Hell yeah, we made it to the finale! This chapter is full of fluff and slight citrus for your reading pleasure, so let's hear it for Part 4! The chapter in which Butch finally grows a pair and our greens seem to agree on something...

Buttercup welcomed the sharp ache in her chest, shouting past the pain that raced through her battered body as she buried her fist in the ground next to Butch's face, sparing him. Just seconds ago, she'd been in the black, consumed by a rage so fierce it made her head spin and her vision tunnel. Now, though, her mind came to reason, her body to exhaustion, and she was overcome by a sudden embarrassment as the boy beneath her smirked and struggled for breath. The battle had ended in a draw. Buttercup was poised for the final blow from above while Butch held a sharp sliver of shield to her jugular, but why, then, did Butch's triumphant expression make her feel so defeated?

"Gonna have to talk eventually, B." He rasped. Buttercup was still crushing his windpipe. "Who're we killing?"

She debated staying silent. For a moment she imagined just socking Butch in the jaw, retreating to her bedroom, and ignoring her sisters so she could continue to deal with this feeling in private. But that felt an awful lot like running, and she couldn't stand that smug look on Butch's face, so with a frustrated sigh, she eased off Butch's neck. Her muscles relaxed as he dissolved his shield, his hands easing behind his head as he waited for her answer.

"Fucking Bethany." She hissed, withdrawing her fist from the ground. As she settled her weight on her heels, knees still planted on either side of Butch's torso, she let her fingers drag across her collarbone. She knew without looking that it was still healing, likely yellowed and splotchy like a week-old bruise in the faint shape of Butch's hand. It was a different kind of hurt, though, that forced her eyes to close. "We've been friends my whole life and he chose fucking Bethany."

A protracted pause, and then, "Wait a minute." Butch said, propping himself on his elbows with a quizzical look on his face. "You're telling me you called me all the way out here in the middle of the night to fight over fucking Mitch?"

Buttercup flushed a furious red. "I know it's stupid—"

"Hell yeah, it's stupid."

And his dismissal tore through her. It was a stinging pain chased out by a wave of newfound anger; a clear indication that she'd made a mistake. She shoved roughly at his chest, ignoring his bewildered expression as she made to move off him. "Shouldn't have said anything." She growled, shifting her weight. "I guess I'll just fuck off then."

She felt him go rigid beneath her. "Fuck, B." He groaned, hands scrubbing down his face. "I know what that sounded like, but you know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah. Whatever. Fuck you, Butch."

"I'm serious, B. What I meant," he stressed, grabbing at her hips with the slightest bit of super-strength and meeting the deadly flash in her eyes head-on. "Is that it's stupid you fell for such a fucking lame. He clearly doesn't deserve you."

Now Buttercup stopped short. Her attempt at escape dissolved as she searched his eyes, looking for any indication that he was joking or teasing like he always was. Instead, his expression was uncharacteristically serious, and the shift in tone stole the breath from her lungs.

She decided to ignore the strange feeling in her chest.

"Lame?" She scoffed, feigning bravado as she willed her blush to settle. "I thought he was your friend?"

"I thought he was yours?"

Fuck, he had her there.

Buttercup shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. Her fingers crept to the nape of her neck, toying with her hair out of nervous habit. "We haven't really hung out much since Senior year started."

"Yeah, same here. Funny how that works."

But they knew exactly how that worked. They knew the reason they hadn't seen Mitch was the same reason Butch's hand was still healing and Buttercup's chest was still sore. The same reason Butch knew not to call during volleyball practice and Buttercup knew to keep an extra lighter in her backpack. She wasn't sure when they'd stopped being enemies and sparring partners and become actual friends, but it occurred to her now, and only now, that maybe Mitch had noticed that transition. Her expression began to falter, falling apart as the corners of her mouth dipped into a frown, brow furrowing as she recognized that same heat behind her eyes from earlier. It was her fault, she realized. She'd been pushing Mitch away without even noticing. How could she have been so oblivious—so stupid?

"Buttercup, hey," Butch's voice cut through her mental fog. "Don't…Don't let that shit get to you." He pursed his lips, seeming to struggle for the words, but his eyes communicated his intent better than his lips ever could. They were filled with genuine concern, teeming with irritation at his own ineloquence, but he decided to voice his tangle of thoughts whether his words would cooperate or not.

"Bethany's dumb as rocks." He started. "She's failing Waves for Babes, and you can get an A in that class just by breathing. Trust me. I've done it." He delt her a winning smirk. "You, on the other hand, are acing college level math without even trying, really. Everyone knows you've been helping Pablo with his homework since he figured out what numbers were. And Mitch—jeez." He rolled his eyes. "He talks all this big game about how all the jocks are dumb and how the athletic program should be defunded, but he's just butthurt he didn't make Varsity this year—or any year for that matter." He held her stare. "You've got every team begging you to join. Even without your powers, you're easily the highest-scoring athlete. Your killer serve was the reason we won last week's match, and college scouts are fighting tooth and nail to get you to sign with them. I just know it."

He took a slow, deliberate breath, debating if he should continue his compliment and ultimately making the fearless decision to do so, but even still, he closed his eyes as he spoke. "You make every other girl look like chump change, B. Even your sisters can't hold a candle to you. So don't let some bottle-blonde Princess wannabe and some knockoff Brandon Urie take you off your A-game," he declared, watching her intently now. "He clearly doesn't deserve you because you're one of a fucking kind."

Buttercup felt a warmth stir up inside of her, a fluttering feeling between her ribs that colored her face and voice before she could stifle it. "How did you—when did you notice—?" She knotted her hands into Butch's shirt to keep from doing something stupid, like fanning herself.

His response was calm and quiet. "I notice everything about you, B."

"No, that's—" she shook her head. "That's Blossom. She's the girl always in the spotlight. And Bubbles is—she's the girl everyone adores. I'm just…" She felt her shoulders slump. "I'm the other one. The mean one. Part of a matching set."

"Not to me, you're not."

"Don't say stupid shit, Butch."

"It's not stupid shit. I mean what I say this time."

"And what are you trying to say?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me, it's not."

"Well, let me make it clear." He whispered, grabbing at the back of her neck as he pulled her close.

Buttercup was never the type to fantasize about this kind of thing. Even with the feelings she'd had for Mitch, that closeness was always some nebulous idea on the outskirts of concrete thought. It was impossible to imagine how soft Butch's lips would feel against hers, how she would sigh gently against his mouth when his fingers nestled into her hair, how she would flatten against his chest and tilt her hips when his hand pressed into her back, hungry for her. She couldn't believe the noise she was making, a delicate whimper as his tongue cautiously explored her mouth, goosebumps rising on her skin when his fingers teased the hem of her shirt higher, higher. She gasped when she felt the cool air across her back, snapping away from him as she was flung haphazardly to reality, reddened and breathless.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I wasn't thinking—"

"You don't have to with me."

She fanned herself. "I've never—no one's ever—"

"Do you want to stop?" Butch asked, suddenly alert. "We can stop if you—"

"No!" She said forcefully, and then again, a bit softer, "No, I…"

Her attention danced from his lips to his chest and settled again on his gaze. His eyes were bright, pupils so large they nearly eclipsed the deep green she'd become so familiar with. There was a softness there, but she recognized the fire just beneath the surface, too. She felt it in the heat of his hands as they rested on her hips, felt it between her legs as she straddled the boy who looked up at her now like a goddess. They closed each other without speaking, mouths drawn together like magnets as they each took liberties, Butch discovering the expanse of skin beneath Buttercup's shirt as she rocked her hips against his own.

If Butch was hungry for her then, he was ravenous now, palming greedily at her ass before tracing a tantalizing line down her thigh. His fingers found home at the back of her knee, and she sucked eagerly at his bottom lip as they rolled horizontally in the grass, Butch yanking Buttercup closer as he hitched her leg around his hip. He pressed his knee between her thighs and upwards, gently at first but with more force as Buttercup ground into him, making a total mess of her panties. She couldn't focus on controlling her breath, and she gave up on quieting her voice. Instead, she was hyperaware of the way Butch's fingers trailed up her leg, skimmed across the front of her torso, and slipped skillfully beneath the banding of her bra. They danced at the bottom swell of her breast before grazing once over the peak, and the feeling sent a jolt through her body as she cried out against him, clutching him closer. That gave him the courage he needed, and he ventured to palm her breast more fully as he broke the kiss, moving now to devour her neck.

Buttercup couldn't think. Every time his lips touched her, her thoughts would scatter and dissolve until they were incomprehensible, and the sensation was driving her insane. She didn't know it was possible to feel like this—so untethered that it felt like she was losing her sense of reality though she knew she was very solidly on this Earth. The last time she'd felt even a semblance of this feeling it had been in the privacy of her bedroom, and she'd been so overwhelmed by her own touch that she'd stopped before anything exciting could happen. Butch, for all his crassness and brute force, was tender with her now. Every kiss and lick and stroke was like a whisper, gone before her brain could even begin to process the source of her pleasure. As much as it deeply excited her, it was starting to terrify her, too.

Her brain short-circuited when he took her earlobe between his teeth.

"I can't—Butch, I can't!" She writhed against the feeling as she gasped desperately for air. "We have to stop. It's too much, I can't—!"

Butch let out a growl of frustration against her neck. He took a deep, settling breath, and she could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingertips. "Sorry," he said softly, hearing the gravel in his voice. "Got a bit ahead of myself." He looked up at her between heavy lashes, chest still heaving. "Did you not like it?"

I loved it. She wanted to say, but she could only shake her head, dumbfounded. "It's not that. It's just…" She forced herself to meet his stare. "It was all so fast—like my mind couldn't keep up. You know?"

He nodded once and withdrew from her, removing his hands to help right her shirt. It had ridden up an ungodly amount. "I get it." He said, tight-lipped.

Oh, shit. Her breath hitched in her throat. I totally fucked this up.

Buttercup was pummeled by embarrassment then. It wasn't supposed to be like this. No, she was never meant to make out with Butch in the middle of the woods—and after coming clean about Mitch, no less. She was meant to fight and swear at her counterpart and then leave, not cover her face with a nervous laugh and lean into his chest like she was doing right now. "Fuck," She swore into his shirt. "Did I just make this so awkward?"

"Hmmm…" He took her into him, stoking her hair as he pretended to be lost in thought. "Not if you don't want it to be."

She laughed in earnest this time, and only then did her anxiety begin to dissipate. "It's that simple?"

"That simple." He assured. "Don't sweat it, B."

"That's good." She said and nestled into him. She wasn't sure why; it just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

He placed his chin on her hair, still stroking. "Hey," he started, almost lazily, "do you want to go to prom?"

What.

"What?" She pushed away from his chest to look at him now. "No! I mean—yes! Maybe. What?"

He chuckled as he took in her expression of disbelief. "Let me take you to prom."

Her brain went haywire. "Are you being serious or is that just your dick talking?"

"Oh, my dick is definitely talking, but I'm also being serious." He captured her fingers in his own, and his response was astonishingly gentle. "Everyone's going." He said softly. "Might as well make an appearance."

For a brief moment, she thought of Mitch and perfect Bethany. She remembered their shitty little promposal on that crappy little guitar on that stupid little Instagram post, but for the first time that night, the idea of seeing them together didn't hurt nearly as bad. Not when she was staring at Butch like this.

Funny how that worked.

"I mean…" Buttercup started. "It could be fun if we—"

"Smoked a bowl beforehand?"

"And spiked the punch."

"That's literally what—!" Butch's eyes were electric. "God, I would pay money to see miss 'Commander and Leader' tipsy at prom."

"She'd have a conniption but fuck, it would be so worth it."

"So…what you're saying is…you're in?"

"To spike the punch?"

"Yeah. At prom…" He trailed off. "Together."

Her heart skipped a beat. Something about the word 'together' made Buttercup exceptionally bashful, but there was a rightness to the word that made her deeply prideful and alarmingly confident. Maybe this was just another set of feelings that came with meeting her perfect match, and for as often as she wanted to kill Butch, she had no idea this sort of togetherness could be so…easy.

"Yeah…" She said with a small smile. "Yeah, prom. Okay."

"Okay." He breathed, relief clear in his voice. "It's a date."

And they lay there for a minute, resisting the urge to giggle and grin in a space and moment that was decidedly theirs. The smoke from their fight had long since cleared, and their injuries had all but healed. And though their battle had ended in a draw, Buttercup poised for the final blow from above as Butch remained deadly with his shield, they each left the clearing that night feeling as though they'd won.

And in truth, their battle was finally over.

Thank y'all for sticking with me on this one! This was the first multi-chapter story I've finished and it was such a blast to write. Leave a review if you enjoyed it, and I hope to see y'all soon!