#I NEED TO SMOKE MORE TO ESCAPE THIS AWFUL FEELING

[monachopsis-420]

99 luftballons just lobotomized me

[gtgbabie0]

{Getting high with your girlfriend}

!!-18//MDNI-!! I just wanna get higgh with ma luvrrr <33

Vi was needy, always had her hands on you— caressing over the curves of your waist, and hips, gently holding your face. Her hands were literally everywhere, whenever she could. Get some weed in the girl and my god she was ten times worse, clinging onto you like you were her lifeline.

You couldn’t push her away even if you wanted to, her body heavy, boneless, over the top of your own— face smushed into the crook of your neck, rubbing her shin against your own lazily. This new strain Vi had brought sent you both to fucking heaven and honestly, you were loving it, all wide smiles and bleary eyes.

“You’re so soft baby,” your girlfriend murmurs into your shoulder, pressing opened-mouthed kisses to your neck, hands slowly massaging your boobs. You don’t remember taking your shirt off, or hers for that matter, but they’re off and you had zero complaints, enjoy the feeling of her naked skin against your own, so incredibly warm. The feeling was so much more intensified thanks to the weed in your system, every single atom in your body on fire in such a pleasantly mellow way— you melted into the bed with a long sigh.

“Mm, you’re really gone right now huh?” Vi chuckles, pressing her full lips to the curve of your jaw, leaving fluttery kisses.

“Not m’fault you always do me so good.” the whisper, spoken lazily and Vi is in love with your words because yeah she always does you so good— only you got a taste of her best strains.

Your girlfriend nips at your earlobe, pressing a kiss to your neck before giving your breasts a gentle squeeze. “Damn right, only the best for my girl… my pretty girl with the most perfect pair of tits.” then she’s squeezing again, burying her face into them with a low chuckle.

A giggle builds up in your throat, escaping your parted lips. Dazed eyes watching as she peppers your chest with lazy opened mouthed kisses— sucking and nipping at the delicate skin. “M’fucking obsessed with them, can’t get enough.” She drawls, flicking her pierced tongue against your nipple— your giggles turning into breathless moans.

“Mmf, Viii—” you whine, brushing your fingertips through her hair as her lips wrap around the hardened peak— looking up at you through her thick eyelashes with those beautiful blue eyes of hers, glossy and red-rimmed. Fucking sin.

“Yeah? What d’ya need baby?” She murmurs around your nipple, switching to your other with a small smirk— a dizzying clash of teeth and tongue, god her tongue… that damn piercing.

“Your mouth on me, please baby.” Oh, she can most certainly do that, her fingers already rubbing over the dampness on your panties as she pulls back from your hardened peak with a small pop.

She’s on board immediately, shuffling against the rumpled bedsheets and pulling your panties down— throwing them carelessly onto the bedroom floor somewhere. “Yeah, c’mere… c’mere, fuck...” She breathes all giggly, practically manhandling you in excitement, kissing down your body slowly, savouring every inch of your soft skin.

Vi watches you from in between your thighs as you get comfortable against the pillows, leaning over to her bedside table and pinching the half-smoked blunt between your fingertips— her little stoner, god she’s an awful influence on you but damn if she didn’t love it when you got like this.

“Don’t smoke all that, save me some.” She murmurs against your inner thigh, nipping at the fat with a small smirk just to feel you writhe slightly beneath her.

“Mm, I won’t— just, please.” You were so whiny even more so when she licks along your slick folds, the metal ball bearing on her tongue nudging against your clit repeatedly. “Ohh, Vi…” you breathe out the smoke into the already misty room, head falling back against the pillows.

Her hands fist at your thighs roughly, keeping you spread out just for her as she licks and sucks at your bundle of nerves— flicking her piercing against the sensitive bud to draw out more of those little whimpers of yours. “Mmf, y’taste so good, love your pussy— so fuckin’ much, baby.” She says words muffled into your soaked folds as she teases your hole with her tongue, moaning into you as your walls flutter around the wet muscle.

“Yeah, s’all yours Vi,” you moan, fingers brushing through her hair, holding the pink tresses out of the way for her as she continues to eat you out. You take another drag of the blunt, blowing the smoke out with a slow exhale, biting down on your bottom lip as she pushes her middle and ring fingers into your needy hole, slick walls clamping around her digits.

She hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your clit before pulling back to watch in awe as your cunt swallows up her digits, squelching obscenely around them as she curls them deeply inside you— nudging against that delicious spongy spot that has your hips bucking for more.

“Yeah s’all fuckin’ mine— god, look at you…” She moans lowly, slowly fucking you with her fingers “…dripping all over my hand, makin’ such a mess.” Her mouth finds your clit once more, tipping you over the edge. Head thrown back, crying out her name over and over again as you gush all over digits, soaking her palm and the bedsheets.

“Ahh, ah, Vi…” you whine as she leaves one last kiss to your sensitive bud, then another to the inside of your thigh. “M’here baby, did so good.” She drawls out her response, licking her fingers clean of your pleasure before kissing her way back up to you, paying extra special attention to your tits.

“Still with me pretty?” Your girlfriend smirks, feeling quite proud of herself as she brings the blunt back up to your lips before it can go limp in between your fingers— you take a weak drag, blowing the smoke up into her face with a dazed chuckle. “Mm, I’m here.”— no the fuck you weren’t.

That didn't stop you from pushing her to lay down against the bed, straddling her hips with a lazy smirk and half-lidded eyes. Her hand reaching up to smush your cheeks together, holding your jaw and pulling you back down to blow the smoke into your mouth slowly. "Gonna return the favour baby?" she teases, gasping in pleasant surprise when you begin to kiss over her chest- hot, wet kisses that made her cunt throb. Oh, she was so grateful that neither of you had classes tomorrow.

beautiful art creds to @//BuniMint on twt and ig <3

[wehavealwayslived]

Theodore Nott Headcannons

Personality

He is often the quietest in the group. He tends to hang back, observing the dynamics around him without jumping into conversations unnecessarily. While Theodore is extremely intelligent, he prefers to keep his thoughts to himself unless he finds it necessary to share.

While he adores his friends, he doesn’t necessarily crave attention or constant companionship. He values his alone time, a lot of the time he wants read, or be alone with his thoughts

When Theo makes jokes, it’s often laced with sarcasm. He doesn’t joke around as much as Lorenzo or Mattheo, but when he does, it catches people off-guard.

“Yes, because clearly the universe revolves around your minor inconvenience”

“I’m sure the world will never recover from such an earth-shattering defeat.”

“your ability to state the obvious is truly a gift to humanity. We’re all in awe, really”

Theodore nott is definitely an old soul. He feels older than his age, often seeing life with a maturity a lot of people lack. His home life forced him to grow up faster, and he sometimes has a gloomy side to him because of it.

Theo loves reading, and you’ll often find him with a novel in hand. He uses literature as an escape from the real world and his struggles.

Theo has a smoking habit that he picked up from his father. It gives him something to do when he’s stressed, and he’ll often step outside for a smoke when he needs a break from everything. It’s his way of calming the knot in his chest.

Theo tends to stay up late, especially when he’s overthinking. He’s the type to be awake at 3 AM, staring at the ceiling or smoking on the balcony.

In a relationship

Theodore may not be loud about his affections (out of fear), but he’s deeply protective of those he cares about. If you’re in a relationship with him, you’ll feel a quiet sense of security around him. He’s the type to stay calm during arguments or conflicts, always trying to find a rational solution.

“I understand where you’re coming from, but yelling isn’t going to solve anything. Let’s just talk it out, okay? Tesoro— ”

Of course, he’s not perfect. There’ll be times where Theodore’s words will cut deep, words you may not be able to unhear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to cater to your ego. Maybe next time get upset over something that actually matters”

Theodore does not participate in PDA. Despite this, Theo is quite affectionate behind closed doors. He’s one for long hugs, soft kisses, and lying in comfortable silence together.

He shows love through actions rather than words. He’ll remember your favorite snack, make sure you’re okay during a bad day, and stay up late listening to your worries. He’ll always be there for you in little ways.

“Wait, you remembered I was out of these?”

“You’ve been running low for a week. Thought you could use a refill.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“Of course I did, Amore”

Theo thrives in relationships where he can have deep, meaningful conversations. He loves talking about books, life, the future, and his personal philosophies. He’s not very into small talk or superficiality.

Though typically calm, Theodore has a subtle possessive streak. He won’t throw tantrums or make scenes, but he’ll become more withdrawn and quietly fume while someone flirts with you.

“I’m not worried. I just don’t like sharing”

Because of his past and reserved nature, Theo doesn’t open up easily. It will take a while for him to fully trust someone, but once you’ve gained his trust, he’s all in.

Friendships

Theo and Draco have a respect-based friendship. Draco’s loud and more dominant, but Theo’s calm nature balances him out. Theo doesn’t indulge in Draco’s dramatics or pettiness, which sometimes frustrates Draco. However, Draco relies on Theo’s level-headedness during tense moments.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe they’re siding with him over me”

“Getting worked up isn’t going to fix anything”

“Well, I’m not just going to sit back and let them walk all over me”

“No one’s walking over you. But if you want to make things worse, keep shouting”

“…fine. But I’m still angry”

Mattheo brings out Theo’s more reckless side. They share a dark sense of humor and sometimes go on late-night adventures together. Theo enjoys Mattheo’s intensity but also knows when to draw the line when Mattheo goes too far.

“Im sneaking out tonight. You in?”

“As long as it doesn’t end with us locked in the tower again”

“I’ve got it figured out this time”

“I’ll believe it when I’m not running from Filch”

Theo and Blaise have a mutual understanding. Both are more reserved compared to Draco and Mattheo. They often sit in comfortable silence together or gossip about what they’ve observed.

“He practically drooled. Thought he was gonna propose right there.”

“If he keeps that up, he’ll need a restraining order.”

“At least he’ll finally get some attention, I guess.”

Lorenzo, being the more social and humorous one, often tries to get Theo to lighten up. Though Theo finds Lorenzo’s antics mildly annoying at times, he appreciates his carefree spirit. Theo won’t show it, but he enjoys Lorenzo’s ability to make him laugh on bad days.

“You know, if you smiled more, you might actually be fun”

“And if you shut up more, I might actually enjoy your company.”

“you know you love me.”

“I tolerate you. Big difference.”

Author note: Hello everyone!! This is my first time posting on tumblr. I hope you enjoyed this :)

I’m contemplating posting a NFSW version but I’m not very good at writing smut lmao

[marifilue]

Unraveled

Wordcount: 3.2K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GF!Mutant!Reader (no use of y/n)

Tags: Violence, blood, established relationship, fluff, language, mature content.

Oneshot: You find Logan’s overprotective side endearing most of the time, but it can also be downright infuriating too. If only you knew how much he cares.

Being indestructible was a privilege Logan had, but it didn't mean he was invulnerable. And when it came to him, no enemy ever hit harder than his own damn temper.

People on the X-mansion have always had something to say about it before you got together with him.

"You know what you’re getting into, right?”

“Logan’s got a temper. That man’s a ticking bomb.”

His anger simmers beneath the surface like a ticking bomb, just waiting for the right trigger. And honestly? You get it. If you’d lived as long as he has—seen what he’s seen, lost what he’s lost—you’d be just as grumpy and short-tempered too. What you can’t wrap your head around is how, after all these years, he still manages to be a good man, the good man.

For someone labeled as hotheaded, Logan has a level of self-control that never fails to leave you in awe. He never lets his emotions get the best of him—not when it comes to you.

He’s never snapped, never lost himself in front of you. He’s just Logan. Rough around the edges, a little too protective at times, but always sweet, always caring. You wouldn't even change a thing about him, you love every part of the package.

He's your man, your Logan.

You’ve fought alongside Logan on plenty of missions. With your ability to absorb kinetic energy and immaculate combat skills, Professor send you in the field often.

Logan, on the other hand, isn’t always thrilled about it. His overprotectiveness grates on your nerves—he acts like it’s his job to keep you safe, even though you’ve proven yourself more times than you can count. A few scratches are nothing, but to Logan, even the smallest bruise is unacceptable.

Tonight’s mission is no different. The Professor is sending you and Logan to investigate an underground mutant fight ring—captured mutants, forced to battle for entertainment, all for the amusement of some sick humans.

Logan is not happy about it. Not just because of what’s happening inside that ring, but because Charles is only sending the two of you. His reasoning? You and Logan are the most skilled in hand-to-hand combat in which he's not wrong, and all you need to do is pose as a fighter. The rest of the team will be outside, monitoring the situation and ready to move if things go south.

Logan doesn’t trust it. And, knowing him, he sure as hell doesn’t like you walking into that kind of danger.

As the two of you walked toward the place, Logan brought a cigar to his lips, rolling it between his fingers before biting down and sparking his lighter. The brief flicker of flame illuminated his face as he took a slow drag, the ember glowing at the tip. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the cold night air, his voice cutting through the haze, low and firm.

"Remember, get in line and—"

"Step back—bathroom emergency excuse. I will not stepped into the ring for any reason. Just navigate the waiting room, look for an escape route—I get it, Logan. You've been at this a dozen times."

You cut him off, irritation slipping into your voice before he can finish yet another rundown of the plan. What was supposed to be a simple fifteen-minute walk now feels insufferable with him constantly reminding you of your own damn mission.

Logan shot you a sideways glance, one brow raised as he held his cigar between his fingers. You didn’t even spare him a look, your steps heavier than necessary as you stomped ahead.

"I will—"

"You will look for that Jeffrey guy—aka the big boss. Try to make a reasonable deal; he’s usually hanging around the bar, enjoying the show. If it doesn’t work out, we step back and come up with another plan. No mess."

You cut him off again, finally glancing his way—just in time to catch that look on his face.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply before planting a hand on his hip in that all-too-familiar stance. He stopped in his tracks and called your name. Once. Then twice.

"What, Logan?" you sighed, though the edge in your voice wasn’t as sharp as you wanted it to be.

"Just watch your back, darlin’. That’s all I’m asking." With that, he stubbed out his cigar and flicked it away.

"I know. I can take care of myself," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking ahead.

Logan slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and followed, his heavy footsteps trailing close behind.

What did he say about not getting into the ring? Right. Don’t.

And yet, here you were.

In front of you stood a terrified little boy, no older than ten. His skin had a reptilian sheen, scales catching the light, his wide eyes darting around in panic. He was next up in the ring. His opponent? A grown mutant with his skin made of a rock—bigger, stronger, and with a look that said he wouldn’t hesitate to rip a kid apart.

How the fuck were you supposed to let that slide?

Your mind raced. There was no time to argue, no time to negotiate. You pushed the boy back, stepped onto his foot as a silent stay put, and took his place. You wouldn’t kill the guy—just cause a scene, throw everything into chaos, and run. That way, the kid lived, and hopefully, nobody got hurt.

Meanwhile, across the room, Logan leaned back in his seat, cigar resting between his fingers, his free hand drumming against the bar.

“So whaddya say, buddy? My boss is willing to offer up to three hundred grand. Tempting, ain’t it?” His voice was smooth, calculated—playing the part just enough to keep Jeffrey’s attention.

The obese middle-aged man took a slow sip of his drink, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Three hundred grand? I almost made that last year.” He chuckled.

“Almost, right?” Logan pressed. “I could push it to five hundred. That is, unless you’d rather—”

Something shifted in the air. The crowd roared, a deafening wave of cheers shaking the room. Logan barely processed it—until he caught a glimpse of the ring.

And you.

His words died in his throat. The second he saw you standing behind that cage, facing off against a man twice your size, his entire body went rigid.

“What?” Jeffrey prompted, waiting for Logan to finish.

But Logan was already out of his chair.

He stormed toward the ring, moving faster than anyone could stop him. The metal chain-link fence buzzed with electricity, flashing every time someone made contact with it.

“HEY! STOP THIS! THIS IS A MISTAKE!” His voice cut through the noise, rough and furious, his knuckles turned white.

Inside the ring, your ears rang from the cheers. Through the blinding lights, you barely made out Logan’s silhouette, one arm raised to shield your eyes.

Yup he's there, yelling and frustrated—oh, the look on his face.. He's pissed.

Sorry, babe.

Logan’s heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse roaring in his ears as he watched you square up against the rock-skinned mutant.

He didn’t give a damn about the deal anymore. Five hundred grand, a million—none of it mattered. Not when you were standing inside that ring. Not when you were about to get hit.

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw locking as Jeffrey chuckled beside him.

“Well, well,” Jeffrey mused, swirling his drink. “Isn't she a sight for sore eyes”

Logan didn’t answer, his eyes locked on you. Under different circumstances, he would’ve smirked, said hell yeah, you are a sight for sore eyes, and maybe even thrown in a proud that’s my girl. But right now? What the fuck are you doing?

Inside, you could practically feel the heat of his glare from across the room.

Your opponent shifted his weight, cracking his knuckles. “You sure about this, lady?” he asked, voice like grinding gravel. “I don’t hold back.”

You ignored him. Instead, you glanced at the crowd, the flashing lights, the electric fence humming behind you.

Then, you locked eyes with Logan.

He was furious.

Not just pissed—but furious.

The kind of anger that made his entire body tense, veins pulsing in his forearms, his stance screaming don’t test me.

Yeah, you were in trouble.

But right now, you had bigger things to worry about.

The bell rang.

The rock-skinned mutant lunged.

You dodged, barely missing a fist that would’ve knocked you flat. The crowd erupted in cheers, fists pounding against the metal barricades.

Logan’s claws twitched beneath his skin. His control teetered on a razor’s edge.

Jeffrey let out a slow whistle. “Gotta admit, she’s got guts. But guts won’t save her.”

That was it.

Logan moved.

Without a word, he reached back—grabbed Jeffrey by the collar—and slammed him face-first into the floor.

The crowd was too fixated on the fight to notice. But the bouncers? They noticed.

Logan barely spared them a glance. “Anyone touches me,” he growled, voice low and lethal, “they lose a hand.”

Nobody moved.

Good.

Because Logan had one thing on his mind—and that was getting you the hell out of that ring.

He turned back to the fight just in time to see your opponent land a hit.

Not a clean hit—you’d blocked most of it—but enough to send you skidding backward, your boots kicking up dust. A bruise was already forming around your left eye, a small cut near your eyebrow marking where his rock-hard fist had landed.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, hands tightening into fists. “End this fast.”

And you did.

You twisted on your heel, faking left before darting right. Your opponent fell for it, leaving his side wide open.

One hit.

That was all you needed.

You slammed your palm into his exposed ribs, absorbing the kinetic energy from his movements and sending it right back into him. The impact sent him flying, crashing against the cage with a crack. The electric fence buzzed—and he went limp.

The crowd lost their minds.

But Logan wasn’t cheering. He was already grabbing a steel chair.

With one brutal swing, he smashed it against the electric fence. Sparks flew, and the power box short-circuited, cutting the current.

Then, he climbed the cage.

People screamed. Guards scrambled. But before anyone could react, Logan had already dropped inside.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was in front of you, his hands gripping your arms, his voice rough and low.

“Y'alright?”

You blinked. “Yeah—”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Good.”

Then, in one swift motion, he scooped you up—actually picked you up—and threw you over his shoulder.

“Logan!” you hissed, squirming. “Put me down—”

“Not a damn chance.”

His grip was firm, unyielding. He stepped over your fallen opponent and marched toward the broken part of the cage.

By now, the entire place was in chaos. People running, guards shouting. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was getting you out.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo arrived at the scene in no time, tending to what was left of the cage fighter mutants. Logan? He didn’t even look back, just left the cleanup to the rest of the team.

At some point before boarding the Blackbird, he finally set you down without a word. He took a seat, arms crossed, staring out the window as the rest of the team and the rescued mutants filed in. You sat across from him, watching as he deliberately avoided your gaze. But at one point, you caught him looking—just for a second—before he turned away just as quickly.

Once the mission was settled and the rescued mutants were given guidance, you found yourself talking with the Professor. That was when you saw Logan walk past the room, heading for the exit. He probably hadn’t realized you were there, deep in conversation, but the way his shoulders were set, the way he moved with purpose, told you everything.

You excused yourself and followed.

He walked fast, straight out the door and toward a cabin tucked away in the backyard of the X-Mansion. You picked up your pace, but you didn’t call out to him—tonight had him on edge, and you weren’t sure he’d want to talk. You’d barely spoken to each other since the mission ended.

Logan disappeared inside, shutting the door behind him. You hesitated just outside, only for a muffled groan to catch your attention. You took a step closer. Then—a loud crash.

The hell?

Your fingers brushed the handle just as another heavy thud echoed from inside. That was enough. You pushed the door open.

Logan stood with his back to you, fist slamming into the concrete wall. A fresh crack splintered across the surface, blood smeared where his knuckles had connected. But even as the wounds stitched themselves back together, he didn’t stop.

The door creaked, and he stilled. Then he turned—eyes widening when he saw you.

Shit. When did you get here? How long had you been standing there?

“Logan…” Your voice was quiet.

“I… What are you doing here?” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I didn’t know you were there. I—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “You shouldn't be here—” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking exposed, like he’d been caught in something scandalous.

Your grip tightened on the doorknob. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question—you already knew the answer. He was frustrated, needed an outlet. And he thought no one would see.

Especially not you.

Logan turned to leave the cabin, brushing past you with no force but you weren’t letting him walk away that easily.

“Logan, just listen to me will you?!” You called after him, your voice sharp with frustration.

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense. Taking that as your chance, you stepped closer "There was a boy, god he was so scared. He's supposed to fight that big guy, I can't let that slide Infront of me, Lo.." You stepped in front of him—giving him space, but making sure he had to see and hear you.

“Come on, that boy was walking straight toward his grave. I had the power to stop it, so I did.” Your fingers fidgeted, nerves creeping in despite your resolve.

Arms crossed, he kept his gaze ahead for a moment before finally looking down at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. You held his gaze, refusing to waver.

“You would’ve done the same if you were in my position,” you said, firm but pleading.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but a scratch wouldn’t do a damn thing to me. You?” He trailed off. His jaw clenched. “Anything could’ve happened to you.” His voice was quieter now.

“But it didn’t. I’m alright, okay?. Even if it had, it’s not gonna be your fault. It isn't your job to protect everyone, Logan.”

The second the words left your mouth, you knew you’d messed up. His posture went rigid, his head tilting as if he couldn’t believe what you’d just said.

“But it is my job to protect you,” he shot back, voice rough, raw. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you—if I was right there and I let it happen. How the hell do you think I’d live with that?”

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Alright, let’s just calm down—”

“No.” He said your name, voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s not fine. You always do this. Always act like some goddamn saint, and I hate it. Hate how you care so damn much about everyone else’s life but your own.” He unfolded his arms, hands flexing at his sides. “Your life it’s.... fragile, alright?”

He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. “One day, you’re here. And the next… who fucking knows? That scares the shit outta me. Please, just—”

His voice wavered. He shook his head, frustrated at himself, at you, at everything.

“Just have a little survival instinct. For your own sake. For mine.”

Your breath hitched. You’d never seen this side of him before—not like this. Not so openly terrified.

Slowly, you reached for his arms, his hands still twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them. He was shaking. Gently, you guided one of his palms to your chest, right over your heartbeat.

“I’m still here, Logan,” you murmured. “Still beating.” You pressed his hand against your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm beneath his palm.

His gaze flickered from your hand to your eyes. His thumb brushed absently over your skin, like he needed to remind himself you were here. That nothing bad happened.

His arm slid up as his gaze caught on the bruise near your left eye and the cut on your brow. He brushed away the blood with careful fingers.

“I don’t like that,” he muttered.

“I know.”

After a beat, he exhaled, finally breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t get caught screwing shit. Nobody were supposed to see that.” His hand dropped back to his side, suddenly withdrawn, like he didn’t think he deserved to be standing this close to you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. You could see the way he was trying to distance himself again, convinced he wasn’t worthy of your love. But you weren’t about to let him pull away—not tonight. Not after everything.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” you teased, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, tiptoeing to reach him. “Didn’t see a thing.”

His body went stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure how to react, he felt like he didn't deserve your touch. But then, with a quiet exhale, he melted into you. His arms circled your waist, pulling you in.

“Careful what you’re gettin’ yourself into, darlin’,” he muttered against your neck, voice low, warning.

You grinned, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, close, the space between you nonexistent.

Then Logan did what he always did when words failed him.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say. His lips pressed against yours with a firm but aching tenderness, like he was trying to apologize and promise you the world all at once.

You melted into him, your hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Next time,” he murmured, “we do it my way.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, brushing your nose against his. “No promises, sweetheart.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Nah. You’re immortal, remember?”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Doesn’t mean I’m invincible.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. I’d hate to think I don’t have an effect on you.”

Logan let out a soft growl, pulling you flush against him. “Oh, you’ve got an effect on me, alright.”

And just like that, the tension from the night melted away—not forgotten, but softened by the simple truth of what you were to each other.

A team. A pair. A damn disaster waiting to happen.

And neither of you would have it any other way.

[darlinluxx]

— 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐎 ౨ৎ

↳ pairing : natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

fluff, smut

warnings : smut, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, smoking, dom!nat sub!reader, degradation, spit

a/n : i need her it’s not funny anymore

- biggest fan of radiohead and hole

- she hates seeing you hurt and would try and solve problems, even if she made them worse sometimes

- it takes her a bit to open up to you, but once she does, she trusts you with everything and anything

- so sooo protective of you, she’s like your personal bodyguard

- loves to skip school with you and take you out somewhere instead

- making out behind the bleachers before her soccer game !! she says it’s her “good luck charm”

- Nat will sneak through your window late at night because she wanted to see you

- loves casual dominance, like lifting your chin up to look up at her or opening doors for you

- absolutely loves seeing you in her clothes

- loves going on for late night drives on the weekend, no destination in mind. windows down, blaring whatever rock band she was obsessed with that week

- you end up at abandoned drive-ins, desolate beaches, places that feel like the edge of the world

- she teaches you how to hotwire cars, not because you need to, but because it was fun

- sneaking into movie theaters for free

- Nat doesn’t do small talk. she cuts through the bullshit with a rusty blade. if she thinks your new haircut was awful, she tells you. brutally, but honestly. and somehow, you appreciate it

- when she cares, she cares. late nights spent passionately making out behind the bleachers. long drawn out touches in the hallways at school. she always finds ways to make you gasp for more

- Nat is fiercely loyal. if someone messes with you, they mess with her. she defends you to the death, even if you’re wrong

- onto some complicated things, Nat has a dark side, a self-destructive streak that worries you. the drinking, the drugs, the reckless behavior—it’s all a way to escape something, but you aren’t sure what. you try to talk to her, to help her, but she just pushes you away

- she’s possessive, and sometimes, it borders on jealousy

- Nat smokes a lot. she tried to hide it from you at first, but she failed miserably

- she has a surprisingly soft spot for animals, especially stray dogs

- she’s terrible at expressing her feelings verbally, but shows them through actions and small gestures (she’s just like me fr)

- omg road trips with Nat !! spending hours driving to your destination, fueled by gas station snacks and her endless supply of cigarettes. she loves to drive, loved the feeling of leaving everything behind

- when it comes to movie nights, her taste in movies was… eclectic. think cult classics, film noir, and anything directed by Quentin Tarantino

- you sit in her dimly lit basement, surrounded by stacks of VHS tapes, her shoulder brushing against yours as you watch some obscure film. those were the quiet moments, when she lets her guard down just a little

- the quiet moments are the most precious. sitting on the hood of Nat’s car, watching the city lights blur below late at night, listening to her play guitar (yes she plays guitar)

- Nat has a dark sense of humor. you never know if she’s being serious or not, which is both thrilling and terrifying

nsfw ౨ৎ (sorry these are so short, i’m much better at writing fluff 😭)

- i’m a strong believer she’s a top / dom !!

- loves eating you out, like could live between your thighs for the rest of her life

- such. a. tease.

- “shh, be quiet. you don’t want anyone to hear how much of a slut you’re being f’me.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫

- lowkey really mean but it’s ok cuz it’s Nat

- loves fucking you in front of a mirror

- loves to tease you in public and seeing you get all worked up

- her moves are deliberate and possessive

- Nat’s rough, but never intentionally hurtful

- obsessed with seeing how her words affect you

- spitting in your mouth omg ?? 😵‍💫😵‍💫

- when it comes to aftercare, it’s mostly just a shared cigarette. jkjk (kinda)

- she makes sure you’re okay and will literally get you anything you want

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

As we are now (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

Warnings: evil!reader, smut, oral (Sauron receiving, he gets rough but reader is completely on board with it), p in v, dom!Sauron but it’s kind of back and forth, reader and Sauron being deep in denial about their desire for a bit of normalcy

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar’s betrayal and infiltrated herself as a smith of Eregion, where she awaited her husband’s return.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

You burst into delighted laughter the moment you are in the privacy of your own chamber. The light, the smoke, the speech, the look—be still your black little heart and your poor loins, the look.

It was a good thing you had worked as closely as you did with Celebrimbor and so-called Halbrand before your husband had been forced to leave Eregion, for the Elven Rings were in great part your achievement as well, and so Celebrimbor had deemed that you had just as much right to learn what had become of them upon Halbrand’s return. It was also a good thing you were standing behind Celebrimbor, and that he was entirely enraptured with your husband’s divine appearance as ‘Annatar’ made his grand entrance, because the hand with which you had covered your grin could hardly conceal the shameless glee in your eyes.

To see his deceit at work is always a joy. But even greater is the delight of knowing he shall join you in your chamber shortly, just as soon as he is finished entertaining the awe-struck Celebrimbor for the night. You stand at your window, hoping your wait will not be long. You haven’t had the chance to be alone with your husband since he had returned to Eregion, and somehow the last moments before the promise of reunion always feel like the longest.

He moves within the shadows, as quietly as them. You do not need to hear the opening and closing or your door, or even the steps approaching you, to know that he is there, even before arms snake around your waist from behind and lips press to your neck. You chuckle, leaning into your husband.

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

“How crudely you speak of your dear friend,” your husband pretends to admonish, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Can you fault a poor Elf for falling to his knees in the face of his greatest desires coming true?”

“Fault him? Of course not.” You lower your voice to a sensual purr, leaning in so that your breath warms his lips as you speak. “In fact, if I were him, I’d have done far more than kneel.” You shrug. “Or tried, at the very least. Surely, an emissary of the Valar is above such worldly temptations.”

His lips are only a moment too slow to catch your teasing ones. You nimbly slip from his hold and walk past him—to no destination whatsoever, for you know you are to be caught nearly at once and relish the short anticipation. You still give a small yelp when he catches your wrist and spins you around, pulling you flush against him. There’s hunger in his eyes, and playfulness, as he secures your waist into a hold not so easily escapable as the last.

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

He can pay you a thousand compliments, and you would still swoon each and every time. On the inside, at the very least, for at the moment you simply remove his hand from your mouth.

“Is that all you wish? To admire me?” you tease still, ignoring the impatient tick in your husband’s jaw. “It would be such a pity if the Lord of Gifts did not receive some form of gratitude in return for the blessings he carries. Does one as pure as you even know of what I speak?”

You hold his gaze as you catch the tip of his thumb between your teeth, giving the pad the lightest lick. Your husband’s throat bobs as he watches.

“Do enlighten me,” he rasps out.

And you fully intend to. His lips are so plump and tempting, close enough that you can all but taste them. You haven’t kissed your husband since before he left for Adar’s camp in Mordor, an obscenely long amount of time already.

“With pleasure,” you whisper—close, so close to giving you both the meeting of lips you so crave...

Not quite.

You push his chest, just enough for him to let you take a step backward with a frustrated little breath. His eyes hold a glint of warning, hunger that might just surface to end your little game if you push it a smidge too far over the edge. But in the end, you like to play, and he likes to indulge you. And it isn’t as though you are dallying about as you slide his outer robe off his shoulders and down his arms. In fact, you are quite unceremoniously hasty, and so your husband straightens his arms by his sides, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a graceless heap around his feet.

Now, for the grey robe beneath, covering him from neck to ankle, humbly adorned with only a simple pattern along the collar... you could, in theory, remove it the old-fashioned way. But you don’t feel particularly inclined to go through the hassle of lifting all that material over his head, and something wild is stirring in your chest, and it’s in your nature, after all, to do things just because.

You produce a dagger from a concealed pocket of your dress, grab your husband’s collar, hook the blade into it and rip! goes the dull fabric with a yank of your hand. Down to his waist the destruction continues, tear after tear as you pull the material away from his body so as not to nick the skin you so greedily reveal with the slashes of your blade.

He does not flinch once, save for a coy lift at the corner of his lips as you toss away the dagger and relieve him of the ruined garb, adding it to the pile of crumpled fabric on the floor. You pay it no more mind than you do his now bare torso, determined to admire him in all his splendor when you finally take him in, head to toe.

“You speak of giving something in return,” he remarks quite casually as your hands next reach straight for the fastenings of his trousers, “yet all you seem to do is take—the very clothes off my back, no less.”

You smirk up at him. “Well, I should like to lay my eyes upon the gift for which I am to repay you first.”

You pull his trousers down in one quick move, proudly stripping him of the last shred of divine decency with which he had clad himself for Celebrimbor’s benefit. He cooperates smoothly as you crouch to yank the pants off his legs one by one, then toss his modest footwear to the side as well, and when you rise back to your full height, your husband stands before you with not a stitch on him.

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

Speaking of which—that part of him is as glorious as ever, and already quite visibly eager. It would require but a graze of your fingers to grow into his full hardness. But you purposefully avoid that particular bit of enticing flesh as your fingers next trace a delicate line up his thigh, taking a detour along his hip instead. You let your nails scrape his skin ever so slightly as they venture higher, feeling his firm abdomen twitch faintly beneath your touch. He is sculpted with perfect balance, the lines of his muscles painting a stunning picture of bodily strength without too dramatic of a bulk, still allowing for elegance. Your fingers ascend to his chest, traveling across its alluring plane, and come to graze one nipple, earning a hitch in your husband’s breath. Otherwise, he stands perfectly still, subjecting himself to your quiet exploration.

You circle him slowly, your touch uninterrupted as your fingers trace his skin on a path to his shoulder blades. In the meantime, you release his newly long hair from the silver headpiece he had given himself, letting it fall onto the heap of clothes on the floor. You come to a halt facing his back, as beautifully muscled as the front, and—for the love of the Valar you have forsaken, there is nothing objectively different about the shape of his buttocks, but you swear they have grown even more enticing than before. You give one an appreciative caress, fingers following the plump curve of flesh between his upper thigh and lower back, before giving it a most satisfying squeeze.

Your husband releases a short huff of a chuckle. You press yourself against him, still groping his behind as you brush his hair over his shoulder to press a kiss to the top of his spine.

“I find myself in quite the predicament, I’m afraid,” you murmur into his skin. “So exquisite is the gift, I cannot imagine how I am to pay in kind.”

“A gift, by definition, is not paid,” your husband says, giving you a pointed look over his shoulder. “But you may begin by putting an end to this teasing.”

You grin, giving his behind a sharp pinch with just a bit of nail scratch. That finally earns you an undignified gasp from his throat, followed by a scolding tsk as you turn him around by the shoulders.

“I am merely beholding your ‘natural form’, my lord,” you mock Celebrimbor’s earlier words, caressing your husband’s face and chest as you meet his scalding gaze with your sensuous one. “So I may know how best to worship it.”

You all but lunge forward to catch his lips, finally, after the wait of separation as well as your self-imposed delay—

A large hand clamps around your neck. It is your husband, now, who keeps you at bay, lips hovering one tantalizing inch above yours as he grouses, “I believe you mentioned something about kneeling.”

He pushes down on your shoulders with just enough force that you gasp as your knees bend, dropping to the floor at once. He might as well have reached down your throat and ripped the breath from your lungs with his fingers. You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

You swallow nothing at all, eyelids fluttering as you stare upwards like a believer at prayer. He does this sometimes, playing along until he doesn’t, flipping the tables and taking charge in the blink of an eye. It almost feels like a physical stroke of your clit, creamy arousal gushing from your core in an instant.

It’s such a slippery slope. The submission. The rawness of it. You’ve both known what it was to be at the mercy of another before, one who had no such thing as mercy. But you do not despair, and you are not afraid. For this is not Morgoth, nor are you a slave. You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other.  “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. He takes in his fists your hair and his own hard length, keeping you where he wants as he drags the tip of his cock from the base of your neck to your chin, as though splitting the skin upon the blade of his desire. Arousal smears a trail up your throat. He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

As if you had not already. As if you do not always. But you are beyond glad to remind him. Your tongue darts past your lips to give the slit a sole lick. As he releases his cock to plant his hand onto your shoulder instead, you take hold of his length yourself to flatten it against his stomach. You spare a moment to admire it, so promisingly full and flushed with want, then press your lips to the underside, right at the base, and work your way to the tip with a string of doting kisses. How you love this most sensitive part of him, and cherish each and every twitch with which it responds to your affections.

His hands tense impatiently on your head and shoulder, but he needs not handle you into further action as you finally take his cockhead in your mouth, sucking gently. Then firmly, and over again, until you’re truly fucking him with your mouth, your hand working in tandem to cover the length you cannot swallow with each bob of your head.

The crease in his brow betrays his pleasure, though he stands above you tall and stoic as ever. Even when you swirl your tongue around his tip the way you know drives him wild, even when you reach underneath to fondle the sensitive sack at the base of his manhood. You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be. And so you take him deep, as deep as he can go inside your throat, all while piercing him with your wanton gaze.

Your husband curses. His fist in your hair tightens, tugs at the roots with just enough force that it stings most deliciously. Control is ripped from you once more as he drives his cock into your throat at his own merciless pace, and if you could, you would smile at your victory in breaking his composure. You grab hold of his buttocks, nails digging into the soft flesh as he buries himself in your mouth, over and over. You’ve gathered more than enough skill over your years together to withstand such an act whilst still drawing some air into your lungs, even if only the barest minimum. Still, a tear slides down your cheek, and you groan around his length, knowing the sound will only add to his pleasure.

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

The enormity of your need for his pleasure is what does him in. He doesn’t stifle, doesn’t deny you the sound of his wrecked groan as he ceases upon a final thrust, cock shoved so deep down your throat that your nose is buried in the fair curls at his base. You shut your eyes as he spills and spills, relishing the throbbing of his flesh on your tongue and the essence of him gliding down your throat. Breathing can wait. Not forever, but for a while.

Your husband, of course, allows it long before you’d have truly struggled. But you still pant for breath the moment he pulls out, and your forehead drops to his thigh as you wipe the mess left on your chin. Not a moment later, your husband tilts your head back, demanding your misty eyes to meet his.

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

He bends down, grabs your waist and hoists you from the ground straight into his arms, at last claiming your lips as you wrap your legs around him with an elated moan. It is as though his end did nothing but spur him into wishing for another, this time whilst buried in your depths. Barely a moment later, he lays you down on your bed, his bare body pressing your clothed one into the mattress. His hips are already nestled between your legs, grinding relentlessly as you write and whine beneath his ravenous kisses of your mouth, then of any bare inch he finds of your neck and chest.

He fists his hands in the shoulders of your dress, and he needs no blade to rip the fabric down your chest unceremoniously. You gasp, mildly indignated—you had been rather fond of that piece. But the sacrifice is well worth it for the unbridled desire on his face as he admires your bare breasts, as though it were his first time seeing them. “This is all I could think of,” he rasps out, “whilst I stood waiting at the gate. What I would do once I could finally touch my wife’s skin, her flesh...” He kneads one breast, staring in marvel as that wonderfully pliant part of you yields beneath his fingers, “This lovely, soft flesh of yours. Look how it calls to me.”

His thumb swipes over one pebbled nipple, indeed straining upward as though reaching for your husband’s touch, just before he descends upon it with the heat of his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, arching into him greedily. “But my flesh has remained unchanged... for centuries,” you strive to argue as his tongue lavishes that most sensitive peak, teeth tugging in a mean tease at the flesh around it. “Tonight,” you gather your resolve, “I was supposed... to be exploring... you!”

With a great push on that last word, you flip him onto his back. Your husband lets loose a wicked laugh as his head hits the pillow and you roll on top of him, panting.

“It is hardly my fault that you are so easily distracted.” He grins up at you without an ounce of shame. Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

“As if you are any better,” you retort, and swiftly prove yourself right. You dive much like a vulture aiming to snatch its prey, one hand sinking in his hair as you catch the brand new pointed tip of his ear between your teeth and tug, hard. Your husband gives a sharp grunt, hands flying to grip your hips.

“Hm, I’ve missed these,” you say, suckling at the tender skin as if to soothe the sting you purposely inflicted whilst your husband groans beneath you. “Remember when I made you spill simply from biting them?”

“A most admirable feat,” he growls, “for which I have not the patience at the moment.”

He means to lift his torso off the bed, but you hold him down with a firm hand pressed to his chest. “Ah-ah,” you shake your head, slowly rising to sit up astride him. “I wish to stay right here,” you say, gathering the skirts of your dress pooling over his crotch to help yourself to his newly straining erection, “and admire the view.”

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

“Admire?” your husband raises a coy eyebrow, even as he throbs in your fist. “I thought you wished to reward me for my generosity,” he reminds you of the little game you had been playing at the beginning. You are no mighty Vala who can offer him everything he has ever craved on a silver platter, but you need not be, when you are what he needs most desperately.

“What better reward than this?” you smile, and sink onto his length in one swift move, pulling a moan from yourself and a brisk curse in Black Speech from him. Having engulfed him to the hilt, you plant your hands onto his chest, savoring the divine stretch. 

“How does it fit, my love?” your husband asks, thrusting up ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect,” you moan. “So... so perfect.” As always, but you can’t deny you’ve landed at an angle which hits especially right, even before you’re begun to truly ride him.

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

You say it with false modesty, though this is barely a fraction of the lengths to which he had gone for you in the past, as well as barely a necessity. Even a shaft as inauspicious as the handle of a hammer could become an instrument of your pleasure in your husband’s hands, if it were wielded with his incomparable skill and intimate knowledge of your flesh. But whilst form alone is not everything, there is such a thing as a more or less natural fit for any given body. And this particular appendage with which your husband has endowed himself… the length and girth, every vein, every ridge, is specifically tailored to suit your needs. To stretch you perfectly, just on the right side of the light burn he knows you relish without causing you real pain, to rub and press exquisitely against your walls in all the sweetest ways and spots he knows by heart that you would most enjoy.

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

He says it like a vow. This time, when he rises from the mattress to gather you close, closer, you make not the slightest move to stop him—distracted again. But you are beyond caring. Beyond teasing games. There is no slow seduction, no calculated rhythm to the manner in which you begin to move, hips rolling frantically into your husband’s.

“Yes, my love,” he urges fervently. “Take what you need.”

As you do, he makes quick work to relieve you of the remnants of your dress, jaw clenched as your heat swallows him over and again in its velvety depths. He pulls and tears at the fabric, throws it away as if it were standing between him and the healing of Middle-Earth itself, and his wife is at last bared atop him, bouncing prettily on his cock.

“Nothing beneath,” he remarks, a most delicious reprimand as he gropes at your waist, urging you in your movements. “Is such the custom among the ladies of Eregion these days?”

A short laugh finds its way through the string of gasps and moans that leave your throat. “I’ve not worn undergarments since you arrived at the gate.”

“Of course not,” he purrs, the twisted pride in his gaze going straight to the onslaught of pleasure already between your legs. “My beautiful wife, waiting for me with open arms and a bare cunt. Soaked the moment you laid eyes upon me, were you not?”

All the answer he gets is a pitiful whine, and your lips sloppily catching his in a needy kiss. Seated in his lap, with your arm wrapped around his shoulders and your hand sunk into his hair, you are in control over the pace of your thrusts as well as utterly helpless with adoration. He holds you in the circle of his arms so fiercely, tears gather at the corner of your eyes as you pull away to take in your beloved’s expression. His beautiful lips, slightly parted in pleasure. His eyes, darkened to near slits with unbridled desire for you. Only for you.

“I love you,” you all but sob, your hips clashing into his so ruthlessly, you would fear for the anatomy of any lesser being of male form subjected to such treatment. Your mind is as frantic as the tempest in your core, on the verge of unraveling. “I love you, I love you so much—”

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

If that wasn’t enough, the heat of his seed filling you to the brim does you in. Your peak has you clenching around your husband’s throbbing cock as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

You slack against him, breathing heavily into his neck. Incoherent fragments of endearments leave your lips, but not even you can tell what you are saying. Your husband cradles your head, shushing you softly through the aftershocks of your release, and lies back against the pillows with you securely in his arms. You hum tiredly as he pulls out, and use the little strength left in your limbs to shift downward so that you may rest your head on your husband’s chest. He needs no heartbeat, but it soothes you to feel it beneath your cheek, strong and slowly settling down after the wonderful exertion through which you had put his form.

“I take it, then,” he says into the blissful silence that has fallen between you, “that my new visage is to your liking.”

You give a soft, tired laugh. Lifting yourself enough that you can gaze down at your husband’s face, you cup his cheek with an adoring smile.

“I liked you rough around the edges, imperfectly human,” you murmur, fingertips grazing the fine lines at the corner of his eye. “I like you smooth and pristine, descended from a great cloud of golden light. I like this face as well as any other, so long as I am looking in my beloved’s eyes.” You press a short kiss to his smiling lips. “It does not hurt, of course, that he tends to be unbearably fair.”

A small chuckle rumbles from his chest to yours. “I do try. But I admit I wonder,” he goes on, growing thoughtful, “now that I am able to change at will once more... whether you would prefer me as I was.”

His question gives you pause, your brow knitting slightly. He does not find such a prospect hurtful, you feel, but he is rather curious to know the answer.

“Would you prefer me as I was?” you ask in turn. “If I were... changed somehow, as you have been?”

His eyes caress your face as his knuckles graze your cheekbone, deeply tender. “I cannot say I would not mourn, if only for a while, the exact arrangement of lines and curves which shaped your form when I first held you in my arms,” he confesses, soft-spoken. “But I would prefer my beloved as she wishes to be.”

Many times, he has been loving to you, but there is a particular flavour to the moments when he is so plainly… sweet. His words move you in a way that makes you feel oddly fragile, sending your heart aflutter as only a being much younger and less scarred than you might be able to feel. You lay your head on your husband’s chest, closing your eyes to savour the sentiment. Yet, as his fingers graze your skin in loving patterns, a trace of old sorrow creeps into your heart. How lucky you are to be lying in your husband’s arms, discussing whether you would prefer one face over another, when you had once wondered how many Ages would have to pass before you could finally be at each other’s side once more.

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. “When they took you. For a long time. Ill of mind. As though part of it had shattered and the splinters kept shredding at what little was left of it. I began to... slip, between reality and waking dreams that felt so real, I could no longer tell the difference. At times, I was grateful for it. Because in the ruins of my mind, you had returned to me with a crown upon your head, and you took me in your arms and I was whole again, if only until the fiction fell apart and left me even more bereft than I had been before. Sometimes, I fell into memories, reliving Morgoth’s torments as though they had never ended, but even within those I longed to remain forever. For there, you were with me, and no pain could compare to that of being without you. But once... once, I lived not the past I craved, nor the one that had come to pass. I was... someone else. Someone I had been before Morgoth. And so were you. In fact... there had never been a Morgoth.”

The hand with which your husband was caressing your hair comes to a hesitant halt. You feel him tense, in body and in mind, feel his disquiet upon hearing such words. But he remains silent, and allows you to gather his hand in your own.

“It came to me in glimpses, moments over time, strung together into one story,” your voice is soft in a foreign way as you begin the tale, your fingers idly playing with his before your far away eyes. “What I first felt was light—the light of the Trees, warm upon my face. The skies of Valinor, clear abovehead, the soft grass grazing my bare feet where I sat by the creek. I was… singing. A song of my own making which I cannot remember, and which I am not sure I ever truly knew. But it was cut short, for I was startled by a sudden presence. Rising in haste to my feet, I turned to find the mightiest of the Maiar of Aulë himself standing only a few paces out of reach, his beautiful face awed as well as a touch apologetic. You had not meant to disturb my peace. But so enchanting you had found my voice as you were passing by, you said, that you wished to capture it in one of your creations.

“And so, at your invitation, I began to visit the great forge where the wonders of your mind were brought into being. I was so… shy, I barely dared to address you. But there was such peace in the silences we shared, such ease, that even though we were near perfect strangers, I felt as though we had already spoken every word in the world, and nothing remained to be said of our existence which we had yet to confess to one another most openly.

“You asked me to sing as you shaped metal, as you gave form to wondrous gems. And when I did, you looked at me as though I were the most precious being to have ever breathed in the light of the One. At times, you would forget yourself, and whilst precious materials awaited to be shaped before you, your hands would find mine instead. And they were able to do so with ease, for the more times I joined you in your forge, the closer together we stood.

“But you would not tell me what it was that you meant to craft, shrouding the work of your hands, somehow, from my eyes, even when I looked closely. Only because I let you, though. I knew I could look past the illusion and peek at any moment, but I made a game of it—trying to guess in what manner of adornment you meant to capture my voice. And each time I returned, you would gift me the very jewel I had last guessed, whether wrongly or not. Not the creation you meant to achieve in the end, but lesser ones crafted in my absence, during uninterrupted hours of toil. ‘Lesser’ being but a manner of comparison, for they were the most exquisite I had ever laid eyes upon. But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands.

“On the day your work was finished, my heart was filled with such sorrow thinking our hours together might come to an end. For however plainly our eyes and joined hands had spoken of our feelings, such was my timid nature that I had never dared voice them, and you had never risked bringing offence to my virtue by speaking of yours. Not until you had completed your work, and you finally revealed to me what your end had been from the very beginning. It had not been one jewel you meant to craft, but two. Two splendid rings—neither of power, nor of symbolic importance to any but you and I. With your gifts, you had woven my voice into the gems, and in a way impossible to capture into words, the light reflected upon it shone with the echo of my song. Only then, as you placed one of the pair into my hands, did you confess that you had loved me since the moment you had first heard my voice, and your greatest desire would be for those twin jewels to become the symbols of devotion with which we become wed. Nevertheless, were it not my wish to bind myself to you, the other ring would be mine, to gift, if I should like, to the most fortunate being with whom I would choose to share my soul, whilst you would content yourself to love me from afar, and wish me nothing but the greatest of joy for so long as existence should be. At once I confessed that such a thought was not only absurd, but also too painful to bear—for my heart had been yours since the moment I had laid eyes upon you.

“And so we wed in song and merriment, and we danced under the radiant branches of the Trees, celebrated by your kin and mine alike. We made love in a meadow, soft and slow, and for hours you caressed my skin with petals yielded by a blossom tree in honor of our union. Even that act of passion was somehow so clean. So pure. So...” you search for the right way to describe it, “...wrong.”

It’s as though a spell breaks upon that last, dissonant word. You roll off of your husband, settling onto your side to face him as he does the same. His expression is hard to read, some blend of unease and intrigue in the furrow of his brow.

“For the first time, when the fiction ended, I did not weep,” you tell him, your voice no longer dreamy, but returned to a more familiar fierceness. “For I knew not those beings I had seen. Devoid of purpose, endlessly demure. Light and songs, desire kept secret beneath bashful smiles,” you scoff. “I wanted back the husband that I loved, not some unrecognizable version of him wearing his face. Not some children’s story of infuriating innocence.” With a small shake of your head against the pillow, and a soft, mirthless chuckle, you shift closer into your husband’s arms, both of you adjusting so that you are embracing on your sides. “So, no, my love,” is the answer you ultimately give, “I do not wish for either of us to be anything but what we are, here and now, in body as well as spirit.”

Your husband only hums, deep in thought. He has not said a word since you began to speak, and the longer his silence stretches, the more you begin to wonder whether your confession has displeased him, somehow. Perhaps he does not wish to hear of this romantic scenario your mind had invented, despite its protagonist being but a different version of himself. Or perhaps...

You’ve rarely spoken of what came before. It is a surprise as well as a relief, then, when he does so without seeming too unsettled by the fact that you had alluded to his former self in the first place.

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

You smile slightly. You know that all too well.

“Nor was I some helpless maiden who shied away from the slightest of amorous attentions,” you assure him. “I doubt it, either way,” you shrug. “I can hardly remember.”

Elven memories do not dim. You do remember what your life before Morgoth was like, but the details of it—the faces, the words spoken, the feelings… those have long been tucked away in a deep corner of your mind, never to be spoken or thought of again. For what use was there to it? That life had been burned away, along with everything you used to be.

“Either way,” you go on, brushing off even the merest thought of that distant past, “it was but a dull fable, conjured by a broken mind. I healed soon after. Reminded myself why I needed to remain sane and strive to do all that I can towards our goal, whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

“Let us not dwell on the past, or things that never were,” he murmurs in his deep, comforting tone. “I am here. And I shall not leave your side again.”

There is still an oddly meditative lilt to his words, a certain sense of wistfulness that does not quite hold the same flavour as the longing you had felt so many times shared between you. But you make no attempt to pry at the sentiment with your mind. Especially as he closes the distance between your lips, kissing you with utmost gentleness.

The kiss deepens, lasts for ages, but remains achingly tender. Utterly disarming. Your legs intertwine, bringing your hips flush together in the tangle. His flesh finds yours, and before long you are joined. There is no power play, no teasing, not even the desperate, nearly pained gasps, wails or groans you so enjoy to wring from one another. Only every inch of him pressed against every inch of you, soft moans melting onto each other’s tongues, the languid pleasure of moving together to an end that envelops you in its warm embrace, leaving you trembling in your husband’s arms and him moaning your name like a most sacred prayer.

In its wake, you are beyond words. All you can do is bury your face in your husband’s chest as he holds you close still, his fingers drawing soft shapes on your skin.

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, “and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

You shut your eyes, nuzzle further into his neck, his words sending a shiver through your very soul. This life you have shared is not easy. Not pretty. But in the end, it shall be glorious, better than any other that you might have lived. Truly.

It has to be.

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Previous fic with same reader -> As one

Next fic with same reader -> A true gift

[jinnie-ret]

cigarette duet

poly!stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: smoking, mentions of rehab, mentions of recovery

word count: 3k

summary: you get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. how will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

requested: @ihrtlix

It has been a while since I've written! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get around to the requests for this event but I'm getting back into the swing of things! Hope you enjoy! Please don't take offense to any opinions presented in this imagine. Enjoy! And if you want to be tagged in anything I write please lemme know! <3

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Perhaps you had smoked one too many cigarettes last night. Waking up the next morning after battling your stresses with the addictive feed of nicotine, your throat felt dry, hoarse, scratchy even.

"Baby, are you sure you're not sick?" Felix fussed, placing his hand delicately on your forehead to gain an idea of your temperature. "I mean, you don't feel hot, but maybe you're coming down with something?"

"I'm fine, love, just need some water," you kiss his hand that was pulling away from your face, offering a reassuring smile after clearing your throat.

And in your mind, that was enough. You didn't notice the little things that your boyfriends did however.

"Binnie, what are you doing? You look like a perv haha," Hyunjin giggled at the sight of Changbin rummaging through the laundry basket and sniffing your hoodie.

"Ssshhh, keep it down. And plus, it's not being pervy, people in relationships do it all the time. It's comforting smelling each other's clothing," Changbin righteously pointed out to his boyfriend, puffing his chest before adding, "well, normally it is..." he sighed.

"Woah that's mean, you can't say our girlfriend smells," Hyunjin pushed Changbin's shoulder, laughing again but with wide eyes this time round.

"No, no, you've got the wrong idea anyways. I think... I think Y/N's been smoking. I can smell it on her hoodie," Changbin sighed, tossing the white hoodie of yours back into the washing basket that was full to the brim. He was about to continue his spiel of conspiracies until he jumped when your arms wrapped around behind him.

"Aw, babe, are you doing the washing? Thank god for that, I was worried it would never get done," you squeezed him tightly once more before kissing him on the cheek and continuing your venture into the kitchen, Felix trailing behind you.

"I think she's getting sick, I'm gonna see if we have any meds in the cupboard, or some throat sweets at least," Felix pouted as he walked past his two boyfriends, Hyunjin ruffling his hair on the way.

Changbin threw a meaningful look at Hyunjin, alarms going off in his head because it only added more fuel to the blazing fire of thoughts in his head.

"Look, we don't know that she is smoking for sure. Maybe she's just been around some friends that are?" Hyunjin whispers hurriedly, yet this caught Seungmin's attention, and his ears too.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Seungmin casually stood between the two, grabbing laundry detergent and capsules from the cupboard to act natural yet because practical at the same time.

"I'll explain later, to all of you. I'm just a bit concerned," Changbin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face before actually making a start on the chore at hand.

It was an escape for you, much like it was for other people who smoked cigarettes. And plus, you hadn't been doing it for long. You thought what could the harm be when you didn't do it a lot? Plus, it was handy that none of your boyfriends batted an eyelid in the studio when you said you wanted to go outside for some air. In fact, it gave the opportunity for Changbin to lay out his thoughts to the rest of your boyfriends who hadn't yet heard his observations.

"Y/N... I don't think she'd do that, I can't picture it," Jeongin shook his head, shaking his hands in confusion because the picture being painted in front of them seemed very unlikely and it wasn't a nice one to think of.

"And she knows it's too risky. First of all we're idols. I hate to say it but we have to think about that first in situations like these. Even when we're drinking we've got to be careful. If you're right about this, Binnie, then..." Chan groaned, leaning back into his seat with a huff.

"But she did just go out 'for some air'," Han added on, brows furrowed as he thought what Changbin was saying was quite plausible.

"Ok. We'll go check then," Minho shrugged as he stood.

"What?" Felix too stood up.

"We can't sit here and keep worrying. Let's go check and see for ourselves. If we're wrong... And I hope we are... Then it's fine," Minho grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, scanning around the room for his boyfriends' reactions.

"And if we're not wrong, then what?" Hyunjin voiced his concerns.

"Let's just hope we're not," Chan was first to walk out the door, the rest of Stray Kids following along after him like ducklings and their mother. Apart from this time it wasn't the cute, adorable scene you'd hope for, especially because they could smell the smoke and see your lax figure as soon as they rounded the corner to the back of the building.

"No. Y/N you've got to be kidding me!" Chan snatched the cigarette out of your hand and immediately stomped it out.

"Chan I-" you fumbled on your words, eyes wide as you had all eight of your lovers stood in front of you. And the way they looked at you made you stomach twist into knots you were sure you'd never felt.

Disappointment. Anger. Concern. Indifference.

"Let's talk about this inside," Changbin wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he spoke quietly to you.

Your heart was racing faster. They were going to think the worst. But you had a way out of this. It wasn't even that bad. Sure, over the past month maybe you'd have been spending more money on packs of cigarettes, yet on the inside you felt as if there were worse things you could be doing to yourself.

"Sit," Minho bluntly said, face unreadable, tone void of emotion.

And so you did.

"We'll just have a conversation about this, nice and calm, ok?" Felix nudged Chan in particular with his leg.

It seemed however that it wasn't a conversation, but more of an intervention. A heated one, at that.

"I can't be nice and calm, Lix! Our girlfriend is destroying her body, and for what?" Chan's voice rose ever so slightly, hands squeezing the arms of the chair he was tensely sat in.

"It's just a cigarette," you feebly replied. That backbone of yours was slowly wearing away the more and more anger you felt radiating off of your partners.

"Don't be ridiculous," Seungmin scoffed, "think of the damage it's doing. Think about your career."

"It's more than just the odd cigarette, right?" Changbin prodded, wanting answers to the millions of questions he had. After all, he was the first one to notice how you gradually stopped voicing your concerns to him but still sometimes had the habits that showed your anxiety.

"Well, yes, but-" you began but were cut off.

"No buts. That's... It's, you're hurting yourself, hurting your lungs. Why are you doing this, baby?" Jeongin took your hand in his, concern not the only thing glistening in his eyes, which broke your heart.

"It's just a nice distraction, that's all. It won't go on forever, I'll just stop when I want to," you shrug your shoulders, squeezing his hand to show you meant what you said.

"It's not that easy. Nicotine. It's addictive. You think you can just stop like that?" Hyunjin frowned, shaking his head.

"I know I can," you firmly said, urging them with your voice to trust you.

"I don't know what planet you're living on," Chan shook his head.

"Channie..." Felix bit his lip, feeling torn. On one hand he didn't want your boyfriend to be so tough with you, but he also disagreed with the choices you made, the ones you were making.

"No I'm sorry but Y/N, babe, you've made one of the stupidest choices you could make! Seungminnie is right, Jeongin too. It's damaging for your body, let alone your career. You keep this up, you're not going to be able to sing as well as before. And then it'll get to the point where you can't breathe as well anymore," Chan ranted, fiddling with the bracelets adorning his wrist as he didn't take his eyes away from yours, not once.

"I just told you it's not going to go that far!" your face contorted to one of disbelief.

"That's out of your control," Minho sternly redirected your attention to him.

"Wow. It's like you don't even trust me. I'm not some kid. I can make my own decisions. So what if I'm doing this for a little bit of stress relief? For a bit of fun. It helps me," your voice almost turns to pleading, wanting them to hear you out, hear your reasoning.

"It hurts you, baby. And when it hurts you, it hurts us as well," Han bit his lip after shakily speaking up. He didn't like this situation, not one bit.

"I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'd never do that," your voice wobbled, throat feeling as if it was closing up from the sob that was lodged down there.

"Too late. I mean just look," Chan emptied your handbag, empty packets of cigarettes and some not, falling out onto the floor of the studio.

"Y/N, that's a lot," Hyunjin gasped, clutching a hand on his chest.

"It's not. It's not that bad..." you denied as you knelt on the floor and tidied up the mess.

"You're in complete denial," Seungmin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not! I'm well aware of my actions thank you very much!" you shouted suddenly, causing everyone to freeze at the volume you had just reached.

The guilt set in. It was never meant to go this far. It was just meant to be for stress relief. Something to distract you from the aches and pains, physical and mental. It wasn't long until you'd be performing a special fanmeeting and relearning old choreographies and a cover had you feeling like you were being worked down to the bone. Even iconic dances like God's Menu were hard to remember, and you felt like you had no chance. No choice. It was like it fell into your lap so easily.

The first time you had stood outside to catch some air, it was for that genuine reason. And you weren't alone. You didn't know if the person worked at your company, if you knew them, whatever. But their hand offering you something that could bring you temporary bliss was a solution you were grateful for. Only now, you were seeing that it was short term.

"You need help. Seriously..." Chan spat, grabbing his backpack and storming out of the studio.

"Find a way to end this, Y/Nnie," Felix mumbled, stroking your hair gently before following Chan out with a rush.

"You're all just going to go?" your voice cracked. Were they leaving you now?

"We just need some time," Changbin sighed. And then he was gone too.

"You're leaving me?" you sniffled, standing up to face your boyfriends that were still in the room.

"Not like that, baby. We're just giving you time to think about how you can stop this, ok?" Han stroked your face as he made sure you knew this wasn't the end. And then he left too, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin leaving too.

All alone. Perhaps it was what you deserved. You relied on the cigarettes more than your boyfriends. And they were all you had left for the moment. That was when it sank in. You had to make a change. You had to stop this habit form taking over your life, from pushing away the people you love most, and from taking your life away.

•••

"She's sorting herself out at least... that's got to be commendable."

"I guess so. Let's just hope it doesn't get out that a JYP idol is at rehab for smoking."

"It won't. And she's doing well from what I've heard..."

This was the only time Han was grateful for the staff gossiping. Immediately, he felt calmer. Considering the boys had spent the last few days blowing up your phone and worrying where you went, it was an oddly relieving feeling hearing you were at rehab. They had tried asking JYP himself, asking the manager of the company where you were but all they said was that you were safe.

"I know where she is!" Han bursted through the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him as he panted out of breath.

"Woah, woah, ok, deep breaths, let's sit down," Chan, with the darkest circles around his eyes yet, gently sat Han down on the sofa. He felt awful. He thought he had driven you away from them all. From the group. From the relationship. And that had been eating him up inside. It was a wonder he could act so calm with the news of you going into rehab.

"Rehab? For smoking? I didn't even know that was a thing," Seungmin hummed in thought, his arms crossed.

"I didn't either, but I overheard the staff. They say she's doing well. It's a good thing, right?" Han's eyes stared through the souls of everyone gathered in the lounge, begging for some sort of confirmation that things would get better.

"I mean, at least we're a bit more in the know then our own fans about why our girlfriend is on hiatus," Changbin brushed his fluffy, dark hair out of his eye.

"Can't we go and see her?" Felix wondered, lifting his head up from where it rested on Minho's shoulder.

"We shouldn't," Minho quietly sighed.

"Why not?" Jeongin quickly turned to him, mouth parted in shock that he didn't want to see Y/N.

"No, he's right. She's gone there for a reason. To get better. It's what we all said to her, isn't it? We'll see her soon. And when we do... It'll all be better," Chan helped everyone see sense. He was right. You had listened to them. You went and got help and were solving the problem. If they suddenly ambushed you and got in the way of that... You'd be back to square one.

•••

Today was the day, you were finally going back to the boys. You spent a good 3 weeks at rehab, and had been advised on some good coping mechanisms to take your mind off of smoking and how to create some healthier habits. You had shown good progress and it was deemed acceptable for you to leave and spend time back with your loved ones. And you couldn't lie, you were incredibly nervous. You had dropped a text without reading the spam that littered the groupchat, notifying your boyfriends what time you'd be returning, but after that you once again did not read anything else that was sent.

"Oh my baby, I've missed you so much," Han was the first one at the door, pressing kisses all over your face as he took you into his arms, holding you lightly.

"I've missed you too," you cried immediately, despite the weight off your shoulders.

"You're good now, right, darling?" Seungmin softly tugged you away from Han, both of his hands cupping your face whilst his thumbs wiped away your tears.

"I'm better," you nod through tears, Seungmin pressing a kiss to your head and giving space for your other boyfriends to soothe you and reunite with you. It had only been three weeks, yes, but 21 days had never felt so long.

"I'm proud of you, come here," Changbin scooped you into his arms and lifted you slightly, making you giggle before your feet touched the ground once more.

"Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I had done... How far it went, you know?" you began, looking down at the floor as Hyunjin came and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his long arms securing you to him.

"We're just happy to see you here, honey, healthier," he whispered into your ear soothingly.

"And please talk to us in future. We had time to think after that, moment, and we know you were doing it as an escape. But we're here for you," Jeongin pecked you on the lips, your heads pressed against each other for a moment before he too moved away.

"Always, we're always here," Felix reiterated what Jeongin preached, and kisses you as well, noses rubbing against each other as he moved away, a cute expression on his face.

"Come here," Minho opened his arms, and you reluctantly left Hyunjin's arms only to be happy again in the warmth of your other boyfriend's embrace.

"Thank you for waiting, all of you," you swayed with him in his hug, until you pulled away and it was only Chan left.

He stood a few metres away, back to you, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"Channie... babe," you sighed, tugging his hand to turn him and face you. His words had hurt you the most but it was also a huge wake up call. "Please, look at me, I'm not mad. I'm so grateful."

"I was too harsh with you," he bit his lip, hard, not wanting to let any tears escape.

"I needed it. Look at me now, I'm here, I'm better, and I've got habits I can stick to instead. Ones that won't hurt me. And they won't hurt you guys either," you looked up at him, one hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck and the other cupping his face.

"I'm so glad you're back... We were worried... Lost without you," Chan admitted, staring up at the ceiling before kissing you deeply, expressing all the emotions he had held back whilst you were gone.

"It's all good now. Plus, you should all be proud of me-"

"We are proud of you, baby," Jeongin cut you off stroking your hair.

"Well, be even prouder because I know how to bake an amazing carrot cake if I say so myself," you laughed, sharing a new skill that had occupied your stress and been taught whilst you were away.

"You can bake with me now! Oh my gosh! It's a miracle!" Felix cheered, tugging you into the kitchen as the other boys chuckled from behind you both.

"I didn't think you meant this very second!"

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

[loveesiren]

Your blog is amazing 😘

Middle Pic Second Row pretty pls !!

JJ Maybank x fem - Smut 😍

Thank you babes!!! Enjoy :)

Photo Prompt from ⇨ 600 Celebration! (open)

a/n: Photo from S3E2 of Skins. Story inspired by this scene. I haven't written smut for a while so sorry if this sucks 😭

warnings: smut, language, smoking, mention of drugs and alcohol, under the influence sex, cum

wc: 1.4k+

You could tell JJ Maybank was the type to always find a reason to celebrate. You'd only known him a couple of months but the constant drinks and drugs every chance he got prepared you for what to expect when you all went out to celebrate his birthday.

John B and Pope were obviously getting annoyed with him, having to clean up his messes all night, pulling him out of not one, not two, but THREE bar fights. The boy thought he was invincible and today the world revolved around him.

You never minded though. In fact, you were excited to find someone who could keep up with you. Sarah, Kie, and Cleo were the best friends you could ever ask for but they didn't know how to party. So you spent the night throwing back shots and railing mysterious lines of drugs with JJ.

By 2 am, you were all running from the last bar JJ had been thrown out of. You had a smile plastered on your face as you held JJ's hand and felt the cool early morning air on your skin. The drugs were strong and the feeling of euphoria was prominent.

"So where to next?!" JJ finally asked as you stopped in the old tunnel.

"Well,s I was thinking home," Pope began.

"Yeah, I have to agree with Pope. I'm sick of taking care of you JJ!" John B chimed in. "Plus, we need to make sure they get home safe." He said as he gestured to Sarah and Cleo who were definitely off in their own little world after partying all day. You giggled as they took in their surroundings with awe.

"Awh, come on! I haven't even gotten laid yet!" JJ boasted as he lit up a cigarette. "Any takers?!" He asked the girls.

"No thanks, J. I love you, but you're repulsive." Sarah laughed as she stumbled towards John B. Kie rolled her eyes and walked off, she was never much for fun.

You laughed looked up at the flickering lights of the dark tunnel and laughed as the others began to gather their things to head home, the other boys placing their arms gently around your wasted girlfriends.

"What about you, sweetheart?" JJ smiled, taking a long drag off his cigarette before leaning closer to you. He had you backed up against the wall now, eyes staring down at you with want. Need.

You bit your lip as you smiled. JJ had quickly become one of your best friends and you couldn't deny the feelings you had towards him. You ran away to the Outer Banks to escape and JJ had always helped you do that. He was like your own personal form of heroin with the way he made you feel so much better. And what better way to take heroin than to...

You leaned up and smashed your lips against his, deciding you needed more of him immediately. JJ was quick to drop his cigarette and move his hand to grab a fistful of your hair as his other hand made his way to your hip.

"Well that's classy." John B said. You could hear snickering and swearing as the rest of your group walked off towards their respective homes.

JJ groaned as he placed wet kisses down your neck and hiked your dress up over your ass. His hands were rough and calloused against your skin and you could feel him move his finger to your panties.

"Damn, soaked already," He sneered as he palmed your clothed pussy. He moved your panties to the side and slid one finger into your dripping cunt. You threw your head back and yelped at the sensation. "I'm gonna get some words out of you tonight, Princess!" JJ said before biting into your neck and pushing two fingers inside you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan but it just came out as muffled whining.

You were a woman of few words and JJ knew that. All the pogues did. Getting you to say anything would be the highlight of JJ's birthday. "Tell me what you want." He demanded. You just smiled and clenched around his fingers, only aggravating him further. He was going to get words out of you one way or another.

He pulled his fingers out of you and ripped your black lace panties off your body before shoving them in his back pocket. "I'm going to fuck you now," He said as he fiddled with the zipper on his jeans. "And I'm not letting you cum until you use your words and beg me."

You smiled and raised an eyebrow at him, taking that as a challenge. JJ was quick to drop his pants and grab your hips roughly, digging his nails into your skin as he lifted you up and lined himself up at your entrance. He pushed you back against the wall as he used one hand to guide his tip through your wet folds before sliding you down on his cock. You whimpered as you tried to welcome the stretch. He was bigger than you'd had before and it took him a moment to bottom out.

"Fuck, you're virgin tight..." He panted. You could feel his dick twitch inside you and you clenched harder. He groaned in frustration and pulled out of you before slamming back into you again, forcing a loud cry to escape from your throat. "Be a good girl. Don't tease me." He whispered as he lifted your face to look at him. He held you firmly against the wall and slowly shoved two fingers into your mouth as he began moving in and out of you.

His movements were slow at first, coating himself in your slick. But he was quick to speed up, keeping his eyes locked on yours, your tough exterior faltered when he shoved his fingers deeper down your throat as he bucked his hips up into you.

Your eyes began to water as reached the back of your throat. You whined, gagging every so often as he bottomed out with each thrust. "You make such pretty sounds, Y/n..." He said. You dug your nails deeper into his shoulders as you could feel yourself reaching your high. JJ slowed down, not allowing you to cum yet. "Let me hear that pretty little mouth say my name."

He pulled his fingers from your throat as you gagged, strings of saliva coating his digits. "Oh fuck, JJ, please!" You cried out.

"Please what?" He gave a sinister smile, examining his fingers before bringing them down to massage circles on your sensitive clit.

"Please. Please let me cum..." You begged pathetically, knowing JJ would hold this against you the rest of your life. But you were too cock drunk to care. "Please fuck me harder!"

"Well since you asked so nicely," He smiled before grabbing both your hips and thrusting into you faster. He leaned his forehead against yours, panting hungrily as you both worked on reaching that euphoria you so desperately craved. Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked you relentlessly. You felt the knot building up in your court and before you knew it you were coming undone. The drugs making your orgasm 10 times more intense. Your walls fluttered around his throbbing cock and you watched JJ's eyes roll back in his head as you enjoyed the sensation of his warm load fill you up.

Your body went limp as JJ used your soaking cunt to milk himself dry. When he was finished, he rested his head on your shoulder as he twitched inside you. Your skin stuck together as you both fought to catch your breath.

JJ slowly pulled you off him and set you gently on the ground. You could feel your mixed juices running down your thigh and you quickly pulled your dress down. JJ fixed his jeans and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up before finally looking at you again. He smiled and leaned into you once again. He kept his hand on the wall as he looked down at you, examining your big eyes and sun kissed skin.

"You know, your voice really gets me going..."

You smiled up at him as you reached down between your legs and used two fingers to scoop the cum dripping out of your sore hole. You brought it to your lips and licked it off before putting one finger to your lips in a shushing motion and walking off.

JJ bit his lip at your slutty gesture, feeling himself grow hard once again. You glanced back over your shoulder and smiled at him and he quickly followed you off into the night.

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001 @seojunandsoju @niktwazny303

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’m really hoping you guys still like the long and fluffy chapters, because this is the longest and fluffiest chapter yet. Call this a calm before the storm, but the calm is tooth-rotting fluff and the storm is... a secret. Chapter Title from Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face

Word Count: 23.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone goes into lockdown, waiting for Stand Edgar to come through. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

It wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. You were burning and burning and burning, and Homelander was laughing. Holding you by your neck to make you watch as Neuman and Zoe and Hughie burned. Crushed under falling bricks, unable to escape Homelander, escape you. The longer you looked, the more people appeared. All burning. Butcher and Annie and MM and Frenchie and your sisters and brothers and father and- 

You couldn’t find Ben. Where was Ben. He didn’t leave you, he wouldn’t leave you, so where was Ben. You must have groaned his name, called for him, because Homelander yanks you back further, hissing in your ear.

“Soldier Boy won’t save you, because you don’t need to be saved. You belong here, with me. I love you, not him. He left, and I’m still fucking here.”

You shook your head. Ben wouldn’t leave you. Homelander must have found a way to kill him because Ben wouldn’t leave you.

“Are you sure about that,” Homelander sneered. “Because I don’t see him anywhere. But maybe I missed him. Here.” He lasered through the bodies and stone, guts and blood flying through the air and turning to ash. “Hm, nope. Still no Soldier Boy.”

You start to scream, and everything is just fire. Ben didn’t leave. He was somewhere, in pain, and you couldn’t find him. He couldn’t find you. And you were burning everything as Homelander laughed, because that’s what you were for. Homelander’s amusement, to help him burn the world, and you couldn’t find Ben-

Your sweat is cold, and evaporating around you. Scorching heat is drowning the air of the room, and the only thing that isn’t uncertain—isn’t melting or only drifting away in smoke—is something strong and powerful around you. Something grounding you in a world where your screams are becoming sobs, everything is hot but not burning, and Ben is there. He’s the thing around you, caging you against him as the dream faded and reality became sharp once more. It hadn’t been real. This was real. Ben was real.

He’s humming, and you can feel the sound in your bones. His voice really is terrible—he’s off key and offbeat and for someone who speaks in such a natural baritone his voice sure does crack a lot—but it’s more than enough. It rolls through you, and you don’t care how awful a rendition of Moon River this is, it’s Ben doing it. And that’s what brings you back down. It’s Ben who's humming, Ben whose hand is against your head, combing fingers through your hair. Ben who you can feel the warmth of as your fire dies out, and Ben who you can smell all around you. Pine and salt and gunpowder, not blood and barbecued flesh. Ben.

You pull back slowly and meet his eyes. His mouth is tight, jaw clenched, and he’s waiting for you to speak first. It takes a second, and your voice is hoarse from the screaming, but you find breath and croak, “How long was I out?”

“Almost thirteen hours. It’s 3am.”

“Did I wake yo-“

“No,” Ben grunts. “I was up. Working.”

You blink at him. “Working?”

“Making myself damn useful.”

You tilt your head at Ben, eyes quickly scanning to room for what he could mean. All the drawers and dressers are open, clothes are scattered in heaps that seem patternless across the floor, and Ben’s shield has been moved to the bedroom. The answer clicks, pushing through the exhausted haze of your brain, and you look back at him.

“Were you packing?”

Ben nodded curtly. “Starlight said they could keep Neuman in temporary lockdown, but they’ll be here in the morning to move us out.”

“Do you need help?”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Ben detangles from where he’s holding you, pulling the blanket up over you as he stands. “Rest.”

“I just slept for thirteen hours.” You say with a flat look, pushing the blankets away, and Ben glares down at you.

“And you’ll sleep for thirteen more.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you snap. “I want to help. I want to be useful-“

“You can be useful, and fucking rest,” Ben retorted, not budging. “I can pack my damn self.”

“Can you?” You look around the room again, at how he’s tried to sort everything into piles that you couldn’t make sense of if you tried. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you threw everything onto the floor and called it a day.”

He scowls. “I have a system.”

“Well, teach it to me, and I’ll help.”

“No.”

“Ben, please, I want to help. I need to help.” Any anger is quickly flooded by fear. Fear that you’re not useful, a burden, he’s not letting you help because you’ll just fuck it up and blow everything up-

“I told you, you’ll be helpful by fucking resting.” Ben leans down, holding your face gently between his hands. “You just took on a nuclear blast alone. Even for you that’s a shit ton of power, and you need damn rest. You're tired.”

He's right, you are tired. Your whole body is aching, and your eyes are heavy. Everything is heavy. But you still shake your head weakly.

“I just need to help,” you reach up to hold his arm and squeeze. “I’ll sleep in the van, and when we get to Jersey. Please.”

Ben sighs, and kisses your forehead. When he meets your gaze again, he’s searching your face for something, lips drawn in a frown. For a terrible moment you think he’s going to tell you just to sleep. That he’ll take care of it and that you’d be of more use asleep than helping him-

“If you stay in bed,” his voice is low and quiet. “I’ll be your arms and you can sort things your own stupid way.”

“Oh,” you nod, his hands still against your cheeks and jaw. “Yeah. Deal.”

He grunts, standing once more and walking to the center of the room. He turns, giving you an expectant look, and you survey his mess.

“So was there a method to your madness? Or were you just talking out of your ass when you said you had a system.”

“There was a goddamn system,” Ben grumbles, and you raise your brows at him. He sighs. “I can’t fucking remember what it was.”

You feel your mouth tug upwards. “Old man-"

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re no fun,” you’re smiling a little more, and he rolls his eyes. “We’ll start with two piles. Stuff that's yours and stuff that's mine.”

“How will I be able to fucking tell-"

“Do you wear bras, Benjamin?” You drawl, and he huffs.

“Brat.”

“I’m not the one who doesn’t know what his own clothing looks like. Two piles.”

Ben starts to shuffle through the room, throwing your things onto the bed and his next to his shield. You watch him move silently, hands fidgeting in your lap, and thank the universe that both of your wardrobes have been designed to withstand nukes. The way Ben is ripping everything from the floor and chucking them to their place he’d have probably torn everything he’s touched otherwise. At some point you realize that you’re wearing the same jeans and shirt from yesterday, and though they’re still technically intact the fabric is thin. One wrong movement from tearing. 

You start to stand, and Ben’s head snaps up from where he's been glowering at a pile of his boxers, your shirts, and mismatched socks. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“Going to the bathroom?” You give him a flat glare. “Am I allowed to do that, your highness?”

He grunts, attention returning to the pile. “Be fast.”

“I’m going to take the longest shit you’ve ever seen in your fucking life.”

You take several, slightly unsteady steps, and suddenly Ben’s arm is wrapped around your torso.

“I can walk-“

“I have fucking eyes,” he snaps. “You almost fell over.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“No, it’s not,” Ben scans over you, then around the complete mess of your room. “I’m going to carry you to the bathroom, you’re going to shit, and then you’re going right back to the fucking bed.”

He doesn’t leave time for argument, dropping down to hook his free arm under your legs and pulling you upwards.

“You know, I think you carry me more places than I walk at this point.” You mutter, and Ben rolls his eyes.

“I don’t see you fucking complaining about it.”

You shrug, “it doesn’t feel like a battle worth the effort.”

“Because you like it.”

“No, because it’s a stupid fight to have.”

Ben nods, winking as he lowers you onto the toilet. “And you like it.”

You glare at him as stands. “Fuck you.”

He chuckles, leaning down to quickly kiss you, and you lean forward into it. When Ben pulls away with a long suck of your lip, he’s smirking again. “Not until after you shit.”

“Wait,” you grab his arm as he moves to leave. “Can you get me some clothes?”

“Clothes?” Ben frowns. “For what?”

“Wearing?” You giggle at his scowl. “I need to change, these feel like they’re about to fall off my body.”

“I don’t see the issue with that.”

You whack his shoulder, pushing him out of your grip and back to the bedroom. “Shut up, you horny old man. Get me clothes.”

Ben leaves the bathroom with a grunt, closing the door behind him. You listen to him move around the room, tapping your foot in restless bounces, and right when you’re flushing a knock sounds on the door.

You stand, your legs a little steadier than before, and open the door. Ben is holding a large pile of shirts, pants, and underwear, still frowning as he looks down at you.

“This shit smelled clean,” he grumbles, thrusting the clothing forward. “Take what you want.”

Humming, you sort through your options. Ben seems determined not to let go of anything you don’t explicitly request, making this a little difficult, but you manage to turn through the pile without removing things from his arms. Most of the underwear is lacy and thin—you didn’t even know you owned anything like this—and you give him an amused look.

“I am almost positive I have clean underwear that isn’t lingerie.”

“You might,” he winks. “But I seemed to have missed it.”

“What if I just don’t wear underwear?” You tease, and Ben’s whole body stiffens. “Because I am not wearing,” you hold up a black pair made from the most itchy fabric you’ve ever felt, lined with bows. “These.”

“Promise?” He growls, staring at you with a gaze that’s far too intense for this early in the morning. You throw the underwear at his face, and he doesn’t even flinch.

You giggle, and he glares at you through the sheer material. Returning to the pile, you pull out a large, white t-shirt. “This is yours.”

“You’d look better in it.” Ben snaps his head forward, causing the underwear to fall back to the pile, and grins at you. “And just it.”

“Uh huh,” you wrinkle your nose at him, but still take the shirt anyway. “Pants?”

Ben nods at a single pair of shorts, and you glare at him.

“It’s the middle of February.”

“And? You’re a damn living furnace.”

“I can still feel cold.”

“We’ll get you a fucking blanket. You’re resting on the ride anyways.”

You sigh, but take the shorts, along with one of the slightly less lewd underwear options. “I’m never trusting you with clothing again.”

“Thank fuck.” Ben looks at the clothing in your hands. “You done?”

At your nod you think he’s going to close the door, but instead he drops all the clothing to the floor and reaches up to grab your face, pulling you towards him. You let out a small squeak of surprise, and he chuckles as your mouths meet.

It’s a long, gentle, lazy kiss. Sloppy and all tongue, one of Ben’s hands gliding into your hair as the other drops to wrap around you. He keeps going and going until you’re all but falling into him, and the moment your moans become his name he’s gone. Leaning back, smirking down at you as you try to catch your breath. You can feel him, all of him, the powerful thing in his chest and the hunger in his blood. It’s so painfully familiar, and it’s everything.

“Cunt,” you mutter through your teeth, and he laughs.

“Get changed, then get your ass back in bed.” He moves back down to kiss the scrunch of your nose, and then closes the door with a wink.

You flip him off through the wood, and hope he feels it. You have to lean against the wall of the bathroom to change—something you will never tell Ben—but you manage, and when you return to the bedroom it’s a little cleaner. Ben’s succeeded in separating the clothing into piles, and is glaring at your pile like it’s just insulted his mother.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, walking up behind him.

He doesn’t look away from the clothing. “You have too much fucking shit.”

“I’d say I have a pretty average amount of shit.” You hum, glancing at Ben’s own, much smaller pile. “It’s just a lot in comparison to your shit.”

Ben follows your gaze. “I have exactly as much as I damn need.”

You shrug. “As long as you’re happy with it. But don’t shit on my parade just because yours is tiny and pathetic.”

“As you’re aware,” Ben says your name with a smirk, arm slinging around your shoulders and tugging you into his side. “Nothing about me is tiny or pathetic.”

“I don’t think I am aware,” you meet his eyes, letting your challenge show across your face. “I think you need to prove it.”

He makes a deep sound that moves from somewhere in his chest to yours, and the lust almost explodes inside him. Inside you. Ben picks you up—your legs scrambling to wrap around him—and kisses your neck, then your jaw, then tugs at your ear with his teeth. He’s everywhere, crossing almost every part of your face with his mouth, holding you with one arm as the other roams your body. The only place he isn’t is where you need him the most, against your lips, pressing your tongue, inside you in the only way you can allow without completely shattering for him.

You fall back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress as Ben all but eats you alive, and your hands start to scrape at his back, up his neck, trying to leave some sort of impossible mark that proves he was here. That he did this to you, so the world will know that at some point he wanted you half as much as you need him. He still won’t just kiss you, biting and sucking and licking every single inch of your face except your mouth. If you could control yourself a little more, you’d stop moaning and whining his name to tell him to just kiss you.

“Ben,” you try to hiss or snap at him, but it’s just a breathless whimper against his ear. You’re starting to grind up into his body, and the groan that leaves his throat only spurs you on. “Fuck, Ben, you di-“

That does it. His mouth crashes into yours, burying you between the bed and him, just Ben, Ben, Ben, tasting like coffee and bruising you with his hands and the hunger and strength of everything in him. You think you scream his name into his mouth—you can hear a needy and loud sound but can’t really tell what’s happening to you save for the thirst and fervor for Ben—but he just keeps going, pressing his hips down until you’re pinned beneath him. You could live like this, you decide. Safe and desired under Ben’s body, nothing to worry about except trying to show him that he’s everything, no pain to feel except the ache all over you for him.

When Ben sits up, grinning down at you, he might be glowing. It might just be the haze and feverish heat he’s planted in your head, but you could swear he’s glowing. You try and pull him back down, but he just hangs above you, not ever moving an inch.

“Get your ass back down here, Benjamin,” it’s supposed to be a firm order, but even to your own ears it sounds like a plea. “You can’t just fucking do that-“

“Do what?” His voice is mockingly innocent, especially given the feral look in his eyes and the rumble of want you can feel from his chest. “You’re gonna have to be a little more fucking specific, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

He doesn’t take the bait this time, remaining right above you but still too far away. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ben leans down so he’s whispering in your ear. “All you have to do is fucking ask.” 

You almost do. You almost beg, give in, tell Ben to do whatever he fucking wants to you as long as he’s doing something. Anything. Everything. Just as long as it’s him. But that cruel voice that lives in the back of your head creeps forward, reminding you the truth. Too much. That’s too much. This will have to be enough because if you go any further you just fall into Ben forever. You’ll give him everything, because he’s everything, and when this is over you’ll have nothing. So you can’t give him all of you, and he doesn’t want it anyways.

You’re silent for a second too long, and you feel something confusing and rough pierce in your ribs from Ben’s body. But he just leans down, giving you one last gentle kiss before standing. Leaving the air around you cold and empty without him. He’s gone from view, and when you sit up you find him hauling out boxes from the hallway.

“Where did those come from?” You ask, still a little breathless, and Ben shrugs.

“The French Prick and Kimiko dropped them off around midnight. Said to use them for transporting shit.” Ben looks up at you. “The French Prick said Kimiko wants you to text her when you’re awake.”

“Oh,” you smile slightly, looking around the room. “Where’s my phone?”

“Left it in your jacket,” Ben jerks his head to the dresser. When you start to stand, he drops the boxes and shoots you a glare, stomping over to your jacket. “Sit the fuck down,” he grumbles, fumbling through the pockets. “I’m the fucking arms.”

“You need to pack, I can get my phone myself-“

“No,” Ben pulls your phone out, stalking to your side. “You need to sit there, be beautiful, tell me what to do, and stop fucking moving.”

You snatch the phone from his hand, sticking your tongue out at him even as your face heats. “I’m helping you unpack in Jersey, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“We’ll fucking see,” he grumbles. “Fucking Jersey.”

You snort as he returns to the boxes, watching him kick them across the floor. “What’s your agenda against Jersey? What did it ever do to you?”

“It’s a shit state for fucking pussies.”

“You say that about every state that isn’t New York or Pennsylvania.”

“That’s because those states are fucking worth something.”

“I thought your whole thing was loving America,” you cross your arms, tilting your head at him. “Only liking 4% of it isn’t very patriotic of you, Soldier Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ben grunts, attention still on the boxes. “And I don’t only like 4% of America.”

You hum. “If we go by state, 2 out of 50 is 4%. If we go by population, you might be just breaching 10%.”

“I like more than two states.”

“Really,” you give him a bored, disbelieving look. “Name one more state you like.”

“Massachusetts,” he looks up and winks. “It gave me you.”

“Kiss ass,” you mutter, and Ben chuckles.

“Yep.”

“Name one more,” you lean forwards a little, watching him hunch down to the clothing. “And divide them into smaller piles.”

“What?”

“The clothes, divide them into smaller piles. Pants with pants, shirts with shirts, etcetera.”

Ben shoots you an exasperated look, but starts to chuck his clothes around into slowly building bundles on the floor. “Fucking bossy,” he grumbles, and you scoff.

“You told me to be,” your tone is annoyed, but you can feel the smile stretching your face. “Name another state. California? That will get you a big population grab.”

“I fucking despise California,” Ben mutters. “Bunch of fake pussies with plastic tits taking boner pills.”

“What about Washington? First state to legalize weed. You love weed.”

Ben snorts. “Weed not being legal never fucking stopped me before.” He looks up at you with a frown. “MM said we could order shit now, right?”

“Yeah?” Ben opens his mouth, and you cut him off. “We are not ordering you drugs.”

He scowls. “Why the fuck not.”

“Because we’re literally moving to a federal building. We’re going to be living in the FBSA Headquarters. They’ll notice if you DoorDash cocaine.”

“What the hell is DoorDash.”

“Food delivery service,” you watch Ben start to throw clothing into the bins. “Are you not going to fold them first?”

“We don’t have time to fucking fold them.” He mutters, and you blink.

“Ben,” you say slowly. “What time are they coming by to pick us up?”

“Five.”

You look down at your phone, the clock reading 4:45, and look back up at Ben. “Benjamin-“

“I got fucking distracted,” he grunts. “You’re just as much to blame as me.”

“As I,” you correct, and he rolls his eyes. “And if you had told me-“

“You would’ve tried to help, and passed out on the floor.” Ben snaps, slamming the lid over the first box. “And we’ll be fine. We’ve got time.”

“But-“

Ben moves back to the bed, dragging the remaining boxes behind him. “I can fucking handle this. Text Kimiko.”

You glare at him, but open up your phone and poke through your messages. There’s one from MM—telling you about the van coming at 5am—two from Butcher that you don’t look at, and one from Mallory, asking you to clean the house before you leave. You would’ve, or at least tried to, if you’d gotten more than a day’s evacuation notice. So you send her an apology, and move onto the last unread message. 

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Are you ok?

I told Soldier Boy to make sure, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention

You glance up at Ben, who’s violently throwing your clothes into different piles.

“Can you please not rip my clothing,” you watch as he chucks a bra across the mattress.

“Your shit is built to withstand the goddamn sun. It won’t fucking rip,” Ben grumbles, but does throw the shirt in his hands less like he’s trying to pitch a fastball.

You look back down at your phone, responding to Kimiko.

I’m okay. Just tired.

You pause, watching Ben pick up the pile of pants at your side and dump them in the bin.

And Ben did tell me. He just has a resting bitch face.

The response comes almost immediately.

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Good

I’ll see you at the apartments

You blink at your screen, about to text back and ask why she’ll see you—because the team should be laying low after Neuman—and what she means by apartments plural, but Ben’s head shoots up, looking out the door and down the hall.

“Wha-“

Ben raises his hand, and you fall silent with a frown. His jaw clenches, dropping a pair of your jeans back into the bin, and says through gritted teeth, “There’s someone downstairs.”

“Ben-“ He’s walking out the door, and you hiss in a hushed tone after him. “Ben, it’s probably just Butcher-“

He glares back at you. “No it’s not. I know what Butcher fucking sounds like. Stay here and be quiet.”

“Benjamin-“

He’s gone, and your finger starts to tap anxiously. He said to stay here. And you trust him. But he’s also a paranoid ass, and might be about to attack Butcher or Hughie or MM because of it. But he said to stay here, and it might not be just one of your team members-

An unfamiliar voice shrieks from downstairs, and you don’t even think before you sprint out of the bed and down the stairs, skidding to a halt when you see Ben pointing a gun at an unfamiliar woman. She’s frozen in fear, shaking as Ben shouts at her.

“Who the fuck are you! Who do you wor-“ Ben looks up at you with a scowl, snapping your name. “I told you to fucking stay upstairs.”

“What the hell-“

“Take, take a step back and put your hands up,” a shaky voice interrupts you, and you look up to see another man—dressed in the same black suit as the woman—pointing a gun at you with a shaky hand. “Your behavior is hostile, and I will, I’ll shoot. I’ll do it.”

You sigh, realizing what’s happening. “Oh my god-“

“You shoot her and I’ll rip your fucking spine out and shove it up your goddamn asshole,” Ben roars, and the woman on the barrel end of his gun makes a weak sound.

“That’s, that’s a crime sir-“

“See if I give a single goddamn fuck-“

“Holy fucking shit,” you shout, raising your hands up. “Everyone calm the hell down, now.”

“Ma’am, I have been authorized to use force-“

“Fucking Butcher,” you mutter, before raising your voice and giving the man a glare. “I bet you have been. But shooting me will only make him,” you point to Ben. “Angry.”

“He, uh, he already seems pretty angry-“

“Angrier. Just put the gun down. That means you-“ you turn to Ben with a glare. “As well.”

“Not until they tell us who fucking sent them-“

“The FBSA, dumb dumb. They’re here to transport us, not try and kill us.”

Ben returns your glare. “You don’t fucking know that-“

“Yeah, I do.” You cross the room, over to the shaking man. His gun raises a little higher, aiming at your forehead, but he lowers it when he sees your bored expression. You stop in front of him, stepping to the side to give Ben a better view, and jab a finger at the man’s jacket. At the clearly displayed Agent Moore, FBSA badge pinned to it.

Ben scoffs, and lowers his gun. “How the fuck was I supposed to see that.”

“With your genetically enhanced vision?” You snap, and give the woman an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him, he’s not house trained.”

“Shut up,” Ben grumbles, and you stick your tongue out at him as you return to his side. “They could’ve damn knocked.”

“And you could’ve asked questions first and shot later.”

“I fucking did. Do either of them look dead?”

You look between the agents, both trembling in fear but very much alive. “No.”

Ben gives you a smug grin. “Who’s unobservant now?”

“Still you.”

“Um,” the woman—squinting at her chest you can make out Agent Cortez on her badge—looks between you and Ben nervously. “We’ve been told by Director Grace Mallory and William Butcher to collect you both and bring you to the FBSA headquarters.”

“We’ve fucking figured that out-“

“We,” you raise your brows at Ben. “Who’s we?”

“Christ on a cross,” Ben mutters, only loud enough for you to hear, and you smile sweetly at him. “She,” Ben gives you a pointed glare. “Figured that out.”

“Will you, will you be compliant?” The man—Agent Moore—fidgets with his gun, and you feel Ben tense against you.

“Yes, we will be.” You elbow Ben. “Right?”

“Whatever.”

You roll your eyes, and look back at the agents with a close-lipped smile. “He’s grumpy.”

“Stop calling me fucking grumpy-“

“Stop being grumpy. And give the agent her gun back.”

Ben scowls. “No.”

“Ben-“

“I’ll be compliant,” his face twists at the word, lips curling like it’s disgusting on his tongue. “But I keep the fucking gun.”

You sigh. “Fine. Do you need help with the clothes-“

“No.” Ben shoves the gun between his pants and body and glares at the FBSA agents. “Wait here. And if they try anything-”

“They literally can’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.” You give him a slight pout. “But if you’re really worried, I’m sure I could come with you and help-“

Ben snorts, and turns to climb back up the stairs. “Nice try, brat.”

“Cunt!” You call after him, flipping off his back.

His laugh echoes through the house, and vanishes into your bedroom.

You glare at the spot he vanished, and turn back to the living room and to see the agents watching you with wide eyes and pale faces.

“Uh, I’m really sorry about that. But he’s kind of…” you sigh. “Vigilant. And I think we were both expecting someone from our team-“

“Is it true that you’re more powerful than Homelander?” Agent Moore blurts, and your blood turns cold.

“I, uh, I don’t-“

“Jerry,” Agent Cortez hisses at Moore, still looking at you wearily. “Director Mallory said not to talk to them-“

“But you saw her file!” Moore whispers back, also not looking away from you. “And we watched the Firecracker videos together-“

“Shut up,” Cortez snaps, voice dropping to an almost panicked, hushed tone. “We’re just supposed to get them and go. Not ask questions about their powers.”

“But her powers are confusing! She has like a million!” Moore wrings his hands, gun waving in the air. You should probably be worried about that, but you’re more annoyed with the whole conversation. You can understand why Ben was so whiny about this in December. It is annoying having people talk about you, in front of you, like you’re not there. And you do not have a million powers. You have—if you count the whole immortality thing—five.

“And there’s the whole weird thing with Homelander saying Soldier Boy kidnapped her!” Moore continues, still practicing terrible firearms safety. “But she doesn’t look kidnapped-“

“Shut up! Soldier Boy has super hearing!”

“But she doesn’t! This is weird, Lily! Yesterday the news is saying that Soldier Boy forced her to kill Vice President Neuman and Homelander arrived too late save them, then we’re getting a text at 1am saying to take them to HQ, and now-“

“I can hear you, you know,” you sigh. “And Ben didn’t kidnap me. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.”

Both freeze, watching you like you’re about to attack them. Cortez stutters out, “We’re sorry, we didn’t-“

She’s interrupted by Ben shouting your name down the stairs. “Where the fuck is your phone!”

“In my hand!” You call back. “Are you almost done?”

“Can you ask the FSBI pussies if they have blankets?!”

You frown. “Blankets?!” 

“For the ride!” Ben’s face pokes out of the door, drawn in a stupidly handsome glare. “You’re fucking napping on the way to Jersey, Sunshine.”

“Oh, piss off.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You can’t make me nap, I’m not a child-“

“I won’t have to make you, you’re going to sit down and pass out right the fuck out. You always pass out.”

“I don’t always pass out.”

“How many times have I carried you into the house?” Ben drawls, and you scowl.

“Fuck you.”

Ben winks, not with company over, Sunshine. You’ll make them deaf with all your damn screaming.

I’m going to fucking strangle you. You glower, and he chuckles, vanishing back into your room.

“Ask about the fucking blankets!” He yells, and you turn back to the agents with a sigh.

“We don’t have blankets,” Agent Cortez says nervously, looking past you, up the stairs. “Is he going to be mad?”

“He’ll whine like a little bitch,” you raise your voice to make sure Ben hears you. “But he won’t hurt you.”

“I am not a little bitch.” Ben appears back at the top of the stairs, somehow carrying three of the four large bins at once.

“But you whine like one.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, descending back into the living room. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re comfortable, is that a damn crime?”

“Not on its own, but if you murder a bunch of FBSA agents about it, yes.”

Ben drops the boxes on the floor, glaring at the agents. “You pussies think you can handle carrying these outside?”

“Um,” Cortez blinks at him. “That will restrict our view, and we’re not supposed to let you out of our sights.”

“Well, you already fucking failed there.” Ben snaps, and you stomp on his foot. “What?”

“Don’t be a dick, they’re doing their best.”

“If this is their fucking best, I’d hate to see their damn worst.”

You ignore him, turning back to the agents. “Can you please help us bring our stuff out to the car?”

“I guess…” Moore mumbles, and Ben nods sharply.

“Good,” Ben grunts, marching back up the stairs. “And if she tries to help you, shoot her.”

You sigh. “Please do not shoot me.”

“Then don’t try and fucking help!” Ben’s voice carries down the hall, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not made of glass, you asshole! I can carry a box!”

“Maybe,” Ben appears once more, holding the last bin and his shield, your jacket tossed over his shoulder. “But you shouldn’t goddamn have to.”

“I don’t have to,” you snap. “I want to help. I’m wide awake right now, and I feel fine. I’ll use a favor, Benjamin, don’t test me.”

“Fine. One box. The suits can carry the other two.”

You smile at him, wide and easy, and he just grunts. As Cortez and Moore awkwardly pick up their boxes you pull your jacket off of Ben and shrug it on. He doesn’t stop watching you—lips pulling down as you pick up your box—knuckles white on his own box.

You nudge Ben’s shoulder with yours as you walk to his side. “No sentimental goodbyes?”

“Goodbyes?” Ben’s voice is sharp, and you feel something contract in his chest. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“No, goodbyes to the house.” You blink at him, following the agents to the front door. “I’m going with you.”

“Good.” The thing loosens, and you could swear you hear Ben let out a small huff of relief. “And I’m not saying goodbye to a fucking house.”

“What, no emotional attachment to the sofa or the stove?” You tease, and Ben gives you a glare.

“Those are just fucking things. I don’t give a shit about a sofa. I can get a sofa anywhere.”

You hum. “Not at a McDonalds. Or a Sephora.”

“What the fucking hell is a Sephora.”

“You have a phone now,” you grin up at him. “Google it.”

“Why would I do that when you can just fucking tell me.”

“Because I won’t get to laugh at you trying to spell Sephora.” Ben scoffs, and you examine his bored, neutral face. Whenever your arms brush you can feel something that’s lazy and warm rooted in his chest, so it’s not like he’s bored of you-

Yet, the bitter voice reminds you. Bored of you yet.

“You really don’t give a shit that we’re leaving?” You ask softly, a little afraid of the answer. Afraid that he doesn’t give a shit about the house because it’s meant nothing to him. That’s he’s happy with this—with you—because of the lust, or because kissing you is just easier than trying to kill you. But he hasn’t been trying to kill you for a while, and the kissing only just started. But maybe that’s less about you and more about the convenience. He’s horny and you’re there. But he hasn’t pushed you, and if it was just about the convenience he would’ve fucked Drug Boobs at Frenchie’s weird club. Why didn’t he fuck Drug Boobs? If it’s about convenience why did he leave Drug Boobs? To find you, before the kissing had even started? Why did he go out of his way to get you home? Not home anymore, and why doesn’t he care about that? That it’s not home anymore? He doesn’t have to care, but why doesn’t he? Why doesn’t he care-

“It’s just a fucking house. We can get another.” Ben’s grumble pulls you from your spiral, and you frown up at him.

“But-“

“You’re coming with me.” Ben says your name, voice firm as he exits through the door. “That’s all I give a fuck about.”

Your whole body becomes warm, even as you follow him into the chill of the winter dark and wind. “Okay,” you whisper, and Ben looks down at you. His face is cast in shadows, and golden light of the street lamps makes him glow. It’s not just the haze of your thirst from before. He’s shining.

“Are you going to get fucking mad at me if I kiss you?” he grunts, and the shake of your head feels frantic.

“Never-“

Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping his bin and shield and crashing into you. His warm hands holding your face, calluses rough against your skin, making you feel holy. Making you feel so safe under the wide night, because all of the sky and its stars could fall and collapse onto you and it would still just be Ben. The gravity of him would keep you close, and he’d hold the sky, and you’d worship him for it. Give him everything you have and more for making you feel this. For touching you like you’re not broken and shattered and missing pieces that are covered in ash and blood somewhere in upstate New York. For holding you like he could fill the cracks lining your head with gold and fire and him. That’s what makes you drop your own bin—your hands shooting up to sink into his hair and rest on his beard as his own arms drop to circle you—and push back into him with every single part of you that’s still worth something. Worth half as much as the zealous way he’s touching you, worth a quarter of the enormous and consuming ardor that’s climbing from Ben into you. Making every part of you beat against your body, telling you to maybe just carve your soul out of wherever you keep it and give it to him.

When you’re both breathless—your body alert and electric and that powerful thing in Ben like thunder—you separate in unison. Ben rests his head against yours for a second, one arm tight around you as its opposite moves a hand to your face, tracing your cheekbones lightly. He’s watching you, you’re locked into him. His eyes and smell and body and Ben. It’s when his hand moves a lock of your hair, plastered to your forehead from sweat, that you feel the weight of it crash into you. This is everything. This is the whole world, this is more than the whole world. This is you and Ben, and you-

One of the agents coughs, and Ben’s head snaps any from you, jaw clenched with his arm around you. “What the fuck do you want.”

“Um,” when you manage to look away from Ben, you see Moore looking between you with a blush. “Mr. Butcher just asked us to please hurry up.”

“Butcher said that?” You frown, and Moore scratches the back of his head.

“He used some other words too. And didn’t say please.”

“Other words, as well,” Ben corrects, and you feel a rush of pride through him. Through you—something dangerous and close to breaking out of your body swelling—even as you sigh.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“And that’s your fucking cross to bear, Sunshine.” Ben presses a kiss to the top of your head and peels himself away. Picking up his shield, his box, and your box. “Now get your beautiful ass in the car.”

“Give me back my box-“

“I can’t hear you,” Ben starts to walk away and you can hear the cocky smirk on his face as he says your name.

“Yes you fucking can. Don’t play dumb with me, Pretty Boy-“

Ben drops his shield and the boxes in the trunk of the agent’s SUV. “You’re tired.”

Your whole body suddenly feels like there's a weight on it, your head falling to a sleepy daze. “Stop fucking doing that.”

“Doing what?” Ben’s face is a picture of mock innocence as he returns to your side. “I didn’t do a damn thing.”

“Fucking cunt-“

“Brat.” Ben scoops you into his arms, carrying you into the car. The concrete, unyielding care and protection of Ben wraps through you, dragging sleep closer.

“I could’ve walked,” you mumble against his skin, your head buried in his neck.

“But you fucking didn’t, so here we are.”

You hum a muffled, faint insult—even you don’t know what it’s supposed to be—Ben chuckles. It rumbles through your guts and sits comfortably somewhere in your hips, and Ben’s grip loosens just enough for you to slide down his body as he sits. You can feel his warmth, smell the pine and gunpowder of him, and he’s humming again and god it’s terrible, but it’s somehow the best sound you’ve heard in your life. His hands start to trace patterns against where he’s holding you, and your whole body goes limp as your mind clears to Ben.

You don’t even know where you are. You could be buried in the sand of a desert, or floating through somewhere far in space, or dropped in the middle of the arctic circle, but it wouldn’t matter. Because Ben is touching you, kissing you until you can’t think about stupid things like where you are. It’s just Ben, it’s just you, and everything else is temporary. This is sacred, and could destroy the universe if you wanted it to. And when everything else was gone, it would still just be you and Ben.

He’s everything beautiful that’s ever existed. He’s the ocean in the summer, vast and consuming and the more you look the more you realize there’s no end. He’s the stars you prayed to as a child, so rare and peaceful when the city's blaring car horns and glowing billboards always drowned out the sky, such a small solace to see from the roof when your eyes were blurred with tears. He’s the songs you loved to sing when it was easy and uncomplicated—in the car and in the shower and into a microphone until drunk frat boys bought you a drink—making you feel like a little more than just a heart in a wide world, making you feel like there’s something you can shape with your will as your voice called like a siren to passers by. He’s every drop of sugar that’s ever hit your tongue, every soft patch of grass under your feet, every single smile and laugh and victory.

He’s above you, and kissing you, and touching you on every part of your body and in some spaces between. He’s growling filth into your ear, but it’s all just a blur of deep sounds that fall in time with your moans. Grinding against you and sucking your upper lip. Nose bumping yours and strong hands kneading your skin and ass and breasts. Knee pushing between your legs and tongue tracing your teeth. It’s all just Ben, and he’s yours. He’s not leaving you to rot in this fever. He’s grown something in you and you’ve grown something in him and now they need each other. You need each other to keep them alive. These wrathful and bloody and forgiving and luminescent things inside you. That you could survive without, but don’t want to. You have them now, and if you have any sort of power over your life you’ll use it to keep them. Keep Ben.

Your eyes blink open, and the first thing you hear is a too happy, over-saturated ding. There’s the rumble of the engine, the beat of Ben’s heart where your head rests against him, and another ding. You raise your head up—rubbing your face and letting your eyes adjust a focus in the dark car—and Ben squeezes your hips where he’s still holding on his lap.

“Go back to sleep,” he grunts your name, and you look up at him through bleary eyes. “We’re almost there.”

“How do you know that?” You mumble, and he shrugs.

“We’ve been driving for a million fucking years, we have to be close.”

You twist around slightly to see the front of the car and raise your voice for the agents to hear. “Excuse me-“

“Soldier Boy is correct, ma’am,” Cortez answers you before you can even ask the question, and you feel the smug satisfaction run from Ben into you. “We have approximately seven minutes until arrival.”

“Thank you,” you turn back to Ben, and are met with his smirk and overly pleased expression.

“Fucking told you.”

“Shut up,” you hit his arm, wriggling around so your back is pressed to his chest, using him as a very large, annoying chair. “And don’t tell me to go back to sleep.”

Ben scoffs at the drop of your tone and grunted words at the end, and you grin into the air. “Your impression of me is fucking terrible.”

“No, it’s not. I think I could’ve made it as a Soldier Boy impersonator at Voughtland if college fell through.”

“You would’ve been the worst fucking Voughtland impersonator in the world, Sunshine,” Ben’s chin drops to rest on your head, and you can feel every word he says through your blood.

“Why, because I’m a lady?”

He snorts. “You are not a fucking lady.”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, and a flash of hunger carves into your lower stomach. “And if they painted a beard on me, put a banana in my pants, and gave me a stupid helmet nobody would’ve known the difference. I’d have thrived.”

“They would’ve given you their shit corporate script to memorize and you’d have quit on the spot. No swearing,” Ben says your name mockingly. “You’d have exploded.”

You shrug, tapping your fingers where his arms wrap around you. “You seemed to manage. And you swear a lot more than I do.”

“I have better self control than you.”

That makes you snort. He has no idea how good your self control is. Every single second you’re in his presence alone you’re restraining every single instinct to just fuck him. To ride him or let him bury inside you, to damn every single piece of you that will never be able to recover from it. “Oh, fuck you.”

“When we get there, I’d be more than happy to.” Ben’s mouth is pressed into your ear as he taunts you, and he’s actively proving himself wrong. His deep voice is rolling through your body, his lips are taunting your skin, and you’re exercising godly amounts of self control to not jump his stupid bones. “I’d even be willing to do it here, but I didn’t take you to be an exhibitionist-“

The car stops with a jerk, and Ben’s hold you tightens as you slide forward against his legs.

“We’re here,” Moore’s looks at you in the rearview mirror, and you can see him fidget with his gun. “We’ve just been told to drop you off and move your belongings inside. Mr. Butcher will show you your…” He trails off, eyes flicking between you and Ben. Folded into each other, almost every part of you touching. “Apartment?”

Ben doesn’t think twice about Moore’s anxious guess—nothing in him twisting with disgust or annoyance—and starts to adjust your body so he can carry you out of the car.

“I can walk inside,” you slap Ben’s arm, squirming away from him. “You don’t have to carry me everywhere.”

“But I can-“

“But you don’t.” You roll off his body, and he scowls down at you.

“Just let me fucking help-“

“Ben,” you reach up to hold his face from where you’ve landed, head in his lap and feet hanging off the back seats. He stills completely, still glaring, something bloody and desperate running around inside him. “I am a grown woman. I will tell you if I need your help with anything, and right now I don’t.”

He’s still frowning. “Fucking swear it.”

“I promise I don’t need help walking the ten yards to the building.”

Ben’s scanning your face, something building taut against his chest. “If you even fucking stumble-“

“Then you can carry me everywhere for the rest of time and lord it over my head.” Your words are meant to be sarcastic and bored, but they come out a little too breathy, a little too hopeful. That Ben would be there for the rest of time, insufferable and annoying and right at your side. The bloody thing coursing through him becomes forceful—pushing up into his brain—and his hands cover yours.

“Deal.”

Ben pulls you upwards without a warning, and the small sound of the surprise that escapes you is swallowed into his mouth. He rolls you over in seconds, pressing you deep into the seats, and you really hope that the agents left the car at some point. Because nobody should have to witness the way he’s making you unravel, hear all the wet and lewd sounds from just the way Ben kisses you. With tongue and teeth with his body strong against yours and your legs hooked around him-

“Well, good bloody morning to both you twats.”

You start a little, Butcher’s sneer barely pushing into your brain enough to take you away from Ben’s mouth sucking against yours. Ben draws back first, looking over his shoulder to where Butcher’s voice came from. He’s blocking Butcher from view, not shoving you away from him, and one arm even pulls you a little off the seat so your head buries into his chest.

“Couldn’t fucking pick us up yourself, you pussy?” Ben drawls, and you hear Butcher’s laugh.

“Well, I’m sure as shit regretting that now. Could’ve gotten a front row seat to the sex show.” Butcher’s twisted smile appears in your vision as he ducks down. “Ready to admit you’re fucking him now, Love?”

Ben answers before you can. “She’s not a fucking liar. She hasn’t.”

“I just caught you two snogging like rabbits-“

“Well, we haven’t fucked.” Ben’s words are harsh and cold—the sour feeling returned—and the only thing that stops you from being overtaken with guilt is the stronger, almost overpowering steel like care that pulsing through him.

Butcher doesn’t seem worried or off put by Ben’s angry, defensive words, but you don’t think Butcher is capable of being worried or off put by anything. The only sign that he understands the unspoken, violent promise of Ben’s tone is that he raises his hands, palms up, and stands back out of your sight.

“Bit touchy, ain’t we,” Ben tenses against you, and you can hear Butcher’s scoff. “Well, you can keep not fucking later. Let’s get a bloody move on.”

He grunts, and starts to pull you up with him, but you whack his shoulder, dropping your legs to the floor of the car.

“I’m walking.”

Ben glares at you, and removes his arm from around you slowly. He doesn’t leave though, just looks down at you with none of that steel waning from inside him. Like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go.

You smile at him. “You should haul ass before one of the agents touches your shield.”

“They wouldn’t fucking dare,” he grumbles, but moves off you all the same. You grin after him, and avoid meeting Butcher’s eyes as you scoot out of the car.

The FBSA building is more or less what you expected. Tall, broad, black steel and long windows that reflect the rise of the sun. You’re parked around the back at what looks like a shipping dock, and Ben was, in fact, just in time to stop Moore from trying to pick up his shield. You see the chronically nervous man jump back as Ben rounds the car to the truck, his hands raising up shakily as Ben glares at him. You start to follow—if Ben tries to stop you from carrying a box he’ll get one thrown at his face—but Butcher shoots out an arm, stopping you in your path.

“Someone took their job of looking after Soldier Boy very seriously, didn’t she?” Butcher says lowly, and you glare at him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t get to pull any sort of morality card on me, Butcher. I know what I’m doing, and it’s not your business.”

“It’s my fucking business if you’re compromised.” Butcher hisses. “If you’d choose him over the mission, because you’ve got a bloody school girl crush on the fucker.”

You wouldn’t choose Ben over the mission. You wouldn’t let it come to that. You’d make sure that, at the end of the day, what needed to be done was done.

What if it did come to that? Something small and fearful whispers in your ear. What if it was Ben or the mission? And there wasn’t a trick or a move out of it? What would you do then?

It’s terrifying how quickly and against your will the entirety of you goes Ben. You’d choose Ben. It wouldn’t ever matter, because you’d fight tooth and nail to make sure you got both, but if it came to it, Ben. Every time you’d choose him. He might not choose you, but you burn the world to keep him awake and smiling with casual ease. You’d promised, and for some reason that’s more than just a school girl crush, that’s what matters. You trust him, he would keep you safe, keep you free, and so you’d always choose Ben.

But Butcher doesn’t get to know that, so you just say, “Fuck off, you dickwad. I’m not fucking compromised.”

“What are you going to do when he leaves?” Butcher growls. “When we’ve knocked Homelander off the map, and he’s shipped off to the fucking edge of the world? You think he’ll write you letters? Sweet little sonnets?”

No, because he’d said you could go with him. But Butcher doesn’t get to know that. “That’s not your fucking problem.”

“I’m just reminding you, Sunshine.” You loathe the way Butcher says that. Cold and angry, harsh in his mouth and screeching against your ears. “He’s not a bloody white knight, swooping in and saving the princess from the evil Vought Tower and the Homelander dragon. He’s just another, older, bigger fucking monster collecting a prize to keep on his shelf.”

Fury might blind you. Might eat you alive. The world becomes all bright white, closing in on you, pressing on your chest until it snaps.

“Butcher,” you say slowly, clearly. “I let you say a lot of fucking shit to me. I let you mock me and throw me to the wolves for the sake of the mission you claim I don’t care about. But if you ever-“ you spit the word, letting a bit of the fire that lives under your skin turn to smoke in the air. “Tell me how to fucking feel or think about something again, I will burn you alive. You don’t know anything about what it was like. What Homelander did to me.”

“Fucking tread lightly,” Butcher’s jaw is clenched, teeth gritted. “Becca-“

“Was the one he hurt,” you snap. “He hurt Becca. Not you. And he hurt me the same fucking way he hurt her. For years. But you only remember that when it’s convenient for you.”

“You better shut your mouth-“

“Or what?” You take a step forward, and Butcher flinches back. You hate it, it makes your skin crawl at how fast he retreats, but you don’t care that you hate it. The words are rocketing out of you, and you have no desire to stop them. “You can’t kill me. You can’t even fucking hurt me. You can’t do anything to me that won’t break me more than Homelander already has.” Something is wrapping around your throat, and your words become choked. “He fucking broke me. He broke Becca. And you might have gotten hurt in the fallout, but that’s fucking nothing compared to being the one that he actually hurt. On purpose. So never fucking tell me what to feel again.”

Butcher’s silent, staring at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him before. You don’t get time to read it—to try and figure out if he just started plotting your disappearance or might be feeling remorse for the first time in his life—because Butcher starts to speak again in clipped, frosted words.

“It's the twenty-first floor,” he chucks a lanyard at you, a badge with the name Jane Smith at the end. “Go left, then right, and you’ll be in one long hallway. You’re the last door when you go left. You’ll be expected in the dining hall at 7pm. Don’t be fucking late.”

With that he whips around, and stomps into the building. You’re stuck in place, watching him walk away as the world starts to spin around you. Everything feels big and hollow and you’re afraid. You’d blown up, and they already didn’t trust you. They barely even liked you. And you’d just threatened Butcher when he already thought you were dangerous. And you were dangerous. He was right. You were a walking volcano, a living hurricane, more powerful than Ben, more powerful than Homelander. You were the dragon, you were the monster-

You’re pulled back to the ground when Ben’s arm slings around your shoulders, and when the world becomes clear again you look up to see him glaring at where Butcher had slammed the door into the building. “About fucking time.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That Butcher gets his ass handed to him,” Ben looks down at you. “Don’t you fucking think about apologizing to that pussy. I’ll put tape over your mouth.”

“You’ll what?!”

“You’re going to feel damn guilty, and you’ll try to tell Butcher you’re sorry, and I’ll fucking gag you so you don’t.” The bloody steel is back inside of you—inside of Ben—and his words are simple and firm. “The asshole deserved that. He’s no fucking better than me, and he’s not ever goddamn close to being better than you.” 

Something warm blooms in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s yours or Ben’s. It’s familiar—like it belongs there—where others' emotions usually feel foreign and strange. But the line between you and Ben has started to blur, might have been blurred for a while, and you can’t always tell anymore. But the warmth makes the world lighter, and Ben’s arm around you makes the fear that Butcher will toss you to the curb seem less daunting. He couldn’t touch you, because Ben was here. He must see the look on your face—the gentle way you can feel it relax as a small smile crawls over your mouth—because he pulls you a little closer into him.

“Got your shield?” You ask softly, and Ben jerks his head back to the car.

“The FASI chucklefucks are bringing everything else up.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re refusing to say FBSA on purpose.” 

“They should come up with a better goddamn acronym,” he mutters. “Maybe then I’ll be fucked to learn it.”

You laugh, and try to shrug him off your shoulders. “Go get your shield, Pretty Boy. I want to go inside.”

He didn’t move away, remaining heavy around you, and when you look up at him expectantly he’s watching you carefully, studying your face. “You’re not mad about Butcher seeing us in the car.”

“I wish you’d ask questions like a normal person,” you mutter, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sunshine-“

That sounds better. The way Ben says Sunshine—long and low, lined with some sort of care even when he’s glaring at you—makes time slow a little and your heart flutters in your chest. “I’m not mad,” you tell him, and it’s easy to do so. It’s the truth, and Ben makes the truth simple. “He would’ve seen it eventually. And he was going to be pissed off no matter what.”

Ben nods slowly, and something wired scratches under your jaw. “And if I kiss you in front of the rest of them?”

“As long as you’re not gross about it-“

His hand draped near your neck grabs your jaw, holding you still as he leans down. He kisses you so lazily, as if time is something he could pull to a halt or simply didn’t matter. Time could turn and the world could go with it, but Ben would stay here and keep kissing you. In the light of the morning, with both of you wearing casual clothes, with Ben’s arm wrapped around you, with the air clean and cold, this feels like it could be normal. Like if someone passed you on the street they wouldn’t think twice about it, because there’s nothing strange or violent or complicated about two people kissing like this. About one of them holding onto the other’s shirt to pull them closer, or the other tangling their hand in the hair of the first, because why wouldn’t they? Nothing’s odd or notable about you chasing Ben’s mouth when he starts to move away, nothing’s remarkable or worrying about him laughing when you do and giving you just that little more you wanted.

When Ben eventually does pull back he’s smiling, and everything in him and around him is comfortable.

“Ben?” You whisper, and he raises his brows at you.

He hums your name, and you can feel the warmth of his breath when it leaves his mouth. He says it in a teasing, drawn out manner, and you smile at him.

“If you ever put a gag on my mouth, I’ll burn it off and bite you.”

Ben laughed, that big chest laugh he does when there’s nothing to stop him, and it carries away into the wind. “Is that a promise?”

“Fuck you.”

“If you want,” Ben winks, starting to guide you over to his shield, arm never dropping from your shoulders. “I’d let you bite me without all the trouble of a gag.”

“Cunt.”

“Brat.” He picks up the shield, and glances back to the building. “Let’s get a move on before Butcher finds his excuse for balls.”

Getting into the building is worryingly easy. Ben pushes through the steel doors that hopefully will just lock behind you, and there’s nobody waiting when you walk inside. There’s an elevator next to the stairwell, but the stairwell says floors B-20, no roof access, so you step into the elevator and pray. There’s no 21st floor button, but there is a scanner that you press the Jane Smith badge against, and the elevator starts to move.

Ben leans over you, frowning at the badge. “Who the hell is Jane.”

“It’s a movie reference,” you frown at the photo Butcher chose for you, because you recognize it as your school id photo and can’t imagine how he got his hands on it.  “They can’t put my real name there.”

“Because you’re dead.”

“Legally dead,” you grin at him as the elevator slows. “As you well know, I’m very much alive.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to fuck you if you weren’t,” Ben grumbles as you walk off the elevator. “I’m into some kinky shit, but that’s just fucking disgusting.”

Your face heats, now plagued with thoughts of the kinky shit Ben might be into, a spiral not aided by the words want to fuck you playing on repeat in your head. In order to distract yourself, you focus entirely on finding the apartment. “Butcher said to take a left-“

“I heard him,” Ben starts to herd you down the hall, and you let him. “He practically fucking screamed it.”

“That might just be your super hearing, Ben.”

“Or Butcher’s a loud fucking ass.”

You snort, and let Ben continue to move you until you stop in front of a tall, metal door with no handle or visible lock.

“How the fuck are we supposed to get in,” Ben grunts. “Dumbasses forgot to add a doorknob.”

“You know, it’s really amazing you were able to get anywhere when you left Russia, let alone to America,” you hum, raising the badge for Ben to see. “You’d really be lost without me holding your hand through the maze of the modern world.”

“I keep you around for a lot of fucking reasons, beautiful.” He mutters, squeezing your arm. “But the modern world isn’t one of them.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “Tell me what I’m going to do with this.”

Ben’s brows knit, eyes darting between the badge in your hand and the sleek door, eventually finding the scanner. “Put it there.” 

“And would you have been able to figure that out if I hadn’t done the same thing in the elevator?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You laugh, and scan the badge. The door slides into the wall with a pleasant whirring sound. Opening up to the apartment. Your apartment. With Ben. It hits you hard, right in the chest, that this is your apartment with Ben. Not a safe house that you’ve been locked into for the sake of a plan. This is purposefully for you and Ben, with one bedroom and one bathroom for you to share. With Ben.

It’s nice. Almost empty—completely devoid of the generic suburban decorations of the safe house—but nice. Really nice. High ceilings, large windows, polished floors. The type of apartment you used to dream of having, that would cost a small fortune if you were actually paying for it. From the door you can see a small kitchen area, fireplace, a flatscreen TV, and a staircase. There’s a staircase. That goes up to a loft strip.

That spurs you into action. You grab Ben’s hand and pull him through the door behind you, gaping around you.

“Jesus fucking Christ woman, slow the hell down-“

“Holy shit.” You breathe. “This place is fucking awesome.”

“It’s okay-“

“No, Ben, it’s fucking awesome.” You point up at the loft strip that leads to a single door. “Look at that shit. That’s awesome.”

“It’s a normal fucking apartment-“

“Maybe for you, rich boy.” You say, nudging him lightly, a wide smile still on your face. “Some of us lived with rats and radioactive mold for most of their lives.”

“Radioactive mold?” 

You shrug. “That’s what the inspector said.”

“Why wouldn’t you just fucking move?” Ben sounds genuinely confused, like he can’t possibly fathom why you wouldn’t just leave. You can feel it, as well. The almost naïve confusion. “Go somewhere that doesn’t have radioactive fucking mold.”

“I have terrible news for you about how much an apartment in New York costs and how much the average waitress gets paid.”

“Waitress? When were you a fucking waitress?”

“I have more terrible news about how expensive college tuition is,” you shrug. “It’s like this for most people, Ben. So can you please acknowledge that this is fucking awesome?”

He’s watching you, his jaw clenched, and you can feel something rolling around in him, pushing into his throat before dropping to his stomach and bouncing all the way up into his brain. It takes root there, and he swallows heavily.

“This is fucking awesome.” His tone is bored, but when you grin at him you can see his face soften in time with something against his ribs.

“Thank you.” Ben only grunts, and you tug at his hand. “If you put down your shield we can go look at the bedroom.”

The shield has barely crashed to the ground when Ben is picking you up, getting a steady grip under your legs as he makes beeline for the stairs. He climbs them two at a time—your nails digging into his shoulder less for grip and just because you can—and kicks the door at the end of the strip open.

You’ll look around the bedroom later. Right now it’s all Ben, kissing you before he’s sat on the bed with an already open mouth, running his tongue over the roof of your mouth. Releasing your legs so you can use them to drag your body closer to his, using his now free hand to drop around your hips and rub the skin of your thigh. Releasing you for only a second to pull your jacket off to touch your bare arms and drop a hand under your shirt—his shirt—to rub your back. But not higher, or lower. Right where you’ve asked him to stay.

It gets harder to keep him there every time. When he’s groaning and growling into you and taking every single moan and whine you give him like he’s starving. When you can feel that he is starving. You can feel the hunger growing larger after every moment like this one, feel the rough and consuming thing that’s devout and savage push closer to the surface. It’s harder to pretend it’s not everything when it is, when you can feel every part of him against and around you. To pretend you don’t also want him inside you, making your head empty and the world just Ben. It’s harder to remind yourself that you can’t give all the way in, because fuck it would be so easy. Easier than pretending you’ll be fine like this. Easy to worship him and make him burn and burn with him.

After what might have been only a second or a whole decade, Ben leaves you for breath, dragging you up the bed with him to rest at the headboard. He seats you between his legs, your face against his neck, and just holds you. For another year—or what feels like one—Ben just holds you as you drift in and out of the rest of the world. Eventually you tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s staring at you, mouth slightly parted and inches from yours.

“What time is it?” You ask quietly, some part of you afraid that you’ll speak too loudly and wake up from this dream.

Ben’s voice is steadier than yours, but still low. “Noon.”

You press your face back into his collarbone. “We should probably do something.”

“Like hell we should,” Ben mutters. “I think we’ve earned one goddamn day not doing everyone’s jobs for them.”

“But-“

“One day, Sunshine. You can panic and plan all you want tomorrow, but today you’re not doing jack fucking shit.” He glares down at you, and you’re melting into him. Into the sturdiness of him, into the smell of him, into the feeling of his determination on your shoulders. “You can do whatever the hell you want, as long as it’s pointless.”

You glance nervously around the bedroom. Just like the rest of the apartment, it’s nice, but in a bland catalog way. The sheets are gray and cotton, the walls are eggshell white, and there’s a very sad plastic plant in the corner of the room. “What about a list for Mallory?”

Ben narrows his eyes at you. “A list for what?”

“Our apartment. Things we need or want.”

He tenses, and for a second you think he’s going to throw you off his body and run. That the word our made him catch a hint of your need for him, and he doesn’t want to deal with it. The only thing that keeps apologies and backtracking rationalization from falling out of your mouth is the content in him growing. Merging with the hunger.

“Fine,” he grunts. “But you stay in bed.”

You nod, craning your neck away from him. “Where’d you put my jacket?”

“Probably on the floor.” His grip on your tightens. “Why.”

“It has my phone in it.” You start to stand, but Ben keeps you against his chest. Kissing you one last, quick time before relaxing. He doesn’t fully let you go until you’re out of his reach, and watches you intently until you’ve grabbed your jack and returned to his side.

You empty the contents of your pockets—Ben hand resting easily on your hip as he watches silently—which ends up being the blue sunglasses, your phone, and a tube of lip gloss that had appeared out of thin air. You set the sunglasses carefully off to the side, leave the lip gloss thoughtlessly on the mattress, and pick up your phone to set to work.

You kill six hours like this. Leaning against Ben, who silently watches and holds you the whole time, and typing up a list for Mallory. You start simple, obvious. Basic groceries, with extra strawberry cream cheese and malt vanilla ice cream. A few durable cookbooks. Shampoo and conditioner, whatever’s cheap for you and a very specific brand you go out of your way to look up for Ben. Lots of toilet paper, a spare fire extinguisher, and a coffee machine. Maybe a laptop. You like sitting like this—In bed with Ben all around you and both of your bodies relaxed and spread out—but you also like watching TV. And you just saved the president, if you speak in very broad and hypothetical terms. You think you’ve earned a laptop. Then you start to have fun with it. With asking Ben stupid questions about colors that he entertains with one word answers—you don’t bother to ask about green or blue because you already know the answers will a yes and no respectively—and trying to find decorations get any sort of reaction other than a bored grunt. So far you’ve only garnered reactions of disgust, courtesy of a Deep life size cardboard cutout, a truly horrible leopard print bed set, and limited edition Soldier Boy set of china with his smiling face printed on every plate and cup.

“If you buy those, I’ll smash them.” He growls against your ear, and you look back at him with amusement.

“I’d have thought things with your face on them would’ve earned a resounding yes from you, Pretty Boy.”

“You get my face for free every fucking day,” he snaps. “Vought can suck my dick, turning a profit after they fucking stabbed me in the back.”

You pout at him, “but they’re collectibles.”

Ben snorts. “If you just want to eat off my damn face, all you have to do is ask.”

You slap his arm against you, attention returning to your phone. After several more attempts that prove fruitless, Ben squeezes your thigh.

“That,” he grunts, pointing at the screen. “Get that.”

It’s a carpet, dark green and fluffy. It’s so simple, such a common thing to see in any house that Ben’s concrete focus on it throws you.

“The carpet?” You clarify, and he nods with a low sound of affirmation. “Okay.”

His eyes shoot to you from where he’d been staring at the carpet. “If you don’t want it, just fucking say that-“

“No, I want it,” you stop him quickly. “If we want to give a shit about aesthetics I’ll have to change a few things, but that doesn’t really matter.”

“I’ll fucking live if you hate it-“

“Ben, this is the first thing you haven’t been either apathetic about or actively hated. I’ll live if I have to change the color of a pillow or some shit.”

He pauses, then gives a rough nod. “Fine.”

You give him a small smile. “Fine.”

When 6:45 hits, it takes a lot of work to get Ben to please just come to dinner. What eventually gets him is telling him that you’re going, with or without his ass, and he can either sulk like a child about it or just fucking go with you. Then, even as he glares at you, Ben hauls himself out of bed and follows you out of the bedroom. At some point the agents had dropped off the bins, along with Annie’s Nightmare Makeup collection and the same toiletries from the safe house. Half-empty bottles of shampoo, your body wash, and Ben’s stiff toothbrush. If you had more time you’d start sorting through the bins—you have very little faith in Ben’s ability to have properly organized them—but dinner. And you’ll have time later. Lots of time, here, with Ben, to throw clothing at his stupid handsome face and yell at him about pointless things. All the time in the world.

It takes a while to find the dining hall. There’s not a map of the floor or building, or a large neon sign pointing in the right direction. Ben drags you around for about eight minutes of attempts to just figure it out our fucking selves, and you’re a second away from caving and texting Kimiko when Ben stops abruptly and you slam into his back.

“What the hell-“

“Found it,” he grins down at you, gesturing to a door with a plaque by the side that reads Dining Hall. “I fucking told you I could.”

“Yeah, we’re only,” you glance at the time on your phone. “Ten minutes? Fuck, Ben,” he doesn’t budge as you slap his chest with a glare. “We’re late. Butcher said not to be late-“

“Butcher can suck my fucking dick until I get off,” Ben mutters, pulling you forward by your hand. “If the pussies were so fucking worried about us being late they should’ve done something about it.”

You’re going to protest, but Ben pushes the door open roughly to reveal a room that qualifies less as a dining hall and more as a middle school cafeteria. Tile floors and basic kitchen appliances, an unattended food service area, and low tables with benches. The only people in the room aside from you and Ben are grouped around one of those tables in a deep conversation. You can see almost everyone. Butcher is standing at the head of the table, and doesn’t look up or acknowledge you as you enter. Annie and Hughie are sitting on one bench with their backs to you, and Kimiko and Frenchie are across from them as they all poke at plates of varying food in front of them. You walk across the room slowly, Ben trailing behind you, and when Kimiko sees you she smiles and gives you a wave.

Did you see the rooms? She signs with a grin. They’re huge!

You laugh, and pull your hand from Ben’s hold. Does yours have stairs as well?

And a rain shower! She nods. We should’ve moved here months ago.

Before you can respond, we moved echoing in your head, Butcher’s voice cuts through the air. “Glad you could be fucked to join us, Love.” 

“You didn’t tell us where to go, you ass,” you mutter. “We had to find it.”

“Sure you weren’t just too busy fucking-“

“Can we not do this over dinner, Butcher?” Annie sighs. “It’s late, and it’s been a long week. I just want to do the briefing and go to bed.”

Butcher scoffs, and glares at you. “Sit the bloody hell down so we can get this over with.”

You flip him off, and round the table to sit beside Kimiko. Ben follows, dropping with a grunt beside you and placing a hand on your thigh, and you glance around the table.

“Where’s MM?”

“Getting dinner,” Hughie points to the empty food service bars. “You have to go all the way back into the kitchen, everything won’t be fully operational for a while.”

“So we’re all living here?” You ask with a frown. “Everyone gets their own apartments?”

“Well, me and Annie are together,” Hughie looks nervously at Ben, silent and stiff at your side. “Like, uh, you guys. Butcher and MM each have their own, and Kimiko and Frenchie have a two bedroom.”

“How did the FBSA even get the budget for this?” Annie wonders. “What could they possibly plan on doing with it after?”

MM appears behind Butcher, a tray in his hand. Not looking at you. “It’s going to be for supes who want to jump off the Vought ship.”

Hughie nods. “I sat in on the pitch when it happened. The idea is that maybe if we protect them, house them, we could contract the less, uh, violent supes. For better stuff.”

“Better stuff,” Butcher snorts. “Ain’t no supes doing better stuff.”

Ben’s hand tightens against you, and you feel your own body tense. At your side, Kimiko glowers at Butcher, and across from you Hughie pulls Annie a little tighter against him.

“Butcher,” MM says with a glare, dropping at Annie’s side. “Read the fucking room, asshole.”

“I can’t believe I let go this fuckin far,” Butcher mutters, surveying the team with a scowl. “Bloody one to one ratio.”

“Yeah,” Annie rolls her eyes. “Because going up against Vought with just four random guys was going really well for you at the beginning.”

“At least I didn’t have to put up with a bunch of whining, overpowered cunts-“

“Butcher,” MM snaps. “Can we just get this shit over with without anyone shooting or punching anyone else?”

“Whatever, but Starlight fucking started it-“

“No I didn’t you dick-“

Butcher raises his voice over Annie. “We’re waitin on Stan Edgar to come through, and until then we’re on lockdown. No quick trips to a bodega, no walks around the block, no nothin. Vought’s on high alert, the government's on high alert, you two twats-“ He points at you and Ben. “Got your faces all over the news. There’s a damn man-hunt, hashtags about freeing Homelander’s girl from Soldier Boy and avenging VP Neuman.”

“Avenging?” Frenchie asks with a frown. “Madame Neuman is alive, no?”

“Not to the public,” MM shrugs. “Easiest spin, fastest way out, was to make it seem like Bonnie and Clyde nuked her. Fits in with the whole terrorist narrative.”

“So why do we all have to be on lockdown,” Annie crossed her arms. “If it’s just them taking the fall?”

“Because Homelander’s about to go on a bloody rampage,” Butcher drawled, and everything becomes cold inside you. “He just lost a major ally, missed the Anomaly and Soldier Boy by a hair, and is feeling the pressure. So until Stan Edgar comes through, Mallory’s benched us.”

“What do we do if he finds us?” You ask softly, blood pounding in your ears, fire scratching at your skin. “If someone tells him where we are?”

“Nobody knows except us, Mallory, and some agents Mallory handpicked.” MM says firmly, still not fully looking at you. “This place is designed to protect people from him. We’ll be fine.”

“And we’re just supposed to sit around on our fucking asses until Edgar makes good?” Ben glares around the table. “Jacking each other off and pretending everything’s just dandy?”

“I’m not happy about it either, Gov.” Butcher sneers. “I’d like nothing more than to fucking rip Vought a new one while they’re in crisis. But unless you’re willing to go nuclear and flag Homelander down for a bloody one on one, we’re waiting.”

You can hear Ben’s jaw grind, and his grip on you is like iron. Hot and violent anger is flooding through him, and his voice is cold. “Fucking watch it.”

“You fucking watch it, Soldier Boy,” MM hisses. “We’re all stuck here because of the deal you made. Don’t act like you’re some sort of victim or hostage. You can leave whenever you fucking want, and we won’t stop you.”

Ben stands suddenly, and Hughie flinches backwards across the table. Annie catches him from falling, and MM doesn’t even twitch.

“I’m not fucking going anywhere,” Ben hisses. “And that deal is the only thing that will help you with Homelander. So fucking watch it.”

MM doesn’t back down, holding Ben’s glare, and you grab Ben’s arm. Holding him at your side. “Is that it, Butcher?” You ask, leaning slightly over to meet Butcher’s cold gaze. “We’re waiting for Edgar, no leaving?”

“Yep,” Butcher drawls. “Now call your dog off.”

You ignore him, tugging at Ben’s arm slightly so he looks down at you. Can we just go?

Ben examines your face—his anger not fading, but becoming wrapped in the stone resolve—and nods. Whatever.

You address no one in particular. “Is there anything we have to do while we wait?”

“I was thinking we could do dinners together,” Hughie mumbles, voice a little unsteady as he looks between Ben’s braced stance and MM’s expression of twisted anger. “But, uh, that seems like a bad idea now.”

“No, it’s good. Team building,” you stand slowly. “Good idea. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

You start to drag Ben away from the table, away from the violent tension building in the air.

“I am not doing fucking team building with those pussies.” Ben mutters in your ear as you walk back down the hall.

“It’s just dinner, Ben.” You sigh. “You’ll only have to sit, brood, and not kill anyone.”

He grunts, but drops it, moving his hand into yours. He’s silent as you return to the apartment, dragging you up to the bedroom before you can start to unpack.

“We’re not going fucking anywhere for a while.” He snaps when you start to protest. “You can unpack in the morning.”

And he’s right. That’s what makes it so easy to leave the bins downstairs and just go to bed. You aren’t going anywhere for a while. You’re going to be here, with Ben and his stupid fluffy rug you’re going to ensure Mallory buys. You’ll spend the days with Ben the same way it’s grown to be, easy and simple and good. He’ll hold you at night, make sure the nightmares don’t come, and keep touching you. He won’t leave. You won’t leave. And the bins will be there in the morning.

The days blur together. Unpacking only takes one morning, and things from the list start to appear in the hall outside your door. In only three days, you have almost everything, and the apartment feels like yours. Yours and Ben’s.

The time is filled without thought. Training your fire and singing, holding Ben’s head in your hands as he grumbles about not needing this—though he’s stopping saying he never fucking had shell shock in the first place—and teaching him everything about the internet. By the end of the week he sort of understands social media but thinks it’s fucking stupid, and can passably navigate a browser by himself. You don’t stop trying to get him to play Candy Crush, but every time you try and grab his phone Ben shoves it in his pants, giving you a glare that says I fucking dare you, Sunshine.

You always flip him off, because you won’t cross that line. You’ll touch him everywhere he lets you, but not there. Not unless you want to explode. The more days pass, the more Ben touches you everywhere but there, the more that becomes certain. If you let him do more than kiss you, more than have you grind on him in silent desperation as he grows hard against you, both of you never finding relief together, you’d turn into a beacon of fire and undying desire. You’ll never recover. So you don’t cross the line, and try to pretend you can’t feel his own strain for you whenever you’re touching him. Because it’s not the same as yours. Maybe more than lust, you can admit, but not the same.

You’re getting stronger. Ben is still pushing you, albeit with more underhanded, horny tactics that leave you aching when he pulls away with a mocking grin, but it works. Because you’re stronger. You still can’t fully control the illusions, but they’re never hazy anymore. And you can make things happen. If it’s a sad song you can’t stop the rain, but you can make it blend with sunlight until a rainbow mist fills the room. A bubblegum pop song will still be over-saturated and feverish, but you can choose to add something more concrete than just a strobing flash of lights. Moon River still opens the sky and brings in cooling wind, but the room is covered in blooming strawberry flowers. And your fire is powerful. Becoming less like an uncontrollable parasite and more like a muscle. A phantom limb you can move in time with the rest of your body. It’s no longer a part of you that you wish you could remove. It sits under your skin, humming softly, and only comes out when you tell it to.

Dinners are weird. Every night everyone slowly gathers in the dining hall, exchanging small talk and discussing everything except the looming threat of Homelander and Vought and the possibility that Edgar could fail. Ben silently sticks to your side and rarely engages in conversation, but nobody makes any attempts to make him do more than that. It’s the only time you see MM and Butcher, but some afternoons you’ll watch TV with Kimiko while Ben sulks upstairs. Then Ben calls Hughie his name instead of Cocksucker during dinner, and the whole table falls silent. Staring at him with wide eyes and frozen faces.

“What the fuck are you pussies looking at?” He grumbled, poking at the broccoli you’d dumped onto his plate.

Annie blinks a few times before speaking. “You just-“

“Nothing!” Hughie yelps, and you have a feeling he doesn’t want to call attention to it and cause Ben to backtrack.

“It’s clearly fucking something-“

You cut him off with a swift kick to the shin, shooting him a look of I’ll tell you later. Just let it go.

No, they’re being fucking weird. He scowls, and you roll your eyes.

If you don’t drop it, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.

You’re bluffing, because if Ben sleeps on the couch you’ll wake up screaming and alone, but you sell your glare well enough that Ben scoffs, this is fucking blackmail, and doesn’t say anything else.

After that, Annie and Hughie will text you to eat lunch. Then Annie stops looking at Ben judgmentally after another week, because she stops by to collect you and Ben answers the door before you can.

“I’m not here for you,” she snaps, and Ben glares at her, but steps aside. Revealing you, in shorts and one of Ben’s shirts. You’ve started to develop a habit of just taking them, and if Ben’s noticed he hasn’t stopped you. You think he might have started to leave them out on purpose, because every time you wear one he coughs and walks very quickly into the bathroom.

“Sorry.” You’re shuffling around the room, turning over pillows and crouching down to look under furniture. “I lost my phone-“

“It’s upstairs,” Ben grunts. “It died. I plugged it in.”

You nod, and start to move to the stairs, but Ben’s legs are longer and he gets there first. Stomping up to your room without a word, and returning with your phone. When you and Annie leave—Ben grumbling a goodbye and kissing the top of your head—Annie coughs as you walk down the hall.

“Um,” you look at Annie, who’s watching you carefully. “You two seem comfortable.”

“We are,” you say softly, and Annie nods.

“And you’re really not fucking?”

“Despite Butcher’s constant bitching, no.”

“Why?”

That makes you gape at her. “Annie?”

“You’re wearing his shirt,” she says your name slowly. “He seems like maybe 10% less of a violent ass. It’s not my business, but, I don’t know. He called Hughie his name. I’d have been comfortable betting you two were fucking like a month ago. Now it feels insane that you aren’t.”

“It’s complicated,” you sigh. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

She nods, and drops it. That night, she still doesn’t talk to Ben, but also passes him salt when he asks you for it. Two days later, she brings Hughie with her to your apartment, and suggests you eat there instead.

“Is that okay, Ben-“

“I don’t give a shit,” he grumbles. “It’s your fucking apartment as well. Do what you want.” 

“Will you eat with us?”

Ben looks between Annie and Hughie, still in the doorway. “Fine.”

It’s a slightly awkward meal, Ben sitting next to you, only answering questions with one worded snaps. But nobody explodes, or makes cruel comments, so you count it as a victory.

They still don’t let you touch them, but Ben touches you more than enough to make up for it. Butcher is still crude, making snide comments about you and Ben, but it’s been almost two weeks of this and he hasn’t mentioned your outburst. His remarks remain in the realm of mocking and vulgar, but there’s no mention of you being compromised, or Homelander. MM still won’t fully meet your eyes, and you don’t blame him. You try not to think about it, but something small keeps gnawing at you. It grows quiet when Ben holds you, because he does it so carefully and gently. And you tell yourself that this Ben isn’t that Ben. That was Soldier Boy. Ben won’t even let you say Soldier Boy anymore.

Would he still do that? The small thing asks, and you don’t really have an answer. In December you would’ve said yes. In December you would’ve pictured the callous, sadistic man you threw a knife at and not hesitated to say yes. Now you picture him smiling at you, calming you after a nightmare, holding you tightly when the cracks Homelander left on you start to open. And that Ben wouldn’t. Your Ben wouldn’t. And what scares you more than the certain faith in that statement is the your part. How smoothly your brain calls him your Ben. Like he’s as much of a part of you as the fire has become. How even when you try to double back and correct yourself, reminding you he’s not your anything, every part of you just goes no. Your Ben.

That’s a thought that will have to wait a while to fight. Until after this is over. Hopefully you can keep pushing it down until this is over.

It’s something that starts to creep over everyone. That if Edgar comes through, if everything somehow falls into place, this could be over. By the end of March, this could be over. Flowers could start to bloom and the sun could start to herald spring in a world without Homelander. This could all be over.

“I miss my drugs,” Frenchie grumbles over dinner. “When we finally are allowed outside, I am getting all my drugs back from Madame Mallory and having a very good day.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, but gives you a look of I’ve been missing drugs from fucking months. Don’t see me whining about it.

You literally do nothing but whine about it, Benjamin. You wrinkle your nose at him. After one week in the safe house you’d started asking me for drugs every day. We weren’t even friends.

He rolls his eyes, and tugs you a little closer into his side. We’re friends now. Can I have drugs.

No. You elbow him, and your attention returns to the group.

“I think I’m going to eat a whole donut shop,” Annie is saying. “I miss donut shops.”

“I’ll second that,” Hughie nods. “And I’m never wearing a hoodie again. Or a baseball cap. Or anything that covers my face.”

Frenchie nods. “Oui. No more covering up. I’m going to streak in the park.”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“We ain’t out of the woods yet, cunts.” Butcher snaps over Hughie. “I wouldn’t start celebrating and bloody daydreaming before Edgar even comes through.”

“It’s good for morale, Butcher.” Annie shrugs. “Gives us something to look forward to.” Butcher grunts, and Annie looks at you. “What about you? Will you go back to Boston?”

You pause, because you don’t know. You don’t have anything, really, in Boston. Or New York. Even if Mallory gets you declared alive, you’ll have to spend a lot of job interviews explaining the three year gap in your resume. Your old friends might not be able to talk to you without pity or morbid fascination. You could go with Ben. A very large, hard to ignore part of you really wants to go with Ben. But you haven’t told anyone about that offer, and now doesn’t feel like a great time to breach the topic. Not when you haven’t even decided yourself.

Ben speaks before you can answer Annie. “Is your sister in Boston?”

“What?” You blink at him.

“Your sister.” He repeats through a mouthful of food. “She in New York, or Boston?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t really matter-“

Ben shoots you a glare, you said you’d stop saying things don’t fucking matter, Sunshine, and says aloud, “you need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.” You snap. “I’m not bringing her into this. Fucking drop it, Benjamin.”

“You said you’d think about it-“

“And I did, and I won’t. So drop it.” You turn back to the table, which has fallen into nervous silence. The conversation picks back up slowly, and Ben is filled with that sour tight feeling against you. You tap his leg lightly and he looks at you with a frown.

What.

Are you mad? You blink at him, and he rolls his eyes.

Don’t be fucking stupid. His face relaxes a little. You can’t start to rely just on your looks, beautiful.

You smile lightly at him. Worked for you.

Ben snorts into a cough. Brat.

Cunt, you’re grinning fully now, and when you glance at MM he’s watching you with a frown.

That night there’s a knock on your door while Ben is in the shower, and you gape in surprise when you open it to see MM on the other side.

“Soldier Boy was right,” he grunts, and you stare at him.

“What?”

“You need to talk to your sister.”

You sigh. “MM, it’s really complicated-“

“No,” he snaps. “It’s not. Rocket science is complicated. This is real simple. That motherfucker isn’t right about almost anything, but he’s right about this. You need to tell your sister you’re alive.”

“Please don’t-“

“A second chance at shit like this is real rare,” MM says your name firmly. “I’d kill for it. Butcher would kill for it. Almost all of us would do real dark things to get another shot at family. Don’t waste yours, not when it’s being offered.”

“What if she gets hurt?” You whisper. “What if I bring her into this and it gets her killed.”

“Well, considering she was still calling the Starlight Fund every day before the number went out of service, I’d bet that’s still a fucking danger right now.” MM shrugs. “At least now she wouldn’t be in the dark.”

“She kept calling?” you feel the blood drain from your body, your skin starts to itch. There’s no smoke, and the fire is secure inside you, but you’re still staring with a tight face at MM. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t think you’d listen to me.” He mutters. “But for some fucking reason you might listen to him.” MM jerks his head up to the loft strip. “I’ll text you her number, it’s still in my phone.” 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

MM nods tightly, and starts to leave. You almost reach out to stop him but jerk back at the last second. You can’t touch him. The movement still catches his eye, though, because he turns back around. “What?”

“I’m,” you take a deep breath. “MM, I’m really, really sorry about-“

“You don’t owe me shit.” He stops you with a raised hand. “But remember that you don’t owe him shit either.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

MM sighs, looking you up and down. “Just, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

The words echo around in your head as MM walks away.

You know what you’re doing. Butcher said you don’t, MM says he hopes you do. You do. You’re walking upstairs, and you know why. To wait for Ben.

Your phone buzzes only a minute later, and you stare at the number MM texted you. Violet’s one tap of a screen away. Right there, just a centimeter from your thumb, is the ability to hear your sister’s voice for the first time in years.

The shower turns off, and Ben enters the bedroom in only sweatpants. On almost any other night you’d be fully distracted by it, his bare chest and damp hair and the smell of his drifting around in the air, but you’re still staring at the phone.

He notices. “What’s wrong with you.”

You watch him as he drops on the bed. “I need your help.”

“With what.” Ben’s whole body grows rigid, his hands fisting as his eyes start to dart across you, around the room. “Who the fuck-“

“I’m fine,” you reach out to place a hand on his knee, and the consuming paranoia in his body hits you in the chest. You make your words a little more firm. “I’m really fine. I,” you take a heavy breath. “MM gave me my sister’s number. I’m going to call her.”

“Oh,” Ben relaxes slightly, but is still frowning at you. “The fuck do you need me for.”

You shrug. “Emotional support?”

“Emotional support?”

“Like if I need to hit someone. Or cry.”

“Oh,” he nods, looking you up and down. “Fine. Go.”

“Now?” You chew at your tongue, head shaking slightly. “I can do it tomorrow, it’s late, she might not even pick up-“

“Now,” Ben scoots a little closer to you, holding your eyes with his. “Or I’m not doing that support shit.”

The world starts to spin, and it must show on your face because Ben’s hand covers where yours still rests on his body. He’s silent, warm and real against you, and everything feels sharper. You take another large, long breath and Ben nods slightly, looking down at the phone number displayed in blue light on your phone. Waiting for you.

Your thumb presses it, and the ringing echoes through your room. The only thing that keeps air moving in and out of your body is Ben. Still touching you, making the tight anxiety around your throat loosen just enough to keep breathing.

The ringing stops suddenly, and a static hum fills the room for a second before a voice replaces it.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounds the same. It’s a little deeper, and a little more tired than you’d heard it before, but she still breathes the heh in hello. There’s still the slight hint of a Boston accent in her tone—because she’s the only one of you and your siblings who got that trait from your father—sitting in an odd combination with the slight southern lilt she’d given herself from watching old cowboy movies.

“Violet?” You breathe out, because that’s all you can manage.

“Who is this?”

You swallow, glancing at Ben as you say your name. He’s watching you, completely still save for his thumb, rubbing a circle on your hand. The line is silent for just long enough to think it dropped.

“That’s not funny,” Violet finally hisses. “I don’t know who this is, but screw you. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, or why you’re doing this, but screw you.”

“No!” You yell, voice high and panicked. If she hangs up, you’ll lose her. She won’t pick up a call from your number. You can’t lose her again. “It’s me! I swear, Violet, it’s me. I’m alive. You were right, I’m alive.”

“This is just cruel-“

“Please, please just-“ You scramble for some sort of proof, something that will convince her. “You were five. You were five and I was thirteen, and we were at one of Mom’s parties. I sang Tommy Dorsey, and my dress gave me a rash. You did a ballet routine, and Mom made you wear a tutu, and you gave it to the senator’s dog to eat the next day.”

The line is silent again, and you’re staring at Ben with wide fearful eyes. What if that didn’t work?

He shakes his head. It fucking will.

He’s right. Violet breathes your name through the phone. “If this is you,” her voice is cautious, but still there. Still on the line. “What was the last thing you said to me? Before you disappeared.”

“We were on the phone,” you say frantically. “I told you that if I got my PhD tomorrow I’d break you out of mom’s house, drive you to the Cape, and we’d spend a week getting drunk on the beach. You told me you were sixteen, and I said I’d pavlov you into thinking you were drunk. Then I said it probably wouldn’t happen anyways, because I’d only been working on my PhD for three years and normally it takes at least six, and you told me being normal never stopped me before.” You take a strangled breath, and wait.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “Where the shit have you been? What happened? You just completely vanished,” she says your name, voice growing louder and louder. “You disappeared off the face of the earth for like two years and then you’re all over the news with a different last name and you’re Homelander’s girlfriend. People are saying Soldier Boy mighta kidnapped you and nobody will give me a single straight answer-“

“It’s complicated,” you say, feeling Ben’s tense. “Where are you?”

“In New York, I’ve been crashing with a friend. What the shit is going on?“

“I can’t say much over the phone. If you text the address to this number, I can send someone to get you. I might take a few days-“

Violet shouts your name, crackling over the speaker. “Someone to get me?! Where are you?”

“I can’t say that either.”

“Well, what can you say?”

Ben snorts, and you glare at him. “It’s-“

“Is someone else there?” Violet interrupts you. “Who else is there? Are you in danger? What’s going on-“

“I’m safe,” you don’t hesitate to say it, even as you scowl at Ben. “I’m fine. Violet-“

“Who was that, then?”

“Ben,” your words are half answer, half a hiss at the man himself. Because Ben is grinning at you and being very distracting as he starts to move closer.

You wanted me here, he winks, and you hit him.

“Who the hell is Ben.”

“Uh, Soldier Boy.”

“Soldier Boy?!” You wince at the volume, and Ben laughs again. “What do you mean Soldier Boy?! He’s there?! Right now?!”

You take Violet off speaker, even though you know Ben will still be able to hear her. It’s about the principle. “I really can’t explain over the phone. Soldier Boy didn’t kidnap me, I’m safe, and I can send someone to get you. Please.”

“Fine, but I want answers.”

“And I’ll give them to you. In person.”

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence, and Violet says your name softly. “I’m real happy you’re alive.”

“Yeah, I am as well.” You smile softly, because that’s the truth. “Thank you for not hanging up.”

“Is Soldier Boy really even hotter in pers-“

“I’ll see you soon,” you say loudly, because Ben definitely heard that. He’s smirking at you, and you can feel his smugness through where his leg is now pressed against yours. “Text me the address. I love you.”

You can hear Violet huff. “I love you too. Killjoy.”

The line drops, and Ben leans forward.

“Well? Am I hotter in person?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Fucking rude,” Ben drawls your name. “After all I did to help you.”

You scoff. “You just sat there, Pretty Boy. I did all the talking.”

He shrugs. “And you did a damn good job. I’m proud of you.”

The thing you’ve shoved deep, deep into you, the bigger thing you keep trying to ignore, flashes bright and hot through your body. “Thank you,” you whisper, and Ben grunts. “Do you, would you be okay if she came here?”

“Of course I would be.” He frowns. “I’m not going to get on your ass about this and pussy out when you finally fucking do it.”

“Would you stay here? Or go wherever we have to go to meet her?”

Ben pulls you fully against him, kissing the space between your eyes. “I’ll go wherever the hell you want me to, beautiful.”

It’s so difficult to just gently pull his mouth down to yours in thanks, and not climb on top of him and let him bring you the one place you need him to go. Into you, and against you, and with you forever.

But you manage to keep your senses, and smile against his lips. “Even Florida?”

“Don’t fucking push it,” he mutters, and you laugh. He lowers you onto the bed, keeping you tight between his body and the mattress, and you’ve never felt so calm and safe. Every time he does this, it somehow gets better. Every time he chuckles and it echoes through you, every time you can feel the hunger—now indistinguishable from the affection and what you’re afraid to call devotion—and every time his beard scrapes against your skin, rough and real, it gets better.

Butcher had been right. Ben isn’t a white knight. But you didn’t need a white knight. You didn’t want a white knight. A white knight would just put you in another, more golden cage. Would try and make you smile like you hadn’t been locked in a tower with a dragon. A white knight would try and save you, make you better. Ben didn’t need you to be better. Ben just made you better, in his own fucked up little way. You smile because he’s there, not because he told you. You scream and he screams with you. You need him and he doesn’t leave because it’s inconvenient. You burn and he burns with you. And he would never put you in a cage. He’d—if you were lucky—keep holding you like this and making everything better.

And that was just another reason, another thought, that made the thing you’ve pushed away rise to the surface. Closer and closer to breaking out. Flooding everything. 

Ben made things better.

————

She was a live wire. Scrambling around Ben, waking him up in the middle of the night to ask him how she was supposed to face her sister after everything. She’d given Mallory the address the same night of the call at Ben’s insistence—waiting until morning was fucking insane—and hadn’t stopped tapping Her hands or climbing up the walls since. It was making Ben wired. He could almost feel Her fucking anxiety, and he wasn’t even that annoyed by it. He was more pissed at the FBSI, because why the fuck couldn’t they just go faster? After all She’d done for them, asking for too fucking little in return, they could at least pretend to give a shit about her. Mallory had told them two days, and if forty eight hours passed by even a single extra second, Ben was using the gun he’d stashed under their bed to break out and go get Her sister. Anything to make Her stop asking stupid damn questions and looking so nervous.

“What if she doesn’t like me anymore?” She asked him as he entered the bedroom, foot tapping as she sat crossed-legged on the bed. “What if I tell her everything and she doesn’t understand?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said,” Ben crossed the room, saying Her name. “You’re too fucking smart to be saying something so damn stupid.”

“But-“

Ben leaned down and kissed Her, holding her perfect face gently with his hands. It was an easy, effective, mutually beneficial way to shut Her up when she started to go into overdrive, when Ben could hear the gears of her brain start to grind and still not manage to move faster than her impressively quick mouth. She always let him, too, because Ben had worked out when She was mad at him for something fucking stupid—like when he’d kept carrying Her around and she’d yelled about treating her like a fucking doll—and when She was mad at Her.

The former She was always, annoyingly, fucking right. Ben had been treating Her like she was delicate, when she might be the least delicate person he’d ever met. But he’d wanted to help her. Give her one fucking thing that she didn’t have to do for herself. And it was so easy to carry Her, because Ben was doing something for her and he got to touch her. Hold her against him. He hadn’t told Her that, because he wasn’t an emotional pussy, but he’d settled for asking before he picked her up and letting her rant at him about modern media and how to navigate the internet. It always made Her look alive as she’d spiral adorably into the most off-topic, complicated rant about something Ben had never heard of and didn’t need to know. But that was something he was doing for Her, and she’d smile at him the whole time. So he let her.

The latter, She was always wrong. When she was mad at Herself it was always over some sort of stupid shit that she seemed to know was stupid, because she’d let Ben swallow her words and make a small sound when he pulled back.

“She’ll understand,” Ben grunted, still holding Her face. “And you’re impossible not to like, it’s one of the worst damn things about you.”

A smile tugged Her lips, but she still looked so fucking sad. “I hurt people. I killed people-“

“They all fucking had it coming. And I would rather you kill a million people and get back to me than keep your hands clean and I never see you again. I’m sure your goddamn sister would feel the same.”

“Yeah,” She’d finally relaxed a little, leaning forward as she held Ben’s wrists. Heart beating a little faster, but not in panic. “But that’s because you’re insane, Benjamin.”

“You like it.”

She laughed—full and light and the best sound Ben had heard in his life—and leaned up to kiss him again. Ben crawled over Her, pushing her further into the mattress with his mouth and hands, and practicing fucking astronomical amounts of control to keep it that way. To not fuck Her stupid until the bed broke, to not worship her until she proved his theory that the only sound better than her laugh in the whole world was his name, moaned from Her lips as she came.

The Thing was quiet lately. Such a normal part of everything, so deeply ingrained into Ben that at this point he’d accepted it wasn’t going away. As long as She was alive, somewhere in the world with her heart beating, the Thing would sit in Ben and try to keep her safe. If She left him he’d still let her, because he’d always let her. But the Thing would never stop clawing at him to get back to Her. And Ben was going to have to find a way to live with that.

He’d started to take photos of Her wherever he could get them and not be caught. He was fucking good at it now too, and he wanted to show Her. The only thing that stopped him was that she’d ask questions about it, and he’d be exposing the Thing to the air, so he didn’t. But he’d filled up his whole camera with Her. He’d filled up his fucking life with her. Stupid songs were more beautiful because She liked them. Food tasted better because She’d given it to him. Movies Ben would’ve hated even a year ago were better because She’d mouth the lines and tell Ben pointless facts about the production. Mamma Mia wasn’t annoying because she knew all the awful songs by heart, and Kung Fu Panda 2 was, in fact, the best movie ever made because she said so. She’d explained shit about art and allegories and doomed narratives the whole way through, and even though Ben didn’t remember a single thing she’d said he’d never forgot the way she’d smiled. Looking between him and the screen with frightening intent, her words too big and her tone too fucking serious with such a wide grin on her perfect face. Even the stupid off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses she wouldn’t just throw in the fucking trash made blue a not completely dogshit color. Because She wore them.

And as Ben stood with Her in the elevator the next morning—watching Her taps and gnaw into herself—she was so fucking perfect it might be killing him. She had barely slept—rolling around above Ben until he’d locked his arms around her and kissed Her until she was tired—and it had given her bags under her eyes and a manic look across her face. Her hair was messy and she was wearing his shirt again and she smelled like flowers. Ben had never seen something so fucking beautiful in his goddamn life. That was true every single time he saw her. She managed to outdo herself every fucking time.

He wrapped an arm around Her, and the Thing hummed softly in Ben as she stilled quickly and leaned into him. Her hand shot up to hold his, and her whole body relaxed when he kissed the top of her head. Ben held Her steady as she took a sharp inhale at the elevator’s ding, and her nails dug into his hand as the doors opened.

The similarities between Her and the woman that steps into the hall are immediate. The woman is a little shorter, and She has slightly sharper features, but their noses are almost identical, and their hair has the exact same texture and color. The woman walked the same way too, long and careful steps off the elevator. Staring at Her.

The woman said Her name softly, and her voice was a little higher than it had been over the phone. But Ben liked the name the woman says Her name. Long, clear, and with the care that should be used to say it.

“Violet.” She breathed, taking an unsteady step forward.

They just stared at each other for another second, and it occurred to Ben somewhere from the back of his brain that She might not touch her sister. That it might have been ingrained into Her not to touch people so deeply that she wouldn’t touch anyone but Ben. He was about to tell to just damn do it because if Ben wasn’t able to touch her for a fucking week—let alone three whole years—he’d lose his mind, but before he could She made a choking sob, ran at the woman—Violet—and pulled her into a hug.

They both just stood there, Violet started crying too after barely a second, and Ben started to feel like he should maybe go. She could handle this—She could handle anything—and maybe she’d want a moment alone with her sister. Ben would rather shoot himself than interrupt this, so he was going to just back away and text Her that he’d be in their room.

Ben took a single step back, and Violet’s head shot up to meet his eyes. “Oh my god, that’s Soldier Boy.”

He nodded curtly, frozen as he waited for Her to explain it, because he sure as shit didn’t know how. Ben had no fucking clue how to explain what was going on, between them or with the whole fucking shit show their lives were. He would let Her, because she loved talking and explaining shit—she real was fucking good at it—and it wasn’t Ben’s story to tell.

“Yeah, it is.” She pulled back with a sigh, looking at Ben over her shoulders with a small smile. Her eyes scanned over him, brows raising slightly. Going somewhere, Benjamin?

Ben scowled. No. Shut up.

“What the shit is going on?” Violet gaped at Ben as they detached, and he felt a little bit like a fucking zoo animal. “You promised answers,” Violet said Her name again, giving her a glare. “I want them now.”

“You would like them now, please, Vi.” She grinned, tone teasing. “I’m gone for three years and suddenly you’re forgetting all your fucking manners. Not very lady-like of you.”

“Wow, you’re exactly the same, you sarcastic cunt.” Violet muttered, and She laughed.

“Cunt isn’t a very polite word-“

“You taught it to me,” Violet grumbled. “Give me my explanation now, please. You bitch.”

“Fine, but first.” She pulled Violet back into another tight, long hug, and Ben waited until She spoke again. “I really fucking missed you.”

Violet smiled, and Ben watched her squeeze Her back. “I missed you as well.”

They returned to Her and Ben’s apartment silently, Ben didn’t miss any of the confused looks Violet kept shooting him as he trailed after them. When they reached the door and She scanned the badge, Violet shook her head but still didn’t speak, and when they entered their apartment, Violet gaped around as she was led to the sofa. It was a little less wide-eyed awe than Her gape had been, and more completely confused.

Violet turned around, and gave Ben one last look before she spoke, “can you start talking very soon? Because this is crazy. Batshit crazy.”

“You might, uh,” She sighed, looking back at Ben nervously. “You might want to sit down. It’s a long story.”

“Is he,” Violet nodded at Ben. “Gonna be here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Her answer is immediate, and Ben is filled with stupid goddamn pussy warmth at the firmness of her tone. He was going to be here, because She wanted him here. The whole fucking time.

“Fine.” Violet dropped onto the sofa, and looked at Her expectantly. “Go.”

“Okay,” She sat down slowly, voice a little hoarse, and Ben didn’t even think as he crossed the room. Sat silently at Her side, pressed his leg against Hers. He ignored the baffled look from Violet, because nothing was more fucking important than the way She had let out a steady breath once Ben was touching her.

She glanced at him with a small nod. Thank you. Before she turned to fully face Violet. “Ready?”

Violet nodded, and She took one last long breath.

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Violet frowned. “Like your suicide?”

“I didn’t commit suicide. I mean, obviously, but I didn’t try to either. I got kidnapped.”

Violet glanced at Ben. “Kidnapped?” She repeated slowly. “By-“

“Not by Ben. He’s still in Russia at this point. And I kind of kidnapped him a lot more than he kidnapped me.”

“You kidnapped Soldier Boy?!”

“Nobody fucking kidnapped me,” Ben grumbled at the same time Violet shouted, and She gave him a flat look.

“You are not being helpful.” She shoved him slightly with her thigh. “And it’s complicated Violet. We’ll get there, but I have to actually tell the fucking story.”

Violet nods, and She continues.

“Homelander. Homelander kidnapped me. He kept me in a dungeon for two years, and um,” She swallowed, staring at the floor, and leaned back slightly into Ben. “Hurt me. He’d just found out he had a son, Ryan Butcher, and he wanted more. So he hurt me. Then he wanted to be immortal, so he started testing a new compound V variation on me. He moved me into a lab for the scientists and they tested the V on me. I escaped, and the CIA kind of recruited me. William Butcher, you’ve heard of him?” She stopped, glancing at Violet, who nodded.

“He’s the dude who killed Madeline Stillwell. The same night you vanished.”

“Yeah, well, kind of. I think technically Homelander did that. But you’ve got the right guy. He’s the one who recruited me to his team, to kill Homelander. It’s Butcher, Starlight, Starlight’s boyfriend Hughie, this French dude who’s pretty chill, Kimiko, who’s mute but super sweet, and um, MM. Big guy, probably OCD but a really good dude. And me.”

“Cause you’re a supe now,” Violet says slowly. “You got shot with V.”

“Four times, yeah.”

“What powers did you get?”

She stared a little more intently at the floor. “I’m immortal. I don’t have invulnerable skin like him,” she nodded at Ben. “Or Homelander. But I have a regenerative healing factor that’s really powerful. I can survive being hit with a nuke. It helps with my healing power.”

“Healing power?”

“I can transfer wounds from others onto myself. I have a theory that it’s less about the wounds and more about the biology, though, because I can do mental stuff as well.”

Ben tensed at that. Because it made more fucking sense, sure, but She hadn’t mentioned that to him. That Her healing his alleged shell shock might just be biology manipulation. She’d said she was fine though, and it had been a few months-

“Is that it?” Violet asked, pulling Ben’s attention. “Can you explain Soldier Boy now?”

She gave a small, huffed laugh. “No. Not even close. Each shot of V added something, immortality and healing was just the first. The second was, um, empathy.” Her hands started to tap in Her lap. “I can feel people’s emotions when I touch them. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you first-“

“I don’t care,” Violet snapped, and Ben decided he liked her. “Keep talking. Second shot was empathy. Third shot?”

“Sensory manipulation. But I’m kind of terrible at controlling it, and it only happens when I sing.”

“You’ve gotten a lot damn better though.” Ben muttered, and She shot him a dirty look. “You fucking have, Sunshine. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Fine, I can control it a little. But not completely.”

Ben nodded with satisfaction, and Violet gave him another confused frown before looking back at Her. “Fourth shot?”

“Pyrokinesis. Really strong pyrokinesis.”

“How strong?”

She answered slowly. “It alone makes me stronger than Homelander.”

“Oh,” Violet’s eyes widened. “That explains the CIA.”

“Yeah, and him.” She pointed to Ben, and Violet’s eyes followed. “I’m stronger than tall, dark, and stupid here. So I made the genius pitch to wake him up and use him against Homelander.”

Ben scowls. “It was a genius pitch. And I’ve been a fucking delight.”

She grins at him. Don’t be a baby. I’m teasing you, Pretty Boy.

He rolled his eyes. Shut the fuck up.

Make me. She stuck her tongue out at him, and turned back to Violet as the Thing pushed inside of Ben. “We lived in a safe house for a while, and after Neuman we’re here. The FBSA’s new supe compound. That’s it.”

She’d glossed over a lot of shit, but the explanation seemed to satisfy Violet. She nodded slowly, looking between them, and asked. “You’re friends? You and Soldier Boy?”

“Um,” She looked at Ben, and he shrugged. Whatever She said he’d take. He’d take and let it feed the Thing, because at least it was something. “Yes. We’re friends. Good friends.”

“Good friends,” Violet repeated slowly. “And you live together.”

She narrowed her eyes at Violet, and the room was silent for a second. Ben felt like he was missing something, especially when Violet just sighed and moved on.

“Just to recap,” she said slowly. “You’re a supe now. You’re more powerful than Homelander and Soldier Boy. You’ve been working with the CIA to kill Homelander. Soldier Boy didn’t kidnap you, you’re friends with him,” Ben didn’t like the way Violet said the word friends, like it was a fucking lie or joke. “And you can’t leave this place, which is a government supe compound.”

She nodded. “I know it’s scary and dangerous, but I can ask my boss Mallory to keep an eye on you. I don’t know if it will be better or worse to put a detail on you-“

Violet says Her name firmly. “I’m gonna be fine. I don’t need a detail, that’s crazy. Just,” she smiled sadly. “Can you not do the fix it thing for only two hours so I can talk to my sister?”

“I don’t do a fix it thing,” She muttered, and Violet gave Her a flat, bored stare that was uncannily similar to the one She always gave Ben.

“Uh huh. Do they feed you here? Is there a bell to ring?”

“We have a kitchen, Vi.” She snapped, gesturing over the couch.  “I can make something.”

“I’m not tryin to die-“

“I can fucking cook now, bitch.” She said proudly, and Ben felt the Thing hum again. “So I’m going to make something, and you’re going to eat it, and then apologize for being fucking rude.”

Violet scoffed, but followed Her when she stood and walked to the kitchen.

Ben trailed after them and watched. Watched Her, completely at ease, with someone that wasn’t him. Laughing about Her childhood, telling stupid stories, still brushing against Ben comfortably whenever she passed him. Letting him see this piece of Her from before. Still fucking wanting him there, with her, when it wasn’t about death and violence and the dark. Still fucking perfect, casually telling Ben to get the stuff he’d put on a shelf too high for Her to reach. Sitting across from him as they ate but keeping Her foot pressed against his. Talking to Violet about movies Ben hadn’t seen—but She gave him a look that promised they would watch them—their mother still being a bitch, and Violet’s life in the past three years. She was, apparently, a dancer. Going to some fancy fucking school for it.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing that as a career,” She said, shaking her head. “Ballet?”

“Of course.” Violet shrugged. “I want to use my talent. Unlike someone.”

She laughed. “I didn’t need lessons for my talent like you did. It’s not my fault I’m just a fucking natural.”

“At least I can carry a tune. Kid me blindfolded could dance better than you now.”

“You don’t know that,” She muttered. “It’s been three years. Maybe I’ve gotten better.”

“Have you?”

She scowled at her plate, and Violet laughed.

“You can dance,” Ben frowned at Her. She could definitely fucking dance. The memory of it was carved into his brain. “I’ve seen you dance.”

Don’t help me, Benjamin. You’ll make it worse. She glared at him Violet snorted.

“Did you see her dance at a club or something?”

Ben looked between Her and Violet, deciding the numb feeling of Her kicking him under the table would be well worth some fucking answers. “Yes.”

“Ah, that’s not the same.” Violet grinned, and her voice turned to the haughty, mocking impression of their mother they'd been doing all morning. “She can dance like a slut, not a lady.”

“Fuck off,” She snapped at her sister before turning her glare to Ben. “And not a single word from you.” She didn’t kick him, but threw a crumpled napkin at his face. Ben caught it and winked at her.

I like that you’re not a lady, beautiful.

She scoffed. You would.

Violet hummed, looking between them, and She sighed. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you do that with someone who’s not family.”

“Shut up,” She muttered, but Ben leaned forward.

“Do what?” He grunted, because if he didn’t find out what the fuck Violet was talking about he might explode.

“That silent communication thingy she does. I’ve only seen her do it with me and our siblings. And a few of her closest friends.”

“Violet-“

“It’s a creepy talent.” Violet ignored Her, still addressing Ben. “Me and my brother tried to recreate it together once, but it only works with her.” 

“My brother and I,” She corrected without missing a beat. “And it’s not a talent. It just happens.” 

“But I’ve only seen it happen with people you-“ Violet was cut off as She threw another napkin.

Her face was tight, glaring at Her sister, and before Ben could demand more answers for what the fuck Violet was talking about, the door slid open, revealing the one pussy agents from their move.

“I’ve um,” the agent, it was the woman—the one Ben had taken the gun from too easily—looking at Ben, Her, and Violet grouped at the table. “I’ve been told to escort your guest out the front. For her safety.”

“It’s been three hours?” She asked with a small, sad frown that made the Thing riot.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Fuck,” She swore, standing slowly. Ben remained in his seat as Violet did the same, but moved his hand to the back of Her leg when she rounded the table. So he could just fucking touch Her. So She looked a little less like the damn world was spinning and her heart slowed just a little.

She paused a foot from Violet, arms tense at her side. “I don’t know if you want me to-“

“Can it,” Violet closed the distance, pulling Her into a tight hug. “I just want to hug you.”

Ben liked how fast She gave in. Comfortably, easily, muscles relaxing further where Ben’s hand rested. Because there was at least one other goddamn person on earth who saw that She was perfect, and just wanted Her. Not quite as much as Ben wanted Her, because that was simply fucking impossible. But still just wanted Her.

“You can’t visit frequently,” Ben heard Her say softly. “We can write off once, say you were just looking for more answers. But you can’t keep coming, or tell anyone, or really call, or text-“

“I know you’re not dead.” Violet squeezed Her. “I know I’m not crazy. Everything else is good by me.”

She looked over Violet’s head to Agent No-Gun. “Make sure she’s safe, please.”

Agent No-Gun nodded. “Of course, Ma’am.”

The hug lasted a minute longer before Violet pulled back, and gave Her one last smile. “Kick Homelander’s whole butt.”

When the door closed behind Agent No-Gun, She was swaying slightly. Her heart faster, her eyes glued on the door like it might open, or explode.

“Are you going to cry.” Ben asked, because if She was he needed to be ready. Figure out a game plan now.

She just sighed. “I’m not going to cry. I’m just. I didn’t-“

Ben stood and pulled Her into his chest. She’d stay there until her heart became even again. He’d hold her until she made him stop.

When She pulled back to look at Ben she wasn’t smiling. But her features weren’t too controlled, like something was being held barely fucking together inside her. She was looking at him, with a wide, open, soft, perfect face.

“Thank you,” She said softly, and Ben blinked.

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

“You were here.” She buried her head back against him. “I’m just really fucking glad you’re here.”

“I’m not going a goddamn place without you,” he muttered, scowling at the air. “That’s that. So don’t fucking thank me.”

“Good luck stopping me, Benjamin.” Her words were muffled against Ben’s body, and he could feel her smiling into his chest. “Thank you.”

“Brat.”

She relaxed even further into him, and it made Ben smile like a fucking pussy into the air. She tilted her head up, staring at him with a gentle, simple perfect fucking smile. Looking at Ben like he was something she wanted.

“Cunt,” She whispered. And kissed him. She wasn’t horny, or mad, and Ben wasn’t doing anything except fucking standing there. Ben hadn’t asked, or initiated it because he was being mauled inside by not touching her. She kissed him, slow and so fucking easily. When She pulled back her whole perfect face was lighter, her smile bigger, and Ben returned it. Because why the hell wouldn’t he, when She was looking at him like that.

“You can’t fucking dance,” Ben drawled Her name, because he needed her to laugh a little. Be a little brighter.

She shoved at his chest, but didn’t try to get away from him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I could teach you,” he leaned down a little, bringing his eyes to Hers. “I’m a goddamn king of waltzing.”

“Wow,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That is such fucking bullshit.”

“I fucking am.”

“You’re going to kill us both.”

Ben scoffed. “With dancing?”

“You’d find a way,” She shrugged, but was still smiling. “It’s one of your many skills.”

Ben started adjusting Her in his arms, dropping one hand to her lower back and moving the other into her own hand. “Sing.”

“Sing?”

“Something slow. No fast shit.”

She gaped at him. “You’re being serious.”

“Of course I am, I’m not a-“

“Pussy fucking liar,” She stuck her tongue out at Ben’s glare. “If you drop me-“

“I’m not going to drop you.” Ben snapped. He’d listen to Butcher talk for fifty straight years before he fucking dropped Her. “Sing.”

She watched him a little more apprehensively than Ben liked, but did. A slow song that sounded like wind and sunlight, with guitar and gentle symbols. Ben recognized it, he wasn’t sure from where but he was positive he did. He’d ask Her later, but right now it was about this. About holding Her like she deserved to be held, spinning her around and making her smile. Guiding her legs as he moved into the four-step waltz his mother had taught him, that had only been used for stupid fucking Vought parties or boring galas with pointless themes he’d hated attending. Making Her keep looking at him like that. Her perfect lips parted slightly, eyes clouded with something that wasn’t panic or lack of control. Just staring at Ben, touching him, wanting him there. Her voice was making the world fill with sunlight, making her somehow more beautiful, making an ocean breeze carry through the world and everything become just them. Together.

The song ended too soon, and She didn’t move away. She rested her head back against him, and Her heart was uneven again. Ben couldn’t figure out why, why the fuck was her heart like that when she looked so peaceful, but when She looked back up at him she was smiling. So he let it go.

“Thank you.”

Ben didn’t tell Her to shut up this time. She never fucking listened anyway. So he just kissed Her. Made her open for him as far as she could go, made her moan into his mouth. He’d mastered using every part of her body he was allowed to touch, worked out how to get her happy and wrecked in his hands from just kissing her. He’d stay here forever. As long as She was doing whatever fucking thing turned Ben into a weak fucking pussy that was consumed by just Her, he’d stay right here. He’d ask Her to sing again, because she sounded like a fucking angel, and he’d learn every way to keep Her there. With him. If She told him she’d go with him, when this was over, there wasn’t a single fucking thing that would keep him away. Mallory could threaten him, Edgar could call in his favor, Butcher could mock and hunt him, but Ben would stay with Her.

He’d follow Her anywhere, and listen to her rants, and put up with all Her insane shit because she was fucking perfect. Because She did the same, for him, for almost everyone, and there wasn’t a goddamn person who deserved the world more than she did. So, if She let him, Ben would give it to Her. The world was fucking shit, but every part of it was more beautiful when she was around. 

So he’d find a way, bombs and fists and blood and gunpowder, to give it to Her.

End Note: I can’t believe I Avengers Tower 2013ed the Boys. Also for everyone going “gross where did the plot go” do NOT worry. It is coming. It is very much coming. We're about to CRAZY.

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[vivs-fics]

Selfish (Part 2)

Logan Howlett x Reader

Part One

Warnings: Smut. So much smut. Just an ungodly amount of filth. (Abandon all hope ye who enter here.), slight angst, self-loathing Logan, confessing feelings

“Logan, what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your brows knit together in a healthy mixture of concern and confusion. The office he’s pulled you into is crappy at best, but the desk seems clean enough. The scuffed hardwood harbors a lone ashtray, stacked to the brim with half-smoked Camel cigarettes. The light above you is yellowed from years of continued exposure to tobacco, the bulb flickers every so often. You have no more time to ponder the electrical workings of this establishment though, not when you have a 6’3 hulking Wolverine in front of you, hands running through his hair frustratedly.

“I can’t do this anymore, baby. I just can’t.” He steps closer to you, his warm breath fans over you. His eyes search your face, brows scrunched together, deepening the lines in his forehead. His lips are set in a narrow, straight line.  

“What can’t you-”

Logan cuts you off with a firm kiss, “I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you the way I do. I fucking- God, baby. Do you even know what you do to me?” He cups your face in his hands and gazes on you like you hung the moon in the sky. His honeyed eyes trace the features of your face. He looks upon you as if he is gazing upon the Divine. The admiration behind his eyes surpassed that of centuries of people kneeling before their gods in awe.

“Baby… baby, you are everything to me. And if that makes me a selfish motherfucker, so be it.” He presses his lips to yours once again, passion flows between the two of you. The invisible string that connects you seems to wind around the expanse of your bodies and pulls you closer together. Neither of you can help it- the need for this proximity.

“Logan. Wait, wait.” You sigh out, attempting to halt the panting and pleading, almost putty in his hands already.

“Yeah, princess? What is it?” His thumbs rub up and down your cheeks soothingly.

“I had no idea you felt this way. You always- you know-” You shrug, albeit a bit sheepishly. A smile appears on your face, and he kisses you, once, twice, and again and again. He drinks in the radiance of your grin; he relishes in the light of it.

“I know, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and I thought I was protecting you by bein’ like that.” He stops for a moment, shuffles forward and places his hands on your hips.

The feeling is familiar, good. Great floodgates open inside your heart, it flows through your chest, out to the tips of your fingers and toes. It envelops you. Your nails rake over his scalp and your fingers thread through his thick locks. A strangled groan escapes his lips when you give his hair a hefty tug. “I thought it’d be selfish if I went about it any other way… but…” Logan stops in his tracks, his need to taste more of you is completely overwhelming.

He licks, kisses and sucks down the expanse of your neck, stopping ever so briefly to graze his teeth along your collarbones. He steps back, succumbing to the urge to commit the marks he left on your skin to memory. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He mumbles, the words barely above a whisper. His eyes move back up to yours and with a quick, sharp exhale, he’s back on you.

“But I don’t care. I don’t fucking care, baby.” Strong, calloused hands move under your shirt and Logan gropes your waist. He drinks you in, gasping, thirsting, yearning for you. Hazel eyes bore into your own, fierce desire barely concealed inside his steely gaze. “I need you so fucking bad… And I don’t care that I’m being selfish.” Logan lifts your shirt and discards it; his pupils dilate as more of your soft skin is exposed. “I’m a selfish bastard, and I want you all to myself. I can’t fucking get enough of you, princess.” His mouth moves down to your own, he captures your lips in a rough kiss. Logan licks his tongue into your mouth, desperately trying to capture your taste. He’s ravenous, a caged beast finally let loose. You moan out in pleasure into his mouth, his heart pounds against his ribcage.

Every fiber of his being burns for you. The very cells of his body scream out your name in worship. You are all-encompassing, you smother him in your splendor, and he still finds it hard to believe that you would even consider gracing him with your ethereal presence.

He is jagged, tainted. Fire and brimstone. All rough edges and serrated ends. You are soft, so fucking soft, he thinks to himself, and he has kept himself away for so long. But no longer. His cock strains against his dark wash jeans. A fiery blaze of need burns within his system, it crackles and frizzles, engulfing his very spirit. All he sees, all he smells, all he knows is you. He wants to fall into you and take you apart, just to put you back together again.

Logan’s hands move up to your breasts and he squeezes them once, twice, before slipping under your bra and rolling your peaked nipples between his pointer finger and his thumb. He drags his hands down, out, and to the clasps of your bra. The rough pads of his fingers leave a burning trail across your skin. Logan pulls the soft material off your body and discards with no more effort than a breath. His attention never falters, his gaze never strays. He’s finally admitting to you what he’s kept inside since the day he met you. The rumbling, snarling, rabid possessiveness that he convinced himself was wrong spurts out from him in leagues.

He wants to taste you, feel you, mark your skin so that the world can see who owns you. His lips trail down your neck and onto your chest, he takes a nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. His tongue laps against your tit, his lips suckle on the pebbled skin. Logan’s hand moves to tease your other nipple, and you gasp. Your head falls back, hitting the wall behind you, gasps and pants escape your lips. You look up to the heavens, which is just a slightly water-damaged ceiling in this shoddy excuse for a manager’s office, knowing that no divine light could shine as brightly as his eyes when he sees you. No promise of all the worlds riches could coax you away from the pleasure he gives you. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps he craves you as much as you crave him. Your back arches off the cool, off-white wall of the office as his free hand moves down to touch you under your skimpy excuse for a skirt.

Your panties are soaked, and a rumble resonates from his chest upon discovering this. “Wet for me already, baby?” He enquires, lips abandoning your tits for the soft slope of your neck, fingers moving under the thin material of your underwear and finding your clit. The tips of his index and middle finger circle over the sensitive bud. He presses soft, delicate kisses down from behind your ear to the expanse of your collarbones, his beard scratches along your skin delectably.

“Does my princess need me to touch her?” Logan drawls, his head tilts closer to you. His brows furrow in faux concern. “Hm?”

“Oh, fuck. Lo-” You start, but are quickly, rudely, deliciously, maddeningly cut off by the abrupt feeling of fingers moving inside your soaked cunt. A lewd moan escapes you and rings out through the small room, muffled only the tiniest bit by the music spilling in from under the door.

“This all for me? Huh, baby?” He teases, voice low as his fingers work your cunt.

All you are able to do is nod your head and let out a string of clumsily worded confirmations. Pleasure courses through your body. Your thighs shake from the intensity of it.

A smirk appears on his wickedly cruel lips, and he continues his ministrations on your clit. His fingers dip in between your folds every so often, gathering your slick to keep your clit wet. “There’s my girl… Always so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you? So eager…” Logan continues thrumming your clit with the pads of his fingers, keeping a pace he knew you made you melt.  

“Are you close already, baby?” He purrs, voice dropping lower. Lust practically spills from his words. He pumps his fingers into your sweet, dripping cunt. Logan shifts his gaze from watching his digits disappear into your cunt, over and over, to the blissed out, desperate look on your face. His rhythm remains steady as you start moving up and down on his fingers, chasing your high. He returns his focus to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bud. Your hips stutter. The coil in your belly is taut- it tightens and winds and tenses and the burly man that looms above you, bound in denim and leather, talks you through your orgasm.

“There she is… good fuckin’ girl.” He keeps his pace steady, fingers reaching that soft, spongy part of you that almost always made you tip over the edge. “Always make me so proud, baby. You took my fuckin’ fingers so well, princess.” He cocks his head to the side and stares down at your trembling form, so clearly happy with the work he’s done.

Logan ushers you to the hardwood desk placed in the middle of the room, soon after you recover from the seismic orgasm he gave you. He lifts you to sit on the edge of the cluttered surface. “You alright, pretty girl?” He ducks his head down and lifts your chin with two fingers.

You bat your eyelashes at him, a hazy smile on your face, “Alright is… certainly one way to put it.”

He grunts, satisfied, moving his hands down to either side of you. He traps you between him and the desk. “Baby? I need you to know something.”

You tilt your head upwards and give him an encouraging nod.

“You’re not someone who should ever have to endure a casual relationship. Okay? You are… resplendent. You are everything anyone could ever want and infinitely more. I- I want to do so many fuckin’ things with you, alright? I don’t want to fuck and go home- I need you to be my woman. I need you to be on my arm and I need you to fucking dance with me. Seeing you with that guy-” Logan’s voice catches in his throat and he brings his fist to his heart and beats it against his chest a few times. “I couldn’t bear it. I cannot stand it to be without you, Y/N.”

“Logan?” You enquire, voice almost swallowed by your surprise. His name hangs, suspended, in the air for a moment before it is engulfed by the flood of his confession.

He couldn’t stop talking, not if he tried, not if he wanted to. He’d kept it all inside for so long and now, here you were- eyes wide and vulnerable, the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. “Fuck- I just- I promised myself I wouldn’t do this… You, baby, you’re so fucking good and pure, and I’ve got too much hurt on my heart to let you come close.”

“Are… are you scared I won’t be able to handle it?”

“I’m scared you will. I’m fuckin’ terrified that you see it and take it on and that taints you- that it hurts you to see what I’ve done.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before his hand comes up to your face and cups your cheek gently.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous, Lo.” You sigh, leaning into his touch, almost making light of the monumental declaration.

Logan is slightly taken aback by your callous statement, but it comforts him all the same. Of course, you wouldn’t shut him out because of his past, of course you’d be understanding and as wonderful as ever. He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tilt upwards.

“Hm. That’s not something I’ve been called often, princess. You sure ‘ridiculous’ is the word you want to go with?” Logan’s thumb strokes your cheek softly- his touch, his eyes, everything is full of a gentleness that could only come from a man completely smitten.

“It’s a hill I am ready and willing to die on.” The bright smile on your face triggers an even brighter one on his. A rare sight. One that you hold close to your heart.

His heart swells, “I mean it though, baby. The only reason I kept you so far away was because of all of this shit.” He gestures to himself vaguely. Your stomach drops, the smallest amount.

“I want you, Lo. I want all of you.” His eyes shine, his heart soars upon hearing this. It’s all he’s ever wanted, he thinks. It’s certainly the thing he’s wanted most. “Will you let me have it, Logan?”

A quietness falls over the two of you. You smile at him, half-agony, half-hope. A blanket of heavy silence coats you and Logan in it’s warm embrace. He clenches his jaw, just once, before nodding. “Yes. Yes, baby. You can have it. Have me. I’ll give you anything you fuckin’ ask for if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

You break out into simultaneous, smiling sighs of relief. Your hearts feel tethered to each other, an intangible connection present and strong between the two of you. “Logan…”

He nods, “Fuck, baby. That’s the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.” He draws you closer to him, his breathing suddenly jagged. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

You comply, the whirlpool of beautiful emotions swirling in your chest makes you stutter, “L-logan.”

“Again,” He demands. “Louder, princess.” He bends his neck to bring his lips down to your neck, they brush against the sensitive skin just below your ear. His hands roam across the expanse of your body. He takes handfuls of you and massages, his skilled fingers kneading your flesh. You feel a familiar heat pool in your belly as he moves his hands around you, it’s intoxicating. You give him what he wants, you cry out his name to the heavens- a declaration to God and man alike that Logan fucking owns you.

He guides your hand down to the bulge in his jeans, moving your wrist ever so slightly, encouraging you to cup his clothed cock. “You feel this, baby? Can you feel what you do to me?”

A desperate whimper falls from your lips at the utter filth he’s speaking. “F-fuck. Fuck me. You’re so fucking hard for me.”

Before you know it, you’re leaning against the table, back arched up, moaning, whimpering and babbling- begging for Logan to keep fucking you. He pumps his thick cock in and out of your soaking cunt. Filthy, wet noises of pleasure echo in the small room. He picks up his speed, hand coming down to smack your ass a few times. “Fuck, baby. Always so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you? My desperate fucking princess. You need this, don’t you? Tell me. Tell me how badly you need my cock.”

“Oh, fuck…” Your pussy clenches around him as those filthy words fall from his mouth and drip down onto you. “I fucking need- oh, God- I need you, Logan. I need you so fucking badly... Please, please make me cum.” Your voice is a mixture of wanton pleasure and fervent desire.

“You wanna cum, baby? You want to cream all over my fuckin’ dick? Hmm?”

You buck your hips back into him, he groans. The sound is rumbling and gruff and wanting.

“Fuck, princess.” He fucks himself into you harder, his dick hits your g-spot, and his hand moves around your body to allow his fingers to play with your clit. “You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you? You gonna cum nice and hard for daddy?” His voice dips with the addition of the name he knew drove you wild.

He brings you right to the precipice with his rough, rhythmic thrusts and then, with all the power of a raging tidal wave, your orgasm hits you. Pleasure rocks though you from your core, you moan out lewdly. Loudly. You couldn’t give a fuck who heard you right now.

He preens, spurred on by the spasming of your pussy around his cock.

“Cum inside me, Logan. Oh God- pl-please.”

His hazel eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel something flip inside him. His thrusts become erratic, desperate. He wants this, he needs this. He would let himself fall into you a thousand times over. No amount of time spent with you would ever be enough. He feels something warm and light and pure and new spread through him. It ignites in his veins, seizes his muscles and courses through him. ‘Fuck, what is this? Am I fucking in love with this woman?’ He thinks to himself briefly. Logan leans forward, discarding his thought, too concerned with how good your luscious pussy feels wrapped around him. He presses hot kisses against your shoulder as he fucks you.

“Baby, baby I’m gonna- Oh fuck-” He spills inside you, hips slowing as his orgasm washes over him. He keeps his cock inside for a while- fucking his cum into you, relishing in the feeling.

He turns you over and presses the gentlest, most soulful kiss onto your lips. “You’re fucking perfect, princess. Did so good for me.” Logan praises.

You take a moment to catch your breath, your body sagging against his slightly. “Y-you… Logan Howlett… Are a different kind of animal.”

“Fuckin’ right I am.” You can practically hear the smirk in his words. He presses a tentative kiss to your forehead, then one on your cheek, and your other cheek and suddenly, your face is being cradled in his large hands, jaw nestled in the warmth of his palms.

“I’m yours, you know that, right?” your eyes lift to meet his.

“That’s all I ever wanted to hear, baby.” His eyes soften, a smile falls onto his lips. His heart thumps steadily in his chest. This is right, this was always right. Logan knows there’s no other alternative to this. You’re it, for him. “And uh- just for the record, princess... You’ve fuckin’ got me. You are everything, fucking everything. And I swear to God I’ll be the man you deserve.” Your simultaneous admissions sit together, twisting into each other and solidifying into something glorious.

The height you’re soaring at is dizzying, the fact that you get this man all to yourself- it is almost too much to comprehend. One final thought sits in your mind as Logan holds you close to him, hands stroking up your spine and lips whispering sweet words into your ears… Thank God this man was selfish.

Hi hi! Here's Part 2 as promised!! I hope yall like it <3

Xoxo, Viv

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[m4y4wasnthere]

dallas winston dating hcs!

warnings: a bit suggestive; almost sa? encounter; drinking/smoking mention

a/n: this is my first time doing this lolz, im so srry if its bad!! 🤞🤞

took a long time for him to open up to you, especially after his trust being broken by sylvia

treated you like every other girl; dirty pick up lines, teasing; until he realized you were different and you guys got way closer

first time he opened up was about why he moved from New York to Tulsa. needed to escape from from the emptiness of his own household.

You cried as he told the story, which made him realize how much you actually cared for him. how much he hated to see you cry.

“dal, i’m so sorry. i had no clue you went through- just- all of that.” you wiped your face for the 5th time in 1 hour. your eyes were glazed with gloss as you made eye contact with him.

he looked at you, his heart sinking at how you looked. red eyes, tear-streamed face. he hated seeing you all torn up, it made him stop his pacing on your carpet floors. shes crying, not because of me..but because of what I went through. she cares. he would never cry infront of you, but this time his eyes started to ear up too.

he sat down on the bed next to you, and slowly pulled you in for a hug. you hugged him tight, whispering sweet nothings.

“dal im so sorry”...”you didnt deserve any of that”… “you’re amazing for getting through all of that.”

silence filled the room after a shortwhile, interrupted sometimes by your short sniffs.

his arm was caressing your side, and you felt his breath hitch.

“i-… i love you.” he whispered, his heartbeat quickening with each second of silence passing.

you tilted your head up to his and stared into his beautiful eyes. he struggled keeping his eyes against yours, awaiting your response. he was ready to get up and run, expecting a rejection.

“I love you too Dallas” your voice was clear, contrasting your sweaty palms and your tear stricken face.

Both of you stared into each other eyes in comfortable silence.

he’s never said i love you again after that, he does show it, most he would do is say “you too”

he’s 50/50 with PDA, it depends on who you guys are with, where you guys are at, etc.

he 100% gets super jealous + overprotective of you really easily, if a guy doesn’t leave you alone , he will end up in a fight (you’ll end up scolding him for it)

A soc walked up behind you and touched your waist, “I never knew a greaser could be such a broad..”

You turned around and gently took his hand off of you, “Don’t touch me.” You thought of other things to say, but anything too violent would have you getting jumped.

“Aw c’mon, it was a compliment. You should be grateful.” His voice thickens and he grabs your waist again with more force. Dallas starts walking over to you.

“I don’t feel comfy with a gross Soc touching me!” You struggle pushing his hands off, Dallas ends up right behind you. His arms loosely wrap around your neck, “Is this guy bothering you, doll?” He kisses your cheek, not breaking eye contact with the Soc.

“Oh I see. You’re Dallas Winston’s little slut. Y’know what, I didn’t want to sleep with you anyways” before he was able to walk off, Dallas punched him in the face. Buck had to break up the fight and he ended up limping back to his mustang.

Dallas doesn’t like you smoking often because he knows its bad, despite him going through packs like candy. Once every blue moon you guys would smoke together in his room.

You get drunk easily, and when you’re drunk, you can’t shut up. Dallas had to drag you upstairs to his room so you would stop telling everyone you were horny or you had to pee.

• more suggestive ones •

you guys do it ALOT. quickies are his thing and he doesn’t care where you guys are

he’s a brat tamer. if you don’t act right, he’s dragging you back home and making sure your ass hurts.

lots of choking, pinning you down, tugging at your hair

his favorite positions are doggy style and missionary because he can ‘control’ you way easier. he does like seeing you ride him but sometimes he wishes he could control the pace better, and ends up going into missionary again

he loves overstimulating you, can’t get enough of you moaning his name (ego booster)

[ashwhowrites]

Hi! So i’ve been nonstop listening to strawberries & cigarettes by the lovely Troye Sivan, and I had an idea for like a one shot or a two parter if you think it could be!

So my idea, bare with me for a minute 😂.

Maybe like a popstar fem reader x rockstar!eddie, maybe had a fling or were dating and eddie calls it off abruptly and she writes strawberries & cigarettes and performs it and maybe he is in the crowd or finds out though social media (im thinkin kinda modern but if that doesn’t fit with an idea you have whateves!) and like he regrets it or something along those lines.

maybe angsty.. happy ending? the interpretation is up to you! i just really think that song fits popstar x rockstar eddie for whatever reason! i would love to see it.

Thank you!!!!! happy writing ;)!

Posting my drafts! Hopefully you find this❤️

Strawberries & cigarettes

Y/N knew that with her fame, love was going to be messy and public. She knew it wouldn't be easy to hide away from the perving eyes that followed everywhere she went. Thrown into the famous world and meet people in her same position, it was only a matter of time until she found comfort in someone.

His name was Eddie Munson, a rockstar that many people knew. They were in different music genres, yet they were a perfect match. They were electric and their love was filled with fiery flames. It was hot, it was fast, and then it all stopped. She felt like she was running for her life, chasing after him. But the second she reached to touch him, he vanished.

Remember when we first met? You said "light my cigarette" So I lied to my mom and dad I jumped the fence and I ran But we couldn't go very far 'Cause you locked your keys in your car So you sat and stared at my lips And I could already feel your kiss

The party was loud and Y/N needed a moment of peace. She snuck out the back, hoping no one was watching her sneak out. She breathed a sigh of relief when she met the cold air. She could hear the party inside and the music vibrating off the walls.

"Needed to escape too?"

She jumped as she heard a voice, unaware she had a guest, or became a guest. She turned and took in the dark figure that hid in the shadows.

"You got a lighter?" He asked, moving into the light. She tried to hide her shock once she recognized who it was. She dug in her pocket and pulled out her lighter, nervously flicking it until a spark came to life. He held the cigarette between his lips, leaning down until his cigarette met the flame. She watched in awe as he inhaled the smoke and backed up.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" His raspy and deep voice made her shiver in the cold night.

"Y/N" she smiled. Eddie nodded at her name, like he recognized it.

"Ah! The popstar right? With the cute short skirt and boots," he sent her a wink and she could already feel herself being a puddle at his feet. It was her signature look, half the time she didn't care about the attention she got from it but knowing it caught his eye made it worth it.

They ended up talking that whole night, outside hiding from the party. He was a bit older, in the industry much longer, but there was a connection neither could deny. She didn't think the age difference was anything to worry about, but she was wrong. She was young and in love, so easily manipulated by a man flaunting at her feet.

At first she didn't see the red flags. She loved the sneaking around and meeting in hotel rooms. She loved the feeling of being in love.

Long nights, daydreams Sugar and smoke rings, I've been a fool But strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Then you make an "O" with your lips," Eddie instructed. Y/N listened to his words, watching as he inhaled the smoke and blew out small smoke rings.

He smiled as he did it perfectly, he went to help her do it next but she crashed her lips on his. He moaned and happily kissed her back. She could taste the smoke, the flavor making her crave him more.

He pulled back, licking his lips as she took the cigarette and inhaled the smoke. His hands held her hips as she sat on his lap. She passed him the cigarette, and reached for a strawberry on the nightstand. She stared into his eyes as she seductively bit into the strawberry. She moaned at the sweetness, the juice coating her lips and dripping down her chin.

Eddie leaned in, catching the strawberry juice that worked down her neck with his tongue, licking all the way up until his tongue met her mouth.

Y/N snapped out of her memory when she felt her eyes getting wet. She sniffled and put down her pen. She thought writing out what she felt would heal her, but all she felt was her heart breaking even more.

She looked at her phone, itching to call him but she knew it wouldn't do any good. Then her eyes looked at the pack of cigarettes in her purse. She knew it was a bad idea, but she reached forward and grabbed it anyway.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone but she missed Eddie more than words. He didn't want her, and he never did. He wasn't in love, it was all lust. She was the idiot that fell in love. Her hands shook as she lit the cigarette, the second she tasted the tobacco on her tongue she felt like she was tasting him.

She closed her eyes, picturing his soft lips against hers as she puffed on the stick. It was like she was there with him again, tasting him.

Remember when you taught me fate Said it'd all be worth the wait Like that night in the back of the cab When your fingers walked in my hand Next day, nothin' on my phone But I can still smell you on my clothes Always hoping things would change But we went right back to your games

She sighed in comfort as Eddie's fingers trailed across her naked back. Her body tucked against his as the hotel sheets covered their bodies.

"Do you think we'll ever leave the hotels behind?" She asked out loud. Something she's been dying to ask but afraid of the answer. She felt something real for him and she didn't want to scare him away. But she needed more.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" He asked, shifting so he could look down at her face. She looked up at him, soaking in his warm brown eyes.

"I'm starting to fall in love with you. But I don't want to continue if this is all we'll ever be," she confessed. The heaviness to her words hung in the air as Eddie thought of what to say.

In the moment she believed him. She believed the kiss that landed on her lips was passionate and real. And she believed his words when he whispered: "We'll be so much more than this."

Then the next morning he was gone and the bed was cold. Nothing left behind, not a note or a text. He vanished and she wished she realized sooner that it wouldn't stop.

She blinked away her tears as she wrote the lyrics. In a way it was healing her but hurting her too. There was so much hope she held for their relationship. She was an idiot in love so she went back to his games. She chased after him, not caring she was giving him exactly what he wanted.

It all blew up when he showed up at her place. She was shocked to see him there, but he had this distant look on his face. His body was cold as he walked past her and into her home. It didn't take long for her to end up under him as their bodies moved against each other.

She'll never forget the pain in her chest when he dressed himself in a hurry, the words slipping out of his mouth.

"I think we should break this off," Eddie said as he zipped up his jeans. Y/N stared at him in shock, wondering how it was possible to say those words without any emotion behind it.

"What? Why?"

"I'm not cut out for this relationship shit. You want to be public and official and I just...it's not me."

Y/N stopped writing when the pencil led snapped, unaware of how harsh she began writing. She could feel the same feeling of anger filling her. She wanted to laugh at his excuse. He was older than her and yet he wasn't ready for a relationship? Pathetic.

And even if I run away Give my heart a holiday Still strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you You always leave me wanting more I can't shake my hunger for Strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you Yeah, they always taste like you You Long nights, daydreams With that sugar and smoke rings Always taste like you

Y/N finished the song and added it to her setlist for her new tour. She figured new cities and constant travel could give her heart a break. Tickets were sold and seats were filled, she could hear people chanting her name.

Music was her way to heal and she was about to give the performance of her life. She performed all the sappy love songs she wrote during their relationship, the crowd singing along. She wondered if they ever found out who the inspiration was for all those songs. Eddie kept their relationship hidden but she released their secrets through music.

"This last one is a brand new song. I went through a pretty rough breakup a few months ago and this is the product of it. I hope you like it,"

~

Eddie was scrolling on his phone, a random naked girl in his bed as she slept the night away. He hadn't slept in months, wide awake every night as he thought of her.

Eddie caught up on all the recent celebrity drama that filled his timeline, but he felt himself freezing when a video of Y/N appeared.

He debated clicking on it. He stared at the frozen picture, taunting him to click play and see her again. The small photo was enough to make his heart race. He looked down at the stranger next to him, confirming she was asleep. He clicked play and turned up his volume lightly, the sound of her voice filled the silence in his hotel room.

"Remember when we first met? You said "light my cigarette"

The first words she sang had Eddie sitting up straight. He was used to songs being written about him. Most of her songs became about him during their relationship. But the sound of her voice cracking caught him off guard.

He should've clicked off the video but he was in awe of seeing her again. She looked gorgeous, with boots and a skirt. It was a skirt he had in his hotel room many times before, he didn't know he could miss an article of clothing but he did.

As the song continued, the more Eddie felt sick. She sang with such hurt and anger. The video ended and he couldn't help but look at the replies. He was curious if anyone knew who the song was about, as she was respectful enough to not mention him.

One reply cracked the code, a paparazzi photo of Eddie smoking that cigarette as Y/N held the lighter in her hands. The comments began to flood as people freaked out over the new information. It didn't take long for his phone to begin filling up with notifications.

He slammed his phone down and crawled out of bed. He slipped on his boxers, and walked to his jeans as he fished out a cigarette. He walked out to the balcony, lighting the small stick and inhaling the smoke immediately.

He rolled his eyes as he noticed paparazzi down below. The song was quick to fill his head, the lyrics repeating over and over as he easily could remember each memory that connected.

Truthfully he already missed her. He missed her the second he broke it off. He was scared but he wished he ignored the fear. Hell he wished he allowed himself to stay with her. It was clear she felt something for him still and he couldn't help but have an itch to see her again.

He continued to smoke his cigarette as he thought about her. Would it be too late to beg for her back? He finished his stick and threw it to the ground. He raced back into his hotel room and grabbed his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found her name. He debated in his head for a few minutes, notifications still rolling through.

He bit his lip as he began to type, his thumbs clicking the letters and hitting send.

"I still taste you too"

He held his breath as the message went through. He was surprised to see the message was read fairly quickly. He held his breath as the tiny bubbles popped up on his phone, she was typing something.

He waited for what felt like hours

....

.....

.....

The tiny bubbles disappeared and his message was left on read.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[yeehawbvby]

Safe (Sebastian x GN!Reader)

Rating: Teen+

Summary: You run into Sebastian on your way into town from the bathhouse, and he invites you to go for a ride with him. The thing is, you’re terrified of motorcycles.

Luckily, he helps you feel safe while you prepare to accompany him.

Author's Note: This was 100% wholeheartedly inspired by these images by sinsydia.. when I say I have been rotating that last one in particular in my brain for DAYS I'm not exaggerating!! ;;w;; Hope y'all like this x

Check it out on ao3!

It was a rough day. 

A new season had just started so you spent more time than usual tending to your crops, and then had to delve into the mines for a good few hours to fulfill a bulletin board request. 

Got your ass kicked by some bugs and bats all for a stupid topaz… Elliot better need it for something good.

After dinner, you felt awful, but didn’t want to go to bed just yet; you figured you at least deserved a nice dip at the bathhouse first to relax. So after cleaning the dishes, you trudged through the backwoods, up the mountain, and then across the broken, dirty tiles of the worn-down building feeling half-dead; wondering, Is this really worth the hike? 

About 20 minutes into your soak, you realized that it totally was worth it. You found yourself shoving your swimsuit back into your locker with a second wind that only a nap could usually supply, ready to enjoy the rest of your night.

Rather than turning right into the backwoods, you made your way further down the hill with an extra pep in your step, deciding to take the long way home. A round headlight stopped you in your tracks, though.

You squinted through the beam and smiled, noticing a tall, hooded figure resting against the bike that beam came from, with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Had to try your best not to ogle at how good he looked. As much as motorcycles freaked you out, you couldn’t deny the appeal of seeing Sebastian leaning so coolly against his own.

As you approached, he turned to you, nodding his head once in greeting. “Hey,” he offered before turning for a moment to breathe out some smoke.

“What’s up?” 

“I was just about to head out.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back his hood in the process. 

“Oh, cool,” you nodded, sparing a glance south towards the town. He probably wants me to leave, then. “I won’t keep y—“ you stopped yourself at the sight of a goofy and mischievous — albeit very handsome — grin staring down at you when you faced him again.

A nervous laugh slipped its way past your lips while you looked around at the scenery once more to distract yourself. Hopefully your cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt…

Through some residual giggles, you asked, “What’s with the face?” 

He flashed you a toothier smile. “Wanna come with?”

You took a deep breath in. On one hand, a night out with your crush sounded amazing. On the other… 

You puffed your cheeks, still holding your breath while you stared down Sebastian’s vehicle.

Finally letting that air escape your lungs, you hesitantly responded with a question of your own. “You… you mentioned a while back that you'd keep me safe if I ever rode with you, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “of course.”

“You promise you will?”

“I’ll do ya one better.” He held out a pinky, his face softening as he wiggled it at you.

You could’ve sworn your heart melted a little when you linked your little finger through his. The two of you remained comfortably intertwined for a few beats while you decided what to do.

You knew you’d be wondering about what you were missing out on all night if you didn’t go with him… well, wherever he was going. 

Fuck it.

With a sigh, you nodded. “Alright, yeah.” The words came out airy, your nerves putting themselves on full display. 

Sebastian’s grin grew wide and genuine while he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray he kept near the garage door. 

“Sick.” He nodded towards the bike, “You get on first. I’ve gotta grab a few things.”

Nodding at the instructions he gave you, you padded over to the motorcycle, inspecting it a little before straddling the seat. 

Your heart raced thinking of what was to come. You trusted Sebastian, of course, but you didn’t trust other drivers on the road. Weren’t sure how you felt about being a passenger without a roof or doors to shield you, either. 

Your friend came back with two helmets in hand — one very clearly old and worn, and the other sleek and new, as if recently polished. He handed you the fancier one.

There was a noticeable shake to your hands while you took the protective gear from him. 

“Hm…” he hummed at that observation, his mouth crooked. “Scoot forward. I wanna try something.”

With the helmet in your lap and your view plastered to the instrument panel, you did just that. Then, you stiffened as you felt Sebastian climb on behind you, reaching around your frame to hold the handlebars.

He hummed pensively again, his baritone reverberating through your back and sending a shiver down your spine, before nodding. “I can work with this.”

“Is this even legal?” you asked, looking behind yourself and up at him. 

Yoba above you’ve never been this close to him. As if your anxiety regarding the motorcycle wasn’t enough stress on your poor heart…

He shrugged and looked down at you, grinning. “Probably not.” His breath was minty and smokey as it brushed your face. He winked as he tacked on, “That’s what the backroads are for.” The small gesture had your stomach doing flips.

You nodded, still unsure, but again trusting his judgment; and after putting his own helmet on, he put a large hand on your shoulder and leaned down, getting close to your ear.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll take it slow, yeah?”

Too nervous to look at his eyes this closely through the polycarbonate between you, you kept your view on his knee, nodding. 

After a pat where his hand was, he reached around you and grabbed the other helmet, plopping it down over your head. The action made you laugh. Definitely helped to lighten the mood.

“Alright, a few things,” he went on while you adjusted the headgear, pointing towards some metal bars near the front wheels of the vehicle. “You see those crash bars there?” 

“Yup.”

“Keep your feet on ‘em. Any dangling when we’re in motion could get dangerous.” Next, while you heeded his words, Sebastian brought both hands around you and grasped the handlebars near where they met. “If you need to grab anything, which you should if you want to really feel secure, hold onto this. Any higher,” he slid his hands towards the grips, “and you could mess with my steering.” You could hear a sly smile in his voice as he suggested, “Unless you wanna steer—“

You cut him off, your own tone amused. “No way in hell.”

He barked out a quick laugh. “Whatever you say. Now, one more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Let me know if you feel too spooked at any point and I’ll pull over, or we can just turn back, or whatever.” 

Your anxiety had already been washing away, but that suggestion solidified how safe he really made you feel. 

You breathed deeply.

He really would keep you safe.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you nodded. “I trust you, though. I think I’ll be okay.”

Braving the closeness, you turned your head towards his again. He was looking down at you already, so your helmets bumped in the middle, leaving both of you chuckling as a result. 

“Thanks, Seb.”

“What for?”

You shrugged. “For looking out for me, I guess, I dunno.” You could see his eyes grin through the lens of his helmet before he headbutted your own with it. You stifled a giggle.

“No problem, ya sap.” He started up the bike before looking down at you again. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Let’s do this.”

[voxmortuus]

Hi! Please can you write promt 1 with Benny from Bikeriders?

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Benny Cross x F!Reader ⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Bikeriders ⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 681 ⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Handjob | Blowjob in the back seat | Swallowing because you're not a quitter. | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ⇘ NOTES:⇙ Sorry if this is total ass... but I hope this brings you some joy. Prompt from this list. ⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ Pennywises ⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

It was a warm summer night, and taking the car instead of taking the motorcycle just seemed like a better idea. You and Benny had decided to go for a late-night drive. You wanted to just go for a joy ride, and have no destination in mind. He decided to drive out to the middle of nowhere so you could watch the night sky without any light pollution from the city. It was going to be a good night, it was going to be a quiet night, and it was needed for you both.

When you get to this open field, you decide to climb in the back. Laying on top of him he holds you close. Stroking your hair with his hand that doesn't habitually have a cigarette between his fingers. Comfortable, you two don't need to exchange words, just staring out the back window as you watch the stars.

It seems like everything is going good, going perfectly, you two are mad about each other, happy and utterly in love. You aren't put off by his riding, or the club, in fact, you're a fan favorite among the girls that they bring around. Everyone knows your name, and they know who you belong to. It's like a little home, a large family, and you feel so safe with them.

Tonight though, it was about Benny, at least in your mind it was, it was always about Benny. You lived, ate, breathed, and worshipped this man. Everything you do, you do for him, and it's not this sort of unhealthy relationship sorta thing, no, this man makes you so happy, you'd do anything for him, just as he'd do pretty much anything for you.

An idea pops into your brain and you look over him and smirk, slowly lowering yourself you run your hands over the front of his pants, smirking you slowly unzip them, and glance up at him and he looks down at you and watches you carefully.

"What are you doing?" he asked you, his voice low and husky. He tilted his head and readjusted tossing his smoke outside.

You smirk and lick your lips as you stick your hand down his pants, pulling him from his pants, and freeing the flesh, you begin to work it, slowly, carefully, your grip just right, the perfect tightness. You slowly begin to work the flesh in your hand. Feeling it starting to stiffen you watch him a moment. Your hand is warm, and tight against him as you slowly move your hand a little more. Jerking a slow motion, watching his face as it relaxes and his jaw slightly slacks. But it wasn't until you brought the head of his cock against your lips.

He draws in a breath, letting out a low husky groan. You lower your mouth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock as you slip him further into your mouth, warm, wet, taught-lipped. His groan gets a little louder as you begin to bob your head, your grip at the base of his cock as you continue to bob, swirling your tongue around the head and then it curls around the side as you lower, up and down a perfect bob.

Continuing on, his hips thrusting, his hands tangle in your hair as he uses your head, a perfect give and take as he feels himself grow close to a finish. Though not as long as he wanted this to last, this was a pleasant surprise and a much-needed one after a long day. Your bob faster, encouraging that finish, only after a good five, maybe ten to fifteen minutes max, do you feel these hot ribbons of thick white semen escape him. His cock twitches between your lips, filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, but you swallow, because you're his good girl.

Finishing you put him away and smile softly, grabbing the soda cup from the front cup holder, taking a sip washing him down, you look over his face he chuckles looking at you.

"You're perfect." he smiles.

[yawnderu]

Sweet home — Captain John Price x Reader | Part I

Slowly writing more again until I feel better<3

"I missed you so much." John says, dropping his heavy bag on the floor before scooting you up in his arms, spinning you a few times playfully before setting you down.

"You have no idea." He whispers, arms wrapping around your waist as his face seeks shelter on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet smell after over a month of being away on missions.

"Welcome home, John." You can't help the laugh that escapes your lips at the tickles his beard causes, gently pushing his head away before giving his lips a gentle peck.

"It's good to be back." He leaned forward, nipping at your lower lip playfully before giving you a full kiss, the pressure of the stressful missions slowly going away the more he was with you. He broke off to breathlessly whisper in your ear.

"I need an extra taste, sweetheart." You giggled and playfully hit his arm. Even after years of being married, certain things never change.

"Let's shower and then you can have a taste. You smell." You say teasingly, grabbing his hand and dragging him with you to the bathroom. As much as you love him, he smelt like a bizarre mix of sand, smoke, gunpowder and sweat. He rolled his eyes playfully, one of his hands on the small of your back as you guided him in, locking the door behind you.

"It's not that bad, is it?" He asks jokingly, already knowing the answer is yes. You simply sniff around him, pretending to gag and dragging a laugh out of him, the sound rich and deep that always made you fall even more in love with the man.

"It's awful, but... I did miss you a lot, so let's clean you up." You help him get out of his dirty uniform, taking a second to admire him hole. Price is a grizzled veteran, a muscular and fit body being living proof of just how much he moved around while on missions. You run your hands over his hairy chest, admiring the dark hair all over, scars faintly visible in some areas that only added more personality to the beast if a man your husband is.

"Someone's happy to see me." You comment playfully as you look down at his bulge, already starting to remove his pants and boxers, the 7-inch uncut cock or your husband pressing up against his stomach, tip glistening with precum, and veins that you have traced with your tongue along his shaft hundreds of times.

"Happy doesn't even cover half of it." He replies, eyes glued to you as you take your time to admire him, the way your eyes set on every detail of his body as if he was sculpted by God himself never fails to make his heart weak. His hands go to your dress, pulling it up slowly while he takes his time to admire you as well.

"Bloody hell." He whispers, eyes on your body as he begins to remove your underwear. No matter how many times he has seen your bare body, he always admires you like it's a work of art— and in his eyes, it is. There's nothing more perfect than you, nothing more rewarding than making it back home to his lovely wife.

His hands gently run up and down your hips, the warmth of them leaving a path of fire anywhere he touches as he brings you closer, planting soft, gentle kisses from your neck, going lower and lower until he finds your chest, both of his hands gently cupping your breasts before leaning down more, his lips finding one of your nipples. He begins to lick all around it slowly, only putting it in his mouth once he hears your needy moan. His tongue teases you, rolling the nub up and down, teeth gently biting on it enough for the bundle of nerves to make a path of warmth spread all the way to your cunt.

"John..." His name being moaned out by you sounds like music to his ears, one of his hands firmly holding your rear while the other one starts to play with your free nipple, rolling it around his fingers, gently pinching and pulling. He hesitantly lets go, offering you a sheepish grin as he guides you to the shower.

"Got a bit ahead of myself, love." You take a deep breath, laughing softly at his comment despite the warmth pooling up between your legs. The hot water washes over your bodies, embracing each other lovingly before you lean down to grab the fancy body gel, spreading it on your hands, shooting your husband a small smile while you start to spread the gel all over his body, shamelessly feeling the muscle that seems to cover his entire body over a thin layer of fat.

"I'm really proud of you." You say softly, hands massaging the tense muscles on his back as he groans softly, enjoying your fingers working on his sore muscles. He leans down to give you a kiss as a small "thank you", the exhaustion of the mission slowly catching up to him all of sudden. He leans his body closer to yours, arms wrapping around your waist before gently running a hand down the length of your wet hair.

"Mhm..." He mumbles softly, your words reaching his heart, as they always do. He may be a hardened soldier, but right now? He's pure putty under the seemingly magical hands of his wife.

[crazyskirtlady]

Mr. Dance Naga

Naga x fem!reader

Warnings: gods mentioned, fear, forced/coerced, hypnotized, choking, biting, blood, venom, size difference, double v penetration,

Content: going to the God Serpent Temple late at night to pray, you run into a horny Naga.

The temple is empty and dark...

...except for the main altar where dozens of different sized candles flicker, shadows writhe in every corner. You pause when a particularly large shadow blocks the whole altar from your view. As you stare you realize that it isn't just a shadow it is a naga!

He is dancing, his lithe body swirling amidst the smoke of the incense. His movements are graceful and sensual, his black and green scales flashing golden in the candle light and his black hair sliding across his face. You can see his red eyes glowing like twin embers smoldering in the darkness.

You gasp in awe, and he hears you. Stopping his mesmerizing dance he turns and stares at you his red eyes blazing, boring through you. He lifts his eyebrow and a smirk tugs at his lips

"Greetings worshipper." The naga slithers toward you and bows his upper body. "I am Duangkamol, the temple gaurdian." His voice is gentle and sibilant and your first reaction of fear starts to subside.

"Greetings my Lord." You bow deeply to show your respect to the naga in the temple of the God Serpent, it is not everyday you are graced with the rare site of a naga in the temple!

"What brings you to the temple so late in the night my dear?" Duangkamol brought his upper body down so he is eye level with you. You can't help but notice his graceful facial features accentuated by the delicate black scales rising up his arms, shoulders and neck mingling into his jet black hairline.

You are nearly hypnotized speechless by his gaze which seems to grasp you physically but you manage to tear your eyes away and look down.

"Uh... well I was needing to... to pray for...for a more flexible mindset you know." you mumble, feeling a blush in your cheeks, but you're not sure why.

Taking a slow breath in, a soft hiss escaping his lips "Ah! so you came to the temple to worship The Infinite One, that he may grant you the ability to adapt to... different circumstances..." The naga drew up a bit in height his smile widening and his eyes narrowing.

"Allow me to give you His blessing." Duangkamol lowered his voice to almost a purr.

You swallow hard and try to smile back, sure he was handsome, like, extremely handsome! But you were nervous, the naga was much larger than you, his tail alone was twice your height in length, lean and sinewy full of taut muscle. Naga were fierce and strong a bit mysterious and always unpredictable demigods. You couldn't disrespect him, especially in the temple! But your heart was still racing and fear was creeping back into your chest.

"I...I can always come back to the temple another time...I didn't mean to interrupt your dance my Lord." You bow your head and attempt to turn around and walk away. Quickly he coils his lower body and tail around to encircle you and you can feel your heart leap. And from his growing grin you know he can hear your pulse, and see the heat of your body intensifing with his infrared vision.

Duangkamol leans in closer, flicking his forked tongue near your cheek, catching your scent.

Ancient instincts are screaming in your head, you are prey! Run away! But his eyes are locked on yours again and their hypnotic power has a full grip on you now. Your body is locked and frozen as his coils shrink the space around you.

"Now my dear." Duangkamol reaches out and caresses your cheek. His black scales are smooth and cold against your skin and a soft moan escapes your throat. He clearly hears it, his smile grows more sinister his fangs prominent now, large and sharp, reflecting the flickering candlelight. You can't tear your gaze away from them, your breath is heaving in your chest, your heart fluttering. His face is so close you can see every detail of his beautiful scales, you feel like you might faint when his lips brush against your forehead, his forked tongue flickering again and again to taste you deeply.

"Let me...blessss... you..."

Your eyes droop closed. You feel like you are falling forward, but that is when you realize you are completely wrapped in his coils; Your whole body supported and encircled tightly. He isn't squeezing you, yet, but your breath is erratic and frantic.

"Don't fear me." Duangkamol whispers against your skin, his lips are soft, a stark contrast against his scaled hand now sliding down your neck. His fingers apply firm pressure on your jaw and throat forcing you to look up at him. His grip is so strong on your neck you whimper, but Duangkamol chuckles softly and open his mouth wide, his fangs glistening. You feel his thumb pressing into your lips prying your mouth open, and you grunt trying to pull away, but his grip on you is too tight, you can't budge. Both of his hands are on your face now, thumbs pushing into the wetness of your mouth and you can't even struggle against his overwhelming strength.

"Mmm..." Duangkamol purrs as he watches your tongue loll out, saliva dripping onto the scales of his hands. "Warm-bloods have the sweetest rasa." He lets out a small groan feeling and seeing the heat emanating out of your mouth like a blazing fire. His eyes are like 2 sparkling rubies glittering madly as he brings his mouth to yours and flicks his tongue into the hot wetness. The naga groans again and his coils contract around you. Black dots swim in your vision for a second.

Duangkamol notices your faltering consciousness and eases his coiled grip on your body, just a bit. He keeps his hands on your face, sliding his thumb up and down your tongue, making you drool. He keeps his eyes locked on yours and his intense unwavering gaze is starting to make you feel warmth rising into your loins. The naga can also feel the shift in your body, and he grins wickedly.

"You are starting to understand now my sweet...yes?" His sultry voice tickles your ear, and you can't nod or talk so you let out a pathetic open-mouthed grunt. The sound delights the naga and his coils twitch and slither around your body.

"Oh yes! You will accept my blessing now won't you?" Duangkamol tilts his head in an almost coy manner, he moves his thumb out of your mouth, but keeps his hands on your face, he glances away and frees you briefly from his hypnotic gaze.

You are breathless with conflicting emotions of fear and was that arousal? Still firmly grasped by the embrace of the nagas massive body coils, you should be pleading to be let go...but... Duangkamol was so incredibly handsome and...how often did you ever get an offer to be blessed by a demigod?

"Please...bless me, my lord!" The words were stuttering out before you could truly process what you were saying.

The naga was all to eager to respond. He reacted as instantly as was befitting a serpent, snapping forward he drove his fangs into your neck. The needle sharp penetration burning like ice and you scream out in pain! Just as quick as the pain had come it was fading, you could feel his venom pumping into your body with the same sensation of pins filling a cramped limb. You grunt and gasp and try to struggle but Duangkamol grips your neck in his large hand, holding you still as he fills you with his load. When he rocks back, gazing at you with affection, you can see your blood on his lips.

You are already feeling the affects of his venom, sweat beads on your brow and the warmth in your groin intensifies to an uncomfortable degree. Your vision wobbles and you cry out "Please my lord!" in a panic. Duangkamol is immediately holding you in his arms, his coils shifting position around you as he cradles you, caressing you face.

"Shh my dear. Do not be afraid! My venom will not harm you." He kisses your forehead and you begin to feel tingling all throughout your body. "No it will not harm you at all...in fact it will make you feel so much better! Oh, you will see!" He slips one hand along your shoulder under your clothes pushing the fabric away.

Everywhere he touches your skin now scintillates, and when the smooth hard scales of his hand brush against your breast you yelp. Duangkamol covers your mouth with his, kissing you deeply, his forked tongue curling around yours. His hand cups your breast and his fingers play with your nipple. The feeling is so intense you swoon and very nearly faint. But Duangkamol is not letting you go, giving your nipple a sharp pinch while simultaneously nipping your lip with his fang he brings your mind back to the moment.

You can feel his muffled chuckle against your lips as his hand slides further down removing the last of your clothing. He still has a firm grasp on your neck with his other hand, his body coils supporting you, keeping you pressed against him tightly and oh! The feeling of your naked skin enwrapped in his scaled embrace is overwhelming! You are panting around his lips, as his tongue swirls around your mouth, his hand has found the warm, wet folds between your legs. Plunging his fingers into your labia he massages and probs, seeking your clit. His kissing gets sloppy, licking up and down your neck and sucking on your lips drinking every drop of saliva he can. He has you so overstimulated you can't be sure if you are even breathing anymore, you feel like you are floating, your skin on fire.

When Duangkamol slips his finger deep into your hot, wet hole your entire body becomes a desperate shaking mess.

"Ah! More my lord! Please give me more!" Your voice sounding so needy, it doesn't even seem to be yours anymore. You want to buck your hips against his hand, to drive his finger in deeper, to gain friction against his hand on your swollen aching clit. But your body is so heavy and slow from the effects of the naga venom that you can only whimper desperately. Duangkamol knows what you want, he fills your hole with 3 fingers, pumping in and out, the palm of his hand roughly grinding against your clit. Grasping your hair he pulls your head back so he can stare into your eyes while the first waves of pure pleasure engulf you. Your body shudders, your eyes roll back, your breath leaves you completely and you finally do lose consciousness...

You are jolted back into awareness by cold scales slithering sharply across your skin, your arms and legs squeezed tightly in looped coils. When your eyes focus you see Duangkamol smiling at you, his hands are gliding all over your body, gently fingering at your nipples then caressing your stomach, getting a firm grip on your butt...

You look down and see Duangkamol has positioned himself between your legs and at the crux of his body where his scales gradually became skin you can see his most intimate flesh. Pink and wet, glistening in the still flickering candlelight, 2 thick, barbed appendages throb eagerly.

"Uh!" An involuntary grunt of shock and worry escapes your lips. You realize then you are immobile, but whether it is from the venom or from the nagas iron-like grip on you it is unsure. Duangkamol delights in the sounds sputtering from you, smiling and nuzzling your face he kisses you deeply again, smothering your protests. His forked tongue dives deep into your mouth, your numbed muscles allowing him easy entry as he tongue fucks your throat. His fingers rolling, tugging and pushing on your nipples and soon your clit is on fire again, aching for friction, but you cannot beg for attention now. Duangkamol is in total control of your body, he senses your peaking desire and with his tongue still deeply embedded in you, he reaches down and grabs your thighs, pulling your wet, aching hole right onto his twin, barbed phalluses. For a brief moment you linger on the top of this plateau, shocked and totally aware of how large his double appendages are as he slowly and carefully maneuvers himself inside you. So slowly you can feel the jarring, stretching sensation of your body accommodating his entry. Duangkamol keeps pushing into you, filling your body in a way it has never been filled before. Your breathing is frantic but Duangkamol keeps his mouth locked on yours, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly it seems his scales would cut your skin! He finally stops only when your body presses firmly against his, your vulva and clit flush against his crotch. Oh! And you can feel every scale along this inner curve of his body, so rough and cold against your hot, swollen clit. Now he manipulates your legs to cross tightly around his waist, tail coiling to keep you tied in this perfect position. Your head is swimming again, the feel of his body so deeply embedded inside your own, filling you beyond what you had ever thought possible is overwhelming. You might have fainted except Duangkamol releases your mouth from his, forked tongue sliding out of your throat, trailing saliva along your lips.

"Do you understand now my dearest?" His voice rumbles in your ear, and you whimper desperately unable to form thoughts at all. "Oh yes, yes you do understand don't you?" The naga embraces you tightly, arms encircling you tenderly he plants soft kisses along your cheeks and down your neck, the slight movement jostles his twin members inside you and you gasp loudly feeling the barbs flare to keep him in place. "Oh yes you like that feeling don't you my sweet?" Before you can even comprehend his words you feel his fangs on your flesh again, Piercing your skin much more slowly you feel his fangs penetrate you, there is no pain this time but still you moan loudly as you feel the naga pump another load of venom into you, fangs throbbing almost in sync with his throbbing hemipenes. This time the venom burns into you, liquid fire, you are sweating and trembling, your clit so needy! You want to move against Duangkamol to feel him! His firey red eyes watch you twitch in desire, his smile pure elation. And when he finally moves against your body it is like an explosion of sensation.

You scream, your voice echoing against the pillars of the temple, making the candles dance wildly. Duangkamol is slamming into you, grinding his body against your burning clit, frotting his twin shafts inside you, his massive body of coils twisting and slithering around you as he holds you so tight. So tight you begin to gasp for air, but Duangkamol is gone deep into ecstasy and he doesn't stop thrusting and squeezing...

The naga throws back his head and groans loud like a roar, as his hot load bursts inside your womb, like his vemon it burns and tingles, sending you into the throes of orgasm. And your contracting muscles make the naga shoot another load, and another, caught in a feedback loop of exhilaration! Duangkamol is like a ravenous animal, rutting mindlessly, ceaselessly, as you orgasm again and again your voice hoarse and raspy from crying out.

In that spiraling peak you feel as though you may go mad, lose yourself forever, and that is when your mind expands...and for what seems like an eternity you perceive total consciousness...a complete dissolution of all physical boundaries...and you see as a God would...

Then you are collapsing into your own flesh again, your body a heap of twitching, exhausted meat sprawled amongst a mound of scaled coils. Smoke from the altar incense gathering on your sticky, sweat soaked skin, light is coming from outside the temple now, day is dawning.

"You have received my blessing well." Duangkamol whispers beside you.