#my need for them is boundless and unfathomable

[v7n5]

Patjean in the year of our lord 2024

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Me, reading more and more smut the further we get into the story: I’m studying. I’m improving my craft. It’s for the people. Chapter Title from Coming Down by Halsey

Word Count: 23k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have a revelation. Nasty fucking smut. Just so much smut. And usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining, smut

Read on A03!

Chapter 14 - Chapter 16

This was bad. This was really, really bad. 

You loved him. 

You loved Ben.

You totally, completely, wrathfully and comfortably loved Ben.

That’s what this was. This eternal feeling of need and want and safety. Love. For Ben. Infinite and indestructible love. No way around or over or under it. No way to talk or twist yourself out of it. You loved Ben. With every bloody and broken part of you, you loved Ben. You burned because Ben was there. He didn’t even have to burn with you, because that’s how strong your love was. You would burn for him, and it would be an inferno that carried you both. He would burn with you though, because he was an idiot. Your idiot. Your idiot, because you loved him.

It had pushed so close to the surface, when Violet had almost said it for you. That you only silently communicated with people you loved. But you’d rationalized. You’d been doing that with Ben for months now. Love had nothing to do with it. You just understood each other. That was all it was. Not love. Just the implicit knowledge that Ben had you. Got you.

Then he’d held you again. He’d moved you and danced with you, still touching you so gently. He had been everything around you, the song, and the rhythm, and his chest rising and falling as your head had pressed into it. And it was all so painfully obvious that it was love. You loved Ben.

You loved his stupid face. His stupid, handsome, stoic face that starred in your dreams. It was a little mean, actually, that he was so attractive. That his jaw was sharp and his lips were full and his eyes were pretty and green and boundless. It would be unfathomably easy to just get lost into his eyes forever. So easy it was downright cruel. Nobody should be allowed to have eyes like that. To look like that. But Ben did. When he slept his face would grow slack and peaceful as his lips parted and his hair fell across his face, and you’d always need to brush it away so it didn’t have a chance to wake him. When he was focused his brows would knit and his eyes would grow intent, and you’d always need to be the thing he was watching and picking apart. When he scowled at stupid things his nose scrunched slightly and all the lines on his face deepened, and you’d always need to run a hand over them until he smiled again. Because Ben’s smile was the most amazing thing you’d ever seen. It was so rare, because he’d wink and smirk and grin all the time—and it would always make you want him more—but his smile was rare. The wide, toothy, carefree smile that made his whole stupid face happy and brighter than any star. And when he laughed with his smile, he might as well have just shot you. It would make your heart stop, ruin and implode your world, and spill your heart out of your chest faster.

Nobody’s laugh had ever sounded as powerful and consuming as Ben’s. He made a lot of sounds that drove you insane—grunts and moans and snorts and low growls that always moved through you—but his laugh, his real, full laugh, was like a song. Full and deep and loud, filled with genuine amusement and digging into your brain. It moved mountains, it parted oceans, it made you warm and happy and love him so much more. Impossibly more. Because it meant he was happy, and he was the most handsome, idiotic, amazing person in history when he was happy. And it made your whole world solid and clear to feel his joy, made you feel just a little more real yourself when it was you making him happy. When he laughed at your joke or completed a task you’d set for him or you did something for him. Just for him. To make him happy. You’d do anything to make him happy. If he was happy he might stay with you, so you’d do anything. There were frighteningly few lines you wouldn’t cross for him. You’d be more worried about it if you didn’t trust him so completely. If you weren’t full of so much faith that Ben wouldn’t throw you across those lines, or even bring you anywhere near them. You wouldn’t love him if you thought he would. He might not love you, but he understood you, and understood what things you’d never do. And you’d make that enough. You make him staying with you and caring for you and keeping you safe worth his time. You’d keep holding his head and healing his PTSD, even when he bitched and moaned about not needing it. Because he was noticeably less paranoid, more often at ease. He didn’t have as many nightmares anymore, you didn’t feel the drums pound inside him when someone said Russia or sleep. It was the very least you could do for him, when he chased away your nightmares just by existing in your orbit. By surrounding you with his body and smell and making you fly out of your mind with desire, chasing away every shadow in the night and stifling every hateful part of you.

He was everywhere around you. Everywhere you looked was just Ben. Everywhere you looked would always be Ben. That was one of the more detrimental parts of living with him, was that every corner of your home was Ben. The fridge was full of strawberry cream cheese and the freezer had three pints of malt vanilla because he’d tear through one in a day. There were apples instead of oranges on the counter because oranges were a goddamn disgusting ass of a fruit. The carpet in your bedroom was there because Ben asked for it, and the bathroom had a razor because Ben needed to shave. His shield rested at your bedroom door, and there was a page bookmarked in your cookbook for pancakes. His clothes were mixed in with yours, so even when you wore one of your shirts they smelled like him, and when you showered you had to stare at his half-used shampoo that was evidence. Evidence Ben existed here, with you.

He was woven all through the world as well. You saw Ben everywhere in the world. You’d look at the map of the United States hanging in the dining hall and frown at Florida. You’d eat lunch with Annie, and she’d serve you strawberries and your whole body would start to search for him. You’d glance out a window and see the sky and a voice in the back of your head would go Blue. Pussy fucking color. You’d never be able to go outside again. Because you’d look at the grass and the trees and the bushes and only think Ben. Ben’s eyes are green like that. You’d never be able to do a lot of things again, especially if you lost him. Nobody would be allowed to address you, because it would just make you think that Ben had said your name better. The sun would have to stop shining because sunshine wouldn’t be allowed to exist anymore, and everyone would have to stop swearing because nobody would do it as well as he did. And nobody would touch you again. They wouldn’t do it like Ben did it. They wouldn’t wreck you just with hands on skin or names hummed into mouths. If someone held you, it wouldn’t be like you were holy. They wouldn’t be everything.

It wasn’t healthy. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t healthy. But you didn’t care. Healthy was a privilege. Healthy was for people who budgeted out their months and worked semi-stable jobs and had been born half-sane. Healthy was for people you could get their heart broken and have enough of themselves left to heal it. Healthy was for people who had a heart that was capable of remolding to fit in place with a new, different one after the heartbreak was over. Your heart was for Ben. It didn’t fit anywhere else. It could either be in your chest, or in his hands. It wouldn’t survive anywhere else. You’d survive without Ben. If you lost him, the world would keep spinning and your heart would keep beating and you’d heal after a very, very long and lonely time. But that would be it. It would just be you. No one else. If Ben left you’d let him and mourn it for the rest of your life, alone. If he went back to sleep, you’d burn everything to wake him up, and not just because you’d promised. Because you wanted him awake and happy and holding you. You wanted him. You needed him. You loved him.

And now you have to live with that. You’d have to learn how to love Ben like this. In this way that sat in your brain and made everything clear as your whole body was wrapped in some kind of cocoon, some sort of shield that kept you warm and alive because you loved Ben. You have to learn how to love him in this infinite way and never let it show.

You’ll keep going like you have been. Because you’ve loved him for a long time, if you think for just a second about it. You don’t know when it began, and you’re a little afraid to search for the exact moment where it became something of no return. The turning point, the moment that made your thoughts and feelings about Ben change from understanding and friendship into love. Horrible and loud and glorious love. Because it feels a lot less recent than it probably should be. It doesn’t feel like something that happened last week, or two weeks ago, or even a month. If you concentrate and comb through the past maybe you’d find when this became love, but it doesn’t really matter. Because it feels old. It feels like it’s something ancient that was dormant and now will never stop raging inside you. Just because you’re aware of it now doesn’t mean it wasn’t strong and fixed like this before. 

So you’ll love him like you have been. Because you have been. Nothing needs to change because you have been loving him in secret for a while, it’s only just no longer a secret from you as well.

The only difference is now that chorus of Ben that runs through your brain all the time is followed by I love you. You wake up the morning after Violet’s visit, with Ben’s body heavy and secure over yours—his head pressed into your neck and his snores reverberating through your bones—and your mind goes Ben. Ben, I love you. You lay there for a while, waiting for him to wake up because you could. You had all the time in the world to lay in bed with the man you loved, letting his hands drift in sleep to the hem of your shirt and his legs tangle thoughtlessly in yours. To let your brain go Ben, I love you over and over until he made that small grunt that always preceded his waking.

Ben’s eyes open slowly, looking at you from underneath his eyelashes, and even those are pretty. You’d never stood a chance.

“Mornin,” he grumbles, and you smile at him.

“Good morning, Benjamin.” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Already, acting normal is not going well.

“Benjamin?” He drawls, smirking up at you. “The fuck did I do to earn a Benjamin this early in the day?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, pushing your knee up into his gut. “It’s your name. Am I not allowed to call you your name?”

“Not when I’ve barely opened my damn eyes.” Trying to knee him was fully ineffective, because he's completely unaffected and now your calf is brushing against his half-hard cock. And he’s still looking at you. “You only call me that when I’ve pissed you off. Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Ben, I love you. “You’re doing something, right now. But I was just saying your name.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Then say it again.”

“What?”

Ben grins, shifting up on his arms and hanging over you. His face only a slight movement from yours. “Say my name again. My full name.”

“Why-“

“Because I want to hear it when you’re not mad at me for some shit reason.” His breath is moving from his mouth into yours. “Say it.”

You swallow, his lust sitting somewhere with your own in your chest and throat, but still manage to say, “Ask nicely.”

“Brat.”

“I’ll never say your name again-“

He kisses you, sloppy with his tongue falling into your mouth and his hand coming up to cup your face. He’s groaning your name, and his voice is so deep and he smells like pine and his body is warm and he tastes like mint-

You push up on his chest, gaping at him slightly. “Did you fucking brush your teeth?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“No, you brushed your teeth!” You grin at him, feeling the closest thing you’ve ever felt to embarrassment course through him. It’s sore and hot, crawling along his skin as he avoids your gaze. “I can taste it, Benjamin, so don’t even think about lying to me.”

“I wasn’t goddamn going to lie to you.”

“Because you’re not a pussy.”

“Because I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“But you brushed your teeth?”

Ben’s still glaring at you, but there’s nothing cold or sharp behind his eyes, or in his body. You can feel more of a sour annoyance, like he’s mad he got caught. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You whack his chest lightly. “Are you just not going to admit it? Or am I going to have to get up and check your toothbru-“

You choke on your words as Ben drops back to your neck, sucking a line up your jaw.

“Ben-“

“I fucking brushed my teeth,” he growls into your ear, and somehow it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you happy now?”

You want to say yes, or very, or Ben, I love you, but all you can manage is a strained, desperate sound that’s half-sigh and half-moan.

“Good. Now say my name and I’ll-“

You’re moving so fast to grab Ben’s face and pull him back against yours that whatever he was about to promise you is lost in a groan down your throat. You don’t care, because it can’t be better than this. It can't be better than Ben over you, his hand kneading the skin at your hip and his teeth making your lips swell. It can’t be better than the heat of him around you, the power of his hunger in you.

It’s so easy to moan, “Benjamin-“

He’s gone, hauling himself off of you in a second, so fast you can’t grab his arm and yank him back down.

“You asshole-“

“If you had let me finish my fucking sentence,” Ben grins down what’s meant to be your murderous glare but—based purely on his amused expression and teasing tone—is more likely a pout. “You’d have heard the part where I’m making you breakfast now.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you grumble. “Get your ass back down here.”

Ben hums. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“There she is,” he leans down, pulling you up just enough that he can kiss the top of your head. “That’s how you always fucking say it.”

Before he can draw back up again, you grab his wrist with one hand, pushing your jaw up into the air to try and move his mouth to yours. He lets you, kissing you far too sweetly for the thirst to be overflowing like this, for the ache between your legs to be growing painful.

When Ben moves away once more, he presses another kiss to your forehead and all your thoughts become clear. It’s only Ben. Ben, I love you.

“Pancakes?” He mumbles against your skin, and you nod.

“Of course I want pancakes, but you-“ His mouth is gone again, hands still holding your face as he draws to his full height. “Ben-“

“I’m going to pick you up.” He says firmly, watching you carefully. It’s not a question, but he doesn’t move. Towering over you, waiting for you to prompt him. You nod, and the rough feeling in his chest pulses slightly as his arms drop under your knees, pulling you up into him.

“I hate you.” Your tone, quiet and gentle, isn’t convincing. Your movement isn’t convincing, arms wrapping around Ben’s neck and body leaning into his hold.

He chuckles, “No, you don’t.” 

And you don’t. You love him. But you still glare at him, and revere in the complete concrete safety of Ben touching you. The strength of his body, the power of his resolve coursing through your bloodstream. The way you barely jostle against him when he walks down the stairs, how carefully he sets you down. How—once the coffee is brewed—he pours your mug first and places it in front of you. Shooting you a sharp glare when you start and stand up to help him.

“Get your fucking ass back in the chair, Sunshine,” he snaps. “I can cook my goddamn self.”

“I know,” you walk over to his side, holding his glower with an overly sweet smile. “But I want to cook with you.”

He’s still frowning, looking you up and down. “Why.”

“It’s fun,” you shrug. Ben, I love you. “You get mad at some really stupid shit. I’ve never seen someone snap a bowl in half before, I didn’t know you could snap a bowl in half.”

“It was broken already,” he grumbles. “Wasn’t fucking mixing the batter.”

“That’s not how bowls work, and you know it.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get the milk or sit the hell back down.”

You smile at him, wide and light, and start to turn to the fridge. You don’t even take a step before Ben’s hand catches the top of your arm and spins you around, his lips crashing into yours in a long, needy, marked kiss. Walking you back into the kitchen counter, going and going until you’re breathless and moaning his name.

He smirks against your lips, sucking slowly on your top lip before moving away. Staring at you with the lust shining in his eyes. The lust and another, louder, fiery thing that’s roaring somewhere near his lungs. He says your name, voice hoarse, and you think it might kill you. “You’re a real fucking pain in my ass.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I can really tell how hard all this is on you.”

He groans, because your words were carefully chosen. “Fucking hell-”

“Is there a problem, Pretty Boy?” You smile at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He kisses just the tip of your nose, and your whole body sings. “Get the milk.”

“Cunt,” you mutter under your breath as he walks away, and his laugh echoes through you. Ben, I love you.

This will work. You’ll love him like this. Keeping your lines set in stone rather than sand, because as much as you need him to walk back over to you—to pick you up again and just fuck you—you can’t. Knowing you love him made it easier to not chase after him, easier to stop yourself from giving him everything as you were now certain he couldn’t return it. But it made you want everything so much more. So you had to keep your head on your shoulders, and let him call you beautiful and kiss him until he was hard and you were wet, and never let it go further. You can love him like this. And it will be fine.

You master it, over the next three days. You get in stupid fights about nothing—Ben uses an abominable amount of toothpaste per brushing for someone who probably hasn’t done any sort of dental care in almost a century—and they either end with you winning, Ben’s tongue down your throat, or some combination of the two. And your brain always goes Ben, I love you, and you turn it into a whack of his arm or a wordless moan into his mouth or against his skin. You snark at him, and he chuckles and teases you, and instead of climbing on top of him and grabbing his face in your hands and screaming Ben, I love you, you make him laugh. You savor the sound as it fills the apartment, and squeeze your thighs together because everything this insufferable ass of a man does turns you on. It was a problem before, and now it might be starting to actively hinder your life. You’re training with him—Ben has insisted you learn how to coordinate fire in with your combat so you don’t rely wholly on your power, saying any supe worth their goddamn salt can do more than just party tricks, Sunshine—and your task is to knock him down.

It’s not going well. 

“You did this better when you hated me,” Ben taunts, side-stepping you again.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs. “Maybe I will, once you’ve earned it.” 

You scowl, lunging at him again. This time, when Ben doges, he moves right into the column of flame you’d risen in his path.

“Fucking Christ-“ He jumps away, shooting you a glare and snapping your name.

You don’t let him keep going, rushing another wall of flame at him. You’d learned to control the temperature—hot enough for Ben to feel, not hot enough for it to burn—and he takes a stumbling step back.

“That’s more fucking like it,” he’s grinning now, fists up. “Keep it coming, at this rate you’ll get me down by April.”

You flip him off, wrapping your hand in fire and throwing a punch right at his stupid, handsome face. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you Pretty Boy.”

He fakes left, the fire shooting up to block him in the wrong spot when he ducks right, under your arm. You recover fast, but Ben’s already grabbing you by the hook of your elbow, pinning you against his chest.

“Those are some big words,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as his arm snakes around your waist. “For someone who can’t even land one damn punch.” 

You angle your head back and kiss him. Rough, sudden, and harsh. It catches him off guard, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn and jump up. He catches you as your legs wrap around him—you knew he would—and growls into your mouth as your hands pull at his hair. You keep going, Ben matching every bite of his lips with a bite of yours. Every groan you pull from him makes him harder and harder against you, makes his hold on you like steel and his hunger start to burn in your body. You lean your chest forward slightly—still holding his mouth against yours—and he moans. Ben moans, and your whole plan almost goes entirely out the window. The only thing that keeps you on track is the fact that if you don’t move now he’ll moan again and not a thing in the universe could stop you from fucking him. 

You shove down on Ben’s shoulders, your whole body going up in flames. It does the trick, and Ben loses his balance just enough for you to push harder. Make him drop down to the floor as you straddle his chest, grinning triumphantly at his adorable, befuddled frown.

“I win.”

The disbelief and shock dies in Ben fast, and suddenly the hunger is bigger. Everything in him is bigger. Hunger and affection and a strange feeling that makes you light-headed and giddy. 

“Dirty fucking trick, beautiful.” He says, smiling widely up at you as his hands find your hips. “Don’t think that’ll work on the average opponent.” 

“Worked on you,” you say smugly, and the feelings somehow grow in him. In you. It makes you blink, your whole body consumed by it, and you don’t see or feel Ben grab your wrists until it’s too late and he’s flipping you over. 

He’s above you, he’s everything, and nothing in you wants to try and get him away. You’d won already, and even if you hadn’t you can’t think of a way out of this. Not when his face is so happy, not when you can feel all of him. His body and his desire and his care. 

“Fucking brat,” he mutters, mouth lowering just over yours. “Too smart for your own damn good.” 

“You love it,” you mumble. I love you. 

Ben snorts, and your whole world is just that sound. Content and moving through and around you. Just Ben, kissing you until your back is arching off the floor. Picking you up and dropping you both on the couch, going and going until you’re both out of breath. Then just touching you. Thumbs tracing circles on your skin, head resting against yours, all just Ben. 

You look up at him, and he’s watching you. He’s always watching you. You don’t ever want him to look away. You move your hands up into his hair, palms pressed against his head, and his brows raise. 

“I feel goddamn fine,” he drawls your name. “You don’t have to keep fucking doing this.” 

“You had a nightmare last night,” you glare at him. “I decide when I stop doing this.” 

Ben scowls, but doesn’t move your hands away. Sulking as your grip tightens and you set to work. You’re grateful for it, because his nightmare had scared you. It had been the first in a while, and while he hadn’t fallen into the drums and exploded, the pain he’d felt was still sitting in your bones. The strained sounds of suffering and fear that he’d made were rattling around in your head. It was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to make those sounds. Ben wasn’t made to make those sounds. So you’d keep doing this until he never had to make them again. It wasn’t hurting you at all anyway, you felt fine. Were shadows a little darker in corners and sounds a little louder at night? Maybe, but you were fine. And this wasn’t about you. It was about Ben.

It was about how soft his hair was in your hands, and how handsome his face looked when it was relaxed. It was about making him keep looking at you. All the time.

“We have dinner in an hour,” you say after a while, mostly to try and drown out the song in your head of Ben. Ben, I love you.

“I know,” he grunts. “It’s the same time every fucking night.” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Someone’s grumpy.” 

“Shut up.” 

“What, not looking forward to Butcher’s nightly interrogations about if we’re fucking yet?” 

Ben smirks at you. “You’d think he’d realize that the moment we start fucking we’d stop coming to dinner.” 

“We’d still go to dinner-“

“You wouldn’t leave the bed for a week,” his voice is low, taunting, and your nails start digging into his scalp. “Longer if you wanted.” 

Ben, I love you. “Someone’s real cocky.” 

“And one day,” he winks. “You’ll find out why.” 

You snort, even as your whole body starts to feel like putty. “Okay, Pretty Boy.”

“Are you fucking doubting me?”

“No,” you scoff. “Before we met, about 85% of the things I heard about you were that you were an asshole manwhore. I don’t think I ever doubted that you could fuck.”

“An asshole manwhore?” Ben scowls. “Who called me an asshole manwhore?”

“I think that asshole manwhore was Butcher.” 

Ben grunts, “fucking pussy.”

“If it helps,” Ben, I love you. “You are an asshole manwhore. But you’re also the most aggressively caring person I’ve met.”

“Aggressively caring?”

“You give a shit about me. More than anyone ever really has. In a very violent, mean, asshole manwhore way.” Ben, I love you. “But it, it means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” Ben grumbles. “And of course I give a shit about you. It’s not like you don’t give a shit about me.”

“Yeah but that’s not my point-”

“Sunshine, just take the fucking compliment.” 

You stick your tongue out at him. “Asshole.”

Ben winks, still watching you. So full of lust you might pass out from it. “You need to shower.”

“You need to shower.” You mutter, and he grins.

“We could do it together-“

“Fuck off,” you mutter, face heating and eyes moving to stare at his forehead. Looking at him right now—with his face alight and the hunger and want painting his every feature—would be counterproductive. “Once I’m done with this you’re showering, without me, and then we’re going to dinner.”

“You’re going first.” 

“Ben-“ 

“I take longer showers than you,” his tone is firm, and you can feel his eyes on you. “So your options are going first and having warm water, or going second and freezing your beautiful fucking face off.” 

“But-“ 

“You could always just shower with me,” he continues, and your eyes drop back to his against your will. They’re bright, and so green, and boring right through you in a way that makes you think he can see your thoughts. See the way your whole mind is just going Ben. I love you. “Eliminate the damn problem altogether.” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, and Ben chuckles, pulling your hands down from his head. 

“Then you should get a fucking move on,” he says your name, eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t want to be late to our stupid dinner, do we?” 

“Cunt.” 

He kisses your knuckles, and your whole brain is Ben. “Brat.” 

You shoot him one last glare as you stand, and try not to let your whole body feel cold without him as you climb up the stairs. You turn the shower handle so steam fills the room and the water is scalding. It doesn’t hurt, heat never hurts anymore, but the sensation still exists. You know it’s hot, you know it burns and would’ve hurt before, but now it just feels good. It would’ve, once, been used to wipe your head clear of him, used to chase the thoughts of Ben away into the water and down the drain at your feet. But now it just amplifies them. You don’t know how long you can keep this up, when everything Ben does is like a river that sweeps you up into him, that’s started to smooth rules you’d carved into stone about not going everywhere with him. It’s only been three days. Three long days of knowing you love him. How you managed this before you knew is a mystery, how you didn’t know for so long is even more baffling. Maybe it’s because you didn’t understand that love could feel like this. You’d been in love before, sure. And it had swept you away and made you smile, but it had never been a part of you. It had never been something that felt bigger than you, something that was only building and building by the second. You’d only fallen in love after sex, after months of casual dating and messing around until it grew deeper. You think you might have loved Ben before he even kissed you. You think you might love Ben until the universe is wiped away in fire. 

You think the fire might be yours. You think what might destroy the universe is this love for Ben, pouring out of you until it’s everywhere and still only a fraction of what he is.

And it’s only been three days. 

You’d had forty-five minutes when you’d entered the shower. Wallowing in the fog and warmth of the water might’ve taken up five. Ben took half-hour showers, but you could cut it down to twenty-five if you really got on his ass about it. 

Ten minutes was more than enough to get yourself off.

The good thing about the rain showers was that they were relaxing. The bad thing was that there was no removable shower head to work with, but you could improvise. You lean back against the wall, planting your feet firmly on the floor as you arch your hips, angling them so that the water falls right between your thighs. You move your fingers down slowly, and part the lips of your pussy so that your clit is exposed to the air and the stream of the shower lands steadily against it. The effect is immediate, your whole body seizing for a fraction of a second at the sensitivity before you adjust, completely relaxing against the wall. All your thoughts are wrapped in the steam, wrapped in the sensation of the heavy beat of falling water on your clit, and you don’t even try to stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

Ben. If you were a little weaker—or stronger—it could be him doing this. He could be holding you up against his muscled chest instead of you leaning against tile, it could be his rough hand squeezing your breasts instead of your own, and he could be devouring your high, needy sounds into his body. Holding your chin up so he can lean over you and kiss you until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Wrapping his arm over your hips to keep them from bucking as his hand dives between your legs. Rubbing large, strong fingers over your clit in a fast, mind-numbing pace and rhythm. Head lowering so he’s sucking on your neck as he moves down, down, down and plunges inside you, palm still bumping your nerves as he moves in and out at a brutal pace. Going and going until you’re screaming his name, muttering filth and praise against your skin, bringing your over the edge-

Your legs almost give out when you cum, and as your wits return you realize your own fingers have stilled inside you, and your throat is aching. You were screaming his name.

Any hopes that he might not have heard are dashed when you exit the bathroom and Ben’s sitting on the bed, smirking at you.

“Have fun?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, walking around the bed to where your phone is plugged in. 

“There better still be hot water-“ 

“If there’s not,” you glare at him. “Then maybe you won’t take a year to shower. For once.” 

He winks. “You’re real mouthy for having just been screaming my name, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.” 

“I could’ve. If you’d let me in the damn shower.” 

“Well I didn’t,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So haul ass.” 

He leans across the bed, grabbing your forearm and yanking you down with a yelp. You land right in his lap, and the lust in him is so strong that, combined with how your whole body is still alight from your orgasm, you don’t even think to squirm away as he kisses you until you’re grinding against his thigh. 

“This fucking needy already?” He hums, nipping at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll have to make it two damn weeks.” 

I love you. “Benjamin, you dick-“ 

He chuckles, gently rolling you off his body. “The moment you say the word, my dick is all yours.” Ben smirks at your slack expression, kissing your cheek before growling in your ear. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.” 

When he stands and walks into the bathroom, leaving you panting slightly on the bed, you realize this is going to kill you. It’s only been three days, and this love for Ben is going to kill you. 

How some people do this for years will never cease to amaze you. 

Nobody’s caught on yet. Tonight, just like the past three nights, dinner will be weird, but normal weird. The biggest thing that changed was two nights ago, when Ben called Annie Annie instead of Starlight for the first time. The reaction had been similar to the switch from Cocksucker to Hughie, with everyone starting slightly in their seats before rushing to continue the conversation and gloss over the change. You’d asked him, later that night when you’d returned to your room, what had done it. 

“Done what?” He’d grumbled. 

“Don’t play stupid, Ben-“ 

“I don’t know what you’re fucking taking about.” 

“Yes, you do.” You’d narrowed your eyes at him. “What made Annie earn name privileges?” 

He’d glared at you, but grunted, “She’s not being a damn bitch anymore. Finally got off her fucking high horse.” 

You’d nodded and dropped it, but didn’t miss the way he didn’t glare at Annie when she talked to you anymore. Now, as you walked into the dining hall with his arm hanging over your shoulders, he even gave her a curt nod when she smiled at you, and no rush of angered protectiveness surged through him. 

Annie had asked you, the day after Violet left, how the meeting had gone. You’d been standing downstairs at the doorway, and Ben had been upstairs, but there was no way he hadn’t heard. Annie’s voice had been slightly hushed, and the door had been closed, but Ben had the ears of a moth. You’d told him that once and he’d shaken his heard, grumbling about you being a too fucking hot for a walking encyclopedia. But he did. He heard everything. There was no way he hadn’t heard Annie. 

And he’d called her Annie that same night. 

When you drop across from Annie and Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko are nowhere to be seen—despite a jacket you recognize to be Frenchie’s tossed on one of the seats—and MM and Butcher are shuffling over from the kitchen doors. 

“Where’s-“ 

“Kimiko’s making Frenchie listen to some songs she just found on Spotify.” Annie smiles at you with a shrug, and you smile back. “It’s a lot of J-Pop and showtunes.”

“If it’s Kimiko showing them to Frenchie, he’ll love them.” You lean slightly across the table, Ben sitting silently at your side with hand resting on your lower back. “What’s on the menu?” 

“I dunno, we just got here.” Hughie cranes his neck to look at Butcher and MM. “Hey guys-“

“Pizza.” MM sits next to Hughie, angling his plate for display. “They got Hawaiian, pepperoni, cheese, and broccoli.” 

You nod, starting to rise from your seat, but Ben pulls your wrist slightly. “I’ll get it.” 

“Okay, can you get-“ 

“I know what you fucking want.” He mutters, and you blink at him.

“Really?”

“We have pizza every damn Friday,” Ben shrugs, standing. “You always chose the same thing.”

He stalks past Butcher, still standing with a scowl at the head of the table, and pushes roughly through the doors. 

“He’s, uh, he’s right.” Hughie’s staring after Ben, a small frown on his face. “They do give us pizza every Friday.” 

“Like we’re fuckin babies,” Butcher’s holding his plate with white knuckles, glowering the two remaining seats. Next to Annie, and next to you.

“Babies don’t eat fuckin pizza, Butcher.” MM mutters. “It’s bad for their guts, and they can’t chew it.”

“It’s more like we’re teenagers,” you nod. “My high school cafeteria definitely had pizza Fridays.”

Annie hums. “Actually, mine did too.”

“That makes three,” Hughie takes a large bite of his pizza, a little cheese hanging out his mouth, and you all look expectantly at MM. 

He sighs. “Mine did as well.”

“Well ain’t that just bloody fantastic for all you.” 

“Butcher,” Annie sighs. “Just eat your pizza or go sit alone.” 

This happens every night. Butcher stands at the table, making jeering comments until someone—usually Annie or MM—tells him to sit and eat, with them or by himself. He always sits down, usually next to Hughie or MM, sometimes next to Frenchie, once next to a very stiff bodied Ben and once next to a wide-eyed Kimiko. Never next to Annie. Never next to you.

You think tonight will be the first night he sits alone, right up until he’s marching around the table and sitting down at your side so aggressively it shakes the bench. The shocked silence only lasts a second before Hughie jumps frantically into a conversation about some movie he and Annie watched last night at MM’s suggestion, you and Butcher both refusing to look at each other.

The kitchen doors swing back open, Ben reappearing with two plates in hand. His eyes narrow when he sees Butcher at your side, a scowl overtaking his face. The fuck is he doing?

Sitting, apparently. Your shrug is so small that anyone except Ben wouldn’t have caught it. Don’t say anything about it. I think he’s like a reverse Tinkerbell. 

Ben raises his eyebrows. The fuck does that mean. 

If you give him attention, he dies.

Snorting, Ben sits back at your side, and you grin at him as he slides your plate in front of you before dropping his hand to your thigh. Letting it rest there as you glance at his serving—five slices of pepperoni—and then yours. He’d gotten it right, and you blink up at him. 

He frowns. What? 

Ben, I love you, is what you want to tell him. You even know what that face would look like. A full smile, all teeth and joy, with your eyes shining with all your love for him as you just look at him.

But you only give him a smaller smile, still happy, but not everything. Thank you. 

Don’t. He squeezes your thigh, rolling his eyes. Never fucking thank me. 

You wish Ben would let you thank him, but a small part of you knows it’s a mercy he doesn’t know he’s giving you. You’d never stop thanking him if he didn’t get all grumpy when you did. You’d thank him for every stupid, handsome smile and every brush of his skin against yours and every teasing jab that meets and spars with yours. You’d thank him for holding you under the table for the whole dinner, Butcher eating at your side without a word. You’d thank him for leaning back slightly when Kimiko sits at Annie’s side so you can talking to her in sign about the music she’d been showing Frenchie. You’d thank him for staying silent and grounding when Butcher launches into a briefing, despite everyone’s glares. 

“Grace says Edgar’s almost ready,” he’s looking around, meeting everyone’s eyes to ensure they’re listening. “We got a plan for when he makes good.”

“A plan?” Annie frowns. “Can you be more specific-“

“No.”

You’d thank Ben for rolling his eyes at you. Fucking pussy probably doesn’t even have a fucking plan. 

I’m sure we can improvise. You shrug, and he scowls. 

You always have to improvise. If they want you to keep fucking improvising for them, they better start paying us both what we damn deserve.

You raise your brows at him. We? When have you ever improvised for them? 

This whole plan was my goddamn idea. 

That’s a plan. It’s the exact opposite of improvisation. 

Brat, Ben grins at you. We’re a package fucking deal. They want your services, they pay us both. 

You wrinkle your nose at him. I did not agree to that.

I go where you go, beautiful. Ben winks. 

You’d thank him for the flush of your face, and the smile you have to physically fight off your face. 

You’d thank him for clearing both your plates when Butcher’s doing the same so you don’t have to be alone with Butcher beside you, and you’d thank him for bringing you back a fistful of chocolate when he returns from the kitchen with his own full pint of ice cream. You’d thank him for holding your hand all the way back to your apartment, and up the stairs, and into bed. You’d thank him for kissing you until you’re scraping at his back, and for doing that annoying thing where he tells you you’re tired and you suddenly are.

You’d thank him for staying—at your side—every day, every time you so much as saw him. You’d thank him for humming terribly as you drift off to sleep, you’d thank him for the way his heart pounds softly against his chest until the world is dark and peaceful.

The world had taken a turn. You’d been somewhere that was full of sunlight and life, Ben holding you against him, and suddenly it was dark. So dark you couldn’t see your own hands. Your body is lit in flames and it’s somehow still so very dark. And cold. There’s wind and it’s freezing your skin and guts, even as you burn. You call for Ben, your voice turning from nervous shouts of his name into screams. Loud, panicked screams for Ben to find you, to shout back and tell you he’s there, that he’s okay, that he’s searching for you as well. 

There’s only silence, your name swallowed in a vacuum of the cold darkness. And it’s silent and cold for so long. So very long where you’re burning and can’t find Ben. He’s in danger, you know, you can feel it. Something’s keeping him from you, because that’s the only reason he wouldn’t be roaring for you to return to him. And he’s in pain. You’re certain he’s in pain. Ben is in pain, somewhere in the dark, because you can feel something ripping you open and flaying you alive and drowning you. Something is drowning you. Something is drowning Ben. And it’s all you can feel, for a long, long time, until a voice sounds through the world, screeching in your ears.

Run. 

You’re gone. You’re sprinting through nothing and it’s like falling. There’s no end, and it’s so fast, and where’s Ben. You have to go faster, you have to find him. You have to crash into whatever that’s doing this, causing this pain, and destroy it. You have to find it, you have to find him, and you can hear something. Breaking through the fire around you and your own screams for Ben, there’s something running at you. Behind you. Faster than you, gaining pace, a cruel cackling sound that’s becoming louder and louder.

There’s a light. Far away there’s a warm light that’s growing and growing with drums. Loud, heavy, bloody drums. It’s Ben, chest alight as the drums become all you can hear. He’s facing you, and the danger behind you is closer, closer, closer as Ben grows brighter, brighter, brighter. 

The danger tears past you. It’s not going for you anymore. It’s headed for Ben. Faster, and the drums aren’t loud enough, and there’s a fraction of a second where you could’ve held it back. Where it ripped through the space between you and Ben and you could’ve struck it down. You could’ve redrawn its attention to you. 

But Ben is doing what you should’ve done. His eyes lock with yours, right as the danger hits him. And suddenly there’s nothing, not pain or danger or drums or any sign that Ben was ever there. Just cold nothing.

The world floods with light.

Fluorescent, blinding, painful light. Everything smells like hand sanitizer and the air is too clean. Artificial. 

When you can see again, everything in you dies. 

You’re back. You’d swore you’d never to go back. To this white room with the too bright lights and everything deep cleaned so there’s no proof. No proof you exist. You’re just another decoration in this horrible, horrible place.

It’s changed though. There’s no longer a steel door with a small slat that meals were once pushed through. There’s nothing. Not even glass. You could just walk out, right into the lab.

The white room and the lab had been different though. You’d never existed in both at the same time. And this lab isn’t the same as yours. At the surface level, it’s an identical copy with bleached floors and a lot of tools that make your blood run cold. But the vials are all full of nothing. Just air. There’s a large one, connected to an IV that doesn’t run into a body, but a tube. 

A large, metal tube. More like a box. With a single clear panel that’s just too high for you to look into. You don’t need to though. When the box shakes slightly, something in you pulses and thrashes against your chest and you know. When the box is still, and the thing dies out a fraction of a heartbeat, you know. 

Ben is there. Asleep in the box. And you’re burning everything to try to get him out, but the box isn’t even shaking again. It’s still and silent as you scream, and it echoes through the ashes and smoke around you. You’re burning the world and everything between it, but Ben is still asleep. Gone.

You hadn’t been smart enough. You hadn’t been fast enough. You hadn’t done whatever it took, and now Ben was gone. You’d failed him. 

You’d failed Ben. 

You’re still burning when you wake up. You’re still screaming when you wake up. Your voice is hoarse, your throat feels raw, but you can’t stop screaming. The world is on your back, pushing down on your shoulders and snapping your spine in two. You’d failed him, you’d lost him, and now Ben was gone-

“I’m right fucking here,” the most familiar voice in the world moves through your body, saying your name, but all you can think is Ben. He’s gone. 

You’d lost him. 

“You didn’t lose me,” it’s the same voice. Low and forceful. “I’m here,” it’s saying your name. You need to listen, because it’s making your name sound important. Like it’s the only thing in the world worth saying. “I’m right fucking here.” 

That’s Ben’s voice. As you’re coming down you know it’s Ben voice, because he says fucking like that. You think his voice was built to say fucking, with the spitting sound on the f and the deep growl of the uh. The speed at which he tears through the king.

Ben’s here. You didn’t lose him. He’s here. Suddenly you can feel him all around you, and it’s not just the feeling of his resolve like a shield around you that’s pulling you back down. It’s him. It’s just Ben. It’s the heat of his body, the way he’s holding you with real, strong hands. It’s the sound of his voice, and the rumble of his heart where you think your head is pressed into his ribs. It’s the smell of him. Pine and vanilla and Ben. All Ben. Real, with you, not gone.

Your screams turn into sobs, and your breathing grows faster until you’re lightheaded. Until gentle, calloused hands are on your face, pulling you back from where you’ve buried yourself.

Ben’s face is drawn, focused, and the frown on his face isn’t at you. It’s for you. You can feel the way in which his anger is blowing, and it’s up and around and everywhere until he can find something to turn bloody and beat to a pulp. But for now he’s holding you. Searching your eyes for his answer.

“Fucking breathe,” he says your name again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sob again, hands flying up to keep his on your face. In case this is another lie. In case your mind is truly that hateful and would do this to you again.

“I’m not going fucking anywhere.” He hisses. “You need to know that, Sunshine. I’m never going anywhere without you.”

Your breathing slows, and the blood pounding in your ears with it. Soon it’s just Ben. You and Ben.

He must read it on your face somewhere—that you’re here, in your mind, without the fear and panic—because he kisses your brow, still holding your face as he speaks. “What happened.” 

You shake your head. “Just a nightmare.” 

“You haven’t had a nightmare like that since damn Neuman.” 

He’s right. You’d had bad dreams, one or two, but not nightmares. No fire had torn through this room before, Ben hadn’t had to bring you back from some sort of ledge on this mattress.

“I don’t know where it came from,” you whisper. “I’m sor-” 

“No apologies.” He pulls your face up just a little further. “You’re okay.” 

Not a question. “I’m okay.” 

Ben grunts, thumb drawing circles on your cheekbones. “Swear it.” 

“Promise.” You pause, looking up at him. Ben. Ben, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t fail you. I can’t fail anyone, but if I fail you it’ll destroy me and the world. “Ben?”

He hums your name, and you run your hands from over his to hang off his forearms.

“You trust me?”

“Of course I fucking trust you.” 

“Can you promise me something?” 

Ben grunts. “What.” 

“I don’t know what Butcher and Mallory are planning,” your voice is still choked, and it hurts to speak. But you keep going. You have to keep going. “But if it falls through, I need you to promise that you’ll let me do what I need to do.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Ben’s hold on your face tightens, and you swallow. 

“If whatever Butcher and Mallory have-“ 

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He’s irritated. You can hear it in his voice, you can feel it on his fingertips. There’s something else, the bitter thing has wrapped around his throat, combined with something bellowing inside his chest. “What the fucking hell do you mean what you need to do.”

“To finish this,” it’s painful to look at him. It’s painful to see his jaw clenched and mouth frowning when he’d been gone from you, even if it hadn't been real. It’s painful to see the intensity of his gaze when you’re asking this of him. “To do what needs to be done.”

“What needs to be done?” Ben hisses. “If you don’t speak more fucking clearly, I’m not promising you shit. If you’re talking about your god awful plan-“ 

“I’m not,” you squeeze his arm, and he relaxes slightly. The bitter thing becomes easier to breathe through. “Just, what I need to do.”

“That's not nearly goddamn clear enough.” Ben says your name, and his voice is becoming strained. There’s gruff pain to it, like someone is trying to claw out of his airway. “What will you possibly fucking need to do.” 

You can’t answer. Because you don’t know. You don’t know what the plan is, how it could go sideways, what will need to be done. You’re not even certain you know if you’re talking about the mission or not. But you need to be able to do it. Whatever it is that needs to be done, you have to do it. You have to be able to keep Ben here, you have to save Ryan Butcher, you have to kill Homelander, this has to be over. You’re so tired. Whatever needs to be done to just rest, for the world to rest, you need to be able to do. And you can’t let Ben stop you, or hold you back. You can’t let him take all the danger for you, it’s not fair. You love him.

But you can’t say that. So you say, “I don’t know.” No lies. “But I need you to promise me you’ll let me do it.” 

“No, I’m not promising that when I don’t fucking know what-“ 

“That doesn’t matter,” you’re begging now, head shaking frantically between Ben’s hands. You don’t care. He needs to give you this, he needs to understand and promise. “It doesn’t matter what it could mean, Ben. I just, please, I need you to promise, please promise-“ 

He pulls you forward. Back into his chest until the drum of his heart makes breathing easier again. When he speaks, his voice is everywhere. Around your body and making a home in your brain. “It fucking matters. It always fucking matters. I’m not promising something fucking stupid like that.” 

Your hands fist against his shirt, word muffled. “Please. I need, Ben, please.” You’re not crying anymore, you’re trying to climb into him. To keep the safety and everything of Ben around you, even as you push. “I need to help, I need to help, I can’t be useless, I need to help and it needs to matter-“

“Shut up.” Ben has one hand in your hair, one wrapped around your back and resting on your hips. It’s the way he’s holding you so diligently—as if this is his whole purpose, to touch you—and the way his voice and body are wholly devoid of anger, and how it all makes your brain clear to Ben, Ben I love you, that makes you fall silent and let him continue. “You matter. You’re helping more than any other fucking pussy in this damn building. And you are the least useless person I have ever fucking met. So I’m not promising that.”

You pull your head back through sheer force of will, because you need to look at him. Even if it’s painful. “Please.” You could use a favor, you have a few left, but it needs to be Ben that promises. He needs to understand, you need him to mean it. “Please, Ben. I need you-“ a sob wracks your body, and you almost leave the sentence there. You need Ben. You love him. “Promise. Please promise, I need you to promise. Just this,” you tug at his shirt, and your body is smoking. When you pull back his skin is redder, but he hasn’t flinched. Only holding you, only watching you. “Just this one thing. I’ll never ask you for anything again. Please.”

He stiffens. For the most horrid, long moment of your life, you think you’ve shown too much. You think you’ve said the thing you’d promised not to say, found the line you’d been trying to toe so carefully. That keeps him beside you and never wondering why you’re clawing so desperately to do so. You don’t know which part of your pleas were the thing, which part turned your cards around for him to see and which card is going to be the one that makes you lose him-

“Fine.” His words are through gritted teeth, and you can see the tick of his jaw, but he’s nodding once, roughly, and you know you haven’t misheard him. “I promise.” 

His voice is so hollow. You’ve never heard Ben’s voice hollow before, and it’s wrong. “Swear it?” You whisper, because you need him to look less like a statue. You need him to move with a chuckle or a frown or an eye roll. 

You get a small twitch of his mouth. That’s enough. “Fucking swear it.” 

“Thank you,” you breathe. And Ben doesn’t stop or correct you about it. He lets you burrow back into his chest, pulling you up a little farther so he can shift back against the headboard. Your head lies somewhere between his ribs and stomach, arms around his torso, and he just stays there. Real and solid, and you’re no longer sure whose heart is pounding. You just know it’s steady, and that Ben is here. 

He holds you until the sun rises, and well after. You don’t want to move, you can’t move, so Ben just holds you. Holds you until you tug at his arm and ask quietly for coffee. Then he kisses the top of your head and hauls you up from between his legs to against his chest. 

“I’m going to carry you,” he grunts, and you just curl further into him.

When he sets you down on the couch he kisses the top of your head before walking to the kitchen, and you sink into the cushions. You don’t know how long he’s away—away meaning five feet away, shuffling loudly around the kitchen—but only when he returns to the couch, sinking into the spot by your feet, do you realize how cold you’d grown. 

“Thank you,” you mumble as he passes you a mug of coffee. 

“Don’t.” 

You smile softly, staring at the dark liquid in the cup. “Are we doing fire later or-“ 

“You are not fucking training today,” Ben snaps, and you look up to find him glaring at you. “Or doing your stupid brain magic.”

“Brain magic?” Your smile feels a little more real, and you’re not going to fight with him about training or healing. You’ve battled with him over more pointless things, but you’re just so tired. So you’ll just tease him, pushing and pulling with him about nothing.

Ben gives you a flat look. “What would you call it, smartass?” 

“Healing.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

You give a small giggle, and Ben’s whole face is still stoic, still drawn, but there’s less tension along it. “Grumpy old man.” 

“I said shut the fuck up.” 

“Make me.”

The speed at which Ben sets his own mug on the coffee table and climbs over you is truly remarkable. “You know very well,” his voice is gruff, the weight of his hunger crashing through you. “That I am not a fucking old man.”

“Well,” you hum, grinning widely up at him. “Just in terms of chronology, you are an incredibly old man-“ 

It’s amazing how good he is at this. How Ben is so easily capable of dragging you up from the worst pits and holes of your own head and throwing you into this thirst. How fast he can make your mind go from spinning and finding every nook and cranny or your life, your self, that is evil and hopeless, to just singing Ben. Ben, I love you. It’s why you don’t fight back when he falls onto you, his arm around your waist pulling you up into him and his mouth destroying your whole body in the most amazing way. He’s only against your own lips for a second, and the moment you open for him, moaning his name, he’s gone. Biting and sucking along your jaw, and your neck, up to your ear to tug it between his teeth, then down to your collarbone. Going until the sounds rising from your throat aren’t Ben or please or fuck, but only incoherent whines. Then he’s back on your mouth, and you give everything back to him. Your hands in his hair, your legs wrapped around him as you grind up, and your tongue running along his lips. Trying to get him as impossibly close as you can without crossing the line.

You say it. You know somewhere in the haze, your brain still slightly hazy from the pain of the night and your will weakened by all of him, you say it. Ben, I love you. It comes out a high, breathy whimper, but you know that’s what it was supposed to be. You know he doesn’t pick up on it, because nothing in him changes. He doesn’t waver or push further, he just goes the same as he had been. Letting you try and devour him as he does the same. So you moan it again—this one from somewhere deeper in your chest—because you’re allowed to say it like this. You’re allowed to say Ben, I love you, when it’s just another plea for him that he can’t understand the power of. Just like how you’re allowed to try and make him part of you when there’s not a chance he will be.

He hisses your name into your mouth when you yank his hair hard enough for his head to move up. His beard scratches along your cheeks and lips, but it’s Ben, so it’s everything. And he lets you drop down to his neck, lower, biting into his shoulder slightly. You don’t break skin, you’re not that strong, but he groans against your ear as your teeth scrape his skin and that’s enough. It’s more than enough—it’s the whole world—when Ben starts to knead at your skin under his hands, and he’s still making sounds that echo through your blood and bones. It’s everything, when he pushes you further down, down, moving his mouth back to yours and burying you between him and the sofa. Safe. Strong. Real. 

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s hard. You can feel him bumping against your lower thigh, and it makes your moans louder. It makes your legs tighten around him, trying to move him up into you without you telling them to. You find another thing you’d thank Ben for, when he stops this for you. It makes you feel a little empty, but he doesn’t leave. He just drops his lower body down, pinning you to the couch so that you can’t keep bucking up into him. Resting his forehead against yours until your breath is steady, and your brain can manage to control your body.

“Better?” Ben mutters, and you blink up at him. It is better. Everything is better now. 

“Better.” You whisper, and he nods. “If we’re not training today, what-“ 

“I need to clean my shield. We’ve got dinner with the Pussy Brigade. I have to shit. You said we’d watch something called The Mummy a few nights ago. And you have your stupid fucking lunch with Annie and Hughie.” 

You grin at him. “In that order?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he kisses your nose, and you think this might destroy you more than anything else could. How easy this is. To love him, to let his voice move through you and settle your nerves. To let him just touch you all the time in the most simple and boring and mind-numbingly good ways. “Go get dressed, Sunshine.” 

You push up on your forearms, grabbing Ben around his neck and pulling him down to you one last time before he can stand. One longer, gentler kiss, where neither of you are trying to take it further, take it right up to the edge. Just kissing him because you love him, because you can. Because he’s real. 

Ben carries your mugs up into the kitchen, and you climb up the stairs, allowing yourself to turn back and look at him once. The most attractive, stupid man you’ve ever seen in your life. Glaring at the mugs as he dumps the now-cold coffee in the sinks. Turning on the sink to wash them with so much force you’re surprised the knob doesn’t snap off. But still doing it. His handsome scowl and rough movements not stopping him from doing it. You love him. You love Ben so much. It’s everything. There’s been blood on his hands and darkness in his head and life that should be unforgivable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s become the most dependable, insufferable, important person in your life. Not when you love him like this. Not when you know he’s trying. In his own angry, violent, and sullen way, Ben is trying so hard. You’re not sure why he’s trying, or if he even knows he’s trying, but he is. He’s washing the mugs without you asking, because that’s what he does. Everything for you, without you needing to ever ask. And you’ll never stop loving him for it. 

Annie’s early for lunch today. She collects you around eleven, mentioning that she and Hughie have something planned for the afternoon as Ben opens the door, snapping at her that she's too fucking early. You tell Ben to let it go—you’ll be gone the same amount of time regardless—and he does his angry, half-pouting frown about it but kisses you lightly and sulks upstairs. 

“Something?” You tilt your head at Annie as you walk down the hall. 

“What? 

“You and Hughie have something planned?” You almost nudge her shoulder like you would with Ben but stop yourself. “Did you just not want to tell Ben, or is it-“ 

“My mom.” Annie says softly, staring down the hall. “She agreed to visit last week. Mallory’s bringing her today.” 

“Oh, shit.” You want to hug her. She looks like she needs some sort of comfort. So you give her your most reassuring expression, holding your hands behind your back. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Annie sighs. “I mean, I asked her to come. But I haven’t talked to her since-“ 

“Firecracker.” Something clenches around your heart. Something that is all bones and burnt flesh. 

Something grabs your wrist, and you freeze. Anxiety and tension and exhaustion run through your body—it’s different from your own—and you realize it’s Annie’s. She’s touching you on purpose.

When you look at her, she’s watching you carefully. You blink at her, eyes wide, afraid to move. Afraid to ruin this and make her let go.

“I never thanked you for that,” Annie’s voice wasn’t joyful, but it was lighter. Even as the anxiety tightened around your skull. 

“For what?” 

“Killing that bitch.” She gives you a small, close-lipped smile. “I don’t ever really condone murder, but if anyone deserved it, she did.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say before you can stop yourself. You’re not a sadist, this might be a test, maybe Annie’s not really grateful but trying to see if you’re remorseful. “It was an accident.” 

“I know. I’m still thanking you.” 

“Oh.” You swallow, trying not to give the emotions you can feel through Annie’s hand any attention. “You’re welcome.” 

Annie nods, and just before she lets go something like relief spins through her. 

Hughie made pancakes and eggs. Well, Hughie tried to make pancakes and eggs. He burnt the eggs, twice apparently, so now it’s pancakes and a fruit salad. It’s still good—you add honey to the fruit, as well as strawberries and syrup to the pancakes because you’re a masochist and miss Ben—and sit at their dining room table. Annie brings out hot chocolate, and it’s comfortable. Especially after Annie tells Hughie you know about her mom visiting, because any nervous tension dissipates into the air and it’s fully, genuinely comfortable.

All three of you silently agree not to talk about family, because none of you have amazing relationships with your mothers, Hughie’s wound from his father’s death is still open and fresh, and fear still occasionally grips your heart that Homelander will find Violet and use her against you. So, you talk about frivolous things instead. Annie and Hughie want your opinion on a hideous throw pillow Hughie bought. You burn it, and Annie laughs as Hughie sighs, grinning as well. You debate with Hughie about Billy Joel songs, because his love for the man makes him blind to the fact that We Didn’t Start the Fire is just a truly terrible song. You win by pulling out a video of Billy Joel himself echoing your point, and Hughie throws his hands up in mock exasperation. Annie asks you if you need any help buying decorations for your apartment, or continuing to decorate, full stop, given your roommate—she hesitates before labeling Ben, and you don’t blame her in the slightest—not exactly being the most aesthetically oriented man in the world.

“Ben’s actually been shockingly helpful,” you shrug. “He chose the rug in our room, and aggressively vetoed plates with his face on them.” 

Hughie gapes at you. “Plates with his face on them?” 

“Limited Edition Soldier Boy Dining Set, manufactured and sold by Vought International,” you grin, and miss Ben more. This is really becoming a problem, that you get this dopey just thinking about him. “I thought his jaw was going to break.” 

Annie and Hughie exchange a glance, and Annie says slowly, “What, what exactly is going on with you guys?” 

“What do you mean?” You know what she means. You’re just hoping you can get out of this conversation if she’s not willing to say it.

“You live together, you sleep in the same bed,” Annie watches you carefully, and it’s an active effort to hold her gaze. “You kiss-“ 

“Make out,” Hughie corrects. “I’ve never seen two people make out like you two do. And that’s how you make out in front of us.” 

“Well-“ 

“He’s right,” Annie cuts you off. “You make out. And do heart-eyes at each other all the time. But you’re,” she pauses, looking to Hughie for help. 

“Not fucking?” He offers nervously, and Annie nods, turning back to you. 

“You’re making out, but not fucking.” 

You glance between them. “Is that a question?”

“Kinda,” Hughie mumbles. “It’s just confusing to see, if you’re really not fucking.” 

“We’re not.” 

“Okay,” Annie sighs. “But you do get how that’s a lot more confusing, yeah?” 

You tap your fingers on the table, wondering if you do it loud enough Ben will hear and come save you from this conversation. “It’s complicated. We’re just, we’re not fucking.”

“And he’s,” Annie frowns. “He’s not-“ 

“No.” Your voice is a little harsher than it maybe needs to be. But it feels appropriate. Ben wouldn’t do that. “He’s not. I mean,” you bite the inside of your mouth, searching for the words. “I was surprised as well. I still don’t fully understand why he’s not trying to get me to do more. But, I don’t know. He’s not.” 

“I’m not,” Hughie says, so simply for how both you and Annie are looking at him. Like he’s grown a third head. “What?” 

“What are you talking about?” You frown. “You’re not what?” 

“Oh, uh,” Hughie blinks at you. “I’m not, I’m not surprised.”

“Surprised?” 

“It’s like,” Hughie looks at Annie, likely for aid, but her expression is just as befuddled as yours. “It just makes sense to me. I dunno.” 

“What makes sense to you?” You push, because you need to know what he means. What he’s trying to say, in case it’s what you think. 

“I mean, in all this fucked up shit,” Hughie stumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two seem to get each other. In a weird, kinda gross way. I think Soldier Boy would give you the moon if you asked for it.” 

Annie nods cautiously, and suddenly you’re the only one still lost in this conversation. “You’re right, I don’t think he would’ve agreed to that deal with Mallory if it was just like, physical.” 

“Deal with Mallory,” you say, looking between them in jerked, half-controlled movements. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“When we brought him to make the deal with Edgar,” Annie frowns. “And Mallory told him that-“ 

“You don’t know,” Hughie cuts Annie off, scanning over your frown and overly tight posture. “I don’t, I don’t think he told you.”

“Told me what.” Your voice is rising into panic. “What didn’t Ben tell me?”

“Um, I don’t know if it’s our place-“ 

“We agreed to stop pushing you into dangerous positions, like Tek Knight’s club.” Annie’s voice is blunt, but her face remains hesitant. “If he stayed in line.” 

Something cold is freezing your bones. Everything’s a little blurry. It’s a labor to speak. “Or?” 

“Um,” Hughie takes over for Annie, even as he looks at her reluctantly. “He’d go back to sleep? That part wasn’t our idea-“ 

You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you stare ahead into nothing. Everything is becoming sharp, your blood is rushing hot and wild through you, and you’re regaining control over your thoughts. And all of them are circling around the same thing. 

“I need to go,” you stand, pushing the chair back. “Thank you for lunch, and uh, good luck with your mom.” 

Annie calls your name after you, but you’re gone. There will be time for guilt later, and you’ll apologize for your abrupt departure. Right now it’s about the thought in your head, pushing up your throat so violently that you’re yelling it the moment your door slides open, before your even fully through it. 

“Why would you do that?!” You almost scream into the apartment, before you can even see him. “Benjamin, why the fuck would you do that?!” 

He sits up from the couch, just a handsome, stupid head frowning at you. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

You stalk over to him. “What fuck possessed you to do that? To fucking agree to that?!” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking abo-“ 

“Mallory!” You’re screaming now, and he’s standing up, glaring at you. You hold your line, you’ll continue to hold it until he explains. “Why the fuck would you agree to that?” 

Ben’s shouting your name, and if you weren’t so blinded by your anger you’d focus on the strain in his voice. “You need to stop speaking in fucking riddles! What the fucking hell has got you losing your damn mind?” 

“They’re going to put you back under!” You’re hugging into yourself, nails digging your skin. “If you step out of line Mallory and Butcher are going to put you back under!” 

“That was always fucking true-“

“No it wasn’t!” You think you might start to cry. You can’t pull rank. “That was never true! If you stepped out of line I would handle it! I would make the call! That was the whole fucking point! Why didn’t you fucking tell me-“ 

“What the fuck could you have done?!” Ben snaps, and you can see his fists clench as he marches around the couch to tower above you. “It wasn’t a fucking secret! And I wasn’t going to step out of their stupid goddamn line-“ 

“But why would you do that?” You scream, refusing to touch him, even to shove him. If you touch him you’ll crumble. “Why would you agree to let them threaten that just to keep me away from stupid fucking shit that doesn’t matter?” 

“It matters more than anything.” He growls. “Stop fucking saying that it doesn’t.” 

“No, it really doesn’t!” You feel so small. You’re caving in, shattering in a way that’s worse than when he didn’t care, when this was about trust and not about losing him. Ben being taken away from you. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to do that!”

“That’s real fucking easy for you to say, Sunshine!” Ben roars. “You don’t have to fucking watch you break. Again and again over the worst fucking plans in the world when those fucking pussies throw you to the goddamn wolves and in front of their shitty fucking trains! I have to! I’m the one that has to watch you be fucking afraid!” 

“But why would you do that,” you’re definitely crying now. But you keep screaming, even as your voice becomes raw. “I’m always fine-“ 

“Because it fucking kills me! You are fucking everything to me, and every time you break its the worst thing I’ve never fucking seen!” You don’t think your heart is beating anymore, not as his voice grows louder. “Because I can never just fucking fix it, and you always break. And I mean it more than you can possibly fucking imagine when I say that I will do whatever it fucking takes to keep you safe! I’d rather go back to Russia right fucking now than just stand aside like a fucking pussy and let you keep breaking!” 

Ben’s face contorts, and you think he’s only just realized what he’s said. What it means. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t walk away, and you won’t pull rank. 

“Do you think,” you hiss through tears, fear building and morphing into some sort of love-born fury. “That it wouldn’t fucking destroy me if you went back under? That I wouldn’t do fucking anything to get you back to me?”

“That’s not fucking the same.” 

You almost laugh. “It’s the exact same-“ 

“No, it’s not.” 

“I adore you, Benjamin!” you scream. “Every good, and bad, and ugly part of you, I fucking adore you.” His whole body stills, and you keep going. You say everything but the thing. “And I made a promise as well. I might not be going back to Homelander, but you aren’t going back under. You’re not burning without me right there, by your side. It is the exact fucking same, because you are fucking everything to me!” You take a deep breath, trying to bring yourself down as your words become pleading. “There are so many beautiful things in the world, but I’d destroy them all to keep you awake. To keep you here. So don’t say it’s not the exact fucking same.” 

You can feel him. You’re not touching him—you're still trying to cave into your own body—but as the last words hang in the air you can feel Ben. This is hunger, not thirst. This is something rioting around and clawing out of your chest, not the love that’s resting for him in your head. This is Ben, not you.

This is Ben and you. Together. He’s not leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re everything to him and he’s everything to you. 

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

You almost say it. You’re seconds from saying it. It’s going to fall out of you and the only way to stop it is Ben. And you lunge at him just a fraction of a second before it’s too late. 

He catches you. He always catches you. And when you slam your lips into his, he doesn’t hesitate. 

This is different. This kiss is different. You can’t distinguish Ben from you anymore. Touching him has completely razed whatever remainder of a line existed, and now it’s just us. It’s you and Ben inside your body, even if everything around you is Ben. Kissing you with his tongue and teeth, pulling your lip into his mouth, making deep sounds from his throat that make you grind against his muscled torso. Sounds spurred by your hands pushing him further into you by his jaw—his beard rough against your fingers—and pulling at his shirt until the only space between your bodies is two thin stretches of fabric. One of his arms was secured below your thighs, holding you up with a hand on your ass, squeezing and making you moan into his mouth. The other is holding you under your own arm with a hand on the back of your neck, fingers pulling light at your hair. Touching you with a reverence. Always with a reverence, a furious care that makes you feel safe. Always with an attentive fire and ardor running through your blood. Ben’s blood. Someone’s blood who you can taste on your teeth because you think you might have bitten his tongue slightly, but Ben didn’t pull back or flinch so now there’s a slightly metal flavor that mixes and fades with Ben. Salt and coffee and strawberries and Ben.

You need more.

Whatever he’ll give you. You’ll take it. You’ll take every single part of Ben he’s capable of offering and plant them in you, grow them and tend to them until he pulls them out so that the roots remain. You need him. You love him.

“Ben-“ 

“All the way?” His words roll through your body, down and into your core. 

You only whine into him, and suddenly he’s moving. Walking backwards, mouth never leaving yours. Holding you tight enough that you can’t continue to rub against him, looking for friction. You’re desperate for it, the sounds escaping you growing louder and louder as his steps offer you something, and then giving a needy, long moan when you manage to adjust just enough to bump against his cock. Still in his pants, hard and long. Then Ben spins, slamming you between his body and the wall, hoisting you up by his hold on your ass and thighs so your faces are level. At some point you’d begun to scrape at his back, and he chuckles as you start to grind against him once more.

Ben’s holding your face firmly, angling you for his mouth to devour yours, grinning against your lips. 

“What do you want, beautiful.” 

You run your nail back up between his shoulders, unable to break skin but trying to sink into him. “Please.“ 

“Please what,” even as he teases you, Ben’s never separating from you. You’re not sure how either of you are breathing, whether the lightheaded feeling is from Ben or just lack of oxygen. If it’s the way all your air is trading between your lungs and Ben’s, or the way he’s started to rut up into you. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you. But you have to use your words.” 

“Ben, just-” 

His head drops down to your neck, finding the one soft spot that makes you whimper and focusing all his efforts on it until your grip on his hair is tight, your sounds a string of pleas. Then he moves up, right to your ear. “Beg. Say my name and beg and I’ll give you the fucking world.”

“Ben,” You look down at him, and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for what you see. He’s staring at you, and every part of his face is alive. His lips are parted, and his eyes are almost black, and he’s relaxed. Full of lust and hunger but so completely at ease in every feature of his handsome face. “Please.” 

“Please what.” 

“Fuck me.” 

A low growl escapes him, and his cock twitches against your thigh, but he still doesn’t move. “Whole thing.” 

“Benjamin,” You grind back against him. “Fuck me now.” 

That snaps something in him. Ben’s mouth crashes back into yours, and he doesn’t even have to push before you’re opening for him. Nipping at his upper lip, letting him take whatever he asks for. Anything that keeps him doing this, dropping a hand down and back up through your shirt. Ben’s hand is dropping down and back up through your shirt. Squeezing your breast once, then—when you make a high sound—leaning away from your mouth and doing it again. Then once more, running his thumb over your nipple slowly, so focused you’d think he’s doing surgery. 

He looks back up at you, watching him, breathing heavily with a little bit of droll falling from your mouth. “You like that?”

You nod, head pushing back against the wall when he does it again. “Ben, you ass-“ 

“That’s not very fucking nice, Sunshine.” He leans forward, pushing you further into the wall and bringing his lips just over yours, moving back every time you try to bring him closer. “Manners.” 

“Fuck you,” the moan from your mouth is captured by his, sucking it down with another whine into him. “Ben-“ 

“You never begged,” he says your name against your mouth, moving against your breast once more. “Fucking beg.”

“Cunt-“ 

“I’ll get there.” He chuckles as you buck into his chest. “But you have to tell me that you want this.” 

Somewhere in the daze of Ben’s hands and his mouth and the power of him, your love for him somehow grows again. Becomes something purer and more sweet than it had been. 

Ben, I love you. “I want this,” you breathe. “I want you.” 

He grunts, and he twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before starting to run his hand slowly and lightly down your stomach.

“Ben, please-“ 

Your words become a strangled whine when Ben bites your lower lip gently at the same time his hand drops into your shorts. Palm pressing against the ache through your underwear. 

“Ben-“ He starts to rub in circles, fingers dancing lightly against your slit through the fabric. “Fuck-“ 

“You have too much clothes,” he mutters, and you moan. 

“Too many-“ He pulls his mouth away, and you bury your head into his shoulder. “Ben-“ 

“Fucking smartass,” you can hear the smile on his voice, feel the amusement running up his spine and colliding with whatever is bouncing around his ribs. “You want me to fuck you?” 

“Yes, you asshole-“ 

Ben kisses you again, and your protests turn into a long noise of want. He chews at your lip for a second before moving away once more. “I’m taking off your shorts. I can do it fast or careful. You don’t get both.” 

“Please-“ 

He presses his hips back with a groan, forcing you to stop grinding. “Words.” 

“Fast-“ 

The choice had barely left your mouth when Ben was ripping them off your body. Tossing them on the floor without a thought before looking back up at you. Raising his brows in a silent question as his hand rested between your thighs, over your underwear. 

“Yes,” your nods are frantic, bordering on pathetic. But he’s so close. “Ben, please.” 

He runs his hand over you once, still not just doing it. “So fucking wet, just through the damn fabric.” he smirks at you. “All for me, brat?” 

You whimper, trying to drop all of your weight into Ben’s hand as you clench around nothing. He knew what that word would do, there’s no way he didn’t. Not with his smug expression and the way he won’t let you bring his lips back to yours. “Cunt-“

“Answer my damn question,” he growls your name. “Or I’m not fucking you.”

It’s a bluff. You know it’s a bluff because you can feel how vast and insatiable his hunger is. You know it’s a bluff because, as good as a liar Ben is, he’s rock hard against you and keeps bucking up when you kiss his neck. You don’t call it though. You just meet his eyes and hiss, “It’s for you, Ben. Now are you going to fucking do something about it?”

You see Ben’s grin for only a second before his mouth is pushing your head against the wall with the force of his kiss. You feel him tear off your underwear in one, fluid movement, and the cold of the air has barely hit you before his hand is back. And everything is just Ben. 

He’s teasing you. The base of his palm is bumping against your clit, but never for more than a second. His fingers are running between you, over you but never in. You’re going to kill him. You’re going to wipe that smug and cocky grin you can feel against you off his perfect, handsome stupid face- 

“You think I can make you cum just like this?” Ben hums against your lips, pulling his head back just a fraction. “Without even properly fucking touching you?”

“Fuck you, Benjamin.“ 

“I know you want that,” he drawls your name, rolling his palm one firm time, and your hands start to scratch across his neck and shoulders. “But you need to tell me if you think I can make you cum on just my fucking fingers.” 

“Cunt.” 

“That’s what I’m asking. Do you think I can make your pretty cunt cum here, without even fucking you like you deserve?” 

“Like I-“ Ben pushes one finger in ever so slightly, and stills it completely. You take a long breath. “Fucking dick. Like I deserve?” 

His lips bruise against yours, and his palm fully presses against your clit. Rubbing once, twice, fingers still not moving. “Like the beautiful fucking brat you are. Until all your fancy words are just my name and you’re so fucked out you couldn’t even think to be worried about dumb fucking shit. Until you’re fucking stupid.” 

His finger sinks all the way in, and you press your forehead against his, arms fully wrapping around his neck. “Do that.” 

“Fucking words, Sunshine.” He growls, pulling out slowly, and you shake your head desperately against his. 

“Ben, please-“ 

His finger pushes back in, fast, and you don’t know if you moan or scream or whine because Ben is eating any sounds that leave your mouth. Moving his finger faster and faster until you’re trying to chase it when he pulls away, his deep groan rumbling through you when your thighs brush against his cock, still in his pants because life is unfair. 

“That’s more fucking like it,” he grunts, moving his head down in sloppy kisses to your neck. “Want some fucking more, beautiful?” 

“Fuck, yes-“ 

He latches onto your neck—sucking in a way that would leave a mark if either of you were capable of being marked—and just as the second finger pushes in his palm finds a pattern. A steady rhythm that turns whatever remaining sanity you had into just Ben. Ben, I love you. You impossible asshole, you’re everything in the fucking world. Ben. 

He’s not letting you over the edge. Every time you get close he slows just enough and rises back to your mouth. You might have been here for a lifetime, or just a millisecond, but it’s all just Ben. Hissing your name against your skin and making everything just good. This is so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why did you ever deny yourself Ben when he’s making everything so good like this. So warm and easy and so fucking good. 

“You're so fucking tight,” he hisses in your ear, and you try and tug him closer by your legs. Try and make his dick just brush against you. “Think you can do three?” 

You cannot do three. You think three might kill you in the best possible way. Ben’s huge, his hands are rough and broad like every other insufferable, amazing part of him, so three would make you explode. But he’s watching you with so much hunger, so much adoration as you pant and whimper his name, and he’s still not just fucking you, so three will have to be a suitable substitute until he stops toying with you. You nod, and he chuckles against your skin.

“What did we say about words-“ 

“Just fucking do it, Benjamin, now-“ 

You are going to die. This love for him is going to kill you, and the murder weapon will be the way he’s finding every single thing that makes you scream his name like he’s been studying for it. How his fingers get so deep in you and find that spongy, electric part every single time he plunges back in. Crooking against it for just long enough to make you moan before yanking his hands back down and pressing his palm against your clit until you're keening, before repeating in all again. You’re going to turn into just flames that sing the same song of Ben over and over.

“Want to fucking cum?” He mutters against your lips, and you whine again, high and needy and barely a breath. 

“Ben, yes-“ 

“Beg.”

“Asshole-“ you choke on your own words, because he’s going faster, it’s all going faster, and you can’t think of anything outside of Ben. Ben, I love you. 

“Fucking beg.” His words echo through your body, and you’re vaguely aware of smoke rising around you. But he’s not stopping, if anything there’s a vigor to him now. A brutal, rough pace that’s just one move away from making you find release. A move he won’t make until you ask for it. 

Dignity is overrated. Dignity is for people who don’t have Ben making them feel like the whole world is just him, touching them like he’s touching you and groaning their name like he’s growling yours. 

“Please, Ben, please.” You make yourself look at him fully, hungry and cocky and watching you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he’s so handsome and stupid and Ben and you love him- “Fucking please-“

Any sounds or screams or moans of Ben are captured in his mouth when he presses you so far back against the wall with a kiss you think you hear it crack. When he twists his fingers in you and his palm draws one long, heavy circle over your clit and everything is reborn inside you. It’s just Ben, Ben, fire and life and love and Ben. Your orgasm hits you like a train, your vision going white and your hands trying to pull Ben further against your body. He’s still in you, fingers resting inside you as you clench around him, palm rubbing slowly against you until you fall back to earth, back to him. 

You blink at him, mouth hanging open and all of your mind and body completely made of love and need for him. Everything is full of Ben. There’s a thick cloud of smoke through the room, but he’s so close it doesn’t matter. You can see him, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His whole face is made of—if you know anything about him, and you do—devotion. Ben pulls his fingers out of you slowly—never breaking his gaze from yours—leaving you empty and sensitive and trying not to just start grinding against where you can still feel him, somehow harder in his pants. Then his fingers rise into his mouth, and he sucks on the wetness still falling off of them, and any attempt at control is gone. His gaze is lidded as he tastes you, and you start trying to pull him down to you with scrambling movements against his neck. 

He doesn’t budge, only grinning at you as you whine again. “Fucking needy, beautiful.” He brings two fingers—the same ones that had just been in his mouth—to brush against your mouth. Pressing them lightly until your lips part. “Taste.” 

You let him push his thumb into you, and you become a woman on a mission. Sucking and licking at his fingers until you can feel him twitching against your thighs, going with a fervor until he’s groaning and pulling them away with a pop. When you lean forward to kiss him gently he lets you, taking every moan you give him with a squeeze of your skin under his hand and a trace of your cheekbones with his fingers. 

When he rests his head against your shoulder, you’re both breathing heavily and Ben’s words are hissed against your skin. 

“I’m going to fuck you for a whole year,” he grunts your name, rutting up against you. “And I’m going to make you fucking scream and beg for two.” 

You’ve never been more on board with a plan in your life. You’re going to tell him. You shouldn’t, not when it might make this go away, not when you just got this, but you want to. You want him to know that when he fucks you for a year the only thing you’ll be thinking is Ben. Ben, I love you. You want to be able to moan it into his mouth and against his skin and around his cock and scream it when he makes you cum, in a way that he can hear and know about.

Your mouth falls open, your hand moving to his face to pull him up to look at you, and the door to the apartment bangs open.

Ben’s faster than you, but in your defense most of your thoughts and instincts are being covered by the daze of your orgasm. He doesn’t drop you or turn you, but slides you down his chest and twists you around so your arms are wrapped on his torso, your feet back on the ground. When he whips around you realize he’s blocking your half-naked body from view, keeping you secure against him with a hand on your forearm. Stupid, handsome, perfect, safe fucking man. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben barks, and you lean around him to see Butcher in the doorway, smirking at the scene before him. 

“Well, Gov,” Butcher drawls. “I was coming to congratulate you on your awful fuckin plan working, let you know Edgar delivered, but now,” he winks at you. “I’m just chock full of other questions.” 

“How did you get in?” You ask with a frown. “Only I have a keycard.”

“Mallory unlocked all you cunts doors for me,” Butcher shrugs. “We got a meetin, I’ve been sent to collect you since you weren’t answering your fuckin phone.” 

You flush, because your phone is indeed long forgotten somewhere near the couch. “Can we have five, please?” 

“What, only five?” Butcher’s mocking smile turns to Ben. “You that fast, gov? Because I can give you ten if you wanna take care of your,” his eyes flick down. “Problem.” 

You can feel Ben’s anger, and tighten your grip around him until he looks at you. Don’t kill him, please. 

Why the fuck shouldn’t I. 

You give him a small smile. Murder is a crime. Also, it’ll ruin the mood. 

Whatever, Ben rolls his eyes, but you can see the tug of his lips, feel the amusement dart through him. 

“You two done?” Butcher snaps, and you both look back to him with frowns. “Care to have an out-loud conversation, share with the fuckin class?” 

“No.” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “Are we meeting in the cafeteria?” 

Butcher nods with a grunt, and you sigh. 

“Can you please leave so I can get dressed?” 

“I’m waitin outside, and if you two horny twats aren’t outside by then I’m coming back in.” 

“Fine. Go.” 

Butcher slams the door behind him, and you squeeze out from behind Ben to start to run upstairs and put on clothing that isn’t completely destroyed. You pause though, doubling back to Ben and pulling his face down for one last, long kiss. 

“We’ll fuck later,” you whisper against his lips, and he grunts. “Thank you.” 

You yelp as Ben picks you up, carrying you up the stairs in long, quick steps. “Stop fucking thanking me.” 

You smile at him, all teeth and joy because you fucking love him. “Make me.” 

“Brat,” he snorts, kissing you again as he lowers you onto the bed. “Keep it up and I won’t let you cum again.” 

“You don’t let me do anything.” 

“You’re real fucking sure of that,” he taunts, marching over to the dresser to toss you a new pair of underwear and sweats. “But you sure were goddamn begging me less than ten minutes ago.”

“Cunt,” you mumble, catching the clothes. You don’t have a good comeback, because your brain is still a little addled, and you can see that Ben’s still hard, and nothing about his deep voice and word is making you less horny. 

“You love it.” He stops above you again, watching with heavy eyes as you pull the clothing on.

I do. I love you, dumbass. “Shut the fuck up.” 

Ben laughs, pulling you up the moment you’re dressed. “Later. Later we can shut each other up as hard as fucking possible.” 

“Deal,” you whisper, because he’s holding you so lightly and close to his body and it’s not helping. “Ben?” 

He raises his brows at you, a small frown on his face. You think he can hear the nerves in your voice. “What.” 

“Edgar-“

“We’ll make it work.” He says firmly. “Whatever it is, whatever stupid shit Mallory and Butcher are planning, we’ll make it fucking work for us.” 

“You promised-“ 

“And that won’t fucking matter, because we’ll make it work.” 

“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, tangling his fingers between yours. You feel him everywhere now, all the time—the clenching in his chest and around this throat and the sour taste of it—and that might be something to worry about later. But for now you just want to touch him. “Please. Just say you promise.” 

He sighs, jaw ticking, but nods. “I swore it. I meant it. But that doesn’t fucking mean-“ 

You kiss him, and every part of his body falls into yours as the grip against your hands loosens. When you pull away, smiling at him, he’s looking at you with that same devotion. “Thank you.” 

Ben grunts, slinging his arm around you as you walk back downstairs. Kissing the top of your head once, and this is right. This is you and Ben and it’s right. It’s everything, and he’s yours. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything and now, for whatever amount of time he’ll give you, you’re his.

—————

Ben had learned there was a hierarchy in the promises he made Her. There weren’t many—neither of them threw around those words with ease or carelessness—but his promises of staying here and no more lies were secondary to keeping her away from Homelander. There was nothing as fucking important in the world, and that meant that Ben would let Her do what she needed to do—like he’d promised—but not if it meant she went back to Homelander. He’d have done anything to keep Her safe before, he’d have gone back under if it meant she’d be free, and now Ben was fucking certain he’d goddamn die before he lost Her like that. If he had any fucking say in anything at all, nothing was ever going to break Her again. If she tried to throw herself in front of him to take whatever bullets Homelander or Mallory were aiming at them, Ben would be faster. He’d move to let them hit him first. 

He’d let Butcher hit him with a goddamn bomb to keep Her safe. Because She was fucking perfect, and Ben wasn’t going to allow anything to hurt her again. She was leaning into him as they walked to the dining hall, and Ben might have to take a detour to the bathroom to get himself under fucking control if She kept tugging and tapping at his hand around her shoulder. Her hair was still messy, and her lips were still a little red, and Ben could still fucking taste her, lingering in his mouth. And that was his shirt. She was wearing his fucking shirt, and holding his hand that had just been inside her, and chewing the inside of her mouth that had just been screaming his name. The Thing didn’t need to tell Ben She was perfect. He had fucking eyes, and a fucking brain. And a very hard dick that was becoming slightly painful, straining against his pants for Her. For Her beautiful face and the perfect sounds she’d made when she came. On his hand.

Ben didn’t have to hold himself back anymore. He didn’t have to keep waiting until She was keening against him and moaning his name before ripping himself away from her. Before he came in his jeans from just the feel and taste of Her mouth like a fucking teenager. He could fuck Her, she’d let him fuck her, and he was going to. Ben was going to fuck Her so hard and good that she might stay with him and keep looking at him forever. He was going to make Her cum until she said Ben, I adore you again. Until She told him she wanted him again.

That had made the Thing roar inside of him. Her perfect, breathless, needy voice telling him she wanted him. Nothing could take that away from him now. She fucking wanted him. People had wanted him before. Countless forgotten pretty faces had wanted Ben. But none of them had been perfect. And none of them had said it like She had. They had wanted the power of him, they had wanted Ben to fuck them and give them more than he cared to. All those pretty faces had wanted to be the one’s on billboards and red carpets with him, to fuck Soldier Boy and be a good enough fuck that he decided to keep them. When She said he wanted him, it wasn’t just to fuck her. There had been something that made the Thing climb into Ben’s brain and consume him in Her voice. 

She wanted him. She wanted every part of him. She had every part of him, She’d had it for what felt like a lifetime, and he’d never have taken it away from her. When She one day left Ben, she’d take every part of him that was worth a fucking thing with Her. And no one else would ever get to have him, not like She did. Not like he was going to give Her. Ben was going to fucking worship every perfect part of Her, until he could maybe ask her to stay with him and there was a single goddamn chance She might say yes. 

Every member of the Pussy Brigade looked up when they entered the Dining Hall. Butcher had marched in brisk, pissy fucking steps ahead of Her and Ben, and apparently hadn’t been just bitching when he’d grumbled that everyone was just waiting on them. 

“Is everything okay?” Starlight was watching Her, under Ben’s arm, nervously. “You weren’t answering your phone-“ 

“The cunts were fucking,” Butcher snapped, stopping next to Mallory at the head of the table. “In the middle of the goddamn room.” 

Ben bit his tongue, because She has to handle this. He needed to hear what She told her pussy fucking team, so he could figure out what she wanted from him. 

“It’s our apartment, you ass,” She glared at Butcher. “It’s not like we were in the hallway.” 

“So you admit you were fucking, Love?” 

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Some dickwad fucking cunt interrupted us.” 

“But,” Cocksucker looked between them nervously, not fully meeting Ben’s eyes. “You were going to fuck?” 

She sighed. “This really doesn’t feel like an important conversation to have right now.” 

“It’s not,” MM grunted. “I’m already gonna to need to wash out my fucking ears. Any more and I’m going to have to cut them off.” 

Ben disagreed. He thought they all needed to fucking know, that this was the only conversation worth having right now. Ever. She wanted him, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. But She shot him a small look, important meeting, don’t be a fucking idiot, Pretty Boy. And Ben let Her pull him onto the bench. 

Later, he’d fuck Her until she screamed so loud everyone could hear it, hear his name and Her moans falling out of her perfect mouth. 

“Can we get started?” Mallory stood—arms crossed with a thin scowl—at the head of the table. “Or do you need another ten minutes to discuss your sex lives?” 

“Jesus, no.” MM snapped. “Just fuckin talk, Grace.” 

“Stan Edgar sent files over to me last night, and we’ve just finished clearing them for use,” Mallory launched into her explanation with the most monotone, boring voice Ben had ever fucking heard. “Butcher and I have been working on a plan-“ 

“What are the files?” Starlight asked, raising her hand like a damn child. “Will they work?” 

“They’ll work a fuckin charm,” Butcher winked. “They’re everything we could’ve bloody asked for, times two. Keep goin, Grace.” 

Ben felt Her relax slightly against him, along with Butcher’s eyes on them both. Cold, tense, but not mocking. For once in his goddamn life, the pussy seemed to have some sort of mind to not be an instigating piece of shit, and he was better for it. Ben would’ve thrown a stray plastic fork into Butcher’s eyes and ripped off his dick if the asshole had said even a single fucking detail of Edgar’s files. A single detail about Her. 

“Thanks to Marvin,” Grace gave MM a small nod. “A-Train has agreed to clear a path for us into Vought tower. We’ll ensure Homelander is away, dealing with something else, and retrieve Ryan Butcher.”

Ben could hear the tapping begin, and covered Her hand with his. 

She looked up at him with a frown, What’s wrong? 

This is going to fucking work. Ben held Her gaze. You’re going to be fine. 

She smiled at him, and every time she did it like that—gentle and comfortable—the Thing doubled in size. I know. 

“How are you going to get Homelander away?” Cocksucker asked with an anxious frown. “I mean, this might not be quick and if he arrives back at the tower-“ 

“Frenchie,” Butcher nodded at the French Prick. “Will be causing a diversion.” 

“By diversion,” Starlight said slowly. “You mean-“ 

“A massive, glorious fucking explosion.” The French Prick grinned. “It will be impossible for the Homelander to ignore.” 

“No.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Her lean forward across the table, shaking her head. Why the hell was she talking. Why could Ben hear her damn thinking. What the fuck was she planning- 

“No?” Mallory asked, looking at her with slight curiosity. Saying Her last name in clipped words. “Please elaborate.” 

“He’s on alert, right?” She looked around the table. “After Neuman, he won’t just fall for something like that. Especially not with Sage whispering actual coherent thoughts in his ear.” 

“Maybe,” Mallory nodded, still looking at Her. Ben needed Mallory to stop looking at her like that. Like she was a fucking toy. “But it’s our best bet, and we’ve already lost too much time to waiting for Edgar.” 

“I have an idea-“ 

“No,” Ben cut Her off with a grunt. He knew what type of ideas She always had. Mallory and Butcher always knew what type of ideas she had. Genius, stupid fucking ideas that always worked—so everyone went along with them—and always put her in the line of fire. 

“No?” She glared at him. “What do you mean no?” 

“You lost your idea privileges a while ago, Sunshine.” Ben snapped. “So no.” 

“Oh, fuck you Benjamin.” She kicked him under the table and looked back at Mallory. “Ignore him. I have an idea.” 

Ben gave Mallory his most menacing, violent scowl that the woman knew signaled he wanted to kill someone. But she ignored him, giving Her a nod. “Go on.” 

“He’s looking for me. Let’s show him what he wants.” She took a deep breath, and every fiber of Ben, from the Thing to his brain, was telling him to shut Her up now. Before she said what he knew she was going to. “Let’s show him me.” 

The room was silent, and blood was roaring in Ben’s ears. He glared around at the Pussy Brigade daring any one of them to speak. 

MM was the idiot who volunteered for Ben to kill him first. 

“The hell you mean show him you,” MM said Her name slowly, and the fact that he didn’t seem to be agreeing to it was the only thing that kept Ben rigid in his seat. 

“Bait,” She answered, quiet and soft and Ben was going to kill someone- “Offer him me. Draw him out to a fight to get me. He’ll go, and he’ll leave Ryan behind. He didn’t want Ryan to meet me until I was-“ She made a small choking sound, and that was it. 

“No.” Ben said firmly, daring anyone to fucking disagree with him. “There’s not a chance in fucking hell you’re doing that.” 

“You’d go with me,” She looked at him with wide, sharp, desperate eyes. “Please, Ben. It would work.” 

“Doesn’t fucking matter if it would work. They,” Ben jabbed a finger at Butcher and Mallory. “Swore you weren’t doing stupid fucking dangerous shit anymore.” 

“We did promise him that,” Starlight says Her name gently. “Promised you. That’s, doing that’s too far. Too risky.” 

“It would work,” She was pleading, and if Ben didn’t know better he’d think she fucking wanted to die. “You wouldn’t be giving me to him. We’d escape. We’d go in public, Homelander would see it, we’d keep him there until Ryan was out, and then we would escape.” 

“How?” MM frowned at Her. “The motherfuckers got X-ray vision and super speed. He won’t just lose you in a crowd.” 

“He won’t lose us. We’ll,” She paused, fingers tapping under Ben's hands. “We’ll call him. We won’t go in public, for a fight, that was dumb. We’ll call him, tell him I want to meet him, play right into his fantasy. Annie and Hughie will come with us, because he can’t kill either of them without ruining the narrative. We’ll keep him there until Ryan’s out, then Frenchie will do the explosion. We’ll play it off as a mistake, bad timing, and he’ll go to investigate. By the time he realizes what’s happened, we’ll be gone."

“That’s still a dumb fucking plan,” Ben growled Her name. “What if he doesn’t go. What if he tries to fucking take you.” 

She looked at him, Her beautiful face so sad and determined. “He won’t.” I won’t let him. You won’t let him. 

“It’s a good idea,” Mallory mused. “Where would you meet him?” 

“Old Starlight Fund,” She turned back to the group. “Ben will call him. He’ll take a call from Ben. And then I’ll take the phone and tell him I convinced you to let me see him.” She looked fucking sick—her heartbeat panicked in her chest—and it made the Thing twist inside of Ben. Made Ben sick. “But that you won’t let me meet with him without you there.” 

“The Starlight Fund was where they wanted that first meeting,” MM said to Mallory. “And it’s right fuckin across from the tower. He won’t think we’re trying anything in his backyard.” 

“We’ll vote-“ 

“No!” Ben almost roared. “You fucking pussies goddamn swore-“ 

“Ben,” Her voice was gentle, too fucking gentle. To perfect and kind for this goddamn fucking bullshit, for how fast her heart was inside her. Trust me. Her face pleaded. Just please trust me. 

This is fucking insane, Ben glared at Her. Even for you, this is a fucking stupid, insane plan. 

You promised. She flipped her hand under his, folding her finger between his. You promised me you’d let me do what I needed to. 

You don’t fucking need to do this. 

Yes, She gave him a small smile. I do, Ben. You know that. Please. 

Ben cursed himself in every vulgar, lewd and angry way he knew. “Fine.” He grunted aloud. “But if anything,��� he hissed around the table. “Goes fucking south-“ 

“It won’t, Gov.” Butcher winked at him, but there wasn’t anything crude or sneering in his voice. “We’ll get you both home in time for a nice fuckin dinner and dessert.” 

Mallory sighed. “Ready to vote?” After several nods from around the table, she continued. “All in favor?” 

Her hand shot up just as fast as Butcher’s, Kimiko’s close behind them and the French Prick’s right after. For one long second, Ben watched MM frown at Her. Studying Her, before looking at Ben and narrowing his eyes. He looked back at her—hand high in the air and feature determined—and MM’s hand went up. Five fucking idiots in favor. 

“All against?” 

Ben raised his hand, and She glared at him. Benjamin-

I won’t fucking stop you, Ben glared right back. But I’m not in any form of goddamn favor for this shit. 

She sighed, and Ben glanced around the table to see Cocksucker and Starlight both raising their hands with him. Three people who seemed to give a single shit about Her. 

Too fucking little to stop this. 

“Alright,” Mallory nodded. “We’ll move tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Hughie blinked. “Don’t you, uh, need to plan-“ 

“We wasted too much fuckin time, Lad.” Butcher shrugged. “A-Train’s ready, we move tomorrow.” 

“Are we fucking done here?” Ben grunted, and barely saw Mallory’s nod before he was standing, hauling Her up with him, and marching out of the door. He heard her call some goodbyes—running after him with Her heartbeat unsteady—and pulling Ben’s arm until he slowed down. 

“Are you mad at me?” She whispered, and he shook his head. He wasn’t, he was furious with himself. For being a weak fucking pussy who was allowing this to happen. 

Nothing’s going to hurt Her, he reminded himself, reminded the Thing to try stopping it from tearing his tissues and guts apart. No fucking thing is allowed to hurt Her. I’ll be there. If it comes to it, I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to keep Homelander away from Her. Even if she hates me for it. 

“Then can you look at me?” She pleaded, and Ben couldn’t help himself. He glared down at Her, and felt a twist in his stomach at the desperation in Her eyes. “I’m sorry-“ 

“Don’t,” he snapped. The only thing worse than Her being sad and weak and broken was Her apologizing. Thinking she was a problem for him, and not the most perfect thing in the fucking world. “I’m not fucking mad, Sunshine. I’m just-“ He ground his teeth, pushing the words out between them. “I fucking hate this.” 

“I know you do,” She took a small step forward. “But it’ll be fine. I promise.” 

It would be fine. Because Ben wasn’t going to allow it not to be. So he just picked Her up into his arms—if She kept moving so hesitantly and tentatively around him he’d fucking explode—and carried her down the hall. She didn’t push against him or protest, only wrapped Her arms around his neck as Her heartbeat slowed. 

“Ben?” She asked, voice muffled by where she’d pressed into his shoulder, her warm breath fanning against his skin. 

“What.” He glanced down at Her—perfect face turning up to him—and the Thing clenched inside him at her nervous expression. “Are you-“ 

“I’m okay,” She shook her head slightly and Ben grunted, unable to hide his stupid relief. “I, um,” She swallowed. “Do you-“ 

“Spit it out,” he muttered, hunching slightly so She could scan the badge. She’d needed that—needed not lose Herself in a spiral of her too quick head—because she nodded, fingers scratching light against the nape Ben’s neck. She took a deep breath, and Ben turned to push the door with his back. 

“Do you still want me?” 

She was the smartest fucking person Ben had ever met. She was a goddamn genius, it was insufferable and impossibly fucking hot how smart she was. How clever she was, how well she understood other people. Which is why Ben snorted aloud, because for the brilliant woman she was that was such a stupid fucking question. 

“Ben-“ 

“Of course I still fucking want you,” Ben scoffed, walking up the stairs. “You have no fucking idea how much I want you. I’ve wanted you through a lot of your stupid plans, another one isn’t going to make me stop fucking wanting you.” 

Nothing could make me stop wanting you, Ben’s head hummed in time with the Thing. If I ever stop wanting you, it’s because I’m fucking dead. 

“Oh,” She mumbled, and Ben wished She would just look at him so he could figure out what she was thinking. “Good. Is that why-“ 

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben drawled Her name as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Ben glanced down to find the saddest look he’d ever witnessed on Her face. If the Thing wasn’t fucking whining at the sight of it, he might have been smug about her looking so morose at the idea of not fucking him. “That’s fine.” 

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben grabbed her chin, gently with a firm hand. To make Her look at him. “Because I want to take time when I fuck you. I want to make you scream and make it hurt when you sit down. And you need to be able to walk with full damn mobility tomorrow. So later. When I can keep you in bed for a decade without anyone fucking interrupting.” 

Her heart sped up, and Ben smirked at her. “You started with a week,” She told him, even as she leaned into his hand. “Then it became a year. Now a decade?”

Ben winked. “If you want a century, just fucking ask, beautiful.” 

“Cunt.” 

“Brat.” 

She looked over him, eyes resting where Ben knew she could feel his dick straining against his pants. “What about hand stuff?” 

Ben snorted. “I’ll allow it."

“Oh, well if his majesty allows it-“ 

Her words turned in a yelp as Ben tossed Her onto the bed, grinning down at Her. How fucking perfect she was, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes that were so soft. For him. Right now, every part of Her was for Ben. 

He started to lean down, planning to move across the bed until he over Her. Test what different sounds She would make in a bed instead of against a wall. But She sat up before he could, crawling across the blankets with her perfect fucking ass in the air. Drawing up on Her knees when she reached Ben at the foot of the bed, smiling at him with all such an ease and adoration. She adored him. 

Ben grabbed Her face between his hands, her back straightening as she grabbed at his shirt. Yanking him closer. Ben attacked her mouth, revering in the way it fit so well against his, the way she tasted like honey and chocolate and Her. That taste of Her he’d gotten early, that wasn’t sweet but strong. The best thing he’d ever had on his tongue, a little weaker in her mouth but still there. The proper fucking taste of pussy. Of Her. Ben didn’t think he could live without it now that he’d had it. 

But there would be time to deal with that later. Right now everything was Her. The way she moaned into his mouth, and one of her hands tracing down Ben’s chest to palm him through his pants. 

He pulled back with a grunt of Her name. “You don’t-“ 

“I want to,” She chased his mouth, but paused. Look up at him with some sort of apprehension that made the Thing itch. “But if you don’t-“ 

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Ben snapped. And he was going to add something about this not being about him right now. Something saying how this was about Her, about making her understand how perfect she was and making her scream his name again. But She nodded with a hum, and squeezed Ben through his pants and suddenly that really didn’t fucking seem worth saying anymore. He’d say it later. If She wanted this—wanted him like this—he couldn’t deny her. Ben wouldn’t be able to deny Her his whole fucking brain or heart or lungs if she asked for them. And what type of fucking pussy would he be to deny the most perfect woman in the world his cock. 

“Off, please.” She nodded to his pants, and Ben almost chuckled because she could’ve called him every vulgar name under the sun and he still would’ve taken his pants off. A please was in no way damn necessary.

“Fine,” he pulled down his pants, watching Her carefully as his boxers followed. “But after this, beautiful, it’s my fucking turn.” 

She swallowed, staring at Ben’s dick—now fully exposed—and Ben had never felt so smug in his fucking life. A lot of women had been impressed by him, but none had looked at him like that. Like they needed to touch him. Ben had never needed to touch them. Not like he was pretty sure he’d have died somewhere in the next few seconds if She hadn’t looked back up at him—with parted lips and a flushed face that Ben needed to burn into his eyes so he’d never stop seeing them—and kissed him so eagerly that he groaned. 

Then She started touching him, and Ben realized he had been right. As he tangled his hands in her hair and started buck into her hand—trying to keep his mouth on hers so she would catch every sound she was causing him to make like he’d eaten hers—Ben knew this would kill him. She would kill him, because nobody should be allowed to so fucking perfect in every possible way. Nobody should be capable making him feel like this with just their hand, just by stroking him and somehow finding such a painfully good fucking pace. Nobody should be allowed to read him well enough that they adjusted for every rut of Ben into their hand, to make him feel like he was high. But She could, because she was perfect, and was trying to kill him. She had to be, or she wouldn’t be pulling back to look at Ben like she was, with something so deep and impossibly caring in her eyes as she pulled him apart. He was supposed to look at Her like that. She was the one supposed to be wrecked. Ben didn’t get wrecked. 

But it’s not like She liked listening to him. Or allowing him to just follow the rules he’d set for himself decades ago. Every single thing Ben had known and understood she’d destroyed, then rebuilt, just by smiling at him and never wavering. Like she was now.

So Ben buried his face in Her neck—finding the spot that he knew would make Her feel half of what he felt—and started to fuck her hand. Faster, faster until she moaned, and he grinned against her. 

“When you’re done,” Ben started to kiss up Her neck until he was growling in her ears. “I’m going to make you scream. Got it?” 

She nodded, and the small sound she made just made Ben go faster. 

“You’re so fucking good,” he kept talking, because Ben hadn’t missed that every time Ben spoke She’d fall a little further into him, her free hand tugging at his hair. “Your hand’s fucking made for this, beautiful.” 

“Ben-“ 

He grinned. There it was. If anyone tried to say his name again—in a way that wasn’t breathless and passionate and falling from their mouth—he’d rip their tongue out. “So fucking perfect.” He pulled Her closer, one hand cupping the back of Her head and the other kneading at the soft skin of her stomach, arm fully around her waist. She squeezed him just fucking right, and Ben hissed against her skin. “Fucking perfect. Too fucking good at this, too fucking beautiful, too fucking-“ 

She turned Her head, moving Ben to her lips, just as she moaned down his throat and made one, long movement—nails running lightly against his balls with another squeeze—that did it. Ben groaned Her name into her wide, perfect mouth, swearing as he jerked forward. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull back, just stayed exactly where Ben needed her until the bare parts of her legs were covered in cum. Ben’s cum. On Her. 

Ben kissed Her roughly, waiting right up until she whined to pull his mouth away slowly. Panting slightly, he kissed the top of Her head and waited for her to look up at him. 

“My turn.” 

He didn’t wait for Her to speak before leaning over her, moving her down until she was flat on the bed below him. Letting her grind against his chest and wrap her legs around him, moan his name and claw at his hair and back, for just long enough to build Her up and up. Ben moved his hands down from her face to her thighs, squeezing once. 

“Please,” she whimpered into his mouth, and the only sound better than that was what followed it. “Ben.” 

He gave Her one last, wet kiss, and dropped down to the edge of bed, kneeling on the floor and using his hold on her thighs to pull Her forward. As Ben hooked her legs over his shoulders—tossing her underwear and shorts away into some corner of the room—he saw Her sitting up on her elbows, frowning down at him. 

“We said hand stuff, Benjamin.“ 

He raised his brows at Her. “Do you want me to stop?” 

”No, but you’re cheating-“ 

Ben didn’t give her an opportunity to keep talking. He’d have a long time—if he was lucky—to listen to Her talk about whatever she fucking wanted. Right now he needed to make her scream. 

It was almost immediate. Ben dove forward, sucking on Her clit one long time, and she whined, high and loud. 

“Fuck, Ben-“ 

That was good. He liked that. Ben liked everything about Her, but that—the sound of Her feeling good with his name—was one of the fucking best things he’d ever known. 

She needed to do it again. He needed to find every way she could do it. This was his fucking job now. Everything else could fucking wait until she came all over Ben’s face, until she felt so good she’d never be in danger of breaking again. 

So Ben set to work. Sucking and licking and goddamn eating Her alive. Tracing rough patterns with his hands against her thighs and ass, bracing an arm over her hips to keep her still. To allow Ben to fuck her with his tongue until the taste of Her, that real, powerful taste was drowning him as she screamed his name. He’d die for this. She wouldn’t have to kill him because he’d give everything to keep Her like this forever. To keep her blissfully whining and moaning, to make her never have to feel fear again because she was too busy being tended to under him. For there to be even the slimmest fucking chance that She’d want him to do this forever. Want him forever. 

For now, though, Ben would settle for this. He’d settle for him being the one who made Her squirm in this moment. Ben got to see this, Ben got to cause this. Right now She adored him, right now she wanted Ben. Nothing else. Just Ben. 

So he’d give Her everything he had. 

He focused fully on Her clit, puffed and red, and dedicated himself to it. Pulled it into his mouth until her screams turned to breathless begs and sounds that might be Ben’s name—tangled with other noises he didn’t understand—and then let his teeth brush it, groaning against Her at the same time. She managed to scream one last time—hoarse and deafening and the most amazing sound in the fucking world—as She came. Squeezing around his tongue as Ben lowered to taste it all, as she pushed up into his face to give him it all. Back arched off the bed and thighs trapping Ben against Her as if he was so much of a fucking pussy idiot he’d even damn think to try and leave.

When She was done—shaking and breathing heavily as she relaxed fully around him—Ben rose up, wiping the remaining wetness clinging to his beard with one hand. Watching Her, pulled apart and reaching for him, just him. So thoroughly wrecked at his efforts, heart hamming against her chest. So fucking beautiful. 

Ben started to walk to the bathroom—quickly pulling his pants back on—but She made a needy sound for her throat that made him pause. 

“Are you-“ 

“Where are you going?” She whispered, and Ben felt the Thing rip inside of him. Torn between making Her smile and taking care of her. 

“Getting a towel.” He grunted, still rooted in place. “Need to clean you up.” 

“No,” Her voice was hoarse, and she was starting to sit up. “I’m fine, just stay-“ 

That won the war inside of him. Ben crossed back to Her in two long steps. Dropping next to her on the bed and rolling her onto his chest. Lying with her until her heart slowed, her breaths became easy against him. 

“Ben?” She whispered into the air, the room having fallen dark at some point. Ben hadn’t noticed really, unable to be fucked to pay attention to anything but Her, against him. Safe and happy and warm. 

He hummed Her name, and waited for her to continue. 

“When it’s over, I’ll go with you.” 

Time stopped. Everything stopped. Nothing fucking mattered except Ben knowing exactly what She fucking meant. If it was what he thought—fucking hoped—she meant. “With me?” 

“Wherever they send you off to, when this is done. I’ll go with you.” 

Ben nodded slowly at nothing, trying to act like he was unaffected. Like the Thing wasn’t bellowing and scraping at his ribs and brain, trying to tell him something really important, make Ben tell Her something important, but he couldn’t figure out what it was- 

“If you, um, if you still want that.” 

He blinked, glaring down at Her in the dark. “Did I ever fucking tell you I didn’t?” 

“No, but you haven’t said anything-“ 

“You’re coming with me,” Ben said, firmly. She wasn’t allowed to think anything else, not if She wanted this. Wanted him. “Nothing in the world will goddamn stop me taking you with me, not if that’s what you’re choosing.” 

“I chose that,” Ben could feel Her smile against the base of his neck. “I chose you.” 

The Thing needed something. Something earth-shaking and impossibly fucking vital for Ben to know if he was going to keep living. Something She had to know or Ben might explode. 

“I’ll let you fuck me on the beach,” She hummed, and Ben just decided to ignore the Thing. She was more important. “And in the ocean and in a bed and wherever else you want.” 

“Wherever I want?” Ben chuckled into the dark. “Dangerous fucking promises, beautiful.” 

She yawned, and Ben kissed Her head as her voice turned sleepy. “That’s the point, Pretty Boy.” 

As She pulled herself further into him—breathing turning slow and body relaxing further under Ben’s hands—Ben said Her name softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“If this doesn’t work,” Ben said slowly. “I want to fucking leave anyway. If we don’t get the kid, me and you are gone, Sunshine. We’ll go wherever you want, and we’ll go together. Somewhere with a beach for me to fuck you on, or somewhere in the mountains so you can scream even louder. But we’ll be gone.” 

She sighed, but didn’t protest. Ben had expected Her to push back—tell him they had a job and responsibility and had to finish this—and even as he’d thought the words he’d known she’d tell him no, but she didn’t. 

“I’ll think about it,” She said after a long, silent minute, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was Her or the haze of the sleep overtook her only seconds later. He didn’t know if she’d even remember him asking, or was just too tired to try and convince him that they couldn’t just leave. 

But Ben decided to believe Her. To allow himself to think that she’d really consider it. Either way she’d go with him. No matter what, she’d stay with him. That was all that fucking matters. 

It was the steady beat of Her heart, paired with the lingering taste of her and sound of Her wanting him, that allowed Ben to sleep soundly through the night.

End Note: I’ve made the unprecedented and totally out of left field executive decision to make Ben a top. Crazy. I’m sure this is really shocking news, but we’ll get through this like we always do. Together and horny.

Leave a comment, if you want! Any and all thoughts, feedback, jokes, and predications are always welcome, and will make my day. Also I'm thinking of giving you guys a playlist? Idk lemme know if that's something you'd want. Thank you so much for reading, and see you soon <3!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Amidst the dawn of creation, when deities strode the earth as equals among mortals, humanity thrived in serene unity, untouched by the grasping tendrils of greed that would later mar the landscape. Stirred by the inherent goodness of their subjects, the divine council elected to endow them with a peerless boon: a guardian, a celestial warrior sculpted by the ethereal hands of the gods, ordained to safeguard the vulnerable and uphold equity amongst all.

Yet, the idyllic tranquility swiftly dissolved into a harrowing nightmare. With no need for celestial intervention, humanity succumbed to the seductive allure of avarice and pride, exploiting the guardian-warrior as an inexhaustible wellspring for their desires. Gold, jewels, fineries—all were but a whispered command away, conjured effortlessly by his boundless power.

Thus dawned the era of enslavement, a grim testament to humanity's descent into moral decay, as the defenseless fell beneath the yoke of callous overlords devoid of empathy. As calamity flourished and the divine pantheon grieved the degradation of their once-beloved charges, a decree resounded through the hallowed halls of eternity: the token of gratitude and trust bestowed upon mortals would be reclaimed and returned to its celestial sanctum.

Yet, the gods failed to anticipate a pivotal revelation: the guardian-warrior, born of their divine essence and combined prowess, surpassed even his creators in strength. Fearing his uprising following their futile attempts at annihilation, they decreed the most severe of punishments: eternal imprisonment.

Unaware of the extent of his own power, the warrior endured a punishing ordeal, encased within a sarcophagus of obsidian and unyielding stone, assailed by the venomous embrace of serpents and scorpions, his form suffused with chilled mercury—a spectral warden, condemned to an eternity of solitary confinement.

A formidable curse, imbued with the arcane power of millennia past, was woven into the fabric of his sarcophagus, its hieroglyphs serving as a dire warning to any who dared disturb the seal imprisoning the warrior, lest they unleash unfathomable chaos upon the world once more. However, amidst the shadows of time, an ancient prophecy, shrouded in the enigma of celestial movements and cosmic whispers, stood poised to redefine the very tapestry of humanity's fate.

In the heart of an unprecedented archaeological endeavor, an intrepid explorer embarks upon a quest of unparalleled magnitude, driven by the tantalizing allure of uncovering secrets buried deep within the sands of antiquity. Yet, intertwined with her journey lies a prophecy etched into the annals of time itself—a prophecy veiled in mystery, its origins lost in the mists of history, foretelling a cataclysmic confrontation between forces ancient and divine.

As the threads of destiny unfurl, two diametrically opposed forces emerge from the annals of legend: one heralding the dawn of salvation, the other portending an abyssal descent into darkness. Amidst this cosmic conflict, the archaeologist finds herself cast as a pivotal figure, entwined in the struggle between light and shadow, tasked with deciphering the enigmatic prophecies that hold the key to humanity's ultimate fate.

In this crucible of uncertainty, where the past converges with the present and the future hangs in the balance, the question lingers like a specter haunting the recesses of the mind: Can the immutable laws of destiny be defied, or does the intrepid explorer possess the audacity to chart a new course for humanity, rewriting the very fabric of existence itself?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, violence, torture, Eddie has a demi-god name, etc. More will be added later.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: It's been a while since I had this idea and after my hiatus I finally had time to write, I hope you like this baby of mine just as I already have a huge affection for this story. Thank you for your support, I'll be back soon!! TAGLIST IS OPEN.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

If you like my works, support me with a small 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢!!

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲: Sutenankh, once revered for valor, finds himself ensnared in the ethereal confines of divine justice. As he awaits his fate within the celestial sanctum of Horus, his heart heavy with remorse, the gods decree eternal imprisonment. Meanwhile, a clandestine pact between Anubis and Horus births a prophecy of hope for a future liberator. Betrayal, anguish, and the weight of celestial retribution collide in a tale where virtue and destiny intertwine.

𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧: Ramses Thothmes, a wealthy Egyptian magnate, extends an invitation for a new excavation, promising untold secrets hidden beneath the desert's surface. As you convene with Thothmes to discuss the venture, a new figure emerges from the shadows – the enigmatic Colonel Duncan Smith.

Under Smith's watchful eye, the expedition sets forth into uncharted territory, where ancient ruins conceal dark secrets and lethal perils.

[we-c0uld-be-kings]

Our Story Begins

Name: Nalanthar Arabana (He/Him/They/Them)

Race: Half-Elf

Class: Bard (Court Bard)

Level: 2

-

Name: Suni (She/Her)

Race: Tiefling

Class: Wizard (Pact Wizard)

Level: 2

-

Name: Veldris Vomod (He/Him)

Race: Tiefling

Class: Rogue (Knife Master)

Level: 2

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD

So I decided to group these guys into one post because the beginnings for these three in the prologue are nearly identical and their branching paths, I feel, will not be demonstrated in full until they finally get out there in the world. So, let's go over our key plays so far!

Starting with the one and only, Nalanthar Arabana! So, in my BG3 blog, I explained that Nalanthar was first created in my Pathfinder Kingmaker CRPG game. Instead of being a Valor Bard or any combat focused Bard, he's instead a Court Bard, meant to debuff enemies with his bardic aura as he ridicules them in battle while also being a smooth talker.

Nalanthar's backstory stays relatively the same. Nalanthar, while it's not expressed through the game mechanics, is a Half-Elf Drow from the Darklands (Pathfinder's equivalence to the Underdark). He didn't have a great upbringing as his mother hated him and his father hated him slightly less. Nalanthar's blood is from his father and some random Human slave who he hooked up with. He never met his mother and doesn't care to know or look for her since he's nearly a century year old. So she's probably dead.

Despite doing all he could to appease his parents and meet the expectations of Drow society, he eventually left his thankless life to peruse his own path. This resulted in him going to the surface world and taking up small entertainer jobs to make a living, but also sharing the marvels of Golarion to others.

Nalanthar's purpose for coming to the Stolen Lands was mostly to record the doings of the soon-to-be-ruler of the Stolen Lands. However, things get quickly complicated when shit goes down in the prologue that we'll talk about later.

-

Next, we have Suni. Suni is a Tiefling who grew up poor in the country Absalom, Pathfinder's equivalence of Waterdeep. Despite her low status in society, she had a brilliant mind, but could not afford to elevate her education. Her mother and father were caring towards her, thanks to her mother being a Tiefling herself. Typically, a Tiefling coupling with another individual, even if it's another Tiefling, wouldn't immediately produce another Tiefling. But Suni was a surprising exception.

Suni grew up to a pretty standard life and decided to join a rag tag of adventurers to explore new horizons outside of Absalom. This got her in contact with a Wizard who was willing to teach her their trade. But Suni learned rather quickly that while she had a academic mind, the complexities of magic was a whole different animal. Didn't help either that a year into adventuring with her previous party, the Wizard got put in a hashtag. Suni took this untimely death to her advantage to snag their book, but she was now left with no tutor to further help her.

Suni for a long time could not conjure anything greater than just a cantrip and she was nearly close to just calling it quits. But she was then approached by a creature of unfathomable beauty and boundless nature, a Nymph who called themselves Nyrissa. Even though Suni was no where close to her territory, The Nymph made limited contact with her asking for help. Suni agreed to help, but could not get an answer to where Nyrissa was.

Their conversation was short, but Nyrissa provided Suni with a boon. She would grant her power and the ability to use arcane magic if she were to help her. Suni, allured by the ability to finally do more with her magic prowess than just conjuring ice from her fingertips, she took the bait. But there was still the problem of not knowing where the Nymph was.

Suni wouldn't be completely blind as Nyrissa sent little breadcrumbs to Suni such as strange Fey creatures and weird dreams. This would eventually lead to Suni learning that she needs to reach the Stolen Lands. Lo and behold, there will be an expedition going to the Stolen Lands. Like Nalanthar, Suni joined in hopes of helping the Nymph and had no interest in becoming a baroness...Also she lied on her resume to get in thanks to her being specialized in enchantment magic. However, once again, things are about to get complicated.

-

Finally, we have Veldris Vomod. Unlike the previous two, Veldris is actually a noble individual. Not personality wise, oh no, he's an asshole. Status wise? Absolutely. Unlike Suni, who was raised by loving parents, Veldris had none of that. Veldris had two Human parents and suddenly getting a demon baby was definitely jarring.

Veldris, despite being spared from infanticide, didn't get to fully embrace the noble life. His noble family wanted to keep his birth within a tight jar and throw him in the deepest shadows of their chambers. The only people in his life that gave a mild damn about him was the servants, even though they did the barest minimum of just sending food and basic needs to him.

Growing up, Veldris learned quickly that he was owed the life that was out of reach from him. He refused to be a footnote in history as the "mistake" in his family's life. So he learned quick to lie, cheat, and steal his way through life to become #1. He was willing to fuck over his own family, if it meant he would come up on top.

And Veldris's chances at something greater when he caught word of the need for venturers to the Stolen Lands to claim the land as baron or baroness. To Veldris, this was his opportunity to regain his glory and his rightful place as a man of power.

-

Now, let's quickly go over what happened at the prologue. So, the 3 characters meet at the hall with various other would-be barons/baronesses who are eager to know why they were summoned. This is where we see a lot of the starting companions such as Linzi, Jaethal, Harrim, Valerie, Amiri, and Kalikke.

Jamandi Aldori explains that the Stolen Lands has been disputed territory for the longest time now and from the sounds of it, they are hoping to appoint someone as a new royalty to the land. The why hasn't been explain, but the country of Restov is willing back up the new baron/baroness if they were to reclaim the lands. The only problem is that there is a huge nest of bandits that are led by someone by the name of the Stag Lord.

We are tasked to get rid of the Stag Lord and reclaim the land for ourselves. While here, Linzi approached our heroes asking if we would be the protagonist of a book she was making. While Nalanthar and Suni were kind about her request, Veldris was not impressed.

Soon, as the trio were going to bed, they were suddenly awaken by Linzi who expressed that some assassins entered the mansion and started murdering all of the contestants and burning the place. We fought our way through the mansion while also recruiting our new and potential companions.

Now, there's someone we gotta talk about, Tartuccio, a Gnome who talked a lot of shit about becoming the next baron of the Stolen Lands. He and Linzi were the first to be recruited and he presented each of the heroes with a ring that provides a much needed bonus if you're a squishy mf like a Bard, Wizard, or even a Rogue. However, when we succeed at saving Jamandi Aldori, he will do a quick switch & reverse on us as they try to pin the reason for the assassination on the mansion on us.

Regardless of what checks you make, you're essentially forced into two groups, your own team and team Tartuccio. However, what I like about this game is that your choices determine what companion you get during the Prologue. Nalanthar & Veldris got Harrim, Jaethal, and Amiri, which you get Amiri regardless because she's one of Pathfinder's Iconic characters to represent the Barbarian class. As for Suni, because she's my Good Playthrough, she got Linzi, Valerie, and Amiri.

To end this, we'll talk about Oleg's Trading Post and the introduction of Nyrissa. So, when the trio approaches the Trading Post, they happen upon some henchmen of the Stag Lord that are trying to hassle Oleg into paying "his due." Now, Nalanthar and Suni did the good guy route and fought the bandits and allowed Oleg to keep his change. Veldris, however, took his coinage for himself, and still fought off the bandits.

As for Nyrissa, this is mostly going to be Suni focused, but she was honestly happy to finally meet in person the being who gave her the ability to use magic. Suni happily accepted to help Nyrissa and to defeat the Stag Lord. Veldris, however, only agreed since the Stag Lord is in his way of become a baron. Nalanthar just hopes to get in Nyrissa's pants, honestly.

[astrojulia]

Hello hope you are well, I would like to participate in your Sirentale game.

DOB: 02/03/97 in LA, CA at 12:20pm

I would like the 🐙

Question for you: what is your favorite sea animal?

Thank you so much in advance! -ML 😊💕

Hello Siren! This is an ask related to my Sirentale game that is already closed! So there's no point trying to participate now, as there are no more "spaces". If there is a good interaction, I may open a new game in the future. Kisses from the Sea!

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In the mystical realm of Celestial Academy, where knowledge and magic intertwined in harmonious dance, resided a student named ML. This extraordinary academy was unlike any other, for it was a university of the cosmos, where birth charts held the keys to destinies, and the radiant mysteries of the stars were unveiled through scholarly adventures.

ML was an enigmatic figure, their birth chart a labyrinth of profound significance, akin to the unfathomable depths of the ocean. Their journey commenced in the whimsical 1st house, under the auspices of the ever-curious Gemini. Endowed with the gift of versatility and boundless inquisitiveness, ML set forth on a quest to unearth the profound truths of their existence. Her own identity was something that intrigued and confused her in many ways. She knew she could do a lot and yet she didn't know how far she could go. The doubt of whether she was taking the right path always disturbed her because her dreams were many and she didn't know whether she should pursue one or the other.

The 2nd and 3rd houses, bathed in the nurturing embrace of Cancer, bestowed upon ML an exquisite connection to emotions and the profound art of communication. These gifts of empathy became their most potent tools as they navigated the tumultuous waters of the academy's intellectual and emotional challenges.

Yet, it was the 4th house, adorned with the fiery Leo and guarded by the elusive Lilith, where the true heart of ML's journey lay. Their relentless yearning for recognition and the unquenchable desire to conquer inner demons were the formidable trials they confronted. The academy became their grand stage, and they pledged to outshine the sun itself.

In the 5th house, under the meticulous gaze of Virgo, lay the North Node and the fiery Mars in Libra. Here, ML's creative spirit and unwavering passion for justice guided their path. Their adventures led them to unexpected allies and fierce battles, forging bonds that would ultimately shape their destiny.

As they ventured deeper into the 6th house, they encountered Chiron in Scorpio and Pluto in Sagittarius. Here, they faced the wounds of their past and the transformative power of knowledge. ML learned that true strength sprang from the embrace of their vulnerabilities and the relentless pursuit of wisdom hidden within the academy's vast library.

The 7th house, ruled by Sagittarius with the ever-watchful Moon, unveiled the intricacies of relationships. ML's journey through the realm of partnerships tested their optimism and expanded their horizons, teaching them the profound significance of trust and open-mindedness.

In the 8th house, Capricorn's unyielding influence was unmistakable. With Pallas, Mercury, and a steely determination, ML delved into the concealed truths of their psyche. They unearthed their deepest desires and learned to harness the power of their mind. It's fair? Is right? Will hard work really always win over natural gifting? These are questions that rub against our student's face.

The 9th house, a haven of Aquarius, was adorned with Neptune, Venus, Ceres, Jupiter, and Uranus, a realm of innovation and enlightenment. ML's path led them to challenge conventional wisdom and embrace the eccentricities that set them apart. Our student needs to be careful not to get lost in their ego here, as there will come a point where they will think that they already knows too much and is better than others and they will be tripped up by theacademy, showing that they are in fact, just another student.

The 10th house, ruled by Aquarius, thrust ML into the spotlight. They aspired to revolutionize the world through their unique perspective and unwavering determination.

In the 11th house, Pisces' gentle sway met the discipline of Saturn in Aries. Here, ML formed bonds with like-minded dreamers, learning the immeasurable value of collaboration and the profound significance of manifesting their ideals into reality, these bound are hard to get since your student feels pretty lonely in their life, as it need to go get their friends because they never goes to see them.

The 12th house, Aries' final frontier with Juno guarding its deepest secrets, was the ultimate crucible. In the depths of their own soul, ML discovered the unyielding courage to confront their fears and embrace their authentic self.

The academy's enigmatic octopus emblem served as the guiding light through ML's profound journey. Each house and planetary placement unraveled a piece of their soul, and through each adventure, they evolved into a wiser, stronger, and more profoundly attuned individual. Their birth chart was not merely a map but a tale of profound self-discovery—a Sirentale that whisked them on a riveting and thought-provoking expedition into the most enigmatic corners of their soul.

As they emerged from the hallowed halls of Celestial Academy, ML departed, ready to face the boundless expanse of the world. Armed with newfound wisdom and an indomitable spirit, they were poised to fulfill their unique destiny, leaving a profound mark on the cosmos.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[luxmaeastra]

Calliope found it in under the tree watching the gardeners. Calliope didn't pay the fae slaves much attention. She stopped before it and waited (impatiently) to be acknowledged. It had barely raised its eyes to her and she was speaking.

"Just - how does the story end? I - I've always wondered. If - if you don't mind telling me of course."

She was so self assured and agaisnt this unfathomable thing she was tongue tied. Its eyes closed and it lifted its head to the sky.

"I knew silence was coming in waves. So I just...called that silence to that world and left. Let them suffer for what they did to him."

It opened its eyes looking to Sarai. It tilted its head at Calliope and back to Sarai and now Realyn.

"Sarai thinks me cold and uncaring. That the world is good and kind and I just don't know it."

Calliope spun hissing at her. She stopped as it held its hand up.

"You can tell her I suppose. A gift for your devotion. You can be my Wordsmith, you can weave my stories again."

It ambled away.

Calliope watched it leave before looking to Sarai.

"There is the oldest story of the Wyrdchild, that it comes when it is truly needed. Different cultures called it different things. That it was a child of their gods, their champion, a gift from the very universe...it used to travel asleep. Visiting worlds with the most suffering. I think the music was richer and more louder there. I don't - I never met it till now to ask such things. But we have a story, a cautionary tale."

She exhaled and sat in the grass motioning for the other two to sit.

"The world is lost to time now and is ashes. But the story went like this. That they went to this world. The world was going through a drought, the king there begged for a miracle but none came. The slaves rose up, his advisors turned on him. Still he did not give up his faith, he grew close to a priestess there. He wept of his troubles to her feet. He begged for a sign and slowly the Priestess revealed who she was."

Her eyes fell with tears and she picked at the grass. Her voice shaking now.

"The King Telemachus worshiped her, loved her. And begged for her to restore their water, their Wellspring. That his kingdom could flourish, that they could continue to worship it. He was the one to call it Aperion - My Aperion is the translations hold. My boundless, my limitless...presumedly lover. The next word is never clear as if its meaning had been erased from our minds."

She went silent staring at her hands, at the ring that Morpheus had given her.

"It did, restoring life and love to the planet. It -"

"He showed me power. He found me in the fountains and dragged me to the palace steps."

She snapped her head up looking at Aperion. It stared at the middle distance watching the servsnts work. Its face expressionless and devoid of emotion.

"He wanted me to experience that power, that woship. He got on his knees in front of his subjects and proclaimed me the god they were meant to worship. Their gods answer to their prayers....I never got involved that deeply before. I would - I never wanted the attention. It just - it just fascinated me that's all. I didn't -"

Its voice was soft, subdued. It didn't move. It swallowed and stared again.

"I heard a different song eventually. On that was filled with agony and anguish - a genocide I'd found out later. I left and he made me promise to come back I was confused by it. I'd told him not to get attached as he is short of a lifespan compare to me. But he always said if I remembered him didn't that make him eternal like me? I did come back eventually but it had been 3,000 years and he'd died long before then."

It finally looked to them all.

"Before he did he spoke of me, that I'd come back. That I would look as I did the day I left him. He became mad waiting for me, or maybe he always was mad. But I assume he thought if he made his people suffer I'd come back. I had but the genocide had lead to an nuclear apocalypse and it had all been too interesting to not watch."

Again the tone was without feeling. It flicked it's chin to Calliope.

"That's where their fabel ends, the planet is destoryed but they aren't told how or why. I pressed the priest who found me and he said eventually the people revolted. They dragged from the palace and stabbed him in the street. After they hung his body from the roofs for weeks, years maybe letting it slowly decompose....so I did something I wanted to do for awhile. I made bright and I called to the proto-Asteri. I stood on that planet and watch them bleed it dry."

It looked to Sarai, face tightening.

"Everyone I have ever cared for has died gruesomely at the hands of those they trusted. Even worse, I am sure Telemachus would have chained me eventually. He had writings and drawings in blood in his chambers. He forged the cauldron with sands from the river my blood was in. I stole it before anyone else got ideas...not that it saved anyone really in the end did it? I used to be a lot like you. I gave one child a candy when her family was slaughtered in their genocide. I gave another a poison as the acid rain began to fall to their planet. Maybe I was doing good or I felt like it. They're all gone so what does it matter what I do? The only eternal things now is me and perhaps the Asteri if you all could stop killing each other long enough to do so."

Fables. Stories shared as lessons for the youth to learn from, to remember lessons from and grow. Maybe that was why she was silent, why she allowed for Calliope and Aperion to guide them down this. A devoted follower, the god who was worshipped. Even if she still held some beliefs, the religious aspect of her had began to erode under Cassandra and Saetan.

Night had been a relief, a freedom she hadn’t known she had seen. Happiness and peace had been what she had found, she had worked hard to get her family to where they were now. Her eyes lingered upon one of her youngest daughters, her hand reached out as she gently brushed back her hair.

So like her when she was young, before she had been broken and reshaped. How eagerly Raelyn listened, taking it all in. Always so eager to form bonds, to learn what she could. That side of her she could see Viren in her, the young boy she had once known who had been eager to learn before he too had been broken.

Her attention snapped back towards them, her eyes hardened. “The small acts of kindness and good may change more than just yourself,” she finally spoke. “You have been through a lot and have been shaped by others, but I still struggle to view in the light others do. Even after everything I have been through, I will continue to do as I need to do.”

Raelyn looked to her mother, blinking slightly as she spoke. She had never seen her mother so reserved, so cut off. Normally when it came to newcomers she was so warm and open, she would go out of her way to make them welcome and help them settle in. It was a curious change.

[aliciachimera]

I always wanted to be the kind of person that inspires confidence in others, going so far as to try and focus on positive and constructive things to say about others' goals, achievements, things to be proud of. To watch others grow into the best version of themselves. Maybe act like an older sibling, a coach, a mentor of sorts.

And maybe I Have helped others on their own journeys as they reach their potential, and maybe I'm someone who cares too deeply about others wanting the best for them.

I am not fond of insults, of trying to hurt others. Venom tastes terrible coming from my own fangs. A weakness. Everyone needs tough skin to be able to take a hit or three. To be strong enough to stand your ground, assert your existence, your purpose.

I don't think I've ever known a day without conflict. Its unfathomable, something always encroaching on the back of my mind that gnaws away at my self-esteem. What do I live for? Why do I continue to live?

Rejection stings. Worse when the wound won't heal on its own. Monthly bills won't wait for me to feel better. The end of the year is coming, with no job, no education, and a mountain of work left unfinished.

Maybe I did need to delude my beliefs, lie to myself that I just need to keep trying and eventually I'll reach that stability I've needed. Maybe everything will work out and I won't have to stay awake restless night after night.

A chimera is a fantasy, an illusion. It became my symbol of defiance against succumbing to the burdens that life has given me. It was a symbol of my love for the world and the boundless creativity that only needs to be reached out for.

I don't want to keep lying to myself. Tying my self-worth to my job, or lack thereof after facing several application rejections, takes its toll on top of the other rejections I've faced. I... don't want to be someone to put up with. That's hardly any friendship at all.

I've made it this far, sure. But how much longer can I keep dragging along until my body just can't take it anymore. It already fights hard to keep the T1D under control. My body punishes me with a flood of stress if I can't stay calm. Makes it harder for the insulin to work.

My suffering is not beautiful, I don't, I can't relish in cruelty. A body needs the will to live, to be honest and inject my doses truthfully. It would be disastrous if I let my judgement slip on my medication. I can't be foolish and irresponsible, I can't be carefree. I can't fit in to places where I don't belong. I am different. I am always going to be different. My chronic condition has far and few I relate to. I cannot escape it, I cannot run and hide from it. I have to be responsible for myself.

That's why I can't give up myself. Even on the days when my self-loathing becomes too much to bear, even when I can't help but to cry, or in more recent months, attempt to cry when tears won't bleed out of a stoic face.

..maybe I wanted to prove that if I can keep going, so can you.

what do you see in that mirror

[my-writings-and-musings]

I got a wonderful commission to share here today. I hope you're all ready for some ADORABLE shenanigans!!

MTMTE/Brave Police Crossover

The bots rescue an unusual group out in space, and make some unexpected friends.

"So, how are our new arrivals doing?"

Ratchet kept his voice rather low, but had little need to do so with the bots in question chatting away too eagerly to overhear him. 

"Good, as far as they've told us." First Aid replied, looking over the notes on his data pad with an expression of still overwhelmed awe. These "Brave Police" truly were a marvel; earth made bots just as capable as any Cybertronian, complete with the ability to transform! Casting a glance back to the group, he had to pause at the sight of Drift chatting happily with them all, feeling as left out as everyone else did for the moment. Being the only one who had their particular earth language in his files, the ninjabot had been their translator from the moment of their unexpected arrival, though had quickly become amicable enough with the gathered group to start chatting away even when there was nothing to interpret. Noting that he technically had yet to speak to any of the new arrivals directly, First Aid amended his statement. "Well, as far as they've told Drift, anyway."

"We'll have a language download primed in just a few minutes, conversing will be far easier in short order." Ultra Magnus reassured the gathered bots from his monitor, finishing up the unexpected language program they had so sorely been needing. Despite the copious quantities of data they had on alien languages, not a single file on earth languages had been ready to go... Rodimus had been less than happy at the news. "A few minutes after that, the whole ship will have access, eliminating further language barriers."

"A few slow minutes!" the captain remarked in a huff, tapping his pede as he watched the loading bar crawl to completion. Casting a longing glance at Drift, he made no effort to hide the source of his impatience. "I should have been able to welcome these bots on board, I'm already late to the job!"

"Complaining will not make this go any faster-"

Even Ratchet had to chuckle at Ultra Magnus's expense when the monitor suddenly pinged to notify them it was finished, but Rodimus wasted no time rubbing it in, practically fist pumping only for a moment before diving in. Downloading the program at impressive speed even for him, the captain booted up the new language straight away, leaving everyone else to catch up as he hurried over to their guests.

"Hey everyone!" he greeted happily, loving the thrill of a whole new manner of speaking. The Brave Police perked up at the sound of their primary language, which Drift had referred to as "Japanese", with the aforementioned bot looking especially pleased. Smirking at his friend in particular, Rodimus addressed the whole group as the bots behind him finished up installing the program. "Am I coming through loud and clear?"

Drift smiled, but looked to the blue mech that had identified himself as the head of their team. Even if he hadn't, however, Rodimus could tell by the way he jumped up and saluted that the bot in question was a natural leader. "Very clear!" he said enthusiastically, offering a hand to shake with impeccable manners that almost seemed to be made all the more charming by his boundless enthusiasm. "Though we've already met, I would like to personally introduce myself and thank you for the rescue."

"Not a problem! We were in the neighborhood, you know?" Rodimus replied, finding things infinitely easier now that the two could talk directly. As the rest of his own team caught up behind him, with Magnus giving him a pointed look of disapproval, he allowed the earth based bots to speak freely at last.

"I'm Deckerd, and these are the other members of the Brave Police." said the police bot, looking to his assorted friends and opening the floor for them. 

"I am McCrane." a reserved but friendly mech said, giving a very polite nod of his helm as a greeting. "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

A far more brightly colored mech, of a similarly solid build, gestured eagerly to himself. "I'm PowerJoe."

"Call me Dumpson!" a bright red mech announced, flexing an arm to show off his impressive strength. Rodimus had no doubt the bot would be very popular at Swerve's, and almost didn't notice the source of the next introduction from a sparsely lit corner.

"Shadow Maru."

Drift looked immediately impressed at the stealthy mech's skills, but before he could say a word the next member was speaking up quite emphatically 

"I'm Drill Boy!" he said from atop a medical berth, kicking his legs eagerly and bursting with so much energy one might actually miss the soccer ball positioned in his chassis. Every bot present mutually wondered if it was a design or an actual functional ball, especially Rodimus, but the topic was minor enough to be filed away for the moment. A red and white mech spoke up next, his tone so flat Rodimus immediately knew Magnus would have a new friend by the end of the day.

"Duke."

At last, a lightly colored bot chilling on an open chair spoke up, lazily offering a playful salute as he introduced himself. "I'm Gunmax, baby."

Rodimus knew, straight away, he had found his own favorite amongst the group. At least, this bot would undoubtedly be the one he related to most. Behind him, a grumpy presence cleared his vents and spoke up.

"I'm Ultra Magnus. Now that we are all acquainted, I believe it is time for some more in depth explanations-"

"Come on, Mags! These bots have been through enough!" Rodimus said, patting the much larger mech on the arm and ignoring the look of frustration it got him. Perhaps there was residual impatience from the language delay, but he had no intention of sitting through anything he didn't feel like. "Besides, I think we established the basics well enough. You guys are from earth, right? Human constructed?"

"Yes. We were in space to foil a criminals plot. We were successful, but had it not been for your rescue, I fear we would not have made it home." Deckerd replied, calling back to the shell of a space station they'd been rescued from. Evidently some human had invented a kind of interstellar travel for nefarious purposes, been stopped by the Brave Police, but not before managing to get them all incredibly lost. Looking to the floor, the police cruiser continued a little awkwardly. His request was wrapped up as a tentative statement. "That is... we are still hoping to return home."

Rodimus smiled, hoping to get the group comfortable eventually by being as welcoming and laid back as possible. Clearly they weren't accustomed to calling their own shots. "To earth? Hey, not a problem! It's a stone's throw from here... on a cosmic scale."

There was a small groan of exasperation, and Drill Boy hopped off the table, pouting like a sparkling. "Aww, do we have to go back right away?"

"Drill Boy-" Deckerd admonished, turning on the spot to face the younger mech but never getting a chance to finish.

"I agree with him, boss!" Dumpson affirmed, making their poor leader's face turn to mortification as he was quickly outnumbered. Power Joe affirmed the sentiment, gesturing to the medical bay that had awed them when they'd first arrived.

"Yeah! We've only heard rumors of beings like us, yet now look where we are!" he said, recalling their impossible wonder at furniture their own size being *everywhere*. The Cybertronian presence on earth had never been especially heavy in their home country, and with official information at a minimum, their rescue had been a discovery for both sides.

"We certainly can't overstay our welcome!" Deckerd countered, blushing as he tried to compel his fellow officers to comply. Far too polite to share his own desire to stay, the police bot flinched as Gunmax piped up, offering his usual level of laidback snark in a single retort.

"Then let's just stay until we're no longer welcome!"

"Everyone-"

"Hey, no worries!" Rodimus said, stepping in to rescue the poor leader before an argument could break out. Endlessly amused by what he was seeing, the captain was quite confident he spoke for everyone when he offered an extended stay. A quick glance along mostly affirming looks told him as much. "You guys are welcome on the ship while we chart a relaxed course for the blue marble, sound good?"

Deckerd flushed again, looking down and kneading his hands together as he replied. "We wouldn't want to impose-"

"No imposing here. Magnus, Drift, can you relay a message to earth so these bots can call home? Ratchet, any chance you can synthesize some fuel for them out of what's in stock?" Rodimus said, putting an arm around Deckerd and speaking quickly so there'd be no time to argue. There was thankfully no resistance, as Magnus appeared too resigned to offer any. Ratchet, however, had a quick request to make before anything else could proceed.

"I'll need access to... diagnostics. Our anatomies differ quite considerably, so if I'm going to offer care, I'm going to need more information." he said, likely recalling how shocked he'd been upon first scanning them and discovering no sparks. Not to mention their use of earth fuel over energon, or how they lacked transformation cogs, and that was to say nothing of their unfathomable processor design... It had been the first time he'd experienced surprise in the medical bay in a long time.

Deckerd nodded politely, gesturing helpfully to himself as he did so. "I can share my own, doctor. Theirs are based on mine."

"There, we all good?" Rodimus said, guiding the group of new arrivals to follow him out the door. He could tell these poor bots were unaccustomed to a world designed around beings like them, and thus he wanted very much to show them what they were missing out on. Plus, they deserved a bit of fun after everything they'd been through. "In the meantime, how about a tour?"

"Yes! Yes please!" Drill Boy replied, hopping right beside Rodimus and nearly bouncing on his spot. The enthusiasm was almost infectious, and the captain couldn't help but puff up as he pinged the doors to open. 

"Alright, let's go!" 

The entire group followed in short order, even the most reserved of them looking curious as to what awaited them. While the antics reminded him of sparklings, Rodimus had to remind himself they were incredibly young, so the comparison technically wasn't too far off. Considering that, he felt he owed them a good time. Drill Boy made that easy, at least, hurrying beside him with wide and amazed optics.

"Is the whole ship this big?!" he asked as they stepped into the hallway, turning in circles as he tried to absorb the entire space at once. Deckerd stepped forth to explain the actions of his teammate, though he was clearly quite impressed himself judging by the delighted smile on his face.

"Only our office is built to accompany beings of our size." he said, giving the Cybertronian pause as he considered living in a world designed for much tinier beings. Earth had seemed okay while visiting, but suddenly the thought of living there seemed... cramped. Judging by how these bots were marveling at a mere hallway, he wasn't wrong. Did the humans just expect them to squeeze through everything all the time?

Gunmax joined Drill Boy in appreciating the change of stretching out his arms high above his helm and looking quite pleased at how he didn't even come close to the ceiling. "This is way better! There's elbow room to spare!"

"Look! We can fit through all the doors!" Dumpson announced, standing beside a random doorway to emphasize how his bulky frame could easily slip inside. Rodimus had to fight the urge to chuckle at the sight, especially with how delighted every one of his charges appeared at the idea. Several even tried the comparison for themselves with multiple individuals beside a single frame. When they finally did go back home, he'd have to leave them with a parting gift of Cybertronian door technology. Perhaps even some blueprints for a building in their size were due.

"Hold up!"

A familiar voice made him stop and turn on the spot with a delighted grin.

"Drift!" he called out as his friend hurried up behind them, looking just as excited as Rodimus felt. The Brave Police looked equally delighted by the return of their initial interpreter, especially when he was offered a spot on the group. "Wanna help me show these bots around?"

"I'd love to! Magnus is handling the transmission message." he said, looking to their guests with a helpful smile as he explained what that meant. Not that he wanted to assume anything, but interstellar communication didn't seem to be amongst their skills. "You guys will be able to call home when we're done."

"Boss will certainly be relieved to hear we're all safe." Deckerd said, looking like the news had taken more than a little weight off his own shoulders. Exactly who their "Boss" was hadn't been specified, but from the sound of things they did admire and care for whoever it was. Which was good, because if there was even an inkling the humans weren't treating them well... Rodimus had his thoughts cut off by a polite question. "If I may ask, where did you learn to speak Japanese?"

"When I was on earth I spent some time in Japan." Drift replied happily, recalling how he'd explored the country and added the native language to his database to better understand what was going on around him. Thankfully he had kept it despite leaving earth behind, or these bots wouldn't have had a way to communicate their medical needs. Considering how flabbergasted the medics had been... that was an immeasurable blessing. "I've still got a number of other languages saved up, more for the memories." 

"Can you speak English?" Duke said, surprising even his cohorts with the question. Looking a little flustered at the attention, the surprisingly shy bot quickly clarified with an addendum under his breath. "It was... the first language I was programmed for..."

"I'm pretty sure most bots who have been to earth can speak English, learning a language isn't too hard for us as long as we have a download pack for it." Drift explained helpfully, and Rodimus had to stifle a smile at how his friend appeared ready to take the bot under his nonexistent wings. Ultra Magnus might have some competition befriending this one, it seemed. 

"Hey, what's a "Swerve's?" Drill Boy asked, pointing ahead and totally oblivious to the conversation they'd just been having. The bright neon lights on the wall and the bots hanging about gathered the attention of the entire Brave Police, and in an instant Rodimus and Drift shared a knowing look of anticipation. Hopefully, this would be the most fun their guests had ever had.

"The best place on the ship to unwind, make friends, and knock back a few drinks." Rodimus declared proudly, gaining the attention of the bots outside the bar as he did so. While the news of the "Earth made bots" had traversed the entire ship several times over, no one had seen them yet, and thus there was an immediate buzz of excitement. Rodimus hoped they were all ready to become very popular in a short stretch of time. 

"Drinks? For real?" Gunmax said, quickly moving to the front at the mere mention of the word and looking absolutely ecstatic. "About time, I'm parched!"

"But we don't consume the same types of fuel!" Deckerd reminded them all, looking uncertain and perhaps, a little hopeful to be wrong. While he didn't actually know the ins and outs of their differences in fuel consumption, Rodimus knew there was a bot who would, and was banking on him to have already crafted something. 

"Let's see about that." he said, somewhat obscure on purpose as he guided the group past Ten. Each one appeared to go through a cycle of intimidation to confusion when the big tough door guard said his single word and welcomed each of them with a wave. The inside of the bar was buzzing already as they squeezed inside, the newcomers optics going wide as they beheld the incredible activity thumping away to the music. Chatter only increased as their presence was noted, but Rodimus made it clear the group was with him and on a mission. He didn't want to unleash them to the chaos without loosening them up a bit.

"Hey Swerve!" he shouted over the noise, clearing enough space for everyone to gather beside the bar. The barkeep pretended to have just heard him, despite clearly having been watching them all from the moment they came in, and he stepped right up to the counter with a glowing visor. Clearly, he'd been waiting for this.

"Need something, Captain?" he greeted, still playing coy and acting as if he wasn't buzzing with excitement for the new arrivals. 

Rodimus, ever the sport, happily played along. Having ensured the whole ship had access to the language file, and allowing everyone interested to download it at their convenience, he spoke so that their guests could easily overhear the conversation. "Not me, but do you have anything for some travelers from earth?"

Before Swerve could answer, Drill Boy secured a seat at the bar, grabbing an empty drink and holding it up as the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. By the sparkles in his optics it might have been.

"Deckerd, look!! Everything is our size, even the cups!" he exclaimed happily, sitting up haphazardly on the stool as if he'd never had a place to sit in his own size. Technically speaking, he'd only ever had the one, so this might as well have been life changing. 

"I've got more than cups, I've got some mixes for you to drink out of them!' Swerve declared proudly, producing a bottle of oil based liquid that astounded the gathered bots. Having only ever had fuel for practical purposes, the very idea of consuming for fun was resulting in some beautiful expressions of surprise. Loving the reaction, Swerve explained his process with well deserved delight at the accomplishment. Dark, iridescent liquid that shimmered at the smallest movement was poured into waiting cups as he did so. "I looked at your usual fuel formula and made a few tweaks that should make it taste a lot better. What do you think?"

While each bot took their cup and drank with varying levels of bravery, there was still undeniable curiosity from every one of them, even the most cautious. Dumpson, Power Joe and Gunmax knocked theirs back like a shot while Duke, McCrane and Deckerd sipped politely, the rest falling somewhere in the middle as Swerve held his metaphorical breath. Thankfully, the results came in with incredible speed.

"Fuel can taste this good?!" Drill Boy shouted, finishing off his entire cup in a rush and leaning over the entire bar in a desperate search for more. "Please tell me you made enough for us to take home!"

"No wonder Gunmax always drinks it, this is amazing!"

"It never tastes like this, this is something else!"

"Is this why the Boss always drinks so much?! It can be this good?!"

Rodimus and Drift couldn't back some good natured laughs at the reactions, quite happy to have introduced the bots to some much needed fuel and a fun time at once. Swerve, looking like he was overwhelmed with pride and genuine emotion at the compliments, had to regain himself before opening another bottle. 

"I made plenty! Plus, I can make more!" he said, pouring more glasses for his new group of fans as the rest of the bar quickly fed off the growing celebratory energy. "As much as you want while you're here!"

"Hear that, everybot?!" Rodimus said above the din, taking advantage of the segway to set the newcomers free to mingle and hopefully befriend a few more bots. He could already see a few potential takers now; Tailgate appeared to be bursting with questions, and First Aid had reappeared to do the same, not to mention Ultra Magnus and Ratchet were stepping inside... The whole ship had to be present, and thus he made sure to be audible by everyone as he issued a statement so informal it could hardly be called a command. "The Brave Police will only be with us until they have to return to earth. In the meantime, let's show them how to have fun, Cybertronian style!"

A hearty cheer rose up, and by the natural fusion and fission of social groups, the earth bots were soon surrounded by eager and curious Cybertronians acting like long lost siblings.

Rodimus was vaguely aware of a tap on his shoulder, and while he expected to turn and see Magnus, Deckerd appeared rather sheepish as he held a partially drunk cup in both hands. Speaking just loud enough to be heard, he asked a question the captain hadn't actually prepared for. "If I may ask, what is this "Cybertron" I've heard referenced so often?"

The query was unexpectedly heavy, but he answered regardless. "It's our home planet, and-"

Before he could finish, Deckerd appeared shocked by the mention of " planet", as if something had finally come together in ways he struggled to process. "There's truly a whole planet of beings like us-you?" he said, betraying the source of his wonder in a single misspoken word. Rodimus felt his spark, something he had to remind himself the other bot didn't share, ache a little in sympathy for the bot. One could hardly tell they were of different worlds, but for all the problems of Cybertron, it was clear to him who had the advantage. The Brave Police didn't have an entire species of their own, and their time here had undoubtedly made them a bit more aware of that. It only made Rodimus all the more determined to give them a good time. 

"Yeah! It's a little rough right now, but once we clean up a bit you'll be welcome to visit." he said, noting that plenty of friendships would be made today to help that happen. Drill Boy was showing off tricks to a whole team of bots, Gunmax was competing with Dumpson and Power Joe to down shots, McCrane was having a conversation with Cyclonus as Tailgate watched with a glowing visor, Shadow Maru was actually chatting with Ravage, and Duke was indeed hitting it off with Ultra Magnus. There was no shortage of enthusiastic camaraderie to go around. Primus, he merely had to blink and there was a transformation speed contest, his shipmates awed at their shared ability to transform...

"I'm certain it will be fun." Deckerd said as he surveyed the minor chaos with a chuckle, optics warming with delight at his team having so much fun beside their newly discovered companions. Rodimus wanted to tell him that it would be more than fun. The Lost Light was wonderful, obviously, but there was a whole galaxy out there to explore! Hopefully he'd be able to convince them all to come on some future trips when they slung by earth again in the future. Maybe they weren't durable enough for meteor surfing, but they'd undoubtedly appreciate theme parks, virtual reality hubs, and the countless bars that lined the stars. 

"I promise it!" he said enthusiastically, putting an arm around the other bot like an affectionate big brother. For all of his reserved traits, the police bot chuckled at the gesture. Beaming as a monitor and microphone in the corner caught his optic, Rodimus guided the other mech through the crowd, speaking over the noise as he gestured with excitement. 

"Now, while we're still sober enough to appreciate it, let me introduce you to bot sized karaoke!"

[lady-therion]

Elriel prompt: “Dandelions ARE weeds” (In light of spring and how those yellow monsters are coming to plague us ALL)

A/N: I decided that I wanted to cut out hearts today. Slightly NSFW.

***

With You, in the Shadows

***

Elain knows that her lover can be cold.

Colder than the unforgiving winters spent in her father’s cottage. Colder than the unfathomable depths of the Cauldron. Colder than death. For even death can be merciful and Azriel is not. She knows that he’s not.

But she lies with him anyway. He may be as sharp as a dagger’s edge, but he has always been soft with her. His family.

“You’re a gleam in the dark,” he told her one night, driving into her body at a slow and torturous pace. He consumed her, devoured her, engraved every sigh and scream into his memory. When it comes to her pleasure, Azriel is attentive, precise. “I will never stop craving you.”

It’s true. He never did.

But for all his boundless devotion, his hatred is immutable; as much a part of him as his shadows are. He hides it well. He’s had centuries of practice. To enemies, it appears as a mask of civility and decorum. In fact, the angrier he grew, the more charming his mask became. The time to truly fear him is not when he snarls or clenches his fist. It’s when he greets you with a courtier’s smile and a deferential bow. Elain knows this because she wore that mask too, once upon a time. In ballrooms, in dining halls, in champagne parlors. It is the perfect tool for a spymaster to trap unwitting flies.  

Though what Azriel could conceal from others, he could not do so with her. They share no bond. They share something else — she is the only living being who can hear the song of his shadows.    

Today that song is filled with discord. So when she finds him in their garden, still as a statue, she bids him to lie in the grass and place his head on her lap. Then she smooths over his hair until he thaws.

Then he thaws.

“My father’s wife did not keep a garden,” he tells her, slowly.

His father’s wife, she thought, the woman who kept him locked away because she abhorred his mother.

“When I was…released for the day, they would take me in chains to stand in a stone courtyard. I yearned to see the sun, just as I yearn to see you.” He twists a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Besides that, I saw dandelions growing through the rock. Green and growing things did not thrive in my cell. So I did not know what they were, at first. I asked my half-brothers if they were flowers.” He paused. “Then they told me no, they were dandelions. They are weeds, and are unwanted. Just like you.”

Elain does not offer him platitudes or pity. She knows this is not what he needs. No, what her beloved needs is for someone to see his pain, to honor it, and know that it will be with him forever. Just like his scars.

“I had a childish wish that I could be like those dandelions. To be able to drift away, somewhere else on the wind.” He closes his eyes when she leans down to kiss him. I’m here, her kiss says. I’m with you.

“Elain,” he whispers, like a prayer. “Why do you stay?”

He asks her this from time to time, especially when he feels melancholy.

Because she had once been a fixture in those glittering and golden worlds, and found them false and wanting. Because she had once put her faith in a man who would rather cherish his self-righteousness than cherish her as a wife. Because she had fallen in love with the darkness, as her younger sister did, and realized that she had never felt safer than in the arms of the abyss.

“Because I would rather be here with you, in the shadows.”

***

Thanks for reading, loves. 

And thanks for the prompts ;)

Got quite a few requests to be tagged in the drabbles too, so (retroactively) tagging these baes: @illyrianbeauty, @sunsummoner, @tessas-herondales, @jemma-nessian-and-elriel, @abillionlittlepieces, @tntwme, @rosehallshadowsinger, @maastrash, @julesherondalex, @wolffrising, @stardustsroses, @voiceoftheroses, @katexrenee, @highlady-brittney, @goldbooksblack,  @mariamuses, @alexisnm95, @tswaney17, @rowanismybae, @elide-lochan-salvaterre  @ourbooksuniverse, @cruelwickedthing, @shadowazriel, @a-trifling-matter, @kaliejane26, @wewhohavefailed, @elide-lochan-salvaterre, @empress-ofbloodshed, @lordof-bloodshed, @katshrev, @writer-reader-traveller, @whyyoumakemesadstahp, @captain-timetraveldreamer, @awesomethreedragons, @escapingtheconstrictingboxes, @thenameisjaida-blog, @moonbeammadness,  @leulivy, @fantasy-faes,  @poisonwhiterose, @fucking-winchester-trash, @maddieimhot, @ame233, @xinyourdreamsx, @feyaelin-rowsand, @queenofillea1, @rosalesgold, @aelins-fire-queen, @rhysanoodle, @dreamerforever-5, @ben-roll-io, @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary, @hope-unswervingly, @illyriangarbage, @feysand-dot-acotar, @faequeenaelin, @illyrian-bookworm, @propagandaprincess, @musicmaam, @velarian-trash, @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn, @featherymalignancy, @thesirenwashere, @tryingtokeeptrying, @stars-falling

Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged, untagged, or I forgot you because of a silly mistake.

Check out my full Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[charlieism]

Only My Ashes Will See The Sea

Description:

Ethan, Lex and Hannah reunite in death.

Read on ao3!

Ethan was surrounded by darkness. Infinite, endless blackness; he’d say it stretched on as far as he could see, but as it was, it was so dark he didn’t even know if he was seeing, if his eyes were even truly open.

He couldn’t say how long he floated there for, searching for any glimpse of light. He didn’t know where he was, or where everyone else was, or what was happening. The last thing he remembered was Hannah, terrified and teary-eyed; he’d told her to run, his last coherent memory was just the panicked desperation with which he tried to get her to safety. He wondered if she was okay, if she’d gotten away from those psychos who—Jesus. Did they stab him? He remembered being punched in the face by the feral-looking man, and then a blinding pain in his stomach, sharper than anything he’d ever felt before. He told Hannah to run, then he was thrown to the floor and then it was a blur of pain and thuds and kicks, and then… then… then what?

It was hard to think about. It made his head hurt. He stopped thinking about the moments leading up to now, and focused instead on the chilling situation he was currently in.

The Blackness encompassed him, smothering him, drowning him, its emptiness beginning to drive any rational thoughts from his mind. There was just nothing here, this place felt like the total absence of everything. His mind began to fall into a spiral, panic and fear eating away at what felt like his very sanity. Ethan began to question if he was even alive, and the thought made him freak out even harder than before, despite a hidden part of him instinctively knowing the truth: he was dead. Ethan felt like he was hyperventilating, but there was no air in this empty space, and though he thrashed around he had no way of knowing if he was even actually moving. He couldn’t even see his hands. A scream built up in his chest, clawing its way up through his throat and swelling in his mouth. He could barely keep the shriek in; pure terror, anxiety and panic were working their way through his veins to make his voice louder, but a split second before he snapped and let it out a wisp of a voice floated through his mind.

Calm, it said.

The shock of it, of hearing sound after what felt like eons trapped in nothingness made Ethan swallow compulsively and blink hard. The darkness that came from squeezing his eyelids shut was indiscernible from the Black surrounding him.

“What?” he rasped, alert, ears practically pricked like a dog’s while he searched for another break in the maddening monotony of the void. There was no reply, no strange, other-worldly voice, but a memory pushed its way into the front of his mind. It was a happy memory, one of his happiest, really, and it was so recent it was a crystal clear picture in his mind. 

Hannah, putting on his old cap, her big brown eyes full of trust and awe when he swore to her it’d protect her from anything. He’d been so elated and amazed when she’d listened to him. Then Lex, posing on the steps out the back of Toy Zone, belting her dreams of being an actor in California while he pretended to roll a camera on her. She’d looked so happy up there, so hopeful that it had infected Ethan, made him believe they’d really make it out. The way Lex had smiled into their kiss afterwards, bubbling over with the sheer joy he so rarely saw from her, had made his heart skip a beat. Then there was Hannah, acting like a doofus and copying his smoking dance afterwards; it’d made him laugh on the inside, though he didn’t dare show it in front of Lex. God, he loved them. He loved them more than anybody else in the world; Lex made his heart feel warm and full and whole like nobody else he’d ever met. Ethan was completely and utterly devoted to her. And he loved Hannah, too. He had the urge to protect her like he was her own brother, or her dad, or whatever the hell that kid needed him to be. He’d do anything for her. He just wanted to look after them, his girls, so that Lex wouldn’t have to cry so much anymore and Hannah wouldn’t have to be scared all the time. California was going to fix all of that. They were all so excited to get there. They’d all been so hopeful.

The happy memories felt tinged with bittersweetness now, but they were still effective. The lingering excitement, joy and love he’d felt no-so-long ago (was it hours? Or days? The amount of time he felt he’d been kept in the Black seemed to be shrinking now that his mind wasn’t running on animalistic terror), was beating back the overwhelming anxiety he’d been feeling a minute ago. He focused on the memory of Lex’s laugh, of Hannah’s shy smile, of the happy glimmer in both of their eyes, and his panic retreated, shoved back by the memory of their joy. He’d done that. He’d made them hopeful, made them happy, promised them that things would get better until they believed it. Ethan thought he could feel tears building in his eyes, his sinuses burning, but he wasn’t sure. He thought about the way Lex laughed at him when he did something dumb, exactly the reaction he was always trying to provoke from her, and let out a small, wet laugh himself.

Black and White, the voice whispered eerily, and Ethan startled. Were his eyes closed now? He realised they were, and he cracked them open slowly. At first he could barely tell the difference between his eyes being open and shut, the Black around him as absolute as it had a few hysteric minutes ago. But then, as his eyes flickered around the infinite darkness, it began to lighten.

The change was hardly noticeable at first, the pitch-black void only lightening by a few degrees to a deep, dark grey, but it was enough. He gasped, shakily, and tears filled his eyes again, this time with relief. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew that the penetrating darkness was becoming lighter and that was good enough for him. He focused on the memory of how tightly Lex had clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and laughing into his neck when he told them how much money they were going to make, when she realised they were really going to make it California, and the dim grey lightened even further. He thought of Hannah on a good day, how she smiled when he called her Banana and talked back to him in her own stilted way, and the world got brighter. He let himself feel how much he loved his girls, his family, the sheer force of his emotion overwhelming him even as tinged with worry, concern and grief as it was, and soon the Black turned completely to White. 

He was still floating, it was still infinite and all-encompassing and terrifying, but it was… safer, than the Black. It wasn’t driving him insane, it wasn’t smothering him, it wasn’t trapping him, it was just holding him in place. He was kind of... resting there, clinging to the thoughts of his family. At least here he could see, though the bright White of it all threatened to hurt his eyes with how it shone. His dark, worn leather jacket contrasted sharply with the colourless background, and he took comfort in its familiarity, hugging his arms around himself. Ethan simply stood and breathed for God-knows how long, readjusting to his setting. Well, standing didn’t seem entirely accurate (nothing felt solid here, not even the space beneath his feet), but nevertheless, it was an improvement to the Black.

It still wasn’t great, though

It was silent again, that strange, ethereal voice having disappeared. And he was still alone, lingering isolated in a boundless void. He tried to focus on the memories of Lex and Hannah again, and they came surprisingly easy in this place. Far easier than they had in the Black, at least. He was beginning to feel sane again, his mind less tortured.

And then, after an indeterminate amount of time, there was the faintest boom-crash noise that shook him from his stupor. He looked up, glancing around for the source of the noise, but the White remained as unfathomably blank as it had always been. And then, from behind him moments later, there was a voice. It was trembling and wavering, choked-up and terrified. It was heart-wrenchingly, achingly familiar.

“Ethan?” Lex’s voice warbled.

Ethan spun around so fast he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash, his plaid shirt twisting about his legs. Lex and Hannah stood a way away from him, holding each other, staring at him in shock. Their very presence made the White seem more solid, more like a real place, and the relief at seeing their figures there made him slump in on himself, a sharp exhale tearing its way out of him. Tears rose in his eyes, but this time he knew for sure he was almost crying because Lex and Hannah blurred and doubled in his vision.

“Lex! Hannah!” he yelled, and bolted towards them, feet hitting the White ground solidly and taking him swiftly towards his girls.

They stood in place, looking shocked until he got close enough to see the tears glimmering in their eyes. He stopped jarringly once he got that close, suddenly afraid they’d disappear like mist in the wind if he touched them.

“Are you guys really here?” he asked, voice shaking. The girls stared at him, Lex’s eyes roving up and down his body in panic while Hannah stared directly at his face, eyes wide and shiny. Then, all of a sudden Lex broke down, her face crumpling with gut-wrenching tears. Ethan inadvertently let out a wounded noise, reaching out for her.

“Ethan, you fucking died?” she sobbed.

“What?” he asked stupidly, then blinked and shook his head slightly, his worry about Lex overtaking his fear and current existential crisis. “I mean, yeah, I guess so, I think I got stabbed a while ago. But does that mean the two of you are dead?! Oh my God, are you two okay? How did you die?!” he asked rapid-fire, frantic. He finally got the guts to rest his hand on Lex’s arm and, to his staggering relief, she remained solid under his palm. Lex sobbed again, and released Hannah in order to wrap her arms tightly around Ethan’s waist and mash him into her, her face pressing into his chest and her tears soaking through his shirt. 

“I don’t know, dude, I think we got fucking nuked? Or hit by a meteor? I don’t know,” she cried. Ethan didn’t really know how to process the idea of fucking Hatchetfield getting nuked, so he shoved it to the back of his mind and focused instead on comforting his girlfriend. Hannah took a step back from them when Ethan curled around Lex, but neither of them noticed. Ethan wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s back and brushed one hand gently through her hair, making soft, helpless noises at her.

“Hey, hey, babe, it’s okay!” he soothed, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. Her grip tightened around him. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m alright. We’re all alright, okay? We’re all here together now. It’s alright,” he rambled, ducking his face down next to hers until she blinked her eyes open and sniffled, bringing her arm up to wipe away her tears with her sleeve. Unfortunately, Ethan had experience dealing with a crying Lex, though every time it occurred he fervently wished he’d never have to see her cry again, that she’d never be so sad again.

“You okay?” he murmured, rubbing his palms soothingly up and down her back, and she nodded shakily, taking a tiny step back and clinging onto his hand.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Good as I can be considering I’m dead, I ‘spose. What about you?”

“I’m, well… I’m a lot better now that you two are here,” he admitted, before turning to the other girl. 

Ethan tried to summon up a brave smile for Hannah, not wanting to alarm her any more than what had already been done.

“What about you, then?” he inquired, grasping for some sense of familiarity. “What’s shakin’, Banana?” He stepped forward slightly and raised his arms for a hug.

Hannah took a step back.

Ethan froze.

“Hannah?” he asked quietly, surprised.

“Bad,” Hannah whispered after a beat, watching him warily, though she sounded confused. Ethan’s arms lowered, hurt. He exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Lex, who looked startled.

“What do you mean, Banana?” he asked, going for a cheerful tone, though it sounded shaky even to his own ears.

“Saw you, on the balcony. Wanted Wiggly. Bad double,” Hannah said, arms wrapping around herself. Ethan frowned.

“What? I haven’t seen you since, uh, the Cineplex, bud,” he replied, frowning slightly. “Are you sure it was me?” Hannah paused at that, assessing him, her eyes flickering up and down him and a crease furrowing her brow.

“...No?” she said stiltedly, sounding more confused than ever. Then she tilted her head as though she was listening to someone, and refocused on Ethan. “Not you, not Ethan... a double? You are... the real Ethan?” she asked. Ethan cocked his head, frowning in concern, but slowly nodded;

“Yeah, Banana,” he assured. “I’m the real Ethan, you know me.” He hesitantly made to step forward, but when Hannah leaned away he immediately stopped and retreated. Lex was staring at them both, but Ethan kept his gaze on Hannah. “It’s alright, Hannah. You’re safe,” he soothed. 

He didn’t know what she’d seen after he died, but it had obviously scared her and it obviously had something to do with him. Maybe she’d seen his body or something? He didn’t know, maybe he’d ask later, but right now he just wanted to reassure her. He hated seeing that scared look in her eyes. He waited patiently for a minute, tense silence falling over the three of them. Then very, very slowly, Hannah reached out and snagged his leather jacket between his fingers. She rubbed the material for a moment then looked him directly in the eyes, something she rarely did. Her brown eyes searched his blue ones intently, looking for something like a lie or a hint of mania, but when she found nothing her expression crumpled, much like Lex’s had minutes before.

“Ethan,” she cried, and barreled into him with a fierce hug. He froze, stunned, but his shock barely lasted a moment and he wrapped his arms around her in return, squeezing her softly.

““Hey, Banana,” he smiled. “Good to see you.”

“Missed you,” she sniffed.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, kiddo. I missed you too,” he sighed. Lex made an aw sound next to them, then wormed her way into the embrace. Ethan lifted an arm to box her in and pressed a kiss to her damp cheek. They stayed like that for a while, swaying together in their little group, and even though he was still surrounded by the vast White Ethan almost felt alive again.

“I love you guys,” he said softly, and they all separated slightly. It was an easy thing to say, in the face of death itself. He did love them, why bother hiding it? They already knew he loved them, of course, but he wanted to reiterate it. Lex smiled at him and leaned in for a soft kiss.

“We love you too, babe,” she said. He wrapped her in a side-hug and entwined his fingers with hers, while Hannah clung to Lex’s other hand, and they all stood in sombre, companionable silence for a bit. 

“What now?” Lex eventually asked. . “I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. “I don’t even know where we are. When I pictured death, I never really imagined this.”

“We’re in the White,” Hannah informed them. When Ethan focused on her he noticed she looked remarkably well-adjusted for a 10-year old girl who’d just died and found herself in some kind of alternate dimension.

“Yeah?” Lex encouraged, and Ethan realised she didn’t seem to be questioning it all that much either.

God, he was so fucking confused.

“I wish we were in California,” he sighed mournfully. Lex squeezed his hand, and when he looked at her she mustered a small, forlorn smile.

“It was a good dream,” she said. He nodded, but didn’t know how to reply.

“California has beaches,” Hannah said. Ethan raised an eyebrow at her.

“It sure does,” Lex agreed. Hannah frowned.

“Webby says…” she paused, frowning, and then looked up at them, big eyes bright. “California,” she said, and her eyelids fluttered shut. Lex and Ethan shared a bewildered look, but after a moment of silent conversation something else caught Ethan’s eye.

A way in front of them, the White was steadily turning blue. A picturesque, postcard perfect blue. And it was moving, swelling, gently rising and falling. And then the ground directly beneath them began to shift and crunch under their feet, turning golden and grainy. The space above them turned periwinkle blue and fluffy, cottony clouds appeared out of thin air to dot the sky, perfectly shaped as though they were born straight from a child’s imagination. Far, far above them the sun slipped out from behind one of those clouds, yellow and warm in the most delicious way.

Lex tilted her face upwards and closed her eyes, letting the light play upon her skin, a delighted smile lifting her the corners of her mouth. Ethan admired his girlfriend for a moment, taking in how peaceful she looked before following her lead and tilting his face to the sky, letting his eyes slide shut.

A cool, gentle wind began to ruffle its way through his dark curls, bringing with it the tang of salt and the joyous cry of seabirds. The crash of waves gently pounding against the sand had him open his eyes again, and he looked out at the paradise that had just been created. The ocean stretched for miles, as far as his eye could see, before disappearing into the horizon where its cool blue blended seamlessly with the sky. He’d never seen the ocean in real life before. He shifted, looking down, and watched soft golden sand spill over the toes of his black boots. He blinked against the sea breeze and watched the sunlight glitter off the crystalline water, and without truly intending to, he smiled. 

Ethan looked down at Hannah, who was only just reopening her eyes, and watched the astonishment and delight fill her features as she took in the view. 

“It’s heaven,” Lex breathed to his left.

“California,” Hannah agreed, and Ethan laughed, tipping his head back.

“No,” he said sincerely, “It’s something even better.” He squeezed their hands happily, and they squeezed back. The three of them stood in a line, holding hands on the paradisaical beach made just for them, and watched the ocean sparkle cheerily for the first time in their lives. And, Ethan realised, it finally felt like a happy ending.

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are very appreciated <3

[travelleroflands]

My review of Virginia’s Woolf’s ‘To the Lighthouse’

Out of all the extraordinary gifts that books bestow upon our lives, the one that awes me the most is their ability to preserve thoughts, sentiments and ideas and safely ferry them across the expansive reaches of time to stimulate our own minds in a process that seems almost magical. Especially when, while reading a certain book, you cannot help but think: How can this author, born more than a century before the shape of me was even conceived by the universe, know what is in my heart, and know it so well? How do her characters articulate so many feelings that were, until now, ineffable to me? And once you have had this thought, your wonderment can only multiply. You might highlight numerous paragraphs, and still feel as though you haven’t highlighted everything that truly mattered to you in the story. You wish you could highlight every single word, because they are all equally impactful. You are torn between rereading each chapter and setting the book aside to mull over all that you read, all that seemed to overwhelm your mind and flood your senses. And when you have finished, you know that attempting to thoroughly articulate every emotion that you feel is a futile endeavor.

Virginia Woolf’s exquisitely woven modernist story ‘To the lighthouse’, masterfully employing stream of consciousness and free indirect discourse to provide an insight into the rich inner lives of her characters, is indubitably one such book. Effortlessly, she explores complex themes like love, life, mortality and even the agony of artistry. In her capable hands, she manipulates time, expanding brief moments and contracting long years. By magnifying the minutest of details in the lives of the Ramsay family and their guests, she illumines the intricacy of relationships between woman and man, wife and husband, children and their parents and even her characters’ perceived relations with the world itself. Against the eternity of the cosmos, she highlights both the despair and the beauty of ephemerality. The lighthouse, the waves tossing in the sea, the sand dunes in the distance, the wind, geraniums in an urn, a lone shawl flapping in a deserted house, all convey some greater meaning. There is beauty, there are treasures of meaning buried deeply within each word that Virginia writes, enough to pierce one through the chest and clench the heart with force enough to induce profound emotion. As one reads, one soon becomes a part of the Ramsay household, goes down to the beach with their guests and anticipates a visit to the lighthouse.

With her beauteous prose, Virginia establishes the distinctiveness of each of her characters. Mrs. Ramsay, the paragon of loveliness, the reservoir of sympathy and the conductor of familial harmony. She is honoured for her strange severity, her extreme courtesy, like a queen’s raising from the mud a beggar’s dirty foot and washing it. She has the power to influence everyone she knows, directly or indirectly, and generously lends a piece of her own vitality to them. But, beneath it is all dark, she contemplates, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by. Her horizon seemed to her limitless. There is so much about her that the world does not see, that which gives her boundless liberty when she manages to snatch a moment of respite in her life, from all the roles that she must play. Even when she does not wish for time to pass quickly, and to take from her all that she values, she finds solace in the fact that even if the moments she cherished would soon pass, they would live forever as pristine memory in her guests’ minds. And this belief of hers is validated when Lily Briscoe, one of her guests, reminisces about her years later, the clarion image of her beauty, her powerful presence and the impact that she had on everyone still persisting in her thoughts.

Lily Briscoe is a painter, an artist who agonizes over the inadequacy of her art, which she views as a formidable, ancient enemy of hers- this other thing, this truth, this reality, which suddenly laid hands on her, emerged stark at the back of appearances and commanded her attention. She is insecure, and uncertain about her own talent, an uncertainty that is compounded by others’ estimation (women can’t paint, women can’t write) and her own belief that her work would, anyhow, end up hung in a servant’s bedroom or rolled up to keep underneath a sofa. It will not, she thinks, make much of a difference. It is through her point of view that the author gives voice to every artist or creator’s dubiety and misgivings. It is also through her perspective and her thoughts that Virginia contemplates love and its numerous forms- Yet, she said to herself, from the dawn of time odes have been sung to love; wreaths heaped and roses; if you asked nine people out of ten they would say they wanted nothing but this; while the women, judging from her own experience, would all the time be feeling, This is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary. Or even, It rose like a fire sent up in token of some celebration by savages on a distant beach. She heard the roar and the crackle. The whole sea for miles round ran red and gold. Some winy smell mixed with it and intoxicated her, for she felt again her own headlong desire to throw herself off the cliff and be drowned looking for a pearl brooch on a beach. And the roar and the crackle repelled her with fear and disgust, as if while she saw its splendour and power she saw too how it fed on the treasure of the house, greedily, disgustingly, and she loathed it. But for a sight, for a glory, it surpassed everything in her experience, and burnt year after year like a signal fire on a desert island at the edge of the sea, and one had only to say ‘in love’ and instantly, as happened now, up rose Paul’s fire again. She also ruminates over the meaning of existence-The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one. This, that and the other………In the midst of chaos, there was shape; this eternal passing and flowing (she looked at the clouds going and the leaves shaking) was struck into stability or What did it mean? Could things thrust their hands and grip one; could the blade cut; the fist grasp? Was there no safety? No learning by heart the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life? Even the creative process is given unique form in her musings- All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made………And so pausing, and so flickering, she attained a dancing rhythmical movement, as if the pauses were one part of the rhythm and the strokes another, and all were related….

People, and how one views them, and how one attempts to estimate their merit, are also inextricably entwined in her thoughts.

Mr. Ramsay, who is venerable and laughable at one and the same time, searches for, reaches for greatness he knows he can never hope to find. He wishes to make a tangible impression upon the world, and yet finds himself unable to make any great progression in thought beyond what he has already attained, the gradations of which he likens to the alphabet. What is the point of the journey he made, he thinks, if he couldn’t even immortalize his name? What was the purpose to all that he had done? His own frail luminosity would soon be extinguished, or swallowed up in the presence of some bigger, greater star. Even at the pinnacle of his achievement, he feels like he hasn’t done enough, and his desolation and hopelessness prompt him, from time to time, to seek solace in the all accepting sympathy that Mrs. Ramsay has to offer to him. He demands sympathy, devours it almost, to the extent that it makes Lily loathe him for it. His reliance upon her for that which only she can truly give him both exhausts and exhilarates Mrs. Ramsay. Mr. Ramsay, who seeks truth with the coldest clarity, still needs his wife to soften the blow of reality, and even as he scorns her, or looks down upon her, he reveres her and respects her. Similarly, even as she pities him, she admires him. It is through the multi-layered dynamic of their relationship that Virginia Woolf explores the interdependence of woman and man.

With characters as convoluted as these, and vast themes that are applicable even to the seemingly simple, Virginia takes her readers on a journey that colours their perspective and stimulates the depths of their own thoughts. Just as the lighthouse in the story is both a silvery enigma and a stark white entity to James, all that Virginia writes can be interpreted in more ways than one, with each meaning replete with its own significance. For, nothing was simply one thing. Reading this book can be likened to a treasure hunt of sorts, where gold nuggets of understanding can be extricated every time one rereads a sentence or revisits a chapter. Virginia’s descriptions, that bear her own sui generis style, are delightful to read. In my opinion, it makes her work singular and unlike anybody else’s. It is also what, in addition to her skilful use of stream of consciousness to connect readers to the core of her characters’ motivations and actions, made me love this book so much. I do not think any amount of praise or recommendation adequate to express my love, but I truly hope that everyone who reads it finds all that I found, and much more, to take away from it.  

Note: Excerpts from the book in italics.

[flourchildwrites]

Last anon is right! Kerosene is amazinggg!! And it is so funny because some days before reading it I was like "how is normal the most clever person and he never knew about the house". But then again he was kind of living in a paradise and really didint need to think to much about. Now, taking this into account, will he think emma-ray relatioship is real. Because when is has something to do with Emma, norman goes just like that lol.

OMG!  Thank you so much!  The reader feedback on Kerosene has been such a delight.  Posting in a new fandom is like closing my eyes and digging into a box of chocolates—I never know what I’m going to find when I take the plunge and post.  The Promised Neverland fandom has been very kind to me.

If you don’t mind, I’d really love to dig into something you said, about how Norman remained blissfully ignorant about being merchandise.  I’m so glad you caught that part in the first chapter.  I didn’t want to go too introspective at the beginning, but I needed to touch on this point because you are absolutely right!  It is strange that Norman didn’t figure it out, and I have a theory, not a well-formed one (but a theory nonetheless), as to why.

In Kerosene, I said:

Norman and Emma’s bond is not something Ray wants to dig into. When they were younger, he kept himself at a distance with his nose buried in his books. Often, he wonders if Norman would have figured the secret out before him if he hadn’t been busy chasing Emma. But then, without Emma, everything would be different, the past dimmer and the present unfathomable. 

My mind always wanders back to a particular moment from the first episode.  It’s the one where Norman is chasing Emma through the forest in a friendly game of tag.

For me, this moment set the tone for their relationship with Grace Field at the outset of the series.  They are blissfully happy, living an idyllic life, and to me, they seemed rather wrapped up in each other when they’re not helping Isabella out with their daily chores and tending to their younger siblings.

And none of that happened by chance.  When I think about how Grace Field was run, how the children were systematically shipped out with reference to their age and test scores, it makes clever, cruel sense.  There’s a subtle balancing of interests at play.  Isabella was trying to cultivate the highest grade of merchandise, but one too many capable 11-year-olds running around meant there would be more leisure time and fewer chores to keep these keen minds busy.  Plus, there could only be so many adults running around after the children, lest the farm begins to look less like an orphanage and the very smart children might get together and begin to ask questions.  There’s strength in numbers and insight in age.

I think Isabella was taking a big risk keeping 3 11-year-olds, and the cornerstone of her gamble was her own life experience.  I’m not entirely sure how much Isabella figured out beforehand, but that sweet scene with her and Leslie gave me chills.

As much as Norman was deep in puppy love with Emma, Isabella felt the same about Leslie.  And that attachment kept Isabella busy when she was a child, busy enough that by the time she learned the truth about the farms, Leslie was gone.  And she resigned herself to the only option that allowed her to survive—compliance.

So, I think Isabella bet that Norman and Emma would keep each other busy, and once they were separated, Isabella believed she’d be able to cut a deal with Emma or prey on her depression.  As for Ray, like mother like son.  Ray would likely do what he must to survive for as long as possible.  In short, I think Isabella encouraged the attachment between Norman and Emma, and she was right about the depth of Norman’s attachment to Emma.

But... she was wrong about Emma (and Ray and Norman to some extent too, but that’s for another day).  Sure, Norman is special to Emma (I think), but Emma loves everyone, and the depth of her love is boundless, sometimes illogical.  Emma was not a realist like Isabella; she was a dreamer, and between the three children—Ray the schemer, Norman the thinker and Emma the dreamer—they outwit her.

So that’s why I think Norman didn’t figure it out sooner, and ultimately it’s why I think they escaped.  Isabella was a realist, and love itself is illogical.  She never got the chance to understand that in her teenage years.  (Though she comes to it before the end.)

Now for your question:   Will Norman think that Emma and Ray’s relationship is real in Kerosene?

I don’t want to give too much away, though Ray has already gone on record with Norman and pointed out that Norman is the one in love with Emma.  Yet, if there’s anyone who might be able to pull the wool over Norman’s eyes, it’s a Ray and Emma tag team.  If Norman were to believe that Ray and Emma have romantic feelings for once another, both of them would have to give the appearance of such.

Again, thanks for your question!  I’m really hyping myself up for the next chapter now!

[peabody69-blog2]

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CloudFunnels Honest Review

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CloudFunnels What Is It

CloudFunnels is a Brand-new site traffic elective that licenses you make UNLIMITED, ENGAGING Visual Posts similarly as offer them on Six particular Social Networking Platforms to Siphon 100% Complimentary Buyers Traffic in fundamentally a couple of ticks.

CloudFunnels Honest Review

The monetary situation similarly starting late persisted through a shocking starting the nuts and a lot of incredible individuals are so far inclination the bother. Events, for example, these go about as a horrifying pointer of unequivocally that it is so essential to have a couple of pay streams. You may starting at now understand that nobody can say the estimation of traffic in any kind of online association. The something each online promoting expert necessities similarly as battle for.

Top of the line visuals are CRITICAL directly over your association. Since they are attested to grab eagerness similarly as get the supported snaps. Likewise, that is the explanation getting your own, exceptional and moreover new, slick substance arranged in snappy open door has shown up to be an industry WIDE trouble? This is the explanation you need CloudFunnels.

Offer EYE-CATCHING Posts That Drive Targeted Traffic ANYWHERE You Desired And It Only Takes 3 Simple Steps To Do It!

Action 1: PRODUCE: Develop endless energizing picture or GIF articles. Select from Billions of a la mode properties with a fundamental catchphrases search. Adjust them with their point-and snap publication director by including your own stand-out book or call to action.

Action 2: EMBED: Include your associations with send traffic to ANY course of action or web site. Your blog sections will emphatically be intuitive to drive individuals from the social structures straightforwardly to these offers or locales. Get all your traffic to the locales of your other option, remembering your clients' goals for case you're utilizing the Firm Permit.

Stage 3: PUBLISH: Release your message over a couple of long range relational correspondence structures (Twitter, LinkedIn and Blog owner) quickly or plan to blog passage later at whatever point later on from immaculate inside the control board.

That is it. Fundamentally 3 exercises. Essentially recline and see these incredible smart articles stick out and get the snaps to send you complimentary traffic, putting more leads, arrangements and benefit in your pocket. Scaling up is as basic as "flush and moreover go over".

Everything is electronic with set-n-disregard advancement. Methodology you can begin offering traffic as a solution for your customers without making any sort of move truly similarly as get gigantic checks as quick as today. It's very straightforward satisfactory that you don't must have any kind of experience or mechanical capacities. This is the kind of course of action that will reliably be in a tough situation, expressly directly. Mentioning your Firm Certificate today similarly as start exploiting it right away. This is simply instantly open promptly so use it now so you don't get left.

CloudFunnels Characteristics

2 Billion+ Searchable Images: Pick the perfect picture for your articles from in excess of 2 Billion+ Royalty-Free pictures. All are open utilizing catchphrases for your specific claim to fame or subject. Speedily find amazing similarly as drawing in visuals for messages that stop feed-scrollers and get the snaps.

20K+ GIFs: Mesmerize your web based systems administration customers with connecting with activitys. Select from 20K+ open GIFs similarly as tailor them with message to improve clicks and moreover consideration. These are the best game plan for adjusting your best offers and propelling burst bargains on Twitter.

Snap Technology: CloudFunnels will completely change all of your posts into intelligent associations by presenting your URL in it, so the snaps will take visitors to a site or game plan you need! Negligence mentioning that customers 'take a gander at the remarks' for joins, and rather change impressively more watchers into snaps, and extra visitors into buyers.

Blog Entry Creator/Editor: Create or modify the nearness of unlimited articles with their 'point-and-snap' direct verifiable supervisor. Stand apart from the resistance with 100% striking posts that mirror your picture name and offers.

Vehicle Publisher: Say goodbye to changing tabs or doing hand-worked circulating. From straightforwardly inside one dashboard share your amazing posts all through three practical traffic-getting socials media–Twitter, LinkedIn and Blogger … with just a solitary tick!

Set-and Forget Scheduler: Schedule your message to share later on–at whatever point later on. This fruitful component lets you course of action traffic-driving endeavors early, on your plan … to get the visitors you require to your game plans, decisively when you require them.

Expansive Analytics: Obtain serious examination of each assignment you are running from best inside the dashboard. Know the particular arrangement of inclinations similarly as comments you have truly hopped on each blog section and besides recognize what's working and moreover what's definitely not.

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Precisely What Is CloudFunnels? CloudFunnels is another web traffic application that lets you make faltering 'intelligent' elegant messages utilizing its colossal variety of a la mode properties and besides share those visuals on 3 unmistakable electronic life districts mammoths Twitter, LinkedIn and Blog creator. You can share your messages quickly or routine to share later nearby getting a point by point assessment record of each campaign you are running using CloudFunnels. Along these lines fixing your basic traffic issue without paid advancements and moreover manual work.

What Makes CloudFunnels So Effective In Securing Free Targeted Traffic? The item gets you direct introduction to individuals on 3 fruitful web based life frameworks: Twitter, LinkedIn, similarly as Blog owner. The Esthetic blog passages the item application makes are seemed to interface with at astoundingly high degrees–you have totally watched affirmation of that … AND ALSO the accommodation makes it basic to make and run webpage traffic fights in minutes.

That Should Utilize CloudFunnels? CloudFunnelsis a wonderful assistance for anybody thinking about driving more traffic to their web site page, including more people, similarly as boosting their site's detectable quality. From Marketing Agencies, Social Media Marketers, blog researchers, engineers, shopping destinations to all extraordinary other little associations they will completely all benefit by utilizing CloudFunnels as a component of their casual associations strategy.

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Will This Service Mac As Well As PC? Really, it doesn't have any kind of effect what working game plan of the gadget you're using. CloudFunnels is definitely not hard to utilize similarly as limits effectively, with both Mac and moreover COMPUTER as a matter of course.

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Happy Best Wishes For Marriage Brother And Sister

A wedding is an astounding connection between two people who more than each other, it is the announcement of their love for each other before the all inclusive community they hold significantly. Kin are heavenly colleagues we are given to no end to aggravate us and meddle in our lives, yet they do that due to warmth and we understand we can by and large rely upon them when we need them. So being there for them on their huge day is something basic to do. Offer a message of assistance and love showing him you will constantly be there for him too and that he settled on a keen choice on his new life. Here are a couple of messages you can send to your kin on his enormous day:

Dear kin, I am especially bright for the remarkable development you have taken. Finding an ideal accomplice is the most splendid tendency. I wish you a happy wedding. May God support your home.

This world is reliably not sensible for a couple of us. Why you found this beautiful lady. Besides, I am up 'til now single. All the proportional, I wish you a sprightly concurrence. Congrats.

Recognition to my kin, He found the one to experience his time on earth with. So on this uncommon wedding day, I compliment you both and welcome to the family sister-in-law.

As these campaigns fly in the cheering of your remarkable day, I approach your love will stream for each other. May you feel shoes of your granddad and stay in warmth. Happy marriage kid!

May you have a happy hitched life. May your affiliation suffer everlastingly and may all the worship you offer keep expending with boundless flares. Welcome all of your events together to the end kin.

As I stay by you this phenomenal day, it brings me amazing fulfillment! My most smoking true love is with you. May you value each preview of your new life. Stay favored.

May the pleasure, love, and happiness from your huge day tail you for the rest of your lives. I need you to appreciate all that life brings to the table not long from now.

Finding certified sentiment isn't something so regular. Regardless, you have exhibited that there is constantly someone for everyone. My kin, I am so happy for you. Have a happy marriage life.

Kin, you made me know how it feels to appreciate someone. I wish you a wearisome marriage that does not get broken. Happy Married Life.

This life is stacked with astonishments. Excellent people merit simply the best of everything. I genuinely feel regarded seeing this incredible affiliation. I wish you a lively marriage and may you acknowledge interminable love.

Congrats kin! I wish you a profitable and prosperous marriage. May you be a skilled man for your life partner and children. Do whatever it takes not to seek after friends, don't drink, and chipper home will be yours time everlasting.

Your voyage is long. Keep up the love, certainty, and trust for one another. Be certified to each other and let the interminable love be your bit. Well done on your wedding.

May your home be stacked up with fulfillment. May your life be stacked up with valuing liberality. As your more youthful kin, I am so happy for you! I wish you Playful married life kin.

Recognize each other's variations. See each other inward notions. Along these lines you picked is the genuine way. Your better half venerates you anyway we value you more. All around done on your wedding.

I feel so regarded to be shown for this unprecedented wedding administration. The best I have found in years. Certified sentiment, respect, trust, and cognizance are largely that you need.

Well done Kin! Love is a wonderful thing to be shared. Handle it with your whole presence and have endless fulfillment. May your bond be fortified reliably. All the best in your marriage.

To the most superb couple, May your reverence prop up always and may your bond be of unfathomable achievements together. May your smile lights up your inward candles until the end of time. Peppy wedding kin. Very much done.

May your bond remain clean to the end. Any malignant standpoint without wanting to never hold. However rather, May your affiliation be of extraordinary motivating force to the two families. God support your marriage.

May God fill your reality with everlasting joy. My Sibling, marriage looks like Tom and Jerry. The story is never completed without the other. I have to wish you a peppy and stunning marriage life.

Love has no fulfillment my dear kin. Remember no one can make a perfect home for you. So let not an outcast meddles with you. I wish you a suffering marriage of veneration.

Have a great marriage kin and may for as long as you can remember together be stacked up with an overabundance of association and love. Well done!

Sprightly married life extraordinary kin; you've endeavored your karma today by putting most of your undertakings into surrounding a home. I'm sure it'll be a triumph. Value the grandness of a home.

May your marriage take you from low to high and from garments to freshly discovered riches. You merit most of that and some more. Merry married life profitable kin. I'm missing you starting at now.

Chipper married life troublesome kin, by and by the world is at your feet, we ought to see how you can control it, I believe you'll do well in structure a unimaginable home. Stay favored.

In marriage all impulse must be leg away to accomplish a conventional quality. Your obsession should be your family. Take the shrewd word and your home will be inconceivable. Merry married life kin.

It's an amazing day to recognize a superb couple, you are really respected and I believe sooner or later I can experience a comparable happiness sibling.

You finally found someone who'll hold you down, who'll satisfy you and who'll reliably be close by. I believe you comprehend you are blessed sibling!

It's an astounding day to recognize two love feathered animals; I trust yours is everlastingly together. Well done on your wedding my kin.

Peppy married life kin. I believe marriage will draw out the versatility we've all clutched find in you. Since you appear, apparently, to be unreasonably resolute. Nothing is fixed in marriage.

Read.....

[archive-hive]

Man, it’s a hot one.

By the time dusk unfurls upon Última Bebida’s gabled roof, ornate onyx tendrils pouring like molasses through airbrushed slats, the venue is alive with activity. It bleeds through stained glass in a flourish of finely-tuned guitars and amplified castanets, the intricate figurines painted upon the woodwork seeming to grin, thrilled, as fanciful percussion spills out amidst the crisp springtime atmosphere.

Michael’s skin burns pleasantly as he guides his companions toward the large crimson doorways, familiarity striking against his ribcage like raw timber and sandalwood; a genetic link to a world he has never been allowed to fully submerge himself within.

“This, um.. Th-This looks really cool, M-Micah.” Jeremy grins, utterly breathless. Jake’s arms braid themselves around his boyfriend’s fluttering abdomen, his lips leaving crimson bouquets amidst stark goosebumps as they pave his skin in platinum.

“Yeah, dude. Looks capital ‘TH’ sick!” Rich’s tongue presses flush against the backs of his teeth, exaggerating his lisp considerably. His arms swing wildly from side to side, uncertain of where to place his boundless energy. Michael’s dark fingertips brush against his own with every fluctuation backwards, curling in search of something warm but never quite getting there.

Michael laughs, his thumb bracketing against rough denim in search of the moulded canister tucked safely away inside his pocket - a mere crutch, a safety net in case his lungs inflate beyond their capability. Every time Rich’s hand collides with his own, his skin unfathomably cool, he finds himself tiptoeing closer and closer to his ultimate, monumental downfall.

“Yeah, well I hope we all have a super thhick time tonig-”

A broad hand presses against Michael’s chest before they can enter the building. The entity stood before them, with muscles as grotesquely developed as dimebags stuffed underneath his discolored skin, and features rougher than sandpaper on soil, spares a second to look Michael up and down before scowling disapprovingly.

“I’m gonna need to see some sort of ID, fellas.”

All colour drains from Michael’s face. He certainly hadn’t planned for any impromptu carding, his fake ID hidden at the bottom of an inconspicuous paper bag along with shards of torn tissue paper and the empty blister packs which had once housed his new ‘companion.’

“Um…” Michael rasps, squeezing against his inhaler with a little more gusto. “I’m a friend of the owner? He invited me here personally.”

“Name?”

“Michael. Michael Mell.”

All at once, the bouncer’s expression softens into something more palatable. His brows diffuse upon his forehead and his arm extends into a recognized gesture of hospitality.

“Ah, yes, he’s been expecting you, Mell. Sorry about the inconvenience. Are they all with you?”

It’s a simple phrase, an effortless string of vowels and consonants, and yet the inflection of that mundane three-letter word is enough to make Michael’s eyes burn underneath his contacts. All. As in more than just he and Jeremy. The dynamic duo plus two - the questionable quintet.

He nods three times in rapid succession and wordlessly contemplates the sustainability of his eyeshadow in the wake of unexpected dewdrops contaminating his vision.

Their guide leads them to a beautiful, large booth situated just adjacent to the varnished dance floor. Plump cushions are swathed in emerald velvet, two vanilla-scented candles placed at the centre of the table crackling prettily within their scarlet tumblers, and a hand-illustrated note lays beside a single scarlet rose.  The penmanship is an unmistakably crisp portrayal of calligraphy which invites Michael to have a wonderful evening.

“Holy shit, Mikey, you boning this guy?” Rich whistles, trying to keep poison ivy from belittling his tone. “Cos if you ain’t then you should. He’d probably buy you a yacht or somethin’!”

“Not boning, no. Though I think a yacht would look fabulous in my driveway. What ya think, Jer?”

Jeremy laughs breathlessly, sliding his body underneath airbrushed mahogany alongside Jake, who, in turn, returns Jeremy to his spacious embrace without a moment’s delay.

“Oh y-yeah, dude. N-Nothing says ‘go g-getter’ like a um… a grandiose y-yacht parked n-next to a sh-shitty little PT Cruiser.”

Michael opens his mouth to argue, tongue rolling against an unabridged declaration of love for his less-than-glamorous vehicle and all of those unique ticks and quirks which makes her so majestic, only to pause whenever Jake’s lips wrap around Jeremy’s earlobe. He’s reciting exquisite poetry against supple cartilage, his teeth punctuating every sentence until Jeremy himself has begun to sing.

It is a battle Michael has already lost.

And so, he chooses to slide in against Rich and his natural radiance. Rich slots his arm through Michael’s elbow in an action which could be deemed as nothing short of platonic but, fuck, if it doesn’t make Michael’s diaphragm flourish with the same intense rush of endorphins as slicing his nail through fragile plastic wrapping to retrieve his new game. Only this moment has no shelf-life, only visual gratification every time Michael’s fingertips find themselves wandering beneath the crease of his stomach.

“So you know the owner, huh? How fanshy~”

Michael’s eyes dart toward the feminine curvature of the salt-shaker taking centre-stage in the middle of the table and wills any and all colour away from his cheeks. Rich is just so handsome that it makes his jaw ache.

“Yeah, he’s a customer of mine. A cool dude.”

“A customer? Just what kind of things are you selling, young man?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Rich clasps his hands together, resting his chin upon mountainous knuckles and fluttering his lashes as though they were amber sails swallowing every tantalizing breeze. “I sure would!”

“Get a r-room!” Jeremy catcalls, his head rolling back to rest on Jake’s solid shoulder. His torso is a patchwork of dyed cotton and articulate fingertips, one hand blossoming upon his ribcage while the other autographs his collarbone.

The hypocrisy is tantalizing.

Michael’s tongue protrudes from his lips in a fluid, stabbing motion of pure petulence, but his hand extends across the table to link with Jeremy’s own. He squeezes Jeremy’s digits gently, affectionately, his thumb painting invisible heartbeats across candied veins.

“P-People are gonna l-look at us, um, f-funny. Think we’re in an o-orgy.”

“Wait, we’re not having an orgy?” Rich pouts. “I was promised a fun night!”

Michael reaches over to grab at one of the laminated menus held in place by monogrammed napkins. “I mean, I’d be down but I only wanna screw 2 people here, so…”

Jake lifts his head from Jeremy’s sweet, buttermilk throat to raise a disapproving eyebrow. He licks his lips as though to savor the very flavour of Jeremy’s skin, how it has been stippled in cologne and residual ash from freshly-rolled joints.

“Good. Feeling is mutual.”

Rich’s nostrils flare against a rather emphatic snort, his fingertips an inadequate partition around his lips as he turns toward Jeremy. “They definitely wanna fuck.”

“O-Oh for sure.”

Bouncing precariously upon narrow crimson heels, and with the folds of her skirt flouncing prettily in time with every decibel reverberating unequivocally from a camouflaged sound-system, a fair-faced waitress approaches their booth with a quartet of spicy-sweet margaritas, each with their own lemon wedge and an unnecessarily foreign parasol.

“Here you are, gentlemen!”

Michael watches, puzzled, as she divides the glasses between their modest group. “Oh, uh. I’m sorry, Miss, but we haven’t actually ordered anything, yet.”

She giggles politely, her fingertip worrying against the stylized ringlet plastered upon her brow. “Yes, I know, sweetheart. These are a gift from the owner!”

She gestures blindly behind her to the handsome figure tucked at the very back of the establishment. His narrow frame tilts at an obscure angle against the bar, cerulean eyes cutting acutely through a tapestry of unique bodies as they ooh and ahh over a myriad of extraterrestrial flavours, and he raises the large glass in his own hand as a sign of good will - a toast which has yet to pass between those narrow lips.

Michael grins, returning the gesture in kind, his lips glistening around a halo of himalayan salt as he allows himself to indulge on the sensation of caustic lime blistering his tongue and the tart counterpart of citrine liquer. The alcohol fizzles through the very synapses of his brain and instantly severs any sense he once held true - forever a lightweight when it comes to matters of an ethanol-related nature.

Jeremy is next to follow suit, his tongue pushing through a wave of ice and convoluted flavours.

But Rich does not drink. No, he’s simply staring across the table at Jake.

“Your friend is Atreyu?” Jake mumbles, using his thumbs to rotate his glass back and forth.

“Yeah! He sometimes gives me tattoos in exchange for weed. Why? You guys know him?”

“Nope, never heard of him.” Rich frowns, finally bringing his margarita to his lips after thoroughly surveying its contents.

-

Atreyu, as it turns out, is an exceptionally congenial host.

He had sent over another round of sharp, sacchariferous cocktails before they had even has the chance to finish their margaritas. Not long after that, they were being gifted a large heap of tortilla chips accompanied by a vast array of dips and sauces. There was even a complimentary shot of tequila with Michael’s name on it, a bonus donation for his role as guest of honour.

And, predictably, Michael had gotten trashed after a few measly mouthfuls of his inaugural concoction.

He scrapes a tortilla chip through a crisp line of guacamole and squeals in delight, teeth crunching against a fine smattering of seasalt, and smacks his lips in unrequited once he had polished the shard off.

“Esta mierda sabe tan bien!” He purrs, his body gravitating close to Rich’s side. “Eres tan guapo. Quiero lamerte.”

The sudden alteration in Michael’s vernacular leaves Rich thunderstruck. His eyes widen, a composition of dualtone oceans lapping hungrily against the sandstone shore of his cheekbones. “You speak Spanish?”

Michael tips himself down toward Rich’s mouth. “Síííííí~”

A mere millimeter separates their flesh, open-mouthed yearning heightened considerably by the scent of Michael’s blood rippling betwixt his watercolour veins. What he wouldn’t give to press his teeth in against his pulse, find a juncture of buttermilk skin to claim as his own, and play the boy as though he were wind-chimes left bashful from summer’s lingering caress.

But before he can act upon his voracious cravings, the pulsating music pouring through invisible speakers shifts into something new, an abrupt cacophony of drums and cadence and complex guitar riffs that has Michael leaping up onto his feet in utmost excitement.

“Holy shit, dude, I love this song!” He grins, clicking his fingers to the beat. “Come dance with me?”

Dipping his finger into a pool of marinated tomatoes and swirling it around, Rich shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, but nobody wants to see my white ass pretending to have rhythm.” He pops his digit inside his mouth to suck it clean, wrapping his tongue over his knuckle and savouring the flavour as though it were the very plasma he finds himself lusting after.

“Oh, come on! Pleeeease?”

“Maybe in a little bit, dude. Go have fun.”

Michael’s lower lip unravels across his chin and fuck does Rich want to lick against him until he can taste summer upon that precious pout; pitted cherries and butterscotch icecream.

“Hey, Jer, do you wanna dan-”

Jake’s lips push across his boyfriend’s smooth, alabaster skin with a sense of urgency, moist tongue circling the sensitive patch of nerve-endings which illuminate his pulse. Jeremy mewls with every expressive brushstroke, and his fingertips tear miniscule holes inside his napkin from how tightly he grabs against the table.

Michael’s lashes crimp in mild annoyance, but he doesn’t dwell on the sensation for particularly long. Insead he ensnares his fingertips around his glass and brings it up toward his lips, polishing off what remains of his sangria.

With a newfound sense of galvanized vitality, Michael’s hips careen from side to side as he takes to the dance floor. He gravitates toward its centre, a polychromatic moth hypnotized by dynamic incandescence. His hand draws upward, dragging vertically from the centre of his belt across and across onyx buttons to rest upon his own throat, thumbs hooked into sugar-spun plastic to withdraw his choker and snap it back into place.

He moans in masochistic bliss, but the sound quickly dissolves when he stirs his pelvis in tandem with a husky vocabulary and a beat which plays to his mislaid heritage. His hands hover above his head, lock themselves in place, his body swivelling from side to side every time Carlos Santana’s digits caress individually woven strings.

Tipping his head back, Michael brings his hands once more to the hem of his shirt. He elevates the material in a slow, deliberate motion, flashing his sweat-slicked mocha skin to the entire restaurant. And still his hips roll; pure, unadulterated calligraphy often concealed by crimson and an uprising of anxiety.  

Unsurprisingly, Jeremy’s focus has shifted from the earth-shattering sensation of Jake’s torturous incisors into the vision of his boyfriend owning the entire dancefloor. His orbiting hips are nothing short of celestial - claiming the beat with every fluid undulation.

With all of the grace of a famished feline, Michael glosses a fingertip down Rich’s structured mandible to rest upon his pronounced pout. He dusts away a few stray crumbs which glitter upon his lower lip and Rich has to really concentrate on centering himself lest he pull that callous-roughened pointer straight into his mouth; oral fixation at it’s finest.

“Holy shit!” Rich breathes, the contours of his own pelvis beginning to quiver and quake. He pulls against his cargo shorts to readjust himself, his packer slick from his own arousal and falling out of alignment.

Jeremy giggles. “I-I think Rich has a um… a boner, don’t y-you?”

However, when Jeremy tilts his head backwards to glance at Jake his lover’s attention is directed somewhere else. His pupils are dilated, periwinkle skies lost to the captivating toxicity of a solar eclipse, and his mouth quivers in perfect unison with his short, shallow breaths.

Jeremy can barely contain his exuberant delight, pressing a stream of kisses along the underside of Jake’s impossibly taut jawline. “He’s really sexy, isn’t he?”

Jake nods, his fingertips flexing against the silken grooves of Jeremy’s airbrushed abdomen.

Michael’s performance comes to an end far too quickly. At least, that’s the unanimous consensus for everyone at his table.

He brushes his hands through an abundance of slick, curlicue ringlets and recalibrates the orientation of his shirt. There is an insurgency of power radiating inside of his sternum, primal, a sensation more extraordinary than a fresh hit of opiates infiltrating his bloodstream. He drapes himself down beside Rich with a happy little chirrup of accomplishment.

His palms brush over amaranth cheeks, thumbs dancing across a small bouquet of freckles peppered just underneath Rich’s twinkling eyes, and he pulls their mouths together to kiss him feverishly. Finally. Finally!

Rich tastes sharp, an aromatic combination of red wine and orange liqueur. Rich tastes sweet too, like sugar water and candy apples and every indulgent treat he has been fortunate to savour over his lifetime. But above all else he tastes like Rich.

And then they part once more.

Michael’s teeth clinking against an empty glass, his tongue curling toward the flavourful cubes beginning to thaw at the very bottom.

“Th-That was awesome, Micha!” Jeremy coos, his hand brushing over the back of Michael’s hand. “Y-You um.. Y-you looked so h-hot out there.”

“Whas I… Smooth?”

“Like b-butter, baby.” He pushes his elbow in toward Jake’s torso. “Jake c-couldn’t keep his eyes um... O-off of you!

Michael’s brow twitches upon his forehead as he regards Jake.

Jake shrugs, completely unashamed. “What can I say? I’m a hips and ass man.”

He presses his palms in against Jeremy’s pelvis and squeezes for good measure. Jeremy squeals in delight, his head resting once more across Jake’s chest.

“So the orgy is back on the table?” Rich grins, his cheeks stippled in crimson from the heat of Michael’s kiss.

“Absolutely.” Jake nods.

“I’m d-down!” Jeremy grins.

“Fuck yeah!” Michael purrs.