#this series is so brilliant beyond words

[beritybaker]

Somebody To Kiss It Better 💖

Rating: T | Word Count: 2,561 | CW: Injury, Language | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Flirting, Post-Vecna | ao3 For @steddiesportsau week two. Prompt: Sports Injury.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“It’s not funny, Robin,” Steve grumbles.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious,” she says, leaning across the counter at Family Video to get a good look at the stupid mask strapped to his face.

He shoves her away. “My broken nose is hilarious?”

Clearly struggling to contain her giggles, Robin attempts a more serious expression. “Right. Okay. So it’s not funny you broke your nose. But you have to admit that the circumstances are a fucking riot.”

“What, that I tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face?” He was thinking a better descriptor for his situation might be mortifying.

“That, and the fact that you face-planted because Eddie—”

“For the last time, Rob, stop trying. It’s never gonna happen,” he interrupts, though he can feel his face heating up under his nose guard.

She scoffs. “Only because you’re a huge wuss.” With a smirk, she goes on, “He’s into you, too. I bet if you went over to his place right now and told him what happened, he’d ask you out just because he feels bad.”

“I don’t want a pity date!” Steve snaps. 

“It’s not a pity date if he’s wanted to do it since March.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sure he likes me.”

“Uh, because I have eyes?” Robin snorts. “And Dustin said so, too—he told me Eddie keeps putting characters in his campaign that sound like super horned-up versions of you.”

“Yeah, well, Dustin doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Steve counters. He’s aware it’s a weak argument, considering the kid somehow managed to clock his crushes on both Robin and Eddie within a couple days of seeing him interact with either of them, but he’s not about to let Robin gain any ground in this discussion.

“Well, regardless…are you at least gonna admit to me that you were distracted, and that’s why you fell?”

Steve glares. “No, I’m not.” He doesn’t need to admit it; she knows the truth already. She just heard from his own mouth that he happened to look over and see Eddie, and that the next moment his legs tangled up under him and his face hit the court. He’d landed on his racket, too, bending it beyond repair and giving himself a nasty bruise on his hip.

He knows now that he shouldn’t have mentioned the detail about seeing Eddie, because Robin’s never going to let it go, and it’ll be added to her list of reasons he should just buck up and go for it (her own Vickie-based hypocrisy be damned). But what he’ll definitely, absolutely, never in his life admit is that what had really caught him off guard was Eddie in shorts.

It makes sense. Obviously he would be wearing shorts. It’s mid-July, and this week’s been a scorcher. But Steve is a simple man, with simple desires, and for months, one of those desires has been to see a little more skin from Eddie Munson. The fact that he happened to see it while he was playing tennis at the park with his dad was just unfortunate timing.

He’ll never forget that moment as long as he lives. It’s bound to be the most embarrassing thing that happens to him in his entire life, seared into his memory as a series of snapshots.

The hollow thwap of the ball against his racket as he returns the serve. His eyes instinctively darting to the parking lot at the short blast of a car horn. Doing a double-take as he recognizes a mop of hair and a brilliant smile a couple feet above a pair of denim cutoffs. And then…

Another thwap. A wide-eyed dive. A painful crunch.

The only blessing is that Eddie didn’t see it. He was ducking into Jeff’s car by the time Steve’s dad called out his name and rushed over. Eddie definitely didn’t hear it, because even if Steve isn’t about to agree that his crush is reciprocated, he knows by now that they’re good friends. If Eddie had noticed Steve wiping out and subsequently bleeding all over the place from a crooked nose, he would’ve sprinted right over, too.

“You’re impossible,” Robin scoffs, turning away from the counter to browse.

“And you’re annoying,” Steve counters. “Even on your day off, I can’t get away from you. Weren’t you and Nance supposed to have a sleepover?”

“I have to find something to watch! She needs an education, and she doesn’t have the privilege of getting one on the job.”

“So you’re holding her hostage now, too? And she’s not even getting paid for it?”

Robin makes a childish face at him. It’s one she knows he can’t return at the moment, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to sorting returns.

That’s where they stay for a few minutes. Both of them are silently absorbed in their tasks, until the bell chimes to signal someone else entering the store.

Steve automatically looks up. And just like he did at the park, he does a double-take.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin calls from the thriller section.

Steve glances her way. Her eyes meet his, and even seeing only the top of her head, he can tell that god-awful smirk is back.

“Hey, Buckley! Thought you were off tonight,” Eddie replies.

“I am. Just here for the goods,” she explains, raising a couple tapes and waving them where he can see. “And keeping Stevie company.”

“But of course. There’s no separating you two,” he chuckles. Then he turns to Steve and freezes at the sight of him. “Oh, damn. Holy shit.”

Steve tries not to close his eyes, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s concerned gaze. It adds insult to literal injury that he’s wearing those goddamn cutoffs again—and they show off even more thigh than Steve remembers.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Broke my nose,” he mutters.

“Holy shit,” Eddie repeats. “How?”

“Fell.”

“You…fell? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it,” Steve says. He shoots a warning look at Robin when he hears a derisive snort. She disappears behind the shelf.

“Man, that blows. How long do you have to wear that thing on your face?”

Steve shrugs. “Couple weeks. Doctor wants to make sure nothing knocks my nose out of place while it heals.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Oof. Sorry, man.”

Don’t apologize, Steve thinks, biting back the actual words. It’s not like I fell because you didn’t measure the inseam before you took scissors to your old jeans, or that your legs are way more toned than I imagined they would be, or that I want you to throw me up against the wall like you did in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, or—

“So, what’s new?” Eddie asks, cutting through Steve’s thought spiral. “Other than the broken nose.”

Steve clears his throat. “Not much.”

“Same here,” Eddie sighs. He approaches the counter and slumps against it, leaning forward on his elbows. Pursing his lips, he goes on, “What time are you off? You wanna hang out later?”

“I’m closing.”

“Isn’t Wednesday usually Keith’s night?”

“He’s busy, apparently. Asked me to switch.”

Robin reappears at Eddie’s elbow. She puts a few tapes on the counter and says, “He’s got a date.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Good for him.”

“Yeah. At least somebody around here can get one,” she jokes. Then, with a significant look, she adds, “Right, Steve?”

He glares back at her. “Yeah. Lucky guy.”

“I don’t understand how you’re free, Harrington,” Eddie muses. “You got more natural charm in your pinkie finger than I’ve ever seen from Keith. You should be taking somebody out every goddamn night.”

Robin snorts. “You should’ve seen him when we worked at Scoops. He was striking out left and right. It was so bad, I kept a running tally every day of how many girls rejected him. The record was twenty-two.”

This time, Steve is exasperated enough that he does close his eyes for a moment. He’s not sure what’s worse: Robin making pointed comments around Eddie or recounting past misadventures to him.

“Oh, there’s no way.” Eddie turns to him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. “You were striking out?”

“The hat covered up my best feature,” Steve huffs, vaguely gesturing at his own head.

“Oh, in that case,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. His smile remains, and it even softens after a moment. “Well, those girls didn’t know what they were missing.”

Steve’s lungs seize up. Once again, Robin catches his eye, her brows so high on her forehead they’ve disappeared behind her bangs. He narrows his eyes at her—a nonverbal warning to shut the fuck up—then turns to the computer to add her rentals to her account.

Out loud, he says, “I’ll take the hat over this damn thing.” He doesn’t have to point at his nose guard; he’s learned over the past few days that it’s the only thing anyone sees as long as he’s in the room.

Eddie tilts his head and shoots him a sympathetic grimace. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it definitely is,” Steve says. His deadpan delivery draws a laugh from Eddie that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“Look on the bright side. Wearing that thing should keep your face lookin’ as pretty as ever, right?”

“Oh my god,” Robin mumbles. It sounds involuntary.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, interpreting her frustrated outburst as some startled realization.

She confirms that she hadn’t meant to say anything by turning to Steve in a panic and stammering, “I’m…gonna be late! I said I would meet Nancy at six-thirty, and it’s almost”—she looks at her watch and deflates a little—“a quarter to six.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He glances at Steve in clear is she okay? amusement, then says, “You got forty-five minutes, and you’re worried about being late? Where are you s’posed to meet her, Timbuktu?”

“Ah, no. Her house.” Robin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I just, uh…I have to pick up snacks, too! See you guys.” She’s already halfway out the door before the words are out of her mouth.

Eddie stares after her, looking bewildered. “What the hell was all that about?”

“No idea,” Steve lies.

There’s a quiet moment, where the only sound is the computer’s keyboard clacking under his fingertips. He figures Eddie must be lost in thought, because after spending enough time with him, he’s noticed that those are the only moments where Eddie stops talking—and sometimes not even then. Like with Robin, he finds it endearing. More than once, he’s caught himself grinning like an idiot as Eddie rambled about D&D classes or a Judas Priest album.

When Eddie does eventually speak, he says the last thing Steve expects. “You know, you kinda pull it off.”

Blinking rapidly, Steve looks up from the computer. He slowly turns to look at Eddie. “What?”

“The nose thing. It’s weirdly cute on you.” He sighs a laugh and shakes his head. “Listen to me. ’Course it is—you’re Steve Harrington. You could be wearing a goddamn bunny suit and you’d be able to make it work.”

Steve stares at him for another moment, at a loss for what to say. “Thank you?” he tries.

“It still sucks, though.” Eddie pauses. He’s leaning on the counter again, though now he has his hands splayed across it, fingers drumming idly. “Did they tell you how long it might take for the bruising to clear up, too?”

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, Steve stammers, “Uh, y-yeah. Few days, apparently.” He goes back to sorting tapes, desperate for something to distract him from the ongoing butterfly swarm in his stomach.

“Hm.” Another pause. “Think it’d heal faster if you had somebody to kiss it better?”

Steve fumbles with a small stack of tapes, dropping a couple. He has to take a deep breath to recover before he can lean down to retrieve them.

In that second, though, Eddie has already leapt over the counter. “Whoops! Allow me.” He squats and starts picking them up, and…

Holy mother of god.

This is too much. It’s too much for Steve to handle, having Eddie crouched on the floor in those fucking shorts, right in front of him, with his skin taut over his quads and the denim hugging his crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. All Steve can do is stare as his breath becomes hopelessly shallow.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he lifts his arm to hand the tapes over. When he does, his eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Whoa. Stevie. You doin’ alright?”

Steve swallows, trying to summon an answer.

“Um. Earth to Harrington,” Eddie says with an anxious smile. He waves the tapes across Steve’s field of vision. “You okay, man?”

“I saw you at the park,” Steve blurts. He isn’t sure why. The ER doc told him he didn’t have a concussion, but maybe his brain got a little banged around, after all.

Looking outright worried now, Eddie rises and sets aside the tapes.

“The other day. I was playing tennis with my dad at the park and I saw you.”

“Okay…”

“That’s why I fell and broke my nose.”

Eddie blinks and shakes his head in a startled little expression. “Okay, Stevie. You lost me.”

Finally, Steve has reached his breaking point. He whirls around and starts pacing away from Eddie, raising his hands to tangle in his own hair. “It’s those goddamn shorts.” He turns on his heel to face Eddie again, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why the hell do you have to wear those things?”

Eddie puts his hands up defensively. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“‘What’s wrong?’ You look too good in ’em, that’s what’s wrong!”

Instantly, Eddie’s confused look melts into one of total understanding. A gradual smirk stretches his lips. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you fell on your face…broke your nose…because you saw me walk by in shorts?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses.

Eddie lifts both his gaze and his hands to the sky, as if overcome with religious passion, and cries out, “Holy fucking shit, finally!”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Steve. Stevie. Harrington.” Eddie walks over and lowers his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders. “I’ve been tryin’ to get you to admit to checking me out for weeks. Gonna be honest, I was starting to think your stubborn ass was never gonna cop to it.”

“You—what?”

“Christ. I was worried I was gonna have to break down and ask you out before you did.”

Steve stares for another moment before demanding, “Why the hell didn’t you?!”

Eddie falters. His smirk morphs into a sheepish grimace. “I, uh…I may have bet Henderson that I could hold out until you admitted it.”

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. But he’s smiling. “I’m gonna kill that little creep.”

“At least let him pay up first,” Eddie says. Then he clears his throat, which gets Steve to open his eyes. “That said, through…you free tomorrow night?”

Steve meets his gaze, skeptical. “You wanna take me out looking like this?”

Eddie giggles and nods. “Technically it’s my fault. I gotta make it up to you somehow.”

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | eighteen. (final)

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.7k

—chapter content/warnings: very light cussing, mature language, first bit is a dream oc had in the morning, the lovebirds are overseas celebrating a lot of VERY important things, yes he does!! just yes 🤭😗, a pretty intimate & sweet shower together but nothing too crazy, lots of kisses and sweet moments per usual!!

—a/n: and.. that's a wrap, loves! i figured i'd end this on a sweet, cute note just cause it made more sense to me. thank you so, so much for your love on this series. it was a fun & wild ride, & i'll truly miss 'em! gonna take a little breather, but once i'm able to catch my breath, i'll be back with more hwa, joong, and yuyu content. maybe some drabbles for our wildfire lovebirds if life lets me. lol stay tuned 💕

—THIS MORNING'S DREAM

The redwoods.

You find yourself staring out into the redwoods. In a room. No one but yourself in the quiet space. 

You don't exactly know where you're at, the place doesn't seem entirely familiar; but, everything about it is beautiful. There's beautiful, tall trees ahead, some bent in a peculiar form, but they do well for the setting. Beyond it is an amazing view of the lush, green hills and a small town below. The sun isn't shining bright, and there are some clouds lingering— but the weather feels perfect. It's not too cold, not too hot. There are a million bright string lights hanging above, along with white drapes. There are all sorts and sizes of candles lining the rows of chairs, split in the middle with plants and baby pink, white, cream colored rose petals colorfully painting the aisle. The chairs are a dark wood, with white backs and cushions. 

"Are you ready, pretty girl?" You're pulled out of your thoughts when your mom shuts the door  behind her and comes close. She's wearing the most elegant one shoulder dress that falls to her feet, hair pulled back in a tight, low bun. She's got gold jewelry on her hands, wrist. Her nails a beautiful french-tip, red lipstick painting her lips. Makeup natural. All to match her white dress.

"Yeah, I think so." You respond softly, hands smoothing out the material beneath you. It's a lace corset top that falls off your shoulders and into long-sleeves. The bottom of your dress is a silk, milky white. The dress hugs your form perfectly. Curves and all. Makeup also beautifully done, yet natural.

Just enough.

"You look so, so beautiful, hunbun. Just so gorgeous, I can't believe today is the day already." Your mom covers her mouth with her hand, looking up to prevent the tears from flowing. "God, my makeup." You laugh.

"Stop, you're gonna make me cry." You also look up and fan at your face, doing a good job of holding it in. Keeping it together. "Okay, let's go before this gets too much for the both of us." She laughs and you link arms together, walking out of the room after she gives you a quick cheek-to-cheek kiss. She walks you towards the main doors before giving the coordinator at the door a curt nod. She does one last look over, smoothing down your dress before the doors fly open and the entire group is looking at you.

Waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

Because at the end, San is waiting there.

With your bridesmaids, his groomsmen.

As you and your mom slowly walk down the aisle and make eye contact with the crowd around you, San begins to cry, his cheeks a rosy tint. He has to look down and try to gather himself, but he can't. He simply can't.

You are literally his dream girl, and you're walking down the aisle to marry him.

"I love you." Your mom quickly whispers as she presses her cheek to yours again before handing you off to San, also giving him a cheek kiss. 

"Baby." San whispers as he grabs your hand, his eyes still teary, but full of so much love, adoration and happiness.

"Hi." You giggle, no longer being able to hold back the tears you've been trying to hold onto.

"You're so beautiful. I love you." He mouths out just as the presider begins.

—END OF DREAM

"Ready, baby?" You snap out of your thoughts, realizing you were just about to dab on more lip gloss and put on some earrings before you got sidetracked and started to revisit your dream from this morning. San stands there, tying his tie while eyeing you up and down. "Good lord. That dress looks so good on you." His eyes trail down the simple, but elegant and beautiful long, black dress.

"Sannie." You laugh, finally gliding the wand over your lips before pressing them together and spreading it evenly. "Promise I'm ready now."

"We have a few minutes to spare." San shuts the bathroom door behind him, sporting a smart ass smirk.

"Weren't you just asking me if I was ready? Besides, we don't actually have a few minutes to spare—" San whines.

"Don't be like that."

"Choi San." You giggle when San rests his hands on your hips, pressing light kisses against your jaw and neck. "Stop it, we should go get your mom. She's probably wondering where we're at."

"No, she's not—" At this point, San's phone vibrates, signaling a text from his mom. "Yes, she is." He retracts and sighs, making you laugh.

"Let's go." You tap his chest, gently kissing him on the lips before wiping off the sparkly lipgloss that's lightly coating the surface of his pink, plump lips. 

"By the way, what were you thinking about in there?"

"How'd you know?"

"I don't think it takes you that long to put on lip gloss." You laugh.

"I had a dream." 

"Yeah? Wanna tell me about it?" You think for a second, shaking your head.

"Later." He nods. San throws on his blazer before slipping his hand into yours. Heading out of your hotel suite, you and San walk down the hall to meet his mom in a separate room that was booked by the foundation's hosts.

Today, San would be receiving another big award in Paris, probably one of the biggest in recent times— one that was enough for hosts to cover the business class flights for the three of you, and the suites for you, San and his mom. Ground transportation covered. Meals. 

Everything you could think of to make this time special for all of you, but especially San.

The award ceremony would be held in about two hours in the Grand Ballroom downstairs, with San having to take photos and do a press interview beforehand. You couldn't be any more proud, and there are no words to capture how you feel about all of San's many achievements and milestones within the year and a half. 

You squeeze his hand as he knocks on his mom's room door, greeting her with a big smile when she swings the door open and reveals her beautiful black, rhinestone dress. She has a shawl over her shoulders, hair combed neatly and left down. Clutch bag in hand.

"My San." She says, cupping his cheek and pressing a small kiss to the surface before moving past him to greet you. "Oh, sweetheart. You look so beautiful." She pulls you in for a hug and a kiss to the cheek as well.

"So do you, mom." You respond, squeezing her hand.

"We've got a big night in front of us." She smirks at San before leading the way to the elevators around the corner.

"Yup." San pops the 'p' at the end, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Nervous?" You squeeze his bicep and he shakes his head.

"No." He jokes and gives you a look before sighing and admitting defeat. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

"You'll do amazing, hun. You've gone through your speech a few times already, just let it flow naturally, okay?" His mom chimes in and reassures him. "It'll all go smoothly."

"Thank you, mom."

"Love you, my boy. Very proud of you."

"Love you, too." He gives her a toothless smile before looking down at you and pressing his lips to your forehead. "Really appreciate you guys being here with me."

"Course, love." You answer just as you step out of the elevator. The group walks next into the room adjacent to the Grand Ballroom, where San would be taking photos and doing his press interview. He's immediately greeted by members of the hosting foundation, San introducing you and his mother right away. They quickly touch him up with very light stage makeup before taking him to the backdrop area. He takes a few shots on his own with the award before the foundation leadership team surrounds him in the next few photos. They call for you to step in, then his mom, followed by the three of you all together. When it's time for San to do his press interview with the group, you and his mom sit off to the side— listening intently. He talks about his childhood, still recognizing and praising his dad for being his role model throughout his life despite him not physically being here to support his own son.

It's a shame San's dad chose not to come.

You know San would've really appreciated it, but he knows he can't get his hopes up with him. Ever. He is the way that he is, and there's no changing that.

And even with bright eyes and a big smile, San continues to talk about him and how it shaped his career, his perspective on things. You can tell it hurts him, and you can tell it hurts his mom, too. But, he carries on with the same grace that he always has, laughing and continuing to lift spirits of everyone in the room even though it's killing him inside to know he can't have his father close like he wants to. You slide your hand into San's mom's hand when you find her tearing up, rubbing her knuckles as a way to soothe her. She smiles and quickly rests her head on your shoulder before patting her eyes dry. San talks about his mom and how important his relationship with her is, how she's always been there to support him since day one— pushing him to be his very best and to never quit when times got rough. He highlights the importance of his mother's love, stating that the grace and patience he's learned over the years has been because of her. 

Then, he talks about you.

His eyes find yours before he chuckles a bit, his cheeks turning red again at the interviewer asking him to dive a little deeper into the relationship he has with you and how it has support him. 

"I—I honestly don't know where to start. Y/N has been a driving force for me. I can't even tell you how selfless she is, and how she always supports me throughout everything. All my good and bad days, she remains unchanging. She loves me for who I am, and she always reminds me that if there's a will, there's a way." He looks at you again before smiling at the interviewer.

"You're blushing." The interviewer teases, making everyone giggle and laugh, even his mom next to you. You know everyone is aware of the bit of your history, being his student at one point. But no one really bats an eye anymore after time has passed and the distance has only made you and San stronger in your areas, fields. Sure, there's still a few that raise a brow and tease at it. A very small number that physically look at you two in disgust or think it's still some power play or imbalance at hand; but, to each their own. Because if time hadn't passed and showed you exactly who San was and what you meant in this relationship, then maybe. Maybe you would still would've been scared, iffy, about the whole thing even being at different campuses under different niches.

But, San hadn't changed, and so hasn't his love.

There was no reason to place any doubt on him, on this.

On yourself.

You've just learned to shut out the noise— the extra noise that felt like they had reasons to be in your business, to tell you how to act, move.

You just didn't have the time or energy anymore. You were focused on what really mattered:

Your mom, your friends, your work, San.

"It sounds really cliché, but she completes me. She really is my person and a blessing. Everything I do, I do with my parents and Y/N in mind because I want to make them proud and I want them to know that I am trying to do some good in this world. I'm thinking about them and everyone, and I'm thinking about how this could affect things in the future. I am trying to do some good and I want to take care of people. Just like I want to take care of my parents, of Y/N. I hope they know that. I hope they know I'm trying to do what I can to improve science and research." You nod in agreement, somehow a way to show San that yes, you all know. You are aware of how hardworking he is and how he continues to be, despite all the trials and tribulations he has already encountered.

Suddenly, you remember your dream.

The dream had been in the back of your head for awhile, but you figured you should wait until the right time to bring it up to San. You know he wouldn't mind, and he'd love to hear all about it. You just didn't wanna take away from tonight, especially with it being an important night for him.

But, he's all you can think of.

Him, at the end of that aisle.

A dream.

That, maybe one day, can come to fruition.

The rest of the interview goes smoothly, the entire photo and interview segment wrapping up within an hour and a half or so. The three of you gather outside of the Grand Ballroom to mingle with other highly known professors, Nobel laureates and big figures within the foundation and the neuroscience/bioengineering world. San keeps you close, while his mother talks to a few people on her own— mutually knowing each other due to her husband. A few people actually acknowledge you for the work you're doing in Professor Qi's lab, and it feels nice to be acknowledged for who you are and the work you put in. But, you put a halt to those conversations quick, making sure to keep the spotlight on San tonight [even though you know he doesn't mind it one bit].

Soon, everyone is being ushered into the room, and the ceremony kicks off promptly on the hour. It begins with the foundation's president welcoming everyone to the ceremony, followed by his speech. There's four people they are honoring tonight, with San being the last person on the list to receive his award and give his speech. Along with awards in their distinct fields/categories, they've been awarded an additional cash prize, along with additional funding support for the research projects. San is the youngest professor in the room, an assistant professor at that, and it makes you immensely proud to be here with him.

To witness this evening, to witness everyone congratulate San on his achievements and tell him how amazing he has been doing on this long, tumultuous road.

When it's time for San to deliver his acceptance speech, he does his due diligence of thanking everyone in the room, his parents and you, before diving into the nitty gritty of his career, his work and where this will take him in the near future. They're strict about their 3-min cutoff, which surprisingly goes by fast for San when he's talking about his work— a hand signaling for him to start wrapping up at the tail end with his last words.

"So, with all that being said, I'm grateful to my students and postdoctoral fellows in these past years. It hasn't been long, but we have a long way to go together. They have continued to amaze me with their brilliance and their courageousness— trying everything and anything, even when pieces of the puzzle don't seem like they'll fit. But, they try, and they try. Until, it finally works. They find the right pieces to fit. And I think this is why we're all here tonight." He pauses before scanning the crowd. "Because we all have a bit of that courage. And that courage to advance science and truth has never been more important than it is now." He pauses. "Thank you." San comes to the center of the stage, doing a deep and long bow in appreciation before heading back down to your table.

"Great job, San." His mom whispers and squeezes his arm as he takes his place in between you two.

"That was perfect, Sannie." You look at him and he smiles.

"Yeah? Kinda winged it on the plane." You laugh.

"So, that's what you were doing while I was asleep."

"Yesma'am." You giggle, giving him a kiss to the cheek. The dinner portion starts, along with orders for cocktails and dessert. The foundation has a few video presentations to show the crowd what the funding has supported and how research in these areas have advanced over time. It's a very beautiful evening, and you loved watching the videos over dinner. There's even videos to commemorate the winners— and now, it's suddenly making sense why San was sending all those photos in a hurry during the week. You laugh, almost at tears, seeing San's childhood photos and videos. 

It was a nice way to top off the ceremony.

After more casual photo sessions and a bit more mingling post-dinner and cocktails, you, San and his mother find yourselves heading back up to the rooms.

"I'm exhausted. I think the jet lag is hitting me right before we leave." She laughs and gives you two a quick kiss on the cheek and hug. "I'll see you both tomorrow for breakfast?"

"Sounds good. Goodnight, mom." San does a little nod before the both of you wave her off and finally head to your suite.

But, you lead the way and San trails behind.

Because now, he's more nervous than he's ever been. He's more nervous than he was prepping for the entire award ceremony. It's time for San to bring his plan to life, something he had been planning for months on end.

Just to get it all right.

For you. As you deserve.

And although he's gonna pop the question tonight, he's gonna promise you that you can take your time. That none of this has to happen quickly, that the both of you will get married and throw the wedding when the time feels appropriate, right.

Perfect.

You step into the suite and set your purse and coat down, but before you can do anything else to get more comfortable, San steps in front of you.

"I.. wanna take you somewhere. Is that okay?"

"Course, love. I'm down for adventures." You chuckle. "You aren't tired?" San shakes his head while undoing his tie, releasing the first button from his dress shirt.

"No."

"Should I change?" You look at him up and down and he shakes his head.

"No. It'll be quick. I just wanna get some air and take in Paris before we leave early in the morning. Grab your coat though, angel."

"Okay." You take your coat again just like San advises, also grabbing your purse before following him out of the room. The both of you head down to the lobby, your man heading straight for the front desk while letting go of your hand. He leans over to tell the associate behind the counter something, the man smiling and nodding in response. 

"Okay, the car is out front to take us to the place."

"Where are we going exactly?"

"You'll see." He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"What'd you tell the front desk, Sannie?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check on something about our room."

"Hm, everything okay?"

"Yeah, perfect." Is all he says before swinging the back door open of the black sedan waiting at the front of the hotel. He lets you in first, giving you time to slide in and get comfortable before he situates himself. 

"To the Eiffel?" The driver asks, eyes peering at San through the rearview mirror.

"Yes, please."

"Eiffel Tower? I didn't think we'd have time."

"We can always make time, baby." He laughs. "I get it, though. Every time I've flown to Paris for work, I barely have a moment to soak it in. This will is much needed."

"A perfect way to end our quick, but eventful and amazing trip." You smile and hold his hand.

"Yup." He brushes his lips against your knuckles before placing a kiss to them. The ride is quiet— mainly because San is nervous, mainly because you're trying to take in everything that passes you by in this car ride over. San is acting a little weird and he's checking his phone with his free hand here and there, but you don't question it much. You blame it on the exhaustion or jet lag, nerves finally settling since the ceremony has finished.

The ride is soothing for you. Things don't seem to matter much in this moment.

And even though you find yourself feeling a little tired, you can't wait to get some air with San at the Eiffel Tower. Another dream of yours that you had been wanting to cross off on your bucket list.

You are now, with the love of your life.

When the car drops you off at a good spot, the night air is chilly, but the coat is enough to keep you warm. San smiles as he holds your hand tightly, his dimples on full show as he finds a good spot near the tower for you to take pictures and enjoy the view.

"It's beautiful in person, San. So, so beautiful." You look up, staring at the tower lighting up in its pure beauty.

"Isn't it, sweetheart?" He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before kissing the back of your head. "Glad I'm here with you."

"Thank you for taking me along."

"You know I wouldn't step foot on the plane with you." You laugh, but it fades when he suddenly removes his hold from around you and steps back. "Sorry, love. Mom is calling. Let me make sure she's okay." You look at him and nod, turning back towards the tower to take more photos to send to your mom. She hasn't answered to your last set of photos from the ceremony and it makes you wonder if she's super busy at work—

"Sorry."

"That's okay. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." He says softly. "Perfectly fine." He pulls you flush to his body, keeping you close. Warm. "Baby." San looks at you under the starlit sky, brushing your hair back gently. He replays every single moment he's shared with you like a film strip in his head— from the moment you first met, that kiss at the view, the first date. The crazy ups and downs, the break apart. 

All the firsts he experienced with you, just to head towards the lasts.

"Yeah, San?" He continues to stare, smiling softly at you. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" You cock your head to the side, furrowing your brows when San lets out a shaky breath.

"I just love you. So, so much."

"I love you, too." You giggle. But, San's expression doesn't change, and something shifts in the air. He steps back a bit, pulling something out of his pocket. "San?" You gasp and almost stumble back on your feet in surprise. He gets down on one knee, popping open the box. The people nearby cover their mouths or smile in anticipation, a common theme to happen at the tower. But, it's a beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love.

"S-San, what is—"

"Will you marry me?" You cover your mouth in surprise, tears already streaking down your cheeks. You nod eagerly, barely able to make out the 'yes' that escapes your lips. You cry as San slips the ring onto your finger, swinging you around in his arms before gently planting your feet back down onto the ground and keeping his arms around your waist. The claps and sweet cheers from the small crowd around you continue while San cups your cheeks and kisses you sweetly, deeply. The kiss goes on for awhile, making you grip San's shirt on the side. 

"Congratulations!" San's mom comes into view with a bouquet, making you both finally pull away. You also notice the ceremony's photographer off to the side taking photos, wondering how San [or his mom] pulled this off. Your eyes widen in surprise, laughing as you hug your newfound fiancé and take in the moment.

You were definitely not ready for the next surprise to come, though.

"Mom?!" Your mom pops in out of nowhere with your friends on a Facetime call.

"Yes, honey!" She laughs while teary-eyed. "I bring your friends, too!" She points at the phone.

"Congrats!" You hear in the many different voices of your friends, your mom crying and laughing at the same time.

"So glad I was here for all of that."

"Mom?" You ask again in disbelief. "Guys?!" You look at the phone screen. San is watching with his mom, enjoying the way everything is unfolding.

"Sorry we couldn't be there." Jiung says. "Congrats, San and Y/N! We love you! Go enjoy yourself, we'll see you when you get back!" You nod, quickly waving goodbye to your friends before returning your attention to your mom. 

"Mom, how did you even—?" You cry, and you cry, and you cry. "Mom." You don't even talk and finish your sentence, hugging your mom tightly as she continues to congratulate you and tell you how proud of you she is. How she can't wait to see you and San get married in the coming years. How everything has just fallen into place perfectly.

"San. San asked me to come as soon as the ceremony agenda was finalized and he planned everything out." Your mom wipes your tears away and smiles. "Oh, my pretty girl. Look at you. You're gonna get married!"

"I know." You laugh. "It's crazy!" You hug her again.

"By the way, we're actually not leaving for a few more days. I wanted all of us to at least be able to enjoy this time together. Let you ladies shop and enjoy Paris, too."

"San." You whine a bit and gently pinch him, still in disbelief about everything.

"Ow—yeah, baby?"

"You're the best." He laughs, walking alongside of you, your mom and his mom— arm strung around your shoulder.

"I try." 

"Best Paris trip, hands down."

"Yeah, I can agree to that." San agrees.

"Me too." Your mom says, making you all laugh. You all walk to a gelato shop right across the street, indulging in the best of the best before heading back to the hotel to get comfortable after a long day. You learn your mom had arrived late last night, her hotel room only a couple of floors down from yours. 

She was here the entire time and you had no idea.

They all had hid everything so perfectly, and you didn't suspect a thing. Even when San was acting a little skittish in the car. The ceremony was surely a good way to cover that all up and keep it hidden in the dark. You loved the surprise.

When you say goodnight to your mom and your soon-to-be mother-in-law, you and San finally head back to the room and get comfortable. The staff drew a heart with rose petals on the sheets, a bottle of the finest champage and a box of chocolate covered strawberries sitting in the middle with a 'Congratulations' card. You snap photos for the memories before slipping the champagne and strawberries into the fridge to indulge in tomorrow. Then, you both step into a long, piping hot shower— San's hands massaging and caressing away at your body. Everything about the shower is intimate; slow kisses, slow movements. Hands laced tightly, bodies pressed tightly together. Tongues exploring and dancing around each other's mouths. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just taking each other in as is during this moment.

After a good 30 minutes in the shower, San helps dry you off before focusing on himself. You finish up your nightly routine before slipping into one of San's shirts and getting into bed. San shuts off all the lights in the suite, pulling the sheer curtains across the balcony door so you can still see the city lights and the moon coming in. He settles in next to you and instantly pulls you onto his chest, letting out a big sigh of relief when you both get comfortable.

"Mission accomplished today."

"You must feel relieved."

"Very fucking relieved." You snort.

"Congrats again, babe. You deserved all of the praise today."

"Congrats to you too, angel." You smile, resting on his chest for a bit. The both of you lay in silence, listening to the hustle and bustle of the city beneath you.

"My dream this morning." You break the silence and say softly while laying on his chest, tracing faint shapes on his skin.

"Hm, oh yeah." He hums. "Ready to tell me?"

"I had a dream about our wedding." You look at him, still teary-eyed from the whole encounter. "It was beautiful." You begin to tell him about the details, recounting the decorations, the setting, the flowers. Everything.

Laying out the image you had exactly in your head.

How you cried, how San cried.

"Oh, I know I'm gonna cry seeing you walk down that aisle. No doubt." You laugh.

"Yeah, I will, too." San chuckles.

"I'll make sure to give you all of that and more, how about that?" He caresses your cheek with the softest smile.

"Only if you want it, too."

"Course I do, it sounds perfect for us."

"Yeah?" You look up at him and he nods.

"100%." He kisses your forehead. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything."

"I love you too, San."

"Can't wait to do life with you."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated @randajjjad

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay! I was hit with a big case of “this chapter is very important so it has to be perfect” and “I have a crush on someone and it’s rendering me incapable of human function." Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Love From The Other Side by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 26.4k (for context that is longer than the first 4 chapters combined. Someone needs to restrain me)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have work to do, and Ben keeps to his word. Usual warnings, with emphasis on assault. No rape, but one non-con kiss. Make the best call for yourself.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

You’d been right. Word of mouth spread fast, and Sage knew about your speech. Homelander as well, but he’d reacted about as you’d hoped to anticipate. Proud, smug, certain beyond a doubt that you had been speaking of him. 

Sage knew better. She knew what you’d really meant—who you’d really been speaking of—and the only thing that saved was that she couldn’t do anything about it. 

Because word of mouth spreads fast. 

But the internet spreads faster. 

Everyone has an opinion on what, in a brilliant twist of journalism, was being called Believe-gate. Everyone has seen the photo of your fearful expression when the “CIA terror attack” on good, christian America had begun and Homelander had shot off the stage. Fear for your lover, gone to fight for what’s right. Or, if the photo was of your fear expression when your extraction operation had begun and Homelander had gone to kill your team. 

It all depends on who you ask. 

If you ask Homelander’s supporters, or Homelander himself, you’ll hear the narrative you’ve been forced to memorize and parrot almost every day. Your fear was for Homelander, whom you loved. The attack by the CIA on a group of innocent civilians was a tragedy both in the losses of A-Train and Ezekiel, and as the American people had to learn they couldn’t trust their government. They could only trust their heroes, trust Homelander, to keep them safe. 

If you ask the Starlighters, or read the CIA’s official statement on the matter, the alleged “attack” had been an extraction operation for the Anomaly that had gone sideways. Employees of Vought had interfered with a government sanctioned mercenary team—lead by William Butcher and containing Soldier Boy but not in official association with Starlight—and collateral damage had been unavoidable. People should write their congressman to divert more money into funding Butcher’s team, and boycott Vought products until the Anomaly was freed. 

That’s closer to the truth, but reality is still far more absurd than either side seems to properly capture. Not absurd in the way the media seems to think, because gossip and rumors spread like the wildfire climbing steadily back under your skin. In meetings—as Sage goes over damage control and shoots you cold, measured glares—you see post after post, headline after headline, and video after video of speculation. You’re honestly a little surprised it took this long for the ball to get rolling. You’d thought the aftermath of your interview was going to be the largest fallout—the biggest step and ultimate catalyst—but you’d been wrong. This was it. For some reason, the Believe Expo was what did it. People are trying to figure out what was really going on. Someone posits a theory on Reddit about you’re a robot or shapeshifting supe who stole the face and identity of a dead PhD student. NPR runs a story about the history of government and corporate propaganda, and CNN does a frame by frame breakdown of recording of your speech. A video essay about how you were Homelander’s girlfriend but had been tortured and brainwashed by the CIA to infiltrate Vought. Old footage of the Firecracker rally circulates as people dissect your every facial expression. One person accuses you of being obsessed with Homelander. Another says you’re just Stormfront with a new face. There’s a small online movement that’s pretty sure you’re actually Sage’s girlfriend and Homelander’s just bearding for you, and another that’s convinced you’re Robert Singer’s estranged love-child. One person sends an email accusing you of being Stan Edgar’s daughter. Several people accuse you of working for the Chinese, and several more of being a British Spy. At A-Train’s funeral, one stupidly brave man with a microphone had shouted a question of what’s your response to allegations you had an affair with William Butcher, and you’d almost laughed in his face. 

That might have been your favorite moment, because it made you snort and think of Ben’s sour expression. 

Butcher couldn’t fucking handle you, Sunshine. 

Benjamin, you can barely handle me yourself. 

I’m having a grand fucking hell of a time trying. Butcher would start whining like a bitch. 

You whine like a bitch. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

That’s the part nobody has guessed. People have landed on pieces of the truth. You are a dead PhD holder—everyone always seems to forget you actually had the PhD—and you are infiltrating Vought, but not because anyone told you. If anything the biggest opposition you faced to your plan has been from your side. Not a day passes where just the phantom of Ben doesn’t tell you to come home. To wear blue and let him just come get you. 

And that’s the part people seem to be missing. It’s obvious to you, but you’re biased and have the full picture. The fear on your face at the Believe Expo was for Ben. For the split second you’d thought you might lose him. People couldn’t trust their heroes, but nobody needed to break you out. People should absolutely not demand Butcher be funded further. You did not want to return to find Butcher, Ben, and Frenchie jerking themselves off over a collection of military-grade weaponry. In all the millions of people stringing you up to search for the truth, the real you—if Vought is right or the CIA is right or if you’re playing them both—they all miss the only two things that really mattered to you.

Kill Homelander. Whatever it takes, however you have to twist and pull yourself apart, you will kill Homelander. 

Go home to Ben. Tell Ben you love him, then go wherever he goes. 

As the week starts to pass, the scandal doesn’t turn into just another story. It only grows. Sage puts you back on tower lockdown, and most of the time it’s just you, The Deep, and Ashley on 99. You have to record videos and do livestreams and keep pretending you don’t want to lean over to Homelander in the dead of night and just kill him. Find a way to make yourself stronger than him and strangle his throat, or use all the fire you have in your control to reduce him to a shriveled husk that’s still in only half the pain you are. You smile all day—in the dim yellow lights of Homelander’s room and into flashing cameras at Sage’s orders—and at night you drag up the fire, miss Ben, and feel the cracks in you start to spread. 

You’re the most famous person in America. 

You want to go home. 

You have to go home. Before the cracks reach something fundamental and you just break. Without Ben to pick you up. 

Overall, you’d know getting the V was going to be a delay, but it’s not as large as you’d expected. The time added by finding V is being lost by how fast everything else is going. How it’s snowballing and rolling down the mountain with you even having to push it. Three weeks are added to your timeline just as two are lost, and you’ll be home soon. 

If everything goes well, you’ll be home soon. 

You’re keeping yourself whole. By threads and stitches and temporary bandaging, you haven’t completely lost yourself and fallen apart. But the cracks are coming faster, larger. Nightmares that you have to learn to hold down, because Homelander can’t see you break. You wake up paralyzed and cold, still haunted by images of Ben asleep, or gone, or having just left. He wouldn’t, you know he wouldn’t, but Homelander had still cornered you after the Believe Expo and told you that he had. 

He’d dropped you in the Seven’s meeting room, and pushed you into the wall by your throat. 

“You didn’t know,” he’d sneered into your face, and you’d had to shake your head weakly. 

“I didn’t, I swear-“

“Were they there to save you? Take you away again?” 

“I don’t know-“ 

“Tell me the truth!” He’d roared, spit flying in your face and coconut making you sick. “I’m so sick of everyone lying to me!” 

“I am,” you’d clawed at his gloved hand, the leather cold on your skin, choking on your words. “That’s the truth, please, I didn’t know-“ 

Homelander had laughed. “Doesn’t matter, they didn’t get you. Your precious little Soldier Boy ran.” 

That wasn’t true. You’d told Ben to go, he hadn’t run. He’d never run, not away from you. 

“They left you. Didn’t even try to keep you.” Homelander had tsked, shaking his head. “I’d stay.” 

You’d just nodded, unable to speak, and Homelander’s jaw had ticked. Hand tightening around your throat. 

“I said I’d stay. They left you, Soldier Boy left you, but I’d fucking stay. You’re a fucking manipulative bitch, who can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them. I’m the only one who sees through you, who doesn’t fall for your silly tricks, and that’s why I love you. You can’t fucking trick me, and I know you love me.” 

Your nods had grown frantic. “I know, please, I can’t-“ 

“I’d stay.” Homelander had hissed. “You love me and I stay.” 

“You’d stay. I love-“ 

The door opened. Your desperate, lying words had failed in your mouth because the door had opened and a group of people had walked in. Interns or cleaners or tech workers, just normal people. 

Homelander had lasered them down, their bodies falling to the floor with sickening crunches and wet sounds. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even blinked. Just killed them and turned back to you with an annoyed expression. 

“People don’t even knock anymore.” He’d sighed. “I mean, it’s manners. None of these people were raised in a fucking barn, right?!” 

“I, I can’t,” you’d coughed slightly. “Breathe, can’t breathe-“ 

Homelander had rolled his eyes, glaring at you as he spoke. “Say you didn’t trick me.” 

“I didn’t trick you, I can’t-“ 

“And you love me.” 

“I love you-“ 

“Say Soldier Boy left you.” 

“He left, I can’t, please-“ 

He’d dropped you to the floor, scowling as you’d pulled yourself back up on shaking legs. “Good.” He looked you up and down one. “I can trust you.”

That had been what you’d been angling to hear for weeks. All of this had been playing the game until Homelander trusted you. It was even more vital now, if you wanted to find the V. But you’d only been able to stare at the bodies on the floor. Blood on your feet and splattered across your face, and it won’t come off. Not really. Never entirely. There’s guts spilled across the room, a brain visible through a hole in a skull, and mouths frozen in permanent screams that you’ll see for the rest of your life. 

That night your dreams had been haunted by red hands and cold skin, and when you called for Ben to find you, no sound had come out. You’d woken up paralyzed, and a pattern had begun. This became the new normal.

You’d had nightmares in the tower. But they’d been bearable, no worse than they’d been before. You’d woken up cold and curled into your own body, your breath and heart still steady enough to be silent to Homelander. 

Now they felt like death. They felt like a burning, white-hot sort of cold under your skin and in your blood, an inescapable hurricane that would devastate what little was left of your control. Nightmares of Ben vanishing in smoke, hearing him fall to the ground and not get back up. Nightmares of blood rivers that pull you away and under and down, until all you can see is red. All you can taste is metal and it freezes your tongue. Holds it still when you wake up with a high, ringing feedback in your ears, and holds you down when you try to rub off the lingering feeling of dread. The sense that this is eternal, and you only have yourself to blame. 

You chose this. In every nightmare you jump in the river, and if you don’t Ben falls in smoke that you can’t pull him out of. Every time you wake up you’re frozen, and every day you can’t breathe without tasting coconut and iron. Over and over until you think you’re going mad, because you look at your hands and they still have blood on them. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. It’s tying that cold you’ve felt from the start into the fire, pulling it up faster and faster as your skin starts to grow molten on your body. As the cold runs through your veins and heart and begins to leak into the world. 

At first, you don’t notice. You’ve felt this before, this feeling of every nerve in your body growing heavy as your blood grows cold and pushes out of you. You’d felt it with Tek Knight. Felt it when Homelander had pulled you into the sky during that fight outside, and when he’d grabbed your face after Noir II. Brief flashes of something like a glacier rushing in and over you, covering anything that dared touch you. But it had been temporary. Brief, polar flashes that were gone in a second. This was long. This was arctic, permanent, and you could barely control it. Nobody touched you, nobody ever touched you here, but it was still spreading like mold around you. People go rigid when they pass you, and start to look cornered and feral when they sit in a room with you for too long. They look trapped. They look how you feel. 

After one meeting, where a Vought “journalist” sat across from you and Homelander—asking you pre-written and approved questions about love and your future and it’s so cold—Sage holds you back. Homelander gives a clap of his hands and crude, white-toothed smile before vanishing with a jump and a sonic sound, but Sage holds you back. 

“Sit down,” she nods to the chair you’re only half risen from, and it’s not a request or suggestion. She’s telling you to sit, and you do. You’re not at an advantage right now, you’ve made too many risky moves that—while paying off—had shown too much. Shown you.

You sit, and wait. You won’t speak first, because you don’t know what game you’re playing and can’t afford to make the starting move. 

Sage frowns at you, tilting her head, but begins to speak. “I’ll admit I’m not sure what you told Soldier Boy that incited such an event, but it did allow me to understand you better.” 

“Understand me?” Your words are spoken through the constant cold. Too controlled, almost bored. “I don’t think there’s much to understand.” 

“There’s more than I usually face.” Sage looks you up and down, and sits across from you. Leaning forward. “It’s taken me longer, as well. There’s been one last piece of the puzzle I couldn’t quite find, and you handed it to me. I thought of you better than that.”

“I don’t think I am a puzzle.” You frown. “And I’d never think of myself better than anything-“ 

“Yes, I got that quite a while ago. Someone who values themself, values their life, doesn’t volunteer to stand in the front lines of an unwinnable war. Doesn’t forgive as easily as you do.” 

You shrug. “I believe that there are very few things that are truly unforgivable. I can only think of one.” 

“Rape?” 

You swallow, frost pushing up your throat, and Sage hums. 

“Unsurprising. That’s another puzzle piece that fits you well, and another reason your little performance will never really be sold.” 

You’re not shocked you haven’t fooled Sage, but it’s not her that you need to have a hold over. So you just watch her silently until she scoffs. 

“This is just us talking. Homelander won’t hear, I’m not looking to lose my first semi-worthy opponent to an easy to spot trap.” 

You still don’t speak, and Sage smiles. 

“Smart. Would proof help? How about,” she looks you up and down. “When we met in January, I was genuinely considering flipping to your side. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he, and while I have no care for people,” her face twists slightly as she says the word, like it tastes sour on her tongue. “I did think I could face an equal challenge taking down a well-established international conglomerate as I was facing with the United States Government. But with a new, unexpected player I decided this could still be interesting.” Sage sits back, looking you up and down. “I showed you mine.” 

Sage wouldn’t call Homelander a pathetic imbecile if there was a chance he might hear—she’s still very capable of being lasered in half—but she could pull a tape and show select footage. So you just blink. 

“Fine.” Sage sighs, and pulls out a pen. Pink, with a fluffy top. She passes it into your hands, careful not to touch skin, and nods. “Click it.” 

You glance at the pen, and push the ballpoint out. 

Sage’s voice echoes through the room. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he. 

You frown at her. “Collateral?” 

“You’ll hold on to the pen, after this conversation I’ll wipe all the tapes and break all the audio bugs in front of you, and then you’ll return the pen to me. Deal?” 

You nod slowly, taking the pen. “Deal.”

“Good. Show me yours.”

“I don’t know what you want me to show you,” you shrug. “Like I said, I don’t believe myself to be a puzzle. And you’ve already figured me out.”

“I hadn’t,” Sage corrects you. “For months, I hadn’t been able to see the whole picture. Your forgiveness is… inconsistent.”

“Really,” you say dryly, crossing your arms. “I’ve only been raped by one man.”

Sage hums. “Would you forgive me?”

“Would you earn it?”

“Maybe.”

You lean back. “Then maybe I’d forgive you.”

“Even though I’m actively working with your rapist? Am aware of the trauma he inflicted upon you and yet still chose to enable him?” 

The cold is sitting in your throat. “All depends on you. Like I said, you’d have to earn it.” 

“And how did Butcher earn your forgiveness?” 

You frown. “Butcher?” 

“He’s the thing that incited Homelander looking into Becca Butcher. Discovering Ryan Butcher. Wanting more.” Sage gives you a half-smile. “Taking you.” 

“I don’t hold people accountable for the actions of others.” Your voice is still bored, even as the cold starts to numb your tongue. “Butcher had no way of knowing that Homelander would do this. He didn’t even know who I was until last year.” 

“Is that the same grace you’ve offered Soldier Boy?” 

Your heart stutters, falters, and freezes. “I haven’t offered Soldier Boy anything he hasn’t earned.” 

“And that’s the thing.” Sage narrows her eyes at you. “You really believe he’s earned it. Despite all of his crimes, of which are an impressive amount and magnitude, you’re still forgiving him. And couldn’t figure out why. It doesn't fit with anything else, it’s completely irrational. But the answer isn’t something that’s supposed to be rational, and I made the mistake of factoring it out.” 

“I don’t-“

“You’re in love with Soldier Boy.” Sage looks you up and down. Her handiwork she gets to admire. “And I didn’t catch it because, by all logical reasoning, you shouldn’t be. I didn’t even consider it until I’d exhausted all other possibilities, and even then I settled on some odd sort of camaraderie. But you love him.” 

The cold becomes like frost lining your heart, and every beat begins to spread it further. Move it out. Play the game, don’t break. “What would it change, if I did?” 

“You do,” Sage says simply. “You are in love with him. It explains everything that felt out of place. Every action you made that didn’t line up with what I’d anticipated.”

“What you’d anticipated?” 

“Yes. For example, you shooting me. It was a reckless choice that backfired on you completely, but every time I ran over the scenario you would still do it. I’d wondered if I’d undersold the stakes, made you feel backed into a corner when that wasn’t my intention. But you’d still shoot me. You’d always shoot me, and it was because I misestimated your stakes. You love Soldier Boy, so if I tell you he’s in danger you will act.” 

“That doesn’t mean I love him.” You give Sage a passive shrug. “Maybe I shot you because you’re fucking annoying.” 

“No, you wanted to hear my plan. That's why you’re still sitting here.” Sage nods to the door. “You could’ve left. You could’ve gotten up and run out the door. You’re faster than I am, you’d have gotten away, showed Homelander the pen, and won. But you know I’d have a countermove, and that’s why you’re still here. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Why you’re here.” You repeat slowly, and Sage nods. 

“We’re the only players that matter now.” She grins at you. “Homelander and Butcher and Soldier Boy can flash their toys, but in the end you’re stronger and I’m smarter. My plan will work better, and you’ll respond in a way I won’t predict. You’ll have a move that would be successful, because you’re fucking powerful, but you’ll sidetrack yourself in the name of humanity and love. In the end the question will be if you can control yourself. If you can forsake being good enough to be great. My bets are on no, but you’ve surprised me before. And that’s what makes this interesting.” 

Play the game. Even as you start to cave in, play the game. “You know I’m stronger than Homelander. But you haven’t told him, he still thinks he’s the strongest supe alive.” You frown at her, trying to pull everything together in your head. “You don’t want him to know I’m stronger. If I fight him, you don’t want him prepared. You want me to kill him.” 

“I do.” Sage shrugs. “I’d like to martyr him, but I don’t think I will. I think I want to play this out.” 

“Make it interesting?” 

Sage smirks at you. “Make it interesting.” 

“It’s your move,” you say, throat tight. “And, while we’re being honest, I’m fucking winning right now. So, what’s your move?” 

She laughs. “You were winning. But I’ve figured you out, so your lead is gone.” Sage’s smile becomes crude and chilling. “In exactly one week, you’re going to propose to Homelander, live on VNN.” 

The cold rushes, so fast. It had been building up and up and now it’s everywhere. A week isn’t long enough. You still haven’t found the V, you’re not close, and a week isn’t enough time. Every piece of your innards and piece of your mind is freezing, because you can’t. You can’t go home yet, but you can’t go fast enough. And you’ll die before you smile at Homelander. Before you let him touch you. He’ll take it as a sign that he’s done this right and now he’s won you. Your blood is frozen and creaking in your body, but Sage is still smirking across from you. 

Breathe evenly. Hold your blood in your body with calculated breaths and careful words. “And If I don’t?” 

“Then I lure Soldier Boy out, and put him back to sleep.” Sage stands, and you can’t move. You can only watch her walk around the room reaching into bowls and under furniture to show you tiny audio bugs that she crushes in Her hands before taking the pen back. “You have a week. Your move.” She pauses at the door, looking back at you with a frown. “Don’t make me wrong about you. I have no interest in being wrong.” 

Then you’re alone, and the cold becomes big. It’s inescapable, how unending this feels. It’s too massive for you, too wild to control and spreading too fast to contain. You stumble your way back to Homelander’s apartment—people parting around you like you’re made of poison—and lock yourself in the bathroom, dropping to the floor in desperation to not break. You’ll find a way out of this, you always find a way out of this, you’ll get through this and go home and this isn’t permanent. Sage hasn’t won, because everything in you is still you, and soon you’ll go home. Everything is cold and bursting out of you, this feels like it will last forever, but it won’t. It can’t. 

The cracks continue to grow, and when you sleep that night you’re plagued by smoke and ice that makes you weak and swallows Ben. You hear him fall and he doesn’t rise back up, and you reach for him only to find him further than you’d thought. 

When you wake up, you’re still held down. Paralyzed and frozen without relent. You want to go home. You’d overestimated your strength, you didn’t want to beat Sage, or trick her, or win. You didn’t want this to be interesting, you just wanted it to be done. You’re exhausted, and alone, and you miss Ben so much. You’re not going to win, because these cracks are starting to be dangerous and you can’t stop them. You’re too weak to stop them, you don’t know how, and you can’t be smarter or stronger because you’re just so tired and almost every part of you is growing thinner and softer by the second. One step away from shattering. Breaking. Maybe you’ve really just already broken, but in a way you didn’t realize, and now you can’t be sewn back together. Your fire is sputtering out once more, you can’t pull it back up, can’t kill Homelander, can’t save Ben. You’re going to break and it’s going to make Ben go under, and he’ll never hold you again. You’re going to be in this vast, hollow loneliness forever, and Homelander will keep you on a shelf as your last embers flicker harmlessly, and you’re going to never see Ben again- 

Calm the fucking hell down, Ben’s voice in your head is rough as it says your name. You’ll see me again, you fucking promised. 

That strange thing is humming in your chest. It hasn’t left you since it appeared. Since you’d seen Ben. Through the day it sat in you silently. Undisturbing, shifting and rolling with a dull ache near your heart. Just a piece of Ben that you got to keep, that always felt like him. Like he was there, warm around you in the cold and tending to your fire. Then, at night, it roars. Twisting with your guts and kickstarting your lungs and mind when you grow frozen. Speaking to you in the dark until you feel like you again. A part of you that’s ingrained and unmovable, that’s not plagued by this cold because Ben is warm. Never afraid because Ben is safe. It’s angry and bloody and zealous, but it’s Ben, and so it smells like pine and feels good. Feels solid and easy, makes Ben feel more real. You’re on the too smooth, silken sheets of Homelander’s bed and everything is cold, but you can almost feel his breath on your ear and his voice rolling into your body. 

I did promise. You sigh into the dark of the room, and your breath comes out in fog. But I don’t think I can talk my way out of this one, Pretty Boy. 

Why the goddamn hell not. 

I’m not smarter than Sage, or stronger than Homelander. I said whatever it takes, but I can’t, Ben. I can’t. I just want to come home. 

First of all, shut the fuck up. You’re being stupid, Sunshine. 

Fucking rude- 

His voice cuts you off. It’s doing that a lot more lately. I don’t give a shit. Homelander is a pathetic fucking pussy, and Sage is a heartless bitch. You’re perfect the goddamn way you are. It’s goddamn infuriating how you’re so perfect, because it’s inconvenient. And if you want to come home you’ll wear blue and not a single fucking thing in the world will stop me getting you. 

That’s part of the problem, Benjamin. I’m not perfect, I can’t fight them, and I can’t let you come and get me. You know that. 

You are fucking perfect. You’re a goddamn pain in my ass, but you’re still beautiful and sure as shit smarter than you should be. And all I know that I fucking miss you. 

You’re crying. Silent tears you have to muffle and wipe away, because even if Homelander isn’t here you can’t chance that he’ll see you break. If you break, it can’t be in front of Homelander. You won’t allow it. 

But Ben’s voice sounds so real. Deep and pushing calm into you—soothing your blood back into your body—because as long as Ben’s voice is here and talking like this nothing can hurt you. 

I miss you too, Benjamin. Your smile is soft and tired, but you can feel Ben there. Something a little more solid than a phantom around you. 

Come home. Just fucking come home. There’s a beat of silence, and his voice in your ear is hoarse. Please. 

Soon. 

You always say soon. Just come home now. 

Ben- 

I miss you. I fucking miss you and I don’t want you home soon. I want you home now. His voice is building with frustration, and something in you is starting to spark in time with that strange thing. I can’t keep worrying about you. You promised, and I trust you with my goddamn life, but I don't trust you with yours. 

Hey. You frown into the dark. My life, Benjamin. My choice to stay. 

I haven’t fucking gotten you, have I? I’m respecting your stupid fucking choice, but I still hate it. I fucking hate this. 

I know you do. But there’s more work to do. 

You don’t have to be the one to do it. You can just- 

I can’t. You hug yourself, the warmth in you growing stronger. Not pushing the cold down, or your blood back in, but rising the fire to fill the cracks the cold is leaving along your head and heart. I can’t just come home. I have to do this. This has to be me. 

There’s another stretch of silence—that thing climbing up your spine and lighting up every nerve—before Ben’s voice rings around you once more. Fine. 

Thank you. You’re not sure why you’re thanking him. He’s not real, but it’s an instinct. Thank Ben, always thank Ben because everything in you is back in your hands and you love him. 

Don’t. 

You smile into the dark, your tears drying in your eyes. You can’t fucking stop me, Pretty Boy. 

I will soon. You’re going to come home, and every time you thank me I’m going to fuck the words out of your mouth. 

I don’t think that’s going to have the effect you intend it to. 

Yes it fucking will- 

Ben. Your voice in your head is dry. If every time I thank you I get fucked, I’m never going to stop thanking you. I might start just thanking you randomly, specifically so you fuck me. 

The thing in you is bellowing and jerking your heart around. Smartass. 

I mean, you had to have seen that coming- 

I just want to see you coming, beautiful. You can almost see his wink. All over me. 

Horny old man.

You love it. And you’re no fucking better than me. 

Than I. And excuse you, I for one can keep it in my pants- 

His voice snorts. I know you, Sunshine. You want to fuck me more than anyone has ever wanted to fuck me. And a lot of people have wanted to fuck me. 

Braggart. 

That’s not a real word. 

Yes, it is. 

Well then what the hell does it mean. 

You brag a lot. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Benjamin. You could’ve gotten that one yourself. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Make me. 

I will. When you get home I’m going to shut your pretty mouth up for a whole goddamn year. With my cock, and my hands, and- 

Fuck you. 

I promise I will, brat. I’m going to fuck you so much you’re never going to want anyone else to touch you. 

You don’t need to fuck me to do that. You sigh, trying to sit a little longer in the warmth as daylight starts to creep into the room. I already don’t want anyone but you, Ben. 

His voice is silent for a second, and you think it’s going to say what it always does, because you love me, but it doesn’t. The thing rattles with an ache in your body, and Ben’s voice is softer than you’d expected when you hear it again. I don’t want anyone else either. 

Good. Your breathing is easy, and you can really almost feel Ben. Behind you, around you, in you. Can you still fuck me anyways? 

His laugh rolls through you, and that thing feels lighter. You feel lighter. Deal, Sunshine. 

Deal. 

The thing fades into dormant ease once more, but you’re still warm. Your blood is still trying to break out of your body, but you’re holding it in. 

And the fire is building. Faster and faster, blazing up into your skin, the fire is building. 

And you won’t break. 

In the morning, your lockdown is temporarily lifted so Homelander can parade you to the masses. They’d long fixed the damage you and Ben caused to the tower lawn—the grass is green once more, and the sidewalks have been repaved smooth and black—and they’ve set up a stage that’s reminiscent of Firecrackers. Not quite as dramatic, twice as large, and with better rigged lights. You could just walk out the doors of Vought Tower—they’ve barricaded the path for that very purpose—but Homelander trusts you. And you’re so close. You’re holding on by a thread, but you won’t break. Not yet. 

Homelander’s been touching you more. Never casually, and not like that, but his hand isn’t just on your lower back anymore. It’s clasping into yours more often, and not in the intimate, careful way Ben does. A cold, leather glove that snaps around your hand, no fingers intertwined or thumb rubbing on your skin. Yanking you around in a way that makes your elbow snap, slamming you into his back and not bothering to steady you. You let him, he has to trust you, but it makes you colder. Homelander will look at you with cruel blue eyes, devoid of any light or warmth or life, and you feel like a prize. He’s won you, and now he’s growing more and more confident, less and less afraid. 

He still won’t touch you with skin. You can’t figure out why, but Homelander’s so very careful not to even brush his skin against yours. You’d think it’s fear. That you’ll feel him, and see something he doesn’t want you to. It’s not about you burning him, you haven’t used fire in front of him since he’d taken you and he knows it. He thinks you’ve burnt out. Learned your place and burnt out. So it has to be about a fear you don’t understand. 

You try not to question it. It’s saving you from being touched like that, and that would break you. That would irreversibly shatter you, and you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself back together. So you don’t question it, use that small part of Ben that’s comfortable in your chest to feed the fire, and try to keep the cold in you. You’ll have to, for this. You can’t afford the cold taking control and falling out of you. You can’t afford flinches or numb expressions when this winter becomes something that’s beyond you. 

So you push it down, down, down, and smile at Homelander. Too sweet, too many teeth, almost manic. 

But you smile at Homelander, and play the game. You’re almost done, so you play the game. 

“Babe?” 

He turns on you with a shark-like expression. You’ve baited him with blood—drawn right from your heart and making you cold—and he’s taken it. 

Homelander says your name, and it's hard to keep smiling. “I like babe, it’s right. Keep using it.” 

You nod, and don’t speak. Waiting for him to prompt you. 

“If you want something, say it.” 

“I was just wondering if you could carry me to the rally later?” Your words are softer than you’d intend, but your tongue is numb in your mouth and it’s the best you can manage. “I just want to get more used to flying with you-“ 

“Of course you can,” Homelander looks you up and down. “It’s not like you’ll get hurt if I drop you.” 

You make yourself laugh, and it doesn’t sound like you. But you keep smiling. Allow yourself to sound smaller. “You won’t drop me, right?”

He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’d take a week to scrape off the pavement.” Homelander’s eyes narrow on yours. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“Of course!” Voice lighter. Don’t let a crack show in it. “I’m just scared of heights.” 

“Oh,” Homelander nods, and starts to walk to you. Arms opening to pick you up, and you have to not scream. Have to keep your teeth from chewing at your cheek and your hands from shaking. “Then let’s go fly. Now.” 

“I, I’m not ready-“ 

“Honey,” Homelander’s voice is annoyed, and he’s glaring again. “Humans have silly little fears about heights. Not us. You’re going to get over this, fucking now, because you aren’t human anymore.” 

You’re not afraid of heights. You’ve never been afraid of heights. You’ve only ever really been afraid of three things in your life. 

Being worthless. 

Losing Ben. 

Homelander. 

But you can’t break. Play the role. Nod slowly and walk into Homelander’s arms. Feel cold but keep it in you, because you don’t have time to let it out. You have six days to do everything, and being defiant isn’t a luxury you can afford. 

He’s still grinning at you, and his teeth are too white. They look fake. “I knew you’d come around. Sage said you wouldn’t, said you’d always be a little too weak, but look at you.” He laughs, and you have to keep smiling. “Still fucking weak, but ready to fix it.” 

He doesn’t let you respond before yanking you up the stairs and onto the roof, and your words and protests die in your throat because he has to trust you if you want to go home. And when Homelander shoots up into the sky, you can’t scream or push him away or even go rigid like you’d done before. You had to pretend you trusted Homelander. That he’d won you and now you trusted him. You have to pull him closer on purpose, even though he’s colder than the air around you and your body hates it. It hates touching him, it hates him touching you. He does it as if you’re his possession. With callous, thoughtlessly placed hands and like, if he were to drop you, it wouldn’t matter. You’re his to break. 

You’d flown with Homelander before, but that had been for transportation. He’d been focused and bored, carrying you like cargo. This was purely to force any fear or weakness out of you with speed and brute force. He’d done flips, your body tossed around through the air and his arms so loose on you there’s not a second where you are certain he won’t drop you. Halfway through you start to hope he will. That you’ll fall with a sickening splat below, someone will post it online, and Ben will come get you.

But Homelander doesn’t drop you. He goes so fast your skin feels like it’s peeling off your face, so high the air feels thin, and through clouds that leave you damp and chilled. 

You weren’t afraid of heights before. You think you might be now. Another line on the growing list of things that, even if you manage not to break, will never be good again. You’re not sure how long you’re up in the air, but when you land back at the tower your hands feel bitten with frost and there’s bile in your throat. 

“Go get yourself together,” Homelander orders, nudging you to the door back inside. “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

You nod, and try to smile at him. He grins back, but his expression turns slightly sour the longer he looks at you. 

“Don’t fucking cry. And wear your supe outfit.” 

He’s gone in a blast of wind, and you’re left to stagger back to his apartment. Alone. Blood so cold, but without time to get a hold over it. You just have to keep going, and hope this settles within the hour. 

You find your way back to the apartment, still freezing into your bones. Trying to stoke the flames under your skin with that thing of Ben’s in your chest, with thoughts of good things. 

Music. City Lights. Ben. 

Go through the movements. Don’t vomit—it will take too long to do, time you don’t have—and hum to yourself until the air feels warmer. You can still feel the cold rushing in your blood, but your skin is warmer. You sing a song of summer, and at least your skin feels warmer. You don’t break. 

Do your hair and makeup yourself. Ashley had offered you a team this morning, and you’d turned it down. You’d made sure Homelander heard your words—I know what I should look like, I don’t need people helping me—and Ashley had nodded and dropped it with an anxious expression and tug of her hair. So now you stand at the mirror, putting on lipstick that’s the wrong shade of red for your skin and applying shadow in a way that’s not you. Not a style you’d ever wear, not when you had control over it. But it’s the role. This is the right red for this version of you, because it’s a red Homelander likes. This eyeshadow is exactly how you have to do it, because it’s how the paid Vought artists did it. How the world thinks you do it. 

You keep a small part of you in your makeup. There’s a green, metallic eyeliner in the collection that had appeared in Homelander’s bathroom, and you trace it on your inner eye. It flashes whenever you move, and it’s impossible to miss. Just a little green, where Ben won’t miss it. Just a little light that doesn’t feel blinding, but feels peaceful and alive. You don’t break. 

Now get changed. You have to get changed, because you’ve calmed down enough to not be in danger—or a danger—and done your hair and makeup. The hour is almost up, and so you have to get changed.

The only reason you’re managing not to vomit every time you wear your supe costume is because there’s still a stale smell of Ben on it. You’re surprised Homelander hasn’t noticed, but he also doesn’t know what Ben smells like. The pine could just be from the outdoors, the gunpowder from the attack. And the part that’s just Ben—not shampoo or lingering parts of his day that grow stronger on his skin—is yours to know. It’s a strong smell, powerful and Ben, and you know it’s his. Same as you know that the thing in you is him, something of Ben’s that’s left a tattoo on you. You know all of him, and this smells like he feels. Like he tastes. 

You still remember what I fucking taste like? 

Shut up. I miss you, and I love you. Of course I remember, don’t be a dick about it. 

Would you prefer I give you my dick about it? 

You snort softly into the empty air. That one’s not even good. I expect better from you. 

You fucking shouldn’t. 

And yet, I do. 

Because you love me. 

Because I love you. You frown at your reflection in the mirror. The green hair clip you’ve been wearing—the one you’d been clinging to since you’d seen it in a costume room and stolen it to keep—looks out of place. It feels too much like you, and you don’t look like you. You look like a statue, or doll. 

I look stupid.

You look hot. You always look hot, Sunshine. It’s one of my favorite things about you. 

Wrong. You smile at your reflection, and that’s your real smile. You’re talking to Ben—even if it’s just his phantom—so that’s your smile. You like that I’m smart, and that I’m kind, and my pussy.

And all of that is fucking hot. Because you’re hot. 

Thanks, Pretty Boy. You’re hot as well. 

I fucking know that. That’s why you love me. 

That’s not at all why I love you. I love you because you care, more than you’ll ever admit. I love you because you never give up on anything, and because you’re honest. I can trust you, I can always trust you. I love you because you always do what you say you will, and you’re never trying to be anything but yourself. You’re an asshole, Benjamin, but you’re my asshole. You’re a protective, abrasive, vulgar manwhore, and I love you so much it makes me a little insane. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

You also love me because I’m a good piece of ass. I’m hotter than the goddamn sun and you want to jump my bones, admit it. 

I’m allowed to love you because of who you are and also think that you’re stupid hot, Benjamin. You make me laugh and feel safe and happy so I’m always going to love you, and you’re so handsome it hurts to look at so I’m always going to want to jump your bones. 

Good thing I want to fuck you until you’re dizzy and can’t even damn speak, beautiful. 

I think I can live with that. You sigh. I miss you, and I have to go. 

I miss you too. Kick their fucking balls into their throats. 

You huff a small laugh into the air. Gross. 

You love me. 

I do. The cold in your blood is tangible, but so is the fire. And both are yours. Completely yours. 

You can do this. You can fucking do this, do it right, and go home. 

It still takes holding your tongue between your teeth to not scream when Homelander grabs you, and control over every muscle in your body to not go rigid when he touches you, but you do it. You keep your body limp and smile at his cruel face. You land on the stage—the crowd only one push or wrong noise from a riot—and keep smiling. You shrink into yourself, step back into Homelander’s shadow in a careful way that’s about being shy. About not wanting the spotlight, and seeking comfort in love. 

It’s really about trying to get away. About giving your feet just an inch they can move away, because they want to run. Everyone is watching you like you’re going to be their salvation. Like they’re going to eat your flesh and it will bring them comfort. Like you’re going to put on a show and it will be glorious, like you’ll bring them something they’ve been missing. Homelander is watching you as well, and you’re trying to get to where he can’t see. His eyes make that cold spread, make it rile up in wind that sweeps through your body like a storm.

So you’re quiet, and meek, and give Homelander no reason to look at you. You wave to the crowd and smile in a small, pliant way. Sage walks up onto the stage and you get the same, small nod that she offers Homelander. You return it with a sweet expression, and fade into the background as Sage and Homelander work. All you have to do is be here, stand silently, and do as you’re told and it will be more than enough. Cameras are angled at your every shift and breath, and you’re still nothing more than a statue. Homelander tells a completely fabricated and implausible story about how he used to fly you to Paris at night so you could picnic on the top of the Eiffel Tower. The Deep shows up and talks about how hard all the lies have been on you and Homelander, his two closest friends, especially after the recent deaths of your teammates. You considered them family, and this is a period of grief, not of—as the Deep puts it—being a total hater on true love. Ashley gives a speech about how when she first met you, she knew you were in love with Homelander because you couldn’t stop laughing with him about nothing. She says you and Homelander have invited her over for dinner, and everyone here should one day hope to have his burgers and your chocolate mousse cake. 

In the hum of the speaker feedback, you hear Ben snort. Suddenly he’s everywhere. Around your body and between your fingers and resting on your head. 

I remember when you tried to make us a cake. I wasn’t sure if it looked or tasted more like actual dogshit. 

Fuck off. You ate the whole thing. 

I’ll eat fucking anything, Sunshine. That cake was a goddamn travesty.

Guess who’s not getting a cake for his stupid birthday. 

I’m a little damn old for a cake. His voice drawls your name on the wind. I’ll just eat you instead. 

Smooth. And you’re never too old for cake, Benjamin. I’ll even put vanilla ice cream on it. 

I thought I wasn’t getting a fucking cake. 

I changed my mind. You’re getting cake, and it’s going to be the fanciest cake you’ve ever fucking seen. And I’m going to put rainbow sprinkles on the ice cream, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me. 

Can I still eat you? 

Yes. But you’re eating the cake first. And you have to grill burgers. 

For my own fucking birthday? Isn’t the whole point supposed to be that I don’t do shit? 

Would you rather I make the burgers?

You and Ben had tried to make burgers four times. Technically, you had tried. He’d already known how, because he was a goddamn red blooded fucking American man, and attempted to teach you, but you had not been a good student. You’d burnt them every time, but you kept getting distracted. Ben’s muscles would ripple when he flipped a burger and he’d grin at you while he talked about meat and things being tender, and you think you just kept blacking out in an effort to not fuck him right there. After the fourth smoke alarm resulted in you and Ben sitting in the dining hall while Mallory lectured you about fire safety and banned you from the kitchen’s grill, you’d decided this was just a skill you didn’t need to have. Ben could make burgers. He was better at it, and always got focused in a way that made you both want to fuck him—have all that intensity and care turned on you—and just touch him. Run a hand across his forehead, into his hair, and check that he was real. It made you love him more. 

You’re not sure if the phantom is reacting to the burger comment and you calling him adorable, but something rumbles around in your heart and Ben’s voice grumbles. Shut the fuck up. 

It’s a little easier to look mindlessly happy. You can feel this remnant of Ben in you—this thing that is him—climbing up a little higher to sit on the top of your chest, so it’s easy to pretend you’re ditzy and humble and your smile is light and carefree. Ashley concludes her speech, and Sage is up. You and Homelander represent the best of what the world has to offer. Two people who have loved each other from the first time they saw each other, and who, despite the hardships and obstacles, will always prevail. She says Homelander will always find you, and you manage to keep smiling. Ben’s Thing tightens in you, and you can practically see his angry expression, but you keep smiling. You will build a perfect American family, and Ryan Butcher will be returned to where he belongs. 

I haven’t been being a dick to the Kid. 

You blink. What? 

You told me not to be a dick to the Kid. I haven’t been. I’ve been a goddamn angel.

Okay. You fight the confused frown on your face. Why are you telling me that? 

Because you seemed to really damn care about it. I don’t know. Shut the fuck up. 

But- 

You were right. He’s not like Homelander. He’s a little bit of a pussy- 

Benjamin. 

What? 

Don’t call a twelve-year-old a pussy. It’s uncouth. 

But he is a pussy- 

How can he possibly be a pussy. 

He can name all fifty states. 

I can name all fifty states. 

That’s different. 

How. 

You’re a fucking know it all.

Hey- 

You’re a sexy know it all. You look hot when you get riled up, and talking about pretty much anything gets you riled up. If you sat in front of me and named all fifty states I’d get a fucking boner. 

That’s weird, Ben. 

Fuck off. You’d love my boner. 

You lightly bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling. I would. 

You’d suck me off, and look fucking hot doing it, and then I’d eat you out and make you cum on my face- 

You’re trying to distract me from you calling Ryan a pussy. 

No. Shut the fuck up. 

You shut the fuck up. I would suck you off, and then maybe I’d let you eat me out- 

Maybe? 

And then I’d make you clean up and get dressed and learn all fifty states. 

That information will never be goddamn useful, Sunshine. Would be a waste of my fucking time. 

Because you’re such a busy man? Is getting a boner from listening to me talk and then eating me out that time consuming? 

So I will get to eat you out. 

Fuck you.

That’s what I’m fucking asking- 

Stay on topic, Ben. You should be able to name all fifty states. 

Why in goddamn Christ- 

You’ve been around since before Hawaii and Alaska, and you’re barely younger than Arizona. It’s a little sad you can’t, Pretty Boy. 

Well, I’m not a damn loser pussy, so I don’t really give a fuck. 

Rude. 

You’re not a loser pussy either. No woman of mine would be a loser pussy. 

Your heart stumbles a little faster, and Ben’s Thing hums in your body. Thanks. 

Don’t. 

You can’t fucking stop me- 

Because I’m not there, beautiful. If I were on that stupid fucking stage and you thanked me, I’d pick you up, carry you home, and stop you with my cock in your pretty fucking mouth. 

You need to get a grip on yourself. Maybe start putting effort into filtering the phantom better. Because, even in your head, your voice sounds breathless. Okay. 

No big words, Sunshine? Just going to let me fuck your face- 

Shut up. Cunt. 

Brat. There’s a beat of silence, but it’s still louder than the noise of the crowd because you can almost hear Ben’s breath in your ear. I miss you. Come home. 

Soon. You feel something heavy, sickening in that piece of Ben inside your chest. You can’t stand it, it makes your heart hurt, and you need Ben—even this strange fragment of him—to feel happy again. And as soon as I do, I’m kicking your ass and making you apologize to your grandson for calling him a pussy. 

It feels lighter, and Ben’s scoff isn’t painful. Don’t call him my grandson. 

He is, by definition, your grandson. Don’t be a pussy about it, Benjamin. 

Smartass. 

Old man. 

You like it, you fucking grave-robber. 

Am I a grave-robber, or are you a cradle-robber? 

You’re a goddamn grown woman- 

And you’re an ancient, grumpy man-child. 

You love it. 

I do. You don’t repeat the second part, because Ben’s voice doesn’t prompt it out of you. It just falls into a comfortable, happy silence everywhere around you, and you feel safe. You might have never been in more danger—Homelander at your side and the eyes of the world on you—but everything that’s been breaking in you feels a little more manageable. You’re still full of that never ending cold, but it’s not falling out of you or trying to escape. You can sit in it easily, because you can almost feel Ben there and your fire is still growing. Sage is still talking, and you let it pass through you. This will get through you, and you’ll go home soon. Sage calls you the sweetest and most genuine person she’e ever met, and you hear Ben’s snort. She talks about how Homelander treats you like an equal, and there’s a spark of annoyance in Ben’s Thing for you. She calls you and Homelander American Heroes, and you can keep yourself modest and happy as Homelander laughs and waves off the compliment. 

But you can’t stop the momentary static of your heart, or the numb of your body, when Homelander kisses your cheek. A new crack forms—long and somewhere critical—and Ben’s Thing in you riots. Grows louder than the crowd, louder than the ringing in your ears. 

You almost don’t see Homelander freeze. He goes still and rigid, his face twitching and looking sick, and you realize that the cold is leaving you. Homelander touched you, and Ben’s Thing is roaring in some sort of pain, and you’ve lost a hold over the polar feeling in your body. 

Fuck this, I’m coming to get you- 

Benjamin. He’s everything in you that’s good. Everything is cold and you’re afraid and you can’t control yourself and you’re going to lose, but Ben’s voice is still around you and you’re still you. You haven’t broken. You’re so close, you won’t break, and this piece of Ben will help hold you together. You can’t. You know that. 

He fucking touched you- 

He only kissed my cheek. I’m okay. You’re not. You know what this means, even if Homelander had recoiled from you with a look that won’t last. But you’re so close. There won’t be time for escalation, you’ll be home soon. You’ll falter and break when you get home. 

Ben’s voice doesn’t seem convinced. You don’t fucking look okay. You look like you just got goddamn shot, you need to come home right now- 

I’m fine. 

When Ben says your name, there’s some sort of strain in it. The same ache and pounding that you can feel from that thing inside of you. There’s not a single goddamn thing you can do to stop me- 

I know. But please don’t. If you trust me, Ben, please don’t. 

You don’t know why you’re arguing with him. This Ben isn’t real, it can’t come get you. But it’s so deep inside of you, keeping you together as Sage’s speech concludes and Homelander herds you up to the front of the stage, you entertain it. It doesn’t feel fake. It feels like him. The sharp, bitter anger in your chest feels like his, the gravely frustration in his voice sounds like it’s coming from right behind you, and it’s so fucking important that you keep it there until you’re in control again.

I do fucking trust you, but I can’t just leave you- 

Not leaving me. You’re never leaving me. You’re waiting. 

Ben’s Thing stabs into you, and you almost flinch from it. I am waiting. I’m waiting for as long as it takes. But Christ, I fucking hate it. I don’t want to wait, I want you home. 

I want to come home. I want to come home more than almost anything. But- 

Almost? His words are a grunt from somewhere at your side. The hell do you want more- 

You. Fire is building in you, fed by the warmth of Ben’s Thing beating in your chest. I want you. 

That thing roars. Claws against your ribs and heart, and you can’t think about anything else. You’re going through the movements—waving and smiling to the crowd—but everything in you is about Ben. About how you’ve never felt a fervor like this anywhere but in him, and you miss him and want him and love him- 

Fine. He’s relenting. He’s only in your head, but he’s still relenting with a low, tired voice. But if I see even a little bit of fucking blue- 

You can break down the doors of Vought Tower and carry me home. You swallow, and keep your face bright as something in you wilts when Homelander’s arm wraps around you. I’ll see you soon, Ben. I promise. 

I know. And I’ll wait. 

Thank you. 

Don’t.

It doesn’t go dormant, but Ben’s Thing stops being loud. It moves back to resting near your heart, existing always with that arctic sensation in your body. It takes all the strength and will you possess to pull the lingering bits of it—the fear it’s made of—back into you and hold them there when Homelander vaults up into the sky. He’s not touching you on skin again, and Ben’s Thing has tugged much of it out of the air around you, but your blood is still singing, trying to reach anything else and make it feel this. Feel the pure, raw terror that the infinite cold is made of, that’s rushing through you. Rushing out of you. 

But it’s not just fear falling out of your body. It’s something furious that’s for Homelander touching you. And you’ve felt things that aren’t fear move out of you before. You’ve felt heat, want and love and adoration, run out of your body when Ben’s touched you. When you’ve gotten to touch him. 

Homelander leaves you on the roof to find your way back to his apartment, saying he has business to attend to. He looks like he might try to kiss you, but fear and hatred leaks out of you when he moves and suddenly he’s gone.

And you have a theory. You have a little more than five days, this Thing of Ben’s still burning peacefully inside of you, and a theory.

You have to test it. The cold in you is growing, but so is the fire. Both are, for now, in your control. The fire and the cold are everywhere in you and on you, but not around you, and you’re holding them there. If you’re right about this, then everything will work. You’ll go home.

But you have to test it first. 

You spend that night, alone in Homelander’s apartment, making a new plan. You can’t test on Homelander, he needs to keep thinking you’ve gone docile. That you’re out of tricks and are back to being what he thinks you are. You can’t test this on Sage, she’ll figure out what’s happening and you can’t afford that right now. This is the only advantage you have over her, because you’re certain she doesn’t know about it. If she knew, she wouldn’t let you go to rallies, or go anywhere near her. This is the one thing she can’t control or predict or understand.

Feelings. She can’t control how you feel. She can’t stop you being afraid or angry, can’t stop you loving Ben, and can’t prevent how when it all becomes too much your emotions aren’t yours anymore. How they’ve been building up and up  and up, growing loud and feral, and now they’re bigger than you are. You’re more afraid than you can hold in you. Afraid for your life, and your self, and for Ben. And every time Homelander’s touched you or Sage had threatened you the fear has grown until it’s sweeping through your body. 

But it’s not just the fear. It’s your anger, your fury that this isn’t fair. This is wrong and fucked up and you have to be the one to fix it, but you just want to go home. You’re full of wrath for yourself, for Ryan and Becca Butcher, for Hughie and Annie and MM and Frenchie and Kimiko and everyone you love being forced into this. It’s stoking the fire, and that’s why everything is white-hot now. The anger and fear are made of the same thing that pushes out of you in moments when they consume you, and now they sit in your blood to be weaponized. 

The only thing bigger than them is your love. It’s grown so large in your heart and head and soul that it’s become its own animal. It starts in you, and it belongs to Ben. All this love in you is for Ben. You’ll always know him anywhere because your empathy has decided that he is you. He’s something so crucial to you, your love for him is so powerful, that you don’t recognize him just because you know him. You can feel him when he’s not touching you, sense him when he’s close. Nothing has ever been as powerful as your love for Ben, and your empathy knows that. It knows that he won’t hurt you, he’d never hurt you, and that it’s only this strong because of him. Because Ben let you touch him and wasn’t afraid of you, and now he’s everything. Just as much a part of you as the fire has become, and you’ll always return to him. 

You’re so close. 

Right now you have to be angry and afraid and learn what it can do, and then you can go home and love Ben. Spend the rest of time loving Ben. 

But first you have to be angry and afraid. 

It takes four of your five remaining days to prove and understand your theory. You go along with Sage’s orders and Ashley’s requests, because right now the act is vital to keep up. You can hear the protest crowds from the 99th floor, and every time you catch a glimpse of social media it’s all about you. You’re America’s sweetheart and savior and symbol, and this is all you have left to do. 

You test on the Deep first. You hold your anger in every muscle of your body, and ask the Deep about something simple. 

“Hey, Deep?” 

The idiot pauses in the hallway, spinning around to grin at you with a puffed out chest. “Anomaly! What’s going on, does Homelander need me-“

“No,” you give a light, silly giggle, like a schoolgirl who just heard her crush liked her back. You don’t throw up on the Deep’s dumb, shiny suit. “I just wanted to know if you got the funding for your new movie?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah! I mean with A-Train dead, rest in power, brother,” he puts his fist up in a salute and you have to hold down a scoff. “There’s like a fuck ton of money just lying around, and I was like ‘uh, guys. What if I got the money, right?’ and they said-“ 

You’re not listening to what Vought Studios said, because you’re trying to figure out how to touch the Deep without him realizing. You wait until he’s completely engrossed in his story then start to walk, gesturing for him to follow. He falls into a pace at your side, talking about getting good writers that will do his character justice, and you lean to the side. Brush your arm against his, and all the wrath in you flares. 

The Deep’s voice grows louder. Tighter. “And I don’t fucking understand why they didn’t just give me the money, right? I mean it’s not fucking fair I have to pull all this shit together by myself. I just want to chill the hell out, but somehow this falls on me to fix this shit-“ He freezes, because by his last words he was in a full on shout. Almost a scream. “Uh, sorry, I don’t know where that came from. Don’t tell Homelander I was yelling at you, I really didn’t mean to-“ 

“It’s fine,” you smile, and it’s more sweet than smug. But you feel really fucking smug. “You’re just passionate.” 

One down. One step closer. 

Next, you find the writers. Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. You’ve forgotten their names again, and you’d feel a little worse about it if the moment they saw you they didn’t start trying to feed you anecdotes to use about your love for Homelander. 

“What if,” Bald Pussy leans forward with a toothy grin. “You asked him out first. And he said no, because he loved you and wanted to protect you, but it broke your heart.” 

“And you tried to get over him,” Skinny McBrown-Nose jumps in with an up-beat bounce to his words. “But nobody made you feel the way he does. There’s nobody else for you, and you’d just resigned yourself to a life of solitude when he confessed his love for you. He just couldn’t bear to see you with another, and he decided that putting you at risk would be fine, because he’s the strongest man in the world. As long as he’s there, you’ll be safe.”

You blink, because that is shockingly close to being accurate. For them it’s about Homelander and not Ben, but it’s more you than anything else they’ve pitched. 

There is no one else for you but Ben, although you don’t think you’d ever even try to get over him. When this is over you’ll just resign yourself to not being loved by him and dedicate yourself to loving him in secret. 

Ben is the strongest man in the world, but he’d never put you at risk. He hates you putting yourself at risk, and if he knew one of the reasons you’ve been staying at Vought was to protect him he’d probably have an aneurism. 

And as long as he’s there, you are safe. There’s not a safer place in the world than at Ben’s side. 

“I, um,” you have to cover your hesitation, because the writers are looking at you with nervous, expectant expressions. “I think Homelander would prefer he asked me out. It fits in better-“ 

“But this way,” Bald Pussy interjects eagerly. “We hit the demographic of liberal women in the 18-44 range. They’ll love that you took the move first, and that he loved you so much-“

“I don’t know.” You pull all the dormant cold from your blood and focus on it—let it choke you—and lean forward enough for your hands to touch theirs. Lightly. Unnoticeably. Holding their gazes so they don’t look down and see it. “Maybe I should go get him, and you can tell him-“ 

“No!” Bald Pussy’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, no need to involve Homelander, you’re probably right-“ 

You can’t be sure if this is just an average, healthy fear of Homelander, or your fear of Homelander. The fear that haunts you and follows you everywhere. You have to be sure. “I mean, I like it. I think I can just approve it myself-“ 

“Don’t worry about it!” Skinny McBrown-Nose’s voice is a squeak. “I mean, you shouldn’t bother him. It wasn’t that good an idea, and we’ll come up with a better one, so you don’t have to risk it. Right?” 

That’s fear for you. Skinny McBrown-Nose is afraid for you, to talk to Homelander and offer him something he might hate. He has no rational reason to be afraid for you, not with what he’s been told. It worked. 

You agree softly and walk away from them. You have more work to do. 

You fall into random people and bump against passers by. For the first time in years, you’re touching everyone you can on purpose. Doing it randomly is helping you from falling apart, as their emotions aren’t intense or overwhelming. They’re mostly just bland, flavorless neutrality. It’s not a great indictment of the emotional health of Vought’s employees—how soulless and empty everyone is—but right now it’s working in your favor. You can ignore the emotions that each touch gives you and just study the way they react. 

Some stumble slightly, and a lot of them freeze. Several double over before looking around with slack, pained expressions, and one even falls to the ground. Dropping with a strangled sound like you’d shot them. 

And you know you were right. You’ve proven yourself right, and you almost fully understand it. You’re so close. To going home, to being with Ben again, to being done. This is almost over. 

Almost. You just need to find the V. You have just less than two days left, and you won’t fail. Your nightmares are growing worse and you’re still waking up paralyzed, unable to breathe or move or think anything outside of blood. So much blood, all on your hands. Not strong enough to clean them, too weak enough to wipe them on another. And there’s just so much blood. 

But you’ll get through it. You’re almost home. 

The more you do this, the more you feel Ben. His voice is always louder now, and you think you might be going insane. You don’t know if it’s this new power taking you over and driving you mad, or if you just miss him so much you’re losing your mind, but Ben feels closer than he had before. Maybe it’s because you’re almost ready. Maybe it’s anticipation. 

But no matter what it is, he’s still everywhere. His Thing in your chest is almost always alight, and his presence is solid. Just as permanent as your love for him, just as strong and warm as he is. It feels so purely Ben that your body starts to look for him where you know he won’t be. He’s not going to be in Homelander’s bathroom, or in the Seven’s meeting room, or Ashley’s office. But you can sense him all the time, and the phantom is getting away from you. Muttering in your ear at inconvenient moments about random things that were far too detailed.

Why the fuck did you love those stupid sunglasses? He’d grumbled one morning, a little before your talk with The Deep. You’d frowned into the lukewarm air of Homelander’s kitchen. 

What are you talking about? 

Those shit quality, knock-off Soldier Boy sunglasses you always wore. Why did you like them. 

Oh, you’d blinked at nothing, tapping at the bridge of your nose. Why?

I asked first.

But-

Just answer the damn question, Sunshine. There was a pause, and you could almost hear his sigh. Please.

You had to fight the smile on your face, because Homelander could walk in at any second. Well, since you asked so nicely, Pretty Boy, they reminded me of you. 

He was scowling. You don’t know how you know, but you’re certain he was scowling. They were fucking blue. 

Yeah, well- You pause, his words settling in. What do you mean, were. 

Don’t fucking worry about it. How did they remind- 

Why did you use past tense. What happened to my sunglasses. 

I said don’t worry about it, his voice muttered your name, and it was almost sheepish. It’s not- 

Benjamin. 

They broke. 

What. 

When I lost you, they got smashed- 

First off, you didn’t lose me. Stop saying you lost me. Second of all, why are you asking me about my broken sunglasses. 

You loved them. I want to know if you just fucking like sunglasses, or if it’s something else- 

I loved those sunglasses because they made me more certain you were real. You’d cared enough to give them to me when Butcher had dropped them off, and that made me happy. It made me think you cared about me- 

I do care about you. He sounds indignant. Of course I fucking care about you. I- 

I know you care, Ben. That’s why I’m not that mad about them hypothetically being broken, because I don’t need proof- 

Why would you ever fucking need proof. 

Because you’re confusing. You’re the love of my life, Benjamin, and you confuse the fuck- 

His voice sounded like it had somehow dropped an octave when he says your name. What the hell did you just say.

I said you’re a confusing piece of shit- 

No, the other thing. 

I said I love you. You know that. Let me talk. 

Sunshine- 

Homelander had walked in, and you’d had to tune out Ben’s words around you to feign joy in his presence and interest in his words. Ben’s voice had fallen back into a soft sound of static, but his Thing had remained—steady and comfortably—in your chest. A constant, dependable, holding you down until only a few hours later when you’d heard him from nothing again.

You would fucking know what this shit means. 

You’d frowned at the stall of the bathroom, collecting your thoughts and trying to reign your anger back to your body. What shit? 

Manifest Destiny. Doesn’t even make any damn sense- 

It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so. 

Smartass. 

You fucking asked me the question. It’s not my fault I knew the answer.

You’d heard Ben’s snort, and his Thing had rolled over inside you. Brat. 

Cunt. 

Someone had entered the bathroom, and Ben’s voice had gone silent around you—a smell like pine and barbecue fading from the air—as his Thing had remained burning in your chest. You didn’t dwell on it, you didn’t have the time or energy to even think it over once, especially as it just kept happening. Over and over, through the evening and night, Ben’s Thing kept growing brighter and Ben began to intertwine into your senses. You start to spare it thought, especially as the conversations keep starting from silence about nothing. 

I’d never hurt you. 

I know that. You barely managed not to stumble as you walked through the hall, his voice taking you by surprise. Why are you telling me that? 

Because Annie’s fucking wrong. I’d never fucking hurt you. You’d have told me if it hurt, and I’d have fucking tied your hands up if you tried to keep doing it. 

You’re just confused enough to not let that turn you on. What? 

If you kept trying to do your fucking brain magic after saying it was hurting you. I’d have tied you up to stop you from doing it. I’m not- 

Why are we talking about this? 

Because I wouldn’t hurt you. I love you, and I rather fucking ship myself back to Russia- 

You sigh. I told you to stop saying that, Ben. 

He went silent for a second, and his Thing in you rumbles. What. 

Stop saying you love me. 

No. 

Please- 

No. I fucking love you, let me say it- 

Ben, please. 

Stop saying please. I don’t want you begging unless it’s for me to make your pretty fucking eyes roll back in your head- 

I’m not joking- 

Do I sound like I’m damn laughing. I love you-

Benjamin- 

You almost walk into a wall, and have to cut off your own voice in your head to regain your balance. And now you’re certain it’s not worth second guessing, because Ben doesn’t love you. You simply miss him so much your stupid brain is inventing random reasons for him to talk to you. It’s only been two weeks since you saw Ben last, and it’s driving you insane. 

If you weren’t already so preoccupied with trying to get a lead on some V, you might be more worried about that. But right now you need the comfort that’s provided by Ben’s voice rolling through you as he tells you he loves you, and the easy joy that talking to his phantom brings. The way it makes his Thing so powerful and devout to whatever feeds it. 

You still can’t figure out what feeds it, but it’s only growing more and more hungry. It’s still holding your head together, though, so you entertain it. You have a whole morning dedicated to finding V, and Ben’s phantom and Thing can follow you wherever so you don’t break. You have two days left, so you have to play the game and keep your mask on and find the V. If letting Ben haunt you will keep you sane, so be it. There are worse ways to be hungry.

A-Train said Homelander kept some in his room, but you’ve been looking over almost every nook and cranny and shadow and hollow, and there’s nothing. Homelander didn’t throw it away, he wouldn’t, but you don’t even have an educated guess as to where he’d move it to. It doesn’t help that you have to at least try to sneak around Sage’s notice, or that Ben’s voice keeps muttering everywhere about things that don’t matter. It’s keeping you sane—his grumbles and feel all around you, pushing your cracks back together—but it’s a little distracting. You can’t care about breakfast or guns or the movie Palm Springs—you don’t actually remember watching that one with him, you weren’t sure he’d like it—because you have to rummage through cabinets and empty rooms of the dead members of the Seven.

Ben’s voice keeps telling you he loves you. You give up on trying to shut him up, because you don’t have the time. He’s here to keep you steady, and it’s working fairly well. 

I still can’t fucking believe they were keep my shield in goddamn Ohio. 

Uh huh, you nod mindlessly into the air, pressing the wall in Firecracker’s old room like you might find a secret door. Annie probably would’ve mentioned a secret door, she lived here for almost three years after all, but you can’t afford to leave any stone unturned. 

I mean, why even go to trouble of putting it back together if you’re going to put it in taint-fuck Ohio-

Benjamin. Why are we talking about Ohio.

Because if Vought was keeping V in Ohio with my shield, I’ll blow their stupid fucking tower up- 

Your shield was fine, you big baby. And It doesn’t matter where Vought was keeping V, what matters is where Sage is keeping it. Now.

Ben’s grunt sounds from somewhere behind you. You’re right. 

What was that? 

You’re fucking right. You’re always fucking right, so don’t damn gloat- 

I am not always right. 

Yes, you are. You’re going to find the V and come home, because you fucking promised and you’re always right about this shit. 

What shit? 

How people think. Their dumb fucking pussy emotions and thoughts. 

Well, I do try. 

You’ve probably already fucking found the V. Homelander probably didn’t even hide it, because he’s a smug pussy who thinks everyone fucking loves him. 

You almost drop the vase you’d been turning over in your hand, mouth falling slightly open. Holy shit, Ben. You’re a genius. 

Goddamn right I am. His voice pauses in your head, and you can almost see the knit of his brow. But why the fuck do you think that. 

Because Homelander’s a hubristic piece of shit. He won’t think anyone would ever cross or betray him, and if they did he doesn’t think they’d get away with it. 

So? 

You smile, fingers tapping against the vases slightly dusting glass. I know where the V is. 

It takes an effort not to sprint back to Homelander’s apartment. To look nonchalant and bored as you open the door, to call out to see if he’s there, and walk up the stairs carefully just in case. 

You duck under the bed, and there’s a black box. A small, sleek black box without a lock, weighting barely over five pounds when you pull it out. 

There’s only one vial. One small vial of green liquid, with a label on it that reads Project Anomaly, Trial 6. 

It’s your V. Ben’s V. 

It’ll have to do. 

There’s only one last move. One last careful move. One more thing before you can go home, and one more day to do it. 

You make dinner for Homelander. You’re not sure what he likes, but he’s made you eat a lot of corn dogs. You don’t know how to make corn dogs, so you heat up some hotdogs and hope it’ll be enough. 

It needs to be enough. 

When he arrives, your smile is tooth-rotting. You’re small and quiet and weak, and you’re all for him. You’re cold and exhausted and everything in you is taut, but you’re so close.

“Hi, babe!” You’re going to vomit. You can’t, but later you’ll need to cut off your tongue so you can never even risk sounding like that again. “I made you some food.” 

“Food.” Homelander stops in front of you, and you don’t flinch. “What’s the occasion that finally made you stop fucking moping?” 

“It’s an offering,” you give him a simper. It hurts your face. “I want to apologize, and talk about us.” 

Us. You want to scream but you turn it into a sweeter smile, and Homelander’s face twists into a wide, smug smirk.

“Us?” 

He says the word like it’s real. Like it’s applicable to you and him, and you’re not barely alive anymore. So close. 

“Our future.” You pat the seat next to you. “Eat first, you’ve been running around all day.” 

Homelander lowers into the seat, and frowns at the sad, limp hotdog in front of him. “What the fuck is this.” 

“We don’t have a lot of raw ingredients, I did my best with what I had, I’m sorry-“ 

“I am not eating this limp dick excuse for food.” He pokes the hotdog, and turns to fully face you. “Talk.” 

“I, um,” you take Homelander’s hand gingerly, waiting for him to yank it back. He doesn’t. “Sage suggested that I should propose to you, and I just wanted to talk to you about it. Make sure that’s what you want-” 

“Sage suggested.” He scowls at you. “So you don’t want to marry me? What am I doing wrong?!” You stare at him, frozen in place as you try to hold your blood in your body, and Homelander’s voice grows louder. “Fucking answer me!” 

“Nothing!” Your voice is nervous because you love him and want him to be happy. Not because you keep seeing red on your hands and his face and splattered across walls. You’re holding one hand up to his face and it’s to comfort him, and you’re not forcing your fingers to stay steady. He’s so angry, and cold, and everything in him is like a tornado. Moving and changing too fast, making you sick. “I just want to make sure marriage is something you want too! I love you, that’s enough-“

Homelander’s moving, and before you can even realize what’s happening his mouth is on yours. His hold on you is like a chain, uncaring and harsh and wearing you down, wrapping around your throat until all you can do is think no. No no no no no- 

“I knew you’d see it my way.” His words are hissed against your lips, and something finally breaks deep in you. Far, far down in an artery you feel it snap, and if this doesn’t work, you might not survive. 

“Of course,” you have to smile. The world is ending but you have to smile. “Thank you for waiting, babe.” 

Homelander stands up, almost pushing you away, and claps his hands. “This is going to be a fucking wedding. They won’t be saying all those lies about us when they see it, it’ll be befitting of the gods we are.” He grins to himself. “And everyone loves romance. Fucking sheeple will eat this up. I’m going to get you a ring-“ 

“Can you get it from Paris?” You give him a pout. “I’ve always wanted a ring from Paris.” 

“Of course, honey. Only the best for the bride of the century.” Homelander nods, and kisses you again. You’re drowning, falling, dying, breaking- “I’ll go now, Sage won’t bitch about it when she sees how much people love us.” 

You pretend to start and protest, but he’s already gone. And you’re alone. You’re breaking—the cracks are starting to split open and the world is going blurry—but you have to go. You’re on a time limit, and you have to fucking go.

You’re so close. You can’t fail now. 

Homelander’s fast. Paris is far, but Homelander’s fast. You probably have an hour, likely less if he gets word. You’ve already wasted time on the floor, clinging onto the parts of you that are somewhat intact to get your through this. Trying to focus on Ben’s Thing in your chest—bloody and loud—to keep your feet moving. 

And you run. Nobody guards Homelander’s room, people are barely even on 99 lately, so you run. Faster than you’ve ever run in your life, one hand over the original V in your pocket to keep it from falling out. Out the door, down the stairs, not stopping to check if anyone sees you. The fire is scratching under your skin, and you’re going to pass out from the cold you won’t let leave you, but you go. 

Down, down, down. 82. 74. 66. 53. 

The alarms go off. The stairwell lights up red, the blare of a siren echoing off the gray walls, and you keep running.

50. 47. 42. 

A door opens somewhere, the creak and scrape on the concrete barely audible. 

38. 

A man in all black is aiming a gun at you. He has brown eyes, and his hands are shaking. 

His eyes burn out first, and you keep running.

35.  

Three more. One of them has a tattoo of a flower visible on her wrist. It curls and twists with the burns on her hands.

31. 27. 23. 

More bodies. The stairs are littered with bodies, and everything is painted in blood, and the water from the sprinklers is going up into steam. You can’t see your next steps, or the floor numbers, but you keep going. 

Down, down, down. 

A green EXIT sign is glowing through the smoke and mist. You slam into it, and you might hear something crack. 

Go. 

People are screaming, most of them parting around you. A few more bodies drop, a few more flashes of curly hair curling up in smoke and a scar on a cheek growing larger. One man’s shout of stop sounds like your father. 

Fucking go. 

You can see the exit. The doors of Vought Tower are made of glass, and it’s sunny outside. Everything is sparkling, like it just rained. 

GO. 

Someone calls your name. Your real name, your full name that’s carved on a gravestone in Boston. But the voice is wrong. There’s only one voice that’s right, that’s safe, and it’s the deep one that’s roaring for you in your chest. You don’t stop. 

That’s your name again. A woman is calling your name. She’s small, with dark skin and the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen.

She’s not safe. Everything in your brain is gone—replaced with a smooth song that feels familiar and an instinct to go home—but this woman is not safe. 

She’s talking to you, saying words you should understand, but you have to go. She’s telling you that you’re interesting, but she’s still won. That you shouldn’t use that vial in your pocket, because it might kill you. That you’ll never find the right kind, and that someone that makes everything in you scream is coming to take you away. That you’re out of the way, you failed to control yourself and now this shrewd woman has won. 

You can see the sun. It’s warm. It feels safe. The grass is green, and it’s reaching up to the sun. 

And you let go. You stop trying to keep yourself steady and strong, and you let all the exhaustion and loneliness and horror out into the air. Someone screams, and it might be you.

Glass shatters, and something stings your skin. There’s blood on your hands, and you don’t only belong to you anymore. 

But you can feel the sun.

———————

In the week after the Believe Expo, Ben started to lose his mind. 

He’d been in a meeting when it had started. Sat silently a few tables down from where MM, Mallory, and Butcher were interrogating A-Train. Ben had been kicked out of the actual process, because apparently nobody fucking appreciated how all his questions were about Her, and if she was okay. What did her smile look like, if she was even smiling. Was she having nightmares, and was Homelander keeping her locked up. Why was A-Train such a fucking weak pussy who didn’t help her. 

So he’d glared at them from across the room, trying to both listen to A-Train list off stupid fucking passwords and building locations and not break the glass in his hand. It would shatter everywhere, and Ben would probably have to fucking clean it up. 

That’s not glass, Pretty Boy. It’s plastic. 

Feels like fucking glass. 

Well, it’s plastic. You really think the CIA would give us real glass? When most of us can’t seem to stop blowing shit up and Hughie startles at the smallest sound?

Ben had smiled into the air, ducking his head so that nobody would see him looking like a fucking idiot. Plastic can still goddamn break, Sunshine. 

Her voice hummed somewhere in his chest, right next to the Thing. Well, it’s easier to clean. 

He’d snorted, and looked up as the doors from the hall swung open. Hughie and the French Prick had burst into the room, both shouting incoherently and tripping over each other. 

“The bloody hell is wrong with you two, ain’t you able to see we’re busy?!“ 

Kimiko had stepped over Hughie and the French Prick as they untangled themselves, ignoring Butcher as she marched over to Ben. 

He’d frowned up at her. “What.” 

She’d glared at him, signing something she fucking knew he didn’t understand, and dropped her phone in front of him. 

It was Her. A picture of Her, at the Believe Expo, frozen on the stage. Staring off into the distance, stage lights washing out her perfect features, her mouth open and her eyes wide. The headline above the picture read Anomaly’s Speech Interrupted by Terrorist Attack from the CIA. 

“The fuck is this.” 

Kimiko signed at Ben aggressively, and he didn’t fucking understand- 

“She says that it is all over the news.” The French Prick had stumbled up behind Kimiko, translating with a frown. “That it is bigger than the court trial. People are, to quote roughly, ‘losing their fucking minds’.” 

“Frenchie, what the hell are you talking about.” MM had called, still seated across from A-Train. “What’s bigger than the court trial?” 

The French Prick had said Her name, still watching Kimiko. “She is everywhere. The article Kimiko is showing Soldier Boy is from VNN, and there are many more about her and Homelander and the Believe Expo and-“ The French Prick had sighed. “Mon Coeur, I am not saying that to them.” 

Kimiko had turned to him, gesturing again with another point to Ben. 

“Because it will not be helpful.” The French Prick had looked at Ben, then said in a lower voice that Ben had still fucking heard, “this is already not very good-“ 

“If you don’t fucking tell me,” Ben had growled. “I’ll rip off your hands and make you eat them.” 

Kimiko had stepped between the French Prick and Ben, still gesturing at the former with only a brief pause to flip the latter off. 

The French Prick had let out another fucking sigh, and said the words slowly. “There are many… outlandish rumors. About her,” The French Prick had nodded at the phone, still in front of Ben. “And the nature of her life.” 

“Frenchie,” Butcher had drawled from across the room. “If you don’t start talkin without being a cryptic cunt-“ 

“Many are calling her a messiah. Some think she is an insider, a spy for either the CIA or Vought. There are investigations into her past, her paternity, and relationships with Homelander and…” The French Prick had winced as he spoke. “Monsieur Butcher.”

Ben had needed to take a walk. His fist had curled against the table, blood had pounded in his ears, and Her voice in his head had hummed do not kill Butcher. It will be messy and just a huge inconvenience for everyone, so Ben had stood up—the bench screeching as it flew out from under him—and stomped out of the dining hall.

Butcher had, surprisingly, not been a total fucking dickless piece of shit about it. Nobody had even mentioned it as more and more rumors and speculations poured in, each more fucking insane than the last. Ben started to long for Her to haunt him again, because right now he was being suffocated with this version of her that wasn’t fucking Her. It wasn’t even a goddamn person, it was a product, an idea for the fucking masses to project onto. She wasn’t a liar, or a honeypot, or a silly bimbo just caught up in a whirlwind romance that had gotten away from her. She was a brilliant, beautiful, fucking perfect woman. She wasn’t brainwashed—Ben pitied the fucking idiot who would try to, She’d give them a run for their money—or anyone’s fucking bastard child, and she had a PhD. In Anthropology, because she cared so fucking much about people and making the world good. Because She was good. She was the only person in the whole fucking world who was good. She wasn’t Homelander’s or Butcher’s or CIA’s, she was Ben’s. She was the most painfully strong-willed woman he’d ever met, and she wanted Ben.

And he had to just fucking watch, like an undeserving fucking pussy, as people kept talking about Her like they knew her. They didn’t know her. Ben knew her. He knew that this was part of Her stupid plan, and that she’d be home soon—She’d fucking promised—but that no matter what he’d wait until everyone else was dead and the building around him was in ruins for Her to return to him. He knew that, if this wasn’t tearing the country apart and inciting riots in the streets, She’d find it all hilarious. 

That’s the third person this week to accuse me of getting a BBL. She hummed in Ben’s ear as he listened to Hughie ramble on about the newest developments. Like I could afford an ass this good on a waitress’ salary.

He coughed to cover his snort, and Mallory shot him a glare.

“Is there anything you would like to say, Soldier Boy?” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“I’m your reporting officer-“ 

“You’re still not fucking paying me,” Ben sneered. “I’m not here for you, or your shit fucking ideas. Hughie, keep talking.” 

Hughie nodded nervously, and continued. It was a lot of pointless shit about how they had to keep to their stories, what allegations were worth addressing and what was just nutjobs talking out of their asses. Ben wasn’t really fucking listening, just staring at another photo of Her, in that stupid fucking costume, wearing a smile that wasn’t Hers. 

He missed Her smile. Ben missed every fucking thing about Her, but her smile was a goddamn work of art. When it was real it was wide and toothy and made everything around it brighter. Her eyes would scrunch with it, and it always looked like she was keeping a secret. Something just for Her, about how beautiful the world was and how she got to see it. When She gave Ben that smile, he got to be in on the secret. He got to see every single fucking perfect part of Her—understand a little more about why She loved this shit life so much—and if she let him he’d keep making Her smile until everything was almost as beautiful as She was.

He kept his promise. It had clearly been important to Her—for reasons Ben didn’t understand—that Ben was better to the Kid. She’d cashed in a fucking favor for it, and Ben knew she wouldn’t forget that it was Her last one. She’d wasted them on making him watch TV and read goddamn books and getting her some chocolate from the dining hall in the middle of the night—he’d have fucking done it without the favor, because She’d sprawled herself across his chest and held his face between her hands with a pretty pout on her lips—but She’d never used that last one.

But She wanted Ben to be nicer to the Kid. So he marched into the dining hall for dinner and sat at the almost empty table. 

The Kid stared at him over a book, and Ben grunted. He didn’t have a goddamn clue how to do this. 

“The fuckin hell are you doin here?” Butcher appeared through the kitchen doors, two plates in hand. He set one down in front of the Kid, dropping down across from Ben with a scowl. “You ain’t been to one of these since-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered. He didn’t need another fucking reminder She was gone. “I live here just as much as you do, you fucking pussy. I can eat wherever I damn well please.” 

Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “Then where’s your food.” 

“I only just fucking sat down-“ 

“You can have mine.” Ben felt his jaw clench as the Kid pushed his plate across the table. “I’m not that hungry.” 

“Ryan, you eat your own fuckin dinner and let me-“ 

“Kimiko gave me some cheese earlier.” The Kid mumbled. “I was showing her my homework and she was eating cheese. I asked for some-“ 

“Ryan-“ 

“I didn’t mean to eat all of it, I was just hungry-“ 

“Ryan-“ 

“And Mom said sharing was good!” Ryan looked at Butcher with wide eyes, and the pussies face fell into a glower. “She said sharing was important!” 

Butcher’s glare turned to Ben, and Ben pulled the plate closer to his body. He wasn’t that fucking hungry either, but Her voice kept ringing in his head. 

Be kind to Ryan. For me. 

“Uh,” Ben looked at the Kid, who was watching him with an openly nervous expression. “Thanks.” 

Was that so hard, Pretty Boy? You were almost civilized. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Her laugh echoed around Ben’s head, and he gave the Kid a small nod. “What are you reading.”

“Of Mice and Men,” The Kid answered, and his voice was so fucking quiet. “Aunt Grace says it’s important for my education-“

“That the one about the huge idiot who gets shot in the head, yeah?” Ben frowned, because he’d read that book. Over 80 years ago, but he’d read it. “It’s-“

“Lennie gets shot?!” The Kid’s face had fallen, and Ben blinked. 

“Uh-“ 

“Bloody hell.” Butcher sighed, pulling the book away from the Kid with a glare at Ben. “Tell him about your homework Ryan. I’m gonna go get you another fuckin book.” 

There was silence for a second after the door closed behind Butcher. 

“You don’t have to listen to me talk about my homework,” the Kid mumbled. “It’s not that interesting.” 

Be kind to Ryan. “I don’t fucking care. Talk.” 

The Kid started slow. He’d been right, it wasn’t that interesting. It was all books and history and science and fucking math. Ben goddamn knew what ecosystems were, and he didn’t give a fuck about calculating percentages, but the Kid seemed to. He got all damn cheerful naming the fifty states, and Ben didn’t have the fucking heart to shut him up. She’d asked him to be kind, and this seemed like the type of shit She’d love. She wouldn’t care that it was all for fucking children, She’d ask the Kid about his opinion on the symbolism in their stupid fucking books and his opinion on the Lousiana purchase.

So he let the Kid talk, all the way until the dining hall finally started to fill with the rest of the team. Annie and Hughie first, followed by Kimiko and the French Prick, all of whom gave Ben odd looks but didn’t interrupt the Kid’s ranting. MM and Butcher arrived—A-Train was still mostly keeping to himself, Ben hadn’t even seen him outside of meetings—and the Kid was cut off mid-sentence as Butcher dropped another book on the table.

Ben stood up. He’d done what he had to, and been nice to the Kid. He could leave.

“Are you not eating with us?” The Kid was frowning at him. “I thought you were going to eat with us.”

Ben wasn’t sure what to do. “I’m not-“ 

“Sit your ass down, Soldier Boy.” MM grunted, not looking up from his plate. “Eat your fucking dinner.” 

The Kid was still fucking watching him with a sad expression that turned into a smile when Ben slowly returned to his seat. 

Ben wasn’t sure how he allowed it to happen, but he was back in the dining hall the next night as well. He kept thinking about how fucking happy She’d be he was talking to the Kid, and how the Kid didn’t seem to care that Ben had tried to murder him at one point. He just seemed happy Ben was there, and his face lit up when Ben sat across the table again. So Ben was there the next night, and the night after that, and suddenly he was fucking eating dinner with everyone. 

The Thing was still fucking trying to tell him something. He still didn’t fucking understand. It kept going on rampages around Ben’s body, trying to force him to get it. To just know what it wanted him to, what the Thing had decided was so fucking important for him to know. And it was still trying to tell Her. She wasn’t here, Ben had to keep reminding the Thing She wasn’t here, but it didn’t give a shit. It was rioting inside of Ben like it did when She was sad and he needed to help. To hold Her until her heartbeat was steady, or talk to Her until her perfect fucking brain was Her’s again. When it was trying to tell Ben to touch Her, that he should touch Her and all the pain and fear written across her pretty features would vanish, because Ben would make Her feel good. He’d touch Her and kiss her and bite her and fuck her until she was happy. He’d do fucking anything to make Her happy. 

And the Thing roared. 

There were points where the Thing would explode inside him, and Her voice would become clear. Like she was right at his side, grinning up at him as she spoke. Telling him about things only She would think of. The real Her, not the echo of her in his head. The Thing would squeeze in Ben’s chest in the middle of the night, and Her voice would start talking all too fast about how she couldn’t come home. She was weak and couldn’t come home. Ben told Her to shut up, because she would. Not coming home wasn’t a goddamn option. 

And She still wasn’t wearing blue. She’d promised, fucking sworn, that she’d wear blue if Ben needed to come get her. But she wasn’t, so Ben just waited. Mallory turned on the Dining Hall TV for some sort of stupid Vought show, and She looked so fucking exhausted and small—shrinking into herself in a way that Ben knew meant she was afraid—next to Homelander. But Ben had to just listen to Sage give a speech about their fucking relationship, and not go help Her. He hated this, but he fucking couldn’t go until She gave the signal. The Thing was raging inside of him, and Her voice was following him—teasing him with a lightness in her voice—but Ben had to just watch. Talk to Her in his head about anything, because that’s all he could have right now.

Then Homelander kissed Her cheek, and the table had cracked under Ben’s grip. Everyone was fucking looking at him, and She looked so fucking afraid. Homelander had touched Her. That weak, pathetic fucking pussy wasn’t supposed to touch Her. Ben should’ve been there to fucking kill him for even looking at Her- 

Ben was moving before he was even aware of it. Stalking down the halls, back to the apartment, because he was going to get Her. The Thing was going fucking feral, and Her voice kept trying to stop him, but nothing could stop him. Nothing was going to stop Ben from fucking killing Homelander, right fucking now. He had his shield and himself, and V or no V, he’d take the shot and he wouldn’t fucking miss. He wasn’t going to keep fucking leaving Her- 

Not leaving. 

She kept talking to him, her voice desperate in Ben’s head. He had go goddamn save her, bring her home- 

Her voice wouldn’t shut the fuck up. She wanted to come home. She wanted him more. She’d see Ben soon, but he had to wait.

He had to keep fucking waiting. He had to put down his shield, put his shirt back on, push his suit back into the dresser and just miss Her. Wait for her and miss her.

After a while, someone knocked on the door. Ben scowled—if it was Hughie or Annie here to talk about fucking feelings, he’d punch their teeth out—and went to answer the door. 

It wasn’t Annie or Hughie to talk about feelings. It wasn’t Mallory or MM or Butcher to lecture him either, or even the French Prick to do whatever the hell the French Prick did. 

It was the Kid, looking up at Ben with an anxious face. 

“You, um, you weren’t in the dining hall for dinner. I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Ben blinked at him. He didn’t fucking love how he seemed unable to hold a normal conversation with the Kid. It was just a small fucking human. He could act like a grown ass man.

“I’m eating alone. Go back before Butcher starts fucking looking for you.” 

Ben went to slam the door, but the Kid stopped him. Shot out a hand and stopped Ben. “Please, wait-“ 

“How fucking strong are you?” 

The Kid stared at him. “I, um, I don’t know. My dad said I was really strong-“ 

“Anyone ever tested it?” 

“Tested what?” 

Ben sighed. “Your strength. Given you some weights, put you under a car-“ 

“A car?” The Kid shook his head frantically. “I don’t, please don’t put me under a car-“ 

“Calm the fuck down, I’m not going to do it right damn now.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell Butcher tomorrow.” 

“Tell Butcher what-“ 

The Kid’s words were still panicked, and Ben sighed, running a hand over his face. “We need to figure out how strong you are. Just so you don’t fucking break something.” 

“I broke a cup,” the Kid mumbled, staring at the floor. “When I got here. And I’ve broken some people-“ 

“That’s not your fault,” Ben snapped, Her sad face flashing with smoke in his brain. “If nobody’s taught you how to control it, you shouldn’t be fucking expected to.” 

The Kid nodded slowly, still staring at Ben. “Will you help me?” 

“I don’t-” Ben’s fists curled at his side, and he cut himself off as he saw at the Kid’s wide, hopeful eyes watching him. Watching Ben like he was better than he was, like he’d somehow earned the Kid’s trust. Ben cursed himself, and sighed. “Fine.” 

“Will you come to dinner?” 

“No.” Ben wasn’t going to relent on that. He didn’t need everyone’s fucking sad, pitying looks, not right now. Not when the Thing was still rolling around inside him, not when he could still see Her face—full of frightened shock—and couldn’t do anything about it.

“Can I eat here?” 

Ben blinked. “What.” 

“May I please eat here? If, um, if it’s okay with you I can go ask Butcher-“ 

“Why.” 

The Kid shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor. “I want to ask you some questions, please.” 

Ben frowned. “About what.” 

The Kid said Her name, and the Thing fucking moaned in pain. “I just, I want to know about her. Nobody will talk about her, and Kimiko said you were-“ 

“You can fucking talk to Kimiko?” 

“I’m trying to learn,” the Kid shrugged, glancing up quickly. “It’s important to understand and respect others, even if they’re different-“ 

“Fine.” 

The Kid looked fully back up. “Fine?”

“You can eat here. Don’t bother getting Butcher, he’ll be a fucking ass about it. If he whines like a dickless pussy, I’ll deal with it.” Ben stood aside in one sharp step, and the Kid walked in the apartment slowly, looking around with wide eyes. 

“Your place is nicer than Butcher’s.” 

“Everyone decorated their own,” Ben grunted, moving to the kitchen. “And Butcher’s fucking boring. No color in that asshole’s place.” 

“Who decorated yours?” 

Ben sighed, said Her name, and ignored the stab through his heart. “Sit the fuck down. We’re eating bagels.” 

The Kid waited silently as Ben pulled out plates and prepped the food. When he stalked back over to the table—The Kid watching him and sitting with good fucking posture—Ben slammed the bagels down and dropped in his seat. The Kid was in Her seat.

He had to be okay with that. She’d kick Ben’s ass if he moved the Kid just because he didn’t think anyone else should ever even try to take her place in any fucking way. 

The Kid took his first bite, and stared down at the bagel as he swallowed. “Is this-“ 

“Strawberry cream cheese,” Ben muttered, shoving half of his own in his mouth. “Better than fucking crack.” 

“Oh.” The Kid nodded, and took another small bite. 

Ben sighed. “She liked it.” 

Don’t lie to the child, Benjamin. You love that shit twice as much as I do. 

“She showed it to me,” Ben amended himself, face dropping into a scowl. “And I love it as well.” 

The Kid nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Taking another bite, waiting for Ben to speak.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Ben leaned back in his chair, glaring at the Kid. “Three questions. That’s all you fucking get. I don’t have to answer a goddamn one if I don’t want to, and you don’t get them back. So choose fucking wisely.”

The Kid nodded, and looked back down at his plate. Ben shoved the rest of his bagel in his mouth, watching the Kid carefully as he chewed. 

“What’s her favorite color?” 

“All of them,” Ben swallowed, his words becoming clearer. “She liked every fucking color. She said she didn’t want any of them to feel bad about being ugly, so she wouldn’t pick a favorite. All colors had something to contribute.” 

“Even orange?” 

Ben snorted. “Halloween and the damn Grand Canyon.” 

The Kid took another bite, looking up at Ben. “How did you meet her?” 

“She fucking kidnapped me.” Ben grumbled, and the Kid’s mouth fell open. Ben rolled his eyes. “Not like that. She woke me up to kill Homelander, and we lived in a safe house together. We grew,” Ben frowned, searching for the right word that explained how She was his whole life. How he’d decided that, in the end, he would fucking die and kill and bleed for Her. How She made him happy and was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. How She was perfect, and adored Ben, and they’d always fucking burn together. “Close. Once we stopped trying to damn kill each other, we grew close.”

“Okay.” The Kid looked fucking sad, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Spit it out,” Ben muttered. “Whatever the hell you want to say-“ 

“I’m sorry.“ The Kid’s voice was almost a whine, and he sounded desperate. Talking too fucking fast. “I, um, I know she’s not here because of me, and what my dad did to her, and Butcher says it’s not my fault but-“ 

“Shut up,” Ben’s words were rough, but he was getting worried the Kid was going to make himself pass out. “Butcher’s, for fucking once, right. You’re not your shit-fuck father, buddy.” That felt like something She’d say. “And she wanted to help you. She doesn’t hate you.”

“Why?” The Kid gave Ben a pathetic, sad look. “Why did she help me? After what my dad, what Homelander did-“ 

“Because that’s not the type of person she is.” Ben snapped, and his voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but the Thing was bellowing inside him. “She doesn’t hold things against people, even when she fucking should. She wants to help people, and so she fucking does.” Ben sighed. “She thinks the world is good. She’s mean and rude and has a smart fucking mouth, but she still thinks this shit is worth something. And she’s a fucking genius, so she’s probably right. She probably didn’t even damn think to blame you, so don’t fucking do it for her. She doesn’t like people doing shit for her.”

“She doesn’t?” 

“No.” Ben watched the Kid’s soft, eager expression. “She works her fucking ass off for everything, and earns every damn thing she gets. Never even asks for shit in return.” Ben scowled into the air. “She deserves a fuck ton more than people are giving her.” She deserved fucking everything. “Does everyone’s goddamn jobs and all she gets is an apartment and a limited company credit card in fucking Mallory’s name. If the CIA weren’t full of such fucking asshole pussies, they’d just give her goddamn control of everything and we’d all be home in an afternoon.”

“She sounds really cool.” The Kid mumbled, and Ben nodded. 

“She is fucking cool.” He grunted. “She’s fucking perfect.” 

The Kid looked up at Ben with big eyes. “Yeah, it, um, it makes sense why you love her.”

Ben’s whole world stopped. 

He did. 

He loved Her. 

With every single fucking part of him, Ben loved Her. That was what the Thing was. Love. For Her. That’s what it had been trying to tell him. He loved Her. 

She was perfect. She was the whole world and everything around it and between it, and Ben loved Her. She never fucking wavered, and was so fucking smart and beautiful and good, and Ben loved Her. She trusted Ben, she wanted him, and he fucking loved Her.

This was the stupid shit people wrote all those songs that She loved about. Where they talked about it like it was evasive and the most amazing pain you’d ever fucking feel, and how their person was the best person and nobody fucking got it like they did. This pain was fucking amazing, and Ben never wanted to stop feeling it. It made his heart—that’s what the fucking Thing was, and Ben was a goddamn idiot—ache because she wasn’t here, but it also meant he got to want Her. The pain meant She was in sight, and Ben just had to fucking wait. He’d never stop waiting. If the next time he saw Her was in a thousand fucking years, Ben would pick her up into his arms all the same and kiss her until she moaned into his mouth and he could breathe again. Because his person was the best fucking person. Nobody did fucking get it like Ben did. She was better than every other goddamn pussy fucker on the planet, and she was a goddamn force of nature. She made oceans part and lightning strike and the sun followed Her because it wanted to share Her warmth. She was so fucking perfect, so powerful, that she’d managed to make Ben’s heart beat in a way it hadn’t before. He’d been alive for over a goddamn century, and he’d never had everything be about his heart, and how it needed to be in time with Hers. 

This was all the goddamn movies she’d made him watch, where two people would look into each other’s eyes and the music would swell and everything would fade to black as they kissed. This wouldn’t fade to black. This would keep going, and Ben would eat Her pretty face and suck her lips until they were swollen. He’d put wets kisses along her jaw and bite on her neck, and she’d fucking moan and the lights would stay up as Ben fucked her. Really, properly fucked Her like she deserved, made her unravelled and wrecked under him. Everyone would fucking see, because the whole fucking world needed to see Her how Ben saw her. And he’d keep going and going until she looked at him like he was everything, and Ben would keep fucking loving Her until someone figured out a way to kill him. And even then he’d crawl back to Her. They’d have to pull his fucking heart out of his chest and launch it into fucking space where he couldn’t follow it. He’d probably follow it anyways, because space didn’t have fucking shit on Ben, on his love for Her. His love was bigger, more important, and if space tried to take his heart Ben would just have to figure out how to fucking kill it and get Her back.

This was probably like poems and books, as well. She’d say it was. She’d say that love is the most poetic thing in the world, and that love in some form runs through every great story in history, even the tragic and heartbreaking ones. She’d make this shit poetic. She’d hold Ben’s face between her hands and say a bunch of things he didn’t understand, using allegories and metaphors and smiling at him, and it wouldn’t fucking matter what Ben understood. She would be there, telling Ben she loved him and smiling and saying it a million different ways because that’s who she was. Her brain moved too fucking fast, and She’d only be able to tell Ben she loved him in a way that was beautiful. 

Ben didn’t need to be fucking beautiful. This was pretty fucking simple, he loved Her. That was all that needed to be fucking said, there was no other goddamn way to put it. Ben loved Her, like nobody had ever loved anything in goddamn history. Ben loved Her, and whenever he thought the words his heart would feel a little easier in his chest.

Once She was home Ben would get his hands dirty for her and do whatever she told him and make Her feel fucking good. That’s what he was here for now, to make Her feel good, to touch her and praise her and worship her until she understood that she was perfect. She’d fall apart because of Ben, and she’d fucking smile at him after, and that would be all he needed to keep living. She could have all his food, and take all his sleep and oxygen and goddamn peace, but Ben would fucking thrive. Because She’d be there and he could keep loving her.

But now, he had to get through the rest of dinner and show the Kid out while acting like everything was normal. He had to get through the rest of his fucking life acting like everything was fucking normal. Like he wasn’t in love, in stupid fucking love, with Her. 

He’d tell Her. She had to fucking know. Ben would hold it within himself until She was home and happy, then he’d tell her. 

He didn’t have a fucking clue how. He’d never done this shit before, where it really fucking mattered that he did it right. He could get her shit. Something she’d like, that proved that Ben listened. He always fucking listened to Her.

She liked those stupid off-brand Uought sunglasses. She’d wear them all the damn time, and they’d broken when he lost Her. He wouldn’t get Her blue one’s this time. She shouldn’t wear blue, unless it was to tell Ben to come fucking get Her. He didn’t want to get Her Soldier Boy sunglasses, Vought didn’t deserve Ben’s money—technically the CIA’s money, but who gave a fuck—or his likeness. 

Ben got Her green ones. Simple fucking green ones with the same aviator frames, that he could give to Her and say he loved her and she’d smile at him. 

He kept eating with the team. The Kid kept asking Ben questions, a lot about history—like he was supposed have a fucking clue just because he’d been alive for some of it—and a lot about Her.

“I wasn’t alive in the fucking 1800s,” Ben muttered as the Kid showed him a worksheet question. “I don’t have a goddamn idea what that painting means.” 

“The book said it was about Manifest Destiny,” the Kid frowned. “But I can’t find a definition, and Butcher and Aunt Grace don’t want me to have a phone.” 

Ben actually agreed with that. The Kid didn’t need to see all the shit people were saying about him, or about how Homelander and Her were in love but maybe She’d been fucking Butcher. Ben wished he could unsee it. Wipe it from his goddamn brain. He was about to say he didn’t have a fucking clue about the Manifest Destiny shit, but She must have told him at some point. This seemed like shit she’d tell him about, and suddenly her voice was reminding him. 

“It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so.” 

The Kid blinked at him. “Really? Are you-“ 

“I’m fucking certain.” Her voice in Ben’s head had been fucking certain, so he was as well. “That’s what it means.” 

“Okay.” The Kid started to write on the paper, and people began to trickle in for dinner. Butcher sat at the Kid’s side—glancing over the worksheet once and giving an approving nod—as Hughie and Annie sat on Ben’s bench. Neither flinched when Ben glanced at them. MM and A-Train arrived, the fast pussy finally seeming to develop some team spirit, and the French Prick and Kimiko were late. Ben hoped they were finally just fucking. If they kept making silent heart eyes at each other without just fucking, he’d shoot them. The French Prick specifically, because Kimiko would just be a waste of a bullet. If Ben couldn’t fuck his woman, everyone else better start appreciating what they goddamn had.

“You still need my phone for that bloody school shit, Ryan?” 

“No,” the Kid didn’t look up from his paper. “Ben helped me. Manifest Destiny means,” he paused, squinting to read his own handwriting. “The nationalistic belief that America should expand to the west.” 

Butcher scowled at Ben. “That so?” 

The Kid hummed, and Ben shrugged. “I’m fucking right, so don’t lose your stick up your own asshole.” 

“You seem real fuckin sure-“ 

“He is right, Butcher,” MM muttered. “That’s the definition. Not sure how he knows-“ 

“All of you seem to be real goddamn convinced I’m a fucking idiot,” Ben snapped. “I’m not a boring pussy, but I know things. I’m not a goddamn asshole without a fucking brain.” 

“I think we just aren’t sure what you would know,” Hughie mumbled, glancing at Ben nervously. “I mean, you haven’t been in school in a while. And I don’t think they taught westward expansion with any, like, nuance in the early 1900s.” 

“They didn’t,” Ben sighed, and said Her name. He needed to say Her name more, it made his heart squeeze but it always sounded fucking right. “She told me. And she’s a fucking nerd,” he tried not to smile. He fucking missed her. “She’s always fucking right about that shit.”

A-Train was looking at Ben weird again. Ben was about to fucking ask what the hell is problem was, why the pussy wouldn’t just talk to him. Ben hadn’t even ever really tried to kill him—as far as he remembered—and everyone else was talking to him. He’d defiantly tried to kill everyone else at least once, so why the fuck A-Train was being so damn strange- 

“Does she like school?” The Kid was asking Ben with those same fucking wide eyes, and he couldn’t not talk about Her if he fucking tried. 

“She says there are massive flaws in the American education system,” Ben shrugged. “But she likes learning, because she’s fucking insane.” 

“What was her favorite subject?” The Kid’s voice was growing eager, and everyone else was silent. “In school?” 

“English. And the fucking social one. Anything about people.”

“Arts and Humanities,” MM offered, frowning at Ben. “If it’s not STEM, it’s Arts and Humanities.”

Ben didn’t have a fucking clue what STEM was, but Arts and Humanities sounded familiar. “Sure. That shit.” 

“I like English as well,” the Kid was smiling, and Ben couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching. “But I also like science. Biology is my favorite-“ 

“Let the old ass fuckin eat, Ryan.” Butcher muttered, standing up. “You want pizza rolls?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Butcher nodded and stalked off, and the Kid turned back to Ben. 

“Does she like biology?” 

Ben sighed. “She likes everything. I think she gives at least a small shit about biology, because she talked about it when she’d work on my shell shock.” 

The Kid needed to stop asking fucking questions about Her, because Ben was learning he was incapable of just lying or telling him to shut the fuck up. His stupid heart would grab his mouth and use any fucking excuse to talk about Her—about how good she was and how she made everything around her good as well—because it wasn’t allowed to say Ben loved Her yet. 

“What’s shell shock?” 

“PTSD.” 

“What?” Annie leaned over Hughie, frowning at Ben. “What are you talking about?” 

“She was doing her fucking brain magic shit on my head.” Ben snapped. “She asked to, and it was fucking working.”

It had been working. Ben would never tell Her, because she’d get that pleased look in her eyes and bounce around the room, taunting Ben until he grabbed Her and kissed all the smug words out of her mouth—actually, he would tell Her, because that sounded fucking amazing—but it had been working. Ben’s nightmares about Russia and pain had faded, and he didn’t hear drums in the constant background anymore. Now it was only Her, following him and making him lose his fucking mind. 

Annie nodded, and dropped it for the rest of dinner. Ben answered a few more of the Kid’s questions, ignored A-Train’s silent, strange looks, and ate his barbecued ribs. When he was done he cleared his plate, dropping it into the sink, and nearly punched Annie when she came up behind him. 

“Soldier Boy?” 

Ben whipped around, fist’s clenched. “Christ on a fucking cross-“ 

“Why didn’t she tell us about the PTSD treatment?” Annie crossed her arms, standing her ground. “We should know-“ 

“Me and you pussies weren’t exactly buddy-buddy,” Ben drawled. “And you don’t need to know shit about what she and I do.” 

“If it affects the team, we do.” 

“Well it fucking doesn’t-“ 

“It was probably hurting her,” Annie pushed on, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t just vanishing. Whatever she was doing to fix you was going into her.” 

“She’d have fucking told me-“

Annie shook her head. “She wouldn’t.” Annie said Her name with a sad expression, and Ben’s heart hurt. “She, well, you know her. She wouldn’t ever tell anyone she was hurting, not until she had to.” 

“She’d fucking tell me.” Ben insisted. She’d never fucking lie to him, and he’d never doing anything that would hurt her. “If it was hurting her, she’d have told me and I’d have fucking stopped her-“

“Just, listen.” Annie sighed. “I know she cares about you. A lot. And if you care about her, you won’t make her keep doing that when she gets back. It’s not her responsibility to fix you, even if she...” Annie looked him up and down. “Cares about you.” 

“I fucking know that,” Ben hissed. “You think I don’t fucking know that? I care about her more than you’re goddamn capable of imagining-“ 

“Then don’t hurt her.” Annie shrugged. “She won’t say it’s hurting her, but her nightmares were getting worse even before the tower. She’s dealing with a lot, do this one thing for her.” 

Her nightmares had been getting worse. And She’d been staring at corners and shadows when she didn’t think Ben was watching. “How the fuck did you know that.” 

“She’s my friend,” Annie frowned. “She told me stuff.” 

“What other stuff did she tell you?” 

“Enough for me to believe that you don’t want to hurt her.” 

“Stop speaking in fucking riddles-“ 

“Soldier Boy,” Annie shook her head. “I’m not trying to fight with you. Not right now, with everything being so fucked. But just, don’t hurt her.” 

Annie left, and Ben couldn’t fucking move. He’d never hurt Her, he fucking loved Her. Everything in him was dedicated to protecting her and loving her, and he’d rather go back to sleep or ship himself to Russia that let her hurt anymore- 

She knew that. Ben was certain She knew that. She didn’t know he loved Her, and he wished her voice would stop trying to fight with him about that, but she knew Ben would never fucking hurt Her. He’d keep her safe, he’d always care for her and make her happy. Everything good was Her, and Ben’s heart kept beating so she could have it when she came home. 

The blood in Ben’s body had turned into Her. This is what people must have meant when they said love would drive you mad. Her voice, growing clearer and clearer in his head, was still telling about strange fucking things Ben hadn’t been thinking about before. Sometimes it would even say that She loved him, and Ben decided that he was getting a little too fucking into this fantasy. Where he could ask Her voice in his head questions and she’d answer like it was Her. Really Her. When he’d finished buying Her sunglasses—She’d be real fucking proud, he’d used Amazon without calling Hughie to make him do it—Her voice had been tired and sour around him, but still so slightly amused. Sounding like Her. 

Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

Ben had frowned into the empty apartment. What the fuck are you talking about. 

The Deep. Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

I don’t fucking know. Why the hell would I know that. 

You don’t have to actually know, Pretty Boy. You can guess, or offer another type of porn. My vote is tentacle, but if you think there’s another- 

What’s that one you told me about that I couldn’t fucking understand. With the dogs. 

Beastialty? 

No, smartass. With the costumes- 

Oh. Furries.

Ben had nodded at nothing. Is there an ocean version of furries? 

Maybe. I don’t actually know. 

You don’t have to actually know, Sunshine. You can fucking guess- 

Shut up. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

No. 

Fuck you. 

I will. When you get home I’m going to blow your fucking mind. There’s not a single goddamn thing I won’t do to you, not if you ask real fucking nice- 

Not a thing? Are you going to tentacle fuck me? 

Brat. 

Cunt. And there probably are ocean furries. Rule 34 and all. 

What the hell is rule 34.

Her snort had rumbled in Ben’s chest. Oh, that’s going to be so much fun to show you. 

You can just fucking tell me- 

No. I want to see your face, it’s going to be adorable. 

I am not goddamn adorable- 

Yes, you are. You’re downright cute, Benjamin. Deal with it. 

Ben had sighed. You’re lucky I love you. 

Ben, please. Stop saying that. 

No. I fucking love you, and there’s not a goddamn thing that will make me stop loving you- 

Ben- 

His phone had buzzed with a message from Butcher about another A-Train meeting, and Her voice had vanished into the hum of Ben’s heart. He’d smiled at her sleepy face, still his lockscreen because there was not a fucking chance in hell he’d change it now, and left to go hear A-Train list out another bunch of stupid fucking passcodes.

He kept hearing Her. Her voice was only growing stronger, and Ben must miss her somehow more than he’d thought fucking possible because she was always there. 

Benjamin. 

He’d tensed, standing in the shower after returning to his apartment from dinner, and repeated Her name back to her in his head. 

Would you hate it if I asked you out? 

What. 

If I told you I loved you, and asked you out. And don’t say you love me. You’re not allowed to say you love me. 

Shut the fuck up, I’ll tell you I love you as much as I fucking want- 

Ben. Please just answer my question. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

My answer is no. Why the fuck would I hate it if you asked me out. And if you told me you loved me- 

I don’t know. Gender roles? Guys are supposed to ask girls out. 

We’re not fucking children. Let me finish my damn sentence. If you told me you loved me, there wouldn’t be a single fucking thing you could ask of me that I wouldn’t give you. And it doesn’t matter, because as soon as you’re home and safe I’m going to tell you I love you and fuck you stupid. 

Stop saying that- 

No. I’m going to make you cum all over me a hundred times in every single fucking position I can think of. Then I’ll make some new ones, and figure out which ones are your favorite, so I can keep fucking you forever. 

Ben had almost been able to hear that small sound She always made when she was trying to hide how wet he’d gotten her. I’d like that. 

Good. Because it’s fucking happening. The moment you say the word, you’re fucking mine, Sunshine. And if you want to suck my cock, I won’t stop you. 

What a gentleman. I’m one lucky gal, having such a generous… Her voice had trailed off, and Ben had seen her pretty lips falling into a frown. Heard the chew of her cheek. Boyfriend sounds stupid. 

Boyfriend is stupid. Ben had scowled, because boyfriend was too weak a word to describe what he needed to be to Her. And girlfriend was a fucking pathetic thing to call the most perfect woman to ever exist. And I’m not ever going to call you my girlfriend, because we’re fucking adults. 

That’s true, hundred year old men shouldn’t have girlfriends. That’s pretty embarrassing for you.

Brat.

Cunt. There was a beat of silence. What would you call me?

Doesn’t matter, Ben had shrugged, even though She wasn’t real and couldn’t see it. As long as we’re fucking together, I don’t give a shit what we call each other. 

He’d want to call Her his wife. Suddenly he was goddamn certain that, one day, he’d fucking marry that insane and perfect fucking woman. If She’d let him. As Her voice hummed and faded away again, Ben decided that whatever she’d give him he’d take. He’d ask, at the right times, what she wanted. If it was everything he wanted. But if she didn’t—she might never want exactly what Ben wanted, not with Homelander as a stain on her head—Ben would genuinely be fucking fine. Not Her type of fine, where she just didn’t want to talk about how much everything was hurting Her, but just fine. As long as She was with him, Ben would be fine. 

His dreams were getting fucking horrible again. He’d wake up from nightmares filled with blood, unable to breathe with Her voice in his head. 

Blood. So much blood. I don’t have time to clean all this blood- 

Breathe, Sunshine. He’d glare into the dark, because even if She wasn’t real it was fucking painful to hear her voice so afraid and weak. Just fucking breathe. 

There’s blood, Ben. It’s everywhere, and it’s not mine, and I miss you. I miss you so much- 

Wear blue, and I’ll come fucking get you, right now. 

No, I’m so close. I can’t. 

Then breathe. 

Ben’s own heart had slowed, and his own breathing became even. 

Thank you. Her voice had whispered, right in his ear. He could almost feel Her soft hand, gently tracing his jaw in the dark. I’m sorry. 

Shut the fuck up. Don’t ever thank me, or apologize. 

Please- 

No. I don’t want it. I want you home, because I fucking miss you. Nothing else. 

Okay. Silence, then. I’ll see you soon. 

He’d sighed into the dark, and stared up at the high ceiling. He’d forgotten to turn off the bathroom lamps, and there was light leaking under the door of their empty bedroom. I’ll see you soon.

They were still looking for V. A-Train had given them a list of warehouses and Vought storage spaces, so right now Ben’s job was to comb over them with Butcher, Hughie, and the French Prick for clues. There were hundreds of warehouses and cargo ports and underground bunkers, and Hughie kept finding fucking more. There was one in Sacramento that A-Train had claimed was full of V, but Hughie couldn’t find it on any records. It had seemingly disappeared off the face of the damn planet. There were fifty more like it, a lot of others in fucking places like New Orleans and Austin that held supe gear, and several in Akron and Portland and Chicago that were label miscellaneous. They’d kept Ben’s shield there. In a fucking miscellaneous warehouse. 

“This is getting us fucking nowhere,” he muttered, crumpling another paper in his hand as Her voice turned back to an easy song in his head. “It doesn’t fucking matter where Vought kept them. Sage would fucking hide anything she didn’t destroy.” 

“You got a better fuckin idea, Gov?” Butcher snapped, not looking up from his own papers. “We ain’t got much to go on, we’re doin the best with the shit we’ve got.”

“Our best is fucking dogshit-“ 

“Maybe it’s offsite?” Hughie paused his tapping of the computer. “Vought has, like, a lot of shell companies, right? Maybe Sage moved it there, off of any records.” 

Butcher nodded slowly. “Frenchie-“

The French Prick sighed. “I will go tell MM.”

“What about Homelander,” Ben grunted, frowning at Hughie. “Are you looking where he’d keep it?” 

“We can’t be sure he has any-“ 

“He does.” Ben’s snap was cold. “He might be the one keeping it offsite, where Sage can’t fucking find it.” 

“Lad, he’s ain’t totally fuckin wrong,” Butcher glanced up and Hughie with narrow eyes. “Homelander ain’t tryin to hide it from just the CIA, he’s tryin to hide it from everyone. And Vought’s his fuckin playground. He might be keepin it wherever he damn pleases.”

Hughie sighed. “Maybe, but I can’t check that without the list of shell companies.” 

“Do your fucking braking shit,” Ben scowled. “Isn’t that your whole fucking thing-“ 

“It’s hacking, not braking. And it’s not my whole thing-“ 

Hughie cut himself off as the Kid pushed into the dining hall. 

“Is it pizza night?” He sat next to Butcher, right across from Ben. “I know it’s early, but I’m really hungry-“

“It’s Friday, ain’t it?” Butcher started to pull his papers into his chest, shoving them down to Hughie. “And we can eat early. We’re the cunts in charge of ourselves.”

Ben returned his papers to Hughie as well, because this wasn’t going to do fucking shit. There wouldn’t be V anywhere, Sage was too smart of a bitch to leave it lying around. Ben could eat dinner, and then hang over Hughie’s shoulder until the man proved himself fucking useful.

He ate Her favorite type of pizza. He’d been eating Her favorite type of pizza, because it reminded him of Her. Of her smile and the soft look on Her perfect face when Ben would get it without her asking. She didn’t need to ask. Ben knew everything about Her that he needed to in order to keep her happy. It was how he was able to answer all of the Kid’s questions, and usually that knowledge would make his heart a little slower. Make Ben feel a little more at ease that She be safe and happy with him. That there was at least one way in which he was deserving of Her. But tonight his heart was going a mile a damn minute and he couldn’t fucking figure out why. He felt like something was choking him, like every nerve in his body was burning and he was cold. The pizza was warm, the dining hall was warm, but Ben felt cold. And it only got worse and worse. He felt fucking sick, something felt wrong. The longer the night went on, everyone having joined them to eat and talk about anything but the mission—a recently imposed rule by MM after Butcher had said the words supe jizz might have fuckin V in it and everyone had lost their appetites—the worse Ben felt. He was dying. Everything fucking hurt and he felt like he was going to fucking collapse- 

The whole room lit up red, and deafening alarms started to sound through the building. Ben and Butcher were up first, MM and Annie close behind them as they stormed to the door. 

“What’s going on-“ 

“Stay right fuckin there, Ryan.” Butcher roared, and the Kid froze in his steps. “Hughie, don’t let him out of your sight. Everyone else-“ 

“We don’t know what’s going on, Butcher.” Annie’s words were loud, but unsure. Ben could even fucking hear her heart racing over the sirens. “It might just be a fire drill-“ 

“We ain’t supposed to be hooked up to the drills,” Butcher snapped, pounding the wall and opening a full fucking arsenal panel. Someone should’ve told Ben about that sooner. “And we ain’t supposed to get alerts unless it’s defcon 1. It might be-“ 

“It’s not Homelander,” MM held up his phone. “I’ve got a Google alert on the fucker, he was just in France-“ 

Ben caught the gun Butcher was tossing to him. “It’s fucking something.” He grunted. “Something’s real fucking wrong. Get a gun and start moving.” 

MM frowned. “How the hell do you know-“ 

The doors burst open, and one of those pussy fucking agents—the man—yelped as five gun’s clicked with barrels aimed at his head. 

“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot-“

“What the fuck is going on,” Ben didn’t try to make his voice nice or kind. Something was going on, he’d never felt this type of goddamn suffering in his life, and when he’d paused for just a second he’d realized Her voice was gone. It wasn’t humming softly around in his head and heart anymore. It was just fucking pain. 

“Soldier Boy, sir, I’m sorry to bother you but-“

“Fucking talk!” Ben roared, his ribs starting to cave in. “Stop pussying around and use your goddamn words-“ 

The agent shouted Her name, and the gun broke in Ben’s hand. “She’s in the lobby, but nobody can touch her-“ 

Ben didn’t wait to hear more. She was in the lobby. The sky felt like it was fucking falling and Ben couldn’t really see beyond something red lining his vision, but She was fucking here. He was sprinting down the hall, and into the elevator with Annie, Kimiko, and somehow Butcher the only ones managing to keep up. His fists were clenching and unclenching, nobody was daring to fucking speak, and as the elevator started to drop the pain began to subside. Like it knew he was getting closer. It knew She was home. 

The elevator had barely dinged before Ben was out of it, ripping through the metal with his hands. They hadn’t stopped in the lobby—they’d stopped three or four levels above—and people were trying to get on. Scrambling forwards, then falling back with surprised sounds as Ben pushed past them. All of them looked fucking afraid, like they were running from something. 

There was an overlook into the main lobby. The first seven floors had hallways that wrapped around the entrance, and Ben had a feeling that if he just kept walking towards what everyone else was fleeing from, he’d get there. Butcher and Annie were calling after him, but Ben didn’t fucking care. She was so fucking close, he had to fucking get to Her-

He heard Her screams first. They were raw noised of pure fucking pain, and she was probably trying to fucking say something. Ben could only hear his blood in his ears, and hHr screams, and her heartbeat. Fast and wild and pounding out of her chest.

Ben could hear Her heartbeat. That was Her heartbeat. He’d recognize it underwater and in deep space and buried twenty feet under the ground. It had made him turn around at the Believe Expo, because he’d have just kept walking and telling Her voice to stop torturing him with ideas that she might be there, but he’d heard her heartbeat. And this was Her fucking heartbeat.

She was alone, curled into Herself in the center of the lobby. Ben could finally fucking see Her, four floors below him, collapsed on her knees and screaming. Covered in blood, clothing scorched, and fucking screaming. Everyone was either fleeing, passed out in an odd pattern across the floor, or watching with wide-eyes from a wide circle that had formed around Her. Nobody was helping Her. Why was nobody fucking helping Her- 

She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t looking at anyone, her eyes screwed shut as she screamed again. It was the worst fucking sound Ben had even heard. He needed to fucking get to Her, now. He’d survive the jump down, he wouldn’t even fucking feel it. He took a step back, readying to go, go to Her, he’d wasted too much fucking time and he had to get to Her, but a small hand yanked him back. 

“What the fuck-“ 

Kimiko was glaring at him, pointing at the people scattered around Her and signing something Ben couldn’t fucking understand. 

“I need to help her-“ 

She shook her head, gesturing to the weak, knocked out pussies on the floor. 

“They’re not fucking burned, there’s not even any fucking fire. And I’d fucking survive it anyway-“

“It ain’t fire, Gov.” Butcher was out of breath, shoving his way forward with a glower at Ben. “If you hadn’t just bloody run, you’d have heard what’s goin on.” 

“If you pussies don’t let me go and shut the fuck up, I’ll fucking kill you-“ 

“It’s the empathy!” Annie was right behind Butcher, her voice desperate. Below, She screamed again and Ben died a little bit. “People were trying to help her, but they kept screaming and collapsing. There’s not any fire, she just,” Annie’s eyes landed on Her, flinching as She screamed. “They’re feeling Her. Anyone who goes too close to Her feels whatever she’s feeling.” 

“And they’re all fuckin passing out from it, Gov.” Butcher sighed, shaking his head. “We just got to let her tire herself out, if anyone gets just a little too bloody close they’ll-“ 

There was not a chance in goddamn hell Ben was going to wait. She was here, she was home, he was done fucking waiting. If he felt that pain, or passed out, or even fucking died, at least it would’ve been to get to Her. 

He yanked his hand away from Kimiko, sending her stumbling backwards, and jumped down to the lobby. 

The floor cracked under him, and Ben braced himself for the pain. To roar and scream like she was and fucking crawl to Her if he had to. 

Nothing came. There was a dull kind of ache, but no pain. Everything that hurt was the noise of the alarms and the horrible sound of Her screams. He took a careful step, closer, and still nothing. Another, and the alarms and gathered crowd fell into the background. Her heartbeat was louder, and it was all Ben could hear. Everyone could fucking watch with stupid pussy gapes, all that mattered was Her. 

Her eyes were still closed, and when she screamed again he heard the words, running from her blood into his. 

Ben. 

He ran. It took two, bounding and powerful strides to grab Her. Hold Her in his arms. To fall to his knees at Her side, and pull her up into his chest.

Her screams stopped. Ben cradled Her head in his hand, his other squeezing her waist to make sure She was fucking real. He felt a flash of something boundless, something infinite and indestructible, and then she passed out. 

Ben carried Her to medical. He wanted to carry her to bed, to let her just rest, but he had to make sure she was okay. That someone with a pussy fucking degree would look at Her and tell Ben she’d be ok. Everyone was parting around then, and Ben didn’t give a fuck. She was in his arms, and everything was going to be okay. 

They gave Her a bed. Every doctor on the staff popped their head in—Ben thought they might be drawing straws for who’s turn it was to check on Her—and the French Prick came in with a vial of a golden liquid, attaching it to Her IV. 

“The fuck are you doing,” Ben grunted, but didn’t move from Her side. He’d pulled a chair up beside Her, and wasn’t going to fucking leave until her eyes opened. Until She could look at him and say she was okay. She was going to be okay. She had to be fucking okay. And if she wasn’t, Ben had to know that so he could figure out how to help. If he could fix it or heal it or just had to stay there, at Her side until she smiled. Whatever it fucking took.

“It is a suppressant.” The French Prick glanced at Ben’s scowl. “It will not hurt her. It will help.”

“How.”

“We do not know what will happen when she awakens. This will make sure people other than yourself can approach her safely.” 

Ben nodded slowly, looking back at Her face. Perfect, at complete ease in her sleep. “Fine.” 

Then it was just them again. Ben’s hand was in hers—nobody could make him stop touching Her with a fucking nuke of Sage’s gas pointed to his chest—and she was sighing in Her sleep. 

Perfect.

He loved Her more than the whole fucking universe, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her that when she woke up. When Her eyes opened, it was going to have to be about her. Ben would have to fucking swallow the words, and tell her he loved her when she was ready to hear it. When he was convinced beyond a doubt she’d be okay, and that she’d keep smiling at him no matter what she felt for him. She wouldn’t leave him. She adored him. Even in her fucking sleep her fingers had twined themselves into his, and Ben had never been more certain of anything or anyone. He was certain he loved Her. He was certain he didn’t deserve her, but that his whole fucking life from here on out was going to be about earning her. This was all about Her now. 

Everything was Her. 

And Ben couldn’t say it where She could hear him. But he had to say it, now, or he’d explode. 

“I wanted to hate you,” he started in a low voice, watching Her eyes flutter in sleep. Perfect. “I should’ve fucking hated you, and I really goddamn wanted to. You seemed like everything I fucking despised. People who think they’re better than me because they’re too weak to see the gray of the world. People who sit in ivory fucking towers and think they’re worth more because they’re smarter than me. People who think they deserve to tell me what to do, pussies who are too fucking good for anything.” He sighed. “I really fucking tried to hate you. It would’ve been easier. Made this stupid shit so much fucking easier. But you can never make anything easy, can you Sunshine. You have to be the most beautiful fucking pain in my ass all the goddamn time.” 

She shifted slightly, heart still slow and steady, and Ben smiled. “You wouldn’t fucking stop proving me wrong. You don’t think you’re better than me, you are better than me. You’re better than fucking every sorry pussy in the world. You see all the gray, but you still keep doing good things, and that’s so fucking hard to do. I’ve been trying to, for you, and Christ, it’s exhausting. But you just do it, like there’s no other option. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever fucking met, and you’re fucking funny, and you never think you’re better. You explain everything you say if someone asks, and you’re not nice about it, but you do. You love answering questions, you love people, and I don’t fucking get it. I don’t fucking understand how you’re so fucking perfect, and why you couldn’t just let me hate you. Why you couldn’t just be a fucking bitch, why you kept smiling at me and laughing with me.” She hummed in her sleep, and Ben reached a hand out. Brushing his thumb along Her cheek. “You’re so good, Sunshine. I couldn’t hate you, because you’re just good. You’re too good for everything, but you’d never lord it over anyone. You’re the most beautiful woman in history, and you’re a goddamn brat, and I could never really fucking hate you.” He felt a lump form in his throat, and She leaned into his hand. “I love you.” He sighed Her name, listening to the easy sound of Her heartbeat. “I love you. You burn, I burn, and I fucking love you.” 

She was safe. 

She was home. 

Ben loved Her, and they were going to be okay.

End Note:  Can you guys tell I’m a whore for Chekov’s Gun? We did it squad. She's home. Thank you all for sticking through the darkest part (there WILL be more angst, but like. hurt/comfort. Lined with fluff and character growth that doesn't make us want to die), and every form of support you've shown me. You guys are the best, and I'm very sorry for doing that to you. See you soon!

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

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[physalian]

Trust Your Own Creativity

This was going to be a “stuck on how to design a character’s personality? Throw them in a fanfic!” post but the meat of what I was trying to say evolved (much like the point of this post).

I have three side characters from book one of a series (ENNS, out 8/25, yeeeee!) that have much larger roles in book two. The problem I’ve been having is that I have no idea what their personalities are beyond the barest that they got in the first book because they just weren’t that important. So I’ve been trying to force something to come together. Along the lines of “well I need a character like this” and “I guess I can make this work” which does not, in fact, work.

Just tossed two of them into a “fanfic” to get to know them, a story completely isolated from the rest of the canon like their own little sandbox to play in, and I’ll experiment and see what castles they build.

So when I say trust your own creativity, I mean that writing and worldbuilding and character creation is far less “active design” and much more “active discovery”. One of my all time favorite things to write is backstory monologues. I. Love. Monologues. While I usually have a rough idea before the big speech, when it comes time to write it, it’s usually written as if I’d improvised it on stage and aside from trimming where needed and clarifying what’s muddy, it’s not only usually good to go, but it’s probably not exactly what I’d planned or envisioned to begin with.

I just let my characters talk, I give them the floor, and I wait to hear what they say. A lot of the time, they’ll say something absolutely brilliant (or stupid) that was not at all planned for them, but works so well it has altered the trajectory of their whole arc. Which wouldn’t have happened if I’d stuck religiously to The Plan.

Which is why it’s really hard for me to outline. Yes, all my books have goals and a skeleton of a plot, i.e. “must hit points A-G in this order” but the story is usually freeform. Whenever I need to make rewrites, the plot never changes, but the story might. I might swap out an argument for something softer or change the tone of a scene where needed, molding my little clay words into the sculpture it will become eventually.

You are a creative. Let your creativity speak, and then listen to it.

[lumiolivier]

Unearthing the Treasure

Series: One Piece

Chapter: One Shot

Word Count: 14521

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Cross Guild x Reader (YN)

a/n: Hi! Ever wonder how it is you ended up with the Cross Guild in the first place? Well...This is how.

You remember that feeling.  The chill in the air, the freezing water, and you had lost any and all will to fight.  You were exhausted.  You were thirsty.  You were hungry.  And what was left of your ship floated underneath you, barely keeping you afloat.  You didn’t catch the name of the pirates that destroyed your ship, but you were just a simple shipping vessel.  You were only trying to get to your next port.  And yet, your crew was gone.  Your supply was gone.  And your ship was on its way to the bottom of the ocean.  With the exception of the little piece you were using as a paddleboard.  But you didn’t have it in you anymore.  You weren’t going to fight.  You were going to close your eyes and let the sea take you.

Until you felt land underneath you instead of your driftwood.  Until your driftwood turned to sand.  Until you saw the shadowy outline of three giants in front of you.  But you didn’t have the energy to fight them.  Once you saw them, you were already slipping out of consciousness.  And before the three figures could come into focus, you were gone.  You were done.  There was no hope left.  There was no sense left in fighting a battle you had already lost.

Until you woke up again.  Surely, this was some sort of afterlife.  Surely, you were washed away with the tide.  Surely, you were dead.  But you knew one thing for certain.  You were warm.  You were comfortable in a warm bed.  This must have been some semblance of afterlife.  You opened your eyes and you were surrounded by rich, luxurious fabrics hanging from the windows, blocking out most of the sunlight.  Your bed had never felt so comfortable, but it was a bed unfamiliar all the same.  And yet, brilliant shades of deep blues and purples surrounded you.  You weren’t sure where you were, but for the time being, in the quiet of the room, you were grateful.

Until that comfortable feeling was no longer comfortable.  As you woke up, you started to feel every little ache and pain in your body.  The vicious bite of the sea had finally sunk in.  Your hips felt out of place and your shoulders were beyond strained.  But that was the least of your worries.  Because you noticed something else was out of place.  The pajamas on your body were not on you when you washed ashore.  They weren’t even yours.  Were they?  You didn’t think they were yours.  Then again, who knew how long you had been out at sea?  Certainly not you.  You had lost track of how many times you had seen the sun rise and set.

But you were still so lost.  Where were you?  What happened?  How did you get into such a beautiful room?  And how did you end up in warm, dry clothes?  Was it one of the three giants you had seen on the beach?  And what did they have planned for you?  Certainly, they weren’t going to be happy with you washing up on their beach.  You were trespassing in all technicality.  But what other option did you have?  It’s not like you were going to be picked up by a Marine ship.  They didn’t come to save you when you were being trashed by pirates.  They weren’t going to help you now. 

You wanted to get up and get out of bed.  However, the pains in your body told you otherwise.  Everything felt like it was out of place.  Like you were a puzzle that was swatted off the table by a particularly sassy cat.  But something reignited in you.  A new will to live.  A drive to keep on fighting no matter what.  But you still didn’t know what happened.  You still didn’t know where those giants were hiding or if they had anything planned for you.  But you knew you still needed to leave.

“Huh…She’s kind of cute.  I can see why they brought you in.”

Immediately, you jumped, not expecting to hear a sudden voice out of nowhere.  But all you could do was scream in pain.  You didn’t care about the voice anymore, but that pain…That pain was the worst.  And the weakness in your body certainly wasn’t doing you any favors.  You fell back down to the bed and writhed in your silk sheets.  With every jolt, your will to live started to decrease again.  And right now, death would’ve appeared to you as a welcomed friend.

“Shh…” a man came in and gently settled you down, “I know, dear.  I know.  It can’t be very comfortable for you right now, but you need to rest some more.  You came ashore in such a dreadful state.  Go on.  Get some rest.”

The voice was oddly soothing.  Something about it felt warm.  And safe.  And like nothing could hurt you.  And those were the voices you feared the most.  Because they were always attached to some of the most dangerous men you had ever met.  Comforting and soothing, sure, but that wasn’t enough to lower your guard, “Who…?”

“Shh…” a hand went up to your forehead.  You wanted to open your eyes, but the warm hand on your forehead felt far too good, “It’s alright.  I know you have questions.  And we do, too.  But in due time, darling.  For now, you need to get some rest.  And certain young ladies don’t need to be poking around in business that isn’t hers.”

“You’re no fun!” that voice from earlier whined. 

“And you’re a nuisance to our guest,” he shot her down, “Go on.  Leave her alone.”

“But was I wrong?  She is kind of a cutie.”

“Perona…”

“Fine, fine.  I’m leaving.  Buzzkill…”

“As for you,” the man spoke softly, “Get some more rest.  We’ll try eating in a little while.  Ok?”

“Ok…” you didn’t have any energy.  You just…weren’t there.  You were still wildly disoriented from your days adrift at sea.  So, you did as you were told.  You shut your eyes again and you got more rest.  You didn’t know who the man was.  You didn’t know why he was helping you.  But in that moment, you couldn’t have been more grateful for his kindness.  A complete stranger was nice enough to let you in for the evening…Morning.  Yes.  It was definitely morning.  With that bright, blinding sun, it’d be concerning if that was considered nighttime.  But you had a roof over your head and a warm bed to sleep in.  And soon enough, you’d have a meal in your stomach, too.

When you woke up again, it was still daylight.  You weren’t sure how much daylight you had left, but if you had to fathom a guess, it was somewhere late in the afternoon.  You wondered to yourself how long you had slept, but your aches and pains were not a welcomed distraction.  As strange as it may sound with your sunburned shoulders, you still wanted to feel the warmth of that sun.  When you weren’t completely surrounded by water on all sides.  Later, you decided.  You could see that sun again later.  For now, you felt your stomach caving in on itself.

“And who do you think you are to say we can’t keep her?” your savior’s voice carried into your room.  Outside the door maybe?  You weren’t entirely sure, but you kept listening, “It’s my fucking house.”

“Think about it.” Another voice…Another savior?  Or worse, someone wanting to throw you back? “If we keep it, then we have to take care of it.  If we have to take care of it, that means less for us.  Do you not see that?”

“She’s just shipwrecked.” A third voice broke in.  Would this be the voice of reason or would he be an executioner, too? “We can make sure she’s back to fighting shape.  Then, we can take her to the nearest port, drop her off, and let her fend for herself.  Is that something we can all agree on?”

“You don’t understand,” your savior put his foot down.  And every inch of your body wanted to squeal out in pride.  Yet, you knew better.  Two of the three men outside your door wanted to give you the boot.  You couldn’t let any of them know you were awake, “She’s…I don’t know.  Neither one of you have met her yet.  If you two meet her, you’ll see things my way.  I know you will.”

“My god…” the more selfish one of the three scoffed, “Are you really thinking with your dick right now?”

“What?  No!  That’s absurd!”

“Are you sure about that?  Because one man’s absurd is another man’s boner.  In this case, it’s yours.  Are you fucking serious?”

“Look…If I bring her to the drawing room, will you two pull the thongs out of your asses?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hey!  Only one of us is wearing a thong, thank you.”

“Could’ve went the rest of my life without knowing you wore them in the first place.”

You scrambled to bundle yourself back up in your bed, swaddled in the blankets like a newborn baby.  They couldn’t know you were awake. You lay perfectly still in your bed in a position you could’ve been in for hours.  How would they know?  It’s not like they were regularly checking up on you.  As far as you knew.  It’s not like they were poking their heads in the room, just to make sure you were still breathing.  As far as you knew.  Everything was fine.  What do you mean, they were just talking about you?  Of course, they weren’t.  You didn’t hear anything.  It was probably someone else they rescued from the beach.  Not you.

“I know you’re awake, sweetie.” There was that voice again!  It was a girl’s voice.  Soft, ethereal even, “Hey!  I said, I know you’re awake!”

You dropped the act and looked around the room, “Where are you?”

“I’m right here.” A girl materialized seemingly out of nowhere.  You weren’t expecting this doll like creature to pop up, “Hi.”

“Who the hell are you?” You gripped your sheets tight, sweating a bit.

“Please,” the girl brushed you off and made herself comfortable at your bedside.  Because personal space didn’t exist, “I’m not going to hurt you.  Neither is anyone else here.  No matter what you might have heard.  They’re all teddy bears whether they want to admit it or not.”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” you pointed out, “Who are you?”

“You can call me Perona,” she introduced herself, “Hey, wait a minute!  You’re the one living in my house and yet, you’re the one barking questions at me?  No, no, no.  That’s not how this works.”

“Your house?” you looked at her strangely, remembering what your savior had said, “I don’t think this is your house.”

“Trust me,” Perona rolled her eyes at you, “It is.  This is my house.  Now, more importantly, who the hell are you?  If we’re going to be so crass to each other.”

“YN…” you told her, “I’m sorry.  I’m a little fuzzy yet.”

“Well,” Perona sighed out, kicking her feet up in your bed, “Mihawk sure has taken a shine to you, hasn’t he?”

“Mihawk?” you wondered.  Mihawk, Mihawk…The name sounded so familiar to you, but you couldn’t put your finger on why.

“You’ve had to have heard of Mihawk in some stretch of the imagination,” Perona giggled, “I mean, he’s the greatest swordsman in the world.  Second, if you ask his protégé, but Mihawk still lives and breathes, so what’s that tell you?”

“That he’s still the greatest swordsman in the world?”

“Bingo,” Perona started to rise from your bed, still comfortably on her back, “Let’s see…Who else could I tell you about?”

“Perona…” your savior had finally rejoined you.  And you got a better look at those pretty gold eyes that melted you to your core, “What are you doing in here?  I thought I told you to leave her alone.”

“I’m just making friends,” Perona groaned, “Really and truly, Mihawk, you don’t need to be the buzzkill.  YN and me are besties now.  And you’re jealous.”

“Go,” he ordered.

“Well, YN,” Perona floated off, “It was nice meeting you.  We really should hang out more often.  I’ll be back later when you don’t have someone else killing the vibe, K?”

“Ok…” You weren’t entirely sure what to think about Perona.  She was sweet.  You’ll give her that much.  She was a lot, though, too.  Not that you were totally complaining.  You could see the two of you becoming friends.  Eventually.

“I’m sorry about that,” he sat at your bedside, “She can be quite the handful.  Especially when we have new guests.”

“Is that what I am?” you wondered, “Am I a guest?”

“Yes,” he assured you, “What’s your name, darling?”

“It’s YN…” you introduced yourself, “What about you?”

“Really?” he looked at you strangely, “You don’t know who I am?  I really did think I was much more well known than that.”

“Perona called you Mihawk…” you remembered.  You remembered more than you thought you did, “Are you, by any chance, Dracule Mihawk?”

“Yes, I am,” he cracked a little smile, “And this is my castle.  This is Kuraigana Island.”

“Kuraigana Island?” You didn’t remember drifting out this far.

“Yes,” Mihawk pushed your hair out of your face, “You really have been through it, haven’t you?”

“I have no intentions on staying here longer than I have to,” you blurted out, “The second I’m all better, I’ll leave and we can pretend like this never happened.”

“No, no, no,” Mihawk settled you, “Where did I ever say that?  You stay here as long as you need to.”

“And then,” you reiterated, “I’ll leave.  I don’t need to be a burden on you.”

“You’re not a burden,” Mihawk took your cheek into his palm, “You’re alright.  You don’t need to waste your energy on such silly notions.  I’m sure this is a stupid question, but are you hungry?  Would you care for something to eat?”

“Please,” your voice was soft and meager, but the thought of eating something flashed in your brain like a neon sign.  You needed something, anything in your stomach.  Something to settle it from that long drift at sea.

“When was the last time you ate something?” Mihawk dug in his pocket.

“It’s…” you bit your lip, bracing yourself for what would likely be a verbal lashing for the century, “It’s been a few days.”

“Then, we’ll start with something small,” Mihawk pulled out a small packet of rice crackers, his inkling of your starvation proving correct, “If you can keep these down, then I’ll give you more.  But I want you to wait a little bit between eating.  Is that alright with you?”

“That’s fine,” you tried hard not to greedily grab for those rice crackers, but considering it had been days since you last ate, you were hungry.  The voracity took over and you gladly inhaled those rice crackers.

“Easy…” Until Mihawk stopped you, fully prepared for a chomp in his arm, “If you eat these too fast, you will throw them up and that’s not a mess I feel like cleaning up today.  Do we understand?”

Something about his firm hand coming down on you like that sent a strange tingle down your spine.  And just as he insisted, you started to savor those crackers a little more.  And you managed to actually taste them.  The mild saltiness brought tears to your eyes and a little smile to your face, “These taste like shit…”

“Excuse me?” Mihawk clutched his chest, “I go out of my way to give you…”

But he stopped himself, noticing those tears streaming down your face as you continue to eat them.  No matter how much they tasted like cardboard, “They’re so bad…But they’re keeping me alive.  Maybe it’s like you…”

“Wait,” Mihawk tried to wrap his head around your metaphor, but it fell incredibly flat, “I think you’re still delirious, dear.  Perhaps you should get some more sleep.”

“No,” you shook your head, “I know who you are, Marine hunter Dracule Mihawk…I know what you’ve done…What you’re capable of.  You could commit such atrocities for the most trivial reasons without batting an eye.  But you’re still taking care of me.  And I’m still grateful for you, despite what sins you’ve committed in your lifetime.”

Mihawk blinked a couple times, intrigued by your insight.  Albeit confused by your metaphor and still a bit insulted you compared him to something so bland and simple like a rice cracker, “Would you like some more crackers, YN?”

“Yes, please.”

“Of course,” Mihawk gave you a little smile and another packet of rice crackers.  You savored this packet more than the last.  Mihawk put a hand on your shoulder, “Good girl.  Keep those down, alright?  I’m going to get you something more substantial, ok?”

“Ok,” you nodded.

“Is there anything specific you’d like?” Mihawk asked.

“If you have any,” you hoped, “Could you bring me an orange?”

“Of course,” Mihawk left your bedside and you continued to eat your crackers in peace.  Sure, they still tasted like cardboard, but they were your cardboard.  And they were keeping you alive.

“He really is a sweetheart once you get to know him,” Perona reappeared the moment that door closed.

“Perona,” you jumped a bit, “If you’re going to come in here when Mihawk leaves, you have to start wearing a bell or something.”

“I’m sure I can find a bell around here,” she offered, “I’ll ring the bell every time I’m in here.”

“Thank you,” you felt your heart rate get back to normal.

“I stand by what I said, though,” Perona laid back down in your bed next to you.  Because, again, personal space isn’t a thing, “Mihawk can be a sweetheart when he wants to be one.  And there’s something about you, apparently, that gets to him.”

“I called him a rice cracker…”

“I heard,” Perona winced, “But the explanation saved it.  You know…If you were looking to go that direction.”

“Which direction?” you scratched your head.

“Come on, YN,” Perona scoffed, “You can’t tell me you don’t see where this is going.  You two would be cute together.”

“I feel like I just came out of a fucking coma!” you squeaked, “The last thing I’m thinking about is a relationship.”

“Everything is a relationship,” Perona explained, “Right now, we have a relationship.  It’s whether or not you want it to be something more than just platonic.  I could see you two having a little something, something, though.  Besides, a good lay might be just what he needs to get the stick out of his ass.  His last boyfriend was kind of a lush, so he had to back off from that, but even when he came around, Mihawk would always mellow out for a while.  He needs that again.”

“Alright, alright,” you settled her, “Let’s get one thing straight.  Right now, I’m not interested.”

“But…?” Perona nudged you along, “Come on, YN.  Look at the man.  I wouldn’t even think about it.  He’s kind of like a weird father figure situation with me.  Same thing with his protégé.  He’s like my pain in the ass little brother.  But that’s our dynamic.  You can’t tell me Mihawk’s not a good looking man.”

“Oh, yes, he is,” you nodded, drooling a little bit before snapping yourself out of your schoolgirl-esque haze, “But that’s beside the point.  That’s not something I need right now.  I don’t need to be in a relationship.  I need to focus on getting better and getting the hell out of here.”

“Wait…” Perona’s heart started to crack, “You’re…You’re really going to leave here?”

“This isn’t my house,” you reminded her, “This is your house.  I know Mihawk said I could stay here as long as I needed to.  Key word.  Need.  Once I’m all better, I won’t need to be here anymore.  So, I guess I’d just leave after that.”

“No!” Perona latched onto your arm.  You weren’t thinking she’d reach that far, but here you were, “Don’t go yet, YN.  Don’t get me wrong.  I miss the days when it was just Mihawk and me, but ever since the others got here, I have hardly anyone to be catty with.  Mihawk’s always busy with the other two.  I need someone else, too!  Please?  Please don’t go.”

“I’m still going to be here for a while,” you settled her, “I’m sure.  I mean, I still feel like shit.  And Mihawk’s keeping a close eye on me.”

“Not close enough to shoo me out of here,” Perona shrugged, “But I digress.”

“I’m not going anywhere yet,” you promised, “But I’m sure there’s going to come a day where I’ll leave here and probably never come back.  The sea is a vast place and I’m not even sure which way I took to get here.”

“Fate,” Perona grabbed your hands, “Fate brought you here.  Fate brought you here to be my best friend.  We can’t deny fate like this, YN.  It has been writ.  The die cast.  All that.  We’re fate bonded.  You’re not leaving and I have a new bestie.  That’s how this works.”

Now, you understood a little better what Mihawk meant when he said Perona was a handful.  Because Perona was, in fact, a handful, “Tell you what, Perona.  I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?” she started to calm down a bit, your proposal intriguing, “What kind of deal?”

“For as long as I’m here,” you promised, “We can be best friends.  What that entails is entirely up to you.  And yet, what that also entails is healthy personal space and not you up my ass all the time.  Just throwing that out there now.”

“Alright, alright,” Perona laid her head on your shoulder, her pink curls in your face, “I get it.  But we still get to be best friends, right?”

And who were you to fight it?  It’s not like your energy was up there from a couple of rice crackers, “Of course, Perona.”

“Yay!” And just like that, you had a new best friend.  She may have been a little parasitic, but look at that cute little face.  You couldn’t tell her no, “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, YN.  I promise you that.”

“Perona, what the hell are you doing?” Mihawk had rejoined you with a couple of big oranges in his hands as he promised. 

“Hanging out with my new best friend,” Perona stuck to your side like glue, “Why?”

“I told you to leave her be,” Mihawk scolded her.

But being Perona’s new best friend, you stepped in, “It’s alright, Mihawk.  She can stay.  There’s nothing wrong here.  Besides, I don’t mind the company.”

“You need to be resting, YN,” Mihawk’s sternness was suddenly on you.

“Right now,” you pointed out, “I thought you said I needed to get something in my stomach.”

“That, I did,” Mihawk agreed, peeling your orange for you, “How have you taken to the rice crackers?”

“Keeping them down,” you reported, reaching out for a piece of orange, “Please?  Mihawk, I’m still hungry.  Rice crackers are not going to be enough.”

“Alright,” Mihawk gave you your orange and let you eat some more, “Eat it slowly.  This is a little more acidic than the rice crackers.”

The sweetness of your orange made you smile, “Thank you.”

“Better than the rice crackers, I’m assuming?” Mihawk smiled back.  Only a little.  Not enough to catch Perona’s attention.

“Yes,” you giggled a bit, “Much better.  But the rice crackers have their place, too.”

“Good to hear,” Mihawk sat next to you.  On the side that wasn’t very clearly taken up by Perona.  However, he shot her a quick glare, “YN, do you think you could call off your guard kitten please?  I’d like to speak with you alone.”

“Anything you say in front of her,” Perona didn’t budge, “You can say in front of me.  And if you can’t, it’s not worth you saying at all.”

“Perona…” Mihawk ordered, “Leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Perona latched onto your arm.

“Don’t make me do this the hard way…”

“You wouldn’t…”

You weren’t sure what kind of argument you had yourself caught in the middle of, but chances are, it would be in your own best interest to stay out of it.

“You know I would,” Mihawk smirked.

“You’re bluffing.” Perona kept her guard up.

“Abite, Spiritus Perona.  Ite vexas aliquem alium…”

“Ow!” Perona winced.  You noticed a little cloud of smoke come up from her shoulders, “That was just plain rude.  Using an exorcism on me…Weren’t you taught better?”

“I was taught how to deal with exasperating ghost princesses,” Mihawk grinned, “Now, are you going to leave?”

“Fine,” Perona hugged you tight, “If he tries anything stupid, YN, feel free to yell for me.”

“I will, Perona,” you promised.  However, you had a feeling that if Mihawk were to do something stupid, he would’ve done it by now.  And as quickly as she appeared, Perona disappeared.

“I swear,” Mihawk let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, “I should really consider warding the room.  But more important task at hand.”

“What was that?” you wondered, your head still spinning from where you were and how you got there.  Things had only gotten worse since you woke up.

“A mild exorcism,” Mihawk explained, “Perona has a thing about ghosts.  And when her ghosts hurt, she hurts.  Regardless of that, we still have more important matters to discuss.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Perona,” you cut to the chase, “When I’m all better, all I’ll ask for is a ride.  Then, you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

Mihawk looked at you strangely, not sure where your sudden declaration was coming from, “Who ever said anything about me dealing with you?  I’ve been taking care of you, dear.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I don’t deal with you.  Some of my associates, I deal with them.  The World Government whenever I have to, I deal with them.  I don’t deal with you.  Actually, if you’re feeling up to it, I have two of my associates here.  They live in this castle, too.  They’d like to meet you.  Is that alright?”

Sure.  Those associates that wanted you gone.  But Mihawk didn’t know you knew that.  With the way things were going, the only ones who still wanted you in the castle were Mihawk and Perona.  And Perona was much more adamant about it than Mihawk.  You couldn’t let Mihawk know you were eavesdropping on their earlier conversation, but he could feel it.  There was something not entirely right here.  Your apprehension had him worried.

“It’s alright,” Mihawk took your hand, “If I didn’t trust them…at least a little…I wouldn’t be letting you meet them.  And if it’s you staying here that has you worried, they don’t have the final say in that.  I do.  You will stay here as long as you need to.  And if you’d like to stay any longer after that, it’s entirely up to you.  Ok?”

“Ok,” you gave him a little nod, “I want to meet the others.”

“That’s good,” Mihawk praised, taking your hand, “If you’d like, I can bring them here.”

“No,” you shook your head, doing your best to curry favor in the other directions, “They don’t need to see where I’ve been recovering.  It’s ok.  I’m sure there’s somewhere in this place for meetings like this.  Some kind of boardroom.”

“Come with me,” Mihawk helped you onto your feet.  You stumbled a few steps, but that was to be expected.  You didn’t know how long you had been in that bed or how much rest your legs needed after kicking as long as you did or how much pressure was on them from the sea.  Mihawk held you steady as your muscle memory started to kick in, “Are you alright to walk on your own?”

“I should be,” you held onto Mihawk’s arm to get yourself steady again.  Slowly, you started to let go.  As you took your first unassisted steps, you were ok again.  You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you knew you were ok, “How far are we going?”

“Not very,” Mihawk assured you, “It’s not like we’re going up stairs.  We’re staying on this floor.”

“And,” you wondered, “Which floor are we on?”

“The second,” Mihawk still took your arm, “Where all the bedrooms are.”

“How many are there?” you watched as Mihawk pushed the door open.

“You had to ask,” Mihawk started counting under his breath, “Let’s see…There’s eight.”

“Did you ever live here by yourself?”

“At one time, yes,” Mihawk nodded, “But then, Perona moved in.  My associates decided to stay a few nights in the guest rooms and never left.  I have someone else that comes around every so often to try and kill me, so he needed a place to sleep while we were training, too.  And now, I only have a few guest rooms left, so I don’t live here alone anymore.”

“That’s good,” you rested your head on Mihawk’s shoulder as the two of you continued down the hall.  Until his words finally sunk in, “Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean, you have someone come around that tries to kill you?!”

“Just that,” Mihawk played it off, “He begged me to take him on as a sort of mentor and I did.  And for as long as he can remember, he’s wanted to best me in combat.  So, when he arrives, he typically tries to kill me.  I end up stopping him every time.  Although, he is getting better.  I will admit that.  But of course, he is.  I train him.  But he comes inside.  We have lunch.  Perona runs him for a while when I have other things to do.  Then, he ends up passing out with a bottle of sake and we call it an evening.  He’s really not that bad once you get to know him.  Granted, his walls are a hundred feet high and made of solid concrete, but he’s not bad.  Not overly a fan of those he chooses to surround himself with, personally, but I’d be lying if I said they didn’t intrigue me.  In their own special ways.”

“And,” you couldn’t help yourself.  Your curiosity burned within you, “Do you ever know when your alleged student assassin is going to show up?”

“Sometimes, he calls beforehand,” Mihawk shrugged, “But I don’t typically hold my breath for that one.”

“Is he a pirate, too?”

“Mmhm,” Mihawk nodded, “Does it make you nervous?”

“Hm?” you weren’t sure where he was going with this, but you stayed on regardless.

“Does it make you nervous to be in a castle full of pirates?” Mihawk asked, “Because you are, you know.”

“When I was a kid,” you cracked a little smile, “I was always told pirates were evil.  That there was no such thing as a pirate you could trust.”

“That’s not true,” Mihawk stepped in, “That’s not entirely true.  If you really wanted someone you couldn’t entirely trust…”

“It’s the World Government?” you assumed, “I know.  The same World Government who hammers the idea that pirates are evil, that pirates are scum, that pirates aren’t trustable, unlovable…And yet, the Warlords are a thing…And pirates can’t be trusted?”

“Huh…” Mihawk smiled a bit, “You certainly are interesting, aren’t you?”

“I got a little sleep recently,” you started letting go of Mihawk’s arm again, trying to take a few steps on your own.  Before you could fall again, Mihawk caught you.

“And perhaps,” Mihawk decided, “You still need more.  But please.  Go on.  What has you so apprehensive about the World Government?”

“I think they’re hypocritical,” you brushed him off, “You tell us how pirates are so awful and yet, you keep some in your back pocket?  For what?  Just in case?  For a rainy day?  And it’s funny.  Because every time I tried to flag down a Marine vessel, they all ignored me.”

“We didn’t exactly come in and save you either, YN,” Mihawk pointed out, “You washed up on my beach.”

“And instead of throwing me back into the water,” you argued, “You brought me in here, gave me a warm bed to sleep in and shitty rice crackers to get my strength back.”

“Be grateful they weren’t stale…” Mihawk hid a little laugh.  As well as what he could anyway.

You knew right then and there.  You were going to like it here.

Mihawk brought you into what looked like an old library.  All the books lining the walls made your heart melt, all of them on a million different subjects.  You could be lost in here for days and be perfectly content.  You couldn’t believe something like this existed in Mihawk’s castle, but then again, after him saying he used to live here alone, you couldn’t think of a better companion than a book.  Even though you and Mihawk were really starting to hit it off.

But that’s when you saw them…

Those were familiar faces.

At your last delivery port, you always made it a point to check the local bulletin boards to see the wanted posters.  And you knew those faces.  The annoyed glare of Sir Crocodile…The sparkling eye of Buggy the Clown…You knew those faces.  And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like what you saw…When they were on the wanted posters.  Seeing them in person was a whole different story.  You could feel it right then and there.  Your legs were going to give out again.  And much like last time, Mihawk made sure to catch you.

“Come,” Mihawk steadied you onto a nearby chair, “Sit.  Are you alright?”

“You’re such a mother hen, Mihawk,” Crocodile rolled his eyes, letting out a cloud of smoke from his mouth.

“She was adrift for God only knows how long,” Mihawk argued, taking your side, “Honestly, Crocodile, are you that devoid of empathy?”

“Not entirely,” Crocodile brushed him off, “In this case, I don’t see where she needs it.”

“Wow,” you mumbled to yourself, mildly insulted, “What a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“Excuse me?” Crocodile’s ear pricked up, “Did you say something, girl?”

“What?” you scoffed, holding back a little fear.  You knew you had Mihawk on your side if need be.  And just as scary, you had Perona, too.  You’d be safe, “I don’t think it’s empathy he’s devoid of, Mihawk.  I think it’s basic manners.”

You earned a cheap laugh out of Buggy, “Damn, Croccy.  She put your in your place already.  I like her…Please, call me Buggy.”

“See?” you pointed out, “The clown gets it.  It’s wonderful to meet you, Buggy.”

“YN…” Mihawk pulled you back, “I wouldn’t be so chummy with the clown…”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because,” Mihawk explained, “He wanted to get rid of you as soon as possible.  I wouldn’t get too close.”

“He’s probably harmless,” you shook him off.

“So, new kid,” Buggy slid between Mihawk and you, “What’s your name?  I’m sure you have one of those.  Or do you not remember?”

“It’s YN,” you told him.  Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder that was not Mihawk’s.  And Buggy sat across from you.  Crocodile’s ego was too bruised to even consider your existence.  You looked over at Buggy who seemed to be missing something, “Uh…Is this your hand?”

“Aren’t devil fruits just the neatest?” Buggy’s hand gave the most twiddly fingered wave.  If he wouldn’t have mentioned a devil fruit, you would’ve been screaming.  But you knew how those worked, “What happened to your ship?  What brought you all the way out here?”

“The sea did,” you remembered, “We were attacked by pirates.  The ship fell apart.  I drifted here.”

“Do you remember the last place you were docked?” Mihawk asked.

“Not really,” you shrugged, “I mean, I worked on a shipping vessel.  All our ports run together in my…HEY!”

“OW!” Mihawk’s hand immediately grabbed Buggy’s from under the table, his grip tightening with every passing breath, “Ow, ow, ow, ow…Mihawk…Ok…I give.  That hurts.  Please.  Let me go.  Let me go.”

“What the fuck kind of cheap trick were you attempting, clown?” Mihawk held Buggy’s disembodied hand down on the table, pulling a dagger from around his neck.

“It was no trick!” Buggy lied through his teeth while you swore you could still feel something crawling on your thigh, “Sometimes, when my hands come off, they get a mind of their own, you kn-OW!”

Mihawk’s dagger stood straight up in the middle of Buggy’s hand, “Would you like to try that again?  This time, perhaps you could try honesty instead.”

“Is it a crime to make her feel a little better?” Buggy whined, “Please, Mihawk, take the dagger out.”

“Not until your hand learns to control itself,” Mihawk snapped, “And did she ask you to make her feel better?”

“Well…No, but…”

“Did she ask you to put your hand on her thigh?” Mihawk twisted his dagger a little more.

“FUUUUUUUCK!” Buggy screeched, “No!”

“Now,” Mihawk continued to coldly stab into Buggy’s hand, “Do you see what happens when someone does something to someone else’s body without asking?”

“Yes!” Buggy whimpered, “Yes, I get it!”

“Do you like when I do something to you without asking?” Mihawk’s tone was oddly calm.  You weren’t sure what to think about it, but you did appreciate him taking your side.

“No!” Buggy groaned, “Alright, Mihawk, fuck!  Take this out!”

“If you insist,” Mihawk grabbed the handle of his dagger, “Now, will your hand learn to control itself?”

“Yes…”

“Very good,” Mihawk yanked out the dagger as Buggy’s hand flew back to the rest of his body, “Now, would you look at that, Buggy?  You got blood all over my nice table.  That’s just as bad as Crocodile putting his cigars out in the arms of my chairs.  What a shame.  You need to clean that up.”

“You’re a dick, Hawky!” Buggy got up to likely find a towel…maybe some bandages. 

“Yes, yes,” Mihawk let it go, “Love you, too.”

“Pain in the ass, that clown…” Crocodile grumbled.

“He is,” Mihawk sighed out, “But what are you going to do?  He’s our pain in the ass clown.  You see, YN, every now and then, when either Crocodile or I need to blow off some steam, we have a habit of using Buggy to do that.”

“Really?” you had a million and one ideas of how that could go.  You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but whatever they had to do.

“Mmhm,” Mihawk nodded, “The chop chop fruit…a fascinating fruit that one is.  Buggy’s body can fall apart in any way imaginable.  I can cut him to ribbons and he’ll reform every time.  Granted, he’ll still be the same pain in our ass he’s always been, but the catharsis is there.  Crocodile likes to take his head off and work on his drive with it.  It’s getting better.”

“It’s YN, right?” Crocodile lit up another cigar.  You could’ve sworn he just had one.

“Yes,” you perked up, wondering what Crocodile had to say, “Did you have something to ask me?”

“I did,” Crocodile nodded, looking over to Mihawk.

“Fuck no,” Mihawk shot him down, “Not happening.”

“It’s fine, Mihawk,” Crocodile promised, keeping you in the dark entirely.

“It’s not fine,” Mihawk stood his ground, “I’m not doing it.”

“What is it?” you asked, treading lightly.

“He’s trying to get me to leave you two alone,” Mihawk told you, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s ok, Mihawk,” you called him off, earning a little trust with Crocodile, “I can handle it.  I’ve already had Buggy try to grab me.  I think that was a good enough deterrent for Crocodile doing anything stupid.”

“Well…” You could see it all over Mihawk’s face.  He had such misgivings about it.  And yet, he trusted you.  You weren’t going to do anything stupid.  He knew that off the bat.  It wasn’t you he didn’t trust at this point.  And yet, Mihawk had his ways, “Alright.  I’ll go find our dumbass clown.”

“Thank you,” you let him go.

“But YN,” Mihawk added, keeping his voice down in your ear, “If he gets a single step out of line, I want you to yell for Perona.  Do you understand?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good girl,” Mihawk shot one last warning glare toward Crocodile and left the two of you alone.

Things were quiet between you.  Of course, they were.  Crocodile wasn’t exactly a man of many words to begin with.  He could negotiate with the best of them.  There was no doubt.  But you…You perplexed him.  You infuriated him.  And yet, you intrigued him all the same.  Much like you did with Mihawk, but in a completely different way.  You were the most vexing creature he had ever laid eyes on.  And yet…He wanted to know more. 

“You really did look like shit last night.” Ah, yes.  A man of few words, Crocodile was.  But whenever those few words came out, they were unnecessarily biting.

“Thank you,” you grumbled sarcastically, “You know how to make a girl feel good.”

“But,” Crocodile moved a little closer to you, “Now, you don’t look too worse for wear.  Your color’s coming back.  You don’t look like you’re an inch away from death.  How are you feeling?”

“Still a little hungry,” you admitted, “Probably dehydrated all to hell.  But I should pull through.  Where the fuck did that come from?”

“It’s not often someone knocks me back like you did,” Crocodile offered you his hand.  His…incredibly large hand, “But you had a little moxie in you.  I may not like it in the moment, but in hindsight, I respect it.  It’s good to see you have a spine.”

“Even if it feels like it’s in knots right now?” you joked darkly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Crocodile gave you a respectful nod, “I can see what Mihawk sees in you.”

“Really?” You hardly even saw what Mihawk saw in you.  He didn’t strike you as the type to give up trust so easily.  But you were grateful he did to you, “And what’s that?”

“Can you stand?” Crocodile asked.

“I can try,” you could feel your arms wobble as you tried pushing yourself up from the chair.  Your legs weren’t much better, but you could still try.  Even if trying meant failing gracefully into Crocodile’s side.

“Easy…” Crocodile took your hands and held you steady, “You’re not in any pain or anything like that, are you?”

“No,” you shook your head, in both shock and awe that Crocodile was holding you up, “I’m good.  Just a few kinks in my back.  Other than that, I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Crocodile held your hands as you continued to try putting one foot in front of the other.  And very carefully, he had you walking across the floor again.  Still a bit wobbly, but you were walking, “Would you look at that?  You might be getting better right before my eyes.”

“Trying to,” you kept your eyes on your feet.  Slowly, you felt Crocodile’s grip begin to relax.  Once he started to let go, you felt it again.  Your legs were going to give out again.  And you quickly grabbed his fingers, “Don’t let go!”

“Alright, alright,” Crocodile kept his hold on you, “I’m still here.  And Mihawk thought I was going to do something stupid.”

“Which brings me to my next question,” you wondered, “Why did you want us to be alone?”

“Because I wanted to see what you’d do without your scary dog at your side,” Crocodile admitted, “And I can see you still have a spine.  I’m not entirely heartless, YN.  I know some may think me that way, but I’m not.  And I really do see what Mihawk sees in you.” 

“Which is…?”

“I’m sure that once you’re a little better,” Crocodile pulled you a little closer, “I bet you’re awfully cute.”

“Excuse me?” you let out a little gasp.

“Mihawk’s a sucker for pretty eyes and a gentle voice,” Crocodile explained, “I can’t say I blame him.  You definitely have both.  But there’s one thing that I can’t say no to that you just happen to have on you, too.”

“Really?” you started to let Crocodile’s fingers go, testing the waters a bit, “And what’s that?”

But Crocodile wasn’t going to let you go so easily.  He grabbed a hold of your jaw, not squeezing enough to cause you pain, but just enough to send a message, “I’m a sucker for a woman with a mouth on her.  And look at you, fitting the bill so nicely.”

A short jilt of fear ran through your body.  But then, you remembered what Perona said.  They weren’t going to hurt you.  And that included Crocodile.  You were safe in that castle.  Even though you were amongst pirates.  They weren’t all bad, you told yourself.  Just because they may have done some bad things didn’t make them bad at their core.  There could still be good in them.  Including the large man with his large hands on your face right now.

You weren’t afraid.

“And look at you,” you stood your ground, “Still proving my point.  Still not having any basic manners.  I thought you said you weren’t going to let go.”

“I still have a hold of you, don’t I?” Crocodile moved his hands back from your jaw to your hands again, “Feeling a little unstable, were you?”

“No,” you shook your head, “But I like the security.”

“You know,” Crocodile gave you a little spin.  Slowly, so you didn’t lose balance, “You’re not so bad, Princess.  I’m glad you washed up here. Who knows what would’ve happened if the wrong pirates picked you up instead of us?”

“That’s something I try not to think about,” you fell into Crocodile’s chest.

“Easy there,” Crocodile caught you, “Come on.  You’ve done enough.  You’re going to sit down.  Here.”

He pulled up his well cushioned chair and sat you down, “Thank you…”

“Sure,” Crocodile grabbed what used to be your chair and sat with you.

“I’m surprised Mihawk left us alone this long,” you joked a bit, “You were right.  He does kind of mother hen me around.  But it’s not all bad.”

“Oh?”

You shook your head, “He’s just concerned.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  Until it gets to the point of overbearing.  Then, there’s a problem.  I’m sure I can handle that if and/or when the time comes.”

“I don’t know,” Crocodile warned you, “Mihawk can get pretty ruthless.  You should see him when his protégé shows up.”

“What happened?” Twenty minutes ago, you were listening to this man tell Mihawk he wanted to drop you off at the next port.  You never expected to be sitting alone with him and gossiping about Mihawk.

“There was this one time he shows up,” Crocodile thought back, his feet kicked up on the table, “Mihawk loves a party.  I mean, he loves a party.  Can’t blame him.  Back in Alabasta, that was kind of a nightly thing for me, too.  But he shows up, not expecting it to be the day of a party Mihawk had been planning for months.  Mihawk was in no mood for a fight.  He was too busy doing shit for this party.  So, the kid still tries fighting him.  Mihawk still wasn’t having it.  So, by the third time he tries attacking him, Mihawk grabs this kid by his wrist, drags him down the hall, and I don’t know what happened after that.  But I do know he had come in looking like he had been sleeping in a barn for the last month and someone had to put him there after he passed out in the bar.  But when that kid came back out, he was completely ready for this party.  I felt bad for him.  I didn’t think Mihawk would’ve gone that far.  But he did.  And I have no doubt he’ll go that far with you, too.  Just…Be a little on your guard with that one.  And he’s got backup.”

“Perona?” you figured, “I know.  I’ve already met Perona.  She’s a sweetheart.”

“She’s a fucking ball of energy, that one,” Crocodile scoffed, “And you never know where she’s hiding.  She could be right here in this very room and we’d never know.”

“Because she is in this room and you wouldn’t know,” Perona chimed in, making herself known, “You didn’t really think Mihawk was going to leave you alone with her like this, did you?  Not when you wanted to give her the boot so quickly.”

“What?” Crocodile brushed her off, “I’m not allowed to change my mind now?  I hate to say it out loud, but Mihawk was right.  She might be worth keeping around for a while.”

“A while?” Perona grabbed your cheeks and mushed them together, “Look at this face, Crocodile.  Look at it!  In a perfect world, I wouldn’t let her leave.”

“That’s when this turns into a hostage situation, Perona,” you spoke through your mushed up face, “I’m sure I’ll leave one day.”

“But today is not that day,” Perona hugged you tight, “You just woke up.  You’re starting to get better.  And you just made a new best friend!  Why would you want to leave now…?”

“I don’t,” you regained feeling in your jaw, “But you also need to learn what personal space is.”

“Sorry,” Perona giggled a bit, “So…Crocodile…”

“Pain in the ass ghost…” Crocodile shot her a look, “What do you want?”

“You agree with Mihawk for a change?” Perona smirked, “We need to keep YN around?”

“For now,” Crocodile took your hand under the table, “You can’t tell me she wouldn’t make a nice addition around here.  Provisionally speaking.  I’m not saying she’s joining us.  But she’ll be nice to have around.  And because I know you’re going to run and tell Mihawk everything you just heard, you can tell him that, too.”

“That was the plan!” Perona took off, presumably to go see Mihawk, “See you later, YN!”

Crocodile slumped back in his chair, “She really is a pain in the ass.”

“And you have to live with her,” you giggled.

“So do you, Princess,” Crocodile pointed out, “At least for now.”

You moved in a little closer, studying Crocodile’s face.  You were no idiot.  You knew how to find someone’s tells, “Why do you call me Princess?”

“There’s an aura about you, YN,” Crocodile explained, “With the way Mihawk’s been babying you, I’m surprised he doesn’t call you Princess, too.  But there’s a way you’ve carried yourself since I saw you.  Even on that beach, you had something.  Even when I helped carry you to bed, there was something.”

“You…” you stopped him, “You carried me to bed?”

“You had to get from the beach to your bed somehow,” Crocodile nodded, “Yeah.  I’m the one that put you to bed.  On your bed anyway.  After I put you down, Mihawk did the rest.  He cleaned up your wounds, got you changed into something dry.”

“Wonderful,” you grumbled to yourself, “So, now I know Mihawk has seen me naked.”

“Actually,” Crocodile figured, “Chances are, it was more like Perona has seen you naked.  Mihawk may be many things, but he’s first and foremost a gentleman.  A pirate, yeah, but he has a little decorum.  And even in dire circumstances, he’s going to make sure your dignity is protected.  Lucky you.”

“That’s comforting.” But now, you got to live with the information that Perona has seen you naked.  Not that you really cared, but something about it still felt a little invasive.  Then again, it was better than sleeping in wet, cold clothes. 

“YN?” Mihawk rejoined them, “Is everything alright?  I thought I heard Perona in here.”

“You did hear Perona in here,” you nodded.

“It’s nice you send a spy this way, Mihawk,” Crocodile shot him an angry look, “Because of course, we can’t be trusted alone.”

“I never sent anyone,” Mihawk cocked his head, a bit confused.

“Uh-huh…” Crocodile wasn’t buying it, “Because Perona came in here of her own accord.  She already told us, Mihawk.  You don’t need to keep it a secret.”

“But I didn’t…” It was at that moment, Mihawk knew exactly what happened, “Perona!”

“You call, boss?” Perona poked her head in the door.

“Were you just in here?” Mihawk asked.

“I might have been,” Perona bit her lip, “What about it?”

“It’s the funniest thing,” Mihawk looked at her strangely, “Because according to Crocodile, he said I sent you to keep an eye on YN…”

“I never said that,” Perona lied through her teeth.

“Oh, bullshit, you didn’t!” Crocodile snapped.

“Crocodile,” Mihawk came between them, “Not your place to deal with her.  Perona…”

“Alright, alright,” Perona came clean, “I was bored, ok?  And worried.  Come on, Mihawk, can you blame me?  It’s YN.  And she was left alone with Crocodile!”

“And what’s so bad about her being left alone with Crocodile?” Crocodile wondered, nursing the wound to his pride, “I don’t want her hurt just as much as you.  I wouldn’t have done anything.  And you saw that with your own two eyes.  You watched as I helped her walk a little more, Perona.  Why would I hurt her when she’s already hurt?  There’s no honor in that.”

“That’s actually quite comforting to hear from you, Crocodile,” Mihawk let out a little sigh of relief, “I’m sorry for Perona’s actions.  I can assure you they won’t happen again.  And we will have a conversation later.  Do you understand?”

“Whatever…” Perona grumbled to herself.  And yet, you sat back and watched it all unfold. 

“Regardless,” Mihawk offered a hand to you, “We should get you back to bed.  How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reported, “And Crocodile did help me walk a little.  I’m starting to get my leg muscles back.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Mihawk smiled a bit, “Come along.  Back to bed.”

“Ok,” you pulled yourself up with Mihawk’s assistance and held yourself steady, “It was nice meeting you, Crocodile…”

“You, too, Princess,” Crocodile shot you a wink that you felt right to your core.  And you were not mad about it.  You knew you were amongst some of the most delightful looking pirates the seas had to offer.  And to have the hearts of two out of the three felt like an accomplishment. 

Mihawk brought you back to your bed and tucked you in again.  You didn’t realize it at the time, but you were starting to feel a little dizzy.  Maybe a little more rest would set you back to where you were supposed to be.  But for now, you just wanted to lay down.  As glad as you were to get your leg muscles back up to strength, you weren’t entirely into the pain jolting through them.  It was just them getting back to functioning again.  Nothing more.  No real damage.

“YN,” Mihawk pushed your hair out of your face, “Could I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you nestled down into your bed, “What’s on your mind?”

“What made Crocodile call you Princess…?” Mihawk wondered, “Because I didn’t think he had pet names in him.”

“He said I gave off a vibe,” you remembered, “Something about how I carried myself.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand it,” Mihawk pulled your blankets over you a little better, “It’s just that…I don’t know.  It just felt interesting.”

“Well,” you felt your eyelids grow heavier, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he allowed, “Turnabout’s fair play, I suppose.”

“What do you see in me?” you babbled deliriously.

“Excuse me?” Mihawk perked up, not entirely understanding your question. 

“Crocodile said he started to understand what you saw in me,” you rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to stay awake, “So, what do you see in me?”

Mihawk was caught so off guard by your question.  It wasn’t often anyone could fully render him speechless.  And yet, there was you.  He calmly collected himself and his sudden shock turned into a gentle smile, “I see a young lady who had something rather unfortunate happen to her.  And yet, despite being in a castle full of pirates, she doesn’t show fear.  She shows calm resilience.  She mouths off to a former Warlord of the Sea without batting an eye.  I have to admire that.  And even though it would’ve been so easy for you to let go of that one little piece of your ship you floated here on, you never did.  You held on.  You may not know why you held on, but you held on.  And yes, I understand we don’t know each other very well yet, but I do admire that about you.  You’re something special, YN.  And I’m glad you washed up on my beach.”

You let out a little yawn, “I’m glad I washed up here, too…”

“Now, that we have that cleared up,” Mihawk put a hand to your cheek, “Get some sleep, ok?  We’ll discuss things further in the morning.”

“Ok…” you shut your eyes, “Good night, Mihawk.”

“Good night, darling,” Mihawk closed your curtains and left you to sleep. 

And in his little gestures, in his gentle words…You felt safe.  Not just with him, but with Crocodile, too.  However, you still had yet to feel that safety and comfort with Buggy.  Much like Mihawk, you weren’t entirely buying his hands having a mind of their own story either.  He was the first one to want to kick you out.  He may have changed his mind in the library as you started to talk, but that didn’t give him the right to paw at you the way he did.  Still, as uncomfortable as it made you in the moment, you were pretty much over it.  It’s not like he got any further than your thigh.  And you did feel kind of bad for him after Mihawk ran a blade through his hand.  That was just a bit extreme for your tastes. 

In the middle of the night, you opened your eyes, feeling the most well rested you’ve been in days.  It was the strangest feeling.  You knew it was far too early in the morning to consider waking up for the day and yet, going back to sleep felt nearly impossible.  So, you did what any other sane, logical person would do.  You decided to test the limits of your legs again.  This time, you were going to do it all by yourself.  You could do it, you told yourself.  You were a capable woman.  You could manage.

When you stood up, you felt little aches and pains in your legs, but nothing more than that.  You were still standing.  You didn’t feel like you were going to collapse.  You didn’t feel like you were going to lose your balance.  You were standing.  And despite the pain, it felt wonderful.  You were doing it all on your own.  And you felt a little proud of yourself.  A couple steps unassisted grew your confidence.  And before you knew it, you had made a successful lap around the room.  You peeked out your window from between the curtains to see the moon still sparkling on the water.  It was so hard to believe that a sea so beautiful could be so harsh.  A feeling you knew all too well.  Since you were this far, you might as well take a little walk around the castle.  What else did you have to do?

You made sure you stayed close to the wall, just in case you did fall over.  If you had to crawl back to your bed, so be it.  But you didn’t need to make a spectacle of it.  You paid close attention to the cold stone on your bare feet.  The sensation put you at peace.  You weren’t sure how long you were going to be in this castle, but for the time being, you weren’t complaining.  Even in your old house, you never thought you’d ever see something so extravagant, let alone sleep there, temporarily leave there.  It was something beautiful, that was for sure.  But then, you heard a thump down the hall.  Of course, you flattened yourself against the wall, knowing you were about to be caught.

“Dammit…” That voice…You knew that voice.  You couldn’t help but settle your curiosity.  Slowly, you made your way down the hall and noticed a light coming from one of the bedrooms. 

You poked your head in the room and watched as a beautiful display played out in front of you.  Of silk ribbons hanging from the ceiling and a certain clown hanging from them.  He flipped and spun and twisted himself around in them in such a masterfully graceful way that you never would’ve expected from the man you met in the library trying to cop a feel.  He slid down those ribbons and regained his footing.  And that’s when he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey!” he barked out.  Of course, you immediately went into hiding.  You did a quick look down the hall, hoping there was something you could hide behind.  Something that would make him think he was just seeing things.  That there was no one there.  And you would be safe.  Unfortunately, he found you hiding behind the door, “I don’t do shows for free, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you winced, “I saw the light down here and…”

“Hey,” Buggy pointed out, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?  Could’ve sworn Mihawk tucked you in hours ago.”

“Tried going back to sleep,” you admitted, “But…”

“You couldn’t,” he assumed.  He studied you for a moment or two, glancing up and down before finally caving, “Come on.  You look like you could use a place to sit for a minute.”

“Do I?” you looked down at Buggy’s heavily bandaged hand.  Some of his blood had soaked all the way through.  In all honesty, it was strangely comforting.  You held onto the knowledge that Mihawk wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Buggy for you tightly. 

“Look,” Buggy insisted, “Come in.  Don’t come in.  It’s up to you.  I’m just saying you look like those legs don’t have many miles left on them.  Come on.  I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“Are you sure about that?” you hoped, still not entirely trusting him.

You felt a little tap on your shoulder.  A singular finger floated next to you.  And a little grin stretched across Buggy’s face, “Pinky promise.”

You rolled your eyes at his lame joke, assuming that could’ve only been one of his pinkies, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Buggy took his pinky back and sat you down on the edge of his bed, “So, what’s got you awake?”

“I’ve done enough sleeping,” you shrugged, “It’s all I’ve done all day.  With the exception of eating a little.  And getting groped by some asshole clown.”

“Yeah…” Buggy winced, “That was me, wasn’t it?”

“It was you…”

“Yeah…” Buggy gnawed on his lip, “Sorry about that.  Really and truly.  I am sorry, YN.  That was stupid of me.  And clearly, I’m paying the price.”

“About that…” you asked, “How’s your hand?”

“Hurts like a bitch,” Buggy showed off his stupidity wounds, “Any other night, I’d be hanging upside down on a trapeze, but gripping the bar hurt too much.”

“So…” you got up and ran your hand down his ribbons, “You took to silks instead?”

“Mmhm,” he nodded, “Ever try it?”

“No,” you shook your head, “And right now, I don’t think it’d be the best time for me to try.”

“Not with that attitude, it’s not,” Buggy took you by the hand and held you steady, “I know it seems like it’d be a lot for you with your wiggly legs right now, but you don’t really use much for your legs.  Or at least you won’t for what I’d have you doing.”

“And…” you still held onto your skepticism, “What would you have me doing?”

“Something easy,” Buggy tied a knot in the silks at just above his waist, “I’m not going to let you get hurt.  Worse than you already are.”

“I’m not really that hurt,” you defended yourself, “I’m just a little sore.”

“I promise this is going to help you get back to sleep,” Buggy swore, “I’ve done this a million times before and it works every time.  Come here.”

“What are you doing?” you worried as Buggy’s hands went onto your waist.

“Nothing stupid,” Buggy promised, showing off his bandaged hand, “You really think I want to deal with Mihawk stabbing me again?  Not particularly.  Just…I know it’s going to be hard for you, but trust me.  I’m not going to let you get hurt.  I’m not going to do anything stupid.  Just…Trust me.”

As much as you didn’t want to, something in you said it was ok.  It might have been the multiple stab wounds Buggy sustained to his wandering hand.  You let out a little sigh, “Alright.  What do you need me to do?”

“First,” Buggy picked you up and sat you on the knot, “Keep your balance.  Can you do that much?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, sitting on the knot, “Is this supposed to feel like a swing?”

“Kind of,” he nodded, “This is the part where it’s about to get weird.  Lean back as far as you can.  And when you can’t lean back anymore, I want you to wrap your left leg around the left ribbon.”

“Ok…” You weren’t sure where this was going, but you did as he asked.  However, you held on tight to the ribbon, afraid to go back any further, “Buggy!”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Buggy held your back up, “Like I said, YN, I’m not going to let you fall.  Just keep going.  I’ll keep you steady.  And hold onto the ribbon, too.  When you go to wrap your leg in the ribbon, you’re going to wrap inward.”

“Ok…” you leaned back a little more, just enough to get your leg wrapped up, “Now what?”

“You’re going to do the same thing with your right leg,” he guided you, “Wrap it inward.”

“Ok…” you wrapped your right leg just as Buggy told you, “What do I do now?”

“I know this part’s going to seem like the really scary part, but I promise it’s ok,” Buggy assured you, “Let go.”

“Are you fucking high?!” you snapped, “I’m not letting go!”

“YN, it’s ok,” Buggy insisted, “Let go.  You’re not going to fall.  I know it’s going to feel like you’re going to fall, but you will not go anywhere.  I promise you.  And if you do, you can yell for Mihawk or Crocodile and they can tear me apart all they want until you’re satisfied.  Ok?”

“Ok…” Slowly, but surely, your fingers started to let go of the ribbons.  First, your left hand.  And once you got used to it on the left side, you started to let go with the right.  And very gently, Buggy let you hang upside down.  And it made you nervous, “Buggy, I don’t like this.”

“And that’s understandable,” Buggy settled you, “But give it a second.”

“No,” you shook your head, “I don’t like this.”

“But it’s ok,” Buggy put a hand to your cheek, “Shut your eyes if you’re scared.”

You closed your eyes for just a moment.  But that’s when it happened.  When you started to sway a bit.  And the blood rushing to your head put you at ease.  You felt your whole body relax.  And your eyes opened back up, “Oh…”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Buggy smirked a bit, “See?  I told you to trust me.  I knew what I was doing.”

“This is nice,” you agreed, swinging from the ceiling, “This is weirdly nice.  Why does this feel so good?”

“Because you’re getting blood to other parts of your body,” Buggy explained, “That and a lot of blood rushing to your head is bound to make you dizzy a little bit.  Kind of like if you were high.  And because it’s such a shock to your system, it’ll also help you fall asleep, too.”

“Really?” you wondered.

“How the hell should I know?” Buggy shrugged, “It sounded legit, though, didn’t it?  Even though it was just a whole line of bullshit.”

“It did,” you giggled a bit. 

“Hey…” Buggy spun you around a little, “By the way, I really am sorry about what happened today.  I was being a skeeve and you didn’t need that.  Sometimes, I forget there’s a whole person there, too.”

“There is,” you agreed, “But thank you.  Consider it forgiven.  If this gets me to fall asleep, consider it really forgiven.”

“How you feeling, doll?” Buggy asked, “Getting a little woozy yet?”

“Not yet,” you shut your eyes again, this time, not out of fear.  This time, it was more of a peaceful feeling.  You could feel your body decompress.  Every muscle in your body untensed.  And you felt yourself sliding down the ribbons, “Buggy…Buggy!”

“I got you,” Buggy kept holding on, “Tell you what.  Why don’t you take your legs out of the ribbons and rock yourself back up on the knot?  But slowly or you will yak all over my floor.  And quite frankly, I don’t feel like dealing with that tonight.”

“Alright,” you got your legs out of the ribbons and gradually brought yourself up again.  Once your vision wasn’t a pinhole anymore, you blinked yourself back into existence, “What the hell was that…?”

“That was more of that blood rush,” Buggy explained, giving you a little push, “How you feeling?”

“Like I could do that again,” you admitted, “It was fun.”

“You didn’t even get to the fun part,” Buggy helped you down, “The fun part is when you start climbing up the ribbons and doing all the fun flips and shit.  But that’s a lesson for another night.  You, young lady, need to get to bed.”

“Come on,” you whined, “This is too much fun.  Don’t make me get down now.”

“No,” Buggy shook his head, “Not that this isn’t fun and not that I don’t want to be the fun uncle that lets you stay up late, eat your weight in sugar, and accidentally rent porn, but you really should get some sleep, K?”

“Fine,” you took his hand and slid down from the knot.  The impact you made with the floor sent shockwaves of pain up your legs, “Fuuuuuuck…”

“Are you ok?” Buggy held you steady.  But then, he realized and winced on your behalf, “Ooh…Yeah…That’s probably not good for you, is it?”

“No,” you cringed, “No, it’s not.”

“Come on,” Buggy threw you on his back, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Thank you,” you draped your arms over his shoulders and laid your head in his shoulder, “I could still probably walk, though.”

“I saw that face, doll,” Buggy pushed his door open.  And he suddenly grew quieter, “There’s no way in hell that felt good for any of us.  If you don’t have to walk, you don’t need to.  I got you.”

“Ok,” you shut your eyes again, “Hey, Buggy?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for this,” you hugged him around his neck, “I really do appreciate it.”

“You found me, YN,” Buggy pointed out, “You were the one to come into my room.”

“And you could’ve kicked me out,” you argued, “But you didn’t.  Admit it.  You don’t want me to go either, do you?”

“For the plain and simple fact that it’d mean getting to watch you do that again,” Buggy admitted, “No.  I don’t want you to go.  Because I bet you’d get good at it.”

“And then, I’d be available all the time for private shows?” you figured.

“Not a chance,” Buggy grabbed the door to your room, “I wouldn’t do that to you.  I might do that a time or two to you.”

“I figured,” you felt Buggy gently put you down on the bed, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Buggy left a little kiss on your forehead, “Get some sleep, alright?  We…may need to talk a little more in the morning.”

“About what?” you asked.

“Just…” Buggy backed off, “Get some sleep.  You worry about getting better.  Got it?”

“Got it,” you smiled a bit, “Good night, Buggy.”

“Night, doll,” Buggy left you alone and started heading back down the hall.

“Look at you, YN…A gentleman caller this late at night?  What would Mihawk and Crocodile have to say about that?”

“Hi, Perona,” you weren’t even fazed anymore, “It was just Buggy putting me to bed.  It’s not the end of the world.”

“Excuse me?” Perona crawled next to you in your bed, yet again with no regards for personal space.  But again, it hardly fazed you anymore.  With the way she had been in and out of your room while you’ve recovered, Perona was practically your nurse at this point, “Buggy, the guy who had his hands on you in the library and then, ended up getting violently stabbed by Mihawk in that same hand.  That Buggy?”

“He was helping me get to sleep,” you brushed her off, “I needed to go back to sleep.  I saw light in Buggy’s room.  We talked for a bit.  He had me upside down.  Everything was fine.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Perona stared you down, “What do you mean, he had you upside down?”

“He had me upside down,” you reiterated, “I was hanging off his silk ribbons and it felt fantastic, Perona.  I highly recommend it if you get the chance.”

“Oh, YN,” Perona winced, “You weren’t a victim or anything like that, were you?”

“No,” you rolled your eyes, “I was fine.  I was totally ok.”

“So,” Perona hoped, “I don’t have to go back and tell Mihawk about this?  Nothing to be worried about?”

“No,” you shook your head, “And if you really wanted to know, when we were in his room, we got to talking and he apologized for being gross.  I get an apology.  I get help with sleeping.  Hell, I didn’t even have to walk back to my room.  It’s a good night to be me.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really would like to go to sleep.”

“I…” Perona was still baffled by the notion that you would’ve even thought about going to Buggy’s room alone.  Let alone him apologizing.  But still, she conceded, “Ok.  Good night, YN.”

“Good night, Perona…” you shut your eyes again, letting sleep finally take you back over.

Of course, you weren’t going to tell Perona about your potential meeting the next morning.  That was your business.  And possibly Buggy’s.  And possibly Mihawk and Crocodile’s, too.  But you could let you worry about that tomorrow morning.  Present you needed more sleep.  And thanks to Buggy hanging you upside down, you were going to be ok.  And you’d finally be able to catch some of the most incredibly restful sleep you’ve had since you landed on Kuraigana Island. 

However, it felt like it never lasted long enough.  The sun started to peek through your curtains and serve as your alarm clock.  You were feeling much better than you did the day before.  You didn’t feel like your body had just gone through the blender.  You felt good.  Actually good.  That didn’t mean you were immune to odd things happening the moment you woke up.  Because you could feel something cold.  You expected the warmth from the sun, not a random cold spot.

“Morning, cutie pie…” Nor were you expecting Perona floating over your bed.

You blinked a few times, thinking this was just a weird little dream.  But you knew better.  You may not have been there long, but you knew enough, “Perona, what the fuck?”

“What?” Perona flopped down into your bed, “I can’t come in to wake you up?”

“I was waking up just fine on my own,” you rolled over, briefly considering going back to sleep.  But the bathroom looked much more inviting, “But good morning to you, too, I guess.”

“See?” Perona chirped, “Was that so difficult?”

“Excruciatingly so, yes,” you smiled a bit on the other side of the bathroom door.  At least you knew there were places where Perona did have a sense of boundaries.  At this point, you were lucky she didn’t follow you into the bathroom like a little puppy.

“Love you, too, YN!” Perona slid down the wall and sat on the floor outside the door, “By the way, I’m not just here on a social call.”

“Really?” you walked out of the bathroom, “And what did you come here for?”

“Mihawk’s in the middle of making breakfast,” Perona explained, “And he wants you to come downstairs as soon as you can.  K?”

“I can do that,” you nodded, already with an inkling of what this was all about, “Is everyone else downstairs or is it just me he’s wanting?”

“Everyone else is downstairs, too,” Perona took your hand, “Wait, you got from the bed to the bathroom just fine.”

“Yeah,” you felt a few cracks as you got out of bed again, but they felt way too good to be anything bad, “I did.  Maybe being flipped upside down knocked a few things back into place last night.  Remind me to kiss that damn clown when I see him.”

“Who would’ve thought it’d help?” Perona shrugged, “So, you don’t need me to hold your hand while you’re walking?”

“I’m not going to overdo it,” you promised, “But no.  I think I can manage on my own.”

“Alright,” Perona backed off, “But I’m just saying.  Sure, you can walk on flat surfaces, but once you get to those stairs, it’s going to be a bitch.”

“I’ll be fine,” you were already almost to the staircase.  And that handrail looked so inviting.  Slowly, you took on the steps.  One by one.  And look at that.  You made it downstairs with no problems.  Sure, you were a little sore and a little winded, but you managed. 

“YN?” Perona started to worry, though, “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you heaved at the end of the railing, “I’m alright.  I will be.  When did my grandma get here?”

“Your grandma isn’t here, YN…”

“She also died when I was, like, eleven,” you thought back, “I thought you could see ghosts and shit, too.”

“She’s not here, YN,” Perona sat you down on the stairs, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you brushed her off, “I was just fucking with you.  Just me being a little dramatic.”

“You’re the worst,” Perona helped you back up onto your feet and brought you into the kitchen. 

You didn’t really know what to expect, but this level of extravagance wasn’t it.  The whole kitchen was absolutely beautiful.  Dark marble counters, copper finishes…It was incredible.  And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was a garden of fresh herbs growing on the wall.  You weren’t complaining.  You could feel the energy in that kitchen.  There was something special there.  And whoever tended to it and used it understood just how special it was.

“Good morning, YN,” Mihawk greeted you, a little smile on his face, “It’s good to see you’re up and about.  And all by yourself.  I’ll call that a good sign of things to come.”

“Yeah,” you stretched a bit, “Turns out getting a little more sleep and whatever the hell Buggy did for me last night really helped.”

“Hold on,” Mihawk stopped you.  What you didn’t realize was both Buggy and Crocodile were comfortably tucked away at the breakfast table near the big window on the other side of the garden wall, “What the fuck did you do last night, Clown?  Did you not learn yesterday?”

“I didn’t put a hand on her, Mihawk!” Buggy assured him, “I even told her I was sorry for that.  Go on, YN.  Tell him.”

“You didn’t put a hand on me last night, Buggy,” you smirked, “You put both hands on me.  And I’m pretty sure you gave me a little kiss good night, too.”

“You did what?” Crocodile stepped in, getting just as defensive as Mihawk did.

“You really can’t keep them to yourself, can you?” Mihawk pulled a knife out of the block on the counter, “Go on.  Both of them.”

“Easy, boys,” you called them off, “It was all ok.  I didn’t tell him no on any accounts.  He just helped me get to sleep.  I couldn’t sleep last night and Buggy still had lights in his room, so I went down there just so I wasn’t all by myself.  We talked, he hung me upside down on his silks, and I went back to bed.  I think the little forehead kiss was mostly reflexive.  It didn’t seem nefarious.  Put the knife down, Mihawk.  He doesn’t need matching stab wounds on his hands.”

“Alright,” Mihawk slowly slid the knife back into the block, “Go on.  Sit.”

“Whatever you did last night,” Crocodile noticed, helping you into your chair, “It certainly helped fix something in you.”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I think being upside down like that helped decompress my spine a little.  And it went into my legs.  It felt nice in the moment.”

“I’m glad I could help you out,” Buggy shot you a little smile.  And for whatever reason, it got to you.  It warmed you inside like nothing else.  Well…except for maybe one thing…Perhaps two…

“Thank you,” you melted into your seat.  But then, reality set back in, “Perona said you wanted to talk, Mihawk.”

“I do,” Mihawk nodded, bringing you a fresh quiche because someone was feeling fancy for breakfast this morning.  And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t look absolutely fantastic.  Only the best for you, “And I’m sure we can all unanimously agree on this.”

“I see,” you gave him a nod as he served you a piece of this beautifully made spinach quiche, “Well, since I’m all better, I’m sure that after breakfast, you’re going to bring me to the next port, right?  Drop me off, probably pick up some supplies for the house, and we go our separate ways, yeah?  I mean, I am better now.  Once I get a decent meal in me and probably a shower, we’ll take off.”

Never had you ever seen three hearts shatter simultaneously before.  And just with a few words.  Mihawk sat next to you and took your hand, “No, YN.  It’s not like that at all.”

“We’ve been talking all morning,” Crocodile chimed in, “And we think it’d be best if you stayed here for a while.”

“Why?” you wondered, genuinely curious.  You already had thought you overstayed your welcome, but this was interesting.

“Because, darling,” Mihawk pulled you a little closer, “We’ve all…Well, let’s just say love doesn’t come easy.  To any of us.  Buggy’s a pain in the ass.  I’ve been on my own for so long that I hardly even remember what the concept is.  Crocodile’s last love broke him for a while.  But then, something interesting happened.  Something absolutely extraordinary.”

“What?” You had a feeling where Mihawk was going with this.

“Some girl decided to wash up on the beach outside our house,” Buggy pointed out, “And that feels too much like a sign.”

“We could’ve just thrown you back in the sea,” Crocodile pointed out, “And yet, we couldn’t.”

“So, we have a little proposal to ask of you,” Mihawk took control again, “We don’t want you to go.  If you want to go, that’s understandable.  We won’t fight you.  We’ll do as you asked and take you to the nearest port.  But…”

“If you didn’t want to go that route…” Buggy hoped.

“You could just stay here with us,” Crocodile crossed his fingers, “I’m pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say no one here would say no.”

And there it was.  There’s what you were waiting for.  But you had some concerns, “So, which one of you would be laying your claims to me?”

“Excuse me?” Mihawk perked up.

“What do you mean, YN?” Crocodile wondered.

“Which one…?” Buggy was just as lost.

“I’m sure there’d have to be some sort of death match amongst the three of you,” you assumed, “So, which one of you would be laying your claims to me?”

“One?” Mihawk pulled you a little closer, “No, no, no, darling.  We don’t play those games here.  We would all be sharing you equally.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” you grinned, “But we’d have to come up with some kind of system.  Something to make this fair for everyone.  Because I’m not bedhopping every night.”

“That’s fair,” Buggy agreed.

“How about this?” Crocodile thought, “For one week, you stay with one of us.  We’ll let you decide what the order will be.”

“Alright,” you could get on board with that, “But for one week, I get to be by myself.  The room I’ve been recovering becomes mine.  And it’s all to myself.”

“Why one week?” Buggy wondered, “Why do you get a week away from us?”

“I wouldn’t be away from you,” you assured him, holding your face in your hands, “Perona!”

“You call?” Perona apparated seemingly out of nowhere.  Something it looked like you were going to have to get used to.

“If I were to move in here a little more permanently,” you asked, “And every week, I bounced between Crocodile, Mihawk, and Buggy’s bedrooms, why do you think there would be a week where I would want my bed all to myself?”

“Oh, duh,” Perona rolled her eyes, “I thought that one would’ve been a given.  Yeah, sorry, YN.  I kind of necromanced my insides, so I don’t get one of them anymore.”

“Lucky you,” you grumbled, still with a functioning reproductive system that went off like clockwork.

“Oh…” Crocodile figured it out, “That’s understandable.”

“What’s understandable?” Because if you were living in this house, you were going to get them comfortable saying it. 

“You want a week off for your period,” Crocodile assumed.

“That’s right,” you applauded, “Good for you, Crocodile.  I’m proud of you for figuring that out.”

“I do not miss that…” Crocodile mumbled to himself.

“Hey,” you gave him a light shove, “I don’t ask for it.  It just happens.  Without my permission.  It’s bullshit, I know, but here we are.”

“Regardless,” Crocodile kissed the top of your head as he slid his chair out, “Welcome aboard, YN.  Let me know when you make that decision.  I’m going to go make a call.”

“Who are you calling?” Mihawk wondered.

“An old friend,” Crocodile brushed him off, “Well, I say friend.  More like this little gremlin I know that I need to say thank you to.  Yell if you need me.”

“Ok!” Buggy shooed him off, “So, YN.  Who are you going to start with?”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you knew one thing for certain.  This was about to be the beginning of something wonderful.

[fandomtrumpshate]

Unlisted Fandoms Challenge

Welcome to the LAST update on write-in fandoms for FTH 2025 (only one day left to sign up! go Do The Thing!)!! We have a LONG list of fandoms for you - TWO HUNDRED EIGHTY ONE write-in fandoms this year. So far!

And there's been some movement near the top of the list. Jeff Satur, with 10 signups, still holds the lead, but in second place we now have a TIE. Control (Remedy Game) gained *four* new signups to match Zhen Hun / Guardian's 9 signups. Cabin Pressure has also moved up the rankings, with three new signups bringing it to a total of 7 to claim third place. Whew! Just below them we have:

a four-way tie for fourth place with 6 signups includes-

6 Alien Stage 6 Carry On 6 Dimension 20 6 Dungeon Meshi / Delicious In Dungeon

two fandoms with 5 signups each, in fifth place are-

5 BBC Ghosts 5 White Collar

which brings us to an eight-way tie for sixth place with 4 signups each-

4 Detective Conan 4 Fire Emblem Awakening 4 It - Stephen King 4 Pathologic 4 Roswell New Mexico 4 Schitt's Creek 4 The X-Files 4 Transformers 4 Voltron: Legendary Defender

and with 3 signups each, an 11-way tie for seventh place-

3 Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) 3 Fields of Mistria 3 Fire Emblem Fates 3 Inception 3 Iron Widow 3 MotoGP RPF 3 Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint 3 Rusty Lake/Cube Escape 3 Stand By Me/The Body by Stephen King 3 The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison 3 Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama) RPF

Below the cut are 56 fandoms with 2 signups each, and 195 fandoms with a single write-in.

2 Animorphs 2 Attack on Titan 2 Avatar Legend of Korra 2 Beyond Evil 2 Biggles Series — W. E. Johns 2 Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu (Cute High Earth Defense Club) franchise 2 Black Sails 2 Bridgerton (TV) 2 Britpop RPF 2 Castlevania (All Media Types) 2 Challengers 2 Cherry Magic 2 Conclave (2024) 2 Dan and Phil (rpf) 2 Dangan Ronpa 2 Dead Boy Detectives RPF 2 Digimon 2 Dishonored 2 Dr. Stone 2 Due South 2 Dune (Villeneuve) 2 Five Nights at Freddy's - All Media 2 Fruits Basket 2 Grantchester (TV) 2 Gravity Falls 2 IndyCar RPF 2 Jeeves and Wooster 2 Kingdom Hearts 2 Law & Order: Special Victims Unit 2 Link Click (Shiguang Dailiren) 2 Lovecraft Mythos 2 Lucifer (tv) 2 MAS*H 2 Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury 2 Nirvana in Fire (琅琊榜) 2 Oasis 2 Princess Tutu 2 Sailor Moon 2 She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) 2 Slow Horses 2 Sonic the Hedgehog (Games) 2 Team Fortress 2 2 The Blue Wolves of Mibu 2 The Empyrean - Rebecca Yarros 2 The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (TV series) 2 The Poppy War 2 The Stanley Parable 2 Tiger & Bunny 2 Tower of God 2 Universal Century Gundam 2 Valdemar Series by Mercedes Lackey 2 What We Do In The Shadows 2 When the Third Wheel Strikes Back 2 Word of Honor 2 Yu-Gi-Oh! 2 ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 / JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken / JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

1 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) 1 A Court of Thorns and Roses 1 Akatsuki No Yona 1 Among Us 1 Ancient Greece 1 Arctic Monkeys/The Last shadow Puppets 1 Arknights 1 Around the World in 80 Days (TV 2021) 1 Babylon 5 1 Back to the Future 1 Baseball RPF 1 BBC’s Musketeers 1 Bendy and the Ink Machine 1 Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei Bu Love/Happy Kiss 1 Black Doves 1 Black Jewels 1 Bob's Burgers 1 Books of the Raksura - Martha Wells 1 Boygenius (Band)(RPF) 1 Brilliant Minds 1 Brokeback Mountain 1 Buddy Daddies 1 Bullet train 1 Canji Baojun De Zhangxin Yu Chong (The disabled tyrant's pet palm fish) 1 Cassette Beasts 1 Castle 1 Charmed (1998) 1 Countryhumans 1 Criminal Minds 1 Cyberpunk 2077 1 Danger Force (TV) 1 Dark Deception 1 Dark Rise 1 Dead by Daylight 1 Death Note 1 Descendants 1 Destiny 2 1 Dexter 1 Dexter: Original Sin 1 Divergent (Movies) 1 Dominion of the Fallen - Aliette de Bodard 1 Downton Abbey 1 Dragon Ball Z 1 Dragonball 1 Dragonlance 1 Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey 1 Emma - Jane Austen 1 Ensemble Stars! 1 Etta Invincible 1 Fairy tale 1 Fangs of Fortune 1 Farscape 1 Fear & Hunger: Termina 1 Finder no Hyouteki / Finder Series 1 Flight Rising 1 Formula 2/3 RPF 1 Frieren 1 Game Changers Universe (Rachel Reid) 1 Gangsta (Anime & Manga) 1 Generation Loss (Web Series) 1 Gilmore Girls 1 Giselle 1 Grimm 1 Hatoful Boyfriend 1 Haven (TV) 1 Helluva Boss 1 Henry Danger (TV) 1 High School Musical (Movies) 1 Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu 1 Hikaru no Go 1 HLVRAI - Half-life VR But the AI is Self-Aware 1 Holby City 1 Homer's Epics, Ancient Greece Religion and Lore, Epic The Musical 1 House MD 1 I Am Nobody (CDrama) 1 In Other Lands 1 In Stars And Time 1 Infinity Train 1 Initial D 1 It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia 1 Jet Lag The Game RPF 1 Jurassic Park (Extended Universe) 1 Kamen Rider Gotchard 1 Kane and Feels 1 Kuroko no Basuke / Kuroko's Basketball 1 Kushiel's Legacy 1 La Casa de Papel (Money Heist) 1 Law & Order 1 Lays of the Hearth-Fire Series - Victoria Goddard 1 Lies of P 1 Life is Strange 1 Live A Live 1 Lord Seventh/Qi Ye 1 Malory Towers 1 Mass Effect 1, 2 or 3 1 Metaphor: Refantazio 1 Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 1 Mononoke (2007 series and 2024 movie) 1 My Time at Sandrock 1 Mystic Messenger 1 Mythology 1 Nancy Drew (TV 2019) 1 NBA RPF 1 Nerdy Prudes Must Die 1 Norah Grant Bruce's Billabong books 1 October Daye series - Seanan McGuire 1 Oh No! Here Comes Trouble 1 Once Upon A Time 1 Order of the Stick 1 Outlast games 1 Over the Garden Wall 1 Pacific Rim 1 Paradise Of Thorns 1 Peaky Blinders 1 Person of Interest 1 Persuasion - Jane Austen 1 Pirates of the Caribbean 1 Power Rangers (2017 movie) 1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 1 Prodigal Son 1 Project Sekai 1 Project Zero/Fatal Frame 1 Psych (2006) 1 Puella Magi Madoka Magica 1 Qiang Jin Jiu (Ballad of Sword and Wine) 1 Quantum Break 1 Ranma 1/2 1 Resident Alien 1 Resident Evil 1 Rise of the Guardians 1 Riyria Revelations 1 S.C.I Mystery 1 S.W.A.T. (2017 show) 1 Saint Seiya 1 Sanders Sides 1 Saw franchise 1 Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated (2010) 1 Shipwrecked Comedy 1 Skulduggery Pleasant 1 Sleeping Beauty (1959) 1 Slenderverse 1 Sonic The Hedgehog (movies) 1 South Park 1 Spinning Silver (Novik) 1 Spirited 1 Squid Game 1 Starkid Musicals (no hp) 1 Static Shock 1 Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical 1 Super Sentai 1 Tales of Arise 1 Tales of Series 1 Tatort Saarbrücken 1 That 70s Show 1 The A Team (either the 2010 movie or the 1980s series) 1 The Coffin of Andy and Leyley 1 The Devil Judge 1 The Glass Scientists 1 The Good Place 1 The Hands of the Emperor - Victoria Goddard 1 The Librarians 1 The Masquerade Series 1 The OC 1 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston 1 The Paradise of Thorns 1 The Radiant Emperor 1 The Silt Verses 1 The Umbrella Academy 1 the vampire diaries universe 1 The Venture Maidens 1 The Walking Dead 1 The West Wing 1 Thousand Autumns 1 Thunderbirds are Go 1 Tokusatsu 1 Tron 1 Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles 1 Turning 1 Under The Skin (Cdrama) 1 video games by Arkane Studios 1 Wander Over Yonder

1 Warriors / Warrior Cats 1 Watcher Entertainment/BuzzFeed Unsolved RPF 1 Weak Hero Class 1 1 Wind Breaker 1 WNBA RPF 1 Wonka 1 World Trigger 1 Xenoblade Chronicles series 1 Yellowjackets 1 Young Wizards (Diane Duane) 1 Yuwu (Remnants of Filth) 1 Zatch Bell 1 Zombieland Saga 1 บ้านหลอน ON SALE / Peaceful Property (TV)

[moonlight-prose]

STRANGE ADDICTION

➻ 01. BEAUTIFUL DEATH

a/n: i have rewritten this chapter about two times just to get it right. i want it to feel like the show, but also i'm a perfectionist when it comes to posting in a new fandom. this story has been in my head since s1 dropped and well it feels great to finally put it somewhere. even if the love for silco has sorta died down. i've had the most fun writing this so i hope you enjoy!

summary: dinner with an old friend leads to revelations about your past. about whether you chose the right path - the future meant for you. or if time indeed stands still beyond what science and magic tells you.

word count: 4.5k+

pairing: silco x f!reader; viktor x f!reader (platonic)

warnings: not explicit, angst, friendships, flashbacks, arguing, hesitation to tell the truth, pining (not by reader), the haunting of past relationships.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

The sun beat down harder than ever before. A bright scorching ball of light that seemed intent on searing through the fabric of your gown. Although you weren't entirely opposed, given the weight of the material that clung to your skin.

It seemed that the sun favored topside more than anywhere else. You'd known this for a while, your eyes fixed on the horizon at each turning of the clock. Dusk assumed its duties for the day, bringing forth the moon that hid until the time was right to reveal herself. Flames licked across the sky and suddenly you were a child again. Stunned by the magnificence and beauty of something so normal.

When you were younger you held the belief that only those in the grand city would be able to witness this. To watch as sunset broke along brilliant blue before sinking below—away from the towers of the grand house.

Although the term house felt humble and dishonest given the lavish setting. Castle seemed like a better word. Or kingdom.

Piltover. The land of progress.

How ironic that just below the surface lay the vastness of a city that thrived on the opposite. You felt like royalty amidst the opulence around you. Someone who was crowned long ago by the people who deemed you worthy enough. Yet it wasn't that long ago that you were a young kid vying for a glimpse at a clear sky. Topside rarely accepted those that didn't belong; unsurprising but still a bitter disappointment.

How you managed to trick them—fool their wits—into allowing you access escaped you.

This felt too extravagant. So unlike the person you once knew. It felt fictional. A tale as old as time now finally bestowed upon someone like you.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, eyes wide at the brilliant orange that painted itself over pinks and yellows.

A voice echoed in the distance, someone calling your name, and with a sigh you were pulled away from the ambience of this view. You preferred a chance to stay here but you recognized the lilt of his voice, the familiar drawl of his words. With a sigh you let go of the balcony railing and turned towards the room you were staying in. His room. He offered and gave no room for an argument.

That didn't stop you from trying.

"Dinner is being planned," he announced, balancing his weight on the cane held in his tight grip.

"All this trouble isn't necessary." Pulling the chair by his bed close, you took the opposite one with a grin. "I'm not that important."

He huffed, long and loud enough to keep you quiet. "I don't see you often enough. Dinner is the least I can do."

"Viktor–" His hand went up before you could state your case—the argument ready to fly off the tip of your tongue.

"I've argued with you enough over the years to know when you will start." His smile is warm, an old piece of the past that still resides in the back of your mind.

"I call that an unfair advantage," you muttered.

"I would call it strategy."

"Strategy requires the mind of a politician," you joked. The words rolled out of your mouth with ease as you scrutinized the man before you.

He shrugged. "I've got politician friends."

"Right."

Over the years you often wondered where your paths might cross again. Where on the timeline of your lives Viktor would once more become your ally. You both found one another in your younger years—when things were simpler. The time in your life where you were starting to be recognized for your mind and him with his mind.

Two intellectuals forged in the fires of the Undercity. At one point in your life this might have felt humorous. Almost ironic.

Now you tried to grasp at what kept the two of you together. Especially since your step back away from the atmosphere of progress.

"I–"

"While you are here, would you mind—uh—looking over the research I have accumulated over the years of your absence?" The notebook he draws from the table beside him is crammed with scraps of paper. The binding was ready to burst at the seams. A sight that so utterly and undeniably the young man you met in the Undercity. "I trust your intelligence more than mine sometimes."

You could recall the hours spent pouring over books, each one filled with information you never thought you'd have the opportunity to learn. They brought the both of you closer to something that he felt would do the world some good. Knowledge was power in Piltover—you simply learned to utilize it for your own good. As a way to escape the past you tried your best to ignore.

Flipping to the first bookmarked page, you attempted to discern his writing. At times it was illegible, but you knew it better than yours. After years of looking at the same scratch marks and symbols, you were able to pick through Viktor's work with ease. Your heart stuttered at the research before you—the truth that rang silently in his hopeful expression.

"You want to find a power source?" you exclaimed, glancing up to see his eyes grow apprehensive.

Of course he would be wary about this. Every line scribbled, each night of hard work, all amounted to his life's legacy. The weight of his name was placed on loose pages and ink that bled between the compact journal. Running your finger over the foreign symbols etched onto each page and margin, you felt their power—the meaning behind each mark made.

"Viktor it's..." You wanted to call this emotion pride but the word felt minuscule given how much effort had been put into this. "Magnificent."

He grinned, settling back with a sigh of relief. "My partner Jayce—who you will meet tonight—has made a remarkable discovery."

"Remarkable is putting it lightly," you cut in, absentmindedly following the curve of the largest rune on the page, marking it in your memory.

Ducking his head, you watched his hands clasp together tightly, his thumb pressing against the pulse point of his wrist. "I have to do something...that will help."

That much you could understand.

"Ever since I've known you–" Shifting, you felt the skirt of your gown tug upwards—your leg exposed to the slight chill in the evening air. "You wanted to be remembered as a great scientist. Someone whose mind would be their legacy. I think you're closer to that than you think."

He scoffed. "I only told you that to stop the questions."

"About where you came from? Or something else."

The silence gave you enough of an answer. Explanations of his past came with little to no details. Merely stories that were fleeting, sinking beneath the depths long before you got a chance to figure them out entirely. He remained a mystery to you even now. Although...you couldn't say you were any different.

"Did you ever want that for yourself?" He leaned closer, his gaze attempting to pry beneath the depths of your mind.

"No," you breathed, catching one last glance at the sky. "It has always been better for my name to die with me."

"That I don't believe."

"No?" His eyes burned into the side of your face. A silent plea to finally let him in on the secret. To spill about the past you couldn't even accept for yourself.

Even as the years passed quicker than you could comprehend, Viktor never changed. Despite his age now surfacing across his face, he still felt familiar with each new slight wrinkle and faint mark that hadn't been there before. Beneath the fancy clothing and grim expression, he was still the boy you once knew. The ravenous scientist with a hunger to know more.

A man on a never ending journey for knowledge.

"You're brilliant," he said. "You always have been. I never quite understood why you chose to only be a..."

"A healer?" He nodded. "I didn't fit into Topside as smoothly as you did."

Whether he wished to admit it or not, the turmoil that tore through his body and mind was there. Hiding beneath the surface. Even as he refused to meet your gaze. Time may have intertwined you with him, but his dreams remained different—his hopes were vast enough to drag him away from the life you once knew.

Where he found the grandeur of a scientist working for someone brilliant, you found solace in your small shop surrounded with various concoctions and potions. A space that let you be the person you were always meant to be.

"You're talented enough to make a name for yourself. If you let me talk to the counsel–"

"No." The word sliced the air swiftly, silencing him with the sharp end of a whip.

He froze, drawing you out of the stupor your mind hastened to put you in. Upsetting him was the last thing you wanted, but you knew if he didn't stop now things would already be too late. Viktor had a tendency to escalate matters far more than necessary. It's why you were hesitant to even take his call—to give him leeway back into your life like this.

"Why?" he asked, his brows furrowed and eyes piercing through to the depths of your mind.

The answer lay at the back of your tongue—clear and ready to be pronounced with ease. But saying them out loud felt like a feat you'd never be able to manage.

"There are things in my past that are better left where they are," you replied, brushing off the way he looked at you.

A puzzle yet to be figured out. A math problem that held a solution to fix all that was broken.

But that was the thing...you couldn't be fixed. There remained no potion, no herbal remedy that could heal what had torn you to shreds. Who shattered you beyond repair.

Viktor left to pursue his Topside dreams—his pride in himself larger than anything you'd seen. Yet you remained behind. You stayed in the darkness of the Undercity with the promise to one day find him—to celebrate your dreams together. But that was before the battle plans, before you were recruited to help heal those that couldn't heal themselves. Before...him.

When it came down to it, you found yourself in a life far different from the one you dared to imagine with Viktor. The intention to follow him still existed somewhere as a fading dream that might never come true. But once you grew up, saw the world for how it was, you understood why you would never receive the same welcome he did.

You were a soldier first above it all and that was the one thing he would never know.

The secret you held in the confines of your heart.

"My past is the same as yours," he said. "We come from the same land. Surely if they accepted me, they will do the same for you."

You didn't fall in love with the devil.

The words that would never see the sunlight of Topside.

Reaching forward, you pat his knee in a gesture that offered a friendship despite all the secrets. Viktor would do what he wished; you couldn't stop him. That had always been the way of things since you were younger and so it would remain.

Merely two people who once offered to save one another from the bleak aspect of a future ready to eat you alive. Yet now there you were as adults. Sitting close enough to be friends yet miles a part from where you originally started.

You snapped the notebook shut and handed it back to him with a reluctant smile. The distaste of keeping him in the dark was pungent in your mouth, but this choice wasn't up to you to decide. It was always a mutual agreement between two people that were forced to be parted. He wouldn't speak about what happened and you'd do the same.

You were always meant to become a ghost of the Undercity and he a ghost of Topside.

Two fates that were never to intertwine again.

"Tell me," you said, moving to the still open balcony doors. "What's your partner Jayce like?"

He straightened in the chair, relief crossing his face at the realization that he hadn't offended you by pushing too far.

"You will like him."

"Oh I don't know about that," you drawled, a sly smile crossing your lips. "Don't you recall the night of the dinner party?"

He cringed as the memory of that disastrous debacle came to mind. You got into it with a certain doctor he befriended—a man with an ego large enough to choke the very air out of any room. The night ended with you unceremoniously chucking your drink into the man's face to save yourself the harsh act of slapping him. You refused to see Viktor for weeks—your own self worth having been burnt to the ground and defiled.

"I did not know he was going to insult you the way he had."

Scoffing, you leaned your back against the balcony railing. "You knew he wasn't good."

"Unfortunately that I did know." He stood on shaky legs, the clack of his cane against marble echoing off the walls as he joined you. "I can promise that Jayce is nothing like that."

"I'll determine that for myself." You sighed, glancing up at a darkened sky—the stars shimmering bright enough to rival the moon. "Besides, dinner is just us, right? Not a surprise interview to induct me into your hall of science. Because as flattered as I am–"

His laughter spilled over into your chest as he nudged your shoulder with his. "There will be no inducting. Not if you don't wish for it."

"Good." The clock across the room ticked away with expedited force—as if speeding up the flow of time to get you out of here. Yet you found yourself longing to stay, to remain in this small bubble. "Does he know who I am?"

"He knows what I've told him."

"All good I hope," you humored him, offering a placating smile that could be mistaken for charm. In the hopes that you'd make it through this night unscathed.

"There may have been a few stories." Swatting his shoulder, you ignored the shift he made towards you. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." You clutched the railing behind you until your knuckles hurt, your gut filled with the foreboding dread that came with treading the waters of your past. "I'm perfectly okay," you replied confidently.

Even if the words rang with the transparency of a lie.

Piltover at night held no comparison after witnessing the beauty of sunset. Yet after three glasses of wine and a dinner large enough to feed the village, you felt the thrill of excitement fill your chest at the thought of exploring parts you'd yet to see. Looping your arm around Viktor's you fell into step beside him—mere feet behind Jayce and a woman they introduced as Mel.

Of course, you knew who she was. Everyone in the city knew her name, but for the sake of a peaceful dinner void of any politics, you didn't make that fact obvious.

"It was a nice dinner," you said, the breeze off the water skimming the bare skin of your back.

"We should do it again." His voice remained steady, like a piece of home you never thought you'd get back. His eyes however...screamed something entirely different.

A divot in the road you weren't prepared for—one you didn't see yourself wanting.

"We should," you agreed, finding a spot against the railing. The blue of the ocean gleamed beneath the light of the moon. Truly Piltover at its finest. "Maybe next month?"

The irritated sigh slipped past his lips before he could reign it in, but that was all you needed to understand his intentions. You'd been afraid of this since you came to visit him the very first time. An execrable feeling weighed heavy in your stomach as time went on and his silence prevailed.

He stood beside you now with hope in his heart. The voices of Jayce and Mel faded into the background as they walked further away. And you were left with the friend you never wished to lose—the boy you longed to keep knowing.

"I haven't said—I should have said it already but–"

"Viktor," you interrupted, standing upright.

Suddenly the wine and the excessive amount of food didn't sound like a good idea after all. Your heart pounded against your chest, reverberating through your entire body—each nerve alight and waiting for the worst possible scenario to this outcome. He'd been your oldest friend, someone you counted on when you had no one else and the thought of ruining that left you feeling sick.

Each second he looked at you as if you held all the answers to what he pined for made your heart twist painfully.

With a shaky breath, you finally relented to the truth. "I can't."

"What do you mean?" His cheeks flushed vermilion as he fixed his gaze back to the water.

Shutting your eyes to collect your thoughts carefully, you sighed. "I know what you want me—us—to be and I can't...give that to you."

"Oh."

"I do care for you." Somehow the words echoed with hollow deceit, despite how true they felt in your heart.

"It's because of him."

You reared back, startled. "What?"

His eyes—plagued with sorrow deep enough to slice right through you—met yours waiting for a different answer. An explanation as to where your heart belonged. But you stood as still as stone—unable to form thoughts let alone coherent words. He ripped right down to the bone, pulled at your weak tendons and bit down on frayed nerves.

Yet he wasn't done.

"I'm not oblivious. When you finally came to Piltover you wouldn't tell me about what you did when I wasn't there. I only assumed you had feelings for someone. A man you didn't wish to speak about."

You exhaled slowly—the icy chill of relief swallowing you whole. "Oh...yes I...there was someone."

"Do you still love him?"

Glancing across the water, you glimpsed the bridge standing tall—a beacon of this city's hope for progress. But to your eyes it felt like a separation—a division between the two worlds of your life. One filled with enough pain to leave you staggering where you stool and other...a world of grandeur that overflowed with the option of peace.

At one point you had wanted to watch it burn. His betrayal tainted everything good about that place. A scar carved deep enough to leave an everlasting wound that never healed. You longed to forget it—to rid yourself of the memories he plagued—but you still knew one day...you'd stand upon that same ground again.

"I don't know," you breathed, the past clawing its way up your throat—shoving towards the very front of your mind.

BEFORE

The streets were overrun with people as they moved and flowed like the waves on a shore. You felt shoulders knock into you, exasperated glances thrown your way as you fumbled with the plants still gripped in your hands. They grew at the edge of the bridge—hidden in the shadows as a safeguard from the sun. Dirt packed itself beneath your fingernails, mud coating the thin fabric of your pants from where you dug.

"You should really have that looked at," you grumbled, shoving the plant into your satchel.

Garnering no response, you were left to get lost in your own thoughts. Whether or not he was actually in pain didn't concern you. Not when you had a job given by Vander who insisted you focus solely on healing rather than fighting. It's not as if you entirely disagreed with him—you were more than happy being a healer rather than a soldier—you simply couldn't figure how this would help in the long run.

What exactly were you supposed to do when people acted stubborn and brash?

"What are you writing?" he barked, stopping abruptly. You rammed into him with a sneer.

"Nothing that's of any concern to you." Shoving your pen and notebook into the bag, you watched as he huffed in response, turning away. "I'll tell you again since you seem to be hard of hearing. You should really have your wound–" He stopped, eyes flashing over his shoulder with a glare. “–looked at."

"You sure do talk a lot," he snipped.

"It's a gesture of kindness. You don't have to be an ass about it."

How did you manage to get stuck with this man? You were more than capable of sneaking around the border of Topside without anyone's help. Vander assigning you an escort seemed synonymous with the actions of an older brother being overly protective. Yet you weren't related in any way shape or form—you were simply someone who understood the need for change.

Arguing would get you nowhere and so you did your best to ignore his quick glances. Coming up with a correct judgment for what you found took precedence over the man in front of you.

The heat of the day seeped into your clothes—sticking to your exposed skin—the longer you trekked back. If it were possible to steal some time, you'd search for that small pool you and Viktor used to play at—just to submerge yourself in cold water. But with a guard at your side, you were left with only one option. Dreaming about weather cooler than this.

"You're walking too slow," he called over his shoulder.

The desperation for escape called to you, begged you to leave him behind and go somewhere quiet. But before you could sprint in the opposite direction, he turned. Ignoring him didn't seem to be a well thought out solution, but that never stopped you from trying. Even as he glared at you.

What little sunlight remained began to dip below the horizon—a sight you'd neve grow tired of. If only you had the chance to see it over the ocean with a clear sky above.

"You need that fixed before we return." Avoiding the incensed glare directed your way, you settled on the edge of a wall.

"What I need is for you to keep going. So I can go home."

"Listen—whoever you are—I know that when you return you're going to be questioned about why you're in pain. Either you let me patch up that wound or you get Vander. Your pick."

The arguing ceased with a defiant raise of your brows, lips curling into a sly grin that pinned him where he stood. There really was no other option than submission. What was a quick check before you were on your merry way. Much to your delight, he seemed to come to the same conclusion as he joined you on the wall, undoing his vest with an indignant sigh.

Silence filled the empty space between you. Slipping between the cracks and shadows that cast across his angular face. You'd seen him before on the edge of your vision, leaning against the bar with a book in his face—long fingers trailing the rim of his glass absentmindedly. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you differed.

Where you wanted to roam, he longed to be back making plans with Vander instead of trapped in the task of guard duty for a healer he'd never met before.

"Who shot you?" The glow of sunset illuminated the pale skin beneath his shirt—a long jagged scar etched into the skin threw you off for a moment as your fingers searched for blood.

The sharp wince in his face said you'd found it. "I couldn't see their face."

Nodding, you moved his hand to keep the fabric up and out of the way. A quick rummage in your bag for the salve you made earlier caught his attention—turquoise gleamed in your peripheral, prying you open with enough ease to jar you down to the bone.

"The bullet only scraped you. This should help close it up by the end of the week." You pressed the dark mixture along his wound, catching the subtle flinch he tried to smother. "Sorry."

"I'm fine," he mumbled in a whispered tone.

"I can fix it up properly when we return. Get you a real bandage to keep it from getting worse."

You nearly missed it. That slow imperceptible grin that curled at the edge of his lips. But your eyes latched onto it like a kid with candy, savoring the quick glimpse of something surreal. It threw you off balance, forced you to reckon with the thought of never knowing him before today.

Ethereal. Empyrean.

He sat before you a stranger with the eyes of a fond ally. A friend you had yet to be properly introduced to. It seemed he harbored the same thought—his mouth forming the question as if it fell right out of your head and into his lap.

"You're a friend of Vander?" Slipping his vest back on, you noticed he left it unbuttoned.

You found you preferred it that way.

"So are you. I've seen you...uh...with him. Around the bar you know."

The quiet echo of the water lapping at rocks and voices in the distance didn't feel bitter, but rather settled the nerves leaping beneath your skin. It was nice to sit there and watch the night sky show itself to the world once again. Eventually you'd be forced to return to a life that teemed with a clear understanding that hung over everyone's heads. There would be a fight. An inevitable battle for what you believed was right.

But for this transcendent moment you basked in the few moments of peace life allotted you.

The calm before the storm.

"I don't know your name," you admitted, turning your head slightly to catch his gaze already faced in your direction. "Vander never told me."

If he caught you in the middle of a blatant lie, he didn't call you on it. You could tell he saw right through you—the glint in his eyes shining brighter than moments before. This wasn't a clarification for Vander's sake or the battle. You wanted to know his name for yourself. A small token of the man you may never interact with again save for tonight.

After a moment his voice came with a soft breath of air. "Silco."

Teeth dug into your lip to keep the blooming smile at bay. "Silco," you said under your breath.

He latched onto it, dug his fingers into the tangible feeling they created in his chest, and felt a smile pulling wider at his own mouth. You said it again, unable to stop yourself as a thrill of excitement fluttered at the base of your stomach. So simple, so smooth off the tip of your tongue. Yet filled with enough power to stir your chest with a feeling you wished to inspect further.

The lilt of it hung in the air as you turned back to the sky with a satisfied hum, relishing in the time you had left with him at your side.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Bridal Visions: Photoshoot #3 - Inazuma Bridal - A New Beginning

Summary: You really should’ve known better than to trust your old friend, Chiori, when she’d asked you and Kazuha to model bridal clothes. But, you also couldn’t exactly say you were entirely annoyed with her meddling. Especially not when it might lead to something new and exciting.

Type: Female reader/ 800 Followers Event/ series/ sfw/ fluff/ Chiori is shipping/

Bridal Visions Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1082

It was almost impressive that, along with calling me and Kazuha over for an Inazuman-themed bridal photoshoot, Chiori had also imported red maple leaves that she would rain down over the two of us.

But I had to admit, the outfits weren’t what I expected. 

Kazuha’s wasn’t that odd. The traditional black and white outfit that had the minimal accent color of a brilliant red. Pretty much his usual colors, though I had to admit he certainly looked very put together.

I also wore a kimono, but without any headdress, and my clothes were completely done in shades of white.

Chiori had explained while she'd helped me get dressed, though, “I wanted to design something that was traditional in Inazuma but also reflected the changing times for the nation, so I did away with the headdress.”

I’d felt myself smile as I’d met her garnet-colored eyes, familiar even though it had been so long since I’d last seen her, “Then does that mean I’ll be able to wear this when my wedding day does finally come along?”

She’d snorted, shaking her head slightly in a characteristic no-nonsense fashion, “Let’s wait till you find your dream spouse first.”

I’d laughed lightly, not expecting her to continue until her red eyes met mine, “Of course, who knows. Maybe today will be the start of your dream relationship.”

A smile had spread across her face as I’d made a face at her, not about to fall prey to her teasing even if it was bluntly delivered in her usual, unenthused tone.

But now that I was standing here, I had to admit that posing like this in bridal clothes with Kazuha certainly did put ideas into one’s head.

And Kazuha was both charming and beyond sweet with the way he was so polite and soft-spoken as he would smile gently at me. And from the way the photographer had cooed at the two of us when we’d first walked out and seen one another all dressed up like we were about to exchange vows, I had no doubts that we looked like a perfect little couple.

Young, in love, and ready to start a new life together. And even though I didn't know whether Kazuha would ever settle down, the thought of him never marrying was sad. After all, he would make someone a wonderful husband.

I refused to let Chiori’s teasing get to me and trick me into starting to wonder if I could be that someone, though.

And, at the very least, I could focus on posing for the camera right now and distract myself from any such thoughts.

“Kazuha, shift the umbrella so it isn't hiding you. You need to be in the shot too,” Chiori’s dry voice called from where she stood next to the photographer as Kazuha adjusted, smiling with slight amusement over at me where I stood right next to him.

“I still think you should be the main subject of the photo,” His voice was soft as he smiled at me, and I shook my head. Determined not to think about his words too much or read too deeply into them.

He just meant the bride was usually the focus during a wedding. That was all. I wasn’t about to consider the idea that he thought I was pretty or anything like that.

“If Chiori hears you, you’re going to get a scolding. Besides, we’re both here to model wedding clothes, not just me,” I matched his volume, whispering back even as I smiled slightly at him.

There was so little space between us as we stood together. Him with his back to the camera and an umbrella over his shoulder while I stood facing him, with my side to the camera.

“Besides, without you it would just be a bunch of white with some red leaves,” I flapped my arms lightly as if to indicate exactly how pale and monochromatic my clothes were.

I tilted my head slightly, careful not to disturb the styling that had been done to my hair as I smiled at him amusedly, “It wouldn’t be a very interesting photo that way.”

He shook his head, his gaze somehow softening, “It doesn’t have to be interesting to be beautiful.”

I blinked at him, my eyes widening slightly at his words before Chiori’s voice interrupted once more, “Okay, you lean towards him, Y/n, and both of you shut your eyes like you're about to kiss but don’t pucker.”

I pressed my lips together reflexively at her words as Kazuha blinked in surprise before nodding at her with a slight smile.

I shut my eyes, following her directions and doing my best not to look awkward, and then I felt it. Kazuha’s fingers curling into mine as he squeezed my hand lightly. Quiet reassurance that I felt myself reciprocate almost immediately as the slightest of smiles crept onto my face and I felt myself relax.

And then I heard the camera’s shutter click, followed quickly by Chiorir’s voice, perfectly pleased as she called out, “Good.”

My eyes fluttered open, and the first thing I saw was Kazuha looking at me. The slightest of smiles on his face as leaves rained down around us from where Chiori must have signaled for them to be dropped after I’d closed my eyes.

And it was better than good. It was perfect. An image I knew would haunt me from now on as I hesitantly smiled back at him as he reached up and caught a leaf out of the air just before it landed on me.

He gazed at it for a brief moment, his stare thoughtful, before his eyes slowly shifted back until they were focused on me once more, “I’ve always associated these leaves with farewell, but now I wonder….”

He blinked, a smile flickering across his face that had me smiling in return even as I heard the photographer start collecting her tools as he finished, “Could they also signal a new beginning?”

I hummed, my voice coming out surprisingly soft as I lingered near him, even though I knew our photo shoot was done, “I don’t see why not.”

I finally stepped back, looking away from him and sighing slightly before I looked towards where Chiori stood. Her arms crossed as she watched both of us with a far too analytical gaze that I knew caught far more than she let on.

But it didn’t matter, because this was, at most, just the beginning.

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[anika-ann]

Take the Ache - pt.4

Part 4: The Nice in Nice Try

Type: series, slightly canon-divergent, idiots in love with sprinkles of angst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 11,8k (double serving, y'all)

Series masterlist (and summary)

Warnings: canon semi-typical injuries, mentions of temporary death (cardiac arrest, reader) and the use of AED and brief CPR, references to Steve’s sacrifice in CA:TFA, Lo and Steve being idiots, feels

A/N: written for Stella’s Starry Winter Sky challenge, using various prompts; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; the title is, just like chapter titles, taken from The Script’s No Good in Goodbye

A/N 2:  No use of Y/N. Main character’s nickname made up by Steve is 'Lo (will be expalined at some point, promise). Thank you for reading so far and enjoy 💕

This feeling – this heavy weight sitting on your chest – felt entirely out of place. It felt so foreign; and seemed so nonsensical, contrasting sharply with the light behind your eyelids.

There was light, undeniably so. The light was cold and warm all at once, pulsing tenderly and steadily with every beat of your heart; or perhaps that was an illusion created by the low periodical beeping reaching your ears as you were lying in all that brightness.

The feeling was a little funny – the more the light consumed you, the warmer it tangled with something deep within you. But with the warmth taking over, so was the weight.

God, the weight. Every cell of your body fought natural laws except for gravity and it felt like it weighted a ton.

As the light consumed you, so did the instinct to smile, as the breathless sound of your name – your nickname really – pulled you further into the inviting light and brought on a memory, tied to a pair of bright blue eyes with a speckle of green making them all the more perfect; a pair of pretty eyes slightly unfocused as they stared at you when you put your foot in your mouth and earned yourself a sweet nickname in the process.

Steve Rogers had no reason to be in the lab that day; he usually didn’t. His visits to your workshop had no other reason than him being the epitome of a caring Captain, checking up on a new addition to the Avengers’ team and the adjacent. You.

He strode in there with what could be considered a regularity at this point. He’d always stand there or paced a little bit, shoulders slightly stiff, his smile genuine but a bit unsure as if he couldn’t quite tell if he was bothering you by his presence. Today was no different. All handsome in the dark blue button-down and charcoal slacks, hair a little messy as if he had been running his hand though it – probably after a stressful meeting with a politician or two – he had come down to your lab to see how you were doing.

You liked his visits, no matter how brief. Steve – well, Captain Rogers, who gently insisted you called him his first name – seemed to genuinely care about the people under his albeit indirect command, and about people in general. It was one of the qualities you appreciated in people, even if your territory was mostly machines and equipment – and Steve seemed to have this feature ingrained in his tender heart. It softened your heart every time, seeing the deep sincerity in his gaze proving what he stood for, truly and not only for show – not only in front of the press, but in a more private setting. It softened your heart to see that the urban legends of his moral compass and sense for justice, even as it sometimes involved violence for the sake of peace and kindness, were not exaggerated. It was his demeanour too; you might be better at reading charts than people, but it was impossible to be blind to Steve Rogers being a brilliant, profoundly good man.

Frankly – though of that you had no proof beyond personal experience – the man made it hard for people not to fall for him; that was a scientific fact. It did not help Steve’ss situation that oftentimes, he seemed to know what people around him needed the most.

He must have, because he brought you coffee on at least three separate occasions, staying a while longer to talk you through your break on days when you needed to lean on someone, anyone, who had an understanding of the nature of your job without actually being in the business himself. Those little talks seemed to leave you not only with caffeine in your bloodstream and more peace in your mind, but also – unless you truly forgot how to be a human being after spending long hours in the world of circuits and codes and charts – in Steve’s as well. During his visits, his smile might sometimes barely be there at all, but it was always sweet – and always appeared a tad wider after your little chat.

And there came another scientific fact; it was literally impossible to not notice and fall for how unfairly pretty his smile was. You supposed one could expect as much on as a man who had literally been genetically improved to be a perfect soldier – but the reason for your heart thumbing soft and wild wasn’t the shape of his lips or their plumpness, as alluring it was. It was something you could not quite put your finger on, but yet again, undeniably existed.

And it always distracted you; like now, when this memory went far beyond how well-shaped his shoulders were, how wonderfully wide in comparison to his waist, or how gentle his hands could be when handing you coffee or tools despite how large they were and how hard they could punch a man.

He wasn’t supposed to be here today and yet he belonged and you could not imagine your workspace being deprived of his presence.

Today, he certainly was a welcoming and perfectly handsome distraction from the discussion you had had with Tony, resulting in him simply leaving one of his prototypes behind for you to take a look at as soon as possible despite you having told him you were busy with your own projects.

Upon pointing out repeatedly that refocusing was not possible at the very second, Tony had left; but he had met with Steve in the doorway. And Steve stayed. Asking how you were settling in, how it felt being here now, after a bit over a month.

The warmth blooming in your chest at him remembering the date even as you were sure he simply liked to keep track of things and people at the AI would haunt your days to come.

“Hey Steve… doing alright. It feels… right to be here,” you said after thinking about it briefly, feeling your shoulders relax, the interaction with Tony not forgotten, but momentarily overshadowed by Steve observing you with a small lopsided smile prompting you to elaborate. “I uhm… the last position, it wasn’t for me.”

“How so?” Steve inquired kindly, a flash of amusement in his eye as his watch vibrated with a message which – as it turned out later – was from Tony and he knew without checking.

God, his smile lit up the damn room when it reached his eyes and the sharp edge of his jaw should be illegal--

“Well, I know it sounds awful, but… I like having a workshop on my own, cooperating with others only when necessary.”

“Others like Tony, your absolute favourite person in the whole world?”

Steve grinned as you couldn’t but grimace slightly, huffing and sipping at the tea he had brought along; and then, because the man in front of you was so damn impossible, you exchanged a conspiratorial smile with him over the edge of the cup. It felt like you could do that; Steve definitely sounded like someone who had a fair share of experience with the man and it wasn’t badmouthing a boss if you only hinted at it.

Not to mention that something about Steve’s demeanour whispered that it was safe to tell the truth and the words spoken would not leave this room unless you wanted to.

“I admit nothing, but maybe he’s in the lower part of my favourite people list right now.”

Steve’s smile widened, almost boyish now, despite the fact you were all too aware that his soul was weighted with past losses and pain no boy should ever experience; and your heart skipped a beat, your thoughts stumbling one over the other, untying your tongue unwisely.

“But uhm… what I meant is that I definitely enjoy not having to be the boss to anyone but myself, you know? I don’t… I really don’t have the qualities of a boss, I think. I’m not… bossy.”

“Oh? Is that the main quality of a leader? Being unbearably bossy?” he asked.

One corner of his lips rose higher, his irises crinkling with laughter, utterly distracting, your already tangled thoughts scattering altogether.

“Hm?”

Steve smile turned downright beaming now – the gorgeous jerk – and it took you embarrassingly long to understand why he seemed to be holding back laughter.

When it did dawn to you, you set your cup down hastily, your whole world exploding in social propriety horror, blood draining from your face as you realized any courteous relationship you two had been building probably shattered and you had most definitely crossed a line.

But before you could somehow apologize for implying that he was obviously that, your colleague and living legend and yes, your boss in a way, he burst out laughing with such pure sincerity – and so damn brightly, the halo of warmth around him calling out to your heart – that you couldn’t but chuckle with him despite the embarrassment piercing as deep as to where your bones were.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Please, don’t, I needed that. Thank you,” Steve chuckled again, the cerulean blue of his eyes, with the cutest droplets of greenery you never failed to notice, crinkling with laughter still. “I’m sure many would agree, Tony most of all. But I’m glad you’re content here. It means you might stay… despite having to deal with some peculiar or bossy people keeping you company-”

“Oh my god-“

You whined, fighting the urge to hide your flushed face or simply walk out of your own workshop and leave him there, the jester, the little shit who was supposed to be and was a gentleman but there he was, having fun at your expense – and yet, you stayed and couldn’t but chuckle again, the joy of sharing a laugh with him mixing with mortification.

What a prime example of how capable you were of putting your foot in your mouth, wasn’t it?

But that was not how you earned your nickname, so sweet and unique to Steve, no.

That only came a few minutes later.

When Tony’s goddamn untested prototype simply decided to explode without as much as a warning beyond a silent click Steve’s supersoldier ears must have picked up on, because as the noise of explosion hit your own ears, you were already tackled down. Pinned to the ground and shielded by a warm weight of a man who didn’t hesitate to use his own body to protect you from harm since his vibranium shield wasn’t at hand.

By the time you began to process what had happened, Steve had rolled you over so he wasn’t crushing you. Your breaths were coming out short as you stared at him with wide eyes, your heart a second from beating its way out of your chest from both anger and fright – and concern.

Because that was most definitely blood trickling down Steve’s forehead.

And he was blinking up at you with confusion – as if he didn’t even remember he had been the one to shield you, the instinct simply lacing his soul and DNA alike – as you climbed off of him and coughed away the pressure in your chest. You spent a precious few moments scanning over the mess of your recently new workspace – now a bit sparkly and crispy and definitely messy, but at least with no fire – before your eyes zeroed on Steve again.

“Hey Lo,” he muttered, blinking, looking at your face with curiosity, causing you to frown harder, your pulse skyrocketing further at the nonsensical words coming out of his mouth.

He must have hit his head hard.

You prayed to lords of science that help was already on the way – so you only had to keep Steve talking, to be sure he was not passing out on you. Your eyes ran over his form quickly, apprehensive of seeing blood anywhere else – as if on his face wasn’t enough.

How seriously was he hurt? You could feel a dull echo of pain in your back but none in your head; a distant memory of Steve’s large hand cradling the back of your head tickled your mind. He had not failed to protect your skull from cracking against the floor despite having but milliseconds to get you down. Of course he had. But what about him?

With the frantic melody of your heart loud in your ears, you wanted to punch him and kiss him all at once for his reaction; and the adrenalin coursing your veins, screaming at your throw any attempt at normal behaviour out of the window, was not helping you decide which one of the two you should choose.

Maybe both?

It was the blood, the coppery scent of it and the dark patch in Steve’s light hair, that helped you push either of those urges aside, your hands aimlessly hovering above him, unsure whether you could touch him without hurting him further.

“My god, Steve, you’re blee-- Who’s Lo? Are you okay?” you demanded, laying your hand on his chest when he tried to get up, your mind scrambling for any knowledge about first aid you could possibly provide at site. All you knew was that he should not be moving much, because god knew if his head injury wasn’t connected with a spine injury. “Wha-“

To your utter bewilderment, Steve was smiling a bit in response – just how much of a concussion had he suffered? – appearing distracted as his hand covered yours on his sternum, gentle and warm, mumbling your name.

“Don’t know any Lo. But you have… this halo above your head. Looks nice. Are you okay?”

Huh?

Oh.

Oh.

Not a Hey Lo. A halo.

That made a lot more sense. Why didn’t you think of that on your own? You should have. It was just a game of light and possibly Steve’s concussion affecting his vision further. It was just physics. And physics was essential for your work. You were good at physics. You were a physicist.

Which would explain why you said what you did next. Any rational person would have chuckled, embarrassed, and said something intelligently dismissive and moved on.

But not you, oh no.

Instead, your stressed-out brain went out of its way to launch into explanations of the natural phenomenon of halos, of the tinniest of crystals in the atmosphere aligning just right, reflecting the electromagnetic radiation into the eye of the beholder, and the dual nature of light as particles and waves.

You were not proud of it – but your lecture certainly kept Steve’s very conscious attention on you until the AI paramedics on duty arrived along with the cleaning crew and took an awfully calm Steve away; but not before he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes, slightly unfocused but still, undeniably focused on you, measuring you head to toe, checking your body for any injuries. Because of course he did.

Less than 24 hours later, he walked into your lab with a new cheeky greeting that only registered after your still shaken brain decided to have you hug him out of sheer relief; settling into that hug felt like it was suddenly the only right thing in the universe, right next to Steve’s soft voice and the new nickname.

“Hey, Lo.”

You wouldn’t admit it at the time, groaning at his teasing instead, but you fell in love with the nickname the very moment he spoke it; and fell a little bit more in love with him too. And when during one of the long nights at which you didn’t feel so great and found solace in the communal living room talking to him, he admitted with a soft smile that the nickname was about more than teasing and more than a memory, you realized you had fallen too deep.

Steve said he simply thought the nickname fit you very well; bright and brilliant, your need for everything to align just right and perfect in your inventions making you shine, sometimes so much it rendered others – or even yourself – blind to that fact that no matter how big your brain was, it was your even bigger heart that made you who you were.

It was the closest thing to calling you an angel and a genius at once and you were speechless.

As sappy as his words might be, it was exactly what you needed to hear at that time: at two a.m. at a long night thinking about how your inventions, while built to help your friends and those on the side of the angels, hurt people. And when spoken with utter sincerity, by a man whom you believed was nothing but good, and with a hand over the back of yours and then over your back when you went to hug Steve close, his words, just like his arms and his light, enveloped you in warmth and safety.

The light you saw behind your eyelids now, the weight still on you, made you wonder if this was what Steve had felt and seen that day in the lab when you were still sprawled over him, seconds after the explosion.

As you were mercilessly pulled towards that light, a soft weight you just become aware had been there the whole time disappeared from your hand, leaving it feeling strangely cold with absence.

“Aaaaand she lives,” a male voice you distantly recognized as Clint stated, the last push to opening and squinting your eyes against the unusual environment and company.

You were lying in bed. Clint stood nearby, a smirk with a shade of pride and worry on his lips. Bucky loomed in the corner of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking grumpy with just a hint of a smile when you met his gaze. Tony at the foot of the bed. And Steve; on the opposite side of the bed to Clint, sitting in a chair by your bedside.

It was quite a crowd; guarding you in what was undeniably one of the AI medical department hospital-like rooms. You knew the space well – you had visited Steve here plenty of times, because he was a protector at heart and a reckless son of a bitch when it came to his own well-being, the memory of that day in your workshop just a cherry of top of all the insane things he was willing to do for others, for what he believed to be greater good.

Now, your roles might be reversed, but Steve still looked a little worn; and still handsome, almost frustratingly so, almost enough to distract you from a more crucial question than whether his slightly pursed lips were as soft as you’d always imagined.

What the hell were you doing in the medical?

You’d put your life savings in on a bet it had everything to do with the pressure on your chest and Tony’s face lightly twisted in worry and outrage.

Which, ouch. Tony actually looked worried. That had to be bad.

You opened your mouth to ask when the memories started floating in, along with the realization that your throat was a bit parched.

Without a word or another hint of a request, Steve brought a cup of water to your lips along with a straw, making you realize you were not, in fact, quite lying down horizontally; the third of the bed closest to the headboard was elevated, thus helping you not to drown when drinking the pleasantly cool liquid.

While grateful for Steve’s assistance, you did not find courage to look at his expression and analyse it like those of the other men; because as the blur of memories creeped in, you were sure Steve would have a lot to say to you and not much of it would be pleasant.

Better to postpone that for as long as possible.

You had fucked up. Somehow, the encounter of the EMP wave and your own device had managed to knock you out. That was far from a cause for glowing reviews; though the uncertainty and the absence of the testing period had led you not to expect any in the first place. In fact, it was the very reason why you had insisted you would be the only one to handle the device.  

A solid plan; an uncertain outcome.

“How bad?” you rasped, unwillingly prompting Steve to push the straw back to your lips, even as he still didn’t say a word and sent your heart beating very painfully against your sternum. You resisted the urge to rub on the tender spot.

“You’ll be all fine and peachy,” Tony hummed, earning a mute glare from Steve that would freeze people in spot unless they were Tony Stark. The billionaire ignored it, in turn glaring at you, even if with a lick of pride in his gaze. “Your EMP killer – nice work on the shielding and reversing, by the way – short-circuited under the load of the energy that the EMP, stronger than the last time, emitted. You really went and picked the worst possible second to be still touching it—--ew, that actually sounds dirtier than I wanted for once-”

You gulped, an unvoluntary shiver running down your back as Tony, Tony I-do-whatever-I-want-and-can’t-be-bothered Stark, observed you with something grave in his eye that easily overshadowed the pride and the clear message in his words – that you had helped the team. Immensely. You had not only protected them from the hit, but managed to reverse it, giving Hydra a taste of their own bitter medicine.

And had apparently given the team a scare in the process.

It would track; depending on the voltage, the short-circuit could have burned you or knock you out, neither of those things pleasant. You just hoped it had been worth it.

“Okay. But… you got them, right?” you asked, the flicker of a smirk on Tony’s face as he responded confirming your guess.

“Oh yeah, we got them. Bastards didn’t know what hit them, stood there like idiots for solid five seconds. It was kinda hilarious, you know, you should have seen their faces, just priceless and-“

“Your heart stopped.”

----Tony’s voice fell deadly silent, the room stilling so completely no one even dared to take a breath, least of all you; air stuck in your throat, your lips slightly parting in mute shock.

Steve’s voice wasn’t loud, nor angry; it shouldn’t have interrupted Tony’s so easily. But the quiet authority and the gravity his words carried was enough to shut up even Tony Stark for once.

The room drowned in the sudden silence. The loudest sound was the tremble of your heart, beating fiercely as if in protest to Steve’s statement, echoing in your skull as well as by the heart monitor you were attached to.

Your heart had… stopped?

That was the third option, the third part of your body potentially affected by the electric discharge; your skin, your brain… and your heart.

It was racing now and you felt it in every inch of your body, humming with life, absurdly loud so; but as Steve’s gaze met yours, you sucked in a quick breath as the damning realization slowly sank in.

There was no world in which Steve would ever joke or exaggerated about that; the blue of his irises seemed more watery than usual, speaking of a weight on his shoulders heavier than he’d ever like to carry.

Your heart stopped, he had said, a simple three words that didn’t seem to make sense in a tangible reality, uncomprehensible beyond the coldest shiver of dread running down your spine. Simple, detached words, in a way; and yet, Steve’s eyes whispered of a message far from detached, quite the opposite. Intimate even – and perhaps a little accusatory too.

You died on me. You fucking died and I held you while you did so and that was all I could do.

You remembered as much. Vaguely, in a strange fog surrounded by gentle blue bleeding into indigo and eventually black – and you did remember with startling clarity the sensation of his palms cradling your cheek and of his arms carrying you when you knew your feet wouldn’t be able to. You remembered panic you’d wish to sooth had your lips been able to move. You remembered the heaviness on your chest, preventing you from breathing.

The weight on your chest grew tenfold under Steve’s intent gaze; and made a whole lot more sense now when one thought about what must have been done to you to set your heart back on track.

“It wasn’t for too long, kiddo,” Clint said quietly, drawing your attention to him, his expression warm with almost a fatherly worry – though that might have been the fact he had called you a kid. He could be sweet and caring and responsible like that when he wasn’t up to crazy shenanigans. “But you did give us quite the scare. Arrhythmia, turning so critical your heartbeat became almost undetectable… until it disappeared altogether. You got two discharges and a few chest compressions for your trouble. It was fast and you’re gonna be just fine, but…”

As he trailed off, you gulped, trying to process the information and failing. It simply seemed too surreal of a thought, encountering your death when you were right here now, alive.

But that was the thing about death, wasn’t it? It wasn’t quite you who had encountered your death, not in your conscious sound mind. The others had. Every single person here, having been scared out of their mind; for you.

The overwhelming and perhaps a little bizarre affection that bloomed in spite of the weight sitting on your sternum warmed your bones, spreading through your veins all the way to your fingertips along with the need to say literally anything to make the shadow of gloom on everyone’s faces disappear.

But your mind was coming out blank, your ears ringing a bit.

“Oh, uhm… well. I guess that explains why it hurts so much,” you muttered.

It earned you two sighs and one sharp intake of breath at your side. On the other side of the room, Bucky shifted his weight, bouncing off of the wall with surprising elegance, and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, no shit. Why don’t we give you guys a minute…”

A brief eye-contact with Steve, meaningful but unreadable; a small beckoning at Tony and Clint, each of the two patting the nearest part of your body in encouragement with a slightly uncomfortable yet supportive smile, and then they were on their way.

Leaving you alone with Steve, who now had his elbows propped up on his thighs, fingers interlaced together to rest his chin against them as he thoughtfully observed you without a single word.

To describe your reluctant staring contest as awkward would be a gross understatement and not quite capturing the complexity of the unreadable emotion behind his blue eyes.

It was instinct, you’d later realize, to have your gaze trail along the immensity of his body, checking for bandages and bruises and the little too much tension; with relief that felt a little funny considering the circumstance, you only found the third thing on the list. Steve body was so stiff and strung it had to be painful.

You fought the urge to reach for his hand, knowing a simple gesture like that usually grounded him.

Right now, Steve seemed torn between being a concerned friend and a raging captain, and you did not believe there was anything at all that really could ground him, let alone something in your power.

“Hey…” you breathed out eventually, swallowing heavily when the trivial greeting made him wince. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with such effort as if he had to fight the same weight that was sitting on yours.

“I… no. I’m not. And no, not really.”

I’m the farthest thing from okay.

You gulped as the unspoken words, your lips twitching. “Did you get checked up by med-“

“Did you know?”

Your voice trailed off in an instant, just like Tony’s had earlier; the quiet intensity to Steve’s voice and the unnerving attention his eyes observed you with making a lump grow in your throat, no doubt in your mind about what he was asking about.

It seemed such an absurd question to ask and yet, you supposed it was a fair one; you just couldn’t quite grasp at the reality of Steve asking it.

“Did I know what?”

Steve didn’t avert your hesitant gaze for a second, his hands falling from his face to the space between his thigs, fingers still interlaced; only now you noticed just how tight he was holding one hand to the other, his knuckled having turned white, the vein running down his forearm bulging.

“Did you know what was gonna happen if you used the device? Because you told us it was too complicated for explanations and I trusted you--- and then it looked like you basically just went and pushed a button,” Steve said slowly, every word painfully articulated, the undertone of fire humming under the composed exterior of a Captain calmly berating those under his command, having seen right through their actions and their motivations.

God, he really was unbearably good at reading people, wasn’t he? Most of the time anyway. His gaze was so piercing you could feel it in your chest, how he practically ruminated through your very soul, no matter how feebly you tried to defend its secrets.

“So I’m asking again: did you know that this was a possibility and was that the reason why you refused to let any of us use that device?”

Did you know it might actually kill you, was the question then, not did you know you might get hurt or did you know the device could malfunction.

Well.

“No.”

Steve shook his head slightly, never releasing you from the now blazing blue of his eyes, a new emotion, harder than the others, flickering over his face, his jaw tensing further if that was even possible as he straightened in his chair and released the tight lock on his hands.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve come to despise me somehow even though I don’t know why, but don’t you dare lie to me about that-“

“I’m not,” you exclaimed firmly, straightening a bit as well as silent outrage at his accusation flushed energy into your veins. It made for a fiery cocktail with the conviction behind your very conscious decisions – unlike the one getting shocked into a damn cardiac arrest. “I didn’t know this was going to happen, Steve. All I knew was that it was an untested prototype. So I made the strategic decision to-“

All blood seemed to drain form his face only to return in a millisecond as he damn well stuttered, a outrage colouring his expression and oh, had he have done it by that-

“A strat-- it is not your place to make strategic decisions-“

“I took a calculated risk, Steve!” you cut him off, trying hard to ignore the way it literally hurt to have your heart beating against you apparently bruised ribcage. It was surprisingly easy thanks to how distracting the level of hypocrisy Steve was exercising at the moment. “What would your decision be? A weapon that could get out of hand – imagine that. If it works, it’s all dandy, isn’t it? But if it doesn’t, you’re screwed. And whether the device works or not, if it ends up hurting the person using it, because there was no time to test it properly, you’re short of one skilled fighter. I am not a skilled fighter, you said so yourself, so I knew I was the best person for the job and I stand by that and would damn well do it all over again, and you can fight me or quote me on that!”

Steve bristled.

His jaw set even tighter, now seemingly sharp enough to cut bulletproof glass – and damn had you not been in a middle of exchanging opinions, would it have distracted you – his hands curled into fists.

But for a moment, he remained silent; no doubt fighting an inner battle, because he knew you would call his bluff if he said he would have done things differently. He wouldn’t. He knew you were right and that you had done the best call possible, even without his explicit approval.

He shook his head, willing his fists to relax for a bit as he took time to inhale and exhale slowly.

“That was not supposed to be your decision. It wasn’t right. Not if this was the price to pay,” he said, continuing before you could interrupt him, his voice levelled carefully. It mollified you; a little. “We don’t trade lives, Lo, it is not your choice to-“

“But it is my choice, Steve,” you opposed, “my choice to protect my friends. And you know the rules. I never let anyone use an untested prototype in the field.”

He huffed bitterly and finally released you from the cage of his gaze, running his hand down his face and nodding along as he heard you state, not for the first time, your most basic rule.

Except his nod was not one of approval, nor quite one of understanding. It was more of a nod of infuriation and helplessness when dealing with a stubborn mule.

Well, there were two of those in this conversation.

“Except you were just fine breaking that rule yourself. And it nearly killed you.”

The shiver that ran down your spine shook you, the bite of fear as old as time ice-cold. It nearly killed you. A primal part of your brain understood that, even as you were still processing that – or rather kept postponing the processing in favour of staying sane.

But the worry, so clear and vulnerable as it revealed itself in the depth of Steve eyes, had your shoulders slump, the fire feeding your argument slowly dying out as you felt something tight in your chest loosen just a bit despite the weight still sitting there.

“I didn’t know that was gonna happen, Steve, I swear. That wasn’t a choice,” you offered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But… you’re near death every day – you all are, you make the choice every damn day-”

“Lo, that’s not-“

“And you, Steve, made a very deliberate choice like that over seventy years ago and on a whole different scale,” you reminded him, only to have to silence him when he opened his mouth to protest. “I didn’t make a conscious choice like that, but even if I did… I’m sorry, but you of all people really wouldn’t get to hold that against me. Because you already have traded your life – and you continue to risk it, every day. And the rest of us, mere mortals? We worry, we hope and we watch, unable to do a single thing, and still, we just suck it up, because that’s what you do-“

“It’s not what YOU DO!”

You flinched at the sudden outburst and the sudden movement of the mass of muscle he was, pushing to his feet and stalking a few feet away, eyes turned to the ceiling, a hand slowly running over his mouth.

You had winced at both the boom of his voice and the movement; but most of all, at his words.

Because those hurt.

It was childish in a way, you supposed; but those words burned through you like a wildfire and left nothing but smouldering ashes behind, a sharp sting at the very centre of your chest.

A razer-sharp reminder of who you were.

And who you weren’t.

Because who you weren’t, despite all you could ever do, was someone good enough.

You could feel Steve’s gaze turning back to you, no doubt drawn by the minute wince when he had noticed when he had snapped; but you refused to look at him. It hurt; and you refused to let him see just how much.

“Lo, I-“

You shook your head, a small gesture of your hand to stop him, pressing your lips in a tight line; and not at all willing to admit it was just so you wouldn’t find words to hurt him back – or to keep the stupid irrational sob in.

You got it. You really did. You had said as much to Sam; but that didn’t mean you were over it in the span of very long, very hard two days.

Steve was right, of course.

He had been right when he had said you didn’t get to make strategic decisions, and you were not able to defend yourself and that you simply weren’t an agent in the first place. Which would have been fine – because you did not want to be an agent.

You just wanted to be something more to Steve.

You used to think that maybe one day what you were – because Sam had also been right, you were irreplaceable as you were and you were pretty damn awesome, you knew that on a good day – could be enough for Steve.

But you wouldn’t. You weren’t. Never had been.

It was clear as day and violent as daylight after staying awake all night.

You licked your lips as you stared at the covers draped over your legs, trying your damn best to keep your voice calm and composed even as your nose stung with unshed tears.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Lo…”

“Was there anything else you needed, Captain?”

The sound pushing past his lips was guttural and painful, making your stomach clench. You squeezed your eyes shut.

It served him right. It served him right, because if you didn’t get to be close to him, he might as well get the hell out of your sight and out of your life. Just because you would never be a partner to him, he didn’t get to shove it to your face and make it hurt, to twist the knife in the still gaping wound. That was not fair of him. He couldn’t have it both ways.

Not even Steve damn Rogers, no matter how much your stupid heart ached for his love.

You hated how clearly you could see him even with your eyes closed; you heard his steps, could imagine the stiffness and rashness of his movements, the way he plumped back into the chair by your bed, the way he was leaning his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward.

His voice closer, a slight crack to it, a visceral note that made you nauseous just a bit with the vulnerability it displayed.

“Don’t… please don’t do this to me.”

It was almost enough. It was almost enough to make you fold and open your eyes and sooth him, but you couldn’t. Not now. You weren’t sure you ever should, if you were planning to stay sane and move on.

You gulped against the lump in your throat, but you persisted, repeating yourself.

“Was there anything else you-“

“Yeah, okay—alright,” he whispered, a rustle of fabric as he moved in his chair; but that was not the most prominent sound. That would be the resignation and barely masked hurt in his voice. “I deserve that. I do. Should I send for Sam?”

The unexpected question made you heart skip a beat and your eyes snap open despite your better judgement. A pair of eyes brimming with bright sadness stared back, an openly desperate yet achingly empty expression on Steve’s face; once more, your hands twitched with the instinctual need to comfort him.

No. Not now.

And he had asked you a question; that was why you had looked at him in the first place. The reminder had your heart skip another two very painful beats – probably literally, because Steve’s eyes flickered to the heart monitor by your bed with a frown.

“…why would you send for Sam? Where is he? Is he okay?” you demanded, mind scrambling for any memory of him being hit during the mission prior to your… intervention.

“No, he’s fine, he’s… he had a small cut on his arm and a few bruises, but he’s okay,” Steve reassured you, quick to do so, even if somewhat dully. “He said he needed to--- to take care of something.”

You breathed in and out, the ache in your ribcage easing except it did not. “Good.”

Steve looked as if he was the one in profound pain. And you broke.

You always broke when it came to him – that was your curse, even as you used to think that in a way, it was a blessing.

Where did that get you?

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, an idea occurring to you as to why he could be in pain even as he wasn’t – as unlikely it was that he would have been sitting by your bedside had it been any truth to it. “Is… Sharon okay?”

Steve’s smile might light up a room, you had often seen it happen; but the one he gave you now was just sad at its edges and did not reach his eyes, boring into yours again – intensely so, but without the previous pressure.

“We’re all just fine, Lo.”

“Good.”

Your voice was barely audible and yet it felt too loud in the sudden calm after the storm, a calm brushing over the rubble it had left behind; heavy stones you didn’t think you had the strength to move now, to build back up, the base of what you and Steve were – or used to be to each other – seemingly too shaky.

You weren’t sure you could ever rebuild it or whether you even should. Some things were better to left behind in order for something new to bloom; and yet, the idea of cutting Steve out of your life left like a hot wire splitting your heart in two.

And yet, Steve lifted the first stone, not to throw it because he was without sin; but to lay it gently into your hand so you could choose whether to throw it at him or choose to start with the restoration.

And like always, you couldn’t refuse an offer like that.

“I… I’m really sorry I yelled at you.”

“I get it, Steve, you were mad and I scared you-“

“That still didn’t give me the right,” he opposed quietly, lips slightly pursed, the sincerity of his regret breaking through the sadness still etched into his expression.

It hadn’t given him the right indeed – but he was only human.

And the volume of his voice wasn’t the problem, nor was him having startled you. You weren’t scared of him.

You were just scared of just how much he could make you feel and hurt and how little you were able to will yourself to do anything to take that power away from him.

“You barely even raised your voice, Steve-“

“And I’m still sorry,” he repeated in earnest. “I shouldn’t have. Yes, what you did, what happened to you--- it scared me, but that’s not an excuse. It definitely isn’t an excuse to blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind and hurt you.”

You gulped, your hand gripping the sheets.

Of course he had noticed the effect of his words. He wasn’t an idiot; most of the time anyway. And when he was an idiot, he was the kindest and the sincerest one. That was why you could never quite just make yourself not to love him.

God, he truly must have been the most infuriating person on the planet-

“I never want to hurt you, Lo. I’m sorry for that and for putting another thing between us even though I’m not sure what happened between us in the first place. I just…” he gulped, the deep, sad pools of blue searching your face you were sure had crumbled at his goddamn I never want to hurt you and the softness lacing your nickname. Your chest deflated a little and it hurt, physically and figuratively, Steve’s regrets about the distance that had been growing between you for weeks now tangible. “I’m sorry we’re this way. But… if I can’t be here for you, if don’t talk to me… fine—well, not fine, but--- what I’m trying to say is that whatever reason you have to hate me, fine, for now. But I know something’s been bothering you and now you nearly died, so you’d better talk to someone-“

“Why was your first thought Sam of all people?”

You couldn’t but notice a flash of hurt when you didn’t deny you hated him for the second time but you’d unpack that later – your heart was already brimming with something sweet and burning and aching.

“He… when you wouldn’t talk to me before, you… you clearly confided him in. You’re… it’s none of my business really, you two, you seem… close, so I thought-“

A sheen of ice-cold sweat covered your skin and had you shiver, your heart stumbling very painfully in your chest, the solid mattress under your body as if disappearing, replaced by a gaping void to which you stared despite the sudden vertigo.

“Hold on, did he--- tell you we talked or something?”

Did he tell you I’m fucking in love with you and jealous as hell?

Steve looked away.

“Steve?” you pressed.

“No. I… you’ve been avoiding me-“

“Oh, that’s rich-“

“And I know I haven’t exactly had a clear schedule, but it’s obvious still!” Steve interrupted your outrage with his own, even as his had earned an edge of an emotion you could not quite place. “And I tried to give you space--- but I also knew that mission where Nat got hurt would get to you too, but I had to leave and then, when I was back, you… you were already talking to Sam and—”

You watched Steve breathe in an out with growing confusion – but also with relief maddeningly mixed with disappointment.

Relief because he did not know. Disappointment for the very same reason.

Only now when you had a painful physical symptom, it dawned to you just how hard it had been to breathe around Steve due to both hope and anxiety.

“He’s a good guy, Lo. I’m… glad you have him, you deserve nothing less.”

An involuntary smile passed your lips, one that – for some reason – had Steve avert your gaze, the corners of his lips turned down just slightly, as if in a sad smile to mirror your own.

…why?

Your confusion was growing by the minute – and so was the heaviness in your limbs, but now was not the time to get tired.

“Yes, that we can agree on- Sam’s is a wonderful frie—wait hat do you mean have him? It’s not like he’s mine, we’re both friends with--- oh.”

The flicker of something on Steve’s face was a dead giveaway as to what he had meant, your brain short-circuiting for a few silent beats.

And you couldn’t but chuckle at the absurd conclusion he had come too, the sound leaving your lips unwittingly even as laughing hurt.

But… Steve thought you and Sam were dating?

Forget your heart having stopped – this was the most difficult revelation of the day to process.

Judging by the utter confusion and reluctant relief on Steve’s face, he seemed to think the very thing about your reaction.

“Sam? No. No, Steve, come on, I love Sam, but he’s like a brother to me--- not to mention he’s been gathering courage to ask Jess out for months and it’s been like a week since he did and he’s already a goner. When you said he said he needed to take care of something, he probably meant calling Jess, telling her he’s safe and sound.”

Steve’s lips parted soundlessly, a beat of silence, realization dawning on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you echoed, his face so endearingly scrunched as he chewed on that thought that you couldn’t but chuckle and have mercy on him; how could you be mad at him for just about anything when he had apologized, was concerned for the state of your relationship and looked like that? How could you ever hope to keep him at arm’s length or further just to protect your foolish heart?

You sighed, a seal inside you breaking, your shoulders slumping lower.

“Look, Steve I… as for what’s been bothering me… I told you. I’m just… going through some stuff-“

Like a flash of lightning, Steve’s contemplative expression disappeared, replaced by urgency as he leaned forward again, desperate sincerity lacing his features.

“So why don’t you let me help? What did I do? Why are you avoiding me--- and don’t tell me you aren’t, please, don’t insult me like that-“

“Steve, I just-“ you interrupted him, his gaze hanging on your face like a lifeline, the gears in your head turning madly as to figure out how to tell him the truth without telling him everything. “I just… need some time to come to terms with certain things. With… myself.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, panic glimmering in his eyes for a moment.

“Are you sick?”

You frowned, confused by the question.

“…no?”

Not beyond having had a small cardiac arrest.

“Are you leaving the AI then? Is someone bothering you, giving you a hard time? We can take care of that, I’ll gladly take care of that personally—or-- look, if it’s about the money or the workshop or-“

“Steve, no-“

“Then what?” he breathed out, barely audible, but no less helpless and so unfairly gentle you felt tears sting in your eyes. “Tell me. I’ll try my best to make it better--- we all will. But please stop pushing me away unless you really do hate-”

“I don’t hate you, Jesus, Steve, I---”

The sheer visible relief at hearing that truly spoke of just how badly he had been affected by your mess of feelings and separation. Guilt instantly gnawed at your stomach.

Between all the wallowing about how Steve didn’t feel the same about you, you appeared to have forgotten about how deeply the beautiful man in front of you felt; how deeply he cared.

Of course he had been worried. Of course it had bothered him, no matter how much you tried to lie to yourself that he hadn’t to ease your ache.

His genuine relief was a vicious reminder from the universe of how deeply Steve loved his friends. It made your stomach twist and fill with butterflies all the same. Of course you only loved him for it all the more.

It was another pure viciousness of the universe to give humanity only one Steve Rogers. It was unfair that the one who existed could not be yours.

It was unfair and lovely that he continued to watch you expectantly; he was not going to let the topic go. Obviously. What a surprise, not, to see him stubborn.

You sighed again, licking your lips, unable to hold the weight of his gaze as you tried to look for the right words, fingers toying with the sheets.

“I just… I got too used to being—the girl,” you said.

You could practically hear his frown at that and huffed self-deprecatingly. “God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. What I mean is… the team relied on me, you know? You relied on me, you spent a lot of time with me and… then Sharon showed up, replacing me, rightfully so, and I--- this is my shit to deal with. I know that. It’s just… my stupid feelings, my stupid jealousy. That’s what I’m dealing with and have to deal with on my own… because for a huge part, I’m… ashamed of it.”

“Lo-“

“Wait, I- let me finish please, or I’ll never get it out and I never want to talk about this again, so…. I got used to being your girl--- not your girl!” you swiftly corrected yourself, mortified at the slip-up. “I mean…your girl, and I know it sounds the same but it’s not really--- and I get it. Rationally, I get it, Steve, I really do and I want you to be happy.”

Finally, you found the courage to meet his gaze, vision blurry as you smiled, even if through your tears – because this part you weren’t ashamed of and was achingly certain of.

Chuckling breathlessly, you caught the stray tear that escaped your eye.

“Because, Steve, you deserve to be so happy. For who you are, for what you’ve been through and stand for and Sharon is perfect. She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s badass, she’s a Carter, you’re clearly meant to be together and that’s great, so great, but I--- I have feelings too and I just… as happy as I am for you, I just need to digest the fact that I’m not the only female human in your life besides Nat and that romantic partners often come before friends and in a way they should-“

The hand suddenly enveloping yours made your voice crack and fall silent – at least that was what you told yourself. That it was the warm weight of Steve’s touch you craved every damn day, not your heart breaking at wishing Steve well with someone who was not you.

“Hold on-”

“I get it, I just… I just need some space and some time, okay?” you rasped, forcing another smile. You wanted to turn your hand to squeeze his hand reassuringly for a good measure; but he didn’t let you.

As your gaze flickered to your joined hands and back to his face, vision clearing, you were startled by two things. Three. No, make that four.

One, those handsome features of his, because goddammit, did it somehow still took you by surprise just how beautiful Steve was.

Two, his expression – caught somewhere between experiencing shell-shock and visceral need to do something.

Three, his eyes, having turned glassy.

And four and foremost, how everything about him – despite the urgency in his stance, leaning into your space so close your faces were a mere foot from each other – suddenly seemed impossibly tender.

“Whatever you need, Lo…” Steve muttered, his hand flexing over yours and gripping – gently, but very firmly. “But no. I… I truly am sorry. I never meant to neglect you because of this mission, let alone so much you’d feel like this. It… I sometimes get my head lost in the game and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have-“

“And yes,” he cut you off, holding your gaze seriously, “Sharon’s great and she’s been around a lot since we’re cooperating on this one, but… I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t needed or wanted, or god forbid, like you are somehow less than her. You are important to the team, you are our girl, you’re… as a person, as a team member, your inventions, your input – they’re crucial and I’ll never stop marvelling at what you can come up with. …even if it nearly kills you and me in the process--- Lo, I swear, when Friday reported the arrhythmia and then your heart stopped, I nearly had a heart attack and you’d better, in fact, never do that again-”

The broken rasp of his voice was like an ice-cold fist of guilt clutching at your heart and pulling, gently replaced by warm fondness, a few more tears spilling over when you spotted one of his own rolling down his cheek. You could not find your own voice, noting with slight embarrassment that your lower lip was a second from wobbling at the assault of emotion radiating off Steve.

And then his left hand slipped under your hand – now held between both of his – as he took a deep breath, chasing the clouds away, a soft frown twisting his face.

“But I have to ask… what on Earth makes you think me and Sharon are together or that I’m even interested in her as anything else than a fellow agent and a friend?”

You froze mid-inhale, air painfully catching in your bruised chest.

Your mind turned blank in an instant – a complete tabula rasa besides the essential script of your damn heart belonging to the man sitting by your bed, to the gentle giant cradling your hand between both of his, observing you with curiosity and what looked like a silent wonder.

You were wondering too.

You were confused as hell, your whole world tilting aside, your tongue feeling heavy and all kinds of funny as you tried to form words. 

“You’re… not?”

“No. …no-“

Admittedly, you were rather unimpressed at the strange expression on his face and his resolute tone, contrasting sharply with how many compliments to Sharon he had just agreed with – but that was the least of your worries.

“I mean…” Steve said, hesitating slightly, “you’re right. Objectively, she’s all you said, but even if I was interested in her, the fact that she is a Carter and I was once in love with her grandaunt would make it rather awkward.”

“Oh.”

That was all you managed to choke out: an oh.

What an eloquent intelligent human being you were.

But in all honesty, your mind was blanking out on all words in English and any other language beyond what the hell and Steve is not interested in Sharon.

What he had said made sense, in a way. You supposed.

It had just never occurred to you.

But it had never also occurred to you just how wrong you could interpret Steve’s behaviour.

This whole time, ever since Sharon perfect Carter had walked in, you had been heartbrokenly sure Steve must have fallen for her. But he claimed that he hadn’t.

It would be great news if it didn’t boggle your mind and if the fact he wasn’t into her automatically meant he could ever be into you. And if all that time you had spent away, avoiding him and a broken heart at seeing him with Sharon in the process… hadn’t been for nothing and hadn’t hurt you both. Steve was clearly bothered that he hadn’t had time for you, for his close friend, and that whole time, he had known for a fact that you had been avoiding him--

God you were such an idiot.

And sure, Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to throw the first stone, not without some blame himself, but—

How could you have misjudged the situation so catastrophically…? How?

Jealousy.

Hurt.

Love.

All easy answers and complicated emotions that had blinded you.

For a rather rational person you liked to think you were, the man sitting with you still, holding your hand gently and firmly, still, sure stoked the fire of feelings so deep within you there had been no escaping that emotional bias.

It would have been wonderful had your feelings been reciprocated and had not Steve been observing you intently, eyes flickering all over your face and drinking in every detail of your face and taking a good, long look into your eyes, staring into your very soul in all its nakedness.

You reciprocated his gaze but for a few seconds until you could not bear it anymore, your heart, while trembling at his attention, speeding up with its every beat, your panic rising, because it was true what Sam had said about Steve.

He might be slow and blind when it came to certain things, but he was one damn brilliant man and you knew it.

And right now, it felt like certain puzzle pieces in his mind were falling into place and-

“You know,” Steve whispered, “Bucky told me I’m dumb like a ton of bricks if I don’t know what’s going on with you, but he wouldn’t tell me, the jerk. I… I think I’m starting to understand why.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, finding his gaze impossibly soft and you gulped, goosebumps rising all over your skin in anticipation.

You weren’t ready. You were not ready at all – to face his judgement. With your confession about jealousy and other feelings you had, with his own brilliance, he must have known now, and he was about to let you down gently, because ‘I never want to hurt you, Lo’ was something he had meant wholeheartedly.

Steve squeezed your hand, taking a deep breath – and in turn, you held your own.

“I’m going to go on a limp here, Lo, but… having established that you’re always gonna be our girl… would you… do you ever think about being my girl?” he asked softly.

Your heart skipped a beat – very, very painfully so, so much you winced and sucked in a startled breath before your body rebooted and your heart started racing again.

And your mind followed.

Your vision blurred a bit, your mouth turning dry.

He--- did he just-

Forget your heart having stopped, forget Steve having thought you were dating or about to date Sam; you had spoken too soon. This was the most definitely going to be the most difficult revelation of the day to process.

Because it--- did Steve just asked you out? Was that what he meant?

Well, you supposed that with how loosely you had used the term ‘your girl’, maybe he had-

“When… when you say your girl, you mean-“

One corner of his lips twitched, whether from nerves or a smile you couldn’t tell. His hold on your hand loosened slightly, his thumb running over the back of your hand, the gesture combined with… everything, making for a choked startled sound in the back of your throat, awaking a sparkle in Steve’s eye, his lips curling up further.

“My best girl.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s not entirely clear wording-“

“The dame I’d like to take on a date, sweep her off her feet and after she forgives me for acting like an ass, kiss her breathless if she lets me,” he stated in all seriousness.

You swallowed another startled sound, your head suddenly spinning.

Okay, that’s… that’s clearer.

And wonderful.

So, so wonderfully incredible.

You blinked, your brain somehow still processing what your heart instantly understood – and recognized as true.

Steve said was not interested in Sharon.

Steve was clearly interested in you.

Steve cared about you very deeply.

There might even be a slight chance that Steve was – just the tinniest bit at least – in love with you.

There was also a fair chance Steve had actually been jealous of Sam – perhaps the same way you had been of Sharon.

And there was a hundred percent chance you were both utter idiots.

And Steve would like to sweep you off your feet and kiss you breathless.

While he continued to regard with softly, he was also clearly expecting an answer the lack of thereof let uncertainty into his gaze, growing by the second.

You could not have that, because then he might take his words back, taking your silence for rejection; and meanwhile both of his suggestions made you speechless in the best way and gave birth to a fluttery feeling in your stomach, something warm, oh so endlessly warm, spreading in your achy ribcage.

“I’d… really like that,” you breathed out weakly, only now realizing you might have been holding your breath. How could you not? If anything, you were practising for Steve stealing all air from your lungs if he’d kiss you, those soft, undoubtedly soft lips--- your licked yours, your heart stumbling a bit as Steve’s gaze automatically flickered down to your mouth. “That, uhm… that’d be nice.”

Especially the kissing part.

Steve’s eyes snapped back up, relief mixing with amusement.

“Nice?”

Heat flooded your face, indignation, shame and affection all at once.

“Oh go to hell, Steve, my heart had like three hundred joules running through it today and I just learned that you’d like to kiss me which I really approve of, so I don’t have the mental capacity to be Shakespeare right now-“

As you automatically tried to jerk your hand free – despite his teasing being gentle – his hold on you turned into a tender vice, his features twisting with concern.

“Oh I know, doll, no need to remind me,” he muttered, sighing deeply, your mind instantly latching onto the new endearment, your face flushing further. With another sigh, Steve turned your hand to rest in his palm, his left index carefully following your lifeline “That’s one more vivid nightmare to haunt me. I… probably shouldn’t have sprung all that on you, as happy as I am that you said yes. It’s a date, though.”

A sweet, boyish smile passed his lips.

“But I should let you rest. You had a very long day.”

And wasn’t that the understatement of the goddamn year. You felt exhaustion settling into your bones despite joy still humming in your veins; you were not quite ready to let Steve go. Not now. Not ever.

After the briefest thought of telling him that perhaps the long day had earned you a goodnight kiss then, you covered his hand still drawing on your palm with yours, stilling his movements.

“So did you,” you pointed out, earning a noncommittal sound of agreement. “And uhm… sometimes we deal with a long day together, right? I miss that.”

He lifted his gaze, his smile, while not quite lighting up his face, warm like the sunshine itself and you couldn’t reciprocate, your heart finally free to thumb-thumb wildly in your chest in a rhythm of a lovesong you had been trying to silence for quite the while.

“Yeah, me too. I missed you, Lo.”

“I missed you too… plus, you just asked me out on a date, it would be rude to just leave.”

“That is true,” he said, a sparkle in his eye at last. “But I do think you should get some sleep. I’ll be here if you want me… fending off your nightmares at least.”

God knows I have enough nightmares for a lifetime, you read in his gaze. And one of them is losing you to something much worse than rejection and carrying another regret greater than life for the rest of my days.

You hummed, eyes stinging at the vulnerability of the words that might have not be pushed past his lips, but were written in his warm, sad smile.

“I’d like that, Steve… stay with me?”

He smiled a little wider, scooting his chair closer, one of his hands escaping the complicated tangle by your side in favour of pressing carefully to your shoulder to lie down into the cushions fully, brushing over your jaw lightly, tender fingers continuing up to smoothen your hair.

Despite how heavy your body was feeling by the minute – had been for a while – your heartbeat picked up at the sweet gesture, Steve’s eyes on you intently as if to look for any sign of discomfort, pain, or protest.

He found none.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lo…” he promised, squeezing your hand, fingers wavering by your cheek before he moved to cradle your jaw, leaning in. “But you should know that neither are you. I don’t care how many gadgets you and Tony come up with, how much protective gear you can get – I’m never letting you in the field again.”

“Hey-“

Before you indignation could flare up at his very bossy decision or the fact he just had to bring it up now, the little shit, the fire was put out, replaced by warmth spreading from where Steve’s lips brushed your forehead in a tender kiss, all the way to your fingertips and toes.

“But that’s a problem for another day… rest, Lo. I’ll be right here.”

Your mouth opened, any retort or protest overruled by your body literally melting under his affection.

“You’re playing dirty…” you muttered, no power behind your words. “Please continue.”

Steve’s breath tickled your hairline as he chuckled and kissed your forehead again, your eyes slipping shut, an unvoluntary but welcomed smile spreading on your lips, softening when Steve’s fingertips caressed along your jaw.

You could fall asleep to such tenderness. Every night. Especially after having quite a long day.

“Rest so I can woo you as soon as possible, Lo,” Steve whispered, kissing you one more time, this time on your cheek, before retreating back to his chair. Both his hands took one of yours again, keeping it warm, safe and his.

Just like you.

“That’s an order I can get behind, ‘ptain… Thank ya’ for being here.”

“Trust me… there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And he meant it; every word. Of that you were sure of, even as you mind welcomed the soft darkness of a peaceful sleep, watched over by the fiercest, kindest protector you’d ever know.

As sleep led you away from him, Steve took several steadying breaths, letting the emotions of the indeed long day wash over him, closing is eyes just for a moment, wincing at the first image appearing in his mind being your terrifyingly still form.

He had not spoken a single lie to you, having been scared out of his mind – he had only kept certain truths from you. Like the truth that kept tugging at the corners of his lips up despite you being in a hospital bed.

He loved you.

And he was going to sweep you off your feet over and over to prove it, to let you feel just how much light was expanding in his chest whenever he could see you, talk to you, hold you; and feel that you cared about him too, more than he had ever hoped.

When he opened his eyes, it was almost as if you could hear his thoughts; while in the dreamland, bruised and exhausted beyond life, there was a small relaxed smile in your lips, one that drew Steve’s gaze like a magnet.

That was how Sam found him; that was what greeted Steve too. A telling, dopey grin on both of their faces.

Sam might have said Steve was far from blind and was quite brilliant, but the man himself was right up there with him, instantly understanding something had changed between you and Steve. When Steve asked him about a certain Jessica, Sam’s grin only widened; and Steve only wondered how he had missed it all before.

Love truly could be blind, couldn’t it? You would know, too; how you had never realized how he had felt for you was beyond him.

But the important thing was that he’d show you, now; and you agreed to let him.

As if Sam could hear his thoughts, he patted Steve’s shoulder, not staying longer than was necessary to learn how you were doing and to tell Steve to tell you he stopped by.

As he left, Sam took Steve’s gloomy thoughts of the day with him, leaving only contentment settling deep into Steve’s ribcage. As he still held onto you, he allowed to the sound of your regular breathing be a balm to his soul, the feeling on your hand in his be a balm for his heart.

Next chapter (Epilogue) // Series masterlist

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading, loves! Thoughts, encouragements and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

If you’d like to be notified on updates, follow my other blog @anika-ann-writes or let me know for a tag.

Hello dear readers! I wanted to get to this chapter much sooner, but life has been happening and muse was protesting against the length of this… so it might have taken a while, but you got a double-length serving AND feels... yay!?🥰

With this chapter, I’m also crossing the 2 mil. word count on AO3. Might have been sooner with the blurbs I posted here on tumblr, but that is not the point… I just want to thank you if you’ve been here with me for some of those words and supported my writing. Thank you 💕

May your days be filled with love 💕

[thedesolatesanctuary]

Daft Punk in #Severance

My hc about Daft Punk as characters in Apple's TV series Severance below. !warning! There may be some mistakes and inaccuracies because it was written using a translator(with AI assistant translator DeepL, text is not made by AI.)

Some whispered rumors within Lumon claim that Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter were once brilliant engineers working for the Severance program. They were tasked with refining the Severance chip, pushing the boundaries of cognitive partitioning. But something went wrong. During an unauthorized experiment with prototype of Severance Chip they got shared mind, a seamless fusion of thought and creativity. Now, they exist in a perpetual limbo—neither Innie nor Outie, but a continuous, unbroken stream of existence. Their helmets serve as neural interfaces, maintaining their balance between worlds. To the outside world, they simply “retired.” Within Lumon, they became guardians of the Pyramid Division, using music therapy to reshape fractured minds. But instead of serving Lumon, they became something more—self-aware entities that chose to hide in plain sight, using their music to influence the minds of others. The Pyramid Sessions were their attempt to undo the damage of Severance, but Lumon twisted their work into another form of control. Sometimes after The Pyramid sessions Mark begins having strange dreams—visions of a world beyond Lumon, a neon-lit realm where sound is law and reality bends with the beat. In these dreams, he sees them not as men, nor as machines, but as something else entirely—cosmic architects, shaping the fabric of existence through rhythm and melody. So who are they really? Daft Punk do not confirm or deny, they do not hurt or heal. They simply watch and observe. Their bond is one of the greatest mysteries within The Pyramid Division. No one at Lumon has ever seen them apart. They move in perfect unison, anticipating each other's actions without words. The employees speculate endlessly about their connection. Some employees whisper that they were once husbands before work at Lumon Industries, others believe they chose to merge their individual identities dissolving into a singular, shared consciousness. They are no longer two people-but one mind in two bodies. How they interact? - They never speak to each other aloud. Yet, they always move in sync, as if communicating telepathically. - When one reaches for a control panel, the other's fingers twitch slightly. - When a session begins, one places a hand on the other's shoulder, a brief, almost imperceptible gesture of reassurance. - In rare moments of stillness, they face each other, heads tilting slightly-an unspoken conversation passing between them.

[cokou]

REDDIT POST

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞꒰➳precis. What Stone Ocean characters post about you on reddit.·˚ ·˚ ͟͟ tw. ehh, fluff I think? :3·˚ ·˚ ͟͟ ✉ an. i REALLYYY wanted to resume my reddit series, so i'd like to continue it on a diff fandom! Ermes' part is REALLY long LMAO.·˚ ༘₊· ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞꒰ contains. Jolyne, Foo Fighters, Ermes, Weather Report, & Anasui·˚ ༘₊·

r/girlfriends Greenjolyne

Hi reddit, IT'S MY GIRLS BDAY, what the fuck should I get her?

I know what she likes, her favorite food, and any of the other things that are her forte. But the thing is, IT DOESNT FEEL ENOUGH!!!! what the hell should I add? I only want the best for her and I don't know what I should get her, it's currently 12:08 AM rn, I ALREADY wished her a happy birthday and she's offline. I wanted to take her out to a restaurant but it doesn't seem enough at all [crying GIF]

⬆︎ 809 ⬇︎ 19 💬comment ➦share

ghostlyporio 2h You should get her something that makes her happy :) | Greenjolyne 2h I DONT KNOW WHAT MAKES HER HAPPY!! yn.user 1h anything makes me happy jolyne :) | Greenjolyne 1h HOW DID YOU GET HERE??? 😥

r/water ilovewater.ff

(Photo of half emptied water)

Dont you guys just love water? It makes me angry when I see people wasting their water just for fun! 🤬 They make me wanna kill them! Water is so precious dont they know?!?!? @yn.user you would protect water with me right!?

⬆︎ 102 ⬇︎ 301 💬comment ➦share

weatherrep 6h Couldn't agree more i guess? | ilovewater.ff 4h THANK YOU!!! yn.user 5h FF please put the phone down 😭😭 | ilovewater.ff 3h No! I love promoting water equality🙂😚 miramira 1h or you could mind your own business. | ilovewater.ff 37m how dare you threaten water!

r/galpal smack.ermes

I'm honestly new here, i wanna rant about my girl because shes so pretty.

Oh my goodness, where do I even begin? To describe the beauty of my girlfriend feels like trying to capture the infinite vastness of the ocean with a single drop of water. She’s beyond what words can express, but I’m going to try, because she deserves all the praise and admiration in the world, even if no combination of adjectives or metaphors can do her justice.

Let’s start with her smile. Her smile isn’t just a facial expression, it’s a force of nature. It’s like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, or the first breath of fresh air after a storm. The way her lips curve upward—gently, yet with an undeniable warmth lights up everything around her, like a beacon in the dark. Every time she smiles at me, it feels like the entire universe pauses for just a moment, giving me the privilege of basking in that perfect, radiant glow. It’s a smile that has the power to melt the hardest of hearts, to soften the edges of even the most difficult days. I could spend forever just lost in the wonder of it.

And then there are her eyes. Oh, her eyes… they’re the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen. They’re deep, like pools of mystery that draw me in with every glance. The color shifts in different lighting—sometimes they’re a stormy grey, like clouds just before rain, and at other times, they’re a brilliant shade of green, sparkling with mischief and warmth. When she looks at me, it’s as if she sees straight through to my soul, but with so much kindness and understanding that it never feels invasive, only comforting. Her eyes, with all their beauty, hold a depth of emotion and intelligence that leaves me in awe. They can be playful one moment, intense the next, and every expression in them tells a story that I’m eager to be a part of.

⬆︎ 19.7k ⬇︎ 10 💬comment ➦share

yn.user 23h MY BABY!! you are the sweetest i love you so much!! this is so adorable i can cry to sleep 😭😭 | smack.ermes 22h HOW DID YOU FIND MY ACCOUNT? THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING | yn.user 22h No it's not, it's so cute i love you so much Ermes !! (Liked by smack.ermes) GreenJolyne 20h I figured you'd be here after I saw you on your phone for 30 minutes straight just typing. (COMMENT WARNING) | smack.ermes 19h blocked.

r/adventures weatherrep

(picture of the sky)

It's pretty nice to go out and drive around with you. @yn.user

⬆︎ 675 ⬇︎ 1 💬comment ➦share

yn.user 9h I enjoyed the view weather :) it's really cute, i also had lots and lots of pictures of us! i'm posting it >v< | weatherrep 8h i'm happy that you liked it. | yn.user 8h Next time i'm the one who's bringing you to dates! (Liked by weatherrep) Imsexy.ana 7h FUCK YOU TWO, YOU MADE ME A THIRD WHEEL AND A DRIVER?!?! HOW ABSURD! IM GONNA KILL YOU WEATHER. (COMMENT WARNING) | weatherrep 6h i hope you enjoyed the ride aswell.

r/girlfriends Imsexy.ana

My girlfriend is beautiful inside and out. Her smile lights up the room, and her eyes carry a depth that captivates me. Her hair flows effortlessly, adding to her natural grace. But it’s her kindness, empathy, and warmth that truly make her remarkable. She has a way of making everyone feel valued, and her love brings peace and joy to those around her. Her beauty isn’t just in how she looks, but in the way she makes the world feel brighter.

⬆︎ 10.7k ⬇︎ 263 💬comment ➦share

yn.user 38m Is this your way of saying sorry to ME? | Imsexy.ana 37m Of course, i'm sorry. Please open the house door, it's getting cold out here. | yn.user 35m Fine, but say sorry to my face. | Imsexy.ana 34m WILL DO, thanks for letting me in. weatherrep 1h Shouldn't of let him in. | Imsexy.ana 37m FUCK YOU WEATHER YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. (COMMENT WARNING)

·˚ ͟͟ ✉ an. HEHE, i hope you guys enjoyed LMAO. First updating after 3 months again lolsz:>

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me.

[bosbas]

Chapter 3: best believe I'm still bejeweled

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You're struggling to find someone you're as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

May 19, 1814 - Today marks not only the birthday of our illustrious Queen Charlotte but also the grand event eagerly awaited by all of London's high society: the splendid Queen Charlotte's Ball.

The air is thick with excitement as the ton awaits the debut of our beautiful new bachelorettes for the season. Rest assured, dear readers, this author shall be your eyes and ears throughout the evening, ensuring you are privy to every scandal, dance, and whispered secret that unfolds at this momentous celebration.

The air was, as Lady Whistledown had said, thick with something, although you weren't quite sure it was excitement. Your stomach was tied in a complete tangle of knots, and said knots were doing cartwheels all over the dressing room you were currently in. Looking over at Cass and Eloise eating biscuits and giggling together on the other side of the room, you desperately wished you could stay with them rather than go to the ball.

Until this morning, you had been cautiously optimistic about the whole affair, excited about being courted despite your strong reservations about marriage, knowing it would most likely be a significant loss of your freedom. But at least in the beginning, when you didn't have to immediately think about the greater implications of courting, you could pretend that getting to know people and dancing and receiving flowers could be just fun. But now, with your mother and Lady Violet excitedly chattering around you as your lady's maids rushed to and fro, grabbing your makeup and jewelry, you were less than ecstatic.

Just as the claustrophobia was getting to be a bit much and you were quite ready to jump out of the window into the garden and take off running, Daphne entered the dressing room. Shooing the lady's maids away momentarily, Daphne offered a sympathetic look and sat beside you. You shot her a grateful smile, immediately letting out a breath, slumping your shoulders, and resting your chin on your gloved hand.

"Oh dear, I know that look very well," Daphne laughed. "It's not all bad, I promise."

Rubbing your temples, you confessed, "I know. I was excited until this morning. It's all rather overwhelming now that I'm actually experiencing it, though. What do you even talk about when you're dancing? What if no one wants to speak to me at all?"

Upon hearing the distress in your voice, Daphne quickly interjected. "Honestly, I was much more of a wreck than you were and I am frankly impressed by how well you're holding it together. My best advice would be to not think about it too much. It's harder to do in your position, I know, but you are so brilliant in every way, and everyone is dying to get to know you. It's a wonderful advantage to have. You get to be selective. So just be yourself the best way you know how and try to seek out the ones who make you feel the most comfortable."

You responded with a small laugh, "I guess it's a good thing Ben isn't here then; otherwise, I'd be spending the whole evening with him."

An indecipherable look took over Daphne's features. "It truly is beyond me why he would miss such an important day. Men being men, I suppose. But it's alright. You have the entire Bridgerton clan in his stead, not to mention your family. And speaking of Benedict, he did leave a note with me he wanted me to give you today." Daphne handed you a small rectangular envelope with your name in Benedict's scrawl across the front. Daphne reached over and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "you look absolutely stunning. You have nothing to worry about."

Giving her friend a final kiss on the cheek, Daphne stood up and joined the excited mothers on the other side of the room, allowing you a moment to carefully open the envelope in your hands.

Y/I (your initial), 

Hopefully, Daphne will manage to deliver this on time. I'm dreadfully sad I can't be there with you today, but I know you will impress absolutely everyone in attendance. Send Lady Danbury my regards. Or perhaps don't. Whichever makes it less likely I have to dance with her at the next ball I attend!

Yours, B

Smiling to yourself, you felt just a tad more prepared to face the queen in a short time, Ben's note filling you with confidence and Daphne's reassuring words soothing your anxieties.

---

An earlier conversation with Hyacinth had left you terrified of falling flat on your face tonight, so you were intently focused on completing each step as smoothly as possible. As the last debutante to be presented to the queen, your goal was to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, but you found the opposite. The room hushed as you entered, which you were worried about until you saw everyone's warm smiles and eager gazes. Newly filled with confidence, you gracefully completed your journey to the throne, where you curtseyed before Queen Charlotte.

Upon receiving the queen's enthusiastic approval, you heaved a sigh of relief. Now, you could enjoy the ball and take in all the new experiences of being out in society. The ballroom was a dazzling display of candlelight, silk gowns, and a polished dance floor as the orchestra played a lively tune. However, the moment of peace was quickly interrupted by many people rushing to talk to you at once. Gracefully moving from one conversation to another, you were enjoying the whirlwind of your debut. Invigorated by your earlier conversation with Daphne, you embraced the attention, excitedly introducing yourself and exchanging pleasantries as you attempted to move toward your mother a few yards away.

After talking to quite a few eligible bachelors and a not-insignificant amount of their mothers, you reached Countess Beaumont and the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. "Oh, Y/N, your dance card seems to be full! Not even five minutes after you've been presented, no less! That's quite wonderful. I was worried I'd have to send Colin and Anthony to dance with you," your mother exclaimed, cheekily winking at you.

Violet laughed and shook her head. "They should be so lucky! All everyone is talking about is how beautiful you look, dear. Not news to us, obviously, but it's nice to see other people recognizing it."

Truthfully, you were over the moon. You loved to dance, after all, and looking out toward the ballroom, you could see all three of your brothers, your father, Anthony, Colin, and Daphne, scattered throughout. You felt oddly comfortable being in such a new environment, and perhaps Daphne was correct: you could be selective. You had even turned away a few gentlemen who asked you to dance before your card was full, opting to wait for the ones with kind smiles and kinder words.

Just then, Lord Marcus Thornfield approached you, having already been one of the people on your dance card, and you were once again taken aback by his piercing blue eyes. He bowed elegantly and offered a boyish smile and his gloved hand. "It's lovely to see you again, Miss Beaumont, still looking completely stunning. Would you do me the honor of sharing this dance with me?"

You could feel your face getting a tad hot, overwhelmed by the flattery, but at the same time soaking it in thoroughly. You curtsied slightly and placed your gloved hand in his. "Mr. Thornfield, I would be delighted," you replied.

Then, addressing the other two women in the trio, Lord Thornfield said, "If you don't mind, I'd love to borrow Lady Beaumont for a dance."

Thrilled about your first dance at a ball, your mother and Lady Bridgerton enthusiastically assented, clasping their hands together and waving at the pair of you as you approached the dance floor. Sporting a broad smile, you allowed Marcus to escort you away.

As you glided through the dance floor with Marcus, making soft and sometimes flirtatious conversation, you found that you much preferred him before speaking to him in depth. Although he was a complete gentleman, you often found his conversation topics tedious at best and boring at worst. Of course, it was unreasonable for you to expect in-depth and completely captivating conversations like the ones you had with Benedict, but you felt like the chat with Marcus could have at least been engaging. You could not recall a single question he had asked you throughout your interaction, opting instead to talk about himself and occasionally compliment your appearance that night. Surely, there was more to life than hearing a man drone on endlessly about his own life. Toward the end of the dance, you were glad to reach your mother once again, practically begging for an excuse to slip away from Marcus.

Your next dance was better but by a slim margin. The man, Earl Ashton, was nice enough, but you didn't quite feel a connection with him as strong as you would have liked. The following two dances and three conversations that did not involve dancing were mostly the same. The most common question you received, which often was the only one you were asked in the entire interaction, was the reasoning behind your delay in coming out. You took this opportunity to talk about literature, sometimes delving into your latest read. However, save for two or three of them, most of the bachelors you spoke with were not interested in further discussing your studies. After yet another boy refused to engage in real conversation, opting to talk about his upcoming hunting trip, you saw your mother raising her eyebrows at Violet and casting an inconspicuous disapproving look toward the man you were speaking with.

A tad frustrated by your experience, but not enough to dim the glow you were feeling, you decided to take respite at the refreshment table. You were sipping on lemonade and attempting to decipher what was missing from your previous interactions. Partially, you recognized that you were to blame for having set such high standards with Benedict. You knew meeting someone and getting to know them was not the same as speaking with your best friend since childhood, but it seemed instinctual to compare the two. Most of the men you talked to were leagues better than Marcus Thornfield, though, who, you noticed amusedly, was speaking with another debutante who looked positively disinterested.

You were brought out of your musings by the familiar voices of Colin and Anthony. "Well, hello, Miss Y/N Beaumont, diamond of the season and center of the ton's attention who is looking absolutely radiant tonight, according to possibly every single person I have spoken to tonight," called Anthony, reaching your side in a few strides.

Laughing into your cup, you smiled up at the boys. "Well, if it isn't the two most eligible bachelors here tonight, according to every eager mama. How has the ball been for you?"

Colin feigned offense, putting his hand to his chest, "For us? Who cares about us? How has the night been for you?!"

As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, Lord Reginald Harrington bounded over to your group and bowed. Very courteous, Lord Harrington asked you for a dance. Still, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, after seeing Harrington very pointedly staring at another debutante's bosom instead of her eyes while having a conversation), you did not have any space left on your dance card. Anthony barely had time to throw out a good-natured joke about the ton's demand for you before another young man approached the trio. Quite unfortunately, Mr Geoffrey Huntington was on your dance card, so you let yourself be guided to the dance floor. As you spun and twirled with Mr Huntington, you once again yearned for something more. You did not know what, exactly. But a pleasant conversation (he asked questions about you and even made you laugh a few times!) still did not completely satisfy you.

Off to the side, Colin and Anthony were intently observing the dance between you and Geoffrey. "She doesn't quite look like that when she's talking to Ben, though, does she?" Anthony observed.

"Well, clearly not, but I do rather think she's having an alright time of it with Geoff, nevertheless. I've heard he's one of the better ones, actually showing interest in the girls." Colin responded, recounting gossip he had heard through Cass and Pen, though heavens knew where the girls had gotten that information.

Anthony looked on thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I suppose that's alright, then. I'm still going to make fun of her when she returns," he grinned. "As much as I love poking fun at her, though, I wonder how Ben would feel about Y/N getting this much attention. I still can't believe he missed her debut. I can't believe Mother let him!"

"Oh, I can. I really can believe it. Surely you see it, too? The way he looks at her? I've no doubt he'd be fuming in the corner right about now. Seeing his best friend talk to someone else would send him spiraling," Colin responded, sending a pointed look his brother's way.

Before Anthony could respond, you had returned to them, looking slightly winded. "Well, that was quite the dance," you laughed.

Immediately upon seeing you free to talk, or at least free from anyone that wasn't your immediate family or the Bridgertons, another young man approached you at the refreshments table, handing you a glass of lemonade. Slightly annoyed but able to keep your composure, you gracefully took the glass. "Oh, Mr. Howard, you are too kind. Unfortunately, my dance card is full for tonight, but I would love the opportunity to dance with you at a later ball if that's a possibility."

Mr. Howard, for his part, was left with his mouth agape. "Oh. Yes. Yes, of course, Miss Beaumont. Thank you very much, and I look forward to speaking to you then," he responded, swiftly turning away in search of another young woman who had space left on her dance card, or at least the desire to speak to him at all, really.

Colin and Anthony could barely contain their laughter, leaving you slightly embarrassed by how forward you had been but happy to have some time without speaking to potential future husbands, nonetheless. At that moment, you would have taken Colin and Anthony's teasing ten times over talking to another man hoping to woo you.

---

In the early morning quietude of your room, you took up your quill and parchment, eager to recount the whirlwind of the previous night for Hyacinth. Of course, you could only accept when the young girl earnestly asked for a detailed recounting of every ball you attended, so you were putting in as much detail as you could remember, including but not limited to your mind-numbing dance with Marcus, as well as Bastian's comical near-fall when trying to escape a potential dance with Lady Danbury.

A knock on your door interrupted your writing, and you saw your father and Cass poke their heads in. "Good morning, darling. You've got a congregation of callers downstairs, quite the assembly. Shall I send them away?" your father inquired with a hint of exasperation. "I'd prefer not to entertain a throng of young men with no discernible connection to the Beaumont or Bridgerton names this early in the day."

You interjected swiftly, "No, Father. Just give me a few minutes, and I'll go downstairs to meet them."

With a nod, Earl Beaumont withdrew, muttering under his breath, while Cassandra, bubbling with excitement, seized your hands. "You have callers! A whole bunch of them! Y/n, this is so wonderful! Who do you expect to see downstairs?"

A tad flustered, you were scrambling to put away your half-written account of the night and making sure you had no ink stains on your hands. "Truthfully, I was not expecting this so early on. Oh, Cass, I'm dreadfully unprepared. I really didn't think I had that good of a connection with anyone last night, let alone as many people as Father said!"

Cass rolled her eyes and responded, "Obviously you didn't think you had a good connection with anyone. But if you were to forget that Ben existed for about three seconds, would that alter your perception?"

Groaning, you replied, "Cass, I don't need this from you today. Yes, maybe I compared these gentlemen to my best friend initially, but I promise I moved beyond that. Most men, like us, have ambitious mamas keen on securing advantageous matches, which might explain their early-morning presence."

"Well, perhaps. But you are in high demand either way," your sister declared, gently ushering you out of your room and toward the grand staircase. "Y/N Beaumont, if you do not hurry up and get downstairs, I swear I will start to talk to these gentlemen myself," Cass threatened, earning a laugh from you as you made your way to confront the eager line of callers awaiting your presence.

---

Amid the afternoon light filtering through the drawing room curtains, you found yourself the center of attention. The room was adorned with fresh flowers, their sweet fragrance lingering. Seated gracefully on a chaise, your vibrant eyes sparkled with curiosity and trepidation as you faced the seemingly endless line of suitors vying for your favor. You were enjoying seeing suitors more than you had enjoyed the previous night, even though you had loved dancing at the ball. Today's tête-à-têtes seemed to unfold more leisurely, offering you the luxury of time and a touch more intimacy, save for Lady Primrose and Cass' discreet presence. You discovered a certain joy in these extended conversations, different from the hurried introductions of the ball, giving you the tiniest glimmer of hope once again.

Currently, you were listening to Mr. Archibald Roxbury recite a poem he had written that had been, in his own words, inspired by your radiance at the ball, and he couldn't resist putting his sentiments into verse. The poem was sweet and not half bad, but you had been seeing suitors for several hours and were now quite exhausted.

Your brothers had been out for most of the day, but you could hear their loud voices echoing through the halls past the open door of the drawing room, questioning the queue of suitors inside their home. You almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when Alex stepped into the room, directing his attention toward you. "Y/N, a word?"

Offering a brief apology to Mr. Roxbury, you eagerly followed Alex's lead. Leaning down, Alex spoke lowly, "Quite popular this afternoon, aren't you?"

"I guess so. It's been hours! I can't believe there are people still here. I'm so tired, Alex; I need a cup of tea or something! I can't keep doing this right now," came your exasperated response.

"Y/N, these men are here for you, not the other way around. I can make them leave whenever you would like," he responded with a hand on your shoulder, surveying the amount of people in the Beaumont home.

You followed his gaze, remembering the vast number of people you would still have to speak with if you were to talk to every single young man in your home that day. "You're right. I suppose it would be nice to have a bit of a break from it all," you said, uncertain.

Wasting no time, Alex left the room, and you returned to your previous spot, where Archibald continued his recital. You wondered when your afternoon would be over. Thankfully, you did not have to wait long. A few minutes later, all three of your brothers and your father entered the drawing room. Clearing his throat, Earl Beaumont addressed the crowd of young men in their home, "Thank you all very much for coming today, but Miss Beaumont will no longer be seeing any suitors today. You are welcome to come back another time."

Amidst the disappointed faces of your suitors, you saw Theo wink at you. You played your part, gracefully feigning disappointment, thanking the remaining suitors for their gifts, and bidding them adieu. Truthfully, you just wanted to leave the drawing room and have a few moments to yourself, but etiquette called for you to wait until all the guests had left your home.

You skipped over to your father once the last suit-clad man had exited. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I thought it would never end," you said gratefully. The earl chuckled at your theatrics but agreed, "I had been waiting the whole day to send them away. Far too many people in my house!"

Ever the comedian, Theo suggested, "Perhaps try being a tad more unpleasant next time, Y/N." Chiming in, Bastian added, "Or maybe don't put as much effort into your appearance at the next ball; that way, we won't have to deal with this again."

"Great suggestions, as ever, boys," you responded sarcastically. "Now, if I may be excused, I need to not see anyone for the next three years."

---

A candle lit your room softly as you leaned against your door, relishing the memories of the lively afternoon. Your fingers traced the edges of the letters, flowers, and tokens scattered across your dressing table—a testament to the whirlwind of introductions and pleasant conversations you had the first day after your debut.

Yet, a shadow flickered in your eyes as you settled into a more contemplative mood. A silent ache enveloped you as you remembered Benedict, whose absence cast a subtle but palpable pall over the festivities. Amid all the excitement, you found yourself yearning for the comfort of his presence, the familiar cadence of his voice, and the reassuring touch of his hand. You were lost between the allure of newfound admirers and the unspoken yearning for someone who already knew you like the back of his hand.

Confusion crept in as you internalized your feelings. Even if Ben had not gone to the countryside at the same time as you were due to make your debut, he wouldn't have been present when you saw suitors, only the night before at the ball. So why did you miss him when he wouldn't have been there logistically? Lost in contemplation, you gazed out the window, the night sky adorned with stars that had no answer to your question.

---

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[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 1: The Laws of Humans and Elves

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 2.9k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧notes: a short part to introduce the world and get started. I am super excited to start rolling out the chapters I have been working on. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ on a sun-blessed day, you happen upon a new companion.

The darkness came from the rot of the world. At the very least, that is the superstition. It followed centuries after the wrecking chaos that threatened to crack the very stone of the world and cast all those living down to hell. The earth had been fighting for millennia, with elves and humans slaughtering one another; the Great War. Their reason for fighting had been lost to time. It had not mattered anymore, for the malice held between them was enough to bear rot in the roots of their history. Such chaos and death must anger the gods, for violence was their language - to exact on the land of the living, not for the living to exact upon one another. 

A stalemate happened after each side bore the cost of life beyond that which should be possible. Peace, however fickle, was forged and laid in a treaty between the humans and elves. It was unstable, but so long as it was upheld, the world could know peace. Children could know their parents, families could stick together, cities could rebuild, and meaningless fighting could be put to rest. Meadows and tracts of land grew back and birds chirped once again. The fields, once littered with the corpses of slain kin, bloomed with flowers once again.

It took six centuries before that peace was destroyed. The taint came from an unknown source. Some claim humans started it, others say it was the elves; each wishing to push prejudice against the other. Many say it is the wrath of whichever god or gods they follow. A curse put upon the earth to punish them for their bloodshed. It could be a twisted act to kill them and purify the world, or perhaps bring hell from below and judge them before their deaths. 

The opinions of gods did not matter to you. What mattered - truly - was fighting back against the twisted black darkness that crawled across the land, wilting plants and killing all known life. It tainted water and invaded lands, crawling through the world map like unkempt ivy. You were determined that there was a resolution. This was not some wrath from the gods, but simply a fight against the same darkness humans and elves inflicted against one another. A manifestation of sin. 

That was how you found yourself, each day, kept in your lodgings in an old town by the borders between the human kingdom and the domain of elves. It was a proper place to be, for the taint spread by a half-day ride away, easily accessible for experiments. It was also favourable, for you could not live in your old home deep in the kingdom. You grew up being raised by your father there, had forged the purest of memories. Yet they died with his disappearance. 

Five years he had been gone and since then you had diligently taken over his work after moving. It was a peaceful life, albeit frustrating. With each passing day insecurity seized your body. Your research had been inadequate and experiments even more so. The darkness spread, and fields of flowers, forests of trees, and lakes of plenty suffered further. The landscape around had died where it was touched. You had been failing and no progress had been made. 

It was in the darkest hours of the night you found yourself staring at the roof of your cottage, contemplating the meaning of your existence. Surely, if you were as brilliant as your father, a cure would have been found. The effort you put into it, the pain and tirelessness, could not be for naught. 

In the small hamlet you were in, the land still bore beauty. It was in that sight where you held your inspiration. Those creeping moments of doubt would clash against your hope like saltwater on rock; wearing the stone down through time. The world was worth saving and you would be damned if you sat back and watched it collapse. 

So, like most days, you find yourself working. It was late noon as you approached the edge of the sprawling meadow outside the village. You were on the border of the kingdom between humans and elves, and it was here where you could find a good growing of nettles. It was outside the thick canopy of forest that you found growing on the edge of the meadow close to your home. You had just approached when the sound of faint crying made its way to you. 

The sobs were of a girl and you looked back and forth to see if you could spot the person. It was gentle weeping that spurred you to move. You began to trail along the edge of the forest in search of the source. Your gaze swept over the dark branches of trees, unease settling in your bones.

After a few moments of walking, you looked into the trees to see a woman with her back to you. She was on the ground in a dirtied light green dress. Her hair cascaded down her back, light and silvery, with some of it in a braid crown across her head. Her shoulders shook and from what you could see, she cradled her left forearm in distress. 

You knew it was forbidden, for a human to cross into elvish territory uninvited, but you could not walk away after seeing someone hurt. You looked around for anyone else and saw nothing. A breath caught in your throat as you stepped into the tree line, foot crunching on the branches below. You waited for a moment for the worst to happen; some archer waiting to shoot you or a bunch of guards to descend upon you, but you saw nothing. 

Deeming it safe, you moved forward to the woman. 

“Hello? Are you alright?” You kept your voice at a low volume so as not to startle her. However, your abrupt words shocked her and she turned to you. Tear tracks ran down her reddened cheeks. You were thrown slightly off guard at her appearance. You had heard of the elvish characteristic of perfect beauty, but you had not been witness to it until that very moment. 

Her crystal blue eyes reflected the greenery around her. You could see some blood on her forearm that seeped from the gaps in her hand that cradled the wound. 

“I got lost…” Her voice trailed off for a minute. “And I tripped.” She looked down at her wound and removed her hand. On the top part of her forearm was a sizable cut. The surrounding area had gotten dirty and you knew it had to be cleaned soon. Being a healer, your instincts kicked in. 

You knelt down, but kept your distance to not invade her space, “I can take care of that cut. It needs to be cleaned.” 

She seemed to look at you in a clearer light after wiping away her tears. Her good arm rose to point at your ears, silently acknowledging that they were not shaped in the familiar point of an elf. You reached up and covered them subconsciously with a feeling of inadequacy. 

“Look, I'm a healer in my village. All of my supplies are at home. Would you… would you come with me?” You knew it was a shot-in-the-dark question, but your more nurturing trait took over at seeing someone hurt. You wanted to help her by any means that you could. The shattered relationship between your respective kinds meant nothing to you, for old grudges were nothing but pointless. This was a being that needed help, which you were capable of giving. 

“I don't want to be a burden…” Her voice was light and spacey. She seemed to have an air of lightness to her. An uncommon trait of pure brightness came from her, mixed with the calming feeling of a babbling brook. Her presence mimicked the gentle nature of the environment around her. 

“You aren’t. I promise.” You slowly got up from your crouching position. Your hands were held up to show no ill will. She looked at you for a moment, judging the situation. You could tell otherworldly works were happening in her mind - a keen elf sense of analyzing your character. 

She sniffled, “I’m Helaena.” Her grip tightened on the wound, no doubt experiencing more pain as her adrenaline wore off. 

You offer a friendly smile and introduce yourself. You adjusted the skirt of your dress and nodded towards the direction of the meadow. The rustling of the dark trees had begun to make you wary and uncomfortable. Tales of these woods, and the elves that lurk within are not always kind. You briefly remembered moments around campfires, men trading stories of old. Most of them were lost on you to time, but the stories of the elf king stuck; his sadistic tendencies and inability to refrain from striking down any who so much as bothered him. You by no means wished to be on the receiving end of his wrath, lest you be caught. 

“My home is only a short walk from here.” Your words seem to spur Helaena and she rose to her feet carefully. She kept a few paces away from you when following behind. Once you walked past the edge of the trees and into the tall grass of the meadow, she stopped. Helaena's gaze swept back and forth as if looking for a trap. She took a hesitant step forward and it was like going through a threshold and becoming comfortable with her surroundings. 

Helaena matched your pace as the two of you trekked through the field. You wished to be discreet, for you did not want to know how people would react upon seeing an elf in their territory. You struggled to come up with any conversation starters as social skills were not among your talents. Especially when the woman beside you was an elf, likely leagues ahead in wisdom and experience through age. You felt inadequate next to her beauty. 

Thankfully, your cottage was nestled away from the rest of the town, over a hill that shielded it from curious gazes. It was a single-level home, with enough room for a decent-sized bedroom, kitchen, and living space. The living space was taken over by your study materials. Books stacked with loose pieces of parchment with notes aplenty. Countless vials and tubes full of different substances were neatly organized across two wooden tables. Some of the tubes were over small lit fires, bubbling with substances you were experimenting with.

You gestured for her to sit on a sofa placed in front of the hearth. Her eyes darted to everything around her, especially on the countless plants that littered every inch of available space. Your home was a fusion of messy and organized. Everything had its place, but it was a collection of different items that gave an eclectic feeling. 

You grabbed some supplies for the wound and set them down on the low table by the couch. There was uncertainty that lingered in your mind. In the few minutes you had known Helaena, you could tell she had an aversion towards people; though you could not tell if that was because of your humanness or not. Regardless of the answer, you would respect her wishes.

“Can I sit there?” You pointed to the spot beside her and waited for an answer. She nodded silently and you slowly sat down. When you found yourself on the plush cushion, you looked towards her wound. “May I?” 

Helaena nodded again. She lifted her hand to reveal the wound. It was still bleeding but had slowed down by her putting pressure on it. You took a dish of water and a clean cloth. You rung it out and placed the damp material on the wound, gently wiping the blood away. While you diligently worked, you decided to see if you could break the ice more. Helaena appeared interested in the items around her.

“I’m working on a cure for the taint. That’s why this place is a bit of a mess, sorry for that.” You began, “I also keep insects, so I apologize if any happen to land upon you.” At the word insects, Helaena’s eyes lit up and she sat straighter. 

“What kind?” She asked. You noticed that this was the most relaxed she has been since meeting her. The wound was clean and you assessed that it was not nearly big enough for any stitching. You applied your own poultice to the wound and began to wrap it in a light linen cloth. 

“Whatever I tend to find, really. Butterflies, crickets, beetles, spiders, and dragonflies are the ones that I see the most.” You answered while securing the cloth. You backed up on the couch afterwards, giving her more space. She breathed more at that and you were glad your actions could ease her. 

You got out of the seat and walked towards one of the desks. You grabbed a decent-sized wooden cage. It had two newborn dragonflies that you cultivated recently. You brought it back to where Helanea sat and handed it over to her. A small smile made its way onto her face as she peered in at the little creatures. 

It was an impulse decision, but you made it anyway. 

“You can keep them.” At your words, Helaena looked up at you. She had a hopeful look in her eyes. Her eyes darted between you and the creatures. You nodded in assurance, reinforcing your decision. 

“Think of it as a gift of friendship.” You spoke. Your newfound companion seemed to light up further and you found great pleasure in making her happy. It had been so long since you had spent quality time with anyone. 

“Friends?” Helaena questioned you. She sat the cage on her lap and gave you her full attention. You suddenly got nervous, thinking that perhaps you overstepped. 

“We don’t have to be,” You stuttered out, “It can just be a sign of goodwill.” You wanted to clarify your meaning. You felt awkward having shoved that status upon Helaena and you were anticipating her swift leave of your company. It would not be a surprise, as most often people tended to sway away from you after speaking. You could hardly last a conversation with someone. 

“I would like to be friends,” Helaena told you. Your heart swelled with happiness. She would be the first friend you had in a long while. You knew this would be the only time you would see her, for interactions between humans and elves were limited to the occasional diplomat from each kingdom going to high courts. The rest - common folk - were forbidden from entering one another’s territory. It was a rule drawn to prevent fighting between groups and entering another war that would no doubt kill more than the last, especially with the growing acres of taint spreading indiscriminately and destroying everything in its wake. 

Helaena held the dragonfly cage in her hands and stood up from her seat. She swayed slightly, eyes darting back and forth. 

“I have to go home. My family… they will be looking for me.” You nodded at her words and got out of your seat as well. It was disheartening, for her to leave so soon, but you did not wish to bother her anymore. You moved to the door and opened it. 

“I’ll walk you back.” The two of you walked outside into the warm sunny weather. The sounds of crickets and the breeze through tall grass calmed you. The walk towards the forest was short, and you wanted it to be longer. 

Helaena seemed to look back down at the cage every once in a while and smiled to herself. She cradled it like it was the most precious thing. Parts of her green dress had gotten dirty on the bottom, but the craft of the elves stunned you with their intricate work. 

When you two got to the forest edge, she turned around to face you. 

“Why did you help me?” Helaena’s question caught you off guard. There was no real answer. You had simply saw someone in distress and wished to help them. There was no reason other than the simple will to aid when you could. 

“I just wanted to help. It's what I am good at.” You reassured. It was the whole truth. All your life, you had fumbled at many things; been unsure and made mistakes. However, healing was something you excelled at. It was disheartening that you were yet to find a cure for the taint that spread, but you knew deep down that there was a solution and you had to try. 

“I hope your research goes well.” Helaena addressed. Your heart warmed at her kindness. 

“Thank you. I hope you get better soon.” 

Your meeting and subsequent bond forged was not a common one. Humans and elves having interactions were few, even fewer when they found commonality with one another. You had no doubt, that with more exposure to one another, the kinds could get along. There were great differences in culture, but the truth still came. Your races were living and breathing, inhabited the same world, and forged deep bonds and care for others. That alone was enough, at least to you. 

It was there, standing on each side of the invisible territorial line of the kingdoms, that a human and an elf built a connection of friendship; careless to whether or not it lasted, for the future was uncertain.

Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition Preview

He rose from the throne and manoeuvred down the steps to stand a metre in front of you, each step echoed through the hall. His lone gaze fell ladden on your cheek, heavy and hot with inner ire. Your voice got stuck in your throat and you glanced towards Helaena to ask for any form of help. Aemond held his head high while his stare looked you up and down and released a low hum. In his inspection, you felt as if he could see every action you had ever made, every sin, and went about judging as he saw fit. 

As a judge, jury, and executioner.

Would you all be interested in previews at the end of each chapter?

Thank you for all of the support!

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[amywritesthings]

the archives & lost files. / three wick candle / a geto x gojo x reader fic

i had this preview of a throuple fic i had planned like two years ago just sitting in my drafts, and i figured i could maybe start a series of 'archives and lost files'. aka the fics / concepts / etc that may one day rise to fruition - or may never come to be!

this was supposed to be a short series when i was really into jjk. maybe one day i'll return to it, but here's the prologue for those who may have been interested !!

pairing: geto x gojo x reader fandom: jujutsu kaisen word count: 1k+ tags: arranged marriage mention, forbidden romance, secret polyamorous relationship/throuple, angst, hurt/comfort, set around hidden inventory arc, dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“We could just… go.”

The words tumble out of your mouth faster than you mean them to.

Even with the hesitance hanging at the end of the sentence, your brain lags behind with the exhaustion weighing down your ankles.

You can imagine Geto’s expression, though you purposefully angle your peripheral to avoid it. A lot of your life has been this way: discovery and avoidance, a push and pull wearing the threads of your clothes thin.

Discovering his disappointment, his anguish, his ever-looming empathy will surely break you, so you avoid it. Push against the pull. Push, push, push—

And go.

Like it’s as simple as leaving this beach blanket crowding your shoulders together. Like it's as easy as Gojo’s laugh as he kicks water with his bare feet, thrilled at how cold the water is — you guys gotta get in here, it’s insane! — and oblivious to what looms ahead.

It’s easier not to burden the sole bachelor of the Gojo clan with more weight on his shoulders.

(You enjoy when he’s loud, a bursting firework to your melancholy. Telling him would fizzle that spark — or overcharge it to an accidental wildfire.)

You stare at the gradual sunset beyond Gojo’s spiny back. He bends at the hips, fumbling for the perfect sea shell to finish his trifecta masterpiece. The other two shells sit right by your little toe, finally dried from the afternoon sun.

One is black and strong in its ridges, bigger than any shell you’ve ever set your eyes on, but it has a tiny chip at its base. Gojo must have overlooked that tiny detail, too excited that he’s found one that can completely encompass your palm.

That’s Suguru, he proudly states.

(Suguru, like you, entertains whatever Satoru presents.)

The other sitting beside the black shell is a brilliant blue and smoother, as if exfoliated by sand with love. This one took hours for him to find — soaked to the bone, he crawled up the sand with a tinge of sunburn and a wild look in those bright blue eyes of his.

Gojo flicked the little thing to you in a coin toss, forcing you to catch it mid-air. Is that you? 

Nope. The ‘p’ popped with arrogance. You.

Subverted expectations: the Satoru way.

Searching for the Gojo shell has taken up the rest of the evening, leaving you and Geto stranded as the evening hours begin to creep in. 

Yet considering what awaits you in the upcoming months, you’re happy to hear your stomach growl from lack of dinner and to feel the chill of the incoming night.

“Is that what you want?”

The soft voice to your left takes you out of the moment.

Avoidance isn’t enough this time. Your chin turns, and soon you’re met with the compassionate stare of your friend. 

In the orange glow of the setting sun, he’s ethereal; his wrists remain locked, his thumb and index finger looping together over his raised knees. His swim shorts have dried. Sand peppers his bare feet.

The rogue lock of hair sitting against his temple shifts when he turns closer to you, dropping his volume an octave.

“To leave?”

No.

You never want to leave Okinawa. You never want to leave your dorm room bed in Tokyo. You never want to see a single sunset like this again, not unless—

“Not unless it's with both of you,” you confess in a murmur.

Geto’s dark-eyed stare remains meaningful, brave, as he soaks in your words.

You stretch your legs out to give your aching body something to do, burying your feet into the soft tan sand ahead. “They’d probably find us pretty quickly anyway.”

“Not if Satoru knew.”

Geto remains serious. He remains staring at you. High alert, should you begin to falter.

An old habit — Geto takes care of everybody but himself.

Gojo whoops and hollers in the background, smacked into the sea by a surprise wave.

You both continue watching one another.

“If Satoru knew—”

“He should,” Geto interrupts gently.

“Suguru,” you warn just as lightly. 

Whispers on the summer wind.

Just like your arranged marriage proposal, rotting away in a scroll somewhere in the bottom of the backpack you carried to the beach today. Even now you can feel its invisible presence in the salty air, threatening to choke you into submission.

Because that was the point of the trip, right? To enjoy one last day without burdens with the two boys you’ve always loved — that you always will love — until reality creeps up to what Jujutsu higher ups hiding behind opaque mirrors expects from you.

What Jujutsu society expects of you.

“Barbaric,” the dark-haired boy starts. “We both know that these archaic, barbaric traditions need to die. I’ve kept your secret like an oath, but I can’t keep Satoru out of the loop much longer. You want to run? Then say the word, because we’ll be on a plane tomorrow. But we aren’t leaving without—”

“I would never leave without him,” you interrupt this time, eyes shining with a flurry of emotions you so rarely allow bubble to the surface. 

Swallow down, down, down — until they no longer exist.

It’s why you’ve enlisted the help of Suguru over Satoru. He knows a thing or two about consuming things that make you feel sick.

“I just… know how he’s going to take it,” you tell him, flickering your attention back to crashing waves to the shore.

Gojo’s back is turned to the two of you, basking in what little sun remains over the horizon. His white hair shifts in the wind — his Infinity is disabled.

At peace.

As carefree as he is, as arrogant as he can be, you know he very rarely feels peace.

“Likely as well as I did,” Geto reminds at your side.

Your head shakes.

“No,” you say. “Worse. Much worse.”

You can see it: the frown forming in your peripheral vision. You blink further to the right. 

Avoid.

“If Satoru knew,” you finally start again, well aware of the infliction in your voice. “Then there would be no stopping him. If Satoru knew, then he would—”

“—help you.”

Geto’s Hawaiian shirt rustles as he detaches his hands to place one onto yours, his interruption soft. Reassuring. 

You stare as his thumb runs across your skin before meeting his gaze, shaking your head.

“...he would burn them all to the ground.”

[keepmycandleburning]

My favorite HP fanfics of all time:

Beautiful Sleepyhead by Phantomato - Thoros Nott/Voldemort, 24k words, E. I also highly recommend reading Interlude in First and Oily Water from this series. This is the only fic I couldn't even guess how many times I've read it. It's so unspeakably beautiful, beyond words to me, the relationship these two characters have, the characterization of Voldemort and his professional and domestic lives, the strikingly beautifully written and raw erotica, the intense humanity of all of it. I recommend reading everything with Thoros/Voldemort. I'll read them anywhere and doing anything. In general I consider Phantomato the best writer I've ever read in my entire life, in any context and in any genre. The way they use words is not the way other people use words. Reading their writing changes the way I think. You make me need to write @phantomato I LOVE YOU

Immortal Misconceptions by PinsandKneazles - Bellatrix/Voldemort, 3.4k, M. Bellatrix and Voldemort try to conceive Delphini. This is so so so so fucking funny. Genuinely one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I can't even look at this right now without scream laughing. Every line of this is laugh out loud worthy and it doesn't ever get any less funny even if you read it 20 times.

The Warrior and the Snake by Lady_Escapist - Bellatrix/Voldemort, 150k, M. My favorite Bellamort fic (ignore the above...), and goes through the whole story of both wars which I adore. Lady_Escapist writes the best characterized Voldemort I've ever read, who speaks and acts and thinks like he does in canon, and he has an intensely complex relationship with Bellatrix that feels so incredibly believable, and so compelling. The chemistry between them is palpable. The type of story that impacts your view of the series when you read it.

Dissonance by Metalomagnetic - Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle, 17k, E. Beautiful use of words, such evocative language, really feels like it's written in the real HP universe, and some of the most well-written sex I've ever read. It's really impressive to me how complex and individual and human these characters are in so few words. Metalomagnetic is another person who knows how to use words in a way most writers can't do. @metalomagnetic I LOVE YOU

Scylla and Charybdis by Asenora - Snape/Voldemort, 44k, E. Transcendent experience of Snape and his relationship with Voldemort, woven together like a web interconnected through time. Delicious little Bellamort bits. Another brilliant writer who has a way with words I can barely fathom. Have never forgotten the description of Rodolphus's face as aquiline. @saintsenara I LOVE YOU

Stop all the clocks by Metalomagnetic - Rodolphus/Voldemort, Bellatrix/Rodolphus/Voldemort, 9k, M. Rodolphus's POV of his adoration and devotion to Voldemort. Amazing writing of a Death Eater's lifelong love for the Dark Lord. Moving, intense, so human. 'I'm sorry' and the baby chick on the wall of Azkaban kills me. Life-changing writing.

a learning experience by Laeveteinn - Tom Riddle/Hepzibah Smith, 9k, T. 'Hepzibah Smith is an acquired taste. Slowly but surely, Tom finds himself acquiring it.' Indescribably incredible fic of Tom's time at Borgin and Burkes.

Self-Worship by Phantomato - Diary Tom Riddle/real Tom Riddle, 21k, E. The diary horcrux gets a body, and there's only one bed... As brilliantly written as anything of theirs. So real, so visceral. Beyond beautiful.

Child, Witch, and Lord by missmarianne - Bellatrix/Voldemort, 7.6k, T. Delphini's intentional conception process and Voldemort's thoughts on it. The first chapter is the best recreation of Voldemort internal monologue and dialogue I've ever read.

The Black Family Shield in Malfoy Manor by FelixPhial - Draco/Narcissa, 8.2k, E. Draco and Narcissa have to have passionate sex in front of all the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

Penitence - Lucius/Voldemort, 810 words, E. Lucius has to suck Voldemort's dick in front of a ton of Death Eaters. So good.

Holiday by Phantomato - Thoros Nott/Voldemort, 23k, E. Fake engagement, you know what happens.

Other Women and of Purer Blood by Asenora - Narcissa/Snape, 7.7k, E. Super well-written, beautiful descriptions and narrative, so many compelling ideas, and an insane sex scene.

Beauty and the Beast by Metalomagnetic - Bellatrix/Voldemort, 21k, M. The first and second wars from Voldemort's POV. Well-written depiction of Voldemort's attempted rationalization of his feelings for Bellatrix and how it develops over time. Excellent portrayal of Bella as bold, fearless, and powerful, and very fitting Delphini inclusion. Feels impressively canonical.

A phantom pain by RiddleRedCoats - Bellatrix/Voldemort, 4.2k, G. Voldemort returns, finds out Bellatrix died in Azkaban, looks for her everywhere.

Lord of the Manor by jadiss - Lucius/Snape, 3.2k, E. Little snippets on their relationship, from Hogwarts to death.

Real by deslea - Bellatrix & Rodolphus, 2.6k, M. The last scene of this has stuck with me among the most of any scene from any fic I've read.

The Chronicles by yletylyf - 11k, M. Snape's experience as a double agent. Valuable ideas on canon plot and Snape's relationship with Voldemort. And a delicious little Bellamort moment. @yletylyf

Innocence by hervissa - 717 words, T. Lucius finds out about Bellatrix & Voldemort. Really well-written and so funny, will never forget Lucius's reaction to the aftershave line.

Adtitulo by jazminesays - Draco/Voldemort, Abraxas Malfoy/Voldemort, 144k, E. Voldemort had a love affair with Abraxas in his youth and has Draco pretend to be Abraxas. I've read only the first half of this, not the Drarry. I love the relationships between the Slytherins, particularly Draco and Pansy, and their little traditions and human qualities and calling the alcove Candyland.

surrogate by 8623s44 - Bellatrix/Voldemort, 179k, E. I need to reread this. One of the first fics I saved on AO3 and one I've always thought of as one of my favorites. What I remember most is the Voldemort POV rewrites of the scenes from Deathly Hallows. Full story of the first and second wars I think, but non-chronological.

[wingzie]

The Increase of Secret Jikooker's?

Rose is a Karmy from 2019 who gave brilliant insights into Jikook from kside’s point of view. During one of her Periscope Lives, she admitted that there are more Jikooker’s out there than we know of. However, they are scared of blacklash to embrace our part of the fandom. Especially with their main accounts publically. Therefore, they talk more privately. Ever since, I was intrigued by the idea of there being more Jikooker’s out there than we know of and it’s something that I’ve seen more over the years.

A good friend of mine used to run a Hobi account. Though they went on “rest” during the pandemic and we haven't spoken since. You wouldn’t know it by their posts, but they were actually a Jikooker behind the scenes. I understood and respected their decision to keep things strictly related to their account on Timeline though, so we just gushed about Jikook in the DM’s instead. One day, they accidentally retweeted one of my threads on their main account. They were really worried about the reaction they would get, but overall the response was positive. It was a surprise and it actually encouraged them to post a bit more about Jikook every now and then.

Whilst taking screenshots for the Live Reactions series, I will often see conversations between Army who strictly keep their accounts a certain way. Not an ounce of Jikookery, but they clearly know their stuff and are passionate about them. There’s been times I’ve wanted to quote them hyping up certain moments, because it's just so sweet to witness these conversations between them. However, I’m aware that they would want to keep their conversations to themselves. They wouldn't want them to be broadcasted. It’s also why I don’t include any usernames in the screenshots taken, just to keep them safe. Something else to note is that the majority of screenshots taken for the Live Reactions series, aren't from Jikook signposted accounts themselves.

I always encourage talking about Jikook, either publicly or privately. This is because I wish for them to be remembered well, as it's what they deserve. I understand that some are turned off by all the “shipping fights.'' But, if given the chance, they do enjoy these type of conversations. It also helps to show Jikook’s bond beyond our own audience. There are plenty out there that recognize how close they are, they just might have a smaller following that gets drowned out by all the hate. You can also tell when those with a bigger following are somewhat secret Jikooker’s.

At the end of the day, there are those out there that see something close between Jikook. Either romantically or platonically. Not everyone knows a person's thoughts behind the screen and not everyone feels confident enough to post things online publically about them. Personally I will continue to keep posting about them, so that anyone can see their moments together. This might spark an interest of Jikook in someone. You never know who could be reading your words about Jikook and learning more about their bond by doing so.