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WIP - BuckTommy - 5+1 - Part 6e
5 times the 118 worries about how to tell Buck that Tommy got married, and 1 time they realize they don't have to.
I'm pretty sure this is the end of the short little self-indulgent piece that ended up being around 9000 words. Thanks for everyone who came along for the ride. I have loose plans to write how Buck and Tommy reconcile, as well as their points of view during their encounters with their friends. I'm going to get this cleaned up and posted to AO3 at some point soon.
If you have any questions, or want to see any extras from this little world, I'm happy to accept prompts. I had a lot of fun with this one.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 +1 a +1b +1c +1d
+1 - Ravi
The party has been underway for about an hour, and Buck has been popping in and out of the house for the finishing touches. He’s had enough of a presence in the backyard that people aren’t suspicious, but Ravi can tell the guests are starting to get restless. It’s definitely starting to feel like they’re all waiting for something.
Ravi gabs Buck by the arm to get his attention as he was bouncing between groups of people. “You think it’s time to get this show started?”
Buck took in the crowd of friends and family gathered in the back yard and smiled. “Yeah. I think everyone is here and ready to go. Can you get the mic to Sal, and I’ll turn the sound system on when I head inside.”
Ravi snags the microphone from where they’d left it charging and pocketed it before he made his way over to where Sal is standing with his wife, chatting with a group of firefighters from their station. Sal jerks his head in a nod when Ravi approaches and palms him the microphone.
Buck’s parents are off in the side yard, chatting with the head of the catering team. The two people Buck hired as bartenders are waiting with them, nearly bouncing with excitement. From what Buck said all of their vendors were ready to jump on board as soon as they learned they were doing a surprise reception.
Ravi’s job now was to make sure the photographer and her assistant were able to set up without being noticed. Ravi feels honoured that Buck considered him close enough to be involved in the surprise. It was probably partly partnering with Buck for months, and actively supporting Buck and Tommy getting back together, but he never would have pictured himself in this kind of situation.
May and Athena are running interference so the newcomers go unnoticed as they get set up. Ravi gets the photographer set up to have the best vantage point in the yard so she’ll be able to capture everyone’s reactions.
His phone vibrates with a text from Buck, telling them everyone is ready inside. Tommy’s been hanging out in the garage with everyone he’d invited to the party that would have raised suspicion. Ravi looks to Sal, who nods back, and moves to stand on the dance floor.
Sal turns the microphone on and taps in quick succession to get everyone’s attention. The loud drone of conversation peters out, though the kids continue making noise off to the side. A lot of the faces in the crowd show confusion, and Ravi is pretty sure he hears someone call out “Who the hell gave Deluca a microphone?”
Ravi is pretty sure it’s one of the guys from the 122, but Chimney follows quickly after with, “You’d better not be doing karaoke, Sal. We’ve heard you sing once, and that was enough!”
There is a chuckle that ripples through the crowd, and Sal is smiling on stage.
“Fortunately for all of our ears, I’m not singing,” Sal jokes back, and a smattering of laughs ring out again. He lets it die down before continuing. “A lot of you are probably wondering who I am, and where I got the microphone. I’m Salvator Deluca and I’m Buck’s captain at the 122.
“Under better circumstances it would have been someone else up hear saying what I’m saying, but they had to settle for me.”
The mood turns a little somber, but Chimney saves it by shouting out, “What are we settling for?”
“They got me up here to tell you guys that Buck invited you all here under false pretenses.” The people gathered start to exchange glances, and murmur to one another. “Buck wanted an excuse to invite all of his nearest and dearest over so that I could have the pleasure of acting as master of ceremonies tonight, and introduce you all to the almost new Mr. and Mr. Kinard!”
Unsurprisingly, the group gathered erupts into noise as an upbeat song starts playing and Buck and Tommy come out of the house in matching cream linen suits. Ravi has never seen the two of them look as happy as they do now.
He’s pretty sure he hears Karen yell out, “I called it!” and looked over to see Josh and Linda handing her money.
Buck and Tommy don’t even make it to the dance floor before they’re swarmed by the Hans and the Wilsons. He hears Maddie sniffling, and catches her saying “Of course I’m happy for you. I just wish I could have been there!”
May sneaks up on him, and Ravi doesn’t even realize she’s by his side until she’s slipping her hand into his, interlacing their fingers. He hears the lyrics “I’m so happy, I am just where I want to be,” and can’t agree more.
Tommy’s crew and friends are now mingling with the rest, the service staff is set up to start passing out more food, and the bar looks open for business. The surprised party goers are now starting to crowd around Buck and Tommy to pass along their congratulations. The rest of the evening is going to have dinner, drinks and dancing, maybe some speeches, and everyone is going to leave feeling hopeful and full of love.
Beside him, May starts laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Ravi asks, a little afraid to hear the answer.
“I’m pretty sure the song they picked for their grand entrance is about being kidnapped.”
Tag List: @fenrirscarsback, @gayjaytodd, @wiay04, @daughterofscotland, @thuperrah, @anniegraceinreallife, @v88sy @chemistry66, @partofthelouniverse, @teabroomsandbooks, @buffaluff, @theallyandhisbeast, @mysterious-skin, @kinardsevan, @hcrm, @cliophilyra, @shushshesbeingsmart, @buck-up-buck, @pikaguppy, @bigheartbuck, @thats-the-biz-babe,
#evan buckley#tommy kinard#bucktommy#9-1-1 fanfiction#5 + 1 fic#9-1-1#sal deluca#wip#ravi panikkar#may grant#tevan#I think this is finished?#but I'm not done playing here
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horror of 2025
here's the list (hoping i get every movie but mostly will be kinda focusing on the ones i'm either excited for or is super popular)
the wolfman - leigh whannell's take on the classic
final destination: bloodlines - tormented by recurring violent nightmares, stefanie returns home to break the cycle
black phone 2: sequel
sax xi: eleventh installment in the saw franchise
28 years later - it's been three decades since the rage virus escaped a laboratory and some groups have been able to live amongst the infected but when they leave the safety of their island they'll discover dark secrets
m3gan 2.0 - sequel
companion - after being invited to a weeekend trip at her new beau's lakeside estate, iris uncovers a terrible secret
they follow: sequel to it follows
frankenstein: guillermo's del toro's take on the original
the strangers: chapter 2 - sequel
the strangers: chapter 3 - end of a trilogy
scary movie: return to the horror spoof series
sinners - trying to leave their troubled lives behind, twin brothers return to their hometown to start again, only to discover that an even greater evil is waiting to welcome them back
untitled jordan peele film - plot tba
poohniverse: monsters assemble - a team of evil childhood cartoon characters i didn't know we needed but i guess we're getting one
vicious - a young woman must spent the night fighting for her existence as she slips down a disturbing rabbit hole contained inside a mysterious gift from a late-night visitor
blade - i mean i hope so but i'm not sure if we're actually getting it this year
the bride - in the 1930s, a lonely frankenstein travels to chicago to seek the aid of dr. euphronius in creating a companion for himself. they murder a young woman and the bride is born
scary stories to tell in the dark 2 - sequel
thanksgiving 2 - sequel
the auditors - nikki, grappling with post-job loss financial strain, inadvertently ignores the fine print of their MDPOPE purchase, and their descent into horror begins with the arrival of the auditors who subject them to torture
grind - a group of college students host a midnight grindhouse film festival. they discover a cursed arthouse horror movie called the creeping chaos. in screening the movie, they unleash absolute mayhem
you take can now - plot tba
scream 7 - plot tba
kraken - marine biologist johanne is doing research on a fish farm in vangshe, a rural community located by the fjord. when she encounters strange occurances along with two brutal deaths, she discovers that a mythical creature rests
the woman in the yard - a mysterious woman who repeatedly appears in a family's front yard, often giving chilling warnings, and leaving residents to question her identity, motive, and potential danger
i know what you did last summer - reboot of classic
fear street: prom queen - prom season at shadyside high is underway, but when an outsider is unexpectedly nominated to the court, and other girls start disappearing, the class of '88 is in for a hell of a prom night
until dawn - live action of the video game
let the evil go west - a railroad worker stumbles upon a fortune teller in distubring circumstances and horrifying visions drive him towards madness
the monkey - when twin brothers hal and bill discover their father's old monkey toy in the attic, a series of gruesome deaths start occurring around them
hell house llc: lineage - fifth installment
screamboat: a late night boat ride turns into a desperate fight for survival in new york city when a mouse becomes a monstrous reality (what the fuck)
body farm - the forester johann only wants to warn his ex-wife sophie of a forensic research facility, but when he gets to the site, fast-growing slime has infested the corpses of the dead and brings them to life
i know exactly how you die - when his slasher-fiction novel manifests in real life, rian burman has to finish his story without getting his protagonist killed
le fanu's carmilla - retelling of the book
devil's work - when a couple, traveling on their vacation, meet a desperate girl seeking for her missing sister, they encounter terror and up as hostages to a twisted family and their son
the seductress from hell - hollywood actress undergoes a horrific transformation after being pushed to the edge by her husband
hyde - modern take on the classic novella by robert louis stevenson
crawlers - in the year 2030, a zombie pandemic decimates the united states population. american surviors rush to mexico where a plateau is believed to be zombie free
the children of the woods - in january 1999, a group of five disappeared after they went into the woods of york, south carolina for a camping trip, their story is being told 25 years later (inspired by blair witch project)
the dreadful - in the backdrop of the war of roses, anne and her mother-in-law morwen who live in solidary, run into a man from their past
presence - a family moves into a suburban house and become convinced they're not alone
victorian psycho - winifred notty arrives at a remote gothic manor, and as she assimilates into life, staff members begin to disappear
heart eyes - when the heart eyes killer strikes seattle, a pair of co workers pulling overtime are mistaken for a couple by the couple-hunting killer. now they must spend their valetine's day running for their lives
peter pan's neverland nightmare - after her brother michael is abducted by "the boy who won't grow up," peter pan, wendy darling goes on a rescue mission
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Kant, a truly misunderstood protagonist (THK EP 1-6)
Welcome to First’s 101 class in microexpressions to understand the journey of how Kant by Ep 6 has fallen deep into the clutches of our baby assassin (because it seems some people out there skipped the entirety of KB’s scenes and missed out K having a brother and was being blackmailed by Captain Christ – like how? This scene was pretty much in the first ½ hour of the show)
EP 1:
We can all at least agree Kant is super attracted to the cute dude in red, yeah? – Instant attraction:


And immediately falling in bed with a beautiful man like Bison – the whole red room scene (which I am not putting up for reference in this post because it will just chew up my photo limits – but go rewatch the scene to learn what First and Khaotung are portraying): pure lust & desire (no emotional attachment involved).
However, by the next day, where Kant still has no idea who Bison was apart from his hottest (to date) ONS – he was reminiscing and smiling like a fool about said encounter (and here, let me outline it for you what First was trying to portray – Kant having a crush on his ONS), daydreaming of what he just experienced:

When he finally met up with Bison again in the diner, which he engineered – that’s when his mission started. We can assume Captain Christ (CC) painted the picture Bison as a hard-ass killer. But how to reconcile this with sweet, baby face Bison?
There is certainly an element of deception to Kant – it was easy for him to “fake” some of his attraction (if you want to call it that) because at baseline, there is already an instant connection. Bonus if he can score some kisses and make out session with this beautiful assassin. This is a guy who has tangled with drug lords before and some danger excites him, yes?
So, the rest of Ep 1 was Kant being flirty and suave (and yes, with some trickery to those flirtatious manner). And you can tell, because Kant was putting all these big, exaggerated moves (like wanting to date and become boyfriends with Bison straight away) when he normally would have started cautiously:

However, he mixed this deceit with sincere tidbits about himself like the conversation by the lake when he shared the meaning of his name and his aquaphobia:


But by end of ep 1, Kant was starting to get slightly desperate. Bison is happy to flirt but not commit. Fadel is also in his way. Bison, being a good younger brother wants Fadel approval, and I suspect, a way for Kant to prove he is serious about pursuing him. Bison is also diabolical in that way because he is a cheeky, not-so-naïve baby boy (as proven by his sharp observant of Babe and James) – the only blinkers he appears to have been when Kant is involved (or Fadel) – the 2 persons he cares for the most.
And so, he enlists his trusty bestie (who else would he have called? Kant circle of friend starts and ends with Style. Otherwise, he only has Captain Devil breathing down his neck and his baby brother who he wants to protect from the big, bad world). Yes, it was misleading of Kant not to tell Style the truth immediately. However, Style is 100% chaos and unhinged at best (and to be honest, I don’t think he would have said no if Kant explained his situation).
** Style comes off as charming, but he is also annoying, has stalk-ish tendency, does not know personal boundaries and outside of Thai BL world, we would have called what he did to Fadel (in the locker room at the gym) sexual assault (because you don’t kiss someone without consent and get away with it as easily in real world).
EP 2:
The desperation is now in full force. Kant wants to get this mission underway quickly. He turns up the volume of his charm and repeatedly try to sneak in kisses or showing his big boba eyes to Bison in the hope of melting Bison’s heart. Bison does clock on desperation – but he is happy to continue to with the charade. After all, having a gorgeous, hunky tattooist hitting on you will be good for the ego (and soul)?
Kant and Bison’s scene at the tattooist place? – when Bison was showing his “cat underneath the Northern Lights” design, followed by Kant trying to feel up Bison’s thigh - now that was Kant being sleazy and Bison incredulously laugh, and smile showed he is very much aware of it but still attracted to him.
Despite the sleaziness though, there is still hint of Kant being attracted towards Bison too (see exhibit below) - that lips biting and quick top to bottom survey by Kant 👌
And while it was not shown, we can assume Kant is being hounded by CC about his mission. Thus, to get his mission further, we have Tawan and the whole “make Kant jealous and showing his possessive side” towards Bison. However, Bison does not seem that impressed with it. Amused, yes – he knows he can kill these 2 buffoons with his pinky if he wants to.
By now, Kant is starting to get annoyed. Bison is still playing hard to get. The whole milkshake scene – when Bison challenged him to prove his worth and join him in the dance-off challenge. Here, again let me point out to you the micro-expressions First were making – fond smile by how cute Bison was acting, followed by the minute change to his eyebrows and clenched jaw to express how irritated he was but quickly smoothing it out to hide his annoyance (link)
Now, the whole dance sequence is a masterpiece. Yes, it’s campy and an ode to Pulp Fiction but it also showed the state of Bison’s mind and if you look closely, you can see both boys relaxing and giving in to the silliness of the dance as it progresses until they become a unit and converge at the end – where Kant gives a genuine smile to Bison:


It was also the first time Bison finally gave in and gives those sweet pecks to Kant when the latter asked for it (I truly think it was the first time Bison saw the person underneath the suaveness, and he liked what he saw – someone who is happy to indulge in a bit of silliness and fun):
EP 3:
Just as Kant was relaxing somewhat, we have CC coming down like the devil he is. Kant expression at the pool – that’s a man who is fed-up and frustrated.
Because of his conversation with CC, he had to accelerate his timeline. This is when he started to make huge mistakes in the name of his mission.
Firstly, by hastily agreeing he is into BDSM. Oh, I have no doubt he could have learn to enjoy it in the right circumstances and if Bison had the opportunity to show it in a safe and controlled environment. At the very least, we could agree these 2 were horny of each other - as shown by the beautiful gifs: link here. And remember, this was after Bison put on the nipple clamps on Kant.
Alas, with Fadel cockblocking them, all that was left was lingering pain + bad experience for Kant. So, it was not surprising he looked wary and hesitant when Bison brought up the BDSM expect to their wager at Kant’s friend bar. Nevertheless, Kant pressed on because he needed to finish this mission (and preferably before his feelings get even more tangled up).
Either way, Kant is starting to feel fonder of Bison. Mission is still on the front, but cute scenes such as him helping at the diner is a reminder to the viewers that Kant does have some feelings for him (even as he used it to get ahead of his mission):


The whole bar scene followed by the sequence in Bison’s room was designed to provoke uneasiness. Here are 2 men who are not on the same wavelength in terms of their sexual desire. I hope people can at least read how uncomfortable and discompose Kant was even as he allowed Bison (in his drunken state) to tie him up.
EP 4:

The cracks are starting to show. Kant taking pictures of the BDSM gears and Northern Lights photos are unnecessary for the mission – and after revisiting the episode, I think he took those pictures as part of him learning more about Bison (just as he jots down all of Bison likes/dislikes when they officially start dating in Ep 5). Similarly, him caressing the trophy he won with Bison? – that is Kant subconsciously showing his fondness (and perhaps wistfulness) to simpler time:
Anyway, this episode was when Kant and Bison starts to communicate slightly better – progress! I mean, it’s more about Babe but you know – baby steps. All Bison wanted was for Kant to open to him (one of the main reasons why Bison has hesitated before because he could sense that Kant has never fully made himself feel vulnerable).
So, Babe and “being bullied in school” is the catalyst for KantBison to truly form a connection – they both value family and brotherhood above all others, and in this, we can see Bison softening towards Kant (especially as Kant opens up about his past as a car thief, admitting he is not proud of it but he does want he must to feed Babe). Similarly, Kant is starting to see Bison as more than just a beautiful, merciless killer. This man helped him without hesitation, be his Robin to his terrible Batman. He sees someone with some moral compass – Bison powerful statement to the paedophile about “grooming” must hit a nerve in the boys (because I hope we can agree here that both Madam Lilly and CC ‘groomed’ our boys). Bison since he was a child and Kant, barely out of high school, not knowing about laws and scared out of his wits, agreeing to do the police dirty works to make sure Babe is not put in the foster system (which really hits me – HOW LONG HAS CAPTAIN DEVIL BEEN USING KANT AS HIS LACKEY???)
By the end of this episode, Kant is oscillating between relief, joy and guilt depending on what is the most pressing thing in his mind at that time – CC or his blossoming affection towards Bison. Sadly, no matter how much he likes Bison, Babe will always come first – all good parents put their children first and Kant who has parent-fied his younger brother for god knows how many years, will do the same.
The scenes when Bison gave his heart (and HeartBurger pin) at the bar followed by Kant’s showering scene highlights this beautifully:



(such a contrast when Bison is the one initiating the sweet pecks - Kant looking pleasingly surprised)

Guilt in his face
EP 5:

Kant is now slowly falling in love with Bison. All the little things he jots in his phone about Bison’s quirks, likes and dislikes show this. He didn’t have to show this off to Bison for his mission. Same with the date at the Arcade as it doesn’t really add on anything else towards his mission. He did all of these because he wants to learn about his boyfriend.

However, the introduction of James does highlight several things about Kant.
It underscores Kant’s worry about Bison (and how much he still does not know about Bison’s core values even as he is slowly getting to know him). We know Bison won’t kill the innocents (even if those people are jerks like James) but Kant doesn’t know this. Even then, he is still concerned for both James AND Bison. He doesn’t want Bison to hurt anyone not just because of altruistic reasons but he has started to care for Bison (and his soul).
Kant reaching out to Fadel and getting Style to persuade the latter to call Bison proves this. Even more when he subconsciously called Fadel “brother-in-law.” Kant said it in a rush as he quickly ran out to catch up with Bison – which means he really didn’t have the time to “plan” this encounter.
However, Bison and James confrontation made Kant determine to finish his mission off. It’s a reminder that dating Bison comes with risk. The double-date may have doubled (heh, a pun!) as a cover for him to put his shoddily espionage plan in motion – yet we could see Kant really enjoying himself when he was singing with Bison. Even those sweet pecks and pinkie gestures were genuine (or as much as it could be given the circumstances):


But by the end of the episode, when Bison worshipped Kant’s body (and I must say, what a wonderful scene to see Bison choosing to yield when he would have previously challenged Kant), that’s when viewers could see it. Kant’s soft tone as he gently caressed Bison’s jaw. And that tortured look as he closed his eyes even as Bison trustfully snuggled by him – yup, this is man who is regretting and tormented by his choice. I think we can safely say, he has truly fallen in love with Bison.

EP 6:
Kant is now way too deep and stuck in a hard place. He tries to get out of his deal with Captain Devil without success. His silence speaks volume when Captain Devil stated Kant has fallen in love with Bison.

His discussion with Style further emphasized this point – Style asked whether Kant could give up Bison. But he also pointed out Kant is toast if Bison finds out the truth.
And so, if he must give up the boy he has fallen in love to make sure Babe is not left to fend alone in this world – he planned the most elaborate, romantic date of what he wished he could have with the man who gave his heart to him in the initial place he saw said man when everything was clearer without any lies between them.
Kant broke countless of rules (as listed by Bison including trespassing, breaking & entering, destroying property and thieving) to have one special, magical night of what he envisioned to have with future Bison if things were simpler.
It is a testament to First (and Khaotung) as amazing actors that we can feel the wistfulness and bittersweet feelings from Kant while Bison shows a hopeful beginning to what he thinks is a joint future together. It was beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time:


Link for above screenshot here
After the ill-fated mission where we sees Bison saving Babe, Kant has truly fallen for Bison. Even as he tries to convince Style to move on, he struggles to do it himself. Style intuitively perceives this when Kant joined him to find their respective lovers at the burger joint – hence, why he suggested that Kant adopts Bison’s black cat.
So, by the end of the episode 6 – we see Kant pining away while drowning his sorrow and regrets by drinking at his friend’s bar. The hope and guilt in his eyes when Bison called out to him is palpable:

If you reach the end of this long post - I salute you. Because this was just me rambling on to make sure I did not misjudged Kant's character (and I didn't!) - First has done a wonderful job portraying himself as a single parent who sacrifices his needs and desire to make sure his younger sibling has every comfort and leisure he can give - even if it means he plays dirty and make deal with the devil.
#first kanaphan#just a post to appreciate how layered and complex Kant portrayal is a character#in awe of First's acting and microexpressions#He is not even my favourite character in THK hehehe - that belongs to my chaos gremlins - Bison & Style#But First acting is top notch and he always deliver#kant pattanawat#kantbison#the heart killers#thk musing for me
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Chapter 18 - Something In The Static
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: I’d like to dedicate this chapter to my friend who I finally got to watch the Boys and we’re talking about Soldier Boy and I have to pretend I’m not doing this and be very normal about the conversation.
Also for everyone who's gonna say “why is Ezekiel alive”, Butcher never went all tentacle tumor on us, and therefore Ezekiel is still very much alive. “Well how did Butcher survive their encounter” idk maybe he kissed Ezekiel and then just ran away.
Chapter Title from Not Strong Enough by boygenius
Word Count: 25.7k......
Chapter Summary/Warnings: The Believe Expo is underway, and everyone is dealing with a lot of emotions. Usual warnings, times two. We're looking at angst and smut and (minimal) fluff. Just a hodgepodge of everything.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, tiny fluff, heavy angst, smut, pining
Read on A03!
Chapter 17 - Chapter 19
Coconut might be the worst smell in the world. Not real coconut, but this fake, chemical coconut that was everywhere in Homelander’s apartment. Everywhere on Homelander. Too sweet and impossible to not think about. It burns your nose, and you’re starting to wonder if it’s some kind of poison cologne. Something designed to make him even harder to stand against, because you always have to use a hand to block the smell from your nose. You’d never smelled it in the white room, but Homelander always went through an airlock before he visited you. This is just him, all the time, and you’re choking on it.
He still hadn’t touched you. And they hadn’t locked you back down. You think that, between Noir’s sudden and heroic death very vaguely “defending our country” and the the CIA releasing a statement that you’re being held against your will by Vought—you’re surprised Mallory didn’t take the disavowing you entirely path, but here you are—Sage is too busy putting out fires to convince Homelander that you didn’t break that easy. That, after Noir II, you’d gotten back up. Revised your role, changing how you played it, and kept moving. You would not break, not like this, not where Homelander could see it. He didn’t fucking deserve to see you break, really break. He could think he’d gotten you to understand, but you would never allow him to see what you breaking really looked like.
You would break—really break, with screams and sobs and nails in your skin and not getting back up—when you got home. When you could cry into Ben’s chest, and he could keep your nails on his arm instead of your own. He’d pick you up. He’d pick you up in strong, safe arms and carry you to bed, holding you as long you asked him to. Everything would smell like pine and Ben, and you’d be able to break without the freezing cold making you glue yourself together. You’d just break.
But not now. Not yet.
Not when there was still work to do.
A-Train had found you a few days after Noir II, after the CIA had responded to your speech. An official statement from the director, co-signed by president Robert Singer, stating that Soldier Boy was indeed a CIA operative, that Vought had no jurisdiction to declare him a public enemy, and that the Anomaly was currently being tortured by Vought to comply with their agenda. They didn’t say the whole truth, because according to them you and Ben were co-workers—nothing more—and Homelander had been obsessed with you since you were both young supes but you’d turned him down numerous times. You wish they had just committed to it. Just told the world what Homelander was, what he’d done to you, but the truth did somehow sound more absurd. And right now wasn’t about the truth, it was about doing what needed to be done. You had to trust that Mallory was smart. That she knew what she was doing.
It would be really helpful if A-Train had a similar leniency.
“What are they doing?” He’d skidded to a stop in front of you again, in another too-fancy bathroom at another boring event.
You’d held up a single finger, taking a long, deep breath. You were curled up on the floor, under a hand-dryer that you kept pushing the button of to make the warm air blast onto your head. It was helpful, it made you feel a little more alive and was a lot more sustainable than constant vomiting.
A-Train had just kept talking, pacing in front of you. “Sage is really not happy, there’s no fucking way I can risk talking to MM now. That was not smart, that shit you did on TV. You know why Sage isn’t here? The Deep went to a fucking Panera last night without telling anyone and Sage is pulling camera footage to make sure he’s telling the truth. And Noir is dead-“
“Can you please shut up?” You’d muttered, tapping against your calves. “I know what I did. I knew there would be consequences. I’m willing to live with them.”
“Well, I’m not!” A-Train’s feet had stopped in front of you, and you’d reached up to hit the button again. Letting the hot air push on the top of your head, calming you as he continued. “This isn’t just about you, you’re not the only one who’s suffering-“
“I could say the same to you.”
“Come on-“
“I’m serious,” you’d looked up at him with a scowl as the wind above you stopped once more. “This is good. Ben can help them now, Annie has more fuel against Vought, and Butcher and Mallory will know how to work this.”
“Fine, but I’m not helping you at all if you keep this shit up,” A-Train had snapped your name. “I’ve got people, I can’t risk my nephews for this-“
“Okay.”
He’d blinked at you. “Okay? That’s it?”
“Yeah. Okay.” You’d shrugged. “I can’t make you help me. If you won’t, you won’t. I can handle this myself.”
“You’re really not going to lecture me about being a hero, or doing the right thing?”
You’d shaken your head, looking back down at the floor. “I don’t really have legs to stand on there. I got Noir II killed, I killed Firecracker, I’ve destroyed at least two buildings and gotten a lot of other, innocent people killed by proximity. I mean, fuck, I’m in love with Soldier Boy-“
You hadn’t meant to say that. It had fallen out of your mouth and you’d stuttered to a stop, but it was too late. When you looked back up at A-Train, his mouth was hanging open.
“You-“
“Please don’t tell anyone that,” you’d whispered. “I didn’t mean to tell you that, I’m just exhausted-“
“I’m not going to.” A-Train had still been frowning at you. “I mean, I don’t really care about your personal shit. Even if it’s being in love with Soldier Boy.” A-Train had frowned. “Isn’t he technically Homelander’s father?”
“Yeah,” you’d leaned your head back against the wall. “And I’m aware of how fucked up that is.”
A-Train had shrugged. “All of this is fucked. I don’t think you fucking Soldier Boy is any less fucked than anything else we’ve all done.”
“We’ve never actually fucked,” you’d mumbled, because you couldn’t stop now. In no world had you foreseen the I’m very in love with Ben and it’s all impossibly confusing and complicated conversation happening in a fancy bathroom with A-Train, but you had started it and now you were apparently incapable of stopping it. “I mean, we’ve done stuff. But not fucking.”
“Okay.” A-Train had frowned. “Why the fuck are you telling me that?”
“Because I’m lonely.” You’d looked up at him with a sad smile. “And you’re here.”
He’d nodded, then moved away. You’d thought he’d left, just pissed off because he didn’t want to deal with this. But he’d dropped against the wall across from you with a sigh, pulling off his visor to meet your eyes. “How long?”
You’d frowned at him. “How long?”
“Have you and Soldier Boy been not fucking.”
“February. But, uh,” you’d shaken your head. “I think I might have been in love with him before that.”
“Okay,” A-Train had nodded, and kept going. “Does Homelander-“
“He found out after the interview. Sage told him.”
“And your team-“
“I’m not sure. They know we’re close, and maybe some of them have figured out it’s more than that, but I’m really not sure.” You’d tilted your head at him. “Why are we talking about this?”
“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends either.” A-Train muttered. “I killed the only woman I’ve ever loved because Homelander told me to, Sage is a bitch, and the Deep is an idiot. Ashley’s fine, sometimes, but we don’t exactly talk about things that aren’t life or death.”
“Oh,” you’d nodded. “Okay.”
It had been silent for a second, both of you watching each other wearily.
“Does he know?”
You’d blinked. “Who?”
“Soldier Boy. Does he know you love him?”
“No,” your voice had cracked a little, a lump forming in your throat. “It’s complicated.”
“Does he love you?”
“No.”
A-Train had blinked at your answer. “You said that really fast.”
“He doesn’t,” you’d let out a long breath before continuing. “I’m okay with it. He just doesn’t and it’s fine.”
He’d looked like he’d wanted to keep pushing. You’re grateful he didn’t, because if you kept talking about Ben you might have started crying.
“I, uh,” A-Train had shaken his head, foot tapping on the floor. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a hero. Just, while we’re talking about fucked shit, I wanted to be a hero. A real hero. My brother said I could help people, and I really did believe him. And then I just, I got lost. It’s a shit ton harder to be a hero when it’s not just a word. When you actually have to back it up and nobody around you seems to care. Now it’s probably too fuckin late.”
“I don’t think it’s ever too late,” you’d watched him carefully, speaking slowly. “You can always change. Humans aren’t static. We’re always changing. It’s a strange kind of exceptionalism to think you’re immune to that. To think you’re special enough to not be capable of being better.”
A-Train had narrowed his eyes at you. “What are you talking about.”
“I dedicated my whole life before this to studying people,” you’d held his gaze, not wavering on your words. “And you realize pretty fast that concepts of good and bad are different across the world. It’s not something that’s fixed, because people aren’t fixed. We’re not born good or bad. We are who we are, who we’ll be, but we also make choices. I mean,” you’d shrugged. “You can keep doing good things, or bad things, or nothing at all. But you’re never incapable of doing something different. If you think you can’t, it’s because you think you’re too good to be better. But everyone is always capable of being better.”
“Like Soldier Boy?”
“Like Ben,” you’d whispered. “He’s better. And he’s good. Really good.”
“And you really love him?”
You’d swallowed. “Yeah. A lot.”
A-Train had nodded. “You think he’ll be waiting for you?”
“Yes.” You’d answered without hesitation. Ben may not love you, but he’d never leave you. If you knew one thing in all of this, it was that Ben would never leave you. “He will.”
“Then what?”
You’d frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”
“When this is over. If you win,” A-Train had shrugged. “Then what?”
“I,” you’d shaken your head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“You have to have a reason you’re still going,” A-Train had leaned forward slightly. “It can’t just be because you’re a fucking good person.”
“I’m not-“
“Yeah, you are.” A-Train had rolled his eyes. “You’re better than me, than all of us. Congratulations, you did it. You won the stupid contest.”
“I didn’t-”
He’d kept going, ignoring your protest. “But you have to have something you want. Everyone has something they want. That’s how this shit gets out of control.” He’d sighed. “You get promised the thing you want and never fully get it. Then it’s never enough.”
“I don’t have anything I want,” you’d mumbled. “Just for this to be over.”
“After that,” A-Train had snapped. “You’ve got to think of after. Otherwise you’ll just burn out.”
“Butcher-“
“Is a vengeance fueled asshole. That dude might not have an after. I want my family back. So does MM. Hughie and Annie probably want a peaceful, boring fucking life. Ashley wants a year at a spa. What do you want.”
You’d swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it. What did you want before?”
“To do something important,” you’d said softly, rubbing circles against your arms. “Have a job where I helped people, where I was respected in my field. Then go home to someone who loved me, who I’d built a life with. A life that was mine.”
“Then do that. When this is all finally fucking done, build a life.”
“I can’t,” you’d shaken your head, eyes blurred from tears. “I wanted to get married. I wanted a job. I wanted kids.” You choke slightly. “I don’t, I can’t be sure any of that is even possible anymore. Not after this.”
“You can do whatever you want.” A-Train’s voice had been sharp. “Don’t let all these assholes control you, change how you live your life. You can do all that, or none of it, but you do it.” He’d sighed. “Don’t let them make you lose people. Lose happiness. They don’t deserve to have that kind of control over you.”
“Thank you,” you’d smiled softly, and he’d shrugged.
“Sure.”
You’d given a dry laugh. “They really just fuck everything up, don’t they.”
“Fucking everything,” A-Train had nodded with a small smile that had fallen fast. “I still can’t help you. Not like you asked. My family-“
“It’s fine,” you’d met his eyes with a sigh. “I’ll find something else.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” you’d shrugged. “I can move things around, find another way. You can still help.” You’d given him a tight smile. “You can be better. But you should leave the bathroom. They might start looking for us soon.”
He’d nodded and stood, giving you one last look before leaving. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
The air whooshed, and you were alone on the floor of the bathroom again.
We could go to Rome, Ben’s voice had hummed around you. When all this shit is over, we can always go to fucking Rome.
I’d love to go to Rome. You’d smiled into the empty air around you. I’d love anywhere, as long as you were there.
Because you love me.
Because I love you. You’d leaned back again, hitting the button above you one last time. Ben, really I love you. It’s kind of stupid how much I love you.
Are you ever actually going to fucking tell me that?
Maybe. You’d sighed. Maybe one day in a million years I’ll grow some balls and tell you.
What would you say?
It doesn’t matter.
Shut the fuck up. When you tell me you love me, which you will because you’re not a pussy, what are you going to say.
Benjamin.
Don’t Benjamin me, I’m fucking helping.
You’re not real.
So you can fucking tell me. If I’m not real it won’t goddamn matter.
The air turned off, and the bathroom had still been empty.
You’d started to hum. A simple love song, just so you could see his face. Look at him.
He was so fucking handsome. You'd almost started crying because he was right there, tall and broad and standing in front of you, grinning at you but not real. You couldn’t feel him, not really, because your sensory manipulation didn’t extend to emotion. So you could grab Fake Ben’s hand and feel his warm skin but not him. You couldn’t feel Ben, strong and resolved and everything. But you could smell pine, and feel his hand trace along your jaw. You could grab it and hold it there—let Fake Ben trace circles on your cheek with his thumb—and try to pretend it was real. Pretend it was enough.
I love you. Your words had to stay in your head, because if you stopped humming to talk aloud Fake Ben would disappear and you needed to keep looking at him. I love you like the ocean loves the moon and the sun loves the stars. I love you like the birds want to sing and the caterpillar longs to be a butterfly. I love you like the grass loves the rain and the lighting loves the thunder. Like the flower loves the bee and the snail loves its shell. I love you like you’re music I get to sing and light I get to eat. I love you like the spiderweb loves the spider and the grave loves the flowers. I love you like a mirror loves to shatter and the alter loves the blood. I love you like the devil loves fire and like god loves the devil. I love you, Ben. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll love you until all the world is scattered across the sky and we’re both trapped in the spaces that remain between. I’ll love you until my voice is gone and my heart is only still beating because you’re holding it. I’ll love you until everything is burning away and it’s just you and me. If they find a way to kill us I’ll love you as a ghost and my skeleton will keep one hand on yours. I love you because all my bones and muscles fit in with your bones and muscles, and because my soul is mine but it’s stronger when it’s yours as well. I love you, Ben. I love you.
You’d cried. No sobs wracking your body, but small tears you couldn’t hold in. Tears you’d let Fake Ben wipe away before you’d had to let him go, and then wiped again yourself because they were real, and he hadn’t been. And you’d returned to Homelander, smiled through the party in a green velvet dress that didn’t fit and said words you didn’t mean. Let Homelander herd you wherever he wanted and kept your head together. Taken in even breaths of horrible coconut and smiled with no teeth at people with eyes like monsters. Looking at you like you were a prey that they couldn’t have because the apex predator had decided you were his.
You didn’t throw up that night. You’d stared into the dark, cold air and talked to the phantom of Ben trapped in your head.
And you’d sat in the fire. Not alight under your skin, but pulsing in a small, warm ember. Awake. Growing.
By the time you’re sat in the Seven’s meeting room, with all four remaining members and Ashley, it was stronger. Beginning to smoke along your veins.
“We’ll all be attending the Believe Expo tomorrow,” Sage’s arms are crossed as she glares around the table. “It’s important to appear as a unified front, and this is our primary base. Many non-christian supporters will be in attendance this year, as the association between Homelander and Christianity is becoming interchangeable in the public eye. Which also means we’re leaning away from actual biblical rhetoric, and into our own narrative. We can’t completely disavow the religious aspect, so we’ll have to walk a careful line between not alienating the new people and indoctrinating the old ones. Everyone will get their scripts tonight.”
The Deep raises his hand, and Sage rolls her eyes but nods for him to speak.
“Uh, aren’t they going to notice if a,” he frowns at Sage, looking her up and down. “Muslim is leading the Christ Show?”
“No, because I’m an atheist, dumbass.” Sage snaps. “And I can recite the bible from front to back. All you have to do is show up, do what I tell you, and not say you’re in love with an octopus again. Understood?”
The Deep looks at Homelander for an order to say yes or no, but Homelander’s not paying attention. He’s staring up at you, standing where he’d told you to. Silently at his side, like a statue he’d collected. When The Deep coughs, Homelander scoffs and waves a hand.
“Just do whatever the woman fucking tells you to.”
“Yes, sir.” The Deep nods, and then gives Sage a nervous look.
Homelander is still staring at you.
“Sage,” he says slowly. Not looking away. “I want to see her script.”
“I haven’t written her one,” Sage glares at you. “Anomaly will be on stage for your speech at the end of the program, and you’ll kiss her. That’s her role.”
Your nails dig into your wrist, both held behind your back. Breathe. You just have to breathe and get through this and not break. One kiss will not break you. One touch will not open the floodgates. You can’t scream or run because you’ll lose. You can breathe now and fall apart later.
Homelander says your name, and it makes your skin itch. “Is going to give a speech. The people need to care about her, especially with the CIA and Starlight spewing all those fucking lies about her. About us.
Sage shakes her head. “Homelander-“
He turns, shooting her a sharp glare. “I’m not fucking asking. Write her a speech.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sage says cooly. “Not after-“
“I dealt with that,” Homelander’s voice raises slightly, and Sage falls silent. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t keep pushing either. “I am telling you that you are going to write her a speech. You can either do it yourself, or I’ll have those fucking idiot writers do it for you.”
Sage’s eyes narrow, but she nods. “Fine.”
Homelander nods, looking back to you. “Sage?”
She sighs. “What.”
“Make it about love.” He smiles at you, and nothing has ever been harder than smiling back.
The first thing you learn about the Believe Expo—something that until two weeks ago you’d been pretty certain wasn’t a thing anymore—is that it’s loud. Everything is so loud. Homelander flies you there through the cold mist and wind of the morning before telling you to practice your speech and shooting back up into the sky. They’re only setting up—workers dressed in black adjusting lights and testing speakers that ring screeching feedback through the air—and it’s already too much. People are moving everywhere, marking spots on the stage floor and arranging seats and trying to get cloth covers to stay on the tables. You’re lost in how loud it is, and almost get run over by a man carrying a large box that spills out cables as it collides with you.
“Fuck!” You flinch at his shout, dropping down to help gather the wires scattered across the damp grass as he continues. “Goddamnit girl, we’re already behind schedule, I don’t have the fucking time-“
You look up at him to apologize, and he freezes. “I’m-“
“It’s fine,” he mumbles, almost pushing you away from the mess. “I’m sorry I yelled, ma’am. I promise there won’t be any delays for the event.”
You blink at him, rubbing his neck and refusing to meet your eyes, but before you can ask any questions someone taps on your shoulder and says your name.
“Thank fuck I found you, your trailer is ready.”
“My trailer?“ You turn to see Ashely, holding a clipboard and tapping her foot. Looking around at the stage work with a tense expression. “Ashley, I don’t-“
“I’ll show you where it is. And don’t clean that up, it’s not your job.”
“But-“
“You!” She points her pencil at a woman standing off the side, holding a coffee. “Clean this up, now.”
“Ma’am, I’m uh, I’m on break-“
“I don’t fucking care, clean it! And you-“ Ashley’s glare turns back to you, still crouched on the ground. “Let’s go.”
She grabs your arms and starts to pull you up, and something wraps around your throat and hands, trying to squeeze all the oxygen out of your body. Everything is sharp, too sharp, moving too fast and yet not fast enough.
You yank your arm away the moment you’re on your feet, half because you don’t think Ashley remembers you can feel her and half because that was completely unbearable. You follow her off the stage, waiting until you’re out of the crews’ earshot to quicken your pace, walking at her side and speaking in a low voice.
“You shouldn’t touch me, Ashley.”
“What?” She shoots you a quick glare. “Don’t be dramatic, I was just helping you stand up-“
“You touched me. Your hand touched my arm. I felt you.”
“So? It’s not like I-“
“Ashley.” You stop walking and wait for her to turn around. “I felt you.”
“What the fuck are-“ Her angry expression falls, her face goes pale “Oh, I, I forgot, fuck-“
“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. You just, uh, you shouldn’t touch me.”
“I didn’t mean to, I’m- shit! I-“
“I’m not mad,” you frown at her. “I’m just reminding you. Don’t touch me unless you’re okay with me feeling it.”
She nods tightly, hands pulling at her hair, and swallows before speaking. “Don’t tell Homelander I touched you. He doesn’t want us to touch you.”
You feel the cold bloom inside you again, but manage to push it down. Give Ashley a tight nod. “I won’t.”
“Can we go to the trailer now?” She looks down at the clipboard. “Fuck, we were supposed to be at the trailer five minutes ago-“
“Where is it?”
“Just over there, but-“
“I can find it.” You start to walk away, in the general direction Ashley had pointed, but she calls your name and you stop. “What-“
“We’re not supposed to leave you on your own.” She’s tugging at her hair still, looking between you and the clipboard. “I technically should’ve been there when Homelander dropped you off-“
“I’m not going to run away, Ashely.” You sigh. “Please, just go do whatever you need to.”
She looks like she might protest for a second, but looks back at the clipboard and gives a tight nod. “Okay. Go.“
“Great.” You start to turn again, but Ashley calls your name again.
“What-“
“Um, thanks.” She mutters, gives you a tense smile. “And please, don’t try to fucking escape-“
“I won’t. I can’t.” You turn, and finally manage to get away before Ashley can see the anguish on your face.
You could escape, Sunshine. Ben’s voice carries on the wind. Or I could come fucking get you.
We’ve had this conversation. You can’t come get me, they’ll put you back under.
I don’t give a shit. You should be home. With me.
I know, but I can’t. Not yet.
You fucking should, though. This is some insane, cum guzzling bullshit. And you are not fucking kissing Homelander.
I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, Benjamin.
Not for me, brat. Because he’s a fucking pussy who shouldn’t be allowed within a million miles of you.
You have to stop your internal fight with Ben’s voice, because you reach the trailer and are immediately surrounded by people doing your hair and makeup, shoving Sage’s script into your hands for you to memorize. There will be a teleprompter, because Sage isn’t an idiot who thinks the Deep will remember anything for more than fifteen minutes—let alone a whole script from the time he’s in his trailer to four hours later when he’s on stage—but you still want to read it. To know what’s coming.
It’s what you expected in its entirety. A lot of propaganda. A lot of lies. A lot of anecdotes that never happened and some musings about love that sound like a sociopath wrote them. I love Homelander because he completes me. I see us in every great romance in history. He is the thing that gets me up in the morning.
You can hear the crowd outside now. People start to filter into the venue, more and more in larger and larger waves until the trailer feels as if it’s shaking.
But you manage to keep it together. To keep reading as your finger taps on the chair and a blonde woman you’ve never seen before—and will likely never see again—pins your hair tight against your head and applies chemicals that would probably burn your scalp if you didn’t heal in that same second.
I want to start a family with him. Lead the best life we can together.
You put the script down, and once your hair and makeup team is gone you scramble to the trash can and empty the bile of your stomach until you can breathe.
You just have to get through this. You just have to keep moving.
They’d put you back in the supe costume. It’s better fitted than last time, but still just hideous. Uncomfortable and impractical and ugly. It feels wrong on your body, not just because it’s showing too much skin and the lace is scratching at your skin but because it’s not you. Supe costumes in general are dumb, because it’s not an outfit on a person, it’s a label on a product. Ben’s lucky he has a stupid handsome face that makes him attractive in everything or you’d have made fun of him ruthlessly about his own.
You still fucking did that. You said I looked like a Christmas tree that’s been sent to war on the draft.
And I’ve have said more if I didn’t want to climb that tree and let it fuck me.
You called me an R rated G.I. Joe Doll.
You are an R rate G.I. Joe Doll, Pretty Boy. I was being accurate and poetic.
Brat.
Cunt.
You take a long breath, and grab the script again. Just get through this. You’ll break later, but right now you have to get through this.
I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story to be remembered as one from a fairytale. Because he is my prince, my white knight who saved me from the dark. Homelander you’re my soulmate-
Soulmate my fucking blue balls. Ben’s voice mutters in your head, and you can almost see his scowl. The pussy doesn’t even like you.
Soulmates aren’t real, Ben.
Still, you’re not his damn soulmate.
Well, I’m not yours. Or anyones. Because soulmates aren’t real.
But you love me.
I do. That doesn’t mean we’re soulmates. You don’t even love me, Benjamin. Something hurts deep, deep inside you and against your skull. I think soulmates, if they were real, which they aren’t, are both supposed to love each other.
Inside your chest, something pounds and beats against your lungs and ribs. Something powerful and bloody and desperate. The slight blur of the world vanishes—you hadn’t even noticed it before—and everything is clear and warm and angry.
Why are you so fucking sure I don’t love you?
What?
You keep telling me I don’t love you. What makes you so damn positive?
You don’t.
I do.
You blink into the empty trailer. No, you don’t.
I fucking do. The thing inside you rages, and you’re not sure if it’s yours or not. You’re not touching anybody, and it doesn’t feel foreign or out of place inside you. But you’ve never felt something like this. It’s focused and pious and entirely made of something monstrous that you can’t name. It’s not dangerous, nothing about it feels dangerous—it reminds you of Ben, and he’d never hurt you—but it’s still the most intensely starved and insatiable feeling you’ve ever experienced.
No, even in your head your voice is slow and confused. You don’t.
You’re not the fucking boss of me.
I am literally the fucking boss of you. I am the government-appointed boss of you.
I think they stripped that title from you when they realized we didn’t exactly have an appropriate boss-employee relationship, Sunshine.
Fuck you.
You did, that was the problem.
You watch too much porn, Pretty Boy. I’m not a boss fucking her secretary and causing a scandal.
I wasn’t your fucking secretary.
Good thing, too. You’d have been terrible at it. I’d have asked you to check my calendar and you’d have destroyed the computer.
You wouldn’t have been too mad about it. I’d have fucked your brains out on the desk and you’d have forgiven me.
I would not have forgiven you. Computers are expensive.
Then I’d buy you a damn new one, then fucked your brains out. And then you’d have forgiven me. Because I’d have told you I love you, and you’d have cum all over my cock, and you’d forgive me.
You think your heart stops for a second, restarting with the jolt of that strange feeling in your chest. In your head your voice is breathless. Ben, please stop saying that.
No.
You don’t love me-
I fucking do.
No, you don’t. This feels like a strange hill for you to die on, convincing the phantom voice in your head of the man you love that he doesn’t love you back. But you press on. Stop saying that you do. It’s mean.
Why the hell is it mean. Saying that I love you is the opposite of damn mean-
Because I really, really, love you! And it’s mean to lie to me and try and convince me that Real Ben might love me!
The thing roars inside you. What-
The door to the trailer opens, and Ashley walks in without warning, eyes glued to her phone. The thing in you flares, and then it’s gone.
“You’re on,” she looks up, giving you a once over before her eyes land on the abandoned script at your feet. “Did you read it?”
You kind of read it. You didn’t finish it, but you’ve got the gist, so you nod.
“Good,” Ashley looks back to her phone. “Are you ready?”
You nod again, pulling yourself up from the floor, and are about to walk out the door when Ashley holds out an arm to block your path. You almost run into it, and you both flinch back, Ashley nearly dropping her phone.
“You need to wear your disguise,” she says quickly, pulling her arms back. “People will swarm you.”
The prep-team had left you a large hoodie with Homelander’s smiling face printed across it, a Vought baseball cap, and black sunglasses. You glance in the mirror after you change, and you look like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. If this all wasn’t so dangerous and precarious, it would be plain stupid.
But, because the universe is strange and uncaring, this is incredibly important. You have to wear Homelander’s face on your body, because you can’t protest or it will blow everything. You have to wear a stupid baseball cap—which is going to ruin your stupid hair—because people can’t see your face. It’s the same reason you put on the sunglasses that pinch your nose, and make yourself follow Ashley out into the densely packed crowd. You don’t have another choice.
There are too many people. The first thing you realize is that there are far too many people, and you’re going through them. They’re bumping your arms and legs, brushing against your skin in accidental passing, and it’s going to make you explode. Everything is too bright and loud and everything is like a live wire. Everyone is so excited, and all you’re getting is fleeting passes of their overzealous, stabbing feelings before being plunged right back into your own cold fear. Spreading faster, not fully overtaking the fire but making it grow dim. Pushing it further away.
By the time you’re dropped off in a small tent—A-Train and the Deep playing cards at a fold-out table, Sage and Homelander nowhere to be found—your blood is rushing through your body and ramming against your throat and ears. Trying to escape your body. You almost immediately collapse into a chair, trying to take long breaths and think about happy things.
Music. The music playing over the loudspeakers is deafening. Off-rhythm gospel music that’s like nails digging into your brain.
City lights. There isn’t any life or joy in the light around you. The sun is behind the clouds, and the flood lights are hidden in a mist that makes the whole world just gray.
Ben. Ben isn’t here. With you. And all you can do is miss him.
Something claws at your heart, but you can’t spare the time or energy to feel it. It’s loud and tight, almost impossible to ignore, but you manage to just close your eyes and try to find something happy. Try to make something happy. A-Train and the Deep are fighting in the background. It’s so loud, and you’re growing cold again. You can’t see anything but the gray, can’t feel anything but a metal chair below you and the fog around you, and can’t hear anything that’s not angry or frantic.
Fresh air. The air is fresh and smells like rain. You haven’t smelled fresh air in months, and it’s all just clean and easy. Sharp and bright in your lungs, made of the wetlands around you. Mud and pine and grass, stronger than the cold sweat of the crowd. Fresh air.
You take one last, long, deep breath. You’re not at peace, but this isn’t about peace. It’s about the world being in focus, and being able to just keep going.
“Hey,” The Deep says your name, and you just stare at him. “We haven’t really talked yet. I’m Deep.”
You nod. “I know.”
“Right, of course you do. I mean, you can call me Kevin-“ He extends his hand for you to shake, and A-Train whacks it back. “Bro-“
“We’re not supposed to touch her, dumbass.” A-Train’s not looking at you. He hasn’t looked at you since you sat down. “And she’s not going to call you Kevin. Fucking nobody calls you Kevin.”
“My friends all call me Kevin,” the Deep looks back to you with a wide, white-toothed smile. “I mean, me and Homelander are real tight-“
“No, you’re not.”
“He likes me more-“
“Homelander doesn’t give a shit about you,” A-Train rolls his eyes. “It’s your turn. Play or give up.”
The Deep gives you one last look like he’s going to say something, but turns back around to their game.
It’s another ten or so minutes before Ashley returns—this time with both the clipboard and her phone—and you have to move. Interviews. Photo ops. Saying all the right words in the right tone with the right body language for the microphones and cameras.
It’s so loud. The walk—even through a barricaded area—is full of screaming people leaning over metal blockades and the bass of the music, running into your bones. Ashley is recapping Sage’s talking points—The Deep isn’t allowed to talk about marine animals, A-Train needs to talk about gospel and unity, and you shouldn’t speak at all—As the Deep shakes his body out, practicing his smile and introduction and A-Train still doesn’t look at you.
The powerful thing returns, as you’re back in the open. It’s still violent and alert, strange but not out of place, and it feels like Ben. It’s just Ben, indescribably Ben. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was him, because you know him. You know all of him, all his anger and care and vengeful warmth. You know how he is, how his heart pounds and his will moves everything around him, how everything in him is strong like this is.
It fades when you're pulled into another tent. Not fully dying out, but growing dull. Far away.
You’re sat next to A-Train—who just stares ahead into the air and lets them start to mic him—with a reminder not to talk. If you’re asked questions, Sage will answer them for you. You just have to sit there, be pretty, and smile. No matter what happens, what’s being said around you, keep smiling.
Sage doesn’t show up. There’s a seat saved for her, with her name taped to it and water bottle under it, but she never arrives and Ashley makes everyone keep going. A well dressed woman sits across from you, the cameras turn on, the show begins.
Smile. Don’t talk and smile. Ashley reminds every journalist to greet you and look at you casually but never actually speak to you. They just give you a few smiles and glances, and only two or three actually meet your eyes. Most end up going through the motions and trying to pretend you’re not there.
You don’t blame them. You’re doing the same. For what feels like eternity you’re sat in a chair—just another prop to the set—and as your face starts to hurt from smiling you stop paying attention. You put energy into trying to find the source of the odd feeling still making a home in your chest, but it’s stubborn. You try and pull it up to the surface and it doesn’t budge, you try and poke it and it just hums.
It’s exactly like Ben.
After all I fucking do for you.
His voice is back. It always comes back. It doesn’t make the thing in you rear and push like it had before, but it’s still everywhere. Humming lowly in the mic feedback and where your foot is tapping the floor.
Go away. I’m busy.
His laugh haunts the spaces of silence between the voices around you. I’m not fucking real, Sunshine. I can’t go away. I’m a part of you.
You’re an annoying part of me. Piss off, Pretty Boy. I’m trying to figure something out.
Figure what out?
Shut up.
Fuck me backwards for trying to help you.
This isn’t something you can help with, Ben.
Try me.
Fine, you try not to sigh aloud. I can feel something. Something I’m not sure I should be feeling.
What, like horny? Are you horny? Do you miss me and you’re horny?
No, you fucking dumb dumb. Like an emotion that I can’t understand.
Well I can’t fucking help with that shit.
I know. That’s why I told you to go away.
Whatever. You love me.
I do.
The thing responds to that. It roars and starts to claw up your spine, grabbing your heart with firm but gentle hands and trying to pull it around in your body.
What the fucking shit was that?
I don’t know. Shut up, I need to test something. Ben, I love you.
It’s going to kill you. This strange thing inside you is going to rip you to shreds, but before you can test anything further, the interviews are at an end and Ashley is ushering everyone away, dragging you around the venue to take photos. You’re handed countless crosses and bibles to hold up for the camera to see, as if people might not have been previously aware of them. The Deep and A-Train shake hands and pose with fans, you’re put in front of lambs and goats and a very unsettling marble statue of Homelander that’s still somehow warmer than the real one.
The thing is still there. It keeps growing and waning and spreading and pulling back. As you move through the convention it grows wrathful and deafening, and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s not you. You’re certain it’s not you. You’d been pretty sure before, but now you’re certain. It doesn’t feel wrong, it doesn’t feel out of place, but it’s not you. You’re not consuming like this, you’re not… Parasitic is the wrong word, you decide, because it’s inherently negative. Nothing about this thing is negative. It’s big and demanding and so loud, but it’s almost comfortable. Full of want and content and focused attention. Made of something rough that’s been dedicated to whatever feeds it.
You just can’t figure out what it wants. It’s hungry, it’s full of such a familiar, Ben-like hunger, but nothing seems to satisfy it. You repeat the words, Ben. Ben, I love you, several times, and it always takes them, but it never grows fully quiet. If anything it’s like offering it salt-water. It pours it down deep, and then grows more demanding.
If you had more time you’d find somewhere quiet to figure out what the hell is going on. But the sun is starting to fall down, and Ashley is herding you to the backstage area. Ranting about speeches and last minute adjustments and don’t fuck up and-
It’s just a flash. You only see it for a second, moving beyond the barricade through the crowd, but you still see it.
Black hair. Long, wavy black hair attached to a short woman.
Lots of people have black hair. You’ve seen at least twenty women with black hair in the past three hours alone. But you still stop in your path and crane your neck up. Trying to see over the crowd, deeper into the fray.
You see the hair again. And, this time, the side-profile of the woman it’s attached to. Hooded eyes with eyeliner and a focused determination on her face.
“Holy shit.”
Your whisper is only heard by the Deep, who turns to you with a frown. “I thought Sage told us not to swear-“
“Ashley!” Your voice is almost a shriek, loud and frantic. “I need to go to the bathroom now!”
“Hold it,” Ashley says your name without looking up from her phone, continuing to move towards the stage. “We’re on a really fucking tight schedule.”
“Ashley!” You move to grab her, stop her, make her listen and she flinches back with wide eyes.
“I-“
“I got my period,” you say bluntly. “And, uh, I’m wearing a skirt-“
She sigh. “Fine, but be fast-“
“I will! Super fast!” You run ahead, into the porta potties dropped near all the stage equipment for the crew. They smell awful, and you probably should’ve chosen a spot that’s meant to hold more than one person, but you’re here now. Now is not the time to second guess anything.
You wait, just long enough that you start to wonder if A-Train hadn’t heard you or didn’t understand, and wasn’t coming.
Then the air whooshes, and he’s crammed next to you as the door slams. “What the fuck was that about-“
“They’re here,” you don’t wait for him to fully gain his footing in the small space before you speak, and ignore his rush of stress and annoyance when your bodies brush. There’s not enough time. “They’re all here.”
“Wh-“
“Butcher,” you hiss. “MM and Frenchie and Kimiko. Probably Hughie, probably not Annie.” And Ben. Ben is here.
“Are you sure-“
“Yes.”
“Well, why the fuck are they here-“
“I don’t know!”
“Would you stop fucking interrupting-”
“No!” You’re running your hand over your face, trying to make your brain move faster. To do something productive, and stop just chanting Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben, you’re here and I can see you and touch you and I love you, Ben, I love you- “I need to think.”
“Think?” A-Train glares at you. “We need to fucking run, those idiot are always blowing everything-“
“Shut up,” you snap. “This is a chance. They’re here for a reason. They’re probably planning something-“
“Something stupid-“
“Shut up!” You’re almost shouting. There’s no time for this, you need to figure out what they’re doing here and adjust, you need to find out how to keep Homelander and Sage—wherever the hell they are—away from them, you need to see Ben. You need to find Ben, now. A-Train is still glaring at you, and your fire isn’t strong enough yet—not here, where the cold is crawling through you once more—so you need a plan.
You look A-Train up and down, he’s trying to pace in a space where you’re both pressed against the wall to not touch each other, and you’ve got it.
“You’re leaving.”
A-Train freezes, frowning at you. “What?”
“You’re going to go with them. When they leave, you’re going to go with them,” you nod to yourself as you speak. “You’re done with the Seven, you’re going with them.”
“Are you crazy?! Or stupid?!” A-Train gapes at you. “I have a tracker, they might not even take me, and my family will still be in danger-“
“I’ll burn out your tracker, they will take you, and…” You trail, trying to find your way around A-Train’s family. He’s right, Vought knows who they are. They won’t just let him go quietly and bloodlessly, not when he’d be turning to their enemy. But this has to work-
“If you can’t tell me how my family will be fine, there’s not a chance in hell-“
“You’ll die.”
“What?!”
“You’re going to die,” you say the words firmly. No room for error, no room for wavering. “They’re going to ‘kill you’,” you make exaggerated air quotes. “And you’re going to ‘die’.”
A-Train frowns at your hands. “What are those, what are you talking about-“
“You’re not really going to die,” you snap. No time. “We’re going to fake your death. They’ll make it look like they killed you and everybody wins.”
“How does everybody win there?” A-Train’s rolling on the balls of his feet, still glowering at you. “They’ll just twist it, Starlighters are murderers-“
“Exactly,” you have an almost maniacal grin on your face. “But the Seven will just have lost its second member in as many weeks. Not a great look for the whole supe supremacy narrative if their best and brightest are dropping like flies. It’s bad for everybody, and that’s why everyone wins.”
A-Train shakes his head. “What about my family? How do they win?”
“If you’re dead, if we do this right and Sage doesn’t suspect a thing, then they’ll be honored for your service and left in peace. But we have to do this right.”
“I don’t-“
“A-Train,” you hiss. “This is the something. This is the better, and this is what I’m asking of you. You’re going to leave with them, you’re going to help them. You don’t have to like it, but this is it.”
“How will I be able to help,” he protests, still pushing and there’s no time. “I mean, if I’m fucking ‘dead’-”
“You have insider knowledge of the tower. You have insider knowledge of Vought, and Homelander, and Sage. You can help them, you just have to go.”
“What about you?”
You blink. “What?”
“You’re not going to leave? Run away with them into the sunset?”
You can hear the words A-Train won’t say. You can see them on his face and hear them echo in your head. Leave with Ben. Run away with Ben and be safe and let him care for you until this is just another nightmare.
“I mean, you can’t just keep-“
“I’m going to stay.” You mutter, hating the words on your tongue. They taste bitter and foul, like sour coconut. “I have to stay.”
“That’s-“
“Not up for debate.” You cross your arms, holding A-Train’s glare. “I have to see this through. They’re here for a reason, and once I know what, I can work it into my plan.”
“You’re still doing a plan?” You don’t love the disbelief in A-Train’s voice. “There’s no fucking way you can keep this up-“
“I don’t have to keep it up.” You snap. “I just have to get through it. I’m staying, you’re going, that’s that.”
A-Train pauses, and you can almost hear his brain trying to find a way to disagree. But you’ve done this well, and he lets out a long, heavy, angry sigh. “What do you need me to do.”
“Thank you,” you give him a half-smile. “I’m going to find them. I’ll tell Ashley I just need to sit down, because I’m getting cramps or something, and I’ll go find them.” Find Ben. “Find out what they’re doing, why they’re here. I need you to find Ezekiel.”
“Ezekiel?” A-Train frowns. “I haven’t seen that guy all day-“
“He’s here. This is his event, he’s on the program. You’re going to find him, and trick him into walking into them.”
“Trick him? How am I-“
“Tell him they’re here. Tell him they’re looking for new members of the Seven and killing Butcher is a surefire way to get a foot in the door. Tell him Hughie’s here, he hates Hughie. Just get him to fight them. Preferably away from the crowd, but not until Homelander’s speech.” Your fingers are tapping against your arm, making changes to the plan as you speak. “Ezekiel can’t just go alone, he’ll mess up the plan, so you have to make him wait. After you talk to him, say you’re going to find where they are, so you can fight them together, and come find me. I’ll burn out your tracker, you’ll bring Ezekiel to fight them, make it loud, and ‘die’. My team will take care of getting you out, hopefully they’ll kill Ezekiel on the way, and I’ll know what I need to do on my end.”
“For your plan.”
“For my plan.”
A-Train shakes his head. “Are you going to tell me your plan?”
“No. All you have to do is die.”
“Fuck.” He takes off his visors, meeting your eyes fully. “You think this will work?”
No room for error, no room for doubt. “It has to.”
He nods slowly. “Where am I going to find you?”
Wherever Ben is. “You might have to look. I’m not sure yet.”
“You’ll burn out my tracker?”
“As soon as you find me.”
“And my family-“
“Will be fine.” You give him a close-lipped, tight smile. “Promise. Just find Ezekiel.”
“Fine.” A-Train put his visors back on. “See you on the other side.”
He’s gone in a rush of wind, and you’re alone in the porta potty. Just you, the horrible smell of shit, and that thing in your chest.
Ben. It is him. He’s here, and you can feel him. It’s something you’ll have to retcon later, why you can feel him, what this feeling actually is, but right now Ben is here. And you have to find him.
You find Ashley first, and tell her you’re throwing up from period cramps in quick, blunt words.
“Can’t you just hold it?” She begs, and you give her a flat look.
“Ashley, do you think Sage will be angrier if I rest in the bathroom but do my speech without a hitch, or if I throw up on live TV?”
She shakes her head, running her hands through her hair. “Fuck! First A-Train’s fucking gone, now you-“
“He was freaking out about something,” you shrug. “Wouldn’t tell me what, but I think he’s just calming down.” You make a fake retching sound, and Ashley’s face twists. “Can I please-“
“Just go!”
“Thank you!” You make yourself double over slightly, make your words strained. “I’ll be back-“
“I don’t fucking care, just be fast!”
Ashley turns away, and you’re gone. Find Ben. You have to find Ben. This place is massive, and you can’t just push your way through the crowd—not again, not if you want to keep going—but nothing is more important right now than finding Ben.
Where would you be, you fucking ass. Where would Ben be at the Believe Expo.
He’d hate all of this. He’d hate the abstinence only sex education—the fuck do they have against a good time—he’d hate the pandering and holier-than-thou attitudes—these pussies aren’t better than me just because they read a goddamn book—and he’d despise all the morality. All the haughty faces and watered-down language and fake smiles. He’d hate all of this, there wouldn’t be a corner of it he’d enjoy, so you have no fucking clue where you’ll find him.
You can’t just wander and hope you run into him. You don’t have the time to spare just trying to bump into him. But you need to find him. He’s here and you have to see him. Half because of your plan with A-Train, half because you fucking miss him. You miss him so much, and he’s here, and you can’t just not see him. Not touch him. He’s here and you need him and you love him-
That thing in your chest rolls around. It’s pulling you forward, and you don’t think twice before you let it. And you know. You know where he’d be. You’d find him anywhere, and you know where he’d be.
Taking a piss. In the VIP bathrooms, because he has no regard or respect for venue restrictions. He’d need to go to the bathroom, and would not care to use the dogshit porta potties—especially not with his sense of smell being so strong—so he’d just walk right into the VIP bathrooms. No one would stop him, because he’s Ben and he looks right everywhere. Even if he’s in disguise, he still walks and talks like there’s not a place in the world he doesn’t belong.
There are two VIP bathroom trailers. One is near the trailers, and one is across the venue. You should check both, but he’s in the further one. You just know, he’s in the further one. He’d have been staying on the outskirts of the event, and would be in the further one. So you take a long, grounding breath, steal a black Believe Expo Staff hoodie and cap, and move. Trying to run without people noticing, because there’s no time to just walk. He’s there, you know he’s there, so you have to go.
Of the three bathrooms in the trailer, two are locked. And one is Ben. There’s no way to explain how you know, but one is Ben. It’s the center one, and he’s in there, and you have to wait.
You can’t wait out in the open. If a staff member sees you they’ll either make you go “back to work” or recognize you and tell Ashley or Sage that you’re here. So you look around, make sure no one’s watching, and rush into the spare, empty bathroom. Lean against the counter and wait.
Ben. Ben is here. He’s one door down and now you have to just be patient. You’ll see him soon.
It’s the longest four minutes of your life. You hate this stupid, amazing man, taking impossibly long pisses and making you love him and not just leaving the bathroom. He must not feel you here, not like you can feel him, because he’d be breaking the door down.
That’s another thing to be confused about later. How this thing works. Right now the trailer is rumbling slightly, because someone just flushed a toilet, and you can just hear a door opening and closing over the noise of the crowd.
Ben.
You open your door, and there he is. He’s turned away from you, and wearing a baseball cap that covers his hair, but it’s him. You’d be able to recognize him blind and underwater, and that’s Ben. Tall and broad and walking in rough steps with his hands fisted at his side. Away from you.
“Ben,” you hiss his name, but he doesn’t turn around. “Benjamin.”
His steps stutter, but he keeps moving. Getting further and further away.
“Ben!” Your words are still said in a hushed voice, through your teeth, but you’re almost shouting. “I know you can fucking hear me, you cunt.”
He stops, but still doesn’t turn. Hands curling tighter, knuckles becoming white.
“Benjamin, if you don’t turn around right fucking now-“
You see his body heave from a sigh, hear a low and frustrated sound, and he turns around with a scowl.
He’s so fucking handsome. His face is tired and angry, half obscured by his hat, but he’s still everything. And when he sees you, glaring at him with all the anger you can muster when he’s right there, his mouth falls open and that strange feeling—his feeling—roars.
The shock across his features doesn’t even last a second before he’s moving. Sprinting across the grass with no regard for secrecy or not drawing attention. Sprinting to you. He’s here.
You don’t have time to take a step back before he’s crashing into you, picking you up and slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t kiss you. You’d thought he’d kiss you, but he just raises you off the ground in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever experienced. And you can feel him. You can feel the warmth of his body, the care with which he’s touching you—hands roaming you like he’s not sure you’re real and is trying to check—and the strength of him. Really him. Here and touching you and smelling like pine and gunpowder and full of desperation. He’s so tired—you can feel it in your bones—and he’s trying to pull you closer and closer into him, in a way that would be painful if it wasn’t him. If he wasn’t still holding you like you were holy, like you were just a cloud that might dissipate in his hands if he didn’t stop it with firm hands and adoring touches.
“You’re real,” his voice is soft and hoarse in your ear, and something in you breaks. He sounds exhausted. “You’re fucking real.”
“Ben-“
He kisses you then. Drops one hand below your thighs and hauls you further up his body, swallowing your words. Swallowing you. It’s just you and Ben, and he’s here. He’s real and touching you like he always has and, just for now, you’re safe. You’re safe in his arms, keeping you steadily off the ground, and getting drunk on him. On his hands kneading your skin and cupping your face, on his mouth against yours. Hungry, always hungry, pushing into you brutally. Trying to take all your breath and give you his. Tongue tracing your teeth and pushing down your throat, sucking and biting your lips and groaning into your open mouth. You take it all. Your hands grab at his hair, push his cap to the floor so you can touch him, and lean as far into him as you can without being him. He’s here. He’s here and you love him and he’s everything. You’re letting him consume you, touch you as much as he wants, because you missed him. Because he’s real, and anything he can give you is enough. If he tries to take your heart, reach into your chest and rip it out, you’ll do it for him and feed it to him. If he bites your neck you hope it will, for once, leave a mark. If he gives you any part of him, you’ll dig a hole in your body and keep it there. Anything to feel him forever, anything to never stop feeling this. Feeling Ben.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only because you can feel the pounding of his heart under your hands. Only because he’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, and you’re doing the same. You feel a little dizzy, but you want to keep going. You want to touch him until you pass out and he can take him home. Or to Rome, or Hawaii, or fucking Ohio or Texas or California or anywhere where he’s there and you’re together. Where you can feel like this forever, and it’s just you and Ben. Happy. Where he can always set you down this carefully against the counter, and keep his forehead pressed to yours as you both just hold each other. Where you can close your eyes and fall into him and always trust he’ll catch you.
He mumbles your name, lips brushing yours as he speaks, and you can’t stop the small sound leaving your throat. A strangled noise of Ben. Ben, I love you. I missed you and I love you and I’m sorry.
You’re crying. You don’t even realize it until you feel his thumb against your cheek, wiping your tears away, and that makes you cry more.
“Ben,” you’re whispering. You don’t trust your voice to do anything else. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.” He mutters. “You’re real.”
You huff a soft, weak laugh. “I’m real.”
He nods against you, and when you open your eyes he’s still there. Watching you, always watching you. Looking at you so reverently, and that thing is stronger than you’d ever felt it when he’s touching you. He’s wrapping around you, he’s everywhere around you, full of care and affection and something small and bright that’s resting at the base of his throat. His whole body relaxed and washed with relief. You love him. You love him so much.
“Hi,” you smile at him, and it’s real. It’s sad and you’re still crying, but Ben is here and nothing can stop you from smiling at him. Just for now, just in this moment, you can smile at Ben and get to mean it. “Can you kiss me again?”
Ben chuckles, and it’s a sound from deep in his body that moves into yours. He does as you ask, and this time he’s gentle. Not pushing for more, just kissing you until you sigh and hum against his mouth. Letting both of you just savor it, sit in the feeling of comfort and each other.
When Ben pulls back he draws up slightly, studying your face, tracing it under one hand as the other holds you at your waist. “Are you-“
“I’m okay.”
He doesn’t believe you. Ben frowns and his eyes narrow, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He trusts you, you can feel it, but you can also feel that concrete resolve around you both and you know that Ben isn’t going to just drop it.
“Don’t-“
“I’m not lying,” you move your hands up from his chest, resting them on his shoulders. “I’m okay.”
“I don’t think you’re lying,” he mutters, scanning over your body. “I know you think you’re okay. You always think you’re okay.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“You always say you’re okay, and you’re not.” Your eyes meet again, and there’s something painful in Ben’s. You can feel that pain in his body, but when it reaches his eyes it’s somehow worse. It makes him look sad. “You always fucking think you’re fine, and you believe it, but you’re goddamn not.”
“I-“
“Just,” he sighs, squeezing your hips and running a thumb over your cheekbone. “Tell me the truth. Not what you think is the fucking truth, the factual truth. Are you okay?”
You don’t answer. You try to answer, but words choke in your throat and suddenly you’re crying. Not soft tears like before, full sobs that shake your body and make you fall into Ben’s chest. He catches you, holds you against him until you can breathe again. He lets you wrap your arms around his torso and traces familiar patterns on your skin, resting his chin on your head and humming so fucking terribly. So off-key and out of tune you almost don’t recognize the song.
When you do, you pull back and frown at him, blinking away your tears. “Rainbow Connection?”
“Shut up.”
“When did you-“
“Don’t fucking change the topic.“
“Ben,” you move one hand up to rest against his chest, and he holds it. Pulls it up to his mouth and kisses your palm, and your heart flutters through all its sore fatigue. “I’m okay. I’m really okay. I’m exhausted, but I’m okay.”
“Homelander-“
“Hasn’t touched me,” you whisper. “Not like that.”
Ben doesn’t stop glaring at you. “Swear it.”
“Promise. No lies.” You smile at him again. “Would be a weird fucking thing to lie about anyway.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
You’re wasting time. You have so little time to find out what the Boys are doing here, why they’ve decided being here is worth such a massive risk, but when Ben kisses you again you don’t really care. It’s just him, big and warm and safe.
Real.
When he leans back, you’re not crying anymore. You think you’ve just tired yourself out, or that your body knows there will be time to cry later. Right now Ben is here, and that’s all that matters.
“Are we going to talk about Rainbow Connection?” You smile at him because you can. As long as Ben is here, you’ll always smile at him. “Did you watch the Muppets again?”
Something flashes under his skin. Sore and hot, embarrassment. That’s his embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You did-“
He kisses you again. He won’t stop kissing you, and you’ve never been less annoyed about anything in your life. Today he’s allowed to kiss you to shut you up. Anything that keeps him here longer, anything you can take and hold in the weeks to come.
Anything that makes you more certain he’s real. That this isn’t a cruel trick of your brain, and any second you’re going to wake up in a cold room that smells like coconut with Homelander across the mattress.
But he is. Ben is here and real and you can feel it. A dream wouldn’t feel powerful like this, wouldn’t have all the protection of Ben running through your body, wouldn’t have this strange feeling of something pushing from Ben into you when he holds you.
“You can gloat about it later,” he grunts against you, before standing up to his full height, looking down at you. “We need to fucking go.”
You sigh. You’d known this was coming, and you’re honestly surprised it took this long. “We’re not going anywhere, Ben.”
“The goddamn fucking hell we’re not-“
“I have to stay here.” Your voice isn’t loud, or firm. It’s soft and shaking and tired, because you’re exhausted. Because every ounce of will and strength in your body is being used for this. For telling Ben you can’t just go, that he has to leave you here and you’re both going to have to find a way to live with that. “You know I have to stay here.”
“You don’t have to do a single fucking thing but go,” he’s not yelling. His voice is rising and his words are sharp but he’s not yelling. “You’re not safe here, we need to fucking go-“
“I can’t.” You reach up, holding his face between your hands and trying not to shatter when he raises his own to keep you there. “I can’t go, not until I see this through.”
“Yes, you can! You fucking can!” His voice is loud, but Ben’s still not yelling. You’ve heard him yell, and it’s commanding. Ben’s yell demands attention, demands compliance. This is angry and loud but he’s pleading, and it’s worse. He knows you’re not leaving with him, deep down, so Ben is begging you to change your mind. It’s making you hurt, making all your bones and organs shutter and snap, and it’s horrible. All of this is horrible. “All you fucking have to do is go-“
“Ben-“
“You’re not fucking safe, I’m not going to goddamn leave you-“
“You’re not leaving me,” you smile at him, and your heart is starting to fold in on itself. “This isn’t leaving me.”
“Yes, it fucking is-“
“I’m telling you you’re going to have to go without me. Not now,” your words become quick, slightly panicked, because if Ben leaves now you’ll collapse and not get back up. “But when it’s time. When you go, you’re going without me.”
“I’ll pick you up and fucking carry you out,” he snaps, and you sigh.
“I’ll scream.”
“Then I’ll fucking cover your mouth.”
“I’ll bite your hand.”
“And I won’t goddamn feel it.”
“Then I’ll take off your stupid hat and people will see you.” You shake your head, and try to be a little more numb. Try to pretend this isn’t killing you, that you can’t feel it killing him. “I want to come home Ben, I really want to. But I can’t. You know that.”
“There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m letting you stay here-“
“Ben,” you whisper. “You don’t let me do anything. I’m staying here, but you’re not leaving me.”
“I fucking am,” he’s furious, you can feel it coursing through you, but it’s like poison. It’s raging and turning every part of Ben against himself, making your heart start to wither for him. For how he’s doing this to himself. “If I fucking go without you, I’ll be fucking failing you again. I’m not fucking failing you again-“
“Benjamin-“
“I’m not! I’m never failing you again, I’m never leaving you again, I’m never fucking losing you again-“
You pull his head down, and he freezes. Ben lets you hold his head against your shoulder, and when you start to run a hand through his hair he falls onto you. Just holds you like you’re going to try and escape, buries his face in your neck like he can climb in you and stay there.
“I can’t fucking lose you again,” he mumbles your name against your skin, and your heart grows weaker. “I just fucking can’t.”
“You didn’t lose me.” You say softly. “You didn’t fail me, or leave me, and you’ll never lose me.” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I’ll come back. I’ll always find my way back to you.”
“You shouldn’t fucking have to,” he pulls back, and his face is so sad. You’ve never seen Ben sad, where his face is just slack and tired and clouded. He’s still angry, but his wrath is made of despair. Low and sunken and almost sick. That thing in him—in you—feels ill. “I can’t fucking stay here with you, I can’t protect you-“
“I’m okay,” you lean forwards, and Ben meets you. Heads pressed together, his arms still around your body and your hands still in his hair. “I’m going to be okay.”
“You’re fucking not-“
“I will,” you whisper, and it’s not just Ben you’re trying to convince. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to protect me from this, Ben. I’m okay.”
“Please,” he mutters your name, and your heart finally breaks. Pulls itself in two at how low and desperate and hopeless Ben’s voice is. “Please, just come home. Just fucking come home.”
“I can’t,” you’re crying again, and these tears are slow. Soundlessly falling from you, the only part of yourself that’s allowed to just mourn this. You’re not going home. Ben hasn’t failed you, he could never fail you, you love him and he’d never leave you or fail you or lose you, but you’re not going home. “We both know I can’t.”
“I don’t fucking know shit-“
“I’m aware,” you smile dryly. “But I still can’t come home.”
“You can,” his protests aren’t loud anymore. He’s just grasping at straws, trying to find one thing that will make you give up and go. “We’ll just fucking walk away, go to Rome-“
“Not until this is over. Not until Homelander’s dead.”
“He will be,” Ben’s hands squeeze on your hips. “The team has a way to kill him, and they can fucking do it themselves-“
Your eyes widen. “They found a way?”
“I fucking found a way, they barely did shit-“
“Benjamin,” you pull back, and everything is urgent again. “How do you kill Homelander.”
“V. But-“
“V?”
“Compound fucking V. Puts him down for the count, makes him a damn coma patient.” Ben says your name. “But they can do that themselves, we can go-“
“How do you know?”
“We found a file in his lab-“
“His lab?”
“The fucking Homelander lab, where they used my cum to make him grow-“
“That’s fucking disgusting-“
“Shut the fuck up, you love my cum-“
Now is not the time to let that turn you on. Keep going, no getting sidetracked trading easy, sparring words with him or thinking about his cum. “Ben, are you sure this will work?“
“I’m fucking positive, the lab nerds were real clear that even one shot of V throws off his whole body and turns the pussy into a vegetable.”
“Won’t you still need to blast him with the special sauce?”
Ben rolls his eyes. “They can make their own goddamn special sauce. Pump Homelander full of V, find their own fucking way to take him out forever. Drop a nuke on him, I don’t give a fuck. We-”
“That’s why you’re here.” Your brain spins, sorting and matching every piece of this together. “Samaritan’s embrace was a V front, and you’re looking for some.”
“We’re fucking finding some, and killing Homelander, so you can go-“
“You won’t.” You pull Ben face forwards, forcing his words to die in his throat, making him listen. “Ben, you’re not going to find any V here.”
He frowns, momentarily distracted from lightly tugging at your skin and pleading for you to leave. “What the fuck are you talking about. Butcher said-“
“Butcher was wrong,” you shake your head. “I mean, he might have been right last week, maybe even this morning, but if there was V here it’s gone now.”
“Why-“
“Sage said she was dealing with a Homelander mistake last week. She must have been talking about the lab, about how you were able to get in and poke around. And nobody’s seen her or Homelander or Ezekiel all day. Whatever V was left, they’ve gotten rid of it.”
Ben scowls. “So we can just find more-“
“Sage won’t leave more.” You tap your fingers against Ben’s jaw, trying to focus and not think about how he’s stilled himself completely to let you talk yourself through this. “She won’t get rid of it, not all of it, it’s too valuable, but she’ll hide it. Any supplies that might be accessible to anyone that could be hypothetically compromised will be destroyed or relocated. She won’t tell anyone, won’t leave any records. It’ll be as good as gone.”
Ben hums, and you see his question in the knit of his brows. Well how are we supposed to fucking get our hands on it?
“I’m not sure,” you mutter, frowning. Scanning Ben’s face like you might find the answer in it, and not stopping when you don’t because you just want to look at him. “I’d bet on Homelander, he and Sage don’t really trust each other, not enough for him to let her just bulldoze any plans or intentions he might have with remaining V. But it’s not a safe bet, Homelander’s never a safe bet.” You feel something tight and bitter in his chest, and sigh. “I’m okay, Ben.”
He rolls his eyes, still not moving under your hands. I didn’t fucking say shit.
“Yeah, but you thought it.”
What are you, a fucking mind reader?
“With you?” You smile at him, and it’s so easy. Even when you’re talking about killing Homelander, it’s still easy to smile at Ben. “I might as well be.”
Smartass.
“Fuck you.”
He grins. Not in public, Sunshine.
You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up. And we’ll just have to ask A-Train when he gets back.” You sigh. “I can’t think of anything else that might work.”
Your fingers have stilled on Ben’s face—now just playing with the hair of his beard—and he takes it as a sign to speak. “A-Train?”
“The fast one.”
“Why the fuck are we waiting for him?”
“He’s defecting,” you shrug. “He’s leaving with you today, you’re going to have to fake his death by the way-“
“Fucking Fast-Man is coming home, but not you?” Ben’s glaring at you, saying your name in a deep, annoyed voice. “I am not fucking trading you-“
“You’re not trading me, Benjamin.” You hold his glare. “I’ll come home soon, just not now. And A-Train is going to help you. He helped me.”
“How the fuck has he helped you?” Ben grumbles. “He hasn’t gotten you out-“
“Nobody’s gotten me out, because I’m waiting. I have a plan-“
Ben scoffs, but that strange feeling in him pulses with warmth. “Of course you have a plan.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You always have a damn plan, Sunshine.” He glowers at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not have a fucking plan.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “And how is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not,” Ben mutters. “But I just fucking wish you would share your plans. With me. Let me goddamn help.”
All the annoyance in you vaporizes in just how much you love him. How much you love Ben, how no matter what he’s there. He trusts you, he knows you, and he’s there for you all the time. He’ll groan and bitch about everything but he’ll still be there. He’ll try and fight your battles for you, roll his eyes and be a grump when you don’t let him, and stay at your side until you’ve won. He’ll be there to do what you need him to and then hold you like this—with so much rough care—even when he’s pissed. He won’t leave. He’ll never leave, not really. And you love him.
“It has to play out naturally,” you say, gently. Smiling so that his scowl starts to waver. “If I tell you what to do it might not work as well. I’ll come home soon, you just have to let me do this my way. Please.”
Ben lets out a long, labored sigh that makes his chest rumble, makes your whole body fall into his. “Fine. Fucking fine.”
“Thank you.”
He just grunts, and you pull his face back yours. Kiss him long and soft. Never looking for more, just trying to touch him. Just trying to have him while you can, before A-Train finds you and tells you this has to be over. You don’t ever want this to be over, you only want to kiss Ben like you have all the time in the world. Like every moment in this bathroom isn’t being borrowed and running out fast.
You almost tell him. Right here, in a Believe Expo bathroom with Ben cupping your jaw and looking down at you with affection as his arm cages you to his chest, you almost say it. Ben. Ben, I love you. You’re going to have to let me stay here, but please know that I love you. Please, please wait for me and don’t hate me because I love you. I’m trying to make myself okay with keeping it together and leaving you to go home alone, but I’m so close to breaking. Please just tell me to damn the consequences, damn the world, and bring me home. Or to Rome, or to the farthest corner of the world, but with you. Please pick me up and take me with you because I love you and I can’t keep this up much longer. I’m okay, I’m really okay, but I’m so close to falling apart. I love you, fuck everything else because I love you and I want to go home.
You’re crying again. They’re not singular, lonesome and tragic tears or shaking screams and sobs of hollow and empty. They’re small, wet gasps as you try to fight the words down. Try to stop yourself from ruining everything just because you can’t do this. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want Ben to go, and he has to go, but it’s going to be the most painful thing in the world. Even if you know you’ll be home soon.
He mutters your name, deep and firm, and now you’re crying more. You love him. “What-“
You kiss him. You grab his shirt and yank him down and just kiss him. You can’t tell him you love him, not like this. Not when you can’t hold him all night and wake up next to him in the morning. Not now, when you have to stay here. But you’re going to tell him, you recognize that impossible to quell instinct of Ben. Ben, I love you, pushing up your throat and you only know one way to stop it. Ben, kissing him and touching him and turning those words into just sounds. Into moans and whines that he won’t understand. So you just pull Ben into you, and hope he’ll do the rest.
He does. He’ll always do this for you. His hands will always find a firm, natural hold on your body and his mouth will always fit perfectly against yours. He’ll always fill with hunger and adoration, and give you everything he can until you’re—at least for now—whole again. He’ll always make all that noise, all that loud, angry pain in your head that’s trying to find a why, why is this so unfair that you have to stay here and Ben can’t stay with you, why won’t the world give you one thing, just one thing that you don’t have to rage to keep, and why does time have to keep moving when this day is going that have to end without Ben at your side, and he’ll make it go away. Ben will always make all the sounds and rushing thoughts in your head slow until it’s just him. Just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’ll make the whole world only Ben, rubbing circles on your skin and pulling you impossibly closer, pressing his tongue to your lips in a silent question, and taking everything you give him.
You want to give him everything. Only opening your mouth for him to move deeper into you—to suck and bite and taste—and leaning into him so your hands are scraping at his neck, so his groans run through your body and down into you, isn’t enough. Making high, needy sounds that Ben swallows isn’t enough, grinding half against his torso and half onto the counter isn’t enough, because it doesn’t tell him. It doesn’t show him that you’ve missed him and you want him and need him and love him. Everything you can’t say, not now, you still need him to feel. He can’t feel you like you feel him, can’t understand without words how important he is to you. He can’t feel your love, not like you can feel that thing in him rumbling somewhere sacred in his chest. Bouncing off his ribcage and hungry and wanting for carnage. Wanting you, desperate for you in a bloody and wrathful way that tells you Ben cares. He might not love you, but he’s missed you. That even if he’s furious he’ll have to go without you, it's still about you. You and Ben together, right now, having each other.
He has to have all of you. He has to have every part of you that you don’t need to see this through, so he can protect those instead. So he can keep some sort of knowledge that walking away from him—even if it’s temporary, which it is, because nothing is permanent except you and Ben so you will always find a way back to him—is impossible. It’s going to keep you up for many nights, haunt all your dreams until he’s there to hold you like this again. You have to, you can’t see another way out of this that doesn’t end in the world destroyed and Homelander the king of whatever remains, but it’s killing you. Ben needs to understand that this is killing you, that you’ve never wanted or loved anything like you need him. And the only way to show him is to give him all of you.
“Ben,” you gasp against his mouth, and it drops to leave sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck. Letting you speak but not making it easy. Not when he’s pulling skin gently between his teeth and running his hand up your back. “Please.”
“Please?” He hums, moving back up to look at you fully. Hands still kneading at your thigh and wrapping around your body. “What-“
“Fuck me.” You lean forward, trying to pull him back down. He can’t be away from you, not for a second, not now when he’s going to have to go so soon. “Please, fuck me.”
His eyes widen, and even as the hunger roars inside him Ben frowns. “Here?”
You nod desperately. “Please-“
“Sunshine,” his hold on you has become like iron, and you can feel the enormity of his want, feel his hardened cock pushing into your thigh, but he’s shaking his head. “I am not fucking you for the first time in a goddamn bathroom.”
“Ben-“
“I said I wanted to take time,” Ben leaned down, holding your gaze. His eyes are darkened, and you can feel him. Everywhere you can feel Ben, in your body and around you and running between your bodies where the boundary of Ben or you doesn’t matter anymore. “And I fucking meant it. I am not fucking you when I can’t take a goddamn week off to do it, when there’s not even a fucking bed.”
“Please, I just want-“
“I know what you want,” he growls your name, and you whine. “And fucking believe me, I want it as well. The only thing I want more than to fuck you stupid is to bring you the hell home. But,” he shakes his head, and presses a kiss to your brow, grunting the words against your skin. “You’re a stubborn fucking brat who doesn’t listen, so I’m not taking you home. And there’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m fucking you for the first time in a bathroom at a fucking Christ Convention.”
You sigh, falling further into him. He’s right, which is annoying because he’s always so smug about when he’s right, but he’s right. Ben can’t fuck you, not here, not now. You can’t tell him you love him, you can’t go home with him, but you also can’t fucking him at the Christ Convention.
Ben pulls back, watching you with silent eyes that are trying to dissect you. You love when he watches you like this, like he can see you, and you hope he never stops. You hope when you close your eyes tonight, alone in a cold room, you’ll still have the image of him watching you.
You offer him a small smile. “How are you enjoying the Christ Convention?”
“It’s fucking stupid,” he mutters. “Dumbest shit I’ve ever seen. Bunch of high and mighty pussies who think they know everything. Butcher said they do this every year,” he shakes his head like that’s an impossible thought. “Wouldn’t have fucking let that slide in my day.”
You hum. “I mean, evangelical Christianity was definitely a thing in the 80s. And 70s. And 60s. Mass media just inflates connection and audience.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Every year is still goddamn insane. The man has been dead for thousands of goddamn years, there’s nothing fucking new to say.”
You laugh, burying your head in his shoulder. His arms hold you there, safe and comfortable against him, and it takes a lot out of you not to cry again. To just mumble against his skin, “I see you haven’t killed Butcher yet.”
“Yet.” He grunts. “Fucking asshole’s on goddamn thin ice. Borrowed time.”
You smile. “Well, I’m proud of you anyway.”
His arms tense around you, and that thing glows. Somewhere in that carefully tended and protected part of Ben where it lives, it starts to feel ardent and light. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you closer, but you feel it. Glowing inside him.
“Has anything changed,” you don’t move from speaking against him, because Ben will hear you anywhere. “Since I’ve been…”
You can’t finish that sentence. You can’t say that word. And Ben knows, because he doesn’t make you. “No.”
“Nothing?”
“We haven’t exactly been fucking team building and circle jerking, Sunshine,” he drawls, and you still smile. You missed him. “We’ve got goddamn jobs to do.”
“And you haven’t killed anyone? Even when they’re being idiot pussies?”
He snorts. “They’ve managed not to deserve it yet.”
“Deserve it?”
“They’re listening to you.”
You lean back, and frown at him. “To me?”
“When you tell us to trust you,” he grunts. “When you go on TV.”
Something you hadn’t fully realized was there loosens around your throat. “You’ve seen me? You’ve gotten it?”
“Of course I’ve fucking seen you,” Ben mutters, and his glare is more indigent than anything else. “Green for me to listen. To make sure I know you’re still fucking you.”
You smile, and it’s all teeth and a little bit of joy. He’s seen you, and he’s been paying attention, and he understands. “Good.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to do green, I’ll listen no matter fucking what.”
“It’s a signal-“
“I don’t need a fucking signal to know you’re okay,” he snaps your name. “I can see it on your face. When your little fucking act drops and you look like you. I need to know when you’re not okay. When I have to come get you.”
“Ben-“
“I won’t,” he holds your eyes, voice firm. “I won’t come get you until you say. I’ll go along with your stupid fucking secret plan, but I need a way to know if you need me. If it’s gone to shit and you need me.”
You sigh. He needs this. Ben is doing the impossible thing you’re asking of him and only demanding one thing in return. You couldn’t say no if you wanted to. “Blue.” You squeeze his bicep, and give him another smile. “If I need you, which I won’t,” Ben glares at you, but you keep going. “I’ll wear blue. And you can come get me.”
You’ll never wear blue again. If Ashley or Sage or Homelander try to put you in blue, you’ll spill food or coffee all over the outfit or just fucking burn it. But—likely even when you go home—you’ll never wear blue again. You’ll never wear blue or smell coconut without throwing up, you won’t drink a milkshake for a long time, and you’ll hate the winter forever. You’ll have to stay where it’s warm, you’ll have to keep Ben with you so he can block chilling winds and hold you against him like this. In a way that makes everything hot, makes your blood rush in a way that’s just you and him together. You’ll do anything to keep Ben with you when this is over. You’ll offer him this comfort that there’s a signal to tell him you need him—even if you’ll always need him, regardless of Homelander or Vought or any plan or mission—and whatever else he asks for so he’ll wait for you and hold you when you return.
“Blue,” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Swear it.”
“Promise.” You search his eyes, and try not to cry when you can see just how tired he is. “Thank you.”
“Don’t-“
“Benjamin.” You shake your head, and lean back into him. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“I haven’t done a fucking thing-“
“You’re here.” You whisper. “You’re going to let me do what I need to do, and you’re waiting. That’s all you have to do, but it still fucking sucks, so thank you.” I love you.
Ben scoffs. “I thought I didn’t let you do anything.”
You huff a soft, sad laugh. “But I’m going to thank you anyway.” You look back up at him and smile. Wide and bittersweet, but still real. This is still real. “Thank you.”
He watches you for a second, and that thing in him is glowing again. Glowing and burning. Hungry.
Then he’s on his knees. Ben’s hands move to hold your thighs, and he falls to his knees between your legs, smirking up at you. Eyes still tired and body still washed in distant pain, but the hunger overtaking all of it. The devotion is spreading over all of him, climbing into you.
“Ben-“
“I am not fucking you here,” he winks up at you, and you don’t think your heart is working anymore. It’s gone into overdrive and it’s going to explode. “But I can still make you feel fucking good.”
Your eyes widen, and you feel heat rush into your face. You feel heat rush everywhere. “Okay.”
“Say it,” he grunts, and you know what he wants. You always know what he wants.
“Please,” you grab his face, running your fingers back into his hair. “Please, Ben.”
“More.”
“I want you,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay stable otherwise. Not when one of Ben’s hands is drawing closer to your center, hovering right over your underwear. “Ben, I want you, please-“
His thumb presses right over your clit, and your words turn into a long moan. “All you fucking have to do is ask, beautiful.” He grins up at you. “Say my name and ask.”
“Ben-“
“Whole thing.”
“Benjamin, please-“
He stands up, crashing his mouth against yours as his hand moves under your panties, teasing you gently. Rubbing his thumb lightly while he slides his fingers between you, but never in. Groaning into your mouth when he feels how wet you’ve become, how much you want him.
“Fucking needy, Sunshine.” He mutters, pulling his hand away, taking your underwear with him and dropping it on the floor. “So fucking needy.”
You only moan, trying to grind into him enough that he’ll just come back, and he pulls his mouth away, grinning down at you. He looks so handsome, with dark eyes and full lips that were just on you and why can’t he just come back-
His fingers—the ones that had just been touching you—raise into his mouth, and you almost fall off the counter. Almost jump him when he makes a low, satisfied sound and watches you with a cocky smirk. How you’re wrecked and he’s not even touching you anymore.
“Please-“
He pulls his fingers out his mouth and grabs your face, yanking it up to him. His hand in your hair, your taste is in his mouth, his body so strong and warm and Ben and he’s everything-
“Fucking good,” he mutters against your lips, and you whimper. “You’re so fucking good.” He says your name, and you think you might just cum from that. The impossibly good sound of your name from Ben’s mouth, in his deep and powerful voice.
“Ben,” your words are just breath, but you know he understands, because he grunts and his hands that’s moved under your thigh squeezes you. “Please. More, please-“
He’s gone again, moving you back down to the counter and returning to his knees. You almost whine again, almost make a desperate sound that was probably supposed to be come back, but then he’s everywhere. His hands hook under your knees, and he tugs you forwards. Right into his mouth.
He’s done this once. It made you scream his name and see stars, but this is better. He’s learning, you realize, because he’s already doing everything he needs to do to bring you up to the edge. After just one time he’d somehow memorized every single thing that made you melt, and now he’s on a mission.
He moves one hand to knead and bruise your thigh around him, while using the other to brace against your abdomen, keeping you still as he works.
His tongue is there first. Licking you once until he brushes your clit, flicking it once, feeling your thighs tighten around him, and chuckling as he does it again.
“You fucking like that?” He mutters, and you just moan and try to roll your hips against his face.
He laughs and does it again, lighter this time, so feather like and teasing you until you whine. Until it’s too much and you’re aching before he flattens his tongue against you and hums, running it down, up, down, and into you. Ben pushing his tongue into you, and starts to fuck you with him mouth.
His teeth are brushing against you when he pushes in, letting out a growl when you clench around him that makes his nose bump your clit. You make a strangled sound and he finds a rhythm. His tongue doesn’t stop moving, twisting and fucking you as he squeezes the skin of your thigh, then rises for just enough to nip at your clit and sooth it with a kiss before dropping back down.
Ben won’t let you cum. He knows exactly when that line is and he’s taunting you with it, grunting into you as you start to shake above him, as you tug at his hair or moan his name. He goes faster, eating you like he’s been starved until you start to tremble, and then he slows down, running his tongue between your pussy and clit, never fully touching either. Starting it all over the moment your breathing becomes steady.
“Ben,” you whisper, and he looks up at you with so much devotion and affection it almost makes you fall apart just from him. From how relaxed he looks, between your legs. How his eyes are hungry and lustful and full of light. For you. “Please.”
He hums against you, and you shiver as the sound runs up your spine. “More?”
“Please.”
“You want me?”
“I need you.”
He smirks up at you. “You need me, Sunshine? Need me to make you fucking cum?”
“Yes,” you breathe out as his hand moves from your thigh, tracing circles around you and over you but never pushing in. “Ben, please. I need you, please-“
Two broad, rough fingers push into you and your words dissolve into a moan. Ben pumps them once, and once more when you squeeze around him. “Like that? You fucking need me to do that?”
“Ben-“
“So fucking tight,” he mutters, gaze dropping down to watch you clench around him when he moves again. “You’re so fucking tight, beautiful, it’s gonna fucking kill me.”
You can’t speak anymore, not when he moves in and out again, and again, and again. Setting a brutal, demanding pace that has you unable to think outside of Ben. Rough, strong fingers inside of you that are Ben’s and making you feel so good.
“No smart words from that pretty fucking mouth?” he hums your name, and you whine.
“Ben-“
“There’s one.” He winks at you, and you melt further into him. Try to use your leg to pull him closer. “Let’s see if we can make you scream it.”
He drops back down and bites your clit. It’s gentle and light, but Ben bites you and you have to move a hand to cover your mouth so you don’t scream his name. You’re trying to grind onto his face, his fingering still fucking you without relent or relief, and you need him to keep going. To bite you or lick you or do something to bring you over the edge. But his arm is keeping you so torturously still, you can only grip his hair and throw your head back as he goes and goes and goes and you’re full of him. He’s in you and on you, his tongue tracing taunting circles around your clit, and it’s all Ben.
Then he kisses you. He leaves one, painfully soft kiss against your clit as his fingers still deep inside you, and you’re so close.
“Ben-“
You feel him grin against you, and he crooks his fingers in you against that one spot as he pulls your clit into his mouth. He sucks on it and groans, and that’s it. Everything is Ben, flicking his tongue against you with a growl and scissoring his fingers to give friction inside you, and you have to bite your hand as you cum. As everything grows loose and good, the whole world becomes both so big and wide but it’s still just Ben. It’s still just Ben in all the warmth and pleasure, making you feel like you’re made of stardust and more important than the sun as he keeps going through your orgasm until you’re shaking. Until you’re trying to pull him back up because you need to see him. You need him to kiss you again because you love him, and this is going to be over so soon and you just need to see him. Show Ben that he’s done this, that every part of you is his and nothing else has ever mattered like this matters.
You almost damn it. He’s pulled you apart and put you back together, still going, and now you have to tell him. Ben has to know, he has to know you love him. It’s so impossibly crucial that Ben understands you love him. You say it, you say Ben, I love you, but he’s done his job too well and all that comes out is a breathless, wanting sound. Every part of your body, of your mind and soul tries to say it as well. Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben, I love you. Please understand, please try and feel how much I love you and tell me you understand. But he's still going, even as your thighs start to crush his head, and all you get is a roar. That thing inside him roars, and moves to fully rest in you. You don’t understand it, you’re not even sure Ben understands it, but it’s sitting in you now just as much as him, and it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever felt. It hums when you repeat the words in your head, when you think Ben. Ben, I love you, and pray he’ll somehow hear it, somehow see it on your face when he’s still between your legs. He doesn’t, but that thing always makes another low, happy sound and that can be enough. Everything is light and high, and this strange thing that lives in Ben but feels like it’s yours can be enough.
Ben, after what might have been a thousand years, stands up. He’s staring at you—still slightly shaking and flushed, words still a little far away—and the look in his eyes is reverent. His face is covered in you and his beard is wet but he’s not moving to wipe it away. He just kisses you, one last long time, and mutters your name against your lips.
“You’re perfect,” his voice is low and wanting, and you shutter against him. Feel his hard cock twitch against you. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably a good thing A-Train finds you when he does. Because if you’d been left alone with Ben for about three more seconds the part of you that’s been begging you to just go, go home with Ben and the rest of the world can figure out how to deal with this themselves, just tell Ben you love him and go, would’ve won.
That doesn’t mean you can’t be annoyed when the room is rushed with cold air and A-Train slams the door behind him.
Ben’s faster than you—in all fairness he didn’t just have an earth-shattering orgasm and you’re at a disadvantage—and turns to block your body from view, roaring at A-Train.
“What the fucking hell-“
“Calm down, asshole.” Peaking over Ben’s shoulder you can see that A-Train’s facing the wall, back to you both. “This isn’t something I want to see. I’m just doing my job.”
“Get fuck out-“
You reach around Ben’s head and cover his mouth with a hand, staying behind him as you lean over his body to address A-Train. “Are we ready?”
A-Train nods. “Ezekiel’s waiting for me, I told him I’d find where your team is then come get him.”
“Okay,” you sigh, trying to focus on running through your mental checklist when you can still feel Ben, when your legs have wrapped themselves around his torso. “I’ll burn out your tracker, and we’ll get going.”
Ben licks your hand, and it surprises you enough to pull back.
“Benjamin, what the hell-“
“Does anyone want to fucking tell me what’s going on?” He snaps, glaring at you over his shoulder. “Or am I supposed to just goddamn stay in the dark?”
“I did tell you,” you kick his thigh slightly. “A-Train’s defecting, you’re going to kill him-“
“Don’t actually kill me,” A-Train cuts in, still facing away from you. “I’m not doing this if this dick is going to actually kill me.”
“He’s knows that-“
Ben shrugs. “I don’t know shit.”
You pinch him, shooting him a flat look. You’re being unhelpful. Shut up and get me decent.
He rolls his eyes, and ducks down to pick your discarded underwear off the floor. You keep speaking as he helps you into them, allowing yourself to sit slightly in the feeling of him touching you, hands running up your legs and arms holding you still.
“They won’t kill you, A-Train. Ben, promise you won’t kill him.”
“Whatever.”
“Benjamin.”
“Fine, I won’t fucking kill him.”
You glare at him. “Promise.”
“I swear I won’t kill him.” He glares at you, drawing back up to his full height. “Happy?”
You smile at him. “Very.” And it’s not even a lie. “A-Train, you can look.”
Ben steps to the side—you have to shove him slightly, but he does—and A-Train turns around slowly.
“My tracker?”
You nod, pushing off the counter and crossing the bathroom. “This might take a second.”
Ben follows you, standing behind you silently as you raise your hand over A-Train’s extended arm and close your eyes. This will work, this has to work. Ben’s right here, and he’s warm, and right now you’re not afraid, so this will work.
It takes a few minutes of slow breathing and focus, but you drag just enough up fire. You can do this.
You glance at A-Train once. “This might really hurt.”
“Just do it-“
The flame forms in the palm of your hand and your eyes narrow. Concentrating it into something like a needle and pushing it into A-Train’s arm. He flinches, face twisting, but doesn’t pull away as you work. Smoke fills the room, all three of you watching the beam of fire twist and scorch A-Train’s skin, burning it with the tracker. Ben’s shoulder nudges yours and you pause, looking up at him.
“What?”
“It’s gone,” he grunts. “I heard it, it’s fried.”
A-Train frowns. “You sure?”
“Fucking positive.”
“Then,” A-Train looks back at you. “We’re good?”
You glance at Ben, who gives you a tight nod. “I guess.”
A-Train looks between you and Ben again, but rests his arm back at his side. “Is he going to tell your team-“
“I’ve got it fucking handled,” Ben snaps. “Pretend to kill you, bring you back. Find another way to get V.”
“V?”
Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten. “Fuck, wait. A-Train where did you find Ezekiel?”
“He was backstage,” he shrugs. “Most of that time was spent convincing him, he’s annoying as hell-” He frowns at you, cutting himself off. “Why?”
“We need some V,” you sigh. “But if he was backstage that means they finished cleaning up. There won’t be any left, not here.”
“Why do you need V?” A-Train shakes his head. “That shit is horrible for you, it almost fucking killed me-“
“It knocks Homelander out. We need it to kill him.” You look at Ben, and find him watching you carefully. “You’re going to need to tell Butcher what I told you. You’re not going to find V any way you might have before.”
Ben scowls. “Well then how the fuck-“
“Homelander,” you swallow down the lump and bile in your throat. “He’s the only bet we have. He had to have kept some-“
“He keeps some in his apartment,” A-Train interjects, and you turn to see him frowning at you, hands on his hips. “I saw it, even took some for Hughie. It’s in a box.”
“I’ve never seen it-“
“He might have moved it when you arrived,” A-Train shrugs. “But he has some.”
You nod, chewing on your tongue, and feel Ben’s arms wrap around you. Pulling you back into his chest.
“You don’t have to fucking get it.” He mutters. “We’ll find another way-“
You sigh, and tilt your head back to look up at him. “There’s not always another way, Ben. We have to get through this, not around it.”
He glares at you. Come home. Just fucking come home.
I can’t. You stand on your toes, leaning further into him, and give him a gentle smile. You have to go, and I can’t come with you.
His body tenses around you, and he makes a deep, pained sound from his chest. I fucking hate this. This is fucking stupid and I fucking hate it.
I know. You squeeze his arm around you and force yourself not to cry. You can’t cry now, because you won’t stop and this will never work. I know you do. But I’ll see you again. Soon.
Fucking swear it. Swear you’ll come home.
I promise.
He nods, and turns you around. Kisses you again, and you know this is the last one for a while. He’s not pushing into you or trying to get more, he’s just trying to memorize you and you’re doing the same to him. You already knew all of Ben—and he knows all of you—but you need to have it leave a mark that you can carry when he goes. You need to still remember in a week, still feel how his muscles move around you like he’s still holding you, have his taste remain on your tongue when he’s not there pushing it into you, smell pine and gunpowder and Ben over the coconut. You’ll certainly have how he sounds—you’ll never lose how Ben sounds because his phantom will stay with you—but you want all of it. You need all of it if you’re going to keep going.
A-Train coughs, and Ben pulls away with one last, gentle movement.
“We have to get moving,” when you turn, A-Train isn’t looking at you, but frowning at Ben. “Homelander will be back real soon, for his speech.”
Homelander’s speech. Your speech. You have to go do your speech. “Okay.”
You have to force every step as you pull away from Ben’s body. He doesn’t let you go, not fully, allowing you to turn before dropping his head down to yours.
“Come home.” It’s final. He’s still asking, even when he knows the answer, one final time.
“Soon,” you whisper. “You’re not losing me, Ben. You just have to wait for me.”
“I’ll always fucking wait for you.” He grunts, and your heart isn’t going to recover from this. Not for a long time. “I’ll wait a million goddamn years, as long as you always fucking come home.”
“Always.” You mumble, and he nods. “Thank you.”
“You burn, I burn,” his breath fans against your face, and you can feel that thing in him start to riot. Claw up your lungs—Ben’s lungs—and throat. Furious and loud.
So you just make a small, sad sound because you’re out of tears and sobs and sighs and smiles. “You burn, I burn.” You look up, and meet his eyes. “Can you do me a favor, Ben?”
He just grunts, and you know he understands. You’re not asking, you’re cashing one of your last favors in. But it’s not for you.
“Don’t be a dick to Ryan, please.”
Ben blinks at you. “What?”
“Ryan Butcher.” You watch him carefully. “Don’t be an ass to him. He’s just a kid.”
“I haven’t been a fucking ass-“
“Yes, you have.” You trace a hand along his beard, resting it at the base of his neck. “I know you, Ben. You might not be being an ass on purpose, but you’re blaming him for this. He’s just a kid, it’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.”
“You’re only here-“
“Because of Homelander,” you shake your head against his. “Not because you lost me, or failed me. Not because of Ryan or even Butcher. Because of Homelander. So please, just be kind to Ryan. For me.”
He stands up, and holds you against him for one last moment. “Fine.” He pauses and kisses the top of your head, speaking the last words against you in a way that rolls through your body. “For you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” you whisper into his chest, your words right over his heart. Right over where you can still feel that thing tearing Ben apart. You hope he’ll carry them until you’re home and can tell that thing to rest.
Ben nods. “Soon.”
A-Train’s been waiting, and you’re thankful for how he doesn’t say anything. How he lets Ben and you peel yourselves apart, lets Ben pick up his cap, gives you one last curt nod, and doesn’t comment on how you love Ben, or make you say any more promises. You only have room for two promises now, because they’re the most important ones you’ll ever make. Kill Homelander. Go home. You only have in it you to nod back, and try not to fall to the floor and scream when Ben gives you one last look and a kiss on the crease of your brow. When he walks out the door—like you’d told him to—and you have to watch him go. When A-Train leaves as well, and you trust both of them to do what you need them to, but it still shatters you. You’d had him. He was real and warm and here and you’d had him. There wasn’t a world where you kept him—not today—but this is still the most painful thing you’ve ever done.
He’s lingering. You’re finding your way back to the stage and Ben’s likely still across the venue, but he’s still in you. That impossible to understand thing is still in you where it had been in Ben, and it’s not fading. It’s setting itself into you, and making you feel Ben even when you pull off your disguise and try to fix your makeup and smooth your hair in a backstage mirror. It’s making it hard to acknowledge that doing that—staying there with him for so long and letting him touch you like you’d needed—wasn’t smart, because this is all you’ll have for a while. At least until you revise your plan, until you figure out a way to get your team the V they need. As much as it hurts, you’re praying that this thing stays with you until you’re back in Ben’s arms. It might be the only way you get through this.
Ashley finds you minutes later, her hair a mess and a wild, panicked look in her eyes. “Where the fuck did you go?!”
“I was in the bathroom-“
“The bathroom?!” She shakes her head frantically. “For almost a fucking hour?!”
You shrug, looking around nervously. No Homelander. No Sage. “I can’t control my period-“
“You know what?” Ashley raises a hand sharply. “I don’t fucking care. You’re on now, move.”
Your mouth falls open, and the cold starts to creep back in. “Now? But I’m not until-“
“A-Train and Ezekiel are fucking missing, and Sage still hasn’t shown up after being a controlling bitch about this all week, so you’re on now.” You’re frozen in place, and Ashley looks up at you with glare. “Now! Fucking go!”
She almost moves to push you, but flinches back at the last second. Your feet start to carry you forwards, moving mechanically through the steps Ashley had drilled into you this morning. A man mics you, and you can barely feel his anxiety over the cold. It’s getting cold again, and the only thing keeping your legs steady beneath you, keeping you upright, is the way that Ben is still there. How you can feel that odd thing from him ingrained in you even when he’s gone, how it’s him. Everything about it is Ben, and it’s making a home inside of you and keeping your mind from clouding with cold. Fogged up cold.
The man finishes his job, adjusting the mic a little further from your mouth. A woman checks your hair and makeup, and another points out all your marks and the teleprompter as Deep wraps up with large gestures and over-exaggerated laughs. The first woman smooths down your costume once and gives a thumbs up, the second shoves you forward with a clipboard, and suddenly you’re there. On the stage, walking to a red x and being blinded by stage lights that turn the crowd into murmuring shadows.
Words fall out of your mouth like vomit. You sound robotic. You feel robotic. You’re speaking and your voice isn’t yours, you’re smiling and it’s wrong on your face, and your hands are locked behind your back so your nails can tap and dig into your skin.
“From when I was young, I’ve loved Homelander. Even when we were children, sharing secret moments in the fields behind my parent’s house, I loved him. I loved him enough to follow him to the city before he knew how I felt, before I knew he loved me. I loved him when he made his first save, and he told me how happy it made him.” Swallow the bile, read the words on the prompter. The boring, mechanical, words about love that aren’t yours. Aren’t about your love. “I loved him when he came to me with roses and told me he loved me, asked me to be his one and only. I loved him when he let me stay on the sidelines, when he was forced into PR relationships to keep me safe. I love him now, as America’s greatest hero and my savior.” Don’t break. “I love Homelander because he completes me. I see us in every great romance in history. He is the thing that gets me up in the morning. He makes me happy, and I want to start a family with him. Lead the best life we can together. I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story-“
Your words are cut off by a rush of air and shaking of the stage as Homelander lands at your side. Grinning and waving, placing a hand on your lower back as his voice echoes over the venue.
“Oh, just pretend you can’t see me!” The crowd grows louder with applause, and he laughs. “I’m here to listen to Anomaly, same as all of you! I just have the best seat!” He pulls you off your mark, closer to the front of the stage. “She’s doing so well, isn’t she?”
He grins at you as the crowd’s noise begins to drown out your own thoughts, and you make yourself smile back. The nerves are real, but you force the comfort onto your face. Make yourself stay on your feet. There’s no other option but staying on your feet and smiling at Homelander like his hand on your own body doesn’t fill you with dread and agony and cold. Pretend you don’t know what’s coming, that you’re going to finish and Homelander will kiss you and you’ll have to not scream or push him away. You’re sweating and the air is humid from the lingering mist of the morning, but you’re so cold.
“Alright, let’s settle down!” Homelander dismisses the crowd with a hand, and the last few whoops and claps die off. “Keep going, honey, everyone’s listening.”
You swallow. No way out. “I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story to be remembered as one from a fairytale. Because he is my prince, my white knight who saved me from the dark. Homelander, you're my soulmate, and I love you. I am deeply in love with you, and there will never be another-“
Something bangs in the distance, and the part of Ben that’s still in you begins to pound. Drums. Echoes of drums in your chest that fall into time with a spark of lights and another bang. Gunshots. Those are gunshots and the overhead lights are sparking.
Homelander’s hand tenses on your back. “Keep calm, folks! I’m sure it’s just a truck! I’ll go myself and make sure they get that faulty engine fixed. Please, let my lovely girlfriend finish the speech she’s been working so hard on.” He leans down to hiss in your ear, face turned from the crowd. “Keep going until I get back. Don’t stop fucking talking.”
He’s gone, and another gunshot fires. Ben. Ben might be in danger, Homelander’s going and Ben is strong but they don’t have the V, and Sage hasn’t been seen all day. The gas-
Ashley’s gesturing at you off to the side. Keep going.
You have to keep going. There’s nothing you can do but try and cling to that thing in you—rumbling and bloody—that tells you Ben is still awake. Try and raise your voice over the gunshots that mean he’s still fighting.
“There will never be another man for me. And that’s why-“ The prompter glitches and sparks out, and a flash of light clears the sky in the distance. Then there’s another gunshot, and a whoosh of air, and you have to keep going. You can still feel Ben, so you have to keep going. There are no words left for you to say, you didn’t memorize the speech and can’t remember where it went after the that’s why line. You have to find your own word. You have to just keep going.
“That’s why I want to share what it’s like to love him.” You take a heavy breath, and hold onto that piece of Ben in you like it’s a lifeline. “Why he’s everything to me.”
The venue lights flash again, and the phones start to spark out and fry with the cameras. You’re okay with that. This isn’t for the world to remember or see, this is for you to keep talking and find a way to keep going.
“He’s good,” you smile into the flickering darkness. “He’s just so good. It’s hard, but he’s still good. His smile is the best one you’ll ever see, and his laugh is the only thing you’ll ever need to hear. If you could see him happy like I do, you’d never want to see anything else. And I, I get to do so many things I’ve always wanted to do with him. I get to talk to him and feel heard and to cook with him and share things I enjoy, and he touches me like I’m the only one he’s ever wanted to touch. Ever needed to touch. Ever needed. I get to feel half as wanted as I want him, and I want him. I want all of him.” You can’t stop. Your heart is breaking and gluing itself together every other second, but you can’t stop. “I want the parts you get to see and the parts that get to be mine. I want to laugh at him and with him and see him smile. See a smile that gets to be mine, and keep watching him try. Try to keep me when everything is horrible, and I want to stay with him, I want to stay with him-“ Your words are becoming choked, and you’re pleading to no one. Begging into a silent crowd of people who don’t understand and a night that doesn’t care. Keep going. “I, I want to watch him be better, never stop trying to be better, just be better and be good. Be good to me, he’s so good to me, even, even when it’s hard and I have to miss him and I-“
The whole word explodes. The drums are still rattling around your head as the night is illuminated from a cloud of fire and ash exploding across the night. You almost run to it, run to him, but people are grabbing you and pulling you off stage. You can’t fight, you're frozen, kept from shattering only by the hum of Ben still carved into you. Like an imprint, like a scar you wouldn’t want to heal if you could because it’s telling you he’s awake.
They lock you away. Someone shoves you into the trailer and you hear the door click, but you don’t bother to even try the handle. You couldn’t move if you wanted, couldn’t run if you tried. You’re cracking. Not breaking—not while that thing of Ben’s still shifts inside you and tells you he’s okay—but cracking. Growing weaker, the fire going dormant once more, because you’d let it get away from you. That speech won’t see the morning, nobody had gotten the part that was just you on footage, but people will talk. Sage will hear, Homelander will hear, and the former will know that you weren’t talking from nothing. She’ll see that hand you’d accidentally shown, that last piece she’d been looking for. The only thing that will save you is the latter believing you were speaking of him. That it’s Homelander you need and want and think is good. You’ve never laughed with Homelander, never seen him be better—only worse—and never, ever missed him, but he’ll still think you were talking about him.
You miss Ben. You’re sobbing on the floor, cracks appearing in your mask because it’s all too much, and you just miss Ben. You’ll get through this. You can feel that echo of Ben still in your chest even as the noise outside dies down, and you know you’ll get through this, but you’ll miss Ben. More than before, which you didn’t think was possible. You’ll miss him more because he’s waiting, and you know home is closer in time but far in effort. Anything goes wrong and home goes away forever. There’s a way to kill Homelander, a way to get Ben the shot to kill Homelander, but this has to go right. You have to do this clever, however you need to, and with no hesitation, because then you can go home and Ben will be waiting. You’ll kill Homelander, and hold each other until this doesn’t feel like pain anymore. Only another shadow in the corner, another skeleton you bury and grow flowers from.
Ben will be waiting. You’ll pull yourself up and tape every single piece of your mind together to drag yourself home to Ben, and he’ll pick you up. Ben will wait, and he’ll make this better.
You’ll love him when you touch him again, and forever after that. You’ll love him when he makes this better and you remind him he’ll never fail you. When you get to stay and you never have to break again. Until then you’ll love him here as well. You’ll keep this piece of Ben in you, and worship in the hopes he feels it.
You hope he feels your love. Even if he doesn’t love you, you still hope Ben gets to feel your love like you feel his strange thing inside of you. Gets to know it’s yours, for him, and feel how easy and natural it is to love him. How he didn’t fail you, could never fail you, because you love him like this.
You love him until the night is silent. Until it’s just the dark and spreading warmth. Until your tears are dry and you can just feel you and him. You love Ben like there’s nothing else to love in the world, because there’s not.
No love is worth this holy and infinite one that you have for Ben. No love is worth rage and desolation like this one is. No one is worth what Ben is.
And he’ll wait for you. You’ll go back to him. You’ll find a way home.
You’ll always find your way back to Ben.
——————
Ben couldn’t let himself think about it. Not now, not when he was still fucking clean up the mess he and the team had made. Not when the Pussy Mobile had come to a screeching, rattling halt right before Butcher could park it, and Ben was honestly surprised they’d made it the whole damn drive back. The hunk of shit probably should’ve broken down the moment Butcher had floored it and they’d torn away as Homelander dealt with their diversion. Ezekiel’s body strung up across tents—Ben having pulled him apart with hands and hatred—Annie playing haunted house with all the lights, and a bomb of the French Prick’s going off when Homelander destroyed the guns MM had rigged to keep firing.
He couldn’t think about how’d almost fucking lost it. How they’d been driving away and Ben had been forced to shove the drums down, try to control them and keep the bomb in his chest from destroying the van and the team when the Thing was roaring at him. When the night had exploded and it had shaken the van, making Ben have to just stare and floor and try not to get lost in how much this fucking hurt. He’d done it, he’d done exactly as She’d asked. A-Train was “dead”—Homelander even the last person to see him before Frenchie’s bomb supposedly blew him to bits, which had been Hughie’s idea and didn’t end up being total fucking shit—and they knew they had to wait for V. They knew that had to wait for Her to get them some or find it somewhere else. Every selfish part of Ben wanted Her to get it, because that meant she’d have to give it them. She’d have to come home to give them the V, and this wouldn’t fucking hurt anymore.
He’d find a way to get Her to stay this time, and this would never be painful again. He’d kill Homelander and she’d get to smile at him somewhere in Rome forever. He’d hear Her cry about normal, stupid fucking things and she’d tease him and tell him what to do, and he’d just kiss Her until this didn’t fucking hurt anymore. Because he’d done it, he’d done the job, and he’d never hated himself more.
They were circled up in the dining hall. It was past midnight, but this was a lot more fucking important. They had A-Train, and maybe the fucker could help them. Get Her closer to coming home. Sleep didn’t matter, not when Ben had to fucking bring Her home.
Ben’s at the head of the table. He can’t sit, can’t rest, he can’t stop fucking moving, not for a second. Not when it will be nothing but fucking pain and images of Her in his head. Fresh, like open wounds that won’t just fucking heal.
So Ben stood, rigid at the head of the table, his fists curling and uncurling. Butcher at his side—the man’s glare almost as violent as Ben’s—as A-Train’s bouncing knee shook the table. Hughie and Annie had gone to bed with small nods—nobody had stopped them—but MM was frowning at A-Train from his seat across the table, and Kimiko and the French Prick were watching the tight silence with nervous expressions.
“Are any of you going to talk, or just keep fucking staring at me?”
Ben’s jaw clenched at the fucking sneer in A-Train’s voice. The fucking annoyance, as if Ben hadn’t just fucking given everything, given the whole fucking world, to save his fast, worthless, pussy ass. She’d told him to, and he had, but it should be Her at the table. In Ben’s arms. Not this fucking piece of shit She’d been so goddamn certain could help.
He could only say half of that. A-Train needed to understand what had been lost to get him here. He had no fucking right to know more about Her.
Ben leaned across the table, not bother to hide the fucking fury in his voice. “You’re the one who needs to start fucking talking.”
“About what?” A-Train snapped. “I’m here, you know why I’m here, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Make this fucking worth it!” Ben roared Her name. “Said you’d help. Fucking help!”
“How? How am I supposed to help?”
Butcher cut in right before Ben could rip A-Train’s head off. “Our mutual friend seemed to be bloody certain you’d have somethin for us. MM here seems to think we can trust you. And I’d fuckin wager you’ve got some real nasty shit on Homelander and Vought.”
“Yeah, but-“
“Man, just listen,” MM muttered. “Those two motherfuckers get off on vengeance, and you’re not doing yourself any favors by poking at them.”
Butcher scowled at MM, and Ben just keeps fucking pushing. She’d said A-Train could help, and she was never fucking wrong, so the pussy better start fucking helping until Ben started finding more creative ways to figure out what she’d meant.
Don’t kill A-Train, Ben. Her voice hummed in his head. Or at least do it outside. People eat here.
“What was she planning,” Ben grunted, trying to speak firm and steady over the pain. “She told me she was planning something. What is it.”
“Don’t know,” A-Train at least had the brains to look a little fucking guilty. “When we talked she’d never tell me. Said she couldn’t risk it or something.”
“Well, what did she say?” MM runs his hand over his face. “There has to be something we could use.”
“Nothing,” A-Train’s answer is way too damn fast, and he’s giving Ben a strange fucking look. “I mean, she was trying to convince me to help, and I agreed, and now I’m here. I can’t fucking help more than that-“
“That ain’t fuckin true mate,” Butcher sneers. “You gotta have somethin for us. We didn’t fake your damn death just for you to come here and leech.”
“I’ve got some stuff on Vought, but you can’t really think they were telling me everything? I mean, Sage didn’t trust me as far as she could thrown me, and she’s not that strong-“
“There has to be fucking something!” Ben hissed Her name, leaning down to hold A-Train’s gaze. “She had to have said fucking something, anything, that could get her-“
“She wouldn’t share her plan with me!” A-Train was still fucking looking at Ben like that. Like he’d fucking dropped from the sky and was speaking goddamn gibberish. “Like I said, she didn’t tell me anything! I asked, and she said no. She didn’t even fucking tell you!” A-Train gestured at Ben with an exasperated movement. “Why do you think she’d tell me!”
“A-Train,” MM sighed. “What do you know? That shit about Vought, about Homelander and Sage, about anything.”
“I mean I fucking know all their old V stashes. I know about security. I know Sage, kind of. How she thinks. I know Ashley, and she’s real close to snapping or losing it or something.”
“That’s good,” MM glanced up at Butcher. “We can get Mallory here tomorrow. Get all his shit down.”
“Mate, we can’t be fuckin sure he’s even gonna tell us the truth-“
“I will.” A-Train frowned at Butcher. “I’m not here for Vought, fuck those guys. I’m here because I’m trying to be better. Because she,” A-Train shot Ben another strange look as he said Her name for clarification. “She said I could help. I’m not going to lie, there’s too much on the fucking line to lie.”
“Well,” Butcher snapped. “We might need a little bloody more than Vought security protocols and a fuckin Sage profile. That’s all shit we can get our fuckin selves-“
“I can get you their passwords.” A-Train said, words abrupt and tight. “Hughie’s into all that computer stuff, right? I can write down everything I remember about Vought, about all their passwords, and go over what Sage has told me. I can tell you weaknesses, about Homelander and milk, and the Deep and fish-“
“How the fuck will that help-“
A-Train cut Ben off with Her name, and everything fucking hurt again. “She thought I could help. This is all I can do, man. She knew that, and she thought it was worth it.”
“Stop fucking talking about her like that.” Ben hissed. “You don’t know her. You don’t know what she thinks, not about this or any other damn thing.”
“She told me I could help you. So I’m here.” A-Train didn’t flinch away from Ben’s glare. “Don’t blame me for her idea.”
Ben was going to kill him. He was going to fucking rip his spine out of his back and break both his knees. The pussy didn’t have any fucking right to pretend to know Her, what she wanted. Ben trusted Her with his goddamn life, and he fucking trusted she knew what she was doing because there was no other option. No world where she never came back to him. She had to fucking come back, come home, but there wasn’t a single fucking way passwords and milk was going to help fucking help them. Help Her.
Butcher placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and he flinched. “The fuck-“
“In and out, Gov.” Butcher muttered. “It ain’t gonna help shit to kill A-Train, even if he deserves it.”
“Shut the fuck up, you pussy-“
“Trust me, I want to kill him just as much as you do. But he’s got somethin for us that ain’t totally fuckin useless.” Butcher nodded to MM. “We’ll get Mallory here at the crack of fuckin dawn. We got some work to do.”
MM nodded, leaning down the table to the French Prick and Kimiko. “Can you two show A-Train a room? Doesn’t fucking matter which one, just get him in a bed.”
A-Train gave Ben one last weird fucking look before he was led out of the room, leaving Ben with Butcher, MM, and the hum of a fan somewhere.
Butcher sighed, dropping his hand from Ben’s shoulder back into his pockets. “MM, you better be bloody right about him-“
“I am,” MM muttered. “He’s here. He’s not going to fucking leave now, not with his family out there. And we can use his info, get the Kid on a laptop and into their servers. Get an idea of what Sage is doing. But we still need V-“
Butcher said Her name, and it ached in Ben’s ears. “Said she’d get us some. Right, Gov?”
Ben grunted with a nod, and Butcher frowned.
“She good?”
Ben shot Butcher a glare. “The fuck is it to you.”
Butcher shrugged. “She’s doin a lot of shit. Want to make sure she ain’t gonna burn out on us.”
“She fucking won’t.” Ben snapped. She couldn’t. She’d promised she’d come home. “She’ll be fine.”
She’ll be fine. Ben had left Her but she was going to be fine.
You didn’t leave me, Ben.
Butcher was speaking before Ben could respond to Her voice. “You didn’t fuckin pick her up and carry her back?”
“Fucking obviously.”
Butcher narrowed his eyes. “After all your fuckin peacocking-“
“She told me to trust her,” Ben muttered. “And she’d have fucking kicked my ass if I tried to take her.” Ben shot Butcher a cold look. “I’m not in the business of making my woman do shit she doesn’t goddamn want to.”
He’d said the words before he could think about them. My woman. She was his. He was supposed to hold her and protect her and care for her and help her and-
Everything was fucking painful.
Butcher grunted, nodding. “She’ll get through this, Mate. She’s a clever fuckin lady, she knows what she’s doing.”
Ben didn’t respond. He already fucking knew that, he knew everything about her. She was fucking perfect and a goddamn threat to Ben’s sanity.
He didn’t even notice Butcher was gone until MM coughed, and Ben realized it was just them left in the dining hall.
“What.”
“You were gone with her for a while,” MM said, watching Ben with a blank, unreadable face. “The fuck were you doing that whole time.”
“None of your fucking business.”
“It is if she’s-“
“It’s fucking not.” Ben glared at MM with all the fucking pain in his body. “It’s ours. Nobody else's.”
MM hummed, holding Ben’s glower. “Ours.”
“You’ve got a fucking problem with that? You hate me so fucking much you don’t trust me with her? When I’m the only fucking one who’s been fighting for her, doing whatever it fucking takes while you pussies-“
“I don’t trust you with her, motherfucker.” MM sneered. “She’s a good woman, and she’s too good for you. She doesn’t need you to fight for her-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben couldn’t fucking deal with this. Not when everything hurt and he could still see Her when he closed his eyes. “You can hate me for the rest of goddamn time, and tell me I’m evil or say I get off on vengeance, or whatever else makes you sleep at night, but never say shit about what you think she deserves, or needs.”
“What, you think you speak for her?” MM scoffed. “You think she needs you?”
Something stabbed deep into the Thing, and Ben had to speak through gritted teeth. “She doesn’t fucking need anyone. She wants me.” His head hurt. Something was pulling at his throat and clouding his eyes and a halo of pain was wrapping around his head. Stinging his tongue when he said Her name. “Doesn’t need you telling her what she wants. Or if I’m fucking good for her. She’s capable of making her own fucking choices.”
Look at you, defending my honor. My right to choose. Keep this up and you’ll be giving lectures at Feminist panels.
The pain was becoming blinding.
“You’re a fucking murderer, Soldier Boy.” MM stood from the table, leering at Ben. “Nothing’s going to change that, change the shit you’ve done.”
Ben’s jaw was going to break. “I know what I was.” He grunted, a lot of his anger leaking out and being replaced by just this inescapable agony. “You don’t need to fucking tell me. But I’d fucking do it again,” Ben gave MM a cold look. “I’d kill a thousand fucking people and be trapped in Russia for a million goddamn years if it brought her home.”
“And what about those people's families?” MM hissed. “Their kids, like me?”
“I’d fucking repent.” Ben sighed. He was so fucking tired. “I’d do it and add another hundred years to my sentence for every single body.” Anything. Anything to bring Her home.
“What about me,” MM was still frowning, but there was something tragic in his voice. Something Ben couldn’t call weak, because he felt it too, felt it in his pain. “What about what you fucking did to me.”
Ben said the only thing he could think of. The only thing that he could fucking mean and understand at the same time. “Whatever I fucking need to for you just fucking let her be happy.”
“With you?”
“With me.” Ben felt something hard in his throat. “Or wherever else she wants. Just goddamn happy.”
MM sighed, and Ben wished he would just fucking leave. Let Ben deal with this fucking pain alone. “She’ll fucking want it with you.”
Ben blinked at MM, something close to shock sparking through his chest. “What.”
“She’ll be happy with you. When she gets back. I can’t fucking explain it, I defiantly don’t damn understand it, but she’s real happy with you.” MM shook his head. “She sees something in you I can’t understand, don’t even know where she’s finding it, but she’s smarter than most of us. Smarter than me and Butcher, defiantly fucking smart than you. I can’t explain why, shit’s fucking baffling why, but she’ll be happy with you. Just,” MM gave Ben one last look. It wasn’t cold, wasn’t hateful. Just tired. “Try to earn it.”
It was like MM had fucking shot him. Shot Ben in the fucking chest and left him to bleed out. He stood in the dining hall, alone and in pain long after MM left, and only managed to move when the fan stuttered off and he couldn’t stand the silence.
He hadn’t earned Her. Ben could never fucking earn her. He’d held her and lost her, fucking again. He’d spent the whole fucking Christ Convenetion feeling the way the Thing was alight, burning and raging inside of him, trying to pull him around and falling into a beat that was so familiar but Ben still didn’t recognize, or know how to decipher. It had been trying to tell him something, it was always trying to tell him something, but it had been fucking feral. Roaring and howling in a language Ben didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. He’d come closer to geting, when he’d seen her. Touched Her.
Real.
Back in his arms and fucking real. Making the Thing start to break bones in his body and turn Ben into just a fucking soldier that could bring Her home. Make her smile while she was against him forever, make those feelings of sheer fucking pleasure and ease run between them when he touched her, tasted her, and just had her.
He’d fucking had Her. She’d been real, with Ben, and he’d lost her.
You didn’t lose me, Benjamin. I’ll come home.
He didn’t fucking care. It was all goddamn semantics, because Ben had failed, again, to be worthy of her. He’d listened to her and done as he’d been told, and still managed to fail Her. She wasn’t home. Ben couldn’t breathe because she wasn’t home. He’d failed to bring Her home, failed to convince her she’d done enough. That everything was worse because she wasn’t at Ben’s side, that everything hurt because he’d fucking failed. She didn’t know what she meant to him. If She knew what she meant to Ben she’d have come home. If he could break the Thing’s stupid fucking code and tell her that vital thing, she’d have understood and come home.
The Thing pulsed, and Ben knew he was wrong. Collapsing on the couch, he knew he was wrong and she wouldn’t have left. He could’ve offered Her the sun and stars and every fucking song in the world and she’d have still told him she had to see this through.
Why couldn’t he have chosen to feel like this about a woman who would just go? Leave? Just fuck the world and come home for Ben.
Because that wouldn’t have been Her. The Thing ran into Ben’s head, but it wasn’t speaking. It was pushing against the painful haze, and Ben was finding the words on his own. She’d never give up on the world. She’s too good to give up on the world. And it always has to be Her. Nothing is capable of making you feel this pain like She is.
That might be the worst fucking part of this. Was that, somewhere in this pain of Ben having lost Her. He’d left her and lost her and she still doesn’t understand that Ben can’t breathe without Her there, there was something good. She’d trusted him, to do what she needed him to do. She’d cried against him and known he’d pick her up and make it better. She’d touched him and still meant it, still wanted him even after he’d failed Her.
She still wanted him. She still wanted Ben. She’d smiled at him and laughed with him and known him like nobody ever had. Like nobody ever would, not like she did. Not like she’d pulled Ben into her and tried to tell him everything he’d needed to hear. Found every way to feed the Thing with soft words and pretty looks, and all at once, grow this pain. She was perfect, and she still wanted Ben, and he’d never fucking earn her.
That’s what breaks the pain. Snaps it open in two, and Ben with it. She wanted him. She was perfect and she wanted him and Ben hadn’t even told Her how much he missed Her. How he wasn’t sleeping and eating was an act of labor without Her there to throw crumpled napkins at his face and hang around his body while he did the dishes. How she was gone and nothing was good.
He hadn’t told Her. And she still wanted him. And Ben breaks.
It starts in his chest. Shaking something there and pushing that lump further up into his mouth. The pain tightens around his throat and brow, his eyes feel fucking weird, and the first sound echoes through the dark, empty apartment. Choked. Tired. All fucking pain and hurt.
The damn breaks, and Ben’s too goddamn exhausted to fight it. He roars into the darkness, even though he knows nobody can hear. Maybe she will. Across the city and bay, she’ll hear how much Ben fucking misses Her. How nothing is as important as Her. Home. Safe. With Ben and happy.
When he roars again, it’s strangled and he tastes salt. His eyes hurt, and it’s so fucking hard breathe. There are no drums, no violence in him. Just a fucking ache for Her, and he can’t do anything about it but try and pull it out of his brain. Run his hand over his face and through his hair and pull it back to find it wet.
He’s crying. He’s fucking crying.
Ben hadn’t fucking cried since he was a child. It had been a hundred fucking years since Ben had cried like a pussy. Weak, pathetic, and useless.
This didn’t feel useless. For reasons Ben couldn’t fucking understand, the bellows of pain escaping his body and the endless fucking pain finding its way out of his body didn’t feel useless. It felt good. It felt like a tribute, like he was leaving an offering for Her in this loneliness. This was agony and the worst fucking thing in the world and Ben had to fucking break to prove it. She couldn’t break, she wouldn’t allow herself to, so Ben would do it for Her. He’d shatter on the floor of their apartment and cling to any thought of Her as it made this pain grow. It was a lot fucking better than forgetting.
Nothing would hurt more than forgetting Her. Forgetting her laugh and smile and the way she felt. Forgetting her beautiful face and smart fucking mouth, forgetting the way she spoke and looked at Ben. Like She somehow did think he was worthy.
So Ben just cried. He knew she’d come home but he still just fucking sobbed on the couch. Alone. Missing Her, and wanting her, and waiting for her.
He’d fucking wait for Her. He’d cry for Her and be haunted by her until She was home.
He’d always wait. She’d always come home, so Ben would always fucking wait.
The Thing would keep him company, twisting and screaming in time with Ben’s tears and choked noises of pain. Remind him of every part of Her. Every part he’d lost. Every part that would come back.
Ben cried until the sun cracked the sky.
He’d wait for Her until it burned out the universe.
End Note: End of chapter check in! How we feeling, squad? We getting through this?
Also, if you haven't yet, check out the first one-shot from the reader event! I'm moving through the rest, and I think I'll upload them between chapters to keep you guys fed. No matter what, thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon!
If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
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𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔊𝔬𝔡
ˢᵗᵃʳᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵛᶦˡ, ᵖᵃʳᶜʰᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍᵒᵈ
ᵛᵃᵐᵖᶦʳᵉᵈᵉᵐᵒⁿꜝʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ × ˡᵃᵗᶦⁿᵃꜝᵒᶜ

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Freedom burned in Dulce Dollores' soul like a sacred fire. Her hollow prayers and stubborn rejection of a fate too cruel for her tender heart drove her to forbidden paths - nights of clandestine revelry with her dearest friend, where whiskey flowed like salvation and cigarette smoke curled around their laughter. Here, in these stolen moments of dancing and delirium, she tasted the liberation her spirit craved. Yet her stifled existence in 1930s Mississippi, trapped between the close-knit world of Mexican immigrants and the weathered Black sharecroppers who worked the land, could never have foretold how her destiny would collide with the devil's hunger. He came disguised in mortal flesh - a predator's eyes gleaming above a serpent's silver tongue. Remmick. From their first encounter, he recognized in Dulce something rare, something he must possess. As nightmares bled into waking hours, as menstrual stains marked sheets like sacrificial offerings, as folk superstitions whispered through the magnolia trees, Dulce waged war against his dark seduction. She would not yield to the sweet poison of his kiss. But Remmick's obsession had crystallized into destiny. And when the devil covets, he takes - whether by heaven's reluctant permission or hell's own dark designs. 𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: Here is my humble contribution to this incredible fandom with my work. In this fanfic, the idea is to really be an alternative universe within the canon of the film's plot; to bring Remmick's character, yes, but with interferences about how I see vampires, as well as to play with religious elements (mainly Catholic, which hurt and touch Remmick a lot) as well as the protagonist, a woman of Latin origin in the middle of a Mississippi that is inhospitable to outsiders. I am really putting a lot of effort, love and a little bit of madness from my clever little head to write it. I write slowly, like a quilt that you sew, part by part, so don't expect immediacy from me (unfortunately, life out here is busy) BUT I swear that the fanfic is well underway [from here on I will update as I publish the other remaining parts]. part I: published (here and on ao3, link below). part II: published (here and on ao3). part III: published (here and on ao3) 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰&ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰: ADULT CONTENT, +18. it's a dead drove - do not eat here! AU!CANON (stils remmick, some adapted vampiric workings, strong poetic license here, set exactly in 1930s), OC!FEMALE LATINA, vampirism, blood kink (ofc!!!), toxic&manipulative behaviour, angst, sexual content (oral, penetration...), dub-con, implied queer, violence and a some of gore, foul language, latin reference, catholic guilt and religious themes (seriously, there's a lot of that, be warned!!!), southren goth and a ethel cain & chelsea wolf inspo (listen hers, for real!!!); iwtv, dracula, carmilla and others vampires universes refes&inspos; some words and phrases were written in spanish, and each end of the part has its own small glossary with the translations. lmk if i missing something!!! ;) 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: ---- [if you prefer the AO3 reading experience, the fanfic will also be published on the site. you can access it through THIS LINK. ;] a great read for anyone who reads it! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ - ℌ𝔬𝔪𝔟𝔯𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔩 [wc. 7360]
𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ - 𝔓𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔡𝔞 𝔏𝔲𝔫𝔞 [wc 7480]
𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑℑ - 𝔏𝔞 𝔅𝔬𝔡𝔞 𝔑𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔞 [wc 3165]
“The Devil exists, my child, and He roams the earth. Here, among us, He lives and feeds on those who do not believe in God’s salvation… Therefore, keep true to your vows. The Christian path will shield you—your purity will keep you focused on God’s designs, and soon, so very soon, you shall witness the fulfillment of His divine promises: a decent and righteous husband. A sacred family, and the utter bliss of being a woman built upon God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit… And so, I tell you again as your Priest and your most devoted counselor: keep praying, follow God’s teachings, obey your parents, and above all—keep your soul fixed on salvation. For we alone can save ourselves.”
[...]
Remmick murmured:
"You're so wet for me, it's impossible not to devour you whole."
Moving softly, like a shadow both pursuing and more subtle than its prey, the man parted her legs, settling between her thighs as he bent forward until the tip of his nose touched her most intimate apex. Dulce closed her eyes – not from fear, but to control the electrifying sensation that overwhelmed her at such proximity. He then trailed his nose, lips and chin downward, smearing his face with the blood flowing from her. His hands gripped Dulce's thighs, pinning them to the bed, already anticipating the restless undulations of her virginal body. He waited for no permission to continue; his tongue simply descended to lap the menstrual blood before ascending to her clitoris, where it moved rhythmically, mingling saliva and blood as rough groans of primal pleasure escaped him, feeling her undulate against his tongue.
[...]
(PART I - HOMBRE MAL)
[...]
"Well now... I thought you'd understood my message." He tilted his head sideways, grinning slyly, as the woman stumbled backward toward the altar - Remmick smiled, utterly mesmerized by his prey:
"I only want to give you the best this world has to offer, Doll! No more suffering, no reprimands, no unanswered prayers—I am the one who came to save you, my love!" His voice was so soft and sweet that for a brief moment, she paused, looking at him with a mix of anguish and pity.
Remmick stood face to face with her, fang to fang. His breath carried a metallic sweetness, the pungent scent of morbid death clinging to him, yet his eyes shimmered like fragments of the twilight sky. With hands still stained by others' blood, he cupped her face without hesitation, forcing her gaze to remain locked on his:
"I cannot love you the way a human longs to be loved, not anymore... But I can free you from all your pain and introduce you to carnal pleasures, my dear. I can make you love me in your life, and in your brief death, we shall share each other. Just let me possess you, and we'll become one. Equals, one flesh, one spirit."
[...]
(PART II - PALIDA LUNA)
[...]
Remmick glanced over his shoulder at her, grinning crookedly, pressing a foot into Jeremy’s chest.
“I’m Dulce’s real husband, you idiot. While you thought you’d take everything from her… she’d already made her pact with the Devil.” He crouched, knees pinning Jeremy, claws around his throat. “Tonight, I claim what’s mine.”
(PART III - LA BODA NEGRA)

#[★] zstartrixxx#[⋆♱⋆] zstar fanfics#remmick sinners fanfic#remmick × oc#remmick x oc#remmick fanfic#remmick#jack o'connell fanfic#[𐕣] bibliotheca (files)#[🦇] zstar jack o'connell
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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 147 (Looking to the Future)
Heather's pregnancy progressed well into her second trimester. Changes in appetite and appearance were par for the course and she handled them like a seasoned pro. This baby would probably be her last, and she was grateful to be healthy, especially as construction on Buttercup Pet Clinic's remodel was well underway.
But between the spider bite in the jungle and the stress of Ash's kidnapping early in her pregnancy, good health felt like a blessing.
Conrad was always great help managing their household, and these days were no different. He walked the dog after work and spent time with the kids, giving Heather extra time to work with the architect and construction crew at her clinic.
While Ash was in San Myshuno for a weekend with the Landgraabs, the Gordons were surprised by a visit from the ghost of Boomer, Heather's white cat who died before Winterfest. Though most of the Gordons were now seasoned veterans when it came to ghosts, this was Lavender's first interaction with an ethereal being. She looked cautiously at the cat, but soon broke into giggles, leaning down to try to pat Boomer's head.
The encounter reminded Heather and Conrad not to keep Ben and Captain Whitaker waiting. Though their home was always busy and soon to be even more full, Heather brought it up the day before Ash was set to return from the city.
"Lavender loves all the pets," she said, pulling out her phone to check her schedule. "I have fewer appointments this week, and I think when Ash comes home we should go out to Deadgrass Isle with some ambrosia treats. We can leave Lavender with Hazel and Suri, but Ash should be there if he wants to be. After what you told me Rafa heard from Marco, I feel like I need to do everything I can to make him good, teach him empathy."
"We changed things," Conrad insisted. "He's not going to be whoever he was going to be."
"But he was kidnapped. Counselors say he seems fine, but what if the curse...? What if we can't change things?"
"What if nothing. The counselors are professionals, and they'd say if they thought anything was wrong."
Heather nodded. "I need you - and the counselors - to be right."
On a rainy Saturday in San Myshuno, Ash was hanging out with his father and sister Bridgette - but he was cornered, alone, by a figure he'd been attempting to avoid. He sneered at Marco's ghost, who left crystals of sand on the tiles beneath his feet. "What do you want? I don't want to help you!"
"I don't need your help! I've been trying to give you a message."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"If you don't, I'll never go away. If I don't tell you this, I'll never cross over."
"Fine. Say it or whatever."
"You've always been a brat, huh?" Marco curled his lip in frustration. "Look, in the future, you're the most celebrated college kid on the planet. You invented time travel."
"I...what?"
"That man from the future who's been all over the news? Emit Relevart only got here because you, a genius little shit, invent time travel before you turn twenty. At least you did. But we changed things."
"I'm not even ten. I don't know the first thing about time travel!"
"Maybe not now, but in one of your only interviews with the press, you said you became obsessed with the idea before high school and programmed the remote that first jumped through time for an extra credit project. You earned admiration, accolades, fame, and competition. But some people hate you for being the first, and others hate the thought of messing with time; they fear you for what you can do, and for your name."
"I haven't done anything!"
"You will! At least, you were supposed to, but taking you left you with a healthy fear of traveling through time, and I get it. That's my bad! But someone who's just as smart is out there right now hoping they'll be the one to discover time travel. They would have, if you hadn't done it first. They were close, but they're more careless than you. Since no one can get close to you - least of all Ximena - they're the one who sold her the faulty remote that got me killed."
"Who is it?"
"I'm not allowed to tell you that. I don't even think I know their real name, anyway."
"Not allowed by who?"
"The Grim Reaper! That bag of old bones broke a lot of rules to keep me here, and you don't even want to listen. But Grim won't walk me through to the other side until I tell you that you need to be the one to invent time travel or else it'll be too unstable."
"Why didn't Grim tell me himself?"
"He's not allowed to pass on last words, but we both agreed you needed to know this. The fabric of space and time is at stake here!"
"Maybe sims who mess with time travel should deal with it being unstable."
Marco growled and Ash peeled back in fear. "You don't get it. Time travel will be invented one way or another. Now that Emit's here, sims are intrigued. It's inevitable. Time travel will exist, but simanity can either do it the right way...or the wrong way."
"And I'm the right way?"
"Just barely." Marco shrugged. "I'm a bad guy, right? Bad guys want time travel, and everyone has an opinion about whether it messes with some grand design, but this is history we shouldn't mess with."
"Our friends, Felix and Lilith, are trying to make a time traveling device to help Emit find a time thief from the future. Can't they invent it instead? Then the other sim won't do it."
"You better help them, Ash Landgraab. History doesn't like to be changed too much, and I don't think they're going to do it without you."
Ash frowned. "How do you know? Why are you telling me this?"
The door opened with a click and Malcolm smiled at his son in the empty room. "Who are you talking to? And why is there sand on the floor? Where'd it come from?"
Ash looked nervously at his father. Marco had disappeared, and Ash suspected he'd never see him again, despite his unanswered questions. "Uh, Dad, can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"Sometimes, I can see ghosts. Just now, I was talking to the ghost of the man who kidnapped me."
Malcolm laughed. "What do you mean?"
"I see ghosts. Real ghosts who died, just like I almost did when I was little."
Malcolm furrowed his brow. "How long have you known you see ghosts? Do your mother and Conrad know?"
Ash nodded. "They know ghosts aren't all scary, but they can't see as many ghosts as I can."
"What did you and the ghost talk about?"
"He said I still have to be the one to invent time travel or else it'll change the future too much."
Malcolm grinned. This all sounded too far fetched to be believed, but he played along with his creative son's often wild imagination.
"Is that all? We certainly wouldn't be disappointed to have a genius inventor in the family!" ->
<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary
Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary
NOTE: Programming won the poll when I asked what skill Ash should max in his teens, and even though programming doesn't actually help with time travel via gameplay (yet?), it's all coming together with the plot!
#sims 4#sims 4 gameplay#sims 4 screenshots#sims 4 legacy#sims in bloom#ts4#ts4 gameplay#ts4 legacy#ts4 screenshots#sims 4 story#ts4 story#legacy challenge#sims legacy#ts4 legacy challenge#gen 2#brindleton bay#malcolm landgraab#blast from the past event#san myshuno
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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 24 Chapter 24 | divine liasion⌟
╰ ⌞🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇮🇳🇩🇪🇽⌝


❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

When you woke the next morning, the world had already burst into a flurry of activity, the palace buzzing with preparations for an event that, until recently, would have seemed unimaginable: a feast in your honor.
As you made your way through the corridors, the scent of fresh paint and the sound of hammers echoed off the stone walls. Servants scurried past with arms laden with decorations and linens finer than any you'd seen used at the palace.
The transformation was underway, turning the already grand halls into something out of a royal birthday celebration.
Penelope, overseeing the arrangements with a meticulous eye, caught sight of you. She waved you over, her face alight with the kind of excitement usually reserved for grand state occasions. "There you are!" she exclaimed as you approached. "Everything must be perfect for tonight. This is no ordinary feast; it's a celebration of divine favor—a rare and wondrous occasion!"
You tried to interject, to express how a simple dinner would more than suffice, but Penelope was having none of it. "Nonsense," she chided gently, her voice firm but kind. "This will be a feast to remember, complete with performances, a multitude of courses, and the finest wine. It's only fitting for someone who has been touched by Apollo himself!"
The grandeur of it all made your head spin.
You'd thought, perhaps naively, that such attention might breed resentment or envy among the other servants. Yet, as the day unfolded, you found the opposite to be true. Their excitement was palpable, their congratulations genuine.
It seemed your blessing had become a source of pride for the entire household, a curious turn of events that warmed your heart even as it baffled you.
You spent the day caught between trying to help with the preparations and being shooed away by well-meaning staff insisting you should be relaxing or preparing yourself for the evening.
Eventually, you retreated to the one place you knew you could find some peace: your shed. It was a cozy, quiet space filled with the scent of wood and oil, where the outside world's expectations couldn't reach you.
As you stepped inside, your gaze immediately fell on a new addition to the room—a small, shrine-like shelf installed near the window. It housed your old, broken lyre, now encased behind a pane of glass. This was more than just a display; it was a reminder of your beginnings, of melodies played and memories made.
Telemachus had ordered and installed it as a gift, saying it symbolized the beauty in imperfection and the music that still lived in broken things. It was a thoughtful gesture, one that had touched you deeply, yet it also served as a bittersweet reminder of the distance growing between you and him.
Lately, you found yourself thinking of Telemachus often, his image coming unbidden to your mind as you oiled and tuned your instruments. Apollo's warning about other gods and their potentially disruptive interest had stayed with you, echoing in the back of your mind like a persistent whisper.
You couldn't help but feel wary, the god's words making you cautious about your interactions, especially with the prince.
There had been moments, fleeting and charged, where you could have sworn Telemachus was trying to reach out, but each time, you found yourself pulling back, dodging these encounters with polite excuses or a sudden need to be elsewhere.
It wasn't that you wanted to avoid him; rather, you were trying to protect something fragile, something that felt as though it could be shattered by the slightest misstep—a fear that perhaps Apollo's concerns were not unfounded.
You sighed and set down the cloth you were using to polish a flute, your fingers lingering on the instrument as you lost yourself in thought. The solitude of the shed allowed you to think clearly, and yet, the quiet also made the memories and worries louder, more insistent.
You wondered about the cost of divine favor, about how much of your life would be steered by unseen forces and whispered warnings. As you pondered, lost in the maze of your own thoughts, the soft knock at the shed door pulled you abruptly back to reality.
Turning, you saw Asta stepping into the shed, a small basket in her hands. Her presence was always a bit startling, the sharpness of her gaze and the boldness of her demeanor setting her apart from the other servants. Today, however, there was a softer edge to her usual briskness.
"I brought you lunch," she announced, holding up the basket which gave off the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and herbs. "Callias is tied up with preparations for tonight and sent me with this." She paused, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she added, "He figured you might forget to eat, given... everything."
Instead of making a quick exit, which you half-expected, Asta settled down on a nearby crate, setting the basket between you. She began unpacking it—there were slices of bread, some cheese, a few apples, and a small flask of cider.
It was simple fare, but the thoughtfulness behind it warmed you more than the food itself could.
"You're not leaving?" you asked, a bit surprised by her decision to stay.
Asta shrugged, her eyes meeting yours with an uncharacteristic softness. "Thought you might want some company," she said casually, though you caught a hint of careful consideration in her voice. "Besides, I'm curious about all these divine shenanigans you're involved in."
You couldn't help but chuckle at her phrasing, the tension easing slightly from your shoulders. Asta's straightforwardness, her refusal to tiptoe around subjects like everyone else had been doing lately, was refreshing.
"Divine shenanigans," you echoed, accepting the plate she offered. "I suppose that's one way to put it."
Asta watched you as you started on your meal, her keen eyes missing nothing. "You know," she began, her tone casual but her gaze sharp, "most people would be thrilled to be in your shoes. Divine favor, Apollo's blessing, healing powers—it's the stuff of legends."
You nodded, swallowing a bite of cheese. "I know it sounds amazing, and it is, but it's also... a lot." You sighed, setting down your food and meeting her gaze. "It's not just about the powers or the blessings. It's the expectations, the responsibility. Everyone looking at you like you're supposed to know what to do all the time."
Asta nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Pressure," she said simply. "You're under a lot of it, aren't you?"
More than you could express, you thought. "Yes," you admitted out loud, grateful for her straightforwardness. "And there's always this worry about what's expected of me by the gods themselves. Apollo's been kind, but his sister, Artemis, came by last night. She made it clear that I need to prove myself worthy of his favor."
"Artemis?" Asta raised an eyebrow, impressed. "That's serious. She doesn't get involved lightly."
You chuckled dryly. "Tell me about it. She was... intense."
Asta leaned back, considering your words. "You know," she said after a moment, "it might not mean much, but you've got allies here, too. Not just divine ones. People who believe in you, not because of Apollo or any god but because of who you are."
Her words, simple and sincere, struck a chord within you. Looking at her, you felt a swell of gratitude. "Thank you, Asta," you said, meaning every word. "That means a lot to me."
She shrugged, her usual brusqueness returning as she sat back, looking around the shed. "Don't mention it. Just remember, no god or man decides your worth. You do. Eat your lunch, and don't forget that."
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the shed were the soft sipping of your cider and the gentle nibbling on the bread and cheese. Asta watched you in silence, her gaze thoughtful, almost assessing. Then, breaking the quiet, she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.
"How long have you been working here, anyway?" she asked, her tone casual but clearly interested.
"Since I was about eight or nine," you replied, setting down your cup. "It's been a long time, feels like I've grown up with these walls watching over me."
Asta nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer. "And the royals," she continued, "what are they like when there aren't any guests around?"
You smiled, remembering countless private moments that revealed the true nature of those you served. "They're exactly themselves, if not more relaxed. King Odysseus loves recounting tales from his travels, while Queen Penelope is always either weaving or tending to her gardens. Prince Telemachus is an enigma, engaging in various activities to improve both himself and the future of the kingdom."
"And the seasons here in Ithaca," she pressed on, "are they harsh?"
"Just the winter, but only for a week or two. It's mostly mild, which is good for the crops and the vineyards," you explained, enjoying the flow of the conversation.
Asta's eyes sparkled with more questions. "Does Ithaca allow its servants to marry or date?"
"Yes, as long as it doesn't interfere with our work or loyalty to the kingdom," you responded, noticing how her face lit up slightly at the question.
Seizing the opportunity, you decided to ask about her homeland. "And how about Bronte? What's it like there?"
Asta's expression shifted to one of mixed feelings. "Bronte is... well, it's Bronte. More rigid and colder in demeanor than here, but not as cookie-cutter about relationships as you might think."
You blinked, catching the implication before hesitantly asking, almost in a whisper, "So, same-sex couples are... accepted there?" You trailed off, catching yourself midway, unsure if it was too personal a question.
Catching your hesitation, Asta smirked, clearly amused by your cautious approach. "Yes," she confirmed, her smirk broadening into a confident smile. "It doesn't matter the couples but the power the couples can have."
You were in awe—not that same-sex couples weren't allowed in Ithaca, they were; it's just not that common, and you were surprised Bronte was so open, especially since you'd expected the opposite. Your preconceptions of Bronte had painted it as a place far stricter and less progressive in its social policies compared to the more laid-back and inclusive Ithaca.
Asta seemed to read your surprise, and her smirk softened into a more genuine smile. "Bronte might be harsh in many ways—its politics, its expectations from its servants, its climate even—but when it comes to personal relationships, there's a surprising level of... let's say, liberalism, as long as those relationships don't threaten the existing power structures or public duties."
"Really?" you responded, intrigued and encouraged by this new information. The conversation was shedding a new light on Bronte, a complexity you hadn't anticipated.
"Yeah," Asta continued, leaning back against the wall of the shed, her arms crossed comfortably. "Lysandra and I never had to hide what we are to each other. It's known, and as long as our work isn't affected, no one really bothers us about it."
That was a progressive stance that you hadn't expected from a place like Bronte, known more for its strictness and less for its progressive social policies. It was a revelation that made you rethink not only your views on Asta's homeland but also on how diverse the practices and policies of different regions could be, despite overarching cultural norms.
"Thank you for sharing that," you said genuinely, feeling a newfound respect for Asta and a curiosity about her culture that went beyond the usual tales of rigid hierarchies and strict regimens.
Asta nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. "Everyone has their battles, their secrets," she mused. "Sometimes, knowing we're not as alone or as different as we might think can make all the difference."
Encouraged by the open and honest dialogue, you decided to delve a bit deeper, especially about someone both of you knew well. "What about Callias?" you asked, curiosity piqued about his role back in Bronte compared to his demeanor here in Ithaca.
Asta's face softened, and she let out a small sigh. "Callias... he's been in Bronte's service the longest among our group here. He was actually gifted to Princess Andreia when she was just a child—bought from a neighboring kingdom. It was supposed to be this grand gesture, securing a servant who could grow up alongside her, loyal only to her."
She shook her head slightly, her gaze drifting as if seeing back through the years. "But Callias, he's always been different from the rest of us—more bubbly, sunny. He has this light in him that just doesn't fit the mold of Bronte's usual servant. And it always seemed like Andreia is drawn to that light, trying to snuff it out or control it."
You listened intently, your image of Callias—the always cheerful and seemingly carefree man—gaining new layers of complexity.
Asta continued, her voice laced with a mix of admiration and concern. "Since being here in Ithaca, though, I've noticed a change in him. Back at Bronte, it looked like he was almost giving in, like the constant pressure was finally getting to him. But here, it's as if he's found another reason to fight, to keep that light burning."
The way Asta described it painted a picture of a Callias who was more resilient than anyone might have suspected, someone fighting a silent battle against expectations and pressures you hadn't fully appreciated before.
"Being away from Bronte, away from those suffocating expectations... it's done him good," Asta concluded, a small smile creeping back onto her face. "He's happier, more himself. Whatever it is about Ithaca—or maybe someone here—it's giving him strength."
The implication hung in the air, subtle yet clear. Asta's observation not only highlighted Callias's struggles but also hinted at the positive impact your environment, perhaps even your presence, had on him.
Feeling a newfound respect for Callias and a deeper understanding of the invisible burdens he carried, you nodded, grateful for Asta's insights. "Thank you for sharing that. It's... it's good to know he's doing better here."
Asta nodded in response to your thanks, then rose and picked up the now-empty basket. As she headed for the door, her footsteps echoed softly in the quiet shed. She paused at the threshold, turning back to you with a smile that held both camaraderie and respect.
"Congratulations again," she said, her voice carrying a genuine warmth. "I'm really looking forward to the feast tonight. It's not every day we get to celebrate something as special as divine favor."
With a final nod, she stepped out of the shed, letting the door close gently behind her. Left alone with your thoughts, you felt a renewed sense of determination.
Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn't face them alone. And with friends like Asta, you were reminded of the strength that lay in human connections, perhaps the most powerful blessing of all.
☆

☆
As the sun set, the feast began in full swing, transforming the palace ballroom into a vibrant spectacle of light and color. The decorations blended the colors of Ithaca and Bronte, symbolizing the union of two cultures on this special occasion.
Lanterns hung from silken cords crisscrossed above the dancing area, casting a warm glow that flickered like stars come down to join the celebration. Tables laden with an array of dishes lined the edges of the courtyard: roasted meats with herbs, fresh seafood drizzled in olive oil, bowls of ripe fruit, and trays of sweet pastries that made the air sweet with their scent.
Even townspeople had been invited, a gesture of goodwill from the palace, ensuring that the celebration was as inclusive as it was extravagant.
You found yourself on the dance floor, the music a lively blend of Ithacan flutes and Brontean drums, creating a rhythm that was irresistible. Callias, ever the spirited dancer, had pulled you into a group dance with a few other Bronte servants.
Laughter and cheers filled the air as you all moved in sync, the steps a mix of both your cultures' traditional dances, which some inventive soul had woven together for this event. The dance was a spirited affair, everyone moving in a circle, hands joined, then breaking apart to clap hands with partners across from them before spinning and rejoining hands.
Callias, leading your part of the circle, danced with a grace that belied his usual playful demeanor, his movements sharp and sure. Every time you spun into him, his hands were steady, guiding you with gentle pressure on your back, his smile wide and infectious.
As the tempo of the music changed, signaling another segment of the dance, you were twirled swiftly into another circle, switching to a new partner on the dance floor. This time it was Kieran, who caught you deftly, his own movements confident and synchronizing perfectly with the rhythm.
Your blue dress, chosen by Penelope for this occasion, swept the floor elegantly with every spin, the fabric shimmering under the lantern light like the surface of a tranquil sea at night.
Not too long after Asta left you earlier, a servant had come to fetch you, sent by Penelope herself. The Queen had insisted that you spend the remaining time before the feast getting ready with her assistance, refusing to take no for an answer.
It was a whirlwind of preparations where Penelope played both stylist and confidante, choosing a stunning blue dress that matched the evening's aesthetic—intertwining the blues of Ithaca with subtle silver threads reflective of Bronte's influence.
While you were transformed under her expert hands, Penelope had talked incessantly about the significance of the evening. "It's all about you tonight," she had said, bustling around you with an array of cosmetics and jewelry. "This is a celebration of your new place within our community and under Apollo's favor. You must look the part, my dear."
Every objection you raised about the grandeur of it all was skillfully overturned by Penelope's unyielding vision of how the evening should honor you. "Nonsense," she'd chuckled when you expressed concern about the extravagance. "This is no ordinary celebration. It's every bit deserving of the highest honors we can provide. You've brought us all together, bridged worlds with your unique touch, and tonight, we celebrate that bridge."
Now, as you danced with Kieran, feeling the weight of the queen's words and the elegance of your attire, you couldn't help but admit there was a certain thrill in being the center of such positive attention.
Kieran, aware of your momentarily distracted smile, raised an eyebrow playfully. "You look absolutely regal tonight, you know?" he said over the music, his voice warm with genuine admiration.
"Thank you, Kieran," you replied, the music carrying your spirits higher. "It feels surreal, almost like a dream."
"Well," he grinned, spinning you once more before the dance ended, "tonight, you're the star of the dream. Enjoy it."
As the song drew to a close and you both applauded the musicians, you felt a blend of exhilaration and nerves for the rest of the evening's festivities.
The crowd on the dance floor, including Kieran, was pulsing with energy, calling eagerly for another dance. But before the band could strike up again, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as Odysseus stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate attention.
Clearing his throat, Odysseus raised his hands, signaling for quiet before beginning to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, and dear friends," he began, his voice booming across the hall, "tonight we gather not only to revel in our shared joys and cultural heritage but to mark a momentous occasion."
Odysseus' eyes found yours in the crowd, and he smiled warmly, a rare, public display of affection that only heightened your sense of what was to come.
"It is with great pride and profound respect," he continued, "that we elevate one among us, who has shown invaluable contributions to our kingdom but also possesses a unique connection to the divine. It is only fitting that such unique dedication be formally recognized." You froze, your heart skipping a beat. "Henceforth, she will be known as our Divine Liaison, reflecting her newfound status and the trust we place in her."
The courtyard erupted in applause, but you barely heard it over the rush of blood in your ears. Divine Liaison? The role sounded prestigious, important, and utterly terrifying.
This was far beyond anything you had expected when you agreed to help out at the docks and ultimately reveal your favor.
Before you could protest or even process the full weight of what was happening, Penelope quickly joined her husband, her expression radiating pride and encouragement. "My dear, you have always been more than just a handmaiden to us," she said, her voice carrying over the crowd. "You've touched our lives in ways that can only be described as divine intervention. This role, this title, it's merely a formality recognizing what you've always been to us."
Your mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other. The role, the responsibilities, the potential changes to your life—it was almost too much to take in all at once. How could you, just a handmaiden who had stumbled upon divine favor, accept such a title?
Sensing your apprehension, Odysseus spoke again, his tone softer but still filled with the king's resolve. "I understand your hesitation," he said, addressing both you and the assembly. "But consider this: we do this not just to honor you, but to ensure that no other kingdom thinks to sway you from Ithaca. Your talents, your connection to Apollo—they are rare gifts, and it would be remiss of us not to acknowledge your importance, not just to our court but to our future. This title will ensure that all know you are under our care, valued and essential to the heart of our land."
The logic was sound, almost cunning in its protective pragmatism. His strategic framing of the role—as a necessity for the kingdom's prestige as much as a recognition of your worth—made it harder to simply decline. It was a move to safeguard you and Ithaca's standing among the kingdoms, a political play as much as it was a personal honor.
Finally, gathering your wits, you nodded, accepting the mantle being offered. "Thank you, Your Majesty," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. "I'm honored and will do my utmost to fulfill this role with the dignity and dedication it deserves."
The crowd cheered, and Penelope came forward, embracing you. As she stepped back, she whispered, "We are so proud of you," reinforcing the familial warmth that had always underpinned your interactions with the royal family.
And as the evening resumed, with music filling the air once more and dancers returning to the floor, you felt a new weight on your shoulders but also a newfound determination.
Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn't face them alone.

A/N: guyyysssss! i'm so happy and sad becasue i just finished plotting out the rest of the book in my notes 😭😭 (imo) i feel like its an absolute doozy, but i think y'all gon like it haha... but also update #3! last one will be up in a sec (i have these randomly scheduled ahead as an incentive to write on wattpad, so i don't really know when these will be posted, exactly and my sis posts these on my other platforms when this get loaded)
Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre
#xani-writes: godly things#epic the musical#epic the ocean saga#epic the musical fanfic#jorge rivera herrans#the ocean saga#epic the musical x reader#greek mythology#greek gods#the odyssey#the odyssey x reader#etl#the troy saga#the cyclops saga#telemachus x reader#apollo x reader#hermes x reader#xani-writes: EPIC multi ml#x reader#greek gods x reader#apollo x you#telemachus#odysseus#penelope of ithaca#odysseus of ithaca#telemachus of ithaca#telemachus epic the musical#telemachus etm#apollo etm#hermes x you
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Sprite Time!
Sprite work is underway! I'm re-doing sprites for Day 1 since I've gotten used to drawing Mychael the way I imagined him to look. His sprites were so scrunkly back when I was rushing for the game jam haha! His sprites didn't match the vibe of his CGs at all, which bothered me a lot.
That said, I'll probably continue on to make Day 2 sprites once I've got my groove going. (Yes, there's a large number for Day 2 but keep in mind it's minor facial changes to the sprite!)
CG work will have to be put on hold as I finish the sprites but with the way things are going I might be able to finish Progress 3 and 4 relatively close to each other? We'll see!
For now, there's a sneak peek of the first CG you'll encounter in Day 2 (spoilers) under the cut! And a direct comparison of an old sprite from Day 1 with a new one!
There's still some coding to do, such as a gender option for MC's cat, but I'll worry about those later once I've got all the visual assets ready!!
Thanks for reading! 🍄❤️
Finished CG
Old Sprite vs New Sprite
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THREE POINTS WHERE TWO LINES MEET ✦ DR3


✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader
✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 10.6K words
✦ TRACK LIMITS: jelousy, fluff, angst, depresh sesh with Danielito.
✦ MAY'S RADIO: TA-DAAA! First fic of 2025 💪🏽 I was dying to get to thissss that I started writing it back in June, way before I even started Revenant 😅 dialogues are my nightmare but I reaaaally tried to add as much as I could so I hope you guys like this! Alsoo, first official Dan-Y/N encounter since their breakup lezzz gooo 😎
Part of The Joker & The Queen series | Set during Revenant.
divider: cafekitsune
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As spring unfolded its tender touch during the second week of May, the gentle breezes and soft sunlight of the Venetian landscape painted the city with a palette of warmth and tranquility. Throughout the day, the sun casted its golden rays upon the city's timeless architecture and labyrinthine canals, infusing every corner with a sense of ethereal beauty.
He could see the people around him, familiar and unfamiliar faces alike as the sun dipped slowly below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the picturesque city as anticipation hung in the air like delicate lace. Chloe and Scotty's wedding weekend was in full swing, with laughter and love weaving through every corner of the estate.
As Daniel stepped into the elegant hall of the hotel where the rehearsals were being held, his heart fluttered with a mix of nerves and anticipation. He knew she was part of Chloe’s bridesmaid entourage—the bride made it known to him every chance she had these past months, as a way to prepare him for that moment? To warn him to behave? All of the above? Who knew; he certainly did not.
It had been so long since he last saw her, and now, with the wedding rehearsals underway, he couldn't shake the feeling of excitement tinged with uncertainty. He scanned the gathering group, hoping to catch a glimpse of her familiar figure among the throng of guests, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Let's start!” came the voice of the wedding coordinator, breaking through Daniel's thoughts. He shifted nervously, his eyes darting around in search of her, but she remained elusive. “Are we, um, all here?” Daniel asked, his voice betraying a hint of disappointment.
Chloe, having been close enough to hear it, exchanged a knowing glance with Daniel before replying, “Yes, Dan. We're all here.” Her words held a deeper meaning that only he seemed to grasp, and he fell silent, his mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions as she left to take her place at the back of the forming line of bridesmaids and groomsmen where Lance was already waiting for her.
As the rehearsal unfolded, Daniel couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment mingled with a glimmer of hope. She was nowhere to be seen in that room, but there was one groomsman without a partner. Despite the festive atmosphere surrounding him, and as he watched the bridal party practice their steps, his thoughts drifted to her, wondering where she could be now. Daniel couldn't shake the sense of longing that lingered in his heart, a silent ache for the one who was conspicuously absent from the proceedings.
The evening progressed with lots of laughter caused by shared shenanigans—with him being one of the main perpetrators—and tears of sweet affection. He willed his head—and his heart—to shake off all the worries surrounding the mysterious absence of a certain Latina singer. It wasn’t right, he told himself. They were not together; in fact, he was in a happy relationship with a sweet and beautiful girl who helped him go through his calamitous last year as a driver for the team in Wokings. Someone who was waiting for him in their hotel room unaware that his thoughts were riddled with eyes like a kaleidoscope, ever-changing and full of wonder, and an adventurous and kind personality to complement them.
In the hours leading up to the wedding, Daniel found himself surrounded by the groom and his band of groomsmen, their laughter echoing through the luxurious suite where they had gathered. Scotty, the groom-to-be, was the center of attention, his nerves masked by an infectious grin as he basked in the camaraderie of his closest friends.
Amidst the banter and jests about Scotty's impending journey into married life, Daniel couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of her that plagued his mind. As he joined in the laughter and good-natured ribbing, a part of him remained lost in a world of uncertainty, wondering if she would make it to the wedding, if she would grace the occasion with her presence.
As Daniel and Scotty shared a moment away from the hustle and bustle of wedding preparations, Daniel couldn't resist the urge to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind. With a casual tone masking the underlying curiosity, Daniel sidled up to Scotty, hoping to glean some insight into her absence.
“Hey, man,” Daniel began, trying to keep his voice light as he casually leaned against the nearby railing. “Uh, I noticed Y/N wasn't at the rehearsals earlier. Everything okay with her?”
Scotty glanced at Daniel, a knowing glint in his eye as he caught onto the true reason behind Daniel's inquiry. With a small smirk, he leaned in closer, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Ah, mate, don't worry about her,” Scotty replied, his tone filled with amusement. “She's still Chloe's bridesmaid. She just had some schedule issues, couldn't make it to the rehearsals.”
Daniel's eyebrows lifted in surprise, relief washing over him at the explanation. “Really? That’s it?”
Scotty chuckled, nodding in confirmation. “Yep, that's it. But you know Chloe, she's always got everything under control. When Sparky apologized profusely to her, telling her she had to decline the role, she refused to not have her by her side. So she told her that she shouldn’t worry, she knows that she’s capable of walking in a straight line.”
Daniel couldn't help but laugh at the image of the blonde heiress' straightforward response, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders at the reassurance that there was nothing amiss. With a grateful smile, Daniel thanked Scotty for clearing up the mystery, the tension that had been lingering in his mind dissipating into the warm evening air.
As they rejoined the festivities, a sense of ease settled over him, surprising him. He convinced himself that it didn’t mean anything else but an innocent curiosity. But deep down, he couldn't help but look forward to the possibility of seeing her once more.
As he made his way to the canals where the wooden runabouts awaited to ferry the wedding party to the venue, a flurry of emotions churned within him. The anticipation of the impending ceremony mingled with a sense of apprehension as thoughts of Y/N lingered at the forefront of his mind. He glanced around, the bustling activity of the waterfront doing little to distract him from the turmoil within. He knew he was only moments away from seeing her again.
Thump, thump, thump, his heart quickened its pace in a tumultuous symphony.
Despite his attempts to maintain a composed exterior, subtle signs of his inner turmoil began to betray his true feelings. His fingers fidgeted nervously with the buttons on his camera, betraying the restless energy that coursed through him. It was just the jitters and anticipation in the air, he tried to convince himself.
Despite the thrumming excitement that pulsed through his veins, a subtle undercurrent of anxiety gnawed at his insides. What would she say? How would she react to seeing him after so long? Would she even greet him or just completely ignore his presence? Even though he once was able to read her perfectly, people can change a lot in a year—he was the perfect image for that statement. And he knows his words and actions in the past had hurt her deeply. And if she decided he was not worthy of a tiny bit of her attention, he’d understand. His heart would have to learn to, too.
The wooden runabout cut through the tranquil waters of the Venetian canals, its sleek form gliding effortlessly beneath the warm Mediterranean sun. Daniel sat among the groomsmen, the camaraderie of the group, the laughter and banter, provided a welcome distraction from the nervous anticipation that pulsed through him.
As the boat rounded a bend in the canal, the wedding venue came into view, its elegant façade bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. A surge of adrenaline coursed through Daniel's veins as they drew nearer, the realization that the moment he had been waiting for was finally at hand.
With each passing moment, the anticipation grew, the air crackling with energy as they approached the dock. As the runabout slowed to a stop, Daniel's heart raced with excitement, his gaze fixed on the venue ahead. Just a few more minutes.
As he scanned the crowd, he could see guests lined the pier, from the bride and groom's families to friends, all gathered to celebrate the love and union of Scotty and Chloe.
Then, amidst the gentle lapping of the water against the wooden dock, another sleek runabout emerged on the horizon. Its silhouette glided gracefully through the shimmering waters, its occupants a vision of elegance and grace. Daniel's breath caught in his throat as he watched the bridesmaid runabout draw nearer, his pulse quickening with each passing moment.
And then, as the runabout neared the dock and came into full view, Daniel's gaze locked onto her. She stood at the bow of the boat, her figure illuminated by the soft afternoon light, a vision of beauty that took his breath away. Her long, flowing taupe dress cascaded elegantly down her back, the neckline dipped modestly drawing the eye to the décolletage while hinting at a subtle allure that captivated him instantly.
As she stepped onto the dock, her eyes met his, a fleeting moment of connection that sent a surge of electricity coursing through him. In that instant, everything else faded away—the bustling crowd, the scenic backdrop of Venice—and all that mattered was the magnetic pull between them, drawing them inexorably closer with each passing heartbeat.
Daniel felt a rush of emotions wash over him as he drank in the sight of her, her presence stirring something deep within his soul. Despite the passing time and the distance that had separated them, the connection between them remained palpable, a silent reminder of the bond they shared.
The breeze gently tousled her hair, framing her face with an ethereal glow. As she approached with the rest of the bridesmaids, for a fleeting moment, he dared to hope that she was coming to speak to him, that they would have a chance to exchange words amidst the bustling crowd.
As she drew closer, Daniel's pulse quickened with anticipation, his eyes fixed on her with a mixture of longing and apprehension. He could feel the weight of their shared history hanging in the air, the memories of their past flooding his mind with a bittersweet intensity.
But as she reached him, her gaze met his once more with a polite smile and a tiny nod of her head in acknowledgment. Daniel's heart sank with disappointment as he realized that she was simply acknowledging his presence, nothing more. There was no lingering glance, no hint of the connection that once bound them together.
With a heavy heart, he watched as she walked past him, he could see her greeting her partner with a bright smile and a cheerful hello, arm in arm as they made their way to their designated places.
And yet, despite the ache of longing that lingered within him, Daniel couldn't help but admire the grace and poise with which she carried herself. She was a vision of elegance and beauty, her presence commanding attention even as she moved past him with quiet determination.
Once the wedding ceremony commenced, Daniel found himself swept up in a whirlwind of emotions, his eyes fixated on the breathtaking scene unfolding before him. The Italian vineyard-turned-venue was adorned with a constellation of white floral arrangements and greenery, creating an atmosphere of romance and enchantment that seemed to permeate the air.
His attention was drawn to the front of the venue as the bridal procession began, and his heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of Y/N walking down the aisle with one of the groomsmen by her side. She was radiant, her beauty illuminated by the natural light bathing the place.
Once they reached the end of the aisle, everyone took a seat at the front. He was seated on the third row, giving him the perfect view of the Latin artist who was sitting on the second row at his right. As the ceremony progressed, the vows were exchanged and the couple pledged their love to one another, while Daniel found himself lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. Despite his best efforts to focus on the proceedings unfolding before him, his attention was drawn inexorably to her, his eyes tracing her every movement with an intensity he couldn't quite explain. He knew he was being selfish and stupid, he knew his girlfriend was right behind him, but his brain was too in sync with his heart at the moment to care.
She didn’t look at him once.
His heart longed for just one glance, one opportunity to feel her gaze on him, but her eyes stayed glued to the couple. Teary-eyed and soft, and her smile…
My God, her smile.
Her smile had a way of lighting up her entire face. There was something infectious about the way her lips curved upwards, something that made it impossible not to smile in return.
At one point during the ceremony, Daniel glanced over his shoulder to see Blake watching him from the back row, sitting next to the Austrian-Portuguese actress, a knowing and disapproving look in his eyes. Daniel's heart skipped a beat as he realized that Blake had noticed his behavior, his thoughts laid bare for all to see.
It was clear to Blake that his friend's feelings for Y/N ran deep, despite the passage of time and the heartache that had ensued. As he sat next to Heidi, Daniel's current girlfriend, Blake couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the girl. He could see the way her eyes flickered with uncertainty as she observed Daniel's glances directed at Y/N, a silent witness to the undeniable affection that still lingered.
Despite his loyalty to his friend, Blake couldn't ignore the underlying sense of guilt that gnawed at him. He knew that Heidi deserved better than to be caught in the crossfire of Daniel's unresolved feelings for Y/N. And as he watched the scene unfold before him, Blake couldn't help but feel a sense of sorrow for all those involved.
After the newlyweds sealed their union with a tender kiss and walked down the aisle to the cheers and applause from those in attendance, he made his way to the pier accompanied by Blake and Heidi, a pang of guilt tugged at his heart as he observed their easy camaraderie, the warmth of their interaction highlighting the contrast to the unsettled feelings brewing within him. Even as he engaged in small talk, his heart wasn’t in it.
As they boarded the wooden runabout, Daniel's conflicting emotions threatened to consume him. On one hand, there was the comfort and easiness of his relationship with Heidi, the stability she offered amidst the chaos of his fast-paced life. Yet, on the other hand, there was the lingering memory of Y/N, her presence haunting him like a ghost from the past. Deep down, he couldn't shake the gnawing sense of longing that tugged at his heart, a silent plea for resolution amidst the tempestuous sea of emotions that threatened to engulf him.
He would approach her at the party and he’d ask her how she's been, he decided. Another wave of thoughts crashed into his head. Did she come alone? If she didn’t, did she come with a friend or a date? Sure, he knows about her new relationship. Richard? Rafael? Raúl? Whatever his name was, she looked happy.
As the yacht filled with the star-studded guest list, Chloe & Scotty’s Italian Market Fiesta basked in the last rays of the setting sun. Daniel, now in an emerald-colored suit with a floral shirt underneath, boarded the luxurious vessel with Heidi’s hand clasped in his. After being throughoutly lectured by Blake, which included a very serious “you need to get a grip, mate”, he willed himself to enjoy the party and focus on his girlfriend, who by the way looked stunning in a long dark blue dress with a straight-across neckline.
But, as if being mocked by fate, she appeared. Daniel's breath caught in his throat as he watched Y/N make her way onto the deck, her figure bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Apparently, he wasn’t alone in his idea of a quick outfit change. If she looked breathtakingly beautiful before, she looked intoxicatingly divine with her majestic blue, backless halter dress clinging to her curves in all the right places.
But Daniel's heart sank as he realized that she wasn't alone. Beside her stood another figure, tall and imposing, his presence commanding attention even from a distance. Though Daniel couldn't see his face clearly, there was something about the way the brown-haired man carried himself that spoke of strength and confidence.
As Y/N and her companion made their way inside the yacht, Daniel couldn't tear his gaze away. He felt a pang of jealousy gnaw at him. And yet, despite the ache in his heart, he couldn't help but admire the way she looked, the way she moved or the way she seemed to light up when the brunette whispered in her ear.
Despite his best efforts to push down the rising tide of jealousy and longing, Daniel couldn't help but feel a pang of regret with each stolen glance at the pair. He watched as they danced together, shared kisses and what struck him harder was the way she looked at him. He’s seen that look in her eyes before—Hell, he was the reflection on those bright eyes once.
“Hey, isn't that Rúben Dias over there?” Heidi wondered aloud, making their little group turn and glance in the direction of the singer and her companion, “He’s a Portuguese footballer, he plays on the national team.” she explained once she saw one of their friends’ questioning gaze.
“Oh yeah, that's him! He's a beast on the field, one of the best defenders out there.” added excitedly Sean, Scotty’s younger brother.
“Yeah, he's been killing it for Manchester City lately. Solid player. Considered one of the best defenders in the world, actually.” one of the group chimed in.
“Y/N seems like she has a thing for #3 athletes, doesn't she?” Another one jested making the group chuckle as they eyed Daniel waiting for his reaction, but he could only offer them a fake smile.
“Hey, can't blame her! I’ve met Rúben before, he is a class act on and off the field.” his girlfriend spoke up in their defense.
As Blake observed Daniel's reserved demeanor amidst the lively chatter of their friends, a pang of empathy tugged at his heart. He could sense the maelstrom brewing beneath the surface of Daniel's quiet façade, the storm of emotions raging within him as he listened to their friends discuss Y/N and her new boyfriend.
Despite Daniel's best efforts to conceal his feelings, Blake could see the turmoil etched into the lines of his friend's face—the subtle tensing of his jaw, the distant look in his eyes. It was instantly clear to Blake that Daniel was grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, torn between his lingering feelings for Y/N and the painful reality of her newfound happiness with someone else.
“Seriously, she has good taste.” declared one of their mates’ girlfriends.
Daniel listened intently as his friends continued to sing Rúben's praises, absorbing every detail about the man who had captured Y/N's attention.
The long-haired blonde turned to him suddenly, “Daniel, have you met him before?”
His eyes widened a little, clearly caught off guard “No, uh—” he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that had suddenly found its way there. “I haven't had the pleasure.”
“Well, he seems like a great guy. She looks really happy with him.” Blake, ever the diplomat, tried to end the topic for his friends’ sakes.
“Yeah, she does. They make a cute couple.”
“Definitely. You can tell there's something special between them.”
And they kept going. Some people just couldn’t grasp subtle cues it seems.
“And did you see the way she looks at him? It's like she's looking at her whole world.”
He needed to remove himself from this conversation, and he needed to do it fast. It won't be long until he could not fake the unbothered façade anymore.
He leaned toward Heidi to tell her he was heading to grab a drink. For a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes searching his face like she could see the turmoil he was trying so hard to hide. He worried she actually could. Something flickered in her expression—hesitation, or maybe quiet understanding—but it was gone as quickly as it came. She offered him a small smile and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, whispering a small okay. So he excused himself to the group and made his way to the open bar.
Daniel stood near the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey that was more for appearances than comfort. He couldn’t seem to focus on the conversations swirling around him, his gaze consistently drifting toward the far side of the room. There she was—Y/N L/N, his Chip, though she hadn’t been his for over a year. She glided across the room with the same effortless grace she always had, only now her hand was looped securely through the arm of Rúben Dias.
He clenched his jaw as he watched them laugh together, her eyes sparkling in the soft light. It wasn’t fair. How could she still have this effect on him? Worse, how could she look so at ease, so radiant, when his chest felt like it was being crushed by the weight of her absence?
“Bro, what the hell are you doing?” Blake’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. Daniel turned to find his best friend giving him a pointed look.
“What d’you mean?” Daniel replied, feigning ignorance as he took a sip of his drink.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Blake shot back, crossing his arms. “You’ve been staring at her all night. Do you think Heidi hasn’t noticed? Because she has.”
Daniel winced, glancing over to where Heidi was engaged in conversation with their group of friends. She hadn’t said anything, but he knew Blake was right. He wasn’t exactly being subtle.
Blake stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Look, I get it, man. Seeing her with someone else—it’s brutal. And I told you this already, but you need to pull yourself together. Either go talk to her or let it go, because this… whatever this is—it’s not fair to anyone, least of all yourself.”
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “What am I supposed to say to her, man? ‘Sorry I broke your heart, but I’m still not over you’? That I hate seeing her with him even though she deserves to be happy? What good would that do?”
Blake sighed, his expression softening. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But sitting here stewing in your jealousy isn’t helping either. If you want to move on, you have to face her. Otherwise, you’ll just keep torturing yourself—and dragging everyone else down with you.”
But what if he didn’t want to move on from her?
Daniel looked back across the room, his heart twisting as Y/N leaned into Rúben’s side, her smile wide and genuine. Blake was right, of course. He always was. But knowing what to do and having the courage to do it were two very different things.
For now, all Daniel could do was watch and wonder if he’d ever get the chance to tell her the truth—that losing her was the biggest mistake of his life.
Daniel exhaled shakily, his grip tightening on his glass. Blake had walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, but the pep talk only added fuel to the fire of emotions raging within him. He knew he didn’t deserve Y/N’s forgiveness, much less a sliver of her attention, not after everything he’d done. But seeing her here, in person, for the first time in over a year—alive and glowing in a way that made his heart ache—was undoing him.
He thought he’d buried these feelings, shoved them deep down where they couldn’t hurt him anymore. But now they were surging back like a tidal wave, crashing into him with a force that left him feeling dizzy and as though a boulder was sitting on his chest. Every laugh she shared with Rúben, every gentle touch between them, felt like another twist of the knife.
She hadn’t so much as glanced at him all night, her gaze firmly fixed on the footballer, as though he were the center of her universe. And maybe he was now. The way she looked at the Portuguese man—it was devastating. It wasn’t just admiration; it was awe, reverence, the kind she reserved for things that truly moved her.
Daniel had seen that look before—back when she’d gazed at him with the same adoration, back when she believed in him, in them. Now, it was directed at someone else, and it felt like losing her all over again. He thought about how she used to light up when talking about her favorite museum pieces, those marble statues she loved so much. She’d tell him their stories with wide eyes, her voice animated with wonder, like they were alive to her. That was how she looked at Rúben now.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He was angry at himself. Angry that he’d let her slip through his fingers. Angry that he hadn’t been the man she needed when it mattered most.
But he was trying.
Since that disastrous day in Bahrain when everything fell apart, Daniel had been putting in the work. Therapy sessions every week, cutting ties with the people who only dragged him down, facing parts of himself he’d been too scared to confront before. He didn’t do it for anyone else. No, deep down, he knew the truth. He was doing it for her.
He never admitted it out loud, not even to Blake. The idea was locked away deep inside him, buried under layers of denial and self-preservation. But it was there, a quiet, stubborn hope he carried in his heart. He wanted to be worthy of her—for real this time. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get himself together, he could be the man she deserved.
His reasons were fucked up, he was aware of it. He was being a right asshole to Heidi and she didn’t deserve it. But as much as he tried—and God knows he did—he couldn’t, wouldn’t, imagine a lifetime with her, not the way he did a relationship ago. Heidi deserved more, so much more than he could ever give her. She deserved something extraordinary, something life-changing, and all he had to offer was something half-hearted and incomplete.
She deserved more than being a placeholder for someone he could never forget. He hated himself for it, for dragging her into this mess and making her believe there could be more when deep down, he knew there wasn’t.
And Y/N… God, Y/N. She deserved the world, and he’d failed her in every way that mattered. She deserves someone who could keep their promises, someone who wouldn’t falter when things got hard. Someone who could meet her where she was, with all her brilliance and light, and not let her down. He hadn’t been that person—not then, and not now.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be. But the persistent, selfish part of him, refused to give up. For her, he’d keep trying. He’d work on himself to the end of time if it meant even the slightest chance of being worthy of her one day.
He knew it might never be enough. She might never look at him again the way she once did. But if there was even the smallest chance, he would take it. Because she was the one thing in his life that had ever truly made sense, and if there was one thing he could promise himself, it was that he would never stop trying to be the man she deserved—even if it took him forever.
His mind drifted to the thought about the promises he’d made to her, the dreams they’d shared. The ring he’d once hinted at, the home they’d talked about, the life they’d planned together. Cradles, forever, love. He’d imagined it all with her. And then he’d ruined it.
Daniel’s chest tightened at the memory of her tears that day in Bahrain, the anguish in her voice as she asked him why she wasn’t enough. He’d replayed it a thousand times, haunted by the knowledge that he was the one who’d broken her.
He hadn’t seen her since—until now. And seeing her again, radiant and happy in the arms of another man, made him realize just how much he still loved her.
But what could he do? What right did he have to interfere in her happiness? She deserves someone who could give her everything she wanted, someone who wouldn’t let her down.
And yet, the thought of her looking at Rúben the way she used to look at him—like he was her world—was unbearable.
On the other side of the room, the sound of Y/N’s laughter floated above the hum of conversations and the soft clinking of glasses. Seated beside Rúben, she looked every bit the picture of ease and joy, her eyes alight as she listened to him recount a story from Man City’s dressing room.
“It was Jack, of course,” Rúben said, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned slightly closer to her. “Who else would grab the wrong tub of protein powder and not realize it until it was all over his hair?”
“No,” she gasped, her laugh spilling out before she could even stop herself with her hand lightly touching his arm as she wiped at the corner of her eye. “Please tell me someone got it on video.”
“They did,” Rúben said with a nod, his own chuckle rumbling low and warm. “But Jack’s sworn revenge on anyone who tries to leak it, so for now, it’s staying in the group chat.”
She shook her head, the laughter still bubbling in her chest. “I’m actually curious to hear what his payback will be.”
The two shared a grin, completely engrossed in the lighthearted conversation. Y/N’s cheeks were flushed from laughter, her posture relaxed in a way that suggested she was finally letting herself enjoy the evening.
Just as she reached for her glass of wine, a woman in a sleek black dress approached the table, her presence calm but purposeful. “Excuse me, Miss Y/N?” the woman said politely.
The Latina artist turned to her with an easy smile, the warmth of the moment still lingering on her face. “Yes?”
“The bride and groom are about to begin their first dance,” the woman said, clearly part of the wedding staff, her tone soft but clear. “Mrs. James asked me to let you know it’s time.”
For a moment, her breath hitched, the weight of the request settling over her. A month ago, Chloe had asked her to sing during their first dance—a deeply personal and intimate request that she had accepted after much persuasion from the Canadian heiress. She didn’t think she was worthy of that honor but when Chloe set her mind onto something, she always gets what she wants. So she'd spent hours preparing, carefully choosing the song and rehearsing until every note felt perfect. But now, with the moment upon her, nerves pricked at the edges of her confidence.
Her eyes darted across the room instinctively, landing for just a second on a curly-haired man. Daniel was leaning against the bar, drink in hand, his profile sharp under the dim light. She caught the faintest hint of a furrow between his brows, a trace of something unreadable in his expression. For a fleeting second, she wondered if he knew she was about to perform—if he’d even care. But she quickly dismissed the silly thought, quickly pulling her gaze away before their eyes could meet.
She glanced at Rúben, her nerves briefly flickering across her face. He noticed immediately, leaning in closer with a small, reassuring smile that sent a wave of warmth through her. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “You’ll be amazing, anjo” he said simply, his voice steady and calm.
The sincerity in his tone steadied her, and she gave him a grateful smile before leaning in to kiss him. His hand, which had rested lightly on her face earlier, moved to the back of her head, his fingers tangling gently in her hair as he let out a soft sigh. Before she broke the kiss, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, teasingly soft but enough to draw a low sound from his throat that sent a shiver through her.
When she pulled back, his gaze was dark with warmth, a look that said he couldn’t get enough of her. He chuckled lowly, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. “You are trouble,” he whispered, his voice laced with affection and something else that excited her.
A cheeky smile tugged at her lips as she kissed his thumb lightly. “Go,” he said, his grin widening as he motioned toward the piano on the side of the dance floor. “You’ve got this.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet but full of meaning, before standing, smoothing the fabric of her dress and turning to head toward the dance floor, her nerves replaced with a gentle hum of excitement.
Her heart thudded in her chest, but there was a warmth that spread through her, all thanks to his words and that quiet, lingering kiss.
She reached the piano placed on a corner where Chloe and Scotty were already standing, smiling up at her. Chloe’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and Scotty’s grin was wide and proud. The married couple greeted her warmly, their smiles wide with appreciation. They spoke to her for a moment, sharing how much it meant to them that she was there, their words full of gratitude. She could see how happy they were, how much they truly loved each other, and it made her heart swell.
She quickly hugged them both and before she made her way toward the piano, Chloe gave her hand a light squeeze and a smile. Oh, she could feel the tears on her water line. ¡Ay, no! she was getting emotional and she hasn’t even sung yet. She gave her best friend a warm smile and her hand a squeeze back before she took her place in front of the black and white keys.
The room grew a little quieter as the master of ceremony’s voice filled the air, announcing the couple’s first dance. The lights above the dance floor softened, dimming the atmosphere just enough to create a magical glow, drawing everyone’s attention to the center.
With a steadying breath, her fingers gently brushed the first notes of the song. The melody started slow and soft, cascading through the room like a gentle wave, its rhythm weaving seamlessly with the heartfelt atmosphere surrounding her.
The song began to fill the space, and the newlyweds took their place on the dance floor, their eyes locked in a moment of pure joy as they held each other close.
As her voice joined the piano’s melody, the room seemed to hold its breath, captivated by the raw beauty of her performance. The happy couple moved in sync to the music, their steps gentle and unhurried, their smiles radiant as they swayed together under the soft glow of the lights.
She had written this song once upon a time with someone else in mind—a love that had been everything to her until it wasn’t.
The memories tugged at her heart as she sang, but she didn’t let them overwhelm her. Tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about Chloe and Scotty, about celebrating their love and giving them something beautiful to hold onto forever. Still, the meaning behind the lyrics—so raw, so honest—flowed through her as if they had been written for this exact moment.
The bride and groom danced gracefully in the soft glow of the lights, completely lost in each other. Chloe rested her head on her husband's shoulder, her eyes closed as if savoring every word and every note. The Aussie held her close, his hand gently stroking her back in time with the rhythm, his smile soft but radiant.
Y/N’s gaze flickered over the scene, and a bittersweet ache settled in her chest. This song had meant something entirely different when she wrote it, but now, seeing it through a new lens, it felt reborn. It was no longer a relic of what she’d lost but a gift of love she could give to two people who truly deserved it.
How long will I love you?
As long as stars are above you
And longer if I can
Her voice carried the weight of the lyrics, a vulnerability woven into every word.
Her eyes betrayed her resolve as they scanned the crowd, searching for something—someone. And then she found him. Daniel’s brown eyes were fixed firmly on her, his face unreadable except for the unmistakable depth of emotion etched into his features. He looked like a man in agony. Like a man who had just realized that every note, every lyric, was meant for him.
How long will I need you?
As long as the seasons need to
follow their plan
When their eyes met, she swore she saw him exhale deeply, his shoulders sagging just slightly as if a long-held breath had finally escaped. The intensity in his gaze burned into her, and for a fleeting second, the room seemed to dissolve around them. But the moment was too raw, too overwhelming. She quickly broke the eye contact, her throat tightening as she focused back on the married couple swaying on the dance floor.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her emotions threatening to spill over as she fought to keep her composure. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, and she desperately tried to stabilize her breathing, silently praying no one noticed. If they did, she hoped they’d assume her tears were for Chloe and Scotty—a friend overcome with joy for the couple. But she knew better. The bittersweet melancholy spreading through her veins wasn’t for them.
For a moment, as her fingers danced over the keys, her mind betrayed her completely. She allowed herself to imagine this moment as hers. She saw herself as the bride, the glow of love and devotion surrounding her. But when her mind filled in the groom’s face, it wasn’t Rúben who smiled back at her. It was Daniel. Those deep brown eyes, a smile so wide it revealed his dimples, the well-trimmed beard framing his face, and that unmistakable roman nose. The vision was so vivid that it nearly stopped her hands mid-song.
How long will I be with you?
As long as the sea is bound to
wash upon the sand
A wave of guilt crashed over her, snapping her back to reality. She cast a glance toward her table, where Rúben sat watching her with a soft smile. When their eyes met, he mouthed a quiet “I love you,” his expression so genuine it made her chest ache. The guilt spread like wildfire, consuming her. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve a partner whose heart faltered at the sight of someone else.
The piano’s final notes lingered in the air as her voice softened into a delicate whisper for the last line:
"How long will I love you? As long as stars are above you, and longer if I may."
The soft notes of a new melody began to drift through the room. When the singer had sent a selection of songs—some released, others still unreleased—to the couple, Chloe had secretly asked her if she could add a little bit of the song to the first one, as a surprise to her fiancé. In the end, she created a mash-up, blending two of her most personal pieces into one seamless arrangement. The couple had loved it instantly, but not before hesitating and gently asking if she was absolutely sure about sharing these songs. They knew their significance, understood who they were meant for. Both songs were deeply personal, ones she had kept tucked away, hidden from the world and guarded within her heart.
'Cause I walked down the aisle
When I first walked up to you
When you asked me out
That's when I said, I do
The preacher will say we're starting a new life
But I took your hand when you first held mine
'Cause it's always been you
And I've always been your wife.
As the final notes of the song faded, she let her hands linger on the keys for a moment, the applause erupting around her almost feeling distant. She rose from the piano bench slowly, her cheeks wet and her heart heavy. Offering a small smile to the bride and the groom, who turned to her with tears in their eyes. Chloe mouthed a heartfelt “Thank you,” while Scotty gave her an appreciative nod and a wink, his arm never leaving his wife’s waist.
She moved back to her seat beside Rúben, his warm hand immediately finding hers. He gave her a gentle squeeze, his smile unshaken, his love unwavering. He pulled her into a gentle embrace. “You were amazing,” he murmured against her temple, his voice low and filled with genuine admiration.
She leaned into his touch, her stomach twisting as the weight of her emotions bore down on her. Tonight wasn’t the time for self-reflection, nor for the ghosts of her past to take hold. But as much as she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of brown eyes staring back at her, seeing everything she’d tried so hard to hide.
Daniel didn’t notice the room or the people around him anymore. The moment the first notes of the song began to play, something shifted in him. His chest felt tight, a knot forming in his throat as Y/N’s voice softened, her words taking on a hauntingly familiar tone. He knew this song—no, not because he’d heard it before, but because it was his. It was them.
He swallowed hard, his gaze locking on her as her fingers glided over the piano keys, her voice laced with raw emotion. Every lyric carried a memory, a feeling, a truth that only they shared. He wasn’t sure if anyone else could tell, but he could. He knew.
It hit him all at once: Perth. The ranch. The quiet, unpolluted nights during quarantine when the world outside seemed to stop, and it was just the two of them. A memory unfolded in his mind, vivid and unshakable.
They had been lying on a blanket she insisted they take outside, the cool grass underneath and the vast, star-filled sky above. The ranch had never felt so peaceful. It was early in their relationship, just a few months in, and everything still felt new and exciting, but there was a comfort in being with her that made him feel like he’d known her for years.
“Isn’t it incredible?” she’d whispered, her voice barely louder than the rustle of the breeze. “You don’t get skies like this everywhere. The stars feel... closer here.”
He turned his head to look at her, her features softly illuminated by the moonlight. “Yeah,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the stars.
She laughed softly, catching him staring. “You’re supposed to be looking up, Ricciardo, not at me.”
“I am looking at the stars,” he teased, earning a playful nudge to his side.
For a while, they lay in comfortable silence, the kind that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill the quiet with words. But then she spoke again, her voice thoughtful.
“Do you ever think about how long things last? Like... how long the stars have been here, and how they’ll probably still be here long after we’re gone.”
“Deep thoughts for a Tuesday night,” he joked, but his smile softened when he saw the wistful look in her eyes.
“I just mean... it’s kind of comforting, don’t you think? Knowing something can last that long? Like, how long will I love you?” she asked, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
Her words unexpectedly tugged at something in his chest. This was the first time those three words were being said. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he answered softly, “As long as the stars are above you.”
Her eyes met his, glimmering with something he couldn’t quite place but knew he’d never forget. “And longer if I may,” she finished, her voice barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. A soft smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes told a different story—wide and vulnerable, like she had just handed him her heart and was bracing for what he would do with it.
Daniel's breath hitched, the words hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread. He felt his chest tighten, his pulse quicken, as if the entire world had narrowed down to this single moment under the stars.
Her lips parted as though she might say more, but she didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched, charged and electric, like the split-second before a thunderstorm breaks.
And then, slowly, almost shyly, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. The contact was soft but grounding, anchoring him to the earth while his mind reeled.
He let out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his arm instinctively wrapping around her to pull her closer. The words echoed in his head—I may love you longer than the stars. He didn’t say them aloud, but he didn’t need to. The way he pressed his lips to her hair, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary, said it all.
It was the first time she’d told him she loved him, and it wasn’t in those exact words, but Daniel knew it all the same. The stars above bore witness, and he swore he’d never forget the way his heart felt like it was bursting in that moment—full, terrified, and absolutely certain.
The memory faded, but the ache it left behind remained. Daniel blinked, his gaze fixed on her as she sang. Those words, her words, were woven into the song she was performing now. He felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.
She’d written these songs for him, about him. And now, she was sharing them with a room full of people. But as her eyes briefly met his, before darting away, he knew she wasn’t singing for them. She was singing for the man she used to believe in, the man he used to be, the man she loved.
He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t deserve to feel the things he was feeling—not the longing, not the regret, not the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she still remembered too. But it didn’t stop him from feeling them anyway.
The soft hum of the party lingered in the background—the murmur of conversations, laughter, and the loud music blending with the faint lapping of water against the yacht. Daniel stood at the edge of the deck, his eyes scanning the scene until they landed on her. Y/N was leaning against the railing, a glass of champagne loosely held in her hand, her gaze lost in the moonlit waves. She looked ethereal, like she belonged to the stars above rather than the world below.
He hesitated, nerves buzzing in his chest. But something pulled him forward—a force stronger than his doubts or the fear of rejection. He couldn’t let the night end without saying something.
“Hey,” he called out softly, his voice cutting through the quiet between them.
She turned her head, startled, her brows lifting in surprise before her expression softened into something unreadable. “Hi.”
He stepped closer, careful not to invade her space, but close enough that her perfume—a familiar scent that made his chest tighten—wafted toward him. “You were incredible tonight,” he said, his tone genuine. “Your performance… It was—” He paused, searching for the right word. “Beautiful.”
Her lips curved into a polite smile, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “Thank you.”
Daniel’s hand gripped the railing beside him as he leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice. “Those songs...I-I understood.”
That got her attention. Her head snapped toward him, her eyes wide for a split second before narrowing slightly, guarded. Then, to his surprise, she let out a soft, defeated laugh, shaking her head as she looked away.
“I figured you would,” she said quietly, her voice steady but tinged with a faint melancholy. “You always did pay attention to the details, even when I thought you weren’t.”
He let out a soft chuckle, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess I still remember a thing or two.”
That earned him a glance—a fleeting one—but her lips tugged into a faint smile. “Well, they were for Chloe and Scotty tonight. That’s what matters.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They were beautiful. Your voice, the lyrics—it’s all... breathtaking.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, finally turning to face him. The soft glow of the party lights danced in her eyes, but there was a guardedness there, a layer of glass between them he knew he had placed.
They stood in silence for a beat, the sound of music and laughter in the distance filling the gap.
“I’m glad you’re doing well,” he said eventually, his tone warm, genuine. “You deserve it. All of it.”
Y/N inhaled deeply, her gaze dropping for a moment before she lifted it back to his. “I could say the same to you,” she replied, her voice softer now. “It’s... nice to see you in a good place.”
Daniel offered a small smile. “Took some time. Still working on it, you know?”
She nodded. “Aren’t we all?” A moment later she continued, her voice softer now, “We’re not who we used to be.”
Daniel wanted to let her know that he had changed but the words stayed trapped in his throat. Instead, he stayed silent, letting her have the last word.
Finally, she straightened, offering him a more relaxed smile.
“I should get back to the party,” she said, tilting her head toward the music before adding with a faint, almost playful smile, “Y’know, find Rúben before he thinks I fell overboard or something.”
Daniel let out a quiet chuckle, though the mention of her boyfriend stung more than he cared to admit. “Wouldn’t want that. He seems like a good guy.”
“He is,” she said, her tone soft but firm, and for a moment, her smile faltered. “He really is.”
The way her voice carried both affection and something unspoken made Daniel’s chest tighten. He nodded, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral. “Then you better not keep him waiting.”
“I won’t,” she said, her gaze lingering on him for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “It was... good to see you, Daniel.”
“You too, Y/N,” he replied, his voice quieter now.
With that, she turned and walked back toward the party, her heels clicking softly against the deck. Daniel stood frozen for a moment, the sound of the ocean beneath them mingling with the distant hum of celebration. A part of him wished he could follow her, say more, but another part knew this was all he deserved for now.
Daniel was leaning back in his seat, an untouched drink in his hand, his camera hanging from his shoulders. Heidi was perched on his lap, her arm looped around his neck, and Blake was beside him, sipping his drink with a relaxed grin.
Scotty approached them, his cheeks flushed with the telltale signs of celebration. “What a night, huh?” he said with a wide grin, his steps only slightly uneven. “Thought I’d come see how my mates are holding up.”
Blake laughed, raising his glass. “Still alive and kicking.”
“Mate,” Scotty slurred, pointing at Daniel with an exaggerated wave of his hand, “you’re sitting there like a goddamn statue. What’s the matter? Too cool to dance now?”
Daniel managed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Just taking a breather, mate. You’ve been going non-stop.”
“That’s what weddings are for!” Scotty exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. His loud proclamation turned a few heads, but he didn’t seem to care.
Chloe joined them moments later, her beaded dress catching the light as she looped an arm around Scotty’s shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with warmth as she took in the group. “Everyone surviving?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Because you all better be ready for round two on the dance floor soon.”
“Haven’t had this much fun in ages,” Blake replied, nudging Daniel’s arm. “This guy’s just taking a little break, saving his energy.”
Chloe nodded approvingly, her grin widening. “Smart move. You don’t want to miss the chaos we’re about to cause.” She turned to Heidi, her tone playful. “You keeping him out of trouble?”
Heidi laughed softly, leaning into Daniel. “Always.”
As they chatted, the mood remained light, full of camaraderie and joy. The faint hum of music and laughter surrounded them, and it was clear that, even in their tipsy states, Scotty and Chloe were mindful of the moment, focusing on the happiness of the night and the people they cared about.
Amidst the lively chatter, Y/N and Rúben passed by, hand in hand as they headed toward the open deck. Chloe’s eyes lit up when she spotted her best friend. “Sparky!” she called, her voice warm and enthusiastic. She stumbled slightly as she let go of Scotty to grab Y/N’s arm to pull her closer.
“Chlo!” Y/N exclaimed, laughing as she steadied her friend. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Just enough to make me happy,” Chloe quipped, her cheeks rosy and her grin wide.
“Having a good time?”
“The best,” Chloe replied, her grin wide. “You’re not getting away just yet. Come, sit for a moment.” She gestured to the empty seats near them.
Rúben followed, a patient smile on his face, but when Chloe grabbed his arm too, dragging him along, he chuckled and let himself be pulled by the bride.
“Look who I found!” She announced triumphantly as if the singer and footballer were a prized discovery.
Daniel’s eyes flickered toward them, his expression carefully composed, though there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders. He nodded at Y/N and gave a polite smile to Rúben. “Hey,” he said simply.
“Hey,” Y/N replied, her voice even, though her eyes briefly darted toward Heidi, still comfortably seated on Daniel’s lap.
Blake’s face lit up. “Sparkyyyy,” it was clear that he was enjoying the open bar because he shouted with excitement. “It’s been ages! How have you been?”
“I’m good,” she replied warmly, giving him a hug. “It’s nice to see you again, Blakey Blake.” she mumbled into his shoulder, his arms tighten around her frame for a second. “How have you been?”
“Busy, as always,” Blake replied with a chuckle, throwing a teasing glare at Daniel. “But you know how it is.”
“I do,” she replied with a light chuckle.
“Rúben, is it?” The short-haired Aussie extended a hand to her boyfriend, who nodded and shook it firmly, “Blake.” he introduced himself.
“Pleasure to meet you, Blake.” he replied, leaning into her again. “And Heidi, right?” Rúben said with his trademark charm.
“Yes,” she replied, her smile softening slightly. “We’ve crossed paths before, haven’t we? A couple of events in Lisbon?”
Rúben nodded, a small smile on his lips. “That’s right. It’s good to see you again.”
Heidi returned the smile, though there was a hint of caution in her eyes as they flicked briefly to Y/N. “Likewise.”
Y/N, ever composed, stepped in with ease. “Heidi, it’s wonderful to meet you properly. You look absolutely stunning tonight.”
“Thank you,” the blonde replied, her tone polite. “You look beautiful as well. It’s no surprise everyone’s still talking about your performance earlier.”
She gave a modest smile—those countless hours of PR classes did come in handy sometimes. “That’s very kind of you to say. It was truly an honor to be part of such a special night for these two.” She grinned, jerking her thumb towards the couple.
Chloe, a little tipsy but ever attuned to the nuances around her, joined the conversation with a light laugh. “Y/N’s being modest. She’s a force of nature. The honor was ours actually”
“Chloe,” She said with a gentle, reproachful tone, though her smile softened the words. “You’re too kind.”
“Not at all!” Chloe insisted, her words slightly slurred but earnest. Her gaze flickered briefly between both women, sensing the subtle tension. Inwardly, she chastised herself for her tipsiness, hoping she wasn’t making things worse. “Anyway, it’s just so nice to see everyone together.”
Rúben’s hand tightened slightly on his girlfriend’s waist, a subtle reassurance that she acknowledged with a barely perceptible glance upward. Daniel, though silent, couldn’t help but steal glances at the interaction. His jaw tightened imperceptibly when caught the gesture and quickly looked away.
“It really is,” She agreed, her voice calm and measured. Her gaze briefly met Heidi’s. “I’m glad we could all be here to celebrate Chloe and Scotty.”
“Me too,” Heidi replied, her tone polite, though her fingers fidgeted slightly with the stem of her glass. “They’re such a beautiful couple.”
“They are,” Rúben agreed, his deep voice steady as he gave Chloe a warm smile. “A perfect match.”
Chloe’s laughter bubbled up again, breaking some of the tension. “Alright, alright, enough about me and Scotty. You guys have to tell me,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at the woman and her boyfriend. “What’s your secret? You two look like a fucking movie poster.”
Y/N laughed softly, exchanging a look with Rúben. “No secret,” she said lightly. “We just clean up well.”
Rúben chuckled, moving her in front of his toned body and wrapping an arm around her. “And she makes it easy,” he added, with a kiss to her hair, his faint accent lacing the words with warmth.
Chloe sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “You two are disgustingly perfect. I love it.”
Daniel’s grip on his glass tightened slightly, but he kept his expression calm, a fake smile adorning his lips, nodding along to the conversation. Heidi shifted on his lap, leaning into him slightly, but he barely noticed.
As the conversation began to settle, Chloe, clearly still tipsy but determined to contribute something cheerful, leaned closer to Y/N with a bright smile. “You know, the invitation to the familymoon is still open. A whole week in Italy, just us and family, eating pasta and drinking wine. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”
Daniel’s eyes widened for a second and his ears perked up instantly. Blake and him were also invited to the trip, a sudden wave of hope bloomed in his chest. Y/N chuckled softly, her smile polite as she shook her head. “That’s so sweet of you, babes, but my answer still stands,” she gave her a fake chastised look. “I’ll have to pass this time.”
Chloe pouted playfully. “Come on, babes, you work too hard. It’ll be fun!”
“I’m sure it will,” Y/N replied with a light laugh. Then, with a subtle shift in her tone, she added, “But I’ll be busy celebrating with my man.” she looked up at him with a cheeky smile on her lips, placing a hand on his toned chest. “His team’s about to clinch the Premier League title in a few days, and I’m confident we’ll be celebrating a Champions League win next month too.”
Rúben gave her a small, knowing smile, his humility evident even as he nodded. “We’re working hard for it. Nothing’s guaranteed yet, though.”
“Don’t be so modest,” She teased, glancing up at him with a proud sparkle in her eye. “You’ve been phenomenal this season.”
Rúben gave a small, humble shrug, his lips curving into a modest smile. “It’s a team effort.”
Daniel couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of envy at the comment. While her tone was light, the pride in her words stung in a way he didn’t expect. His own career felt like it was hanging in limbo—a state of uncertainty he was getting accustomed to. Though he was in conversation with AlphaTauri to race in the remaining events of the season, nothing had been finalized, leaving him feeling adrift.
Chloe grinned, picking up on the subtle brag and clapping her hands together. “Alright, fine. I guess you have a pretty solid excuse. But just know I’ll be texting you pictures of everything you’re missing.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Y/N replied warmly, her gaze softening toward her friend. “You all deserve to have the best time.”
Chloe leaned back into Scotty’s side, looking pleased, while Y/N subtly leaned into Rúben’s comforting presence. Daniel, from his seat nearby, shifted slightly, his gaze briefly flickering toward the couple before he turned his attention back to Blake, engaging him in conversation as if nothing had happened.
Suddenly, the familiar opening notes of "Shower" began to play over the yacht’s sound system. Chloe’s excited shriek pierced the air as she jumped up from her seat, clapping her hands together.
“Oh my God, Y/N! It’s your song!” Chloe exclaimed, her voice gleeful and slightly slurred.
She immediately felt her cheeks warm, a bashful smile tugging at her lips as she leaned further into Rúben for support. He chuckled softly, his arm tightening around her waist.
“You’re a global superstar, meu anjo,” he murmured with a teasing glint in his eye. “You can’t be shy about your own song.”
Y/N let out a small laugh, hiding her face against his shoulder for a moment. “I’m not shy… it’s just unexpected!”
Before she could protest further, Chloe grabbed her hand, pulling her away from his tall and toned body. “Nope! No hiding! We have to dance to this—come on!”
“Chloe!” The singer protested, half-laughing as her friend tugged her toward the DJ booth.
The crowd, already energized by the music, erupted into cheers as they recognized her. People parted to let Chloe and Y/N through, and several phones lit up to capture the moment.
Rúben stayed behind, leaning casually against the bar with a fond smile on his face, watching as his girlfriend let herself be swept up in the moment. Her initial shyness melted away as she reached the DJ booth, giving the crowd a small wave and laughing as Chloe twirled her dramatically and proceeded to hand her a microphone.
The atmosphere buzzed with energy, the infectious beat of the song bringing everyone to their feet. Even Daniel, who had been quietly nursing his own thoughts, found himself glancing toward the impromptu scene, his lips twitching upward at the sight of her joy—effortlessly radiant, as always.
#the joker and the queen fic#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo instagram au#daniel ricciardo imagine#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 social media au#f1 instagram au#latina!reader#daniel ricciardo x female reader#( agentstarkid's works )#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x you#dr3 x reader#dr3 imagine#dr3 fic#dr3 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#daniel ricciardo one shot
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The Mystery of Blacksteel Sanctum: A Retrospective
So, I loved TDP: Xadia, right? And my no-question favorite region was the Border: best environments, best NPCs, best-ish puzzles (look that ones a close call, okay), and best, most lore-rich story... which, in true TDP fashion, winds up raising more questions than it answers.

This post, and the thought I've put into it, are kind of my love letter to that story... and the other people who loved it, or could have loved it.
So: let's talk about what was going on in Blacksteel Sanctum.
Catch-Up Summary for Non-Players
If you played TDP: Xadia during its brief lifespan, you can skip this section. But to bring anyone who didn't up to speed:
In the Border region, a joint effort is underway to establish and secure reliable routes for crossing between Xadia and the Human Kingdoms. This is challenged by two fronts of enemies—magma crawlers, an aggressive part-bug and part-crab pest species infesting the area, and Saranar and the Dawnbringers, a faction of rebel Sunfire elves hostile to the new peace. The missions for the region are thereby divided into two "plotlines" directed by accompanying NPCs: the crawler plot, led by human rogue zoologist Mervyn and ending with the Crawler Queen boss, and the Blacksteel Sanctum plot, led by Sunfire elf Knight Ravna and ending with the Blacksteel Forgemaster boss.
Got it? Okay.
Digging for the Truth: Blacksteel Sanctum Basics
After first encountering the (sealed) Blacksteel Sanctum beneath the surface of the Border, Ravna expresses shock that not only is the Sanctum here, but that it's even real. She summarizes its story as:
This is a fairly standard Atlantis-style story—a place of legendary technological or magical wonders, brought low by some calamity and its secrets lost forever. In this case, it's reportedly where the Sunfire elves started their journey as master smiths of magically-enhanced weapons and armor, but also largely considered to be a myth.
Knowing that Blacksteel Sanctum was real, can we determine what was actually being made there? Well, there's a prominent crossroads location in the Blacksteel Sanctum mission maps, a setpiece room featuring a massive, gilded statue:

(That's not the room, but it is the same statue. Because of the way the game's camera and controls were set up, the statue was excruciatingly difficult to get even halfway-decent screen captures of in its in-game setting.)
Between the statue and the prominent, repeated use of the rune from Janai's Sunforge blade sheath as a decorative motif, it seems likely that Blacksteel Sanctum is the place where the first of the so-called "Sunforge" blades were, uh, forged. That technique was then either passed to or replicated by the Sunforge smiths.
There's even an answer for how Blacksteel Sanctum could compete with the Sunforge in magical power: in one of the magma crawler storyline missions, Mervyn concludes that "the same primal magic that led the ancient elves to build Blacksteel Sanctum here has attracted the crawlers." That source, whatever it is/was, made Blacksteel Sanctum's forges powerful enough to craft the first of the ever-burning blades that would later only be achievable with the Sunforge.
However, what should be considered the real trademark creation of Blacksteel Sanctum (as we shall see) is one Ravna is entirely unfamiliar with: those autonomous combat golems. She initially assumes they are strange suits of armor, and is astonished when they are able to move and fight, which suggests that not only did this technology never leave the Sanctum, it wasn't even preserved in the legends... and may have been deliberately excluded. At the same time, the golems are clearly the weapons the Dawnbringers are looking for, with Saranar stating her intending to march an army of them to retake Lux Aurea (after eliminating the humans and loyalist Sunfire elves securing the Border, of course). This raises the question: how exactly did the Dawnbringers find out about them? (Put a pin in that, we'll come back to it.)
Bearing Her Mark: The Forgemaster
In what is learned from exploring the Sanctum, a single significant figure emerges: the Forgemaster. She appears in a couple of recurring murals (technically they're on the floor, probably since that's the easiest area for the player to see), depicted as a radiant, almost queen-like leader of legendary stature:

Who appears to even send her people into battle:

This could just be figurative, in that she's sending forth Sunfire elf warriors through equipping them with the best and most powerful weapons. It's also very unclear who the enemy they are fighting actually is—the blocky, hooded figures contrast with the horned elves in a way that suggests they might be humans, possibly including dark mages?
Possibly confusing the timeline even more, the clearest reference to the Forgemaster as an actual person is the Signet of the Forgemaster item and its text:
All of Lux Aurea knew that armor bearing her mark would be as strong as her will.
From this, we know that the Forgemaster lived at a time contemporary with Lux Aurea—which doesn't actually tell us a huge amount, given that Elarion stood for a thousand years or more and Lux Aurea is no doubt even older. Did she leave Lux Aurea to establish Blacksteel Sanctum? Was this before the Sunforge, or maybe before the Sunforge was an actual forge-forge? If magical smithing was unknown to the Sunfire elves before Blacksteel Sanctum, presumably the Sunforge either didn't yet exist or was used for other purposes.
The problem is mostly that we don't have any real concept of what "ancient" means to elves. If we the Blacksteel Sanctum murals depict dark mages, that would mean that it can't have been buried more than 1,000 years, unless we're going to reject the conventional understanding of when dark magic entered the picture. Is 1,000 years ago considered "ancient" for elves? I wouldn't expect it to be, but realistically we just don't know.
(That being said, for Blacksteel Sanctum to have been founded shortly after the continent was split for the expulsion of humans would explain things like the discovery of a buried source of primal magic, unearthed by the massive geologic shift. The part I can't wrap my head around is the idea that the Sunfire elves didn't discover magical smithing until the same time that humans were being given dark magic... but I could get used to the idea.)
Anyway, in addition to this mysterious figure of the past, there's also, y'know... this Forgemaster:

I.e., the "Blacksteel Forgemaster" golem, the first region boss encounter for the Border.
Story-wise, the Forgemaster golem is first referenced in an encounter with a Dawnbringer group that it exterminated, where the dying captain speaks of a "gleaming giant" defending the lower reaches of the Sanctum from exploration. Ravna confirms this account, and declares that the golem must be eliminated for further investigation of the Sanctum. Even at this point, it's not exactly a secret that there's a connection between this golem and the Sanctum's master smith:
This is made even more explicit after defeating the golem, when Ravna reveals that she went to inspect its remains, and it reactivated at her touch to deliver a message:
Now, Ravna seems to think that this was essentially a pre-recorded message stored in the golem, which is otherwise autonomous, but mindless. However, having played a video game or two with very similar plotlines... even if it's not where things start out, someone always eventually starts stuffing souls into these things. Personally, I have no doubt that this was the Forgemaster herself, or whatever shreds of her remained. This is also the first place we get an explicit reference to the Sanctum's downfall—that the Forgemaster herself went too far, and that horrible act, whatever it was, led to the Sanctum being abandoned.
Ravna is sympathetic to the Forgemaster golem's plea to let the Sanctum's secrets remain buried, and decides that once the scattered remnants of the Dawnbringers are cleared out, all exploration will end. She intends to return her full attention to the mission that really matters: securing the Border crossings and the shared future of humans and elves.
This is a fairly typical "act one" soft ending for a video game plotline that will be picked up again later—I very much doubt that it was intended to be the final, decisive ending of the story of Blacksteel Sanctum. My bet would be that the eventual TDP: Xadia roadmap would have included additional story arcs for each region, with new bosses and some new missions, maybe another mission map... something like that. These would be either a new story, probably sharing some of the same characters, or a continuation of the first "resolved" story from that region. For example, I would expect the Far Reaches to have a second act not centered around the Natamus, since that plot was pretty well wrapped up (though it could be opened again), but possibly following up on Zeph's mysterious backstory and departure at the end of the first arc.
For the Border and Blacksteel Sanctum, an obvious hook for act two would be for the Sanctum's true secrets, their awakening set in motion by the Dawnbringers, to finally started crawling up to the surface. Because I don't think the Forgemaster's golem was there only to keep intruders out... there's something down there that she was also intended to keep in.
Shadow and Flame: The Sanctum's Fall
(Oh, did you somehow think you were getting out of this without a Khazad-dûm reference? You were wrong.)
So the Forgemaster golem confesses to Ravna that she and her smiths did "something unforgivable," spurred by their own arrogance in considering themselves all-powerful, and their continued hunger for more knowledge and power in spite of that. However, there have also already been hints of a dark secret to the Sanctum, probably related to its decline and/or fall.
One is made nice and obvious in the form of the Sins of the Sanctum item, presented as a book and providing a one-line excerpt:
"... its moral heart did die and rot, but oh! Its fire and flames did not..."
Another, a bit more subtle, is the region armor set shared by Soren and Viren, which offers three ominous lines:
Something echoes in the metal. Does it sing, or does it scream? What did they bury down there beneath the earth?
Finally, and most importantly, there's what I'm just going to refer to as the "dragon forge." At the end of a story-oriented mission to escort Ravna herself while she explores the Sanctum, she calls out the final room in a pretty suspicious way:
Ravna links the Sanctum's most prominent forge with dragons, while Sins of the Sanctum links dragons, or a dragon, with the Sanctum's fall. There's also the reference in her original summary of the Sanctum's legends that one possible reason for its disappearance is that it was "destroyed by jealous dragons."
The draconic theme isn't the forge's only unusual feature, either:
It's worth noting that she delivers the line about its size immediately after you've defeated a giant mission-boss golem, so she's familiar with just how big those golems get. Based on the size and power of that golem, she also comments that her ancestors "clearly wanted this particular forge protected." We're meant to understand that whatever was made in this giant, dragon-themed forge was somehow special, and likely tied to the Sanctum's most prominent works... including the one that led to its downfall.
This is the room in question, by the way, or close enough to it:

I'm not sure whether the stuff around the very perimeter is the same as in the game, but the dragon-themed forge itself and the floor pattern are accurate.
Ravna doesn't comment on the floor pattern, but I'm going to, because that center floor image is the main section of another mural that appears repeatedly throughout the Sanctum environment. It's on walls, banners, and floors, basically anywhere that a space needs to be filled. (The Forgemaster murals appear far more rarely, really only in specific areas.) With screenshots being both difficult to frame and not the best resolution, this non-game render is the clearest image of it:
It's easy to look at this and say "well, obviously that's the confrontation between Ziard and Sol Regem," except... it's not. Or if it is, it's not a depiction that makes any sense at all. Because look, if Sunfire elves know how to represent one thing in their decorative and architectural motifs... well, okay, back up for a second. If Sunfire elves know how to represent one thing, it's the sun. However, if they know how to represent two things, those are the sun and Sol Regem's horns. So unless everyone down in the Sanctum somehow forgot what Sol Regem looks like, that's not Sol Regem.
(There are actually no visual references to Sol Regem's horns in the entirety of Blacksteel Sanctum, aside from statues of juvenile dragons with only two horns in the same shape. Considering just how many there are in all other Sunfire architecture we've seen? That's weird. Like weird to the point that I wonder if it indicates some kind of schism between the Sanctum and Lux Aurea specifically about dragons.)
Additionally, the mural shows a massive, jagged hole in the dragon's chest, which is not something that happened to Sol Regem in the confrontation with Ziard. It's not 100% certain, but it seems to me that it makes more sense to interpret the central orb as being ripped from it, rather than being thrown at it. This is the imagery that is centrally and visibly featured in the dragon forge.
So we have 1) some terrible act by the Forgemaster, 2) the Sanctum's most prominent and unique forge being dragon-themed, 3) depictions of a dragon rent asunder, and 4) references to something buried in the depths, with fire and flame persisting beyond mortality.
Just to seal the deal, we also, if you do the kind of extensive ArtStation dive that I did, have this piece of concept art:

As Ravna says, the dragon forge goes "beyond armor and weapons for elves," and in this concept we have what appears to be pieces of armor for a dragon. Obviously it would be a pointless exercise to arm a dragon with forged weaponry, but could they have tried to armor one? What would be so unforgivable about dragon armor?
But wait, what did Ravna herself mistake for armor, when first entering the Sanctum? That's right.
They built a goddamn dragon golem.
Furthermore, as with the Forgemaster golem, they definitely put some piece of an actual, living dragon into it. Whether that was its heart, or its spirit, or something else, it was torn out and caged in metal. This could have been a malicious attempt by the Forgemaster and her smiths to enslave a dragon into their own control, or it could have been an altruistic attempt to save the life of one that had been torn apart by something else (dark mages?) by playing god. Either way, it seems that it went... quite badly. Badly enough that the Forgemaster not only had the Sanctum sealed and abandoned, but also put herself into a golem the same way, so she could stand as an eternal guard against her creation ever escaping or being freed.
Unfortunately, I would bet money that the dragon golem has already been awakened (probably by the magma crawlers). Remember the question of how the Dawnbringers knew about the golems? Well, as Saranar lies dying, the golems having proved to be uncontrollable and turned on her, she says this:
Someone a) knew about Blacksteel Sanctum, a place Ravna wasn't certain was even real, b) knew about the golems still remaining there, something Ravna had never so much as heard legends about, and c) promised the Dawnbringers power and victory, should they breach the Sanctum and take the golems for themselves. This could be the plot of an unusually well-informed external actor manipulating the local gang as cannon fodder to access some heavily-guarded secret, except they already ran that exact plot in the Far Reaches with Vant and Margot over the Natamus. I think it's more likely that the dragon golem has found a way of communicating with the outside world, and brought the Dawnbringers to the Sanctum knowing that they wouldn't stop digging for more power and weapons until they inevitably went too far and unearthed it. With the Forgemaster golem defeated, the last true line of defense for either direction—into the Sanctum or out of it—is now gone. Like I said, it's an excellent set-up for a second act.
I mean, as the Dragonbreath Embers item puts it:
Go on. Let them out. Surely nothing bad will happen.
So yeah! We'll also probably never find out if any of this is correct, since even if the game never re-launches or continues, anyone who could tell us anything is almost definitely legally prohibited from doing so... but we may have been robbed of an eventual epic boss battle with a golem dragon, among the countless other things that were in TDP: Xadia's future. THANKS, NETFLIX.
—
Speaking of people under NDA, here are the TDP: Xadia artists whose public portfolios were invaluable to researching and making this post:
Marvin Tischler
Alice Cho
Jacinta Vu
Guillaume T. Delbarre
Margaret Dost
Nelson Dou
Rebecca Blessing
Sara Lansdell
#anyway NOT ME thinking about soul entrapment/transfer being almost exclusively a dark/deep magic thing#and sauron in the guise of annatar bringing the secrets of magical smithing to celebrimbor to forge the rings#the dragon prince#xadia game#tdp: xadia#sunfire elves#kradogsmeta
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SUBMITTING TO AUTHORITY 4
other parts here | not proofread | chris ver | chai bot
I'm not responsible for what you consume on the internet, read at your own risk!
🖤 wc: 1.6k | got carried away | divider: @/inklore, @/aquazero
Previously on submitting to authority...
“I’m sorry,” you whispered as he sat on your desk and you stood between his legs, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry too,” he whispered, hands moving to your waist. “You’re such a good boy for me, I’m just not used to affection, is all” you whisper kissing his pouty lips. “Come here baby,” you coo pulling him into a hug. “Don’t pull that shit again, got it?” you say pulling back and fixing his tie. He smiles at you, his cheeks still red as he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, pulling away and meeting your gaze.
WARNINGS: sub matt x dom reader, shy matt, pet names, teasing, matt standing up for reader

The sun crept in through your bedroom window, casting a golden glow on your features as you slept. Your alarm soon interrupted the peaceful moment going off, showing you would have to get ready for work. Every morning you dreaded waking up and having to go to the office. Being the CEO, of course, you had the worst of it, having to answer countless emails and file paperwork. Thankfully, this was the time of the year when everything slowed down. There was less paperwork to file, fewer meetings to attend, and less corrupt sniffing around the headquarters. You sit up stretching and rubbing your tired eyes, your phone dings, grabbing your attention as you grab it off the charger and see a message from Matt.
‘Good morning miss, did you sleep well?’ smiling to yourself, you clutch your phone to your chest, and thank goddess you were home alone so no one could see this side of you. How you let out a happy squeal every morning when you got a good morning text from him. Of course, you would never admit it out loud. ‘Good morning, my favorite employee, I slept fine. What about you sweet boy?’ to say the least, Matt was giggling and kicking his feet every time you replied to his message. It had become a daily occurrence for him to text you every morning. He would always send you a picture of him getting your morning coffee.
You walk into the doors of the office building being greeted by all the wandering employees and the front desk person who you forgot the name of, your head held high as you walk to your office. Passing by Matt’s cubicle every morning like clockwork, he smiles at you spinning around in his chair as you hold out your coffee to you. “Mmm, so good” You moan as you take a sip, teasing him as you see his cheeks redden. He clears his throat, dragging his chair back to his desk as he tries to keep his composure. It was always so hard around you to keep his thoughts and reactions underway. Half the time he was sure just looking at you could make him come in his pants, but he tried so hard not to be pathetic and be good for you. It got so bad he always kept an extra pair of work slacks in the trunk of his chair just in case. It’s not like he meant to but you always looked so good.
His eyes snapped up to your face as he noticed you had made your way to sit on his desk, heels slipping off, leaving you in your black tights. Your foot toying with the growing bulge in his pants. “You seem distracted, everything okay?” you ask, playing innocent as your foot presses harder down on his clothed member. He lets out a whine at the touch, his body on fire as you continue your movements. “Gotta stay quiet baby, don’t want things to end like last time.” you tease knowing that last time people gave him judgemental looks for your last encounter in his cubicle. You lean forward your hand making its way to cover his mouth as your other hand works on unbuckling his belt. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?” you whisper watching as he frantically nods.

The moment ended too soon as you heard the elevator ding from the front entrance and the loud clicking of heels. “Fuck…” you muttered as you moved your hands away from his face and his half-undone belt. Matt, being utterly confused, fumbled with his hands as he adjusted himself. “What is it?” he questioned, moving closer to you, his hands traveling up your thighs as you covered your face with your hands. Your business rival, your number one enemy. Her company had been number one on the charts for years and every year you are so close to beating her, a smidge percentage off. The results were coming in a few weeks, which business would be the top seller and which one would be the winning company.
She always showed up to ‘wish you luck’ which was her making sure you knew she was going to win. “Well, well, if it isn’t Ms. Second Place.” She stood in the doorway, her voice laced with mockery, echoing as you rose from Matt’s desk, adjusting your skirt. “What do you want?” you asked coolly, slipping your heels back on. Her eyes raked over you, then briefly flicked to Matt, who stood awkwardly, holding his hand out in a stiff, uncertain gesture. “So this is how you spend your time on the job? Are you the office pet now, instead of the boss?” she sneered, dismissing Matt’s hand with a casual flick before stepping toward you, closing the distance.
Your jaw tightened, and you felt the surge of anger rising, but you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay composed. “I could say the same for you,” you snapped back, knowing she’d never put in the same level of hard work. “We all know how you got to the top.” Her smile was cold, sharp. “Sometimes, you have to make... sacrifices. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” She stepped closer, her eyes trailing down to your skirt. “Pathetic,” she muttered, her voice low with disdain. “You think you can beat me? Where’d you get that skirt? Marshalls?” You felt her fingers trace the edge of the fabric, and a chill ran through you.
You took a small step back, refusing to let her rattle you. “At least I’d win with honesty,” you bit back, your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Which is more than I can say for you.” You pointed at her, an obvious jab at her plastic surgery—something she didn’t pay for with her own earnings. “Tell me, what’s your secret—how much did you invest in that?” Her eyes flashed with fury, but she held her ground. Matt, on the other hand, had been silent, caught between shock and awe. He had no idea you’d ever had a target on your back like this. He’d always been intimidated by you—he wasn’t proud of it, but it was the truth. “Look, at least she didn’t have to... sleep her way to the top,” Matt found himself blurting out before he could stop it. “What is it, collecting life insurance policies?” All eyes snapped to him, and his face drained of color.
Your mouth dropped open as you turned to him in disbelief, but before you could react, she shot him a glare so venomous it could’ve burned a hole through him. “You think that’s funny?” Her voice was ice, but her footsteps clicked sharply toward him as she closed the gap. Matt swallowed hard, taking a cautious step back. “Very cute,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Getting your little employee to defend you.” She turned to you with a malicious grin. “But good luck—you’re going to need it.” With that, she turned on her heel and strutted out, her footsteps fading into the distance.
You stood there, her words hanging in the air, you were determined more than ever to win that first place. Her words stung but not as much as they would sting when she saw the results and saw your company on the top charts instead of hers. “Hey, are you okay?” Matt whispered from next to you as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. You nodded, your head tilting slightly to the side as he placed kisses over your soft skin.
Closing your eyes, the feeling of his plump lips on your warm skin, you relaxed some of the tension leaving your shoulders. An idea sparked in your mind, your eyes fluttering open as you smiled to yourself, you need a break. And you knew just the thing that would relieve all of this tension built up in your overworked body, you were so stressed with all the news about the company’s stock market and sales charts you just needed to let go and clear your mind.
“Matt?” you questioned, earning a hum in response as he nuzzled his face closer to your neck. “Do you want to stay with me over the weekend?” you questioned swaying your hips in his arms. “Mmm,” he mumbled against your skin, his hands moving to cup your breasts. The day flew by fast as you tried your best to not get distracted by Matt, he looked so good you had called him into your office just to stare at him while he got all shy and flustered. Finally, it was the end of the day and you were walking towards the exit of the building after clocking out, your gaze met Matt who was waiting outside for you.
You had Matt right where you wanted him, from the moment you arrived at your condo you wanted to pounce on him but he insisted you guys cuddle and watch a movie together. And now he was in your bed at last, your hands trailing all over his body memorizing him. “So pretty baby,” you whispered as he lay sprawled out on your bed, you had already undressed him which left him a whining mess.
“Need you so bad,” he whimpered feverishly, leaning his head up to kiss you. Your hand moved to his chest to push him down onto the soft mattress. “Shh, stay still for me,” your hands working on tying him up with pretty pink ribbons. Tightening the fabric around his wrists to your bedpost, causing him to buck his hips forward. “Mama please…” he pleaded, his lips forming a pout. “Be patient sweetheart,” you cooed, kissing his forehead.

a/n: SORRY Y'ALL I GOT CARRIED AWAY SMUT PART NEXT TRUST 🤭
tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @hazedsturns @eclipsturns @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns @lezleeferguson-120 @sturnsflirt @sturnsblogs @fratbrochrisgf
#𓏲࣪ ˖ ୨sturnsmermaid#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo#sub!matt sturniolo#sub matt sturniolo#sub!matt#matt x reader#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt stuniolo fanfic#⋆˚‧₊˚🖇️✩#matt sturniolo x reader
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AI 171 crash probe widens: Ahmedabad airport ground staff quizzed, phones seized, sabotage angle not ruled out
A multi-agency investigation is underway at Ahmedabad's SVPI Airport following the Air India AI 171 crash, which killed 241. Ground handling agencies are under scrutiny, with staff questioned and phones seized. The probe, involving AAIB, Gujarat Police, AAI, DGCA, and the NTSB, seeks to determine the cause, including potential sabotage.
AHMEDABAD: Ground handling agencies at Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International (SVPI) Airport are under scrutiny by multiple investigation agencies as part of the ongoing probe into the crash of Air India flight AI 171 last week.The investigation, led by the Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau (AAIB), is being conducted with support from Gujarat Police, Airports Authority of India (AAI) and the Directorate General of Civil Aviation (DGCA). A parallel probe has been initiated by the United States' National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB), bringing international aviation experts to the crash site in Ahmedabad."All personnel involved in ground handling operations for the ill-fated flight were questioned, and their statements recorded," said a source familiar with the investigation. "Phones of key staff members who cleared the aircraft for take-off were seized for further examination."A comprehensive, multi-agency probe is underway to determine the cause of the crash. Investigators reportedly obtained CCTV footage from airport premises and are not ruling out the possibility of sabotage. On June 12, Air India Flight AI 171, a Boeing 787-8 Dreamliner, crashed moments after take-off from SVPI Airport, killing 241 of the 242 on board.Investigating teams have since recovered the digital flight data recorder (DFDR) and the cockpit voice recorder (CVR). These are crucial pieces of evidence, which will help identify what led to the crash of AI 171. A CVR records cockpit sounds, including pilot conversations, alarms and sounds of engine and switches clicking.Read: Air India passengers stranded overnight at Delhi airport after flight encounters technical 'snag'The DFDR, on the other hand, logs hours of flight parameters such as speed, altitude, thrust, flap positions, autopilot inputs, acceleration, lift and landing gear movements. According to officials, the pilot issued a Mayday call shortly before the aircraft lost contact with Air Traffic Control (ATC) at SVPI airport.Officials from Boeing, the US Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), the NTSB, and UK-based aviation experts are now in Ahmedabad as part of the probe.The NTSB, in accordance with the international protocol, is investigating the crash independently due to the aircraft's American origin. This is the first time a Boeing 787 Dreamliner has crashed.The US agency, an independent federal body, is tasked with determining the causes of civil aviation accidents and recommending preventive measures. Union minister Murlidhar Mohol on Tuesday confirmed that a report from the central govt-appointed inquiry panel will be submitted within three months.(With inputs from agencies)
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“OMG, Chloe, this is amazing, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again, Jess. Your mom is making me crazy.”
“Like your mom isn’t doing the same to me? I never could have imagined something like this happening. Kiss me. I’m going to cum soon and I want to be kissing you when I do.”
And so, another successful encounter thanks to the online Mother/Daughter Meet Club was well underway. It was going to be a great weekend.
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A Little Kindness, pt. 1
Summary: It’s been a few months since Crosshair and his family returned from Tantiss for the last time. Settling into civilian life hasn’t been easy, but one Pabu resident shows Crosshair some kindness that makes him want to try.
Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader
Warnings: social anxiety/awkwardness (aka awkward budding friendship between two traumatized puppies), internal berating, grumpy soft crosshair dealing with ptsd-related stuff but nothing specific, non-descript mentions of injuries treated, fanon typical swearing.
Word Count: 2,400
A/N: thank you to everyone who read A Friend Indeed. I really enjoyed writing the brotherly dynamic between Crosshair and Wrecker in that one. It was honestly an outlet for me to process some of my own stuff, and I appreciate all the encouragement and kind comments. I’m continuing Crosshair’s journey in learning how to heal and even maybe enjoy that Pabu life a little. I’m thinking I’ll make a little anthology series of these because I’ve got a lot of Crosshair fluff cooking up in this goblin lair of a brain. Part 2 to currently underway. A song I listened to quite a bit while writing this was State of the Art by Incubus. Proofread by me.
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Crosshair strode down the sandy path, his eyes periodically scanning the star-studded sky. He inhaled the night air, surprisingly crisp for the island now that the sun had set, giving way for the moon to rise. Its blue-tinted glow bathed the island, ushering in the evening sounds that helped quiet his overactive mind. He would often walk these paths at night, aiming for nowhere in particular, just letting his feet decide where he would go.
As he turned down the path that led to the compound of small homes shared with his family, he heard their voices spilling from open windows. They sounded upbeat and cheerful. The sing-song lilt of Omega's voice suggested someone else was there—a visitor. Crosshair inwardly cringed. Still new to civilian life, he wasn't overly fond of visitors—especially those who showed up unannounced, regardless of their self-proclaimed important reasons.
In situations like this, he couldn't help but notice how his siblings were adapting to life on Pabu much more easily than he was. People had a tendency to baffle him. But the others, Wrecker and Omega especially, seemed to really enjoy getting to know anyone and everyone. As Crosshair got closer, he recognized a voice in the mix of conversation, which nearly made him stop in his tracks.
He exhaled softly, a flush creeping up his neck. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears when he heard your laughter ring out. Why does it have to be her? The thought of walking past the compound and continuing down the hill to the beach was very tempting. He wasn't in the mood for other people right now, least of all you.
It definitely had absolutely nothing to do at all with the fact that he was always putting his foot in his mouth when you were around. You set him on edge like no one he'd met before, though not necessarily in a bad way. He quite liked you actually, but you'd probably never know it from his behavior.
Not to mention your last encounter on his walk a few nights ago. When you called to him from your porch, asking for his help with something out of your reach. He froze, thoughts swirling, and all he could manage to do was scowl despite his desire to assist. He hesitated, realizing it was a task you could likely manage yourself. But you asked, and the look in your eyes had his feet leaving the path and taking the small steps to your patio where you stood on a chair. Though you appeared steady, his hand instinctively hovered near the middle of your back. Maintaining his usual stern expression, he held the awning in place while you secured it.
You thanked him with a warm smile, and without thinking he offered you his arm as you stepped down. You accepted with another gentle smile, your hand resting lightly on his forearm, the warmth from your touch lingering even after you let go. You took a step backwards to admire your work. "That should do," you murmured before turning your attention back to him. "It might be a bit stormy tonight," you added, crossing you arms over your chest. You both glanced up at the clouds that had started filtering into the sky on the horizon. The bright moon made it easy to see them rolling across the water.
"Are you warm enough?" you asked, looking up at him and rubbing your arm as the wind picked up. "I've got some extra tunics or ponchos somewhere in here, if you'd like one… Oh, do you like tea? I just put some on…." You rambled, taking another step back towards your door, offering a welcoming smile. The breeze swirled again and carried the scent of your hair—or perhaps perfume—to Crosshair, and he felt drawn to accept your offer. Yet his apprehension rose, and his "no, thanks" came out quick and terse. He couldn't even recall if you said anything after he retreated, berating himself as he walked away. Before your house disappeared from view, he glanced back over his shoulder, only to find you'd already gone inside, leaving him with another twinge of regret.
But you were here now, and he couldn't really get to his part of their home without being at least noticed by Hunter. Kriff. He swore inwardly and steeled himself for the onslaught of attention that would be cast his way as soon as he crossed the threshold.
"Crosshair! You're back!" Omega rushed over as he appeared in the doorway. His sister beamed up at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining with excitement. "How was your walk?"
“It’s too close to bedtime to be getting all wound up, don’t you think?” he said to his sister and glanced at you, who was regarding him warily. Omega rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him fully into room.
“Nope! But look what we just got!” she smiled, pointing to the table in the near center. You were there standing next to Wrecker with an amused look on your face. Crosshair scowled, gesturing to the pile of neatly folded ponchos on the table before them, one for each of them. "What do we need these for?" He chided himself mentally the moment the words made it past his lips.
"Duh, because it gets cold at night here during some parts of the rotation," Wrecker said matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't something he had just learned a few minutes ago himself. He nudged you gently with his elbow, which made you blush slightly. The exchange made Crosshair's eye twitch. What was wrong with him? He wasn't exactly proud of how your previous encounters had gone, and this one wasn't looking like it would be all that great either, but seeing you react to Wrecker like that… he liked that even less.
"It really does… I… didn't have a whole lot when I came here, but Lyanna brought me a couple of these not too long after. Total lifesaver," you beamed at Omega who was excitedly unfolding one to throw over her head. It had hues of blue and brown fibers threaded together. "They make them right here on the island. It might be a little big on you now but you'll grow into it," you grinned at the young girl as you adjusted the seams at her shoulders, letting the garment fall into place.
"I really like it," Omega smiled, giving a little twirl that made the fabric fan out around her. "Thank you," she added warmly before wrapping one of her arms around you in a half hug.
"Anytime, kiddo," you smiled down at Omega, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before she turned to Wrecker to show him. When you looked up, Crosshair was regarding you with that severe look on his face, like it was actually causing him physical pain to be in your presence. You decided to take your leave, sensing the mood had shifted and not wanting to overstay your welcome.
"Well, I'll leave you all to it, then. I've got an early start tomorrow anyway," you said, your voice light and kind. Their words of thanks met your ears as you retreated towards the door, causing your lips to quirk up in a smile as you walked by Crosshair. However, he swore the spark he saw in your eyes when he first entered the room had dimmed a little. Good job, di'kut.
Crosshair opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but no words came, instead he just gave you a tense nod of his head before looking at the floor.
"Goodnight, everyone," you said softly before closing the door behind you with a gentle click.
“Way to kill the fun, Crosshair,” Wrecker teased after a long moment, roughing his brother’s shoulder as he walked past him into the kitchen, shooting a wink at Omega.
A heavy silence settled over the room. Without looking up, Crosshair knew Omega and Hunter were staring at him, their arms undoubtedly crossed and their faces wearing that annoyingly stern expression. Great. It meant they were about to gang up on him.
"Crosshair..." Omega said with a gentle reproach only she could get away with. He still hated it, though. "The people here are kind. She's just trying to help us feel at home. She understands what it's like, remember?”
Crosshair set his jaw, struggling to untangle the swirl of self-doubt and self-deprecation in his mind. "I know that," he said softly, fully aware that you, too, had sought refuge on Pabu to escape the Empire not all that long ago.
"I also think she likes you,” Omega whispered conspiratorially. “Like actually likes you…"
"I can't imagine why…" Hunter muttered, leaning into the doorframe. Crosshair narrowed his eyes at him in return, taking a wooden pick from his pocket and placing it delicately between his teeth. “You act like she’s a thermal detonator or something,” Hunter rumbled, smirking.
Omega rolled her eyes and glared at Hunter before turning back to Crosshair, whose expression only continued to sour the longer he was being put on the spot. "Don't listen to him," Omega insisted, but Hunter's words gnawed at the part of Crosshair's mind that had already questioned the same thing. Yet, Omega saw through his trademark scowl, regarding him with affection and gentle reproach.
Crosshair sighed, eyes softening as they returned to Omega. He still couldn't pinpoint the exact moment this kid had wrapped him around her finger, but glancing at Hunter's face, he knew his brother shared the same thought. Crosshair rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Hunter's eyes simply darted between the two of them—no words were necessary.
After a long pause, Crosshair huffed, "Fine—I'll… go talk to her." He winced at the thought. "What do I even say?" he said to the room, his jaw tight, shoulders slumping slightly at the discomforting thought.
"Well—I think you might like her too, Crosshair…" Omega offered gently, "…so maybe start with something simple like 'thank you for the new clothes' or 'I'm sorry for being such a cold wet blanke—'" Hunter coughed to interrupt her, and his chuckling.
"Going," Crosshair held his arms up in surrender, slinking towards the door you had just exited a few moments ago.
"Cross," Hunter said as he followed him to the door, handing him a dark green one from the pile. Silent communication passed between the brothers. Crosshair eventually nodded and slipped the soft material over his head, adjusting it to drape evenly over his shoulders.
It was pretty comfortable, he had to admit.
The scents Crosshair had grown to associate with you still lingered on the fabric—warm and spicy but soft with a hint of something like chamomile. He took a deep breath, allowing it to hang on the end of his senses, pulling up fleeting images of you in his mind that gave him a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach.
You were one of the first people here to show him genuine kindness. A series of gestures from you that had actually quite startled him at the time.
He could still recall every detail of that first encounter months ago. The landing pad on Pabu bustled with medically inclined residents and clone troopers as they returned from Tantiss. Your welcoming smile and guarded eyes greeted him as you offered your arm to help him onto an awaiting cot; he didn't take it, but you held it there nonetheless. Panic suddenly rose in his throat at losing sight of his siblings, but it subsided when he spotted Omega and Emerie tending to Wrecker nearby—who was indeed badly injured. Only after Echo lowered Hunter into the adjacent cot did Crosshair warily allow you to examine his injuries. You seemed to understand his hesitance, asked for his name, told him yours, carefully explaining each step and always seeking his permission before proceeding—a gesture that was both deeply appreciated and deeply unfamiliar to him.
Since then, he's been struggling to find a way to show his gratitude for that moment, and all of your unexpected kindness after. Every time he tried, the words caught in his throat—nothing he could think of seemed adequate enough to express it. Parsing through the complexity of his feelings often made it difficult for him to speak. He found himself caught between wanting to open up and his instinct to maintain distance. Crosshair knew he needed to find a way to bridge this gap, but he had no idea how. And the idea of being hit with any sort of rejection from you also gnawed at him.
"You look great," Omega grinned up at him, shaking him from his thoughts. Hunter gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder before pushing Crosshair back into the crisp evening air.
The air was more comfortable now with the added layer. The gentle breeze that wove its way through the streets and staircases gently tugged on the fabric as he walked. Looking at it more closely, it was different shades of green, and like Omega's, it was woven into a pattern that blurred one color into the next. He trudged the path to your neighborhood—lost in thought, wracking his brain for what he was going to say.
But when he arrived, the house was dark—it seemed you weren’t home.
Crosshair hesitated, contemplating his options. He brought his hand to the door but decided against knocking. He considered leaving a note but dismissed the idea quickly, as he had nothing to write with. He had no idea what he'd put down anyway. With a frustrated sigh, he turned and began walking aimlessly down the winding path.
Reluctant to return home immediately, Crosshair continued to where the houses grew sparse, eventually discovering sprawling patches of wildflowers. He vaulted over a crumbling stone wall and gathered a handful of blooms in various types and colors. As he walked back, he bundled the vibrant flowers as best he could, using his teeth and a loose thread from the poncho's hem. Upon returning to your door, he gently placed the makeshift bouquet on the chair you'd climbed onto the other night.
As he took a few steps back, he could only hope this small gesture might convey his intent better than any fumbling words he could muster right now. With a quiet hum, he finally turned and walked back towards home. Maybe he'd figure out what to say by the time he saw you again.
#tbb crosshair fan fiction#tbb crosshair#tbb crosshair x reader#crosshair x reader#crosshair fluff#that pabu life#mae lou ron writes#the bad batch fan fiction#clone fan fiction#star wars fan fiction#clones clones clones#the bad batch#star wars#tw in the tags
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Lumi Plays Pokémon: White 2 Bug Monotype Run- Part 1
It's finally time! I've been excited to get this started, and after a little waiting, today was the day I could get started.
So very quickly- the rules:
Only Bug type Pokémon can be used in battle (beginning once the first one becomes obtainable)
I can use non-Bugs for HMs
I'm playing on set mode for extra challenge
And that's about it!

So- after answering the age old question, I got the run underway. This may be long, so it's going under the cut!
So after naming myself Lumi, I had the first big question of the run- what to name my rival? Well, it took some thought, but there's no bigger rival to a bug... than a boot.

Some more cute cutscenes later (I love this game!) I had to pick a 'starter'. And considering the type I've been tasked to use, the choice was obvious. I picked Tepig.

Why Tepig, you may ask? You might think that I should've gone with Oshawott, so Boot ended up with Snivy, which is weak to Bug! That was my first thought too, but the actual better choice is Tepig.
The rival in BW2 has the same team by the end of the game no matter the starter, with just the starter itself being different- and the type of elemental monkey they get. If I pick Tepig, Boot gets the only version of their team that doesn't include a Fire type. And besides, Sewaddle is super effective on both Water for Oshawott, and Grass for the eventual Simisage.
Anyway, I defeat Boot, go through some more cutscenes before I'm finally let out of Aspertia City! Alder tries to train me up in the next town, but no, I'm making a beeline for my real starter! On the second route, after Tepig (named Oinkers) takes care of the trainers in the way, I can finally properly begin the run.

Here's Oinkers catching his replacement. Sorry Oinkers. (Except actually the nature on that Sewaddle wasn't great so I caught a second!)
I decided to name my Sewaddle Teabag. It was a name put forward by @haveyouusedthispokemon, albeit somewhat jokingly I think! I liked the thought of this lil bundle of leaves wrapped up in a lil bag, and then getting dunked in water- Teabag will be my answer to Water types after all!

The lil man in question.
I got Teabag up to level 5, the level a starter should be, and then boxed Oinkers so the run could properly start. Teabag wasted no time making quick work of the remaining trainers on the route, good job buddy!
I grinded him up to level 8 to get Bug Bite before I headed to Floccesy Ranch and fought Boot again! It was no problem for Teabag. 2 Bug Bites and he was done.

Then some more training at the ranch, followed by a first encounter with Team Plasma.

Finally, we went back to train with Alder, then returned to Aspertia City, ready for the gym.
I'll need name suggestions for Venipede too, so please let me know what you think I should call it! Hope you're excited to hear about this run, I'm very excited to get this going. Part 2 coming soon!
Teabag is sitting at level 12, and I'm confident he can handle it! Next time I play, we'll be getting a gym badge and then another team member- Venipede!

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hello!! i love your recs so so much, and i finally have something to ask. what about fics where harry is very good at something beyond just having powerful magic (love that trope tho) like commanding a classroom, solving a complicated puzzle, or idk even whittling. and draco notices and likes it? like competence kink. thank you!!
Oh I love this ask! Such a great concept, and not something I see often (competent Auror Harry is pretty popular though!). I’m sure I’m forgetting a bunch of fics and might add more later, but these are all great:
In Which Harry is Magnetic North and Draco Is An Idiot by bryoneybrynn (T, 13k)
For as long as he can remember, Draco’s been bringing fake dates to his family’s annual Yuletide celebration in order to evade his mother’s matchmaking. This year, Potter’s posing as his pretend boyfriend. But as the party gets underway, it gets unclear who’s playing who, who’s pretending what, who’s not pretending at all, and what the game really is. Confused? Yeah, so is Draco…
Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)
Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.
This is Never Happening Again by hpleems (M, 32k)
“Potter,” Malfoy said, shaking his head. “Do I look like I care about your holiday plans? Trust me: this is *never* happening again.”
Meet Me at Midnight by thestarryknight (T, 57k)
Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse. That is, until he stumbles upon the surreal and beautiful world of a mysterious fae creature…
A Room Up There (And You In It) by thestarryknight (T, 59k)
When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit. Featuring a grumpy antiques lover who most certainly did not sign up for this, encounters with a vengeful apparition, and a healthy application of Christmas spirit.
Among Ancient Pines by Theartfulldodger (M, 74k)
Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska. Years of hard work have culminated in an opportunity to work with an experimental wandmaker to study the intersection of Healing and wand theory.
Azoth by zeitgeistic (E, 88k)
Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.
Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose, dustmouth (T, 96k)
Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.
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