#c: ben stone

[swayzepatrick]

i love jared so much but i'm gonna be so upset if they killed off zeke just to get michaela and jared back together. and this whole thing with ben and saanvi is just wrong. let men and women be friends without making it A Thing.

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant, doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

“My pet…” “Little thing…” “Pretty thing…”

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

crybaby

content warnings & word count: swearing, implied sexual innuendo, drug consumption (weed smoking), nostalgia, dean being a dick, kissing, underage drinking. 7.2k

✧ SCENE FIVE — "FEMALE RAGE" ✧ Now Playing: "crybaby" – Destroy Boys

You’re still stretched across the blanket, skin damp, lips buzzing faintly from the last drag of the joint, when you hear the water shift behind you.

Sam’s the first one out—dripping, barefoot, hair plastered to his jawline. Charlie climbs out next, muttering something about how the bottom of the lake feels like a wet sock. Butcher follows, snorting, “You lot are fuckin’ soft.”

“Because we have nerve endings?” Charlie fires back, wringing water from her braid.

Cas, somehow almost bone-dry despite having swum, is calmly folding his towel. Kimiko signs something at Frenchie, and he throws his hands up like he’s been shot. “Blasphemy! I swam farther than all of you!”

“You floated,” Jack shouts from where he’s still half-submerged, starfish-style. “Like a dumpling.”

It’s the usual banter. Easy. Sun-warm. But it doesn’t last.

“Alright,” Sam says, shaking out his shirt, “let’s pack up. Head to the cove.”

There’s a chorus of groans, complaints, slow-moving limbs gathering towels and wrappers and water bottles. The speaker cuts off mid-song. Someone folds a floaty badly and shoves it under an arm. You pull your shorts back on over your still-wet swimsuit, stretch once more, then reach for your tote.

The hike back is louder than the hike in. Leaves crunching. Jack narrating again. Charlie threatening to shove him down a hill. When the clearing opens up and the trucks come into view, Butcher immediately tosses his keys at Frenchie—then fakes it last minute, flipping him off with a barked laugh.

“You’re not fuckin’ drivin’, Frog Prince.”

Frenchie clutches his chest, wounded. “I am very responsible now.”

Kimiko raises a brow at him. Butcher just climbs into the cab, muttering, “Tell that to my pissing rearview mirror.”

Sam’s tossing towels into the truck bed, talking logistics with Jack and Charlie, when he glances over at you and jerks his chin toward Ben’s truck.

“Let’s switch it up,” he says. “You ride up front. Direct Ben back to town.”

You blink. “You sure?”

“I’ve got Jack for entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

So you climb up into the Chevy’s cab, sliding into the middle seat—sunburnt and grass-streaked and slightly stoned. The vinyl’s hot against your thighs. You buckle the seatbelt, glance to your right to find Vicki sliding in beside you, sunglasses perched on her nose.

Ben takes the driver’s side, his hand already on the gearshift, forearm tanned and bare. The engine starts with a low growl. You reach into your tote, light a cigarette, and Ben rolls down the drivers side window.

“Left at the fork,” you murmur, exhaling slow.

Ben glances your way, just once. “Got it.”

Vicki shifts, stretching slightly—arms up, lazy—and gives you a side-smile. “Y’know, he’s a better driver than he looks.”

You scoff softly. “Didn’t say he wasn’t.”

“He’s just not used to directions,” she adds, still not quite looking at you. “Takes him a while to let someone else steer.”

Ben makes a low sound in his throat—somewhere between a laugh and a shut up—and turns onto the trail that leads out of Sweethearts. The dirt kicks up behind the tires.

You don’t fully clock the glance Vicki throws him. The slight grin on her lips. The way she casually adjusts so you’re closer to Ben than her.

But the air shifts. Just slightly. The windows are down. The breeze is hot and fast. Sam’s laughing in the truck bed behind you. Jack’s probably dancing. You can smell lakewater and cigarettes and the lingering ghost of your joint.

And as the truck hums back toward town, toward the cove, toward him, the opening riff of a song scratches to life over the speaker in Ben’s dash. Low. Crooked. Dangerous. The sun beats down through the windshield. And somewhere in your chest? Something starts to burn.

The road flattens out the closer you get to the cove, the dirt giving way to cracked asphalt and faded sun-bleached signage. Your cigarette burns down slow between your fingers, the smoke curling out the open window, whipped away by the wind.

Ben keeps one hand on the wheel, the other draped loose over the top, knuckles brown with sun. His eyes don’t leave the road, but his voice cuts low beneath the music.

“Gimme a couple pulls?”

You blink, glance sideways.

He cocks his chin toward you, mouth tilted, still not looking. “Hands’re busy.”

There’s a pause.

Then—wordless—you shift in the middle seat, turn slightly, and hold the cigarette to his lips. He leans in without hesitation.

The cherry glows as he inhales. Smoke flares in the corner of your vision. His mouth brushes your knuckles as he pulls back, exhaling out the window with a sigh like he’s been holding that in for hours.

You stare at him just a second too long before you bring it back to your own lips, take a drag to ground yourself.

He hums, low, like something half-amused. “Didn’t have you pegged for a Marlboro girl.”

You scoff, blowing smoke toward the dash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Thought you’d be more of a clove-cigarette and stolen lighter kind of girl.”

You flick ash out the window. “That’s judgmental.”

He grins. “That’s accurate.”

From your other side, Vicki laughs softly, leaning her elbow against the window frame. “Don’t let him talk shit—he only fucks with Marlboro girls.”

Ben groans. “Vick—”

“Like, it’s his weird little type,” she continues casually, not looking at either of you. “Girls with bite and no backup plan. Cigarettes and trouble.”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Ben mutters, but his voice is loose, warm with warning.

Vicki just chuckles and tilts her head toward the window, letting the wind catch her hair. “I’m just saying. Patterns exist.”

The music buzzes in the background, the scratchy grit of the song low in the speakers. The truck rolls over a pothole, then crests the final hill before the cove.

You stub your cigarette out in the cracked tray on the dash. The warmth of his lips on your fingers lingers longer than it should.

You pull into the gravel lot and park. Ben kills the engine. The quiet rushes in.

Doors open—shouts, laughter, boots hitting gravel. Sam jumps down from the truck bed, yells something about beating Butcher there. Jack’s already halfway to the beach with his towel dragging behind him.

Ben doesn’t move.

You reach for the handle, but he beats you to it—leaning across to push the door open. You blink as it swings wide, blinking into the sudden white-blue heat.

He meets your eyes briefly, that crooked smile still ghosting across his mouth.

Then he steps out and holds the door, murmuring a soft “After you.”

You hop down, and as soon as your feet hit the ground, the door shuts gently behind you.

The beach stretches ahead—smoke curling from a bonfire already lit, coolers cracked open, Jo’s laugh rising somewhere in the din.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet as the rest of the group barrels toward the bonfire—towels flying, coolers in hand, Jack already whooping like he’s announcing your arrival. The cove sprawls ahead of you, all flickering flames and half-laced boots and the thump of bass from some Bluetooth speaker lost in the chaos.

Sam lingers just ahead, catches your eye over his shoulder. He mouths, You good?

You nod once, small but sure.

He nods back—thumbs up—before jogging to catch up with the others, leaving you and Ben at the rear.

Walking together. Slow. Easy. Quiet. The cigarette taste still lingers faintly on your tongue. The wind is cooler here, brushing damp hair across your cheek, carrying smoke and salt and something familiar.

You glance sideways at him, smile curling. “So… Marlboro girls, huh?”

Ben exhales a low laugh through his nose, shakes his head. “Vicki just loves stirrin’ the fuckin’ pot.”

You clutch your chest with mock outrage. “I’m wounded. I thought she was implying I was your type.”

He snorts, eyes down on the sand as he walks. “She’s an asshole.”

“I dunno,” you say, still grinning. “Felt like a compliment.”

Ben mutters something under his breath—grumbly and not quite intelligible—but then louder, more certain: “I don’t really have a type.”

You hum. “That what you tell all the girls?”

He glances over at you, brows lifted like he knows exactly where this is headed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, c’mon.” You bump your shoulder lightly against his. “There were rumours.”

He groans. “Christ.”

“Seriously,” you go on, gleeful now. “Back when you were still at school? People used to say you slept with anything with a pulse.”

Ben actually scowls. Stops walking for half a second like you just accused him of murder.

“I hated that shit,” he mutters, jaw tightening. “Made me sound like some STD-riddled sex freak.”

You blink, surprised at how genuinely irritated he sounds.

“I’ve never had an STD,” he goes on, tone clipped. “And every girl I’ve ever slept with? Willing. Happy. Very fuckin’ enthusiastic.”

You press your knuckles to your mouth to keep from laughing.

“I bet,” you say through your fingers.

He shoots you a look—sharp, dry, glinting. “Want some proof?”

You choke. Literally stumble over your own foot and nearly trip on a half-buried piece of driftwood.

Ben just smirks, slow and lazy, and then—

“Button!”

Jo’s voice, slicing across the sand like a rescue flare.

You whip your head up, heartbeat thudding, just in time to see her jogging toward you, curls wild and denim jacket half-shrugged off her shoulder. She grins like she already knows what kind of trouble she’s interrupting.

“C’mon, I need help finding the speaker. Jack put it down somewhere and it’s playing Nickelback, I’m losing my mind.”

She loops her arm through yours without waiting and tugs you away, already talking over her shoulder.

Ben’s voice follows, low and amused: “Careful. She bites.”

You glance back once, eyes meeting his—something unspoken still hanging in the air between you, smoke-thick and golden. Then Jo pulls you into the heat of the bonfire, the music, the waiting eyes. But that warmth in your chest? It’s still him.

Jo drapes her arm around your shoulders as she guides you away from the crowd, deeper into the blur of laughter and bonfire haze.

“So?” Jo asks, bumping her hip into yours just enough to make your balance shift. Her curls catch the firelight, gold at the edges. “How was Sweethearts?”

You smile despite yourself, soft and a little dreamy, the lake still clinging to your skin like a secret. “It was… really nice.”

The words come out warm, unguarded.

She hums knowingly, like she already guessed. “Bet.”

The wind carries the scent of bonfire and beer, and you can still taste lakewater and cigarettes on the back of your tongue. Your gaze flicks across the beach—coolers overturned, Jack draped over a log like he’s melting, Sam and Frenchie animated in some wild conversation near the embers.

You glance sideways. “How was the cove?”

Jo groans, long and theatrical. “Benny burned the burgers. All of them.”

Your brows lift. “No.”

“Oh, yeah.” She throws her hands up like it’s still a tragedy unfolding. “Like, full cremation. Carbonised. Charcoal briquette disaster.”

You let out a laugh, sharp and startled. “That doesn’t sound like Benny the Grillmaster.”

Jo snorts, shoulders shaking. “Yeah, well. Apparently good weed and propane don’t mix.”

You both crack up—really laugh, belly-deep, like it’s July and you’re seventeen again and the world’s still soft.

Around you, the beach glows with the half-light of early evening. The sand is warm beneath your feet, the sky washed out in gold and bruised lavender. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker buzzes in the distance, the low drone of bass thrumming like a second pulse.

The fire snaps behind you.

And still—you feel him. You haven’t looked yet, not really. But you know. You’re still smiling, lips parted like laughter might fall again, when your gaze drifts toward the fire—and catches.

Dean.

Half-obscured behind the shifting veil of flame and shadow, beer loose in one hand, the other curled around nothing. His shoulders are tense, posture a little too straight for someone supposedly relaxed. His eyes—green and sharp, cut from stone—are locked on you.

That signature squint. Like he’s trying to solve you from a distance, like you’re a riddle someone dared him to forget how to read.

Your breath catches in your throat. Just for a moment. Then you blink, slow, and turn back to Jo.

“I don’t think he was thrilled when I answered Sam’s phone earlier.”

Jo snorts, casual as ever. “You need to stop worrying so much.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Mhm.”

“I just—” You chew your lip, watching the sand shift under your feet. “He’s been weird.”

She doesn’t reply. Just quirks one brow, mouth tugged in something that might be amusement—or pity. Then, without a word, she slips from your side and strolls toward the coolers, right past the circle of logs, toward Dean—who’s still watching. Still unmoving.

She bends beside him—slow, familiar, unhurried—and leans in to whisper something you can’t hear. Dean doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smile. Just stares at her, then past her. Back at you. Jo places two bottles into his hands, and he hesitates—barely. A subtle shake of his head. A breath through his nose. A roll of his eyes.

Subtle.

But then he turns, and he walks. Right toward you. The fire crackles at your front, heat licking your shins. The hum of the party fades to static. Your stomach coils tight—but you don’t move. You don’t fidget. You won’t flinch.

Dean stops in front of you, expression unreadable. The flamelight makes him look older. Tired. The green in his eyes gone molasses-dark. Without a word, he pops the cap off your bottle with the edge of his belt buckle—clean, practiced, like muscle memory.

He hands it over. You take it, fingers grazing his. His skin is warm. Of course it is. He opens his own, tips it back, drinking in long, deliberate pulls like it’s not beer but gasoline. Like it might shut something up inside him.

Then:

“Didn’t expect you to answer the phone earlier.”

You nod, sip. Try not to taste the shake in your chest. “Sam was swimming.”

Dean’s eyes flick to yours, narrowing slightly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just… I was expecting Sammy.”

There’s weight in his voice. Not heavy like sorrow—just heavy like a locked door. You watch him, quiet. The faint lines around his mouth are deeper than you remember. His jaw’s clenched too tight for someone who’s supposed to be fine.

So you ask it. Soft. Honest.

“Why’ve you been so cold since I got home?”

He laughs. Sharp. Joyless.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The words land like gravel in your throat. “I’m like this with everyone.”

He drains the rest of his bottle, like that excuses it. Like that makes it fine. You don’t speak. Don’t move. Just stand there, bottle in hand, your grip turning white-knuckled around the glass. Dean turns before the silence can stretch too long—before it can ask anything more of him. He walks back around the fire, back to Benny, to MM, jaw flexing like he’s chewing stone.

You stay where you are. The flames twist and spit behind you. Sparks scatter into the dark. And whatever soft warmth had been flickering in your chest—that quiet little glow? It starts to curdle. You don’t know how long you stand there. Bottle still half-full. Flames flickering behind your knees. Dean’s back to you, just another silhouette at the far edge of the firelight.

The warmth inside you, the glow from earlier—it’s gone sour now. Coiled too tight.

You’re still staring at nothing when a shadow breaks away from the blur of voices, footsteps crunching over sand and loose gravel.

Sam. He slows beside you, hands tucked in the pockets of his flannel, hair still damp at the ends. He watches you for a second—doesn’t say anything right away.

Then, softly: “You look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

You blink, snap out of it, turn toward him with a shrug and a crooked almost-smile. “I’m good.”

He raises a brow. Doesn’t buy it for a second. But he knows better than to say so. He’s been your best friend too long to push where you’re not ready to be touched.

“Alright,” he says finally, glancing toward the water. “You thinking about swimming?”

You nod once, eyes still tracking the edge of the shoreline. “Tempted.”

Sam hums. “We should probably stick close. Rally the crew. See if everyone wants to play something.”

You glance at him. “A game?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin, already scanning the circle. “It’s either that or watching Jack try to backflip off a beer cooler.”

You laugh—barely—but it’s something. Sam nods to himself and steps away, his voice lifting over the fire and the music, clear and easy:

“Alright! Game time!”

Groans, cheers, confusion. Jack immediately starts shouting ideas. Frenchie starts trying to barter snacks for immunity. Kimiko signs something that makes Charlie crack up. Within minutes, multiple packs of Uno cards are passed around the circle, teams divvied with the kind of chaos that only comes from years of doing this—drunk and sunburnt and alive.

You fall into it. Because it’s easier to play than to think. Easier to laugh than to feel that sting in your chest every time Dean glances your way and doesn’t speak. Easier to throw yourself into movement, into noise, into something that doesn’t ache.

And just like that—competition starts.

And it’s on.

The bonfire crackles, spitting sparks into the darkening sky. Hughie tossed a handful of dry pine needles in just to hear it hiss. Smoke curls through the warm air, sticky-sweet with citronella and sweat, burnt sugar from somebody’s spilled soda soaking into the sand.

You're cross-legged on a threadbare towel, your drink sweating in your hand. The cooler's half-empty now, everyone’s sun-drunk and gleaming, limbs tangled, laughter too loud.

Vicki’s doing a truly terrible British accent. Jo’s dared her to keep it going until she wins the game. Ben’s talking shit to Charlie over Uno rules, and Butcher’s throwing popcorn into Jack’s open mouth like he’s a seal. Sam’s nearby, close enough that your knees touch whenever either of you shift.

It should feel easy. This is the kind of night you wait all year for—ripe and golden, humming with possibility. But something’s wrong. It’s you. You feel thin-skinned and too visible. Overexposed. Every blink stretches, every laugh catches in your throat.

Dean hasn’t looked at you since you sat down.

He’s across the fire, thigh pressed to the ice chest, drinking like it doesn’t burn. Hair still damp from the days heat, clinging to his forehead. That mouth—you could draw it from memory—is pulled into a line like he’s listening to something no one else can hear.

Ben catches your eye. He gives you a half-smile—quiet, knowing—and raises his beer. Just a flicker of camaraderie. It lands soft.

Dean sees it. Of course he does. You feel the shift like a static charge, a pull in your gut a second before he says anything. Before his voice cuts through the night like a knife.

“So,” he says, loud enough to rise above the laughter, “are we playing or just sitting here giving each other fuck-me eyes all night?”

Everything stutters.

The group hollers on instinct—oohhh—and someone throws a chip at Dean’s chest. Ben just snorts, shakes his head like he’s not taking the bait.

But your spine’s gone rigid.

Dean’s not looking at Ben. He’s looking at you. That smile of his is sharp and firelit and empty of anything real. You feel it like a bruise under your skin, blooming wide. He knows what he’s doing. He always has.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Smile like it doesn’t hurt.

“I dunno, Dean,” you say sweetly, voice like syrup. “You jealous or just bitter?”

The group howls louder. Annie shrieks oh my God, and Charlie nearly falls over laughing. The sound feels like white noise. Your ears are ringing.

Dean just grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Sam leans in—voice pitched low, just for you. “You good?”

No. Not even a little.

“Yeah,” you say, tossing back the last of your drink. “Let’s play.”

And you do. For a while. Cards slapped against towels, rules made up and broken, laughter bubbling too close to chaos. Every time you look up, Dean’s looking somewhere else. Every time you laugh at something Ben says, Dean gets quieter.

You’re boiling under your skin. You don’t know who you’re angrier at—him, for pretending you don’t matter, or yourself, for caring this much. And just when the night’s stretched so tight it’s about to snap—

—you do.

You win a round on pure luck and pettiness. Hughie groans, Frenchie fake-cries, and Butcher throws a towel at you, but it’s too late—you’re already up on your feet, hands in the air, hips swaying in time with the imaginary music as you give them your most unhinged victory dance.

The group loses it. Whoops, whistles, clapping. Charlie yells “GET IT!” and Annie’s filming with one hand, drink in the other.

You twirl, overdramatic, grinning too wide, letting the smoke and firelight slick over your skin like a second layer.

You’re fine. Totally fine.

You’re just about to slide back down onto your towel when—

“Hey,” Ben calls.

You turn toward the sound, one brow raised. He’s propped on one elbow near the fire pit, knees bent, beer in hand, cigarette tucked behind his ear. His mouth is tilted in that sideways smirk—just the edge of trouble.

He tips his head, a casual gesture toward the empty space next to him. “C’mere.”

You don’t hesitate. Don’t look to see if anyone’s watching. But as you cross the sand, your eyes flick to your old spot. Jack’s settled in now, animatedly talking with Sam, both of them bright and oblivious under the flame-warm dark.

You turn back to Ben and drop down beside him. Close, but not touching.

“What, wanna lose the next round with me?” You tease, scooping the deck toward you.

Ben snorts, his grin widening. “Nah, I just figured we’d even the odds. Beauty and brawn, right?”

You glance at him sidelong. “You calling yourself pretty?”

“I mean… you’re not not lookin’ at me.”

You scoff through your nose but don’t deny it. He reaches for his cigarette, sparks it with a flick of his lighter, and draws in slow. The tip glows red, illuminating the curve of his mouth, that strong jaw, the glint of something reckless behind his lashes.

“Shuffle those,” he says, voice lower now. Not rough—easy. Like he’s used to people listening. Like you already are.

You start shuffling.

“Here,” he says after a beat, angling the cigarette toward your mouth. “Your hands’re busy.”

You blink at him. That same line. The truck ride. Marlboro Girl. His mouth on the filter where yours had been.

You lean in. Take the pull. The paper crackles. The burn hits your lungs, familiar and grounding. You exhale slow, smoke curling past your lips, eyes on the fire.

Ben watches you the whole time.

Then—

“Hey, maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time counting, you’d actually win one that wasn't a damn fluke.”

Dean’s voice cuts across the fire like glass under bare feet.

The group chuckles. Reflex. Conditioned response to Dean Winchester being a dick. But you freeze. You lift your eyes. He’s still where he was. Elbow on his knee, bottle tipped lazily against his mouth. Looking at you like he’s bored. Like you’re boring. Like none of it meant anything.

And something in you splits.

“What’s your fucking problem tonight, Dean?”

The fire pops. Everyone goes still. A beat too long.

Charlie lets out a slow “ooooohhh shit” under her breath, but no one else speaks. They’re waiting. Watching. You know the script—but you’re done reading your lines.

Dean raises his brows like he’s amused. Like you’re the one making a scene.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Take a breath. It was a joke.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

“Come on.”

“No,” you repeat, louder now, pushing yourself up straighter. “Don’t come on me—”

Ben huffs a laugh beside you. “Not with that tone, sweetheart.”

You flick him a warning glance, but you’re too far gone now. Blood in your cheeks. Heart pounding. Years of tension coiling behind your ribs like a storm.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You gonna throw a tantrum every time I don’t drool over you?”

There it is.

That heat. That cruelty. That mask. And you’re done with it.

“God, you’re such a coward,” you spit, rising to your feet, breath short. “You wanna act like I’m nothing? Fine. But don’t pretend it’s not because you’re pissed someone else got there first.”

The silence slams down like thunder.

Dean’s jaw flexes.

You don’t wait for him to speak. You turn, stalking off toward the caves, fists clenched, every nerve in your body buzzing like a live wire. The laughter, the smoke—gone.

Ben doesn’t follow. But you know he’s watching. And Dean? He always fucking is.

The fire crackles behind you. Laughter returns in your wake, quieter now—uneasy. But you keep walking. Past the edges of the light, into the darker parts of the cove where the tide laps at the rock, gentle and glistening. The ocean is ink-black and sequinned under the moon, a hush of foam breaking over your feet.

You dig a cigarette from your pocket with shaking hands. Light it. Inhale like it’s medicine. Salt air and nicotine, bitter on your tongue. Your chest finally loosens.

You don’t cry. You burn.

“Hey—what the hell was that?”

You flinch at Sam’s voice behind you, half-panicked, half-pissed, breathless from catching up. His silhouette appears against the cave wall, broad and familiar.

You turn slightly. Blow smoke to the side. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You don’t answer.

Sam steps closer, hands on his hips, still catching his breath. “Seriously—what’s going on? You lit into Dean like he ran over your cat.”

You laugh once—sharp. “He’s just been pissing me off.”

“That’s… not new.”

“Yeah, well.” You shrug, cigarette trembling slightly in your fingers. “Tonight it’s worse.”

Sam softens, tilts his head. “Come on. What happened?”

You exhale slow. “He’s been a fucking douchebag to me since the party last night.”

Sam winces at the word but doesn’t argue.

“I’m over it, Sammy. I’m tired.”

He watches you a second longer, then glances back toward the fire. The noise is more distant now—still going, but muted, like everyone’s waiting to see if you’ll come back.

“Wanna head out?” He offers. “I’ll walk you.”

You nod, eyes still on the ocean. “Yeah.”

You both return to the fire, the group glancing up as you approach. Eyes flick from your face to Sam’s, questions rising and dying unasked. You crouch down, grab your things—your towel, your bag, the crumpled pack of cigarettes.

Butcher’s the first to speak. “Oi. You headin’ off?”

You nod once.

“I’ll give you a lift,” he offers, tone surprisingly gentle.

“Same,” Ben chimes in from behind him, already standing, brushing sand off his jeans. “It’s late anyway.”

“I’m good,” you start to say, but Ben’s already moving, tossing his empty bottle into the recycling bag.

“I got her,” he tells Sam, casual but firm.

Sam watches him a second, then nods. “Alright.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, heart thudding unevenly. You’re barely three steps from the fire pit when—

Dean scoffs. Loud. Deliberate.

You freeze. So does Ben. But you don’t look back. You just walk. The cigarette smoke still clings to your skin. And the ocean’s still roaring, even if your blood is louder.

The air hits you as soon as you reach the truck—cool and damp, soaked in brine and the leftover heat of the fire. Your arms break into goosebumps. You hadn’t noticed how much you were shaking until now.

Ben clocks it instantly.

He opens the passenger door without a word, then leans in. When he straightens, he’s holding a jacket—old, faded, once red. His varsity one. The sleeves are cracked with sun and wear, and it still smells like motor oil and cedar smoke when he drapes it over your shoulders.

He doesn't ask. Just does it.

You don’t say thank you. Not out loud.

You climb in. Ben lights your cigarette before he even puts the truck in drive. Holds it out to you with two fingers, cherry flaring.

“Here,” he says, low.

You take it. Inhale deep. Let the smoke sit in your lungs like a sigh.

The door shuts. The truck growls awake. Tires crunch over the gravel of the cove as he pulls away, one arm slung over the wheel like he’s got nowhere to be. The window’s cracked, the salt air thick with smoke and heat and something else humming under the silence.

“So?” He asks, voice all gravel and casual.

You shrug. “You can just take me home, if you want.”

He scoffs once. “Nah.” Glances over. “I’m takin’ you for a drive.”

You nod, heart clenching in quiet gratitude, the kind that makes your ribs ache. You don’t say anything. Just watch the trees pass in a blur of moonlight and shadow.

Then—

Ben snorts. “Winchester really picks his fuckin’ moments, huh?”

You snap your head toward him.

“Oh my God.”

Ben raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“He’s always been like this,” you start, words tumbling hot and sharp. “Like—always. I’d be over at Sam’s in middle school, just playing Mario Kart or whatever, and Dean would have to come in and make some snide comment. Say my shoes were ugly. Ask if I was Sam’s ‘little girlfriend.’ Shit like that.”

Ben grins, teeth catching the corner of his lip.

“It’s not cute,” you say, scowling at his smirk. “It’s fucking annoying. He’ll be all sweet and normal one second—helping me find my phone or offering to drive me home—and then I blink and he’s an asshole again. It’s whiplash.”

“Mm,” Ben hums, eyes on the road. “Sounds like he’s got a hard-on for you he doesn’t know what to do with.”

You go quiet. Then: “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes it worse.”

Ben flicks his turn signal on even though there’s no one around. “It’s his problem.”

You glance out the window. Exhale smoke into the wind.

“I’m just—tired of it,” you mutter. “Tired of feeling like he only sees me when he wants to. And when he does, it’s to knock me back down again. Like he can’t help himself.”

Ben doesn’t say anything at first. The silence stretches.

Then—

“He’s a dick,” Ben says finally, simple and easy like it’s just a fact. “But you knew that.”

You look over.

He glances at you once, then back at the road. “Guy like him? He only hits what he wants close enough to bruise. That ain’t admiration. That’s cowardice.”

You stare at him. He shrugs, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb in his rough, no-bullshit cadence. You flick ash out the window, a small smile tugging at your mouth despite everything.

“And you’re not a coward?” You ask.

Ben smirks. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m a lot of things. But that ain’t one of ‘em.”

The truck rolls on, windows down, the night wide open in front of you.

You’re halfway through your second cigarette when you say it.

“So…”

The word hangs in the air, riding the breeze off the water. Ben shifts slightly in the driver’s seat, one arm still draped over the wheel, the other tapping ashes out the window.

You glance at him sidelong, chin tilted toward your shoulder. “Either I’m delusional, or you’ve been flirting pretty heavy with me today, Benjamin Hargrove.”

That earns you a smirk. Slow, crooked. Dangerous.

He lets the name roll in his mouth like a sip of whiskey before he answers. “Delusional’s not off the table,” he says, tone dry. “But nah. You’re not wrong.”

You raise your brows. “Wanna elaborate on that?”

Ben chuckles, low in his throat. Doesn’t rush. Just reaches to flick on the headlights as the road darkens, and the truck’s cab glows pale gold.

“I dunno,” he says finally. “Guess I had a good reason today.”

You snort, disbelieving. “Please. You didn’t even know who I was until Dean’s party last night.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, with a little shrug: “Knew who you were. Just never had a reason to talk to you.”

You scoff. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, I mean—” He cuts himself off, laughs. “It’s not like that.”

You blow smoke out slow, watching him through the haze. “Then what is it like?”

He shifts gears smoothly, eyes still forward. “You walked into me. At the party. Full-on crashed into my chest with your eyes all wide.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile threatens.

“And for whatever reason,” Ben says, glancing at you, “it was like I saw you clear for the first time.”

That shuts you up. Just for a second. You nod once, inhale, let it sit in your lungs.

“Where are we even going?” You ask softly.

He exhales like a laugh. “Nowhere. Just drivin’.”

The town falls away behind you. Streetlights thinning into long fields and shadowy fences. The scent of eucalyptus and saltwater gets thicker the closer you get to the edge of everything.

“If I’d known this was how the night was gonna end,” Ben mutters, “I’d’ve packed some blankets and shit. Could’ve parked somewhere and looked at the stars.”

You lean forward slightly, glance behind through the sliding window. There—folded and rumpled and sun-stained—are at least four of the blankets people brought to Sweethearts Lake. Bright stripes, florals, that one hideous neon one Charlie swears is vintage.

“There are blankets,” you say, grinning.

Ben looks at you.

That grin spreads like wildfire across his face. “You feel like makin’ a night of it?”

You lift one shoulder, casual. “Maybe.”

He watches you for another beat, eyes flicking over your face like he’s learning it in real time. Then he hums.

“We’re gettin’ some proper fuckin’ food first.”

He pulls into the only open drive-thru in town, floodlights buzzing overhead. You sit with your knees up, Ben’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders, the truck idling low beneath you both.

“What do you want?” He asks, already reaching for the speaker.

You shrug. “Don’t care.”

He leans forward. “Two burgers. Extra pickles. Large fries. Couple milkshakes—chocolate and strawberry.”

“Aw,” you tease. “Didn’t peg you for a strawberry guy.”

“I’m not,” he mutters. “That one’s for you.”

You blink. Say nothing.

The order total blares through the speaker, and he hands over crumpled bills without flinching.

Minutes later, you’re back on the road. Burgers warm between you, the salt of the fries flooding the truck’s cab. You drink from the wrong milkshake first, just to mess with him. He flicks your hand but doesn’t stop you.

The town is a blur in the rearview mirror.

Ben pulls off at the edge of the bluffs, gravel hissing under the tires. The ocean’s laid out in front of you, black and glimmering, a lullaby of crashing waves echoing up through the open windows.

He kills the engine. You both sit in the quiet. You look over. He’s already watching you.

“Come on then,” he says, voice low.

And you think—maybe tonight is something new. Something charged and bright and just starting to burn.

The truck bed rocks slightly beneath you, old shocks creaking as the ocean wind rolls over the bluff. It smells like sea brine and motor oil and the dying sweetness of your milkshake. You're both wrapped in stolen blankets—sun-bleached and soft, full of other people’s perfume and bonfire smoke. The kind of borrowed warmth that feels almost like permission.

You sit shoulder to shoulder, thighs nearly brushing, and the stars above you are so clear it’s like the sky’s been scraped clean. Black velvet, scattered in diamonds. The waves below crash slow and steady, like a heartbeat, pulling your nerves into rhythm.

He tosses a fry at you without warning. It bounces off your chest and lands in your lap.

You blink. Then toss one right back at his face.

Ben grins, head tipping back in a low laugh that sounds too easy coming out of that throat. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, mock-offended, brushing salt off his jacket like you’ve insulted his honour.

You’re smiling now, too. Looser than you’ve felt all night.

“Thanks,” you murmur, fingers twisting the edge of the blanket where it pools in your lap.

He glances at you. “For what?”

You shrug. “Driving me around. I really was about to clock Dean in the face, and… I’d have felt bad walking home. Sam would never let me go alone. It’d turn into a whole thing.”

Ben doesn’t respond right away. Just shifts, slow and thoughtful, a hand dragging through his hair as he leans back on one elbow.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve noticed that about him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, that he treats me like a porcelain doll?”

Ben exhales through his nose. “Nah. That he gives a shit. Like… real deep. No matter what.”

You nod. “Yeah. He always has.”

There’s a beat. You sip your milkshake, cool and thick on your tongue, and when you turn your head—he’s looking at you.

Not just looking. Watching. The kind of look that makes your chest stutter, your mouth go dry. Slow and deliberate. As if he’s trying to memorise something he didn’t know he wanted to remember.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Ben shifts his jaw, tongue running along the inside of his cheek. That same grin from earlier blooms—lazy and molten and just shy of cocky.

“You’re pretty fuckin’ cool,” he says simply. Like it’s the weather. Like it’s fact.

You blink.

He goes on. “Heard you were. Just didn’t realise how much.”

You scoff before you can help it. “Jesus. You’re laying it on thick tonight.”

“I’m honest,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “You can’t handle that, that’s on you.”

You snort, dragging your eyes away from him and back to the stars.

“I’m not just cool,” you mutter.

“Oh?”

“I’m the fucking best.”

That makes him laugh—full-bodied and unguarded, the sound tumbling out of him like it surprised him. It hits something in your chest you weren’t expecting.

“Goddamn,” he says, wiping at his mouth like you’ve knocked something loose. “Alright. You’re the fucking best.”

You look at him. He looks at you. The grin fades slowly from his face—but something else replaces it. Darker. Heavier. Charged in the way a summer sky gets just before a thunderstorm.

“You always like this when someone flirts with you?” He asks, voice low and even now, pitched like a secret. “Or is it just me?”

Your breath catches.

You smile, but it’s slower this time. Sharper. “You always this smug when someone gives it back?”

Ben leans in just a fraction. Enough that you feel the warmth of him. The weight.

“You’re not just giving it back,” he murmurs. “You’re beggin’ for it.”

The world narrows to him. The rumble of his voice. The way he says it with that drawl, like it’s not a question, just the truth. Like he’s peeling the air open between you and daring you to step into it.

Your heart kicks. You recover quickly—barely—but you recover.

“I’ve been holding back,” you say, voice light as smoke. “Didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Ben grins. Something hungry in it now. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t hurt my feelings if you tried.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure about you,” he says, no hesitation, and it lands so direct you forget how to breathe for a second.

He lets it hang there. Doesn’t press. Just watches you. One hand close to your knee, the other buried beneath the blanket, fingers twitching like he’s holding back from reaching for you.

You don’t move. You don’t have to. The heat between you is already alive—wrapping itself around your spine, your ribs, something old and aching and waiting. He leans in slightly more, close enough now that your knees are touching, and the sound of the ocean might as well be miles away.

“So,” he says, voice almost a whisper, eyes on your mouth, “what are we doin’ with all this?”

The silence between you folds in, tighter than before. Charged. Heavy with everything unsaid and undeniable.

Ben’s close—too close now. The blankets have slipped, your shoulder brushing his chest, and when he leans in that last inch, your breath catches and doesn’t come back.

You could say something. You don’t. You just tilt your chin up—barely. And that’s all it takes.

His mouth finds yours slow at first. Measured. A question, not a demand. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and sure in the way that makes your stomach drop clean through the floor. You sigh into it, your hand finding his chest like instinct, fingers curling in the soft cotton of his tee.

He kisses you again. Slower. Deeper. And then—something shifts.

Like tension snapping tight behind his ribs, he groans low in his throat and pulls you in hard, hand sliding behind your neck, the kiss turning urgent, reckless, fucking raw. You gasp, and he swallows it, teeth catching your bottom lip, tongue sliding in like he owns the place. He tastes like fries and smoke and something you want to chase until morning.

You’re panting into his mouth when he breaks for air, forehead pressed to yours.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice ragged. “You never been kissed before or somethin’, honey?”

Your laugh is breathless. Shaky. You dig your nails into his chest, just to ground yourself.

“Fuck you.”

He grins against your jaw, presses a kiss there like punctuation. “That a yes?”

You groan, chasing his mouth again, half-drunk on him now. He lets you catch it—just barely—before chuckling, breaking the kiss with a breathless shake of his head.

“Shit,” he says, voice rough, “I really wanna take this further.”

“So do it,” you whisper, mouth grazing his.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark now, pupils blown wide under the stars.

“Can’t,” he says, soft but firm. “Ain’t right. We haven’t even been on a proper date yet.”

You groan again, dramatic, flopping back against the side of the cab. He laughs, that low smoky thing that sits in your bones.

You roll back toward him, kiss his jaw once more—defiant and flirty. “You’re such a tease.”

Ben hums, brushing your hair from your cheek. “If I don’t get you home now, I’m gonna have Winchester Jumbo-Size breathing down my fuckin’ neck.”

You laugh despite yourself, pressing your face into his shoulder, the moment dizzy and glowing.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Take me home.”

“Damn right I will,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth one last time before standing, offering his hand to help you down.

The drive back is quieter. Not awkward—just heavy. His hand keeps tightening on the steering wheel like he’s remembering the way you kissed him. You’re curled up in his jacket, biting back your grin every time you catch him looking at you at a red light.

He doesn’t say much. But he’s still smirking when he pulls up in front of your house and cuts the engine.

And that heat?

It hasn’t gone anywhere.

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author note/s: oooooooh, bit of dean being a dick, and ben being respectful??? we'll see how long that holds up, eh? i am absolutely and utterly in love with this story. i know i'm genuinely enjoying writing it and putting it out, because it's not getting as many notes as some of my other works but i'm enjoying it so much, that it doesn't seem to be affecting my desire to post. if i'm making sense? please give me your thoughts on it... you know i love hearing it! until the next one, smin signing off. all the love.

soldier boy/ben & dean taglists: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @soldiersgirl @tinas111 @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @deansbeer @deanstubble @drakulana @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @liiiilsss @0ccvltism @itshellfire @sl33pylilbunny @nevercameraready @paristheonewhoreads @podiumackles @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @spxideyver @winchestersbgirl @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @ohgodimgoungtodie @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @ambiguous-avery @imsiriuslyreal <3

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 22/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, angst, hurt

Word Count: 6428

A/N: This is part 22 of “His only exception”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Two weeks later, you walked towards Annie’s office, to hand her some reports, but as you were about to knock at her door, you overheard her talking.

Annie’s voice rang out, laced with frustration and urgency, as she bellowed into the phone to Butcher. "Why the hell is Soldier Boy still in America?", she demanded, her tone tinged with incredulity. "He should have been transported to Russia by now. What’s the holdup?".

Your breath caught in your throat as her words echoed in your ears, sending a shiver down your spine.

With bated breath, you pressed your ear to the door, straining to catch every word of the conversation unfolding within.

Inside the office, Butcher’s voice came through the phone, gruff and strained. "The Russians are afraid to take him back", he explained, his words heavy with frustration. "They don’t want to deal with the fallout if he escapes again. They want assurances, guarantees".

Annie let out a frustrated sigh, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Well, we can’t keep him here forever", she snapped, her irritation palpable. "We need to figure this out, and fast".

Your heart raced as you listened in, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in your mind.

As you stumbled back from the door, clutching the reports tightly in your hands, a whirlwind of emotions churned within you.

With each step back to your office, your thoughts raced, grappling with the implications of what you had overheard. The tension in the air seemed to thicken around you, suffocating you with the weight of the secrets and lies that permeated Vought.

Once safely back in your office, you sank into your chair, your mind reeling as you tried to process everything you had just heard.

As you sank into your chair, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you, you couldn't shake the nagging questions swirling in your mind. Why would your friends hold Ben captive? There´s no way you misunderstood the hole situation.

The thought of Ben being returned to the Russians, to face the horrors of his past once more, sent a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced like crazy. You knew the extent of the torture he endured during his time in their captivity, and the idea of him being subjected to it again was unbearable.

No matter what he had done, to you or anyone else, this was just cruel.

With a heavy heart, you began to piece together the fragments of information, trying to make sense of the tangled web of secrets and lies that surrounded Ben's disappearance. But the more you delved into it, the more questions arose, leaving you feeling more lost and confused than ever before.

As someone who had spent countless hours tracking down supes in your previous job at Supe Affairs, you knew the ins and outs of investigative work like the back of your hand. If anyone could uncover Ben's whereabouts, it was you.

You should have done something sooner. Damn it, you hated yourself right now. Why did you trusted your team so easily? But… they were your friends, so you never thought about them lying to you.

For eight grueling hours, you poured over every piece of data on your laptop, leaving no stone unturned in your quest for answers. It was a tedious process, but your determination never wavered, fueled by the hope of finally finding a lead.

And then, just when you were beginning to lose hope, you stumbled upon a promising clue—an upcoming shipment from Nevada to Russia. Then it hit you. Your heart raced. A shipment from supe affairs. Fuck.

This could be it, you thought to yourself, the breakthrough you had been searching for. This had to be it. This had to be Ben.

Thats when Annie and Hughie knocked on your door. You were jolted out of your intense focus, the sound pulling you back to the present moment. Blinking away the remnants of your concentration, you forced a smile as you greeted them.

"Hey, come on in", you said, trying to sound cheerful despite the turmoil raging inside you. "Sorry, I lost track of time. I'll be ready in just a minute".

Annie raised an eyebrow at your distracted and stressed demeanor, her expression tinged with concern. "Everything okay?", she asked, her voice gentle.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. Finally, you shook your head, plastering on a false smile. "Yeah, just got caught up in some work stuff", you replied, hoping they wouldn't press for more details.

You joined Annie and Hughie for dinner, you did your best to push aside the rage and confusion swirling within you. The possibility that your friends had captured Ben and kept it from you gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you chose to keep silent about what you had overheard. If that shipment was really connected to Ben, or worse, was Ben, the last thing you needed was them, to react in a hurry.

Throughout the meal, you engaged in polite conversation, masking your inner turmoil behind a façade of normalcy. Despite your efforts, however, a part of you remained preoccupied with thoughts of Ben and the unsettling revelations you had stumbled upon.

As the dessert arrived, Annie and Hughie engaged in light banter, discussing their latest mission at Vought. You joined in sporadically, offering a smile or a nod while your mind wandered to darker thoughts.

Annie noticed your distraction and placed a hand on your arm, concern etched in her features. "Is really everything alright?", she asked, her voice gentle.

You forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, just a bit tired from work and stuff", you replied, your tone carefully neutral.

Hughie glanced between you and Annie, sensing the tension in the air. "If there's anything on your mind, you can always talk to us", he offered, his expression earnest.

You nodded, before you asked cautiously, "Did either of you happen to see anything about Ben lately?", trying to sound casual.

Annie and Hughie exchanged a glance, their expressions guarded.

Annie sighed softly before responding, "No, we haven't heard anything about him. But it's not uncommon for supes to keep a low profile".

You nodded again, but the unease in your stomach only grew. "It just seems crazy", you continued, "that someone as powerful as Ben hasn't been seen by a fan or caught on camera or anything. Especially now that Homelander is no longer a supe, Ben is essentially the most powerful being on the planet. The media should be going crazy about him".

Annie's brow furrowed in thought, but she didn't offer any further insight. "Maybe he just want to have some private time for now", she suggested vaguely.

You knew pressing further would only raise suspicion.

Annie let out a heavy sigh, her gaze distant as she mumbled, "You still miss him, don’t you?".

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yeah", you admitted softly, unable to hide the ache in your voice.

Her next question caught you off guard. "So… there wasn´t just friendship between you two, right?", she asked.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "At first, maybe", you replied carefully. "But… it got complicated. I don't know".

Annie nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it, about your feelings, I'm here", she offered sincerely.

You offered her another fake smile.

How could she sit there and lie so badly to your face? How could the whole team, your friends, lie to you like that and keep you in the dark? And how could you have been so stupid and naïve as not to question Ben's disappearance?

With determined resolve, you booked a flight to Nevada as soon as you arrived home that evening. As you started packing a small bag, you continued your research, driven by the need to uncover the truth. There was no way you could ignore the possibility that Ben might be in danger once again.

If there was even the slightest chance that he was enduring another hellish ordeal, you had to do everything in your power to prevent it. You owed him that much, after everything you had been through together.

With each item you packed, you felt a sense of urgency coursing through your veins. Time was of the essence, and you couldn't afford to waste a single moment.

As your flight took off in the middle of the night, you felt a sense of urgency propelling you forward. You had booked the soonest flight available, unwilling to waste another precious minute while Ben's fate hung in the balance.

Touching down in Nevada in the early hours of the morning, you wasted no time. Calling in sick to work, you made your way to the nearest taxi stand, determined to reach the small airport where the mysterious shipment to Russia was set to depart. With each passing moment, your heart raced with anticipation, fueled by the hope that you might find some answers about Ben's whereabouts.

As the taxi pulled up to the airport, you stepped out, your pulse quickening with each step you took. With every passing second, the weight of the unknown pressed down upon you, but you refused to let fear hold you back. Steeling yourself for whatever lay ahead, you marched forward, ready to uncover the truth no matter the cost.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the guards stationed at the entrance to the airport. "Starlight sent me to make sure everything is ready for the shipment", you explained confidently, hoping to gain their trust. Well, you had a few hours to prepare yourself for every possible argument.

The guards exchanged suspicious glances, their eyes narrowing as they scrutinized you. "We weren't informed of any additional personnel", one of them remarked, his tone skeptical. But they knew your face. Your new position at vought was pretty much being Annie´s PA.

Undeterred, you maintained your composure, offering plausible explanations for your presence. With each carefully chosen word, you worked to assuage their doubts and convince them of your legitimacy.

After a tense exchange, the guards finally relented, allowing you to pass through the security checkpoint. As you stepped inside the airport, a sense of relief washed over you, knowing that you had cleared the first hurdle.

You walked through the airport. For a while.

As you finally entered the security room, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of another two guards. Keeping your composure, you approached them with even more confidence.

"Starlight is waiting at the entrance", you lied smoothly, your tone authoritative. "She needs to discuss some urgent matters with you both".

The guards exchanged hesitant glances, clearly uncertain about the unexpected interruption. However, they seemed hesitant to defy the authority of someone claiming to be sent by Starlight.

Nodding in acknowledgment, they quickly vacated their posts, eager to address the purported issue at the entrance. As they hurried off, you took advantage of the opportunity to slip further into the security room.

"Idiots. This was way too easy", you rolled your eyes.

As you monitored the security cameras and navigated through the building's system, a mix of disbelief and amusement washed over you. The familiarity of the security system, reminiscent of Vought's own setup, struck you as both ironic and unsettling.

With each click and keystroke, you delved deeper into the labyrinthine network of corridors and chambers. It wasn't long before your keen eye caught sight of a series of heavily guarded rooms nestled within the bowels of the basement.

The sight sent a shiver down your spine, the gravity of the situation sinking in. These rooms held the answers you sought.

As you pocketed one of the access cards from the guards, a surge of adrenaline fueled your resolve. With each step towards the elevators, your heart pounded in anticipation and sure some fear.

With a steady hand, you inserted the card into the elevator panel, the soft beep signaling acceptance as the doors slid open before you. Stepping inside, you selected the basement level, your breath catching in your throat as the elevator descended into the depths of the building.

As the doors opened to reveal the dimly lit corridors of the basement, you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. With each step forward, you drew closer to the truth. Hopefully to Ben.

With each door you passed through, the tension in the air grew thicker, your nerves coiling tightly with each step. Using the access card, you navigated through the labyrinthine corridors of the basement, encountering occasional guards whom you managed to deceive with well-rehearsed lies and a calm demeanor.

As you ventured deeper into the bowels of the facility, you couldn't shake the sense of urgency that gnawed at your insides.

With each encounter with a guard, you maintained a facade of confidence, engaging in casual conversation and deflecting any suspicion with practiced ease. The guards, unaware of your true intentions, offered little resistance. Again, fucking idiots.

Finally, after navigating through a series of winding corridors and heavily guarded checkpoints, you stood before the imposing bulk of the last big steel door. Your heart raced as you reached for the access card once more, steeling yourself for whatever lay beyond.

A wave of shock and horror washed over you as the door swung open, revealing the grim scene before you. There, chained up on an examination table, lay Ben, his once-powerful form now reduced to a pitiful sight. Tubes snaked from his body, connected to machines that hummed softly in the dimly lit room.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him, his face obscured by a large mask, his body restrained by heavy chains. He lay still and silent, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of his captors.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you took in the sight before you. The reality of the situation crashed down upon you with force, filling you with a mix of anguish, anger, and despair.

But amidst the chaos of your emotions, one thing remained clear: you had found Ben, and now it was up to you to free him from this nightmare.

As you approached Ben, your heart pounding in your chest, you cast a wary glance around the room, ensuring that you were alone and undetected.

Reaching out with trembling fingers, you gently lifted the mask from Ben's face, revealing his features beneath. His expression was serene, his features softened in sleep.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, your fingers tracing the lines of his face as if to reassure yourself that he was real, that he was still here with you.

As Ben's eyes snapped open, a primal fury ignited within him, driving him to break free from his restraints with a fierce determination. With a low growl emanating from deep within his chest, he lunged towards you, his movements swift and predatory.

In an instant, his hands closed around your throat, crushing the air from your lungs as he pinned you against the wall with a vice-like grip. Your vision blurred instantly, the world fading around you as you struggled to draw breath.

"Mm…Ben", you managed to gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you gazed up at him with pleading eyes, hoping to reach the man buried beneath the rage.

In the final moment before his grip tightened, Ben's gaze locked onto yours, recognition flickering in his eyes as he registered your presence. With a sharp intake of breath, he released his hold, allowing you to crumple to the ground beneath him.

His voice trembled with a mixture of anger and disbelief as he demanded, "Did you fucking know about this?".

You choked back a sob, tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head frantically. "No, no, no", you gasped, your voice barely audible as you struggled to find your breath. He believed you, at least for the moment.

But Ben's rage erupted quickly, his voice reverberated through the room, filled with fury and betrayal. "Those fucking bastards tricked me!", he roared, his chest beginning to glow with a dangerous intensity.

You couldn't blame him for his anger, quite the opposite. You were at least as angry. But when you saw his chest begin to glow, you knew it wouldn't end well if he didn't calm down.

Fear gripped your heart as you pleaded with him, your voice trembling with desperation. "Ben, please, calm down", you begged. "You'll kill me if you explode".

Despite Ben's seething anger, your trembling hand reaching out to touch his. "Ben, please", you pleaded, your voice cracking with fear and urgency. "I know you're angry, I know it´s a lot, but… but we need to find a way out of here… now".

His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with the intensity of his emotions. For a moment, his gaze softened as he looked into your eyes, but the fire of his rage still burned bright within him.

He knew you were right.

With a wild intensity in his eyes, Ben growled at you to stay behind him. Without hesitation, he strode through the door, his movements filled with purpose and determination. As you followed closely behind, your heart raced with adrenaline.

Just beyond the threshold, a horde of guards awaited, their weapons at the ready. But Ben's grin widened, a fierce gleam in his eyes as he cracked his neck with a primal snarl. With a swift, savage motion, he launched into action, tearing through the guards with unmatched ferocity.

The air was filled with the sickening sound of flesh being rent apart and the metallic tang of blood. Ben moved with lethal precision, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake as he fought his way through the opposition, his fury unchecked and unstoppable.

As Ben tore through the guards with unparalleled brutality, you followed closely behind, your stomach churning with each gruesome scene unfolding before you. The once pristine corridors of the facility were now painted in shades of crimson, the air thick with the stench of blood and death.

With each strike, Ben's movements were fluid and precise, his strength and speed unmatched as he dispatched his enemies with ruthless efficiency. You did your best to keep up, your heart pounding in your chest.

Despite the horror of the situation, you forced yourself to steel your nerves, pushing aside the overwhelming urge to vomit as you focused on staying close to Ben's side. With each step, you prayed for the nightmare to end, yearning for the safety and solace of escape.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you emerged from the building.

As the chaos subsided and you both emerged from the building, the weight of the ordeal hung heavy in the air. Ben's gaze swept over the scene, his expression unreadable as he took in the aftermath of the carnage.

Without a word, he made his way to the nearest car, dispatching the last few guards with a swift efficiency that bordered on mechanical. You followed closely behind, your mind still reeling from the violence you had just witnessed.

When you reached a car, Ben paused, opening the passenger door casual. Despite the grim circumstances, there was a sense of familiarity in his actions.

You climbed into the car, the leather seats cool against your skin as you settled in. Ben joined you moments later, sliding behind the wheel with a sense of purpose.

The engine roared to life and Ben quickly navigated the vehicle away from the scene of destruction. As you drove off, the weight of what had just transpired hung heavy in the air, the silence between you filled with unspoken questions and lingering tension.

You couldn't help but stare at him, your mind still reeling from the violent ordeal you had just witnessed. With a mix of disbelief and exhaustion, you blurted out. "Even in this situation, you open me the damn car door?", you asked incredulously, your tone a mix of bewilderment and irritation.

Ben glanced at you, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Hey, just because we're fucking knee-deep in chaos doesn't mean I have to abandon my fucking manners", he replied with a hint of amusement, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a small chuckle despite the gravity of the situation. Despite everything.

But his mood changed within seconds.

He turned to you, his chest beginning to glow once more. "Why the fucking hell did your fucking friends capture me?", he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and anger.

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm as you tried to steady his rising temper. "I don't know, Ben", you replied calmly, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "I overheard Annie talking to Butcher about it, but I don't have all the details. They never told me anything".

Ben's expression softened slightly, his features contorting with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "They never fucking told you?", he echoed, his voice tinged with incredulity. "After everything?".

You shook your head, a heavy weight settling in your chest as you confronted the painful reality of the situation. "No, they didn't", you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Ben. I wish I had done something sooner".

For a moment, silence hung in the air between you, the weight of unspoken words echoing in the car's confined space.

As Ben's chest gradually ceased its ominous glow, a sense of relief washed over you both, the tension in the air dissipating slightly.

"I can't fucking believe this shit", Ben muttered, his voice heavy with disbelief as he processed the revelations. "Four months… I've been gone for four fucking months?".

You nodded solemnly, the weight of the truth hanging heavily in the air. "Yeah", you confirmed softly, meeting his gaze with empathy. "It's been over four months since… since everything happened".

Ben fell silent, his expression a mixture of shock and resignation as he grappled with the reality of the situation. The passage of time seemed to stretch before him, a testament to the countless moments lost in the void of captivity.

"How did you find me?", Ben's voice cut through the silence, his eyes narrowing as he studied you intently.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you. "I… I overheard Annie talking", you repeated yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. "She mentioned something about a shipment from Nevada to Russia, and I knew… I just knew it had to be you and I had to find you".

Ben's expression softened slightly, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "You risked everything to come after me", he murmured. "Why?".

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head. "Because you're not just 'anyone' to me, Ben", you replied, your voice tinged with emotion. "You're…damn it, even after what happened… you´re… you're everything".

As Ben's hand found its way to your thigh, a surge of electricity coursed through your body, igniting a fire within you. Despite the turmoil in his mind, his touch spoke volumes, conveying emotions that words could never fully express.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the intensity of the moment enveloping you. In that fleeting instant, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

With a silent understanding passing between you, you leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand against your skin. In that simple gesture, you found a sense of belonging, a connection that transcended the chaos and uncertainty of the world around you.

You missed him.

More than anything.

The landscape blurred past as Ben continued to drive, the silence between you stretching on. Unable to bear the weight of the quiet any longer, you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper as you confessed, "I missed you".

Ben's grip on your thigh tightened slightly in response. Despite the absence of words, his touch conveyed a depth of emotion that resonated deeply within you, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty of your reunion.

After driving for what felt like an eternity, Ben finally pulled the car to a stop in front of a nondescript motel. The neon sign flickered weakly overhead, casting a dim glow over the deserted parking lot.

About 15 minutes later, Ben settled onto the bed with a heavy sigh, you moved to sit beside him, the weight of the recent events hanging heavily in the air between you. His gaze was distant, his expression inscrutable as he stared off into the distance.

You carefully asked, "Do you want to take a shower? I can find something for you to wear that doesn’t scream 'soldier boy went crazy'".

Ben grunted in response, his gaze still distant as he nodded slightly.

With Ben in the shower, you seized the opportunity to dash to the nearest mall. Racing through the aisles, you grabbed a small selection of clothes that you hoped would suit him. After paying in a hurry, you grabbed some food and rushed back to the motel. You didn't really want to leave ben alone, not in his state of mind.

As you arrived, you noticed your phone buzzing incessantly with missed calls and messages from Butcher and the rest of the team. Ignoring them, you powered off your phone, determined to focus solely on Ben's well-being for the time being.

You froze in the doorway, catching sight of Ben lounging on the bed naked, flipping through channels on the small TV. Your cheeks flushed crimson as embarrassment flooded through you, and your hand instinctively flew to cover your eyes.

"Uh, sorry", you stammered, averting your gaze. "I, uh, brought you some clothes and food",

Ben glanced over at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "About time", he remarked dryly, reaching for the clothes in your hand.

He watched you how you covered your eyes, a bemused expression crossing his features. With a raised eyebrow, he reached out and gently pulled your hand away from your face.

"You've seen it all before, haven't you?", he remarked. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?".

Your heart raced at his touch, a shiver running down your spine as his deep, husky voice washed over you. Instantly, you felt a familiar warmth spreading through your body, your arousal igniting at the mere sound of him.

Ben's smirk deepened as he sensed your reaction to his touch and words. "Guess the worst part of me getting captured was that I couldn't take care of you properly". He emphasized the word ´properly´ his gaze smoldering with desire.

As you looked up at him, your heart pounding with desire, you felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance between you. With a boldness born of longing and pent-up passion, you reached up to cup his face in your hands, pulling him down to you with a sense of urgency. It was too long. You missed Ben more than words could ever express. You loved him. Him. Ben.

Your lips met his in a fiery kiss, hungry and desperate, as if trying to convey all the emotions and desires that had built up during your time apart. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the electrifying connection between you and Ben, the raw intensity of your mutual longing washing over you both.

As Ben pulled you up onto his hips, the world seemed to spin around you, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of his body pressed against yours. Pressed against the wall next to the door, you yielded to the passionate onslaught of his kiss, feeling a rush of heat coursing through your veins.

With one hand beneath your ass, supporting your weight effortlessly, and the other cupping your face, Ben deepened the kiss with a fervor that left you breathless. Your fingers dug into his biceps, seeking purchase as you surrendered to the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

A deep, primal moan escaped your lips, reverberating in the small space between you, as the world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the fiery passion that ignited between you and Ben.

Amidst the fervor of your embrace, Ben's lips danced along your collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. As his touch ignited a wildfire of desire within you, you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper of pleasure. You were his own personal drug.

Ben's deep voice rumbled against your skin, a hint of amusement laced with desire. "Told you to be fucking careful with those noises", he murmured, his lips trailing a path of heat down your neck.

With a shuddering breath, you tightened your grip on his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch. Every sensation, every caress, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you.

With a swift motion, Ben tore away your shorts and panties in one fluid movement, leaving red lines marking where the fabric had been. You inhaled sharply at the suddenness of his action, but the surge of desire coursing through you overwhelmed any pain as you pressed your lips harder against his.

Driven by an insatiable need to feel him, to taste him, you deepened the kiss, your body arching against his in a desperate plea for more. The raw intensity of the moment consumed you both.

Lost in the whirlwind of desire, all you could think about was him—the weeks of longing, the ache of his absence—all of it culminating in this moment. His presence enveloped you, his scent, his warmth, his touch.

Desperation laced your voice as you begged for more, your words a fervent plea for the release of pent-up desire. "Please", you whimpered, your voice thick with need. "I need you".

Ben's amused grin widened as he teased. "Maybe I should disappear more often if this is the kind of welcome I get", he chuckled, his hand trailing down to his throbbing length.

At this point it became damn clear to you, that this was Ben´s way of handling his swirling emotions of what the team had done to him. Or wanted to do to him.

With a confident grip, he positioned himself at your entrance. As his tip brushed against your slick folds, you gasped.

With bated breath, you braced yourself against the wall, your muscles tensing in anticipation of his next move.

Slowly, tantalizingly, Ben began to push forward, his thick length inching its way into your welcoming warmth.

With one measured thrust, you felt yourself stretching to accommodate him, the delicious ache mingling with the throbbing heat pooling between your legs.

As he sank deeper, your senses were consumed by the heady sensation of him filling you completely. The friction between you driving you to grind against him in search of greater pleasure.

As Ben's hips pressed flush against yours, his breath hot against your skin, he peppered kisses along your neck, his lips trailing a path of fire along your sensitive flesh. Each brush of his lips sent shivers of pleasure racing through your body, intensifying the already overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

With a husky voice, thick with desire, Ben whispered against your ear. "You feel so fucking good", he murmured, his breath hitching as he fought to control his own rising arousal.

With that, he started to move, slowly at first. He would never admit it, but he missed you just as much, even though he wasn´t really awake for the last few months.

As Ben's thrusts grew more forceful, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, he struggled to stifle his own moans of pleasure. With each breathless gasp, he fought to maintain control, his lips seeking yours in a desperate attempt to silence his own cries of ecstasy.

Lost in the intoxicating haze of pleasure, you clung to each other, consumed by the raw, primal desire that bound you together. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the searing heat of your passion.

"Fuck, I missed you so much", you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Ben's movements became more urgent, driving you against the wall with force. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in the small motel room, a symphony of desire and longing that reverberated through the air.

With a firm grip on your ass, Ben lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed where he hovered above you, his gaze dark with desire. His cock brushed against your slick folds, teasing you with its hardness as he groaned at the sight of your swollen, eager pussy.

“Fuck, Sweetheart. I nearly forgot how fucking beautiful you are", he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he continued to tease you with his throbbing length.

As you shuddered beneath him, your desire reaching a fever pitch, you pressed your hips against his throbbing length, craving the feeling of him deep inside you.

With a low, guttural groan, Ben captured your lips in a searing kiss.

As you press your hips against Ben's throbbing length, he groans in response, his desire evident in the way his eyes darken with lust. You reach up, pulling him closer as he positions himself between your legs.

Ben thrusts forward, sinking deep inside you in one swift motion. You gasp at the sensation, feeling him fill you completely as he moves with softer strokes. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, intensifying with every movement.

You writhe beneath him, lost in the pleasure of the moment.

As the tension builds and you feel yourself nearing the peak of pleasure, Ben's commanding voice cuts through the haze of desire. "Come for me sweetheart", he orders, his voice low and urgent, his gaze intense as he watches you intently.

His words ignite a fire within you, pushing you over the edge as you surrender to the pleasure coursing through your body. With a cry of ecstasy, you shatter into climax, waves of pleasure washing over you as you ride out the intense sensation.

With each thrust, Ben's urgency grows, his desire evident in the way he moves against you.

"Fuck, I'm close", he grunts, his words strained with desire as he drives himself towards the edge. "Gonna come inside you, baby".

You meet his gaze, nodding in response. With one last thrust, Ben finds his release, his body tensing as he spills himself deep and hot inside you with a primal groan.

As Ben's climax washes over him, he collapses against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath comes ragged and heavy against your skin, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you bask in the warmth of the moment. His dick throbs inside you, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

For a few blissful moments, you both remain tangled together, lost in the intimacy of the aftermath.

As Ben slowly rolls himself beside you, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

"You okay?", he asks, his voice gentle as he caresses your cheek.

You nod, a soft smile spreading across your lips. "More than okay", you murmur, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his.

Ben returns your smile, leaning in to press a tender kiss against your lips, before you placed your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath.

Ben's chest grew warmer beneath your cheek, and a sense of panic flickered through you. "Ben, your chest", you exclaimed, pulling away slightly, concern etched in your voice.

Ben's gaze shifted to where your hand rested on his chest, his expression tight with controlled emotion. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he fought to calm himself down. His grip around your body tightened, seeking solace in your presence amidst the turmoil within him.

"It's okay", Ben muttered, his voice strained with effort. "I've got it under control".

You nodded, though the concern lingered in your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of distress. Despite his reassurance, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As you leaned up and pressed your lips against Ben's jaw, trailing kisses along his stubbled skin, you hoped to distract both him and yourself from the rising tension in the room. His struggle to maintain control was evident, his muscles tense beneath your touch.

You lingered at his mouth, kissing him softly, pouring all your love and affection into the gentle caress.

As you continued to kiss him, you gently cupped his face, urging him to meet your gaze. His eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and turmoil.

"Do you remember what you said to me the night before the fight?", you asked softly, your voice tinged with emotion. "The words that made me feel so angry and hurt?".

As your thumb brushed over his cheek, you felt the heat radiating from his chest, but you fought to keep your composure. With a shaky breath, you pressed on.

"I was angry because it's true", you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I… love you, Ben".

Feeling the weight of your words, Ben's expression softened, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and vulnerability. It was a revelation for him, a moment that he never expected to experience.

For the first time in his life, someone had told him they loved him, and meant it with their whole heart.

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A/N: First, sorry for the long silence. But, I'm back. Well, a lot happend in this chapter. And a lot will happen in the next chapters. I can promise one thing, no matter what you think will happen, it will definitely be different... And that counts for several upcoming chapters... The two of them definitely won't find peace that quickly. Otherwise we would already be at the end of the story <3 Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 23

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara

[longwuzhere]

My Adventures with Superman Season 2 Easter Eggs

Welcome to another week of My Adventures with Superman and what a great episode this one was! I CALLED IT THAT WE'LL BE SEEING A CERTAIN CHARACTER SHOW UP SINCE EPISODE 1 SEASON 1!!! OK lets get to the easter eggs!

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here.

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here.

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here.

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

Spoilers if you haven't seen it yet.

At the start of the episode we see Clark discover a new power of his to protect a person (we'll talk about him soon) during a fire. What we are seeing here is Clark using his Bio Electric Aura. Superman's Bio Electric Aura was first introduced in Superman #1 (1987) where Superman is investigating an abandoned laboratory where stats on Superman are plastered over the computer monitors and he finds the body of the scientist who's neck was snapped by something powerful. So in order to to keep the things inside safe and way from bad people (we'll talk more about this later), Superman does this (W&P: John Byrne, I: Terry Austin, C: Tom Zuiko, L: John Costanza:

He takes it up to space so the vacuum can keep it preserved. But Superman is able to lift such a large piece of land thanks to his Bio Electric Aura. What it does is help protect the Bio Electric Aura user from damage and enhance their strength, speed, and durability. The user extends their aura to whatever object they are interacting with, in Superman's case, this giant piece of land, and be able to lift it up without IRL physics affecting them. Check out All-Star Superman to see how far Clark can use his bio electric aura!

Clark was able to save the man's life from the fire started by Livewire (I talked more about her here). But before the reveal, we have a fun name drop in the scene! The man Clark saved was Silas Stone, the father of Victor Stone aka Cyborg of the Teen Titans/Titan (yeah I know Cyborg was with the Justice League sometimes but he fits with the Teen Titans/Titans more)!

Silas Stone made his first appearance in DC Comics Presents #26 (1980) [W: Marv Wolfman, P: George Perez, I: Dick Giordano, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda] as a STAR Labs scientist. After his son's accident, Silas had Victor rebuilt with new cybernetic parts in order to keep him alive, a move that strained his relationship with his son. Here in the pages Raven was showing the Teen Titans that Silas was in trouble trying contact this protoplasmic cell.

Speaking of Victor, we get a reference to him after Livewire threatened his life and Victor was forced to delete the files he had on AmerTek (we'll talk more about that later).

Victor Stone makes his first appearance also in DC Comics Presents #26 (1980) [ W: Marv Wolfman, P: George Perez, I: Dick Giordano, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda]. Robin and the rest of the Titans gather at Titan's Tower but for some reason Robin can't recognize the team.

The title for this episode is a nod to Hiromu Arakawa's manga/anime Fullmetal Alchemist, IMO the gold standard when it comes to action manga/anime. Fantastic read and watch highly recommend either watching the anime, Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood and the first Fullmetal Alchemist just to see how the two are different, but also read the manga because its just that good! A very appropriate title for what we will be discussing next!

Finally the one character I hope would show up in MAwS, John Henry Irons! In MAwS like his comic book counterpart worked for AmerTek, but in MAwS Irons hoped he could use AmerTek be beneficial for his neighborhood, Bakerline (which I talked more about here.)

John Henry Irons makes his first appearance in Adventures of Superman #500 (1993) [First Sighting: Man of Steel segment - W: Louise Simonson, P: Jon Bogdanove, I: Dennis Janke, C: Glenn Whitmore, L: Bill Oakley] during the start of the Reign of the Supermen storyline where we see John be buried under rubble after saving one of foreman coworkers and with the help of Superman was able to save both of them. However Doomday attacked the city and John was ready to pay Superman back by helping him fight Doomsday as well but the building John was in collapsed burying him.

Like his comicbook counterpart, John don's a suit to help out Superman later in the episode. In the comics John wears the Steel armor in Superman: The Man of Steel #22 (1993) [Cover art by Jon Bogdanove and Dennis Janke]. After Superman's death at the hands of Doomsday, John builds the Steel suit in order figure out why the weapons he created but ultimately destroyed were in the hands of the gangs of Metropolis. He later learns that Amertek Industries, his former employer was still in business distributing the weapons.

As Clark is running late for a date with Lois as Waid's cafe (I talked about this reference here and you hear a bit of the MAwS leitmotif in the cell jingle.

At the AmerTek demo, Lois is in the crowd to see what they have for their showcase and we see Thomas Weston demonstrate the Metallo, two DC characters from the comics.

Thomas Weston and AmerTerk makes their first appearance in Steel #2 (1994) [W: Louise Simonson, Jon Bogdanove, P: Chris Batista, I: Rich Faber, Andrew Pepoy, C: Gina Going, L: Pat Brosseau]. In the comics Thomas Weston is a Colonel and CEO of Amertek Industries where it is a weapons manufacturing company for the government but upon seeing the weapons be used in the streets of Metropolis, John Henry Irons quits his job as their engineer and destroys all the schematics he had on the weapons, but Amertek Industries was still able to steal John's armor designs for soldiers. If you want to check out John's adventures as Steel give Death of Superman, Reign of the Supermen, Steel, and the current series Steelworks, a read. They're all pretty awesome! Also if you like John Henry Iron's premise give Milestone Comics' Hardware a shot too, same with the current Hardware series too!

Metallo's name was first used in World's Finest #6 (1942) [W: Jerry Seigel, P&I: John Sikela) where Metalo, here aka George Grant, was a scientists who wore a metal suit to rob a train.

The next Metallo was John Corben who first appeared in Action Comics #252 (1959) [W: Robert Bernstein, P&I: Al Plastino], the same comic with Supergirl's first appearance. Here, John Corben's car swerved off a cliff and Professor Vale was able to replace his limbs and heart with metal while his heart is powered by uranium until John Corben learned that Kryptonite would be a better substitute because his uranium heart can only last for a day, while Kryptonite would not need to be replaced at all.

The next Metallo is Roger Corben who first appeared in Superman #310 (1977) [Cover art by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Bob Oksner]. Here, Roger Corben was part of SKULL who engineered Roger's death in order to create a second Metallo just like his deceased brother, John Corben. SKULL manipulated Roger to blame Superman for his misfortune and to seek revenge for his brother.

The more modern Metallo returns this time as John Corben again post-Crisis on Infinite Earths, in Superman #1 (1987) [Cover art by John Byrne, W&P: John Byrne, I: Terry Austin, C: Tom Zuiko, L: John Costanza]. Here, Metallo was built by scientist Emmet Vale, who transferred John Corben's brain to the robot body after Corben's car accident, and using technology stolen from Clark's rocket ship that brought him to Earth. He found bits of Kryptonite and coined it that which is used to power Corben's new body.

At the presentation Vicki Vale tries to get the story from Lois and I talked a bit about her here and she later name drops Palmer Tech. While not in the comics Palmer Tech is a reference to Palmer Technologies from the CW Arrow-verse where it is specialized in nanotechnology founded by Ray Palmer (played by Brandon Routh who was formerly Superman in Superman Returns and Superman again in the CW Arrow-verse) which segues to...

Ray Palmer aka the Atom who first appeared in Showcase #34 (1961) [Cover art by Gil Kane, Murphy Anderson, and Ira Schnapp]. Ray Palmer is a professor from Ivy Town. He stumbles upon a White Dwarf Star fragment which when shot with ultraviolet light can cause anything touching the light to shrink, however after a few minutes later that shrunk object would explode. When Ray used the fragment on himself though, he was able to shrink fine and returned to his normal height. It's hypothesized that his Metagene is what made it safe for him to shrink and grow and as a result he built a device to control the size shrinking and growing on his belt and thus the Atom was born.

Later in the episode Clark and Jimmy meet up with Flip and John comes in to greet the former two and name drops his niece, Natasha.

Natasha Irons makes her first appearance in Steel #1 (1994) [W: Louise Simonson, Jon Bogdanove, P: Chris Batista, I: Rich Faber, C: Gina Going, L: Pat Brosseau] where she greets John who arrived back in Washington DC. Years later in Action Comics #806 (2003) [W: Joe Kelly, P&I: Karl Kerschel , C: Guy Major, L: Comicraft] where after facing the news of her uncle John retiring the Steel mantle, Natasha discovers the hammer and unlocks a recording he made where he discussed the new suit he built. Natasha dons the cool as hell new armor and takes up the Steel name. Fingers crossed Natasha gets to show up and suit up as well, maybe even team up with Kara in the future if that happens?!

At the end of the episode Lex unfortunately buys out AmerTek and renames it to LexCorp. LexCorp was first mentioned in Superman #416 (1986) [W: Elliot S. Maggin, P: Curt Swan, I: Al Williamson, C: Gene D'Angelo, L: Duncan Andrews] where Superman encounters a hologam message from Future Superman telling him to not pursue Lex who will save a child that will cure him of his obsessive hatred for Superman which then leads to Lex using his brains to benefit humankind like the holocaster that is mentioned in the panels. The later iteration of Lex where he is a shady businessman when John Byrne took over the Man of Steel and Superman titles helped establish LexCorp to what we know today in pop culture (fantastic runs btw definitely recommend reading them).

And with that episode 3 is done! Come back next week for episode 4's references and Easter eggs!

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs ad references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[narabea06]

My Spotify Playlist Masterlist -

[PART 1]

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Creepypasta -

Individual -

Jeff the Killer

Jane the Killer

Ben Drowned

Nina the Killer

Sally Williams

Lulu

Lost Silver

Jesse Richardson

Zero

Randy

Keith

Chris the Revenant

Judge Angels

Kagekao

Vailly Evans

Stripes

Ship -

KillingZero [Killing Kate x Zero]

LuluEvans [Lulu x Vailly Evans]

VirusScene [X-Virus x Nina the Killer]

NursePuppet [Nurse Ann x Puppeteer]

BloodyBallet [Bloody Painter x Emra the Ballerina]

ShadowDoll [Kagekao x Dollmaker]

Kandy [Keith x Randy]

QPR!RevenantVirus [Chris the Revenant + X-Virus]

JudgeStripes [Judge Angels x Stripes]

BloodyPuppetJudgeZero [Bloody Painter x Puppeteer x Judge Angels x Zero]

BloodyPuppet [Bloody Painter x Puppeteer]

BloodyAngel [Bloody Painter x Judge Angels]

BloodyZero [Bloody Painter x Zero]

PuppetAngel [Puppeteer x Judge Angels]

PuppetZero [Puppeteer x Zero]

JudgeZero [Judge Angels x Zero]

Zachmary [Zachary the Proxy x Rosemary]

KateJack [Kate the Chaser x Eyeless Jack]

Platonic Duo -

Jane the Killer + Jeff the Killer

----

Sonic the Hedgehog

Individual -

Sonic the Hedgehog

Tails Prowler

Shadow the Hedgehog

Silver the Hedgehog

Metal Sonic

Rouge the Bat

Amy Rose

Blaze the Cat

Cream the Rabbit

Surge the Tenrec

Sage

Tangle the Lemur

Whisper the Wolf

Ship -

Whispangle [Whisper the Wolf x Tangle the Lemur]

Knuxouge [Knuckles the Echidna x Rouge the Bat]

Metamy [Metal Sonic x Amy Rose]

Stobotnik [Agent Stone x Dr Robotnik]

Surgamy [Surge the Tenrec x Amy Rose]

----

MCFNAFverse

Individual -

Bryan Divil [TheFamousFilms/Star Mall]

Mia the Mouse [Kainabunny/Barnyard Bash]

Pat [TheFamousFilms/Star Mall]

Valerie [QueenKat]

Ivy Gardner [Kainabunny/Barnyard Bash]

Adrien Toadscreek [TheFamousFilms/Star Mall]

Slep / Elliot [pluless/Nights in Wonderland]

King's Work Playlist [pluless/Nights in Wonderland]

Florence Dodgson [pluless/Nights in Wonderland]

Kat [QueenKat]

Pre-Possession Vanny the Rabbit [QueenKat/Barnyard Bash]

Ship -

BellHop [Mia x Vanny]

Glamrock Chixy [Glamrock Chica x Roxanne Wolf]

GraceCode [Ballora x AI Afton]

FizzyIce [Brian x Zero]

Saturn [Slep x Pluto]

Duo -

Bomb Duo [Bryan Divil + Molten Freddy]

----

Dangerous Fellows

Individual -

Mavis Novak (MC)

Harry Mandela

Eugene Park

Ethan Bitsui

Lawrence Hyon

Zion Ishikawa

Sue Baatar

Judy Sinclair

Hailey Montano

Jay Marcano

Scarlett Beckett

OCs -

Melody Perkins

Damien Hyon

Colette "Cole" Ishikawa

Cricket Foster

Ship -

HailSue [Hailey x Sue]

EuMavJudy [Eugene x MC x Judy]

HumBug [Cricket x Melody]

JayCole [Jay x Cole]

SueScar [Sue x Scarlett]

Dating __ [Sapphic Playlists] -

Dating Judy

Dating Sue

Dating Scarlett

Dating Hailey

----

Dog Man

Individual -

Dog Man

Petey the Cat

Little Petey

Ship -

Petey x Dog Man

----

Minecraft SMPs -

Individual -

c!Aimsey the Human [DSMP/BSMP]

a!Aimsey the Prince [ASMP]

Tud the Cat [ASMP]

c!Niki Nihachu [DSMP]

Ship -

a!Sunship Duo [ASMP]

----

[PART 2]

[f4ggydog]

Dom Shauna / bottom Nat PAHLEASE

JUST HOW DEEP DO YOU BELEVEEEEEEE WHEN YOU BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDSSSSS WHEN U CHEW UNTIL IT BLEEDSSSSSS

“do you not get it?” shauna snaps, staring at dead in the eyes. “you’re not the one in charge anymore.”

“this is bullshit,” nat spits, voice unsteady and wavering. she’s trembling, gripping the spear like it’s attached to her hand. “this whole thing is such…bullshit. this trial is the one of the worst things you and your freak clique have came up with.”

“freak clique?” shauna raises an eyebrow, sinister smile displayed on her lips. “you are one with the freak clique, nat. whether you like it or not, you’re just like us. you’re just as deranged as the rest of us.”

“i-i’m not.” nat’s lip quivers, her gaze unable to hold her coach’s. “i-i…fuck you, shauna. go fuck yourself.”

“watch your mouth.” shauna pinches nat on the cheek before giving it a light slap. “you’re doing the fucking honors. he spoke to you last. you do the honors of getting rid of him.”

“i already told you…i’m not doing it.”

“you little bitch,” shauna swears, ripping the spear out of nat’s hands and pressing the pointy tip against coach ben’s chest. “if you’re not gonna kill him, i’m fucking doing it myself and then killing you with my bare hands later.”

“like you’d dare,” nat scoffs.

“nobody fucking needs you, nat.” shauna now directs the spear’s end to nat’s neck, poking her like she’s tempting nat with the dance of death. “shit all went downhill once you got ‘assigned’ as leader. not a single fucker is gonna grieve if i get rid of you.”

shauna looks back at all of the other camp members.

“anybody wanna fucking object? anybody have anything they want to share?”

silence, only bold silence.

“do it nat.” shauna’s eyes flicker back to the antler queen, whose crown she’s hell-bent on stealing. nat should’ve been dethroned ages ago. lottie made an error and if she can’t amend it herself, shauna will pull the strings and unleash her wrath. that’s what she’s best for anyhow.

a tear slides down nat’s cheek. she knows coach ben will meet his demise, but she doesn’t want to be the one to murder him. she doesn’t want the role as the executioner. nat refuses to direct the slaughter.

“don’t start crying,” shauna barks, not giving a flying fuck if nat’s emotions get the best of her. “you know what needs to be done.”

nat sniffs, her teeth chattering and her voice cracking like leaves being stomped on in the wind. “w-why…c-can’t you do…it yourself?”

“i think you should be the one that does it nat,” shauna insists. “more of a symbolic gesture.”

“fuck your symbolism,” nat shouts.

suddenly, the rifle goes off. nat screams until her voice is hoarse and drops to her knees solemnly, gripping her weapon. taissa called the shots. she stands with her hood over her head, fearless and courageous where nat couldn’t be. not a single pinch of empathy or regret crossed her features when she pulled that trigger. tai had the face of stone, unchanging and rock solid. so nonchalant, like she didn’t just end a human being’s life.

nat can’t even look up to view her coach’s brains splattered. shauna gives taissa a silent nod of approval and pats her on the back. she did a good job today. she stepped up and took the role as man of the house when nat succumbed to guilt.

it’s only going to get worse, though. cause shauna’s about to punish her for her disobedience and refusal to take charge. she always made for a disastrous leader anyway.

“i-i’m sorry,” nat whines. it’s been an hour since the coach’s slaughter and shauna’s administering nat’s punishment with no remorse.

“sorry for what?” shauna hisses. “tell me what you’re sorry for and i’ll stop.”

nat’s cunt burned. shauna’s three fingers stretched her out harshly and shauna didn’t bother to bring lube or spit on her fingers to soothe the intrusion. still, nat felt disgusting for feeling pain from being fingered so roughly. she thinks it’s only a quarter of the pain her coach had to suffer through. maybe she deserves worse. maybe she wasn’t treated inadequately enough.

“s-sorry for…sorry for…”

“do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” shauna releases a cruel laugh. “you’re such a fucking joke, nat. next time, just bend over and show everyone at camp your pussy. it’s all you’re good for. let me take care of the food, yeah?”

what a son of a bitch. nat was going to kill shauna after this. that was the straw that broke the fucking camel’s back.

“i-i’m sorry for not killing coach scott,” nat whimpers, the desperation to be free of shauna’s fingers kicking in. “i-i’m sorry. n-next time you…want me to kill, i will.”

“good girl.” shauna simpers. “now work yourself on my fingers until you cum. i’ll stay here all fucking night so you better start convincing your body that this feels good.”

[novabun-ships]

☆ Moonlight & Starlight ☆

The scent of roasted nerf and seasoned vegetables lingered in the air as the remnants of their quiet dinner sat on the table. Kaden had planned everything carefully, not extravagant, because Kylo would hate that, but intentional. Thoughtful. Just the two of them, here, in the home they had built together.

Kylo sat across from them, fingers curled around a cup of tea. He had been suspicious from the moment Kaden made an effort to mark the day, but he hadn’t argued. Not really. He had muttered something about birthdays never mattering to him, about how Snoke never acknowledged them, how he barely remembered celebrating them even as a child. He said It didn’t matter. Kaden knew better.

So they got him something anyway.

They pushed back from the table, reaching into their pocket. “I know you said you didn’t want anything...” they started, watching as Kylo’s eyes flickered with warning. “I also know you’re not used to this....but you matter, Ben. And you deserve to be celebrated.”

Kylo exhaled through his nose. “Starlight—”

“No, no~” they interrupted softly, standing their ground with a soft smile. “Let me do this for you.”

He was silent, watching them with those sharp, dark eyes that almost looked obsidian in the low light, but he didn’t object.

Kaden stepped around the table and placed a small, square box in front of him. He hesitated before reaching for it, glancing at them once more, as if waiting for some hidden meaning to reveal itself before he opened it.

Slowly, he lifted the lid...

Inside, nestled in soft black fabric, was a pendant. A small crescent moon, crafted from a deep violet gemstone that shimmered in the light. It wasn’t just any gemstone...it was a piece of amethyst. A piece of them.

Kylo’s breath hitched, fingers tightening around the box.

“You… this is yours...” he said, his voice lower than before. “You carry this amethyst everywhere.”

Kaden smiled softly. “I do.” They reached out, brushing their fingers against his hand. “That’s why I chose it. You know amethyst is supposed to bring clarity? Protection? Strength? I repurposed it for this...for you.”

Kylo swallowed, staring down at the pendant as if it held some secret only he could decipher.

Kaden continued. “I’ve carried it for years. It’s been with me through everything. And now, it’s yours.” Their voice dropped, quieter now. “Because you are my clarity. My protection. My strength.”

Kylo’s jaw worked, his grip tightening around the box as though he could hold onto the meaning behind their words just as fiercely.

“You don’t see yourself the way I do,” Kaden whispered. “You think you’re just…” They shook their head. “Ben, you are not just the shadow of a legacy, or a weapon, or whatever else the galaxy has tried to make you believe...”

Kylo was still, too still, as if movement might make something inside him fracture.

“You are strength.” they continued, voice unwavering. “You are kindness, even if you don’t realize it. You are thoughtful, protective, and yes, stubborn beyond all reason at times.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, just barely, but he said nothing.

“You are home.” Kaden finished, their voice barely above a whisper. “My home.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, something heavy.

Then, without a word, Kylo reached into the box, lifted the pendant, and ran his thumb over the smooth surface. The deep violet shimmered under his touch, like a fragment of twilight caught in stone.

He swallowed once, then again. His breathing was slow, controlled...but Kaden could see the weight of the moment pressing against the walls he had spent years fortifying.

Finally, he unclasped the chain and fastened it around his neck. The crescent moon rested in the middle of his chest. He touched it once before looking back at them.

“I don’t know what to say...” he admitted, voice rough.

Kaden smiled. “You don’t have to say anything~”

He stared at them for a moment longer, then reached out as he stood, pulling them close. His arms wrapped around them, firm and unwavering, and Kaden melted into him, pressing their forehead to his chest as they nuzzled into him.

“Thank you..” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “For this. For your faith in me....for your love...for everything.”

Kaden tightened their hold on him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath their hands.

“Happy birthday, my moonlight~”

Taglist:

@riseoftheselfshipper || @dragonsmooch || @kylilah

@mauls-waifu || @literally-just-there || @beskar33

@ama-ships || @mahitosoulmate || @lances-wife

Pro/comship/rpf/neutral dni + doubles dni [this is a self ship post if that bothers you please block me <3]

[the-s1lly-corner]

Creepypasta Masterlist Vol. 6

Thats right! its that time again! time to start another volume for the creepypasta master collection! as always, always check my bio to see if requests are open and you can find my rules in my pinned!

MULTI

reader dying in front of them 2/3

reader dying in front of them 3/3

jeff slender and splendor x conventionally attractive reader

Eyeless jack one jeff x shy ghost proxy reader

hoodie and bloody painter x overstimulated reader

Playing multi-player games w/ jeff toby and ej

Having breakfast at the mansion

Hanging out in the mansion

asking them to hang out

Being in a poly relationship w/ ej, lj, and toby

Various w/ newcomer!reader

platonic various x abandoned child reader

various x tisha!reader

lj and toby x reader w/ FOMO

jeff slender and splendor x reader who cries a lot

Jeff ej and toby x zombie reader

They visit during your shift at a cafe

various crps tracing the lines in your hands

visiting a small town together

wiping food off of various' faces but youre not at all normal about it

they try to convince you to let them in but youre mad at them

waking various up w/ kisses

various x docile werewolf reader

various x reader w/ a prehensile tail

spring gardening w/ lj splendor jeff and toby

toby and splendor x autistic reader

having a playdate w/ sally splendor and bloody painter

asking various crps to paint your nails

taking surprise pictures of various crps

cuddling various crps (remake) (1/2)

cuddling various crps (remake) (2/2)

ej masky hoodie and jeff being the readers muse

various x reader who isnt great at english

SLENDERMAN

X reader who doesn't prefer the company of humans

Comforting a human adverse reader

X oblivious reader who gets flirted with

Random thing #39/offerings

SPLENDORMAN

MASKY

HOODIE

x reader w/ hanahaki

E X C (fluff alphabet)

TICCI TOBY

Random thing #29/throwing stones

JEFF THE KILLER

NINA THE KILLER

A T V (platonic fluff alphabet)

She unknowingly reads your writing

JANE THE KILLER

EYELESS JACK

LAUGHING JACK

x music box reader

keeping him in his box

fair soulmate and teasing

PUPPETEER

BLOODY PAINTER

believing the reader is cheating

believing hes cheating

as a father

X angel reader

S V Y (fluff alphabet)

prompts 48 52 and 56

Calling him pretty boy

x reader who has an interest in tornados but fears them

dancing in the rain together

X enemy reader

Drunken confessions

When his spouse passes away

x scare actor reader

x reader who writes him poems and notes

BEN DROWNED (PLATONIC ONLY)

OTHER

7MIH ONESHOT INTERACTIVE

A Handkerchief (Ending 8)

A Bell (Ending 9)

A Candy Wrapper (Ending 10)

Part of their Family Long fic chapters

Chapter 1/Welcome to Slender mansion

Chapter 2/Heavy is the Burden

Chapter 3/Evening Judgements

[daniel-nerd]

just found out about order no. 40 from the nakba. i think its a key information in understanding the attack of october 7th and the whole war.

so here the official document.

its in hebrew and a bit hard to read. so i’ll translate the important parts.

“2. role: expulsion of the palestinian refugees from the villages and prevention of their return by the destruction of their villages”

seems a bit extreme don’t you think? well its not ending here

“3. the method:

a) {after} surveying the villages of al-Khisas, Jira, Khirbat Khuza‘a, Bi‘lin, al-Jiyya, Barbara, Bayt Jirja, Hiribya, Dayr Sunayd, gather the residents, load them on vehicles and expel them to Gaza. remove them beyond our(israel’s) lines in Bayt Hanun.

b) separate the locals from the refugees in al-Majdal (as explained in a)

c) burn the houses and demolish the stone houses

d) check the refugees who weren’t expelled among them the enemies and execute {them}

e) check the roads to the refugees and their origin”

e is presumably to find anyone who tried to run back, but this part is my speculation based on context clues. honestly i have no idea what else it could refer to, but i translated it for the full picture. the rest of the document is logistics, it was a top secret document, and even got removed from the official archives even though it was declassified. this order was sent by ben gurion, the highest authority at the time.

zionist never came to live in israel peacefully, the came to inherit the land, by disposing of anyone who refused. the gaza strip was created to house said refugees, because egypt didn’t open their borders, and refused to accept even one refugee.

the gaza strip is an invention of israel, the towns that were attacked on october 7th were built on top of the ruins and blood of the refugees who lived there. and palestinians in gaza are (mainly) 3rd generation of the refugees from 48’.

i don’t know what needs to be done with the people who lives there now(i doubt most of them even want to come back) but this is an indispensable proof, directly from the first prime minister of israel, the highest authority at the time, that the land of gaza and the towns around belong to palestinians, and Israel forcibly expelled them from said land, destroyed any reminiscences of it, and rebuilt their own settlements.

[the-delta-42]

TWDG What If Snippet

@buffboybucko @rain-arrow09 I saw this prompt and I kind of lost control. This isn't complete, but the actual thing goes over the 1000 word limit. Below the cut is some exerts from What If Prompt #43

Lilly groaned as she sat up. Her head hurt and everything was really loud. Looking around Lilly spotted Minerva tied to a shelf, looking at her own wrist, she found that she’d been tied up as well. There were a couple of bowls with food in them not far from them.

“Where are we?” Demanded Lilly, looking at Minerva, “Minerva, answer me!”

“In the basement at school.” Said Minerva, quietly, “Everyone else is dead.”

Lilly froze, she eyed the bowls suspiciously.

“We’re not feeding them to you.” One of the kids appeared, holding a lantern, “We’re only feeding because Clem asked before…”

Lilly stilled, unsure what they meant, had Clementine died? Had she left?

“Hey!” the kid snapped at them, “Are you trying to starve yourselves?”

“I just woke up.” Croaked Lilly, “What do you plan on doing when the rest of us arrive?”

The kid snorted, “They aren’t, we salvaged your radio. They haven’t even noticed you’re gone.”

“Omar,” Said Minerva, “Where’s Tenn?”

“He’s topside with the others.” Said Omar, “He’s fine.”

Minerva bit her bottom lip and looked down, “A-and Vi?”

“She’s lost her eye and is on thin ice with Louis.” Answered Omar, “If you behave yourself, you might get out of here.”

C

Lilly heard the basement door open, as Minerva ignored her, obviously jumping ship in an effort to get out of the makeshift cell they were in. The sound of crutches reached them, before Clementine and that boy she saved appear with a tall woman with what looked like a permanent frown behind them. Clementine was pale and sweating slightly, but what drew Lilly’s attention was Clementine’s missing leg.

“How’d that happen?” Asked Lilly, after staring at Clementine for a moment.

Clementine threw a glare at Minerva, “That shitbird tried to cut my leg off, then a Walker bit me.”

Lilly looked Clementine, taking in her appearance, before sighing, “My group, what happened to them?”

“Walkers.” Answered Clementine, “They decided to fight them instead of running, they might’ve survived if they did.”

Lilly looked down, “What happened?”

“With what?” Aked Clementine, as the tall woman behind her frowned.

“After I was left behind.” Clarified Lilly, “What happened?”

Clementine sighed, before looking at the guy, “Louis, can you take Minerva up top? I’m going to take Lilly to the office.”

The guy, Louis, didn’t look happy, he untied Minerva’s wrist and led her out of the basement, with Clementine then doing the same with Lilly.

Lilly didn’t looked around as she was led out of the basement, instead focusing on the ground. She could still see the blood from their fight, her thoughts went to that guy she stabbed in the neck, one of their captives called him Mitch. She felt something hit her, she assumed it was a stone, she heard some thuds, as well as people grunting.

Soon, they were in the Admin building, Lilly saw Yonatan’s blood stained on the floor before she was led up the stairs, and into the office. The window was still broken from the battle, and there were the odd weapons scattered around.

“Okay,” Said Clementine, “what do you want to know?”

“What happened?” Asked Lilly, almost immediately.

Clementine’s face was unreadable, “Carley wasn’t the one giving the stuff to the bandits, Ben was. The bandits said they had one of his friends apparently, Duck was bit as we were escaping and Katjaa shot herself so she didn’t outlive Duck.”

Lilly blinked, part of her felt vindicated, given how she was right about Ben, “A-and after that?”

Clementine sighed, “Right, the guy who owned that car we stole from got me to talk to him, things spiralled causing Lee to get bit and Ben to fall off a roof and die.”

The tall woman groaned, “That, is a massive over-simplification.”

“It’s how I remember it.” Shrugged Clementine, spinning the chair around.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t 🟪 13

Ben's spiraling. While trying to come to terms with what he's done to Nebbia, he remembers what else he's done in the crucial hours after leaving the brothel. And it's not pretty...

lonely cowboy/outlaw ✖️ prostitute who's so much more than that

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

WORDS: 5.5k 🟪 READ ON AO3

Chapter 12 🟪 Chapter 14

Additional warnings: Violence, murder and lots of angst ahead. Beware!

Chapter 13: The Rage

Ben wakes up on the floor. The light is too bright, his head too heavy, his tongue swollen to double its size. He feels awful, his back hurts, his jaw is tense, there's a weird taste in his mouth. Somehow he manages to sit up without throwing up, gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself. He's squinting, fighting the brightness of the day, looks around through the hammering pain inside his skull.

Cursing under his breath, he rubs his eyes, his beard, his messy hair, groans. Inhales sharply. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice just a raw little sound in the back of his throat, like stones grinding against each other. His head rests on the bed as he tries to find his bearings. What the hell happened?

Something shifts to his left, and he looks up without moving his head, only moves his eyes to the bundle on the bed. It's a familiar sight by now, the girl curled up in a blanket, a ball of limbs and hair and fabric, barely taking up any space. He extends a hand, on instinct, a reflex of familiarity, but as soon as he feels her warm body beneath his palm, an image flashes before his eyes.

Tears rolling over soft cheeks, trembling lips, wide, panicked eyes, a tiny body pinned beneath him, paralyzed by fear.

He pulls his hand back, only then noticing the broken skin on his knuckles. His confusion grows. Sitting up, his back leaning against the side of the bed, he stares at his hands, turns them, flexes his fingers, feels the throbbing beneath his skin. He can't remember it, but he knows that his fists have been in somebody's face, on somebody's body, breaking skin and bones, and the faint memory of rage fills his empty stomach.

When he shifts on the ground, he wonders for a moment why there are a handful of tiny blue buttons strewn all over the floor. He picks one up, so small he has trouble doing so, and it looks so delicate on his big palm. His head hurts when he frowns deeper, his gaze moving back to the girl on the bed. He can't see her properly, covered and curled up as she is, but something cold rushes through his body.

His breath quickens, his heart accelerating. It doesn't make sense, but he has to make sure. Connect the dots, even though they are all over the place, don't seem to match, to fit, like puzzle pieces bent out of shape. Slowly he lifts himself up, one arm braced on the bed, a knee pushing the mattress down, as he climbs closer, his other hand extended to brush against the blanket, the soft blue fabric of her dress beneath it, a small foot peeking out beneath it all.

“Nebbia,” he growls, his voice still that strange stone against stone grinding noise, deep and low in his throat. “Wake up...”

His hand is trembling when he finds her shoulder in the ball of hair and limbs and covers, and he slowly unfolds her, turns her body, shakes her gently. She inhales deeply when she stirs awake, a fraction of a pale face emerging from behind the tangled strands of hair, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering, a small pink tongue slipping out to wet her dry lips.

He's that shadow over her, waiting, watching her as she comes to, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. Her face looks normal, pale cheeks, clumped lashes, sleep in the corner of her eyes, patterned lines on her skin from the pillow and the clothes she's buried her face in. He realizes it's his plaid shirt she has wrapped around her shoulders. She rolls onto her back, blinking up at him.

And there's a tiny flinch when her eyes meet his, a small little shudder rushing through her fragile body. Her chest starts moving more, rises and falls quicker, her lips part and tremble, and her hand clutches at the shirt she's balled up between her fingers as she covers herself. He leans back, tense and on edge and with his mind racing, trying to make sense of her behavior, of his conflicting memories, of the ache in his hands and his head and his whole body, the taste of blood on his tongue.

She shifts before him, scoots back as she sits up more, her wide skirt tangled between her legs, the blanket only half covering her torso. Her long hair falls over her shoulders, and he can't unsee the shaking of them, the fear in her big green eyes. He wants to ask what's wrong, baby girl? but the words are stuck in his throat when he sees something poking past her dark locks as she turns her head slightly.

He's still too rough and uncoordinated in his movements, drunk on rage and bewilderment, but he's on her in seconds, brushing her hair away to expose her neck. She yelps, winces, a tiny sob emerging from her throat as he stares at the bruises on her soft skin, his hand fisting the sheets beneath her shoulder while she freezes under him. He breathes loudly through his nose, jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. At first he's angry, wonders what happened while he was gone, who did this to her, but then it's like a kick in the stomach, a cold realization, the last puzzle piece falling into place.

He jerks away instantly, stumbling off the bed, turning around, gripping his chest as hard as he grips the doorknob, ready to flee, hide from the memories flooding his hazy mind.

It was him.

He feels it, her soft skin under his lips, his mouth, the rush of blood as he sucks on her neck, nibbles, bites, holding her down as she squirms beneath him. Marking her. Tasting her. His teeth sinking deeper, a coppery thing on his tongue, heavy in his mouth, double its size. Alcohol and blood mixing within him, driving him crazy, making his entire body throb, blood rushing lower, gathering, straining. Her taste is everywhere, her smell, that soft scent mixed with cold sweat and fear.

He was the monster on top of her.

Ben groans, the hand on the doorknob moving to his face, pushing through his hair. He's breathing hard. Leaning his forehead against the cold surface of the door, he grips his head with both hands, trying to push the images away that haunt him, claw at him, sink under his skin, torment him with more and more details.

Her little sounds of distress, her wrists held together by his large hand above her head, his hips pressed to hers, grinding. Blue buttons. Flying through the dark room, the tense air, thunder in the distance, clattering to the floor. Fabric, ripped apart with a strength he couldn't control. A pretty blue dress, torn to shreds, exposing a heaving chest, trembling little breasts, flushed in fear and shock. Helpless beneath him.

Rage fills his stomach, cold and burning at the same time, clawing at his insides, twisting, tensing, tearing into his flesh. A familiar feeling, but never directed against himself.

There's another memory pushing through, faint, but there, a throbbing beneath the dried blood on his knuckles. Unfiltered violence, broken bones, blood everywhere, groans of pain mixing with the echo of words in his mind: kicked her in the stomach... lost so much blood... she's lost yours...

He sees himself gripping someone's collar, his fist hitting and punching and sinking into an unknown face. The pain is not enough to stop the images, the words, the memories of a boot print between shoulder blades, a red hand print on a soft ass cheek, a curled up body, shivering in panic and pain. It all mixes together, old and new memories, revelations and reactions. Like mother, like daughter. Attacked by unknown men. Kicked in the stomach, assaulted, damaged beyond repair, a pain hidden behind pretty faces.

His knees give way, and he sinks to the floor, still clutching his thrumming head, folding in on himself. The haze is still there, the heavy taste on his tongue, but he knows now. Knows what happened.

He left Madam Claire with his mind racing, that familiar rage settling in his guts. As he sat on the horse he'd borrowed from Sarah, he guided it through the breaking morning, back to the house, the camp, the rising sun in his back as he approached it. But it was empty. They were gone. Left him like he left them.

He wanted to confront the men that drove him away, Bill, and Joe, and Bob for good measure, just because. Men who think they can get away with everything, with leering, insulting, touching and assaulting, grabbing what isn't theirs, taking what never will be. Heavy boots on frail bodies. Keira lost his child because a man like them took what he wanted, no matter how. And Nebbia was in pain because one of them couldn't control himself.

And there were men in front of his door, rattling the doorknob, lured to him because another one couldn't keep his mouth shut. Sent them right to them, made them flee. Joe ratted them out, and now the camp is deserted. He looked around, found empty gun shells in the dirt, bullet holes in the doors, windows shattered. There'd been a fight, and another rage settled within him. Guilt.

Ben took the girl, he brought the wrath upon them, they had to fight and flee because of him – all while he was concerned about his very own deranged desires. Completely fucked-up. He, this world, everything around him. Except the girl, the poor, innocent girl, caught in the middle of it.

He wanted to take revenge, but the camp was empty. The men he wanted to punish gone. And the note on the bed in his room, ransacked, dresser pushed aside, most of his stuff gone. “Come near us again, and I'll take you to the gallows myself!” it said in Mitch's neat handwriting. And the rage had grown, guilt and anger and disappointment, and a sadness he wasn't aware of at first.

Years of his life with this group, more with Mitch and Ginny... A family, as fucked-up as they can get, but still a family, to rely on, to come back to. No longer. They banished him. Because he brought a girl. Because he chose a girl over them. The rage was white-hot, burning just beneath his skin. He'd kicked doors, furniture, left-behind crates and barrels, destroyed anything he could get his hands on, overtaken by wrath and violence, and then they showed up.

The reason they were gone, left him behind. The Daniels. At least ten of them, maybe a dozen, sneering and laughing, catching him with his boot lodged inside a broken crate. His pistol was in his hand before they could even announce themselves properly. Big words for big men who didn't have much to say. His first bullet made one of them tumble off his horse. He dodged the replying ones, rolled free and behind a tossed over table. Wood splintered around him, he shot back, emptied the cylinder quicker than they could get to cover.

Frantic fingers pushed in new bullets from the pouch around his hips while shots flew over his head, hot and fast, deadly if they'd find the target, but the sun was blinding, shielding him. He shot, dodged, crawled back until he was inside the empty house, found cover behind a brick wall, reloaded his gun, again and again, until his bullets were all gone and spent, stuck in bodies lining the steps leading up to the house.

There were still footsteps, heavy, angry, driven by rage, and he waited for them, pistol in his fist, ready to strike. Blood sprayed over his shirt when he brought the heavy end to the face peeking around the corner, the cracking of bones loud in his ears. Pained grunts, then another smack, a roar, violent and raw, as he pummeled the man to the ground, gripping his collar, sinking his fist into what remained of his face, until he didn't move, didn't splutter, didn't groan anymore.

The body fell heavy to the floor, a thud in the sudden silence. He looked up then, saw another man frozen in place, eyes wide, pistol falling from a shaking hand as he stared at him, his fist as bloody as the man beneath him. The last of the Daniels fled, and in his rage, Ben stumbled after him, grabbed the gun, fired at his back, screamed and roared, found the target to let his anger out. He emptied all the remaining bullets into the fleeing man who fell over with another thud, loud in the quiet around him.

There was only the rushing of blood in his ears, his own heartbeat loud and angry, his heavy breaths like the panting of a large animal. He didn't feel his own injuries, where bullets grazed his skin, cut through his clothes, didn't feel the throbbing of his fist, the burst skin. Adrenaline pulsed through him in the beat of the violence still tensing his muscles.

Somehow he made it to the creek to wash off the blood, his and the others', past the tarped-off area, the baths, and the memory returned of the girl on the ground... The sun vanished behind dark clouds at the same time as his mind spiraled out of control again, a rumble in the air and inside his chest, and the rain that came pelting down was both soothing and aggravating. He stood there, staring into the gray sky, tense and numb and cold and hot, all at once.

Amidst the blood bath and destruction, he found a hidden alcohol stash, five bottles of Bourbon, and he drank them like a man parched, desperate for hydration, ignoring the burn and the dizziness settling in his head. The day slipped through his shaking fingers, and he can't remember how he got back to Sarah's ranch, but he knows he's lost the horse somewhere in between.

Stumbling through the forest as the thunderstorm raged around him, drenched and soaked and pitiful, mind hazy but there's one image that keeps him going. Big green eyes, a shy smile on full lips, a dimple on a soft cheek. Madam Claire's words in his ear. “She's not yours.” The answer he wanted, to a question that got so much more complicated.

He's too drunk to think about the things that happened, there's still a bit of rage and sadness, disappointment and frustration, guilt. The ache in his hurting fist. The emptiness in his stomach. Banished. Left behind. Alone. But not quite. There's one more thing... that isn't his... one more thing that beckons him closer, back to her. One last thing he can claim to have something in the shameful excuse he calls a life.

Nebbia.

He can barely remember reaching the ranch, stomping up the stairs, leaving a trail of mud and dirt, wet and miserable, but driven by a desire he shouldn't have focused on so badly. He found her in bed, where he left her, in the dress he bought for her, cuddled into the shirt she couldn't part from, his shirt. And he couldn't help himself, couldn't control the urges any longer. He was over her in no time...

Now he's a sunken form on the floor, head leaned heavy against the door, held by his hands, dried blood on both of them from smashing faces and smashing furniture, letting out the rage he couldn't project on anything (anyone) else. But the rage remained, just turned into something else.

Need. Want. Desire. A primal urge.

His teeth in her neck, like a predator tearing up his prey. He groans, shaking from trying to suppress that wrath he feels for himself now, that festers inside him, like a disease taking over every good he's ever done, which isn't much to begin with. Every touch directed towards the girl, formerly protective and caring, turned into something against her, possessive and wanting, selfish and dark.

Amidst all the self-pity and self-hatred murmurs a tiny voice in his head, a means to justify what he did, even though that is not an option, cannot be an option. But it's there nonetheless:

It could have been worse. You could have done worse to her.

His fist hits the door, the wood aches, his own sharp pain rushes through him, a garbled cry leaving his lips. A little shriek behind him. He stiffens, breathing hard, his heart thundering inside his aching chest, focusing on the noises around him, outside his raging, throbbing head.

The bed squeaks, naked feet on the wooden floor. The little tip tap coming closer. He can feel her presence, a hand extended, but he only snarls without turning around. “Stay back!” His voice a low, grinding thing like a monster in a deep cave, chewing on his last victim. She pauses, he can tell, frozen to the spot, but she doesn't listen entirely.

Her hands are on his stiff shoulders, warm and small and tender, careful but determined, rubbing up and down his back, easing the muscles. He wants to push her away, tell her to leave him alone, but he also doesn't want any of it, instead he wants her, her soft touch, her unyielding trust in him no matter what he does. Does to her. He exhales through his trembling lips, forehead pressed to the wood of the door.

And she hugs him, the panting beast caught in his own head, ravaged by doubts and rage and emotions he can't make sense of. Her slim arms barely reach around him in his crouched position, but she tries, presses herself against him, hands clawing at the front of his shirt, her warmth sinking into his tired bones. He wonders why she's so trusting, so forgiving, so loving, when she should be terrified of him.

But he knows the answer. Because he made her. He took her out of her old life, severed all the ties, burned all the bridges, made her dependent on him and him alone. He's all she knows now, and she's all he has left too. She needs him, despite everything. She feels safe with him, she's told him, after another man assaulted her. And now he's become that man...

He breathes against her small hands on his chest, raises one shaking hand, bloodied and aching, to put on top of hers. One moment, he gives himself one moment of peace. Then his fingers curl around hers, and he pulls her hands away, shifts on his knees, gently but firmly pushes her back without looking at her, then stands, inhales deeply, grabs the door and slips through the opening onto the hallway, the shame within him winning over the need for comfort.

Yet he keeps underestimating her.

She's with him in an instance, a warbled little sob escaping her as she grips at him, trying to pull him back, to stop him, and he freezes, lets her get closer again. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, her breath hot against his back as she leans her forehead into the curve of his spine.

“Please don't leave me,” she mumbles into him, her voice like the soft murmur of a wave crashing against the shore. A thrum in the atmosphere, beckoning him closer.

He shouldn't fall for it, shouldn't let her pull him back in. He doesn't deserve it, the peace, the comfort, her forgiveness. Her dependency. He took it by force, dragged her away, made her his (even before sinking his teeth into her neck, even before he got the chance to do worse). But this is not for him. She needs him. And he won't abandon her, he's told himself to stay with her, be with her, because her mother couldn't.

Even if she deserves better than him.

Inhaling deeply, he turns around slowly, looks down at her (without really looking at her) as her hands shift from his back to the front of his shirt, her fingers not letting go of him as she tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. He can't bear the sight of her face (her neck) yet, the turmoil in her eyes, so he leans in, hands finding her waist, and she immediately moves her own hands up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against his when he lifts her up effortlessly, one arm under her rear, the other hand curved around her shoulder as he carries her back into the room.

The way she clings to him so easily, as if nothing happened, her warmth and barely there weight against him, eases his tense muscles a bit. He wants to set her back down, kneel before her, bow his head to her, show her how ashamed he is of himself, but instead he sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls her onto his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her small frame, holding her close, just feeling her, listening to her soft breathing, the faint drumming of her heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he whispers into her hair after a long moment of silently sitting together. “Or scare you... I'm sorry.”

She's immobile on his thigh, feet tucked under the other, knees pressing into his stomach. Her small hands grip his shirt, head resting against his shoulder, hair falling down her front, covering her neck. “It's okay...” she murmurs softly, a barely there hum in the air.

He shakes his head. “It's not okay, baby,” he says quietly. “I shouldn't have done this...”

“You were drunk.”

He huffs a laugh that sounds like a grunt. “Never an excuse.”

Inhaling deeply, he moves his hand to her face, strokes his thumb over her cheek before putting it gently under her chin, making her look up at him. Meeting her big green eyes feels like a shot through the heart, the trust in them, the blind fucking trust, despite everything. It's killing him. He moves his hand lower, carefully tilts her head, pushes her hair aside.

The sight of her neck is even worse than he's expected. It eats at him, churns in his guts, tightens everything in him. There's a crooked line of thick bruises all down the slim column of her neck, individual spots bleeding together, overlapping, stretched out, from beneath her ear to the gentle curve into her shoulder, right above her collarbone. Red and purple, dark discolorations right beneath her soft skin, blood sucked to the surface. He feels sick.

He doesn't dare touch them, moves his hand through her hair instead, fingers holding onto soft strands as he tilts her back a little. She's wrapped his shirt around herself, buttoned up almost to the top, but he can still see the bite mark over her clavicle. His teeth in her skin, another red and purple bruise with additional indents, the skin even darker where the mirrored curves of his teeth imprints sit.

He's a monster. There's no excuse, no talking around it, no denying anything. A monster who still tastes her blood on his tongue.

He lets go of her hair, covering her neck again, and carefully pulls her against his chest, arms loose around her, afraid to hurt her even more. His heart is beating harder, breaths short and quick. He feels absolutely horrible. His instinct is to put her down and walk away, hide his shame, his turmoil, stew in his own dark thoughts for a bit. But he doesn't want to leave her, so he remains quiet, stiff on the edge of the bed, with her on his thigh, in his arms.

She does the same, immobile, leaning against him, but breathing softer and calmer, her fingers tracing patterns around the buttons of his shirt, a gentle pressure against his chest.

“Ben?” Her voice is quiet, uncertain, a soft hum amidst his racing heartbeat.

He grunts in response. “Hm?”

“What happened?” she whispers, and he takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. He owes her the truth, maybe she'll understand why he's been acting like this. Not that it is any excuse, no matter what happened, but it's worth a try. For him to understand himself as well.

But in the end, he doesn't tell her the truth, not all of it anyway. There are still some things he needs time to work through on his own. Most things actually. So he tells her about visiting Madam Claire, asking her (politely, what a lie) what she knows about Keira. Nebbia looks up as he talks, curious eyes wandering over his face while he stares down at his big hand curled around her knee, applying gentle pressure to ground himself while he constructs his lies (or his version of the truth).

When he says that he found out who her father is, she scrunches her nose and looks down at the mention of the man named Roberto who she doesn't know anything about – unless Sarah's shared his life story with her in his absence. She probably has, she doesn't care about lies or keeping things to herself. He both admires and loathes her for that trait. But it doesn't matter. Roberto is Nebbia's father, and Ben also tells her that he might come looking for her (because he highly doubts Madam Claire will call off her guard dogs, mainly because she can't, and he knows it).

He doesn't mention that Keira's been pregnant before, nor by whom or that (and how) she lost the unborn child. His unborn child. The girl listens when he tells her about going back to camp to check on his people – and he leaves out the tiny fact that nobody was there, that they were ambushed because of him and her, that he found that fucking note, being banished, that those damn Daniels came back for him, attacked him, and how he had to kill them all.

She doesn't need to know that.

Instead he tells her that he got carried away, caught up with Mitch and Ginny, drank one too many and lost track of the time. She watches him closely, and he hopes she'll buy the many lies, hopes they make sense, because his mind is still fuzzy. At least she doesn't say anything as she mindlessly brushes her fingertips over his shirt, her eyes slowly moving down to where his hand rests on her leg. He groans internally when he sees the dried blood on his knuckles, the split skin, feels the ache and the memory of smashing his fists into faces and furniture.

The rage stirs within him.

“What about the bad men?” she asks into the silence after he's done.

“We're safe for now,” he replies quietly. A few less Daniels to worry about, but there will be more, and as soon as Roberto finds out about the whole situation, there'll be absolute hell to pay. He has to take her far away from here by then. If only he knew where to go...

“Are we... okay?” she then whispers, interrupting his hazy escape plans and lack thereof, looking at him from under her lashes, a slight tremble to her full lips.

He stares back at her. “Do you want us to be?” His voice is rough, harsh, his own self-pity bleeding through his words. Why would you want that? he wants to ask.

“Of course I do!” she says quickly, shifting on his lap as she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls herself closer to him. Her eyes are big and pleading, and he hates himself for being unable to look away, to make her see reason, to stop her. “Please don't pull away from me,” she whispers, her hands moving up to cup his bearded cheeks, mindlessly rubbing them as she bites her lip. “I need you...”

His heart sinks. And beats faster at the same time. It's clear now just how dependent she is on him, and somehow, despite the initial reaction of denial and refusal for his own sake, he feels... good about it. Likes the way she clings to him, looks at him, needs him.

His whole life, ever since Keira left him a broken man, he's lived from day to day without any proper purpose. He was never in it for the money or fame or the thrill of it. He just tagged along, helped the people around him with his skills. He would have done anything for Mitch and the others (well, not all of them, obviously), and he had done so many times, but that was over now. The only thing he knew, gone, moved on without him.

And somehow even that seems to be a blessing now. Because he has her, the girl on his lap, looking at him with those big eyes, pleading him to stay with her. And he's sworn it once before, he's told Madam Claire the same. He'll take care of her, not for his sake, because now he clearly doesn't deserve her, but if she needs him, he'll be there for her. It'll be his purpose. A thing to live for.

He raises his hand, puts it on hers, gently pries her fingers off his face to close his own around them, holding tightly. Without saying anything, he leans in, presses his lips to her forehead, hovers there, inhales deeply, takes her in. His arm wraps around her shoulder and pulls her even closer.

“I'm here, baby girl,” he whispers hoarsely. Even if I shouldn't be, he adds in his mind.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath ghosting his skin. “Thank you,” she mumbles barely audible, and he wants to scream at that unyielding innocence and trust. How can she be like this, after everything that happened? After everything he did to her? And thank him even? What is wrong with this girl?

Then again, what is wrong with him... A lot of things, that's for sure. And maybe they are both fucked-up, each in their own way, one too angry and in the end too selfish to let go, the other too dependent and naive to step away. They only have each other now. It shouldn't be, but maybe it was fate all along.

For him to step into that brothel, to find her, to remember his first love, to form a new one, to give her something she's never had: a life away from servitude, a life of freedom to do whatever she wants to do. And maybe she'll find out then that she doesn't need him, that her freedom lies somewhere else. He'll let her decide.

He can't be making any decision like that. He can't just take what he wants. He's done it once, and the repercussions of that single decision are still heavy on his tail. He'll give her the better life he's promised her, and he can only (selfishly) hope that he may have a place in it. And if not, well, that's a thing for the future.

Right now, he has to focus on making it up to her. He can't erase the bruises on her neck, has to wait for them to fade, but he'll do absolutely everything to never repeat anything like that ever again. Unless she wants him to...

He groans when he feels the telltale twitch of his cock at that particular thought. Really not the time, buddy. You're trying to make amends, not make it worse. Inhaling deeply, he shifts her on his lap, away from his hardness, before he leans her back and looks at her, thumb rubbing over her chin.

“I could really use a bath right now,” he says quietly, watching her closely.

“Can I join you?” she asks in a breathy whisper, her cheeks burning up slightly.

He knew she was going to ask that, and it aches him how predictable she is, and how easily he exploits that trait. But he told her he wouldn't pull away, so why not give her what she wants? He's already a fucked-up, selfish man, he won't change that anytime soon, he'll try, but right now he needs the distraction, needs the validation that he isn't as bad as he thinks, even if given by a girl who doesn't know any better.

“Of course,” he replies and gives her a strained smile, hating himself just a little bit more for feeling the growing tension in his stomach when she smiles back.

Ben stands up with her, scooping her up, holding her tightly in his arms, before he sways a little, feeling the strain in his muscles, his head spinning. She slips from his grip with a soft giggle. “I can walk, don't worry,” she says and grabs his hand, looking up at him with those big innocent eyes.

He doesn't deserve her, now less than ever. But Nebbia doesn't care. She doesn't see the monster in him, for whatever reason. And he's too hungover to fight this anymore. So he lets her pull him out of the room, moving on as if barely anything happened.

Chapter 12 🟪 Chapter 14

End notes: The Angst Train is still rolling. Poor Ben. Though I gotta admit: I enjoyed writing his journey through the valley of violence and rage. Was finally able to put those tags to good use.

So, with what happened, with those new lies/altered truths, where are Ben and Nebbia headed? Who knows. Find out soon!

Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Have you seen the recent Adam driver interview re: redeemed Ben solo never being part of the original plans? Apparently JJs idea as pitched to Adam was 'reverse Vader' who begins the trilogy all uncertain and vulnerable and becomes super evil by the third film 😂 considering the mess that was duel of the fates, I'm not surprised. Adam said he was still 'focused' on JJs original arc even though it changed over shooting. Which is baffling to me, because even in TFA you can't seriously believe this character could go stone cold uber sinister. It's terrible how so many good things in the sequel trilogy are there in spite of tptb, not because of them!

I haven't and honestly at this point I don't even want to hear anything else about what a complete fucking shitshow of stupidity and sociopathy this whole production was.

The idea that TFA isn't setting up a redemption is so absurd to me that I'm not even going to entertain it. I don't believe that even JJ is that incompetent, and his commentary plus TROS indicates that he did absolutely understand that Ben must be reclaimed despite his total disregard for the themes and message of SW. So whatever Adam was talking about, I don't know, and I'm not going to listen to this interview to try to figure it out because I'm tired. Maybe he's referring to the earliest ideas where Kylo Ren wasn't the same person as Han and Leia's child?

But in that case I just cannot imagine why they wanted to cast him in that role.

Leaving aside that the entire concept of a 'reverse Vader' is the stupidest shit I've ever heard, because that was a) literally the prequel trilogy, b) antithetical to SW as anything other than a prelude to a subsequent redemption, and c) SO FUCKING BORING. I know this isn't the first time Adam has mentioned this, but it only sounds more stupid the more clear he makes it that they mean 'the opposite of the ending of RotJ'. Which is just 'the ending of every fucking American action movie fucking ever'. Like putting a 'spin' on Vader by having him NOT REDEEM HIMSELF is just called 'being like everyone else' and 'taking away literally the most compelling thing about Vader'.

I need these boring, unimaginative HACKS to fuck off. Like, the idea that JJ's pitch for TFA was 'worse, more boring, less visually creative, less meaingful, more shallow remake of ANH but also we will ruin the heart and soul of the story and make it like all the libertarian slop it literally existed in order to stand against'.

LIKE JAIL FOR THIS MAN. JAIL!

I saw someone say that it's also come out that the reylo connection was Kasdan's idea, which I feel vindicated by bc I've been saying I bet it was forever. But again, JJ was on board for it and knew what he was doing with the imagery in TFA. He is not so incompetent that he didn't understand he was creating romantic subtext. And text.

But like, I'm just so done with these fucking people. That ANYONE at that company much less apparently EVERYONE?? thought it was remotely acceptable to use SW to tell the story of any character whatsoever who was humanised and sympathetic and relatable to children falling into darkness and becoming ''''''irredeemable'''''' MUCH LESS the LAST SKYWALKER, the HOPE AND HAPPY ENDING OF ROTJ, HAN AND LEIA'S LOVE, PADMÉ'S LOVE, the atonement and reconciliation of Darth Vader is just FUCKING BANANAPANTS to me.

George Lucas should fight these people in an alley.

[ben10-lostandfound]

What Lost and Found Means To Me

Hello again, everyone! I apologize for the lack of content in recent months, it's honestly become harder and harder to find new material, especially without there being a current Ben 10 series to focus on. This is the longest time we've had without an incarnation of the show running since the hiatus between Omniverse and the Reboot!

So I wanted to take a moment to reflect on this blog as a whole. I've been doing this since I was about 16 or 17, I'm 24 now. That's kindof crazy, huh? And granted, the place has had ups and downs, more recently downs due to a lull in the content, but that doesn't mean I'm not still working on stuff behind the scenes. I'm still trying to find another home for my research, a more permanent home that I have better control over how the content is presented.

I'm also trying to get into game development so a certain project from my past, prior to 2016, can finally come to fruition. But we'll get into that another day... hopefully.

I had an interaction last night with a follower who reached out to me about who the painter was for the alien stills featured during the Original Series, as their university had asked for art pieces that inspired them to pursue art. Of course, I answered "Andrew C. Robinson", which the answer was met with huge thanks.

That's always been part of why I do this, you know? To put a spotlight on all the artists and other incredibly talented people that make (or made) this franchise come to life in the various ways it has. Not just Dave Johnson or the late Derrick J. Wyatt, but everyone.

There could be so much more out there that I don't know about or have access to, or could be tucked away in the distant, obscure links of the Wayback Machine, or somebody could come forward with something rare like the Leapster Exclusive Concept Art, but I'm just one silly girl with a blog. You'd be surprised how much work goes into looking for this stuff!

But I'm glad my contributions to the fanbase haven't gone unnoticed. From people like KuroTheArtist, all the way to just a handful of people who work on the show itself, I'm grateful I've gotten to leave some kind of mark.

Don't take my wording as like, meaning I'm going to stop though. This isn't a "I'm done with this" type post. As long as there's still material out there to find, I'll keep this going for as long as I'm able.

-Rahk-Zi: Galvan Archivist Extraordinaire, A.K.A. Roxanne Stones, Ben 10/CN Lost and Found Moderator.

[snipeheart]

Examine: own grave

fun little item get meme

Ah, here is is. The stone marker where you would, eventually, lay.

The B.S.A.A. is technically a United Nations prospect, though in cooperation with member states, units killed in action are given a headstone near the headquarters in New York City, and family members may choose to rest them there or within personal arrangements. As a result, you technically have two graves; the one here, in New York, and the one at home, where your family had had yours and your parents' headstones erected in a small church graveyard nearby.

You have not been 'buried' with the other members of Alpha Team, who lay side by side like a family unto themselves in the front row of the graveyard section plotted for the North American branch. Ben Airhart's name links up right next to Marco Rose's, intertwining two short-lived generations of the team. Yours is far away, near the back, isolated from the rest. This had upset you at first, before you quietly realized the likeliest reason was intervention on Chris' part so that his family...and perhaps himself, could have a certain privacy when visiting the stone.

The possibility has struck you that you may never get to die. At least not for a long time. The C-Virus' reanimating properties extended far past other retroviruses descended from Progenitor, returning even long-dead corpses in skeletal states to activity. If you should ever be reduced to that, you can only hope Chris will put you out of your misery.

The headstone is neat and clean, maintained in the kind of way that spoke of money spent regularly on maintaining the yard. He supposes that's the privilege of dying for your beliefs in the military--maybe they don't respect you in life, but they keep the rock they cut out for you in good shape after death. He won't complain. He prefers it to a headstone left to crumble and overgrow with weeds.

Martyrdom has never suited you. But perhaps you only feel that way because you survived. As a result, the grace extended to you in death feels cheaply worn, un-earned, stolen. You don't really like what your life has become--enveloped in secrecy, trading the heroism you staked your career on for covert ops done under the B.S.A.A.'s nose. You know you can't quit.

Sometimes you want to, though. Quit and live a quiet life. Raise some dogs with Chris, maybe get married. Have a son if the future turns that way. Maybe you'll be like Haines and Shields, interred together.

But for now it seems you'll have to hang on and fight a little longer.

[magenta-fantasies-illustrations]

It occurred to me that since I began working on my own strategy RPG Outcasts of the Rift that I haven’t drawn ANY people in the past few years. So, I decided to challenge myself to draw one favorite Fire Emblem character for each letter of the alphabet! Check back every week or so for a new character!

J is for Jakob!

He shares a spot with Camilla and Corrin as my overall favorite Fire Emblem character. If I had to pick a definitive character in Fire Emblem (maybe even anything) to call a “hazubando” it would be him. He’s incredibly loyal and devoted, and has a hilarious, snarky, bone-dry wit that makes almost all of his support conversations gems. At the same time, he’s more than just an archetypal snarky butler, and his supports have a surprising amount of depth and variation, showing rather than telling why he is the way he is. There’s a lot that can be inferred about his personality and past just from his supports. While Jakob is misanthropic and coldly blunt, he can be sweet and very caring to those dear to him. It amuses me when I see people who dislike him for the same reasons that they like Soren and Felix. I relate to Jakob’s personality, as someone who is aloof and reserved, but has a snarky side, is not afraid to be confrontational, but is also very devoted to loved ones.

Jakob is also very fun as a unit. Butler and Maid were unique classes to Fates, but I hope that they return in future Fire Emblem games. Staffs and daggers make for such a fun combination. Jakob also has a fantastic voice actor, the fabulous Ben Diskin. I cannot picture someone else delivering Jakob’s lines and conveying his personality anywhere near as well. As luck would have it, Ben Diskin is one of the celebrity guests at a convention I’m going to this summer, so I’ll get something signed while I’m there!

Julian is one of my favorite Archanea characters, and Joshua is one of my favorite Sacred Stones characters, but I don’t like them even remotely as much as Jakob. Also, I like Julius, Jill, and Jubelo to lesser degrees.

Previous Letters:

A: Azura

B: Bernadetta

C: Camilla and Corrin

D: Donnel

E: Elise

F: Faye

G: Guy

H: Hector

I: Izana