officially signed off. 

You grabbed your purse that was stowed away in a desk drawer, fished out your cell phone, and you called Ben’s cell. He picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he said. 

“I love you,” you said with a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” he replied. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

You pouted. “Come on, say it.”

“Say what?”

You sighed. You knew he was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

Part of you was upset that he didn’t say it back as often as you liked. God forbid Butcher and the others hear him express his affection for you.

But you supposed you understood that any kind of vulnerability was difficult for him, especially in front of others. As much shit as you gave him, you also knew how to pick your battles with Ben.

“I told you. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

You once again tapped your nails, on your armrest this time. After a moment, you relented.

“Okay, baby. Have a safe flight,” you said, even if you were still frowning.

When Ben hung up with you, he let out a deep sigh.

An entire week with these juvenile cocksuckers was almost too much for him to fucking take. While he often felt your presence with you on the comm line during the actual mission, and the occasional phone call on long nights in between, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

He was ready to go home.

The flight itself was fine, though dealing with civilians and the tiring experience of a long-ass flight made him even more antsy to land. Because even when they got to JFK, he still had a hired car waiting for him to drive him from the airport to get to Scarsdale, and to the apartment he shared with you. It had already been almost a year of you two living there, in a three-bedroom spanning two floors.

Ben hadn’t thought he would get used to such a small place, but it was all right. It had become his home, far more than the penthouses and party mansions ever were, at least.

When he finally got home and unlocked the front door of the apartment, he stepped into darkness. All the lights were off.

Odd, he thought. He called your name while he shut the door behind him, then flicked on the foyer light. He realized then that he hadn’t seen your car in the driveway. Were you still working? It wasn’t unlike you to get caught up with the paperwork and other logistics after a case.

After a quick look around of each room, from the kitchen to the living room, Ben knew you hadn’t come home yet. A frown marred his face.

He went upstairs and entered the bedroom next. He unclipped his wrist guards and took his gloves off first, followed by loosening the collar of his supe suit. The bed was made, untouched since this morning, he was sure.

Then he noticed the scrap of paper resting on his pillow. He picked it up, and his brows furrowed as he read.

By the time you find me, she’ll wish she was dead.

Ben called Grace Mallory first.

When she didn’t answer, he called Butcher next. Ben’s hand shook the slightest bit while holding the phone up to his ear.

“Evenin’, guv,” Butcher answered with a tired sigh. “What’s this about—”

“We have a fucking problem,” Ben growled.

Ben pushed the limits of his Mercedes Benz while driving himself to Supe Affairs.

The others met him there in a conference room, except for Grace, who was on an active case at the moment. There Hughie and Frenchie tapped into the S.A. security footage on their laptops. 

They eventually found you getting into your car in the S.A. garage, about four hours ago. Then two later, the street cameras picked you up somewhere in the Village. Ben recognized the street. 

You probably had dinner with your friend Yvette and her family, but you intended to make it home on time to meet Ben when you left around 9:00 p.m. 

You had parallel parked at a meter on the street. According to the footage, it looked quiet and empty when you headed back to your car. 

You were stopped by someone before you could get the driver’s side door open. It looked like a man’s height and build; he grabbed you by the shoulder and threw a punch you managed to dodge.

You put up a good fight, but you were eventually knocked out with what looked to be a crowbar, at first glance. When Hughie zoomed in, it was actually a black baton. Ben watched it all with a deepening frown. Anger churned in his gut and ignited his blood as he watched your unconscious body being hauled into a black SUV.

“That looks military-issued,” M.M. said, pointing at the baton that the suspect used to hit you.

Butcher nodded, and also noted the man’s fighting style. “That’s a professional.”

“He would have to be, to take her out,” M.M. said, glancing at Ben. “And the timing. They knew you were coming home. That note was personal, besides the fact that they were casing your place…they’ve probably been watching both of you, waiting for the chance to get the jump on you.”

“The question,” Butcher said, “is who the fuck would wanna tangle with Soldier Boy that badly?”   

“Shit. That’s a laundry list, isn’t it?” Hughie said. M.M.’s glance told him to shut the fuck up.

Ben was silent, but his fury was mounting. His head turned sharply to Butcher.

“Get Mallory on the line. Now,” he barked. When no one moved quick enough for him, his temper snapped at its thinly held leash.

“I said right fucking now!”

Slowly you blinked your eyes open. For a moment, you were seeing in double vision. It soon cleared up to reveal dark, damp, musty surroundings.

It smelled familiar; after that mission to find and subdue Sapphire a couple of months ago, you’d recognize a New York sewer anywhere.

Fuuucking shit, you thought with a groan. Your head was aching. You felt a trickle of blood down the side of your neck, and you found yourself in a familiar position—seated on a metal chair with your hands secured behind your back. Your restraints felt like zip ties.

“You finally with us, sweetheart?” asked a man. His voice was smooth and commanding.

“Jackson, I don’t know about this,” whispered someone else. Another man, though he sounded slightly younger, reminding you of Hughie.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Jackson snapped.

At least you had a name. He stepped into the light that came from a couple of small lanterns. One was propped on top of a bucket by the wall. The other was on a plastic fold out table that you saw a few feet beside you.

The man who stepped into your line of vision was tall, maybe around Ben’s height, if just shy of his build. He was blonde, just like his skinnier friend. They shared some notable facial features and coloring, but while Jackson’s eyes were dark brown and self-assured, the younger man’s were blue and apprehensive. If you had to guess, they looked like brothers.

“Nice digs,” you remarked, gesturing with your gaze at your surroundings.

Jackson rose a brow, crossing his arms.

“You’re taking all this pretty well,” he said. 

You huffed humorlessly.

“This isn’t exactly my first kidnapping,” you said.

He quirked his head and drew closer.   

“All right. Well, since we’re on the clock, let me tell you why you’re here,” he said. He bent down in front of you so that his face was level with yours. “I need you, sweetheart. You’re going to tell me how to bring down Soldier Boy. How to kill him. How to end him. Then maybe, I’ll let you go without gouging out those pretty eyes.”

You stared back at Jackson with an expression that didn’t change.

Then you spat in his face.

And you expected the hard, back-handed slap that made your head whip to the side. It rattled you for a moment as you caught your breath, but you recovered enough to lean back in your seat. Your eyes met Jackson’s directly after he wiped his face with his shirt. “Tommy” stood off to the side behind his partner. He’d looked away when you were hit.

You focused on the other man, Jackson. He was wearing black cargo pants to match his boots, and a belt with a gun on his hip. He carried himself like a trained killer.

“Military, government agency, or private sector?” you asked.

His head tilted. He studied you, just like you were studying him.

“None of the above really,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He walked over to the fold out table, where he grabbed a black bag and unzipped it. A flash of silver gleamed as he pulled out one sharp instrument after the next. You had to hide your apprehension, and fear that made your insides tremble.

He glanced over at you.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

Hours later, you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

After the last hit, you spat a wad of phlegm and blood onto Jackson’s shoes. He rotated the ache out of his hand. He looked down at you through furrowed brows.

“Damn, bitch,” he said, catching his breath. “You can take a hit. I’ll give you that.” 

“My dad was a Marine, numb nuts,” you managed to reply, through labored breaths. “He used to hit harder with his open hand than all the strength in that limp-dick wrist of yours.” 

Jackson smirked. “Christ. Daddy issues, huh? Why doesn’t that surprise me.” 

You gave him a droll look. Again, to cover your fear, because you weren’t willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

Angered and frustrated by that defiance, he reached down and grabbed your neck and jaw with one hand. You winced at the force of his grip, but when he started squeezing, this was the one thing that made you truly whimper. You tried not to think about the ghost of your father’s hand around your neck.

“Don’t you get it, asshole?” you gritted out while struggling for breath. “You can’t kill him. No one can. Stronger, smarter people than you have tried.” 

Moments ticked by while Jackson contemplated your words. 

Then he released you. You sucked in gulps of air and tried not to cough out a lung.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Soldier Boy’s got a weakness. If anyone knows it, I’ve got a feeling it’s you.” 

You can’t say anything. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

That had been your mantra for every minute you had spent in this hole. You shook your head.

“Look, Jackson.” You sucked in another breath to steady yourself, and blink a drip of blood out of your eyes. “He’s going to kill you. You and your brother. Take your family and run, while you’ve still got a chance.” 

“…You know what? You’re probably right,” Jackson said, scratching the back of his head with his crimson-stained hand. “But I just realized something.”

He leaned down again, until he was level with your face.

“When he finds you, drowned in your own goddamn blood…I think the look on his face might just be enough for me.”

Your eyes widened. 

It took days. Three painful days to pick up the threads, which led closer to home than anyone could’ve anticipated. 

Grace Mallory put pressure across the chain of command, and even reached out to the FBI for assistance. An alert email finally came to her phone, and she realized that an agent on her own payroll had been flagged for never reporting back for his debriefing on a reconnaissance mission.

That agent was Jackson Rawlins.

The further she read into his file, the worse her frown became. She immediately sent the lead to Ben, Butcher, and the rest of the team to run down. For the first time in years, Grace actually prayed.

She prayed that they would reach you in time. It wasn’t until then that she realized it; she hadn’t thought of you as a cog in her system for some time now—not even as leverage against Soldier Boy. She was genuinely concerned about you.

Grace worried that she was setting herself up for disappointment…if it was too late. However, she also worried about what would happen if you didn’t survive. She considered how Ben might react, with that nuclear power within him that he was still learning to control. The consequences of this mission could very well be catastrophic. 

You were losing track of time in this windowless pit. You knew it had been days, but you didn’t remember how many. The cellar was cold, and the way sound and air traveled, it felt like you were underground. It certainly smelled like it—damp and gross. It made you certain this was a sewer.

Now this is Satan’s ass crack, you thought. You winced at the pain that radiated…pretty much everywhere. Blood had dried from various lacerations across your face, neck, chest, and arms, and bruises were dark against your skin.

Your blouse was in tatters, and your jeans had bleeding rips as well, though at least he’d kept your ankle boots on. You were too weak even for hunger. And a large, heavy chain attached to manacles on your wrists had replaced the zip ties. One end of the chain was fastened between the wall and a line of plumbing.

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind you. You closed your eyes and steeled yourself.

“Are we actually gonna have a conversation today?” Jackson asked.

“Depends,” you replied, your voice dry and coarse. “Are you going to tell me why you hate Ben so much?”

An angry sigh escaped Jackson’s lips. He pointed up in frustration.

“Ben.” Jackson rolled and cracked his neck, like just the mention of your boyfriend’s real name was disgusting to this man.

“You talk about him like he’s a real fucking person. Not like the animal supe he is,” he said.

“He is a person,” you said, both in exhaustion, and in pain. “And he’s trying to be better. Look, he’s done terrible things. I’m not saying he hasn’t. I don’t know what he’s done to you in the past, but—”

Jackson shut you up with a sharp backhand. It made black spots encroach on your vision as you caught your breath.

You noticed his brother Tom come in the room as well, to watch and worry. He didn’t seem comfortable with this way of things. He looked like a civilian. Maybe you could use that to your advantage…

But you lost track of thought after that, when Jackson started in on you with either his hands, or the creativity of the instruments on the table nearby. 

You tried to block out the pain, along with his questions about Ben. If you couldn’t talk about him, you couldn’t let yourself think about him. So you couldn’t say anything.

Not about the Novichok nerve agent, one of the few things that had been found to incapacitate him. Not his imprisonment by Vought or the S.A.—nothing that your captor could one day use against Ben.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

Even though all you wanted right now was him. 

Ben, please…

You zoned in and out of consciousness from there.

When you next registered being awake, mercifully, you were left alone. You raised your head when Tom came to blot at least some of your wounds and give you water. You’d only eaten small pieces of protein bars for days. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered.

“Why does he want Ben?” you wheezed. “Why are you going along with this if you’re so damn sorry?”

Tom looked up at you with pain and grief in his blue eyes. He sighed and dragged a nearby chair from the table. He sat beside you while he fed you half a protein bar. It was a struggle to even get the pieces down.

“Last year,” said Tom, clearing his throat. “I lived in the building that Soldier Boy blew up when he got back from…wherever the Russians had him.”

Your eyes widened as you processed that. “You…but you made it out. Why—”

“I wasn’t home. I was at work,” Tom said. His voice was pained as his eyes became red and glassy. “Our mom wasn’t so lucky.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“She was retired, and I was taking care of her,” Tom said. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Jackson wasn’t here. He was on a mission in Colombia. Told me he was cleaning up some cartel shit.”

At that, you had a sneaking suspicion that coiled in your gut. Ben had left a bit of a mess when he peaced out of Colombia, with an entire plane filled with drugs and weapons from whatever cartel he’d infiltrated. (In his words, he’d cut the head off the snake.)

Grace told you she’d sent a team in to handle that mess…

“Your brother—who does he work for?” you asked. Though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

Tom seemed to read your understanding, and his face turned grim.

“The CIA,” he said.

Fuck, you grimaced. So not only had Ben been responsible for their mother’s death, but Jackson had been part of the team that cleaned up his mess in South America. It explained why Jackson was somehow able to find your information; Supe Affairs had become a subsect of the CIA, thanks to Grace. 

“I didn’t know he was planning this. I swear to God. All he said was that he had a way to get at Soldier Boy,” Tom said. You let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” you said. Tears welled up hot in your eyes. “But you need to let me go. For your own safety, believe me.”

You saw the guilt, the sadness, the regret on Tom’s face. The brief indecision was overtaken when he glanced down the hall. You knew then that he was more afraid of his own brother than he was willing to do the right thing.

Your tears spilled over, though you tried to breathe through it. You’d tried to save them for when you were alone, those seldom few, cold hours, but you were reaching your breaking point.

“Okay, before I go, do you have to use the bathroom?” Tom asked. There was a bucket in the corner, and Jackson preferred it away from the chair. It was the only time Tom was allowed to unchain you from the wall and let you stretch your legs.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, you nodded in agreement. It was humiliating to know you were going to have to do this yet again, in a bucket, with company. With the manacles still on your wrists, he brought you over to the “special” corner.

Tom sighed and looked away to give you some semblance of privacy.

That was when you used every scrap of energy you had left in you.

You grabbed the chain and yanked it out of his hands long enough to wrap it around his neck from behind. You cut off his sounds of strain and kicked out his knees, so he was forced to kneel on the ground.

You wrapped the rest of the chain around your thigh, giving you the leverage you needed to tighten your grip and choke him out, until he was unconscious. His body fell to the side, and you heaved for breath. Once again, there were black spots in your vision, but you did your best to blink them away.

Now set with determination, you made your way to the plastic table and searched for the key to your chains. After the manacles were unlocked, you rubbed at your raw wrists and rapidly scanned the room. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you calculated which way you should go to try and escape.

There were three possibilities in this clearing under the sewer: left, right, or straight ahead. Every time Tom or Jackson emerged, it sounded like it was behind you. The chair was facing to the east, which meant you had to take the left tunnel.

You ran in that direction and tried to find a metal ladder that would take you to whatever manhole cover these guys had detached. Someone couldn’t just open up any of those iron plates without the right tools, from the inside or the outside.

You walked as fast as you could manage, even though your entire body protested in pain. Then finally, you saw a black duffel bag lying on the ground, against the wall. Next to it was a metal ladder that went all the way up to the top.

“Jackson, don’t!”

You heard Tom’s voice, but you felt the presence behind you too late. Jackson hit you in the back of the head with that damn baton, so hard that even he grimaced at how the sound echoed on the walls. You crumpled to the ground.

Jackson stood over you with a grim set to his face. He turned to his brother with a shake of his head.

“She’s a walking welt, and you couldn’t handle her?” he said.

“This is too much,” Tom said in worry. He bent down and held two fingers to your neck. He still felt a pulse, at least, but when he felt behind your head, he found blood. His hand shook as he stared at it.

“If you didn’t want in on this, you should’ve said so from the beginning,” said Jackson. He spun the baton in his hand and clipped the hilt to his belt, from a small metal loop on the end of it.

“You didn’t say anything about…about this!” Tom argued. He cleaned your blood off on his jacket.

Jackson regarded his brother with disappointment, and he hefted you up into his arms. Tom followed him back to their setup with your makeshift prison. There Jackson left you lying on the ground, and chained you back up by your wrists for good measure. He then literally and figuratively wiped his hands of you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said. “For good this time.”

Tom looked at you, then his brother in shock. There was even emotion in his eyes.   

“We’re leaving her to die,” he said, his voice unsteady. He knew then, that their mother wouldn't have wanted this in her name. If she saw both of them now, she wouldn't recognize them.

Jackson grabbed his younger brother where his neck met his shoulder. An iron grip.

“And what do you think Soldier Boy is going to do if he finds us?” Jackson asked. His gaze encouraged Tom to explore that reality for a moment.

Jackson nodded at your unconscious form. “Trust me, that bitch was never going to talk. But this is almost better.”

It wasn’t right, Tom thought. He knew it, deep in his heart, but he wasn’t strong like his brother, or even like you.

That was when they heard it. The rumble of engines dying and tires rolling overhead, dislodging a few stray pebbles and dust from the ceiling. Jackson’s eyes widened. 

“Fuck!” he muttered. “All right, let’s go.”

Jackson forced his younger brother to leave the sewer with him, and leave you chained up on the floor.

Ben, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had done much of the legwork in tracking down Jackson Rawlins and his brother Tom (with help from Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie of course). Frenchie had found your likely location with a powerful thermal scanner, courtesy of Grace.

Now, they’d driven up to the wide alley in the city and blocked off all the exits on the block. Ben was the first to get his boots on the ground and stride toward the point of entry, where according to Frenchie’s scanners, more than one body was holed up in the sewer. He held his shield at his side and at the ready when the manhole cover loosened, and slid open.

A small gas bomb rolled out towards his feet, but it was just tear gas, not the kind of thing that could actually affect him. Ben picked up the little round ball of metal and crushed it in his hand. While the rest of the team dove for the oxygen masks stored in the car, Ben stalked forward.

Seeing the silhouette of a man, Ben threw his shield hard enough to rattle a supe.

Jackson Rawlins was thrown clean onto his back with a force that stole the breath from his lungs, even through his gas mask. It also broke half a dozen ribs. Ben was soon bearing on top of him and ripping off the mask.

Jackson cried out as remnants of the tear gas seared his eyes.

“Got us a runner!” Butcher shouted. He intercepted and grabbed up a second man who tried to escape. Tom Rawlins wasn’t the threat, but he still wasn’t going free. M.M. and Frenchie also dove down into the sewer to try and find you after they got their gas masks on.

Meanwhile, Ben hauled Jackson up by his neck and walked him back until he hit the brick wall beside a nail salon. Jackson grunted in pain. Every breath he took was now agonizing, thanks to his now battered and broken ribs.

“Where is she?” Ben demanded.

Jackson actually laughed in his face, despite his now bloodshot eyes.

“All you fucking supes are the same,” he said. “But you…you’re the worst. Quite literally, the original asshole. And what does the government do? What does the world do? Gives you a pass on decades of indiscretions, fuck ups, and straight up murder.” 

Ben didn’t outwardly react, but he knew what Jackson’s problem was. He knew he killed the man’s family. Collateral damage—something that had caused Ben more than one argument with you in the past.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because all he could see in his mind’s eye was a metal bat hitting the back of your head and knocking you clean out. He saw you being taken against your will. Taken from him. And that, he couldn’t abide.

“Where. Is she?” Ben said, as his grip flexed around the other man’s neck. It would be easy. Easier than snapping a toothpick. And he warned, “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

“Dead, probably,” Jackson spat, despite his red and bleary eyes. “Real tough bitch. I see why you’re fucking her…I had me a little taste myself.”

In that moment, Ben couldn’t compute.

His green eyes widened. His breath stilled.

Then his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were grinding. A fire in his blood and behind his eyes, and fury that burned hot in his chest, almost giving it that nuclear glow.

His hand tightened and choked any salacious words Jackson might’ve spewed out next.

“He didn’t!” Tom shouted out. He was being restrained by Butcher. Ben glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.  

“He didn’t touch her. Not like that,” Tom said. He looked sincere.  

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” said his older brother. 

It earned Ben’s attention back. Jackson had the look of a man who knew he was going to die either way.

Ben’s lips curled into a sneer. He took the man’s head with both hands, and slowly crushed his skull. The scream echoed between Ben’s ears, but he was only satisfied when Jackson’s lifeless body dropped at his feet.

He turned to the other Rawlins next.

Tom had screamed as well to watch his brother’s life ended before his eyes. He now stared straight into Soldier Boy’s, pleading wordlessly for his own life. Ben started toward him.

“Please,” Tom said. He tried twisting away from Butcher, who held firm to the man’s arm. The Brit knew all too well, the rage that Ben had in his blood.

“Ben,” Annie tried, and she even stepped forward. Butcher held a hand out against her with a knowing look. It wouldn’t be wise to stand in the way.

“Hey!” M.M. shouted up from down the open hatch of the sewer. “We found her! Need help getting her loose.”

Ben paused in his steps. Tom was shaking, lips trembling, petrified.

Tilting his head, Ben let out a subtle breath through his nose. He began to turn back toward the sewer.

At the last moment, however, he drew his gun and shot Tom Rawlins between the eyes. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Annie and Hughie flinched, but Butcher and Kimiko weren’t surprised in the least.

Meanwhile, Ben made his way back towards M.M.’s voice, and into the sewer. He heard M.M. and Frenchie arguing about first aid and head wounds, the further in he went. Ben’s dark mood blackened even more along the way.

Once he reached them, he also reached you, held in M.M.’s arms as he cradled your head.

You were unconscious with your wrists locked into heavy chains. The furrow between Ben’s brows deepened, but he got down to his knees beside you and first, broke your chains. He guided you out of M.M.’s arms and into his own, making sure to support your head. Blood was already staining his half-glove and fingers.

It was then that he noticed the small crimson pool lying where your body had been, likely from the wound he could feel at the back of your head. Ben’s mouth trembled the slightest bit, mostly in anger as he drew himself back onto his feet. Your body was littered with bruises, cuts both shallow and deep made by what looked like a blade, and God knew what else.

“I had me a little taste myself,” Jackson had taunted.

No, Ben internally shook that thought from his mind. No, you hadn’t been touched like that, at least, according to the sniveling, cock-sucking brother.

But can you trust that little cunt’s word?

Ben briefly closed his eyes, pressing his lips to your forehead. He continued walking down the hall and towards the light and fresh air of the world above.

You’re gonna be just fine, he promised you, if just within the safety of his mind.

Yeah, you would be all right.

He was going to make sure of it.

AN: 🫣 I'm sorry...BUT, I can promise it will get better (eventually). First, it's going to get worse.

Next Time:

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well trimmed.

His head soon raised, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD/Series Tag List (Part 1):

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@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[cowyolks]

Ok so I've never actually put in a fic request before. I don't even have a specific idea! I would just love something were the reader is rescued by Gaz. He's our knight in shining armor, literally or metaphorically! Gaz is my favorite and I bet he'd do a great job helping the reader after whatever scary ordeal they went through <3

OUT OF ELEMENT

Pairing: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Female! Reader

Prompt: Gaz didn’t notice the loose Polaroid of the two of you that fell from his vest, focusing instead on not being shot. He didn’t think anything of it, until his whole world came crashing down.

Words: 3.1 K

Warnings: Blood, Graphic Torture, gore, suicidal thoughts, it’s heavy, but Gaz saves us!

He knocked harshly upon the wood of his favorite sergeant’s door, an irritable look on his face. It wasn’t often Kyle was angry at anything, always the level head when it came to his missions and time on the field.

Not the last mission.

It had been a close call, he’d taken a bullet to the thigh, making him stumble despite his Captain telling him to move his arse. He made the team swear not to tell you after he was wrapped and bandaged. Soap had previously let loose about his helicopter mishap, resulting in you not speaking to him for weeks, settling upon giving him an earful when he returned to your shared home.

So here he was, angrily wondering what made Soap think he could flap his jaws after he swore he wouldn’t.

“I know you’re in there, MacTavish!” Gaz called, noticing the faint glow of light shift from under the crack of the door. A loud groan echoed, before the door swung open to reveal a tired looking Scot.

“Why’d you tell the Missus about my leg? I know it was you.”

Soap looked puzzled, already sluggish due to being woken at such a late hour. “Oi piss off, I knew better than to squeal this time.” He grouched.

Unease settled in Gaz’s throat, clogging his esophagus and making the tips of his fingertips numb in loathing shock. Soap didn’t take notice at first, “What? She get cold feet after you proposed or somethin’?”

You hadn’t answered his calls in three days. Which was practically unheard of, especially knowing that you were in fact, oblivious of his previous injuries.

“Don’t know why she’s not answering, mate.” He nervously aired, clenching his fingers into his palms. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and for the fifth time today, he clicked upon your name and watched it dial.

Soap hovered carefully, his own eyes widening when the phone went straight to voicemail.

“Something’s wrong.” Gaz choked out, barely registering the comforting hand placed on his shoulder. “Did ye’ try calling your neighbor? Maybe they can check in?”

Gaz nodded his head frantically, thankful for the advise as he dialed Ms. Annie, a sweet old widow that loved to bring over cookies after Kyle mowed her lawn in the summer months. Soap ushered him into his room, pushing him into the old wood chair near his desk.

The phone dialed once, twice, before slow breathing picked up, “Hello?”

“Annie, hello. It’s Kyle, can I ask a favor?” Kyle attempted to not let his nervousness show.

“Oh course, what is it, honey?” Her sweet voice clipped with a tad of worry.

“I need you to go to my house while staying on the line with me. I haven’t heard anything from my fiancé in a while and I’m worried.”

“Well, hold on let me grab my slippers.” She mused, a small shuffling coming from the line before she hummed in satisfaction. “I’m sure she’s okay, Kyle. I saw her on Tuesday when she brought me lasagna and discussed the book we read.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips at the mention of you, how sweet and caring you were.

“Okay, I’m at your front door.” Annie announced.

“There is a loose brick on the left side of the mailbox, if you lift it there should be the spare key underneath.” Kyle bit his lip, growing even more nervous. Soap nudged his shoulder, signaling him to put the phone on speaker so he could listen. Gaz clicked it without hesitation, thankful for the listening ear.

“Okay, I’m in.” Annie informed, she called for your name. “She’s not home, but her car isn’t here.”

Kyle’s heart dropped to his stomach. You could be out shopping for groceries, or at the local library— yet he couldn’t stop the unease from eating his insides.

“Could you check our bedroom, second door on the left? Just to be sure.” He had blamed his constant paranoia, but he made sure you knew about the safe in the closet, a loaded pistol among the contents.

A loud gasp, “Oh my…”

“What Annie? What is it?” Kyle asked, standing from his chair in a blind panic.

“There’s blood, lots of it, Kyle.” Annie’s frail voice shook in fear. Kyle swore loudly, eyes clouding over that he could barely hear Soap speak.

“Answer this video call, We need to see what’s there.” Soap ordered, kicking chair out of the way to get a better look at the phone. Both men looked down, locking on the video call that shook under Annie’s grip.

His home, a place that had once been such a safe haven, was now destroyed. The walnut stained nightstands you had picked were tilted over and broke, the carpet stained with blood, too much for a single person to not need a transfusion. The closet lay open, bullet shells spilled over the floor, but no gun to be found.

Then, Kyle’s near dead eyes hooked on a flimsy piece of film, the once shiny photo covered with loving smudges of his fingertips. Through the video call, smiling back at him was his girl, your eyes crinkled with a smile, laughter escaping your lips as you beamed up at him. The photograph was so immensely special, a piece he carried everywhere in his vest— away on missions he would often find his thumb tracing across your face, pressing a gentle kiss where your cheek was.

Now the picture haunted him, scared him to his very core. It was always in his pocket, but here in a lifeline connection it made his heart stop.

It wasn’t supposed to be there, corners covered in blood as it mocked him like a biting snake.

“Steaming Jesus…” Soap connected the dots, hand on Gaz’s shoulder.

“Annie, call the police.” Gaz spat, already fleeing with no regard whenever she was calling the authorities. Instead, his feet hurried down the dull halls of the base, making his way towards Captain John Price’s office.

Whoever came up with the theory of an out of body experience must have never been tortured, you had decided.

If you saw yourself in the mirror, you wouldn’t recognize yourself, that was for certain. A deranged smile had made its way across your busted and swollen lips, your clenched teeth leaving sores against the flesh to suppress your screams. Now, you didn’t see the point, you’d rip your own lips off at the rate they were torturing you.

You weren’t sure what day it was, just that you were scared and you wanted Kyle.

Vomit clung to your neck, long dried and crusted, along with the mixture of blood slipping from the many blunt wounds on your head. You were certain you had a concussion, because whenever you saw the masked men come in with a weapon of choice, there was always two weapons blurred together. Or perhaps, they have gotten more creative with the torture.

You couldn’t cry anymore, far too dehydrated and starving for the shed of tears. Now you felt numb, fingers no longer shaking from the several breaks they’d performed so they could get information from you.

Information you had no way of knowing.

Where is the 141? What weapons did they confiscate? Where are they storing them?

You had babbled that you didn’t know, that Kyle never discussed his work with you, but they had taken it with a grain of salt, quite literally.

You were woken from your half conscious state by the absolute burning of salt placed on the infected laceration of your thigh, a knife wound they had produced several days before.

“Wake up, girl.” You didn’t want to, knowing that if you did wake, it would only bring you more pain. You wanted to sleep forever, to dream instead of live in this nightmare. A slap to your cheek startled you further, allowing one eye to open with a struggle.

“You’re little hag of a neighbor found the present I left for the Sergeant. It’s a shame, I wanted him to find it so I could see his face.” Accented English flooded your ears, although it sounded too far away. A retaliating groan worked up your throat, the mere rattle causing your muscles and bones to ache.

“You’re running out of time, so tell me where the guns are.” He demanded, fingers squeezing upon your neck blotted in angry bruises.

“Fuck you.” You hoarsely gritted, eyes falling shut in preparation for whatever pain awaited. The burning pain of electricity was far worse than any burn caused by fire, it singed your hair and the smell of your burnt body had you sobbing with no tears.

“Please. Please, just kill me.” You begged, no longer able to hold your body up, everything was limp, your nervous system shutting down and allowing numbness to take over.

Another shock, and you saw black.

You dreamt of Kyle, the soothing touch of his rough and calloused hands, his obsession with history and the mini dates he’d make out of it, the crewneck sweaters he’d wear around the house. The scent of cardamom, cigarette smoke, and something sweet that had you bury your nose into his neck.

You hummed at the phantom smell of him, the thought blinding the pain as you abruptly entered consciousness again.

Salt rubbed into your wounds. The combined smell of Kyle and the excruciating pain awoken something in you— steel claws, hoarse breath, seeing red.

You screamed, so loud your ears rang. It wasn’t your typical scream of pain, no— this was unadulterated rage. Rage that you were still being tortured for something you couldn’t control, for any Gods in the heavens that would listen— You needed to die, or you needed to escape. If you didn’t, you’d damn the whole world and spit on the surface until it crumbled in wrath.

“Kill me, you bastard!” You screeched as your sight adjusted on the tall masked man from before. How his hand was leant just too close to your bloodied mouth. Without even thinking you leant in like a caged animal, clamping your teeth down on his fingers with all the force you could muster. You bit into cartilage and bone, breaking skin and tasting the irony flavor of blood.

Even more satisfying was the absolute bloodcurdling howl he released, attempting to wriggle his hand out of your jaws, only damaging more.

But nothing good ever lasted forever.

You didn’t catch the sound of rattling until the metal piece of a pipe hit your jaw, a loud crack breaking your jaw with so much force you could only gurgle. Your body didn’t give you a choice, no longer able to clamp your jaw so you had to release him. You let out your own howl in pain, realizing now this was the last straw. If you weren’t saved, you’d bleed out and rot in the cold chair they strapped you to.

Vision blurred, you didn’t see the captor grab a knife with his non dominant hand, little whines leaving him as his hand lay mutilated and cradled to his chest.

He shifted behind you, holding the knife out, looking to strike upon your hunched over spinal cord, a horrific and painful death.

“Drop it, or I fuckin’ swear to god I’ll blow a hole in you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, knowing if you did you’d likely pass out from the pain. But you knew that voice, and if you were hallucinating, so be it, at least you could have heard Kyle Garrick’s voice one more time.

“She’s already dead.”

Then there was white hot pain, and blackness.

It’d been around the eighty-three hour mark when there was finally a hit on your potential location. Gaz hadn’t slept in days, and neither had any of the rest of the one-four-one. His worry was contagious, and it set a fire under all of them, scorching if the group came close to dozing off.

“John, we’ve got a pin, it’s not 100 percent, but it’s our best chance.” Laswell’s voice broke over the comms, halting Gaz’s pacing for a moment.

“Send it.”

The heli to the frigid frontier of Siberia was far too long, even as the the four had made quick work of the pathetic guard posts and ambushed the barrack. Still, they didn’t find you, and it was taking a toll on his mental health.

That was until he heard the horrific sound of a scream.

He took off fast, the barrel of his gun still smoking from the rapid release of gunpowder. His team followed behind, being his flank and support as they have for the most miserable week of his life.

An anguished cry, feminine—sounded from below a latch under a misplaced rug, his fingers grasped the handle, pulling silently to allow stealth. He’d need to be quick, as most kidnappers killed their victims within the first 48 hours. It’s been long past that.

Oh, how his heart bled when he looked beyond the shadows and into the spotlight where you looked dead. You were disfigured and bleeding, scared and wild. A caged animal subjected to a butcher while still breathing.

Anger was all he felt.

A man, dressed in a Konni uniform, a black shawl covering his face was seething, clutching a hunting knife just above your neck, where spinal cord met the soft skin.

“Drop it, or I fuckin’ swear to god I’ll blow a hole in you.” He found himself growling, aiming his weapon right between the man’s eyes. He’d kill him, despite the orders he’d receive, despite the gurgling of blood that fled your mouth. All Kyle Garrick felt was rage as the blade plunged against your neck, missing the viral artery due to the bullet now in his skull.

It wasn’t enough, never would it be.

“Oh God, Sweetheart.” Kyle found himself mumbling, panic sparking and erupting through every nerve in his body. You were dead, you had to be, so much blood, so much torture.

He rushed to you, catching your limp form that was practically glued to the seat they had tied you to. His hands were sticky with blood in mere seconds, attempting to plug the wound with his own flesh.

“I can’t feel a pulse.” His captain called close, Gaz not even noticing him as his fingers moved from your carotid.

“Med Evac is on the way, Soap start compressions, Gaz keep her airway clean,” Ghost ordered calmly, used to the blood and guts of innocents.

Gaz’s hand caressed your face, his other still securely planted on your wound.

In the first time in a while, he prayed.

“God, take me. Not her, not her.”

It’d been weeks.

Weeks since you’d medically been induced into a coma. They told him you’d go into shock from all the extensive injuries and infections, and it was for the best. He’d left only to shower and relieve himself, the rest of the time Gaz’s thumb drew careful circles on your palm.

Bandages covered your fingers, hard casts forming them back in place where bone had broke. Your cheeks were sunken, nutrition being forced into you through IV. Some of your wounds had healed, bruises now a pale yellow and lacerations now scabbed over.

Still you couldn’t get yourself to wake, even when you regained your sensation and could hear the gentle snores of someone next to you. The beeping of the monitor is what made your heavy eyes peel open— the sound close to that of an alarm clock.

Then you could feel. Fell the excruciating pain beyond your neck, the ache in your fingers, the warmth of the treated infection on your leg. But, the pain all dulled in comparison to the steady hand that rested on your open palm.

You were angry, angry he hadn’t shown up earlier. Angry that you were captured, upset that you now had plentiful scars.

Your eyes opened wider, and when you glanced at him, all the pain and anger and hurt flew away, only replaced with relief. He looked peaceful, eyes shut and soft exhales indicating he was asleep. But if you looked closer you could see the bags under his eyes, the bitten lip that indicated he was anxious, and the grown out stubble he typically hated.

“He just fell asleep.” A deep voice startled you, making you wince before attempting to silently sit up. You attempted to speak as well, but no sound came out. The man seemed to understand, for he was standing with a hmph, extending a pitcher of water to your dry lips. You tried to part them wider, so the straw could be placed, but your jaw burned at the movement and almost made you yelp. Instead, he tipped the pitcher, allowing it to pool. You tapped his arm after a moment, notifying him you were done.

You observed his boonie hat he wore, as well as the famous chops and blue eyes that held so much concealed loss. Kyle’s captain, John Price.

“Glad we found ya’, love. For your sake as well as his.”

You had so many questions. How long were you gone from home, where had you been, how many days were you in a coma? Then others, had I left the stove on? Stove? I’m hungry. Did the bill get payed this month? Will Kyle still love me with all these hideous scars?

It’s as if Price could hear all your thoughts, see the turmoil and pain laced in your eyes that welled with tears.

“Whatever your thinkin’, it’s going to be alright. Everything’s taken care of. That man hasn’t left your side, lord save em’.” He pointed at Kyle, who wrinkled his nose at the noise of his captain, slowly stirring awake.

“Told ya to not let me fall asleep.” His voice snarked, making your lips curl in sweet affection. It was good to know he hadn’t lost his sass. Your hand slowly trailed to his own, not quite able to close around his fingers.

The movement made him shift, surprise dancing in his eyes as he glanced at you. A million emotions fluttered across his face, but in the end he settled on concern. “Do you need the nurse? Are you in pain? What can I do?”

You barely heard the click of the door as Price left the room.

“Hold…me.” You choked out. If you could, you’d pinch yourself, making sure you were awake and feeling the warm and gentle embrace of Kyle, his forearms cradling your abdomen, and lips gently pecking against your face.

“Thought you… weren’t coming.” You choked again, painfully holding your chest while you coughed. There was a million things you wanted to say, thousands of things you needed to do, hundreds of doubts.

But oh, when he kissed you, you forgot about the pain, the anxiety, the anger for a simple moment.

“I’ll always find you, always.” He held you, knowing he’d have to nurse you back to health. Physically and emotionally. But he would. Oh, he would.