#I’m sure that won’t be terrible at all /s

[kanonavi]

gotta love when the new tumblr mobile updates are Bad(tm)

[meowzfordayz]

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Author’s Note: pls and ty enjoy this tidbit of crack-fluff. 😆💖

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,600

CW: explicit language, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Suggestion Fulfilled: Can we get all hashira accidently touch y/n's breast

~faqs~

Fyi, “chest” means boob. I was just worried Tumblr would block this post from tags if I included “boob” in the title lmao. 😉

Shocked 😳😖

“I apologize, [y/n]-san, it won’t happen again!”

Gyomei’s nearly in tears, he feels so terribly 😞

“These things happen!” you promptly assure him, “Besides, you technically won the bout.”

No need to mention that he always wins when training together 🥲

“I cannot accept such a tainted victory.”

“Himejima-san, though I appreciate your concern and respect, there’s truly no issue.”

Meanwhile, Gyomei’s rethinking his entire Breathing Style to ensure he never accidentally touches anyone’s boob(s) again 💀 

In cold disbelief 😐😐😐

If you don’t say anything, then he won’t say anything

Alternatively, if you do say something, then Obanai will immediately curl up into a ball and die

Spends the rest of his day recalling the fleeting warmth of your breast

He swears his hand doesn’t even get cold, so affected by the heat of your bosom

Your boob must be ✨magical✨

“Iguro-san,” you call out gently, noting his dazed stare, his dinner untouched while he sits crossed legged, “Is something on your mind?”

“No.” 😐😐😐

Well okay then 🙃

“About what happened earlier…”

🫨🫨🫨 <— Obanai is FREAKING OUT

“… Iguro-san, I didn’t mind.”

And then you stand up, take your dishes, and leave

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEEEAAAN?!?!?!

Good luck finding Obanai tomorrow 🫡 (the poor man’s been pleasantly overwhelmed)

He’ll avoid you for eternity now 😌 (not really, but at least until he can breathe around you again)

She giggles 🤭

Lol

“Oh my! [y/n]-san, I didn’t mean to touch you so intimately!” 😅

“No worries, it happens.”

Your face may or may not be burning up a storm, but that’s okay!

Mitsuri’s blushing too

A lot 😳

“I hope I didn’t hurt you?!”

Because like, What if I gripped too hard?! 😭

She’s well aware of her own strength

“You barely brushed me, Kanroji-san. I promise!”

Phew!

She grins, relief evident as she bumps her elbow against yours

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? I would be so embarrassed!!!”

“Kanroji-san, our secret is safe with me.”

I wish it would happen again… <— lowkey both of you thinking the same thing 🤪

As a medical personnel (among other roles), Shinobu accidentally (or even on purpose, depending on where you’re wounded) touching your boob isn’t entirely unreasonable nor unrealistic

Obviously it would be nicer if she was caressing you out of love and affection 😔

And not methodically cleansing then bandaging claw marks that just so happened to cross over your chest 😒

“You should make a full recovery,” she’s all business, “The demon avoided your nipple and didn’t puncture deep enough to affect the functionality of your breast,” fortunately, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed by her bluntness, “It has a nice shape. I’m glad you survived.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT?!?!?! 😃🫠

Now you’re kinda embarrassed

More so preening, really 🤭

It’s like when a doctor randomly compliments the rhythm of your heart or some other characteristic from a mainly professional POV, but you’re still caught off guard because who tf compliments someone’s kidneys or bowels movements or?????

In your pain hazed delusion, you briefly contemplate somehow getting your other boob injured too… gotta make sure you’re matching in (nice) shape, y’know? 😌

Kyojuro can be discreet, albeit more so for your sake than his

“I APOLOGIZE! I DID NOT MEAN TO TOUCH YOUR BREAST!” <— how he could react 💀

“Pardon my slip, are you okay?” <— how he actually reacts, because he isn’t entirely lacking in social awareness and decorum 😆

“Oh,” you don’t mean to squeak, but it can’t be helped when the most handsome man you’ve ever known just casually grazed your boob, “I’m fine! Totally fine! Haha!” 🫨😵‍💫🫠

You’ve gotta be more convincing than that, or Kyojuro will never forgive himself 😕

He’s a lil oblivious when it comes to physical attraction

Not like, infantly so, but given this particular circumstance?

He doesn’t realize you’re flustered; he assumes you’re mortified 😖

“You sound decidedly less than fine.”

He’s softer now, worried about startling you 🥺

“I was surprised! But don’t worry! I’m not worried!”

Okaaay, but he’s worried 🥲

“Is there any way I could make amends for my indiscretion?”

Not only is he handsome, but he is such a gentleman 😭😍

“Rengoku-san, there are no amends to be made, I promise. I’m not mad, nor do I feel unhappy or unsafe. I forgive you.”

Your regaining of the ability to speak in complete sentences greatly reassures him 😮‍💨😁

“Ah. Well. I am grateful for your kindness and understanding. It will not happen again.”

…

…

Hold up 🧐

Why does she seem… she seems… disappointed? Should I have said it will happen again??

You’ve suddenly given Kyojuro something quite pleasant to ponder 🤔

After all, he isn’t entirely oblivious 😉

“Are you going to apologize?” Sanemi demands

“For what?” you screech

“For touching my hand with your boob!”

Your eyes roll, “Oh fuck off!”

“I didn’t ask to touch you,” he grunts

“I wouldn’t have given you permission anyway,” you retort 😒

Arms crossing over his bare chest, Sanemi scoffs, “Well I didn’t give mine either!”

“You’re ridiculous. It was an accident.”

You seem genuinely pissed 😬

Sanemi rethinks his approach

“You know I’m joking, right?” 😅

“Nooo,” your sarcasm cuts deep, “I thought you were flirting.” 😐

Uh 😀

Well 😃

Shit 😄

“Fuck you!” 

When in doubt, curse ‘em out 💀

You scowl, confusion lingering as your blood boils, “Fuck you!”

“I said it first.” 🙄

You stalk away, fed up with his antics

#man child #sort of #romantically inept is more like it

As tends to happen with epiphanies, yours doesn’t hit until you’re almost asleep

“WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER FLIRTING WITH ME???!” 😳🥴😭

Best believe Shinazugawa Sanemi is about to have a Lesson 101 in flirting asap 😤😎

(assuming you’re older, like, mentor age to Muichiro)

Neither of you make a fuss about it

It’s like accidentally calling your teacher mom 😬

Or grabbing a random person’s hand in the supermarket thinking they’re your parent 🫣

Embarrassing, but not a huge deal — unless you make it one

There’re those three seconds of slow motion Uhh and What just happened and Oops 🫠

And then time speeds up to normal again, you have a quick conversation with your eyes (gosh forbid you speak and bring the unspoken into reality 💀), and it’s over

^^ Alternatively, if Muichiro initiates a conversation to clear the air, then you’re able to have a mature and concise chat that is respectfully and patiently resolved

Embarrassing/accidental encounters are part of growing up

As long as they can be navigated ~safely, there shouldn’t be any lasting harm

⚠️I also want to emphasize that I am talking solely on inarguably accidental/one time incidences⚠️

Hehehe

Giyuu’s hand is stuck 🫣

Only for like, a fleeting second

But omg 😭

He was already embarrassed, and now he’s triply embarrassed 🫠🫠🫠

“... Tomioka-san?”

You won’t lie; you aren’t especially bothered 🤭

But it is a compromising position to be caught in; Giyuu lowkey crushing you, one of his palms clearly cupping your boob 😬

#wrestling #or something #so maybe this isn’t super realistic #forgive me

You’re about to repeat his name when he finally springs to life, immediately rolling off you, standing abruptly, about to literally sprint away

And then he remembers his manners 🙃

He offers you a hand

His other hand; his boob hand is currently tucked away in his haori

He’s never washing it again

#closet perv

“Thanks,” you smile faintly, accepting his assistance as you lift yourself from the ground

You hope he can’t hear your heartbeat 💓

He definitely can 😶

But can you hear his?

“I don’t think we should train together anymore.”

Giyuu is swift and harsh with his solutions

“Why?”

Your question comes out stiffer than intended

He hesitates, unable to interpret the fear in your tone — the longing

“I always beat you,” he explains lamely, “Don’t you get tired of losing?”

You scoff cheerfully, grinning now as you squeeze his hand

Fuck, we were still holding hands?! <— Giyuu is in shambles 😳

“I could never lose!” you declare, feelings brimming in your throat, spilling onto your tongue, “Not when I’m with you.”

Then we should absolutely stop training together would be the responsible reaction

Attachments are the most dangerous game for a Hashira to play 😕

Instead, Giyuu’s rendered speechless, unable to shake his hand from yours

“Well alright then,” he mutters, stomach churning as he narrowly avoids the warmth in your gaze

In fact, you swear he squeezes back 💓

“EXCUSE ME! I HAVE A WIFE!” 😤😤😤

“You have three wives.” 🙄

Sputtering, Tengen shrieks, “I already have plenty of breasts to touch!” 

“Tengen,” you glare, not one to back down as you jab a finger into his own chest, “You touched my boob.” 😒

“AND I’M SORRY!” 😭

Much better 😌

“I don’t know what they see in you,” you scoff (you’re also lying, you can see plenty🤭), “They’re gorgeous… and you freak out when you accidentally touch a boob.” 💀

Tengen is 100% pouting now

“I don’t freak out when I touch their boobs,” he huffs

“Well aren’t they lucky.” 😐

“You could be lucky too!”

…

…

Tengen starts running 

You give chase

“DID YOU TALK TO THEM ABOUT THIS?” 

Tengen runs faster

“TENGEN!!!!!”

Tengen runs faster and faster

You give up

*insert gasping for air here*

“DO YOUR WIVES KNOW THEY’RE MARRIED TO A COWARD???!!!”

Oh well, you’ll have to visit their estate sometime this week 🙃

You’re sure to get an answer from Hina, Makio, and Suma ☺️

And you can’t wait to see more of Tengen 😏😋

Sorry, sometimes the horny just happens 🥴

[slasherstories123]

Hii this is the first time I make a request. Can you make slashers(your choices hehe) react to S/O making a plushie that look just like them? Thank you :)

Slashers reaction to their S/O making a plushie of them

Paring: Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Vincent Sinclair,Lester Sinclair, and Brahms Heelshire x reader

Tagslist: @dootys @callmemeelah @fluffy-little-demon @mehidktbh @the-anxious-youth @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @oneofvincentscandles @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @l0sercat @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @pink-apollo @charliedawn @emychan @slasherscrybaby @l0sercat

A/N: When you said dolls it made me think of crochet dolls, but if not then I’m sorry😭💗

Jason Voorhees

Very curious. He's curious about the process of you making the plushie once tibeas given to him.

Jason loves the plushie, even carrying it around like it’s his own child and will even sleep with it besides his teddy bear that was given by his mother.

He’ll hug you to no end as his way of saying thank you

If you were to make another plushie he’d want to watch you make it so he could make one of you, it was terribly made but it was his first time… and it’s the thought that counts

He’ll be forever grateful because it’s the fact that you wanted to make the plushie and haven’t had any sort of gift in years ever since his mother was killed, it’ll possibly even make him emotional just the thought of him receiving any gifts after being called a monster or freak.

Michael Myers

He’s giving you so many head tilts of confusion

All he can think about is why? Why are you making it, he knows you love him, but that far to make a plushie?

He’ll keep it of course but you won’t see him around with it, he probably has it put up on your dresser.

Will he stare? Yea. He’ll stare at you through the whole process of making it. Once it’s done he’ll definitely see something missing. Going in the kitchen to get the largest knife and give it to you.

You’d have to stifle a laugh and make a large knife that will fit the doll to fit his liking, handing it up to up for his own approval.

He’d take the doll and hold it by its head. Placing it on his shoulder.

He’d walk around the house with it on his shoulder, surprisingly, it doesn’t fall off.

Vincent Sinclair

Loves it.

Vincent keeps anything you give him, even if it’s a a half head flower you saw outside he’ll keep it even if it’s shriveled up into nothing

At first he’s curious since he never knows you could make things like he could. Once you show him how you do it, just know he’ll also make you one as well so you both can have plushies of each other

He’s rather good at it for the first time but often cuts his fingers so you’d have to stop him just to patch them up or to make sure he isn’t bleeding

He’ll often watch you make them since it’s satisfying in his opinion to watch. Just have music play in the background while you work he could stare for hours and not get bored at all.

Lester Sinclair

Lester literally laughs at the sight of it

It’s more of a surprise laugh since he didn’t expect you to make a doll that’s exactly like him, he loves it and will give you the tightest hug known to mankind

Even press kissed all over your face happily, mustache sloppy but they’re still kisses 🤷🏾‍♀️

He’ll even call the doll “Lester Jr” and will have it in his truck… or will carry it everywhere but will also have it in his truck since it reminds him of you

He’ll hug it to no end, even in his sleep, or he’ll have you hold onto it while he curls up besides you to sleep

Brahms Heelshire

It would be hard for you to even make it since he’ll sometimes take the tools away just so he can get your attention.

Once he settled down… hopefully. He’ll watch while having the porcelain doll of himself in his lap. Holding onto it until you finished with the doll you were currently making yourself.

Just like with the porcelain doll, he expects you to be careful even though it isn’t as fragile as the one he has

It’s a doll, and it was made by you. He wants it to be taken care of of since it resembles him.

As his way of a thank you, he’ll give you one perfectly made as well, and it has more details of your features that you don’t even pay attention to.

[rosieswriting]

More than what you see

Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: You need to remind your boyfriend how much he is worthy off once again after a terrible full moon

Note: English is not my first language so it probably has some mistakes! It´s pure fluff with hurt/comfort from reader to Remus because i just love this prompt so much.

Words: 1.4K

He was barely holding himself together; shoulders slumped as he leaned against the cold wall of your bedroom. Still, as you reached for him, he shifted, pulling his torn sleeves down over the raw skin on his arms.

“Don’t. I’m fine,” he muttered, but the words lacked conviction, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. He tried to tug the tattered fabric tighter, as if hiding the wounds could somehow shield you from seeing just how much he was hurting.

You knelt beside him, hands hovering just inches away, waiting. He took a shuddering breath, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, guilt flickering in them. “You… you shouldn’t have to keep doing this,” he mumbled, voice cracking as he finally let his head fall back against the wall. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I don’t want you to see me like this. Not… every time.”

You bit your inner cheek at his words, your own heart aching for him. “But I want to be here for you. I want to help you,” you said slowly and softly, making sure not to elevate your tone. “Please, let me help you.”

He looked up at you; it still felt surreal to him to have someone in his life who wasn’t annoyed or bothered by his condition, even after years of friendship and months of dating. He just looked at you for a moment and nodded, allowing you to care for him.

You smiled softly and grabbed the hem of his shirt, slowly and carefully beginning to take it off him, the new scars along his chest revealed.

“It’s not like I prefer you with clothes anyway,” you muttered playfully, trying to lighten the mood as you let his shirt fall to the floor and reached for the med kit beside your bed.

He looked away, trying to hide a hint of a smile as you joked. It definitely helped reduce the tension. “Shut up,” he muttered back.

He tried to relax as you gently tended to his wounds, first disinfecting them and cleaning the dried blood from his chest and arms. “It’s not that bad, really,” he mumbled, wincing only slightly a few times when the cloth touched a particularly painful spot.

He was trying to downplay the whole thing, acting like he wasn’t struggling. He didn’t want to bother you or make you worry. Even so, the fact that you were here with him, taking care of him, made his heart fill with a different kind of comfort.

“Rem,” you called out softly. “I worry and heal freaking birds when they have a broken wing or something. You clearly went mad if you think I won’t help my boyfriend,” you teased him.

Remus raised an eyebrow, giving you a deadpan stare. “I’m offended that you’re comparing me to a bird,” he joked back, appreciating your playful banter. “You’re too good for me, you know that, don’t you?” he muttered, the smile that was beginning to form at the corners of his lips fading a little.

You finished healing his wounds and set the med kit on the table next to the bed before sitting in front of him, looking at him.

“I don’t know that. What I do know is that you don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m only good for you because you’re good for me. That’s how we work,” you spoke softly, brushing his hair out of his face.

He let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes. Of course, he had his moments of confidence and self-acceptance. Still, on days like this, his self-esteem hit an all-time low, and he couldn’t help but feel like you were doing too much for him.

“But I’m a werewolf,” he pointed out in a low voice. His mind kept telling him that someone as good as you should run as far away as possible from a creature like him, not stay and care for him.

“You are Remus Lupin,” you said quickly and softly. “You are my friend and my boyfriend. Being a werewolf is part of you, but it doesn’t define you. You are you, and you happen to be the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

He swallowed hard at your words, feeling a mixture of emotions welling up inside him. It wasn’t as if no one had ever said something kind to him; thanks to Merlin, he had wonderful friends. But those words coming from you always hit him hard. He still hesitated to believe them, though. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Rem,” you mumbled softly, your own heart breaking at how he couldn’t see himself as you did. You cupped his face softly and made him look at you. “You know me; if I even thought for a second that you were a monster, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be dating you, and I wouldn’t be telling you how amazing you are. But I am here because you, Remus Lupin, are nowhere near a monster. Not even close.”

He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of your soft hands as you cupped his face. Your words were like a warm caress that soothed his aching heart, but he still struggled internally to let your message sink in. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, opening his eyes and looking into yours. “You deserve someone who’s normal, someone who isn’t a walking time bomb.”

“I know what I’m worthy of,” you cut him off softly, not wanting him to keep talking down about himself. “I’m worthy of someone who loves and appreciates me. Someone who’s with me at all times, who cries with me when something bad happens, and who laughs with me when something good happens. I’m worthy of love and devotion. Of someone who’ll come to me the moment I call them, even if they’re doing something important. Of someone who makes me feel safe,” you spoke sweetly, caressing his cheek. “And that someone is you.”

Remus was quiet for a few moments, his eyes locked on yours as he took in your words. Each sentence was like a knife, tearing down the walls he’d built around himself. He swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat. “You do deserve that,” he managed to say at last.

“And you give me all of that and more,” you let out a short laugh. “Merlin, I used to think I was such a loser, Remus. Really, I always thought nobody would ever have the patience to even try to date me. But then you appeared, and you were you. You were the only one—and still are—who lets me ramble for hours about silly things. You’re the one who makes me feel loved. No monster could ever do that.”

His heart clenched at your words. The thought of you thinking of yourself as a loser tore at his soul. How could you, the kindest, sweetest, and most generous person, ever think something like that? He reached out and took your hands in his, holding them tight. “You are not a loser,” he murmured softly. “You are vibrant, caring, and everything good in the world.”

You smiled at his words and squeezed his hands. “So are you, and it pains me that you don’t realize. I love you, everything about you.”

Remus’s breath hitched at your words. The feeling of your hands clutching his and your smile washing over him left him lost for words, unable to find the right response to express just how deeply your love affected him.

“I love you too,” he choked, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “More than anything in the world.”

“I will tell you every day that you are not a monster until it gets into your thick head, do you understand me, Lupin?” you mumbled softly, teasingly.

He let out a soft chuckle, a mix of amusement and affection. “Trust me, you’re loud enough that it’s impossible to ignore what you say,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, making you roll your eyes in playful banter.

“But in all seriousness,” he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, the tension and lingering self-doubt slowly melting away. “I’ll try to stop beating myself up all the time.”

You smiled widely at his words. “Can I kiss you now?” you asked playfully, making him chuckle.

“Of course, dove.”

He leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a slow, soft kiss filled with reassurance and love.

The next day, when you went off in the afternoon to spend time with your friends, he went to a jewelry shop and bought an engagement ring.

[p0ckykiss]

to the moon and back - choi soobin

summary -> who is sending you these letters….they certainly know everything about you, more than you expected. perhaps a stalker?

warnings -> stalker soobin x female reader, yandere

the crinkling of the perfectly sealed envelope and the unfolding of the delicate paper with the most intricate handwriting. swoops and swerves and strokes marked with the darkest ink.

a secret admirer? you smirked to yourself. it sure was such a flattering thought to think you had a secret admirer. you began reading the beautifully crafted words.

dear y/n.

your beauty simply astonishes me. i want to run my fingertips along your smooth bare face and breathe in the scent of your lavender perfume. you’re running low on it, have you noticed? make sure to buy more. it’s simply my favorite scent in the world. the lasagna you made last night looked scrumptious. would you save a piece for me? you’re the most beautiful girl i have ever come across. love you to the moon and back.

a gasp. what in god’s name..? that certainly did not live up to your high expectations. the paper floated to the pavement like a snowflake falling from the sky. your shoes smacked against your long driveway as you bounded up to the front door.

the click of the lock and the shuffle of curtains closing all around the empty house. you grabbed your perfume bottle and threw it down. the glass pieces scattered across the dark hardwood floor, reflections from the sunlight cascading off of the tiny fractures.

lavender isn’t your scent any longer. not after some creep told you it was his favorite. were you being watched? what a creep. an actual stalker. just the thought sent a shiver down your aching spine.

days passed. nothing out of the ordinary seemed to make it’s presence known. no unwanted letters or mysterious envelopes with a pearly white lace trim. you actually allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. you should’ve known to hold your breath

dearest y/n

oh how i’ve missed that sweet perfume of yours. are you sure you got all of the shards? they were quite plentiful. has that cut healed yet? i’d be more than willing to aid you back to good health. i know you keep the bandages under your bathroom sink. do you know i’m always thinking of you? that black dress you tried on looked magnificently ravishing. no date to homecoming though. let me know if you need a plus one. after all, i’m always watching. i love you to the moon and back.

a high-pitched, shrilling, terrible cry left your vocal cards and pierced through the frostbitten coldness of the afternoon sun. what kind of sick person would go to such lengths? your home, now a place you no longer feel safe in. a shame that is. it really is a beautiful house.

letter after letter after letter. the sender iust wouldn’t quit. the harassment continued and ebbed and flowed like curves in a river. a display of different emotions. happy letters, creepy letters, sad letters. and, your least favorite.

angry letters.

dear y/n,

aren’t you going to write me back? are you not the least bit curious as to who i am? such a shame, really. think you and i would really hit it off. you were getting close to beomgyu yesterday. just friends, you are? hm. it doesn’t seem so. the flirtatious touch of a boy and a girl, and all in front of me? you dare hold his hand in front of me? and to think i really liked you. well, i won’t stop so easily. i’ve got my eyes on you, my love. i love you to the moon and back. -s

a clue! a sign of the quote on quote secret admirer that’s been occupying your mailbox with stacks of words as tall as the highest mountain range. but just a letter. one singular syllable. s. s? s could mean a myriad of things.

another letter followed by a scoff. this guy really has the nerve. he doesn’t scare you anymore. you tore through the envelope, not even trying to be careful this time.

dear y/n,

you betrayed me. what did i say about beomgyu? now you’re taking him to homecoming? what about little ol’ me? you smile when you text him. ive noticed you never smile while you read my letters. is that because you’re not aware of my identity? it’s not like i hide it. you should know by now. i thought you were smarter than that. you’re wearing a new scent lately. lilac, was it? it soothes the nose. but i certainly miss the lavender. i cant wait to see you in your dress tomorrow night. i love you to the moon and back.

your head shot up from your burned gaze on the tear stained paper. he was watching you this whole time? was he watching right then? right now? how incredulous: you need to get out of here. your safety is on its last lifeline.

one more envelope. one more beautifully scripted letter. one last word vomit of all of the things he wanted to say. needed to get off his heavy chest and share with you.

dear y/n;

you’re not going to accept my love, are you? that kiss you shared the other night was a sight for sore eyes. you had to stand on your tiptoes to reach, even in your heels. i guess that’s your type. why isn’t it me? well, i suppose i should give up. he’s won. i don’t want you to feel threatened, so i won’t watch anymore. unlock your doors and leave your curtains undrawn. you’ll be just fine. but still, i love you to the moon and back. -soobin

[romanticintheory]

he’s drunk and confessing his love to you, but you’re not taking any of his shit.

kyle “gaz” garrick x reader

hurt/comfort, drinking, gn!reader written by an nb, hella inaccurate depiction of a drunk person

a/n: this is my first time writing for cod so please be kind </3 if you have any critiques just let me know (gently, preferably)

word count: 1.3k

--

“I’m in love with you.”

You were so focused on navigating him back to his room that you had almost missed his confession. About half an hour ago, Kyle had asked you to pick him up from the pub after he went out drinking with his friends. You asked why he didn’t want to take a cab and he so charmingly responded with, “Well, I wanted to see your pretty face, love.”

Now, he was leaning most of his weight on your shoulder as you tried your damned hardest to not let him run into any walls or hit his hips on any counters or tables. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and kicked his door open, helping Kyle settle down on his bed. 

“Is that so?” You countered jokingly, shaky hands helping peel off his coat. Maybe, just maybe, this was the setup to a terrible joke.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking up at you with a dreamy smile after placing his coat next to his nightstand. Slowly, the drunken soldier watched as the amused look in your eyes morphed into something hardened.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you, brows furrowing as you wordlessly crouched down to help him take off his shoes.

“Kyle, you’re drunk,” you reasoned, untying his laces and carefully slipping off his boots. “I told you not to have too many drinks and now listen to all the nonsense you’re saying.”

“You think I’m lying?” 

“I know you are.”

The more the topic lasted, so did your frustration. You had spent years of your life pining after Kyle Garrick. He was kind, always helped you out when he was able, always made time for you, always came to visit when he came back from missions, and never let you feel like you were less than nothing when he was around. He was perfect, and that was the exact problem. There was no world in which Kyle Garrick would fall for you.

“Why would you say that?” 

You could feel your heart constrict in your chest. It was almost as if he were making fun of you at this point, though you knew he would never be so cruel. Setting his boots to the side, you stood up from your spot in front of him and turned to leave. “Good night, Kyle.”

In an instant, he stood up to match you. “(Y/n), wait,” he said hurriedly, clumsily following you as you made a beeline for his front door, after you like a lost puppy following its owner.

Despite his intoxication, he was able to catch up to your brisk pace with an almost concerning ease and grasp your hand gently. You turned to look at him, his face now etched with concern. He felt like he sobered up instantly.

“It’s almost four in the morning. You should go to bed,” you reasoned with him, trying to find any way to avoid confronting his confession—if it even really was one.

“You know I wouldn’t joke with you about this, right? ‘S that what you think this is? That I’d do something like that to you?” He kept digging for an answer, pulling your wrist so that your whole body faced him. In the back of your mind, you become extremely conscious of the fact that his front door is only three feet away from you.

Kyle seemed to notice, too, because he took the opportunity to take your other wrist and slide both his hands up your arms to take a firm grasp at your shoulders. 

“No. That’s not what I think, I just—” you paused and exhaled through your nose, wishing he’d just let you go, but you know him. If he’s concerned about you, he won’t let you leave until he’s sure it’ll be okay. “Like I said, you’re drunk and you’re thinking things are true when they’re not. Now, will you please let me go home so both of us can get some rest?”

He laughs softly. Not in a mocking manner, but in a sad, empathetic way. 

“This isn’t some spur-of-the-moment revelation.” His hands come away from your shoulders and find themselves cupping your face. “Why do you think I want to be around you all the time?”

“Are friends not supposed to want to be around each other?”

He scoffs at the counter, a small smile creeping up on his face. 

“Fine. Why do you think I only look at you whenever you enter the room? Why do you think I’ve never once liked any of your past partners? Why, in all the time we’ve known each other, do you think I’ve never had a partner, myself? Ask Price. Actually, ask anyone who knows me. You are the only thing on my mind. It’s always you, and I thought I could stay in denial for a little while longer, but I can’t.” 

He takes a shaky breath and strokes your cheek gently with his right thumb.

“It’s fine if you don’t feel the same, but don’t tell me I’m not in love with you when you are the only one I’d watch the world burn for.”

You would have been melted into a puddle at this point if you weren't offended at the insinuation that you didn’t return his feelings. Still, you were convinced none of it mattered.

“Kyle,” you say gently, raising your hands to rest on his. “You could do so much better. You and I both know that.”

“Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true. Letting you… love me would probably be one of the most selfish things I could do. I can’t let you do that,” you whispered, trying to pry his hands away from you. They wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll love you anyway.”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“See? You’re proving my point.”

“And if I tell you I’m in love with you in the morning?”

“It won’t matter.”

“Tell me you don’t want me. Look at me in my eyes and say you aren’t in love with me, and I’ll leave you alone. Tell me you’d be unhappy being with me, or something about what you actually want because I know you’re too kind to take what you want from others. You take care of people. Even just now, you agreed to take me home even though you knew I could take cab. Every time I have to cancel plans, you just smile and say it's alright like it’s not disrespectful to y—”

“It’s not like you can control when you have to go to work,” you reminded him.

“That. That sweetness only you bring is exactly what I mean. It’s one of the things I love about you most and I wish you could see it in yourself like I see you. You’re always the one taking care of me. Let me take care of you, this time. Please.”

It wasn’t until his small please that you realized tears were starting to form in the corners of your eyes. At first, you tried to speak but you mouth wouldn’t open. The overwhelming feeling of his hands caressing your face and his pleading words swirling around in your head was sending you into a state of panic.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down, you said, “In the morning. When you’re sober.”

Kyle’s face lit up instantly, and the small smile lingering on his lips only grew. Finally taking his hands off your face, he slid his palms into yours and gently kissed your knuckles.

“When I’m sober,” he agreed.

“Goodnight, Kyle,” you sighed, secretly savoring the interaction.

“Goodnight, love.”

The sound of Kyle calling your cell phone was what happened to wake you up that next morning.

--

it's 3:30 am and i don't have the energy to proofread this, sorry </3 anyway, I was inspired to write this by @/groguspicklejar who indirectly introduced me to cod with her fanfics. i am now extremely down bad for these boys :') if you liked this you should send her love because she slays!! ok goodnight im so tired <3 i love u

[lovecla]

TEACH ME (HOW TO MAKE HIM COME) | jack hughes.

nhl masterlist, nsfw, @lovecla’s kinktober collection, chapter two:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: smut (f. fingering, dirty talk).

➴ word count: 3k

💌 from me to you: listen… if you already read any of my works you know that i don’t know how to write smut. i just wanted to write something for kinktober but turns out this is much harder for me than expected lmfao i hope u guys still like me and forgive me for all my sins.

𖧷

YOU TOOK a deep breath before knocking on Jack’s door.

It has now been a week since you asked Jack to be your “sex teacher”, and today would be your first “lesson”— if you could even call this a lesson.

Jack opened the door after a few minutes, smiling like he had just won the Stanley Cup, wearing a backwards hat, a plain, black t-shirt and pants.

Now that you’re really looking at him, Jack is fine. Like, really, really handsome. You get the Hughes brothers appeal now.

“Hey, pretty,” he greets you, nodding with his head and letting you in. “Right on time. Someone’s eager.”

You blush, dropping your things on his couch. “Well, what can I do?”

Jack closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“Are you excited?” He asks, looking genuinely interested in your answer.

“I don’t know if excited is the exact word,” you hum. “I’m really nervous. And anxious too. I barely slept tonight.”

He chuckles, walking towards you and stopping in front of you, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby. Sex isn’t a seven headed monster. It just has one head, maybe two if it’s a really good day.”

You give him a slap on the chest seconds after you get what he meant, hearing his loud laugh.

“You’re being mean.” You mumble, already embarrassed. “What… What are you teaching me today?”

He stops laughing and clicks his tongue.

“Today, you’ll learn how to get yourself off.”

You almost lose all of your senses.

“What? Me?” You yell, confused. “I thought— I thought this was about learning how to make a guy… Well. You know!”

“Before learning how to please others, you’ll have to learn how to please yourself,” he answers, looking dead serious. “I’m not gonna teach you how to make a guy come if I know you won’t be enjoying it.”

“Y-you don’t know that,” you stutter. “Zack probably knows how to get a girl off.”

Jack smirks, but doesn’t say anything. His cockiness made you want to punch him sometimes.

“When was the last time you touched yourself?” He asks the question staring deeply into your soul and you are one hundred percent sure that you won’t make it through this evening.

“Jack!” You shout again, looking everywhere but his face.

He sighs, and before you can even think about doing anything, he gently grabs your chin, forcing you to look at his sapphire eyes.

“Listen, pretty,” he starts, his voice soft and gentle. “Having sex is normal and so is touching yourself. If you’re not comfortable with me touching you, you just have to say it, but I really think that, for this to work, you’ll have to trust me.”

You stop looking at him, only to have his finger pressing your chin again. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do, I really do. It’s just that— this is weird to me. I want to have s-sex but what if… what if I’m terrible at it and what if I’m, I don’t know, boring?”

“That won’t happen, baby. And even if it does, who cares?” He licks his lips. “I’m here to help you. So just relax, okay?”

You bite your bottom lip before nodding once. Jack’s face lightens up and he smiles brightly at you.

“Good girl.”

𖧷

“THE KEY to knowing how to make yourself feel good, is exploring. Trying to get to know what you like and what you don’t like.”

You were sitting on Jack’s bed, your legs crossed and your hands resting on your lap. Jack was standing in front of you, looking you in the eye.

“Some girls like it when things are rough, when the touch hurts,” he explains, running his fingers down your neck, moving into your shoulder and arms, his touch making you shiver slightly. “Some girls like it when it’s gentle and slow. It’s up to you to find out what you like, mhm?”

You nod with your head, because speaking would just be too much trouble. Maybe you were too touch starved, because just the pressure of Jack’s fingers against your skin made you feel things you have never felt before.

He moved on to your mouth, tracing the line of your lips before parting them slightly with his thumb.

“Can I kiss you, baby?”

“K-kiss me?” You choke on your own saliva. “Why do you want to kiss me? That makes no sense and—” he stares at you with funny eyes. Right. “Okay. Trust you. Okay, fine.”

He grins but doesn’t say anything else and honestly, you’re thankful for it. His silence makes it a whole less awkward and embarrassing. Kissing your friend of years it’s already strange as it is.

Or at least that’s what you thought kissing Jack would feel like, before you felt his lips on yours. His right hand held your chin up, tilting your head just the slightest bit to the side so he could angle his mouth with yours just fine.

His tongue caressed yours with determination, Jack kissed like he knew what he wanted, and you guess he probably does. It wasn’t like any of the other boys you managed to kiss, no. Jack kissed with a purpose, and that purpose was driving you crazy.

He gently pushed your body back, making you lay completely on his bed, your back touching his soft covers. The weight of his body on top of yours definitely did something to you, even if you couldn’t explain what.

He pulls back after your lips are swollen, and even so, you catch yourself pushing further for more, frowning when he shakes his head no.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” He asks, and you nod your head, eagerly, making him chuckle. “Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathe, feeling weird.

He blinks once before gluing his lips to yours again, this time not even asking for permission before touching your tongue with his, his hands moving immediately around your body. Touching your neck, shoulders and hips before moving back to your chest.

You were glad you had chosen not to wear a bra, since now Jack’s access to your boobs was easier. He put his hands inside of your tank top, squeezing your nipple between his index and thumb.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, and you think a million things at once, most of them synonyms for the word “good”. “Sarah?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, closing your eyes when he pulls your nipple and squeezes it, hard. “It does.”

“For you to feel good, you have to set the mood, y’know what I mean?” He sounds like a goddamn teacher and you want to kiss him again. “What’s the fun in getting off if you won’t play with the rest of your body?”

You feel your face burn, because that’s exactly what you thought getting off was: just laying in bed and touching yourself down there, and nothing else.

You jump slightly when you feel something wet around your left nipple, only after realizing it was his mouth. Is this a thing? Do guys do this all the time? And why does it feel so fucking good—

Your first moan comes off as a surprise to you and Jack; you can tell by the way he presses his fingers on your waist harder, the sound making you feel embarrassed for a second.

He moves onto the next, doing the same thing he just did to the other, and you remove his hat just to run your hands through his silky, now short hair.

His hand, the one that had been resting on your hips this entire time, goes to your right thigh, squeezing it hard. He lets go of you, and gets up, leaving you alone in his bed.

“Let’s get you naked, hm?”

Nodding, you get up to a sitting position, holding the hem of your shirt before his hand stops you. He holds your hand before moving you out of the bed, making you stand in front of him. His eyes are asking for permission again and once you give it to him, he starts by unbuttoning your jeans and helping you get out of them, leaving you with your lacy panties and your tank top.

And to your absolute horror, you only then realized that you were wet; your panties were glued to your pussy, and you could feel the sticky liquid coming out of you.

Jack doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves on with his task of getting you naked, removing your white top and staring shamelessly at your tits.

“Stop looking at them,” you murmur, hiding your boobs with your hands.

He cocks his head to the side. “Why should I? They’re pretty, just like you.”

“It’s embarassing.” You reply, looking at your feet.

“No, it isn’t, baby,” he snickers, placing his hands on top of yours and removing them from your tits. Then, he pointed at the bed with his head, silently asking for you to lay there again, which you promptly did. You were anxious and excited for what was coming. Besides, it was getting hard to ignore the wetness between your legs.

You laid with your back on the mattress and your head on his pillow, watching as he did the same, laying sideways, with his hand supporting his head. Even if the only light illuminating the room is coming from his bedside lamps, you could tell that his blue eyes were dark, full of something that you couldn’t name, but that was starting to make sense to you.

Because you were sure that if you looked in the mirror, you’d see the same thing reflected in yours.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he whispers, and you can’t help but whimper as you feel his fingers tracing imaginary drawings on your body; your neck, your shoulders, your chest, your tummy, your—

You hold your breath as he toys with the bow in front of panties, squeezing your thighs together as soon as he moves a little bit down.

“Sarah,” he calls beside you, and the only thing you can do is look at him and wait for him to continue. “Open your legs for me, baby.”

“N-no.”

He frowns, confused. “No?”

“‘M wet,” you whisper, feeling the reddeness take over your cheeks.

Jack chuckles, resuming playing with your underwear.

“That’s the goal, baby. It means that we’re doing great work.”

You’re doing great work, you want to tell him, but you choose to stay quiet, the situation already embarrassing enough as it is.

Slowly, you reopen your legs, separating your thighs until your left one touches Jack’s stomach. He hums as he removes your underwear, the cold breeze hitting your pussy and making you shiver.

His fingers slowly find their way back to your core, and when Jack touches your clit, you can finally release the moan you didn’t even know you had been holding this entire time. His finger’s cold, and as he gently rubs your sensitive nub, you start to wonder why it has never felt this good for you before.

Of course, you’ve felt aroused before, especially when you were a teenager. But never enough to actually do something about it— the few times you tried to make yourself come, you’d always stop midway and feel guilty for the next three hours, even if getting off wasn’t anything shameful.

But this? Feeling Jack’s breaths near your neck, his left hand holding your legs open while his right one spreads the slick coming out of you on your folds and clit, the rub that was once gentle, now stong and precise.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs, kissing you on the lips again. As he tongue fights for space inside your mouth, you can feel his index finger circling your clenching hole. “You can either put a finger inside or just rub here,” he explains, touching your clit again, making you remember why you were laying naked on his bed in the first place. Right, you tell yourself, we’re here for Zack, and for Zack only. “Just do what feels good for you.”

You can feel your walls tightening around his finger as he tries to put it inside you and you bite your lips, holding back a whimper.

“You need to relax, baby, otherwise this will hurt,” he says, soft voice reaching your ears like honey. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head fast. “No, please,”

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he mumbles a soft “okay”, as you try your hardest to relax. He dips his finger inside of you, while his thumb works fast on the aching button, the wet sound of his fingers on your pussy making you cringe momentarily.

It was different, having something inside you, but a good type of different. And knowing that Jack is the one making you feel this fucking good? Definitely helps a lot.

“I wanna hear you, baby, come on,” he asks, his lips touching your cheek with how close he is. “Make those pretty sounds for me again. Can you do that?”

“Mhm,” you let out a series of sounds, trying not to think so hard. If Jack wanted you to moan for him, you would. “Jack.”

“Does it feel good, pretty?” He smirks, moving his fingers faster, his grip on your tight strong enough to bruise your skin. “Does your little, tight pussy feel good around my fingers? Good enough to make you come for me?”

His dirty, crude words made the red on your face deepen, but at this point, with his finger shoved deep inside of you and his tireless rubbing on your swollen clit, you didn’t care much.

The only thing in your head was the need to release yourself in his hands.

“Answer me, or I’ll stop,” he orders and you roll your eyes, holding his neck with your arms, gluing your chest to his clothed body, his finger reaching deeper inside you with the new angle. “Sarah—”

“It d-does,” you stutter, breathing in his perfume. God, he smells so fucking good. “It feels so good, Jack, I don’t want you to stop, I—”

“Are you going to come, baby?”

“Dunno,” mumbling, you grab his hair, pulling it. “I want to.”

“Then come on, baby. I’ll talk you through it,” he whispers in your ear, biting your lobe right after.

“No,” you moan. “That’s… embarrassing.”

He chuckles, pressing his thumb against your clit, making you arch your back with how sensitive you were. “What’s so embarrassing about me talking you through? Telling you how good your pussy feels around my finger? How hot and wet you are, taking me so well and deep too.”

“Jack—”

“Have you wondered about how my dick’s going to feel inside you?” He licks your cheek before kissing it gently. “How deep I’ll be. How I’ll make you beg and cry for my cock, so I can wreck your pussy and have you moaning for me. And you’ll wet my sheets, just like you’re doing right now, won’t you, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,”

“And it’ll feel so good, right, pretty? You’ll let me hear those pretty sounds of yours while I teach you how to take a cock, hm?”

Still with your nose buried in his chest, your body moving forward with each of his thrusts, you shake your head. “No— teach me how to take y-your cock, Jack.”

Why the hell did you just say that, somewhere, someone, inside your mind asks you, what about Zack?

What about him?

Jack’s chuckle brings you back for a moment. “‘Course, pretty. Teach you how to take my cock.”

Satisfied, you hold him closer, closing your legs together, the tension inside of you growing with each thrust. You weren’t sure of what was going to happen, but it felt so fucking good.

“Jack— I’m gonna.”

His fingers only manage to go faster, reach deeper.

“Come for me, baby,”

Even if this is— officially— your first time coming, you still don’t understand how your body just responded to Jack so well, and how you literally came on command— something inside you made you think that this doesn’t happen often.

But there was just something about him teaching you how to make yourself this wet, how he left your pussy sore and clenching around nothing, how his blue eyes never left yours and how his blondish, damp hair is sticking to his forehead, making he look ten times hotter than he already normally does.

How haven’t we ever noticed he’s this fine?

“Hi,” you whisper, smiling tiredly and laying on his chest.

He smiles back. “Hi, pretty.”

“This was… definitely something.”

“How do you rate your class from zero to ten?” He joked and you laugh quietly.

“A ten,” you mumble. “An eleven if you let me stay the night.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave anyway but if telling you yes will make my score go higher then yes, please, you can spend the night here,” he kisses your lips briefly, before pulling back, a somewhat worried expression decorating his beautiful, angelic face. “Does Z know where you are?”

“Told him I’d sleep at my friend’s house,” you say, not feeling even the slightest bit bad for lying to Trevor. I mean, you had just come on Jack Hughes’ fingers after he got you off and sucked your tits. Trevor can go to hell for all you care.

“Mhm,” Jack hums, getting up suddenly and taking you with him. “Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll go to sleep.”

You wanted to protest but he was right, you both had to clean yourselves up. And showering with him didn’t sound so bad.

At all.

Phase two of getting Zack to like you: complete.

[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.

If you want to, leave a comment! Every single one makes my day and fuels my soul, so if you have any thoughts at all, share them!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

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

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods

[bomber-grl]

Rock Lee Relationship hc —✩𓏲⋆.🍵✮˚

Pairing(s): Rock Lee x Gn!Reader

Bro is down bad for you, I don’t make the rules

Yknow how he was automatically smitten with Sakura and sent her those weird kisses?

Yea well it’s you, not her

I have two ways I imagine rock Lee being when trying to get with you

He’s either bold and unapologetic about his feelings, he wants you to know how you make him feel!

Or he’s still unapologetic, just shy and more giddy if anything, just at the thought of you

Honestly I’d like to think hes a combination of both

Like at first he’s terribly direct to the point where Tenten is seriously considering giving some advice

Which she does end up doing

He ends up confessing his more than obvious feelings for you with an over dramatic blush and is honestly so sweet

He even has some flowers

You end up accepting and so commences your relationship

If you have some sort of friendship with Naruto he’d ask you if you were seriously dating “bushy brows”

💀 blud can’t even be saying anything when Sakura won’t even give him the time of day (in the anime)

The only people are aren’t really shocked at your relationship is everyone

Yea, everyone

I mean lees devotion to you before you even got together was enough.

Anyway, if you’re more of bold person whose affectionate then Lee is more than delighted

He relishes in the hugs and any sort of affection that you give him.

Honestly I can imagine him trying to be like the gigga chads and stuff 💀

Man just loves you Alr?

In front of you he’s pretty outright giddy but when you’re not looking? Down bad

He’s literally giggling about what you do and say- not exactly to anyone in particular but his teammates and guy are there to witness it anyway

Guy is supportive, tenten lowkey regrets giving him advice and Neji just wants Lee to shut up

Rock lee is lowkey always open with his affections with you

He’s always determined just in general

Which is where you come in

Honestly another possibility of how you two got together

Lee is strong, don’t get me wrong

But the “power of youth” and some flimsy leg warmers aren’t always going to keep him safe

If you’re a ninja and you’re worried about him then he just argues that you can protect him, and him you

Him protecting you is so true no matter who you are- civilian, ninja, whatnot

Literally the only way anyone could ever get to you would be over his dead cold body

Not that he’d let whoever is coming at you to even kill him in the first place

If you’re a ninja he likes to train with you

I was honestly torn between him not wanting to spar with you or him really wanting to and going all out

I’m certain he’d do the latter

You’re a ninja and you’re both trying to improve, so ofc he’d put his all into it

And if you’re not one and you’re a civilian then he’d more than happy to incorporate you into his training

He’d probably have you sit on his back while he does pushups or something similar 😭

Love wise, lee is so passionate

The moment you get together he’s legit never letting go and is seriously devoted to you

I wouldn’t even be surprised if Lee bought an engagement ring before you started even dating

He’s always bringing you gifts, food and making sure you take care of yourself

He’s very serious and determined to take care of you even if you’re fully capable

And if you try to do the same?

Flustered to the max

He gets really flustered when you kiss him too 😭

I wouldn’t be surprised if his soul almost detached the first time you did.

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers chasing their victim (their future s/o) and in the middle of the chase their s/o just stops to grab and protect a little animal thinking they were going to hurt them (like a pup or kitten) how would they react

Can you also make their s/o chubby?:)

Plz and Ty

I didn't quite know how to bring up that the reader is supposed to be chubby in this one but I definitely imagined a chubby reader while writing it.

Slashers when their future s/o is protecting a small animal from them

Warning: Animal Death/Animal Cruelty (not described in any detail but it is mentioned and implied)

Jason Voorhees

He has been chasing you around for a few minutes now, and you are slowly starting to get winded. Then there is the small stray cat, dirty and terribly malnourished. There are a few of them living around the lake, you know that much. And the cat is right between him and you.

Oh no, he’s gonna crush the poor thing, you think, and your protective instinct overrides your self-preservation. You rush to the cat, pick it up and run away again, not noticing that Jason stopped following you and is just staring after you with wide eyes.

You hide in one of the cabins, hoping to be able to catch your breath for a few seconds before having to run away again. Your new companion is meowing at you.

„Hush, you’re gonna give us away“, you whisper hectically, when a huge shadow falls over you. You look up, and your heart drops into your stomach.

That’s it, you’re going to die. Jason is already reaching for your neck… then his hand slips lower, gently patting the cat’s head.

„H...huh?“

He saw what you did, how you risked your own life to save that little creature… and he admires that. Maybe you’re not so bad after all.

Vincent Sinclair

The creature you try to protect ends up being Jonesy, ironically. You see her in the Sinclair house and you’re to stressed and scared to even consider the possibility that she belongs to the people chasing you.

„Come on, please, they’re going to hurt you too if they find us“, you say to the dog while desperately trying to get her to follow you. „Come on, little one, I won’t hurt you, I promise-“

Vincent appears from the next room, looking at you for a long time. Jonesy happily runs up to him, tail wagging.

„...Oh. She’s your dog. Well don’t I look stupid now.“

His shoulders begin twitching, accompanied by a suppressed chuckle. He manages not to fully burst out laughing, but he can’t help himself; your awkwardness is just so *endearing*. He may want to keep you around just for that. Alive, of course. You won’t be half as entertaining if you’re dead and covered in wax.

Freddy Krueger

Really? You’re willing to sacrifice your life for an imaginary *hamster*? He thought that letting you see a bit of his past would be fun, and of all the fucked up things that happened in his life, him killing the class hamster when he was a kid is the only thing you take issue with? Not the fact that he murdered his foster father? Not the fact that he murdered *children*? No? The hamster it is? Okay, then. You got damn weird priorities, but Freddy likes weird. Maybe killing you would really be a waste, so he lets you live… for now.

Brahms Heelshire

„Brahms Heelshire, you let that rat go right this instant!“

Brahms actually flinches and does as he is told. The rat quickly disappears somewhere; you’re not sure where.

Once he gets over the shock, he gives you a sour pout. „Why? It’s just a rat.“

„It’s a living, breathing, feeling being.“

„So are cows and we still eat them.“

„Oh I’m sorry, is this household doing so poor financially that we have to resort to eating rats now?“ You cross your arms in front of your chest. „Well?“

„No“, Brahms says between gritted teeth.

„I thought so.“ You know that scolding Brahms is a delicate task; being too lenient with him means he won’t learn his lesson, and being just the slightest bit too harsh with him will result in an angry outburst. And those can end deadly. But that’s what you signed up for when you agreed to become his nanny… right?

„Rats carry diseases though. They shouldn’t be in the house“, Brahms continues to argue.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. „Yes, that’s why we have the traps out in the garden, and another reason why you shouldn’t touch them. I don’t particularly like having to kill the rats at all, but the traps do so as quickly and as painlessly as possible. So even if they have to die for our safety, there is no, and I repeat, NO reason to torture them. Understood?“

Brahms has his chin pressed firmly onto his chest now; the tension in his body shows that he is getting frustrated. „Yes.“

Okay, time to ease off a little.

„That’s my good Brahms.“ You smile at him.

Bubba Sawyer

Another case of mistaking your would-be-killer’s pet for another potential victim. In this case, it is a chicken. When you saw the poor thing in this room, sorrounded by human bone furniture, you didn’t dare imagine what this family would do to it.

„Hey… nice chicken… good chicken…“

At first you don’t see Bubba lingering at the entrance of the chicken room, looking at you gently speaking to his favourite.

When you notice him, you immediately grab the chicken and nudge it to the questionable safety behind your back.

Bubba looks at you and licks his lips. You are so nice to his chickens. He likes that.

You flinch when he comes inside and kneels down in front of you, pulling the chicken from behind your back into his arms and holding it up to you to pet, like any proud pet-parent.

„Oh… they chickens are yours? They look pretty well taken care of, actually…“ That, and this one is so calm, despite being held by this behemoth of a man.

You reach out and run your hand over the soft feathers, making Bubba smile, delighted.

[the-daiz]

When you’re sick | One punch man

Synopsis; How the one punch men would act when you’re bed ridden

genre: fluff, hc

Characters: Saitama, Genos, Speed-o’-sound sonic, flashy flash, Zombieman, Garou

side note; My… my hands… wont… stop typing… save me…. I’m gonna hibernate after this post

SAITAMA

Shockingly takes very good care of you

he’s a mundane guy that lives alone and needs to take care of himself, so I’d assume he’s gotten his fair share of sick days

He’ll be softer and more careful with his words

He lets you huddle up in his futon, even if he’s a little annoyed cuz now he needs to find somewhere else to sleep,

he still wants you to be close to him so he can look out for you

makes you lotssss of tea and warm meals

and bananas! (Saitama loves bananas)

he knows all the foods to avoid when you’re sick, ex: eggs

he’ll probably spend most of his day sitting next to you while he watches tv or talks to you about something

doesn’t leave the house to do any hero work so he can stay by your side

like I said before, he takes veryyy good care of you until you feel better

GENOS

oh gets really worried

a little bit frantic even, but he doesn’t let it show

does a shit ton of research about your illness/symptoms and how to take care of it

Consults dr kuseno

who of course gives him a lot of advice

he’s hella dotting

Like fr he doesn’t leave your side

despite being an S-class hero, unless its an absolute emergency, he DOES NOT LEAVE YOUR SIDE

Will make sure you take your medication exactly on time

Prepares gourmet type meals for you

Also expect a lot of broth, soup etc etc

Will offer you any form of physical affection you want. Since he’s a cyborg he doesn’t get sick, so will cuddle you all day without complaints if thats what you’d like

He’s constantly checking up on, his cool metal hand pressed gently on your forehead while his mechanic eyes inspect your frame, a small frown etched on his temple.

he’s so cute kms

SPEED OF SOUND SONIC

He knows how to take care of you

he’s gotten sick PLENTY of times, it never lasted long though because his immune system is simply goated

That being said, he’s very… awkward?

he’s concerned and worried, don’t get me wrong, but he’ll probably try to hide it

His words won’t reassure you much but his actions will!

He’ll drop off supplies like medication, food, herbs, or anything else you need, whether you mention it or he decides you need it anyway.

he’ll check up on you a lot, and he’ll try to stay nearby to make sure your safe

but honestly, you having to rely on him when you’re vulnerable makes him feel prideful

he doesn’t admit it, but he kind of likes having you sick, just a tinsy bit

FLASHY FLASH

Oh god

of course he’s terribly worried about you

very aloof about it though

I’ll start with the cons: He’s sort of emotionally distant, and offers very little emotional support, and he won’t try sticking by your side as often as the other characters

Now that that’s out of the way,

He does make sure you have everything you need, and if he’s not with you, probably because he’s doing some hero work, he’ll text you or call very occasionally to ask how you’re doing and if you need anything

If you do mention that you’re feeling worse, he’ll be right by your side in an instant

ZOMBIEMAN

He’s very down-to-earth and calm about it

He won’t fuss over it or worry too much in the slightest

He’ll take good care of you, bringing you meals in bed, drink lots of fluids and getting enough rest

he’ll focus on making you as comfortable as possible too

He’ll leave for hero work every once in awhile, thats unless you’re really sick, then he’ll stay rooted beside you without another word

He’ll spend a lot of time just sitting or laying next to you. If you’re uncomfortably hot and would probably not want him to sleep beside you, he’ll sit on a chair and quietly hold your hand.

If you want him to talk, he’ll talk, and if you don’t, he’ll sit wordlessly without complaints.

he’ll probably crack a joke here or there if the mood is too damp

also, he’ll offer lots of forehead kissess

GAROU

He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got the spirit! 😍😍

this lone wolf isn’t used to taking care of people, let alone himself

He’ll probably tell you to just walk it off, but his protective instincts will kick in anyway

he’ll try to stay by your side as much as possible

he’ll grumble and act like he’s annoyed, but he really isn’t

he’s a little harsh, probably giving you some weird motivation like “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” or smth

he’s genuinely concerned for you though, just be patient with him, he’s trying

[cevansbrat0007]

The Scent of You

Summary: Ari loves the sweet scent of you, which is why he's content to live between your thighs.

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Begging, Oral Sex (fem rec), Pussy Spanking, Slight Chase Kink, Light D/s themes, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @curls-and-eyeliner. Hopefully this is okay, ya'll. I'm honestly not sure if it worked the way I intended. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s no secret that Ari adores you, but you’ve learned over the course of your relationship that he is particularly fond of the way you smell. Your natural essence of spiced, sugared vanilla draws him in like a moth to a flame. 

Which means he was always looking for a reason to touch you – to pull you close and breathe you in. Whether he’s hauling you against his broad chest to bury his nose in your hair while you’re cooking dinner, or he’s busy cascading soft, sweet kisses along the delicate column of your throat when you’re both snuggled up on the couch.

Your scent is like a drug. It calls to him – like a siren’s song – demanding that your handsome Bounty Hunter give in and help himself to his next hit. 

This man is hooked on you and it’s honestly one of the most exhilarating things you’ve ever experienced. Growing up, you’d never dreamed someone would desire you like this; that anyone would want you in such an all-consuming way.

“I’m going to burn the chicken if you don’t cut it out.” You hum, smiling when you feel his brawny arms tighten around your waist. “And then we won’t have anything to eat but mashed potatoes and asparagus.”

“Mm. Then maybe we’ll just have to order-in.” His warm lips dance along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Beast.” You try again, intending to issue a light reprimand. Instead your voice comes out soft and breathy. 

“You can feed me my dessert while we wait.” Ari’s long, talented fingers travel to the waistband of your pink sleep shorts, lightly tugging at the drawstring. “Just think about it.” You briefly lose your train of thought as you find yourself trying to remember if you were even wearing panties. 

You’re pretty sure that you’d neglected to put them on again after your shower. At the time, you’d told yourself that you were trying to save yourself from having to make another trip to Victoria’s Secret. 

It wasn’t your fault that your Beast wasn’t always house-trained. He was the kind of man who had a propensity for ripping off your underthings and tucking them into his pocket. Which meant you often had to make adjustments to your wardrobe.       

And all of it because the scent of your arousal drove him wild.   

Your musings are interrupted when a sudden pop of grease splashes out of the cast iron skillet, just missing both you and your man. “Alright, hands to yourself now, Beast. We’re working around hot oil and I’d feel terrible if you got hurt.” 

Jesus H. Christ, you should’ve picked another day to fry this incorrigible man some chicken.

Ari nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, gently nipping at your pulse point. “I just need a fix, baby. One little hit and I’ll be good for the rest of the night.”

“Ari…” You blow out an exasperated breath as you reach for your tongs to flip your meat. “You don’t even know if I’ve showered or not today.”

“Don’t care.” He grunts, one big hand reaching into your shorts to possessively cup your increasingly damp pussy. “You know I love how you smell. Almost as much as I love the way you taste.” Ari lips move on to kiss along the shell of your ear. A shudder courses through you when he tugs the sensitive load between his sharp teeth.

“I’m proud to wear my girl.”

Your thighs clench of their own accord, your empty walls clenching around nothing. Apparently your body was just as hungry for him as he was for you.

“Y–you can’t go around just saying things like that.” It comes out as a whimper as your cheeks heat, meanwhile Ari busies himself with grinding the heel of his lightly calloused palm against your already throbbing clit. 

“Why not, Duchess? Am I being too crass for you?” He teases as his free hand comes up to knead your breast, squeezing with just the amount of roughness he knew made your knees weak. “Turn that shit off and come feed me. I’ve been dying to get between those thighs all fuckin’ day.”

“But–but…” Your eyes flutter closed even as you reach for the knob that controls the burner, switching it off. Maybe he was right. You hated to waste this, but you could always try again another day.

Preferably on a night when your very persistent Beast was working late. 

“There we go. I knew my woman wasn’t the type to let me go hungry.” Ari murmurs, releasing his grip on your now very wet pussy in favor of tugging down your shorts. A growl rumbles deep in his throat as he watches them fall to the ground at your feet. “I knew you couldn’t be that mean.”

“You owe me chicken alfredo from Guiseppe’s, you animal.” You snarl, removing the pan from the heat. 

“Consider it done, baby.” You could tell without looking at him that he was obviously pleased with himself. 

God this man was an absolute menace. But he was yours, which meant you had to keep him. Hell, you were pretty sure that if you ever tried to put him up for adoption you were pretty sure he’d find his way home. 

Back to you. Wherever you were.

Feeling bold, you wiggle out of the Bounty Hunter’s grasp, only to be surprised when he lets you go. 

“Bet you can’t catch me.” You challenge, making a sudden dash for the stairs. 

Of course you knew he’d catch you. But sometimes you liked running from your Beast – because he was the type to always give chase which would only add spice to the proceedings.    

And just like you knew he’d be, your Bounty Hunter is on you before you reach the fourth step. A scream escapes you – but you both know it’s one of excitement. After all, Ari Levinson was every inch the predator. It’s why you lovingly referred to him as “your Beast”.

“Gotcha now, Duchess.” He hisses, a heady mix of exhilaration and pride coursing through his veins. And that’s when you finally notice the impressive tent hidden beneath the fabric of his light gray sweats. 

God, you had a feeling this man was gonna wreck you tonight. You just hoped you’d be able to walk in a straight line come tomorrow morning. 

Ari takes that moment to flip you over before gently maneuvering your body in such a way that allows you to slide down a couple of steps.

“Yeah, you caught me.” You breathe, your body aching for him. And then you part your thighs, feeling more than a little empowered when you notice the way his imperious gaze darkens with lust at the sight of your glistening cunt. “Now…what are you going to do with me?” 

Grabbing the edge of your nightshirt, you slowly pull it over your head, baring your breasts. If this man wanted you and was so willing to *ruin* your dinner for it, then who were you to deny him?   

Immediately, Ari buries his face between your slick covered thighs, his powerful hands coming up to quickly throw your legs over his muscled shoulders. A deep, satisfied groan of appreciation escapes his throat as he sucks your pulsing clit into his warm, waiting mouth.

“Holy shit!” You cry, burying your hands in his soft, chestnut strands. “Sir, please!” Your body begins to tremble as you’re treated to the most sensual of assaults.  

One thick finger gently prods at your entrance, seeking refuge in your slippery cunt. At the same time, you feel Ari release your sensitive bundle of nerves, content to lap at it with his wicked tongue.

“That's it now. Fuckin' drench me, Bird.” He orders softly, his voice coming out slightly muffled.

And then pauses he pauses again – this time to nuzzle his nose against your slippery folds. Your entire body quivers when he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent and reveling in your wetness. 

“My fuckin’ pussy.” Ari snarls, his flat tongue dragging a long, greedy swipe along your cunt. “Mine.” He pulls away long enough to slap your core in silent demand.  

“Fuck yes!” You agree, eagerly rocking your hips in time with each delicious lash of his tongue. He swirls it over your little bundle of nerves, making your toes curl.

“Would wear you all day if you’d let me.” His nimble fingers begin to work you over, stretching you in the way he knew would make you crazy. “Proud to wear my girl.”

“Omigosh!Omigosh!Omigosh!” You wail, your velvety walls clenching around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you. 

“Promise to always feed me when I need it, little Bird.” You feel his teeth lightly graze your clit once more, loving the way it makes you thrash and moan.

That’s right. This man was breaking you down on your living room stairs. And it was so good that you couldn’t even be bothered to make yourself give a proper fuck. 

Dear God, this was the most exquisite kind of pleasure.

“Don’t you dare let me starve.” His fingers curve inside you, expertly finding your spot.

Holy fucking shit your man was making one hell of compelling argument, as evidenced by sweet cries and your shaking legs. 

“Never.” Your thighs tighten around his head, threatening to smother him even as you gush around him. 

Just the way you knew he fucking loved.     

“There we go -- yeah, that’s it.” Ari rasps, smacking your right flank, reveling in the way you clench around him as you continue to ride his face. Meanwhile, you’re busy writhing in your man’s arms, trying not to escape his grasp as that familiar coil of pleasure begins to tighten in your belly.

You know he knows you’re close. So he picks up his pace, clearly enjoying the way you’re coming apart under his feral loving. 

“I just need one good one from you – just one good one to start. And then I’m gonna give you my cock.” He increases the pace of his fingers, not missing the way your head is thrown back in complete submission. “And after that, I’ll order you dinner.” 

“Fuck, Beast!” You pant, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. "Whatever you fucking say - ooh!" Your open palm slaps against the wall as you try to run. But his grip is too strong.

Instead he simply chuckles before pausing his feast long enough to press one hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh - his teeth scraping over your damp flesh as he takes you higher and higher.

“And while we wait, I’m gonna go ahead feed you my cock.” He quips with a feral flash of teeth. “And don’t worry,  I’ll make sure you eat every bite.”

END

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[weeping-statue]

Oml I love your work sm, I’ve been reading you’re blog for a while and I’m obsessed 😭

If you end up having the time, may I request Naib, Ithaqua, Joseph and Richard—or just the first two if that’s too many! 🤍—with a s/o who was almost fatally injured in their matches and sort of comatose but eventually woke up? Feel free to ignore this if this is too much, thank you for your time~

Aww thank you so much my love<3 you’re so sweet!!! I didn’t really think that many people liked my stuff so it’s amazing to hear that they do! I try my best on these things and I hate when it takes me years to post something out.

I’m working on another fic that’s similar to this for naib so he won’t be included but I hope you’ll take Norton instead

Ithaqua, Joseph, Richard, and Norton with a fatally injured reader who finally wakes up!

———————————————————————

Basic background first before the good stuff<3

You were supposed be decoding, out of the way, and out of danger.

You weren’t supposed to take the hit. You weren’t supposed to be here.

It wasn’t fair when your body fell to the ground, blood splattering out underneath you into a pool of crimson liquid.

It wasn’t fair when he called out to you, and you didn’t answer, only to feel your pulse fading.

It wasn’t fair that he had to carry your limp body to Emily’s office in a panic, begging her to help.

And it wasn’t fair when she had said you might not wake up.

Ithaqua

He couldn’t sit by you the entire time you were in bed. It just reminded him of his mother.

He didn’t want to put himself through more with those terrible memories.

He’d visit you in the morning and at night.

Kissing you goodnight and kissing you good morning

Like some strange routine.

When he got the news you were awake he had dropped everything, but he didn’t run, he just had to make himself believe you were okay first.

He had to make sure this wasn’t some sick joke, and that he’d wake up in his bed only to be told you didn’t make it.

Stopping in the doorway, looking at you who seemed to be looking back at him with those surprised eyes, that beautiful smile he loved etched onto your face.

He knew after a blow like that there would be some damage, a large scar going from the side of your cheek and up to your forehead would forever be a reminder of his fuck up.

He feels terrible and sometimes it’s hard to look at you without guilt seeping in.

He doesn’t want to be like this but it’s his way of working through it.

He loves you a lot, he has dreams of marrying you and building a home far away. But now those dreams are plagued with the possibility that he’ll accidentally become the monster he tried to tell himself he wasn’t.

Joseph

Alcohol.

A lot of it.

Bottles and bottles of it by your bed side.

He refused to leave you. He couldn’t live with the fact he might of killed the only person he loved more than anything.

The only person that made this bearable. And they might be gone.

He would drink himself to sleep and he would drink the moment he opened his eyes.

Not a lot of people ever saw him cry, but now? Everyone did.

When he had a moment of soberness he’d look over and break down.

Joseph would barely shower, having to be dragged away from you and told to clean himself up, only to repeat that process.

During one of the times he was forced to bathe, he had stumbled back in, bottle in hand, only to be met with your disappointed gaze.

He knows how much you hated when drinks, and because of that barely touched liquor anymore.

“You said you’d cut back on drinking.” Your voice broke the silence.

Joseph rushed over to your side, falling onto his knees and sobbing. “Stop it. Now’s no time for lecturing. I thought I had killed you. I thought you weren’t going to make it. I thought you’d be like Claud, and leave me all alone again.”

Your hand makes its way to his cheek, “I’m okay. I’d never leave you alone, I promise. These things were bound to happen. But I’ll be more careful.”

He nodded leaning into your touch.

Richard

He’s fuming mad. And of course concerned.

He was made to do one thing, protect, and he couldn’t even save the one he loves?

“What bullshit.” He’d say through gritted teeth. Watching over your body, breathing raggedly. His hands smoothing out your hair to look nice with a not so gentle hand. He’s holding himself back.

He believes this is partially your fault. You should have been out of the way. Doing your job and letting him rescue.

But no, you had to disobey, you just couldn’t listen.

He’ll look like he doesn’t want to be there when his facade slips around the others, but he really does. He hates the fact that you have a terrible possibility over your head.

And he can’t control it.

He’d make sure you look stunning even in your condition. He’d brush your hair, and make sure you’re somewhat clean. Because when you wake up he’s going to want to kiss you, remind you of the way it should be.

When he’s informed by Emily that you’ve made a recovery, hes immediately speed walking towards your room.

He wanted to be the first thing you saw, but oh well. He’ll have you back in tip top shape soon.

“Richard!” You exclaimed, reaching your hand out to him.

He takes it, kissing the back, “___, my dear. You gave me quite the scare.”

“I know.. I shouldn’t have been so foolish but-”

His lips are against yours before you can finish. It’s passionate and deep with his feelings. You can tell how much he missed you, how worried he was.

“Foolish or not, you’re still here, with me. And that’s all that matters.” He says softly, loving yet serious eyes looking into yours.

Norton

Out of everyone, him and Joseph are the two absolute messes.

Joseph might be a bit worse with his drinking but Norton becomes violent and agitated.

He’s freaking out, shoving people out of the way with more strength than necessary just to get to you.

He wasn’t there to help, maybe, if he was you’d be okay.

The possibility’s are running through his head and causing him to become anxious and angry.

Fools gold is right there behind him. Sitting in a corner silently waiting for you to awake.

Fools golds matches are either quick surrenders or he’s chairing everyone immediately.

Norton doesn’t know how to comfort himself and doesn’t particularly want his hunter version to even touch him let alone tell him nice things so he’s just suffering until you wake up.

This man actually wouldn’t leave you, even if he was dirty because he’s been like this before. It doesn’t bother him.

He had watched you wake up, your eyes being blinded by the bright light of day.

He was silent until you noticed him,

“Norton-?” You began, but the minute you spoke he jumped on you. Holding you tightly.

“Don’t you pull this shit again. You.. don’t know how worried I was.” He mumbled into your neck.

A lot of apologies were given that day and fools gold was right behind you when Norton had to go.

He may not have liked his other self but he shared the same love for you like he did. And if playing guard dog for a bit would ensure everyone to be happy and safe, then sure.

———————————————————————

I fear I only like Richard’s..

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Dick Measuring

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 0.8k TYPE: Humor, Drabble WARNING(S): This is literall y just one giant dick joke help NOTE: If you wanna see the rest of the horrible not-polycule series it's at the bottom of the masterlist

While scrolling through your phone at a ferocious speed with a manic grin, you turn to Ness and announce, “Look, over 500 thousand tweets mentioning my name. The viewers are all up on my cock now.”

He glances at you in disdain, which is hard to pull off with his cutesy face. Somehow he manages it though each time you two converse. In a judgemental tone, he asks, “Are you seriously name searching yourself?” Sure, he knows Kaiser does it too, but you’re not Kaiser so that shit doesn’t fly.

“Yeah. Check it out, someone made a compilation of me owning Kaiser. With filters.” You flash the screen at them both to show it off.

Kaiser spares it a dismissive glance, mind lost somewhere else.

“Give me that,” says Ness. Then he grabs the device out of your grasp and squints at the screen, memorizing the username.

“Don’t tell me you’ll mass report their account for that?”

“I won’t,” he lies, smiling at you before giving you back your phone as if he didn’t snatch it away in the first place.

“You’re doing full splits on it. Like, you could be, like, a gymnast.”

“W-Well, so what?! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“So they’re all up on your cock huh?” Kaiser asks. The smug expression he’s making right now, you get the inkling he’s about to say something terrible. And he delivers as per your expectation: “I bet mine’s bigger.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow at that, this judgmental expression on your face.

Ness nods, still seeming pleasant. “It probably is.”

“Bragging on another man’s dick size is crazy.”

“It’s not crazy! I’m speaking realistically.”

“Well,” says Kaiser, annoyed at having to wrestle with Ness for your attention all the time when Ness is supposed to be helping him score you, “there’s only one way to find out. We should both get naked and check.”

Your stare switches from unimpressed to blank. Vacant of any signs of life. Even Ness scrunches his eyebrows and appears slightly aghast at the suggestion, which is how you know it’s egregious for sure. Wow, this has to be his most desperate attempt at flirting to date. What’s making it worse is the fact that he’s not even reacting to your collective puzzlement with the whole thing.

Once you regain enough sense to respond, you say, “Thanks, but no thanks. You know I’m not interested in the small things in life, Kaiser.”

This also snaps Ness out of his trance as he is now offended, though he graciously spares you of any further embarrassing commentary, settling for glaring.

“Wanna compare just to make sure?”

Your lips quirk up. “Here’s my list of things I’ll never let near my nether regions: police officers, male photographers, multi level marketers, politicians, Michael Kaiser.”

“Aww, why? You’re no fun,” Kaiser coos at you mockingly.

“I bet you have the funniest penis ever.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Ness interjects while Kaiser merely tilts his head to the side, awaiting elaboration on this statement.

“Like you were probably uncircumcised when you were little and then you grew up and got a circumcision for aesthetic purposes or something else hilarious like that,” you say.

“What?” He crosses his arms and scoffs at the notion. “Ok now I’m convinced you’re just stupid. What a hauntingly dimwitted concept to come up with.” Then he smirks at you again, straightening his back and raising his eyebrows. “But, again, if you wanna make sure that there’s nothing wrong with it, the offer still stands.”

“Listen here. If you say anything along these lines to me ever again, something’s gonna happen.”

“Oh really?” Kaiser gets all up in your face. He remains amused. “And what’s going to happen?”

“I’ll send you to where Shinzo Abe is.”

He blinks at you for a second while Ness is mumbling incomprehensible threats in the background. Then he smiles at you before leaning back to a more socially appropriate distance. “Alright, I admit, I appreciate this one out of all your little retorts.”

“I think you love any words I waste on you. Attention whore. Anyway, I’ll go work out in one of the training rooms with the cameras for fanservice, so I’m leaving.” You pass by Kaiser and stop in front of Ness, puckering your lips in an exaggerated manner, blowing him a kiss. “Bye bye, Ness.”

He blushes and crosses his arms while pouting, pretending he totally didn’t enjoy that as you walk off. Kaiser gives him a scornful look.

Ness remembers the whole conversation which ensued. “I’m sure it’s big and nice,” he reassures rather clinically, the way one would share an interesting fact. It doesn't occur to him what an odd remark he’s making.

“Thanks. You always know the right things to say.” Kaiser pats Ness gently on the head like the dog slash servant he is, perhaps to encourage the behavior through positive reinforcement. He basks in the feeling, warm, and almost forgets about the context of this action. But because Ness can’t have anything good ever, after a while Kaiser adds, “I wish someone I was actually into would talk to me like you do too though.”

___

Yea I haven't slept in 5 days again how can yo utell

[obsidianpen]

What's so great about Harrymort, anyway? This ship basically consists of Stockholm syndrome, power inequality, and abuse. The same can be applied to Tomione but I understand that last one and I even started to appreciate this ship a lot. Hermione is the character most similar to Tom, if she had the ambition that Tom had, she could have become something similar to Voldemort in canon. But beyond that, Hermione is someone Tom/V could respect and have as an ally. She is someone who would be able to rule alongside him, and everyone would benefit from that, since she is fair and good. Also if Tom/V had her by his side, he would be a more stable version than the one in canon. So.. I understand why you like this ship so much but.. the more I think about Harrymort the more I feel disgusted. Harry is not a character that people respect and fear, he is just Harry. Just that. Some random boy. There's nothing special about him, and if it weren't for the horcrux he would already be dead since chapter 1 of the books. Tom/V is a prodigy, one of the most powerful wizards in the books, he wouldn't be interested in someone so ordinary. But let's say yes, that Tom/V is interested in Harry precisely because he is common and average, since they have a similar background - This is difficult to happen, V is not an empathetic character but let's pretend so - and because of the horcrux, of course it's because of the horcrux, that's the only reason, the only thing that makes Harry stand out among the others -not even that came from him lol so sad- If our hypothetical scenario happened, Harry would be a toy for Tom /V -he already is- "ah, but the fun is in how much Harry fights, he was going to fight, that's what he is" oh yes, this argument is the favorite of the Tomarymort fans, huh? He wouldn't be able to fight forever, this character has been in fight or flight mode since the beginning, he'll get tired eventually, V would be able to break him, and do you think V is the type to keep things broken? I don't think so. My point is Tomarymort is a ship that explores abuse, toxic and destructive relationships, physical and psychological torture, Stockholm syndrome etc. And that's fine if you like it but I think we can all agree that this ship and love should NEVER be put in the same sentence . Because love and respect would never exist between these two characters. No matter how good the writer is, some things just don't work. Just become them ooc, that's what happens most lol

Preface: I’m breaking this one down point by point, and then I am never responding to anything similar ever again. I will also not be posting anonymous responses to this. I hate being the middle man for a tumblr shipping war, so I’m not going to participate in that. If you want to respond, you can leave a comment or reblog it into your own page. 💖

What's so great about Harrymort, anyway? 

The drama, the intensity, the wrongness, the clashing of opposites, the most extreme version of enemies to lovers…

This ship basically consists of Stockholm syndrome, power inequality, and abuse. 

In some fics sure, yeah. But these are all really interesting - terrible, yes, but super interesting to dive into. There is a reason people like to read/watch psychological thrillers, horror, etc. I don’t feel like I should have to explain this very massive, common human drive, so I won’t. Go google it!

The same can be applied to Tomione but I understand that last one and I even started to appreciate this ship a lot. 

Cool, you like these things too! And you’re completely allowed to prefer Hermione to Harry. Whatever you want to read.

Hermione is the character most similar to Tom, if she had the ambition that Tom had, she could have become something similar to Voldemort in canon. 

Strong disagree here - she did have that ambition imo, she just… wasn’t evil, and she became Minister of Magic in canon, so. Pretty ambitious and somewhat similar, just in the legal, ‘good’ way.

But beyond that, Hermione is someone Tom/V could respect and have as an ally. 

Mm, no, she was a muggleborn, so in canon, a LOT of major shifts would have needed to happen for her to simply not be killed, or maybe tortured a hunch for fun, first, before eventually… being killed.

She is someone who would be able to rule alongside him, and everyone would benefit from that, since she is fair and good. 

Again, LOTS of things would have had to happen in canon for this to be even remotely possible. Unless you’re imagining some kind of AU where Tom Riddle is the same age as the trio, and they grow up together and can therefore influence each other on more equal footing…? But that’s Tom, not canon Voldemort, and you started this referencing Voldemort.

Also if Tom/V had her by his side, he would be a more stable version than the one in canon. 

Uh, would he? Assuming we’ve jumped over the impossible canon hurdles to get Hermione by Lord Voldemort’s side, by the time Hermione is even in the magical world, he’s been a bodiless spirit with a shredded soul for years. It would be a tall order for Hermione - or anyone - to make him more stable. I like arguing that Harry could sort of manage this in canon because of the horcrux connection, but that’s me making things up that are FAR from canon, and Hermione doesn’t have this. 

So.. I understand why you like this ship so much but.. the more I think about Harrymort the more I feel disgusted. 

Cool, your feelings are valid! You should probably stop thinking about Harrymort for your mental health. You can block tags/keywords/etc on tumblr so that you see less of it.

Harry is not a character that people respect and fear, he is just Harry. Just that. Some random boy. There's nothing special about him, and if it weren't for the horcrux he would already be dead since chapter 1 of the books. 

Well, that’s not true, imo. Harry was the best at Defensive Magic, he was an amazing flier, he is brave and bold and puts his life on the line for others without question - even people who don’t deserve it and who tried to harm him, like Draco. Those are all extraordinary traits that maybe some people make the mistake of ignoring and underestimating. 

Tom/V is a prodigy, one of the most powerful wizards in the books, he wouldn't be interested in someone so ordinary. 

If not for the horcrux, maybe not. But also, maybe. We don’t know what Harry would have been like if he grew up with a normal happy healthy family. Maybe he would have thrived in many ways, and he would have gleaned some interest. But even without that, see above comment to take note of some of Harry’s traits that he has despite growing up in an abusive home. Voldemort said himself that he values bravery. 

But let's say yes, that Tom/V is interested in Harry precisely because he is common and average, since they have a similar background - This is difficult to happen, V is not an empathetic character but let's pretend so - and because of the horcrux, of course it's because of the horcrux, that's the only reason, the only thing that makes Harry stand out among the others -not even that came from him lol so sad- If our hypothetical scenario happened, Harry would be a toy for Tom /V -he already is- "ah, but the fun is in how much Harry fights, he was going to fight, that's what he is" oh yes, this argument is the favorite of the Tomarymort fans, huh? He wouldn't be able to fight forever, this character has been in fight or flight mode since the beginning, he'll get tired eventually, V would be able to break him, and do you think V is the type to keep things broken? I don't think so. 

None of this logic adds up to me. How can you say all this about Harry and not apply it to pretty much everyone else, including Hermione? Voldemort WAS far from empathetic. Canonically. And yeah, sure, no one would be able to fight forever. But if anyone has a fire that would last an infuriatingly long time, I’d argue that it would be Harry. 

My point is Tomarymort is a ship that explores abuse, toxic and destructive relationships, physical and psychological torture, Stockholm syndrome etc. And that's fine if you like it but I think we can all agree that this ship and love should NEVER be put in the same sentence . 

Obviously this depends on what the story is. If it’s a story that explores all those former themes, then it’s probably not a lovey dovey romance anyway. But there are definitely stories that don’t have all those dark subjects, and if someone wants to write a platonic romance where the word love shows up between these two, more power to them! But you don’t get to say everyone in the world can never do a single thing in their fiction. People can write whatever they want! And you get to decide not to read it! Everyone wins.

Because love and respect would never exist between these two characters. No matter how good the writer is, some things just don't work. Just become them ooc, that's what happens most lol

I feel sorry for you. Where is your sense of curiosity, open-mindedness? Maybe you could never write these things convincingly, but some people are more talented than you (don’t take this too personally; no matter how good we are, there are always people more talented than us). It’s okay to not like things and to avoid them based on your comfort level/interest/etc etc, but just because you’re not looking doesn’t mean that such amazing jaw-dropping works that make you believe in the unbelievable aren’t out there.

💖

[2-dsimp]

Fredrico seems like he would love to pleasure his darling especially if they are on their period (if they have periods) and feel bad.

Like he would not care, as he's holding y/n's legs apart and taking his time to make sure they feel good as he buries his head inbetween his darling's legs and feeling happy to hear his beloved's gasps and whimpers of enjoyment as he "helps" the cramps by making them orgasm, not caring if y/n says it's "dirty" since it's just a little blood and natural to happen.

『Featuring your Yandere Devilbat giving you lip service on your period』

—;——-;——;

Cw: MDNI 🔞 Fem! reader, period oral sex, f! Oral recieving, Fredrico being thirsty like bleh bleh bleh,

—;——-;——;

Fredrico: “keep your l-legs open mate. I’m s-still not done s-sampling you”

You were utterly stunned speechless by his remark, as you peered down at the Devilbat’s two toned mess of pink and purple hair bobbing up and down from between your outspread thighs. You couldn’t help but gasp and grip at the covers for any kind of anchor. As you were relentlessly fucked by his adept tongue that sought to taste all of what your gushing red cunt had to offer to quench his apparent appetite for his darling.

Y/n: “Ngh! Rico~! Just when are you gonna be done with your sampling! I’m gross down there, in case you haven’t noticed I’m on my period—!”

Fredrico chuffed at you blue eyes peering up at you with a leveled gaze. Not wanting to hear another word of you bashing yourself and your sweet pussy. He merely continued to suck and lick at your mound with a satisfied grumble. His eyes glazed over with the pleasure of tasting your blood and helping aid in combating against your terrible cramps.

Fredrico: “S-shush my mate is pretty and c-clean no m-matter if she’s b-bleeding or not.”

He chittered lowly pulling slightly away from your glistening hole. Before he grazed his stained lips against your inner thigh that was smeared with a thin coat of red against your skin. And took a harsh bite into the fat of your thigh using his fangs to sink in just a tad bit. In an effort to reprimand you for daring to offend yourself.

Yes, The Devilbat won’t tolerate any disrespectful comments to his darling even if it came from them, themselves.