#THE BIG HEADED BOY WITH A LARGER HEAD THAN USUAL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelyhan · 2 years ago

Text

— down bad (so so bad) ⟢

it’s not like you’re curious about how the word would taste in your mouth whenever seungcheol calls himself daddy while talking to kkuma. nope. definitely not.

★ FEATURING; seungcheol x pet-sitter!reader (ft. exo's sehun just 'cause LOL)

★ WORD COUNT; 5.7k words

★ TAGS; friends to lovers, lots of denial, a twinge of fluff, smut

★ WARNINGS; graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; if u see me reposting this for the third time, no you didn't!!!!! JDKFGDJFKGGH i'm so sorry i should be working on one last enemies 2 lovers request, but the influx of kkuma content in seventeen street got the better of me,,

this is part of the doting on you! series.

★ SMUT TAGS; getting caught, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, dom!seungcheol, praise kink, nicknames (baby, sweetheart, pretty thing, princess), reader is touch-starved AF

★ SVT TAGLIST; @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @enhacolor - @ilyvern - @woo8hao - @spk93 - @tommolex - @stariightjoyy - @asjkdk - @horny4hoshi - @asjkdk - @stariightjoyy - @jiniesclub

★ SEUNGCHEOL TAGLIST; @changk6un - @renjunphile - @pluviophile-xxx - @noveniadelia

You spend a lot of time convincing yourself it’s not a big deal.

Because it most definitely isn’t. You live in a part of the city where there just happens to be a lot of idol and celebrity residences nearby, and ever since you’ve established yourself as a pretty decent pet-sitter, they’ve been enlisting your services much more than you initially expected.

But for some reason, every time the leader of that boy group whose dorm is right across the street comes to you with the most spoiled baby princess in his arms, it suddenly becomes a big deal. A huge, ginormous, larger-than-life—

“Hey.” Seungcheol grins, already dressed for today’s schedule from the looks of it. “I heard Sehun-hyung dropped off his dog yesterday, but we kinda have to squeeze in a last-minute shoot this afternoon, so…”

As if privy to the mention of his name, Sehun’s dog—a Bichon named Vivi—barks from your living room. He takes a peek behind the entryway to curiously peer at who’s at the door, but doesn’t make any moves to come out altogether. His presence makes Seungcheol’s dog, Kkuma shrink into her owner’s arms, almost whining.

“Aww, baby, don’t be like that. You’ve played with Vivi before, right?” Seungcheol coos and you have to stifle a laugh at how he adjusts the pretty bow on her head before turning back to you. “So, uh, is it alright to double book you? I’ll be back for her tonight. Promise.”

Normally, you would’ve refused. Though you work from home, you don't want your attention spread too thin when you’re looking after a client’s pet. This is one of the main reasons why you mostly just pet-sit one at a time, but it’s as if the universe is intent on using your silly attraction to Choi Seungcheol against you—your usual terms and conditions be damned.

“Yeah, I think Sehun’s picking up Vivi later this afternoon, so it’s no big deal,” you reassure him before petting Kkuma affectionately. “You wanna go on a walk with Vivi later, Kkuma?”

Seungcheol told you once that his precious daughter is extremely picky about who gets to pet her and who should maintain a one-meter distance at all times. So when Kkuma has obviously taken a liking to you right off the bat, he knew she was in safe hands. Not to mention the assortment of positive reviews he’s heard about you from other idol friends in passing—he’d be an idiot not to ask for your help when you literally live right across the street.

Lucky him that you’ll do anything for him if it meant you could have the pleasure of seeing Seungcheol right at your doorstep—flashing you that adorable, dimpled smile before he drops off or picks up his only child from your care.

Not like he has to know any of that, of course.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Seungcheol groans with relief, shifting Kkuma into your arms before patting her head reassuringly. “My dad was supposed to pick her up from the dorms today, but something came up at home and he couldn’t make the trip. I owe you big time.”

You chuckle at his gratefulness all while your heart swells as Kkuma nuzzles your chest. What an adorable little thing. “You know my bank account, Seungcheol-ssi.”

He shakes his head with a laugh. “I know you’re just messing around but really, you can call me Cheol. I think I’ve called in enough favors from you to be familiar at least.”

“Those aren’t favors, Cheol. You literally pay me three times more than you have to whenever Kkuma comes over,” you half-jest, startling a little when you notice Vivi circling your legs as he tries to sniff at the dog in your arms. “Anyway, shoo! Won’t you be late for your schedule? I’m sure a playdate with Vivi is just what Kkuma needs to kill the time.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he sighs before leaning forward to take Kkuma’s face in both of his large hands—pressing a loving kiss on top of her head. “You better be good, okay? Oh, I’m gonna miss you so much, baby.”

Kkuma’s tail wags at her father’s blatant affection and you can’t help the smile that creeps up your face. No matter how many times Seungcheol baby talks to his kid before taking his leave, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing such a side of him up close.

“Daddy’s gonna be back for you tonight. Promise. Oh, by the way, her vet put her on a sodium-free diet for a while, so don’t give her any treats. And…”

As Seungcheol fusses about Kkuma’s newly imposed feeding schedules and hands you a backpack full of pet care necessities, you find yourself zoning out—your head ringing with that one word that’s always made you a little flustered every time you heard it from Seungcheol’s mouth.

“You get any of that?”

You blink, acutely aware of how Vivi has stood up on his hind legs, pawing at your thigh as he attempts to lick Kkuma’s face. When you realize that you’re just standing there like an idiot as Seungcheol waits for a response, you let out a dry laugh before setting Kkuma down on the floor.

“Yep, I only have to feed her once. Strictly two scoops. Not that I see you sticking to the feeding regimen though,” you tease while receiving the backpack from him.

“You got me,” Seungcheol chuckles again. “Can’t ever say no to my princess when she gives me the puppy eyes and asks for another scoop. Luckily, you’re the one looking after her today, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

Once Seungcheol finally takes his leave, you let out a long-winded sigh—pressing your back against your front door as Kkuma looks up at you with those big, dark eyes. Vivi seems to have made his way back to the living room after the initial curiosity and you’re glad that you don’t have to round up two energetic pups when your heart is still pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, Kkuma walks up to you, nuzzling your leg with a whine.

Laughing, you sink to your knees to give her a few scratches underneath her ears. Dogs can be so attuned to a human’s emotional distress, it’s a little amazing.

“What does it feel like to be able to call him daddy?” you joke as she lays on her back for some belly rubs that you have no problem giving.

The moment the question slips from your lips, you find yourself groaning again as you recall the tight fit of the black turtleneck Seungcheol was wearing today. How it accentuated all the features the fabric was meant to emphasize. You can only imagine how it would feel like to be caged in those big, beefy arms—

Kkuma jolts from her comfortable position on the floor when you suddenly shoot back to your feet, but you only feel half as bad for startling her.

You’re down bad. So ridiculously bad.

Sehun comes over to pick up Vivi about an hour after you got home from their walk.

Like most of your clients, he usually shoots a text before dropping by, but he must’ve forgotten the usual protocol. So when you hear your doorbell go off while you’re in the middle of watching idol fancams on your TV, the internal panic is very much warranted.

Vivi bounds straight into his owner’s arms the moment Sehun comes through the door and starts licking his face. You smile to yourself despite clearly looking disheveled from how comfortably you’ve been lounging in the living room, but you’re sure Sehun doesn’t mind.

“Oh? He’s got a little playmate?” He raises an eyebrow when Kkuma waddles over to help herself to some of his attention too. Despite how he looks, Sehun gives Kkuma a few pats. “Hmm… Isn’t this Seungcheol’s kid? Or is it Seungkwan’s? Mingyu’s? Their dogs look all the same to me sometimes.”

You snort before handing him Vivi’s bag of necessities that every doting pet owner has up their arsenal. “You were right the first time. I’ve never pet sat for Mingyu before and I’m sure Seungkwan’s dog is in Jeju with his family.”

He nods in understanding before locking Vivi’s leash in place. “I see. Wouldn’t be surprised if they started to have you look after their pets too, though.”

When Sehun’s all set, you both discuss payments and he gives you his word that he’ll have the money wired into your account when he gets back to his place. But just when you’re about to send him and Vivi off, he pauses—glancing at something behind your shoulder.

Curious, you whip around to see what caught his attention and—

“Uh, it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” you stammer before throwing your arms out as if that’ll obstruct the view this six-foot idol has of your television screen. “I left YouTube on autoplay and I guess it paused when you arrived, and…”

Lies. You were in the middle of watching every single one of Seungcheol’s fancams before Sehun arrived and paused whatever was playing on screen. It just so happens that it slipped your mind that the screen froze at a very tantalizing part of his HOT fancam.

You’re not sure how you’re going to explain to Sehun that you don’t usually watch your clients' fancams like some closeted fan, but thankfully, he’s always been discreet about a lot of things.

“Right,” he says, obviously unconvinced but seems that he won’t press further. “Well, we’re gonna head out now. Jongin-hyung might give you a call in the next few days, by the way. He’ll be busy promoting his solo debut for a while and Kyungsoo-hyung’s growing tired of all the fur in his apartment.”

You nod swiftly, glad to have another business prospect right after this one just concluded. “Gotcha. See you again, Sehun.”

Once you’re all alone, you carry Kkuma to the living room—laying her down on the plush cushions of your couch before plopping helplessly right next to her. Thank god it’s Sehun who unknowingly bore witness to something so embarrassing. If it was Jongin, he never would’ve let you live it down.

But instead of wallowing in your shame, you unpause the video on screen—watching Seungcheol’s fancam in front of his daughter without another thought.

Kkuma doesn’t seem all too interested, immediately curling herself into a ball right next to you before promptly dozing off. You don’t get to see it though, since your eyes are glued to the screen.

Surely the jury won’t condemn you too badly for biting the inside of your cheek whenever Seungcheol sticks his tongue out with a smirk, right? This is an idol who’s spent nearly a decade in the industry—if not more. Of course he’s got the art of fanservice ingrained into his bones.

But just when you told yourself that this is the last one you’re going to watch before hopping in the shower, you end up viewing a couple more of his fancams first until you make do on that self-imposed promise.

This one’s a clip from their most recent fan meeting, you think. A DON QUIXOTE performance that’s been circulating around social media for the better part of the month. While you’re not that well-versed in their group’s discography, you happen to like this song a lot specifically because of how raspy Seungcheol’s voice is whenever he raps his parts.

When he decides to unclasp a piece of fabric that’s been getting in the way of choreography, you have to bite back a groan when he practically throws it on the stage with that domineering air he never fails to showcase during their performances.

You press your thighs together, hyper aware of the heat that’s sizzling in between before casting Kkuma a guilty stare. Though she’s just a dog, you still feel a little bad about lusting after her dad while she’s sleeping right next to you.

You’re not even sure what’s got you so worked up today. This isn’t the first time Seungcheol dropped her off in person so you’re not sure why you’re feeling this horny from a few fancams alone. Shark week must be drawing near.

Either way, you end up quietly easing yourself off the couch so as to not wake the sleeping princess on your sofa—turning the TV off altogether before making a beeline for your bedroom to grab your towel and a change of clothes.

If there’s a more opportune time to take a shower and wash away the impurities infesting your body, it’s now.

But just as you’re about to head to the bathroom, your phone goes off on the coffee table. You pout a little when Kkuma stirs from the sound of your ringtone—looking around sleepily for the source of the noise.

“Sorry about that,” you coo before settling back beside her, running a hand across her smooth fur.

When you glance at the caller ID, your heart nearly plummets to your stomach.

“Hey,” Seungcheol’s deep voice flits into your ears when you take the call, sounding all sorts of tired. “We’re just wrapping up our shoot. I should be there in an hour or-so. How’s Kkuma?”

“She was fast asleep before my ringtone woke her up,” you chuckle.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry, baby.”

You tense up at the term of endearment despite being fully aware that it’s not meant for you in particular. That reminds you to put your phone on loudspeaker so that the intended recipient could hear Seungcheol’s apologetic voice.

“I think Vivi tired her out when we went to the park today,” you tell him fondly.

“Sounds like she finally met her match,” Seungcheol laughs on the other end and Kkuma perks up at the sound of her owner’s voice. “Can you hear me, princess? I’m coming to get you in a while. Keep being daddy’s good girl for me, yeah? I won’t be too long.”

Fuck.

When Seungcheol says your name and thanks you in that same, tired yet raspy voice, you have to keep yourself from melting into a puddle right then and there.

“Hope the double booking wasn’t too much of a bother,” he murmurs and—god. You get that he probably doesn’t have a lot of energy to spare, but does he have any idea what his voice is doing to your underwear?!

“Not at all,” you manage to say without your voice cracking. “I told you Sehun picked up Vivi early today. It’s just me and this spoiled princess right now.”

“Spoiled, huh? I guess that’s one way of putting it.” Seungcheol breathes out a laugh. “Anyway, we’re getting settled in the shuttle right now. I’ll text you when I’m at the door.”

“Gotcha. Come on, Kkuma. Say goodbye to daddy.”

You don’t know why that cursed word slipped out of you so naturally, but Kkuma seems to respond to it in kind—her tail swishing with contained excitement before letting out a soft bark for Seungcheol to hear. Your client (that’s right he’s your client, you stupid, horny—) coos at the other end of the call.

You honestly can’t wait until he arrives to get her so you can have some real, much needed alone time.

To your credit, the shower kind of helped.

Though you just took one of the coldest baths in your life, it managed to alleviate the heat that lingered on your skin once Seungcheol ended the phone call. That’s considered a win in your book.

As you towel your damp hair, you take a peek at Kkuma who’s returned to her little nap on your couch. The sight makes your heart flutter and you would’ve snapped a photo if that doesn’t go against the rules you’ve set for yourself and your humble business.

Then again, fantasizing about one of your clients definitely goes against whatever principles you’ve been practicing all your life but that’s not the issue here.

Not wanting to wake her until Seungcheol arrives, you silently pad off to your bedroom, intent on getting some work done before planning what you’ll have for dinner. However, the moment you hang your towel to dry, you end up lying in bed instead of hunching in front of your desk with a laptop full of backlogs waiting for you.

You don’t even think twice when your hand inches past the garter of your thin sleep shorts.

Typically, you’d use one of your trusty vibrators to get off when you direly needed the release. It made things quick and simple. Plus, you don’t have to suffer through the ordeal of having your fingers pruning up.

But your brain thought it would be extremely funny if you touched yourself to the thought of your fingers being Seungcheol’s instead of yours—gathering the slick from your aching pussy as he lathers your wetness across your slit.

While you’re…preoccupied in your bedroom, you don’t hear your phone buzzing on the coffee table outside. You’ve deigned to put it on silent mode so Kkuma won’t be rudely awakened by any unexpected ringtones again, but the decision is a bit short-sighted since Seungcheol did tell you he’d text you once he arrives at your door.

Said idol is standing in front of your apartment with a worried look on his face. He texted you about ten minutes ago but received no response, which is a little strange since you almost always reply to his messages right away.

When you don’t pick up his third call, he starts to pace around nervously. Did you go outside? Were you busy? He’s normally a patient person, but when it comes to Kkuma, he gets jittery within seconds if there really is something to worry about.

Seungcheol tests the knob to your door but when he finds it unlocked, he’s further thrown into a haze of concern. Shit. Were you robbed? Where is Kkuma?

Where are you?

He kicks off his shoes haphazardly in the entrance, closing the door behind him before twisting the lock as he looks around cautiously. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of place inside your house. The furniture is just as he remembered—not that he spends a lot of his time studying your interior—and finds no signs of ransacking.

Relief practically crashes over him in waves when Kkuma’s head pops up from behind the couch. She hops to the floor and zips straight into his arms, pawing and licking with all the affection she can offer. Seungcheol laughs, petting her to calm down before giving your living room another once-over.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Even if Seungcheol can just grab Kkuma and make his leave, he knows he’ll feel bad if he ditches you without a word like that. So after telling his only child to stay put at the doorway, he carefully treads around your apartment and makes his way to (what he assumes is) your room.

The door is slightly ajar and he could make out the figure of someone lying on the bed inside. With the knowledge that you’re safe and sound, Seungcheol’s shoulders relax.

But just when he’s about to raise a fist to knock—

“Oh, daddy, please—”

Seungcheol freezes on the spot.

He likes to think he’s a pretty decent person. Never one to think about or blurt anything remotely sexual especially if the situation doesn’t call for it. He also likes to think he has a pretty decent amount of self-control.

But for some reason, when he sees you with one hand buried between your supple thighs as the other paws at your breast through a flimsy night shirt, he can feel himself rapidly crossing that line he’s been so careful to maintain with you all this time.

Seungcheol should leave. While he doesn’t know the specifics of your love life—given that the nature of your friendship is mostly transactional—you probably have at least one person you’re involved enough with to call daddy while you get yourself off. He’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have and he still has time to recollect his thoughts somewhere else while dealing with the steadily growing hardness in his jeans.

But then, he hears you sigh:

“Cheol… Fuck!”

You’re on the very brink of the orgasm you’ve been craving since this morning when your hand is rudely yanked from between your legs. You jolt at the intrusion—fear shooting through your system at the thought of some psycho breaking into your house while you’re so vulnerable. But when your eyes meet Seungcheol’s hard gaze, you’re convinced that you’re dreaming.

“S-Seungcheol?”

To your horror (more like delight) he takes the hand that you’ve just been using to finger yourself to the thought of him—taking your slick digits into his mouth with a pained groan. The sight instantly makes your pussy quiver with need but before that…

“What are you doing here?” you ask weakly, not having the heart to pull your arm away when he looks so fucking hot licking the juices off your fingers.

When his lips disconnect from your skin with a lascivious pop, he plants a kiss across your knuckles, smirking. “Those are such pretty sounds you’re making. Are they all for me?”

This is not happening. You probably slipped in the shower and hit your head or something. Because Choi Seungcheol—the client you’ve been having inappropriate thoughts about for the entire day—can’t be crouching in front of you right now, giving you the sexiest bedroom eyes you’ve ever seen.

You swallow thickly, trying to salvage what’s left of your pride. “Cheol, I’m sorry, I—”

He shushes you by placing a finger to your lips, the grip he has on your arm tightening with each passing second. You nearly moan when he presses his forehead against yours.

“Daddy, huh?” he asks, completely ignoring your attempt at clearing the air. “You want to call me daddy that bad, baby? So much that you have to get yourself off with Kkuma lying outside?”

Shit. That’s right. Kkuma.

However, in the midst of the moral dilemma that came with wanting Seungcheol to fuck you into the mattress while his adorable daughter was waiting outside your bedroom, you recognize that this is definitely a once in a lifetime chance.

You’re not about to let it go to waste.

You aren’t certain who it is that lunged in for the kiss. All you know is that Seungcheol has you pinned beneath his firm body as he licks into your mouth—larged, calloused fingers gripping onto your hips possessively as you moan his name against his lips.

Your sleep shorts come off in no time. So does your shirt. It only occurs to you’ve been grinding down on the denim of his jeans with nothing but soaked panties on when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth—coaxing out a sound so heavenly, it shoots straight through his cock.

“You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart,” he sighs hoarsely, rolling his hips against your core so that you can feel how hard he is through his pants. “So fucking needy. When you get yourself off, am I the one you always think about?”

You want to say yes but Seungcheol captures your lips into another bruising kiss before you can utter a sound.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knees, one hand reaching between your legs so he can inspect the mess he’s unknowingly made of your cunt. When he finds you wet and wanting, you feel a growl reverberate deep in his chest.

“Now this won’t do,” he tuts before sliding himself between your thighs, easing himself lower on the mattress so he can hook them across his shoulders. You mewl in anticipation and Seungcheol meets your gaze with a challenging smirk. “Is there something you want?”

“C-Cheol—”

“That’s not my name right now, baby. I thought you knew that.”

How the fuck does this man just slip so naturally into the subspace without making things weird or uncomfortable? If anything, the authority in his voice makes another bout of slick gush outside your entrance—making you pray to every single god out there for Seungcheol not to notice.

“Daddy,” you whine and the title sounds delicious in his ears. “I want you. Wanted you for so long.”

You want to curl in on yourself when you feel Seungcheol’s teeth trailing love bites along your inner thighs. The grip he has on them is weighted with nothing but gentleness but the contrast it has with his rough kisses is making your mind stutter with pleasure.

“What’d you think about, hm?” he whispers. “Tell me all the filthy things you’ve wanted to do with Daddy.”

You nearly gasp when he flattens his tongue across your clothed core, breathing in the musky scent of your arousal. The overload in his senses makes him want to snap and have his way with you, but Seungcheol tells himself to take it easy.

He has all the time in the world to make you feel good.

“B-But that’s embarrassing,” you whine, struggling to free yourself from his grip but Seungcheol tears your defenses asunder when he moves your panties to the side and licks a long, languid stripe along your glistening slit.

The effect it has on you is immediate—you’re writhing against his touch, fingers automatically tangling themselves in his hair as Seungcheol helps himself to your cunt like it’s his first meal of the day. It doesn’t help that he’s so enthusiastic about eating you out. Almost like he’s thought about doing it at least once in his life.

“Daddy, please—” you whimper. “Need you…inside.”

“Not until you spill the dirty details, princess,” he chuckles before letting your panties snap back against your poor, sensitive cunt. You jolt at the contact, tears lining your lashes because of how desperate you are to get filled with something. Anything.

“I-I thought about you fucking me raw,” you start shakily, toes curling every time his nose grazes your clothed pussy. “Calling me pretty names and leaving your marks on my body. T-Then when I’m about to c-come, you tell me to hold it in ‘cause you want to come together. You’d also tell me how much of a good girl I am…”

Hm. An obvious pillow princess that likes being praised. While Seungcheol has a preference for calling his partners dubious names in the bedroom, he can make a few exceptions.

Especially when you look so fucking wrecked for him when he’s barely touched you.

“I see. What else is cooking in that pretty mind of yours, baby? Daddy wants to know.”

You visibly preen at his words, further confirming his suspicions. Seungcheol has to bite back a groan at the sinister feeling that fills his chest at the knowledge.

He’s going to have so much fun with you.

“You’d— You’d use my pussy to dump your load inside me… Then you’ll just k-keep going even if I’m twitching and sensitive all over, fucking your cum deeper ‘cause you want me to keep it all in for days.”

The mental image you’re painting inside his head is not doing his sense of control any favors, but Seungcheol remains steadfast. He won’t fuck you stupid when he hasn’t even asked you out on a date yet. He has more tact than that.

“That’s what I like to hear, pretty thing,” he chuckles before moving his head a little so he can remove your ruined underwear. He typically would’ve just torn the fabric in two, but he doesn’t want to scare you off just yet. “Such a good girl for Daddy. And you know what good girls deserve?”

The innocent look on your face nearly makes him cream himself right then and there. “W-What?”

With a no-good smile, he says:

“To come until you’re crying.”

Seungcheol easily slips in two thick fingers into your sopping heat, making you cry out in a way that’ll definitely pique Kkuma’s curiosity. He just hopes his baby won’t come nosing in where she isn’t supposed to while he takes care of his other baby the way she deserves.

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he sighs—loving how your gummy walls practically cling to his fingers with each shallow thrust. “Can you even take more than this? I don’t want to break you when you’re being so good for me.”

You voice out your protest against his words with a pathetic mewl, bucking your hips against his fingers with erratic vigor. “N-No… I can take more, Daddy, please please. Want you to fuck me full. I’ll be good, I promise!”

Seungcheol has been producing his own tracks for years, but the sound of you babbling incoherently is music to his ears. As he continues pumping his digits in and out of your needy hole, he puts himself back to work—tongue tracing tight circles around your puffy clit as he forces your thighs apart.

Your back arches off the bed at the sensation as your fingers desperately claw against the sheets. It’s so unfair how delirious he’s made you when he still has all of his clothes on, but you’re nothing if not his good little girl when you don’t even comment on it—focused entirely on the mounting pleasure he’s freely giving you.

When the pads of his fingers manage to graze that patch of spongy flesh deep inside you, your eyes nearly roll to the back of your skull. Seungcheol is all too privy to your reaction and you feel him smirk into your cunt as he curls his fingers to find that spot again—attaching his lips around your sensitive nub as he overwhelms you with stimulation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry, hands finding their way back to his hair as you desperately tug him closer. “Daddy, f-feels so good! I’m gonna—”

“I never gave you permission, baby,” he growls and you quickly whine when he detaches himself from your pussy. “If you want to come you have to ask Daddy nicely. Unless you feel like being a bad girl all of a sudden?”

You shake your head, hips grinding against the air in a desperate attempt to get his mouth on you again. “N-No, Daddy. I want to be good. Can I please come? Please? Need it, need you.”

His chest tightens at the desperate plea in your voice and for a moment, Seungcheol is honestly kind of scared of getting too used to your desperate whines. Your needy whimpers.

How on earth is he going to go back to being friends after all this is over?

“Alright, since my princess said she’ll be good for me,” he laughs as your walls clench around his fingers. “You can come when you feel like it, baby. Come all over Daddy’s face.”

You don’t completely expect it when Seungcheol dives back into you, smothering his face in your pussy so greedily that you feel his nose bumping against your clit. He laps at your soaked folds like your arousal is the best thing he’s ever tasted—easing a third finger inside you as you muffle a scream.

“Yes, yes! Right there, Daddy!” you moan, tugging on his hair even harder as you grind your cunt against his face. “So close, so close—fuck!”

When you fall over the edge, Seungcheol doesn’t stop his relentless onslaught on your twitching pussy. Your walls clamp down around his fingers so tightly, he can only imagine how good it would feel to fuck you on his cock while you ride out your orgasm.

The syllables of his name are all but broken when you frame them around a high-pitched keen. Seungcheol slurps up every drop that trickles onto his face and he only peels himself away from you once you’ve stopped thrashing against his grip.

In the aftermath, the two of you bathe in silence—nothing but your mutual pants filling the room. You’re looking at Seungcheol with stars in your eyes despite what he just put you through and the sight alone makes him more aware of the problem in his pants.

“Daddy, do you want—”

“No,” he says immediately and he feels bad just as fast because of the disappointment that crosses your face. “I mean—fuck. I want to fuck you dumb, princess. I really do. But I also really like you and it’ll be a chip on my conscience forever if I do that without taking you out on a proper date first.”

It takes a moment for his confession to completely occur to you and when it does, the dazed look in your eyes makes way for utter shock. Seungcheol wonders if he should be offended.

“You…like me?”

“Sweetheart, I’m a pretty busy guy. I don’t just let anyone come on my face.”

You gulp. “For how long?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “A while. Now are you going to let me take you out on that date one of these days or are we going to have to pretend this never happened?”

You scowl at him. It doesn’t help that he still has that tightly fitted turtleneck on—distracting you from the topic at hand for a moment before you clear your throat and give him an answer.

“H-How about we go on that date now?” you suggest somewhat anxiously. “I mean, I was already thinking about where to get dinner after this, and…”

Taking him by surprise, you lean forward to cup your hands over his ear—a devious smirk curling on your lips.

“Maybe you can fuck me dumb right after.”

Long story short, your first date with the idol you’ve been crushing on is a big hit. Right after getting himself to calm down (A.K.A., taking care of his hard on in the privacy of your bathroom), Seungcheol took you and Kkuma to a food park that’s open until midnight.

It’s over dinner that you fess up and tell him the origin of your newfound daddy kink. Seungcheol has the gall to laugh in your face at your admission and you swear you’ll never pet sit Kkuma ever again if he keeps teasing you like that.

“Aww, baby,” he coos, pinching your cheek for added effect. “You don’t have to call it pet-sitting anymore. Now that we’ve established how much we actually like each other, don’t you think it’s more fitting to call it…co-parenting?”

Unwittingly, you receive his words with a scowl.

You want to smack him upside the head. Just because he’s a confident little thing on stage doesn’t mean he can just bring that side of him in a real life conversation. But for all your adamant bravado of insisting he’s being full of himself…

You honestly don’t mind.

⟢ end notes: yay! you got to the end of my delusions!!! that said, thank you to nova @duhnova and indi @playmetheclassics for title help and going through this spur-of-the-moment filth for me!! rip to the original genius title, daddy's good girl(s) bc tumblr wants to censor it so badly LMFAO

i don’t have anything else to say aside from i’m so sorry choi kkuma

this is part of the doting on you! series.

#svt smut #seungcheol smut #svthub #seventeen smut #scoups smut #lovelyhan #full length fic 📚

4K notes · View notes

heldbykento · 12 days ago

Text

⊹₊ ⋆ ㅤ— “FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE . .ᐟᅟ ”

part 1 | part 2

wrd count: 1304

warnings: smut, fem!reader x josh, dry-humping, drinking, josh is a pervert, semi-plot, make out, drunk reader, smutty indications, aggressive teasing

a/n : my bi-monthly drop!!!! wrote this for my dear friend adri, and me :3 but also because i just finished until dawn and this sexy man is EVERYWHERE… will be writing more of him soon. stay tuned ! ;)

you knew your limits when it came to alcohol, what you could handle and what you couldn’t.

but joshua washington had to be the world's best sweet talker. because you’d convinced everyone at the lodge you’d be the most sober.

now you were the only one slurring out a random song with an empty bottle of expensive vodka wrapped around your perfectly jeweled up and manicured hand.

“jooooosssshhhhh…” you slurred to him, clinging onto his bicep that felt oddly larger than usual. all he could do was give that signature sexy laugh and shake his head at you.

he was gentle with you, still obviously teasing but not to an extent.

the boy knew you weren’t 100% yourself when you got this drunk.

“mhm, that’s my name.” he said to you, the two of you weren’t necessarily separated from the group, but you weren’t close enough to be in their conversations.

that was always the case when the two of you were together.

but to him, close was never close enough.

you were rubbing your face all on his flannel, cheek chubbying up and only looking up at him through your eyelids.

eyes big and full of drunken content.

to him, you were just so pretty vulnerable.

the way he was looking down at you was almost straight out of a cheap porno.

his wide eyes, now low and full of an extreme emotion that your weak brain couldn’t understand.

but you had an idea that it was what you were wearing, not to toot your own horn.

soft layers: a tight white tank top stacked with a hot pink zip-up that had fur on the hood and graphics on the back, your tight denim shorts and fleece tights that were meant to keep you warm, but anyone with a right mind knew they were just for show.

technically… you had packed more outfits like this for the trip, but that’s because you weren’t expecting the cabin to be so bitterly cold.

so it wasn’t really even your fault.

in reality, you were dressing this way on purpose.

okay maybe you were dressed like this because you loved the attention.

the peering looks he gave you anytime you walked by, the snarky comments that left his perfect mouth.

who were you to blame? look at that man.

“feelin’ clingy tonight, huh?” he taunted, laughing in your face at the way you were holding onto him and gawking.

“me—? clingy? y’r funny, washington…” all you could do was stutter and stumble on your words.

he made you nervous and you were so intoxicated you could barely think before speaking.

holding him like this made you imagine all the possibilities. all the things you could be doing to each other right now.

and it almost felt like he was thinking the same, like you were always riding on the same wavelength.

you know something else you could ride on.

it was stupid to imagine but there’s always been a tension between you two, so thick and palpable that it left you knees-weak every time he flirted with you.

“let’s just cut the bullshit. c’mon.” before you could even process that he was talking to you, a rough set of calluses were wrapped around your forearm, tugging you somewhere in the lodge that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the second you heard a door close behind you two, you realized you were in the master bedroom,

only knowing this due to the sudden change of temperature in the room compared to the living room.

“wha- aren’t they gonna n— notice that we’re gone?” you were confused, but you trusted him.

despite the evident look of hunger and lust in his eyes. you trusted yourself in his hands.

“i don’t care. i just needed to get you alone.” his mouth made its way to your ear, slowly, as his warm breath came to touch with your skin,

your body froze up at the sudden attention, making you feel warm. “y/n. almost years i’ve been fantasizing about you, ever since we met,” he paused and cautiously reached for your hips.

his hands were warm and you felt safe, once you processed his words you became putty in them.

“huh?”

was all you could mutter out, keeping yourself in place by grabbing onto his triceps, looking up at him through your full and wispy eyelashes.

“i’m sayin’ i wanna fuck you, pornstar. your skin is so soft and warm. i wanna know,” he paused to straighten himself up and look at you.

“i wanna know what it feels like inside that pussy of yours.”

drunk, he was drunk this had to be the drinks talking. there was no way this was real.

even if he was intoxicated, that didn’t stop his words from going straight in between your legs. arousal pooling onto your lacy panties.

could’ve sworn your eyes started to roll back at the dirty talk, he was so good at it too.

“y’don’t mean that—“ he quickly cut you off, pulling you in nice and personal and grabbing at the plush skin that was covered by tight denim. “i do. with every fiber in me, i swear i do.”

the physical attention was overwhelming, and the verbal one was even more intense. you didn’t know what else to do but to give in to something you’ve been praying for for so long.

you couldn’t even suck in a breath before he was crashing his lips onto yours.

it was a kiss that made you dizzy, you melted into it though, wrapping yourself onto him.

he led you backwards, kissing you still while he was walking, pressing your back against whatever wall was close; stabilizing you with his knee between your legs.

you were holding onto the hair on the back of his head for dear life, loving the hot and messy kiss so much that it turned you on.

all the sexual frustration of not getting any in almost a year turned you into some horn dog.

your head was spinning, you could barely make out a thought. josh’s hand began to unzip your jacket, sliding it off your body while his lips started roaming down your neck.

“i ca— can’t take it,” a whine slipped out of your lips, head turned to face away from him to hide away your embarrassment.

this didn’t stop him though, you felt him smile against your skin and only itch on more.

rutting your hips for you against his clothed leg while he started sucking ravishingly against your neck, josh himself could barely keep himself from grinning at how much he’s won.

josh was the type for messy and quick sex. but when he thinks of having it with you, he wants it hard and slow.

painfully slow. so he can make you take in everything, make you feel everything all at once.

his fingers started sliding off the straps of your tight shirt, lips starting to make contact with the plush skin of your breasts.

“so fuckin’ sexy. just like i imagined. you g’nna let me give it to you? hm?” he was teasing, words muffled by the way he had his lips wrapped around your nipple.

“god i can’t wait to fill you up. gonna tell chris how good this pussy is.” josh snickered, grinning at the mess he was making of you.

and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

he brought himself up to bite on your ear, hands teasing your breasts as your hips (which had minds of their own) kept grinding on his knee, the friction making your brain go into mush.

your mind was completely blown, blank and empty.

fingers were digging and wrinkling up his flannel as your mouth was agape.

you were all hot and bothered, needing and yearning for more.

if you felt this good only from foreplay, imagine how good being so full of his dick was gonna be.

you couldn’t wait.

you were letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make,

and he was barely getting started.

#heldbykento #fan fiction #until dawn #josh washington #josh until dawn #joshua washington #josh washington x reader #until dawn fanfics #reader x joshua washington #smut fanfiction #josh washington smut #writing

315 notes · View notes

vethale · 7 months ago

Text

Incoming Marble Sky theory about the Marmors' origin planet and more! Spoilers ahead!

I think if we ever get to see their original planet, it might be a dark place (literally and metaphorically), with hives or cities built within ant-like cave systems. Their society also seems to work like those of ants with a queen (Moon), workers and drones.

I think the fact that the Marmors use a form of ecolocation rather than our traditional eyesight might imply that on their original planet, sight as we know it is not a viable option. Their planet might either have little to no light, making eyes redundant, or too much, which would also cause the same problem. I think their fur coloring might also be proof of this, as they seem to display bright colors with no patterns. (Patterns usually help animals, especially predators, blend into their environment, because a blotch of a single color is usually easy to spot). However, there is also a possibility that their coloring might be a result of them becoming the dominant species: We see this with domesticated animals- think cows or cats, with white patches of fur, that make them easier to spot. When colors no longer affect their survival, new color variations tend to pop up.

I also think the fact that they are bipedal (with tails) also tells us that like humans, they might have started walking on all fours and then went up. This allows the brain to become larger, because the neck can hold up more weight, boosting their intelligence. Animals that walk on all fours are usually limited in this aspect because the neck muscles do all the work, so their heads can't get heavier.

The existence of tails might imply that those are still required for balancing purposes. Humans used to have tails but we kinda didn't need them and they went away, but the tail bone still exists. The fact that Marmors still needed them might imply that they still had to climb a lot in their original planet - maybe they live on trees (there's some ants that build their hives hanging from them! Super cool tbh) or they build their homes on cliffs/mountains.

I personally think them living in mountains or cave systems is the more likely option. In the comic we have already gotten the comparison with ants, who tend to build their little hives with tunnel systems going in all directions. This would make their tails useful for climbing, as well as their special eyesight and connections useful for navigating the hive. I mean, a connection like the one we have seen in the latest update is not only useful for hunting but also for their hives, as they can quickly figure out where more "manpower" is needed vs where there's already enough of them in one place.

Also, they have both sharp claws and teeth. Obviously those teeth are stylized in the comic, but they seem very very sharp. Definitely made for ripping and shredding. So it's very likely that the Marmors are obligate carnivores, meaning that, unlike dogs or bears, they can ONLY eat meat. I mention this because those claws would also be useful for hunting and disabling prey BUT connecting this to the cave system theory: Those claws are big and sharp, whoch might also be useful for digging. The giant anteater, for example, has some seriously sharp claws. This thing does NOT hunt other animals, besides ants and termines lmao, but uses those sharp claws to dig into the really hard ground. And those claws are SHARP, boy. They use them regularly to wars off and ERASE jaguargs. Yes, jaguars. So maybe these sharp claws might be tools AND weapons for the Marmors, useful for deleting your prey and digging into the ground!

Going back to the ant comparison: ants society usually has a queen, her simps, and the worker ants. The queen lays the eggs. If those are fertilised by the male drones, they become female workers but if not, they become male drones (the simps lmao). Ecliptica mentions that she is tall because she is a female AND the center of their network. Obviously these are aliens, but I think we can draw parallels: she might be their queen, the only one that reproduces -which would also explain their "children belong to everyone and noone" attitude"- while the rest might simply be the workers. I say workers, even if they are male, because I think the drones might actually be something else. We have seen smaller Marmors like Shepherd's assistants. Now, they might just be small or younger, BUT they could also be the lower ranking drones.

So, to sum up: I think Marmors come from a planet with little light, where they build their hives/societies in ant-like cave systems, digging into the ground. They might also have an ant-like society, that revolves around their queen, the workers and the lower ranking drones, where everyone but the queen is a male.

#marble sky #marble sky theory #but that's just a theory... a game theory!! hahaha #not sure how much of this will be true but theorizing and analysing things like this is super fun #man i absolutely adore this comic hhhh

482 notes · View notes

crushmeeren · 1 year ago

Text

♡ Bakugou/Kirishima/Fem Reader

Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+

♡ Master List Link

Warnings; angst/comfort, vaginal sex, blow jobs, kissing, jealous/possessive Bakugou & Kirishima, cursing, bit of degradation, cream pie, mentions of being nauseous,

Note; I’m currently in the process of re-editing this entirely, so it may read and look funky until I’m done!

You lean your elbows on the bar top in front of you, causally moving your head from side to side. Taking a moment you study your environment. The flashing lights are fucking blinding you. The base of the music is loud enough you can feel it rattling your rib cage. It’s a lot, and as you wait on your next shot, you think this may have been a mistake. All you wanted was to drink a bit, dance with your boyfriends, and head home before it’s too late. As this bullshit usually goes, that isn’t what happens.

You look down as you notice the bartender place your shot in front of you. You nod in thanks wrapping your fingers around the small glass. Standing up, you raise the liquid to your lips. You throw your head back as you down the shot. It’s gross. It threatens to come right back up— so you swallow fast, nose scrunching in disgust. It’s a lemon drop, which isn’t the worst, but it’s still alcohol.

Regardless of the sweetness, it still burns, making your stomach swirl nauseously. It tastes like an alcohol wipe and you shiver. Sitting the shot glass on the wooden counter top, you turn around and scan the room for your boyfriends, back leaning against the bar. It’s hard to see in the dimly lit, crowded room. You can feel your cheeks heat up, from the alcohol and from the atmosphere. The air is thick with the warmth radiating from all the dancing bodies.

You step away from the bar, standing on your tip toes for a second. You curse, because you’re too short and there’s too many damn people in here. You can’t spot the red head or the blonde anywhere. A flash of irritation runs through you and your lip tugs into a sneer. You think that it shouldn’t be so hard to find two men with such outrageous hair. To be fair, you are a little tipsy, that may be impeding your search a bit.

You step further away from the bar and you sway slightly, hand shooting out to grip the bar stool next to you. Okay, maybe you’re more tipsy than you thought. You let out a irritated huff, the alcohol fueling your frustration. It makes your skin feel hot and itchy as you remember the argument you had with Katsuki. The three of you had already been here an hour, truly on your way to being buzzed when you started arguing.

Which had resulted in you stomping off to the bar alone. Their protests had fallen on deaf ears as you walked away, needing a moment to cool off before it turned into a shouting match. You know you’re being petty, plus this all happened less than 10 minutes ago. You can hear the blondes gravelly voice in your head, arguing with you about some dumb shit that happened at your hero agency today.

You know it’s highly logical that the two of you are just arguing because you’re all a bit drunk. That whatever happened wasn’t a big deal. A decent size part of you knows you just should find him and Eijirou and just dance until they’re both rock hard, squishing you in the middle of them. The other, larger, and more in charge part of your brain at the moment, thinks Katsuki can pound sand.

You laugh to yourself, even though it wasn’t funny. The thumping music is making your head pound in time with the beat. You gradually start to make your way towards the area of the bar where it seems everyone is dancing in their own worlds. Against your better judgement, being stubborn as fuck, you’ve decided you don’t need either of the boys, you can dance alone.

You reach the edge of the crowd, seeing everyone woven together and you start to squeeze your way into the sea of people. The further in you get, the more you sweat. Material of your clothing sticking to your chest and back. Your only saving grace is that you’re wearing a mid thigh length, tight, black dress. So your legs can breathe and it’s short sleeved so you have some sort of air flow up top.

You look around, feeling just drunk enough that you have a pleasurable buzz. Luckily, you haven’t started slurring yet and you can still walk. Maybe not a straight line, but you can walk nonetheless. They call it liquid courage for a reason, because you feel no fear as you start to sway along to the beat. Elbow to elbow with the strangers around you.

There’s about five centimeters of space between you and everyone else. It’s one giant pile of bodies. So you don’t really notice when someone slides up behind you, until their chest is pressed right up against your back. Whoever it is is trying to dance with you. You jolt, your eyes fly open. Fuck, you hadn’t even realized you closed them. You assume it’s one of your boyfriends, forgetting you were even mad at Katsuki in the first place. God, you really hope it’s the blonde, you’re yearning to dance with him. Besides, who else would be so bold to get that close to you?

An unbearably warm arm wraps around your waist. A hand splayed on your belly and you’re yanked back into the chest of the person behind you. It dawns upon you, with frightening sobriety, that the arm wrapped around you does not belong to either of your boyfriends. Your expression twists, your heart kicks into overdrive as a chill runs down your spine. You curse internally, already pushing to get out of the iron grip. Who the hell is this person?

Fuck, if they see you like this— you don’t want them to get the wrong idea. You look up, frozen in place. Not even five feet away, standing there with a look on his face that could strike fear into the heart of God, is Katsuki. You make eye contact with him, his scarlet eyes wild, glassy from being tipsy. His face is twisted, lip pulled into a cutting sneer and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. You quickly look at Eijirous face, and god, his expression is worse than the blondes.

His face..he looks betrayed. Eyes filled with hurt, a frown marring his usually cheerful expression. A whirlwind of anxiety and guilt hits you in the chest and your hands start to shake. You take a step forward in their direction immediately. It had only been about 15 seconds since the random asshole pressed up behind you. It felt like much longer.

As soon as you were about to turn around to make sure it was Katsuki or Eijirou, is when you realized the arm belonged to a fucking stranger. It’s like steel around your middle as your forward motion is halted. You look down, stunned to see the stranger has the audacity to keep holding onto you. You clearly don’t want this, wiggling to get away.

You turn your eyes back to your boyfriends, pleading, reaching out a hand in their direction. Katsuki’s cheeks turn blood red with anger. He’s at your side in an instant. He grips your outstretched hand and rips you out of the strangers unwelcome grip. You yelp, stumbling into his chest before turning around in Katsuki’s hold.

You press your back against him, desperate to feel his warmth, and you take a look at the guy who was holding you. It’s some random, younger guy, who you’ve never seen before and you feel a bit ill. You feel a woosh of air and then Katsuki is in the mans face in less than a second. Fisting the front of random guys shirt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Katsuki yells, voice rough, but he’s loud enough to be heard over the blaring music. He clenches his jaw. The other man puts his hands up in surrender, smirking mockingly, almost laughing at him. At this point you notice a presence looming behind you. Turning your head, you notice Eijirou has joined the party. He lays a large hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, stepping up just behind him.

The man’s face drops when he sees Eijirous large form, an unwavering rock, standing behind Katsuki. You haven’t seen the red head look this terrifying for a long time. You shift on your feet nervously. His face is blank, except his eyes. They’re icy. The guy starts to stutter. You’re watching all this unfold, eyes flitting back and forth between Katsuki’s red cheeks and Eijirou’s murderous gaze. You want to feel like you’re helping, so you lace your fingers with Katsuki’s free hand to help keep him grounded. The blonde squeezes harshly in return.

“H-hey! No harm guys! I didn’t know she was your girl,” the guy stammers, stepping back. Katsuki, to your extreme surprise, lets the man go. You notice the muscle in his jaw twitching. If you weren’t so on edge, you would laugh at the fact that there’s a burn print on the front of said guys shirt. The blonde stays quiet, Eijirou keeping a steady hand on Katsukis shoulder, anchoring him in place.

“You better leave while you can. You’re lucky I’m holding him back,” Eijirou threatens, voice cold and low. Yet you can all still hear his voice cutting through the music. The man pales, nods once, and disappears into the crowd. It leaves the three of you alone. It’s awkward for a second and the realization makes you want to cry.

You hear an angry noise leave Katsukis mouth as he yanks his hand from your grip. He shrugs Eijirous hand off his shoulder, turning to look at you with burning eyes. The action punches the breath from your chest, it stings. A cold feeling trickles into your belly. You open your mouth to try to explain to him, but nothing comes out. Frantically you try to step closer but he gives you a searing look and turns to stomp off from the crowd. The back of your eyes sting with tears. You take in a stuttering breath, feeling your heart squeeze watching him leave. Quickly, you look to Eijirou, moving towards him. You grip his forearm.

“Eiji, please, I wasn’t dancing with that guy! It was two seconds and then I realized it wasn’t either of you and I was going to push him away. That’s when you guys saw me! I swear!” you choke out, voice watery. Tears well up in your eyes. This is not how you wanted this night to go. You can feel your whole arm shaking as you dig your nails into his flesh. He glances at where your fingers bite into his skin. He tries to give you a reassuring smile, but it comes out too tight, his eyebrows are pinched. Anxiety twists your stomach. He holds up a hand when he sees you’re about to speak again.

“I know, I know you weren’t baby. Just—please, not here? I’m sure Kat is already outside, about to blow something up. So can we just talk at home?” Eijirou pleads, voice lined with frustration. You swallow around the lump in your throat, dropping your hand from his arm. You nod once, feeling numb.

Eijirou turns from you and walks out of the crowd, presumably to find Katsuki. You feel the ugly emotion of hurt migrate to your belly, it makes bile burn in the back of your throat. Your heart still pounds, fingers trembling as you wring them together. You watch Eijirou walk away. Hot tears spill over your lashes, tracking down your cheeks. You sniffle, wiping your tears with your hands, heart in a vice. They didn’t even wait for you.

It was a long, silent, ride home in your Uber. You trail behind the other two, shuffling your feet on the way to your front door. You pretend the cracks in the sidewalk are interesting, eyes trained on the ground, following the boys by instinct. It’s still humid outside, your palms damp as you lace your fingers together in front of you. You’re all sober at this point. Adrenaline from the previous situation flushing away the buzz.

It’s freaking you out though, that Katsuki still hasn’t said a word. Usually he’s spewing insults. He would be on a tangent about a guy like that. Yet, he’s quiet. Once you get inside you know you’ll have to talk, you can’t let this go on all night. It feels like this has been made into a much bigger deal than it needs to be. You stop at the door and wait for Eijirou to unlock it. He does, pushing it open and letting you and Katsuki go in first. He comes in last, shutting the door behind him and locking it. The blessed, cool air of your home chills your overheated skin. You sigh in relief.

You study the blonde, noticing he’s about to walk off towards your room. Before Katsuki can get far, you catch his wrist, wrapping your fingers delicately around the bone. He doesn’t move and you chomp into your lower lip, nerves creeping down your spine.

“Kat, wait please. I swear baby I wasn’t dancing with that guy. I thought it was one of you. It was only a few seconds before I realized it wasn’t and I was trying to get away when you saw me,” you explain, voice wobbly, fingers tightening. You hear Katsuki let out a sigh, shoulders sagging. He turns back around to face you and you let go of his wrist. His expression, it looks like he’s fighting with himself. You’re hopeful, when after a few seconds the sharp edges of his expression smooth out. Your heart skips a beat when you feel his calloused hand come up to cradle your cheek. You lean into the heat of his palm, nose nuzzling slightly at his wrist.

“I know, I wanted to punch that motherfuckers lights out. I believe you, I’m not mad at you pretty thing,” Katsuki murmurs, voice low and gravelly. His eyes are gentle as he runs a thumb over your cheekbone. You chuckle, knowing this is his version of an apology for overreacting. You, undeniably, melt into his hands. He always has that effect on you.

“I wish you would have,” you joke lamely, small smile appearing on your lips. Katsuki smirks, eyes full of mirth. You hear Eijirou’s cute laugh ring out from behind you. You feel a tug in your chest and you yearn to see him. You turn out of the blondes hold, gazing softly at Eijirou. He’s standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed over his chest. He’s grinning brightly again, watching the two of you interact.

Eijirou’s sharp teeth are on display. You adore the way he smiles. You take in his grin and a warm, comforting feeling builds up in your chest. You can’t hold back as you throw yourself at the red head. He immediately opens his arms to catch you, eyes widening in surprise. Your arms snake around his waist and he wraps you up by the shoulders, hugging you tight. You bury your face in his chest, feeling his squishy cheek rest on the top of your head.

“I’m so sorry Ei! I know I hurt your feelings, but I swear I would never touch anyone but the two of you,” you promise, voice muffled in Eijirou’s broad chest. You feel a chuckle vibrate through his chest and your head raises, gaze leveling with his. He frames your face with his hands, eyes bright and full of love. He coos at you.

“It’s alright, my sweet baby girl. I know you wouldn’t. Besides,” he purrs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t let anyone put their hands on you. You’re ours, aren’t you? Pretty girl,” Eijirou murmurs, voice soft and sweet. You inhale sharply, arousal hitting you like a freight train. Warmth pools in your belly, sending a shiver down your spine. A side effect of his low, soothing rumble. You squirm, hugging him tighter, feeling the heat from his chest through both your shirts.

“Yes of course, I only belong to the two of you,” you reply slyly, knowing it’ll rile up both men. Katsuki is immediately behind you, lean body pressed up against your back. Their figures make you feel small where you stand between them. It makes your pussy throb. The air between the three of you is starting to blaze. You know they can feel it too when Eijirou lets go of your face, resting his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Katsuki’s hair tickles the back of your neck and then his lips are on your ear. He flicks his tongue out and runs it along your earlobe. A low moan escapes your throat in return.

“You belong to us huh? Glad to hear you know your place, kitten. Mm, maybe you wanted us to see you dancing with that guy. Make us jealous. So that when we got home, we could remind you who you belong to. Isn’t that right Ei?” Katsuki whispers, breath dancing over your skin. A shiver runs down your spine and they both press closer, leaving no space for you to move. You watch Eijirou’s expression turn heated, lustful. A pretty pink blossoms on his cheeks at Katsuki’s words. He bites his bottom lip and tilts his head slightly, eyes piercing as he speaks.

“You know what? I think you’re right Kit Kat. Our sweet girl just wanted to be put back into her place all along. You want us to show you who owns you baby?” he teases, voice sweet like candy. He tickles his fingers down your arms, giving you goosebumps. You swallow, feeling like cotton balls are lining your throat. Your hands have come up to rest on the red heads chest. You’re so turned on now, breath coming out a bit faster. Your pussy clenches around air, rhythmically.

“Fuck, yes, show me you two own me. I want it. After tonight, I want to forget the feeling of that guys hands,” you whine, pressing your ass back into Katsuki’s pelvis. His half hard cock pushes into your lower back and he lets out a groan. His large hands grip your hips from behind and he bites a kiss into your neck. You yelp, a sharp flash of pain radiates up to your jaw, feeling his teeth dig in. He lets go, a soft huff, which you think is a laugh, touches your skin. It tickles.

“Sound good to you red?” Katsuki ask more smugly than you can ever recall hearing him.

“More than good Kat,” he laughs, bouncing lightly on his feet. You glance down at Eijirou’s waist, seeing he’s already hard, thick cock straining against his jeans. The want you feel is blistering, skin entirely too hot. Katsuki snickers meanly and lets go of your waist, backing away. Your back feels cold and then Eijirou lets go too, taking away all of your heat. You whine, pushing out your lower lip to Eijirou, knowing you can get him to give you what you want. As usual, he’s unable to resist your pout. He steps back up to you. You can physically feel Katsuki’s eyes roll from behind you.

“What is it baby girl?” Eijirou coos, voice airy. He’s unable to stop himself from placing a hand on the back of your neck, tilting your head up. You bat your lashes at him slowly.

“Carry me please?” you plead, reaching your arms up to him. You hear Katsuki snort from behind you. Eijirou giggles, immediately bending down, waiting. You jump up, securing your legs on his waist, arms tangled around his neck as he stands up straight, holding your thighs. He strides forward, walking towards your bedroom, winking at Katsuki when he passes by. The blonde raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t be like that Kat, I know you would’ve carried her if she asked,” he comments , grinning at the blonde. Katsuki rolls his eyes, but he grins coyly, knowing he would in a heartbeat. You stick your tongue out at Katsuki playfully over Eijirous shoulder as you get further away. Katsuki smirks wickedly at you, eagerly following along. He’ll show you who you belong to alright.

The low overhead light of your room casts them in a soft yellow light. They’re making you watch. They’re teaching you a lesson, you suppose. You try not to show how much you’re enjoying it. You’re all naked now, clothes scattered on the floor. Everyone’s piled on the bed. They’ve got you sitting on your calves, facing them. You have a perfect side view of Katsuki sucking down Eijirous cock. It’s not fucking fair and you can feel your pussy pulsate, slick lips gliding together every time you shift your thighs. A low heat warring in your belly.

You decide to let Eijirou’s pretty face take away the attention from your aching cunt for now. The red head’s cheeks are a soft pink color. He bites his bottom lip, watching his cock disappear over and over in Katsuki’s wet, velvety, warm mouth. His dick pulses, knowing they have your undivided attention and you can’t do anything but sit and admire the view. Watching Eijirou’s smug expression makes your mouth dry. It’s unbearable, how hot they are together, you struggle to keep still. They’ve decided you can’t touch yourself or them—yet. You want nothing more than to trail a hand down and rub circles into your clit. You try to distract yourself from the strong urge to tug the blonde off Eijirou’s cock and get him to make out with you over the red heads leaking tip. Instead you let your eyes roam Katsuki’s form, taking extra time to admire the perky swell of his ass.

Your hand twitches, wanting to smack the shit out of Katsukis pale flesh, to leave your handprint there. You watch as your boyfriend lays on his belly, between the red heads large thighs. He’s resting the weight of his forearms and hands on Eijirous legs. He shallowly rubs his cock against the mattress beneath him. It makes you want to roll him over and swallow his cock until he cries.

He’s easily bobbing his head up and down on Eijirou’s thick dick. He looks like a fucking pro. Which, he always excels at everything he does. Sucking cock is no exception. It makes your clit ache listening to the sounds Eijirou let’s out, they’re undeniably sinful. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off Katsukis stretched, red lips, making Eijirou’s cock vanish into his mouth. You just know the blonde is enjoying putting on a show for you. His nails bite into Eijirou’s skin. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was smirking.

The thought causes a flash of irritation to shoot through you and you really start to get frustrated, as your pussy fucking aches to be filled by one of them. It clenches around air continuously. You know if you ran a finger over your pussy it would come back drenched.. It has your hands clenching tightly into fists.

You watch the hand Eijirou has laced through the blondes hair tighten, as his head tilts further back on the pillow. A sweet, low moan spills from his lips when Katsuki’s pink tongue pokes out to massage at his cock, as he swallows Eijirou whole. You let out a whine, your clit throbs and it starts to hurt. Your belly is twisted tight, blistering arousal pooling at the base of your spine. You’re contemplating on complaining, breaking their rules, when the red head speaks.

“Baby girl,” Eijirou calls you, moaning softly. You reluctantly tear your gaze away from Katsuki’s hot mouth, head quickly turning to meet Eijirou’s eyes. You take in the even darker shade of flush on his cheeks and chest. You squirm, uncomfortably aroused as you meet his gaze.

“Yes Eiji?” you ask, voice strained. He hums, listening to the way you sound and he smiles coyly at you. Your skin burns when he speaks next.

“Enjoying the show? It feels so good, ya know. Kat’s warm mouth. It’s amazing. Bet ya wish he was eating your pussy, don’t you? Too bad you were such a bad girl tonight,” he says meanly, smirking, as he tilts his head on the pillow to look at you better.

You hear Katsuki moan around Eijirou’s cock in some form of agreement and Eijirou laughs brightly. His hair has fallen from its spiky style, splayed around his head on the pilllow. You love when his hair is down, easier to pull on. Embarrassment radiates through you, cheeks heating up and your lower lip trembles. You don’t know how Eijirou is able to keep a steady voice.

“N-no, I’m fine,” you pout, remaining stubborn, crossing your arms over your chest. Eijirou raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing your lie. Katsuki pulls off the red heads cock with a pop, letting it slap wetly against Eijirous lower belly. Eijirou lets go of the blondes hair and you look at Katsuki, who has a catlike grin on his face.

All you want in that moment is to shove your tongue down Katsuki’s throat and get railed by Eijirou’s thick cock. You swallow, involuntarily, and study Katsuki as he sits up slowly. He crawls out from Eijirou’s legs, maneuvering until he gets to you and sits on your left side, his knees touching the outside of your thigh. When his skin brushes against yours, your heart rate speeds up.

His cock looks so hard it could cut diamonds. It stands up straight, twitching when he catches you looking. You notice his lips are swollen when he grins lopsidedly and you can’t keep looking at him. The sight makes your brain turn to mush. So you glance back over at Eijirou, to read his expression.

He’s sitting up now. Eijirou abandons his spot against the headboard and comes up to mirror Katsukis position, on your right side. Your heart pounds in your chest, feeling like it’ll break through your sternum. You can feel the warmth radiating from both boys and you feel a bit of nerves, waiting for what will come next. Katsuki makes the next move, leaning close, brushing his nose over the heated skin of you cheek before whispering in your ear. His lips tickle your earlobe.

“You sure about that? Because I think you’re lying, kitten,” he purrs, voice low and smooth. The feeling of frustration builds up in your chest again and it wants to force itself out of your throat. It pushes at your esophagus, clawing at the inside. You stave it off for now, biting your lower lip so hard it might split. You can’t help but lean into the blondes touch, wanting to rest your temple on his forehead and your eyes flutter. He apparently has other plans, because he only kisses your cheek briefly and leans back. You whine loudly, eyes snapping open. They both snicker, acting like bullies. It’s too hot.

“I just- I want,” you let out a frustrated noise, rubbing the tops of your thighs with sweaty palms. “I want my pussy to get filled,” you say quickly, face burning with sheer embarrassment. You don’t look at either of them now. Until you feel Eijirou’s pointer finger on your chin, forcing you to turn your head to face him. You look at him through your lashes and he grins, all sharp teeth, as he drops his finger.

“Mm, I don’t know pretty girl. Do you deserve to have that sweet little pussy stretched?” he mocks you, now running his hand up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive crease of your leg next to your cunt. You twitch, eyes widening as he gets closer to your aching pussy. You feel hot, irritated, and unbearably horny.

“Yes Eiji! Please, oh my god, I swear I know who I belong to,” you beg, moaning when you feel Katsuki’s plush lips pressing soft kisses into your neck. You tilt your head slightly and his canines sink into your flesh. You squeal, hand shooting out to grip the blondes thigh, nails digging in. The sharp pain radiates up to your ear, edging on pleasure. He soothes his tongue over the angry flesh. You know there’s no way you can keep your hands to yourself anymore. Keeping one hand on the blondes thigh, you raise your other hand to tangle it in the soft red hair at the nape of Eijirou’s neck. His grin gets even wider and he has mercy on you, letting you tug on the strands. His fingers tease your outer pussy lips, playing with the soft pubic hair there. He tickles your skin and you groan, tilting your head back a bit. Your clit throbs but he ignores you and addresses Katsuki now.

“What do you think Kat? Have we tortured her enough? Think we should show her she belongs to us now?” he purrs, talking about you like you aren’t even there. It makes your blood pressure sky rocket. You grip Eijirou’s hair and he doesn’t even flinch. You huff, squirming in place and look over at Katsuki. He’s grinning wickedly, gazing into Eijirou’s eyes, very much looking like he’s in love.

“I’m feeling generous. Go on, Eijirou. Touch her, I know her pathetic pussy is begging for it,” he says condescendingly, glancing at you to wink. Your breath catches, watching Eijirou’s hand moving to the side slowly. He hovers over your cunt, stretching out the charged moment. You’re having a hard time not closing the gap and just thrusting your pussy into his hand. He leans he forehead against your temple as you tilt your head, watching his large hand.

Time seems to only exist here with the three of you. Atmosphere electric, making your blood rush. When Eijirou slides a finger between your folds, separating them and collecting the slick there, your mouth drops open. When he presses that finger against your clit, moving in slow circles, you choke on a scream. The relief makes you lightheaded, hot pulses of pleasure blistering through your limbs. You can feel Katsuki’s leg twitch under your hand.

“Eijirou, ooohh fuck, that’s so fucking good,” you sob, looking up into his ruby eyes. It forces his head back from your temple and you study his expression. His eyes are hooded, lazy grin tugging on his lips. You feel Katsuki’s groan vibrate through your shoulder. He’s resting his cheek there, watching Eijirou play with your pussy. You hear the schlick noise of the blonde pumping his own cock beside you. The sound almost kills you. It makes the smoldering heat in your belly blaze into an inferno. Your eyes flicker down to Eijirou lips. The red head tracks your movement.

“Please Eiji,” you whisper, groaning as his slippery fingers continue to circle your clit. He grants your wish, leaning in and pressing his pillowy lips against yours. They’re warm, the pressure is soft. One of his sharp teeth catches your bottom lip, like a pinprick. You love it. You kiss him like you’re starving, lips moving together over and over. It’s a messy kiss, trading saliva back and forth.

You whine sweetly into his mouth when you feel his fingers put more pressure on your clit, moving faster. He greedily swallows your noises and slips his tongue into your mouth easily. You let your tongues play together in between kisses. The sounds of Eijirou’s mouth on yours is making Katsuki’s cock throb repeatedly in his hand and he can’t take it anymore. His blood is on fire.

“Fuck, fuck this. I’m gonna fuck you now kitten. You can suck on Ei’s cock and let him fuck you after I’m done,” he growls, right next to your ear, tugging on your wrist forcing you to break the kiss. You gasp and immediately feel the red heads hand leave your clit. You don’t want him to stop, but you’d rather let Katsuki fuck you into the mattress. You let go of Eijirou’s hair and turn your head towards Katsuki.

“Yes, okay, show me who I belong to, please,” you say, breathless from the kiss. You hear the sounds of rustling sheets as Eijirou assumes his previous position, using pillows to prop up his lower back. He props up one leg and lets his thighs part for you. You stare at his cock. It’s resting on his belly, pink and flushed. Your mouth waters.

“Blow her back out Katsuki,” Eijirou says, sounding way too cheerful. Katsuki laughs, placing a hand on your back to get you moving. You feel a hot shiver roll down your spine from the words leaving Eijirou’s mouth. The gentle pressure of the blondes hand on you sets you into motion, you maneuver until you can settle in between the red heads thighs.

Once you sit on your calves, Katsuki pushes you forward with a large hand in the middle of your back. He’s rough about it and your hands flail out, catching yourself on Eijirou’s pecs. You blush, unable to help but love the way they’re treating you, almost like a toy. Eijirou smiles sweetly and in contrast to his expression, he takes the opportunity to grip both your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers, squeezing harshly.

“Katsuki!” you say warningly, moaning at the warm hands embracing your tits. They both ignore you, moving fast, because in the next second the blondes grabbing your hips and yanking you backwards. He moves you like a rag doll until your ass is propped in the air and you’re on your forearms. Face inches from the red heads thick cock. You hiss through clenched teeth when Katsuki’s palm rains down on your ass. He spanks you harshly. The flesh there heats immediately, pain flaring brightly. You look up at Eijirou, panting, cheeks red, and you notice he’s got a hand around the base of his cock. He’s pumping it slowly and watching your face intensely.

“Don’t whine. I know for damn sure you like being treated like this,” Katsuki says condescendingly, gripping both your ass cheeks and spreading them open. Cool air dances across your skin and you gasp, nuzzling your face into the crease of Eijirou’s thigh. It makes the red head groan throatily. His hand leaves his cock, threading through your hair and yanking your head up. His eyes are burning, face looking a bit more predatory.

“Tell Katsuki you love it baby girl. Ask him to fuck you and show you you’re ours,” he commands, low voice smoldering through you. You can’t really move your head, forced to make eye contact with Eijirou. So you speak.

“Kat, I love being treated like this, please fuck me baby, I love you,” you whine, fingers gripping the sheets below you. You hear the blonde laugh meanly. It feels like you’ve been shocked, jolting when the thick tip of Katsuki’s cock slips inside you easily. The small stretch is so fucking good, you moan, struggling to keep your eyes open and on Eijirou. The red heads mouth is open slightly, fingers tightening in your hair. His other hand grips the base of his shaft again, squeezing. It sends tingles of up his spine.

“That’s what I like to fucking hear kitten. I love you too, filthy girl. You’re gonna take my cock so well tonight,” Katsuki moans, steadily pressing his dick all the way in, until his hips are fit snugly to your ass. You whimper loudly, eyes fluttering shut at the delicious feeling and stretch of Katsuki’s cock. Your neck aches from being held in this position, at such an intense angle. The red head keeps you there as Katsuki starts to fuck you. He moves his hand up and down his cock leisurely, enjoying the show.

Katsuki digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and sets a brutal pace immediately, making you cry out loudly with each movement. The drag of his cock along your walls creates a friction so delicious, it sends heatwaves of pleasure rolling through your limbs. Each thrust pushes you forward a little bit, forcing your hair to pull in Eijirou’s unrelenting grip.

The blondes calloused palms starts to press down on your lower back, bending you further so he can thrust deeper. Your eyes shoot open, howling when his dick starts to rail your g spot. It feels like a lightening strike, radiating to your toes each time he hits it. The hand in your hair tightens and you hear the sharp intake of breath from Eijirou.

“Katsuki! Oh fuck! E-Eiji, please, let me - ah fuck,” you squeal, trying to get Eijirou to let you suck his cock. His dick is right in front of your face and you desperately want to feel him stretch your throat. The red head already knows what you’re asking because he immediately lets go of your hair. Your scalp tingles in relief and your neck cracks when you stretch it. Eijirou uses the hand on his shaft to rub the tip of his cock over your lips, precum smearing. You let your hands rest on his thighs, leaning your weight on him. Your mouth opens obediently, tongue hanging out.

“Shit baby girl,” Eijirou laughs. “I get to have two pretty people suck on my cock tonight. Yet, you’re the one who deserves to choke on it,” he grins, devilish look on his face. He guides his cock into your slick, warm mouth and you meet him halfway. Letting the heavy weight of him rest on your tongue as you wrap your lips around the middle of his shaft.

You groan, sending shockwaves through his groin and you give him a quick, harsh suck. He cries out, letting go of his cock and tilting his head back. He grips the sheets, trying not to let his fingers harden and rip the material. His hips jolt upwards, Katsukis thrusts push you forward and his tip hits the back of your throat. You gag, pulling your head back to suck on his tip. Katsuki growls from behind you, pressing on your lower back more, nails biting your skin.

“That’s so fucking hot. Choke on Eijis cock, pretty kitty. She sucking your cock well, baby?” he coos to Eijirou, panting, watching your head bob up and down. The red head lets out a pretty moan and Katsuki marvels at the pleasure taking over Eijirous face. It forces the knot in his belly to wind up tightly, his cock throbbing. Eijirou pants, chest flushed as he rests a hand on the back of your head to guide you. He looks into the blondes eyes. The contact sends pleasure sparking down both their spines. Eijirou runs his free hand through his hair, brushing the sweaty strands off his forehead.

“Hell yeah baby, she’s such a good cock sucker. She knows she’s made just for us,” he says breathlessly, eyeing the way the blondes abs flex with every thrust. You dig your nails into Eijirous thighs until he yelps lightly. You should’ve known he wouldn’t let you get away that. In a heartbeat, he rests both hands on the back of your head and he shoves you down until your nose is nestled in his dark pubes.

His cock presses past your uvula, into your throat. It stretches and burns. You can’t breathe, eyes starting to tear up. Spit trails down from the sides of your mouth to his balls and your jaw aches. You’re whining loudly, feeling the building sensation of your orgasm start to pool in your lower belly as Katsuki continues to fuck you.

Eijirou takes notice, resting a hand on your cheek. He’s merciful and he lets you up, his cock easily slipping from your mouth. You gasp, swallowing air to ease the burn in your lungs. Eijirous cock slaps against his lower belly, glistening from your saliva. You lean forward, resting your forehead on one of his thighs. You’re letting out little ah’s with every thrust. Pussy starting to flutter around Katsukis cock, orgasm climbing to a peak.

“You’re about to cum aren’t you pretty kitty? You want Kat to make your pussy feel so good?” the red head asks, cooing at you and running the backs of his knuckles over your cheek. You raise your head to look up at him, eyes glassy. Eijirou likes to watch your face when you cum and you’re almost there. Pleasure swelling to an unbearably hot degree. “Yes! Kat please! Make me cum, make me cum baby. I wanna feel you cum inside of me,” you call out to him, jaw clenched so tight your teeth creak. You hear the blonde moan throatily. You feel his hips smack harshly into yours and you wail. The blunt head of his cock is kissing your cervix when Katsuki crushes you beneath him.

He lets his weight press onto your lower back. Your knees are barely holding you up at this point. It’s as if the blonde is trying to shove you through the mattress. You find a way to rest your cheek on Eijirous thick thigh, looking up and making eye contact with him. You can barely hold back your orgasm.

“God, you want me to fill you up? Claim you and mark you? Shit, I bet you want Eiji to paint your face at the same time,” he says, voice wrecked. His body is flushed, sweat gathering on his forehead. Eijirou seems intrigued by the idea, but his ultimate goal is to cum in your sweet pussy after Katsuki does, giving you sloppy seconds. His cock twitches against his belly in anticipation. Your eyes start to roll back as you clench all the muscles in your belly.

“No, no, want Eiji to fill me up too,” you choke out. Your words make Eijirou burn with want. You can hear Katsukis smirk when he speaks.

“Really? You want to feel Eijirous sloppy seconds? Let him cream pie you,” he says mockingly. Your belly swirls dangerously, his tone of voice forcing you to the edge, toeing the line. His sinful mouth ultimately sends you over the edge, pussy clenching like a vice around Katsukis cock. Your hearing gets fuzzy as your orgasm bursts. It’s like a water balloon, filled to its limit. It pops and the warm pleasure gushes through you. Toes curling, fingers tingling. You’re silent as your mouth opens in scream.

Katsuki almost chokes on the feeling of your silky, slick pussy suffocating his cock. He’s huffing out little growls and his hips are stuttering as he works you through it until your cunt releases him. He slows down just a little, savoring the moment right before he orgasms. His groin is tightening, he knows he’s about to cum.

Eijirou is stroking his own dick quickly, trying not to paint your face as he watches you cum. Your eyelids flutter as you come back down from your high. Eijirou is still waiting for your answer. Your limbs feel gooey but you make sure to maintain eye contact with him as you respond.

“Y-yes, need both of you,” you moan lowly, voice wrecked. Eijirou bites his lower lip, squeezing the base of his cock so he doesn’t cum. Katsuki starts yanking you back into his movements, unable to stop rambling. He feels his balls start to tighten up.

“Nasty little bitch, needing both your boyfriends to fill your pussy with cum. Double stuff you, right kitty?” he says mockingly. Before you get the chance to respond, he’s shoving himself all the way to the root inside of you, cumming hard. Pleasurable heat tingles up his spine and he shivers. The movement makes you yelp as your face is shoved into Eijirous hip. Katsuki lets out a high pitched moan as he lets ribbons of sticky, warm cum fill your pussy. Your heart pounds. You whine, nosing at the red heads hip bone.

“Fuck Kat, you stuffed her nasty little pussy didn’t you?” Eijirou teases, petting your hair gently. He’s still hard, cock twitching in his grip. Katsuki snickers, smacking your ass once, before pulling his hips backwards. He lets his his half hard cock slip out of you. He places his thumbs on the outside of your pussy, spreading you open.

He admires his cum dripping from your cunt and he hums approvingly. He slides one thumb through your folds, bringing up to massage your clit with his release. You whimper as his finger presses into your swollen clit. He laughs at your reaction before he lets go, crawling to sit on the right side of Eijirou. You let your knees collapse, laying on your belly and stretching your legs. Your entire body feels relaxed.

“Of course I fucking did Eiji. We’re reminding her who she belongs to aren’t we? You better fill her pussy with your sloppy seconds,” he says, pinching the fat of Eijirous thigh. The red head laughs, patting your cheek to get your attention. You raise your head from his thigh humming softly. Despite their aggressiveness tonight, they both want to make sure you can keep going.

“Can you keep going baby girl?” Eijirou asks gently, running his fingers over your cheek. You nod, pussy already clenching again at the thought of Eijirous thick cock. He always feels unbelievable. He’s a little thicker than Katsuki, but the stretch is what your dreams are made of. Not that the blonde doesn’t fuck you just as well, he absolutely does. Plus, Eijirou is always easier to take after you’ve let Katsuki fuck the hell out of you.

“Can you get up for me pretty baby?” Eijirou asks, sitting up. You groan in protest, elbows cracking as you push to sit up on your knees. The blonde to your side grabs your jaw and turns you to him, kissing you once quickly on the lips. Your cheeks burn form his attention. He raises an eyebrow, smiling sharply. He doesn’t say anything when he lets go of your face and Eijirou wraps his arms around your shoulders and rolls you both, until he hovers over you, getting between your legs.

“Eijirou,” you moan, hands gripping the pillow under your head. The larger man, grins, showing his teeth again, before placing a palm on the underside of your thighs, pressing your legs backwards into your chest. You’re effectively pressed in half, Katsuki humming in approval as he watches.

“What nasty girl? You ready for me to double stuff you?” Eijirou teases, eyes full of mischief. You whimper and nod, tightening your hold on the pillow. Your pussy is open for him, Katsukis cum trailing out of you. His dick throbs, knowing he won’t last long once his cock is swallowed in your tight cunt. He inches closer, letting his cock head line up with your hole. He presses in slowly, letting just the tip pop in. He chokes on a breath, letting out a soft whimper as your pussy sucks him in.

“Keep going, please Eiji,” you sob, wiggling under him. He can’t say no to such a sweat plea. He pushes forward, hissing as his whole cock is swallowed by your slick pussy. It’s even wetter with Katsukis cum inside. Eijirou thinks he may pass out when he starts with a teasing pull of his hips backwards, until just his tip remains.

You’re twitching, moaning in his grip. He can see Katsukis cum coating his cock as he fucks it back into you. His mouth hangs open at the filthy, lewd sight. Even with his slow start, you can’t help but feel overstimulated. Your pussy is puffy, swollen and each time his cock fills you, you whimper.

“Eiji, closer please,” you cry, releasing the pillow and reaching your hands out to him. You hear Katsuki snort from where he lounges next to you. You see he’s palming his cock and you stick out your tongue at him. He smiles fondly at you and you can’t help but grab his wrist and tug him closer as well.

He goes easily, letting go of his half hard dick. He props himself up on one elbow so his face is just above yours. He looks down, sticking his tongue back at you and you giggle. You feel Eijirou hook your knees over your elbows so he can bend to you, planting a hand on either side of you shoulders. Your eyes widen at the change of angle. It feels like he’s in your stomach and you quickly look back at his face. “You just want both your boys close while you get fucked, don’t you baby girl?” Eijirou teases, nuzzling his nose with yours. You nod your head, crying out as he starts to fuck you again. This position lets his chubby cock bully your g spot beautifully.

Your nerves are on fire, flames of pleasure shoot to your toes with each thrust. You feel Katsukis soft lips pressing kisses into your cheek as he snakes the hand from the elbows he’s leaning on under your head. He grips your hair tightly to keep you in place. You’re starting to sweat, hands resting on Eijirous shoulders.

“I like having both my boys pay attention to me at the same time,” you say shyly, feeling your cheeks turn pink. Your head jolts in Katsukis hold, scalp stinging as he holds your hair. You cry out, holding onto Eijirous forearms as he starts to thrust faster. They both seem to like the answer you give because Eijirou is leaning down to bite kisses into your chest, sharp teeth like pinpricks against your skin. Katsuki leans over you and presses his plush lips to yours.

You moan, kissing Katsuki messily, lips slick and tongues playing together. You groan into the blondes mouth when you feel Eijirou littering your chest with dark marks. You suck on Katsukis bottom lip, chomping on it harshly before letting go. The blonde breaks your kiss with a sweet moan. Your eyes are hooded, letting out little ah sounds over and over again as Eijirou fucks you. Katsuki admires your flushed cheeks, leaning down to lick the salty sweat off your collarbone. He moans at your taste. You inhale sharply, his warm tongue making your clit twitch.

“Fuck you’re hot, are you gonna cum again you nasty little bitch?” Katsuki teases, smirking down at you. Your eyes flutter shut, Eijirou is trailing kisses up to your neck. He kisses your pulse point and pants against your skin. His breath is hot. You wind your arms around his neck, holding him to your chest. He’s starting to get really close really fast. The hug of your sweet pussy is so fucking good and his balls start to tighten up, heat flaring at the base of his spine.

“Yes-fuck! I’m gonna, hah oh god, I’m gonna cum again,” you choke out, pussy fluttering around Eijirous thick cock. Katsuki uses his free hand to tickle your lower abdomen, placing two fingers on your puffy clit. You see stars when he rubs tight, fast circles into your bud, making your toes curl, thighs tensing. You curse loudly.

“Red,” Katsuki calls out softly. Said red head raises his head from your neck, giving Katsuki a dopey smile. You let go of his shoulders, gripping his forearms again instead. Katsuki pauses his fingers as he smirks, leaning closer to him and he slides their lips together. You whine in protest, Katsuki takes the hint, continuing to rub your clit.

Eijirou moans, kissing Katsuki hungrily. You watch them kiss, seeing quick flashes of their tongues, and it makes your pussy throb repeatedly around the red heads cock. The blonde kisses him once more before leaning back. Eijirous head falls forward. His hips smack into your ass wetly, steadily. You’re being pushed into the mattress again and again. You’re so close, coil wound tightly in your belly. Katsukis fingers rapidly bringing you to the edge.

“Fuck Kat, she really liked watching us kiss,” he groans, hips stuttering.

“I know, she’s such a pretty little whore,” he says, wicked grin on his lips. You can’t take it anymore, listening to the filth that leaves Katsukis mouth, it makes you cum. The knot in your belly releases. Your back arches, hair pulled to its limit in the blondes hold. Your nails dig into the flesh on Eijirous arms as your pussy suffocates him. You howl as your orgasm rips through you, entire body taut. Once again, an almost unbearable wave of pleasurable heat gushes through you.

Eijirou is enamored by your face. The way your mouth is open in a silent o shape, eyes squeezed shut tightly. He’s barely able to fuck you through it. He’s gasping and moaning, orgasm taking him by surprise. Blistering pleasure burns through his veins and he pushes his hips all the way up against your pussy as he suddenly cums warm, sticky ribbons.

“Fuck yes, that’s it kitty. Make Eiji cum with your pretty pussy,” Katsuki praises with a rough voice, taking his fingers from your clit as Eijirou cums. You open your eyes, looking at the red heads pretty face twisted in pleasure. You bring a hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to rest your foreheads together. You stare into each others eyes and you feel a warm, tender feeling blossom in your chest.

“I love you Eijirou,” you whisper, watching his cheeks turn pink. He moans, before biting his lip when his cock throbs once more as both of you relax into a pile of jelly and Eijirou lets your legs down. He sit back on his calves, breathing heavily.

“I love you too baby girl,” Eijirou purrs, pretty smile on his lips. You give him one in return, humming softly as Katsuki lets go of your hair. Head throbbing where his nails were digging in. You’re gonna have a headache later. You look over at Katsuki, who was palming his half hard cock. He smirks and winks at you. You know it wasn’t quite enough for him to jerk himself off again, but he enjoyed the show. Eijirou slips his softening cock from your pussy and you squirm at the sensation. Your cheeks burn as you feel like you’ve been bred.

“Mm, now you’re really double stuffed, like an Oreo!” Eijirou says, voice cheerful and a smile on his face. You and Katsuki look at each other, before you both laugh. Eijirou giggles in return, scooting backwards and sitting to the side. Katsuki takes the opportunity to get between your legs. He plants his hands by your head and hovers over you, grinning like a deviant.

You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s quick to snake his arms under your waist and roll both of you until you’re on top of him. You squeal when you’re suddenly up right. Feeling like the blood is rushing from your head. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. You cling to him, arms and legs wrapped around him.

“Katsuki, what are you doing?” you gasp, as he grips your ass and stands up with you. You hug him tight and he smacks one of your ass cheeks as he starts walking you to the bathroom.

“We’re taking a shower dumbass. Just because Eiji and I reminded you who you belong to and stuffed you with cum, doesn’t mean I want it all over the bed. That’s disgusting,” he explains, as if you should’ve known. You roll your eyes and place your chin on his shoulder, looking at the red head and reaching out a hand to him.

“Eiji, come on baby,” you purr to him. His tail would be wagging if had one. He slides off the bed, bouncing up to the two of you.

“I’m right here pretty girl. I love you too Kat, just by the way,” he coos, smacking the blondes ass, which earns him an icy look. Katsuki grumbles an I love you back to Eijirou and you laugh, amused. The three of you make it into the bathroom. Katsuki sets you down on your soft, squishy bath mat. You wiggle your toes in the material as Eijirou turns on the water. You take your time, enjoying the warm water and letting them wash you clean. You wash Eijirous hair and massage Katsukis back. You all take the moment to soak up the post sex intimacy together. After, when you’re all in bed, whispering sweet nothings and more I love yous in the dark, in the middle of the night Eijirou rides Katsuki slow and sweet. The blonde has you sit on his face while you trade sticky, honey like kisses with Eijirou. You’re unbelievably glad you belong to them. Better yet, they belong to you as well. You end up back asleep in a pile, thanking your lucky stars you found one another. The last thing you hear are Katsukis soft snores as you drift off, dreaming in colors of yellow and red.

1K notes · View notes

the-ancient-dragons · 4 months ago

Text

EXTRA OVERCOMPLICATED ICEWIIIIINGS

You know how it goes, Joy Ang is cool and I'm not yadda yadda move on.

Details and explanation below!

Otherwise, next week is the last Pyrrhian tribe: NightWings!!!! See you then!

More overcomplicated dragons.

If the RainWings are the design that destroys Joy's work the least, this one takes the original IceWings and tosses them out the window. Going into this design I knew it would be hard, but boy was I unprepared to get art block for 2 months because of it.

I eventually found my inspiration in the girdled, spiny, and horned lizards, They. Are. So. Freaking cool. If you think a crocodile skink is awesome, look up girdled lizards. Not as fancy with the eyeliner but they are SPIKY!

I fell in love in particular with the giant girdled lizard. I knew I wanted the scales of the IceWing to look rough and like they were made of actual ice or diamonds - or covered in frozen sleet and snow - and this lizard was basically perfect inspo for that. Also, blue spiny lizards. They are basically real life IceWings, full stop.

But even though I had perfect references to draw from, I still struggled with the head shape. I wanted them to feel like a reptilian polar bear, which is why I slightly blunted it, but I think I should have gone with a more angular shape instead. I can always change it later when I do their full-body.

I did have a very fun time with the horns, however. I wanted them to be a mix of narwhal teeth and icicles (yes, narwhal 'horns' are actually overgrown teeth. One tooth, usually, but sometimes they can have two!!). Before I get distracted I should explain how they grow: the scales at the base of the horn are constantly growing and essentially create the horn. That's what gives them their narwhal-like spirals.

I chose a similar approach to the neck spikes (untangling that mess was fun, let me tell you. Grids are very useful when doing many scales/spikes). At the base of each one you'll notice a scale forming it. On the back, I wanted to give a good side profile of the spikes. Technically, they are ever-growing, and need to be trimmed or sharpened constantly.

Now, as I was drawing them, I asked myself: why do IceWings need a mane of spikes?

A stupid question, you might wonder, but to me it's very important. Animals look the way they do for survival. So, while it's important visually for the ice theme, how could they be explained scientifically?

And then, when thinking of polar bears, I got my answer.

How the hell does a giant sparkly dragon hunt in the north? Seals would probably be part of their diet, but it's hard to sneak up on them if you're a ten ton reptilian flying creature, so I imagine they would tackle the problem like a polar bear would by waiting by a breathing hole and pouncing at the right moment. They already look like a frozen snowbank, so that part is easy.

But any hungry polar bear would be doing the same thing, and like a giant dragon, they would be waiting downwind of the breathing hole too. They wouldn't pose a threat to adult dragons or dragonets larger than them, but in real life polar bears are dangerous hunters and prey on humans. Why wouldn't it prey on a dragonet it thinks it can take on? Things in the WOF universe seem to be extra big (or scavengers/humans are tiny) so I think it would be a feasible for a desperate bear to hunt a dragon. They cannibalize, anyway, so going after another apex predator isn't out of the question. In this case, the horns and neck spikes would be a dragonet's saving grace, discouraging attacks from behind and especially on their necks. A bear's teeth could never get through their scales, but they could still crush their airways and choke them, and the spikes would keep them away from their necks and protect them from that fate. As they grow up, the neck spikes' length and strength could be used to determine a dragon's health and help them select good partners.

Finally, continuing with the bear theme: for the scales, I took inspiration from polar bear fur (which is actually hollow) to help design how IceWings preserve their body heat. In polar bears, its used to make them look white by reflecting the light of the sun, but in IceWings it could keep the cold out. Air pockets would create a barrier between them and the outside elements, and whatever gets in would meet their thick layer of fat that does the real warming. Yes, IceWings would be squishy, but you'd probably poke your eye out or stick permanently to their side a la tongue to cold metal pole.

Don't hug IceWings; they're very cold.

#wof #wings of fire #wof art #art #my art #digital art #icewing #wof icewing #wof fanart #Overcomplicating the WOF Tribes

320 notes · View notes

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

Text

GO FOR IT! ; YUUTA OKKOTSU

synopsis; yuuta’s been crushing on you ever since the first group project you had together, but he’s too nervous to confess. luckily, he has some over-eager friends willing to help! step 1: ask for your number!

word count; 7.4k

contents; yuuta okkotsu/reader, gn!reader, university au, yuuta majors in creative writing and writes poetry in his spare time <3, no curses au, yuuta is a cutiepie, he’s also a loserboy, pining and longing, unrequited love, maki inumaki and panda are wingmen (but not very good ones), fluffy vibes, gojo makes a guest appearance (stay safe), literally just yuuta being whipped for like 7k words straight

a/n; im gonna have to edit this a lot i think….. but for now it should be fine :3 i love the boy!!

”you’re staring. again.”

yuuta flinches. a jolt overtakes him, running through his body, and the pen he’d been absently writing with slips from his fingers. it tumbles down to the ground with a soft thunk.

gazing up at the shadow towering over him, his eyes are wide, a little flustered; like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. like he’s expecting a smack on the head from the person in front of him.

— it’s maki.

and she looks displeased, lips pursed and a single eyebrow raised. unimpressed, as she stares him down — the same way he’d been looking at you just a second ago.

”they’re gonna think you’re a creep if they catch you, you know,” she sighs, shifting from one foot to another. carrying her bass in a case on her back.

”maki, c’mon,” comes from behind her, an even larger figure strolling up to the pair. grinning brightly, fluffy hair tousled by the afternoon breeze. ”cut him some slack!”

”salmon,” a third voice joins in. inumaki’s got some green paint staining the sleeve of his hoodie, and his fingers are dirtied with charcoal.

his closest friends, all joining him on the table they usually frequent on campus. right next to a giant tree, casting a pleasantly cool shade and obscuring the irritating brightness of the sun.

maki, headstrong and resilient. infamously rude. a music major, primarily, though yuuta knows she has more than a couple minors. if you pay attention, you can see her almost everywhere on campus, and she always does well on exams. confident, enough so that just being around her makes yuuta feel a little more secure in himself.

panda, a big kid with a big heart, always wearing monochrome clothes. ‘panda’ can’t possibly be his real name, though yuuta’s never found the courage to ask. truthfully, he isn’t sure panda even has a major, or goes to this university at all — but nobody’s mentioned it yet, and he doubts they ever will.

and then inumaki, the quiet kid, always helpful and kind. a little teasing, too. selectively mute, speaking exclusively in rice ball ingredients, but yuuta has already begun adjusting to the thought behind his phrases. an art student with remarkable talent, from sculptures to comics to paintings. he mostly spends his lectures playing games on his phone, though. and he's the kindest guy yuuta knows.

his beloved friends. the reason he can smile through each day, even when it’s a little difficult.

and maki’s right, he knows she is. if you were to lock eyes with him, and realize he’d been glancing over at you for the past ten minutes… god, he doesn’t even want to think about it. you’d be weirded out for sure, wouldn’t you?

but yuuta just can’t help it. you’re far too radiant to ever look away from, smile much too pretty.

you’re just sitting there, laughing and talking with your friends, the same as any other day. comparing hand sizes with miwa, or leaning over to whisper in mai’s ear. snorting over something momo said, or trying to understand the code kokochi’s fiddling with on his laptop. just being yourself, with people you’re close to.

and yuuta desperately wishes he could be among them. wishes he could see your honeyed smile up close, hear the melodic lilt of your laughter, breathe in the lingering scent of your shampoo. he wishes he could speak to you without stuttering, without tripping over his feet — hang out with you outside of class. just something small, like studying together, or grabbing a bite to eat.

he wishes he could get to know you.

yuuta thinks he must seem like a fool, to be so affected by your mere presence. everything comes to him so easily, when he looks at you; the pitter patter of his heart, his sweaty hands, the whirlwind of butterflies swirling in his chest. even just the way you twirl your hair or chew on your pencil is so mesmerizing.

so all he can do is stare, hopeless, a moth to a flame. basking in the warmth of your gaze, directed at your friends.

hoping one day, maybe… that warmth will fall upon him, as well.

(maybe one day.)

”hellooo? earth to yuuta!”

”see? he’s hopeless.”

”mentaiko…”

”inumaki’s right. he’s a man in love!”

”he’s a boy with a stupid crush,” maki scoffs, picking at a piece of lint on her tank top. ”and we have a study session we need to get done. the exam’s next week, remember?”

exam.

yuuta shoots up, wasting no time in grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. the ring hanging around his neck dangles with the sudden movement, and he clutches onto it.

”ah — right!” he squeaks, apologetic. ”sorry, it completely slipped my mind —”

before his mind can begin to overthink every action he’s taken these past few hours, a hand reaches out to pat his shoulder. pat, pat. reassuring and stabilizing.

inumaki smiles at him. yuuta can’t see his mouth, from behind the fabric of his hoodie, but his eyes crinkle softly; and it’s enough to put yuuta’s heart at ease.

”don’t apologize,” maki says. simple, straightforward. ”let’s just get going. i need to do better than naoya did last time.”

”you’re still mad about that, huh?”

”he only got a higher score because i wasn’t on top of my game,” she grumbles, digging her nails into the pockets of her baseball jacket. ”he doesn’t even like music. he’s just taking the course to piss me off. grown ass man.”

a chuckle slips from yuuta’s lips. the warm breeze ruffles his hair, and he holds onto the strap of his backpack, following closely behind as his friends begin to leave. sending one final glance at your figure, over by a table near the apricot trees.

and that’s when it happens.

— he looks over at you, and finds that your eyes are already on him.

a moment passes.

while yuuta struggles to find his breathing, your lips curl up into a soft smile. then you raise your hand, waving to him cheerily, teeth peeking out from between your lips. he can see it clearly, even with the distance between you.

a smile that glimmers like a jewel, in the light of the sun.

yuuta feels his lips part, mouth falling open ever so slightly. but he waves back, afraid to take too long, unable to stop the pounding of his heartbeat — smiling giddily, like a schoolgirl tripping over her feet.

his friends just watch, wholly unimpressed.

”do you think he’d notice if i threw a rock at him?”

”maki!”

”what do you like about them, anyway?”

the question is unexpected. yuuta has to do a double take, eyes straying from his excerpt of sappho 31 up to the person seated across from him. tapping her pencil on the edge of the table, resting her sharp jaw on the heel of her palm.

”huh?”

”them. your crush,” maki reiterates. ”what caught your attention? there’s got to be something, yeah?”

”oh?” panda chirps, leaning back in his chair. a teasing grin playing at his lips. “i thought you didn’t care about his silly little crush.”

”i don’t.” a huff pushes past her lips, hands reaching to fix her lazy ponytail, hair tie dangling from between her teeth. ”i’m just bored. i already know all this, anyway.”

”tuna mayo.”

”oh, are you curious too, inumaki?”

”well, out with it. why them?”

yuuta blinks. once, then twice — mind spinning in circles, as his friends await his answer.

and, truthfully, yuuta can’t pinpoint the exact moment he felt it. that burst of joy, that tinge of excitement — the puppy love that rika always spoke of. she was always good at verbalizing her emotions, in a way yuuta never could.

(he always knew he loved her, but he could never put it into words.)

and he knows that he likes you. he knows because every word you speak has him stumbling over what to say, because even a single smile sent his way makes the world feel so gentle. he knows because he’d probably throw himself into incoming traffic, if you just asked him to.

but he can’t put it into words. not spoken ones, anyhow — putting them on paper is one thing, the one thing he can do. writing out his love for you in similes and metaphors, sonettes and alexandrines. it’s how he copes with everything; writing and writing, til his fingers start to hurt. he can compare you to a dandelion, to the way cicadas buzz in the light of the sun. the scent of childhood. but it’s harder to speak it out loud, to turn the feelings into sounds — that’s maki’s specialty, not his.

why does yuuta like you?

he remembers it clear as day, but still can’t pinpoint the exact second he fell headfirst into love. it was more of a creeping realization, something soft and sweet trickling through his veins. that sinking feeling, how helplessly he fell for you.

it all started with a pencil.

in hindsight, it’s a little silly. but yuuta can’t bring himself to think back to that moment with anything other than fondness.

(your smile was just so bright.)

that day had been a disaster. he was nervous, painfully so, afraid of every single new thing he came across during his first week of uni. scatterbrained, running on almost no sleep, unsure of where to put his feet as he walked.

honestly — what kind of trainwreck forgets their pen and notebook during their very first workshop?

all that anxiety, all those hours spent overthinking, and he still couldn’t manage something so small. in the moment, he almost panicked; sitting with you, a total stranger, wholly unprepared for such a simple assignment. read a couple excerpts, analyze them on paper. all yuuta could do was stare blankly at his lap, frozen, throat dry. hands cold with sweat.

but then you smiled.

”did you forget your notebook?” you had asked, voice set to a soothing tilt. calm, not angry or impatient.

”ah — yeah, i, um…” yuuta could only swallow thickly, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. ”i’m sorry. i haven't been sleeping well, so —”

”hey, hey, it’s fine!” you chuckled, teeth peeking out from between your lips. ”i totally get it. i almost forgot my laptop at yesterday’s lecture. we can just share!”

then you pushed your notebook closer to him, inviting him in. moving your chair a little, angling it towards him. but all yuuta could think of was how pretty your smile looked, how kind your presence felt.

”here you go,” you grinned, snapping him out of his trance. ”you can use this.”

a pencil. yuuta took it from your opened palm, gazing at it in wonder. an orange-coloured, halloween-themed pumpkin design. completely out of season. the tiny pumpkin was cute, though.

such a casual kindness. but maybe that's exactly why it made his heart flutter so deeply; as if you did it without even really thinking. as if kindness comes easy, to you.

that’s probably how it began. by the time the workshop ended, yuuta knew that he liked you, and he knew that he wanted nothing more than to be your friend.

(subconsciously, his fingers tap at the zipper of his backpack. the pumpkin pen is still with him, after you waved him off with a smooth you can keep it, if you want. yuuta has found that he always writes best when he uses it.)

”well?”

maki’s voice snaps him out of his trip down memory lane, and he stumbles for something to say. what does he like about you?

squirming, yuuta feels his face heat up, as he thinks of you. all he can see is your smile, the kindness in the tilt of your voice. the brightness of the grin you sent his way. warm and saccharine, like the sun peeking out after a downpour — when the streets smell like honeydew and rain.

”they’re just… so cool,” he finally sighs, a dreamy look smoothing over his face. ”they’re so nice. and their smile is so beautiful. they’re so smart, too — god, you should see the way they write — everything about them is just…”

yuuta blushes a deep red, smiling even still. lovesick. ”.. so, so wonderful.”

maki freezes in the midst of the tapping of her pencil. panda stops kicking at the foot of the table. and inumaki looks away from his phone, messing up his full combo.

a moment of silence passes. the study hall grows quiet, and yuuta looks down at his lap; suddenly embarrassed. sipping from his little carton of apple juice.

”hey…” panda starts, delicate. somehow, yuuta dreads the teasing edge to his voice. ”have you thought about confessing to them, yuuta?”

”what?” the boy in question squeaks, choking on his juice. ”no, of course not!”

”why?” maki deadpans. popping a chip into her mouth. ”you’re head over heels, right? might as well do something about it.”

inumaki hums. affirmative.

”i… don’t know,” yuuta sighs. a heavy breath, a little wobbly. meek. ”they’d just reject me, wouldn’t they? i mean…”

(you’re totally out of his league. right?)

maki scoffs, sitting up a little straighter. there’s an angered kind of affection in her eyes. ”you’re just deciding that all on your own. how would you know how they feel?”

the gaze she sends his way is intense. it always has been. there’s a kindness to it, though, something that makes yuuta want to look her in the eye — but he can’t, eyes still locked on his hands, resting in his lap. ”… still,” he manages a weak smile, somewhat sheepish. ”even if i wanted to, there’s no way i could. i’m too much of a coward.”

…

maki slams her textbook shut. the sound is sudden, loud. yuuta flinches, and a wince leaves inumaki’s lips. panda just watches her, snacking on some chips, a mild curiousity simmering in his eyes.

the girl in question gets up from her seat, grabbing her bass case and throwing it over her shoulder. then she looks at yuuta, eyes full of decision.

”— well, lucky for you, we’ve got some time to spare.”

a blink. yuuta gazes up at the girl in front of him, tilting his head in confusion.

maki sighs. exasperated. ”i’m saying we’ll help you. don’t look so resigned, dumbass.”

at that, panda gets up too — suddenly excited. ”are you thinking what i’m thinking?”

she just huffs, smiling even still. ”probably not. but let’s hear it.”

the grin on his face widens. he scribbles something down in his notebook, showing off the writing proudly. ”operation: get yuuta to confess is about to commence!”

inumaki turns off his phone. sitting up straight, arms decisively crossed, a strangely serious expression on his face. completely invested.

”wait — wait!” yuuta stutters, eyes wide with flustered shock. ”don’t i get a say in this?”

”of course not.”

”nope!”

”bonito flakes.”

”b… but —”

”alright, so here’s what i’m thinking,” panda begins, writing down unintelligible notes on the pages of his tattered notebook. ”we need to start small. we don’t want yuuta getting heart palpitations and fainting in the middle of campus, so —”

”tuna mayo?”

”yeah, that’s perfect! hang on, lemme just…”

”let me see. i don’t want you messing this up.”

yuuta’s voice comes out tiny, as it falls from his lips. more of a squeaky breath. ”guys, i really — you don’t need to —”

panda continues to scribble in the notebook, engrossed, arm hanging off maki’s shoulder as they go over the contents. inumaki nods along, walking over to them with lazy steps. yuuta’s protests go unnoticed, and all he can do is watch them mutter under their breaths.

”— okay. listen up, yuuta.”

he raises his head, and meets maki’s sharp eyes. she’s smiling, strolling over to place the notebook right in front of him. ”here’s how this is gonna go.”

yuuta looks down.

everything is written out with a pink sharpie, glittery and pretty. there are little hearts doodled out across the pages, and he can tell exactly which ones were drawn by who. all of them look messy, with the exception of inumaki’s perfect little shapes.

and there, right in the middle, lies a line of text.

panda reads it out, voice loud and cheery, while maki and inumaki stick close. all smiling, as a chill crawls down yuuta’s spine.

”step 1: ask for their number!”

plan a

”okay, so… what am i supposed to do, exactly?”

panda throws an arm over yuuta’s shoulder, and he’s enveloped by the scent of fresh sunlight. the weight is heavy, a comfort. ”we’re going with my plan first! it’s the best one, so don’t worry.”

”i don’t know about that,” maki scoffs. ”we can’t ask mai. best case scenario, she’ll laugh at us a little and say no.”

inumaki hums. he rips out a part of the notebook he’s been tasked with carrying, doodling a little face and showing it to the rest of his friends.

yuuta leans in close. it’s a cute doodle, charming. and he can tell who it’s supposed to depict. miwa kasumi.

”yeah, she’s our best bet,” maki sighs, brushing some specks of dust off her jeans. ”she seems like the nicest one in that group.”

yuuta tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. he plays with the ring hanging around his neck, a nervous tick he’s never managed to get rid of. ”wait, so…” he trails off, unsure. ”what are we doing, exactly?”

panda tugs him closer, a friendly smile on his face. ”we’re going to their friends for help!” he beams. ”that’ll be easier for you, right?”

a blink. yuuta gazes into the eyes of his friend, something soft blooming in his eyes.

they can be a chaotic bunch — but they’re still so considerate. considerate enough to know asking for your number straight out would be too much for him. considerate enough to think of his comfort, in a way no one else has bothered to before.

(faced with such immense understanding, such genuine friendship, how could he ever bear to let them down?)

”… alright,” yuuta gulps, clutching his ring as if to give him courage. managing a smile. ”let’s do this, then!”

with newfound determination, the four of them seek out miwa kasumi. it doesn’t take too long — she’s studying, going over legal codes in the library, eyes narrowed in concentration. and she isn’t alone.

”hey, miwa. muta.”

the pair look up from their respective textbooks and laptop, meeting the gaze of a certain maki zenin, waltzing over to their table. miwa smiles, but kokichi doesn’t say anything.

”hi, maki! how are you?”

”i’m good,” she answers, straight to the point; but her eyes soften a little. then she gestures towards yuuta with a tilt of her head. ”sorry, but this guy needs your help.”

”hm?” miwa shifts in her seat, meeting yuuta’s nervous gaze, as he steps forward. ”ah, you’re… okkotsu, right?”

”ah, yeah! sorry for interrupting you two…”

”no, no! please, don’t worry about it,” she grins. sweet and soft, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. ”we don't mind. right?”

kokichi still doesn’t say anything. but he nods, when miwa meets his eyes — and yuuta notices that they seem a lot softer when she does.

”so, here’s how it is…”

panda explains the situation to the pair. yuuta looks down at the floor, face flushed as he shifts from foot to foot. by the time he’s finished, miwa looks wholly invested, and kokichi looks a little less like all he wants is for them to leave him and miwa be.

”awww, that’s so sweet!!” she gushes, clasping her hands together. eyes glimmering with excitement.

”right,” maki hums. already a little impatient. ”so, basically — we need their number.”

”… ah. well, um —” miwa trails off, averting her gaze. she looks over at kokichi, but he only shrugs, going back to his coding. ”see, here’s the thing…”

with an apologetic look in her eyes, she turns to yuuta. ”i support you 100% — but i dunno if it’d feel right to just… give away their number like that, you know?” she mumbles, sheepishly. ”i think you should ask them, yourself. that’d be way more romantic!”

”yeah, but that’s a tall hurdle for a socially anxious guy…” panda mutters, patting yuuta’s back.

”still! i’m sure they’d appreciate you being direct.” miwa closes her eyes, a dreamy expression painted on her face. ”i’d be elated if someone asked for my number like that!! all stuttering and shy… it’d be so cute!”

(if anyone notices kokichi stiffening beside her, they don’t mention it.)

maki sighs, resigned. ”well, i don’t think we’re getting any numbers here. good. what kind of creep just texts someone out of nowhere, anyway?”

”i thought it was a good plan!” panda protests, pouting a little. maki shoots him a look.

”it was an awful plan. what were you planning to say? hey, i forced your friend to give me your number, but would you want to hang out sometime?” she crosses her arms with a sharp scoff. ”i’d beat your ass!”

panda grumbles a little under his breath, but doesn’t say anything.

”sorry i couldn’t be of more help,” miwa mumbles, sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. ”good luck, though! i hope they say yes!”

”thanks, miwa,” yuuta smiles, already in the process of being tugged away by his friends. ”i really appreciate it!”

plan a

plan b

”alright, inumaki’s turn. what’s your take on the situation, mister?”

the boy in question sits up straight, back resting against a tree trunk. he writes something down, and yuuta waits, patiently — absentmindedly staring at the white petals of the apricot trees on campus. pure, fleeting, sweet blossoms unfurling before him.

when he’s finished, inumaki presents the page to yuuta, and everyone gathers round. reading the writing, eyes trailing over his little doodles. panda grins, and maki strokes her chin in contemplation.

”you’re a genius, inu!”

”well, it’s probably the easiest way to go about it…”

yuuta purses his lips. it’s a good plan, he thinks; writing out a note, and passing it to you in the middle of class. that way, he won’t have to turn his feelings into sounds, won’t have to speak them out loud. there’s a safety to it, the trickling of ink across blank papers. one that’s never failed him.

”… that should work,” he mumbles, and inumaki visibly brightens. ”what am i supposed to write, though?”

”just be straightforward.”

”not seconded!” panda huffs, crossing his legs. ”you need to be dramatic. heartfelt. that’ll catch their attention!” he stops to think for a moment, a hum buzzing loudly in his throat. ”hey — why not write them a love poem? put those skills to good use!”

”a love poem?” yuuta squeaks, a slight heat rising to the tips of his ears. ”there’s no way i could do that! and i’m not skilled, i —”

a pause. yuuta bites his lip.

”… it’d just be embarrassing,” he finally mutters, playing with his ring.

(he wonders what rika would think, if she were here. what she’d advise him to do — would she like the love poem idea? probably.)

”well, you could at least try. who knows, maybe they’ll like it,” maki attempts to reassure him, chewing at a piece of gum. ”if they’re anything like miwa, it’ll be easy.”

gnawing at his bottom lip, yuuta emits an anxious hum. deep in thought. maybe you would like it, but… what if you just think it’s cheesy?

maki observes him, intently. listening to the emotions behind his silence. tapping the pads of her fingers on her knee, in a rhythmic motion. ”… at least try writing something out,” she says. ”if you can’t think of anything, then just copy some random old guy. what was his name, uh — catallas? or something?”

yuuta’s gaze snaps up, eyes gone wide. ”catullus?” he gapes, in disbelief. ”are you insane? do you even know what kind of poems he wrote?”

maki shoots him a confused look, and a tilt of her head. ”isn’t he the ’give me a thousand kisses’ guy?”

”he is, but that’s —” a sigh, exasperated. flustered, as it flows from his parted lips. then he shakes his head. ”nevermind. it doesn’t matter.”

”tuna…” inumaki mumbles, nudging yuuta’s shoulder with his head. a silent encouragement. and even with no words, yuuta knows what he’s trying to say.

just be yourself. this is your specialty, right?

write from your heart.

”inumaki…” yuuta meets his gaze, and is met with a pair of warm eyes. a friendly punch meets his shoulder, soft and delicate. kind.

”… alright. i’ll write it!”

”that’s the spirit!” panda grins. ”just give it to them during tomorrow’s lecture.”

”yeah,” yuuta nods, mustering the courage to smile. ”i will!”

when yuuta gets home that night, he makes himself a cup of coffee with too much sugar, and gets ready to write.

he listens to maki’s acoustic guitar covers through his headphones, curled up with the fluffy blanket panda gave him, and munches on a hastily made onigiri to give himself much-needed energy.

(writing with a certain pumpkin-themed pencil, basking in the scratching of lead against blank pages.)

his hands are shaking.

it’s barely noticeable, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of his bones, the rattling of his skeleton. you’re sitting right next to him, so close he can smell the shampoo you use, the mint off your breath —

and yuuta can’t seem to hand you the note.

he spent all last night writing it. putting every single little drop of his love into every single little word. but that fear of rejection still remains, rendering him useless, unable to act.

you’re listening to the lecture, but only halfheartedly, absentmindedly doodling in your notebook. out of boredom, he assumes.

it’s the perfect moment to strike.

yuuta’s hands are shaking, and his heartbeat is stuttering, crawling up his throat. he takes a sip of water, hoping it’ll make the dry sensation go away, but it doesn’t work.

(just be yourself.)

with a deep intake of breath, he pushes the note over to you — not daring to look your way.

his eyes remain glued on the laptop screen in front of him, but he hears you pick it up, hears the rustling of paper as you unfold it. his heart echoes with a similar rhythm, unstable, borderline erratic. the rest of the lecture passes by slowly, minute by minute, at an agonizing pace.

when it finally ends, yuuta has to restrain the urge to run away — turning towards you slowly, hesitantly, as if just the sight of you could blind him if he isn’t careful. but you’re already looking at him. and you’re smiling.

”that was so good, yuuta!”

….

huh?

”sorry, but i honestly don’t have any feedback,” you mumble, eyes trailing over the note again. ”i like it a lot. i didn’t know you wrote poetry!”

”… ah.” yuuta stumbles for something to say. staring into your eyes, blankly. dumbly. ”t.. thank you! i’m glad you liked it.”

with a brief shake of your head, you smile, and something sickly sweet unfurls in his chest. ”not at all. thanks for letting me read it! i’m sorry i can’t really help you improve…”

mentally, yuuta falls to his knees. places his palms on the floor and dry heaves, clutching his heart. did you not get it? was he not clear enough? he wrote it with you in mind, so —

”maybe you could show it to professor nanami?” you suggest, unaware of the turmoil within the boy to your right. ”i'm sure he’ll be a great help! he can seem a bit intimidating, but he’s nice.”

”.. yeah,” yuuta smiles, weakly. ”i’ll do that. thanks again.”

for a moment, he isn’t even upset. because you flash him another bright smile, and suddenly, even the frustration of yet another setback doesn’t feel so awful.

(maybe it’s fine, he thinks. maybe this is enough; speaking to you, getting to see your smile up close. maybe he doesn’t need anything else, after all.)

”so?” maki questions, waiting for him outside of class with his other two friends. ”how’d it go?”

shoulders slumped, but still wearing a smile on his face, yuuta chuckles. it comes out sounding a little strangled. ”they… thought i wanted their feedback on my poetry.”

….

”what.”

panda attempt to stifle his laughter, but it doesn’t really work. inumaki elbows him gently, but yuuta sees his eyes crinkle, too. he breathes out a low chuckle. ”they liked the poem, at least. so i’m happy.”

a sigh falls from maki’s lips, and she waltzes over to him, a hand on her hip. the other reaches out for the note in his palm. ”let me see.”

quickly unfolding it, her eyes trail across the words on the pages, the flowery lines of writing —

and then she shoots him an unimpressed look.

”.. yuuta,” she pinches the bridge of her nose. ”what the hell is this? you didn’t even mention their number.”

panda leans over her shoulder, peeking at the text. eyes glancing over a couple lines, riddled with sugarsweet metaphors. ”uh, wow. you… really got into it, huh?”

a groan leaves yuuta’s lips, the sound muffled as he cradles his head in his hands. ”please don’t say anything else. i just wanna crawl into a hole and die…”

inumaki shakes his head, erratic, pointing at the poem with shining eyes. ”mentaiko!”

”ah, you liked it? thanks, inumaki…”

the boy in question smiles, shooting yuuta a thumbs up. he returns it with a small smile of his own.

surrounded by his friends, all he can do is bask in their warmth — and the memory of the smile you gave him.

plan a plan b

plan c

a groan fills the air, as yuuta slumps over the table. cheek pressed against the cold wood, absently kicking his legs, voice meek and defeated.

”this is never gonna work,” he mutters under his breath. eyes devoid of hope. ” i’m just not cut out for this, guys…”

”aw, c’mon….” panda reaches over to ruffle his hair, palm big and warm. ”don’t give up hope! you want to grow closer to them, don’t you?”

”i do, but…” he sighs. ”this isn’t going very well, is it…?”

inumaki frowns, sending yuuta a sympathetic glance.

”oh, quit moping already!” maki grumbles. ”we just need to keep brainstorming. isn’t it time for my plan, yet?”

”should we really even keep going…?” another sigh, heavy with fatigue. yuuta’s mind spins in circles, tiring him out. rendering him a bit cynical. ”i mean… maybe it’s fine if things stay this way.”

a moment passes. maki looks at him, emitting a soft scoff. ”what, so you’re just gonna keep pining for the rest of the term?”

”that’s the plan.”

”yuuta…” panda pouts, shoes bumping against his beneath the table. ”be more positive! just think about it; with every step you take, you get closer to confessing!”

yet another groan. this one is deep, riddled with exhaustion. muffled into the table. ”that’s the scariest part…”

before either of his friends can begin to persuade him otherwise, encourage him further, a sing-songy voice echoes throughout the air. loud, cheery — a little bit obnoxious.

”oh? did someone just say confess?”

at the same instant the sound reaches their ears, a chill runs down the youths’ spines. in tandem with each other, they raise their heads; gazes falling on a certain satoru gojo.

panda and maki are the first to act, speaking simultaneously as the white haired man inches closer.

”— no.”

maki closes the notebook containing operation: get yuuta to confess, right before their professor can get close enough to see it. then she turns towards him, shooting him a cold look.

”your hearing’s getting bad,” she hums. ”maybe you should book a doctor’s appointment.”

a pout. gojo takes a seat right beside her, uncomfortably long legs bumping against every single other pair of shoes beneath the table.

”oh, c’mon. you know i heard you.” his hand reaches out to ruffle her hair, but she smacks it away. ”you’re starting to sound just like megumi, y’know that?”

maki grits her teeth. ”guess it’s a genetic thing,” she huffs. ”now can you leave? don’t you have papers to grade?”

”don’t you have papers to write?” gojo smirks, a teasing mirth in his eyes. hidden behind his sunglasses. maki ignores him.

placing his palms on the table, he leans a little closer, lips curled up into a cheshire grin. foreboding. ”sooo… yuuta’s got himself a little crush, huh?” he teases. ”tell your favorite professor allll about it. maybe i can help!”

”professor geto is our favorite,” maki shoots back, instantaneous.

a soft huff. there’s something sour in gojo’s expression, now. ”that guy? really?”

before the two can argue further, yuuta takes the opportunity to to speak. smiling apologetically, polite and sweet. ”thanks, mr. gojo, but…”

”he doesn't need your help,” maki cuts in. so much for diffusing the tension. ”and do you really expect us to believe you get girls?”

”wha — rude!” gojo scoffs. ”for your information, i’m a natural charmer!”

…

a moment passes. then another.

”… tough crowd,” he clicks his tongue, met only with four blank stares. ”but, really — let me help! i'm your professor, you know?”

and this time, yuuta thinks that gojo’s smile looks just a little more sincere. something kind and gentle in the way his lips curl up, like a father’s affection for their children. something that makes yuuta falter.

(maki might like mr. geto more — but when it comes to yuuta, his favorite professor is a no-brainer.)

so he speaks up, again. ”we can at least hear him out, right…?” maki shoots him an unimpressed look, but he doesn’t back down. ”we’re stuck, anyway…”

and just like that, gojo brightens. it’s obvious, in the way he sits up, more alert. in the way his grin grows wider. ”right? what you need is the perspective of someone more experienced.”

”have you even talked to a girl before?”

”i see him at ieiri’s office, sometimes.”

”salmon.”

”isn’t she a lesbian? that doesn’t count. i mean, like, in a romantic context.”

”i thought mr. gojo was gay, too?”

”what? no way. have you seen the way he’s dressed —?”

gojo clears his throat, voice loud and grating. demanding attention, cutting his eager students off. ”anyway,” he chirps. ”gather round, children! i’ll tell you exactly how to ask the person you like for their number.”

”wh —” yuuta blinks. ”how’d you…?”

”operation ’get yuuta to confess!’, step 1: ask for their number!” gojo repeats, grinning ear to ear. voice rich with amusement. ”i like the glitter. it’s a nice touch.”

maki huffs. looks like she didn’t close it fast enough.

begrudgingly, the youths quiet down, finally willing to hear their professor out. and gojo seems satisfied, at last, speaking in a hushed whisper; eerily serious all of a sudden. ”ok, so here’s what you do…”

everything goes silent. yuuta strains his ears, and gojo parts his lips.

”— just ask them! easy, right?

….

”let’s go, yuuta.”

”mentaiko.”

”i heard they're serving those sandwiches you like at the cafeteria today! let's hurry before they run out.”

”ah — i was just kidding!” gojo laughs, as his students get up from their seats. ”i have an actual answer!”

maki grabs her bass, inumaki takes the notebook, and panda ushers yuuta away. they begin to walk down the hall, ignoring the pleas of the man behind them. pouting, as his shout echoes throughout the hallway.

”kids! come back!”

plan a plan b plan c

plan d

”okay, so this is going absolutely nowhere.”

relishing in the shadow cast by the giant campus tree, the four friends sit on their usual table, sandwiches in hand. yuuta takes a bite of his, tentative. a little disheartened.

”really, guys… i appreciate it a lot, but maybe we should stop here.”

maki huffs. reaching across the table, she gently smacks him over the head with her can of sprite. ”no way. we still haven’t tried my plan.”

he leans back, a little further, a hesitant look in his eyes. the sun shines down, relentless, but the air smells like rain. in the distance he sees clouds, dark, approaching at a slow pace.

an omen, he thinks. a reason not to speak out.

rika always liked the rain. she liked the scent that came with it, the puddles she could jump in. she liked shaking the branches of tiny trees, just to see him jolt and squeak as the raindrops hit him.

the ring around his neck weighs heavy on his heart. the promise of it, the oath within the silver.

(when we grow up, let’s get married!)

”earth to yuuta!”

his eyes flutter open.

the sun shines down, embracing the contours of his face. painting his world yellow. from this angle, staring up at the tree, he can see it breaking through; between the gaps of the green leaves, the white blossoms. forcing its way into his line of vision.

a flicker of hope.

”do you want to hear the plan or not?” maki scoffs, crossing her arms and tapping at her elbow. impatient.

yuuta meets her gaze, finding it in him to muster up just a little more determination. ”yeah,” he breathes. ”i do.”

a smile blooms on her face. ”good. alright.”

panda and inumaki inch closer to the pair, careful not to knock over the cans of soda resting on the table. in a mess of limbs and tousled hair, they gather round.

this is it, yuuta thinks — the final plan. if it fails, he’ll just have to keep pining from afar. memorizing your smile, over and over, until you graduate and part ways.

this is it.

maki parts her lips.

”— just ask them,” she says. ”straight out.”

silence.

a moment passes. a soft, pleasant breeze flits by, caressing yuuta’s skin. his ring sways with the wind, gently.

”… huh?!”

panda furrow his brows, leaning closer with his palms on his knees. ”i thought we agreed that was stupid!” inumaki huffs out a low affirmative noise, holding his sketchbook tightly to his chest. but maki only puffs out her chest.

yuuta tilts his head, with a soft furrow of his brows. ”didn’t you just cuss out mr. gojo for suggesting that…?”

”well, it’s dumb when he says it…” she mutters, under her breath. then her gaze turns firm. ”look — yuuta.”

when the two lock eyes, he notices a steadfast determination, glimmering in her irises. something almost burning.

”you aren’t going to get anywhere if you’re too cowardly to even look them in the eye,” she tells him, not allowing him to squirm away from the eye contact. ”you guys can come up with those convoluted plans all you want, but there’s no way you’ll grow closer if you can’t face them.”

tousling her hair, softly, maki lets out a sigh. there’s a kindness to it, distinct. he can tell she’s trying to be tactful.

”if you really want to get to know them, then you have to be direct. and you have to believe in yourself. you’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that they’ll say no — but that’s just dumb.”

panda winces, under his breath, but doesn’t say anything. maybe this is exactly what yuuta needs to hear.

the boy in question listens, the eyes of his friend boring into his own. determined, confident, sincere — everything he isn’t. everything he wants to be.

”even if you don’t believe it, you’re a charming guy. we all think so,” she continues, matter-of-factly. angered affection overflowing in her voice.

”have some confidence, dammit!”

a moment passes. yuuta feels his lips part, ever so slightly. a little speechless.

panda and inumaki sit shoulder to shoulder, hands over their eyes, shielding themselves from the sight in front of them. comically, as if it’s too bright to look at directly.

”this… overflowing tough love…!”

”salmon roe…!”

maki grins, all teeth, a little wolfish. but kind. ”the worst thing they can say is no, right?

yuuta blinks. ”maki…” he mumbles, looking into her eyes, a certain sensation running through his chest. a kind of confidence. passed on from her to him — one friend to another. the most natural exchange in the world.

then he smiles. a little meek, somewhat awkward — but bright. ”yeah. yeah, you’re right!”

the lazy grin on her lips only deepens, as she gets up to her feet, dusting non-existent dirt off her jeans. reaching a hand out for yuuta to take. ”c’mon, loser. shape up. you’re gonna steal their heart, aren’t you?”

a moment passes.

yuuta takes her hand in his. ”i am,” he swallows down a gulp. willing his voice to sound even a little bit self-assured.

and she pulls him up, effortlessly, overflowing with a natural resilience. still grinning cheekily. encouraging him. ”you’re gonna go out there and do your best, right?”

”i — i am!”

another voice chimes in. ”you’re gonna finish my essay for me this week, right?”

”i am!”

…

”wait —”

maki hits panda over the head with a soft thwack. a wince leaves his lips, and inumaki giggles, quieting down when maki sends him a warning glance.

”don’t throw him off his game,” she huffs. then she turns to yuuta once more. ”let’s go find them. alright, loverboy?”

a smile blooms on his lips. grateful, to be surrounded by such sunny people. ones that make it a little easier to smile each day. ”right.”

— but before either of them can take a step forward, a warm voice spills into the open air.

”um, yuuta?”

the boy in question stops in his tracks. he feels his eyes widen, spinning on his heels, hair ruffled by the breeze — turning to look at the source of the sound.

it’s you.

you, with your sunkissed smile, that inviting voice. that soothing, soothing presence. one that has his heartbeat picking up in speed, hands growing sweaty, throat running dry. one that makes him feel a little bit feverish. and you’re looking right at him, into his eyes.

”hey!” he sputters, blinking rapidly to convince himself that he isn’t hallucinating. but you just keep smiling, answering his awkward greeting without skipping a beat.

”hi! sorry, could i just… talk to you, for a second?”

he blinks. the world stops spinning.

(you… want to talk….

to him?)

attempting to find the words, any words, he opens his mouth — but nothing comes out. not a single syllable, no vowels, not even a sound. nothing at all.

he can only stare, star-struck.

it’s not until his friends push him forward that he’s snapped out of it; they surround him, on all sides, wearing matching grins. teasing and excited.

”don’t worry, he’s all yours!”

”have fun, you two!”

”salmon!”

— then they’re off.

yuuta tries to reach for their sleeves, in a weak attempt to keep them from leaving, but they’re gone before he can even blink. leaving him all alone, with someone he can’t talk to without experiencing intense symptoms of heart failure.

he stumbles for something to say, again, but thankfully you beat him to it.

”sorry for interrupting you guys,” you say, voice set to a low tilt. apologetic. and his throat unclogs, a little.

”ah, no, it’s fine!” he smiles, maybe a little too giddy. wanting so badly to reassure you, to put you at ease. ”i’m happy to speak to you!”

…

(oh god oh no why did i say that —)

your smile widens, blooming like a flower in the sunlight. unfurling in front of his very eyes. ”me too!” you say, excitedly. ”i feel like you and i have been talking more, recently… it’s nice.”

eyes crinkling, you wringle your hands together, and look at him fondly. yuuta’s surprised he manages to keep his knees from buckling.

”i think so too!” he grins, ears pink and dimples showing.

both of you smile. the breeze curls around your hair, illuminating the colour of your eyes. yuuta stops breathing, for a moment — just taking it all in.

”so — anyway…” you murmur, fiddling with the fabric of your pants. ”um… haha. sorry, i’m — a little nervous…”

yuuta blinks.

(he knows where this is going. all the signs are there, right in front of him; the flush of your cheeks, the nervous tapping of your fingers, the hesitance in your eyes. he’s read enough shoujo manga — he knows what this means.)

and he almost can’t believe it.

all he can do is keep smiling, hoping it’ll give you even a fraction of the peace that your smile brings him. ”don’t be,” he says, voice soothing. scratching the back of his head. ”whatever it is, i’ll — um. i’ll listen, so…”

he clears his throat. swallowing thickly.

”just — whenever you're ready.”

there’s no mistaking it. your ears are painted pink, and you’re gnawing at your bottom lip. fiddling with your fingers and avoiding his gaze, with a soft inhale, clear air filling your lungs. he wonders if your throat feels as dry as his, if your heart is beating even half as fast.

”um… okay, so…” you mumble, eyes unable to stay in one place for too long. a soft bout of laughter escapes you, and he can tell you’re trying to stave off your own nervosity; it sends a pang of ache running through his chest.

he wants to tell you that there’s no need to be nervous. that he’d listen to anything you have say, absolutely anything, no matter what it is.

he wants to tell you that he’d never let you down, that he’d have to be foolish to even think the thought.

he wants to tell you that he’ll hear you out. whenever, wherever. for as long as you need.

”do you, um…”

a gulp. your eyes find his, and there’s a soft kind of decisiveness in them.

here it comes, he thinks. here it comes.

yuuta feels the heat on his cheeks, ears burning. and he hears the patter of his heartbeat, loud and heavy, echoing in his muddled mind like a mantra. but his chest feels light; fluttery, butterflies dancing around uncontrollably.

clutching the ring around his neck, subconsciously, he looks you in the eye.

they’re bright, glimmering like little galaxies — or maybe more like summer skies. painted over with a warm hue, something nostalgic and sweet, so pretty it hurts. if he strains his eyes enough, he’s almost sure he can see the swirling of fluffy clouds in the depths of your irises.

a smile rests on your lips. it's almost overwhelmingly sweet, albeit a little shy, as you part your pretty lips. voice soaked in nervosity, tingly and shaky, and something he knows to be puppy love.

a shallow, dry intake of breath. yuuta braces himself.

here it comes.

your voice spills out into the air, dripping with honey and magnolias. he thinks to himself that he’d like to hear the melodic lilt of it every single day; before going to bed, right after waking up. walking to campus together, heading back to the dorms when the sky gets dark.

just the sound alone would be enough.

subconsciously, he tugs on the strap of his backpack. thinking of the pencil inside it. his lucky charm, along with the ring around his neck — ordinary objects, both too precious for words.

(when we grow up, let’s get married!

you can keep it, if you want.)

here it comes, yuuta thinks.

a new beginning.

he strains his ears, and purses his lips, and watches your lips move as you finally ask —

”do you have maki’s number?”

(somewhere in the distance, from an inconspicuous bush, the muffled screams of three students and one professor resounds.)

1K notes · View notes

godmadeaterribleerror · 9 days ago

Text

Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we’re in the home stretch, I offer some sweet fluff and nasty smut to pad the absolute violence on the horizon.

Chapter Title from Rainbow Connection by Kermit.

Word Count: 29.1k (sorry)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben take a trip. Usual warnings, with a extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, very big fluff, p in v sex, oral (m and f reciving), established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 27 - Chapter 29

When the sun starts to rise, the ocean isn’t blue or green. It’s black and gold, almost like oil. It swallows Mallory’s burnt and mangled body in an instant, and the shattered pieces of Ben’s shield even faster.

You’d told him it was fixable. That it had broken the first time around, but still been sealed back into one, solid piece. He’d just shaken his head, his hand on your waist tracing soft patterns in a stark contrast with the grave expression on his face, and tossed the larger pieces into the harbor. The smaller ones were either burnt, scattered across the wreckage, or buried under rubble.

It didn’t really matter. Not right now, as everyone stood in a silent vigil, watching the sun slowly break over the horizon until the water was blue, and you had to exchange bleak, heavy looks of now what.

Ryan was still shaking. Butcher keeps a firm grip on his shoulder as you walked back to his car—somehow spared from the wrath of the fight—but he turns and shuffles to you as soon as the whole team settles into a circle. His head presses into your chest, his arms wrapping around you in the same clinging, fearful manner as before, and his whole body relaxing when you hug him back. And when your hand moves to his head—petting his hair as you sway Ryan back and forth—the world-blurring terror and heart-numbing grief and head-eating guilt in Ryan’s body begins to wane.

Ben stands at your side, tall and watchful, full of that painful, aching glow that feels like both a hurricane and it’s refuge. Ripping him apart inside, and sewing him back together in the very same second. And you’re not much better, mostly just so tired, but still with a lump in your throat and something cold over your skin that’s warming with the sun and under Ben’s firm, reverent touch.

Nobody is looking well for wear. There are various levels of bruising and blood over everyone’s bodies, and you’re barely wearing any clothing. Ben had pulled off his boxers for you before you’d returned to the group—carrying you in his arms and folded over your body to shield you from view—Butcher had scrounged up a hideous Hawaiian shirt from his car to cover your bloody tits and keep Soldier Boy from carvin out our fuckin eyes, you’d manage not to vomit as you pulled on Mallory’s blood covered pants, and your jacket survived the chaos. It’s not exactly fashionable, but it is incredibly suspicious.

You can’t linger here. In the devastation of the fight with Homelander—emergency services and government investigators will be here soon, and you can’t afford to be seen when they arrive—or the weight of this unforgiving knowledge of how you have so few paths left. Homelander got away, and you’re still here, but the last supply of V is gone. You could just try to fight him, but he’s gone back to Sage. She’ll take one look at his now hideous, scarred and burned features, and refuse to let him anywhere you. You don’t know how much gas they have, and you need the V if you want to just knock him down and finish this. For any ending that doesn’t involve blood turning the water and earth red once more, you need the V.

You think you have one, very last chance. A gamble that’s more likely to fail than pay off, but is still the only option you really have.

So you take a long, deep breath—keeping Ryan steady against your body, and your body steady against Ben’s—and place your shot in the dark out on the table for debate.

“The Cornucopia is a villa. In Rome. Built by Fredrick Vought.” You look around at their frowns of confusion, and continue. “He gave it to me. And Sage is after it, so-“

“It’s important.” MM mutters, running a hand over his face. “If Sage is still after it this late in the game, it might be real fucking important.”

You nod, letting out a soft sigh. “Important enough for her to look for, and for her to offer Ben and I help getting out in exchange for it.”

Butcher’s eyes flare. “Sage offered what-“

“We turned it down, asshole.” Ben grunts, a flash of something hot and bitter in his veins as he tugs you closer. “You pussies can’t get rid of us that easy.”

“I ain’t worried about that, you twats are like a cancer in my fuckin taint, but Sage don’t seem like the offerin type-“

“Offer was the wrong word,” you mutter. “It was a deal. Ben and I get to leave, she makes sure Homelander never finds us, and when we find the Cornucopia we give it to her instead of Edgar.”

Hughie frowns. “When you find it? Didn’t we already-“

“We did.” You cross your arms, looking around at your team as they begin to connect the dots. “And Sage doesn’t know that. She also doesn’t seem to know what it is, just that Edgar has it, and she wants it. Which means-“

“It might be a weapon.” Annie finishes your sentence, her eyes wide. “If it’s just a name to her, and, you said Fredrick Vought owned it, right?”

“Yeah. Edgar said he built the place himself.”

“And that he met with a bunch of other fucking science pussies there,” Ben adds, voice gruff and low. “For extra eyes.”

Your free hand drift to Ben’s—covering your hips—and you squeeze it gently. You love him, and next time anyone dares to think of this remarkably observant and aggressively perceptive man as stupid, you’ll punch them.

“Exactly.” You nod, continuing to address the group as Ben’s fingers tangle in yours. “So the chance that there’s at least something there is-“

“High.” MM grunts. “Real damn high. But I don’t know what the fuck we can do about it, if the villa’s all the way in Rome-“

You swallow, pushing the solution out of your throat. “We’re only twenty minutes from an international airport. Our CIA credit cards probably haven’t been frozen yet, so Ben and I can get a flight-“

“But the Homelander is very famous for taking down many, many planes.” Frenchie interjects, his words and expression painted with nerves. “It would not be safe to fly-“

“I, I know.” You sigh, and a biting memory of wind that pierced through your skin and turned your body into something sick flashes through your head. “But if we’re fast, he’ll have no way to figure out what we’re doing. And he won’t be going out in public until his face fixes itself.”

Annie blinks at you. “His face-“

“I burned him. Worse than the tower.”

“How fuckin bad did the cunt get it?” There’s a twisted glee in Butcher’s voice, and you keep your voice level and bored as you answer.

“Bad enough that he’s not going to want anyone to see.”

Butcher scowls—obviously about to push for a more descriptive answer—but MM cuts him off with a firm, slow words and a grave expression.

“If you two motherfuckers jet off the Rome, to get on top of this Cornucopia shit, that still leaves us high and dry until you get some answers.”

It’s a question, phrased as a statement. What do the Boys do while you’re gone. You can’t all go to Rome, that’s expensive and likely not very productive—just you and Ben together will be difficult enough to keep disguised—but the compound probably won’t be secure very, very soon.

But not yet. Right now you probably have half a day until the federal government catches up with this mess, so you take that and fucking run with it.

“You can go back to Jersey.” You look around the group, not wasting time to think out your words as you say them. You can revise as you go. “Get all our stuff out while you still can. Pick up A-Train, grab clothing and supplies, then lay low. Find somewhere safe and stay there until Ben and I get back. Don’t bother with damage control, because we don’t know what Sage or Singer will say about this. We might be about to be public enemies, and we can’t risk giving the media any possible extra information. So right now, all we can do is hide.”

“We could return to the Renegade Room-“

You cut off Frenchie’s suggestion with a shake of your head. “No. It has to be somewhere with absolutely no Vought association, and no chance that Sage…” You pause, trailing off and narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scratch that. Vought association might be good. Sage won’t look for you in her own territory, because that’s a stupid move and it might not even occur to her. Go to Edgar’s farm. It’s far enough removed that no one will just recognize you, and close enough that you can get back if you really need to. Stop at Neuman’s and pick up Ashley, then fucking book it to Maine.”

Everyone is silent for a second, thinking over your words, and you feel Ryan’s grip on you start to bruise your skin. You look down at him with a soft frown, and find his eyes wide and anxious and pleading in a way that makes your whole body ache. He’s not really afraid anymore—at least not in a way that’s paralyzing to either of you—but he is nervous. Hopeless. Filled with a slight mold that reminds you of Ben’s, and the pound of his weighted despair visceral is in your blood and muscles.

“Ryan, what’s-“

He leans up, words hushed like he’s afraid the sky might hear. “I don’t want you to go.”

You choke on something soft and painful, and force a small, sad close-lipped smile onto your face. “I know.” You whisper, pulling your hand from Ben’s to cup Ryan’s face. “But we’ll be back.”

“But what if my dad comes back-“

“He won’t hurt you.” You raise your voice, just enough to ensure your team hears to unspoken order in your words. That, above all else, they need to keep Ryan safe from Homelander. “A-Train will get you far away, and Butcher will protect you, or you can go hide with Neuman. But Homelander won’t get to you, I promise.”

Ryan nods slowly, eyes drifting over to Ben. “And you’ll, you’ll be safe-“

“We’re going to be fine, kid.” Ben grunts. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be back before you even damn blink.”

“Are you,” Ryan blinks at Ben, his expression wide and open, and something rolling around in his gut like worry. “Are you okay? With the V?”

Ben looks like someone punched him, and you can feel the shock slam into his body like a bomb. It’s not bad, he’s not angry, but it’s like lightning through his heart and lungs. Like he’s in disbelief that Ryan would even be fucked to worry about him at all. Before he gets a chance to respond, though, MM cuts in with tense words.

“What V?”

You take this one, because Ben looks like he needs another second. “We kind of, um, found some extra original formula V. And Ben shot it up during the fight.”

Annie’s mouth falls open. “But that’s so dangerous, isn’t that V really fucking unstable-“

“I’m fine.” Ben snaps through gritted teeth. “Didn’t even fucking feel it-“

Liar. You glare up at him. I felt it, Benjamin. And I thought I was dying.

Ben’s gaze whips to you, and his grip on your body tightens. What the fuck do you mean, you felt it.

You sigh, because you’d been hoping to have this conversation later. I literally felt it. Like it was happening to me as well. With the V, and the fight with Homelander. I think it’s the brain connection, I’ll ask Frenchie-

“Frenchie.” Ben grunts, aloud. “Could the brain connection shit mean that she feels my fucking pain.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, muttering dramatic man-child down your connection, but turn to look at Frenchie all the same.

“It could, hypothetically. If Her brain became deep enough that it hit your nervous systems-“

“Well why the fuck didn’t we catch it before-“

“We haven’t been in combat,” you turn back to Ben, chewing on your lips. “So there wasn’t really anything to catch before. But I, um-“ You glance down at Ryan—still in your arms and looking between you and Ben with a curious, nervous expression—and decide to move the conversation into your heads. I’ve felt your orgasms, Ben. And it happened before the connection, so I thought it was just the empathy. But maybe it was because I was physically touching you during it, I just don’t have to now. And it’s just the more intense feelings that get through.

Ben scans over your face. I haven’t felt your orgasms. He frowns. I’m pretty damn sure I haven’t.

Well, we’ll figure it out later. You look back to the group, making your voice measured and settled, no room for debate. Ben will still have new powers to fight with everyone about later, and you and Ben will still be just as—if not more—connected when you return from Rome. Right now is not the time to linger and pick apart anything, not when your fate is in an hourglass that’s running out by the second. “I know it’s a lot, but we have to move. Right now my best estimate is that Ben’s new powers are some sort of energy or nuclear manipulation, but we don’t have the time for semantics. Ben and I will figure it out later, and we’ll keep in contact with you on the phone Annie got me. Let us know when you get to Maine, we’ll tell you when we get to Rome, and please, stay safe.” Your gaze falls back to Ryan, and you give him a gentle smile. “We’ll be back soon. Listen to Butcher, and ask him to call me if you need to, okay?”

Ryan nods, but doesn’t move away from you. He dives fully into your hug, squeezing you in a way that might snap your ribs, and you try and use your fire to make your body as warm as possible. Keeping your hold on Ryan steady as Ben takes over in addressing the team, the humming glow in his body passing between you both.

“You assholes take the car, I can get us to the airport myself. Watch the kid with your fucking life, and if I he tells me even one of you pussies so much as looked at him wrong-“

“We got it, Gov.” Butcher mutters, reaching his arms out to Ryan. “Let’s move, kid. She ain’t gonna vanish if you let go of her.”

Ryan nods, peeling himself from your body, and has barely started to turn back to Butcher before he’s twisting back around and a crashing into Ben.

You wish this was easier. That you could smile at how Ben didn’t hesitate to return Ryan’s hug—it takes him a moment to relax, but his arms had shot up before Ryan had even fully leaned into him—with it only being sweet on your tongue, instead of mixed with something bitter on your teeth. You can still meet Ben’s eyes when he glances at you over Ryan’s head, and squeeze his bicep in silent thanks, but you can’t stay here and savor this moment.

You have to go.

Ryan walks back to Butcher with a low head and one last quiet look of anxiety on his face, and you give him a soft, gentle smile. You’ll be okay, Ryan. You’re strong, and Butcher will take care of you.

He nods the uneasy look in his eyes relaxing slightly, but his features remain lined with uncertainty. Promise me you’ll come back?

You think you might be choking on something so, so heavy, yet still only a mist. I promise.

Butcher guides Ryan back to the car with a borderline respectful nod and grunt of don’t fuckin die at you and Ben, and Ben stands tall and watchful at your side as Annie and Hughie give you tight hugs—their bodies filled with worry and fear and an ill feeling of doubt, but never hesitating or flinching away at your touch—and offer Ben nods.

“Um, Ben,” Hughie swallows at his own use of Ben’s real name, but doesn’t take it back as he reached into his jacket. “Annie got you a phone too, we didn’t figure Mallory was going to give you another.”

Ben looks between Hughie outstretched hand and his cautious but unafraid expression, and makes a low, gruff sound as he takes the phone. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Annie says, leaning past Hughie to say your name. “Don’t let him use it for anything weird-“

“Don’t worry.” Your lips tug up, your voice teasing as you nudge Ben’s shoulder. “When I set it up, I’ll put parental locks on it. No porn for you, Pretty Boy-“

Ben pulls you back under his arm, kissing you in a long, rough way that makes your knees a little weak. Don’t need porn. Got you.

Oh. Your brain is going a little numb under Ben’s unyielding touch and the way he seems to be everywhere against you, so you just fall a little further into him with a breathy sigh. Okay then.

Someone clears their throat, and when Ben pulls away from you—sucking on your lip before rising back up—you barely get a chance to ground yourself before Kimiko is tackling you in a tight hug.

“We both hope your flight is safe.” You hear Frenchie tell Ben, your own eyes closed as you sit in Kimiko’s care and determination, shockingly similar to Ben’s and coursing through your body. “Is there anything you would like retrieved from the compound-“

“Yes.” You look up, and Kimiko pulls away with a small nod at Ben. “Ben’s suit, and the rest of the suppressants. Not for me,” you give Ben a pointed look, and his mouth snaps shut with a glower. “But just to keep it away from the government. It’s in my underwear drawer, just take it with you to Maine. Please.”

Frenchie blinks, but hums an agreement. He shakes your hand—and Ben’s, but with a little less enthusiasm—and when he and Kimiko turn to the car, it’s just you, Ben, and MM left outside.

MM’s arms are crossed, and he’s watching you with an expression you can’t fully read.

“Stay safe.” You mumble, extending your hand for him to shake. “I’ll give you updates on what we find-“

MM lets out a sound that’s half a grunt and half a scoff, and fully ignores your hand as he pulls you into a hug. It’s not long like your hugs with the others, but it’s solid. And all you feel from him is conviction and will. Nothing lined with resent, or hatred, or disgust. Just a steadfast feeling like a tidal wave. Washing over you with the undeniable knowledge that MM trusts you. That if he ever found your love for Ben to be revolting, if he ever loathed you for it, he doesn’t now.

“Found this shit in the car, looks like it’s yours.” MM hands Ben his hat, and your sunglasses. “Don’t be stupid.” He moves back, holding your gaze with a hand on your free shoulder. “Keep that motherfucker,” his head jerks to Ben. “In line, and take care of yourself.”

“I will.” You whisper. “Thank you.”

MM and Ben shake hands—fast and almost brutal, but without any malice—and then it’s just you and Ben in the rubble. The engine on Butcher’s car starts with a slight sputter, dust kicking up in its wake as they pull out of the harbor yard, and you bury your head in Ben’s chest. You’ll have to move, soon, but for one second longer you just take in Ben’s warmth and inhale the scent of pine and salt and gunpowder that tells you you’ll be okay. Ben is here, so you’ll be okay.

When you pull away, looking up to see Ben already watching you—always watching you, always like you’re holy—and you smile at him as you speak between your heads. Logan Airport isn’t far, but you’ll probably need to steal us a car.

Ben’s mouth twitches slightly, but his gaze keeps pulling you apart. Searching for something on your face that you don’t know how to find for him, but Ben knows you, so he seems to find it himself. You’re afraid of fucking heights. I am not putting you in a situation where you’re going to lose your damn mind.

It’s a little late for that, Pretty Boy. You give him a flat look, and he scowls. And I’ll be fine. You’ll be there.

Something melts in his expression, and any of that aching, rotting feeling that had been eating at Ben’s heart is obliterated by the glow. It becomes overgrown and wild through his body—lighting up his spine and molten in his gut—as his gaze softens, and he leans down, pressing his brow to yours.

“I love you,” he mutters your name, and you feel that broken, writhing thing in your gut die an easy, peaceful death. “And I’ve fucking got you.”

“I love you too, Benjamin.” Your hands move up to hold his face, his beard soft under your touch and his body seeming to be made only of an ardor that makes the world a blur, but what matters sharp. “You burn, I burn.”

Ben nods, one of his hands dropping to hold yours. There’s a moment longer—just you and Ben, the rest of the world only pointless sounds and colors—and then you have to move.

It’s easy to find a car. The streets outside the harbor are lined with them, and you manage to push down any guilt by finding one that has some truly disgusting bumper stickers. Ben hot wires it while you stand guard, and when Ben draws up, you manage to drop into the driver’s seat before he can stop you.

He leans down to your eye level, scanning over your bright, smug smile and grunting your name. “Get the fuck out of my seat.”

Your smile widens. “Make me.”

He could. Ben could very easily pick you up, or push you over the console. He could kiss you until you whine and melt forward into his body, then draw back up and get all fucking cocky as you jump to your feet to chase his mouth.

But he doesn’t. He just rolls his eyes, grumbles beautiful fucking brat, and stomps around the car to sit shotgun.

Because of that, you make the twenty-minute drive to the airport in fifteen minutes flat. You probably would’ve made it in thirteen, but you’d passed Ben your phone around the seven-minute mark, told him to buy the tickets, and learned very, very quickly that he had no idea how to do that.

“You could pull the goddamn car over and do it yourself-“

“Not a chance, Pretty Boy.” You’d wrinkled your nose at him, switching lanes in a manner that can only be described as life risking. “You’ll kick me out of my seat.”

“Then we’re not getting anywhere, because I can’t do this shit myself-“

He could. You’d walked him through it—tap that button. Don’t do that airline, it’s shit. No, we don’t need any check-ons, we don’t have any property—and had to slow down to think and talk.

By the time you park, Ben has managed to buy two tickets on a one-way trip to Rome, and presents the confirmation screen to you with a wide grin and swelling, heated light in his chest.

“And you put in the right email-“

“I typed what you told me.” He grunts, passing the phone into your hands. “But I didn’t get us economy, fuck that, we’re riding first goddamn class.”

“Ben, first class is like a thousand dollars-“

“Not our money,” he shrugs, and you can feel his eyes on you as you read over the tickets. “And if the CIA pussies have a problem with it, then they can eat my fucking ass.”

“Gross. Even I don’t eat your ass.”

“And you fucking won’t.” Ben pauses, and you look up to see him frowning at you. “Unless you-“

“I do not want to eat your ass, Benjamin.” You don’t bother to push down the giggle at how incredibly serious he is, brow furrowed and looking you over with a frown. “That is very far down on the list of things I want to do with you.”

Ben’s eyes flash, and you feel your face heat before the smirk is even on his face. “You have a fucking list, Sunshine?”

“I mean, I have a vague outline?” You mumble, and this isn’t a battle you’ll win. You not even sure why you started it, because it has and always will end with you pinned under Ben’s strong body, coming apart as he touches and kisses and teases you. “I don’t know, we need to get through security, shut up and move your ass-“

“No.” Ben’s hands grab your hips, and he pulls you onto his lap without any effort. “Our flight isn’t for five fucking hours, darling. I know, because I booked the goddamn tickets. And you’re going to tell me about this vague fucking outline of yours, now.”

“I, um-“ You swallow, because he’s so close to you, and so handsome, and kneading on your skin and big and warm and Ben-

“Words-“

“Shut up-“

“Do you want to ride me, right here? Make you squirt all over my cock, fuck you so stupid you can’t remember how to walk?”

“We don’t have extra clothing.” You say, your voice already a little dumb and far away. “Or a shower. If you get cum on me, people will notice.”

“I think I’ll be able to fucking live with that.” Ben winks, his voice dropping to a deep drawl you can feel everywhere in your body. “I’d love to get you so wet and filled up that the whole goddamn plane smells how good I fuck my-“

You fall into him, kissing Ben until every inch and fiber of your love is wrapped around his head, and he groans in a way that makes you grind down onto him. His grip on you tenses, and you have to force yourself away, or he’ll flip you over and you won’t leave the car for another two hours.

“Ben,” you try to make your voice firm, a command for him to follow, but it comes out breathy and desperate, and he just growls and drops his mouth to that one spot on your neck. “God, fuck, we need to go-“

Five hours, Sunshine, we’ve got a goddamn shitload of time-

No, Ben, we- He bites you, not enough to break skin but enough to make you a little dizzy, and you moan. Security, we need to get through security-

Security will take ten minutes, it’s just a fucking metal detector-

That gives you enough strength to tug on his hair and move his gaze back to yours. It’s not easy—Ben’s eyes are blown out, his chest is rising and falling in a ragged, uneven pattern, and you can feel how hard he is, right against your thigh—but you manage to look at him with an amused, dry expression.

“Airport security will not take ten minutes, and it’s a lot more than a metal detector, you dinosaur.”

Ben frowns, and your fingers start to lightly trace over the lines of his face on pure instinct. “What the hell else is there, it’s a plane-“

“Has nobody told you about 9/11? And like, airports? Didn’t you take a plane back from Russia?”

“I snuck on that plane, and it was real fucking easy-“

“Comforting.” You mumble, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t have time to explain 9/11 to you, but we’re going to have to wait in a very long line, and-“ You pause, dropping your head into his chest. “Fuck. We don’t have passports, and you’re a walking bomb, and I’m a living sun, there’s no way we’re going to make it through the gate, fuck-“

“We’ll make it.” Ben’s hand tangles in your hair, his voice rolling through your body. “You think you can do the invisible shit on me?”

You blink against him, your words muffled in his shirt. “Maybe? I wouldn’t want to bet on it though-“

“I’ll fucking bet on it.” Ben hauls you further up his body, forcing you to his eye level. “You’ve got this. We’ll walk right through the door, and no one will know the goddamn difference.”

“But-“

“No. You’re strong, Sunshine. You’re going to do this.”

You have a feeling that if Ben told you actually, Sunshine, you can fucking breathe underwater, you’d figure out a way to do it. Because he looks at you with such certainty, and says all his words like they’re purely fact, and you can feel the hot, focused power of his love in your chest, so you can do this. It’s going to be really, really easy to do this.

Ben helps you out of the car, his hand folded in yours, and you take the shuttle bus to the airport in an easy silence. Your disguises are dogshit—Ben’s hat not even fully covering his face, your sunglasses not looking very casual in the darkness of the bus, and you’re still wearing incredibly questionable outfits—but nobody really spares you a glance, so you arrive at the airport without a single issue.

Ben pulls you into a family restroom, and his voice is gruff in your head. You’ve fucking got this. We’re going to walk past the lines, past the detectors, and get on that fucking plane.

You nod, searching his face and trying to let his concrete resolve fully destroy your own skin-crawling and stomach-turning anxiety. We won’t be able to see each other-

So don’t let go. Ben squeezes your hand in his. And even if we do get separated, I can just fucking pigeon back to you.

Your mouth twitches. You said pigeon.

Shut the fuck up. Ben presses a kiss to your brow, and you know he called it that on purpose. That you’re smiling a little more now, and he’s standing a little less rigid, and breathing is a little easier for you both, because Ben knew that would do it.

I love you, Benjamin.

I love you too, he mutters your name in the silence of the airport bathroom, his gaze stringing you up like he’s trying to find an extra piece of you for his love to touch. Let’s do this.

It’s shockingly easy. You really do think it’s because Ben said it would be, and your body knows that he’d never hurt you or lead you astray, so now it is easy. Now you can sing in a soft, almost inaudible voice, and watch Ben vanish before your eyes. You can still feel him—both stroking his thumb over the back of your hand and alight and easy in your chest—and smell pine, but he’s nowhere in sight, so you start to walk before you can miss even a single note.

You duck and weave your way through the crowd, right up to the departure doors, then through them. The guards don’t blink, a million alarms don’t sound, and nobody stops and shouts Soldier Boy and the Anomaly, so you did it. You find another empty bathroom, stop singing, and watch a grinning, smug Ben materialize right in front of you.

“I fucking told you-“

“Shut up.” Despite your words, you’re still rising up to kiss his cheek, and tugging his arm around your waist. “Are you ready to experience the wonders of modern airports, Benjamin?”

“It’s a fucking airport.” He mutters. “I’ve seen a goddamn airport before, they’re all boring as shit.”

You hum, shaking your head with a grin. “Wrong. They’re like malls now. There’s a food court, and shops, and a million Dunkin Donuts because we’re in Boston. I think we should start with some clothing that doesn’t make us look like we just returned from war, but if you’re hungry-“

“Are you hungry.”

“I,” you pause, trying to figure out when you’d actually last eaten. Or slept. Or sat down just for the sake of resting. Your voice drops to a whisper, and you scan over Ben’s stoic features with a soft gaze. “I could eat. But I would really like to change into something that doesn’t belong to Butcher or a dead lady. And we should probably get you some underwear.”

“I’m fucking fine,” Ben grunts your name, and you cut him off with a slight shove of his shoulder.

“See, if I told you that, you’d get all grumpy and tell me to shut up-“

Ben scowls. “Because it’s not the same damn thing-“

“It’s exactly the same thing. I like to take of you as well, Benjamin, my love.” You run your hand over his brow, pushing ash covered hair away from his eyes. “You just did something very fucking stupid, and we don’t even really know what your new powers are, or how they might hurt you-“

“They won’t hurt me.” Ben grumbles, but he’s leaning into your touch. His hands on your body have gone a little slack, the patterns on your hips looser, and you can feel the glow in his body softening something that’s embedded so deep that it feels a little raw. “It’s just V, and I barely even fucking felt it-“

His words fade off before you can even give him a pointed look, and there’s something sore over his heart, his voice a little hoarse when he speaks again.

“You felt it.”

“I did.” You mumble, your fingers curling slightly against his beard. “All of it.”

Ben’s jaw clenches, and his hand shoots up to catch your wrist. “I, fucking Christ-“

“It’s okay. I was,” you take a long breath, and offer him a small, soft smile you hope he can feel. “I was mostly just afraid. For you. And Ryan.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have fucking had to be-“

“But it’s also done.” You counter, twisting your hand in Ben’s hold to tangle your fingers together. “All that we can do now is figure out what your powers are, and try and work with them.”

He’s scanning over your face, his grip like iron, and you think he’s trying to find a single part of you that’s still in pain. Any evidence that Ben’s own toil had rooted or left a depression in your body, even if he can no longer feel it himself.

He doesn’t find it. Every ache and sore and stab and sting has faded, and the most distress your body can feel is a crawl of grime over your skin and a slight strain in your lungs from the pressure of how this has to work.

“You want new clothing.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyway. “We passed a burger place earlier,” you whisper, leaning a little further into Ben’s chest. “We can buy some clothing, change, and eat?”

Ben presses a kiss to the top of your head with a low grunt of affirmation, and keeps his hand locked in yours as you exit the bathroom.

You get a few strange looks as Ben tugs you through the terminal, but nobody’s eyes linger for more than a second, so you’re not that worried about being made. Right now you and Ben are just a horribly dressed couple, walking around an airport convenience store and grabbing city-themed merchandise that’s going to cost the CIA over a hundred dollars.

I need a hoodie. You mumble to Ben’s head, pushing through a rack of men’s shirts. Sunglasses are really suspicious indoors.

Ben grunts, kissing the side of your head before shuffling away. You find him the simplest top you can—with absolutely no sports associations he might be a massive baby about—and he returns to your side with a bright pink hoodie and bag of chocolates.

For you. He passes both into your hands, taking the shirt and looking it over with a frown. They don’t have men’s underwear. Or jeans. Got sweatpants.

You frown. What about women’s underwear? I can give you your boxers back-

Nothing. He looks back to you with a wink. You can give me back my underwear if you want, though. One of us is going commando, and I won’t complain if it’s you.

You wrinkle your nose at him. Horny old man.

Of course I’m damn horny, I have a hot fucking wi- Ben cuts himself off in your head, his hands tightening on the shirt, and you blink at him.

Are you-

Let’s pay for this shit and get you some food. Ben’s arm loops through yours, and he starts to pull you to the checkout counter. And if you want to keep wearing my underwear, I’m not going to complain.

Ben, what was- This time you cut yourself off, eyes landing on a small, stuffed lobster, and you try to tug your arm from Ben’s hold. Wait.

He freezes, but doesn’t let you go as he turns back around. What.

You gesture to the lobster, looking up at Ben with your best, sweetest, most pleading expression. Can we get that? For Ryan?

Something flares on Ben’s face, and it’s in perfect time with the glow, as well as a feeling that’s rioting and bellowing through his whole body. Crafted from his love, but set with something bigger. Something that’s almost sensitive and tender, with less wrath and sitting near his love for you, but extending a little further into the world.

Ben reaches over you, grabbing the lobster without a word, and pauses before grabbing a second one.

When you get to the cashier—Ben dropping everything on the counter with a glower that kills any attempted small talk before it starts—you tug on his arm.

We only have one Ryan, my love, we don’t need two-

Second one is for you. He keeps his gaze vigilantly scanning over the shop, but pulls you a little further into his side. I promised you a lobster, and that’s a fucking lobster.

You can’t start crying in the airport. But you also can’t climb up Ben’s chest or tackle him to the floor, then beg him to fuck you in broad daylight. It’s leaving you with very few options as the whole world becomes Ben, and your whole body seems to only care about kissing him and touching him and telling him in every way you can that fuck you love him. He’s so good to you—so silently and grumpily adorable and handsome and strong and big and Ben—and you need to show him that every single time he does something like this, your whole body lights up with adoration and a sense of being cared for you’d never felt before him. Won’t ever feel after him, and won’t need to worry about not feeling, because he’s permanent and loves you and you’ll never not be amazed by that. Ben loves you, and you don’t want for anything anymore because he’s everything, and gives you more, and the least you can do is find a quiet corner to drop to your knees and give him something back.

I’m not fucking you in the airport, Sunshine.

You blink at him, and realize you’ve half fallen into his body. He’s still not fully looking at you, but you can see the cocky, smug smirk on his stupid, handsome face, and it takes a lot of effort to scoff between your heads and stick your tongue out at him, instead of kissing all over his jaw and neck and beard until he groans. Until he feels just as worshipped and tended to as you always feel under his attention.

I wasn’t going to ask you to-

He snorts. You were making begging eyes at me, and you’re goddamn seconds from trying to fuck the air.

I am not going to try and fuck the air-

Ben grunts your name, light and joy and love that makes your knees a little weak dancing over his every feature as he glances down at you. I can fucking smell how wet you are. Christ, I can feel how desperate you are for my cock. He leans down to your flushed face, voice deep and taunting. I’ll fuck you real good later, but you need to pull yourself the hell together, or we’re going to get a public indecency charge.

You, You swallow, your eyes wide on his. You can just not fuck me-

He chuckles, kissing the space between your eyes. We both know that’s not true.

Ben pulls away, his arm around your waist holding you steady, but you’re still sitting in a lustful, warm, airy daze of Ben. Alive and powerful in your body and all around you, guiding you back to a family restroom to change into your newly acquired, filth and blood free clothing, and sitting you carefully on the toilet so he can strip.

You glare at him as he pulls off his shirt, just a pace out of your reach. “You’re such an asshole.”

He just grins, shooting you a wink as he pulls his new shirt over his head, his muscles rippling and his arms flexing and fuck he’s so pretty and strong and all yours-

“Next time Butcher or MM accuse me of being unable to keep it in my pants,” Ben drawls, shaking out his hair slightly and starting to undo his belt. “I’m going to get real goddamn specific about how you beg me to fuck you every twenty minutes.”

You pull your gaze away from Ben’s hands—broad and rough and pulling down his jeans—and give him a pout. “Shut up, you’re no better than I am.”

He shrugs, and now you have to pretend you can’t see his half hard cock, only a few feet and small movement from being in your mouth. “No, but everyone seems to think you’re some sort of fucking innocent little thing I’ve corrupted, when you’re the horniest woman I’ve ever fucking met.” He scans over you with a darkened gaze, his grin widening into something hungry you can feel pooling in your lower stomach. “You’re fucking drooling, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you-“

You know what you’re doing, because at this point telling Ben fuck you is just as much begging him as scratching at his back and moaning his name and squirming under him are. And you’re never disappointed in its return rate, because worst case you get a lewd promise that he fulfills within the day, and best case is he groans and fucks you on the spot, until you’re screaming and so cock-drunk all you can do is smile at him and mold into his body.

This time, it’s closer to the latter. Ben’s eyes flash, and he closes the space between you with one long step.

“You’re such a fucking brat.” he growls, his expression filled with an awe that makes you start to rub your thighs together. “So goddamn needy for me, so fucking beautiful and desperate for my cock-“

“Ben-“

“You want me in that pretty mouth of yours?” He’s slowly stroking his dick, now fully erect and coated with pre-cum, and you’re going to fall over. He raises himself to press against your lower lip in a silent question, and you open for him without thought. Running your tongue over his throbbing, red tip, moaning around him as he pushes further in.

Your hands brace on his thighs—Ben’s grunts mixing in with the wet sounds of him slowly fucking your mouth—and you whimper when his hand tangles in your hair, moving you up and down in a steady rhythm.

“Christ, you’re a miracle. Such a good girl, fucking made to suck my cock, goddamnit, you’re perfect-“

Ben’s word falter as you swallow slightly when he bumps the back of your throat, his head throwing back and his muscles tensing under your hands.

“Fuck,” he groans your name, and you moan around him. “You’re, fuck, so good, so fucking beautiful, I, fuck-“

You’ve started to graze your teeth over him, your hand moving up to play with his balls, and you let every lewd and wanting noise fall out of your body and around his cock. He’s twitching in your mouth, rutting against you and tugging at your hair, and his foul words and praise start to slur.

“Fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me.” His free hand is braced on the wall, and when you look up and him under your lashes, his hips jerk. “Want to cum on your tits, fucking mark you, let everyone know how fucking good you take my cock, how you’re fucking mine-“

You oblige, pulling off of him with a long suck and flicking your tongue against him right before you squeeze his balls and press a kiss to his abdomen. Cum on me, Ben, show everyone that I’m yours-

He makes the lowest, most feral and deep noise you’ve ever heard, and you find your own release as his orgasm crashes into your body. You’re covered in him, painted white from his cum and smelling like heat and sex and salt and Ben, and you’d have probably fallen off the toilet if Ben didn’t dive down, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his torso before kissing you with spit and teeth and a brutal passion that sends you over the edge again.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, and you realize you’ve sent himinto another orgasm, his cock twitching against your thigh. “You’re, fuck.”

“I know,” you mumble, writhing slightly in his arms as your body grows hypersensitive, his every touch feeling like the best type of torture on your skin. “We, um, we should probably change and leave before they kick us out.”

“They can fucking try,” Ben grumbles, kissing the tip of your nose and sliding you down his body. “Some pussy with a taser can’t do shit to us-“

You let out a loud, pleading sound as his cock brushes over your clit, and Ben stares down at you, his jaw clenched and his body filled with such overwhelming love and reverence you might cum again.

“Christ on a cross,” he mutters, and you whine again at the pure adoration and practical wonder in his voice. “You’re, holy fuck, you’re so fucking perfect. You already need me to fuck you again-“

“You didn’t fuck me,” you protest weakly, your arms wrapped around his neck to prevent your legs from giving out. You think Ben can sense that, because even as he smirks at the whine of your words, his arm braces against you, keeping you upright. “And we haven’t fucked in like, a day-“

Ben lets out a loud, full laugh, and you bury your flushed face in his chest.

“Shut up-“

“No.” Ben kisses the top your head, letting you cling to him as he starts to move around the bathroom, pulling on his sweatpants and starting to peel off your own clothing. “You’re so fucking need, beautiful, so responsive and pretty when I worship you like you deserve, I fucking love you. But you’re going have to hold on a little longer,” He mutters your name against your hair, and you grind into him with a downright pathetic sound. “Because I want to fucking try something, and I’m not doing it in a goddamn airport bathroom.”

You’re pouting, but you still manage to nod and ignore that—even after you’re in your new clothing, Butcher’s cum-covered shirt if the trash—you smell like Ben. He’s dried on your skin—salt mixed with something strong and earthy and bitter that’s purely Ben—and you try to wash him off in the sink, but the asshole himself walks up behind you and starts kissing your neck, so the most you mange is anything obviously visible.

In a true, genuine, moment of genius and foresight, Ben had bought a backpack for you to keep the lobsters, chocolate, and sunglasses in. He insists on carrying in it—grumbling about you work too fucking hard, and he’s stronger—and any fight you put up is hollow, because Ben’s rugged face and huge body looks downright ridiculous wearing a backpack that was probably meant for a child, and you can’t stop smiling at the sight.

You find a restaurant with a half-decent menu—Ben’s hat low on his face and your hoodie shadowing over your features—and eat in a comfortable silence. Ben’s knee stays pressed against yours under the table through the meal, his eyes following your every movement, and it becomes downright torture with how your pussy is still aching and squeezing around nothing.

“Have you,” you glance up at him from your plate, your fingers tapping on the table as you try to distract yourself from thoughts of jumping over the table and riding him right here. “Have you been to Rome before? I know we’ve talked about it, but you’ve never actually said-“

“Once.” His words are slightly muffled by his mouthful of burger, and a little sauce gets stuck to his lip. “After the war.”

“Oh, so a million years ago.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, brat, I am not old-“

“You literally just said after the war, Benjamin.” You reach over the table with an easy smile, swiping the sauce away with your thumb. “That’s something old people say.”

“There are plenty of fucking wars, I could be talking about any damn one of them-“

You shrug, sucking the sauce off your fingers, and grinning at Ben’s hunger pounding against your ribs. “But you’re not. You’re talking about World War II, because you’re old.”

“You love it,” he mutters, and you’re not lucid enough stop your hum of agreement. It’s not like he doesn’t already know it, but it still makes you flush when his eyes start to sear through your body, a smirk creeping back over his face.

“Where did you go in Rome-“

Your attempt to reign in the conversation fails massively, and Ben chuckles as he leans across the table, placing his big, warm hand over yours. “You do fucking love it. It gets you real damn wet, how old I am-“

“Shut up,” you mutter, unable to tear your gaze away from him. “I do not get turned on by how old you are-“

“Yes, you do-“

“No I don’t-“

“From where I’m fucking sitting, you do-“

“I get turned on by you,” you blurt, the words falling out of your mouth as Ben’s hand over yours tenses. “It’s just you, I’m not into all old men-“

“I know that,” He grins as he says your name, tone mocking but full of such affection it makes you gape. “But you love me, and you love teaching me shit, and how I’m so experienced I can make you fucking soaked in two seconds, and that I’m a goddamn gentleman-“

“That’s just you, though.” You protest. “I love you. Not that you’re old-“

“If I admit that I’m old,” Ben drawls, fingers folding into yours. “Will you admit that it turns you on?”

You swallow, but nod cautiously, and his grin lights up his whole face. Like you’ve just offered him ice cream and sex as a reward for good behavior, and now he gets to have both. It’s downright adorable, and you don’t think you know how to even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore. Not when he looks so happy, and it’s all directed at you.

“Say it.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, but push the words out. “I get turned on by how old you are. But, it’s because-“

“Nope.” Ben shakes his head, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “I’m old, and you fucking love it. And I,” he lowers your hand back down, holding your gaze. “Love you. And we’re going to find a butterfly garden for you in Rome, and see some buildings that are older than I am, and go wherever the hell else you want us to.”

“We have a job to do-“

“After the job. We’ll have one fucking day where it’s just us.” Ben’s voice is firm, and his love is setting you ablaze, and you’d follow him anywhere, so you can only watch him speak with soft eyes and a slight gape. “When I went there were these stupid fucking stone pillars they made me take pictures with, and I-“

“The Roman forum?” You interrupt him with quick words, and his smile somehow grows as he huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, that shit. You want to see them?”

Your nod is eager, and you feel a flash of pride and hot satisfaction through Ben’s body.

“Good,” he says, scanning over your features with an intensity that makes you squirm. Like if you move your body just right under his attention, Ben might stand, pick you up, slam you down on the table, and fuck you right here. “We’re going to have one real day where we’re not doing anyone’s goddamn job, and I’m going show off you off to all of Europe. Show the whole goddamn world how I have the best fucking wi-“ Ben’s jaw ticks sightly, his hand flexing in yours, and there’s a slight stutter to his words that makes you blink. “Woman in the world, and how I treat you right.”

You decide to brush off his odd words and just smile at him, squeezing his hand in yours. “You do.” You say the words simply, because he does treat you so good, it makes the glow in him become white-hot. “And we can see something you want to see as well-“

“I don’t give a fuck what we see.” Ben shrugs, taking a last large bite of his burger. “I’ll go wherever the hell you go.”

“Oh.” Your voice drops to a whisper—he’d said those words so passively, like it was as inherent as breathing, and it’s making your brain a little numb—and Ben pauses between bites to stare at you with a slight frown.

He grunts your name in the noise of the restaurant, and his eyes are so green and pretty and Ben that it takes you a moment to realize you need to respond to him.

I’m good. I’m really good. You don’t trust your voice to not be only a needy, breathy noise, so you smile at Ben until his features relax.

I have to take a piss, Sunshine, so we’re going to pay the bill, go to the bathroom, and then you’ll tell me all the things you want to do in Rome. Deal?

Deal. You extend your hand over the table, and Ben scoffs at it, standing up out of his seat and walking around the table to kneel at your side. Ben-

I love you, his eyes are making you a little dizzy, and you’re shocked you haven’t exploded from the strength and fervor of Ben inside you. A fuck ton. And I’m going to prove it-

You don’t have to prove it, you drop your brow to Ben’s, tracing a hand over his jaw. I know you love me. I never, ever doubt that, Ben. I can feel it, you poke his chest. Here. I can feel you everywhere. And I love you too.

Ben nods slowly—rising back up with a kiss to the top of your head—and glowers around the restaurant. “Where the fuck did the waiter go-“

“Just go to the bathroom, I can take care of the bill-“

“I am not leaving you-“

You sigh, wrapping your hand around his forearm and pulling him back to your eye level. “It’s not leaving me, my love. I’ll pay, go to the gate, wait for you, and be in one complete piece when you get back. We can’t always be right next to each other, and it’s literally physically impossible for you to lose me.”

He frowns—the ache and mold over his lungs making you think he’s going to protest—and his words are grumbled and stiff. “Do you need anything.”

“I’m okay right now. We should get snacks before the flight, airplane food is famously bad-“

“What type of snacks.”

You shrug. “Road trip snacks, I guess. But it can wait-“

Ben gives you a rough nod, a deep, heavy kiss that makes toes curl, and stomps off to find a bathroom.

It takes you a second to fully regain control of your body, but when you do, you’re quick to flag down a waiter and pay the bill. It’s easy to find the gate, and it’s not too from where you can sense Ben, so you drop down in your seat and send MM a quick update. You’re at the airport, no delays or risk of being burned or identified, your flight is in two hours, boarding in one, and you’ll call after you get to the vila. MM responds quickly—they just got back to the compound, their keycards still work, and they’ll be in Maine when you land—and now you have nothing to do but wait.

Your attention wanders around the crowd—suits and tourists and sleeping solo travelers—and lands on a family. A tired looking mother and father, a baby, and three bouncing children, and it pulls on something soft and delicate in your chest. You want that. You really want something so painfully domestic and simple with Ben more than you might have ever wanted anything. You’d meant those words to Homelander, that—when he’s long dead and buried, only a ghost that crawls over your skin and makes the cracks inside you a little more visible—you’ll marry Ben. And it doesn’t really feel like that big of a decision, because you’re alive inside of him and he’ll go wherever you go. It would be more so you can have a ring to twist on your finger that displays that Ben loves you, and no men at gas stations will try to take what you only offer to Ben, and everyone who walks past you will know that you’re married. That you’re loved by the strongest, safest, most impossibly grumpy and handsome and caring man in the world.

You’d meant the other part as well. That somewhere in the future, if Ben wanted it as well, you’d want kids. It wouldn’t be even similar to how Homelander wanted your children, because he didn’t want you. He’d wanted a body that he deemed fit to serve him, but Ben serves you every waking moment. He carries you in his arms, and mutters words of gruff comfort, and does small things—like picking you flowers and buying you a stuffed lobster—that make it so easy to be his. So children with Ben would be yours, and you’d never have to protect them from their father, because he’d be a great dad. He might actually be the most dad dad you could ask for, because between how he grumbles supportive words and protects you and Ryan like it’s all that matters and the WWII documentaries and pancakes and baseball, he’s straight out of a dad factory.

And it would be amazing. To have a life like that family’s, where you’re curled into Ben’s side like you always have been and his arm is over your shoulder like it always is, but you’re cradling a baby that pouts at you like Ben does when you leave him alone, and he’s locked in a deeply serious conversation with a toddler that looks just like you. Where there’s another child asleep on his lap—which you’d understand, Ben’s lap is the best place to be in the world—that looks like someone melded you and Ben together, and a fourth one that looks like someone photocopied Ben—right down to the deep glare—watching him talk and hanging off his leg. Ryan could be with you, talking to you in a hushed voice about school, and that could be your whole world. The name Homelander would never mean anything to your children, and it would only be spoken on darker nights where you, Ben, or Ryan woke up in a cold, hollow pain.

You have to pull your attention away from the family—you’re staring, and if you keep looking at them you might start crying with something that’s made of longing and a very faint hope—and lean back in your seat with closed eyes. You don’t want to watch the news—playing on high mounted televisions around the terminal—because it will make you sad, so you drift through a world where Homelander is only dirt and you’re only loved, right until you feel Ben stir in your chest. When you open your eyes, they’re drawn to him in the crowd like he’s gravity. Marching out of the bathroom and finding to you after barely a beat, a grin crossing his face as he shoves through the crowd to returns to you.

“Hi, Sunshine.”

The smile on your face might make you look downright stupid, but you don’t care. “Hi, Benjamin.”

He drops at your side, tugs you half onto his lap, and rests his chin on the top of your head as you bury your face in his chest, humming as you tap your fingers against him.

What’s the plan. He grunts in your head, his hands starting to rub patterns on your hips. In Rome.

You let out a long, slow breath. I don’t know how long we’ll be there-

We’re going to have at least two days. Call it one for all the fucking work we need to do, and one for us.

Okay. You gnaw on your lower lip, thinking out every word between your heads. The work is pretty simple. Find the villa, look for whatever Sage is after, and brief the team. If it’s not in a highly populated area, we might want to use some time to figure out what the fuck is up with your new powers-

It’s the nuke.

You lean up to examine him, and he looks solemn, his whole body wrapped in something grim and definite. Are you positive-

I’m pretty goddamn certain. His brow furrows. Fucking feels like it.

What does it feel like?

Energy.

And…?

Power.

Benjamin, I swear to god-

It feels like the fucking nuke, okay? It- Ben lets out a heavy breath, the scowl on his face turning in on his body, and his skin lining with a hot frustration that isn’t directed at you, but leaking out of something that’s almost stuck in his body. I don’t know how to fucking describe it, it just is the nuke.

Okay. You raise your hand to his face, running your hands through his beard until the taut thing wrapping around his throat and pulling his face into a frown loosens. I believe you. I still want to test it, so we know what you can do, but I believe you.

Good. I- Ben’s jaw twitches, but nothing tearing or molding grows on his heart. With Homelander. I didn’t want to lose you, and it just damn appeared. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and it feels a whole lot fucking easier to control. Does that-

That’s helpful. Thank you.

Ben just grunts. Any other shit for us to do?

I’d like to figure out the whole pain thing. If it was just high adrenaline or something more consistent, if it’s only severe pain, if you can feel it when I’m in pain-

Do you ever feel sick.

You blink at him. What-

When you’re afraid. Ben mutters in your head, scanning over your face. Or sad. Do you feel sick.

Yeah, sometimes. I, I vomit when it’s really bad. Like at the tower. Why-

I can feel it. When you’re in pain.

Oh.

I didn’t fucking think it was a big deal-

No, it’s okay. You sigh, dropping your brow to rest on his shoulder. It’s good to know, and it knocks off another thing. We’ll just need to search the villa, call the team, and test your powers a little.

Good. And for us. What do you want to do for us.

I, you take a long, steading breath, just to try and come down a little further into the sense of Ben, everywhere around you. I like the butterfly garden idea. You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. I think it would be really funny to see you in it. You’re going to be so grumpy-

Shut up-

No. I love you, and you’re going to hate it, but I’ll let you fuck me after as a reward for doing something so stupid-

It’s not fucking stupid. He grumbles in your head. If you like it, it’s not stupid.

You might melt right here, in public, inhaling pine and salt and coffee and Ben, lightheaded from the unbreaking feeling of his love inside you. Oh. Thank you.

Don’t. What else.

Um, I’d like to see more gardens, and the Roman Forum would be cool. I might not shut up the whole time, but-

I think I’ll fucking live. Ben drawls in the noise of the crowd around you. That it?

No. Your voice is a little more confident now, as you fall a little further into Ben’s body. We should see some fountains, and the Sistine Chapel, go shopping while we still have CIA credit cards, and go to the Colosseum. You’ll love the Colosseum, Pretty Boy, you’d have been an excellent gladiator.

Damn right, I would have. Ben’s arms squeeze around your body, the glow inside him becoming prideful. I’d have kicked fucking ass.

You giggle softly, tracing your fingers over his chest. I know.

Ben’s hand moves to your chin, tilting it up with a reverent touch so he can kiss you slowly. Snacks.

You understand the half-question, half-request for Ben to be given something to do, and hum. Yes, please.

The kiss lasts another long minute before Ben draws up, letting his fingers linger against your lips, before grunting stay here in your head, and stomping off. You pass the time he’s gone people watching and keeping an eye on the flight attendants—shuffling around the desk and calling for last minute bag-checks—and Ben is just slow enough to return right as they begin boarding.

“What the hell is-“

“They’re filling up the plane.” You take in his armful of gummies and cookies and chocolates, and snort. “You have the appetite of a toddler, my love-“

“This shit is for you,” he winks as he dumps the majority of the snacks into your backpack. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t, but you eat first.”

“Such a good boyfriend,” you tease, taking his hand as you move to your feet. “Taking good care of his girl-“

“My wi-“ Ben’s mouth twitches, and he tugs you closer to his body as he continues with a too casual drawl for how his whole world seems to be electric ardor and something loud and blinding he’s pushing down. “My woman, Sunshine. You’re a fucking woman.”

You giggle again, kissing him on the cheek and deciding to let the strange moment go, but keep an eye out for more like it, given this is the third time he’s stumbled over words, and Ben never stumbles over words. “A true feminist, Benjamin. I’m not a girl, I’m a woman-“

“You are a woman.” He grumbles, slinging his arm over your shoulders and grabbing the bag. “You’re a beautiful goddamn menace, and you’re my fucking woman.”

There’s a smug pride to how he says that, and it makes it impossible to do anything but bury your head in his side and sigh. I am, you asshole. I’m yours.

Good. You feel the glow almost explode across his skin and organs, and he starts to guide you both into the line for boarding. How the fuck does this shit work now-

You lean away from him with an eye roll and mumble of old fucking man you know he hears—though all you get is deep lines on his face and a fake glower—to take the lead on getting you onto the plane.

It’s easy. Showing the woman your tickets and giving a ditzy giggle about how you’re so excited for your vacation is easy. It’s made easier because she’s barely looking at you and Ben is half wrapped over your body, and you always feel a little lightheaded and dumb when he climbs over and into your every sense. It’s easy to smile at him, easy to stay pressed against him as you enter the cabin, and easy to find your impossibly fancy seats and let Ben help you into them.

It’s easy to not think about how you’re going to fly—in the cold air, high above the ground where Homelander could reach you and send you plummeting to the ground—when Ben keeps one hand on your leg and shifts in his seat to block his own face and your body from the view of other passengers. And even if you do get recognized now, as the doors close and the plane begins to move onto the runway, there’s not much for anyone to do about it. You’re out of American jurisdiction, and you’re certain Homelander won’t want to be in public until his face heals—which could take a week, buying you extra time—so if someone sees you, you’ll handle it. You’ll handle any of this, because you have Ben.

The flight is eight hours. The engine begins to build to a roar, and you can make it eight hours. You’ll watch stupid movies to pass time, and cling to Ben’s body until you’re safe from the sky and on sturdy ground again.

And it might be the way Ben’s rubbing circles on your skin, or humming a low, off-key tune you both know by heart, or filled with such an attentive care to your every breath and hitched breath, but you feel a peaceful darkness wash over you, and fall asleep with ease.

When you wake up—your sleep dreamless and restful—Ben’s chest is rumbling with snores, his lips brushing your forehead, and he’s holding you tight against his chest. The cabin is darkened, the flight trajectory says you have a little more than four hours left, and you know that if you startle Ben awake he might accidentally break something or someone, so you slowly twist yourself in his arms and pull out your phone.

Airplane wifi is slow and shitty, but good enough to pass time. To set up the basics of Ben’s phone, but this time including MM’s number and letting Ben decide the contact names. To look out the window at an ocean of clouds and golden, blinding sunlight. To listen to music on static, thin, wired earbuds and rest against Ben’s sleeping body, doing nothing but waste time because you finally have time to waste.

Ben’s hand moves before he’s fully awake, rubbing up and down your leg and kneading at your skin as he lets out a low grunt that you can feel deep in a place nobody but he gets to touch.

He mutters your name as his eyes open, and for a long second you just look at each other. Then he sighs, pulls your head into his chest, and that’s it. You’re happy being gently touched and kept safe right here, against him, until the plane lands, so the last two hours pass in barely a minute. The last hour passes even faster, because Ben gets the bright idea to let his hand wander between your legs and rub his palm against your still sensitive pussy until you’re biting on his shoulder to stifle your moans and squirming in your seat as he pulls you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You can’t look anyone in the eye after that—out of fear they might read my boyfriend just made me cum on your face—and when you reach the land Ben keeps a pace ahead of you, letting you hide yourself in his back as he pulls you through the airport.

“We need to find a taxi.” Your words are quiet, but you know he hears them. “I googled the address Edgar gave us, it’s about twenty minutes away-“

“Villa will still be there in thirty minutes.” Ben snaps, leading you past a sign that very obviously leads to transportation. “What we need is some fucking money.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. “Fuck, you’re right, we don’t have euros-“

“We’ll get them, don’t lose your damn mind. We need somewhere that won’t check for any ID, or ask stupid fucking question. Can you,” Ben looks at you over his shoulder, tugging you under his arm to match his pace. “Does the internet tell you how much our money is to theirs?”

It’s quick to check, and when you tell him you’re unable to hide the slight awe and sheer amusement in your voice at how he’s disturbingly good at this, but do manage to keep to yourself how much that’s turning you on. Making your knees a little weak, trying to override your will and move your body to jump into his arms .

Ben nods at the number, jaw clenched as he stomps through the crowd. “Good. We should withdraw a lot, so we can beat Muller and Singer to the fucking draw. Get their money before they freeze our credit line.”

“Have you,” you squeeze his arm, drawing his attention enough for his steel-like gaze to drop to yours. “Have you fled a country before, Pretty Boy?”

“No.” He grunts. “I just know what the fuck to do in a crisis. I’m not a fucking idiot-“

“I know that, Ben, I’ve told you I know that. But you’re like, ready for this.”

“Shut up-“

“It’s good, it’s really good.” the words fall out of your mouth, and you might be pleading just a little for him to grin at you and understand that you love this. You love him, and you love that he’s helping, and that he’s keeping you steady as you speed walk and shove through the bustling movement of the airport, and he’s everything, and somehow still surprising you with how much he cares. How good he is to you—getting you snacks you love, and picking you flowers, and offering to look at old buildings because he thinks you’ll like them—and how you’re never actually that shocked, because if anything is real, this is. Ben is real, in every movement and grumble and frown and beat of his heart in your chest.

He mutters your name, gaze peeling you apart and stringing you up for only him to really see. “It’s not that big a fucking deal-“

“Yes, it is,” you whisper, ducking out from under his hold—but keeping your hand on his arm—as you reach an exchange ATM. “I like it. It’s hot.”

His movements don’t falter on the ATM, but his love and hunger strain in your chest, and his voice is a gravely in a way you feel spark in your gut. “It’s hot.”

You flush at the deep, teasing drawl of his voice. “Yeah,” you mumble. “I like it.”

“You already said that, Sunshine.” Ben grins down at you, waiting for the money to be fed out of the machine. “What do you like about it?”

“That you’re helping,” you shouldn’t look him in the eyes—your legs are going to give out, and you keep this up you might smell like sex for the next fifty years—but he’s locked his bright, devout gaze against yours, and you’re not cruel enough to pull it away. “I, I like that you’re taking control. To help. Me. You always help me, but I, I really like that you’re doing something for me, when it’s something I can do, but you’re doing it, and I love you, and it’s hot that you’re so focused and handsome and hot and focused-“

Ben takes mercy on you, and dives down to turn your ramblings into a long, easy sigh of his name. When he pulls away, his smile is open and cocky, his hand cupping your jaw as his whole body becomes insatiable need and adoration, trying to flood the world with a riot of something so wrathfully, unforgivingly powerful and loving that you might fall over.

“Christ,” he says your name with a reverence, thumb pressing slightly on your lower lip. “Thought I fucking broke you. You get real damn scrambled when we talk about fucking, don’t you.” At some point, one of you should grab the money from the ATM, but you couldn’t care less now because Ben is backing you into a wall, and he’s everything. “Makes that smart, clever brain of yours go dumb, when I tell you that I love you. Make you tell me how hot you find my hands, and my mouth, and my cock, and when I fucking help you. When I pick you up and fix things for you, when I take control and make you feel good-“

You’re half slumped against the wall, knees shaking, and Ben’s arm shoots out to wrap around your waist the moment he notices. “Ben-“

“Going to make you feel fucking good, darling, I’ve got too many damn things to do to you, so I might start simple.” His mouth lowers to suck on your neck, and you don’t care if anyone hears your high whine. “Have you ride my cock, maybe tie you up and tease that perfect body and pussy until you’re begging me. Eat you out until you’re fucking suffocating me, put my cock in that pretty mouth until you’re dripping-“

“Ben,” your protest is weak—you don’t even mean it—and your shove at his chest is pathetic. “Money. Need to get the money-“

He hums against you, drawing back up with a gentle, sweet kiss on your lips. “When the job is done,” Ben hand traces over where his mouth had just been, and you shiver at the promise in his voice. “I’ve got countless things to do to you, Sunshine. But,” he kisses your brow, tangling his hand back in yours. “I still have a real damn good plan, so I might just stick to that. I’ll have all the time I need after to do everything I want with you.”

You swallow, watching as he takes the money and letting him lead you back in the direction of transportation, and you allow the feeling of almost blissful joy sink into your body. You will have all the time. Right now you’re following Ben and hanging off his arm as he flags down a taxi, and you’re going to find a way to have all the time. No matter what the Cornucopia has—or doesn’t have—for you, you will force there to be a way for you to have all the time after, with Ben.

He’s still shielding you with his body through the taxi ride. It’s short and tense, the driver making the mistake asking about your lives, where you’re visiting Rome from, and mentioning he’s been to America once and liked baseball—specifically the Mets—which launches Ben into a long, passionate rant. When you’re dropped off outside a high, wrought-iron fence, you pay quickly with an apologetic expression, and hit Ben’s chest with a glare as the taxi drives off.

“That was very rude, Benjamin-“

“He shouldn’t ask so many fucking questions,” he grumbles, looking over the bars with a furrowed brow. “Got him to stop damn pushing, didn’t I?”

“You did. But you could’ve also just ignored him-“

“He should talk about what he doesn’t fucking know-“

“I don’t know about Baseball, and I talk about it with you-“

“Not the same. I love you, and you’re hot when you get all fucking flustered and eager about shit. He’s just some cuckhead.” Ben doesn’t look at you as he speaks, voice flat and deep and obvious, and he points to a break in the seemingly gate less fence. “There. Keyhole.”

You lean forward, squinting slightly for what he’s trying to show you. “I don’t- Oh. I see it.”

“You got the-“

You stick your tongue out at him as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the keys and dangling them in front of him. “Of course I have the key, Pretty Boy. We’d be fucked if it didn’t, because I would not do two more flights to go get it”

Ben winks with a shrug. “You certainly seemed to enjoy that first fucking flight, with the goddamn mess you made-“

“And I’ll be able to make plenty of bigger messes, here, in private.” You lean up to whisper in his ear, running your hand over his chest. “Where I can scream and moan and whine and beg-“

There’s a deep, almost primal growl that leaves Ben’s body, and suddenly he’s bending down, slamming his lips to yours, and hauling you up his body until your legs wrap around his torso. A high, airy sound escapes you as you drop the keys, scraping at Ben’s neck and shoulders as he goes and goes and goes until you grind against him, and he leans back with a smirk.

“I think,” Ben nips on your lower lip and squeezes his hold on your ass, everything inside him alight and coursing through you like lightning. “I can do better than just screaming and begging. I think I can fuck you until every sound you make is just-“

He stops his own words, kissing you so deep and rough that it makes you start to try and climb up his chest, squirming against his body as he only drops you lower, pressing your clothed pussy right over his hard-on, and fuck he’s still not wearing underwear-

You make a sound that might be the most animalistic noise that’s ever left your body—desperate and pleading and breathless—and Ben pulls back. His brow presses to yours as he starts to take deep breaths, and the hunger in him takes a comfortable and white-hot root in your stomach and over your hands, giving them an itch that feels like touching Ben would aid. You start to comb your fingers gently through his hair, just to feel him a little more, and he makes a low, rumbling sound as he tightens his grip on your body. When you chance a look at him, his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, and this might make you cum all by itself. You’re still playing with his hair, he’s still making that sound—his breath hot and fanning over your mouth, his beard brushing your cheek, and his cock twitching against your inner thigh—and you have a job to do, but right now it doesn’t feel that important.

Suddenly Ben freezes, his eyes shooting open and locking onto yours, and there’s something wild in them you can feel over his lungs. It’s vigilant and taut, growing stronger as the content want in his body shoves deep down to somewhere behind his ribs that’s harder to feel.

He grunts your name, and you let one hand drift to cup his jaw, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

I love you, Ben. You’re not sure why he looks like someone just kicked him in the gut, but telling him that never fails to make something in him soften. Did you not like-

I did. He catches your hand, holding his against his face. I fucking loved that. I don’t- His hold on you tightens, and the sore, hot feeling of embarrassment creeps over his skin. Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.

You frown. Well, now I’m absolutely going to worry about it-

Fucking don’t-

Benjamin. Your fingers curl into his, and you let your blood leak into his, waiting until his throat bobs and eyes narrow to continue. Tell me now. Please.

The soreness in him becomes an itch, and his voice is gruff and quiet in your head when he speaks. Felt good. Real good. Relaxing. Never had someone do that.

So you liked it?

Yes.

Is that bad-

I was fucking purring, he grumbles your name, and the soreness becomes heated. That’s fucking dumb-

I liked it. You shrug in his hold, risking another slight scratch of his head and fighting the smile at his groan. I liked doing it.

His eyes narrow on yours. You did.

I did. It’s not bad to like something that’s a little stupid, Benjamin. I get wet when you pick me up, or when we dance.

That manages to make something ease inside him, and light flashes in his eyes. I know that, brat. I can smell it.

So can you admit that you like it when I pet you?

Whatever.

Ben-

He scowls. I like it.

Okay. You smile, kissing the outer corner of his lip. Was that so hard?

Shut the fuck up. Ben turns his head to fully capture your lips against his, smirking at your small gasp. Grab the keys, darling, we’ve got some fucking work to do.

You wrinkle your nose at him as he lowers you back to the ground to pick up the keys, keeping one careful arm around your waist. After we do the work, do you want me to do that again-

No. Not until I’m done with you.

Benjamin, my love, you lean against him, looking up at his darkened eyes with a pout. After you fuck me, can I please suck your cock and pet your hair?

Ben’s body is rigid, and he looks you up and down in a way that might make you just fall against him and burn off all your clothing just to see what he does about it. Fucking Christ, Sunshine.

That’s not a no-

We’ll see. He kisses the side of your head, spinning you to face the fence. Open the gate, and maybe I’ll put my cock between those pretty lips when we’ve got the time.

You huff in disappointment that’s only half-performative, and Ben’s chuckle rolls through your body as you put the keys in the slightly hidden lock, waiting for a click before turning them, and tilt your head back to meet Ben’s eyes. He gives you a short nod, and you push the gate open.

In the sunlight and clear sky of Rome, the dark, high fence had looked out of place. Gothic and foreboding in the sunlight, clashing with the green of the overgrown bushes and vines. But the driveway is long—made of carful mock-stone patterns of red and brown brick—and before you even see the house, you see the gardens. It’s not just the plants around the gates that had flourished in the years of unattendance. The grounds—not sprawling, but by no means small—are filled with flowers and moss and life. The path under your feet may be cracked, and the iron of the gates may have been dulled, but this place is filled with life.

And that’s a house. When you and Ben reach the end of the path—even his eyes and chest sparking with slight disbelief at the scene around you—your mouth falls open, because that is a real house. It’s not high, two floors at best, but it’s long. There’s low-step dais leading up to a door that’s really just unreasonably large, and two, large trees on either side of the entrance. You stop at the base of the stairs, giving yourself a long second to breathe and look around the rest of the grounds. There are trees in a clearly deliberate line to act as a second gate, a few more paths leading around to the back of the villa, and large circle drive around an algae filled reflecting pool that Ben had guided you carefully past.

It’s a little too much, and you’re not even inside yet. Ben’s hold on you doesn’t waver, but you feel his own tension—untrusting of the world and land around you, everything in him on edge and vigilant again an invisible threat—as his lips drop down to mutter in your ear.

“We don’t have to do this shit-“

“Yeah.” You turn your head to give him a soft smile. “We do. You know we do. And it’s just a house-“

“It’s a huge fucking house.” Ben corrects with a glare up at the building. “And damn near anything could be inside it.”

You shake your head, moving his arm down to hold you over your stomach. “We’re the two most powerful supes in the world, Benjamin. Whatever is in there should be afraid of us.”

He snorts, and doesn’t push. Just stands with you in the sounds of light breezes and bird song you’ve never heard before, waiting for you to be ready.

When you lean forward, Ben releases you enough to take the lead, and walks a steady pace behind you. You put the key in the door when he stops at your side—giving his stoic expression you a nervous smile, and receiving a squeeze of your hand in return—and open it with a slight grimace at the creak of the hinges.

While Edgar clearly hadn’t been having anyone tend to the grounds, the house itself is clean. You bump Ben’s shoulder when you sense his body tense, and when you look up at him, he’s scanning over the clean furniture and floor with a sharp glare.

Do you hear anyone?

Just you. He gives you a glance that’s almost gentle, but his jaw remains set. What now.

You blink, looking back around the entrance hall with wide eyes. Despite the more unruly, older Mediterranean architecture of the villa itself, the floor is glossy marble brick and there are column arches almost wherever you look. There’s a large, curled staircase leading to a second-floor walkway, and a single step down to a sunken living area with spotless white couches and a fireplace. You don’t bother to count the wooden doors, but there’s a lot of them, and two long halls that lead away from you on either side.

And this is your house.It’s really just becoming real now—as you stand in it—that this whole place belongs to you. Edgar hadn’t given you a deed, but when you’d tried to google any property records during the flight, none had come up, and it doesn’t seem unreasonable that this place might be a little less than legal. You can hound Edgar about specifics when this is over, though, because right now this is, in name, your house. The furniture is a little ugly—Edgar obviously never redecorated from Dr. Vought—but the building is beautiful, the grounds are beautiful, and it’s yours.

“We,” you swallow, and your voice echoes around the room. “We should look around. See how big it is, look for something that Sage might be after.”

“What the fuck might Sage be after.”

“I don’t know, Ben, otherwise I’d say look for the secret weapon Sage doesn’t want us to find.”

He rolls his eyes. “Smartass.”

You hum, resting your head against his arm. “You love it. Should we split up-“

“There is not a chance in fucking hell we’re splitting up.” Ben grunts, still eyeing everything around you with a distrust like they might start singing show tunes and try to murder you. “We don’t have a floor plan, or a goddamn clue what we’re looking for, so we’re goddamn sticking together.”

That’s true. The villa could be five to six very, very large rooms like this one, or twenty to thirty tiny, closet-like rooms. Based on the paths there might be a backyard, and you have no way to know if there’s a cellar or basement, or anything else that’s slightly more nefarious.

“Okay. Top floor and work our way down, or find a corner and work our way up?“

“I don’t fucking care.” Ben grunts, and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“That’s very helpful, Benjamin, I appreciate it-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben rolls his eyes, but his affection in your body only gains sharper, more jagged lines that wrap around you like a barbed wire. Not to hurt you, never to hurt you, but to keep you safe from whatever comes. Wires that you could easily slip past, but chose to stay surrounded by, because nothing else has ever been bloody and protective for you. So you tangle your hand in Ben’s and give him a wide, unrestrained grin.

“Top and work down, Pretty Boy. Let’s go.”

You start up the stairs, and Ben marches behind you in rough, pounding steps. It’s easy to take stock of the upper floor, because it’s all bedrooms and bathrooms and balconies—you were right, there is a backyard, and it has a fucking pool—along with a small library and a handful of mostly empty linen closets.

“I counted seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms so far.” You move from the library side-table—drawer empty save for an inkless fountain pen and some loose money that you pocket—to Ben’s side, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the line of his jaw. “You?”

Ben frowns, his hands dropping holding you by your hips. “I got seven bedrooms and seven bathrooms, you’re fucking terrible at counting.”

“No I’m not. Maybe you’re wrong, asshole-“

“You counted the conjoined bathroom twice.”

You flush slightly as you run back through the floor plan you’d been building in your head, and realize he’s right. “Fuck.”

“I goddamn told you-“

“Fuck you.” You whack Ben’s arm, and push off his chest. “There’s too fucking much to keep track of, who the hell needs seven bedrooms-“

“You.” Ben catches you by your wrist, amusement building in his chest, in perfect time with his love like summer storm. “Us. We’ve got seven annoying fucking assholes to house, and they’re probably falling apart without us. And-“ he tugs to right back to his chest, every low word making his lips brush against yours. “You might wish we had a few more rooms, darling, when I’m done with you. When I’ve fucked you and filled you so good it goddamn sticks.”

There’s a slight stutter in his usually confident, smooth cockiness when he teases you, and he’s studying your expression so carefully you realize he thinks he might have crossed a line.

You don’t really have lines with Ben anymore. You probably should, it would probably be healthier, but they seem pointless. You can feel him all the time, and he can feel you in the same way. He—apparently—can feel it when your body turn in on itself from pain and emotional suffering, and you’ve literally experienced his orgasms. Every line you have doesn’t feel that important, because they’re things you know Ben would never do. They’re things like don’t hand me back to Vought or Homelander, and don’t lock me up, and don’t treat me like I’m weak and useless, because then I’ll shatter, and Ben never even strays close to them. They remain unspoken because they simply don’t need to be said aloud for Ben to know. Just as you understand that you can never ask Ben to stop fully protecting you, or send him back to Russia, or put him back in the box.

And you’ll die before you do that to him. The idea of anyone doing those things to him makes your whole body feel wrong, and it’s the same for Ben with you, so lines don’t matter. A line like that—the hypothetical future of who will occupy those bedrooms—feels almost ridiculous, because it’s more comforting than off-putting. That Ben would want that, and there’s a life he seems to have thought about at least a little where it’s you and Ben and the team, and he gives you more. You’d always want more of Ben, because you feel as if you’ve been in a drought for a million years, only to be offered water and told you never had to go back to the way it was before.

That’s why it’s easy to close the inch between your faces and give Ben a soft, gentle kiss. Sweet and long and almost innocent, melting into him and promising that he hasn’t shaken or cracked you.

I’d like that. You hum against him, drawing back and starting to pull him out of the library. But after. We have a whole other floor to search.

Ben nods, and follows you back down to the ground floor. Down one hall there’s a kitchen, a half-bath, a dining room, a pantry, and a fucking wine cellar. You find another bedroom—with another bathroom and its own exit outside—before you turn to go down the other side.

Your steps falter slightly around the house entrance, and Ben silently follows you as your turn, walking into the living area and staring out the almost floor-to-ceiling windows.

There’s a patio, and pool, and large yard that looks a little more kept than the front.

“This is weird.” You whisper, and hear Ben grunt in agreement from behind you. “Like, really weird, Ben. This is our house, and it’s huge and fancy and probably worth more than I could’ve ever earned in a lifetime. Fuck,” you shake your head, starting to drown yourself in hypotheticals. “Are we going to have to pay property taxes? How much even are property taxes in Rome? We don’t have a lot of money, shit, we don’t have any money, and if we live here we’ll need jobs, and I’ve been mostly joking about escorts but I don’t speak Italian and you don’t have a college degree, so we might as well-“

Ben kisses your neck, his body humming with amusement and care behind you. “Calm the fuck down, Sunshine.” He mutters against your skin. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Right now you have a house, and that’s that. No losing your mind over shit we can’t solve today.”

You nod slowly, looking around the outdoor area one last time. “Do you think that water is safe to swim in?”

“Who gives a fuck.” Ben shrugs around you. “Neither of us can get sick, it could be filled with sewer water and it wouldn’t make a goddamn difference.”

“I think it would make a difference,” you tilt your head back, giving Ben an upside-down smile. “Just like, psychologically.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but still plants a small kiss on the tip of your nose. “One last area to search, brat. Let’s move.”

The other side of the main floor seems to just be one more sitting area and bathroom, until you push through a the very last door, and stop in your tracks.

Ben almost slams into you with a disgruntled noise, catching himself on the frame of the door over your head. “What-“

“Found the master bedroom,” you mumble, and he stiffens behind you as he sees it. The sprawling space before you, with a soft looking carpet, walk-in closet, a bed that’s unreasonably large—even for Ben, which is impressive—and two extra doors, one ajar and leading to a master bath and the other closed and leading to… something else.

“Holy fuck.” Ben says, half leaning on your body. “This is fucking bigger than our damn living room and kitchen back home.”

You hum an agreement, your eyes still locked on the extra door. “It’s probably just a closet, right?”

Ben frowns down at you. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

“The door.” You nod in the direction of where your attention has been trapped. “It probably just opens to a closet.”

Ben moves in front of you, stone resolve wrapping around his body as he keeps his hand in yours. “Let’s find the fuck out.”

You reach around him, unlocking the door, and he opens it with a less-than-quiet kick, and you peak over his shoulder to see a study.

Dr. Vought’s study, seemingly entirely untouched by whatever cleaner Edgar had coming through. There’s a fancy wooden desk, and some military medals that you’re going to have to burn later, and a very large, chest resting against a wall with German words carved on its top.

You dunk under Ben’s arm, kneeling before the chest, and scan over the words before looking over to Ben with a sigh. “I don’t speak German-“

“I fucking don’t either-“

“But,” you look back to the writing. “I think it’s a safe guess that Projekt Chloe, 1956, means Project Chloe, 1956.”

Ben scowls. “Who the fuck is Chloe.”

“Vought’s daughter, I think. And,” your fingers tap on the chest as you let out an uncertain breath. “I can only think of one famous Dr. Vought project. That he might have perfected around 1956.”

You turn to him with an open, uncertain gaze, and see Ben’s fists curled at his side.

“Should I-“

“I’ll do it.” He drops at your side within a second, grabbing at chest with rough hands before pausing, and frowning at you. “Ready.” “Ready.“ You take a long breath. “Do it.”

Ben rips the top of its hinges, and a cloud of dust billows up into the air. Your eyes recover a little faster than Ben’s, and you swallow as you take in the contents of the chest.

The chest is full of little green vials of V. And when you look around the room, scanning over the papers and books, they’re all journals.

Edgar said Vought came here to get extra eyes on his work. And you’d bet almost anything that, somewhere in this room, is the secret formula for compound V.

“Fuck.” You whisper, and Ben echoes your sentiment with a grumbled sound as he looks into the chest.

“Is that all fucking-“

“Yeah. We need-“

“You call them,” Ben places the top back on the chest, helping you rise back to your feet. “They won’t know my number.”

You nod, and pulling out your phone as Ben guides you outside, helping you lower onto the large steps of the back patio and sitting tall at your side as you tap through your phone to MM’s contact, figuring out how to dial internationally.

He picks up on the second ring, and you hear a slight banging sound before says your name. “You landed?”

“And got to the villa.” You flinch slightly as there’s another crash. “Are you guys okay?”

“Got to Maine a few hours ago,” MM lets out a long, groaning sigh. “Been cleaning up from the mess last year and trying to move shit around. Flight fine?”

“Nobody died.”

Ben coughs at your side, and MM huffs a dry laugh. “And the villa? No kind of trap or some other shit for us to worry about-“

“No, um.” You lean into Ben’s body, tugging his arm over your shoulders. “Actually, it’s good. We’ve got something.”

There’s a second of static as you take a deep breath and MM waits, and you look over to Ben—grounding yourself in his touch and smell and deep, boundless, pretty eyes—before continuing.

“V. There’s a whole stash of it. And, I think, maybe the formula? I haven’t checked yet.”

“The formula-“

“For V.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” MM sighs into the speaker. “You think you’ll be able to get us some pre-made V back? Because I can give Frenchie a shot at the formula-“

“No, there’s more than plenty. We’ll get it back soon.” You glance up at Ben, your words becoming slightly softer. “I know we’re in crisis mode right now, and we need to be getting ready to finish this, but Ben and I were wondering if we could have an extra day-“

“Take a week.”

You blink, Ben’s own rush of shock matching yours. “A week?”

MM grunts, and you can picture him nodding over the phone. “We’re all safe here. Homelander hasn’t been seen in public since your fight, Frenchie’s trapping the grounds for Sage, and you-“ MM pauses, his voice weary when he speaks again. “You shouldn’t be home right now.”

Something in Ben becomes alert and bloody, and your whole body feels wound tight. “Why?”

“Shit’s in chaos.” MM mutters. “They haven’t found Mallory’s body, but they know she’s dead.”

“How-“

“Sage. Homelander must have fucking told her, and she came out with a statement accusing Muller of political violence against Mallory. He’s facing a whole lot of backlash, even if they don’t have proof anyone’s dead yet. He might be out of the VP race.”

“But.” You frown into the air, your fingers tapping on Ben’s knee. “That doesn’t make any sense. Muller was the leak, Sage should’ve been trying to get him in as a puppet, throwing him under the bus loses her a political ally and an opportunity to scapegoat us-“

“Well it’s what’s happening.” MM’s voice becomes concerned. “And you’re going to need to be careful, even in Rome. Vought’s looking like it’s going to turn on you.”

“What.” Ben’s words are pushed through his teeth, and you don’t even think he knows how close he’s pulled you. “The fuck you mean, turn on her.”

MM’s tone becomes short over the speaker “I mean Hughie noticed they deleted all the Anomaly and Homelander propaganda on their social media. And the merch is having a buy one, get four free sale. They’re wiping you off the slate.”

“Fuck. I-“ Your vision isn’t blurring, but you have to measure every breath and word, because this matters. “I need to come back. Into the public eye. Sage is going to try to manipulate the narrative, and we can’t let her, I need to make a statement, and-“

Ben squeezes your arm, muttering breathe in your head, before grunting to MM, “think we got a week before everything gets fully fucked?”

“Everything’s already fully fucked.” MM mutters, and you think it’s meant to be under his breath. “But one week might look better. Let Sage spew her bullshit, and know what you need to say. We’re fine here, we can start working on how to get the V actually into Homelander.” MM snaps your name, and you make a small sound so he knows you’re listening. “We can hold down the fort. Take a week with your ancient dick of a boyfriend then come back with the V, and we’ll be ready for you.”

There’s a lump in your throat that’s made of something gentle but aching, and your voice is shaking. “Thank you, MM.”

“No problem. Tell me when you get the flights back, don’t be idiots, and, is the asshole still there-“

“Yeah,” you look up at Ben’s scowl, a smile pulling at your lips just from the sight of him.

“Good. You, motherfucker.” There’s a pause in the static, and MM’s words are clipped. “Earn it.”

You don’t know what that means, but Ben seems to, because his jaw clenches and his grunt is firm. There’s no anger in his body, though. Only resolve, and that permanent care that always takes root near your heart and wraps you in a stone feeling of safe.

When the line clicks, the world is nothing but you, Ben, and the wind.

And you have a week. You get a whole week in Rome, just you and Ben for more than a moment or night or long, taxing day.

You look over at him with a tentative smile. “Now what?”

“Now we fucking relax.” Ben hauls you onto his lap, turning you so you’re straddling his lap. “Have a goddamn vacation, Sunshine. No work, no death, no fucking dumbass pussies trying to tell us what to do.” He kneads on your thighs, his face growing into a wide grin. “A whole week where we’re eating and fucking.”

“That’s just a normal week for us, Benjamin-“

“No.” Ben’s face falls into a practical pout as he grumbles. “Someone’s always trying to stop us, or give us orders, or fucking kill us. This week, we’re only eating and fucking.”

You press your face into his neck, giving a soft hum of content. “I could live with that. But now what. Specifically right now, what do we do?”

“What do you want to do.”

“Maybe just,” you lean back to look up at the house, chewing on your tongue. “Make this place feel more us, and less former Nazi in the 20th century?”

The glow might be everything inside of Ben. It’s all you can feel—the truly devout and immovable wrath of his love for you, the way that every single piece of him seems to be alive in a way that’s easy—and when you look at his face, he looks like someone struck him with lightning.

“Ben-“

“What does us look like.” His voice is a little hoarse, and the itching, sore embarrassment on his skin feels like it’s trying to twist into something else. So you take his face in your hands, smile at him with everything you can offer, and scoot further up his lap until his body might as well be yours too.

“Whatever we want it to be.” You whisper, bumping your nose with his. “As long as there’s nothing blue.”

Ben gives you a rough nod, low chuckle, and stands in one fluid movement, carrying you in his arms back inside the house. “Whatever you want, beautiful, we’ll make it happen.” He kisses your brow as he walks, and the embarrassment turns into something sacred and made of ardor, feeding something that’s starving in Ben’s body, but doesn’t seem to be painful at all.

You start with the master bedroom. Namely, you start by absolutely destroying the master bedroom. Ben drags a bookshelf in front of the study door—just so you don’t have to think about it every moment you spend in the room—and you start two piles for most everything else. Memorabilia and war medals and books that you’ll pass onto historians, or something, go into the first pile, and regular household items that are flat out hideous and you simply don’t want are carefully burned and dropped in the second pile as ash.

As Ben starts to carry the horrible, cream colored and floral pattern couch out to the burn pile, you frown at the bed. It’s a nice bed, and when you push down on the mattress with a flat had it’s not really that different from your mattress back at the compound, but it’s still Fredrick Vought’s mattress.

Ben walks up behind you, wrapping his arm around your stomach and leaning down to mutter in your ear. “What’s wrong.”

“Bed.” You push down on it again, shaking your head sightly. “It’s not a bad bed, but it feels weird to maybe sleep on the same mattress Vought and Stormfront-“ Your lip curls in disgust at that realization, and you sigh. “Fuck.”

“Do you want a new bed.”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“Then we’ll get one.” Ben grunts, pressing a kiss to that one spot on your neck and grumbling against your skin. “We can sleep on the floor.”

You hum an agreement, a smile creeping back over your features. “Won’t that be bad for your back, old man-“

Ben spins you around, more devouring you than kissing you, and walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed frame and you let out a high whine.

Fucking brat- he groans down your throat as you move a hand down to palm his bulge though his sweatpants, and pulls back to look at you with a wonder you can feel feeding the glow in his body. “Christ, Sunshine, you’re a fucking marvel.”

You nod frantically, not really listening to his actual words because his voice is deep and rough and he’s huge under your hand and his touch is so soft on your body for how he’s started to suck and bite on your throat and neck-

Can’t fuck you now. He picks you up, never removing his mouth from your skin. But when we get the bed, we’re taking a goddamn day in it. Got it?

You whimper as his knee moves between your legs, and your voice is airy in the silence. Got it. Fuck, Ben, please-

You get us a proper bed, he mutters your name between your heads, letting you grind down against him. And nothing will stop me from fucking you good and stupid, darling. But I am not fucking you on the damn floor-

Ben grunts against you as you tug on his hair, trying to get his face up to yours. “Ben, we can go get a bed now-“

He chuckles, and the sound of his voice makes you keen on his leg. “That fucking desperate for my cock, Sunshine? Need me so bad you’re going to find a bed from fuck knows were-“

“Mattress store,” you press your face against the side of his head, trying to ignore how Ben’s hand on your ass has started to drift closer to where you can feel yourself dripping for him. “We’ll find one at a mattress store-“

Ben draws back without warning, grinning down at your likely wrecked expression. “Let’s find a fucking mattress store then.”

He sets you carefully against a wall to search on your phone, and you manage to find a mall with an Ikea. Ben has cleared the room of all the larger furniture items—the room now just a bed frame and empty bookshelves—but this specific trip needs to be about getting a mattress and some groceries. Navigating an Italian Ikea once with an aggressive, grumpy Ben is going to prove to be an effort, so you’ll live without a couch for a while.

The taxi ride to the mall is mostly silent—this driver less interested in small talk, and Ben’s hostile, protective expression and hold on you isn’t exactly screaming talk to me about the weather—and the mall itself isn’t that much different. You pull Ben behind you, find a mattress, and buy it with Ben’s seemingly infinite supply of Euros.

“What do we do when we run out of money?” You mumble to him at the cashier, and he shrugs, writing down the address you’d given him for the mattress’ delivery.

We won’t.

Ben-

There was cash in the library. And study. Far as I’m concerned, it’s our fucking money now.

You gape at him slightly, shoving his chest. You didn’t think to tell me that, dumbass-

You were about to spiral, I wasn’t going to add any extra shit for you to deal with. And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?

Yeah, but… You can’t think of a proper argument, and Ben smirks down at you.

Going to admit I didn’t fuck up? Maybe fucking thank me?

You stuck your tongue out at him. You’re such a fucking dick.

I know. He kisses the top of your head, guiding you out of the store. You love it.

Shut up. How much money is there?

Ben just grins at you, and you quickly learn that the answer is a lot. There’s a lot of money. When you get back from the mall—Ben carrying the groceries and looking very grumpy about it, despite you explicitly offering to help and him refusing—you go up to the library and count the cash.

Holy fuck.

You feel Ben stir in your chest from downstairs. What. Are you-

I’m fine. You stare at the last stack of Euros in your hand, swallowing. I’m good. We’re good. Ben, this is really fucking good.

What.

We’re rich. Vought was a paranoid, anti-bank asshole, and now we’re rich.

There’s a moment of silence as your instinct of Ben grows stronger and stronger, and then he’s bursting into the library, dropping on his knees at your side. “What the fuck do you mean we’re rich.”

“I mean Vought was rich.” You pass the cash into his hands with a grin. “And everything in this house is ours now, and I’m not above taking his blood money. He’s not using it, and he would’ve hated me, so this feels more like vengeance than anything else.”

Ben frowns. “How-“

“We’re going to use this money make his house ours.” You crawl forward until you’re on Ben’s lap, your hands moving up to hold his jaw. “We’re going to get rid of all this old, ugly furniture, and make this somewhere for us to live after we destroy his company. We’ll donate some of it to causes he’d have hated, and the rest will be for us to live happily after he’s just a fucking stain on history.”

Ben surges forward, kissing you down to the ground, grinning against your mouth. I think I can fucking live with that.

Good. You nip at his lower lip, scratching over his back. Because that’s the plan.

Because he’s an asshole, Ben doesn’t fuck you on the floor of the library. Or in the kitchen as you finally finish putting away groceries, or on one of the itchy, garish couches as you try to make a list of what you’ll need to get before you can fully lean into relaxing.

“We need clothing,” you mumble, titling your head at your writing. “It should probably be prioritized under toilet paper, but over extra sheets-“

“There were a fuck ton of shops at that mall,” Ben says into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist as he holds you against his chest. “We can go tomorrow.”

Somehow—before the list is even properly done—you end up with Ben’s boner pressed into your ass and your head thrown back as he kisses across your neck and shoulders. But he still doesn’t fuck you, only growling and groaning as he turns you to a mess in his arms, teasing you with low words and praise, and been an annoying fucking gentleman who’s suddenly too good to have sex anywhere but a bed.

You’re only a few more muttered good girls and so fucking perfects from losing your mind and killing this insufferable man you’ve chose to love when your phone buzzes with an alert that the mattress is here.

You probably could’ve gotten more things done today. But Ben gets the mattress to the bedroom and suddenly shopping and decorating and taking stock seems really fucking dumb, because he’s looking at you with a hungry, feral gaze, kissing you like he’ll die if he doesn’t, and throwing you onto the mattress with promising growl of going to fuck you dumb, Sunshine.

And this is your vacation. So if your handsome, sex god of a boyfriend wants to fuck you until you’re screaming and ruined and numb with pleasure, who are you to stop him?

It’s almost three days of just that. Just this strange, perfect life you’ve somehow stumbled into, where you have someone who you love more than the universe, and who loves you like you are the universe. A life you’d only dreamed of before, and hadn’t dared to really, fully hope for after.

But it is your life. It’s you and Ben, doing whatever you want. Cooking together in a fancy, old kitchen before you’re somehow pinned to the counter and moaning as Ben eats you out, his beard tickling your inner thighs and his hands leaving bruises that fade in seconds on your hips. Trying to get more renovations done, but ending up slammed into the wall as you grind onto strong, broad fingers, or on your knees, choking on Ben’s cock as he fucks your mouth at a slow pace that tortures you both.

You only leave the house once in those first few days, because you need clothing that isn’t Boston themed and covered in cum. Ben lets you take the lead as you walk through the mall, only giving grumbled opinions about what he wants—mostly jeans, sweatpants, and solid color shirts—and hovering over you as you pick out things for yourself.

“If you buy that,” he nods to the dark green lingerie you’re turning between your fingers, his voice almost a growl. “You’ll need to goddamn save it, because I will rip it off your perfect fucking body.”

You giggle, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Promise?”

He groans, squeezing his hand on your waist, and you’re not strong enough to not buy the lingerie. By the end of the shopping trip you have a truly disgusting number of bags that Ben insists on carrying himself, and you justify it with the fact that you were technically out all your clothing, and you deserve a few nice things in your life. You might not need underwear and dresses that you can only describe as slutty, or makeup that you’d managed to finagle Ben into letting you buy with the clothing—by finagle, you mean asking him very sweetly with a pout, and him dragging you into the store—but the sheer love and hunger you feel in Ben’s body when you dress up for your first real venture outside the house justifies your shopping spree tenfold.

“Let’s stay here.” He pulls you forward, lowering his head so your eyes are level and his breath fans over your mouth. “The beach will still fucking be there tomorrow, and I have a lot of damn ideas for what to do with this.”

His hand brushes up your thigh, under your swimsuit, and presses his palm over your already aching pussy. You make a high, needy sound, and use all the will in your body to grab his wrist and shake your head.

“This,” you roll your hips against him, and his eyes flare with the coil in his gut. “Will also still be here tomorrow. And you can do whatever you want with it, after we do something fun and stupid and touristy.”

Ben scowls, but moves his hand up to tangle in your hair and gives you a soft kiss. “Fine. But when we get home-“

“All yours.” You smile onto his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Always yours.”

He nods, letting you pull on a dress and lead him out the door, and you end up regretting your words almost the exact moment you arrive at the beach.

Ben shouldn’t be allowed to be shirtless, let alone in broad daylight. Where the sun can make his skin look golden, and his eyes somehow greener, and his whole, stupid, handsome face illuminated with life. His skin is warmer, and you can see every ripple of his muscle as he moves, and he’s everything, and suddenly you’re possessive.

You’ve never been possessive before. It’s always felt pointless, because if you’re with someone and they need to be kept in line, you don’t want to be with them. And Ben would never stray or be disloyal—he’s not even looking anywhere but at you—but that’s not what this feeling is about. He’s the most attractive man alive, and he’s yours, and he’s keeping himself against you all the time, and if you catch one more person staring at him, you’re going to burn their eyes out. Ben won’t entertain them, he probably hasn’t even noticed them, but he’s still yours. You can ogle and objectify him all you want, but that’s because you love him, and know he’s a lot more than just a walking work of art.

These cunts only think he’s a slab of meat to stare at. They don’t understand that he’s the most caring, loyal, honorable, adorably grumpy and impossible gentleman in history. That he’d die and kill and suffer for you, and you’d do all the same for him.

And when your glowering pout deepen as a pretty, model-like girl walks past you for the fifth time—her strut growing more and more provocative with every pass—Ben chuckles, his amusement flashing in your ribs.

“Someone’s getting real fucking territorial.” His words are low and taunting, spoken into your ear and sending a shiver up your spine. “Over something that’s already hers.”

“Fuck you-“

“I could.” He kisses behind your ear, open hand to shameless grope at your tits. “I could fuck your right here, prove to everyone that my dick belongs you to.”

You flush, half-heartedly swatting his hand away. “Shut up. We’re trying to lay low, Pretty Boy. That means no sex in public-“

Ben moves so fast you barely have time to process it, standing you both up and gathering your items in an earnest haste.

“What are you-“

“No sex in public.” He repeats your words, looking up at you with a heavy, wanting gaze that takes apart your whole body for him to have. “So let’s go the fuck home.”

That’s another reason it was sensible to get so much clothing. Because at the rate Ben is tearing everything you wear off your body—you hardly make it back through the property gate before your sundress is tossed into the gardens, and you’re only just through the door when your swimsuit is just cloth in Ben’s hand—you’ll be back to owning nothing before the week is even over. You’re saving some money by sleeping naked—every evening ends with him buried inside you, groaning your name and pounding into your cunt until you feel his orgasm, cresting in time with your own—but you still have to change the sheets again when his cum leaks down your thighs.

On fourth day, you put your foot down. You’re going to go see some old buildings, Ben’s not going to try to fuck you in an alleyway or bathroom, and you’re not going to glare at everyone who looks at him.

“People fucking look at you as well,” he tells you as you get dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “And you don’t see me ripping off heads.”

“I haven’t ripped off heads-“

Ben says your name in a dry tone, his brows raised. “I can see your fucking face. You want to kill every lady that even glances at me.”

There’s an odd sense of bright, satisfied pride in his body at his words, and you scoff.

“I remember the guy at the gas station, Benjamin. You literally asked me if you could kill him.”

“And you should’ve fucking let me-“

“Maybe.” You give him a teasing, sweet smile, moving to stand between his legs. “But my point is that you’re no better than I am.”

“Never said I was. But,” he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles with a wink. “It’s a lot fucking hotter when you do it.”

It’s a miracle you make it out the door, because Ben pulls you down to the mattress—laying flat on his back and watching you with a pious awe as you whine above him, letting him drill up into you until you’re lightheaded and dizzy—and you have to find the willpower to move when his cum is still sticky on your skin and everything around you smells like salt and pine and Ben.

But from there, you make it almost the whole day. There are moments—in the taxi, and on the streets of downtown Rome, and staring at ancient stone ruins—where you’re in danger of damning any social consequences and just taking what you’re aways thirsty for. But you push it down, coasting on the knowledge that Ben is yours forever and later, when you drop to your knees for him in the doorway of your house, there’s no world where he doesn’t press his cock between your lips and let you worship him until he cums in your mouth.

It’s still difficult to get through, though. Because when you’re ranting about historical facts—several groups of tourists very obviously eavesdropping on your various lectures about Roman cultic practices and social conventions—and look over at Ben to see him staring at you like you’re holy. His love is roaring between your bodies, his attention is unraveling you without touch, and his dick very obviously straining in his pants as you ramble.

You get through it, promising you both soon. You also get through him buying you a large chocolate cake, and the way he groans when you lick your fingers clean. You get through his boyish, proud, happy expression when you fully explain gladiators and why he’d be amazing as one, and his body pressed right against yours as you wander through the Roman Forum.

What gets you is something impossibly stupid. Ben pulls you off to the side of the street, his eyes scanning over the crowds as he speaks into your head.

You want to learn something?

You blink at him with a small frown. Like what?

Pickpocketing.

Benjamin-

He glances down at you with a taunting grin. It’s a useful fucking skill, Sunshine. Don’t tell me you’re too good for it-

You know I’m not, you dick. You swat at his arm. But we don’t need the money, and I don’t want to steal from random people-

We won’t pick a random target.

What-

We’ll pick a someone who’s richer than we are now, and who’s a fucking asscuck pussy.

How will we-

Him. Ben jerks his head in the direction of a greasy looking, suit-wearing man. He’s here with his family, and on the phone with his mistress.

You narrow your eyes at the man, glancing back to Ben. Are you sure-

Fucking positive. He turns back to you with raised brows. Ready?

You sigh, but nod, and Ben talks you through it. It takes longer than it maybe should have—his lips are very distracting when they move and the determination in his voice is making your ache for it to be turned on you—but you get it eventually, and walk out into the crowd with your head high and expression neutral, bumping into the man with a fake-nervous apology, and returning to Ben’s side with his wallet.

“I did it.” You throw him your prize, and he grins at you with teeth and a smug pride you feel everywhere.

Ben pulls you under his arms, kissing the side of your head. “Fucking told you that you could. Not that damn hard, is it-“

“For you.” You give him a fake glare, even as your blood leaks with love into his. “Because you’re a delinquent, Benjamin. And it’s very hot, but if you ever teach our kids about this, I’ll kick your ass.”

He freezes, and you think you might have broken him. The words had fallen out of your mouth before you could think them through, and now Ben is gaping at you. Everything in him is rioting, and you can’t pick out a single emotion to focus on, so you speak softly, a little afraid to spook him.

“Ben-“

He picks you up—stolen wallet entirely forgotten—and kissing is too light a word for what he’s doing. Ben’s eating you, his mouth demanding against yours, the groans leaving his body animalistic, and his hands are everywhere on your body but where you’re beginning to ache for them as all the confusion and clashing inside him fuses into love. Raw, powerful, indestructible love that sweeps through you like a storm.

Home. He grunts in your head, voice gravelly and the lowest you’ve ever heard. Need to get you home.

And that does it. You’ve seen enough old buildings today, and Ben’s more important than anything else, so you nod and whimper and let him take you home.

The rest of the day is spent on the floor, or in bed, or in the shower. You could probably spend the rest of the week like that as well, but you only have three days left, and there are things you really want to do before this bubble is popped. You talk Ben into testing his powers just a little, enough to know what to expect when you get back to America and in an environment where nothing is that urgent.

“We can go shopping after,” you promise him, kissing along his jaw and chest in bed. “And do more decorating, and have more sex. I’ll even let you fuck me in the Vatican tomorrow. But I really want to get this over with-“

“Fine.” He grumbles, sitting up carefully, holding your gaze. “You get three hours.”

“Six.”

Ben’s eyes narrow, even as amusement flashes over his ribs. “Three.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Deal.” Your smile is bright and pleased, because four is more than enough to get this done.

You use the time well, and work out that he’d been right. Ben’s new powers seemed to be very simply the nuke, now fully fused and natural in his body. He can make force fields—like the one that had protected you and Ryan—and create blasts that completely destroy a tree in the backyard, but—at least for now—they’re not as powerful as the full force of the drums.

“I think,” you examine the rubble of the tree, chewing on your lips. “It’s stronger when it’s directly from you. The further the energy is away from your body, the weaker it is. The special sauce explodes right out of you, but this,” you gesture back to the splintered logs. “And the shields emit from you. Like you’re throwing it out into the air and then focusing it, instead of focusing it then throwing it out. Does that make sense?”

“No.” Ben grunts, crossing over to your side in long steps. “But I believe you.”

“Oh-“

“I don’t understand any of this shit, Sunshine.” He slings his arm around your shoulders, watching you with a careful intensity. “You do. You say it’s right, it’s right. Now let’s go shopping.”

You sigh and nod, because Ben has been shockingly eager to go shopping, and you’ve gotten what you need. This trip is mostly about decorations—furniture and rugs and painting and more sheets and pillows—which means that Ben’s contributions are as useless as ever, but about halfway through he asks if you want food, you tell him yes, and he proceeds to vanish for almost an hour. He’s still in the mall, you can sense him near the cafe you’d passed earlier, but when he comes back he’s only carrying two coffees and the pastry you’d asked for.

“Long wait,” he mutters, handing you the pasty and your coffee with a stiff arm. “Eat.”

It’s odd, but he’s not tense or angry. Ben’s stumbling slightly in your chest, wrapped in a new feeling that’s electric and almost addictive—so strangely hungry and wanting, bursting along his stomach and heart and ribs and trying to climb out his body—but he’s not saying anything, so you don’t either. You trust him, and despite that fact that you’re irreversibly in love with and tied to him, you know that you still don’t fully understand this strong, wrathful, powerful man in front of you.

It doesn’t fade, though. The rest of this day passes with laughter and ease and a happiness settled in your bones that would feel naïve if it wasn’t so genuine, but that new feeling in Ben only becomes stronger. With every smile and shove of his shoulder, every teasing word and pout and squeeze of his hand in yours, the sensation grows more and more feral and loud. It’s there when you wake up the next morning as well—Ben’s body flopped over yours, his morning wood quickly finding its way inside of you and your mouth falling open with gasps of his name as he rolls your clit between rough, expert fingers—and by the end of the day you might pass out from it.

You should ask him, but you don’t even know what you’d say. Ben doesn’t lie to you, or keep secrets—this doesn’t feel like either of those things, though, it feels somehow more important—and he doesn’t care that you can always feel him, but this seems like something you shouldn’t feel. This feels like something building and banging inside of Ben, that’s doomed to explode from him but he’s trying to savor and time correctly. And more intense it becomes, the more it feels like yours. It’s almost undeniably for you—it hums inside of you like Ben’s love, and softens the closer you are to his body—but he’s still containing it within himself. You’re pulling him through Vatican City, explaining the Sistine Chapel and why these maps are important and this tomb is so interesting, and Ben is looking at you like you’re a star that’s landed in his hands and made a home in his head, but the feeling just silently growing.

You’ll give it one more day. You’ll use this time—in the sun and green world of the Borghese Gardens—to let Ben try to deal with whatever that feeling is himself, and then you’ll pull his head down to your eye level and demand he tell you what the fuck is going on. You’ll run around the zoo with his grumpy, handsome ass, pretending that he’s not having fun when you can feel his joy, living in time with and just under that strange feeling. That when you point out the lions, his eyes don’t flash with interest and awe.

He stops you as you wander the gift shop, not looking for anything in particular, and points to a stuffed white tiger with a glower.

“Get that.”

You stare at him for a second before you speak, hearing the slight uncertainty in your own voice. “What?”

“For Ryan.” He pauses, the lines of his brow deepening. “And one for you.”

“Oh.” You hum, titling your head as you tap on Ben’s arm. “What about you?”

“What about me-“

“Will you get one?” You give him a fake pout and the sweetest eyes you can manage. “Please?”

“I don’t fucking need one-“

“Nobody needs one, Benjamin, they’re fun. Look.” You tug him over to the shelf, grabbing two stuffed lions and hold them up dramatically. “For you and Ryan. And,” you pass the lions into Ben’s arms—he takes them without thinking, then proceeds to glare down at them—and pick up one of the white tigers. “For me.”

“Why aren’t you a lion.”

“Because I’m not related to you and Ryan. I’d thank God for that, but,“ you smile at him, passing the white tiger into his arms. “It does mean I chose to be here. I’m not a lion, but I’m still part of this for some reason.”

“You’re here because you love us.”

“I am here because I love you.”

Ben’s glare at the white tiger softens slightly, and the strange feeling might be about to break and seal his whole body in the same second. “Good.”

You have to keep letting it go, even as the day crawls on and that feeling in Ben starts to bellow and thrash. You have to get ice cream and smile at him the same, bright way you always do and swallow the question of what’s happening, Ben. I love you and I trust you and this doesn’t feel poisonous, but it still feels critical. Finish your ice cream, you old cunt, and tell me what’s wrong.

He says your name with a clear his throat late that night, and you turn over in arms to watch his set, stoic expression as he speaks. “Tomorrow,” he mutters. “I’m in charge.”

“You’re-“

“In charge.” Ben’s eyes keep boring into you like it’s dangerous to look at you, but he can’t stand to look away. “I’ve got shit for us to do.”

“What-“

“Trust me.” He pulls you impossibly closer, kissing the space between your eyes before dropping down your nose, finally hovering his lips right over yours as he speaks. “Please.”

“Okay.” You whisper, because you can count on one hand the amount of times Ben has said please. “I trust you.”

He nods slowly, and kisses you long and soft and slow until you’re melting and falling against him, and nothing—even as that feeling’s brief moment of rest and peace ends—has ever been as good as this.

Ben doesn’t wake you up—he never does, and you think his bladder is made of steel—but the moment your eyes flutter open, he’s sucking and nipping at your throat, every part of him alight with ardor and devotion and love, and rushing with something you don’t have a name for.

It takes you two hours to get out of bed. Ben ends up being the one who draws away—although it does come with a low groan, and long kiss that he has to pry himself away from—before helping you up, tossing you his shirt to wear, and carrying you to the kitchen for breakfast.

Three, very large pancakes and a blowjob later, he’s placing you down on the bed and towering over you in a way that can’tbe productive for anyone involved.

“We’re going out. Don’t dress fancy yet, but do whatever you want with the makeup shit.”

Ben’s words sound almost rehearsed for how simple they are, and you frown up at him, trying to ignore the slight bob of his throat. “Where are we going?”

His jaw clenches, and he mutters through his teeth, “butterfly garden.”

“Oh-“

“If you hate it-“

“I won’t hate it.” Your voice is hushed, and you reach up to grab Ben’s face between your hands. He’ll too high up, but hunches down to meet you, and it makes you melt even more. “I’ll love it,” you whisper, running his beard between your fingers. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he kisses you quickly, fucking tenderly, before drawing back up and taking a rough pace back. “Change.”

You follow his orders, his eyes tracking your every movement, and when you move to the mirror moves to stand directly behind you, a hand gliding over your stomach.

“Hi, my love.” You smile at him through the reflection, and his lips twitch and he rests his head over yours.

“Hi, Sunshine. Done?”

You hum an agreement, and Ben leaves one last sloppy kiss on your skin, before picking you up and carrying you outside.

Despite the fact that a butterfly garden was entirely Ben’s idea, he looks remarkably angry to be here. Everything around you is soft and colorful—greens and pinks and yellows and reds, flowers and mist and gentle rushing water—but Ben is vigilantly silent at your side. Eyeing every other patron, which consists of primarily children, as if they might try and throw little metal water bottles or tell him something mean.

They won’t, but when they do pay you attention, they mostly just look a little awestruck. A handful of little kids are staring at Ben with wide eyes, he’s glaring right back, and you have to bury your face in his side to prevent yourself from giggling.

Why the fuck are they looking at me. Do they know I’m Soldier Boy-

They’re a bunch of Italian children, Ben. They don’t know you’re Soldier Boy.

So why the goddamn hell.

You’re staring at them. You prop your chin on his shoulder, grinning at his scowl. You’re a big, scary, grumpy man, and you’re looking at them like they’re going to try and steal your lunch money.

His arm tightens around your waist as he rolls his eyes. Shut the fuck up, I am not grumpy.

You look grumpy. Are you, you pause, letting a little bit of your worry cross your face. Are you okay?

That odd feeling flares inside of him, and you get a short nod and kiss on the tip of your nose. “I’m good.” He mutters, raising his head to look around the garden. “Got you.”

He means it. Ben very obviously means it, because from there he lets you lead him around the garden, almost clinging to your body and only glaring and half-pouting when a black and green butterfly lands on his head.

You don’t bother to pretend it’s not the most amazing, hilarious thing you’ve ever seen. Ben’s jaw clenched and brow furrowed, his back a tall, rigid line, but still not moving or shaking it off.

Three more land on him, and he stares at you with slightly wide eyes. Get them the fuck off of me-

You get them off of you, Benjamin.

He doesn’t, the lines of his face only deepening as another two land. Why are they even goddamn on me. I’m not a fucking tree-

I think they like you. You take a step out of his grip to survey the scene before you with a smile. I get it.

You take a picture, and Ben has a glint in his eyes that would promise violence for anyone else, but you know that—directed at you—it just means he’s going to fuck you with teasing words and an unforgiving pace once you’re alone.

It’s amazing how predictable he is. Because when you’re done at the garden—your photo roll now filled to brim with pictures of your handsome, stoic boyfriend covered in butterflies—you wander the streets into the evening, until Ben insists you go home to get ready. When the door closes behind you, you don’t even get a chance to ask what are we getting ready for before he’s slamming you against the wall and fucking you in a way that might be dangerous to the foundation of the house.

When you’re done, he insists you shower, and tells you to dress fancy.

You do—wearing the type of dress you haven’t worn just for fun in four years—and when Ben takes you in with a slow, sweeping look, you’re in genuine danger of never leaving the house.

His eyes are heavy and dark, and you can feel the hunger growing savage in his body, but Ben only reaches a hand out for you to take with a cocky grin, and kisses the top of your head when you reach his side.

“You look beautiful,” he mutters your name against your hair, and you let out an airy breath at the everything of him. The smell of pine and coffee and strawberry and vanilla, the warmth of his body against yours, and how he should not be allowed to wear formal wear, because it’s a threat to your cognitive function. Ben is inhumanly attractive on a bad day, and with his hair mussed just right, his beard trimmed carefully, and his muscles straining at his button up shirt and jacket, he’s reducing your whole brain to that songs of Ben. Ben Ben Ben, handsome and big and strong and for you, he’s for you, you’re for him and Ben is all for you-

“You,” you swallow, supporting yourself against his chest with a fist curled into his shirt. “You’re also beautiful.”

He chuckles, and guides you out the door. “You need to keep it together, darling, or this is going to be a long fucking night.”

You manage to get a grip—using the time in the cab to remind yourself that Ben’s always hot, and he’ll still look like that when you get home and fucking him is an option that’s on the table—but the night is long anyways. Ben’s taking you to dinner, a fancy dinner with food that’s too expensive and wine that gets neither of you even slightly buzzed, but is still fun to drink. His knee stays pressed to yours as you tease him, and he glares at you and calls you a brat, and you talk about the future like it’s simple. Like it’s not a risky, uncertain if, but a promise of after.

“I knew it,” he tells you, his grin wide and smug. “I fucking knew it-“

“Fuck you, Benjamin.” You nudge his shin with your foot with a wrinkle of your nose. “I never tried to hide that I like when you cum inside me-”

“You’re all on my ass about my,” he coughs, and a slight soreness crawl over his skin. “Breeding kink. But you fucking love it-“

“I love you-“

“And you love when I fuck you, when I fill you up and tell everyone that you’re mine-“

“I am yours.” You shrug, leaning back in your chair. “And, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re really good at sex, Pretty Boy-“

His whole face lights up, and it would look innocent if his voice wasn’t so deep and rough. “I am, but you still fucking love me pumping you full of my cum, kissing you until you’re stupid and screaming my name, telling you you’re beautiful and good, and that I fucking love you-“

Your thighs are squeezed together, your face flushed from his words, but you push through it to weakly jab back, “shut up, Ben-“

“No, you want me, you fucking love me when I fuck you dumb and pretty with my cock-“

“I do.” You mumble, focusing your attention on a glint of wine caught in his beard. “But I mostly just love you. I like you. You’re my best friend, and I’ve always wanted you more than anything else.”

He’s suddenly silent across the table, that odd feeling growing ravenous. “What do you want after.”

You hum, with a soft frown. “What?”

“You made me tell you what I wanted, in DC. What do you want.”

“I,” you chew on your low lip, and realize you don’t have to think these words out. “I want to move. Not here, not until Ryan is done with school at least, but just, away from New York. We could come here on summers, but I think I want a home still in America. We could get on in Philly, or Boston, or somewhere else, but I’d like to stay in a city. And I want to help with the post-Vought and Homelander clean up, but I don’t want to fight again. I can testify and help with plans, but I don’t want blood. I just want you, and Ryan, and our friends and maybe more, eventually.”

There’s a moment of silence, and the feeling snaps in Ben’s body. When you risk meeting his eyes, they’re blown out and adoring, and his voice when he speaks is hoarse.

“We’re going home.”

You nod, a little smaller and more timid than you’d like, but Ben’s everything and you feel like he’s about to consume you in the best way possible. “Okay.”

The ride home is silent, Ben’s hand resting on your thigh and the feeling rushing in and around and between every part of his body, and you have to ask him. Before he throws you on your mattress, you need to knowwhatthis feeling is.

But he doesn’t bring you to the bedroom. Ben carries you to the backyard, pulling off his shoes and waiting for you to follow suit before moving to the pool and sitting down with his feet in the water. You lower yourself at his side, leaning your head on his shoulder, and for a second you almost forget your concern. Ben’s arm wraps around your shoulders, and you can feel every rise and fall of his chest, and you could stay like this for the rest of time.

But you have to go home tomorrow. This is your last night like this, and you’re not afraid—not cold or hollow or broken—but you’re scared. You have something so good now, and if you lose it, you know you won’t recover. You won’t lose Ben, he won’t let you lose him, but he can still be taken away from you. And you’d burn the whole world to get him back, but you’d rather just be like this. Peaceful.

Happy.

He clears his throat, and when you look up at him, he’s already staring at you. “Do you want to dance.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and you know he can feel it too. How this feels so vital in a way you don’t understand yet, that you do something simple and romantic like this. “I can sing-“

“Just,” he sighs, helping you to your feet. “I’ve got it. Follow my lead.”

You nod slowly, and you’ll follow him to hell and back, so you let Ben hold you against him with a careful, steady arm around your waist, and guide your movements with another hand tangled in yours.

You might have been here for a million years, dancing in a slow, easy way, your head resting on Ben’s chest, every off-key hum rolling through your body and settling in your bones with a sense of permanence. He’s so bad at singing, but you don’t care, because you love him, and love is making your judgment a little hazy. He’s touching you like you’re holy, and his body over and around yours is everything, so even as that feeling builds and builds and passes some point of no return, it’s still just Ben. It’s still just another strange part of this man you love, who has done so much wrong, but still is everything right.

You smile at him up at him, and you know it’s your wide, toothy, lovestruck smile that makes you look a little stupid, but you don’t care. Ben is warm and solid against you and in you and everywhere around you, and he’s yours, so he deserves the dumbest, most pathetic sounds and expressions you have to offer. He deserves everything you have to offer, even if it’s just a beating heart in his hands and a cracked skull to press his brow against. If all you can give Ben is a happy sigh of his name and your hands cupping his face, then you’ll offer it a thousand times over.

He’s offered you more. Everything Ben gives you is so blatantly, obviously worship. It’s how you see people treat Queens in old, historically inaccurate movies. How he kisses you at every possible moment, in the only way that’s somehow correct. How he’s started to buy the pine shampoo himself, because he knows you like it, and always leaves his shirt casually out for you to wear, replacing it with a clean one if he deems it too dirty. How he’s leading you in a dance, his whole face relaxed and his whole body adapting so quickly to your every misstep and stumble. How his body feels like just as much yours as yours has become his, and nothing about that feels wrong.

How he tells you I love you every second like he’s worried you’ve somehow forgotten. How he’s like a barrier between you and everything wrong and cruel, just because he’s so good and caring in his tending to every part of you.

Ben tends to you so well.

It’s something nobody but Ben seems to do so easily, without any labor or resentment, like these offerings he leaves you aren’t to protect himself from your wrath, but to try and get you to just look at him.

And it’s almost worryingly natural to look at Ben. He’s bigger and stronger and more infinite than the dark, star splattered sky above you. You’d try to justify yourself out of saying he looks like an angel in the night—almost glowing in moonlight, shadows casting over his handsome features like they’d rehearsed it—but you’re past that.

For you, and just you, Ben is an angel. Not a soft, baby angel they show in churches and bible studies and cartoons, but a biblical angel. Bloody and consuming and loud and zealous, with eyes that burn through you and wrath that’s focused to serve their god.

You might be his god. And you’d say it’s not a fair trade, but Ben is your everything. You may love the world and every piece of beauty it has to offer, but you also have a favorite thing, and it’s Ben. Without a single doubt, Ben is your favorite. And you’ll never choose anything over him. You could be a god, and create a whole world, and you’d still chose Ben as the sun set and mean it every time.

He mutters your name, that feeling inside him on edge, and stops your slow, mostly swaying movements in the grass.

“Benjamin.” You whisper in return, and his grip against you tightens and he continues in a low voice.

“I love you.” He searches over your face, and every part of you is already open for him to take, but you loosen your features slightly. Just to try and ease that roar inside him. “You know I love you.”

“I do.”

“And we’re,” he lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Fuck-buddy-brain-connected.”

Your smile starts to strain at your cheeks. “We are.”

“And if you want just that, for the rest of time, I’m more than damn okay with it. But,” he’s standing tall and watching you cautiously, his words slower than you’ve ever heard them. “I want to get married. To you.”

The world might have ended. Everything could be flooding and trumpets could be sounding and the oxygen could be being pulled from your lungs, but you wouldn’t know the difference. Unless it was Ben doing it, you wouldn’t have a fucking clue.

He’s still talking. For some reason, the sentence didn’t stop when your heart did, and Ben’s still saying stuff.

“We could do it now. Or after. Or in fifty fucking years. But I want to marry you, Sunshine, I fucking love you and if they threw me back in the box in an hour it would’ve still been fucking worth it because I got to have you.” He reaches into his pants, pulls out a ring with an iridescent opal set into the band, and glares at it like it might ruin this for him. “This is for you. It’s got all the fucking colors, and I can find some asshole to fit it better, or change it. If you want it. If you want me-“

That’s enough of that. The very prospect that you might not always want Ben springs you into action, and you crash into him with a fervor in your blood and nervous system that you’ve never felt before Ben, and will never have to worry about not feeling after. He catches you, raising you up off the ground as he deepens the kiss, and it’s only when you’re both forced away to breathe that you realize you haven’t actually answered.

“Yes.” You press your brow to Ben’s and if your smile was dumb before, it’s flat out idiotic now. “I’d like to marry you, Benjamin. I love you, and I’d really like to marry you.”

The odd feeling is gone, and all that’s left is love. Powerful and eternal love that’s all yours and Ben’s, and you could spend a lifetime describing how it’s everything—brutal and soft and unstoppable and immovable and made of fire and light but so sharp and embedded in your very soul that nothing else feels quite as real—but you’d rather spend that lifetime with Ben. In his arms and at his side and never, ever afraid because you have him, and he won’t let you burn without burning at your side.

“Good.” He grunts, glancing back down to the ring. “Do you want it now.”

You nod, offering out your hand, and he slides it on your finger carefully, looking up at you with a grin when he’s done.

“Do you…” Your words stray off as you start to get a little high off his gentle touch and boundless eyes on yours. “Do you want to have sex?”

He laughs—a loud echoing laugh that starts in his chest and moves into your heart—and picks you up with a wide grin.

“That is a stupid fucking question,” he starts to walk you back inside, holding your gaze the whole way. “I always want to fuck you, Sunshine. I’d fuck you in a hurricane, or tornado, or in the middle the goddamn world ending. What I want to know,” he lowers his face to yours, eyes alight and warming every part of your body. “Is how you want me to fuck you.”

“I,” you take a shaky breath, trying to force yourself not to drool or whimper under his attention. “I trust you. Whatever you want.”

You can’t look at him right now. You can feel him growing so hungry and strong in your body that it’s going to knock you out, make you cum on the spot, burst into flames, or all three at once, and holding Ben’s gaze will only make that worse.

It’s bad enough to hear his voice, low and rumbling and gravely, say your name like it’s a prayer. “Whatever I want.”

You hum, because you don’t trust your voice not to just be a breathless plea of his name.

“Words-“

Whatever you want.

You can see Ben nod in your periphery as he kicks the door open. He lowers you onto your bed slowly and carefully before crawling over you and pushing you onto your back, and when you finally gather yourself enough to meet his eyes, he looks feral. He feels feral inside you—beating against your ribs and hungry in every place of you he’s allowed to touch, which is all of them—and he’s hard against your thigh, making it really, really hard to focus on anything but Ben. Caging you against his body, only watching you and not really doing anything but making you sit in Ben. Starving for you and looking at you like you’re holy, loving you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Ben-

Whatever I want. He’s repeating it one last time, giving you one last chance to take it back. But the growl of his voice in your head tells you that he knows exactly what he wants, and if this is another thing you can give him, then he’ll get it. It won’t be gentle.

Okay. You drag one hand down his chest, palming at his bulge until he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. I can take it-

He grabs your hand against him, his grip rough and bruising as he moves your hand on your head, and picks his head up to scan over your slack, desperate expression. No touching me. He starts to trace small circles on your wrist with his thumb, and it’s sending small electric shocks through your body. I touch you. And be loud. Be real fucking loud. Got it?

You nod, and it’s a little pathetic. Yes. Got it. What are you-

Ben rips off your stupid fancy dress in one movement, and leaves wet, sloppy, open mouth kisses over your lip, down your throat, over your collarbone and tits and stomach and down, down, down until his tongue flattens on your clit, and a low groan leaves him as two, broad fingers trace up and down your pussy.

So fucking wet for me, Sunshine. Always so goddamn wet, soaking through your panties like a fucking brat, tasting like fucking heaven-

“Ben,” you gasp as his tongue start to drag down, teasing and flicking at your fluttering pussy but never going in, both his hands moving to knead at your ass as he angles you up. “Fuck, please. Please-“

His tongue pushes into you, and your words turn into a choked and high whimper that only makes him go faster.

Fucking perfect, darling, soaking my fucking face. You’re like fucking crack, I could goddamn die here. His beard starts to tickle and burn at your skin, and you grind up into his face. Christ, you’re fucking desperate. You want my cock, don’t you. You want me to make you feel fucking good, ruin you and split you open-

You can’t touch him. Your hands are fisted in the sheet because you can’t touch Ben. He’s spewing filth in your head and eating you in a way that make his nose bump your clit and his hands pull and squeeze your skin, his tongue occasionally just licking a long, rough stripe up your cunt and making you scream, but you can’t touch him.

“God, I need you, now, Ben, need you now-“

You’re right on the edge, Ben’s tongue starting to just plunge in and out of you, and he’s not bothering to hold you down. You bucking and keening off the mattress, your arms starting to wrap around your own body to just touch something, and Ben grins, chuckling right against your pussy.

So fucking good. Goddamn perfect, and beautiful, and real needy. All wet and begging, just for me-

“Just for you, only for you,” you gasp, kicking against the bed as Ben’s mouth moves back to suck and nip at your swollen clit in a pattern that’s holding pleasure just out of your reach, but still makes you scream. “God, Benjamin, you cunt, please-“

Hold it, Sunshine. Take it and keep fucking talking, and maybe I’ll let you cum.

I can’t-

You can. His tongue starts to flick torturously, and you fucking squeal. It would be embarrassing if it didn’t spur Ben on, his voice dropping to an octave you’ve never even heard before. Good girl, taking it so well. Talk to me, darling, tell me what you want-

I want you, Benjamin. I want your cock, I want you to make me cum-

Aloud.

“Fuck!” You scream, writhing and rolling your hips squeezing your tits like you can force your own relief. “You asshole, please let me cum, fuck, please, need it, need you-“

He starts to circle his tongue over your clit in slow, painfully good motions, and you whine.

“Please,” your legs lock around his head, trying to force him deeper into your cunt. “God, fuck, Ben-“

The last shout of his name is almost a protest, because he unhooks your legs without effort, and rises up to look at you. He looks proud, and in love, and it’s all for you and you’re going to explode-

“I said no touching.” His voice is stern, but one hand has snaked over your abdomen, lingering with teasing fingers and a soft touch. “You want to cum?”

“Yes, please.” You spread your legs as wide as you can, giving Ben a pout that usually gets snaps him and makes his cock drive into you with an abandon.

This time, though, he just smirks, and drops his hand between your legs. Resting it right over your cunt, holding his balance on your knees as his other hand press down on your stomach to still your squirms. “Going to be fucking good for me, Sunshine? Let me do whatever I want to this perfect pussy?”

He slaps his hand against you, and your mouth falls open. All you can do is whine stupidly and make soft, breathless noises that are supposed to be his name.

“Talk to me,” he grunts your name, and hits your cunt again, this time a little harsher. It’s not painful, but it stings and sends a rush through your whole body, spurring your voice into borderline incoherent pleas.

“Ben, fuck, please. Please, I want you, need you, fuck-“ Another slap of your pussy, another strangled scream. “Need to cum, need you to make me cum, Ben-“

He starts to makes smaller, slightly circulars patterns with his hits, dragging you right up to the edge, and you can’t really think outside of Ben, Ben, Ben, who let him learn how to play you like an instrument and who made him smell like an aphrodisiac and who decided he could be big and handsome and strong and rough but still touch you like you’re sacred and look at you like nothing else is worth looking at-

“Let go for me, Sunshine.” He mutters, and you feel him alive and roaring inside of you. “Cum.”

Your body almost flies off the bed as it obeys. For almost a whole minute your existence is almost only pleasure and warmth and something wet pouring out of you, all in a perfect harmony with Ben. You might be shouting it, or calling it into his head, or just keeping him all in yourself, but it’s all Ben. Still rubbing larger, softer circles over your pussy as you come down, staring at you as the world comes back into focus with a devotion and care and love that sends one last, smaller orgasm shuttering through your body.

“Ben-“

Your whisper has barely left your mouth when his eyes flash and darken further, and he’s moving. Grabbing you by your hips and flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up into the air and running his broad forefinger right between the lips of your dripping, overly sensitive pussy.

He leans over your body, his lips brushing your ear, and you’re not lucid enough to stop the moan from leaving your mouth at the low, deep, hoarse sound of his voice.

“Cum all you want,” he growls your name, and your whole body shivers. “But don’t stop saying my name.”

You nod, pressing your ass further back into where his cock is still trapped in his pants. “Ben, please, need it-“

“I know you do, darling.” He kisses your neck, squeezing your hips and hissing his words through teeth as you wiggle against him. “Fuck, you need to stop that-“

It’s almost automatic, how your body listens to him, and you fall forward onto the mattress with a whimper, curling your fingers into the sheets. “Ben. Ben, please-“

“Good girl,” Ben smirks on your skin, rutting against your bare pussy as you let out a long, hopeful moan. “Don’t move.”

You couldn’t if you tried. You can hear and feel Ben moving around behind you—rising back onto his knees and tearing at cloth—and nothing in you wants to move. Your brain is in an easy harmony of Ben, and you’re warm and wrapped in a haze of pine, so you’re really good right here.

If you moved, you wouldn’t get to feel Ben’s hands knead and pull at your ass, yanking you back up into the air before pressing his thumb right over your clit and rubbing once, twice, a third time until you’re gasping and pleading his name, gathering all your strength to push up onto your knees and offer yourself as easily as you can.

Ben. Please, Benjamin, please-

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, one, thick finger pushing into you and pumping slowly. “Never seen anything as fucking perfect as you, Sunshine. I fucking love you, I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.”

You let out a soft, airy giggle. “Romantic-“

Ben’s fingers are yanked out of you without warning—leaving you squeezing around nothing and making a loud, needy noise—and his cock replaces them so fast it knocks the air out you and sends a rush of lightning-like pleasure though your body.

“Fucking brat,” Ben pulls in and out once, and you can’t do anything but moan and feel smoke start to curl from your hands. “Such a smart fucking mouth, you’re-“ he groans, starting to move faster, building up and up, his balls slapping against your clit as his hands bruise into your hips. “Christ, so fucking good, darling, fucking love you, going to drive me goddamn mad-“ You’re too high to hold onto his words anymore. He’d wrapped an arm around you waist and trailed big, warm fingers down your stomach until they’re pinching and rolling your clit, and when your orgasm crashes over you it’s not a wave, but a storm. It washes over you again and again, only growing stronger as Ben reaches an unrelenting pace, drilling into you and growling praise you can’t hear, but that still sends spasms through your body and more and more wetness out of your cunt. You’re squeezing and fluttering around his cock, and he’s saying words that sound like hymns, but you can’t decipher outside of good. Ben and good. You’re burning but it’s fine because you won’t fade out and Ben’s right here with you.

His hips jerk, his body falling over yours, and you feel something hot spread over your gut and down your thigh when Ben’s orgasm slams into you it’s unforgiving. You’re nothing but a shaking, whimpering, soft mess when his beard brushes on the skin of your back, and you let out a happy sigh when he starts to kiss up and down your spine. He’s still buried into you, and he’s so simply and contently alive in everything that’s inside and around you that you don’t realize that the bed is blackened and scorched under your body.

“Ben,” you whisper, running some ash between your fingers. “Did I-“

“You did.” His mouth moves back to your neck, and you can feel his grin against your skin. “You’re a marvel, Sunshine. That was fucking hot.”

“Literally,” you mumble, and he chuckles.

“Smartass.”

You hum, smiling like a fool and carefully moving your hand up to reach behind you and run his hair between your fingers, “I love you, Benjamin. And I’d marry you now, but I think you’d like to be dramatic about it.”

“I’ve got a hot fucking wife,” he grumbles, arms wrapping around your waist. “I’ll be as dramatic as I want, beautiful.”

You laugh, and tomorrow you’ll have to go home, but tonight you don’t have to go anywhere. You can sleep easy with Ben over you like a weight that’s not a trial to carry, and dream of sunlight and laughter and a hollow thing that’s finally full, and the light that’s leaking out of it.

End Note: If you wanted more of them in Rome, do not worry. There will be many, many one-shots from things that we didn’t have space for in the chapter. There's even been a secret one already in the Bonus Footage. See you guys for the shit hitting the fan <3.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

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

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli @imsiriuslyreal