#but the choice is killing me from the inside | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

threepandas · 3 days ago

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Bad End: Loyalties

Did you know? That one of the unexpected benefits to being reborn, with your memories intact, is that you carry your first life's cultural taboos with you? All your knowledge, all your superstitions, every horror movie you've ever so much as glanced at. Like a dowry, brought with you, into this, your new life.

You end up not giving as much weight, to local superstitions. Especially the ones you know are not true. How? Well, sometimes? In the mad, random, overwhelming blur of the Cosmos? You end up in a Reality that to YOU? Was once fiction. Living in a snapshot of that world's history, as it plays out. Just as it was prophesied.

It's kinda disorienting. But? You get used to it.

Though you DO have to make a choice. Quickly. And decide where in that prophecy you want to stand. After all... there are many ways it could go. It WAS a "game". A story of romance. That other's lives would be impacted? That nations might rise or fall? That people could and will DIE? Oh, that is irrelevant! Isn't it?

They are young.

In LOVE.

Obviously, I could not risk my life on such irresponsible grounds. Plant my flag and swear loyalty, to such fickle hearts. I would die. They would get me killed, for their love story. No... No, what I needed? Was something stable. Selfish. Someone who would claim, but would KEEP.

I needed someone who rewarded loyalty. Someone who praised cleverness. Protected his own. Had (and would again) kill any who set untoward eyes upon those who served him. Someone guaranteed to survive until the end. Machiavellian, scheming. A soft and twisting word. Whispered kindly, in so many, many ears.

The power behind whichever throne he chooses.

Most Senior Royal Advisor, Iwamoto Nobutoshi. My boss. Or, really, Master I guess. Boss was for gangsters. Which was still weird for me. Part of me still twitched violently, every time I said the word "master". My brain insisting, it was either a sex thing or a slavery thing, and that I should respond with Immediate Violence at being told to call anyone that.

Yeah... there ARE downsides to keeping your memories. It really is a mixed bag, all told.

But, hey! All those horror movies I've seen in passing? Scary Horror-Terror Stuff I've absorbed through cultural osmosis? Has been really coming in handy, not gonna lie. So has my understanding of what constitutes "psychological warfare" and "mindfuck-y, liminal, torment".

It should NOT be as cathartic as it is? But... not gonna lie. I've gotten weirdly GOOD at this. Learned to become one with the shadows. Sneak into and out of places, I rightfully should not BE. Usually with a bucket of animal blood from a butcher's. Occasionally, if I KNOW they have someone who can test it? I get the bucket from the morgue.

Which? Is gross as FUCK. And disrespectful. But I have to believe they'd be totally down for fucking with some Evil Rich Assholes. Plus I donate funds to their family's anonymously. So I like to think it balances out? Still don't like to do it, though. I feel like the longer I've been here, the more my morals have chipped away...

Where was I? Right! Tonight's "art"!

I forget where that quote was from, exactly? But? It was true. People do not look up nearly enough. Worse yet, most manors around here? Had attics and weird pockets in their ceilings, with easy access to the floors below. I had? Gotten past? SO many patrols this way. So, SO many.

Frankly, an ALARMING number of patrols.

I'd taken to putting traps in the ceiling, back home.

What I was aiming for, here, was the private rooms. Not the hallway outside the private rooms, oh no, those would be patrolled to hell and back. But inside. Plus? It would have that added, spicy, "we can get you where you sleep" fear factor. And? Having their oh so TRUSTED, highly trained gaurds? See NOTHING? Perfect~

Cause? We? Were doing a good ol fashioned "Sins of The Past" Haunting!

The trick, if you don't actually have any good oppo-research available? Is to be vague, yet aim for things you do know about them. Let them fill in the blanks. Such as? The VERY convenient deaths of Lord Jackass's other brothers, which cleared HIS way towards power. There's no PROOF of any wrong doing... but~? Guilty hearts DO tend to tell on themselves~!

Slinking down the rope ladder silently, into the frankly hideously overdecorated room. I got to work. On silent feet, I began to set the stage. Furniture, lifted and silently stacked, around the snoring Lord and his equally unconscious wife. Expensive pottery, covered in a thick and padded bag, before it is struck.

As though some silent blast of power had gone off. Each piece, placed right back where it had been, now broken, on the floor. Next? The most time consuming, but subtle, one. Also the one that would spread farthest as gossip. Using a custom made seam ripper, tear out the eyes of every example of his family's crest on his clothes. On his bedding.

Yes, ALSO on the robe he wore to bed. That one takes very gentle movement. Very nerve-wracking, not gonna lie. You gotta go slow. Once you DO? Good ol "tears of blood." Just paint it right on the cloth, let it stain. As though the crests were weeping.

THEN, you paint the room in nicely vague horror movie script.

"Brother. Why?" "We know. We know EVERYTHING. How could you?" "We are tired of waiting, join us. Join us Brother." "We are witness, a shame upon our blood."

And other such gems! Plus the good ol hands scrambling, covered in blood, to a point in the center of the room. Put a round painters cloth down, and~? Gently sift ash and bone dust (I dried up bones from the kitchens, then ground um! Also great for gardening.) over the floor. Step UP, to my ladder, kit away, grab the cloth, and? Off we go!

Room successfully haunted.

Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole, really. Is it a BIT much? Yeah, probably. People lose their SHIT. I apparently have "a talent", according to my teammates. Which is nonsense. It's all B-grade horror move nonsense and house of horrors gross outs. Visceral ick. But it's NEW here, so I guess that counts? Even if I am plagiarizing the FUCK out of somebody.

Thankfully, though, dispite my "talent"? Master Iwa- ...No, wait, didn't he tell me recently to call him by his name? Uncomfy. A good sign, obviously, but... uncomfy. Don't Like that he knows who I am. I was aiming for, you know, mid rank? Not disposable but pretty forgetable? But now I have a Useful Skill. Have proven to be INTELLIGENT.

Fuck, I even made the mistake of cleaning up and organizing PAPERWORK. You know, paperwork? A thing you would have to READ and MAKE SENSE OFF, to be able to organize? Have to create some kind of workable and efficient system, by WHICH to sort? I thought it was an assistants! Not HIS!

One fuck up is all it takes.

He will find you, he WILL rip the secrets out of you, and yes! He WILL smile pleasantly the entire fucking time! It's horrifying! Kinda cool! I'm pretty sure my life flashed before my eyes! Ha ha... Holy SHIT.

Right, where...? Right! My "talent"! Master Nobutoshi? Big on "right piece for the right purpose". Yeah, you could FORCE people to go against their ideals, their beliefs, their very nature... but you can only do so, for so long. Fear fades. Pain can be overcome. Not everyone fears death.

He regards it as foolish, inefficient, to drag and force and scream.

No, no! He? Oh, he merely... suggests. A softly spoken recommendation. A guiding hand, to show you, the best use of your skills. And if that guidance just so happens to serve his interests? Well... what a wonderful coincidence~ How fortuitous.

Heavy hands get broken. Snapped at and slapped away. But a gentle touch? A little nudge? Sweet whispers in your ear? That tell you what you want to hear? Guide you where HE wants you to be? Well, THAT is so much harder to notice, isn't it. So, SO much harder to fight.

I chose pretty well, I like to think. Because no matter the game? He'll come out on top. Probably laugh, as all the other players, dance to his tune. Who WOULDN'T want to be on his team? His team wins.

And winning? Means I survive.

Dropping off my kit in the shed at the back of the Iwamoto guest residence gardens (where, should it be found, the presence of such things could be blamed on unscrupulous guests), I trudge back towards the servants quarters. I'm tired and filthy. It's the kind of late? Where it's flipped right around to become early.

Luckily, me and my teammates plan ahead, so there is a still moderately warm bath waiting for me. God bless Aiko and all she stands for. For this? I'll even carry her back to our room. Since, once again, she's decided "fuck it" and just curled up on the stack of towels. Doesn't even fit. She just shoved her upper body in the cubby and called it good.

I snort and step over her. Get my fuckin bath. Late night shifts are the worst. But we all take um. I focus on getting clean, grabbing my passed out lump of a roommate, and heading to bed. Fucker drools on me. Snorkels right in my ear. Takashi laughs silently as we pass him, hold the door for me. Seems to be heading out as we head in.

Master Iwamoto's shadow network never truely sleeps, after all.

Always someone doing something.

Dumping us both in our beds, I greatfully pass out. Do not dream. Greet near mid-day as my dawn, ready to start it all over again. Up, a quick bath, dressed and ready to go. Nothing to seem here but us identical servants. We go in shifts. All the better to be as disorienting as possible, to outsiders.

Everyone who looks like each other? Grouped on a shift. Taught to use make up to make themselves even MORE indistinguishable. We pick someone about in the middle, appearance wise, of each group, as the Standard. Everyone is to copy them. For my group, it's me.

I pick up the whispers and news, that have been collected since this mornings report. Second one of the day. At least, second one when we're not on "war" footing. As I walk, I glance down. Technically not supposed to read these, but I'm fairly sure he knows I do at least read the top page. Is amused by it. I'd have seen punishment otherwise. Or removed from delivery.

Oooh~ lookie THERE! How SCARY~☆! It appears someone was HAUNTED last night! By the ghosts of their dead brothers, you say? Angry ancestors, you say? Wife hysterical? Fled to her parents house? Sister, in tears, before the king? Oh my, oh my~!

I struggle not to grin. That would give the game away. Me? Reading something I'm not supposed too? I would NEVER. He he he~

Casually weaving through other servants, I keep reading. Climbing stairs and ducking down halls. Huh. Wait a second... slowing, I step to the side of the covered walkway. Re-read that last paragraph. Near the end of the page? Is something... strange. Not right.

I REMEMBER the Plot.

Made SURE I would remember. Wrote it down, then again and again. Memorized it, like my life literally depended on it, while it was still somewhat fresh in my mind. Because, frankly, it DID depend on it. Even now? Decades later? I can recite it by rote.

So why? Pray tell? Did our blushing Protagonist? Have a BROTHER.

Furthermore, why the FUCK have I not NOTICED this before?

Glancing around, I see far too many watchful eyes, to properly investigate. So I straighten. Pleasant, vague, expression in place. I walk forward. In no hurry at all. Definitely going to deliver these papers. Certainly not delaying in the slightest. Nothing to see here, everyone! Go about, what you were. We are all friends here, RIGHT?

I step into the building at the far end of the covered pathway. Resist diving into the first room available. That? Would be too predictable. I go for the THIRD. One quick grab, slide, and side-step? And~? Poof! Like I was never there. Servant? WHAT servant? These halls are EMPTY. You're clearly seeing things... are you okay?

Immediately, I lift the reports. Well, immediate after a look around the room, of course. Don't want to get CAUGHT. Flipping to the second page, I start reading. What's this about a Brother? What BROTHER?! There IS no BROTHER!

....except there IS.

Somehow.

And HE? Is a very, VERY clever man. One who lived quietly. Like a ghost. After the failed assassination attempt that nearly killed him and his mother. Wait a- ...failed? That sounds...? Familiar.

I have to close my eyes and think, to remember. Lean my head back and let my brain churn. It's... obscure. A tiny detail, mentioned offhand. Single line of dialog, in only one of the routes. Not even the MAIN routes. But one of the Secret ones, that you have to unlock... in the... collectors? Edition? I think? There was that play through video, right? We were eating... a noodle dish of some kind...

Fuck, I can't remember it. Not fully.

But I remember ENOUGH.

I REMEMBER? That it WASN'T a FAILED attempt. That Protagonist-chan's family didn't talk about them. For vaguely plot relevant reason. There was healing and good vibes. Follow your dreams, kids. Buy now. Etc etc...

He... survived? How? Damn it. Doesn't say. But... shit. He's cause a LOT of trouble, isn't he? And it looks like he's kind... railroading his sister into a specific route. That, or keeping her from emotionally cheating on her fiancée. Can't tell. Haven't met her. Looks like he's also patented a few... is that a fucking WHISK? Holy shit. These are all early industrial revolution!

Looking up from the reports, I stare blankly into space. Is... is the Protagonist's brother... ALSO a Reincarnator? What do I do with that? Do I contact him? Say "hello"? "I'm here too"? I thought I was... was completely alone in this world. But of all the places he could BE. Smack dap RIGHT in the middle of all the action?! Holy SHIT.

I'm going to have to think about this. A LOT.

Correcting the reports, I step back into the hallways. Casual as you please. Continue on my way, even as my mind churns and churns. Why is he gathering allies? Why hide for so long? Is he counting on his sister's plot armor to carry over? Or does he have actual military training? He's amassing loyalists. For WHAT?

And the reports said he's searching for something. Seem to suggest that WE are keeping it AWAY from him. What are we hiding? Protecting?

People? Resources? A mine?

I reached Master Nobutoshi's study, in his private wing. The halls quite, as only the most elite and trusted servants were allowed to travel here. Kneeling, I knocked on the door frame, waited to be acknowledged.

Receiving an almost absent-minded acknowledgement, I slide open the door.

Framed by delicately painted screen and thickly stuffed book shelves, Iwamoto Nobutoshi was, as always, the very picture of an elite scholar. Beautiful and refined. Slow and deliberate in movements, as though each had been pondered and found acceptable. I had never met a man more graceful. Not in this life, not in the last.

To my right, the sliding door to the gardens were open. Giving a picturesque view of summer, as it faded into fall. To the left, painted screens. Done by some Master's hand. With a splendid level of detail that still caught me off gaurd, even now. There were birds, in those painted trees! Had there always been? I wished I could look closer.

Nonetheless, I respectfully offered the reports for perusal.

"Right on time. This One had begun to worry." He said as he set aside his brush, smile mild as ever, even as his eyes swiftly cataloged each new discrepancy. There were several. "Bruises. Did the new padding in your suit, not sufficiently protect? This One will be most displeased if we have been lied too. We were promised it would."

No, and that was the thing, wasn't it? My kit? Had never been better. But... I had been damn near ambushed on my way TOO my job. Had to take evasive maneuvers. Do a LOT more parkour then I was comfortable with. Those fuckers had been... persistent. Weirdly so. Which made no sense, since they didn't seem affiliated with anyone I recognized.

"Oh?" The question was less a question and more a flat note of outrage. He held a hand out for the reports, began to read. "How... interesting. They certainly seem to be getting bold. This One begins to wonder. If he has perhaps been too kind, that they would see fit to harrass his-"

An ominous silence fills the room as he cuts off mid-sentence, as his eyes find something on the page he's reading. He has gone utterly still. The gentle curl of smoke from his pipe, wafting around him like the warning trails of a dragon. The deadly hidden embers of a forest fire, flaring up. His pleasant smile had frozen upon his face. Like a mask.

"He certainly does love to push his luck, does he? Make demands, for things he has no right too. Things which are ours." The words weren't even so much addressed to me? As the were a hissed accusation, towards the report in his hand. Someone, somewhere, seemed REALLY dead set on pissing Master Nobutoshi off.

Honestly? That seemed really unwise, but it's their funeral... I guess...?

Master Nobutoshi turns so suddenly I only barely avoid flinching. Jumping like a newbie. He's doing that "pick you apart at the seems" stare again. Looking into my soul. I remain politely deferential, patient, as I wait for him to work through his thoughts. He rises from his desk. Elegant and prowling, as he stalks towards me. Gaze intense, fixated. I... I am missing something.

"Tell me, my loyal little shadow. What would you do? If some... upstart, dared begin to covet, that which was yours? Started panting after your dearly beloved trusted, like a filthy dog? Trying to steal them away? Would you take that? Tolerate such disrespect? I... This One... can not imagine you would."

"You are so very loyal. So diligent. You serve me not for fame or glory, power nor wealth. You ask for so little, offer so much. I would give the world to you. My precious, loyal, little shadow. Forever by my side. No doubt, we shall grow old together. That they would covet you? The audacity is unthinkable."

Soft yet warrior calloused hands, come up to cup my cheeks. And... ah. Yeah. T-That's pretty fucking CLEAR on what I'm missing. My boss? Has a thing for me? Crush? Or... or is it "is in love with"? W-what was that about people coveting?! Hold on! Roll things back a second! What's happening?! I never thought I was blind... about apparently I need a stick and some GLASSES.

Because there is "missed some subtext" and then there's "dude, how do you miss the silent war with guerrilla tactics, right fucking IN FRONT OF YOU?!", so like? Either I was being DELIBERATELY kept seperate? Or... actually? No. That actually sound exactly like what probably happened. An information diet.

FUCK.

Before I could decide how, exactly, I felt about that? The same door I had entered through, opened again. This time sharply and with an audible snap. Dragging urgently along it's tracks and hitting its end, in a way the delicate crafting had never been meant for. I swear it nearly cracked. Alarmed, I spun, breaking free of Master Nobutoshi's hold on my face, to face whoever was at the door.

Aiko.

Shouldn't she be near the front gates? "Sweeping" and listening to gossip for the Shadows? How. Why!? My eyes catch on slowly spreading red. Stark against her... our uniform, she's hurt. Badly. Gripping her side and the door frame like it's the only thing still holding her up. Her face ashy pale and sweating with terrible pain. Eyes determined. Her jaw set in that stubborn, stubborn grit.

"Master. You need to leave. Now! They...!" She wavers, starting to blackout from the pain, before forcing it back. "They've attacked! We're holding them back. A-As best as we c..can! Please! Lord Iwamoto, I BEG you! You must go! If you don't survive this, then everything is lost!"

As if to underline the terrible wait of her words, an explosion goes off, shaking the austere foundations of the ancient house in which I serve. My mind immediately flits and races along the emergency protocols. W-was that one of ours? Did we..? No. No, we would have... DID set up barricades. This is our house. We've already trapped it.

They are the ones who brought explosives.

You don't bring things like those, if you plan to leave survivors. You bring those? When you plan to make EXAMPLES. Aiko is right. We have to go. Now. Heart hurting, I nod to my roommate, one of my best friends, and know that this is it. I will likely never see her again, alive. There are... so many goodbyes, words, I wish I had time to say.

In the look she shoots me? I see the same.

We knew this might come.

Just... just hoped it never would.

My boss's crush can wait. His LIFE is more important. I turn and reach for him, to guide him towards the screens, leading deeper into his wing. Get to him easily. But do not get more then two steps before an arm, like steel, is suddenly around my waist and jerking me back.

Jerking US back. Towards the wall of scrolls and decorative pieces, that sat behind Master Nobutoshi's desk. Startled, my gaze shoots down to see Master Nobutoshi's arm, unhesitating and possessive, wrapped around my waist. There is... a lot more muscle under those flowing robes, then I ever suspected. But-?

I do not even have time to think, to ponder, the question before it is violently answered. The masterfully painted screens, that I had long admired, smashing and tearing as bodies crash through them.

Takashi, dead on the floor, sword still in hand. Around him, his teammates dying, as they still tried to by their Lord even a few moments more, to escape. The large, ever polite Shadow, a man who had been like a brother to me... dumped upon the ground like little more then trash. To be tossed aside and discarded. Stepped over, on some other man's campaign.

His blood mixed with the ruins of the Hunting Tiger screen. Two proud, quietly noble wonders, destroyed. It had been his favorite.

Aiko howled with rage and grief. Threw herself into the fight.

We had been family.

I turned, away, hating myself for it. Knowing it's what they would want. Tears threatened but I could not let them come. Not... not yet. Not yet. There was an emergency exit. Where? Where!? I remembered it. I knew, I knew it! But the grief was muddling my mind, making it slow. Damn it. DAMN IT! WHERE WAS IT!!!??

Master Nobutoshi reached past me. Gripping the hilt of decorative sword, he lifted and drew. It.. it was not decorative. Merely disguised. A masterwork blade. It sang ominously as it cut through the air, entering the scene. Then... a face, breathe, pressed to the side of my head. Like.. like a lover? A terrible discordance, in this already awful event.

"Behind the Three Mountains and a Shrine, My Love. I will be with you shortly."

I froze. The world froze, for all it continued, around me. Distantly... I felt Master Nobutoshi loosen his grip, after... after one last possessive squeeze. Let go. Felt him turn away, as he faced the room. But... but that was... he.... he had....

W-was that? I-Informal? A..And WHAT did he call m-!?

My hand, shaking, found the right scroll. Somehow. Without my numb, panicking mind, they moved dispite me. Somehow determined to keep me alive, dispite my shock. I flicked the right switch. Disarmed the traps in the order they needed to be. And... click. There was the trap door. Our... our way out...

I stared. Blankly. W.. what was I supposed to..? Do?

Was I finally... in shock? That's... probably not good. Bad, actually. I should... should move. There are swords here. It's...? Dangerous? Yes. Dangerous. Bad. I need too... too think. Cry, maybe. Somewhere... not loud. With... with no... no swords.

Stumbling. Stiffly. Like my body was not my own anymore, I knelt. Hands clumsy and far away, I struggled with the trap door. Finally got it. People were... were fighting. Hurting. I... I didn't want to be here anymore. Didn't want to be ANYWHERE anymore. I... I wanted it to stop.

Why? Why wouldn't they all just... just STOP.

Aiko. Takashi. My teammates. Who else? Who else was hurt? G-gone? I was... was supposed to be SAFE. This was supposed to be SAFE. I worked so hard. Compromised and compromised, pushed myself down, and made myself fit. I worked and worked and WORKED, until I had nothing LEFT, b... because this was supposed to be SAFE!!!

I... I was supposed to b-be...!

"Iwamoto!" A voice roared above the chaos and fighting. "Where is She?! I know you're keeping her somewhere!"

Like a lions roar, some primal part of my brain demanded I pay attention. Now. Dragging, with brutal claws, my fragile mind, from its drifting cloud of numbness. One leg already on the steps to the escape tunnel, I turned, and... with horror? Realized I was to blame. For... for ALL of this.

Because? There, in armor, stood the Protagonist's brother. Surrounded by his men, with his sister safely at home, what other SHE could he POSSIBLY mean? If not the one? That ALSO remembers? H...He killed Aiko. Takashi. For THIS?

Monster.

Oh god, he.. he was a MONSTER.

Master Nobutoshi and the Reincarnator squared off. Swords drawn, men at their back. Already, so many were dead. So many I had known. Had worked with. My friends. Just... just pawns, between two powerful men. Dizzy, I realized, they... they hadn't even glanced at them. Didn't even seem to SEE them. Just... just more fodder. For their grand campaigns.

"You know?" Nobutoshi all but purred, as he clashed blades with his opponent. "I really must thank you. You helped me realize, the true worth of the gem I possessed. And, once you're dealt with? I will no longer need to hide her in obscurity. With you dead, little rat, I can finally have her, in every way that matters."

"She'll be a beautiful bride." His grin was a savage thing, full of baring teeth.

The Protagonist's brother raged. A lion, a mountain, and a warlord. Fury twisting what were, no doubt, handsome features into something horrifying. Blade work swift and brutal. How many of my friend's blood? Still painted that blade? Still stained his armor? He dressed himself like he thought he was the hero. He was destroying the only home I had known, for these past decades.

"Pervert! You disgusting CREEP! You think you can just imprison women until they love you?! I always knew there was something wrong with you, but this? This take the cake, you FREAK! I'm getting her out of here! Stopping your schemes! Once and for all!" The Brother roared, something unhinged in his eyes. A lifetime of isolation at last, too much, now that relief might finally be at hand. "You'll never understand her! You CAN'T understand her! Not like me! She was MADE FOR ME! We're supposed to be in this TOGETHER! And I WON'T let you keep me from her ANY LONGER, YOU FREAK!"

They couldn't see anyone but each other, as they fought. Brutal. Savage. Singing blades and madness. Around the room, the two sides clashed. Died. Pointlessly, at the command of their Lords. Sitting at the entrance to the escape route, I could see Aiko from here. Takashi. Both dead, gone, where just this morning we had been joking over our plans for an upcoming festival. We... we were going to hit up the candy booths first. Double back to store our loot. Then enjoy the festivities.

It was a good plan. I was going to pretend... that... that I didn't notice Aiko, stealing all the sour plum candies. I hated them. She loved them. But would never take them if I offered. O.. only fun if she could sneak um. Takashi would save me my favorites. Wasn't much of a sweets guy.

Gone...

All gone.

And for what? Because I "belonged" to the Brother? Because Master Nobu-...no. Because Iwamoto Nobutoshi, picked a FIGHT? All I wanted was to be safe. Live quietly. No plot. No drama. No chaos. Just... just market days and laundry, sweeping and helping make dumplings. Weeding the gardens. Napping with kids and cats. Slowness and the shifting of seasons.

A life, unremarkable.

I looked down into the escape tunnel. Dark, long, and to somewhere unknown.

They did not notice me leave.

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sweetimpurity · 2 days ago

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His Majesty Lord Sukuna...

wc: 3k His Majesty wants you for only himself...

a/n: this came out of nowhere, I was just thinking about him last night and then this happened. enjoy!! more sukuna in the future??

cw: breeding, prostitution, mentions of killing, it's Sukuna so...

His Majesty Lord Sukuna had taken a liking to you, much more than his actual concubines. You were dying in your village, selling your body to buy herbs for your ailing family. Anyone who did not live inside the palace walls was dying or sick or starving. You were determined to give a better life to your younger cousins and family members.

That was until His Majesty leveled your village, killing almost everyone and tearing every structure down to the dirt. Killing his own people without a care. All for his plans of expansion, growing his reign over more lands and building his palace much larger. To show neighboring kingdoms that he was not even afraid to do anything necessary. It didn't matter killing a few hundred people to get the job done.

Through the fire and smoke, you and a few others were captured. Brought to the palace to become part of the royal staff. Washing linens and cleaning. But at least you were finally safe for once in your life.

Lord Sukuna saw you one day. You always seemed to get lost in space. Staring off as you washed sheets in the courtyard pools.

"How old are you?" His gruff voice asked behind you. Making you flinch. You looked back only to toss whatever wet cloth you were working on, throwing yourself to the cobblestone and bowing down to him. The tip of your nose touching the granite. "Your highness..."

He's silent for a few moments. Standing in his death black robes, blood red trim. Staring down at you pitifully. A look of distain on his face. "I asked how old you are."

You mumbled something down into the dirt. And he scoffed.

"Look up at me when you speak, little one."

"Twenty-two, my lord..." You shot up from the ground at his words. Kneeling on the stone and looking up at him for a moment, only to look down again, bowing your head.

"You look younger..." He huffs. Glaring down at you. "You should eat more."

"Yes, thank you, my lord." You just nod. Any word he says to you, you thank him for even looking your way. That's the lesson you've learned living in the palace thus far.

"Get back to work." He says roughly, hands behind his back as he studies you getting back to the washing before walking off.

That night, some palace guards came into the servant quarters. Demanding you come out and face them. The other girls and workers tried to defend you, ask what they wanted from you. For they knew how ruthless His Majesty could be for no reason at all.

But they couldn't stop the guards from taking you. Pulling you out of your quarters and down the corridors. A pit in your stomach at the thought of what might happen to you. They dragged you down the halls to a room. Dark inside at first but then as it all comes into view in the candlelight, you see this is His Majesty's sitting room. Looking down at the rugs and cushions laid out on the floor. Candles, fabrics and gold glinting. And then him. Sitting at the table on the floor.

"Come here."

You gulp at his tone, the guards pushing you into the room. You have no choice but to obey. You don't want to run the risk of upsetting him. Quickly, you walk to where he’s sitting, your head bowed.

“Sit.”

He says softly. His voice still gruff as ever. You instantly obey, kneeling down at the table. Your shins in the plush expensive cushions set out on the floor. Your head still bowed in reverence. Is he upset about you being distracted earlier while washing? Was there something wrong about the way you spoke to him earlier? What could this be about? Your stomach is in knots thinking about it.

“Eat.” He says. Confusing you. The clang of porcelain and he pulls the lid off of a steaming pot on the table. Noodles and what looks like steak, in broth with fresh green onion. All things you haven’t had since… ever. Your eyes flick up to him for a moment. Catching his eye and instantly looking down again. Your stomach growling at the delicious smell.

He pushes the pot closer to you. Silently. Crossing his arms and frowning at you. Expecting you to follow his command. So you do. Almost ravenously. Because you’re so hungry. Taking the porcelain spoon and chopsticks, lifting the steaming salty noodles to your lips and eating. It’s delicious. The kind of meal that would be prepared for His Majesty himself. But why is he giving you this?

Your hand trembles slightly as you eat. Because he’s being so silent. Just watching you. Minutes go by, lots of them. And he’s just watching you with a hard glare. Staring as you wolf down the rest of the meal, even drinking down the broth. The hearty food satiating your hunger. A hunger that seems to have lasted your whole life until now. And once you're done, you set everything down on the wooden tabletop. Your hands go to your lap, looking down again.

“Very good. I expect you here tomorrow night. Same time.” He says simply. And you nod. Your mind is going crazy. What is going on? All you’ve heard all your life is of his ruthless murder streak.

“Now, go to sleep, little one.”

“Yes my lord, thank you, my lord.” You mumble, nodding your head and standing up. Bowing once more before turning. The guards receive you outside the door and escort you back to the servant quarters. You slept that night with a full belly and head full of questions.

For the next few weeks, you show up there every night. Eating the meal His Majesty had the staff prepare for you to eat. High protein and something with bone broth for your health. He watched you eat it down. Always in silence. Making sure you consume every drop.

Over this time, you’ve become quite comfortable in his presence. And you feel much stronger all the time. More energy and in higher spirits. From the healthy meals you're now receiving. Even though he doesn’t speak to you or ask you questions. You no longer tremble or shake. And he knows, of course, he observes every minute detail about you.

Tonight, you’ve come and the guards let you in. But this time His Majesty is not there. Instead the old ladies of his service are gathered there. All with kind expressions. They encourage you to eat and enjoy. And you do, knowing it’s what your Lord would want. You can’t help but miss his presence. Even if it’s always silent.

When you finish eating, the ladies aid you in taking off your servant garb. Bathing you in warm water and oils. Their hands are careful and gentle in washing you. Every nook and cranny. You can’t remember ever feeling so clean before. You don’t dare ask any questions. As it seems you’re not supposed to have the answer. The ladies bring you to another room. Dark when you enter and pushing through red draped fabric to the inside. Candlelight. His Majesty’s private quarters.

Your heart pounds. Like your heart knows what’s about to happen, your body too. But you’re having trouble wrapping your head around it. You walk forward, looking at the sharp swords on the wall, a map of the kingdom detailed on animal hide, gazing around at the place in wonder and awe. Pulling tight the silk robe the ladies gave you. The expensive fabric slipping over your fresh clean skin.

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice sounds behind you. He was already in here, watching you. You jerk around to look at him, bowing your head to not meet his eye without his permission. His question registering in your mind. “Very well… clean, my lord, thank you.”

His brow furrows watching your body language. He thought he was making progress with you all this time. You had seemed comfortable, relaxed even, over the past few weeks he’d been feeding you so well, sitting with you.

“Look at me.”

He says it and your heart pounds. Looking up at him and wanting to be obedient. His dark eyes glaring down at you. The dark sharp markings decorating his face, it’s all so distracting.

“Don’t look away from me again.” He says slowly. Almost angry. He can’t stand the way you seem afraid of him. “Yes, your highness…” You hum, looking up at him and fighting the urge to bow to him as always.

“You smell lovely…” He hums, taking a step forward. His sensitive nose picking up the oils and soaps. All scents he picked specifically. Ones that he wanted to smell on you. “Thank you, my lord.”

You try to hold back the gasp when he leans forward, his face dipping into your neck and inhaling. You stand still as the marble columns that hold this palace standing. Feeling his nose and his lips running over your skin. “Do you know why you’re here?” He whispers next to your ear.

“N-no, my lord.” You hum, finding your voice after choking on it. Even though you’re sure you know now what’s about to happen. Can he hear your heart beating?

One of his big hands reaches up, under the material of your robe and gently coaxes your hand away, letting the fabric fall open. His hand running up over your belly. The belly he’s happy to feel, to know you’re well fed and stronger than you were before. Soft and squishy and warm, perfect to grow his heir.

His hand runs over your hip to your ass. Squeezing the flesh in his hand. Pulling his head back to look in your eyes. Both hands running under your robe now and making you shiver.

“I know you are not a virgin…” He hums. Your cheeks flushing hot as his words. Swallowing thickly. Feeling a sense of guilt and dread. That you’ve disappointed him, that he’s upset. He speaks again before you can.

“But I will be the last man to touch you… to take you. You will never lay with another man again.”

You look up in his eyes. Stunned to silence at his words and unsure of what to say. What to think. His words came almost as a warning.

“Someone touches you, I will kill them… and if I find you’ve been tainted by another man’s seed… I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” He warns, his hands running up your back and eyes piercing into your soul. The King of Curses will not be denied or disobeyed.

“Yes, my lord. I understand…” You hum. A strange sort of flurry of feelings in your gut. And his arms wrap around you, lifting you against his chest and pushing you back to his bed. He lifts you up, crawling over the blankets and linens and furs scattered across the mattress. His hands are quick to rip your robe to shreds. Pulling you free and naked and pressing his body down onto you. It’s now you realize he’s bare too. Watching him pull his robe off, the black fabric in contrast to his skin and the black markings on him.

He reaches back to a small tray beside the bed. Grabbing a jade jar with a top, pulling it out with a clink and tilting the bottle over. Your eyes wide, holding your breath as a chilly liquid pours from the bottle’s lip, dribbling down your cunt. Running down every crevice, collecting at your core. His thick fingers coming to rub the substance up and down, working some into you, prodding your entrance and testing how tight you are. Very tight.

“M-my lord…” You sigh, thighs wanting to close but he forces them wide open with little force, rubbing his fingers up and down your cunt, beating and pulsing for him. No other experience you’ve had has been like this before. In the village, you were treated like an object for men’s desires. All you cared about was the money as it would decide whether your family would eat that night or not.

“S-s-ah!…” You gasp, squirming over the blankets and he’s licking his lips at the sight. The sounds that escape you. He leans down, rubbing his fingers over your bundle of nerves, stimulating your clitoris. Pressing his lips to your sternum and licking into your skin, drawing kisses up to your neck and burying his face in there. He’s hard for your sweet cunt. The smell of the oils on your skin is dizzying. Rubbing his cock against your thigh as he fingers you, making your juices and the lubrication oil spill out onto the sheets.

“Oh, my lord…” You moan, a mess and tingling. No one’s ever been so slow and gentle, or so skilled. It’s like everywhere he touches, a fire ignites, burning through to your core. A foreign buzz in your loins. Something you’ve never felt before.

“You’re beautiful… so little… so pretty…” He huffs, lifting off of you and kneeling between your legs, pulling his fingers from your cunt and instead rubbing the oil along his shaft. Looking down at you through his long dark lashes. He’s enormous, his hulking form towering over you and slotted between your trembling thighs. You’re wide eyed looking down at his cock. The tip huge and red, needy, veins down to the black markings at his base. How will that ever fit? It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen.

“M-my lord…” You whisper, your hands going to his chest as he lowers over you again. Nose to nose with him, feeling him nudge at your entrance. A dread welling up in your chest.

“Shhh… I will take care of you… relax.” He hums, brushing some hair off your cheek before pressing his lips to yours. Your first kiss. That’s definitely a first. None of the men who paid you for sex ever kissed you. Your worries dissolve into mush, kissing him back and accepting his tongue into your mouth. Gasping against his lips when they part, his tongue, his sharp canines, his lips, the growl at the back of his throat. Hot blood rising in your cheeks.

He pushes into you, slipping in easily from the oil and your slick. A hitch in your breath when he starts to stretch you out on him, slipping in little by little. But he keeps a hand cupping your cheek, kissing you to soothe you and keep you hazy. Until he’s pushing all the way to the hilt, fully sheathed inside you.

“M-m hah-” You gasp, head throwing back from the pressure and burn.

“Relax yourself, little one… I will not hurt you…” He whispers, holding your cheek again and finding your eyes as he pulls back, thrusting into you again slowly. “Ah!” You whimper, needing to get used to the size of him, needing to adjust. He watches your expression, another thrust into you and then another. Slow and deep to help you. And soon he’s slipping in easily, like you were made for him. Holding back growls from how good you feel wrapped around him. Kissing your cheeks and burying his face in your neck as he works up a rhythm. Your fingers meekly wrapped over his broad shoulders and smothered by his size and weight on top of you. Taking him over and over. And as the pain subsides, it’s replaced by a pleasure you’ve never felt before. To be filled with him, the slick sounds of his cock filling your cunt. It’s all so overwhelming.

He continues until you can’t help gushing on his cock. Multiple orgasms taking over you. All so brand new. You didn’t know the passions of the flesh could feel so good. At least not for the woman. But Lord Sukuna has not yet spilled his seed and you’ve cried in glorious climax on his cock five times yet.

“Your Majesty!” You whine, head thrown back over the pillows, your back arching. Shaking legs wrapped around his waist. Scratches from your fingernails reddened in his skin. As he pounds into you, holding your wrists in his gasp and pulling back for leverage. “Your Majesty!” You cry.

“Say my name, sweetness…” He huffs, out of breath, a big hand wrapping around your throat to make you look at him. Not squeezing, just holding, caressing almost. “S-s… my lord…” You hesitate.

“Say it. Oh you’re mine…” He growls. Pounding into you hard, like an animal, making you scream and cry out, sprawling over the blankets. “You’re mine!”

“You’ll be my wife.” His voice is a growl, his hand going to the side of your head, tangling in your hair and making you look in his eyes. Pumping into you so fast and hard, it almost hurts, he can’t help himself.

“You will bear me a son.” He snarls, pressing his nose into your cheek and his chest pushing you down into the blankets. “And no one but I will touch you again.”

“Yes, my lord!” You sob, holding onto him for dear life. On the verge of your sixth orgasm. And you can feel him pulsing inside you.

“Say my name! Say yes Lord Sukuna!” He commands, looking down in your eyes now, needing to hear the words. “Yes, Lord S-Sukuna!” You cry. And a switch flips, gasping and arching into him, clenching down on him so hard he’s seeing white. “NgHhhh!” You cry and gasp, screaming for all the palace to hear.

“Sukuna! Oh yes Your Highness! S-Sukuna-a-aaa!”

He laughs darkly, smiling wolfishly down at you falling apart and screaming his name like a little lamb lost in the woods. You’ll be all he needs.

With a few more powerful thrusts, he’s spilling inside. Plunging deep inside you, making sure not to waste a drop of his royal seed. Coating your womb white and keeping you plugged up so it sticks. His breath over your face, his hands, his lips in kisses to your skin. Hearing you come down from the high, feeling you tremble around him. No one will have you but him. And you’ll never be far from his side as long as you live.

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #true form sukuna #sukuna jjk #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk #jjk smut #jjk fanart #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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fluoneia · 17 hours ago

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vi knew going back to piltover after another recent robbery was bad. yet, powder was sick and was in need of more nutrition and possibly some medicines. so, she made the tough, and, probably bad choice, to go back up into piltover to steal.

so here she was, scouting out nothing other then a mansion, much different to her usual small houses that she deemed safe, far away from piltover’s harsh security.

and she swore she saw the family leave for some fancy, to what she presumed to be a ball based on their crisp suits, and extravagant dresses.

so, she carefully picks the lock from the balcony, the dark room barely lit by the moonlight. she slides the door open, taking a soft step inside.

using the light from the flickering flashlight in her hand, she scoffed and smacked it against her hand, before facing it toward the room and peering around it.

her eyes widened. valuables, gold plated decorations all around the room. the gold enough, which she assumed to be real, would be enough to last her a lifetime.

she should really try robbing mansions more often.

vi quickly opens her bag, finding every valuable she could that was worth fortunes in zaun, and stuffed them inside the bag.

when she walked into the bathroom attached to the extravagant room, she takes a second to look around.

soaps, one’s that smelled of fancy perfumes and scents, and random glass jars on the counter filled with products that smelled equally as good.

she picked up a glass, opening the lid, and taking her finger through the white product. she sniffed it, before rubbing her thumb through the product in her hand.

she shrugged, closing the lid and popping it into her bag.

vi hummed, turning around, before freezing, blood running cold when she saw you, standing with a gun pointed toward her chest.

“what the hell are you doing in my house?” you sneer.

she inhaled a sharp breath, hands carefully raising above her head. “sightseeing?” she prompts.

you stare her up and down, before cocking your head behind you. you slowly take steps backward, still holding the gun toward her.

she takes the hint, stepping toward you, until you were both in the open room.

“i’m going to ask you again,” you say, head cocking backward with a frown on your face, “why are you in my house?”

“you asked what i was doing in your house last time.” she sneers.

you scoff. “you should really be more careful talking to the girl holding a gun.”

“you’re not gonna do anything with it. pilties don’t like viole—“

she is cut off as your finger clicks the trigger, shooting just to her right, with precise aim not to hit her.

“i’m not just a piltie. i’m training to be an enforcer. do you know what that means, zaunite?”

she gulped. “enlighten me.”

she stills as you take steps toward her, each soft pad against the floor making her heart thump.

“it means i’m not above killing people like some of these other soft-hearted morons are.”

“why don’t you just get this over with and turn me in?” vi says, head tilting down toward you. “or just shoot me.”

you stay silent.

“go ahead. call for your friends and turn me in to stillwater.”

“i’m not gonna do that.”

“heh?” her brows furrow, “why the hell not?”

“i don’t want to.”

“why?” vi instigates, “come on, you were just going on about how you’re gonna become a big-shot enforcer. so, turn me in.”

“you’re talking like you want me to turn you in.”

“well, why don’t you want to?”

“just shut up!” you jeer, holding the gun with a firmer grip. “what if i.. just don’t want to?”

“then.. i guess, you’re one of those soft-hearted morons.”

your face tightens. yoh stare, before sighing and lowering your gun. you toss it onto your bed, tightening your lips.

“i’m not actually training to be an enforcer.” you sigh. “i’m.. a librarian.”

“hah!” vi snorts, “so you’re just a nerd, then.”

“hey, you’re still in my house. and you’re a thief. you’re not above me.”

she tuts her lips, shrugging.

you purse your lips. “you must be hungry.”

“do you just assume all zaunites are on the brink of starvation?”

“well, aren’t you?” you contest.

she purses her lips.

“what’s your name, thief?” you jest.

“alright, lay off the thief part, cupcake.”

“you’re a thief. are you not?” you decide to ignore the nickname.

“yeah, but..” she runs a hand over her face, “it’s degrading.”

“and cupcake isn’t?” you raise a brow. “are you hungry, or not?”

“.. i could eat.” she shrugs. truth be told, she hadn’t eaten properly in weeks. majority of her food was given to powder, considering she was sick.

“let’s go then.”

you leave no room for argument as you turn on your heel, opening the door to your bedroom, and walking down the hall.

vi followed, peering at the portraits on the wall. you weren’t in any of them. why?

“why aren’t you in these portraits?” vi asked, looking at the family of four with two boys, a mother and a father.

“uh..” you hesitate. “i’m adopted. they don’t really like me in their portraits.”

“oh.”

you stop walking, before turning back around.

“right. kitchens that way.”

“you don’t know the layout to your own house?” vi’s brow furrowed, tucking her hands in her pockets.

“i only moved in last year. it’s a big house, alright?” you roll your eyes, turning around, and walking.

vi hesitates, before letting it go, and following you again.

you step into the kitchen, walking inside and grabbing something out of the fridge.

she pops it into what vi presumed to be a microwave, having seen it in the houses she robbed before. you lean against the counter, and look to vi, before looking around.

“there’s some chocolates on the counter if you want some.” you offer, gesturing toward the island in the middle of the room.

“chocolate?” she questions.

“yeah.. chocolate. have you never had chocolate before?”

vi picks up one of the gold wrappers. “we don’t have candy down in the lanes. i caught powder almost trading something i was going to sell for food for a piece of candy.”

“who’s powder?”

“my little sister.” vi turns around, ears peeking at the beeping of the microwave. you take the plate out of the microwave, plopping it on the counter beside vi. you jump up, sitting on the island while vi inspects the plate.

“you can take some. i’m sure she’d love it.”

“wont your parents care?”

“nah, they won’t mind.” you shake your head, looking around the kitchen once more.

vi picks up the metal fork, stabbing it into the piece of meat on the plate, and taking a bite. her eyes light up at the taste of chicken that she hasn’t had in years, much less this tasty and rich.

she peers to you, looking at you stifle a laugh, and returns her face back to its solemn state.

“it’s alright.”

“alright? you wound me.” you place a hand on your chest, right over your heart.

“you made this?”

“yeah. i cook dinner most of the time since my brothers have extra-curricular stuff.”

vi nods.

“so.. you said your sister, powder, was sick?” you ask, tilting your head toward her.

“yeah.” vi nods, “you know the lanes.. lots of chemicals, and stuff. and it’s not so clean down there. her and little man like to run around, and i guess she caught something while they were out.”

“little man?”

“ekko. he’s with benzo. him and powder became friends, since there’s not a lot of people their age down there who still value their innocence.”

you hum.

“i think i have some medicine that could help her.” you say.

“no.” vi rejects, “no, i don’t need your medicine.”

“well, it could help—“

“why do you want to help me so much?” she drops the fork, “i’m a thief. i was robbing your bedroom.”

you purse your lips.

“you know, most pilties would turn in a criminal like me. not.. treat them to dinner, and offer to help their sick relatives.”

you jump off the counter. “yeah. im feeding you dinner, and im offering medicine for your sick sister. and, im letting you keep the stuff you stole from me.”

“like you said, you’re a thief. just be grateful im offering this to you, and stop asking questions.” you exhale.

vi gnaws at the inside of her lip. “fine. but i don’t owe you anything.”

“that’s fine with me.” you snap back. “give me your bag.”

hesitantly, vi hands her the bag off her shoulders. you thank her, walking toward the door.

and then, you sprint off.

vi’s brows furrow. “the hell?” she whispers, walking toward the door and peering around. that’s when she hears the crash of a window, and she internally cursed herself.

“hey!” she yells, racing toward the now broken window. she leans over, to see you climbing the roof and jumping through the rooftops.

of fucking course.

you weren’t a librarian. you weren’t some prissy piltover. no piltover has that sympathy.

you were a zaunite. just like her.

and you just stole her loot.

vi should be chasing after you. demanding her stuff back. but.. she just.. laughs.

a few weeks later.

vi told no one of the girl she encountered in piltover. she told no one she left for piltover that night in the first place.

you held a spot in her mind, both filled with anger and.. adoration.

vi had to admit, it was kind of funny how quickly she was to trust that girl. she didn’t live in that house, make that food. she was robbing the same house, and took advantage of the fact vi had already taken majority of the valuables.

she kind of admired you.

vi took a sip of her water, not paying attention to the conversation mylo and claggor were having.

and that’s when she saw you. delivering pieces of metal to vander.

vi abruptly stands.

“hey!” she calls out across the bar, “you!”

she races over to you. as soon as you see her, your eyes widen, instantly racing out the bar. she chases after you.

“cupcake, get back here!”

“cupcake?” mylo and claggor say in unison.

“oh, you little—“ vi races out the bar.

“better luck next time!” you laugh, racing down the street.

“i’m gonna find you! you can’t run forever!”

but you were long gone.

vi would find you. because you intrigued her more then anyone ever had, and..

she couldn’t lie and say you weren’t all that bad looking. what can she say?

vi likes the chase.

#fanfiction #writing #vi arcane #arcane #arcane league of legends #vi x reader #arcane season 2

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 days ago

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@zepskies

Hello my lovely friend! I am so happy to hear that you liked this chapter🥰. I was also very excited to read your chapter of "The Honorable Choice" today!

I love how you describe NYC here as Ben tries to figure out between his memories and what he's seeing. It really must've been so discombobulating for him, painful even, to know how much of his life has been eaten away and how the world has moved on without him.

This is exactly what I was going for! I really love that scene in the show where Ben is walking through NYC, but Jensen does such a wonderful job of showing how out of place Ben feels in that moment. Everything he's seeing is brand new with shades of the old world he used to know and he's gotta feel alone. Everyone he knew has either died or tried to stab him in the back. 😬

This feels very Ben, and it's heartbreaking really. He has that hope deep inside, almost immediately by the instinct to stamp it down for the sake of perceived "femininity," as if that equates with weakness. (Obviously for him it does.)

I know 😅😭 I wish that he wasn't this way, but Ben is so conflicted about expressing his emotions and he's not comfortable with those kinds of feelings. But at the same time it's what makes him so interesting to write for and also another thing that the reader can make him comfortable with. I really love that trope, when the reader is the only person that the grumpy guy can open up to and not feel judged by saying what they're really feeling.

And Yes! I always write Ben's mother as the softer parent that comforted Ben when he was a kid. It makes sense in the time period he grew up in, and maybe I'm also thinking a little bit about how Dean Winchester's mother was to him when he was a kid 😂

LOVE the gif of Shaq lol

Also, I love how you described how she's the "amalgamation" of every woman Ben's ever been attracted to, even comparing her to the women he noticed in his youth, and who he hasn't seen ever since. It's a special kind of timeless feeling that gets to the heart of him in what feels like a realistic way. 👌🏽

Thank you!! That is actually one of my favorite bits in this chapter. To me, Ben seems like the kind of guy who really likes a classic look and women who embody the characteristics of "the good old days." I mean, the dude complains so much about how things "used to be" that he's gotta be missing the way women acted when he was a kid lol 😂

Bruh could've at least talked to her and explained himself before he ran away, but nooo. Granted, he's going through a lot coming back to the U.S., and he's already gone through so much and has so much hate in his heart, it's probably for the best that he leaves her for now.

It broke my heart for him to turn his back on her too! But you're right, he should have tried to just be like "I'm your soulmate, tell me your address, I'll be right back." Unfortunately I feel like Ben would have said "I'm your soulmate. Tell me your address. I'll be back in a few days I just gotta kill some people first" LMFAO lol

I also can't stand minimalism. I mean I like things clean, but I need furniture that is actually comfortable lol

Yeep, precisely what I thought would happen, but the self-reflection is good, and the break from frivolous sex lol. Though to be fair, this means he hasn't gotten any since before the Russians got him. Also on-brand that he'd call it "pussy-like" to be pining for his own soulmate lmao.

I was really on the fence about Ben having a problem being with other women, because he is so sexually forward and comfortable with casual sex. In Take A Chance On Me, Ben is having sex with other women, but he's confused why he keeps thinking about the reader, but this felt different because it's his soulmate. So for me it feels right that no one else holds any appeal. Self-reflection is good lol. You're right he hasn't gotten any since Russia, but maybe it's easier for him now because he hasn't been having sex regularly or hasn't in the past forty years? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also yeah, dude is simping over the other half of his soul and he still thinks that he shouldn't be feeling any emotion lol. The man is perplexed lol.

I had to throw in the Lorena Bobbitt 😂 If anyone had a freaky soulmate it had to be Legend. I love him, but he's got the same vibes as Barry's uncle in Bee Movie who is talking about the cricket with "crazy legs" 🤣🤭

Thank you so much friend! I always love hearing what you think 🤗 Oh and next chapter is going to be... different. Maybe even a little heartbreaking. 😅😬

Chapter 2: I'll Never Let You Go Again Like I Did

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: Little bit sad, DENIAL, Homophobic Comments (Soldier Boy), Cursing, Mentions of drinking, Mentions of using drugs, Sexism, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of torture (Soldier Boy's Time in Russia) Loneliness, Longing (I mean… as close as Soldier Boy can get to it), Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.4K

Song Inspiration For This Chapter: Until I Found You (chapter title is lyric from this song) and Coming Back For You

Note: Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue Is in First Person And Is In Italics

Playlist for Series (Spotify)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: Oh my goodness I'm so excited about this series and thank you so much to everyone for all the wonderful love and support so far! It really means the world to me 🥰

One Year Ago: Ben POV

Ben squinted his eyes as he stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of the early morning, shouldering the strap of his worn backpack with a huff. The people on the crowded, gum covered sidewalks shot him odd looks and gave him a wide birth as he made his way down the path, but he didn't care, in fact he didn't notice them. His mind was somewhere else.

He wasn't sure where he was going, just that something in the pit of his stomach was pointing him in this direction. Ben had started walking in what he thought was the way to Legend's apartment, but the streets looked so different than the last time he was in New York and he was a little turned around, but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone.

And there was something in the pit of his stomach, some instinct or gut feeling, that was telling him he needed to go this way.

It was an odd feeling that prickled on the back of his neck, as if he'd forgotten something. Ben wondered what exactly it was that he'd forgotten. He hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone other than the scientists who kept him locked in a cage so he didn’t exactly have a social calendar to follow up on.

I've been locked in a lab for forty fucking years, what is there to forget?

But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed just out of reach.

Ben raised his eyes from the sidewalk with a sigh to look at the people passing by, taking in their new clothing and different hairstyles to distract himself. He frowned at the bizarre groups of people to him that flit by on their merry way, muttering little things under his breath about how things used to be.

Ben had a feeling that he was going to be doing that a lot.

New York City was different, the same, but different. Even though Ben had been gone for forty years, it still felt like the center of the universe. There were still hot dog vendors on every street corner, still magazine stands with freshly printed newspapers that smelled like ink and were warm to the touch, still coffee shops that lined the streets and caffeinated the masses, and there were still cab drivers who wove through traffic as if they were unstoppable shouting at pedestrians as they went.

The memories he had of old New York City merged together with what he was seeing around him and felt himself slipping into the past only to be jolted back into reality by the strangeness of the future.

He didn't like feeling disoriented, but it was there, brimming just under the surface. His body was tense as he walked prepared for anything, unable to relax as he continued on his way to wherever the hell it was he was going.

The morning sunlight reflected off the glass windows of the skyscrapers that worshiped the rising sun and the sounds of the city vibrated against the brick and mortar. There was a buzz of electricity in the air, the low hum of power that Ben could always hear beneath it all. Cars honked sharply, people shouted in colorful language to one another, and the wind rustled through the long strands of Ben's hair crinkling against his ears and scratching against his neck.

He hadn't had time to cut it or his beard and it didn't seem to be as important as finding Legend and getting his affairs in order.

The smell of hotdogs, earth, cologne, and heavy perfume wafted up with the breeze that tugged and pulled at his sweatsuit. The same stained sweatsuit he had found in a rust covered locker before hiding in the cargo hold of a plane headed back to the U.S that was probably almost as old as him. The plane ride had been long, but when he'd been in a lab for the past forty years it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. He spent the whole time stewing in his thoughts. He'd slept enough and like hell he was going to drift off and let those Russian fucks take him again.

Ben sighed when he felt his memories begin to unravel on the edge of his mind, unfurling and asking to be relived. It wasn't unusual or unwelcome. Ben was using those memories to justify what he was going to do to his old team. As long as the rage continued to burn against his skin, Ben would have no problem breaking each of them down piece by piece.

Ben didn't understand how his team could have done that to him or why they'd done it to him. He thought that he'd been a good leader, a good American, a good soldier, a good hero, and yet they'd all stabbed him in the back. Sure, maybe he'd been a little rough on them, but Ben saw it as the only way to toughen them up. They needed thicker skin if they were going to survive in a world like this.

All I've done is give my fucking life to this country and what did they do? They gave me to the fucking reds.

His hand tightens on the strap of his backpack as he weaves through the crowds, trying his best to keep to himself when all he can feel is his anger and frustration building and burning hot under his rib cage. His new power stirred beneath the surface, energy beginning to travel through his body, tracing his veins and pulsing in the center of his chest.

I should have seen it coming. I should have killed that entire fucking bunch of pussies the second I had the chance. Especially that bitch.

His frowned at the thought of Countess.

Truthfully, when the two of them started messing around it was only because Countess's soulmate had died a few years before and Ben knew he wasn't going to meet his soon if anytime. He'd messed around with plenty of other women for the same reason and well…

Ben's frown deepened as he stepped around a couple that was walking arm and arm, the dates on their wrists flashing gold in the sunlight. He ignores the feeling that comes when he sees them, pushes it down into the deep recesses of his mind as he has done his whole life.

Since he was a kid, Ben wasn't sure that he believed the "soulmate thing." Sure he'd seen hundreds of other people around him find "the one," but Ben wasn't sure that he was made to be a soulmate. Especially not with a birthdate on his wrist so far in the future. He assumed that it meant he wasn't going to get a soulmate and he'd spent the better part of his life pretending that he didn't care about that. He was a man after all, and Ben didn't want to need anyone. At least, that was what he told himself.

Ben had lived long enough to see other soulmates find one another, witnessed the goofy looks on their faces when they locked eyes for the first time, and had the super hearing to listen to what came next.

But instead of focusing on the impossibility to meeting his own, Ben focused on the lie he told himself, that it seemed ridiculous to be intertwined with someone as soon as he was born. Not to mention that Ben wasn't sure that he wanted to be with someone, not when he didn't age and not when he'd have to watch whoever it was, if anyone turn to dust.

Yes, he could see himself settling down with someone, having a few kids, but Ben wasn't sure that whoever was supposed to be his other half was within reach anyway so why care? Ben knew that he didn't age, but he didn't actually think he'd ever get to meet you or that you would actually ever exist. Not when you were born so far away from him and not when he'd been trapped in that lab.

But that didn't stop a part of him from thinking about the possibility of meeting you. When things were quiet in the lab and he was left alone for a few precious moments, he felt his mind begin to slip into the question of what if?

What if you existed and what if you came for him?

He knew that it was a long shot. The only people that knew he was there were the people who stabbed him in the back. And Ben didn't want to cling to some fantasy, it felt feminine to fanaticize about the person who was supposedly meant for him breaking down the thick metal door and pulling him from the lab.

Again, Ben was trying not to believe in the "soulmate bullshit."

Countess had been a way of passing the time as had the numerous other women, but with them were moments when he'd feel something odd settle in his chest, something that he never could put a name to. In those moments he would raise his right arm and look at the birthdate printed on his wrist, the same one that Ben had kept hidden for most of his life, the one that when he was a boy people mocked him for, and the one his father chastised him for having as if it was Ben's fault that some celestial body had decided to single him out.

All of his childhood friends had found their soulmates and Ben had spent the better part of his life covering it up to avoid the conversation that always happened when someone saw the date. No ones soulmate was born so far in the future and Ben’s father had spent a lot of money making sure that word didn’t get out his son was a freak.

His father already made Ben feel like a disappointment and a fuck-up, but Ben was already thinking it himself every time he looked at the date printed on his wrist that seemed impossible. When his mother was alive she would try her best to make Ben feel better telling him that it wasn't impossible, that one day it would all make sense, but after her death Ben stopped feeling comfort, joy, and anything warm. All he felt was the cold shoulder from his father and the words that Ben pretended didn't hurt when his father was halfway through his second bottle of scotch with a third prepped and waiting on the kitchen table.

It made Ben feel like a pussy every time he looked at the mark and thought about his future soulmate, but he did it in private, usually after he'd had a few glasses of something and a few puffs or snuffs of something else to numb his mind. And he'd allow himself a single moment to think of you, wonder if he'd ever meet you, and wondered if you'd ever actually exist. In those few fleeting moments he believed in soulmates, but then he'd snap out of it and wake up the woman in bed next to him to distract him for another hour or so.

Ben's eyes flick to his right wrist covered by the gray and maroon tracksuit, his brow furrowing together. He was trying not to think about you or rather the possibility of you today. He didn't have time for that, not when all he wanted was to make his old team pay for everything they did to him.

But there was a little whisper of something in his ear, a small wisp of hope that he had finally made it to you, the one thing he didn’t think would ever happen, that he lived long enough to be alive the same year you were, and that you were out there somewhere waiting for him.

No. Ben tenses. I'm not going to think about her, not when those butt fucks need to be dealt with. I'm going to go to Legend's and then I'm going to-

He didn't see you in front of him until it was too late to move out of the way. Your body hits his full on in the chest, sending the bagel between your lips tumbling into the street, but Ben barely feels the hit, what he does feel is the dam he built forever ago burst open and warmth soaks into his body. Electricity skitters along his skin, crackling in the air as his eyes lock with yours only for a second. He feels like he's caught fire, as if the pieces of himself deep down inside are overheating and vibrating until there's nothing left, but you and him.

Any thoughts he had of his team and revenge are lost in the flood of emotions that fill the hole inside he tried so hard to ignore with the lie he continued to tell himself: “I don't believe in soulmates.”

And yet, there you were.

He can hear his heart and yours beating together as one, his own pounding so hard under his ribcage as if it wishes to break free and cross the space between your bodies. Seeing you for the first time feels like taking a bullet to the chest, the sharp jolt backwards when it lands and the pinch of flesh against Kevlar. It was worth the bruise if looking at you was the same way each time.

Ben can feel the world slipping away, going silent, and in that silence Ben is lost in you.

Holy Fuck.

You were the perfect amalgamation of every single beautiful woman that Ben had ever seen and fantasized about in his entire life. And yet you weren't what he was expecting. Over the years Ben had bedded many women, the ones who captured his attention for a night, but none of them were anything like you.

In all the ways those women were bold and dramatic you were confident, but not boisterous, beautiful but not haughty, respectful but not prude, and there was a kindness reflected in the warmth of your eyes that Ben had never seen before, but there it was staring back at him unblinkingly.

You reminded him of the women that came arm in arm with men to his parents lavish parties when he was a boy, the ones who were classically beautiful and reserved with the golden dates on their wrists catching in the light. The exact kind of woman he hadn’t seen for the better part of eighty years and the opposite of the women who had thrown themselves at his feet forty years ago.

Your hair falls forward into your face from the force of your body hitting his and Ben itches to push it back, to touch you, to feel his skin against yours to quench the burning that he can feel in his soul.

All of his instincts are telling him to pull you against him, that you're too far away even though you're standing only inches apart. That he needs to breathe the same air and feel the warmth of your skin against his rough fingertips.

The birthmark on his right wrist sears his skin and he knows what it means, that you're the woman he's been looking for his whole life, the woman that always seemed just out of his grasp, the woman that was made just for him, and the woman he thought would never exist.

He watches your eyes widen with the same realization about him behind your round glasses, eyes that are the perfect color and eyes that Ben can imagine staring in to every day for the rest of his life. He'd never wanted to spend more than one night with a woman, never wanted more, but all of that fades into you.

The idea of a soulmate no longer seems ridiculous, no longer seems like something he’d never have, not when he’s looking into your eyes and nothing else seems to matter.

Not when looking at you is like seeing the sun sink into the earth at the end of the day and feeling the hope that it'll rise the next morning.

The lie he told himself for so long is slipping away the longer he stares at you, because although he never wanted to want anyone he knows that he needs you. It's an odd feeling for him. He's never once cared about anyone, told himself that it was weak to, that having a soulmate was a stupid idea and not for him, but all of the things he ever thought about soulmates is evaporating in the heat that is consuming his body by being in your presence.

Why now?

The thought makes the world come back into sharper focus.

I've lived decades without her and now the moment I come back to the U.S I just run into her?

It was laughable .

The moment of clarity allows the fantasies of his revenge to come creeping in and Ben feels the anger and rage ebbing on the edge of the wonderful feeling building in his chest when he looks at you.

You weren't a supe. Ben could tell that just by looking at you. He didn't think he'd ever seen someone so soft and yet someone that he wanted to possess so badly that it almost hurt to stand inches away from you.

I don't want her to be apart of this.

The thought is immediate, stirring some primal urge within to protect what's his. Because you were his. You were the missing piece that he pretended not to need and the woman who always seemed to slip into his mind when he was alone and all was quiet,.

The thoughts of what he's about to do to his teammates come surging up and he didn't want you involved in any of that. Not when he knew that he needed to protect you, that he'd drag you along, and you'd see all the ugly parts of him and see the horror of what he was about to do.

He didn't want that for you, he didn’t want the first time that he met you to be like this, him looking like he'd crawled out from under a rock and full of so much anger, rage, and frustration it felt like he was going to explode, him having a new uncontrollable power that meant he might hurt you, and him being unable to give you his full attention when all he could think about was the team that stabbed him in the back.

What he was, was selfish, he knew that about himself.

But I won't be this selfish.

Ben had made many mistakes his life, he knew that, had done some things that he wasn't proud of, but you wouldn’t be one of them. He didn't want to put you in danger and realized that there was only one way to protect you, because after all, he was the only one who knew that you existed.

His eyes trace your face one more time, memorizing it before he does what he thinks is right. Ben turns away from you and forces himself to keep walking. Each cell in his body is screaming at him to turn around, to run back to you, but he can't. He doesn't want it to be like this and he knows that you deserve better.

I won't do this to her.

“Wait-“ He hears you shout over the sounds of the street.

The sound of your voice is a soothing melody, a warm soak in a hot bath, a steady hand against his back, and a salve over the gaping hole where a piece of him was missing for so long, the hole that he tried to ignore his whole life. He grits his teeth and continues to walk away from you, each step feeling like he's walking through tar the further he gets.

And deep down Ben is hoping that he did the right thing and makes a promise that he'll come back for you.

Present Day Ben POV

Why the fuck am I coming to this thing again?

Ben thought to himself standing outside the closed apartment door holding an expensive bottle of scotch. The same bottle of scotch that he was going to break open as soon as he crossed the threshold to get through this. He didn’t think that Hughie would appreciate it the way he would anyway.

Probably drinks those fucking fruity drinks with the umbrellas.

Ben didn’t understand why Hughie had invited him to this party or why Annie would let him invite Ben to it. Ben knew how much she hated him and the feeling was mutual.

Ben sighs as he stares at the door thinking about walking back to the elevator.

Invited was a strong word. Ben had overheard Hughie talking about it in the break room with MM and when Ben walked in, Hughie felt the need to fill the awkward silence by inviting Ben to the housewarming party.

Ben didn't know why anyone needed a housewarming party, but he chocked it up to another thing about the 21st century that he didn't quite understand.

He thought about all the people inside that he saw at work everyday, the ones that he tried to avoid all shoved in the apartment in front of him and groaned to himself.

Fuck, I should just go home.

Ben frowned at the thought of going back to his extravagant penthouse apartment downtown. The one that was two stories with a private balcony, six bedrooms, five bathrooms, a study, a media room, an exercise room, and overlooked Central Park with a view that would make anyone else salivate. His real estate agent had been surprised when Ben hadn't batted an eye at the price, but Ben didn't think about money the same way everyone else did.

He didn't have to, not with the money he'd earned over the years and not with the money his father, grandfather, and great grandfather in his accounts.

When he'd first bought the apartment he had been happy to get out from under Butcher's eye, who had a tendency to watch Ben like a hawk whenever he thought that Ben wasn't paying attention. But the apartment was large and cold, furnished with furniture that Ben had hired some twenty year old interior designer to buy, who charged him an outrageous amount of money to do absolutely nothing. She'd called it "minimalism," Ben called it "a fucking rip off."

Not one piece of furniture was comfortable to him and being there never felt like home. Then again, Ben didn't have a "home" to compare it to. His family mansion back in Philadelphia after his mother died had been cold and most of the rooms were closed off and the apartment he had in New York before he went to Russia was almost as big as his new one, but it never seemed like home. It always seemed like a way station, a place for Ben to entertain women for a short while before he went to a commercial shoot, a party, or on location for a film.

Even his cleaning lady and housekeeper would comment on the little things about his apartment that Ben tried to ignore. Honestly, Ben thought that she was fucking nosy, but she did her job well so he kept her on.

That and because he couldn't seem to remember her name no matter how many checks he wrote.

Ben didn’t like being in his apartment at all, but he knew that it wouldn't change if he moved. It wasn't where he lived that was the problem, it was that you weren't there with him.

It had been an entire year since he'd seen you and every day Ben walked the same path he had the day he met you for the first time hoping to run in to you. He didn’t have your name or your address or anything that he could have someone at work plug into a computer to find you. He'd tried to "google" you, but there was only so much he could do with the little information he had and he didn't understand how to find you other than the old fashioned way.

So he was back to sitting home alone every night trying his best not to notice how empty the apartment was, the one he bought that was more than big enough for two people. Sometimes he tried to stay out as long as he could to avoid going back to it, but each time he went through the front door it only emphasized how empty it was.

Ben's life was empty. He hadn't realized that before, but nowadays he was hyperaware of it. In the past he would have filled his life with women eager to warm his bed, but ever since he saw you Ben hadn't been able to think about anyone else.

Ben couldn't remember the last time he felt this frustrated and it only made everything harder for him. And as much as he tried to relieve the tension it never seemed like it was enough. He needed you.

And after he spent twelve months trying his best and he was tired of feeling restless he tried to pick up a woman in a bar.

Every cell in his body screamed wrong at the top of its lungs when he spoke to her, using lines that he'd perfected since he was a teenager. Ben knew he was good at that, but he fumbled the ball each time he opened his mouth. He tried to shake off the ghost of you, but when he spoke to the woman leaning against the aged wooden bar with a martini in her hand and wearing a dress that left little to the imagination, he got a flash in the corner of his eye of someone coming in through the door and he'd thought it was you.

He hadn't been expected to feel so ashamed, guilty, and embarrassed at the thought of you catching him with someone else. He'd been sleeping with women longer than you'd been alive and he'd never felt that way, but now that he knew you existed and knew there was a possibility of you running in to him, it was all different.

Ben's outlook on soulmates being "ridiculous" had evaporated on the spot the moment he locked eyes with you. He couldn't pretend that he didn't care anymore and couldn't pretend that you didn't exist.

How could he when you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen? How could he when a piece of him was with you? How could he when you were always on his mind?

He'd never had a woman have a hold on him so completely in his entire life, but you did.

She fucking does and I only saw her once.

It only made him feel worse. He wondered if he'd made the right decision when he turned his back on you.

Sometimes he liked to think back to the moment of when he first saw you when everything was quiet and he was sitting up in his bed staring down at the mark on his wrist that shone a brilliant gold. His mind would slip into those few moments of bliss and he would wonder what would have happened f he just said "fuck it" and didn't go after Payback, if he'd stopped and asked for your name, and allowed you to let him forget everything that happened in the past forty years so he could start his life with you.

Unfortunately, those moments were usually followed by the same self-deprecating thoughts that Ben had, the chauvinistic ones that he'd carried with him over the years, and the ones that his father had impressed on him from the moment he could walk and Ben couldn't seem to shake.

He'd berate himself about how it was stupid and pussy-like to pine over a woman.

Because that's what he was doing, he was pining over you and he didn't like it.

He didn't want to think of you as much as he did, but he couldn't help it. Now that Ben knew you existed he didn't want to miss out on another moment of your life.

Of course, he couldn't find you and that was the problem. Sometimes he wondered if you were looking for him as hard as he was looking for you, if you walked the same way each hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

The dreams didn't make it any better. He'd never heard of someone living the memories of their soulmate when they slept, but every night he was subjected to watching your life and it only made him want to find you more.

He'd never knew that someone could feel so lonely surrounded by people, never knew that someone could feel so out of place, and never knew that someone could be as sad as you were, but each time he relieved a memory of yours at night Ben could feel his heart twinge.

Ben watched the lonely birthdays you spent with a cupcake and a beer for him, saw the jeers of the people in your hometown and the pitying looks from your parents, felt your shoulders shake when you cried alone in your room and stared at the birthdate on your wrist, and he felt you losing hope as each year passed.

Ben didn't usually allow himself to feel emotion like that, but watching you go through it all hurt him more than anything those Russian fucks did to him. He wasn't used to that and he wasn't used to thinking about other people as much as he thought about you.

But something about him felt different after meeting you.

Ben had asked Legend about soulmates, specifically the dreams, but Legend had muttered something unintelligible under his breath and took another snort of cocaine from the mirror on the coffee table instead of answering. Their relationship had been a little awkward after Ben slept with Legend's soulmate forty years ago, but Legend didn’t seem to be too upset about it… anymore. Mostly because Legend's soulmate tried to pull a Lorena Bobbitt one night and Legend caught her before any permanent damage was done.

She was in prison, and Ben didn't understand why Legend still went to see her for conjugal visits, but he figured that she was as much of a freak as his old handler.

Just rip the bandaid off you fucking pussy.

Ben thought staring at the clean white door in front of him.

Truthfully, Ben was tired. He'd been running himself harder for the last month, throwing himself into his work because he was starting to believe that he was never going to meet you again, and it seemed like work was the only thing that could distract him long enough. But he couldn't escape sleep.

When he'd come back from Russia, Ben had avoided sleeping the best way he could and he got through a few days before he collapsed. The first dream he'd had of you had come on suddenly, but clear as day.

You reading on your bed in your apartment smiling down at the pages as if it the book was telling you a secret.

Ben wasn't a reader, didn't see any merit in it if it wasn't a western or a war book. The most he could tolerate was Ernest Hemingway, but he could have sat there and watched you read forever. You looked so peaceful, content, and happy that Ben was afraid to interrupt you even though it was just a dream.

But whenever he thought about you dreaming his memories, something dark settled in the back of his mind, because what were you seeing? He'd done a few things he wasn't proud of and Ben didn't want you to think that he wasn't a hero or that he was a bad guy.

Ben sighs and raises his hand to knock hard against the door with his free hand, trying not to open the bottle preemptively before entering the apartment.

"Ben?" Hughie says it like a question when he opens the door, eyes wide with the same stupid look on his face that always grates on Ben.

Ben forces his signature tight lipped smile that he flashes around the office. "Hey there sport."

"Hey. Wow, you're here." Hughie clears his throat and looks over his shoulder as if he's nervous about something.

Ben raises an eyebrow. "I was invited."

"Well yes but-"

"But?"

"Um-"

"Spit it out dipstick."

Hughie clears his throat. "I didn't think you would come."

Fuck I should have stayed home. He doesn't want me here, neither does his fucking beard.

Ben frowns listening to where Annie groans under her breath further inside the apartment and talks low under her breath to someone that Ben can't see.

"Well surprise and congratulations or whatever." Ben rolls his eyes holding out the bottle of scotch. He was hesitant to lose sight of it, not when talking to Hughie for less than five minutes made him want to down the whole bottle.

"Oh wow this is really," Hughie's eyes widen as he takes in the label and realize how much money Ben spent on the bottle. "Expensive stuff, thanks Ben."

"It'll put some hair on your chest." Ben claps Hughie hard on the shoulder as he pushes past him into the foyer of the apartment.

The entire apartment could have fit in Ben's living room and kitchen. It was made in a similar fashion to his, sleek white walls, sterling silver appliances, large glass windows that let in the light-

Ben stops so suddenly inside the area that leads into the kitchen that Hughie plows into his back, but Ben doesn't feel it.

He can't move, can't breathe, because he's noticed the person talking to Annie is you. This was the last place that he'd expected you to be, but he doesn't care, because you're here and you're more beautiful than he remembers.

You're standing there pouring ice from a large bag into a pink acrylic bucket with an adorable amount of concentration for such a simple task wearing the same sweater you were the day he first saw you. You're also wearing a little more makeup and your hair is longer, and not pulled back into the messy bun as it was that day, but you’re still you and you’re here.

His fingers twitch with the urge to run his hands through the tangled tresses, to feel if they're as soft as he imagined for so long.

Ben's body swells with emotion, goosebumps flicker over his skin, and all other sounds in the room vanish, because seeing you was like watching the sun rise and feeling the world hold it's breath as it basks in the early morning rays.

And Ben wanted to bask in everything you were, every day for the rest of his life. Now that he found you again he wasn't going to let you out of his sight.

Your soul sings to him as he nears you, the cells in his body vibrating so fast that he can feel every single one begging him to touch you.

You turn into him by accident, sending the bag of ice tumbling to the floor, but feeling your body against his sends him into overdrive and he can't hold back anymore. He reaches out to grab your shoulder as gently as he can without hurting you.

Hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. And because you weren’t a supe he knew how fragile you were.

You gasp under your breath at the contact from his hand, but to Ben it sounds thunderous in his ears. Ben trails his hand across your shoulder, up your neck, to cup your chin and raise your face to look at him. He feels like his whole body is igniting as he makes contact with your skin.

He can feel an odd vibration in his chest as he does so, energy crackling and pulsing around the two of you, but the rest of the room falls silent. He can’t look away from you, not when seeing you again is like staring too long at the sun and he's left with the imprint of your light and beauty on the inside of his eyelids.

Ben can't focus on anything else, doesn’t hear the awkward chatter, doesn't feel the discomfort he had upon his arrival, doesn't notice the way everyone has turned to stare at the two of you, and doesn't feel the air conditioning turn on and blow cool air against his warm freckled skin.

All he knows is you.

Your eyes are wide and he suspects his are as well, pupils blown but still beautiful and hypnotic as they were one year ago. Ben feels a smile pulling at his lips and he lets it go, because standing in front of you, feeling like this, it’s impossible to do much else.

Your skin is warm to the touch beneath the roughness of his fingertips and he touches you with a reverence that he has never graced anyone else with, because you were his. Every part of you was made for him just as every part of him was made for you.

The your soul was calling out to him, weaving a golden cord of energy in his mind that snagged in the center of his chest and made him feel whole for the first time in life.

You reach out to touch him, the soft palm of your hand falling just over his heart and it makes something inside him break open to flood the space between the two of you.

Hope stirs in his chest with your gentle touch and your unblinking gaze, warmth trailing from where your hand lays against his shirt. His eyes drop to the wrist to see his birthdate, a glowing ember against your skin where the sleeve of your sweater has fallen down an inch.

Your eyes lock with his once more, full lips slightly parted, and breathless.

"I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart." Ben murmurs, trailing his thumb across your cheek with a gentleness that he's never possessed.

Ben was not a gentle man, but for you he would try. He would be anything you wished him to be, for as long as he lived, because now that he found you, he was never going to let you go.

And he welcomed the challenge of anyone who tried to stand in his way.

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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