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venomwrites · 11 days ago

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Vi really needs to grow a spine.

That’s all she can think. One little please should not destroy her judgement quite like this. She vaguely remembers Salo’s chair moving awkwardly every time it came through a door. Mostly she remembers hearing him complain endlessly about how slow everything was. How this hurt or that hurt and why couldn’t people do anything right. They were no better than those filthy Zaunites. She had just chalked it up to him being an asshole, but now she grudgingly admits he might have a point. She gave up the chair a block ago because every stupid bump made Caitlyn wince even though she wouldn’t admit it. It was kind of unmistakable. Even though she’s weak, Caitlyn’s legs might be the least injured part of her. She can manage the halting steps better than the thump of the chair.

And Vi can brace the rest of her.

“We’re almost there,” she says. Caitlyn can only manage to nod, her lips pressed in a tight line that can’t feel nice on her eye. Vi glances around, “we could—“

“No,” Caitlyn gasps softly, “we’re almost there.”

“Damn right,” Vi mutters and tightens her grip on her shirt.

It’s not like this is the first time they’ve staggered like this. To be fair this might be the worst state they’ve been in. Usually one of them is in decent shape. Usually she’s the stabbed one, if she thinks about it. Sometimes when they move too quickly the assist turns into a carry when Caitlyn pulls and her toes just drag. It’s weird to feel like she’s being carried. It makes her feel impossibly young. Like she has someone to care for her. It actually might be easier to move like this when Caitlyn is the one supporting just because of the height difference. It’s awkward for Caitlyn to lean on her, but Vi can feel her weight pressing onto her shoulders. She’s lucky Caitlyn is accepting this much help, given how quick she was to try and shirk off everything from pain meds to extra bandages. Until Vi yanked the doctors aside and told them to stop offering options unless they had to. They just had to make her better and Vi would take care of the rest.

Guilt, that’s why the please worked.

That had to be it.

By the time they get there, Caitlyn is clammy and pale. Vi can feel sweat streaking her spine. But they are here. That is all that matters. Or it should be. Vi kicks herself as she realizes she should have thought this place wouldn’t be untouched. Nothing up here is untouched. Caitlyn’s face falls even though they both know it’s not that bad. Relatively speaking. Mostly it’s shattered glass and splatters of pigment. There’s a missing head but by some stroke of luck, it’s not the one they are here to see. Caitlyn makes a noise of distress before quickly smothering it and trying to smile. Which is bullshit. Vi feels gutted anyone has touched this place and she’s pretty sure if Cassandra Kiramman didn’t hate her before, she sure as hell does now.

There’s nothing to do but hobble forward with Cait. She gets her up against the statute and makes sure she has her feet under her. The cast on her own arm is a pain in the ass. If it’s not itching, it’s doing something else to get in the way. Now though she’s grateful for the plaster so she can sweep the glass off the ledge. Caitlyn immediately opens her mouth to tell her not to but Vi waves her off. She barely feels the glass as she pushes it aside and cleans the ledge. When she’s sure there’s a spot Caitlyn won’t cut herself on, she gets back under her arm and helps get her down. Despite her protests Caitlyn sags gratefully against the metal and rests her head in the bronze sweep of her mother’s skirt.

I want to see my mother.

Please.

Vi wishes they could have gone to the gardens, but Caitlyn’s banished herself from them. Not from the statute though. She was expected to show face here and remind people she was a mourning daughter and a Commander. It makes Vi sick to think about. Truth is she only ever should have been the first. But now she’s grateful. If nothing else because it lets Caitlyn have a place she can mourn. The request to come here is insane. But Caitlyn seems to voice the insane requests to her. A dark part of Vi whispers its because she imagines she’ll say yes, like she always does to those she loves. But the rest of sings this is trust. Caitlyn trusts her with these broken pieces of herself and her desires. Trusts her in a way she doesn’t seem to trust anyone else. So when she asks, even though she should say no, Vi says yes. When the chair breaks, Vi gets them to walk. Vander's voice echoes in the back of her head before she shoves it aside. Caitlyn is the leader here. Vi doesn’t know where she fits in, but getting them here is something. It feels like a start.

Caitlyn looks impossibly young when she is sick. It was jarring to see her in the hospital bed with doctors towering and scrambling over her. It’s somehow more gutting to see her slumped against the cold metal. She looks like a kid hiding her face in her mother’s skirt. Like how Vi used to hide her grief in Vander’s shoulder. In all of Vi’s watercolor memories, her mom is in pants except when she’s round with Powder. And when she was round with Powder they had to be careful. It was Dad or Vander who swung her up. Who let her cry into their shoulder because Mom couldn’t pick her up anymore. Dad and Dad. Caitlyn’s shoulders tremble as she presses into the metal. Even though Vi knows she’s seeking warmth, all she can think of is how the cold packs seemed to help dull the pain of her eye. She might want the warmth that’s no longer there, but Vi hopes the metal is helping. She glances around for anything they could use to clean off the colored pigment, but there’s only broken glass around them and a few nubs of wax. She hears a whisper and approaches Caitlyn when she sees her teal eye focusing on her.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn whispers, even in the exhaustion there’s something shy in her voice Vi isn’t used to hearing.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Vi says, all the jokes she would usually make drying on her tongue, “it’s just a little banged up, we can get it cleaned.”

“I don’t care,” Caitlyn sighs. Vi frowns. She shifts with a grimace, “I hope I never see it again.”

“This is a lot of trouble for somewhere you never want to see again, Cupcake,” she says. Caitlyn watches her carefully, “any reason why?”

Something proud flares in Caitlyn’s eye and Vi feels her own chest puff with the look. She doesn’t know why it matters when Caitlyn looks at her with pride. For a decade she loved it when everyone looked at her with fear or disgust. There was no pride in Stillwater Hold. If there was it meant nothing good. Sometimes in the quiet, dark moments Vi wonders how much of herself she left there. How much of her died with Vander or on the bridge. Sometimes she thinks it might’ve been everything good in her. But sometimes she picks up on what Caitlyn wants or finishes a puzzle before she does and Caitlyn looks at her with such pride. And some part of Vi that’s been long dead kicks awake. Like it was just waiting for someone to show her how to feel this way again.

“I wanted to see you here,” Caitlyn tells her. Pain and embarrassment flash across her face, “not her—“

Vi’s stomach drops. ‘Her’ can only mean one thing. Vi could have given less of a shit about Maddie until Mel told her. Maddie wasn’t just a brown nosing suck up—which was already annoying—she was a manipulating, betraying brown nosing suck up who nearly shot Caitlyn through the neck. Mel had tried to break the new gently but Vi still nearly got herself another cast when she punched the wall. Her only follow up question had been why Mel made her death quick. That got her a genuine smile and a not so genuine apology for miscalculating the angle from behind a door. It doesn’t surprise Vi that Maddie weaseled her way into Caitlyn’s mourning. Somehow the idea Maddie was here when Caitlyn was grieving feels like an even worse violation than her slipping into Caitlyn’s bed.

“Hey, I’m here,” Vi says, touching her knee and drawing her attention, “we’re here. And your mom is still glaring at the sky and not me, so we’re doing something right.”

That gets a smile from Caitlyn. One that softens as she watches Vi standing there. Even with all the violence that now surrounds the place she looks almost at peace with it. Vi isn’t naive enough to think that them being here together magically solves everything. It doesn’t change the broken glass or the stained statue. It doesn’t make Jinx appear or put the world back together. But just for a moment, it feels like it counts for something. Them being here together counts for a lot. Just to be sure Vi glances up but Cassandra is still glaring up at the heavens. Caitlyn gives her a questioning look and Vi offers her own smile.

“Just making sure,” she jokes.

Caitlyn’s smile reappears and widens, this time to the point of her wincing at the foreign feeling. But it might the first time she’s smiled without thinking about her injuries or her overwhelming guilt. Vi crouches in front of her but Caitlyn motions her forward. There’s just enough room for both of them to fit on the ledge, though it does require a bit of draping of legs. But Vi’s not complaining as Caitlyn’s cover her thighs. It feels nice and real to have the metal at her back, stone under her butt and Caitlyn’s legs on her thighs. Nothing feels awful, one of the things feels nice. All of it reminds her they are alive and here. They can rebuild like the cities that surround them.

“I think they said she was looking at the future,” Caitlyn says, “but she was always focused on what she could do now.”

Vi thinks of her kicking down the door and the look on her face. But Caitlyn’s smile is gentle and soft and impossibly fond.

“You didn’t see when you left, she told me to go after you,” she says, “She never told me to do that before, I think you managed to impress her.”

That catches Vi off guard. She remembers her kicking down the door and calling her a stray. Though she also remembers the curt nod she gave before slipping into the Council chamber ahead of them. Even though she’d still been trying to collect her thoughts and wrap her mind around addressing the Council at all, Caitlyn’s mom had acknowledged her before she spoke. When Vi had started talking, she had looked at her without questioning why she was there. It had felt like she could keep speaking, even though she lost it right after that. She doesn’t remember seeing her reaction to her storming off, she had been too embarrassed to meet the older woman’s eyes. And then Caitlyn had been running after her in the rain and Vi had just continued to say stupid and wrong shit. When she thinks about how they got from there to this moment, it makes her head spin. It spins so much she’s glad she’s sitting down. But there’s also a weirdly warm feeling at the idea Caitlyn’s mom might not have thought of her quite so badly.

“They did her dirty with the statue,” Vi says. It makes Caitlyn smile again, “least they let my dad have his pipe.”

“You dad has a statute?” Caitlyn asks. Vi shrugs.

“He did,” she says, “I don’t know if it’s still there—“ she admits, “but he did. Yeah.”

“I want to see it,” Caitlyn declares, “I only saw him—“

“As a werewolf?” Vi offers. Caitlyn presses her lips together against the smile, “you can say it.”

“Yes, as a werewolf,” Caitlyn concedes, “I’d like to see him as you remember.”

Vi swallows as she thinks about it. Vander’s been in her head a lot. They all have, but he’s in the front. It feels important to catalogue everything she can remember. From the burn of the spirits against her cuts to the smell of the oil he used to polish the bar. The rumble of his voice, the squeak as he cleaned bar glasses—she turns everything over in her head. She knows it’s so she won’t think of the wolf. The purple. She knows it’s so she won’t try to fit together his purple, bubbling corpse with the still wolf who launched at them so viciously. Maybe one day she’ll be ready to think about it, but right now it feels like that wound is just too fresh. If she starts thinking about it now she’s not sure she’ll ever stop. She can’t just think about it. So she faces herself to remember him standing in the Last Drop cleaning glasses and imparting wisdom in that gruff-gentle way of his.

“We’ll go,” she promises, “when we’re better,” she sees the disappointment in Caitlyn’s face, “it’s not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that,” Caitlyn whispers.

Vi wishes she could object more, but the same thought churns in the back of her head. It just really sucks to see it reflected on Caitlyn’s face. It feels wrong to see her looking as world weary as Vi feels. It makes something in Vi’s bones ache to see her look like that. But at the same time she knows that’s not fair to Caitlyn. Caitlyn’s got enough shit going on without Vi twisting herself over with guilt. She’s learned that lesson. The guilt is there, sure, but it’s not the most important thing right now. It’s not even in the top ten. Vi strokes her thumb across Caitlyn’s knee.

“You’re right but that’s okay,” she says, “nothing really lasts in Zaun. If it does, it never stays the same,” she shrugs, “that’s why we tell stories, why Ekko paints, it’s so we can remember things like they were. Even if those places are gone.”

Caitlyn considers her words for a moment.

“Then you’ll tell me about him? When you’re ready?”

The concession makes Vi’s eyes sting. Caitlyn is terrible at being patient. Even when she’s lining up a shot, when she is capable of exercising patience, she hates doing it. When she’s on the trail? It’s even worse. The night before Ambessa showed up she was a complete wreck of impatient nerves until Vi kissed her and dragged her to bed. That is definitely not going to be happening for a while. She offers patience because she knows that’s what Vi needs. Not for the first time, Vi is stupidly, selfishly glad she stayed on that chunk of metal. Even when most of he wanted to tip to the side. That little part of her that is learning how to want was louder. Somehow it was louder.

“Yeah, ‘course I will,” Vi says, “we’ll talk about them. Soon.”

Cailtyn nods in agreement and they sit there as the sky starts to change. Regretfully Vi squeezes her knee. Caitlyn leans forward and glances upwards at the darkening sky. It’s time to leave this place before they both add a cold to the list of injuries. It’s even harder getting up, but they manage and Vi fits herself back under Caitlyn’s arm. Caitlyn looks up at the statue and even with the pain etched on her face, there’s a new calm in her eye and edging her features. Vi squeezes her waist to get her attention and Caitlyn looks at her.

“Maybe lightening will get it,” Vi offers.

Caitlyn chuckles. First time anything even close to a laugh has left her lips since they woke up from the battle.

“We can only hope,” she says, glancing up at it, “it really looks nothing like her,” she says and something almost regretful slips into her tone.

Vi wants her to laugh again.

“If lightening doesn’t get it we can always come back,” she says, “or ask Ekko to swing by,” she continues, “literally,” she adds, swinging her casted arm.

It’s not a laugh but it does make Caitlyn smile.

“Let’s hope for lightening,” Caitlyn says, starting to walk.

Vi helps her stay upright as they hobble away from the statute. For once luck is on their side and they make it home before the rain starts. Which makes relief hit Vi like a ton of bricks. They just left the hospital, she doesn’t want to go back and do the whole stupid casting process again. How she is going to stay in the thing for weeks is beyond her. But the idea of having pins in her arm makes her stomach turn. Deciding upstairs is not going to work, Vi takes them to the library on the main floor. Caitlyn shakes her head when Vi moves for the chair and sits down on the coffee table. There’s only three hands between them and a very dead fireplace. But she drops the logs in and Caitlyn strikes one of the comically long matches. Together they get the fire going and bring some warmth and light into the room. Which is great because a moment later, lightening bolts across the sky. They both jump and turn towards it. Vi can feel her heart leap, but she doesn’t want to think about the flash of power and the blue puff of smoke. Caitlyn’s hand reaches up and grasps hers. They lock their fingers together and Vi wills herself to just focus on the touch of Caitlyn’s skin.

“Think it hit your mom’s ugly ass statue?” She whispers.

“We can only hope,” Caitlyn replies, her tone equally tight, “I can’t pull you down,” she says, “so—“ she gives a tug on Vi’s wrist.

Vi sits on the coffee table next to her and carefully guides Caitlyn’s arm over her shoulders. Caitlyn tightens her arm and Vi scoots over, pressing their bodies together as they hunch in front of the fire. Each crack of thunder and flash of lightening makes Caitlyn’s arm tighten around her. Her hand squeezes Vi’s. It’s not enough to erase the thud of her heart, but it helps. It helps a lot. It helps Vi remember that she’s in the Kiramman house. She’s with Caitlyn. She chose not to fall into the blue smoke. She chose to stay. She has to repeat it to herself every time she hears the crack of thunder. Even though she can’t squeeze the same way, she wraps her casted arm around Caitlyn and holds her close as she also jumps at every crack of thunder. It takes Vi a minute to realize it’s because each crack of thunder is a surprise. She can’t see the lightening. So Vi starts squeezing her hand every time she sees the lightening, then again when she jumps at the thunder. When she catches Caitlyn’s gaze, Caitlyn offers a shaky smile.

“It better have hit,” she whispers almost savagely.

Even amidst all the misery, for the first time since waking up, Vi lets out a shaky, honest laugh.

“You really hate that statue, don’t you Cupcake?” She says.

Caitlyn’s eye brightens at the nickname. And for one impossible second they can almost pretend they are the same girls who left Stillwater together. Maybe somewhere deep down, those girls are still there. Maybe they can find them again. Vi really fucking hopes they can. That the universe will be kind enough they can find those pieces of themselves amidst all the rubble. Like they found each other in the battlefield. Maybe they can hobble away from this together. If they lean on each other. Instead of focusing on the thunder Vi focuses on the way the light of the fire dances along the midnight of Caitlyn’s hair. She watches as Caitlyn goes pink under her inspection and tilts her head like she’s trying to turn away. Vi is gentle when she touches her chin, mindful of the fact that she’s barely got any fingertips before the bulky plaster starts. And she can’t bear the idea of adding any injuries to Caitlyn.

“What?” Caitlyn asks softly.

“I’m just really glad we’re here,” Vi admits.

Caitlyn leans forward and gently presses their foreheads together. It makes Vi think of the cell and those moments between kisses when all they could do was giggle as they fumbled over stupidly complicated clasps and touched every bit of skin they had thought about during their time apart. Vi doesn’t even know if she remembers how to laugh like that. But maybe she can learn. Maybe they both can. Caitlyn strokes down the curve of her cheek and something in Vi shivers at the memory. But instead of grasping the hand that’s casted, Caitlyn’s fingers settle on her shoulder. It’s something new but it doesn’t lessen the wild, hopeful feeling beating in Vi’s chest.

“Me too, Violet” Caitlyn whispers.

Vi swallows at the sound of her full name on Caitlyn’s lips.

Nothing ever stays the same.

But maybe that’s not such a bad thing if the right person is beside you.

#piltover's finest #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi #another ao3 maintenance oneshot #this time featuring cassandra kiramman's ugly ass statue because what did they do to my girl

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daydreamtofiction · 3 months ago

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The Feature XXII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) The aftermath of the gala brings a shift to Ben and Quinn's relationship.

Chapter Word Count: 5.4K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, play fighting, smut: oral sex (giving/receiving), penetrative sex, light dominance. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, I would really appreciate if you considered leaving a comment. It would really mean the world to me to hear your feedback and what you think of the story so far. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍

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It had been a while since you’d seen him smoke, and you assumed it was because he’d finally managed to quit. So when you saw him heading for the back door before you’d even taken off your heels, you felt guilty. Like the stress you’d put him through had driven him to take up the habit again.

You stood in the kitchen, elbows resting on the island as you looked down at your notes from the evening. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted in through the crack in the sliding glass door, but you didn’t mind it; coming to take comfort in the aroma whenever it came from him.

You rolled the balls of your bare feet over the tiles, rising onto your tiptoes and down again in a lazy rhythm, relieving the dull ache your shoes had left behind. The notes were messy, jumbled and incoherent at points. You stood there, armed with your pen, deciphering the pages like a secret code, writing annotations in the margins and circling anything remotely salvageable.

The door slid open and Ben stepped into the kitchen, shaking off the late night cold as he locked it behind him. He was still in his suit, the heels of his shoes clicking across the floor as he made his way towards you. You watched as he shrugged off his blazer and lay it on the edge of the island before unbuttoning his collar and loosening his tie.

“You write like a doctor,” he said as he glanced at your notebook over your shoulder.

You laughed softly. “It was dark in there.”

His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers gently pressing into knots of tension you didn’t realise were there. You sighed, closing your eyes and letting your head roll from side to side. He sensed your relief, bringing his other hand up to massage your shoulders more firmly.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” you replied, too preoccupied with the satisfying pressure of his hands.

“You were right, I overreacted. I got jealous and I took it out on you.”

“It was my fault for making you jealous in the first place though…”

“Yeah but the way I responded… It was… I don’t like how I behaved.”

“I found it quite sexy.”

He chuckled, letting go of you and moving to lean against the island beside you. “How did I know you were going to say something like that?”

You looked up at him with a slight smirk.

“But really,” he continued earnestly. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to get so… possessive of you.”

Your smile remained.

He shook his head with a breathy laugh. “Don’t say you liked it.”

“Okay,” you said simply, turning your attention back to your notes.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at your book. “Do you want me to answer that question now?”

You looked back up at him. “Really?”

“Sure.” He walked around the island towards the sink. “Go for it.”

You flicked to a blank page, pen poised between finger and thumb. “Okay… So, do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary contributions?”

He hummed in thought as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, running the hot tap and beginning to wash the small pile of dishes he’d left in the sink. “It’s hard isn’t it; the arts are so reliant on investment. Even at school level, art, drama, music, they’re viewed as luxuries, superfluous even...”

He continued to speak, his voice so engaging, his words so eloquent and insightful. But you found yourself more focused on what he was doing; the way he looked as he stood at the sink, so relaxed, domesticated, real. You never thought you could find a man washing dishes attractive, but there was something about the scene before you that made your stomach flutter. It was the intimacy of it, the undone collar and rolled up sleeves, the comfort he felt in your presence, the beautiful mundanity of it all.

He turned around, shaking the water off his hands and reaching for a tea towel. You glanced up, meeting his gaze and watching as a smile crept across his face.

“You weren’t listening to a word of that, were you,” he said.

“Sorry,” you replied with a shy laugh. “Got distracted.”

He paused for a moment as he looked at you; watching you watch him, a curious glint in his eye. “What?”

You shook your head, reaching for your bag. “Nothing. Tell me your answer again. I’ll just record it this time.”

“What distracted you?” he laughed.

“Just you,” you replied. “Doing… regular things.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nice.” You shrugged. “Makes it feel like we’re…”

He waited for you to finish. But you didn’t. So instead he spoke for you. “A couple…?”

“Well I don’t know. Do couples interview each other for magazines while doing the dishes?”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling, cheeks creasing with the smile lines you loved so much.

You picked up your pen, twirling it between your fingers for a moment before beginning to write, aimlessly scrawling the date across the top of the page, going over it multiple times until the paper began to tear.

“Quinn,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

“Mhm?” you replied without looking up.

He made his way back over to you, stopping at your side and placing a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to him.

“We are sort of a couple,” he said, like he was breaking bad news to you. Yet there was a slight amusement in his tone, finding humour in your sudden unease.

You licked your lips, pressing them together firmly as you gazed up at him. “How do you figure?”

He breathed out a laugh. “Because what’s the phrase? If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.”

“Are you saying I waddle when I walk?”

He laughed again, more heartily this time, the sound rumbling in the base of his throat. “You know full well that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying this…” He gestured between you. “Coming home together at the end of a night out, fighting in the car, making up in the kitchen, knowing how you like your coffee, what days you have off work, what side of the bed you prefer to sleep on… There’s only one person I have that with, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s you.”

You rolled your eyes at the hint of sarcasm in his tone, how he whispered the last few words. But you couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“And honestly,” he continued, tilting his head to catch your gaze again. “There’s no one else I want to have that with.”

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a moment before shaking your head, a rare fleck of vulnerability in your voice. “Why me?”

He shifted closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with his fingers. You felt your heartbeat quicken in response; the softness of his touch and sudden sincerity in his expression flooding you with a sense of anticipation.

He swallowed. “Because… I love-”

“Don’t you dare.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Wh-”

You held up your finger to silence him, taking a step back like an animal preparing to scarper.

“Quinn,” he chuckled.

“Ben.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

You made your way slowly around the kitchen, putting the island between you like a barrier. He raised his brow with a laugh, shaking his head at you.

“Okay,” he finally said, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay fine. I won’t say it.”

You glared at him, watching as he let out a quiet sigh of defeat, though his eyes sparkled with humour as you continued to shuffle around the island. He took a small step in your direction, arms still raised. But you knew better than to trust it; the smirk on his face giving him away.

“Then why are you coming closer?” you replied.

“God, you really know how to make a man feel wanted,” he said sarcastically, continuing to move towards you with slow, fluid steps.

“I just don’t want you to say anything you’ll regret.”

“Mm.” He stilled for a moment, pretending to ponder, before darting around the counter.

You yelped in surprise and turned to run away, but he was too swift, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back against him.

“Fucking hell you’re fast,” you laughed breathlessly.

He leaned down, bringing his lips close to your ear. “I always get what I want.”

You squirmed in his arms and he tightened his grip, just enough to still you. You let your head fall back against his chest in defeat, blowing out an exaggerated huff. His laugh was deep and warm beside your ear as he slid his hands down to rest on your hips, sending a sudden nervous thrill to your core. Then he turned you around, bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs tracing soft circles over your cheeks as he leaned down to kiss you.

You welcomed it eagerly, sliding your arms around his waist and gripping the material of his shirt in your fists to pull him flush against you. His mouth moved over yours slowly, deeply, the pressure of his kiss flooding you with a warmth that made every touch feel like fire, every breath like steam as it escaped between your parted lips. But you could feel him holding back, as though he was testing each movement, waiting for a sign to let go.

He pulled back, breathing heavily as his forehead rested against yours, the same look of admiration on his flushed face.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, emphasising each word.

He exhaled a long, slow huff through his nose, the slightest smirk at the corner of his mouth. His hands drifted down from your face, fingers tracing lightly over your neck, along your shoulders and down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Alright then, I won’t say it,” he murmured, his voice deep and hoarse. Then he paused, drawing out the silence between you until it was almost unbearable. “What I will say is that I think we should go upstairs…”

You felt a ripple of excitement in your stomach, his tone laced with a hunger that made it impossible to misinterpret. He stepped back and took your hand in his, watching you, waiting for you to respond, his thumb idly grazing over your knuckles.

“Unless you’re too tired?” he added, tilting his head slightly.

You swallowed, the tension between you so heavy that the only response you could muster was a shake of your head.

He smiled, gently tugging you towards him, sending a sudden wave of nerves to the pit of your stomach. Your heartbeat quickened as he led you upstairs, as though you’d forgotten what this part felt like; how exciting yet terrifying it could be. Thrilling and intimidating, all at once.

He kept his hands on you the entire time, refusing to break the connection, even as he opened and closed the bedroom door. You kissed him eagerly as he walked you backwards to the bed, his lips warm and firm against yours, fingers digging into your waist to keep you close.

Your hands moved up his arms and over his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles under the fabric of his shirt. It made you hesitate for a moment, trying to speak against his lips.

“Are y- sure- about this?” The words came out broken and breathless, punctuated by his continuous, fervent kisses.

“Certain,” he whispered impatiently, falling with you onto the bed, the weight of his body sinking you into the mattress.

He slid a hand to your neck, his thumb pressing against the base of your throat as he continued to kiss you. You moaned as the pressure stifled your breath, making you buck your hips in a desperate search for friction.

A groan escaped him, but instead of holding back like you’d come to expect, he gave in to it; parting your legs with his thighs and settling between them, allowing you to grind against the erection straining beneath his trousers.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been to resist you,” he mumbled, traipsing kisses from your cheek to your jaw.

“So what’s changed now?” you replied, voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breaths.

His lips moved from your jaw to your ear. “Now we’re a couple.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I never actually agreed to that…”

“I’m sure I’ll have you agreeing soon.”

He took his time, fingers gently caressing your body over the material of your dress. His movements were slow, lingering, deliberate and unhurried as he traced the outline of your curves, letting each touch build and settle before moving onto the next.

You reached up to unbutton his shirt as he unravelled his tie, whipping it from around his neck and throwing it to the ground. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, hands moving to roam his bare chest as he shrugged it off completely.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen him shirtless over the last four months; you were all too familiar with the feeling of his chest beneath your palms, how your fingers moved over the dips and rivets of his torso. But tonight it felt different, somehow, like your touch was charged. You could feel his heartbeat through his chest, the flex of his muscles with even the slightest movement.

He was softer than when you’d first met, no strict movie routine keeping him lean and toned. But that softness made you want him even more; his body a testimony of the comfort and security he felt with you. There was still a firmness to him, his frame a perfect mixture of hard and yielding; thick arms and a broad chest that caged you beneath him, soft stomach that moulded to your body as he held you close.

You both knew you liked it when he took control. And he liked it too; his generosity and commitment to your pleasure so allconsuming that he would gladly lose himself in it completely. You knew the moment he delved beneath your dress, it would be almost impossible to pull him back, to make him pause long enough for you to indulge in him. You wanted to show him what he’d missed, make him feel how much you’d yearned for this intimacy.

And so you pushed gently on his chest, silently instructing him to sit up. His brows came together in a moment of confusion, but he didn’t resist, allowing you to direct him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands working to unbutton his trousers. He shifted, helping you slip them down, freeing him from his underwear and giving a quiet sigh of relief.

You wrapped a hand around his cock, glancing up to see his face tense with anticipation. It didn’t seem to matter how light your touch was, how slow or vigorous you stroked, it all had the same effect; turning his breath shallow, the angles of his face sharp in the dim light. Licking your lips, you brushed the stray pieces of hair out of your face, before leaning forward and finally taking him in your mouth.

His eyes rolled, head falling back in bliss as he let out a deep, gratified groan. You’d missed those sounds; always delighting in his willingness to make noise, and longing for it in your abstinence. You worked your mouth over him, lips and tongue drawing the most delicious sounds from the base of his chest, and whenever your hair fell back into your face, you would brush it away quickly, trying to keep a steady rhythm as your hand and mouth moved together along the length of his cock.

The next time your hair fell, he noticed before you could fix it, gathering the loose strands in his fists and holding them back for you. His grip tightened as he began to guide your head, but he remained gentle, reserved, letting you stay in control. The feeling of his fingers tangled in your hair made you ache for the power you knew he was capable of, desire pooling between your legs as he silently directed you, swearing under his breath and gazing down at you in awe.

His composure waned, just for a moment, hips thrusting his full length to the back of your throat. You choked slightly and he gave a low growl in response, his voice resonating deep in your core. And though you hadn’t planned to stop, you didn’t protest when he drew back, pulling you up into a deep, ravenous kiss.

Your body hummed with desire, skin tingling, stomach coiling as he guided you to straddle his lap. His hands slid up your thighs beneath your dress, fingers digging into the flesh of your backside with a firm, eager pressure. You shifted your weight, grinding against his bare erection, but the barrier of your underwear stifled the friction, leaving you hot and frustrated,forced to bear down harder in a desperate search for relief.

He continued to kiss you as his fingers reached for the zip of your dress. You felt it coming undone slowly, the smooth journey from the back of your neck to the base of your spine making you shiver in anticipation. The material loosened and you slipped it off your shoulders, letting it fall down your arms and pool at your waist. He moved his lips to the newly exposed skin of your chest, planting hot kisses along your collarbones as he quickly unclasped your bra and tossed it to the ground.

He took a moment to take in the sight of you, your soft, untouched breasts like a delicacy he’d been craving but never let himself indulge in. You let out a quiet hiss when he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking on it roughly as he massaged your other breast with a firm hand. You couldn’t help but arch into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you surrendered to the delicious ache, the arousal pooling between your legs.

You moaned as he moved between each breast; biting, licking, sucking, kissing, leaving no inch of you unmarred, no sensation unexplored. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pressing crescents into his skin, each sharp indentation drawing a growl from his throat, only spurring his fervour.

He rose to his feet, lifting you with him and turning around to lay you on the bed. You dragged your dress down and kicked it away, your eyes never breaking contact with him as he shed the last of his clothes and returned to you quickly. His hands caressed your bare body as you lay beneath him, his lips chasing every light, gentle stroke with a kiss.

He let out a slow, heavy breath as he ran his fingers over your underwear, the extent of your desire clear in the soaking wet cotton between your legs. You shivered when you felt him press his mouth to it, dragging his tongue along the outline of your pussy, like a hot, torturous promise of pleasure.

You whimpered softly, hips rocking, pushing yourself against his mouth with desperation.

“Please,” you whispered.

He didn’t tease, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and peeling it from you quickly. You watched as he seemed to admire your body, hands gliding over the most intimate parts of you in unashamed worship.

“Mine,” he muttered as he began pressing kisses to your inner thighs.

There was no space in this moment for you to deny his claim; no quip or sarcastic remark worthy of disrupting the intimacy between you. So instead you stayed quiet, letting him speak the word into your skin as he made his way to your centre. Your back arched when you felt his thumb along the seam of your pussy, the wet slick making it easy for him to glide through, every brush over your clit sending a jolt to your core.

His eyes were on you, watching your every reaction as he played with his speed, adjusting the pressure and rhythm of his touch until he found the spot that made you gasp. He pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit and began to massage it firmly, nipping his teeth at the inside of your thigh as you squirmed beneath him.

“I want you to tell me when you’re close,” he said, his tone dark and commanding.

You didn’t answer, too busy writhing against his touch to speak.

His thumb stilled as he stared up at you, waiting for a response.

You gasped at the sudden loss of stimulation, forcing yourself to look down at him. “Yes,” you said breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll tell you.”

He seemed satisfied, returning to circling your clit with his thumb as he began stroking himself with his other hand. You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, watching him, taking pleasure in the way he looked as he touched himself, aroused by the mere sight of you spread beneath him.

He leaned down, his tongue making contact with your pussy for the first time, dragging through your folds as he let a satisfied hum vibrate against you. He drew your clit into his mouth, sucking on it gently and sending a deep shudder up your spine.

“Fuck,” you whispered, the word coming out broken and breathless.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth with a heavy moan. He seemed to like it, burying his face deeper between your legs as he began to devour you, eating you out like he’d missed it, craved it.

You let your head fall back, eyes closing as you lost yourself in the feeling of his sweeping tongue and puckered lips, the way he swirled and sucked, flicked and dragged with expert precision. Your hands searched for something to anchor you; his hair, his shoulders, the duvet, even your own chest, your body rolling and shivering under his tireless rhythm.

You’d never forgotten the first time he did this; how mind blowing it had been, how he’d left you shaking, mewling, crying out as you came. And it never stopped surprising you, every time afterwards, the depths of pleasure his mouth was capable of. But even still, this time somehow surpassed it all.

You felt the familiar heat beginning to build, the trembling in your legs, the tightening in your muscles.

“I’m close,” you forced yourself to speak. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

He didn’t relent, but you could feel him adjusting his pace, softening the pressure of his ministrations just enough to keep you hanging on the edge, but careful to not push you over.

You whimpered, rolling your hips in a desperate search for release. But he was too controlled.

“Oh god, Ben please- Please don’t tease me, I can’t-”

He pulled his head back, returning his thumb to rub lazy circles over your clit. “Ssh, I’m not teasing,” he said softly. “I’m going to let you come. I just want to be inside you when you do.”

A wave of electricity coursed through you, his words alone almost unravelling you completely. He dipped his head down, granting himself a final taste of you before pulling back again. You watched as he let a string of saliva fall carefully from his pursed lips, dripping down over the entrance of your aching pussy.

“Oh, god,” you groaned, falling back against the mattress, unsure if you’d ever witnessed a more arousing sight.

He crawled up your body, positioning himself between your legs as he kissed your neck with an unexpected tenderness. You felt him reach down to line the head of his cock with your entrance, gliding it through the slick of saliva he’d left there before finally pushing into you.

The feeling of the first slide was still as breathtaking as you remembered; the fullness, the stretch, the pressure deep in your pelvis. He felt bigger than you remembered, or maybe you’d just gotten used to the size of your vibrator. But still, he sank into you with ease, your wetness drawing him in like he belonged there, making you gasp and reach out to grip his arms.

He groaned as he buried his entire length inside you, the sound a warm blend of rapture and relief. His voice was orgasmic as it poured into your ear, so delicious you were sure you could climax from the sound of it alone.

You bent your knees back, hooking your arms around the backs of his shoulders as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and steady, making you feel so full you thought he might break you. He turned his head to kiss you, adjusting his position slightly to reach your lips with more ease.

The shift in angle grazed your g-spot, stealing the breath from your lungs, your mouth falling open against his in shock.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hands reaching for his backside to keep him exactly where you needed. “Keep doing that.”

“Fuck,” he growled as you tightened around him.

He dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck and you clung to him as he moved, hips drawing back and snapping forward repeatedly, staying right where you wanted him.

Something came over you; a sudden, overwhelming urge to give yourself to him. All of you, every thought, every cell, every word. You cupped his face, guiding him to look at you.

“I am yours,” you said between soft moans. “I am.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his control faltering for a moment as he looked down at you. He pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you as his thrusts grew harder, more intense, staying at the angle that sent ripples of pleasure through your belly. Your eyelids fluttered as the sensation grew stronger, a climax rising from your core like a wave until it overflowed, crashing through you before you even realised it was coming.

He continued to move, watching your face in awe as you came apart beneath him, drawing it out of you with long, firm strokes. Your legs shook, your bottom lip quivering as your walls tightened, your core throbbing with the echoes of your orgasm.

His pace slowed, the atmosphere between you shifting into something softer, more intimate, as though your bodies had transcended sex, melting into one another in a symbiotic, otherworldly connection. He kissed you tenderly as he rocked his hips, moaning quietly into your mouth as your hands curled around the back of his neck. And when he looked into your eyes again, his gaze held a depth that you couldn’t ignore.

You shook your head, gently pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it.”

He breathed out a soft laugh, gripping your wrist and kissing the side of your hand.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, urging him to get up. He moved you both smoothly, sitting up and pulling you to straddle his lap. You reached down, guiding him back inside you and sinking down on it, luxuriating in the groan that escaped him.

He felt different in this position - even bigger, somehow - the head of his cock kissing the very depths of you, almost taking your breath away. His hands found your hips, rocking you gently back and forth to control your speed. You held him close, arms draped over his shoulders as you kissed him passionately.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

He shivered slightly beneath you, and you could sense his composure slipping as he held you tighter, his forehead resting against yours.

“Don’t ever hold back from me again,” you added.

“I’m not sure I could if I wanted to,” he replied, breathing heavily.

You rocked forward, his cock sending a shockwave through your sensitive core. A moan fell from your open mouth, eyes closing tightly. He noticed your reaction, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice quiet and breathless. “I can take it,” you added with a slight smirk, rolling your hips with an intentional roughness that elicited a deep growl in his chest.

His eyes glimmered with something hungrier, more primal, his body moving to meet the rhythm of your hips. He trailed a hand up to your neck as he kissed you, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your throat as he added more power to his thrusts, taking back the control.

You tore your lips from him, head falling back in utter bliss as you placed your hands over his, holding onto him as he bracketed your throat, fucking you hard as he sat beneath you. You choked out a moan, your insides coiling, pelvis flooding with hot, tingling pressure.

You felt yourself falling onto your back, and he moved with you, resting his elbows either side of your head as he continued the intense, forceful snap of his hips. He lay kisses along your neck, your jaw, before you felt his breath hot against your ear.

“Tell me again that you’re mine,” he said, his voice almost a growl.

You clutched at his back, nails dragging scratches down his soft, smooth skin. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to push him over the edge, his rhythm quickening until another orgasm tore through you. He groaned as you tensed around him, willing himself to hold on, to coax every last drop of pleasure from you before allowing himself to falter. It was only when your limbs turned heavy, your breaths coming in short, gasping whimpers, that he finally let himself go, sinking his full length into you with a moan and filling you with his own release.

You clung to him. His back was hot, coated in a layer of sweat and veins of scratches from your nails. He lay panting in your arms, face buried in the crook of your neck as he let his full weight drape over your body. You liked the heaviness of him, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours, the span of his arms as they curved either side of your head.

The room settled into a comfortable silence, your breaths slowly returning to normal, the cloud of lust dissipating, making room for clarity. He shifted to pull out of you but you tightened your hold on him, keeping him in place between your legs.

“No not yet,” you muttered. “Just stay here for a minute.”

He chuckled, yielding to you and relaxing back down. But after a moment, he moved again.

“I’m getting cramp in my leg,” he grumbled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and released your hold on him, letting him pull out of you carefully and sit at your feet. You sat up slightly, watching as he stretched his leg, wincing as he massaged his calf.

He breathed out a sigh when the pain subsided, looking at you with an almost shy smile. His face was flushed, you could tell even in the dim light of the room, making it hard to connect this version of him to the one who’d left you feeling so sore and spent just minutes ago.

He crawled over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder before flopping down beside you. You giggled and lay down next to him, nestling against his side as he wrapped an arm around you.

“So, that had nothing to do with seeing another guy try it on with me tonight?” you teased.

“Nothing at all,” he replied with a smirk.

You laughed sleepily, letting your heavy lids settle closed, listening to the sound of his breaths as he played with a loose tendril of your hair. You felt so content, so deeply at ease that even your mind couldn’t bring itself to form a thought.

Neither of you had spoken in a while. His body so still you assumed he’d dozed off. So when you heard him suck in a breath, preparing to speak, the sound almost startled you.

“I am so in love with you,” he said.

It cut through the silence like a blade, his voice so clear and certain that there was no mistaking what he’d said, or if he’d meant to say it. Your eyes sprung open, your head whipping up to look at him in disbelief.

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